by James Somers
He whistled to the horses. Lewis and Clark had slowed their pace considerably as we increased our distance from the place where we had left the pixie hordes lying under mountains of smoldering rubble. The pair of stallions were in no mood to argue and stopped as soon as Oliver gave them leave.
We exited the carriage. “This is as good a place as any,” Oliver said.
He began to work out the mechanics of a portal, using his wolf’s head cane to accentuate and focus his power. I felt a static charge accumulating around us. Oliver stopped what he was doing then, looking unsatisfied. No portal had developed.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
“I’m finding a great deal of resistance,” he said with a puzzled look.
“Perhaps, I could lend my power to yours,” I offered. Truth be told, I was growing anxious to find Sophia safe.
Oliver smiled. “It couldn’t hurt,” he said. “When I begin, find the focal point—now, look who I’m telling about portals—the very one who found his way into Tartarus to rescue me.”
“It’s okay, Oliver,” I said. “I’ve still much to learn.”
He smirked and then began again to manufacture a portal. I closed my eyes, sensing the matrix of power he wove in order to create a link between the mortal plane where we were in London and the city of Xandrea on the spiritual plane. I added my thoughts and power to his.
Together we focused upon both places, bringing them together in our minds. Just as two people might build a bridge together, Oliver and I laid the foundations of the construct and then placed the more complex elements upon it, building it layer upon layer until we were satisfied with our creation.
Describing the process was far more complicated than actually pulling it off—at least, after you got the basic premise down. After all, it only took us a few moments to combine our power and put it all together. Really, the matter required feeling your way through it.
The end result was that a portal appeared in the road before us. We viewed Xandrea through that window onto the spiritual plane, refreshed by its magnificence in that brief moment. Then we saw combatants clashing on a battlefield of green grass and trampled flowers—elves wearing armor of silver scales and Lycans with blood matted in their coats.
The window closed to us. Moreover, it rebounded against our efforts and snapped shut with such overwhelming force that both Oliver and I were knocked off of the road. The carriage was smashed to kindling, leaving only a shattered wreck that Lewis and Clark dragged up the road another hundred yards in their panic.
Minutes later, we were picking ourselves up from the brush and briars growing on the side of the road. I felt like I had been trampled by an enraged bull. Oliver appeared to be in no better condition—perhaps worse for his age, though he did not complain.
“Should I even ask what just happened?”
Oliver pushed against his hips, straightening his back as he stood again. I was spitting out grass and brushing off my clothes. This was something I hadn’t experienced yet, and Oliver seemed puzzled by the phenomena also.
“I’m not sure,” he said. “You saw the battle too?”
“Yes,” I confirmed. “Elves and werewolves.”
He nodded. I didn’t want to think about the repercussions of that brief glimpse. Six months had brought more trouble than I could have anticipated.
“We may have inadvertently been attempting to breach magical wards placed around Xandrea,” Oliver surmised.
“Wards meant to keep out werewolves,” I added.
“Perhaps, not only werewolves,” Oliver said gravely.
“What now?”
Oliver scratched at his chin whiskers. “Well, we clearly won’t get into Xandrea right now,” he said. “Perhaps, we should get to the root of the problem.”
“Lucifer?”
Oliver’s eyes widened. “Suicide wasn’t what I had in mind.”
I thought for a moment. “Grayson Stone.”
Finding the home of Lord Grayson Stone turned out to be remarkably simple. As it happened, Oliver was very familiar with Stone’s family and the whereabouts of their estate. Imagine my surprise when I learned that Grayson’s grandfather had owned most of the land that Highgate was built upon. Their home was still there, only a few miles from where I had been living this past year.
Oliver and I had begun by removing the harnesses from Lewis and Clark. The portal mishap had scared them half to death, but they were happy to return home when Oliver dismissed them. Strangely, as he spoke to them, I perceived their understanding and emotional responses. Though I did not interpret any language, per say, I knew that we were communicating.
“I’m not sure if we should bother with a portal to the Stone estate,” Oliver said. “As the son of Lucifer, there will no doubt be powerful wards against intrusion.”
“Then how?” I asked.
“We’ll start by going home.”
And that was what we did. Arriving back in the library, we came through the hearth—always a reliable portal mechanism—and decided to take a more direct route. Standing outside our home again, on the pea gravel drive, I decided on a course of action.
“Follow me,” I said.
I transformed into a peregrine falcon for quick flight, launching immediately into the air. Oliver came behind, literally right on my tail. He took the lead, heading straight for the estate of Grayson Stone.
We arrived in just under a minute, feeling the chill of winter the entire way. I had thought about tunneling our way beneath Grayson’s wards, but the ground was frozen solid. Attempting to take on the form of a gofer, or some other burrowing animal, would do us little good.
We landed among large trees just beyond the long drive leading nearly a quarter mile away to the house itself. Our transformation back to our true forms was uneventful and immediate. So far, we had not been confronted by any interference.
