by James Somers
Oliver kicked at some of the twisted boards and rubble as he walked through the wreckage. He sighed, knowing this one lead might have given him some understanding of what they were facing. It had been taken away only days before he could learn what he needed.
“What now, Oliver?” Redclaw asked.
Oliver turned back toward the troll warrior. “I suppose we should make our way beyond the protective barriers still in place, so we can teleport to Tidus and rejoin the others.”
He walked back, stepping over scattered debris. Behind him, Oliver heard shuffling. He turned in time to see a trap door in the floor swing open and fall. To their surprise, Laish emerged from the opening, cursing his misfortune and the one who had committed these crimes against him—Grayson Stone.
When he saw Oliver and Redclaw, Laish seemed more perturbed than surprised. “What are you doing here?” he grumbled.
Oliver looked back at Redclaw, who shrugged, and then to Laish. “We came looking for you.”
“What in the world for?” he asked. “As you can see, I’m out of business.”
“I was hoping to find some answers,” Oliver said. “However, you’ve already given me a name—one that doesn’t surprise me one bit by the way. Now, I’m wondering why he would come here and try to kill you. You’ve always remained neutral.”
“I still am,” he said. “That was the problem.”
Laish caught sight of the carnage spread out before his destroyed cottage. “Oh!” he cried, walking quickly past Oliver and Redclaw. “I never should have called them all to my defense.”
“They tried to defend you?” Redclaw asked.
“Of course, they did,” Laish said angrily. “They were my friends.”
Oliver walked up behind him. “Laish, I know it’s not your way to get involved, but we really need to understand what’s happening. Why did Grayson Stone come to you and then try to kill you.”
Laish continued to stare at the dead animals scattered throughout the meadow.
“Laish, please?” Oliver said.
The elf wizard turned slowly with a hard look on his face. “He came to make me an offer…an offer he apparently is making to others. Only, I wasn’t meant to refuse.”
“What offer?” Redclaw asked.
“To receive one of the Fallen into my mortal body, one of those imprisoned within Tartarus. He said there was a way to release them, that Lucifer had found a way.”
Oliver couldn’t believe what he was hearing, and yet it made perfect sense. If anyone could find a way it would be Lucifer, and he had Grayson Stone as his willing servant. The two of them together made a lethal equation.
“Grayson claimed he had already done as much by receiving Lucifer within himself,” Laish continued.
“No wonder he was able to do all of this,” Oliver said, indicating the destruction around them.
Laish locked his hard gaze on Oliver. “I suppose I should take that as a compliment? My home has been destroyed, my friends killed in my defense.”
Oliver narrowed his eyes. “I’m sorry for your animals, but the home itself can be repaired easily. If it’s revenge you want then helping us would go a long way toward accomplishing that end.”
“Vengeance pays very poorly,” Laish said. “What else is in it for me?”
“Well, the rumors about you were true,” Redclaw grumbled.
Laish paid him no mind.
Oliver remained unperturbed. He had known Laish for a long time. He knew what things the elf valued and what he did not.
“It would be a shame if Grayson Stone were to learn that he was unsuccessful in your demise,” Oliver said. “I would think our silence would be its own reward.”
“But if I help you, Stone will know I’m still around.”
“Better to stand with us and have a chance than to wait in this wood for him to come again and do the job right,” Redclaw observed.
Laish grinned, glancing at Redclaw. “A shrewd troll, Oliver?”
“There are no other kind,” Redclaw interjected.
Laish straightened. “Humph.”
“At least come back to Tidus with us,” Oliver suggested. “There we can work out what should be done.”
“The city of the werewolves?”
“Your brother and nephew are there, as we speak,” he added.
“Are you trying to make your offer less tempting?” Laish asked.
Oliver sighed, waiting.
“Oh, all right,” Laish relented. “But only for a brief time. I’ve a home to rebuild, after all, and this war is no business of mine. I want no part of it.”
“A bit late for that,” Redclaw said.
Laish glared at the troll warrior.
“I don’t suppose you might do the honors?” Oliver asked. “We are still within the boundary of your wards.”
“You want my help, and I have to do all of the heavy lifting too?” he said, indicating Redclaw with a shake of his thumb.
Several rapid hand gestures and a muttered phrase were all that were required for Laish to bypass his wards and open the way out of his meadow. He wrapped the three of them in a portal envelope, causing them to dematerialize from the Briar Wood. A single moment later they were standing within the Lycan city of Tidus.
Luxana
A young woman of remarkable beauty walked into the home of Sadi Carnot, the French president of the day. Her escort, Georges Clemenceau, had been primarily responsible for Carnot’s election and he held a place of high respect in the president’s cabinet. This private dinner party at Carnot’s home was a matter of some urgency for the president, as it regarded the state of emergency his country was currently experiencing due to a plague of vampires terrorizing the populace.
Carnot approached his dear friend, glancing at Lux curiously. Wives and escorts had not been meant to be present at this meeting to discuss the fate of their nation. Nevertheless, he could hardly take his eyes off of this radiant creature.
