Circle of the Moon

by H. P. Mallory

  “Get back to the academy before you are missed.”

  Stone nodded, not as cocky as he had been a moment ago, and stood to leave.

  “Sinclair?”

  “Yes?”

  “Can I ask…?”

  “Ask what?”

  “Does this make us even?”

  I considered the question. I had saved his life. In return, he was teaching teenagers magic. Hardly a fair trade. But if something came for Emma, then he would be the one putting himself between her and the Vryloka, and I trusted him to do just that. I knew he would do just that.

  “Yes, I suppose it does.”

  He appeared relieved. “It’s a tough thing to be in debt to a man like you.”

  ###

  Nodding goodnight to the girl on reception as I passed, I made my way back up to my room. When I had met Stone Draper (I was never sure if his surname was real or one he had picked for himself) he was barely out of his teens. His life had been as hard as any, he had fought every day of it and had managed to claw his way up from nothing.

  He was also dying.

  Fate is sometimes a cruel bitch in that respect; if anyone deserved a break, it was that beaten child, and instead he contracted a terminal illness. Which would not usually have been enough to sway me; humans died everyday in a variety of unfair circumstances and since I could not help them all, I did not help any.

  Perhaps it was because Stone had immediately recognized what I was—that gypsy blood again. He did not fawn or beg, he just asked directly if I would turn him. Perhaps I saw something in him. He was very handsome, very clever, fit and strong, smug and self-confident, all the ladies loved him; so perhaps he reminded me of myself so long ago.

  But now that I looked back on it, I wondered if I knew even then, that a man like this would one day be useful to me.

  TWO

  JOLIE

  The ground beneath my feet was spongey as I walked and seemed to be getting spongier. I tested up ahead of me with a cautious toe and saw brown, slimy water ooze up where I pressed. Marshland. Even after ten years of wandering this place, I had no idea how the geography worked or if it followed any rules at all, but one thing I had learnt was that marshland meant trouble.

  Actually, most places in the Abyss meant trouble to some extent. But Marshland was Trouble. There was stuff out there that could swallow you whole. That left me with a decision to make. I stared out in front of me, through the rising mists and ugly hummocks of sagging earth. It wasn’t as if I knew there was something good out there, and it certainly didn’t look like a pleasant route to take, but it was a place I hadn’t been. After all this time, there were surely only so many places that I had not been and the way out of here had to be in one of them. Assuming the Abyss was finite and could be searched. And assuming there even was a way out. But I had to assume things like that, even if it was just to keep myself sane. If I stopped believing there was some hope, that there was a way out, then I probably would just let the marshland swallow me. What would be the point anymore?

  “Fuck that,” I muttered under my breath. It had become my mantra—fuck the nightmare creatures that littered this place like afterthoughts, fuck the neverending darkness, fuck the fact that I hadn’t seen my baby girl in a decade and fuck the fact that I hadn’t seen Rand…

  “Fuck the memories too,” I said to myself as I tried to focus on moving forward. There had been too many times when I’d succumbed to memories of the past, losing myself to my thoughts, only to find myself in a shitty situation. Shitty situation = facing off with some horrible creature, hungry for human flesh.

  So, no, I wasn’t surrendering to despondency. I was Jolie, Queen Jolie of Underworld, and I would not give up. I hadn’t given up yet. I was going to search every inch of this hell hole if that was what it took.

  Just because I was optimistic didn’t mean I was foolhardy and I walked carefully, testing my weight on the boggy ground with each step I took, feeling the earth suck at my foot as I raised it.

  “I hate this place.” I’d been alone for so long that talking to myself had become second nature. But maybe this time something heard me.

  As I took another step, the ground shook beneath me, then buckled upwards, tossing me back onto my ass, mud and marsh water slicking my clothes. The slimy earth broke, streaming in silty rivulets down the back of the creature that emerged from beneath the ground.

  “Did I stand on you? Sorry.”

