Page 54 of Wolf's Bane
Solenne did her best to keep a neutral express but her foul mood won out. Blackthorn may have been a real sword, perhaps a fine one, but its extraordinary qualities seemed to have grown into the thing of legend. “No. Absolutely not. We do not have the time or the luxury to go on a quest for a magic—scientific—sword that’s been lost for generations. We wouldn’t know where to start.”
“We do.” Luis pulled out another book, green leather with gold gilding. Solenne recognized their book of fairy stories. He opened the book to a page featuring a wood carving of a very noble-looking man holding a sword aloft. Blackthorn glowed, if the black lines radiating from the sword were any indication. “Great-grandpapa Charles lost Blackthorn in a battle with Draven in the city in the mountains beyond the West Lands.”
“A century ago.”
Their great-grandfather had been a notorious gambler and drinker. His many vices heralded the start of the Marechal family’s decline, but no one seemed to remember the way his debt emptied the coffers and brought the estate to the brink of ruin. Everyone fixated on the loss of one probably very fine quality but definitely not magical sword.
“No one ventures far into the West Lands anymore, and no one’s reported defeating Draven. So, when you consider the long lifespan of a vampire, then Draven could still have the sword,” he said in an excited rush. “Don’t you see?”
Solenne snatched the book. She saw many things, none of which were flattering for her younger brother. His large frame and stature often tricked her into believing him to be older than eighteen until he spouted childish nonsense.
Magic swords, indeed.
“Great-grandpapa Charles was a drunk and a gambler. He lost Blackthorn. Indeed, he lost many of our family’s treasures at the card table,” she said in an even tone that masked her fury. “There is no vampire with a magic sword. To waste our time chasing this fable when we should think about our actual problems would be the height of foolishness.”
“It’s not a bedtime story. It’s real,” he said, voice firm and his chin lifted in stubbornness.
“You should research how to contain an older werewolf and help Papa devise a trap.” And she needed to plant more wolfsbane because demand exceeded her current supply.
Luis rushed to his feet, grabbing the satchel roughly and causing loose papers and pencils to tumble out. “Pretend all you like that I’m being childish, but we have witch blood in us. You know we do.”
Solenne opened her mouth to argue, but he continued, “No. No, I will say my piece. The air hums with nexus energy. I hear it every day. During an event, I can feel it moving like a river rushing around me. That’s how Papa and I track the creatures. You might not understand because you don’t have the same talent as we do, but it’s a witch mutation. If I can feel the nexus, then great-great-so-on ancestor could have infused that energy into a weapon. And you know that our family is resistant to being cursed when we’re bitten.”
“Bite your tongue. I do not want to put that to the test,” she muttered.
“We’re not affected because we already have the witch mutation. It makes perfect sense when you think about it. When all this is over, I will find Blackthorn, and that’s all I have to say about that.” He took a deep breath, then nodded.
“Well, you sound determined to waste your time and energy on a fool’s errand.”
“Do not mock me. I’m serious.” He gathered up his book and stuffed them back into the satchel. “Miles thinks it is a good idea.”
“Then take Miles with you. No doubt he’d be ever so helpful fighting monsters.” Despite her irritation, she had to admit that the blacksmith would be extraordinarily helpful.
“As opposed to what you do? Swing platters?” Luis mocked.
Brimming with frustration, she felt her entire body vibrate with the need to shout or say something spiteful, but she was a well-bred lady and such behavior was unbecoming.
Like it mattered. The only man she wanted suffered an irreversible condition that caused him to grow fur and fangs, and no one would discuss it. Her father would never allow such an unsuitable match, and Solenne was of the mind to tell her father to get stuffed because if someone in the family should marry for money, then he could blast well do the deed.
Unable to indulge her need to vent, she chucked a handful of dirt and weeds at him, like a well-bred lady.
Luis stood in shock, his mouth gaping open, so she threw a second handful at him. “Solenne!”
A clump hit him square in the face. He sputtered, swiping away dirt from his tongue. His ears went red, and Solenne hadn’t seen her brother that angry since he was very young.
Dread washed over her. She went too far. Luis was an even-tempered fellow and hardly spiteful, but he was taller than her and he wanted her to eat a mouthful of dirt in retribution. There was nothing she could do to avoid it.
“I’m sorry,” she said in a rush. “I’m so frustrated and nothing works and everything is hard—”
He hurled a clump of dirt at her. On impact, it scattered into tiny pieces, each finding its way down the front of her tunic. She spat out pieces of dirt.
“I accept your apology,” Luis said in a magnanimous tone.
Solenne glanced at a bucket used for watering. It was probably empty, but if the bucket held even an ounce of water—
“Do not,” Luis warned.
“Do what?”
