Beloved: Trial of Seventh Blood

By Jessy Jace

What would you do for a friend? My name is Malcom Chang, my two friends and I are about to voluntarily walk into the Scary Cave of Death in an all or nothing, winner takes all, attempt to right more than one wrong in the unseen world of magic. Beloved of Xavier wants her old life back after seven years. Heather wants her husband back. Me? I want sweet old revenge, but first we have twenty-four hours to survive the oldest, deadliest challenge the magic world has. We have one shot and we are gambling everything that Beloved can survive the Trial of Seventh Blood.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jessy Jace
• Release date: Feb 9, 2018
• ISBN: 9781370000029

Jessy Jace

I always liked to hear stories. At family reunions I lingered around the adults waiting for the storytelling to begin. I drove my grandmother crazy, because it is hard to tell the good stories when there is a child refusing to go play with the other kids. At Shoreline Community College I studied under Professor Carol Orlock, who inspired me to consider writing as a major and the glory of Rule #13. Eventually, I was introduced to her husband, Professor Jack Cady, who taught me about Rule #14. After my A.A., I transferred to the UW in Seattle where I was extremely lucky to study under Dr. Charles Johnson who taught me to Rule #15. I truly hope you enjoy the adventures of Malcolm, Beloved and Heather, plus friends.

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Beloved: Trial of Seventh Blood

Jessy Jace

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2018 by Jessy Jace

All Rights Reserved.

For My Alex & MumFig…

Wa-Do

CHAPTER ONE

Life Lesson 134: Never volunteer yourself in the hair brained schemes of vampires – like ever!

Malcolm knew his Monday was going to suck at near biblical proportions when the Boss Man’s first bright idea of the night was to literally, not figuratively, throw him like a bowling ball into the middle of a coven of angry Sea Hags!

Malcolm Chang knew his bad day or rather night would be one for the record books when the only available ground cover from the fireballs that the ladies down below were lobbing at him happened to be a large clump of bunchberry flowers or the miscellaneous triangle shaped headstones of century old dead vampires randomly scattered about. So the plants he had been sent to gather reached up to his mid shin, maybe. With zero time to discuss any alternative options, Malcolm’s top two bosses, Pascal and Remy, whose brilliant idea of flying him to an abandoned graveyard in an old parachute harness, decided to more or less fling him forward and down towards the women as if he were a living bowling ball.

Mal’s evening got worse when he landed with too much speed, his tuck and roll did not go as smoothly as he needed it to when he hit the ground. He did feel a millisecond of pride as he realized he did knock down at least half the magic users. Yeah, that lasted briefly as someone racket him in the groin with a heavy wooden staff (it felt like concrete) and someone else managed to smack him soundly in the head with a lavishly decorated beaded herb bag. Add in the factor that the women destroyed numerous bunchberry flowers, the whole reason they flew out here, and the half dozen or so vampire grave markers, Malcolm wanted to rewind the clock, crawl back into bed, pull the warm, comfy covers over his head and pretend it was already Friday. No such luck. And all before he had managed to have a single cup of green tea! The number one rule in life! Never ever, under any circumstances, never start any adventure without first partaking in a lovely cup of tea! There needed to be labor laws against this type of employee abuse. What was a Vampire Tracker to do?

Malcolm used the extra momentum to fling himself first through the Sea Hags and then secondly to continue rolling until he slid more of less down behind them, down into a small gully in the landscape as more fireballs, curses, and hexes rained down around him. He landed wrong on his right leg, wrenching the knee painfully and for a few seconds he thought he had broken his ankle for the third time in his life. When the sharp, lightning flash of pain hit his brain, it registered as pure molten agony, not the numbed out broken feeling that only comes from a bone break. He sucked air through clinched teeth as the swearing above him erupted in multiple languages from various different people. It took him several moments to decide which injury hurt worst of all. It took a couple of seconds to become utterly convinced his days of sex might be over. He sucked in breath sharply as he waited for the pain to recede and for his best friend and the neighbors to speak kindly to him again. Apparently, that would not be happening any time soon.

