New Blood by Gail Dayton Page B

that man not to come after me when he thinks no one is looking.”
    This time, Jax gave up the task without argument. Doubtless he too thought Teo might ambush them. “We must leave.”
    â€œI can’t. Not until Szabo says I may.”
    â€œNo, I mean
leave.
Go to England, to Scotland and Yvaine’s tower. Szabo has no power there.”
    Leave Transylvania? Leave her cottage and . . . “I can’t.”
    â€œWhy not?” Jax sounded at his wit’s end. “Your friends will understand. We can replace Whatever—”
    Amanusa shook her head, swallowing down the churning in her stomach. “It’s not—I haven’t got any friends. Not true ones. I—”
    â€œWhat?” he snapped. “What could possibly be more important than your life?”
    â€œJustice.”
    The word seemed to echo in the forest, against the mountain walls beyond the trees. It sent Crow fluttering up from his pecking at the ground to land in a tree. He cawed a question.
    â€œOr maybe revenge. I don’t know.” Amanusa pulled Jax’s shirt from the water before she scrubbed a hole through it. She poured the emotion crashing through her into the effort of wringing it dry. “These people hurt me. They
owe
me. I won’t leave until I collect what they owe. I swore it, Jax. I will have justice for the wrongs they’ve done me.”
    She looked up at him, standing tall and stalwart above her on the bank and called his eyes to her by the force of her will. “Teach me this magic, Jax. Teach me justice. Tonight.”
    Slowly he nodded, holding her gaze. “If you wish it of me, I will. But know this. It is a powerful magic, one that requires great strength of will to control.”
    â€œDo you believe I have the strength?”
    â€œYes,” he said. “If you have the will to use it.”
    â€œI have it.” She did. She truly did not want revenge, but justice. She understood the difference. She wouldn’t let old grief get in the way.
    â€œThen I will teach you.”
    â€œTonight,” Amanusa said. “In case Yvaine needs to speak.”
    Â 
    T HE GLORIES OF Paris opened up before the pearly, mist-shrouded glow of the dawning sun, spreading a sumptuous feast before the eyes of any awake at this hour to see. The working people of the city, those not already hard at their labors, paused for a breath to see what the city offered up. Others, stumbling home after a night’s sinning, knew only that the sky lightened, and scurried like roaches for the darkness.
    A few, who had been striving all night for answersto seemingly unsolvable puzzles, welcomed the dawn’s light as a possible end to their struggle. The battle was far from won, but weary warriors deserved—required—a little rest before they could rise again to fight on.
    A quartet of these paladins paused on the doorstep of the anonymous building around the corner from the Bourse to take in the sky’s pastel glow.
    â€œGet what rest you can, gentlemen.” The senior of the party settled his top hat in place on his balding head and passed a hand over the luxuriant mustachios decorating his face, smoothing any stray hairs back into place. “We’ll go hard at it again this afternoon.”
    â€œYou lads may be going hard at it,” the neat, slender man said as he began a glide down the steps of the building. “I, however, do not intend to waste my first visit to Paris in not seeing Paris. I will be . . . in Paris.” He flourished his walking stick as he bowed.
    â€œYou can’t, Grey,” the older man protested. “You’re magister of the English conjurers. We need you at the meeting.”
    â€œWhyever for?” Grey waited while the others descended to join him in the street.
    â€œTo represent the conjurers!”
    â€œRelax, Billy.” The stocky man in the bowler hat, whose expensive suit strained across