Fire & Water

by Alexis Hall

  Beth was staring at me. Her arms were folded, her expression a nuanced mixture of anger and condescension that I personally lack the skill to express physically. “Your lot really fucked this one up.”

  “I do not believe anybody could have anticipated this situation.”

  Her lips thinned and her eyebrows arched. Really it was most interesting to watch. “You’re the ones who brought the vampires into this.”

  “I’m afraid she’s right.” That was Alissa. “You should never have interfered.” Despite her relative lack of physical movement, I was aware of a cold and personal anger from her.

  “I do not think that is entirely fair.”

  “Russel gave me away because your mistress wouldn’t work with Mr. Fisher when she was supposed to. If she’d just stayed away from everything, then none of this would have happened and—”

  Beth laughed. It seemed natural to her. I was rather jealous. “Christ, you’re an idiot. Russel was a petty little git, and he’d have got bored of you sooner or later, just like he got bored of the rest of us.”

  “He loved me!” Alissa had stopped moving now, except to speak. I had hoped that I might be able to persuade my sisters to assist me in liberating Miss Kane, but this seemed an increasingly remote possibility.

  “He loved all of us.” Beth’s smile was cruel. I was not sure if I feared her or pitied her. “Turns out love isn’t worth half as much as people pretend it is.”

  Alissa did not cry. We were not made to cry. I put my arm on her shoulder, but she pulled away.

  “Oh, grow up.”

  “In her defence,” I observed, “she can be little more than a year old.”

  “I don’t need you speaking for me.” Alissa’s expression didn’t change, but I felt her hostility nevertheless.

  I endeavoured to ignore her. It seemed the most productive approach for all concerned.

  Gently, Lisbeth raised her hand. She had not hitherto moved, which was to be expected. The situation had become confusing, and I knew from experience that early in life, the most comfortable response to an unfamiliar situation is a reversion to the certainty of stillness. I turned to her.

  “What happens now?” she asked.

  I looked at my sisters. “It is not my place to speak for other people, but I will be returning home, and making preparations to rescue Miss Kane. I would welcome any of your assistance, but do not expect that it will be forthcoming.”

  Beth gave me a sardonic look. I have practised the sardonic look many times, but failed to accomplish it. “Help you rescue the woman who had my boss killed and closed down my livelihood?”

  “You make a fair point.”

  Alissa did not even answer, but looked forlornly across the road towards Mr. Fisher.

  “You know,” I said, “that you do not have to stay with him simply because you were told to?”

  I am not certain if it was the idea that bewildered her, or the wider context in which she found herself. Whichever it may have been, I was aware of her bewilderment. “Where else would I go?”

  I did not have an answer for this. “I am certain that an opportunity will present itself.”

  “I can sort you out.” The spite was gone from Beth’s expression, and from her essence. “As long as you don’t mind getting your hands dirty.”

  I was not certain if this was kindness or opportunism. Perhaps it was both.

  “Get my hands dirty with what?” asked Alissa.

  “Whatever it takes. My employer, his employer, his employer’s seconds in command, and at least one of their biggest rivals have all just died or been taken out of action. It’s going to be a messy time, but I think we could do well out of it.”

  “What about Mr. Fisher?”

  Beth broke away from the group and walked confidently towards the two magicians. Slowly, leaning heavily on a walking stick, Mr. Fisher turned towards them.

  “Yes?”

  “Alissa no longer works for you, she works for me.”

  His fingers tightened on his stick. Behind him, a woman with fire in her heart started forwards. He put out a hand to stop her. “And why should I accept that?”

  “Because we both know she’s not worth fighting over. You’ve already got what you needed from her.”

  He looked at Alissa. “Your sister’s a piece of work.”

  “I can stay,” she said. I think she would have been trembling had she been made of softer materials. “I could come with you.”

  He shook his head. “No, she’s right. I don’t need you anymore.”

