A Scourge Upon Them: Into Vermilion, #2

The Story So Far

A Rose to the Torch

For better or worse, the world was shaped by hemomancers. From the Crimson Wars to the Red Death, they have tormented and preyed upon mankind for a thousand years. Times have changed, however. Where once they ruled from the shadows, now they have been pushed to the brink of extinction by technological progress and human tenacity. In a modern world, where the power to manipulate blood no longer carves them such a wide niche, the hemomancers have had to withdraw into the cracks of society just to survive.

But though the hemomancers’ glory days have waned, the wounds they left in history still weep. They are now actively hunted by humans, not only out of revenge but also to fuel the scientific advancement of the great hemotech corporations. All in all, it has never been a worse time to be a hemomancer than in the 21st century.

Coral Savary never wanted to be a hemomancer. Obviously. Growing up as a little girl with hemophilia, she was inundated by society’s hatred for the creatures and bombarded with warnings of their hunger. At a tender age, she learned that she had to keep her power a secret from everyone, even her parents, or she would end up just another dead body devoured by the ancient hatred between the races. And so she grew up, afraid of her own shadow, secure in her own falsehoods.

That is, until her eighteenth birthday, when she was cornered by a hemomancer, a man named Gavin Lyon, who seemed to know just a little too much about her. He claimed he was there to protect her from some organization she’d never heard of and didn’t really believe in. She ran from him, only to come face to face with the very people he had warned her about. Her attempts to escape this time availed her far less than the first. She was about to be taken by the Rosarium until Gavin showed up with his friend, Jase Finn. After a short fight, the assailants were defeated, and Gavin and Jase returned with Coral to the safety of her parents’ home to explain what was happening.

That’s when Gavin, with all the social grace of a drunken bison, inadvertently revealed to Coral’s parents that she was a hemomancer, shattering the family. The resulting argument saw Coral driven out of her home by those meant to love and protect her. Gavin’s barrage of apologies afterward did little to heal the damage, but the seed had been planted. How could Coral be a hemomancer if her parents weren’t?

With no home left to go to, and Gavin and Jase still insisting on protecting her, Coral had little choice but to follow them to the Orchid Veil, a militant order of hemomancers in the service of Lady Leblanc of the Orchid. On the way, Gavin taught Coral the fundamentals of hemomancy: advantage, the power of blood types, the dangers of foreign blood entering the body. As a nought, a hemomancer with O-negative blood, she ranked weakest among all hemomancers, because any hemomancer could wield and safely absorb her blood. This fact would soon become crushingly relevant to her.

Upon arriving at the Orchid Veil’s base in Saint Isabeau, Massachusetts, Coral learned about the war between the Orchid Veil and the Rosarium. The war had raged for a hundred years in the shadows, the casus belli of which was the murder of Lady Leblanc’s father by Lord Malthus of the Rose, the Rosarium’s leader. Malthus killed Leblanc’s father in a duel and absorbed his blood afterward, and in doing so had become inflicted with a debilitating bloodborne pathogen that crippled him to this day, and could only be cured with a complete blood transfusion with the blood of another nought. With the number of noughts vanishingly low, that made Coral a prime target for the Rosarium, which was why the Veil had come to her aid.

Coral attempted to cope with this crush of information and drama. It wasn’t easy; after all, the only things she knew about hemomancers she’d learned through movies and TV, which were turning out to be somewhat less than accurate. But she was now, in essence, a prisoner of the Veil; for her own protection, she was not allowed to leave. If Malthus got his hands on her, after all, he could be rejuvenated, and the last century of war would have been for nothing.

Confusion, loss, and loneliness ground on her. In desperation, she called her best friend Tamara Vena, hoping to find some refuge in familiarity. But she quickly realized a cold truth: Tamara would soon find out about her secret through her parents. Rather than let her find out that way, she made the painful choice to confess that she was a hemomancer. Tamara, however, proved just as cold and unaccepting as her parents and hung up on her. With Tamara’s rejection ringing in her ears, Coral began a spiral into depression.

Meanwhile, Gavin, increasingly suspicious of Coral’s parentage, visited Caduceus Industries headquarters in Detroit with his confidant and lover Lena Lockwood, where they intended to meet with a highly placed hemomancer. There, they learned that Coral was not born a hemomancer, but converted in a forbidden hemomantic ritual by the enigmatic Lady Descoteaux of the Hyacinth at the behest of Malthus. Gavin was then forced to confront a dark truth: Lady Leblanc was somehow involved with Coral, and the situation was not what it seemed.

