Guardian's Patience, page 18
part #5 of Guardians of the Race Series
She began her chant, carefully enunciating each of the words. A mumbled spell was a dangerous spell and she’d received enough beatings for her failures to remember that lesson, too. As she spoke the ancient words, she began adding her ingredients to the simmering water, each according to its place in in the spell. Added in a different order, the same ingredients could become toxic or create a different result. She knew those spells, too.
An hour passed. When the contents of the simmering pot began to take on the deep green hue she sought, Pinkie ceased her chanting, stepped back from the stove and took three deep breaths; never two and never four, always three. Pinkie began to chant again, the words flowing from her with a different sound and rhythm that called the energy to her hands.
She felt the power fill her, felt her short hair, once again her natural light brown, stand out in the whirl of energy that surrounded her. Her lips formed the curse and the swirling mist began to form. She didn’t draw it to her, but pushed it through the air to hover over the bubbling pot. Moving slowly and carefully, she picked up the knife she’d laid on the counter at the edge of the stove. Laying the sharp point at her fingertip, she readied for the moment to prick the pad.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Pinkie almost lost her concentration when she jumped at the sudden sound. The knife sliced a deep gash across not one finger, but three. One drop of blood fell from the first finger and disappeared into the swirling mist over the pot as more welled up from all three fingers. Like the other ingredients, the blood had to be placed precisely within the body of the incantation and this was the most difficult part. No drop could spill anywhere but where it was meant to be. She couldn’t stop now or everything would be lost.
Ignoring the angry voice repeating its question, Pinkie continued her recitation of the age old spell. She held her hand above her head, allowing the blood from her fingers to run down her arm and into the soft white fabric of her peasant blouse. When the time came, she folded her fingers into her palm, leaving only the second exposed. The drop fell and she quickly folded the finger in line with the others and raised them back over her head. The words to the incantation continued.
She heard the shout as she completed the spell and held out her hand for the last drop of blood from the third finger. A strong hand gripped her wrist. Pinkie gasped. The blood flew.
A single drop fell into the churning energy above the pot. The energy eddied upward. A whirlwind laced with the color and power of her blood and dispersed into the air above the stove.
She struggled against the hand gripping her wrist. “The burner. The burner! Turn it off,” she cried, but a hand was already completing the task.
Her body was yanked around to face the hardened visage of the vampire, Otto. His face was a terrifying mask. His eyes were bloodshot, his lips grotesque as they stretched to accommodate the long, ugly fangs descending from his upper gums.
On the night he fought the demons, there had been a physically powerful beauty to Broadbent’s Rage. There was no beauty here, only power, and it was petrifying.
She’d met the man, dined at the same table with him, saw him drink warmed blood from a coffee mug that said ‘World’s Best Uncle’. Pinkie knew what he was. No one made a secret of it, and yet her brain couldn’t make the connection between that sweet old man everyone referred to as Uncle Otto and this creature who was definitely, and in frightening detail, a vampire.
Pinkie knew she was going to die. Without thought, her lips began to move, silently calling the dissipating power back into her free hand.
“What on earth? Uncle Otto, let go of her!” Grace waddled into the kitchen, her gait belying her name. “Oh my God, sweetie, what happened,” she asked when she saw the blood, and to Otto, “I thought we were past this. Canaan is not going to be happy and I can’t say I blame him.”
“She practices blood magic,” the vampire said. His speech was slurred by the long, yellowed fangs.
Grace looked at Pinkie with new eyes, but said to Otto, “So it’s not the blood.”
“No, it’s Rage.”
“All righty then,” she said as if it were no big deal, “I get it, but it’s not necessary.”
Pinkie sure didn’t get it, but she had the presence of mind to hide the hand holding the plum sized ball of energy behind her back. Her heart was pounding so hard she thought it would burst and it was difficult to breathe. Her dry mouth made it hard to swallow. How could the woman be so calm in the presence of this bloodthirsty monster? The scene she’d walked in on had to look like the opening of a Grade B horror flick with Pinkie as its first, blood drenched victim.
