New Blood (11 page)

Instantly, Jax took her elbow to provide support. She could stand on her own against these outlaws, he had no doubt. But with him here, she didn't have to.

 

T
HAT DAY PASSED
much as the days before and each one that came after. Costel continued to improve. It was evident to Amanusa that he would live, but Szabo refused to believe her. In truth, he probably did believe, but he refused to let her go until Costel walked out of the hospital tent under his own power. He was sitting up in bed, taking small steps while leaning heavily on Miruna to collapse in a camp chair. And with every improvement in Costel's health seemed to come a corresponding deterioration in the mood of the camp.

Not because of Costel's health, but because of Teo's inability to break Amanusa's will. He could batter himself against it until the end of time, but she would never give in, and with every failure, his mood
grew blacker. And when Teo was in a black mood, everyone suffered.

“Why don't you just give in and give him what he wants?” Szabo asked one afternoon when Teo went snarling and stomping away yet again.

“Because he wants me broken and whimpering at his feet,” she said calmly, picking up the no-longer-clean laundry Teo had dashed from her hands. “And that will never happen. Ever.”

“He will kill you.”

Amanusa shrugged. “Then he kills me. He will not break me.”

She could sense Jax stiffen behind her in denial. His reaction made it harder for her to accept her fate calmly, as she always had before, because she felt his rebellion.

“He will kill your idiot first,” Szabo growled. “Have a care for him if not for yourself.”

Amanusa had to force another shrug, this time through her own pangs of denial. Her own life she could risk as she liked. It was not so easy to treat another's life as unimportant. But Szabo—and the rest of them—could not be allowed to know it. “Then our bargain is broken and you have no healer. This is your problem to solve, old man.”

She turned away and marched back to the stream to rewash the clothing, leaving the bandit leader muttering to himself.

“A woman should not be so strong!” he shouted after her.

“A man should be strong enough not to fear a woman's strength,” Jax muttered, startling a laugh from Amanusa.

“When did you become so wise?” she asked,
shooting him a teasing glance from beneath her lashes.

Jax gave her a crooked smile in return, after first checking to be sure no one was near. “After a very long and painful education.” He winked, then his face lost all its humor. “This place is becoming too dangerous.”

“
Teo
is becoming too dangerous.”

He took the laundry from her hands and knelt beside the frigid mountain stream. He kept insisting on actually doing a servant's job. But this time . . .

“Let me do that,” Amanusa said. “You stand watch. I don't trust that man not to come after me when he thinks no one is looking.”

This time, Jax gave up the task without argument. Doubtless he too thought Teo might ambush them. “We must leave.”

“I can't. Not until Szabo says I may.”

“No, I mean
leave.
Go to England, to Scotland and Yvaine's tower. Szabo has no power there.”

Leave Transylvania? Leave her cottage and . . . “I can't.”

“Why not?” Jax sounded at his wit's end. “Your friends will understand. We can replace Whatever—”

Amanusa shook her head, swallowing down the churning in her stomach. “It's not—I haven't got any friends. Not true ones. I—”

“What?” he snapped. “What could possibly be more important than your life?”

“Justice.”

The word seemed to echo in the forest, against the mountain walls beyond the trees. It sent Crow fluttering up from his pecking at the ground to land in a tree. He cawed a question.

“Or maybe revenge. I don't know.” Amanusa pulled Jax's shirt from the water before she scrubbed a hole through it. She poured the emotion crashing through her into the effort of wringing it dry. “These people hurt me. They
owe
me. I won't leave until I collect what they owe. I swore it, Jax. I will have justice for the wrongs they've done me.”

She looked up at him, standing tall and stalwart above her on the bank and called his eyes to her by the force of her will. “Teach me this magic, Jax. Teach me justice. Tonight.”

Slowly he nodded, holding her gaze. “If you wish it of me, I will. But know this. It is a powerful magic, one that requires great strength of will to control.”

“Do you believe I have the strength?”

“Yes,” he said. “If you have the will to use it.”

