Ivy Cross and the Monarch of Darkness (Dark Inquisitor Series Book 1)

by A. D. Winter

  “Kidnapping you?” I stepped forward and crossed my arms. “We just saved your little elf butt from the vampires. The least you could do is show us some gratitude.”

  “Vampires?” Her brow creased as she began to think. “What vampires?”

  I exchanged a glance with Dryden.

  “The aftereffects of the potion,” Dryden explained. “It might take some time to wear off.”

  “How long?” I asked.

  “A couple of hours?”

  I cupped my face in frustration. All I wanted to do was plop down into a bed and sleep for a week. But I didn’t have time. I needed answers, and soon.

  I took a deep breath and knelt before the elf. “Look,” I said, “You’re safe now. You can trust us.”

  She studied the bags beneath my eyes, her gaze suddenly falling to the dried blood on my wrinkled jacket. “Trust you?”

  I nodded with a smile.

  “Help!” she screamed, turning to the door of the apartment. “I’ve been kidnapped by dirty peasants!”

  Dryden rushed to settle her down. But it didn’t work. She slapped him across the face and continued screaming. Without option, I reached for a rag that was on the floor and shoved it into her mouth. After that I tied her hands behind her back, making her immobile.

  “There,” I said, wiping my hands. “That’ll shut her up.”

  “What are you doing?” Dryden asked.

  “I’m keeping her silent.”

  “She’s a child,” he said.

  I glanced at him, thinking. “You’re right. Do you have any handcuffs?”

  He sighed in disbelief. “You really are crazy, you know that?”

  I stepped back as he brushed past me. Kneeling before the elf, he raised his hands in surrender and began to speak softly. “We’re not kidnapping you. And we’re definitely not your enemy. We’re just trying to help you. Nod if you understand.”

  The elf narrowed her eyes in suspicion, then slowly nodded.

  “Good,” Dryden said. “Now, I’m going to take the gag out of your mouth. Okay?”

  She nodded.

  “And you’re not going to scream anymore, right?”

  She shook her head.

  “Good.” With careful hands, he undid the gag and smiled. “Better?”

  She nodded.

  “Great.”

  He’d barely stepped away when she began to scream again, announcing as loud as she could that she’d been kidnapped by—you guessed it—dirty peasants.

  “That’s it,” I said, shoving Dryden aside and drawing my dagger. The elf’s eyes widened as she saw the blade in my hand. “No more playing nice.”

  20

  Ivy

  The elf sat silently on the couch, her wrists strapped behind her back.

  I took a breath as I held her gaze. It was incredibly impressive—the length of time she could go without blinking. It was as if she were some evil doll, a vessel of flesh that enjoyed torturing its victims through condescension and intimidation. I could learn a thing or two from this little girl. “You sure you’re not the spawn of the devil?” I asked her.

  “Are you?” she replied.

  From the corner of the room, Dryden chuckled.

  “What’s so funny?” I asked.

  “I think you just found your mini-you,” he replied.

  I looked back at the young elf, returning to our little game of who would blink first.

  Behind me, Dryden continued his work. He tossed herbs into a mortar, grinding away at them while whispering short incantations that would fill them with the magic they needed to work. When he was done, he took a seat by the elf and smiled. “This will help you remember,” he said.

  The elf frowned as she studied the mixture. “Are you trying to poison me?”

  “That’s it!” I said, rising from my seat. “Let me have it. I’ll shove it down her throat.”

  The elf scowled as she recoiled from my approach.

  “Whoa!” Dryden said, catching me by the arm. “What are you doing?”

  “Getting answers,” I said.

  “From an elf?”

  “I don’t care what she is,” I said. “There’s a warlock on the loose, and I need to catch him before he hurts the city.”

  “My dear, you’ll have better luck getting a troll to sing than forcing an elf to do what you want.”

