by Lynn S.
Bansit considered it proper to escort them. It would be wise to keep Brigitte’s sense of humor in check. The three disappeared, leaving only the rustle of leaves to prove they were ever there.
***
Garan scanned the place, trying to figure out what had transpired beyond the great candy raid.
He sat, cross-legged, on the mausoleum’s stone floor and looked about. There were signs of Wedo’s presence, rich scented blood drifting down the hallway. The loa of life had been experimenting with his own essence.
The vampire smiled. Against all odds, he had developed a friendship with Brigitte’s little, immeasurably big brother. It was a relationship Wedo had begged to keep secret and the vampire had agreed to. That mysterious loa with the appearance of a teenage boy promised a whole world besides the dreary occupations of the undead. There were a lot of things to learn from their exchanges.
Garan knew, for one, that Wedo wanted the vampire to find him, to know he was around even if Brigitte and Marissa had been rendered blind to his presence. Wedo might have dismissed Brigitte’s business as trivial, but he was always there, listening, trying to figure out when to rescue his sister from herself. His invisible hand corrected her course, and Brigitte, whose favorite sin was self-absorption, hardly ever noticed.
There was also the psychic remnant of Marissa and Brigitte’s encounter. Tension hanging in the air. Her distress called out like a beacon. There was something about the pull of the crypt that invited one to indulge in all things chaotic, and there was a bounty of residuals around. It took all his concentration to be a gentleman and see to her needs instead of further inciting her to implode. Fixed on the soft gray of her eyes, Garan spoke to Marissa. His voice was soothing and amicable. He planned to continue the conversation that was interrupted that morning.
“It’s not my place to excuse the Lady, but I will. She should have been a better host. No one should insult another before giving them a chance to change into proper attire. You can do so there.” The vampire pointed toward one of the many doors along the hallway. “Though I recommend you keep your eyes closed as you do. The crypt is old and sometimes things from another world slip through the cracks and make themselves at home in the corners. But if you keep your eyes shut and pay no mind to what’s dancing in the periphery of your vision, you’ll be all right. Or perhaps…” Garan closed his eyes, leaning back against the wall. “If you trust me not to look, I won’t.”
Marissa didn’t take her eyes off Garan as she slipped into a pair of jeans and a light sweater. Unlike vampyrs who, after fully joining the undead didn’t lose aspects of their former selves, the violinist had a dissonance about him that was easy for her to notice. The arrogant, condescending man she had met that morning was gone and now all that was left was a considerate, respectful guy she trusted to keep his eyes closed.
“You can look now.”
Garan opened his eyes as Marissa dug up a band from one of the bags and tied her hair back in a ponytail. She sat by him. Clearing the strands off her face somehow gave her the confidence to speak up. “Remember what you warned me about this morning? About trusting you as far as I can throw you? I think it’s my time to say half of the things Brigitte said about me, though hurtful, were right. I’m disrespectful of people I shouldn’t while trusting of elements that do me harm. The only thing I can be sure of is that I loved Esteban, and even once in a while I caught myself wondering if I was in love with the idea of Esteban and not the man himself. He sustained me, in hopes that one day I might take the reins of my life. But I insisted on being a doll. One can only imagine what would have happened if he had lived long enough.”
Her eyes filled with tears, and in an effort to keep her dignity, she rested her head on top of her knees and looked the other way. Soon her whole body trembled. Garan let her have her moment. After all, he understood the pressing feeling behind facing fears and owning up to mistakes. In a while, he told her what he thought about it.
“It’s good that you recognize something about your missteps. But, darlin’, don’t let Brigitte get to you. She knows only what she perceives of the story. I have seen other angles and I can assure you, we have all screwed up when it comes to this little messy mission of ours.” The vampire paused, considering what he was about to say. “You are no guiltier than any of us who ever dreamed of escaping our reality. We have all fallen in love with our imaginings. We have all trusted too much.”
