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GODSWAR: The Spear of Athena, Chapter 4

Well, they had a destination...

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Chapter 4.

"Ingram, have you taken leave of your senses?" Captain Pennon snapped. "If you are going back to Aegeia, we go with you!"

"No, you do not!" Urelle saw the tension in Ingram's whole body as he kept his gaze locked on Pennon's. He's confronting the Captain of the Clan; I can't imagine how hard this is for Ingram, so soon after finding out that he wasn't the humiliating failure he thought he was.

But it was his place to do this, and Urelle and the others had known it was coming for almost the entire week since they'd arrived.

"In the name of Athena, why?" Guardian Paschalia asked. "You are four and would set yourselves against Ares? Surely you could use the aid of the Clan, even though we are few." Paschalia's voice was low and earnest; Urelle thought he was still trying to make up for his having accepted the deceptions surrounding Ingram's competence.

"Three reasons," Ingram said, looking around the Vantage's large sitting room. He raised one finger. "First, what little we know about this prophecy or whatever points to it being us, not any of you. Which of us, we're still not clear on, but somehow I am involved, and at least one of the others. We are supposed to confront or stop Ares somehow. You are not in that category.

"Second," he went on, elevating a second finger and cutting off any protest, "We already know there's more of the Clan inside Aegeia – or there should be. If there isn't, I will not risk the whole Clan. Some of us must remain outside to be a last hope and nucleus of a liberation force, if the worst happens. And since I can't stay, you, Captain, and all your forces, are the obvious choice."

Pennon's normally cheerful face looked like she'd bitten into a puckerfruit, but she finally nodded. "That… makes sense. I hate to admit it, but it makes sense. So, what's your third reason?"

Ingram hesitated, and she sensed a trepidation, as of someone about to do something they had never dared do before. "The third…" He swallowed audibly, then took a breath and straightened up – though his diminutive size made that an unimpressive gesture. Still, he met Pennon's gaze once more. "The third reason is that you'll slow us down, Captain."

Pennon opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again, then just stared incredulously at Ingram. "Slow… you… down?"

"Slow us down," Ingram repeated, though there was still a tremor in his voice. "We have to face the truth. The Clan was close to being wiped out when the four of us came in and proceeded to wipe out your enemies in a few moments – enemies that had been chasing you a long ways." He looked around the small circle of Camp-Bels. "There is not one of you, even the Captain, who could take on Lady Victoria or Quester, and I don't think you could take me or Urelle, either. I hate to say it so bluntly, Captain, but we would be spending time worrying about you, time and effort we can't afford."

Pennon stared at him for long moments. Then she chuckled. The chuckle turned to a laugh, and the laugh to a roar that doubled her over with mirth, left her gasping for breath before she could finally recover, leaning against the paneled wall for support. "Ohhh… Ahh, Ingram, forgive me, I do not laugh at you, but at myself. At us. The Camp-Bels, the proud defenders… who needed rescue at the hands of the one we had deceived. Who truly – as you say – has no need of us to defend him, or his friends."

Paschalia, too, had laughed, with a twist of sadness in his smile. "It's a hard truth to swallow for those of us who were as deceived as you were, Ingram. But… aye, I saw those you felled, and read clearly the way in which you slew them. It was something I could not have done, nor, I think, even the old Captain, let alone – no offense! – our new Captain Pennon."

A snort. "No offense taken, Pas. He was the best of us, by far. But you are likely right. You have grown even past where you were when you left, Ingram, and taken yourself beyond our ability to protect." She grew more serious and looked to Paschalia. "And he made an excellent point. We are very few. We do not know if the rest of the Clan in Aegeia will survive. It is our duty to remain here and build our strength; there are those we can protect and assist in the greatest of cities, indeed, and from those we will find others to test, to train, to become part of the Clan."

She gave the same two-stage salute with her arms that Berenike used, first crossing her arms in an X on her chest, then rotating them to stand upward on either side. "Travel swiftly and well, Ingram Camp-Bel, and may the Lady's Wisdom guide you, the Lady's Shield protect you, and the Lady Herself be beside you in battle."

Ingram returned the salute, and bowed as well. "Captain, I thank you for understanding," he said, and Urelle could see that behind his formal words his eyes were bright with tears, for this which was not just acceptance, but true and unquestionable respect from the Clan he had loved and felt outcast from for so long. "The Lady's Wisdom guide you all, and her Spear go before you in battle, as her Shield wards you from all harm."

Then he flung his arms around Pennon, whose eyes went wide and then misty, as she returned his embrace. "Well spoken, Ingram," she said quietly. "And once more, the apologies and the love of the Clan are yours. You are not Captain… but in this you have the right, and the duty, to command us. Go, then, all four of you, and may the Father of the Gods himself walk with you on this mission."

*******

"Okay, Urelle, that's just showing off."

She looked over and grinned at Ingram. "What?" she asked, in an overly-innocent tone.

He pointed down. "You're flying one inch above the road?"

"I think it looks really mysterious and… what was it the Wanderer said… cool, that was his word."

"Okay, it looks… interesting, maybe." Ingram's tone was snippy. "But isn't that a huge waste of effort?"

Well, Balance, I do something I think is fun and this is the way he reacts? She opened her mouth to snap back, then suddenly realized what was bothering him. "I know it was hard to just leave them behind, Ingram. But please don't snap at me for it."

He blinked, looked angry for an instant, then visibly choked back a response. After a moment, he closed his eyes and breathed slowly out.

Good, Nest-brother, she heard. I am glad neither I nor Victoria had to intervene and put some sense into your head.

"Sorry." Ingram bowed to her as they walked. "I still wish they could have come with us."

Aunt Victoria raised her eyebrow. "They would have if you had given them the slightest opening, young man."

"I know, I know! I was the one who told them they had to stay behind and made them accept it."

And that, Urelle thought to herself, was one of the hardest things I think he's ever done. I know he wanted the Camp-Bels with him. But he was right. "You were right, Ingram. You really were. If any of us thought otherwise, you know we'd have said something, right?"

He smiled, then reached out and gave her hand a quick squeeze that sent a tingle through her. "Yes. Yes, of course, you all would have."

A gentle rain was falling as they walked along the Great Road, keeping towards the southern side to allow larger traffic – like the big trade wagon pulled by eight riding lizards – to pass unimpeded. From beneath her travel hood Urelle looked back to the West, seeing somewhat lighter clouds that hinted at better weather in an hour or so.

"How far is it to Salandar?" she asked.

"About six hundred miles, more or less," Victoria answered. "The average person, in decent health, would do that in about thirty days. With our particular advantages, I would expect to cut that to twenty days."

"A shame we could not all fly there," Quester said. "But all the existing air-cruisers went with the army."

"Yes," Urelle said. "And there's no way I could keep us all flying for any great length of time. It's pretty easy to do for myself, but not for anyone who's not a strong mage." Which might include Ingram, based on what I sense from him, but not Auntie or Quester, she thought. It was odd that Ingram seemed to have such strong magic about him, but wasn't, by his own account, trained much at all in magic himself. She really needed to sit down with him and discuss it; giving him even a basic grounding in magic could be a big plus under the right circumstances.

"So," she went on, "does anyone here know any of the Salandaras?"

"I can't say I know any of them," Victoria admitted. "I have, of course, spoken with a few when my friends and I passed through, and roomed there a few times, but none that I would say I know well enough to speak to on such a matter."

"I don't … no, wait, we do, I think," Ingram said, his head coming up suddenly. "Quester?"

"Indeed. Indeed. You know the requirements of the Guild membership, of course, Lady Victoria."

"Indeed."

"Then you recall the final test, which seems so simple, yet I suspect eliminates more than other testings might."

"Oh, indeed, the Examination." Urelle could somehow hear the capitalization, as Victoria looked to her. "At the conclusion of all other testing, the candidate submits to a direct… survey, one might say, of their soul, to verify that they are who they claim to be, that they are uncoerced in any way, that they have sought to be Adventurers of their own free will, and that they have not merely the will but the moral and ethical qualifications to be given the Guild Patch."

"So, every Adventurer has their minds read?" That seemed awfully… intrusive to Urelle, though it obviously made sense to check anyone trying to be an Adventurer awfully carefully.

"Not exactly read," Ingram said. "And soul, not mind. They're not trying to find out your secrets; they're making sure that you won't refuse someone in need, that you aren't carrying an agenda inside you that conflicts with the basic function of Adventuring, I guess is the best way to put it."

"Quite," Victoria agreed, and Quester nodded. "Now, why do you ask, Ingram?"

"Well, we were, um, awfully lucky in our testing. Not only was Toron there to direct the testing, the one who did the Examination was Frederic of the White Robe."

"Oh, my."

Urelle felt her eyes widen. That name wasn't, quite, on a par with the Wanderer's, but it was very much a name to be repeated with respect. "And so Druyar Salandaras…?"

"Was with him, as you would expect," Quester said, a hint of pride in his buzzing voice – and in his warm-spice scent. "In fact, he was the one who presented us with our Guild Patches."

"Not something even a Salandaras is likely to forget, indeed," Victoria said. "That is a stroke of luck. More than you know."

"What do you mean?" Ingram asked, straightening with hope.

"I mean that he is currently The Salandaras, which means that the Freehold is his to ward and watch. If he is present, of course," she went on, her voice cautioning Ingram against too much hope. "He and Frederic are far more Adventurer than they are the sort to stay at home. With the War… they may either have joined the Army of the Dragon, or, just possibly, have returned home to protect their own people. If the latter is the case, we may be fortunate."

Ingram nodded. "Let's hope and pray that is the case. Otherwise," he looked grim, "we'll have to convince people we've never met to break the word they've never broken."

 

 

The post GODSWAR: The Spear of Athena, Chapter 4 appeared first on Ryk E. Spoor, Author, Gamer, Geek God.

GODSWAR: The Spear of Athena, Chapter 3

They were looking for answers...

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Chapter 3.

"I can only afford you a few moments," said Calladan Mystraios. "Even for you, Victoria."

"I quite understand," she said. "But I believe my friends' questions should be brief. But first, how have you been doing?"

"Well enough until I found myself drafted into being King-in-Proxy," he said with a half-chuckle, half-sigh. "The Academy's been doing quite well, or was when I left. A nice new crop of students, about half sponsored in." His sharp black eyes looked distant for a moment, obviously thinking about the Academy, where his true heart lay.

He hasn't aged, a part of her noted. Calladan still looked every inch the wise wizard – well over six feet tall, trim, sleek black hair with a sprinkling of gray, white at the temples, penetrating gaze, a pointed black beard with a streak of white through the center, elaborate black robes covered with mystical symbols, and the intricately carved ebonwood staff that glinted with both gold decoration and steel reinforcement. He'd looked exactly the same… was it forty-five years ago? How time does pass… as he had when she'd first seen him during her brief time at the Academy.

At the same time, he looked… smaller, perhaps a hair less certain, as he sat in the Dragon King's Throne, made for beings far larger and grander than mere humans. The dramatic series of crystal platforms that culminated in the dais that supported the throne made the throne room feel cavernously hollow without the size and aura of power of an Ancient Sauran seated upon that throne.

"And you?" he went on. "I'd heard the Vantage V—" he cut off at her glance. "Er, I'd heard you retired to be one of the Eyes back at Evanwyl."

"If only it had stayed that way. You and I know what is happening to the world. It did not leave Evanwyl untouched. But it would take a long time to go into all that."

"Yes, I suppose it would. Perhaps I will have time later; I would very much like to hear it." He turned to look at the other three. "Now, I cannot possibly be wrong in that this young lady is a Vantage, no?"

"My niece and a most accomplished young mage, Urelle," Victoria said proudly. "Had things gone a bit differently, she might have been in your Academy this year or the next."

"And proud to have her, I am sure. An honor to meet you, young Urelle."

Urelle took his extended hand and shook it, looking not a little overawed at meeting the Director of the Adventurer's Academy. "I'm very honored, sir."

He studied her other two companions. "Hmmm. A unique pair you are – for just by the way you stand I see you are partners. Adventurers as well – Guilded here in the city." His eyes narrowed. "That weapon… I have seen its like only once before, a long time ago. Aegeian?"

Ingram grinned. "Well done, sir! Ingram Camp-Bel of Aegeia, at your service!"

"And a Camp-Bel! This becomes a most interesting visit." He looked to Quester. "And a Gray Warrior. My condolences for your losses, Iriistiik." He pronounced the name with the buzzing trill that few humans could manage.

"How did you know, sir?"

"Put in the position of ruler, I've made it my business to know what is happening in the world, insofar as one man can. The deliberate extermination of species is a clear signature of the powers behind this. The Artan are the most obvious, but the losses over the last few years by the Iriistiik make it near-certain that this, too, is part of their work."

"Then… thank you for your sympathy, sir. I am called Quester."

"An honor to meet you, Quester." He bowed to allow his forehead to be touched by Quester's antennae.

Quester straightened. "As we are on the subject… one of our questions was whether you know of any surviving Nests?"

Calladan's lips tightened, and Victoria could see the leashed anger – not towards those present – in the tension of his stance. "I wish I did, Quester. I have not had a thorough search of the records done, of course, but the overview I have had mentions no other Nests than those we know have been destroyed."

Oh, Quester. She saw the antennae drop, the angular body sway a moment, and felt him cut them all off, for the moment, from his mind and thoughts, privacy in his grief. No Nests mean no Mothers. If we cannot find another Nest… then the few surviving wanderers like Quester will be the last of their kind.

After a moment, Ingram cleared his throat. "Um. Well, we have another question. Are you aware of the, well, Seal that Athena often puts around Aegeia at points in the Cycle?"

"I am. And I have heard that it has been done for this Cycle, just recently."

"Okay, that makes it easier. We think that this time it wasn't Athena, but Ares. And somehow not right for the Cycle."

Calladan's entire attention was suddenly focused on Ingram. "You mean that Ares is not, for lack of a better term, sticking properly to the script?"

"I… yes, I guess that would be a good way to put it."

Victoria remembered something said by the dying Xiilistiin at the battle where they had rescued the Camp-Bels from being wiped out. "There are even a few implications that Ares may not actually be Ares, at least not as the Aegeians have known him."

Calladan closed his eyes. "That would be… extraordinarily bad. But go on. That was not your question."

"We need to know – I mean, we need to find a way to get through the Seal and into Aegeia. The Guild said you were the best person to ask, at least anywhere near here."

"I am touched by the Guild's faith in me. Insofar as I know, no one has ever breached the Seal. The Aegei may work within it, and may be able to speak outside of it, but even they cannot bring anything through the Seal."

He frowned. "A pretty problem indeed, and unfortunately I don't have much time to devote to it. Yet the Guild must know that."

Urelle's brow had been furrowed in thought. Now it suddenly cleared. "Sir? It might be silly or obvious but…"

"Go on, Urelle. Sometimes silly and obvious is still very relevant, and I have found that often what seems silly or obvious to one is quite opaque to another."

"Well," Urelle said, "I was working with… another really powerful wizard, and he helped me figure out how to break a powerful tracking charm on us. The trick was that even the best spell has… well, a tiny flaw, like a stitch that completes a piece of cloth and could be used to unravel it."

Calladan raised both eyebrows. "Neither silly nor always obvious. This is a truth that is often forgotten, because most spells do not require that level of analysis. They can be broken by superior force, or cleverly negating a part of their matrix directly rather than using the extremely complex and time-consuming process of analyzing the spell to find its… keystone, so to speak."

"So would it apply to the Seal?"

Calladan stroked his beard in contemplation. "I do not see why it would not. It is true that the Seal could be put in place by pure, unadulterated godspower, which can follow quite different rules… but that would be an incredibly inefficient and power-hungry method. Quick, dirty, and wasteful. Athena does not work that way, and I do not expect Ares would if he could avoid it. So much easier to build a matrix, a structure for the godspower to reinforce – a spell cast and strengthened by the power of the gods, rather than a pure shield of that energy and will. And in that case… yes, there would, and must, be such a keystone."

Urelle's face lit up… and then immediately fell.

"What's wrong, Urelle?" Victoria asked, puzzled.

"Auntie, knowing that was really helpful working on the Coins, because I could see the whole spell. I could look for the - well, I thought of it as a flaw, but keystone works just as well, maybe better - the keystone in context of the entire work."

"Ah." One didn't have to be a wizard to understand the problem. "But you cannot see the entirety of a spell that covers a perimeter of perhaps over two thousand miles. Yes."

"Very true," Calladan said. "If one were possessed of the eyes of the gods, one might do so, but we are far more limited. Still… we may be able to narrow the likely locations down."

"You mean," Ingram said, perking up slightly, "there are limits on where it could be placed?"

