The man ran a hand over his beard. Ate another pair of wings. “Councillor Weathers was a good man,” he said.
“Was? What do you mean, ‘was?’”
“He was taken, by Lord Korka.”
That name again.
“Who is he? A fae lord?”
“Yes,” said the Androsian, glancing at Suri in surprise. “He is exactly that. Old nobility. Bearing a grudge.” He became lost in thought, leaving Suri to wait in awkward silence.
“So…You weren’t involved in his kidnapping?”
“No.” He glanced over his shoulder to make sure they were alone. “Weathers wanted to keep the peace. As did I. The Hellfire Guild…” He shook his head.
“First the dude in the poncho, and now you! Why won’t you tell me anything!” Suri scolded, in frustration.
The man furrowed his brow. “The man in the poncho?” He gasped, as if answering his own question. “Who! Who did you talk to?”
“Like I said,” said Suri, with narrowed eyes, not happy at this sudden accusation. “A man in a poncho. He called me ‘Blackwater.’ He helped me get on the barge.”
The barge was well out into the bay. The shore was distant, lights shining from San Francisco’s many building high on the hill, and along the shore. Few boats passed them by, the barge’s silver oars deftly directing it in a way that avoided the bay’s traffic, taking its own path through the night.
Now the aurora was shining brighter than ever. The ivor pillars behind Suri—even the polish wooden railing she leaned upon—glowed so brightly with the reflection that they created an artificial day.
It was from this light that Suri saw the shadows of several figures as they emerged from the stairwell and entered onto the balcony. Made her turn her shoulders, ever so slightly, to give them a brief glance. Enough that she was able to dodge aside, narrowly avoiding the steel throwing dagger aimed at her head. It flew off into the night, over the water, disappearing from sight.
Enforcers. The same ones who had found Suri at her apartment. Poncho stood behind them, a toothy smile cutting across her cherub cheeks.
“Apologies,” she said, sounding every bit as sincere as a fox caught in a chicken coop. “I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Traxan.”
It meant nothing to Suri. She gave him a blank stare. Gave a slight shrug of her shoulders, as if to say, ‘so what?’
Traxan glowered at her, suffering from a blow to her ego. “Foolish girl.” She opened her mouth again. Not to smile. To show a pair of fangs extend down from her upper lip. Hollow-pointed. Designed to suck blood.
“McNaulty’s looking for you,” said the bald enforcer with the black goatee. He twirled a throwing dagger in a fat hand. “You can come with us alive, or dead.”
“Give us a fight, precious,” said the other enforcer. A long tongue darted out from his mouth, ran over his greasy lips. Large, dark circles bordered his eyes. He leaned forward, hunched and hungry. “I’d so much like to taste that pale flesh.”
Suri threw on her leather jacket, which she had been keeping tied around her waist. She popped the collar, chanted a song of death and pain.
The enforcers growled and lunged forward across the balcony.
28
Suri let fly her spell: a pulsing orb moving at the speed of a lazy cat waddling towards it water dish. ‘Not the best spell,’ is what most would think—until a few seconds of observation.
The orb rapidly grew in size, until it blocked the line of sight between the enforcers and where Suri and the Androsian stood against the railing. The enforcers came to a halt, not caring to test their protection spells against the pulsing orb that Suri had summoned. For a moment, they were cut off.
Not Traxan. A jump took him twelve feet into the air, higher than the orb. His brown, curly hair rustled in the breeze, as did his poncho. The fabric was thick, and a solid color purple but for two, thin black lines making a ‘v’ shape across his chest. It was long enough to cover his entire body, although, from below, Suri could see the bottoms of what looked to be white sneakers.
Traxan’s arms were also hidden, until he splayed them wide, like the wings of a bird. His eyes were wide and clear in the glowing light. He gazed down on Suri as a hawk might upon a furtive hare. Then the tip of her cane began to trace geometric patterns through the air, leaving in its path a trace of blue.
