by J. S. Malcom
“You make that look easy,” I say, bending down to strap my athame into its sheath.
“Golorks aren't particularly bright,” Esras says. “But they're sure as hell loud.”
“Yeah, I noticed that too.”
Esras's eyes meet mine. “Which means everyone within ten blocks now knows someone who's bleeding just came through these alleys. Come on, we better keep moving.”
At that same moment another sound cuts through the air, this time the wail of a klaxon horn. It keeps growing louder, rising and falling throughout the city. There's no doubt it can be heard for miles.
“What the hell is that about?”
Esras sighs. “They’ve called a military curfew. Anyone seen out after this will be killed on sight.”
CHAPTER 8
We make our way through more alleys, thankfully without encountering any more golorks. We enter one more, which we follow until it ends at a stone wall. Even in the dark, I can see that it’s thick with moss and ivy. I assume Esras has his act together better than to get us lost, and I'm proved right when he performs a series of precise hand motions. A seam appears in the stone, etched at first in blue light, and then widening into a gap big enough to step through.
I hesitate, instinct telling me I have no idea what's behind that stone wall or if I'll be able to get out again. I'm being ridiculous, I know. Esras didn't just rig a sword fight and a creepy creature encounter to gain my trust. In fact, he’s repeatedly risked his life to help me. Obviously, I can trust him. One of these days maybe I'll face the fact that I've been traumatized in twenty different ways, at least, and find myself a decent therapist. No wonder things didn't work out with Phoenix.
The magical door slides closed behind us, and we descend a stone staircase leading to another door, this one a thick slab of wood. It too swings open upon Esras issuing another fluid gesture. Not for the first time, it occurs to me that he retains his ability to perform magic when my own abilities remain somehow blocked. Of course, there can only be one reason. Because he's Seelie. Which isn't exactly working as a disadvantage at the moment, but it does seem a little ironic. After all, he's currently aiding the very person who, if what Cade hopes is true, could ultimately relieve him of his magical power. Which once again begs the question. Why does Esras keep helping me?
Beyond the door, I half-expect to find a gloomy cellar with spider webs and scuttling rats. Instead, we enter a chamber that looks surprisingly comfortable. The walls are indeed stone, but they're smooth and painted light blue. The floor is mostly covered by a plush, ornately woven rug of green and gray hues. There's also a sofa, a couple of sitting chairs and a table. The wall displays a large map of Scintillia, the Barrens and the country beyond, which isn't someplace I've considered before. I've always assumed everything beyond the city kingdom to be wasteland, but while the map depicts the Barrens in white, the territories farther out are shaded tan and green. As I take in the room, I get the feeling it’s a place where people meet. A secret place, obviously, given how we entered.
Now that we finally stopped moving, and seem to be out of danger, everything I've been through hits me like a freight train. My legs feel like lead, my entire body aches, and I'm suddenly dizzy. Enough so, that I feel unsteady on my feet. I feel flushed, and I peel off my jacket to see the gash upon my upper arm. Blood continues to flow from it, collecting on the dried blood originating from when I first suffered the wound. The sight does nothing to lessen my lightheadedness. I drop onto the sofa, being careful to keep my arm above my blood-spattered jeans. They're trash now anyway, so I might as well spare the nice rug.
“Good idea,” Esras says. “Take a seat.” I’m about to tell him it’s not like I had a choice, when he adds, “I’ll be right back.”
He leaves the room and I let out a sigh. I sink back, resting my head against the sofa as I close my eyes. A hundred images flicker through my mind. I see burning buildings, Seelie soldiers, and the frightened faces of the crowd. I see Cade’s desperate expression as he reached out to me through the human tidal wave. I see those men who confronted me, and that moment of death for one of them as Esras’s blade pierced his chest. The image that keeps playing over and over again, though, is that of Vintain sitting upon his horse, as he disdainfully beheld the people he’d come to intimidate.
