by Laura R Cole
CHAPTER 19
Jonathan raged in the hallways of his house, grabbing up decorations and hurling them at the walls. Once he almost hit a cowed servant, who stood frozen in place, too scared or too stupid to move out of the way. The statue had just missed her head and it banged into the stone wall behind her, crumbling a large chunk before she gathered her wits about her and fled.
He screamed his anger at the top of his lungs, and continued his rampage for several long minutes before he wore himself out. Then he surveyed the destruction, panting. How could she have gotten away? My greatest source of pleasure and she is gone! Was I lying to myself when I thought she had cared for me too? No, of course not, she had to have been taken, she had to have been. She wouldn't have just left me like this. We had something special. He had been forced to travel for business, and had come home to find her chambers empty. The servants had been too terrified to even tell him, they just led him up.
Jonathan glared around, looking for the servants now who had all mysteriously absented themselves. He marched towards the bedroom again, and looked down when his heel crunched on something as he stepped. Tears sprung to his eyes as he realized it was her favorite glass figurine, a tiny pink unicorn. He gruffly rubbed a sleeve over his eyes and fought down the emotion as he swept into the room, searching about for her means of escape. I mean kidnapping.
A sharp fragment of mirror was bloodstained and discarded on the bed, next to the ripped remains of the silk bonds that she had worn to please him.
A blast of cold air chilled him as the wind picked up outside. It caused the curtains to flutter into the room, and revealed that the glass in the window was smashed as well.
Jonathan pushed the curtain aside to peer out. Glass shards littered the ground below, and red drops of blood could still be seen standing out against the white snow. He raised an eyebrow. That must have been quite a fall. Perhaps someone pushed her. The footprints were distorted as if the person was staggering, and were soon lost amongst the packed snow of the street. Jonathan cursed his frustration and went to search out a servant to have them clean up the mess.
Some time and many unhappy servants later, Jonathan was in his carriage on his way to meet Jezebel. Though he was not in the mood for her attitude, he needed to make a report to Master which could not be delayed.
He drummed his fingers on his knees and twitched nervously. He closed his eyes in an effort to be still, but the urge could not be denied. He took out a small metal box and pried a fingernail under the edge to pop it open. It flicked up, and Jonathan dipped a finger in the white powder inside. He rubbed it along his gums and sat back slowly, sighing with pleasure as the drug took hold. The stress of dealing with Jezebel had grated his nerves so badly that he had turned to his old habit of relief.
A calming sensation spread through him, and he spent the rest of the ride in bliss.
He was so lost in his private euphoria that he didn't notice when the carriage stopped. The driver had to climb down and knock on the carriage door to alert him to their arrival. The driver eyed him with trepidation as he opened the door, but Jonathan ignored him, and brushed him aside on his way to Jezebel.
The door opened before he even reached it, and a hysterical girl came flying out of it. Forgetting her manners in her panic, she grabbed him by the shoulders.
“Sir,” she exclaimed, “we've been attacked! The lady and Master Devon are,” she broke down and started sobbing against him, sniffling on his shirt. She suddenly seemed to remember herself and hastily backed away, removing her hands from him as though she had suddenly been burned. “I'm so sorry, sir,” she stammered. “Please, please won't you come and help?” she implored him.
He smiled at her languidly, wondering what this was all about. “Of course,” he drawled. “Do show the way.”
He followed lazily after her as she led him back up towards the house and in through the front door which had been left wide open as she had come flying out of it. She motioned for him to come in, and then moved aside in the hall, pointing to a crumpled shape on the floor.
Jonathan moved closer and saw that it was Jezebel, lying unmoving in an undignified heap. He gave a soft chuckle and ignored the confused look that the girl gave him. I wonder what the stupid woman got herself into? He knelt down, feeling for a pulse. He found one, and it was strong, so he told the girl to fetch some water and she hurried off, glad to have someone to tell her what to do.
He strolled down the hall to where the library door stood ajar, and he pushed it farther open. He stepped into the room cautiously. There on the floor lay Devon, looking even worse for wear than Jezebel, with two knives sticking into him up to the hilt.
