by M. L. Ryan
His brow furrowed. “What, may I ask, is a fortune cookie?”
“Never mind.” Sometimes, I forgot English wasn’t his native language. Hell, sometimes, I forgot he’d probably never patronized a Chinese restaurant. “So,” I said, returning to the subject at hand. “Do you think I’m actually Xterixa, or just a freaky anomaly?”
“I cannot say for certain. It is possible all Yterixa could have multiple forms in the third dimension. You wouldn’t be Xterixa, but you also wouldn’t be abnormal. Unfortunately, given your destruction of Keem’s portal and the difficult procedure required to access Dekankara, it is a hypothesis unable to be tested.” Hewlyxnathin grinned. “But, if the prince ever wishes to divert lightning again, I’d like to be there to see what other animal I might change into.”
Hewlyxnathin became a beaver in Yterixa form. If my interdimensional experiences held a clue, I wouldn’t want to meet up with a three-story-high rodent with the ability to chew through a house.
“On the other hand,” he continued. “We can work together to determine if you can change into an additional form here. We won’t rule out freaky, but we might be able to rule in Xterixa.”
*****
We started the next morning. After arriving in the garden, Hewlyxnathin instructed me to choose an animal other than my usual Harris’s hawk, visualize it, and attempt to morph into it. This seemed, at first, to be a simple task. However, once I had the entire Animalia kingdom to pick from, I couldn’t decide. I immediately ruled out anything other than vertebrates, because, really, how much fun would it be to turn into an earthworm or a spider? That still left somewhere around sixty-four thousand species at my disposal. I narrowed it down considerably when I eliminated anything aquatic, but not enough to make the choice more manageable.
“It’s a hell of a lot easier when there’s no thought process involved,” I argued when Hewlyxnathin grew impatient.
“We’ve already been out here for an hour. Just choose the first animal that comes to mind,” he instructed.
That was a Klydilap. Since I’d be a female whatever critter I changed into, what would be the point if I’d lack the most interesting feature? I cleared my mind—which took a while, as it was damn hard to get the picture of a giant, grasping cock out of your head once it was in there—and finally settled on a wildcat. Not too big, not too aggressive, and the mascot of my alma mater, the University of Arizona.
After all this time, pre-shifting nudity was no big deal, but I didn’t think the queen would appreciate me standing around in the garden buck-naked. With this in mind, I kicked off my sandals, and stripped down to my underwear to avoid both her wrath and the oft-occurring damage a form-bend might wreak on my attire. Then, I concentrated on sprouting fur and developing a sandpaper tongue.
Nothing happened.
Taking a deep breath, I tried again.
Zilch. Nada. Zippo.
I cracked my eyes open, silently beseeching Hewlyxnathin for guidance.
He smiled, and with the tranquility of a yoga instructor, he murmured, “Let your mind go and your body will follow.” The only thing that could make his advice any more New Age-y would be the delicate tinkle of wind chimes in the background, but I made the attempt, nonetheless.
I visualized the cat I wanted to become, and I let my brain wander. Instantaneously, my bones began to shrink. The transformation was effortless, and I congratulated myself on a job well done. Unfortunately, instead of four furry legs and an attitude, I had my usual feathers and an attitude.
Damn it, I thought as I stretched out my wings.
Never one bothered by failure, Hewlyxnathin simply offered, “Next time, perhaps.”
“That’s what I get for being cocky,” I pushed out, silently sending my disappointment to him. In my alternative forms, I could communicate telepathically with people if they were close by. Doggie Ulut and I exploited those abilities over an extended range while tracking Keem.
So enmeshed in my personal drama, I didn’t notice we were no longer alone. “More like being hawky, I’d say,” a familiar, pompous voice called out from behind me.
This illustrated the main problem with bird-to-human non-verbal speech: it was indiscriminate. Anyone within range could hear.
“What were you attempting to accomplish?” Sebastian asked, pausing next to Hewlyxnathin.
“We are seeing if she might be Xterixa. She is a bit disheartened at not achieving her goal on the first attempt.”
“I was sure I’d nailed it,” I griped.
