Blood Prophecy (4 page)

Solange looked right at me then, and even through the fog of exhaust fumes, her glance was cold and sharp as a needle.

And then she smiled.

“That’s definitely not her,” I muttered. “And I’m getting that bitch out of my best friend.”

“But not tonight,” Kieran said, still crouched next to me, his jaw tight as bowstring. “Tonight we have to save them both. And soon.”

He was right.

“You run faster than me,” I said, straightening up. “So I’ll pull focus while you get her the hell out of here.”

I walked around the front of the car and stood in the middle of the street. “Wooo-hoooo!” I yelled, as if I was drunk and very, very annoying. Glances flickered my way but it wasn’t enough. I looked at the building in the opposite direction of Solange, reading the sign over the door. “Free keg at Kinsley Hall!” I yelled.

Not everyone detoured to take advantage, but at least they were all looking at the crazy girl in the road and not the guy in black cargos chasing down a bloodstained waif of a girl who ran like a deer.

Chapter 4

Solange

I knew she was a witch the moment I saw her.

She peered out of a cave set back away from the smoke-tinted woods. She wasn’t old, like the woman who’d spoken the Drake prophecy, or like Kala, or like the witches I’d read about in storybooks. She was only a couple of years older than me, at most. But there was something in her eye, some distant, mysterious quality that made me think of Isabeau. She had half a dozen pouches on her belt and holed stones dangling from braided yarn in her long brown hair. She smelled like mint and mud, even from here.

“You’re safe for now,” she said. “Once the dragon leaves, the rest of them follow. They only really care about the castle.” She smiled, stepping farther out into the haze. “They don’t even know I’m here.”

“Where exactly is ‘here,’ anyway?” I asked, still trying to catch my breath. “And how the hell do I get home?”

She blinked, emerging fully from the cave to stare at me. “You’re her,” she murmured. Her smile wasn’t remotely comforting. Neither was her laugh. “Finally.” She turned back to the cave, stopping to glance over her shoulder. “Are you coming?”

I paused but ended up following her, since I didn’t exactly have a lot of options.

The cave was small and damp, with water running in steady rivulets through the crevices. It wasn’t like the vampire caves; it was rough and unpolished without a single tapestry or rug to cut the chill. There was only a small fire in the back, a pile of pelts, a wooden chest, and iron lanterns stuck in the crannies.

“I’m Solange. Who are you?” I asked.

“Gwyneth. I’ve been hiding here for centuries.”

“Um. Okay. And you know who I am?” I guess I should have been used to it by now, but I just wanted to be invisible and unnoticeable. The feeling was familiar, as worn as a fleece blanket. And it was another sign that I was finally back to being myself.

“You’re the one she thinks about,” the girl replied. “She says your name sometimes when she sleeps. When she’s not too busy moaning and weeping.” She rolled her eyes, clearly unsympathetic.

“Who?” I asked, even though I was pretty sure I knew the answer.

“Viola.”

“Do you know who she is?” I crept closer to the fire, trying to warm my hands. The smoke from the fire made my throat hurt.

“Daughter of a lord, isn’t she?” Gwyneth answered. “Spoiled,
soft, and romantic. It was that last bit that got her killed, and trapped us here. That and her vampire blood.”

“How?”

“I was the one that gave her the spell. I miscalculated,” she admitted, crouching by the fire. “She wanted a love spell, the girls always did. By the time they were women, they’d come for babies or poison, but she was still a girl. And I didn’t know then what I know now.” She sighed. “Didn’t like the man her father picked out for her, preening about bloodlines and kings. So she came to me.”

“Love magic,” I said grimly. Montmartre had tried a love spell to control me, just after my birthday. I still remembered the alien tingle of energy inside my brain and my body. It made me itch even now, to think of it.

“My grandmother warned me not to deal with the aristocracy and matters of the heart. She preferred healing poultices and midwifery but I found it unpleasant business.” She wrinkled her nose. “Babies are messy.”