That was the first time I truly saw his face. Before that, I’d seen him only in a dream, one I’ll never forget. It happened on the night when I’d been just about to invite Grayson into my bed. Suddenly, a bad feeling had washed over me. I’d made up an excuse and gotten out of the car. Thank God I did. I shudder now to think how close I came to having sex with him.
“Feeling any better?”
My eyes pop open at the sound of Esras’s voice, and I see the concern in his eyes. Definitely a welcome sight compared to what I just saw inside my mind. The truth is, he’d be a welcome sight anytime, which isn’t something I ever imagined feeling about a man whose ears rise into points. But there’s no denying that he’s handsome. Stunning, in fact, with his tall and muscular physique, and his perfect face framed in lustrous black hair. There’s no doubt that he inherited his mother’s physical beauty. Thankfully, he doesn’t appear to have inherited much else in the way of her personality traits, if any at all.
Esras carries a basin to the sofa and takes a seat beside me. The basin holds soapy water, as well as a cloth, which Esras wrings out as he keeps his eyes on mine. “May I?” he says.
I nod and roll the sleeve of my t-shirt up onto my shoulder, doing my best not to wince. I really don’t want to look, but it’s not like I have a choice. The gash is puckered wide, oozing blood and what I’m pretty sure is pus. The skin around it is inflamed and red. Shit. This can’t be good. Who the hell knows what kind of bacteria might exist in Faerie that’s lethal to humans? Who knows when the scumbag who stabbed me last washed the blade of his dagger? If he ever did. Or how many bodies it had been plunged into before he was brought to an end by a blade himself.
Great. I’ve kicked the asses of vampires, demons and nasty-ass ghosts. Not to mention body-snatchers. And I’m about to be brought down by a faery infection. Definitely didn’t see that one coming. Then again, it’s hard to anticipate getting stabbed while visiting a place that’s not supposed to exist.
Esras gently presses the cloth to my arm, above the cut, and the soapy water both stings and feels like heaven. I buck in my seat as I draw in a sharp breath.
“Doing okay?” he says.
I look into his eyes and nod. “Yes.”
He submerges the cloth and wrings it out again. I glance down to see blood spreading through the basin, pink tendrils floating out beneath the suds.
“It might be better not to look,” Esras says. “Maybe try closing your eyes.”
“Yeah, good idea.” I do as advised and let my head sink back again.
As Esras continues cleaning the wound, that pleasant warmth from before returns and starts to flow through me. As the seconds pass, the sensation keeps growing stronger. He keeps wringing out the cloth and pressing it to my skin, gently rubbing up and down my arm. It makes no sense, but soon that rippling warmth vibrates through my entire body. The good news is that I’m no longer feeling the burning pain of the knife wound. The bad news is that I’m suddenly horny as hell. To the point where, when Esras touches me again, my legs go slack and I let out a soft moan.
“Did I hurt you? I’m sorry.”
My eyes pop open and I see that same concerned expression, when I almost expected a knowing smile. He has no idea what his touch does to me? It would appear not, thankfully. Right now, I just don’t need to hand over control like that. Not a good idea. Right?
“Should I keep going?”
Oh, shit. I hesitate, and then say, “Yes, please. I mean, you probably should.”
“Okay, try to relax. This shouldn’t take long.”
Take all the time you need. “Okay.”
I close my eyes, settle back again, and listen as Esras rinse
s the cloth. He brings it back to my skin, gently rubbing. And, yes, it happens again. That pleasant warmth vibrates through me, rippling out from my core. If this guy was a doctor in the human realm, women would be lined up around the block. Or guys. Whatever. No judgement. But, oh my God. At least this time I manage to keep my mouth shut and don’t let out anymore involuntary gasps of pleasure.
Am I supposed to feel pleasure when a being from another realm cleans a knife wound on my arm? I highly doubt this. Yes, I need to find a therapist as soon as I get back.
“Okay, it looks clean,” Esras says. “You should be good.”
