Overjoyed, I can’t resist the urge to lean across the table and give the surprised vampire a big smacking kiss on the cheek. “You rock, Magnus! Thanks so much! I knew you could do it.”
He waves off my attempted embrace. “I haven’t told you the bad news yet,” he reminds me.
“Bring it on, then. No kind of bad news can wreck my day now.”
“According to my research, the only way to turn you back into a human is to purify your blood. And the only substance I know of that can do this is a drop of blood from the Holy Grail.”
The Holy Grail? Holy crap!
14
The Holy Freaking Grail?!
I stop celebrating, hands stuck in perpetual freeze-frame cabbage patch dance, and stare at Magnus.
“The Holy Grail?” I repeat, realizing my voice has risen to a screechy hiss. “The HOLY FREAKING GRAIL?”
Magnus dips his head in a nod. “I told you it was bad news.”
“How the hell are we supposed to get a drop of blood from the Holy Grail? Does the Holy Grail even exist? I thought the Holy Grail was something that was made up by the Church . . . or Steven Spielberg.” I slam my head against the table. “I’m doomed. Doomed, doomed, doomed. Doomed to walk the earth as a creature of the night forever. Doomed to drink ditsy donor blood for all eternity.”
“Chill out, Sunny,” Magnus commands, sounding a bit ticked off at my admittedly overdramatic display. “The Grail does exist. I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”
I look up, hopeful once again. “You have?”
“Indeed.”
“So then you know where it is?”
Magnus pauses. “Erm, not exactly.”
I knew it! I just knew he’d say that. “DOOMED! I’M DOOMED!” I cry, commencing with further head-banging.
“Will you keep your voice down?” Magnus hisses. “You’re upsetting the others.”
I lift my head and look around. Sure enough, I’ve pretty much got the whole Club Fang giving me the evil eye.
“You know, not everyone sees being a vampire as a dooming prospect,” scolds a black-caped, bleached-blond teen who looks alarmingly like Spike from the Buffy show. “In fact, some of us quite enjoy it.”
Oh brother.
“Um, sorry?” I venture, deciding to go the humble, ignorant route. After all, come Saturday night I’m going to be one of the blood-drinkin’ gang forever and ever, and I don’t want to start off on the wrong foot. “I meant no offense. I’m sure it’s a very pleasurable way to spend eternity and all. It’s just, well, not really my cup of tea, you understand.”
“Whatever,” the Spike guy replies, turning back to his companions. “God, I hate vampire newbs!” he adds under his breath.
“So ANYWAY,” Magnus interrupts loudly, before I can give “Spike” the finger, “I hadn’t finished what I was going to say before you erupted into premature mourning.”
“Oh. Sorry,” I mutter. “Go on.”
“As I was saying, the Holy Grail is not a myth. It’s a real object of power. The cup was used by the Christ during his Last Supper, then retrieved by Joseph of Arimathea, who filled the cup with Jesus’ blood after he died on the cross.”
Filling a wineglass with the blood of the dead. Nice, normal guy, this Joseph of Arimathea. Then again, after just gulping down a goblet of Château de Rachel et Charity, I realize I am not really one to talk.
“The Grail was hidden away in Israel for many years, until the British knights came over during the crusades. They stole it and brought it back to England.”
I drum my fingers on the table, impatient for Mag to get to the point. Honestly, I don’t think I need to know the whole history of the world here.
“Fascinating. Really,” I say, as the vampire pauses for breath. “Now can you just tell me how we can retrieve the thing already?”
He ignores me, of course, and drones on. He’d make a great history teacher. He’s almost as boring as Ms. Dawson. “Somehow the ancient relic fell into the hands of the Lady of the Lake, Nimue, who lived on the island of Avalon. And that’s where it’s believed to be to this day. Buried far under the ground in a secret cave under the hill of Tor.”
Now we’re getting somewhere. “So is Avalon even a real place? Does it still exist? Can we get there and retrieve the Grail?” I know I’m asking questions faster than Magnus can answer them, but I’m way too desperate to help it.
“Yes, no, maybe,” Magnus answers, matter-of-factly. “In that order.”
