Faerie Lords Boxset

by Isabella August

  For the first time since she’d originally stumbled into Montreal, bloody and maddened, Zoe was truly running on empty. The man that had haunted her nightmares for years had seemingly resurrected from the dead, but there was no fear in her; she didn’t have the energy. That, she thought, was a very bad sign.

  Dorian, thank god, was his usual blank slate; not a single emotion escaped the perfect vault of his mind. The best that Zoe could manage was to screw her eyes tightly shut and focus on that blank spot, praying that some of the emotions around her would eventually ease.

  “I’m gonna kill that motherfucker someday.” Jasmine’s voice suddenly broke the silence.

  “If you intend to have any more success than those who have made previous attempts on his life, then you will have to be far more careful,” Simon said. There was a dark, bleak humor to his tone that Zoe had never heard before. “Incriminating yourself in front of La Voûte is a poor start, detective.”

  Jasmine considered him for a moment. “Is that meant to be actual advice?” she asked. “I can’t tell.”

  Simon shook his head slowly. “I don’t know,” he replied. “I’m not feeling myself right now. It seemed the thing to say for some reason.” Zoe slitted her eyes open. The warlock had pressed his forehead against the top of his clenched-together hands.

  Jasmine turned her attention to Zoe. “You okay?” she asked reluctantly. It was a token of the detective’s carefully-hidden core of decency that she still managed to find a drop of concern for someone else, in her state.

  Zoe swallowed. Every last fiber of her body and mind desperately wanted to sleep, to make the whole world go away. But that flurry of nearby emotion flashed against her senses like a painful fluorescent light, denying her even the brief reprieve of oblivion. The idea of moving, of opening her mouth to respond, seemed almost beyond comprehension.

  “…tired.” The soft whisper took a monumental force of will.

  Jasmine seemed to realize the effort it had taken. She reached out to touch Zoe’s shoulder softly. The direct touch of her fear and shame made Zoe jerk away instinctively, as though she’d been burned. Dizziness assaulted her again, and she shut her eyes against the window with a faint whimper.

  The detective blinked, startled. She reached out again, intent on searching for an injury — but thankfully, Dorian spoke before she could touch Zoe again.

  “I believe that Zoe has experienced an injury to her mind,” Dorian informed her coolly. “Further stimuli may be upsetting, detective.”

  Jasmine slowly retracted her hand. Zoe wilted with wordless relief. “Did that piece of shit—”

  “No,” Dorian cut her off. “Monseigneur did not have any part in this. Which is not to say that he is not guilty of many, many other things.” He paused, considering. “…I fear that you have an outsized impression of your capabilities, detective. It is true that you have killed one vampire already — and a powerful one, at that. But monseigneur is not a creature of mere strength. He is cunning, and he has many resources at his disposal. You continue to live only because he finds you entertaining… and possibly useful.”

  Zoe heard Jasmine’s teeth click together as she set her jaw. “Of the two of us,” she said, “I think you might be the one who’s mistaken my capabilities. The last leech that underestimated me died pretty quick. The way I see it, Jean Belmont is in the middle of making the same fucking mistake.”

  Dorian very rarely deigned to give advice. Even more rarely did he do so for free. Most people Zoe knew would have shut their mouths, listened closely, and thanked him for the privilege.

  But then… she wasn’t entirely certain that Jasmine was wrong. Dorian had grown used to a certain level of respect from the supernatural community; he saw the world through that lens, whether he realized it or not. By comparison, Zoe had spent the last few years being laughed off and dismissed by every self-important creature that had ever crossed her path, simply because she seemed to be mortal. She had magic up her sleeve, of course… but even on her best day, Zoe realized, she would never have wanted to measure herself against Jasmine Basak. The foul-mouthed detective had more steel in her soul than most witches… and a startling, unhesitating capacity for violence, when something convinced her it was necessary.

  Zoe wasn’t sure she’d bet on Jasmine outright, between the two. But she was pretty sure that on the day that the seigneur finally went too far, Jasmine Basak was going to surprise him.

  “I’m getting out here,” Jasmine said bluntly. “Thanks for the ride.” As the car slowed, she glanced toward Zoe. “Is she gonna be all right?”