Really? Damn. I open my eyes as he sets the cloth back into the basin. He puts that on the floor and I dare to look at the gash on my arm. It definitely looks better, but it’s still gaping and inflamed.
“That looks pretty good,” I say.
I mean, I don’t want to sound ungrateful, and it’s not like he can whisk me out to some fae emergency room. I guess they must have something like that around here, but there’s the military curfew to consider. Plus the fact that I’m a human witch who has just scored the number one spot in the Seelie “Most Wanted” list.
Esras nods and inspects the wound again. “I agree. Cleaning it first seems to make a difference. Now, let’s see about healing it.”
Huh?
He raises his hands, fingers spread, and closes his eyes. His face remains still, but just a slight tightening at the corner of his eyes tells me that he’s concentrating. The warm vibration from before rises again inside me. It spreads through my body, tickling all of my senses. Soon, it’s at least three times stronger than before, while continuing to get more intense. I can barely think.
“Oh, God.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
“Keep going?”
“I think you should.”
“Are you sure?”
“Definitely.”
The vibration grows even stronger, and then stronger again. It takes everything I have not to cry out. It literally feels like his magic is mingling with my own, at least the magic that’s buried deep within me. Part of me knows this is absolutely ridiculous, that I’ve lost all control. Most of me doesn’t care. Keep it together, Cassie, I tell myself. Just keep it together. This is strictly professional.
I hang onto the absurdity of the thought that there could be anything normal about what I’m experiencing, and I make it through without succumbing completely. Just barely.
I come to my senses when I hear Esras’s voice again. He sounds pleased this time. “Much better. Have a look.”
I do, and I gasp at what I see. My arm looks perfectly normal, my skin pink and glowing. The only sign that I was even cut shows on the back of my hand and around my fingers, where brown crusty blotches still show from where blood ran down my arm.
Despite how many times I’ve seen magic, I can’t help but say, “That’s amazing.”
Esras smiles, and I realize it’s the first time I’ve seen him do so. His expression softens, his eyes light up, and all the tension leaves his face. I see a kind person looking back at me, and I feel like a complete fool for having doubted him.
I hear a voice inside me say, Therapy, girl. Therapy.
“Would you like to take a shower?” Esras says.
My eyes rivet back to his again. I open my mouth but no words come out.
Esras nods toward the door. “It’s just down the hall. I also left some clothes in there for you. I’m not sure if they’ll fit, but at least they’re clean.”
Right, okay. He means shower alone. Not my first choice, but probably a good idea. As for clothes, who cares if they fit? Mine stink of smoke and they’re covered with blood. Amazingly, Esras looks to have come through fairly unscathed. Okay, whatever. He’s good with a sword. Put him up against a vampire and let’s see what happens.
CHAPTER 9
It would appear that the time I spent resting, along with Esras working his fae mojo on me, has put enough strength back into my legs that I make it out the door and down the hall. I see only one lit doorway, which proves to be a bathroom. And, as Esras said, there is indeed a shower, along with a folded towel and a bundle of clothes. Where they came from, I really don’t care. I turn on the water, strip down and get in as soon as steam starts to rise.
By the time I get back, Esras has removed all traces of putting me back together. The basin is gone, and I don’t want to know where. The sooner I forget getting slashed open, the better. He stands regarding the map on the wall, but turns as I come into the room.
“Oh, good, they fit,” he says.
By which he means the clothes I now wear, dark brown leather pants and a light green blouse, embroidered at the collar and with long billowing sleeves. I’ve rolled the sleeves up because they’re annoying.
“Who do they belong to?”
Esras shakes his head, as if I just said something that makes no sense. “You,” he says.
Oh. Right. He just gave them to me. Different culture. Presumably here, who the clothes belonged to before no longer matters. A gift is a gift.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. How’s your arm?”
“Perfect,” I say, because it's true. I hold it out for him to see. My arm looks like nothing ever happened.
