The Bloodshade Encounters & The Songspinner (Shadeborn Book 2) Page 3

  Lemarick caught the idea in his words.

  “You mean, could we help you to destroy the vampires of Paris?” he asked.

  “Can you?” Baptiste replied.

  Lemarick rose from the seat by the window and crossed the room, with Edvard watching his every step. He extended a hand into the air and waited. A sphere of wild flames exploded into life above his patient hand, growing to a size greater than his torso. Lemarick craned his head around it to see Baptiste’s face. The hunter was not as amazed as the shade would have liked him to be, but he was indeed taken aback by the display.

  “Might something like this help you?” Lemarick said.

  “I believe it might,” Baptiste answered with a stifled gasp.

  In the boarded window space, where Lemarick had just been sitting, a blade came crashing through the wood with a sudden snap. It was followed by several more as a whole collection of axes smashed down the structure to gain access to the building. The three shades gathered and turned as one to face the threat, the common bond of their magic rising in unison as a wall of gravity shot forth from their fists. The board and the people beyond it flew clean away, only to be replaced moments later by the most hideous collective of beings that Lemarick had ever seen.

  He had assumed that the people breaking into the maison were some of the human revolutionaries he had heard outside before, but now that he was faced with the mob climbing in through the open frame, the shade realised his mistake. Vampires. At least a dozen filthy, ragged creatures approached him, their clothes tattered and their faces darkened by dirt that could have come from the grave itself. They were of one mind as they converged like a pack of dogs, their long, sharp teeth extending from open, hungry mouths. Lemarick gave them another smack of gravity and they paused as if they had walked into a closed door, hesitating before they took another step.

  “This would be a good time for that fireball of yours, Monsieur!” Baptiste said.

  Once glance told Lemarick that the hunter already had handfuls of weapons as he stepped up to join the line of shades, ready to fight.

  “Now, now,” said a slippery voice from outside the building, “we have no quarrel with the shadeborn…”

  A glimmer of recognition flashed through the hunter’s shining eyes.

  “You,” Baptiste growled through gritted teeth.

  Through the pack of confused beasts, there stepped a far superior figure. Though he too bore the long, serrated teeth of a beast, this man stood head and shoulders above his feral, hunched brethren, his creaseless brow rising as he offered Lemarick a smile. He was dark in all his looks, even his skin was a sickly shade of cocoa, and his brown lips parted and upturned with a malicious twist.

  “I have come to finish what I started,” the senior vampire explained. “Hand over the girl and the hunter, and go about your peaceful lives, my friends.”

  “Do we look like the co-operative sort?” Edvard spat, a wild look growing in his bright eyes, making him look more than a little crazed.

  Lemarick had expected Ugarte to shy away from the fray, but she stood beside Ed with wise, calculating eyes that were travelling over every participant of the scene. She was counting the foes, and working out the best plan of attack. Lemarick didn’t particularly need one: twelve beasts and their enigmatic leader would be challenging, but achievable for his and Edvard’s level of magical skill.

  “What is your name, Monsieur?” Lemarick asked, stepping up to the vampire with the appearance of one who wished to make peace.

  The dark gentleman sneered at Edvard, but made a polite nod to Lemarick in due course.

  “I am Yannick Ferve, the Lord of Paris,” he answered.

  Baptiste took a step and spat at the vampire’s feet.

  “You are lord of nothing,” he seethed. “You are a canker on the spirit of humanity.”

  “Humanity,” Yannick said, rolling his eyes at Lemarick. “Have you heard how these creatures talk, my friend? Have you heard how they despise us for being greater than them?”

  “I have,” Lemarick replied.

  Baptiste looked at him aghast, as though the shade had committed some deadly betrayal. Lemarick approached the vampire lord merrily, placing a hand on his shoulder. He smiled.

  “And I know that I am also greater than you,” he added.

