by Elle Cross
"So you think that I could have been—" She couldn't say pregnant.
"You feel it, and that is what we respond to. We don't know the truth, either of that day, but there is a presence here that lingers, something that completes you. In a way."
"What? I'm missing a piece of myself?"
They cocked their heads like they were examining her. "It's not that you're broken. Only that you are diminished."
Great.
"And what, you are offering to carry Vendetta for me? How kind. I think I would have appreciated it more if you did that when I was chasing down Vincente."
"Don't be silly. Only that you are in danger. There is something that swirls around you, something that is unfinished. We consulted the Fates on your behalf, and they were in agreement to our feeling. You are in a state of flux. You being mortal here in the Underworld is causing a little bit more than a ripple. You and your actions, changeable as they are, cannot be seen clearly."
That was something Immortelle wondered about when the trial had played the memories. There was that shifting spot where she had been.
A variable in an otherwise fixed tapestry?
"I'm unpredictable now? Isn't that the way with any mortal?"
"Theoretically yes, but not many linger in the Underworld and alter things from here. It's as if your very presence is creating a blind spot here."
Something about the way they said that caused something to bloom inside of her. Something like panic. "A blind spot."
"Yes."
"Do others know if this phenomena?"
"Not many do. But the old ones should."
"Old ones like Thorne?"
"As he's one of the elders, yes."
He knew that her presence would create a blind spot and yet he did nothing about it. He had wanted her to stay. Maybe he thought that she would want to change back into an immortal, undergo those trials. But then why didn't he say it specifically? Words were very important in the Underworld and it would have been easy enough to mention that he had expected her to become a Vampire once more, rather than being a Mortal in the Underworld.
After a while, Mortals tended to fade without the daily infusion of food. Too much would be poison. As was what happened to Bianco's favored wife.
How did she know that? His memories were beginning to win out again.
"Don't worry. I didn't plan on staying long. Only, I didn't want to forget anything from down here. When I go back to the Mortal Coil, it will be a one way trip. And for some reason, I feel like I'm being driven away more than anything. Am I missing something? Would I be forfeiting anything I needed if I were to go straight to the Mortal Coil?"
"We do not have the answers to those questions."
She should have known because that would be too interfering.
"Okay."
She didn't know what to expect, but at least it seemed that her sisters were still willing to keep her alive. "Thank you. For watching my back."
"We are not your enemy, Sister. Never were. We hope you find the answers you seek and you find your rest."
Gods, she hated it when they sounded…nice.
Immortelle whipped around to tell them exactly that, when the feel of something lurking in the air finally seeped into her consciousness.
The weight of attention of someone or something biding its time made the hackles on her neck rise. Traps?
Something black and inky seemed to shrink away, folding in on itself. It trailed the ceiling, rushing over the shadows of what would have been trailing vines. The air dripped with magick here. She hadn’t felt it in the front half of the suite, but as she stepped deeper, it was like walking through feathers.
It seemed like she walked against physical things, though she could see nothing was in the air. Was this what happened with a concentration of Fae magick? Was it malicious? Or was it something else?
Immortelle took in the layout of the room, and the cold that lingered here made her seek the fireplace.
She crouched by the hearth, and instead of emitting warmth, it was as if it sucked all the heat from the room. If she didn’t know any better, she would have believed that something in the fireplace opened into the dead chasm of space.
Immortelle searched for matches, and found the fire starter kit on the mantle. She struck the match, watching it sputter and gain purchase on the little bit of wood before she threw it into the hearth.
Before it touched the ground, the lit match singed an unseen barrier, and hit the ground as a blackened stub. The scent of sulfur and something like melted plastic assaulted her senses. It was her only warning that a warding spell had been tripped.
Something that was more shadow than substance lashed out at her. Something with intention that went beyond a mindless protection spell.
Something malicious.
Immortelle jumped back out of reflex. The feel of something sharp and long whisked overhead, as if a great cape or wings scissored above her.
Definitely malicious.
She bounced back, annoyed with the fact that she didn't have a blade on her, and hurled the closest thing at the shadowed mass.
It took flight, whipping along the room. It whirled away from her, and then she hurtled something blunt and heavy at it.
At the same moment, her sisters, the Furies, finally lashed out and whatever the spell would have done was consumed by their flames.
"Aren’t we having fun, Sister?"
She bent over, hands on her knees, catching her breath. "Yeah. Splendid. Like old times." Immortelle caught War’s eye. He had blood lust simmering just behind his gaze, but she waved him away. “I’m ready to get the fuck out of here.”
“Yeah, and you can tell me what the fuck just happened.”
“In a minute.”
“Don’t worry about us, Sister. We have a plan for the magicks the Fae left behind.”
The way that the Furies spoke that last sentence, as if they were speaking as one triune voice, chilled Immortelle’s spine.
