by SJB Gilmour
‘When you perform the rites, you’re coming into contact with various spirits, demons or devils,’ Melanie explained.
‘I’m not that stupid.’
‘Well, most of our clothes are made from things that were once alive. Anything biological is fair game. Cotton, wool, leather… Our power protects our own body from being possessed by a spirit, but there’s nothing to stop it getting into our clothes.’
Sarah whined. ‘Talk about bad fashion.’ She licked her nose, which was running from all the steam.
Mel smiled. ‘It’s really dangerous. The spirit you’re talking to might be harmless, but the places these spirits live are usually home to demons as well. Devils usually like living in their own hells, but they all have demon slaves and demons always want to leave. They’re the ones that are most likely to try to possess you. Beezel wouldn’t have tried to possess my clothes, but the link was open. If one of his slaves had broken loose, it could have slipped into our world. There’s also the risk of infection from all sorts of nasty bugs like demon lice.’
Sarah began to understand. ‘So if you’ve created a link between our world and the spirits’ world, the demon could travel through that link and into your clothes?’
Melanie nodded. ‘I think it happened a few times in the early days. There was even a crazy monk who collected demons in his pockets.’
‘What happened to him?’
Mel shrugged. ‘I dunno. Nostradamus locked himself in a cave and wrote down all sorts of gibberish. Then the demons ate him. After him, there was guy called Lovecraft. He got himself into real trouble when he made contact with The Cthulhu. That thing sent him crazy.’
‘Cthulhu?’ Sarah had heard of that evil god before.
Mel nodded. ‘Nasty god, Cthulhu of R’lyeh. He scares the crap out of the mortals. Head like some sort of squid, built like a scaly sumo-wrestler with tiny wings. He’s the boss of the plane that miskatopian demon came from.’
Mel became serious and returned to the subject. ‘Thing is, Sarah, I know I’ve made a bit of a fuss about getting naked and stuff, and I know Oliver doesn’t seem to care, but it’s still embarrassing.’ She blushed, looking down at her feet.
Knowing just how difficult this admission was for her best friend, from the side of the bath, Sarah nudged Mel’s knee affectionately. Despite herself, Sarah began to laugh. Her pink tongue lolled out and she panted in a wolfish laugh.
‘You humans,’ she chortled. ‘You guys make no sense whatsoever.’
Mel frowned at her friend. ‘Would you strip off naked in front of Felix?’
‘Every time I’ve met him I have been naked,’ Sarah pointed out. ‘Wolves don’t wear clothes.’
‘I meant as a human.’
‘No way!’ Sarah replied, suddenly understanding her friend’s dilemma.
Just then, Sarah’s acute hearing alerted her to footsteps in the hall. It’s Angela! Sarah projected the thought as she immediately changed back to human.
The two girls then quickly abandoned their bathrobes and scurried about, finding clothes to wear. Mel changed into a pair of black jeans, her black combat boots and a black, long-sleeved shirt. Sarah quickly towelled her hair to a little less damp than it had been. Sarah donned her favourite old cargo pants and grudgingly put on a pair of sneakers.
Angela waited at the doorway. ‘You’re feeling better, I take it?’ she asked Melanie.
Melanie nodded. ‘Sorry I got mad,’ she said.
Angela smiled and hugged her niece. ‘It’s alright.’ She winked at Sarah. ‘I guess we’re lucky to have a Golden Mane here with us to keep our silly human female minds from getting too hormonal.’
‘Better to be a hormonal female than a stupid male,’ Mel grumbled.
‘Better still to be a female wolf,’ Sarah quipped.
The three of them laughed.
‘Have you come to get us for dinner?’ Sarah asked.
‘Yes,’ Angela replied as they walked to the dining room. ‘Oliver’s got some news for us I think.’
They arrived at the dining room and were greeted by José. The officious little gnome ushered them to their places at the table. Sarah noticed there were three extra places made up for guests who had not yet arrived. As they sat down, Oliver appeared with three cloaked figures by his side. While they appeared human, Sarah’s keen nose told her they were far from it. She smelled delicate feminine scents and what she knew must be almost intoxicating perfume. She also smelled blood. Instinctively, she assumed her werewolf shape and growled.
‘Vampires?’ she asked, her tail down and her hackles raised.
