by S. E. Akers
“Has he spoken to you?” I asked.
“He can’t,” Tanner replied. “He can only communicate with you, the one who now claims the diamond, and that’s only if you are holding the stone.”
“So you don’t know for sure if he’s still angry or not?” I submitted optimistically. “Padimae didn’t hold a grudge,” I reminded him. “She was without her powers for centuries too.”
“Padimae wasn’t trapped in a rough diamond the size of a grapefruit and thrown in the ground left to rot for an undetermined amount of time either,” Tanner reminded. “What’s worse was that someone discovered the damn thing not too long after his burial. We’ve kept a watch on it for several years. Some local villagers sensed the stone was sacred and ended up putting it in a shrine. But a diamond that big was bound to catch someone’s eye, especially when the treacherous bastard ended up turning the damn thing blue.” Tanner lowered his head. “It was eventually stolen and then traded on the black market back and forth for centuries. But every time it resurfaced, someone had altered its shape.” Tanner grimaced and added, “Several sizes.”
“But you know where it is — I mean, he is,” I said.
“Yes . . . under the watchful eyes of The Smithsonian and its guards.”
My eyes lit up. I knew exactly what stone he was talking about, thanks to a special section I’d read in my Geology textbook last year. “The Hope Diamond.”
“The very same,” Tanner grinned.
One of the passages charged to the forefront of my brain. “Isn’t it supposedly cursed?”
“I’d be hotter than a hornet too if someone had whacked on me all those years. But yes, that was an unforeseen consequence. Beatrix paid him a visit not too long after he went on display. She informed him that if he harmed one more human, she would hack him up into a thousand pieces and use half of his severed hide to file her fingernails and the rest to scrub her filthiest pots. He’s been on his best behavior since then, but rest assured, not a shred of his wrath has whittled away.”
“Who decides when he’s finished his sentence?”
“You have the power to do it anytime if you wish,” Tanner remarked, “but that should be weighed with your best judgment. Personally, I would wait for a sign from the Guardians.”
“Will a magical billboard appear when I’m driving down the road?” I asked. “Or something less subtle like strangers wearing ‘Free Solomon’ tees?” Sarcastic or not, I kind of wanted something unmistakably clear — no interpretive visions or vague dreams. This one destiny needed to spell out for my own safety. I remembered Damiec’s vengeful rant-turned-rumble. I wasn’t looking for a painful repeat, though I did feel all those suffering souls out there deserved a second-lease on life — a second-lease they were originally promised by the Guardians.
Tanner yielded a shrug. “That I can’t say. Erion should be the one to order his release.”
“How can he do that if he can’t leave the borders of The Veil without his stone? A lost stone at that?”
“If he could get word to you through one of his messengers, then you would have that black & white answer you desire,” Tanner assured.
“He has messengers?” My mind conjured up a hopeful image of a brown-winged UPS man. I would even settle for a mystical yellow telegram drifting down out of the sky written in invisible ink, old-fashioned or not.
“Yes, all the Guardians have them,” Tanner reconfirmed. “They’re magical Veil beings they left here to act as their eyes and ears.”
Suspicion humped one of my brows. “Like spies?” I posed.
“Worse,” he harrumphed. “Faeries.”
So it seemed today was all about surprises. “REAL faeries?” I blurted.
“As real as any other creature,” he vowed. “There are billions floating around out there. Each one has been commissioned to keep tabs on every creature roaming the earth. Everyone has a faery linked to them, both human and supernatural.”
Suddenly my neck started shooting with prickly twinges. It could’ve been merely a crazy coincidence, but I gave my skin several paranoid rubs anyway.
“Do they hang around all the time?” I questioned. Having Helio inside me felt intrusive enough, I wasn’t sure I liked the idea of something else playing piggyback. A shiver ran down my spine. Just watching me?
“No, not as much as they used to when Gaia’s presence was still here in earth’s realm. She was charged with corralling them. It didn’t matter what elemental bond a faery claimed, they all saw her as their mother.”
