6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

As usual, Grandy didn't look the faintest bit nervous. I tried to hide the tension churning my own gut. Amber had done her thing and he was wearing Terrance on his arm like a giant bangle. So far I hadn't seen a single soul glance at it.

I, however, was somehow connected to Terrance so Amber's kind-of-invisibility runes didn't work on me, and I could see the crown on Grandy's arm plain as day. It looked faintly ridiculous and it made me nervous that others would discover our ruse.

Darkness had encroached upon the land, giving the scene of the duel an appropriately nefarious air. We were at a field not too far from the mansion near to the children's playground where I'd once met Reynard, so it seemed fitting that I had the dark seraph with me. Alfred had volunteered to remain on the roof, but Sara, Mack, Robin and Jacob were attending the duel as my aerial bodyguards. They radiated menace, the black feathers on their backs almost bristling with the promise of unrestrained violence; Sara had a smirk on her face suggesting that was what she was hoping for.

I missed Greg's solid presence. Since I wasn't the one duelling – and I had a full contingent of dark-seraph bodyguards – he'd stayed home to keep an eye on the more immediate threat emanating from our new guests. That didn't stop me from wishing that he was by my side; I didn't need him there, but I enjoyed having him next to me.

Grandy stood stock still, chin raised. Dressed in his usual Victorian finery – all black, of course – he looked stiffer than his starched collar.

The moon was high and waxing gibbous. It wouldn't be long until it was full, at which point I was supposed to choose my mate. I licked my parched lips: I really needed to prioritise speaking to Greg about our situation, but every time we had a moment alone I chickened out.

Saying ‘I love you' was one thing; agreeing to be bound together as mates for the rest of our lives was something else. And why hadn't he raised it with me ? He knew the quandary I was in and his silence felt horribly prophetic. What if he didn't want to be my mate? Before he'd got together with me, he'd seemed like a player. I could never quite forget Mindy, that woman he'd once slipped away to fuck . Ugh.

The vampyrs stepped out of the shadows and the arrival of Grandy's opponent silenced the debate between my heart and my head. I could tell which prick was Grandy's opponent by the way his eyes narrowed when he looked at my black-clad grandfather. The others were all Red Guard and, as such, were dressed in red from head to toe. If they were seen by a Common realmer, I guessed they could pretend to be dressing up as Monty Python 's Spanish Inquisition, though it was more than a little early for Halloween.

‘Alessandro,' the vampyr challenger sneered. He looked young, no more than twenty or twenty-one, though his true age was a mystery.

Vampyrs could select the age at which they wished to appear, be it child, teen or adult. Grandy favoured the visage of a man in his late forties. He was still vain enough to clutch at the last straws of youth, but the faint traces of grey in his hair suggested he was a man with experience and gravitas.

In contrast, his young challenger almost sparkled with youth and – dare I say it – na?veté. I knew well the danger of underestimating your opponents because my challengers did it to me all the time – and they were all dead. I prayed that Grandy wouldn't follow suit.

‘Your time has come to join the clans or join the worms,' the challenger spat. ‘You have one final opportunity to rethink your madness.'

Grandy drew himself up, his own sneer firmly in place. ‘I will not be beholden to any clan, and that has been accepted for centuries. Who are you to demand otherwise?'

The vampyr's mouth twisted with derision. ‘You know full well who I am.'

‘Lord Markith,' Grandy said coolly. ‘Of course I know who you are. But I can also tell you what you will be if you don't turn away from this foolish path – just like every other challenger I have ever faced.'

I guessed we were on the smack-talk portion of the evening.

I like the smack-talk, Esme said. Grandy is good at it. Her affection for him was obvious; with the unlocking of my memories, she shared my love for Grandy Sandy.

Markith exuded brash confidence. ‘And what will I be, Alessandro? Besides victorious?'

It was Alessandro's turn to smirk. ‘You will be ashes and dust. You will be dead, Markith. Truly dead. No amount of spit will heal you from the flames I will send to broil you.'

‘That's the thing, Alessandro,' Markith leaned forward. ‘Nobody has seen you use your flames for weeks. Normally you flash them at every opportunity to flaunt your supposed rarity. But we know the truth! You've lost your fire, old man, and if you don't join the clans you'll lose your life.'

Grandy snorted. ‘I have lost my fire as surely as the sun has. I simply grow tired of performing for the slow witted among you who, after several centuries of undeath, still require a reminder of the flames at my disposal.'

He huffed in irritation. ‘I see that you will not be persuaded to withdraw your challenge, nor will I bend to the clans' demands. We are at an impasse.' He turned to Voltaire. ‘Let the records show that I tried to persuade Markith to leave and not to embark upon this foolish course of action.'

Voltaire nodded once but made no move to speak or interfere. His eyes were cool and clinical, even when they washed over me.

‘Jebediah Markith versus Alessandro Alessandro,' one of the Red Guards intoned.

The dark seraph took to the air, though Sara stayed by my shoulder. They shifted their hands into claws and their threat was clear: they were here to ensure that the duel was fair and they would tolerate no funny business.

‘The duel will commence, in five, four, three, two, one—' One of the Red Guard dropped a white handkerchief onto the ground.

I had expected my grandfather to draw the duel out in order to showcase his fighting skills as well as his flames, but clearly he wasn't in the mood; he wanted to shock and to kill. It was a reminder not to get on his bad side.

Markith phased out of the shadows next to Grandy, a blade in his hand, but before he could take a single step forward he exploded into flames. There was no slow ponderous fireball rolling towards him that he could duck and avoid; instead Grandy simply set him on fire. Markith's body was consumed by the inferno, and his scream was immediate and piercing.

I had seen fire elementals' flames many times before; sometimes they burned with a fierce and destructive heat but sometimes their flames were illusory and didn't even kick out real heat. The living flare was like that: it was a torture curse so that your skin felt like it was cracking and peeling, like it was bubbling and bursting – but it wasn't. The fire looked and felt real enough, but it did no damage to the skin. The pain was very real, though, and it was that which led to many people's deaths. They would leap from a window of a tall building to make it stop: it was called ‘the living flare's mercy'.

What Grandy did was the very opposite of the living flare, it was the embodiment of a fire elemental's powers. The fire he – and Terrance – summoned to Markith was hot , truly hot, and it made me step back. Even from a distance I could see Markith's skin really was bubbling and blackening as he was broiled alive. I swallowed down bile.

It is a shame he will turn to dust, Esme said grumpily. He would make a fine meal, and I am hungry.

Esme! I shuddered but then my stomach gave a faint rumble. Dammit, we were hungry.

What? It is not cannibalism if he is not the same species as you. You were very clear about that when you explained it with your flip chart. He is a vampyr. He is different. It is fine.

I pressed my eyes closed, partly out of exasperation with Esme and partly so I didn't have to watch Markith burn.

Grandy had been right: there was no chance of any healing spit saving Markith, and his pain was too great for him to phase into the shadows and out into a river or a hospital.

Instead he just burned. And screamed.