Текст книги "The Vampire Queen, A Young Adult Paranormal Romance"

Автор книги: Veronica Shade

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Текущая страница: 1 (всего у книги 1 страниц)

CHAPTER 1

I don’t have a lot of time.

When my best friend Iris went missing, my entire life ground to a halt. Forget school. Forget familial obligations. Everything about me ceased to matter anymore. Because I had exactly one hour to save her life.

And I’m already ten minutes in.

I burst through the front door, rush past my mother in the kitchen, and turn on the kettle before I throw open the cabinets.

“Where are they?” I start pulling things out—a jar of Nutella, a box of angel hair pasta—and growl as I push things aside. “I need my tea! Why can’t anyone just leave my stuff where I put it?”

“I put it in the other cabinet,” Mom says. “Really, Hadley, it’s not a big deal.”

I don’t have time to glower at her. I don’t have time to explain that yes, it is a big deal. And besides, even if did have the time, I still wouldn’t tell her. First of all, she probably wouldn't believe me. Second, if she did realize I

was telling the truth, she’d want to do something stupid, like call the cops. And you can’t call the cops on vampires. That’s not how any of this works.

So I abandon the first set of cabinets and begin rummaging through the next. Wien I find my tin of tea leaves, I snap them up and set them on the counter. Then I grab a clean mug from the dishwasher no one ever unloads and place that next to the canister.

I check the flame on the burner to make sure it’s already up. “Our stove sucks!”

“Language, Hadley,” Mom reprimands.

I pace back into the living room and look out the front window, then come back and check on the water. My brother giggles from the kitchen table where he’s doing his school work.

“A watched pot never boils,” he says.

“Shut up, stinkbutt.”

“Hadley!” Mom says sharply.

I raise my hands. “Yeah, I know. Language. But lie’s so annoying!”

“Am not,” he says.

“And it’s categorically untrue, by the way. Watched pots do boil. When the stove doesn’t suck.”

Before mom can grumble at me again, the kettle whistles. Finally.

My brother’s mumbling something to her about me being way too obsessed with tea lately. I could tell him it’s not the tea specifically I’m obsessed with—it’s the answers within the tea that I’m after—but my breath would be wasted.

I put a pinch of tea leaves into my cup, pour the boiling water on top, and then watch the clock for three minutes to pass. I spend these three minutes pondering how much it royally blows that the only want to save my friend is to stand around waiting for tea to steep.

The note that had materialized in my hand had been clear. IRIS'S LIFE OR YOURS. ONE HOUR.

There’d been an address beneath that. One that I intend to go to as soon as I have the right spell. But while other witches have spells recorded for them in a book of shadows, mine can only be revealed through tea leaves.

When the three minutes are up, I drink the tea as quickly as I can, leaving the leaves at the bottom of the cup with a small amount of liquid. Then I bolt upstairs, cup in still in hand, before my mom can tell me, “No drinks upstairs.”

She won’t follow me, though I’m sure she’ll yell at me about it later.

I lock myself in my bedroom and fall to my knees on the thin beige apartment-quality carpeting. “Real” tea-leaf readers would balk at the fact that I ran through my house, disrupting the liquid, but my gift is a little different. Instead of holding the handle of the cup in my left hand and moving it in a circle rapidly three times, I cradle it in my palms, close my eyes, and say the incantation my mentor taught me.

“Show me the spell I most need to tell.”

When I open my eyes, the bottom of the cup glows golden. The liquid swirls itself, creating a slow cyclone around the inside walls of the mug until it reaches the rim. As the droplets levitate, they vaporize, until all that’s left in my cup is the leaves clinging to the sides and bottom.

Please work.

I start at the rim to read the information about the present situation—not because I don’t know it, but because the leaves will help me decide how much of what I know is relevant to the spell I need to defeat the vampires and save my friend.

Vampires. I can still hardly believe they're real– despite what my mentor's told me—much less that I'm planning to negotiate with them.