“That’s comforting, for a vampire, I mean.” Marissa knitted her eyebrows, trying to recall if Adriana was ever so open about her feelings.
“Oh, but that is not the dweller. That’s good old me.” Garan waited for Marissa to react. He knew his words would make her turn and face him. “Now that we are talking, don’t mind much what I said about last night either. Half of the things coming out of my mouth were probes, just to test your mettle. The entity that lives inside me finds you quite interesting. He is curious about you, but honestly, let’s say he has no idea how to be social. Too much time behind that damn mirror.”
Marissa couldn’t choose between being fascinated or terrified. She had guessed, but only halfway.
“You are aware? Brigitte said it was impossible, that you’d be broken beyond repair if you ever knew!”
“Ah, but I know.” Garan felt at ease being completely honest with someone else. “Brigitte tends to take things for granted. She thinks, for example, that Wedo will never question her decisions. After all, life is as far from death as it can be, and she is safe on the other side of that chasm. But she did something she shouldn’t have, to hold me down and keep me as a vessel for my dweller. She killed me, and then forced me back to life. The Lady stole life magic from her little brother, and now it sits on top of my heart.”
Garan took Marissa’s hand and placed it on the left side of his chest. She felt his heart, beating sluggishly, as a vampyr’s would. As no other vampire kind should.
Marissa saw, through her connection to the vampire, a serpentine coil gripping his cardiac muscle, forcing it to contract, keeping it beating against death’s advance.
“This,” Garan said as his fingers stretched over her opened palm, “is how I manage to keep Garan Nolton separated from the dweller. Brigitte should not know what Wedo has done, superseding her this way, even if she started it. The loa are a tad paranoid. Their power struggles are thinly disguised, and even when loyal to one another as life and death are…they enjoy keeping their cards close to their chest. I’m his dirty little secret, his stint of betrayal, the proof he loves her and dotes on her, but doesn’t trust her blindly.”
“How does it work?” Marissa was concerned at the idea of someone double crossing the Lady in her own backyard.
“Wedo came to me when I was falling apart. It was impossible for the dweller and I to be reconciled. The mirror folk rely on their anonymity and their host’s unawareness, and both had been compromised. I was forced to watch every step of my death and rebirth…that’s meant to mess you up at all levels. Brigitte stole some of his magic to keep me anchored, a serpent charm she thought he wouldn’t miss. But the little guy found his way to it. To me. Wedo made us aware of one another. Sometimes he sleeps, like now, sometimes I do. We never ask each other what we have done…unless we find something that’s of interest to both parties.”
The vampire gently caressed the contour of her face. Marissa allowed him, until she suddenly remembered that the last person to touch her like that, without malicious intent, was Esteban. She pulled back, clearing her tears with a sweater sleeve.
“I’m okay,” she said dryly. “But since we are being honest. And…and everybody wants me to say what I must. Then I have to tell you, I’d rather not be touched. I don’t think I’ll be all right with people touching me for quite a while.”
Nolton did his best not to show how her reaction affected him. It was not only a matter of his need to protect her, there was something inside him fiercely resisting a no for an answer. The dweller was not pleased, but he kept
it under wraps.
“It was out of place on my part. I’m sorry. When I drift away and the dweller comes up, he’ll know as well. I can assure that. And I must go, if you are to have what you want. I don’t know if Brigitte told you, but the entity inside me knows the way to bring your mother back from behind the mirror. It’s one of the reasons I came into play.”
“I can’t wrap my head around that. Brigitte mentioned the Morrigan escorted my mother’s soul into the mirror world. Can’t they just bring her back?”
