Fresno Fey Enclave
Four years after the Awakening
Angie sat with the other mage students, breathless with excitement, as Nathan and another teenage boy dueled, their rapiers flashing in the torchlight surrounding the wooden fencing arena. It was after dinner, the sun long gone down. A forest of tropical trees, exotic bushes, and brightly colored flowers surrounded the former zoo as the wilderness reclaimed it. The ever-present flamingos clustered near the bank of a pond, squawking happily.
Nathan and his opponent were both shirtless, their athletic frames glistening with sweat. Nathan, at seventeen, was older and bigger than most of the other students, but the boy he fought was not only older but taller and heavier, his shoulders and arms corded with muscle. He used his greater size now to force Nathan on the defensive, coming at him with a blistering series of thrusts and cuts. Angie’s heart drummed with worry as Nathan fell back under the relentless onslaught, his sword a blur. She held her breath, dreading the flash of fiery light she feared was only moments away, but it never came. Nathan’s gleaming blade countered each strike, each cut. He was a marvelous fighter, the best in the school.
Angie, only thirteen, was among the worst. She was also unshaded, with Grandmaster Chararah Succubus claiming she was too young yet to bond with a shade—the magical entity that would protect her life in exchange for allowing it to feed upon the magical energy she took into her body.
Nathan’s opponent tried to come at him from off-angle of attack, but Nathan, faster than a striking snake, darted to the other side, placing himself within striking range of his opponent. Nathan’s rapier, over three feet of sharpened steel, lanced forward at the other boy’s unprotected throat. Before the tip of the weapon could skewer him, the boy’s shade created a half-foot shield of translucent arcane energy. Sparks erupted as the shield blocked the blade.
But it had been a perfect coup de main win. Had they been fighting with hexed weapons, the boy would have died.
“Match point!” yelled Anthalas, the lanky white-haired elven fight-master as he stepped between the two boys, using a long white staff to force them apart. “Adept Nathan Case wins.”
Unlike the boys, Anthalas was no mage and had no shade to protect him, so he wore a thick padded armored vest called a gambeson. In the years she had been a student of Grandmaster Chararah, Angie had learned more about renaissance sword fighting and armor than she ever would have thought possible.
The students cheered, as did Angie, rising to her feet and jumping in excitement, her heart soaring. Everyone adored Nathan; how could they not? His perfect white teeth flashed as he lowered his blade and stepped forward, his hand outstretched to his opponent. With his long dirty blond hair and ice-blue eyes, he wasn’t just handsome, he was perfect—tall and lean with powerful arms, wide shoulders, and a tapering waist.
And he barely knew Angie was alive.
The other boy accepted Nathan’s hand in a firm embrace, acknowledging his loss with grace. Their muscular chests heaved with exertion as they separated and then returned their razor-sharp rapiers to the weapons’ stand near the edge of the wooden arena.
She felt a presence behind her a moment before the feather-light tap on her shoulder. Turning, she saw one of Chararah’s nymph servants, shorter than she was with pale blue skin, translucent wings, and eerie beauty—despite the all-black, too-large eyes. This one was a water nymph, but Angie didn’t know her name. She wore a wisp of light green material that barely covered her, leaving her legs, shoulders, and most of her cleavage bare. Most nymphs rarely wore anything at all but Chararah insisted her servants clothe themselves, if only to avoid exciting the boys. From the covetous glances of the nearest students, Angie knew the nymph’s wardrobe failed in that regard.
“Grandmaster Chararah has asked that you present yourself in her sanctum,” the nymph said, her words distorted, as if she were underwater.
Angie’s heart raced as she processed the nymph’s words. Why would Chararah want to see her this late at night? It could only mean one thing: she means to put me through the ritual and bond me with a shade—finally! Her heart filled with lightness, her breath quickening. “Thank you. I’ll go right away.”
The nymph smiled, exposing a mouth filled with sharp little teeth. Her wings buzzed for a moment, as if she wanted to fly away, but she turned about and skipped off.
