Passion of the Vampire King (Blood Fire Saga Book 5) by Bella Klaus (best motivational books txt) 📗

The Cleopatra stone she had given me at the end of the second sound healing session weighed heavily on my chest. Not only would it mask my magic but the murderous twin demons wouldn’t be able to track my movements and neither would any potential bounty hunters or assassins.

Istabelle stopped at a set of double doors at the end of a long hallway. “Best to contact Uber now,” she said through labored breaths. “I’ll wait here with you until it arrives.”

I turned to the older woman, my heart bursting with warmth. “I don’t know how I could ever thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”

Her eyes shone. “It’s been ages since I’ve had so much excitement, and teaching you the art of crystals has been an absolute pleasure.” She gave me a pat on the shoulder. “Let’s not act like this is farewell. We’ll see each other soon enough once you and King Valentine have resolved all that business with Kresnik.”

A lump formed in the back of my throat, and all my words evaporated. Istabelle was right. Now that I’d absorbed the magic in the firestone heart I’d taken from Aurora’s room, I had everything I needed to both shift into a phoenix and restore Valentine. I pulled out my phone, fired up the app, and tapped Beatrice’s address. If Lazarus was still haunting my best friend, I’d have to scare him away with my flames.

I turned to Istabelle. “There’s one two minutes away.”

She gave me an approving nod. “It will take a day or two for the magic to fully assimilate, so don’t expect miracles.”

I wrapped my arms around the older woman and murmured my thanks. We hugged for several moments, drinking each other in. Even though she said this wasn’t a farewell, we both knew there were dangers ahead and there was no guarantee of survival.

“Don’t forget to take off that cloak, so the driver can see you.” She pressed her hand on a wall panel that scanned her magic. The door clicked open, letting in a cold gust of exhaust-laden air and the rumble of the London streets.

Shouldering off my cloak, I stepped out into the darkened evening and onto a quiet crescent road in the middle of a complex of tall buildings that backed into the busy Chenies Street. A blue Toyota Prius waited beneath the streetlights. When I slid into its back seat, the driver repeated the address and pulled out.

Half an hour later, we arrived at the complex of white mews houses that made up Beatrice’s apartment block. I stepped out, clutching Macavity to my chest, and headed toward the door. The car’s headlights illuminated the courtyard as it reversed back into The Conduit. As its tires rumbled over the gravel, I glanced over my shoulder and gave the driver a wave.

Macavity made an excited noise that was half chirp and half purr, his ears twisting toward the scuttling of a squirrel through the trees that grew around the white building.

I ran my fingers down his warm back. “Do you want to come inside this time or go out and hunt?”

His stillness and relaxed meow said he wanted Beatrice to spoil him just as much as Istabelle had. We continued toward the door, and I rang the bell.

“Hello?” Beatrice’s voice crackled through the intercom.

“It’s Mera,” I replied.

A click later, the lock released, and I stepped into the warm hallway that led to her apartment. With each step, the wooden doors creaked, mingling with the heavy beat of my heart.

The last time I came here, Lazarus had been a bloodthirsty dick, addled by the blood lure curse, and then Coral had nearly burned him to death. Beatrice had been distressed at his charred body and under the impression that fire users were supernatural terrorists.

My skin tingled with anticipation, and the reaper cloak weighed heavily in my bag. I had lived in that garment the entire time I’d spent in the Flame. Without it, I felt exposed.

“Mera?” Beatrice’s croaky voice sounded from beyond her half-open door.

It sounded like she had a cold or was about to get the flu. I quickened my pace, and her apartment door swung open, revealing an older woman wearing a black dress three sizes too big and makeup that was too vibrant for her sallow skin.

Her face broke out into a grin. “Mera.”

My steps faltered. She looked like Beatrice’s mother but I had only met the woman once, as Beatrice’s family spent most of their time between India and the South of France. I hadn’t seen Mrs. Pala since Mr. Pala’s funeral, but she looked older and haggard. What on earth had happened to her in the past year-and-a-bit?

I glanced over her shoulder for signs of Beatrice, but before I could ask where she was, Mrs. Pala stepped forward and reached out a wrinkled hand toward Macavity. “While you were gone, I walked around Grosvenor Square, looking for Macavity. Was he with you this entire time?”

My brows drew together. “Mrs. Pala?”

“What are you talking about? That’s my mum’s name.” The older woman met my gaze with laughing brown eyes.

I flinched, not quite registering her words. In all the photos I’d seen of Beatrice’s parents, it was her father with the black hair and dark-brown eyes—not her mother. My best friend’s coloring was closest to his, but she didn’t share his features. They were more like…

“Beatrice?” I whispered.

She spread her arms wide. “Aren’t you going to give me a hug?”

With a yowl, Macavity pushed his paws into my chest, struggling out of my grip. After I deposited him on the floor, he darted around Beatrice and into the kitchen.

“What…” My voice cracked. She looked older than her mother, with thick strands of gray in her mahogany hair. “What’s happened to you?”

She shuffled toward me, wrapping her thin arms around my neck. “Sorry about the other day. I keep thinking about how I spoke to you and how you must think I’m one of those desperate cows who