Faerie Lords Boxset

by Isabella August

  There were pictures on display of what looked like old, carefully-restored French manuscripts. Not just French, Zoe realized — medieval French. Oof. Any stray hopes she’d had of understanding the lecture evaporated immediately into thin air.

  Zoe tuned in to what he was saying, trying to make some sense of it. His crisp, clear accent helped significantly, but she still found herself struggling to keep up. This crowd was obviously francophone, and he had no need to slow down for them.

  He was currently discussing a woman named Madame d'Aulnoy — a historical figure, if Zoe’s disjointed translations were correct. The word salonnières came up more than once; she’d never heard it before, but context suggested that Madame d’Aulnoy was one. As Simon said something about amour interdit, Zoe found herself briefly able to follow: French soap operas had given her a particularly strong grasp of all things lurid and dramatic.

  Fairy tales were a subtle vehicle for sedition and for the airing of female grievances, she translated loosely in her head. An expression of frustration with the thankless drudgery of housework, and a longing for a world where women of the era could marry handsome princes instead of drunks, gamblers, and men more than twice their age.

  Zoe nearly laughed out loud. Soap operas, she thought to herself. A few hundred years ago wasn’t so different from today, after all. Of course, she and Simon both knew very well that many fairy tales had originated from real events… but it sounded as though their popularity and evolution was still a very human endeavor.

  “Mademoiselle?” Zoe started, caught off guard by the whispered address. An older professor had moved to address her. Short and slightly greying, he had the pinched look of a man who’d been a bureaucrat for many years.

  Zoe flushed. Shit. She broke her brain away from the intensive process of translating what she was hearing, fumbling for a simple phrase that wouldn’t make her sound like an idiot. “Oui, monsieur?” she whispered back.

  She hadn’t done a bad job on the words, but something about her accent had subtly given her away anyway. She watched as the older man’s aura chilled toward her, recognizing that she hadn’t been born to French in the same way that he had been. The younger generation here worried much less about such things, but some of the old guard still possessed deeply-held frustration and disdain for les anglophones.

  The older professor tapped at his conference badge impatiently, and Zoe realized that she didn’t have one. Oops. She’d been hoping to leave before any of the lectures, but since that hadn’t happened, her presence was probably an unwelcome intrusion. She nodded, embarrassed. “Um. J’attends quelqu’un. Je… je peux…” Her brain stuttered at the deepening scowl that he levelled in her direction. The contempt in his aura was palpable, close enough to touch. The simplest of French words failed her, and she abandoned the attempt, red-faced. She ducked away toward the door, stepping out into the hallway.

  The area just outside of the conference had been nearly deserted on her way in — but there was someone else there now. Zoe started at the familiar aura, blanching as she realized whose it was. What the hell?

  Vivienne Cloutier threaded her arm through Zoe’s as though the two of them were old friends. The sharp smile on her face was reminiscent of a cat that had just caught the canary out of its cage.

  “So good to see you, Mademoiselle Carter,” Vivienne purred. Her flat black eyes sparked with vicious delight, as something sinister and foreboding curled within her aura. “Let us talk.”

  Zoe tried not to show her fear — but the direct touch of that dark intent made her breathing speed up, and she knew that Vivienne could feel the pounding of her pulse. “Why don’t we talk here?” Zoe said, forcing a bit of lightness into her voice.

  “Ah, non, that does not work for me,” Vivienne said regretfully. She tightened her grip on Zoe’s arm — now hard enough to bruise — and tugged her along gently. The witch knew that Vivienne was capable of breaking bones, if she so chose.

  How had Vivienne known where she was? Zoe cursed herself as the answer came to her. The vampiress had probably had someone watching Dorian’s office. Tonight was the first time Zoe had headed off from the office alone — the only other time she’d been on her own, Simon had ended up escorting her through sheer dumb luck.

  In the dizzying crush of all those people during rush hour, of course she’d missed one overly-interested person on her trail. Once she’d reached her destination, all her tail would have to do is text Vivienne her location.

