The only way to evade his power was to be behind him, but he was so alert and so fast, it was nearly impossible to be behind him long enough to make a difference. I was the only one who’d been able to take him on and match his power, although he’d still nearly won. In fact, it hadn’t really been me who beat him that day. It had been the Amadis power boosted by a miracle.
In training, however, my Amadis power was useless, having only a positive effect on other Amadis, and I hadn’t been allowed to use my electrical power except a few times when Charlotte tested me. She needed to see what I could do and then see how it had strengthened over time, but that was it. So practicing with the dagger with Tristan meant using only my speed and agility.
The dagger felt more natural in either of my hands than any other weapon we’d tried. I easily danced around Tristan with it, twisting and turning without tripping myself up as I had done with the sword. Right when Tristan lunged at me, I did a spin and a hop and landed on his back, the dagger at his throat.
“Perfect!” Charlotte said with a laugh. “The dagger it is. And the beauty of the dagger, Alexis, is we can have yours made to take your powers, both the electricity and the Amadis. Whatever you want to use, you can pass it through the dagger. You will have a most formidable weapon. I’ll put the order in today, but you’ll need to go in tomorrow so the blacksmith can be sure he has the right measurements.”
I hadn’t expected an actual blacksmith, just the old-fashioned title given to whomever used more advanced technology in today’s age. But when Tristan and I went to the village the next day, he took me to a space that resembled a blacksmith shop straight from the Middle Ages—rustic and smoky, with the only light coming from several hearths with blazing fires. Except, unlike a traditional blacksmith, herbs and other reagents hung from this one’s ceiling or were kept in jars on shelves near the fires, I assumed to enchant the weapons and armory forged here.
At the hearth in front of us, a stooped, white-haired man tossed some kind of powder into the unnaturally green fire. The flames shot up, turning from green to silver, and he thrust a long piece of metal into the heat. His hands flickered with pink sparks as he turned the metal in his palms and whispered a spell. Finally, he pulled the staff from the flames and dropped it in a vat of water. He squinted up at us and then ducked his head.
“Ms. Alexis. Mr. Tristan. I’ve been expecting you,” he said, his voice gravelly as if he’d been inhaling the smoke in the shop for hundreds of years. With his dark, lined skin, perhaps he had been. He gave us a nearly toothless grin and held his hands out toward me. “May I?”
I stared at him with uncertainty.
“It’s okay,” Tristan said. “Ferrer needs to take your measurements. Just give him your hand.”
I hesitantly placed my hand into the old man’s rough and calloused ones. After a few long moments, his knobby fingers released mine, and he asked for my other hand.
“Very good. I will have your dagger and your knife ready to be presented at the coronation ceremony,” he said.
“That’s it?” I asked with surprise. What, exactly, did he measure?
“Yes, that’s it. Do not worry, Ms. Alexis, they will be splendid weapons. I told Ms. Charlotte the dagger would favor you, but she insisted on testing you, all the same. I have already the one meant for you to hold.” Ferrer gave me a wink and then turned to Tristan. “I will have yours ready then, as well, Mr. Tristan.”
As we stepped out of the shop into the bright daylight, an uneasy feeling overcame me. I stopped and studied the mind signatures surrounding us. Some felt familiar from the many trips we’d taken to the village, yet one, in particular, really stood out. Not because I knew it—I certainly had never felt it before—but because it was so different. Everyone’s signatures were unique, but they also had similar qualities, especially among the same species. This one was nothing like any of the others. I grabbed Tristan’s hand and pulled him up the road, following the signature.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
Someone new . . . different. It’s weird, and I want to know who it is.
He sighed, but indulged me. The signature headed up the sloped road, and right where the business district ended and the road climbed higher to the Council Hall, the owner made a sharp right. A moment later, we rounded the same corner. The Council Hall was up the hill to our left and a storage shed stood in front of us, aligned with the rear of the shops on the main road. But no one was in sight. The mind signature had disappeared.
“Huh. They’re gone,” I said, turning in a circle to be sure.
“Maybe they flashed,” Tristan said as he tugged me back toward the road.
“Yeah, I guess—”
A sound came from behind us. We both jerked and turned toward the shed. Martin, Julia, and Armand were exiting the little building, Martin forever smoothing his shirt, his face pale and distressed. As soon as he saw us, though, he straightened his spine and smiled. But this didn’t distract me from seeing Julia’s tongue run across her lips or Armand’s eyes narrow suspiciously. What was going on? They weren’t feeding off of Martin . . . were they?
“Tristan, I need to speak with you.” Martin’s voice came out a little more cheerful than normal, and he hurried toward us, as if extremely relieved to see Tristan . . . or, more likely, to escape the vampires. Armand disappeared, and Julia headed up the hill, toward the Council Hall. “Owen and I have a theory, and I was thinking . . .”
I stopped paying attention to Martin and focused instead on Julia, who peered over her shoulder, as if checking to see if she was being followed. When she blurred around the corner, headed for the rear of the Hall as I’d seen her do months ago, I wondered what she could possibly be doing that required her to sneak in through the back door. Nothing good, I was sure. Not with that kind of treacherous behavior.
Out of the corner of my eye, I peered at Tristan and Martin. Their heads were close together, deep in discussion. Martin had told Solomon to keep a careful watch on Julia, but he wasn’t watching at the moment when she was obviously up to something. I could have read Julia’s mind, but I saw the opportunity and flashed to the rear of the Hall instead.
Just as I appeared, two backs stood in the doorway—Julia’s and another: Ophelia’s. The old witch held a copper flask in one hand and perhaps something else in front of her that I couldn’t see. Julia’s hand pressed against Ophelia’s shoulder, pushing her downward until they were both lost to the gloom inside. What are they doing? Was Ophelia delivering something to Julia? Did the flask hold more blood? Was Martin’s not enough for the gluttonous vampire? I wondered whose blood it was. Perhaps Ophelia’s, adding more magic to Julia’s system. Or . . . perhaps Rina’s. Solomon could be wrong. Julia could be gaining enough power. I had to find out.
I inhaled a deep breath while reconsidering my suspicions and blew it out slowly. Then following my instinct, which hadn’t changed, I stepped through the open door onto a narrow landing at the top of a steep flight of stone stairs. Below was darkness and strange noises, as well as Julia, Ophelia, and another mind signature. I suppressed a gasp.
This mind signature surprised me. It somewhat reminded me of Dorian’s—intense and animated—but not quite the same. It had a sharper edge to it. Yet, still childlike. A soft moaning floated up the stairs, the sound of a girl’s whimper.