Blood Redemption (Angel's Edge #3) (31 page)

Jacob Eden produced a long, wicked-looking curved dagger. He held out the knife to Cynthia, who offered him her hand palm up. He sliced her across the palm in one quick movement. To her credit, she only winced a very little bit. Watching her, however, made my entire body tense up. I stepped backward and ran right into Ethan, who gave my arm a gentle squeeze of reassurance.

Bain took the dagger and cut himself open. When the drops of blood appeared, he actually smiled. It made my stomach twist. Mrs. Alice followed suit. Her hands never wavered holding the dagger, and she sliced her own palm open with business-like efficiency. Then she passed it to me.

I took the dagger with trembling hands and held it between the thumb and forefinger of one hand. “Umm,” was all I could think of to say, staring at its bloodstained surface. It made me faintly sick. I wondered if this would have been any easier if I had been the first one to cut myself, and hadn’t had to watch everyone else bleeding copiously. My hands were shaking so much I was sure I’d butcher myself. But, as he so often did, Ethan came to my rescue.

He cradled my palm gently in his own. “Just close your eyes,” he soothed. “It will be over in just a second.”

“But… can you?” I asked, not sure if I could trust him to cut me. Not sure if I
wanted
him to cut me.

“I was a warrior for thousands of years, Caspia,” he reminded me. I knew he didn’t like to think of all that time spent on the battlefield, but it surely had taught him how to cut people. “You’ll barely even feel it.”

I held my hands out to him and did as he asked. In one quick motion, the blade kissed my skin, the edges separated, and I realized that the slow, wet trickle I felt pooling in my hand was my own blood. It hurt less than I had feared; the quick slice had merely stung. But I felt like throwing up when I opened my eyes and saw all that red.

“Shh,” Ethan said. “Shallow wounds often bleed the most. It’s not as bad as it looks.”

But I didn’t have time to waste being sick. “Link hands,” Mrs. Alice instructed. Arms outstretched to reach my fellow Guardians, I did as she commanded. I held her blood-slicked skin against my own, and followed suit with Cynthia. I was fleetingly grateful that I didn’t have to mingle any bodily fluids with Bain.

“We gather here to join our blood as a symbol of the land that we protect,” Mrs. Alice intoned. “And we gather here to join in the transfer of power to one new to our number.” She nodded solemnly at me. “Let the power of the places we protect pass through her.”

A tingling in my hands drew my attention. It moved up my arms and through my entire body. It felt a bit like Shadows, but there was much more power here. I sensed something ancient lurking just below the power now coursing through me. Something ancient and watchful, perhaps even sentient. I had the strongest urge to fight against it as it invaded me, but I held still with a tremendous amount of will.

“Do you accept the Guardianship of the South, to protect with your body and soul for as long as needed?” Mrs. Alice continued.

Some response seemed to be required. I had trouble finding my voice, so I just nodded, hoping it would be enough. Apparently it was, because the rest of the circle responded.

“So be it,” said Cynthia Eden.

“So be it,” echoed Bain.

And then an intense burning replaced the tingling from earlier. It coursed through my veins instead of my body, making me feel as if my very blood was boiling. I would have broken the circle, left to my own devices, but the Guardians holding me wouldn’t let go. The burning increased to a fever pitch.

“Please,” I begged, not entirely certain what it was I wanted, other than for the torture to stop. “Enough.”

But Mrs. Alice wasn’t finished yet. “The Southern lands do hereby accept her,” she said in a disembodied voice. I had, by this time, broken out into a sweat, as if I had bitten my lower lip in half. I couldn’t help but pull against the ones binding me.

“They do accept her,” declared the other two Guardians.

And then finally, after what felt like an eternity, they let me go. That’s when the full impact of the force that traveled through my veins made itself known.

I felt… heavier as if I was carrying extra weight on my back. And my head was fuller somehow as if I was no longer alone in there. The watchful sentient power I’d felt before seemed to be lurking in the very back of my mind. That wasn’t something I had bargained for. I wondered if it would ever go away.

“You do get used to it,” Cynthia Eden said, smiling at me. I had an uncomfortable moment when I was afraid she had read my mind. But then again, this was Whitfield. Maybe she had.

Ethan held my palm in his own. Mrs. Alice rushed over with a tube of something and a bandage. I wondered for a moment where it had come from―probably from one of her endless pockets. As she bandaged me up, she smiled.

“That wasn’t so bad,” she attempted to soothe me.

“Mmm,” I mumbled. I did not agree. “What next?” I asked to change the subject.

