by Plum Pascal
“She was outta her damn mind on Atacomite an’ was goin’ on ‘bout somethin’ followin’ her. She was, like… convinced o’ it an’ scared outta her skin.”
“As you said, she was high,” Cambion responds with little interest.
“Something was following me,” I insist.
Cambion faces me, frowning, but then centers his attention on Dragan. “The angel possesses plenty of value without her wings.” He speaks the words slowly, as if spitting out each one. “Maybe it was Variant’s men trying to arrest her, according to his edict. Maybe it was a lonely group of gypsy men.” He shrugs. “Your fair angel seems like quite the tasty snack after a hard day laboring in Precinct Five. Or maybe… maybe she imagined the whole thing,” his voice is deep, tinted with his natural authority.
I wish I could show them my wings just to end the constant fighting. I can only hope that I truly possess them.
Not yet, Eilish. You’re not safe. The voice in my head, quiet through most of the night, has returned. Tell them they must have faith, it instructs.
Straining to speak, my voice lifts out of my chest; its edges are hoarse and cracking. “I need… you to trust me,” I manage.
Looking at me, Dragan and Thoradin appear to soften. Cambion, not so much. His expression remains hard.
“We don’t even know who you are,” he points out and glares at me.
“She don’t even know who she is,” Flumph adds.
Silence falls on us once again. Cambion seems revived, at least. The exhaustion’s left his face somewhat and now, he just looks angry. Although, on him, the emotion is somehow flattering. His sharp features are brought into focus all the more by his furrowed eyebrows and pursed lips. When his eyes meet mine, he holds my gaze in a way that makes me feel more naked than I already am beneath the thin fabric that poorly conceals me.
Cambion’s eyes trail down my body, to the place where the sheet wraps around my shoulders and plunges between my breasts. He stands up and approaches me, then takes an edge of the fabric in his hand. Unsure of what he’s going to do, I simply watch.
Dragan stands up and takes a few steps closer to us, watching Cambion intensely, his jaw fixed. He looks like he’s ready to spring to action any moment.
“What are you doing?” Dragan growls.
Cambion ignores him and stares at me unabashedly. His eyes are beautiful pools of amber, but they’re cold. No longer able to look him in the eyes, I glance down and watch as what appears to be yellow embers dance between his fingers and the thin sheet I’m wrapped in. But instead of the embers lighting the fabric on fire, the sheet begins to fold back on itself then forward, like invisible hands creating origami. I watch, amazed, as the sheet arranges itself until I’m no longer wearing a sheet at all. Instead, I’m wrapped in a white, sleeveless dress that ends at my knees. Above me is a cloak, also crafted from the sheet. Its hood is large and it covers most of my hair, reaching down past my ankles. For the first time since I can remember, I’m dressed.
“Fancy!” Flumph announces, then laughs goofily.
“How did you do that?” I ask the Fae King as I look up at him in wonder.
His eyes linger on mine for a few seconds before he answers. “Transmutation,” he says quietly.
“I don’t know what that is,” I respond.
His gaze has softened, as has his tone. “Transmutation is the ability to modify energy and matter,” he begins. “It’s the magical art of turning one substance into another.”
“You could turn tin to silver?” Flumph asks.
Cambion nods. “I could also turn you into a toad, if I felt so inclined.”
Flumph frowns at him. “Life’s hard enough as a sprite, prick.”
A sly smile parts Cambion’s lips, and I find him incredibly sexy. “Kindness suits you,” I say. His smile drops, replaced by the same stoic expression. “Thank you,” I finish.
“How are you feeling?” Dragan asks from behind us, his voice concerned. He eyes Cambion and then me as if he doesn’t approve of the easy conversation that just passed between us. I can see jealousy in his eyes and I’m not sure why, but it invigorates me.
“Better,” I reply honestly.
The Seelie King closes his eyes and places one hand into the remaining embers of the fire. He doesn’t, as I expect, cry out in pain.
“Come,” he says, motioning for me to move closer.