“Why don’t you go work some of that out in the gym, Uncle Otto? You don’t want Manon seeing you like that.” Grace calmly took the folded towel from the counter and wiped the blood from the vampire’s hand. She kissed his cheek. “I’ll take care of things here. You come back when you’re not so fangy.”
“Blood magic,” he muttered angrily. “You be careful, Grace. That’s my grandchild you’re carrying.”
“I know. I’ve already bought you a new mug. World’s Best Grandpa.” She laughed. “Or world’s scariest. Go put your rage to rest, Grandpa, and then you can apologize to the wicked witch here. Look at the poor thing. You’ve scared her speechless.”
Pinkie was speechless, but more in amazement than fear. Maybe Grace had more magic than she thought.
When he’d gone, Grace turned back to Pinkie, but she was no longer smiling. Rinsing the towel with which she’d wiped Otto’s hand, she asked, “What’s going on here? You scared the hell out of me and probably scared the hell out of Otto, too. He’s too old for this.” She handed the wet towel to Pinkie. “Clean yourself up. You look like the loser in a knife fight.”
Pinkie’s mouth opened and closed twice before the words fell out. “He...He’s a vampire.”
“I’m pretty sure we told you that and I’m also pretty sure we told you to call out if you get cut, so he can stay away. He has it under control, but it’s not easy. And it’s cruel to push his buttons.”
“But I...He...”
Pinkie lungs finally allowed her to take a deep breath. Yes, they had told her that and more; how Otto had suffered what they called first death, how he’d been turned, how he was one of the few vampires to survive without succumbing to the Blood Rage by regularly ingesting human blood obtained through local blood banks. Still...
“I guess it didn’t sink in,” she admitted and released the pent up energy back into the air. “He was such a sweet old man that I couldn’t picture...”
“Is a sweet old man, but don’t let that fool you either. That sweet old man was a formidable Guardian in his day. He’s lost a lot of that power because of the vampirism, but he still has the heart of a Guardian. Thanks to him, we have Paenitentia neighbors now. It was Otto who made this place safer to walk and work at night; Otto who organized the labor to refurbish the park down the street where our kids can play unmolested; Otto who got those new neighbors to form a protection patrol. This was not a nice place to live, but it’s getting there, and it’s mostly because of him, because he’s grateful for the second chance he’s been given and doesn’t want to waste it. Otto would sacrifice anything for the people he loves, even his life.”
“Good deeds and second chances,” Pinkie whispered. It appeared she and Otto had several things in common. She rinsed her bloody cloth and used it to wipe away the last of the blood on her arms. There wasn’t much she could do about the blouse. “I was trying to do a good deed, too.”
“With blood magic? I don’t think so.” Grace glanced at the pot on the stove and shook her head. “I’ve never seen it, but JJ has and Hope has seen the results. Manon says it’s dangerous and always calls it the work of the devil. I don’t know about devils, but I do know about evil. We’ve come across others who’ve gone over to the dark. It never turns out well.” She raised her eyebrows with meaning and stared at Pinkie, clearly waiting for a response.
Pinkie’s first instinct was to run, but there was a vampire in the House and she didn’t think she’d get very far if Grace ordered him to bring her back, and there was no guarantee he’d bring her back alive. Her second instinct was to lie as she’d done so many times before when other witches discerned the darkness she carried within. JJ’s built in lie detector would catch that right away and Hope would hear her unspoken questions. She decided on half-truths, but there was something she needed to take care of first.
“You need to sit down,” she said to the pregnant woman, “You’re supposed to be taking a nap. The Liege Lord’s going to be angry enough when he hears about this. I don’t want him to be angry with you, too.”
The stern look on Grace’s face melted into a smile. “Don’t worry about Canaan. He’s a pussycat.” The smile turned into a laugh when she saw the look on Pinkie’s face. “He isn’t mean. He just looks that way.”
