Birth of a Killer

Chapter Six

The American Civil War was the bloodiest waste of life Larten had yet to witness. Vampires had known about America long before Europeans discovered it. One of the clan had sailed with Leif Ericson and thirty-four others early in the second millennium, and before Paris Skyle became a Prince he stayed Columbus’s hand when the human had lost hope and was on the verge of turning back. The elderly vampire would have been saddened to see what had become of the country, but not surprised. Why should these tribes be any different from those they had left behind? People might speak of it being a New World, but they were the same old humans.

Larten watched from a distance as thousands of young men clashed and went to an early grave. He, Wester and Seba had made camp on a hill out of the way of the fighting a few nights earlier. Since then they’d kept vigil, leaving only to hunt and stretch their legs.

The pair of Cubs had abandoned the war packs and returned to their master a few years after Tanish’s fall. They had never been able to lose themselves in warfare and other petty pursuits in quite the same way after that dark day. They felt shamed, and the Cubs they cavorted with were a constant reminder of what had happened.

Seba never asked his assistants why they had returned. He was surprised to see them come back to him so early — he hadn’t expected them for another decade — but a master didn’t need to know everything about his students. He let them keep their secrets and focused on their training.

Seba didn’t humiliate them as he had before, or give them tasks they couldn’t complete. The pair had changed, Larten in particular, and Seba now deemed them worthy of respect. He believed they were ready to undertake the testing trials that would decide whether or not they were capable of playing an active role in the affairs of the clan.

As Larten studied the warring American factions, he wondered again why Seba had brought them to this place. Their master had never shown an interest in the affairs of humans and hadn’t even glanced at the soldiers since they’d arrived. What could have lured him to this maelstrom of slaughter?

Wester stepped up beside the man he thought of as a brother and watched for a while with him. Both were thinking of Tanish Eul.

“How much longer do you think we’ll be here?” Wester asked, but Larten only grunted in response. “Did you smell the war pack last night?”

“Aye.”

Larten’s senses had improved greatly in recent years. He’d been aware of the other vampires for the past two nights but had avoided them, staying by Seba’s side, ready to obey his master’s orders.

“I miss being part of a pack,” Wester sighed. “Feeding on the battlefields was barbaric but exquisite.”

“I am sure reformed opium addicts miss their pipes,” Larten said drily. “It does not mean they should return to their old ways.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Wester said.

“No?” Larten shrugged. “I have often told myself that there was nothing wrong in what we did, since so many other vampires were reveling in the bloodshed. But that is no excuse. Humans might not deserve our respect, but they do not merit our contempt either.”

Wester smiled. “You sound just like Seba.”

Larten winced and scratched his nose, then his ears. He had tried to copy Seba’s way of speaking in the past, and Seba had simply corrected him when he made a mistake. But since he’d returned from his time with the Cubs, Seba had taken it more seriously.

He had asked Larten if he truly wished to master his vocabulary. When the unsuspecting assistant confirmed that he did, it was the beginning of a new phase, one he had come to despise. He had often begged Seba to stop, but the ancient vampire wouldn’t relent.

Under the new regime, when Larten said “don’t’ or “can’t,” Seba plucked hairs from his student’s nostrils, which was far more painful than Larten would have imagined. After a year of that, he’d tried to outfox his master by burning the hairs from his nose, but Seba set his sights on the hairs in Larten’s ears instead, and that was even worse! The orange-haired assistant had learned swiftly in the face of such punishing lessons. He suffered an occasional lapse, but only rarely. It had been weeks since Seba had felt obliged to pluck any hairs.

As Larten and Wester stood watch, Seba joined them and stretched, enjoying the weak evening sun. It had been nearly half a century since he’d met a scared boy in a gloomy crypt and taken him on as an assistant. Seba had aged a lot in that time. His long hair was mostly gray now. He’d shaved his beard and the skin around his throat was dry and wrinkled, covered with old scars and blotches. He looked battered and weary, and groaned if he moved too quickly.

Yet he could set a pace his assistants struggled to match, and he was as light of foot and fast of hand as ever. He often spoke of being near to his end, but Larten suspected his old master might see out this century and perhaps a couple more. Not that he ever said such a thing — he didn’t want to invite bad luck.

‘Wester thinks I sound like you,” Larten said.

