Ocean of Blood Page 10

  “This pleases you, young monkey?” Evanna purred, twirling for him, letting the hem of her dress swish around her like a mist.

  “It pleases me a lot,” Larten said weakly. He’d meant to come out with some lavish compliment, but that was the best he could manage.

  “Vampires are simple creatures,” Evanna giggled. “So easy to please. I wish I was like you. Life would be so straightforward if I could be content with shining like an angel, winning the heart of every man who saw me. I think I would…”

  Evanna kept talking but Larten was no longer focused on her words. His heart was pounding and he had only one thought in his head. Not even a tiny part of him cried caution. He yearned for Evanna totally, as he had never longed for a woman before.

  He rose shakily as Evanna prattled on, steadied himself, wiped his lips dry, then took hold of the heavenly maiden in the long white dress. Evanna thought he wanted to dance and she laughed. But then he leaned forward and kissed her, and everything suddenly, drastically changed.

  “You cur!” Evanna yelled, more shocked than outraged. She pulled back from him and he tried to follow. Snarling, she lashed out with her right hand. The long nail on her little finger caught the flesh high up his left cheek, dug in deep and ripped a channel down to the side of his lip, where it tore free.

  Larten shrieked and fell backwards, blood oozing from the wound, his eyes wide with fright and pain. For a moment he thought Evanna was going to finish him off and he cowered as she fixed him with a glare and her hands rose into claws.

  Then the Lady of the Wilds caught herself and took a step back. “Get out!” she barked.

  Larten didn’t wait to be told a second time. Stumbling to his feet, he ran for his life, trying to stem the flow of blood by tearing a strip of material from his shirt and pressing it to his cheek.

  Evanna only meant for him to leave her sight and come back once she’d calmed down. But as he ran, she realized he had taken her order the wrong way. He thought she was banishing him. She started to call after him, to say that he could stay and she would repair the flesh of his face so that he didn’t get a scar. But as the words formed on her lips, she heard a soft ticking sound. Her chest tightened and she almost called to him anyway. But she knew that she couldn’t. This was destiny, and it wasn’t her place to interfere in such workings.

  “It most certainly isn’t,” someone said in a pleasant yet chilling voice. “You did well to hold your tongue. I might have had to cut it out if you hadn’t.”

  Evanna saw a pair of green boots coming across the floor towards her. The man inside them must have been standing almost directly in Larten’s way when he fled, but she wasn’t surprised that the vampire hadn’t seen the uninvited guest. The tiny meddler only revealed himself when he wanted to be noticed, and only when such sightings were guaranteed to lead to conflict and mayhem.

  “I didn’t know that you were watching him,” Evanna said softly.

  “Oh, yes,” her visitor smirked. “I have been keeping a close eye on Master Crepsley for a long time now. He’s heading down a deliciously dangerous path and I plan to be there when he comes to the drop at the end. In his darkest hour I will be at hand to reach out to him and offer him hope. What a lucky man he is to have a friend such as myself watching out for him. Don’t you agree, daughter?”

  Closing her eyes, Evanna sighed and offered up a short prayer for Larten and Malora, even though she knew, as an agent of destiny with the power of foresight, that her prayer wouldn’t help the poor, doomed pair in the slightest.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Larten staggered down the hill from the cave, his cheek stinging, blood dripping from the sodden rag covering his wound. The pain and night air sobered him up briskly. How could he have been such a fool? Evanna had killed vampires for less. He didn’t blame her for cutting his cheek. He was just surprised he’d gotten out of the cave alive. In a way he was sorry that he had—at least he wouldn’t have had to live with his shame if she’d killed him.

  On unsteady legs he weaved his way to the edge of the pond. Making sure he wasn’t in range of any poisonous frogs, he knelt and peeled the rag from his cheek. Fresh blood cascaded down his chin. Moaning softly – more from guilt than pain – he cupped a handful of water and splashed it over his face. It stung, but not as much as he’d thought it would.