  Quietly, Zoe weighed her options. It would be easy enough to draw public attention, to force Vivienne to decide how many mortal eyes were too many — dramatic screaming was the classic method. But that could go south in a hurry, if Vivienne decided to cut her losses and ensure that Zoe didn’t survive to tell people who’d attempted to drag her away.

  She could use her magic, of course. Vivienne was right next to her — an easy target. But Zoe didn’t have the benefit of the office wards here; any magic she did would be necessarily weak, unless she found an appropriate anchor. Iron would work, but she didn’t have any on her. Blood would be better, Zoe thought. We’ve both got lots of that to spare. But how do I get my hands on it?

  “I find myself in an interesting predicament,” Vivienne informed Zoe conversationally as they walked. Zoe listened dimly, her head still spinning through her options. “Monseigneur is more intelligent than I first gave him credit for. He probably sent me to La Voûte knowing that I would have questions of my own that I wished to ask.” She bared her teeth in frustration, her expression a mixture of anger and admiration. “Monseigneur then paid the very expensive price to know the questions that I had asked. He has taken now to blackmailing me. I greatly dislike the position in which I find myself.”

  Zoe’s pulse quickened, and Vivienne shot her a sly smile. She’s just told me she’s got very little to lose, the witch realized. Shit. I really could be a dead woman if I don’t figure a way out of this.

  They’d made it to the main entrance of the university. Vivienne nudged a few oblivious mortals from their path, cooing out a sweet excusez-moi as they went.

  “One good blackmail deserves another, however,” Vivienne observed thoughtfully. The vampiress kept her voice quiet, but she clearly wasn’t worried about any bystanders picking up on her words. Most of the people here probably spoke English about as well as Zoe spoke French. “I thought on what La Voûte said regarding the value of things. He has inspired me. You see, I shouldn’t have been thinking about what was valuable to me. I should have been asking myself: what is valuable to La Voûte? For what would he trade something as expensive as the seigneur’s best-kept secrets?”

  Vivienne’s hungry eyes fell on Zoe, and the witch felt a surge of panic. She was going to try and trade Zoe back to Dorian? The idea made her nauseous. If it got around that Dorian was willing to pay for her safety, Zoe would never sleep well again. For that matter, she realized, she wasn’t even sure that Dorian could trade for her. The strange rules that governed his business were not entirely of his own making.

  What happens if he’s forced to tell her no?

  Zoe didn’t want to find out.

  She reached out her magic to the compass in her pocket. As a Scorpio, light and warmth were the furthest thing from the nature of her own dark magic — but then, all she really needed to do was send an existing spell back to its owner.

  Vivienne laughed softly at Zoe’s all-too-real fear, hauling her up to her feet once more. Zoe plucked away the feeling of warmth and safety that pervaded the compass, peeling it from the talisman. She touched it delicately with her own power, wincing as her cold, watery magic made it waver for a moment. Go back, she thought at it furiously. She did her best to picture Simon in her mind’s eye, just as she’d seen him moments earlier: his shirtsleeves rolled up, his vivid green eyes alight with interest.

  The little will o’ wisp rippled for a second… then steadied. Zoe let out a breath as it began to float gently away, searching for its master. Vivienne
gave her a suspicious look — she’d felt the relief in Zoe’s body. The witch shook her head. “So that’s all this is,” she said, trying to cover. “That’s… fine. He’ll trade. I know he will.” The answer seemed to satisfy Vivienne, who turned her attention back to the door. Out on the street, Zoe saw a white car idling at the edge of the curb — that was probably where Vivienne was taking her.

  I can’t end up in that car, Zoe thought.

  On the off-chance that her spell worked — on the off-chance that Simon got her message and even halfway understood it — perhaps help would come. But Zoe couldn’t wait that long.

  Zoe had one ace left up her sleeve: Vivienne still didn’t know that she had any magic, let alone blood magic. The vampiress had every advantage in strength and speed though, and she was far too close to Zoe. She needed to bring Vivienne low with the very first spell, or else she was as good as dead.

