Dreamleaf Blues (The Book Wielder Saga)

by Sean Davies

  The next morning, they’d cured their hangover with a greasy fry-up – or a Full Imperian Breakfast, as it was commonly known in Imperia – in a nearby café, where the two Sunshield-protected Vampires had seduced their sexy young waitress into meeting them out of eyeshot. The three women had met behind the café, and Veronica had nuzzled at the woman’s neck while Genevieve sated her thirst for blood from the woman’s soft wrist. After they’d drunk their fill and licked the wounds shut, Veronica had pushed the woman against the brick wall, kissed her passionately, and reached up her dress until the waitress had climaxed with a short, sharp squeal. Veronica had waved her hand against the woman’s perspiring brow, sending red wisps of blood magic into her forehead, leaving her in a pleasantly content and satisfied daze. Before Genie had a chance to ask, Veronica had cracked a joke about how it was rude to take blood and not leave ‘a tip’, and sucked her fingers clean with a seductive wink that gave Genevieve butterflies instantaneously. Genie had let out a long, controlled sigh and wondered if she’d be just as sexually vivacious as Veronica in a century or two.

  They had arrived back at Genie’s apartment and spent the rest of the day relaxing, listening to LPs and to the radio. Veronica had rolled them two Dreamleaf joints, claiming that Genie’s therapy was almost complete and that she could indulge in narcotics without becoming dependant on them. Genevieve had eagerly lit her joint and savoured the sweet taste of the magically imbued drug. Veronica had switched on her PC, and to Genevieve’s amazement, she had made it past the impressive web of security passwords that Genevieve had believed to be so skilfully woven. Before she could ask how, Veronica had taken a long drag from her joint and then tapped her temple, a silent reminder that Genevieve’s surface thoughts may as well be vocalised when Veronica was present. However, she had nothing to hide from her friend in the Shadow Circle, and Genie had allowed Veronica to roam the files and games on the powerful computer, while she chilled on the sofa and enjoyed the psychedelic patterns on the ceiling. When Veronica was finished snooping, she’d commented on the excellent writing in her ‘dark fantasy story’, Dreamleaf Blues, and claimed she should finish her account of the events following her transformation into a Vampire and her investigation into Annabelle’s disappearance. Veronica convinced Genevieve that it would make a good story if she recounted it further, and claimed that the Archivists would most likely publish it for Supernaturals to read. Genevieve had been flattered by the compliments, and decided that if she did ever convert her personal story into a book format then she would definitely get Chloe to do the illustrations.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  When the sun set and night blossomed across the sky, Veronica grabbed Genevieve’s coat and slung it towards her. Genie quickly caught the coat and then looked towards the Bloodmage with a confused look upon her face.

  “We’re heading out, sweetie,” Veronica said unhelpfully.

  “I knew that much,” Genie replied. “Where are we going?”

  “It’s a surprise,” Veronica answered wistfully.

  Genevieve groaned. “I hate surprises, especially after everything that’s happened.”

  Veronica sighed as she covered herself with her long black trench coat and adjusted her silky black hair. “We’re going to the fort.”

  “I’m not going back there!” Genie said fearfully. She just couldn’t face it.

  “There’s something you need to see,” Veronica said warmly. “And remember, I can just make you come along regardless…” she joked, wriggling her fingers towards Genie.

  Genevieve reluctantly agreed, not wanting to fall prey to one of Veronica’s mind-altering spells, and together they sped through the night towards Fort Dominia.

  As Genie clutched her fists in anticipation, the lit-up fort came into view as it popped up from the dark countryside. The building looked so different without the Golden Fang’s banners slapped to every available surface, and the ancient stonework was plastered with scaffolding. As they drew nearer, Genie could make out sophisticated-looking Supernaturals hard at work repairing the battlements and reconstructing the outer perimeter walls, but in such a skilled way that the repair work appeared no different from the ancient craftsmanship.

  “We’re sharing with the Archivists,” Veronica said as they approached the open iron gates. “They’ve always wanted to restore this place to the fullest, and now Lucius has given them the means… and the money. There’s plenty of ruined castles out there, Lucius’ old one included, and he’s spared no expense in sourcing building materials that will match the original as best they can. And the rest we’re solving with good ol’ fashioned magic,” the busty Vampire joked.

  “You’re allies with the Archivists too?” Genevieve asked, surprised.

  “Not exactly allies,” Veronica answered, thinking how to word the gang’s arrangement. “The Shadow Circle likes to keep good relations with whoever we can. Friends are worth more than guns and magic, and we’ve absorbed quite a few small-time players, thanks to Lucius’ excellent persuasion and diplomacy skills. He was planning on getting the human gangs on side too, but the Golden Fangs beat him to it, and you’ve seen how they did business…”

  “Yeah, first hand,” Genie grimaced, reliving the events of her last night as a human.