During this time, Lena’s brother, Clive Lockwood, befriended Coral. He did his best to make her feel welcome and accepted among the other hemomancers—a tall order, given their apparent and inexplicable contempt for her. Coral, fatigued of the duplicity of her loved ones and weary of living a lie, asked Clive to help her learn what it meant to be a hemomancer. He agreed, though this decision later landed him in trouble with Jase, who seemed particularly concerned with keeping Coral safe from harm.

Some time later, three other Orchid Veil bases were raided, with two hundred of the Veil’s loyal killed. Signs pointed to an inside accomplice, which reinforced Gavin’s growing suspicion that there was a traitor among the Veil. It was then tactlessly revealed that standard operating procedure was for noughts to be murdered upon discovery, not protected as Coral had been led to believe. A stunned, horrified Coral suddenly connected several loose threads in her mind, and finally understood why she’d been so unwelcome. Despite Lady Leblanc’s insistence that the days of killing noughts were a relic of the past, the damage had been done. Coral’s spiral into despair continued, and she even began resenting Leblanc for forcing her to live in captivity rather than just killing her and being done with it.

Gavin couldn’t stand to see Coral suffering so. Haunted by his own demons, and realizing that Coral was not safe at the Veil, he resolved to help her escape at any cost. To that end, he made a fateful decision. He traveled to the seat of the Hyacinth bloodline in the Americas, prepared to pledge his life to their dark designs in exchange for them giving Coral safe harbor. There, he learned that Coral was not only turned into a hemomancer as an infant by Lady Descoteaux, but was also infected with a powerful but dormant disease at Leblanc’s request. And so it all clicked into place: Leblanc intended to activate the disease in the girl and then deliver her to Malthus. Believing the girl’s noughtblood to be his salvation, he would readily accept the poisoned blood into his veins, and finally succumb to the disease Leblanc’s father infected him with a century earlier.

Unwilling to let Leblanc sacrifice Coral, Gavin confided in Lena and Jase, who agreed to help with his plan. Together, they effected an escape from the Veil with both Coral and Clive under cover of darkness. They headed to an abandoned shipyard, aiming to travel over water to the Hyacinth’s island home. There, however, they were ambushed by the Veil’s elite strike force, Architeuthis.

After a tense stand-off, Lena bought Gavin and Coral time to escape. They headed to the docks where Jase was supposed to meet them with the boat, only to realize too late that it was all a trap and that Jase had betrayed them. Jase pleaded with Gavin to abandon his mission of freeing Coral. Gavin refused. In a final confrontation, Jase tearfully killed Gavin and attempted to sedate Coral so she could be handed off to the Rosarium. Coral, however, was able to instead use a hemomancy trick to stab Jase with sedative-laced blood, knocking him unconscious.

Though Coral disabled Jase, she realized that there was no escape for her. With the Rosarium arriving in force to collect her for Malthus, there was no way she could fight and nowhere she could run. Coral succumbed then not only to despair but to petty revenge. Unwilling to die for Leblanc’s war, she instead resolved to spite the woman with her dying breath. And so, before she was sedated and abducted by the incoming Rosarium agents, she opened her veins and traded her O-negative blood for Gavin’s A-positive blood.

Coral later regained consciousness at a hospital, where her blood was planned to be extracted for Malthus’s transfusion. However, the lord of the Rose bloodline was not content to sit and idly wait for his blood, so he came to visit Coral before the procedure. There, he realized to his horror that Coral’s blood was not O-negative, and was thus useless to him. Enraged, Malthus concluded that somebody betrayed him. He ordered his honor guard to kill the agents who brought him Coral, and in the ensuing chaos Coral was able to break free of her restraints.

One of Malthus’s guards attempted to finish her off, but Coral, clinging to a vain but desperate survival instinct, lashed out with a hemocryst blade. As soon as her blade made contact with him, her mind was inundated with savage images and twisted thoughts. Overcome and empowered by bloodlust, Coral murdered the guard. When backup arrived to take her down, Coral attacked, breaking the limits of noughthood and butchering her assailants. Malthus, a broken shell of a man, begged her for mercy. But Coral was mad with hatred and desperation, euphoria and frenzy. Committing to the path of violence, she sliced his throat, single-handedly ending a hundred-year shadow war. Marinating in the afterglow of murder, her thoughts turned to revenge against Lady Leblanc.

