Blood: The Third Course

Chapter Two

August turned the ornate dagger over and over in his hand. Rubies glittered in the gold faces of dragons inlaid into the handle, far too ostentatious for anything other than a display. The silver steel blades were still sharp, if a little dulled and yellowed with age. Running his fingers along the blade's edges, August gripped it by the tip, lifted the dagger over his shoulder, and flung it. It flew end over end, a shining cartwheel until the handle smacked into the oak door and the dagger fell to the floor with a thud far heavier than expected for such a small object.

William leaned back in his chair, using his own blade to scratch his jaw, and roared with laughter.

"That was pathetic," he said. "I thought you knew how to do this."

"I did," August replied, stomping forwards to collect the dagger. "A century ago."

Getting to his feet, William flung his own dagger, a much plainer blade, without even looking at the door. The blade disappeared three inches into the oak. August's eyes narrowed as William gave him a broad grin.

August turned his attention back onto the dagger in his hands. He'd had no idea that Charles had kept them all these years, especially since the older vampire not been around when he and Cleo had made the most use of them. At the time, they'd claimed that the six matching daggers were from Elizabeth I's court, a gift given to each of her most trusted advisors after the creation of the East India Company. It was bullshit, obviously. The daggers were from China, alright, but they'd been bought at the turn of the century from Nobody McNeverHeardOf. Elizabeth 1st was queen for three years after the creation of the East India Company. If anyone it would have been James 1st, but the American's knew more about Elizabeth 1st. It was a better story, and Cleo had always loved a good story.

Moving to the door, William yanked the knife from the wood, turning to brandish the blade at August. With a smooth smirk, August lifted the knife and threw it. It spun an inch from William's shoulder and fixed into the wooden panelling. Without so much as flinching, William looked over his shoulder at the dagger. He tugged it from the door and threw it lazily back to August.

"Cleo was my assistant," August said, examining the knife. "I used to give this big speech about how knife arts had been passed through my family after the Caine clan collected the daggers from those who'd been gifted them by Elizabeth the first. Generations of knife throwers. We moved circuses, but we never missed a knife toss."

"You were in a circus?"

"A few."

William snorted and rolled his eyes.

"We would do a performance, maybe two. New acts always got a good response, especially when you had a woman scantily clad with knives being thrown at her."

"Why?"

August took a seat in the chair Charles had always preferred, and placed the tip of the blade against his palm, twisting the handle until the point dug a bloody hole in his palm. The pain flared out from his hand, but he kept right on twisting.

"Oh, because at some point I would miss."

"Miss?"

"I'd throw one of the knives and it would land in Cleo's neck. She'd pretend to die, and in the horrified chaos, we'd vanish."

William grinned in bemused amusement.

"To what end?"

"Whichever circus Cleo died in, we would follow for the next month, killing patrons with the exact wounds Cleo received by the fatal knife throw."

"And you call me sadistic."

"I never said you were sadistic, William, I said you were an instrument of brute force. It's not an insult."