During my training with Master Helios, following Oliver’s consignment within Tartarus, I had learned how to focus my senses in order to reveal magical wards. In much the same way, Oliver had shown me how to refine my vision to spot the wood elves in their camouflage. Doing so now, should have caused these wards to be revealed as a shimmering transparency—in appearance much like the extensions we employed for offensive and defensive purposes. Nothing.
“Why would he not protect his home?” I asked.
“That worries me more than if he had,” Oliver replied. “It may mean that we are expected.”
Now, I was concerned also. What little I had observed of Grayson Stone told me that he would not leave himself open to attack. He was certainly very powerful, but he was not so enamored with his ability as to leave himself vulnerable. A trap surely awaited us at the house. Oliver clearly felt the same way.
We began our trek, walking cautiously up the drive toward the house looming ahead. Had we not been on this kind of mission, I might have lingered upon the beauty of the man’s home. The construction was gothic in style but not unappealing. Lush garden spots resided in places around the estate with tall trees spaced out and carefully cared for. Not exactly what I would have expected from the son of Lucifer.
Then again, who likes to live in a garbage dump? Grayson was a man, and men like nice things. For that matter, Mr. Black had always been found to appear in refinement. So, perhaps a sense of culture and a love for physical amenities wasn’t merely a human concern.
As we approached the house, I began to scan the grounds. No one appeared to be at home. Still, it was winter, and snow blanketed a great deal of the countryside. I hadn’t expected servants to be out planting daisies. But what of armed guards, or vampire allies, or werewolves for that matter?
Here we were, standing before the oak doors to Grayson’s ancestral home, and there was no one leaping from the manicured shrubbery to kill us. The air was crisp and cold, the sounds of nature few and muffled by snow. This calm was, perhaps, more unnerving than the full frontal assault I had anticipated.
I gazed above us,
scanning the windows. My eyes fell upon beauty there behind one of the large glass panes. She peered down at us with a doll’s eyes and long, straight blonde hair. I found that I could not take my eyes off of her.
“What is it?” Oliver said, shaking my shoulder.
I started at this, as though he had woken me from a deep slumber.
“Are you all right?” he asked, looking concerned.
“Yes,” I replied. “I thought I saw a girl staring at us from one of the windows.”
We looked up together, but there was no one now.
“Perhaps a servant girl,” Oliver offered. “You didn’t see Grayson?”
“No,” I replied, “only the girl.”
I felt a measure of disappointment at having not seen her the second time. In my mind, I questioned that feeling. I loved Sophia. This person…I did not know her. But something about her was terribly attractive. It made no sense to me, and I did not share the matter with Oliver.
“There are no wards on the house,” Oliver observed.
I tried to shake the image of the girl from my mind. We had more pressing matters. “Should we go in?”
“We did not come here to stand around in the cold and admire the architecture,” Oliver said.
He walked up the steps to the doors, and I followed. Each door had an iron knocker in the shape of a gargoyle upon it. Oliver used one of them and knocked loudly upon the door three times. We stood there for a moment, hearing no movement from within.
When we were about to force the door, it suddenly opened on its own. No one was there to greet us. The door had simply opened.
“Be ready for anything,” Oliver warned and then he stepped inside of the house.
I followed him in. The door waited a moment before quietly closing itself again. We tensed, waiting for the inevitable. Still, nothing happened.
The inside of the house was as large as I would have expected. Flames appeared on many candelabras throughout the visible part of the house, growing from tiny sparks to bright lights in a moment. Obviously, our suspicion, that we had been expected, had not been wrong. Questions remained unanswered. What now? What form would our planned demise take? And, now that we were inside the trap, when would it be sprung?
The furnishings had been covered with sheets meant to protect them from the damp until the owner of the house returned. In every way, except the candles, the house appeared to have been shut down for the time being. Could it be that Grayson had gone, and we were anticipating an attack that would not come?
“Maybe we should split up and search the house,” I offered.
Oliver didn’t seem to like that idea.
“Really, I’ll be all right,” I said. “I’ve faced worse than him before, remember?”
He considered this for a moment. “If you find anything, send me a thought, and I’ll be there.”
I smiled. “You do the same.”
He nodded, and we went our separate ways. Oliver began on the lower floor, heading cautiously through the foyer toward the back of the house. I took the central stairs which split in either direction at the first landing. I went to the right, at this point. In the back of my mind, I knew that I had seen the girl on this side of the house on the third floor.
As I came to the second floor landing, I looked down to the first floor. Oliver was nowhere in sight. There was still no sign of anyone at home, except what I had seen earlier and the candles burning throughout the house.
A thought from Oliver came into my mind. “Are you all right, Brody?”
I stopped on the landing and replied in kind. “I’m fine,” I thought to him. “Still, no sign of anyone.”
Instead of leaving the stair to investigate the second floor rooms, I proceeded on up toward the third. The girl had been there. Didn’t it make sense to search there first? She might be a prisoner. At the very least, she could not be a threat and she might be able to tell us the whereabouts of Grayson Stone.
I crept up the last flight of stairs, eagerly anticipating seeing her. Again, I questioned this impulse at the back of my mind. Rationality answered back that I was madly in love with Sophia, that I could never betray her trust. And yet, here I was continuing up the stairs with a desire to lay eyes on this complete stranger again.
