by Megan Derr
As in so many things, the wants and wishes had found their way into stories, passed down through the generations until they seemed only stories, and like the Cinderella slippers, no one really knew if it was the stories or the wish for impossible things which had come first.
The tale of twelve princesses who travelled to another world, where they danced the night away—the ability to cross planes at will. Snake leaves—the ability to bring the dead back to life. A mirror that could answer any question put to it. Fish that granted wishes, objects and foods that granted immortality, geese that laid golden eggs, the ability to turn straw into gold; the list of absurdities went on and on.
Only stories, but they were enough to inspire generations of magic users, especially alchemists, to try to create them anyway. History was rife with the tragedies which too often resulted. It did not really surprise Johnnie that his father might have been amongst those fools. Was it better or worse that he had been killed by a blood-crazy vampire before his own obsessions had killed him? "So the journals only contain copies of my father's experiments?" Johnnie asked, just to break the silence.
"Yes," Alec said. "I think that they believed I could follow them, that I would attempt it far enough to learn what Tommy had made, but I have not done real alchemy for nearly thirty years. All I do now is silly stuff, parlor tricks. But recreating his experiments does not mean I would ever recreate his mistake, or mistakes, and so I'm not quite certain why they wrote it all out in my code. But, perhaps with more time I can figure it out. Whatever it is, I really do hope they destroyed it."
"That would be too easy," Johnnie said. No alchemist ever destroyed a creation, especially not one which caused this much trouble. He would have to speak with his father, Johnnie thought. Ontoniel would have answers, but getting them would be no easy task. Johnnie was not really looking forward to the conversation.
Did this all tie back in to the way that spell had rebounded, he thought suddenly. Perhaps his birth father had done something to him. But if that were the case, why would Ontoniel not simply say? Because Ontoniel knew what it was, damn it.
"You look as though you are drowning in your thoughts," Alec said softly.
Johnnie grimaced. "I think I am, but I will sort them out. I must speak with my father, I think, to learn anything about my birth father."
"At that, I think you must be going soon. Ber was on the phone, speaking with your father, I believe." Bergrin was speaking directly to his father? Usually people dealt with his father's secretary. Precious few were the individuals who had Ontoniel's direct line.
Johnnie tucked the thought away for later, and simply nodded. "I thank you again for your hospitality, and most especially for your assistance—and your patience. It is in extremely poor taste to arrive uninvited and injured, and I have not much improved since. But it is nice to have met you; Bergrin is a great deal like you."
"He's even more like his mother," Alec said with faint smile.
"I am sorry I did not get to meet her," Johnnie said, meaning it. Having met the father, he was even more curious to meet the mother.
Alec smiled more widely. "I believe you will meet her eventually. There is no need to fall back on formality with me, and you are always welcome here, Johnnie."
They both turned as the door opened, and Bergrin joined them on the porch. He wore a brown leather jacket and the silly cap his mother had given him, and held out Johnnie's coat and hat. "We need to get going, Pop. Sorry to bleed, eat, and run. If you see Mama before I do, give her my love."
"Of course," Alec said, giving his son a fond, warm look, before adding softly, "Try to be a little careful, for me?" He chuckled as Bergrin rolled his eyes, then said more sternly. "Think long and hard about what I said."
Bergrin nodded impatiently. "Let's go, Prince. I called Peyton to let him and the others know what's what, but you and I have been summoned to your father's house."
"Naturally," Johnnie said, and pulled on his coat and hat, then accepted his cane as Bergrin held it out. "Is there a car coming?"
"No," Bergrin replied. "Your—"
But even as he spoke, Elam appeared at the bottom of the stairs, as cold and hard and beautiful as ever. He motioned impatiently. "Come on, John. You have caused enough problems for one day."
Johnnie bit back a retort, bid Alec a last farewell, then preceded Bergrin down the stairs. "Long time no see, Ellie."
Elam ignored him, and simply grasped their arms, and with a faint pulse of magic, all three men were gone.
Case 006: Danced to Pieces
They appeared in the entryway of Ontoniel's home. It was familiar and strange all at once. Just a short time ago, Johnnie thought, this place had been home. A bit of that still lingered, but all he really wanted right then was to be back at the Bremen.
He was still pondering that when Ontoniel appeared, looking more exhausted than Johnnie had ever seen him. "Father."
"John," Ontoniel said, frown deepening as he took in Johnnie's face. Johnnie was startled to see real anger flare in Ontoniel's eyes, but then it eased as he asked, "How is your head?"
"Fine," Johnnie replied, and when Ontoniel gave him a look of disbelief, said, "It hurts, and I will probably have a headache for days, but that is all. I am fine. I am sorry to have caused so much trouble."
Ontoniel sighed. "I thought you told me that all this mystery solving did not get so dangerous. I believe I am now fully within my rights to say I was wise to assign a bodyguard full time?"
Johnnie bristled. "Indeed. Yet, I feel there would be less danger to my person if the people I am supposed to trust were not keeping secrets from me."
