A Kiss of Blood (Vamp City #2)(38)

The fae frowned, then waved them inside. “Come, both of you.”

They followed the now-excited woman through a tiny, if quaint, sitting room and into another, slightly larger room with a fire in the hearth. In a rocking chair in front of the fire, in a dress of bright red velvet, sat a female similar in appearance to the first, her eyes not quite as sad-looking.

She looked up when they entered, her gaze wary.

“What is this?” she asked the first woman sharply.

“He wishes to talk to you, Tarellia. He brought the latest season of Dance!” Her face glowed with happiness.

The fae in the red dress, her yellow hair piled high atop her head in a classic beehive, rolled her eyes and waved them in. “You discovered her weakness.”

Arturo gave a charming smile. “I’ve found it to be the weakness of half of the population of Vamp City.”

“What brings you here, Arturo Mazza? I’ve not seen you in an age.” Tarellia motioned to the straight-backed wooden chair beside the hearth. “Sit.”

Arturo glanced at Quinn with apology and did, leaving her standing as he would any servant. He clasped his hands and settled them on his lap, bending slightly forward. But though on the surface he might look friendly, something about him reminded Quinn of a tiger ready to strike.

Apparently Tarellia thought the same, for her gaze turned sharp, wary.

“I came upon some information of interest sometime back . . . Martine.”

The fae’s rocking stopped abruptly, her hands slowly clasping the arms of her rocker. “No.”

Quinn had no idea what was going on, but clearly the fae had once gone by another name. Martine. And wasn’t happy to be found out.

Arturo leaned back, propping one ankle on the other knee, his body language saying “game, set, match.” “I am very good at keeping secrets, Tarellia. And I have secrets to share.”

The fae, whose face had drained of color, watched him sharply. “What kind of secrets?”

Arturo said nothing for several moments, letting the silence stretch.

The fae leaned back in her rocker, her grip on the arms easing. “I am very good at keeping secrets, too, Vampire.”

With a slow nod, Arturo smiled though the smile didn’t reach his eyes. He held out his hand to Quinn, motioning her forward.

“I want you to read my slave, Tarellia. Tell me what you sense.”

The fae’s eyes narrowed, turning to Quinn with interest. Slowly, she rose to her feet, barely reaching Quinn’s shoulder. Taking Quinn’s hand between both of hers, she closed her eyes. For minute after minute, she didn’t move until Quinn began to wonder if she’d fallen asleep.

Tarellia’s eyes snapped open suddenly, and she dropped Quinn’s hand as if it had burned her. Whirling toward the fire with quick, jerky movements, the woman pulled down vials and jars from the rough-hewn mantel, then began mixing herbs and what appeared to be oil in a small ceramic bowl on the table beside her rocker, crooning all the while in a soft, singsong voice. This is what a witch should look like, Quinn thought. But Tarellia was the fairy. The real witch in the room could do nothing more than stand there in her leather jacket and watch.

The concoction smelled foul, and Quinn hoped to high Heaven the fairy didn’t push her to drink it. To Quinn’s relief, Tarellia threw the oil concoction onto the fire in a spitting hiss of flames, then turned back to her, grabbing Quinn’s hand once more, her grip surprisingly tight.

Closing her eyes, Tarellia threw her head back and began to croon.

Quinn glanced at Arturo over her shoulder, seeing the small frown between his eyebrows. Clearly, he wasn’t sure what was going on, either . . . or didn’t like it. Which calmed her own nerves not at all. They stood like that again, frozen, for what felt like twenty minutes though it was probably only four or five. But as Quinn’s muscles began to jerk in protest, Tarellia’s eyes flew open. Releasing Quinn, she blinked, brushed her hands on her dress, then turned back to her rocking chair with slow, calm movements, and took her seat as if nothing had happened.

Quinn backed away, then turned and tried to pace the tiny room, her restless muscles in desperate need of movement.

Slowly, Tarellia turned to Arturo with eyes that held a hint of wonder. “You’ve found a sorceress.”

Arturo nodded. “None can know.”

Tarellia frowned. “She must save Vamp City.”

“She will. But Cristoff cannot be trusted not to hurt her. And I’ll not have her hurt.”

The fae cocked her head with interest. “You defy your master. And one such as Cristoff.” A smile bloomed bright and delighted across her face. “Secrets indeed.”

Arturo gave a nod, his expression rueful. “Indeed.” He glanced at Quinn, meeting her gaze. “She has no control over her power, Tarellia. Most cannot sense that she has magic at all. Why is that?”

The fae’s visage had turned calm, serene. “The sorceress is cursed.”

Quinn frowned, meeting Arturo’s surprised gaze. Cursed? Seriously?

“By whom?” he demanded.

Tarellia gave a small wave. “Are you not familiar with the Levenach Curse?”

Now it was Arturo’s turn to frown. “I suspected her of Blackstone blood, not Levenach.”

“She has both. It’s impossible to say how far back the bloodlines converged. Her Levenach magic is dormant, of course, thanks to the curse. But it would appear that the curse is also strangling her Blackstone magic.” She shook her head. “I’ve never seen a sorcerer with both Levenach and Blackstone blood, so I cannot be sure.”