Reckoning Read online

  This might be her only chance to find the answers she sought.

  A low fire was the only light in the room as she wove her way around the furniture. Unless Sinjin was present, the library was off limits from the moment she’d set foot in the house. While he worked he’d allowed her to spend many hours secure within its hallowed walls, enjoying the library’s many treasures. The only books she was forbidden to read were the ones located behind his desk. Only once had she managed to breach his personal domain, but that one time was enough to enable her to recognize what she was looking for.

  When she reached the desk, she turned on the small lamp. Papers were scattered over the polished top, but she paid them no mind. Off to one side sat a massive leather book. Well-used, the leather was discolored from centuries of eager hands wishing to divine the secrets contained inside. In the dim light, the gold script on the cover gleamed.

  LEEGEN.

  Her heartbeat accelerated as she beheld the first step in her quest. She held her breath when she brushed her fingers over the oiled leather. She didn’t have to turn around to know the floor-to-ceiling shelves behind her were stuffed to overflowing with leather tomes, each matching the one in front of her. Within this volume was the key to the answers she desperately needed.

  Sinjin was the chronicler of the preternaturals, the one chosen to watch and record every aspect of history in the lives of the unnatural. In this room were the fruits of a lifetime of research. Centuries of words and knowledge tucked into a mountain of oversized ledgers. Hidden in one of these massive volumes was the enlightenment she sought.

  How to kill an elder vampire.

  She exhaled as she traced her finger over the gold letters, curiosity burning bright within her. What she’d give for the time to read all the tomes. A mirthless smile curved her lips. She was probably the only revenant on the planet cursing her lack of time. While being an immortal had its uses, unfortunately, she couldn’t reap the rewards in her current situation. Maybe afterwards, if Sinjin didn’t hate her, he’d allow her to read some of the books.

  If you survive the quest.

  Maeve scowled and pushed the errant thought away. Survival wasn’t important in her situation. Success was. She forced her attention back to the index. Pulling it closer, she opened the book and scanned the alphabetical entries. There appeared to be writing in several different hands, some spidery and old-fashioned, while others were loopy and more modern. One hand she recognized as Maggie’s, Sinjin’s assistant. The others were unknown to her. She flipped to the next page and continued scanning the entries. Too bad he hadn’t progressed to a computer. It would certainly make things a lot easier for her—

  Her heart stuttered as an entry snared her attention.

  Killing A Vampire, volume 132.

  Gotcha!

  Shutting the book, she replaced it on the corner of the desk before turning to the shelves. Craning her neck, she scanned the bindings until she located Volume 132 on a bottom shelf. Crouching, she pulled it out and laid it on the floor. Opening the leather cover she scanned the table of contents and, near the bottom, she found what she wanted.

  Killing an Elder, page 359.

  Her breath caught as excitement welled up in her throat. Finally, after years of planning, she was closer to realizing her goal. Maeve flipped to the correct page and eagerly scanned the neat, narrow script.

  The method of killing an elder will depend greatly upon the powers the vampire possesses. Should the vampire possess telepathy, abandon the methods listed below and proceed to page 370.

  Maeve frowned. Was Mikhail telepathic? She had no clue. She bit her lip and continued reading.

  The first step is to incapacitate the vampire. Beware—this is the most dangerous and deadliest step. This can be done using several methods:

  1. Stake through the heart—this is not guaranteed to kill an elder, but it can be used to incapacitate and render him immobile. When dealing with an elder, this is not the best method. A stake through the heart can be used to kill a younger, less experienced vampire. Be careful. It is very messy.

  Maeve grinned. No kidding.

  2. A silver cross—a silver cross pressed between the eyes of a vampire will incapacitate until a more permanent method can be used. However, the danger in this method is in having to be physically close to the vampire to be effective. This method should never be used on an elder.

  3. Magic—a spell known as a binding spell can immobilize a vampire. Be warned, while there are several types of binding spells, only the A’ bhais Cadail spell will work on an elder. The A’ bhais Cadail spell is handed down generation to generation through only a few lines of witches, and the knowledge is held sacred. The lineage is of the utmost importance, and only a witch of—

  Clink.

