The Master

by Melanie Jackson

  Zee’s chest tightened. His words hurt. Nick felt trapped?

  She forced herself to exhale and curled into the warmth of his body. The lust fever had left her, and she felt cold. Should she tell him about what she suspected had happened? About the child? Should she even mention the word love when it was apparently not at all on his mind?

  No. Clearly this wasn’t the time to mention a possible pregnancy. Or her feelings. Zee began to shiver.

  “Zee?” Nick pulled her close. His voice was warm with concern. “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

  “I’m fine. It’s just that I don’t know what’s right and what’s wrong anymore. I don’t know what to do,” she finally said. The urge to tell Nick of her feelings was still there, and it prodded her painfully, but she found herself unable to find voice. “All I know is that we have to stop Qasim. That’s the most important thing.”

  Nick nodded. “Yes. That’s for sure. We have to stop him before he launches a war that no one can win. Everything else is secondary.”

  Secondary. Zee realized she didn’t like being in second place.

  Qasim stepped outside and inhaled deeply of the night air. He liked the Christmas season in the desert, with its smell of bonfires that carried for miles on the cold clean air; it reminded him of the last great plague, with its endless pyres fueled night and day by the disease-ridden corpses of his enemies. Those fires had kept the winter chill away when he was exiled from the hive and wandering on the outskirts of human civilization. He’d worried at the time about the safety of eating plague victims, but other than giving him a taste for raw eggplant with his bone marrow, he hadn’t noticed any other particular change.

  He took a seat on a rock and broke off a bit of mesquite tree. He began gnawing on it, sharpening his teeth. His tusks were growing back and they itched.

  The children were all sleeping peacefully—all two hundred of them—tired after their long trek through the desert. They would go on sleeping until it was time for the sacrifice. Such a pity, because he would like for them to be awake, would like to be able to feed off their small minds. But spent sacrifices were not as powerful—the gods wanted meat, not vegetables, and so he couldn’t deplete them before the event.

  He was hungry, though—so hungry—and nothing he ate made the pangs go away. Rabbits, coyotes, snakes—nothing helped. He’d have to do something about that soon; his judgment tended to be flawed when he was starving, and it wouldn’t do for him to make a mistake at this juncture. Especially not since he sensed that something important had just happened among the fey. There had been a shift in the magical field, and he felt the ripples even this far away. A new player had entered the game. Whether it was friend or foe Qasim couldn’t say, only that it was something or someone powerful that would have to be factored into the equation.

  In any event, the new party could not be allowed to interfere. Humans were easily distracted— especially these modern ones. So many were busy pursuing full-time addictions that they spent no time to build character; like wheat under the scythe, they fell before any storm. He wished he had some other choice of army.

  Still, the rare human could be tenacious and very thorough. Look at the Old Testament—it was full of determined humans. Take Joshua and his vendetta against the port city of Tyre:

  Thus saith the Lord Jehovah, Behold, I am against thee, O Tyre, and will cause many nations to come up against thee, as the sea causeth its waves to come up. And they shall destroy the walls of Tyre, and break down her towers: I will also scrape her dust from her, and make her a bare rock. She shall be a place for the spreading of nets in the midst of the sea; for I have spoken it, saith the Lord Jehovah; and she shall become a spoil to the nations. And they shall make a spoil of thy riches, and make a prey of thy merchandise; and they shall break down thy walls, and destroy thy pleasant houses; and they shall lay thy stones and thy timber and thy dust in the midst of the waters. And I will cause the noise of thy songs to cease; and the sound of thy harps shall be no more heard. And I will make thee a bare rock; thou shalt be a place for the spreading of nets; thou shalt be built no more: for I, Jehovah, have spoken it—saith the Lord Jehovah.

  Now that was grand stuff! A bit repetitive maybe, but excellent. Of course, in the end it hadn’t been Joshua who had overthrown the city. It was good old Nebuchadrezzar. Most people didn’t know that the King of Kings had been a lycanthrope. It had taken the man thirteen years to bring down Tyre— probably because of losing so much time around the full moon. But Nebuchadrezzar had triumphed in the end, with his human armies. There had to be some of that strength left in the species. It just needed to be awoken and guided to holy purpose.

