Читать книгу Alchemy of Blood - - Страница 4

After the student left, Selene froze in place, immersed in a mixed stream of emotions. Regret gnawed at her soul: if the girl had failed, her life would have ended because of her own lack of restraint. But some inner voice assured Selene otherwise. As it turned out, fear is the best incentive.

Selene picked up a delicate golden blade from the floor. Its sharpened blade grinned like a beast that has lost its prey.

“Not today, mate,” she said to the blade, and it gave a high, almost melodious chime in response.

Such enchanted artifacts, especially those created by fae masters, were intelligent and incomparably rare. The secret of making them has long been lost.

Selene returned the blade to its place and unconsciously turned her gaze to the large mirror over the fireplace. In his reflection, her father’s piercing silver eyes stared back at her, cold and grim. The resemblance disgusted her, reminding her of a man she didn’t want to know. Someone once told her that she bore a striking resemblance to her mother, and Selene would like to see her image in her own reflection. Unfortunately, it was impossible to remember someone she had never met.

Selene’s dark stream of thoughts was suddenly interrupted by the sharp beep of her smartphone, breaking the silence of the library. After reading the incoming message, a warm smile lit up her face.

***

Selene enjoyed the fresh air as she walked through the cobblestone streets of Venice. She savored the scents of salt water wafting from the canals, fresh coffee from cozy cafes, and the damp stones of ancient buildings. People hurried past on their way, couples strolled hand in hand, and tourists relentlessly took photos and videos, passing on gondolas or looking at the windows of souvenir shops.

Selene loved such moments when there was an opportunity to simply disappear into the city bustle and feel like a part of the life that did not belong to her. Adjusting her sunglasses, she pushed past a group of students who were busily photographing an architectural detail.

Selene’s gaze slid up, and she saw what had caught their attention: the Egyptian ankh cross adorning the marble facade of one of the buildings. The top of the cross was crowned with a loop, and in the center was an all-seeing eye. This symbol, found on the facades and pediments of palaces, cathedrals and other architectural structures not only in Venice, but also around the world, kept a secret known only to a select few. Those who had knowledge of its true meaning wore it as a sign of belonging to the Supreme Clan. Selene, wearing a miniature ankh brooch, was one of them.

After looking into a charming coffee corner and a flower stand, Selene headed for a small palazzo. The wrought-iron gate creaked, letting her into a courtyard that smelled of exotic plants. A young man in a dark green shirt and jeans and a girl in a light summer dress were walking towards her. They were cooing, and the girl was smiling sweetly, clutching a bottle of floral perfume to her chest. The young man stopped, plucked a snow-white lily from the flowerbed and gallantly handed it to his companion. She blushed and accepted the flower gratefully. With an embarrassed glance over her shoulder, she disappeared through the gate.

The young man watched her go with his light green eyes, then turned to Selene. She had been watching the idyll with irony all this time.

“Aren’t you too old for this flower?” she joked.

“How dare you?” the guy pretended to be indignant. “I’m pretty well preserved for my age.”

Selene smiled and handed him a cup of aromatic herbal latte. He took a grateful sip. Walking to a round table in the center of the courtyard, Selene added another to the rich bouquet of dark red roses that adorned the base of a small stone statue of the Three-faced Hecate.

“For Senora Sartori,” she said. “She’s at home?”

“She’s on the roof sunbathing.”

The young man leaned over to the lily bed and gently touched the broken stem. Instantly, it bloomed as if nothing had happened. Senora Sartori’s voice came from above.

“Selene, is that you, dear?”

A woman of respectable age was leaning on the parapet, looking at them. Tall and graceful, with her snow-white hair parted in the middle and pulled back in a neat bun at the nape of her neck, she looked like she stepped out of the pages of a historical novel. Her large earrings, sparkling with diamonds in the setting sun, accentuated her piercing blue eyes.

“Buona sera1, senora,” Selene greeted her in Italian.

“Ciao2, my dear!” the woman smiled warmly. “It’s been a long time since you stopped by!”

“Business, business…” Selene replied. “How is the novel progressing?”

Allegra Sartori, world-famous for her historical prose, was one of the most elegant and charming women Selene had ever met. Her true age was a mystery, but it was rumored that she had been the mistress of one of the Doges of Venice, and had even served on the powerful Council of Ten3 before the Supreme Clan had settled in the city.

“Oh, wonderful, my dear. Your historical advice is priceless!” the writer replied enthusiastically.

“Happy to help! I look forward to receiving a signed copy!” Selene said.

“By all means, my dear! But now, if you’ll excuse me, I don’t want to miss my evening tan – it’s the best for my skin!”