“Keep in mind your original difficulties controlling your transformations into this form,” Hewlyxnathin reasoned.
Sebastian crossed his arms and nodded. “He is correct, my dear. Besides, if you are not Xterixa—which is most likely the case—you will never succeed.”
I ruffled my feathers with indignation. “Thanks for the pep talk. Did you go to the Schopenhauer School for Motivational Training?”
“Your analogy is poor; I met Schopenhauer once. His ideas might have been considered pessimistic, but no one was livelier at a party than Arthur. Be that as it may, I am simply conveying the facts. Artificially bolstering your expectations is counterproductive.”
I opted to ignore yet another instance of Sebastian’s name-dropping. Sure, at over two hundred-fifty years old, it was theoretically possible that he hung out with the German philosopher. Just like he could have known Casanova, Napoleon, and all the other famous people he claimed to have been acquainted with, but I had a hard time deciding if Sebastian was really that extraordinarily well-connected, or just extraordinarily full of shit.
“That’s not what you thought the first time I purposefully changed into a hawk,” I reminded him. “You had Hewlyxnathin pass off a planted feather as mine to make me think I could do it.”
“That was different. We knew you could transform into an animal; you just needed to believe you could control it.”
At a momentary loss for a pithier retort, I settled for, “You’re an ass.”
He raised one imperious brow. “Perhaps, but I have worked it off to obtain a credible lead on the whereabouts of a certain perfidious Jjestrian noble for which we have been searching. However, if your opinion of me is so substandard, I can forgo sharing the information.”
His expression devolved from righteous indignation to wounded innocence with such seamless precision, it made my mother’s guilt trips pale in comparison. That was saying a lot; my mama was a seasoned pro. I wanted to know what he knew about that son of a bitch Boklym enough to ignore his not-so-subtle attempt at manipulation. For the time being, at least.
Eager to hear Sebastian’s news, and resigned to wasting a perfectly good form-bend with no actual flying, I willed myself to change back. The transformations were less arduous these days, a result of both practice and the ambient supernatural mojo in Courso. Aside from still needing a post-bend snack, the changeovers were almost effortless.
I should be grateful for what I can do, not pissed I can’t turn into something else, I brooded as Hewlyxnathin handed me my clothes and the change of underwear I’d brought to replace the one’s damaged by my form-bend.
“Okay,” I said to Sebastian. “Fill me in, Mrs. Costanza.” He looked at me blankly and blinked. For slipping in a surreptitious jab at his bid to make me feel guilty, I rewarded myself with a mental back pat. Take that, Sebastard!
He pressed on. “This is a discussion best held in a more private location. Are you finished here?”
I glanced at my Yterixa—and possibly Xterixa—mentor.
“Go, go.” Hewlyxnathin waved me away. “We will begin anew tomorrow.”
I didn’t think we accomplished much, but I thanked him for the lesson anyway. Turning to Sebastian, I gestured toward the palace. “After you.”
He bowed theatrically, then rose and met my gaze. “After you, Georgie,” he said, mimicking an almost flawless New York accent.
Damn it, I should have guessed Rachel would turn him on to Seinfeld reruns.
2
0
Sebastian deigned to allow a quick kitchen stop on the way to Alex’s office. Not that he succumbed to some deep felt benevolence; he only relented when I reminded him of the time I torched a ridiculously overpriced—and not particularly comfortable—Casa Fendi armchair when my after-bend calorie replenishment needs were not met in a timely manner. Knowing Sebastian, he couldn’t have cared less if I’d destroyed one of the fancy palace fittings, but dreaded explaining to the queen that a priceless antique was reduced to smoldering ash because he delayed me from snagging a snack.
I was just finishing my second sandwich when we got to the crown prince’s anteroom. Klipsylfa offered a reproachful glare as I licked the last smear of nut butter from my fingers. Some aspects of Courso cuisine may have been a tad sketchy, but pimcyska and honey on a freshly baked roll was to die for. Not even Alex’s fusty secretary was going to spoil my enjoyment of every gooey morsel.
