Immortal War

“Not a Nocturnal,” Olivier snapped. “A Vampirate. I was—and remain—a Vampirate. A very powerful one. More powerful than Mosh Zu or Obsidian Darke or even you, Grace Tempest.”

“Show me,” Grace said. “If you’re so powerful, prove it.”

“What?” Olivier clearly hadn’t expected to be challenged in this way.

“You want the book. I don’t want you to have it. You want to stay here at Sanctuary. I think it’s time for you to leave.” Grace smiled. “Let’s see who gets their way.”

He looked at her venomously once more. “All right,” he said.

As he spoke, the glass jars on the wall behind Grace began to vibrate. She could hear them chinking against one another. She could not allow him to wreck this room or its contents. The herbs and other plant matter within the jars were the basis of all Mosh Zu’s healing remedies. They could be replaced, but not easily or swiftly, and not without the risk of death or oblivion to their mortal and Nocturnal patients in the interim.

Grace focused her powers on the jars. She found Olivier’s current and directed her own against it. At first, his was stronger, but then—to his surprise and not a little to her own—she began to overcome him. She knew she had succeeded when the clinking suddenly subsided and the room fell silent once more.

Olivier was down but not out. Reaching to the counter itself, he peeled off the strips of metal around it, wielding the spikes in his hands like deadly katanas.

Grace drew on her inner strength once again. She knew she had options. One was to fashion herself one or more weapons with which to combat him. She was pretty confident that her skill at swordplay would surprise and outflank him. But this, she decided, was too obvious. Instead, she sent all her energy onto the metal spikes that he gripped in his hands. Very slowly but surely she attacked the molecular structure of the metal until it began to heat up from within. The ends of the spikes began to glow red-hot.

The fire was reflected in Olivier’s eyes. He was little more than a savage now. And she realized that he thought he had set the metal alight, turning the spikes from swords into red-hot pokers. How little he knew.

As he gripped the improvised spears tightly, Grace continued to work her superior magic on them. Before Olivier realized what was happening, the heat from the metal became unbearable, searing into the palms of his hands. And now, as Grace concentrated further, the two bands of metal began to coil around his wrists and arms like snakes. The metal hissed as it scalded him, but the sound was soon overpowered by Olivier’s cries.

Try as he might, he could not loosen his grip. Ironic, Grace thought. All that time and energy I spent healing this schmuck. And now I go and do this to him.

“All right,” he rasped. “You win.” He could barely speak. “Stop it!” he pleaded. “Stop the pain!”

“I’ll stop it,” she said, “if you go quietly. And you never come back. Do we have a deal?”

Olivier had no choice. His eyes were full of pain and fury. But he managed to nod.

Grace waited a moment, just to drive home her superior power. Then, she reached forward and took the burning spikes of metal from his hands. He watched her with undisguised awe as she carried the pieces of hot metal back to the counter and laid them down, good as new.

Olivier’s hands were another matter. They were burnt to a crisp, worse now than when he had arrived at Sanctuary. He looked at them in horror.

“I’d offer you some salve,” Grace said. “But you don’t seem to value my healing efforts. So I think it’s best if you take your leave now.”

He nodded.

Suddenly the door opened and Mosh Zu appeared on the threshold.

Olivier shook his head. “Come to gloat?”

Mosh Zu looked sadly at his former deputy. “No,” he said. “Not to gloat. Just to remind myself why I must quell any feelings of pity I have for you, Olivier. You have lost your way and there is nothing I can do to change that.” As he spoke, two guards moved into the room and approached Olivier. One brought Olivier’s arms around his back. The other snapped handcuffs around his wrists. They wasted no time in leading Olivier toward the door.

“I’ll go now,” he said, his voice brighter again, despite the intense pain he must be experiencing. “I’ll leave you two to discuss the book and the prophecy.” He smiled now. “I’m sure Grace is keen to know why you have been keeping secrets from her… again.” With a glint in his eye, Olivier allowed himself to be led away.

Mosh Zu shut the door.

“I have some questions for you,” Grace said.

Mosh Zu nodded. “I’m sure you do.” His voice was as composed as usual. Somehow this irritated her.

“The first concerns Olivier,” Grace said. “Is he a dhampir, like me?”

Mosh Zu’s limpid eyes met hers. “He is a dhampir, Grace. But not like you or your brother. A dhampir has the power to be an unparalleled force for good or for evil. You and your brother have chosen to use your powers for good. I think it’s clear now that Olivier has chosen otherwise.”

“So,” Grace said, “his power is for evil. But when we dueled, my powers outstripped his.”

“Your powers are very sharp,” Mosh Zu said. “Once, Olivier’s were almost as sharp. But he is dissolute. You must see that. He spends too much time thinking of allegiances and hurts and vengeance. All these impulses weaken him. True, he still has certain exceptional powers, but he is no rival to you —or to me, for that matter.”

Grace nodded. “My other question concerns the prophecy.”

Once more, Mosh Zu nodded. “You want to know what it means and why we kept it from you.”

Grace shrugged. “Those are valid questions, but let’s cut to the chase. All I want to know is whether it’s me or Connor who will die. I want to prepare myself, or help him to prevent it.”

Mosh Zu was silent for a time as he weighed her words. “Perhaps neither of you need die,” he said.

“But the book was very clear on the matter,” Grace persisted. “It said that the time of the prophecy had arrived and one of the warmonger’s twin children must die. Connor and I are the warmonger’s children, are we not?”

It was Mosh Zu’s turn to nod. “Yes, you are. And it may be that to achieve lasting peace one of you must enter the realm of the dead. We are in a state of bitter war now and sacrifices must be made.” There was a callousness to his words. It was not the first time she had observed this quality in the Nocturnal guru. When he spoke next, his tone was somewhat softer. “I think your own future is assured now, Grace.”

Her eyes narrowed. What did he mean? Why did he always cloak his words in riddles, just when you most needed clarity from him? “Are you telling me that it will be Connor who is sacrificed?”

Mosh Zu looked deeply pained. Grace had the feeling he was keeping vital information back from her. “Grace, I have shared with you all that I can. Please try not to worry about the prophecy.”

“Don’t worry? How can you say that when the prophecy predicts a death sentence for either me or my brother?”

Mosh Zu stepped closer toward her. “Please try to be calm. These things all happen for a good reason. This is the direction your life was meant to take, whatever the outcome. Everything is unfolding just as it should.” His words were like a key turning in a lock—cold and metallic. “And now, I must meditate. I need to be released of Olivier’s toxicity. Join me, if you wish.”

Grace didn’t want to be anywhere near him. He was supposed to be her friend, her mentor. But she was starting to lose sight of him as both of these. “I’m going back to my own room,” she said in measured tones. “It’s been a long night and I could do with a rest before the next ambulance arrives.”

“As you wish,” Mosh Zu said. He opened the door and they went their very separate ways.

Outside, guards hurled Olivier out through the doors of Sanctuary, then closed the tall iron gates against him. They clanged shut with finality.

Olivier took the path down the hill. He lifted his hands up to the moonlight and was gratified to note that they were already beginning to heal.

His return to Sanctuary had been as eventful as he had anticipated. More so, in some respects. He had come with two missions. His first—to recover the book—had failed spectacularly. But his second had been rather more successful. Smiling to himself, he looked forward to bringing Sidorio and Lola fully up to speed with what he had