“What are they like?” Surely they all weren’t the embodiment of Thumbelina or Tinker Bell.
Tanner locked the sapphire back in its glass fortress and then headed for the spiral staircase without missing a beat. He rounded the steps up to the third level and then commenced with a purposeful stroll down the long line of books. His hunt came to an end almost a quarter of the way, where he pulled a hefty volume off the shelf. The “F”s, I assumed. After a speedy flick through the first few of its pages, he flagged a section, closed it tight, and then tossed the mammoth manual down to me with a last-second, “Catch.”
I snatched the dusty volume into my arms with a cough and carted it over to a round table positioned in the center of the room. I stood over the book and opened it to the marked section, still fanning away the suffocating cloud. Sure enough, pages and pages detailing faeries and their functions lay before my wide eyes, but there wasn’t the first picture to be found — not anywhere. My speedy scan did uncover the lowdown on their elemental classifications. Sylph fairies embodied the air… Sprites commanded fire… Nymphs drew their abilities from water… And the magic a Pixie claimed stemmed from the powers rooted in the earth. It seemed their powers embodied a lot of the same magic as the Guardians, but were limited in strength and scale — like an anthill that envied a mountain. I read a particular passage aloud.
Well that explained why there weren’t any recorded pictures. I lifted my head. “That seems harsh.”
Tanner let out an abrupt laugh. “Not harsh enough.”
“You don’t like a lot of beings, do you?”
“Oh, I tolerate A LOT,” he replied. “But faeries, Argh . . . They’ve done nothing but run amuck since Gaia’s exile. Just who do you think has been ensuring the success rate of all the witches performing their white magic spells?”
“Really? So can a faery give someone not blessed with nature’s spark a leg up?” I probed.
“Yes.”
I continued, “And any old random person could successfully perform spells if their bonded faery took a shine to them?”
The responding nods his head rocked out were turbulent. “That’s exactly what I’m saying,” he confirmed.
I am never telling Katie this — EVER.
A foul grunt furthered his sentiments. “True witches and sorcerers are fully capable of producing results on their own, but with the aid of those meddling magic-makers, their abilities have flourished out of control. There is no balance in the earth’s magic anymore, and the situation is becoming just as disturbing as The Veil’s. You can’t dole out that kind of power without there being consequences down the road. It does nothing but push the limits of their wants. Then their greed takes over and makes them crave even more power. Witches can’t be trusted, Shiloh . . . and you’ll have nothing to do with them.”
Guilt averted my stare. Here it was: my last chance to fess up about Katie and her living arrangements and I just couldn’t do it.
“What’s wrong?” Tanner questioned.
Busted. “Even Padimae?” I asked, partly for a diversion. “I thought you were on good terms with her now?” It sure seemed that way down in that cave.
“I owe nothing to Padimae. The amethyst I gave her was repayment enough,” he assured. “She may have proven her worth a few times, but I would prefer that you limited your contact with her as well.”
I sighed. “You don’t have to worry about that. The voodoo doll is destroyed, so I can’t contact her.
” Oh yeah, that witch-related confession I coughed up. I figured he was due one, and to him it would be “great news”. And maybe a part of me thought my admission would cancel out the score. Caelum - 1 — The Darklands - 1
“I won’t pretend I’m not pleased,” he remarked, grin blazing.
I let out an amused sigh. “I wouldn’t expect you to.”
Tanner cleared his throat, which was his way of putting the kibosh on our witch-debate. “The majority of your time will be spent in this room, despite the rigors of your physical training,” he vowed. “I want you fully aware of the many long hours ahead of you. Your utmost focus is essential. ”
I nodded my agreement, despite the impending weariness besieging my muscles — the ones encircling my eyes in particular. Eighteen hours of college courses felt like a far-off vacation. With the demands of my schedule considered, my first order of business was seeking out a stone or potion that could rocket my adrenals like a magical shot of 5-Hour Energy.
