Legends of Astræa: Cupid's Arrow Book 1 (Legends of Astræa Series) Read online

  I avoided her claws but not her gleeful words. Maybe it was time to finish this, once and for all. But that would mean to kill someone I knew my entire life. Someone who had been part of something good. Whether she was mean or not, she had been there for me when I was just a small child. Gavril and Émil had made the point of precluding me from killing another being. Francis and I still couldn’t fully understand the main reason. But the truth was that I couldn’t kill her more than I couldn’t hate her for her meanness. It wasn’t me.

  Ghouls and warlocks were a different story, they were evil. I sighed. Ash was evil incarnate, and undefeatable since he was a supernal being—a real immortal. However, I wasn’t going to let him go without squaring Mother Clarisse’s murder first. It was a doomed situation—I knew it. I was just trying to save Gavril, the queen, and everyone else at St. Mary’s. Sister Agatha’s gaze was on Tiffany.

  “The only evil thing here is you. You evil witch.” I drew her hateful attention back to me. Tiffany had not a chance to survive her, whatever her attack was like. I didn’t know, and that had all of us in nerve-wracking wait. I prepared for the blow as we danced in circles with each other.

  “For God’s sake,” Raphael screamed inside my head.

  What? I asked him.

  Stop dancing around and whack her clean, Raphael chastised, cutting flesh with his scary claws when the warlock sought the opportunity to come closer to me.

  Sister Agatha’s gaze turned to Raphael with hateful scorn and shot him something invisible too. Suddenly, something that looked like roots coming from the earth had taken hold of his legs. Without thinking, I stepped closer to him and cut the thick wooden shackles. However, it wasn’t necessary. I made a one-eighty turn and faced the battle.

  “What are you doing?” Raphael’s booming voice snarled at me, offended a girl was protecting him. A girl he disliked. His claws had cut through it just as easily.

  The warlock blasted both of us at that exact moment, launching Raphael and me to the ground. Gratefully, the shield had semi-protected both of us, but it, too, was getting weak. It couldn’t pick the worst timing possible to do so. Crap.

  “You are weak, and you cannot stop it, little bird,” she cackled again. She was smelling my weakness. Great.

  I made a one-eighty turn and faced her in battle, while Raphael’s determinate pride made him stand and war cry back into battle.

  “And you don’t even realize you are trapped, little bird.” She continued her scary speech along with her hair-raising cackles. Lies. It had to be lies…

  The longer I stood there, the more I realized there was some truth to her words. Crap. I inhaled and stepped forward. Crap. Whoever she had been, she was now the enemy.

  She has no soul anymore, Raphael reminded me as he came into close contact with the warlock.

  Sister Agatha cackled again. The back of my neck prickled, and I had the jitter-creepers all over. I still felt that if I could talk to her, maybe I could save her. This was all Ash’s fault.

  She cannot hear reason anymore, Raphael insisted, acknowledging that I was in trouble.

  “Look at yourself. You are the weak one. You lost your soul,” I told her. “You can change that. I can help you.”

  Are you planning to kill her with words? Raphael shook his head. While his brothers were holding back two of the warlocks, the other two had passed their line of defense, leaving Tricia and Tiffany unprotected. Crap.

  “He wants you. He has been waiting for you. I will bring you to him,” she said. “He” being Ash. Crap.

  At least I could negotiate Gavril’s and the queen’s lives. No. No. No. I had to stop this. This was wrong. I didn’t come to be defeated by her. I inhaled for courage.

  “You will have to kill me first,” I said, launching myself in a series of sword maneuvers. It wasn’t like I wanted to impress her, but I still didn’t want to hurt her, so I stayed back in the sidelines like a bull fighter avoiding the bull. I was hoping to establish some sort of reasoning with her. She cackled some more. Was it mandatory for hags to cackle? Ugh. I truly hated her ear-piercing cackles and her wrapping and lancinating roots with thorns growing right under my feet. I had to move faster than those things, as I slashed through them.

  “Nothing would make me happier, but you see…” She paused, scratching her scabies on her balding head. “He promised me your beauty if I bring your soul to him,” she said, pointing her claw at me.

