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ATHENA’S ORACLE An Heirloom Vampires Web Series By J.D. Brown Athena’s Oracle © 2013 by J.D. Brown All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, or events, is coincidental and not intended by the author. Warning: Contains mild violence and some sexual content.
Chapter 1: Jalmari
Scandinavia —383 BCE
I followed the scent of blood here. The stench was a good sign. It meant the bodies were fresh, not decaying yet. Ice blew across the clearing. I squinted against the howling wind as snowflakes gathered atop my lashes. Ignoring the cool dampness, I tightened my thighs around the oak branch. The bark scraped at my knees as I locked my ankles. Bracing myself with one hand, I lifted the other to shade my eyes. My fingers grew numb despite the sheepskin protecting them. On the other side of the small plain, a torch protruded from a sconce stuck in the hollow of a tree trunk. Its weak flame barely stayed alive as it flickered in the storm, yet the glare reflected in the snow was enough to throw off my vision. The Svíar rarely left it lit, but tonight the sky was moonless and they feared us. “Why did they paint the snow like that?” Jesu whispered. I turned away from the harsh glow of the fire and looked to the ground. A thick red stain circled the bodies. “To call us here,” I said. “To deter us from seeking the village.” It was the first time I’d let my younger brother come along to harvest the sacrifice. Mother seldom let her pet leave the cave, but he had begged and he was now grown with his own set of fangs. Jesu lay flat against a dense branch in the tree next to mine. He shifted his weight. “That seems unnecessary.” “It is.” The stench of death alone was potent enough. The added blood meant the Svíar were more anxious than usual. Though live prey was more succulent, Mother held onto every shred of peace possible when Father was away, including the dealings with our food. So we would accept the three dead virgins laying in the center of the circle, and let the Svíar believe their sacrifice pleased us. “Only three,” Jesu murmured, his voice hardly noticeable against the winter storm. “That won’t feed everyone.”
“It’s enough. The Svíar are struggling to survive winter, too.” I motioned to the torch. “Put that out while I gather the bodies.” He nodded and then swung his legs around. Long strands of raven-black hair came loose from the tie at the nape of his neck and whipped across his pale blue face. His cloak billowed as he dropped through the air and landed in the brush. Twigs snapped under his boots. White clouds puffed from his nostrils as he emerged from the forest and crossed the field. With a flick of his wrist, the feeble fire jumped from the torch to his palm. He cupped the flame, protecting it from the wind. The light filtered through his fingers and set his ice-blue palms aglow. His lips went crooked in a ridiculous grin as he faced me, eyes wide and sparkling green. “I have mastered fire.” I huffed. “Show-off.” He chuckled and then closed his fist. The flame extinguished, basking the woods in complete darkness. My eyesight sharpened, taking in every edge and angle of the forest, the vibrant colors, and the swirl of crystal falling from the dark cosmos. A sharp pain tore into my chest, and my breath halted in my throat. Instinct threw my senses like fishing net over the area, mentally searching for the foe that caused my pain, but I found nothing. I clutched at my cloak stays, frantically trying to tear them off so that I might breath, but my muscles constricted. I couldn’t move without inflicting more searing pain. The stabbing sensation cut deep and my ribs tightened. Petrified and unable to shout for help, I lost my balance and fell from the oak tree. “Jalmari!” Jesu ran to my side. He rolled me onto my back and pushed the thick wool cloak aside. “You’re bleeding. What happened?” “I don’t know.” I tilted my chin to see the wound, but his hands were in the way as he yanked my shirt tunic down, tearing the fabric. Mother was going to whip him good for that. “Get off me.” His gaze shifted, studying the shadows. “Do you think it was a trap? The others say the humans are getting desperate.” “It couldn’t have been the Svíar,” I grunted while trying to sit up. The ache stung all the way to my spine. “We would have scented them.” “Not if it was a trap. The scent would be long gone in this storm.”
“It wasn’t a trap.” I surrendered to the pain and lay back in the snow, taking deep even breaths. I dragged my fingers under my tunic and winced as the tips brushed over the tender wound. My hand came back dampened by my own blood. My heart raced at the sight, but I feigned bravery for my brother’s sake. “There’s nothing lodged there. It’s probably an insect bite. It’ll heal.” Yet, even as I spoke, an iron and soot flavor coated the back of my throat while the overwhelming scent of sage burned my nostrils. Fear took root in my veins, chilling my blood more than the snow and ice at my back. I knew only one man with that precise scent to his essence, but Father was in Russia raiding other clans. How could his scent reach me here? “Insects in the winter?” Jesu murmured. Ignoring him, I slid my hand across the wound again, being gentle this time. A soft scar welted over the skin. I sighed in relief and pushed my father’s scent out of my mind. “Are you going to help me up, or are you going to stand around like a frightened doe?” He scoffed and then offered his hand. I took it and stood, hissing through my fangs as my chest clenched in protest. “Not a word of this to Mother,” I warned. “You think she won’t notice the blood on your shirt?” Jesu crossed his arms and waited while I pressed both palms to the lifeless virgin bodies, transforming them into a black mist. By my will, the cloud vanished into a weightless jumble, better for swift travel. “Come,” I said. Jesu was one step ahead of me. The snow that buried his boots a moment ago melted, and the earth beneath him liquefied. “Meet you at the pool.” He nodded before sinking into the ground. The forest floor swallowed him whole and then solidified, freezing over as though nothing had disturbed it. I let my own body warp until nothing but my essence was left, flying as an invisible wisp through the air, the same way my brother traveled through the earth. I hovered a moment. The harsh winds of the storm heightened as they always did, penetrating my sensitive state of existence, but there was something else present with me—something foreign. The odd sensation wound tight around my essence. My being shivered with the need to shake off the feeling, but I resisted. It’s probably the food making me ill. How can we survive the winter scavenging on the dead?
I pushed my anxiety aside and caught up with Jesu. We headed north until the forest ended and the mighty mountains began. The Svíar called our home Heldyrr—Hell’s Door. The title made Father proud. I could see the resemblance from their viewpoint. Skulls balanced on tall spikes facing outward from the rocky hillside along the eastern range. Past the spikes lay a mile-long trek through sharp bones and fat pesky crows, followed by an impossible climb up the jagged ledge, leading to a small cave entrance. Inside, the ingress sloped downward into a deep bowl in the earth where run-off gathered into an underground pool. Slaves worked near the water’s edge, washing linen and filling buckets to take back to the kitchen. Children played in the puddles puckered between the stalagmites. The youngsters favored this part of the cave. It was the farthest the sunlight reached during the day, lending comfort to their hybrid eyes. Only darkness and a murky chill followed past this point, but at least we were well out of the wind and snow. I crossed the pond to a shallow rise in the rock formation that separated this chamber from the dark zone of the cave. I pulled my essence back into visible form, landing at the top of the incline, and waited for Jesu. A small patch of cavern floor crumbled apart as Jesu rose from the earth. Pebbles and large clumps of dirt rolled off his thick mane, showering the space around his booted feet as the ground closed beneath. I helped him dust off before we continued into the cave’s dark zone, the final step into the belly of our clan. We’d lived here since before I was born, but I was told this wasn’t always so. Before my father and his warriors came, Mother’s people lived outdoors, right along with the humans. That seemed impossible to believe now. With the warriors away, only fifteen of us remained, not counting the children, slaves, or the captives held in the sub-caverns farther below. I kept the carcasses invisible to mask the scent as my brother and I walked the valley between the two longhouses. Prying eyes glanced in our direction regardless. They halted their tasks to welcome us back, bowing low as I crossed their paths. Many of them licked their lips when they thought I wasn’t looking. Drool dripped from their fangs. “Come,” I said to Jesu. “We better go inside.” At the end of the gorge sat a straw-and-mud brick hut that served as both kitchen and slave quarters. The scent of decay and manure wafted from the quaint building. My head spun as the rancid smell assaulted my nostrils. What’s going on? Usually I could deal with the stench. A
sharp pang struck under the scar I’d acquired in the woods. I winced and clutched at my chest, halting in my tracks to bend at the waist. “Are you all right?” Jesu doubled back to my side. He gripped my shoulders to help steady me. “Is it the insect bite?” I scowled at him. A mocking grin dimpled his cheek and creased the corners of his eyes. Growling, I shrugged out of his reach. “The smell is making me lightheaded. Take the bodies inside for me.” At that, I let the invisible carcasses fall away from my essence. They dropped to the rocky ground, solid and perceptible. Jesu shrugged. He hauled one body over his shoulder and then grabbed the other two by the wrists and dragged them the rest of the way to the door. Our servant, Maria, appeared in the doorway. She wiped her hands on the woven cloth of her skirt and then reached for one of the bodies. “I thought I heard you boys,” she said, speaking freely as she helped Jesu. “Jalmari, your mother wishes to see you in the Hall.” When the door closed behind them, I turned away and staggered into the longhouse on the right. My lunges burned as if I’d inhaled smoke. I tried to put the discomfort out of my mind while glancing around the Great Hall for Mother. I expected to find her weaving baskets with the other women, or perhaps seated with the children, telling stories while sewing. Instead, she sat alone at the opposite end of the Hall, on her throne overlooking the tables and benches. She seldom sat there when Father was away. Even more strange was the thin gold band encircling the top of her auburn hair. She almost never wore her crown. Her emerald eyes stared unblinking into a corner, and her long thin fingers hung limp over the intricate patterns carved into the armrests. Her back was perfectly straight, her chin held high, framed by loose curls. Jesu and I both had her dark green eyes, but he had her high cheekbones, thin nose, and ice-blue undertones, whereas I’d taken Father’s slightly softer features. Her pale lower lip was pinched under a long fang, matching the worry lines in her brow. I waited for her to relax and smile, as she did whenever my brother or I caught her in a state of distress, but she kept as still as death, giving no indication that she’d heard me come inside.
“Mother,” I said to get her attention. She faced me, but whatever troubled her did not cease, and she made no attempt to hide it. Her gaze narrowed on my torn and blood stained tunic. I winced, knowing a scolding followed. “It’s not my bl—” “Where is your brother?” she asked. “He’s delivering the sacrifice to the kitchen,” I answered, confused by her question. Perhaps she mistook the blood to mean something far darker. She always fretted over Jesu, even though he could heal as fast as the rest of us. “Come.” She lifted a hand and bent her fingers, gesturing for me to come forth. She waved to the throne next to hers. “Sit here.” “In-in Father’s chair?” “It will be yours soon.” Soon. Mother possessed the ability to see things that hadn’t yet come to pass. Soon was a word she did not use lightly. She had something important to tell me. I swallowed, hoping I was ready to hear it, and then sat in Father’s throne. I’d only sat there once before, when I was a small boy. My legs were so short that my feet swung back and forth. I’d been provoking Jesu at the time, making him kiss my shoes while I kicked him in the mouth. Mother made me do chores with the slaves for an entire moon cycle. Now, the soles of my boots rested against the floor as my frame filled the tall chair. Surprisingly, it was less comfortable than the benches we used at supper. The backrest had been carved to look fancy with knots and emblems that poked my spine. No wonder Mother and Father always sat in such ridged positions. Mother covered the top of my hand with her hers. “Jalmari, do you remember what I told you when you became a man?” A lump swelled in my throat, and I struggled to answer. “Mother, Father is old, but he’s not that—” “Jalmari…” She lifted her palm to stroke my cheek. “Your Father is at war. You know how many of our warriors never come back.” “But that’s why he has you. You’re his Seer. Father has been on many raids and battles. He always comes back victorious.” She tilted her head, her gaze deep with misfortune. “My sweet son, no one is immune to death. I raised you to be prepared for this moment. My effort was not wasted, was it?”
