Bloodwitch (8 page)

A FEW IMPOSSIBLY
long minutes later, we stumbled against a low stone wall. Malachi hoisted me up and over it. I was still struggling to regain my footing when he joined me, then sank down to the ground, panting … and, crazily,
laughing
.

“Been a while since I had a run like that,” he said between gasps. “You’ve just nearly met the princess of the serpiente, Vance. Hara Kiesha Cobriana. She was probably on her way back from a delivery of tribute. Nothing more than bad luck we ran into her.”

“She—” I had to stop, struggling to catch my own breath. “She doesn’t like you any more than I do.”

“She likes me a whole lot less,” Malachi responded, with more cheer than the words seemed to deserve. “Given
the excuse that she was coming to the aid of a merchant, she would happily have executed me.”

“How many people want to kill you?” I asked as I looked around and tried to plan what to do next.

We were at the back of a small alley between two wooden stalls that backed up to the wall. Through the gap ahead of us, I could see people bustling back and forth, their faces down against the rain.

“Many,” Malachi answered, “but the kings and queens of the great shapeshifter nations bow to Midnight. Starting a scuffle here in the market would be impeding trade, and in Midnight, there is no worse crime. That means we are safe here.”

“That means
I’m
safe,” I said. I stood up, half expecting Malachi to grab me, but he didn’t. “Would she really have killed me?” I asked. “Or was that just a threat to get me running and save your own skin?”

He shrugged. “I don’t have much respect for the so-called royals,” he said, “but I do not believe even she is stupid enough to let a bloodwitch fall into Midnight hands.”

“
You
did.”

“I’m a sentimental fool,” he said. “Also, after murdering Midnight’s precious quetzal, they would have made sure to eliminate any witnesses—namely, again, me.” Raising his voice, he shouted to a passerby, “You! Bloodtraitor!”

The man who turned, a scowl on his face, was dressed so similarly to the guards at the greenhouse that my heart
simultaneously lifted with relief and clenched with guilt. The greatcoat I glimpsed beneath his heavy leather fur-lined cloak was the same deep burgundy color; even the trousers and boots were the same style. It was obviously a uniform.

“What are you up to, Obsidian?” the guard asked warily. He did not enter the alley but cast a cautious look about.

Malachi pushed himself to his feet and said in a heavy voice, “I believe I’ve found something of yours. Vance, this man can take you back to your—” He broke off and shook his head. “Back where you want to go.”

The guard’s eyes widened, and he looked closely at me before pushing my hood back. I winced as the rain started falling in my face but was gratified to hear him say, “If it isn’t the quetzal. We were told to keep our eyes out for you.” He turned and waved to a figure in the sky above. A large black bird fluttered to the ground and tilted its head, waiting. “Go tell Taro we have the quetzal,” the guard told it.

Without even taking the time to return to human form and reply, the shapeshifter shot into the sky and continued to the north. If only I had strong wings like that, I could have skipped this entire misadventure! Instead, I was deliriously grateful that I would soon be home.

“Are you all right?” the guard asked me.

I nodded and stepped out of the alley as the guard
beckoned. I was exhausted and sore, and my heart still hadn’t resumed a calm rate, but I was uninjured.

Around me the market was bustling with more people than I had ever imagined. They were set up in stalls and tents or just spread out on carpets with lean-to shelters keeping themselves and their wares dry. Most people weren’t shouting, but the sheer number of them speaking at once gave the noise the power of a wave.

The merchandise I could see included brightly colored and shiny things that dazzled my eyes. Tapestries, jewelry, ceramics, fruit, jars and packages and boxes labeled with writing I couldn’t read … there was so much here all at once. It was overwhelming.

Malachi exited the alley, which brought him closer to me and earned him a warning glance from the guard. “How did you get involved?”

“I found the kid lost in the woods,” Malachi answered. “He said he wanted to go back to Taro, so I brought him here.”

I shifted in place, struggling to keep warm now that I was no longer flushed with panic, and the guard’s attention moved to me. The expression on his face softened. “Poor kid, you must be freezing. Here.” He stripped off his own cloak, a thick piece with smooth leather on the outside and fur inside, and draped it over me. It was so heavy and long that I stooped under its weight, but I instantly felt warmer.

