“It did indeed.” He hesitated briefly. “Are you feeling up to some questions?”
“Sure.”
He dragged the other chair up and then sat down. “Ms. Kent said it’s sometimes possible to tell which house the script come from—was that the case here?”
“No, and that’s weird, because—as far as I’m aware—no one outside the three high houses are taught script.”
“A statement that basically confirms the fact you’re from one of those families,” he commented, with a completely neutral expression.
“It confirms I was taught some script,” I replied, keeping my voice even. “But that doesn’t mean I’m a full blueblood or that I’m capable of any major magic.”
That raised eyebrow once again spoke of disbelief. But all he said was “So does that mean the vampire we’re looking for is also a blueblood?”
I hesitated. “I doubt it, if only because the script he used was too pure. It’s almost as if he learned it from a textbook.”
“And is that usual?”
“No. Basic script is taught in witch school alongside regular writing and spelling, but there’re no textbooks handed out and every witch house has their own variation. The only existing records of script are kept in the National Library.”
He leaned forward and crossed his arms on the bed. His scent played around me, warm and musky, with just the faintest hint of smoky wood. Which was nice—more than nice, actually. It was probably just as well he hated what I was, because I might have been tempted to break my “no more men” rule had he shown even the slightest bit of attraction.
“And has the public got access to those records?” he asked.
“No,” Belle said, with an amused glance my way. “It’s law that a copy must be kept there, but it’s basically locked down. The only people who have access are high-profile bluebloods or government ministers.”
“The latter wouldn’t be able to read it, though, would they?”
“No,” I said. “Not without help. But if someone did access it, that would give you a starting point.”
“I’ll contact the National Library tomorrow morning,” he said. “Did the spell itself give you any insight? It was obviously powerful—”
“Yes and no,” I cut in. “The initial spell was a basic blurring spell, but the spell that caused all the damage was actually one designed from blood magic.”
He frowned again. “Witches don’t do blood magic, do they?”
“No,” Belle said. “It’s considered an unclean magic, and one that stains the soul unto darkness.”
“Witch magic,” I continued, “comes from both the power of the practitioner and the power that lives all around us.”
“So we’re looking for a blueblood gone bad?”
“Again, I doubt it. We consider becoming a vampire an abomination of the natural process of life and death.”
“Which doesn’t mean it can’t happen,” he said.
“True, but to my knowledge it never has.” I hesitated. “If you want to be sure, it might be wise to contact the council and ask them.”
“And about more than just our vampire, I think.”
“Go for it,” I said, even as a sliver of trepidation ran through me. It was highly unlikely an innocent query would raise any alarms when it came to either Belle or me, as our name change wouldn’t be listed in the council’s records, but I nevertheless preferred to keep any sort of contact at a minimum. “But they won’t be able to tell you much about either of us—they generally don’t keep records of mutts.”
“And yet they apparently teach them,” he said.
“Only if said mutts come from a highborn family and show an inclination for magic,” Belle said. “And even then they’re placed into the lowborn schools so that blueblood sensibilities aren’t stained by their presence.”
“I’m sensing a whole lot of bitterness behind that statement.”
“Ranger, you have no idea.” She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “The note said he was after vengeance, and that he intended to rip out the hearts of those who’d done him wrong. Are you any closer to uncovering the incident the note referred to?”