by Cory Barclay
Constantin nodded. “Fair enough. I thank you, leprechaun.”
The mood in the room seemed to shift. There was a change in the air surrounding the revolutionaries. Things were chaotic and dangerous, but it seemed everyone had a part.
To make sure, Steve said, “Lady Moonstone, you will bring forth the wrath of nature?” He didn’t know what that meant, but it sounded good.
The dryad nodded. “I will.”
Steve turned to Geddon and Selestria. “And you two will stay peaceful long enough for all this to happen?”
They both nodded. Selestria said, “I will help round up the Vagrant Kinship leaders for you, Steven. Together, we can dream-leap to them and call upon our allies.”
Steve turned to Aiden. “You focus on getting the gold here, so we can pay the soldiers in our army.”
“Right-o, mate.”
“This all needs to happen with haste, if we’re to have any chance of survival, much less victory,” Constantin said.
Steve said, “Indeed it does. So let’s get to work. But before we do, I’d like a word in private with you, Constantin.”
The vampire frowned and hesitated. Then he nodded solemnly. He walked toward the library near the stairs. Steve followed him into the room.
Once alone, Steve said, “Besides summoning the Kinship, I want a guarantee from you.”
“A guarantee?” Constantin asked incredulously. “What do I owe you, Steve Remington? You are doing this out of self-preservation as much as we all are.”
Steve buried his growing anger. Taking a deep breath, he said, “You will owe me, Constantin. My primary purpose in all this is to get your daughter out of the clutches of that family.”
Constantin narrowed his eyes.
Steve tried a different approach. “I am the best dream-leaper in this household. I can call on the Vagrants quicker and more efficiently than anyone else. You need me, Lord Bloodstone.” He used the vampire’s Brethren title, trying to prop him up a little bit.
It seemed to work. Constantin paused and took a moment to mull over Steve’s words. Then he said, “What is it you want, boy?”
Steve prepared himself. He was dead tired and needed sleep, probably as much as the vampire before him. But he couldn’t leave this room without getting the guarantee he’d been seeking for ages. He actually wished he’d brought someone in here to witness what he was about to say . . .
“Hmm?” Constantin asked, when it seemed Steve had dozed off.
Steve stared into the vampire’s piercing gray eyes. “When this is all said and done, I want you to allow Annabel to be with me.”
Constantin tried to hide his shock, but he was a poor actor. His jaws tightened and his neck went rigid. He slightly bared his teeth, enough so his sharp cuspids showed.
Before the vampire could think of a response, Steve let the words flow like a torrential rain. “We love each other, Constantin. All she’s ever wanted was to make you proud of the woman she’s become. And you should be proud. She’s wonderful, intelligent, and most importantly, entirely capable of deciding what she wants in life. And she wants me. And I want her. Let us be together, as we’re meant to be, so we can escape the madness of this place, once and for all. You can’t contain her forever, even though I know you’d like to. She is too independent for that. As long as you restrain her, she will continue to rebel against you. Eventually, you’ll cross a line you didn’t intend to, and you may lose her forever. Is that what you want? You know the type of person I am, and the type of person Tiberius Reynolds is. Do you truly wish for her to be with him, rather than me? Simply because I’m a human?”
The fury on Constantin’s face shifted, slowly but surely. As Steve’s spiel wore on, Constantin’s eyes became softer. By the time Steve was done and out of breath, Constantin had a shadow of a smirk at the edge of his lips.
Steve panted and heaved, continuing to stare into the vampire’s eyes.
The wait was excruciating.
Finally, Constantin spoke.
“No, Steve Remington—”
Steve’s heart immediately sank.
The vampire continued. “No, I don’t wish for Annabel to be with Tiberius, and I don’t think he is a better man than you. If you can help us in all this, you will prove your gallantry. You already have shown it, if I’m being honest. By forsaking your own safety for a world that does not care for you, you have shown your valor and bravery. You are not the sniveling, lustful degenerate I originally thought you were, Steve Remington.” Finally, Constantin did smile. “You might even be close to becoming a good man.”