“Why?” Dragan begins but I silence him with a shake of my head. I need to get Cambion on my side, and I need to get him to trust me. If this is one small step in that process, I’m willing to take it.
I sidle up next to him and drop down to my haunches. He looks at me pointedly.
“If I touch you, am I going to be whisked into one of your visions?” he asks, frowning.
“I don’t know,” I answer with a shrug.
He inhales deeply but doesn’t say anything more as he places his other hand on my shoulder and bends his head. An image flashes in my mind when he touches me, but I don’t lean into it because I’m fully focused on the warmth flooding my body through his touch. It feels like taking a full breath of air after nearly drowning. My eyes shut of their own accord and I breathe in his energy.
When he removes his hand, I immediately feel cold again. I open my eyes and glance at him, noticing he appears surprised. When I look down at the fire, it begins to sputter as if Cambion stole its energy and, as I watch, the coals lose their glow and we’re thrust into darkness once more.
“Your strength has been returned to you,” he says as he eyes me with interest.
“How can you tell?” I ask.
“Because I attempted to bolster your life force with some of my own but, instead, you fed mine.”
I feel my eyebrows lift in surprise. “I can’t explain it, but I woke up feeling much better, stronger.”
I hear Dragan quickly instruct Thoradin to get more wood.
“Interesting.” Cambion studies me with narrowed eyes. He still doesn’t trust me, that much is obvious, but as he continues to hold my gaze, I see something flash across his eyes—something carnal, something that looks like desire. Maybe he’s remembering the vision from earlier? The one I had of us when our limbs were entwined, the powerful smiles we shared while he moved himself within me. It’s a vision I haven’t forgotten.
Soon, the fire returns to its full strength.
An odd, graying light slowly rises through the forest, though its source is invisible to me. “What is that?” I ask Dragan, unable to keep the fear from my voice.
“It’s the closest thing to daylight the shadow realm knows,” he answers.
For a moment, it strikes me as odd that they call this the shadow realm because, without light, not a single shadow exists here.
“Thoradin and I are going into the walls of the city to look for food and warmer clothing. You three will stay here and wait for our return,” Dragan instructs, and instantly, my heart starts pounding. I don’t want to be away from Dragan. Especially not here, in this wretched forest.
“When you leave, your enchantments leave with you,” Cambion responds guardedly. “I can’t protect us here.”
Dragan nods. “You’re not wrong, Cambion, but we don’t have a choice.” He takes a deep breath. “I’ve been considering the options open to us, and I believe you’ll be safest here.”
“We’re safest with you,” I tell him.
He looks at me and appears torn. “Grimreap isn’t the place for you, Eilish,” he explains. “There are only three of us who could protect you and, in the city, that won’t be enough.”
“The shadows of this forest are already taking their toll on us,” Cambion argues. “At least in Grimreap, we can bolster our strength.”
“I’m aware,” Dragan says. “And I’ve weighed that fact, as well. I still believe it is safer for you to remain here.”
“You already made your decision when you brought us to the Raven Forest,” says Cambion. “We travel with you to Grimreap.”
&nb
sp; “This isn’t open for argument,” Dragan grumbles.
Cambion’s eyes narrow. “And neither was it open for argument when you forcibly removed me from my home and anchored me to this hero’s quest. Our story doesn’t end in the woods outside Grimreap; we’re coming with you.”
“You know Grimreap’s reputation as well as I do,” Dragan counters. “You know you’re safer here.” He glances at me. “She’s safer here.”
“I know Grimreap’s reputation, yes,” Cambion continues to argue. “But I don’t believe we’d be any safer in the forest. I have some sway with the beasts of the fae, but here, the animals answer to different masters. Protection isn’t something I can offer. I can feel my magic growing weaker by the moment. At least inside Grimreap, we can feed off the energy of our forbearers.”
“You wouldn’t last a minute inside the walls of the city. The three of you are practically glowing,” returns Dragan, his voice pulsing with anger. He’s by far the most intimidating creature I’ve ever seen. But he’s also beautiful, in his own way.
