other witch - complete series, page 53
The room pulsed with his power and my scalp prickled with the strength of his aura. How could anyone doubt him, doubt his moral fibre? It literally shone from him, his greatness exposed for the world to see. And then I blinked and it was gone.
My heart was pounding and I realised that invoking the Goddess, even in my thoughts, had brought her awareness to me. For whatever reason, she had chosen to show me Shirdal’s true self. It was a timely reminder that the person we present to the world is rarely the whole of us. Instead, it is a shadow of ourselves, the facet of ourselves that we choose to present. Our true light is reserved for ourselves and our loved ones.
I stepped forward to the leader of the griffins with ceremonial slowness. When I was within a foot of him, I curtsied deeply to show the respect that was now humming in my heart. ‘Shirdal, rahbar-e mo’azzam. Leader of the griffins, I gift to you sixteen vials of final-defence and the pouch in which they reside.’
I hoped I’d pronounced his title correctly. Bastion had taught me a few phrases in the dead of the night, but languages had never been my strong point.
‘Gift?’ His tone was flabbergasted.
‘Gift,’ I confirmed.
Shirdal touched his hand to his heart, stepped back and bowed low. ‘Amber DeLea, aziz e-delam.’ His voice cracked with emotion. ‘I am truly honoured by your gift.’ He rose to his full height, reverently took the bag from me and cradled it against his heart. ‘I will see these are shared among my people. This gift will not be forgotten.’
He bowed again then strode to Bastion and held out the pouch to him. Bastion reached in, took one potion and bowed to Shirdal. ‘These are a gift from your zan. You may take another,’ Shirdal said solemnly.
As expected, Bastion shook his head. ‘No, rahbar. They will all find a worthy home. I have only need of one.’
Three, I thought smugly. He didn’t know it, but he had three: the one he’d taken and the two I’d snagged for him.
Shirdal didn’t argue. He simply nodded, pocketed one of the vials and shifted into griffin form. He took two steps onto my balcony and jumped off it. His wings snapped out and he flew away effortlessly; such was his haste to get the life-saving vials to his people that he didn’t even say farewell. Pride stirred in my heart. I’d done a good thing.
Bastion looked at me. ‘Thank you, Amber.’ His voice vibrated with sincerity. ‘That you would do this means a great deal to me. You will save lives, the lives of my brothers and sisters in arms. I cannot thank you enough for this gift.’
I shifted uncomfortably. I was only doing what was right; surely anyone would do the same. ‘It’s just a potion. I’m a potion mistress. It’s no problem,’ I said lightly.
His eyes were still fervent, but he sensed how uncomfortable I was with his gratitude so he moved on. ‘We’re going to work on that,’ he murmured.
‘Work on what?’
‘Accepting compliments and gratitude. One day you’ll know I mean it when I say you’re beautiful.’
Heat flushed my cheeks as it did every time he admired me. ‘You’re delusional but that’s okay. I like you that way.’
He grinned. ‘Good. Now…’ His eyes narrowed. ‘How many of the vials did you keep for me?’
He surprised a laugh out of me; he really did know me. ‘Two others,’ I admitted.
He closed the distance between us. ‘Thank you, Bambi.’ He leaned down and kissed me, long and slow, until my mind went blank. If that was the way he thanked me, I’d give him as many potions as he wanted.
When he pulled away, his eyes were warm and affectionate. ‘You surprised Shirdal,’ he noted.
‘Did I?’ I breathed, still revelling in the taste of his lips.
‘Yes. He thought you were going to give him mates’ rates, not the whole lot for free.’ He paused. ‘Will you be in trouble with the Coven Council? You just gave away more than fifteen million pounds in Coven revenue.’
I sniffed. ‘It’s not the Coven’s revenue, it’s mine. The black kiteen leaf was gifted to me by Peter, not to the Coven. Besides, when you lay dying, I begged Shirdal to save you, to give you his last defence. In return, I promised I would brew him a cauldron of final-defence.’
‘Even so, he expected you to charge for it.’
I shook my head. ‘It didn’t feel right.’