  I took a quiet pride in the fact that ten years here hadn’t stopped me from being polite to the creatures I met. I always wanted to believe if I treated them nicely, they would follow suit. So far, it hadn’t paid off; the creatures of the Abyss were here to torment, not to make friends.

  “I’ll just be going now before you reveal just how completely ugly you really are.” I scrabbled back up, feet skidding in all directions on the slippery ground in my haste.

  Behind me, the toad-like monster clambered from its mud burrow, filmy eyes glued to me. It opened its broad mouth and, before I could run, a long tongue shot out and wrapped around one of my outstretched legs, sending me off-balance again, so that I fell back into the mud.

  “Quit it!” I kicked at the loathsome tongue then tried to pry it off with my thankfully gloved hands. But the tongue was slick with mucus and I couldn’t get purchase.

  The toad began to reel me into its enormous mouth.

  “Shit!” I grabbed for the knife in my belt and drew it, ready to cut myself free. Seeing the flash of the blade, the toad unwound its tongue, but I was now close enough for it to place one huge front foot on me, pinning me to the ground. Its feet were webbed and clawed, with coarse hair sprouting around its foreleg, thick like swamp grass.

  Desperately, I tried to bring the knife down into its foot or leg, but the outstretched toe of its splayed foot had my knife arm uncomfortably pressed to the ground, so I couldn’t move it. I writhed beneath the toad’s weight and kicked up with my legs, squirming in the mud. But all to no avail. The toad lowered its head.

  Since arriving in the Abyss, I’d learned to fight creatures like this. Today was not an unusual day, I got attacked about once a week, and when you add that up over ten years, you get a lot of having to defend yourself. I’d had some close calls and I had the scars to prove them. But, still, this didn’t look good.

  With my free hand, I tried to reach across to where the knife was pinned, but it was out of reach. With a flick of my wrist, I hurled the knife, which hit my face before falling to the mud. Luckily it was the handle that made contact with my cheek, and not the blade. Regardless, now I could reach it and with a cry, I stabbed it down into the toad’s foot. Black blood swelled up like oil from the wound and the big creature lurched in pain, a guttural rumble bubbling up from inside it. I tried to scramble free, but the beast still wasn’t moving.

  I stabbed again and this time, it managed to take its clear foot off. The thing screeched and turned around, as if it was leaving. I gasped for breath, my body still imprinted into the ooze, but relief flooded through me. With an effort, I began to get back up, but then saw the toad had come to a stop. It was still facing away from me, which was good, but it didn’t seem to be going anywhere. I wasn’t sure why.

  In the next instant, one of the creature’s powerful hind legs shot out, catching me full in the chest and sending me flying backwards until I hit a tree trunk that knocked the wind out of me. I slumped as the world spun. The knife immediately dropped from my hand. All the strength had gone out of me. I felt boneless, like a marionette with its strings cut. Was I breathing? The pain in my rib cage from the kick to the front of my chest and the tree to my back was so extreme, I wasn’t even sure I was breathing.

  Through a haze of red, I was vaguely aware of the toad lumbering over to me, its feet, squelching in the mud. But there was nothing I could do now. I didn’t have my knife and I couldn’t even move.

  So, this was it.

  After ten years of struggling to stay alive every damn day, it
came down to this. I might just as well have died my first day here. In the end, I didn’t even have the strength to cry for the ones I would leave behind; for Rand, for Bryn, and for my daughter, Emma. Damn it all.

  Suddenly, my blurred vision was lit up and I felt a sharp, raw heat on my face.

  “Get back! Back, you bastard!”

  I tried to move, but was still in too much pain. Still, I didn’t seem to be dead, which was a plus.

  “Go on! Back in your hole!”

  The bright light and unbearable heat had moved away from me, but I could still see a bright, flickering light, bobbing around some small distance in front of me. It seemed to be attached to a man-shaped blob and it was from this blob that the words came.

