A Shade of Vampire 50: A Clash of Storms Page 6

  “Be careful, Jovi!”

  I put extra weight on those three words. I wanted to see my brother soon, in one piece. We had an evil maniac to bring down together.

  I breathed in and relaxed my body in the clear liquid of my spherical prison, then glanced over at Vita and Phoenix, who had their arms crossed over their chests as they floated in their bubbles.

  “Show’s about to start,” I murmured.

  Indeed, it was all about to go down, and I prayed to all possible deities that it would go down with a loud and unforgettable bang, hard enough to wipe Azazel off the face of Calliope.

  Jovi

  I hunched over the shape-shifter horse’s back, the other shifter riding behind me in Destroyer form, guiding the creature toward Luceria. My wrists and ankles had been superficially bound together with loose rope to complete my “captive” look, while the pretend-Destroyer carried my satchel on its back. It had been given a sword and a shield to match the rest of the outfit.

  The taste of Anjani’s goodbye kiss still lingered on my lips, and it was the one thing that gave me the strength I needed to pull this off as close to flawlessly as possible. Well, that and seeing my sister again, but Anjani had this long-lasting effect on me that was always difficult to ignore.

  We flew over dark jungles and emerald-green hills, while Azazel’s castle grew taller with each mile. The sky was riddled with swarms of green fireflies that swirled around us, watching curiously. We ignored them and kept our trajectory clear toward the east wing. Thousands of incubi soldiers and Destroyers spread out on the ground surrounding the castle, their drums echoing and sending chills down my spine. Azazel was getting ready for war, only he didn’t know where we’d hit from first.

  “Whatever you do, don’t look straight at them. The less you engage them, the better,” I said to the shifters. “And hurry up—this is getting uncomfortable...”

  The pretend-Destroyer nodded with a hiss, then tightened its serpent tail around the flying horse, making the creature neigh with discomfort and frantically flap its wide, white wings.

  “Yeah, I think you got it!” I noted sarcastically.

  Several Destroyers approached us, riding their pale winged companions. They hissed as they got closer, eyeing me curiously. It wasn’t exactly difficult for me to act like I hated them. I wore my best sullen prisoner look as I watched them circle us mid-flight.

  “What’s that you got there?” one of them asked.

  “Another prisoner for the dungeon?” another chimed in, grinning.

  My shifter-Destroyer shook its head, grunting as it bared its long fangs, its long, forked tongue flitting in the air.

  “This one’s a special delivery for Azazel,” it said, mimicking the voice of a Destroyer.

  I couldn’t help but feel my heart swell with pride, like a papa bear watching his cubs catch fish up stream for the first time. Or like a daddy tiger witnessing his offspring’s first hunt. Primal and beautiful in its theatrical performance.

  “Need help with him?” The first one cocked his head to one side.

  My “captor” avoided eye contact, as I’d instructed him, beckoning the horse to fly faster and farther away from the horde.

  “No, just a measly chunk of meat. I can handle him,” my shifter hissed, and waved them goodbye.

  The horde didn’t insist. They shrugged and continued their elliptical flight around Luceria, while we headed for the east wing.

  “You know, where I’m from,” I said after a minute, the strong wind in my face making it hard to talk and breathe, “they give awards for best acting performances.”

  Neither shifter responded to that—they were focused on the large window on the fifth floor that waited just a dozen or so feet away. This was going to be a literal crash landing, so I loosened my restraints, tossing the rope away.

  “I’m just saying,” I grunted, shifting my position until I ended up riding the pretend-flying horse, with the Destroyer’s massive, rock-hard body awkwardly behind me. “Once this is over, you two will get the feast of your lives. I can promise you that!”

  “I can promise you that.” The shifter-Destroyer hissed its approval, delight oozing from its husky voice.

  We caught a clear aerial path ahead, Destroyers flying away from us and closer to the troops below, while the green fireflies were spread out toward the northern and western sides of the castle. We were going full speed ahead into one of the windows. I braced myself for the impact, wrapping my arms around the flying horse’s thick neck just before we crashed through the window. Glass shards scratched the sides of my face, and we landed with a thud in a narrow hallway.

