by Elle Cross
Ara Larusha motioned to sit. The words that came out of her mouth seemed to be thoughtful as if English wasn't her first language.
Or maybe speaking this way wasn't anything she was used to either.
"Thank you for following me here and for being here. Please take your rest."
"Yes, all, please take your rest." The other lady spoke from a place that was unseen. She poked her head out of a little nook and it turned out that it was a galley kitchen. Nice. The smells that came out of there over the last minute became too delicious to ignore.
Immortelle hadn't been able to eat that slop at the tavern. When was the last time she’d eaten anything anyway? It felt like ages ago.
"It's because you fought down that demon, my dear. Took a lot of energy, and I'm talking more than just calories." She came out of the kitchen with a new batch of cookies and a pitcher of milk. "There's more where that came from. I have real food too, but I find that chocolate goes a long way to healing what ails you."
Their hostess winked, and nodded toward War and his leg. He had been mid-chew when he looked at the shredded cloth. His pants were still torn but the flesh underneath was whole. "Damn, can I take these cookies out to the battlefield?"
Strife shook his head at him in disapproval. "I can picture it now: milk and cookies in the field."
“Whatever works,” War said, happily demolishing his cookies, sloshing them in milk.
Strife grunted, but helped himself to a cookie. “I don't think it works like that.”
Mischief replied, “You don't know if it doesn't work like that.”
"Guys, please." Immortelle hunted down Ara Larusha, who was shifting on her feet, flitting from room to room and looking out of windows and generally making that trilling sound that only agitated pixies seem to make. "Ara Larusha? Can you please talk to me now?"
She kept flittering and then flew up into the light socket in the middle of the other room. This one seemed more to be a study with books lining the walls and a table in the middle.
"You're gonna have to let her be," the woman said. "She has her routine and she won't be swayed from it." She placed a serving tray in the middle of the table, and motioned to the chair. "You might as well sit."
"I'd rather help."
The woman took her measure. "Sure enough. Washroom in the corner there, why don't you wash up and then let's get some of this food out to the cavalry."
Immortelle retreated to the washroom, and she heard shuffling and scraping of furniture. When she got out, she saw that some of the chairs were fitted around the table better. "Where's the others?"
“One used the other washroom in the bedroom suite and the others are in the kitchen, or as many as can fit.”
Fear was toggling two platters in his hand; she helped to maneuver them to the table so they didn't fall.
Death came out of the bedroom suite, dressed in his suit, with the jacket off, sleeves rolled up. He eyeballed the table, and then sought the kitchens.
There was a lot of food that came out of there.
Immortelle started setting the table from the sideboard and tried to count out the places needed.
"There now, doesn't that look lovely," the lady said. "I'm your host, Ophelia, and Ara Larusha should be down any moment. She just needs time. But please, dig in. You need your strength, and this way, you'll be healed up a little bit and have full bellies."
"For what? I can't help feel like we're being fattened up like pigs for slaughter."
"I can see you feel that. Would it help if I do some mumbo jumbo, then? Like what you were doing this morning, what you ate for brunch, that sort of thing?"
A whisper in Immortelle's ear let her know that Ophelia knew exactly what she was doing. Images of those moments flew up in Immortelle's head at the thought.
"Okay, fine, conjuring those notions could just mean you're some kind of witch, doesn't make you an Oracle."
"Never said I was, hun!"
"But Ara Larusha said--"
"She said that she would take you to see the Oracle. Doesn't mean I am the Oracle."
Fucking semantics.
"Rookie mistake, am I right?" The older woman waved her finger at Immortelle with a sly smile. She had to admit that she was right.
"You're absolutely right. So, at the risk of sounding ungrateful, will we be seeing the Oracle soon?"
"Oh yes, don't worry your pretty head. You are in the right place, so we won't be shuffling you off to some Neverland or some other place in the aether." She beamed again, and went off to check whatever it was that dinged at her from the kitchen, humming a beautiful spiritual.