My lip quivered as embarrassment burned my cheeks. I looked at my lap and rubbed my chest. The damn wound still stung. “Tell me you remember,” she whispered. I squeezed my eyes shut and thought back to my coming-of-age ceremony. The whole clan was present, even Father. He was so proud that I took to vampyrism. It meant I could truly be his heir. I remembered feeling uneasy. I was relieved and excited to be a vampyre—to not be a human cast-off, or a vampire degenerate like my brother—but the price meant carrying the full weight of my birthright. I’d heard the way the clansmen and slaves talked when they thought I wasn’t listening. They worried I would turn out like my father—sovereign, merciless, unnatural. Maybe it was because I looked like him. Maybe it was because I’d been forced to watch his brutality, and had done nothing to stop it. I would prove them wrong someday. Was that day approaching? Mother had given me a gift that day, the dagger that hung at my side. I recalled the words she’d said upon presenting the silver blade. “You said true power does not come from the slothful ways of evil, but from the dedicated work of good.” I opened my eyes and faced her. She smiled, her brow relaxed, her demeanor peaceful. “Always remember that, my son.” I shifted in the hard chair, feeling an ominous ache in my chest. “Mother, is Father—?” A loud rumble bellowed through the cave as the heavy footsteps of men stormed into the cavern. Their scents and essences slammed into me, punching the air from my lungs. Father’s warriors were home, but I didn’t understand why they entered with such ferocity and haste. Their homecoming had always been joyous, even if it meant the bitter sting of Father’s severe rubrics. Mother’s grin fell into a scowl. She rose from her throne and faced the door of the Great Hall. The way she stood, chin high, shoulders and arms ridged, I half expected to see a weapon in her clutched fists, but there was none. A sensation like worms wriggling through my brain filled my head. I cringe and raked my fingers through my hair, scrubbing my scalp. “Agh!” I’m going mad. Whatever wounded me in the woods must have been poisonous. My chest burned terribly, and my brain crawled as though it were alive and trying to break out of my skull. Then, a voice echoed in my mind. “Jalmari?” My eyes widened. “Father?”
The door kicked open. Victor, our top warrior and Father’s most trusted advisor, entered the dwelling. Several more warriors followed. His sweat and dirt-laden face twisted into a scowl as he pointed a finger at Mother. “Seize her!”
****
Jesu and I stood shoulder to shoulder just outside the mouth of the cave. Strong winds raced in from the bluffs and whipped my hair against my cheekbones. It was the first thing I’d felt since Victor grabbed Mother and took her to the dungeon caverns. It didn’t make sense. The warriors spoke of an ambush—they were outnumbered and Father had been slain—yet Mother was accused of murdering him. Everything had been a blur after that. I was frozen, unable to move, unable to see, unable to eat or listen to conversation. My stomach hurt and I’d spent the day waiting to vomit, but nothing came up. Father’s warriors stood before us. Behind us, the clansmen, their wives and children had gathered. After them stood the slaves. If I wasn’t so numb, I might have found it remarkable that even the slaves came to pay their respects. None of them had attended Father’s funeral. Why would they? Not only were they victims of his constant raids and battles, but each one had also been single-handedly tortured and mutilated by him. The few who survived his malicious “experiments” continued their broken existence serving us. I still could not believe Father was dead, despite having watched his body burn on the pyre with my own eyes. “I live through you now, son,” he said. I glanced around, moving only my eyes. Everyone was watching Victor, listening to him speak of Mother’s negligence, and the subsequent ambush that led to Father’s demise, along with the death of several of our warriors. “My body is expired,” he’d said. “Only my essence remains.” Father’s voice had been speaking to me all day, but no one else heard what I did, and no one believed me when I tried to tell them he was not dead. I slid a hand into my trousers pocket and palmed the small gold ring inside. They’d removed it from his finger, and gave it to me before setting the pyre ablaze. It weighed nothing,
yet it felt like an anvil. Funny how simple mundane jade set in gold prongs could do such gruesome acts when left in the hands of evil. I’d seen Father perform many unnatural and unspeakable things with the gem’s power. Like cheat death. I let it go and removed my hand. I couldn’t think about alchemy, or spells, or any of the strange explanations he’d given me for how his voice had come to reside in my psyche. It was too much. Everyone already thought I was mad with grief. Perhaps they were correct. Victor finished the formalities and then called Mother forward. Jesu whimpered beside me, and Maria pulled him into her arms. She stroked his long hair as she used to when she was our nursemaid. Her black eyes focused straight ahead. I swallowed hard before following her line of sight. The warriors near the bluff parted. Mother’s thin form sat on a log. A woven satchel covered her head. Her auburn curls spilled from beneath the hem, flowing in a wild tangle down her back. The cloth billowed in short quick pants where I knew her lips to be. Her slender hands bunched the tattered length of her skirt, wringing the fabric into tight knots. Two of the warriors pulled on her arms until she stood. Their gazes filled with remorse, and their mouths twitched as though they considered apologizing to her, but they knew better and kept to procedure. They gripped her upper arms and then walked her to the edge of the cliff. Determination showed in every step as she marched to her death, her back straight, shoulders relaxed, head high. I was a young lad compared to most of the clan, but I had seen death many times, given the nature of my father’s ways. It had never affected me like this. I hadn’t known the faces of Father’s captives. I was content to believe they were the enemy, that they deserved his punishment. Mother was the one who taught me better. She didn’t deserve this. My ribs tightened around my heart and anger stung my vision. Why did she have to be the one to take the blame? A few lives given to save the future of hundreds? A growl echoed through my mind and I held my head in my hands, wanting to scrub the wormy feeling from my brain. “Is that the truth, then? You wanted to see your own father parish?”
“No,” I cried, not realizing what I’d done until Maria reached over and squeezed my wrist. I blinked at her. She and Jesu watched me with somber expressions. Father laughed. “They mistake your outcry as despair for your mother.” I held my lip between my teeth and glanced at the ground while speaking silently. “I did not wish for your demise. You’re my father.” “Yet you believe me to be the evil one. All this time, I thought you understood. What truths a man learns when inner thoughts are unlocked to him.” My hands wrung together. “Mother said a good ruler is merciful.” He laughed wickedly. “Look where mercy has gotten her.” I did look. She kneeled at the edge of the cliff, facing the drop. Victor stood to the side, slightly behind her. Bile twisted my stomach. I was sure I would vomit this time. My gut felt hollow, my chest numb and ridged. Victor placed his palms on either side of her jaw. I knew what would happen next, yet nothing could’ve prepared me for it. In one swift jerk, he snapped her neck. A sob punched from Jesu’s lips. The sound was so human, I couldn’t help glancing at him. He squeezed his eyes shut and curled against Maria’s bosom, shaking violently. I felt for him. We both became orphans within a single day, but he hadn’t only lost his parents. Mother was also his sire. Her venom had forged a sacred bond within him, and now that bond was broken. The loss would cripple him. A part of me always envied Jesu. As the second-born, he had no responsibilities. In a strange way, he was even lucky that he’d stayed human and had to be cured with Mother’s venom. Being a degenerate was one thing, but a degenerate of the Queen’s had its benefits. Instead of out-casting him, he was favored. He could embarrass himself. He could be thoughtless and dramatic and inconsequential. No one cared. They’d smile and send him on his way, like a pet. Maria held tight and rocked him side to side. I quickly glanced over my shoulder at the others. My nose scrunched in resentment as the eyes of the clansmen slowly drifted from his theatrics to my ridged stance. Did they look to me for example, or were they judging me, thinking me cold and indifferent to my own mother’s death? My fists clenched until my fingernails pierced the skin of my palms. I was the first-born. My parents’ responsibilities fell onto me. I couldn’t act rash. My whole life, I’d walked a fine
line between Mother’s example of mercy and Father’s example of power. I had prepared for the moment I would ascend the throne and give myself to my people, proving to them I was more like Mother than they thought, that Jesu wasn’t the only one capable of empathy. I wanted to prove my worth as a leader, but I had no idea it would come at such a disheartening price. The warriors hauled Mother’s limp form over the cliff. My lids closed at the sound of her weight crunching against the rocky grave below. I tried to remember how to breathe. Gradually, the clan receded into the cave, heading to the longhouse to dine and celebrate my inevitable rise to the throne. Maria and her husband, Naamah, stayed with Jesu. I turned to leave. The sooner I got the ceremony over with, the sooner I could be alone with my thoughts. Jesu snatched my arm and I paused, facing him. “I couldn’t tell you with everyone around,” he whispered. His brow lifted, casting a shadow over his emerald eyes. He looked so much like Mother, it hurt. “Tell me what?” I said, leaning close. I wasn’t sure if I cared what he had to say, or if I was just exhausted beyond measure and humoring him. His lips moved, but his voice took a moment to catch up. “You were right. Father’s not dead.” I glanced at Maria and Naamah. They tilted their heads in sorrow. Anger swelled in the pit of my stomach and boiled my blood. They knew…but it was too late now. “Why didn’t you speak up and defend me?” “Listen to your brother,” Maria scolded. I scraped my fingernails through my hair, wanting to rip it out. Glaring, I waited for him to continue. “I had a premonition. I spoke to Mother about it just before…” He glanced at the cliff and emotion wore at his features, tugging the edges of his mouth in a somber frown. My exasperation rose. “And?” “She confirmed my vision. Father is still alive somehow. There will be a battle. A human girl will come—” “A human?” “She will fight him,” Jesu insisted. I laughed, as did the voice in my mind. “No human girl will end Father.”
“Jalmari, just listen—” “No!” I wrench my arm out of his grasp and backed away from them. “No more talk of Father or Mother.” With that, I let my body disburse into an invisible mist and flew into the cave. I wished to stay invisible forever. I didn’t want to go into the longhouse and pretend to be strong and responsible. Not tonight. Not ever. I could’ve accepted that I’d gone insane, snapped under the heartache and grief, but Father wasn’t dead. Jesu confirmed it. So why should I lead the clan when it was all a lie? “It is your birthright,” he said. “You were meant to continue my work.” “Which work, exactly?” I couldn’t help responding in kind. “Leading our people? Or raiding and killing to gather more test subjects for your cruel experiments?” “I should not have let her raise you in my stead. She has made you weak, like her people.” That was it. I wouldn’t stand for this insanity. I solidified inside a small crevice pocket along the cave wall, hidden behind the longhouse. Music and conversation lent an idea to the festivities carrying on inside. How could they celebrate? Even the primitive Svíar knew to wait three days after a death. “It is that weakness that puts the humans beneath us. You should be in there, accepting your crown, carrying on my legacy.” “I would, if you hadn’t cheated me out of it. I was supposed to rule when you died. I was supposed to take your place—not become a vessel for you to live through!” I unsheathed my dagger, my gift from Mother all those years ago, and ran my fingers over the smooth blade, feeling the grooves where several small relics had been carved into the steel. They were marks from the Svíar language. She’d said they were a reminder to always show mercy to those who are weaker than us. I drew a shaky breath and then pointed the sharp tip at my heart. “Jalamri, what are you doing?” “You want to see me be like you? You want to see me be ruthless and bloodthirsty, a killer like you, old man? I’ll kill something right now.” “Stop this nonsense, Jalmari. You are a prince. You were born to rule.” I squeezed my eyes shut and ignored his words, pushing the blade against my tunic.
