Chapter 17

Gabby sat by the fireplace in the study, flipping through one of the grimoires from the bookshelf behind her.

The weeks were starting to fly by, and Ismena was still growing faster than she’d anticipated. Her search for answers had been fruitless, her list of questions growing with each passing day. There was no record of a child like this ever being born before. It was literally unheard of.

Alex heaved a sigh of frustration as he flipped through another tome that belonged to Regulus’s collection of grimoires. She didn’t know why he was helping since he couldn’t read witch speak, but he was just as devoted to his niece as they all were.

Nye sat behind the desk, tending to his empire in brooding silence, completing the picture of awkwardness they currently sat in.

“Ismena’s downstairs with Tristan,” Isobel said, entering the room. “They’ll be occupied for hours.”

“Entrapment,” Alex said with an amused smile. “Tristan is her new favorite toy. She forces him to go everywhere with her.”

“At least he’s being tortured,” Nye quipped, earning himself a slap on the arm from Isobel. “What? Have you seen him with that little pink plastic pony? I’ve got photos.”

She perched on the edge of the desk and smiled. “Oh, I know you do, but I’ve got videos.”

“You do?” the spy asked, sitting up straight. Holding out his hand he gestured for her to give him the phone. “I want to see.”

Gabby laughed and shook her head. It was a good feeling seeing her friends so lighthearted after everything that had happened in the last few months. Kidnappings, wraiths, rituals, being hunted by werewolves, reanimated corpses attacking the house, her poor wilted garden, arguing with the ancestor spirits…the list went on. The biggest surprise of all had been the arrival of little Ismena, who wasn’t quite so little anymore.

A month had passed since the birth, and the newborn had unfurled and sprouted into a four-year-old girl. She was the image of her father with her mother’s coloring, and it was becoming clearer every day. Ismena was going to be a beauty with the weight of the entire world on her shoulders.

She’d spent as much time as she was able to with the little witch, testing her abilities and teaching her spells and tricks. She could read the spells in Gabby’s grimoire but didn’t need them at all. She could grow a simple flower in her palm without much thought at all. She could float in the air for a few seconds when she jumped. Objects had a habit of hovering around the room, and her spoon bent when she had a tantrum at the dinner table. Not to mention the fact she seemed to understand the depths of everyone’s emotions. Tristan had told her Ismena had calmed his inner torment with a simple touch when she was only two weeks old.

“Everything she does is instinctive,” Gabby said, voicing her thoughts. “She doesn’t need a spell to follow, and she doesn’t need herbs or elixirs. She just does things. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“So none of that salt and pepper shit you put everywhere?” Nye asked with a smirk. “I’m forever finding it all over my paperwork.”

“You have paperwork?” Isobel asked with a frown.

“I’m trying to imagine what she’ll be like when she’s all grown up and what she’ll do, but I can’t picture it,” Alex mused.

“Give it another seventeen weeks,” Nye said, flipping a gold letter opener over and over in his hand. “Then she’ll be twenty-one. Just thank your lucky stars we don’t have to suffer through a decade of teenageitis.”

“Growing up is meant to be the fun part,” Isobel grumbled. “The milestones…”

“I don’t know what it’s like now, but growing up was harsh and pitiful when I was a boy,” the spy said. “If you grew up at all.”

“You can hardly compare the Middle Ages to now,” Gabby said, rolling her eyes. “So not the same thing.”

“Yeah, there’s a thing called healthcare,” Alex said. “People live longer, and they grow taller.”

“Watch yourself,” Nye spat. “You may be a founder, Alex, but it doesn’t give you permission to call me short.”

“The way you’re acting, maybe you should be the one downstairs playing with pink plastic ponies with Ismena,” Isobel said. “Tristan would actually offer some useful advice instead of picking fights.”

“There is no advice,” Nye said, flipping the letter opener again. “There is only one day at a time.”

“He’s right, I’m afraid,” Gabby said, closing the grimoire and placing it on the little table beside her.

“See?” the spy quipped, winking at Isobel.

“You’re lucky you’re handsome,” she retorted.

“Otherwise?”

Isobel tried to hide her smile. “Otherwise, I’d get Gabby to bar you from coming inside the house.”

“Everyone has referred to her as the Immortal Witch,” Gabby said, attempting to get the conversation back on track. “Ismena, the original one, said it herself. She’ll grow up to a certain point, and there, she’ll remain.”

“If her destiny is to resurrect the Unhallowed, then what happens after that?” Alex asked, scratching his head. “What happens to someone after they fulfill the purpose of their existence?”

That was a deep question Gabby didn’t know the answer to, but she suspected Ismena’s destiny was twofold depending on which path she chose. It always came back to the light or the dark, no matter which way she shaped their predicament in her mind.