“He must be going deaf,” Seba huffed. Shading his eyes, he studied the soldiers. They had concluded their killing for the day and were limping back to camp, dragging the wounded, leaving the dead for the creatures of the night that they could sense circling them. “Such noble fools,” Seba sighed. “One war should be enough for any race. Why do they go on and on?”

Neither Larten nor Wester tried to answer. They hadn’t been vampires anywhere near as long as their master, but as young as they were, both found it hard to recall the time when they had walked as humans, or how their thoughts had functioned in those less blood-riddled days.

“We will move on tonight,” Seba said. “Just a few miles. I would be obliged if you carried my coffin.”

Larten and Wester fetched Seba’s coffin from the rough shelter they had made, then followed him down the hill and around a field of corpses. The younger vampires had not yet developed a taste for coffins. They’d slept in many while traveling with Seba, holed up in crypts or tombs, but when given a choice they preferred beds. Their master, however, only felt snug with pine walls encaging him and a lid overhead. He had tried several coffins since they’d landed in America. When he finally found one to his liking, he claimed it for his own and begged pardon of the skeleton he’d evicted. His assistants had been carting it around after him ever since.

As the trio followed the course of a small stream, someone called out abruptly from a tree on the other side. “Same old Seba Nile, always has to have the modern conveniences. Can’t settle for a stone floor and a roof of sky.”

Larten and Wester set the coffin down and squinted. Larten knew the voice, but couldn’t place it. As he tried to put a face to it, a shabby vampire dropped from the branches. He was dressed in animal hides and had a couple of belts strapped around his chest, throwing stars hanging loosely from them. He had long green hair. He spat into the stream as he crossed and Larten was fairly sure he heard the General break wind, though it might have been the creaking of the trees.

“Vancha March,” Seba smiled. “I wondered where the foul stench was coming from.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Vancha scowled. “I bathed last spring, even though I didn’t need to.” He frowned. “Or was it the spring before?” With a laugh, he tossed a salute to Larten and Wester. “Still hanging around with this old vulture?”

“Someone has to look after him,” Larten said.

“He’s too weak to carry his own coffin,” Wester added.

Larten and Wester hadn’t seen the filthy General since their first meeting in Vampire Mountain, so there was much to catch up on. But before they could ask questions, Seba pointed to his coffin and coughed purposefully. Groaning, they picked it up and followed behind at a respectable distance as their master strolled with Vancha and the pair discussed business that was not for the ears of the young.

In time they turned a bend and Larten caught sight of a tent. He might have dismissed it as the camp of a human officer, but Seba and Vancha were heading for it, so he adjusted the coffin on his shoulder and stole a closer look.

The tent was like none he’d seen so far. It was circular, tall and wide, adorned with beautiful, stitched patterns of water flowers and frogs. It looked a bit like the tent in which the Cirque Du Freak performed, but nowhere near the same size. There were three smaller tents around it and a clothesline stood behind them, hung with a variety of dresses and women’s undergarments.

A confused Wester nudged Larten, who frowned at the feminine clothes and said, “What sort of a woman would pitch her tent at the edge of a battlefield?”

The answer came to both of them at the same time, but Wester was the one who exclaimed, “A woman of the wilds!”

Sharing a thrilled look, they bustled after their master and his foul-smelling ally, heading for the tent of the woman who — if they had guessed right — was as powerful and as crucial to the fate of the vampire clan as any goddess of legend.

Chapter Seven

Seba paused at the entrance to the tent and asked Larten and Wester to set aside his coffin. He tugged at his red shirt and cloak, straightened some creases, then examined the material for dirt.

“How do I look?” Vancha asked, spitting into his palm and using it to brush back his green hair.

“Like a cherub,” Seba murmured.

“Do you think — ”

The flap over the entrance swished back, cutting short his question, and a woman stepped forward. She was short and ugly — she reminded Larten of Zula Pone in some respects — and even filthier than Vancha. She wore no shoes or clothes. Instead there were ropes wrapped around her body. She had pointed ears, a tiny nose, one brown eye and one green. She was as muscular as a man and hairier than most, from a thin beard and mustache down to ten furry toes. Her fingers were stubby and the nails cut short on all of them except the two little fingers, where they grew long and sharp.

Larten thought this was a strange choice of servant for a witch as powerful as the Lady Evanna (if that was indeed who they were coming to meet). He had assumed that Evanna would have pretty, finely dressed maids to wait on her. Maybe she had taken pity on this unfortunate creature and given her a home because nobody else would.