One of the figured raised her hood to reveal a strikingly beautiful woman’s face, crowned with stunning blonde hair. She smiled, displaying rows of deadly-looking fangs.
‘Not vampires, Sarah,’ Angela muttered. ‘Succubi.’
Chapter Twelve
‘Before we start dinner, I need to tell you something.’ Oliver’s tone was serious though his eyes gleamed with mirth.
Sarah looked past him at the robed figures.
‘I’ll introduce our friends in a minute,’ Oliver promised them. ‘But first I need to tell you that Conundrum has just received word about your friend Mason.’
Sarah stared at him in silence. She felt a chill run through her body. That brave little gnome was one of her closest non-human friends and she knew if anything were to happen to him…
‘Before you jump to conclusions,’ Oliver warned them, holding up one hand, ‘remember that any news Conundrum receives from the House of Gnumph must be taken with a grain of pepper.’
‘Salt,’ Angela corrected.
Oliver looked at her, baffled. ‘What is it with you and your obsession with correcting my grammar? Salt makes things taste better. Pepper makes you stop and think. Why would anyone take salt with suspicious news?’
Angela rolled her eyes. ‘Never mind,’ she gave in. ‘Just spit it out,’ she told the sorcerer primly. She too was regarding the three black-robed figures with curiosity.
‘Officially, the gnome’s been arrested and accused of attempted regicide. He’s scheduled to be executed.’
‘What?’ All three demanded at once.
Melanie was suddenly furious at Oliver. ‘You sent him there, you b—’
Angela held Mel’s shoulder firmly and Mel clamped her mouth shut, though she still glared at Oliver furiously.
Nathan wriggled into the room. ‘Hello everyone,’ he said brightly. For dinner, he wore a black silk bow-tie and a white vest. He looked in surprise at Angela and Melanie’s stunned faces and was even more startled to see Sarah with her hackles raised.
‘Oh my,’ the bookwyrm murmured. ‘Is everything alright?’
‘Ronny’s been arrested, Nathan,’ Angela told him, not taking her eyes off the robed figures by Oliver’s side.
Melanie wrenched free of her aunt’s firm grip. She turned to Nathan.
‘They’re gonna execute him!’ Then she turned to back Oliver. ‘You better do something about that,’ she grated through clenched teeth. Sparks began to flicker warningly up and down her body.
‘Arrested?’ Nathan said with alarm. ‘By whom?’
‘The Gnumphlatian Royal Guard has him under lock and key,’ Oliver replied shortly.
Nathan sighed with relief. ‘Oh thank goodness,’ he breathed. ‘For a moment there, I was a bit worried.’
‘What?’ Sarah was very surprised at Nathan’s response.
‘Oh don’t worry about Master Mason,’ Nathan assured her, his head bobbing up and down. He wriggled around to the table and settled himself in one of the chairs. He peered about the table for food. The places were all set, however José was yet to provide the meal.
‘Nathan!’ Sarah pressed.
‘Master Mason will be quite safe, I’m sure,’ Nathan assured her. He grinned. ‘He’s much too valuable for the Gnomish crown to execute. Their society is stagnating terribly. He could be just the sort of yeast they need. And would the charges be something like treason a
gainst the crown?’
Oliver grinned. ‘Yep. Attempted regicide.’
‘I knew it!’ Nathan exclaimed brightly. He winked at the table and a large, leather-bound tome appeared. He nodded at it. ‘The Gnomish Military Manifesto,’ he announced. ‘It’s got rather an exaggerated idea of its own importance. However, it does list every gnomish military activity for the last eight thousand years.’
Sarah looked at him blankly. She titled her head and whined.
‘The gnomes haven’t had an original idea in centuries,’ Nathan scoffed. At that moment, José appeared. His face darkened as he heard the bookwyrm’s statement.
‘It’s true!’ Nathan protested while José grumpily began serving out the meals. ‘I’ll bet if Master Mason’s been arrested, the Royal family is going to pull off a Howard manoeuvre.’
Oliver grinned. He gestured to the three black-robed figures beside him to go over to the table.
Sarah turned to Oliver. ‘What’s a Howard manoeuvre?’