“I have it.” She did. She truly did not want revenge, but justice. She understood the difference. She wouldn't let old grief get in the way.

“Then I will teach you.”

“Tonight,” Amanusa said. “In case Yvaine needs to speak.”

 

T
HE GLORIES OF
Paris opened up before the pearly, mist-shrouded glow of the dawning sun, spreading a sumptuous feast before the eyes of any awake at this hour to see. The working people of the city, those not already hard at their labors, paused for a breath to see what the city offered up. Others, stumbling home after a night's sinning, knew only that the sky lightened, and scurried like roaches for the darkness.

A few, who had been striving all night for answers
to seemingly unsolvable puzzles, welcomed the dawn's light as a possible end to their struggle. The battle was far from won, but weary warriors deserved—required—a little rest before they could rise again to fight on.

A quartet of these paladins paused on the doorstep of the anonymous building around the corner from the Bourse to take in the sky's pastel glow.

“Get what rest you can, gentlemen.” The senior of the party settled his top hat in place on his balding head and passed a hand over the luxuriant mustachios decorating his face, smoothing any stray hairs back into place. “We'll go hard at it again this afternoon.”

“You lads may be going hard at it,” the neat, slender man said as he began a glide down the steps of the building. “I, however, do not intend to waste my first visit to Paris in not seeing Paris. I will be . . . in Paris.” He flourished his walking stick as he bowed.

“You can't, Grey,” the older man protested. “You're magister of the English conjurers. We need you at the meeting.”

“Whyever for?” Grey waited while the others descended to join him in the street.

“To represent the conjurers!”

“Relax, Billy.” The stocky man in the bowler hat, whose expensive suit strained across his shoulders, moved between the two men. “If 'e don't want to come, an' you make 'im, 'e'll just kick 'is 'eels and sulk and be no use to anybody. Not that he's much good to anybody now.”

Grey crossed his eyes and stuck his tongue out at
the well-dressed Cockney, who rolled his eyes but ignored him otherwise.

“Sir William,
no.
” The fourth man in the party spoke up. “If England's conjurer fails to attend, we'll be blamed if this conclave fails—and I can't see how it can succeed against such a foe. We face nothing less than death itself.”

“Oh, don't be so dramatic, Nigel.” Sir William adjusted his frock coat on his angular frame, a stork settling ruffled feathers. “Henry is right. Grey
will
be worthless. He's rarely anything else,” he muttered, loud enough to be heard. Grey grinned.

“But—” Sir William lifted an admonishing finger. “I expect you to use this . . .
expedition
to sweep the rubbish from that indolent brain of yours and usher in some fresh ideas. Ideas which I expect to hear promptly.”

The younger man, who wasn't quite so young as he seemed at first exposure, gave the group a cheeky salute and sauntered off down the street in the general direction of the river.

“He'll be drunk as Dick's cat when he returns.” Nigel, who towered over even Sir William's considerable height, but otherwise possessed few distinguishing features, watched Grey's departure with an expression that hovered somewhere between disapproval and envy.

“Won't affect him none,” Henry said, shifting his shoulders until the seams of his coat threatened to burst. “Just like stayin' up all night arguin' didn't bother 'im. 'E's fresh as a daisy, that one. I expect 'e will come back drunk, with 'alf a dozen new ideas to take to the conclave.”

Sir William eyed the powerfully built man with a sour expression. “Henry Tomlinson, I swear you abandon your grammar and drop your H's just to annoy me. I
know
you've been educated better than that.”

Henry grinned. “It's why I call you Billy, too.”

“I am past being annoyed by that.” Sir William assembled his dignity. “Come. Let
us
return to the hotel and get some sleep. The meetings will begin promptly at half of three.”

“Actually—” Henry fell into step beside the other men. “I thought I might take another look at the dead patch here in Paris. There's metal left in 'em. Earth, water, fire. My elements. I know I've studied the patches in London an' Manchester an' such, but maybe this one's different. Or maybe it's the same. I dunno. I want to look again. Seems to me the more we know, the better.”