Then, to Larten’s astonishment, the short, ugly woman squealed, darted forward and cried, “My little Vancha!” As the General tried to back away in a panic, she hoisted him off the ground and shook him in the air as if he was a large doll.

“Let me down!” Vancha yelled furiously.

“Not until you give me a kiss, you naughty boy,” she chortled.

“I’ll give you a kick up the — ”

“Language, Vancha,” she stopped him, squeezing his ribs so hard that his eyes almost popped.

“Apologies. Lady,” he wheezed, then pecked her cheek before he suffocated.

The woman smiled and let him drop, then curtsied gracefully to Seba. “You are welcome as always, Master Nile,” she said in a soft, melodic voice.

“And grateful for that privilege, my Lady,” Seba said, bowing as he would have before a Prince.

“You’ve brought a couple of assistants,” she noted, turning her brown eye on Larten and her green eye on Wester. Both were gaping at her.

“This is Lar — ” Seba began to introduce them.

“I know their names,” the woman interrupted. “And I believe they know mine. Don’t you, gentlemen?”

“Evanna?” Wester gasped, barely able to believe

it.

“They expected someone more glamorous,” she said to Vancha.

“Many do,” he grinned.

“Perhaps this is more what they had in mind.” She shimmered and changed shape. She was now tall and lithe, with long blond hair and an angel’s features, clad in a flowing white dress. Larten stared at her, enamored. He reached out a hand to caress her, then let it drop. He didn’t feel he had the right to touch anyone this beautiful.

“Too easily impressed,” Evanna tutted, resuming her former appearance. “You shouldn’t judge by what’s on the outside. Only a fool falls for a pretty face. Are you fools?”

Larten was first to speak this time. “For you, Lady, I would be anything,” he said softly, the words springing to his lips.

Evanna raised an eyebrow and glared at him. But as he blinked, confused by her icy look, she realized he wasn’t being impudent. “I like this one, Seba,” she cooed. “Not the brightest vampire I’ve ever met, but he has a good heart.”

“Both my assistants have good hearts,” Seba said. “But is Larten’s a heart you might wish to win?”

Evanna laughed at the eagerness of the question. “You’re here just a couple of minutes and already you want to pair me off with the nearest vampire at hand.” She brushed his cheek fondly and shook her head. “Ask no favors of me yet, old friend. Let us simply enjoy each other’s company for a while. I would know all that you have been up to and how things go with the rest of the clan.”

Taking his arm, she led the gray-haired vampire inside. After a pause, Larten and Wester followed. Vancha came last, having run another palmful of spit through his hair to make it extra stiff and shiny. “If that doesn’t impress her,” he said smugly to himself, “I don’t know what will!”

Evanna was Desmond Tiny’s daughter. He had created her a thousand years ago, mixing the blood of a vampire with that of a pregnant wolf. She was a powerful enchantress who could work many magical charms. But the night-walkers were most interested in one particular ability of hers.

Vampires couldn’t have children. That was the way it had always been. To keep the race alive, they needed to blood humans. The clan used to think that would always be the case, but Evanna had the power to bear a vampire’s child. If she chose, she could breed with a vampire and her offspring would be able to reproduce too.

Vampires had been wooing Evanna for hundreds of years. Mr. Tiny had warned that she and her young would have the power to wipe out the clan, but they cared nothing about the risks. The possibility of being

able to rear children of their own was intoxicating.

But Evanna had so far shunned their advances. She had never taken a vampire as a mate, or given any hint that she intended to. Still they sought her out and tried to win her heart, fighting in her name, offering her gifts, doing all that they could to make her theirs. To no avail.

Larten secretly hoped to captivate the legendary Lady of the Wilds. He had a way with ladies — few had been able to resist his charms when he was a Cub — and he was confident that she would fall for him as many others had. If Evanna mated with him, he’d become the founding father of a new generation of vampires and his power and fame would be assured.

“I would have worn finer clothes if I had known we were coming here,” he whispered to Wester as they sat on a couch laden with feather pillows.

“Don’t worry,” Wester grinned. “If Vancha is your only opposition, you can’t fail.”

Though Wester had also dreamed of winning the hand of the famed Lady, now that he’d seen the intent in Larten’s eyes, he put such thoughts from his mind. He always gave way to his best friend. They had never fought over a woman or anything else that Larten set his sights on. Wester thought of Larten as his brother and he loved the orange-haired vampire totally. He never tried to take the things that Larten desired, even if he craved them himself.