Steve’s mouth fell open. He couldn’t feel his own skin. All the debate points he’d stored in his head fluttered away, leaving his mind empty. He recovered, though, and smiled wistfully. “I wouldn’t go that far, Con.”
Constantin’s smile immediately vanished.
“Sorry,” Steve said, showing his palms. Maybe it wasn’t the time to start making up nicknames. “But . . . you’ll allow it?”
Constantin nodded. “I will.” The softness on his face fell away, and he seemed stern and serious once more. “How will you recover her, though?”
“I’ve had an idea brewing for a little while now . . . but I’ll need to speak with your house brownie, Lig, if that’s all right with you.”
Constantin arched his brow. “How could Lig possibly help you?”
Steve smiled. “You underestimate the little fellow, my friend. That tiny dude might be the key to everything . . .”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“Annabel’s marriage to Tiberius was supposed to stop the animosity between our families,” Jareth explained to his wife. She rolled her eyes at him. She didn’t need an explanation of the circumstances surrounding their son’s union.
Jareth paced the master bedroom of his estate, one hand knuckled under his chin as he thought aloud.
“You pushed too hard, husband,” Dosira said, shaking her head.
Jareth stopped in his tracks and looked like he’d been struck. “Pushed too hard? I gave those ungrateful bastards seats on the Council!” His eyes flared orange in rage.
Dosira’s cold blue eyes met his red fury. “The Council seats were not yours to give, if you recall. Besides, that action benefited us as much as it did them, if not more. You would not have been able to usurp Overseer Malachite without the Lees’ help, in case you’ve forgotten.”
Jareth muttered something unintelligible under his breath. He waved her away, as if that would make her words less true. She sat on the edge of the bed, legs crossed, every bit the picture of calmness. Meanwhile, her husband stirred around like a firecracker ready to explode. Dosira had been in this predicament many times before. She’d married an Ifrit, by choice, and in the past she’d always been able to soothe his anger. It was partly what made them so compatible: she was the yen to his yang; the water to his fire.
But this seemed different.
Perhaps it was because Jareth was in control now, being the Brethren Overseer. With heightened responsibility came heightened anxiety. The issue with the Vagrant Kinship was the last obstacle before Jareth had total authority over Soreltris.
But in Dosira’s heart she knew this wasn’t different because of anything concerning Jareth. It was her own mind and identity that gave her prudence. Her willingness to go along with Jareth’s schemes was waning. Her psyche had changed.
She was learning to be human, she supposed, due to taking Richard Remington’s soul. It was a newfound well of empathy she wasn’t used to drinking from. It sprung from some spiritual place, deep inside her.
Jareth’s plots seemed . . . trivial and petty. Getting rid of the Vagrants seemed like an insignificant, trifling matter.
“What are you thinking?” Jareth asked suddenly, studying Dosira’s slack face. When Dosira glanced up at him, he narrowed his eyes and said, “You’re wearing a face I haven’t seen you wear before.”
“Are you accusing me of something, husband?” she demanded, trying to bury the soft, bene
volent voice inside her, before it shamed her. She hadn’t gotten to where she was because of her tenderness.
“Should I be?” Jareth shot back.
The voice inside Dosira got a bit louder. She said, “I simply think you’re wasting your time on inconsequential matters. With the Vagrant Kinship’s leader dead and the rest of them in disarray, you should focus your attention on . . . the bigger picture.”
“Don’t tell me what I should focus on, woman,” Jareth snapped, beginning to pace the room again. “You forget yourself. I needn’t remind you that I am the Overseer. Not you.”
Dosira squinted as she began to lose her calm demeanor. With Jareth’s fiery temper came the occasional outburst. But he was nearing an invisible line he didn’t want to cross. Jareth’s proclamation of his power was more than ego stroking: it was a painful reminder that men held the power.
Not long ago, that wasn’t the case. Not long ago, the women had control over the Council and its constituents. But they’d handed that power over to their husbands and men, so the lords could go play at war and politics. Sometimes, that was all they seemed good for, men. And oftentimes, they even failed at those things! The matriarchy had nurtured and nursed Soreltris to peaceful times, over a span of decades. And now the men were threatening to destroy everything the women had built, in half the time.
