by M. L. Ryan
“I asked him to perform an EMS analysis on you,” Sebastian continued. “He has completed it and will meet us here to go over the results.”
Every Courso had their own, unique magical signature. The basal MS—one’s underlying arcane essence—could be detected by others. Those with a lot of power were able to mask theirs, at least for a time. This talent came in handy when you didn’t want to be recognized. However, when someone performed a magical act, it left a subtle imprint, their expressed MS, which, like fingerprints, could be used for identification. However, unlike fingerprints, the EMS was transient; if not detected within a day or so, it faded. But, in contrast to one’s BMS, it couldn’t be disguised.
I wasn’t sure why Sebastian ordered the test, but knowing him, he probably wanted to know exactly which guards and Xyzok came close to offing me. I sensed some rather unpleasant assignments in their futures. A posting in the Arctic Circle, perhaps?
While we waited, Sebastian quizzed Pixie. To me, my form-bends seemed to take some time, and there was a gradual transition from human to animal. To anyone else watching the spectacle, the change was instantaneous. From Pixie’s telling, my bend sounded normal right up until I ended up huge and scaly: an energy surge followed by a sudden and seamless transformation. He added details of what happened once the guards started bombarding me with magic.
I hadn’t blamed them for misinterpreting the appearance of a dragon as a security breach. After listening to Pixie, it became apparent my tremendous size wasn’t the only thing that rattled them. Despite my success at not flinging fire at anyone, I hadn’t prevented flames from dancing threateningly about my wing tips. Anyone would have figured I was dangerous.
Pixie finished his story with, “And then, Prince Aldegrexynthor yelled for the guards and the Xyzok to stand down and enveloped everyone with some kind of immobilizing magic. Even me,” he griped, making no effort to hide his annoyance at being lumped in with my attackers
“In such circumstances,” Sebastian said, scowling, “I doubt the prince was concerned with who he restrained.”
“Yes, well,” Pixie sputtered, looking off into the distance. “If there is nothing else…”
Sebastian offered a dismissive wave. “You may go.”
Well versed in Sebastian’s reputation as a hard ass, Pixie had the good sense to appear ill at ease. If he was like me, however, the arrival of The Healer could have encouraged his brisk departure. I wish I could get someone to let me escape as well, I complained in silence.
To be fair, The Healer looked about as happy to be there as I was to see him, and true to form, he wasted no time indulging in social niceties.
“Here are the data you requested,” he blurted, shoving a stack of papers at Sebastian. “As you can see, she sustained twenty-seven separate, offensive wounds. All but the injured Royal Guard participated in the volleys. You, young lady, are lucky to be alive.”
I had no idea I had been hit so many times. While Sebastian perused the information, I asked The Healer, “Yesterday, you mentioned that Alex, uh, Prince Aldegrexynthor, helped save me. Did you mean because he prevented them from continuing the barrage and helped me to transform?”
“Partly. He also used some of his own healing magic to stabilize you until I could arrive. If he didn’t possess such extraordinarily skills, I do not believe even I could have saved you.”
Sebastian looked up from the myriad of numbers and graphs covering the pages. “You indicated there were twenty-seven shots, but there must be a mistake.” He pointed to a graph with lots of colored dots. “I see ten originated from the guards, and sixteen from the Xyzok. That makes twenty-six.”
The Healer’s lips clamped into a thin line as he poked a gnarled finger onto the left edge of the graph. “If you look carefully, you will see that one does not match up with any of the EMS patterns for the guards or Xyzok present.”
“Can the sequence of shots be determined from this analysis?” Sebastian asked, tapping his chin in contemplation.
“Of course,” The Healer snapped, grabbing the stack from Sebastian and rifling through the pages. “Here,” he said, when he finally found the graph he was searching for. “The unidentified magic was first, hitting her in the left side. Then, a flurry of shots from the Royal Guards, followed by a larger salvo from the Xyzok.”
Sebastian and I exchanged glances. “That pain you felt before you bent,” he murmured, “It wasn’t a cramp. Someone shot you.”