The tent seemed larger inside than out. There was a plush bed in the center, paintings hanging from beams, statues set around the sides. Huge candles burned steadily, while bowls and jugs overflowed with fruit, vegetables, water and wine. There was no meat or fish, which surprised Larten until he recalled a rumor that Evanna didn’t eat anything that couldn’t be grown.

Three young women brought the bowls and jugs to the vampires once they were seated. All were dressed in plain white shirts and beige trousers. Larten had only rarely seen a woman in trousers and his gaze kept flicking over the servants. One of them — she had long dark hair and sharp gray eyes — caught him looking and glared challengingly. He tried his infamous smile on her — it set most women’s legs wobbling — but her glare only deepened. Surprised and unsettled, Larten coughed and turned his head aside. Wester saw this and hid a smile.

“First things first,” Evanna said, lying on a chaise longue and plucking a grape from a tray. “How has my little Vancha been? Tell Mommy all.”

“Mommy?" Larten gasped.

“I wish you wouldn’t say things like that,” Vancha grimaced. “I don’t call you a witch, do I?”

“With good reason,” Evanna snapped, eyes flashing. “I’ll cut out the tongue of anyone who calls me that. I’m the world’s most powerful sorceress, a priestess of dark arts, mother of the future and Lady of the Wilds. You, on the other hand, will always be my sweet, cuddly Vancha. I still remember feeding you and the way you used to burp when you were done.” She giggled. “That much hasn’t changed.”

“Evanna found me when I was a baby,” Vancha muttered to Larten and Wester. “My parents had been killed and I’d been left to die. She rescued me and carried me with her for a few years before handing me over to. someone else,” he finished vaguely.

Evanna’s smile faded. ‘You make it sound as if I carried you alone,” she said softly.

“As I remember it, Lady, you did,” Vancha said, and there was an edge to his tone now that surprised the younger pair of vampires.

Evanna held Vancha’s gaze for a few seconds, then shook her head and sighed. “A man should never turn his back on his — ”

“Please!” Vancha snapped. “Let the past lie.” “The past never lies buried forever,” Evanna muttered. “We cannot hide from those to whom we are bound by nature. But if you wish to keep your silly secrets, so be it. You know that I only ever wished the best for you.”

“And I’m grateful to you for that,” Vancha said, his features softening. Then he spat and winked. “I just wish you didn’t treat me like a damn child.”

Evanna laughed. “When you have a few more centuries under your belt, I will consider you an adult. Until then.” She pinched his cheek.

“Charna’s guts!” Vancha roared. “You go too far!” He threw himself at her and they rolled across the floor of the tent. He was punching and kicking at the witch, but she only laughed and tossed him clear. As he landed, he whipped a star from his belt and launched it at her head.

Evanna plucked the deadly throwing star from the air and calmly picked her teeth with one of the prongs. “Still playing with your shurikens?” she mumbled. “I thought you would have found a new toy by now.”

Vancha looked like he would attack again, but in the end he threw back his head and laughed. “By the gods of the vampires, you’re a piece of work! Come, let’s drink toasts to absent friends and sing songs of the old nights.”

“I will drink with you anytime, my dear,” Evanna said. “And with your companions too.” She clicked her fingers at the servants. “Milk for Master March.” Then she looked at the others. “Ale, I suppose?”

“Aye!” Larten and Wester exclaimed.

“Why not?” Seba added with a smile.

Barrels of the finest ale Larten had ever tasted were brought, and the rest of the night was a blur for him from that moment on.

Chapter Eight

Larten woke in the afternoon with a pounding head. He was in a hammock, though he had no recollection of getting into it. As he rose, he saw that someone had painted a series of tattoos on his hand with a piece of charcoal or some similar marker. He frowned, thought about making investigations, then decided he was better not knowing. Groaning, he made his way to a barrel of rainwater outside and dunked his head.

When he came up for air, one of Evanna’s assistants — the one with the dark hair and gray eyes

— was standing beside him, holding out a mug of something hot and steaming.

“Drink this,” she said.

“It’s not ale, is it?” Larten asked, his face whitening at the thought.

The assistant smiled briefly — she looked quite pretty when she smiled — then shook her head. “A cure of my mistress’s. You will feel better after you drink it.”

Larten had tried a number of hangover cures in the past, none of which had done much for him. But to be polite he took the mug from the woman — not much more than a girl when seen by daylight — and downed half of it. He finished off the rest a few moments later and almost immediately his headache began to lift.