  Maeve tensed. Her head snapped upward. Warily, she scanned the room. Had Sinjin returned already? Her eyes narrowed as she assessed the bank of French doors and tall, narrow windows that comprised the far wall. As usual, all were shut tight against the fathomless darkness outside.

  She returned her attention to the book.

  The A’ bhais Cadail spell is handed down generation to generation through only a few lines of witches, and the knowledge is held sacred. The lineage is of the utmost importance, and only a witch of pure intention should train the student. This spell has never been documented, and only a few traditions even possess the ability to cast—

  Plink.

  Maeve abandoned the book and this time rose to her feet. An icy calm descended as her preternatural senses sharpened. Keeping the shelves at her back, she began searching the room.

  The library was a long, narrow room filled with bookshelves on three walls. The fourth wall contained numerous glass doors leading out onto a broad stone terrace. Moving swiftly, her image was reflected in the darkened panes of glass. Looking behind each piece of furniture, she found nothing amiss.

  Could she be a little jumpier?

  Tension began to seep from her body when a movement caught her attention. A thick fog was rolling in, rapidly enshrouding the grounds and obliterating anything recognizable. A peculiar prickle moved down her back.

  Something, someone was watching her.

  Maeve brushed her fingertips down the inside of her left forearm. Under her turtleneck, she wore a custom-made leather sheath that held a thin silver blade strapped to her arm. A simple ebony handle gave it good balance and made it an excellent throwing knife.

  Reassured, she reached for the top of her left boot and slipped her fingers inside. Warmed by the heat of her skin, she welcomed the solid feel of an ivory-handled dagger. In her right boot was its mate.

  Calmer, Maeve straightened. She was armed and in top physical condition. She’d spent much of the last ten years, in particular the most recent twelve months, working on her hand-to-hand combat skills. No opponent, dead or alive, would take her unawares ever again.

  Images of Mikhail and her slain sister Rebecca flashed through her mind. Ignoring the familiar jolt of pain, she ruthlessly pushed the imagery away. Now wasn’t the time for reminiscing—she had work to do.

  After giving the room a final once-over, she headed for the desk. As she reached the middle window, the glass exploded inward, raining shards of glass and chunks of wooden molding across the floor.

  With a war cry, Maeve’s fingers curled around the hilt of her forearm knife as something small and solid slammed into her right shoulder, knocking her off balance. Tilting wildly, she wrenched the blade free just as a heavy cloth was flung over her head, blinding her. Strong fingers dug into her shoulders, and the cloth tightened around her throat.

  Maeve’s knee hit the edge of a coffee table. The pain stole her breath even as she slashed at the hands tormenting her. Her attacker emitted a squeal when the blade hit flesh and abruptly, she was released.

  Clawing at the blinding cloth even as she fell to her knees, she lost her balance when something slammed into her left side. She hit the floor with a solid thud and so
mething landed hard on her stomach, knocking the wind out of her.

  Fingers wrapped around her throat as the cloth fell away. A shriek of fury broke from her lips. She bucked and rolled to her right side, her attacker riding her like a bronco. Wrapping her hands around her tormenter’s wrists, Maeve stared up at the creature that held her in place.

  Small, the size of a six-year-old but much heavier, the brown-robed figure was surprising solid. Shiny red eyes glittered in the depths of the hood while scaly, sticklike fingers dug into her throat, threatening to shut off her airway.

  Consciousness was fading fast and it was all or nothing. Releasing its hands, she grabbed the chain of a black pendant that hung around its neck. She yanked, trying to draw the creature down and away. A deep snarl escaped from the recesses of the hood. The grip on her throat eased, then it grabbed her by the hair, raised her head and slammed it into the floor.

  Starlight burst before her eyes, and Maeve knew no more.

