by Dante King
Janet turned and gave me a good-natured slap. “Hey, I’d like to remind you that we met at a dirty little Iron Maiden concert!”
“That must be why we get along so well,” I replied.
We passed a few other sorority sisters. Almost every single one of them was an elf of some description—either a high elf, wood elf, or dark elf. There was a plethora of pointy ears.
“Is this sorority just for elves, in the same way that the one that Alura was put in was mostly for Elementals?” I asked Janet as we passed a leggy elf wearing bright green tights, a silvery top, and sporting a shock of bright white hair that made her look a bit like a dandelion—if dandelions had been capable of oozing pure sexual magnetism.
Janet shook her head, pushed her hair back, and showed me her own non-pointed ear. “The Elementals get their own frats and sororities as a sign of respect for the way they were persecuted during the Void Wars,” she said. “As far as I’m aware—and I haven’t looked into it too hard—your buddy Rick is the only Elemental Mage that is part of a mixed frat. This sorority is mostly made up of elves because, well, elves are richer.”
I tickled her under the ribs for a second, and she gave a little squeak. “So, Janet Thunderstone is part of a little elitist club! I would never have picked it, the way you were singing along to Aces High, moshing and throwing back bourbon!”
Janet nudged me with her shoulder. “Shut up, it’s not like that. Elves are one of the oldest races in our world.”
“I’ve read The Lord of the Rings and am well aware of how elves are the most ancient race of peoples, thank you,” I said.
Janet gave me a soft punch that hurt nonetheless, thanks to her hitting me square on one of the many bruises that I had managed to acquire during that morning’s Physical Fitness Training.
“Where do you think those preconceptions in fantasy came from, hm?” she asked. “You think that a genius like Tolkien, who basically defined the rules of modern fantasy writing, was completely human?”
I didn’t really have an answer to that. And I was a little surprised at her knowledge of Earth’s literature, but then she had been hanging out on Earth when I’d met her.
“The elves who are part of this sorority are from some of the oldest families of an old race,” she continued. “Over the eons, these families have, understandably, built up a fair amount of wealth. Anyone who is part of this particular sorority has been placed here because their family gives generously to the Academy.”
“So, you—”
“My father, the much feared, respected, and whispered about Idman Thunderstone, is a wealthy mage. He gives a lot of gold to the Academy every year.”
Janet led me through a couple of high, gold embossed doors and down a few corridors overflowing with tapestries on the walls, relief molding, and ceilings painted with stunning murals that wouldn’t have been out of place in Vatican City.
“I thought that your old man was basically a prison guard?” I asked. “Or the chief prison guard?”
Janet grinned at me. “He used to be the Chief Torturer of the Avalonian Kingdom and is now the High Warden of the Eldritch Prison,” she said. “The High Warden is the title he gave himself when he bought the prison years ago, renovated it, and privatized it.”
I had to laugh at that. Didn’t matter what world you were on, it seemed that the ideas for making money were mostly all the same.
“Well,” Janet said suddenly, “here we are.”
We had arrived, through a couple more double doors, in a luxuriously appointed room filled with white, low-slung leather furniture that looked as if it had come straight from the showroom and never been used. Contemporary bookcases, coffee tables, and chairs were scattered randomly about the room—though it was the sort of random placement that would have cost you two-hundred dollars an hour with an interior decorator back on Earth.
Directly in front of us was a long double-desk with a couple of elegant chairs of some pale wood set in front of it. A stack of different—and hefty-looking—books were piled worryingly nearby. I was visited by the disquieting premonition that we would be nose to nose with those suckers in short order.
My footsteps were suddenly muffled as I stepped onto a thick, brown fluffy rug.
“Ah, ah, boots off,” Janet said as I raised my foot to take another step. “I may drink bourbon like Slash and mosh like a berserker on amphetamines, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you waltz across a werecat rug!” She squinted at my feet. “Especially when you have blood on your boots.”
I knew better than to try and argue with a woman when it came to the treatment of domestic furnishings, so I slipped off my boots and placed them by the door. Besides, the blood might have been Arun’s and who wanted anything that had once belonged to that creep on their nice animal skin rug.
“My cauldron is already here,” I said as I noticed it.
“Of course.”
“How?” I asked.
“I told you, one of the butlers would take care of it,” Janet replied.
“But you didn’t even, like, ring for anyone or anything.”
Janet rolled her eyes. “The butlers here are good. They’re always listening and know everyone’s schedules.”
The mysterious butlers had placed my cauldron in a sunken area in the center of what might have been considered the lounge area of this study suite. It was exactly the sort of space that, in an Earth apartment, would have had some sort of cutting-edge, arty fireplace. In this magical sorority, there was an unlit firepit on which the cauldron now sat.
We settled down, side by side, and began to pore through the dense history tomes. Janet had decided that the best place for me to start would be by familiarizing myself with the names of the monarchs that had ruled Avalonia down the ages. I understood her reasoning for this, but I had never been a big one for monarchs or presidents or whatever. I understood that someone had to have the ‘top job’, but I’d never really understood people who got all teary when the latest addition to a royal family was born or some politician got his head blown off by a passing maniac. With this in mind then, it was perhaps no surprise that the list of names and the descriptions of these kings and queens went into my brain and then slipped out of it again like a lubed up bikini model down a waterslide.
