NeverSleep

by Brindi Quinn

  Because the last person to carry me in this way was my then-ward, my stomach drops, and I find myself clinging to Techton’s neck. Never before did I realize what power alive touch holds. Never before, until I was separated from it for so long.

  His frame is taller than Awyer’s and his muscles are slightly more developed. Awyer is a new man, but Techton has lived in the stage of man for a handful of years.

  “Ho, now! Grim? You doing okay?”

  He asks because my body has started to shake in the wake of large tears rolling from my eyes. I miss my pactor. I miss him so, so much. Too much. And this surrogate is the first thing that has softened the ache.

  For the first time, I do not mind the Gold. To be heard and seen by all . . . Were Awyer not affected, there would be no need to revert the world to its former state.

  “What’d you do to her?!” Pedj demands.

  “Hey, there!” says Techton. “I didn’t do anything.”

  “Quiet, both of you,” says Mael. “And you, too,” she adds to Feligo.

  “I wasn’t saying anything!” Feligo returns. “How dare you accuse me of–”

  “All you men get on quiet.”

  Mael perceives my pain. She understands, for the one she loves is also near-yet-far. She and I are the same. We have learned to deal with the circumstances and our compromised feelings, but that does not make better the ache, and when reminded of the way they used to be, it is impossible to remain steadfast in our emotions. She understands.

  We are both responsible for the misfortunate outcomes of those dearest to us.

  One turned dark.

  One cursed.

  “This way?” Sounding uncomfortable, the Maestro in our presence invites us to the elevator, but not before closing the sistel’s door and infusing the orb in the center of the room with a small dose of Gold. Although it glows only dimly, it is more than I would have been able to muster.

  Arms firmly around my being, Techton carries me to the platform. With a second infusion of Gold, the so-called elevator begins to slide up and around the wall in a spiral, taking me away from my resting pactor, whom the skeletons have set onto one of the velvet couches. I lock eyes upon him until I lose him to the dimness. Our bond stretches. The farther I am from him, the more it jerks.

  “Once we’re up, I’ll call them to bring him up, too,” says Mael, again sensing my agony.

  “Thank you,” I whisper into Techton’s neck.

  Deeming it acceptable to speak once more, the confidant places his mouth to my ear. “Anything you need?”

  “I am fine. And you have my gratitude for carrying me.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  Beams and walkways cross the sistel’s higher levels, and openings in the wall allude to hallways and rooms out of sight. The elevator moves along a set course, slowing in front of open portions of the wall and then speeding again. Only a thin guardrail separates us from the whirring abyss.

  I am safe and warm and held for the first day in many days, and I delight in the fact that I am in the company of those I can trust in my half-formed state. Pedj and Mael and Techton, I am grateful for them. Depending on those who are not my wards has never before been a need. I have never before moved beyond a relationship of two, but to depend on an outsider . . . there is something communal about it, and for a moment of briefness, I experience what it is like to be a child, trusting and small.

  But the situation shifts dangerously. How quickly and dangerously it shifts. Lo, I am not within the grasp of a good-hearted ex-addict; as the lift carries our small party upward, I am vulnerably in the clutch of a power-seeking witch, and the moment I remember that is the moment I notice an unnatural quality to said witch’s breathing pattern.

  “Techton?”

  The uneven breathing deepens.

  “Tech . . .”

  “Your Amethyst boy’s a lucky sucker, isn’t he?” The witch’s coo comes into my ear, low enough that the others will not hear it and stern enough to cause discomfort. “Having a faerie all to himself. You faeries, fabled beautiful women revealing themselves only to the chosen. It’s a sort of a shame, isn’t it? Something as fine as you belonging to one man, and a boy, to boot – one that hardly knows how to handle a woman. Now that I can touch you, I could do things to you you’ve never even heard of.”

  “Maintain yourself, witch.”

  Techton inhales a breath of my hair. “You smell good, little one. I suppose I couldn’t tell before because you weren’t all there. You feel good, too. Your skin. The Gold in you is so crisp.”