"There are always limits, young Ingram," Calladan said, and Victoria smiled just a touch as she heard the professorial tone entering the deep voice. "A spell is designed to perform a particular function, and its design is predicated on that function, and on external constraints that must be adhered to in making the spell able to perform the desired function in the real world.

"For example, in the ideal case, if one considers a spherical perimeter to be secured, the keystone may be placed at any point upon the sphere, as no point on a sphere is in any way more or less significant than any other."

"But that's not true in the real world," Urelle said, also starting to sound more animated, and Victoria saw even Quester's antennae rising up again. "Right? For example, the Seal is not a sphere."

"Right you are, Urelle. It is not a sphere, but a somewhat irregular quadrangle in general outline, with extensions both above and below ground to prevent intrusion from the obvious third dimension." Calladan was up out of the throne now, sketching an outline of Aegiea in the air and causing a faint, glowing aura to extend up and down from the shimmering perimeter. "Naturally there are also elements to prevent intrusion by dimensional shift, teleportation, shadestriding, and so on, but these aren't relevant to our particular question.

"In addition, this god-spell has been cast many times over the ages; it has a fixed matrix, determined dozens of Cycles and two or more Chaoswars ago. That means that its keystone today will be – will have to be – in the same place it has been in every prior cycle. Now, Ingram, tell me one place where our hypothetical keystone won't be."

Ingram jumped at being addressed and looked momentarily panicked, a student being called upon who has no idea what to say. "Um, er… well, not here, along the coastline. That's where almost everyone trying to get into the country is going to be, it'd be stupid to put the potential vulnerability there."

"Very good, and correct. We can dismiss this entire area of the perimeter." That section of the perimeter went red.

"Could it not be in the sky, or even better, below the ground?" Quester asked. "Those would be by far the least accessible areas and thus would seem to be the obvious places to put the keystone."

Urelle opened her mouth, then closed it, frowning.

"The answer is no, it could not be in either of these places, sensible though it would be to put it there. Urelle, you had a thought. Can you tell us why the keystone cannot be in either location?"

Victoria smothered a giggle. Calladan was now fully in his teaching mode, down to asking the pupil to explain rather than doing it himself. He really does belong in the Academy. Gods grant this war is short.

"I don't…" Urelle stopped herself, then traced the outline. "It's irregular, not a sphere or something. That means the perimeter is the anchor for the above and below ground extensions. They can't be keystone areas because all the, oh… stitching, supports, anchors, whatever, have to be along the perimeter. All the structure comes together there. The keystone has to be somewhere along the perimeter!"

Calladan smiled and nodded. "Excellent!" The transparent above and below-ground extensions shaded to red as well. "Already we have eliminated well over ninety percent of the possible locations. That does still leave us with three-quarters of the perimeter as candidates, however."

"Ingram," buzzed Quester, "did you not tell me that the Rohila have strongholds all along this part of Wisdom's Fortress?" His claw traced the western side of the mountain range.

"Yes. And I think on the other side, too. They live all through the mountain range." Ingram shook his head. "They're… not comfortable neighbors, but there's a basic agreement that as long as we don't intrude on their space, they will keep their activities within the mountains or outside of Aegeia."

"Then we can exclude most of the mountain range," Calladan said, "which suddenly makes our task far easier. There is no possibility that either Athena or Ares will have placed the singular weakness of their spell directly within or adjacent to the domain of those who are not allies. There will have been no few painful and drawn-out negotiations made, in fact, to address where, exactly, the Seal goes within Wisdom's Fortress, or it could cut through Rohila settlements."

"Yes," Victoria said, remembering their own experiences. "It would appear to me that the agreement actually leaves the Rohila inside the perimeter – that for the most part, it traces the exterior edge of the mountains. Based on where we encountered the barrier ourselves, anyway."

"Hmmm, a most interesting decision that must have been. But I suppose it is inevitable; the Rohila's warrens extend laterally as well as vertically, so that there might be some significant settlements underneath areas of Aegeia that are within the perimeter of the mountains. The only way to not provoke them and still enclose the entirety of Aegeia would be to enclose the mountains as well."

"But if we eliminate the whole perimeter, there's nothing left!" Urelle said. "We've determined that they can't put it above or below, they certainly wouldn't put it along the open coastline, and now you've eliminated the entire mountain range!"

"Not quite, young Urelle," Calladan said. "Ingram?"

Ingram's mouth had dropped slowly open. "By Athena… of course."

"What's 'of course'?"

"As Calladan said, there is no way they would put the weakness near one who isn't an ally, and the Rohila aren't anyone's allies. But we do have one ally on that perimeter, one that guards the only reasonable pass through Wisdom's Fortress." His finger touched the center of the northern wall of mountains. "Freehold Keep."

Calladan smiled broadly. "And we have reduced your search to a manageable area, I believe."

"Thank you so much, Calladan," Victoria said, and seeing that he was still smiling, embraced him. "I had hoped you might have some wisdom to give us, but I admit, this is far better than I'd expected!"

He returned the hug. "Now, now, Victoria, I will hardly accept all of the credit. I guided the thoughts, but with but a few clues you and your friends were able to see your way clear." He glanced over and down. "Something still troubles you, young Camp-Bel?"

"Nothing to do with the location, sir. Just… the practicalities."

"How do you mean?" Quester asked.

Ingram shook his head. "One good reason to believe the keystone is somewhere there, or around there, maybe just behind it, is that The Salandaras – the one who's given responsibility for the Freehold – is sworn to hold the pass against any and all who seek to enter once the Seal has been placed. By the Seal's appearance, it's assumed Athena herself has ordered that none enter or leave, and so the Freehold will become an impassable bastion against it."

Calladan gave a shrug. "That is a challenge, but unfortunately even as King-Regent I have no say over the Salandaras; none truly have, save themselves and their unpredictable god. It would seem to me that you have little choice but to attempt passage. Perhaps the uniqueness of your circumstances will move them to make an exception," he smiled wryly, "if you can truly get them to grasp it."

"Yeah," Ingram said gloomily. "That's going to be hard enough. But even if I do, one thing they do real well is keep their word."

"A usually admirable trait, but one that may be troublesome in this case. Still… I have given you what aid I can, I think, and there are many other people I must see today."

"Yes, of course you do. Thank you very much, sir. At least we have an idea of a destination, which is by Wisdom a lot more than we had coming in!"

"Truly," Quester said. "Thank you, Calladan."

"Thank you very much, sir," Urelle said. "You gave me more to think about, too."

He grinned broadly. "The finest reward of a teacher – seeing his students thinking!"

They laughed, and Victoria even smelled a touch of humor in Quester's scent. He is strong and will recover.

But my, my, what a challenge we have before us.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The post GODSWAR: The Spear of Athena, Chapter 3 appeared first on Ryk E. Spoor, Author, Gamer, Geek God.

GODSWAR: The Spear of Athena, Chapter 2

Quester and Ingram had had an unexpectedly enthusiastic greeting...

 

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Chapter 2.

Quester felt his antennae flick involuntarily – the equivalent of an astonished blink. "I am," he agreed, "but from whence this amazement?"

The Sorter was still staring down at him, then glanced back at the Artan. "Excuse me a moment; Guild business, you unnerstand."

Without waiting for the Querent to answer, the Sorter grasped both Quester and Ingram gently by the shoulders and guided them through a set of doors and down the hall to one of the private meeting rooms. Only when the door was shut did he turn back to face them.

"Well now," he said. "Well, now. Sorry about that, but… you'll remember back when you applied, we had a talk about your people's Nests getting wiped out?"

"Indeed," Quester said. "You knew of two besides my own."

"Well, then, here's the thing: add three more to that."

"Shargamor's Water." Quester whispered the prayer-curse. "And we learned of another on our travels. Seven. I… I do not know if there were more than seven Nests!"

"No more do I," the Sorter said heavily. "But even that's not the worst. See, there ain't many Iriistiik Adventurers – seeing as how most o' your people are nicely set up in your Nests, you do business outside but ain't got so much reason to go runnin' around gettin' in trouble. Still, there's always a few, just like there's always a few Toads willing to get out of the mud and hop to it. We've had ten on the rolls here, countin' you, that were active." Quester felt his spiracles tightening with dread even before the Sorter finished, "Now? Don't think there's four of 'em left."

Ingram muttered his own curse. "Something's even hunting down the Adventurers? The singletons, the ones without a Nest or on long missions away?"

"Seems like it must be, don't it?" The Sorter shook his head dolefully. "Once I noticed the pattern – got a report of a murdered Nest, then two of our Iriistiik members killed – I sent out alerts, but it's always guesses and grabs as to whether they'll get through to everyone. Way you reacted tells me it sure didn't get to you."

Quester had been thinking. "We must assume this is a coordinated effort. Yes?"

Ingram's brow furrowed. "Well… I guess, yeah. I mean, maybe one or two could be accidents or coincidence, but it wouldn't make sense that there were two or more groups that just suddenly decided to hunt down your people." His head snapped up. "By Athena… The Xiilistiin."

"What?" the Sorter snapped. "Xiilistiin? I haven't heard of any of those monsters active in decades!"

"I wish we hadn't," Ingram said. "They're active and working with someone – we think Ares – inside Aegeia."

"Kharianda protect us." The Sorter seated himself with a sigh. "I'll have to put out another alert to all the Guild Houses. Xiilistiin! Xiilis are bad enough, and gods know we've tried to wipe them out, but Xiilistiin…" he shook his head. "Iff'n we weren't already in all-out war, this'd be a top-alert emergency."

Ingram frowned, and Quester could smell his friend's puzzlement. "I'm not arguing – especially after what I've seen – but I didn't realize they were considered that bad."

"Prob'ly because after they showed up, weren't a single country or Guild House that wasn't happy to hunt 'em down. Parasite soul-stealers? Ain't much worse'n that, believe you me." The Sorter pursed his lips. "See, stronger their Swarms get, the better they get at their imitations, more they can steal from the people they catch. It's like an avalanche – starts small, but every little bit speeds the thing up, until next thing you know you've buried a whole Chromaias-damned valley under it. An' if they get a Patron – god or demon, and they really like to cozy up to some of the Mazolishta, Erherveria, and some of the others – they just get worse."

Ingram bit his lip. "Ugh. Okay, I can definitely see that. But what's the Xiilis?"

"They're… well, I guess you'd say the ancestors of the Xiilistiin. Look kinda similar, but not as bright, and they're not nearly as dangerous. Work in broods from one hatching, and their imitation of their prey is a lot less impressive. Don't know how they changed to the Xiilistiin, but –"

Quester clicked his mandibles together as an exceedingly unwelcome Mother-memory surfaced. "I do."

"Beg pardon?"

"It was… our fault, in a way," he said slowly.

"Your fault?" Ingram stared, then, "Oh. You mean the Iriistiik?"

"Yes." He slowly lowered himself to a sitting position, his abdomen forming the third leg of a stool with his legs locked. "The Xiilis have always been predators of the Iriistiik, one should understand. Their ability to mimic scent and pose and such exploits some of our species' particular weaknesses, so a Xiilis brood could infiltrate a Nest and parasitize and kill us fairly easily.

"Their broods are small, however – eight to fifteen individuals, in general – so they were a frightening but self-contained problem for the most part, and when discovered they could be driven out or killed. Xiilis are not terribly bright, and the powers and abilities they can mimic are limited and almost never as strong as the original. Thus they nearly always preyed exclusively on workers, rarely on warriors.

"But…" He paused. "Understand, there are many things the Iriistiik do not discuss commonly with those not of the Nests. Some of these things may nonetheless be known; do you know how the Mother of a Nest becomes who she is?"

"Not exactly," the Sorter said after a pause. "Seems to me I've heard it's somethin' like bees, right?"

"Very much so, yes. A particular larva is chosen, and raised with a very special… food, you might say, manufactured by the Nest. This Mother's Meal transforms the eater into a Mother; in an emergency – for example, if the Mother is somehow killed – one of the Thinkers may partake of the Meal and transform, though this is much more stressful and possibly deadly."

After a moment to gather his thoughts, Quester bobbed his antennae, inhaled, then went on. "One unfortunate Nest was raided by a strong brood of Xiilis, one that had already taken a small pack of cloakwolves." He saw Ingram wince, sensed his friend's understanding. "Yes. So they were even more adept at hiding themselves from us than normal. The leader of the brood made it to the central breeding chamber and substituted itself for one of the larvae."

"Oh, I'm not likin' what I'm thinkin' here."

"Yes. The Nest was preparing to begin a new Nest, and of course the first step was to make a new Mother. And so the brood-mother of the Xiilis was fed Mother's Meal."

"Athena's Mercy. And so was born the first Xiilistiin."

"Yes. So well-placed was she that she was able to maintain her deception and get four more of her brood changed before the Nest's Mother sensed something wrong." He felt his wingcases tighten and buzz in distress. "Too late."

"They wiped out that Nest."

Quester nodded. "And there made the first Swarm-Heart."

Ingram frowned. "And all Xiilistiin are decended from that one brood?"

"In a manner of speaking, but not all directly. You see, with the transformation they became, in some ways, related to us, or at least powerful mockeries of us. Their Brood-Queens and attendants make something very similar to Mother's Meal, and they can use it to bring in Xiilis and transform selected members. So they are not inbred nor easily vulnerable."

"Well, the Guild thanks ya for the information," the Sorter said after a moment. "More we know about 'em, the better we can deal with 'em." He gave a wry smile. "But ya didn't come here ta just give me a history lesson. What brings ya back to the Guild? Need a place to stay? Lookin' to buy hard-to-get merchandise? Or maybe just gonna pay yer dues?"

Ingram laughed. "Yeah, they are about due, right?" He reached into his pouch, rooted about, and then pulled out the crystal sword they'd taken off one of Ares' servants a few months ago. "Here, that ought to cover us for a while."

The Sorter raised his brows. "An' of course you haveta make it the harder way. You know there's a ten percent assessment and conversion fee this way."

Quester dipped his antennae. "We are aware. But I believe you will find it is more than sufficient. According to our own wizard, it is a quite powerful weapon, fourth-circle with additional enhancements."

"Fourth, eh? I'll have our people check it out, but I'm sure you're right. Sure, that'll keep you paid-up for a while. So what d'you need?"

"Research and advice," Ingram said, "on how to do the impossible."

A booming laugh came from the bilarel. "Well, then you've definitely come to the right place, Adventurers!"

 

 

 

 

 

The post GODSWAR: The Spear of Athena, Chapter 2 appeared first on Ryk E. Spoor, Author, Gamer, Geek God.

GODSWAR: The Spear of Athena, Chapter 1

The Spear of Athena will be coming out fairly soon, so it's time to start snippeting!

Let's take a look at what our heroes are up to...

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GODSWAR: The Spear of Athena

By Ryk E. Spoor

 

Chapter 1.

"By the Lady's Wisdom…" breathed Captain Pennon.

Ingram chuckled, with a completely silly feeling of pride as he saw the reactions of his fellow Camp-Bels to their first sight of Fanalam' T' ameris' a' u' Zahr-a-Thana T'ikon, Zarathanton, the greatest city in the world.

Less than a mile distant, the pearl-grey, shining-polished walls slanted steeply upward, five hundred unbroken feet of invulnerable stone that had stood untouched for half a million years, since before the days of the Fall. They slanted away to both north and south, encompassing a diamond shape more than two miles on a side, with the great Gate visible in the point of the diamond that bestrode the Great Road. Two hundred fifty feet high, glittering with krellin and gold and jewels, the gates stood open, the twin gates spanning the entire hundred-yard width of the Road and allowing a steady flow of traffic – on foot, riding on sithigorn or horse or runner-lizard, trundling along on wagons – in and out of those mighty gates

Despite the immense height of the walls, other great buildings could be seen, the highest of all being the spires of T'Teranahm Chendoron, the Dragon's Palace, stretching two thousand feet and more into the sky. Even from this distance they could hear the murmur of two hundred thousand people's voices, motions, actions vibrating the atmosphere.

Both of the main approaches to the city have carefully tended growth and designed curves and ridges along the side of the road that obscure any sight during the approach, Quester's mind-voice noted. Do you think that is deliberate?

Ha! I have no doubt it is. The impact of seeing Zarathanton like that? I know if I were the rulers, I'd want to make sure visitors felt it every time.

"By the Lady's Wisdom," Pennon said again. "It seems you might fit all of Aegis itself within a mere corner of it."

"No doubt," Victoria Vantage said with her own smile. "In fairness, that is true of almost any other city I have ever seen. You could fit all of the cities and villages of my native Evanwyl in the Southern Quarter and have room to spare."

"Where is your estate, Lady Vantage?" Pennon asked.