  Lowering his head, he drove it deep beneath the water and held it there until he ran out of breath. When he came up gasping, he heard footsteps. He guessed that the witch had come after him. Instead of fleeing, he held his position, staring into the water as the ripples cleared, hoping to die honorably when she attacked.

  But when he glimpsed her reflection as the person came closer, he realized it wasn’t Evanna. It was her apprentice, Malora.

  “Does it hurt terribly?” she asked, kneeling beside him.

  “I have known worse,” Larten sighed. He had suffered many more serious injuries while training inside Vampire Mountain. But his pride had only taken this severe a beating on that initial night of fighting at his first Council.

  Malora passed him a clean handkerchief. He thanked her with a short smile, then winced as he pressed it to his wound. “I have a needle and thread,” she said, patting a bag by her knees. “I can stitch you up if you wish. If I sew cleanly, the scar shouldn’t be too noticeable.”

  Larten considered her offer, then dismissed it. “I will bear the scar openly,” he said. “It will remind me what a fool I was and hopefully help me never repeat the mistake that I made tonight.”

  Malora smirked. “You tried to kiss her, didn’t you?”

  Larten nodded. “She struck me, then chased me off. I am shocked that she did not kill me.”

  “It was the wine. If you’d been sober, I’d be wrapping your severed head in a cloth now. You’re not the first to try to take advantage of her,” Malora said in answer to his raised eyebrow. “I’ve had to pick up the pieces of a couple of overly amorous suitors in the past. But Evanna knows the effect wine has on mortals. You angered her, obviously, but she realized your pass was more clumsy and innocent than cynical and insulting.”

  “Will you give her my apologies in the morning?” Larten asked.

  “No,” Malora surprised him. “I’m leaving with you.”

  “What are you talking about?” Larten frowned and the gesture brought a fresh torrent of blood from the cut.

  “I told you I was unhappy,” Malora said. “I’ve been waiting for an escort to lead me out of here. You’ll do.”

  “Wait a minute,” Larten said, alarmed. “I am no escort. You do not know where I am going. I might not see another human for months.”

  She shrugged. “That doesn’t bother me. I might not even go back to my human life. I’m interested in vampires. I want to learn about your ways, maybe become one of you.”

  “No!” Larten barked. “I do not want an assistant. I am not a General. You heard me talking with Evanna. I am confused, lost. I do not know what I want for myself, so I can hardly make decisions for you.”

  “I’m not asking you to make any decisions for me,” Malora said coolly. “I’ve already made them. I’m coming with you. Where you lead doesn’t matter. I don’t care that you’re not part of the clan, that you might never be again. I just want to travel with you awhile. When I’ve had enough of your company, I’ll move on.”

  Larten stared at the girl, not sure what to say. “You are too young,” he tried. “A vampire’s life is hard and testing. I could not make allowances for a child.”

  “If I’m old enough to be a witch’s apprentice, I’m old enough to serve a vampire,” Malora huffed. “As for making allowances, that won’t be a problem. I need your help to get out of here, but once we reach civilization I’ll look after myself. If I can’t keep up, you have my permission to cut me loose.”

  Larten tried one last tactic. “You might not be safe traveling with me,” he said darkly. “What if I try to kiss you like I kissed Evanna?”

  “Nonsense,�
� Malora snorted. “You’re not the type of man to make an advance on a girl like me. Even if you were… well, I have sharp nails too, only I’d slit your throat, not your cheek.”

  Larten laughed, then grimaced as his wound flared. “Very well,” he muttered. “As long as you understand that you are not my assistant, just a companion, aye?”

  “Of course,” Malora said meekly, then added wickedly, “master.”

  Larten pushed himself up. He offered Malora a hand, but she waved it aside and hopped to her feet. Smiling brightly, she asked, “Which way?”

  Larten blinked, then looked around and pointed to his right.

  Malora shook her head.

