Blood Legacy: Adult Urban Fantasy (The V V Inn Book 5) (30 page)

A burning desire to help, to do something, builds inside me. I hate the helplessness I’m feeling, the sense of injustice at the complete and total slaughter of people deemed a threat, when no initiating attack came from them. Maybe that’s the point, this uprising was long overdue. Maybe the manipulators deserved it, maybe they abused their power for too long.

“Wipe them out! Kill them all! We will never suffer a manipulator to rule ever again!”

“Get her—the one in purple!”

Our flight with Esmie leads us to a cluster of shops and other buildings outside the royal compound. There’s no wall or set delineation to mark the end of the grounds, except perhaps for the slight incline we’ve raced down. The urge to shake the young woman and tear her robe from her, leaves me panting for breath, despite knowing this tragedy has already unfolded thousands of years ago.
 

I want her to live, I want her to make it, even knowing her predecessors probably deserve everything they’ve got coming to them. My heart calms when I see her dash into a building, reaching for the hem of her tunic. She peels it off as she runs toward the back of the shop, passing ceramic bowls and jugs on shelves, displayed for purchase.
 

In the back, she grabs a smock, or covering of some kind, dirty with red clay splotches, and pulls it over her head. In a further attempt to hide her identity, she loosens the complicated braids woven around her head, allowing them to cascade down like snakes, as she strides quickly through a back door.

Intent on her destination, she runs toward the docks, destruction and dying occurring around her. The elementals stream through the city, from all directions, wearing their golden robes and silver-lined cloth hats, killing everyone wearing any shade of purple.

Storm clouds, bigger and darker than the ones from the coliseum, fill the night sky, obscuring the stars and moon. Driving rain pummels Esmie’s slight form, slicking the streets, making it harder for her to run. An earthquake rips through the ground, parting the street like a lone crack in the ice of a winter lake. The gap expands while roofing and debris spill from above, clothing and other household goods tumble out of windows as the rumble pitches and heaves the earth in an angry twist.
 

Trying to avoid the widening fissure in the road, Esmie sidles closer to the dwellings lining it. Water from the rain runs down from the royal grounds, racing toward the new split in the earth, as the smell of charred human flesh fills our noses. Esmie slips in the torrential rainwater racing by, crashing down in a heap with a sharp shout of pain. A family of humans runs past, small children held in the arms of parents while they flee.
 

The young woman struggles to stand, one hand against a brick and mud house, leaning to her left as she positions her awkwardly bent right foot to the side. She’s broken it in her fall. She looks up and down the street, the chaos increasing with every moment that passes. Dead ahead lies the marina, still about a half mile away.

Dismay fills me as I watch her forlorn form. She must get there! Keep going!

Esmie bends down, places both hands on either side of the break, and forces her ankle and foot into proper alignment, screaming out at the pain. She rests for a few minutes there in the darkness while the city goes to hell around her, so her ankle can heal and she can continue her escape.
 

We all watch in silence as she scans the burning remains of the city, knowing her only hope lies in getting to a boat in time. If not, I’m assuming the remaining people will have to swim to the mainland, however far away that is. Would a vampire drown when it became too tired to swim? Would sharks feast on anything swimming a long distance?

I shake off the macabre thoughts as she starts to move. Soon, she’s ready to continue, stepping hesitantly at first to ensure her ankle won’t give out on her. This time, she’s even slower than before, picking her way with caution through the crumbling island. Once she reaches the docks, I’m ready for this memory to end. She obviously makes it onboard and to safety or we’d never have seen what she went through up to this point.
 

I don’t want to see any more images of the once beautiful city being destroyed by hatred. I don’t want the smell of burning flesh to coat my nasal passages any longer. I grip my wife’s hand to ground me in what’s real. I want out of this horrible vision, and I want out now.
 

CHAPTER THIRTY

Jon

Voices surround us as we huddle in Esmie’s memory, her misery and desperation a living thing. She’s made it to a good sized fishing boat with other fleeing Atlantians. They cast off from the docks a little while ago, the boat’s occupants staring at their once grand city going up in flames, watching the red glow of lava from the volcano inch down its steep sides.
 

