Blood Prophecy

CHAPTER 24



Solange


Thursday evening

I woke up to most of my family staring at me intently. Thank God Aunt Ruby wasn’t there or I might have had a heart attack. I shifted, wondering what felt different. Another shift in my bed and I realized two things: I was in my own bedroom and I didn’t feel the usual searing hunger threatening to break me open.

“Easy,” Uncle Geoffrey said when I tried to sit up. I was hooked up to an IV full of blood, which explained my curious lack of homicidal bloodthirst. He was giving me a transfusion, the way he still did for Christabel.

Only I was chained up.

The chains rattled as I sat up against my rose-embroidered pillows.

“How do you feel?” Uncle Geoffrey asked, sounding clinical and detached. No one else had even spoken yet, they were all too busy staring at me. Mom’s eyes were suspiciously bright. Dad stepped forward with a small key.

“No, don’t,” I said. “Not until I’m sure.”

“That’s the Solange I know,” Mom said softly.

Then she burst into tears.

To say we were stunned is an understatement. Frankly, rabid badgers could have crawled through the window in matching tutus and performed ballet pirouettes and we would have been less surprised. “It’s really you.”

“I’m fine, Mom.” It was the same thing I’d been saying for weeks leading up to my birthday, back when I was still myself. She must have recognized the litany because she lowered herself onto the edge of my bed and squeezed my hand.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, lips trembling as she tried to regain her composure. “We should have known.”

Dad leaned down to kiss my forehead. “Welcome back, Sol.”

I swallowed hard so I wouldn’t cry too. “I’m sorry too,” I said, my voice much smaller than I would have liked. “For everything.”

“We’re just glad you’re back,” Logan told me. Quinn winked. Connor, Duncan, and Sebastian all smiled, though carefully, as if I was about to leap off the bed and attack them. Nicholas was there too, leaning against the wall.

“You’re okay too?” I asked, scratching under the edge of the copper collar. My skin felt raw. “What happened?”

“Dawn, hunters, psychotic doctors. It’s a long story,” he replied.

I bit down hard on my lip to stifle a sob. Between Mom’s weeping and my teary eyes, all of my brothers had taken a step backward, as if we might detonate. Only Marcus was brave enough to stay close, but that was only because he was unhooking the blood bag from the tube in my arm. He watched me as closely as if I were a specimen under his microscope. I hesitated, scrutinizing every feeling and twinge that went through me.

My fangs were extended. There were still three pairs of them; exorcising Viola hadn’t changed that. The blue of my veins was slightly faded, like old ink. The thirst that prowled through me like a hungry jungle cat was lazy now, rolling belly-up in the sunshine. Settling back into my own body was a strange, uncomfortable experience. I felt as if I’d been gone on a long journey and was coming home to a dusty, empty house.

I probed my memories of Constantine but there was no alien voice in my head, no rush of emotions that weren’t my own guilt and anger. I was alone.

“It’s safe,” I said finally, smiling brightly. “I don’t feel her anymore.”

“I knew you were stronger than that,” Aunt Hyacinth said and I noticed for the first time that she wasn’t wearing her veil. Her cheek was lightly scarred up to her temple. Marcus slid the needle out of my arm when Uncle Geoffrey gave him the nod. He pressed a cotton ball to the small pinprick but it was already healing. Dad unlocked the cuffs on my wrists and ankles. I wanted to laugh and cry and hug everyone really hard, from silent Sebastian to tattooed Isabeau in the corner.

“Viola?” I asked.

“She is gone,” Isabeau confirmed. “There is no trace of magic on you or anything unusual in your aura.”

Dad ran a hand along his jaw. “Anyone mind explaining to us what exactly is going on?”

“Viola was in my head for weeks before I realized it,” I said. “And when she put the crown on, she switched places with me.” Mom reached for one of the slender silver daggers in her boot but I don’t even think she realized she was doing it. “She was the first Drake daughter, that’s how she was able to possess me. And Madame Veronique knew.” I explained the rest of the story as best I could. When I got to the part about Madame Veronique’s handmaidens, I had to share my terrible news. “London died protecting me from her handmaids,” I added, tears burning in the back of my throat. “She’s really gone.”

Mom swore. Dad’s eyes glistened. “Damn,” he said softly.

“We have to have a memorial of some kind,” I insisted.

“Of course,” Dad agreed. My brothers nodded, looking shocked.