  “Left?” he tried weakly.

  “An excellent choice,” she beamed and started down the path ahead of him. Larten thought about fleeing in the opposite direction – she couldn’t catch him if he flitted – but he didn’t want to leave the girl alone in the dark. Wringing blood from the handkerchief, he reapplied it to his cheek, rolled his eyes at the heavens, then followed after Malora like a lamb.

  Part Five

  “And like a sliver of deadly mercury,

  he attacked.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Larten blew his nose, doubled over and coughed. His face was red when he came up for air and he had to spit a mouthful of thick, horrible phlegm into an already laden handkerchief.

  “Give me that,” Malora said, taking the snot-riddled rag and handing him a fresh replacement. Her nose wrinkled as she dropped the handkerchief into a tub of hot water. This was the fifth he’d gone through since sunset.

  “I didn’t think vampires could catch the flu,” Malora muttered.

  “It is rare,” Larten groaned. “We are immune to most sicknesses. But when the strain of vampire flu strikes, it strikes hard.”

  He shivered and pulled his blanket tighter around himself, even though it did no good. He had come down with the symptoms a couple of weeks earlier. He’d worsened steadily for ten nights, but then seemed to recover. He was surprised by his rapid comeback—vampire flu often killed those it struck, or stayed in their system for months on end.

  Malora pressed the back of her hand to the vampire’s forehead, checking his temperature. She hadn’t learned much in her years with Evanna, but she’d picked up some helpful healing tips.

  “Drink more broth,” she grunted.

  “What about ale?” Larten asked hopefully.

  “If I catch you anywhere near a mug of ale, you’ll be sleeping in the street,” she snapped. It was a familiar threat and he knew better than to dismiss it lightly. She had driven him from his room more than once in the past when he’d drunk too much and irritated her.

  Larten blew his nose again and studied Malora over the top of his handkerchief. She had grown into a beautiful young woman. She kept her hair short and wore trousers more often than skirts, since they were easier to travel in, but nobody could have mistaken her for a boy. She caught the eyes of gentlemen wherever they went. But even though she’d celebrated her sixteenth birthday earlier in the year – an age at which, in Larten’s youth, many girls had already married and given birth – she had never shown any interest in the men who wished to woo her.

  “Are there no spells you could use to clear this up?” Larten asked.

  “Evanna probably knows a few,” Malora said with fake sincerity. “We could visit her if you like.”

  Larten blanched and his fingers went automatically to his scar, which he traced from top to bottom. The prominent scar would have been considered disfiguring by humans, but he carried it with pride. It reminded him of his foolishness, but also his daring and good fortune—there were few vampires who could say they had invoked the wrath of the Lady of the Wilds and lived to tell the tale.

  He shuffled to the window and stared at the street outside. There weren’t many lamps, but he could see clearly, albeit through watery eyes. He wasn’t sure where they were staying. Malora had guided him for the last fortnight. They usually slept in crypts or caves, but she had insisted on inns while he was sick. He’d resisted at first – he thought clear air would be better for him – but he was so ill by the third night that he would have slept on top of a giant needle if she’d ordered it.

  As he was staring out the window, he saw an elderly gentleman approach. The man had long, white hair and a flowing, silver beard. His right ear had been cut off long ago and his face was lined with wrinkles. Although he looked ancient, and was even older than he appeared, he walked with a spring in his step that many younger men lacked.

  “I do not believe it,” Larten gasped. “Paris Skyle!”

  “The Prince?” Malora asked.

  “Aye. You know him?”

  “Only by reputation.” She stuck out an arm as an excited Larten tried to dart past her. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “To catch him,” Larten said impatiently. “I have not seen Paris in ages. I must stop him before he –”

  “It could be coincidence that of all the inns in the world, he happens to pass by this one,” Malora said witheringly. “But what are the odds of that?”

  “You think he has come to see me?” Larten asked, delight giving way to nervousness.