"The easiest way to reach it would be for us to pass through the city to the Eastern Gate, then turn north," she answered, gesturing. "It lies a few miles north of the City, at the edge of the Forest Sea. I would welcome all of you there, but as we have been gone quite some months now, it would be unfair to suddenly impose on my staff, who have undoubtedly grown accustomed to merely maintaining the house and grounds."

Ingram found himself nodding. It had been a while. Months to make their way south through the Forest Sea, and all the adventures that had included, and then, once they'd met up with the survivors of Clan Camp-Bel, turning West and reaching Shipton and hiring onto Great Turtle, one of the larger cargo ships, to go as far as the East Twin… months indeed to come full-circle back to Zarathanton.

"Of course," said Pennon. "We will find rooms here in the city easily enough, I should think." She paused, watching the streaming of human, Artan, mazakh, Children of Odin, and others in and out of the gates. "And here, if anywhere, we will begin to find answers to our questions."

I sure hope so, Urelle's mindvoice said. Because I have no idea where else we'd go.

It still gave him a little tingle of a thrill to hear Urelle's voice that way, in his head. Quester had initiated the younger Vantage and her aunt into the mindspeech connection of his Nest on their journey back North. Their sometimes harrowing southward journey had bound them together, to the point that Quester had come to see them as possible Nestmates as well; the two women, having seen how Ingram and Quester sharing that bond had not harmed but aided them numerous times, had decided to risk it.

It was a unique bond the four of them now shared – and a very, very convenient one. Well, you still have the Wanderer's Lens.

I guess. If we really hit a dead-end here, I guess we'll have to risk it. But I truly do not wish to disappoint him by asking for his help unless there's no other choice.

Ingram couldn't disagree with that; calling on the assistance of a legend was something to be used with great discretion and reluctance. Although he also remembered the parable of the Always-Worse, in which the boy's wish-ring was never used because things could always be worse; sometimes you had to accept that it would be time to use your resources.

But it was definitely not that time yet.

As they approached the gates, Ingram saw one clear reminder that things were not exactly as they had been before they’d left. Well-armed guards stood by the gates, watching carefully the passage of all, large or small. There were also wagons leaving regularly, heading to the West, emblazoned with the lightning bolt-starburst of Elbon Nomicon and the Sauran Kings.

Victoria went to one of the guardsmen as their party reached the Gate. "Pardon me, sir," she said. "It has been some months since I left the City; what news?"

"Months?" The guard, a slender, long-faced man with skin of deep blue-black and a dour expression, shook his head. "Much news, little of it good. The Black City come to the world? The King of All Hells walking the world? But the beginning."

"Ah, Artaquas, don't paint it all with your depressing brush," said another, equally tall and thin but with a bronze-brown complexion and more smiles than frowns written in the grooves of his face. "After the horrors of the start of the war, things are better, at least for now."

"Hmph. Here, maybe, Ichiban. Yes. But with the new King having taken our forces West, to meet those of the Hells? There'll be bad news coming back, I have no doubt."

"New King?" Victoria blinked. "Yes, I suppose there must be."

"That many months, eh? Wasn't much of a choice, of course – the Marshal of Hosts being the King's relation and knowing his mind so well."

Victoria giggled, a startling sound for Ingram, who wasn't used to hearing such a… light sound from the usually serious old Adventurer. "Oh dear. I'm sorry, but… oh dear, poor Toron! He was so often given to remarking how satisfied he was not to be the King. And now it's his job." She looked up, gaze sharpening. "So he's taken the war to the gates of the Black City, has he?"

"Such was the plan. Not sure he's reached it yet – he was traveling the land route to build his forces, recruit as they went, and give allies, including Idinus himself, a chance to gather. Might be mustering near Hell's Edge by now, though." Artaquas nodded gloomily. "How many of them'll make it through there to actually reach the Black City, I don't know."

"Idinus? The Archmage is coming to our aid?" Ingram realized it was his own incredulous voice speaking.

"So the King told us, and no reason to doubt it," Ichiban said. "Sure, and the State of the Dragon King and the Empire of the Mountain have been at odds before…, but neither of them wants the Black Star here, spreading his power and ruin. I even hear rumor the Archmage may send an avatar directly."

"Wow." In some ways, the idea that Idinus of Scimitar, God-Emperor of the Mountain, had bestirred himself to act in concert with his adversaries chilled Ingram more than any of the other news. There was no greater threat than one that could bring such forces together.

"Well, we thank you for this news. Who is in charge at the Dragon's Palace, then, if the King himself has gone to war?"

"Calladan Mystraios," said Artaquas. "Not a Sauran, but the head of the Academy commands respect enough, at least for now."

"I should think so. An excellent choice," Victoria said, nodding. "I will pay my respects later. Again, our thanks."

"You're welcome. Good day to you. HOY! You! Watch where you're going with that wagon!" Artaquas trotted over towards the offending driver.

"So where to now, Ingram?" Captain Pennon asked.

"Quester and I will head to the Guild; we've got to get an idea of how to get into Aegeia, and if anyone's going to have ideas, it'll be our fellow Adventurers. You and the rest of the Clan should get yourselves some rooms. I'm guessing Victoria and Urelle will head home?"

"Quite so. Obviously, you will stay with us, and in a few days we may be able to offer your Clan brethren rooms as well."

"Thank you, Victoria." The kind words did send a twinge through Ingram, because it reminded him of just how very few of Clan Camp-Bel had survived to reach here. Besides himself and the Captain, there were only ten remaining; fifteen had survived the attack that their arrival had interrupted, but four of those had later succumbed to unexpected side effects of the combat – soul-injuries, magically-enhanced infections, and such – and one had been killed on the way to Zarathanton, ambushed by a groundripper.

A lot of the Clan stayed behind, he reminded himself, including Mother and Father. Still, there had been a few hundred, close to half the Clan, on the three ships that had fled, and every effort had been made to make it look like it was in fact all of the Clan on board. Never in the Cycles they had served Athena had the Clan lost so many – and these had been lost in what was at least partly a ploy to distract, not an assault force.

And it was all about me. Hiding me. Preventing people from thinking of me as significant. Keeping even me from taking myself seriously, making me believe I wasn't good enough to be a Camp-Bel.

He still couldn't quite grasp that, sometimes. The lengths to which they had gone weren't, in truth, so surprising - Camp-Bel traditions were nothing if not focused on overachieving in every dimension – but the fact that they'd found it necessary was. Something about the prophecy they'd been given had managed to get them to swallow their pride and confidence and not confront the unknown threat head-on, which was much more the Camp-Bel preference.

What that "something" was, however, none of the Clan survivors here knew.

He was still thinking on all of this when the group separated, the Camp-Bels heading North from the Grand Intersection and the two Vantages hurrying on ahead to the East.

The Adventurer's Guild Hall hadn't visibly changed in the years since they'd first entered, and Ingram felt his spirits lift as they passed the threshold. We really are Guild Adventurers, and we've got tales to tell, to enter in the annals!

     That we do, Quester agreed. It is different from the first time we passed these doors, indeed.

Passing through the front entrance hall and the Hall of Requests, the two of them reached the main Adventurer's Hall, and immediately saw a familiar figure. Nine feet tall with blue-gray skin, bent over a desk with papers scattered about, the Sorter of Querents was clearly the same being they'd met almost three years ago.

He glanced up as they entered, then froze, a letter sliding unnoticed from the huge hand. Disregarding the Artan Querent before him, the Sorter shot to his feet and practically ran to them. "Quester! By Chromaias and Kharianda, you're alive!"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The post GODSWAR: The Spear of Athena, Chapter 1 appeared first on Ryk E. Spoor, Author, Gamer, Geek God.

Jamaica Blue Magic: Chapter 15

Time to look in on the other player in this game...

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Chapter 15.

Jared checked himself in the polished glass of his car’s windows one last time before walking up the white gravel pathway to the villa. He was already somewhat concerned; there was no sign of the level of security he felt was necessary, given the circumstances. There had been adequate security on Aphrodite’s yacht, a few years ago when he had first met her, but here there seemed to be no more than the standard for any private villa.

He reached the door; he thought there might have been a flicker of movement inside, as of someone who had glanced through a curtain, but couldn't be sure. He was fairly certain, however, that there was no one observing the house at the moment, which was something of a relief. He pressed the button next to the door.

Only a moment passed between the chime of the bell and the door opening. Jared recognized the classically handsome, olive-skinned fae instantly. "Good morning, Hermes," he said.

Hermes's gaze was not the open, friendly one Jared remembered from a few years back; the hazel eyes were ever-so-slightly narrowed, the expression guarded. Nonetheless, Hermes gave a formal smile and a bow and gestured for him to enter. "Prince Engelshand. Please, come in."

"My apologies for intruding." Jared entered. "And my thanks for arranging my audience so swiftly."

There might have been the faintest raise of an eyebrow at his phrasing, but if so it was gone before Jared could be sure. He is obviously tense in a way I have not seen him before. Jared didn't know what to make of it; the little he’d seen of Hermes previously, however, had been when Hermes was on the much lower strata of fae society, tending bar and, potentially, depending on the guest list, literally being one of the drinks on tap. Here he appeared to be serving in a much higher capacity, which might well make him more tense and cautious.

And, of course, I am no longer "young Prince Engelshand who might be marrying one of the guests" but "Jared Engelshand who is said to be studying the ways of the old Hunters". And that undoubtedly makes them nervous.

"You are welcome," Hermes said after only a moment’s pause. "Please follow me; the Lady is on the terrace."

The terrace was tiled in pink and white, partially shaded by palm trees, and overlooked part of the Bay. The morning sunlight sparkled white and green from the water. Chairs were placed near the railing, in a position to take the most advantage of the view. In one of these, seated with a small table to one side, was Aphrodite Niccoli.

It was at that point that an utterly unaccustomed nervousness assailed Jared. He had come here partly from duty to his sister, partly because he did not wish to continue to subject himself to the now-tedious rounds of the school year, and partly from the self-image of himself as a modern knight-errant. But seeing Aphrodite brought home the full realization that he was in out of his depth.

He remembered Aphrodite as a beautiful woman of emphatic figure, in appearance about twice the age he was then, echoing the legendary Marilyn Monroe, but with the same unearthly presence that the fae always had when not cloaking themselves from attention. But now…

The presence, the aura, it was still present… but muted, sad, not the warm and supportive emanation that had surrounded her. The face had gained the lines of years, of two or three decades, and the hair was no longer glorious and lush but dull, with traceries of ash-gray wiping out the former color. She had aged twenty-five or even thirty years in what had been mere days, and Jared felt a piercing, cold realization of what must be happening to her.

Fae bond with their match, and to sever that bond is almost always lethal. I have known this for years now… but I have never seen it before. Seeing Aphrodite’s wan face and almost-lifeless gaze, Jared understood that the pain of his losses was but a pale imitation of what one who had been bound to another, body and soul, must feel when that other half was no more.

He bowed very low. "Lady Aphrodite, I first bring my utmost sympathies and condolences for your loss."

Even her nod was slow, an unmistakable effort, as though she were moving not her own head but a great and heavy stone. "Thank you, Prince Engelshand."

"I also come to offer you any aid within my power, if there is anything I might do for you," he said. Though I now wonder what I might possibly do for one so bereaved.

The offer, however, seemed to touch something within Aphrodite, and she sat just the tiniest bit straighter. "I do not know that there is anything you might do, Prince… and wonder at the offer. We have not known each other well, and, indeed, I am surprised you knew what had happened so swiftly."

He smiled, trying to keep the expression natural. "It is true we have seen each other but twice only, yet my sister Ophelia has known both of you far better and longer, and it was she who asked that I might come."

"Ophelia?" Aphrodite and Hermes repeated the name with some surprise, but Jared—with relief—saw dawning understanding on both their faces. "She has indeed supported our cause for some time," Aphrodite went on, "and you should thank her for this consideration. It was most thoughtful of her."

"I shall do so, most certainly."

"But why did she not come herself? Why send you?"

That, at least, Jared thought he could answer. "Because of all the family, I am the one most versed in these things, especially given what happened to Antonio. She knew I would welcome a chance to help someone in… well, your world." A smile that he could feel was a touch tremulous, but perhaps that was to the good. "After my own losses—which I know do not compare—the thought of doing good for those I remember fondly, well, it means something to me."

"Ah." She was quiet for a moment.

Hermes stepped forward. "I must speak plainly, Prince Engelshand. My Lady is but a day or three from her loss. I will not have nobles of the various bloods looking to take advantage of her in this, her most vulnerable time."

For a moment, Jared could not even grasp what Hermes was trying to say. When it finally dawned on him, he felt a cold anger rise up within him; it took a huge effort to force the fury back, to control it, to prevent anything but the merest trace from entering his voice. "Do you … are you saying you think I have come to take advantage of her? To… what, re-bond her?"

Hermes did not drop his level gaze. "It is the traditional way of … ‘saving' a fae. Usually, in fact, it is the only way, and of course in Lady Aphrodite’s case it would be immensely profitable to the successful… suitor."

The anger broke through. "I have come to offer help, not to be some sort of jackal! Gott in Himmel, I still do not sleep well for the memories of Fiona, do you think I would be so… so callous, so—"

"The timing is suspicious, Prince Engelshand. A better suspicion for you than that I wonder about you coming here wearing that weapon, fresh from—"

"Hermes!" Aphrodite’s voice was stronger, with a note of affection and amusement. "It is enough."

"But my Lady—"

"Enough, Hermes. I can hear his voice. Can you not hear it? He is young, Hermes, and the young can be honest." She looked up, her eyes gazing at the hilt of the Silbernseele. "How is your ancestor, Jared?"

"He is well, last I spoke with him," Jared answered. "He has been training me, as I presume you know."

"It has been mentioned." There was a ghost of a smile on her face for an instant. "It is good to hear he has taken another apprentice at last."

Jared knew there was some history between Aphrodite and his ancestor, Balder Engelshand—what sounded like a grand romantic tragedy, according to some rumors. However it really was, she clearly still thought fondly of him. "I am truly honored to be his student."

"You study to be a Witch Hunter," Hermes said, his voice less confrontational but still wary. "And you know what that means."

Unfortunately, yes. He tried to measure the proper response. "I know what many bearing that title have done," he said finally. "That is not my intent."

"Let us not speak of such things," Aphrodite said, cutting Hermes off. "Please be seated, Jared."

He did not notice how she summoned her servants, but even as he sat, two dark-haired young women entered the room, carrying trays. One was slender, with narrow features and an emphatically Roman nose between hazel-brown eyes and hair cascading in tight chestnut ringlets across her shoulders; the other was more generous of figure, echoing her mistress, her olive skin almost as dark as her eyes; her hair also curled tightly, but pulled back from her face and tied off by a colorful scarf.

Both of them also had the undefinable something that told Jared they were not human, but fae.

The two deposited the trays and bowed. "Thank you, Eurydice," Aphrodite said to the slender one. "And to you, Europa."

It did not escape Jared’s notice that she made no move to take either food or drink. And she is no undead, nor vampire that can live on blood alone. His eyes met those of Hermes, and he saw there the fae’s deep concern. And that is why he is so protective of her.

"May I pour you a cup of tea, Lady Aphrodite?" he asked. It was a reasonably natural suggestion, and her answer might at least show him what the situation was.

She waved him away, gently. "I need nothing now. Thank you, Jared." The Lady’s eyes studied him with a brief moment of sharp interest, a moment in stark contrast to the apathy that filled most of her moments. "So, you do not come to rescue me in the manner of our people, then?"

He tried to prevent a touch of color from appearing in his cheeks; he suspected he was not entirely successful. "Ah… Lady Aphrodite, no. That is not at all … well, not my way, certainly. Even were I past my own loss, I would hardly think it proper to intrude on someone who knew me only casually and, well…"

The Aphrodite he had met on board her yacht might have laughed; this Aphrodite showed only the slightest trace of a smile. "But that is almost the only manner in which I might be aided, Jared." The hint of a smile evaporated and Jared saw an aching void behind her gaze.

"Ophelia spoke of the work you and Antonio had done, were doing, Lady Aphrodite. I know this is a terrible blow to you, but perhaps if I could at least support that it could assist in some small way…"

He trailed off as she smiled again, but this was a ghastly expression, an amusement not merely of the gallows, but of one who thinks she looks already from the other side of a grave. "Ah, Jared, were it so simple. I find it almost impossible to think of our work together, to bring myself to feel it, to care about it. To care, even, about caring. For the sake of young Ophelia, and for the memory of sweet Balder, I have agreed to speak with you… but I do not see anything but gray before me, and I care for nothing… and dare care for nothing."

That terrible gaze sent a chill down his spine. "But surely… there must be something, Lady."

She closed her eyes, opened them again with a visible effort, and that frightening look was weakened. She studied him again, eyes haunted with fading spirit. "You were never bonded to Fiona, were you?"