“It’s not that easy…” Just like that, Marissa noticed that Garan was gone. His voice, though usually grave, now sounded deeper. The playful roll of the tongue of his Cajun accent was there, but it felt rehearsed, learned with the purpose to mask a native tongue she could not place. “Imagine the Black Forest is a vault. There’s a handle on the outside, but if that door closes, there’s nothing you can use to open it from the inside. The Morrigan, as well as your father, were given a dispensation. The Phantom Queens could go in and out once, and Bastian is staying there for as long as it takes for us to guide your mother’s soul back into her body. There is but a fine, delicate thread holding her together.”
“My father?”
“Yes, mon cheri. You know what they say, once in a while a man finds a woman worth switching heaven for hell. I suppose that is Sebastian’s luck.”
Marissa felt the sting of melancholy and her eyes deepened with pain. She remembered the times she reproached her mother, openly saying she knew nothing about love, and Adriana only answered with a dismissive smile and silence.
“Listen, Marissa.” The vampire’s eyes were so blue, she needed nothing else to remind her of his other worldliness. “Francis Alexander will be dragged here, from wherever he is, no later than midnight. After the unfortunate turn of events with you, and perhaps being aware of what happened in Aval, he’ll be prepared. He will try to use his residual influence over you to turn this to his favor. I have tasted his poison and I know how strong a fairy’s thrall can be. I need you to stay with me.”
“There’s nothing on Earth that can persuade me. Not now that I finally have my act together.” The vampire trusted the glare in her eyes. He had lived long enough to see when fear took a turn toward loathing and gave a person drive and purpose.
“Good.” The dweller replicated Garan’s charming smile, always careful not to remind her of the Sidhe who, very much like himself, had made a home in someone else’s skin. “Because if you ever want to see your mother again, if you ever want to start your life anew, you must consider what Garan and I are about to tell you…”
It started to rain, and the crypt, worn by years, turned even colder as the moisture seeped in. Marissa heard a murmur of waters below. It was always present, threatening to drown a city underneath sea level. She tried to concentrate on what the vampire was about to say and avoid conjuring visions of floods and horrors.
The man before her started to speak, and it became harder to distinguish who was talking to her, whether man or monster.
He planned his words, not allowing the impression she left upon him to charm him off his goals. It was hard. He wanted to cross that line and touch her, taste her lips and lose himself on that skin he had barely stroked before. He wanted the sweetness of the blood coursing through her veins as they peeked in the shyest tone of blue through her pale skin. But he knew well that touching her would be holding a butterfly by its wings. Just a slight move might break her. She was hurt beyond the dweller’s understanding and the man might not live long enough to be part of her life.
All the vampire could hope for was a moment, and for that moment to be enough. After a while, he told Marissa Salgado quite a few other things Brigitte of the Cemetery had no idea of.
Chapter XXII
A Tithe to Hell
The World Between
There were no safe havens to run to for a fugitive of the world beyond normal perception. Francis Alexander knew of the heavy price placed upon his head, but he kept forward. Voices shouted for him to face the Lady at the Crossroads. And though they could not inflict physical pain, they were haunting enough to drive him mad in time.
Just in order to get some rest, he had to swear on his own life and upon Brigitte’s own Circle, a space traced in chalk upon the confines of Lafayette #1, that he’d be there.
By no means did it mean he’d show up unprepared.
Once he received the Lady’s mark and the challenging echoes dispersed in his head, Francis tried to see how he could use all that had happened to his advantage.
Meav’s duplicity had been uncovered, but he could argue the queen’s plans might have come to fruition without his assistance anyway.
When the fairies lost their grasp of power to humans, the Seelie Court declared themselves innocent of fault. They claimed to be deserving of mercy, asserting that tyrants as they might have been perceived, they had made good stewards, if not inhabitants, of the earthly realm. For their few but precious virtues, and in account of their many delicious vices, both Light and Shadows declared their favor of the Fae. They divided Aval between Seelie and Unseelie, according to their inclinations. But everyone knew there was as much good as there was bad in all of them. It was a matter of finding the right outlets.
