by Elle Cross
"What exactly did you discover, Ophelia?" Immortelle hesitated to know.
Ophelia looked up and peered at her over her glasses. "Calling up an Oracle."
"Wait, I thought this was the place for the Oracle. Like she was coming here."
Ophelia laughed. "Of course she's coming here, don't be silly!"
Then she moved away. "Well, that's a relief, for a moment I thought--"
Immortelle's words fell away when Ophelia came back into a room holding nothing but a skull. From the look of the thing, it was a real skull, and it was old.
"What the hell is that? Don't tell me that's the oracle?"
Ophelia shrugged at her. "This? It's a skull. Don't worry your pretty little head, it'll be filled up with knowledge in no time."
Death touched Immortelle's chin, and she realized that her mouth was gaping open in shock.
She was looking on with this woman trying to decide if she had just resigned their fates into the hands of a mad woman.
"A witch," Ophelia murmured, as she scanned her text.
"What?" Immortelle asked.
"A witch. You resigned your fates into the hands of a witch." She winked at her, and balanced her cigarette on the edge of a decorative ashtray. "Okay, here goes!"
Before Immortelle could apologize or say anything in the space, Ophelia clapped her hands together, sparks flying between them. With a mutter of what sounded like Latin, and an exhale of will that even she could feel tugging from her heart, a gust of wind swirled around them and then with a flurry of sparks, rushed into the skull.
Lights turned on in the skull's eye sockets, and it slowly opened its mouth wider and wider until a popping sound could be heard. "Oh, thank gods! That crick in my jaw had been bothering me for decades." Then the skull swiveled on its stone stand. "Oh, I see we have guests. Lovely. Please say that you're into being possessed?"
The skull was as colorful in its language as it was sparse in its covering.
"What...how..." Immortelle didn't know how to finish those questions, not sure what it was that she was even trying to ask.
"Has Ophelia not told you how this would work? My, sometimes she is a slippery one, isn't she?" The skull didn’t have flesh, but the way he moved made his expressions rakishly clear.
Ophelia tapped a new cigarette against its box. "I mentioned that I was calling for an oracle. I think it was because she had ideas about what oracles look like nowadays."
"That's true," Immortelle admitted. "I guess it was really odd of me to expect something with, you know, skin. Or a body."
"Oh, she's a hoot, Ophelia!" The skull swiveled back to Immortelle. "So, you didn't quite answer the 'possession' question. Yea or nay?"
Even though the skull didn't have skin or hair or anything even, it was remarkably expressive, so much so that she could imagine that it was cocking an eyebrow at her. "I'm gonna have to go with nay."
"Are you sure? I could make it worth your while. It'll make your time with this one even more exciting." Even without a body, Immortelle could almost see his entire persona, even nudging an elbow and winking.
Immortelle burst out laughing at the same time as Death glowered at it. "I prefer my lover lucid and aware when I take her."
Shit, the way he said that made her go from amused to aroused in a span of a heartbeat.
"Oooh," squealed the skull. "I can feel the energies between you two, and it is delicious. I'll just say that this offer is up for you, anytime you wish. You won't regret it!"
Immortelle coughed discreetly. She could feel the hum of fire-bright anger that was starting to churn inside of Death. It was like a tide building beside her. The other men, turned on to the conversation, seemed to drift closer.
"Now, now, I know we’re in a pocket world, and that nothing would be coming through, but there is still no call for foolishness," Ophelia lectured. "So let’s keep the male tempers in check, now.” Turning to the skull, she bopped it at its highest point. “This is Barnard. Barnard, this is Ms. Lucy, better known as Immortelle in the Cabal. And of course Death, War, and Fear need no introductions."
"Yes, and the ones known as Mischief and Strife are crawling about outside. I can feel that." Almost as if Barnard the skull would have clapped his hands. "So, Ophelia, what are we doing today?"
Immortelle held up her hand. "You are an oracle, Barnard?"
"Yes, of course. Why do you ask?"
