Box Set: The Fearless 1-3

by Terry Maggert

  Delphine sipped her wine, twirling the stem in a gesture I knew to be feigned nervousness. Nothing made the woman nervous, ever. It was a bit of theater intended to frame her pause as one of thoughtfulness. We all knew better, and moreover, she knew we did. I became instantly irritated, but then she spoke, and for a rare moment, I was surprised.

  “I am indeed sorry for abandoning you during the incident with Elizabeth,” she began, only to be cut off by a simultaneous, derisive snort from Wally and Risa.

  “Incident?” I shot back. “Now that’s an understatement. She nearly killed Wally, blooded Risa, and then threatened our family and friends. And somehow, more disturbing to me personally, she was able to take my knife right in her heart, fall to the concrete, and feign mortality, only to resurface via a proxy grandmother two months later. She is also presumably alive and well somewhere, planning God knows what for us. Incident? What a chicken shit way to admit that you got spooked by an immortal with more juice than you, so you ran like a scalded cat.” I was fully pissed now, and Wally’s hand on my forearm barely kept me from boiling over, but only by the thinnest of margins. Now, Delphine’s pause was genuine, and I was mollified by that for some reason.

  “That is true. I made a series of mistakes which led to that act of cowardice. And I am truly sorry.”

  We believed her, I could feel it.

  “Elizabeth is something different now. She has been becoming something other for longer than you have been alive, I think, and just one aspect of my fear is that I do not honestly know what will emerge from this chrysalis of sin that she has spun around herself. I truly do not. I do, however, know with clarity what her goal for the future is and will always be, regardless of my existence. She wants to reign in Hell. She always has, and she will not engage in any pursuit that does not further those plans, regardless of the satisfaction that she might receive from them, be it flesh, or sin, or death.” She waved to the waiter for more wine and looked at Risa. “I know you’re the most analytical among your home. I know that you worry frequently and plan ahead and make decisions based on the past and the future, and that your greatest secret is that you hope, in your heart of hearts, that Ring loves you as much as you love him. I know that you love Wally but more with the playful dalliance of one who fits you well. I know that you would die for either one of them, but that for Ring, you wouldn’t hesitate to die twice.”

  The wine arrived and she waved the waiter off as he tried to pour, preferring to do the task in order to preserve the privacy of the table as it was. “Wally loves you too, Risa. She is, as you surmised, passionate and a bit too playful, but she is oddly more connected to you than Ring, even though she finds your intellect overwhelming at times. That is why she prefers Ring’s bed, because he asks nothing of her that she cannot give in the moment, and never constricts her movements with his intensity. She won’t ever leave you two, but she likes to think that, if she had to, she could return to Argentina and ride horses like the leggy teen that left and has not visited since. A fallacy, of course, but one she needs to nurture in order to keep her latent Catholic guilt at bay.” Wally tipped her glass at Delphine and bared her teeth in what was technically a smile.

  “And now, to Ring. The lucky fellow who seems to blithely lead a dissolute life free from care or need, with his days and nights spent wrapped in Wally’s legs, or Risa’s clutches. A pretend mariner who fancies himself a force for good, even though he is fearful of admitting just how much he relishes killing immortals. A man all too wary of an insensate rage that he suspects is within him. A man who protects the lingering echoes of his former life, when he was just a boy and his parents were alive. A memory, I should add, that is becoming harder to bring forth clearly as the years and kills wear on his outwardly carefree exterior. So he drinks beer like a chum, and makes love to both of you with abandon, and in those hours you feel like you really understand him, but you don’t because you’re both fools of the highest order if you cannot recognize how much he fights to keep from a full admission of his love for Risa, and his addiction to the feel of Wally as she leans against him. Oh, so many secrets and lies in such a small place, that home you’ve built. Yet here we are, with me explaining myself to glorified children who are gifted killers, and even throughout this whole evening, not one of you has thought to ask pertinent questions about the real issue. You simmer with indignation and shifting emotions, but your vision is occluded by youth. And that, to me, may be the only thing that will make me truly sad during this century because I have high hopes that the three of you are more than you appear.”

  I wasn’t used to being exposed in that manner. None of us were, but Wally recovered quickly and asked Delphine sourly, “Tell us then. What is the real issue, since we are children and cannot understand?” She wasn’t overly enraged, just inviting explanation in a firm manner. I gave her credit. I was generally more laconic, and even I was pissed at being spoken to like a wayward child.

  Risa’s face darkened with anger. “Yes, by all means, explain.”

  “I’ve been alive for nearly twenty-five centuries without a hint of the Master. The ruler of the dark, the adversary, call it what you will, but I have no idea who, or what, is supreme among the Undying. I’m a sort of advanced intermediate among immortals.” Delphine smiled at me lasciviously, knowing my assessment of her was anything but intermediate.

  “As I have aged, I learned to plan ahead, sometimes years in the future for issues pertinent to my survival. I avoided wars, when possible, although some immortals rush towards conflict for their particular needs. I do not. I prefer a life of comfort and anonymity, in essence the antithesis of what I left behind when Elizabeth turned me. Perhaps it is this desire that has blinded me to the roots of power in Hell, but I cannot fathom being strong enough to not only know who rules, but to believe that I am capable of challenging for the crown, so to speak. Do you see? That type of confidence and ability can only be based on massive hubris, or genuine power. Does Elizabeth strike you as particularly vain?”