  Neither I nor my sisters possess hearts in the physical sense but, metaphorically, I suspect that Alissa’s heart broke at that moment. I do not believe that she had any affection for Mr. Fisher, but being discarded so often in so short a time and by so many people must surely have been unbearable for her. I wish there had been something I could have done, but there was not.

  “If I might,” I tried instead, “what do you intend to do about Mr. Douglas?”

  Mr. Fisher looked blank. “You mean the vampire? An unknown quantity.” He sighed. “The time has come for me to accept defeat. I’m on the next flight home.”

  “Miss Red?”

  The Wicked Queen paused. In truth the sunlight did not suit her—she had shaped herself for smoky rooms and spotlights, for windswept balconies and lightning storms. “You know,” she began, “you’d look fabulous in a glass coffin.”

  I waited a moment.

  “The thing is, sugar, I don’t fight monsters.”

  “I understand, but I have been told that the Prince of Wands is very dangerous and there is no knowing what he will do if we let him bring his plans to fruition.”

  By way of answer, Miss Red stalked over to where Miss Nimue and Mr. King were still lying. “See these two? They wanted to be heroes. Didn’t really get them anywhere. Now, if you’ll excuse me, the glamours around this place are going to go down real soon, and then it’s going to be swarming with cops and paramedics. Once it is, we’re going to want to be far away.”

  “That seems callous.”

  She made a sweeping gesture that encompassed her entire ensemble. “Evil Queen. Deal with it. But seriously, you want the glass box job, mirror me.”

  Heartless though Miss Red’s advice had been, she was correct about the necessity of leaving that place. I would certainly not wish to explain why I had been found in the company of three other women to whom I was wholly physically identical, all of us standing over a variety of corpses, nor to expose Lisbeth to the rigours of a police interrogation. I led her hurriedly away from the scene, through the streets of Bromley, and back to the car.

  The vehicle had waited patiently for us throughout the confrontation, and was contentedly unaware of the difficulties we faced. I did not attempt to explain them to it, for its capacity to comprehend such things was curtailed by its structure and function. A more straightforward life, and I hope no less satisfying than my own.

  Lisbeth and I did not speak on the drive back home. It was rather pleasant to spend time with a person whose natural rhythms more closely mirrored mine. Although I have great affection for Miss Kane, she is often distractingly active, and that sometimes makes it hard to follow her moods and trains of thought. I turned up the volume on my music, and felt its various frequencies play across what for want of a more physiologically correct term I shall call my skin. I am not certain if I technically have skin. To the best of my understanding, my body is a homogeneous mass of stone given mobility and the illusion of flesh by my creator’s will and a usurped celestial fire.

  I am sorry, I appear to be digressing. I have little experience in these matters.

  When we returned to the flat, the door was anxious. This at once made me wary. I explained to Lisbeth that we had best ready ourselves against the eventuality of attack. Perhaps I had inherited a little of
Miss Kane’s paranoia, but since even her friends had a distressing tendency to break into her home rather than knock in the customary manner, I thought caution wise.

  I opened the door as gently as I could manage, and did my best to soothe it. The atmosphere of disquiet continued in the hall, and I became increasingly convinced that somebody had entered the building uninvited.

  My suspicions were confirmed on our entering the living room, where I encountered two strangers, both—from the manner in which their movements followed their inclinations and the devouring nature of their essences—clearly vampires.

  One lay haphazardly on the sofa. He had arranged himself into a position that suggested careless ease, and was maintaining it scrupulously. He had a sharp smile that I think was intended to suggest a friendly nature, but there was ice in his eyes and fire in his heart. He was old, like trees rather than stone. I put a hand on Lisbeth’s arm. She would never have seen such a creature before, and I was not sure how it would affect her.

  The second gentleman was scarred. His body had been touched by fire and his essence by something else, a weapon that left deep unhealing wounds. He was the younger of the two, but was full of secrets. He stood against the wall, stiff and cold.

  “Good afternoon,” I began. “I am sorry, but I do not believe that we have been introduced.”

  The elder of them swung his legs around and sat up. “Halfdan the Shaper. Where’s Kate?”