“Janet,” I said, after what felt like days, “can I just say that I think you’re a terrific girl.”
Janet raised a suspicious eyebrow. “Thank you,” she said slowly.
“And I appreciate the time that we get to spend together here.”
“Okay.”
“But this,” I said as I tapped a finger onto the page of tiny, crabbed text that was describing the life and achievements of Queen Ariko Lay, “is fucking boring.”
Janet sighed exasperatedly, but she was smiling. “You know, there’s more to being a mage than blowing shit up. There’s more to it than actually working magic.”
“Understood,” I said. “And I respect that. But it doesn’t change the fact that I can feel myself slipping into a deep coma.”
Janet laughed and snapped shut her book. “What would you like to do then?”
I held her gaze a little longer than was gentlemanly, then said with a half grin, “There’s plenty I’d rather do.”
“I bet there is, but I was referring to studying.”
“Ah, I see. Well, I did bring my cauldron. You fancy whipping up some sort of magical cocktail?”
“What did you have in mind?”
I shrugged and felt the muscles in my neck and shoulders give little yelps of protest. “You wouldn’t happen to know any potion recipes for aches and pains would you?” I asked.
“Why are you asking me?” Janet asked. “Check your spellbook. I’m sure there’ll be something in there to deal with sore bodies and minor injuries. The Academy does specialize in War Games after all. Healing potions and spells are the order of the day when the games are on.”
“Alright then. You just get that fire under the caul
dron started up, and I’ll pick the poison of choice.”
While Janet busied herself lighting the already laid fire under my rainbow cauldron, I thumbed through my spellbook and stopped on the ever freshly updating potions page. There, sure enough, was just the sort of spell that I was after:
WARRIOR’S SALVE
That sounded promising—the most promising potion in the spellbook, that was for sure. There was a fairly long, but not overly ridiculous ingredient list for the potion, then instructions for how the potion was actually meant to be administered.
WARRIOR’S SALVE
Once the potion has been brewed, take equal measures and apply to each afflicted part of the body. Massage into skin. The soothing effect should take no more than one minute.
I pointed this potion out to Janet.
“Have you got the ingredients and the time to knock this sucker up?” I asked.
Janet scanned the list of ingredients. “Yep, I think one of our butlers could get you these bits and pieces from our stores.”
“Brilliant,” I said.
Chapter Nineteen
Once again, the mysterious and scarily efficient butlers delivered the ingredients that we needed to craft the Warrior’s Salve potion before Janet even made any sort of order. There were all sorts of tasty yet—apparently—bog standard ingredients including, but not limited to, dried cabbage stalks, fermented ogre thumbs, and the juice squeezed from the eyes of only the fattest rocs.
While we stirred, squeezed, sprinkled, and simmered the potion as required, I filled Janet in on all the shit that had been going down between my frat and Frat Douche—some of which she had played a very helpful part in. When I got to the part of the story where we’d had to fight off a wave of gremlins in order to retrieve the ingredients for the Panty-Dropper Potion, she threw her hands up in exasperation.
“When are you loose cannons going to realize that you need a fucking poltergeist?” she asked. “You should get that sorted pronto.”
“That’s what Nigel has been telling me,” I said.
“He’s a smart guy.”
The talk of poltergeists got me thinking of Barry Chillgrave once more. That poltergeist, an ancient ancestor of my gorgeous friend Cecilia, had been marched out of his shop in chains and hauled off to the Eldritch Prison on—I assumed—the orders of Idman Thunderstone.
“You haven’t talked to your father about Barry at all, have you?” I asked Janet as she added a few drops of virgin’s tears to the potion.
“Yes, I did,” she said. “Or, at least, I tried to. I think he’s got his hands full at the moment though. His temper is even shorter than usual—and it couldn’t be said that he had much of one to begin with. He didn’t really acknowledge me even asking him about releasing Barry, I’m afraid.”
That was a bit of a bummer.
“What’s got his panties in a twist then?” I asked her. I almost burst out laughing at the idea of a man as stern and forbidding as Idman Thunderstone wearing a pair of lady’s undergarments.
“Sounds like there are a bunch of Death Mages causing a heap of trouble. Dad has a real thing about Death Mages that make a nuisance of themselves and bring disrepute down on Death Mages as a whole because he’s one. He comes down on them like with extreme prejudice.”
“And your dad doesn’t strike me as the sort of man who fucks about at the best of times,” I said.
“No, he doesn’t.”
A thought struck me. “Hey, I wonder if the Death Mage that broke into our fraternity house has something to do with that group? You know, the dude who stole that boney-looking key.”
“Funny you should say that,” Janet said, stirring absently at the potion and watching it change from a grassy green to a sky blue. “I told my dad about that, and it was only then that he really started paying me any attention.”
“What did he reckon?”
“Well, my dad keeps his thoughts and emotions very close to his chest, but he asked me to describe the key and, when I did, he seemed surprised and said something about a Skeleton Key.”