“This never would have happened if the manipulators hadn’t killed Demetrius,” one man says, his eyes filled with tears.

Another man shares his opinion. “Place your blame and anger where it should be—we’d still have our city if the damn elementals hadn’t destroyed it.”

A wizened old woman speaks up, “Never turn a witch, and you’ll never have elemental vampires to contend with.”

“She speaks the truth,” says another refugee.

“Kill manipulators when discovered,” adds a woman clutching her tattered clothes to her frail shoulders. “No vampire should have the power to mind control another.”

“Agreed!” shout others.

Fear courses through Esmie, palpable through the memory as if it were our own.
 

“When we get to the mainland we must unite the other survivors. Take back the Seat of Darkness and make it equal for all vampires.”

“Look!” someone shouts. “The island is collapsing into the ocean!”

We all look on in horror as the ending of Atlantis becomes clear to those watching the memory unfold. The tropical paradise survived for millennia until vampires discovered it and made it their own.

As the vision fades, Esmie’s predicament and eternity of hiding fills me with sadness and dread. It’s no wonder Vivian is so paranoid about protecting what she is. There’s no way the rest of the vampire race would ever tolerate a manipulator or elemental after this fiasco. And who could blame them?

Slowly, I become aware of the couch beneath me. I’m left feeling drained of energy, bereft and torn. So much destruction, so much death. The end of all that beauty and splendor in the heat of the moment.

I glance at the watch on Dria’s wrist, noting it’s well after three a.m. We were lost in the illusion far longer than I would have thought—and yet time seemed to fly by.
 

“From what I was told, after the survivors made it to land,” Persephone says, “the remaining vampires huddled together to build a town while the other surviving supernatural species drifted, seemingly happy to get away from the rest of us. And for good reason. Elementals destroyed the most advanced civilization for vampires on the planet, all in the name of power.

“Elemental vampires used their destructive magic to tear apart our home. Their desire to play god ruined centuries of prosperity.”

Did we watch the same memory? It looked to me like both sides were guilty of abusing their powers. But I wisely keep my mouth shut, afraid she’ll turn that crazy-eyed stare on me.

Rolando clears his throat. “Now you fully understand where the rule to never turn a witch originated. They are where elemental vampires came from.”

My mouth opens before I have a chance to think through if I should say anything or not. “Then how are you able to do magic?”

Persephone answers, “The same way Justin can—with spells, incantations, rituals, and with the help of my very powerful vampire blood.”

“You became a wizard?” Rafe asks, his tone thoughtful.

My next thought is they have learned nothing from the past and have essentially combined the two deadly classes into one, by making a manipulator vampire who is a wizard, too. What the hell is wrong with these idiots? Don’t they recognize they’re playing with fire?

Vivian finally speaks, her voice sounding detached and pitched low. “Atlantis was beautiful. The tragedy of its destruction an unacceptable outcome for those of us with the power to change the future.”

Persephone’s face lights up. “Exactly! I’m so glad to hear you understand. All the killing, the unimportant events that led us here, they matter not in the ultimate goal—to take back vampire rule for those of us who are the strongest.”

Every fiber of my being longs to argue, to speak out against this madness. Surely, Viv is just in shock over the events she saw in the memory and isn’t thinking clearly. She’s hidden her power and used it remotely all these decades for a reason, right? What has happened to her personal mantra of “absolute power corrupts absolutely”?

I look to Rafe and see the same confusion in his eyes I’m sure is in mine. I reach out with my mind, hoping to connect with the two of them again, only to find a block of some sort. It feels the same as when Vivian expanded her awareness earlier to protect me from the ancient’s casual reading of my mind—perhaps those shields are still in place.

Squeezing Viv’s hand, I try to draw her gaze to mine, to plead with her silently to not agree to their course of action.

“Our new Atlantis will be here, in Buenos Aires,” Persephone says. “We will call the manipulator vampires of the world home to roost, and the city will be ours. Our rule will be complete. With no fear of elemental vampires to destroy what we build.”

