“Seriously?” She looked at his expression and raised her eyebrows. “You really are a nut-case, you do know that?”
“Ask!”
“Oh, for God’s sake ... Qui est là?” she called out, folding her arms and listening with an expectant air.
“Jean-Pierre.”
She gave him a told-you-so expression and he relaxed, letting go of her arm so that she could answer the door. Ameena opened it to a tall, slim young man in his mid-twenties. He had short, dark brown hair that had a just got out of bed look she approved of, and a pleasant, if unremarkable face, until you got to his eyes. His eyes were a deep turquoise and there was something familiar about them. They, in turn, regarded her with equal curiosity. She wondered suddenly what the hell she was going to say.
“Bonjour!” That seemed as good a place to start as any. She stepped back and gestured for him to come in.
The young man held up a carrier bag and a baguette and handed them over to her. “I brought bread, and some cheese and stuff, is that OK?”
“Oh, perfect,” she said, feeling uncomfortable, more so as he glanced about the ruined house with wide eyes. “I’m so grateful. I’m afraid you must think this is all very bizarre.”
“Un peu,” he agreed, but with such an easy smile that she didn’t hold it against him.
“I’m sorry,” she said rubbing a hand through her short hair and wondering what on earth to tell him. “I know it’s all very cloak and dagger. To be honest, I don’t have a clue what’s going on either.”
He grinned at her and she felt the need to smile back as it was genuine and obviously friendly. “It’s OK, I had nothing better to do than look for a job, you’ve saved me from a tedious afternoon.”
She laughed, though the sound was a little uncertain “Well,” she said, frowning a little. “Whatever happens, I have a feeling it isn’t going to be tedious.” Her smile faltered as she realised he was studying her hard, his eyes intense now.
“Mon Dieu,” he said, his smile growing ever broader as his eyes widened. “It is you! Amee?”
Ameena frowned harder, her mouth falling open as she looked back at him, drawing in a breath. “Oh, my God! That Jean-Pierre! I never thought … How stupid of me not to recognise you, how are you?”
He shrugged, smiling at her. It was a good smile, an honest one, and exactly as she remembered it - just a little bit crooked. “Just as you see, you?”
She returned the shrug, feeling a bit uncomfortable as she still hadn’t told him what was going on. Not that she knew herself. “Up to my neck in trouble as usual, it would appear,” she admitted.
“Oui, that I do remember,” he said, with a low laugh as he shook his head, looking her up and down with obvious appreciation. “Wow, Amee, I can’t believe it.” He dragged his hand through his hair, making it stick up even more, and smiled, looking a little sheepish. “You know, I had such a crush on you.” He gave her a warm look and she chuckled, looking up at him through her lashes and appreciating how he’d grown. He’d been a gangly boy the last time she’d seen him.
“Yeah, I remember,” she said, quite unable to hide her smile. “You used to follow me about like a little lost puppy.”
“I did.” He nodded, holding her gaze. It was the kind of direct look that Ameena appreciated. “I had good taste.”
Before Ameena could open her mouth to reply there was a loud sigh of frustration from the bedroom.
“If you have quite finished?”
***
The voices fell silent and Bram lay back against the wall feeling vastly irritated. His shoulder was throbbing unbearably, he was hungry, thirsty, and his head hurt. The last thing he wanted to listen to was the two of them flirting, for the love of Nerthus. Though why he should care who the strange creature flirted with, he couldn’t fathom.
Although he couldn’t see her, he could practically feel Ameena rolling her eyes at him. It didn’t help.
“This is why I called you,” he heard her say, her voice low and confiding. “I arrived last night, like I said, in the middle of that storm, and a few minutes later he arrived on my doorstep ... with a bullet wound in his shoulder.”
Jean-Pierre’s eyes widened. “Putain! Have you called the Gendarmes?”
Damn the boy.
Ameena’s voice lowered a little further. “He won’t let me.”
There was the soft sound of movement and Bram suspected Jean-Pierre was leading her further away from the bedroom. He strained his ears to listen in. “That seems like a pretty good reason to call them right away.”