  That is because . . . the golden power of the sphinxes, a latent power I have possessed all along – it differs from the power the rest of the Gold users now have. Mine is most pure. It comes directly from the source.

  “Release me.”

  It is a pointless command. Heated Techton knows as well as I that he is my only hope in this situation. Because the others cannot make solid contact, and because the floor of the elevator will fuse with me if he lets go, I am his hostage.

  With that in mind, the dark thing does something sinister, even more so then his vulgar taunts. He turns his back to the others and inches toward the edge of the platform so that I am dangling over the side.

  Ah!

  A silent cry escapes me. If he is to let go now, I do not know what will become of me! In my half-solidified state, I might fall to the ground or float to the ceiling, and either way, the distance will be great, and the outcome will be–!

  Pedj grows suspicious of Techton’s turned back. “Everythin’ oka, Techt?”

  Techton stiffens over being called out. “Mistress needs a moment. There, there, Grim,” he says with false sincerity.

  He thinks to use my previous display of sorrow to his advantage?!

  He brushes the hair from the side of my neck.

  “What are you doing, witch?” I hiss. “What do you want from me?”

  “Easy now. Wasn’t I clear? For starters, I need just a taste of what’s inside of you.”

  “This power is not mine to give. It is Awyer’s!”

  “Shh. You misunderstand, faerie. There’s no need for you to give anything. I’ll TAKE.” And with that, he lands his mouth to my neck.

  Before this moment, the only lips to ever make contact with my skin were Awyer’s, and for a moment, I am caught off-guard by the familiar sensuality of the motion. My heart skips. I . . . enjoy it . . . almost.

  But the mouth is not Awyer’s and the lips do not caress with fondness or love. It is hunger that drives their kiss, and just as soon as the sensuality comes, it is replaced by wrongness. In the pit of my sunken stomach, Techton’s mouth upon my neck feels wrong.

  Even more corrupt is when he opens his mouth and begins to suck.

  “Ah!”

  This time, my cry is not so silent. His tongue moves against my skin as his mouth wets, and more than the pull of his mouth, I feel the pull of his soul, drawing Awyer’s Gold through me and to him.

  Again, the tears come.

  “Please, Techton!” Bartering with a consumed witch is senseless, yet I barter all the same. “It is not yours and it is not mine!”

  But there is no stopping him. Power has become his lifeblood. Power is all that he seeks. He is not the cheerful Azurian we once knew. He is a dark, dark thing. Like Hamira. Like Gorma. Like Ark. He is dark.

  In his hunger, he allows himself to slip. The shaking of his body alerts the others that something is not right.

  Zing!

  As the lift moves to a halt, a flash occurs. From Mael’s palm, a zip of lightning-like enchant produces and hits Techton squarely in the back, numbing his muscles. He falls into a slump, releasing me in the process.

  “Haw!” Feligo is at the ready, and with a cut of his sword, he sends a blast of Gold to catch my fall.

  I am suspended. The abyss beyond the guardrail will not swallow me today.

  “Y-you have my thanks,” I tell the others as I wipe the saliva from my neck.
>
  Per usual, Pedj did not anticipate the speed of battle. Dimwitted, he stands and stares. “He was SUCKERIN’ you?”

  “He is no longer safe,” I tell Mael. “I do not know what we will do from here, but we must dispose of him.”

  She does not welcome the initiative. “No!” She expands her arms like a protective field in front of her witch.

  “She’s right, Mael. He’s gettin’ worse. We can’t stay around him if he’s always gonna be after you guys. Was bad enough when he was only after you, and you actually like the guy! Try to think how Grim feels with him lickin’ on her. And what if he comes after me next!?”

  I do not think we need worry about that. It is Awyer’s power that will be most in danger, now that the witch has tasted it.

  “Said NO, Pedjram! Leave it alone!” lashes Mael. Then she brings her eyes to mine, interlocking with the intention of finding common ground. Aye, I can relate to her situation. I would not allow anyone to take Awyer from me, even if he were darker than the midnight sky. But it is precisely because of those compromising feelings that I cannot take Mael’s side. Awyer is more important to me than her relationship with Techton. Awyer is more important than anything.