“Um . . .”
“Yes, it was a real place,” he clarifies. “But the priestesses of the past are long gone. It’s not even technically an island anymore. Over the years the waters have turned to marshlands and the marshlands have since dried up. What used to be an island is now connected to the mainland of England.”
“Gotcha.”
“Present-day Avalon lies in a place called Glastonbury. A small, quiet village in the southwest of England.”
“Do you think the Grail is still there somewhere?”
“Perhaps.” Magnus strokes his chin thoughtfully. I love how he has just a tad of dangerous stubble lurking on his otherwise boyish face. I wonder if vampires have to shave. “I have heard rumors of an ancient druidic order that still makes its home in the village. They guard their secrets closely, but perhaps with the right persuasion, they may share their wisdom.”
“So that’s good, right?” I ask hopefully.
“I won’t lie to you, Sunny. It’s a definite long shot.”
“Long shot, but not impossible shot.” I’m determined to be Glass-Half-Full Chick here.
“Correct.”
“So,” I say, wanting to sum it all up. “All I have to do is fly to England, head to Glastonbury, find the members of an ancient hidden druidic order, and persuade them to take me to the Holy Grail, where I will be able to drink a drop of purifying blood and stop the transformation of me into a vampire.”
“All before Saturday night at midnight,” Magnus adds, looking at his watch.
I sigh. Things are looking not so half-full all of a sudden. I might have to change my name to Glass-Half-Empty Chick from now on. Actually, make that Glass-Drained-Dry Chick in this case.
First off, how the heck am I going to get to England? I can’t exactly suggest an impromptu trip to my mom. She’d have all these ridiculous objections—her job, my school, no one to take care of our cat, Missy, etc., etc. Not to mention the fact that the old hippie has this outdated belief that airplanes are gas-guzzling monstrosities that wreak havoc on the environment and should not be flown except in emergencies like Grandma’s funeral when there was no time to take her hybrid Toyota Prius.
Nope, the chances of me jetting off to jolly old England before Saturday at midnight are slim to none.
“Guess you can start calling me Vampire Sunny,” I say with a desolate sigh. I take another mouthful of the blood wine. Might as well start developing a taste for the stuff.
“Hold on there,” Magnus says. “You’re not giving up that easily, are you?”
I look up from my glass. “I’m not living in a fantasy world, Mag. I’m not holding out false hope. There’s absolutely no possible way I can swing by Glastonbury before Saturday night. I’m just being realistic.”
Magnus picks up his own goblet and swirls the liquid around, staring at it for a moment. Then he looks at me. “I’ll take you,” he says, after a long pause.
I stare back at him, trying to ignore the sapphire blueness of his eyes. “What?” I ask, even though I heard him perfectly. It’s simply that I can’t believe what he said.
“To England. To Glastonbury. To Avalon. To find the Grail.”
“You’d . . . you’d take me?” I repeat, knowing I’m not sounding like the most intelligent person at the moment. But still . . .
Magnus shrugs. “Sure. The coven has a few private jets. I can borrow one tomorrow night and we can head over.” He sets down his glass. “I honestly don’t know if we can find the Grail while we’re
there, but we can at least give it the old college try, right?”
I nod slowly, blown away by what he’s just proposed. I mean, surely he has better things to do than to spend the week on a wild goose chase for the Holy Grail. And yet he’s perfectly willing to set aside his plans to help me out.
“That’s so . . . nice of you,” I say, lamely.
He reaches over and takes my hand in his. Gah! His touch sends chills down my arm, through my body, and down to my toes, like some kind of crazy electrical current. I resist the urge to squirm.
“Sunny,” he says, tracing the back of my hand with a finger. Okay, he needs to stop doing that. Right now. “I hope you know I feel bloody awful about what I’ve put you through. If there’s any way I can make it up to you, reverse the curse I’ve put you under, I want to do that.”
I feel my insides melting, like a lime Popsicle in the sun. “Th-thank you,” I murmur. “I really . . . appreciate that.” I sound totally lame, but what else can I say?
