Daughter of Nightmares

by Kyra Quinn

  “Can you tell what I am, Lady Gemma?” Remiel’s voice was hesitant as he stepped forward. I arched a brow. Did he doubt her talents as much as I did?

  “Of course I can, angel. It may take the Sight a moment to focus, but I see all.” Her eyes twinkled. “Sit. Tell me what you seek.”

  Viktor and I hung back by the door as Remiel slid into a chair across the table. Lady Gemma didn’t look our way or acknowledge our presence, but I didn’t mind. As much as I wanted her to reveal Viktor’s identity, I planned to keep my word and remain silent until we left the tent.

  I studied the mage’s space; her setup appeared more commercial than I’d expected. A brass candle holder sat in the table’s center between her and Remiel, a tall red candle in each of the five spaces. A deck of cards sat in front of her left hand, a glass orb on her right. She‘d pinned a woven tapestry to the back wall of the tent behind her head, the image of an owl embroidered onto the front. The deep purple and gold backdrop offered an impression of royalty. Who was Lady Gemma, and how had Remiel come to know her name?

  “I would like to solicit your services on some spell-work. I assume if you can tell what I am, you can also see how diminished my powers are?”

  Lady Gemma nodded, her expression sobering. “Yes, I can see you’re weakened. But there’s something you should know. I’ve never performed spell-work on an angel before. It’s impossible to say if my powers will affect you or not.”

  “Not to worry, I will not be the subject of these enchantments.”

  Lady Gemma’s eyebrows rose. “Oh? Then who? What’s this about, angel?”

  “Lili, come hither.” Remiel beckoned me towards the table. “Introduce yourself to Lady Gemma.”

  My hands trembled. I took a step forward and hung my head. But I didn’t make it to the table. As soon as Lady Gemma took notice of me, a horrific howl escaped her lips.

  “Out!” she screeched. Fire burned in her round russet eyes, her teeth bared. “Get out now, all of you!”

  “Lady Gemma, please.” Remiel pressed his hands together in front of his chest. “We need your help.”

  “Over my dead body,” Lady Gemma snarled. “You have three seconds to vacate this tent and never return before I curse you all to a slow and painful death. Three. Two.”

  Out of options, Remiel rose from the table and grabbed me by the arm. “Come, we should leave.”

  “What have I ever done to you?” I asked, unable to stop myself.

  “I know what you are too, you wicked beast. May Zanox have mercy on what’s left of your soul. One. Get the hell out of my shop.”

  Remiel dragged me out of the tent before I could ask any more questions, his expression dark. Viktor marched by his side, his eyes avoiding my face. As the night air hit my face and cooled my body temperature, rage melted into confusion. What just happened? What did the mage see in me that terrified her so much? And if she refused to help us, what could I do to save myself?

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Smells Like Trouble

  When they arrived back at the hostel, Viktor jerked Remiel outside of the room by his arm. He’d said little on the hike back to the inn. The mage’s terrified howl remained burned into his mind like a brand. Whatever Remiel had dragged them in the middle of, Viktor had seen enough.

  “Remi, what the Fey was that?” Viktor gestured towards the closed door to their room.

  Remiel’s expression tensed as he shook his head. “I know as much as you do.”

  “We should wash our hands of her while we still can.”

  Remiel arched a brow. “Oh? What if I had said the same thing about you all those years ago?”

  Heat rushed up Viktor’s neck to his face. His fists tightened as he swallowed back the urge to argue. Remiel never cared what anyone else had to say. The only opinion he valued was his own.

  “Fine. What do you suggest we do?”

  Remiel’s eyes flickered to the door. “There must be a reason all these things are happening to her. We need to find another mage and figure out why.”

  The answer did nothing to satisfy Viktor’s angst. Leave it to an angel to assume everything would work out. But the gods wouldn’t bestow any blessings on this quest. “And if no one will help us?”

  Remiel waved his concerns away with a flick of his wrist. “Lady Gemma was a fluke. Most of them will do damn near anything if the price is right.”