  Elizabeth was exquisite to look at and wielded power over men like a weapon, but somehow vanity seemed beneath her. It would be too human for a creature cut from her cloth.

  “No, I don’t think it matches with her expectations for how the world will receive her presence. She assumes that she is desired; she doesn’t crave that type of confirmation. Her persuasion is evidence enough of her beauty, I think.” I saw Risa and Wally agree with me. We had seen enough of Elizabeth to make at least that degree of assessment about her wants. “I think it’s safe to assume she believes she is ready to challenge for the crown? If there is something that tangible to confirm her position?”

  I could not envision an object as mundane as a crown on the head of Elizabeth. It wasn’t her style. Delphine made as if to rise, but instead reached in a small clutch first and handed a thumb drive to Risa.

  “I may be able to help establish just what Elizabeth is thinking, but I know you don’t trust me, and I wouldn’t expect you to, given our history. I am a creature of habit who lived for centuries in fear of forgetting my humanity. In order to preserve my own history, I saved things.”

  “Trophies?” Wally asked dubiously. I could relate. I still didn’t trust Delphine, regardless of our informative dinner.

  “You make it sound so sinister. Call them keepsakes, or simply physical proof of my life tying me to the remaining kernel of my humanity.” Delphine adopted a dreamy voice, her eyes looking past us, then snapped to and explained. “Regardless of what we call them, I also saved every correspondence I’ve ever received. Some are crass, a few threats, and the usual glut of lovelorn prose brought on by my particular skills.” I didn’t have to look; I could feel Risa rolling her eyes. “It may interest you to know that Elizabeth has written me over the ages. Long, beautifully crafted letters designed to reiterate the debt she imagines I owe her. What you will find among these letters is that she has unintentionally revealed the architecture of her plans for you, and in turn, how she pl
ans on seizing power. The scope of her lies is beyond anything I could achieve, and I’m in awe of her vision and commitment to an absolute disregard for humanity. I don’t expect you to put me on the throne of Hell, if there is such a thing. I only want you to read her words to realize exactly how different I am from Elizabeth. There is no joy in her, not one sliver of playfulness or laughter. She is totally reptilian and devoid of the capacity for empathy or love—she may be entirely free of emotion at this stage in her existence. Before he became my valet, Joseph was, and still is, a talented linguist, just are you are becoming, Risa. He is also a perfectionist, and his translations of her thoughts are accurate and nearly flawless. A wealth of information rests here.” She handed a small flash drive to Risa. “Read her letters. See the patterns. And then, soon, come to my vessel for dinner and we’ll talk.”

  The dinner was over and moments later we were at the valet stand awaiting our vehicle. Joseph avoided our eyes as he held the door for Delphine, who slid gracefully across the seat and primly adjusted her dress to cover a golden thigh. The breeze carried the lightest odor of corruption to my nose. I saw Risa and Wally stiffen in recognition as they, too, smelled the ugly truth of Joseph’s descent.

  I leaned in to kiss Delphine chastely and whispered, “Joseph is not long for this world, but you know that. Ask yourself if his change is intentional, or has Elizabeth taken more from you than you realize?” She did not answer as the door closed and she pulled away in a wash of warm air, gone to her hiding place on the water, but her fear now known to us, for better or for worse.

  8

  From Risa’s Files

  Near Seleucia on the Tigris

  Daughter,

  You are indeed clever. Escaping me may have seemed to be a complex, dirty affair, but as I watched you plan the action for more than a decade, I was impressed with your burgeoning ability to think in the long term. Truly, you grow less human with each passing moon. It seems I have chosen well in creating you, and in truth, your time is only beginning.

  When I allowed you to leave me in the confusion during that local king’s death, I took heed that the vestiges of human emotion remained strong within you. Cede them to the past— they will not serve you, child, just as your womanly organs are now meaningless. I’m sure you know such things by now, well into your second century of life, but one cannot ever underestimate the obtuse nature of the young.

  I have assumed a role in court with a queen who is only now seeing, with my careful advice, that marrying her own brother to provide royal issue is a wise course. Naturally, the children will be weak and likely to die young, thus creating an uproarious collapse of this relatively large empire, but who am I to stand in the way of true love? It is only modest prodding that has shown her brother to be the only man worthy of her loins. Vanity is such a subtle path to ashes, don’t you think?

  Remember this lesson later. When you attempt, I hope, to forge your own empire, you will need certain elements that are pivotal. A solid foundation begins with souls who are beholden to you exclusively. You will also find the need for an enemy, be they real or imagined. These are the tails of the whip that will drive your herd before you, so I tell you, when the time is right, crack well, child, and let their skin feel your ire should they languish.

  Now, do not fail me. I allow your freedom only as long as you harvest at a steady pace. Kill often, and with pleasure, or you may find my shadow upon your door far sooner than you wish.