Dosira found herself shaking her head. She refused to be talked down to like a subordinate, even if she technically was one. She was still the most powerful woman in Soreltris. She still had wisdom to bestow, if only she could make Jareth hear it.
Rather than succumb to her husband’s wishes, she doubled down. “Your principal concern should be the future of Soreltris, Jareth.”
Jareth beelined for the bed, stopping when he was just inches from her. He moved so quickly he caused Dosira to flinch. His eyes burned with passion and anger. “I know that!” he hissed. “And to do that, I must eradicate any and all nuisances. That’s what the Kinship is, Dosira: pests. They must be exterminated.” He took a deep breath and continued to pace as he stared at the ground.
A moment later, Dosira said, “What if they were just . . . fumigated?”
Jareth perked his head up. “What?”
“I daresay every Vagrant Kinship member is not equally impassioned to the cause. In fact, I’d wager there are many who see the dethroning of Overseer Malachite as a good thing. They’re not all zealots.”
“But the zealous ones infect the rest,” Jareth said, speaking slowly, as if he were talking to a child.
“So you would kill them all?”
Jareth shrugged. “It’s the only way to be sure another resistance doesn’t spring up. Insurrection must be dealt with swiftly and surely.”
Dosira frowned. Her head swam with the implications of Jareth’s decree. Sniffing out and eradicating every Vagrant member could take years. It could be a lifelong pursuit that could be futile, in the end. “I don’t think it’s wise to dedicate so much of your time and resources to this cause, husband. But if that is your will . . . I will support it.”
Jareth had been ready to pounce on her again, until the latter half of her sentence. Then he closed his mouth and nodded gravely. “Good,” he said.
She still didn’t agree with his idea—even though she might have in the past—but she was tired of arguing. Once Jareth’s mind was made up, there was no changing it. She knew part of Jareth’s stratagem was predicated on Overseer Malachite’s failure to do anything about the Vagrants. Jareth wanted to be better than his predecessor. Even if it was only being better at death and destruction.
Someone knocked at the door.
When Jareth opened it, a servant stood before him. He bowed low, then stepped aside and said, “Lady Jade and Lord Sunstone, my liege.”
“Where’s Lord Obsidian?” Jareth asked when the two Council members entered the room.
Lord Sunstone’s eyes hovered over Jareth’s shoulders, at the Parallel Reflector behind him. The mirror was stashed behind the bed.
The elf called Sunstone wore his long blond hair in a ponytail that reached the small of his back. He was slender, tall, and dressed in brown and green leather hide, typical garb of a forest dweller. A broach held his hair together, his namesake’s stone embedded in it, orange and bright. A beautiful wooden recurve bow was slung across his back.
Lady Jade wore a red and gold kimono that swept the ground. Her jet-black hair fell straight to her shoulders and her bangs nearly covered her eyes. Her face was painted white like a geisha’s. The beautiful yōkai demon folded her hands in front of her in a submissive gesture. But Dosira knew the widow Jade was anything but meek, which was why she had been called here in the middle of the night.
“Lord Obsidian is indisposed, Overseer,” Lord Sunstone said with a simple bow to his master. “His dwarven kinfolk informed me.” He turned to Dosira on the bed and gave her a deeper, more lavish bow of respect.
Jareth growled to himself. “Dammit. I have tasks for all three of you.”
The elf said, “Well, I am here, my lord. And ready to serve.”
Lady Jade said nothing in response to that—neither agreeing nor disagreeing. It was telling, in Dosira’s estimation. She’d have to keep a close eye on the yōkai.
“Right,” Jareth said, crossing his arms over his chest. He opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it and furrowed his brow. “Where is your wife?” he asked, clearly not the first question on his mind.
Lord Sunstone sighed, his fine, unwrinkled face creasing for the first time. He hesitated. “She . . . deserted us, my lord. I hoped to send her to the Vagrants as a spy, but it appears she has in fact switched sides.”
Jareth’s mouth fell open. “That bitch!”