“I know, but …” Ameena hesitated and Bram held his breath. “Firstly, I couldn’t if I’d wanted to, I had no signal then, and … oh, I don’t know. He doesn’t seem like a bad guy and ...” She lowered her voice even more and Bram held his breath to hear the words. “Personally, I think he’s a sandwich short of a picnic, but he seems harmless enough.”
Bram gritted his teeth.
“He’s got a bullet wound in his shoulder!” Jean-Pierre hissed back. “How can you say he seems harmless, how do you know he didn’t kill whoever was shooting at him?”
Ridiculously, Bram felt more satisfaction with Jean-Pierre’s answer than Ameena’s. Being thought dangerous was one thing, unhinged and harmless quite another.
“He did have a gun,” Ameena said, sounding a little unsettled as Bram sucked in a breath and prayed for patience. “A very old one, though, it looked like an antique. Oh, and he had a sword.”
“Merde!” Jean-Pierre hissed at her, sounding utterly appalled. “And you brought him in? Are you insane?”
“I couldn’t let him bleed out on my doorstep and do nothing!” she flung back at him. Bram snorted with amusement, he could just imagine the look on her face. He’d seen it himself.
“And what the hell’s he got to do with my sister?” Jean-Pierre demanded, sounding as though he was two seconds from running out and bringing an armed guard.
Bram sucked in a breath, deciding he’d had quite enough. “Would you two stop whispering and get in here, and maybe I’ll tell you!”
There was a bit more furious whispering and then they entered the bedroom together, Jean-Pierre looking down on Bram with undisguised hostility. Bram knew well what he looked like. He’d cultivated the air of a highwayman with great precision over the years, after all. He could hardly blame Jean-Pierre for not trusting him an inch.
“What’s this got to do with my sister?” the young man demanded, folding his arms and glaring at Bram, not bothering with introductions.
Bram tried to sit up a little straighter, feeling at a definite disadvantage lying on the floor. “She sent me to bring you to her. You are in grave danger.”
Jean-Pierre snorted, a sound of such disdain that Bram had to grit his teeth to keep his temper in check. “My sister is studying in the north of France and she wouldn’t know trouble if it fell on her head. She’s a good girl and not the kind to get mixed up with ... with someone like you!” There was a troubled look in the boy’s eyes, though, and Bram knew he was lying. He smiled, wondering if he’d encountered Corin. Now there was trouble.
“Nevertheless,” he said, pleased that he sounded so patient and reasonable in the circumstances. “She did send me, and it is you that is in trouble, not her.”
“Go on, then. I’ll bite,” Jean-Pierre replied, folding his arms a little tighter and exuding hostility.
Bram tried to reach out and pick up the letter but seeing he was in pain, Ameena took pity on him and picked it up, handing it to Jean-Pierre.
“Thank you.” Bram smiled at her while Jean-Pierre continued to glower at him. “Read it,” he said, suddenly exhausted as he gestured towards it.
Jean-Pierre held it up to Ameena, raising his eyebrows as he drew her attention to the wax seal. Ameena shrugged and watched as Jean-Pierre pried it open and began to read. To Bram’s relief, the magic Corin had infused into the words of Claudette’s letter was clearly as potent as he’d promised. Jean-Pierre’s fac
e drained of colour, his eyes widening as he read.
“Well?” Ameena demanded, she was practically bouncing on her toes in impatience. “What does it say?”
“I ...” Jean-Pierre shook his head and stared at Bram in awe before running a hand through his hair. He turned around, shaking his head before turning back again. “Merde!” he exclaimed, obviously frustrated and perplexed. “This … this can’t be true,” he shouted, waving the letter at him. “It just can’t! It’s … ridiculous!”
“But you know it is true, don’t you?” Bram said, sighing with relief as Jean-Pierre nodded.
“Oui,” he said, sounding utterly baffled. “It can’t be true, but I know … I know it is. It doesn’t make any sense.”
“What does it say?” Ameena repeated, sounding like she might commit murder if someone didn’t explain it to her soon.
Jean-Pierre leaned back against the wall, frowning at the letter. “What now?” he asked Bram as Ameena scowled at him.
“I was supposed to keep you safe and escort you to Claudette,” Bram admitted with regret. So much for showing Corin he could be trusted, for making him proud. “So far that has not gone so well.”
“The people after me, they did that?” He gestured at Bram’s shoulder, suddenly looking absurdly young.
