Blood Ex Libris Read online

  There was a commotion at the front of the cave. A large vehicle arrived, and I heard an increased babble of voices and boisterous laughter. What seemed to be female voices came from the entrance of the cave, which was strange since I thought all the women in the harem had been herded to the back. The anticipation I’d been feeling became a current of expectancy.

  The Qarînah turned to Bghilt, saying, “Take her elsewhere.” “Her,” it seemed, was me, and Bghilt was obviously less than delighted to be my escort away from the fun. She took my hand, not in a friendly way, and led me even farther back in the cave, where the walls seemed to fold in, then right, then left, in a weird geologic origami. There was a tall, thin crack where the pressure had been too much, and there, morning light and desert air sliced in. Two male jinn waited, obviously both on guard duty, and bored and antsy to participate in whatever fun I was about to miss. Bghilt said something to them in the language I was beginning to recognize as Turkish, and they nodded and left us in something only slightly more decorous than an eager rush.

  “We wait, now,” Bghilt said to me. “Now we guard.”

  Her English wasn’t as good as most of the other jinn, but I thought I’d try asking anyway. “Why are we on guard duty, Bghilt?”

  “Because now we...is word ‘feed?’” I nodded, and she continued, “Not ‘we,’ for we wait...here. Until is done. For you are...not safe...during feed.” She was not in a good humor, and forcing her to try to pick her way through a foreign language was not increasing her cheer, so I didn’t try to ask anything more. We leaned against the rock wall and looked out over the continuingly brightening desert, not companionably.

  For all that Bghilt’s explanation was terse at best, I got the point. If the jinn were, ahem, having a take-out dinner vampire-style, being the enemies’ am’r-nafsh in the room was not an optimal place for me if I wanted not to become dessert. If Bghilt had had even a few more words of English, I might have tried to get the answers to more of the questions I’d wanted to ask, like, “How the hell did he sell you on being a jinnī instead of an am’r?” But as that conversation was obviously not going to happen, I looked at the too-bright alien landscape and hoped the breakfast feast would not take too long. I didn’t need either a blinding headache or Bghilt to take her blinding headache out on me.

  I realized I was worrying more about a photosensitivity-induced headache than I was about the human beings who had been brought to a cave in the desert to feed a bunch of hungry vampires on the morning before battle. Did that seem like a situation any of them were likely to walk away from?

  How had I become so inured to the death of human beings? I mean, sure, I freaked out when it was right in my face, but I seemed to be totally fine with an unknown number of lives being drained away behind my back.

  But what could I do to save them?

  Bghilt and I continued to lean on the cave wall, thinking our own thoughts, waiting for the vampiric orgy to be over. Each was unhappy for her own reasons.

  Unexpectedly, I heard a crunch. I whipped my head around to see Neplach holding Bghilt up, her head at a terrible angle. She was alive and looking at me with pain and panic in her rich brown eyes. From behind his hand over her mouth, I could hear the drone of pain in her strangled breathing. Standing behind her as he was, Neplach’s head sprouted up behind Bghilt’s body where her head should have been. It was a wrong and terrible sight, which was made even more surreal when he spoke to me.

  “Moje dcera, we have not much time. I could use the sustenance this am’r would provide, but also I could just end her suffering this moment. Tell me which you would prefer.”

  Well, shit. For sure, I knew I’d rather not see whatever Neplach was about to do. But this was my ally, and more than my ally, my friend. He would be my teacher in this insane new life or undeath, so I guessed I’d better get over myself.

  “Please, sir. Do what you need to do.” Moral coward that I was, I looked away.

  His teeth when he pushed them into her neck were not as silent as I’d have liked. There was an added urgency of pain to her breaths, but both began to fade as he drained her. I couldn’t watch, but I made myself listen to every minute of it, a half-assed penance that was all I could give Bghilt’s final moments.

  At least he didn’t rape her.

  In my new world, what was the difference between the good guys and the bad guys? “At Least We Won’t Rape You as We Suck the Lifeblood from Your Body” was not the best advertising slogan I’d ever heard.