Whatever it had been, if it was actually spirit or flesh that was hidden by magicks, or a combination, it was a mere blackened husk, charred beyond recognition. A sigil flared and bloomed on its forehead, but even that got eaten away.
Without another word, Immortelle left the Furies to their task of vengeance—the air heavy with portent—rushing with the need to be far away from whatever she had tripped. She didn’t stop until she was fully inside the arboretum, with the springtime sweetness that the Fae were sometimes capable of.
“Wanna tell me what the fuck just happened in there?”
Immortelle shook her head. “I don’t even know. One minute I was thinking about the possibilities of what the Fae did to me, and then the Furies showed up and started pissing me off. And then, slice and dice.”
She placed a hand over her skipping heart while War wrapped his arms and wings around them. It wasn’t the near miss that had alarmed her. That kind of thing was an expectation for those like her.
It was that endless cold. Like a yawning emptiness that wanted to suck every good thing away from the world.
“I’m fine. I’m fine.” Immortelle moved away to prove her point. “Come on, the sooner we get to the Goblin Market, the sooner we get away from this hellhole.”
She trudged forward, keeping the sentinels in sight. They were more alert. No sign of playfulness now, after what happened in the ambassador’s suite.
A flock of yellow butterflies danced over their heads, and they didn’t even snap their jaws at them. They bobbed in the air as if they were a silken ribbon held aloft by an unseen wind. Her gut tightened, and she knew they would lead her where she needed to go.
Damn. Just like Thorne said.
“Follow the butterflies,” she whispered.
“I could dig that. Better than ‘follow the slavering beast into a dark pit.’”
Immortelle snorted, and she knew War had tried to make her laugh. “You never know? Maybe they’re shape-shifting butterflies and their other fo
rm could be juiced-up T-rexes.”
“That would be my luck.”
Soon, the butterflies alighted on the trees, feeding on red sap. She had been in this grove earlier. Looking around, she wondered what she had missed.
And then one of the butterflies lifted from its feast and darted right into the tree’s trunk. Instead of bumping against it, it disappeared.
She turned toward War. “Did you see?”
“Uh, yeah.” He stepped toward the tree. He pressed his finger against the trunk, lightly at first, and then he pushed against it in earnest. Nothing happened. “What the—”
Then another yellow butterfly bobbed in the air in its drunken madness and disappeared through the tree trunk. And another.
As soon as they all had their fill, they all seemed to plow straight through the trunk without incident. “Here, let me try something.” Immortelle swiped her fingertip in the red sap and pressed it against the tree.
It disappeared into the bark.
She couldn’t get too far in, but she was able to withdraw her finger easily.
“So what? We supposed to coat ourselves with sap?”
More butterflies gathered to drink their fill, and more wandered into the tree. “No, we’re supposed to drink it.”
The look that came over War’s face was priceless. “You can’t be serious,” Immortelle said in disbelief. “You’re grossed out by that? Of all the things you have eaten over the millennia, tree sap is what grosses you out? Didn’t you eat like a fried tarantula?”
“It was a regional delicacy, and I was networking with some locals moving heavy weaponry for me.” War said it as if he were talking about some Michelin-star rated cuisine.
“Whatever dude. You’re comparing a spider to the equivalent of maple syrup. Given the choice, I take maple syrup any time.”
“Well, when you say it like that,” he grumbled.
Immortelle shook her head at him, then swiped a swelling portion of sap onto the tips of her index and middle fingers. Sticking them in her mouth, she sucked her fingers clean. Instead of the sweetness of maple candy that she had expected, it was bitter and a little metallic. She fought to keep a straight face. “More concentrated than I expected, but still better than a spider, I guarantee.”
War rolled his eyes. “Let’s see what this is all about.” He took a little drop, and he immediately screwed up his face. “Ew, it tastes like feet.”
“And you would know?” She teased.
“Ha. Ha. Anyway, how much more should we take? These little guys are practically drunk on it.”
The butterflies weaved and bounced in the air toward the tree, disappearing within it.
“Let’s check.” This time, when Immortelle placed her hand against the trunk, she pushed through with ease. “I guess it doesn’t take much—”
Her next words were lost as she was pulled through the tree.
Part II
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
* * *
From “The Second Coming” by W.B. Yeats
The hotel management of Arapax hotels congregated on a beautiful day in the arboretum. That was where the old trees spoke to Henrick and told him about the goings on in the world.
The pixies arrived and they frolicked without care among them. He raised his hand to one, the one that had claimed her name was Farasail, and she came to him. "Have we delivered the goods to Ms. Lucy?" he asked.
The pixie fluttered and glowed in her language that meant the affirmative.
"Good, good. And how did she take the news that we offered her carte blanche?"
She glowed again.
"Good. Well, off you go. Don't miss out on the treats."
Henrick, once a knight in the Fae courts, and now serving his queens in this role, found a piece of hallowed earth. He drew the glyphs with his finger, fueling it with his blood.
