Illumination

by M. V. Freeman

  With a dramatic sigh, Rachel leaned over the bowl and sprinkled some more herbs into it. Her purse was now at her feet. Lev had shown no signs of giving it back; when Rachel had begun to waken, Nicki managed to have one of the guards get it for her. This was Rae’s security blanket, and interestingly, Lev kept his eye on it.

  Time ticked on. Laurie became restless, the air teasing the ends of her hair and brushing paper to the floor. Mikhail checked his Rolex, and Nicki wished she’d brought a magazine or, better yet, her old laptop. She needed to be looking for a job, not just sitting here. But wasn’t it her responsibility? She’d started this mess.

  “I found her.”

  Adrenaline shot through Nicki like she’d downed three extra-strong espressos. She scooted to the end of her seat as Rachel sat back in hers, an expression of satisfaction on her face.

  “She’s in the Dark realm; I’m sure of it.” She turned to Lev. “I thought you said she wasn’t.”

  Lev’s eyes looked past the witch and pinned Nicki. “She wasn’t. I was delivering books; she was to meet us at Nicki’s.”

  Did he blame her? It didn’t matter. Nicki blamed herself.

  “Can you see what’s around her?” Lev returned his attention to Rachel. The relief from the weight of his gaze made Nicki take a deep breath. Her lungs expanded, but she couldn’t seem to get enough air.

  She was being paranoid.

  Pushing the glossy blond strands behind her ear in a characteristic nervous gesture, Rachel bent forward again. For a long moment silence reigned. Not even the background conversations continued.

  “She’s in some sort of cell, with…” Rachel leaned in more until her nose almost hit the water. “Some blond-haired Mage. I think I recognize him.”

  “Damn it. It has to be Xander,” Lev bit out.

  He turned to Mikhail, whose expression remained unreadable, but his eyes betrayed him. They flickered from one color to the next, indicating his volatility to this news.

  “Wasn’t he the guy Mina tried to drag out of the fight where you were shot?” Nicki blurted, addressing the irate Mikhail. Why couldn’t she keep her freaking mouth shut? It didn’t take a Dark like Mina or Lev to recognize the anger in the Elemental.

  Next to her, Laurie shifted, as if she were about to spring up to defend her. The air in the room dropped a few degrees, a welcome relief from the warmth, but Nicki still found herself breaking out into a cold sweat.

  She had to learn better timing, just like she had to learn to pick better boyfriends.

  “Did I say something wrong?” Nicki threaded her hands together.

  “No,” Laurie answered, patting her arm. “He’s just not really happy to know it’s that Mage. He’s the one who had Misha shot.” Which resulted in Laurie getting all of the power. Some could say this was a good thing; Mikhail would not.

  Oh crap.

  “And Mina is with him?” Nicki felt a fluttering of panic, the queasy light-headed sensation of adrenaline building inside of her. If anything happened to her friend, it was her fault. Her shoulders slumped under the burden of guilt she continued to heap upon herself.

  “But he seems restrained and in a lot of pain. That’s all I know,” Rachel said.

  “I’m not surprised,” Lev interjected. “She’s loved him for years. But why they are in the dungeon is anyone’s guess. Either way, she’ll never leave him.”

  “She’s not known for her good choices,” Mikhail observed. “Can you get her?” He directed this to Lev, who didn’t answer at first.

  “She doesn’t look hurt,” Rachel added, and Nicki knew from years of being around her it was her attempt at trying to break the tension. Not an easy task with this group.

  The Dark frowned, gazing steadily at her friend, who blinked and turned her attention back to staring into the water. Even from a few feet away, Nicki spied the pink-tinged flush spreading up Rachel’s neck and across her cheeks.

  What? Rachel was one of the most down to earth, practical people she knew. She never flushed. Nicki caught Laurie raising her eyebrows. Intriguing. She hoped Rachel wasn’t going to make the same mistake she’d had with men.

  “I can get her out, but it will be costly,” Lev murmured. He stood as Mikhail straightened. “Those talks have got to go on with Voda and my father. This will motivate him if the blood tie is broken. We’re all at risk with our in-fighting.”

