He settled into the massive oak tree some way away from the parapet walls, choosing to stay in an upright position, more hawk than vampire, a trait his family had acquired through years of practice.
A black building with turrets and golden spires held his gaze in thrall, a palatial edifice surrounded by high walls. A creeper with thorns and deep red flowers crept over the stone walls.
Blood Rose bush.
Known for its ability to put humans in thrall, drugging them, allowing the vampires to feast on their blood without their consent. But it was a rare plant, only growing in a few of the valleys in the mountains. Here, it was running rampant.
He crouched down, eyes narrowing as he realized there were many hulking beasts toiling away, hoisting blocks and great girders and wooden planks into place. His laser vision homed right in. Oh yeah, he knew these creatures, with their gray hunched backs, scaled skin and wings. Their snouts were broad at the forehead, tapering to pointed chins. Huge ears and horns topped their heads, and wiry hair sprouted from their heads, the back of their necks, and the wrinkled bridge of their snouts. Even from this distance, his nostrils detected the stench of grimaalds.
And unlike the one that attacked him last night, these grimaalds were clearly visible.
There was no doubt this place was going to be vast, a city in the making, being built by an army of demon grimaalds.
For what seemed like a long while, he watched their movements. At one stage a vampiric male, a dark cloak over his belted tunic, came out through the main gate of the walled palace on horseback. He had the characteristic darker hue to his skin and raven black hair of a Kominsky. The vampire gesticulated and was clearly barking orders. Carts and bullocks carrying stone rumbled through the gates and then the vampire turned and rode away. Meanwhile, the grimaalds kept working, building up the hill at alarming speed.
Oliver was contemplating whether he could fly closer, to gain a better view of the palatial structure that lay inside those high walls, when he felt a weakness descending on him. A heaviness in his body, like his energy was draining.
Holy fuck, he’d let curiosity get the better of common sense.
Whatever magick had allowed him to fly into this realm, it was weakening, and since he had no idea what had happened to allow him access, he had no idea if he could make it back.
He turned, claws scrabbling on the branch and, with a deep breath, unfurled his wings and headed in the direction of Motham, his flight becoming clumsier and more labored by the minute
Shit. Was he going to make it back? He was above Tween now, and it looked more substantial, less ghostly than before. Which no doubt meant his tethering to this other dimension was weakening. With desperate effort, gritting his teeth and pushing hard against the wind, Oliver forced his wings to carry him on, even as he sank lower and lower to the ground. Desperately he headed for the rooftops of Motham and the taller buildings of the Hole In The Wall. He would head there, he decided, rather than try for the gates of the city. It was marginally closer.
With a last-ditch effort, he crash landed in a rather ungainly heap on the pile of rubble where the gap in the wall had originally formed. At least here he could climb over the bricksand dust into the city, but it would still take him a good half hour to walk home.
Standing and shaking himself out, he looked down and saw that, thank fuck, he was back in human form. His relief was sullied by the fact that his yoga pants and tee were in shreds and covered in dirt. Cool air flowed around his exposed shoulders. The back of his tee had been torn asunder when his wings burst through. He must look like a fucking mess.
Clearly it was still early. The usually busy trading area was quiet, the shop keepers only just opening their shutters.
It felt like he’d been gone for hours, but in reality, barely any time had passed here at all.
As he walked, he tried to make sense of what had happened.
This was crazy. Mind bending. He’d been perfectly visible when he left Clare’s apartment, hadn’t he?
And suddenly it struck him.
Clare’s blood.
Drinking Clare’s blood had turned him invisible. He almost palmed his forehead. Of course it must hold magickal properties. Look how it had made his wounds disappear in less than a minute. Human blood was healing, sure, but never that fast. He should have known Clare’s blood was magickal as soon as the first mouthful hit his tongue. It was better than any other blood he’d tasted, like a fucking elixir of the gods. He’d just thought it was a century of abstinence that made it taste so good.
He’d felt invincible, ecstatic even—and soon after, he’d turned invisible.
Except, if that was the case, why hadn’t it happened straight away?
He racked his brains. Then it came to him. It was only after he’d gone into a deep meditative state that the change had happened. Could that be the key? Was there some kind of trance or magickal state that needed to be evoked, that he hadinadvertently stumbled on? Was it the meditation, or chanting the Hale mantra, combined with Clare’s blood?
Holy gods of the heavens.
What if she shared the same blood group as the missing humans? AOx positive.
His invisibility.
Matteus’s invisibility.
Even that fucking grimaald that had attacked him had been a mere shadow, before it lost whatever weird magick it was harnessing.