I see three symbols along the lip of the cup. Ants, which symbolize a bad omen or impending doom. An arrow pointing down, which tells me I’m heading in the wrong direction. And an ‘X’—a warning to stop.

As if that’s gonna happen. I can’t stop.

So I start to read the images in the tea leaves on the sides of the inside of the cup. This is where I’ll get the spell I’m looking for.

An acorn, which means part of the spell I prepare will require making sure I can improve heath if injured—or possibly means my friend has already been injured and will need immediate care. A wheel, which tells me my spell will need to have transformative qualities. And finally, a bird, which tells me I’ll need a spell that will give me perspective.

There’d been some numbers, too—7, 9, 2—but anyone good tea leaf reader knows that not every symbol means something. So I focus on what my gut tells me is relevant right now.

I close my eyes again, this time envisioning the three symbols in my mind. Somehow, they’re connected. The sooner I figure out how, the sooner the spell will reveal itself to me.

I try not to let the pressure of running out of time get to me. Rushing this will only make it take longer. I can’t be distracted. I need to focus.

An acorn. A wheel. A bird.

Come on. Wiaf is it?

My fists clench at my sides as I realize what it’s telling me to do. No. That can’t be right.

But when my eyes spring open, the tea leaves spell the incantation I need to make it happen. The one I need to undergo a transformation I want nothing to do with.

CHAPTER 2

I can’t exactly perform a shapeshifting spell in my bedroom. Not with my family downstairs. Besides, I don’t have everything I need for a spell like that. And I’m not exactly thrilled about where I have to go to get it, because it means dragging more people I care about into this damn mess.

I tell my mom I’m going to a friend’s place, which isn’t technically a lie, and then I hop on my bike and ride down to the edge of town. There are some shops run out of the warehouses on the other side of the train tracks here.

People think it’s just homeless people who live here, and the city has given up on trying to run them off. Mainly because it never works and it costs too much to jail them. That, and no one actually owns these buildings anymore. It’s become a sort of self-sendee homeless shelter.

Except these people aren’t homeless. But only those of us who need the supplies they sell actually know that.

I lean my bike against the railroad crossing sign and then walk down the incline toward the warehouses. People mill about outside, sort of like you might expect at a flea market, but the tables are lined with magic wares instead.

I pass by all of that and head around to the side of the warehouse farthest from the tracks. There’s only one door here, toward the back. It’s my mentor’s shop. She doesn’t really sell anything. More like she teaches things.

Before I reach the door, it opens, and a young man steps out. His gaze falls on mine, and his eyes narrow as if inspecting me.

“Are you lost?” he asks.

I roll my eyes. “No one finds this place by accident. I’m looking for Esme.”

“Is that really such a good idea?”

I cross my arms and take another step closer. This time, I’m the one scrutinizing him. Dark hair, soft brown eyes, and the lightest dusting of freckles on his nose. He can’t be much older than me, though he’s certainly much taller.

“I’ve never seen you here before,” I say. Then I walk past him and head into Esme’s shop.

The young man is right behind me, catching the door before it closes and following me inside. Creeper.

“She’s not here,” he says from behind me. When I whirl toward him, he adds, “She went out. But maybe I can help. Name’s Finn.”

“Esme never leaves here,” I reply, challenging him.

“It was an emergency. She said she had to find someone and asked to me watch the shop.”

“Find who?” I step closer. “Why would she have you w'atch the shop? I’ve never even seen you before.”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Like hell.” My insides twist. I don’t have time to hunt Esme down, but she’s the only one who can help with the transformation spell, seeing as how I’ve never actually done one before. “Look, I need to find her. It’s an emergency. Lives are at risk.”

Finn’s eyes widen. “That’s what Esme said when she left.”

“I don’t have time for this.” I brush past him, then pause in the doorway. “Listen, when she gets back, tell her Hadley was looking for her, okay?”