  “You lot aren’t without your issues,” Feligo notes in the midst of our drama. “Unfortunately, you won’t be able to sort them out here. My strength was spent on igniting the neb-light and charging the elevator. If you don’t want your fae to fall, I suggest we hurry inside and change hands.”

  Inside? I did not notice before, but the lift is stopped beside an opening in the wall. The opening gives way to a stout hallway, where a single window, floor to ceiling and thinner than a doorway, lights the stretch, illuminating a pair of doors planted across from one another. Down the center of the ceiling, dead plants reach over the sides of hanging baskets. Some even trail to the floor.

  “Right,” says Pedj. “You hear that, Mael? Leave him where he is and we’ll get on inside–”

  “I’ll stay. You go.”

  “He may yet be hungry when he comes to,” I warn. “You are no more safe than I.”

  “Go, all of you.” Bent over the fallen body of her love, the necromancer escalates to screaming, “GO! GO! GO!”

  Very well. If she wishes to drown with him in darkness, it is her prerogative. There is little we can do.

  I nod to Feligo, and his cloud of Gold allows me afloat as I fly after him from the lift and to the hallway. Pedj lingers behind, appealing to his cousin, before finally giving up and following through the lefthand door.

  The interior of the apartment is clean and cold and dim. In the entry area, a ring-shaped couch fully encircles a small table at the center of the room. Although low to the ground, the couch presents an obvious issue: One cannot enjoy the comfort of a lounge without first climbing over the backrest, as it lacks a point of entry. Whatever trick the Azurians have for utilizing the furniture, it is not obvious.

  The walls of the home are painted with squares of blue, and the floor is covered in faux grass. I do not dare to touch it, for fear of becoming one with it, but from appearance, it is stiff.

  “Wait here,” Feligo orders. “And attempt to conjure some magicks to hold the fae, if you would.”

  It is a perfect opportunity to practice his enchants, and I would rather he conjure something before Feligo’s magicks exhaust, but disobedient Pedj’s immediate order of business, once the silverfox is out of sight, is attempting to tackle the couch. First eyeing the opponent, he takes a wide step over the backside, but catches his foot and ends up tumbling face-first into the opening where the table resides.

  Graceless zombie.

  With the help of Feligo’s Gold, I drift to his side. “Your energy would be better spent mustering an enchant. Also, we should talk while we can,” I tell him.

  “Mfmmbf!”

  “I cannot understand you with your face buried in a pillow.”

  “Ummpfs. Mbforry.” He sits up, hair mussed. “Couldn’t rightly resist, could I? We haven’t got to sit on anythin’ soft in how long?”

  Ah, so that why he could not control his impulses.

  “We really must discuss what we should do about Techton. He is dangerous, and even when civil, he does not accurately convey my wishes! As you know, my concerns for this world are rooted only in making Awyer awaken. You, however, have other motives. You wish to revert the world to its former state to awaken the flow of society, correct? We cannot hope to do either with that witch growing worse and worse by the day. I know Mael will not stand for it, and even though it will cause great hassle if I am without confidant, we must convince her to– You are not listening to a word I say, are you?”

  No. Not a word. Rather than listen, Pedj has been studying me intently. “I was right!” he exclaims suddenly. “You’re different. Your hair’s longer and you . . . How old are you, anyhoop?”

  Strikingly, I am reminded of when Awyer first asked me the same.

  “I-I do not have an age.”

  “You look more like a girl than before, you know? And your . . .” His eyes fall to my chest. “They’ve grown.”

  “DO NOT EXAMINE MY–”

  Slam!

  From somewhere deeper in the apartment, a door shuts, followed by the hurried footsteps of someone running. Pedj and I jump at the ready. Well, to be more exact, Pedj fumbles and I give a bob.

  It matters not.

  “Bad news!” The Maestro leaps into the room. “Magister Bexwin is gone!”

  Chapter VI: Heroic

  “What do you crankin’ mean he’s GONE?!”

  “Gone. He was here when I left, and now he’s gone. There’s only one logical explanation–” Feligo spins to point vindictively at a bookshelf. “He’s been stolen!”

