Words of Power (Alice Gray Book 3)

20

Shaking it off, for the pantomime that it was, I swallowed my fear. He obviously used this whole cassock of doom image to put the accused at a disadvantage from the outset.
Why was I letting this guy play me?

I was familiar enough with vampire games to know that they loved to make an entrance. Especially the old ones who clung to the fashions and traditions of their true life, however many hundreds of years ago that might have been.

"Yo, Brother J. Nice dress," I said, throwing the full force of my sass at the shrivelled raisin of a vampire. "Hasn't anyone told you that it's rude to keep your hat on inside?"

Ok, so a monk's hood might not be a hat per se, but I really wanted to see if this guy had a traditional tonsure.

My heart lightened a little when I saw Lucas trying to supress the grin that was threatening to stretch out his face. Confidence followed in its wake as I began to believe my own hype.
Why the hell should I be afraid of this guy?  I'd faced powerful foes before and I was still standing to tell the tale.

Brother Jerome moved into the room in slow shuffling steps. When he reached the chairs in the lounge portion of our suite, he turned, sat and let out a sigh of such relief that it was hard not to appreciate the comfort right along with him.

But I didn't let myself fall for that either. The heavy throbs of energy rippling through the atmosphere from this guy told me that he was powerful. His physical weakness was a ruse. It had to be.

Glancing out of the door, I noticed two large men on sentry duty. Just before Lucas closed the door, Becca appeared from whatever potpourri filled room Ralph had put her in.
She nodded briskly to the sentries who both quickly lowered their eyes. Shifters then, the DPA's security guards of choice. If I was sure that I could trust Becca, then I'd take comfort from that. But when push came to shove I didn't know if the panther shifter was Team Alice or Team DPA.

The room suddenly got a whole lot smaller when the door was closed. The dense, dead, energy of Brother Jerome sucked out all the oxygen. My breath came in quick shallow pants. I was going to give myself away.

Taking my cue from the others, I pretended that I wasn't affected by the oppressive vamp energy. That was part of my magic and I couldn't afford to let on that I could taste the rich coppery tang in the back of my throat, and sense its slithering intrusions into the other energies at play in the room.

Vamp, shifter, human and witch, it made for a heady combination, but I couldn't get distracted. I needed to convince the inquisitor that the only magic I had right now was the pack bond that I shared with Lucas, Emily and Evan.

The pack magic was outside of my witchy skills, and there was no way that anyone could say otherwise. We were the first mixed pack that had ever been recorded. We were unique, outside of the rules.

But while that was a blessing right now, when I wanted to hide my personal magic in the strength of the pack bond, it didn't fill me with confidence for the outcome of the trial.

Who were the most vulnerable individuals in any culture?

The ones that didn't fit into the current ideological framework.

We were screwed, I realised, at the exact moment that Brother Jerome dropped his hood.

The monk did not have a traditional bald patch, but instead his golden curls fell over his angelic countenance in a way that could only be described as charming.

I should have known that one of the oldest vamps in existence wasn't going to be a decrepit old Friar straight out of Gothic horror.

No.

He was going to be youthful and breathtakingly beautiful. That's how they fooled the rest of us into trusting them. It was part of their disguise. It was how they hid the monster within. The monster that took pleasure in torture and pain, blood and death.

It only stood to reason that the oldest ones would be the most beautiful. That they would be the ones that retained the freshness of youth, despite the ancient cells that made up their forms, void and empty of life and vitality.
Magic fuelled the life of the vamps, and not the same magic of creation that sparked human, animal, witch and shifter life. This was dead magic. Foul and heavy and parasitic. Magic that wanted to consume all the vigour of nature's abundance.

Horror crept through me as I realised just how similar my own silver life-force was to vamp magic. The strength of my power might come from nature, which was the fundamental source of all witch energy. But my silver life-force infiltrated and changed all the other strands of magic that it encountered. Just like the vampires devour natural life for sustenance.

"Alice Gray," he said, voice a thin, reedy whistle; a sound in keeping with his ancient, used up cells, and in stark contrast to his lush youthful exterior.

My head snapped up to find ice-blue eyes pinning me where I stood.

I swallowed my fear, because in all those considerations that had flashed through my mind while I watched his theatrics play out, one thing stayed at the forefront.

My silver life-force might be hungry. Hell, it might be ravenous, and unwieldy, and dangerous.

But its sustenance was not only the life-power of witches.

No.

My magic wanted it all, and dead vamp magic was as much my prey as anything else.

Alice might not be a victim but she'd better hold onto that hungry magic of hers!