by Megan Derr
Johnnie laughed, even if the words stirred an ache in his chest. "I agree wholeheartedly, milady. That dance is tricky enough, without feeling as though you are dancing in the dark to music you do not know."
"That is perfectly said," Phil said, then smiled faintly. "You and your father are the first real gentlemen I have encountered in some time, but like all gentlemen, you are not for me to touch." She sighed. "Ah, well. So it goes. What had you frowning so, Johnnie?"
"Secrets," Johnnie said. "Everyone likes to keep secrets, and leave me out of them. I am tired of it."
"Is that what you were discussing when I intruded?" Phil asked. "I am sorry, I know how frustrating it is to be kept in the dark. It's been, oh, more years than I like to count, since someone tried to use me in a demonic ceremony. I didn't know what was going on, no one would tell me, and I felt like they were all treating me like a child—my father, Chris, everyone I pestered. But I pushed and pushed, and here I am, past fifty but still young looking." Her smile was bittersweet. "I buried my father, a few friends, and I am careful to avoid the rest until all that remains of my normal life finally fades away. I love my life, and do not regret my choices, but I better understand now why everyone tried to keep me in the dark."
Johnnie shrugged impatiently. "I ceased to have a normal life the moment my parents were murdered; I am tired of people trying to keep me partly normal."
"Well, from what little I know of you," Phil said, "if no one tells you the truth, you will uncover it yourself. Just be careful, Johnnie. Better to dance in the dark than be devoured by it."
"I know," Johnnie replied quietly. "Believe me, I am all too aware of what can happen in the dark."
They lapsed into silence then, and Johnnie slid a brief look at Bergrin, sitting directly opposite him. Bergrin, to his surprise, seemed troubled. A deep frown cut hard lines into his face, and he for once seemed completely oblivious to his surroundings.
Johnnie hesitated, then reached out with his cane and struck Bergrin lightly on the leg. "What has you looking gloomy, babysitter?"
"Hm?" Bergrin asked, then his eyes cleared as he left his thoughts to focus on Johnnie. "Uh. Nothing of importance. I apologize."
Rolling his eyes, Johnnie struck him again with a little more force. "Fine. If it is nothing, stop scowling." He withdrew his cane, and laid it across his lap again, then resumed staring out the window. The car lapsed into silence, save for brief, soft laughter from Phil.
They arrived at the Bremen four long hours later, and Johnnie gave Phil his arm, wondering with amusement how the others would react to his guest.
Inside, the entire room stopped, several pairs of eyes locked on Phil. Hanging up her coat, Phil smoothed her hair, then beamed at all of them. She strode to the bar, heels clicking on the floor, shockingly loud in the stunned silence, and leaned on the counter. Smiling at Peyton, she said, "Hey, there, wolf. Could I get a whiskey sour?"
"Sure thing," Peyton managed, and went to make the drink, pausing only to slide a shot of vodka across the bar for Johnnie.
Johnnie picked up the shot and tossed it back, then turned to the rest of the room and said, "Stop gawking. Walsh, you are about to set something on fire with that cigar."
Jerking into motion, Walsh set the cigar hastily aside in a tray, then moved with the others almost as one.
Heath snickered from the far end of the bar. "Johnnie, Johnnie. However did you wind up with a woman clearly too good for you?"
Phil laughed, then thanked Peyton as he brought her drink. "Hello, boys. It's nice to meet you. What an interesting mix you've got here." She glanced at Heath. "You're Heath Etherton."
Johnnie's eyes snapped to Heath. "Are you really?"
"I was, yes," Heath said tersely. "I was disowned. I like it here. You didn't come here to discuss me."
"No," Phil said. "We came to meet with Micah."
"That's me," Micah said from one of the tables, lifting his beer in greeting. He smiled at Phil, then glanced at Johnnie. "What do you need from me?"
"Everything you know about plane crossing," Johnnie said. "Let us talk upstairs." He walked across the bar to the door leading up to his rooms, not giving anyone a chance to argue.
Phil murmured a thanks and a farewell to the other men, then followed along with Micah and Bergrin. "Nice place," she commented as she sat down in one of the leather chairs in the living area. "And above a bar. I've got a nice penthouse these days, but it lacks the charm of this place."
Johnnie smiled briefly in thanks, as he sat down in his favorite place on his leather sofa. Bergrin sat down next to him, startling Johnnie. He fought an urge to shift—and hated he was not certain if he wanted to move further away or closer in, and why must he be noticing his damned babysitter this way? Life had been much easier, even with all his recent complications, before his awareness of Bergrin had become sexually charged.
Micah sat down in the other leather chair set next to Phil's, with a table between them. "So what can I tell you, Johnnie?"
"We have had an interesting string of murders," Johnnie began, and told him all that Phil had earlier related.
"Yeah, that sounds like plane crossing," Micah said when he had finished. "Sounds like they were pulled into dreaming while half-asleep, and gradually woken still trapped there—then thrown out of it, or possibly fell out of it when they died."