  Veronica parked up and led Genevieve inside, where she greeted the Shadow Circle gang members and Archivists warmly as they passed by. Genevieve spotted a few ex-Golden Fangs, most likely the reluctant members the dungeon girls had pulled out of the firing line, and they cheered when they saw her, once again referring to her as ‘Genevieve the saviour’. She waved to them and smiled, noticing how smart and handsome they looked in the black pinstriped Shadow Circle suits.

  The two Vampires arrived at the dungeons, and Veronica pointed out the new furnishings proudly.

  “We’ve gone for everything new,” the gorgeous Bloodmage began, “but we’re trying to keep the old colour schemes, in case the girls take us up on our offer.”

  Genevieve pursed her lips but said nothing, knowing that that final decision had been put onto her shoulders.

  “We’re extending into the unused rooms, past where the poorly enchanted doors used to lead,” Veronica continued when Genie didn’t comment. “We’ve got some male Supernatural escorts raring and ready to go!” she added excitedly.

  Again, Genevieve said nothing, and she noticed that Veronica had no intention of stopping at the dungeons. She halted in her tracks.

  “I’m not going any further…” Genie said, shaking slightly.

  Veronica held out her hand. “Trust me, you’re going to like it.” She spoke so earnestly that Genie took her hand almost immediately.

  They arrived in the old mock interrogation room, which also showed signs of heavy renovation, including proper electronic lighting. Massive fridges and drink coolers were still wrapped in plastic, waiting to be arranged and powered on, and new storage shelves had been fixed neatly to the walls.

  Veronica went down the trapdoor first, and Genevieve took a series of deep breaths before following on. The first thing she noticed was that the stench of incense curdled with decay had been replaced with cool crisp air and the inviting fragrances of a large variety of flowers. When Genie reached the bottom rung and turned, she couldn’t believe she was standing in the same room where she’d duelled Seth to the death.

  Four large lights now painted the room in a hazy white glow, reminding Genie of the light of the twin moons. The smaller cells had been torn down completely, making the cellar look bigger, and there wasn’t a torture device or body part in sight. Lining three of the room’s four walls were white marble gravestones and masses of magically enchanted flowers growing behind them, and standing tall and proud in the room’s centre, covering most of the circular metal grate, was a life-size statue of Annabelle depicted as an angel standing in front of two crescent moon shapes. The craftsmanship was better than excellent, and Genevieve couldn’t fault a single millimetre of the smooth white stone.

 
; Tears welled up in Genevieve’s eyes, and she wiped them away before speaking. “Your boss did all of this?”

  “Everything except the flowers,” Veronica replied as she put an arm around Genie’s shoulders. “They’re Varsara’s doing. Turns out she has a green thumb as well as a… cocktail thumb? Whatever, you get the point. See, not every boss is a women-bashing nut job like Seth Fleur d’Or.”

  Genevieve chuckled at the mention of Seth’s real name, but still felt it was a step up from the gaudy ‘Goldfang’. She stared up at the angelic visage of her fallen love and wished her the best in the strange, blue-grassed paradise she’d glimpsed in her lucid dream.

  “You’re free to visit this shrine whether you take the Captain position or not,” Veronica said, giving her a squeeze. “I just wanted you to see there was a place for you to pay your respects.”

  Genevieve snapped out of her reverie, not caring that her red eyes were streaming tears in a mix of joy and sorrow, and broke away from Veronica’s embrace. She reached out and shook Veronica’s hand.

  “Tell Lucius and the girls I’ll take the job,” Genevieve said definitively.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Five years whizzed by in a heartbeat, and although Genevieve would never truly be over her beloved Annabelle, she had made the best of her Supernatural life within the Shadow Circle gang.

  She walked down Woodsholme’s poor excuse of a high street merrily, sporting her latest hairdo of long dark blue waves with light blue highlights, and her now trademarked side-shave was complete with a tattoo of a large blue Nightmare Nettle. Genie had the tattoo done at Sasha’s Salon as soon as the hyperactive mage had officially branched out into the ink business, and enjoyed the bewildered reaction she received from humans who obviously didn’t know where Dreamleaf originated from. Like the silver locket she always wore around her pale neck, the nettle was a reminder of the love and loss she’d experienced, and the mad journey that had led to her appointment as a Shadow Circle Captain.

  The position was highly engaging and rewarding, and in-between monitoring the situation with the Triumvir of Sorrow (who had popped up in the Morriganigh and Golden Fang’s absence) and engaging in the odd bloody skirmish, Genevieve had been hard at work converting her own origin story into the Dreamleaf Blues novel. The Book Wielder Chloe, who she was on the way to meet, had already long beaten her to the finish line with the illustrative work and made a point to pester Genie to finish her writing whenever they met.

  The Archivist and Circle Book Wielders had recently reported that the Demon tower Chloe auditioned in had disappeared from the Gloom reflection of Fort Dominia, after numerous sightings of dragons flying down from the curdled purple sky, and claimed that it had reappeared on the other side of Imperia City, at the site of the World GOVT building. Genevieve had felt a renewed sense of relief that the Gloom was confined to its own dimension, as the idea of dragons made her skin prickle with fright, but the strange relocation of the Demon tower now made Fort Dominia an excellent crossing point for the gang’s Book Wielders. As such, she always had a massive inventory of reagents for her Alchemists to work on, and an impressive stock of potions to catalogue.