  I glanced back at the elf. She was still sitting on the couch of books, beaming at me with a look of entitlement. “Fine,” I whispered. “What do you suggest?”

  “Elves are like bees,” he said. “You approach too quickly, and they’ll swarm you in an instant. But take a gentler approach, and they’ll willingly give you honey.”

  “You mean to flatter her,” I said.

  “What more do entitled little brats want?” he replied.

  It made sense. The only thing elves loved more than being feared was being admired. Perhaps if he spoke a kind word or two, he could convince her to drink the potion. It was worth a try.

  “Fine,” I said. “Be my guest.”

  Dryden looked back at the elf and offered her a bow. “Veuillez excuser le comportement grossier de m’associée. Elle est clairement une idiote qui est née dans les écuries d’un bordel.” Please excuse the rude behavior of my associate. She’s clearly an idiot who was born in the stables of a brothel.

  I nodded in agreement, unsure of what he was saying.

  “Tu dois comprendre,” he continued. “Nous n'avons pas l'habitude d'une telle grâce et d'une telle beauté que la vôtre.” You must understand. We’re not used to such grace and beauty such as yours.

  The young elf arched a brow, clearly touched by his flattery. “Continue,” she ordered. Go on.

  “Nous n’essayons pas de t’empoisonner,” he assured her. “Nous essayons de vous aider à vous souvenir.” We’re not trying to poison you. We’re trying to help you remember.

  “Se souvenir?” she echoed. To remember?

  “As in who you are,” he replied.

  For a moment, she stared at him. Then, after a deep breath, she nodded.

  Dryden was careful as he poured the mixture into her mouth. She drank it slowly, frowning in disgust with every sip. When she was done, he lowered the bowl from her lips and waited for her to remember.

  When she did, I nearly had a heart attack.

  21

  Ivy

  I rushed to cover the elf’s mouth as she began to wail, struggling to hold her tiny body as she thrashed against the straps around her wrists.

  The memories were rushing back, no doubt filling her mind with horrible images. I held her steady, reassuring her that everything would be okay. Dryden rushed in to help me.

  “The emotions are too strong,” he said. “I should’ve prepared a sedative as well.”

  “You think?” I asked.

  He rushed back to the counter, hurrying to concoct another remedy. After tossing a handful of herbs into a bowl, he lit them on fire, then sprinkled over a clear liquid for good measure.

  When he was done, he rushed back into the den, hurrying as he whispered a few words into the smoking concoction.

  “Open her mouth,” he ordered.

  I gripped the elf by her cheeks and tilted her head back. When she wouldn’t open her mouth, I pinched her nose, and her lips quickly parted.

  Dryden poured the lot into her mouth, careful as the concoction slipped out. Still, it was messy. Herbs and water spilled down her cheeks, and she began to cough as some of it trickled into her lungs. After a while, she began to relax.

  “Well, that was a close one,” I said.

  “The remedy works quickly,” Dryden assured me. “She’ll be as calm as a flower in no time.”

  “In that case, do you have any left over for me?”

  The elf swayed in her seat, as she was overwhelmed by the sedative. She was about to fall over when Dryden caught her in his arms. Undoing the straps, he laid her gently against the couch.

  “Where am I?” the
elf began.

  I rolled my eyes. “Not this again.”

  “You’re safe,” Dryden reassured her.

  Her head fell back, and I distinctly heard the mumbled phrase “Dirty peasants” one more time.

  Why, that little …

  Frustrated, I grabbed one of the encyclopedias serving as the couch’s armrest and shoved it before the couch. Taking a seat, I stared into the little elf’s face.

  “What’s your name?” I asked.

  The elf blinked a moment. “My name?”

  I nodded.

  “Sophie.”

  “Sophie what?” I pressed.

  “Sophie … Laurent.”

  My brows drew together. I knew that name. But from where?

  “Okay, Sophie Laurent,” I continued. “What were you doing with a bunch of vampires?”

