Heir Of Doom

by Jina S Bazzar

  “Not if they believed we'd be on to you in no time.”

  “Why save the photos if they were convinced you'd be on to me?”

  “As a precaution, in case we didn't. And once this person had no choice, the photos were mailed so we'd know where to look.”

  I shut up, knowing Logan had a ready rebuttal to any question or excuse I made. Aware that his answers had come from the council when he'd posed those same questions to them. Beside me, Zantry put down the notes and watched, no doubt able to hear both sides of the conversation. Logan waited, and when I said nothing, he added, “The kidnapping of a scion from a prominent family can't go unpunished for months. We have the best trackers, excellent hunters, and yet no one can find any trace of a missing child.”

  “So they'd rather execute someone who's innocent just so they don't look like bumbling idiots? One day the truth will come out, Logan. What are they going to do then? Brush it off as an unfortunate event?”

  “The point is that if she ran and hid like you said she did, we'd have found her already.”

  “If she ran and hid, Logan, there wouldn't have been anyone trying to frame me.”

  Logan didn't reply, no doubt having nothing to say that wouldn't make the clan look worse than it already did.

  Zantry made a gesture, mimed handing me something, pointed down at the photos. I tilted my head, not understanding, but got it when he repeated the gesture.

  “Who mailed the photos?”

  “We don't know,” Logan replied.

  My hand clenched the phone. “The return address?”

  “There wasn't any. And I know what you're thinking, believe me, because so did I. I went over the envelope and checked, and then double-checked for a sign or trace. There was nothing to trace with the photos: no scent, no fibers, no prints. It was mailed from a post office in midtown Manhattan. I covered both angles myself.” His tone was soothing, reassuring.

  Zantry mimed opening an envelope and sniffing it. “I want to see this envelope,” I told him coolly.

  “There's nothing there, Roxanne. Don't waste your time. Focus on another angle. I told you, I myself went to the post office. It's another dead end.”

  “Well, forgive me if I don't find that reassuring,” I snapped. “I want to check the envelope myself.”

  The pause was thick, tangible. “Alright. Where are you?”

  “At home.”

  “I'll be there in an hour.” He hung up and I glanced at Zantry.

  “Someone is framing me,” I said with a heavy heart. “Who hates me that much?”

  There wasn't so much sympathy in Zantry's eyes as understanding. Somehow, that made me feel worse.

  “I can go to the post office tonight, take a look around.”

  I nodded, but we both knew chances of him finding anything were slim to none. I wondered if Elizabeth would do this to her own child to get at me. That was hard to believe, but it didn't leave me brimming with other options. “You better go before he gets here. I don't need someone else being blamed if I fail.”

  Zantry studied me with knowing eyes. “Are you worried about my well-being or about Logan seeing me with you?”

  “What's the difference?”

  A dark eyebrow shot up. “Avoiding the question?”

  I shrugged. “I'm not sure. I don't want you to get any blame, but maybe I don't want Logan to see you here with me. I don't know if it's due to his warning about you, or…” I let the sentence die, not knowing how to finish that.

  “Both, then.” He leaned back on the counter, gazing around the apartment. “First, just to ease your mind, I can mask my imprint from the ether so that all you sense is an ordinary person. This means that unless Logan actually sees me with his eyes, his senses will never tell him otherwise. If I weren't masking my presence, it doesn't matter whether he can see me or not; he'd know I was here.”

  “Are you masking now?”

  “I am. The only times I wasn't was during the charity ball, and even then I only let a tiny part through to the ether. The other time was the other night in the Low Lands.”

  I recalled trying to sense his aura the night of the ball and sensing nothing but a faint , strange thrumming. Was that what he meant?

  “Second,” He went on, “I can see energy. I can sense emotions, see the way they make the energy patterns change. I can feel auras, read their descriptions.” His lips lifted into a small smile. “The energy pattern around you changed when you mentioned him. It churned when you talked to him. Passion is a complex and dangerous emotion. It's also very versatile. You can hate someone with passion; you can love someone with passion. It can be a violent tempest; it can be a gentle breeze. It can level cities, it can calm raging hearts.”