  The sucking of said lifeblood continued, followed by the sounds of a body hitting the ground, a knife being drawn, and hacking.

  After a while, I realized the only things I could hear were the soft morning sounds of the desert. I turned to Neplach, who’d managed not to have any blood in his beard or even on his hands, for which I was deeply appreciative. I did not look down. “Moje dcera, I believe it would be best if I became to you a bakheb-vhoonho, a blood-giver. In the coming moments, it might well be vital for you to have added strength and ability, and my vhoon would give you such.”

  I think my jaw dropped. Neplach continued quickly but calmly, “It will not…disturb the bond with your patar. It will connect us, but I would not suggest it if I thought Wladislaus would be upset.”

  My first highly emotional thought was: But Sandu might… No, I couldn’t.

  I needed to step back and consider this unemotionally. Now was not the time for unreasoned decisions. Neplach was an aojysht, an elder of Sandu’s, and someone he deeply respected. I had not been in the am’r world long, but I had a feeling aojyshtaish or whatever the word was didn’t go around offering their blood to any ol’ person that often. This was probably some sort of honor I couldn’t appreciate as fully as I should.

  Anyway, this situation pretty well constituted an emergency, and Sandu was not here to ask—and why was he not here, but Neplach was? I had to make up my mind as best I could, based on the limited information Sandu had previously seen fit to share with me. I trusted Neplach implicitly, so there was no point in wasting time debating this issue with my ignorant self.

  I looked at Neplach, and he read my answer in my face. He took the huge knife he had just used—although I was relieved to see he’d taken the time to wipe it clean—and drew it lightly across his inner wrist, making a fine cut, impressively precise for such an unwieldy blade. Blood spurted out immediately, and I clutched it to my mouth to make sure I did not waste a drop of what he was honoring me with.

  Yeah, it’s all about honor. Really.

  I was shocked to discover his blood tasted wholly different from Vlad’s. It was smoother and mellower, with an earthiness to the iron tang. I had not realized just how hungry I was—not for food, but for this.

  Blood was more than food. More than anything.

  I don’t know how long I drank, but I felt the wound closing, and I almost tore at it with my teeth for more. Realizing I was about to do that—and to whom I was about to do it—made me pull back and look up at Neplach, hoping I had not committed some grave breach of etiquette in the mindlessness of my drinking. His eyes looked hotly into mine, and the new connection hit me like a punch to the gut.

  But it was a good punch, or at least now I could take the hit or something because it was amazing. I gazed into his eyes, which had previously looked to be a kind, soft brown. Now I realized “brown” had simply meant all the colors of the rainbow were mixed together, and there they were, all around me, all through me, pumping vitality in the form of color into the least of my capillaries. The rainbow was Neplach and it was me and it was our connection as well—our own rainbow bridge between the commonality within him and within me, which was the shared blood but so much more.

  I loved him, and he loved me, and I would learn from him how to use this gift he’d given me. I felt the changes within me and loved them because they were a splash of his wisdom and courage and serenity, now part of me for always.

  “Moje neteř, my dear little niece,” he said to me and
ran a finger along my cheek. I leaned into his hand and rested my face against it. “Call me ‘strýc’—‘uncle’—from now on, moje neteř.”

  “Yes, my dear strýc,” I said, and had to keep from crying rainbow tears.

  “We cannot stop to enjoy our vhoon-bond. That is not what it was for, as gratifying as it has been. Now we have many hours of sunlit desert to cross, and news of this coming attack to bring to my lord Bagamil and your patar so they can prepare—” He stopped abruptly and looked around. I had heard nothing, but I also whipped my head around in a flash of panic.

  They were on us. I tried to fight, but not only were the arms holding me more like stone than flesh, but the fabric of my clothing was being used to bind me all too effectively. I could not get enough room to tear my way out. In the struggle, my headscarf came down over my face. I could not see to know where to lash out, nor what to do next.

  But I could hear. Neplach fought like a whole army. There were sounds of blows, sounds of blades going through clothing and skin and bone, cries of pain and shock...and those sounds lasted a long, long time, while hope surged and then slowly died in me. There were just too many of them and only one of him, and despite his blood surging through me, too many of them held me down. I could not do anything to help him.

