Chapter 23 #2
When they were settled in comfy chairs in Waldo’s book-lined consulting room, Oliver gave the warlock a full run down, clear and succinct, just like his debriefs at work.
But when he got to the grimaald attack, and after, his partaking of Clare’s blood, then his flight to the other dimension, he faltered a few times, clearing his throat and staring at his hands.
Waldo, conversely, became intensely focused, his eyes bright.
Finally, Oliver said, “I believe it was Clare’s blood that made me invisible. We need to find out if that is what happened.”
Waldo stroked his beard. “So Clare, it seems that you may have Golden Blood.”
Clare frowned. “I believe it’s called AOx positive.”
“In the human world, yes. But in my ancient texts it’s referred to as Golden Blood.”
“Are you saying they are the same?”
“Indeed.”
“AOX positive was only discovered a few years ago in humans,” Clare explained. “Apparently it has healing properties.”
“It has much wider magickal powers than that,” Waldo said.
“What do you know about it?” Oliver asked.
“In the early days of Motham, there were many rumors about the existence of Golden Blood. It was written that a few humans had this blood running through their veins, borne of pairings with witches and warlocks. But like many stories, it faded out of the vernacular and only remained known to seers. My father spoke of it to me. He predicted that this blood would show up again in the future. Finding it in Tween high breed humans would tie in with what my father told me, and what I have read.”
Clare’s mind was reeling. “If I have it, does that mean I’m a witch?”
“You would have witch heritage, yes. But let’s check first.”
Waldo brought out an ancient silver casket, opened it and picked out a delicate silver needle.
“Hold out your finger Clare.”
Clare watched fascinated as Waldo pricked her finger and took a sample of her blood, then mixed it with a small vial of white powder. It fizzed and sparked.
“Promising,” Waldo murmured.
“Is that all?” Clare asked.
“Be patient, my dear. If you do have Golden Blood, we will know very soon.” Waldo took the paste and put it onto a small spoon.
“Now what?” Clare craned her neck.
“I feed it to the pupae.” He placed a spoonful of the paste into a small glass aquarium full of leaves. Soon, a caterpillar moved toward it and fed greedily off the spoon. A second later, it began to shimmer, then completely disappeared.
Clare’s eyes saucered; she heard Oliver inhale sharply.
“Now we wait,” said Waldo. “It should take less than thirty seconds.”
Moments later there was an arc of sparkling light, and a moth appeared just above their heads, its dark wings covered in gold and silver markings. The moth circled and then flew to a plant on top of the bookshelf, where it rested, opening and closing its wings.
“I have never seen this happen, though I have heard tell of it.” Waldo went to the bookshelf, his long fingers moving along the spines.
He took out a volume, puffed off the dust, placed it on his desk and flicked through the pages.
“Ah, here we are—Golden Blood. When fed to lepidoptera, there will be immediate disappearance of the pupae, then transformation into a Morning Butterfly or a Dusk Moth. Dusk moths indicate the most powerful manifestation of this blood type, belonging to one lineage of necromancers.”
Oliver stared at her. She stared at him.
“There may be more to Doyles funeral services than meets the eye,” he said softly.
Clare looked up at the moth again, speechless.
“All Golden Blood has magickal properties of transformation,” Waldo continued to read. “But only the blood of a necromancer will turn pupae into a Dusk Moth.”
Clare finally found her voice. “So mine is not the same as the other missing human’s blood?” “No, it’s a sub-type. All Golden Blood is powerful, but other types are nowhere near as powerful as yours.”
“How come no humans knew of this?” Clare asked.
“Before the Great War, witches and warlocks congregated in small clusters in the forests that used to be thick around Tween,” Waldo explained.
“They looked human, walked among humans, and in those early days often practiced their magick in small ways, to heal wounds and treat illness.
But when the Great War broke out, they hid their powers behind the guise of their human appearance, to escape being herded into the barren lands that later became Motham.
“Vampires have always wanted to find this blood. Because they can only access their metaphysical potential through human blood, their species was set to gain the most from partaking of it. Let me read this extract to you: If used for good, Golden Blood shall harness love and loyalty, trust and devotion. But when harnessed for evil it can grant the partaker god-like status, unholy powers of persuasion, and inspire slavish devotion. Vampires who have access to this blood can become invisible at will. They can even warp time and space to create other dimensions if certain conditions are met.”
“What conditions?” Oliver asked.
Waldo sighed heavily. “They must partner with demonic forces.”
Oliver inhaled sharply. “The fucking grimaalds. One attacked me in almost invisible form last night. I’ve never come across a grimaald like that before.
Grimaalds could never truly harness their evil powers, their minds were too scattered—that’s how we were able to rid Motham of them.
They had no leadership, no discipline. But with the Kominsky mafia involved…
and potentially an ally in the human world alerting them to humans with Golden Blood… ”
“Yes, such a possibility was whispered about centuries ago. That a few humans would betray their own. An ancient seer referred to it as the Trifecta of Evil,” Waldo said grimly.
“Vampire. Demon. Human. Few believed it would ever come about. I certainly hoped that it would not happen on my watch. But with white magick growing, and humans and monsters more freely interacting, dark forces will attempt to destroy the harmony. There are those who still want to return to the old order of chaos, pitting monster against monster, monster against human. Even human against human.”
As Clare watched the moth on the ceiling, the silver and gold of its markings on the black velvet of its wings let out a sudden spray of sparkling light. It was hard to believe that her own blood had created something so magickal.
Waldo took down another volume from the bookshelf and leafed through its thick pages. “The problem here—and the solution, too—is that as a necromancer, Clare, your blood is a catalyst.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I will put it in plain English, as the description is very wordy. When a vampire sucks a human dry to the point of near death, a small amount of the necromancer’s blood has the power to rejuvenate that human.
” Waldo glanced up at them over his spectacles.
“In that way, an endless supply of blood could be achieved from only a small handful of humans.”
Clare and Oliver exchanged glances.
“That would make Clare a priceless asset to them,” Oliver said through tight lips.
Waldo sat back and nodded. “Exactly. Clare, your blood is supercharged.”
“That makes sense.” Oliver’s gaze locked with Clare’s. “Remember how quickly I healed? They could potentially feed a vast community with just five other humans. If they had you.”
Waldo nodded. “You are essentially the power source, Clare. Without you, they will not be able to feed their people, and the Dark Dimension will not survive.”
“Good to know it all rests on my shoulders,” Clare said, trying to lighten the heavy vibe in the room, but neither Waldo nor Oliver were smiling.
“This is not the moment for jokes, Clare. You are extremely unsafe right now,” Oliver growled.
Waldo stroked his beard. “You are in danger, yes. But you are also the key to solving this crime. But not alone. You and Oliver will need to combine your skills—and magick—to bring down the Dark Dimension.”
“Great. Fantastic. Just a small task.” Oliver raked a hand through his hair. “So what the fuck do we do now?”
The three of them stared at each other in solemn silence. Suddenly, the moth swooped, and landed on Clare’s shoulder.
“The Dusk Moth is trying to tell us something,” Waldo said. “I think you need to let Clare decide the next move.”