The Book of Eden

by Alex Temples

  I looked up at Siddarth and stared into his brown eyes again. “You’re beautiful too, Sid.”

  I lifted my fingers and brushed them across his cheek. He was warmer than the metal, softer. I leaned forward and sighed softly, biting my lip.

  Why was he not kissing me?

  Several emotions played across Siddarth’s face. I saw that he wanted me too, but instead of kissing me, he set his hand lightly on my wrist, just above where I clutched the cup.

  “Brin. I know you are feeling some strong emotions right now, but it is because of the cup. The feelings aren’t real.” He said it slowly and deliberately and I thought I detected a hint of regret in his voice.

  “Of course, the feelings are real.” I said, smiling at him. “You’re beautiful, and I’m so hungry for you.”

  I licked my lips and leaned in, letting my lips brush his ear. “I want you so badly.” I breathed, kissing his neck and breathing in the scent of him, at once exotic and familiar.

  Siddarth sucked in a breath, and pulled back slightly until he was staring into my eyes. “Brin, give me the cup.” He said it more firmly this time, his hand settling over mine.

  He wanted my cup. I wasn’t going to give him my cup. I’d see to that. I leaned in and pressed my lips to his, finding them warm and welcoming. He stilled completely as I kissed him, his shock evident.

  Then, his hands came up and twisted in my hair and he kissed me back, hungrily, drinking me in as if he were a parched man tasting water for the first time in days.

  Siddarth tasted different than Eirian, his kisses were different. Eirian was aggressive and domineering, sparking a deep lust in me. Siddarth’s kisses were sensual and sweet, a slow seduction. They were filled with passion as he pulled me to him, and I felt a strange emotion I hadn’t when Eirian kissed me. It blossomed in my chest and my eyes burned as a few tears slid down my cheeks. It took something deeper than desire to stir that feeling. I shuddered, and gulped and pulled away reluctantly.

  Siddarth had pulled the cup from my grasp as he kissed me. I’d hardly noticed. We sat on the bed silently, staring at each other. I swallowed, a strange lump in my throat as feelings I was afraid to acknowledge slid off me. I took a deep, steadying breath and met his eyes.

  “Wow.”

  I glanced slowly down at my lap and then put a hand to my forehead as the dull ache reappeared and I began to feel more like myself.

  “Yeah.” Siddarth’s expression was hard to read. He studied me carefully. “How do you feel?”

  I took another steadying breath, letting it out slowly as I recognized the twinge in my ribs had returned.

  “Back to normal.” I said. My cheeks burned with embarrassment as I recalled what had just happened. I’d kissed Siddarth. Damn. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, so I moved further back in my memory. I’d kissed Eirian. My lip curled and anger filled me. I knew exactly how I felt about that.

  “Eirian.” I said angrily.

  Siddarth nodded. “Yes.”

  I frowned. “What happened to me?”

  Siddarth glanced down at the cup in his hand and lifted it to my eye level. “The cup happened to you.”

  I frowned again, waiting for him to explain.

  He sighed, glancing down at the silver chalice in his hands. “The cup has many powers, Brin. It is one of the four great treasures, as you know. You know of its ability to bring back life from the other side, but it has many others. It is said that the cup provides that which is desired by she who possesses it. Sometimes that means food or drink. Sometimes it means giving life back to one from whom it is escaping, other times, the one who holds it seeks something more.”

  He looked away then, embarrassed. “Intimacy, or sex are not directly in its power to provide of course, so it exerts its influence upon the person bearing it so that he, or she, will get what she most craves.” He mumbled the last part.

  My cheeks flooded with embarrassment and I looked down. This was so humiliating. “The cup thought I wanted to get laid?” I asked with embarrassment.

  Siddarth looked conflicted. He shrugged. “Not necessarily. There is often much more to desire than pure lust. It could be that you are feeling vulnerable after…”

  “Aiden.” I finished.

  He nodded. “Yes, sometimes when we think sex is what we’re looking for, it’s actually intimacy, the need to feel close to another person, especially one we care about. “He said, his voice soft.