Meanwhile, at the docks, Lena found Gavin’s corpse, and Clive found what remained of Coral’s belongings, including her cell phone. An unheard message sat on her phone’s screen. Thinking it could be a message from Leblanc to them, Lena took the phone and listened to it. Instead, it was a voicemail from Tamara, who had called to apologize for hanging up on Coral. Tearfully, Tamara pledged to be friends with Coral no matter what she was. Moved by the girl’s words, Lena wondered if it wasn’t yet too late for the wounds between hemomancers and humans to be mended.

Although, if those wounds could be mended, you wouldn’t know it for all the bleeding they were about to do.

Chapter 1

Lord Malthus of the Rose was dead, and that was all anyone really knew. Lena only learned that much through the grapevine. According to Ruby’s texts, the Orchid Veil was humming with excitement and victory. Lena hadn’t gone to the Veil in person to see for herself, of course. She’d been blanketed in the twin opiates of despair and wrath since their return from the seaboard. She’d spent the time since cocooned in the darkness of her own bedroom, barely venturing forth even for food.

It had been three days since their attempt to liberate Coral. Three days since she’d gambled her life against Gavin’s guilt, betting it all on a brighter future. Three days since the fight with Architeuthis. Three days since she’d found her fiancé Gavin dead on the docks. It had been foolish to conspire against Lady Leblanc. Because of that misstep, everything had fallen to pieces. What little Lena had, she’d lost yet again.

She knew who was responsible. And she knew he would come to her before long.

The sun had gone down, dyeing the living room’s carpet blood red and then black. The knocking was at first quiet, then rapid and jarring. Lena didn’t move from where she sat sobbing on her bed, knees wrapped in her arms. After the fourth gallop of knocks, she heard her brother Clive crossing the living room with creeping steps. It’s Jase, he called to her. Should I answer it?

Do it, she said, no hitch to her voice. Her fingernails dug into the skin of her arms. Cold metal pressed into the small of her back.

The door creaked ajar, and Clive’s tenuous greeting was cut off with a gasped question from their visitor: I got Lena’s text. Is she in?

Clive stuttered. He must still have been on edge after the disaster at the shipyard, for he couldn’t get a coherent answer out in time for Jase’s patience.

Get out of my way. I have to see her.

Heavy footsteps approached the bedroom’s threshold. Lena’s face hurt from sobbing, but her pulse was racing. Making a show of a sniff, she raised her face toward the cutting slash of light coming from the living room.

There he stood, tall, tan, disheveled. Tufts of snow clung to his shoulders and sleeves. Even in the dull light, the sheen of the scar across his nose was clear. So were the tear tracks beneath his eyes. Lena, he said, voice choked. Are you alright?

Lena shook her head pitifully and buried her head in her knees again. Another sob rumbled from her diaphragm. Gavin’s dead.

Aye. He is. For a long moment, the only sound was the stabbing of Lena’s sobs. I’ve been waiting three days for you to show up at the Veil, he said. I didn’t realize… I wish you’d’ve texted me sooner, I could’ve come. He drew a noisy breath through his nostrils. May I sit?

She forced herself to nod. The heat running down her face pulled her deeper toward despair. Shame. This was not a face the Queen of Swords should show anyone; only one person had seen her like this since she joined the Veil, and now he was dead.

The bed sank beneath Jase’s weight at the foot. His shoulders were slumped. Was it remorse? Not that Lena cared one way or another. For a long moment, the two just sat there. Lena focused on the hitching of her chest, the tearing of her breath.

I doubt it will surprise you, the man said softly, but Lady Leblanc knows everything. But she’s willing to forgive us. She acknowledged that it was a dark matter that we got wrapped up in, but our hearts were in the right place. You don’t need to hide. If you come to the Veil, things can go back to how they were before.

Without Gavin. Again she made the sorrow sing for her.

Jase hesitated. I wish I could’ve gotten there in time to save him. He was my best friend. But, whatever happened in the end, the man died for something he believed in. What happened to Coral was a tragedy. But we did our best. With Architeuthis and the Rosarium against us, there’s nothing more we could’ve done. His tone grew darkly candid. I’d like to think that their deaths will make a difference in the grand scheme of things.

Acid streamed from her eyes. Her jaw clenched. I don’t give a shit about any of that. I just feel so alone.

A moment of uncertainty vibrated through the air, magnetism between the wounded and the stalwart. With a small, mournful exhale, Jase slid closer to her. Everything will be okay. A comforting arm wrapped about her shoulders.

Her whole body tensed. Got you.

She became an explosion of movement. She twisted her trunk and moved into him. Her left hand found the knife concealed at her hip. With a pendulous motion, she thrust the blade up toward his throat with all her strength.