“Tsk tsk,” Jonathan commented. “I never did like you anyway,” he told the body, and was turning to leave when movement caught his eye. “Well, would you look at that,” he said, amazed, as Devon's hand moved towards him. He caught the man's eye, which had opened with great effort. The look he gave Jonathan was enough to make him turn on his heel and leave him there to die, but Jonathan sighed and rolled his eyes. “I suppose I should help you then.”
He strode over to Devon, muttering a few healing words to help stave off the flow of blood as he roughly pulled the two blades from the man's body. Devon convulsed as he did this, and Jonathan watched him with interest while he writhed. He then put a hand over Devon's forehead, and whispered another word to put him into a healing trance.
Despite the relief it would have been to have the need for visiting Jezebel removed by Devon's death, Jonathan supposed it was for the best. Master did enjoy the access to Devon's network. Jonathan picked himself up and brushed his hands together, convinced that the rest of the healing was up to Devon now.
He made his way back into the hall to see if the girl had returned. She was just getting back and looked relieved to see him, as if afraid she might have to pour the cold water on her mistress herself. Well, he admitted, I suppose if Jezebel was my mistress I wouldn't want to upset her either. He took the bucket from her, and dumped it unceremoniously over Jezebel's head. She coughed and sputtered, but did regain consciousness.
She sat up and started right in on complaining. “Where is that little slut? How dare she come in here? I'll kill her!” Jonathan half-listened for a moment before clearing his throat. She looked at him for the first time and demanded, “What are you doing here?”
Jonathan snorted. “That's a nice way to treat someone who just saved your precious little lap dog's life and revived you from unconsciousness. That is, unless you put the two knives in Devon and then came out here to take a nap on the floor?”
“Of course not,” she snapped at him. “You saved Devon? He's all right?”
He licked his lips, which were suddenly dry, and answered, “I did. For the moment anyway. He's in a trance right now so his body can heal without putting any more strain on itself. I didn't have a chance to look closer though, so he could still die.” He waved a hand with an air of uncaring.
Jezebel wiped at the water on the front of her dress and gave him a pinched look before heading into the library to check on Devon. She knelt beside him and put her own hand over him, adding her strength to the web of healing that Jonathan had woven and Jonathan was impressed by her power despite himself. Although he did note in the back of his mind that while Jezebel was lending Devon her strength through power, a tiny flow of energy was also flowing back into her. As Jonathan looked curiously at it with his mage sight he saw that it looked blood red.
“So,” Jonathan said, bringing her attention back to him, “what the blazes happened here?”
Jezebel's face twisted in rage and she spat out, “That little slut that I had thrown out was here and she stole something. A little box. She had an old man with her posing as a minstrel who got Devon.” She nodded to Devon.
“And what was in the box?” Jonathan prompted, trying to get the whole story
out of her.
“I don't know,” Jezebel said irritably. “It wasn't anything that I recognized. But why else would she be here...” She paused for a moment, thinking, before a shadow passed over her face. “Unless...”
She stood and pushed past Jonathan, ignoring his queries. She quickened her pace as she came to the top of the stairs that led to the cellar. She took these two at a time, and Jonathan followed, keeping pace.
At the bottom, Jezebel roared in fury at the sight of an empty cell. The lock on the door looked to have been melted away. Jonathan saw tiny wisps of flame dancing off her fingertips, and he wisely chose to shut his mouth, stepping aside so that he was blending in with the wall and out of Jezebel's way. He knew the dangers of touching the power when not in control of one's emotions and had no desire to be what Jezebel took her overload out on.
Luckily, she was still facing the cell when she lost control. She screamed belligerently, and threw her hands out with fingers wide. Great balls of fire shot out from them, blowing through the cell wall and leaving a huge blackened crater on the other side.
Jezebel turned towards him, breathing deeply and he waited for her to regain control. He could see the fight she had within herself, but admirably her breathing slowed in a relatively short amount of time, and Jonathan took a tentative step towards her.
“Well,” she said tranquilly, “Shall we take some tea in the library?”