Before Suri could think to do anything, a group of icicles materialized in front of Traxan. They were evenly spaced out, and lined up pointing at Suri. Traxan dropped her cane in a cutting motion and the icicles shot towards the railing.
Suri blocked one with a quick psionic barrier spell. But it was a direct hit. The energy she used to power the barrier came from her mental willpower. Pain flared in her temple. Blood trickled from her left nostril.
Another icicle caught the edge of her arm. Cold and sharp, cutting a thin line of blood over her flesh. Yet another scar.
“I must thank you for leading us to him, Ms Blackwater,” said Traxan. “You have no idea how long we have been searching for this particular rat.”
The Androsian snarled, threw a quick fire spell at Traxan. She smacked it with her enchanted cane, dispersing the spell to a wisp of smoke. “To think that he would be here, of all places!” She crowed. “A fellow patron, right under my nose.”
Suri’s magical orb had run its course. The enforcers were once again on the approach, this time cautiously, no longer holding the element of surprise.
“Surrender,” said Traxan, “and your lives will be spared.”
The Androsian grabbed Suri’s arm, and in one motion pulled her with him over the edge of the railing. They hit the cold water with a splash. By the time Suri popped her head above water, the barge was already a good twenty feet away. The enforcers were on the railing, pointing angrily in her direction. Traxan was flying through the air, poncho swirling. He held a small mirror in the palm of a hand. By the power of a spell it was lit up with the wattage of an industrial spotlight. Traxan turned it this way and that, directing the spotlight over the dark waves. The sun was nearly fully set now, its lingering light far and distant on the horizon.
For that, Suri was thankful. The Androsian was nowhere to be seen. She dove underwater as the spotlight passed overhead. Two minutes of holding her breath was all that Suri could manage. Powerful strokes had taken her (she hoped) in the direction of the nearest shore. Her head breached the surface, and she gasped in a lungful of air. Remarkably, the Androsian was five feet away. He was looking right at her, long grey hair and beard wet and scraggly, making his gaunt face look even thinner than before.
He pointed behind Suri. She turned, saw the lights of San Francisco. It was a good ways off, but not so far that she feared of drowning. “Can you make it?” She asked. The Androsian nodded grimly. They both looked to the sky. Traxan was nowhere to be seen. Not that he isn’t still out there, looking for us.
For a time, they had escaped.
The swim back to the shore was long, cold and tiring. They both climbed out from the water, onto the rocks and sat for two minutes to catch their breath. The Androsian stood first. Suri scrambled to her feet, worried he was about to take off. “Hang on,” she said, a hint of anger in her voice. “I’ve got fifty humans trapped in Faerie, a missing councillor, and a bunch of other shit going on that I can’t make heads or tails of, but is sure as heck going to get me killed. I want answers.”
The Androsian’s eyes were back to their true, fae form. Ochre colored, a vertical slit in the middle. He moved his hair to so it covered his pointed ears. “You should never have come,” he said. “You should have delivered the package, as we agreed upon.”
“Yea, I’m going to,” Suri snapped back. “A couple things happened since then. Why did that guy call me ‘Ms Blackwater?’”
But the Androsian wasn’t having any of it. “Make the delivery. Everything will be made clear.” He transformed into an owl. The owl’s feathers were long in the areas where his human form had long hair,
and were roughly the same color. He looked at Suri one last time, then took to the air. Leaving Suri alone to pick herself up off the hard rock surface, squeeze water from her hair and walk into the nearest bar.
She’d forgotten her ‘no liquor’ promise.
“Whiskey,” she called, to the ungifted bartender. It was a random hole-in-the-wall bar. A hipster establishment, which seemed to be about half the bars in San Francisco. The other half catering to sports fans. Regular sports, of course. Not League of Legends, which was the only game Suri gave half a care about.
The whiskey burned down her throat, warmed her stomach. She felt that, somehow, that she had once again fucked up. Trusted people she shouldn’t have. Made things worse instead of better. Two steps back. Further complications. It was the expected result; She should never have gotten this involved in the first place. Her egotistical, hero-complex had taken her this far. It was time to end the game, leave the adventure to the Demon Hunters and master mages who knew what was what. Rent was due in four days. She wouldn’t be of help to anyone, much less herself, if she was out on the street. And it wouldn’t be fair to Amber. Not that there was any guarantee she could get enough money in time.