  Her lips began to tremble, the turmoil of her emotions breaking through the sedative. It was enough to bring her to some level of animation. She sat up on the couch and blinked. “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Think, Sophie,” I whispered.

  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “The first time they came for me was in the night.”

  I exchanged a glance with Dryden. The first time?

  “I was asleep,” she continued in a daze, “but they still took me from the chateau.”

  “To where?” I asked.

  “To a house.”

  “What house?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure,” she said. “It was dirty, and there was a … basement.”

  The orphanage, I realized. The same place where we’d found her. “Then what happened?” I asked.

  “There were two men. Tall and ugly. Their eyes were missing.”

  “How so?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” she answered. “I can’t remember.”

  No eyes? I felt a shiver along my skin.

  Dryden’s brow creased as he moved in closer.

  “They wanted me to lie on a stone table,” she said. “To remain quiet as they did things.”

  “What things?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “They wouldn’t tell me. But I told them no, that I didn’t want to. But the taller one got angry. He told me that it was an ancient ritual, one that every member of my family had gone through.”

  “And you believed him?” I asked.

  “I’m a Laurent,” she said dreamily. “I do what is expected of me.”

  I flashed my brows. “I see.” I glanced over at Dryden, expecting to see the same disbelief in his gaze. But all he could do was offer me a shrug. “Okay, so then what happened?” I asked.

  “He marked my face with blood,” she continued. “It was cold and smelly. But I didn’t move. After that he drew out a large tooth.”

  “A tooth?”

  “It was sharp,” she said. “And long. He used it to cut my palms.”

  I glanced over at Dryden. “An incantation?”

  He nodded, keeping his gaze on the elf.

  “But that would mean that there are two warlocks,” I said.

  “It appears so.” Dryden leaned in closer, and a blade of hair fell against the edge of his jaw. “Sophie, can you remember anything these men said?”

  Sophie’s gaze lowered to the floor as she tried to remember. “Luna,” she whispered softly. “They kept whispering the word luna.”

  Dryden hung his head in disappointment.

  “What?” I asked. “What is it?”

  “It’s a curse all right,” he said bitterly, “only this one’s permanent.”

  I dug a hand into my hair, suddenly aware of what had happened. So the little elf had been cursed a werewolf. But why? And what was her connection to the potion? It didn’t make sense. I checked my watch. Another hour had passed.

  “Sophie,” I continued, “you said something about this being the first time they came for you. What happened the second time?”

  She wiped her nose. “They came again in the night, only this time it was different.”

  “How so?” I asked.

  “They took all of us.”

  “Who’s ‘all of us’?” I asked.

  “My younger brother, my mother, my father.”

  “Your father?” I thought back to the dead body in the kitchen and exchanged a glance with Dryden. “The elf upstairs,” I said.

  “What elf?” Sophie asked, suddenly hopeful.

  “A tall one,” I said. “With long golden hair and a mole on his cheek. Looked like a real pompous—”

  “My father?” she suddenly said, cutting me off before I could finish. “You found my father?”

  I swallowed, feeling a lump in my throat. “Yeah, you could say that.”

  “Where is he?” she asked. “Can I see him?”

  “Um, sure,” I said. “You can see him; you just can’t talk to him.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s because he’s dead,” I said plainly.

  The elf gasped, her eyes filling with tears. She covered her mouth and began to sob.

  “Excellent idea,” Dryden said.

  “It’s better she knows now rather than later,” I replied.

  As an inquisitor, I’d learned that it was best to tell the family members upfront what had happened to their loved ones. Sure, the initial blow was hard at first. But after a while, they settled down, and the inquisitor was able to get the answers they needed.

  Unfortunately, it appeared Sophie was a slow griever.

  I glanced at my watch, counting the ticks as the young aristocrat wailed in despair. After a couple of minutes, I leaned forward, resting my weight on my knees, and continued. “Who was your father, Sophie?”