  Oh, I know I had no training, no weapons, but I found in myself a desire to inflict as much damage as I could upon a body: eyes, throat, soft places I could rip out or punch into, limbs to be bent the wrong way until they broke. At that moment, I knew I could do all of it; a longing to inflict violence such as I never knew before sang through me.

  And I could do nothing.

  I could do nothing but heave in frustration under the bodies piled upon me, holding me down, and scream until my voice was only a scratchy keen.

  After, they let me up. They didn’t set me free, nor remove the scarf from over my eyes. I was roughly tugged and shoved, I guessed around the cave, for it seemed a long walk outside. Then I could tell from sounds and smells that I was back at the front of the cave, and I could tell from the smell of him that the Mad Genie was by my side, and his hands were removing my scarf. Then there was too much light.

  Chapter Twenty

  Iblis’s mad metallic eyes peered into mine. I once would have shied away, but now I flashed all the violence I had discovered in myself right back at him. His eyes gleamed with the echoes of it, and a chilling smile flashed between his red mustaches and beard.

  “What is this, Naz hanım? Did we let you get too thirsty? Is my little scholar also a warrior at heart? Are you so eager to drain our enemies that you started without us? I see the hunger for battle is already awake within you. Could you not wait for me, tatlım?”

  “Ya Sultan! That is not how it was!” Bat-Bitch shoved between us urgently in her eagerness to narc me out. “She was planning to steal away with the infidel and bring news of our plans to your enemies. To betray us all! Ya Futuh, she has uncovered her true self to you! Now is the time to destroy this...sharmouta ghadira!”

  Iblis looked long at the Qarînah. He turned those glittering eyes to me and gave me the same treatment. I was pretty sure we females were both supposed to look down and be submissive, but our hatred of each other ensured neither of us was willing to look away at this vital moment. We were both pumped too full of adrenalin and animosity.

  Finally, the Mad Genie turned back to Bat-Bitch. “La. You are mistaken. She is ours, and we shall keep her. I can feel the fire in her and see the smokeless shimmer of heat that makes our natures clear. She is still new to our ways, but she will learn. We shall teach her. We shall teach her now.”

  I thought Bat-Bitch was going to argue, but she just deflated. Hah! Take that, you subjugated genie-bitch, I thought, but my victory was fleeting.

  I had forgotten Neplach. Even as his blood charged through my veins, I had forgotten him.

  Iblis moved away, and the jinn cleared a path...to Neplach, who was in bad, bad shape. All his limbs were at wrong angles, which upset the eyes. They had been staked down that way, so any speed-healing he could do would not yield him working arms or legs. He was sliced terribly: his black robes were nothing but bloody rags over skin carved down to bone, ribbons of flesh mingling with the black tatters. Even with any healing he had already managed, it did not look good. One eye was gone—one beautiful rainbow-brown eye was gone, and nothing but a red puckered eye socket remained—but the other eye, that beautiful and beloved eye, looked right at me, sending me a message to be strong.

  So I did not gasp. Honestly, I was too shocked and distraught to make a sound. I might have looked like I was calmly viewing the spectacle, but inside, I was thoroughly losing my shit.

  Iblis took my arm courteously. “Now, Naz hanım, I shall teach you how we kill infidels who would try to stop the people of the smokeless and scorching fire! In this, our hour of reclaiming our place above the base world of clay, no one, not even such a mighty elder, will hinder our triumph!”

  He continued in full tutor-mode, “To kill one of these creatures, en sevdiğim yeniçeri, one must be complete, for they will heal from all but the final annihilation. But, first, there is some good blood left in his clay, for all the taint of grave dust. I know you tried to drain him yourself, kadın savaşçım, but it is not easy to drain such as he. I have three who have earned his ancient blood for their own healing and their strength in the battle to come. Aşmedai bey, sadrazam! Sūt, oda-bashi! Danhaş, sanjak-bey!”