  “She’ll be fine,” Simon said. There was an odd hardness in his voice as he said it. “I’ll make sure of it.”

  Jasmine nodded. She pushed her way out of the car. If the detective then slammed the door behind her just a little bit harder than necessary, Zoe wasn’t sure that she blamed her.

  Simon took a long, deep breath. “I’m grating on her somehow, aren’t I?” he asked. The question was addressed to Dorian. “That’s why I had to leave while she did her spell.”

  Dorian didn’t contradict him. “Zoe has always disliked crowds, and strong displays of emotion.” It was the sort of technical bullshit non-answer that allowed him to pretend that he didn’t know why.

  Simon let out his breath. Zoe watched as he tried again to tame the storm in his aura. “I would walk,” he said. “But I’m… concerned.” He paused, as his agitation slipped away from him once again. “You know why.”

  “I suspect,” Dorian replied blithely. “There is a world of difference between guessing and knowing.”

  “The obfuscation spell was better this time,” Simon said. “I didn’t notice a thing until Zoe got rid of it.” His aura calmed somewhat. He had chosen helpless despair over anger. “…the first time, there was still a smudge. I know the feel of that magic. It’s the same. The same person.”

  “The timing of your affections has been most inopportune, Simon,” Dorian observed dryly. “In case it needs saying directly, I am most displeased that your past may have become a threat to my—” He paused, struggling for a moment. “…employee.”

  Simon’s aura dropped more deeply into anguish. “J’avoue,” he mumbled, in soft agreement. He managed to sound so absolutely wretched on the word that Zoe forced herself to speak again.

  “Not… your past,” Zoe managed hoarsely. “Not… just yours.”

  Simon looked at her sharply. Confusion flickered across his eyes. “I’m not sure I understand what you mean by that,” he said apologetically. Zoe struggled upright, fighting through a desperate spiritual malaise.

  She breathed in sharply. “Malcolm.”

  The name hit Simon like a thunderbolt. He stared at her. “…what?”

  Dorian glanced at him, his brow knitted. “Who is Malcolm?” he asked.

  Simon instinctively opened his mouth to respond… and flinched in sudden pain. A ripple of warning wracked his aura as his promise took its toll. “Oh — tabarnak,” he swore harshly. “Um. I can’t… say.”

  Dorian frowned deeply. “You can’t?” he murmured. “Or… you can’t?”

  “You will have to suspect again, I’m afraid,” Simon managed faintly. He pressed his hand to his heart, rubbing lightly at his chest.

  “And does this knowledge give you enough direction to handle the problem?” Dorian asked.

  Simon closed his eyes tightly. “No. It does not. But it is quite a step forward.” A strange mixture of hope and guilt rose within him. His heavy, terrible question had finally been answered… but Simon would hate himself for feeling relieved at such an awful time. Zoe deeply wished he would allow himself the moment — but instead, he shoved it down, avoiding it. “Zoe will need to remain behind wards tonight. I would prefer mine. Hers are impressive, but my power is not of the appropriate nature to strengthen them.”

  “Perhaps she would be better off further away from you,” Dorian speculated, in a perfectly neutral tone. “Perhaps in that case, s
he would be no target at all.”

  Simon pressed his lips together, unable to answer. Wearily, Zoe spared him the pain. “I’m a target,” she rasped. “My wards… aren’t best.”

  Malcolm was a Scorpio — his tradecraft would afford him special insight into another Scorpio’s wards. Worse… he had taught her almost everything she knew about magic in the first place. The idea of pitting a master against his own student’s wards seemed laughable.

  Simon’s magic, by comparison, would be utterly alien to her old mentor. Dark, secretive magic did not fare well against warmth and blazing light.

  If Zoe was being completely honest with herself… she needed that light right now in more ways than one. A dull, distant part of her had almost given up completely, when she’d realized that Malcolm wasn’t dead after all. That part of her still whispered terrible things. That she ought to give up, stop fighting entirely. If Malcolm got his hands on her again, he would almost certainly pick up where he’d left off, experimenting to see what other power he could give her.

