The Alembic Plot: A Terran Empire novel

by Ann Wilson

  19. Invitation

  Monday, 16 March 2572

  Sara Blackfeather read the invitation for the third time, still notsure if it was real or a poor joke. Inquisitors were most emphaticallynot known for their hospitality, and it seemed incredible that thenotorious Cortin, of all of them, would invite a journalist into herhome for a week. Especially a journalist who made no secret of herantipathy for Inquisitors in general and Sovereigns' Inquisitors inparticular.

  It would be a professional triumph, of course, which was what made itan almost irresistible temptation. On the other hand, it could aseasily be a trick, to find out if her stated sympathy for theBrotherhood hid actual membership in the organization--though it wouldseem more logical, if that were the case, not to bother with suchniceties, simply have her picked up for questioning. Though, shethought a bit smugly, they weren't likely to be quite so blatant with areporter!

  Fortunately, she didn't have to depend purely on her own judgement,which could be flawed by considerations like professional glory; insomething that had this much potential for benefit or harm, she couldask her patron for help. He'd be busy, of course, at this time of day,but she was free to interrupt him--on this, he'd be upset if she didn't!

  So, minutes later, she was on the way to his home, the invitationtucked carefully in her purse.

  * * * * *

  Lucius studied the invitation, both amused and disturbed. So Cortinwanted Blackfeather to visit for a week, did she? That could be eithergood or bad, and he couldn't decide which. On the whole, though, hecouldn't argue against the visit, since Sara had no valid--nobelievable, for that matter--reason to turn down such a professionallyvaluable invitation. "It should be safe enough," he said at last."She wouldn't dream of hurting an invited guest unless you do somethingstupid, and you certainly know better than that. You can also find outfor me just what the hell is going on."

  Blackfeather nodded; he'd made no secret, from her, that he had to beextremely careful about using his "psychic gifts" where Cortin wasconcerned. "You don't think she knows I'm your mistress?"

  "She must--I did acknowledge you as such." Lucius smiled. "By thistime I'm sure she has guessed--or been told--my real identity, but thatcan make no difference to her publicly."

  Blackfeather returned his smile. He claimed to be Shayan, andsometimes he used his gifts to assume some of the Hell-King'sattributes, but she didn't believe he really was; he was too differentfrom the Shayan she'd been told about while her parents were alive.Her first meeting with him was still vivid in her mind, though shetried to remember only the part where he'd rescued her--something thereal Shayan never would have done.

  Shannon smiled to himself, reading her thoughts. Rescuing Sara hadbeen little more than an impulse triggered by his respect for courage;a five-year-old who killed one of the men trying to rape her was hardlyusual. She'd interested him enough to keep her alive against his men'swishes, taking her home until he could decide what to do with her.She'd proven interesting to have around, and he'd almost immediatelydiscovered that she also added a dimension to his McHenry identity, sohe'd quickly decided to adopt her--a procedure his McHenry identitymade both fast and simple.

  But his then mistress hadn't wanted to be burdened with a child, andhadn't been worth the effort of reconditioning, so she'd left. Hereally should have replaced her; not doing so, and raising a childalone, had caused a minor scandal. Sara had claimed all his free time,though, and he'd been fascinated by the idea of making her hismistress. She'd agreed, a formality he insisted on from all hislive-in partners--except Victor, who'd made himself the exception byhis presumption--in spite of the fact that she couldn't possibly knowwhat she was agreeing to. Some simple physical modifications had madeher capable of accommodating him, and some judicious conditioning hadinsured she would enjoy, but never reveal, their "touching games".Even then he'd refrained until her birthday, wanting the first time tobe special for her.

  It had been, with him changing shapes and techniques to amuse her.She'd enjoyed all of them, not surprising since that was how he'dconditioned her--but he was surprised that she had decided she likedhis "classical" shape and technique best, especially that early. Andshe'd kept that preference through the years. She'd become hismistress openly at 16, causing another minor scandal, but that had onlyamused her.

  He came back to the present, reading her apprehension at the upcomingvisit, and held out his arms.

  Blackfeather clung to him. "I know you said she wouldn't hurt aguest--but I have a horrible feeling I'll never see you again."

  "Don't be silly," Shannon said. "Of course you will--unless you decideEnforcement and Inquisitors are respectable after all, and stay withthem. She can be quite persuasive." And, an unwelcome thought said,there was more to it than persuasion. Cortin had dissolved thecompulsions he'd imposed on Chang without even knowing it; what if thesame happened to Blackfeather? An even more unwelcome thought saidthat would be for the best, and he concealed a scowl. Sara was thefirst human he'd cared about as anything more than a plaything; did hereally want her spending eternity in his realm, even as his Queen?

