Blood of Jackals

by Todd Marcelas Moreno

  “Why would I want him dead?”

  “Revenge. You’re easy to predict, Taniell. All I do is get in touch with my feminine-self. And let me tell you, she is one icy bitch.”

  “Then why waste time sending us all about?”

  “One must eliminate the possibilities somehow, Taniell. You know, follow the leads? I can’t look everywhere myself.”

  “And ‘everywhere’ is a possibility,” Kamarin fumed, “is that it? I guess that would even include that sty you call a bedroom.” Kamarin gestured with her head behind her shoulder.

  “Did you look in my bedroom?”

  Kamarin did not respond.

  “There, see? One more possibility eliminated. I think you underestimate the value I place on your efforts, Taniell.”

  “Enough of this,” said Kamarin, pushing past Steuben on her way out.

  “What? You’re leaving? I was just about to whip us up a spinach casserole.”

  Kamarin stopped at the door. “Just tell me: Do you want him rescued?”

  Steuben paused a moment. “Yes,” he said finally.

  “Then stop wasting everyone’s time.”

  Steuben waited for Kamarin’s footsteps to sound down the hall before going to a hidden compartment near the door. Its contents had not been found. Pocketing the data file given to him by Bishop Wyren of the NDB Church, Steuben left the apartment for the last time, without kissing a single rat good-bye.

  - - -

  Agnes Meres checked on her cake as Kaela stirred the sauce for dinner.

  “Favorite Family Recipes of the Countess-Grandia,” Gawin Meres read, holding a portascreen in his hands. “The Countess-Grandia cooked?”

  “That’s what it says,” his mother said.

  “I thought they had servants and all that.”

  “They do,” Agnes said. “But sometimes she would cook things herself, as a special gift, or blessing, for her family.”

  “Blessing?”

  “The Countess-Grandia was...she believed that when a mother made a meal for her family, it was a sacrament. A holy thing. A mother who feeds her children gives them a gift, a part of herself. Her efforts, and her love, go into the food. Such meals are special.”

  “But you cook for us all the time.”

  “Yes,” Agnes Meres said with a faint smile. “I do.”

  “But Mama,” Kaela asked, still stirring the sauce, “do you think the Countess-Grandia really cooked for her family?”

  “From what I heard about her,” Agnes replied, “I think she did for her son.”

  “Lord Derrick,” Gawin said, looking at an old picture of the Countess-Grandia and Derrick, as a child.

  Agnes Meres nodded.

  “When did she die anyway?” Gawin asked, scrolling through the recipes.

  “A few years ago,” Agnes answered. “Murdered. It was all...well, sad.”

  “I still don’t believe it,” Gawin declared, putting the portascreen aside. “Why go through all that bother if you don’t have to?”

  “Love is a strange thing,” Agnes Meres said.

  “We’re back!” Jair said as he and Derrick entered the house.

  “You’re early,” called his mother.

  “What’s that fantastic smell?” Jair said, walking directly to the kitchen.

  “Dinner,” his mother said. “But it’s not ready, so don’t touch anything. I just thought we’d have something special tonight.”

  “What is it?” asked Jair, ignoring his sister’s glare. The chat over love had gone poorly.

  “Something the Countess-Grandia used to make her son, Lord Derrick, before she died,” Gawin answered.

  Jair looked at his younger brother and stopped. Catching himself, he was about to continue as if his brother’s reply had no further significance when he saw everyone begin to stare. Slowly, Jair turned to glance behind him.

  Derrick stood not three paces from the door. Tears had fallen from his eyes, but he was not crying. He just stood there, his nostrils flaring, as if they sought something beyond the smells that had gone throughout the house.

  Meres walked up to Derrick, and helped take off his coat.

  “What’s wrong with him, Mama,” Gawin asked. “He looks sick.”

  “Homesick maybe,” Agnes Meres said, upset over not having considered how her guest might react to her surprise. “Kaela, see to him.” Kaela rushed to obey.