The others had thrown around wild suggestions that the little witch would cease to be once she’d expelled her power and that Eleanor planned to siphon her like a battery or even use her as a sacrifice. All of them were their greatest fears, but all were the most extreme. Gabby didn’t want to believe any of them were even a possibility.

If she could find a way to get the power herself, she could spare Ismena from becoming involved at all and do the job herself. Then Ismena’s destiny would change entirely, and there would be yet another path for her to follow.

“They just go on, I suppose,” she replied. “I doubt people drop dead the moment they realize their life’s work is complete.”

“Besides, Ismena’s destiny isn’t to resurrect that cow Eleanor and her bitchy coven. Not anymore,” Isobel said with a pout. “Her destiny is a much happier one. I won’t have it any other way.”

Nye’s cell phone began to ring, and he pulled it out of his pocket, glancing at the screen. Answering the call with a brisk, “What,” he exited the room.

“So all we can do is watch and wait?” Alex asked. “There’s nothing we can do?”

Gabby shook her head. There wasn’t.

“The best thing we can possibly do is everything we’ve already been doing. Care for her, teach her, love her.”

“And wait for Eleanor to rear her ugly head.” Alex glanced at Gabby, an unasked question lingering in his eyes.

Gabby turned away, her mind turning to the task ahead. How they were going to defeat the Unhallowed without using Ismena’s power was beyond her, but there was no other option. She had to find a way. She had to.

Leaving the study, Gabby found Nye out in the hall, pacing back and forth, talking furiously on his phone.

When he saw the witch, he cut the call and shoved his phone back into his pocket.

“Don’t stop on my account,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “I’ve got bigger fish to fry than whatever infighting between vampire gangs you’re attempting to squash.”

“For once, there’s none of that,” Nye said. “Shock horror.”

“That would have to be a first.”

“After Ismena was born, I sent the Six out to track the wraith,” he said, glancing over his shoulder toward the stairs. The faint sounds of Ismena’s happy chattering floated up from the living room, a constant reminder of what was at stake.

“Have they found anything?” Gabby asked.

“Nothing,” he replied, gritting his teeth. “It’s like she disappeared into thin air.”

“I’m not surprised. She’s biding her time. Waiting for the right moment.”

“Which is?”

She shrugged. “I’m winging this just as much as you are.”

“All I can see on our horizon is a huge pile of wraith shit,” Nye said, glaring at her. “I won’t let her take Ismena, but I’m not sure I’ll have a choice. Tell me you’ve got an idea, Gabby. Doesn’t matter how farfetched it is, I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Nye was ready to sacrifice himself for his daughter? The shocks just kept coming these days.

“I’d like to say I’ve got something, but I haven’t,” she said.

“What about your ghost buddies?” he asked. “They were awfully cheery when they gave Mena that diamond necklace. It saved her once, so maybe it can save her again.”

Gabby shook her head. “No, it doesn’t work like that. It’s not a weapon. It’s merely for her protection. It saved her once, but I’m not sure it will again now that Eleanor has seen it. Right now, we need something to end the threat altogether.”

“Gabby, I hate to put all of this on you, but I don’t know what else to do.”

She laughed, attempting to alleviate some of the stress that was weighing them all down. “Nye Saer, admitting he’s indebted to a witch? It must be a miracle.”

“No playing around,” he hissed. “This has to end. That little girl has enough to deal with without a psycho out to get her. If there’s a way to send that bitch to hell without getting Mena involved, then we’ve got to do it. That kid doesn’t deserve to be used.”

Gabby bowed her head, grateful Nye was on the same page.

“I have an idea,” she said. “But I have to meditate on it.”

“Let me know if you need anything,” the spy said, grasping her shoulder. It was as close as he’d come to hugging her, so she took the gesture as a welcome one even though he was glaring at her quite threateningly.

Without another word, she moved around him and ventured downstairs, stepping out into the garden.

It still pained her to see the grounds looking like a desolate wasteland, but when she passed the patch of earth she’d been using to teach Ismena how to grow flowers, she smiled. The little plot was filled with daisies, their yellow centers a welcome burst of color among the darkness.

Standing before Regulus’s olive tree, she stared up at the branches covered in green leaves and olives that were ripe for the picking. When she grew it the night they buried the Roman, she’d ensured it would stand tall and bear fruit for eons, a symbol of the strength the founding vampire had carried with him through the ages. Now the tree bore the symbol of his legacy.

A soft tugging drew Gabby’s attention downward, and she frowned when she found Ismena beside her. She hadn’t even heard the little witch approach, thinking she was still playing with Tristan in the house.

