Athena had been completely tamed by Roy, utterly devoted to him, so she held nothing back when he questioned her.
And so, Roy learned what had been happening with the Council of Elders in Europe.
It all started with the collective weakening of the third-generation vampires. This was predictable—humans and vampires were in a constant tug-of-war, and vampires were finding it harder to secure quality sustenance. Some might argue that with the massive blood plasma market, vampires shouldn't be starving. But it wasn't that simple. Vampires didn't survive on blood alone; they also absorbed a portion of a human's vitality, their essence, which was the key to their strength.
To maintain their power, strong vampires needed fresh blood from living humans. But governments worldwide had been cracking down on this, an unspoken agreement to keep vampires in check. Even in Europe, where ties to vampires ran deep, no one wanted them to grow too powerful. Without access to fresh human blood, the overall strength of vampires was doomed to decline.
Third-generation vampires, in particular, were hit hard. To conserve energy, they entered long periods of slumber, but some might never wake up.
Did the vampires not realize this? Of course they did. But they were powerless to change it.
The Council's sudden frenzy was likely their last desperate struggle.
"Valentine is the strongest fourth-generation vampire, just below the third-generation dukes," Athena explained, rubbing her face against a cat teaser toy, practically coating herself in an imaginary layer of face mask. "He's at a threshold where his strength is close to a third-generation's, but his energy consumption is just manageable. That's why he's leading the Council now."
Her eyes were nearly glued shut from her enthusiastic play, but she didn't seem to mind.
"So, how's the Council planning to turn things around?" Roy asked. That was the real question.
Athena, still engrossed in her toy, tilted her head. "Roy, have you heard about the origin of the vampire race?"
"The one about Cain, or the one about Dracula?"
"Cain, of course. Dracula was powerful, but he's from the early Middle Ages. The vampire race predates the Great Flood."
Roy ran his fingers through Athena's hair. It was stiff, almost like petting a Siberian silver cat. Especially with the way she wiggled her hips, scraping against the teaser toy like a cat chasing a laser.
Should I get her a pair of cat ears and a tail next time? Wait—why am I already thinking about a next time?
"I've heard of it," Roy said, snapping back to the conversation.
"There's a legend among vampires," Athena continued. "After God cursed Cain, He also gave him a way to break the curse: find the Holy Grail, the one given to Jesus, and drink the sacred blood within it. That would lift God's curse and elevate the drinker to a higher existence."
Roy's expression turned odd. Just two days ago, he'd downed a knockoff "Jesus' Blood" cocktail at the Time Bar. What were the odds?
"So that's why the Council came to America?" he asked.
Athena nodded. "They spent centuries searching for the Grail in Europe, only to discover it came to the Americas with the Mayflower. Then it took them another hundred years to track down the Shadowhunters guarding it."
She was likely referring to Clary's mother, Jocelyn Frey. It all made sense now. The Council had failed to capture Jocelyn, so they targeted Clary to lure her out, not expecting Clary to be a half-angel.
"Athena, do you know where the Council's base is in Los Angeles?"
Athena was now nibbling on a post-meal dessert, her voice muffled. "No clue, but it's definitely somewhere secure. Probably underground."
Underground? Roy remembered the massive space he'd found in an abandoned subway line. Could the vampires be hiding there?
He glanced at the time—nearly 9 a.m. Time to wrap things up.
"Thanks for the intel, Athena. I've gotta run."
Roy quickly got up, threw on his clothes, and headed for the door. But before he could take a few steps, Athena clung to his leg. Looking down, he saw her pleading eyes.
"Roy, will you come back to me?"
"Next time, for sure," he said, a little too casually.
Sensing his noncommittal tone, Athena upped the ante. "Next time, I'll bring Bella, Cassandra, and Daniela to keep you company!"
Bella, Cassandra, and Daniela were the three vampire girls, "daughters" of Athena through the vampire embrace, though they weren't biologically related. (Think Dimitrescu sisters.)
Well, damn. That was hard to refuse. Athena was pulling out all the stops.
"I'll be back," Roy promised, meaning it this time.
Athena's eyes lit up as she watched him leave, still sprawled on the floor. "You better come back, Roy!"
Back at the Sangiovese Bar, it was already closed for the night. Only the three vampire girls and Saltana remained. The girls' eyes sparkled when they saw Roy, making him wonder if he had some kind of supernatural charm over non-humans.
Saltana gave him a teasing look. "All sorted?"
Roy nodded. "Yeah, Athena gave me some crucial info."
After he filled her in, Saltana's expression grew serious. "This doesn't sound like a simple case."
A dying camel is still bigger than a horse. Third-generation vampires were older than human history itself. If the Council was desperate enough to go all-in, it could spell disaster for most countries.
"Exactly," Roy said. "These old-world relics need to be swept into the trash heap."
He was firmly on humanity's side. If the Council wanted to stir trouble, he'd crush them.