  Are you crazy? She will take more than that, I promise you, he said prognostically.

  The girls were having a battle of their own against a marching warlock. They were not shy at waving their brass candle holders against them. They divided themselves. While Tiffany charged face front, Trish hit the warlock on his backside, winning his reaction. She was thrusted against the chapel’s wall with one blast. We all gasped, but she lifted her hand to signal us she was shaken but safe. Unfortunately, that left Tiffany on her own. Raphael was right, I was wasting precious time for everyone.

  “Wishing that that you cannot have is a capital sin,” I pointed out, wondering if there was still some of that Christian understanding in her. I twisted my swords expertly to cut the creeping roots breaking through the ground. I could have taken her head off twice now, but I hadn’t.

  Raphael rolled his eyes as he and his brothers divided. They took over the levitating warlock who was a pesky menace with his blasting power. She cackled again. It was really getting on my nerves.

  Fight to win or die, Raphael commanded, switching with his brother to help Tiffany battling the warlock, who was just toying with her human limitations.

  How fast things got so complicated. I thought I was going to face Ash alone. I never thought I had to kill someone I knew so well. This was not easy for me. I wished I was the one fighting the warlocks and not Sister Agatha. Sadly, it wasn’t a choice.

  Tricia was back in the battle, distracting the warlock on the opposite side, while Raphael took advantage of this, avoiding the warlock’s blasts. Once again, in one swoop, Raphael’s lethal sharp claws took off the warlock’s arms to stop him from blasting the girls.

  The last warlock standing, whose intense glowing green gaze was for me, didn’t have a prayer. Once again, he had to get through the werewolves before he could reach me or the girls. The one with that opportunity was Sister Agatha who was already appointed to my area.

  The sound of the last warlock being defeated, along with the gurgling, bloody body limbs being thrown in all directions was distracting enough. Although the warlocks had been strong and cunning, the werewolves were too good at deflecting those blasts. Apparently, I had underestimated the strength of the werewolves. They had decimated the last warlock.

  “This is your last chance to save your soul, Sister,” I warned her as I cut more of the roots that kept looking to imprison my legs and ran to meet her. I forwent my vertigo; the time had come. I had to be strong and kill her. That was so wrong. Crap. Crap. Crap.

  “I will enjoy torturing you forever.” Sister Agatha launched herself on me. The impact made us roll onto the floor where more roots sprouted and held my arms and legs. I was doomed. The shield wasn’t as strong as before. She cackled in triumph. Crap.

  A little later than I’d expected, her hands began to burn with flames where her claws had tried to grab and hurt me. The little golden power that was left had come through. No. No. No.

  She uttered a shrill cry, staring with utter disbelief at her flaming hands, as she burned just like the ghouls and warlocks before. The creeping roots let go of me and disappeared back into the earth. I crawled backward like a crab and moved away from her combusting body, but it was too late. She had gone too far. She was now a crumbly pile of ashes getting wet with heavy drizzle.

  I tried avoiding this, I told myself, yet I felt the great loss.

  Raphael looked at me and the pile of ashes with speculation. A long moment of silence lingered between us.

  The werewolves, Tiffany, and Tricia witnessed the power of t
he golden arrow silently. After that, they all seemed to reconsider approaching me or even touching me. My eyes blurred, and not from the rain alone. I fell on my knees on the wet ground right next to what had been Sister Agatha and crossed my heart.

  “Merciful Lord, grant them rest. Amen.” I prayed for her soul and those of the warlocks. I retrieved my swords from the ground and placed them into the leather sleek holsters on my back.

  It was time to get Gavril. I regained control over my shaky legs and stood firmly on the slick mud. I felt particularly more affected than I ever thought possible. I blamed it on the shock of killing Sister Agatha, but it had to be something more than that.

  I was seriously weakening—fast.

  Chapter 54

  “Not so Fast,” Count Sans-Culottes said. All right, I was running out of words to rhyme, and frankly it wasn’t funny to see him again.

