The Vampire & Her Witch

The power moved through the grain of the beam like water soaking into parched earth, racing along the fibers from end to end in the space between one heartbeat and the next. The wood didn’t split or shatter. It simply surrendered. The fibers that had held the beam rigid for decades softened and crumbled, the heartwood turning to powder as the rot spread through it from within, consuming the strength of the timber the way a slow fire consumed a candle.

The iron brackets groaned as the beam they were holding disintegrated. A fine cloud of dust puffed from the gaps between the doors, and then, with a sound like a long, exhausted sigh, the heavy oak doors swung inward, knocking aside the tables and benches piled against them as though they were dollhouse furniture.

On the other side, the soldiers who had stacked tables and benches behind the door stumbled backward as the entrance they’d thought was secure opened before them. The oak beam lay in two pieces on the stone floor, each end still resting in its iron bracket, while the middle had simply ceased to exist, crumbled to a pile of reddish-brown powder that looked like it had been rotting for a hundred years.

For a moment, everyone on the other side of those doors froze.

Ashlynn stood in the doorway, framed by the stone archway and lit from behind by the torches of the bailey. The cavalier hat with its midnight feather cast a shadow across her brow that deepened her emerald eyes to something dark and fierce. The sailor’s coat with its silver-embroidered waves hung open over her breeches and boots, and at her hip, the falchion called Water’s Edge rested in its deep blue scabbard with the Blackwell crest on the silver buckle.

She looked nothing like the woman Owain had married. She looked nothing like the quiet, bookish daughter of a distant count who had arrived in Lothian March a year ago with downcast eyes and a secret she would have given anything to keep.

She looked like what she had become. Powerful. Confidant. Fully in command of the force of soldiers who had breached the outer walls and crossed the inner bailey with as much difficulty as a lady taking an evening stroll in the garden.

"My name is Ashlynn Blackwell," she said, and her voice filled the corridor beyond the doors the way light fills a room when a curtain is thrown open. "I am the lawful wife of Marquis Owain Lothian and the rightful Marchioness of this house. Stand aside, and live. Stand in my way, and I will walk through you the same way I walked through these doors."

Two of the soldiers dropped their swords before she finished speaking. A third followed a moment later, backing away from the entrance with his hands raised and his face drained of every drop of color. A fourth looked at the pile of powder that had been a solid oak beam moments before, then looked at the woman who had turned it to dust with a touch, and sat down heavily on the floor as though his legs had simply stopped working.

One man held his ground. A sergeant, by the look of the braided cords looped over his shoulder. He was older than the others and gripping his sword with both hands as though he could hold back the tide if he just squeezed hard enough. His jaw was set, and his eyes were fixed on Ashlynn with the desperate intensity of a man who knew he was about to die but couldn’t bring himself to run.

Ollie stepped past Ashlynn before the sergeant could make up his mind. The punch he threw was clean, precise, and delivered with an armored fist to the point of the man’s jaw. The sergeant’s eyes rolled back, his sword clattered to the floor, and he crumpled in a heap at Ollie’s feet without ever having swung a blow.

"Thank you," Ashlynn said quietly as she stepped over the unconscious man and into Lothian Manor.

Behind her, the assault poured through the breached doors like water through a broken dam, and the corridors of Lothian Manor echoed with the sounds of emerald and midnight flooding into the heart of Lothian power.

"Samira, stay close to Isabell and Morwen," Ashlynn commanded as she walked forward. "You three shouldn’t get too close to me in case someone with a crossbow tries to take a shot at me. There isn’t much room to move, even in the wider hallways, so be careful."

"Is it, is it safe?" Samira said, resting a hand on her belly. "Should I, should I stay here until the way is clear?"

"Nowhere is ever safe, Samira," Isabell replied before Ashlynn could. "But you knew that when you came. Remember the courage you had when you chose to come, and don’t forget your reasons why," she said as she set a comforting hand on the other woman’s shoulder.

"I’ll be with you every step of the way," Isabell promised as she traced her hand down to the wooden pendant shaped like a cypress tree that hung from Samira’s neck. "And you have Ollie’s protection, too. We’ll all do our best to keep you from harm, but you have to keep your wits about you. If you run off in a panic, nothing we do will be enough to keep you and your little one safe from danger."

"I, I’m here too," Morwen said, stepping up beside Samira, holding the pregnant woman’s arm with one hand while the other clutched the cypress tree pendant around her own neck that matched the one Samira wore.

Sir Ollie had said that it would protect her the same way a knight’s suit of armor protected them, but that it couldn’t survive many blows, and she had to be careful not to treat it like a fairy tale’s charm of invulnerability. Even if such things were real, they were far beyond his current abilities to create. What he’d given her might save her life, twice if she was lucky, but no more than that.

"We’ll do this together," Morwen said in a fragile, determined tone. "But we have to hurry, or we’ll be left behind," she added.

"Thank you," Samira said, looking from Isabell to Morwen. "I don’t know how I’d do this alone, but... I have to face him. One last time. So... thank you," she said as moisture collected in the corners of her eyes.

"Good," Isabell said, placing her hand between the other woman’s shoulders and giving her a gentle push to get her moving again. "Now let’s go. Together."