  “Especially now that humans have been alerted to our existence,” Laurie added as she stood, crossing the few feet between her and Mikhail. She placed a hand on his arm, not saying a word, but the flickering colors in his eyes slowed.

  “How are we going to deal with them?” Nicki had the sense of drowning in the layers of intrigue. She remembered a time when the biggest problem she had was getting her project done on time at work and deciding if she should charge her next shoe purchase. Now she looked at people she’d lived among as “humans.” When did she become something other than human?

  “Stopping the war is the first step,” Lev answered. He rolled his head on his shoulders, as if preparing for some fight. “Then we can address them. Right now Mages, Darks, and Elementals battling it out will destroy us more effectively than any fight with the humans.”

  “You’ve become a philosopher, like your sister,” Mikhail told him. “Truthfully, I’d rather hold you hostage to drag Cazacul to the table. But I can’t risk Laurie to another attack on Mina.” His arm encircled Laurie, and she leaned into him.

  An unexpected pain of envy shot through Nicki. Why couldn’t it have worked out with Victor? Why’d he have to betray her by trying to get these two killed? It could be her right now leaning against someone. She was pathetic.

  “How can you trust him to get her?” This, surprisingly, came from Rachel, who tilted her head back to look at the Dark. “You could run for it, and we’d never get Mina to break the blood tie.”

  For the first time since Nicki tried to shoot him, Lev’s expression darkened. His eyes, already black, became pin-points of obsidian ice. He didn’t move, but the air around him shimmered with wisps of shadowy menace. The scars on his face made him look demonic. When he spoke, the rage reverberating off of him wasn’t evident. Only the faintest hint of bite was detectable in his delicious voice.

  “When a Dark gives a promise, we keep it. It is part of our honor system. Without it, we are just the monsters everyone thinks we are. I’ll make sure she gets here.” He turned his head to glance at Mikhail, who nodded once at his promise. “You have my word.” Then his gaze bore into Rachel. “You will learn questioning someone’s honor has a price.”

  “Okay, you’ll get her. I believe you,” Rachel shot back, stiffening in her chair.

  Nicki wanted to tell her to stand up and not let him intimidate her, but hadn’t he done that to her? She could still feel the press of metal on her forehead from the gun.

  “Let me get this done.” Lev broke eye contact with Rachel and gave a small bow toward Laurie. “Could you be so kind as to bring in cloud cover and tint the windows so I can find a shadow big enough to walk through?”

  Laurie nodded, even as the brightness of the day faded under thick clouds. The windows darkened, and the room once full of rich golden light became gray and dim.

  The room shimmered as if Nicki were looking through imperfect glass, and she blinked once or twice. She heard a brush of cloth, a creak of the leather she knew Lev wore, then silence. Everyone in the room held a collective breath as if they waited for something…but what?

  The wavering dimness was gone, leaving only the normal gray-blue light from an overcast sky. Nicki glanced around. Something seemed off. The other Elementals began to move, freed from their momentary stillness.

  Mikhail swore in his native tongue, his gaze focused on an empty space located on the far wall.

  “He took the icons,” the Russian Elemental snarled.

  These were small, gilded Russian paintings of religious symbolism. The ones he referred to in particular were expensive, rare o
nes from the Romanov era, or so Laurie had told Nicki when she’d asked about them once. Personally, she’d loved the gold on them.

  “To hell with the paintings; that bastard took my purse,” Rachel snapped. She stood, hands on hips, looking down at her feet where her purse had been.

  The Chairman’s smile reminded Stieg of a raptor’s cruel twist of a beak as he looked at prey. He wondered when his friend and leader had moved from a competent ruler to a dictator. It didn’t happen overnight. No, he’d been seduced into the worst things by the promise of better things, of the end justifying the means.

  “Excellent job, my friend.” Leonid’s heavy hand clapped him on the shoulder as he watched the surviving Dark boy cower away from them. “You’re sure you can do this again?”