I stepped back warily as she stirred the contents of a stew. “Is that a spell too.?” I asked. “Because if this was a story, this is where I’d ask you if you were a good witch or a bad witch.”

“This is mutton stew,” she said, as if I was being ridiculous. “For supper.” She shrugged. “As for the rest, magic is magic. What you do with it is your own business.”

“But if the spell went dark, like you said, then you bear some of the responsibility, don’t you?” Just like I had to take responsibility for whatever was in me that had allowed itself to be seduced by Viola.

Assuming I ever got out of this weird-ass place.

When she smiled, it was half wild, half sad. “Love magic is always dark.”

I thought of Kieran and what we’d done for each other. He’d defied the Helios-Ra, he’d saved me from the hunters even after I’d bitten him. He’d given me his own blood the night I turned sixteen so I’d survive, so I’d change into the creature he was sworn to kill.

I honestly couldn’t think of anything I’d done for him that would make it all worthwhile.

The indescribable rush of warm, living human blood filling my veins made me fall back against the damp cavern wall as if I’d been shoved. The ceiling of the cave whirled above my head. Vertigo, thirst, satisfaction all prowled through me like feral cats.

I flashed back to Violet Hill, the trees dripping freezing rain on my head and blood in my mouth.

A girl I didn’t recognize fell to the ground.

I slammed back into the cave, head spinning. “No!” I closed my eyes, tried to will the spinning to bring me back home. Nothing happened. “No, please!”

Gwyneth circled me slowly, pursing her lips. “Haven’t you figured it out yet?”

I glared up at her through my hair. “Figured out what? That I’m time traveling?”

“No. That this place isn’t real.”

“I’m pretty sure if I was having a hallucination you’d be Johnny Depp, not some mouthy witch girl with burrs on her dress.”

“You’re inside Viola’s mind,” she explained impatiently.

The fact that sunlight didn’t drop me like a stone made more sense. “How do you know that? And why should I trust you?”

She snorted. “I don’t care either way. But she wanted a spell that was beyond my ken. I was reckless and proud. And she was far more clever than I could ever have imagined. Her spirit survived, she just needed a body. And she waited until she found one. Yours.”

“Why mine?” I asked, frustrated. “Forget I asked. She’s a vampire. She wanted to be queen or whatever, right?”

“No, Solange. She wants so much more than that.”

“What is there left that she can take from me?” I asked dejectedly.

“Whatever it is, she’ll find it. She’s been waiting and waiting for this chance.” Gwyneth narrowed her eyes. “You must have worked powerful magic to let her in.”

“I don’t even know how to do magic,” I said. Except for that undoing spell Isabeau had taught me. I’d had to go out in the middle of the night and pee on Montmartre’s love spell. Not pretty. And I’d totally do it again. But that was months ago. “She didn’t gain full control until the crown was on my head,” I said, thinking back. “Before that it was just whispers.”

“Magic always finds a way in. Viola should know.” Gwyneth shook her head. “Vampires and magic. They just don’t mix.”

I was sure Isabeau would disagree, but then the Hounds knew all sorts of things the rest of us didn’t. My family hadn’t even believed in magic before this year. Madame Veronique had encouraged our ignorance for her own mysterious purposes.

“So you can’t use magic to set us free?” I asked.

“Won’t,” she corrected. “Not again. And she doesn’t know I’m here. Her knights don’t come into the woods.”

“Ever?” Come to think of it, for knights bent on killing me, they’d given up fairly easily once I’d entered the forest. “Not even to kill me?”

“She doesn’t want to kill you. She needs your connection to your body. She needs someone strong enough to survive the possession.” She shook her head, stirring her cook pot again. “And if she catches you, she’ll do worse than kill you.”

“There’s worse?”

“She needs you alive here. She doesn’t need you comfortable. Believe me, you wouldn’t like spending centuries in an oubliette.” I knew that word. Oubliettes were dank holes in the dungeons of castles where prisoners were kept in the dark, without room to even stand up in. I shuddered. “After a while, you’d be lost. Nothing would be real, not even this place.”