Instead of responding, he grabs my arm and spins me toward him. “You’re Hadley?”

“Yes. And I really need to talk to Esme. I have maybe forty-minutes left before one of my friends dies, and she’s the only one who can help me. So, if you’ll excuse me.”

I try to break free of his grip, but lie’s still holding my arm. Meanwhile, I’m trying to figure out why I told a stranger about my situation. It’s as if the words left my lips without permission.

This time, I'm more direct. "Let go of me," I insist, tugging harder to free myself.

“I’m sorry,” he says, releasing my arm. “It’s you. You’re the one Esme is looking for.”

In that case, I’m glad this guy isn’t blabbing off to anyone where Esme went. But it raises a ton of other concerns.

“She could have called.”

Finn shakes his head, a dark, heavy look overwhelming his expression. “She said she had to talk to you in person. It was right after she read her tea leaves this afternoon. I’ve never seen her in such a panic over a reading before.”

“Well, she didn’t come to my house.”

He must read the concern in my voice, because he reaches out and touches my shoulder. “She’ll be okay. She’d want you to stay focused. Maybe I can help. What do you need?”

“A transformation spell.” I clasp my hand over my mouth. Why did I say that? Shapeshifting spells are frowned on by the magic users this side of the tracks.

He drops his hand and heads toward Esme’s mixing counter. As lie’s shuffling some bowls around, he says, “Don’t worry. I’m not going to tell anyone.”

“Funny, I’d told myself the same thing.”

He reaches up onto one of the shelves and grabs a bottle of absinthe. “I tend to have that effect on people. I guess you could say it’s my gift.”

“It’s a little invasive, don’t you think?”

He shrugs, then grabs an apple and cuts in half with a boline. He’s cut it across the core, revealing a star in the middle. “They say the truth will set you free.”

I cross the room and come up to his side. “Do they?” I peer down over his work. “Can we use something other than absinthe?”

“You’re worried it’s poisonous,” he says.

“It is poisonous.”

“That's a myth. But even if it were, the healing properties in the apple and juniper would cancel it out. Well, that and the spell.” He cuts his gaze to me as he puts the juniper and the absinthe in a wooden bowl together. “You do have a spell, right?”

I stop myself from growling. “Of course I do. I wouldn’t do this if the tea leaves hadn't suggested it to me.”

He arches an eyebrow. “And you know the consequences of this decision? I mean, besides the obvious?”

Well, no. I’d intentionally not read that part of my tea reading. But I’m not telling him that, and I back away before he can try to get it out of me. “What I do with my body is my choice. No one else’s.”

He brushes off his hands and nods. “No arguments there.” He lifts Esme’s blessed rose water and pours a splash over the herbs. “You must really love this friend. To make this kind of sacrifice.”

I clench my teeth. He doesn’t know the half of it. If this doesn’t go well, I’ll be dead anyway. Then it won’t really matter much if I have the curse of shifting on my shoulders. “Are you almost done? My situation is kind of time sensitive.”

“Usually people say thank you when I help them. But I’ll let that slide, since you’re under duress and all. And yes, I’m almost done.” He dips a basting brush into the potion and glazes the apple. Then he hands me a piece of paper. “Write the spell here.”

I do as he asks and write transform-ma cu blestemul eternitatii on the rag paper.

“Transform me with eternity’s curse,” he reads. “Are you sure?”

“If that’s what those words mean, then yes, I’m sure.” At the way his expression turns sour, I can tell he’s disgusted that I don’t speak his language. Of course, I hadn’t realized until that moment that he was Romani. So he must really not like me right now.

“Okay,” he says. “Then let’s do this.”

He pins the spell on Esme’s clothesline that she keeps up exactly for this purpose, then hands me a match. I say the words and light one side of the paper.

Before I realize what’s happening, he does the same. I narrow my eyes at him, but I don’t dare speak. I don’t want to ruin the spell because he's doing something stupid. As the paper burns, Finn cuts the apple in half, then hands me one piece to eat while he eats the other.

