Wolfsbane (16 page)

TEN

MY FANGS CLOSED ON
his throat, crushing his
windpipe. Hot, coppery blood poured into my
mouth, down my throat. His heart slowed. Long,
horrible pauses punctuated its beats. His eyes met
mine, his lips curved into a smile, and I heard his
voice in my mind.

Welcome, Cal a.

I scrambled back and shifted into human form,
suddenly cold, sickened. Dead Stuart kept smiling
despite the gaping hole in his neck. A light touch
brushed my shoulder. I whirled and faced a woman.

She wore a smile like the dead man’s, beneficent,
welcoming. Her dark auburn hair tumbled in waves
down her back and her charcoal irises were shot
through with silver. They sparkled with delight as
she gazed at me. Her full lips parted.

“Calla.” She murmured my name as if intoning a
prayer, fervent and hopeful. Her dark eyes flickered
down, and I followed her gaze. A child, barely more
than an infant, lay slumbering in her arms. The
child’s peaceful face drew me forward a step. As I
peered down, the child’s eyes fluttered open. Night
sky full of twinkling stars. Eyes like his mother’s.

Ren.

He gazed at me. An exuberant cascading laugh
escaped from his lips and he clapped in
recognition and celebration. A warmth like home
flared to life within my chest. I looked at Corrine
Laroche and the smile died. The shadow loomed
behind her, a gathering storm cloud of destruction.

My mouth opened, ready to cry out a warning, but
my breath wouldn’t come. Translucent ink bands
poured over her neck and shoulders. The snaking
black vines wrapped around her arms. She began
to scream and Ren tumbled from her grasp. He
cried out in fear. I lunged forward to catch him, but
another pair of sinewy arms snatched the child from
the air. Corrine shrieked as the wraith took her, her
body bound in undulating black ropes that pulsed
and twisted along with the throes of her agony.

I dropped to my knees in horror. A snicker pulled
my gaze from the tortured woman. Emile Laroche
glowered at his mate, his watercolor blue eyes full
of scorn. He glanced at the bawling child in his
arms. His shoulders twitched and he shook his
head; his dirty blond hair fell forward, brushing
against his chin, shadowing his features,
transforming his pointed face into a mask of
devilish cruelty. Ren screamed and Emile’s mouth
slashed thin, a knife point of revulsion. He gripped
the child more tightly. With a final disdainful glance
at Corrine’s convulsing form, he turned his back on
her and strode away. Ren’s shrieks of fear rang in
my ears; the baby’s cry united with his mother’s
screams in a ghastly chorus.

I couldn’t move. My eyes were locked on
Corrine’s torment. A figure loomed beside me; my
face turned. Ren stared at the wraith-bound woman.

He was no longer a child but a young man, my
intended mate. The boy’s charcoal eyes that had
sparkled like a galaxy were now flat and hollow. His
dark hair was plastered by sweat to his forehead
and neck. A mosaic of purple, yellow, green, and
black bruises covered his torso. Crimson welts and
burn scars created a grotesque pattern on his arms
and back. His eyes moved slowly over his mother.

He frowned as though the scene of horror that
played out before him made no sense. He shook
his head and sighed.

“Oh God, Ren.” I reached for him, but my hand
passed through his body.

He continued to stare at the screaming woman.

His gaze didn’t turn to me, but his lips moved
slightly.

“Where are you, Lily?” His wrist jerked.

Something caught the light, flashed blue: my ring,
looped over the tip of his finger, swinging like a
pendulum marking time he didn’t have.

Slashes appeared on his shoulders, skin
opened, blood poured down, washing his body in a
crimson flood. Red liquid ribbons slid around his
arms, wrists, fingers. He dropped to his knees,
head bowed. Corrine and I screamed together.

I gasped for breath as my eyelids snapped open.

The nightmare swirled at the edges of my mind. The screams had become howls echoing in my ears. I struggled not to thrash on the bed, trying to slow my heartbeat. A hol ow sadness slowly overtook the fear that dragged me from sleep.

