Dragan

by Plum Pascal

  I’m not certain how it’s possible, but I’ve been poisoned.

  TWO

  Eilish

  Mortal Realm

  When I come to, my body is violently jostled.

  My head’s pounding, I assume from where I’ve been knocked unconscious.

  We must be in our captors’ vehicle, the uneven road crunching beneath our wheels. I can’t see anything; my vision is blocked by what I imagine is a bag over my head—the fabric is fairly heavy and thick, itchy and rough. It smells foul, like it once housed something rotten. The air inside is suffocating.

  My hands are bound behind me and the twine immobilizing them is beginning to cut off my circulation. Not to mention how it chafes my skin, burning with every bump in the road.

  I feel a hand come to rest on my thigh, so cold it feels damp through the fabric of my cloak.

  “Dragan?” I ask urgently into the darkness that surrounds me. The only response I get is a deep chuckle from beside me, one that definitely doesn’t belong to Dragan. The hand slides further up, closer to the midline of my closed legs.

  “They’re passed the fuck out, baby,” the man responds as he shoves his hand between my thighs and I clench them shut even more tightly, trying to roll away from him.

  “Leave ‘er be,” another man says. “Plenty o’ time for that later.”

  The man just laughs but removes his hand, all the same.

  The others are passed out. My heart starts pounding as I wonder why.

  When I’d tried to warn them, I’d only just seen the vehicle—a large, rumbling old truck—come into view. I never got a good look at our captors, so I have no idea who they are.

  The silence disturbs me, because it allows my imagination to run wild and I find myself creating all sorts of horrible scenarios inside my head. Furthermore, it’s unclear why I’m awake when my companions aren’t. My mouth grows dry as I realize the predicament I’m in. There isn’t much room for hope in this scenario, but even so, I can only pray these people are just thugs rather than servants to Variant.

  There’s a chance they don’t know who we are—and, if so, there’s still an opportunity for escape.

  That’s a slim chance, I remind myself. They were able to reverse Cambion’s disguise illusion in order to see us, which means they were probably looking for us. Which probably also means they’re Variant’s men.

  Turning us over to Variant now will mean death for us all. I’m sure of that.

  “Where are you taking us?” I ask, hoping I can get some sort of information. So far, I’ve decided I must be in the bed of the truck because I can feel a steady breeze against my skin, beneath the sack.

  “That ain’t for you to know,” the man beside me responds and then shoves his hand between my legs again. I try to pull away from him when I hear a voice beside me, and my heart sinks. Even though I spent most of my time in her presence severely drugged, I can still easily recognize Anona.

  “Get your hand off her, Dravon. She’s the property of Variant now.” Her voice sounds fierce and authoritative, but different from the one I remember from our first meeting. Where once she was flirtatious, smug, and proud, she now sounds exhausted—there’s a hint of something else there, too… fear?

  But why would she be afraid? She caught us. She caught me. Variant won and here she is, ready to deliver his prize.

  A feeling of guilt floods me. Whatever happens to my companions from this point onward, it’s my fault. Everything Flumph, Cambion, Thoradin, and Baron have been through has been to protect me. And Dragan has tried to protect me even more than the rest of them.

  Dragan…

  He risked his life to save me; they all did. If he hadn’t intervened, I’d still be Anona’s sex slave. And Flumph was instrumental, too. Without him, I never would have gotten away.

  I’ve been so busy struggling to understand who I am and where I came from that I never paused to consider how much my weakness was putting my friends in danger.

  But they understood the risks and still made decisions to help you because they believe in you, I tell myself. And Dragan believes in you the most.

  Or used to, I correct in my head. Now, I have no idea how he feels about me.

  I remember the expression in his eyes when he discovered I could be Succubus. The information upset him, clearly, but I’m not exactly sure why. If it’s true and I am part Succubus, I’d have more in common with Dragan, the King of Shadow, than before. I would think that information would please him, not anger him.