Ontoniel's mouth tightened. "I think we had best adjourn to my office."
In reply Johnnie only strode past him and down the hall, into the west wing where Ontoniel's study was located. There, he took his preferred seat, a wing-back chair set before a massive stained-glass window. He tried not to be painfully aware of the way Bergrin took up position beside and just behind him, leaning against the wall beside the window.
Ontoniel sat behind his desk, looking for all the world like a King on his throne. Elam sat in a chair closer to the bookshelves, a distinctly sullen air about him. Johnnie suspected they had pulled Elam from his piano practice.
Before anyone could say anything, Lila arrived with a tea cart, and briskly went about serving tea—rose tea to Ontoniel, Earl Grey to Elam, chamomile to Johnnie, and after asking, chamomile to Bergrin as well.
When she had gone, Johnnie decided to let someone else break the silence. It was Ontoniel who finally did so, but he surprised Johnnie by addressing Bergrin. "So you are the Enforcer guarding my son, and who saved Elam, but whom I have never properly met. Bergrin, right? I cannot believe it has taken this long for me to properly meet you. You are powerful but I cannot get a feel for your nature."
"No one really has a name for me, my lord," Bergrin said. "I'm good at finding things and taking beatings, that's about all anyone knows."
"Mmm," Ontoniel said thoughtfully. "Your abilities must come from the mother you do not know. Your file says she ran off shortly after you were born?"
"Yes, my lord."
Johnnie sipped his tea. Why was Bergrin lying? He and Alec had talked quite freely about her—Alec had said Johnnie would likely meet her at some point. Bergrin had just been given a birthday present from her, and seemed to regard both his parents with much love. So why was it on record that she had run off and no one knew anything about her?
It was also intriguing that they had been so honest with him, when until recently he and Bergrin could not even stand each other. He did not have the answer for why, though.
"Thank you for protecting my son. It does look as though this latest case cost you dearly," Ontoniel continued.
Bergrin laughed. "Hardly, my lord. I was on assignment once to find a missing person. Lacking status and wealth, my only way into the Pits where he was trapped was to sign up as a fighter. I went five rounds before I found him, an
d then we had to fight our way out. This was easy."
Ontoniel's laughter joined Bergrin's. "So that was you. I cannot keep track of who does what, there are so many problems and so few Enforcers. Very well done, indeed."
"My lord," Bergrin said, giving a half-bow. Though he tried to hide it, Johnnie could see he was startled and pleased by the praise.
"So you believe this was another kidnapping attempt?" Ontoniel asked.
"Yes, my lord," Bergrin said. "They had every intention of taking Johnnie alive, but leaving me for dead. I can think of no other reason they would bring a dragon—and a black one at that. They probably hoped to intimidate me, and then kill me."
Ontoniel nodded.
"I am not convinced kidnapping the son of the Dracula was the primary objective, or an objective at all," Johnnie said. "If they wanted to take me, there were better opportunities. I think that taking me could have been a bonus, and that is assuming they recognized me." He frowned in thought. "At that, I am known for translating such things. That alone would have provoked taking me along with the journals. As to the dragon, that could have been as much for the draugr as for Bergrin. Heath never said the persons responsible for the draugr knew it had been destroyed. Our assailants saw movement in the house, and they probably assumed it was the draugr until they were upon us."
Ontoniel started to speak, but Johnnie did not give him the chance. "What interests me, however, is not the near-kidnapping. What interests me, father, is that the journals and letters I found were records of experiments sent to Mike by one Tommy Fitz."
He saw something flash in Ontoniel's eyes, and Johnnie grew truly angry. "You are not surprised! You knew my father was still experimenting. You knew he had not gone completely normal."
"Not for a long time," Ontoniel said. "Not until after they were dead. I found letters from Mike to your father. I destroyed them, and everything else I could find."
Johnnie slammed his cane against the floor. "Why would you do that!"
"It was for the best," Ontoniel said quietly. "I did not want anyone to try to recreate his experiments."
"What did he make?" Johnnie demanded.
"I do not know," Ontoniel said. "The letters were enough for me to determine that whatever he had been doing, it was a mistake. I destroyed everything, and left it all behind. I had enough to deal with already." When Johnnie opened his mouth to respond to that, Ontoniel said, "I had a wife to bury and a new son to raise. Do you really think I gave a damn about the experiments of a man too dead to continue them?"
Johnnie subsided, all the heat taken from him.
Ontoniel sighed after a moment, then said more quietly, "I suspected he was doing such things, because I have never encountered an abnormal who was completely capable of living normally. Then again, your mother never seemed to have any problems." He sighed again. "It was not my place to interfere, however. He was not hurting anyone. I did try to say something, anyway, for your sake." He shrugged, then quoted, "It is easier to stay out than get out."
By the books, silent until that moment, Elam made a rough, derisive noise.
Johnnie shot him a look. "What is your problem?"
"Nothing," Elam said coldly. "This little argument has nothing to do with me, and I have better things to do with my time." Without another word, he strode from the room, closing the door sharply behind him.
