Immortal War

approvingly. She was dying to inspect this section of the counter, but she couldn’t—not yet. Instead, she brought the mug of tea to her lips.

According to Mosh Zu, dhampirs were not dependent on blood in the same way regular vampires were. Yet, slowly but surely, Grace’s appetite for blood had been awakened deep inside her. In the latter stages of her sojourn with Sidorio and Lola, she had experienced such a deep hunger for blood that she had attacked a mortal girl and drunk hungrily from her. Even now, she could smell and taste that girl’s blood; even now she bore deep shame and regret for her actions.

Grace’s happiness at returning to Sanctuary had been tempered by her fear at having to confess her addiction to Mosh Zu. But she needn’t have fretted. Mosh Zu had listened carefully and reacted with equanimity. He had prescribed Grace a nightly flask of berry tea—just as he did for the regular Vampirates who came to Sanctuary, struggling to control their dependence on blood. Mosh Zu was, he had confessed, unsure whether Grace would ever lose the taste for blood or if, ultimately, they would need to find a more permanent solution. One possibility under consideration was that she would be paired with her own donor. For now, though, it was a nightly flask of berry tea. As she took another sip, Grace reflected that it was curious to be both an addict and a healer at the same time.

Perhaps having some insight into her thoughts, Mosh Zu glanced up from his work and smiled at her reassuringly. She took another sip, feeling relaxed as the warm tea slipped like liquid velvet down her throat.

When she had first returned, she had asked Mosh Zu if it was even feasible for her to work as a healer when, by necessity, she would often be faced with the open arteries of the wounded. To her surprise, he had declared that it was not only possible but would be part of her own healing process. In any case, she had soon learned that wounded Nocturnals tended not to have a high concentration of blood in their system. For this reason, they did not have a propensity toward bleeding. Instead, their wounds presented themselves as breaks in the very fiber of their flesh—like a building crumbling to dust or a landmass after an earthquake. Looking down at Olivier on the healer’s slab, she had seen through the fissures in his desiccating flesh to a dark, infinite void. It had taken all her healing powers to reanimate that dust and patch together his flesh—or at least she had thought it had been her healing powers…

“What are you thinking about?” Mosh Zu inquired.

Glancing up, Grace saw that he had cleared up his things. The salve he had been working on was complete. How long had he been watching her? She decided to take a chance.

“I was thinking about a new patient of mine.”

Mosh Zu said nothing but nodded, encouraging her to continue.

“We both know him,” she said. “It’s Olivier.”

Once more, Mosh Zu nodded, his face impassive. “Olivier is here,” he said—his tone leaving Grace unsure whether this was a statement or a question.

“He arrived last night,” Grace went on. “Dani assigned him to me to heal. I had no idea that it was him at first. He was extremely badly wounded—right at the brink of oblivion”—her eyes met Mosh Zu’s—“or so it seemed.”

Mosh Zu’s face remained perfectly placid. Nonetheless, when he spoke again, there was an edge to his voice. “What, I wonder, is Olivier doing here?”

Grace thought of the book. Should she tell Mosh Zu about her suspicions? Her glimpse into Olivier’s troubled psyche? She probably should, and yet something warned her to keep this information to herself.

She met Mosh Zu’s gaze. “He says he was sired by Sidorio. That when war came, he joined the Alliance and was the Nocturnal on board one of the ships attacked by Lola and her crew. He claims her squad left him in this state.”

Mosh Zu remained still and quiet. Grace knew that he was caught up in his own thoughts. “A lie,” he said, at length. “Perhaps more than one lie.”

Grace’s heart was hammering now. Was Mosh Zu referring to Olivier still or to her as well? Was he accusing her of being a liar? Once more, her eyes darted to the base of the counter, though she swiftly pulled them away.

“I should like to see him,” Mosh Zu said. “Which ward is he on?”

“Is that wise?” Grace asked.

Mosh Zu had stepped away from the bench. Now he looked at her questioningly. She wondered if he felt his authority was being challenged. Under the circumstances, it wasn’t the best idea to rile him. But when he spoke, his tone was amicable.

“Whatever we think of Olivier, he deserves the opportunity to be healed, just like our other patients.” He nodded. “Complete his healing process, Grace. Then we will get to the bottom of why he is here.”

Grace took another sip of tea. “Considering how badly wounded he was, he has already made a surprisingly strong recovery.”

Mosh Zu nodded once more. “I think when it comes to Olivier, it is always safe to expect the unexpected.” He gave a fleeting smile and took the pot of salve in his hands. “And now, I will leave you to your tea,” he said.

Mosh Zu padded toward the door and, within moments, was gone. At last, Grace was alone in the lab. She wasted no time. Setting her mug back on the counter and slipping off the stool, she fell to her knees to begin her investigation.

The lab was not well-lit in general and the floor surrounding the counter was shrouded with shadows. Grace pressed her fingers along the wooden panel. Each piece of wood remained frustratingly firm. Grace moved around the base of the counter, praying that none of the other healers would come in and interrupt her before she had completed her mission.

Just then there were fresh footsteps outside in the corridor. No! She sat still for a moment, refusing to stand up, though she knew it would look suspicious if one of her colleagues entered the room. She didn’t care. She was so intent on completing the search for the hidden panel and the book that—hopefully—lay beyond.

As the footsteps faded away, she let out a sigh and renewed her exploration. She had now assessed three of the four sides of the counter. It occurred to her that perhaps it had changed since Olivier had hidden the book there. Or maybe Mosh Zu had known about the book all along and had already removed it and sealed up the panel.

But now, just as that thought floated through her brain, her fingers found a pliable panel, and, as she pressed it, obligingly it opened. Barely breathing in her excitement, Grace inserted her hand and wrist through the opening and began searching for the book.

She could only feel dust as her hand ventured into the dark interior. She adjusted her position and dipped her arm deeper inside. Her fingers brushed something. Not a book but a piece of cloth. Her fingers pinched the cloth and drew it forward. It had a little weight to it. Feeling she must be on to something, she drew the cloth onward, then eased her arm out of the aperture.

Glancing down, she could see a cloth bundle on the other side of the opening. It was a bag, covered in dust. Could this be it? She brought the drawstring bag out into the light. It was the right shape and size. This must be it!

Heart racing faster than ever, Grace wiped her hands clean on the back of her uniform, then undid the drawstring and reached inside the bag. She took out a small book, bound in blue cloth.

She took the book in her hands. Its cover was blank. But then, right in front of her eyes, gold lettering began to appear. It was not a trick of the light. One moment, the cover was blank; the next there was gold lettering, reading: The Way of the Dhampir.

Grace couldn’t believe it. She turned to the first page. It was blank. As was the next. Flipping on through the book, she found that each and every page was blank. She couldn’t stem her feelings of dismay.

Then, having a fresh thought, she went back and looked at the first page. It was still blank. She held it open and waited.

Words suddenly began to appear on the page. She waited for the characters to stop swirling and the page to steady, then began to read. She could barely contain her excitement, but, as she absorbed the words, that emotion mutated into cold, dark fear.

The time of the prophecy has come.