  What has the bookshelf to do with that!?

  “Who’d wanna steal a sleepin’ croop?” says Pedj.

  “I, for one, would steal him in a heartbeat!” shouts Feligo, a little too proudly.

  “Creepy,” says Pedj.

  “He makes a point!” I issue. “If one knew of his importance, and if one believed that crossing into the sleep realm were viable, it would make sense to ‘steal’ him! If the Count sent for Feligo, there is no telling whom else he sent for!”

  “It’s still creepy.”

  “Quiet, zombie!” I grow frustrated. “This is truly misfortunate! Not that I believed I could seriously speak with him whilst asleep, but NOW what are we to do!?”

  This time it is Feligo who stares at me without listening. “Is she really a fae?” he asks of no one, and then to Pedj, “And is she always so . . . frantic?”

  “Guess so,” says Pedj.

  “Frantic? I hardly see how my personality is worth discussing at a time like this! My pactor is vulnerably left on the first floor, there is a hungry witch beyond the door with a sultry necromancer who is just asking for lewd advances, and to top it all off, the Count continues to elude us even in sleep! Will you two not focus?!”

  Silence follows the emissions, until – “Wait a skosh!” – something in my speech registers with the zombie. “How do we even know that croop Bexwin was here to begin with?” He shoots a glare at Feligo. “Could be YOU was leavin’ a trap for us all along! Could be ol’ Bexy was never even here at all!”

  He begins to fortify himself behind a barrier of cushions.

  “Fool!” I scold him. “Cushions will not save you! If you had practiced your mastery of Gold before today, you might have had a fighting chance! As it stands, you will be defeated in a matter of seconds!”

  The fault is his for being indolent.

  Feligo scoffs, “If I intended to set a trap for you, please explain why I wouldn’t have just killed you when we met in the forest?”

  “What, you mean when you were stumbin’ around without your feelers?” says Pedj.

  “Argh! No! After that!”

  “Clumsy, bad sense of direction–” Pedj peeks his head above the pillows – “Hmm, maybe you ain’t so dangerous after all
.”

  “Of course I am! I’m plenty dangerous!” In a flash, Feligo’s sword is drawn.

  “Zombie! Why do you provoke him!?” I do my best to move between the dueling mythics, but because I am forced to rely on Feligo’s Gold, I accomplish nothing more than a putter. The magicks holding me grow weaker. “I must get out of here, back into the free air where I may flit with ease. Before then, however, before I am silenced, we must decide where to go from here. If you wish to take out your aggressions on something, I suggest readying yourselves for battle with the threat beyond the door. Techton is not who he once was. At the hands of Mael and me, he was forced into witchdom, and for that I grieve, but he is doing little to resist his urges. We must part with him if we hope to make any progress! Do you agree?”

  “Absolutely!”

  “Er . . . sure.”

  I am answered twice, once meek, once robust.

  “Maestro Feligo, do you have any idea where the Count may have gone? Did he leave signs that he had awoken, or do you truly believe that he was stolen?”

  “There was nothing!” shouts Feligo. “The bed where I left him appeared unruffled, as though he was never there to begin with!”

  “The croop coulda cleaned up after himself,” suggests Pedj.

  “That–” Feligo again eyes the bookshelf – “Or he was stolen!”

  Aye, that does seem the most logical.

  “If I think on it, I agree that he was taken,” I conclude, chin in hand. “The air here is thicker with Gold. The proof is my visible form. Why would he awaken here, of all places, if the Gold is heavier? Moreover, what point would there be in leaving? I assume you left something in the way of a message for him, should he awaken?”

  “I did! . . . Not leave anything like that,” says Feligo.

  I look to him with horror. Why would he not think to do so?!

  Sigh. This fox is the epitome of rash.

  “There goes that, I suppose, but there is still the matter of heavier Gold. A heavier veil of Gold equals a more suppressing sleepness, in theory.” I scan the room. “But who would go through the trouble of removing him?”

  “Zactly! That’s why I’m thinking he was never here to begin with!” says Pedj.