Nigellus inhaled sharply—but when he turned, his eyes were once more whisky-brown rather than hellfire-red, and his face had settled into lines of tight control.
“Yes,” he said hoarsely. “I was supposed to keep them alive.”
A tense silence fell over the room. Len looked from one of them to the other, and let out a slow sigh.
“Can we... just... go downstairs, and sit down to talk about whatever crisis is next on the horizon, please? We’ve all lost two people that we weren’t prepared to lose.” He rubbed at his eyes, grimacing. “And the worst part is, if Zorah and Rans could see us now, I doubt they’d be surprised in the least that we’re yelling at each other instead of doing anything productive.”
A moment passed, before Nigellus said, “Quite so,” and turned to leave the room. Len followed him, figuring that Albigard would either come with them or he wouldn’t. He did, reluctantly—slinking into the kitchen as Len busied himself pouring water into a pan to heat for coffee. Nigellus seated himself at the table, while Albigard stayed just inside the door, hovering.
“Zorah told me some things about the treaty,” Len said, measuring out coffee grounds and trying to keep his voice steady. “But not everything. Weren’t the Fae originally planning to kill her because she broke it somehow?”
Nigellus pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbing at the corners of his eyes. It was a very human gesture.
“The demons ceded control of Earth and humanity to the Fae when we sued for peace,” he said. “It was just after the Fae deployed their newest magical weapon—the one that destroyed all of the vampires.”
“Not all of the vampires,” Albigard said sharply.
“No,” Nigellus agreed. “You are correct, of course. I had just enough warning to snatch Ransley Thorpe away to safety and hide him in Hell before the weapon was deployed on Earth. Regardless, it was still the decisive blow in the war—a death knell for Hell’s military strategy.”
Albigard’s lip curled. “The demons agreed not to interfere on Earth, in exchange for a provision stating that the last remaining vampire wouldn’t be killed,” he said. “After all, it wouldn’t have suited them to lose the only vampire in existence. Not when they might need his blood to spawn a new army of bloodsuckers someday.”
The vitriol behind the words was obvious, but the demon didn’t rise to it.
“All this is tangential to your question about Ms. Bright, however,” Nigellus continued. “Demons can’t reproduce. Since the dawn of time, our number has remained unchanged. We do not give birth; we do not die. But it is possible for some members of our race—the succubi and incubi—to hijack the human reproductive system and produce hybrids. As you can imagine, the Fae consider that such attempts fall under the aegis of interference on Earth. They are, therefore, a treaty violation.”
“But Zorah was part demon,” Len said. “Which means...”
“Ms. Bright’s mother was a hybrid,” Nigellus continued. “A cambion—half incubus and half human—conceived by a demon who wished to see the war start anew. She was killed by a Fae agent, but not before she had a child of her own—a feat which should not have been possible in the normal course of things. Nonetheless, it happened, and Ms. Bright managed to fly under the radar for a time, as humans say. When news of her existence finally emerged, things became very ugly, very quickly.”
“But the war didn’t restart,” Len pointed out.
Albigard snorted. “It almost did. Ransley Thorpe swept into Dhuinne before the demonkin could be executed, and bound her soul to his with stolen demon magic. By doing so, he ensured that if she died, he would as well.”
“And that would also be a treaty violation,” Len realized. “Damn. That was...”
“Devious?” Albigard offered.
“I believe ‘suicidally reckless’ is the phrase you’re looking for.” Nigellus shrugged. “At any rate, in the end both sides decided to sweep the whole embarrassing mess under the rug. None of which is particularly helpful in the current crisis.”
“Isn’t it though?” Len demanded, trying to push aside the ache in his throat at the painful reminder that Zorah and Rans were dead now... that he hadn’t figured out his own effect on the Hunt in time to save them. If he’d only been standing in front of them when the Hunt struck, rather than cowering off to one side...
He swallowed hard. “You ignored treaty violations once. Why not a second time?”