  Chapter Two

  Quinn tossed his overnight bag into the backseat of the rented SUV then slammed the door. Pausing, he closed his eyes and let the night surround him. The darkness was all encompassing. He loved the quiet afforded by the English countryside late at night. Broken only by an occasional bark or rustle in the underbrush, the silence was complete, an oasis of peace.

  Until one stumbled across a little piece of land that is.

  He opened his eyes to survey the rambling structure Mortianna called home. It was an oversized English-style Tudor. The gardens were rigid in their layout and the house boasted at least twenty bedrooms. Dozens of empty windows stared down at him, and all were dark except for the light glowing from the bank of windows where Bliss lay in the solarium.

  The minions were back.

  Through the glass, he watched the circle of robed figures part to allow their companions to enter. Bearing a wrapped bundle on their shoulders, the late arrivals dumped their burden on the floor a few feet from the coffin. It looked as if they’d succeeded in finding Sinjin and were now delivering him to Mortianna.

  Fuck. Now what? Should he try to rescue the vampire?

  In general, he had nothing for or against the undead. He left them alone and they, in turn, returned the favor. While he didn’t know the full story behind his sister’s transformation into a revenant, he’d tried to keep an open mind about the situation. Some immortals were taken by force while others chose their eternal lives. Judging from his sister’s protective streak where Sinjin was concerned, he would guess she’d chosen willingly. Quinn firmly believed in the laws of karma and letting the universe take care of problems in its own time. He doubted the Goddess would think too highly of Mortianna for this stunt.

  Sinjin will die if you don’t go back and get him.

  Quinn snorted. Sinjin was already dead, long dead as a matter of fact.

  Your sister loved him at one time.

  Over the hoods of the minions, he glimpsed his sister’s body in her gilded bed. He’d heard Bliss had loved Sinjin very deeply in the not-too-distant past. Who knows? Maybe she had until the moment she’d died. He didn’t know for sure as they’d never been close, more like passing acquaintances than half brother and sister.

  He closed his eyes as a shaft of regret pierced his heart. They’d lived in two entirely different worlds and other than blood, had nothing in common. Even when they’d tried to forge a relationship it had been stilted and uncomfortable. Rather than forcing the issue both had backed off and their association dwindled to an occasional email or phone call. Now she was gone, taking with her the last chance to build a friendship between them. The remorse he felt would be a constant companion for the rest of his days. Quinn opened his eyes in time to see the minions prodding at the bundle on the floor. Now her lover’s life hung in the balance. For his sister, should he go in and rescue the vampire?

  Who are you to decide who lives or dies?

  “Damn, damn, damn.” With a growl, he turned and stalked toward the house.

  “You fools!”

  Consciousness slammed into Maeve’s skull as the woman’s voice rang over her abused head. The distinct sound of human flesh making contact resounded, followed by the ominous sound of something sliding across a slick surface.

  She blinked several times and slowly her vision began to clear. A few feet away lay a length of rope and yards of heavy burlap.

  “Imbeciles!” the woman shrieked. “I should send you back whence you came.” Guess we’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto.

  “Does this look like a male vampire to you?” The woman’s shrill voice echoed around the room. “This is a woman, and Sinjin is definitely not female.”

  Sinjin? What did they want with the vampire?

  “Maybe they aren’t intelligent enough to realize what a ‘Sinjin’ is?” a male’s voice sounded.

  Maeve tensed. His tone was low, resonant, conjuring images of tangled sheets and damp flesh sliding together. Just that husky tone was enough to send an illicit shiver of pleasure down her spine.

  “Rubbish!” The woman sounded annoyed. “Who would’ve known the vampire would have a woman in the house?” A foot slammed into her back, rocking her forward. Maeve sucked in her breath as pain shot across her rib cage. “What am I going to do with her?”

  “Let her go.” The man’s voice was closer.

  Black boots moved into her misty line of vision, stopping mere inches from her face. Her breath caught when he crouched and warm fingers brushed aside her turtleneck and sought out the vulnerable flesh of her neck. She flinched as chills of awareness raced through her, and she prayed the newcomer hadn’t noticed her reaction.