“He is expecting us,” Sebastian announced, striding across the room. I hung back, thinking Klipsylfa would protect her liege-to-be by doing something self-sacrificial like throwing herself between the advancing Xyzok and the ornate door leading to Alex’s office. Instead, she focused dreamily at Sebastian’s backside as he knocked. Granted, Sebastian’s ass was arguably quite shapely, but really, did it rise to the level of eliciting moony eyes and plaintive sighs?
A muffled, “Come in,” drifted through the heavy wood, and I followed Mr. Buns of Steel when he entered. Leaning down as I passed by Klipsylfa’s desk. I whispered, “He’s taken.” The comment was beneath me, but it was worth seeing her frown. Wow, I considered. Three different facial expressions in under a minute. Could be a new record.
Paper was strewn across Alex’s massive desk, and he sighed as he shuffled some from one pile to another. Without looking up, he muttered, “Why are there so many ridiculous items that require my signature?”
“A reagent-in-progress’s work is never done,” Sebastian replied, sliding behind Alex to take a better look at the documents. “Who would not want the crown prince to sign off on a declaration of ‘Congealed Oxyntberry Pie Appreciation Day’,” he noted, pointing to the parchment atop the nearest stack.
Alex ran a hand through his hair. “Or have an opinion about changing the national flower of Alenquai from the fripil to the vyrendisk.”
Not having much knowledge of Courso botany, I asked what the difference was between the two.
“Who cares?” Alex spat. “They are both pink.”
He flung the still-unsigned affirmation toward one of the many paper heaps littering the desk, but mounting irritation screwed up his aim, and it landed near his feet instead. Still seated, he bent to retrieve it from the floor and almost laid it on the desk before rethinking its placement and tossing it into the trash.
Sebastian clutched at his chest. “How very rebellious. Tens of concerned horticulturalists will be devastated when they receive no closure on this significant matter.”
Alex leveled an icy stare at his mentor. “Does your visit have some other purpose than to vex me?”
“Of course,” Sebastian answered. “Boklym has been sighted in Drryxi.”
“Seems like an odd spot to flee to.” Alex tapped his index finger to his lips as he considered the new information. “Does he have any previous connections there?”
“His mother’s family is Drryxian, but it does not appear he has spent any time there as an adult. We surveilled all known relatives in the vicinity of where he was observed, but he was not hiding at any of their residences. That does not, of course, preclude him from finding refuge with someone of which we are not aware.”
Alex leaned back in his chair. “Or that he is simply going it alone.”
“Regardless of who may or may not be offering assistance,” Sebastian added, “it is just a matter of time before he is captured.”
“How hard is it to find a fugitive Jjestrian when he likely still can’t stand up straight?” I asked.
“His Hailey-induced disabilities aside, there is free travel between all lands in Courso. If he crossed into Drryxi before we issued the arrest warrant, the authorities there would not have been on the lookout for a hunched, limping foreign noble with a high-pitched voice.” Sebastian punctuated his statement with a smirk.
“There isn’t the same sort of electronic trail one leaves in the human dimension,” Alex advised, steepling his fingers under his chin. “Still, as a son of an aristocrat with no previous training, I’m surprised he has eluded us for this long.”
“Maybe he’s just a lucky son of a bitch,” I offered. “Or, maybe his compelling mojo helps when avoiding capture.”
Sebastian nodded. “Either or both may be the case, but, as I said, his days as a free son of a bitch are numbered.” Glancing at Alex, he added, “Karttyx has already given permission to dispatch additional Xyzok to Drryxi to aid in the search.”
“Good, good. Keep me posted.” Alex blew out a breath. “These last few minutes have been more interesting than anything I’ve done today. I think I’ll go see if Ziqua has an idea about Boklym’s Drryxian connections.”
My stomach clenched at the mention of the “hostage.” He’d hardly even given me the time of day, and now he planned to meet with his uncle’s mistress? His uncle’s incredibly sexy mistress?
“Why would Ziqua know anything about Boklym?” I asked, placing too much emphasis—and vitriol—on the name of the hot, mile-long-legged temptress ensconced in the dungeon with nothing to do except wait for my gorgeous, currently mad at me, fiancé to visit. After all, she didn’t have a great track record for keeping her well-manicured hands off other women’s property.
