A Gift of Three (A Shade of Vampire #42)(53)

This evening Almus explained the nature of his ‘black arts,’ as he calls it. The power of the Druids is strange to me. They are naturally much weaker than the kind I have been born to, but the way they have mastered their skills! It amazes me what he can do—he and his son, who shows so much promise. I worry about him growing up here…a lonely life awaits him. I just pray that we all remain safe. Perhaps one day this will all end—Azazel will fall, and this land will return to what it once was. Then maybe that quiet, serious little boy can experience more of what life has to offer. But it’s not what I see…It’s not what I see at all.

Almus gifted me an orchid. Its petals are a bright purple, its stem elegant and fragile. He told me he had been growing it in the greenhouse—that it reminded him of me.

I shut the book, feeling guilty again as the content became more personal. It did clear up a few things though—namely that Almus was likely the Druid’s father. The small child must be him…but then that would make the Druid over two hundred years old. That was old.

The mention of the ‘black arts’ didn’t sound too promising either. What kind of magic was that? It sounded dangerous—nothing pure or natural like the magic I understood from the jinn and witches of The Shade. But she (and I was now convinced the writer was female) mentioned their magic wasn’t naturally that strong, which was better news—though I didn’t know what she was comparing it to. I wondered if the writer was an Oracle… I got the impression she had been placed in the house for her own safekeeping, and the ominous mentions of what she saw, or didn’t see, made me think that she was referring to her own visions.

I put the diary back in the drawer. I would need to show it to the others, but maybe not yet. I was starting to feel a vague sense of connection to whoever had written it, though I wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was just because we were both locked up in this house, but I felt like I’d almost been meant to discover it—like the book had been lying in wait for me.

Shaking the feeling off, I rose to leave the room. It was late, and I needed to find the Druid. Using True Sight, I searched the house, starting near the room that always had the fire blazing and then tracking along to the door at the end of the small hallway. He was there, asleep by the looks of it. Perfect.

I hurried down the stairs, taking the lamp with me, making sure I kept an eye out for Bijarki. I hadn’t actually seen him when I’d scanned the house, which unnerved me—I didn’t want him creeping up on me.

Placing the lamp down in the small corridor, I waited by the door of the Druid’s room, checking that I couldn’t hear any sounds coming from within. When I was satisfied, I pushed it open and silently slipped in.

There was a fire in his bedroom, only just dying down with its embers glowing. My eyes adjusted quickly to the gloom, and I could make out the sleeping figure of the Druid in bed. I watched him for a moment, noticing how different his face looked in sleep, how much younger it appeared. The blankets on the bed lay twisted and rumpled, only covering his lower half and exposing his bare, muscled chest. I recalled flying into him when I was running through the swamp—no wonder he’d felt so solid, he was insanely well-built. Unable to stop myself, my eyes ran along the narrow trail of dark hair on his abdomen, its end, thankfully, covered by the sheet.

I could feel the heat in my cheeks rising.

Focus.

I shifted on my feet, sending out the trails of my mental energy to try to latch onto his. My mind brushed against his temples softly, finding a way in.

Abruptly, the Druid shot up in bed, the surprise sending me jumping backward, my heart racing. He had yanked a huge hunting knife from beneath his pillow and he held it aloft, his muscles tensed and ready to attack.

He lowered it slowly as he realized who it was.

“You shouldn’t watch men sleep,” he chided me in a gruff voice.

“I’m sorry.” I gulped. “I just wanted to thank you for saving my life.”

“No, you didn’t—you came to syphon off me.”

Being caught out in the lie made me blush all the more, and I cursed myself for wasting precious moments staring at him when I could have done the job much faster and perhaps not been caught.

“Okay,” I replied, trying to match his even tone. “Maybe I did. But it’s because you’re still not talking to us. You’re not giving us the answers we need.”

“It’s because I don’t know a lot of them,” he replied acerbically.

“You know more than you’re telling us,” I insisted.

The Druid sighed, running his hands down his face in frustration. When he didn’t reply, my own frustration grew.

“Listen,” I snapped. “Our families will find us. We’ll get out of here one way or another, and you’ll have to answer to GASP. Maybe you don’t think that means much, maybe you think because you’re so far away it doesn’t count for anything, but trust me when I say they’ve brought down more powerful creatures than you—including the Ancients themselves—and they won’t stop until we’re safe at home.”

His expression changed from annoyance to pity, and his gray eyes met mine with a searching gaze.

“Turn around,” he replied.

“What?”

“Turn around,” he repeated. “I want to show you something—I need to get dressed.”