Chalice of Life

by R. A. Rock

  When the Caretaker said Elixir, Tess could almost taste the sour-sweet flavor and see the blueish purply liquid.

  “Very little ambient magic,” Tess repeated. “That’s why the surrounding Starlight seems so diffuse?” Tess sensed the magic in the air the same way she had sensed it in the Caretaker.

  “Exactly,” the Caretaker said, pointing a finger at Tess to emphasize the word.

  “You have to go back too?” Finn asked him.

  “Yes, but I take an Angel.”

  Finn handed the note back to Tessa and she read it over one more time.

  “We have to find Ethan Hunter, who can help us on our quest. And we need to hurry because there isn’t much time.”

  She sighed, and with the touch of her breath on the paper, it turned to dust and fell to the floor.

  “What the…”

  “A self-destructing note,” the Caretaker said, clapping his hands once and chortling with glee. “Brilliant. It wouldn’t have any permanent spell structure, so it would be easy for the person who sent you to maintain it through your transfer to the Earthly Realm. That same Faerie hid your ears and also gave you a universal translation spell so that you’ll be able to understand and be understood by everyone you meet.”

  He spoke quickly, as if the explanation of the magic fascinated him.

  Tessa and Finn stared at him, bewildered.

  "What's a universal translation spell?" Tess asked.

  "The spell takes your thoughts and turns them into the exact language of the people you're speaking to—no accent or grammatical errors."

  "Interesting," Finn said.

  “But never mind that,” he said, waving his hand. “The question is, where are you going now? I can show you to the portal that will take you there.”

  “Where are we going?” Finn said to Tessa, who was sitting on the bench.

  She was lovely—long dark brown hair that fell in loose ringlets, bright blue eyes, and a slim build that made him want to protect her. He felt an urge to take her in his arms, even though in his mind she seemed like a stranger.

  He controlled himself and sat down beside her instead, the bench making a slight creak as he settled on it. If his reaction to her was anything to go by, they had been in a relationship before they’d lost their memories.

  The Caretaker had to go see about some other travelers and had left them for the moment, while they decided their next move. He had given them a strange object called a tablet. It was black glass on one side and smooth metal on the other. He said that it worked sort of like a magic mirror and would tell them what they needed to know.

  “I haven’t got a clue where we should go,” Tessa said. “What if we used the magic mirror to find out about Ethan Hunter?”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Finn said. Every inch of his skin was aware of her so close to him. He wondered if she was feeling the same. He thought he could smell a raspberry scent coming from her hair.

  She spoke to the mirror but none of the usual phrases worked. She knocked on the metal side. Nothing. Finn leaned back against the bench and closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. When Tessa touched the glass, though, it came to life. She made an excited sound and Finn’s eyes popped open.

  “Press to unlock,” she read from the screen.

  “Press what?” Finn said, sitting up, interested again.

  Tessa pressed various things but it was the round button that unlocked the spell. They soon figured out that the small squares were all spells. They kept tapping but couldn’t understand the magic until the Caretaker came by and explained how to search for something.

  “I’ll be back once I approve these next travelers that are coming through,” he told them and disappeared down a hallway once again.

  Tessa tapped in the long rectangle and letters appeared. She entered Ethan’s name and the word musician, which is what the Caretaker had told them to do.

  After a moment, words appeared on the glass.

  “Ethan Hunter, singer/songwriter,” Tessa read and tapped on the top story. A story came up, telling all about the man. Apparently, he was a well-known bard on the Earthly Realm.

  “This says that he lives in Los Angeles in the United States of America,” Tessa said, excited. “Now we know where he is. The Caretaker can tell us which portal to use to get to him. I’ll go find him.”

  She handed the glass to Finn and hurried away.

  Finn began to read the story about Ethan Hunter.

  Ethan Hunter, who once had the world at his feet, has recently had scandal following him around like an unwanted stray dog…

  The more he read, the more concerned he became about depending on this person to help them. Finn read the article, glowering the whole way through. He set the magic mirror down as he finished reading. This man did not seem like the kind of person they should ask for help. Surely, there were other people who might be able to assist them.

  Not the Starless ones, of course. Humans wouldn’t be able to help Faeries on a quest. From what he had remembered in one of his memories that he could actually retrieve, they were strange little beings that lived short, violent lives, and Finn intended to avoid them as much as possible while he was here.

  Tessa reappeared with the Caretaker.

  “You found him?” Finn asked.

  “No,” Tess said, looking sheepish. “I got lost. And he found me. Then we came to get you. But now we’re here. Together.”

  Finn studied this curious woman. Was she really a friend of his?

  “Come with me,” he said, his sandals quiet as he moved toward one of the hallways. “The American door is right this way.”

  “Tessa,” Finn said, pointing at the magic mirror. “I think you should read this whole story about Ethan. I’m not sure he’s the person we should ask for help.”

  “What?” Tessa said, taken aback and mildly annoyed. “You’re the one who said we don’t have a choice.”

  “But I read about him. He doesn’t sound great.”

