A Draught of Ash and Wine, page 17
They were nearly to the door when Vic stopped him. “You need the salve.” He fetched it from the dresser.
“That would have been a blunder,” said Johnathan. Nothing to spoil his post coital bliss like Tamara going for his throat.
This time, Vic smeared it over Johnathan’s skin, taking the time to thoroughly rub it in. He leaned in, burying his face against Johnathan’s neck. “Only a hint of smoke,” he said.
“I smell like smoke?” Johnathan was curious what he smelled like to Vic.
“Smoke and heat,” murmured Vic, gently nipping the underside of his jaw.
His arms slid around Vic in response, bringing their hips together. Vic groaned. “At this rate, we’ll never get out of this room.”
“I wouldn’t be averse to that outcome,” said Johnathan, nuzzling the side of Vic’s face.
Vic planted his open palm over Johnathan’s face. “No, there are matters to discuss. Solutions to explore. Merry is waiting.”
“Merry needed to rest,” insisted Johnathan, wondering if a little more pressure would send them both tumbling into bed. He began to slide his hands up the back of Vic’s shirt.
“Ah, ah, no getting handsy.” He caught Johnathan’s wrists, nodding to the door. “Come, the daylight is waning.”
“Killjoy,” muttered Johnathan.
A dopey grin spread over Vic’s face. “You’re adorable when you’re flirty.”
“Does that mean we can stay?” Johnathan laughed when Vic shoved him out through the door.
The other man turned somber, linking their arms together. “Our history might be a sore point, but Merry has great insight, with and without using their gift. I’d hoped, gambled really, they would see you as I see you.”
They descended the stairs, the chandelier shining bright overhead. Johnathan hadn’t seen it unlit since they arrived. “How do you see me?”
“I see a good man,” said Vic. He lifted Johnathan’s hand to brush his lips across his knuckles.
Johnathan fell silent, pensive by the time they reached the indoor garden. Merry was at the work bench, a strange apparatus on the table. A small fire burned in a stone bowl, seemingly without fuel, while Merry fed various herbs to the flames, one piece at a time. The same ancient, worn book Johnathan glimpsed before was open beside them, the current pages faded and splattered with rust-colored stains that faintly reeked of old blood.
Merry appeared mostly recovered, though weariness lingered in the pouches beneath their eyes and the tightness around their mouth. Today, they’d donned a loose white shirt with a matching burgundy vest and trouser set that complimented the rich brown undertones of their skin. Their form hadn’t changed from last night since they’d yet to perform any significant magic.
They glanced up at Vic and Johnathan’s approach. “Somebody looks satisfied.”
Johnathan cleared his throat. “Quite.”
Vic raised a brow at him over his shoulder while Merry snickered.
“Where’s Katherine?” Johnathan broke in to change the subject.
“She’s gone to summon the allies,” said Merry. “A Geist can travel much farther and faster than any of us. She’ll be back in a day or two.”
“I assume your other guests are sleeping?” Vic folded his arms.
“They’ve gone hunting,” said Merry, peeking up at Vic. “Don’t look at me like that, Victor. I’m not in the position to stop them.”
Johnathan didn’t want to think what damage the older vampires could do to any nearby settlements. In theory, a vampire’s driving hunger waned with age, but they also grew more callous and violent and sought out the thrill of the hunt for pleasure. He swore he could hear Vic grinding his teeth.
“I’m actually glad you’ve pried yourselves from the bedroom,” said Merry, adding a sprig to the flame. Johnathan’s nose was hit with a burst of burnt sage. “The timing is ideal. I believe I have found the correct concoction for you, Johnathan.”
Vic and Johnathan shared an astonished look. He knew Merry had promised to search, but he hadn’t thought they would find anything so soon. Vic stepped forward, peering into the flaming bowl.
“How does it burn?” He leaned in close enough to endanger his eyebrows. Merry flicked their fingers at him.
“Well aged whiskey,” Merry explained. “Seems a waste, but I didn’t want to risk contaminating the ashes.”
“Ashes?” Vic prodded the ancient tome with a deepening frown. “Where on Earth did you find this?”