  It took the shifter-horse a few good feet to come to a halt, enough for both the pretend-Destroyer and me to shake off the broken glass and get a good look at where we’d ended up. We were in a narrow corridor with black stone walls and green fire torches.

  I paled once I realized that Azazel could be watching through those flames.

  “We need to put the fires out,” I said as I jumped off the horse and knocked one of the torches off the wall. I stomped on it with my boot until the green flame died out.

  The shifters reverted to their original forms, thin, hairless creatures with pale, almost translucent skin, and quickly put out the others, waiting for my instructions as I collected the shield, the sword, and the satchel they’d left behind where they’d shifted, several feet from the window.

  I looked around, lifting an eyebrow at the sight of the gaping hole we’d made through that large window. Only the wooden frame remained. This had once been an elegant residence, I briefly thought to myself—a smooth combination of natural stone, glass, and woodcraft, worthy of a nineteenth century nobleman at least.

  “I thought Patrik was supposed to wait for us here,” I muttered.

  “I am.” A male voice made me freeze.

  I looked ahead and saw a tall, naked man with curly black hair and blue eyes grinning at me from the end of the corridor. Another, equally naked man stood next to him.

  “Pa-Patrick?” I croaked, instantly looking away, my eyes nearly burned out of their orbits. “Dude! Clothes!”

  The shifters growled, but I snapped my fingers and motioned them to stand down.

  “They’re the good guys, fellas!” I said to my weirdly faithful companions.

  “You must be Jovi,” the one I identified as Thadeus remarked dryly.

  “Yeah,” I replied, forcing myself not to look at them. Nudity has this funny effect on people, I realized then. You really don’t want to look, and yet you can’t seem to look away. The paradox can be embarrassing, to say the least. “Seriously, though, where are your clothes? How are you so cool with roaming around a castle butt naked?!”

  “I’ve already explained this to your sister,” Patrik groaned, and I could sense the exasperation in his voice. “Just put yourself in my shoes, and you’ll figure it out by yourself!”

  A second passed as the notion sank in. He made a fair point, as uncomfortable as it was. I gathered the strength to look them both in the eyes, and pursed my lips.

  “You’re barefoot.” I couldn’t help myself, trying to keep a straight face. He sighed with frustration, letting me know that it was time to get serious. “That makes sense, though. I get it. So, my sister saw you naked, then?”

  I stifled a grin as the shifters rolled their black eyes at me. They were just as naked, and I’d never had a problem with that. I walked toward them, giving each a smirk.

  “In your mindless wisdom, you two are actually right,” I told the shifters, confirming what I’d just been thinking. The understanding look they gave me in return once again reminded me that they really were no longer the asinine predators I’d once thought them to be. I shifted my focus back to the Druids. “How do we get to Nova?”

  “Follow me,” Patrik said, and rushed down another corridor. I went after him with Thadeus and the shifters. We climbed up some dark service stairs to the seventh floor, then made a few turns, and I n
oticed the torches had already been put out on this side of the castle.

  “You’ve already been to this part of the castle?” I asked, just to double check.

  “We knew where you’d land, so we cleared the entire route of Azazel’s green flames for a smooth extraction,” Patrik replied.

  They’d prepped the terrain prior to my arrival—proof of what good coordination could accomplish.

  I watched as the Druids quickly shifted back into snakes, and my shifters followed suit, leaving me as the only two-legged creature around.

  “Not fair,” I scoffed, keeping up with their quick, slithering movements.

  I frequently glanced over my shoulder, just to make sure we weren’t spotted or followed by any real Destroyers, but it seemed quiet. I had a feeling Azazel was focusing his troops outside the castle, trusting that the inside would be clear and no one would be daring or stupid enough to try something.

