by Poppet
I listen to his keyboard clicking and clacking, and then his low exhalation twists my gut into a hernia.
“Are you sitting down?” he says.
“Yup.”
Jesus, I'm so tense now I'm ready to pop my aorta.
“Zaria is in Slanci.”
“That's where Zauran lives,” I spit, sitting bolt upright, ready to go rip that fucker a new one.
“Yeah, but Phoebe is with her. What the hell are those two up to?”
“Meet me there,” I demand, snapping my phone shut and pocketing it.
I'm halfway to my bedroom to get a jacket and nine-mil when it starts vibrating in my pocket.
Hauling it back out, recognizing his ringtone, I answer, “What?”
“Let's phone Phoebe first, you're jumping to conclusions Darise.”
“Fine, phone her and call me back, I'm busy pulling on my ass kicking shoes.”
Snapping the phone shut with more force than is necessary, I yank on the black leather jacket with a hundred concealed compartments, moving swiftly to retrieve my Czechoslovakian made CZ.
Česká Zbrojovka knew how to make handguns, and as I'm a fucking mortal now I need hollow point back up.
Just as I shove it in the holster my phone rings again.
“What?” I say on answer, sitting down and changing shoes with the phone cradled between ear and shoulder.
“Phoebe's phone goes straight to the disconnected signal.”
Sweat begins clustering between my shoulder blades, “Do you believe me yet? Time's wasting Seithe, we need to get to Zauran Kasun's house asap!”
Laced up, disconnecting the call and pocketing my phone, I concentrate on manifesting at Zauran's property. It takes twenty times the effort it once did, but at least this ability wasn't lost to me.
In a heartbeat my ancient home dissolves and I'm standing between trees outside Zauran's garage.
A minute later Seithe appears in the driveway.
Stealth bro!
Diving out of my cover, I pssst him over, frantic someone will see him before we've cased the joint.
He saunters, uncaring.
Typical.
“Call her phone again,” he orders as he reaches me.
Annoyed, I do as told, understanding the logic.
Last chance Zaria.
Waiting while it rings, Seithe leaves my side and advances on the garage, yanking the door up and staring into the gloomy interior.
“Her car is here, and the phone is ringing just inside.”
Snapping my phone closed, replacing it with the CZ, I stick to the shadows, following Seithe deeper into the vacuous workshop.
Pausing two-thirds of the way in, I look at the blood, the bike, the oil. One helluva fight went down here.
Urgency punches my heart and I run for the door to the house, handing the gun to Seithe so I can call Zaria's phone again.
I follow the ringing all the way to a den.
Shit! She's not with her phone.
“But it means she was here,” I say to Seithe as he enters behind me.
Picking up her phone, pocketing it, I yell, “Zauran!”
Nothing. Not even a bird chirping.
Fuck this.
Snatching the nine-mil back, I go bulleting out the room. I sweep through the house, top to bottom, noting her jeans in a serpentinite room and her fleece pullover in the motherfucker's bedroom.
I can't breathe I'm so pissed off.
He fucked her, I can feel it in my blood.
“I'm going to destroy him,” I grunt, drawing in desperate pulls of air.
“Get in line then because it looks like someone beat us to it.” Seithe grips my shoulder and swivels me to face him. “Darise, someone has my wife and I'm freaking the hell out.”
“We need Jowendrhan. This is war, Seithe. Flat out nuclear!”
It's immediate, we both yell, “Jowendrhan!”
Nothing happens.
“Fuck.” I'm in shock. This has never happened to us before.
Ever.
Seithe slams his arm around my shoulder and we're moving, manifesting through space, directly to Jowendrhan's apartment.
Two things hit me immediately; Božena's perfume, and more blood and gore than I've ever witnessed.
Pivoting, I take in the congealed pool, the blood spatter across white leather couches, and the bone and darkened blood stuck to the corner of the marble table.
Zeroing in on it, I inspect the clump of hair left behind.
“Someone's got Jowendrhan,” I say, stating the obvious.
Seithe looks desperate, his hair changing to stark white, his eyes turning blue as he says, “They have Jo, Zauran, Phoebe and Zaria. What the hell is going on in Belgrade, Darise?” Fisting both his hands in my jacket I'm lifted off the ground, “What the fuck aren't you telling me?!”
*
Zaria:
I can't believe we're kidnapped.
'For our own safety', yeah right.
I'm dreading dinner. This place is huge and way too lavish for my taste. It keeps me on the precarious and sharp edge of nervous.
In a home this luxurious I get jumpy. I'm afraid I'll accidentally knock over a Fabergé figurine, or a King Louis plate, or bump some fancy-smancy painting that I couldn't pay for in my entire lifetime.
It's too opulent with gildings, carvings, crystal light fittings, brushed copper pots, marble floors, burnished wood polished to a lacquered sheen, and carpets so padded you could sink to your knees in them.
It's just overwhelming, and I hate it. It's cold and impersonal; it's wealth used to disguise an empty, hollow, soulless home.
Give me scuffed wooden floors and raw stone, bare feet, and a lump of cheese, and I'm happy.
I was meant to be a peasant, it's hardwired into me.