  “I think I shall kill her.”

  The woman’s softly spoken words brought tension to the man. He rose.

  “No.”

  Maeve dared a glance up at him through the fringe of her lashes. From her disadvantaged perspective, he towered over her and she could only see as high as his waist. To see any higher, she’d have to move her head, and she couldn’t risk that just yet. At this point, her only advantage, if it could be called that, was subterfuge. She had to take them unawares.

  “What did you say?” the woman ground out.

  “I said no.” His voice was steady. “You will not kill this woman because your hounds of hell can’t tell the difference between a man and a woman.”

  The woman laughed, and it was an ugly sound that caused the hairs on the back of her neck to stand at attention. Maeve could swear the temperature in the room dropped at least ten degrees.

  “Just who do you think you’re talking to?”

  “My mother.”

  Mother? He was one of them? Whatever they were? Enough of this. It was time to make her escape. Did she still have her knives or did they take them away? She couldn’t tell for sure.

  Maeve took a quick mental inventory of her physical state. Her jaw ached and her head throbbed, but for the most part, she seemed to be okay. Her vision still danced a bit around the edges, and that could be tricky. She blinked, trying to will the blurring away and force the pain into the background as she schooled her muscles to move.

  She shifted her head and caught a glimpse of the woman’s face as she spoke to the man who’d proclaimed himself her son.

  “You have no mother,” she spat, “only a weak, spineless bastard for a father.”

  Isn’t she a sweet talker? Why don’t you tell us how you really feel, Cruella?

  Maeve rolled to her back, away from her tormentors, then onto her side before pulling her legs up toward her chest. Without pause she rolled to her knees then sprang to her feet, abused muscles screaming in protest.

  Head swimming, she fought to keep her balance as she scanned the room, searching for the nearest exit. The room was an octagon, and the walls were all glass with the exception of one with an archway. Hopefully it led to the outside as it was the only way to go from here.

  She blinked when she caught sight of the coffin and its midget attendants.

&
nbsp; “It appears our sleeping beauty is awake after all.” Amusement laced the woman’s words.

  Maeve faced her kidnapper. Soft brown hair generously threaded with silver was pulled back into a bun while pale blue eyes assessed her. Judging from the fine lines bracketing her mouth and eyes, Maeve thought she appeared to be somewhere in her late forties. Slender and clad in a black floor-to-shoulder cloak, she looked strangely fragile in the heavy garment.

  “Why have you brought me here?” Maeve was proud that her voice was strong and showed none of her unease.

  “You, my dear, are a mistake—”

  “Like I’ve never heard that before,” Maeve muttered.

  “—a mistake that I’ll soon rectify,” the woman continued.

  “By killing me?” Maeve started to shake her head then stopped, deciding it would only aggravate her headache. “I’m afraid I’ll have to object to your plan.”

  The woman’s brow rose. “Aren’t you a brave child?” She raised her hand and beckoned one of the little brown beasts to her side. “This should be interesting.”

  Maeve didn’t know what these midget demons were, but they were vicious little bastards. Certainly tough enough to take her down. Granted, it had taken several of them to finally immobilize her. They were so damned short and other than their cloaks, there was little to grab hold of. It was like wrestling with a reluctant three-year-old. When she’d grabbed hold they suddenly became floppy and uncontrollable.

  What sort of sorcery were they?

  “No. I will not allow you to harm her.”

  The man spoke again, and Maeve glanced in his direction when he stepped toward his mother. A towering arrangement of flowers hid his face, but she caught a glimpse of golden hair before her vision fractured. Damned headache. She blinked several times, relieved when her sight cleared.

  “And who are you to stop me?” the woman demanded.

  Maeve glanced toward the door and noted at least fifteen of the little demons standing between her and freedom. No help there. The windows were the only way out. She eyed one of the massive bronze urns positioned at the head of the casket. Filled with spiky flowers and a profusion of roses and lilies, the pot had to weigh at least sixty pounds. Surely it was big enough to break the glass.