The Light believed fairies deserved a chance to brave lessons of humility. They were granted a level of protection, the ability to cross between realms, if only to do good. That was why fairies, though in small numbers, could cross back into the mortal realm, the place they once ruled, as long as they kept the illusion of a human body. The Seelie swore they’d use this unique chance to teach future generations about the consequence of their sins. The Light believed it.
The Shadows also granted a gift of their own. However, unlike their fair counterpart, a gift of Shadows always carried some demand. The Shadows gave them a space between worlds, a little pocket filled with magic in which to create a facsimile of the lands they once ruled.
This place was known as Aval, and it came with a price.
Every seven years the Fae had to sacrifice seven of their own, as well as seven human souls to the Altar of Shadows. They did this with great pain, since they were so few in number. Auberon had tried to best the Shadows, to great risk on his part, but as it turned out, his methods only furthered Shadows’ grasp upon him.
Meav and Francis Alexander had weaved a plan intended to void the fairy’s responsibility to both Light and Shadows. To start, the Fae were to find a way to keep a foothold on Earth, even if it meant sacrificing a bit of themselves and adopting a human guise. They were to use changelings and halflings to anchor themselves to flesh. Francis had successfully done it with Esteban. Meav, the queen, had given her approval of such savagery, considering those of lesser blood disposable.
The second stage of their plan was a little more complicated. They needed to breed a stronger kind of fairy, twice empowered by bloodlines and magic. Something the Shadows might fully accept as their own. An element that might bring re-negotiating back into consideration.
Alexander found the solution to his dilemma in Marissa. She was as close to a perfect match to his bloodline as a magical creature could get. This compatibility extended to other bloodlines in Fae as well. The fact that she was a dhampyr, gifted with longevity without being corrupted by a vampire’s ill acquired immortality, guaranteed her body could be used as long as needed. Bound to Aval, she was going to serve as an instrument to bring children into the world, not only for House Alexander, but for the strongest among the Seelie Court, until their numbers became considerable.
Such plans were never shared with either of the princes of Fae. When Auberon heard about it, his disgust toward the idea became immediately apparent. He knew quite well the blood thirsty and war loving nature of his kind had only been tamed by their diminishing numbers. It turned his stomach to imagine his mother had even conceived of exploiting an innocent, and those who were to come after her, in that manner.
Meav didn’t even bother
to defend herself before her son. Trying to trick both Light and Shadows left the queen exposed and without resources, not even that silver tongue of hers so given to weave good arguments.
Mother reproached her first born son, and further cursed her second. She said Auberon was born tired and Killian could never be the lieutenant he was meant to be, not when his words were sharp but his hands were not willing to spill blood. None of her sons shared the particular inclinations she had found in common with Francis Alexander.
And now, the Sidhe had lost his only ally. It took all the will to live he had to face the Altar of Shadows and strike a bargain. But he had always counted on his charm, if nothing else. In order to plead his case, Francis had to knock at the gates of the Uffern, the cold, monochromatic hell that staked a claim upon the lands of Aval.
Though his mortal shell kept him from moving freely through the portals, Meav had given him more than one gift. The queen had bestowed upon Francis a second charm, made out of blue Irish barite stone and Aval’s green jasper, two sides to a boulder that stood between worlds. This key could take him from wherever he stood to the foot of the hill of Tara, a place on the Emerald Isle that was both a gateway into Aval and the hell in its vicinity. There, he’d use the best of his charm to win the favor of the Mother of Shadows.
It took him but a couple of minutes. Dark Heralds had affinities for all sorts of hellish realms. A simple incantation took him so close to home, Francis could hear the eerie song emanating from the dark halls of House Alexander. Turning away from Aval, he summoned thoughts of another place. Soon his feet were standing upon dark, sandy soil that sprouted frost with every step.
Black silica and delicate ice crystals, the road to the underworld was as beautiful as it was treacherous. Those frail petals carried traces of red as they broke through the richness of the soil, disturbing the never ceasing blood of sacrifices.