He catches my eyes from across the table. I want to look away, but for some reason find myself totally mesmerized. He really does have amazing eyes. I wonder if he was born with them or if it’s something you get as a perk from becoming a vamp. I supposed it would be a pretty good consolation prize. Lose your soul, gain captivating, irresistible eyes. Yeah, that would be cool, actually. Maybe you also get to lose weight and look like a supermodel. Blood would be pretty low in carbs, right? High in protein, rich in iron . . .
We’re still staring at one another. This is getting a little weird. I should say something. Look away. Not start thinking about what I’ll do if he reaches across the table, cups my chin in his hands, and kisses me senseless.
’Cause the scary thing is I think I might let him. In fact, I think I might kiss him back.
And that would be a very, very, very big mistake.
“Magnus!” cries a tortured-sounding voice. “There you are.”
Magnus turns to address the voice, eliminating any kissing possibilities. Phew. What a relief. After all, I don’t want to start any kind of relationship—physical or otherwise—with a creature of the night, especially not one like Mag. Though I do admit, he’s a lot nicer and nobler than I first gave him credit. And he is rather good-looking . . .
I shake my head to get rid of my crazy thoughts and focus my attention on the guy who’s approached our table.
“Jareth,” Magnus greets our visitor, tight-lipped. Is he disappointed that our potential kissage was so rudely interrupted as well? Nah, I’m imagining things. “How are you this evening?”
“How am I?” Jareth asks with much incredulity. He’s tall and good-looking in a Jude Law, British kind of way. Looks about eighteen, but is probably more like eight hundred. “How am I?” he repeats. He pulls up a chair and sits down. “The mighty leader of our coven has been tragically cut down and you ask me how I am?”
“We are all completely devastated by the loss of the master,” Magnus agrees cautiously.
“Are you? Are all of you?” Jareth demands, scanning the room with eerie phosphorescent green eyes. See, I really am thinking the eye thing comes from the vampire curse. Who has such cool eyes in real life? (Well, besides that blind chick from season three of America’s Next Top Model—not that I’ve ever watched that silly show. Really.) “For a people in mourning, you seem to be having a bloody good time.”
He’s got a point. No one here at Club Fang looks particularly broken up about the fact that their fearless leader was effectively dusted just twenty-four hours before. Sure, they’re all wearing black, but I have a feeling that’s more an everyday fashion statement than anything to do with paying their respects to Lucifent.
“We all grieve in our own ways, I am sure,” Magnus replies evenly. “Some more openly than others.”
“Bah! I would not let them show such disrespect myself,” Jareth scoffs. “But I suppose you’ve got your own style of ruling. Speaking of, when do you plan to officially take command of the coven?”
What the . . . ? I whip my head around to stare at Magnus. What is this guy talking about? Taking command of the coven? Magnus?
Magnus shrugs. “I have some important business to attend to overseas,” he explains. “When I return to the States, I will take my reign.”
Holy crapola. Is he saying what I think he’s saying? Magnus is taking over Lucifent’s gig as king of the vampires? I had no idea the guy was that high up on the food chain. I figured he was just some everyday vampire type, but no! He’s royalty. How cool is that?
Hmm, I wonder. Does this mean if I end up having to remain a vampire forever that I get to be queen of the vampires? ’Cause that would be kind of cool. Especially if there’s a tiara involved. I’ve always had a thing for tiaras . . .
“Do not stay away too long,” Jareth advises sternly. His glowing emerald eyes really are a bit disconcerting. “There are others who would take advantage of your absence to legitimize their own rights to the throne.”
“I am aware of their ambitions,” Magnus says softly. “And I promise you, I do take them quite seriously.”
“Very well, then,” Jareth says, evidently satisfied by Mag’s answer. “While you are gone, we will publicly throw our support behind you. It will not stop them, but perhaps it will delay their momentum.”
“I thank you for that, brother.” Magnus reaches over to pull the other vampire into an embrace. Midhug, he whispers something in his ear that for the life of me I can’t make out. Not that I’m trying to eavesdrop on them or anything. I’m just curious. And hey, if I’m going to be stuck being queen, I figure I have the right to know all this stuff.