The demon sighed. “The Fae might be willing to overlook my involvement, were it not for a growing contingent among the Unseelie who seem set on upending the status quo... as they nearly did at Stonehenge recently. But the demons will not be so forgiving when it comes to Ransley Thorpe’s loss to a Fae creature.”
“I don’t see why not,” Albigard said acidly. “You’ve still a spare vampire left over, if you can only convince him to play nicely with you.”
The spare vampire in question, Len knew, was Guthrie Leonides—his former boss who was currently hanging out in an undisclosed location with Vonnie Morgan and the magic-wielding children the Fae had tried to kidnap for their own nefarious ends. Knowing his ex-employer as he did, Len could predict with a fair degree of certainty that when it came to being a walking vampire DNA blood bank for a bunch of demons, ‘playing nicely’ would not be an accurate description of his reaction.
“That is hardly the point,” Nigellus retorted. “Though you can be assured I’m keeping a close eye on Mr. Leonides under the circumstances.”
“So... what, then?” Len pressed. “The metaphorical bombs are about to start flying again, and humanity will end up being even more fucked than we were already?”
The demon hesitated.
“He hasn’t told the Council yet,” Albigard said.
Len blinked, taking that on board. “Right. Okay. So... that’s good, isn’t it? What about the Fae, though? Are they likely to go off half-cocked?”
“Half... cocked?” Albigard echoed, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.
“It’s a reference to antiquated firearms,” Nigellus explained. “If the cocking mechanism is not fully in position, the gun is not ready to fire. Should it go off anyway, it becomes more dangerous to the bearer than to the intended target.”
“Ah. I see.” Albigard shot Len a sideways glance. “I daresay my people have internal matters to address before they begin seeking reasons to restart a war they’ve already won.”
Some of the tension leached out of Len’s shoulders. “Good to know.” He took a breath and steeled himself to delve further into a subject he’d much rather not think about at all. “Next question. If Rans and Zorah’s death is likely to be such a big deal to the demons, why haven’t you told them about it yet?”
Depthless eyes pinned him with the weight of ages. “Do you think I wish to resume a war that has already caused so much destruction on all sides, Mr. Grayson?”
Len had a brief, irrational urge to tell Nigellus that ‘Mr. Grayson’ was his father, and to please never call him by that name again. Somehow, he couldn’t picture the powerful demon of fate calling him by his first name, though... so he forced himself to let it go.
“For someone who claims not to want war,” Albigard said, “you’ve been quite invested in retaining the means to raise a new army.”
Nigellus’ piercing gaze moved to the Fae. “The prospect of another vampire army is meant as a potential deterrent, not a provocation.”
Albigard raised a sharp eyebrow. “I assure you—the Fae Court does not see it that way.”
The demon made a dismissive gesture of one hand. “The Fae Court has its own set of problems at the moment, as you have already pointed out.”
“That’s still not an answer, though,” Len said. “I mean, I assume the demons are going to find out about this mess sooner rather than later, right? But you’re still trying to keep it from them.” He braced himself, and asked, “What happened back there, anyway? What went wrong? Zorah said you’ve raised people from the dead before—Rans include
d.”
“I would quite like an answer to that question as well,” Albigard said.
Since it gave him something to do with his hands, Len poured two cups of coffee—remembering that Albigard didn’t like the stuff—and put one down on the table in front of Nigellus. The demon ignored it, a look of frustration sliding across his features for a moment before he covered it with a neutral facade.
“Their souls were torn from my grasp at the moment of death,” he said. “I would not have credited such a thing as being possible... but the Wild Hunt ripped them away and hurled them into a realm I cannot reach.”
“The Endless Void,” Albigard breathed, looking ill.
Nigellus lifted one shoulder and let it fall. “A realm outside of the scope of my powers, whatever you wish to call it. No matter how much animus I channel into the bodies, they will remain stubbornly dead in the absence of their souls.”
