The Servant

by B. C. Burgess

  Henrick beamed and threw his hands up. “Zephora, my sweet Dark Madam. You’re too good to an old man.”

  “That’s what they all say.” She stepped off the ledge, making her captive tumble after her, and she let him fall to his face while offering her cheek to Henrick.

  He gave it a kiss. Then he held her hand while scanning her aura. “I worried you hadn’t caught up.”

  “You know I like the shadows. I do my best work in the dark.”

  “Many men would agree… most of them dead.”

  She winked then motioned to the fallen wizard. “I caught him at the entrance. The idiot was trying to get in. It looked like he wanted to play hero, so I toned down my aura and pretended to be a lady in distress.”

  Henrick chuckled. “Lady? Yes. Distress? Never. The Dark Madam is always in control. Let’s see what you reeled in.”

  She knelt, keeping her thighs together so that the gawking wizards merely got a glimpse of her butt cheeks as she lifted her captive by his hair. “Have I caught the right fish?”

  Henrick leaned closer and examined the wizard’s eyes. “I do believe you have.” He turned to the bound Vindicators. “Is this Bull?”

  A few of them nodded, and Henrick grinned while giving Zephora another kiss on the cheek. “You’ll be rewarded for this. I’ll make sure of it. Why don’t you camp with us tonight? I’ll fill you in on our next step, and you can get a peaceful stretch of sleep.”

  “Hmm…” Zephora straightened and strutted along a row of new recruits. When she came across one who refused to look at her, she leaned closer. “Boo!”

  The guy jumped and teetered into the soldier behind him, and Zephora laughed while roughly patting his cheek. “I think I will camp with you. I like playing with pussies.”

  Henrick snickered while watching her with pride, the kind of pride Alistair had never earned. “By all means, Lady Zephora, lead the way.”

  And with that, the dominatrix pulled a riding crop from her satchel and started barking orders at the troops.

  Alistair stayed out of the way, his arms crossed as he watched the soldiers fall in line. After the last one took flight, Zephora stepped onto the ledge and flashed a chilling smile over her shoulder. “Long time no see, Brother.”

  Alistair narrowed his eyes, unable to find the sister he left behind more than thirty years ago. Even then she’d been committed to the guild, a bright-eyed teenager happy to perform the intriguing yet menial tasks set upon her, but now she was a Dark Madam – a title presented to the most loyal, most powerful and most ruthless female heirs of the elders. Her childhood was long behind her, her innocence long lost.

  Zephora smirked and soared away, and Alistair looked at Henrick, who basked in a hubris glow while watching his daughter’s aura. “She’s something, isn’t she?”

  Alistair’s cool melted. “What the hell is going on, Dad? Why didn’t you tell me you were traveling with her?”

  Henrick raised an eyebrow at his son’s temper. “You didn’t ask.”

  Alistair rolled his eyes and tossed his hands in the air. “Are any more of my siblings hovering around?”

  “No. But you might as well get used to working with Zephora, because I’m sending her with you on your next assignment.”

  Alistair stopped ranting and met his father’s stare. “You’re not going?”

  “No. I need to get Bull back to our base.”

  Alistair bitterly smirked and shook his head. “Right. Bull. I spent a month running around this damn country collecting amateur soldiers just to track him down. I deserve to know who he is.”

  Henrick dug into his satchel and handed Alistair an old book. “Bull’s a replacement for something we lost, a wizard who killed himself while in our captivity. You’ll find your answers in that book, but keep them to yourself.” He turned away and floated to the ledge. “I’ll see you back at camp.”

  He took off in a blur of color, and Alistair dropped his gaze to the book, finding one of the pages marked with a strip of red satin. He used it to flip open the cover. Then he skimmed the text until he reached a highlighted phrase – the branded Servant of Ava.

  His mouth fell open as everything clicked. Then he swallowed a lump while looking at the sky.

  Bull was marked by the goddess of the Heavens, and Alistair had helped the Dark Guild capture him.

  Chapter Six

  December brought more rain, frigid temperatures and a few dustings of snow, but Layla observed only a tiny portion of the weather from the comfort of a dry and warm lawn.