  "Not that persuasive, I don't think." But Blackfeather's apprehensionwas still there, and she was reacting as she usually did before adangerous assignment, with growing desire. "Could we, just in case?"

  If she were that worried, Shannon thought, it wouldn't hurt to indulgeher. Indulge both of them, rather, because the idea of letting theEnemy have her was becoming more attractive. Most humans weredisgusting weak things, not fit to be more than toys for his minions,but Sara was different. She was strong, attractive--and she loved him.Part of that was the conditioning he'd given her, of course, but evenat first that hadn't been all of it; she'd taken to him without anyprompting, unless you counted the rescue itself. And he hadn't feltCortin using her power, even unconsciously, for some time, so perhapsit wouldn't be too much of a risk using his own. It would take solittle to transport them to his realm, and Cortin should be eitherasleep or too preoccupied to notice anyway. Giving in to temptation,he kissed Blackfoot hard, pulling her blouse open to grasp her breastas he set himself for the transfer.

  Blackfeather gasped in startled joy as her lover's power surroundedthem for the first time in months that seemed like years. She felt asensation of movement, and they were standing before ruby thrones atone end of a great hall hung with rich dark draperies, brightly lit byflames that moved at random, without burning anything. This had to bean illusion, she told herself at more normal moments, because theycould be here for hours, even days, with no time having passed whenthey returned--but it felt real, and while she was in it, she didn'tquestion that reality. This was Hell's throne room, he its King, andshe his Queen.

  She remained herself, only her clothes changed; instead of a propertailored suit, she now wore gold streamers generously sprinkled withrubies. They hid almost nothing even when they fell quietly fromshoulders to feet; stirred as they usually were by her movements, theyswirled open at random times and places.

  But he changed completely, more spectacular in his nudity than even themost ornate robes could make him. Flame-red hair and amberslit-pupilled eyes emphasized alabaster skin, as did huge wings withgleaming jet-black feathers. This was her favorite of hisforms--though it shocked her to see that for the first time, he wasn'terect. Taken aback, she stared at him. "Is something wrong, beloved?"

  "That is." His wings spread, shadowing them. "I love you as well, yousee, which is why I cannot continue to let you love me. It must belove, because I find your welfare more important to me than mypleasure, which is the classic definition. It is also an emotion Inever felt before, in all my millennia, and one I find both unfittingand remarkably inconvenient."

  Blackfoot started to speak, but he stopped her. "Let me finish.Despite your disbelief, I am Shayan, and I will prove it to youshortly. Although I am inclined to keep you here with me, your welfaredemands otherwise. So you will go to Cortin, and you will
become oneof her followers, perhaps even--" He broke off. There was thatpossibility, yes, and if it worked it would guarantee her spiritualsafety and happiness, though not her bodily survival.

  "Perhaps even what?" Blackfeather was confused, a little hurt--thoughshe could feel his harshness was because he had her welfare at heart.

  He bent to her, brushed her forehead with his lips. "Let meconcentrate, beloved. The Enemy has, by this time, undoubtedly givenher a priest or priests to build her a personal staff equivalent tomine; there may still be a place on that staff for you."

  "But . . ." Blackfoot was getting even more confused. "Even if thereis a place, what makes you think they'd accept me? Or that I'd wantit?"

  "They would accept you because you know me and are almost sinless--andyou will want it once the compulsions that have held you for overfifteen years have been dissolved. Now be silent; what I need to dowill be dangerous, even without distractions."

  Without waiting for an acknowledgement, he reached out, searching formental traces he'd never felt before but didn't think he could mistake.The Protector's priests should feel both free of sin and erotic, anunmistakable combination he'd kept from coming together for millennia. . . yes, there was one . . . another. One male, one female--SisterMary Piety and Father Mike Odeon. Piety was no surprise, but he'd havethought it too early for Odeon's tempering, and he frowned at thetiming. He'd expected perhaps another year; now, it seemed, contactand final testing would be within months. Part of him regretted thatthe speed would cut short his enjoyment of Odeon's suffering--at hishands, anyway; if Odeon survived the tempering and made the correctfinal decision, his foes in the wars to come would insure far moresuffering than Shayan himself could hope to inflict. Well, time tobegin the tempering, with a lesson his "student" would never forget.*Wake up, Priest!*