Merry slapped his hand. “Through a trade. You’re fortunate I did. This is one of the very tomes the Society attempted to snuff out.” They looked at Johnathan. “Not the most comprehensive compendium regarding creatures of the Nether, but there are a few useful snippets of information.”
Johnathan stayed several steps behind Vic. Perhaps it was the scent of old blood that clung to the pages, or the rather grisly illustration of a man in mid-transformation on the open page, but the book disturbed him. What other secrets about demons did those blood-spattered pages contain? What had Merry traded for something so invaluable? The sort of tome the Society would kill for. Johnathan refused to think ill of his host, not when Merry had potentially come through with something that could fix his control.
He tucked his doubts aside, circling around the far end of the table. “What are the ashes for?”
“A special draught,” said Merry, pointing at Johnathan with an unrecognizable branch. “A Hound’s body burns through poisons and toxins, which means it also renders most plants and herbs useless whether they are harmful or beneficial. However,” they said with a flourish, feeding several leaves into the sputtering flame. “The ashes are another matter. Burnt herbs have the same effect on a Hound as fresh ones do on a man.”
Johnathan made a face. “That makes no sense.”
Merry pressed a fist to their hip. “Because the existence of Hellhounds is so logical.”
Vic nodded. “They have a point.”
He glowered, watching the flame burn itself out until a pile of damp ashes remained. Merry pulled another bottle from the cabinet beneath the table, pouring a white wine with the crisp scent of apples. The color was ruined by the addition of the ashes, turning the liquid a murky dark grey.
The draught looked incredibly unappetizing. “Why white wine?”
Merry shrugged. “It’s what I had left. The flavor doesn’t matter, only that we use spirits.” They waggled their eyebrows at him. “Lowers the body’s inhibitions.”
Johnathan didn’t have the heart to tell them the alcohol wore off shortly after he left. He shuffled from foot to foot. “What exactly will this do to me?”
Merry tapped their lips. “If I measured it correctly? It will give you more control of your other half.” They handed the glass to Johnathan. “But first, it will force you to change.”
He nearly dropped the glass. Johnathan set it down hard, the liquid sloshing ominously near the rim. “No! Are you mad?”
Vic gripped the table, his knuckles turned white. “Merry, there are two vampires who will take extreme issue with that if they return early.”
“Both of you are ridiculous,” said Merry. They held up a large leather pouch. “I’ll set a threshold. We’ll control the environment. It will be fine.” They came around the table, muttering to themselves. At the entrance of the conservatory, where the carpet gave way to grass, Merry reached into the pouch. What appeared to be salt, mixed with various herbs, poured through their fingers to create a wide line.
“There,” said Merry, clapping the excess off their hands. “No voyeurs, no eavesdroppers, no escapees unless I break the line. Drink up.”
Johnathan panicked. “No. Not with you both here.”
“Ah, ah, ah,” said Merry, holding up a hand at his protests. “Did you hurt Victor the last time you transformed?”
He balked, reluctant to recall that blood-soaked encounter, but Vic shook his head. “Not so much as a nip.”
Johnathan swallowed hard, still not convinced this was remotely a good idea. In the back of his mind, he could almost hear Alyse telling him not to be stupid. But what if the draught worked? Hope kept him on a razor’s edge of indecision. “Merry, you shouldn’t be here,” he said.
They shook their head. “You won’t hurt me, Johnathan. Even if this draught doesn’t work.”
“How can you be so sure?” Johnathan groused. He did not want to risk it, not when there was so much blood on his hands.
“Because Victor is safe,” said Merry, their tone matter of fact. “You are safe. There is no threat to your lives. You will transform in a calm situation.”
Vic sidled next to him. “Merry’s right, John.” He gave Johnathan’s hand a gentle squeeze. “I will stop you.”
That had to be enough. The possibility was too enticing to ignore. Johnathan raised the glass to his lips.
“Wait!” Merry shouted. Vic grabbed the glass out of Johnathan’s hands to keep it from spilling. “Sorry, but it might be best to remove your clothes.”
“Ah yes, wouldn’t want to destroy more of your clothes,” Vic quipped.
“More? I’m not made of money, Victor,” Merry muttered.