Though, being generally a smart man and clearly the only human at this shindig, Malcolm kept his head down, thinking that this was obviously a problem for management to sort out, particularly as both Pascal and Remy were quasi -vampires, and thus less fragile.

Lady Agatha? Is that truly you? he heard Remy call out.

Long moments of silence followed before a crystal-clear voice rang out, Grand Commander Remy D’Arcy? Know thee that if you present false the real D’Arcy will smite thee. Who comes to this place with thee? the lady in question demanded.

Malcolm needed a few moments to translate that into modern English himself, leaving him to snicker quietly. While he had only been working with or for the two Knight Templars these past five years, he knew that pomp and circumstance behavior drove Pascal crazy and right on cue, the senior of the two vampires spoke up.

Lady Agatha. It’s us. You know us both and well I might add. Though if true be told, I do believe you know Remy better. I seem to recall having to track you both down to a lovely 18th century chateau when World War I broke out. What was the name of that place again, Rems?

That announcement caused everyone to shut up fast. Malcolm even risked popping his head up over the berm. Remy? His Remy? Rems and someone named Lady Agatha getting jiggy? For real? Whoa! After many a sauced night of booze and Mah Jongg, Malcolm thought he knew most of the juicier stories his centuries old bosses, but no one ever mentioned scampering off with a Sea Hag on the eve of World War I breaking out! To his amazement, Malcolm saw that at least a half dozen women stood in a semi -circle around a newly blazing bonfire as they faced off against Pascal and Remy, who stood blushing bright red. The men had their hands up palms out, but the ladies clearly did not care until Lady Agatha vouched for them.

It was the Chateau De Couin. It still stands. It has amazing food and the best wine. Agatha stated flatly as Remy continued to blush scarlet, And that is neither here nor there. What are you doing here?

Were just helping a helping a friend. That is all. We are not burying neither a body nor ashes this night.

The Hu-Man-Ick hiding in the gully? a new voice asked.

Malcolm popped his head up like a prairie dog living in the wheat fields of Kansas.

Excuse me? Malcolm demanded as civilly as he could manage under the circumstances, Hey, you were the ones throwing the fireballs around here! I just came to pick bunchberries! In the middle of the night!

Silence Mortal! Agatha barked at him.

He so wanted to say something right that very second, but it would most likely shorten his aforementioned life span by decades. In frustration, he sunk back down into his prairie dog hole muttering under his breath. He felt like a child banished to the kiddie table at Thanksgiving, so the adults could talk about grownup stuff. The fact that he was ten years older than the other children seemed irrelevant at the moment.

Nursing various bruises, Malcolm sat down in the dirt to access his injuries. Fortunately, nothing appeared broken. By tomorrow he would be one giant, cranky bruise, his ego included.

He crawled to his feet. What little firelight reached him from the berm above him helped him find a tree to lean up again, while he waited for the pleasantries to conclude. Getting out of the cold dirt, would keep his muscles warm enough that should hostilities brake out again he would be able to move faster than sitting on cold dirt sulking, he preferred doing his sulking standing up, thank you very much.

What he would not give for a cup of jasmine tea at the moment! He yawned. He was a night owl by nature, but this predawn nonsense was for the birds or the vampires or the sort of vampires. Remy and Pascal, while technically vampires, actually were fallen Templars each dating back to the early 13th century. Legend had it that Pascal blackmailed a vampire into rescuing a group of the knights in Jaffa as the Order fell. No longer Templars, the disgraced soldiers formed a new Order known as the Blood Star Knights. They policed their own kind in North and South America, which is how Malcolm got hired by them. They ran the vampire courts and he tracked down those rogue vampires who failed to play by the established laws and he tracked them down for the bounty.

He crawled to his feet. What little firelight reached him from the berm above him helped him find a tree to lean up again, while he waited for the pleasantries to conclude. Getting out of the cold dirt, would keep his muscles warm enough that should hostilities brake out again he would be able to move faster than sitting on cold dirt sulking, he preferred doing his sulking standing up, thank you very much.