“Good evening, Georges, and this is?” Carnot asked politely.
“Luxana,” he said.
Sadi Carnot took Lux’s hand delicately, kissing the knuckles. “I’m delighted to have you in my home,” he said.
“I was under the impression that there were no escorts at this private meeting,” said a man walking toward them from the living room arch.
“I’m sure we can make allowances for such beauty, General,” Carnot said.
“Luxana, my dear, allow me to introduce our war minister, General Boulanger,” Georges said.
At first, it seemed as though he might remain distant. However, when Boulanger looked into her eyes, he became transfixed upon her. Instantly, Lux had another fan of her beauty. Her charms had been lost on none of them, which was precisely the reason why Grayson had sent her. Nations would add their power and support unto his eventual rule, one way or another. And, of course, there were ways to persuade them that it was the best course that had nothing to do with logic.
To the politicians assembled for this meeting, Lux had come into the home of the French president wearing a luxurious silk gown complimented by white lace. However, this was all a glamour. Lux was still wearing the dark breeches, shirt and long coat she always wore. There she kept knives and other weapons concealed, just in case she wanted them.
“Shall we retire to the parlor,” Carnot asked the others when they were finished with their meal.
All of the men stood in deference to Lux, Georges Clemenceau quickly pulling her chair out of the way as she stood to walk away from the table. She had the three of them completely under her control. Even Clemenceau had all but forgotten the troubles with his wife brewing at home. Had he been asked at the moment, he wouldn’t have even remembered having a wife.
When the three men and one sprite were seated in the parlor upon finely crafted couches, the problem of Paris being overrun by vampires immediately came to the forefront of their conversation.
“Vampires?” Boulanger asked. “The stuff of nonsense!”
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“Not to those who have been privy to these attacks,” Carnot said. “We’ve got a terrible situation on our hands. Something must be done. I know we want to think that this can’t be happening, gentlemen, but the evidence is overwhelming to the contrary.”
“I have to concur with our president,” Clemenceau said. “However, I have no idea how we can deal with this. Our law enforcement officers have been slaughtered on every occasion when they tried to interfere. And you already know how ineffectual military intervention has been, General.”
Boulanger smoked his cigar, chewing on the end, but could say nothing against what he was hearing.
“Perhaps,” Lux now said in perfect French, “Lord Grayson Stone could be of some help in this situation.”
All eyes immediately fell upon her. It was not the sort of glare that might be expected when a woman forgot her place in the company of men and dared to interject her opinion. No, this was a hypnotic attraction to the only voice that now mattered to them. This strange woman, whom none of these men had met before, now held complete sway over their minds.
“Lord Stone?” Carnot asked. “I don’t believe I’ve heard of him.”
Lux was not discouraged by this. Her intent was to place the suggestion of his help to France. The vampires were already migrating away from other places in the mortal world toward Russia. What none of these men knew was that their problem would soon be solved without any intervention at all. Lux’s mission was simply to make them believe that Grayson was the cause.
“Lord Grayson Stone has already intervened on your behalf, gentlemen,” she said, increasing her power over their minds at this point. “This menace will soon be gone from your cities by his doing.”
At this point, all three men were beyond questioning anything Lux said to them. Their minds were now sponges soaking up lies for fact, regardless of common sense or reason. She spoke and they received it all as truth.
“You must contact him in America and show him your gratitude,” she continued. “Make your allegiance with him and no other. The time is coming when to know Grayson Stone will grant you power and guaranteed success.”
“Grayson Stone,” they said together.
Lux stood up to leave. Her work here was finished. “Resume your conversation, gentlemen,” she said. “And I was never here.”
Immediately, Carnot, Boulanger and Clemenceau started to talk again. They appeared to have been frozen in place and now resumed where they had left off. Only, now they were collectively of a different mind than they were before.
They had been hopeless, discouraged and defeated. Now that Grayson Stone had rid them of the plague facing their nation, they were confident, happy and full of hope for the future. A bleak evening with no solutions had become one of problems solved.
“We must communicate with Lord Stone in America at once,” President Carnot said enthusiastically.
“We certainly owe him our thanks,” General Boulanger said. “My family would have perished if not for him.”
“Here, here!” Clemenceau added, raising his glass to salute the one that had managed somehow to solve their problems. “I’ll send out a communiqué at once.”
Their minds had accepted the lie. It was firmly established, a matter of fact. None of the three politicians, so enamored a moment ago, even noticed the young woman gliding toward the door, her feet never touching the ground.
The Prime Minister of England, Benjamin Disraeli, paced nervously within his makeshift office inside York Minster in the city of York. What was left of the government had been relocated from London in an attempt to preserve British power far from the attacks. While the general populace remained unaware of the true nature of these attacks, Disraeli was keenly familiar with what was happening.
Not even his good friend, Queen Victoria, had known that Disraeli was, in fact, an elf and a particularly adept spell caster. Donatus had entrusted much to him over the years, and he had given his blessing to Disraeli’s decision to live as a mortal in London. In this way, they hoped to not only keep a watchful eye on the monarchy heading the current human empire, but to also influence its direction if need be.
