Page 58

"What is it, Child?" Azrael pressed when I continued to sit there, not saying anything or making any attempt to sway him into letting me file an incident report of my own even if my initials and signature would be redacted on it.

To be so accepting wasn't like me and he knew it.

"Azrael, can I tell you something as my uncle-in-heart, not as my future Commander, and not as my father's best friend?" I sheepishly asked. "Something in confidence because I cannot bring my heart to believe it myself, and I haven't figured out how to fix it?" I sheepishly asked.

"Oh shit. You are pregnant!" he gasped.

"No!" I shrieked. "Oh my god, what is wrong with you!?"

Azrael breathed a sigh of relief. "You nearly gave me a damn heart attack. As long as it is not that or you dabbling in diablerie, of course, I will keep it just between us. I still have not told your father who it was that introduced your brother to high-end spirits," he teased.

"Yeah, thanks for that. I get to deal with his hangovers if he slums it with bargain bin alcohol," I complained.

Azrael gave me a look. "Your bond as twins is so strong that you suffer his hangovers?" he asked in disbelief.

I nodded. "Yeah, but that isn't what I wanted to talk to you about," I said.

"Of course. Sorry for getting sidetracked."

Here goes nothing.

"Prince de Babineaux believes, before the incident where I attacked Master Pachi in my suite before I went unresponsive, that I had a precognition vision like that of a Sibyl," I said.

The small smile on Azrael's face fell.

"What did you see?" he demanded, grabbing a pencil and pad of paper to take notes with.

His lack of surprise should have told me something.

I wiped away the tear that rolled down my cheek. "Viggo's death," I mouthed.

He nodded. "Details? What time of year was it? Were there any discernible sounds or smells?" he asked, going down the checklist, if there was one.

This is why I wanted to talk to the Commander of the Imperial Guard about this, but I wanted to keep it between me and my uncle-in-heart because I didn't want to freak my parents out with this little Sibyl revelation.

"The windows were closed," I said, trying to bring into focus every detail that I had been processing over and over with a clearer mind, "but there were billowy mounds of snow all over the floor where the rivers of blood weren't. Paradoxical laughter. Maddening paradoxical laughter that I was screaming to drown out."

He jotted that down on the notepad. "That is a side effect of many different things, hexes and binding spells that root to the sensory processing receptors in the brain come to mind right away. It is also a common thing with those of Devilry; paradoxical laughter is a tell-tale sign of losing their mental faculties and the onset of insanity. Regrettably, that is very common and does not help narrow it down."

"Oh yeah, this bitch was crazy," I said then cringed. "Sorry, Sir."

He smiled. "Uncle, not Commander right now, remember?"

"Yeah, thanks," I said, blushing.

"Any smells that stood out?"

I shook my head. "The smell of blood was overpowering," I said. "Something vegetation-based; it reminded me of summer but I can't narrow it down. It caused a tickle in my nose, like allergies, and I remember it from somewhere but I can't remember where."

"Some type of impervious and aggressive grass, weed, flower, herb, or plant, anything with a strong rooting system, can be used in Caul potions to anchor and root into the person that consumes it," Azrael explained.

I gasped; I hadn't taken those studies yet.

"It is the same type of binding for healing tonics," he tried to explain. "The stronger they are, or the more severe the wounds they are trying to heal, the more deeply rooted the tonic or potion has to be in the system so it is not rejected. Every type of practitioner uses different elements to infuse their potions, hexes, tonics, concoctions, and physical component spells. If done wrong, they can root too far and damage the heart, mind, or turn the lungs into Swiss cheese."

"Ew," I said, shivering in disgust, causing him to chuckle. "So what you're saying is, it doesn't necessarily narrow it down because it could be intentional or unintentional."

He tapped his nose.

"That sucks," I complained.

"Those are the hardest to uncover," he agreed. "That is why you have to keep calm so you can have a clear head and objectively look at all information, all little tidbits of data around you, and engrain them in your mind as if they are the most important piece of the puzzle in front of you. The smallest detail missed could mean the difference between life and death."

Great, no pressure.