  Out of arguments Remiel might listen to, Viktor’s shoulders slumped as he sighed. No matter what he said, Remiel wouldn’t be satisfied until he handed Lilianna over to the angels and earned his redemption. No matter what lies he needed to sell to justify his actions.

  “Fine. The two of you can track down another mage.”

  Remiel’s brows furrowed. “Hmm? Do you not intend to pitch in?”

  “Not for that part.” A weak smile pulled at Viktor’s lips. “I have some business of my own to attend to while we’re in Carramar. I thought I’d ask around the taverns while I’m in town. People are always friendlier after the ambrosia warms them up.”

  “What is this about, Viktor? What in Carramar could be more important than the crisis on our hands at present?”

  Viktor’s jaw clenched. “I’ll return before dark.”

  “Wait.” Remiel grabbed his arm. “We have no idea when or where the demons will attack next.”

  A sarcastic laugh bubbled from Viktor’s lips. “If you haven’t noticed, they aren’t after you or me. They have no reason to strike me if I’m not standing next to the lightning rod.”

  Remiel’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “There’s no talking you out of it?”

  Viktor stepped away from Remiel’s grasp. “The mage tossed Miss Lili out for a reason. I can’t place her scent, but it’s not human. Perhaps you should start with figuring out what species of Feyfolk she is.”

  Remiel frowned. “Why are you only now mentioning this?”

  Viktor shrugged and spun on his heel to leave. “Must have slipped my mind in all the commotion.”

  “Here.”

  Viktor glanced over his shoulder to see Remiel lift the strap of his leather scabbard over his head. He slid the sword from his back and held the sheath out to Viktor. “At least take this with you.”

  “I can take care of myself without it,” Viktor grumbled. Still, he grabbed the sword and strapped it over his shoulder. The sword rested against his back, the weight heavy on his left shoulder. “I should look for a new set of daggers while I’m gone.”

  Remiel chuckled, but the sound was empty of humor. “Accomplish what you must and return before nightfall. We have an arduous road ahead of us.”

  * * *

  The tension in Viktor’s body lingered long after leaving the hostel. He meandered through the streets of Carramar, his posture stiff compared to the people around him. The aromatic blend of spices and body odor assaulted Viktor’s senses. He shoved his hands in his pockets and held his head high, careful to avoid meeting anyone’s gaze.

  He’d only been to Carramar a few times over the years. He hated the crammed city more with every visit. Too many people lived too close together. The houses sat side-by-side, no room for stables or livestock animals. Instead, carriages rolled down the streets puffing more smoke than a dragon. Drivers sat on the perches with listless expressions. Their hands gripped brass wheels instead of reigns. The device resembled something akin to a mobile garden shed, the design boxy and quaint. Steam buggies, they called them. Transportation for the future. As if anyone should celebrate creepy horseless carriages.

  “Nice sword,” a voice behind him called. “I take it I can’t interest you in an upgrade?”

  The woman behind him stood as tall as Viktor. She’d tamed her dark curls into a ponytail behind her head. Her almond eyes twinkled with curiosity as she spoke. Her mouth curled, her full lips painted the color of blood. Silver ink in the sun’s shape circled her left eye. A shifter.

  Viktor smirked. Without Lilianna in his presence, fate had smiled on him on
ce more. “Do you have any daggers for sale, by chance?”

  The woman arched one of her thick brows. “A man of many blades?”

  His smirk turned into a chuckle. “You could say that. Say, perhaps you can tell me where I might find someone in town?”

  “Doubtful. Thousands of people live in Carramar. You can’t expect us to all know each other.”

  Viktor shook his head. “Population size aside, all of Carramar is familiar with Novus.”

  Her face wrinkled in confusion. “Novus? As in—”

  “The faerie, yes. I need to speak with the mischievous little shit.”

  A small grin tugged at the woman’s lips. “You’re right; everyone in Carramar knows where to find Novus. He spends his time between The Grumpy Goddess and the caves tucked behind the old hills.”

  “What is a grumpy goddess?” Viktor’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Anja?”

  The woman laughed and slapped his arm. “Where do you live, under a rock? You are so cute. The Grumpy Goddess is a trashy tavern on the east edge of town. Not the poshest place in town, but Fey-friendly.”