She gave me a tight smile. “Now we raise protections around the town.”

stood on the porch with Ethan, cradling my freshly injured hand in my good one. My knapsack rested against my calf. Far off in the field, loose groups were gathering together. I assumed these were the “allies” called in by the Guardians. A brief pang of relief washed over me as I realized none of them would be from my Guardianship; I doubted Asheroth had the forethought to call up any, and I simply didn’t know anyone to call.

My stomach growled, long and loud. I’d been too nervous to be hungry before the ceremony. In fact, I had yet to ingest blessed caffeine of any kind. I tugged on Ethan’s sleeve with my good hand.

“Do you know if there’s any breakfast left over?” I asked.

He grinned at me. “I’ll be happy to help you find out.” He executed a mocking bow. “I know the way to the dining room. If Madame will follow me?”

I knocked him in the side of the ribs as soon as I got close enough. He mumbled what sounded suspiciously like a swear word as he pulled the door shut behind us.

I don’t know what I had been expecting. We were, after all, at Bain’s house. But the cold clinical feel of the dining room surprised even me. I could hardly believe this was a place where people ate. We were alone, and there was no sign of food anywhere. Everything was sterile, hospital white: the long table, the chairs, the rug underneath… even the walls were crisply blank. The only splashes of color came from the many bouquets of flowers scattered at intervals along the table. I recognized roses, lilies, and a few others, but many of the flowers were of a kind I had never seen before. I couldn’t help staring. They resembled orchids in their intricate color combinations, but they were shaped more like the common daisy. I found them beautiful, and wished for a second that I could pluck one from its fellows and wear it in my hair. But then reality came crashing back in. We were at the beginning of a mounting battle, and there was no time.

“Stunning, aren’t they?” a familiar voice drawled from the far end of the room. “Go ahead and take one,” Bain encouraged, pacing halfway down the room as he spoke. “It’s lovely. It would suit you.”

My stare must have been more intent than I’d realized. Either that, or Bain was incredibly observant, and I didn’t like that possibility. I much preferred a scenario in which Bain was stupid and non-threatening. I’d had my fill of psychopathic authority figures with Dr. Christian. I didn’t need to add Bain to that list, too.

So I smiled and ignored the offer entirely. Instead, I asked, “Is there coffee?”

Bain sighed as if my refusal wounded him. He picked up a small, clear glass bell from the tabletop and rang it. There were several glass bells just like it lined up and down the table. I hadn’t noticed them because they were practically invisible against the white background. Seconds later, a door behind us swung open. I turned to see a pretty, young girl dressed in a formal black and white maid’s outfit. She looked pale, and refused to meet our eyes. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her.

“Coffee,” Bain barked at her, and she vanished back through the service door. Then he turned to us. “Please, don’t remain standing on my account. Allow me to join you.”

Actually, there were very few things I wanted less, but this wasn’t my house, and these weren’t my rules. I forced myself to smile at him and sit, dropping my knapsack to the floor beside me. Ethan sat at my side. I told myself that the promise of coffee made it all worth it. When the maid delivered a full silver coffee set, steaming with wake-up goodness, I almost believed it.

Then I noticed Bain wasn’t drinking. Or eating. Or doing anything but staring at me with a creepy half-smile plastered across his face. I found it more than a little disconcerting. “Can I help you with something?” I asked, sloshing a little bit of coffee over the side of my porcelain cup as I gripped it too hard.

He made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “It is nothing. My kind rarely eats. We lost our appetite for food a long time ago.” Then he fixed me with that awful, toothy grin.

I leaned into Ethan for comfort. I did not want to know what our host’s “kind” were; something told me I could go to my grave happy not knowing that one.

A light buzzing settled in my head, gentle but insistent. I paused, mid-sip, and tried to identify the source of the sensation, but there was nothing. I tried to ignore it, but it grew stronger. Finally I put my coffee down, fingers shaking, wondering what the hell was going on. Suddenly the world went soft and gray.

I came back to consciousness some time later. I wasn’t sure how much time had passed. I found myself clutching a broken stick of charcoal in one hand while my other rested palm-down in a pool of cooling coffee. I must have reached right into my bag for my supplies the minute the vision took me. Right under my nose was something I hadn’t done in a long time: a sketch of the future.

Oh, please don’t let it be the real future. Let this be something my feverish imagination dreamed up.

In the foreground, shadowy figures twined around one another as if locked in close combat. They were almost transparent, resembling differing shades of smoke against a chaotic background. The figures had spectral wings, and I wondered who I was looking at: Belial, Asheroth, or someone else entirely? And if so, who was going to be the victor? The drawing didn’t make that clear.