When the paper burns out, I don’t feel any different. “Did it work?”

“You don’t exactly have time to wait around if it didn’t, do you?”

“No.” I head toward the door, then turn back to him. “But I need it to have worked.”

He nods. “Then it worked.”

“You shouldn’t have.”

“I got the same spell in my leaves this morning, Hadley. And I suspect I’m the only one of us who bothered to see how this might end.”

I raise my hand. “Don’t.”

He zips his fingers across his lips. “I won’t. But I’m going with you.”

CHAPTER 3

We trek into the woods on the outskirts of town beyond the warehouses. I have maybe thirty minutes left to find the vampires and turn myself in to save Iris.

I'm trying to avoid thinking of my best friend—really, the only friend I have—because I can't afford to lose focus. And yet, images from our shared past keep flashing through my mind. We've been friends forever—we were in the same daycare together, and have been inseparable ever since.

As I stare blankly at the worn trail ahead, Finn takes my hand and gives it a gentle squeeze, bringing me back to the present. Something about having him around makes me feel a little better. And I can’t argue with fate. If what he said back in Esme’s shop was true, then lie’s meant to be here, too.

There’s a brief moment where I wish wre had more time. Not because I’m mega-stressed about not getting to

Iris before the vampires do something I can’t save her from, but also because there’s something about being around him that causes a sense of peace to settle over me.

Maybe it’s that whole bit about truth setting you free. I feel like I can tell him anything, and not merely because he could find it out anyway if he wanted to.

“Close your eyes,” he says.

I do as he’s asked. “I never imagined I’d be doing this with a stranger.”

His palm sparks against my own, sending tingles up my arm that reverberate in my elbow and shoulder.

“Never?”

At that word, I get a sort of deja vu feeling. But it’s gone before I can place it.

“Imagine freedom,” he says. “Imagine you have wings and that you’re soaring. Believe that the possibility is as real as the sky above you. A sky you haven’t touched, but that is undoubtedly there.”

I feel lighter just listening to him. But that light feeling soon turns to pain. An agony like nothing I have ever before experienced. Every muscle in my body seizes up. All my bones feel uncomfortably dislodged. In that instant, I'm certain my skull's on fire and my joints have all broken.

I do not exist outside of pain.

I am pain. It has become me.

There’s a moment—a precipice—where I begin to fall away from the pain. Where it’s hit its worst and starts to ease. Where my body starts to mend. And then it’s gone completely. The pain that felt so impossibly intense I was certain it would never end is gone.

Am I dead?

No, comes a voice in my mind. Finn’s voice. Open your eyes.

When I open my eyes, I’m staring at a raven, and in that moment, I realize I am small, because this bird is right at eye level with me.

It takes a moment for body to respond to my mind’s request to look down at myself, but it happens. And when it does, I see my bird feet and my own black feathers. I glance up again at the other raven—one I know to be Finn.

Finn tilts his head. Are you okay?

I nod, as much as a raven can. Or at least I think I’ve nodded. As okay as possible.

The words don’t leave my mouth. Or rather, my beak. But I hear them, and when Finn responds, I know lie’s heard them, too.

Because we perfoi'ined the spell together, were connected. We can communicate, even in animal form.

I spread my wings and try fluttering them to see if I get any lift. I don’t. Across from me, Finn seems to be haing better luck.

You’re still acting from your human mind, he tells me with his voice in my head again. You have to be know you are the bird. Do not think of how to fly. Just fly.

I struggle for couple more minutes that I really don’t have to waste on learning to be a bird. I have to do this, though. If I don’t, Iris will die. I refuse to attend her funeral as the person who couldn’t pull it together to save her life. What kind of person can’t figure out how to fly when her best friend’s life is at stake?

Apparently, this one. Because it’s still not working.

Finn charges at me, a god-awful cawing sound coming

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