  The rain was still heavy on us as the Count strode in his raincoat, holding a tortoiseshell handle umbrella. I prayed it was plastic that looked like a turtle shell. Four other royal guards followed him like puppies. I recognized two I’d never liked from the palace. They had been the ones dragging poor Émil after torture.

  Tricia and Tiffany growled at the sight of him. I guess they also didn’t like him. Well, we had that in common now. The Count didn’t look too good. In fact, he looked worn and exhausted. I wondered if this was one of the side effects of losing one’s Draugr. But I had seen Émil spiritually conquering his loss and his great sacrifice for me, something I couldn’t see the Count ever doing. Even though I wanted to feel pity for the Count, I couldn’t. Not really. I wondered if he realized at this point that Ash had crushed Masha to death.

  “I gather you aren’t scabophobic or friar fanatic.” I reproached him for his association with Sister Agatha and the warlocks. My sarcasm was fully functioning, despite my sickly weakness. The wolves snarled back at the guards who were unusually wearing twentieth-first century civilian clothing. Just like the Count with raincoats and regular men’s clothing but sans the umbrella.

  The guards had taken positions to defend from the werewolves. I smiled at the fact that Tiffany and Tricia were not holding back against them.

  Enemy?

  Yup. And he is the one holding your brother, I kindly informed him.

  He snarled.

  “Miss Pearson, I should have known you made more alliances with soulless werewolves. You are nothing but a rotten apple among our kind,” he said, heedful of Raphael’s appearance.

  What was it with the world?

  Did my outfit have my name printed on it or something?

  Another fan of yours I see. Raphael’s sarcastic quips kept coming, but the Count wasn’t done yet with his demeaning rant.

  “Your father’s bloodline is cursed and evil. The crown will be tarnished with your bloodline. I will never allow it,” he said. Yadda-yadda-yadda, so he and the primordials claimed. Another twisted sheep in Asmodeus’s flock.

  “I don’t know you, but I already don’t like you,” Raphael said aloud to him.

  I thought you didn’t like Strzyga. Period, I said.

  He arched his eyebrow back at me.

  “Speaking of evil, have you checked yourself in front of the mirror lately?” I retaliated his insulting rude remark against my family, angry sarcasm flowing freely out of my mouth like the swords in my hands.

  “A battle of words you will not win, Miss Pearson,” Count Raniform-ish pointed an antique gun at Raphael.

  Seven wolves’ snarling growls threatened the Count and the guards.

  “Then let my swords do the talking,” I said, preparing to battle, but Raphael held me back with his large hand over my chest.

  Not worth it. We need to get to free Gavril first, he reminded me.

  “As much as I would love to teach you a lesson, Lord Aurous wishes to have a word with you at the academy,” Count Rampallion said. Of course, he would. Ugh. So Ash was there, waiting for me.

  “Tell him to give me a jingle or to look for me on Facebook.” More gutsy sarcasm poured from my mouth, and his blank stare made me babble more. “Uh, Twitter, Pinterest, Instagram, instant messaging? Email?”

  His face was comical. He had no idea what I was talking about. Raphael rolled his eyes, amused at my babbling.

  “Tarbelli never taught you any respect. Maybe I can convince you about the seriousness of the situation. Your friend and the queen await you. He waved the gun casually, still aiming at Raphael.

  “Silver bullets,” he mustered with an evil smirk, relishing on Raphael’s locked angry jaw that paled at the sight. So myths sometimes had truth in them. Crap. Why was I always the last to know these things? “That’s right. Your worst fear,” the Count said.

  Crap. I felt nauseated at the entire situation. Ugh. I had to think of the Sisters and the girls at the academy first. Then, I had to bargain for Gavril and the queen’s lives. Not my first choice. Crap.

  “Tell your hellhounds to move away. Shall we?” Count I’m-too-stupid-to-count said, inviting me to follow him and insulting Raphael and all the werewolves on the island.

  Just like Francis and Émil, the werewolves had more courage and soul than anyone I had ever met. And in mythology, hellhounds were loyal protectors. They were also the protectors of the gate—Hell’s gate, that is. Crap. I realized what Gavril and his brothers were really protecting, and it wasn’t exactly me. Although I was a component, they were making sure the gate remained closed. What would happen if I would pose a threat? I trembled at the thought.