Ismena stared up at Gabby, her hazel eyes sparkling. Glancing at the olive tree, she scrunched up her nose and sniffed. Then she grasped Gabby’s hand.

“Love,” she said, pointing to the tree.

Then as suddenly as she’d appeared, the little witch ran off across the yard, skipping into the house like nothing had happened.

“She’s a curious little thing.”

Gabby jumped, clutching her heart at the sound of Reed’s voice. “What’s with all the sneaking around this place?”

“No sneaking,” the vampire said, standing beside her. “I saw you out here and wanted to check if you needed anything today.”

“Aren’t you meant to be out searching for Eleanor with the Six?”

“Yes,” he nodded, suddenly looking a lot like Tristan. “I’m on my way inside to give Nye my report.”

“Which is?”

“The same as yesterday,” he replied with a frown. “I wish I had better news.”

“Don’t we all,” she declared with a sigh.

Reed shifted closer. “Are you well?”

“As I can be.” Was she well? What kind of question was that? Of course, she wasn’t, but there was no medicine she could take for what ailed her. “And you?”

He smiled and shook his head. She knew he hadn’t confessed his parentage to Tristan—his long-lost father—since the night they fought side by side to fend off Eleanor. They’d all been on edge, but time was running out. Dumb luck would only get them so far, and she knew they couldn’t rely on it, not anymore. They needed a foolproof plan, or they were all going to die, and Ismena would be used to resurrect an evil coven of wraiths. They were the last line of defense.

“You need to speak to him, Reed,” she said. “Eleanor is coming back for Ismena, and we might not be as lucky as last time. If you’re going to say something, I would do it now.”

“Perhaps,” he said, a note of sadness in his voice.

She stared at him for a long moment, watching his changing expression, then said, “You had better deliver the bad news to Nye. Tristan is in the living room watching Ismena. Perhaps you can speak to him, at least, even if you don’t confide your secret.”

The vampire nodded once. “And you? Do you require assistance?”

“No, I’m fine.” She gestured to the tree, which would act as her doorway to the other side in lieu of a living garden around her. “I need to do this part alone.”

Reed smiled and left, disappearing into the house to face Nye’s displeasure. She hoped he would talk to his father and tell him the truth. God knew Tristan needed something to live for.

Reed stood in the foyer of the Hampstead mansion, smarting from bearing the brunt of Nye Saer’s displeasure.

A vampire being able to hunt a wraith was just as absurd as a baby who grew a year in a week. One of those things had happened, so there must be a miracle waiting when it came to the other. Anything was better than returning tomorrow with the same news he’d been delivering for the past month.

Hesitating at the entrance to the living room, he saw Tristan clearing up the mess of toys the child witch had left in her wake. It was such a strange sight to see a thousand-year-old vampire, his father, tidy up the mess of a four-year-old girl.

“Where is the little one?” he asked, drawing the knight’s attention. “Gabby said you were watching her.”

“Gone for lunch with Isobel,” Tristan replied, placing the last of the building blocks back into their bright yellow container.

As he watched the knight, Reed wondered if he’d done the same for his sister Annabelle when she was that small. Perhaps he hadn’t since his mother had told him he’d been away with the Knights Templar a great deal. His fortune and station in the order had kept them from begging on the street, so they’d borne the absence, but for Reed… Well, he wouldn’t know since Tristan had supposedly died in a faraway land and had never known he had a son at all.

Taking the small leather-bound copy of the Bible from his pocket, Reed turned it over in his hand, ashamed he’d stolen it from Tristan’s room the night he and Gabby discovered the knight had left. He’d just wanted something that had been his father’s, but now he saw it had been the wrong thing to do. Desperation had guided his hand.

“Is that…” Tristan rose to his feet, having seen the book.

Now was as good a time as any, he supposed. What would be the worst thing that happened? Tristan refusing to believe him, forcing him to go back on the road alone. He was tired of wondering if there was anything else out there for him other than being alone.

“You can’t tell me you don’t see her in me,” he said, handing Tristan the Bible.

Tristan stared at him, his brow furrowed.

“Juliette,” he said.

The knight’s brow furrowed, his eyes carrying a warning.

“Reed isn’t my real name,” he said, going for it. “It was just an identity I took after I turned.”

“What is your name?” the knight asked carefully, his voice full of trepidation.

“Aedan,” he muttered, casting his gaze away. “Aedan na Tri Tor.”

“Explain yourself,” Tristan hissed. “What kind of trick are you playin’ at?”

“I am long past the time for tricks,” he spat. “I’ve searched for you for nearly eight hundred years. I thought you long gone, but here you are. You are my father, and I am the son you never knew you had, put in my mother’s belly before you marched to your death. Had you come home…” he trailed off, his jaw tensing.

“I didn’t come home,” the knight declared. “I couldn’t.”