Instead, I have to meet them in the dining room which is formal, when I'd much rather eat at a bleached table in the kitchen.
I miss Zauran.
Where are you? Are you okay? Please come back, be fine, let this all be a huge stupid misunderstanding.
Save me!
My pounding headache lances into my eyes with the increased tension of thinking about Zauran. I can't lose him when I've only just realized I've found him, inside me, in my heart. I've been in denial for months and I finally man-up just to lose him to some vigilante monster.
Which reminds me, I need to find a bathroom and use this thing in my pocket. I believe him, he has no reason to lie to me or manipulate me.
Phoebe loves me and I understand she's just being the logical voice of reason. We've both been trained by the vampyre to be suspicious.
Walking into the first guest bathroom on my way to the dining room, I close the enormous white door and turn around.
The room is dominated with a floor to ceiling mirror and platinum fixtures. The basin is one big mother-of-pearl shell, like a huge shell from back in the day when the earth still had giant seashells.
The bath is another one. It's an enormous clamshell, polished inside to reflect light in ribbons of silver and pearl. It's inviting, making me instantly crave a hot frothy bubble-bath.
Harnessing my focus, I pad to the toilet, staring at the amber resin seat and lid. Caught in the fossilized gum are specks of gold which gives the toilet a fairy dust sprinkle of magic.
This place is just insane.
Moving my hair to my back, I unzip my jeans and sit down, pulling out the pregnancy kit and yanking the wrapping off.
This is so damn ungraceful, you'd think they could think of a better way to do this.
Peeing on the white wick, I cap it and leave it on the marble vanity next to me, surveying glass cupboards housing thick cream towels marked with gold monogram, piled high inside the doors next to toilet paper rolls and French soaps big enough to kill someone.
It makes me grateful my mother couldn't afford soap that big and expensive when she washed my mouth out.
That would have been seriously traumatic.
&
nbsp; Turning to the folded tip of the toilet paper, I stare at the imprint on each sheet. Fingering the heavy ply paper, it's thick and soft and unlike any loo paper I've ever seen. The imprint is romantic and renaissance looking. It's a heart with curlycues swirling off it.
What a shame to use this pretty paper to flush away.
Gritting my teeth I break some off, and then try and fold the edge the way it was before I used it.
The effort seems like a waste of time.
I suppose he wears cravats and a velvet smoking jacket too, when he's alone and vegging out at home.
Wow.
This is way outside of my comfort zone.
Finishing my business, I flush the loo and redress, picking up the stick and hoping it's been long enough.
Yep. There it is, in both windows, a perfect pink line to prove I am pregnant.
I agree with Phoebe though, it should take a lot longer to show up in any test, but then these men are supernatural so I think anything is possible.
I knew he wouldn't lie to me. I freaking knew it.
My knees go weak and I sit back down on the closed lid, staring at my pale image in the mirror.
Shit! I'm really pregnant.
*
Phoebe:
This is like being on vacation at an elite resort. It's incredible!
We're all seated around a magnificent dark wood table that is so highly polished it makes the candles look like they're reflecting off a lake at midnight.
Ryan looks regal and strikes a handsome figure at the head of the table where he chats to Sveta and Zaria.
I'm next to Aisyx with Božena opposite me. For such a vast room it manages to feel quite cozy.
The buffet had everything any of us could want, and it's with heavily lidded eyes that I finish the fruity cabernet in my voluminous crystal glass.
Staring back down the table at our host, I find myself fascinated by these neuri men. They have an aura of invincibility.
Ryan is congenial and polite, and with that amazing voice of his I think I could listen to him for hours and hours and never tire of the inflections of his accent, or the way his tone vibrates as if he speaks through beams of light in seven different cords at once.
His brother Sveta watches Božena constantly, his eyes dark and hungry. He reminds me of Seithe. He seems to barely conceal the danger lurking beneath his calm exterior.
*
Zauran and Jowendrhan:
The two work in tandem. They are like the left and right hands clapping together, mirroring each other.
These demons are far more than even the supernatural men ever understood. I'm an archangel, I remember them, I remember when we worked as one, all of us simply an extension of divine will.
We manifested like a rainbow. The parts can be unified, but never separated to the point of breaking apart. We became fractured through the prism of dimensions and purpose, but still we remain joined.
Seeing Jowendrhan and Zauran destroyed so they barely live, I know it's time to step in.
“That's enough Amazarak.”
I know he goes by the name Zarak, but I remember his full name and just how powerful his sorcery is. Half the torment visiting Zauran is inflicted in his mind. He believes so many things have delivered his body with pain, but it was all just a lucid illusion.
One he will never forget.
Zarak turns to me, his smile wide and welcoming, stepping forward and folding me in a bear hug with a bracing thump to my ribcage.
“Brother,” he roars. “You came down from Biqa?”
I nod, stepping back, enjoying the camaraderie of my own kind. “Yes. It seems the spawn have misbehaved like naughty children the second I leave. I apologize, Zarak.”
“They have no clue, still.” He laughs loud enough to tremble the walls of loose rock.
