by J. C. Staudt
He untucks his shirt, lets the anchorstone clink to the floor, and kicks it away. He raises a double-fingered salute and winks. “Have a nice life.”
Then he’s gone.
The hallway falls silent. Satielle stands with her head down, hands folded in front of her, knees touching. She twists her heel, rubbing a spot on the linoleum with her toe. She can only meet my eyes for a second before returning her gaze to the floor. Githryx slinks off into the nearest bedroom. I hear him vanish and smell the smoke a moment later.
“That went well, huh?”
Satielle doesn’t answer.
“You think you know a guy, and then he turns out to be exactly who you thought he was. Best of luck to him, then, I guess. You can’t help those who don’t want to help themselves.” I retrieve the anchorstone and slide it into my pocket. “You don’t have to hang around if you don’t want to.”
“You’re sad,” she says.
“A little.”
She studies me. “I’ll stay and be sad with you.”
The halfling’s sentiment touches me in a way I wasn’t expecting. Satielle may be incapable of physical contact, but her presence is a welcome comfort. I push my lips sideways to stifle the flow of emotion. “I’d like that.”
She accompanies me to my room, where I find the corkboard flat on its face, cards and notes creased, pushpins scattered. I hang it up and replace everything as best I can before collapsing on the hospital bed with my hands behind my head. When I look over, Satielle is lying on the other bed in the same position, floating in solidarity. I smile and shut my eyes, forgetting about the nightmares.
Chapter 15
I shoot awake, my clothes drenched in sweat. Satielle is standing at my bedside, speaking my name. Her hand is on my forearm, shaking me, though all I feel is a gentle breeze where her touch should be. “Cade. Your highness. It’s okay. It was only a bad dream.”
I lean forward and rub my eyes, brushing aside the hag’s nightmare. “Is Ryovan back yet?”
“He should be home from work in a little while. Sometimes I wait for him in the parking garage. Want to go?”
“Let’s stop by Baz’s room first so I can see how he’s doing.”
Satielle shakes her head. “Best leave him alone. Fremantle is very protective.”
“I don’t care. I want them both to know I’m sorry.”
“They know, Prince Cade. Everyone knows you’re sorry.”
I yawn and sigh. “Janice’s room, then. After we clean up.”
“That’s fair. I’ll get Githryx.”
“I help,” the imp proclaims when Satielle brings him into the ward. “I don’t mean to make mess. I clean. Make good. Shiny.”
“Okay, Githryx. You need to work on finding a constructive response to peer pressure. Calyxto can be persuasive sometimes, I’ll grant you, but this was done in very poor taste.”
“I no like taste. Bad. Lose, eh… how you say… brain? Lose head?”
“You lost control.”
He points at me. “Lose control. Yes. Have too much fun. Forget human. Forget neat. Nice. Eh… order?”
“You forgot people like things not broken.”
“Yes. Yes-yes.”
“That’s all well and good, but you’ll have some explaining to do when Ryovan gets home.”
“I explain,” he promises.
We tidy up the big stuff and leave the sweeping to Githryx. He’s all too eager to return the ward to its former glory. Something in his demeanor strikes me as odd, but I write it off as a healthy dread of Ryovan’s wrath. When the cleaning is done, it’s off to see my favorite lich doctor.
The OR is quiet. Janice sits on a low doctor’s stool with her legs crossed at the knees, wearing a long white coat and a fat pair of headphones. She’s got a book in one hand and a cigar in the other. She looks up, closes the book, puts the cigar in the ashtray, and taps a button on her phone to pause whatever she’s listening to before removing the headphones. “Hey, kid. How’s life?”
“Sucks. How’s yours?”
“Hell if I know. It’s over. What can I do for you? More syringes to kill yourself with?”
“I was wondering if you had anything that can stop annoying swamp hags from inseminating your dreams with evil demon-sperm.”
Janice balks. “I don’t think there’s a pill for that.”
“Figured I’d ask anyway. Whatcha reading?”
“Pride and Prejudice.”
“That book’s like a million years old.”
