“What?”
“You.”
“Me?”
“Yeah, you're already acting like yourself again,” the draconian explained. “Guess that means I can let Dalris know you won't be appearing at his house to drunkenly demand Edith's abduction anymore.”
Isaac smirked—he'd lost count of how many times he'd done that. “Too bad my oath always stopped me. I would've gotten back to normal a long time ago if it weren't for that.”
“And ruined Edith's chances of becoming fully immortal.”
He shrugged, knowing there were other ways for Edith to gain eternal life—not that he would've actually interfered with her training regardless. Aside from being a target of Rothario's minions, she seemed happy with her lot, and for all his impatient grousing, Isaac knew deep down he would've waited another ten years to see her again if it meant her contentment. Not that I would've enjoyed it.
“Maybe, but she's here now anyway, so it doesn't matter, and as soon as her Calling's completed and Rothario's gone, things will be right for her.”
Ulric swigged his whiskey, then conceded, “True, but what about for you? If that prophecy is right, Perosia will need a ruler, and you've never given a shit about taking the throne, but you're the only royal left.”
“No,” he countered, “the only royal died when they wiped his memory. Besides, it's Edith's call, and she might not wanna rule an empire.”
“So basically,” Ulric summarized, “if Edith wants you to wear a crown, you'll do it.”
Isaac shrugged. “I'd go back to the fucking Pit if that's what made her happy. So if she wanted me to wear a crown, or nipple tassels and assless chaps, whatever.”
Ulric snorted in amusement, shaking his head. “Just don't paint any pictures, Isaac.”
Isaac grinned, then changed the subject to something a little more important than Perosia's leadership after swigging his drink. “Anyway, I have a favor to ask, Yules.”
Typically, draconians would charge for any task that could be considered a job. But Ulric was a long time friend who didn't hesitate to ask, “What's that?”
“Edith may have to go realm hopping at some point, and since I can't follow without breaking my binding, I'd feel better knowing someone I trust was with her.”
“Sure,” Ulric agreed with ease. “I'm going to let Dalris know what's going on anyway, and Victoria's spy network will continue keeping your activities secret.”
“Good,” Isaac returned, knowing Ulric's siblings were capable. Victoria's network was the same he'd employed to prevent anyone from learning Edith's identity so far, so they were in good hands.
Yet Ulric's countenance soon turned grim. “That takes care of spies. But what about the Brute? Have you even seen him recently?”
Just the mention of that bastard had Isaac scowling. “No, not for a decade, and fuck all if I want him showing up when Edith's on her Calling, but it might just happen.”
In general, brutes were a necromancer's version of a sentinel—magically animated suits of armor that could only be killed if the mage controlling them was taken down. They never rested, never ate, and if they were disassembled, they'd reform after several moments.
These were all common factors, but a brute was a reanimated corpse, and unlike sentinels which could be conjured in multiple numbers, brutes were so powerful that a necromancer could only have one at a time.
This power included the ability to be programmed with a few basic guides or functions, and enough intelligence to track a target without direct control. The downside was that they could be destroyed without necessarily taking their creator down, but it took a hell of a lot to accomplish, and they weren't easy to track because of their ability to disappear into Limbo, the plane of the dead.
Oftentimes, the only warning that a brute was nearby was the putrid stench of decay just moments before it attacked.
Isaac had been the target of several brutes in the past, but he'd given up taking them out when Rothario simply sent new ones after him. The latest was the reanimated corpse of an ogre, which gave him even more physical strength than most, and he'd been tracking Isaac for nearly a century.
The last time he'd seen the bastard was ten years ago in Wales, and there were sightings of the armored walking corpse since, but thankfully nowhere close to home.
It was one of the reasons Isaac never settled in one place, opting instead to rent small rooms from homeowners in random neighborhoods. He'd also set up storage units in strategic locations around the world that were magically warded to block a brute's unique vision.