“What, like a ghost?”

“Worse.” She laughed and it was a hollow sound.

“Why don’t
you
leave? She’s not possessing you.”

“I don’t have power here, not that kind.”

“But . . .”

“Leave it, Solange. I’m not your princess in the tower to be rescued.” Having uttered those very same words more times than I could count, I nearly snorted at her. But her expression was odd, tortured. Whatever it was she was feeling was physically painful. Blood oozed down her arms, soaked into the hem of her dress. The
scar across her throat started to bleed as well. Her cheekbones poked through her mangled cheek.

“You’re hurt!” I took a step toward her but stopped when she snarled wordlessly at me. I glanced away to give her a moment of privacy.

I forced myself to remember the training my parents had given me, the bits and pieces of strategy I’d witnessed, the long boring political intrigues that fascinated my father, the vicious fighting arts that made my mother glow.

“She’s protecting something,” I realized slowly. When I turned back to Gwyneth she seemed fine, and even the blood had faded from her skirt. “Viola’s got something in that castle.” I felt certain of it. Mom would point out that no one spent that much energy protecting something unless it was precious, unless it did one of two things: made you weak or made you strong. And at the end of the day, that was the same thing.

Which meant Viola was vulnerable.

If I could just figure out what it was she was safeguarding, I could use it to fight my way free. I stood up, finally feeling like a Drake again: determined, reckless, and just a little bit eager to kick some serious ass.

Gwyneth tilted her head. “The last girl Viola possessed spent ten years weeping in the back of my cave. It was annoying.”

I paused, momentarily distracted. “There were others?”

“Some. None of them lasted. They died or went mad. Even the vampires couldn’t handle it, their bodies just gave up. Viola had to retreat back here, to this warped hole between dimensions.” She grinned wolfishly. “But none of them had the look you have now.”

“Good.” I went to the mouth of the cave. “But how do I get back in?” I wondered aloud, sorting through the weird cauldron of useless historical tidbits I knew about the twelfth century. Madame Veronique was very strict on making sure her descendants knew about the beginning of the lineage. I could be grateful for it, and still not trust her.

Twelfth-century Britain: people used spoons and knives to eat, since forks hadn’t been invented yet, dresses were called kirtles, women wore wimples over their hair and hawks were kept as hunting pets.

Trebuchets, courtly love, Robin Hood.

Useless.

Wait.

Trebuchet.

They were basically giant wooden slingshots used to pelt castles with fire and stones during warfare. Nobles were always fighting one another or the king, kind of like vampire society right now. Everyone had elaborate escape routes, such as tunnels leading out of the castle.

And if they could get out, then I could get in.

A small bubble of hope nearly made me giggle. I cleared my throat. “Gwyneth?” I looked back at her. “Where’s the tunnel?”

She tilted her head, impressed. “You might survive after all, girl.”

I just arched an eyebrow. “The tunnel.”

“Three leagues past that boulder, by the oak. Stay right.”

I had no idea how far a league was, but I didn’t care. I had a plan. “Thank you.”

She nodded. “Oh, Solange?”

“Yes?”

“If they catch you, don’t lead them back here.”

It felt good to be doing something. Even if it didn’t work, I felt less crazy just attempting it, less like I was suffocating under spiderwebs. The soft woods also helped to calm me, the green light and the smell of leaves and earth. It didn’t take me too long to reach the oak tree, acorns crunching under my feet. I had to duck right under the branches to see the curtain of thick ivy on the other side. I wouldn’t have noticed it if I hadn’t been looking for it.

I pushed through the tangled ivy until my knuckles scraped against a wooden door. The boards were soft and covered in moss. The hinges were iron and they creaked loudly when I pulled at it. Centuries of dirt and water damage had warped the door. I had to brace my feet against a rock and pull until my face was sweaty and hot. It finally unstuck just enough that I could slip through the opening.