  Yannick’s whole torso caught fire as Lemarick released the power from his touch. There were barely a few seconds before Yannick’s beastly cronies realised what had happened, but Edvard and Ugarte had advanced in that time to pin half of them to the walls with gravity surges, whilst Baptiste went about the business of thrusting stakes into their hearts. Lemarick relished in the triumph of his perfectly-spun lie, kicking Yannick down with his own brute force before letting the flames engulf him further.

  He was so enraptured by the success of his deceit that he failed to notice another surge of beasts entering the salon through the window. When he next looked up from the burning man, six vampires were careering into him and pinning him to the ground. It took every ounce of his power to blast them off in a wave of air, the gust having the unfortunate side-effect of extinguishing Yannick’s flames. The dark figure was badly burned, but still very much alive, and he and Lemarick got to their feet at the same time. They rose from the ground to find themselves surrounded by wild elements, and a sea of carnivorous beasts.

  Decisions

  Lemarick could feel his strength waning despite the fact that the four fighters were successfully holding back the tide. With some quick flight, the three shades had come to flank Baptiste at the door that led down towards the kitchens, where Elise still lay sleeping. The shades were now holding up their palms to co-create a wall of gravity that the beasts raged against. Baptiste was soaked in sweat and half the weapons from his belt were gone, but he still had a leather pouch which he was exploring for supplies.

  “The fire only wounds them,” Ugarte said, clearly afraid. “If we change from the gravity wall to fireballs, there is no guarantee we can keep them all at bay.”

  “This power isn’t going to last much longer,” Edvard said, his voice pained, “I can feel my contribution fading already.”

  Lemarick could feel his single strand of gravity becoming the dominant one as the powers of his friends dissipated. He extended his reach to preserve the arc of force that they held against the vampires like a shield, but the rapid thumping of his heart told him that he too was reaching the limits of sustaining his power. Baptiste finished his rummaging and gave a cry of success, producing several spherical bottles of something that glowed as though fireflies were swimming in its liquid.

  “What’s that?” Lemarick asked, his throat running dry.

  “Living Daylight,” Baptiste said with a grin. “I had it made by a powerful potioneer in Zurich for just such an occasion. When I give my word, let the shield come down and be ready to fight.”

  There were two particular things that made Lemarick trust Baptiste Du Nord in that moment: the steely determination in the hunter’s eyes, and the curve of his lip as he smiled with a predatory glee at the feat he was about to accomplish. He had the same look that Lemarick knew he himself possessed, whenever he was about to unleash a great and secret power.

  “At your word,” he agreed.

  “Trois, deux, un!”

  Baptiste hurled the little bottles at the feet of the shades as they released their shield. In the moment that they heard the glass shatter, an eruption of impossibly bright light met with the darkness of the salon and eradicated it in a heartbeat. For several seconds it was as though the room was bathed in natural sunlight, amongst which countless vampires screamed in agony as their skin peeled away and dissolved into dust. Some were wise enough to cover themselves with the tatters of their cloaks, but by the time the daylight had cleared the room, there were only a handful of beasts left. The tide of the battle had turned.

  Yannick was wise enough to survive the light burst, for he had leapt back out of the window to shield himself from th
e blast, and now he returned to the fray with a vigour born of pure fury. He raced with inhuman speed towards Baptiste, unleashing the full extent of his powers on the hunter, all teeth and claws and vicious swipes. Lemarick came to the hunter’s aid and together they pelted the vampire lord with weapons and magic, but a panic grew in Lemarick’s chest as fatigue set into his system. He had little power left to use without suitable rest, and his companions could only be worse-off than he. The time had come to beat back the beasts and make an escape to regroup.

  But that was when Lemarick heard a scream from behind him. Elise had awakened and discovered the fight.

  One soldier of the mindless legion leapt for the young woman, but Edvard was already there to defend her. Ugarte, in turn, took on the brunt of the vampires that Ed had just been facing to stop them pursuing him. Ed stood in front of Elise and she clung to his shoulders, using him as her own personal shield against the beasts. Lemarick thought she looked well, considering her short-lived rest, but he didn’t have time to examine her properly as Yannick took his chance, and rammed a clawed hand right into the shade’s gut.