Apparently, Pascal had been at sea sailing from Jerusalem to Brest, France when King Phillip betrayed them. From what little the two had been willing to talk about the fall of the Templar Knights it left Malcolm thinking that Pascal barely made it in time to save Remy from a public execution and he still did not know if they had been gifted with their Vampyric Issues before or after. Malcolm pretty much had to get them fall-down, drooling on the carpet drunk in order to get any information pre-1642 A.D. out of either of them.

Pascal called his name again. This time Malcolm shook himself to force himself to focus again on why he was standing against a tree in the middle of nowhere. He currently did not know what county he stood in, other than it simply had to be in the Pacific Northwest, because the ever-present mist and drizzle of Seattle had seemingly followed them to a vampire graveyard.

Malcolm? Are you okay? Pascal asked with a concerned look on his face.

Not completely trusting his voice Mal nodded once and stuck his hand out for Pascal to grab. Without intending to, Pascal lifted him straight up and out of the ditch with seemingly no real effort. For a crazy second Malcolm wanted to hug his maple tree goodbye, but he recognized his PTSD for what it was and once his feet touched the ground he walked forward only to be cut off by Remy.

The ladies are going to leave. They have what they need. That and they really do not want to be here with us. One of them though, wishes to speak with you before she leaves. Remy warmed him with a light hand on his chest.

Before Malcolm could say anything the alarm on his watch went off. Glancing at it, Malcolm saw that it had automatically begun to count down from fifteen minutes. The traditionally annoying unending beeping began to blare loudly. Without looking at it, Malcolm hit the snooze button.

Fifteen minutes. Is that enough time for you to get back to civilization? You are going to have to leave me here for the day. But I don’t think you can quick step it back to the hotel. Malcolm asked changing the subject deliberately.

We’ll manage, but right now I, we need to know if you are willing to meet with one of Sea Hags. She remembers you…from that night. She was part of the Australian rescue team. So are you okay with that? Remy asked as gently as possible.

Irony sucked raw eggs sometimes in life. Here he stood in a ditch trying his damnedest to not remember and now someone wanted to talk to him about it. Malcolm swallowed hard, he would rather eat a barrel of nails and barbed wire before talking about this. Ten years later and he still barely kept it together whenever the subject came up. Mal wiped his hands down the front of his black pants. What was he supposed to say, Hi, so we met on the worst day of my life? How the hell ya been?

He stared long and hard at Remy, trying to sort through his emotions quickly which cranked the anxiety back into overdrive. Great. Fabulous. He really did not want to deal with all this so close to sunrise, but he needed to do something or watch his friends get mortally injured. So like a well-intended jerk he nodded. How bad could it be? Glancing down at this wrist watch, he nodded once, but still said, Yeah, but only after we take care of you two. Non-negotiable, Remy. Non-negotiable. Did you tell her I don’t remember a lot of that time? Severe concussion and all that. He stated plainly, already he could feel his anxiety level begin to rise.

Malcolm was in trouble when Remy’s nose flared telling him that his bosses knew he was anything but fine. Mentally he crossed his fingers that the Sea Hag had been one of the nurse types who had saved as many as they could, but they had been unable to save them all. Hell, considering that he knew he was in trouble when it began to rain blood. It dripped off of every leaf, branch, and remaining human equally. Before his brain could go down that rabbit hole, he began counting to twenty in Mandarin just to give his mind something else to focus on.

Before a deep conversation could break out another alarm went off on his watch, this time a bell clanging, the kind one hears at the close of the New York Exchange, subtle it was not. Malcolm glanced at it hit the timer, looked up at his bosses. They were worried about him, but he would not be the one to suffer a second to third degree burn in less than ten minutes.

I’ll talk. I’ll live. If it gets bad, I will drink and get over it. You two are the ones who need to deal with the here and now. Move! he barked at them, with a part of his mind that no human should be yelling commands at century old beings while still having a pulse. Things usually ended badly for the human.

Remy nodded once then stepped away to speak to the few Sea Hags still shuffling through their portal to Australia. Malcolm took a deep breath, centered himself, and shoved the anxiety and adrenaline burn aside. He felt the whirlwind in his head begin to spin sharply. He focused, meditating on calm and struggling to find his Zen.

