The Den of Shadows Quartet - Amelia Atwater-Rhodes [9]
At the counter is another of my kind. I do not know him. He has his head down on the counter, and the skin I can see is almost gray. As I walk through the door he does not even look in my direction, though he does raise his head long enough to empty the glass that stands on the counter near him, and to lick the blood from his lips as a shiver wracks his body.
“Who did this to you?” I ask him, curious. There is no disease on Earth my kind can catch, and almost no poison that affects us, so I wonder why he looks ill.
“Some damn Triste,” the stranger growls. “He was in the Café Sangra. I didn’t even realize he wasn’t human.”
I wonder how Aubrey would react if he learned a Triste witch had been in the Café Sangra.
The Triste witches appear almost identical to humans. If one can read auras, their auras feel the same. Their hearts beat, and they breathe. They need to eat, just as humans do. Their blood tastes just like a human’s.
However, they are not human in the least. Like vampires, Triste witches are immortal. They do not age, and their blood is poison to our kind. This child who chanced to feed off one is lucky he did not take much, or else he would already be dead.
“Since when does Aubrey allow Tristes in his territory?” I ask. The two kinds — vampires and witches — are usually enemies. The word Triste can almost be used as a synonym for vampire hunter.
“He doesn’t. I was feeding,” he answers, cringing a bit. “And then found myself on the floor with my arm broken. Aubrey tossed me away from the witch like some kind of a doll. They got into an argument, and the witch was thrown out. But this witch, he gave me this on the way out,” he says, holding up a folded slip of paper. “Said to give it to some fledgling of Ather’s.”
He adds, “Ather doesn’t have any fledglings called Rachel, does she?”
“What?” I gasp. I am the only one of Ather’s fledglings who has ever been called by that name, and only Ather and Aubrey know it.
“He said, ‘Give this to Rachel — Ather’s fledgling.’”
I no longer wish to take the paper from his hand. I do not wish to know what it says. Rachel was human, weak, prey Only Aubrey would call me by that name. Except for Ather, he alone knows all the memories it stirs, and he is the only one who would try to hurt me with it.
I am not Rachel, and I can never be Rachel again, I think. Rachel is dead.
I leave Ambrosia without another word, my head reeling with anger. I have seen Aubrey only twice since my death, and both times were long ago. Until recently, I have avoided him like bad blood.
When I return to my home at dawn, I find one of Aubrey’s servants in my yard. This is my town, and I do not tolerate other vampires, or their servants, in my territory. This applies to Aubrey above all else, because he would take what is mine if I allowed it.
I change to human form less than a foot from the interloper and push him against the wall of the house.
“What do you want?” I demand.
“Aubrey sent —”
I have no patience and reach into his mind, finding the information I want. Aubrey sent him to warn me away again. If Aubrey had come himself we would have fought, and while I know he does not fear challenging me, I cannot see us fighting again without one of us dying.
“Tell him I hunt where I wish,” I say to the human. “And I will kill any other servants of his who approach me.” It is dangerous to send such messages to another vampire. What I have said is very close to a challenge — one I hope to avoid — but so be it. If I must, I will play thin ice with Aubrey tonight. I do not care that if the ice breaks it will be I who falls through.
I leave the human on the doorstep and return to my room.
CHAPTER 8
1701
I FELT MYSELF DIE. I remember hoping I would wake again, that somehow I would live, but then I realized what that would mean.
I was dead.
I threw myself into the shadows of death and became