Rolando continues with the crazy talk. “The Tribunal will remain intact, but with manipulators serving as ancients, and within the inner circle as well. With your help, we will rule without opposition.”

Vivian nods in agreement, and it takes every scrap of awareness in me to not let my jaw drop open in astonishment. “A noble cause. I can see why you’ve worked hard to pursue it. I will have a place among the ancients?”

Persephone smiles again, the stretch of her red lips over white teeth disconcerting instead of welcoming. “Of course. I can think of no other we’d want by our side. We need to add your offspring to our numbers, to gain the foothold we need.”

“I’m afraid I won’t be of much help there. I haven’t turned any vampires who showed signs of becoming manipulators. There were a few, but they couldn’t handle the power and had to be destroyed.”

“I find that hard to believe,” the ancient says, her face no longer looking happy with her crazy glow, more perplexed now.

Rolando rises from the couch and strides to the dining room. “We have a list here.” He returns in a moment with a file in one hand. “It contains all the names of the vampires you’ve turned over the centuries.” He opens it and pulls out a sheet. I see a single column filled with names, but it’s too far away for me to read. “It’s rather light, considering your age.”

Vivian’s gaze drops to the list and away, returning her attention to the man holding it. “Yes, it is. Due to incurable bloodlust, I didn’t allow many to live past a year—the age we’re required to report new turnings to the Tribunal.”

My mind immediately races to Paul, one of the inn’s chefs, who was turned by Vivian a little over seven months ago. If she’s keeping to the rules, then Paul hasn’t been announced to them yet. Which is good, considering he showed signs of something out of the ordinary when he was able to catch Emiko by surprise and stab her during an organized hunt this past winter.

Persephone leans forward, excitement on her face. “We want you to tell us who on this list could be a manipulator, too. Together we can take back what is rightfully ours.”

Vivian takes the list and scans it. Her face remains expressionless, no sign of recognition when she reads. I glance over, as unobtrusive as possible, surprised to see both women and men’s names on the list. For some odd reason, I thought Vivian would have only turned men. Wrong again. Go figure.

“Which ones, Dria?” Rolando presses.

“I can’t be sure. Very few exhibited signs of being able to manipulate anything but humans.”

Persephone looks confused. “Are you telling me you don’t know how many could have the power?”

Vivian nods, her face clear of emotion. “Exactly. It’s been so long I can’t remember.”

Rolando says, “Are you sure that’s correct?”
 

I feel a pressure against my mind, similar to when a telepathic conversation is initiated, but not the same. This push means business. Like whoever is doing it wants into my head.

Vivian’s grip loosens on mine until she drops my hand and rests hers in her lap. I notice she’s dropped Rafe’s, too. The pressure on my mind eases a bit, indicating she’s the target of the mental press, not me. “Yes, I’m sure.”

Persephone smiles, the small grin not reaching her eyes. “Forgive us if we don’t believe you.” And with that, she links hands with Rolando and Vivian tenses on the couch, her whole body stiffening with a sharp spasm.

“What the hell are you doing to my wife?” Rafe barks. He attempts to rise, but with a motion from Rolando he’s pinned to the couch.

“Stay out of it, Raphael, or your wife will regret it,” Rolando says.
 

Adrenaline rushes through me, priming my muscles to fight or flight. What the hell is going on? What am I not seeing?

Vivian screams, grasping her skull, blood dripping from her nose, writhing on the couch in pain. I lunge forward, hands extended, intent on leaping across the coffee table and wrapping my hands around the ancient’s throat. But I can’t. Rolando’s attention flicks to me and I’m forced back to the couch, staked in place like a bug on a pin.

“Don’t fight us, Dria,” Persephone says in a strained tone, the effort to break Vivian’s mind taking its toll on her. “It will go much easier if you don’t.”

But the redhead doesn’t listen, refuses to relent. The screams and jerks of her body intensify as the two of them plow into her mind for information she may be hiding.

Persephone whispers, “I need more, Rolando, she’s very strong.”

Their linked hands must mean something. Perhaps he’s adding his strength to hers?