Page 72 of The Guardian's Curse

“Obviously,” he said. One by one, he placed the book in neat stacks and told her where they’d come from. “I got these from a shop in Zurich a few years ago. They’re journals, not grimoires, but I bought anything that seemed useful.”

She was quiet as she surveyed the impressive display of books. Her eyes were somber when she looked up. “Paris, how many witches did you kill to get these?”

He gave her a toothy smile. “More than a few,” he replied. “Rest assured, I gave them all ample opportunity to simply hand them over without violence.”

“That doesn’t make it right,” she said.

His eyes narrowed. “You don’t know what they did.” His eyes drifted to Alistair. “Perhaps some of us deserved our fates, but Lucia certainly didn’t.”

She took a tentative step back. “I think it’s time you guys tell me what actually happened. If I’m going to undo this, I need to understand what she did.”

“That sounds a convenient reason to nose about our business,” Paris said sharply.

“Paris,” Alistair growled.

Despite the warning in his voice, Paris’s mouth pulled up in a mischievous smile. “You might want to pour a cup of tea, little witch. This could take a while.”

And so they settled into the plush chairs of the library, and began to reveal the truth of their curses. Nearly two hundred years ago, the Blade of Auberon held its seat of power in Europe, with Eduardo holding court in Switzerland and Germany. They enjoyed their lavish, decadent parties where the lords and ladies of the court danced and drank their fill from willing, starry-eyed humans.

From the shadows, the warriors of the Shroud ensured that their way of life was not threatened by hunters. Vampires like Dominic, Paris, and even Alistair once upon a time, had hunted and killed to keep their secrets safe and their blood-bound family protected.

With a dozen Courts scattered across the world, vampires were able to carve out their own territory, so long as they had a modicum of respect for one another. Unfortunately, as Alistair came to learn, not all vampires could manage the tiniest shred of civility. After being forcibly turned by Franziska Bauer, he had become a part of the Rubrum Court, who flaunted their status and left dead humans in their wake.

It was not long until the reckless libertines of the Rubrum drew the attention of hunters. Fueled by religious fervor, Le Bouclier d’Argente, or the Shieldsmen, had targeted the Rubrum for eradication. After picking off dozens of individual vampires, they struck a mighty blow and killed the Rubrum Elder, shattering his hold over his court.

Emboldened by their victory, the Shieldsmen continued to hunt the survivors of the Rubrum court. And when they could find no more, they turned their attention to the Blade of Auberon. Though Eduardo had always prided himself on a policy of secrecy, willing to cast out and prune “poisonous fruit,” the Shieldsmen would not suffer the Auberon to live. And thus began the Midnight War, with over a decade of secretive attacks. Every time they ferreted out some tiny cell of the Shieldsmen, thinking the problem was eradicated, another would pop up.

“They were like fucking cockroaches,” Paris said. “Or herpes.” He gave Shoshanna a lascivious grin. “Not that vampires have that problem.”

She shook her head. “Good to know.”

“Nothing is so dangerous as a man who believes he is on a mission from God,” Alistair said.

“But you were killing them, too,” Shoshanna said.

“They left us no choice,” Alistair said sharply. “The final days of it began when they struck us at a private party. There was no one there who was not willing. Every human there was like the veravin at Infinity. Willing thralls, eager to be fed upon and enjoy what we offered. Some were ready to be turned. And the Shieldsmen blindsided us and firebombed us. Dozens of innocent people died, many humans among them. I barely escaped.”

“Trust me,” Paris said. “Unlike the Casteron, we were devoted to secrecy. We wanted none of the witch hunts and pitchforks our brethren had faced. Eduardo had tried to keep the peace, but no longer. After the attack in Saarbrucken, he ordered the Shroud to eradicate the Shieldsmen. But we found that they were much stronger than the hunters we had faced for years before. They had Armina on their side. And dozens of dhampir.”

“The dhampir hunted you, too? Seems like a betrayal.”

“Some of them chose their human side over their vampire side,” Paris said. “After the attack, we hunted the hunters. Eventually, we found their leaders and gave them a simple choice: surrender or die. They chose poorly.”

Shoshanna looked stricken. “Then how did they curse you?”

Paris’s lip curled. “Armina was one of the most clever witches we ever encountered. If she had not been systematically blacklisted by the rest of her kind, she might have gone down as one of the best of them.”

“I’ve never even heard of her,” Shoshanna said. One would think that she would have learned about a witch with such power.

“Because even the Night Weavers washed their hands of her, lest she bring war to their doorstep,” Alistair said. “Her name is likely still whispered among their inner circles.”

“Armina designed death curses,” Paris said. “She and her apprentices knew that they might eventually fall. And not just to vampires, but to anyone who took issue with their spells and hexes. It had not been so long since the witch hunts, after all. They cast curses upon themselves that would be triggered upon their deaths. Whoever killed them would reap the bloody cost.”

“And that’s what happened to you two?”

“Well, to me. Safira, too, as well as some of our brothers that you haven’t met yet,” Paris said. His eyes drifted to Alistair. “Allie was different.” He shook his head. “As were Dominic and Julian. She concocted something special for them. Bespoke torture, as it were.”

“Lucky me,” Alistair said archly.

---