“Yeah, it’s total shit. I love it. Chick fantasy. Favorite book of all time. And the audiobook narrator is this stuffy British guy, which is perfect, because he does all the voices and accents spot-on. He’s so British.”
“It’s a classic,” says Satielle.
“Never read it myself,” I admit.
“Mr. Darcy may or may not be my imaginary boyfriend.” Janice pauses, listening out. “Hey, sounds like the devils have stopped battling.”
“They were playing, believe it or not. Calyxto and I had a falling out over it, and now he’s gone.”
“Shame. That guy was a real prick. I was starting to like him.”
I frown. “So was I. For some reason.”
“You thought he’d changed. Nothing to be ashamed of. It’s pretty common to look for the good in a former captor, actually. It’s called Stockholm Syndrome. But hey, I’m just a dead chick who went to medical school. What do I know about matters of the heart?”
“More than you let on. How’s Baz doing?”
“He’ll live. Gonna be bedridden for a few days. I’d stay away for now. Fremantle’s got a mind to put a you-shaped hole through the hospital roof.”
“So I’ve heard. Well, I won’t keep you from your book. Enjoy.”
“I won’t. Reading this book is the most action I’ve gotten since I was alive.” She puts her headphones back on, opens the paperback, and grabs her cigar.
We head to the hospital’s spacious parking garage, which I’ve never been to before since I usually park around back. The row of parking spaces closest to the sliding doors at the hospital entrance are stained with grease as if used regularly, but only two are currently occupied. Modest vehicles, both—a small black sedan and a compact blue eco-mobile with their brand markings rubbed off. All the better to go unnoticed in, my dear.
Satielle and I sit on the curb and shoot the breeze until the echo of an engine resounds from the exterior entrance. It’s Desdemona, returning home in her official NDPD squad car. She parks in the spot third-closest to the entrance and gets out. “Hey, your highness. You’re early.”
“Yeah, I was hoping to talk to you.”
“About?” She opens her trunk and pulls out a heavy duffel bag with minimal effort.
“The Pax Sanguinem Sebastian Bordeaux just declared.”
She nods. “How’d you find out?”
“You already know about it?”
“That’s why Ryovan wanted to talk to you today.”
“This is Ryovan’s plan for finding out Irys’s motive? Sending me to the Pax?”
Des laughs. She shuts the squad car’s trunk and heads for the door. “Sending you? That’s funny.”
“Why’s that funny?” I ask, following.
“Because you’d get eaten alive in there. Five seconds, tops.”
“That’s what this is for.” When I dangle the red gem before her eyes, she stops and stares. The hospital’s automatic doors close before she goes through.
“What is that?”
“The Trillion of the Bloodless.” I hang the pendant around my neck. There’s a subtle shift in pressure I can feel in my eardrums.
Desdemona’s nostrils flare. “I lost your scent. I can’t smell you. Where did you get that?”
“The sidhe gave it to me.”
She blinks. Her upper lip twitches, as though she’s resisting the urge to bare her fangs. “Where, right in the middle of the Fae Council chambers?”
I shake my head. �
�That would’ve been nice, comparatively speaking. She had me kidnapped by swamp hags. I’m going to that meeting. If I don’t tell her everything I hear, it’ll be a few months at best before I die of sleep deprivation. If I’m lucky, I’ll make it to Lorne’s wedding day and see him marry the wrong girl before I bump off.”
“Why does the sidhe want to spy on the vampires? And why would she pick you to do it for her?”
“To answer your second question—because it’s too risky for her fairies to pull off. Or so she claims.”
“I’ve never known fairies to get involved with vampires.”
“Me neither. I don’t need to know the whys of this one. Just the hows. I tell the sidhe what she wants to know, she makes the hags set me free, and I stop hanging out near the riverfront when it’s midnight and foggy.”
“What were you doing down there?”
“Visiting Misthaven.”
She straightens. “Oh. So you know, then.”
“About my dad? Yeah. It’s kind of wrecking my whole world right now.”
“You don’t seem too broken up about it.”
“I don’t have time to be broken up. The lives of every othersider who crosses over from now until the end of time are at stake if we don’t deal with this Irys problem. So are we going to the Pax together, or what?”