  However, the Count was outnumbered, even with a silver-bullet gun. Raphael raised his chin, set his broad shoulders back, and smirked back at the Count with certain pride in his face. The Count’s flinty gaze was all of a sudden occupied counting the wolves until his eyes opened wide, probably coming to the same conclusion we had. His face went red, and his jaw ground his teeth tight. He stood straighter with a false bravado.

  “Call them that again, and I will fix your jaw,” I warned him.

  His guards stepped back. Some protection they were—not. The cowards had seen me take down their old boss, poor old Reginald. The Count looked at his guards with utter despise and slapped the one closest to him in retaliation while still aiming at Raphael with his finger ready to fire silver bullets.

  Despicable. Raphael raised his hand in a universal sign to stop his brothers from tearing apart the Fur-Phobic Count. Gratefully, his pea-brained anger had no limits and using his brief distraction, I had stepped close enough to him.

  This was the right time to start channeling Sun-Zi, or at the very least some of Francis’s teachings, but I didn’t. My fist traveled without my permission and landed on his jaw, forcing him to lose the gun as I knocked him down. Raphael gasped in surprise at my action. The closest werewolf took off with the gun in his mouth. God, I’d really, really wanted to do that since I met him. I stretched my hand and arm inside Émil’s armor, feeling grateful the armor had empowered my arm since I had no battery left in me. Was there an expiration date on the golden shield? Crap. Why now?

  Count I-knocked-you-down hissed back at me like a Strzyga, fangs and all. All in all, it was sort of a pathetic puss hiss. Real scary—nuh. Not after fighting sister Agatha and the warlocks.

  The girls gasped and stepped back, holding their brass candelabra high. Well, I guess Strzyga could be quite intimidating to humans.

  “I could have done that,” Raphael complained, smiling with his long teeth protruding from his werewolf face.

  “I know,” I said, looking mighty over the Count’s royally screwed-up minions. They were somewhat scrambling to help the Count from the muddy ground. Count I-hiss-like-a-puss ground his teeth and shook himself off, angry from his minions’ helping hands.

  “You will pay for that,” Count Fancy-pants threatened, brushing the mud from his new suit. I smirked. He was a big, vain loser.

  “Is this the right time when I intervene, or do you want to keep making him your bitch,” Raphael asked m
e.

  “Nuh, keep the girls safe. If you don’t hear from me in the morning, take them first thing to the ferry,” I told him, both of us ignoring the Counts blah-blah-blah threats.

  “You want to handle this on your own?” He sounded somewhat surprised and estranged by such a decision.

  Well, he has Gavril and the queen, and technically I have a very slim chance to survive. So I will be the perfect distraction while you and your brothers rescue the girls, the Sisters, the queen, and Gavril, I told him telepathically, hoping to keep a private conversation with him. I wasn’t going to give away my plan to the Count … whatever that plan was. Which of course, I had none. I wasn’t counting on all these unpredictables. Crap.

  I’ll come with you. My brothers will take care of the girls, he said.

  No, I will not let someone else be harmed for me, I warned him.

  You’ll need my help. Gavril wouldn’t leave without the anemic-poser queen of the damned before, and I am sure he won’t leave you either, nor is he answering my call, he paused. That was not good news. I had a very bad feeling in my gut. My brothers will create a distraction for us, Raphael said. Crap.

  Fine, let’s do both things, I said. We had no time left to waste.

  “The wolves will take the girls and go,” I commanded.

  The guards pulled their small daggers out. I snorted at the size of their weapons.

  “I don’t think you would like to fight us with that. So unless you have more silver bullets?”

  The Count’s minions exchanged glances among them. “I didn’t think so.” I shook my head.

  “Oh, I will enjoy your pain and your torture,” Count Rebarbative hissed.

  “What about everyone else at the convent?” Tricia asked, ignoring the Count’s hatred.

  I watched Raphael nod to his brothers.

  “Anyone in the chapel will go with you for now.” Raphael sighed. “We’ll find a way to free them. I promise.”