Albigard closed his eyes, an expression of intense thought tightening his haggard features. When he opened them again, they held a manic glint that made the hair on the back of Len’s neck stand up.
“If you could gain special dispensation to visit Dhuinne,” he began. “If you could revisit the Hunt now that it’s under control again... could you pull their souls back from the Void? They are vampires. Their bodies could still heal, even after an extended period of physical death. If you could wrest their souls back—”
“The Hunt is not under control,” Nigellus replied sharply. “Nor is it in Dhuinne.”
Albigard jerked back as though he’d been struck. Len felt a chill trickle down the length of his spine.
“What do you mean, it isn’t in Dhuinne?” the Fae demanded. “We closed the gap in the veil. Where else would it be?”
“That’s a question for the sidhe,” Nigellus said, anger creeping into his tone again. “The cu-sidhe that survived the confrontation in St. Louis returned immediately after the rip was closed. The cat-sidhe reports that they could find no sign of the Hunt in the Fae realm. Clearly it’s acquired a taste for other realms, where living things are easier to kill. It seems likely that it burrowed through another weak point in the veil. Where it ended up is anybody’s guess.”
Len felt his pulse begin to race. “You’re saying it’s back on Earth somewhere?”
He couldn’t help thinking of all the places on the planet where no one would notice a creeping zone of death. Places so remote that the Hunt could feed and feed and feed without any humans being aware until it was far too late.
“Perhaps,” Nigellus said. “Or perhaps it emerged into some random pocket realm no one has ever heard of. The point remains that it is out of my reach, so whether or not I could somehow overpower it long enough to retrieve the souls of Ransley Thorpe and Zorah Bright remains moot.” He bit the words out like each one had sharp edges.
Albigard still appeared positively ill—not to mention lost for words, which wasn’t a look Len was used to seeing on him.
The demon turned a hard look his way. “Dhuinne is coming apart at the seams, Albigard of the Unseelie. And many of your kinsmen seem more intent on abandoning their sinking ship than addressing the problem before it spills irrevocably into the other realms. We have spoken of the war resuming, but if Dhuinne’s magical unbalance continues unchecked, war will seem like a gentle rainfall before the hurricane arrives.”
Albigard drew breath as though he planned to reply, but the words died before they reached his lips.
“I must depart soon to take the bodies somewhere they will not be found, or come to harm,” Nigellus continued. “But I can only keep news of this situation from reaching the wrong ears for so long. And when it does—demon of fate though I may be—I don’t have the faintest idea what will happen next.”
TWENTY-THREE
TRUE TO HIS word, Nigellus left the house shortly thereafter. Immediately after he did, Albigard turned on his heel and headed toward the back door, leaving Len alone with his ghosts.
He half-expected Zorah and Rans to be among them, now... but, no. It was still Yussef and Rosa, Wild Bill and the guy who’d died on the toilet at the bus station, whose name Len had never learned... and all the other familiar faces who’d lost their lives under his hands back when he’d believed he should be infallible.
Len looked at them with new eyes, trying to see them for what Albigard insisted they were. Echoes. Unrealized potential, maybe. Life-force that had been wasted when it might have been used, and that had somehow attached itself to him like a coat he didn’t want to wear and wasn’t sure how to get rid of.
Their presence around him had saved his life when the Hunt came for him in St. Louis. His unwanted coat had ended up being armor in disguise.
He wet his lips, looking at each ghostly figure and making himself truly see them without flinching away. This time, their blank gazes didn’t feel accusing. They didn’t feel like anything, because they weren’t people anymore. They weren’t souls. He felt confident of that now. If the Hunt could rip Rans and Zorah’s souls away from the powerful demon who supposedly owned them, it would have ripped souls away from Len, too.
But it hadn’t. Instead, it had flinched away.
“I’m sorry you died,” he told them, aware that the words were entirely for his own benefit. “I wish I knew what to do with you. Maybe I’ll figure it out one day. Anyway—thanks for protecting me, if that’s what really happened.”
