“No,” I answer meekly. “I’m with Jocelyn. There’s some festival she wanted to go to, so she dragged me along,” I say huddled in a corner of the airport with my finger in my ear.
Nikkee sighs heavily into the phone. Her apprehension is palpable.
“You’re going to be back in time, right?” I can hear the distress in her voice. Nikkee’s concern is valid. I don’t have the best track record when it comes to appearances.
“Azrael himself couldn’t keep me away,” I sigh. “What?” she asks dismayed.
I shake my head at myself, “Don’t worry Nik, I’ll be there. I promise.”
“I’m holding you to that.” “I know.”
“See you in a few days,” she says skeptically. “Nikkee, I really need this, please understand.”
“I always understand when it comes to you Liv,” she expels. I smile glumly.
An eight hour flight, and a three hour car ride later, I find
myself looking up at the Cliffs of Moher. Yes, that’s right,
looking up. Apparently there is only one way in and out of Devonshire, and it’s through a crack in the rocks.
“Isn’t there a nice wardrobe we can walk through?” I shout over the waves crashing against the shore.
Melenia rolls her eyes. “Jump!” she yells, and points to a tiny sliver in the rock’s surface.
Is she crazy? I am never going to fit through that.
“Liv! Jump!” Melenia barks again and shoves me off the rock. I have no choice but to hurl myself toward the wall, close my eyes, and hope I don’t go splat.
To my surprise I land on level ground. When I open my eyes, I’m surrounded by trees.
What the…?
“Nice, right?” Melenia nudges me, taking notice of my awe. “Nice? I’d say it’s more like someone’s fantasy art come to
life.” I look around at the most vibrant fall I have ever seen: yellows, oranges, greens and reds burn up the countryside, atop blades of grass glistening like emeralds as far as the eye can see. Above me, the sky is surging with dark purplish clouds, and yet, somehow, the sun is shining all around us. And the best part of it all? The smell. Like fresh summer rain, a scent that lingers just a few moments in my world, seems to be a permanent fixture here.
Wow.
In the midst of my amazement, Melenia abruptly jerks on my arm. “Watch out!”
“For what?” I step back.
Then I see it. Out of nowhere, a horse-drawn carriage materializes, nearly running me over.
“Seriously?” I gape at the white, shimmering carriage minus the horseman.
“What? You act like you’ve never seen a horse-drawn carriage before,” Melenia says, trying to be coy.
“No Tinkerbelle, not one that pops out of thin air,” I mock.
She rolls her eyes, yet again, and climbs into the pumpkin shaped coach.
As we roll through the brilliant forest, I run my fingers all along the inside of the fairytale carriage, feeling the smooth surface of the gold satin cushions and silver lining of the opulent tufted walls. When I gaze out the window to admire my new surroundings, it becomes alarmingly clear that Jocelyn, Melenia and I aren’t the only ones with a pulse. I am uncontrollably sucked into the living energy emitted by the deep, dark, picturesque woods.
“Liv, are you okay?” Jocelyn asks concerned.
I’m transfixed, so it takes me a moment to answer her. “I’m not sure. The forest feels alive,” I tell her, and I probably sound like I have a psychiatric disorder. “There’s some scary stuff in there.” Not only does the forest have a soul, it has some seriously intense malevolent entities, which frankly, are scaring the hell out
of me.
“Yes, that’s true,” Melenia confides. “The forest is alive, along with what lives within it.”
“Darklings?” I ask fearfully, coming out of my haze. Melenia nods. “It also has quite the personality,” she adds. “Personality?”
“It likes to play tricks,” Melenia divulges with a sly gleam. “It’s puckish. Sometimes it does things to help you, and sometimes it… doesn’t.”
I swallow hard. I don’t like the sound of that at all.
“You shouldn’t be in any danger, Liv,” Jocelyn says in a reassuring tone. “As long as you stay within the limits of Century city, everything should be fine.”