  Lemarick staggered, shocked by the sharp nails that had broken his shirt and his flesh, but he was overcome with relief when Baptiste let loose a powerful kick that sent the vampire lord flying backwards. The hunter raced on to pin Yannick down and pulled the axe from his belt to give him the justice he deserved. Lemarick took that moment to gather himself and assess the situation. Ugarte was holding her own against two remaining beasts and Ed was just dispatching the last of the creatures who were trying to grab Elise from behind him. Soon he would assist Ugarte and the threat would be at its end, provided Baptiste could take care of Yannick for good. It wouldn’t be long before the fight was won.

  Two things happened that destroyed Lemarick’s hope in a heartbeat.

  Yannick took hold of Baptiste by the throat and overturned their scuffle, landing squarely on the hunter’s body. Baptiste tried vehemently to struggle free, but the vampire lord’s dark lips were forcing their way to his neck. In the same moment, Edvard shrieked a cry of surprise as a strong hand closed around his throat, cutting off his air supply. Lemarick turned to face his friend, ready to battle the monster who was trying to choke him.

  The monster was Elise.

  The change in her countenance was most noticeable when she opened her mouth to smile wickedly. Her teeth were longer than before, and every inch of fear was gone from her young face as she grinned impishly, those pearly tips edging closer to Edvard’s neck whilst he struggled against her for breath. His powers were clearly spent in misguidedly protecting her from the others, and now she had supernatural abilities of her own to dominate him. How long had she been a vampire? Had she woken as one just now, or had she been an immortal enemy to Yannick all along?

  Ugarte was too bombarded by her final adversary to help Edvard, and Lemarick glanced sharply between Baptiste, wrestling Yannick on the floor, and Edvard being held by Elise. His friend’s consciousness was slowly slipping as his eyes rolled back in his skull. Lemarick Novel had a decision to make: save the life of his friend, or that of a stranger he hardly knew.

  Baptiste would have to take care of himself.

  With the final expulsion of his powers, Lemarick launched himself across the room and came down hard on Elise, forcing her teeth away from Ed’s neck at the crucial moment before she would have taken the bite. She floundered in the darkness in her filthy lace dress, hardly white at all now from the battle, then ran with all the strength her legs had left. In that moment Ugarte dispatched her last beast and ran to Edvard’s limp form, slapping his face to wake him from his stupor.

  It was then that Lemarick turned back and saw the cold, dead eyes of Baptiste Du Nord.

  Yannick was already fleeing through the window, scarred from his burns and limping like a hunchback to escape into the night. Blood flowed from Baptiste’s neck, ripped open by the vampire lord, and his handsome face was void of any trace of existence. Lemarick swallowed hard, placated somewhat by the sound of Edvard slowly coming back to consciousness in Ugarte’s arms.

  “Let’s not mix with vampires again, eh what?” Ed choked, never too injured to crack a joke.

  Lemarick closed his eyes, the sight of the vampire hunter’s corpse burned into his mind for evermore.

  PIKETON, the present day

  Secrets Are Best Kept That Way

  The organisation of Jazzy’s possessions was still taking place above them as Novel and Baptiste descended into the catacombs. The illusionist could hear the boxes tumbling and the Sewards arguing over something that had apparently smashed. The farther the two men went into the darkness of the underground cavern below the Theatre Imaginique, the fainter the voices became, until they could hear nothing but the sound of their own footsteps and Lemarick’s heavy breaths. Baptiste seemed to have no need for breathing, a fact which disturbed Novel, urging him to break their silence. Now was the time to voice his question.

  “This cloud above you,” he said, staring at the hazy mass that was still growing over Baptiste, “Why can I see it?”

  “You know exactly why,” the other man replied without looking back.

  “Damn,” Novel answered. “You could have warned me. You know how I loathe surprises.”

  “Is it honestly going to trouble you?” Baptiste snapped. Novel didn’t need to see his face to know the MC was irate. “It’s purely atmospheric, like the weather, unless you know how to read it to your advantage.”