Johnathan quickly undressed, handing his clothes to Vic. Using the table to provide some semblance of coverage, he grabbed the glass, eyeing Merry to make sure there would be no further outbursts. “Cheers.”
The ash laced wine was an odd mix of bitter and sweet, tingling down his throat. He downed the draught and carefully set the glass on the table. Johnathan glanced up, meeting Vic’s gaze. He tried to rein in his apprehension when the mixture hit his stomach.
“Gah,” Johnathan cried out, clutching the table. The smoldering core in his chest exploded, scorching his blood, veins visibly blackening. His claws lengthened, digging deep grooves into the table before he doubled over in agony. Literal flames burst from his charred skin. This transformation was far worse than the others, one that dragged the Hound from its cage of flesh. Johnathan screamed at the rapid succession of breaking bone and tearing muscle, praying he would black out. Fire crackled through his mind. His fortunes were not that good. The Hound tore out of his skin, tottering on barely formed muscles.
The Hound fell onto his side, unable to stand, tongue lolling out of his mouth. Smoke poured up from his throat. Pain roared through his limbs. He released a canine whine, too weak to rise.
“John?” The voice tugged something deep inside. The raging blaze subsided, easing down to a manageable flame. The Hound licked his muzzle and gazed up into the most beautiful grey eyes. Vic’s eyes. The connection radiated between them, a physical tether hooked directly to that fiery core within him. The Hound swung his wedge-shaped head, inhaling the scent of rosewater and ash, tinged by sweet wine.
“He’s much bigger than I thought he’d be,” said Merry, green eyes luminous in their face. They maintained a respectful distance, watching him with open fascination. “How do you feel, Johnathan? Can you understand me?”
Johnathan. He was Johnathan. He stared down at his paws in wonder, covered in coal black fur that absorbed the light around them. This body should have felt foreign, a shape not his own, but it was as natural as breathing. He attempted to nod, though the human gesture was odd for his canine head.
“Ha!” Merry crowed, throwing their arms in the air.
Vic knelt on the grass, grey eyes overly bright. “Are you still in pain?” There was a strain in his voice. He held up his hands, beckoning Johnathan closer. His palms were smeared with red, blood embedded under his fingernails. Johnathan wiggled closer, nudging his head against Vic’s chest. The weight knocked him right over, but he landed with a laugh. Vic buried his face in Johnathan’s fur.
“You’re surprisingly soft,” said Vic.
“I’m afraid I must interrupt,” said Merry. “You should try to change back, Johnathan, before the draught cycles through your system.”
A fresh spiral of panic set in. He’d been so focused on the prospect of control, he’d forgotten the morbid caveat of his transformation.
Vic shared his concern. “I’ve only seen Hounds regain their human form after taking a life.” Johnathan scrabbled out of his hold, muscles tensing. How could they have been so stupid?
Merry folded their arms, exasperated. “Honestly, you two.” They rolled their eyes. “Victor, I cannot help him without trying other methods. Why don’t you help things along and give him some encouragement?”
Vic scowled. “I doubt positive affirmation will help in this matter.”
Their host stared at him until he threw up his hands. “Fine,” he snapped, turning to Johnathan. “Come on, John. You can do this. Come back to me.”
Johnathan focused on Vic’s words, trying to find the man inside the beast. He closed his eyes, Vic’s encouragement droned through his skull, a soft murmur that pulled him down. He sank deep, deeper, into the mass of smoke and flame at the core of his being.
The ground beneath his paws squelched. Something dripped from his muzzle. A coppery scent tinted the air, filled his mouth, and coated his tongue. Overflowing, it spilled over, drenching his fur, the copper scent growing stronger until he gagged on it. Johnathan’s eyes opened. The sightless dead stared up at him from the ground.
He froze trapped in the living nightmare, covered in blood. Not blood, there was no blood here. But Johnathan couldn’t escape the stench of it. The feel of it, matting his fur, soaking the grass under his paws. He tucked his snout between his paws, trying to claw it off.