  It was strange to hear another person speaking. It didn’t happen a lot down here. Some of the creatures of the Abyss could speak but they weren’t what you would call articulate, and the souls of the dead were in no mood for conversation. They were usually too busy trying to possess you.

  “I’ve got a live one!” the man-shaped blob yelled. He cast the flaming torch aside and was now kneeling down beside me, examining me with careful hands.

  Behind him appeared another man, this one older.

  “Mistress Ermolai will be very pleased,” he said.

  As I focused on them, I realized they weren’t human. They were fae. But not the good type of fae—these were the dark fae, the Unseelie.

  “Unless she’s too broken to take back with us,” the younger one said. “In which case, we should just put her out of her misery.”

  Both of them shared similar characteristics: orange skin, both tall and narrow in build. The elder of the two was missing multiple fingers on his left hand and bore the scars of a blade across his face. His scar had disfigured him, taking a good portion of his nose and the flesh of his cheek. The younger male possessed white hair while the older had black.

  “Who…” I started. “Who are you?”

  “Don’t try to speak,” the older one answered.

  “We are the Veits,” the younger one said.

  “I am Adrik and this is Brottor,” Adrik announced. Brottor glared at him, as if introductions were unimportant at this point. I wasn’t surprised—stories of the Unseelie, who made the Abyss their home, told of their inhumanity, their utter lack of empathy.

  “The Bullywig kicked you pretty hard,” Adrik continued as he looked down at me, his face so mangled, he was quite a scary sight. “I’m just going to check to see if you’ve got any broken ribs,” the older one informed me.

  I managed to nod.

  He made a thorough but professional examination of my torso, feeling for broken bones. I felt as if I could have wept. There was nothing inappropriate in his touching—he kept it as impersonal as possible—but to be touched by another living creature again after so long… There were no words.

  “Well,” Adrik sat back from me, “you seem to be all in one piece.” He looked at Brottor. “We can take her with us.”

  I was finding breathing easier now, as my body slowly regained control. “Where?”

  “To our encampment,” Brottor responded.

  “Encampment?”

  Brottor furthered his glare. Adrik looked up at him and frowned. “Now is not the time for explanations, Brottor.”

  “You are no longer in charge,” Brottor responded as he turned his scowl to Adrik. “You would do well to remember that.”

  “This is not a competition for Ermolai’s affections,” Adrik spat back at him.

  “Isn’t it though?” Brottor responded. Then he began chuckling. “A competition I have already won.”

  Adrik narrowed his eyes at the younger Veit before he faced me again and the anger in his expression blanched.

  “What’s your name?” Adrik asked me as he reached down and helped me stand. I was wobbly on my feet and he had to stabilize me with a heavy hand on my upper arm.

  “Jolie.” I took a breath. “Thank you for saving me.”

  Brottor began to laugh but a stern expression from Adrik shut him up.

  “I can stand,” I said, with more confidence than I actually felt. Adrik slowly released his grip of my arm and I proved my words correct. I was a bit dizzy, but I could remain upright on my own.

  “You are now the property of Mistress Ermolai and we will be escorting you to the slave pen of Demondis,” Bruttor announced as my stomach dropped.

  THREE

  STONE

  I’ve been called many things in my day: A cad, a scamp, a thief, a liar, a gypsy, a bloodsucker, a “quick and crafty lad” by my mother and a “brash young man, sure enough, but clever bastard, his wit cuts like a knife!” by my father. I’d worn every label with ease, not really minding who called me what, so long as they called me over when the party was on.

  I was always devil-may-care with titles.

  But—just like everything else—that was different here, at Elmington Academy.

  The title of professor was going to take some getting used to.

  The faculty quarters were small and stuffy. My provided bedroom was large enough, just one window though. Old editions of dusty books lined the wall-to-wall bookshelves. The grim kitchenette was missing a microwave. There was dust and mold in the cracks of the empty slot where the microwave would have stood, and the ancient floorboards creaked with every step. I had a feeling that because I was low man on the totem pole, I’d received the worst room.