  “Yes.” A dull sense of surprise filled Stieg. He didn’t care for the other man’s approval. “My mistake was assuming only a twin would create the same effect.” He’d made his own children and those of countless others pay the price for this bloody discovery. The Dark boys brought to him hadn’t been twins as he assumed, but born a year apart. Elspeth and her tricks actually brought about something useful. “Twins still hold the best benefit for power,” he cautioned. “But a blood relative can give you what you crave. I can make sure you no longer have to siphon from anyone.” Just like Xander.

  “Perfect.” The Chairman’s eyes never left the living boy, waiting for him to change—perhaps into a Mage. “We all sacrifice something, don’t we Stieg?”

  “Do we have to? It takes a death for another to live.” Stieg felt compelled to add this, to jab the stick of truth in the putrescent logic of the Chairman’s. These sacrifices came at a price so steep, if he’d known he never would’ve put his son through this. “Who are you going to use?” It wasn’t like he had any living Mage relatives, but he had Dark ones.

  “I’d like to use my brother.” A flash of irritation crossed his swarthy face. “But obtaining him will be difficult.”

  That wasn’t a surprise.

  “I thought you had an agreement with Elspeth.” Stieg checked the restraints on the boy. He’d attempted to remove the desiccated husk of the other boy, but the body disintegrated to dust, the result of complete and utter removal of all life, magic, and energy. No matter how he swept, bits of grit stayed. As soon as the Chairman left, he’d get out the DustBuster he had on hand for this.

  “She’s dead.” Leonid said it as if he were talking about the change-out of appliances. Clinical, disinterested. “My sources tell me it was Petrov’s cousin who did this. I never would’ve thought he had it in him.” He touched the leg of the Dark boy, who whimpered, trying to jerk away, his thin ankle pulling at the iron restraints.

  “There, now, I’m not going to hurt you.” The Chairman spoke in a soothing tone, one Stieg knew was a lie. He wouldn’t hurt the boy now, but there was always later.

  “Mina is still free, then?” Stieg tried not act too interested. He was more concerned with his son. Because if she were alive, so was Xander.

  “For now.” The Chairman turned, pinning Stieg with his reptilian gaze. “Where your son is, so is she. What we need to do is get your son out of my brother’s hands and into ours.”

  “How are we going to do this?” It wasn’t like they could storm the fortress as it was done in days of old. Now there were other things to consider. “The humans have been alerted to our presence.”

  “Those creatures?” Leonid Tepes dismissed them with a slight sneer and shrug. “They’re not our equals. They should be worshiping us; instead, we hide. No, I am not worried about them. But I am concerned about your son. Tell me again, how sure are of you of his compliance?”

  “Absolute.” Stieg didn’t hesitate.

  “Good, because he’s going to deliver Mina to me at the talks the fool Voda insists on having with Cazacul. My brother won’t be foolish enough to leave him behind; he makes a good bargaining chip. There I’ll give them a taste of what Mage wrath truly is.”

  With those words, the heavy form of the Chairman left the lab. Stieg watched the door swing shut behind the man and realized there wasn’t any escape for him.

  Chapter Twenty

  XANDER KNEW WHAT GLASS FELT LIKE. Hard. Brittle. He also understood he would shatter, like the wall in his office did the night his life went to shit, in an explosion of sharp, dangerous shards, leaving nothing but jagged pieces of what he once was.

  He wasn’t there yet.

  What kept him coming back into the cold, uncomfortable darkness of his cell? It wasn’t the lure of more pain. No, it wasn’t the touch of gentle hands smearing foul smelling things on him, a cross between mint and rotten eggs. Nor was it the bitter taste of horseradish and oil, which dulled the burning and sharp jabs of agony only a fraction.

  He would’ve left his body behind a long time ago if it wasn’t for her voice. Light, sweet, at times husky. For a long time, he didn’t understand her words. Comprehension was slow to unfold; the first word he heard clearly was Remember.

  What the hell was he supposed to remember? All he knew was unending torment, weakness so great he couldn’t lift his head. With it came impotence, the anguish of not being able to fight back. There wasn’t anything left worth recalling.

  Clay.

  Another word from her voice, so compelling his ears strained, even as his eyes saw nothing but the utter darkness. Not even the luminescent fungus lit his world. But that word, he could remember beyond the torment and feel the cool smooth grit of it in his hands. The way it squelched between his fingers, responded to his touch.