  I remember Baron’s reaction after he and Dragan discovered what I was at the shore of the River of Souls. He was more sympathetic than he’d ever been. Before, Baron was always detached and somewhat disinterested in me. But, after he realized I was more than just an angel, his attitude seemed to soften towards me. I don’t understand why.

  Someone coughs up something phlegmy and thick. In front of me, I hear the rustling of fabric and the sound of glass bottles clinking.

  “What’s that?” Dravon asks. I listen intently, trying to discover what the mystery object or objects could be.

  “The vampire’s bag,” Anona responds. “He has quite the collection: Assassin’s Blood, Crawler Mucus, Truth Serum, Midnight Tears…” Her voice trails. “Ironic he couldn’t handle a taste of his own medicine.”

  They must be talking about Baron’s bag of poisons.

  Dravon laughs. It’s a cruel sound, and I instinctively try to shift away from him. I don’t want to think about Baron not being able to handle his own poisons. But then something interesting occurs to me.

  They don’t know who Baron is! They don’t realize he’s one of the original kings.

  Anona called him ‘the vampire.’ Maybe it doesn’t really matter all that much, but this information pleases me all the same. If they don’t know who Baron is, then he’s less valuable in their eyes…

  Dravon seems to notice my discomfort and wraps an arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer to him. The smell within my hood worsens. My body tenses beneath his grip and then, suddenly, I feel warm air enter the hood near my ear.

  “An’ where’s our sprite, friend, hmm? I was lookin’ forward to rippin’ his little wings off,” he snarls.

  I remain quiet.

  “Touch the bug, Dravon, and I’ll kill you,” says Anona bluntly. “He’s mine. And that fucker will pay for betraying me.”

  Dravon sits back, and I can feel his disappointment.

  “Actually,” she goes on, smacking her lips, “I do have some questions for you, beautiful.” With dread, I realize she’s talking to me. “Dravon, take off her hood.”

  He complies and the abrupt rush of light makes me squint.

  “Ah, I missed that gorgeous face of yours,” Anona remarks.

  Blinking into the light, I quickly try to take in my surroundings. The bed of the truck is made of wood, with benches lining either side. In front of me sits Anona. She’s wearing a dark green, sleeveless top that exposes the musculature of her arms. Her skin appears slimy, like the surface of a fish.

  Beside her, slumped against the wall of the truck, is Dragan, his head covered with a brown, burlap sack. On her other side is Thoradin, who’s also passed out. Beside him is a man I don’t recognize. But, just like Dravon, he’s big and ugly. And staring at me like he’s hungry for angel.

  Slumped beside me is Baron and beyond him are two other men that belong to Anona’s band. My group is unconscious, but where my hands and feet are bound, theirs aren’t. Anona clearly isn’t worried about them. Worry starts penetrating me again and my palms begin to tingle with sweat.

  There’s no sign of Cambion. I can only hope he was able to escape in all the commotion.

  “Dravon makes an excellent point,” Anona continues, looking at me with a wide smile that reveals way too many teeth. “Where is your pet?”

  My head pounds and hot tears well along the lower line of my eyes. “Pet?” I ask her.

  “Short, pudgy little bastard?” Dravon answ
ers in his deep, monstrous voice. “Cusses a lot? Man-boobs with wings? Makes you wanna rip him to shreds?” I swallow hard at the description. “Ring a bell?”

  “I don’t know what happened to him,” I assure Anona, praying she doesn’t catch my lie.

  “Interesting,” she answers, nodding, but her eyes tell me she doesn’t believe me. “So, he runs off with you and the King of Shadow, and then poof? He vanishes? That doesn’t sound like the Flumph I know.”

  “I was… I was drugged. I don’t know anything,” I stammer, angry that I’m unable to focus on her or my story about Flumph. Instead, I can’t stop looking at Dragan, his arm hanging limp, hitting the floor of the truck in time with every bump in the road.