  Regardless, I was accustomed to sleeping under the stars. On the grass or in the heather.

  Temperatures never affected me much. Hot or cold didn’t make much of a difference so long as I wasn’t burning or frozen solid. The temperature in the staff quarters seemed warm enough, close to seventy, but there was an uncomfortable dampness in the air that clung to everything in sight.

  As a rule, I didn’t spend much time in this place. Other than grabbing my clothes for the school day, I had no use for the space. I had my spent life up to this point as a vagabond. And that was how I preferred things—freedom was a beautiful thing and being tied to one place just didn’t suit me. It wasn’t until I unpacked my suitcase in the faculty quarters that I realized I’d never stayed in any one place longer than a month.

  Elmington would be... an interesting challenge.

  There was a tree outside the library with sturdy old limbs. I slept much better there. At least, on the nights when no students broke out of their dorms to TP the bronze pegasus in front of the staircase.

  Twice in one week. I recalled the school’s TP stats so far as I knew them. These kids really do not like Pegusi.

  Delinquents aside, I still preferred the tree to the narrow and bumpy twin bed in the faculty quarters. Truth be told, I preferred the wild of nature over anything man-made. It was very easy to fall prey to claustrophobia when one was shut in by walls, confined by ceilings and separated from the natural world.

  Dreams came easier when there was nothing between the sky and me. It was the only time I felt peaceful, truly one with the universe, and I would need to keep the peace within me if I was going to continue to pass as a dedicated academic.

  Other than the time I drank a fifth of scotch and summoned a dragon spirit from our caravan’s fire pit, coming to Elmington was probably the craziest thing I’d ever done. Certainly the most out-of-character.

  It was hard to imagine a place less suited to my lifestyle.

  Uniforms. Early mornings. Stringent curriculums. Curfews. And mandatory meetings.

  On paper, the place was the stuff of my nightmares.

  But Sinclair had given very clear instructions.

  I might have been reckless, but I wasn’t foolish enough to turn down a direct order from my maker. Especially not a crazy bastard like Sinjin Sinclair.

  The master vampire who killed his own maker, lost the queen of the Underworld, failed as her protector, and lost all contact with the family he was lucky enough to have and stupid enough to destroy... that was a man with nothing left to lose�
�and a man I did not want to cross.

  And, if I were being honest with myself, there was something I found… attractive about the fact that I was now Emma Balfour’s protector. Yes, her professor, as well, but I found myself more riveted by the title of her protector.

  If I were further being honest with myself, I would have admitted that not only did I find my title of protector attractive, but I also found my charge to be quite… attractive as well. Much though I would not admit it to Sinclair ever again, I harbored a certain… fascination with the blonde spitfire. A fascination that would have to remain barred, chained, incarcerated and otherwise subdued, as I didn’t want to suffer Sinclair’s temper.

  I looked up from my desk, scanning the tiered classroom. The students still had some time left to finish their tests.

  Might as well fill the gap with something useful.

  I opened my drawer and pulled out a blank sheet of parchment. A quill sat in a pot of ink at the corner of my desk. Archaic, yes, but most things in this ridiculous school bore the stamp of useless pomp and circumstance.

  I took the quill up, trailing droplets of ink along the desk. I parked the quill’s tip at the top right corner of the page. Ink bled out into a tiny black splotch.

  I shrugged and bent over the desk to write.

  SS,

  I hope this letter finds you well.

  I am making my weekly report to inform you there has been nothing untoward at the academy. The most threatening event that has transpired of late was a leak within the plumbing in the faculty kitchen which resulted in an inch of water usurping control of the breakroom.

  I’ll keep my eyes peeled and report back to you when or if something of actual interest takes place.

  If this whole experiment is merely a test to see how long it will take me to snap,