“It's enough. It's time for me to take over. You dealt them their lesson, now I must become the voice of responsibility and reason.”
He nods, looking through the wall to where our brother stands over Jowendrhan. He's smiling at us, his eyes flashing recognition in their inky depths.
I nod his way, “Greetings in love Kasdeja.”
We call him Akae most of the time. He and Michael have a long and glorious history, because he is the only demon to know the hidden name. Michael trusted him enough to reveal it to him, and after that Kasdeja swore an oath to it. The oath is known as Akae. Calling him Akae is a mark of respect from those inside the inner circle, the few of us who know the truth.
“Venix! What brings you here brother?” Akae says through the cave wall as if it's not there.
I indicate the man bleeding all over his feet, “Him. It's time for me to mop up the mess. You two need to get back to your posts.”
He dusts his hands loudly together as if satisfied.
Then he turns and vanishes into a shadow, and I become aware that Zarak joined him in the exit.
Drawing my palms together, I bring the men together before me, removing the dream placed on their minds.
Chapter 19
Zauran:
Darkness fades to brilliant white, my veins unclog, and the air becomes brisk and invigorating.
Relief floods my traumatized body, soothing my mind. I move to wipe the hair poking at my eyes when I realize I'm still bound.
Twisting, I'm shackled to someone where we sit on the hard floor spine to spine, shoulder to shoulder, tied wrist to wrist.
Looking forward, my ankles are still weighed down with thick chain. Staring about, I tentatively run my tongue around my mouth, inspecting broken teeth and swelling, but it's all magically vanished.
Movement catches my attention and I writhe to look, meeting silver eyes in an all too familiar face.
“Venix?” I ask, coughing against the drought in my throat, my eyes stinging with the effort.
He smiles, stepping forward in angelic glory. “Zauran, I didn't expect us to meet again so soon.”
Sagging against the deadweight at my back, I survey Venix. I'm dead tired and feel as if my very soul has been punished.
“It has,” Venix nods.
Arching an eyebrow, I struggle to form a response around the sandy grit in my mouth. “Venix, what the hell is going on?”
Instantly a deep puffy chair appears and he sits down on it directly in front of me, a good distance away.
Relaxing back, he links his fingers, and says, “You and Zaria is why this happened Zauran. I led her to you, gave you my power, and you abused both.”
“I didn't–.”
“You did. Without her permission or prior knowledge you decided to seed yourself in her as a mark of ownership. That is against the law, Zauran. Now you choose, either you die, or your spawn die.”
“Whose laws? I keep hearing about these fucking laws!”
He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees to pierce white fiery eyes at me. “You want to be a leader, then you learn the language. I left you the information but you were too lazy to put in the effort to decipher what it said. The law is clear and concise Zauran. Women are not playthings to be owned and marked, or to bear children for your ego. Women give life, they bleed spiritual energy into the child they carry, they form an entire miracle in their womb, and this process is a gift and a curse for women. What you did was unforgivable.”
How the hell can he know? It only happened last night for fuck's sake.
“I'm an angel, Zauran, I know everything I need to know when I need to know it. And it wasn't last night. You've been here for five days.”
“What?”
He relaxes back again, inspecting his nails as if we're on a beach in Bali. “Listen up, I'm only saying this once.”
Venix's jaw tightens and the glare he gives me is resolute.
“Zauran, Zaria is Slakax. She is light. She is light made flesh and bone.” He leans closer, dropping his voice as if sharing a secret, “Do you have any idea how many of them are hiding in women? They were very very clever indeed.”
He halts, snapping to face me with eyes so bright they illuminate the entire cavern. “Zauran! Look at the wars, look at the rape and violence. Look at the trafficking and subjugation, do you know why? Because they are light and the darkness is terrified of freedom. It dimmed each and every light so it was barely a spark. Too weak to catch flame to kindle, it withered.”
He takes five steps up to me and hammers his fist into my jaw. My head explodes with instant throbbing, the room wavering as if viewed through turbulent water.
“Zauran,” he sneers low and cruel, it's threatening. Gripping my hair he yanks my head back and forcefully clears my vision to be blinded with his eyes. “Zaria was my light you sadistic little shit. I love her! And I'm not the only one. Slakax are protected by the Most High. They are pure even though they suffer great emotional loss, they are still light. You held in your arms the most precious commodity in creation, and you let your ego defile her!”
“I didn't know. I..”
Fuck! Zaria is Slakax? But they don't even exist! They died out eons ago.
Thrusting my head so it cracks against the one behind me, he stands, prowling away and then turning as if to face off with me.
“They did not die out. They went into hiding, and they hid in the one place we'd never look. The human body.” Releasing a heavy breath, he gracefully sits down on his chair again and adopts a conversational tone. “Zauran choose. You've had your punishment for breaking Spirit's law. You die, or your babies die. Pick one.”
“What kind of choice is that?” I say to the heavenly bouncer.
“Exactly!” He pounces out of his chair to wag a finger in my face. “See! When the shoe's on the other foot then suddenly you're all pro life.” He leans in and shouts in my eyes, “YOURS!”
“What the hell, Venix! Give me a fucking break. I didn't know she was Slaka–”