“And why should a vampire care about such things?”
“We must live in this world, too, Mistress—”
“Urswick,” she panted. Curse it — the guard weighed a ton!
“I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Mistress Urswick,” he said wryly. “I am Chris Marlowe, although my friends call me Kit.”
“You have friends?”
“Strangely enough, yes. I would like to number you among them, if I could.”
Gillian was sure he would. But while she might be a penniless thief, her coven ruined, her friends scattered or dead, neither she nor her daughter would be feeding him this day. “Don’t count on it,” she snarled, and jerked the slender column of wood free.
It was a staff as she’d hoped, but not of the Circle’s make. The surface was satiny to the touch, worn smooth as stone from centuries of handling. The oil from all those hands had cured it to a dark mahogany, blending the black glyphs carved along its length into the surface. She traced one of the ridges with a fingertip and didn’t believe it, even when a frisson of power passed through her shields to jump along her nerves.
Her fingers began to prickle, black fury rising in front of her eyes, as she stood there with a Druid staff in her hands. It wasn’t enough that they were persecuted, imprisoned and murdered. The Circle had to steal what little of their heritage they had been able to preserve as well.
“At the risk of sounding discourteous, may I point out that you are in no position to be choosy?” the vampire said, right before the door to the room slammed open and half a dozen guards rushed into the room. And then blew back out as the staff turned the door and half the wall into rubble.
“Perhaps I spoke too soon,” he murmured, as she pulled a white-faced Elinor through the red bite of heat and the smell of smoke to the now missing door.
Outside, the castle’s walls hemmed them in on all sides, grey stone against a pewter sky. A battle was going on to the left, with the prisoners trying to get down the stairs. They looked to be holding their own, with one witch’s spell sending a guard flying off the battlements into the open courtyard. But that was about to change.
Reinforcements were already running toward the battle from either side. And they were the Circle’s elite corps — war mages, they called them — instead of the talentless scum employed as jailers. The witches from most of the covens were well trained in self-defence, but their weapons had been confiscated when they were taken. Without them, they wouldn’t last long.
Of course, that could prove true of them as well. A group of the Circle’s dark robed mages broke off from the main group and started their way. And in front of them was a lethal cloud of weapons, iron dark against the pale sky.
Gillian didn’t try to run; there was no time and nowhere to go. Against the Circle’s harsh alchemy of steel and iron, she called Wind, and it answered far more quickly than usual. She was only dimly aware of a blizzard of debris behind her back and the mages’ squawks of alarm as their weapons went tumbling back at them.
For a long moment, the roar of her element filled her senses in a heady rush, billowing out her tattered gown, matting her hair and blowing into her eyes. She didn’t bother to brush it away. It felt good. It felt like power.
But it didn’t last. Within seconds, the wind was already dying. The staff was magnifying her strength, but she had so little left. And when it gave out—
“My offer of assistance remains open,” the vampire said casually. He’d jumped down from the second floor and was leaning against the shattered wall, watching the chaos with the mildly interested glance of someone at a bear baiting with no money on the outcome.
“It’s well known that your kind helps no one but themselves!”
“Which is better than attacking and imprisoning our own, would you not say?” She didn’t see him move, but he was suddenly beside her, the wind whipping his curls wildly around his face.
“Why should you want to help me?” she demanded harshly.
“Because I need yours in return.”
Despite everything, Gillian almost laughed. He stood there in his fine clothes, smelling of spices and sporting a jewel worth the price of a house. And she was supposed to believe that he needed anything from the likes of her?
“’Pon my honor,” he said, seeing her expression.
“You may as well swear on your life! Everyone knows that vampires are selfish, base, cruel creatures who only want one thing!”
“And everyone knows that coven witches are weak, treacherous and easily corrupted,” he shot back. “Everyone is often wrong.”
Gillian started to answer, but a harsh clanging echoed across the keep, cutting her off. A small group of witches had cleared the stairs and made a break for the gates. But the heavy iron portcullis guarding the entrance had slammed down before they could reach it, trapping them in the middle of a sea of enemy mages. Her hands clenched at their desperate cries for help, but there was nothing she could do but die with them.
And she had Elinor to think about.
She spun on her heel, brushing past the vampire and racing back inside the small gatehouse. The trunk was still there, with its bit of stale loaf. She brushed it aside and threw up the heavy lid, hoping for weapons — charms, potions, protection wards — anything designed to hold a reservoir of magic for use in times like these. But there was nothing, aside from a few rat droppings.
She slammed the trunk shut in frustration, wishing she had the strength to throw it at the wall. The guard must have taken the staff as a trophy. Because wherever the Circle was storing their weapons, it wasn’t here.
“The other gate is still open,” the vampire said, from the doorway. “And I am skilled at glamourie. Let me inside your shields and I can hide you and the girl. We can walk out of here while the fight distracts the guards.”
“Why should I trust you?” she demanded harshly, desperate for a reason, any reason.
“What choice have you?”
Gillian didn’t see that they had much either way. Getting outside the walls would do them little good if it left her drained and defenceless, and at the mercy of a creature whose kind were well-known to have none. But with no weapons and her magic all but exhausted, staying here would mean certain death at the hands of the Circle.
The vampire’s head suddenly came up, reacting to something beyond the reach of her senses. “Help me and I’ll help you,” he said urgently, holding out his hand.
Gillian hugged Elinor against her, every instinct she had screaming that she was mad to put their lives in the hands of a creature who saw them merely as prey. But if her only choice was between dying now and dying later, she would take later. “If you betray me, I will use my last breath to curse you!”
“I would expect nothing less.”
Gillian licked dry lips. She didn’t believe him, didn’t think for a moment that he really wanted to help. But the wind had died and booted feet were pounding up the stairs, and she was out of options. She readied a curse, hoping it wouldn’t be her last. And dropped the tattered remnants of her shield.
This was typical, Kit thought sourly, slamming them back against the wall as a mob of mages rushed in. Find the perfect candidate and, naturally, everything went to hell before he could get away with her. Unfortunately, his lady was not one to understand unforeseen difficulties. He really did not want to think of the reception he was likely to get if he returned empty-handed.