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Eli said, “I will—”
“No.” Iggy interrupted. “Geneviève. It will giveherthe power over me since she’ll know what I most want. That balanced the power she is offering to givemeby entering into our binding.”
No one spoke for several moments. He was right. That didn’t make the situation any less awkward.
“I accept your offer, Ignatius David Blackwood.” I felt as if I had fallen into Iggy’s mind as I spoke. It wasn’t the tangle that Chester’s had been, but it was crowded. So much knowledge, so many things he wanted to teach me, so many things he was certain I could master better than anyone other than Beatrice.
A stray thought that he had wanted me both for my power and for my resemblance to Beatrice drifted to the top, but I ignore that.
“I will accept an apprentice bond with you, Ignatius David Blackwood, if you agree in return to only protect me in ways that I agree to aftercleardiscussionand do nothing to impinge upon my vow with my husband.” I stared at Iggy, not at my grandmother or my spouse, as I marveled at the fact that what he wanted most was a worthy pupil, a student who would become a receptacle of the knowledge he had amassed.
“I accept your bargain, Geneviève of Crowe.” Iggy smiled. “My apprentice.”
“So mote it be,” I said.
And that was that. Ignatius David Blackwood was my teacher officially and traditionally. All that was left was sealing that bond with a blood offering from him to me. With that blood, I would be safe from the urge to hurl myself to death—because he would be able to stop me at his word.
14
ELI
Eli watched his wife weigh and measure another man’s greatest desires. It wasn’t the single most difficult thing he’d done, but it wasn’t anywhere in the vicinity of easy. Geneviève’s fidelity was not a worry. He trusted her, but he trusted Ignatius Blackwood very little.
As every faery knew, a faery bargain was wrought of a knowledge of the human’s greatest desire and a clever twist of words. Eli was certain that Iggy had the arrogance that most people did. He thought he would outwit the faery. That hubris was as inevitable as anything could be. No one entered into a bargain that was not advantageous unless it was out of love.
So far Blackwood—who had died in the 1800s—had managed to be summoned from the grave and brought to life. Both events were achieved by manipulating Geneviève. For all that she was a capable fighter, she forgave easily.
“I am not bound by any vows or bargains other than the ones I have made to Geneviève.” Eli stared at Iggy, not quite threatening him, but not taking it off the table either.
The group stood alongside a soggy, green patch of road not far from the spot where there was no “side of the road.” What needed to happen next was going to be awkward, and they needed no human witnesses to it.
Orkney wasn’t bustling with traffic yet. It would be soon. Even for a low-population series of islands, Orkney got busy, especially in the summer. By end of summer, there was a musical festival—a global music gathering where opera, symphony, and more could be enjoyed. There would be no lodging left anywhere on the island by then. Even though Eli hadn’t been there in years, he remembered that detail. He’d popped over to hear the music, and then opened a passageway toElphameto leave.
“Shall we?” Iggy asked Geneviève.
She frowned. “That’s all there is to a vow, Iggy. No handshakes or contracts to sign. It’s magic.”
Iggy laughed. “Miss Crowe, your lack of knowledge is going to land you into more trouble that anyone needs. Impulsivity and ignorance are a dangerous set of twins.”
Geneviève looked at Eli in confusion.
He wasn’t the one to answer, though. Beatrice’s voice cut into the tense silence: “You need to drink his blood for a blood vow, and he’ll take a swallow of yours.”
Iggy stepped forward, tilted his head to offer Geneviève his throat, and Eli had to intervene. “No.”
“Vow,” Iggy said.
“Wrist.” Eli pointed at the man’s arm. “Roll up your sleeve.”
“And get blood on my suit coat . . .?” His tone was light, but he shed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. “Fine.”
Geneviève looked at Eli, a question in her eyes. He caught Iggy’s hand and lifted his arm so that the wrist was held toward her mouth. She wasn’t completely at ease with her fangs, but if she was going to do this, a wrist bite was easier for her than the intimacy of a throat.
Iggy visibly flinched as Geneviève latched onto his wrist, piercing his skin, and drawing a long swallow of the Hexen Master’s blood. She drank more than she technically needed, but no one there was going to argue.
When Geneviève stepped back, she pulled a blade and dashed it over her wrist. She held out her arm, exposing a small cut, but Beatrice shoved an empty travel mug forward. “Use this.”
“Bea,really?” Iggy flashed eyes at her, though, as if he was flattered by what looked like possessiveness.