“Anything else?” I posed, almost afraid to.
The thoughtful blink his eyes flashed had me bracing for what I feared would result in a skittish cringe. “Now that you mention it, there is one more thing.” He walked over to a cluster of drawers and started shuffling through one of them.
Okay, it can’t be too bad, I assured myself while giving the panorama of books another sweep. It’s not another collective series lining a shelf like a never-ending road.
“What is it?”
“A stone . . . per se,” Tanner revealed and then tossed the mystery item onto the table.
My gaze fell towards the tabletop where a bright yellow box had landed. Out of all the things I’d discovered today—time held secrets, tales of monsters and beings, magical devices and fearsome weapons—this was the last thing my eyes ever thought they would see.
I held up the package and then flipped it around. “Rosetta Stone?” I questioned.
Tanner’s smile was so thick those perfect lips of his were stuck to his daggone teeth.
I nodded to the smaller script. “The Latin edition,” I called out, my brows stretched.
“You’ll need it for the incantations,” he explained.
I tossed the box back down on the table and locked my hands on my hips. “You know, Bea did teach me some.”
“I know,” he nodded, “enough to get you by.” Tanner looked strangely mindful about what he was about to say. “But she didn’t stress the most important part.”
I pursed my lips and lowered my head. Oh, I knew good ’n well what was comin’, just from the hint of tiptoe guiding his tone.
“The enunciation,” he confirmed.
My head sprang up like a bouncy rubber ball. I knew it. I couldn’t be too offended (I supposed). Honestly? How many true southerners actually gave a flying-flip if their accent didn’t musically enrapture one’s ears like the graceful plucks of a harp? We preferred a more friendly-casual and direct tune out of our instruments, like the welcoming strike of get-your-attention dinner bells.
My lips flattened as I scooped up the box for another look. “Is my articulation really that bad?” I knew it wasn’t of the silver-tongued variety, but I thought it at least deserved a bronze.
Tanner took a cautious step closer. “I wouldn’t call it bad . . . just slightly off-key for dead languages.”
I may have been staring my mentor square in the face, but the mental mirage my mind had just conjured sure looked a helluva lot like Simon-freaking-Cowell standing there running his mouth.
“So I’m pitchy?” I surmised and tossed the box back to him.
“Not necessarily pitchy,” he corrected in mid-catch. “More like too relaxed. Latin commands a strong voice and a finessing tongue to be spoken correctly.”
My poker-face remained engaged. I wasn’t about to touch the slippery slope of that particular appendage. “Ah,” I replied, feeling my snarky-side ready to save me by grabbing the reins. “Then it’s sloppy.” My head slanted to the side, now in line with the acute angle of my gaze. “Or is lazy a better fit?”
“Whoa! Now you’re putting words in my mouth,” he defended. “I never said that. Just think of it as the cosmos having highly sensitive ears. Its best to bend to it, than hope it follows your sway.”
I couldn’t argue with that and found myself growing more aggravated by the number of times he was right. “Fine,” I agreed. “Where’s a computer?” Tanner kept his eyes on me as he motioned to a remote corner of the room. Sure enough, a sleek iMac was sitting on top of an antique desk with its “ON” button practically begging for a punch.
Tanner placed the box down on the table and then approached with a calculated and alluring stride. “And for the record . . . Some people might find that southern drawl charming.”
“Some people, huh?” I posed dryly, though heavy on the accent. He wasn’t going to squirm his way out of this one so easy, no matter how sultry his damn swagger.
My mentor licked his bottom lip into a smile. “Yes . . . Some.”
Awww shit… Before I could completely lose myself in that tantalizing twinkle I spied sparkling in his eyes, Silas just happened to stroll into the room. If I wasn’t the reigning queen of bad-timing or currently holding one of the top-five spots on the Universe’s Most-Fun-to-Screw-with List, I would swear there were cameras hidden everywhere in this joint. However, this was one time (for the sake of my caving hormones) that I completely didn’t mind.