Bergrin stirred at that. "Bodies do not typically move from the plane in which they died. Souls do, but not bodies."
Johnnie's brows rose. "You sound certain of that."
"I am," Bergrin said.
"How can you know that? No one knows much of anything about travelling the planes, let alone what happens when a person belongs to one plane, but dies in another."
Bergrin did not reply, and in fact looked sorry that he had spoken.
One more secret, Johnnie thought bitterly. One more stupid, infuriating secret. "Fine, keep your precious secrets. Everyone else does." Not giving Bergrin a chance to reply, he turned back to Micah and said, "How could one do that?"
Micah shrugged. "There are spells, but that sort of thing is generally a onetime only sort of thing. Summoning a demon from hell, calling down an angel, bringing forth a Jinn—any of it. But once their binding is broken, or their power grows too great in the case of a demon, then back they go. Once brought out and sent back, there usually is no second trip. In the case of normals and less powerful abnormals jumping planes, it's most often a one way street. It's … too taxing, I guess, except in the case of the dream plane. And, well, how well do normals or even abnormals remember their dreams?"
"I would not know," Johnnie said. "I do not dream."
"Probably you just do not remember them at all," Phil said. "Many don't."
Johnnie disagreed, for he had read enough about dreams and dreaming over the years to know for a certainty that he did not dream, but he did not press the matter. "So what is one way to get a regular abnormal from the mortal plane to the dream plane without them being completely asleep?"
"Powerful spell work," Micah replied. "You probably already knew that. It's definitely nothing I could do, not without getting into the sort of alchemy that no one should get mixed up in. You're talking powerful witch work, and then only if it's a damned good witch. More likely, it's sorcerer or necromancer level. It wouldn't be unlike how that cane was made actually." He nodded at the cane Johnnie still held.
Flourishing it, Johnnie examined the runes, then said, "Explain."
Micah did not look happy, but said, "An item that can cross all the planes must be made with the lifeblood of a creature from every plane. That is why I do not make more of them. That is why I do not want anyone else to have it. That is why I will die before I share the secret with anyone who might abuse it. You three already know more than any other living person, and I tell you only because I trust you, Johnnie, and am willing to trust your friends."
"No one will ever hear it from me," Phil promised solemnly.
"It is not possible to capture a creature
from every plane," Bergrin said. "Most can be summoned, but not all. No one even knows for certain how many planes there truly are, which ones are myth, which ones are fact."
Micah shrugged. "The secret of the cane's making has been passed down orally through many generations. The finer points of it, we have purposely lost. My father always surmised that the one who actually made the cane must have had help from a sorcerer who was able to summon forth all the necessary creatures. Demon, angel, whatever dream creature—I do not know them all, I only know the cane exists, and that to make it required murdering each of those creatures and binding their essence to the cane."
Johnnie grimaced as he examined his cane again, and quoted, "He that increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow."
Beside him, Bergrin grunted. "I shudder to think what they did and tried before finally getting the experiment correct."
"I agree," Phil murmured. "So how does all of this tie in to the dead women, you think? Someone is trying to step it up from objects to living persons?"
Johnnie frowned, thinking, then pulled out his phone and punched one of the speed dials. "Come see me," he said, then hung up.
A moment later, Rostislav appeared by the window. He smiled at Johnnie in amusement. "You summoned, Master Johnnie? You are lucky I was not otherwise occupied."
"Jesse is always in his business meetings this time of day," Johnnie said dismissively. "Nothing else you do now is more important."
Rostislav laughed, then crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the window. "So how might I serve, oh lord and master?"
Johnnie rolled his eyes, then said, "You said once that there were rumors of someone interested in plane crossing."
"Yes," Rostislav replied slowly, pushing away from the wall again, hands falling to his side. "Someone is hunting plane crossing relics, through fair means and foul. Mostly foul—extremely foul. No one knows who or why, only that lately that sort of thing has been highly in demand. Word is that if you have one, guard it heavily or give it up. I also heard the same someone was hunting plane-crossing creatures, but I can't imagine there are many, if any, of those just floating around. There is no creature that can just cross the planes."
"Do you know anything else?" Johnnie asked.
Rostislav shook his head. "No, unfortunately. Just as the rumors were beginning to reach me, I was exiled with Jesse. I can try to investigate it, but it will be more difficult now."
"I can investigate it," Phil said. "Rumors are not hard to dig up."
"Just be careful," Rostislav said. "All the rumors I have heard agree on the nastiness of the person behind it all. Ruthless, that's the word I kept hearing."
Phil nodded, but did not seem concerned. "I've dealt with worse."
Johnnie glanced at Micah. "I wish now we had held onto that imp who was hurting you. He may have known something about this."
"You think?" Micah asked, frowning in thought. "I thought he was just after the money."
"I would not be surprised to learn that is not entirely true," Johnnie said. "So now we are looking for a talented alchemist or a powerful sorcerer, and quite possibly a rather devious imp."
Rostislav made a face. "I will see what I can do, but it is hard when visiting you is about all I can do without getting people up in arms."