"No," he said, and the sting in his eyes, the hoarseness in his voice, surprised him anew. He wanted to be angry at the loss of control, but … there was no shame in feeling pain at his loss. "We had no chance to do so. We had spoken of … what that would entail. What it would mean were I to do so."

And there was Felicity. He had only met her once, but very nearly the bonding had happened, in the space of a single long encounter. Would have happened, had it not been for honor and Fiona… and for his recognition that their encounter had been arranged, intended as the most subtle and pleasurable trap imaginable.

No need to trouble Aphrodite with that; it was a personal pain, for himself and Felicity, not for others, and it had not changed his course. In the end, it had been Fiona who ruled his heart. "But for so long we were friends, not … anything more. That was what she wanted for a long time… and then there was Sean…" He shook his head. "But no, it …" He remembered dances that blurred into something transcendent, the two trembling on the edge of becoming one."… it had begun. We were connected, already touching each other on levels normal humans would not. But there was no time. She was on her way to meet me when…"

He found he couldn't continue, even the iron discipline he had tried to cultivate all his life failing.

Her hand touched his for just an instant; he felt her dim but sincere sympathy resonate in the touch. "Apologies," she said. "But you understand, then, that even what you feel—and I sense that pain clearly—even that is but a shadow, a dim and inadequate reflection of the bond that I shared with Antonio. We loved each other as you loved her, yes, and if you will pardon my saying so, far more, for we had so many more years to come to know each other; but we were also bound, soul to soul, blood to blood, and it is no mere turn of phrase but simple truth to say that when he died, a part of me died with him, was torn from me, no less a wound than it would have been to tear your own arm from its socket."

Jared shuddered; he could sense the truth in her words, and knowing what his own black moods were like, his anger and loss and depth of sorrow, he could not begin to imagine what she must be feeling. Stronger than I had even guessed, for her to be speaking with me in this way. "Then… I do not see how even another, well, fae or vampire might—"

"Because," Hermes broke in, harshly, but then with visible effort moderating his tone, "because… a part of a fae yearns for that connection, that bond, knows that if they make another such bond the pain will fade and stop, become only the emotion and not part of their very soul’s raw wound."

"I… understand." Realizing how little he had understood, Jared had a momentary impulse to just rise and take his leave. Fiona, and sometimes Keenan, had explained some of this to him before, but he had never been faced with it, and the whole situation made his arrival… well, arrogant. The perhaps well-meaning but painful, bumbling intrusion of a boor into a house of mourning, all because he had a vision of himself as a Knight.

Instead, he forced himself to take a sip of tea and thought on what had brought him here. "I was told, however, that it was possible for a fae to survive such a loss."

"It is possible," Hermes said. "But it is not likely. And if she does, she may not be herself."

"Hermes is right," Aphrodite said quietly. "I have no strength to fight. Without Antonio… it seems that all meaning has fled."

"I understand. As much as it is possible for someone as young and, well, human as myself to do so, anyway," Jared said. That ghost of a smile answered him. "But… you and Antonio were doing great works, for the sake of the Mother and others. You do not want that to go to waste, to end, do you?"

She raised an eyebrow. "You know of the Mother?"

"Of her, yes. I cannot say I know much more than that. I know the Veil has fallen, or started to, and that this is supposed to aid the Mother in her recovery."

"Still… that makes you unusual, even more so for your people. Do you believe in the Mother, Jared?"

He remembered Keenan and Claudius speaking of the way of the world, of its spirit… and Fiona, both believer and cynic in her own way, still telling him that there was truth in the legend. "I do. I do not understand the Mother, what lies behind that word, but I believe that it… that she… exists." He leaned forward. "And I believe—very sincerely—that you are one the Mother would miss."

A touch of a smile. "And the Engelshand charm has not diminished. That is more kindly spoken than you might realize, Jared. But the Mother has far greater concerns than one single fae."

Jared was unsure how to answer that, and Aphrodite was silent. Say something. Find out something. Understand. "If I might ask, when Hermes expressed his—I now understand completely justified—suspicion of my motives, he mentioned that it would be 'immensely profitable' for a successful suitor. How did he mean that? Simply that you are a woman of substantial fortune?"

It was Hermes who answered, with brows raised in surprise. "You truly do not understand our world yet, do you?"

"Only those parts I have been shown; to truly understand might take a lifetime."

"A fae such as Aphrodite is not generally allowed to have property to herself. If, within a reasonable time, another vampire or a lord of appropriate station were to bond with her, they would inherit all of Antonio’s holdings as well as those which are held in… trust, I suppose one might say, by Aphrodite."

Not allowed to own property? Jared had known of the "blood houses"—where the so-called lesser fae, those of less pure or less humanoid extraction were sent. That had been one of Fiona’s goals, the destruction of that practice. But the idea that even high-born, wealthy, capable fae like Aphrodite were so constrained? Even more like slavery than I had realized. It is slavery, as Keenan had said, just slavery with lovely gilding about the edges. "And if she does not re-bond?"

"All she owns returns to Madame Blanche and her House. The same is, of course, true if Aphrodite fades away and passes."

It was outrageous, and outrage was his first impulse. But no; this was the world she had been raised in. It might be wrong, but in her current state his outrage would be of no use. He took a deep breath, clamping his jaw against the protests that immediately rose to his lips, and paused, thinking, before he allowed himself to speak again. "Surely there must be some way past that, at the least. Fiona, as I understood it, was to inherit—"

The most minuscule laugh escaped Aphrodite’s lips. "Oh, Jared, judge nothing of other fae by Fiona’s position. She was unique. The true destined Faerie Queen, the child of the Murray clan? The rules did not apply to her."

That… was not entirely true, Jared thought; he knew of at least two incidents that had shown how even Fiona was bound by law and tradition in ways no human would be. But that was a quibble, compared to the issues facing Aphrodite.

The moment of mirth and energy faded from Aphrodite’s face. "Perhaps there would be a way, but you do not understand, Jared: I am not even sure if I wish to continue."

That caught him off-guard. "But… Lady Aphrodite, please. Surely, Antonio’s death was no accident, and I would be terribly surprised if it was not related to your work. He would not wish you, or his work, to be lost so completely. Can I not offer you some protection—"

Her hand gestured—a small movement, but with the force of a fae’s will behind it, stopping him instantly. "Jared. Your sentiment is appreciated, but I have already told you; I am unsure if I even wish to live. If there are those who seek my life, I will have no one risk theirs to protect mine."

Jared caught Hermes’ tortured glance and understood how deeply the fae servant cared for his mistress. And he sees her in pain and is unable to help.

Which, it seems, is also my position, though at the least I am not so attached to her. It is not the same pain as the loss of Keenan and Fiona. He put down his teacup and rose slowly. "Then I apologize for my intrusion, Lady Aphrodite. I had hoped that there might be something I could do, but it seems I understood nothing of the situation."

She was silent, though she nodded faintly as he bowed. Hermes came forward to show Jared out.

Just as they reached the door, Aphrodite spoke again. "Jared. Wait."

He turned, perhaps a bit too quickly, but the flare of hope that he might be able to do something was not to be denied. "Yes, Lady Aphrodite?"

Another ghostly chuckle. "Oh, forget the 'Lady', Jared. Aphrodite is enough." She took a slow, deep breath that seemed to draw in strength, bring her head up. "I was wrong. There is one thing I think you might do. You see, Hermes, and Eurydice, and Europa are fae in my household."

"Indeed, Lad… er, indeed, Aphrodite." He waited for her to clarify the statement.

"They are part of my household," she said. Seeing him raise an eyebrow, she said, "a part of my estate, and that of Antonio."

Light dawned, and Jared felt his eyes widen. "You mean that they, too, would become part of Madame Blanc’s … possessions."

"Exactly, Jared. And I … do not want that to happen. Oh, technically they are already free; Antonio freed all of us—myself, Hermes, Eurydice, and Europa—years ago. But I am not at all sure the League will honor that if I die, or that even if I live I will have the mind to fight for them. I want them to be free, and that is not possible if the League takes them back. Only someone of noble house… someone who can take them somewhere beyond the reach of the League, can protect them."

Jared felt a slow smile emerging. "You mean, such as a noble of Engelshand, the country which repudiated the League a century and more ago."

"Exactly that … and one," this time her smile was not quite so weak, "one who descends in spirit as well as blood from Balder."

He laughed. "You wish me to take them in, bring them to Engelshand and ensure they can find their way to freedom—there or elsewhere. Yes, Aphrodite, that I swear I can and will do, if that time comes."

She sank back against the cushions, but for once it did not look like exhaustion, but relief. "Then that is all I would ask."

Hermes looked at him with surprise. "But your country—"

"Is already having to make some adjustments after my brother Seigfreid married a fae. Do not worry about it, Hermes; this much I know I can do, youngest son or not." He turned to Aphrodite. "Do not worry. They will be taken care of. Just make sure I know before the time comes, so I can arrange it."

"I shall. Thank you, Jared."

"It is nothing at all, Aphrodite." He bowed again, feeling his heart finally lightening. "If you need anything else—anything at all—I will be nearby, at our estate. Please call."

"I do not expect to need anything, Jared… but yes. If I do, I shall call."

He bowed again. This time there was nothing to halt him as Hermes led him out.

At the threshold, Hermes spoke. "Jared. I apologize for my earlier rudeness."

Jared grinned, feeling the very expression melting some of his own tension. "Hermes, there is nothing to apologize for. I did not understand at all, and you were protecting her." He offered his hand.

Hermes gripped it hard. "Thank you."

"No, thank you, for giving me the chance." He handed Hermes one of his cards. "In case you need to reach me."

The fae took the card and tucked it into one of his pockets. "I hope I will not need to."

"As do I."

As Jared drove off, he glanced in the rear-view mirror, seeing Hermes standing immobile, watching him leave. Remembering how Antonio had met his end, Jared silently prayed that Hermes really would have no need to call him.

But even with these thoughts, his heart was lighter. Perhaps there was nothing he could do to save Aphrodite—it was, in the end, her own decision whether to save herself. But there were three others he could help, three fae to be protected by the descendant of some of the greatest witch hunters in history. At that thought he laughed, and once more thought that somewhere, Fiona was laughing, too.

 

 

 

 

The post Jamaica Blue Magic: Chapter 15 appeared first on Ryk E. Spoor, Author, Gamer, Geek God.

Jamaica Blue Magic: Chapter 14

Dylan learns a bit more, but all they know is, things are bad...

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Chapter 14.

Word from Filipe confirmed Dylan’s suspicions. Roberts had graduated from Dobson’s school and was indeed being funded by the "Healthy Undead" special interest group. The organization had been created in the eighties, after the League accepted more diverse groups of undead and paranormals into their ranks. Cornelius Aston had founded it… and Aston was a close friend of Wilfred Blackwell. Tying it all even closer together, Dobson had recently adopted a 13-year-old niece of startlingly vague background from England. There were no pictures, and her papers were glaringly obviously those of a supernatural being hiding from the mortal world. Found you.

"You can still go and see your band, T." Dylan said as he cleaned his gun on the kitchen table. "No one is saying you guys can’t take a break."

"Who wants to take a break?" John demanded from the couch. "I’m in. Hell, I want nothing more than put a crimp in this fuckhead’s election plans. If it also means stopping his little murder plot, sign me up."

"Henry and I could go to Sandals, and see if Dobson is with the girl. We haven’t been seen by the cops yet," Paula volunteered. She hadn’t mentioned using magic since the other night. Though after David, Dylan half-hoped she would. They needed someone who understood fae magic, and that someone sure as hell wasn't him.

Next to her, Henry looked up from a brochure he had picked up from the turtle conservation place. "I’m in. Are we going to touch base about what we dug up? Or did we rescue turtles last night for nothing? I mean, not for nothing, little guys were cute and all."

"I don’t think we have time for an exchange. And Dobson knows you guys. He’s too dangerous. He’d kill both of you, easy. No, I need to deal with him," Dylan said, pacing. He noticed Tina look up from a folder on John’s investigation and frown, but she said nothing. She knew he was right; if it came down to the ugly, all of them put together weren't half as threatening as he was.

"Do we have any other names?" she asked instead. "I think our priority should be protecting targets."

"I could take them into the shadows, then back to New Orleans and the Sports Bar Center." John said. "Takes me no time now."

He was that skilled with his power? Dylan stopped pacing to look at John. "You can teleport long distances now? Why didn’t you tell me?"

"You never asked. I’ve been training," John said matter-of-factly. "But I think Dylan’s right, we don’t know enough about this case to decide exactly what or who his targets are. He killed one black-money investor and one candidate." He paused. "We know the candidate was with the FPM, but the investor was a European, which means any black-money investor from Europe can be a target. I do think we need someone watching Aphrodite. I don’t think she’s safe."

"She hasn’t left yet?" Dylan asked.

The door to the cottage opened and Louis walked in with a bag of groceries. "Good evening." He smelled of sea salt, and sprinkles of sand clung to his hair.

"Get much surfing done today?" Henry asked.

"Quite a bit, actually. I went to Alfred’, took in a few waves, listened to some music, had lunch and dinner. It was a good day." Louis placed the bag on the counter. "I trust you all slept well?"

"I did the spa." Paula said with a smile. "And the beach, and lunch while Hen slept. Glad to hear you had fun, Louis! Someone has to party down while we're here!"

"I don’t share in the luxury that you people call sleep." John remarked. "I was a corpse all day, I didn’t rot, and no one tried to clean my room, so I didn't go up in smoke."

"That’s a yes, then." Louis removed several packages from the bag and put them into the refrigerator.

"If you mean my day as an unmoving, unsleeping dead thing didn’t entirely suck, then fucking right."

"It was lovely, Lou, thanks for asking." Tina replied politely.

Dylan nodded a greeting. He sort-of saw rest periods the same way John did. "Thanks, Lou."

"So what have I missed?"

The post Jamaica Blue Magic: Chapter 14 appeared first on Ryk E. Spoor, Author, Gamer, Geek God.

Jamaica Blue Magic: Chapter 13

There's always an aftermath to a disaster...

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Chapter 13.

One problem with being a witness to murder, Dylan knew from his time in New York, was that the police would want to talk with you about it. At length. The paranormal division of the Jamaican Constabulary Force was no exception. He and Tina spent the next several hours separately and together, being carefully questioned about every aspect of the event—which was, Dylan had to admit, strange even from a paranormal point of view. The whole process was uncomfortable and awkward, especially since both of them were visitors, not natives, which complicated the entire situation.

The police, of course, had another problem: they weren't the only witnesses. The attack had happened shortly after midnight, but it was a resort, and you could count on there being someone up at just about any time of night. At least one or two of the witnesses were mortals, which just put the icing on the whole disastrous cake.

With all of that to tangle the situation up, it was nearly dawn when they were released. The constables gave Dylan a friendly warning to stay away from the investigation, as expected, but that just made Dylan more resolved to pursue the case than ever. If he—a trained Hunter-turned-unstoppable-revenant—couldn't catch a psychotic Tinkerbell, how in hell did these guys think they could?

He leaned against the side of his seat and looked out at the passing darkness as Tina drove them back, and wondered how they'd deal with the mortal witnesses. "Magic’s illegal here, isn't it?"

"Magic, yes, but not psychic intervention. I think they’ll use psychics to mindwipe the poor bastards," Tina said with disgust. "They get a lot of bigwig vampires vacationing here, they don’t want to risk their profits, let alone the big secrets getting out." She glanced over to him, her dark eyes filled with worry. "Poor Rachael, she was… broken. I wish we could have done something for her."

"She was going home to family, at least that’s what she said." Dylan answered, thinking about Rachael and how she had looked, shell-shocked, lost. Kid is fast as lightning. I was right there, and I still failed. "I didn’t get there fast enough. We should have followed him."

"Didn't get there fast enough? Dylan, you shadow-walked. There isn't anyone on this island that could have gotten there faster. You just didn't have a chance to stop her. She was already attacking by the time you moved. She froze him to crystal and he shattered. Only a magician or another fae could have fought that—and not most of them, either," Tina said, her voice filled with sympathy. She reached out and touched his arm. "Stop beating yourself up."

Was he beating himself up? Well, maybe he should be. Sure, they were up against a fae kid with magic, that wasn’t anything he’d come up against, but he was trained for this kind of thing. He should have been ready. "Rachael’s alone because David was a good guy. I think he could have made a difference. The demon targeted him because of politics, everything is leading to that. Niccoli wasn't the only fossil with money around. He must have found another campaign contributor."

"Just let it go, all right? For now? Please? You need some mental health time. You know, the reason you came here to begin with?"

It was an incredible effort to divert his angry musings; the revenant within was always happy to push any obsession farther. But he managed it. He nodded, and closed his eyes. "How are you holding up?"

