The Last Slayer (11 page)

I couldn’t imagine having even one. That is, if I could find one in the first place. And Ramiel was talking about
three?

“Are they supposed to protect me from the Triumvirate?” I sat down again. I needed to sit down.

“They’ll help you to realize your true potential.”

“My true potential.” If I survive the harvesting. “Where am I going to get three heartstones?”

“From three supernaturals, of course.”

I started laughing because the other option was yelling.

“What is so amusing?”

“Everything,” I gasped. “I mean…three heartstones was already ludicrous enough, but from three supernaturals? How?” Before Ramiel could respond, I held up a hand. “To give someone a heartstone is to give them a part of your magic and possibly forfeit your life. You guys won’t even use your precious
dragons
as incubators. So why would anyone give me a heartstone? And ones from supernaturals are stronger than ones from mortals. There’s no way I could control
three
of them.” I took a long breath and collapsed against the high back of the chair. “So excuse my hilarity at your bullshit.”

It probably wasn’t the smartest thing to say. Red slowly suffused the ivory perfection of Ramiel’s complexion. Hmm. I hadn’t known dragonlords could get blotchy. Of course, I didn’t mention it. Supernaturals are notoriously vain.

“You don’t need all three at the moment.” His lips barely moved as he spoke. “One will be sufficient to claim Eastvale.”

“Uh-huh. Won’t the current dragonlord of Eastvale have some objection to my just waltzing in and taking it from him?”

“There is no current dragonlord.”

“I’m sure he’ll just—What?”

“The hold has been vacant since the Twilight of Slayers. It should belong to you as you are the only demigod born—”

“I’m not a damn demi—”

“—in the last four centuries.”

“I don’t want lousy Eastvale. I want Besade.” I figured that would get his attention.

He raised his eyebrows mildly. “I hope you’ll be satisfied with Eastvale. It would be simpler than attempting to kill me to inherit Besade.”

Holy shit. I had no idea that was how succession worked among dragonlords, but it made sense. Why would anyone give up a dragonhold without a fight?

“I was joking,” I said quickly. I didn’t need to be on Ramiel’s shit list. “But look. I’m not claiming Eastvale, okay? I’m very happy with my condo, seeing as how
it befits my status as a mortal.”

“Have you ever wanted to know who your mother is?” Frustration turned Ramiel’s voice sharp.

His question sobered me. It was something I had always wondered but never let myself spend much energy thinking about. And I wasn’t about to spill my secret desires and long-resigned hopes to some dragonlord, no matter what he looked like. “No,” I lied. “It was her loss, not mine, throwing me away.”

“Your mother left you carefully swaddled on the steps of a church, not cast naked atop some mountain. I know because I assisted her in hiding you from Nathanael. He has been trying to destroy you since even before you were conceived. Fortunately, your mother managed to collect twenty-seven drops of blood from him and used them to cast an impenetrable web of protection over you—one year for every drop gathered.”

Color me impressed. She must’ve been an exceptionally powerful mage. Protection spells using an enemy’s blood are extremely complex. Blood magic has too many variables: the quantity of the blood as well as quality. Most mages never reach the level of mastery necessary to cast them. I didn’t personally know anyone who could do it.

Another thought hit me: Jack had told me my magic was very strong when he’d taken me in. He might not have otherwise—there were prettier orphans to choose. But it isn’t every day a child wrestles an incubus and wins.

A demon had been sucking Sex from an older foster sister. I’d seen it, caught it and stabbed its eyes out with a pair of scissors. Federation enforcers had descended and taken the body, but the event had piqued Jack’s interest when he’d heard about it. To this day, I have no idea how I survived the episode without any training. Not that I could recall much about my childhood. My understanding of anything that happened before I was thrown into foster care was fuzzy. Jack could probably have looked it up. He’d never offered to, but I knew he would if I could catch him in the right mood. I’d never bothered, though. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to find out.

But I could ask Jack to discern what the sudden interest from the dragonlords meant. I might have to mortgage my condo to pay for it—he never Saw for free, not even for family—but at least I wouldn’t be put on the waiting list.