Esras nods, apparently satisfied. “Well, it helped that the wound was still fresh. I doubt we would have seen the same kind of result if much more time had passed. In that case, you'd almost certainly have a scar.”
Talk about humble. The guy just made an infected dagger wound disappear and he's acting like he did an acceptable job washing the dishes. But the conversation offers an opening into that other thing I was wondering about before. Although I try to approach it diplomatically.
“If you could still use magic, why didn't you use it against those guys?” I mean, it only makes sense. Why go at it with swords when you can take care of things with a few hand gestures and possibly an incantation?
Esras hesitates as he considers. I can also tell from his expression that the subtext didn't escape his notice. If you could still use magic. As in you, not me. Then he shrugs and says, “My viewpoint on the use of magic differs from that shared by many of my people. As you've probably observed, our methods aren't sustainable.”
I plop down onto the sofa again, letting out a satisfied sigh. Ladylike as always. Esras opts for one of the chairs. Damn.
“Yeah, I've noticed. What's your viewpoint?”
Again, Esras hesitates, and the feeling I get is that his opinion isn't one he often shares openly. “Personally, I don't believe magic should be used for confrontational purposes. Not unless the circumstances are particularly dire.”
“You don't consider four guys with daggers a dire circumstance?”
The corner of Esras's mouth quirks as he resists a smile. I can tell he's trying not to seem egotistical. Definitely humble.
“Well, they didn't strike me as being particularly skilled,” he says. “Their kind never are. They spend their lives intimidating the vulnerable and outnumbered. In a word, cowards.”
Dead cowards now, not that I feel bad about it. Technically, I didn’t kill them, but I'm well aware that what just happened was the first time I’ve been involved with the death of humans. Well, technically fae, but up until now it's been a matter of ousting supernatural entities. Sometimes those entities have been posing as human, but that's not my problem. And it’s not the same thing. On the other hand, those men thought nothing of delivering me into slavery and torture. And if it wasn't them, it was certainly men like them who ensnared Helen, Lily and Mitch. Yeah, good riddance.
“What do think magic should be used for?”
Esras seems more open now, as he relaxes into his chair. He gestures toward my arm. “Healing, for one thing. Pain relief and preventing disease. Used judiciously, that same energy can be useful for enhanced crop production, preventing or defeating certain types of blights. Lastly, defense against dark fo
rces that can't otherwise be dealt with. And, of course, self-defense, but only when necessary.”
I can't help but notice that Esras's perspective aligns perfectly with that of the witch community. Well, with the exception of those who stoop to using dark magic. But, hey, there are always going to be assholes.
The floor vibrates as an explosion sounds in the distance. The chamber we're sharing has so far muted most external sounds, so that must have been a big one.
“I guess it’s still going on,” I say.
Esras nods, not seeming surprised. “I don't imagine it's going to end anytime soon. At least not for long.”
I look around the room again, curious. “Is there any way to keep an eye on things?”
He frowns. “I guess we could go back outside, or venture upstairs to look out the window, although I'm not sure either is a good idea.”
Amusement bubbles up inside me. “No, I meant like TV or the internet.” I almost add, “Silly,” but I'm not sure how that would go over.
Esras shakes his head. “I'm sorry, those words don't mean anything to me.”
It's an interesting aspect to this situation that, like Cade said, being able to visit this realm also allows me to understand the language. And speak it, apparently, as far as those around me are concerned. Except for those instances when there's no shared meaning.
Still, like an idiot, I try again. “You know, whatever you use to watch the news. Or shows.”
Esras stares at me blankly, and again I fight the urge to giggle. “News,” he says. “We have messengers to keep us informed, as needed. There's also the Special Council, which meets weekly. As for what you call “shows,” I assume you must mean plays and performances, such as you might see in the company of others.”
Okay, this is ridiculous. They have cities with apartment buildings, but they ride around on horses and fight with swords. Or magic. But, still. “We have screens,” I say. “We use them to see the world, or to watch made up stories. We have big ones and little ones we keep in our pocket.”