“Oh yeah?” I asked. “Enwyn said it might be the bone of some Chaos Mage who never found a lock he couldn’t pick.”
“Dad didn’t say anything about that,” Janet said, “but he did answer me when I asked him what it did.”
“What did he say?” I asked, hoping for some more clues to this strange mystery.
“He said it, ‘Opens things.’”
I snorted. “Helpful.”
“That’s my dad for you,” Janet said. “I knew there was nothing to be gained in pressing the point. When he’s that obliging, he’s only one question away from closing up like a clam.”
Janet took a glass beaker from a shelf nearby and dipped it into the Warrior's Salve. The potion, in its final minute of simmering, had changed from sky blue to a liquid as clear as water, with a glistening oily sheen to it.
“So, there’s no more help coming from that quarter?” I asked.
“There wasn’t when I talked to him,” Janet said, “but, before he hurried off on whatever dark deed required his attention, he did say that he would like to meet with you.”
My eyebrows lifted. “I’ll have to think about that. I might need a few days to compose my face before I meet someone with as fearsome a reputation as your dad—especially seeing as I’ve become, ah, involved with his daughter.”
Janet looked at me with those beautiful hazel eyes of hers. It was an inscrutable, but entertained look. Then she changed the subject, “It looks just as it’s supposed to—the potion, I mean. I think we did all right here.” She handed me the beaker. “How about you take it for a test drive?”
I adopted a wounded expression. “You’re not going to help me out and put it on for me?”
Janet laughed. “Pretty subtle.”
“When have you ever known me to be subtle?” I asked her.
“Good point. Still, I’m sure that you can probably reach most of the places that are aching, can’t you?”
“Not my back,” I said, making a half-assed attempt at rubbing my own shoulder blades.
Janet’s face broke into a crooked smile. “Fine, I’ll do your shoulders, but only if you shower first and wash off the dried blood and dirt and whatever the hell else you’re covered in.” Janet pointed over my shoulder, toward a door. “There’s a bathroom through there. Every study suite has everything that any student could need while holing up during examination times.”
“Towels?” I asked.
“Everything you need. Call out when you’re ready for me to help you with those hard to reach places.”
I tipped her a wink that I hoped came across as highly mischievous—maybe it was the brush with regenerated death that had done it, but I was feeling a bit cheeky.
“I will,” I said.
The shower was one of those fantastic affairs with nozzles and heads all over the place. I washed the grime, blood, and sweat from my body with the aid of liberal amounts of an unfamiliar, deliciously sweet-smelling body wash which, according to the bottle, was made from shimmergranate fruit.
When I was done and had stepped out into the steamy room, I took the beaker of oily-looking liquid that was the Warrior’s Salve and poured some into my palm. It was exactly like massage oil, but within thirty seconds, my palm was tingling pleasantly. I smeared the Warrior’s Salve over my arms and legs and chest. Within a minute, the aches, pains, and tweaked muscles that I’d picked up over the three hours of intense Physical Fitness Training melted away. I was left with the same delightful tingling sensation that had taken over my fingers.
This shit has some serious potential to be used in ways other than directed, I thought as I ran a hand over my oily torso.
I wrapped a towel around my waist and called out to Janet.
“I’m ready for your assistance, Miss Thunderstone,” I said.
A few seconds later, Janet opened the door and stepped into the steamy confines of the bathroom. “I can barely see you throu
gh all this steam.”
“I love a hot shower,” I said, handing Janet the beaker.
She moved around behind me. “How do you feel now?”
“Amazing. That stuff makes me feel as if I just woke up. I don’t think it would be too boastful to say that we have a goddamn knack for this potion brewing thing.”
Janet’s hands reached up and caressed the center of my naked back. Her hands, which I had seen take down many enemies, moved with a gentleness that sent a little shiver down my spine. She kneaded and rubbed at my shoulders with a practiced dexterity. Within a few moments, Janet’s massage and the Warrior’s Salve removed the pain as though it had never been there.
“What does it feel like?” Janet murmured in my ear.
“Your hands are fucking incredible,” I said truthfully. “If this Academy business doesn’t work out, you should totally become a massage therapist.”
Janet laughed softly. “I mean the Warriors Salve. What does it feel like?”
I took a deep breath. This opportunity was too perfect to pass up. Everything was set up, pointing toward the potential for some serious fun. I turned, so that only a few inches separated us.
I smiled down at Janet. “Why don’t you give it a try?”
Her eyes sparkled. “Well, I guess I did give you a hand with your aches. The least you can do is repay the favor.”
“One good turn deserves another,” I said.
Janet handed me back the beaker of magical oil. Then she turned and, ever so slowly, peeled the tight top that she was wearing up and over her head, exposing her smooth back. She wasn’t wearing a bra. I swallowed. I could feel myself stirring under the towel, hardening with anticipation.
“Ready?” I asked.
“As I’ll ever be,” Janet replied.
I poured some of the Warrior’s Salve into my palm and rubbed my hands together. Then, with as much patience as I could reasonably muster under the circumstances, I slowly massaged the oil into Janet’s petite shoulders.
