Maestra

by Elle Cross

  She would agree. Thorne didn’t continue on being the Chancellor of the Council of Cabal because of his indolence. He retained his seat the old fashioned way: Power. And his revolved around his powerful intellect. “So how will going through the Fae wing help get me to the Goblin Market? Aren’t they in opposite directions?”

  “Only if you think the Ephemera Gates are fixed in this linear way. Fae magic is raw power, as interconnected as drops of water in the ocean, and like an undertow, it all eventually gets pulled back to its source. It is like how blood calls to itself among our thralls. As Underhill recedes, there have been sinkholes that have brought more of the Fae closer together. As if it is folding in on itself and bringing parts of itself closer together while Underhill pulls farther away from the Omnia Compound.”

  Immortelle tried picturing it in her mind, but couldn’t. “I still don’t understand.”

  “Allow me, Chancellor.” Il Torero stepped out of the shadows so more of his body was revealed to her. He laid out his hand toward her, fingers splayed wide, palm up. “Imagine this is Underhill. The very middle of my palm is the heart of Fae.” He pointed the tip of his elegant finger right in the middle of his palm. “Imagine the Fae wing as my pinky and the Goblin Market as my thumb. Now, since there has been a withdrawing of Fae from the Known Territories, there has been a tightening of power. A hoarding of the magic that had been part of the Cabal’s pooled resources. The shrinking looks like this now.”

  He brought the tips of his fingers together so that they looked like the petals of a flower coming back together into a tight bud. “The Fae places are brought closer together while the heart of Underhill stretches farther away from our grasp. Do you see now, Ms. Lucy?”

  She did indeed. Maybe it was seeing Il Torero’s explanation and seeing the concept click together in her mind, but she swore she could feel the tug of magicks against her. It was almost like the lapping tug of a warm current, inviting her along.

  “I see. How will I know where to go?”

  “The faerie paths are like a sieve. Magick flows. You will know. You will feel it, especially mortal as you are now, Ms. Lucy.” Il Torero dipped his head forward slightly.

  Immortelle remembered how impressed Mischief and Strife were that Il Torero showed deference to her in this way. “Thank you for explaining, Consigliere.” Immortelle scanned the room, seeing them all alert and ready to be used. “This way, then?”

  Chancellor Thorne seemed lost in thought a moment before shaking his head. The movement looked almost animalistic. “Yes. For you.” His eyes were shot through with red. “You will need to split up in order to evade suspicion and give you a clear path to the Mortal Coil. Vampires don’t like venturing in the Fae wing for too long. Too many stories of wandering lost for centuries and other nonsense have made most suspicious…but it is best to prepare.”

  When Chancellor Thorne spoke in that way, it made Immortelle think of oracles and prophets. Seers. It wasn’t that long ago that the great Vampire courts used to segregate themselves by their appetites. Flesh. Energy. Emotion.

  Now that power had grown more and more scarce over the millennia, the Mircalla Circle overlapped the courts to ensure that none would starve.

  Before he had fought his way to the seat of Chancellor on the Council, Immortelle imagined Thorne coming from the Nightshade Court, which valued more visionary and intellectual energies. She could almost feel the pull of Fate’s threads in his grasp as he tested the possibilities.

  "I wanted to find an oracle,” Immortelle blurted out. “I think she would be the best way to discover what I need to do."

  "An oracle? Why not a Fate?"

  “Because after all that's said and done, the Fates only see a very acute thoughts. And they can change things but not in the intended ways. One of many paths. Oracles see the future and past with the present. So, what they speak wouldn't alter a course, just help them maintain the present reality they are in."

  "And you have a way to find an Oracle?"

  Immortelle would have been lying if she said yes. Technically she didn’t know. But a partition in her mind like an itch whispered to her. A bit of extra memories that was added, thanks to Bianco’s inheritance. The memories of speaking to one mixed with her gut to make it feel close enough to something she had experienced before.