"Because," Immortelle sputtered. "You're a skull?"
He laughed. "Well, I know, but it fits me, really. She tried to conjure me into a doll or other inanimate object once before, and it was dreadful. The skull truly fits the best. Better for clients and business."
Immortelle thought about an animated doll talking about possessions and other ghostly business, and she was horrified to her soul. She shunted that from her mind. "But, the stories of virgins? Females?"
"Novitiates, of course, open to being possessed. And the virgin thing wasn't really necessary, but you know it was a different time back then, and the girls wanted a measure of protection. Between you and me, none of them were very virginal if you catch my drift."
This conversation was spinning out of control. "Okay. So you're a spirit. That was a surprise. Sorry, but I feel like I'm wasting some valuable time adjusting to...this.” Immortelle waved her hand in Barnard’s general direction. “I apologize."
"No problem. Ophelia, our payment has been met?"
"Yuppers. So answer away as needed." Ophelia nodded to Immortelle. "Ask and we will answer as best we can."
"Do I have a limit? Questions? Anything? I'm not used to something without strings attached."
"Just ask, and whatever we can't answer we won't."
Originally, Immortelle had wanted safe passage into Underhill to track down Maeve’s people. But, since Ara Larusha promised to take her through safely, it was a moot point, and she didn’t want to waste a request on something she didn’t need.
With a deep sigh, she asked. “I wanted to know if something was true. There might be something the Fae stole from me, but I don't know if it was the Fae, and I don't even know for sure if it was from me." Immortelle was rambling because she didn't want to say the words, but she was afraid if she slowed down, the words wouldn’t come out at all. "Did the Fae take my child?"
The lights in the skull's sockets dimmed. Ophelia flicked her lighter and touched the end of the flame to a fresh skinny cigarette that she dug out of a custom case.
When the lights flared in Barnard’s eye sockets again, there was the sensation that instead of the lighthearted humor of before, it had more of a somber countenance. "I hate being the bearer of bad news, but I cannot see that."
The one thing that Immortelle had wanted to know for sure, and an oracle couldn’t provide her with the answer.
She wasn’t the only one disappointed. Death rose to his feet and loomed over the skull. "What? You're an Oracle and you can't see it?"
All traces of merry humor left Barnard. "It's not as simple as that. You are talking about magicks. Fae. Underworld. Mortal Coil. There's all this stuff that gets in the way. It's murky."
Ophelia knocked on the skull, kind of miffed. "Dammit Barnard, you know I have no humor about stuff like this. You answer her straight or I call you into a Cabbage Patch Doll the next time."
"Oh damn, you're cruel! But it's not my fault. Murky. Something is making something murky. I can't see what is not there to see! And on top of that, everything around the unseen thing is wrapped in mud!"
Murky questions. Mud. Unseen. It was like Bianco’s trial. "Wait, let me try again."
Immortelle got comfortable in her seat. She centered her breath. She didn't want to ask a clear question because she didn't want it to be true. But so many things dealing with magick had to do with intention—what could be and believing things could happen.
That was why regular humans could conjure magick. They didn't need to have magick, they just needed to believe that the spells they worked would come about.
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It helped a little bit to have some innate talent or natural ability, but it wasn’t necessary.
When Immortelle found her center, she was able to fix the question in her head knowing that she wanted to find the answer, the true answer, and not just some pretty lie. "Was I pregnant?"
Without hesitation Barnard answered. "No."
Cold washed over her in a wave. “Do I have a child?” Her voice seemed to echo from a distance.
“Yes,” came Barnard’s answer.
She didn't internalize the confusion of those questions together. She didn’t want that emotion creating a cloud around her as she asked what she needed from this supposed oracle.
Immortelle let it all wash over her so she could power through on to her next questions. "Did the Fae take the child from me?"
A dimming again. "Maybe, that part is unclear."
She had the moment fixed in her mind's eye, the memory that she had taken from Vincente's soulscape. The shimmering light. The orb that lifted from her body.
