A Kiss of Blood (Vamp City #2)(63)

She found the door behind the casks just as Micah had described. Though wooden and old, it was well oiled and barely made a sound when she pulled it open. But whatever lay beyond was dark as a crypt. She was going to need a light.

Stealing across the hall, she pulled one of the torches out of its holder, hoping no one would miss it before she returned. Once again, she made her way to the cellar door and pulled it open. Her light illuminated a long, wooden stair and a dark void beyond. A tingle of dread danced down her spine, though she found it reassuring that Micah had just been down there and lived to tell the tale.

Then again, Micah was a vampire.

Swallowing her trepidation, she closed the door behind her and descended the stairs to the hard-packed dirt floor. Lifting her torch, she saw that the path led out from the stairs a good hundred feet, lined on either side by rows and rows of prison cells.

Though she listened, she heard no noise. Another chill skittered down her spine, and magic began to buzz lightly beneath her skin as she strode down the path, glancing into each cell. Empty, every one. Until she reached the very last.

She found the old fae lying on a pallet on the floor. He appeared small in stature, his hair almost gone, his skin as wrinkled and leathery as any ancient male’s, though this one was far more ancient than any she’d come across in the real world. He was wearing worn brown trousers and a flannel shirt that looked as if it hadn’t left his body in several decades. His feet were bare, and he had one arm flung across his eyes. What a lonely, sad way to die.

“Douse the damned light,” he growled.

“Vintry?”

“What do you want?”

Spying a torch holder on the wall a few cells down, she planted the torch and returned to Vintry’s cell, now cast into shadow.

“Tarellia said you might be able to help me.”

“She lied.”

Dying and bitter, just as Micah said. Not that she could blame him. “I know you’d just as soon Vamp City failed. But what will happen to the other fae if it does?” she asked softly.

“What do I care?”

Biting back her frustration, Quinn launched into the truth. “I’m a sorceress, Vintry. Apparently the sorceress. Maybe the only one left.”

The old fae’s arm moved, his head turning to peer at her through rheumy eyes. “You?” He couldn’t have put any more derogatory disbelief into the word if he’d tried. The little prick.

“It’s true. And my brother has somehow gotten tangled up in my magic. He’s suffering from a magic sickness, and if Vamp City dies, he will, too. I’ll do anything to keep that from happening.”

He turned back, covering his eyes again. “I can’t help you. Go away.”

Not a chance. “Tarellia believes I have both Blackstone and Levenach blood. That my Blackstone magic is being obstructed by the Levenach curse. That as long as it is, I’ll never have any real control of my magic. She believes you can help me break my Blackstone magic free of the curse.”

Once again, Vintry lowered his arm and peered at her, but this time, the look on his face was different. Almost intrigued. “Blackstone and Levenach, eh? What’s your name, girl?”

“Quinn Lennox.”

His eyes narrowed, but he was no longer scowling at her. “Do you have the key to my cell?”

“No.”

Her heart leaped as he pushed himself slowly and stiffly from the bed, his body bent and arthritic. “Damned aging,” he muttered as he crossed the floor and gripped the bars tight with one hand as if to stabilize himself. Then he held out his hand. “Put your hand through, girl. This might hurt.”

She eyed him warily, but did as he asked. Wrinkled, gnarled, surprisingly warm fingers curled around hers as the old fae closed his eyes. Quinn stared at him, noting the profusion of age spots, the wisps of hair, the hook of a nose. His ears, she noted, had the slightest point at their tips, making her smile. He really was an elf. She was holding hands with an elf.

Suddenly, his eyes snapped open. He stared at her, his eyes, amazingly, filling with tears as he began to smile. “I thought I’d missed you.”

“Excuse me?” She resisted the desire to pull her hand away.

“You are the one foretold, girl. The Healer.” He patted her hand as she stared at him in stunned confusion. A gleam leaped into his eyes. “Is the snake with you?”

“Arturo? Yes. How . . . ?” Maybe Micah had mentioned him.

Suddenly, the old fae’s eyes went wide, and he jerked away, stumbling back. But as he stared at her, his face softened with understanding, and he began to laugh. “Glamour.”

She jerked her gaze down to her hand, her pale true hand. “Shit.”

Vintry waved his hand. “Return with the snake, and him alone, and I will help you. He must be here, too.” He turned away and began making his way back to the bed. “Now go!” he admonished, though his voice was warm this time. “Take the light with you. And don’t delay, or I’ll be dead.” He began to cackle.

Quinn turned away, relieved, and more than a little dazed. The Healer? At least Vintry had agreed to help. The trouble was going to be getting Arturo away from Fabian in time. Oh, and the small fact that she’d lost her glamour. Again.

At least her room was close by. Quinn made her way swiftly up the stairs to the pantry, briefly debating whether to leave the torch in the prison instead of taking it with her, and decided against it. Vintry didn’t want the light, and she’d need it to make her way through the pantry since she’d removed the light that had shone into the space in the first place.