  “Yes and no. I know about one in the Goblin Market. But I don't know how to find her. And no guarantees she's the genuine article. Plus, something tells me that she would want me to go to the Mortal Coil anyway. There's the blood bank and there's pockets of the Mortal Coil that would lead to the Underhill."

  War, who had been unabashedly eavesdropping, clapped his hands and rubbed them together as if to warm up. "Great, sounds like a solid plan."

  Immortelle rolled her eyes. "I know that you all can't accompany me, though."

  Death rested his hands on hers. "We can join you as far as the Goblin Market. We can even follow you as far as the blood bank so long as it's on this side of the veil. Arapax, too." Then he examined Immortelle further, as if his eyes could scour the layers of skin and expose her soul. "Unless you preferred to be alone?"

  The thought of being alone made a sharp pain lash around her chest. A memory of a lesson learned in her distant past drifted up in her mind.

  If you want to go fast go alone. If you want to go far, go together.

  She had already made peace with the idea that she didn't want to be alone any more.

  "I want you to come with me."

  Chancellor Thorne interjected. “War shall attend you, along with the sentinels while you’re on Omnia ground. Once you’re through on the Fae paths, you are on your own until you reach the Mortal Coil.”

  Immortelle reached for Death. “What about—”

  “He will be decoy, as will Fear. Mischief and Strife have volunteered to go ahead to the Goblin Market to await your arrival.”

  She rolled her eyes. "Probably didn’t take much direction, since they love going. What exactly is their draw to that place?" she asked no one in particular.

  War chuckled. "There's a lot going on there. Can you imagine? An unpoliced place where there is more than one type of immortal clan able to convene? Of course it would be a cesspool for them."

  "Hells, War, you sound excited yourself."

  He smiled, fangs and red eyes blazing. "For the exact same reason."

  Chancellor Thorne let out a sound that could have come from a long-suffering parent. “I want as few casualties as possible. And this is the least bloody outcome. Go now. You have about an hour’s lead.”

  “Let's go then,” War replied.

  Death scooped Immortelle up and crushed her to him. “I will find you,” he whispered in her ear. “Please try to stay alive.”

  “I’ll try,” she said, just as softly. “Could you possibly bring me a change of clothes and shoes? Heels are nearly impossible to run in.”

  Her odd request produced the desired effect. Death barked out a surprised laugh.

  He touched his forehead to hers. “Gods, I love you.”

  War stepped behind Immortelle. “All right, let’s break it up. Time’s-a-wasting.” He gestured as if he wore a watch on his wrist. “You’re cutting into our hour’s lead.”

  Immortelle bowed a little to Il Torero, as if they had just completed a practice spar. To Chancellor Thorne, she didn’t know what to say.

  This all felt too sudden, as if things were shifting, important things, and she didn’t even know where to look first. And so she said the only thing she could think of. “Thank you, Chancellor.”

  “We shall talk soon, Immortelle.”

  She felt the weight of Fear’s gaze and she glanced toward him, acknowledging him with a nod. He lifted the corner of his mouth as if he fought to keep some choice words to himself.

  With a final glance toward the men she would be leaving behind, Immortelle allowed War to sweep her up off her feet. A surge of power gave weight to War’s ephemeral wings, and the pair hurried he
adlong into the darkness, sentinels baying on either side.

  * * *

  The enemy of an enemy is a friend.

  With all the enemies that Immortelle collected with the transfer of inheritance, it would be wise to count none of them as friends.

  Love was a strange master indeed. It drove a man who embodied the courtly aspects of all things prized by the White Rose court, and made him ally himself with an enemy.

  And for what? Justice for his son.

  Maybe she didn't see him the way Bianco did. After all, she was the justice for his son. He was the one who had murdered her husband, and had left her for dead.

  Hells, he would have probably drained her dry too if he was allowed to.

  He was doing something for someone, and was supposed to make their deaths look like an accident.

  Both of their deaths.

  And someone took Vincente away from the scene. And then took something away from her.