  Anona leans back and crosses her arms. “Pity,” she says. “You’ve caused me a lot of trouble, you know that?” She leans forward again, resting her hand on my knee, beneath my short dress. Gently she glides her hand up the fabric of my cloak and smiles. I flinch away and she retracts her hand, as her lips bulge and she runs her triangular tongue along her teeth. She smiles again, her thick lips pursed together, white like drowned earthworms.

  She’s what’s called an Opalite Demon, owing to the pearlescent quality of her skin. Her eyes are orange but her pupils don’t look like mine. Instead, they take up the entirety of her eyes. She sits a head or so taller than I do and she’s uncommonly thin, so is her long and narrow face. Her lips are wide and her nose is too big for her face.

  “I take you in, offer you a room, give you the Atacomite high you’ve been searching for—all out of the kindness of my heart. And this is how you repay me?” She gestures at our companions in the truck. “An odd way to say thank you.”

  She’s full of shit, of course. She took me in to turn me into a whore so she could make money on me, because she knew an angel would pull in a hefty sum.

  “I…” I begin, but my voice fades away, because I don’t know what to say. All I want to know is whether Dragan is okay.

  She stares at me, long and hard. “I wanted to kill you for the trouble you caused me,” she tells me, and her gaze narrows. “Did you know Variant arrested me?”

  My own eyes grow large.

  “That’s right,” Anona continues, nodding. “And when I was sitting in that prison cell, you were all I thought about.” She takes a deep breath and stares at me with a strange lunacy in her eyes. A smile haunts her lips and I feel myself shrinking under her intent gaze. “I fantasized about taking my revenge out on you numerous ways. But none of them were quite”—she reaches for the word—“satisfying enough.”

  “Let me show her how much you hate her.” Dravon looks me up and down. There’s no doubt in my mind how he wants to show me.

  “This isn’t your fight,” Anona nearly spits at him. Then, she faces me again, pulling a dagger from her belt. “Of course, now that I’m turning you over to Variant, I won’t get the satisfaction to do what I really want to.” Her smile widens. “But that’s okay. Do you know why?” Raising her eyes from the dagger to mine, she holds my gaze, her eyes hard, unblinking. Crazy.

  “Why?” I ask finally; my voice comes out as a croak. I’m worried as to what she’s going to do with the blade.

  “Because Variant will do things to you much worse than anything I could.” She smiles again and leans back against the wall of the truck, using her unsheathed dagger to pick at the dirt beneath her gray fingernails.

  I know she’s just trying to intimidate me, and it’s working because she’s right. Variant will do whatever he wants to me and there’s nothing I’ll be able to do about it. I’m Anona’s prisoner and soon, I’ll belong to Variant. And very soon after that, I’ll be dead. I glance over at Dragan and Baron.

  “They can’t help you now, lovely,” Anona tells me. “They’re dosed with Midnight Tears; your friend next to you knows how dangerous it is.” She motions to Baron.

  “Will it kill them?”

  “No, but when they wake, they’ll be weak.”

  “Why didn’t you poison me?” I ask.

  She reaches for Baron’s bag once more and starts inspecting the vials. “I have different plans for you, some questions I need answered.” She picks up a nearly full container and nods her head when she’s confirmed it’s the one she’s looking for. “Truth Serum,” she announces with a triumphant grin.

  My blood turns cold.

  “You look like you’ve seen a ghost!” She barks with laughter.

  Dravon chuckles beside her, never taking his eyes off the area where my cloak opens to reveal the swell of my breasts.

  “And now, it’s time to learn some of those secrets.” Anona stands and approaches me, her legs straining to keep her upright in the shaking truck. I momentarily wonder why Baron didn’t offer the Truth Serum when he knew I was just as eager as he was to have my memories returned to me.

  But that thought is banished when I feel Dravon beside me, one huge hand on the back of my head and the other at my jaw. He pinches my mouth and forces it open. I try to pull away from him, but he’s too strong. Anona removes a dropper from the vial and holds it steady above my mouth. Two drops of the Truth Serum fall against my tongue.

  The serum tastes bitter, like unripened berries, and my jaw aches in response to the sour drops. Dravon releases me and I wish I had my hands free to massage the pain away. I resort to glaring at him.