With that, he walked out of the kitchen, knowing that he wasn’t truly leaving them behind. The patio door stood open, letting insects and the cool night breeze into the house. It seemed less like a conscious choice to air the house than the careless gesture of someone only interested in getting away from an unpleasant situation as quickly as possible.
Albigard wasn’t in the back yard. It was fully dark outside except for the weak silver light from a waning moon, but Len headed down the trampled path leading into the woods anyway. Maybe he should have let the Fae have his space. But the prospect of even prickly company was better than the prospect of no company at all right now, given Len’s current state of murky grief, vague hope for a miracle, and barely restrained terror for the human race.
Sure enough, he found Albigard standing in a small clearing, looking up at the stars.
“How’s your neck?” Len asked, injecting just the right amount of sarcasm into the question.
“Waiting for whichever noose happens to materialize around it first,” the Fae replied in roughly the same tone. “Why are you here?”
“Because my friends are dead, I’m surrounded by ghosts that aren’t really ghosts, and apparently the world is still ending. Being alone in that crypt of a house right now isn’t terribly appealing, for some strange reason,” Len replied with ruthless honesty. “I can’t imagine why. Do you really think Nigellus might still be able to bring them back?”
“I don’t know.” Albigard didn’t move; his attention still fixed on the heavens turning ponderously above them.
So... what now?” Len pressed. “I hitchhike back to St. Louis and you hide out here in your invisible house?”
“I cannot speak to the first part,” Albigard said. The words emerged in a monotone. “As to the second, I have been considering what would happen if I returned to Dhuinne.”
Len contemplated that statement for a moment. “Well... I mean... you’d die, right? I gathered that was the gist, anyway.”
“It is possible,” said the Fae. “But the Hunt is not currently in Dhuinne, if the demon is to be believed. My presence there might draw it back, and perhaps then it could be contained somehow.”
“At which point Nigellus might be able to do his demon mojo thing and get the others back?” Len offered. “Two problems with that. First, it may not even be tracking you any more.”
“It came for me in St. Louis,” Albigard said.
“You don’t know that,” Len argued. “It was a pretty sure bet it was going to return there regardless. That’s why we were in such a hurry to fix the damage in the firs
t place. The timing might have been sheer coincidence.”
Albigard scoffed.
“And like I said,” Len continued. “There’s a second problem with your plan. Namely, that if you’re right and it is tracking you, it’ll kill you if it corners you in the Fae realm. That’s what you told us, anyway. There’s no escape from it there.”
“You have a better idea, human?” Albigard shot back.
“No,” Len told him. “I’m just pointing out that your idea sucks rancid balls, that’s all.”
The Fae made a noise halfway between dismissive and disgruntled.
Len sighed. “Look. Come back inside. I’ll make something to eat, and we can try to come up with a different angle. There’s got to be a better way to approach this, and I don’t honestly remember the last time I ate. I have a horrible feeling it was that eggplant lasagna with the disgusting salty soy cheese.”
He barely made out a faint huff of breath in the darkness. It sounded... a bit more agreeable than the grunt had, maybe. Len headed back the way he’d come, feeling his way carefully along the track as the branches closed above him, blocking the pale moonlight.
After a moment, he heard a deeper sigh from behind him, and a second set of footsteps crunched through the litter of twigs and fallen leaves.
* * *
On the far side of the glade, a tendril of dark fog probed through a tiny rip in reality on the other side of the invisible wards. Wildflowers blackened and drooped to the ground beneath its touch, their death unseen in the forest night.
End of Book One
Forsaken Fae: Book Two
By R. A. Steffan
ONE
LEN LOOKED UP from the pile of vegetables he was dicing, startled out of his dark thoughts by the furry lump that flopped limply onto the counter next to the cutting board. A pair of vacant, beady eyes stared at him with a vague aura of disgruntled accusation.
Forsaken Fae: The Complete Series, Books 1-3 (Last Vampire World) Page 17