  III

  THE LAST STAND

  Chapter One

  Her name was Zee of the Finvarra clan, and like her brother and sister and many cousins, she had been born during the dark of the moon on the shortest day of the year. But unlike the others of her mother’s family, she had only one set of arms. She was lutin, but something more. And that incredible extra had always frightened her—now more than ever.

  Something brushed again Zee’s ankle, breaking in on her dark meditation. Startled, she looked down and found herself staring into the eyes of the cat. Chloe had said that it—Bastet, the cat was called— was somewhere in the shian, but that Zee and the children might not find her because she was a solitary animal and not at all fond of those of goblin blood. Yet here she was, the queen of elusive felines, sitting as straight as any pharaoh’s tomb painting, one paw slightly extended in Zee’s direction.

  “Hullo, O Great Bastet,” Zee said quietly, not feeling at all strange addressing the cat formally.

  Pretty little Zee, a voice seemed to say. Don’t worry. You aren’t at all like the other.

  “What?” she whispered, puzzled and suddenly slightly afraid. “What other?”

  The cat blinked once, slowly, and then seemed to smile. She turned gracefully, allowing her body to again caress Zee’s ankles, and then she disappeared into the garden without so much as a whisper of grass to mark her passage.

  “Hello,” Nick said, settling down beside Zee. He took her hand. “Talking to yourself?”

  “No, the cat,” Zee answered, leaning her head on his shoulder. “I think she was trying to encourage me, but I don’t understand what she said.”

  “What she said? The cat talked?” Nick sounded surprised. There wasn’t enough energy left for shock and amazement at all the things that happened in this wonderland, but this was something new.

  “Only in my head. She said I was pretty—”

  “Which you are,” Nick replied promptly. He kissed her nose. Zee smiled a little.

  “And that I shouldn’t worry.”

  “Sound advice,” Nick agreed. “Worry solves nothing and gives one ulcers. Did the cat say anything else?”

  “Yes.” Zee’s brows drew together. “She said I wasn’t like ‘the other.’ ”

  “What other?”

  “My question exactly. What other?”

  “Hm . . . well, you know cats. They like to be inscrutable.”

  “Maybe that’s it.” But Zee didn’t think so. The cat had meant something specific. Don’t worry. You aren’t like the other.

  “Are you ready for some dinner?” Nick asked. “I gather that we are all going to break bread at the next meal—a sort of late-Christmas feast.”

  Zee hesitated. “I know. I helped with it, actually. But I’m not very hungry,” she finally admitted. Her insides had been in turmoil since she and Nick had made love.

  “I’m not either. But I feel like we should go. I gather that it’s some sort of ritual for good luck. More like a fey Thanksgiving.”

  “Sympathetic magic,” Zee said. “A feast ensures future prosperity. Yes, we have to go. I’ve spent too long being hungry as it is.”

  Zee had told him some more about her goblin home life, and about being on the run. Nick had been appalled and was inclined to overfeed her— something she appreci
ated but couldn’t take advantage of with her stomach feeling so topsy-turvy.

  “Sympathetic magic?” Nick echoed. “Makes sense, I guess. Well, as much sense as anything around here.”

  She looked up at him. “Does anything really make sense here?”

  “As much as anywhere else,” Nick finally answered. Then he smiled and made a strange comment that she didn’t understand: “We sure aren’t in Kansas anymore, Toto.”

  “Nevada,” Zee agreed. “This is still Nevada.”

  “That either.” Nick looked her in the eye. “You’ve seen The Wizard of Oz, then?”

  “No. I’ve never seen any wizards,” Zee answered. For some reason, this made Nick smile again.

  “You’re in for a treat. That will be our first DVD rental.”

  “D-V-D?”

