vampires mage 02 - witch hunter (8 page)

Rosalind couldn’t breathe, and merely grunted.

The queen leaned in closer. “And, three, we haven’t been sent to kill you, but to bring you to your new master—”

Rosalind kicked Antu hard in the gut, and the queen dropped her. Long, sharp claws sprang from the demon’s fingertips.

Shit. Maybe I can drown this monster in the bathtub.
Rosalind turned to run for the bathroom, but Antu grabbed her by the hair again, yanking her back.
I need to get out of here.

Antu slipped her arm around Rosalind’s neck, pinning her in a chokehold. “Let’s start by getting rid of this pretty human hair of yours. Then I’ll carve off some of your face.”

Rosalind gripped Antu’s arm, then thrust her hips back sharply, leaning forward. Grunting, she pulled the queen over her head, throwing her to the ground.

Gasping for breath, she watched half her hair fall to the stones along with the queen. She pressed her foot into Antu’s neck, pushing down.

The ker grabbed her leg, twisting it so Rosalind spun to the ground. She smacked down hard on her back on the stone. Pain splintered her skull and ribs.

Antu would eat the flesh off her face.
Get up, Rosalind.

She pushed herself up, panic gripping her heart. She could hear the other keres moaning nearby, and knew that she needed to end this fight before one of them found it within themselves to join the fray again.

As Rosalind struggled to stand, Antu slashed for her face with her claws. Rosalind darted out of the way, rolling over the cold flagstones.

She sprang up again, right in front of the bay window.
Maybe Caine won’t be the only one around with the honor of defenestrating a queen.

She’d seen Antu’s reaction when she’d mentioned the wings—the queen had said something about worrying about her own mutilation. Strong word, and obviously a sore point.
I just need to throw her off guard.

“I once saw a pigeon with broken wings,” she said. “Just stuck in a parking spot.”

“What?” Antu snapped.

“It couldn’t fly, and just had to sit there in its own filth, waiting for death. I’d never seen anything so sad in my life, and I had to break the creature’s neck to end its misery. I think it’s time someone did the same for you. Because what’s the point of a filthy little bird with no wings?”

Antu’s black aura burst from her body like volcanic ash, and she charged for Rosalind. At the last second, Rosalind grabbed the queen’s hand, using her inertia to swing her straight through the bay window. Glass shattered around her, and Rosalind peered down, watching the queen’s white dress flutter in the wind as she plunged, screaming all the way down. Rosalind’s blood roared in her ears as she watched Antu smack against the stony ground nine stories below. Blood soaked her white dress.

Shit shit shit.
That solved the immediate problem, the one about having her face cut off and becoming enslaved to a new master. But throwing a ker queen out the window
probably
brought a host of larger problems along with it. Not to mention that someone was trying to abduct her.

Her body trembled from a combination of adrenaline and fatigue. From the shattered window, freezing wind whipping into the room, rippling over her naked body.

She stared at the two injured demonesses on the ground. The one she’d stabbed clutched her ribs, moaning, while the other began to stir, black blood still pouring from her nose.

Rosalind considered knocking the ker out again—but maybe she could use her. She rushed over to the two demons, pulling all the weapons from their bodies and gathering them into her arms.

She crossed to the armoire and pulled it open, dropping the knives inside. Shivering, she surveyed the clothes. The entire thing was hung with long, flimsy dresses—most of them sheer, with plunging necklines.
Obviously chosen by Caine.

She searched lower, and her lips curled into a smile as her gaze landed on sleek, black leather pants and shirt—not unlike the clothes the keres had worn. A pair of thigh-high black boots stood in the corner.
Jackpot.

She yanked the clothes from the wardrobe, and when she did, she found a small arsenal of blades beneath them—even finer than the ones the keres had carried. Caine had thought of everything—too bad she hadn’t found it all
before
Antu had paid her a visit. Running her fingertips over the leather fabric, she could feel its strength. It was fortified with some sort of thin metal—steel perhaps.

This wasn’t just clothing. It was armor.

She cast a quick glance back at the two injured keres. They still lay prone on the floor, but one of them was trying to sit up.
I need to hurry.