The he waited.
In this span of time, he thought about the fact that the Fae leadership was a little uneven. Of course it had to fail. The courts were too disparate. Diverse. All out for their own interests. The idea that they would fall in line behind one representative was silly. Unrealistic.
That would be the same as the earth being able to speak for the needs of the air or the water. Ideally they would be able to speak fairly, but there had been too many instances over his long, long life as a knight of the court, and as the manager of the Arapax, for him to hold his breath that the peace would have lasted this long.
There was a shiver in the air in front of him, and the Queen That Was, the Queen That Is, and the Queen that Is To Come glowed before him.
"Your majesties."
"Lord Knight, what is it you seek?"
"Your majesties, Immortelle has gotten the invitation that she is free to stay at the Arapax and has Carte Blanche."
"Good, and what does this mean?"
"Well, it has been a few days, and sources have said that she is still in the Underworld. I thought that your majesties would have preferred that she move quickly."
"Has the trial for Lord Commodore Bianco occurred?"
"Yes, they have already concluded that business."
“And that would be?”
"It was a twist. He decided to bestow his inheritance to Immortelle."
There was a sound that was something between amusement and glee. "Good. All is going according to plan."
"She had her first challenge for it, but she fought of the challenger without trouble."
"As expected. Vendetta runs deep, and she inherited Bianco's Vendettas while acquiring new ones all on her own, I imagine."
"The timing then? She has not yet arrived."
"Tell us when she has moved from the Underworld and into the Mortal Coil. When was the last you heard?"
"Rumors say she would go to the Goblin Market. That is the last."
There was a hiss. "She is already making her way here. It is imperative that you keep her alive. But she cannot know you are doing so. Neither Underhill nor the Cabal need to know." Henrick was troubled then. He remembered what it was to share in her soulscape. Though he didn't know what she might have gotten from him, what he skimmed from her was a deep loyalty and a pure focus. And sorrow for the death of her mortal lover--a husband. "Shall I send scouts for her?"
There was a sound like a creaking of an old door. "Do not trouble yourself, Lord Knight. If there is a time that Immortelle would need intervention, we will be told. Only then shall you send any support."
He didn't like that but he had to trust it. Timing was everything. He didn't know why the Underhill had reneged on accords and treaties, but the Fae that were out and about would have a target on their back. Fae could be powerful on their own, but against the combined might of the Cabal, it would be a suicide mission to go against any openly.
Then again, it wasn't like the Fae to be open about their plans. They made a formidable enemy for that reason. Were it not for their infighting, they would be at the head of the Cabal and not the Vampire courts. "Of course. You still expect her here?"
"Yes."
"What should I do until she arrives?"
"Wait."
Darkness pressed around Immortelle and when it got to the point where she couldn’t breathe comfortably, the space around her expanded once more. From one step to the next, she was in the light again.
The muted glow of veiled light from the sky signaled that she was in the strange in-between space between the known territories of the Cabal. Not quite Fae, not quite the Mortal Coil, she was glad to see the fortressed city stretched out before her.
A rush of yellow and gold, butterflies and magick, flowed from the trees, and War tore into view. He was magnificent in his black armor and drawn swords. Fire bled from his eyes.
“Expecting a fight?” she asked.
War breathed heavily, looking around wildly for any imagined enemies. “You’re okay?”
Immortelle nodded. “And
amused.”
War put the weapons away and hugged her, tucking her head under his chin. “A tree ate you. What was I supposed to think?”
His words reverberated through his throat against her cheek.
“You’re supposed to think: Damn. These Fae bitches are magical.”
He answered her with another squeeze. “Damn, do you think the Fae even thought that trees could be used as doors?”
Immortelle shrugged. “The great tree interconnects the known territories.”
War paused mid step. “In all my years, I never thought about it that way. That the great tree could have anything to do with the way the Cabal keeps the territories together.” His brow furrowed as he became lost in thought.
The forest just outside of the walled city was eerily quiet. Usually, the low roar of the townspeople could be heard from out here, but it was so silent she could hear the leaves rustle on the forest floor.
It was like even the forest was devoid of animals.
She was about to mention it when a buzzing caught her attention. “What’s that?”
There by the roadside was a carcass in various stages of decay. It was mostly burnt, a blackened mess, but parts of the skin that remained intact looked diseased, pockmarked and covered in boils.
“Plague,” War said into the silence.
“What?”
“Plague. Those spots. They remind me of the Plague.”
Immortelle had been trying to get closer, but upon hearing the word plague, she backed away from the body. “Well, probably best not to step closer to it.”
A rush of butterflies fluttered in front of her face on their way skyward. Trails of gold shimmer that reminded her of her pixie friends showered in their wake. A spectrum of light shone from the city to cast a shimmery glow against the backdrop of gauzy sky.
The effect made it all seem magical, and perhaps that was the intention. Look at all the magical power that is displayed here.