"Me? I want to see a band tomorrow," Tina said. "That’s how I’m holding up. I just saw a man die in front of me today, Dylan. A man who wanted to do exactly what I want to do. It’s a bit… sobering."

"Sorry T. I wasn’t thinking." He still felt chilled from the blow he took, and rubbed his arms. He knew something was bothering Tina. "I’m sorry..."

"Really? Why aren’t I swallowing that hunk of horseshit, Dylan? I’ll tell you why. I didn’t expect you to notice. Damn it. You never notice a damn thing when you’re in hunt-to-kill mode! You refused to move to New Orleans with your friends because of it, you neglect people because of it, and you take advantage of people because of it. Just one day, I’d like you THINK about following a different path, that’s all, so you can." She returned her gaze to the road. Her words were cold and unyielding, and even her follow up was tense, filled with a revenant chill that would have frozen the Hudson River solid. "But I understand, rationally, it’s the nature of the beast."

"You don’t need to make excuses for me. It was me being an insensitive dumbass, T," he said, after several minutes of uncomfortable silence. She was, of course, absolutely right, it was just addressing a solution to his ongoing drives as a revenant

She pursed her lips and fingered the steering wheel. "If I don’t make excuses for you, my revenant is going to rip your lungs out," she said, glancing over at him. "But you said it."

"I just don’t think."

"John doesn’t, either. You can be two peas in a pod sometimes." Was that it? Was it just a "guy not understanding the needs of a woman" thing? Was it about John and not him? Tina was difficult to understand at times.

He straightened, now was as good as time as any. He knew his best friend had affections for Tina, he just wasn’t good at expressing it. "Is that why you’re not together yet? Damn, Tina, he loves you, always has."

"Is this discussion remotely about John and me? No, it’s not! Damn it, Dylan, let’s not make this about me, ok? You need to check your privilege and look at yourself here! I was in group therapy too! "She returned her attention to the road and sighed. "John… He’s got a lot of growing up to do still. I think he needs to face a few things before we can be together. And anyway, I’m not sure yet if that is what I want."

Like him, John did need to face his past before he could even think of having a relationship. The younger revenant was still bitter inside, and frightened of returning home. The fact that she hadn't fought too hard about him asking the question told him Tina needed to discuss it —and he’d better push on, because experience had shown she’d turn the discussion to him soon. "It’s a lot for him to make that step, T."

"I know it is." Tina smiled weakly. "Don’t say it. I never went home, I know. But John’s situation is different. He’s got other responsibilities gnawing at him. He needs to go back. It’s what his sire wants of him."

He’d never gone home, either… but then, there wasn’t much left to go back to. What would he have done if there had been? No telling, really. "I guess we all still need to grow up in some way."

"Well, isn’t that the truth? Grow up? That’s really harsh, considering we’re all stuck at the age we were made at. John’s frozen at an eternal sixteen, with all the baggage of a high-school sophomore, I’ll be a forever nineteen-year-old college freshman, and you’ll be eighteen forever, with all the kudos of not quite being a man that hands you. We’re still trying to solve problems the same way our age group did, despite our experiences. It’s going to be even harder for us to grow up than most." She sighed.

He thought about Angelus, and winced. Because of his family network and non-revenant nature, his vampire friend was more together than he was. "Anna was my anchor."

"I know. John, Henry, and Paula are mine. We stick together like glue, Dyl. We catch each other when we fall. Where’s your glue now? Or are you too proud to admit you need glue?"

He twitched. The ball was back in Tina’s hands. Or was it always there? "We all take care of each other."

"But do you let Jason, Filipe, Angie, the twins, Louis or Qui really take care of you when you need it?" It was a hard question, and Dylan knew what was coming next. "Anna took no horseshit from you, Dyl. None of us did, and I sure as hell am not taking it from you now."

"Okay, I’ve got a pride and letting-go problem, but I promised Filipe and the others I’d trust them and try not to bottle it up, and ask for help if I need it." He glanced over to Tina, feeling unaccountably guilty. "I promised Lou I’d even see the shrink more. I really don’t know what else I can do."

Her quick glance didn't make her look convinced. "It’s a start. Have you thought about letting the others help with your territory? Or does that hurt your poor white boy pride?"

That was something he had never dreamed of asking. In fact, the very concept was unheard-of in undead society. Needing help with your territory meant weakness, and weakness meant death. Dylan looked away, and feeling his hands forming into fists. She had hit a bitter cord. "I don’t know what my territory has to do with this."

Of course it does, I was born white trash and being the son of a white Irish Vet was one of the few things I could cling to in the past. I keep trying to prove myself because I was never smart enough, never rich enough, never powerful enough to best the bad guys in the government when I was a boy. So when I got this territory, this thing that was mine...

"It has everything to do with this, Dyl. It’s trust, and you're afraid to lose it, because you’ll have to earn it again. So you do too fucking much and don’t trust the folks around you to help because if you do, you’re afraid Liam and Jason won’t trust you. What are you trying to prove to Liam? You’re still his disposable toy revenant soldier? Maybe you have to decide what you want to be, and be it. A hunter, or a café manager and halfway house counselor, or someone running part of New York under Liam… but not all of them at once.

"I will also remind you, Liam is over six thousand years old. His list of crimes against humanity exceeds yours. And people work with him because he’s powerful," added Tina sternly.

He drew a breath, and thought hard. Tina was right. "Anna’s gone, and I know I can’t take her place, but I have to if the old warrior is to respect me." He looked across the purple sky. Liam terrified him.

"I can count on my one hand the people Liam respects." Tina said. "We can all gain his respect by outwitting his old, fossilized ass as a team."

The certainty and knowing in her voice made him feel like a little kid. Dylan thought of Susan, and Anna, and Doc Sacco. Christ, T should have been a therapist. "Just a thought, that’s all," she finished, as casually as though she’d only been suggesting a restaurant to stop at next week.

Peachy, all of us confronting him on some council issue. He’d probably snort and toss us out on our noses. Not one of the Muffin Gang made it to the SoHo council.

"Fuck it, Tina, it’s all important to me. I just got to get past this rough bit and get better, that’s all." He didn’t want to fight, but Tina had a way of bringing up topics that made him uncomfortable.

They pulled into the driveway to the cottage, and the sky was already bleeding into a faint purple-pink. The sun was rising. Tina didn’t have time to go back home; she’d have to crash there. He’d give her his room, and he’d take one of the closets. "I know you’re pissed at me, but I got a room, you can stay in there today. It’s safe."

The young woman rolled her eyes and opened the door. "Not pissed, just worried, and, okay, yes, pissed because you’re so stubborn, and that makes me worried, that’s all." She extended an arm. "Still friends?"

Looping his arm around hers, he nodded. "Yeah, I get it. I worry the same way about you. Just don’t always say it, 'cause, well, you guys are down there, and I’m up in New York, and we just don’t hang like we used to, and I don’t feel it’s my place."

"Don’t ever feel it’s not your place. I like knowing you’re worried. Makes me know you think about me now and then," Tina told him gently.

Had he been that bad? So caught up in his denial of Anna, and working in the Center and hunting that he had forgotten to care about his friends in New Orleans? "Oh, Jesus, Tina. Why didn’t you say so? I do care, always have. I know I haven’t written or called you in months. Just been ...."

"Distracted?" Tina finished. "Revenants. Nature of the beast. I’ll try to express my feelings as well. "She gave a sad smile. "But you need to do your part, too."

"It’s a deal; the Sight don’t let me read minds." He opened the door and let her in. "You’re right, I mean about all of it." How was he going to say this? He had so many regrets of late. Anna was no longer there because of the path he chose. "Sometimes I think I made the wrong choice, following the path of the revenant. But it’s what I am now, Tina; gotta live with my choices, right?"

Tina sadly smiled. "’Fraid so. We all do, but if it means something, your path helped us all, Dyl. It showed me I needed to fight, but in my own way. So don’t regret the good things you did. It sucks for your karma, but it helped a lot of people." She brushed his waves from his face affectionately. "Which is why I worry. Someday you need to take care of that karma of yours. Cause if you don’t, it’s a one-way ticket to a living hell."

 

 

The post Jamaica Blue Magic: Chapter 13 appeared first on Ryk E. Spoor, Author, Gamer, Geek God.

Jamaica Blue Magic: Chapter 12

The investigation continues... and takes a turn Dylan did not expect...

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Chapter 12.

Since two of the three politicians were in Kingston and Dobson was staying at a resort in Negril, it was decided to focus on David Leo and Nicolai’s business meeting and conservation hobbies. It was possible other European investors were involved, and they just didn’t have enough information to assume it was a territorial dispute (at least, according to the more rational members of their group). That left the Caribbean Sea Turtle Conservation Network hatchling turtle rescue project, and the meeting with the Jamaican Environmental Trust to be investigated.

They decided to split up and tackle the problem. Dylan and Tina went to meet with David Leo from Los Angeles, while Paula and Henry went to visit the Sea Turtle Conservation Network. Louis and John went to the Jamaican Environmental Trust office to see who would be attending the meeting.

It was a long shot, and Dylan wasn’t sure they weren’t barking up the wrong trees. Truth was, he just wanted to go after Dobson and shake the information out of him.

"Dylan, we need to talk. This isn’t just about Dobson."

Dylan bit back an immediate retort. Tina knew him better than almost anyone, and if she was taking this tack, she had a damn good reason. "Okay, so what is it about?"

"It’s about you, your revenant, and your family," Tina said bluntly.

"Wait, what? Okay, yeah, my mom’s spirit is in that bastard’s hands, but—"

Tina sighed. "You've told us the story more than once about how you ended up in that graveyard Anna rescued you from. How you might've started it, but how it really all went back to how your father shaped your whole family.

"I know you're angry at your dad, and you've got plenty of reasons for that. Sure, he was trying to protect you, but he was also a douchebag," Tina said as they approached Legends Beach Resort, where Leo was staying. They walked down a red brick path towards the hotel. It was colorful, a two-story aqua and coral edifice with gold-railed balconies and palm tree gardens. "But you need to break from it, Dyl. Your past is your past. Get over it. You have to take your father, and the past he made for you, off its pedestal, or at least off that dusty shelf in your head, and look at it, accept the truth and take responsibility for it. It’s the reason why you’re a revenant. If you don’t let it go, you’ll never think rationally with this Blackwell business, and that could get you killed for real."

"What truth? That my dad hated our kind because he was hiding from the fact he was a ma cà rồng? That he damn well knew paranormals were people, but couldn’t admit it because he couldn’t fight the real problem? Yeah, I know."

Dylan hunched his shoulders, biting back his disgust. It would be so much easier for him if he had followed the path of peace, like she had. He might even still be alive instead of a revenant. "I bang my head every day on how much more responsibility I need to take. I know I need to make up for what he did and I did. I also know I killed to please him. I could have walked away, but I didn’t. I’m just as much as a monster as he was." He took a breath. "I thought I was a hero, killing monsters in their graves or beds. I never questioned my victims. I never questioned him." He took a breath in an attempt to focus his thoughts. "It’s why I’m a revenant. I was tormented by everything we did and hated him for it."

Tina laughed and shook her head. "I didn’t say you need to forgive him," she said flatly. "I never forgave my daddy or the bastard who killed me. But you can move past it."

He had made his choices. It was easy for him to become a killer. How could he move past that? Dylan looked at her puzzled. "I can’t move past my own sins."

"You accept them, and you’re active in your resentment towards the people who set up the system behind your father’s blind hatred of the undead. But you have to stop hating yourself and focus on thinking clearly." Tina waved a hand. "It’s hard as hell, but it gets me through my days. I have a goal. Someday, I’ll rewrite the Constitution so every sentient being in our country is equal, regardless of color, race, species, sex or origin and it will be in language they can’t ignore or interpret out of existence. It may not be possible, but I’ll fight to the end of my days for it."

"John, Angie, Paula, Henry, and I will beat the living hell out of anyone that gets in your way," Dylan said with absolute conviction, recalling their promises when she first confronted the League about paranormal rights. It was never about one group of people then; paranormal civil rights were just Tina dipping her toe into the legal arena. "But you don’t have any sins, Tina. Your soul is clean."

"It doesn’t mean I’m not a walking ball of raging feminine fury when I need to be. I just know how to pinpoint and direct it. We condemn ourselves into becoming our own demons, and that can, and will, get the best of us. You have to walk on eggshells when you walk the path of the revenant. Walking the path of peace is different, but it’s not about forgiving as much as it is about letting go of animosity so we can function."

"Putting it in its place is easier said than done." Dylan said. Tina was always brilliant, passionate, or blunt at need, and he had been on the receiving end of her revenant’s rage in the past. When the occasion required, she took no shit from anyone, friends included, and Dylan appreciated it. "And you fuckin’ sound like Sacco. It’s human nature to cling to the things that shape us," Dylan said. "Especially to the things we want to blame for our shortcomings."

"And you sound like John."

"That’s because I’m quoting him."

She laughed and slapped his arm, hard. "Don’t get you anywhere, does it? Just back to the same old angry, self-pitying space? When you really need to think and act with the other people around you?"

"I can’t disagree." He admired Tina because of her idealism that was still, somehow, pragmatic—as a lawyer had to be. Her heart was in the right place, she knew how to use words, and she got to the point. It was how she had managed to win rights for revenants, ghouls, and the other undead in the League. She had learned from bitter experience in life and applied it to the world she was in now. For a moment, he wondered about her and John and why they still weren’t together.

They had finally arrived. Tina knocked on the door and waited.

A young, dark Latina dressed in flowing skirt and blue bikini top answered the door. "Yes?"

Dyl’s senses immediately told him she was half human and half vampire. A stop-and-drop, Dylan thought bitterly. When would vampire feedings stop targeting innocents?

"Is Mr. Leo in?" Tina asked.

"Are you Ms. Marty? I’m Rachael, his fiancée." She extended a hand and smiled warmly, then glanced over her shoulder. "David, it’s Tina Marty and Dylan O’Reily. They’re here to ask about Antonio."

David stepped into view and joined them at the door. He was a tall ghoul with dark, wavy hair, and deep brown skin. He was handsome and showed few signs of advancing ghoulism, save for the sharp teeth and almost too-slender build. "Of course. Thank you, Rachael." He gave her a quick hug and kiss; she waved and set off towards the pool, obviously to let them talk privately.

After watching her leave, David Leo turned back to them, smiled and extended a hand. "Ms. Marty, it is a pleasure to meet you! I understand you’re with PFM, from New Orleans and New York? I have been following your work for the last few years! Not an easy job, is it?"

Tina’s smile broadened as she took his hand. "That’s us. I understand you want to start a chapter in LA? Very brave of you, especially with all those culls they do."

His handshake with Dylan was less enthusiastic and Dylan could tell instantly that his presence made the man uncomfortable. However, Leo answered Tina without a pause.

"That’s exactly why we need to do it. I can’t express how much of an honor it is to meet you. Ms. Marty; I’ve read your essays on the Sato process, and viewed your presentation on racial and economic demographics in revenant, ghoul and zombie populations and how this has been terribly misrepresented by our own governments to encourage culling. I also read your book, Blood Bonding or Psychic Slavery: On the History of Blood Addiction, very enlightening. Blood exchange in our country is highly regulated, but I can see your point about how abused it is in business contacts, especially vulnerable employees and household staff."

She wrote all that kind of stuff? Tina was very busy, and obviously causing a stir. He noticed her blush, and Dylan found himself feeling, oddly, a little jealous. "Why, thank you, Mr. Leo! Yes, blood bonds can be abused in many ways and we need to re-think how they are used. The American League’s foundation is built on a bunch of old fossils surviving from before the Civil War. Someone has to point out the failings in their archaic colonial-logic so we can evolve as a nation."

"A logic that thrives on the idea that our society must have slave labor to exist, ranging from prison labor to conflict minerals. In our world, of course, we have different issues—blood bonding, blood banks, blood servants, hexing, curses, psychic and empathic influences, fae matching. Not to mention bribery, special interest groups, and dark money and lobbying like the mortals… I was never clear how we could confront the issue, because it is so engrained in our society and political system."

He’s a fucking fanboy. "Remove the people behind the corruption."

Tina stared at him with a furrowed brow.

Apparently feeling he had to say something to the other visitor, David Leo glanced at Dylan. "Mr. O’Reily. I’ve heard about your duels. You managed to make quite a… mark, I suppose. I’m not sure if a territory battle was the best way to get our people noticed, but it was… effective."

            Well, I hadn’t meant it that way, but he did bring it up.