“Yes, all right.” Sir William nodded, thinking as he walked. “But don't venture into the zone itself. Not unless you take someone with you. Someone without magic. One of the serv—”

“Sir.” A small woman in a modest gray walking dress, her hair tucked away beneath her bonnet, blocked their path.

“Oh, for—” Sir William broke off in exasperation. “What are you doing in Paris, Elinor? Go home. I am not going to take you as my apprentice.”

“Then I shall apply to one of the other master wizards.” Her chin tipped up, firmed with determination. “Someone will have the vision to accept what I can do.”

“Here? The continental councils are even more
conservative than we are in England. Give it up. You will never be accepted to the Magician's Council. No woman will.” He pushed past her, the other men following suit. “Go home where you belong.”

“I will never give up,” she called after them. “You need me. England needs women on its council. The world needs women among their magicians.”

“Go
home,
Elinor,” Sir William bellowed without turning around. He shook his head wearily. “That woman will be the death of me,” he muttered. “I wish I'd never taught her anything. I never thought she'd be serious about it.”

“She's your daughter?” Henry raised a brow in surprise.

“Goddaughter. Distant cousin, or niece of some sort. Parents are good people, though her mother's a bit of a radical. Female education and all that.”

“Women.”
Nigel's feet slapped the pavement. “Why can't they just keep to their place?”

“Don't they realize?” Sir William's frown deepened. “Magic is dangerous.”

“
Life
is dangerous,” Henry said slowly. “How many women die in childbirth every year?”

Both the other men frowned. As wizards, they would know intimately just how dangerous a woman's life could be.

“It bothers me,” Henry went on. “Not havin' any blood sorcerers.”

“And a good thing we don't, if you ask me,” Nigel put in.

“I didn't,” Henry muttered.

“Perhaps you're right,” Sir William said. “But the issue is moot. When Yvaine died without having
taken an apprentice, the magic was lost. We have the books, but they do us no good.”

“It should remain lost, as far as I'm concerned,” Nigel said.

“Why? Because it's women's magic?” Henry leaned forward to glare past Sir William at the other man as they walked. “What's wrong with that?”

“It's evil magic. Hence its affinity for women. Women are the weaker sex. A woman is inherently less able—”

Henry snorted, turning away. “What about Yvaine's workshop? Maybe there's something there wot can 'elp us with the books. Ain't anybody looked inside it?”

“No one knows where to look,” Sir William said. “There were rumors, years ago, that Yvaine had a tower somewhere over the border in Scotland, but no one knew where. We did look, but those were turbulent years. Dangerous for all magicians.”

“Others besides magicians searched.” Nigel gave the others a significant look. “Criminals. Murderers. Thugs. Those who wanted the power, or the gold.”

“For all our looking, no one's ever been able to find it. I believe the tower is a myth, spread by fools who know no better.” Sir William shook himself and looked around, his expression determinedly cheerful. “What pleasant avenues Paris has. Broad enough for three carriages to pass with ease.”

“You can thank Napoleon Junior.” Henry's voice held cynicism. “Since the 'Forty-eight, those years back, he's been tearin' down the city and rebuildin' the streets too wide to be barricaded.”

“Damned proletarian,” Nigel muttered at Henry.

“Bloody bourgeois,” Henry muttered back.

“Boys, boys.” Sir William sighed. “A truce, if you will. We have larger problems to solve. The world is dying in patches. We magicians are the only ones who might be able to do anything about it. And so far, we've no idea what that might be.”

T
HEY BELIEVE WE
are lovers,” Jax said when he followed Amanusa into the tent that night, before the sky had grown completely dark. “Strange, twisted lovers.”

“Let them think what they like. We know what is truth.” Amanusa took out the pins holding her braid to her head and let it fall down her back, massaging her sore scalp. She didn't wear her hair loose in this place. She didn't know why her hair made these men act like idiots, but it did, so she pinned it up.