Magic Forged (Hall of Blood and Mercy #1)(35)

“My new room isn’t in the servants’ quarters?” I gripped the slippery banister for balance, but this made my biceps burn with pain—which ignited a new dislike of Rupert. (I hoped I had the opportunity to bleed around him. The scent of my blood would make him gag!)

Killian reached the top stair and scoffed down at me. “No. We’re going to make you sleep outside in the kennels with the dogs. I thought you’d make a charming addition to the pack.”

I paused one step down from him. “You have dogs?”

“Their presence irritates the local werewolves.”

Killian led me in the most meandering, winding path possible to take me up to the top floor, where most of the vampires stayed.

He stopped in the middle of the hallway then dug out a smartphone from his black suitcoat, pressing a speed-dial number. “Celestina,” he said when the other end picked up. “I found her…No—she was in the servants’ quarters, like an abandoned puppy…Yes.”

He turned around to study me, the red of his eyes more visible in the daylight—even though the window shades were, for the most part, down in the whole house. “I’ve changed my mind for her training today. Get her a sword, then take her for a run.” He hung up and glanced at the screen of his phone.

The edges of his lips curled down so slightly it was almost imperceivable, then he glanced at me. “Stay here,” he said. “Right here—until Celestina comes for you.”

He seemed to be waiting for a response, so I nodded as I tried to discreetly massage my on-fire thighs. “Okay.”

Killian blew past me and headed back the way we came. A few seconds after he disappeared from sight Celestina casually jogged—as if it were an easy thing to do in high heels—up the hallway.

“Good afternoon, Hazel. This way—I’ll give you a tour before we pick out your sword.” She offered me a smile, then gestured down the hallway.

“Killian was serious about me getting a sword?” I asked.

“A gun is more efficient, but Killian likes all members of the Drake Family to excel in ranged and close-quarters combat,” Celestina said. “Though I believe he has a deeper reason for teaching you swordplay.”

“Like what?”

Celestina held up a finger. “Hold that thought—here is your new room.” She tapped the paper label that read “The Wizard” in fancy calligraphy. “You’ll have to wait until after our run to inspect it—we’re already late the way it is. You can come back and change into proper clothes when we finish.”

“That sounds marvelous.” I stared longingly at the door as I thought of showering—I had been too exhausted last night to do more than collapse in bed.

“Sorry—sword and a run first. The Eminence’s orders.” Celestina winked at me, then strode off down the hallway again.

Now that I knew what I was looking for, I noticed the nametags.

Sigmund, Julianne, Gavino, Manjeet, Katrina, Nikos—beautiful and fancy names that tasted like history were emblazoned on every door. Some were written on fancy paper in calligraphy like mine, others were carved into lacquered nameplates.

When Celestina stopped outside a door, I eagerly checked the nameplate—which was one of the lacquered ones.

“Josh”.

I blinked and pointed to the nameplate. “Josh?”

“Yes.”

What kind of name was that for a vampire? Was she serious? I shifted my weight on my feet, trying to find a comfortable way to stand. (Spoiler: I couldn’t.) “Is he new or something?”

Celestina thoughtfully tapped her cheek. “No. Rather, I believe he is older than I am.”

“And his name is Josh?”

“He’s very strong,” Celestina said.

“In other words, his eccentricities are tolerated because he’s strong enough to make his power be known. Got it.”

Celestina laughed. “You are likely right—though I’ve never heard anyone phrase it so succinctly. I think you’ll get along with Josh.” She opened the door and walked in without announcing herself. “Come in,” she called when I lingered in the hallway. “We have to pick out your sword.”

“Is it okay to just barge in without his permission?”

“Given our task, of course.”

“Is he even awake?” I reluctantly poked my head inside Josh’s room.

The walls were packed with weapons. There wasn’t a bare patch of wall space—something sharp or dangerous was on every square inch. Crossbows, recurve bows, and quivers were all neatly bolted to the far wall—it seemed like they fit around the wall with the windows the easiest. (The shades to the window were, in fact, pinned to the wall with arrows.) Firearms—like rifles, pistols, and handguns—were artfully arranged together, sharing a space on the long wall with a variety of spears, polearms and what I recognized as sai used by some martial artists. Finally, the other long wall held a collection of swords and daggers—katanas, broadswords, rapiers, dirks, and tons in styles that I didn’t recognize. It seemed the swords were his main passion—that collection was clearly the largest.

The furniture was pretty minimal: black leather couches, a poster bed with black-out curtains that hung from its rails, and a bookshelf. It took me a few moments to realize the box that served as his nightstand was actually an ammo box, and suddenly I understood with great clarity why no one messed with Josh.