My heart slowed. The world returned. I was stil weary and guessed I’d slept little more than an hour.

Only half awake, my fingers clutched at the ring Ren had given me the night of our union. Even in the darkness of my room it gleamed, catching the faintest starlight that trickled through the glass ceiling. I rol ed onto my side, closing my eyes, but the moment I did, I could see Ren bleeding again. Sleep wasn’t an option—at least not for a while.

I slipped from my room, not having a sense of where I’d go. The only thought driving me from my bed was that wandering the hal s of the Academy would distract me from the horror of that dream. I glanced at the next door down the hal . Part of me wanted to go to Shay, to apologize and seek comfort in his arms. But I was stil too unsettled by this place, by the fight with Emile. Too many things about that battle shook me to the core, fil ing me with doubt. Not only Lydia’s death but my own choices. I hadn’t kil ed Sasha. I hadn’t wanted to. Would I be worth anything to the Searchers in battle?

As I walked, I twisted the ring on my finger, remembering the way it had gleamed in my dream.

What did it mean that I’d accepted this sign of Ren’s devotion but stil left him at the altar? Did that make me a traitor or just a coward?

My somber thoughts were interrupted when my nose twitched. A familiar, al uring scent led me to a staircase and down. I took another deep breath, staircase and down. I took another deep breath, letting the rich, heavy aroma pul me forward. Two flights down I walked into a long, broad room fil ed with tables. A few lamps glowed, gently il uminating the space.

I quickly found the source of that delicious scent.

Several glass French coffee presses rested atop one of the tables. Steam curled from coffee cups the Searchers sipped while sitting and talking quietly with one another. Monroe poured coffee into Tess’s cup. She wasn’t crying now, but her face was tight with grief. Adne was with them, a guitar in her lap.

Connor was there too, looking a bit haggard. I was surprised to see Silas sitting next to Monroe.

The mood of the room made it clear the Searchers had gathered to mourn their dead. As much as the coffee’s scent enticed me, I didn’t want to interrupt them. I had started to turn when I heard my name.

I looked over my shoulder. Monroe was beckoning. I approached the table hesitantly.

“Do you need something?” the Guide asked.

“No,” I said, uncomfortable now that al their eyes were on me. “I wasn’t sleeping wel and I smel ed the coffee.”

“From upstairs?” Connor asked.

I nodded, shifting on my feet.

“Neat trick.” He smiled, taking a flask from his belt and adding its contents to his coffee. Whiskey, I guessed, from the sharp, peatlike scent of the amber liquid.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” I said.

“You aren’t.” Tess gestured for me to sit, pouring a fresh cup of coffee and pushing it in front of the empty chair beside her. “Please join us.”

“We’re just sharing stories,” Adne said. She idly strummed the guitar strings. “About Lydia and Grant.”

“You could offer a story if you’d like,” Monroe said.

“It’s how we honor the dead and keep them with us.”

“Me?” I frowned, though I took the seat and wrapped my hands around the warm coffee cup.

“You saw Grant more than we did.” Silas had a notebook open in front of him, but he looked up from his writing. “You must have a story you could share.”

I thought about Mr. Selby. What could I say? He’d been a good teacher. But somehow
“Big Ideas was
my favorite class”
only sounded lame.

“I’m sorry,” I said quietly. “I real y don’t think I can.”

“No worries,” Connor said, taking a swig of his spiked coffee. “I don’t think I can take any more tales of woe tonight.”

“Don’t be a boor.” Silas had put pen back to page.

“Show some respect.”

“Lydia was a fighter,” Connor said. “She’d think we were fools to mope over her.”

“Connor,” Monroe chided, looking at Tess. But she shook her head.

“He’s right.” Tess smiled. “We’re al terribly disappointing to her right now, I’d guess.”

“You could never disappoint her.” Adne reached out and touched Tess’s cheek.

Tess’s eyes glistened, but she kept smiling.

Adne smiled too, but she wasn’t looking at Tess.

“Hey, sleepyhead, ever hear of a comb?”