“I was planning on being there, yeah. I kind of have a date, though. And it’s not Ryovan.”
I study her. She was quick to point that out. A little too quick. “Your contact in the Hallowed?”
“One of them.”
“I guess we’ll show up separately, then. I’m supposed to disguise myself as a vampire from a small Canadian coven called Tenebris. You gonna be alright without me?”
She gives me an are-you-serious look. “I should be asking you that question.”
“A few blood cocktails. A bunch of vampires breathing down our necks. Age-old rivals sitting around a table pretending they don’t want to destroy each other. You can’t buy drama like that on pay-per-view. How long do these things usually last?”
“Usually? There hasn’t been a Pax Sanguinem in two hundred years.”
“So it could take more than a couple hours.”
“Potentially. Why?”
“That’s how long my illusion spell lasts.”
“You’re going to need a good excuse to leave the table. Vampires don’t poop.”
“Maybe instead of illusion magic, I should invest in a bottle of black hair dye and a set of plastic fangs from a costume shop.”
Des shakes her head. “I’m about to slap you into that wall over there.”
She could, too.
“You’d slap your prince?”
“I’ll slap anyone who’s dumb enough to deserve it. Don’t be dumb, Cade. The fact that you killed a vampire with a beer keg doesn’t make you Van Helsing. If you can’t take this seriously, you shouldn’t be going.”
“This is how I do serious. Weed out the ridiculous ideas so I can get to the good ones. Or the even more ridiculous ones that are so crazy they just might work.”
“Here’s a crazy one. How about going as yourself? No disguise. Just the Trillion to mask your vitals.”
I consider this. “My fangs aren’t long enough.”
“How are Arden Savage’s fangs?”
“I can’t go as Arden. Felix Mottrov is looking for him.”
Des snorts. “Felix doesn’t care about Arden Savage.”
“Then why did he hold that press conference where he promised to find his father’s killer and make him pay?”
“He was posturing for the media. The guys down at the precinct say Gilbert’s death is a cold case until something new turns up, and that’s unlikely to happen.”
“Felix stopped me outside the ballroom the night I killed Gilbert. He thanked me. He let me walk out of there alive. His father thought he was going to bring him back from the dead, but all along Felix was just a power-hungry heir waiting to take the throne.”
“They all are. Vampires are greedy, backstabbing emo kids with perfect hair.”
“This is why I wanted to talk to you. You can show me how to fit in.”
“Shave your face, for starters. Run a comb through your hair. Wear a suit that fits. Around vampires, it’s all about how you present yourself. Maintain impeccable posture at all times. Project confidence. Move fluidly and speak deliberately. You’ll be fine without a disguise as long as you’re wearing the Trillion. If you must use an illusion, make it subtle; a pair of magical contact lenses and some elongated canines. Remember, it’s a Pax. Even if someone does recognize you, they won’t be able to do anything about it. There’s no feeding. No killing. No blood. You’ll be safe. Technically.”
“Technically, a pig hiding in a bacon factory is also safe.”
“The factory’s closed for business. You’ll never have a better chance to take advantage of it. When you get there, I don’t want you sitting next to me or making eye contact across the table. There’s not going to be any spellcasting or disruption of any kind. You sit there. You listen. You nod, but you don’t smile. Whatever other stupid cockamamie things you do, never, ever smile.”
“I’ve seen vampires smile before.”
“Vampires only smile when they’re facing a subordinate or their prey. Chances are you won’t have any idea who’s above you on the totem pole and who’s below, so do yourself a favor and don’t try to guess. I don’t have time to make a flowchart. If you lock eyes with a vampire countess and flash her a grin, she’s going to rip off your arms and find an orifice to put them in.”
“But she can’t. It’s a Pax.”
“She’ll wait. She’s got until approximately forever.”
Another car enters the parking garage. It’s Shenn, driving her little green sport sedan, windows down, sunroof open. She parks and gets out, looking professional in a blue button-down blouse over dress pants and black heels. She doesn’t give me a second glance as she passes us on her way inside, still walking with a slight limp on her sprained ankle.