  I was not certain how much information it was safe to share with this person. I did not keep detailed track of Miss Kane’s undead acquaintances, but she had never mentioned this man as being amongst her confidantes. His name was familiar and I was relatively certain that he had argued in favour of Miss Kane’s execution last year. This fact did not endear him to me. “She has been taken.”

  “Unfortunate.” This was the other man. The scarred one. “I had thought he might choose another.”

  “Another?”

  Halfdan the Shaper leaned back, resting his boots on the coffee table. The table was not happy, but did not complain very much. “Another changeling. He needs the blood of a faery lord to complete his transformation.”

  “My apologies, I fear I will be spending much of this conversation simply repeating things you have said. Transformation?” I thought a moment and looked up at the second gentleman. “If this is in reference to the affair that began last year with Miss Kyprianides and Mr. Knight, then I was under the impression that it was Henry Percy who was involved in that particular plot, not Mr. Douglas.”

  The scarred vampire coughed. And I recalled that on their last encounter Miss Kane had left him under a burning building. That explained both the burns and the inward impression of bitterness. “I was in service to the P-Prince of Wands. It was always he who was to ascend the discarded stair. I was to serve in his new order.”

  “Might I ask what persuaded you to abandon him?”

  “He left me in a b-burning building. The Shaper rescued me.”

  “And,” added the other vampiric gentleman, “he has been extremely helpful ever since.”

  In honesty, I had my doubts as to the helpfulness of either of these men. “Any assistance you could render in the liberation of Miss Kane would be most welcome.”

  “I’ve been tangling with Sebastian for more than a millennium.” The Shaper rose and sauntered casually to the window. “I’ve survived because I’ve never gone after him directly. When you get right down to it he’s a vindictive little twazzock, and if you cross him he will do whatever it takes to annihilate you. Look at what happened to the Morrigan.”

  I considered this. “Then your intent is that I should move against Mr. Douglas, allowing you to achieve your desired end of thwarting his ambitions, while ensuring that the consequences of such actions fall upon me and anybody foolish enough to support me.”

  He grinned. It was slightly too wide and slightly too cruel. “Got it in one, sister.”

  “I have sisters. You are not one of them.”

  “So serious for someone so young. It’s very simple. I will tell you, or rather the good Mr. Percy will tell you, where Sebastian is most likely to have taken your employer, and in return you will do everything in your power to get her back before he drains her blood and becomes a god. Do we have a deal?”

  I considered this. “I am not certain that deal is the appropriate term for what you are proposing. I shall attempt to rescue Miss Kane irrespective of any information you may give me. It seems, therefore, to be in your interests to be as forthcoming as possible.”

  The two vampiric gentlemen exchanged looks, Mr. Percy’s enquiring and Mr. Halfdan’s assenting.

  “The Ascent of the Discarded Stair,” began Mr. Percy, “is a ritual whereby the magician may usurp the throne of Apollo. In its first stage, the aspirant must be acclaimed at winter solstice as the coming god of the sun by the high priestess of the oracles of Delphi.”

  “You mean, Miss Kyprianides?”

  Mr. Percy nodded. “Yes. The second part of the ritual must be performed exactly six months later, at the summer solstice. It requires the Tears of Hypnos be commingled with the blood of a faery lord. This offering permits the beneficiary, once they enter the realm of the faery lord in question, to subsume that being’s power and from that power, the remains of their kingdom and any parts of the waking world which border it, construct the metaphysical staircase by which they ascend to the throne of the sun itself.”

  “And, if I might ask”—the question felt foolish but I thought it pertinent that it be voiced—“what happens next?”

  The look that the Shaper gave me contrived somehow to be at once mocking and inscrutable; I made private note of its composition in case it should prove useful in future. “You mean after he’s killed your friend, sucked half the Scottish border into another universe, and literally become the sun?”

  “Yes. My apologies if this seems an unproductive line of inquiry, but I find it best to understand all the parameters.”