  Little did the self-proclaimed dictator of the Eritopian galaxy know that he was dealing with a master of bold recklessness like Jovi Blackhall. I wasn’t stupid, obviously, but I had enough daring in me to avenge my entire family for all the grief he’d caused us.

  Aida

  Azazel had been on the terrace for over ten minutes, pacing around, occasionally glaring at us. He was fuming, his eyes flickering green as he slithered back and forth, his fingers playing with his snake medallion.

  He stopped in front of my bubble, his eyes two vicious slits.

  “What are you all so calm for?” he hissed. “I see none of you are willing to tell me about your visions yet!”

  “Oh, that’s why you’re here,” I replied with fake surprise. “Why didn’t you say something? I thought you just came up here for a breath of fresh air and were treating us like common garden décor!”

  “You think you’re so smart, don’t you, little Oracle?” Azazel sneered, his lips peeling back and revealing his long, sharp fangs.

  “I’m just saying, a little communication goes a long way,” I replied with a shrug.

  I was feeling brave, despite the dread his presence injected into my veins. His days were numbered—I could feel it in my bones. One way or another, his reign of terror was coming to an end. He couldn’t afford to kill us, either, and I knew my friends and our allies would be here soon. All we had to do was hold out, and if we could annoy him into making mistakes in the meantime, even better.

  Phoenix and Vita were equally calm, watching him quietly.

  I heard Abrille moan behind us. I looked over my shoulder and found her conscious, her white eyes open, the black runes on her body still as she listened to us. It was the first time we’d seen her awake since we’d been brought up to the platform, so we hadn’t had the opportunity to chat.

  I’d shouted at her, banged my fists against the glass, hoping I’d wake her up, but she’d been unconscious and unresponsive. Whatever that fluid was doing to her, she’d been under its effects for so long that she was almost constantly knocked out.

  “I could easily make you tell me,” Azazel replied, shifting his focus to Vita, who didn’t seem phased, despite the glimmer in her turquoise eyes.

  “And do what, torture Bijarki?” she said firmly. “Go ahead. He’s made his peace. He’s a fighter, unlike you. He’s always ready for the worst, while you get cocky and think you’re unbeatable. The mighty always fall the hardest!”

  She was nowhere near comfortable with the idea of Bijarki getting tortured—on the contrary. But I knew her well enough to understand that she’d grown tired of his threats and was aware that the alliance would soon be here. It was all about buying some time and keeping him busy and angry enough to not think twice before he did or said something that might eventually work against him. No creature was impervious to the clouded judgment inflicted by rage.

  “I am unbeatable!” Azazel snarled, pointing a furious finger at her. “I will peel the skin off him and all your friends until you tell me everything I need to know!”

  “You don’t get it, do you?” Phoenix chimed in. “It’s over, Azazel. You can do whatever you want to us; it doesn’t matter. You will die in the end. There will be no glory for you.”

  Azazel stilled, staring at Phoenix for a minute before he scoffed and circled round to Abrille’s sphere. We turned to see what he would do next. I froze as he rammed his fist through the glass, shattering the bubble Abrille floated in and grabbing her by the throat.

  The clear liquid splashed all over the black stone floor, spreading outward and spilling over the edge. Abrille squirmed and whimpered, struggling to breathe as Azazel clutched her throat tight enough to nearly crush her windpipe.

  “Stop it!” Phoenix growled, and punched at the glass in front of him. “Let her go!”

  Azazel bellowed mockingly, while Abrille’s face lost color, her lips slowly turning purple.

  “You’re killing her!” I cried out. “I thought you valued your Oracles!”

  “What good is an Oracle that won’t tell me the future?” Azazel replied through gritted teeth. “I have three perfectly functional Oracles who refuse to cooperate—and, on top of that, have the audacity to belittle me as if there will be no consequences for their unruly behavior! What in the world am I going to do with an Oracle like Abrille, who is not only weak and nearly powerless, but has taken after you three and refused to assist me further? Do you think I’m just going to let you trample all over my honor? You must be joking!”