  “Will you teach me?” Novel asked.

  They had reached the bottom of the stairs. Baptiste turned and looked back at the shade, conflicted.

  “If you wish,” he replied, nodding awkwardly, “But I rather thought you had your hands full with Lily.”

  If it was a pun, it was delivered with a terribly bitter wit. Novel ignored the remark and proceeded towards a low-burning torch on the wall. He took hold of it and the flame increased by his will, after which he gave it to Baptiste with a nod.

  “After you, Monsieur.”

  The pair walked along a corridor that was as silent as a grave and twice as deep. Shadows engulfed their every move, but Novel and Baptiste remained a portrait of calm where lesser beings might have quaked at the horror of being so enclosed.

  “So tell me,” Baptiste began, his voice echoing down the passage, “Is having a soul mate all it was promised to be?”

  “Why are you so interested?” Novel demanded, glaring at the taller man’s back. “As I recall, it was you who told Lily to stay away from the Imaginique. Until, of course, you needed her to save me.”

  “Well, you’ve moved her in,” Baptiste replied, “So it would be wise of me to change my mind.”

  “You told her I was dangerous,” Novel said.

  “You are dangerous,” Baptiste corrected. “Besides, I like the girl well enough as an individual.”

  A short pause followed, in which Novel heard his own footsteps quicken.

  “But not when paired with me?” he asked.

  “I never said that,” Baptiste shot back.

  Silence fell upon them once again as they found the end of the tunnel’s path, turning a sharp corner into a small cavern totally coated in shadow. Baptiste hung his torch on the wall, shedding a little light onto the scene before them. A faint crunch sounded under Novel’s feet and he reached down, dislodging a chunk of white, flaking stone from beneath the heel of his shoe. Raw gypsum was crumbling from the walls. Novel pocketed the substance, out of habit, and straightened up.

  “We met in a place like this,” Baptiste said, as though he might have plucked the thought straight out of the shade’s mind.

  “Perhaps that’s why it feels so appropriate for the task,” Novel replied.

  By the will of his mind, the flame from the single torch lifted into a comet and took flight around the room, tracing a familiar path to seven other torches that began to burn. The cavern they stood in was a square room carved into the earth and held steady by pill
ars of alabaster. In its centre was an ancient throne made of the same substance, which Novel approached, sitting down upon the hard and unforgiving surface. He had felt the deathly cold of this seat many times in his past, though every visit made the surface less icy to the touch. It was as if the cold didn’t filter through him anymore.

  Novel looked to his right hand side, resting his forearm on the raised arm of the throne. Down the outside of the alabaster seat, a deep crimson line had permeated the stone, staining it forever with the trickle of dried blood. The sight of it should have made Novel’s stomach turn over, but the shade felt nothing but a prickle of anticipation as he observed the ghastly mark. Baptiste stood watching him for a moment, and his hard, sharp features had transformed into a soft, apologetic look. Novel did not return his sympathy. He stared his MC straight in the eyes, those eyes so full of life.

  “Shall we commence?” he asked.

  PARIS, 1891

  La Belle Époque

  Paris was burning once more, but no longer with the fires of destruction and revolution. The streets of the world’s most glamorous city were now lined with the heat of tourists and travellers, bustling along in fervent lines to reach the many delightful destinations that Paris had to offer. Cinema, theatre, burlesque, opera: the possibilities for gaiety were simply endless in the summer of 1891. Outside his dining room window, Lemarick Novel saw the rush of the wild crowds as they ebbed and flowed, ever entrapped by a tide of impatience to reach the subjects of their indulgence.

  “Come away from there, son of mine,” Mother said from across the room.

  Lemarick went dutifully, glad to see his mother had risen early. They had spent a very late night training Lemarick’s skills with fire magic, and the still-young shade had feared that he may have exhausted his mother’s patience on the topic in order to perfect the technique. The son waved an elegant hand and his mother’s chair slid out for her to take her seat at the breakfast table, returning to her perfectly at the exact moment that she rested her weight on it.