Bastion tipped my chin up, ‘For all you make the right mercenary noises, you’re nothing but a soft-hearted kitten.’
‘Says you, Mr Marshmallow.’
He grinned. ‘I’m only soft for you, Amber.’
I raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh?’ I purred. ‘I rather thought I had the opposite effect on you.’
His eyes darkened. ‘Let me show you what effect you have on me.’
‘Sure. Go ahead. I’ve often heard that communication is important in a healthy relationship.’
‘It is,’ he agreed. ‘I’m going to communicate at length.’
‘Promises, promises.’ A laugh bubbled out of me.
He grabbed my hand and tugged me to the bedroom. I didn’t resist in the slightest.
Chapter 24
‘I have to come clean about something,’ Bastion said, clearing his throat nervously.
‘What?’ I asked.
‘You know that the griffin numbers are very low?’
‘Yes?’
‘They’re not as low as people think.’
‘What?’ I pushed myself up on one elbow. ‘What do you mean?’
‘People are … threatened by us. We’re fairly scary. But not all griffins want to be assassins when they grow up.’
I blinked. Not every witch made potions; some did runes, others did crystal-ball work, others became healers, and a few of us didn’t have a magical job at all. ‘No, of course not. That makes sense.’
‘Those of us that choose the warrior’s path are openly griffins. But those of us that don’t…’ He trailed off.
‘Hide it?’ I offered. I helped to administer an underground circus for Other realm runaways so I knew all about the need to hide sometimes.
‘Yes,’ he confirmed.
‘What do they pretend to be? Wizards?’ I guessed.
‘No. The IR is next to impossible to fake. That’s why we’ve knelt to the Prime Elite. Emory hides us as brethren.’
The Prime Elite title made Emory more than just the Prime, the king of the dragons; the ‘Elite’ meant he was king of other creatures as well, including the griffins. Emory seemed to be a fair ruler but it had always perplexed me why the deadly griffins would want – or need – his protection. Now it made sense.
Brethren are offspring of dragons that haven’t bred true. They are more than human but less than dragons. They live longer and they have an extra helping of toughness that helps them survive the Other realm. Almost before they can walk, they have weapons’ training.
Hiding griffins as brethren was genius. The brethren are innumerable and they have their own deadly reputation; if a brethren killed someone, no one would think it odd.
‘But how do they cope with their deathly urges?’ I asked, frowning. ‘The brethren don’t kill that often, except to protect their families and dragons.’
Bastion levelled a serious look at me. ‘A lot of the hidden griffins become vets.’
Huh. ‘Putting an animal down… Is that enough to expunge the urge?’
‘Yes. So much so that there’s a rota. If all of the griffin vets in a certain place have curtailed the urge, they call in others. After Charlize was kidnapped, I called one of the vets and got her in.’
I closed my eyes. I had assumed he’d rung Shirdal to find out a target for assassination; instead, she’d been putting a poor animal out of its misery. When would I stop making assumptions?
Bastion cleared his throat. ‘But though the low numbers are exaggerated, our fertility issues are real. Griffins struggle to procreate. Although I have Charlize, there’s really no guarantee that I can have any more children.’
I wondered why he had started this conversation. I smiled. ‘Bastion, I don’t want children. I never have. I didn’t enjoy my own childhood, and I’ve never wanted motherhood – I don’t have the patience for it. Anyway, that ship has pretty much sailed. I’m forty-two and my ovaries are packing up for a tropical holiday. They’re done, and I’m okay with that. Some women are born to be mothers but I’m not one of them. Is that okay with you?’
‘You definitely don’t want children of your own?’ he probed.
‘Definitely not.’
‘Thank God,’ he murmured, kissing my shoulder. ‘Because I would try again if that’s what you wanted but—’
‘Nope,’ I interrupted firmly. ‘If I ever get maternal, I’ll borrow Charlize. How old is she, by the way?’
‘She’s twenty-three.’
‘And her mother?’ I asked cautiously.
Bastion looked emotionless. ‘She’s dead.’
‘I’m sorry.’ I touched his arm lightly.