“Coward. Accept your responsibility.” “True power does not come from evil,” I whispered, trying to gather the courage to sink the weapon into my flesh and end my life—his life. “This is my sacrifice for my clansmen. They will sing my name for—” “Fool! No one sings of little princes who take their lives. You are a disgrace to our family and the clan.” I plunged the knife into my chest, gasping at the surprisingly sharp pain. My breath halted in my throat as I slumped against the cave wall and then fell onto my side. Warm liquid rushed from the wound and soaked my tunic. A numb coldness tingled in my fingertips and toes. This was it. My very life was draining away. Father’s growl echoed in my mind. “What have you done?” “Prince Jalmari? Is that you, son?” Heavy booted footsteps rushed toward me. For a moment, I thought it was Father’s spirit, separated from mine in death, and corporeal again. Strong hands pulled me out of the crevice pocket and laid me on my back. I saw then, through blurred vision, it was Victor. He grasped the hilt and then pulled the dagger from my chest and tossed it aside. He lifted me to a sit, propping my back against the cave wall. His brow pinched as he removed his cloak and pressed it to my chest, trying to stop the blood. I swatted at his arms, but was so weak, it went unnoticed. He brought a cup to my lips. “Drink this, Your Highness.” It took me a moment to realize that he was speaking to me before I drank the red liquid. It was another moment before I registered the flavor, and then gagged and spat it out. “No, you shouldn’t have saved me.” Victor shook his head. “Your father warned me that you might go mad.” My gaze rose to meet his. “You hear him too?” For a second, I was relieved. It was the most blissful feeling. “What?” “He talks to you,” I babbled. “Even now.” “Son, your father’s dead. He cannot speak.” “No. He’s alive inside me.” Victor cocked his head to the side and studied me for a moment. “That’s very poetic, son, but you can’t just kill yourself. Your grieving will come to pass.”
“No,” I said, and attempted to push him away. “I cannot be king. I won’t.” He cast his dark gaze at the longhouse, scanning the shadows before looking at me again. “Would you give up your crown?” “Yes,” I said. My thoughts became more coherent as the wound healed. “What would your mother say?” he muttered under his breath. “That I made a noble sacrifice.” I looked him in the eyes, daring him to disagree. “Noble?” He glanced around once more. “Then I’ll take it for you.” “What?” “I’ll take the crown, if you don’t want it. Without an heir, I am next in line.” “Then will you let me kill myself?” He thought for a moment. “No…no you mustn’t. Not like this. My scent is on you, they will think I murdered you. You must run away, Prince. Run far and long, to another land. Then take your life, if you wish.” I nodded in agreement. Victor helped me to my feet. I bent to retrieve my dagger when the ring fell from my pocket. The metal clicked against the mineral rock, calling my attention. I sheathed the dagger and then picked up the gold piece. “What will you tell them happened to me?” “Whatever you wish for me to say, Your Highness.” I thought about that while studying the large jade stone encrusted in the lackluster band. It was in need of a shine. Jesu came to my thoughts. What would happen to my poor sweet brother with Mother and me gone? We were all that either of us had left, and I would miss him terribly. I hesitated, looking toward the longhouse, where I knew he waited for me with the others. Father’s voice growled. My shoulders cringed as his shouting rung in my ears. “How dare you throw away everything I have worked for. You are of royal blood. My blood!” I clenched my fangs together, ignoring his words. Looking at the ring again, I suddenly knew what had to be done. “Tell them,” I said to Victor, “my father’s evil is no more, and that I was brave.” I slid the ring over my finger, turned, and dissolved into the air.
Chapter Two: Leena
Athens, Greece —Three months later.
Two turtle doves cooed happily inside a small hutch resting on the gray stone floor. Geometric shapes drawn in charcoal over the uneven stone encompassed the tiny cage. Red candles with burning wicks surrounded the shapes, placing the cheerful animals in the center. Over all, it was a sensible circle. The candles were old, and burned low enough for me to bend over them as I carefully opened the cage door and reached inside. The doves flittered away from my touch, but there wasn’t much room in the simple hatch, and I soon caught hold of the male. I held him tight enough to keep his wings pinned to his sides, but not so hard that it would entice needless panic from the animal. I quickly locked the cage door with my free hand. The female tilted her head to the side and followed her companion with her eyes. I palmed a length of thick grapevine and began wrapping it around the body of the male bird. “Don’t struggle,” I said, while winding the vine over his wings and then tying his scrawny legs together. His beady eyes blinked as I lay him on his back within the symbol of transfiguration. The black coal I used to create the emblems rubbed onto his feathers as he wiggled. I pressed one hand against his downy chest to hold him in place. With the other hand, I withdrew the needle hidden under the hem of my tunic. This particular needle was longer, thicker, and sharper than most. A leatherworking needle. I held the metal tip over one of the candle flames and invoked the element of passion.
The flame flicked and a spark jumped from the metal, landing on my knuckle. I winced at the sting, then released an exasperated sigh and recomposed myself. My braided chestnut hair fell over my shoulder as I glanced at the spell book in my lap. Locating the proper chant, I quietly read the passage out loud. “Pothos, god of yearning, hear my plea; Cleanse my heart of misery. With swift wings, he comes to me; Make him known, my love-to-be.” I raised the pin high like a sword, and then plunged the sharp point into the dove’s chest. The bird made a terrible squawk and then fell silent. The body went limp in my hand. Filth released from its internals and seeped onto my wrist. I jerked my hand away. “Ugh, disgusting beast.” The female squawked and puffed her feathers while stretching her wings out. I got up and went to the basin to wash my hands. “Don’t be greedy. You’ve had him all to yourself for many years.” I dried my hands and then blew out the candles, one by one. Then I lifted the hatch and carried the fussy dove to the window sill. Resting the coop on the stone ledge, I rotated the cage so the bird faced me, and I grinned at her. “Not to worry. You will get your lover back when you bring me one of my own. That is…if you bring me a handsome, brave one.” I opened the cage door. The female shot out the window and sped over the city, disappearing into the sunrise. I clasped my hands over my chest and sighed while staring off into the blue horizon. Hopefully, my heart’s desire resided somewhere in Athens. He hadn’t much time to find me. I wondered what he would look like. The chamber door creaked open. I turned as Nora poked her head inside. “By Zeus, child, you haven’t changed out of your night tunic yet!” I rolled my eyes toward the ceiling. How many times have I told her? “You must stop calling me a child, Nora. I’m old enough to wed.” She entered the dwelling with a tray of figs and bread in her hands. “You’ll be late for your lessons again, my lady. You must hurry.” She came toward the bedside table to set the tray
down, as she did every morning, until she caught sight of the candles and dead bird on the floor. She halted in her tracks. Her eyes widened as her mind flew open, and her thoughts flooded me. Her internal voice sounded just as clear and audible to me, as they would if she had spoken them out loud—Oh heavens, may the gods have mercy! What has she done this time? I took the tray from her and set it down myself. “Wrap the bird in ice for me.” Nora, who was used to Father’s work, and performed all sorts of bizarre requests as a result, didn’t bat a single eye lash while scooping the bird into her arms. “Your clothes—” “I am capable of dressing myself. Wrap that dove up good, and keep it away from the cats.” She nodded while brushing loose tendrils of dark hair out of her weathered eyes. Nora was only a couple years older than me, yet she already bore the aged leathery look of her social class. She left the room, closing the door behind her. I rushed to stash the candles and spell book under the cot before removing my tunic. At the basin, I dabbed a few drops of lilac-scented olive oil onto my palm. I rubbed both hands together and then smoothed the oil over my bare skin. Usually, I took great care with this step. Tanned hide was not a suitable look among my social class. Quite the opposite, in fact. Unfortunately, I inherited Father’s dark olive tone and freckles, which led to the ritualistic use of lemon and milk baths, but time was of the essence this morning, so I rubbed the oil in with haste, and skipped the rest of my routine. From the chest resting at the foot of the bed, I retrieved a crisp white peplos. I much preferred something with colorful print on it, but such was not allowed. Athena’s arrephoroi always wore white. Not a big deal to most of the girls here, since the title was temporary for them. I, on the other hand, was doomed to a lifetime of colorless wardrobe. I folded the soft linen around my body, fumbling a little with the ivory shoulder clasps. It truly was a task better completed by anyone other than the wearer, but I had already sent Nora away. “There,” I said, while getting the final clasp in place. I kicked off my leather sandals and shoved my feet into clean felt boots. I went to the door and reached for the handle, when I remembered my hair. Hmm, should I go back and brush it properly, or just rake my fingers through it? I snorted at the thought. “There is always time for one’s hair.” With that, I yanked out the ribbon and unraveled the braid while backtracking to the basin for my hairbrush. I popped a fig into my mouth—might as well eat—and brushed until the lose
waves softened to my liking. The long locks flowed down my back and ended just above my waist. I stole a final moment to admire myself in the tiny handheld mirror and then set it, along with the brush, on the table before taking my leave. Outside, tall granite columns and a stone roof kept the stoa shady and cool while sunshine and morning dew doused the earth just beyond the pale platform. The late spring air caressed my skin in warmth, even at this early hour. Felt boots provided no protection against moisture, so cutting across the lawn was not an option. I stuck to the dusty path, which put everyone in my way. The Acropolis was a cacophony of activity. Priests gathered around in tight clusters in front of the more central temples and shouted orders at the acolytes. Girls ran to and fro between the supply rooms and the Parthenon with giant spools of colorful yarn. The commotion reminded me of what little time I had—not to get to my morning lessons, but to change my fate before it was sealed. My gaze lingered on the temple boys carrying an array of candles, incense, foodstuffs, and sacrificial lambs. I thought of the female dove, and glanced at the sky, squinting against the blinding yellow glare of Apollo’s chariot. It was too soon to expect my winged harbinger back, yet disappointment weighed heavily against my chest. A few clergy bid me “good-morning” as we passed one another. Despite my haste, I paused to return their courtesy, smiling wide as I opened my mouth to wish them a joyous Panathenaia, but the words caught in my throat as their thoughts echoed. There goes Hesiodos’s daughter, late as usual. The priestess will not be impressed. My smile fell and I narrowed my eyes. “Forgive me, sirs, but is patience not a virtue of our glorious goddess? Perhaps you would do well to practice the humility you impart to others.” I turned away and marched across the Propylaea, leaving the priests gaping for a response. By the time one of them thought of something—that insubordinate girl ought to be put in her place—I was already passing through the southwest wing to the entrance of the temple of Athena Nike. The temple was moderate in size compared to the others, yet elegant, with marble colonnaded porticos far more slender than their gigantic cousins inside the Acropolis. I loved the temple of Athena Nike simply for its lone residence outside the stone gate. It rose from atop a
steep bastion overlooking the city and distant sea. The placement seemed befitting, given the meaning of its name: Athena Nike. Wise Victory. Passing through the façade, I wondered what kind of lesson High Priestess Dorothea had conjured for today. A particular faint scent captured my attention, stopping me in my tracks. Inside the square space, a small cauldron hung over the altar fire. Liquid bubbled within the iron pot, and the unmistakable fumes carried in the steam. Poppy. I groaned. Another vision test. I hated anything that required use of the strange flower. Its magical smoke made me sick to my stomach and gave me terrible dreams. From the looks of the cookery laid on the altar, I assumed I would be ingesting it this time. My stomach twisted in knots at the idea. Dorothea removed the pot and poured the liquid through a fine-woven cloth to strain the plant material. Her dark curls cascaded over her shoulders, making it appear as though the loose violet linen of her peplos was merely an extension of her hair. Because of her widow status, she was allowed to wear colorful garments. It frustrated me that priests and priestesses could marry—even the priestesses of the virgin goddess—but oracles could not. “You are late,” Dorothea said without pause, though not as sternly as usual. A benefit of the herb she brewed. The high priestess was easier to tolerate after she had inhaled the magical fumes for a time. A year ago, I had overheard the Archon confront her for smoking more than was acceptable for a lady of her status. She blatantly stated it was the only way she could stand to deal with me. So the feeling was mutual. I had to give credit for her cunning, though. The herb made it difficult for me to read her thoughts. “My most humble apologies, Mother.” She turned to glare at me. Her pupils were enlarged, but the whites remained clear. I better mind my tongue. “Imagine the great Oracle of Athena,” she said, while coming toward me with a small cup in hand. “Late. When groves of the finest generals, politicians, and clergy come to her for advice, I will be forced to say to them ‘Be gone, all you leaders and heroes of Greece, for our oracle has decided to sleep away this morn. Journey back the thousands of miles from which you came with only the reassurance that our oracle is well-rested.’” My cheeks burned and I bit my lower lip. If the priests from the Propylaea could hear this… “I don’t want to be your oracle.”