"Yes," Barnard said, echoed in Ophelia. "I see that too. And what is unclear is the who." The light flared in his eye sockets once more. "I can say for certain that the Fae orchestrated what was covered up that night. Lady Maeve of the Circle of Falcons coordinated it."
"There was a child, a baby that rumors said she kept with her. Was that my child?"
"That I cannot see."
Immortelle didn't realize that she was going to be as disappointed as she was. How could she have a child and yet not have been pregnant? She didn't think that her heart would be so crushed over something she didn't know she had.
Death's hand at the nape of her neck squeezed, and it helped to relieve the tension that had built there. It held her together, and she didn't feel that she would fall apart as quickly.
"I cannot see that," Barnard continued, "but I find it interesting that I cannot see these answers so consistently."
Like the fact that she couldn't be seen in Bianco's memories when they were replayed during his trial.
"You can't see it, but can you see people interacting with it? Try me. Try finding me."
And he did. The dimming eye sockets, the pause. "Well, that is interesting. I cannot see you either." When the lights flared, he narrowed them at her. "You have got to tell me what it is that you've done that you can hide from an Oracle."
Gone were the light tones and flirting banter.
Here was the voice of a god that was spoken through a medium. A conduit. Whether it was through a virginal young girl, or a skull—hells even as a Cabbage Patch doll—this fucker was the real deal, and his voice was full of judgment.
"You're asking me?” Immortelle spat back. Her patience was thin, and her disappointment vast. She didn’t care who was speaking to her, she had no more respect to wrap around her words. “Aren't you supposed to be a repository of knowledge?"
"Ugh, not a repository. That sounds dirty or something. I carry the knowledge of what has been and see what will be. That's all."
"That's all? That sounds pretty damn impressive for something that knows so little. You can’t even figure out why I’m erased?"
Barnard regarded me a long while. "Yes, I see that you bring up a few points of contention."
Death’s quiet voice silenced the idle hum that had settled in the room. "What does it mean that she cannot be seen? Is it anything to do with the fact that she asked to be a mortal human, asked for special dispensation?"
"Death--" she started.
"You pose a good question man, but I don't think it happened because of that. Because when I search her, I don't see her. Or rather, I barely see her," Barnard said. Then, his exasperated air turned into something else. Intrigue. “Wait, this feels familiar.”
“Explain.”
Barnard’s eyes dimmed. “The one no one saw coming. The fire storm. Yes, that could be.” He was whispering gibberish madly to himself. The fires in his eyes brightened once more. “Ironically, beings like you or events like you would be part of prophecy. Like 'Behold, there shall come a time when one woman will kill us all.'" Barnard laughed maniacally, before cutting it off for effect.
The silence was palpable.
"What? What is it?"
Barnard’s eyes rounded. "Oh, damn. I was only half-joking. I feel like there is a prophecy like that bubbling up inside of me. Hold, please."
And then the lights grew dim from the eye sockets.
Immortelle turned her gaze to Ophelia. She was slumped in her chair, the gray pallor unbecoming on her otherwise mahogany complexion. "What the hell? Are you all right?"
Ophelia had slumped in her chair, Ara flitting around her. "I'm fine, I'm fine, no need to fuss. Just need a refill on my smokes, is all."
Immortelle doubted that smoking would help with her strength. She was about to mention it, when she took in Ophelia’s manner and the fact that the pixie was around her. Then she peered at the skull, and the connection just dawned on her. "Dammit, you're fueling it, aren't you? You're Barnard’s anchor and the reason why he’s able to be in this realm."
Dark circles had formed under Ophelia’s eyes. She lit another cigarette and inhaled as if she needed it more than oxygen. "Bingo! Can't pull the wool over your eyes. At least not for long."
"And Ara Larusha is helping you fuel it, too. Why?"
"Because, it's the right thing to do, believe it or not. I've been helping out pixies since I was still a young and impressionable kid dabbling in the arts. There were people who didn't want to look much further than the label of their bags while they were getting high or trying out their spells. Idiots.” She spat it out, then took in a drag of her cigarette.