The Healer narrowed his eyes. “There was no reason for her to be attacked before she transformed. She posed no threat at that time.”
“Certainly not to the people tasked with protecting her and Alexander,” Sebastian clarified. “However, someone else must not find her so benign. May I have these?” he asked, raising the data sheets.
“Those are your copies. I have the originals in my office.”
Sebastian nodded. “Consider this highly classified and do not mention it to anyone. In addition, you might consider bolstering your security to assure the files are safe.”
He responded with an indignant, “I have been attending to the royals and keeping their secrets before you were spitting up your mother’s milk, Kess,” and stomped off.
A wicked grin spread across Sebastian’s face as he watched The Healer depart. “Was it something I said?” he mused.
A vision of baby Sebastian flitted into my head: crawling naked, mischievously swinging his recently removed diaper, while leaving a trail of magical destruction and fecal matter in his wake. I suspected he was an only child; once a woman gave birth to a pain in the butt like Sebastian, she was unlikely to risk her home or her sanity raising another. Shaking off thoughts of Ignominy the Poo, I returned to the problem at hand.
“So, what now?”
“We share this information with Alexander, and then we try to identify the first shooter.”
*****
“Prince Aldegrexynthor is not available,” Klipsylfa proclaimed as we walked past her desk. She didn’t get up, or attempt to stop us, but I felt her stern gaze boring into my back.
“He is for me,” Sebastian countered.
When he reached for the ornate handle on Alex’s office door, Klipsylfa announced with unmistakable smugness, “It’s locked.”
“I think not,” Sebastian said, and the latch snicked open. He hadn’t altered his pace or hesitated in the slightest; the door seemed to recognize him and let us in. If Klipsylfa was as amazed as I at the ease to which Sebastian gained entry, she didn’t show it. As I closed the door behind us, she blinked impassively, still positioned behind her desk as if we hadn’t barged in.
“She’s probably alerted security,” I warned.
Sebastian shrugged. “Perhaps, but they will find the door locked and no evidence of us having been in the outer office.”
“How did you manage that,” I asked.
“Magic,” he revealed with a grin.
Show off. “I suppose you also used magic to unlock the door.”
“Not in the way you think. I didn’t use any of my own arcane skills. Alexander keyed it so, if locked from the inside, I can open it.”
Another bonus of this magical dimension. No physical keys or keycards needed. Your BMS could be coded into the room door. “Why only when it is locked from the inside?”
He moved to the bookshelf, yanked out the leather hardback, and the bookcase slid open. “Someone has to be able to gain access in case of emergency. Klipsylfa can lock and unlock it from the outside only. Alexander did not want her to enter and find him missing when he should be inside.”
“Come on, she has to know about the secret passage. She was Kyzal’s assistant for years.”
“Oh, she knows about the passage,” he said, gesturing me inside the tunnel. “However, Alexander does not want her to discover he has a secret guest inside. In times such as these, one can never be too cautious.”
“Won’t she get suspicious that Alex keeps locking her out?”
“Be
tter that than having her walk in and see Ziqua lounging on his divan.”
I stopped, and Sebastian almost ran into me. “That better not be Courso slang for getting it on.”
The corners of Sebastian’s mouth quivered as he fought the urge to laugh. “Hardly. The dungeon, while it has been improved for her stay, still leaves something to be desired. Alexander allows her to use the shower in his office bathroom and to avail herself to what other amenities she wishes. And, in case you were wondering,” he added, this time not trying to disguise his mirth, “other amenities is not a euphemism for a sexual encounter either.” Sebastian pressed a hand against my shoulder, prodding me to resume our excursion. “I cannot fathom why you persist in believing that Ziqua is a rival.”
“Let’s see,” I said, ticking off the points on my fingers as we walked. “She practically oozes sex, is gorgeous and cultured, and seems to be spending more time with Alex than I am.”
“First,” he challenged, mimicking my enumerating by digit. “She is practically old enough to be Alexander’s mother. Second, she is, and has been, involved with Fry for years. Third, she will be leaving here later today. Besides, in the unlikely event you are correct, I have taken precautions against anything untoward occurring.”