But Jase must have tasted something sinister in the air. He pulled back abruptly. The glint of steel slit the darkness, and a red blur blossomed. Jase’s whole body contorted in slow motion, blood spilling from the underside of his chin. The knife had bitten deep, slicing up almost through to his tongue.

The man was on his feet, a curse and a livid question spoiling the air. She chased, unwilling to let a foot slip between them. As soon as she was up, she pulled back, shearing skin and soft tissue on the return, and plunged the knife toward Jase’s exposed chest.

He moved like lightning, bending obliquely away from the strike. One large hand found her wrist, bent it into a joint lock. A yelp escaped her lips as her grip was sprung, and the crimson-slick knife tumbled to the carpet.

What the hell are you doing?! The pain molded the outburst into a single wet word. Jase glared at her, the stream of blood from his jaw now under his control, his flesh already mending. Red smears teased his lips and filled the cracks in his teeth.

Lena clenched her molars tight and tried to pry her hand from his concrete-solid grip. Don’t pretend you don’t know what you did, she hissed. I know you’re the one who killed Gavin. You betrayed him after he put all of his trust in you. In the name of Leblanc, you murdered him!

Jase’s eyes peeled open in surprise. No, it wasn’t—!

Lena didn’t let him finish. Fighting the pain in her wrist, she turned her hips and launched a hard, arcing kick at his head. Pain radiated up and down her leg as the blade of her tibia crunched his face with a devastating impact. He staggered from the blow, and Lena rolled herself away from his core. His joint lock unraveled. A moment later, she had his arm barred at the elbow.

Wait! he gasped through a mouthful of blood.

She twisted her hips again. Knee met elbow. A sickening crunch filled the air, and then a howl of pain. Her hand sought the second knife from the holster under her belt. She spun it once in her hand, pulled back, and—

Jase’s free hand got her, a sledgehammer landing right in her solar plexus. She doubled over, lungs rebelling and punishing her for her overextension. The whole room went dark for a moment. She scrambled to right herself and catch her breath, but she’d lost her momentum.

Jase had slipped from her. The next thing she saw was his leg hurtling toward her. The blow landed in her sternum and knocked her from her feet. She crashed shoulder-first into the carpet and could no longer tell up from down. She was paralyzed. Her chest heaved and clenched with nauseating pangs. She couldn’t breathe. All she could do was curl into her chest and cough.

Through tear-streaked eyes, she saw Jase panting, anger steaming off him thick enough to taste. With the back of his hand, he wiped a smattering of blood from his chin. His right arm hung, hyperextended and useless, at his side. Guess there’s no point hiding it, is there? he said, words slurred with blood. "Yes. I killed Gavin. I murdered him. I wish things didn’t have to come to that. I wish there was another way. But that’s the world we live in."

Lena’s coughing wouldn’t abate. Her chest tingled with vacancy. It didn’t matter how strong her body and hemomancy were; if she couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t fight.

I know you don’t care, Jase continued, but my wound is deeper than yours. He was the best friend I’ve ever had. We go back to childhood together in Arklow. It tears me apart to remember his face on the dock when he realized where we both stood. But he chose to stand with Malthus. He turned his back on the only hope this war had to end without more useless bloodshed. I couldn’t let him stand in the way of the future our race deserves, even if he was my best friend. His last words rattled with a sob. I’m not asking for your sympathy. You have every right to hate me for what I’ve done. But what I did, I did for the whole world.

Save your crocodile tears, Lena would have yelled had her diaphragm been under her control.

Jase moved to tower over where she lay sprawled. His foot came to rest on her collarbone with just enough pressure to pin her in place. You and I both know I could kill you right now. But I don’t have any ill-will toward you. And… His chest trembled with a deep breath. Gavin’s last request was that I take care of you. I won’t betray him a second time.

He let his words permeate the moment. Then he removed his foot, turned, and walked to the door, pausing gravely at the threshold. There’s going to be a party tomorrow at the Veil, he said. All the Veil branches are celebrating Malthus’s death and the end of the Rosarium. There’s going to be some big announcements. You’re welcome to come. But nobody would think less of you if you didn’t.

Sharp words floated to the back of her throat, but she still couldn’t give them voice.

He hovered at the doorway for a long moment, hesitating, something sitting heavy on the tip of his wounded tongue. I’m sorry, he said at last. Whatever that’s worth to you. With that, he started for the front door.

Another shape appeared through the doorway, between Jase and the exit. So it’s true, Clive’s voice rang. You really did sell Coral out.