  Ignoring his poetic description of my feelings, I latched onto his previous words like a drowning person. “I can see auras and sense emotions, too. But I don't see energy.”

  He was the first person I knew who'd openly admitted to it. It was like he had nothing to hide from the world, like he'd tell everyone anything whether they wanted to listen to or not. Yet, he refused to tell people he'd been a prisoner in the PSS this entire time to clear his name.

  Zantry's eyebrows arched a fraction in surprise. He studied my face, his expression puzzled. “How do you sense emotions?”

  “That's not normal for a Dhiultadh?”

  Zantry angled his head, his eyes searching my face. “Aren't you supposed to have two mentors? My understanding was that they are both Dhiultadh.”

  “Diggy said it's called empathy.”

  “It is, but I haven't heard of a Dhiultadh with that trait before. How do you sense emotions?”

  “I'm not sure if I understand what you mean. But I can sense people's emotions, providing they're strong enough. Sometimes – though not often – I sense something that I can't identify, and I figure it's probably something I haven't felt before, so I have no name or description for it. Is that how it is for you?”

  “In a way. Emotions have something that disrupts the chaotic pattern of energy.” He traced fingers through the air, presumably against whatever energy he could see. “They leave a mark, sometimes colorful, depending on the emotion and how strong it is, but more often than not, they just rearrange energy into different patterns. Negative emotions attract more energy, though genuine happiness is very strong as well.” He slipped his hands back into his pockets. “But you can't see energy?”

  “No, I don't think so. Should I?”

  “I've never seen or heard about a Dhiultadh who couldn't.”

  I frowned, trying to make sense of his explanation. “But if Dhiultadh can see energy, how come they can't see emotions? I mean, you just said that emotions disrupt energy patterns, right? How come Dhiultadh can't see it then?”

  Zantry's eyes gleamed. “There are levels of energy, some are complex, but most are basic. The Dhiultadh can see the basic ones, the atoms and molecules, the normal currents in the ether. But complex energy can only be seen in the fifth dimension, and it's there where emotions act.”

  “Ether. Vincent said that a member was going to help me see into the ether before my training was concluded.”

  Zantry's eyebrow shot up. “And if you weren't able to?”

  I shrugged. “That's a possibility.”

  “You should explain, if the time comes, that even if you can't see the ether, your senses are attuned to higher dimensions. I bet Roland would love the idea of a member who can't see the fourth dimension, but is familiar with the fifth.”

  I felt a headache starting to brew and rubbed my temple. “Is that how people know I have a shadow, even when Frizz is invisible to the eye?”

  “Yes, though only his shadow can be seen in the fourth dimension.”

  “But when he stays home?”

  “His shadow can't be seen, unless you encounter someone capable of seeing or sensing, dimensions higher than the fourth.”

  Ugh. I rubbed the other temple, feeling like I was being attacked by a heavy
gong. Zantry smiled, waved a hand in dismissal. “The strangest part is that you're a Dhiultadh and an empathic, which means you're up one dimension from the other Dhiultadh. Yet, you can't see energy.”

  “I don't see emotions. Like I said, I can sense them, providing they're strong enough.”

  He nodded. “And if it's something you've felt before, you're able to identify it.”

  “Isn't that how it is for you?” Maybe I wasn't grasping all that nonsense about fourth and fifth dimensions and their baggage, but I also didn't think energies spelled out emotions in the ether.

  “In a way, yes, but I must say there isn't an emotion out there I haven't felt before.”

  Does that mean you've been in love before? Who is she? Where is she? The thoughts popped into my head unbidden. It was surprising how curious I was about this man.

  “How does it feel, to live so long?” I asked, curious.