“Don’t you need it?” I asked.

He shook his head. “I grew up wandering the Shantel forests,” he answered. “I’m used to the cold.”

“Shantel?” I asked.

“The third great magical civilization,” Malachi chimed in bitterly. “The Shantel are leopard and mountain-lion shapeshifters. Some of their witches are as powerful as the shm’Ahnmik or Azteka.” The names made my head spin. I knew witches existed, but I had never realized there were so many different
kinds
. Malachi continued. “Even Shantel without magic are brilliant warriors, hunters, trackers, or craftsmen. Except for a few, of course. The traitors who decide it would be easier to come out of the forest and work for Midnight.”

“You’re an odd person to call me a traitor,” the guard replied blandly. He brushed my hair back out of my face and then twitched my hood up, covering my head and trapping out the cold.

“It is hard to learn loyalty in a cell,” Malachi answered.

“Look, kid,” the guard said, ignoring Malachi to speak to me. “I made my choice to take this job, for my own reasons. I know your story, but most of the ’shifters who are not already allied with Midnight do not. They will assume you’re a traitor, just like I am. Don’t let them catch you alone anywhere you might conveniently disappear. Okay?”

Given the number of people who had already threatened
me since I left the greenhouse, the warning seemed very clear.

“Vance, I’m sorry,” Malachi said. “You’re right. I am a hypocrite, and a coward. But I am trying to do the right thing by you.”

“You don’t know me.” If the only thing I represented to this man was danger, why hadn’t he just killed me in the woods, or left me to freeze to death on my own? Why had he risked taking me so close to the market? Why, if he was sure the serpiente would have killed me, hadn’t he run and left me with them?

Malachi didn’t seem interested in explaining, but he stayed nearby as the guard and I waited and watched the sun go down. Merchants diligently covered and packed up their possessions, some simply shutting their stalls and others loading wagons. Many cast sidelong glances at us as they worked, but they didn’t say a word. Most were gone before Taro appeared.

My guardian greeted me with a warm smile, nodded an acknowledgment to the guard who had lingered nearby to keep an eye on me, and then turned to Malachi.

“Malachi Obsidian, you surprise me,” Taro said. “I hadn’t thought I would see you again so soon.”

Malachi tensed and said, “I just can’t seem to keep myself away.”

“As long as Vance is safe, that’s what matters,” Taro said. “What are you asking for him?”

Malachi appeared cautious. “Since when do you offer to buy something that’s already yours?”

“You misunderstand me. I’m offering a reward for his safe return.”

“I have no claim to him,” Malachi said carefully, as though he was worried he might say something wrong. “I just helped him do what he wanted to do.”

“Very well, then. Enjoy your evening.”

“At least I’ll be more relaxed when I’m not traveling with a miniature volcano,” Malachi said, clearly relieved now. “I guess it shouldn’t surprise me that you wouldn’t be afraid to keep an untrained bloodwitch on hand, but I’ll sleep better without him. When he accidentally burns down Brina’s greenhouse, I’m going to have a party.”

Without another word he shifted into his falcon form and flew away, leaving me alone with Taro.

“What did he mean, miniature volcano?” I asked, hurt.

“Malachi Obsidian is a trifle mad. You shouldn’t take anything he has said to you too seriously.” Still, Taro sounded worried. “I’m glad he had the sense to keep you away from the pochteca while you were here.”

“He brought me to the pochteca,” I said. At Taro’s startled look I opened my mouth to describe all the things Malachi had said, and how he had insisted on taking me to the pochteca and even suggested that they could take me away. What came out was, “Before I mentioned that I wanted to go back to you, I mean.”

I clapped my mouth shut. Why had that lie, the one Malachi had asked me to tell, come to my lips instead of every defense I had intended? I didn’t want Taro to think I had run away intentionally, or that I had ever
considered
leaving with my parents’ people. That was all Malachi’s idea.

“And what did the traders say to you?” Taro asked coolly.

I tried to recall so that I could answer honestly. “She seemed sad for me, because I had been separated from my mother and father. Do I really have magic?”