“I understand,” Reed began. “I thought you’d died, just like everyone else. It wasn’t until later I found out the truth.”

“My son,” the knight began, shaking his head in disbelief. “I had a son.”

“Have,” Reed said firmly, beginning to regret he’d said anything at all.

They stared at one another in silence, and he didn’t dare move in case Tristan changed his mind and decided he didn’t want to believe.

“How did it happen?” he finally asked. “How did you turn?”

“I was twenty-seven,” Reed began. “I was a soldier just like you’d been. I never became a knight, not by a long shot, but I guess you can understand why that was.”

Tristan nodded.

Reed grimaced. “Declared the hero of Constantinople and branded traitor all on the same day. It had a lasting legacy.”

“If you’d seen the disgusting’ things they were doin’ to the civilians of that city and others just like it… Rapin’ and pillagin’ in the name of God. I could not stand for it a moment longer. I was the one who got inside and opened the gate to let the army in. I stood up to them and was sent to my death in the sewers underneath the city. If you’re truly a son of mine, you would have done the same thing.”

“We were sent to Normandy to squash a rebellion against the Crown. The French were in support of the usurpers…”

“You died in battle?”

“For years I’d dealt with the torment of being a traitor’s son even though I never knew you. It wasn’t the enemy who slew me but men who were supposed to be brothers in arms. During the battle against the rebels, they set upon me. An easy way to deliver death without blame coming back on them.” Reed shrugged. “I don’t know how vampire blood came to be in my system and no one else’s, but I was alone.”

“Vampires were known to lurk around battlefields,” Tristan said gently. “Perhaps you were fed upon, healed, and then compelled to forget.”

“Perhaps. I woke hours later in a field of corpses with a ravenous hunger.”

“Then what happened?”

“I dragged myself back to camp. It was night, the darkness absolute. The men who slew me were horrified to see me standing there. I remembered their swords as they gutted me. I remembered their callous laughter. I remembered it all. I killed them where they stood with my bare hands. I ripped into their throats with my teeth…and so it was done.” He waited for Tristan to say something, but he remained silent, likely testing him to see if his story rang true within his own conscious. “A long time passed, I toiled and struggled with what I’d become, and then I heard about you. I searched ever since, but it wasn’t until…”

“Until?”

“I came to London and heard you were working with Regulus.”

Tristan stared at him, unblinking. Goddammit, say something!

“So you see, you do have something to live for.”

Tristan stared at him, his expression clear, and Reed began to fidget, not knowing what his father thought of him. Finding out he had a son after a thousand years of wandering, thinking he was alone in the world? He supposed it was a great deal to take in.

“After Eleanor compelled me, it changed somethin’ inside me,” the knight began. “I’ve struggled with my path in this world from the day I was born. As a human, and then as a vampire. I began this life killin’ and slaughterin’ innocents, and I’ve worked to atone for it ever since. I will be for the rest of my days. I’ve never belonged anywhere, not really.”

“Not even with Mother and Annabelle?”

Tristan smiled, his eyes misting. “It’s been a long time since I heard her name. Annabelle. Juliette.” Then he shook his head, thinking about Reed’s question. “I regret that I never had much time with them. It was the way of things back then, as you know. Long years away on campaigns saw me apart from them more than I would have liked, but I had to provide a wage. Otherwise, they would have been forced out of our home.”

“And Grandfather had cast us off long before I was born,” Reed added.

“Aye, that he did. Do you know what became of them?”

Reed nodded. “They believed me dead, and I allowed them to mourn me, knowing they’d never accept what I’d become of their own free will. I checked in on them over the years. Mother lived a long life, and Annabelle married a merchant from the midlands. They moved away from the city and went on as well as they could.”

“Juliette…”

“Never remarried.”

Tristan sighed, his thoughts still remaining his own.

“And now?” Reed asked. “Do we continue as we were, or…”

He’d finally found the courage to reveal his identity to his father, but after all this time, did he actually want him? He’d been forced to become the very thing Tristan hated about himself—a bloodthirsty vampire—so would he want a relationship with him, knowing he would be looking in the mirror and seeing everything he abhorred every single day?

“Yes,” the knight said after a moment. “We continue. If I have learned anythin’ in this life, it is that the future remains ours. We can only come to terms with what we have done and do our best to right them. You are a part of this now Reed, how could I not want to know my own blood?” Picking up Ismena’s pink pony, he smiled. “What a strange family we have become.”

Reed stared at the plastic toy and shook his head in bewilderment. He’d wanted to find his father since the day he learned he was still alive, but never in his wildest dreams did he imagine he would be inheriting not only Tristan but the group of mismatched supernaturals who lived in the manor, too.

What a family, indeed.