  “We don’t have a choice,” she repeated. “We’ll find him, see what he says, and decide after that. If he could at least help us get our memories back, then maybe we can do whatever else we need to do without him.”

  Finn huffed out his breath in frustration. “Fine,” he said, shortly. “But after he helps us get our memories back, then we go our own way?”

  “Sure. Doesn’t matter. But we can’t do anything until we remember why we’re here. And for that, it seems, we need Ethan Hunter.”

  “You’re right, I suppose,” Finn said, still not happy about it. He turned to the Caretaker. “Lead on. It seems we’re going to the United States of America.”

  Chapter 3

  Ethan Hunter sat on a pure white couch in his study in L.A., one leg slung over the arm, and picked out a melody on his guitar. His well-worn jeans were comfortable, the way he liked everything in his life these days. His dirty blond hair was more dirt than blond and cut short so it would stay out of his way. The slightly darker hair of his beard was well trimmed, which meant that he didn’t have to shave every day.

  Easy. Comfortable.

  That was what he liked.

  The office was done in a modern style, with black couches and lots of floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out on the city. His desk was sleek black with only a thin silver computer on it.

  Simple.

  Easy.

  And that was how he kept everything in his life now. There had been a time when he had chased his desires all over the world. The notes from the guitar fell, sweet and full, from his fingertips, and he played without even looking at his hands while he reflected.

  His first attempt to fulfill his endless need had been physical things. Women—well, one woman, if he was being honest. Alcohol. Cars. Big Houses. Fighting the good fight. Party after party. That had been the first phase.

  When that hadn’t worked, he’d moved on. Experiences. Exotic places. Adventures. Extreme sports. He’d tried it all. But those things hadn�
��t slaked his thirst for more.

  So he’d tried something a bit more esoteric. Knowledge. Education. Spiritual development.

  He let his breath out slowly and allowed the last plucked note to ring out, listening with his eyes closed as it faded into silence.

  Nothing had worked.

  Inside, he still wanted.

  There was this feeling inside of him that ached and longed for something more. Never enough, it seemed to say. He didn’t know how to satisfy it and he had stopped trying. The only thing that gave him any relief from his desire for more, more, more was when he was singing or playing.

  That was why he had come to L.A. That was why he had started his career as a musician. It had begun as a hobby, but when he had actually turned out to be good at it, it had become his whole life.

  And when he had realized that the feeling he had of peace could be passed on to the audience when they listened? Well, that had been the start of the never-ending touring. If he could give others just a little bit of relief from the pain of always wanting something more, something else, something different than what they had, he would do it.

  He only wished that he could help more people feel that peace. It seemed as though the world was getting more and more violent and painful as the centuries went on. And if his voice and singing and playing could cure even a tiny fraction of that pain, then he was going to do it.

  He strummed a chord and pressed his lips together. The B string was a wee bit flat. He fiddled with the tuning peg until he was satisfied that it was perfect and brushed his fingers against the strings again.

  A perfect E-minor chord hit his ears and he gave a half smile. Yes. He played it again, savoring the sound. For a moment, he was still and quiet inside, satisfied, and—dare he say happy?

  He spent most of his days playing music but he did have other responsibilities as well, no matter how he tried to shirk them. Doyle made sure he stayed on the straight and narrow, which was why Ethan had hired him over fifty years ago. Without Doyle, Ethan knew that he would be likely to ignore every responsibility he had.

  Rebekah certainly thought that he was shirking. His jaw tightened at the thought of her and he took a deep breath, letting it out slowly and releasing the tension.

  He hadn’t forgotten his Hunters, no matter what she thought. He wouldn’t do that. He was the Great Hunter and he still took care of his own.

  Sure, he no longer interacted with them as she did, and he no longer fought. But he had killed enough to last him the rest of his life—which promised to be very long, considering that he was immortal. His duty to the Hunters, as he saw it, was to make sure that they stayed on the course that he had set for them. To keep the balance between the supernatural creatures and the humans. To control the rogue shifters and vamps—those who would kill the humans without reason, just because they could.

  The mortals were like children, and he and his Hunters were supposed to protect them. But the other species had a right to life, too. That was what he had finally understood and it was why he had left the ranks and stopped doing the killing himself.

  Sating the bloodlust always left him feeling empty, lost, and slightly disgusted with himself. If he killed any more, he had a feeling that he would lose himself completely. The only thing that kept him grounded was the music. He knew Rebekah mocked his career but he had hurt her and she was bitter. He could understand that. He should have explained when he left.

  Now it was too late.

  Ethan sighed, but he couldn’t do anything about Rebekah. He could do something about the humans, though. He would sing and play every single day, if it would be good for them. He still felt a strong desire to help and protect them, even though he wasn’t fighting on the front lines anymore. By playing music, he still honestly felt that he was helping the poor little things in some way.

  There was a soft knock on the door. No doubt it was Doyle. Doyle Bluecastle was Ethan’s manager, CEO, CFO, assistant, accountant, and even sometimes chef and chauffeur—never mind the many times they had kicked ass together. Doyle kept his life on track, and Ethan didn’t know what he would do without him. Things were so much more complicated since the days when the Hunters had lived in tents.