  I pressed my lips together, frowning.

  “Sid, I’m so sorry. I mean, not about kissing you, I just…” I smacked my forehead. “This is really embarrassing.”

  He put a hand on my shoulder. “It’s alright, Brin. I liked kissing you too. I think where you’re going with this, is that now is not the time to further investigate our mutual enjoyment of the kiss, so let’s just agree it was quite pleasant, and focus on the task at hand.” He said, his voice smooth and confident now. The tone of authority I recognized from our many years working together was back. It soothed me and I nodded.

  “Agreed.”

  “Now, I don’t condone Eirian taking advantage of the situation and kissing you, but he was trying to help. Had you taken a drink from that cup, there’s no telling what would have happened.”

  “I thought it was a healing cup?” I asked, confused.

  Siddarth shook his head once. “Remember, all magic comes at a price, Brin. It is intended to give life, to make well, and all of that, but to do that, it must borrow life, borrow energy from something else.”

  I frowned, considering this. “Hmm. Like my magic pulls energy from nature?”

  He nodded.

  “Wouldn’t this just pull from nature?”

  “Not necessarily. It depends what task it’s trying to accomplish. The cup is far more powerful than you or me individually, or even combined. The cup can use any type of magic in existence, which means it can pull energy from nature, from living beings, or even draw power from emotions or powerful feelings.”

  “Emotions or feelings?” He’d lost me.

  Siddarth looked around the room and then back to me. “Yes, feelings like lust and pain are some of the most powerful, but it can also pull on grief or happiness, or other emotions. The point is, if you’d drunk from the cup, we don’t know what the consequences would be. Could it have just pulled energy from the plants in the room?” He gestured to the two potted palms and the hanging snake plant in the corner. “Maybe, but it could just as easily have stolen your joy, or drained some lifeblood from Eirian.”

  I sat, wide-eyed, still only partially grasping what he was saying. The cup took from one thing so it could give to another…

  “So, it would take a proportionate amount of whatever power source it’s using depending on the objective it needs to accomplish?” I asked, head cocked to one side.

  Siddarth nodded. “Yes. For example, to heal your broken nose, and your cuts, I had enough power spindled to satisfy the spell myself, but to do something like bring a dying man back to life…” He paused. “That takes a far greater amount of power than I alone possess, or can even pull from the surrounding environment.”

  I frowned. “Then where does the cup get the power to bring a man back to life?” I asked.

  He contemplated the now dull silver.

  “I don’t know. This is a more powerful magic than any I’ve seen before. The legend says that in battle, there is enough emotion in the air – pain, fear, anger, that the cup can pull on these to bring a man back to life, but in truth, I don’t think anyone can know until they use it.”

  We both stared solemnly at the cup.

  “Ah, there you two are!” Nia called from the hallway, her tone relieved. “You need to come with me, quickly. Tristan isn’t doing so well.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Tristan lay in my bed, pale and fading. My stomach turned. I understood why it was called a wasting spell. He looked as if something were slowly consuming him from the inside. The room smelled of various
herbs and poultices Nia had been applying to his wound, but underneath, was the scent of illness.

  I shuddered, turning to Nia with concern.

  “What can we do?” I asked, biting the inside of my cheek, unwilling to give way to my fear or sadness. We’d fix this. Whatever it took, we’d get Tristan well.

  Nia glanced down at Tristan, her eyes filled with concern. She turned to Siddarth and raised an eyebrow. He looked down at the cup in his hand.

  “We have to. It could be his only shot.” I said, my voice firm, revealing none of the panic I felt mounting inside.

  Nia cleared her throat, pondering this. She glanced once more at Tristan and then nodded.

  “You’re right. We have no choice.”

  With that pronouncement, the three of us crowded around Tristan’s bed.

  Siddarth held the cup.

  “How do we do it?” I asked.

  Siddarth and Nia glanced at each other, unsure.