A flash of resentment forced Dylan to look down; meeting a man’s eyes was a challenge, and the revenant in him would just make it harder to back down. Besides, this wasn’t the first time he’d faced a cold reception due to his territory battles, or his old hunting days; hell, it wasn't even the hundredth. He was proud of his duels. Sure, they were controversial, and so was his previous life as a hunter, and he was still paying penance for the lives he took, but… "Thanks," he said, deciding to take it as a compliment. "And it worked out in more ways than one. Duels are illegal now in the League because of them."

David blinked; he obviously hadn't thought of that. "Well, then," he said, with a tone oddly between conciliation and confrontation, "Good riddance to an archaic law." Silence fell; David Leo looked slightly embarrassed, and Tina’s narrowed gaze did not escape either his or Dylan’s notice. She didn't like his bringing that up.

He seemed to realize he was the one who had caused the faux pas. "Won’t you both please come in?" He opened the door wider and let them enter, then gestured for the two of them to sit. Dylan made sure Tina was seated first before choosing his own chair; only when both of them were comfortable did David speak again. "So, what brings you here?" he asked with a deliberately friendly smile.

"You already know. Antonio Nicolai," Dylan said. The smile vanished and David Leo became solemn. "He was murdered three days ago."

"I heard on the news, yes. There was a story on the League Network. His death is a great loss for the undead world. It is rare to find a highblood willing to think out-of-the-box the way he did."

"Do you have any idea of who might have wanted him dead?" He regretted the obvious question as soon as he asked it.

Leo didn't seem bothered, however. "Oh, it’s more a question of who wouldn’t? Hell, even in Europe there was a list a mile long. The only thing that kept him alive was his connection with Claudius Vassilius. That got him into the American political scene, with the help of Claudius’ wife Pandora."

They exchanged glances. "Did they have access to fae?" Tina asked.

Dylan wondered if the Europeans were making their own territory grab, rather than carrying out some noble attempt to save the ‘Mother’. Then again, this Claudius… Dyl recognized the name. He was a known witch hunter, so was he investigating the demons, and Antonio’s activities were completely unrelated?

So much he didn’t know. It was just making his head ache.

"I don’t know. Fae never came up in our discussions. Given the delicacy of that subject, you would hardly expect it to. I was more interested in having his organization donate to my campaign. He researched the Sato process, and invited a few of us involved in FPM to Jamaica for a conference on pollution and it effects on the undead. It was an enlightening conference. I was an environmental biologist before I was ghouled, so I understood most of what he was trying to explain."

He shook his head and laughed. "Just with a bit of a different twist; undead science is still new to me. It’s part metaphysical, part biological, with a huge truckload of what should be utter bullshit, but isn't. Nicolai presented a lot of material; if you're interested, Tina, I can give you some pamphlets." David stretched his legs and looked across the grounds.

"How many of your group attended? And yes, that would be applesauce heaped on a blood-kidney pie, thanks," Tina replied politely. She leaned her arms on her knees.

David’s face brightened at the reference. I had no clue she liked applesauce on blood kidney pie, maybe I should make her one? John must make them all the fucking time. Or is this some weird saying I've never heard before?

"There were eight of us there in total. I’m not sure how many remained in Jamaica after. Rachael and I just needed some private time, so I didn’t ask."

"Who are you running against?" Dylan relaxed against the wooden back of his chair and watched the trickle of hotel attendees walk up and down the path. It was a lovely night. He wondered what it would have been like to be alone with Anna on a trip to a place like Jamaica.

"Charles Roberts. He’s very much into culling paranormal numbers, and believes in an age-based cut-off on rehab. And before you ask, I have no idea who backs him. It’s all black money and special interest groups, mostly associated with species disease control."

"Who in the hell do they think they are? They’re still using that ‘disease control' bullshit with us? Have they even looked in the mirror and taken a good look at their fangs and asked why in hell half of us revenants are walking? They’re just as 'diseased!' It’s a case of the pot calling the kettle black, if you ask me!" Tina folded her arms, brow wrinkled in anger. She sideglanced Dylan. "Might be a good idea we check into some of these groups associated with Mr. Robert’s campaign."

"I’d send Filipe a text, but my phone, according to John’s scientific opinion, is crap." Dylan told her. He fished into his pocket and pulled out his cell. He flipped it open to find no bars on it. "Aaaand he’s right. Damn, I really hate it when he’s right. I need your iPhone."

"I’ll text it," Tina said; she touched his hand. "We’ll pick you up a new one when we get back to New York. It will be like old times."

"I’d like that." He shoved his phone into his pocket. He really hadn’t had any private time with Tina, and he damn well knew they’d never get any in on this so-called vacation. "David, you run across any demons in L.A.?"

"We have a few trying to carve out a territory. Superchurches are cropping up, teaching that fire-and-brimstone crap. Heck, I even heard the guy who took over the local chapter of PETA was a demon. I dated one once, she was fucking intense, but I just couldn’t get into the S&M lifestyle she needed to feed with."

"Feeding off groups is a lot safer for negative energy consumers," Dylan told him. Most demons weren't that much different from regular folks, they just needed negative energies; still, a part of him always feared they were out for souls, like Dobson. He forced himself to think of Alice; most demons were like her.

"Everyone’s gotta make a living. But with that, I guess it’s no wonder there are so many demonbloods into politics; negative energies are pretty much everywhere there." David checked his watch and got to his feet. "I don’t mean to cut this short, but I promised Rachael we’d meet at the pool."

"It’s okay. One more thing before you go, David." Dylan asked, standing. He offered his hand. "Are you still planning on running? If you are, one of us should stay."

"Yes, I’m not tossing in the towel yet, and thanks, I have Ms. Marty’s number on speed-dial. I’ll be fine. I don’t need a babysitter." He took Dylan’s hand and shook it again—this time with more sincerity. What do you know; maybe a little diplomacy does go a long way.

He waited for Tina to finish her text and took her hand. "Ms. Marty, I think you should run for Magistrate. We need people like you."

"Why, thank you." Tina squeezed his hand back. "Take care, David." She gave him a swift nod and joined Dylan as the two of them exited the cabin ahead of their host. They watched David walk up the path toward the beach. "I am completely at a loss about this case."

"I’m not. It’s Dobson. Gotta be." It was all he could think of now. He didn’t want to leave; he had a feeling there was still something that David Leo knew that could help them, but chasing him down and forcing themselves into the middle of what was obviously a private vacation wasn't going to get them anywhere.

Tina fixed him with one of her "be patient" looks when there was a screech from the pool area. Both of them spun, but this time, Dylan was ready.

Don’t want to be seen. He directed his thoughts to invisibility; this way the mortals wouldn’t know he was there. Then he sidestepped into Tina’s shadow.

The world around him stretched into a cold, sharp-edged realm of stark buildings and brilliant green plants and large, buzzing, insect-like beings with multiple wings and bodies like wood. It was a startling change, and it took a moment for him to take it all in; the grounds of the hotel were lush, and filled with flowering plants, and four-legged creatures he had never seen before in the shadow realm. But he had no time to try and understand what he was looking at; instead he sprinted up the pale, translucent path of Legends Hotel and leapt into the next shadow and out—just in time to see a blazing blue-white fire engulf David Leo, transforming him into a perfect statue of ice before he shattered into a billion shards of dust.

"God-dammit!" More curses on his lips, Dylan found another shadow, leapt through the shade of one tree and out another, just in time to bound skywards with his pistol drawn in time to face Leo’s startled assailant an instant before she could fly off.

The indigo-haired child fluttered in front of him, her icy pale-blue flesh glittering in the moonlight. He fired point blank.

And a storm of blue white snow and ice battered into him, sending him and the bullet down into the pool below. The last thing he heard was her giggle, the high-pitched, joyous sound of a delighted child, before he plunged below the surface of the now-freezing water.

 

 

 

 

 

The post Jamaica Blue Magic: Chapter 12 appeared first on Ryk E. Spoor, Author, Gamer, Geek God.

Jamaica Blue Magic: Chapter 11

Let's look back in on our other viewpoint...

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Chapter 11.

Jared waited for the signal that Walküre had been chocked, and then began the process of shutting the aircraft down, going over every item on the checklist, down to physically verifying that the plane was, indeed, properly chocked and secured by the attending personnel. Jet aircraft were finicky things and needed proper care—and if you were going to depend on them when you were at thirty thousand feet above an ocean, three thousand miles from land, you had better have remembered every tiny detail of that care.

Satisfied that Walküre would be properly cared for in his absence, Jared carried his few bags to the IAM Jet Centre, the private terminal at Sangster International Airport. He could easily have had someone else do the unloading, but, like most things, he preferred to do it himself. Customs cleared him quickly; his people had made sure they were aware of his own unusual requirements and that all of the necessary arrangements had been made beforehand, so there were only a few odd glances at the Silbernseele’s hilt, and no comments.

The car, a customized Phantom, was waiting for him in the private lot. Someone watching might have wondered just what he was doing as he first walked around the vehicle, examining it from every angle, including extending something like a long walking cane with something that glittered at the end. The long-handled mirror allowed him to look under the silver-gray car and examine its undercarriage in detail. He also examined other, more unusual instruments. None of them showed anything out of the ordinary, so he finally opened the vehicle and examined the interior just as carefully, popping the hood to check the engine as well. Satisfied, Jared loaded his luggage into the trunk, unfastened the Silbernseele and placed it through a loop on the passenger-side door, and got in.

When you were a prince—even the least of princes—of a country with a meritocratic government and sometimes rather extreme political factions, you took nothing for granted. Not even the safety of a car your own people had arranged for you. Scars on his chest itched at the thought. No. Nothing for granted.

On the road towards Montego Bay at last, Jared activated the phone. It rang only once. "Is all acceptable, Jared?" said a familiar voice in the slightly accented German of Engelshand.

"Perfect, Kyland. No hitch in the arrangements. What should I know about my ride that is not obvious?"

"Nothing terribly surprising. Run-flat tires, of course, and standard armor. No other surprises. With such short notice we had to take what was within range to ship out in time to reach you in Jamaica."

"Understood. I'm en route to Montego Bay. Was Freya’s cabin free?"

"Fortunately, yes. No one is currently using it, and there is no one expected for at least two weeks; the regular staff is in residence, of course. I have informed your sister that you will be there until further notice."

That was good. Staying at a location he was at least reasonably familiar with was vastly preferable to going to an unknown, and possibly difficult to secure rental, no matter how posh it might be. Freya’s taste in decorations didn't entirely jibe with his, but that was a minor issue. "Any word on Lady Aphrodite?"

A feminine voice answered. "Enrica speaking. I was able to determine through our contacts that Lady Aphrodite is currently in a modest cottage near the bay. Contact information is being sent to your phone directly."

"We don't have any agents in this area, do we?"

"No. Freya does, of course, but—"

He sighed. "But, yes. Sehr gut. I shall have to, as they say, play it by ear."

The real problem, he thought as he cut the connection, is that we are still so very new to this secret world.

In any other country on Earth, he and his siblings would have been raised with the truth; the League supported, and was supported by, the powerful, with arrangements in place to maintain the balance of power and the secrecy of the mystical world that lay behind the ordinary politics of the world. Education in the schools covered history that was not taught elsewhere; powerful, not-precisely human patrons supported families from the shadows and could offer healing or even elevation to immortality for the select few.

But Engelshand … Engelshand had been different, in ways Jared had never suspected. Not only had the half-legendary Balder Engelshand founded a country built on an (admittedly bizarre) meritocratic aristocracy; apparently he and his sister had also been responsible for turning the country, first into one of the foremost centers of witch-hunting in the world, and then, later, into the only country to completely turn its back on the supernatural world, driving forth every trace of mystical power and influence and focusing entirely on the material and mundane—to the point that, at any given time, only the current ruler and his or her chosen successor knew anything of that secret world.

Well, that’s not quite true. He’d discovered—rather painfully—that there were also a few in the higher aristocracy of Engelshand, those socially only one or two ranks below him, who were also aware—and resentful—of the supernatural world hidden beneath the mundane.

But for Jared, it had all started when his oldest sister, Hilde, had asked him for a favor.

 

***

 

"Of course, Hilde, name it." Jared looked curiously at Hilde. The tall, silver-blonde woman was more than just a sister to him; given that he was the fourteenth of fourteen children and she was the second, she was really the closest thing to a mother he had known, since his own mother had died shortly after he was born. She had always been direct, uncompromising, strict… and yet capable of warmth that made him always look forward to the time he could spend in the castle.

What Hilde wasn't was nervous. She was always in control, running much of the household with absolute control and not a hint of effort, and she and Thor—Jared’s eldest brother—were the heirs apparent to Father, if and when he chose to step down. So seeing her standing in his doorway, foot tapping with an unconscious, nervous rhythm made him three times more nervous.

"I have a friend—her name’s Lilith. Lilith Murray, of the Murrays, you understand."

While he had never met any of them, Jared certainly knew of the clan, so he nodded again.

"Well, she has a son—a little younger than you—but he’s at Eton this year and, well, she wants him to have a roommate."

"Ah." Jared thought that explained at least some of Hilde’s nervousness. Obviously she wanted him to be this other boy’s roommate, and that meant giving up some of his security and privacy. "If it’s important to you, it’s not an issue. Of course."

"Wait, Jared. There’… he’s not quite…" For the first time in his memory, he saw Hilde actually flustered—literally unable to find the words for what she was trying to say, and he felt a twinge of worry.

He turned away from his packing and stood, putting a hand on Hilde’s shoulder. "Hilde, what is it?"

She took a deep breath. "Jared… I'm going to have to tell you a secret that no one in the family other than Father, Thor, and myself know. You will have to keep it secret in turn. Do you understand?"

A secret so restricted that even my other, older siblings do not know it? The twinge was now one of excitement. What could it possibly be? "You can rely on me, of course, Hilde. If secret it must be, then secret it shall be."

"Of course." Even then, she hesitated, like a diver at the edge of a high and perilous cliff. Finally, she shook herself and spoke. "The Murrays of course want excellent academic performances from their children, and Keenan is showing some reluctance in following this path. She—Lilith, I mean—hopes that you could be a good influence on him. But," she drew in one more huge breath, "but he is not… exactly human."

Jared blinked. I could not have heard that correctly. "Beg pardon?"

"Keenan Murray is a fae, Jared. A Leanan Sidhe, to be precise."

 

***

 

Just the recollection of his utter dumbfoundedness was enough to make him laugh as he took the car past a slower vehicle. My worldview was rather drastically enlarged that day. And continued to be for quite some time after.

He glanced over at the Silbernseele, the huge sword of the Engelshand family that had been passed down through so many generations that there was no longer any clear idea of when it had been forged. It had been given to him to keep when he was only seven, because of his enthusiasm—be honest, obsession—with the old family legends of heroic deeds, of slaying of dragons and trolls and other monsters to defend the innocent, and the way he had sought to make himself worthy of this old tradition since he had been… was it really at six that he’d decided he wanted to be a Knight?

Another chuckle. Yes, I suppose I was that young. And then, at fifteen, he found that the legends had been absolutely true… from, as the one movie might have said, a "certain point of view". The Engelshands had descended from a line of witch-hunters, a branch of the Teutonic Knights and others that had preceded them. A few centuries ago, however, they had decided to cleanse their country of all nonhuman influences and driven them out, cutting off contact… and erasing knowledge of that secret world from all but the very, very top of the key families.

And then I insisted on involving myself in Keenan and Fiona’s affairs. That had rather set the cat among the pigeons; there were factions within Engelshand, and even outside of it, that had a far less than flattering opinion of any nonhuman beings, and who had regarded Engelshand as the one refuge and true shining example left in a corrupt world. Jared, from their point of view, was either a terribly misled victim of the subtle and deadly wiles of the leanan sidhe and their ilk, or a Judas ready to betray the nation and its principles for the sake of his inhuman friends.

He shook his head. Enough woolgathering. He had passed through the Montego Bay area, where Lady Aphrodite was staying, but he hadn't intended to just stop in. It would be extremely rude, as he wasn't an intimate of hers and had no idea whether she was even receiving visitors at this time; given the circumstances he was sure she would see him eventually, but a sudden appearance would not go over well.

Instead, he continued along the A1 for a few miles until he reached a private turnoff; the gates, which looked simple and not terribly strong, were not only far more formidable than they looked but were backed by other methods to discourage trespassers; the gate opened to his personal signal, which also ensured that none of the other measures were activated. From there it was only a few moments to the front door of the cabin.

Jared grinned wryly at the thought. One thing he had tried to teach himself—partly because Keenan had forcibly, and sometimes with justifiable anger, opened his eyes to the totality of the world—was to look at things through the eyes of people not born to his station. Calling it a cabin was something only someone of immense wealth would do without being purposely ironic. From any other viewpoint, it was a house, and not a small one, large enough for entertaining a decent-sized crowd or allowing even a large family sufficient living space. Admittedly, any vacation spot owned by the family will be sized to fit a family that has fourteen children. But then, only someone of great wealth could afford distant vacation spots for fourteen-child families.