I’m tired of explaining myself, Jase said. If you want to kill me, then just try. Otherwise, stop wasting my time.

Clive stood silently for a few seconds. Through the blur of tears, Lena saw his nervous tremors. Finally, Jase reached out and swept him out of the way with the arm she hadn’t ruined. He threw the door open. When it slammed shut, he was gone.

The apartment vibrated in the aftermath, tense and electrical. Lena’s coughing at last began to subside. A thread of spittle connected her mouth to the carpet. God damn you, Jase.

Lena? You alright? Clive was at the threshold, looking in uncertainly.

She pushed herself into a sitting position, shoulders slumping. Do I look alright to you? she wheezed.

I’m sorry, he said. I shoulda been here tryin’ to help. I can’t believe I—

She shook her head. Forget it. You couldn’t’ve done anything.

He didn’t object. They both knew it was true. Though Clive was a king, AB-negative like her, he was inexperienced. The closest he’d ever come to a life-or-death fight was when they tangled with Architeuthis at the docks, and he was dead weight then.

So, what do we do now? he asked, one hand nervously trailing through his shoulder-length blond hair.

Lena let her breath settle into a familiar rhythm. Heat still stung her eyes, mirroring the ache in her heart. I think it’s time for me to leave.

Leave?

Ain’t nothin’ left for me here. The war’s over. And I’ll be damned if I’m gonna go begging for forgiveness from that witch Leblanc.

If you’re quitting, Clive said, chest squared and proud, then so am I.

You don’t need to do that. You’re allowed to make your own decisions.

The hell do ya think this is? I ain’t goin’ back after what she did to Coral. She could feel that hate in his words, the loss. They’d both had something precious taken from them by the Veil, something that would never come back. The air was heavy with respect for the dead.

A cynical little laugh fluttered from her lips. So, that’s it, huh? She forced herself to stand, ignoring the throbbing in her lungs and the ringing in her leg. So much for Saint Isabeau. Start packing your things, then. We’re hitting the road as soon as possible.

The shadow of relief pooled in his slate-gray eyes. Yeah. Let’s do that. He took off toward his room, the only part of the apartment furnished with more than the barest of necessities.

Once she was alone, Lena cursed at how poorly her revenge plan had gone. Not only did Jase escape with his life, but he’d spared her. It was a deep wound to her pride. She sighed, felt the ache in her lungs, and shelved the thought. She could feel sorry for herself later, after she’d finished her packing. A duffel bag with half a million Dahlia scrip was waiting to be picked up in a coin locker downtown; packing the rest of her crap would be quick. There was, however, one other thing she couldn’t forget. Wincing, she hobbled over to her nightstand and pulled the top drawer open. Inside was a single item: a blocky old brick of a phone, one of the models that the advent of smartphones had almost entirely erased from public consciousness. It had been Coral’s.

She picked it up, felt the weight in it, and tucked it into her pocket. She should have just left it. It wasn’t like her to be taken by such sentimental rubbish. But the voice message left on it by that girl’s friend had ignited something long-moribund in Lena’s heart: the hope that one day the wounds between hemomancers and humans could be mended. Childish? Yeah, probably. But it wasn’t like she had much hope for anything else in this carcass of a world.

With the phone tucked away, she went about packing the rest of her things. There would still be some errands that required daylight, no matter how quickly she packed. Her Dahlia-held account would have to be drained and traded for United States currency. There were some automatic payments to cancel. And it couldn’t hurt to pick up a letter of recommendation from Jury’s Rig.

As she packed, she found herself fixating on her own weakness. What had gone wrong? Lena didn’t lose fights; she stacked the odds until victory was assured. Hell, she’d taken down a handful of aces in single combat before. But Jase had beaten her without even using hemomancy. Not that he’d needed it; she’d left herself wide open for that attack. It wasn’t like her. It was pure sloppiness on her part. It was like her body had been made physically heavier by the emotions weighing her heart.

Resentment bubbled through her as she packed. Resentment for Jase, Leblanc, for herself. Her thoughts soon turned to what Jase had told her about the party. Big announcement, huh? she thought. I don’t want to be within a hundred miles when Leblanc reveals whatever she’s planning next.

Chapter 2

The party was on December twenty-second, and it was unsurprisingly Christmas themed. What better Christmas present could we all ask for, Lady Leblanc had asked in the invitation, than the death of Lord Malthus of the Rose and the end of a hundred years of war? It was a globe-spanning celebration; each of the Orchid Veil offices the world over would unite in merrymaking.