  “Ethan?” Doyle called through the door, his quiet voice carrying easily through the expensive solid wood of the double doors to Ethan’s study where he spent most of his time. “I’ve got your lunch and today’s business.”

  Ethan let his hand rest on the smooth side of the guitar.

  “Come in,” he said, knowing that Doyle wouldn’t let him put off whatever it was he needed to do today. Doyle had come to work for Ethan when he was twenty years old, and after fifteen years, Ethan had trusted him enough to start telling him the truth about who he was. They had been working together for fifty years now, and there was no human that Ethan trusted more.

  “Hello, Ethan,” Doyle said, a polite, reserved smile on his strangely wrinkle-free face. Well, it was strange for a seventy-year-old human, anyway.

  Doyle shut the door with a quiet click and entered carrying a tray of food and a folder under his arm. He set the tray on a small table on one end of the room.

  “Ham and cheese sandwich and caesar salad for lunch. Some papers for you to sign and decisions that need to be made for your next tour.” He removed the folder from under his arm and retrieved a sheaf of papers. Carefully, the man smoothed back his wavy dark brown hair. Then he laid the papers on the table and straightened the edges and corners until they were perfect.

  Ethan walked over and picked up a sandwich. He inhaled the yeast smell of the sourdough bread—his favorite—that was baked fresh every day. He took a bite. The sharp taste of mustard filled his mouth. Hmm. Too much.

  But he wouldn’t say anything. He could be a jerk sometimes—he knew that—but not about things like this.

  Then he pulled his attention back to Doyle as the man went on speaking. He said the words as if they were an afterthought, as if he had almost forgotten.

  Doyle never forgot anything.

  “Oh, and two visitors that are waiting in the parlor.”

  “Nobody calls it a parlor anymore, Doyle,” Ethan corrected him automatically. Then the rest of his words registered as Doyle held out a pen. Ethan stared at Doyle. “Visitors? Unexpected visitors?”

  Doyle looked disgruntled. And nothing disgruntled Doyle. “I tried to send them away. But they were quite insistent and… persuasive.”

  “What persuaded you to let them in?” Ethan said, intrigued in spite of himself.

  “They said some Perita sent them? No. Perdita? Perleah? Something like that. I don’t know. But never mind that. What caught my ear was when they said they were from Esper.”

  “Esper? Where in Esper?” Ethan stood up quickly.

  “I don’t know, sir.” Doyle frowned as if he was confused. “But they were very persuasive. Almost as if…”

  “They used magic?”

  Doyle gave a nod. “Perhaps.”

  There was only one species that could bend people to their will with only their voices. The magic they used was called Ancient Voice. And that meant only one thing.

  He just hoped this didn’t have anything to do with her.

  With great care, Ethan set his guitar into its stand and walked over to Doyle where he stood beside the table. He ignored the lunch and the papers.

  “Take me to these visitors,” he said and gave Doyle an excited smile.

  “But sir, we need to sign these papers.”

  Ethan pulled them toward him and signed quickly as Doyle’s elegant fingers tapped on the lines which required his signature.

  “What about the tour dates?”

  “Later,” Ethan said with a wave of his hand.

  “Lunch?” Doyle said without much hope.

  “Later,” Ethan said with another impatient wave of his hand.

  An expression of resignation in his chocolate brown eyes, Doyle opened the door, leading the way. No doubt he had hoped to keep the v
isitors waiting a little longer.

  “I have so very little that surprises me in my life, Doyle,” Ethan said by way of an explanation. “You know that.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He opened the door to the parlor.

  Ethan walked in and stopped dead, studying his visitors.

  A man and a woman were sitting in his living room.

  And both of them were Fae.

  Chapter 4

  “Who are you?” said a ridiculously gorgeous man, striding into the prissy sitting room that the doorman—or whatever he was—had shown Tessa and Finn into. There was a vase of flowers on the mantel and doilies on every end table. Tessa was not impressed.

  The Caretaker had brought them to a Fairie ring, which had come out in the backyard of an enormous mansion. They had assumed the house belonged to Ethan Hunter. And by the way that the doorman had reacted to them, Tessa was pretty sure it was the right house.

  And that the doorman was also a guard.

  He hadn’t wanted to let them in, so she’d had to use Ancient Voice, which was instinctive and was one of the things she remembered. It almost hadn’t been strong enough to sway him because of the lack of ambient magic. But in the end, he had been persuaded. Tessa wasn’t sure if she was glad or not. She didn’t like using her persuasion power because it felt like cheating. And manipulation. Which it was. But she was willing to use it when she was desperate.

  And she certainly was desperate.

  Not that she would let anyone else know that.

  Because Tess didn’t trust Finn or the doorman or this hot guy in front of her. Maybe the Caretaker was okay but she had no real reason to think so—no reason to trust any of these men. She wondered what kind of person didn’t trust anyone she met? What kind of life had she led that she had so little trust in others? Tessa wasn’t sure she wanted to know.