The door opened as he stepped out of the car and he saw Lanecia, the tall black woman who acted as head-of-house for the staff, looking out. "Mister Jared, good to see you again!" she said. She blinked as he stood. "My, you have grown some since you were here last!"

He smiled back. "That was five years ago, Lanecia, I was hardly grown then at all. You don't seem to have changed at all." That wasn't quite true; she was still tall, but she looked far smaller now from his adult height, and she seemed, oddly, younger, perhaps because of that.

"My mirror says otherwise, but thank you, honey. Just you this time, right?"

"For now, yes. You won't need to call in the full staff, they can go about their own business. I'll be in my regular room, if it’s available?"

"Just renovated last season, so it’s in fine shape. I'll bet you're hungry. What will you be having for dinner?"

"Tell Darnay—it is still Darnay, yes?" At her nod he went on, "Tell Darnay to surprise me. He’s never disappointed me yet."

"All right." As he strapped the Silbernseele back on, she stopped and shook her head. "You're still carrying that monster? Ahh, well, it fits you better now."

"Still, and with more reason these days, Lanecia. I do want full security details out and ready. Tell them hazard bonuses are in effect. I don't expect trouble, but if there is any it may be very bad."

"Dear me. Understood, I'll get Romdall and Alwan on it right away."

"Thank you."

Once in his room, he took out his phone and found the information Enrica had sent. Time to truly set things in motion.

The phone on the other end rang twice, and then was picked up. "Niccoli residence."

He recognized the calm, almost musical voice instantly. "Hermes! It is good to hear your voice again."

There was a moment of hesitation, then, "Jared? Jared Engelshand?"

"It is. And let me first offer my deepest sympathies and condolences to the Lady and to all of you in the household. It is… inconceivable to me that someone would have wished Antonio harm."

"Your sentiments are very much appreciated, Jared," Hermes said. Jared could envision him now, the young-appearing fae of Greek extraction, probably with a somewhat puzzled expression on his face. "Yet—meaning no offense, you understand—you were hardly an intimate of the family, and I am … surprised you knew how to contact us here."

"I am no intimate, no, but Ophelia is, as I understand it."

"Ah. Yes, I believe I take your full meaning. You would like to call on the Lady, then?"

"If it is at all possible, yes. It was my sister’s earnest request."

"Then I shall consult with Lady Aphrodite. I believe, despite her current condition, that she will see you, it is just a matter of when."

"I am entirely at her disposal; I am here in Jamaica at our family’s vacation home." He gave Hermes the contact information. "I understand, of course, the tremendous blow this is to her, personally, and I do not wish to cause her any undue stress, but I do sincerely offer any services that I might be able to provide."

"I am sure she will appreciate that, Jared. I will contact you as soon as I have spoken with her."

"Then I can ask no more. I hope to hear from you soon."

"You shall."

As he shut off the phone, Jared was suddenly assailed by another sharp set of memories: the Niccoli’s great yacht, ablaze with light and laughter, dozens of fae and their prospective… suitors walking the decks… Keenan next to him, offering both quiet advice and acid commentary… Lady Aphrodite, the host and center of the celebration, greeting him and his brother Seigfreid, her Antonio at her side… Fiona, standing next to him at the rail, the scent of sea mingling with her perfume, the warmth of their almost touching hands…

And now Fiona is gone, Antonio is gone, and if anything I have been told is true, half of the Lady with him. Will there be anything I can do at all in the face of such a loss?

He looked out at the sun that was now setting behind the trees, and wondered.

 

 

The post Jamaica Blue Magic: Chapter 11 appeared first on Ryk E. Spoor, Author, Gamer, Geek God.

Jamaica Blue Magic: Chapters 9 and 10

Due to power outage and computer problems, I missed Friday's, so we'll start with two today.

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Chapter 9.

"Are you a witch-hunter?" Aphrodite Nicolai asked. They sat on the marble deck of her two-story beach villa overlooking the ocean. The ethereal woman was pale, with puffy eyes, and unkempt graying hair in her face. She was nothing like the vibrant, glowing being she had been the previous night. She sat on her cushioned beach chair with her legs up. "Eurydice said you were investigating the murder of my Antonio?"

"I’m an independent, Ma'am," Dylan said, nodding. It was best not to stray too far from the truth. She sure doesn't look well. Filipe managed to arrange this meeting with Antonio Nicolai’s wife—a fae, not another vampire or human. This was the only real lead they had on the mysterious murdering munchkin, at least until they found out anything new on Dobson, and Dylan also couldn't ignore the possibility that Aphrodite might also be a target.

He looked to Louis who sat down near the woman. "We want to help, ma'am," Louis said. "You loved him very much, didn’t you?"

"More than what mortals call 'love'," she answered after a moment. "I was his muse. Antonio and I did everything together. We were matches. It is …empty inside now." She shivered and removed a tissue from the box beside her. "My people bond completely to those we are close to, those we choose. Vampires are one of the few beings we cannot kill when we love them. Yesterday, I thought he would be with me for eternity."

Confused, Dylan studied the woman. He had thought most fae were blood bonded to demon-blooded vampires. Had Nicolai’s relationship been different? He pulled up a chair. "Aphrodite, I was on the beach the night your husband was killed. I'm sorry; I couldn’t reach him in time."

"And yet you didn’t say anything to the police?"

"I’m a revenant, ma'am; where I come from, they don’t take to us very well." He folded his hands and looked down. "But I can say this: I can help. I’ll find his killer for you. If you let me."

"How do I know you didn’t kill him?" She fixed him with a narrow stare that put him momentarily at a loss.

Finally, he shrugged and grinned. "If I’d killed him, why would I have come to you offering my services?"

She did not immediately answer; he noticed she was now gazing intently at Louis.

Her face became puzzled. "I feel the Mother in you. Why?"

"The mother?" Dylan had no idea what she was talking about. What was she sensing in Louis? Something that Jason and the others couldn't?

"We stand on the Mother, do we not? She is everywhere," Louis answered. Well, if you can call that evasion an answer. Nice dodging, Louis. I wonder if she’s going to let that pass.

But Louis was continuing. "Mrs. Niccoli, Dylan is giving you the straight dope. He saw a child kill your match. A fairy child, and she might be in peril as well; no child should be used as a weapon, and those who would do such a thing…"

"One of my people?" Horror washed over Aphrodite's features, and tears filled her eyes. She stood up and walked over to the rail. She wasn’t stick-thin like the idealized, attenuated fairy images Dylan was used to seeing on TV. Aphrodite had a curvy, hourglass figure, reminding him of Marilyn Monroe. "A fairy? How pure? Was she from Beyond the Veil?"

"I don’t know. I couldn't tell. She confused my Sight," Dylan said. "That’s why we’re here."

"I can’t tell you anything about my people from behind the Veil," Aphrodite said, brushing strands of hair wearily from her face. "Was she a water nymph? A selkie, or a finman? They declared war on us; most of the Earthly fae following them hearken from the sea. They follow Circe, and there is no word yet as to whether she has recruited from the Veil. The only one who could directly speak to the Veil has broken and is no longer with us."

Dylan raised a brow. "Why would the fae want to kill Antonio?"

"I have no idea." Aphrodite caught her breath and clutched the marble rail. "He was helping the fae. My husband spent most of his life speaking against forced fae and vampire contracts. I was his equal, his muse. I wasn’t even taking his blood. I chose to live a natural life." She looked back at them. "He would free fae and send them overseas. He did everything he could to ensure the proper treatment of my people, and he supported fae-run contract business that allowed the fae to choose their mates based on compatibility and symbiosis, and investigated improper treatment of them."

"Aphrodite, do you not realize that you have just given us a motive for murder?" Louis asked. "Not for the fae, no, but for the demon-bloods who bond with them."

"The demon-bloods would not kill Antonio." The conviction in her voice was absolute. Aphrodite turned and pressed her hips into the rail behind her. "His views are not uncommon among his people. Yes, there are several ancient ones who dread the fae, and like us controlled, but Antonio was working for a greater goal. He was set on a task, by the father of the demon-bloods, High Councilor Lucius Enki. The great Mother is ill, and Antonio and I were charged with the task of moving human economies toward an environmental agenda. We were to create financial markets for environmentally friendly power sources, material products, food and tourism, as well as influence eco-friendly politicians."

Lucius. He almost blanked out the rest of her words, hearing the Murray Clan highblood’s name. Both Daniel and Liam talked about him. Wasn’t he involved with Keenan Murray, Aedan, and Anna? Why would a known corporate robber baron give a damn about the environment?

Did this great Mother business have anything to do with Liam’s story about fading fae power and the lack of belief?

What did Lucius want with it? Did he want power from it? Was this linked to the Veil falling?

"Who is the Mother?"

"The Earth," Aphrodite said.

Louis nodded. "It's a belief in fae and shape-shifter society that the Earth is a living being. Not like a separate being or god, as the Greeks or the Romans had it, although some aspects of their faith might fit. The land, the actual, physical planet, is a living, breathing creature." Louis explained. "They have many different names for her, but they use the term "Mother" universally to each other."

"The planet is alive?" There were quite a few religions following similar doctrine. Religions of the type his family’s faith had always called "pagan." Dylan felt uncomfortable. Christianity had crushed several pagan faiths. Now he wondered why? If destroying the belief in a living planet threatened its existence, why do it? He thought of Dobson and wondered if it was about feeding off enmity and despair. "Ma’am, did he have a run-in with the Blackwell family?"

"The bankers?" She frowned. "Well, he was getting resistance from the Tilermans, Kaiser, Cook; they’re oil people, and the Blackwells often invested in fossil fuels. What Antonio was trying to do in the US was funnel money away from the fossil fuel industry and put it into renewable energies. He met a great deal of resistance from the older demon-blooded families who had founded their fortunes on fossil fuels, and plastics and industries dependent on them. He even got threats from other industries that relied on other natural resources like lumber, water and steel; they could see where the environmental campaign might take him."

"What about the non-American companies and industrialists?" Dylan asked, feeling a bit affronted.

"We had similar reactions in the Arab States, Asia and in Europe, but some of their people were at ground zero when Paris went, which changed a lot of things," Aphrodite answered. "It was really a selection of demon elites in the US who didn’t care that the Earth was dying. They just planned on harvesting as many souls here as they could until they found a new world to exist on."

"Crap," Dylan said, appalled. "Like a bunch of locusts? Eat one world, move to the next?"

Louis appeared perplexed with the thought. "How do they expect to leave the planet? They’re not disembodied like their ancestors. They’re half human."

"All I can tell you is it was their rumored plan; I do not know how they would execute it." Aphrodite said quietly. She wrapped her arms about herself, shaken. "And if they are using a fae child to commit these crimes, it’s a message from them. They’re meeting our challenge, and taking their own side, regardless of what it will cost."

Back again to Dobson and his people. Dylan felt a chill. Dylan and Louis exchanged glances. In theory there was a long list of possible suspects… but Dylan just knew where the investigation was going.

And now he knew the stakes were even higher than he had imagined.

 

 

Chapter 10.

"So, what was that about?" Dylan asked as he drove them back to the beach house. Louis reclined in the seat next to him, attention focused on the passing palm trees, ferns and dwarf grasses.

"What’s what about?"

"She said you were a part of the Mother?" Which meant he was fae, most likely. "It’s no problem, I have fae in me; that’s why I have the Sight. Fae blood runs in my family. After hearing what she said about Antonio, it makes sense. He freed fae and let them go hide in the States where they didn’t need to register and just blended with the humans."

When Louis didn't reply, Dylan shifted to another subject. "I had no idea you knew that much about fae."

Louis’ gaze was calm, but there was something unreadable in it. "I know more about the fae than most of the so-called Elders in the League. I’m old, remember? I know a lot of things, Dyl."

Okay, so he’s not touching the whole bit about him being fae. Maybe he didn’t want to believe it himself, which was why he avoided Liam and Doc Smith. Fae weren't acknowledged in the States, but that was better than being a controlled resource, wasn't it? Dylan sighed, wondering if it was a good time to play counselor. "Dude, I know being fae is 'don’t ask, don’t tell' in our country, but for those of us who want to hide, it isn’t a bad thing. It protects the Independent Fae Nations." To be fair, they knew more than a few fae, fae-blooded vampires, Old Bear, and the Twins among them; Louis wouldn’t necessarily be alone.

"That all depends, Dylan. What kind of culture do the fae have here? Outside of the Free Peoples who live outside of the cities, none of the fae in North America have community or a culture of their own. It’s all human or demonblood culture. You’ve been absorbed and have no unique identity. Look at yourself; you struggle every day to adapt to your own faeish senses, and often grasp at human stereotypes of Sidhe culture for identity. It’s nonexistence even for the Independent Fae Nations."

"Ok, what about the stuff you don’t remember?" he asked.

And Louis was right. Dylan was fae, yet nothing about him was distinctly fairy. It had been taken from him when his family immigrated to the United States, but since he’d never had it in the first place, he never thought he was missing anything.

His friend peered up at the stars. "Fae isn’t the right word. It doesn’t sound right, doesn't fit me. Though I know a great deal about them. I was close to the fae." He shrugged. "I do feel a closeness to the Mother, but I never realized it until she mentioned it."

"What’s it like?" Dylan was curious. If part of Louis’s memories were false, it would break to the truth eventually. They just needed to poke around his real memories and bring them out.

"Are we having a session?"

"Yes, sir." Dylan said. "Just between you and me. On the clock."

Louis nodded and continued.

"I feel a presence. Like I’m welcome, simply standing upon the Earth. It is very pleasant." He shrugged. "The twins describe a similar feeling."

"I’ve never felt it. Maybe when I was a kid, but I was too young to remember. I was also raised Pentecostal, so I missed out on the spiritual stuff. It’s all about riding the religious high, listening to people pretend they talk in tongues, and giving your money to a conman-demon." The words were out before he could catch himself.

"I sense a little hostility," Louis said. "Are you thinking about what she said about using us up and flying off to another world?"

"Hell, yeah. My mom was suckered by that demon and it cost me my family. I guess it’s still raw. Especially now, but this is about your baggage, brother, not the case." He slowed the jeep at a red light. John’s search had put Dobson and Beckmann in the same family, running the same school, so even the others had to admit that it was possible, even probable, that Dobson was Beckmann’s reincarnation. Dylan himself was sure, but they wanted some kind of proof. Dylan’s first thought was to read Beckmann’s sermons to be certain, but truth was, with what he’d seen on the Internet, many of these popular evangelicals sounded awfully alike. They could all be demons drumming up delicious antagonism. He’d never be able to tell unless he got up close and personal with them.

"You think he did it?"

"Rationally, I’d say I need more evidence. The revenant in me says ‘crew it'. She mentioned Blackwell and demons. We have enough. Now, about your memories."

"Memories of a vast existence, and when I step into the ocean, I feel a kinship and a belonging. When I am there, I know nothing will or could harm me. Have you ever felt that way?"

"Honestly?" Dylan thought about it. "When I’m in the blackest of rages, and it scares the shit out of me."

Louis nodded. "Yeah, scares the shit out of me too. Because when I feel it, I know I can stop being me at any moment."

 

***

 

The small group sat around the kitchen table while Dylan dished out the remains of curry long pig with hot peppers and scallions to Tina and John, while Louis and Paula finished their escovitched fish, carrots, wild rice, and peppers.

Henry was satisfied with a glass of blood. Louis had a glass of rum, while Dylan and the others had some blood wine. They were still waiting for Filipe’s email, and Dylan wanted to brainstorm with the others about what they had discovered.

It was better than just running off after Dobson, he reminded himself and his revenant urges, though Dylan wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to hold out.

"Dylan, I don't think I've had curry this good ever," Tina said looking up at him from her plate. "Hell, I didn’t know you could cook our kind of food. When did you learn?"

"The secret is searing it, not cooking the meat, and marinating it just right during the day. Worked with Jana Lyn for a while after you guys left for New Orleans. Figured it was better than getting eats from the hospital all the time, since we have two ghouls and a zombie staying at the coffeehouse now. Our ghost revenant doesn’t eat, though; it just falls through him."

"Poor baby," Paula said with sympathy in her voice. "Not being able to taste a thing. Can’t imagine that. I mean, even blood these days has flavors. Henry gets those gourmet packets from the stores now. Right, Hen?"

"Yeah, and they're not bad." Henry studied the glass. "Tonight’s flavor is type A exotic RH—"Beef with Garlic and Scallion."

"Oh, I like that one," Tina replied. "Have you tried "Hint of Chocolate" yet? It’s really good."