“This is amazing,” he gasped. “What is in it?”

‘You’d feel sick again if I told you,” the girl laughed. She had crooked teeth, Larten noted, but a man could easily ignore a flaw like that.

“I do not think you told me your name,” Larten said smoothly.

‘You think wrong,” she answered. “In fact you made up a song about it. Lovely Arra Sails, nectar to all males, how I'd like to spear you like a whaler spears a whale! There was more, but that, sadly, was the best line.”

Larten winced. “I have a habit of making up insulting rhymes when drunk. My apologies.”

“No need. Your songs about my two sisters were worse. But they were nearly as drunk as you, so I doubt they’ll remember.”

“Three sisters working for the same mistress? That is unusual.”

“They’re not my real sisters,” Arra sighed, as if explaining something obvious to an idiot. “That’s just how Evanna refers to us.” She shrugged. “They’re pleasant enough, though I don’t think of them as friends.” Arra squinted at Larten and pursed her lips. “You’re a vampire, aren’t you?”

“Aye,” Larten said proudly.

“Don’t vampires perish in direct sunlight?”

“Not immediately. I would start to burn if I stayed out, but it would not kill me for a couple of hours. A lot of the myths are false or distortions of the truth.”

“Evanna doesn’t talk much about vampires, except to complain about how you follow her around like dogs.”

Larten scowled at that but said nothing. He headed back inside but Arra blocked his way. “That’s my tent over there.” She nodded at one of the three small tents that stood next to Evanna’s. “If you have no pressing business, I’d like to talk with you and learn more about vampires.”

Larten arched a merry eyebrow.

‘When I say talk, I mean talk,” Arra growled, reading his mind. “You tried to kiss me last night.”

“How did you respond?” Larten asked.

Arra smiled. “Let’s just say the next verse of your song began with, Nasty Arra Sails, she has a vicious

tongue."

Larten managed a laugh, then followed Arra into her tent. Like Evanna’s, it was larger than it looked from the outside, though it was plainly decorated and Arra didn’t have many personal belongings. The pair sat on her bed — Arra making sure there was a discreet distance between them — and Larten spoke for a long time about his life, the clan and Vampire Mountain. Arra listened with silent interest to everything. It was only when he spoke about flitting that she interrupted.

“My mistress can flit too. And she can breathe out a gas to make people faint, although she rarely needs to. Do you think the vampires inherited their magic from Evanna or her father?”

“Have you met Desmond Tiny?” Larten asked.

“No. But I have heard of him through visitors like yourself.”

Larten had always taken the magical talents of the clan for granted, such as their longevity, strength and speed. But now that he thought about it, he realized that such gifts were mysterious. Had their supernatural talents developed naturally, or were they the work of a meddler with more power? Larten made a mental note to ask Seba later, though he had a feeling his master wouldn’t be able to answer the question either.

“Tell me about yourself,” Larten said, changing the subject. “How did you come to work for Evanna? Are you the age you look or are you old like your mistress?”

“Old?" Arra screeched, chucking a pillow at him. “Manners, vampire, or I'll stake you to the ground outside and leave you to burn.”

As Larten smiled, she relaxed and told him a bit about where she’d come from, how she’d run away from home in search of adventure and found Evanna. “Or was found by her,” Arra added suspiciously. “I’ve a feeling she sends for apprentices. We don’t just wander into her life, even if we seem to.”

Evanna had taught Arra a few spells, but mostly the girl was employed as a servant, to cater to her mistress’s guests and clean up after them. She wasn’t happy about that. She wanted to learn the secrets of Evanna’s world and become a mighty sorceress.

“It’s notas if she even needs us,” Arra complained. “I’ve seen her snap her fingers and conjure up a full meal, or wave a hand at a dirty room and suddenly it’s clean. She just likes having servants to boss around.”

‘Why don’t you leave?” Larten asked.

“I will,” Arra said. “But I don’t want to move on until I have somewhere else to go. I fled without direction once, when I left home, but I’d rather not leave everything to chance a second time.”

Her eyes narrowed. She started to ask Larten something, but then somebody whistled in the distance and she grimaced. “My mistress wants me.”

“She whistles for you like a dog?” Larten grinned.