Jase could barely force himself to attend. He felt sick, nauseous. Every night since he’d handed Coral off to the roaches at the docks, he’d dreamt of Gavin, dreamt that his murder was just a blemish in his mindscape and that his best friend still lived. Though if he were alive, Gavin would surely want nothing to do with Jase anymore.

He knew he had no right to feel wounded over it, but emotions were fickle and mercurial. He’d insulated himself against the reality of his decision by repeating ad nauseam that one death could save many thousands more from far grislier fates. How many times would he have to repeat that to make it stop hurting?

He did what he had to. He ended the bloody war at the cost of Gavin and Coral’s lives. How selfish would he have to be to refuse to draw the curtain shut? And though he was festooned with sorrow and guilt, he could swallow it. He’d bear that pain, because he’d borne so much of it already.

It was almost surreal when Jase made his way up to the third floor of the Obsifax building. Garlands and streamers decorated the stairwell, and the ordinarily bare hallway had an arch of tinsel set up at its mouth. It was festive but tacky, and that seemed to be the point. It was an ironic twist to the theme, a grin and a nod to an old, campy aesthetic.

The gaudy decorations continued inside the base proper. Cheap plastic and paper caricatures of seasonal icons and demisaints covered the walls. The curtain doors between the kitchen and common area had been pulled wide open, loosely connecting the two rooms. Cinnamon and nutmeg spiced the air. A long banquet table, covered with expensive entrées and hors d’oeuvres and twelve varieties of chips, was set up in the ceremony hall. A smaller table in the common area offered punch, eggnog, gingersnaps, and a rainbow of champagne. Unsurprisingly, most partygoers were around this table, taking the opportunity to get piss drunk on Leblanc’s dime.

All the other hemos in attendance were flitting about like flies on a carcass, drinks in hand and bubbling jeers and jokes on their tongues. Some raised their drinks at Jase as he made his way through the holiday slalom. Ruby clapped him on the shoulder and cried something lurid. He smiled back, hollow. The full roster of the Saint Isabeau branch was in attendance—sans that bastard Walter North—plus a few extras. The most obvious were the five gloomy motherfuckers in the corner: the Architeuthis strike force dispatched to intercept Coral’s escape four nights prior.

Kingfisher especially looked grim. The pride that usually dripped like syrup from his aura was gone, and his arm was bound in a makeshift sling. Kingfisher looked up as Jase entered, and Jase gave him a thin little grin as he waved at him with his own sling-bound arm. Lena had a thing for fucking up elbows, it seemed. Looking at him straight-on, Jase could make out the crusted slash plunging over Kingfisher’s right brow and continuing down his cheek. It was the sign of Shimazono’s excommunication. The whole lot of the grim soldiers in the corner were marked by it, the price of their failure.

Where there’s smoke, there must be fire, Jase thought. As he floated between laughing revelers and islands of warm smells, he found Lady Leblanc on the far end of the common room. She wore a fine white gown that made her look two decades younger, and her silver hair was done up in a neat bun. Her posture and dress exuded power befitting a matriarch of one of the high families. At her side, surveying the crowd, was a tall, thin man with cropped black hair and a conspicuous eyepatch on the right side. Kensuke Shimazono, Leblanc’s right hand, the Beak of the Kraken, the head of the enigmatic Architeuthis.

As soon as Jase locked gazes with Shimazono, the man grinned broadly. "Well, if it isn’t the left hand," he said. His voice was high and grating, a barb of mockery in each and every word.

Obligation pulled Jase to where Leblanc and Shimazono stood apart from the rest of the party. Long time no see, Ken, Jase said. Speaking sent ribbons of pain lashing at the wound in his chin. He forced himself to dip his head in a shallow bow and then nodded to his silver-haired liege. Lady Leblanc.

A broad, loving grin answered him. Welcome, Jase. We’ve been waiting for you. She handed him a glass filled with champagne, and then took a sip from her own.

He held the glass uncertainly. For me?

You’re the hero of the hour, Shimazono said, somehow still sounding like he was insulting him. The champion of Operation Featherfall who succeeded where all others failed. You are the syringe of Malthus’s death.

Jase’s stomach dropped. He wanted to push the thought from his head. I can hardly take all the credit. If it wasn’t for Architeuthis dividing Gavin from the others, things might’ve ended very differently. He wanted to punch himself for saying it so heartlessly. If only he could beat some decency into his own skull.

Shimazono sneered. Do you mean to shame me?

No, not at all. I wasn’t being facetious.

Shimazono’s grimace burrowed into him. After a long moment, he raised his gaze to the other side of the room and barked three harsh syllables: Kingfisher!