Crouching down, she pulled open an armoire drawer, revealing an array of lacy underwear. Unlike the leather clothes, these were the opposite of practical; each piece was skimpier than the next.

She slipped into a lacy lavender pair of panties with a matching bra before pulling on the pants and shirt. The clothing hugged her body perfectly. She grabbed the boots from the armoire, pulling them up over her pants.
Now I’m beginning to feel like myself.

Conveniently, the pants came equipped with sheaths for the knives, and she grabbed several blades, sliding them in. She kept one in her hand as she crossed to the mirror in the bathroom.

With a gasp, she surveyed herself in the mirror. Blood poured from ragged puncture holes in her neck, and now she had meth-head hair to match her tired eyes and face—half of it was cut off jaggedly at her chin, while the other half hung, partially frayed, over her shoulders.

She gripped the knife, inspecting the blade.
Sharp enough.
With one hand, she pulled the long pieces into a ponytail, slicing off her tresses.
I’m not the same girl I used to be. There’s no reason I should look like I am.

Chunks of her glossy brown hair fell to the floor, and she stared at herself in the mirror. She looked like something from an apocalyptic nightmare.

A grim smile curled her lips.
But I also look like a warrior, and that’s what I need to be if I want to get Tammi back.

Something rustled in the next room, and she ran in, her knife ready in her hand.

One of the keres—the one she’d punched—sat up. The demoness hunched over, puking a stomach-full of crimson blood onto the stone floor. It occurred to Rosalind that at least some of that was her own blood, which made her stomach turn.

She grimaced. She’d only been in the room about fifteen minutes, and already the place was covered in blood, vomit, and human hair.
No one should ever invite me over as a houseguest.

The ker wiped her mouth off on the back of her hand before looking around frantically. “Where are my blades?”

“I took them.”
Time for a little questioning.
Rosalind knelt down, grabbing the demon by her throat and held the blade’s sharp edge to her jugular. The creature’s silver eyes looked glazed. Even if she’d had her weapons, she’d have been in no condition for a fight.

“Tell me your name,” Rosalind commanded.

The ker’s already pale face had gone completely white. “Bianca.”

“Bianca. I need you to tell me what you know about at the massacre in Harvard Square tonight.”

Bianca blinked. “I don’t know anything about it.”

Rosalind fingers tightened on the hilt. “I don’t want to hurt you, Bianca. But I will if I have to. And since you did try to kill me, I won’t feel awful about it.”

Bianca tried to inch away, but Rosalind gripped her hair tighter.

“I don’t know about a massacre,” the ker stammered. “She keeps us in the dark. The literal dark.”

“How many of you are there?”

“Hundreds.”

“What does she want with you?”

“I don’t know?”

Rosalind bit her lip, searching the demon’s eyes. She would do anything to protect people from another massacre—anything, perhaps, except torture. She’d tortured one demon before—Malphus—and he hadn’t even turned out to be the bad guy. That was enough guilt for a lifetime, not to mention the fact that a desperate person was likely to say anything to stop the pain.

Still, even if she wasn’t going to torture Bianca, she needed the demon to fear her. She pushed the blade harder against the ker’s neck, the point just slightly piercing the skin. “Who sent you kill me?” She corrected herself. “I mean, to abduct me?”

“Erish.”

“Why?”

“She plans to take you to your new master. Erish has lost her mind, I think.”

“Who is the new master?”

“I have no idea.” The corner of the ker’s mouth twitched as she answered, and Rosalind had the distinct impression she was lying.

She’d come back to that one later. “How did Erish recruit you?”

“You don’t understand what she’ll do to me if I tell you things. She’s changed,” Bianca hissed.

Seven hells.
Rosalind bared her teeth. “Maybe you should be afraid of what
I’m
going to do to you.”

“She promised to give us our wings back if we obey.”

Rosalind shook her head. “She’s not going to give your wings back.”

“Why?”

“Because she’s an asshole.”

Bianca’s eyes glistened, but she merely stared at Rosalind.

Rosalind glanced at the door. At any minute, someone was going to realize there was a dead ker queen on the esplanade, and she’d come from Rosalind’s window.