“What are we going to do?”
"We eat."
They all sat down around the table, and somehow even in the small space it was able to accommodate six full grown adults, five of whom were large warriors. The meal started off quiet and awkward but then the food was so good that murmurs of appreciation sighed around the room.
After they all had their fill, and after Ophelia plied them with more drinks and a fresh batch of cookies, they were stewing over coffee. The table had been cleaned up and the food was put away. It was interesting because there weren't many leftovers. As if she knew exactly how much food to prepare so as not to have any waste.
Sometime during their feast, Ara Larusha had come down and flitted from person to person, the noises she made gentler cooing than an agitated trill.
"See, she just gets excitable, is all. The poor dear."
Immortelle smiled. "I know a few pixies. I had to enchant them with chocolate and spells and coffee to get them to pay any attention to me."
"Ah, but you didn't kill them or eat them. So that automatically makes you a winner in their books."
In the middle of Ophelia's sentence, Immortelle's jaw went slack. She looked at the little light that seemed to be humming in the middle of her cupped palm. "I'm sorry, what?" she hissed at her. "Kill or eat?"
Ophelia tilted her head as if to inspect Immortelle more. "Well, you didn't know that Pixies were usually consumed for their magick?"
"I think this look of shock is answer enough." Immortelle racked her brain. She didn't remember practices of using pixies in that way. Sure, there was always some kind of cannibalism or body parts in any arcane ritual. Flesh and blood were potent magicks. But pixies?
Somehow that made it worse. They were so cute.
"Yeah, well that cutie pie packs a lot of magick." Ophelia raised her eyebrow at her. "Okay, now, you've had your fill. Time to tell these nice folks what you're about."
"And what the fuck that thing was,” Immortelle said. Then she leveled her gaze at Fear. “Don't think I'm about to forget that you placed a few coins in your pocket, Fear."
"I wasn't hiding it. But it was better with us than lying around waiting for just any schmuck to become possessed without their consent."
"Yeah, we're gonna be circling back to that," Immortelle promised.
"Ara Larusha, let's go," Ophelia coaxed.
With a fluttering of wings, Ara Larusha became her shifted self again. She looked a bit shinier, glowed a little bit more. It was nice to see her this way, as if she did get energies.
She curtsied a little bit when her gaze met Immortelle's. "I hope you don't mind. You were such a friend to pixies and I liked the nice calm you gave."
Immortelle notched her eyebrow. "Calm?"
Ara Larusha nodded effusively. "Yes! You are such at peace, it helped me. Thank you."
Immortelle didn't know what to say to that, and now she was in the middle of a lot of attention, and she didn't like that at all. "Okay, well, now that we all seem to be sated, why not let's tell me a couple of things."
"Oh, this will be easier." And Ara Larusha whooshed a few things in the air. The shimmering cloud formed a kind of viewing portal and then it was like a rush of images that flowed together at the same time.
What did they just see?
But in a flash, the memories started to build together in her mind
. It was similar to how Bianco's memories had formed in hers when she had inherited his power. The shifting was a mess, but it wasn’t overwhelming. "Ara Larusha, what is this?"
"Understanding. It would help when you know the context. Do not worry, you do not need to have a full memory to know. But it would be easier for you to understand my plight if you knew where we came from."
It was all shooting into Immortelle’s mind so quickly, and she hoped that she wouldn't have to remember or be conscious of it at all.
Damn. It was like reliving a horror show. Wings torn off. Pixies crushed. Crying and herding together.
The ones that could shift, they were the strongest of them. Almost pure magick.
The others carried the hopes and dreams of the rest of the flock. They numbered many, but they were dying off very quickly.
And the royal numbers were dwindling. When the royals go, the rest of the pixies would die off soon after. The whole of their race could die off in one generation. Pixies still multiplied faster than the high courts of Fae, but considering most Fae gave birth once in a millennia, if that, that wasn't saying much.
"My god, what is this atrocity, and why are you showing me this?"