“You will make a fine coven leader,” Jareth says, after parting from the hug. He rises from his seat and salutes Magnus. “I have much to do, so I bid you farewell. Good luck with your overseas adventure and I hope to confer with you on several matters when you get back.”
“I shall look forward to it,” Magnus says diplomatically, mirroring the vampire’s salute and bowing his head.
Once Jareth’s gone, I turn to Magnus, ready to get the 411 on the whole king thing.
“So what’s the deal?” I ask eagerly. “You’re like king of the vampires now? How come you didn’t tell me? I mean, you’d think that might have come up in conversation.”
Magnus shrugs. “I didn’t think vampire politics would interest you.”
“Vampire politics, no. My blood mate being king of the coven, hell yeah.”
Magnus raises an eyebrow. “Your blood mate?”
I can feel my face heat into a major blush. Why did I just call him that? I didn’t mean to. It just kind of slipped out.
“Um, yeah. Well, temporary blood mate, anyhow, right? Until we find the Grail and all.”
“Ah.” Magnus nods. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he almost looks disappointed. Which is totally weird since I know that he doesn’t want me as his blood mate any more than I want him to be mine. “Of course.”
“So what’s the deal?” I ask, going back to the subject at hand. “Are you king or what?”
“Technically, yes. I am next in line for the leadership position of our coven,” Magnus says. “I was Lucifent’s first fledgling, and therefore his most direct blood link. By vampire law, that makes me leader.”
“Wow. How cool is that?” I cry. “King of the vampires. That’s gotta be a good gig. You must be so psyched.”
Magnus shakes his head. “Not especially, no,” he says. “The position carries a lot of responsibilities and much danger. There are those, both in the outside world and right in our own coven, who seek to destroy the leader to further their own political agendas.”
“Yeah, I heard Jareth say that. So there’re going to be guys out to get you? Like vampire guys, not just the Slayer?” Hmm, maybe being king of the vampires ain’t such a good gig after all.
“Yes. There will be ‘guys out to get me,’ as you so eloquently put it,” Magnus says with a rueful smile. “But I am not concerned. Wi
th Jareth’s men by my side I am well protected.”
“Are they like bodyguards?”
“Soldiers. Jareth is leader of our royal army.”
“Ah, I see.” Wow. This vampire thing is super-organized. It’s like this whole underground society, with kings and soldiers and evil guys up to no good . . .
Magnus rises from his seat. “We’ve dallied long enough. I must make preparations for our trip to England tomorrow.”
“Okay,” I agree, standing up and grabbing my purse off the floor. I glance at my watch. “I’ve got to get going anyhow or I’ll miss curfew. Can’t exactly jet off to England if I’m grounded.”
We head out of Club Fang and into the night. I remember the first time we wandered through the parking lot just a few nights ago. At the time I had only thought about getting it on with a hot guy. Ha! If only I’d known what I was in for, I’d have gone shrieking into the night.
At least I think I would have.
“So if you’re really going to have to take the throne and all and there are bad, power-hungry vamps that would love to usurp your power and become kings themselves, do you honestly have time to go traipsing off to England to help me find the Holy Grail?” I ask, turning to look at Mag. His already pale skin looks almost lustrous under the moonlight. I don’t know how one vampire can be so delicious. It’s so unfair.
“Don’t get me wrong,” I add. “I’m psyched to have your help, since there’s no way I can do it on my own. It’s just that, trying to be Unselfish Girl and all, it seems you’ve got a lot on your plate.”
Magnus smiles—that gentle, reassuring smile he uses only occasionally, but each time it melts me a little. I can’t believe I had thought he was an asshole when I first met him.
“You are my blood mate,” he says simply, finding my hand and squeezing it with his own. “I would die for you.”
Gah! A little warning before the touching would be nice. Mainly so I can resist the overwhelming urge to morph into a jiggly pile of Jell-O, thank you very much.
“You’d . . . die . . . for me?” I manage to choke out. I’ve got to lighten the mood here. “Technically aren’t you already dead?”