  Anona returns to her side of the truck and puts the dropper back into the bottle. She replaces the vial with a smug expression. “First question. We’ll start with an easy one. Where’s the bug?”

  Without even a moment to stop them, the words come flying out of my mouth. “He’s on his way to find Riverine!” The confession practically falls out of me, leaving me defenseless. I’m left gasping. I want to clasp a hand over my mouth—to stuff the information back in. Then, from beside me, I feel a nudge. Baron’s shoe touches my foot but I’m not sure if the touch is accidental. I fight the urge to look down.

  His shoe taps me three more times.

  He’s awake.

  Suddenly, an image of the first time I met Baron drops into my head. I remember him saying he was an expert in poisons. And that he was immune to the effects of certain types… Hope rushes through me, and Anona doesn’t seem to register my sudden change in mood. Now, I can only pray that Baron can execute some sort of plan before I blurt out any other secrets.

  “Ah, so you have seen the sprite, then? Pretty little liar.” Crossing her legs, Anona puts her hand to her chin. “What else aren’t you telling me?” She leans forward again, her focus intense.

  “N… nothing,” I manage.

  “What does Variant want from you?” she demands.

  My mouth begins to form the shape of my next sentence, but before I can get any words out, a voice inside my head tears through my thoughts.

  NO! she shrieks.

  It’s the same voice that’s acted as my companion since I found myself alone and running from something. The woman’s voice has warned me away from danger; she’s told me who I can and can’t trust. And, because of that, I trust it.

  I clench my mouth shut and I close my eyes, pushing hard against the Truth Serum which commands me to speak. The words hang, perched on the tip of my tongue and I have to fight hard to hold them back.

  A look of anger and impatience flashes across Anona’s face. “It’ll be easier for both of us if you cooperate.”

  Beads of sweat form on my forehead and my eyebrows are furrowed in concentration. I suddenly feel exhausted.

  “What does Variant want from you?” Anona demands again.

  This time, the voice in my head rebels so violently, it’s her voice that speaks rather than mine.

  “Silvanus!” she shouts.

  THREE

  Silvanus

  Fae Realm

  A deer rots upon the forest floor, flies dancing between the saliva strings of the scavengers who come to pick at its flesh. When they depart, the remaining hair and bones will dissolve into the earth, providing
a feast for the worms. The soil will grow rich, plants will sprout from its fertile womb, and more deer will come to eat the leaves that grow from the trees that emerge there.

  Such is the way of things. Birth and death, happening side by side for all eternity.

  But eternity is a mere extension of time.

  And time is a mortal concept—a construct meant to measure that which is infinite. And yet, its creators are slaves to the very idea they themselves constructed. It traps them, binds them, blinds them.

  For a forest, there is no such thing as time. A tree does not know its age. It does not anticipate its death, nor does it expect its rebirth. The forest is a single entity, in a constant state of growth and decay, its processes occurring with no ideological constraints. It existed before time was invented, and it will continue long after all those who track time’s passing have vanished from this earth.

  I bow to a different master, of course. One that does not measure in minutes, or months, or centuries. This master cares only for balance, and the eventual return to stasis. I do not operate on the schedule of mortals, unless their actions threaten the balance of all living things.

  Silvanus!

  I hear Morrigan’s call and feel her urgency.

  It must be a dire situation if she attempts to enlist my help. I consider ignoring the plea. Morrigan and I are not allies.

  Yet there is something more to her panic that suddenly infiltrates my entire being. Another is threatened.

  The female.

  I recall the eyes of the angelic demon and the feel of her slick passage. I cannot ignore her entreaty.

  I melt into the dirt of the forest floor and allow the wind to carry me wherever I am needed.

  ###

  Eilish

  Mortal Realm

  There’s a flare of green light and a loud explosion that sounds directly in front of me. A magically induced fire suddenly explodes in the center of the truck bed, catching the wood immediately.

  Baron seizes the chaos of the moment to spring to life.