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Reese and I both look at each other, because we heard the same thing about how Roslyn truly escaped.
“What?” Chaz prompts. “What did she see?”
“Yeah,” I tell him, still confused. “They sent her after a blood-starved night stalker. But it wasn’t one.”
“Who sent her after that?” Kimber asks.
“Not important,” Chaz interrupts. “What did the thing look like? Gray? Ashen, maybe? Violent?”
How the fuck?
“Yeah, except it freed her instead of killing her. She said it killed ten of their best men, though. Can’t say I’d blame it after what they did. Why?”
“It freed her? That means she’s important to it—kindred. Probably because she feeds on immortal blood. Did she kill it?”
“No she didn’t kill it. She was just set free after two years of captivity. She ran. What’s with the twenty questions? What is this thing?”
He sits down, groaning as he scrubs two hands over his face, and suddenly a book appears, minus all his usual gold dust.
“The first night stalker.”
Dice starts laughing, but when no one joins him, his laughter tapers off.
“We talking Dracula?” he asks, amused.
“This isn’t a joke, Dice,” Chaz grumbles, turning the book to a particular page. “The first of all magic was never truly destroyed. They were too powerful to die. But they were drained, and vials of their blood were spread around the world, because the blood kept trying to seek out its host’s body. After a few centuries, the bodies decayed and turned to dust without their blood. Centuries. It took centuries to kill them. But the blood was never recovered because of all the spells they used to keep it buried.”
“Okay, you lost me at first vampire and first magic,” Karma interjects.
“He’s talking about myths of origins,” I say while sitting down. “No one really knows where we’re from. Magic is magic for a reason.”
“It’s not myths,” Chaz goes on. “Lokies split the dimensions, managing to travel around and create magic in more than just the one dimension it was meant for.”
“Lokies?” Zee asks, snorting out a laugh. “As in Norse God of mischief? We’re supposed to believe this? That’s a human thing.”
“Yeah. And vampires burn in the sun or die from a wooden stake to the heart? Or werewolves only shift on a full moon. Humans know the fabled versions of us, jackass.”
Zee clears his throat, sitting a little straighter. “Point taken.”
“Lokies weren’t gods of anything. They were a nation of mischievous beings, and they loved the taste of blood even though they didn’t need it, which is why they brought magic to planes that weren’t meant for magic, and why so many of us were created with the same thirst for blood.
“They created the firsts… The first night stalker. The first werewolf. The first changer. The first black widow… You get the point. There was a large circle of firsts, and the bitten fey were the strongest, because they could reproduce right away.”
“Now the bitten fey are almost frowned upon,” Reese points out; albeit he sounds a little bitter.
“For centuries, the bitten fey were supreme. And the firsts were vicious. Most of their stories predate our archives for magic details. Not too many people wanted anyone to know of the firsts or their demise, because the solution wasn’t permanent. It was said that if the blood was ever discovered, life could be restored if an appropriate vessel was found. In other words, if they find those with lineage to the firsts, they can recreate the first circle.”
Motherfucking lunatics and their bizarre, dramatic schemes.
“Why would they possibly want this?” I ask, trying to keep up with the crazy train.
“Because if they revive the first circle, they can repair the bridge to other dimensions that was trashed so long ago. If the dimensions can be reopened, there’s no telling what sort of power someone could conjure. This isn’t something small. This is apocalyptic madness I’m talking about.”
Dice holds his hand up as we all reel from the crazy bomb.
“So you’re saying they find some red glowing blood, a vessel or whatever, and suddenly poof? We’re all fucked? And if Lokies are real, where are they?”
Karma walks away, running her hand over her arm, over her slave marks. I watch her, curious.