  The game was proof of that — it had been a test of her magic that she couldn’t refuse to pass. Malcolm wanted to know that she was still strong… that he could use her and her magic as an appropriate stand-in for himself, to see what was possible.

  She couldn’t be the reason for another person’s death. Not again. Not ever.

  A cold, cowardly part of her wanted to end it all before Malcolm could make that happen. But Zoe knew what that would do to Simon — to Dorian. For once, Dorian’s cool, blank aura was no help; she supposed that he loved her, but perhaps he didn’t. There was no proof of it in his soul that she could see. Perhaps, she could convince herself, he would be fine without her. Surely, La Voûte would carry on, conducting his business as usual.

  There was no such denial in the face of Simon’s emotions. Even his awful, smothering grief was still a reminder of what death could do to people. Like a painful splinter under her skin, he would keep her from giving in until she could find the strength to walk herself back out of this awful, nihilistic place.

  Dorian leaned back into his seat. He was displeased, she knew. There was no mark of it on his aura, but it was written all over his posture. “Bon,” he muttered. “She’ll stay with you. I shall spend tonight calling in favors, though. By tomorrow, I will have other arrangements.”

  Simon remained silent. Zoe knew that he had little to no intention of handing her off to someone else. A tiny, uncharitable part of her wondered whether Simon knew that she was his best chance at vengeance. As long as she was nearby, his wife’s murderer was bound to walk straight into his sights.

  But no — that wasn’t Simon. The greater part of her knew that. Simon felt anger. He was capable of hurting people, when it was necessary to protect others. But however hurt and bewildered he was, he wasn’t capable of cold, premeditated murder. Neither was he capable of dangling someone out like bait to achieve his ends — he was certainly nothing like Jean Belmont.

  Simon wanted to prevent history from repeating itself. That was his true and only aim.

  The realization sparked the dying embers of Zoe’s resolve.

  Get your shit together. Malcolm is your ghost. He’s taken enough from Simon already.

  Zoe struggled into a stiff upright posture. “Dinner first,” she managed. “And… I need to find some fucking iron.”

  A little over an hour later, Dorian helped Zoe up the stairs to Simon’s loft. The warlock himself had carefully kept his distance all through their short dinner — a sad necessity, but one which had given Zoe a bit more time to compose herself.

  A handful of carefully-crafted iron anchors clinked in a wooden box in her coat pocket. They’d stopped at Zoe’s condo only briefly enough for her to give Dorian a few directions. He’d come back down with Zoe’s phone charger and a bag of fresh clothing — finally — as well as the iron that Zoe needed to perform her spells.

  Not that I’m gonna have the strength back to cast much of anything for a while, she thought wearily. Zoe wasn’t sure yet how she was going to get over that problem, but she figured having the iron was still better than not having it.

  Simon unlocked the door for them; Zoe watched as the fiery golden lines around the door parted for him when he entered. They were tied to an oak arrow that hung above the doorway; Zoe deeply suspected that it had been carved from a tree within the Briars itself. A hearth fire would have been a better anchor for Sagittarius wards, but the idea of keeping an open flame going in your home all day was a little less popular these days than it had been in previous eras. Zoe had personally foregone the traditional sheep’s blood runes on the door to her condo for similar reasons.

  “Please come inside,” Simon said to Dorian dutifully. The words marked the lawyer as welcome within the wards and allowed him to enter, with Zoe still leaning on his arm.

  Dorian helped her out of her coat, and settled her onto the edge of the bed. As Zoe leaned heavily into one of the pillows, Dorian flickered a glance toward Simon. His grey eyes sharpened. What came out of his mouth was not what Zoe was expecting, however.

  “You’re a good man,” Dorian said. “I like you. I cannot say that for many people.”

  Simon blinked. Confusion flashed again within him. “Er… thank you,” he said.

  Dorian shrugged. “I have been trying to think more and react less. Your problems are not of your own making. I should not blame you for them. I never did, before now.” He ruffled Zoe’s hair again absently. “I will still do everything in my power to remove Zoe from this mess. But when it is done… I have no grudge with you. Quite the opposite.”

  Zoe groaned, and buried her face further into the pillow. Was this the equivalent of Dorian giving his blessing? If so, it was incredibly embarrassing.