  “Never mind. It will be a surprise—a nice one. When all this is over and we’re away.” Nick reached down and pulled her to her feet. “Now, let’s get to the party.”

  Io brought the first course to the giant onyx table. The ritual began with what Nick would liken to vichyssoise, though it was made up of a host of flavors he couldn’t identify. It was served with herbed croustades—though again, Nick couldn’t say which herbs were used. He noticed, though, that everyone from the youngest to the oldest—who was probably Abrial—ate and drank heavily, and that soon after consuming the first course everyone seemed energized. Nick felt it, too: a falling away of exhaustion that made him sit up and want to smile.

  The second course, brought by Cyra, was a dish that tasted a good deal like salmon, except that its color was pale blue. Seeing his bewilderment, Io explained that it wasn’t actually fish, but a sort of yam that grew in the shian. Nick nodded, beginning to wonder if the herbed mashed potatoes beside the faux salmon was actually potato. He poked at what looked like a side of saffron risotto but might be bugs or who knew what, and raised an eyebrow at Io.

  “Saffron risotto,” Io confirmed, making him feel a little silly. Everyone else, especially Zee, was eating heartily.

  The third course, brought this time by Roman’s wife, Lyris, was duck in a cherry sauce with roasted eggplant roulade that cradled minced carrots and chard with a side of forget-me-nots. By now, a very amused Io was whispering the names of the dishes to Nick without being asked.

  “And the forget-me-not is also called Scorpion Tail. It’s a cure for many neurotoxin venoms. It’s very healthful stuff. For feys.”

  “Oh,” was all Nick said.

  It was perhaps an optical illusion caused by the sparkling waters dancing in the chandelier fountains around and over the table, but it seemed to Nick that everyone at the board had taken on a sort of glow, an aura of health and well-being. Even Zee seemed happy and energized as she chatted with Zayn—a state she had not been in for the past two days.

  The fourth course, this one prepared and served by Nyssa, was a pasty smothered in exotic mushrooms, with a side of love-in-the-mist, which Nick ate in spite of his cautious inner voice whispering about the dangers of mushroom poisoning. As before, Io explained which mushrooms were safe for feys, and how the seeds of love-in-the-mist had been used by Egyptian women to promote beauty. She also added that the French called the flower cheveaux de Venus, and Nick had just enough mastery of the French tongue to blush. After that, he found the soft, hairlike fronds wrapping the black seeds of the flower to be rather suggestive.

  Chloe brought a salad next, a mix of wild weeds that were bitter and yet somehow delicious when paired with the tart wine she served.

  Nick had just begun to wonder when the feast would end when Zee excused herself and rose from the table. She returned a moment later, proudly bearing what looked like a small mountain of lemon sorbet in a lake of raspberry sauce sprinkled with pansies and sweet violets.

  “Heart’s ease,” Io whispered as Zee began serving counter-clockwise—widdershins, they called it. “Also known as Johnny Jump-ups. Good for helping the heart to be unafraid.”

  “It looks fabulous,” Nick said.

  “I made it myself,” Zee whispered, slipping back into her seat beside him after she had served everyone. “Io showed me how. I’d never seen a lemon before.”

  Nick took a bite. Delighted, he allowed his eyes to roll back in his head.

  “Superb,” he said, and meant it. He had never tasted anything quite so good, so rich and sparkling. Every other dessert he could recall seemed anorexic in comparison. Zee squeezed his hand and looked terribly pleased.

  “I wanted to help with the feast because it’s a sort of magic spell. At first I thought it was kind of crazy, but it’s real, isn’t it? You can see it, too.”

  “Yes. Everyone looks terrific.”

  “I’ve never seen so much food. For once, I don’t feel hungry.”

  Nick took her hand and thought about some of the great banquets he had partaken of, or even read about in stories like Bracebridge Hall and A Christmas Carol. They had been as grand—served on platters of silver and gold—but none could compare in gratification or variety to the one they had just enjoyed.

  Of course, the thought of the Dickens story brought Nick’s own ghost to mind. Are you there? Nick asked guiltily. You’ve been awfully quiet lately.