“She shouldn’t have died for me.” Guilt sent needles of pain through me. I tried to push it back. Ending these battles and political games would avenge her, not hand-wringing and wailing. But it was a struggle to stay calm. My gums ached around my fangs.

“I’ll have to call London’s father,” he added. I understood now why London had always been so distant and wary of us. Our fathers were cousins of a sort and hers was descended from the Christophe Drake branch of the family tree, while ours descended from his twin Arnaud Drake. Madame Veronique had always treated them, London included, differently and now I knew why. Until I came along, she’d been waiting for them to give birth to the next Viola.

Lucy’s arrival was a welcome interruption to the bleak silence. She burst into the room with a shout of “Bruno said it was okay!” She elbowed Logan out of the way and launched onto my bed, heedless of the tubes and the audience. The wolfhound puppy nipped at her heels, ecstatic with the new game. She wasn’t wearing her glasses but otherwise she looked just the same. She still smelled like cherries and pepper and the incense off the sweater her mother must have made for her. I was sated enough that I could smell her scent and the blood under her skin without turning predatory. I had twinges but they were easily ignored. I hugged her so tightly her back cracked. I let go abruptly. “Sorry! God, sorry!”

She just laughed and hugged me again. Her crystal beads dug into me and her hair tickled my nose. I was finally, truly home.

“I missed you,” we said at the same time, then grinned at each other like lunatics.

“It’s about time,” she added.

“I’ll go check on Christabel,” Uncle Geoffrey said, easing out of the crowded room.

“Say hi for me,” Lucy called after him, since it was still too near sunset for her to visit.

“Good to have you back, kid,” Sebastian said, following him.

“What about your pheromones?” Marcus asked thoughtfully, as he gathered the last of the blood transfusion supplies into a bag. “Were they partly Viola’s as well?”

“I don’t know,” I replied. “I can’t tell.”

“We should try an experiment.”

“Make Duncan bark like a dog,” Quinn suggested, jerking his head toward Duncan.

“Or you could try something more difficult, like making Quinn shut up,” Duncan returned.

“Something simple would be best,” Dad suggested drily. “And less likely to start a century-long feud.”

I swung my feet over the side of the bed. The collar felt itchy around my neck. I shifted, trying to get comfortable. I looked at Quinn.

“Quinn, sit down.”

Cursing, he slid down the wall until he was sitting.

His swearing was nothing to mine. The annoying itch of the collar against my skin had turned into a searing burn, as if I was wearing fire. I clawed at it, screaming. Dad grabbed me before I kicked Lucy clear across the room. Mom plucked her off the bed.

“What’s happening?” Dad yelled, fumbling to unlock the collar. The more he pulled at the clasp, the worse it became. I whimpered, trying to crawl away.

“Stop.” Isabeau pushed through my brothers. “It’s the magic of the collar,” she said. “Don’t touch it. Only magic can open it now that the lock has been activated.”

She kneeled on the bed behind me, trying to hold me still, her hands on my shoulders and nowhere near my throat. Charlemagne crawled up beside us. I dug my fingers into his fur, still whimpering. I’d already scratched myself bloody, and my veins felt as if they were full of lightning. Pain made me grind my teeth. Sweat trickled into the raw skin over my collarbone.

I tried to concentrate on pulling my pheromones back, drawing them in as if I was pulling a shawl tightly around myself. It helped a little.

Isabeau murmured something, and the heat increased. I flinched. She sat back. “Saga had this made, yes?”

Connor nodded. “Her and Aidan.”

“And Aidan changed Christabel?” She pursed her lips. “I need a little of Christabel’s blood.” Connor eased out of the room and came back with a test tube Uncle Geoffrey must have given him. He handed it to Isabeau, who opened it and put a drop on the lock. Cold seeped from Isabeau’s palm, went through the blood and turned to ice. The collar popped off.

I rubbed my raw, scratched neck gratefully. “Thank you,” I croaked. I’d hurt my throat screaming. “Let me try one thing,” I panted, looking at Quinn.

He nodded jerkily. “Make it fast.”

“Fight me this time.” I swallowed, still imagining the pheromones as a shawl pulled close. “Quinn, sit down,” I said again, since he’d leaped to his feet when I’d started screaming.

His jaw clenched as he struggled to stay standing. I pulled my pheromones in tighter. He finally staggered back, eyes wide.

“What did you do different?” Dad asked.

