Prophecy: Child of Light (14 page)

Crossing the room, he pushed open the other set of double doors. He carefully unbuttoned his jacket and placed it over a hanger in the wardrobe. Throwing a glance at the bed, he walked back into the living area and over to the mini bar. He couldn’t sleep when it was still dark out. He opened another whisky and went back to his room, pacing along the length of it while he tried to get his thoughts into order.

Prophecy was going to want to kill again, unless the blood Mathias had given her had helped abate the Hunger. Apart from her indiscretion in the nightclub, she had seemed fine, so there was a chance that another feed on bottled blood would free her of the effects of the Hunger. It would be better if she didn’t need to openly kill again.

When they had the key, they would need to get the first part of the scroll. He knew exactly where it was and who had it. Mathias had said that a veritable princess was holding it.

Valentine swigged his whisky.

She was one at that. Mia was always pleased to see him and he would be able to kill two birds with one stone. She would give them her part of the scroll and she would be able to help Prophecy remember things. They would need good cover to slip in unnoticed and meet with her. The families in that city were powerful and although one of them had not released their guardians, it would still prove difficult to avoid detection.

But first, they had a job to do in this city.

First, they had to go and see the Three.

T
he murky alleys they had been walking were a stark contrast to how Prophecy had imagined Paris. There was nothing beautiful and delicate about the places they had passed through in the last twenty minutes. They were dank, wet streets with little lighting in what seemed like a bad neighbourhood. She’d heard the sirens of police cars several times and had seen them as they sped down the wider roads that the alleys led out onto.

She looked at the old stone walls of the buildings around her. They looked like factories or something similar. She couldn’t quite tell.

Her brows met in a frown when she trod in a puddle that had been made in a pothole and felt the cold water seep into her boot. She shook her foot off, the scowl remaining on her face as she tried to rid her boot of water.

“I hope you know where you’re going,” she grumbled, staring at her foot. She could see Valentine’s meticulously clean boots just out of the corner of her eye. They were facing her, meaning he was probably watching her with another frown.

He’d been frowning all night. Whenever he looked at her, his brows knit and his eyes narrowed into a hard look. She knew that she’d done wrong and she’d apologised a thousand times, but it didn’t seem to be enough for him. He was still angry with her. He hadn’t seemed to hear her when she’d told him that she’d tried to resist the urge to kill but it had been too great. She could still hear his words from last night, had felt them hit her deep in the chest through her drunken haze.

She was worse than a child.

But then he’d changed, he’d looked at her with such a hunger in his eyes that all the words she’d been ready to throw at him had slipped from her grasp, leaving her lost in his eyes and wondering if he was going to do something they’d probably both regret.

It would only make things even more confusing and that wasn’t what they needed right now.

She’d awoken early tonight, before he’d risen, and had paced around the living area, occasionally sneaking glances at him when she passed his open door. She’d spent most of her time formulating an apology; the apology she’d recited at least ten times over to him throughout the course of the evening. The rest of the time, her mind kept replaying the moment in the bathroom. She could remember it all, could remember the way he’d held her close and tight, and the look in his eyes. She didn’t know what to make of it. He’d told Mathias that he hated her and he couldn’t bear her wanting to be close to him, but last night he’d been the one that had wanted to be close to her and it hadn’t been hate in his eyes.

She raised her head to look at him when he spoke.

“A good hunter knows everything about his environment,” he said and glanced up the alley. “It’s not far now.”

“A good hunter? Like the one who was following us last night?” She fell into step beside him when he began walking up the alley again.

“Him, myself, any one of the many elite.”

She frowned, her eyes narrowing as she scrutinised him. He wasn’t wearing his long red embroidered jacket any more, it had been replaced with a black one of similar stand up collar design, but he hadn’t lost the proud and confident air she’d noticed the moment she’d met him. He still reminded her of a Law Keeper.

“You’re a hunter? But hunters are human... do you hunt vampires?” Her frown remained in place. Had he been hunting her that night? Had he killed the son of her house?