With a deep exhale Remy spoke, Lady Agatha this is Malcolm Chang. Malcolm Change, this is Lady Agatha Weaver from just outside of Melbourne. Milady, if you will excuse our rudeness we must be going soon. Pascal gave a short bow.

Malcolm looked up prepared to be a perfect gentleman. His mother, grandmother, and all his Aunties raised him right and he had no intention of shaming their efforts by being rude to an actual noble woman.

All his good intentions lasted less than a half second when she turned around. The past slammed into Malcolm harder than if he had been struck by a Japanese Bullet Train. He knew this person! He remembered waking up to her face! She held his hand while he watched his beloved slip away. She paced the dirt floors with him when it looked like Connor would not make it either.

The only thing he could get out of his constricted throat, You!

To his dying day he would never admit how close he came to blacking out at that exact moment. His PTSD took off faster than a Tesla X. Zero to full on anxiety attach in less than three full seconds. He detached from his body as the horror from the Bo Ving Massacre flooded his mind. The adrenaline surge through his veins burning a fiery path from his finger tips to his shoulders. His back locked up. The smell of all that blood dripping down from the foliage as he ran trying to find them. Never finding them. Not in time. Mentally, he rounded that long-ago corner just in time to see Minx and the few survivors get overrun by real vampires, the ones that had no conscious, no compassion, no empathy, and as far as he was concerned – no soul.

In the end, it was the alarm on his wrist watch that shoved Malcolm back into his body forcefully. He focused on Lady Agatha’s face. Pascal and Remy each held one of his forearms and somehow he had landed flat on the ground. The nerve wracking sound of a submarine diving blared obnoxiously from his wrist. Instead, of running away from him, both Pascal and Remy stood frowning over him.

Refusing to look directly as Agatha, Malcolm nodded, Go! I…can manage. Go. You are my ride home.

"Are you sure Malcolm?’ Pascal demanded.

Lady Agatha took over then, Go fools! Dig! You are out of time. Go blast you! I’ll tend to him. Go! she barked the last an order that broke no argument.

Both eased Malcolm gently into a sitting position before they quick stepped a few meters away. Both stripped everything off of themselves, but their pants, boots, and undershirts shirts. With inhuman speed, they both began to dig. Neither rocks, clay, nor sand slowed them down. The augha sound of a diving submarine continued.

Dawn inched closer by the second. Malcolm still stunned realized belatedly that he could see more and more around him, that in fact, the coming day had in fact been working on it for a while now. For some asinine reason, he realized the bonfire was gone. He suddenly wanted to make a s’more.

Remy looked up, Malcolm?

Agatha marched over, I’ve got it. Go. She tore into the backpacks until she found the silver flame retardant blanket that all professional firemen carry in case they become trapped behind fire lines. Pascal looked back over his shoulder once before addressing Lady Agatha.

Please watch over him. And for the love of all the gods, be gentle? He’s just now recovering from it.

Get in. I would take him home, but I did not make the portal for Hu-Man-Icks. It would kill him to try, but I can bring a bit of home to him. Please go. She demanded shaking out the blanket.

Both Templar dropped down into the hole. It would be a bit of a tight fit, but both fit in enough so that they would be safe. With seconds to spare the woman spread the blanket out then rushed around to make sure that both males would be completely covered. With a curse, she dug into her pocket bringing forth a small cloth bag. She emptied the contents into her palm. Polished mineral and crystals flashed in the morning light. With a few quick words rocks of various shapes and sizes landed on top of the silver material effectively trapping the tarp in place.

With a deep sigh, she turned to watch the day arrive before turning to look at Malcolm.

We need to talk.

CHAPTER TWO

Life Lesson Number 5 – The world over, whenever a woman says those four words, nothing good ever follows.

And today would be no exception. While not quite back together yet, Malcolm could only bob his head up and down. He watched dumbly as Agatha tided up the area. Somewhere in his brain Malcolm knew he should be helping, but he could not get his brain to engage enough to force his body into action.

He must have skipped time, because one moment he watched Lady Agatha double check the tarp and the next moment she was handing him a fine china cup of flavored black tea. He sat blinking at his folded knees as he realized he sat in the dirt, while she shoved a plate of food at him.

