Finally he says, “You’re all wet.” Absolute silence fills the space, before every single one of the vampires bursts out laughing, including Ethan. Jesus.
“I believe I just made a double entendre,” Whitfield declares happily, dabbing at his eyes like an elderly man who just cracked a joke. “My dear, you smell even better when you’re soaked,” he laughs again, and I’d slap him if he wasn’t practically the king of the vampires.
Ethan appears highly amused. “You haven’t smelled her when
she sleeps,” he adds with a grin. “It’s truly something.”
“Perhaps you’d be willing to rent her out for a night,” Whitfield replies.
Ethan glances at me then, and I know he’s still pissed with me for walking off on him last night, even if he did just save me from drowning. I feel like he’s about to say yes, that he would be willing, but then he answers, “You know I never liked to share, Jeremy.”
“No, a pity that,” says the ancient vampire, before straightening up.
I get a weird popping feeling in the pit of my stomach, and somehow I sense it’s my magic coming to life inside me, urging me to use it. I wonder what would happen if I hit Whitfield with some of those flitting sparks I managed to create outside Rita’s house last night. He wouldn’t be so forthcoming with the double entendres then I’m sure. I actively hold myself back though. No point in ruining all my hard work cosying up to the vampires in order to get to Rebecca. Not that I’ve been doing such a stellar job of it anyway. And now I only have two and a half days left to get to her.
My gaze shifts to the lake just a second before the water rises up out of nowhere like a tidal wave. It twirls in loops and comes down on us with an almighty thump. Ethan lets out a loud curse in what I presume is Romanian. Eliza squeals in anger. Whitfield is unsettlingly silent and unmoving. I shake the water from my hair.
Over on the other side of the lake stand the witch and the warlocks. Before I can look twice, Ethan and Whitfield have sped to them. The three appear shocked that the vampires had gotten to them so fast. Perhaps they haven’t had a lot of experience with vampire speed. Silly. They really should have left when they had the chance.
Right now I wish one of those strange moments would hit me like last night, when I’d used magic without even knowing what I was doing. That way maybe I could stop this battle from continuing. Nothing happens though, and Whitfield seizes the witch by her long hair, pulling her head back and exposing her neck. One of the warlocks raises his hand to throw a spell, but Ethan grabs a hold of his arm and snaps it. The warlock drops to the ground in agony.
The other lunges at Ethan, throwing a dart of light at him, but he dodges it, kicks the man in the chest, puts both hands on either side of his head and snaps his neck. Lovely. It disturbs me how I’m getting used to seeing people killed right in front of me. Maybe it’s some sort of survival mechanism, because I can feel myself withdrawing my emotions from the situation so that I don’t break down into tears.
Whitfield sinks his fangs deep into the witch’s neck now, and only seconds pass before she goes limp in his arms. Perhaps killing in the traditional vampire way is not so beneath him after all. He’s looking directly at Ethan, and there’s no mistaking the grin on his face as he drinks from the witch. Oh God. I can’t let him kill her, she might have information about Dad. I start to run toward them, my legs moving slower than normal in my soaking wet dress and boots.
“Get back here!” Eliza demands, but I ignore her.
The warlock whose arm Ethan broke pulls on some shrubs with his good arm, trying to raise himself to his feet. Ethan laughs cruelly and kicks him back down.
“Broke your casting arm, did I?” Ethan asks, satisfaction in his voice that I don’t like one bit. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to fully accept his dark half, and it’s been rising to the surface all too often. Thankfully I’ll be returning to Manchester soon, once Rebecca’s home and safe, then I can escape Ethan and try to forget the mixed emotions he provokes in me.
“You’ve no clue what you’ve done bloodsucker,” the warlock spits.
Whitfield drops the witch to the ground and wipes the blood from his mouth. “Oh yes, and what would that be?” he asks, and the warlock turns his attention from Ethan.
“We were going to warn you, but you went and killed Zara’s sister, now I hope they are successful in bringing him back.”
“Bringing who back?” Whitfield seems midway between bored and intrigued. I guess being six hundred years old means you’re always sort of bored with the world.
My heart hammers in my chest. What were they going to warn the vampires about? And is it connected to the one eyed witch offering me information as to the whereabouts of my dad?
The warlock raises his head and spits on Whitfield’s leather shoe. “I have absolutely no intention of helping you now. You think you’ve won this war, but you have no idea what they’re planning.”
“I really am beginning to tire of you sewer rats spitting on me,” says Whitfield, a bubble of anger seeming to rise in him. He lifts his leg and kicks the warlock in the ribs. I actually hear them crack. A whoosh of air leaves the warlock’s mouth and then blood spills out. Whitfield’s kick was intended to kill rather than simply to injure, and there’s no doubt the warlock is now very close to his end. I never considered it possible to die from a kick to the ribs, but I guess vampire strength can break a lot more than ribs once contact is made.
I eye the witch named Zara, now lying weakly on the grass. This is my chance to get to her. I slowly walk around Ethan, Whitfield, and the dying warlock. Their attentions are fixed on him as the life leaves his body. I quickly kneel down by her and press my fingers to the side of her neck that’s not bitten. Her pulse is there but it’s very faint. Her eyes spring open then and she looks at me intensely.
“I feel…dizzy,” she says, in a small voice.
“You’ve lost a lot of blood,” I tell her, knowing exactly how she feels. My blood got taken from me recently too, only I’m not sure whether or not it was a vampire who did it.
“What are you doing Tegan?” Ethan asks suddenly. Crap, I thought he might be too preoccupied with the warlock to notice me.
“She’s dying,” I answer feebly. “I need to do something to save her.”
“Humans, so compassionate,” says Whitfield, as though he can’t understand the emotion at all. Well, I suppose life isn’t so precious when you know you can live for a thousand years.
The witch pulls me to her, her arms are weak but I bend down to her anyway. “Your dad, they’re using him for the ritual,” she whispers, because her life is falling from her quickly now, and she doesn’t have the strength to put proper sound into her voice.