“No,” he said and relief bloomed inside of her. “I hunt the hunters.”

She looked at him. He hunted the vampire hunters? No wonder he seemed like a Law Keeper. They had to be strong enough to take on the hardest of opponents and win, and Valentine looked as though he could certainly do that, especially if he’d spent a lot of time hunting the hunters that plagued their species. There were only a few vampire hunters that were skilled enough to take on a member of one of the seven pure bloodlines. Most hunters probably spent their whole life tracking and killing the weaker-blooded vampires that all of the pure bloodlines detested. Her family saw those hunters as nothing more than a form of pest control, something they were glad of as it kept the weakling population steady. Most hunters probably never met one of the seven. They were incomparable to the weaklings, their strength and abilities far superior, and their senses sharper. Most hunters who met one of them probably never lived to tell the tale.

There were only a handful of hunters that the seven had to be concerned about, and only one of them made the families worried.

Was he the one who had followed them last night?

She’d never heard of a vampire who hunted the hunters before. Her family didn’t have one, and none of the others did as far as she knew. Valentine was unique. She mused that it must take great skill and courage to fight against the hunters and wondered how long he’d been doing it for. Mathias had said that Valentine was three centuries old. How much of that time had been spent working as a hunter for his family?

“We are here.” Valentine’s voice roused her and she looked at the dull grey metal door.

He knocked. She moved to stand behind him, waiting for someone to answer and not taking her eyes off the door.

He pressed his hand against the metal.

“Cold,” he said.

She followed suit. It wasn’t just cold. It was freezing to the touch. On looking closer, she could see small intricate patterns of ice crystals near the edges of the door. What kind of place was this? What kind of witches lived somewhere so cold?

The door creaked open, revealing a set of steps and a small woman. Her silver hair was frizzy and wild, making her round face look even pudgier. She was dressed in dark clothing, her dress skimming the floor as though it wasn’t made for such a short woman. She was pale, her skin almost white in the darkness.

“You’re early,” she said in a thin voice that made her sound older than she looked, if it was possible. “We need proof.”

Prophecy looked at the hand she’d extended and then at the other one that held a needle.

Valentine stepped between her and the witch. “You are not touching her. You know who we are if you have been expecting us.”

“We know everyone who comes to our door, young man.” She smiled at him, her eyes closing and her cheeks rising with it. “Can never be too careful.”

She stepped to one side and pointed up the stairs.

“Follow,” she said and started up them, muttering to herself while she slowly mounted each step.

Prophecy could see why when she looked down at them. They were covered in a thin film of ice. It rose higher and grew thicker at the edges where it met the wall and her eyes followed it up. She let her fingertips graze the ice that was coating the walls and then looked up at the pale blue light at the top of the stairs.

It was getting colder the closer they got to it.

She moved nearer to Valentine when they finally entered the large circular chamber at the top. The walls were thickly encrusted with ice that sparkled like diamonds with an eerie blue glow. She could feel what little body temperature she had being drained from her as she moved further into the room and closer to the flickering blue fire that danced in the centre of it. She realised it was emitting cold rather than heat.

She looked at Valentine and he managed a brief smile before a door opposite them opened and revealed two other witches. One was a contrast to the short witch that had greeted them at the door. She was tall and thin, her white hair drawn back into a tight bun, making her face appear even more severe than it already looked. Her nose was slim and pointed, her brows arched highly and her chin was long. Her dress was similar to the other witches, made of a dull blue cloth that looked uncomfortable and itchy. It was tight against her body, dipping in at the waist where a belt held it, and making her look even taller than she really was.

The other witch seemed similar to herself. She was of average height and build, slim but not thin, and her silver hair was long with soft waves kinking it. She looked much younger than the other two witches, her features still delicate and not wrinkled with age. She wore the same type of dress as them and had the same pale blue eyes.