  “Perfect.” Viktor gave a small bow and turned to leave. “Thank you for your help, madam.”

  “What about your daggers? Didn’t you want to look?”

  Viktor shook his head and continued to walk away. “Perhaps on the way back to my room. Thank you again.”

  Viktor made a beeline away from the center of town towards the east, his feet light with anticipation. Even if he didn’t find Novus, few Feyfolk lived in Mulgrave. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d sat in a room full of his people and relaxed. Let Remiel spin his wheels with his treacherous plots. Viktor had better things to concern his time with.

  The further east he went, the more the buildings and roads deteriorated in condition. Paint peeled from the sides of homes resembling children's’ playthings. The timber was weathered, the smell of smoke heavy in the air.

  Viktor wrinkled his nose and pulled his jacket closer to his body. What if the woman had lied to him? He hadn’t considered what sort of setup her directions might march him into. His body tensed as he reached behind him for Remiel’s sword.

  Even the thought of asking Novus for a favor caused Viktor’s body to tense. The faerie’s help would not come cheap. But Celia was the only person who might know what to do for Lili.

  His arm fell limp by his side when one of the doors a few paces ahead blew open. A pair of women fell onto the street in fits of laughter. Viktor froze when he caught sight of the translucent insect-like wings attached to the shorter woman’s back. Feyfolk.

  Viktor held his position and waited for the couple to stumble past him. His eyes narrowed at their painted faces and short skirts, but he said nothing as they staggered away. Ambrosia clung to them like perfume. Viktor’s mouth watered as his gut churned.

  When they disappeared, Viktor scurried towards the door they’d tumbled out from. A timber sign hung from the archway over the door, the name etched into the wood. The Grumpy Goddess. Viktor’s heart raced as he reached for the door. With any luck he’d find Novus inside and be back to the inn by supper-time.

  The inside of the tavern mirrored the dilapidated exterior. Stale smoke burned his eyes as he made his way to the dull mahogany bar. A stage sat empty towards the back of the room, the floor covered in dust. Unlit oil lamps lined the unpainted walls. Yet a body sat in damn near every chair.

  Play it cool. Viktor sucked in a deep breath. He slid into the only open stool at the bar, the timber still warm from its last patron. He slid his jacket off and folded it into his lap while he waited for the bartender’s attention. He forced his shoulders to relax, careful to maintain a casual demeanor. Feyfolk could detect fear.

  The barmaid didn’t so much as glance his direction. She propped her head up with her elbows against the bar and leaned forward towards a burly man in a thick wool coat. Thick copper waves fanned her heart-shaped face. She listened with an open mouth while the man spoke as if in the presence of a god.

  Viktor drummed his fingers against the bar top. He cleared his throat, but her attention remained unbroken. Finally he called, “Pardon me, Miss, but what’s a man have to do for a drink?”

  The barmaid whirled on him with fire in her eyes. “Forgive me, good sir.” Her eyes narrowed into slits as she wiped her hands on her apron. “What’ll it be?”

  He considered asking what the local brews were but settled on his familiar poison. When the barmaid handed him the glass of ambrosia, Viktor turned his attention to the rest of the patrons in the tavern in search of the faerie.

  Not that he had any idea what Novus looked like. The faerie’s mischievous tricks had earned him expulsion from Mulgrave long before Viktor’s arrival with Remiel. He took a sip from his drink and scanned the area for a man who resembled Celia.

  “Few shifters left around these parts,” the man on the stool next to him grumbled. He took a long swig from a tall glass and added, “Not that I blame them. The passives up north handle wolves among them better.”

  Viktor blinked as he whipped around to face the man. “How did you—”

  The words died in his throat. Trails of gold ink spiraled down the man’s neck and disappeared beneath his loose olive tunic. A thick white scar trailed over his eye down the left side of his cheek. A long mane of salt and pepper hair framed a square, olive face. His eyes shone the same shade of copper Viktor saw in the mirror each morning. Viktor’s breath stopped.