  “But he hasn’t been here that long,” Gawin said.

  “He’s not been home for a long time, Gawin. And can’t go back.”

  “He can’t go back home?”

  “Not to the one he knew,” his mother answered.

  Jair and Kaela eased Derrick into a chair. His tears were still coming.

  “I am sorry,” said Derrick. “I do not know what is wrong with me.”

  “It’s alright,” Agnes Meres said. She looked down at her younger son, the one who had doubted the author of the cookbook. “Well Gawin, I think we have the answer to your question.” Gawin looked at his mother with incomprehension. She patted her son’s shoulder. “Go fetch Angren something to drink,” she said.

  “Yes, Mama.” Gawin picked up a glass just as Derrick called out.

  “Something’s going on in his head,” Kaela said, her hands to Derrick’s temples. “I don’t know what’s causing it.”

  “Jair,” Derrick whispered. “My hands and arms tingle, like the circulation is being cut off. And my eyes. I cannot see.”

  Jair Meres knelt beside him. “You’re blind?”

  “No. It is like everything is…distant. With crazy lines moving about.”

  “Moving across your vision?”

  “They move with my eyes. Stationary but... fluctuating… erratic...”

  Derrick’s eyes drooped as the muscles of his face slackened.

  “What’s wrong with him now?” Meres asked his sister, steadying Derrick with his hand. Kaela shook her head, the pain of not knowing plain on her face. “Talk to me,” Meres said, nudging Derrick. “What’s wrong?”

  “Lights,” Derrick said, covering his eyes with his hands. “Turn them off.”

  “Gawin,” Meres called, “turn off the lights.” Meres turned back to Derrick. “What’s happening now?”

  “Smell,” Derrick wheezed. His stomach convulsed in an attempted heave. “Have to get out... nauseous...” Derrick started to get out of his chair.

  Meres quickly helped him up. Upon rising, Derrick cried and immediately buckled as his hands shot to the sides of his head. Meres caught him and kept him from falling.

  “Your head,” Meres said. “Where does it hurt?”

  Derrick moaned and thrashed about, his every move making the pain more unbearable.

  - - -

  XIII

  The Akinser witch known as Hestori held up the head of another of Derrick’s servants between her pointed fingers. With the man’s eyes burned out of his skull from the inside, the rest of his shriveled body hung limp before Hestori dropped his corpse to the floor. As with the other Palace maids, grooms, valets and such scattered about the room, he had been useless.

  Hestori looked to her Dark Sisters, arrayed around her in the candle-lit chamber, down in the vaults of the Palace. Since Lady Morays’ charge to find Derrick, they had used their mystic vision in every way they could to locate him. This latest attempt had given them no better results.

  “That was the last of the lordling’s attendants, Sister,” one witch confirmed.

  “Lilth,” Hestori called with her thoughts to faraway Crucidel.

  Asleep, the Voxny Viscountess heard her. “Yes?” Lilth replied, satisfying her annoyance at being woken by psychically expelling a young man from her bed with a lifting of her finger. His fall ended with an ungracious thump.

  “We have tried all of your cousiné’s personal servants here at the Palace. Their connection to him was inadequate.”

  “You went through them all? The senior staff as well?”

  “Their connection to him
would be even more remote. We need someone closer to him if we are to sufficiently focus our vision.”

  “Do you mean like his grandfather?”

  “That one has reportedly seen his grandson but once in the last twenty years.”

  “A friend then.” Lilth scoffed. “Or a lover. I do not know if she has bedded him, but there is that Sukain bitch. They have been working closely together.”

  “What about your niece?”

  Across the space that separated them, through the planet core itself, Lilth Morays paled. Had the situation really come this far? “Vialette?” she asked, wary of the line she was to cross.

  “To find a path to your cousiné, we need a strong link. Your niece spent a lot of time with him since his father’s trial, no? She has feelings for him too.”

  “Her awareness is imprisoned,” said Lilth, referring to her porcelain figurine.

  “If the dormant memories within her physical form can be awakened, your memento may keep. We would only need her body to ground our vision.”

