Page 11 of Vampire Runner

Aromas of freshly brewed coffee and exotic spices mingle in the air, drawing me deeper into the space. I close my eyes, breathing in the scents and feeling my own wild magic being soothed by the natural tones. I barely hear Darcelle shut the office door behind me before murmuring an incantation to ward the room from eavesdroppers.

They say nothing as my feet take me past the worn, wooden desk cluttered with papers, a computer, and a few empty white coffee mugs. I’m drawn to the heavy oak work bench pushed up against one wall, its surface meticulously clean compared to the desk.

A small standing shelf is atop it against the wall, and I trail my fingertips along the edge as I catalog the mortar and pestles, the small iron pots, glass vials and jars whose contents hum with wild magic.

“You’re a wild witch,” I breathe out, my heart fluttering. I think of my old mentor, Agnes—the witch who became my family when I left my coven behind. I blink back the tears as fond memories of the stern woman bring me back to that time. What I would give to have her counsel for my predicament. Not just with Eris and the archangel, but with Ashe as well.

She’d demand to know if I’ve gone soft over the years and forgotten that nearly every problem can be solved with good, hard work.

I clear my throat and turn back to Darcelle, who is watching me with sympathetic understanding. We consider each other for a long moment before Darcelle gestures for me to take the single wooden chair opposite their own in front of the desk. The witch mutters under their breath as they stack papers and shove them into a drawer before giving me an apologetic look as they move the empty coffee cups behind them onto a short filing cabinet that has different types of bagged coffee on top.

“Results of the trade,” they say with a grin. “I’m always trying to find new blends of coffee to share, which means I have the horrible burden of personally taste testing them.”

Remembering my own love of bitter teas, I share in their grin as I settle my skirts around my legs. “Oh, of course. I’m certain it must be a terrible strain on you.”

Darcelle gives a bark of a laugh, shaking their head as they head towards one of the shelves, tapping their long blue nail against their bottom lip. “No one appreciates teas and coffees like us wild witches. My magic is what helps me find the best roasted beans for the shop. I refuse to serve anything I haven’t fully tested. Ah!” They pluck a thin book off the shelf, the spine so thin to have nothing written on it. Darcelle returns to the desk, taking their own seat and setting the book down and flipping it open before I can try to read the gold script printed on the green cover. “Not too many books exist on angels, considering the opinions of humans in the world. This one is a copy of one of the earliest witch hunters clans, descending from the Beya clan from the Near East.”

A chill trickles through my veins and I remind myself that there are no hunters in the streets preparing to burn down the building with us trapped inside.

Darcelle doesn’t notice my struggles, scanning the page quickly before flipping to the next. “They believed all creatures of magic were to be eliminated, and certainly didn’t believe angels were the soldiers of some deity. Fortunately, some of their collected writings were saved from being burned. I could have sworn I’ve read something similar to what you described back when the demons were causing a ruckus in the city and Ambrose needed to explore his options.”

I snort at Darcelle’s description of the war that nearly broke out between the Nightshades and demons. Eris refused to assist Ambrose, and after Ambrose exiled Ezra from the clan, I supported Eris’s stance. Ezra had been one of the first Nightshades to accept me, seeing as he too was considered different. Ezra’s father was a demon, and his mother was human. It was when a vampire turned the woman without realizing that she was pregnant, which resulted in Ezra’s mixed natures. His duality always challenged him, pulled between different urges, yet he was always eager to destroy. I once accused Ambrose of only ever seeing Ezra as a weapon, and Ezra shocked me by claiming that’s exactly what he was.

He’d never taken a mortal soul until the conflict a few decades ago, something Ambrose had explicitly forbidden within the boundaries of the Nightshade territory. I know Ezra. He wouldn’t have given in to his demonic nature to bargain for a mortal’s soul, but the male refused to name the human whose soul he’d taken. The punishment for the mortal was death, to force any bargain between them and the demon to be void. Ambrose had exiled Ezra, banished him from the clan and told the rest of us Ezra was fortunate to be alive. It had driven Eris away, which meant I left the Barrows too, for some time.

She had never trusted Ambrose, it wasn’t in her nature. But from that moment, she never considered him anything more than an employer.

When we’d finally returned, I learned that not only did we lose Ezra but Rhys left as well. The vampire had considered Ezra closer than any brother or best friend, and to lose Ezra was a loss too great. Rhys hadn’t abandoned the Nightshades, but instead begged Ambrose to allow him to wander until he was ready to return. Eris and I had both been surprised that Ambrose agreed, until we learned that the king of vampires had given Rhys the duty similar to a diplomat and spy. Ambrose is never altruistic. He saw the opportunity to expand his empire through Rhys and took full advantage.

Rhys has never returned to the Barrows, that I know of, since.

“Here we go,” Darcelle says, yanking me from my contemplation. “From your description of the blade being summoned with bright light and Eris being essentially sucked out of you like a vacuum...” The witch trails off, their brow furrowing. They flip to the next page, then back again to reread it.

“What?” I jump up, coming around to Darcelle’s side to read over their shoulder. Fortunately the copy was printed in English. I peer closer, rereading the passage. “This doesn’t make sense. Why would an archangel use a blade to siphon the essence of a demon into them? I swear the idea isn’t even familiar to anything in Eris’s memory, and she was once an angelic soldier under direct command of Aeternaphiel. She would have known about this.”

Darcelle looks up at me, a grave expression on their face. “You said Ashe stabbed him with Eris’s celestial blade?”

I nod in confirmation. “It was melting, though, according to him. The archangel did something to it.”

Darcelle turns the page to the one they’d consulted after trailing off, tapping a passage with a sparkly blue nail. My eyes follow theirs, and I narrow my eyes. Darcelle speaks before I have a chance to comprehend what I read.

“Any being from the celestial realm would be immediately sent back from this plane if struck by a celestial blade. That was their main purpose here on Earth. Aeternaphiel should not have survived being struck.” Darcelle leans back in their chair, blowing out a breath. As for me, I stare at them dumbly, my mind unable to see what the witch is suggesting.

Darcelle must see how stupefied I am and takes pity on me. “Here in the Barrows, we deal with many different creatures and magical beings. The blade this book suggests Aeternaphiel used is nearly identical to what a sorcerer or a warlock uses to add to their power. And there is only one way I know of to separate the soul from a body that allows the person to continue living.”

I shake my head. “That can’t be it. Why would an archangel need to become a lich? Why would he remove his soul from his body?”

Darcelle scrunches their lips and shakes their head. “I can’t say why, but I do know that it means you’re right. You and Eris are running out of time. Eris wasn’t struck true by the blade, but enough has been cleaved from her that she’s dying. Not just dying, but being consumed. And because of how enmeshed your souls are, you will be consumed too. The only way to save either of you is to find the soul and destroy it.”

I stagger back around the desk and collapse back onto the chair. I stare, wide-eyed, at Darcelle and utter something more appropriate for Eris.

“Well. Shit.”

Chapter Five

ASHE

The dining room is silent as we each grapple with what Cassandra has revealed. Even forewarned, I struggle not to rage against the injustice of the situation. I have my mate back, we’re closer than ever to fulfilling her demon bargain. Now we only have days to complete the task that’s been nearly impossible for a hundred and fifty years. If we don’t, my mate dies.

---