“Yes. Do not make the mistake of underestimating them,” he warned, his voice hard now. The boy could not take any chances. “They killed the five men who accompanied me, all of them skilled warriors, and I barely escaped with my life.”
Ameena’s mouth dropped open. “Killed five …” she began, eyes wide with horror as she turned on Jean-Pierre. “If someone doesn’t tell me what the bloody hell is going on this second, I swear you’ll regret it!” she yelled, looking like she meant it, too.
Jean-Pierre opened his mouth and looked at Ameena and then back to Bram. “She’ll think I’m a lunatic …” he said, shaking his head. “You tell her.”
Bram snorted, looking back at him in disgust. “So it doesn’t matter if she thinks I’m a lunatic, then?”
“Non, not in the least,” he said with a shrug, before gesturing at Bram with impatience as he received a look of indignation. “She already thinks that, anyway,” he exclaimed.
Bram sighed. “A fair point.” He looked at Ameena and drew in a deep breath. He had a pretty clear idea where this was going to go. “I am Lord Tullius Beltram the third. I am from Alfheim, the elven lands, a realm that exists beside the human world. I have been sent by Prince Corin Albrecht on behalf of his fiancée, Claudette. Our lands are at war with the Light Fae and their king has ordered Claudette’s family to be taken as hostages. I am here to see that doesn’t happen and return Jean-Pierre to his sister, where he will be safe.” Bram waited for her outrage but she just stared at him, arms folded, eyes narrowed.
“And what about the ring?” she asked, her tone dry.
Bram frowned at her, wondering what he’d missed. “What ring?”
“You know ... ‘One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them, One Ring to bring them all...’ etcetera, etcetera.”
Jean-Pierre snorted whilst Bram watched them in bewilderment. “Funny.” Jean-Pierre chuckled, obviously understanding some reference that he didn’t. “I don’t think he’s a hobbit, though,” he added in an undertone.
“Oh no.” Ameena shook her head, giving her childhood friend a grim smile. “No, no, no ... he’s a freaking elf! What is this, some kind of group hallucination?”
Jean-Pierre shrugged. “Perhaps,” he admitted, giving her a troubled smile. “I can’t explain it, that’s for sure. I know I should be reacting like you, but ... I know he’s telling the truth.”
Bram watched as Ameena put her hands to her head, looking like she wanted to rip her hair out by the roots in frustration. “How? How can you know that?”
Jean-Pierre shrugged, looking awkward, and she turned to Bram, who smirked at her.
“Nuts. You’re both completely bloody nuts!” she shouted, her tone really rather savage.
“It’s the letter,” Bram said, feeling he owed her some kind of explanation. Ameena looked back at him.
“What do you mean?” she asked, frowning now.
Bram wondered how this must appear to her. To live in a world with no magic seemed a strange thing to him, so how hard must the sudden revelation that there was such a thing be for her to accept? “Claudette knew that her brother, Jean-Pierre here, would have a hard time accepting the truth and so the prince put his magic into the words on the letter. If you read it, you will believe me.”
Jean-Pierre sighed and nodded. “That explains it,” he said, shrugging apologetically at Ameena, who looked like something had burst in her head at his words.
“What?” Ameena screeched, her fists clenched as she stared at them in outrage. “That explains it? In what universe does that explain anything? It’s completely frigging bonkers!” Jean-Pierre held out the letter to her and she backed off. “Oh, no, no thank you very much.”
Bram smiled, amused that she was nervous of it despite her reaction. “But if I am a lunatic and there is no such thing as magic, what harm can there be in reading it?”
“Oh, I don’t believe in magic,” she said, her tone harsh. “But I’ve read enough freaky stuff about hypnotism and ... and... playing around with your subconscious.” She waggled her fingers around beside her head as she spoke, glaring at each of them in turn. “Oh, spooky hidden messages ... no! Just no! You go and play make believe if you like,” she flung at Jean-Pierre, looking disappointed in him. “Just don’t include me in your stupid games.” She glared at Bram, rigid with anger, and he shook his head, frustrated that she wouldn’t read the letter. It would have been so much easier. He looked away, out of the window, and his eye was drawn to a broken plant pot on the window sill. A wild sweet pea had managed to seed itself in the poor soil, but the summer was gone and the plant was dying.