  “You abandoned your honor when you started killing your own kind out of greed, you bastard!” Vita kicked and punched at the glass, an angry vein throbbing in her temple.

  Abrille was too weak to fight him anymore. Her breathing seemed to slow, her arms and legs going limp. Azazel held her suspended a couple of feet above the floor, his long fingers digging deeper into her throat.

  “Let her go!” I shouted, my blood boiling. I fought off my horror at the sight of Abrille losing consciousness in his grip.

  “You are quite the coward for going after defenseless creatures like that,” a deep, familiar voice suddenly boomed from across the platform.

  I froze, looking toward the source of the voice.

  Draven stood on the edge of the platform, his hands clasped behind his back and a half-smile giving him an air of confidence that hit me like a breath of fresh air.

  Azazel’s cold gaze shot in his direction, and he dropped Abrille. The Nevertide Oracle fell hard on the floor, wheezing and coughing as she struggled to breathe again.

  “I take it you didn’t learn your lesson from the first time we met, Druid.” Azazel said, grinning, after several seconds of deafening silence. “Have you come for another serving? I didn’t get to do much damage, since you and your accomplices ran off and jumped into the river, but I’m more than happy to finish the job now.”

  “You caught me off guard back then,” Draven replied bluntly. “I’ve come a long way since. In fact, I’m just about ready to tear your head off your shoulders and rid this world of your pestilent existence once and for all.”

  Azazel scoffed, then slithered toward him, fingers twitching at his sides. Whatever the Druid had in mind, I hoped he had a contingency plan, because the Prince of Destroyers looked like he was ready to drive a fist through his chest.

  “Is that so? Why don’t you give it a try now, then? Or do you want me to go first?” Azazel hissed, then put his hand out.

  His fingertips lit up as he conjured a large, green fireball, which he threw at Draven with a roar. The flame shot right through Draven, cutting my breath for a second, until I realized that the Druid wasn’t actually there.

  He was projecting himself, with an impressive level of detail.

  Azazel blinked as the green fireball flared out into thin air, leaving behind a wisp of black smoke. He cocked his head to one side, squinting.

  “You’re not here,” he muttered.

  “You’re not so dumb after all,” Draven shot back with a smirk.

  “Come say that to my face, little
Druid.”

  “Oh, but I will. You see, I’ve learned a lot since we first saw each other,” Draven replied. “I can lock on to your presence and project myself with great accuracy.”

  “Yes, parlor tricks at best.” Azazel chuckled mockingly.

  “You say that now…” Draven’s projection suddenly multiplied, and Azazel found himself surrounded by twenty images of the Druid, each crystal clear and impressively realistic. I understood then that Draven had found some wicked spell to clone himself. “But let’s hear your thoughts later on,” he added.

  “Coming to see me, then? Shall I get the tea ready?” Azazel muttered, his hands balling into fists.

  “Don’t bother, Azazel. I’m not coming for tea. I’m coming for you.”

  That said, all twenty projections of Draven vanished at the same time, leaving Azazel on his own in the middle of the terrace. None of us said anything for a while, watching silently as he struggled to get his temper under control. Draven seemed to have really gotten to him, worse than anything we’d managed to accomplish up till now.

  Azazel turned around to face us, his face ashen, his eyes yellow and filled with rage. His lips were pressed tightly together as he slithered toward us and put one hand out, his fingers moving in a circular pattern.

  I looked to my left and saw a new glass bubble being woven where Abrille had been kept. Threads of clear glass twirled until they formed a compact sphere with a wide opening in the front, hung from the same black iron hook. Azazel then looked at Abrille, who was still lying on the floor, finally breathing without any restraint. He made a swift gesture with his hand, and Abrille was immediately pulled into the sphere by an invisible force, the glass sealing itself around her.

  Upon realizing she’d been shoved into another bubble, the Nevertide Oracle burst into tears, desperately punching and kicking as the clear liquid surrounded her. She gagged and coughed several times until she got readjusted to the strange, vision-inducing water.