Her gaze narrowed to thin slits. “Nor do I want you to be, but it is your destiny now. Drink all of it.” She shoved the cup into my hands. Tears stung the backs of my eyes, but I refused to cry. I held my breath until the emotions passed, and then silently drank the tea. Dorothea strolled along the length of the temple while humming to herself. I followed her with my eyes, glaring. She ignored me, of course. My gift was no threat to her while under the influence of the poppy—especially now that I’d also ingested it. I never understood why she agreed to this. She was the most powerful woman in all of Athens. Without an oracle, she was second only to the goddess herself. Even the Archon could not threaten her. I knew Father was paying her gold to keep quiet and ensure my success, but what did a woman of her status need more gold for? If I wanted to know her motives, I’d have to search elsewhere. She didn’t keep her mind half-dead for no reason. Still, my hatred for the priestess burned under my skin. Or was that the tea? I suddenly couldn’t remember why I was so mad. “When you are finished, read the last drop at the bottom of the cup.” Dorothea’s voice sounded far away, even though she stood just across the room. I tilted the cup toward me and peered inside. I wasn’t particularly good at scrying. Spells were where my talents lay. That and the cursed ability to hear private thoughts. The back of my head buzzed and my body lightened. I stared at the remaining drop of tea as it ran down the inner base and gathered at the rim. My eyes grew heavy as they followed the tiny green-brown particles swirling lazily over the moisture forming… Forming… Nothing. It’s just tea. Then I heard it. The voice of a young man. He was quiet and restrained at first, but quickly grew louder. I glanced at Dorothea and jumped, startled by her unexpected proximity. A moment ago, she stood across the room. Now, she knelt at my side. When had she come so close? “What do you see?” she urged. Her wild gaze held me captive. I faltered before shaking my head. “I don’t see—” “Look harder.” “I hear him.”
She studied me, her lips pressing into a thin hard line. When she spoke again, her voice was low. “What do you hear, child?” I rolled my eyes. Really, did everyone insist on calling me that? Then I remembered the priestess couldn’t hear what I had, because the man wasn’t speaking audibly. His thoughts, however, came through exceedingly loud. As if he stood inside the room with us. But Dorothea and I were alone in the temple, and the narrow-based structure didn’t allow room for people to linger outside. As I listened to his internal thoughts, I realized he was foreign. The incomprehensible language, unlike any I’d ever heard before, had lots of harsh K and CH sounds. I immediately ruled out Persian, Latin, and Egyptian. His tone suggested he argued with himself, all hottempered and quick-tongued. And yet, his internal voice came across as a beautiful soft tenor, like silk. “Well?” Dorothea snapped. For once, I didn’t care about her temper. My mind was entranced by his beautiful inner voice. “He’s foreign. He must be from very far away, I don’t recognize the language. It sounds…perhaps Hebrew?” “A slave?” Dorothea chuckled. “You hear the thoughts of a slave?” “No.” My brow knit in concentration. “I’m missing something…there is…” I closed my eyes and listened carefully to the strange conversation. There was something about the way the young man argued with himself that was…off, somehow. I just couldn’t place what it was without… My eyelids flew open as realization struck. He wasn’t talking to himself—there was another voice. I hadn’t realized it at first, because they both spoke the same bazaar language, but the second voice was much too harsh and commanding to belong to the same person who owned the silky tenor. “He’s not alone. There is an older gentleman with him.” As soon as I said it, both voices stopped. Yet, I wasn’t closed off from the wave of pure astonishment flowing from his thoughts. Or perhaps that was my own deeply rooted fear, rising to the surface. None of this made sense. I was certain I heard two voices—two trails of thought—arguing with each other. But neither voice was audible. How could they carry a conversation internally? They couldn’t, unless…unless they both had the same gift I did. Was that possible?
“Leena—” “Shh!” I snapped. “Something’s not right.” Dorothea scowled, but her expression quickly softened. “What is it?” I closed my eyes again. I wanted to know who these men were. Sometimes, when I concentrated hard enough, I could see what others saw from their perspective. Reaching into the mind of the young man was easy, as it usually was with anyone who did not know me or know how to guard their thoughts against me. He did not realize what I was doing. I gasped at what I saw in his mind. I expected a view of the west gate, the Propylaea, maybe even a view of the temple, but his presence stood much closer than I could have imagined. When I looked through his psyche, I glimpsed a reflection of myself. A sense of longing wound its way into my prying mind, and burrowed its metaphorical claws into my brain. The sensation jolted a sort of phantom hollowness through me, an emptiness I wanted to fill, and I recognized the feeling as hunger. His hunger. He was so famished, it hurt. My scent called to him like a beacon. He imagined… Oh gods! …He imagined the flavor of my flesh. The precise way it would break and give under the pressure of his animallike incisors. The image of blood came to his memory—metallic, warm, thick, satisfying blood. My eyes opened wide, unblinking. Despite the heat, a chill shivered along my spine, raising the fine hairs on the back of my neck. I inhaled a slow stream of breath, and then steadily turned to face the direction in which he stood. “Please tell me this is a trick. The tea…” “Tell me what you see,” Dorothea insisted. “We have to get out of here. We’re not safe.” I scrambled to get up, but she snatched my arm and yanked hard. I lost my footing and fell to my knees. “You will answer me.” “It’s not a vision,” I screamed. “It’s happening right now. He’s here, inside the room with us!” She glanced around the temple, still gripping my arm. I didn’t know how, but we still appeared to be the only two occupying the room. I didn’t need my talents to tell that she would dismiss my warning, blinded by whatever magic the man used to keep himself invisible. “Is this a jest?” “You are going to get us both killed. Please!” I struggled against her, but she was strong. Or maybe I was weak from the tea. She had more practice controlling its effects then I did.
I didn’t know why the invisible foreigner hadn’t struck yet, I only knew that he would. The urge to hunt overtook him, and he was bickering with the second voice again. Whoever the second voice belonged to, he didn’t seem to be any good at persuading the young man away from his murderous cravings. “You’re mad,” I said to Dorothea, my panic mounting. “Unhand me! My father will hear of this!” She only laughed. As our physical fighting continued, his mental argument grew louder and more heated. My head pounded from the infatuation of it all. Then, something inside him snapped. A decision was made, and the internal bickering stopped. He was still starved and longed for nourishment, but an underlining determination for restraint shone through. Dorothea opened her hand and I fell against the altar, knocking over the cups and cookery. I regained my balance, gave her a hateful look, and then ran.