“Do these precautions involve magical saltpeter?” That might explain the disturbing downturn in my love life of late.
“With your science background, I would have thought you would know potassium nitrate does not induce impotence,” he chided, shaking his head. “Nevertheless, I did nothing to Alexander. Or Ziqua, for that matter.”
His voice softened. “There is no question she is a beauty, but not all men are attracted to women who so openly display their sensuality. If Alexander wanted someone like Ziqua, he wouldn’t be with you.”
“If you are trying to console me, you suck at it,” I growled.
Sebastian chortled, a reaction that didn’t help my mood. “I simply state the facts as I see them.”
“Maybe he just realized he needs someone more, I don’t know, regal now that he is next in line to the throne. Things are so different now.”
“Have you discussed any of this with Alexander?”
I rolled my eyes. “Between the job promotion, murder investigation, and my various acts of public humiliation, we really haven’t had the time.”
“Make the time,” he declared. “Concerns left unresolved have a tendency to grow into more formidable disagreements.”
This was how low I’d sunk. Sebastian was giving me relationship advice. “I don’t pretend to be an expert, but Pot. Kettle. Black.”
“I have never allowed disputes between myself and my paramours to fester.”
“Of course not. You were too busy booking it out of bed before they woke up.”
“Exactly my point. I am not guilty of that which your pithy idiom accuses. You should have used, ‘the blind leading the blind’. That is much more appropriate.”
We’d reached the entrance to Ziqua’s home away from home, which meant the end of our inane conversation. I wondered if what lay ahead would be any less infuriating. As much as I hated to admit it, Sebastian had a point. My smoldering jealousy toward Ziqua was less about any tangible evidence of wrongdoing and more about my insecurities.
Or not.
The door leading directly into her room was slightly ajar, and even with my substandard, human hearing, there was no mistaking her throaty laugh before she purred, “Oh, yes, Alexander. That’s the one.”
Maybe Deep Throat was a proper nickname for more than just her nighttime dispensing of secrets, I bristled silently. Not waiting for a response from Alex, I pushed past Sebastian and flung open the door.
Alex and Ziqua were on a simple, upholstered sofa. They looked up when I barged into the room, but rather than semi-naked bodies tangled together in rapturous erotic bliss, or, at the very least, flustered attempts to hastily smooth rumpled clothing and tousled hair, they sat next to one another, fully clothed and decidedly unruffled. The only thing spread across the glass-topped coffee table was a bunch of papers. Still, they were awfully close, and Ziqua totally rocked the skin-tight, black leather pants and beige, cashmere sweater she wore. Who wears stiletto boots in a dungeon for fuck’s sake?
“Is something wrong?” Alex asked, his concerned gaze flitting between me and Sebastian, who had followed me inside.
Why, yes, sweetie, my overactive, low-self-esteemed-fueled imagination is working overtime to sabotage any chance of happiness.
“Uh, somebody shot me besides the usual suspects,” I blurted. No, this wasn’t the least bit awkward.
Sebastian handed him the EMS printouts and perched on the rounded arm of the couch. “Hailey felt a sharp pain in her side before her form-bend, and The Healer’s assessment confirms a hit in the same location from an unidentified person prior to the guards and the Xyzok firing upon her.”
Alex studied the data. He handed the sheets to Ziqua, and ran his hands through his hair. “Things just go from bad to worse,” he fretted. “I hate to ask you, Z, but would you consent to staying a bit longer? We could use your input.”
Z? He has a pet name for her? I had to force myself not to growl out loud.
She flipped a strand of coppery hair off her shoulder. “As much as I want to get home, I have to admit being in the game again has been exhilarating. Besides,” she added with a beguiling grin, “the accommodations are truly top notch.”
Alex patted her leather-encased knee. “Thank you.”
I continued to seethe inside, but if that hand had lingered, or if I detected even a smidgen of a squeeze, I wouldn’t have been able to curtail my mounting temper. Needing a distraction, lest I bitch-slap Mistress Z, my gaze traveled from the imprint of Alex’s fingers on the smooth surface of Ziqua’s trousers to the mass of papers on the table.