  His expression became somber, and he jingled loose change inside his pocket before answering. “Reassuring, when you know you'll have time in the future to do whatever. Lonely, when you watch your friends die or know they don't have the advantage of returning if they do. Overwhelming, to know that you've seen and participated in things you know people will only read about in books.” He glanced at me, his eyes sad, thoughtful. “Irritating, to know you have to stay on the sidelines, lest people recognize you in a decade or so and wonder how come.”

  “I guess that's something many preternaturals find very annoying.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Do you have a mate?”

  “So many questions.” His lips twitched in a sardonic smile, but his gaze remained warm and friendly. “My kind, darling Roxanne, don't suffer those emotional trappings.”

  “I'm sorry,” I said. “You said there wasn't an emotion out there you haven't felt before. I thought…”

  “You don't need to be… romantically-inclined to feel love.”

  I grunted, not knowing what to say. He knew what love was, but he didn't suffer emotional trappings.

  “You think a mating bond comes with love?” he asked, curious.

  I paused, considering the question. “It'd be easier for both if there's love, don't you think?”

  “Hmm-mm. A mating bond is a sign of equality between two opposites. Unless the bond between the two is acknowledged, it doesn't fall into place.”

  As I mulled that over, a thought struck me. “So if there isn't love, they can both just move on without committing to each other?”

  “Probably, but I've never heard about anyone walking away from a mate, love or no. For one, a mating bond is like connecting two halves together. Of being compatible with someone else down to a molecular level. Even if there isn't love in the beginning, the sense of completion alone, the comfort of becoming whole… it's like realizing you've been travelling all your life and you've finally reached your destination.” He shrugged a broad shoulder, waved a hand. “Of course, those were the words of a friend, not mine.”

  I got it. His kind was incapable of having a mate because there was no one equal to his opposite. “Why not you and Arianna then?”

  Zantry chuckled at that and shook his head. “Despite what some may think, coming from the same planet and being the same species doesn't make us equal to the other. In strength maybe, but Arianna and I are different in so many levels. Our friendship was always platonic. I never considered her in any romantic capacity and she never did me. She's just Arianna to me, a very dear friend, I'm just Akinzo to her.”

  “How about children?” I asked, bold with my questions because I knew he was honest, open. It felt refreshing, to ask someone a question and get the answer without having to barter for it. It was one of the reasons I enjoyed talking to him. Easy. It was so very easy talking to him.

  An unreadable expression crossed his face and he shook his head. “No. That's a pleasure I've never had.”

  “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked that.” I placed my hand over his and squeezed. A pleasant shock passed from his hand to mine. I let go and rubbed my hands together. “Why do you keep doing that?”

  An odd expression crossed his face. “What do you feel?”

  I frowned down at my hands, rubbed them together again. “It's like, like being zapped by electricity.” I looked up at him, “But it's kind of warm and pleasant, nothing intrusive or painful.” I felt a warm blush creep up my neck.

  Zantry's expression didn't change. He tucked his hands back in his pockets and rocked back and forth on his heels. “So you can sense emotions, but don't see the patterns, and you can't see energy, but you can sense it. That's interesting.”

  Energy. Of course. How crazier could things get? Now he'd start talking about a sixth or seventh dimension. Another spike of pain lanced through my brain and I shoved away the thought.

  “Ok, I never said I was normal,” I muttered, rubbing my temple again.

  “Maybe it's just left-over residue of when I tried to force your shift in the Low Lands,” he offered, but there was doubt in his tone.

  My hand dropped. “What? You tried to force me to shift?”

  He chuckled at my stunned expression. “I tried, but I only succeeded in making Vemourly shift. It was right before I chased away the poison.”

  The memory had goosebumps erupting all over, and I rubbed my arms as exhaustion pulled on me. There was a knowing gleam in his eyes, telling me that he knew exactly how far my shift went. The moment became awkward, and he must have sensed it too.

  “I should go.” He strolled to the front door. “Logan will be here in a few minutes. I'll wait till he leaves and then come back to check the envelope.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Logan didn't come in. He didn't ask to. Maybe it was because I blocked the doorway with my arms crossed. I could see irritation in his eyes that I'd asked for the envelope and didn't take his words at face-value. But why should I trust him? He would do whatever Archer told him to, even if he didn't want to.