‘Don’t be, she was a bitch.’ He shrugged. ‘The griffins have a compulsory breeding programme. I was matched with Dakota, but although we were genetically compatible we didn’t get on. She died when Charlize was about six months old. She went on a mission and never came back.’
‘That must have been tough.’
He hesitated. ‘I was glad,’ he admitted unhappily. ‘I know that makes me a bad person, but I got to raise Charlize without Dakota’s venom. My daughter is a good kid. She’s made some questionable choices in the past as she’s tried to prove herself, but I think she’s moving out of that now.’ Pride coloured his tone.
‘She’s been amazing with my mum.’
He smiled. ‘Like me, she likes protecting others.’
I shook my head wonderingly. ‘How did I ever get you so wrong?’
‘You were supposed to,’ he pointed out.
‘True. We can’t have everyone learning that Bastion is a good guy.’
His tone was serious. ‘I’m not a good man, not really. I’ve killed plenty of people, more than I can count. But now that I’m watching over you, you never need fear anything or anyone.’
His fierce protectiveness washed over me with a strength that took my breath away. He would kill to protect me; he would die to protect me. I prayed that my enemies wised up, and he had to do neither.
Chapter 25
Voltaire studied me over a black coffee. His hair was as dark as his drink and his skin was as pale as the discarded milk. He was glaring at me openly, but there was nothing unusual in that.
We’d run into each other a time or two. Voltaire headed a team of the Red Guard, the vampyr elite who were responsible for killing necromancers. Necromancers can possess and control vampyrs like puppets, and understandably vampyrs don’t much like that. The last time we’d tangled, the necromancer had ended up dead but not at Voltaire’s hand. He’d been a bit pissed off about that.
Frogmatch had insisted on coming to the meeting but agreed to stay out of sight. A vampyr was going around collecting imp tails and, while I doubted it was Voltaire doing the harvesting, I was not going to risk Frogmatch. He was nestled in the folds of my voluminous skirt, hidden from view but close enough for me to feel his warmth through my clothes.
‘Speak, witch,’ Voltaire ordered.
I narrowed my eyes and deliberately took a slow sip of my cappuccino. Since he was being rude, I would be too.
Instead of asking his permission to rune, which would have been polite, I set the cup back down on the saucer and pulled out a paintbrush and a protection potion from my new tote bag. I painted runes on our wooden table: ansuz for communication, nauthiz for restriction and algiz for protection. That meant anything said at the table couldn’t be overheard. I pulled my magic forward and let the runes light up. Their glow told Rosie’s Other onlookers that we were discussing things of import, but that couldn’t be helped.
I trusted Maxwell, the owner of Rosie’s café, but his allegiance was to Roscoe and the Pit, not to me or the Coven Council. He had to do what was right for his people, the fire elementals, and I had to do what was right for mine.
‘Touch the table while you speak and none bar us three will hear what is said.’ Under the table, Frogmatch emerged from my skirt and leaned up to touch the underside of the table. Four of us, I corrected mentally.
Bastion leaned forward and placed one forearm casually on the table and Voltaire matched his movement. I simply laid my hand on it.
I studied Voltaire before I spoke. He was dressed in black jeans and a black polo shirt, casual-vampyr mode. I’d once seen him in full Red-Guard Regalia and it wasn’t an experience I was keen to repeat.
‘You got my message from Krieg?’ I started finally. The High King of the ogres had promised he would contact Voltaire to help me with my black-witch problem. Voltaire nodded tightly. ‘But that wasn’t enough to get in touch?’ I asked, exasperated.
‘You didn’t have information,’ he growled. ‘You wanted help. I don’t help witches, I kill them.’ He jerked his head towards Bastion. ‘I’m only here out of respect for Bastion.’ He folded his arms and leaned back then, grimacing, he unfolded his arms and placed one of them back on the table again. Heh.
‘I do have information,’ I said. ‘But I’m only sharing it if you share your information too.’ I felt a tug on my shoes and had to resist the urge to look under the table to see what the heck Frogmatch was doing.
‘Tell me your information and we’ll see,’ Voltaire said flatly.