Jase followed the name with his eyes and watched as the man in the corner stood and made his way, past an already-drunk Ruby, over to their little supreme command clique. You called? he asked, mockingly. Up close he was an impressive sight, a tower of raw muscle that looked like he could break a man in half with a sneeze.

Shimazono chuckled darkly and licked his lips. Kingfisher. How good to see you. Would you again tell me the story of how you and your men were humiliated by a single queen?

Kingfisher was silent for a long moment as he looked between Leblanc and Jase. He swallowed hard, ran one thick hand over the gray buzz of his hair. Mere feet away, the laughter and drinking and jubilant screams continued, unhindered.

Turns out the men you gave me aren’t the steel-gutted bastards you said they were, Kingfisher said. Weariness suffused his tone; he was sick of retelling this tale. As soon as we had your defectors surrounded, this damned queen starts spouting off about how we’d all been played. Said Crowley was a traitor, and that she and the others were moving under Leblanc’s orders. I didn’t buy it for a second, but the others all started to get cold fucking feet. Treble called you, and this Lockwood bitch cracked us over the skull with their doubt. We tried to pin her down, but she was too quick, too good at moving through the shadows. She kept us on edge and divided us, kept us terrified.

Oh, I never tire of this story, Shimazono growled, all pretense of civility burned off. To think I put you in charge of this task. A leader does not allow doubt to seep in among his men. A hunter does not let his prey convince him of his own guilt. And a tentacle of Architeuthis does not, under any circumstances, lose to a lowly queen!

His voice carried as far as the next group of Veil members, who were enjoying tall glasses of punch. Their gazes shot over to the outburst, and a rumble of derisive laughter followed.

I cannot even fathom it, Shimazono continued. "Five of the best of the best, my hand-selected soldiers, humiliated by a single goddamn woman! A queen, not even an ace, who was unarmed no less! And you have the nerve to take a title as presumptuous as Kingfisher."

Kingfisher sneered at Shimazono. I am perfectly aware of what a disgrace this failure is, thank you very much.

Shimazono’s good eye narrowed to an almond-shaped slice of nothing. Don’t you dare to speak to me like that.

I’ll speak to you however I want, Kingfisher snapped. He pressed one finger to the crusted slash dividing one third of his face from the rest. You know what this mark means? It means I don’t have to take your abuse anymore. So fuck off with your outrage. You didn’t have to fight that bitch. You haven’t seen what she’s capable of.

A convenient deflection that will save you no face.

Although, he may not be entirely wrong, Lady Leblanc said. Lena Lockwood is not like most royals. She even killed Marco Ventura in single combat.

Shimazono turned to her, his face a subtle genuflection. You’re telling me this queen that disgraced all of Architeuthis is the same queen who killed Marco Ventura?

Leblanc nodded. In d’sang, no less.

A low hiss broiled off Shimazono. Impossible.

Not impossible, Jase cut in. I’m embarrassed to say she’s responsible for my current state. He indicated the sling holding his right arm. A chill swept up his spine. She’d been exceedingly close to killing him. His senses were sharp, and his hemomancy was peerless. Lena had known that, which is why she’d used a blade of steel, so he couldn’t assert dominance over the blood and shatter her weapon. He could see how she’d managed to take down so many aces in her time. Her hunter’s cunning was her most dangerous asset. He’d have to be on his guard.

Shimazono rumbled with displeasure. Even if what you say is true, your lapse in judgment which led to your defeat is still beyond defense. It is a sign of absolute weakness. And I will not suffer weakness in the ranks of Architeuthis. Now get out of my sight.

Kingfisher’s mouth flattened into a razor-thin shadow. He turned about, and his shoulders rolled with an irreverent twist. Sayonara, asshole.

Despite the jab, Shimazono’s face retained its composure. One gloved hand tightened about the stem of his wine glass. Truly, I made a mistake, he said out the side of his mouth. He held such promise.

Lady Leblanc took a slow sip of champagne, her eyes following the disgraced Architeuthis member back to his corner of failure. It would be foolish to dismiss him entirely. He could still be useful.

I cannot forgive such a show of weakness.

Perhaps this is a blessing, Leblanc said as Bing Crosby began to croon an old classic over the Veil’s PA. There are now five openings in Architeuthis’s ranks, are there not?

Shimazono grunted an affirmative. Jase could tell he was holding his tongue.

Leblanc swirled the champagne in her glass. Her eyes were distant, thoughtful. Lena Lockwood would be a fitting successor to Kingfisher. She’s proven herself to be a cut above even the best of the best.

