Winter's Shadow (32 page)

‘There she came across a city – Krypthia, heart of the Dead Lands.’

Winter opened her mouth to ask if this was the ghost city she’d seen, but Blake anticipated her question.

‘Yes. You’ve glimpsed this city twice now, and I’m sure you’ve felt its seductive power. Lamara certainly did. She was bewitched by the terrible beauty of Krypthia and of the beings that dwelt there: the Malfaerie.’ Blake’s sickly complexion paled even further. ‘I imagine she thought they were angels at first. So beautiful, so unearthly. Until they began to feed on her.’

‘Feed?’ Winter asked nervously.

‘The Malfaerie crave the unique essence that exists inside mortals – the life force, the soul. It’s like a drug to them. However, they are unable to travel here to take it themselves. The Dead Lands are not only their home, but their prison. There are other creatures that live in the Dead Lands which are not restricted in this way. You’ve seen these as well.’

‘The Skivers,’ Winter finished for him, shivering at the memory of the black-eyed demons.

‘In return for harvesting souls, the Malfaerie allow
the Skivers to drink from their light wells. There is an energy source beneath Krypthia, a vast reservoir of power. The Skivers yearn to bathe in the radiance of this energy, lusting after it just as the Malfaerie covet souls.’ Blake sneered in disgust. ‘In a circle of addiction, the Malfaerie and Skivers feed each other’s appetites.’

Winter flashed upon the dark figures she’d observed encircling the light wells. She remembered the way they stood with their arms outstretched, waiting for the eerie light to issue forth and rain down upon them.

‘Understanding this sick desire, you can imagine how Lamara was something to be prized,’ Blake continued. ‘An endless source of sweet vitality to the Malfaerie who possessed her, so long as they could restrain themselves from draining her completely. I imagine great battles were fought over the right to feed off her. Somehow she managed to escape the Dead Lands and find her way back to this world. She did not return alone. Lamara was with child. A half-breed – part mortal, part Malfaerie. The first of my kind. The first Demori.’

‘Demori?’ Winter’s brow crinkled.

‘It’s an old word that means “Dark Traveller”,’ Blake clarified for her. ‘In time, Lamara gave birth to a son and named him Ariman. She tried to raise him as a mortal child – a mistake. Ariman was stronger than the other children, faster. He could see things they couldn’t, fire dancing in their eyes that spoke to him of their fragile
mortality – the Occuluma. In time he discovered other gifts. He learned he could Travel between this world and the Dead Lands, covering vast distances in a moment with the ease of crossing from one room to another. Though this particular gift came with a caveat: it only worked under the cover of darkness. The glare of the sun robbed him of this ability. During the daylight hours he could still Travel, but his destination points were limited to areas blocked off from the light. He called it shadow jumping.’

Winter nodded, thinking back to earlier in the afternoon when Blake had sought the shelter of darkness to escape the Skivers.

‘These trips to the Dead Lands demanded energy, and when he returned Ariman would be weakened. He experienced a crippling hunger. A hunger that wouldn’t be satisfied, no matter how much he ate or drank. There was only one thing that would sate him: life. Drained from another living being through the mouth. Through a kiss. A deadly kiss. He made this terrible discovery the first time he returned from the Dead Lands and came across his mother.’

Winter’s mouth fell open in horror. ‘He killed Lamara.’

‘Not on purpose. You must remember the light of a Key calls to my kind like no other. We respond to it on an instinctual level, recognising the unique aspect in you that we share: the ability to Travel between worlds. Ariman was young, ill-prepared to resist the attraction, this overwhelming hunger. Don’t judge him too harshly.’

‘I don’t know how you can defend him.’

‘He was my father,’ Blake said quietly, his glittering eyes fixed on hers, as if expecting her to be repulsed. Winter didn’t shy away from the revelation; she held his gaze.

‘How old are you, Blake?’

‘I was born October fourth, eighteen seventy-nine.’

Astonished, she tried to add up the number of years. ‘That’s —’

‘Over one hundred and thirty years. Young for a Demori. Once we hit physical maturity we stop ageing.’

‘You’re immortal?’

Blake shook his head. ‘Nothing’s truly immortal, Winter. I don’t age, but there will come a time when I’ll choose to pass on.’

‘Why would you ever choose to die?’

‘Because a life with no end loses meaning. Death defines life. One day, I hope to find a good reason to die.’

Winter considered the wisdom of this, and found it lacking. After being thrust face to face with her own precious mortality, she couldn’t imagine ever choosing to die.

‘My mother was a mortal. A woman named Madeleine Bonnaire. She was like you, Winter, and like Lamara. A Key. This was the reason my father was initially drawn to her. I believe he would have devoured Madeleine completely as he had his mother centuries before, but something happened. Something I’m sure he didn’t plan for. Perhaps something he didn’t even know he was capable of. Ariman fell in love.’

A sad smile twitched at the corners of Blake’s mouth.

‘My sister and I were born a year later.’

Winter remembered something she’d seen during her last visit here – the portrait of the beautiful woman and the two green-eyed cherubs. ‘Twins. The painting in the hall . . .’

Blake was surprised she’d seen it. ‘Yes. That’s my mother, Claudette and me. The painting is the only thing I have left of them. They’re both lost to me now.’