  I’m here, came the faint reply, and enjoying everything. Please have some more sorbet. I’ve never tasted any thing quite like it. Actually, I still haven’t. But I enjoy watching you and living vicariously, the spirit confessed.

  His words caused Nick a small pang. How terribly lonely a ghost’s life must be.

  Not lonely, the ghost answered with a sigh. Just a bit short of physical sensation.

  Your voice is so faraway now. Are you well?

  Naturally, I grow fainter. The farther you travel from your old life course, the more distant you become. And that’s a good thing. It means your destiny has been recharted. Follow your new star, Nick, and don’t look back. The ghost’s voice had almost vanished.

  “Is something wrong?” Zee asked softly, and Nick realized that he was frowning.

  “Not a thing,” he whispered back, lacing his fingers with hers and marveling again at how soft she was and how delicious she smelled. “And how are you? All is well?”

  “I’m well,” she answered.

  Nick noticed then that the others were rising from the table and leaving as couples. Suddenly he could feel that familiar magic—sex was floating on the air. It, too, had apparently been called to the feast. For a moment, both he and Zee were wary. But the energy that floated on the air was somehow different than what they had last encountered. It was something that had been invited, and it was waiting for permission to enter them.

  “Come then,” Nick said softly, looking into Zee’s eyes.

  She nodded.

  In their bedchamber, the blue waters in their crystal decanter danced with soft light. It seemed all the shian was rejoicing with its inhabitants.

  There was a moment’s work to remove their clothing, and then Zee and Nick were nestled in the soft furs of their bed, pressed length to length, hardness against softness.

  Part of Zee expected an assault, but Nick’s touch was delicate, almost lazy. He trailed his long white fingers over her breasts, following with his mouth, where his lips and warm breath offered two more forms of caress. Here was a touch that savored but insisted on nothing in return.

  “You are a delight to me,” Nick whispered against the skin of Zee’s belly. “So warm and soft—and sweet.” He turned his head and gazed up at her. His slow hands traveled again, skimming over her right breast, seeking the pleasure of touch and simply that.

  “Nick,” she sighed, putting into his name what she could not ask or say.

  “I’m here,” he replied, his voice soothing as he kissed his way up her body. “You can give yourself to me. I will care for you—and I need you, Zee, if that means anything. Me, not any magic.”

  “Do you need me, Nick?” she asked, aware that her body was ahead of her mind and already questing after more o
f his touch.

  “I do,” he answered, his slow, sensual touch descending the slope of her waist and the flare of her thigh. “There is something in you that calls to me, that gives me life. I was slowly becoming a ghost, just a shadow of who I could be, and every year I grew thinner in spirit, less hopeful. You saved me from that.”

  Zee sank her fingers into Nick’s dark velvet hair and drew a sigh from him.

  “Such lovely hands,” he said, “so small, and yet they have such power.”

  Zee let go of her lingering wariness. She let her hands glide over Nick’s body, enjoying the hard muscles of his shoulders, the slope of his back, the light dusting of hair on his chest; given free rein, they explored and touched at will, reveling in the textures that were Nick’s physique.

  Her legs shifted languidly, parting in hope of more of his touch. She arched with pleasure when he accepted the invitation, gliding his fingers up her inner thigh and to the heart of her. Zee opened as a flower offered the first rays of the spring sun.

  “I’m so glad that you can trust me again,” Nick said. “I was afraid that perhaps that was destroyed, driven off by the last time we . . .” He searched for words. Made love wasn’t the correct term for what they had been compelled to do.

  Did she trust him? With her life, with the lives of her brother and sister, yes. But with her secret? With both secrets? Suddenly, Zee felt more vulnerable than she ever had in her life.

  “What is it?” Nick asked, feeling the sudden confusion that split her mind. “Don’t you trust me? I swear that I would never harm you. You must know that.”

  Harm her? No, he wouldn’t. But he might break her heart. For all his words, he might not be able to love her—might not be able to love their child once they were away from here.