Oliver shrugged. ‘It’s where the politician in power uses a distraction like the threat of terrorism to strengthen his own power base while actually forming a secret allegiance with the very threat he’s supposed to be fighting. I’ve used it a few times myself, actually. If word has leaked out that Mason’s been arrested, then he’s probably busy conspiring away with whatshisname,’ he clicked his fingers impatiently.
‘His Majesty, King Roger The Nineteenth,’ José supplied stiffly.
‘That’s right. Jolly Roger,’ Oliver agreed. ‘You need to read between the lines of any press release out of the Gnumphlatian Royal Burrow. I’m sure we’ll hear all about the juicy details soon enough.’ He gestured impatiently to the black-robed figures to sit in the chairs beside his.
Sarah gave an involuntary growl and her hackles rose again. She padded in front of Melanie and Angela.
Oliver laughed. ‘Easy, Sarah,’ he said casually. ‘These are a few friends of mine. I told you I’d put the word out that I was curious about that blasted Babylonian Heresies,’ he told the girls. ‘Well, these ladies have something you might want to hear.’ He caught the scent of Sarah’s damp coat. His nostrils flared slightly and he shrugged. After all, Oliver was used to some very smelly things.
The blonde succubus nudged her companions. They too drew back their hoods, revealing a brunette and a redhead. Each woman was pale and beautiful. Their eyes were all almost completely black, as if they had no irises at all, and they were delicately framed with long, seductive lashes.
Oliver and the three succubi all sat down at the table. ‘Are you going to join us?’ Oliver asked Sarah mildly.
‘It’s quite safe, Golden Mane,’ the blonde succubus promised. ‘We won’t bite.’
Melanie snorted, her mood suddenly changing from curiosity to anger. She turned to Oliver.
‘Well,’ she demanded acidly. ‘Aren’t you going to introduce us?’
‘Of course,’ Oliver said mildly. He stood up. ‘May I present their Royal Highnesses, Princesses Heather,’ he gestured to the blonde, ‘Elizabetha,’ the redhead, ‘and Charity,’ the brunette, ‘of the Royal house of Medici.’ He gestured to Sarah, Melanie and Angela. ‘Your Highnesses, this is Angelina Hardingleflass, The Marked One. Her niece, Melanie Hazelwood, The Last Daughter of Troy, and the stinky one here is Sarah Coppernick, Golden Mane.’
Nathan gave a delicate cough.
‘And Master Nathan,’ Oliver added, ‘an archivist.’
Sarah, still in her wolf form, nimbly climbed up and onto a chair at the table. Though most people would find it quite odd to be dining with a wolf, the succubi seemed to find it quite normal. They were certainly not bothered at all by her odour, which made her feel a lot better.
Angela stayed seated. She nodded slightly. ‘Ladies,’ she murmured, managing to make it sound as if she thought the three succubi were anything but lady-like.
‘Ahh,’ Heather murmured.
‘Sit,’ Oliver said to cover the uncomfortable moment. As he sat, José presented a large platter of mackerel with a creamy dill sauce. As he set the cover of the platter down on the trolley, it rang loudly.
‘Saved by the bell,’ Elizabetha murmured. She inhaled then wrinkled her nose. ‘Fish?’ she asked Oliver with distaste.
‘It’s quite fresh,’ Oliver assured her. ‘Or, if you’d prefer, I can have José here bring up a flagon of fresh goat blood.’
‘That would be lovely,’ Heather said graciously before Elizabetha could respond. She turned to Angela. ‘Mistress Harding, I apologise if our presence here offends you, but we were invited to visit by Lord Cromwell here. He seems to feel we may be of some assistance.’
Angela sighed and inclined her head. ‘I’m sorry,’ she apologised while José served the food. ‘I wasn’t expecting such royal company.’
‘Oliver does like his little games,’ Charity remarked, peering curiously at the exquisitely prepared fish. She looked up at Cromwell. ‘Perhaps you better explain why we’re here, Lord Cromwell.’
‘Yes,’ Melanie agreed darkly. Her olive-skinned face was dark and her eyes flashed dangerously at the blonde necromancer. ‘Lord Cromwell, perhaps you better.’
‘I’ll be just a moment with some goat blood, My Lord,’ José said formally and disappeared.
Oliver picked up a forkful of fish and popped it into his mouth.