  She hadn’t left the community since the Thanksgiving celebration with the refugees, but she spent a lot of time outside, and her family kept the clearing shielded from the elements so the triplets could get fresh air while bonding with the coven. Layla’s enemies hadn’t come near her since Vortigern’s demise, and the Crusaders guarding the property had nothing to report, so Layla fell into a peaceful routine that granted a sense of permanence, as false as it was.

  The triplets were sleeping longer at night and latching on quickly, easing the stress of nursing, and every day they amazed Layla by reaching new milestones. Their vision was improving; they responded to familiar voices; they grabbed toys and each other; and their cooing and squealing had become more frequent and consistent. When they were on their tummies, they could hold up their heads for several seconds, and they tried to keep up with Quin when he showed them how to do push-ups. The first time Lilyana lifted her entire chest, her daddy celebrated like she’d won an Olympic gold medal, scooping her up for praise and cuddles, and her vibrant emerald eyes brightened as she kicked her feet.

  Layla and Quin’s sex life had slightly improved since he manipulated her into an afternoon of carefree lovemaking, but they still struggled to balance their responsibilities and make time for each other. Layla had come to terms with the fact that their schedule may never again allow for daily trips to heaven, but they were getting a taste of pleasure a few times a week.

  When they weren’t spoiling their children or sneaking in quickies, they worked on personal projects. Layla’s letters to her kids remained incomplete, so she added a few lines every time Benzio practiced reading and writing; and she was taking art lessons from Morrigan. She spent at least two hours a day learning how to achieve naturalism and realism using acrylics, and after each lesson, she’d put the kids down for a nap in the turret room and use her mom’s old easel to practice. Recalling Zio’s and Jacinda’s faces always brought tears to Layla’s eyes, and the first time she put them on canvas, she bawled. Then she had to vanish the images because they weren’t good enough, and that made her cry harder.

  Sometimes Quin stayed in the turret room with her, either silently working on his own projects or inspiring her by playing the guitar, but he usually left her to it with a promise he’d be back soon. He refused to tell her what he was doing during their time apart, so she figured he was either dealing with the Crusaders or planning Christmas surprises. Either way, she was content to stay in the dark.

  Three weeks into December, festive decorations started popping up around the community, and on the morning of the twenty-fourth, Layla walked onto the lawn to find a massive fir tree rooted in the green grass. Colored lights laced every branch; and dozens of boxes sat nearby, heaped with ornaments ready to be hung.

  “Wow,” Benzio breathed, mesmerized by the twinkling lights.

  Layla was equally enthralled and halted to stare. “And I thought our Christmas tree was big.”

  Quin had filled half her living room with the biggest Christmas tree she’d ever owned, and even after letting Benzio go crazy with homemade ornaments, some of the branches were left bare, but the grand fir on the lawn dwarfed the Douglas fir in their house.

  “Will we get to decorate that one?” Benzio asked.

  “Absolutely,” Morrigan answered, taking the toddler from Layla’s arms. “You and Alana can start by putting on the star.

  Benzio’s forehead wrinkled as he peered at the top of th
e tree. “Way up there? Just us?”

  “I’ll float with you,” Morrigan assured. “Let’s go get Alana.”

  Layla sat down to brunch while watching them put up the star. Then others joined in on the decorating fun. Brietta and Kegan had paused their wedding planning to celebrate the holiday; Skyla and Brayden were out of school for winter break; and Aradia was having the time of her life prepping for her first Christmas.

  Earlier in the month, she’d followed Layla’s advice and let Daleen perform an exam, which proved Aradia’s body was fine, yet Daleen somehow talked her into weekly counseling sessions, hoping to heal her heart. Layla wasn’t sure if the talks were helping, but there was no ignoring the improvement in Aradia’s well-being. She smiled and laughed often; she loved giving and accepting hugs; and she’d started working in the bookstore with Banning. The two of them were officially dating, and they weren’t shy about flirting or holding hands on the lawn. They even got personal around Alec, who’d taken a job at a Christmas tree farm owned by local magicians. The work was temporary, but he’d befriended some of the Unforgivable refugees, and he endured a mind-shield at least once a week to visit his sister. He’d been invited to help decorate the coven tree, but he chose to celebrate with the refugees on the twenty-fourth so he could spend Christmas day with Aradia.