“Johnathan!” The illusion broke. Vic’s strong fingers seized his jaw, prying it open to pour a bitter mixture down his throat. Johnathan didn’t fight him, even as the liquid made him convulse. His guts turned inside out. He howled, a broken, ragged sound as the Hound began to recede. The reversal was possibly more painful. Johnathan tore at the ground, his body a twisted amalgamation of bones and joints. The sight must have been hideous, but Vic stayed beside him, urging him to continue. He locked onto that voice, clinging to it with everything he had. With a final violent snap, the Hound was locked beneath the skin.
Johnathan curled on the ground, a sweaty, feverish mess. Every muscle twinged with a watery ache, as if he’d emerged from a long illness, weak as a kitten. Vic pulled Johnathan’s head onto his lap, while Merry produced a blanket to drape over him.
“I need to break the threshold soon, Victor,” Merry whispered, rubbing a hand down Johnathan’s back. They looked shaken by what they’d seen. “Alazar is sniffing at the other side.”
Alazar was there? When had he returned? How long had Johnathan been in the grip of the Hound? He shuddered, trying to force his quivering muscles to move. His legs refused to cooperate.
“He can’t even stand,” snapped Vic, visibly shaken. His hands remained gentle, pushing Johnathan’s damp hair out of his face. “He couldn’t change back without that second draught.”
Merry grabbed his wrist. “But it worked. Which means it will work again. We can use this to help him control it.” They glanced down at Johnathan, their expression apologetic. “Though I didn’t expect it to be so painful for you.”
He nodded in reply, too weary to speak.
“Alazar can’t see him like this,” Vic hissed. “He reeks of the Nether.” Transforming made him smell more like the Nether? Johnathan was vaguely mortified. His sense of smell was currently muffled, as if he breathed through a cotton rag.
Merry grabbed another vial off the table, wiping the salve over Johnathan’s neck and shoulders. The familiar woodsy smell was faint to his dulled nose. Vic coughed.
“Fetch his clothes,” Merry ordered. “Take him through the back left hall. That should circle back to your rooms. I’ll get the sage burning.”
Johnathan was a dead weight. It took both their efforts to maneuver him into his trousers. Vic didn’t bother with the shirt. He draped it over his shoulder and lifted Johnathan in his arms.
“Well, isn’t this familiar,” he teased. Johnathan appreciated the levity, though he loathed that he was once again being carried like a fainting damsel. To give himself a fair shake, he had just broken and reformed his whole body. Twice.
Their host cleared the table, shutting the book and tucking it away before they lit a bundle of sage. The burning herb stung Johnathan’s healing nose. “A good long soak will do him wonders, Victor. Use the peppermint oil.”
Johnathan barely registered the journey back to their rooms, a blur of green and brown. Vic set him gently on the bed, still rumpled from the previous night. He lay there, floating on a wave of weariness, until Vic carried him to the bath. The hot water eased the deep-seated ache, the sharp bite of peppermint reviving his energy. Vic sat on the edge of the tub, pants rolled up, bare legs dangling in the water. He watched Johnathan with an air of concern.
It hit him then, the full weight of what they had accomplished. Johnathan had transformed without taking a life. They needed two draughts to do so, but they’d done it. He laughed, his voice hoarse and cracked, the burn of relief pricking at his eyes.
“I did it,” Johnathan whispered. There was a world of possibility wrapped in that simple affirmation. A path forward in his new existence that wouldn’t break his soul, worth the pain. Merry assured him it would be easier next time, and the next, until, hopefully, there was no need for the draught to change back and forth.
Vic nodded, solemn. “Yes, you did.” He shifted closer along the edge of the tub, laying his hand on Johnathan’s shoulders. “How do you feel?”
He considered the question, mentally assessing himself. Muscles were still sore, but excitement welled up inside him, singing through his veins. The bath gave him a fresh burst of energy that begged to be expended. Johnathan slid a hand up Vic’s thigh.
“Take me to bed.”
Vic needed no further invitation.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Vic slammed his fist on the table. A mortar jumped from the table and fell to the grass with a dull thud. “Absolutely not,” he snapped.
“You’re being stubborn.” Merry pinched the bridge of their nose. “We have to take advantage of the time we have before more of your allies arrive, Victor.”
