Ruler [Blood Magic, Book 3]

Chapter 10: Childish Things (revised)

Unwilling to stand in darkness any longer, I leaned over and flipped on the lamp on the night table. It didn't illuminate the whole room, but it was enough to rob the space of its ominousness. Not that I was safe here. This was Keel's compound and he could come and go as he pleased. If his visit taught me anything, it was that. 

And that he wanted much more than my blood and my magic. He wanted what his father had always intended for him: to birth sorcery into the Nosferatu bloodline.

It made the dispassionate, logical kind of sense I'd come to expect from the Nosferatu, and it was practical. The bond would get what it wanted and so would His Majesty. My job here would be deemed a success and my new tradition-mandated lodgings in the Mothering would pack me away even more effectively then this room did. Used and warehoused. The thought was horrifying. 

Why hadn't Arthos warned me about this? Had he known? I added it to the growing heap of questions I had for him. 

After giving the bond a quick tap - it told me Keel was ascending, moving into the storage facility again - I plunked myself down on the edge of the bed, yanked off the torn hoodie and used it to mop up the blood that had spilled down my back. It could have been worse, I reminded myself, he didn't slash open your face or crack any ribs, so all things considered, it was rather tame by Nosferatu standards. Of course, that offered no guarantees for the future. It all depended on how badly Keel wanted the things he wanted, and what he was willing to do to get them. Would he go as far as his father?

The feel of his hands on my arms, shoulders and stomach remained fresh in my senses, along with the hardness of him pressed against me, asking for a different sort of invitation. His touch was so unfamiliar now, self-assured and demanding - and cold. Another reminder of what had been lost. 

Just like how everything had to be the vampire way now. No questions. No resisting. No touching. And definitely no magic. It was all problematic, but without sorcery, I was little better than human and down here that meant serious trouble. 

Heal, I thought, directing my turmoil at the ragged wound left behind by Keel's most recent feeding, half-expecting nothing to happen. When the now-familiar warmth bloomed across my neck as if someone was pushing a heat pack against it, the relief I felt was greater than when Keel had left.

At least your magic still works on you.  

I considered what that meant as my flesh knitted itself back together. Namely, Keel could hurt me, but I wouldn't have to stay hurt. And that I could also presumably still use magic for other things, just not on him. Did that leave me any advantage? I wasn't sure. 

The bond giveth, the bond taketh away.  I just wished the damned thing came with a manual. 

The warmth faded and I knew if I reached back and ran my fingers over my neck, I'd find only new, unmarked skin there. The other bite, the gnarly, gnawed-up, aching one from the ceremony, would have to wait. Keel had taken a lot of blood since my arrival and healing the newer wound left me woozy and depleted. 

I squished the torn, blood-stained sweatshirt into a ball and discarded it at my feet, where it promptly uncoiled. I swore, kicked it aside and looked for my backpack, which was...

Oh no.

I got up and strode across the room to the elevator, flipping on the overhead lights from the panel of switches on the wall to its right. A quick scan of the room confirmed the fact that my backpack wasn't anywhere within its four walls. I thought back to our arrival, to when I'd last seen it.

Ah hell, you left it in the van!

I glanced down at myself, taking in my purple bra and the pale expanse of flesh it did barely anything to cover. No, this would not do. Not when Keel could come back at any time. Not when I knew he'd ask if this too was an invitation, just to see if I'd learned my lessons. I needed to find something else to put on, at least until I could ask Arthos - or hell, maybe even His Majesty himself - to get someone to retrieve my belongings from the garage.

I began my search in the bank of drawers facing the bed, yanking open the first one to reveal several rows of neatly folded boxer-briefs - grey, navy blue, black, darks were a theme here. Shutting that one, I moved on to the one below it. Socks, also impeccably organized. Sport socks on the left, woolies on the right. The drawer beneath that one yielded what I was looking for: T-shirts. There were a dozen or so of them, all black or grey. I guess there had been no point in taking his clothes with him to the king's quarters, considering the transition sized him out of them. I snatched up a grey tee and pulled it over my head. It was big on me, hanging halfway to my knees, but I was much less exposed. I shut the drawer and cycled through the last two, just out of curiosity: black hoodies and black jeans. A second set of drawers contained more hoodies, some sweatpants (of which I helped myself to a pair), a surprisingly colourful selection of button-down dress shirts (red and emerald green both made appearances), a few ties, several pairs of pajamas (both cotton and flannel) and a single set of pewter cuff links.

I picked them up for a closer look. They were old, antiques for sure. Each one had a square black gem embedded in its face. It made sense why Keel had left the clothes, but why these?

And what else had he left behind?

I deposited the cuff links back in the drawer and turned towards the bed. Dropping to my hands and knees, I peered beneath it. It was jam-packed with boxes of various shapes and sizes. I crawled a little closer, slowly circling the four-poster monstrosity, hoping I wouldn't spot what I was looking for, but there it was, half-hidden behind a pair of black shoeboxes: Keel's collection of human keepsakes. I moved the shoeboxes to the side and slid it out. It was heavy. Full. I didn't need to open it to know that Keel had taken nothing from it with him.

That's because none of this stuff meant anything to him anymore, not like being king and holding onto his throne did. In six months, he'd grown up, become a leader, and all I'd done was returned to high school and become bully fodder. No wondered he'd picked this room for me, I was literally just another thing from his childhood, discarded and then returned to him only because someone had stamped his name on me. And I was that person. Childish, naive me who had somehow convinced herself that love could trump biology.

I put the boxes back where I found them and climbed up onto the bed.

This place was a mausoleum, a tomb for the old Keel, and I was to spend my days here obeying and feeding the new one. That didn't get easier to swallow.

Nor did the rest of it.

I needed to talk to Arthos. I needed a plan, some plan, any plan. And I needed to figure out how Keel had become immune to my magic. But first I needed rest.

It took a long time for my brain to shut up and let me sleep, and even then, I left all the lights blazing.