  “But you will...” Lilth pondered her reluctance. Vialette’s punishment had not meant to be permanent. The stupid little wretch had angered her, but Lilth had never thought to kill her. That was why her body was still being attended. Yet Vialette had betrayed her. Death would have been a just result. Besides, they were all in too deep now to be squeamish.

  “And if retrieving your cousiné is as important as you say...” Hestori added, as if completing Lilth’s thought.

  “Very well,” Lilth replied, rolling on her side as she psychically yanked the now wandering man back to her bed. “You may have her.”

  - - -

  Guishaun Possór exited his father’s audience hall to see the castle’s major domo standing before him. Having again wasted his time trying to talk sense to his father, he was in no mood to let his father’s servant waste even more time.

  “I told you he did not want to be disturbed, my Lord,” the major domo said. “If you had waited for a more opportune moment...”

  “It wouldn’t have mattered,” Guishaun replied, turning down a new corridor. The major domo kept pace. “Why are you following me?” Guishaun asked.

  “I am attending you, my Lord. Are you heading for your brother’s rooms?”

  “You will refer to him as ‘Lord Varian,’” said Guishaun.

  “Lord Varian might not be willing to see you, my Lord. He refuses to unlock the door, even for the servants to enter.”

  “His rooms were designed so that servants do not have to enter.”

  “Lately he has taken to barricading himself in, my Lord.”

  Guishaun stopped. “Why? What have the servants been doing?”

  “Nothing extraordinary, my Lord. Lord Varian disabled the auto-drawing curtain mechanisms. Someone must go and open them manually.”

  “My brother likes them closed.”

  “My Lord, it is for the best. He gets little or no exposure to natural light.”

  “It’s not for servants to decide what’s best for my brother. Given his condition, he’s entitled to whatever comfort he can enjoy.”

  “With all due respect, my Lord, Lord Varian will never get better unless he starts getting what he needs. He needs to be out in the open air, in the sun. He needs real human interaction, not those detestable mechanical toys that only simulate human responses. He needs—”

  “You and I know that my brother will never get what he really needs, let alone all that he needs. Things such as opening his curtains when he wants them closed serves no useful purpose. You will therefore tell the servants to stop tormenting him. You will also dismiss the servant who caused this trouble to begin with.”

  “My Lord, I cannot dismiss him. He only did what we all thought was best.”

  Guishaun spun around slowly and faced the man. “I will hold you responsible if anything like this happens again. Do you understand?”

  “You have no authority to dismiss me, my Lord. There is no point—”

  Guishaun drew near the major domo and looked him in the eyes. The man took a step back before straightening and holding his ground.

  “I will be plain: If anyone harasses my brother, I will kill you for it.”

  Although Guishaun did not psychically amplify his threat, the major domo gasped. “My Lord,” the menaced man managed, “you cannot be serious.”

  “But I am,” Guishaun replied. “My brother lives in a cage. But the wisdom of making it safe and comfortable for him is not yours to debate, and I will not tolerate anyone causing him distress. So tell the servants: if any of them poke him from outside his cage again, I will cut their fucking finger off at the arm.”

  The major domo swallowed once before considering something. “Yes, my Lord,” he said finally. To Guishaun, there was still a note of smug toleration in the man’s tone, but he could not think of any further threats he could make without appearing weaker for having made them. If the man did retaliate against Guishaun’s brother after Guishaun was gone, he would really have to consider what to do with the major domo. Perhaps he would consult with his Aunt Lilth.

  “Good,” Guishaun finally replied. “Now get away from me.”

  “Yes, my Lord,” the man said, bowing once before retreating.

  Guishaun waited until the man was gone before he turned to his brother’s door and pressed the bell-tone. “Varian? It’s Guishaun. Let me in?”

  There was no answer. Sighing, Guishaun closed his eyes and projected his awareness forward. Even before Varian’s psychological decline made Guishaun to master the projection discipline, Guishaun had taken to his psychic training in earnest. Given the two brothers’ isolation, Guishaun simply had little else to do.