  “In practical terms, it means he goes from being one kind of very powerful supernatural creature to a different kind of very powerful supernatural creature. This isn’t a take over the world deal for Sebastian, it’s...it’s personal.”

  “For something personal”—I moved my head in a manner I hoped suggested interest—“it seems quite remarkably convoluted.”

  This earned me a scornful glance from Mr. Percy. “It’s an ancient secret of thaumaturgy that permits the supplicant to become a god. Did you really think it would be straightforward? The Prince of Wands is one of the most accomplished sorcerers the world has ever seen, has spent centuries preparing for this, and he has managed to acquire the necessary components and participants exactly twice.”

  “And what happened on those occasions?”

  “On the first, the original Prince of Wands caught wind of what he was doing and killed the changeling who would have provided the blood for the second stage of the ritual. On the second, Patrick Knight intervened and rescued the sacrifice.”

  I was perplexed by this. “From what I saw of Mr. Douglas’s abilities today, I do not quite understand how Mr. Knight would have been able to overcome him.”

  At this, Mr. Halfdan began to laugh, rather cruelly I felt. “He didn’t overcome Sebastian. He overcame Henry.”

  “He took me by surprise. In retrospect I b-believe His Highness intended for me to complete the ritual on his b-behalf, and then for P-patrick to kill me.”

  “You see”—Mr. Halfdan wagged an instructive finger—“all vampires are paranoid. And with good reason. We are a race of predators and it is our nature to attempt to destroy one another. But for Sebastian it goes deeper, he finds the thought of any being having the power to hurt him in any way intolerable. He doesn’t want to be a god because it’ll let him have power over other people, he’s got power over other people. He wants to be a god because it’ll stop
other people having power over him. Sometimes I think he even resents the sun.”

  “That is informative,” I remarked, “but I am not sure how it assists us in our present situation.”

  Mr. Halfdan laughed again. I was beginning to think I did not enjoy his laughter. “Oh, but you’re wrong, my dear. Consider this: Sebastian came from less than nothing, and over the past two millennia he’s gone from being a slave in Verulamium, to a servant of the Morrigan, to an architect of the vampire council, to one of the most feared beings in the entire supernatural world. And he has done it by the slow acquisition and judicious use of secrets. The man is so sly that he invented the role of Prince of Wands specifically for his own use but gave it to somebody else first so that nobody would suspect that was what he was up to. And, last year, he personally orchestrated the awakening of an unstoppable vampire queen, whose downfall he had also personally orchestrated, just so he could disrupt the power structure he personally designed for long enough that he could make a play for godhood without anybody noticing. But, yesterday, he acted directly and in front of witnesses. You’re a private investigator. What does that tell you?”

  It was gratifying to be recognised as a private investigator. “It tells me something has changed.”

  “Exactly. When your rather reckless employer burned down Trismegistus Hall, she deprived Sebastian of his last and most useful proxy. Ordinarily he might have retreated, re-built his power base and attempted the ritual at some point in the distant future. But once he learned, or came to suspect, that Henry was in my custody he knew that I would prevent him from ever getting such an opportunity again.” Mr. Halfdan smiled, his face amiable but his heart not. “Frustrating my brother is normally a hobby, but when he’s on the verge of gaining unlimited power it becomes rather more important.”

  “That gives me some insight into your motivation but not into a practicable course of action that will result in the liberation of my friend.”

  Blue fire flickered at the tips of Mr. Percy’s fingers. “The p-point is, that the Prince of Wands has been forced to complete the ritual himself. The last time, I was to make the sacrifice at Trismegistus Hall while he was fifty miles away in Scotland on the borders of the Deepwild. Now I am no longer with him, he will have to perform the rite in situ, which means we know where he is. Further, because he most likely believes this to be his last chance, we also know that any attempt to stop him will be met with the full strength of a two-thousand-year-old vampire lord steeped in sorcerous mysteries with one foot on the stair to divinity. And that, I assure you, will take more than Mr. Knight’s adolescent passion to vanquish.”