It’s just problem after problem. Is that all life is?
Disconcerting thoughts collocated in her mind. A jumble of darkness and sullen depression, beating down her soul from the inside.
“Suri!” It was Amber, her voice coming through Suri’s tattoo. “A rift is opening.”
Suri’s drooping head shot upright. “ETA?”
“Maybe twenty minutes? It popped up on my radar a second ago. Not sure when the lines will come together.”
“Good,” said Suri. She slapped a bill on the counter and left the door swinging behind her. Started making her way back to where she’d parked her bike, at a brisk pace.
“It’s almost the end of the month,” Amber ventured. Totally unaware of what had transpired with Suri on the barge.
“I’ve got a package to deliver,” Suri said. “Maybe there will be some money at the end of it.”
“No,” said Amber. Suri could ‘hear’ Amber shake her head. “Never mind. Forget I said anything. Stupid. I’m sitting here, bored, you know, and I started thinking about it. But it’s not important right now. Do your thing. We’ll figure it out.”
Amber’s words, spoken so calm and certain, sent a tingle down Suri’s spine. In a moment, all the fears and downward spiralling thoughts were purged from her mind. That’s what friends are best at, lifting you up when you’re feeling down.
In ten minutes, Suri was sitting on Blackbird.
“I’m narrowing in on it,” said Amber. “Start heading North.”
Suri went North, taking roads at random, putting a hold on Billy’s demonic power. Taking the streets slowly, at a leisurely speed. The rift could appear miles away, or two blocks away. There was no rush, nowhere to go. Suri took the time to people watch the ungifted going about their ordinary, ungifted lives. The homeless people sadly wandering the streets, brown paper bags in hand, stumbling, sometimes yelling and swearing, hanging out on the street corners with liquor stores. It was strange to see in the middle of such a large, rich city. Two blocks further on, and there wasn’t a soul around. No noise. Only the odd person walking on the sidewalk, chatting on their cellphone, on their way home, or perhaps to meet with friends, or a date. Then the sidewalks full of all kinds of well-dressed individuals, of all ages. Bustling about. Music playing from speakers outside cute little cafes and restaurants. An elderly couple sitting on the ledge of the window outside an ice cream shop, silently enjoying each other’s company. The best fate any of us can hope for, it seemed to Suri.
“Oh, good,” came Amber’s voice. “You’re right next to it. It’ll be in an alley next to Radiocaio’s. That’s some kind of…” A pause as Amber looked it up on her phone. “Catering company,” she finished.
Suri had seen it a few minutes ago. Did a U-turn as soon as the traffic allowed, drove into the alley and parked. She smelled the hint of ozone, the coming rift. For the first time in years, she had arrived early. Her sword was still in her apartment, left inside her closet next to a pile of shoes. For obvious reasons, she thought it was wise not to bring it to Brexly Hall. Back when she thought it was going to be a discreet mission.
Not a big loss, she decided, as the rift split into existence. I’ll just have to blow everything up with my spells. The rift sizzled, spitting red sparks. It was rimmed in red, tendrils like lines in broken glass extending out at random at different points along its edge. It was oval-shaped, like the Eye of Sauron. The more Suri looked at it, the more odd it seemed. A real freak of nature event, totally chaotic. The only link between Earth and Faerie, for all but the most powerful mages.
It’s a strange world we live in, Suri decided. She checked her pockets, confirmed that the package hadn’t fallen out in the water. Grabbed her jade amulet, shut her eyes and envisioned the room where she last left Lodum.
Time to find out what happened while I’ve been away, she thought, and stepped through.
29
A tugging sensation as the gravity of Faerie and Earth fought for possession of Suri’s material form. The feeling of splitting in two. Slowly pushing her way through water. Then the elastic ‘snap’ as her body fully emerged back in Lodum.