  By the time the final ornament was hung on the tree and its branches reflected the tastes of more than two-dozen people, dinner was announced. The fare was simple and served earlier than usual, and instead of visiting long into the night, most of them retired after one drink.

  “Layla,” Morrigan called, catching her in the rose garden. “I almost forgot. Daleen and I made Christmas outfits.”

  “Of course you did,” Layla laughed, watching Morrigan summon a pile of material.

  First she showed off the boys’ outfits, which were as cute as boys’ clothes could be. Then she held up the most adorable red and white frilly gown complete with tiny booties and a lacy headband.

  “Aww…” Layla cooed. “I love it. She’ll be the prettiest Christmas angel ever.”

  Morrigan beamed while shuffling through the clothes. “Wait, I’m not done.” Then she pulled out a matching dress for Arabella, bow included. “I made it as comfortable as possible, so she might keep it on.”

  Layla grinned and took a closer look. “That is too cute. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” Morrigan sent the clothes into the house then gave her great-grandchildren another round of kisses. “See you in the morning.”

  Once inside, Layla sat on the sofa to nurse, and Quin tried to keep up with Benzio’s excited chatter while getting him ready for bed. He’d been playing outside all day, and his eyes betrayed his sleepiness, but he was too excited to slow down.

  “May I have hot cocoa for breakfast?” he asked, returning to the living room in pajamas.

  Quin laughed as he emerged from the hallway, an infant in one arm and Arabella at his heels. “You need food for breakfast, but there will be plenty of time for hot cocoa afterward.”

  “Okay,” Benzio agreed, climbing onto the sofa next to Layla. “May I have hot cocoa now?”

  Layla and Quin exchanged smiles, well aware they were pushovers. Then they indulged the toddler with half a cup of cocoa before bed. He kept finding things to talk about after he was tucked in, but as soon as the triplets were asleep, Benzio obediently fell silent, and exhaustion overtook him.

  Layla filled her lungs while finding her bed, her beautiful, comfortable bed, but she couldn’t fall in it yet. “I still need to wrap Benzio’s portrait.”

  Quin cast a few spells around the children then followed her to the hallway. “I still need to make a copy of it.”

  “That’s right.” She headed for the stairs, but then she halted and turned, nearly running into him. “I need a drink.”

  “I’ll get it. Water?”

  “Yes, please.”

  He summoned a glass of water then motioned for her to continue down the corridor. “You know I’ll need to see your painting to make a copy, right?”

  She laughed through a yawn as she climbed the stairs. “I know. I think it’s done. I mean… it is done.”

  “I’m sure it’s amazing. I was impressed with the first dozen you vanished.”

  “I was impressed, too, but I didn’t want it to be good. I wanted it to be perfect, like that portrait of my parents in the living room. When I look at it, it’s like they’re really there. I see the life in them. The clarity and detail of Morrigan’s portraits capture something cameras can’t. It’s like hyperrealism, but she can do it without a photo. Her paintings put you in the moment with her subjects, and that’s what I wanted for Benzio.”

  “Did you succeed?”

  Layla paused on the threshold to the turret room. “I don’t know. I’ve learned a lot from my grandma, but I have a difficult time looking at it objectively. That moment was special for Benzio, but it was hell for me. How long will it take to make a copy?”

  “If I get it right the first time, about fifteen minutes.”

  “That’s it?”

  “I’m using a gold plate, so I won’t have to transfer the colors.”

  Layla crossed the circular room to the easel, which was draped with a sheet to hide her work from Benzio. “I just finished yesterday, and I haven’t looked at it since. I hope it’s as good as I remember.”

  “Let’s see it,” Quin encouraged, laying his hands on her shoulders.