Sunstone’s golden eyes shot to Jareth and held, his face hardening. “She’s still my wife, Overseer Onyx,” he said in a low, warning voice.
“Why has she abandoned us?” the Overseer asked.
Lord Sunstone shrugged. “She does not agree with the war you propose, my lord. She believes it will be ill-suited for nature.”
“It isn’t a war,” Jareth said, scoffing. “It’s a cleansing. A . . . fumigation.” He glanced over to his wife on the bed, who eyed him strangely. She couldn’t be sure if his word choice was used to mock her, agree with her, or as a way to lightly say “massacre.”
Lord Sunstone shrugged. Eager to change the subject, he said, “And how may I be of assistance in this ‘fumigation’?”
“Your elves are the best trackers in Soreltris—”
“In Mythicus, my lord,” he interjected, pride beaming from his face.
“Yes . . . well. I would have you organize an outfit suited to tracking down the Vagrant stragglers.”
“And would you have me snuff them out?” Lord Sunstone asked nonchalantly. This was the same man who had killed a fellow elf when he’d found out he was a rebel.
Jareth shook his head. “Lord Obsidian is to be my army’s general. He will take care of battle preparations. I only want you to root them out and pinpoint their locations.”
“Very well,” Sunstone said, slightly bowing. Then he paused. “However,” he began, “I believe you needn’t look far to find a flock of them.”
Jareth raised his eyebrows.
Sunstone smiled devilishly. “I am Bound to my wife,” he said. “Even if she doesn’t wish to be an agent on our behalf, I know where she’s gone: to Lord Bloodstone and Lady Tourmaline’s abode.”
Jareth flared his nostrils at the mention of Constantin and Mariana Lee. “Don’t call them that, dammit. They are no longer part of this Council and aren’t deserving of their titles.”
Lord Sunstone looked confused. “Is their daughter not still married to your son?”
“Yes. But it’s no matter.” Jareth waved off the concerned look on the elf’s face. “While we have their daughter, those vampires wouldn’t dare attack my household. Regardless of their proximity to me.”
“She is a hostage, then?” Lady Jade asked, s
peaking for the first time. She had a slight Japanese accent.
Jareth shook his head profusely. “No, no,” he said, trying to backpedal. “I only mean they wouldn’t risk any harm coming to their beloved child.”
Lady Jade frowned. “You seemed to imply something else,” she said, unwilling to let the point go.
Dosira eyed Lady Jade. She remembered the slight woman never being one to back down. In the past, she’d been one of the most powerful members of the Council. As the only widow and the eleventh member, she’d muddled the balance of the court. Whenever a vote had been deadlocked, Lady Jade had always had the deciding call. She’d often make sure to withhold her casting until the end, so she could retain that power. A few astute members of the Council believed she’d had a hand in her husband’s death, but she was never publicly accused.
Needless to say, she wasn’t easily reprimanded. She would stand her ground.
It infuriated Jareth. He tried to keep his composure, but Dosira could see he was coming apart at the seams. Through clenched teeth, he said, “I meant no such thing, Lady Jade. Though it’s not my prerogative to explain myself to you.”
“Quite right,” Lady Jade said easily. “You’ve explained Lord Sunstone’s mission, Overseer Onyx. What would you have me do?”
Jareth was happy to change the subject. “You recall the recent letter I sent you, with names and addresses marked down.”
“I do,” Jade said. “Though I was a bit confused by the names.”
“Those are rendezvous points. They are Terrusian locales.”
Lade Jade’s eyes flickered wide. Jareth got immense satisfaction at seeing her momentarily flustered.
“Terrus, you say . . .” she muttered, trailing off. Dosira noticed Jade had glanced at the Parallel Reflector behind Jareth.
Jareth suppressed his smirk. Before he could say anything, Dosira interjected from the bed.
“Your task is perhaps most important of all, Lady Jade,” she said.
The Overseer said, “My wife is correct. I would have you go to Terrus with an escort of blackguards, to meet with Brethren emissaries. You will meet these representatives at the rendezvous points in San Diego and Orange County—the bulk of Soreltris.”