“You should. I haven’t seen it manifest, but many powers only reach full strength in adulthood.” He still sounded distant.

I wanted to complain about how Malachi had threatened me and said all sorts of horrible things about Midnight, but all I could bring myself to say was, “Malachi doesn’t like Lady Brina, or Mistress Jeshickah. I was scared he might not help me if he knew I didn’t think the same way.”

“Wise,” Taro said, some of the tension leaving his body, while the same amount entered mine.

Malachi bewitched me!
He hadn’t been asking for a
favor
. He had been placing some kind of spell on me. He had even apologized afterward for “messing with my mind,” though I hadn’t known what he was talking about at the time.

“You must be tired,” Taro said, his voice finally gentle
once again. “If you want, you can change into your quetzal form and sleep while I carry you home.”

It sounded like a nice suggestion, though part of me worried that he was offering to carry me because he thought I might run away again. I returned the guard’s cloak with many thanks and then changed shape. Taro let me snuggle inside his cloak, where it was warm and I could tuck my head down and rest. The adventure of the last days had left me exhausted. When I finally got back to it, I wasn’t sure I would ever want to leave my own safe bed again.

I had strange dreams while we traveled, and even stranger ones once Taro tucked me into bed. We weren’t back at my home but somewhere Taro said was closer; it didn’t matter, since there were dry clothes and warm soup and a large bed covered with a down-filled blanket.

I dreamed that I was watching Malachi dance. The movement was hypnotic. I tried, but I couldn’t look away, even when he stopped and my gaze met his.

All I saw then were his sea-green and mist-blue eyes.

“Vance, there’s something …”

His voice faded as a red wave swept between us, drowning those swirling eyes in a rush of heat and darkness. He surfaced several seconds later, but I had missed part of his message.

“… you
need
to understand,” he implored. “Vance, can you hear me? I can’t …”

The world swirled again, the wave flowing by, backed
by a deep, echoing
bang
like thunder. When it cleared I saw desperation in Malachi’s eyes.

“No matter what happens, please remember that I am trying to set you free,” he said. “Survive. Don’t give up. I will be—”

Silence woke me.

I didn’t feel like I had slept a single second. My body was heavy, my eyes dry, and my mouth sticky. I would have rolled over and tried to rest longer, but the silence pressed in around me.

At home I could always hear birds, the whistle of the wind, or sometimes the patter of rain outside the glass walls of the greenhouse. Here …

I opened my eyes slowly, struggling to recall where I was and how I had arrived. My tired mind battled through the murk of exhaustion as I observed the down blanket on my bed; solid, painted walls instead of golden wood and colored glass; and faint, flickering light from a hooded oil lamp instead of sun- or moonlight.

I sat up carefully, my sore muscles trying to cajole me into lying back down for another six or seven weeks. I might have given in if the eerie silence hadn’t made the spacious room seem claustrophobic.

I pushed the covers aside and put my bare feet on the plush rug that mostly covered an otherwise cold stone floor.

There were no windows, though that didn’t mean the
walls were bare. I approached the paintings with excitement, thinking about the images I’d grown up around in Lady Brina’s studio. One wall boasted a frigid landscape in which an icy river cut through a forest. The opposite wall showed the same scene at the height of summer.

They were pretty, but they weren’t anywhere near as good as Lady Brina’s work.

My interest in the art exhausted, I was shocked to discover that the door to my room wouldn’t open. Locked? To protect me or contain me?

I tried another door and discovered an elaborate washroom with a claw-foot bathtub that had a drain in the bottom and pipes running toward it. I stared for several minutes, examining the mechanisms and remembering how much effort it had been to haul water from the stream whenever I wanted a bath at home.

Then I was back at the door that I hoped led
out
.

I rattled the knob, as if it might suddenly come unlocked.

The heavy wooden door swung inward instead, nearly striking me, and revealed a horrified-looking young woman in a long black dress. The gown was basic, practical, unlike the beautiful garments—works of art in their own right—that Lady Brina liked to wear. Around her throat was a simple black-leather band, perhaps an inch wide, fastened at the back.

In her hand was a small brass key.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she said, ducking in a curtsy, her gaze on the floor as if she were afraid to look at me.