  Well. At least he isn’t looking for a shotgun.

  Simon laughed. It was the first positive sound he’d made in hours. “Well,” he said. “I do wish that I could return the compliment. But I am not certain I have ever thought of you as a good person. Worthy of respect for other reasons, perhaps.”

  Dorian nodded. “I am not a good person,” he confirmed. “I would have questioned your judgement if you’d tried to accuse me of it.” He rebuttoned the top of his coat, and glanced at Zoe. “I will be back tomorrow. Stay in bed this time, please.”

  “Mmf,” Zoe mumbled. The sound was vaguely affirmative.

  As the door shut behind Dorian, a silence settled in.

  Slowly, Zoe became aware of Simon watching her. He had leaned himself against the door, arms crossed in discomfort. She knew that he was hesitant to approach and potentially distress her… but there was an itch in his aura that told her just how much he wanted to hold her.

  “I’ll deal,” she said, answering the unspoken question.

  Simon ate up the distance between them in a few long steps. Zoe sighed as his arms settled around her — as upset as he was, the touch inspired a bone-deep sense of relief in both of them that spread like balm into her soul. She closed her eyes and pressed her cheek to his chest, soaking in his warm presence.

  I was right. I needed this.

  Simon pressed his lips to her hair. “We will sort this out,” he murmured to her. “I promise.”

  A thread of discomfort flickered through her at that. Zoe slitted her eyes back open. “This isn’t your problem,” she said. “You know that, don’t you?”

  Simon paused. His anger spiked. It had an aim now — she knew that it was pointed at Malcolm, wherever he might be. “It is absolutely my problem,” he replied. “It has been for years.”

  Zoe shook her head. “I helped him,” she said. “You get that? I contributed to all of this. I thought he was dead, that I was off the hook. But what if I’d made sure, Simon? I could have made certain, but instead I hid. I let this happen, and if you get hurt fixing it—”

  “Stop,” he said. “Stop.” His hands pressed to her face, and she found herself forced to meet his eyes. Simon’s anger kicked up into a brigh
t fury, and her mind stuttered — she closed her eyes, desperate, but it did no good against her Witchsight. “Why do you think you’re here, Zoe? Why do you think I’m protecting you? Don’t look away. Tell me.”

  Zoe pressed her lips together. Her mind jangled in confusion. Simon’s aura was burning again, too bright for words. But that anger was suddenly righteous and clean — focused like an arrow. She shrank beneath the flare of it, feeling small and unworthy. “I don’t… I don’t know,” she whispered. But a dark, feeble part of her did know. There was a secret worry in her heart, but it was too terrible to say out loud.

  “You are not taking advantage of me,” Simon told her. Zoe froze at the words: they were a perfect condemnation of the dark voice in her heart. “You did not fool me into caring for you. You still believe that this is your fault, that what he did made you a terrible person. And if you are a terrible person, then it naturally follows that everyone who cares for you has been deceived into thinking you are better than you are.”

  Zoe forced her eyes open. Simon’s ire was so visible now that she wondered if she would have seen it in his aura, even without her enhanced Witchsight. “I am not a fool,” he said. “You have not conned me. I care for you, and I want you here with me.”

  Zoe stared at him. Her heart beat harder in her chest. “…I don’t deserve that,” she whispered hoarsely. “What have I done to deserve that, Simon?”

  He sighed in exasperation. “You have been working for La Voûte for far too long. Love and friendship are not business transactions, Zoe.” He threaded his fingers through her hair. “The first time that I met you, I liked the way that you looked at me. No one has ever looked at me like that before — I don’t think that anyone else ever will. I liked your smile. You made me feel better about myself when I was with you. You see how shallow that is? You were kind to my ego, and I decided that I liked you for it.”

  His green eyes burned into hers. “That is where it began, but that does not have to be where it ends. C’est le temps que tu as perdu pour ta rose qui rend ta rose importante. Sometimes it is truly that simple, do you understand? I liked you for foolish reasons. But after that, I wasted my time on you, and you wasted your time on me, and that is enough. I will never have those memories with anyone else. You are irreplaceable because of that.”