“Hey Shenn,” says Des.
“Hey.”
The automatic doors open and close behind her.
Des gives me a sympathetic look, acknowledging the elephant in the room. There’s enough room in this parking garage for a herd of elephants, and it feels like they all came out at once. “Alright,” she says. “I’m going inside. Long day at work. Gotta get cleaned up and ready for tonight.”
“See you there.”
Satielle practices her cartwheels and somersaults while I sit on the curb waiting for Ryovan. He shows up in a black Jeep SUV and parks in the spot beside Shenn’s, grabbing a briefcase off the passenger seat as he gets out. “Prince Cadigan,” he says, bowing. “I’ve got some big news.”
“I already know what it is.” I tell him about the hags, Elona Anarian, and my plans to attend the Pax Sanguinem alone.
“This is unexpected,” he says with thinly veiled displeasure. “Tonight is a big opportunity for us. A chance to get an inside look at Irys’s plans. Our future as an organization hinges on this meeting. I hope you understand that.”
I nod. “I’ll be on my best behavior. And my most vampiric.”
“I must say, the sidhe’s involvement doesn’t sit well with me. When have the fae ever cared about the hunting patterns of the Ascended?”
“Maybe Mottrov’s death made them care. A bunch of thralls who become human again and start questioning the world around them are exactly what the fae media doesn’t want.”
“Be mindful of the questions the sidhe asks when you next speak with her. They might be our only clues as to these investments she claims to have made.”
“Ryovan, will you do me a favor?”
“Anything, your highness.”
“Tell Shenn I’m sorry. I know I’m a screw-up, and I act without thinking. I may never be the man my father was, but I really am trying.”
Ryovan thinks. “Shenn doesn’t need you to be the man your fath
er was. She needs you to get off the fence and decide who you are.”
“This fence is part of my life.”
“Then you’re closer to understanding my daughter than you think. I wish you luck.”
We shake hands.
I take a knee and give Satielle my warmest smile. “So long, little sister. Give me five.”
The halfling blushes, which I imagine doesn’t come easy for a ghost. Her hand goes through mine, but I feel her wind and know she’s with me. I made my Rambo charge in the train station because I thought acting brave was what the Guardians wanted me to do. I thought I’d earn their respect that way. Satielle’s simple gesture shows me she doesn’t care if I’m brave. She cares that I’m there. Being a leader doesn’t mean keeping bad things from happening. It means bleeding with your people when they do.
As I’m pulling out of the hospital parking lot, my brand-new cell phone rings.
“What the fuck were you thinking, Cade?” Quim asks when I pick up.
It’s a rhetorical question, but I answer anyway. “I was thinking you might like to keep all your fingers.”
“I told you I had it handled.”
“Trezzo Mogru thought differently.”
“I sold my mom’s star.”
I pause. The road flies by.
I’ve mentioned my distaste for Quim’s parents. Here’s one of the reasons they’re terrible people. His mom saw a commercial by one of those companies who names stars after people and thought it would be a great idea to name a star after herself. Unfortunately she went to the wrong people, and instead of naming the star she ended up buying it with part of her soul and a ton of cash.
Roum and Laan Takkanopoulis moved to Florida when Quim was fifteen. He stayed with my mom and me until the foster care system swept him up in its tornado. After his parents left, he managed to get his hands on a lockbox containing several of their savings bonds, deeds to various worthless properties they’d held over the years, and the certificate of ownership for Laan Takkanopoulis, stellar designation Gamma Hegemii.
Quim’s been holding onto it ever since, keeping the certificate in its little lockbox in his closet. He used to point the star out to me in the night sky when we were lying on the roof of my mom’s house in the suburbs. Sometimes he’d raise his middle finger toward the star and say something mean about his mom. Other times he’d ruminate on the star’s chemical composition and wonder how his parents were doing in Florida. He never knew the star was worth anything until he discovered the secondary market for heavenly bodies among the celestial creatures from the otherside who’ve found themselves without a home in these unfamiliar cosmos. As it turns out, the star carries a significant value when pitched to the right people, and that value has appreciated over time.