  Using his psychic vision, Guishaun looked about the room. When they were young, Guishaun would mentally scan his brother’s room. The advantage was that he could look for his brother without being easily sensed. The disadvantage was that Varian could psychically cloak his presence to nullify the scan, having trained himself to be sensitive to psychic activity. Guishaun reasoned that this was in defense against their father, though it never seemed to save him. Over time, Varian not only learned to anticipate Guishaun’s scans, he found a way to maintain his psychic cloak continuously, without any conscious effort. When Guishaun realized this, he in turn learned to look for other signs of his brother’s presence, such as moving objects and disappearing food. Varian then began to remain still whenever he sensed a psychic scan. And so they had perfected each other’s skill, one to engage with his brother, the other to hide from all the world.

  Guishaun found Varian sitting on his bed. His left leg was shaking up and down as Varian repeatedly ran a hand through his short-cropped, self-cut hair.

  “I heard voices outside,” Varian said, now petting his small, light-brown rabbit while looking at the place where Guishaun’s projection hovered before him. Varian had the uncanny ability to appear even to look Guishaun in the eyes.

  “I spoke with Father’s pet reptile,” Guishaun replied. “The servants will not be bothering you about the drapes anymore. Or anything else. If they do, call me, and I will deal with them.”

  “It started when you left,” Varian said.

  “They know better now.”

  Varian nodded, patted his pet one last time, and stood. Walking around Guishaun’s projection as if it was a physical object, Varian went to his door, moved the table he had used to block it, deactivated the lock, and opened it. Guishaun let his projection fade as he entered. Varian was already walking to a chair when Guishaun closed the door behind him.

  “Would you like something to eat?” Varian asked.

  “I’m not too hungry now,” said Guishaun, taking a chair. “But I am thirsty.”

  “I have some juice,” Varian offered.

  “That would be great,” said Guishaun.

  Varian stood again and went to another room, returning with two glasses of fruit punch. It was a bit sweet for Guishaun’s taste, but he drank it anyway.


  “Our father wants to be grandee,” Guishaun said finally. Varian said nothing. “The Consortium and the NDB are using him to control Uncle Jordan, who also wants to be grandee.”

  “Uncle Jordan plans to marry Lord Tehasing’s oldest daughter. The younger one is prettier though. And closer to Cousiné Derrick’s age. But only one can marry into House Tehasing’s title and money. And Lord Tehasing considers his younger daughter a throw-away.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  “The news,” Varian replied simply. “Poor Cousiné Derrick. His mother was beautiful. I used to think his father was lucky. Not because he was grandee. But because he married her.”

  “Any more talk of marriages, and I’ll need something stronger than juice,” Guishaun quipped, taking another sip of his drink.

  “Do you think I will ever get married?”

  Guishaun was caught in mid-swallow. “What?” he said, coughing.

  “I wish I could get married,” Varian went on. “And have a family. Do you think I will ever meet a woman? And have children?”

  “Ah—”

  “I would be good to them, Guishaun,” Varian promised.

  “I don’t think it will happen, Varian,” Guishaun said sadly.

  Varian’s shoulders sagged.

  “Not if you just stay in your rooms, Varian,” Guishaun explained.

  “But I go outside sometimes.”

  “Visiting Mother’s balcony doesn’t count,” Guishaun said. “And remember what I said on that. Let Mother be at peace.” Varian began rocking in his seat. Talking about their mother’s suicide always had this effect on him. Guishaun gave him time to calm down again.

  “I do not go there much anymore, Guishaun,” Varian said solemnly.

  “Good.”

  “How far would I have to go outside my rooms?” Varian asked.

  “What?”

  “Would I have to leave the Palace?”

  “Possibly not,” Guishaun breathed, realizing his brother was again talking about finding a wife. “But you would have to get used to being around people.”

  Varian started rocking again. “People make me nervous.”

  “I know. But there are certain people who can help—”