“I don’t like the fact you use the word should,” I point out. “Well,” she shrugs. “You never know. Plus…” she hesitates,
and then glances at Melenia. “There’s some stuff we didn’t tell you.”
“What stuff?”
“Gypsies,” Melenia says bluntly. “What about them?” I ask curiously.
“Don’t take anything they try to give you, don’t barter with them, don’t even converse with them, all will end badly.”
“Badly?” I bat my eyes perplexed.
“Yes, they try to trick unsuspecting individuals into indentured servitude. So beware.”
Lovely.
“How will I know a gypsy if I see one?”
“You’ll know,” Melenia tells me, “They don’t look anything like pixies.”
Oh, okay.
“And,” Jocelyn chimes in. “Don’t use your powers. At all. There are too many energy-sensing beings that can pick up on your magic, and we don’t want the world knowing there is a living, breathing Vis Vires walking around. It could cause a riot.” The carriage bounces, tossing me around on my seat just as Jocelyn says riot. Who’s driving this thing anyway?
“My existence can really cause a riot?” I question. I have always had a hard time believing this.
“Yes, Liv. Listen,” Jocelyn is serious now. “Evil’s sole purpose is to consume and destroy. Demons only care about three things. Death, destruction and power. They champion for a world void of goodness and light.” The carriage bounces again, and for some reason the innocent dip alarms me much more this time. “There is a fine line separating the balance between good and evil. Discovering a Vis Vires is out there walking around tips the scales greatly in good’s favor. Demons will do anything to keep those who suppressed them from resurrecting. And if your lineage is exposed, there could, potentially, be a revolt against you that even we couldn’t protect you from,” she gestures with her thumb between her and Melenia, but I know she’s including
all the Seraphs in that statement as well.
Fucking crap.
“You’re safer in the mortal world. It’s easier to cloak you there,” Melenia chimes in.
“Then why did you bring me here?” I insist. “Because, you needed a break,” Jocelyn says frankly.
“Oh, I need a break alright,” I glare. “From the two of you.” Then I knock my head against the carriage wall, feeling absolutely beside myself.
They both smile at me shamelessly. I’m not sure if they understood the insult, or if they just took pride in it.
“Last thing,” Melenia looks at me sternly, sending shockwaves through my system. “Don’t tell any of the pixie men your last name,” she forewarns.
“Why?”
“Because that will give them power over you.” “What kind of power?”
“Let’s just say if they want to keep you, you’ll be theirs.” “What is that supposed to mean?” I press.
“Mortals are sought after in some realms, like Devonshire. They’re a rare occurrence. Owning one in our world is like owning the Mona Lisa in yours,” she explains.
I look at them disbelievingly. “So what you’re telling me is, I need to play a magically impaired psychic, having an identity crisis, whose secret name is Rumpelstiltskin?”
“In a nutshell,” Melenia confirms.
“That shouldn’t be difficult at all,” I say dryly.
Century city wasn’t at all what I’d pictured.
For some reason I had visions of green rolling hills with fluttering pixies living in large tree communes, each hard at work at their own little craft.
Nope.
As we roll closer to the city, it
becomes clear that it is in fact that, a city.
Dark peaks of industrialized structures slowly appear in the distant dusk, as we travel up and over the rugged countryside.
“Told you it was a sight,” Melenia repeats. It’s how she described Century city on the plane ride over the Atlantic.
Sight indeed. If every fantasy writer and sci-fi enthusiast could see what I was seeing, the entertainment world would be drastically changed by storms. By colossal, earth-shaking storms. It’s stunning, dark and romantic, like I’m driving straight into someone’s beautiful nightmare. The muffled hooves pattering against the soft forest floor morph into rhythmic clasping as we pull onto the road that welcomes us into the city. The streets are golden cobblestone, the buildings gothic and a deep brick red, and running through the middle of it all is a sparkling green canal
with golden footbridges connecting each side. The architecture is breathtaking, like a surreal medieval city.