“Here's hoping he stays away,” Ulric sighed. “But if he does show up, I just hope his orders aren't altered to chase Edith down instead of you.”
Isaac could easily agree. Edith didn't need to expend magic avoiding that asshole, and that's exactly what she'd end up doing if she became its target.
Just as he had the thought, his mate stepped outside onto the patio with Charlotte right behind her.
“Oh, didn't know you guys were out here,” the fae remarked, lifting one of the red pandas to cradle in her arms while the other stood on its hind legs at her feet.
“Edith, this is Ollie.”
“You can tell them apart?” the mage asked in amusement.
“Yep, Ollie's the boy, Cece's the girl, and before you ask, yes, I can sense their genders.”
Edith grinned, leaning down at Charlotte's direction to lift Cece up, then squealed with laughter when the animal began sniffing her ear, proving the area was sensitive.
Isaac decided to keep that in mind, watching his mate for a quiet moment while wondering how lucky he might actually be. Whatever extravagance he was born into had all been wiped away, and ever since his deliverance from the Pit, he hadn't cared to acquire much of anything special—Terra was such a vast environmental improvement that it was like having a playground all to himself.
He'd no longer needed to watch his back at every turn, and whatever hardships he experienced were nothing compared to what he'd already been through.
So what the hell more could someone ask?
The answer; her.
Isaac hadn't pined for his mate until learning of the prophecy, and even then, he wasn't certain any woman deserved to be saddled with him. But that natural desire had grown over time, and seeing Edith now, hearing her laughter, he knew one thing for certain.
I'll do whatever it takes to have her in my life.
“Isaac?”
Edith was too busy putting the energetic red panda down to pay much attention to Isaac. But when Charlotte repeated his name after asking if he was hungry, she finally looked up just as he seemed to snap himself out of a stupor.
“Huh?” he asked the fae dimly.
“Did you hear a word I just said?”
“No, I was too busy staring at Edith thinking dirty thoughts,” he related easily. “Need something?”
Edith grumbled, standing up straight without commenting while Charlotte repeated her earlier question. “I was wondering if you'd eaten anything.”
Isaac blinked, his expression suggesting he'd only just realized he was starving. “No, so I'm gonna raid your kitchen. Anyone else hungry? And by anyone, I mean Edith.”
Sighing, Edith related, “No, and by no, I mean go away.”
“Suit yourself,” Isaac smirked, teleporting to the kitchen while she grumbled.
“You okay?” Charlotte inquired.
“Yeah, I just wish he wasn't so … honest.” Curiously, she asked Ulric, “Was he staring at me?”
The draconian nodded confidently. “He was definitely staring. But he wasn't being honest, not about the dirty thoughts at least.”
“He wasn't?”
Ulric shook his head. “The look on his face went a lot deeper, probably wondering how he got so lucky or something.”
Charlotte gave him a scrutinizing look. “How would you know?”
“Because I do the same thing to you,” he admitted with a handsome smirk.
/> “Oh,” the fae drew out, smiling when he slipped an arm around her shoulders before they went inside.
Edith followed, watching them while wondering if their example might ring true for other relationships based on eternal bonding. She'd like to think it was an indication of what could be, but it was hard to imagine herself looking that way with anyone.
Not that archmages didn't eternally bond with their mates—they used magic to forge such a connection. But Edith's current lifespan had only been lengthened by drinking from the Aeonic Well, meaning she was technically still mortal. So it was difficult to wrap her head around the idea of having an eternal relationship.
Still, as they adjourned to the kitchen where Isaac was pulling several items out of the fridge to make a sub sandwich, she watched while trying to measure the possibilities.
But all she could ask was why him?
Sure, Isaac was extremely attractive, yet Edith's criteria for men-I'd-eternally-date went beyond their physical appeal.
Whatever the reason for fate's decision to give him a mate's connection to her, she completely forgot the thoughts when he spread mayo across a slice of bread and set it down on a plate with roses painted on the ceramic. Somehow, the floral images captured her full attention, and without pause, she walked over to remove the bread and lift the item.