‘Troy,’ he said as he chewed. ‘I asked their Highnesses to come here to help you.’
‘I wasn’t aware that succubi were experienced necromancers,’ Angela observed.
‘Oh, most of us are not,’ Heather agreed affably.
José reappeared with a large jug of warm blood. The succubus princesses watched the formal little gnome fill three wine glasses with the dark red fluid. Their dark eyes gleamed hungrily.
‘It is not common knowledge, but our family has been training my sisters and me in all forms of sorcery,’ Heather continued.
Sarah inhaled and the scent of the warm goat’s blood filled her nostrils. It did smell very good, she admitted to herself. Then she gave an involuntary shudder. She was definitely not going to start drinking blood. She focused on Princess Heather.
‘Why is that, Your Highness?’ Sarah asked politely.
José paused near Nathan. ‘Blood, Sir?’
‘I’d prefer wine, if you have any,’ Nathan replied.
José nodded and immediately produced a large flagon of red wine for the bookwyrm.
‘Please, call me Heather,’ the succubus replied to Sarah. ‘The wraith sub-clan of the Medici family has been endangered for centuries,’ she explained. ‘Many of my sisters have left this plane. Those who remain are under constant threat.’
Sarah felt confused. She carefully made sure her mind was securely encased in the protective barrier that Cromwell had taught her how to construct. Secure, she wondered about these three beautiful women as they politely sipped the warm blood. Everything she had read about succubi told her that succubi were a race of female wraiths — evil soul-destroying creatures, only one step up from being demons. These three women did not seem to be quite as dangerous as she had thought. That and the fact that she herself was one of the good guys and had found the scent of blood delicious, had Sarah feeling some empathy for those who were frequently misunderstood. After all, until about a year ago, Sarah would have thought being a werewolf meant being some sort of monster.
Melanie didn’t touch her food. Instead, she merely folded her arms across her chest.
‘Who from?’ she demanded.
‘From whom,’ Angela corrected absently.
Charity smiled sadly. ‘All manner of enchanted creatures have been hunting us down for aeons,’ she answered for her sister. ‘However, that is not why we have been studying. The wraith clans, like almost every other race, have their own lore and legends. Several generations of our seers have prophesied our future—’
‘It doesn’t look good,’ Princess Heather remarked. ‘Most of the possible outcomes end up the same
way. It appears we have one chance of forever ridding ourselves of the thirst for blood of others and be blessed enough to find our own god. If not, we will be destroyed — hunted down, coven by coven until every last succubus, vampire and lycanthrope are killed.’
Oliver whistled. ‘That doesn’t sound good,’ he remarked to no-one in particular.
Princess Charity nodded. ‘We trust our seers of course, but like yourselves, we’re quite aware that prophecies can frequently be cross-referenced. We went in search of a document that might have all the answers.’
‘The Babylonian Heresies,’ Mel said flatly.
Princess Heather nodded. ‘We’ve not been able to reach the whole manuscript, but we did locate a scroll that was written by someone who did, we think. We think it is a direct copy of at least a small part of the whole.’
‘What did it say, if you don’t mind me asking, Your Highness?’ asked Sarah.
Princess Heather smiled and pulled a small scroll of parchment out of her sleeve. She placed it on the table.
‘Read for yourself, Mistress Coppernick,’ she offered.
The scroll unrolled itself and lay flat on the table. The Magaeic script was spidery and elegant. It was also written in blood. A soft, yet wicked sounding female voice came from the scroll.
Know that the time long-feared and foretold will be upon thee when an alignment looms in the age of steel and glass. When Mortal man has swelled to plague proportions and the use of new sorcery doth keep them and sustain them, shall the struggle between hope and chaos begin. The equal pieces of the goblin-forged key shall emerge to aid those destined to join them together. An army of hope shall face the multitudes of chaos on a land of fire and sea.
On one side, the side of hope, shall players struggle. The Marked One. Fear her lest she destroy ye all. The Golden Protector. The world shall tremble at her coming.
On the side of hope also shall be Two of Silver. One wears that deathly aura like a cloak that will strike back at all who dare strike against him. Most fearsome of all, however is the other of Silver. She is The Nightsmith. Cursed metal shall run in her veins. Her weapons shall grow from her own cursed blood.