Pinkie envied that smile and that laugh. It came so naturally to the woman. She wondered what it was like to not have to remind yourself to smile.
In spite of her protest, Grace moved to the rocking chair in the corner. “Now tell me what this is all about.”
“It’s about Manon. I think I can help her, but I didn’t want anyone to know I did it.” Pinkie looked around for somewhere to sit. Her short legs would never make the climb up the high stools surrounding the kitchen island.
“Because you know blood magic is wrong.”
Pinkie chose to lean back against the counter with her hands folded in front of her. “No. Because it’s not a Good Deed if I take credit for it.”
“Okay.” Grace drew out the word. “Now you have to explain that one, too.”
“I know.” Pinkie swallowed hard and was grateful Grace gave her a moment to ready herself to tell, if only partially, what she’d never told before.
“A long time ago,” she began, “I fell in love with a man. I knew what I was, but didn’t know much about my powers.”
“We call them gifts,” Grace said gently.
Pinkie smiled sadly. “And maybe that’s the difference. Power is addictive. Gifts are something else. He told me secrets. He told me about the things I could do, things I wanted to do.” She looked down at the floor. “Bad things. He told me what I’d have to do to bring out my powers and it didn’t seem like much, because...”
“You loved him,” Grace finished the sentence Pinkie couldn’t. “Open mind, open heart, open body. Your mind was open to the possibilities. You already loved him. Sex was the next logical step. We all know the drill. Go on.”
“No, I don’t think you do. Your mates are all good men.”
“Mate and first love aren’t always synonymous. You said man, not boy. How old were you?”
Pinkie closed her eyes. “Fifteen.”
Fifteen, a sophomore in a small town high school and already saddled with a double whammy reputation. She wasn’t only the fat girl, she was smart. And oh, God, she was lonely, so, so lonely.
Her father tended bar at a local hangout while her mother sat on the stool at the end of it drinking away the money she won at penny-ante poker. It was where they met. And where they died.
“Oh, sweetie.”
The words were said with such compassion, Pinkie had to turn away. “Don’t, Grace. I knew what he was and he offered me everything I wanted.” A beautiful face and body, and power. “I just didn’t know the price.”
“Price?”
Pinkie closed her eyes to gather her thoughts before she answered. In the short time she’d been here, it wasn’t hard to see that these were good people. How could people like this, living the charmed life they led, understand someone like her?
“You’d be surprised,” Hope’s quiet voice answered her unspoken question.
Pinkie’s eyes snapped to the hall doorway where the woman stood with hands folded in front of her. “I didn’t know you were there.”
“That’s me, quiet as a mouse. My father taught me that. He was not a nice man,” the tall woman confided.
“This man, is he the one who taught you blood magic?” Grace whispered, hesitant to interrupt, but needing to know. “We didn’t think men could do magic.”
“I thought he could do lots of things he couldn’t. He was good at that, making you believe. That’s why he wanted me. To do what he couldn’t. When he saw how good I was at memorizing simple spells, he found someone to teach me.” After she’d tried to break it off. After her parents died and she had no choice.
“When I escaped,” Pinkie said, forgetting she’d said nothing about being held against her will, “I made a promise to only use what I know to do good, as a way to make up for the bad things I’d done. That’s what I was trying to do here.” She pointed to the pot still steaming on the stove.
“Where is this man? Is he still alive?” Otto had returned. His fangs were gone, but his human face was still hard and fierce looking.
“How much did you hear?” Pinkie asked. What began as a quiet confession to Grace was turning into something else and the vampire still looked angry.
“All of it.” He turned to Grace and growled. “I don’t need a damned punching bag to get control of my fangs.”
Grace started to rise. “Uncle Otto, you can’t...”
“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do. You heard her. You don’t have to escape from a place you want to be. She was held, goddammit, and a man like that should be taught a lesson he won’t soon forget. I’m still a Guardian. I may not have the strength to fight demons, but I can take care of human scum.” Once again, he faced Pinkie.
