The Fae's Amulet

by J F Posthumus

  “I still need to talk to Maura,” I replied, clicking glasses with Jen. Tipping my glass toward her, I added, “And your place is quickly becoming one of my preferred eateries.”

  “Glad to hear it!” Jen exclaimed. “We try to beat out the competition. You’re in luck, regarding Maura. She’s working tonight. Give me a few moments to grab her and send her on break.” She turned to Curt. “Let them have the Couple’s Nook.”

  With a smile and a nod, Jen departed to find the waitress, leaving me looking after her in confusion.

  “The Couple’s Nook?” I asked hesitantly. “What’s that?”

  “It’s a new idea. We had a small room that was too nice for storage but too small for a gathering room. Jen and Mark decided to offer private dining for couples. It’s a favorite for the romantics and the people wanting to propose.” Curt mixed another drink then slid it easily down the bar without spilling any. It stopped in front of the right person, barely sloshing. No liquid left the glass. “We also use it for one-on-one meetings and our meal breaks.”

  Nodding my understanding, I followed Curt to the room. I was thankful to find it as tastefully decorated as the rest of the restaurant. There were no overtly obvious signs the room was used for romantic dining, aside from the flowers on the table and a small candle.

  The color scheme was the same black with purple and silver trim. A small, but delicate, chandelier hung from the ceiling, and I noticed that, unlike the other rooms, this room boasted paintings. There weren’t many, and I suspected they were frequently cycled so they never became stale and boring.

  The paintings currently gracing the walls were a study in opposites. The one closest to me was of a fire elemental and a water elemental dancing on a frozen lake. The other was a photorealistic scene of a young, human girl giving a flower to a human boy, with the pyramids and the Sphinx in the background.

  “Your wings should be ready in a few,” Curt said as he headed back to the bar.

  “Thank you!” I called after him.

  The table and chairs were positioned slightly past the center of the room. Neither chair directly faced a wall, so no one’s back was to the doorway. I suspected Mark had a large say in that design.

  I, however, preferred facing the doorway, so I moved the black velvet padded chair to where I could. Since I didn’t know how long it would take Maura to join me, I pulled out my phone and began checking my emails.

  The sound of the door opening made me look up. Maura entered with my pheasant wings and sliders. She also had two very large glasses of tea.

  She paused when she saw the new chair arrangement, then recovered. She expertly slid my plate in front of me and sat in the empty chair.

  “Jen said you wanted to talk to me about Althea.” Maura’s tone and body language were distrustful and defensive, as though she were prepared for a verbal, if not physical, argument.

  “I’m trying to find out who kidnapped her,” I stated bluntly. “Do you know who I am?”

  “I was told you’re Catherine Woulfe. I only know your reputation as a necromancer,” she said.

  Apparently, my reputation was still alive and thriving. I wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.

  She smirked before adding, “I don’t know why Nick thought you were so amazing. You haven’t done anything since you ended your reign centuries ago. You’ve probably forgotten everything.” She lifted her glass of tea to her red lips, then added before taking a drink, “Your legends are probably more myth than truth, anyway.”

  “The best part about doing things that most beings can’t comprehend is that I don’t care about impressing anyone,” I replied. “You probably think your bosses are nice people, maybe even gullible. They’ll kill you and chop you into bait, if you cross them. Your lack of belief won’t change that, them, or me.” As her expression slipped, I added, “But it probably guarantees you’ll have a stupid look on your face, if you ever find out for sure.”

  I knew when the compulsion spell I cast took hold, because her body softened and grew lax, almost as though she’d drunk a few alcoholic beverages without eating anything.

  “Let’s continue, shall we?” I asked, leaning back in my chair as though it were a throne. “Did Althea act as though she were being followed prior to her kidnapping?”

  “She always acts like she’s being followed, except when she goes to the cemetery to talk to the occupants.” Maura said, lisping slightly.

  As I was forming my next question, she added, “She’s a fae, and she’s convinced that any vampire within a 100-mile radius is trying to take her.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “Tell me more about when she goes to the cemetery.”