“The Cabal is supposed to be kept together with the Accords, and we are all supposed to be allies. We are all part of the same treaties. And yet, no one has protected us. The Fae lords don't regard us, and think nothing of our passing. The others, well, we barely rate as insects. Those that know of our shifted forms hunt us even more. We don't know what to do. In a generation, all the royal houses will cease to exist."
Immortelle was stunned. "That news is horrifying. But what do you want me to do about it? Hells, I didn't even know that you were able to shift until I saw you in the tavern just now. Is it now? Whatever. Anyway, I've been a weapon for battles or other subterfuge for the Vampire courts. I don't know how I can help you at all."
"You can help because you are a good and kind person."
Well shit. Those eyes were compelling. It was like trying to say no to a puppy.
"You know if I could I would, but how would I help you? I don't think the solution would be to kill your oppressors."
"I think that would be a fine solution."
“Well, I didn't think you were the bloodthirsty type,” Immortelle joked.
"At the very least, there's a trade. In the Goblin Market. They trade pixies and they flow into the Mortal Coil."
"What? Magicks in the Mortal Coil? I don't think humans would necessarily care for that sort of thing. What use would it be for them?
Ara Larusha shrugged. “We don’t know what it’s being used for, but it’s going to the Mortal Coil. That I do know. They don't need to be immortal to become magical practitioners.” She said it so woefully, as if she took it on as a personal error. “And they don't even need to be that good. Our magick is that potent.”
“Are you fucking kidding me right now? Are you telling me that there's a kind of skin trade going on that involves using pixies in some human's energy drink to become more magical?”
Ara Larusha seesawed her head, filtering out the intention of Immortelle’s words even if she didn’t quite understand her slang. "That could be a possibility."
Immortelle's gaze flew to Ophelia. "What the hell?"
Ophelia shrugged slowly as she lit a cigarette. "Strange world, strange times, I don't know what to tell you." The woman continued tidying up her small apartment as if a group of strangers sitting in her living room was normal.
“Okay, so that’s why you want me here to see the oracle? To see how I can help you with the oppressors?”
The pixie fluttered, gold shimmering all around her. “Yes. And in payment, I would ensure that you get through Underhill to find what you seek unscathed."
“You could do that?” Immortelle asked, breathless. “You’re a Fae, you shouldn’t be making promises you can’t keep. Walk me through this slowly and make sure you’re ready to commit.”
“The enemy of my enemy is my friend, is that not so, Immortelle? So, in payment for getting rid of a common enemy, I will reimburse you by taking you through Underhill, unscathed, until you find what you seek. The common enemy that we need to take down together will only be easier if we work together.”
At Immortelle’s hesitation, and the general restlessness of the men around her, Ara shifted from one foot to the other. It was like she couldn’t keep still, and the more anxious she was, the more she needed to move. “I don't expect you to take me at just my word. I thought that you would be able to see the Oracle and hear it from them. That way you will know.”
“Would the Oracle be someone who would be able to see if I was going in the right direction in the first place?” Immortelle asked.
Ara Larusha nodded her head fervently.
Immortelle bit her lip. A reminder ran in her heart. She didn't want to make rash decisions, and no matter how cute or small or how they helped her in the past, pixies were still part of the Fae, and contracts with them were trickier than other immortal clans.
"How about you conjure up that Oracle as a good faith, and I hear what she has to say, and then I will do what I can to help you with your issue. But, and this is a big but, I'm not going to start a war or faction with the Cabal."
Ara nodded right away. "Yes, that was my understanding all along." She seemed eager to agree.
Immortelle shot a look at Death and War, and they seemed to agree. "I can’t see anything amiss there."
Even Mischief wasn't picking up on anything from her. "She seems the genuine article, more's the pity."
"Okay, then, Ara Larusha. We are in tentative agreement.”
The pixie turned into a little golden orb again and fluttered and blinked around the room.