  She needed blood.

  As the two of them stepped out onto the snowy sidewalk outside, Zoe dragged her feet, stepping backward. Vivienne growled softly, her eyes flashing red. “In case you were unaware,” the vampiress said, “I can end your life very easily.”

  Vivienne was a young vampire. She was still too emotional, with too little self-control. An unanchored spell might have been too weak to be anything more than a nuisance to an older, more experienced vampire… but Vivienne was a powder-keg waiting to blow.

  Zoe forced a calm, slow smile onto her face. “Of course,” she said. “But you can’t do that if you want your information. Do you really think that La Voûte is stupid enough to trade without due diligence? He’ll make sure you really have me, and that I’m still alive.” Very subtly, she reached out to tweak Vivienne’s aura, urging on that ever-present thread of red hunger. Somehow, she managed a laugh. “You really don’t think things through very well, do you Madame Cloutier? No wonder monseigneur is running circles around you—”

  She felt the surge of anger a split-second before Vivienne moved. The vampiress jerked her aside from the doors, wrenching her arm painfully. “You do not think things through either, girl,” Vivienne hissed. “I need you alive — but I do not need you unharmed.” Zoe saw a flash of fangs, and felt a sharp pinch at her wrist… immediately followed by an overwhelming pleasure. Her mind blanked, even as some part of her recognized her miscalculation. She’d never had a vampire drink from her before.

  Her body reacted to the threat in precisely the wrong way. Blood rushed to the injury — perhaps trying to knit the wound, perhaps encouraged by some property of the vampire’s bite. Zoe lost her knees, moaning dimly; Vivienne caught her easily, digging her teeth more viciously into her wrist. A shot of raw pain cut through the pleasure, just long enough for Zoe to realize that she was in trouble.

  Her head had gone light. She was finding it hard to breathe now, hard to think. Zoe forced herself to reach out with her magic anyway. Vivienne had miscalculated as well — she just didn’t know it yet. The crazy vampire had just ingested a Scorpio’s blood.

  That’s my blood, she thought furiously, steeling herself against the pleasure. Mine, not hers, god damn it!

  Zoe gathered up every speck of power in her body… and wrenched at the blood inside of Vivienne. The vampire staggered, shocked; her red eyes went wide. Zoe gave her power another brutal twist, digging at the black veins that showed to her Witchsight.

  Vivienne dropped her like a hot coal; her head hit the pavement, and she groaned. Nearby, she heard the vampiress choking and gagging. Blood splashed over the ground, as Vivienne began to throw up…

  …everything.

  The spell had taken a lot out of Zoe; her already-dim consciousness zoned in and out on the vampire’s desperate sobs. The injury at her wrist began to hurt again keenly, now that the pleasure was gone. Still, she felt the twisting in Vivienne’s insides — the burning cramps, the crippling pain, as blood turned to pure poison in her stomach. Vivienne wretched on each mouthful, gasping and crying as her body desperately tried to purge itself of the blood that was currently trying to kill her.

  “Choke on that… bitch,” Zoe managed.

  Someone had gotten out of the car. Hurried footsteps headed for Vivienne. A faint alarm rang through Zoe’s head. Shit. Shit. She wasn’t alone.

  “Get… her…” Vivienne choked out. She turned to throw up again, whimpering and clutching at her stomach.

  Those footsteps came toward Zoe now — a bit hesitant, as though she might do something dangerous, even sprawled on the ground as she was. It was a vampire, she could tell; whoever it was, they had that same dark hunger to them. She reached out weakly, trying to tug at the blood inside them… but the effort nearly made her black out. The other vampire let out a faint sound of discomfort — then knelt down beside her, reaching out to haul her up.

  Fire.

  The power was so quick, so intense, that all Zoe could do was register its heat. The vampire next to her screamed and dropped her, staggering back. Zoe caught herself on her knees, leaning heavily on her good hand.

  She’d closed her eyes instinctively against the bright light, but it didn’t matter. Her Witchsight, always open, caught the brilliant golden-red hue of Simon’s magic. This fire was not soft and reassuring; instead, it was a raging, furious inferno, focused like a perfect arrow.