I came to the landing and proceeded down the hallway I found there. Many rooms opened to this hall which led back toward the front of the house. All of the doors were presently closed, except for the one at the very end. I saw sunlight illuminating the room through the open door.
As I walked quietly toward the room, I kept an ear open for any sounds from the other rooms I passed. There was nothing moving beyond the doors that I could perceive. Someone passed behind the partially open door at the end of the hall, their shadow flitting across the floorboards just long enough for me to notice.
I paused expectantly, but this person did not seem to know I was just outside the room. Reason told me to beware, to call out with my mind to Oliver on the first floor below—anything but go into this room alone. I did not listen to reason. In fact, that voice was now locked away in the back of my mind, beating on the door for release, but going unanswered.
I reached the door and pushed it aside as I entered the room. It was brightly lit by the harsh white light of the sun reflected from the snow covered lawn outside. The room was very spacious and appeared to be used for an office. A desk of mahogany sat at the far end before the windows. A great number of books lined the shelves that went around the room, built into the walls.
The girl, with her golden hair and doll’s eyes, stood nearby before a full length mirror. Her gaze found me through the looking glass, transfixing me where I stood as surely as if my feet had been nailed to the floorboards. I could not move, nor did I have any desire to do so.
Oliver, Sophia, and my friends were a million miles away. My problems no longer existed. Had I been asked of a war among the clans, or the peril facing the mortal world from Lucifer and his son, I would have surely questioned whether any such threats existed. My mind and its thoughts no longer belonged to me.
The girl’s beauty was radiant—even more so, now that I saw her completely rather than through glass and shadows. In her eyes, I saw only kindness. Her gaze reminded me of warmth wrapping about me like a blanket on a chill day. She was a fire to burn away the numbing cold.
Her pouting lips parted and she spoke to me. I do not recall the words she spoke, only the sensation it induced. I heard music as lovely as has ever been played on any instrument. Heavenly choirs could not have been so appealing. In that moment, my only unction was to do whatever this girl desired of me.
Oliver made his way carefully through the kitchen. Three gas stoves lined one wall. Ice boxes and several sinks stood against each other. Cast iron pans and shiny steel pots hung from a wrought iron rack suspended above a central island cabinet. He had not come across anyone in the house, so far.
Something simply didn’t feel right about all of this. Even if Grayson had shut down his estate for a time and gone somewhere else causing mischief, Oliver knew he would not leave his estate open to attack or investigation unless he meant for someone to come looking. And, in that event, he would have something, or someone, waiting to meet them.
Assuming he was right, Oliver made a transformation. His human body wrapped in upon itself, forming a thick rope of muscle and sinew. He coiled upon the floor as an anaconda of considerable length. He detested serpents normally, but they did have advantages over other animals.
He scented the air with his forked tongue. A familiar smell came to him, but he couldn’t quite place it. With his heat sensing pits, Oliver found a warm body nearby. He glided along the floor, using his belly scales to propel his bulk forward.
Oliver came silent as a shadow into an adjoining dining room. Near the archway that conveyed guests from the living room, he spotted a diminutive creature hovering just above the floor. Immediately, he realized that a sprite had been left waiting for them. A more dangerous rac
e among the Descendant clans could not have been found. He had been correct in his assumptions. Grayson Stone had been expecting them.
The anaconda wound its way beneath the long dining room table. Its entire length was hidden beneath mahogany and long enough to come very close to where the sprite was watching the living room, waiting for him. If he had gone that way, he might have come upon this assassin unawares. Instead, he had the element of surprise.
Oliver extended his head out from beneath one of the chairs just enough to view his prey. The sprite had not seen him. He focused on the body heat, building tension in the extensive muscles throughout his coils.
He sprang forward, sinking his prodigious teeth into the sprite’s shoulder. The strike, combined with his weight, brought the one hundred pound sprite down to the floor screaming. Oliver immediately wrapped his coils around his prey and began to squeeze. Sprites were too dangerous to be left alive.
Only the blonde hair, pale face and feet of the sprite were visible. Everything else was enveloped in scaly muscle. With each exhale, Oliver tightened his grip. Within a minute, the sprite could no longer take in air. He or she, since non-sprites usually could not tell, became blue from lack of oxygen.
When the body relaxed, Oliver released his prey. He became human in form again, looking down at the empty doll’s eyes. That gaze had been stripped of its power by death. Otherwise, Oliver might have been coerced into committing any number atrocities against himself. No one but angels were said to be immune to a sprite’s charms.
Oliver exhaled heavily, glad to be rid of the snake’s form. Reptiles were so inhuman—pure killing instinct. He straightened his cuffs with satisfaction. Then he remembered Brody.
I barely noticed the fact that the girl was floating just above the floor. This might have normally caused me some alarm, but not now. I had become putty in her hands. All she had to do was say the word, and it would be done.
Oliver’s voice sounded in my mind—a distant call of some sort. I wasn’t sure, nor did I care. We would see each other some time. Whatever he was trying to tell me was no longer important. Only I and the girl remained.