They moved towards her, the short witch falling into line beside the other two as they closed the gap. Prophecy moved closer to Valentine, wanting to feel that she was safe.

The tall thin witch clasped her hands together in front of her so tightly that her veins stood out.

Prophecy leaned back as they all looked her over, their expressions curious.

“She is so young.” The tall witch looked at the others.

“Too young.” The short witch frowned.

“To have the weight of the world on her shoulders.” The youngest witch finished.

She frowned at all of them, unsure of what to make of what they’d said. They seemed to move as one, closing in on her, but backing away again when Valentine growled at them. They bent towards each other, their faces reflecting various feelings, and she got the feeling that they were talking about her. She knew that witches didn’t need to say things out loud in order to talk with others. They could say things straight into other people’s heads. They all looked at her.

“She has red hair,” the tall witch said.

“Red like blood.” The short one reached out a hand and stroked the air as though she was stroking her hair.

“Red like her mother’s.” The third witch smiled.

Her mother? Did they know who her mother was? When the tall one opened her mouth again, she realised that they always spoke like this, in order and as one. They seemed to finish each other’s sentences as though they were one person split into three, one mind in three different vessels.

“Her mother would be proud.”

“So proud.”

“I believe so.”

“What about my mother?” She took a step towards them and Valentine caught her arm, holding her back. “Tell me about my mother.”

“We need your blood.”

“Your blood will make a key.”

“Your blood is a key.”

Her blood? She wished that they’d explain more, wished they had answered her question about her mother. Did they really know about her? Did she really look like her mother? Was this all some cruel trick?

“Come with us.” The thin witch began to move.

Prophecy broke free of Valentine’s grip and found herself following her.

“Don’t move.”

“You must remain here.”

She turned to see the young witch with her hand against Valentine’s chest stopping him from moving. Prophecy tried to give him a look that said everything would be okay, but she wasn’t sure that it would. Turning away, she took a deep breath and followed the tall witch into the other room. It felt even colder than the first one. She could hear the other two witches still talking to Valentine and it only made her more uncertain.

“Don’t enter that room,” the short witch said.

“No matter what you hear,” the younger one said.

“She wouldn’t like what you’d see.”

“But you’ll see soon enough.”

Prophecy watched them walking over to her, leaving Valentine looking lost. She wanted to go back to him, back to where she felt safe, but the witches had said they needed her blood in order to create the key and she needed that key.

The doors closed and she swallowed hard.

She stood in silence while they looked her over and she tried her best not to let her nerves show.

“Don’t be frightened.” The thin witch smiled at her.

“Never be frightened.”

“Fear is empty, pointless.”

They pointed at her clothes and she looked down at them, unsure of what they wanted. The youngest one came towards her and began unbuttoning her shirt for her.

“You want me to strip so you can take my blood? Can’t you just use a needle?” She looked incredulous as they all shook their heads in the negative.

“There are things you’ll need.”

“Things to unlock the power.”

“The power that is in your blood.”

“Power?” She frowned at them. She had power in her blood? The power to act as a key? Or something else?

They all indicated the raised slab of ice in the centre of the room. It was covered in a thick white blanket made of fur. At least she wouldn’t freeze while they prodded and poked at her naked body. Her eyes strayed to the door and she tried to sense Valentine on the other side.

Her eyes widened. That’s why they’d told him not to come in, because she’d be naked. She was glad they’d stopped him now. She was having a hard enough time knowing how to act around him already without the awkwardness this would have added.

She stripped off and placed her clothes in a pile beside her. The floor was freezing underfoot and the chill that hung in the air stole the last of the warmth from her body. She carefully hopped up onto the slab and lay down, taking a deep breath when the three women moved to stand at different points, the tall one at her head and the other two on opposite sides of her. They all smiled down at her. She moved her gaze to the icy ceiling and kept it there as they began to chant. Her skin prickled, the hairs standing on end as a feeling like static electricity filled the air. They were drawing symbols and her body began to burn. Her shoulders ached and her stomach twisted.