“I tried to leash in the pheromones,” I explained, wiping sweat off my face. “I need more practice.”

“It’s a good start.” He kissed my temple. “Don’t push too hard tonight, Sol. We already have to go to the camp soon,” he said. “I know you must be tired but the tribes are restless and the peace is fragile.”

“I have cleanup to do,” I replied quietly. The thought of what Viola might have done but attributed to me made me sick to my stomach. “I know.”

“We’ll leave you a few minutes to catch up,” he said before he and Mom went to make preparations.

Lucy pulled a jar of ointment out of my dresser. Her mom had made it for me last year when we both got poison ivy. “Here,” she said, scooping the thick white cream into her hand. “This’ll help.” It was cold and soothing on my scratches. She eyed me carefully. “You’re not going to go all emo now, are you?”

“Maybe later. I don’t have time right now.”

“Finally!” She grinned. “You’re really back! We should have an unbirthday party to celebrate.”

“You can be the Mad Hatter,” I told her. She nudged me and I forced the nervous, morose look off my face.

“What’s wrong with your brothers?” she whispered loudly, recapping the jar.

“The usual,” I returned, sliding back into our comforting routine. “Drake white-knight complex.”

“Quit standing around being creepy,” she told them, as she’d been telling them for months before my birthday. “Go away now.”

They filed out and Nicholas was the last to leave, pushing off from the wall where he’d been leaning the whole time, his ankles crossed. Lucy winked at him before he shut the door behind him. She wriggled into the bed with me, sharing my pillow. “Okay, so seriously, are you all right?”

“I feel a little weird, but mostly okay.” I paused. “I didn’t do anything to you, did I?”

“You didn’t,” she pointed out. “And I’ll get over Viola. The bitch.”

“Maybe I’ll just hang a sign around my neck that says ‘I’m sorry.’ ”

She snorted as her phone vibrated. To my sensitive hearing it sounded like she had a grasshopper in her pocket. She checked her texts and slid me a sidelong glance. “Want to talk to Kieran.?”

An embarrassed flush crawled up my cheeks. “No.”

“He’s sent seven texts in the last half hour.” She clicked a quick message. “I’m going to at least tell him you’re okay, and then you’re going to tell me why you don’t want to talk to your boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend anymore.”

“Oh, please.” She rolled her eyes. “Sell that line to someone who doesn’t know you both better. He’s freaking out, just like you.” She put her phone away. “But since we’ve all nearly died horribly several times in the past few days, I’ll give you a free pass just for tonight. But you might, oh, I don’t know, talk to him.”

“And say what?” I asked, scrambling out of the bed. I pulled my favorite jeans out of my closet and rummaged for a T-shirt. “Sorry I nearly chewed through your jugular? They don’t exactly make a card for that.”

“I could draw one for you.”

“Ew.”

We fell into giggling, just because we could. If my laughter edged toward hysterical, Lucy didn’t comment. I was pulling on my Converse sneakers when shots rang out in the woods surrounding the house. We leaped to our feet. I pulled the window open and stuck my head out through the decorative iron bars. Snowflakes landed on my eyelashes. Sebastian was already a shadow streaking across the snow. I couldn’t see anything else.

I ducked back into the room and turned around. “I don’t know,” I said in answer to Lucy’s questioning glance. I heard the faint whistle of an arrow and instinct had me leaping aside before my brain had fully catalogued the sound. I kicked Lucy lightly as my feet left the floor, knocking her back onto the bed and out of harm’s way. The arrow thudded into the wall, cracking the plaster.

“Shit,” I said, staring at Lucy.

She stared back, equally wide-eyed. “God, you’ll do anything to get out of talking to Kieran.” She sat up, rubbing her hip where I’d kicked her. “Nice moves, by the way.” She shook her head as my phone rang in the pocket of the dress I’d just taken off. “Who could get through your defenses like that?”

I glanced at the screen, my belly going cold. It was like I’d swallowed icicles.

“Constantine.”

“Have I mentioned lately how much I do not like him?”

“Viola, wait for me. I’m coming,” I read aloud. And then I added a combination of words so foul Lucy choked.

Constantine was outside.

Worse yet, he wasn’t alone.

Because the fletchings of the arrow were the distinctive red the Chandramaa favored. And none of them knew I was the real Solange again, they only knew their queen had been captured by her banished family in a time when civil war loomed from every corner.

I did the only thing I could think of.

“Mom!”