Eat. Drink. Recover, and before you ask. Yes, I will turn you into a weasel if you do not. She announced as she pulled a fine backed chair up beside him. A delicately carved wooden table floated out of the neon orange portal still open to Australia. The delicately carved teak table floated over to her side before it settled on the uneven ground. Covered with a white lace cloth, the table carried both a full polished silver tea service and an accompaniment of food as well a bowl of fresh fruit. For some reason, the mangoes caught his attention. Mangoes absolutely were not in season in Seattle, so that meant that Agatha had somehow brought them from Australia. He smiled while remembering the taste of an Australian Mangoes. Sweet, rich flavor with each and every bite. None of the stiff, too firm, bland American Mangoes.

Thank you. He said as he ate one of the finger sandwiches on the matching china plate that he located on his left knee. The cucumber and cream cheese tasted lovely.

You are welcome. I apologize for startling you. I never imagined that I would find you here. And now. It’s been a long time, Malcolm. I must admit I am deeply curious why you are here now of all possible times. She nibbled on a sausage of some kind.

Damn. I forgot to pick the berries. The girls need the berries, but I needed to pick them during the full moon, last night. I think I just screwed up the plans. Damn. He mumbled flatly.

With a gentle smile, Agatha produced a large floral patterned bag which she dropped into the dirt in front of him, Here. Though I want to know who is using them. Surely, not a human such as yourself? So why would a le chasseur be keeping company with two banpiro?

For the first time in years, Malcolm exhaled deeply. He finally swung his face to look at Agatha’s knees. He could not yet bring himself to look directly at her face. Even trying to look at her waist threatened to spin his head up again, so he did not push it.

If you know Remy. Personally, then you know they are not true banpiro. He used the old Basque word for vampires, he continued, they are something different. What are the vampires calling them these days? It’s a new world isn’t it? Instead of protecting Pilgrims on the road to Jerusalem, they now protect everyone. Malcolm asked vaguely as he slowly started to get frustrated because the mental confusion mucked up his thinking.

Aye. Too much dragon magic went into their creation. That is what happened to the other survivors of the Bo Ving Massacre ten years ago too. Only three times that I know of, have humans been bitten and then saved by a dragon and either had Vile or Nocturne healing magicks tossed in for good measure. The first does not matter for this conversation. The second in 1307 when King Phillip tried to burn the Templars at the stake for heresy and then less than ten years ago when we tried to rescue you all from that place in Vietnam. So now they are all called Smoke-Men. There were very few women who survived. She spoke as she nibbled a sandwich, but in honor of the dragon, they have been called Smoke-Men or simply Smokes."

She paused to sip at her tea, before taking a few small bites of a chocolate covered cookie. For several moments, she simply sat with an old acquaintance enjoying a beautiful sunrise. Both ate in silence, when Malcolm emptied his plate, the Sea Hag simply picked it up and loaded it back up with food. Placing it back within his reach, she deftly set about cutting up a large mango.

I remember you quite enjoyed our mangoes. So much better than the American ones don’t you think. Though you can get good ones in Hawai’i. Oh, and Guam, but the main land, not so much. Drink your tea. You will feel better. She ordered gently

Malcolm did not argue. He gulped his tea down. Before he could say anything, she poured him another cup, sprinkled finely ground dried stevia leaf in and a thin slice of orange. He bobbed his head in thanks, before sipping his drink, he tasted lavender, hibiscus, a bit of vanilla, and almond possibly? Or maybe passion fruit, he could not tell.

I remember you. Sorry for flaking out. It’s been a long time. I mean no offense. If I did screw up, accept my apologies. And thanks for breakfast. He said as she reached for his empty plate. Stacking the dirty dishes at the far side of the table, she slid a heaping pile of freshly cut mango slices along with a small fork on a dessert plate.

Not a problem. But I would like to know why you are here? It cannot be a coincidence that you arrive here a only a few days before the Great Gathering of Magicked Folks? Tell why Malcolm? None of you are daft enough to cause trouble this coming weekend are you?