With that, the senora disappeared from view, holding the white jacket draped over her shoulders with her fingers studded with glittering rings.

“If every time she says that phrase, the sea increases by an inch, Venice would have sunk long ago,” Frey chuckled.

“You’re lucky you witches don’t have such sensitive ears, otherwise you’d have to find a new place to live.”

Laughing, Frey put an arm around Selene’s shoulders and they settled down on the bench. They just sat in silence for a long time. Frey was enjoying his latte, and Selene was smoking a cigarette. Scents of flowers wafted in the air, and water gurgled merrily in the stone fountain. Everything breathed comfort and tranquility. Selene thought that she could live a thousand lifetimes in such an atmosphere.

“How was your class with the new girl?” Frey broke the silence.

“Not bad, except for her stampede at the end,” Selene shrugged.

The sun had set long enough, turning the red stucco walls of the palazzo a deep scarlett, to allow her to finally remove her sunglasses. Frey just grinned good-naturedly and shook his head. Then a lynx appeared out of nowhere and rubbed against her leg. Selene leaned over and scratched her behind the ear.

“Hello, Sylva,” she greeted the cat.

She squeezed her light green eyes, which were exactly the same color as her owner’s, in satisfaction. With a loud purr, she hopped onto the bench and snuggled into Frey’s lap. He absently stroked his familiar between the tufted ears. With each movement of his hand, when the light of the setting sun fell on it, the copper plate on the wide leather bracelet with the Wheel of Hecate engraved on it flashed – a circular maze with a six-pointed emerald star in the center, the symbol of the goddess-the ancestor of all witches.

Frey said that on his sixteenth Imbolc4, when all witches and mages are traditionally initiated into the coven, the goddess herself personally appeared to him in a dream and gave him this bracelet along with a familiar lynx. Familiars were considered messengers of the goddess, called to protect witches.

“My mother has informed me that our alchemist Andros is missing,” Frey said.

“Unfortunately, this is not news, he disappeared about a month ago,” Selene replied.

“However, the news doesn’t end there. The Hyperborean Library was robbed,” Frey added grimly, his words hanging in the air like a heavy curtain.

Selene’s eyes widened in surprise.

“But this is interesting. What exactly is missing?” she asked, her mind already trying to connect the two incidents together.

“It is not known for sure, but they say that there are some blueprints.”

Selene wondered if these events could be somehow connected. She was even more concerned about what it might lead to. The disappearance of a talented alchemist and the robbery of an ancient repository of mystical knowledge are extremely disturbing events.

As if to confirm Selene’s thoughts, Frey continued, “I’m afraid it’s very serious. The High Priestess is very determined and plans to raise this issue at the Great Sabbath.”

“So she’ll blame everyone,” she said, knowing that the High Priestess Devona had never been a gentle person, especially considering Andros was a member of the Grand Coven. “This can cause a lot of conflicts.”

In the past, wars and skirmishes between supernatural races brought only pain and chaos. Selene understood that the fragile peace and balance achieved at such a high price could be destroyed with a single ill-considered word. And there were always those who profited from the spilled blood, skillfully playing on other people’s passions and ambitions.

“You think this is all about Victor?” Frey asked cautiously, as if reading Selene’s mind.

He looked at her anxiously, waiting for her answer. The mere mention of that name caused Selene to feel a bitter sense of despair. For a moment, there was a glint of fear in her eyes.

“I pray to the gods that it wasn’t,” Selene whispered, but her gut told her that this time her prayers would go unanswered.

Frey put his arm around Selene’s shoulders and pulled her closer to him. She snuggled her head against his shoulder, breathing in the smell of freshly plowed earth and the coolness of the forest that came from him.

“No matter what happens, we’ll always find a way out,” Frey’s voice was soothing, like a lullaby, in time with Sylva’s soft purr. “Who knows, maybe one day we’ll settle down in a nice and cozy place where you’ll have the library you’ve been dreaming of for so long, and I’ll open my own herb shop to sell my potions. I can’t stay with Senora Sartori for the rest of the century,” Frey joked, and Sylva mewed merrily back.

Selene’s heart sank painfully at his words. All these simple things, accessible to many, seemed to her a beautiful and unattainable dream. She lifted her head from Frey’s shoulder and caught his eye.

“You’ve always been the most optimistic of the two of us,” Selene said, tucking his lock of dark wheat-colored hair behind his ear.

“Someone has to be,” Frey said, smiling. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t be your best friend.”

And for the second time that day, the smartphone signal disturbed Selene’s peace. But this time, after reading the message, the smile disappeared from her face.

“Is something wrong?” Frey asked warily.

“The Prince orders me to come,” the girl replied grimly. “Urgently.”