“Melenia this is amazing,” I say with an awed breath, nearly breaking my neck trying to catch a glimpse of all the extraterrestrial sights. “What’s that?” I ask about the spectacular structure sitting atop a massive cliff, alongside a rushing waterfall; it’s the most stunning aspect of the whole dramatic scene.
“The sanctuary of Saint Nikolas,” Melenia tells me. The bright, white, church-like building seems to govern the entire city as it projects against the grey, inclement clouds.
“Who’s Saint Nikolas?” I ask intrigued. “The patron saint of children.”
“Why is he so important?”
Melenia gives me a grave look. “I never told you what pixies are? Where we come from?”
“No,” I shrug ignorantly. “I just thought you born out of a rose or something.”
She gives me a dead stare. “That’s Thumbelina. We’re created from the souls of un-baptized children.”
I ponder this for a second, and then realize what she’s trying to tell me. “You mean children who’ve died?”
“Yes,” she answers solemnly.
“Oh. And that’s a bad thing?” I ask, trying to understand why she sounds so sad.
“Not presently, but when the first of our kind were born they were seen as sacrilegious. A crime against Christianity.”
“The Christians would pray to Saint Nikolas for our immoral souls to find peace in heaven. It’s told, Saint Nikolas came to our oldest ancestor in a vision, guiding him to a land of refuge, where there were no humans to condemn us. Those pixies who weren’t killed immediately found refuge in the land that I can only translate to you as prehistoric Britain. We called it Devon after the ancestor who had the vision of Saint Nikolas. We lived peacefully in the hills and meadows and forests for many centuries until prehistoric humans came to settle. They overtook the region quickly, dismissing us as pests. Born of children, we have their mischievous spirits.” Melenia’s hazel eyes light up like I have seen them do so many times. I never could quite interpret the expression, until now. Her spirit is like a child’s; playful, rascally and yet so innocent. Unless you cross her, then she’s a terror.
“We somehow found a way to coexist with the humans, sharing the land in a tolerable manner. It wasn’t until the Celtic Christian missionaries came, spreading the religious teachings that ostracized us in the first place that the tension came to head. And with the implementation of Christianity came the construction of a church. It’s very foundation threatened whatever power we had left over the land.”
“A church? Why?” I ask puzzled.
“The bells,” she says appalled. “Pixies hate the sound of bells.”
“Bells? Really?”
“They’re an unnatural noise,” she cringes. “We tried everything we could to stop the church bells from being hung but we couldn’t prevent it. And when the humans rang them for the first time, it was the pixie’s death knell. It announced the demise of our land, so we fled,” Melenia pauses, and then looks at me reflectively.
“What happened after you fled?” I ask now, completely captivated by her story. She looks momentarily at Jocelyn, who nods as if giving her the okay. I glance back and forth between the pixie and angel, trying to decipher their coded gestures.
I never have much luck with that.
“The Vis Vires aided us with finding a new home.” My mouth uncontrollably falls open.
The Vis Vires?
“They created our entire infrastructure. Our monarchy, our laws even our boundaries.”
Boundaries? What!?
“Why didn’t you want Melenia telling me that?” I ask Jocelyn. “It’s not that I didn’t want her telling you, it’s just we don’t
want to overload you on information.” “I think it’s a little late for that.”
“I agree, that’s why I let her tell you.”
Touche.
Okay, I remember Cross saying the Vis Vires’ power was vast, but I never could have imagined they erected entire realms.
“Everything you see, they constructed,” Melenia’s almond eyes wander away from me and rest on the carriage’s window.
“We named the world Devonshire to pay homage to what we lost, shire meaning division of land, and although that’s not the traditional British meaning, we found it fitting. After the realm was complete, we built the temple of Saint Nikolas to remind us of our ancestors and our struggles. It’s also where the Seminal flower blooms.”
The Seminal flower: the reason for this whole impromptu trip. Its bloom is the heart of Devonshire’s Flower festival and the nucleus of the realm. It only blossoms once every five hundred years, drawing pixies from all over to venerate.