Despite her curiosity, Winter resisted pressing him on this subject. She knew from her own experience how uncomfortable it was talking about the dead.

‘I don’t remember much about my childhood, only that we moved around a lot. Paris, Munich, Gothenburg, Rome – almost every city in Europe. We never stayed long in one place. I didn’t know at the time, but we were being hunted. Hunted by the Bane.

‘My mother didn’t talk much about the man she left for my father. His name was Victor Bonnaire. Their marriage was not a happy one. If it was, I doubt my mother would have gone so willingly to Ariman. After she left, Victor was driven mad with rage. He became convinced that my father was the devil, that he had corrupted my mother. The only way to save her was to set her soul free.’

‘He wanted to kill her?’

Blake nodded. ‘It’s funny how often men use “God’s will” as an excuse for murder. Victor gathered a group of similarly deranged men, christening them the Bane, and made it his life’s work to hunt my family down. When he
grew too old, he trained his son, Antoine, to take up the crusade. When Antoine had sons of his own, he infected them with this same misguided hatred, and so on down the line.’ Blake paused, before adding, ‘The men in the van who drove us over the cliff last night are the direct ancestors of Victor Bonnaire. His legacy.’

Blake’s look of fear at the arrival of the black van suddenly made a whole lot of sense. He allowed Winter a moment to dwell on this and then continued. ‘Despite living like fugitives, we had a more or less normal life. My parents never explained to Claudette and me what we were – I think they hoped our Demori heritage would remain hidden.’

‘But why, Blake? To do the things you can do . . .’

‘Nothing comes without a price. To be a Demori is to be cursed.’ Blake’s expression became tormented as he relived some secret pain. Winter’s heart ached seeing this, and without thinking she reached over and touched his hand.

Immediately she felt that familiar jolt of energy as her skin made contact with his. A tingling sensation ran up her arm and spread across her entire body, suffusing her with warmth. Suddenly a memory exploded in Winter’s mind with the intensity of fireworks. A memory that did not belong to her.

Winter snatched her hand back from Blake as though burnt. Her heart was pounding and the ghost of a scream still lurked at the back of her throat. The bridge, the girl, the horror at what she’d done – everything had felt so vivid and real. As though she’d been transported through time and deposited in a stranger’s body. No, not a stranger – Blake. It had been Blake’s memory that she’d unwillingly uncovered.

‘The Sight is a powerful gift,’ he said with a defeated sigh.

‘Who was she?’ Winter asked, still struggling to calm her racing heart.

‘Her name was Elisabetta. We were students together in Prague. I loved her very much.’

Elisabetta
. The name meant something to Winter. Of course! The letter she’d found hidden in the back of the journal had been addressed to Elisabetta.

‘That was the first time I Travelled. I didn’t know what I was. I didn’t know that part of the reason I was drawn to Elisabetta was because she was a Key. Once I started kissing her, the hunger took over. I couldn’t stop myself.’

Blake sat staring at the flames, his eyes shining with tears. Winter felt a stab of guilt for being the reason he was in such pain. If it weren’t for her, Blake wouldn’t have
to be trawling through these painful memories. She was about to tell him that he didn’t need to go on when he started speaking again, his voice full of self-loathing.

‘I learned that night what I was – a monster. Ever since, I’ve tried to live like a man. Tried and failed.’

It hurt her to see him so crestfallen. All that pain. All that darkness. Terrified that his own hunger would drive him to kill those he loved.

‘You’re not a monster.’

He leaned forward and pushed the photograph across the coffee table towards her. ‘This picture shows me exactly as I am. A shadow. A blight on this world. It’s a reminder that I don’t belong here, that I’m an insult to nature. I stole it because I couldn’t bear the thought of you finding this out.’

Winter picked up the photograph and examined it one last time. The dark area seemed to have more form now she understood what she was looking at, but it didn’t unsettle her as it had before. She knew what it was.

Winter threw the photograph into the fireplace and met Blake’s gaze head-on.

‘It’s just a photograph,’ she said.

Blake seemed astonished by her reaction. He glanced at the photograph curling and blackening in the flames. ‘You’re not afraid of me? Even knowing what I am?’

She glanced up at him furtively, self-conscious of revealing how much she cared for him. ‘I know what you are, Blake. And it doesn’t scare me.’

Surprise spread across his face, transforming his
brooding features into something lighter. ‘Winter Adams, where did you come from?’ he said with wonder in his voice.

‘You found me.’ Winter smiled, allowing herself a moment to be enraptured by the intensity of his eyes. ‘What do we do now? The Skivers are going to keep coming after me, aren’t they?’

Blake nodded sadly. ‘Yes, they are.’

‘So, this is the part where you tell me how you’re going to save me,’ Winter said, trying to mask her growing fear with false confidence.

‘I don’t know how to save you. I don’t have the answers,’ Blake admitted regretfully. He paused for a moment, thinking deeply on the problem. After a few seconds Winter saw his troubled expression relax as he arrived at some kind of solution. ‘But I think I know where I can find them . . .’

‘Where?’

‘Krypthia,’ Blake replied, the very word seeming to thrum with quiet power.