“Pardon the interruption, Professor Grey, but your presence has been requested topside.”
My mentor’s head fell into an annoyed tip. “Let me guess . . . Maria?” he sighed.
“She wouldn’t leave,” Silas insisted. “Even when I expressly explained who was trolling the shores. I must admit, she is a pertinacious filly.”
If a secret codebook about women actually existed, there was one bylaw you could set your watch to: nothing perks up a chick’s ears like another chick’s name. My curiosity was bubbling about who this “Maria” was, but my self-imposed vow to play cool & casual couldn’t wane, even though I was d-y-i-n-g to know. Though I did find some comfort in Tanner’s furrowed brow. Irritated was a good match to his mood.
Dear Cosmos, Thanks for another solid — Shiloh
“I’m well aware of your tight schedule, Professor Grey, so I would be more than happy to continue showing Ms. Wallace around so you can tend to your latest guest,” Silas volunteered.
The Cosmos giveth and then it taketh away…
Tanner accepted Silas’ offer with a nod and then turned to me. “I won’t be long,” he assured. His steps were swift as he charged towards the door. “I’ll meet the two of you downstairs in ten.”
TEN WHOLE MINUTES, I grumbled quietly, knowing that amount of alone-time with the house bastard would assuredly feel more like ten years of wise-cracking hell. Lovely. I glanced over at my new tour guide to spy him studying the Rosetta Stone box lying on the table. He scooped it up and started reading the back cover. His finger trailed each sentence back and forth repeatedly. As soon as he’d finished, Silas tossed the software program back on the table and dusted off his hands.
“Pity,” the house steward began, shaking his head. “It doesn’t claim a one-hundred percent guarantee. Oh, well . . . Que sera, sera.” My chance for a swift comeback was interrupted when he clicked his heels together with an authoritative “snap”. “Ready for the last leg, Ms. Wallace?”
I’d barely cracked open my mouth before he spun around and started strutting out of the room, whistling. That didn’t bother me, but his choice of Show-Tunes sure-as-shit did. It was a song from My Fair Lady … and I was sooo not amused.
I shook my head as I followed behind ole Henry Higgins. This one wasn’t going under the rug.
“You know, Silas . . . despite my age, my knowledge of pre-millennia pop culture stretches back a ways. I know THAT SONG.”
Silas stopped and turned with a frolicsome pivot. “Then please, Ms. Wallace, do feel free to put those puckered lips o
f yours to some use or perhaps you can even sing along?” he suggested and then resumed the little ditty on a much more lively note. The ass even picked up the tempo.
My hands clenched into two nail-digging fists as I shadowed his trail. Even my steps felt as raw as the sting burning my palms. Oh, take my word for it. With the thoughts swirling in my head, somewhere in The Darklands, some loathsome creature was about to find themselves extremely well-fed.
CHAPTER 6
My patience was completely spent by the time we had reached our journey’s end. Any more rounds of his waggish melody and I would have “Rained his Spain” real nice.
Silas maneuvered in front of a door and tightened his hand around its knob suspensefully. “Professor Grey saved the best for last.”
My fixed glare was as stony as the floor. “I have no doubt.”
The house steward opened the door with a thrust and then ushered me into the dark chamber. Dim would have been maneuverable, but there was barely enough light to see three-feet in front of me. I could have lent a little illumination to my surroundings, but after considering my present company, I simply didn’t care.
“Wait here, Ms. Wallace, while I tend to the lights. I shall only be a moment,” Silas assured and then disappeared into the shadowy haze.
“Please,” I stressed, “Take as much time as you need.” My feet shuffled a few steps forward where I found myself on much mushier ground. The floor had a surprising amount of give to it, pushing back on my Asics gently and adding more wobble to my increasingly uneasy gait. I scoured my brain, sorting through both hemispheres until a familiar tactile memory had been located. My theory had no sooner finished taking shape when the chamber illuminated in one heck of a jolting blink, which just proved that being right sucked ninety-nine percent of the time.