“One time someone got juiced for far too long, took us into this in-between place. Turned out to be a Goblin Market. I wasn't in there for too long, but I saw what they did to pixies, what they did to changelings, and other unfortunate creatures who were ‘in-between.’” Ophelia used air quotes around the word in-between.
“It was inhuman. They snatched up Robert, the one who got juiced, and literally tore him apart. Torn. Apart. You ever seen someone torn apart before? You don't ever recover from seeing that. I've spent my whole life trying as best I could to set up safe houses. Work on the constructs. Believe in these fairy paths."
Ophelia sat up straighter so she could look Immortelle in the eye. “It was all about belief. The architecture of this place was already here, but from what Barnard told me, the Cabal Accords made all the transportation through the Ephemera gates. The Fae never disclosed that there were other forms of transportation, and those who could have known about it were made to forget about it."
"Nepthelene?" Immortelle asked automatically.
"Bingo. Took away all of the memories. Snippets could come back, but there would be no context, and most would be like walking on cotton candy, roads to nowhere. Belief and intention take you far in these gigs."
"I would think that these fairy paths would be extremely valuable. I mean, no dispensation needed. Cabal and favors unnecessary."
She lifted a cool brow. "Yes, and that's why this," she motioned her hands around to indicate everything around her, "is secret. Hush-hush."
"But there was that thing that stopped us. That demon. Usually demons can pierce veils like that, especially the ones that are joined together like that other thing was." Immortelle reached out to Fear. "What was that Rancor again? It was like a Demon beast thing."
"Yes, Rancor. But it wasn’t just Rancor. It was a combined joining of powers. A Beast thing is an underestimation. A demon mixed with a human mixed with something else. But it's the mortal that kept the batteries flowing. I’ve been trying to figure it out in my head. I knew Rancor in the past. We weren’t friends, but this…was not like him.”
Immortelle shivered remembering the thing’s soulscape, and the man pinned onto a tree.
Ophelia stilled. "There was a demon at the gate. That was what you said." She asked around and then settled her gaze on Fear. "You're a demon
, though. At least most of you. Are you sure?"
Fear shifted uncomfortably and shrugged. "Yes."
Immortelle wanted to pry, but knew that would be rude to ask something so personal. She met his gaze, and for the first time in their interactions, he looked away first.
Ophelia rose to her feet. “Describe it. No, never mind, better yet.” She grabbed Ara and asked her to see. She went back to her full size and then she showered those memories on Ophelia.
Immortelle had thought Ophelia had been ashen before in her fatigue. Now, she was nearly white as a sheet. Considering her deep skin tone, it was interesting to see.
Ophelia actually crossed herself.
"I don't understand. You knew we fought a demon to get here," Immortelle asked.
"Well, I thought you meant someone like him," she said, pointing to Fear, "the same way you might have fought Vampires at the Omnia Compound or the human mercenaries that had infiltrated your home. But damn, that was no demon."
Immortelle looked at Fear, who snapped back at Ophelia. "I think I would be familiar with Demons, madam. I even knew its name. Rancor."
"Don't say anything else." Ophelia held her two index fingers against her lips like a cross. Lighting up her sage, she started waving it in the air. She rushed to the kitchen and grabbed salt and started pouring it over the entrances and windows.
"I don't wanna be obvious or anything, but ain't got time for foolishness." Only after that was done, with only the front door left to ward, did she ask Mischief and Strife to come inside.
When they appeared and walked over the threshold she locked the door, added some iron filings to be sure, muttered, “Why not?”, and poured another line of salt over the door.
That was strange.
"Ophelia, apologies, but we've been here for hours, and you weren't troubled."
"I didn't know what you faced. Good lord, I thought you would at least know a triumvirate when faced with one."
"A what?”
"A triumvirate. It was a sorcerer—a human, yes, but one that wielded magick. Dark stuff. And then a demon. And then something else. This time, the something else was a Fae."