Passion of the Vampire King (Blood Fire Saga Book 5) Bella Klaus (the red fox clan TXT) 📖

“I’m a phoenix.”

She reared back, her feet grinding to a halt. “What?”

“There’s a community of fire users living in London right now,” I said, cringing in anticipation of her reaction to what I would say next. “Their leader is Kresnik—”

“But he died five centuries ago.” Istabelle’s voice was breathy, and all the blood drained from her face. She stepped back until she reached the kitchen table and braced her palm on its surface as though it was the only thing keeping her from falling.

Macavity stopped eating to sniff at the plate of macaroons but soon lost interest and returned to his plate.

I swallowed hard, and the dry membranes of my throat stuck together. “He faked his death in that battle and sacrificed a lot of magic to make the Council think he’d been defeated. Since then, he’s cultivated an army of followers, and over the past few decades, he’s created offspring with magic he can absorb to bolster his power.”

There was so much more to the story, such as the raid that caused Kresnik to get sent to Hell, but he may as well have been alive the entire time, considering he’d been possessing Father Jude to sire children.

Istabelle’s brows drew together, and her lips formed a tight line. She stared down at the macaroons, seeming to search their rugged exteriors for meaning. I couldn’t blame her. It was a lot to absorb, and I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t been in the middle of events.

Macavity’s loud purrs filled the silence as Istabelle stood in silence, absorbing my words. After several moments, she said, “Kresnik created you to have the power of a phoenix?”

“He and his followers merged the souls of a phoenix with a human’s and created me.” I took a sip of the warm tea, moistening my throat. All the sweetness was gone, but my muscles relaxed.

Istabelle brought the plate of chocolate coconut macaroons and placed them on my lap.

“Thank you.” I bit through its crisp exterior, inhaling the cacao that permeated the dessert. Most people made these as coconut macaroons and dipped them in chocolate, but not Istabelle. Dark chocolate, moist coconut, vanilla, and a hint of Dharma salt combined to create a mouthful that lifted my mood to the ceiling in a less forceful way than thrall.

A warm, giddy feeling filled my chest, and I exhaled a sigh. “That’s delicious.”

“Eat up,” she said with a tired smile. “It looks like you need these more than me.”

Nodding, I took another bite.

As I enjoyed ecstasy in the form of chocolate and coconut, Istabelle peered down at me with sharp eyes. “Every meridian on your face is clogged, and your crown, third eye, and throat chakras look like someone has painted over them with black tar.”

My brow furrowed. “What about the other chakras?”

She stepped back, her arms folded across her chest. “You’ll have to remove the reaper cloak, so I can take a better look.”

When I put the tea to the side, she raised a palm. “Finish your tea and macaroons first. I’ll put some stew in the oven and get the healing room ready.”

Istabelle’s healing room turned out to be a clay-lined cave illuminated by candles in alcoves within the walls. A treatment table took pride of place in front of a tall cabinet of crystals, singing bowls, tuning forks and other salt lamps on the back wall. There was even a massive gong on the room’s far right.

Water trickled from a terracotta gourd that had been turned on its side, providing both an alternative for a sink and source of healing sound. Beneath it lay a wide bowl filled with quartz crystals.

I paused in the doorway, my mouth open. “This is…” My voice echoed. “Beautiful.”

Istabelle approached from behind me and ushered me inside with a hand on my back. “I had it built for the acoustics. The healing properties of this room are twice as powerful as the shop. Can you tell me why?”

“Clay is porous, so it’s going to absorb the negative energy?” I stepped inside, my gaze wandering to the arched ceiling. “The running water is already healing me?”

She gave me a congratulatory pat on the back. “And the walls are thick enough to stop the energies of others interfering with my sight.”

Nodding, I hopped onto the healing table and lay on its cushioned surface. “What’s happened to my other chakras?”

Istabelle walked to the foot of the table, closed her eyes, and clutched a celestite medallion she wore around her neck. Celestite was a pale blue stone people used to open their third eye, access higher states of meditation, and connect with the angelic realm. It was also a stone renowned for purifying. With a deep breath, she pressed her hands together and rubbed them in circles.

I gulped. This was what she did whenever preparing herself for a long session of healing. Whatever she’d seen earlier had to be pretty bad.

For the next several moments, she walked around the table, continuing to rub her palms until I felt shards of angelic magic.

“This is the first time I’ve seen someone with so many well-constructed cords,” she murmured. “Most of them have been severed, but some are still connected and leading out of the room.”

My stomach tightened, and the back of my throat spasmed with a surge of nausea. Istabelle had taught me about parasitical attachments, which were a form of psychic attack that linked one person to another. One of the books she kept in the basement library had an illustration of one that looked like an umbilical cord, complete with a cross-section with arteries and three sets of protective coverings.

A high-pitched sound vibrated across my eardrums, making me flinch. I opened my eyes to find Istabelle standing in the middle of the table, holding a tuning fork the size of a brick with one hand, and a rubber mallet in the other.

She turned to me and grimaced. “Sorry, dear,” she shouted as the sound faded. “I needed something sharp