Chapter Three: Jalmari
The human girl fled the temple, leaving the crone priestess behind. Her ice-cold fear saturated the air, nearly palpable as it stabbed through my thinned essence. It over-ruled the pungent anger rolling in hot waves from the priestess. The older woman sat on the temple floor stewing, oblivious to my presence, as all humans were when a vampyre took the form of mist. As the girl should have been. I drew my essence through the cool stone of the temple ceiling, out into the scorching rays of early morning. Ignoring the discomfort, I flew over the front gate of the Acropolis, to the flat center top of the mountain. Human activity vitiated below. Their energy expanded into the air and hit me like a tidal wave. Its current pulled at my instincts as the raw thirst burning through my veins struck anew. “Drink them all,” Father’s commanding voice rang through my mind. “That would be massacre,” I argued. “They are human.” He spat the word as though he spoke of parasites. “You are vampyre.” Gathering my determination, I disregarded him and everything else around me. I dropped to the ground, feeling every pebble and blade of grass pass through me as my essence sank into the earth. Father’s grumble of disappointment echoed the hollow gurgling in my stomach. He had been infuriated when I left the clan, and again when I defied him further by risking the journey overseas. However, his possession did not extend to the control of my body or my free-
will, and that gave me hope. I clung to my mission as my only guiding life force and came to the very place where Father had learned his dark death-defying magic—Greece. The ground passed above me as I descended, and empty space rose from below. My feet and shoes solidified as they touched the floor of the vast central cavern hidden deep within the underground belly of the Acropolis. I pulled my essence together, right down to the cursed gold ring on my finger, and then straightened to my full height while taking in the entirety of the lavish throne room. Its limestone floor, fat columns, ruby candelabras, and silk cushion chaises were far more extravagant than anything my clansmen could imagine. Everything about this land seemed richer, bigger, and more powerful. And it wasn’t just the vampyres here that lived like kings, their humans did as well. I understood why Father liked it. Lycaon lounged across a cathedra made of bones and furs. He was half-undressed, a concubine straddled his lap while a second young female fed him bite-sized pieces of raw jackal meat. What I would give to partake in either pleasure… Father chuckled, turning all thoughts of carnal delights into acidic hatred. He might not control me, but sharing my mind with him was maddening in so many ways. I gritted my teeth and shook my head to shut him up. Lycaon noticed me and straightened his posture. His fanged grin stretched from ear to ear as he righted his garments. “Jalmari, back so soon? I had hoped for a few more minutes with this one.” He bounced his knee, jarring the female in his lap. Both girls snickered and gazed sinfully over their shoulders. “Shea, fetch our boy a drink.” He spanked the girl’s bottom as she rose to her feet and then filled a cup with jackal blood. Self-control waned as the scent snaked across the room and filled my lungs. Animal blood, even from a predator, was no match compared to the richness of human, but at this point I’d take anything. It was all I could do to refrain from pouncing on Shea like a rabid fox as she handed me the cup. Her fingers lingered, not letting go as I clasped my own palms around the clay dish. Her skin was as cool as the dank cave air, and as pale as my own. Her black pupils gazed into mine and she smiled, flashing a row of pointed teeth. Lycaon laughed. “I think my bitch is fond of you.” My eyes flew wide as alarm rushed me. I fully expected Shea to take offense at the name, but she only giggled at my childish reaction. Silently chastising myself, I furrowed my brow and released a breath. I’d shared company with the Vrykolakan vampyres for three months, and still I
had to remind myself of their odd terminology and behaviors. As wolf-shifters, it was common for them to refer to themselves in such terms as bitch and alpha. “Come,” said Lycaon while shooing the women away. “Let us talk business.” Shea’s sultry flesh fell away from the cup as she reluctantly turned to trail behind the other bitch. They took their leave through the large front entrance of the throne room, disappearing into the winding channels of their underground abode. Without further hesitation, I brought the drink to my lips and gulped it all, greedy, starved. Sweet release coated my insides as the salty serum made its way down my throat. Vigor and youth strengthened my muscles. I rolled my shoulders, lavishing the temporary moments of gratification. “Tell me everything,” said Lycaon. “You saw the girl?” With my stomach satisfied, thought came more clearly. The image of the girl in the temple rose to the forefront of my mind. Of course, I hadn’t physically seen her, since I was invisible the entire time, but I got a good sense of her. And she got a good sense of me. It was as though she should could read my mind, hear my thoughts. How is that possible? “What is she?” Lycaon chuckled. “Yes, you saw her, all right.” “She sensed my presence even though I did not show myself to her.” And more. She had felt my hunger. “How? You said she was human.” “She is human, I assure you. I told you she was special.” “How?” I repeated with more force. “She is an oracle.” Lycaon had referred to the strange girl as an oracle before, as did the priestess in the temple, but I still did not know what the title meant. There were a lot of Greek words I did not understand. But the sparkle in Lycaon’s black eyes told me he intended to explain, so I waited. “Every so often, the Greeks select a young woman who they deem worthy for the task of communication with their so-called gods. They believe she holds favor with the gods for one reason or other.” “Like the priestess? But they already have—” “Not like the priestess. The job of the oracle is more precise. She acts as a seer. Once our young oracle comes to term, humans from all over Greece will seek her wisdom of events yet to come.” Frowning in disbelief, I was compelled to ask, “You mean…like Mother?”
Lycaon shook his head. His easy nature slowly turned impatient as he leaned forward in his seat. “Not at all like your mother. The Draugrian vampyres had real talents. These human oracles are a ploy. They ingest medicinal herbs to alter their consciousness and bring about false visions. You know how gullible the human race is. They believe everything they cannot explain to be divine. The will of their precious gods.” I had known this. Every vampyre did. It was why the Svíar were so easy to manipulate, so willing to sacrifice their own daughters. “But you said the girl could help me. If she is just another tool to control our food source—” Footsteps echoed from the tunnel opening. Lycaon pressed a sharpened fingernail to his lips, halting further conversation. As soon as the visitor’s scent hit me, I understood why. The heavenly aroma of human flesh filled the cavern, igniting my senses. I took the jug of remaining jackal blood and helped myself, drinking until it emptied. Hot anger poured through the woman’s speeding pulse, leading to my recognition of the individual. My brow rose in anticipation. The priestess from the temple. She marched into the throne room, fists swinging at her sides, nose wrinkled in a furious scowl. Dark curls rolled over her shoulders like a storm cloud. “You!” She pointed an accusing finger at Lycaon. Shea had followed behind the priestess, acting as the unwanted escort. She bared her fangs and hissed as the priestess raised her voice, but Lycaon called Shea off with a wave of his hand. “Dorothea,” he said, words lacking emotion. “You were supposed to appear to her. Was that catastrophe some kind of joke?” It was extraordinary to hear a human speak to a vampyre with such daring fever in her voice. The only time I’d seen a live human back home, they trembled with subordination and begged for their lives. But the priestess was not without fear. I could smell it, deeply rooted in her bones. My gaze lowered to the white knuckles of her strained fists. I bet if she let go, her hands would shake like leaves in a whirlwind. If I could sense her terror, so could Lycaon. “Patience, Dorothea. The girl will come to know the full extent of her destiny soon enough.” Her lips twitched with the desire to say more, but she hesitated. Her gaze traced the skeletal frame on which Lycaon sat, and then halted upon a human skull that protruded from the
right armrest. Lycaon casually dropped his clawed hand to palm the smooth cranium, no doubt for dramatic effect. It worked. The priestess’ breath hitched, giving away her fear. She closed her eyes and slowly exhaled. Upon opening them, her tone drew forth with a more respectful tenor. “She ran, raving to anyone who would listen that the whole Acropolis is in danger. Do you have any idea what the people…” her voice rose to a heated fury, and again she paused to force down her rage. “Her reputation is well known. Not just on the Acropolis, but in all of Athens. An oracle screaming omens of blood and chaos does not bode well for either of us, Your Grace.” She winced, forcing the title from her tongue as though it left a sour taste in her mouth. “Then perhaps,” Lycaon squeezed the skull until it cracked and crumbled under his fingers. Chips of bone showered the mineral floor and rolled toward the hem of the priestess’ skirt. She took a careful step back. “You should do your job and console your charge instead of pretending that your reprimands have any meaning in my house.” The woman pressed her lips into a thin hard line. She forced a stiff curtsy, and then turned to leave. “One moment,” Lycaon said, bidding her pause. She faced him. “I require a bit of payment for your leave this time. Think of it as my own form of reprimanding.” Her brow lifted and her mouth curled into an O. “My blood?” I couldn’t tell if she was surprised or insulted. “Shea, my dear, would you mind?” He gestured to the priestess. I didn’t think Lycaon was thirsty. Besides having recently ingested a whole jackal, Vrykolakans were legendary for their ability to absorb human energy and thus not require blood, but that didn’t appear to stop the king from exerting his dominance. Shea sauntered to the serving table and picked up the carving knife that had been used on the wild dog. Its dried blood still stained the blade. The priestess gulped. Perspiration beaded her pulsing temple, which only made her smell all the more appetizing. I looked away, but I could hear every pop of flesh and tissue as Shea dragged the sharp edge across the woman’s skin. She went slow, drawing out the agony as long as possible—making both the priestess and me suffer. The aroma of liquid-life filled the room. My senses tingled, and my stomach clenched. I squeezed my eyes shut. As if that would do any good.
The priestess’ breath grew labored. Her rushed footfalls echoed off the limestone floor, growing fainter as they receded. Her scent clung to every fiber of the cavern, but I knew the woman was gone. I pried open my eyes, and then glanced at Lycaon. His gaze stayed on the tunnel entrance as he spoke. “Drink.” Shea presented a shallow bowl filled with the priestess’ blood. A lump welled in my throat as I struggled to swallow. “Have at it,” said Father. “At least give me this moment to pretend that the fruit of my loins is not a complete disappointment.” I wet my lips and then shook my head at Shea. She tilted her chin to the side, a question lighting her dark eyes. “I appreciate your kindness, Lycaon, but I already spoke to you of my desire to refrain from human blood.” “Ingrate! Fool!” He faced me, but his expression was passive. “I’ll not have my guest starve. Even my kin must partake every once in a while to maintain optimum health.” “I won’t starve. I can eat animal just as you can.” Lycaon waved Shea off. “You may have it, my dear.” I dragged my fingers through my hair, waiting as Shea drank the liquid and then left the cavern. With her gone, I prompted our prior conversation. “The girl. The oracle. How can she be of help to me?” Lycaon shook his head. “Her father is a master alchemist.” My eyes widened as I drew in a sharp breath. Even Father’s curiosity piqued at what this information might mean. He squirmed like worms in my brain. “It is rumored that she is also gifted in the black arts.” That must have been how she was able to read my mind, even when I was invisible to her. Of course. It made perfect sense. “Do you think she is strong enough? Skilled enough?” I had traveled too far to risk following a dead-end, and she was only human after all. What if she couldn’t do what I needed? “Even if she is not capable,” said Lycaon, “you can use her as leverage against her father.” My fingertips went to the gold ring, twisting it around and around. I looked at the jade stone encrusted in the center. My brother’s last words played in my memory.
There will be a battle. A human girl will come. I couldn’t believe it. Could this oracle be the one my brother foretold? Could she really be the answer to my problems? If she, or even her father, could separate my essence from that which possessed me, I could be free. Father’s rage exploded in an ear-splitting roar. I clasped my head and dropped to my knees. “Jalmari?” I hardly registered Lycaon’s voice over the deafening sound of my Father. “Patricide! Murderer!”
Chapter Four: Leena
“Father, I am telling you, we must leave. Now.” I yanked the linens off the bed, hurled them into the open chest, and then rushed to the side table to gather my hair brush and oils. “Leena, calm down. Let us discuss this.” He motioned to Nora. She removed the linens from the chest and then spread them over the cot. My jaw clenched as I snatched the fabric out of her hands. Nora jumped back, knowing better than to get in the middle of this. The sheet dragged behind as I dumped everything into the chest again. “There is nothing to discuss!” “Leena,” Father’s condescending tone lowered as he set his hands on my shoulders. “Stop. Look around you.” I halted, but only because Father’s grip forced me to. “There is no intruder. There is no army.” My face burned and I held my breath a moment. “I told you, it’s not mortal.” “There are no gods striking down from the heavens. The Acropolis is safe. This is our home. Our haven.” No, it’s not. I shrugged out of Father’s grip and turned my back to him as tears stung the backs of my eyes. “I know what I heard, what I felt.” He sighed. I hugged myself while listening to his fingers scratch the scruff on his chin. His thoughts slipped through the cracks of his carefully guarded mental barriers. It pains me to see her suffer. Perhaps...
A knock rattled faintly from the front gate. Nora left to answer it. Father and I stood in silence. A tear blurred my vision and then spilled onto my cheek. He doesn’t believe me. His own daughter. I wiped it away then took my boots and placed them in the trunk. He could doubt me all he wanted, but I was not staying here. Nora returned a moment later. “High Priestess Dorothea requests your company, master.” I rolled my eyes. Of course that demon bitch would come. Father hesitated. “Stay with her,” he said to Nora while passing over the threshold. He closed the chamber door behind him. As soon as his footsteps faded, I went to the window and swung one leg over the sill, straddling it. It overlooked the city, the chamber wall acting as an extension of the mountain cliff. One slip would afford me a mighty long fall into a rocky grave. But the stoa’s roof reached to the front courtyard. If words were going to be exchanged there on my behalf, I wanted to hear them. Nora gasped. “What are you doing, child?” “Spying.” I wedged the toe of my sandal into a shallow crack in the outer side of the stone wall, wishing I still wore my felt boots. They had better traction, but they were strictly for show, and I had slipped into my sandals out of habit. Too late now. Swiveling onto my stomach, I gripped the sill for dear life and swung my other leg out the window. “Zeus, have mercy! Come back here before you fall.” Nora grabbed my wrists and pulled. “Nora, I order you to let go.” She snorted. “You can scorn me all you want. ’Tis nothing compared to what your father would do if he saw this.” The shoe on my dangling foot slid from my toes and then plummeted down the length of the mountain side. I glanced over my shoulder and watched as it shrank to the size of a dot before it hit the thicket, disappearing somewhere below that. The sight sent a chill through my spine, sobering my temper. Maybe this was a dumb idea. “Okay, pull me up.” As I lifted my weight, a voice floated into my mind. Smooth as silk, the tenor of foreign words came with an excess of hard K and CH sounds. The familiarity of its voice raised the fine hairs on the back of my neck, and I froze.
