Blood Feud
Page 40
Not good.
I tried to clench my fingers tighter around the sword.
Everything glittered around the edges, like the night sky was reaching down to touch everything. In fact, the sky seemed closer than it ought to be.
“Put that away,” Isabeau told me. “It won’t do you any good anyway. Weapons are useless when just a wayward thought can kil .”
“Wel , shit, that’s just great.”
“The best weapon’s a mirror.”
“Huh?” I was only half paying attention.
“So you can see a person’s true face. Don’t trust appearances here, Logan, any more than you would in your regular body.”
“Okay, sure.” The trees had a green glow, pulsing slowly like a heartbeat. In fact, everything seemed to have some kind of bright, candy-colored aura. “Did you slip some of that mushroom tea into my blood supply when I woke up?”
“No, this is perfectly normal,” she assured me.
“Right,” I countered dubiously.
“Wel , not exactly normal,” she amended. “I’ve never taken someone into a dreamwalk with me before.”
“I feel total y weird,” I told her, staring at my body, which was shooting off sparks.
“You’l get used to it. We should hurry though, it’s not good to stay too long on your first journey.”
“Why?”
“You might turn into a toad.”
I gaped at her in horror, tried to stutter a reply but couldn’t form the words. It took a ful two minutes for me to realize she was joking. She actual y chuckled out loud.
“Oh, sure, now you giggle like a girl. You have a sadistic sense of humor.”
She grinned, unfazed. “You’re not the first to say so.” I turned, saw myself leaning against the tree, lace cuffs spil ing out of my sleeves, sword tip resting in a clump of violets.
It was like the near-death experiences people talked about on al those psychic shows. Only I was already technical y dead. I wasn’t moving and my eyes were open, watching nothing.
“Okay, that’s just creepy.”
“Don’t look at yourself for too long,” she suggested. “It’l make you queasy.”
“I can see why.” I turned away deliberately. “So now what?”
“Now we hunt for psychic traces, for anything that looks out of place, anything with an absence of light or a strange scent.” The blood from the bottle traps was a different color, like I was looking at a photographic negative. It was molten silver and it made everything else look darker, more translucent. Isabeau was crouched, sifting through the undergrowth with her fingers, plucking bits of broken glass as if they were petals off a flower. I plucking bits of broken glass as if they were petals off a flower. I tried not to be distracted by the way her eyes went green as mint leaves, by the way the stars seemed to leak light, by the hundreds of spiders and beetles and moths moving al around us.
She shoved to her feet, wiping her hands. “Nothing,” she said, frustrated.
I paid closer attention to our surroundings, to the scents. I could smel mud and the river and pine needles and the humming off Isabeau’s skin. And aside from the fact that everything looked like it was covered in glow-in-the-dark paint, it was al pretty normal. Footsteps, scuffs in the dirt, al the marks of our battle in the proper places.
Except.
I paused. The spot where Jen had disintegrated was dul , as if the shimmering light had dried to powder. I felt sick to my stomach.
“Isabeau.”
She hurried over, startled at my tone. “What is it?” She stopped. “Oh. A violent death leaves psychic marks that can take years to fade,” she said quietly.
“But she’s not stuck here, right?” I asked sharply. “This is just residue?”
She nodded. “Oui. ”
I released the breath I would have been holding if I’d stil been able to breathe. “Okay. Good.” She had a weird look on her face, her nostrils flaring. “Isabeau?”
“I didn’t notice before,” she murmured. If vampires could go green with nausea, she would have.
“What, damn it?”
“It wasn’t just cow blood in the bottles,” she said.
“Montmartre’s blood was in there as wel . Just enough to be certain the Hel-Blar would fol ow the scent.” I frowned. “You know, that doesn’t exactly make a lot of sense.
Just once I’d like an answer, not more questions. We know Montmartre is after Solange, and he’s making sure the rest of us don’t negotiate a treaty. We can assume Greyhaven is doing his dirty work here, but that stil doesn’t explain why he has it in for you.”
“I would real y like to kil him,” Isabeau said, as if she was asking for a second eclair at the local cafe.
I nodded at her amulets. “Um, you’re sparking.” She looked down, blinking. The amulet was like the tooth that had broken when we’d heard about the attack on Kala. It was polished and capped with silver and smal crystals that shot off a fountain of light, like a Fourth of July sparkler.
“Bien, ” she said, slipping the necklace off and wrapping the chain around her wrist so that the dog tooth dangled over her thumb. She stretched her arm out, watching it turn in circles, clockwise and then counterclockwise. I’d seen Lucy use a pendulum once in the same way, only she’d been trying to find out where her mother had hidden her birthday presents.
“There’s something here,” she said. “A connection I am missing.” She stalked the perimeter with concentrated purpose, frowning into the grass, at the trees, spending extra time over the remains of the bottles. She stopped, swore fervently and fluently. It was al in French but there was no mistaking her tone.
