Blood Hunter (The Grandor Descendant Series) Read online

  As soon as she had stopped focusing on the drastic drop below, she was able to appreciate just how beautiful it was, looking down on the city of Lancaster. Though it was late at night, the street lamps provided adequate lighting to highlight the old buildings on either side of them. Immediately to their left was what looked like an old church; the orange brickwork was timeworn and stained, with many small gargoyles jutting out from the sides. The gargoyle’s faces were macabre and distorted looking, many years of wear eating at the once smooth stone and leaving bizarre expressions on their crumpling faces.

  When finally they reached the roof, Ari avoided looking down and walked a little shakily away from the edge, her knees trembling uncontrollably.

  “Lucky you had a couple of vamps handy,” Clyde said; he had reached the top several minutes before Ragon and Ari, and had already jimmied the lock to the fire escape door open. “You would probably still be humping that water pipe.”

  Ari glared at him as he held the door open and then the three entered the building, climbing down a narrow flight of stairs before they reached the next door.

  The building smelt of turpentine, as if it had been painted recently, and Ari found it difficult to navigate around the dark rooms with only the emergency lights for guidance. Fortunately Ragon and Clyde, whose eyes were adapted for such conditions, were easily able to locate the room they sought. After a few more minutes, in which Clyde showed off his lock picking skills yet again, they entered the files department.

  The room was large, with many leather bound volumes placed neatly into labelled bookshelves, and a large desk at the edge of the room, where an ancient computer sat expectantly. Ari watched as Clyde turned the computer on. At the same time she reached for one of the books lining the walls and flipped it open. She knew immediately from the lists of names, preceded by initials such as Sgt., Prvt. and Lt., followed by next of kin details, that this particular edition must have detailed the participants of a war.

  “Ok,” said Clyde, turning expectantly to face Ragon just as the dusty computer engine rebooted, “so what’s the plan?”

  “All the names on Ari’s family tree that I could find in Australia are deceased. The last relative was Lady Geraldine Grant,” Ragon explained, and Clyde sat down at the desk and began typing the name into the search bar. “I am hoping that if we can find more of Ari’s relatives, we might be able to find one that’s still alive. Maybe she isn’t the only one who can do what she can do.”

  “Remind me why we couldn’t do this from Australia?” Clyde asked, tapping his foot impatiently as the computer rebooted.

  “They Lancaster receptionists weren’t exactly helpful over the phone; besides, I figured any living relatives in these records would probably be over here.”

  At Ragon’s explanation, Ari felt a great wave of sadness rush over her; her mother and father had been killed by Kiara while her brother had died when he was just 2 years old. Though she had been raised in an orphanage, she’d always dreamed that somewhere there was a large family looking for her. The more she found out about her family tree, the less she thought this was possible.

  “Alright,” Clyde read, placing his finger against the computer monitor, “we want Estate keepings, Edition 423, page 72.”

  Instantly Ragon scanned the books before him. Though there were easily a thousand books all lined up neatly in several towering bookshelves, they had been well organised; it didn’t take him long to find the right book and flip it open to page 72. With one finger scrolling down the page, he finally found the entry and read aloud.

  “Lord James Grand. It says here that he was married to Lady Geraldine Grand, and that they had one daughter, Georgina, and a son that died during child birth. James was lord of Sussex and his father was Lord Commander Philip Grand,” Ragon finished, looking up at Clyde, who had already begun typing the new names into the computer’s search engine.

  They continued like this for a while. It was tedious work, having to trace both parentage lines and then cross check these with the computer files. They couldn’t find any relatives of Ari’s that were still living, although after an hour, they were finally rewarded when one name stood out.

  “Ok, 1690, Mary Grandor, burnt at the stake for practising witchcraft,” said Ragon, reading out of a particularly old and dusty book.

  “Witchcraft?” said Clyde, looking up quickly. “But does that mean… do you think Ari could be a witch?”

  Ragon shook his head, though his face hinted that he was contemplating this possibility.

  “I’ve heard the name Grandor before,” Ari said slowly, trying to recall exactly when and where she had heard it.

  For some reason a series of stars popped into her head. At first Ari thought of Orion’s belt, of the three bright stars that shone in a line; she had often seen the constellation from her bedroom window in the Grace Valley Orphanage. But why was she thinking the name Grandor had anything to do with stars?

  “Wait a minute,” said Ragon. “I’ve heard it too; when we went on our first date at the planetarium. There was a star constellation that I showed you called Grandor, remember?”

  “That’s right,” said Ari, struggling to remember exactly what the story behind the constellation was. “But what has that got to do with me?”

  “What constellation?” Clyde asked. “I’ve never heard of it.”

  “When we were in Australia and I took Ari to the planetarium, there was a book of stars and their positions. One of them was called Grandor. I can’t remember the story exactly, but it had something to do with Grandor’s heirs being marked, I think.”

  “But it’s just a story,” said Clyde, shrugging indifferently. “That doesn’t mean-”

  “-just like how vampires are make believe and stopping time, and witches and wraiths?” retorted Ragon. “We came here to find out why Ari is different, how she can do things none of us has ever seen before. This legend could explain all of that.”