"Roy, this is beyond my authority," Saltana said. "I need to report this to my superiors."
"I get it. I'll drop you off at the Dolphin Hotel, then head back to the Shadowhunter base."
As he spoke, Roy pulled out his phone and saw a flood of missed calls—all from Clary. There were several texts too.
Crap. Something's wrong.
He'd been deep underground in the bar's basement, fighting Athena, where even a satellite phone couldn't get a signal. He hadn't realized Clary had been trying to reach him.
He called her back immediately, but this time, she didn't pick up.
"Saltana, something's up with Clary. I can't drop you off."
"What about the girl?" Saltana asked, glancing at Abigail, who was still locked in the Bumblebee's trunk.
"She'll stay there for now. I'll deal with her later."
With that, Roy bolted out of the Sangiovese, the three vampire girls calling after him: "Come back soon, Father!"
Roy: What the hell? Since when did his status level up to dad?
---
An hour earlier, back at the Shadowhunter base, Clary had just woken up. She'd only managed four or five hours of restless sleep, plagued by chaotic dreams. Even awake, she felt drained. Worse, Roy was gone, and there was a ghostly woman in a red dress sitting in the room.
"You're awake," the ghost said.
Clary jumped, startled by Francesca's translucent form. "You're a ghost?"
Francesca nodded. "I'm Roy's ghost. He had to step out for something. There's a note from him on the nightstand."
Clary noticed the note, weighted down by a revolver with an ivory grip. Reading it, she learned Roy had left to investigate new intel. Relieved, she'd briefly feared he'd abandoned her.
Curiosity piqued, she studied Francesca, who, aside from being see-through, carried herself like a living person. "What's it like being a ghost?"
"You can call me Francesca. Being a ghost has its pros and cons. You can do things the living can't, but you lose a lot too."
"Like what?"
"I can't eat normal food anymore. Roy has to 'feed' me occasionally. Most of my senses are gone—only sight and hearing remain."
Clary shivered. "That doesn't sound fun. Why not go to heaven?"
"I chose to stay to repay Roy. Little lady, don't romanticize being a ghost—it's painful. I'm only at ease because I'm with Roy. Back when I was a bound spirit, it was far worse."
Clary scratched her head, about to ask more, when a knock came at the door.
"Miss Frey, Mr. Blake, are you awake?" It was Hodge Starkweather.
Clary panicked. "What do I do? Roy's not here!"
"Don't worry," Francesca said calmly. "I'll hide in the revolver. Keep it on you, and summon me if you need help."
Francesca's cool-headedness steadied Clary. Following her instructions, Clary pocketed the note and the M629 revolver, then opened the door.
Hodge stood there with a line of Shadowhunters. His eyes flickered when he noticed Roy wasn't in the room.
"Where's Mr. Blake?"
"He… had to step out," Clary said, opting for the truth. Lying would be pointless since Roy's absence was obvious.
Hodge smiled. "Miss Frey, we're ready to perform the ritual to find your mother."
Clary hesitated. "But Roy's not back yet. Can't we wait for him?"
"Miss Frey, your mother is in danger. The sooner we find her, the safer she'll be."
Hodge's words seemed to prioritize Jocelyn's safety, but something felt off to Clary. Still foggy from lack of sleep, she couldn't pinpoint what was wrong, only that her gut urged caution.
"Don't waste time, Miss Frey! Jocelyn could be in grave danger!" Hodge pressed.
His insistence on her mother's peril finally swayed Clary. "Alright, let's do the ritual."
"Follow me."
Hodge led her to a ceremonial hall where seven elderly figures in black robes stood in a circle around a large stone basin, exuding an air of mystery.
"Mr. Starkweather, what do I need to do?" Clary asked.
"It's simple. The seven wizards will chant to begin the ritual's first phase—you don't need to do anything for that. When the water in the basin glows, that's the second phase. You'll use this knife to cut your finger and drip blood into the basin while thinking of your mother. Then you'll see her location in the water."
Hodge handed her an ornate knife embedded with gems.
"Sounds straightforward enough. Let's start," Clary said, anxious about her mother and eager to proceed.
"One moment." Hodge nodded to the wizards, who began chanting.
As the ritual progressed, light seemed to gather in the stone basin, growing as bright as a spotlight. Five minutes later, the wizards stopped chanting.
"Now, Miss Frey! Drip your blood!" Hodge urged.
Clary hurried to the basin, cutting her finger with the ornate knife. Blood dripped into the clear water. Instantly, the light vanished, and Clary felt a strange cold numbness at the cut, but she brushed it off as part of the ritual.
Then, to her delight, an image of her mother, Jocelyn, appeared on the water's surface.
"Mom!" Clary cried, but it was only an image—Jocelyn couldn't hear her.
"Miss Frey, stay calm," Hodge said. "Study the scene carefully to figure out where your mother is."
(Chapter End)