The wrong place at the wrong time
THE WRONG PLACE AT THE WRONG TIME
Amara
Thank Hecate, the next week goes by without any more trouble from that vampire. I finish up my last shift and start walking home, looking forward to having a few days off. But I find myself starting to wonder if I should have taken the opportunity to get more information. Lavinia keeps hounding me to get closer to the vampires, but I don’t know if I can do it that way. Every time I even think about Celine C?té, my heart starts to race. I keep picturing her on that couch, blood dripping from her sharp fangs, her hands wrapped around…
“Amara!”
My hawk familiar swoops down and hovers in front of me. A man nearby shouts in surprise, and crosses the street to get away from him.
“Merlin! What’s going on?”
His sharp, beady eyes are filled with fear. “Amara, you’ve got to go back to the hotel! Lavinia is sending a team of Hecate witches to capture Oana.”
“ What ? Why would Lavinia do that? Even if she manages to capture her, it will tip off Tudor and the other vampires that we’re on to him.”
Merlin shakes his feathered head. “Lavinia wants to take out Oana before the vampires can do anything to sabotage the Triple Council.”
I groan. This is the last thing I want to deal with, but Merlin is right. Without another word, I reach into my bag for my wand, and head back toward the Respite hotel .
With my wand up my sleeve, I race up the stairs.
“O Hecate,” I whisper as I go. “Watch over me and my workings this eve, protect all that need you, despite conscience or creed…”
The eighth floor is empty, but I still try to appear nondescript, like I’m supposed to be here. I wish I didn’t have my silk uniform on, but I didn’t have time to change into my T-shirt and jeans.
One of the hotel room doors open, and a cleaner steps out with her cart.
“Hi Amara!” she says.
“Hallie!”
My stomach drops. She can’t be here when the Hecate witches attack. It’s much too dangerous for a non-magical person.
“Hallie, are you almost finished on this floor?”
She shuts the hotel room door behind her. “No, I’ve got a few more rooms to do. Why?”
“Listen, you should-”
A loud banging rings down the hallway. It came from room 813.
Hallie looks over in concern. “What was that?”
“It was…probably just a party,” I shrug, unconvincingly.
“I’m going to check it out,” the young cleaner says, adjusting the thick-rimmed glasses on her nose. “Sometimes there are fights in the hotel, we might have to alert security…”
A scream echoes up the hallway.
Hallie looks at me with wide eyes. “We’ve got to help!”
Before I can stop her, she takes off toward the sound.
“Hallie, wait!” I yell, following her.
But it’s too late. She’s already opening room #813 with her master key.
“You’ve got to get out of here,” I plead with her, as she pushes the door open. “You don’t understand…”
“Somebody could be hurt!” she responds, disappearing into the hotel room.
I follow closely behind. The crackle of magic in the air brings goosebumps to my skin.
There’s nobody in the main room of the suite. At first, I think maybe it was all a mistake. Then we hear a shout from the bedroom .
“Give up, Oana, you’re coming with us!”
“Like hell I am, kitchen witch !”
Hallie and I rush to the door of the bedroom, peering in anxiously.
Oana stands proudly in the center of the room, clad in her red cape. Circling her are three dark-robed witches, their hoods up and their nose and mouths covered by masks. But there’s no mistaking the golden Hecate light magic that radiates from their palms. They don’t belong to my guard. I think I recognize them from Lavinia’s personal security. She must have wanted the mission to be kept secret. Only those she trusts the most.
Oana screeches, “Tudor Thornblade, Tudor Thornblade, Tudor- ”
But she’s cut off by all three of the Hecate witches, who use their combined magic to pull her into the air. She hangs suspended, her powers bound and her limbs thrashing angrily.
“Hey, stop that!”
Before I can stop her, Hallie rushes into the room. She pushes one of the Hecate witches into the other so they stumble backward onto the king-sized bed. She might not be magical, but she’s strong and brave. The witches are surprised, and Oana falls from the air, their spell broken.
But the third witch turns to Hallie, mistaking her for an opponent.
“No, don’t-!” I yell, but it’s too late. The witch uses a wave of yellow energy magic to knock Hallie across the room and into the enormous flat-screen TV. The impact shatters its screen and it falls from its wall mount, landing on top of her. I rush to her side.