Each bore identical—and well-drawn—pencil sketches of Alex’s face, the only difference between them being various renditions of facial hair. “Are you planning a disguise?” I asked.
He chuckled and shook his head. “No, according to your protocol aid, recent surveys suggest I’d relate better to the masses with a beard or mustache. He gave me these illustrations so I could pick one.”
I’ve never been a huge fan of facial hair. While growing, the nubs were scratchy and when it was done, harbored all sorts of nasty microbes. In Alex’s case, he was so good looking it would be a crime to cover up any of that. Leave it to Pixie to use some sort of interactive marketing technique to mess with my man.
“I wouldn’t make too much of my PA’s canvassing data,” I said, picking up the drawing on the top. The rendition had no mustache, with only a hair triangle on the lower part of the chin. “This one looks ridiculous,” I contended, turning the page toward Alex so he could see which one I was dissing.
“You don’t like that one?” Alex smirked. “Right before you arrived, Ziqua was saying she thought that was the best choice.”
I recalled her breathy, “Oh, yes. That’s the one,” that sent me into a jealous rage. I would have never guessed she was speaking of her criminally bad taste in male facial hair.
“You’re kidding, right? It looks like he’s got a vagina on his chin.” I flipped the drawing across the sofa so it landed on her lap. “And the only snatch that’s gonna be on his face is mine.”
26
Alex dipped his head and covered his amusement with his hand. Behind me, I heard Sebastian cough to disguise his. I expected Ziqua to take my little territory-marking display badly—that was the point, right?—but I wasn’t prepared for her to throw back her head and laugh, long and hard.
When she finished, she wiped a tear from her eye. “I had my doubts about you, but now I think I’ve found my new best friend.”
“It was one of her better retorts,” Sebastian agreed. “I am tempted to grow one myself just to vex her.”
I snorted. “Just so you know, Rachel wouldn’t appreciate a chin-gina, either.” To Ziqua, I said, “Fr
ankly, I have no idea why anyone would choose that style. It’s truly hideous.”
“Well, it seemed edgy and unique before you pointed out the resemblance to lady bits. Now, that’s all I can think about. With that in mind, I’ll not be able to keep a straight face if I ever see a man with one.”
“No one has to worry about it, because facial hair of any kind is not in my future,” Alex insisted. “Contrary to popular belief, full-face shaving is infinitely less time consuming than manscaping around a mustache or beard. I don’t have the time, or the inclination, to indulge the whims of your PA.”
“Hey, Blondie,” I challenged, raising my hands in surrender, “You’re preaching to the choir. I hardly ever listen to Pixie’s fashion ideas; most of what he comes up with is complete crap.”
Alex got up and stood by the doorway. “On that note, I will leave you all to debate the finer points of men’s whiskers while I take the mystery signature to be analyzed. If we are lucky, the culprit’s EMS is on file somewhere.”
I watched Alex depart, then realized Ziqua’s perfectly made up, beautiful eyes were narrowed and aimed at me. “Your protocol aid’s name is Pixie?”
“That is just the moniker she has assigned him, due to his small stature,” Sebastian offered.
“Well, what do you expect?” I protested. “His name is long, and I’m pretty sure it has no vowels. I can’t help it he never offered a shortened version.”
“What is his actual name?”
Sebastian said it, but all I heard was the same unfathomable combination of sounds as every other time before.
Ziqua paused. “I can see why you abbreviated it, Hailey. That’s cumbersome even by Courso standards.”
“She has a habit of making up names for people, regardless of the complexity in pronunciation,” Sebastian noted. “Particularly those who annoy her. She often calls me, ‘Sebastard’.”
“I can’t think of a more appropriate nickname for you,” Ziqua said with a grin. “I’m sure she uses it frequently.” Still smiling, she glanced at me and asked, “Based on the animosity I’ve felt from you, did you create a disparaging alias for me?”