by Vivian Wood
“I’ll dictate,” the goddess said, her voice sounding faraway.
Aeric nodded and followed her directions, scribbling his true name with a grunt before letting the metal fall from his fingers the moment he finished.
“All will be well, Drekkon,” said the voice.
Aeric ’s consciousness fled before he could find out whether or not that was the truth.
5
Chapter Five
And So It Begins…
New Orleans, LA — 2015
Rhys sucked in a breath and opened his eyes, his heart thrumming in his chest. He was sprawled out over a thick mattress covered with incredibly fine white linens, the quality finer than anything he’d ever slept on, even in his brief time at the King’s court. He sat up slowly, a frown creasing his mouth when he found that his plaid, shirt, and boots were gone. He wore instead a thin, tight shirt with odd sleeves that ended well above his elbows and equally thin linen pants with a drawstring at the waist. His shirt and breeches were both light grey in color and incredibly soft to the touch. Again, they were so finely made that Rhys couldn’t help but wonder where in the world he’d woken up.
He sat up and looked around as he tried to think, taking in the handsome dark wood furnishings and polished wood of the room. The valley… he’d been in a valley with his clan…
“Shite,” Rhys said, ripping away the bedclothes as he scrambled for the door. He’d left his people. He’d signed away his life to a strange, powerful witch. He’d closed his eyes, felt her magic, and now…
Flinging the door open, Rhys skidded to a halt. His eyes went wide as full moons as he tried to take in the grandeur of his surroundings. He was on an upper floor, judging by the polished wood railing a few feet in front of him. The floor beneath his feet was the same beautiful, glossy dark wood. He’d never seen such a floor, couldn’t calculate the number of trees it took to make the long balcony on which he stood. All around, perfectly smooth white walls rose, twenty feet high from the level of his bare feet and perhaps thrice that from the floor below. Broad glass windows were placed high on the wall to let in fading afternoon light, but despite the bright sun the house was cool as a spring evening. High above, just where the broad ceiling pooled into a circle, hung an immense ornament or sorts. It was made of hundreds of tiny glass orbs, all radiating a light brighter and pure as the sun.
Rhys moved forward, stretching out a curious hand. He couldn’t get close to the thing, not really, but even from here he could feel no heat coming from the light. Not fire, then. Some kind of witch light, perhaps… but he didn’t feel magic coming from it, either.
Dropping his hand, he looked down into the room below. More of those cold lights hung on the wall here and there, though the glass sconces that held them were much smaller and simpler. A curved staircase wound from the end of his landing downward, stopping on two more floors below before continuing down to terminate in a narrow, empty entrance hall. A glance to the left confirmed that another gleaming wooden staircase descended from the other side of the house, mirroring the other. Rhys studied the massive dark wood door at the center of the front hall, and imagined that the staircases looked quite impressive from the vantage of an entering visitor.
That thought reminded him that he had no idea where he was or how he’d come to be here. Clearing his throat, he turned and padded down the hall, his bare feet soundless on the slick wood floor. How wealthy must the owner of this home be to use such a rare, expensive material for the floor? Rhys had never seen a floor made of anything but stone or brick, not even in the finer houses he’d visited in Edinburgh.
He went down the stairs, bypassing the second floor but stopping on the first. Like the third floor, the first showcased a long gallery with a number of unmarked dark wood doors. Cocking his head, he listened for a moment. He thought he heard a rustle, some movement behind one of the doors. He moved toward the sound, coming to a halt when one of the doors opened with a slam.
A massive man with dark blond hair, eyes dark as night, and a surly expression stepped out. Everything about him dripped with menace, and Rhys actually took a step backward and raised his hands.
The man hissed a string of guttural words, raising his hand to point a thick finger at Rhys.
“Hey, now,” Rhys said. He wasn’t sure why, but he had the distinct impression that this man could snuff him out without much effort. It was an odd feeling, since they were well matched physically. But there was some kind of magic on him, some unfamiliar but potent type that put Rhys on edge.