She gripped Bianca’s hair. “Okay, Bianca. I’m going to tie you up and come back for you. There’s still a lot more I need you to tell me, and I know you’re lying. But right now, I need you to tell me where Caine is. I’m going to find him. And as long as I make it there alive—if you’ve given me good information—I’ll let you live.”

Bianca’s eyes scanned the room. “What happened to the queen?”

“She jumped out a window. She was upset about her wings.”

Bianca’s eyes widened. “You killed our queen.”

“I realize that’s probably a breach of protocol,” Rosalind shot back, “but she
was
trying to cut off my face.”

“Fair enough.” Bianca eyed her warily. “You might as well kill me, too.”

“Tell me where to find Caine,” Rosalind commanded.

“Fine. It’s simple. Walk to the end of the hall—the same way you came in. Take the stairs just one floor up. His room is near the painting of Lord Byron. But you’ll need to do something about the smell of your blood, or the vampires will slaughter you in seconds.”

A memory sparked in Rosalind’s mind—the last time she’d been to Caine’s room. It
had
been right next to a painting of Lord Byron in a turban.
She’s telling the truth.

Rosalind surveyed the demon for just a few seconds. The keres were gaunt as hell—someone had been starving them. “Thank you for your help. I’ll make sure you’re taken care of when I return. And that you get fed, once I get to Caine’s room safely. What do I do about the blood?”

Bianca nodded at the other ker, who was bleeding out on the floor. “Use her blood. Rub it on your neck. It will mask your human smell.”

“I’ll have more questions for you later. Right now, I’m going to bind you in the hawthorn boughs so you can’t escape. And when—”

“You really think Erish won’t return my wings?” The ker’s eyes were frantic.

Nope.
“Why would she, if she can continue using you forever?”

The ker stared into Rosalind’s eyes, then snatched at her hands, driving the blade into her own throat. Blood gurgled up through the wound, and her eyes bulged.

Rosalind stood, jumping away from the ker. Her heart hammered, and she wiped the blood off her hands onto her pants. What the hell had that been about? The wings, apparently.

I guess there is no point being a ker without wings.

She glanced at the other ker, whose black dress glistened with blood. The ker’s chest was still.
Dead.
That wound shouldn’t have killed her so fast, but the keres looked like they’d been starved. Black dirt was encrusted under their fingernails, and their pale skin looked sickly.

Rosalind crouched down, smearing her fingers into the ker’s blood, then rubbing it onto her own gashes. She winced as the pain seared her neck. She rose, dizzy from her own loss of blood, and ripped a few large thorns from the hawthorn bough to add to her arsenal.

And now I’ll find Caine, before I pass out and find myself a vampire’s dinner.

Chapter 9

Rosalind stalked the hall, her heart pumping the blood from her neck. Hopefully her own blood wasn’t washing away the ker’s. Moonlight cast long, silver shadows across the black flagstones. The sound of her boots echoed off the high ceiling; the only other sound was her own ragged breathing.

Just a month ago, she and Tammi would have been hanging out in her dorm room, listening to the Pixies or Beyoncé and trading clothes. Apart from the odd scuffle with a boggart as part of her demon-hunting gig, things never got much crazier than crashing frat parties or drinking Tammi’s disgusting peppermint schnapps.

That part of her life was over, but she wasn’t going to let anything stand in the way of getting her friend back. She’d find Tammi, and when she did they’d toast Tammi’s return with champagne flutes full of peppermint schnapps. Somehow, Tammi made her feel
normal
again, like everything was okay. Even during the two days they’d been trapped in Abduxiel Mansion together, Tammi had instilled a sense of normalcy. Before the ward went up, she’d managed to sneak out to procure a whole bunch of makeup, and a bottle of
Rouge Dior
nail polish. She’d given them both manicures while they watched
The Bachelorette
. Normal stuff.

Right now, things definitely did not feel normal. Rosalind clutched her neck tighter, trying to staunch the bleeding. Maybe this wasn’t the time to get lost in nostalgia.

At the end of the hall, she paused before pushing through the doors into the stairwell. Here, she was no longer protected by Caine’s spells—not that they’d been helpful against the keres anyway.