  I recalled how when I’d held the cup, it had suddenly filled with liquid. What had I done? I’d just been thinking about what I wanted, I supposed. Maybe it worked like other spells? You just had to focus on your intention and it did what you wanted?

  “Let me have it.” I demanded.

  Siddarth’s eyes shot to me in surprise. “Brin…” He began.

  I shook my head. “It’s okay now. I know what to do. I won’t let it influence me.” I wasn’t sure how I knew, but somehow, I did. The cup had tried to rule me because I hadn’t known its power. You couldn’t protect yourself from something when you didn’t know it presented a threat. Now I knew.

  Siddarth sighed, but something in my expression must have convinced him, because he nodded and tossed me the cup.

  Nia watched silently.

  I caught the cup in one hand, and moved to sit by Tristan’s head, just as the woman in the painting had been kneeling next to the fallen solider.

  “We need to focus on the cup, all of us. Focus on our desire for it to reverse the wasting spell, for Tristan to be whole and strong as he was before.”

  “It works on intention.” Nia said, her voice filled with curiosity. “Could it be that simple?”

  “Yes, I think she’s right.” Siddarth said, moving to sit on the other side of the bed. “Come. Sit.”

  Nia sat next to Siddarth.

  I nodded with approval, turning my attention to the silver cup. My eyes traveled from the cup, to Tristan’s pale face, and back again. I clutched the cup, poured my worry for him and my desire to see him whole again forth into its’ silver depths.

  I visualized Tristan standing and laughing. I saw him strong, whole and hale, as we fought off the dark fae in the Trinity library. I flashed back to him in my hotel room, to our kiss, feeling his strong, warm body pressed against mine. I focused on the sensation of his breath against my cheek, warm and alive.

  Across from me Nia and Siddarth sat, similar expressions of focus on their faces, as they stared at the cup. With a blaze, the cup came to life in my hands, burning with a strong silver light as it had before, only ten times brighter.

  I raised my eyes in triumph. Nia and Siddarth watched as I lowered the cup to Tristan’s head. Warm, silver liquid tricked out of the chalice, sliding over Tristan’s lips, and flowing into his mouth.

  As the silver liquid flowed into him, Tristan’s face took on the same glow as the chalice, shining with light. Then, he began choking. I stopped pouring the liquid into his mouth, sitting back to watch as he coughed and sputtered.

  “Hurry, let’s help him sit.” Nia said, moving to add another pillow behind him. Siddarth and I lifted Tristan into a sitting position. He continued to cough and sputter. I looked to Nia with alarm.

  “Give him a minute.” Nia soothed, watching her friend.

  Tristan sucked in a couple gulps of air, and then opened his eyes.

  “Do I smell Chinese?” He asked, turning to me with a grin.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  All the plants in my house were dead, as was the willow tree out front.

  Nia thought it was because I was most practiced in green magic. That the chalice drew upon the plants to heal Tristan. I was fine with it. I’d buy more plants. As for the Willow, it had been encroaching on my patio anyway. It would have to be removed.

  The four of us were still crowded in my room. After polishing off two cartons of rice, four eggrolls, and a container of kung pao chicken, Tristan had finally been ready to talk. We’d filled him in on everything he’d missed.

  He’d stared at the chalice in awe. I’d left out the bits about how I’d kissed Eirian and Siddarth, hoping they wouldn’t say anything. Siddarth looked amused at my selective telling of the story, but had remained silent.

  Tristan, who’d been shifting restlessly since he’d finished eating, threw the covers off, and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” I asked, glancing to Nia and Siddarth for back up.

  Tristan raised an eyebrow. “You said there was a whole herd of keepers upstairs now. I want to meet them.”

  I shook my head. “You were on your deathbed not twenty minutes ago.”

  He smiled. “But you healed me. I feel great.”

  Siddarth laughed.

  I shot him a look of warning.

  “We don’t know how long it lasts, or if it fully healed you. You need rest.”

  Tristan smiled. “Brin, I’m okay. I feel fine.”

  I turned to Nia for support, but she just shrugged. “If he feels okay, I don’t see the harm.”