Disraeli had lived for over one hundred years in the city of his birth, Xandrea, before coming to the mortal world to stay. He still missed his good friends among the Fae, particularly now that this war among Descendants had spilled over into London. He had attempted to fight off the vampires, when Tiberius came, but it was the invasion by pixies that had driven everyone away from the city.
Here in York Minster, the Archbishop had allocated certain sections of the cathedral to be used by Parliament on an emergency basis. However, despite his best efforts, the Queen had been killed during a battle between the Lycans and the Breed at Buckingham Palace. Only one third of Parliament had remained alive to be ushered to York.
His attempts to contact Donatus for assistance had been fruitless, so far. Xandrea had come under siege in recent days by the Lycans. Matters among humans and Descendants were quickly unraveling. He had no idea how he and his mortal associates would manage to recapture London, but this was their current priority.
Consumed with the matters at hand, Disraeli did not notice the sprite that had entered the room until he turned away from the stained glass window at the far end of the chamber. He did not recognize this person. However, he was familiar enough with sprites to instinctively divert his gaze to the floor.
“Who are you?” he said.
A deep, male voice outside the room answered, “A friend!”
In walked a man Disraeli was all too familiar with. “No friend of mine, Gladstone,” he spat.
“I never said, your friend,” came the reply.
Disraeli began working complex gestures with his hands, preparing for battle. Gladstone had long been his nemesis. He had promoted both Black’s plan to cull the humans and the ascension of Grayson Stone as a leader to the Descendant clans. This showdown would not be the first they had shared together.
“Calm down, Disraeli,” Gladstone said, laughing heartily. “I’ve not come to quarrel with you, but to reason with you.”
“Is that why you brought a sprite with you?” he asked. “So you could force your reasoning upon my mind?”
The sprite said nothing—at least not yet. Disraeli had been trained by Donatus. He knew what sprites could do to a person. It was not possible that his greatest rival among their people had simply come with one of these creatures for the purpose of coming to terms with one another.
“Leave this cathedral, Gladstone, or I’ll bring the building down upon us all,” Disraeli threatened.
Gladstone held his hand up, though Disraeli still kept his gaze at the floor, using only peripheral vision to keep track of the intruders. “I only wish to discuss your terms for relinquishing the office of Prime Minister to me.”
Disraeli laughed. “I’d rather die than do such a thing.”
“But why?” Gladstone asked. “It’s very possible that I could win in the next appointment, anyway.”
Disraeli knew that there was some truth to his statement. After all, he had not been the only Descendant to get involved in the affairs of humans. Gladstone also had taken to the mortal world, promoting his own agenda through human politics.
“It will be hard to be appointed by a monarchy that is currently in exile, hidden away to keep them safe from this war,” Disraeli said. “And I’m not going to just give it to you. Even if you kill me now, it will do you no good. Parliament would not appoint a murderer to the position, no matter how many of them you have in your pocket.”
“Yes, I had considered all of that,” Gladstone admitted. “It does present a problem. That’s why I’ve decided that the best possible scenario is the one where you take your own life.”
Disraeli was breathing hard now. He wanted to glare at Gladstone, to laugh in his face, but the sprite was still there hovering a few inches above the floor. Even a glance might be enough to lose his wits to her.
He sim
ply said, “You’re mad. Why would I ever do such a thing?”
“You might do it to save your daughter,” Gladstone suggested. As he said so, he brought someone into the room by the arm that Disraeli had not noticed. Even now, he could only see traces of the one Gladstone had a hold on.
“Father?”
Disraeli’s heart fell. It was his Cynthia. Gladstone had stolen her. “Where is her mother?” he asked.
“She lives,” Gladstone said. “But she has a particular thought floating around in her mind to end her own life if her beloved daughter does not return to her very soon.”
Disraeli looked up at Gladstone and his daughter, still not daring to gaze directly at the sprite. He noticed immediately that Gladstone held Cynthia by the arm with a dagger’s razor edge pressed to her throat. He would not be able to stop him from the killing stroke, no matter what attack he used. If he fought back at all, Cynthia would perish.
“You’re a monster,” he said.
“You are probably right,” Gladstone admitted. “But I am also the one holding a knife to your daughter’s throat. What will you do?”
Disraeli was sweating profusely now, despite the cold and damp within the cathedral this time of year. He searched his daughter’s pleading eyes. At ten years old, she was too small and frail to resist the villain holding her. He could see that she was terrified. He had no choice.
He glared at Gladstone. “How do I know you will keep your word and return my daughter to her mother?”
Gladstone smiled, clearly enjoying his advantage. “I’ve given you no word to keep, my old friend. As I see it, you simply have no choice. By your estimation, she might die when you give in to my demands. However, if you do not, she and her mother will surely die.”
Disraeli swallowed against the lump gathering in his throat. “What would you have me do?”
“A letter must be left stating your bitter regret at not having been able to save Britain,” Gladstone said. “You will recommend me as your replacement, having full confidence in my abilities to accomplish what you could not.”