"How did he die?" Azrael pressed.

"The cause of death was..." my words trailed off and I struggled to articulate it.

"Stake? Claws?" he offered. "Smothering with a pillow? Header out the window? The clock radio in the bathtub?"

That was all very specific.

"On his throat were fine, deep gashes, but they weren't uniform and not from claws or fangs," I said, not amused at his attempt to be funny.

Azrael pulled out the file from the incident at the hospital in Seattle and then pulled out the picture of the upír I beheaded. "Fine like those?" he asked, pointing to the fine lines around what remained of the upír's neck.

I struggled to keep my pancakes down. "If they are the same, that means I killed him," I said, looking up from the picture to Azrael.

"Prince de Babineaux would not go down without a fight," Azrael reminded me. "Did you have any visible injuries?"

I shook my head; that I vividly remembered.

"Such fine cuts would be hard-pressed to kill one as skilled as the young prince. Were his eyes right?"

"They were green," I offered, trying to push the thought that I was going to kill Viggo from my mind.

"Were they right though?" Azarel clarified, his tone making it more than obvious I missed what he was asking. "Prince de Babineaux is half-Vampire and half-Necromancer, because of that blending, his eyes are completely unique in our world, much like yours. His unique depth of shade is from the Vampire side—the de Babineaux bloodline has deep sapphire-colored eyes—and the green comes from the Necromancer side—those of House of Thanos have light jade-green eyes. When put together, Viggo ended up with green eyes that are comparable to emeralds in their depth of color with streaks of jade, olive, and Persian green in them."

I blushed; yes, I had noticed and they were beyond beautiful. "The Viggo from my vision had muted, blasé green without their normal vibrancy or multi-tone appearance that sparkles like emeralds in front of a flickering flame," I said with a small smile.

Azrael chuckled. "You truly are a romantic like your father."

"Am not!" I argued. "My parents are not the picture of romantic perfection to have instilled any type of romantic behavior in either of their children. More than once I questioned how they were married at all."

He merely shrugged. "You would be surprised as to where you learned it from," he informed me.

True, Azrael and his wife were a picture-perfect couple aside from the fact that when she said jump, he automatically said how high and did it with a goofy smile on his face...

Which was to be expected, I guess, since Aunty Marli was his commanding officer.

"It is a very good possibility that what you saw will come to pass exactly how you saw it, but it does not mean it is who you saw it to be," Azrael continued.

A smile filled my face.

"Or, it could very well be him being forced against his will or controlled, acting against his own accord," he said.

My smile fell.

Of course, it couldn't be that damn easy.

"What killed him in your vision?" he pressed. "That you are hiding from me, I can tell."

If it wasn't my Viggo that was a good thing, and it meant I could save him.

And if it wasn't my Viggo, who in the hell was it and why would they be stupid enough to impersonate a crowed Prince?!

That was treason!

But if it was my Viggo, and he was acting against his will, possibly someone was doing something to control him like the Sentinel in Seattle with the Stregone, that would still mean it was Viggo, a part of him, and I killed him.

And how he died?

Well, that was completely unexplainable.

"Honestly, Uncle, I don't know," I said. "He was ripped in half."

Azrael's eyes widened. "Drawn and quartered?" he asked.

I shook my head. "It was as if something cut him right up the middle... Wait," I said, taking his pencil and pad of paper; perhaps another of my nightmares had the answer to this mystery. "Would something like this do that?" I asked, drawing a rough sketch of the scythe from my Harbinger of War killing everyone dream I had.

Azrael looked at the picture. "Very crude weapon, and if wielded by someone with unimaginable strength you could cut a giant down with it," he said, looking at the stick with a big curved blade being held by a small stick figure with a smile. "Are you carrying one of these without my knowledge?"

I patted my pants and hoodie, causing him to chuckle. "Not that I'm aware of."

"Was this from a vision?" he pressed.

"Not a vision, just a nightmare, but not one like the other nightmares," I offered. "That one I killed everyone in, and you were next."

Azrael nodded with a chuckle. "Glad to know I made it to the boss fight," he said, and I glared at him, getting a smile in return.