“If you laugh, I’ll poison your next drink,” Arra growled, then hurried to see what Evanna wanted. Larten followed, still smiling. It had been nice, chatting with Arra. She was a sharp little thing, and scowls came easier to her than smiles, but Larten liked her. He hoped they could be friends, at least for a while, before he moved on with Seba and Wester. After that he figured it was unlikely that he would ever see the surly-looking girl again.

Chapter Nine

They spent two more nights with the Lady of the Wilds. Other vampires came to see her while they were present. Most were from the war pack shadowing the warring humans, but some had come from farther away, crossing oceans as Seba and his assistants had.

A few of the Cubs recognized Larten and Wester, and greeted Larten by his nickname. It had been some years since he’d been called Quicksilver and he found it oddly unsettling. That part of his life was behind him and he wished to move on. Though he was polite to the Cubs who had once been his friends, he made no effort to renew any of those friendships.

Evanna hosted most of her visitors openly, but sometimes she sent Seba and his assistants away so that she could greet a newcomer in private. She seemed to know what each of her guests would prefer, and did what she could to satisfy their requirements — except agree to their pleas to accept them as her partner.

‘We came to this country just to meet Evanna, didn’t we?” Wester asked Seba on the third night as they were resting on a nearby hill after they had slipped into one of the soldiers’ camps to feed.

Seba nodded. “You are as sharp as ever, Master Flack. Evanna would rather the clan left her alone. She tires of our endless proposals. But she knows how highly we regard her, so she sets aside several nights every now and then for us to court her. A favored few are welcome at her home too, but most have to settle for meetings like this.”

‘Where does she live?” Wester asked.

Seba shook his head. “If she wants you to know, she will tell you.”

“So you brought us here for her to have a look at us, in case she liked ourfaces?” Larten asked.

“Aye.” Seba rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “We believe Evanna will choose a mate one night, either a vampire ora vampaneze, but-”

“A vampaneze?” Wester barked. “She consorts with them too?”

“She meets with all creatures of the night,” Seba said calmly. “Evanna makes no distinction between us. The vampaneze are as dear to her as we are. She tries to keep us apart — she will move to a new site soon, I think, where she will meet with our blood-cousins — but if a vampaneze came here we would have to treat him with respect.”

“I wouldn’t,” Wester snarled. “If I spot any of those scum, I’ll

“- do nothing but bid him a good night,” Seba said bluntly and there was an edge to his voice that his assistants rarely heard. “If you anger Evanna, she will crush you. Never let her charm blind you to the fact that she is Desmond Tiny’s daughter. Respect her wishes when in her presence, Wester, or no words of mine will be enough to save you.”

Wester glowered at his master. To ease the tension, Larten asked how Seba had known that Evanna would be here.

“She led me here,” Seba answered vaguely. “Those who seek Evanna simply follow their feet. I did not know this was where we would end up when we set out. All I knew was that we would find her wherever she wanted to be found.”

“And you really hoped that one of us would seduce her?” Larten pressed.

Seba chuckled. “I doubt if anyone will ever seduce Evanna. But you made a good attempt, Larten. I did not know you were so smooth with the ladies.”

“I am usually more successful,” Larten grunted sourly. All of his flattering words, sideways looks and tricks had fallen flat on the witch. She had been kind to him and laughed at his jokes, but never gave the least hint that she might consider him as a mate.

“Do not be too hard on yourself,” Seba said. “Many fine vampires have been rejected before you, and many will be in the future too, I am sure. As I was about to say before Wester interrupted, we believe she will choose a mate eventually, but we do not know which qualities she is looking for, or even if she is looking — maybe she is waiting for a certain time or event.

“Since we know so little of her heart, many of us come to see her from time to time, and bring our assistants when they are ready for such a meeting. We continue to hope that one night she will claim one of us as her own. But so far, no luck.”

‘What if she takes a vampaneze?” Wester growled.

‘We fear that more than anything,” Seba said. “Evanna has the power to destroy the clan. If she chooses to mate with a vampaneze, their children will certainly gain some of her magical powers. Maybe the dreaded Lord of the Vampaneze will be a child of Evanna’s.”

“Then why don’t we strike?” Wester hissed. “Kill her or abduct her and make her do as we wish?”

“If this foolishness continues, I will whip you until the flesh of your back peels from your spine like a snake’s shedded skin,” Seba rumbled.

Wester blinked with shock. The old vampire had never threatened either of them like this before. There had been many cuffs and kicks over the years, but never a savage, brutal vow.