The other man stared at him for a long moment.
“Breton?” the man said at last. “Breitagne?”
Rhys recognized the words, German and French words used to describe those from England or Scotland.
“Aye,” Rhys said, nodding and letting his hands drop. “Briton.”
The man gave him a thoughtful look.
“Je n’ai pas anglais,” the man told him. I have no English. “Français?”
Thankfully Rhys had a little bit of French, which was required for those who attended court for any length of time. His mother had insisted on it when Rhys was a child. Though he’d fought her tooth and nail back then, just now he was glad for her persistence.
“Je parle,” he said, holding up his thumb and forefinger half an inch apart. I speak a little. “Je suis Rhys.”
After telling the man his name, Rhys thrust out a hand toward him. The stranger stared him down for several long seconds, then stepped up and gave his hand an awkward, fierce shake, as if he’d never encountered the gesture before.
“Aeric. Ah, ay, aire, ee, ceh,” he said, spelling his name out. “Je suis de la Norvège.”
Rhys puzzled out that Aeric was Norwegian. At least he thought so.
“Aire, asch, oo, ess,” Rhys spelled back.
Aeric gave a slow nod, then changed the subject.
“Où sommes-nous?” he asked. Where are we?
“Je ne sais pas,” Rhys said. “Allons-y?”
I don’t know. Shall we go?
Rhys gestured to the stairs, and used his fingers to mimic walking down. Aeric arched a brow and shrugged, waving a hand at Rhys, indicating that he should lead the way. Rhys gave him a last glance, measuring him once again, before turning away and heading down the stairs.
“Cette maison est… incroyable,” Aeric marveled. This house is amazing.
“Aye,” Rhys agreed. “Plus que la maison d’un roi, n’est pas?” Greater than the home of a king, isn’t it?
“Certainement.” Certainly.
When they hit the entrance hall, Rhys and Aeric simultaneously gestured to each other for silence. Rhys’s lips twitched, but he just nodded. There was a set of double doors before them, nearly identical to the ones that seemed to lead outside. Rhys took a deep breath and grasped a heavy wrought iron handle on one door, pulling it open.
For a few seconds, Rhys and Aeric stood stock still, unable to move as they stared into the vast chamber that lay beyond. The room was at least a a thousand paces wide, all done in the same dark wood and gleaming white walls. One corner was a scullery of some kind, a place to prepare food. One area seemed to be for resting, as it boasted leather-covered, stuffed furniture — there was already a dark-haired man perched on one reclining piece, sitting bolt upright to stare at Rhys and Aeric. Another area had a table with long benches, clearly meant for communal meals. The last area was what had perplexed Rhys and Aeric so — a wall of flashing black and white boxes and many other items, all of which were completely alien in style.
Sitting before one of the boxes was Mere Marie, touching a flat black box, manipulating it to create strange sounds. She glanced at the dark-haired man, then turned to see Rhys and Aeric. She rose, and Rhys noticed that she wore another very fine gown, although this one was the color of ripe berries. It was also much more tightly fitted than when he’d last saw her, showing that despite her age, she was still shapely. He wondered at her true age again, for though she appeared perhaps si
xty, her eyes spoke of much more advanced age.
“I see you found one another,” Mere Marie said, eyeing them both with a calculating glance. She said the same to Aeric in perfect, rapid French. He fired back a long string of questions, stabbing his index finger into his palm as he spoke. Mere Marie arched a brow and picked up a thin book, the same that she’d had Rhys sign. She said something more to him and he fell silent, but their words were too quick for Rhys to get more than a general impression.
It seemed that, in both her level of power and her temperament, Mere Marie was not one to be goaded. She gave Rhys and the stranger both a quick once-over.
“Do either of you want to argue terms with me?” she asked, her voice humorless.
They both shook their heads.