  The stranger’s mouth twitched. His eyes sparkled as recognition hit Viktor like a hammer to the face. “Aye. To be honest, I assumed I was the only wolf without a pack. Name’s Jett.”

  Viktor introduced himself and added, “I encountered a woman with Clan Sova’s markings on her face, but the avian shifters rarely mind solitude.”

  Jett chuckled. “Clan Sova has a few defects out here. We have a handful from Clan Fiere, too.”

  Viktor swallowed the lump in his throat. He fixed his eyes on his glass. “And Clan Kinzhal?”

  Jett’s expression sobered. “All but gone. After Norrix and Grace Kinzhal died, the other wolf shifters spent years searching for their missing kin. Nothing came of it, though. No bodies, and no heirs. The Clan squabbled about handing leadership to the Beta, but…” Jett’s voice trailed off as he shrugged.

  Viktor’s chest grew heavy. His lungs constricted as he struggled for air, his forehead moist with perspiration. His jaw clamped shut as he struggled to find a proper response. He never thought the day would come where Clan Kinzhal would be no more.

  “What became of the wolves?” he asked, his throat tight.

  “Some stayed in Starbright and mated within other Clans. The rest are scattered around Astryae somewhere, I imagine. They live in smaller packs now, but they’re out there.”

  Viktor nodded. But Jett’s words offered little comfort. He took a swig from his drink and scolded himself to stick to the task at hand. “Any chance you know where I can find the faerie Novus?”

  Jett’s bushy eyebrows bunched together. “Why? Novus isn’t the most well-liked creature in Carramar.”

  “Mulgrave favored him about as much. But he’s the best chance I have of getting in touch with his sister.”

  “Didn’t know he had one. What’s with the faerie fetish?”

  Viktor exhaled a small laugh. “Hard to explain. I am assisting a friend with a quest at the moment. I think Celia’s skills might help turn the tide in our favor.”

  “Is it a dust addiction? Because snorting that shite will kill you.”

  “What?” Viktor blinked. “It’s nothing like that. Celia runs a dust den in Mulgrave, but our friendship has nothing to do with her occupation. And whatever problems Novus has caused, I can assure you his sister is nothing like him.”

  Jett eyed him with suspicion. “Why speak to Novus if you’re old friends? Why not go find her yourself?”

  “No time.” An exasperated groan escaped Viktor’s lips. He needed to find Novus, not spen
d an hour discussing the merits of trusting faeries. “The sooner I can reach Celia, the more lives I may save. Have you seen Novus around here?”

  “Not today.” The man finished his drink in a gulp. He slammed the glass against the counter with a thud. “But perhaps I could be of assistance.”

  “I don’t want to put you out—”

  “Nonsense,” Jett bellowed with a laugh. “I bet I can reach her faster than the faerie boy anyway. Fluttery little wings are no match for primal strength and agility.”

  Viktor clenched his jaw. “And what would you ask of me in exchange?”

  “Smart kid.” Jett nodded towards the sword on Viktor’s back. “You look like a soldier. As fate would have it, I need a few good men.”

  “For?”

  “Can’t you smell it? There’s trouble on the horizon. It’s only a matter of what and when.”

  Viktor’s body went cold. “What is your plan?”

  “Don’t have one yet. We can figure out the details once we know more about what sort of threat we face.”

  Viktor chewed over Jett’s offer. He shot one last glance around the tavern for Novus, then nodded. “All right. Celia runs a dust den by the port in Mulgrave. Almost never leaves.”

  Jett rose from his stool with a wicked grin. “Meet me back here tonight. I’ll have your faerie with me.”

  He didn’t wait for Viktor to agree. He reached into the pocket of his loosely fitted trousers and tossed a few coins on the table. He winked at the barmaid and strolled out of the tavern with all the confidence of a king. Viktor’s eyes burned a hole through the crowd at the door long after Jett disappeared. A mix of admiration and envy twisted his gut.

  “Another?” The barmaid nodded at his empty glass.

  Viktor opened his mouth to say no, but his head nodded before he could muster the words. Remiel would forgive him. He didn’t have a choice.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN