by Lynn S.
Garan pushed her forward, not even granting her the consolation of an assuring touch. He simply requested, and soon, Marissa found herself face to face with Alexander.
“Oh, Marissa…Marissa. It’s nice to see you have made better friends without me. If I didn’t need you so much, I’d be tempted to lose this one just to see what he’d do to you.” The Sidhe’s lips curled. “How sweet! Don’t make me jealous now. You are truly afraid, much more so than you are of me…”
She had no words. Francis had guessed at her feelings. Marissa was terrified of the consequences of her bond with Garan. In between truths and lies, the dweller might have tricked her into jumping off the edge into the abyss. Her heart beat at an inhuman rate. Her instinct was coming into play…or was it something else?
Suddenly, she found herself smiling at that man who looked so much like Esteban.
Nolton summoned Marissa back to his side without need for words. He had her where he wanted her, fate linked to the outcome of the fight. The vampire used her as a means to an end. Fairies were, more than anything, a living altar to their egos. The moment Francis perceived he might hold thrall over Marissa, even if just a small measure of influence, all his attention deviated toward the woman. He didn’t know what hit him.
Francis felt the crushing force of an unseen element squeezing his chest. It burned. Though his skin had not broken, it felt like his sternum had been washed in acid. The heat was unbearable as muscle was scraped away from his bones.
Eyes opened wide and on the verge of tears, the Sidhe looked around for something to hold on to, a sliver of reality to help him separate truth from illusion. Everything within the Circle was touched by magic. His head hurt, pulsing along with a constant, sharp pain that tore him from the inside. The vampire, just meters away from him, had not even moved. As he struggled to pinpoint an anchor, Garan’s image became blurry.
“What kind of vampire are you?” Francis didn’t mean to get an answer; he was buying time. Fairies were good with words. Words gave their lives purpose and meaning. He was simply trying to organize his thoughts, to see if it allowed him to break through.
“Vampyr, dweller, vampire…they are just words for people to fill the blanks. I have lived for thousands of years in the lines between life and death. I am nothing, and your final humiliation will be to die by my hand.”
Garan pulled the Sidhe toward him, using no other means than his power of summons. As he did, Francis felt something crack within. Splinters of bone dug deep into his flesh, but a second of clarity allowed him to see that there was nothing there after the initial pain. He had allowed his fear to feed an intricate illusion. The dweller was not affecting his body, but his mind. Few creatures could summon, let alone control the Fae. The shock of being manipulated made him give in to dread, and the vampire was using it to his advantage.
He has not even touched me. It took longer than he expected to let it sink in, but once it did, Francis was able to call forth his true form. As a Fae, he was stronger, faster, and given the right move, he could be lethal. Plus, he had a couple of tricks up his sleeve, gifts bequeathed by Morrigan could not be recalled, and the promise of a Queen of Hell.
The dark patterns underneath his skin, the account of his true life, pulsed within his flesh and his fingers curved into short talons.
Francis gave his first steps under the protection of The Phantom Queens. Beloved by the Morrigan, both Mikka and Bansit had showed him a couple of tricks of the trade. Even Annand allowed it, knowing he’d never best them. However, Francis was a quick study, and more than once he had seen the first of the Morrigan summon armament from thin air in the heat of battle. It was something they could do, even against magic wards with the discipline of a soldier that saw a weapon not as a means of defense, but as an extension of self. He had done it once before and it had almost cost him his life. But then, he had carried iron within himself. This was a lot less complicated.
Fairies were, after all, akin to silver.
Garan had him in a clutch, and just as the vampire was going to bite down on the soft tissue of his neck, the Sidhe made what seemed like a frantic move. He didn’t escape Garan’s grasp but was able to connect with the thick of the palm of his hand into the vampire’s chest. It was one hasty push that made the vampire stumble and gave way for Francis to tear across his opponent’s torso.
Garan’s skin didn’t seal as it should have. Instead of closing neatly, leaving no trace of the aggression, it suppurated, crusty and oozing, leaving behind the clear signs of an infection. It was then that the Sidhe displayed his secret weapon. Francis had brought into the Circle a perforated silver handcuff that covered the width of the inside hand. The piece was safeguarded in silver spikes.
Around them, the witnesses held their breath, unable to stop the fight. The Fae had, after all, been granted a weapon of his choice. Whether or not he decided to announce it beforehand didn’t make it illegal. Marissa, who was closer, moved about erratically, trying to guess what would be the next move for each opponent.
Garan turned, with force and speed, targeting the Sidhe’s jaw. Pain erupted through Francis, rendering him numb for a second. Even hurt, the vampire was still a formidable opponent, and the Fae, having lost the element of surprise, opened himself to the offense.
Francis toppled. The vampire, who countered with his own set of sharpened claws, cut him above the eye. The salt in his own blood blurred his vision. He got to see how Garan jumped back without the slightest effort, putting distance between them. The vampire hovered near one of the mausoleums before leaping upon him, catlike. Levitation was one of those little surprises at the dweller’s disposition, but unlike his Fae adversary, Nolton was conscious about surprise wearing out quickly.
Garan fell upon Francis, keeping him pinned to the ground. One hand squeezed Alexander’s neck while the other dug into his opponent’s right hand, forcing it open and relieving him of that half gauntlet made out of silver. Disarming the Sidhe meant touching the metal directly, sending ripples of pain and fatigue through him. The Fae, however, was also weakened. The vampire’s wound had not healed and dark blood falling in sluggish drops burned Alexander’s skin wherever it touched.
“This is interesting…” Garan observed as he cast aside the silver weapon. “I can hear those you have hurt. There’s a tiny spirit calling for justice. A boy…you snapped his neck, frail as a bird’s. You are a disappointment as a monster. Fearing someone so young, to the point of doing away with him. Coward!”
Francis didn’t flinch. Even gasping for air, he replied, “So…are you. Hiding in a child’s body to avoid…your debt to the Altar…of Shadows. She wants you…back.”
The mention of the Altar of Shadows made the dweller withdraw. Garan was left to his own devices, his body torn and in unbearable pain. The pressure on the Sidhe’s neck reduced considerably.
Marissa, in the meantime, knelt in a nearby patch of grass and picked up the fallen silver cuff. She measured and adjusted it. Her hand being smaller, it almost felt like a full gauntlet. Just like Garan had told her, the silver made her skin shiver, but it no longer burned.
The dweller came back, peeking through Garan’s eyes as if afraid of facing a nightmare, just as Francis freed his arm and hit Nolton square in the temple. The vampire didn’t move. He just absorbed the punch as his eyes turned black and his jaw reconfigured to inflict a formidable bite. Francis hit him again, even as the oozing blood that touched his skin rendered him weaker. He scratched, reopening Garan’s old scar as if he’d found a pattern to follow. A dark mist crept into the wound, another unexpected move from Francis.
Outside of the Circle, Brigitte stood up, willing to break her own rules to save her champion. The snake around her neck traveled the length of her body and touched the ground with human feet. Her brother had taken human form and now placed a cold hand upon her shoulder.
“Don’t, Gigi.”
“If not now, when? I need to stop this. I owe it to Garan. Do you know what tha
t is, Wedo? It’s the mark of the Mother of Shadows. The factions came here today and swore to keep neutral. That crazy bitch crossed a line! She will turn that dweller inside out!”
Pushing Wedo aside, Brigitte lifted her hand to dismiss the protection. What she saw forced her to stop.
While Garan convulsed under the weight of old magic, Marissa, driven by Alexander, tore at the base of the vampire’s neck with spiked silver.
Chapter XXVI
Life Has Other Plans
Bansit crouched on the edge of the mausoleum. She set her sights on possible angles of attack if the need arose as tension roped in her forearms and thighs. She was ready to enter the action.
At her feet, most of the witnesses were still trying to process what had happened. Marissa had done something unpredictable. With a vicious strike, the woman cut through Garan Nolton’s flesh with a silver instrument. Shreds of bloodied tissue, poisoned by the argentine metal, fell off the vampire’s back and hung like fringes about his waist as she stabbed and ran the length of Garan’s back, over and over.
Garan pushed her aside, his eyes blinded by tears as they waited.
The vampire could have killed her, but he just drove her away toward the edge of the wards that enclosed the fight. It was gentle at best. The vampire contorted and screamed, but there was no pain or fear. Something had been liberated, as if Nolton’s flesh was nothing more than a cage. The blood thirsty spirit that had laid within him for years broke away from its host, free from the constrains of muscle and bone.
Wings of glaring red etched in white spread, marking each beat with the deafening sound of roaring thunder as the dweller freed itself from the body that once contained it. As it took to the air, blood rained in a fine mist. It might have been precious to Garan, but in its true form, it did nothing for the lightning bird. Sharpened talons knew where to slash and find more.
They all had to sit back a moment. Even Brigitte, whose first memories were anchored to the oldest of cultures, never thought she’s see an impundulu, a ghost bird, taking to the air.
Half vampire, half deity, the dwellers had been cast into the void by both Light and Shadows. In time, they had become tales to tell the misbehaved, gods forgotten. And now, even as they glimpsed a fraction of what they used to be, the witnesses understood why they had been feared and adored in bygone eras. The blood thirsty elemental’s wings echoed the changing patterns of storms moving unopposed over the plains. Serrated beak and powerful talons mirrored weapons crafted from the purest obsidian. The last time it had adopted a human form must have been five hundred years before it entered Garan Nolton, but it was by no means that age. It was old, almost as old as The Phantom Queens or the loa presiding over the Circle. Definitely older than the most powerful Fae amongst them. If the dweller were to go against them, the consequences would be formidable.
Invested by the power of three, Bansit’s hands began to bleed. If she was to raise the sword, it would be with Annand’s might. Still, she wondered who’d draw first, and to whom the victory would be granted.
Killian felt the call of Aval. Auberon, his brother, didn’t want to risk the life of his only heir. The Fae looked after their own, and were known to make exception to honor when it came to preservation. But the prince refused to be pulled back into the realm.
“My Lady,” Killian required of Brigitte. “By the power conferred upon you, keep me from returning to the Court.”
The Lady had lived for centuries upon centuries and still she couldn’t believe it. A prince of Aval became her supplicant. Brigitte, however, couldn’t stop concentrating on her one task to grant a favor. Her magic was powerful, but it depended upon certain elements around the city. By tracing the Circle to contain the fighters, she had also limited herself to whatever she could gather from Lafayette #1.
As it was, she was afraid the dead might have to be woken to keep the dweller from breaking out and bringing chaos and destruction upon her streets. She called upon them, the bones, the bound, the ghosts of Lafayette. She felt them grinding into fine dust, crying to heaven and hell on her behalf, covering her like an armor. Brigitte casted a second ward, one that wrapped the area above the dweller like a dome.
Silver liquid sealed the space and curved toward the ground, its glimmering aspect imitating the surface of a mirror.
“That was quite a display, but you are mine, sweetheart. What I owed to Garan, I don’t owe to you. Flap a wing out if place and I’ll send you right into your worst nightmare…”
If her words were empty threats, she made sure no one noticed.
So burdened was the Lady that she didn’t notice Wedo leaving her side. The oracle of life decided to answer Killian’s plea. Wedo spoke to the King of Aval by holding fast to the disappearing prince, keeping him from crossing to the space between worlds and whispering in Killian’s ear.
“Your brother ssstays his ground. Life is tired of sssecrets. Aidan Faraday is more important than the throne of Fae.”
Knowing his words would be enough, Wedo skipped down the steps of the mausoleum. As he did, everything slowed down, even the urgency of survival.
The serpentine loa gathered what was going on, giving it all a lazy look.
Marissa ran back, further into the Circle, and now she held Garan’s body in her arms. Her eyes were bewildered and words were choked by tears. The woman couldn’t grasp what she had just done. She had done worse than anything she could ever accuse any vampire of: she had spilled innocent blood. She had the weight of a hundred questions upon her. Garan was still alive, somehow, but he had nothing to say as his body shivered with death throes. She understood he was staying just for her, to have a chance to forgive her. His spirit hovered millimeters above him, a haze that reminded her of stardust. She held him, knowing that soon enough he would grow cold, colder than he’d ever been, and she wouldn’t be able to keep him.
Francis closed in on Marissa. As little as he knew about the dweller, he noticed the vampire-like spirit had an affinity with natural phenomenon. As it broke free, the homicidal specter drizzled its surroundings in blood, while also spreading water and hail stones. Its wings in flight prompted small yet powerful currents of air that lifted dust off the ground. The Sidhe tried to determine if there was a magical link strong enough to break the wards, even as Brigitte tried to contain them. Soft rain had blurred the white markings placed by the loa throughout the cemetery. There was a chance to make the situation work to his advantage. Alexander readied to take his prize and disappear while Brigitte minded other matters.
Francis pulled Marissa up, separating her from Garan. As he did, he felt the woman’s skin grow clammy and cold to his touch. She was struggling, both the dweller above them and Adriana’s spirit, embedded in the cameo hanging around her neck, were clamoring for her instinct to wake, and she responded. Her eyes were no longer slate gray, but garnet. As her dhampyr wreaked havoc, silver marred her skin, but that taste of total freedom was enough to subdue the pain.
Moving too fast to be stopped, Marissa trapped Francis in an embrace. The Sidhe might have been superior in strength, capable to repel her, but surprise, and the poisonous nature of the bite of a fully transitioned dhampyr, worked to her advantage.
Marissa bit Francis, tearing out a chunk of skin between his ear and jawline. The bite was coarse and lacking, but there was enough poison in it to render her attacker immobile, if only for precious minutes. Her whole body begged her to consume that blood and carry on with a full transition into a vampiric state, but she managed to keep it under control, spitting the fluids onto the ground and stepping away from the disabled Sidhe. She’d take nothing out of the one who had taken her everything, not even sustenance.
“Come here, little sssister.” As she turned, the loa of life begged her to run for cover, to the edge of the ward. She did, and as soon as she was near enough, Wedo broke the boundaries to let her come through.
Brigitte felt her brother’s power arresting her own and she could only look, incredulous and
frightened, as Wedo set the dweller free.
The massive spirit aimed for the Sidhe with a hellish cry that echoed through the city. The supernaturals heard it loud and clear, trembling at the presence of something deeply terrifying. The mortals, unaware, felt chills as the roll of thunder, rain, wind, and lightning enveloped it all.
Wedo kept a smile of triumph firmly upon his lips as his hands touched the side of Marissa’s face. The loving gesture sublimated her instinct once more. She was protected, far from needing to conjure violence on her own.
“His wings cast a mighty ssshadow. You are sssafe. As promised.”
Overhead, the dweller kept Alexander’s broken body, torn by jagged talons, suspended ahead of one final fall. Its wings stretched, irradiating energy and tearing apart Brigitte’s conjured prison. Glass rained upon Lafayette. Fractured, defeated magic. The dweller fixed his eyes on Wedo. The loa’s eyes were as dark as his own, except that they reflected the light of a thousand stars. Wedo had never stared into the abyss, or if he had, his will had seen victory over things granted inevitable for others.
Many wondered why the oracle of life chose as his avatar a sickly youth. Could it be a joke of his own making? A bet against the impossible? Following a quick flicker of his bifurcated tongue, Wedo grinned.
“Blessing on your journeys, dweller. Your debts are forgiven and life, a ssstep ahead of gracious Light or conspiring Shadows, grants sssecond chances.”
Chapter XXVII