Magic Forged (Hall of Blood and Mercy #1)(13)

There was no way the vampires would take me in as a political refugee. I wasn’t important enough, and frankly it wasn’t their way. But vampires and fae were known to take on humans as servants and—in the vampires’ case—blood donors.

I couldn’t be a blood donor because I was a wizard, but maybe one of the vampires would take me as a servant. I would have preferred to serve a fae Court, but I was out of time.

The vampires were my last hope.

I took a few twisting corridor loops that would keep me out of sight. It took me a little longer to get to the assembly hall, but it also made it harder for Mason to figure out where I was.

The assembly hall was the second largest room in the Curia Cloisters—it was actually multiple floors high for viewing purposes. But I didn’t fancy jumping down on the vampires, or using a side door—they might maim me just to make a point—so I scrambled to the main entrance.

It had two doors—both of them were large, wood paneled monstrosities—and they were luckily the tiniest bit ajar.

I had to use both hands to muscle the door open enough for me to slip in, and it creaked loudly enough to wake a sleeping werewolf.

Mason’s shouts were starting to grow closer, which meant there was a good chance he’d heard the door creak, so I yanked the door shut behind me, my shoulders heaving with the exertion.

I wanted to rest my forehead on the cool door, but already the hair on the back of my neck was prickling. I slowly turned around, keeping my hands at my side.

I paled when I realized my vampire audience was much larger than I had expected. I thought it was informal—like the werewolves’ meeting—but slightly larger.

Turns out, I was totally wrong.

In fact, based on the filled chairs that spiraled the circumference of the room, about half of the vampire Families in the Midwest had a representative present. And all of them were staring at me with glittering red eyes.

Vampires are considered some of the oldest supernaturals, so the style and range of clothes in the room varied by centuries.

A female vampire sitting on the left side of the room wore a Victorian era gown with thick, poofy skirts held out by a crinoline, and a bonnet-like headdress that tied in a large bow at her chin. The most modern looking vampire I saw was a male with his hair slicked back wearing a plaid suitcoat and loose trousers in colors that made him look like he had stepped out of a 1950’s advertisement.

With all the different costumes, it might sound like a masquerade, but the unnatural stillness of vampires matched with their utter lack of emotion, the unnatural paleness of their skin, and the overwhelming predator sense they inspired made me aware that they weren’t dressed up for the fun of it, but rather because they were that old.

My heart beat faster from an entirely different type of danger, and I swallowed loudly as I grabbed fistfuls of my stupid fleece pajama pants.

“I apologize for interrupting your important meeting.” I bent over in a deep bow. “My name is Hazel Medeis, and…”

I heard shouting in the hallway, and something banged against the door.

I jumped, making the pads of my feet ache.

“Hazel Medeis, the new Adept of House Medeis?” The question came from a female vampire lounging on her chair in a beaded, loose-fitting dress that looked like something from the 1920s.

“Yes,” I said in a dry, scratchy voice.

“Why do you interrupt this private and sacred meeting of vampires with your garish presence, Adept Hazel of House Medeis?” a male vampire sneered, his upper lip curling back. He had a pointed beard and wide mustache and wore a sort of red jerkin-doublet-thing that made him look like he was a musketeer.

I tried and failed to lick my lips as someone knocked on the door behind me. “It is not my intention to offend. Rather, I am here to request refuge. A member of my House has staged a coup.”

The musketeer scoffed and leaned back in his chair. “No self-respecting Family would take on a refugee of your diminutive and unimportant status. We don’t bother ourselves with the politics of ants.”

“I am aware of this, which is why I would like to request a servant’s position.” I had to spit the words out of my mouth, they were so unwillingly lodged in my throat. Every piece of self-preservation screamed at me to run from the room, but as dangerous as the vampires were, I had a better chance of surviving with them than with Mason.

They wouldn’t be interested in trying to manipulate House Medeis, as wizards posed no threat to them, but because I was a wizard, neither could they drink my blood. If I was a servant, they might leave me alone, which would give me a chance to recoup.

The musketeer looked down his long, aquiline nose at me. “What use would a rat-blood be to us?” he scoffed.

The female in the beaded dress thoughtfully played with her jeweled necklaces while the male in the plaid suitcoat set an unlit cigarette in his mouth as he studied me.

“You don’t look like you could do anything useful.” The flapper-era female said doubtfully. “I don’t suppose you are trained in lawn management, hand scrubbing laundry, or pastry making?”

“No.” I glanced over my shoulder—Mason and his goons hadn’t stopped knocking, but since they hadn’t burst in after me they must have figured out who I was speaking to. “But I am a quick learner and have a background with technology.”

Plaid Suitcoat waved his hand. “What use is technology?” The way he narrowed his eyes made me think it was a rhetorical question. “Your parents were quite powerful wizards. Did you inherit their abilities?”