  “She prefers to go with no one else, or at least, no one that’s alive,” Maura droned on. “She goes twice a week, calls it her therapy, which is lousy, because she’s relaxed after she and I are intimate but doesn’t stay that way.”

  Ugh, I didn’t cast the spell to play couples counselor. She was going off topic too easily.

  “So, no one ever goes with her to the cemetery?” I asked.

  “I think there’s a ghost that goes with her sometimes,” she replied. “One time, after I got all pumped up on dragon’s blood and grabbed her in the shower, we went at it until the water got cold, and I carried her to bed, and then…”

  “As awesome as I’m sure that night was, I don’t care. Skip to when she left to go to the cemetery,” I insisted.

  “Okay.” Maura wore a pouty expression now, and her words came slower. “So, we’re lying there, and the blood is still coursing through me, and I’m telling her how I can see things so differently in her room, when she says she has to go to the cemetery to chill out. She gets up to get dressed, and instead of enjoying the view, I look toward the hall, wondering if I have to go to the bathroom, or if my body just feels different post-orgasm, because of the blood. Anyway, for a second, I’m looking at some guy’s ghost standing at the entrance to her bedroom. He was probably some pervert who died in the neighborhood and walks around trying to get his jollies. He must have sensed I noticed him, because he looked at me, then backed into the hall superfast.”

  “This ‘pervert’ ghost, did he leave with her?” I asked, trying not to get worked up.

  “Yeah, he followed her out. I never saw him again, and when I asked, she said it must have been a hallucination from the blood.”

  I nodded and pressed on. “You thought he was from that neighborhood. Why was that?”

  “He was dressed in colonial clothes, you know, from when some of her neighbors’ houses were built,” she said, sounding like a petulant teen.

  I thought about all the colonial style manors in the blocks surrounding the fae’s garden haven, then I realized who the ghost was and where I could start looking for him.

  “That will do. Finish that drink and bring me a fresh one. Then return to your job,” I commanded.

  Maura smiled sloppily and did as I ordered. I watched her leave, then looked down at the pheasant wings I had yet to touch.

  Fork or fingers; that was the question.

  “That was impressive.” A silken male voice said very close to my ear.

  Yes, I can be startled. No, I don’t like it. But yelping “What the fuck?!?” while leaping from my chair and nearly toppling over makes for a decisive argument, if I tried to deny it.

  Xantos sat in the other chair and leaned toward me over the table.

  “You should bring out that parlor trick the next time you dabble at Dante’s,” he suggested, dryly.

  “What are you, the original stalker?” I blurted angrily. “Often imitated but never topped?”

  “I have eyes and spies in many places,” he said, casual and unaffected. “You should be less conspicuous in your movements.”

  “Fine, whatever!” I stammered. “What do you want? I haven’t made a decision about your visitation proposal yet, nor will I be pressed into making a decision in your favor.”

  I was finally getting my pulse a
nd nerves under control. Xantos smiled, and it wasn’t the kind meant to soothe.

  “Of course not. I have other business with you.”

  Oh, for Hell’s sake, now what?

  “Please, regale me with this ‘other business’ you think we have!” I said a bit more forcefully than I planned. The more emotional I was, the more he would have to use against me.

  “I require your services for another task. You will broker a deal with the demon for his grimoire,” he said in that maddeningly casual manner, as though he were doing me a favor for being his lackey.

  “The grimoire that is the accompanying piece to the amulet?” I asked, trying not to sound too snarky. “Let me guess? No one in this world, realm of existence, or whatever you want to call where I live, is worthy of owning it. But you are, right?

  Oh, hell. I’d just let my temper get the best of me. Again. Hopefully he wouldn’t turn me into a toad or a gnat, or kill me outright.

  “Ah, an educated being. It’s always a pleasure not to have to explain the simplest concepts,” Xantos replied smoothly. “And yes, since I helped create the tome, it will just be coming home, as it were.”

  It was on the tip of my tongue to ask if there was anything he didn’t claim to have created, but I was saved from that mistake by the door opening, and Jen walking in. She stopped, and her eyes narrowed slightly as she noticed the dark elf sitting across from me.