An uncomfortable silence was the only answer I received until Sebastian finally spoke up. “Before Ziqua was assigned to Fry, she interned in Drryxi. So far, we have only consulted her on the matter of Kyzal’s murder, but given her prior Drryxian connections, she may be helpful in this investigation as well.”
“Okay, maybe I should go along; she might need first-hand information.” And a chaperone.
Alex shook his head. “You can’t. My mother called just before you arrived. She wants to meet with you a soon as possible.”
I battled to keep my outward appearance neutral while deciding which emotion should take the front line. Was I more annoyed at the queen’s timing, or terrified about what she wanted to discuss? We had not yet spoken about my PR debacle with Boklym. “I suppose I should be happy I had a whole day before the inquisition.”
“If it helps any, she didn’t seem particularly bad-tempered. Although,” he added, tilting his head. “She did make the call herself. Usually, if it isn’t important, she’d have a minion do it.”
Any hope I may have clung to regarding a simple, “hey, how’ve you been?” chat flew right out the window. Which, by the way, was exactly what I wanted to do rather than face her inevitable wrath. “Shit,” I mumbled under my breath.
Sebastian, who had remained quiet, decided to speak up. “Alexander, did your mother specifically mention she wished for Hailey to report to her alone?”
Alex thought for a moment and answered, “Actually, I don’t believe she did.”
“Then it would be perfectly acceptable for her to bring along a ‘buffer’, don’t you agree?”
“I do, indeed,” Alex said, nodding his approval.
My anxiety level plummeted. “Thanks, Sebastian. I’m sure it will be a lot easier if you are there.”
“Whilst I am certain my presence would, indeed, make a world of difference, I have duties elsewhere. I was thinking of Tannis.”
Alex smiled at his mentor. “Perhaps an even better choice,” he remarked. “After all, my mother likes Tannis.”
Excellent point. I’d almost forgotten about the animosity between Sebastian and the queen, and the reasons for it. Good thing Alex was clueless; I had a hard enough time dealing with knowing about their youthful hookup. Who knew how Alex might take the news.
“You’re right; I’ll go fi
nd Tannis.” Alex started toward the bookshelf. “Okay, then,” I said as breezily as possible, given the twist in my stomach. “If you need me, let me know. Your mother is a busy woman; our meeting,” I mean, interrogation, “shouldn’t take long.”
“No worries,” he replied, finding the right book to open the passageway. “I have all the information I need.” His voice seemed strained, and when the shelf slid to one side, he slipped into the darkness without another word.
I watched the bookshelf return to its normal placement. Luckily, Sebastian stood behind me and couldn’t see my chagrin. All the information he needs? About my adventures in stupidity with Boklym, or about us in general? I took a moment to compose myself before turning around to face Sebastian.
His expression was uncharacteristically tender. “You have nothing about which to be worried where Alexander is concerned, my dear.”
“About Alex?” I scoffed. “No, I’m just thinking about how Rexa is going to rake me over the coals.”
Sebastian inclined his head, one brow lifted in smug disbelief.
“What?” I spat, pissed that despite my best efforts, he knew exactly how my mind worked.
“Nothing. Go get your intermediary. But you might wish to rethink your footwear; if the queen has torture by conflagration in mind, something a bit heavier than sandals might be in order.”
*****
Smart-assery aside, I changed out of my shoes and my jeans. No sense adding fuel to the fire, so to speak. I expected a certain amount of criticism over getting played and publicly humiliated; hell, I deserved it. I wasn’t about to add inappropriate attire to my transgressions. Clad in a dark grey pantsuit, crisp, white, button-down blouse, and sensible black pumps, with my wild hair pulled into a semi-respectable chignon, I looked like I was interviewing for a Fortune 500 job. Or going to a funeral. Hopefully, not my own.
Confident my attire was modest and unimaginative enough to pass the queen’s muster, I set out to cajole/bargain/plead—whatever it took—to get Tannis to agree to accompany me. She was a nice person, but only a saint would walk into a lion’s den without something in return.