“When will it bloom?” I ask intrigued.
“We don’t know exactly, that’s the point of the festival, to celebrate until it’s ready. When it is, the city is alerted by the Watchers.”
“I take it those are like lookouts or something?”
“Nothing gets by you,” she says in a teasing tone. “Then we make a pilgrimage to the sanctuary in its honor.”
“Sounds very spiritual.”
“It is,” Melenia says devoutly.
The coach abruptly stops. Melenia opens the door to the new world, then climbs out. Jocelyn exits next, and me right behind her. As I smooth my clothes from the long ride, I am overcome with curiosity, and not my own curiosity, everyone else’s. I look up to see all eyes on me. No matter what they were involved in before, every pixie in my line of sight has stopped to stare.
“What are they looking at?” I ask Melenia, feeling extremely uncomfortable.
“Most pixies have never seen a human before,” she tells me. “And those who have, have only seen them in your realm.”
“Oh, so I’m like the freak of the festival?”
“Sweetheart, you’re a freak no matter what realm you’re in,” Jocelyn says lightheartedly as she drops my bags in front of me. “Usually it’s me they stare at.”
“Why’s that?” I ask.
“Because Seraphs…” Melenia starts to explain, but Jocelyn interrupts her.
“Seraphs don’t need to be a topic of conversation right now. Too much talking is cutting into our partying time. We’re missing the festivities!”
“There doesn’t seem to be much celebrating going on,” I say, looking around the square as I follow them toward a beautiful dark-peaked building.
“It’s not done in the city,” Melenia says. “The festival is held
in the courtyard, outside the temple.”
“You party on holy ground?” I ask, rolling my luggage behind me as I try to keep up with them.
“Best place to do it,” Melenia tells me proudly.
“Okay, if you say so.” But I can’t help but feel it is a bit sacrilegious.
Melenia and Jocelyn lead me through two grand doors barred with gold and silver. We walk into a vast lobby shaded with a rainbow of iridescent colors. Strange writing circles around a medallion fashioned in the floor. I stare at it, trying to decipher the words.
“T
he White Tulip,” Melenia translates. “It’s the name of the hotel.”
“That would explain the huge tile flower,” I say wryly. It’s the only colorless aspect of the entire building.
The atrium is open and airy, and as we make our way up the huge and multi-hued winding staircase, I can see ground to ceiling in the cylinder’s center. We walk and walk and walk until I start to get queasy.
“Are we there yet?” I ask like a whiney child.
“Yes,” Melenia answers. And not a moment too soon. “And I promise, the trek was worth it.”
She hands me a gold, old-looking key as we make our way down a long hallway. The carpet is blood red and the walls are a dark reddish-brown, like burnt sienna. There are very few doors.
“Find number sixteen,” she tells me. “And we’ll come get you in an hour.”
Only one? I needed like fifteen to recuperate from the long flight, long ride and long climb.
I walk down the narrow hall until I find number sixteen. I insert the key and turn the knob.
I gasp when I open the door.
Can we say master suite?
I drop my bag, and stare out through the massive wall made of glass. The windows showcase all of Century city and beyond. I thought the ground view was impressive, but the aerial view just blows me away. Bob Ross would go nuts, painting him some happy little trees, because that’s exactly what the landscape looks like: art. Wildly fantastic, imaginative, living art.
The room isn’t too shabby either. The carpet is a lush deep green and the furniture a dark mahogany red. In the middle of it all is a king-sized bed draped in a gold gauze canopy with linens to match. The headboard is intricately carved, in a swirling pattern, right into the raw wood of the wall. It is as natural as it is elegant. As I take in my surroundings, my body all of a sudden feels unbearably heavy. I walk over to the massive mattress that seems to beckon me, take one look at the luxurious comforter, and crash.
Gravitational Pull (Vis Vires, book 2) (Vis Vires trilogy) Page 7