  Your Loving Mother,

  Stratonice

  9

  Florida

  I pulled up in front of the Hardigan Center to find Glen Ferloch wrestling a bizarrely mounted orange tree into his truck. Trees are his business, or rather, transplanting trees is his business, but I admit what I saw was something new, even from him. A small orange tree was mounted to a series of flat boards and had clearly been trained to grow with its limbs straight out and completely on the same plane. Jumping out to help him lift the heavy clay pot holding the tree, he saw the question on my face.

  “It’s espalier, a very old French technique of training trees to grow flat against the wall of a home or castle. The sun warms them sooner in cold areas, and they produce fruit earlier in the year. Pretty, too.” He admired his handiwork that now stood upright in the bed of his truck. It was nearly six feet tall and covered with obedient blooms down the length of each arrow-straight limb.

  “I have a client asking if it’s feasible to do several different citrus trees on a long wall of their home. They’re paying, so I’m growing.” He finished with the confidence of a man who knows his business.

  “It looks almost like torture.” I felt sorry for the tree. It seemed so regulated.

  “Think of it as training. And, a lot less insects!” Glen was an eternal optimist. Only he could see the entomological benefit of arboreal masochism.

  “Buy you lunch at the Butterfly?” I asked.

  I was heading in to eat and see the family, so to speak, even though we really don’t resemble each other very much. At 6’3”, I don’t get mistaken for a Thai very often. Boon and Pan don’t look overly Norwegian either. Such is the nature of my growing circle of trusted friends.

  Glen demurred with a smile, “Gotta get this to Weston. You know how rich folks are.”

  I did because, technically, I was rich, but you’d never know it because I still love fast food and used cars. It’s in my blood. I wished him well as he fired up his truck and pulled out, and I let my nose begin the guessing game I like to call “What’s Pan Cooking?” The best part, of course, is that no matter what the special is, I never lose.

  10

  Aquileia, Roman Empire, 28 B.C.

  It is good to survey one’s holdings on occasion, she thought, her sandaled feet delicately picking across a path of rounded stones. Everything about her estate was manicured and orderly. Two guards walked at a respectful distance as she toured the outer ring of her land, although in truth, she was safer walking these grounds than a babe at the breast. None would dare trespass, given her unusually vigilant staff, and the numerous amber traders coming north to do her bidding treated her with unwavering respect. The few who had not suffered mysterious ailments were often called away in the night on sudden business elsewhere. In fact, it was most unlucky to barter too vigorously with the lady of the estate, a point that became known along the entire length of the Amber Road, and in the local prefecture as well.

  She raised a fine-boned hand to shield her dark blue eyes against the rusty southern sun, satisfaction oozing from her pores at the appearance of her lands. During a decades-long apprenticeship under the tutelage of her creator, it became apparent that they were too different to continue in close proximity. Both women killed, but only one did so without any remorse or hesitation. True, she must feed, but her creator cut a swath of death and lies as they had moved south and east from the Isles to the continent, and then on towards the sea. Wealth could buy security and protection from the rabble, but only wile and forethought could help her avoid warfare and localized strongmen who sowed upheaval in their petty quests for power. She had to be wealthy enough to live freely but free enough to move apace of disaster. On those points, she was in agreement with her creator, but about many other things, she experienced something akin to revulsion. During one of their last nights at each other’s side, she had listened in detail to how far their plans had truly diverged.

  “Child, you value humanity too much. They are cattle and nothing more, and you must unencumber yourself from the supposition that allowing them to live freely will ever cause them to be anything other than your lesser. They rarely stray from their natural state of docility, and we must encourage that behavior unless it benefits us directly. Oh, there will be an exceptional example among them, but only rarely. Those few will most likely be turned to sow despair and bloodshed, and easily, because at their heart, they are incapable of visions that extend past their current grazing. They are a squabbling mass, rutting and whelping in their huts onl
y to die and be swept away with the coming rains. Their minds run to superstition and fear, looking to their gods with each thunderclap for some favor that will never arrive. Mind you this: We are their gods. I will prey upon their weaknesses and assemble them beneath my feet, not in threes, not in sevens—no, I will craft, for me, a fist of angels numbering in five, which is the more powerful number, and then I will use those angels up like kindling as I create a fire that will breach the gates of the Other and grant me the yoke of this world. You may think this to be a grand and distant battle, but it is not. It begins now and will only end when I am seated at my rightful place, a high place. Then I will consider letting these oxen raise their eyes to bathe in my glory. I will be queen, never to hear my original, cursed name spat upon the air. ‘Khowaptn,’ the leader of my tribe would say, ‘serve me, woman. Wash me, woman. Suckle this babe, woman, though he is not of your womb,’ as if I were an obedient cow. No more, child. The name Khowaptn died while I waited those endless years to cross the bridge to new lands, and someday, a new bridge will arrive in the form of a ship strong enough to carry me back to my beginnings where I will lay waste to the very place that birthed me. The first to fall under my heel will be the ancestors of the warriors who taught me the most important lesson I have ever learned; without power, you are nothing. And with the power I will craft, none will dare hate me because they will be paralyzed with their fear. You are already too strong to be an angel under my touch, so you must find what your role will be under my rule. It is for you to decide.”