“Bring me that pot,” he demanded, praying he had strength enough to make this work and not to simply convince Ameena further that he was out of his mind.
“What?” Ameena and Jean-Pierre both asked, even Jean-Pierre looking sceptical now.
“Out there, on the window sill.” Jean-Pierre looked at Ameena who was giving him her best you cannot be serious expression. He shrugged before going to get it as requested. He came back a moment later and handed it to Bram, who looked at it with misgiving. “Look,” he said, wondering if he was making a big mistake. “You have to understand ... this kind of magic, it’s not my thing.”
There was a short bark of laughter from Ameena and Bram scowled at her. Determined now, he held the pot and concentrated. He felt the first flicker of magic beneath his skin, fighting always against his human blood. Sweat broke out on his forehead, the fever intensifying as his magical nature broke through the human side that protected him from the lead. Bram felt his breathing getting faster, more erratic and for what seemed like an age nothing happened. The plant remained stubbornly dead, and he could sense Ameena was about to leave the room in disgust.
“Look!” Jean-Pierre shouted, grabbing hold of Ameena’s arm in his excitement.
The plant, which was wilted and brown, stiffened all at once and the colour flooded back through the stems, uncurling the leaves. Ameena’s cynical grey eyes grew wide with astonishment.
“Impossible!” she objected, rubbing her eyes as if they weren’t to be trusted.
Tiny buds appeared and some began to open, showing the flush of pink petals, and she gasped, kneeling beside the bed now to look closer. She glanced up at him, wonder in her eyes now. “That’s ... that’s ... so … beautiful.” He watched as she reached out a finger and touched a flower, sucking in a breath. She looked back at him once more, something in her eyes he could not read, but that made his chest feel a little tight. Bram smiled at her, pleased and relieved, though he felt sick and worse than ever. Ameena’s face fell as he let out a sigh, her eyes full of anxiety now.
“Enough,” she said, he
r voice soft and worried now as she took the plant from his hands. “You’ve made yourself worse.” Bram looked up at her, collapsing against the wall as the last of the magic left his blood, leaving him wrung out and exhausted. She leaned in, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “That was the most amazing and wonderful thing I’ve ever seen,” she whispered, a look of quiet awe in her eyes that made him feel suddenly proud. Ridiculous, really. Among his kind, his magical skills were negligible, as his father had never hesitated to point out to him.
“Come on,” she said, helping him to ease back down onto the mattress. “That’s enough showing off for one day. You’re done in now, aren’t you, you silly devil.” He felt himself relax, the sound of her scolding him somehow reassuring. Ameena would take care of him.
“You believe me?” he demanded, the desire to close his eyes so overwhelming he had to fight to hear her answer.
She opened her mouth and then hesitated. “I believe what I’ve just seen with my own eyes,” she said, stubborn as ever. “Will that do for now?”
He grunted, too tired to speak. It would have to do, for now.
“Do you want to eat something?” she asked, but Bram shook his head this time.
“Go to sleep,” she said, her cool hand on his forehead, stroking his hair. He closed his eyes, waiting for sleep to take the pain away but still aware of the voices beside him.
“Well,” she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice. “That was ...” she hesitated, and Jean-Pierre filled in the gap.
“Weird, bizarre, incredible?”
Ameena laughed, a good sound that he suspected wasn’t heard often enough. “All of the above,” she replied and Bram heard her walking away, talking to Jean-Pierre as she went. “Well, I don’t know about you but I can’t deal with any more bizarre shit on an empty stomach.” After that, there was the rustle of food being unpacked and Bram didn’t hear anything more.
Chapter 5
Laen stared at the fields around them, at the devastation of broken bodies, the scent of blood and smoke and death so heavy on the air that he could taste it. He felt numb, disconnected somehow, and he glanced over at Corin, standing silent at his side, looking over their victory with anything but pride. Battle was what Laen was made for. His magic, the power to inspire an army to fight without fear, with the courage to face any enemy because he stood at their head. If he led, they would follow. But this … this had not been a battle, it had been carnage. They had smashed through the Light Fae like toy soldiers despite their vastly superior numbers, and now they saw the results.
The Darkest Night Page 5