Did I get my magic from my mother? Although some people can acquire it through study, anything of significant magnitude is hereditary, or so the current understanding goes. And what about my father? Ramiel hadn’t mentioned him at all, but he couldn’t have been a normal man. Finally there was the issue with my appearance. All demigods are disgustingly good-looking, and there was no way that maybe-a-five-at-the-most me could be one of them unless my father was Quasimodo’s uglier twin. Seemed like the more Ramiel talked, the more unanswered questions piled up.

Ramiel continued. “Now that you have lived twenty-seven years, your mother’s protection has expired. The Triumvirate will not rest until you’re dead.”

Was that why today—my twenty-seventh birthday—was such a mess? Because a few powerful supernaturals wanted to kill me over some mumbo jumbo from three ladies who claimed to see the future? Jeez. Give me something potent to smoke and I’ll let you in on the future too.

“Your first heartstone is the one of love. Leh, currently bound to the Mystic Forest, will give it to you.” Ramiel’s eyes turned unreadable. “She’s been waiting nearly three decades for you. For her daughter.”

I shook my head. No mortal can set foot in the Mystic Forest. Not even supernaturals can stay there for long. The trees of the Mystic Forest use life force the way our trees use nitrogen, leeching it from any who enter. If I could go there, it could only mean one thing.

How could I be a supernatural? I’d spent my entire life fighting them, protecting innocent mortals. And suddenly, Ramiel of Besade wanted me to accept that I was one of those I’d trained to hunt?

“Ashera—” Ramiel began.

“No. You’re not going to tell me what I am. I’m a hunter!”

“You can’t run from this.”

“Oh yeah?” I rose and took a step forward. “You swore you would only talk to me. Well, we’ve talked. I want to leave now.”

“That would be suicide.”

“It’s
my
life!”

I knew I sounded stupid and shrill, like a three-year-old throwing a fit. But I didn’t care. God knew there were thousands of supernaturals that wanted to hurt me. They could’ve petitioned the dragonlords to mess with my psyche, my sense of self. I wasn’t going to let them win.

“You’ll take me back to Arlington. Now.” I stuck a hand out. “And the book, please. Nathanael wants it.”

Ramiel rose to his full—and impressive—six-foot five-inch height. “Leave if you wish, but you can’t have the book. I don’t want them to know I found you as well.”

“They’ll know when they see the second wyrm carcass. There’s no way I could’ve gutted it.”

“I turned it into a leather ball after we left. They’ll think you did it. Again.”

The air suddenly sizzled and popped with strong currents of magic.

“Should you need an excuse about the book, your condo just exploded. Apparently, there was a gas leak.”

I could feel the blood drain from my face. “You bastard.” Another realization hit me. “Oh my god, my neighbors!”

“What of them?”

Was he stupid? Or just uncaring? “What if they were home?”

He sighed. “If it eases your mind, I don’t believe anybody was there.” He turned and looked out the window. “Ashera, I must do what’s best for you. That was my vow, and I intend to keep it.”

“Blowing up my place is what’s best for me?” I began shaking. I’d done everything I could to turn that place into a home, someplace I could call my own. My condo might have looked like a shelter for the homeless compared to Besade, but that didn’t give Ramiel the right to destroy it. I felt like crying. But that wasn’t an option. I wasn’t giving him the satisfaction of seeing me in tears. “Thanks a lot, asshole.”

He merely looked at me over his shoulder. But a tinge of sorrow added a luminous sheen to the deep green of his eyes, and that made me want to trust him.

My god, snap out of it.
I was an idiot if all it took to thwart reason and logic was sex appeal and good looks. I should know better than to fall for that, given my experience. When men gave me that look, it meant they wanted something I wasn’t willing to give. Like an introduction to Valerie, or a job at the firm.

“If you truly wish to leave, I shall oblige you,” Ramiel said.

“Believe me, my wish to leave couldn’t be more true.”

“Very well. We will see each other again soon.”

A crushing pressure flattened me. I gasped, feeling like I was being squeezed by an anaconda. Electricity crawled over my skin, and I had to clench my teeth not to hurl what I’d eaten at Besade.
Ramiel, you bastard.
My vision started to dim. Maybe everything really had been a trap. I tried to summon my magic, but it was impossible.