  Xantos didn’t seem the least bit phased by someone being behind his back. He was as relaxed as ever. I wasn’t certain if it was an act or arrogance, and I wasn’t going to ask.

  “You lost the bet, pay up,” Jen said without preamble. There was a smirk on her face as she spoke.

  “No doubt you will traipse along and brag to your demon about this,” replied Xantos. He sounded bored, despite the amused smile on his face.

  Shaking the wide left sleeve of his robe, Xantos produced two objects: a small oilskin bag that jingled with the sound of heavy coins and a dagger. The dagger was unlike anything I’d seen before. The eight-inch blade appeared to have been wrought from black stone or crystal. Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but the handle seemed to be carved ivory, but not the kind found on any elephant of this world.

  “My payoff for the bet and the weapon you engaged me to make, elf,” he said dismissively. Still, an air of amusement and dark playfulness permeated his actions and tone. He made bold gestures while speaking to Jen and tinged his voice with theatrical melancholy.

  Jen squealed like a delighted little girl.

  “Never will it be said in the House of Fellhaven that Xantos does not honor his bets and debts,” she said gleefully. Leaning over the master mage, Jen took the bag and slipped it into her jacket pocket. Then she took the dagger.

  Instead of tucking it away, Jen held it up, smiled even wider, and started bouncing like a child jacked up on sugar. It was, I had to admit, both hilarious and adorable.

  “Mine! Mine! Mine! Mine! I got it! I got it! I got it!” She chanted in a sing-song voice.

  Then, abruptly, she stopped.

  “Thank you, Xantos. A beverage will be brought in shortly,” Jen stated, almost all business. I couldn’t wipe the image of her bouncy, little girl behavior from my mind. She pivoted like a soldier and walked studiously out the door.

  “What did you do to her?” I demanded.

  “Nothing. She often acts that way when she receives something she covets or has long desired,” replied Xantos, who was definitely amused. “Her mate and I speak freely to one another. They remind me of treasured relatives and insufferable comrades-in-arms.”

  “Wow, that’s a bipolar description,” I observed.

  Xantos did something entirely unexpected. He shrugged and smiled brightly.

  “Live long enough, and you will see how history unerringly repeats itself in the least expected ways,” he said.

  “You do know that I’ve been hired to retrieve the grimoire for Dante, and that it’s been stolen?”

  He nodded.

  “Wait a minute,” I said, suddenly struck with a theory. “You didn’t have it stolen to get Dante’s attention, did you? You didn’t set out to prove that you could take it whenever you wanted, but as a gesture of good business, you’d rather purchase it than keep it as a stolen object?”

  “You may have some docelfar or fae in you, Catherine,” he said. “That is a slightly devious theory. But no, if I reclaimed it, I would tell him so and prove the folly of trying to take it back.”

  “Fae, actually,” I said simply. Why hide it? Not bothering to hide my curiosity, I asked, “What was the dagger you gave her? I’ve never seen anything like it.” He hadn’t killed me yet, so I figured I was safe a little longer.

  “The blade was made of obsidian. I work the material into weapons and have for ages. I’m one of the only beings who can or has,” Xantos declared. “Obsidian possesses unique properties, and I have only allowed very few weapons made from it to come to this realm.”

  “What sort of properties?” I asked, hoping he wouldn’t keep it a secret. “What was the handle made of? It resembled ivory, but not the kind found anywhere on this plane.”

  “Obsidian dampens Magick; that is, it disrupts the energy flow, so Magick cannot retain form or strength,” explained Xantos. “Any edge made of obsidian is extremely difficult to dull. You are familiar with the resilient edge of true samurai swords? You could permanently wreck a dozen of them with the wear and use it takes to dull an obsidian blade. The handle was carved from a unicorn horn.”

  That gave me pause. I blinked a few times in silence. Xantos merely gave me another not-so-comforting smile.

  There would be time to question him about the unicorns of his home realm later. The weaponry was more interesting to me, at the moment. “Can any practitioner of Magick use such weapons? How are they forged?”