  The mortals nearby were probably terribly distressed and confused. That cleansing fire would be invisible to them; all they would see was a woman choking up blood and a man screaming and clawing at his own, unblemished skin.

  Simon hissed something in French, but Zoe was too far gone to translate it. Dead, dormant plants came alive along the edge of the building; trees reached out to clutch at the vampire next to her, dragging him away from her. The magic of Arcadia was even more potent than that of a normal witch; its effects were physical, and perfectly visible.

  She felt him interpose himself, standing in front of her. Scorching fire warred with furious growth as each bit of power in his aura battled for prominence. Zoe had to look away from him as she staggered to her feet. The vampires were backing away, but she had no intention of letting them get away. She smeared her fingers through the blood on her arm, gathering up her magic; dark, angry fury stormed through her.

  Before she could release the spell, Simon snatched up his glimmering, golden compass from the concrete — it had fallen from her pocket, she realized. Zoe felt the entire world move as he touched it. Something very powerful was coming. Something green, and alien, and not from this world.

  Her magic slipped from her grip. Her mind gave out.

  A hand slapped at her cheek. Zoe moaned, confused. Had she lost consciousness?

  “Réveille-toi, Zoe! Wake up, wake up!” There was a terrible fear in Simon’s voice that she had never heard before. “You have to stay awake, please!”

  I can’t move. Zoe felt panic flood through her at the realization. The shocking pain in her wrist was distant now, barely noticeable — that wasn’t a good thing. She tried to cling to Simon’s presence, to draw comfort from his aura. Her physical senses were confused, but her Witchsight knew that he was close, that he was holding onto her.

  A vague terror struck her — was this what dying felt like? Was she ever going to wake up again, if she fell asleep?

  Don’t let go, please, she wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t come out. Don’t stop talking, I need you. Please stay with me.

  But there was a dark anchor in her mind dragging her down, pulling her away from him. Even if Simon stayed right next to her, she knew she was going somewhere that he couldn’t follow.

  She fell away, back into the darkness.

  Chapter 5

  “Zoe.”

  The man’s voice was old, distinguished. Affectionate. Disappointed.

  Malcolm. Oh god, he’s here. How?

  Zoe’s heart seized in her chest. Terror thrummed through her body, seeping its way through every inch of her.

  “My dear Zoe,” Malcolm whispered. “It’s been so long… but there
you are. All my hard work, still intact.”

  She tried to move — tried to run. Her body wouldn’t obey her, though. Her own blood burned through her like fire. He had her again. He knew her blood better than she did. He had her again.

  She tried to scream. Nothing came out. Something was holding her down.

  “Zoe,” Simon’s voice whispered distantly. “Réveille-toi, please.” He sounded so desperate. She clung to the sound of him, searching for his presence. Where was he? She needed him, needed to hide in his aura, to have his light in the darkness.

  “There’s no need to fear,” Malcolm told her gently. “I am coming. I shall be there soon.” She felt his touch on her forehead — his magic digging into her skin. She had to get away, she couldn’t let him get a foothold again, she wouldn’t!

  Zoe screamed silently, clawing at the nightmare like the inside of a coffin. Let me out, let me out, let me wake up, please—

  “Ceci n'aurait pas dû arriver.”

  “En effet.”

  “En avez-vous parlé à monseigneur?”

  “Naturellement.”

  Zoe snapped back to consciousness. Her wrist still throbbed dully; someone had wrapped it tightly. Bright, sterile light lay on the other side of her eyelids. Her body was heavy, hard to move — it felt like her arms were made of lead.

  He’s not here. Malcolm isn’t here. It was a nightmare.

  Malcolm was dead. He would never touch her with his magic ever again. Zoe forced herself to calm down at that thought, to focus on the present instead.

  Simon and Dorian were talking nearby. Simon was angry. Dorian was… Dorian. There was no sign of emotion in his aura, though Zoe knew that he had to be upset.