"Cinderella, Cinderella," Johnnie taunted, smirking when Rostislav glared at him. "Return to your Prince Charming, then. I have other resources, though if you do hear something, by all means let me know."
"Of course," Rostislav murmured, then vanished as suddenly as he had appeared.
Phil rested her chin in the palm of one hand, elbow propped on the armrest of her chair. "I still wonder what the girls themselves have to do with it," she mused. "There is some relevance to that, but damned if I've been able to find it." She looked toward Johnnie, then continued, "The only connection I've found between them is the Society. Otherwise, they vary in age, type of abnormal, interests, money, you name it. I would almost swear they were chosen at random, except they all belong to that damned society and they were all new wealth, so far as the abnormal world is concerned."
"That is probably all that they need to have in common," Johnnie said, idly running his thumb over the head of his cane, tracing the lines of the runes. "The point is twelve sisters, lost in a world that hopes to steal them away forever. Some people believe that the key to plane travel is in the tale itself. Whoever is doing this, is clearly recreating the tale in hopes of finding that key. I would wager the women are being killed from youngest to oldest? I would also bet the youngest was talkative, and easily frightened. Should all twelve die, you will likely find the oldest to be the strongest and wisest."
Everyone looked at him, with varying degrees of amazement on their faces. Finally Micah asked, "How do you know that?"
"Yes," Phil said. "You're as sharp as Chris, I swear, and he's roughly twice your age, I'd wager."
Johnnie motioned impatiently, then stood up and strode across the room to his library. Flicking on one of the Tiffany lamps, he strode to the proper bookcase and pulled down the book he wanted. Returning to the living room, he set it down upon the coffee table for everyone to see. "An Analysis of Plane Travel in Classic Tales. I have others." He resumed his seat next to Bergrin, wishing suddenly that he had not moved, as his head had decided that was grounds to resume throbbing.
Phil leaned over and picked the book up, then sat back in her seat and began to thumb through it. "Impressive. No one has ever mentioned studies like this to me. I thought fairytales were fairytales." She laughed softly. "That seems so silly, of a sudden. Of course they would be more than they appear; that is the nature of abnormals."
"Quite," Johnnie agreed. "Someone else has read this book, I would imagine. It is quite old, but still the best source on the subject. Anyone interested in studying plane travel would begin with this book." He gripped the top of his cane and scowled. "I do wish now I had not simply let that imp run off, but at the time, the matter seemed closed."
"He can be found again," Bergrin said. "If it really matters that much, Prince, he can be found again."
"How can you find him?" Johnnie asked. "He is an imp, he could change his appearance, and you were not even there …" He sighed when Bergrin only smirked. "Of course you were there, why did I think otherwise?" He rolled his eyes. "So why did you not save me that day?"
Bergrin only smirked again, and said, "Highness, you will never know just how close I was to taking care of the matter. How close I was, period."
Johnnie cast him a withering look, then said, "Fine then, braggart. See the imp from that day is found. We will see what information he can provide."
"It will be done," Bergrin said. "After you are in bed and I have called another Enforcer to watch you in my absence."
"I truly hate you," Johnnie groused, only further irritated by the way Bergrin merely continued to smirk.
Phil laughed. "You two are cute. I think I will leave you to your imp hunt, Johnnie, and see if I can't catch a lead on the rumors Rostislav mentioned. Hopefully one of us will come across something, or stumble into it. Be careful, though, huh?"
"Of course," Johnnie said, and stood up, taking her hand when she held it out and kissing the back of it. Then he kissed her cheek. "Be careful yourself, milady."
Patting his cheek fondly, Phil took hold of Jester, and then was gone, leaving Johnnie with just Micah and Bergrin.
"You're getting into some dangerous stuff," Micah said quietly. "This is much worse than one stupid imp causing me grief, if you really think he's involved. No one should be trying to do what my stupid damned ancestors managed."
Johnnie frowned. "What concerns me is that they have not troubled you further, Micah."
"I've always played dumb," Micah said. "We claimed to be studying the cane to learn its secrets; we were never dumb enough to say we already knew how it was done. I don't even want to think about what would happen were the wrong people to learn how to make objects that can travel th
e planes. I fear that once they achieved that, it would not take them long to learn how to do it with people."
"They already are," Johnnie said. "If the seven dead women are any indication, then they can move them from mortal to dream, at least while they are partially asleep, and can move them completely from dream to mortal." He twirled his cane back and forth in his hands, thinking. At last he posed, "To work this hard, to take such a risk as these murders, whoever it is must have a specific goal in mind. Risks are not taken for abstracts; they are taken for definites."
Bergrin sighed. "Why can't you take cases finding lost cats or something?"
Johnnie smacked Bergrin's leg with his cane. "That would be a waste of my intellect."
"Or your ego," Bergrin groused, and his scowl was not at all diminished by the fact his right eye was still more closed than open, the livid bruise surrounding it worse than ever. "Honestly, going on an imp hunt will be cake next to babysitting you." He shifted slightly, as though making to stand, but a faint grimace overtook his face, and he did not move.