While staring at the plate, Charlotte asked her name curiously.
“Rose,” Edith replied.
“Excuse me?”
“It's a rose. No, it's not a rose, it's … .”
“Oookay,” Charlotte drew out uncertainly. “What's not a rose?”
Still putting his sandwich together, Isaac chimed in, “She's found her first sign.”
Edith nodded, musing aloud, “Rose might be a place to go, not an item. No, wait … .”
Setting the plate down, she couldn't help but feel like something was on the tip of her tongue, and closed her eyes to focus on the sensation. That's when a vision of her father's home where she grew up came to mind—specifically her old bedroom with all her old things.
She could see it clearly, but why was a rose significant? She'd never used roses in her decorations, and had no idea what she was supposed to be looking for.
Opening her eyes with a defeated sigh, she muttered, “I just had a vision of my bedroom at the house where I grew up, but I still don't know what the roses mean. So I'll have to go back to Summerton to figure it out and … oh no.”
“What?” Charlotte asked.
Giving her best friend a grim look, she pointed out blandly, “I might run into my stepmother.”
Knowing how little Edith cared for Sheryl, Charlotte cringed. “Well, at least you won't have to be around her for long, right?”
“I hope not.”
“What's wrong with your stepmother?” Isaac inquired.
“She's a bitch,” Edith and Charlotte answered simultaneously, then laughed at how in sync they were.
To give a more thorough explanation, Edith added, “Sheryl married my dad when I was ten, and she was pretty cool back then. But he passed away when I was fourteen, and after that, I don't know, she started acting like it was a chore having me around. We rarely got along, but she usually just ignored me and … things fell apart.”
Charlotte scoffed as if knowing for a fact that Edith was putting it mildly—Sheryl hadn't just ignored Edith, she'd completely neglected her, and whatever attention Edith did get was usually verbally abusive.
Sheryl also used what Charlie left her in his will frivolously. Drinking became a bad habit, and sometimes she'd go so far as drunkenly threatening her stepdaughter with physical violence for various infractions.
So Edith withdrew, and became so depressed by the isolation and the grief of losing her father that her grades began to decline—among other things. But by the time her school took notice of her troubles, she was about to graduate and it was too late.
At eighteen, Edith used the trust fund her father set up and moved out right after graduation, cutting as many ties to Sheryl as possible. Still, she harbored an unreasonable fear of the woman due to their history, and in light of recent events, it made her feel like an idiot. I'm on my Final Calling with assassins hunting me down, and here I am afraid of a lush.
But Isaac didn't press for details, mentioning as he put the last pieces of meat on his sub, “We'll go when I finish this.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Charlotte mentioned. “Do you need anything before you leave, Edith?”
“Nothing I can think of. My things are at my apartment, so I can just swing by there, grab my car, and go over to Sheryl's.”
“If we're taking your car anywhere, I'm driving,” Isaac interjected.
“Why?”
Swallowing a mouthful of sub, he answered, “In case you're attacked again.”
Knowingly, Ulric vouched, “Better listen to him, he's a getaway expert.”
“Alright,” Edith agreed. Isaac had experience dealing with assassins anyway, so it probably was a good idea.
With the matter settled, she asked Charlotte, “Can I talk with you in private for a second?”
“Sure,” the fae nodded, following her from the kitchen and into the hallway beyond it.
Edith didn't stop walking until she was certain they were far enough away to keep from being overheard, then turned around to face her friend with a dubious expression.
Seeing it, Charlotte tilted her head. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I just … ,” Edith trailed, her vision directed toward the kitchen as she admitted, “I don't know about Isaac yet. So would you keep your phone handy? Just in case I need to vent or something. Oh, and could you teleport us to Summerton? Isaac's muted, and I'm sort of magic fasting.”