The amulet worked as intended. Suri was back in the room with the silver chairs, thick and stained oak table, balcony, and everything else just as she remembered it. But no Raja. No human refugees. All was quiet.
Suri made her way up the staircase, put her hand on the round, ornate doorknob and had a moment of hesitation. She didn’t want to be a snoop, yet no one was around. The size of the building, what the building was, remained unknown to her. Her earlier visit had not allowed for a full tour. But, if nothing else, Suri needed to find out what had happened to the humans she had left behind…If her worst fear had come to pass, and Vestrix sold them out.
Besides, there was no telling where Vestrix and Raja had gone. Maybe they were out. Grocery shopping.
The thought made Suri smile. She shook her head. After everything that had happened, it seemed ridiculous that either of them would care that Suri had taken it on herself to have a look around.
She opened the door, and stepped into a long hall with a high ceiling. There were no windows. The only other door was at the other end, about a block away.
Is this a museum?
Coats of medieval armor (with a distinctive Faerie style), swords, shields and maces (some black with old blood) decorated the walls. Bronze and marble statues rose twelve feet high, like Michelangelo’s David, from the floor. All facing inward, looking down from both sides at the person walking past. The hall itself was designed even more pompously than the room Suri had just left. It was wide enough to her to hold out both arms and not touch either side. The ceiling must have been over thirty feet high—giving much room for the weaponry, which sprawled up the whole height and length of each wall. The same chandeliers hung above, giving bright candlelight. Suri had a feeling those candles never went out, burning forever by way of an enchantment.
Some of the arms and armor were polished, shining in the candlelight. Others looked like they had come fresh off the battlefield, stained, dented, darkened and dulled. Yet each gave off a sense of regality, and grave importance. Dented or not, they all looked expensive, highly decorated by expert artisans. Some of the armor was identical to what was worn by the statues of fae men and women. It was in this hall because it was important. Suri felt awed. A rush through her veins. Her heart quickened, and she walked faster, feeling distinctly that she did not belong.
The hall told her nothing about the purpose of the building, or the Lady of Arrows. Other than a taste for military history.
Through the door at the end of the hall, Suri found herself in a dressing room. The kind that would make San Francisco's most expensive gym green with envy. It had shower stalls with marble walls and floor, mahogany closets,
cream colored towels hanging on wooden pegs. The slight smell of lemons and cinnamon lingered in the air.
Where Suri stood by the door, it was an open space, but the long, wide, dark wood planks of the floor, like those on the deck of a 17th century merchant ship, curved, along with the walls, in a circle, leaving Suri to assume that the dressing room was shaped like a donut.
She went to the left, through the whole length of the room and exited through yet another door. And then she was no longer alone.
Raja looked up from where he stood in the middle of an open courtyard. The Faerie sun shone down, marking the time about noon. Opposite from what it was on Earth (and it would always be this way, no matter which country the rift was taken from).
He was sweating, holding a wooden sword in both hands that he now lowered.
He was shirtless. Again. Wearing those tight, black pants.
Suri took a step forward, and Vestrix jumped down from one of the tall, stone walls enclosing the courtyard on every side, that had a roof made of those curved, Mediterranean style sun-brown ceramic tiles.
“It took you long enough,” she said, walking forward, ahead of Raja, to greet Suri.
Vestrix’ face was not hidden by feathers. Her clothes were tight-fitting, midnight black, meant to be worn beneath armor. Although a ring of small, black feathers hung from where they were attached in a ring around her chest and shoulders.
“Come,” she said. “Your armor is almost ready.”
“M-my armor?” Suri stuttered.
“Tell me everything,” said Vestrix firmly.
That’s what I wanted to say, Suri thought. She was about to divulge all the information about the councillor, Androsian, Taxan, and vampires when she recalled the missing humans.
“Where are the others?” she asked. “Where did you put them?”
Faerie Mage: An Urban Fantasy Novel (Vampire's Bane Book 1) Page 19