  Three jinn moved up in front of us, standing on the far side of my poor Neplach. He did not look at them. His remaining eye stayed on me, full of desperate message and meaning. My eyes traveled to the three behind him, however, and while they were obviously not staked down, they were not in much better shape. All had more than one cut too severe to have healed already. Indeed, despite however much blood they had drunk before the fighting began, all three were cut up pretty badly, including no left hand on the third one, and the first missing an ear along with an impressive chunk of scalp. And they were, well, limping. One had a very broken arm, which hung painfully and awkwardly at his side, bone sticking out of the front. My pride in Neplach knew no bounds.

  Iblis did not seem bothered that so many of his proud jinn warriors had been fucked up by one dusty infidel, however. He radiated commanderly pride and took time to praise each jinnī in turn, happily in a language I didn’t understand. I took the time to meet Neplach’s eye. Wordlessly, I understood him. He told me he knew it was his time. I must survive and get to Bagamil and Sandu as best I could. And he loved me, for he was my uncle-in-blood and I his dear niece. His blood had changed me forever and made us family for as long as I lived. That was another reason I mustn’t do anything stupid and endure what was to come.

  The person I had been would have wanted to do something profoundly stupid, but with Neplach’s blood in me, I could see how foolish and wasteful it would be. The core of me, which had previously been in discord and disarray, was now a small piece of stillness, which all the chaos of the world could not penetrate.

  Iblis had finally gotten through his speechifying. None too soon for anyone, but especially not for Aşmedai, Sūt, and Danhaş, who, after quick words of thanks—and in Danhaş’ case, a quick snap of his jutting arm bone back into place—lowered themselves with somewhat less than the usual supernatural grace around Neplach: one at his neck, one at his chest, and one twisting out Neplach’s thigh to get to the femoral. In unison, they threw themselves upon him, the one at the chest ripping with his nails to get under the clavicle. Neplach made not a sound but kept trying to look at me. I stepped to the side so I could see his face around the bodies of his killers. We looked at each other, and he told me things that sank into my heart without waiting for my conscious understanding, things that filled me with a strange awareness, not yet able to fully grasp the knowledge but feeling it on the tip of my mind.

  His eye dimmed. He was not dead, so the link between us was not broken. It was like he was asleep, unconscious, maybe comat
ose. The three stood back, licking their lips. His blood had healed them remarkably fast: no bone or exposed muscle remained to be seen, limbs back in their right alignment, strong and sure, and skin unblemished in the too-bright morning light pouring into the cave.

  I must have made some movement or sound because the Mad Genie broke in upon my thoughts. “Ah, but this was the first step only, Naz hanım. Still the infidel could rise from the dust. We must complete what we started with the fire which is our nature and our best weapon. But first—” he gestured to a healed jinnī, “Aşmedai sadrazam, lütfen.”

  Aşmedai pulled a curved saber from his belt, and then Neplach’s head was no longer attached to his body. It rolled to the side, and his eye no longer looked at me. The connection—our connection—being severed was more shocking and violent than the act.

  The head was taken away, although I didn’t see where. I didn’t care where. It wasn’t Neplach, not anymore. They brought Iblis a flamethrower, which apparently was what those weapony-looking things had been. He pulled it on like a backpack and fastened a strap around his waist. He took out the nozzle bit and pressed down on one part, then pressed down on another. A jet of flame shot out at the body that was not Neplach, and the jinn cheered as it burst into flame along its whole length. The harsh reek of the gasoline brought me closer to tears than anything which had come before. The flames rushed as if I were watching them in fast-forward, and the Mad Genie made more inspirational proclamations to his gang. Whether they were in English, Turkish, Arabic, or Martian, I did not know. I watched the flames morph blue, white, and orange as the skin charred. The fire seemed then to find a fuel source within the body and the flames settled into a steady burn, desiccating, shrinking, darkening the flesh such that the fire seemed almost to be mummifying him. After a long while, everyone watching in silence, the flames were little yellow licks along a greasy-looking skeleton. Finally, there was just a somewhat human-shaped pile of smoking charcoal and ash.