  He'd brought the original photos that had been mailed, just so that I wouldn't ask for them later in a fit of paranoia and lose time on dead ends – his words, not mine. The envelope – a brown paper thing big enough to fit the prints – had no scent except for Archer's, Logan's and Elizabeth's. There was another, fainter scent that Logan informed me belonged to a human who worked in the Sacramento post office. If there was another scent, neither I nor Zantry detected it.

  Not surprisingly, Zantry didn't find anything suspicious in the post office either, but he promised to return during opening hours. He'd gone over the postal office's surveillance feed – I didn't ask how he did that – and it seemed that the post office had a similar system to the bakery. Their feed began on February first. By Coincidence – or not – the person who had mailed the photos had done it on January thirtieth.

  Whoever had mailed that envelope was either smart, or very lucky.

  Zantry didn't linger. Like Logan, he gave me the information at the door, letting the warmth from the apartment escape, and informed me he was going to take a look at a few alleyways he had noted weren't mapped in Logan's notes. Tomorrow evening, we would start a backward trail from here to Sacramento to see if we could pick up any leftover impressions of Mwara in the ether.

  With nothing else to do until tomorrow evening, I went to bed, where I tossed and turned all night long. Around dawn I finally fell asleep, a restless sleep where I thought I was awake until I awoke to the aroma of coffee.

  With a grunt, I pushed away the covers and padded barefoot to the bathroom. I took a hot shower, dried my hair, and brushed my teeth before sneaking naked to the bedroom. While I dressed, I imagined Vicky's reaction to Zantry. If she had practically foamed at the mouth when she saw Diggy and Logan, she'd seizure if she saw Zantry, especially if he flashed her that killer smile of his.

  The pang of jealousy I felt was – unexpected, to say the very least. How could I be jealous?

  Not wanting to debate on it, I stepped out of the bedroom wearing jean
s and a knitted lapis-blue sweater Vicky had bought me last week as a get-better gift. The color reminded me of Zantry's eyes, an improbable shade of blue that seemed almost violet.

  I knew there was something wrong the moment I spotted Frizz standing guard at the end of the corridor. I say standing guard because he wasn't crouched, hands clasped together in front, but standing erect, his wings beating with a soft buzz.

  That's when I heard the soft humming of a song I'd never heard – by a voice that wasn't Vicky's. Heart pounding, I padded over to Frizz and peered into the kitchen.

  And there she was, a six foot tall imperious warrior. My heart leapt and lodged in my throat when my brain realized why Lee had come.

  She stood, a cup of coffee by her elbow as she fumbled with the stove. She was dressed like me, in jeans and a thick ash-gray sweater, voluminous red hair tied up in a high ponytail. Her aura blazed silver, shining like a star. She turned to look at me, forest green eyes glinting with something mischievous. “Good, you're up. Come and help. Your little shadow won't come closer.”

  I didn't move, frozen in place, Frizz beside me like a statue, save for the buzzing wings.

  Lee's perfect ruby-red lips pouted, her expression growing sullen. “Don't tell me you're afraid too? Last time we met, you were grateful for my presence.”

  I snapped out of it, moving forward into the living room, keeping the half wall between us. It was no protection at all, but somehow I felt safer with it separating me from the Seelie enforcer.

  Lee's eyes gleamed with cold amusement, no doubt recognizing the feeble ploy. “Come on, I am not here to hurt you. I could have done that if I wanted while you slept.”

  Her words HAD a jolt of fear zinging through me. “How did you get in here?”

  Lee rolled her eyes, the gesture so human, so normal, it crept me out. Did she come to earth often, observe human interactions? Trick a few innocent people into owing her? “Come now, we are linked. In addition,” she gestured around with a spatula, “you have no wards to protect the place from an intrusion. It's an open door for us.”