As the other students returned to the dormitory, Angie headed toward Chararah’s home and climbed the flight of stairs leading to the two-story log building that had once held the zoo’s offices, a restaurant, and gift shop. She opened the large rune-covered wooden door and entered. The interior had long ago been remodeled by skilled elven artisans and furnished with Chararah’s treasured tapestries and erotic art pieces, including the nude statues the succubus grandmaster loved. Chararah had a fondness for anything that displayed the naked body—male and female—but she particularly loved ancient Greek artwork and owned many original pieces. Angie knew nothing of art, but she guessed these pieces must have been valuable—or would have been when such things as money still mattered. In this new Awakened world, a working generator had more value than human life. Char had a generator, several but she rarely used them, preferring to light her home with hundreds of candles.
Angie saw no servants but knew where to go, having visited Chararah’s sanctum before. She made her way down the dark oak-lined hallway that led to the sanctum—Chararah’s joint workshop and library. Her excitement grew with each step. Finally, she’d be a real mage. Would Nathan take her more seriously now? After all, they had a special bond, she and Nathan had arrived together two years ago to become Chararah’s first human mage students.
Her heart skipped a beat and she gave a startled gasp as one shadow at the end of the hallway moved forward, blocking her path. As it glided into the candlelight, she recognized it—vampire, one of Ephix’s children. Fear tightened about her heart, squeezing it like a boa constrictor.
Why is it in the house?
Vampires weren’t the undead creatures of legend everyone had always believed them to be but another type of Fey, similar to fairies, nymphs, and elves, but far more frightening. The blood-drinking part was true enough. This one looked like a young man, but with long scraggly white hair and pale dead skin. Its eyes glistened red, and its fingers were long and thin, almost childlike, but she knew they’d be unbelievably strong, more than capable of holding her down while it fed. It slid closer, and she remained perfectly still, her heart hammering. The vampire’s face darted toward her, and it sniffed her neck, a long, drawn-out inhalation followed by a satisfied smile.
“Why are you different?” It asked, its voice a raspy whisper.
“You should not be here,” Angie said, holding herself perfectly still, barely able to breathe, willing strength into her voice. If it realized how frightened she was… “You’re not permitted on the school property.”
Despite Ephix’s control over them, most vampires remained near feral, far too easily driven wild by bloodlust. The vampire’s lips parted, exposing the two large fangs. “You smell so good,” it hissed. “What are you?”
She was moments from turning and bolting, which could only end badly, when light flooded the far end of the hallway and the door to Chararah’s sanctum opened. The vampire hissed, and spun about, impossibly fast. A young man stood framed in the doorway—Andrej, Chararah’s newest lover. He was tall and blond, clean cut and well framed, and so handsome that he was almost pretty. His skin glowed with health now but when he had arrived several months ago, he had been pale and near death. “Leave her be,” Andrej said, his voice surprisingly steady.
The vampire sneered. “I have lived more than a hundred years. I do not take orders from toys.”
“Do you take orders from me,” a young female voice asked from just behind Angie. At the sound of this voice—one she knew all too well—she almost wet herself.
The vampire fell onto its knees, staring at the floor. Angie slid back against the hallway wall, as far as she could get. Behind her stood a small thin young woman with her long dark hair braided into a tight cord that was draped over one thin shoulder and hanging to her waist—Ephix, Chararah’s sister.
Ephix was neither beautiful nor plain, being entirely unremarkable, but she was also the most dangerous creature in the entire Fresno Enclave. Tonight she wore a simple white toga-like shift and was barefoot. She could have passed for human in any of the walled cities—if you didn’t look too closely into her large brown eyes and see the complete absence of even a trace of humanity.
Or mercy.
A year ago, Angie had seen Ephix’s true form and the memory still haunted her.
“Night Mistress,” the vampire said, its gaze fixed on her bare feet, its thin shoulders trembling. “Apologies, I … her smell, I couldn’t stop myself. It was …”
“I know what it was,” said Ephix, her voice like ice. “But you are still not permitted here. She is not for you.” Her eyes darted to Angie’s, and the smile she gave her was far from reassuring. “Run along, Angela dear. My sister waits for you. You, too, Andrej.”
Andrej spun away, nearly tripping over his feet in his haste.
“Yes, Ephix,” Angie said, bowing quickly before sliding past the kneeling vampire to follow Andrej, her pulse jack rabbiting. In a moment, they were both through the open doorway into Char’s sanctum. Andrej closed the door behind them, and Angie exhaled heavily.
“Ah, you found her already, my love,” Chararah said from where she stood in the center of the sanctum, her back to them.