  “Have another look—has he moved on or is he coming in?”

  Larten returned to the window and watched as Paris paused, studied the sign outside the inn, then entered.

  “You are as canny as Evanna,” he muttered.

  “Nowhere near,” Malora sniffed. “But even the dumbest woman has more sense than the average man. Wait!” she shouted as Larten tried to push past her again.

  “What now?” he scowled.

  “You’re not meeting a Prince dressed like that,” she said firmly. He hadn’t changed his clothes recently. They were filthy and smelly, spattered with dry – and some fresh – flecks of spit and snot.

  “Paris is a vampire Prince,” Larten said. “They do not care about looks.”

  “Be that as it may, I’m not letting you leave in such a state. I’m going to call for a hot bath. Once you’ve bathed, dressed in clean clothes and blown your nose a few more times, you can present yourself to him.”

  “But if he is waiting for me –” Larten exploded.

  “– he will have to be patient,” Malora finished calmly. “I’ll take him a glass of wine to keep him quiet – they don’t have a great selection here, but there are a few nice bottles tucked away in the back – and say that you’ll be with him presently.”

  “How do you know what wine they have?” Larten asked as she let herself out.

  “I’m your assistant,” Malora said. “It’s my job to know things like that. Now make sure you’re undressed by the time I get back, and don’t be shy, you don’t have anything I haven’t seen before.”

  “Malora!” Larten gasped, but she was already gone.

  Paris was amused and impressed by Malora, and when Larten was finally allowed to present himself to his elderly friend, they spent the early part of the night discussing her. He told the Prince how they’d met and grinned sheepishly as Paris howled with laughter when he heard how Larten had acquired his scar.

  “Don’t tell anyone else that story,” Paris chuckled. “Let them think you got it fighting a lion or a vampaneze.”

  “Evanna is far more dangerous than that,” Larten said.

  “Aye, but she’s still a woman. Trust me, if you want to keep your reputation, be mysterious about this.”

  “I did not think that I had a reputation,” Larten said glumly.

  “In some quarters you do,” Paris replied kindly. “You’re not the first vampire to lose his way. We understand how difficult it can be to choose the path of the Generals. If you return to the fold, you’ll find us more welcoming than you imagine. We’ll even accept your strange choice of assistant.”

  “Malora is not a real assistant,” Larten said. “She does not show any interest in being blooded. I think she just likes having someone to boss around.”

/>   “Show me a woman who doesn’t,” Paris chortled and called for another glass of the interesting wine Malora had found for them.

  The pair chatted the night away, retiring to a cozy back room when all the other customers had gone to bed, where they drank by the light of a single fat candle. Paris sipped wine and Larten quaffed ale. (He would get into trouble for defying Malora, but he didn’t care. This was an occasion for ale.) Paris relayed the latest news from Vampire Mountain. Seba and Wester were well. Wester had become a guard and was proud as a peacock.

  “Seba is just as proud,” Paris said.

  Larten was too, though it reminded him of his own failures and he had to strain to keep his smile in place.

  Paris gave Larten some advice on the best way to fight off the flu. The Prince had endured a few bad cases himself over the centuries and he recommended herbs that were no longer fashionable but that had eased the worst of his suffering in the past.

  “But to be honest, you just have to ride it out as best you can,” he added. “It will plague you for at least another month. It comes and goes in waves, so don’t think you’ve beaten it. Wrap up warm, heed Malora’s advice, and pray to the gods to let you live if that’s their will.”

  Shortly before dawn, when they both had a rosy glow from the wine and ale, Paris spoke of his real reason for tracking down the stray vampire.

  “Seba is in poor spirits,” he said.

  “Sick?” Larten yelped with alarm.

  “No—upset. He misses you, but there’s more to it than that. Seba doesn’t care whether or not you become a General, live among humans or take some other path. He just wants you to be happy. But from reports he’s received over the years, you’re not. He senses you struggling and wandering blindly. That troubles him.”