Seba saw the hurt in his assistant’s eyes and softened. “Understand me,” he said gently. “She is much stronger than any of us — than all of us. If the entire clan stood against her, we would fall.”

“Surely no one is that powerful,” Larten said dubiously.

“I do not exaggerate,” Seba insisted. “Her power is not of this world. There are myths of gods raising countries, leveling mountains, making the seas churn. I do not know if those stories are true, but I believe Evanna could do all that and more. So let me never hear either of you plotting against her. She would be an enemy far greater than any other, with the exception of her meddling father.”

Seba looked into the eyes of his assistants, trying to make sure his words had sunk in. He saw that he had made an impact and hoped it would be enough to prevent future follies.

“Now,” he said, forcing a smile. “Let us return and say nothing more about this. Only, if she should at any time bat her eyelids at you, do not bother with a long courtship!”

Larten and Wester laughed weakly, then trailed Seba back to the tent, all three silent and immersed in thought.

The tent had been dismantled when they returned. Evanna’s apprentices were standing behind a cart, glumly preparing to push. There was no way everything from inside the tent could fit onto the cart-the canvas itself would have required a wagon — but Larten wasn’t surprised. The Lady of the Wilds could work many wonders.

“Time to be off,” Evanna said cheerfully. “I’ve had fewer visitors than normal. The clan must be losing interest in me.”

“Have you far to travel, Lady?” Seba asked, kissing her cheeks.

‘You know very well that I go to greet my other admirers nearby,” Evanna said.

Seba smiled. “Aye, but I would rather not admit it.”

“Foolish children,” Evanna snapped. “Why don’t you put your squabbles behind you and reunite? Life

would be much easier if you did.”

“It is not that simple,” Seba sighed. “We are bound by strings of destiny.”

‘We’re all bound by those,” Evanna said hollowly, a sad look crossing her face. Then she shook her head and picked up Vancha, who had stayed behind while the others hunted. “Farewell, my little baby.”

“Let me go!” he roared, clubbing her ears.

She laughed and kissed his nose. As he struggled and swore, she kissed his lips. His arms and legs relaxed and he was smiling shyly when she set him down again.

Evanna turned to Wester and Larten. The witch was no fairer than she had been when he first saw her, but Larten no longer noticed her ugliness.

“It was a pleasure to meet you,” she said.

“It was our honor, my Lady,” Wester replied, bowing.

“An honor,” Larten echoed, then knelt on one knee and took her dirty hand. “I would like to visit you again sometime, if you can find it in your heart to grant me permission.”

“He’s bold, this one,” Evanna chuckled. She slipped her hand out of Larten’s and gripped his chin. Tilting his head back, she gazed down at him. He thought for a moment that her eyes had traded places — hadn’t the blue one been on the right before? — but then she spoke and he lost interest in such trivialities.

“My home is my refuge from the world. I invite only a select handful of my closest friends to visit me there. Why should I welcome a snip of a vampire like you?”

He had the feeling that if he gave the wrong answer, he would never see the Lady of the Wilds again. Trying not to worry about that, he grinned shakily and said, “I am good with a flannel. If you ever cared to take a bath, I could scrub your back.”

Evanna blinked slowly. Larten could see her pondering whether to laugh or rip his head off. Fortunately for the young vampire, she chose to see the funny side of his proposition.

“Bold as a monkey,” Evanna chortled, releasing Larten’s chin and thumbing his nose. “A strange choice of assistant, Seba, but I like him. Aye, Larten Crepsley, you may visit anytime the fancy takes you.” She pressed a finger to his forehead and he felt something buzz deep inside his brain. “You will be able to find me whenever you wish.”

Evanna nodded at Wester politely, and although he couldn’t suppress a stab of jealousy, he managed a genuine smile. This confirmed what he had always thought — Larten was in some way superior to him, destined for greater things. Wester would have liked to be a vampire of import, but the world needed its secondary players too. There was no point wishing he could be more than he was. He was happy to make the most of whatever life had set aside for him.

Then the witch was off, slouching away, looking like a crazy woman who had escaped from bedlam. Arra Sails and the other apprentices shuffled after her, groaning as they pushed the cart. Arra rolled her eyes at Larten and he smiled sympathetically.

“Very well, gentlemen,” Seba exclaimed before the women had moved out of sight. “We have wasted enough years. It is time to return to more pressing matters. Grab your belongings and prepare for a hard trek. We make for Vampire Mountain immediately.”