I tried to clench my fingers tighter around the sword.
Everything glittered around the edges, like the night sky was reaching down to touch everything. In fact, the sky seemed closer than it ought to be.
“Put that away,” Isabeau told me. “It won’t do you any good anyway. Weapons are useless when just a wayward thought can kil .”
“Wel , shit, that’s just great.”
“The best weapon’s a mirror.”
“Huh?” I was only half paying attention.
“So you can see a person’s true face. Don’t trust appearances here, Logan, any more than you would in your regular body.”
“Okay, sure.” The trees had a green glow, pulsing slowly like a heartbeat. In fact, everything seemed to have some kind of bright, candy-colored aura. “Did you slip some of that mushroom tea into my blood supply when I woke up?”
“No, this is perfectly normal,” she assured me.
“Right,” I countered dubiously.
“Wel , not exactly normal,” she amended. “I’ve never taken someone into a dreamwalk with me before.”
“I feel total y weird,” I told her, staring at my body, which was shooting off sparks.
“You’l get used to it. We should hurry though, it’s not good to stay too long on your first journey.”
“Why?”
“You might turn into a toad.”
I gaped at her in horror, tried to stutter a reply but couldn’t form the words. It took a ful two minutes for me to realize she was joking. She actual y chuckled out loud.
“Oh, sure, now you giggle like a girl. You have a sadistic sense of humor.”
She grinned, unfazed. “You’re not the first to say so.” I turned, saw myself leaning against the tree, lace cuffs spil ing out of my sleeves, sword tip resting in a clump of violets.
It was like the near-death experiences people talked about on al those psychic shows. Only I was already technical y dead. I wasn’t moving and my eyes were open, watching nothing.
“Okay, that’s just creepy.”
“Don’t look at yourself for too long,” she suggested. “It’l make you queasy.”
“I can see why.” I turned away deliberately. “So now what?”
“Now we hunt for psychic traces, for anything that looks out of place, anything with an absence of light or a strange scent.” The blood from the bottle traps was a different color, like I was looking at a photographic negative. It was molten silver and it made everything else look darker, more translucent. Isabeau was crouched, sifting through the undergrowth with her fingers, plucking bits of broken glass as if they were petals off a flower. I plucking bits of broken glass as if they were petals off a flower. I tried not to be distracted by the way her eyes went green as mint leaves, by the way the stars seemed to leak light, by the hundreds of spiders and beetles and moths moving al around us.
She shoved to her feet, wiping her hands. “Nothing,” she said, frustrated.
I paid closer attention to our surroundings, to the scents. I could smel mud and the river and pine needles and the humming off Isabeau’s skin. And aside from the fact that everything looked like it was covered in glow-in-the-dark paint, it was al pretty normal. Footsteps, scuffs in the dirt, al the marks of our battle in the proper places.
Except.
I paused. The spot where Jen had disintegrated was dul , as if the shimmering light had dried to powder. I felt sick to my stomach.
“Isabeau.”
She hurried over, startled at my tone. “What is it?” She stopped. “Oh. A violent death leaves psychic marks that can take years to fade,” she said quietly.
“But she’s not stuck here, right?” I asked sharply. “This is just residue?”
She nodded. “Oui. ”
I released the breath I would have been holding if I’d stil been able to breathe. “Okay. Good.” She had a weird look on her face, her nostrils flaring. “Isabeau?”
“I didn’t notice before,” she murmured. If vampires could go green with nausea, she would have.
“What, damn it?”
“It wasn’t just cow blood in the bottles,” she said.
“Montmartre’s blood was in there as wel . Just enough to be certain the Hel-Blar would fol ow the scent.” I frowned. “You know, that doesn’t exactly make a lot of sense.
Just once I’d like an answer, not more questions. We know Montmartre is after Solange, and he’s making sure the rest of us don’t negotiate a treaty. We can assume Greyhaven is doing his dirty work here, but that stil doesn’t explain why he has it in for you.”
“I would real y like to kil him,” Isabeau said, as if she was asking for a second eclair at the local cafe.
I nodded at her amulets. “Um, you’re sparking.” She looked down, blinking. The amulet was like the tooth that had broken when we’d heard about the attack on Kala. It was polished and capped with silver and smal crystals that shot off a fountain of light, like a Fourth of July sparkler.
“Bien, ” she said, slipping the necklace off and wrapping the chain around her wrist so that the dog tooth dangled over her thumb. She stretched her arm out, watching it turn in circles, clockwise and then counterclockwise. I’d seen Lucy use a pendulum once in the same way, only she’d been trying to find out where her mother had hidden her birthday presents.
“There’s something here,” she said. “A connection I am missing.” She stalked the perimeter with concentrated purpose, frowning into the grass, at the trees, spending extra time over the remains of the bottles. She stopped, swore fervently and fluently. It was al in French but there was no mistaking her tone.