“Are your brains made of stone, too, gargoyle?” Cambion asks with mock cordiality.
“The three of you remain here,” Dragan declares with finality.
“You’re not going to leave me behind like a cow for slaughter in this fucking forest,” Cambion spits out. “Besides, if you’re going into Grimreap, you’ll need me.”
“How’s that?” Dragan gives him a cold glare as Cambion continues.
“I’d assume you weren’t about to enter the deadliest city in the world as the most recognizable man in all of the Shadow Realm?”
“Of course not,” Dragon replies. “As you know, I can employ the Mask Of Many Faces.”
Cambion seems unimpressed. “An elementary charm at best. Need I remind you I’m a master transmuter? All energy and matter bend to my will. I could conceal us far better than either of you could,” he finishes and looks between Dragan and Thoradin.
“You lack the strength,” Dragan replies with little interest.
“Because I’m stuck in this fucking forest!” Cambion rails. “Grimreap will bolster my strength again and I will be a valuable asset.” He takes a deep breath. “Three able-bodied men are better than two.”
“He has a point, liege,” Thoradin puts in.
Dragan’s jaw is tight. “Fine. We all go.” He turns to the sprite, which is hovering nearby. “And Flumph?”
The small creature seems surprised at being addressed. “I ain’t got no masks or transmuters, Demon Prince,” he returns. I have to admit, I find his appellations for Dragan funny even if Dragan doesn’t.
“Just,” Dragan looks him over, worry creasing its way into the mature lines of his face. “Just stay hidden.”
Flumph makes his way over to me and successfully wraps himself within two folds of my cloak.
SEVENTEEN
Eilish
Grimreap
Shadow Realm
We stop walking when we reach the city gates of Grimreap. There’s a heavy wind that pummels us, howling a doleful melody that seems somehow foreshadowing. I’m afraid.
“Eilish,” Dragan whispers from where he walks beside me. I glance over at him. “I will protect you,” he reassures me.
I smile at him and give him a quick and grateful nod, but fear continues to weigh my feet down until I feel like I’m trudging through tar.
Cambion marches ahead of us, up to the towering stone wall where he extends his arm out in front of him and touches one of the smooth rocks. He closes his eyes and inhales deeply.
“What the hell’s he doin’?” Flumph asks from within my cloak.
“He’s absorbing the essence of those of his kin who came before him,” Dragan responds.
“Why?” Flumph continues.
“To bolster his strength.”
“What, he like absorbin’ their spirits or somethin’?”
Dragan nods but doesn’t take his eyes off Cambion. “Yes.”
Cambion touches the wall for another three minutes or so before he returns to us. When he does, he appears different. The constant exhaustion which claimed him in the forest is now completely vacant, and in its place is a much more alert and strengthened Seelie King.
“I will illusion myself and Thoradin,” Dragan explains to Cambion as the two face each other. “You focus on yourself and Eilish.”
Cambion nods and then approaches me, holding his hands together until dancing embers ignite between them once again. The warmth of his hands radiates against my skin, bathing me in a balmy cocoon that feels like heaven in this dank, cold place.
“It’s done,” he says as he faces Dragan.
“Then we continue into Grimreap,” Dragan answers.
Dragan’s Mask of Many Faces isn’t quite what I expected. He still looks exactly the same. “Are you going to disguise yourself?” I ask.
He faces me and smiles, and it changes his entire countenance. In fact, I don’t remember seeing him smile before. It’s an expression that suits him; he’s beyond handsome.
“Look away, and when you do, try to remember what I look like,” he says.
I do as he instructs but when I look back at him, I’m confused. It’s as if my mind is suddenly muddled. He’s unrecognizable, simply because I can’t seem to understand the lines of his face. I can see that he’s standing there, but my mind makes no connection to him. It’s like repeating a word so many times that it begins to lose meaning, until all that exists is the sound of the word itself, separate from its denotation. When I look at Thoradin, I find the same is true.