  “What legend? It’s just a stupid constellation. Besides, a lot of legends could explain why she can do weird things? Maybe she is Zeus’s long lost daughter, or perhaps Aphrodite sneezed on her when she was a baby?” said Clyde, sneering. “Just because some stars were named Grandor and one of Ari’s relative has the same surname, I don’t think we should jump to conclusions. I think it’s far more likely that this Mary Grandor was a witch, who was burnt at the stake, and that Ari is also a witch.”

  “How many witches do you know who can do what Ari can?”

  “Well-” Clyde began to say, but Ragon cut him off.

  “-and how many witches do you know who can create magic without spells. Ari’s doesn’t chant anything when she stops time. She doesn’t use herbs or tools to see into the future… she just does it. Witches rely on spells to do magic, but Ari isn’t performing spells.”

  Ragon and Clyde stood frozen in contemplation, while Ari glanced down at the entry detailing one of her relatives, Mary Grandor, wrestling with the strange thoughts that pulled at every corner of her mind. Why was Clyde so determined that the legend behind the Grandor constellation was just a story? And what if it wasn’t just a story? What if it did have something to do with her abilities? All of these questions swarmed through her head, so that when the three of them finally left the Lancaster Titles Office and Ragon was scaling down the building with her on his back, she barely noticed the drop below.

  They had kept a torn exert from the book which detailed Ariana’s relatives, and Ragon clutched onto this in one hand, while hailing a cab with the other. The first cab they saw drove straight past them, already full of passengers, just as Ari heard the unmistakable sound of sirens blurring in the distance. Soon the flash of blue and red lights lit up the street.

  “Where the hell did they come from?” asked Clyde, craning his head around to look at the police cars, which were pulling up in front of the Lancaster Titles Office.

  “Oh no; we must have tripped a silent alarm,” said Ari, her heart hammering in her chest, while
Clyde began cursing.

  Just then crowds of people celebrating New Year’s Eve spilled out all around them, as couples and merry friends all gathered outside onto the paved street. No one seemed to care that police were now searching the area with torchlights, or storming into the closed neighbouring building, rather everyone was looking up at the night sky expectantly, everyone except Ragon, Ari and Clyde, who were watching the uniformed officers nervously.

  “What do we do?” asked Clyde. “There are way too many cops to lull them all, and we can’t escape easily with Ari.”

  “Just act natural,” said Ragon, though his eyes were thin slits as he searched for an escape route.

  Then everyone around them began counting down to midnight, their enthusiastic voices chanting so loudly in unison that Ari could hear nothing else at all.

  “Ten, nine, eight,” Ragon’s eyes darted down the end of the street, where two policemen were making their way towards them, “seven, six, five,” Clyde and Ragon grimaced, their eyes resting on another handful of policemen that were also looking at them suspiciously, “four, three, two,” without second guessing herself, Ari swept over to Ragon and embraced him, pressing her lips to his as she kissed him passionately.

  Ari never saw the fireworks nor did she hear the rest of the countdown; her eyes were firmly shut, so that only bright lights danced behind her eyelids when it finally struck midnight. By the time she opened her eyes again, several minutes later, the police had walked passed them indifferently, and Ari smirked at their retreating backs.

  Next to them Clyde let out a deep sigh and said, “Lucky we didn’t panic.”

  “Lucky Ari thought quickly,” Ragon replied.

  “She might have thought a little too quickly to kiss you,” said Clyde, snickering as his face broke easily into a wicked smile.

  God Clyde could be so arrogant, thought Ari. Ragon ignored the snipe and waved once again for a cab, which screeched to a halt a few feet away from where they stood. Immediately Clyde jumped into the front seat and slammed the door shut, apparently upset that he had missed out on a New Year’s kiss.

  In the back of the cab, Ari and Ragon settled next to each other, just as the taxi driver turned to face Clyde and said, in a thick English accent, “Happy New Year; where you-”

  But his words were cut off midsentence when Clyde lashed out at him, sinking his fangs deeply into the man’s throat. There was a muffled cry but almost immediately the cab driver stop struggling, arching his neck towards Clyde in submission.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Ari screamed, watching the driver’s eyes, which had glazed over and become expressionless.

  “I’m starving,” Clyde yelled back, wiping his mouth. “I got one lousy drop of Astel’s little temptations; that’s all I’ve had since we got here. More than 12 hours on that god awful plane with only whiskey for company.”

  “Poor you,” Ari muttered under her breath.

  “You couldn’t just wait?” asked Ragon, looking hurriedly through the windows, as he checked to make sure that no one had noticed Clyde’s actions.

  “I’m not used to waiting,” said Clyde, smiling sarcastically at Ari, before turning to the cab driver and saying in a commanding voice, ‘You’re going to drive us to… actually,” he added, looking back at Ragon and Ari, “where the hell are we going?”

  This was a good question; what were they going to do now? Their plan had been to trace a living relative of Ari’s and find them, but not a single one was still alive, so where did that leave them? All they had found out was that over three hundred years ago there had been a witch who Ari had been related to, and that her name was Mary Grandor.