  “I must forge them inside active volcanoes. That requires me to use vast amounts of Magick and energy, and the tools must be simple. To make a simple dagger such as the one you just saw takes a year of work,” Xantos explained. “To answer your first query—most users of Magick can use the weapons, but sages, sorcerers, and those who only dabble in Magick cannot touch the blades. Their skin will burn. So, gloves must be worn, and specific scabbards must be made for longer blades.”

  Somehow, I couldn’t picture the elf before me sweating over a forge while hammering out a weapon. Oversee it from a thoroughly cooled room, sure. Maybe even take a walk through the forge and point out mistakes. But do it himself? No, I couldn’t see that. Since I enjoyed breathing, though, I wasn’t going to question what he said.

  “And yet, one was part of a bet with Jen?” I asked, a smile on my lips. “I’m not going to ask how much one would cost.”

  “More often than not, I trade for them,” he said. “The coins were payment on the bet. A trifle, but I don’t mind the elf or her mate. They do, on occasion, challenge me.”

  “What would one have to trade to acquire one?” I asked.

  My purse chose that moment to wiggle, and I slid it onto my lap and patted it. With any luck, the tykcri would stay where it was and not make itself known.

  “Unique or unusually rare items. Life debts are also coin of the realm for the weapons. Does that give you an idea?” Xantos replied, and a smirk twitched on his lips.

  “As tempting as it may be, I’m not trading my pain-in-the-ass skull for one,” I said with a laugh.

  My purse wiggled again, and I glanced down at the head that was now looking up at me. Its golden eyes were wide and blinked balefully.

  Looking back at Xantos, I bit my upper lip before deciding to take a chance. “What about rare creatures? You aren’t the type who prefers them mounted on the walls, are you?”

  No way in hell would I even suggest he take the cub if I thought he would harm it. I was enjoying being around Xantos, and I really hated the idea of that changing.

  “Only the ones who walk on two legs and declare war on me and mine,” he retor
ted. “I do have a vast menagerie at my home, where every manner of dragon is represented in pairs and cared for in the manner they deem proper. The other occupants are similarly rare and treated just as respectfully. I consider them valued employees, as I take venom, egg shells, discarded scales, all manner of useful items from them, with their consent.”

  “That’s wonderful,” I said trying to hide the delight that was most likely shining like a beacon from my face and eyes. I slid the little tykcri into my hand and set him carefully on the table. “I seem to have become this little guy’s keeper. If he is willing, would you care for him?”

  Instead of answering me, Xantos leaned toward the little one and purred. The tykcri returned the purr and bounded up Xantos’ right arm before perching on his shoulder. He then snuggled into Xantos’ long silver hair.

  “I think he will get along fine with the female tykcri who lives at my manor,” Xantos stated. “She was the only survivor from the final litter of my ancient tykcri mother.”

  “He seems very fond of you already,” I stated, trying not to sound overly sad at the thought of not being able to see the tykcri again. “Thank you, Xantos. I think you’re the only one I trust to take care of him.”

  “He likely has never heard his own language spoken to him,” Xantos explained. “So, I may have imprinted upon him as a parent figure when I did so. Do you want to trade this youngling for an obsidian blade? I ask, because you weakened your position by explaining that you trusted me with his life.”

  Shrugging, I looked at him with a chagrined expression. “I’m a sucker for creatures, especially the Magickal type. I’d love to have an obsidian blade, but not at the cost of him.” I nodded towards the tykcri. My smile grew mischievous as I added, “Besides, I still haven’t told you my price for brokering the deal for the grimoire.”

  “That seems like an opportunity,” Xantos declared. He ran his long fingers through the tykcri’s fur. “Make the deal for the grimoire, bring it to a place of my choosing, and I will give you an obsidian weapon.”

  “Agreed,” I stated cheerfully. I had no doubt I’d be able to acquire the grimoire. I suspected Dante wouldn’t pass up the chance to sell the tome, and I’d end up with a lovely new weapon. “Shall we discuss the details of the deal now, or do you wish to do so after I acquire the book?”