I turned to see Shay hastily running his fingers through his hair, though it didn’t do much to fix the mess of soft curls. He’d pul ed on jeans and a T-shirt, but other than that, it was clear he’d just rol ed out of bed.

“Sorry,” he said. “I had some bad dreams and couldn’t get back to sleep. Then I smel ed coffee. . .

.”

“Like peas in a pod,” Connor said.

I glanced at Shay, wondering if he was stil angry.

He dropped into the chair between me and Adne.

When he offered a sheepish smile, I knew he was sorry we’d fought. So was I. I leaned in and kissed him on the cheek.

“I couldn’t sleep either.”

He put his arm around my shoulders.

Silas was eyeing us.

“What?” I asked, not caring for his scrutiny.

“I’ve been weighing competing theories about the Scion,” he said. “I can’t decide if it’s more likely that your turning him enhanced his skil s or sapped them.”

“What skil s?” Shay asked.

“You have innate power,” Silas continued.

“Because of your heritage.”

“My heritage?” Shay was frowning. “You mean al that knights and demons stuff you were talking about before?”

“I mean your father, of course.” Silas tilted his head, squinting at Shay’s face before he turned back to his notebook, scribbling furiously.

I sat up. “Are you taking notes on him?”

“Of course.” Silas didn’t raise his head.

“Knock it off!” I slapped the pen out of his hand.

Silas gaped at me.

“You know.” Connor grinned at me. “I think I kind of love you.”

“I was merely recording my observations.” Silas went after his pen. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

“I’m not an opportunity,” Shay sputtered. “I’m a person.”

“You’re the Scion,” Silas countered. “It’s imperative that we have a ful grasp of your potential before we make our next move. Anika has put me in charge of gauging your ability to carry out the necessary tasks.”

Monroe sighed. “I don’t think she meant for you to notate al your interactions with Shay, Silas.”

“Yeah.” Connor slugged back more coffee and refil ed his cup. “Why are you always such a freak?”

“You’re a knuckle dragger.” Silas sat down, glaring at Connor. “I like me more.”

“I stil don’t understand what you mean about my heritage,” Shay said, pouring his own cup of coffee.

“I don’t even remember my father. He died when I was three.”

Silas looked at him, brow furrowed.

“I’ve been toted around the world by Bosque Mar for the past sixteen years,” Shay said. “You cal ed him the Harbinger earlier today. He’s obviously not my uncle. What’s the big deal about my father?”

The room abruptly seemed colder, and even Silas blanched as Shay spoke the Keeper’s name.

“Yes, that’s true. Bosque Mar is not your uncle,”

Monroe said. “But your father was one of the Keepers.”

Shay’s face grew pale. “Thanks for reminding me.”

“That’s not what matters, Shay,” Monroe said.

“What matters is you’re the Scion.”

“Does that mean I’m not human?” The cup in Shay’s hand began to shake as he looked at me, eyes pleading.

“You are human . . . or at least you were until I turned you.” I rushed to reassure him, and then I glared at Monroe. “I can tel the difference between mortals and our kind. Shay isn’t a Keeper.”

“You’re suddenly an expert on Scion lore?” Silas spat.

“Gently, Silas,” Monroe said quietly. “The Keepers would have needed Shay to remain ignorant of his heritage.” He focused on me. “And they would have kept such knowledge from the Guardians as wel .

And, Cal a, it’s important that you understand that the Keepers themselves are human. Just as we are.”

The breath caught in my lungs and a sickening twist coiled through me.

“So they were lying,” Shay said. “They aren’t some mystical Old Ones.”

“Lying is what they do best,” Tess said.

I managed to choke out a question. “But how can they be human? They don’t smel human, and neither do you, for that matter. And what about al their powers?”

“It’s the use of magic you can sense, Cal a, the lingering scent of that power. Searchers and Keepers are tapped into something outside themselves, but we are al stil human. There was a time when humans were closer to the earth and its inherent powers,” Monroe said. “Those with the strongest connection to elemental magics and the ability to wield them were set apart from their communities. They were healers, wise men and women.”