  Genevieve looked up at the cloudy sky and sighed. It had been sunny in the morning when she’d treated herself to a Sunshield potion, but the sky had quickly become overcast towards the afternoon and showed no sign of letting up. Genie had dressed for the sun on her self-appointed day off, and as such she was underdressed in a pair of denim hot pants, thin tights, and black crop top, but assured herself that she still was overdressed by Veronica’s naughty standards.

  She had been shopping and was now on her way to the Night Owl, the new restaurant that had been built on the ruins of the Woodsholme Grill. Dane, the Grill’s ill-fated manager, had retreated to Tidussex City on Rura’s western point. However, his new life had been hard to adjust to and he’d wound up visiting a psychiatrist at night, as he spent his days struggling in a minimum wage job at the docks. The shrink had turned out to be a small-time Vampire Bloodmage who made a living from using her powers to help humans deal with their problems. The psychiatrist, Clarissa, also shared a love for cooking, and one thing eventually led to another. They ended up getting married on a preserved galleon under the light of the twin moons. Dane had chosen to become a Mage, courtesy of Clarissa’s maid of honour, so that he’d never have to face the world of the Supernaturals in fear again. He also claimed that magic worked wonders in the kitchen. The couple had moved back to Woodsholme, and used their combined savings to restore the old site and build the brand-new Night Owl restaurant, complete with heavily tinted windows and twenty-four-hour service.

  Genevieve and Chloe made a point of meeting up for a catch-up every few months, and Genie would leave Kaylie, Tanesha, and Varsara to run the fort. Under their combined leadership, no customer got to raise their hands to any of the staff again, and there were always Shadow Circle guards present to kick the living crap out of anyone who didn’t adhere to the rules of conduct.

  Although Chloe and Genie’s meet-ups were always closely watched by the Trinity of Old, the girls still had a good time and gossiped about all sorts, leaving out any secretive details from their respective organisations. Sometimes, Jonathan Knight would chaperone Chloe’s surface time, in which case the mood was lighter and the drinks flowed more liberally. Chloe’s parents still lived down in the Catacombs, apparently in very prestigious accommodations due to Chloe’s status as a Book Wielder, although the brave red-head still claimed to be ‘crap’ at her job. The last time they’d met, Chloe had revealed a crush on a new Book Wielder recruit, but only let on that he had blonde hair and was brimming with confidence, and Genie was eager to learn if they’d hooked up or not.

  Genevieve opened her locket and took a fleeting look at the picture of Annabelle in the silver frame. She prayed she was at peace, as she often did, and hoped that she was breaking hearts left, right, and centre in the afterlife. Genie closed the little locket and carried on towards the Night Owl with her bags of shopping in hand, and was completely unaware of the young man ogling her from across the street, right beside the used book store.

  Epilogue

  Winston Reynolds watched the pale-skinned blue-haired beauty, who was rocking a side shave and a weird blue nettle tattoo, as she walked off down the road, and he studied her firm shapely backside, thanking the heavens for hot pants.

  “One day, I’m going to hook up with a woman like that…” Winston said wistfully, resettling his brown hair that he kept swept to the side.

  He was a handsome man with an inviting face, although he didn’t think so himself, and his eyes were dark green and filled with an untapped depth of mystery. His skin was pale, but nowhere near as white as the gorgeous woman he had been checking out. He wasn’t muscular or toned, but he wasn’t overweight or skinny either. Winston described himself as average through and through; little did he know, that statement couldn’t be further from the truth.

  He had just walked out from yet another part-time job at a local supermarket, after having a heated argument with his manager about his future in the shop. Winston’s exasperated manager had been pushing him towards a supervisory role, claiming that Winston had a keen mind and a wealth of unused potential. However, Winston was often consumed by bouts of arrogance when he was around pushy people, something he chalked up to his overactive mind and his self-appointed place on the edge of society, and finally snapped at his latest manager’s dozenth attempt to get him to climb the ladder. Winston didn’t mean to sound superior, but he claimed that the job was beneath him and that he was waiting for something better. What he was waiting for he couldn’t quite describe or explain, but he had been waiting for it his entire life.

  Winston let out a dreary sigh, knowing that his parents would use the latest turn of events in his ‘career’ as an excuse to chew his ear off about signing up to the Military Peace Keeping organisation. The two old war veterans had been on at Winston his entire life about the glorious h
onour of serving Imperia, but Winston couldn’t think of anything worse than being stuck in such a rigid and restricted lifestyle – although he noticed that the corrupt MPKs seemed to have a whale of a time. If his parents ever got their wish, Winston imagined jokingly that he’d spend his time looking the other way while the criminals lined his pockets for the privilege.