“Good. Come in and sit,” she said, waving Rhys and Aeric over. They approached, Aeric stiff as a board, his expression dark as a storm cloud. They sat on pieces of furniture near the third man, and Rhys sunk into the soft fabric just as he had the mattress upon which he’d awoken. He ran his hand over it, and noticed Aeric doing the same.
“This is Gabriel,” Mere Marie said, indicating the dark-haired man. He was a couple years younger than Rhys, maybe thirty years. From this distance, Rhys couldn’t help but sense the magic that poured off him, unchecked. It was unusual, as witches were generally very secretive about their powers, just as Rhys was secretive about his ability to shift.
“Aeric says you speak a little French,” Mere Marie said to Rhys.
“Aye,” he said with a shrug.
“Translate as best you can while I speak,” she said. An order, not a request.
Narrowing his eyes, Rhys gave her a single nod.
“You are in New Orleans, in America. The new world,” she said. “None of this will make sense to you now, Aeric and Rhys, but you’ll learn soon enough.”
She paused to let Rhys translate before she continued.
“You’re three very powerful men, all with the ability to shift forms. You all shift into bears,” she said. For some reason, she gave Aeric a particular glance, not satisfied until he nodded his assent. “You are here to protect my city, as part of your service to me. I own you until I release you. There is no argument to be had.”
She hesitated, then said, “You are in the year 2015.”
Rhys’s heart faltered. His mouth opened, but there were no words. She was clearly insane.
“That,” Mere Marie said, pointing at one of the black boxes, “is a computer. This is a smart phone.”
She held up a small silver square, waving it at them.
“We have cars and trains and buses, not horses. The world you left behind is gone, and you can’t get back to it. You will need to adjust, and quickly.”
She stopped and let them all soak in her words.
“Why are we here?” Gabriel asked. His accent was English, and very polished. “You said we’re protecting the city.”
“New Orleans, Nouvelle Orleans,” she supplied.
“What are we protecting it from?” Gabriel asked with a frown.
Mere Marie’s lips thinned as she seemed to consider how to answer.
“The complex version is that a struggle has been brewing for many years, centering here in New Orleans and rippling out further and further,” she said. “I am on one side of the struggle, trying to protect the Kith, the shifters and vampires and witches. And the humans, as well.”
“Do humans know of us, then?” Rhys asked.
Mere Marie shook her head.
“No, and part of your job will be making sure that they remain ignorant.”
“Who’s on the other side?” Gabriel cut in. Rhys turned and relayed the information to Aeric, who grunted to indicate that he understood.
“Dominic Malveaux. Pere Mal, as he’s called.”
“Mere et Pere?” Aeric cut in, not fully understanding the conversation but picking up on a strange tidbit.
Mere Marie merely arched a brow and pushed on.
“He is a very powerful houngan, a voodoo priest,” she said. When she pronounced the foreign word, Rhys could hear a subtle and exotic accent hiding in her speech, and when she continued he was able to pick it out more and more. “Very, very bad man. If we don’t stop him, he will end our world.”
Mere Marie drew a finger across her neck, her meaning plain.
“What does he want?” Aeric asked Rhys translated. Mere Marie didn’t skip a beat in answering.
“He wants to open the Veil that separates the living from the dead,” she said. “He needs his ancestral spirits to come to this plane to give him more power, and he doesn’t care what else comes along for the ride. He’s already summoning demons to do his bidding in small things, and now there’s no telling how far he’ll go to get the power he wants.”
Rhys paused for a moment and then translated best he could in halting words. Mere Marie cut him off halfway and spoke to Aeric at length. He was certain that she finished by telling Aeric that his first task was to learn English. Aeric scowled and seemed about to fire back, so Rhys jumped in. There were too many unanswered questions to waste time with fighting at the moment.
“So what now?” he asked. “Where do we begin?”
“Like I said, you’ll all need to adjust. Learn about the world here, about our technology. This is your home now, the rooms you woke up in are yours to keep. There’s another building behind this one, with everything you’ll need for your work. Use the library to research your enemy. Practice with the firearms and weapons. Gabriel will need to learn swordsmanship. Aeric will learn English. Rhys, you will learn how to fight in close quarters without hurting bystanders. This isn’t the Highlands anymore.”