  “Well, we can’t go back to my estate; not after all the trouble we went to, pretending that we were going to Germany. Besides, I don’t want Astel knowing that we’re still in England. And we were supposed to wait here for the rest of the coven,” said Ragon.

  “Ok,” said Clyde, glancing through the cab window, where two police cars were still patrolling the area. Quickly he refocused his attention on the dumbstruck cab driver and said, “Just drive somewhere. Take us to an inn or something; just get us the hell out of here. Oh, and you’re not going to overcharge us,” he added, ignoring the bewildered look on Ari’s face.

  With one hand clutched to his throat, the cabbie slowly pulled out from where he had parked and began driving down the road. In the back of the cab, Ari was breathing fast; the shock of Clyde’s attack, as well as almost being caught for breaking and entering, had left her frazzled. Next to her, Ragon was texting Patrick and Thomas, telling them that they had an altercation, and were going to wait out the night somewhere local. Though Ragon was trying to remain focused on the texts he was sending, he kept glancing up at the driver. There was a longing, almost hungry expression on his face, which Ari recognised immediately; Ragon needed blood.

  “We can text the coven the address when we get to wherever we’re going,” said Ragon, his eyes darting back to the cab driver reluctantly, where a small trickle of blood was now oozing between the fingers that clasped his neck.

  “I know you must be hungry too matey,” said Clyde, turning back and smiling greedily as he looked at Ragon, his red stained teeth gleaming from the distant street lamps. “All this filtered light, the exhausting trip here and only having a teeny, tiny taste of Astel’s beauties; you must be starving! I’m sure it’s taking every inch of your self-control not to bite into-”

  “-shut-up!” snarled Ragon, and Ari was surprised to see that his fangs were beared.

  “I didn’t take much,” Clyde taunted, “there is plenty left; I don’t mind sharing, even if you have a problem with it,” he added, taking a meaningful look at Ari. “Besides, better you take a bite out of him than Ari.”

  Ragon turned to Ari, his sad eyes resting on hers before he looked away, ashamed.

  Clyde smiled knowingly then turned to the cab driver and said, in the same commanding voice as before, “Pull over.”

  Immediately the car pulled over to the side of the road and stopped. Ragon glanced out the window, checking to make sure they were not being followed then grimaced, purposefully avoiding Ari’s eyes. In a second he positioned himself closer to the driver and reached for the man’s wrist, then without so much as pausing, struck. This time the driver did not stir, but sat motionless behind the wheel, as Ragon drank from him. Ari, who was watching the exchange, quickly averted her eyes when Ragon finally pulled away.

  Ragon did not try to command the driver; instead he sat back and looked purposefully out of the window, so that he was not facing Ari when he wiped away all traces of the red stain on his lips. Leaning forwards, Ari looked in concern at the driver. He was slumped in the front seat, one hand grasped tightly to his neck while lines of blood traced down his wrist, staining his now pale flesh and falling to land on the upholstery of his car.

  Ari saw Clyde’s left eyebrow rise after a moment of their remaining stationary, but before he could speak, Ari said, “He can’t drive.”

  Clyde sighed audibly, opened the door and blurred over to the driver, forcing him into the front passenger seat. In the process the cab driver’s hat was dislodged.

  With a large smile on his face, Clyde placed the driver’s hat onto his own head and tipped it as he said, “Where to, little lady?”

  Ari shook her head and crossed her arms, leaning back against the stiff head rest of the seat as she ignored Clyde, watching instead the reflection of Ragon in the window glass, as he stared down, looking guilty.

  It felt as if they had been driving for hours before Clyde whistled loudly and pulled the taxi into a dramatic standstill. In the back, Ari’s eyes fluttered open. She had fallen asleep on Ragon’s shoulder, though with the abrupt stop, had been catapulted forwards. Just in time Ragon had reached out to grab her, wrapping his hands around her waist, before she could smash into the seat in front of her.

  Looking around a little dazed, Ari saw a small rusty sign with a picture of a rabb
it chewing a carrot, below which the words, ‘The Sleepy Rabbit Inn,’ were written in peeling white paint. How long had she been asleep? She had no idea how far they had driven, or indeed where they were, but quickly reached out and opened the door, relieved to stretch her aching back. She listened as Clyde commanded the driver to remain here overnight to recover, while forbidding him to mention to anyone where he had taken them, or that he had ever met them.

  “I told him not to overcharge us,” Clyde said indignantly, when Ragon forced several fifty pound notes into the console of the cab.

  “Yea for driving us; that money was for his other service,” Ragon said.

  In similar fashion to the sign, the tavern was derelict and dirty. It was entirely deserted, all apart for an elderly barman, who eyed them suspiciously when they requested lodging for the night. The three remained in the bar, drinking the slightly stale cider that the barman had on tap, while waiting for the rest of the coven to arrive. No one discussed what they had discovered at the Lancaster Titles Office. In fact, it wasn’t until the others arrived, that the name Mary Grandor was bought up again.