“I don’t know,” she said quickly because technically she didn’t, and also because Abyar was not human. Vampire or not, Uncle Otto would be no match for Abyar.
She was safe in this House and with her shop seemingly abandoned, maybe the demon would think she’d run away. Maybe he would move on.
“Blood magic is dark magic. You’re a good girl and you don’t need that anymore. You have us,” Otto said kindly.
She should have protested that she wasn’t good and she wasn’t a girl, though she supposed to a man Otto’s age she was, but for a moment, Pinkie couldn’t say anything at all. Uncle Otto’s anger was no longer directed at her, but at what had been done to her. Still, she needed to set them straight.
“Blood magic isn’t evil, Uncle Otto.”
The others were coming in from patrol; through the door Otto had come through, and through the pantry from the garage beneath the house next door. There were none of the usual greetings and questions. All stopped and stared at Pinkie and her blood soaked blouse. All except Broadbent.
Pushing Canaan aside, he leapt across Nardo, who ducked just in time. Rather than bowl over Otto, whose reflexes were not so agile, Broadbent slid on the ass of his good wool trousers across the island to land on his feet in front of Pinkie.
“Good God! What have you done to her?” Completely missing her towel wrapped hand, he began running his hands over her torso, looking or the cause of her bleeding.
Pinkie slapped at the hand roving over her breast. “I’m alright, Pookie.”
“Now, that is a perfect example of how not to cop a feel,” Dov instructed the recruits who’d followed him through the door.
“Yeah,” his brother agreed, “And watch out for the cutesy names. Pookie and Pinkie? Kinda makes you wanna puke, doesn’t it?”
Two hands shot out, one belonging to Nico, the other to Canaan, both clipping the back of the head of the nearest twin.
“That’s enough.”
“What’s going on here?”
Everyone started talking at once; Broadbent insisting she was gravely injured, Pinkie insisting she wasn’t, Grace trying to make herself heard while Canaan scowled. In spite of the reprimand, the twins were back at it, telling the recruits what was wrong with Broadbent’s technique. Nardo laughed with them when Broadbent pulled the scooped neck of Pinkie’s blouse out to see for himself if she was bleeding. Nardo leaned over his mate and hooked a finger in the neck of her tee, which momentarily distracted the twins and the recruits when JJ rammed her elbow into his ribs. She then brought her pinkie and thumb to her mouth and issued an earsplitting whistle that silenced everyone except their Liege Lord.
“What the hell happened here?”
“I cut my hand,” Pinkie said, hoping it was over and she could get away.
“It’s my fault,” Otto confessed, “I frightened her.”
Grace piped up with, “She was just about to tell us why blood magic isn’t evil.”
There was a collective intake of breath and everyone was staring again. Pinkie froze.
Broadbent stood staunchly by her side with a firm hand on the shoulder nearest him. “If Patience has some knowledge to impart, I believe it would be wise to listen.”
This gesture of his unquestioning support not only made her melt inside, it gave her courage.
“Magic is magic,” she said while shifting herself a little closer to his body. “It’s what you do with it that makes it dark or light. I know. I was addicted to the dark. It wasn’t the magic, it was the power, and it became my drug of choice. It starts with little things and you like the feeling you get from it and then you want a little more. I try my best to stay away from it, but sometimes I slip.”
She told them about the bad boyfriend and the exploding cigarette. The trainees, including the twins, laughed. The others didn’t, knowing there was more to story.
Pinkie smiled at the laughter. “He was an asshole and he deserved it, right? That’s how it starts. I got a kick out of doing that, but not because it was right or wrong.” The smile left her face. “I got the kick from knowing I had the power to do it and he couldn’t stop me. Dov, what would you do if you went into a bar and some puny human was sitting in your favorite seat? Would you toss him aside? Punch him in the face? Use your size to intimidate him and make him move?”