Oana takes the opportunity to grab the bedside phone.
“Call Tudor! Room #813!” she shouts into the receiver. The third Hecate witch lights up the phone with golden sparks, shocking Oana so she drops it, clutching her wrist in pain.
Using all my strength, I manage to pull the TV off of Hallie. I cut my hand on a piece of glass. There are shards of broken screen everywhere. The girl’s arms and chest are covered in wounds and a pool of dark blood is starting to form behind her head. Her body is horribly limp.
“What have you done ?” I shout at the witches, my voice shaking with anger. “She wasn’t a threat!”
The Hecate witches eye each other, but I know they’re more worried about Tudor than about what they’ve done to this poor girl. This is what I hate about war. We’re supposed to be the good side, but too much fighting leads to a callousness about human life that makes me feel sick. A vampire could have recovered from these injuries. But Hallie isn’t a vampire.
She was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.
I hear the click of the hotel door open, and I know the jig is up. So do the Hecate witches. They retrieve three broomsticks from a pile on the ground and hurry to the window. It must have been the way they came in.
Silently, they fly out of the window on their brooms, like ravens into the bright city night.
“What’s going on?” demands a terrifying, booming voice.
Tudor Thornblade enters the room. He wears a crisp, dark aubergine suit and slim tie, his blond hair slicked back from his temples. Celine enters immediately after him.
Tudor’s unnaturally light eyes scan the room. When they meet mine, a horrible shiver goes up my spine.
“What are you doing here?” he says.
“We…heard shouting and came to help,” I stammer. “This girl is badly hurt…”
“It was the Hecate witches,” Oana says, smoothing out her cape and eying the open window with disdain. “They’re gone now. Came in through the window. They must have known exactly what room I was in.”
Tudor’s eye flit to Celine. “It’s how I feared.”
“Please!” I cry, crouching over Hallie’s mangled body. None of the vampires have even noticed her. “You’ve got to do something, she’s…”
I look down at her. If I could perform healing magic, I would, even if it meant revealing myself. But unfortunately, it’s never been one of my skills. Even with access to the necessary herbs and potions, I don’t know if I could treat wounds as bad as Hallie’s.
“Are we concerned about a second wave of attacks?” Celine asks.
“I don’t think so,” Oana replies. “The witches were wearing masks and dark robes. I believe it was a stealth mission. I should warn my progeny.”
She hurries out of the room .
My fear leaves me, replaced by anger.
“Celine!” I demand. She looks at me, an expression of annoyance over her chiseled features. “This girl is dying , you must be able to do something! She works at your hotel, she stopped the…the intruders…”
Celine narrows her eyes, surveying the bleeding girl. Her nostril flare slightly. “It’s too late. Even Tudor’s blood wouldn’t do anything to heal her. I can smell it.”
There’s a heavy lump in my throat. I know she’s right. The girl is on the edge of death. Her injuries were far too critical.
Why did I tell Lavinia about Oana? If I haven’t said anything, this never would have happened. Hallie didn’t deserve to die in the crossfire of a conflict she wasn’t even aware of.
I choke back my tears, looking up at Celine with desperation. My words come out as a strangled whisper. “You’ve got to try. Please.”
Our gazes lock. Celine stands so still. Something flickers behind her eyes.
She turns to Tudor. “Turn her.”
Tudor’s lip twitches. “What?”
“Turn her,” Celine repeats. “You said you wanted to create another progeny. It’s a perfect opportunity.”
The older vampire looks at her skeptically. “The cleaner …”
“Yes!” I add, a desperate ache of hope in my chest. “She doesn’t have family here. She’s new to the city. Nobody would know she’s missing. And she’s brave! She jumped in front of the witc- I mean, the intruders!”
“Why not?” Celine asks curtly. She kicks aside the broken TV like it’s a cardboard box. “If you don’t like her, we can always stake her later. No harm.”
Tudor sighs heavily. “Very well. But you’re responsible for burying her.”
“Fine,” Celine agrees. She crosses to the bedside table and picks up the phone without dialing. “Concierge. Don’t send anyone to room 813 for the remainder of the night.”