Nora grunted. “I’m a strong woman, but even I cannot lift a dead weight. You must help as well.” I tried to shake the frightening notion of the bloodthirsty invisible man, but it was no use. How did he find me so soon? Had he followed Dorothea here? Would he hurt Father? The little bit of hold where I had wedged my other foot suddenly crumbled. I screamed as my sandal slid and my weight dropped. Nora tightened her grip, but the exertion yanked her forward, and she fell out the window with me. I felt the fall…felt my hair and clothes billow from the gust rising from beneath. Nora’s pupils minimized to pinpoints as she floated above, mouth gapping in terror. Then, as if I had closed my eyes for a moment, the world went black. I couldn’t see. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. The dark void stretched for an eternity in all directions, caressing my body in a strange yet soothing calm. As quickly as the darkness had come, it vanished. Nora and I stood face to face in the middle of my bed chamber, as though I had never gone to the window. The man…the…thing. I closed my eyes and listened, but the only thoughts that came to me were Nora’s. Her fear and adrenaline flooded the room. She prayed… My eyes snapped open. Nora’s lips trembled as she struggled to remember the words to Athena’s call of saving grace. I took pity on the poor servant girl and cupped her shaking hands. “We’re okay,” I said. She shook her head, her brown doe eyes bigger than ever. “We should not have survived that. We should have…” Died. We should have died. She didn’t say the words out loud, but she didn’t have to. I heard it all. “Well, we didn’t die.” Her breath hitched and I winced, realizing too late that I had scared her further by answering her thoughts. The chamber door flew open and Father burst into the room. Priestess Dorothea strolled in behind him, her expression blank. “What’s going on here? I heard screaming.” He scanned me, and his worried expression turned aghast. “What happened to your clothes? And your hair?”
I lifted a hand to my windblown tresses and glanced down at my torn peplos. Grimacing, I looked Nora in the eyes and then lifted my brows, silently begging her not to say anything. “There was a rat. It spooked us. That’s all.” “A rat?” Father cocked his head in suspicion, but his gaze went to the floor, searching for the pretend rodent. “He scampered off,” I added. “Under the door and away, just before you arrived.” Father twisted around and poked his head outside the open doorway. He wouldn’t find anything. Dorothea arched her brow and studied me. Her eyes were glassy and bloodshot, but apparently the poppy didn’t hinder her ability to notice detail. “Where’s your shoe?” Curling the toes of my bare foot, I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth while racing through my mind for an excuse. I threw it at the rat? No, that would imply it was still in the room somewhere. I inhaled a breath and lowered my gaze, trailing down Dorothea’s long violet peplos. Her olive-toned arms hung at her sides. A bandage wrapped the hand farthest away from me. Blood had soaked through the dressing, staining the underside of her palm. “What happened to your hand?” She jerked her wounded hand behind her back and scowled. “Don’t change the subject, you little—” Father closed the door, finishing his search for the imaginary rat. “Priestess Dorothea has explained to me what happened in the temple. I think it will ease your spirits.” I was sure it wouldn’t. Oh no. What lies has she told Father? Dorothea smirked. “What you witnessed at the temple was an encounter with one of the divine.” “What?” I took a step back as disbelief and worry chilled my veins. “You were visited by a god, my daughter.” Father grinned. He actually grinned. Worse, he practically swelled with pride. “No. No.” I pointed at Dorothea. “She did not hear what I did. She did not even know it was present. She doesn’t—” “I knew he was there, foolish girl! I’ve been consorting with the gods for years. I am the voice of Her Majesty Athena. Don’t think for a moment that I wouldn’t recognize a god’s presence before the likes of you.”
“Dorothea, please.” Father kept his voice low. “I’m sure Leena was just taken by surprise.” “No,” I shouted. Has everyone gone mad? “That thing wanted to kill me. It thirsts for my blood like an animal. Father, I beg you. We must go.” Dorothea laughed. “Of course, he thirsts for your blood. The gods always envy our mortality. It is the greatest of all gifts.” My cheeks burned and I clenched my fists. “Which god?” Her eyes narrowed to slits. “Excuse me?” “Which god was it? What is his name?” She stammered. Ha, you’ve been caught. But Father’s brow furrowed in my direction instead of hers. “Leena, what you witnessed today was an honor and a great advancement. Priestess Dorothea believes the gods are pleased with your skills.” My stomach twisted in knots. Oh, Father, let us end this ruse. Me, visited by a god? Not likely. Not unless the Fates had come to collect my soul for the Kingdom of Hades. But if that were true, Nora and I would have died in that fall. Dorothea smirked. “Let us be thankful the gods are so forgiving of your foolishness. They could have taken offense at your snide behavior.” “Yes,” said Father. “Perhaps you should visit the Parthenon before supper and pay your respects.” “Father, I—” “No more arguing, Leena. It might do you good to slow down and think before you act.” He faced the priestess. “Thank you again for coming to my daughter’s aid. I’ll show you out.” As soon as the door closed behind them, I collapsed onto the bare cot. Nora, who had been standing in a corner, came to the foot of the bed. I nearly forgot she was in the room. Her lips trembled as if she wanted to say something, but she stopped herself and bit the inside of her cheek. I sighed loudly. Honestly, you’d think she’d learn by now. “Yes, Nora, we really did fall out the window. It was my fault. I let my temper best me, and put us both in danger. I’m truly sorry.” Nora squared her shoulders and flattened her palms against her tattered skirt.
“No,” I answered her next mental question. “The High Priestess is wrong. It wasn’t a god.” She scoffed. “You may not want to believe, child, but something saved us today. Something not mortal. You can at least be grateful.” Except I couldn’t. Some small part of me wished I had joined my other sandal outside, even if the fall killed me. That dumb shoe had more freedom than I did.
****
Water dribbled from the crevices in the blue mosaic walls. The thin streams ran to their death on the hot rocks below. Steam rose as the elements came in contact, filling the room with soothing heat. Wearing only a thin linen wrap, my bare back pressed against the cool tiles and I closed my eyes. “Ahhh.” Nora added her own grunt of approval. She sat beside me on the wooden bench. After supper, I convinced her to join me in the public steam room. Father allowed it once I promised to stop raving about the bloodthirsty spirit. It was no use anyway. The general populace of the Acropolis didn’t believe me. The nicer members of the clergy thought I had a bad reaction to the poppy herbs. The more foul members, however, questioned my sanity and doubted again my worth as their oracle. I was forced to tolerate their stares and rude thoughts all through astronomy, literature, and evening service. Not to mention the penance I served at Athena’s altar. Zeus himself probably shook his head in disapproval. My own father didn’t even believe me. And for that reason, I didn’t bother telling him about the window incident. But Nora knew. She’d thought of nothing else all through supper. “You must put that episode out of your mind,” I murmured. When she said nothing, I tilted my head in her direction and peeked through heavily hooded eyelids. Nora looked straight ahead, her bottom lip pinched between her teeth. I sighed. “You can’t tell anyone, you know?” “I know.” Her brow furrowed. “I was just wondering, if it’s not too bold a question to ask…” She ran her palms over her bare legs and then looked at me. I heard her question, just as clearly as I would if she’d had the courage to voice it aloud. She wanted to know if the hand who saved us was the same as the one I encountered in the temple. I had avoided that subject all evening, because the obvious answer terrified me. I remembered hearing its internal thoughts just
before the fall. I hadn’t known how close he was then, but I didn’t think it was a coincidence. And yet, I couldn’t let myself think about what it might mean. I refused to. “Yes, that is too bold. Put it out of your mind.” I rested my head against the tiled wall and tried to relax. Not so easy with Nora’s thoughts fussing so close. She was bright for a girl with no formal education. She feared my avoidance of the question meant its affirmative. Also, the late hour worried her. Dusk was when the scum of society crept forth to scourge the streets, and we were alone in the bathing house, two young women without a proper male escort. “Go home then,” I grumbled. “If you are so afraid.” She startled then hesitated. “No, ma’am. I shall not leave you.” “Then sit in the other room. I tire of your company.” Without another word, she stood, bowed her head, and then stepped into the hall. My chest deflated as I exhaled a self-pitying sigh. I hadn’t meant to be rude. Nora came with me to the bathing house because she needed to sooth her nerves just as much as I did. But there was only so much I could take, barely keeping my own worries at bay. I didn’t need to add others. Besides, the bathing house was just off Panathenaic Way, not more than a few blocks from the Propylaea. It wasn’t like we were in the middle of the city. I would apologize to Nora later. Right now, my sanity craved a moment of silence. My vision hazed, filling with the white steam of the room. The sweet scent of rose and citrus and other oils left behind from past visitors wafted through the thick fog, lulling me to the edge of sleep. Muscles numb with exhaustion anchored me to the seat. My eyelids drifted closed and consciousness wavered over the cliff of dreams. A voice so smooth, like the hairs of spider silk, brushed the tip of my perception. Strange soft words called out. Something about them seemed urgent. My fingers twitched, wanting to feel the creature that possessed such a beautiful tenor, but the verge of unconsciousness weighed them down. His smooth voice beckoned again, an increment louder this time. Pinching my brow tight in deep focused thought, I deciphered the broken Greek with which he spoke. “Oracle, I request your services.” I willed myself to wake, but the body’s need for rest held strong, and I did little more than pucker my lips in the hot, moist air. Perhaps this was a dream.
“Oracle,” it came again. “I require your assistance.” Then suddenly, the voice bleated right against my ear drum. “DO YOU HEAR ME?” My eyelids flew open as I tumbled from the bench, falling to my knees. My palms slapped against the blue mosaic floor, breaking my fall. The painful sting shooting through my hands was a temporary disturbance compared to the fear icing my veins. Had I dreamt of that voice, or…? “Do not be frightened.” I screamed and scrambling to my feet, looking in all directions for the owner of the foreign voice. “Are you okay?” Nora leaned over the threshold, poking her head inside the room. “We have to get out of here,” I said while hastening my steps. “We’re in danger.” “You mustn’t run, Oracle. You needn’t fear me.” I grabbed Nora’s hand and bolted. She didn’t argue, or even hesitate. Instead, she held onto me just as hard, and ran faster. Her calves carried us both to the exit of the public bathing house. Out of habit, she went through the back, which landed us in the open courtyard of the extravagant edifice. Her heels came to a sudden halt, and I collided with her backside. Furious, I gathered my balance and stepped around her. “Why did you—?” My gaze trailed to the grounds before us, and my voice stifled. My legs become solid lead weight as I froze in place. There, in the center of the grand garden, stood a tall statuesque young man. His hair, black as night, blew across eyes so green they almost glowed. Dark shadows angled the bridge of his nose and jaw, contrasting sharply against the pristine white of his taunt muscles. He wore a simple tunic, cinched with a thin length of rope at his narrow hips. Attached to the rope was a leather sheath and dagger, but it wasn’t his weapon that worried me. Nora’s panicked thoughts echoed my own. Is that him, the bloodthirsty voice in the temple? Of course, she was thinking of the fall, but to me, they were one in the same. As if by instinct, I extended my arm to shield Nora, and then gently pushed her back several steps. “The front entrance,” I whispered. “Now.” We turned and ran back the way we came. The white mist seemed thicker than before, compared to the clear night air in the garden. I squinted while running in the direction I thought the door was located.