Ontoniel stared after him, expression troubled.
"Is something wrong?" Johnnie asked.
"No," Ontoniel said after a moment. "I think the betrothal and the pending wedding, only six months away now, are making him more mercurial than usual. It will pass or I will make it pass."
Johnnie nodded.
Shaking his head, Ontoniel said. "I know you do not like being kept in the dark, Johnnie. You resent secrets. I will say only this—your parents wanted you to live as normal a life as possible. In adopting you, I went quite explicitly against their wishes. But I am trying to respect that wish by leaving the past where it lies. You should do the same."
"I should simply abandon any thoughts of knowing anything about my real parents?" Johnnie snapped.
Something flickered across Ontoniel's face, and Johnnie was taken aback to realize it was hurt, but all Ontoniel said was, "They wanted you to be happy, Johnnie. Dredging up the past will not make you happy. The life you have is not what they wanted for you, but I like to think it is not a bad one. Why can you not be content with it?"
Johnnie frowned. "It is not—"
A sharp rapping at the office door cut him off, and Ontoniel curtly called for the knocker to enter. The door swung open wide, and an imp servant entered, bowing slightly to Ontoniel before saying, "There is a lady here, my lord, claiming she had an appointment."
Ontoniel sighed and nodded. "Send her in, then."
"Yes, my lord," the imp replied, and departed.
Silence passed for a moment, as Johnnie tried to reform what he had been about to say, but then the door opened again and a woman stepped inside. She was a beautiful, striking woman, tall and slender and graceful. She wore a high-waisted black pencil skirt with a fitted white blouse, diamonds at her throat and wrists, and black high-heels that she walked in with the ease of a woman who wore nothing but heels.
It was her hair, however, that was the most impressive. Johnnie remembered it well from the few times he had encountered the woman at the few places where he shopped. She had it pulled back in an elaborate twist of braids and curls, beautifully accenting the lines of her face, the long graceful neck.
Sitting on her shoulder, clinging tightly, was a pixie.
The woman's eyes fell on Johnnie and her face lit up with surprise. "Well, well, if it isn't Johnnie Desrosiers. I was hoping I'd run into you here."
Johnnie stood and crossed the room, taking the hand she held out and kissing the back of it—then leaning in to kiss her cheek, as she kissed his. "Phil. Long time no see. I remember those diamonds; they look beautiful."
"Thanks," Phil said. "You get prettier every time I see you, Johnnie." She looked over his shoulder and giggled. "Who's scowling at me?" She shifted her gaze to Ontoniel, who had stood and moved around his desk to join them. "You must be Dracula Desrosiers." She moved away from Johnnie and held out her hand to Ontoniel.
Like Johnnie, Ontoniel did not shake, but kissed the back of it. "How does my son come to know so beautiful a woman?" Ontoniel asked.
Phil smiled. "He has excellent taste in his dress, something I can see he learned from his father. It is an honor to meet you, my lord. Few Dracula have your reputation for generosity and open-mindedness."
Ontoniel waved the words away as he finally released her hand. "You may call me Ontoniel. Would you like something to drink?"
"Tea would be lovely," Phil said, seeing what they were all drinking.
"Do you care for rose tea?" Ontoniel asked, as he hit a button on the phone on his desk to call for a servant.
Phil nodded, and accepted the seat he motioned she should take. "Yes, I do."
Johnnie quirked a brow at the way Ontoniel was offering up his own personal tea to someone he had just met, but said nothing. He indicated Bergrin. "This is Bergrin, my bodyguard."
Bergrin nodded, but made no move to leave Johnnie's side. Phil smiled at him. "Nice to meet you." She laughed suddenly, and reached up to touch the pixie on her shoulder. "Jester says you are 'gloomy magic' but I'm afraid that I do not know that one. You're powerful, I can see that." She tilted her head thoughtfully. "But, beyond that, I simply cannot tell."
"Bergrin is unique," Johnnie said, when Bergrin made no reply himself. When Phil nodded, and let the matter drop, Johnnie returned to his own seat and drank his chamomile, chatting about inconsequential things until Phil was settled with her tea. "So why have you come here, Phil?"
Phil set her tea aside, and rested her hands on her crossed legs. "I do not think it ever came up, the few times our paths crossed, Johnnie, but I am part of a detective agency in Sable Brennus' territory. It is owned a
nd run by Sable's consort, Christian. A few weeks ago a woman came to see us about the death of her daughter. Since taking that case, I have discovered six more murders exactly like the one I was hired to solve."
"A serial killer?" Johnnie asked, setting aside his surprise that Phil was a detective—with an agency and everything. He sincerely doubted that, as 'generous and open-minded' as his father might be, that Ontoniel would ever allow him to do something so formal and final as open an agency.
"Yes, I suppose so," Phil replied. "The problem is the nature of the murders. We say murder, but honestly we are not entirely certain what is killing them." She sat back in her seat, and folded her arms across her chest.