  Immortelle crouched at the ruined husk of what looked like a bassinet. She could only guess at it, as decayed as it was it could have been a laundry basket.

  War had made excellent time rushing through Chancellor Thorne’s passageway to the Fae wing. The suites for the Fae Ambassador, Lady Maeve, were easy to spot. It was like a never-ending winter, though blackened char crisped the doors and ceilings.

  It was like a clash of powers had occurred just outside of the doors.

  Immortelle trailed her fingers along the cushioned inside of the bassinet. Was this where her—

  Damn, she still couldn’t think the word baby, even to herself.

  She sagged against the sideboard, hands gripping the edge of the countertop to keep her upright. She refused to be broken by this.

  War’s wings created a warm cocoon around her in this peculiar pocket of winter. Pressing a kiss to her temple, he said, “I’m here. You’re fine.” He rubbed his hand up and down her back. “Come on, you wanted to get a feel. I bought us some extra minutes. Let’s do the work now, and I promise you can have time to grieve.”

  Was that what she needed? To grieve? Grieve for something that she didn’t even know was a loss until now?

  Did she even have a right to feel grief?

  Immortelle kept that all to herself, nodding. “You’re right.” She watched as the sentinels took the initiative to sniff out the suite and see if there were any intruders. “Did you ever think that something like this could have happened? An inheritance going to a mortal?”

  “Maybe? Maybe he was already creating something along those lines because of Vincente?

  “That could be possible. It was so complicated though.” Immortelle circled around the front seating area of the suite. "Why wouldn't he have just asked his consigliere or anyone in the White Rose Court for support?"

  “Maybe he didn't have that support? Maybe they withdrew it or maybe he withdrew from them?” War stayed at the entrance, an unspoken maneuver that he would keep a lookout. “And honestly, maybe no one cared enough about Vincente's death for them to get involved.”

  "Maybe you'll get the answers you seek." She repeated Bianco’s words that he’d spoken to her. She had said it more to herself, but War heard her.

  "What?"

  Immortelle shook her head. "What Bianco said. I would get the answers I needed. That was what he wanted. Of course, it wasn't about me, helping me wasn’t his goal. Using me is."

  “So even if Chancellor Thorne finds a loophole out of the inheritance, would you take the loophole? Or keep the inheritance regardless?” War looked at her meaningfully.

  Immortelle didn’t hesitate. “If accepting this inheritance will give me the power and resources to figure out who was pulling Vincente's strings after all? Of course I’ll keep it.”

  War smirked. “You're gonna let that man command you from beyond the grave?”

  “No, he's not doing anything. I'm finally getting on board with the idea that he was right. There's something wrong here and I can do it better with the resources provided, no favors needed.”

  "No favors needed?"

  “For one thing.” She flipped the coin that had appeared to her in the Council’s chambers when she was named Bianco’s heir. “I think he gave me access into the heart of Fae in Underhill.” She couldn’t be too sure, but this would have been enough power to open an Ephemera Gate so she could be there in her own skin rather than borrowing the body of another.

  War looked at the coin as if it were a curious object. “Coin? You think it has enough currency to buy you into Underhill? Do you think that's wise? Not many outside of the Fae have had access to that world. And the farther away from the Mortal Coil, the loopier the world becomes.”

  “I know. But why else would he do this, give me all this, allow me all this access if he wasn’t certain that my involvement wouldn’t benefit him or me? Think about it, it would need to be a win-win scenario, otherwise, why would I keep playing his game?”

  War put his hands on his hips and huffed. "He was a political manipulator. He could kill two birds with one stone."

  She lifted her eyebrows, just shy of rolling her eyes at him. “Well, good thing I’m not a bird.”

  Immortelle scouted in earnest now, fueled by the questions that Bianco left her. She left War to linger at the entryway while the sentinels prowled in their way. She had five minutes, and she needed to be as thorough as possible.

  What was the reasoning behind this? Who would benefit? She scoured what Bianco could have told her, but it was getting mixed into her mind as more and more of his memories began to crowd into her as she acknowledged it.