Jase’s heart skipped a beat. Lena? In Architeuthis? Forgive me, Lady Leblanc, he said, but with Malthus dead, what need for Architeuthis is there now?

Shimazono grinned. A soft, contemptuous chuckle diced the air. Foolish boy. There is still much for Architeuthis to do.

Indeed, Leblanc said, voice heavy with fatigue, there is much to do. And, with that, I believe it is time to get the announcements underway. She strode to the head of the room and clinked a spoon against her glass. Everyone, may I please have your attention.

The din of celebration guttered out, and the music crossfaded to silence. The smell of gingerbread perfumed the air as Leblanc signaled to someone near the kitchen, where a laptop was set up beside a tripod and camera. A red light burned on atop the camera, and the great television at the front of the common area came alive with Leblanc’s face. The UI text on the screen indicated that the stream was being broadcast live to all the other Veil bases: New Orleans, Sherbrooke, Paris, Douai, Berlin, Lisbon, Bucharest, Leeds, and Exeter. Each base showed in a column of postage-stamp-sized video feeds in the corner of the screen.

Lady Leblanc cleared her throat. Friends and comrades, she began, loyal fighters and philosophers, doubters and believers from every corner of the world. I would like to welcome you to a very special night. Reverent quiet hung over the room and hissed from the TV’s speakers. Each of you has, I’m sure, in her own time had moments of doubt that this war would ever see an end. Tonight, your faith in the Orchid is repaid!

Hollers swelled the room. Drinks were thrown back, and Leblanc grinned across the faces flush with joy. Jase had never felt so sick.

"You have all heard by now: Lord Malthus of the Rose is dead. That word vibrated in the collective ears of the Veil. The people savored it like fine wine. The Rosarium is fallen!"

Another cheer. More drinks. People exchanged shoulder slaps and smiles wide enough to span an ocean.

I spoke today, Leblanc said, with Deacon Farafal of the Rosarium. Someone booed far in the back, and several people laughed. Leblanc smiled politely before continuing. With the tyrant’s throne emptied, it seems the Rosarium is eager to capitulate to our demands to end the war once and for all. And why not? She chuckled. From what I’ve heard, the disease we delivered to Malthus was dreadful beyond all measure. Farafal even confessed, she said conspiratorially, "that he could scarcely believe any pathogen capable of ruining a human body so. He said that Malthus appeared to have been butchered."

Jase shuddered. He tried not to recall his own hand in the pathogen’s delivery to the tyrant. He wished Coral didn’t have to be a Trojan horse in their redux of Jacques Leblanc’s famous gambit. He hated to imagine that a disease so destructive had been locked inside that helpless girl.

"And while we may permit ourselves now to relish in this victory, we must remember our own place. We cannot let our hatred and struggle against the Rosarium distort facts. The Rosarium’s legacy has been tarnished by Malthus’s reign. Its original purpose is long lost, the governing body twisted into a vessel for one man. We must not forget that it was the Rosarium that first united hemokind in the wake of Saint Isabeau’s crusade.

"They gave us law, demanded respect for one another, and gave us a common cause to work toward as we fought to survive in a world overflowing with malice for us. That was a very different world, then. Today, our survival is threatened in ever more sinister ways. If we are to brave this post-war era, we need that common cause now more than ever. As the Rosarium’s body thrashes without its head, we must look to build upon the legacy of the Rosarium as it was, not as it became.

To that end, I have sought out allies. The remaining deacons of the Rosarium are willing to cooperate. Likewise, I have secured the interest and cooperation of the Dahlia family. Murmurs stirred the air. With the Dahlia’s incredible financial and political resources available to us, and with the remnants of the Rosarium lending ceremonial and traditional credibility to this union, we are ready to announce the beginning of a new era.

The woman was the very portrait of power and leadership as her voice thundered to a commanding shout. "As of today, the Orchid Veil is officially dissolved. We now stand with our brothers and sisters, united, as the Sanguine Accord. Together, we are poised to become an aegis, protecting and unifying hemomancers the whole world over. Gone will be the days of politics and bloodshed. No more will vendettas be the currency of our shadowed world. With the power of our entire species at our disposal, we will once again establish law. We will bring order and peace to the hemomancer diaspora. We will arbitrate conflict, provide protection and guidance, and together chart a course to the future.

It shall be a long road, Leblanc said, her voice reaching a fevered pitch as tears stood in her eyes, "but we must not forget the longer road we have walked to stand here, and how many bodies litter