Hearing this, Charlotte grinned. “You got it. But don't worry too much, Isaac just takes some getting used to.” At that, the fae leaned in with a sheepish smile and asked softly, “So what do you think so far, anyway? I mean, he's not quite on Ulric's level in my opinion, but he is hot, right?”
She playfully tapped her elbow against Edith's arm to elicit a response, and the mage's jaw dropped in disbelief. “Charlotte!”
“What? I'm just curious!”
“Yeah, but I'm not … I mean he's so … no, just no.”
Her sputtering seemed to tip the fae off because she grinned knowingly. “You do think he's hot!”
“Okay yeah, sure, he's hot. But that doesn't mean anything, so stop teasing me!”
“You used to tease me all the time!”
“That was different,” Edith returned rationally. “You were a prude, but now you're just a … a nymfae!”
Charlotte gasped, trying desperately to act incensed. But they were both shaking with laughter that inevitably burst free, ending in a tight hug.
“Damn I missed you,” Edith admitted, grinning. “Makes me wish I could stay longer.”
“Me too,” Charlotte muttered, stepping back from their embrace to add meaningfully, “so be careful, okay? I know that with Isaac around, and Victoria's spies covering your tracks, you should be good, but I want updates on your search anyway.”
“Okay,” Edith replied, realizing they'd be keeping in touch constantly regardless of how well she and Isaac might get along.
So all that remained was staying safe on her journey.
It was just hard to tell how easily the endeavor would be accomplished after the attack in her apartment earlier. Was Isaac right? Could the fiend have been nothing more than a spy sent on suspicion alone?
Additionally, Edith wasn't convinced they'd find any of her belongings at her old home. Sheryl wasn't exactly known for sentimentality, and may have gotten rid of her stepdaughter's things years ago. But that was where her vision had directed her to go for answers.
So assassins or not, belongings or not, she had no choice.
The Final Calling had officially begun.
Seven
• • •
“I didn't know they built a park here.”
>
Edith's comment stood as a testament to how long it'd been since she'd visited her childhood home. The middle class neighborhood it belonged to consisted of several older abodes lining the streets, many of which needed renovations. But though the park at the corner was newer, it was still worn—not that the children playing there were complaining.
Isaac parked in the adjoining lot at her direction. Her old home was just across the street, and she grabbed her keys in case Sheryl wasn't there. But the moment he turned off the engine and started to open his door, Edith stopped him.
“You don't need to go with me.”
“Why not?”
“Because it probably won't take but a minute to figure out why I'm here.”
“Yeah, and it only takes a minute to be attacked,” he insisted. “So I'm going.”
Edith sighed as if she wanted to argue, but couldn't think of anything to say—and Isaac didn't give her the chance, exiting the vehicle.
Outside, he adjusted his shades, sensitive to daylight even under an overcast sky, and kept his eyes peeled while crossing the street to her front yard. There was no telling if someone might be waiting for Edith—or him for that matter—and though too many prying eyes were around outside to think potential assassins would take a risk for all to see, that meant nothing once they were indoors.
Ascending the front porch steps, Isaac waited silently while Edith knocked, and noticed her tense posture in the process. She must've been reluctant to see Sheryl again, an assessment she proved correct by only relaxing when her knocking went unanswered.
While she used her keys to unlock the front door, Isaac asked curiously, “Why didn't you just do that from the start?”
“Force of habit I guess,” she admitted, walking inside.
The fact that Edith didn't feel comfortable entering her old home unannounced was evidence enough that she wasn't very close to her stepmother. But Isaac didn't mention it, opting instead to silently take notes in the effort of learning all he could while looking around the living room.
Furnished with secondhand furniture, most of it was in serious need of a clean up. Empty beer cans and a few bottles lay on the couch, trash littered the floor, and an overflowing ashtray sat on the coffee table. But such disarray must've been commonplace because Edith ignored the mess in favor of ascending the stairs to the right of the entryway, accessing the first door on the left.
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