  She blew her nose on the collar of Dryden’s jacket and sniffed. “My father is … was François Laurent.”

  François Laurent? I exchanged a glance with Dryden. I knew I had recognized that name. “As in—”

  “Grand Duke François Laurent,” she finished haughtily.

  To my side, Dryden lifted from his seat. “If that’s true … that would mean that you’re a—”

  “Princess.” Sophie raised her chin proudly.

  Now this was unbelievable.

  The grand duke was one of the richest, most powerful citizens in all of Salvation. He had a ringed finger in every pie, from high-end fashion to politics. The fact that he’d been killed would’ve resulted in every newspaper in the city printing about his death.

  Yet strangely, I hadn’t heard a peep. Why? The only way this was possible was if someone was purposely suppressing the information. This almost solidified my belief that there was a traitor in the Order.

  “Sophie,” I continued, “what happened when they took you?”

  “They made me drink something,” she said.

  “Who?” I asked. “The men with no eyes?”

  “No,” she said. “Another man, I think. He was tall and wore a red hood.”

  A red hood? I thought for a moment. Another warlock? Someone more powerful? My breathing stilled as I considered the possibility. If that were true, perhaps this other warlock could be the one I’d been looking for. This … Monarch of Darkness. I leaned forward, anxious to hear more. “Sophie, what else do you remember? Anything at all would help.”

  She thought for a moment. “His gloves.”

  “What about them?” I asked.

  “They were white.”

  I leaned back as I was struck by a wave of unease. In all my life, I’d only come across one group of people who wore white gloves. The Order.

  “Is something wrong?” Dryden asked.

  “No,” I said, ignoring the trembling in my legs. “I’m fine. Sophie, after you took the potion, what happened?”

  She rolled her lips between her teeth as she struggled to remember. “I saw things.”

  “What things?” I asked.

  “The bodies,” she began reluctantly. “They
’d been murdered, slaughtered … by me.” She cupped her face again and began to sob. “Is it true? Am I a werewolf?”

  I exchanged a glance with Dryden, my heart unexpectedly breaking.

  “Please,” she said, her aristocratic shell suddenly shattering as she reached for my hand. “Don’t let them take me again. Please.”

  I held her hand, unsure of what to say.

  Thankfully, Dryden interceded. He steered her hand gently from mine and held it in his hands. “Don’t worry, Your Royal Highness,” he assured her. “We won’t.”

  Sophie turned to me for confirmation, but all I could do was manage a smile.

  The truth was we couldn’t promise her a thing. The warlocks were still out there, and now that I was pretty sure that the Order had been compromised, I couldn’t even turn to my own people for help. No. We were by ourselves on this one.

  My only option now was to keep following the clues.

  So far, this was what I knew: the Laurents—one of Salvation’s oldest and most powerful families—were somehow connected to the Monarch’s possession charm. But how? There was only one way to find out.

  “Sophie,” I said, “can you take me back to the chateau?”

  Dryden scolded me with a stare. “You’ve got to be kidding me. She’s barely safe, and now you want her to return to the place where her family was taken?”

  “It’s the only way we can find the connection between her family and the Monarch.”

  “What about the princess?” he asked. “Surely she’s evidence enough of what’s going on. Why don’t you take her to the Order?”

  “Weren’t you just listening?” I said. “The grand duke and his daughter have been missing for days now, and no one has made a peep. What does that tell you? The Order has clearly been compromised. At this point, I don’t even know who we can trust. To all intents and purposes, we’re on our own. At least for now.”

  I saw the frustration in his face. He was locked in this mess with me now whether he liked it or not.

  “Besides,” I said, “we might get lucky and find the Monarch on our own.”

  “You are crazy,” Dryden said. “I wasn’t sure before, but now I am.”

  “Maybe,” I said, “but you know I’m right. It’s the only place where we’ll be able to find what we need. And you still want me to help you with your little serial killer, right?”