I have no mirror to see what Cambion’s done to me, but judging by the others’ reactions, the job is adequate. My robe is now dark gray and my hair is purple. My skin is the color of soot. Cambion is different, too, in a heavily hooded cloak with shoulder-length red hair spilling out from beneath it. His skin is now the color of an olive, and his face is completely unrecognizable.
Dragan gazes warily at the city walls. “Let’s go,” he says, his voice dark. “Stay close to me and say nothing.”
###
Baron
Grimreap
Shadow Realm
Poisons, such as the ones I use to complete most of my jobs, can be difficult to come by. Blue Dragon Juice, for example, is one of the most difficult essences in the world to acquire—if you don’t know where to go. But there exists a black market, where one can find the most rare and precious commodities if one only knows where to look.
The vast majority of venoms I use for my charges are expensive and challenging to locate, not to mention highly illegal. According to Variant’s edicts, possession of the venom is punishable by death.
But fuck Variant and fuck his edicts.
Death as punishment is laughable to me. Life as punishment is a far more intimidating sentence. Perhaps that’s why I chose to make a name for myself as the harbinger of death; I no longer fear it. Waking up in the grave does something to you—it changes your philosophy on life and death. As does being immortal.
With my poison stores running low, I need to restock before my next job. Even though I know where to go, it doesn’t make the mission any more appealing. Most black-market vendors work in the town of Grimreap—a vile place, home to the worst sorts of criminals and low-lives. It’s taken years to build a name for myself there, but even now, run into a feuding gang that doesn’t respect your connections, and you’ll be in for a rough time.
Necessary, though, all the same.
An assassin is nothing without his tools.
###
Baron
The journey to Grimreap is never an easy one. The road is peppered with thieves and dangerous beasts roam the forests on either side, looking to surprise unsuspecting passersby. The conditions become even worse as you approach the town’s entrance. From there, the town has a heartbeat of its own, kept alive by the collective souls that sustain it. Not fae nor mortal nor shadow, Grimreap is a melting pot of any and everything unsavory. It exists without
law or master. It is, itself, an undead, a creature roused from the pits of despair just as I was.
It is mid-afternoon by the time I arrive at the city gates, but the clouds stay dark and ominous overhead, skewing all sense of time. They promise a storm that will never come. Grimreap exists in shadow, everything cast in a constant state of darkness.
The old city is the same dark gray as the sky above it. The stones of the city walls bear scorch marks from long ago, hinting at the battle that was waged here. A battle between light and dark… A day so violent, it has lived on forever… or so I am told.
The remaining stone-wall structure is impressive, with spires that rise one hundred feet into the air and an arch so high, you must tilt your head to see the top. The deathly spikes of the wrought iron gates settle like a guillotine over the city’s entrance. Aptly nicknamed The City of Death, Grimreap sets off an alarm in the senses of all those who enter.
Within its limits, my instincts are suddenly on high alert. I feel the extreme need to flee, every fiber of my being warning me to the dangers that surround me.
The streets are damp and filthy, just as the people themselves, all bustling and unfriendly. Grimreap attracts all manner of creatures: deformed demons buying love from establishments that cater to their most carnal desires, escaped criminals, the banished insane, and black-market peddlers, to name a few. If you need someone killed, if you have a frowned-upon sexual fetish, or if you’re after a loan repayable with your soul, Grimreap is the place to come.
The main street, a dirt road, is alive with stalls and the hollers of those selling their wares. The town smells like shit, refuse building up along each side of the narrow road and streams of piss snaking through the rutted lane, fogging up the freezing air with urine ghosts. Feral creatures, both magical and not, wander the alleys, searching for food wherever they can find it. What buildings still remain are now just façades of crumbling stone, decimated so many years ago by the war that pitted light against dark—something that has come to be known as the Singularity.
Shrunken heads dangle from strings on a nearby cart. I watch the man selling them, an orc, as he places what look like dog teeth into the mouth of one of the heads, making it more grotesque than it already is.