Page 122 of Fated In Blood

“I took the Harpe Dagger out of the family vault. It seems the door was protected by some sort of spell. Blue light, the color ofan aquamarine, but that’s all I remember. Now my family can track me anywhere I go.”

They’re probably heading here as we speak.

Aria shrugged and turned to Blake. “So let them have her. She’s a thief and can’t be trusted. You’d be wise to learn your lesson before she double-crosses you, too.”

“She stole the dagger for me and Riordan,” Blake murmured, grinding a blackened bloom between his fingers, the dust spilling to the floor. “We’re going to use the weapon to kill Laurent.”

Aria paused, thinking, and ever so slowly that strange sensation faded away and I could breathe again. “You have the Harpe Dagger, and you’re going to kill Laurent Tyrell,” she said slowly, as if she was trying to convince herself she’d heard him right. “I always knew you were reckless, Blake Marten, but I didn’t think you two idiots were suicidal.”

“Can you remove the mark or not? Because if you can’t, then we should get moving, unless you want to entertain a houseful of bad-tempered slayers.” As if to prove his point, Blake glanced over my head, across the now overgrown and dried-out lawn, back the way we’d come. “Come on, Evangeline…”

“Evangeline Silverwood?” Her voice sharpened in recognition, intelligence shining from her eyes. “Daughterof Silas Silverwood?” She put such an emphasis on the worddaughter; I’d never wanted to be Silas’s daughter less than I did right now and that was really saying something.

“Yes.” I figured one-word answers were best until I figured out where this conversation was heading. Nowhere good, I was sure.

Aria studied me for a long moment, as raptly as the ravens peering down from overhead, and dread crawled over my skin. There was something so cunning, so pointed in that dark stare, like I was a gift that had fallen into her hands.

She finally nodded. “Come into the house and let’s see what I can do about that brand, girl.”

The paint was peeling off the screen door, and the massive house was crumbling down around itself, shingles weathered to worn-out gray, the windows—the ones that weren’t broken—so dirty the bright afternoon sun filtered through in pale, dust-choked rays.

Every flat surface of the kitchen was covered in bottles and beakers, small containers with yellowed handwritten labels, crushed herbs, and dog-eared books. “Don’t touch a thing,” she snapped, then proceeded to sweep her hand across the counter. Bowls and jars crashed to the floor, splinters of glass and God knows what sorts of chemicals flying.

She went up on her tiptoes and yanked down a book, opened the pages, blew out the dust, and ran her fingers along the lines of text. In the margins were about a thousand hand-scribbled notations, some of them faded to nothing. Blake kept his attention pinned on her and one hand on my lower back, but I couldn’t help my gaze from wandering.

This place had been magnificent once, a real mansion, with a bank of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the water, the city a pale smudge in the distance.

“Coat off. Shirt, too.” Blake stayed close as I carefully hung the leather jacket over the back of a chair, turned my back to them both, and stripped off my shirt.

Blake had seen me in far less. Had put his mouth on practically every inch of me, but somehow, that intimacy made me more nervous, and I blushed as I folded my shirt, laying it overtop my leather, shivering as I crossed my arms over my bare breasts.

“Oh,Evangeline.” My name came out of Blake's mouth in a low almost-moan, and I hugged myself tighter as warm breath washed over me, his finger lightly brushing the mark. That weirdtightness in my chest returned, constricting like a band around my heart.

“Get out of the way and let me see,” the witch snapped, and I reached up, tangled my hair around my hand, and lifted it up so she had a clear view.

I couldn’t explain the flash of fear when she came up behind me, this tiny, wizened creature who barely reached my shoulder, but I could hardly breathe, caught inside my own inexplicable fear.

“Not the handiwork of my coven. This is older, before my time.”

Every hair on my body stood up, my instincts buzzing, telling me torun, run, run.

I looked up, and in the curved, reflective surface of a copper pot, she was so close—too close—hand outstretched, a glow of power outlining her palm a few inches from my skin.

“Don’t fidget, girl. I’m trying to get a read on the magic.”

It’s okay, Evangeline. Give Aria a minute to see what she’s dealing with. She’s the best witch in New York. If anyone can remove that brand, it’s her.

“Bloodmoon Coven magic. At least four hundred years old. You should have brought her to me the minute she was affected; now the best I can do is put a blocker on it, since removing it will kill her.”

“What?” I cried. “This only happened a few hours ago.”

“Like I said, you should have come sooner.” She raised her eyebrows likeIwas the one being unreasonable. “Now, do you want my help or not? I have things to do, like fix my yard where you mucked up the grass.”

Blake’s voice was quiet. “Yes, Aria, please put a blocker on the mark, and we’ll be out of your hair.”

“This is going to hurt.”

I closed my hand into a fist, then Blake’s fingers worked their way between mine, giving me a tight squeeze.Close your eyes, little slayer. I’ve got you.

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