Rhys narrowed his eyes, but didn’t protest.
“I suppose we should tour the building, then,” he said, making to rise.
“Not yet,” Mere Marie said. “Follow me.”
She rose and led them to the far wall, opening a door made mostly of glass. They followed her outside to an open, grassy area surrounded by a high fence of wood.
“First things first,” she said. She pointed to a piece of stone peeking up through the grass in the center of the area, perhaps three feet by two. Rhys recognized it as a power stone, something the Fae created and used as a source of physical and magical replenishment. They were usually ancient, not to mention well-hidden and protected. He’d never seen one such as this, which appeared new and smooth.
Alpha Guardians was chiseled into the center of the stone. He’d also never seen a stone with English lettering, so this was altogether odd.
“You must bond to each other through the stone, give it life,” Mere Marie said. She pulled out a tiny, wicked-looking blade, every inch of it etched with foreign words. “Through blood.”
“Of course,” Gabriel muttered.
Rhys reached out for the knife and Mere Marie handed it over. He sliced his palm, ignoring the bite of pain. Thrusting his hand out, he let his blood drip onto the letters carved in the stone. They flared with a soft burst of light, but only for a moment.
Gabriel took the knife next, mimicking Rhys’s actions. This time, the stone flared a little brighter, a little longer.
Aeric was last, and when his blood hit the stone, the burst of light was nearly blinding. Mere Marie didn’t share her blood, but she did close her eyes and recite an incantation. Rhys felt the cut on his palm throb, and for a moment he was transported.
He was outside himself. He was the stone. He felt three presences, felt the warmth of their blood. He considered their offering, testing their strength. Yes, they would do. They could withstand his power.
Rhys snapped back into himself just in time for a brilliant wave of light to pulse from the stone, pulling at some part deep inside him. In the moments before he fainted, his only thought was this:
How well could an adventure possibly end if it began with losing all consciousness and control of himself?
He could only wait and see, for at the present everything we
nt dark, and Rhys Macaulay knew no more.
See No Evil
1
Chapter One
Pere Mal
Dominic “Pere Mal” Malveaux leaned his elbows on the flimsy rooftop railing on the Hotel Monteleone. He squinted against the glare of the mid-morning spring sun as he scanned the New Orleans skyline. Anytime he needed to think, he left his lavish set of rooms on the Monteleone’s topmost floor and came up to the pool deck. It afforded him peace and quiet, away from his many underlings and their ceaseless ineptitude. It also afforded a stunning view of the rest of the city and the Mississippi river.
Today the view was spectacular as ever, but his enjoyment was dampened by an unfamiliar sensation. Uncertainty, perhaps. He was so close to unraveling the age-old secret that voodoo priest Baron Samedi left behind. A riddle, of a sort, meant to reveal the secret of the Seven Gates. The quickest way to peel away the Veil, that thin barrier between this world and the next. The shortest route to the realm of the spirits, and a place that Pere Mal very much needed to access.
Combining his own illustrious power with that of the spirits of his fearsome ancestors would be a coup. Pere Mal was strong now, but once he destroyed the Veil and brought the two worlds together, he would be unstoppable. Le Medcin, that nosy, menacing bastard, would crumble at Pere Mal’s feet. People were naive, thinking Le Medcin’s lies about representing some greater force were true. Pere Mal had believed that too, once.
Now, though… Pere Mal knew that Le Medcin was a lying snake. Pere Mal would bring him down, hard. Right after he brought that would-be priestess to her knees.
Pere Mal’s fists clenched at the very thought of Mere Marie, as she styled herself these days. That uppity bitch. She was nothing when Pere Mal first found her, blindly following the principles of voodoo with no true understanding, no appreciation for the art of balancing light and dark magic. Without “Uncle Dominic” showing her the way, where would little Marie be now?