61 A.D.

Epilogue

Mistress Baella walked through the door to her keep. Feyo stood just inside the entryway, a large glass of red liquid in his hand. Blood for the Mistress, altered via a special psalm-developed by Mistress Baella herself-to still be viable long after the host was dead. She kept a store of it downstairs. She took the glass and quaffed it, then stormed through the room. Feyo followed close at her heels in case she needed him.

“It did not go well?” he asked.

Baella turned around and reached up to grab him by the shoulder, then she pulled, forcing him to bend down to her height. Her nails dug into his cheek as she grabbed his face and shoved it to the side, then buried her fangs in his neck.

Feyo did not struggle at all. They had been in this position many times before. He knew his role and dropped to his knees to give her a better angle. It only hurt for a moment, and afterward he slept for a night and a day as his body recuperated. But when he woke he would be as strong as five men, and faster than a deer. It was a good trade.

He realized something was wrong when he started to feel dizzy. Normally, Mistress Baella stopped drinking after a minute or so, but this time she’d gone on much, much longer.

Realization struck him like a hammer.

“No,” he whispered. He grabbed her head and tried to pull her mouth from his neck, but it was like trying to move a bronze statue. His arms bulged with muscle, enhanced by the strength she had lent him, but he could no more move her than he could move the mountain on which her keep was built.

“Why, Mistress?” he asked. His vision faded, and the strength left his limbs. In far too little time, his arms fell to his sides and his legs buckled. He simply lacked the strength to keep them functional.

“Why?” he asked again, just before he closed his eyes for the last time.

Baella stood and wiped the blood from her lips with the back of her sleeve. She looked down at the body. It was much paler than she thought it would be. She had not planned to kill him when she arrived, but his question irked her, and she was in no mood for it. Besides, she had a powerful psalm to work tonight, and fresh human blood was far stronger than the stuff she stored in her cellar. Tonight she would need all the extra energy she could get.

Feyo’s blood coursed through her veins, igniting her nerves along the way, and the warmth made her feel better. Her plan had failed, but there would be other opportunities. After all, she had an eternity to try again.

But for tonight she would have to content herself with something else. She strode to the stone stairs on the far side of her foyer, headed for the topmost room of her keep. There she would find the mystical items she needed for tonight’s work, as well as the means to send the effects of her psalm across vast distances.

Time to send Ramah another dream.