Too late…

Suddenly the pressure and the currents disappeared. I blinked and found myself back at the main TriMedica building.

Son of a
bitch.
I’d never teleported before—the art of teleportation has been lost since at least the Assyrians—but I was sure it wasn’t supposed to hurt this much.

People around me stopped what they were doing and gawked. Andersen was coming my way across the lawn, crushing the grass with his spit-shined shoes. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Nice to see you again too,” I wheezed, shaking as I rose to my feet. Ramiel hadn’t had the courtesy to repair my clothes or clean me up.

Actually, forget the clothes. He owed me a new home.

“Did you get the book?” Andersen said.

“Ah, no. My, ah, condo exploded.” This tends to be a conversation stopper. “I think the fire department is there now.”

“Hell of a day.”

I nodded. As much as I wanted to rant about my horrific day and how much I hated Ramiel, it wasn’t the time or the place. “And there was another wyrm.”

“We heard. Did it come after you?”

“How else would I end up looking like this?”

He stared at me intently. “I guess the wyrm looks worse though, huh?”

I shrugged. I didn’t want to take credit when I hadn’t actually made the kill—it’s a matter of professional etiquette—but I didn’t want to announce to the world that there had been a fourth dragonlord in the Washington, DC, metropolitan area. Let Andersen interpret it any way he liked.

“So where’s the Triumvirate?” I said.

“Gone. They left not too long after you did.”

It figured. But if Ramiel was correct—and I refused to believe that he was, for the time being—they would be back.

“Anyone else hurt? I mean, aside from…you know. Patterson.”

“No. Once you left, the dragonlords lost interest in our proposal. Just talked among themselves, then took off.”

The gray eyes boring into mine told me exactly who he blamed. “Where’s Valerie?”

“She’s inspecting the wardings around the premises. Just in case.”

“Okay. I need to find her.” I turned around and trotted toward the main building.

“She was in the lobby the last time I saw her,” Andersen called after me.

I waved to acknowledge him. I wanted to get Valerie’s opinion on what had happened. She wasn’t a dragon specialist, but she was an expert on supernaturals and had a lot of experience. To be one hundred percent honest, I was too emotional at the moment to see everything clearly and needed another perspective. And she was the only one I could really count on.

The smooth maroon marble floor reflected the sun outside. Black veins spread like vipers within it. Several security guards stared, but didn’t approach me. Smart of them. I was dirty and I stank.

I called her name. No answer. Maybe she had gone somewhere else. Broken wardings littered the area, the remnants of their power spilled like the uncollected Sex at “Selena’s” townhouse. The wyrm must have blown them all when it’d surged out of the ground for the “test.”

I followed the wardings toward the elevator bank and found Valerie sitting, her back against the wall, facing the elevators. Her head rested on her knees. She looked tired, and it startled me. She was never tired, never nervous, never frazzled.

“Valerie,” I said softly. “You all right?”

She didn’t respond.

I went to her and touched her gently. “Valerie?”

She slumped forward. Her face would’ve hit the floor if I hadn’t caught her. Her eyes were closed, her skin unusually pale and cool against my hand.

“Valerie.” I shook her gently, then with more force. “Valerie!”

She remained inert. I laid her on the cool marble and pushed her eyelids up. Her eyes looked straight back at me, and the pupils didn’t contract. She was like those dolls with rolling eyelids, the ones whose eyes remain startlingly blue and wide when they’re open. Except Valerie’s were green, like circles of jade—and just as inanimate.

Her breath had a hint of sulfur and something else, something cold and foul. I checked both sides of her neck, her wrists and other likely points of entry. No puncture marks showed on her skin, and her pulse was slow and erratic.

I closed my eyes. Dragon poison. It had to be. I felt pressure right below my eyebrows, and the skin underneath my right eye began to tic. Depending on the type of dragon, who was involved and what was added to it, the venom could create an infinite variety of death. I didn’t know what had been used or how much time I had.

My muscles tightened. Did the Triumvirate of Madainsair believe Valerie was a threat? My ally, maybe?

Now I was pissed. If the triumvirs had a problem with me, they should’ve faced me. Valerie had nothing to do with whatever issue lay between us.