‘No, that isn’t how this works. We’re an equal partnership or we’re nothing. Decide,’ I ordered abruptly. I sat back but kept my hand lightly on the surface of the wood.
Voltaire was visibly wrestling with himself. With a final glance at Bastion’s stony visage, he nodded. ‘Fine.’
‘Fine, what? Which is it, vampyr?’ I asked coolly, drawing the moment out. I couldn’t afford to have any mistakes or misunderstandings.
‘Partnership.’
I knew a little of vampyr customs; though it was disdainful in the extreme, the only way to bind him properly to his word was with an oath.
‘I will share with Voltaire of the Red Guard any and all information I have pertaining to any currently practising black witches or necromancers. I will answer any relevant questions put to me by him with honesty, and I will not seek to omit relevant details. As I will it, so mote it be.’ I glowed for a moment as the oath took hold.
With a reluctant twist of his mouth, Voltaire’s teeth elongated. He bit into his wrist and blood welled. ‘My oath that I will share with Amber DeLea any and all relevant information I have pertaining to any currently practising black witches or necromancers in the United Kingdom. I will answer any relevant questions put to me by her with honesty, and I will not seek to omit relevant details.’ He lifted his wrist to his mouth and lapped at it, sealing the wound with his healing spit and not wasting a single drop of his own precious blood.
‘Witnessed,’ Bastion said gruffly.
Voltaire and I had aligning goals, but I’d heard often enough that he was a vampyr who cared about results and wasn’t especially bothered if he made mistakes. He’d killed witches all over Europe. Some may even have been practising black magic. As I stared into his slate-grey eyes, I couldn’t help but feel I’d just made a deal with the devil.
Chapter 26
I told Voltaire about the black Coven. I told him about Becky and Hilary, though I didn’t tell him about Ria as she wasn’t currently a practising black witch. If he knew she ever had been, he would watch her like a hawk and one day she wouldn’t come home again. As such, I’d phrased my oath very carefully.
Finally, I told him about my father – as much as I knew, anyway. After all, I didn’t care if he didn’t make it home one day.
‘Have you checked your birth certificate?’ Voltaire asked tightly.
‘The section on her father has been expunged,’ Bastion confirmed.
I blinked in surprise. I hadn’t known that Bastion had done some digging of his own. Why hadn’t that occurred to me? I was running on empty, I guess. ‘His name was Shaun. That’s all I know,’ I said.
‘Appearance?’
‘He had blond hair and green eyes like mine. Apart from that, it’s hazy.’
‘Photos?’
I shook my head. ‘My mum burned them all when he left us.’ I hesitated, but in the spirit of sharing… ‘Mum had my mind cleared when he left. That’s why I don’t remember more.’
‘You could get the clearing broken,’ Voltaire pointed out.
‘No,’ Bastion said instantly. ‘It would be agonising. It’s been in position for too long.’
I touched Bastion’s arm lightly. ‘It’s an option,’ I said to Voltaire. ‘One I’m exploring. What have you got?’
Voltaire pursed his lips before he began. ‘We have long suspected the black Coven’s existence. In the last decade or so, we have seen more evidence of collusion amongst black witches. They are organised, they’ve been working towards a goal.’
‘What goal?’
He grimaced. ‘If we knew that, it would be a lot easier. Power, certainly.’
‘We know someone was posing as Felix Holloway on the Coven Council,’ Bastion pointed out.
‘Indeed. And they orchestrated the Crone’s death.’ My voice was as emotionless as I could make it.
Voltaire cleared his throat. ‘Abigay Morgan was a woman of indomitable strength and presence. I was … saddened to hear of her passing.’
That made me blink. I wasn’t sure Voltaire even knew what sadness was. Did the vampyr have a heart somewhere? Surely not. ‘Thank you,’ I said, acknowledging the effort he was making for us to work together smoothly.
He nodded once. ‘Have you heard of the “soul auction”?’
Bastion nodded as I reluctantly shook my head. I despised admitting ignorance but now wasn’t the time for pride.
‘It is a secret auction of dark artefacts. It is held as and when the artefacts are found. The rumour is that such an auction will be held soon and that a large harkan crystal is on offer.’