  This wouldn't do. She didn't want these memories sharing space with her mind.

  And these were just superficial memories —let alone the ones that were meaningful. Gods forbid. Immortelle didn't need anything deep or personal.

  She preferred to think of Bianco as an object rather than someone who actually had feelings. Thoughts. A soul.

  Bianco was a monster and it was so much easier to keep him that way in her mind when she didn't see anything about him that made him human to her.

  Gods, if Immortelle even saw a hint of memory between Bianco and his wife or other paramours, she would hurl herself off a cliff.

  Immortelle pushed deeper into the suite, stepping carefully over tree roots and overturned furniture. The plant life was persistent despite the wintry hold. The sentinels faded into shadows and smoke, spilling over the furniture.

  It had been so still and lifeless that she knew exactly when she was no longer alone.

  One of the sentinels growled, a sound like contained thunder rolling in its body.

  The familiar scent of gardenia perfume suffused the air. Immortelle pet the sentinel so it would quiet, barely turning her head toward a trio of immaculately dressed women. "Greetings, sisters."

  The Furies materialized in step. They were fashionable in their outfits. "What are you doing here?" Immortelle met War’s gaze, and signaled to him that she was fine.

  He glared at their backs, his animosity against them palpable, before turning away to return to his post.

  "We thought that it would be obvious, dear sister. You." Before she could interject, they continued. "You call to us. Your beautiful heartache and grief."

  Immortelle must have missed something because she experienced neither of those. "I think your wires are crossed. I'm feeling neither of those things."

  They laughed in that annoying way of theirs. The way they sounded like three voices intertwined as one. It was unnerving.

  "You are exactly those things. Have you not looked into grief? You are the textbook definition."

  Another chimed in. "I think you're in the phase called denial."

  "Shut up," Immortelle said blandly. She didn't need to be psychoanalyzed by those who didn't experience the full range of human emotion. "Why are you here?"

  "I think it's interesting that you don't understand how much on your side we are."

  Immortelle rolled her eyes. "Huh
, it's a wonder. What with all the disowning and all."

  "Psh,” they said with a hand wave. Even their little gestures were synchronized. “That was water under the bridge. You know that we don't hold grudges."

  She died laughing. "And that is why you are called the Furies! Because you don't hold grudges!"

  They rolled their collective eyes. "Not against you of course. Not against any of our sisters. We carry the grudge of other people. Think of it as a job for a client. None of it is ours to carry, and you know it. Besides you above all others should know and understand what it means to love unconditionally."

  "Ah, that's it then. You love me despite what?"

  "That you chose a man over your calling."

  "There it is."

  "You know it is true. Where would you be now, what heights would you seek if you didn't throw it all away for love?"

  She didn't have to defend herself to them. She wouldn't. It would just make her seem guilty or defensive. She didn't owe them an explanation anyway.

  Immortelle sighed. She didn't want to get into this with them. They would never fully embrace her perspective. She doubted they could.

  For some reason, the full-blooded immortals tended to overlook things like change.

  She bit her lip thinking about what that meant for Death and now, War.

  Maybe their personalities weren't as fixed as others, being closer to the Mortal Coil?

  "It would be exactly where I want to be. And that is worth more to me than all the power you claim to have or want."

  They shook their heads, looking at her like she couldn't possibly know what she was talking about. She let them. This was a conversation she would always have to lose or at best, come to an impasse.

  "Anyway, we thought you would want to know that there is a potential of energies here that we respond to, as well. A feel of building retribution. Something that you are able to claim, if you wish it?"

  "Oh? And what is that?" Even without their words, she understood. There was this pull in her belly. Something in her heart. And knowing what the Furies were in charge of, and how they responded best to a mother's distress and grief. That little spark of light that lifted from her body and away from her when she had viewed Vincente's soulscape. Unconsciously, she had her hand to her abdomen, and she fought to put it to her side, as if to deny that she had carried one.