“Stop!” Nora yanked me back. “Look.” The haze parted near the threshold, where fresh cool air leaked in from the hall. The young man stood in our path. I gasped. “Impossible.” “I am much faster than you, Oracle.” I jumped at the sound of his thoughts, acutely aware of the fact his lips never parted. “Running is useless.” “Leave us,” I shouted, calling on a false sense of bravado. “I warn you, I am the daughter of Her Majesty the Goddess Athena. Any harm by your hand or your weapon will result in treason.” Sometimes Father’s gimmick had its advantages. I prayed this was one of those times. The man tilted his chin and narrowed his eyes. Those deep green irises shined like jewels as he traced my silhouette from head to toe. “It is your gods who sent me.” I wasn’t expecting that. I blinked, trying to recall my voice and my courage. “Wh-What do you want?” Nora clung to my wrap, whimpering. I realized our conversation was one-sided, but it wasn’t my fault he refused to speak audibly. “I require your services.” “He asks for my services,” I repeated for Nora’s benefit. Her brow lifted in a questioning glance. “I’m not going to ask him that,” I snapped. Her gaze lowered, and she pouted in disappointment. “Send your slave away,” he commanded. “She’s not my slave.” Nora bit her lip. Slowly, she lowered to her knees and then bent forward, pressing her palms flat against the floor as she bowed. Her voice came forth as a whisper, chanting in prayer. I sighed and then glared at the guy. “She stays with me.” He lifted one perfectly sculpted shoulder and then let it fall. Huh. It shrugs. How very human of it. If he could hear my thoughts, he didn’t show it. The humidity in the room curled the fine tips of his chin-length tresses and dampened his tunic. The linen clung to his Adonis body like a second layer of skin, nearly turning translucent. I’d been schooled in anatomy, but this was way more than my virgin eyes had ever seen. I looked to the side and bit my lip. “How can I possibly help you?”
I watched from the corner of my vision as he scanned me again. Heat rose to my cheeks. My wrap was just as thin as the diminishing tunic clinging to his torso. I crossed my arms over my chest and then crossed my legs, which made standing infinitely difficult. A chuckle bubbled from the otherworldly man, crinkling his dazzling eyes and lifting his thin lips into what would have been a wickedly handsome smile, if he hadn’t had teeth like a shark. My breath hitched, carrying a squeal of alarm. I backed away. Noticing my retreat, his mood instantly darkened. “You needn’t fear me.” He used his vocal cords that time, and my knees wavered. His true voice was even lovelier than his internal one. Panic welled in my gut. All logic told me to run, but I couldn’t move. I was frozen in a state of dread, and something else. Curiosity, maybe? Allure? No, it was something stronger. Something stranger. If he was a god, or even a nymph, or a spirit, or more likely a monster, then there was no telling what he was capable of doing. I couldn’t rely on my gift to read a foreign being. I’d never felt so exposed. I didn’t like it. “Speak plainly, sir. Tell me what you want.” He lifted his chin to peer down at me, a move that was completely unnecessary, given his height. “I require your skill with alchemy.” “Alchemy? Why wouldn’t you—” I almost asked why he didn’t seek out my father, but I stopped short. I wouldn’t risk endangering Father. I squared my shoulders and looked him in the eyes—those terrifying, beautiful, mesmerizing eyes—and then started over. “I’m sorry, I don’t know the art you speak of.” A soft warning growl vibrated in his throat. “You dare lie to me, Oracle?” I rolled my eyes. “Stop calling me that. I have a name.” His brow lifted in question. He scanned me for the third time, and then tilted his chin to the side, very much like a confused cat. If not so flustered by the extraordinary events of this very trying day, I might have laughed. Instead, I glared at him. “Very well,” he said. “What are you called?” It was my turn to lift my chin in confidence. “Leena. Daughter of Hesiodos, from the House of the Eupatridae. And,” I added for good measure, “Daughter of Her Majesty Athena, Goddess of war and wisdom.” His brow arched as he righted his posture. “Leena.” My named rolled off his tongue like fine wine.
I was a little concerned that the implication of my demi-goddess status didn’t faze him. Perhaps he was very good at reading lies. Or perhaps the fact that I could scarcely refrain from retching every time I referred to the goddess as my mother made me a bad liar. “And what shall I call you?” He smiled, but kept his lips closed. To refrain from scaring me? Did he honestly care? “My name is not important.” “If I am to help you, then I should know what to call you.” His gaze went to the floor and his brow pinched at the center. “One’s identity can lend a great deal of power to the alchemist. I will tell you my name when it becomes imperative.” So he knew something of magic. That was good to know. And, like an idiot, I had given him my full name. I frowned in hindsight. “However,” he added as an afterthought. I perked up, hoping he might give me another clue to who—or what—he was. “Your kind thinks of mine as Thanatos. That is what you may call me for now.” His devilish gaze caught mine as all the breath left my lungs. He grinned in approval at my reaction. My head spun. Even Nora gasped and looked up at the man before us. Thanatos. Death. “What would you have me do?” I whispered. “I require….” he took two steps toward me, closing the distance between us, “…an extraction.” I reminded myself to breathe as he circled us. “What kind of extraction?” His lips teetered as he came to stand before me again. “I am possessed by a vile entity. I wish to be free of it.” There’s something viler than him? “What is this entity? What are you?” “That is irrelevant, Ora—Leena.” So he’s not human, then. “I need to know, to perform the spell correctly.” It was a lie, but also a test. One that would give me better knowledge of his own proficiency in the science. He hesitated. I bit my lip to hide my grin. So he doesn’t know that much. He looked at Nora, who was still on the floor praying for her life. Poor thing. “Gather what you can without this knowledge. I will return to you tomorrow night.”
“Where? Here? But I can’t—” I gasped as his pale skin rippled and then scattered, all at once becoming invisible. Breathe, Leena. Breathe. I closed my eyes and listened, but no thoughts hailed in his smooth tenor. He was truly gone. Nora stood and then brushed her palms together. “How embarrassing, conversing with a man when we are so indecently dressed. You were right, he is not a god.” “I don’t think the gods care much what we wear.” She wrinkled her nose. “Of course not. The Panathenaic Games are played in the nude, after all.” I faced her, confused. “Then what made you change your mind?” “Simple. He appeared in his true form. Mortals cannot look upon a god in their true form. If he was a god, I would have burned from the inside-out.” I chuckled and chided her as we walked toward the dressing room to fetch our tunics. “So you think he’s mortal?” She shook her head. “Absolutely not. Nothing that handsome is mortal.” I nodded in agreement. He was quite nice to look at, when his teeth weren’t visible. Recalling his sharp fang-like incisors sent chills down my spine. “What do you suppose he is? Do you think he is really Thanatos?” Nora pursed her lips in thought. “No, I don’t think he is death. But I don’t doubt that he is capable of killing. You should do what he asks as quickly as possible and be rid of him.” I sighed as we exited the bathing house. Exhaustion weighed on my mind and I yawned, wanting nothing more than to get back to the Acropolis and crawl into bed. But I didn’t think I would sleep peacefully. This was by far the strangest day of my existence, and that was saying a lot, given my cursed gift as well as being the daughter of an alchemist. How did he know? Something told me that even if I performed the spell with success and he left me at peace, this bewildering occurrence would not be the last. In fact, it would be the first of many in my coming doomed existence as an oracle. I didn’t want to consort with gods or entities of any kind. Just look how bitter they’d made Dorothea. I didn’t want to end up like her, insane and insufferable. We crested the long train of steps leading up the mountain to the Propylaea. To most, the Acropolis was a place of wonder and magic—a place where heroes and legends were born, and men consorted with gods. To me, it was the gate, lock, and key to my mortal imprisonment. I
lifted my face to the twinkling stars in the clear night sky and looked for the turtle dove. Alas, still no sign of her. If I couldn’t get sufficient results from a simple love spell, how was I supposed to extract an unwanted soul from a divine being?
Chapter Five: Jalmari
I followed the girl and her companion through the city, levitating across the rooftops, until they reached her home on the mountain. It seemed her perceptive powers did not extend very far, and I was able to trail her undetected. I landed softly on the roof of the stoa, careful not to make any noise as I walked the short distance to her sleeping quarters. The humans were all indoors at this hour, preparing for their nightly rest. I heard her footsteps as she entered the abode. A second heavier set of footsteps joined hers from somewhere inside. Judging from the low masculine tone, I assumed the man was her father. He certainly scolded her like a parent. His tongue cut twice as sharp while reprimanding the help. Strange, the girl had said her companion wasn’t a slave, but the man seemed to treat her like one. The stone and straw thatched roof angled flat enough that I could lie on my stomach. Folding my hands under my chin, I listened to the activity inside the house. The girl’s scent moved into another room and mingled with the sugary aroma of figs, bread, and wine. While she ate, my gaze traveled idly over the horizon. Her chamber window faced the same direction, hailing an excellent view of Athens and the sea beyond, yet my thoughts didn’t stray further than the window sill. I held a palm out in front of me and materialized her shoe. As soon as I willed it, the soft leather sandal became whole in my hand. I couldn’t resist going back for the footwear after saving her and her slave’s life.