Her Creator crouches down beside Hallie in a quick, predatory motion that makes me jump. I scramble away from them, cutting my ankle on another shard of glass as I go. Celine eyes my wound, the tips of her fangs protruding slightly from her lips.
Tudor bends down over Hallie’s body. Without glamouring her, he sinks his teeth into her already-marred neck. He drinks from her like an animal in the wild.
My heart pounds, a deafening drumbeat in my ears.
What have I just done?
Celine
She can’t have much blood left in her. The carpet is stained irreparably crimson. We’re going to have to tear out the entire floor. Renata will throw a fit when she finds out.
It’s not the first time I’ve seen Tudor turn a vampire. He’s ruthlessly efficient, and the more blood he drinks, the stronger he becomes. It’s been many, many years since I’ve drained a human completely, but I remember how immensely satisfying it is. The incredible power, the animalism that comes from allowing yourself to totally lose control.
It stirs a matching hunger in me.
But then I remember the bartender trembling in the corner of the room, and I suppress that primal urge. She gets to her feet shakily, her eyes on Tudor like a gazelle watching a lion take down one of its herd.
“You should leave now,” I tell her.
She swallows thickly, her gaze still on the grisly scene unfolding before us. “No, I can…I can stay.”
Her words surprise me. I’m impressed by her boldness. Most breathers would have fled by now, concerned only with saving their own skin.
But I sense that she’s not like most breathers. There’s something different about her that I can’t quite place. It’s what drew me to her when she interrupted my last meal. I have to admit, her rejection stung a little bit, although I respect her choice. It does make her all the more fascinating, however.
She swallows, and holds herself tightly as she watches Tudor work. Despite the dire circumstances, this moment feels almost intimate. I find myself taking her in. The warmth of her golden-brown skin. The sunshine in her hazel eyes. Her features emphasize her human aliveness in a way that’s almost unbearable to witness…for a vampire wh ose heart hasn’t beaten in three hundred years.
“Celine,” Tudor says sharply. His words break me out of my reverie. He stands over the girl’s body, blood dripping from his fangs and chin.
“Yes,” I reply, kneeling down beside her. I pick a wound that’s already bleeding, close to her wrist. The delicious ambrosia of her blood is renewing, filling me up. But it only whets my appetite.
I can hear the thrumming of the bartender’s heart, beating quickly as she watches me drink. A thought crosses my mind that I wish it were her blood I was drinking. With effort, I push the desire away. I have to focus on the task at hand.
Soon, the girl’s pulse is gone. She’s completely drained of blood. Lifeless. From out of the corner of my eye, I see the bartender put a hand to her mouth, but she doesn’t make a sound.
Tudor looks at me, his mouth stained red. Then he raises his wrist to his lips and bites, his fangs piercing the delicate skin. His blood is thick and smells rich and complex. It drips lazily from his vein. He takes the girl’s limp head in his other hand and puts his wrist against her mouth.
He’s deliberate and practiced, and the dark liquid quickly starts to fill her body. I sense a stirring within her, although her heart ceased beating several minutes ago. It’s a power outside the natural order of life. One much older than this hotel, this city, this country. A sort of magic that’s haunted mankind since the dawn of time.
I rise, circling my Creator and his newest progeny. The bartender turns to me, her eyes rimmed with red.
“How long will it take to work?” she asks.
“If it works, it could be several hours.”
She looks at me anxiously. “ If ?”
I shrug. “Most times it doesn’t take.”
“ Most times?”
Tudor takes his wrist from the girl’s mouth, and licks it. It stops bleeding, and the wound knits into a clean line. It will heal over the course of the night. Then he picks the girl up like she’s a rag doll. Her eyes stay shut, but her nose wrinkles slightly, and her lips tremble. The bartender exhales, putting a hand to her chest.
“I’ll go ahead,” I say. “And make sure no one is watching. ”
“Good. And you,” Tudor looks to the bartender, “will tell no one what you saw here.”
She nods. Her fear is enough to convince Tudor that she’s not a concern. Besides, he’s got other things on his mind. Like the Hecate witches.
I can’t believe his suspicions were true.
This is going to change everything.