Dylan hadn’t tried the gourmet bloods. He was simple and just liked it plain. And of course, the thing that really tasted good to his revenant he didn't get often. "Ain’t that the shit they get from the morgues? They treat it with chemicals or something, so it won’t clot after they collect it. Waste not, want not, I guess."

Louis stuck his fork in his fish and made a face. "I don’t know, it’s always been better from the vein in my experience. Chocolate blood just doesn’t sound natural to me."

"You’re not a revenant, Lou; the industry was made for the vampire-made revenants running around," Tina said. "There are more of us than vampires, and our palates are more ghoulish than pure vamp."

"Well, you may be right about unnatural. I do get an aftertaste from time to time," Henry said, glancing at Louis. "Sort of like what you get when you wolf down a bunch of orange peeps or eat a snow cone."

Standing up, John put his plate in the sink. He glanced over at Henry’s glass of blood with a frown. "I mix cocoa into my blood all the time. Even make snow cones for the kids with it. They rock when they’re all thick and clotty." The eternal revenant teen scraped off his plate and turned on the faucet. "I should've gotten a patent on it."

"Your blood cocoa is just disgusting," Tina said, but her voice and a smile showed she was teasing. Everyone knew she drank it when she had a chocolate craving. "I looked into the process of the gourmet blood. It’s not harmful to us undead. If made in the proper conditions, it doesn't injure the mortal population and the gourmet blood isn’t bad for us. Not as good as the live stuff we get from the hospitals, but for a product used to maintain a population of undead without harming the living, it’s a damned good idea."

Shrugging, Dylan plopped in his chair. It still amazed him that he could be talking about cannibalism casually with his friends, like it was something perfectly normal and not taboo. Over the last thirty years, their little group of victims had developed their own monster culture. In fact, without the constant culls, the monster society was thriving. They lived taboo lives… in ordinary, completely mundane ways. It was absolutely mind-boggling.

"It’s small enough to do right," John replied. "But if they start to expand to a world market, try to industrialize production? Then they’ll start cutting corners and we’ll start to see glowing vampires, zombies, ghouls and revenants."

"Always a ray of sunshine, John." Paula squished some rice on her plate.

"They don’t use radiation… do they?" Henry looked confused.

"No, dear Henry, John is just being an ass," Paula answered. Next to her, Tina giggled.

"How did your meeting go, by the way?" Tina asked in an attempt to change the topic. She mixed her meat and rice and looked to both Dylan and Louis.

It was Louis who spoke. "Poor kid is broken up. Apparently, Antonio was decent for a demon-blood. There are a lot of pieces to the puzzle we’re unaware of, but Antonio was asked to finance an environmental initiative worldwide. He was also a fae rights activist."

"Which gives us a list of enemies a mile long," Dylan added. He poked at his leftover food with his fork. Sure, the stuff might come from hospital waste, but it was perfectly safe for the undead; still, he never felt quite right eating it. "However, we discovered he was trying to involve himself in the American eco-market and was butting heads with Tilghman and Blackwell."

"Apparently the demon-bloods here plan to strip the environment and move to a different world." Louis added. "Regardless of how impractical it may sound, they think they have a plan."

"Tilghman?" John turned from the sink, disgust furrowing his brow. "The family clan involved in my death? I have no fucking idea what their plan might be. Move to a different world? Our space program isn’t advanced enough, and they keep cutting federal funds to NASA."

"I don’t know if it is the exact same vamp clan who did it, but yes, related. Antonio had a list of organizations sending him hate mail. And maybe they’ll shadow-walk off this rock; hell, maybe she meant other worlds like other universes, not just planets." Dylan leaned back in his chair. He felt his fury rise just talking about the situation. The demon was out there with his mother’s soul, and the Blackwell family still lived safe behind their money and their puppet government. He had to breathe deeply, like Doctor Sacco had taught him. He needed to control the monster, not be controlled by it. "Now, I’m going to be honest here, guys; I can’t think beyond Blackwell on this. And we need to, with planet-killing demons and all."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw John open the refrigerator and remove a plate of fried sugar-coated eyeballs. How in God’s name did he control his revenant? John had been tortured and tossed out into the Dakota badlands, turning him into a raving wraith. How was he so controlled now?

"I need help with this one, because you guys can think out of the rage Hulk-smash box." He looked at the faces of his friends and wished Angie was there. He missed his spiritual little brother. Since Anna had vanished, Angie had been the only one with a good chance of derailing Dylan’s revenant.

John shrugged. "We need to tackle this one thing at a time, Dyl. I never went back to hunt the devil who was involved in my murder. I can’t tell you how involved his gang is in this. But I did investigate the oil industry there. Blackwell invests in a great deal of the oil. The De Hamm, the Tilghman, BP, and a host of corporatists from the fuel industry are putting the screws to the Native Peoples to put in a pipeline and fuck our water supplies and land. Just business as usual, you know; white douchebags once more making a land grab for the sake of their own greed while the government forgets its own constitution and promises."

He leaned into the fridge door, closing it with his rear. "One of the current debates is around pipelines, uranium mining, and fracking. They strip the land they steal and are too cheap to use materials that are environmentally safe, so it poisons the water and the earth. People get sick and die all the time. But the companies deny any responsibility, and the government sides with them because genocide has always been the go-to for their little indigenous problems."

"You’re not helping with my Blackwell problem," The rancor just tightened in his gut and Dylan clenched his fists.

"My people have nothing to do with your Blackwell plot, and everything to do with five hundred years of white supremacy and imperialism. Human beings, their greed and their disdain for their own kind make them the worse monsters of all."

"Fair enough."

"Well, they aren't here," Tina said. "A demon is here. Not Blackwell."

"With the soul of my mother."

"We have no proof of that," Paula pointed out sharply. "Though there are ways of finding out. I called Dio, in New Orleans, and he’s given me a few names of sorcerers in the area. I can’t guarantee any of them would work with us. We’re monsters, after all. But it doesn’t hurt to ask around."

Tina sighed and buried her head in her hands. "Paula, how is hoodoo going to solve our problems?"

"It’s not 'hoodoo', Tina, it’s sorcery, a very different kind of mystical tradition. And as Filipe would immediately remind you, it is voudon, not voodoo or hoodoo. I know you’re not a spiritual person, but Dyl is, and I am," Paula snapped. "And you’ve been in New Orleans enough to know magic is real, so why not good people who channel the spirits through faith?"

Tina pinched her nose. "I get it, Paula, but in a court of law, it’s all about evidence. They can’t use testimony from the dead."

That was, indeed, the problem. Even in the supernatural circles, beings that left the Earthly realm—lost their bodies, in short, and became spirits—weren't treated as full citizens. Of course, to be fair, most such beings left the world entirely for the afterlife, and those that got stuck on Earth often weren't really clear on their situation—pretty crazy, actually—so it wasn't as though there wasn't reason for this attitude. Still, it made it difficult for people like Sam to testify, and testimony from spirits who couldn't even show up in court was right out.

"All right, well, I’m not a court of law, and I use my own Jedi mind powers." Dylan used Angelus’ favorite word for mental or psionic abilities. "So, we do know Dobson and Beckmann are connected. We can’t say for sure that they are the same demon, nor can we say for sure that they’re working with Blackwell."

It was hard for him to say all that, but he tried to let his mind just focus on Dobson: Dobson and his mother.

"He was not mentioned by Aphrodite," Louis said. "However, she did mention that the demon-blood elites had no interest in the plan to save the Mother."

"What in hell is that?" Henry asked, draining his glass.

"My sire mentioned her," John said. "He’s really old, but he never talks about it. He likes playing the mysterious, scary old Elder. Told me the Father and the Mother exist. He also told me the gods are real, and many of the mythologies we recall touch on the truth, and reflect the people’s understanding through the cultures they live in. This is why the story always changes. People are always migrating, so the stories migrate with them, and change over time. He told me that by believing in our ancestors, they live on and can help us, and some become gods." John shrugged. "Cryptic, but what do you expect from a sixty-thousand-year-old Elder?"

Looking at his glass of rum, Louis ran his finger along its rim. "Not the whole truth… but a part of it."

"Another memory?" Dylan glanced at him, hopeful.

"Just a feeling. If you think about it, many of the pagan faiths tend to focus on honoring the ancestors and nature spirits or gods. Later monotheistic religions often went out of their way to destroy them," Louis said. "I do not think it was just because of the fae, as some claim it to be."

"Fae Wars, yeah I learned about that in school." Dylan said. Well, the school I went to after I became a revenant, anyway. "Basically, the witch hunts and destruction of pagan religions was to take away belief in pagan gods and thus weaken them. That way they were vulnerable to witch hunters."

"There is something else we're missing, but I can’t put my finger on it." Louis held his glass to the light. Eventually, he shook his head, and took a sip of the rum. "Doesn't matter, but in any event, all of those things had a consequence. It hurt the Mother, this ancestor goddess, and Antonio was charged with creating a financial reform that encouraged eco-friendly industry. The demons had no interest in this."

"Nope, they just used the idea of global warming and the chaos it’s causing to gather their flock, feed on the souls and cash in on the chaos it’s causing around them. It’s win, win. They fill their hells, and they live the highlife until the end, then move on to the next planet of suckers." Dylan informed. "And USA is filled with the buggers."

"Hey, wasn’t Ms. December of Ghoulie Girls a demon?" Henry asked. "She was like a florist or something, works funerals. Loves her job. Thought she was very sweet, actually."

"Species profiling puts you in a bad place, Dyl." John warned. "Just because they feed off negative energy, like anger, frustration, grief, aggressive sex, doesn't mean they’re all evil. It was one of the things my old one spoke of. Think of Yin and Yang. We had one kid, Billy, come into our center who was a demon; he dealt with his aggression by playing World of Warcraft, and was following the path of peace. It’s very possible for demons, even if it is a challenge."

Dylan held up his hand. He thought of Alice and her sweet, sensitive nature, and how she was always there for them if they needed help at the café, regardless of how busy she was at the theater. "I know. It doesn’t mean the loud, bad ones aren’t causing a trouble for others, especially for other demons like Alice and Billy."

No one could argue that. There was a problem, and dealing with the bad ones was difficult, because they had money and political ties. "Ok, well, we have one here that runs a school, and a dead environmentalist who was trying to involve himself with the American clean energy market. So, what do we do next? Are there any other demons here who’d target Antonio? Are there fae who’d want to kill him? We're at war, right?"

"If the fae killed him, he’d be a martyr to the captive fae," Louis explained. "The more I think about it, the more I think the demons are making a rallying call and a statement to their enemies. In the past, they stood alone. Remember, they were hunted by the United Religious Orders until 1742, when the League was formed."

John shrugged and sat with his chair facing backwards. He crossed his arms over the back. "Some myths have demons fighting alone against the gods, men, and the good spirits. The good beings would often tag-team. Other myths have demons working with other evil spirits and men. What flavor of demon shit have we stepped in?"

"Exactly, and in mythology, the gods and men don’t always have peaceful relations either. There have always been wars between humans and spirit-kind. So, why not demons making their own declaration of war to the vampires?" Louis asked. "Vampires who, in their eyes, are really upstart humans who don’t deserve immortality."

"A specific group of League vampires," Dylan added. "Makes sense."

This might be the start of Liam’s war. He wondered how long humanity would go without noticing it.

"Did you ask who Niccoli was here to meet?" John asked. He offered the plate of eyeballs to Tina, who took one.

"Yeah, we got a list of Americans—Magistrate hopefuls, actually. He was also here for a conference on the Great Garbage Patch. Aphrodite also mentioned something about the preservation of sea turtles. They both shared a love for the turtles in particular," Dylan answered.

"That means we also have a list of potential new victims," Tina pointed out. "Until we have an idea of who this winged girl is, we should set watches on these people to make sure they’re safe."

"How in hell are we going to do that?" Paula asked, eyes wide. "Last time I looked, none of us could clone themselves. Not even John, with his wicked teleport shadow-walk powers!"

"We’ll just have to talk to them and narrow down who’d be the best target. Do a little profiling." Dylan glanced over to John and Tina. "But my money’s on the politicians."

 

***

 

Rain drizzled down on the blacktop parking lot as Dylan huddled under the awning of the Hi-Lo supermarket. Shifting, he held his cell phone tighter to his ear in an attempt to lessen the crackling as Filipe spoke on the other end. In the background, he heard Angelus’ voice and deduced they were working the basement center that night.

"The girls are fine. Nothing has changed. They have an excellent lawyer, Sally Apess," Filipe said in his smooth baritone. "So relax, Magistrate Vasquez wants to give them a fair trial. Old Bear is here, and even the Celt is paying attention. Everything is peachy! Right, Angie?"

"Saw Jaivan last night! He’s reading my comic collection!" Angie called out from the background. "And Qui and I have everything in the bag! Enjoy yourself, stay out of trouble!"

Filipe had used the words "just peachy." Dylan winced. That was Dylan’s favorite expression for when things weren’t completely under his control and he was hanging on by a thread. "Are you guys sure you don’t want Louis and me to come back?"

"He wants to know if he and Louis should come back?" Filipe said.

"Tell him Qui and I will kick their asses back to Jamaica if they come back!" snapped Angelus. "We can handle this!"

"Words from the night-shift boss, dude. We can handle it. And from me, books look good, in fact, better than ever, organized, too. I think we’ll survive. Just chill, the girls have their dad here. They’ll be fine. We are fine. Now, about that murder you were asking me about? There is one other registered demon on the island. He’s from Chicago, and he’s an investor, his name is Chester Bond, he’s staying with his wife, Buffy, at the GoldenEye Resort. They have two kids at home who go to private schools, and he pulls in a nice five hundred forty-three K a year. I’m poking through his portfolio; I’ll email the details."

"Anything on the politicians we’re supposed to meet up with?" Thunder rumbled in the distance.

"David Leo is a ghoul who wants to make L.A. a free city, like New York. He’s with the Paranormal Freedom Movement, but I think the big thing here is he’s interested in getting big money out of paranormal politics. He’s also interested in working more closely with the EuroLeague for the stabilization of the paranormal community."

The SoHo community had started the Paranormal Freedom Movement. They were spreading, it seemed, and in a bigger way than Dylan had realized, if there was a serious move on to make Los Angeles a free city. But there’d be big money on both sides of that movement, and where there was big money, there was big politics—and big danger.

"What about the other two?"

"Rhonda Scully, she’s a zombie from Wisconsin, and Homer Evans is a revenant from Florida. They’re in Kingston, and they’re PFM as well. They’re looking for donations, and Niccoli donates… donated to a special interest group in the US that promotes politicians who want to negotiate with the EuroLeague. That’d put them all in the same general boat, my friend."

Maybe the entire case had nothing to do with the Fae War or conservation at all. Dylan watched two women race under the awning from their car and dart into the Hi-Lo. Maybe the murder was all about territory. Perhaps it was an attack on the PFM. Those in power in the American League resented the Paranormal Freedom Movement. It was an embarrassment or a threat. Another possibility was that the American League was defending its territory from the Europeans—a roundabout re-statement of the Monroe Doctrine. Would they go so far as to kill a popular European Elder to reduce the number of politicians eager to introduce European policies to the American League?

The more he thought about it, the more it fit. He brushed his hair from his face with a frown. "Fucknuts, this is a territory battle."

"Hey, this is not my case, grave-brother. I can’t say." For a moment, Filipe’s voice was uncharacteristically serious. "Look, I’m going to give you some advice, ok? Have fun. Try not to get too involved in this demon stuff. Hand it to the authorities." His voice lightened again. "Tell Louis I hear the waves will be good tonight!"

"Sure." Filipe knew he was in over his head. He—and everyone else at the Center—also wanted them to take a vacation. But if it was a territory fight, there was no way he could let it go. It made too much sense now. The Blackwells had to be involved. Dobson was there because of them. He was fighting to keep their territory free from European influence. They had lost New York to Liam and the faebloods. Now they were battling for three other cities, with Los Angeles the biggest prize of all. Dylan kicked the concrete sidewalk with the tip of his sneaker and decided to let Filipe’s change of subject stand. "Hear about any good bands? Louis likes Reggae bands."

"I hear Brick Lace can raise the dead and stake them in their coffins. Check them out, I think all of you will like them! They are sweet on the eyes and the ears!"

"Thanks, Fil. For everything."

"You too, and remember what I said. Have fun!"

"Sure, bye." He hung up the line before his friend could question the enthusiasm—or lack thereof—in his voice and shoved his crappy phone in his pocket.

There was definitely no going home now. He was already neck-deep in this case. Hand it to the authorities, my ass. Then he thought of the only other demon registered on the island and chuckled. "Mr. Bond, staying at the GoldenEye Resort? Jesus, how does the guy take himself seriously?"

 

 

 

 

 

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