What had possessed her to throw herself out of the window? If I hadn’t been hiding in the thicket below, they would both be dead. Had I frightened her so much in the temple that death seemed like the only escape? Humans were terrified of my kind, and rightfully so, but most had a high preservation drive. No matter how useless, they always went on living, surviving, until that final moment. Even then, they begged and bargained for mercy. Obviously, the oracle had never encountered a vampyre before. She seemed to live a very sheltered life. Perhaps the stress was too much for her delicate mortality. I turned the shoe over in my hands, studying it. It smelled like her. Like olives and a light floral perfume. Also like grass and sunshine and morning dew. I had meant to give it back to her in the room of steam, but ultimately decided to keep it hidden. Why? It’s just a shoe. Her scent mounted and I realized I could hear her pulse without trying. She was very near. In the next instant, the door to her quarters creaked open and then slammed shut. I grinned at her anger. Were her emotions aimed at me? Did she know I was there, on her roof? I didn’t want to be detected, so I dematerialized and floated a safe distance away, taking the sandal with me. I wondered how the girl came to call herself the daughter of a goddess. Was there a female vampyre by the name of Athena who had fancied her father for a while? More likely, the lineage was a lie, a fabrication to build her credibility as their oracle. That she would try to convince me of this fabrication only showed how ignorant she was of my kind. Hopefully the rumors concerning her skill in alchemy were not also a part of the ploy to increase her status. Father had been uncharacteristically silent, but his presence was a permanent annoyance regardless. My brain itched. He crowded my essence. There just wasn’t enough room in my body for both of us. But I would be rid of him soon. The girl would make sure of it. She had to. Her slowed heartbeat and deep even breath spoke of sleep. I relaxed. She hadn’t tried to kill herself again. Hopefully, her will to survive stayed as strong in the coming day. I couldn’t watch over her when the sun came. But as long as she was asleep, there was no point in staying, and I was getting thirsty. I needed to find sustenance in the woods beyond the city, or return to Lycaon’s lair for food. My thoughts wavered once more to the footwear. Still in phased form, I floated into her window and drifted daringly close to her bedside. My essence stretched like a thin veil over the flat surface of a small table and then separated from the matter that made up her shoe. The
delicate sandal materialized on the tabletop. Now she would know I had come, that I was real, that she could not explain me away with tales of elaborate dreams. Some part of me yearned for the reassurance that she too was real. Sleep was such a foreign notion. I figured humans lived so close to death, they required a nightly visit with it. How else could they lay corps-still for eight hours at a time? Did they beg at death’s door each night for another chance at life? Indeed, it was not uncommon for them to die this way. What if my oracle died in her sleep? I needed to see her. I materialized just enough for my physical vision to work. To her, I would look like a dark cloud shaped like a man. She lay curled on her side facing me, a blanket pulled up to her chin. She held the ends in her fists. Her eyes squeezed tightly, brows pinched, lips pouting. A braided rope of chestnut-colored hair wrapped her arm, lose tendrils sticking to her puckered face. She appeared rather uncomfortable, but unconscious nonetheless. “She would be so easy to drink.” My breath hitched at Father’s remark. Knowing her abilities, I flung myself across the room, worried his words would wake her. Father laughed. I bit the inside of my cheek to resist the urge to yell at him. That’s what he wanted, to get a reaction out of me. I refused to succumb to his games. Keeping a clear head was better, especially where the oracle was concerned. Fortunately, she hadn’t roused. My gaze lowered to her slender sun-kissed nose. Her nostrils flared. Her shoulder rose and fell rhythmically as her chest inhaled and then exhaled. There. She breathes. I saw it with my own eyes. That was all I wanted. Now it was time to go. I had to trust that her father and servant would keep a close enough eye on her, for I could not. I flew out of her chamber window and continued over the Acropolis grounds. I phased into the hidden underground caverns of Lycaon’s abode, becoming solid again in the dank throne room. “Jalmari,” Lycaon called from his chair of bones. “How fared your second meeting with the oracle?” “As expected,” I admitted. “She is fearful.” Lycaon chuckled. “Yes, she is inexperienced with our kind. You spoke with her, though?”
I nodded. “And she is willing?” “I’m not sure yet. I will find out tomorrow.” “Well, I would be happy to help persuade her…” “Thank you, Your Highness, but I am confident I can manage one human girl.” Lycaon grinned and nodded. “Of course, I meant no offense. You are your father’s son, after all.” “More like his mother’s son,” Father grumbled. I ignored him. “What I require of you for now is sustenance. Tell me again, Lycaon, how you are able to absorb human energy without harming them.” He wagged a long fingernail in my direction. “I fear that talent is one that cannot be taught. The Vrykolakans are born with the ability. You know that.” My fists clenched. “I have to try.” “You can try all you want, my boy. In the meantime, I took the liberty of having a meal sent to your quarters.” I nodded my appreciation and left the room, entering the narrow passageway that led to the other caves and pockets in the layer. When the pass came to a fork, I veered left and followed the winding incline deeper underground. Lycaon’s home was far different from mine. Heldyrr had been a large open cave that would have proved useless in protection, if not for its location and deep formation. It had many hollow pockets inside the walls, but most were little more than sufficient storage space. Hence why the clan built longhouses in the dark zone like the human villagers did in the valleys. Lycaon’s clan made no such use of human housing. The Acropolis underground was a maze of winding tunnels, connecting several medium sized caverns, each one just big enough for a couple of vampyres to eat and lounge with all the amenities of comfort. The only large-scale cavern in the entire cave was the king’s chamber; the throne room. The cave had three entrances from the northern, southern, and eastern points of the mountain base. Each was mildly impressive in size, and all of them connected to the throne room by a series of tunnels, but one must know the way to keep from getting lost and dying of starvation. Candles flickered from the crevices in the walls, lighting the way. I found the chamber in which I was staying for the time being. A bed fit for a king furnished the dimly lit cavity, along
with a small wooden table. I had brought nothing other than the clothes on my back, and the dagger at my side, but no one could tell by looking at the fine purple, red, and gold sheets that hung from the bed posts and wrapped the wide cot. A large gray wolf lounged across the cushions. That was new. I advanced farther into the room and noticed a clay carafe sitting on the table. A metallic scent wafted from its mouthwatering contents. Instinct tugged at my skin, drawing me to the drink like a tether, but I couldn’t ignore the oddity making itself at home on my bed. I tore my gaze away from the decanter and faced the she-wolf. She stretched her legs out in front of her, and then her bones moved in odd painful looking angles. Her joints snapped and twisted. Her fur receded to become pale skin, her paws into hands and feet, fingers and toes. Her tail diminished, and her snout flattened into that of pink lips and a small nose. Her yellow irises turned black, and her canines shifted into a sultry vampyre smile. Shea rolled onto her back, completely exposed, and stretched across the silk linens. Her dark hair hung off the foot of the bed, her toes fanned over the pillows. I couldn’t help looking at her pert nipples, or the curly hair masking her maidenhood. I didn’t realize how tense my shoulders and chest muscles had become, until I struggled to swallow the dryness in my throat. I inhaled a deep breath, forcing myself to calm so I could manage words. “Shea?” She gazed longingly at my body and then licked her plump lips. “I have brought you food...and entertainment.” Don’t betray me, I begged my manhood. “Are you celibate as well?” Father mocked. “Come on, boy. Let us have some fun.” Well, that did it. I breathed easier with all temptation permanently erased by the disgusting lewdness of my father. I went to the tabled and drank directly from the clay pitcher, sating my thirst at least. “Shea,” I said with more confidence. I faced her and nearly sputtered the blood I’d just swallowed. She was rubbing the fold of pink flesh between her legs with her fingertips. My meal skipped my stomach and went straight to my penis. It throbbed painfully hard. A satisfied look curled the corners of her mouth. I grimaced. Get a hold of yourself, Jalmari. She’s not for you. “Why not?” said Father. This was a disaster. I cleared my throat. “Does Lycaon know you are here?”
“Does it matter?” She batted her lashes. “He is your alpha. Your husband and your king.” “Silly prince, you would deny my offer?” She righted herself, then stood and came toward me. I willed my feet to carry me away, but they refused. She pressed her cold body against mine. The tunic I wore offered very little barrier between us. She took advantage of this and rubbed her thigh against my crotch while raising her arms to drape them around my shoulders. I cleared my throat and kept my eyes on her face, silently cursing my growing erection. “I’ll not betray my host’s trust and wear out my welcome by bedding his woman.” She smirked. “Vyrkolakans do not mate with only one. Lycaon has many women to keep him warm. He won’t miss me. You have none. I am merely extending my hospitality. I am sure my alpha would think it generous of me.” She was very close to taking me, regardless of what I thought, the underside of her hips gliding along my shaft. I was almost dizzy with the pleasure of it. I clamped tight on my bearings, bringing my forearm to her collar bone. I pushed her back several steps, putting much needed space between us. “I may not be familiar with your clan’s ways, but I know the ways of men. It matters not how many women Lycaon has. He will feel possessive of all of you equally. You are his.” She narrowed her eyes and gave me a sidelong glance. I wasn’t sure if she was more angry or hurt. “You’re very attractive,” I added, trying to salvage her feelings. “But I mean what I—” “There’s someone else.” Her eyes widened in realization. “Someone waiting for you back home?” “What?” I stammered. “No.” Not that there weren’t any pretty women in my clan. Certainly. But none of them held my attention. She sat on the edge of the bed and smiled with enthusiasm. “Someone here, then? One of my sisters, perhaps?” Her excitement threw me. “No. No one here.” No one period. But for some reason, I didn’t push it. Mirth sparkled in her gaze. “There is a girl. I can tell.”
I didn’t think Shea could tell a mouse from a snake, but why not let her believe I had a woman? At least then she’d stop insisting on taking me to bed. “Fine, yes, there is someone.” “I knew it. She is very lucky.” Shea stood and then pinched my cheek. “But she is not with you now, is she? My offer still stands, Your Majesty.” My brow perked. Vampyres are a stubborn lot. The women even more so, I guess. I bit my lip, my self-control quickly fading. “Lycaon can never know.” She tilted her chin and grinned. “You have my word.” I lifted a hand to her cheek and ran my thumb over her lips. They were just thick enough that they reminded me of the way the oracle pouted in her sleep. It had looked almost as if she was preparing to kiss someone. Perhaps, I mused, it was my presence that elected the unconscious response. I chuckled. A human would never fawn over a vampyre. Shea mistook my laugh as an invitation. She pulled the tip of my thumb into her mouth and sucked. Excitement coursed through my blood. “Tell me,” I said in curiosity. “Do you think humans and vampyres can ever truly live together in peace?” She shook her head. “My mother believed they could.” She let go of my thumb. “Then perhaps there is hope.” “Father?” I silently called. “Hmm.” Don’t say a single fucking word for the next hour, or I swear I will never do this again.
Coming soon by J.D. Brown DARK BECOMING An Ema Marx Novel 3 Ema Marx is in a race against time. Or rather, a race against Apollyon. A powerful weapon—the legendary philosopher’s stone—could tip the scale in favor of whoever gets their fangs on it first. For Ema, obtaining the stone is an uphill battle through love, alliance, heartbreak, and loyalty. Winning should mean the beginning of beautiful things, but the closer Ema gets to her destiny, the more uncertain her future becomes. Could it be this war was never meant for her? And why the heck doesn’t morning sickness adhere to rules of its own name?
About the Author J.D. Brown knows that vampires exist because she’s dating one and no, he doesn’t sparkle. Unfortunately, he’s not immortal either (or maybe her standards are too low). A magnet for subcultures and weirdness, J.D. was that socially awkward girl with more fictional friends than real ones. As a child battling a hearing loss and a medical condition with no name, J.D. found comfort in books where strong women always saved the day and got the guy. An obsession with Charmed, Sabrina the Teenage Witch and Buffy the Vampire Slayer lead J.D. to believe that her mutated chromosome made her something more, not something less. Thus her stubborn flare to persevere was born. A lover of fine cuisine, coffee, and shoes. She resides in Wisconsin were she writes urban fantasy—aka vampires for adults—and has political debates with her dogs. J.D.’s books are available in paperback and e-book formats from Muse It Up Publishing Inc. and all major book retailers. She loves to hear from readers. You can reach her via Facebook.com/authorjdbrown or visit her website at http://authorjdbrown.com