As if on cue, Ophelia came out from one of the back rooms. "Oh good, you all are in an agreement, I see. Let's get this going then." She laid out a few things on the table, almost as precise as she did when she went to lay out the food.
Something about the way Strife and Mischief lingered around her made it pop into her mind. "You're a witch, aren't you? A practitioner like what Ara Larusha hinted at?"
Ophelia flicked her cigarette ash, the skinny column dropping almost like a whole. "The winner goes to..." she said with a wink. She shuffled cards, and there was a scrying bowl.
Immortelle wasn't a practitioner or didn't seem to need tools, but she was aware of some of the implements at a very high level at least.
Death had set up a rotation on guard after they told him that it was safe to be outside. That meant that Strife and Mischief would roam the perimeter to see that there was nothing being planned, and Fear would be on the landing. War stretched and paced. Death was still, leaning against the column dead middle of the room. His seemingly relaxed body belied the restlessness evident in his eyes.
While Ophelia was placing the stuff, Immortelle kept an eye on Ara Larusha. She was floating around but it was still in a good way, not in that agitated build up on energy. "Can I get you anything Ara Larusha?" The way she buzzed made her seem like she said no. To test it out, Immortelle held out her hand and almost immediately, Ara Larusha settled into the cupped palm. She glowed, lighting up the area.
"Ophelia. Can I ask you something?"
"Of course, hun, anything." She was still setting things just so, and was now skimming the titles on the bookshelves.
"When we arrived here, it was New York, but not. We're in Chinatown, but this building or this sliver was a pocket between two buildings. I've been to Chinatown many times. There was never a time that it was this...empty. Yet, I also felt the thrumming of life almost behind...this.” Immortelle waved the air. “As if this feels like a sort of facade, and the real New York is behind? Anyway, Ara Larusha spoke about fairy paths, but kept silent as soon as she said it, I'm assuming from listening ears. So where are we?"
Ophelia lugged a large book from the shelves. "You, my dear, just said it. You are on the fairy paths."
Immortelle
motioned as if to say, go on.
"It's a veil, you see. A shadow world. An in-between." Ophelia looked at her like she was describing the difference between ocean and sky.
“But the Accords...they mapped out the known territories. There is nothing of this." She looked to the men for help.
“It’s true, Ophelia. In our travels, we haven’t encountered all these pocket places? Alternatives to jump from the Underworld to the Mortal Coil.”
Ophelia bit the cigarette butt between her lips so she could heft the book apart to the correct page; her right eye squinting to keep from the smoke. "Yeah, the Cabal likes to do that, I suppose. Map things out. Tell me this: Any of the fancy Vampires ever travel with a Fae?" Ophelia waited, hand on her hip, eyeing each of them even as the curl of smoke drifted in front of her eyes. “Didn’t think so.”
The book was now open dead center. Ophelia snatched the cigarette between her index and middle finger again and took a proper drag. It consumed half of the stick. The smoke that flumed out of her mouth curled into the air in a sort of come hither gesture. "To be fair, even if they did--travel together--the Fae would have still kept the paths a secret. Especially because the Cabal likes their precious records." Ophelia’s eyes flashed wide.
Immortelle sat with a heavy thump. So many secrets. How was she supposed to keep up with it all? And dammit, how come she never knew about it.
A warm hand rested on her shoulder and she looked up to see Death staring down at her. "None of us knew, and we've been at this longer. Don't blame yourself for not knowing the secrets of another immortal clan."
"Well, I can't help but feel silly, though. I just assumed, gods, I don't know what I assumed."
"You assumed that people play by the rules. Speak the truth. Honor their words. There's nothing silly in that. What others do, you don't need to feel responsible for."
"I know that. In my head. Believing it, well, it's always a shock, I guess."
"A shock that people don't play by the rules." He bent down and kissed her temple. "That is exactly why you will always win."
"There now!" Ophelia had her glasses on and poring over this huge tome was comical. "Here we go! Oracle!"