Jonathan raised an eyebrow at her abrupt change of character, but didn't comment. He simply moved aside, and indicated that she should lead the way. She did so, carefully lifting her dress which was now completely dry, and made her way back to the library. She told the confused servants to bring them tea as she stepped around the unconscious body of Devon.
When the servant returned to hand them tea, Jezebel ordered in an off-hand manner, “Do something with that, would you?” She waved at Devon's limp form, and then turned to Jonathan. He was started to feel a bit anxious again, and he started tapping his foot on the ground as she asked him, “What can I do for you today?”
Jonathan scratched at an itch that was spreading over his arm and answered. “I need a report on your progress, and you may as well tell me who it was in the cell down there too.”
Jezebel wrinkled her nose at him, but complied. “Devon chatted with a few of the people as you suggested, but none could tell us very much. Either they were very well trained or they really just don't know.” She gave him a few details of the interviews and he conceded that no real information had been obtained.
“And the cell downstairs,” he prompted.
“That had Gryffon in it. You may remember Gryffon as the ungrateful urchin who was here a while back until I kicked him out after I caught him harassing one of the maids.”
Jonathan nodded, though this was not the story that he had heard.
She went on, “Well, Devon had been watching him and had determined that he was under suspicion of being from Treymayne – since he lied about where he came from. Not only that, but he had met with contacts at several locations thought to be drop spots with men who then rode off east before shaking their tails.”
Jonathan leaned forward intently, and scratched his other arm now which had started to itch as well. “And what did you learn from him?”
Jezebel shifted in her seat. “Well, he was very uncooperative and he didn't want to talk.”
Jonathan felt his own anger returning. Not only had he had to deal with his own personal loss today, but now he would have to report that they had learned nothing to Master. He would be most displeased, and unlikely to want to help Jonathan recover his lost prize.
“He was carrying a piece of parchment, but it's nonsense, just some drivel about hunting.”
Jonathan stopped scratching and demanded, “Where is it?”
Jezebel waved towards one of the tables that were piled high with books. “I think I threw it into one of those books, but really it's nothing.”
“Maybe to you,” snapped Jonathan ungraciously as he rifled through the books until he found the parchment. He waved it at her accusingly, “But maybe not to everyone.” She looked at him curiously, and he wondered if she would cause a scene to take it back. The thought seemed to occur to her, but then she must have changed her mind.
“There was something strange about the girl,” she commented nonchalantly, “a mark on her neck. Does that mean anything to anybody?”
Jonathan looked at her, trying to feign boredom while ignoring the itch which had moved down to his side. “What kind of mark?” he asked a bit more excitedly than he intended. He watched for her reaction.
“Oh, some kind of symbol, similar to the runes used for spells. Probably nothing, but I thought I'd mention it just in case since you got so excited about the hunting letter.” She said the last with more sarcasm than Jonathan would have normally cared to take without retaliating, but he let it go. He opted instead for a quick exit, his mood much improved by this unexpected news.
Once in the carriage, he took another tiny bit of the white power and scrubbed it on his gums. The effects were starting to wear off faster than they used to. He made his way to the meeting point and was pleased to see that despite the fact that he was running late, he had still arrived before Master. The man was barely two steps behind him, however, and he greeted him curtly before waving him to report.
Jonathan gave a brief description of all that had transpired at Jezebel's and handed him the parchment. It read:
“The hunting has been lean here. I have seen very little in the way of sign. I did find one small rub on a tree, but not well pronounced and there was no scrape nearby nor were the tracks very large at all. The deer seem to be taking the winter hard this year.”
His master nodded in approval. “You were right to think that this may be more useful than it seems. And the other news?”
Jonathan continued. “The servant girl that defied Jezebel has a mark. Jezebel said she saw a strange rune-like symbol behind her ear, the same place that all the others have been. And, the level of power it would have taken to have burned away the metal of the lock indicates that she’s fairly strong. She has a mark.” He repeated it in his excitement.
“Does she now,” commented Master, his curiosity aroused. “Well, that is interesting news indeed.”