  Sculpture.

  Images of statues with slender limbs, arching necks, some bending, others dancing, another riding a horse replaced the memory of fetid breath, sharp teeth, misery of swollen hands, the rip of a talon, and knife on skin.

  Xander heard and remembered. Mina.

  “Do you remember the first clay sculpture we created together?”

  Her fingers smoothed over his face, the only place unmarked. Images, fast, colorful, bright in this subterranean world. He could smell the damp odor of dirt-clay, the dust of ceramic, and feel the statue as he formed it under his hands, using magic, muscle, and a delicate touch.

  “A crane.”

  “Yes.” He breathed the word into the blankness of the room.

  “You didn’t like it.” She laughed then, soft, but it made his fingers twitch, trying to reach for the sound.

  “Too awkward,” he whispered. The words floated in the room between them, a bit of light to his soul. His eyes didn’t need to see. His mind saw perfectly. “Head too big.”

  “But I loved it.” She shifted next to him, moving so her fingers could massage his temples. For a split second, his misery lifted.

  “You painted it.” He attempted a laugh, but only a wheeze came out of him. “A brilliant red with blue swirls.”

  He saw her, so young, nine or ten. Mina’s hair had been long then, kept braided. Her face twisted in concentration as she used his brushes to add the color. She didn’t use magic, insisting some things had to be done by hand. But he hadn’t missed the spell or two when she’d fixed a spot she’d overlooked.

  “It was pretty,” she defended.

  “Hideous.” The clay bird made his eyes cross, it was so bright. But her eyes lit up when it was complete. She’d clapped her hands, and for a moment, he remembered his own laughter. It felt foreign, this light bit emotion. When had he last laughed?

  “You tried to smash it.” Now her voice came out disgruntled.

  “You were going to give it to the Chairman for his birthday.” Another rasp of humor from him.

  “But my aunt loved it.”

  “Ah, yes, you did give it to her. I think I remember you saying he didn’t deserve it because he was a codger of a man.”

  There she was, holding the damn eye-sore of a bird, glaring at the Chairman without fear. She’d invited herself to the party. Xander’d had to wear a suit, and Mina had found a simple sundress with huge, lurid
orange and purple flowers—the center of color in a room full of genteel and sober hues of blues, pastels, pearls, and perfectly coiffed hair. He’d been proud of her, but embarrassed at their creation.

  “His face sort of got bluish.” She giggled an effervescent sound, making him float.

  “You didn’t have to compare it to the bird.”

  Xander felt his lips pull into a smile, splitting the skin with a sharp stinging pop. The picture of young Mina clutching the present when the raven-haired Isabelle, long-lashed eyes as dark as Mina’s, had held out her hands, asking in her beautiful dulcet tones to see the creation. But her husband, the Chairman, stood by with a look of incredulity and horror at the painted clay sculpture.

  “Well, he was being a—”

  “Codger,” he supplied, and she laughed aloud.

  “See? You agree. But Isabelle…” Here Mina’s voice softened. “She wanted it because she said it would always remind her of me.” Wistfulness in those words.

  “Do you know what happened to it?”

  Xander hadn’t seen it again after Mina gave it to the Chairman’s wife. Leonid made it clear he didn’t want the monstrosity, but when Isabelle took the clay sculpture in her graceful hands, holding it carefully on her lap, he didn’t interfere. It was the one gift she didn’t put aside; throughout the duration of the gathering and the opening of far more beautiful and expensive gifts, she kept it with her.

  “I know she put it in her private sitting room, where she spent most of her time,” Mina offered, still rubbing his temples, relaxing his muscles even on the hard and lumpy stone where he lay. “After…” There was a hesitant pause, because who wanted to bring up this subject in this ghastly place? “…After her death, I never saw it again.”

  Silence filled the emptiness of the cell, edging out the bright memories, fading them.

  “That wasn’t the only thing you painted,” Xander spoke out in an effort to reclaim the bit of happiness being absorbed into the ether.

  And just like that, Mina laughed, and the brief intrusion of the bitter recollections dissolved like sugar in water. “Do you remember the giraffe…?”