  She bit her lower lip and held her breath, bracing for a horribly inaccurate detail to jump out at her, but when she pulled back the sheet, the portrait yanked her memory of the moment to the surface, shedding light on a visual often tucked into the back of her mind. No more blurry details drifting by like blackbirds in a night sky. She could see the worn corners of Zio’s book, the pale lashes framing Jacinda’s lavender eyes, and the small wrinkles in the soles of Benzio’s feet, which were crossed just like his dad’s.

  “Holy shit, Layla.” Quin moved around her and leaned in for a closer look. “This is incredible. I can’t believe you’ve improved this much in a month.”

  She smirked and raised an eyebrow. “So much for your claim that my first dozen were impressive.”

  “They were, but this… You’re every bit as good as Morrigan.”

  “That’s a high compliment. Thank you. Maybe someday I’ll take it up as a hobby.”

  “Did you enjoy it?”

  “I liked learning, and I’m glad Benzio will have a reminder of his parents, but no, painting this image didn’t bring me joy. Satisfaction, yes, but not joy. I’m glad it’s done.”

  “You have a lovely perception of them.”

  “They were lovely people in an ugly place. Or maybe they glowed so bright because my world was so dark.” She cleared her throat and looked away from Zio’s face. “Do you have the gold with you?”

  “Yeah. I still can’t believe what I’m seeing. If you’d picked up a paintbrush in high school, I may have never met you. You’d be making waves in the hexless art world.” He pulled a thick golden plaque from his satchel. Then he summoned two stools and sat in front of the easel. “Would you like to watch?”

  She gave an eager nod while sitting next to him, and he held the metal in his left hand while intently studying her painting. After several seconds, he looked down and began running his fingers over the gold, magically shaving away material around the edges until Layla could see the outline of everything in the forefront of the portrait.

  “You’re making it three dimensional,” she realized. “Like a relief sculpture.”

  He smiled and glanced over. “I had no idea you’re so knowledgeable about hexless art.”

  “I wouldn’t say that, but I’ve always liked looking at it. Katherine and I would try to find art museums every time we went on vacation.”

  “Looking at art and knowing the technique with which it was made are two different things. And yes, I’m imitating a relief sculpture, but obviously it’s
unfair to call it that since I’m using magic to get there.”

  “I love that you’re making it three dimensional. It’s perfect.”

  He was still concentrating on his work, but he smiled as his aura brightened. “I’m glad you approve.”

  He worked for about ten minutes before pausing to check his progress. Then he pointed at a spot near Layla’s feet. A wooden frame appeared, and she picked it up, finding the word family carved in gorgeous lettering across the bottom. “Did you make this?”

  “Yes.”

  “For Benzio’s portrait?”

  “Yes.”

  Her heart softened and warmed. “You’re the best, Quin. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  She set aside the frame and grinned at his profile. “What else are you hiding from me?”

  The twitch of his smiling lips proved he was, in fact, hiding something from her, but he kept his mouth shut.

  “Fine,” she conceded. “It’s only fair since I have secrets.”

  “Oh, yeah? I’m intrigued.”

  “I bet you are. You don’t want anything, so what could I possibly give you?”

  “Everything I want, you’ve already given me, so I have no idea.”

  “Then you realize how difficult it is to get you a gift.”

  “Every day with you is a gift, Layla, and the babies you gave me are the most valuable gifts I’ll ever receive, so there’s no point in trying to outdo yourself. You could give me your chewed gum for Christmas, and I’d love you just the same.”

  She feigned a scowl. “So much for secrets. Now you know what you’re getting.”

  He laughed while pulling his project closer and working on the smaller details. “Benzio looks a lot like his dad.”

  “Yes, he does. I imagine that will only become clearer with time. If I get to see him grow up—”

  “When, Layla. When you see him grow up.”

  “I love your positivity, Quin, but it’s not realistic. Even if this veil business doesn’t kill me, no one on earth has the promise of tomorrow. I’ve watched enough people die to know that. I’ve ended lives with my own hands. These hands.” She dropped her gaze and curled her scrawny fingers into fists. “They prove how fragile life is. Saying if instead of when doesn’t mean I’ve given up. It’s a reminder that all this could be gone in the blink of an eye, a reminder to cherish every moment like it’s my last. Remember? That’s what we promised to do when we bonded and thought our lives were coming to an end.”