  I let out an exasperated sigh and stormed out, clearly outvoted.

  It supposed it was just as well. I wanted to meet the new keepers too. I took the stairs two at a time. When I got to the top, I paused in the doorway, taking in the scene in front of me.

  Someone had moved my living room furniture upstairs. Clustered in the middle of the enormous room, sat two sofas, two armchairs and several barstools, all facing my small coffee table.

  The Book of Invasions was spread out across the table. Tattered pages were neatly ordered into piles. People I’d never met, sat clutching the weathered pages and reading intently. I recognized the large blonde man, and the small black-haired woman, as those who’d accompanied Siddarth at the cemetery. From that, I concluded they must be Nikolaus, the German Keeper, and Esma, from Istanbul.

  Claire and Oren appeared to be supervising the operation, perched on my mismatched red barstools, as they sipped coffee and chatted.

  I studied the odd group. The German, great lumbering bear of a man that he was, dwarfed the small Turkish woman sitting next to him on the couch. They were both bent over the pages in the man’s hand, seemingly discussing something of great interest.

  I didn’t know much about the Turkish woman yet, other than she didn’t cower in the face of hand-to-hand combat, which made her okay in my book. We needed gutsy people for task ahead.

  In one armchair, a slightly plump woman with a prominent nose sat, small eyes narrowed intently on the papers in front of her, a look of appreciation on her face as she read. Her lips turned up slightly at the corners, as if she were someone who frequently smiled. This one detail made her appear warm and inviting, despite her otherwise harsh features.

  In the opposite armchair, a young woman with bouncy corkscrew curls and deep brown skin polished her glasses. She wore tight black jeans. Her flouncy hot pink top perfectly matched her glasses. Meticulously, she finished polishing each lens, then set the glasses down on the coffee table, straightening the pile of papers in front of her before leaning down to pull a small notepad and pen from her purse. In this, she jotted down a few notes, in what I could only imagine, based on her mannerisms, was very neat, precise handwriting.

  Finally, I turned to the last of the strangers, a boyish looking woman with large, angular eyes and a small chin. Her pale purple hair was cropped at the shoulders. She wore an oversized green flight jacket with a black camisole and jeans. She, like the woman
with glasses, was taking notes as she paged through the book.

  I stood, transfixed by the scene in front of me. They’d just arrived from the far reaches of the earth, likely having traveled all day, if not a night and a day. Yet, they were already hard at work. I’d planned a lengthy speech, explaining our predicament, and what was needed from them. I realized now they’d already heard this explanation from the fae. At a loss for words, I stood staring, until Claire raised her head and spotted me.

  “Brin, come on over. I have everyone looking through the book. They’re searching for patterns and clues to where the other artifacts might be.”

  I nodded woodenly, moving towards her. Curious eyes turned from the book to study me. I paused next to Claire, turning to face them.

  “Hello everyone, I imagine Claire has already explained why you’re here, so I’ll try not to repeat anything you’ve already heard. My name is Brinmar Yates. You can call me Brin. I am originally from New York, but I recently relocated here to work more closely with Queen Aelwen’s council, as we continue to search for a lasting solution to this conflict with the dark fae.”

  I paused, glancing around the room. They were all listening politely, wearing carefully blank expressions. I cleared my throat.

  “Until a few months ago, I was completely unaware of the magical world, and any such group charged with protecting mortals.”

  A few people glanced sideways at each other, surprise registering on their faces. I took a deep breath. I figured that would provoke some sort of reaction, and hoped it wouldn’t cause them to question my leadership.

  “I was raised by my father, who was of course a mortal. For the last ten years, I’ve been working in the scientific community, until being introduced to this other side of my heritage.”

  I hesitated, glancing around once more.

  “I won’t pretend to know more than you, because I don’t. I understand your mothers have protected mortals from the dark fae for many decades, ensuring the magical world stays under wraps. Their service is deeply appreciated. My mother is Rosaina, who, as you know, has led the Keepers for the last half century.”