Blood, Smoke and Mirrors

Chapter Four

I awoke by degrees, lost in a sea of hazy dreams and nightmares that vanished as quickly as they appeared. I saw myself as a girl running through a forest and giggling madly as I chased after the white, winged figure that darted between the bare trees in front of me. I heard the cool crunch of snow beneath my boots and felt the occasional glimpse of faint winter sunlight on my face as it peeked through the gray clouds above. You can’t catch me, Kitty-kitty!

Then I saw the front door of my childhood home. I reached to open it, my hand small and smudged with dirt, and the knob turned easily in my grasp. As the door swung open I heard shouting, strange angry words, and it frightened me down to my core. I crept through the house back to the kitchen, everything around me now seeming sinister in the late-afternoon light. I paused as I passed the bedrooms, surprised to see two suitcases on the floor in front of my parents’ room. I hid behind the open basement door, sitting on the top step and making myself as small as possible as I listened to the voices. My father was yelling, my mother was weeping, begging him not to leave.

The dream changed, twisted. I was older. I opened the door of my home and found quiet, an awful silence. I stepped inside and turned to my left, looking into the living room. The smell hit me, the pungent, poignant stench of death. My mother’s body lay on the floor, tiny pools of her blood staining the carpet, her face pale like I’d never seen it before and twisted into a mask of terror and agony. Those lifeless eyes stared at me, pleading, warning. Home was no longer safe-her killers had been invited in. Invited by my father, to tear my mother apart and feast on the strong magic in her blood.

Fleeing the dream, my eyes blinked open to stare at the ceiling of my bedroom. I lay crumpled on the floor in front of my mirror, the scent of dried blood and faded cinnamon filling my nostrils. I pushed myself into a sitting position and surveyed my surroundings. My top hat had rolled off and was tipped on its side just out of reach. My unbound hair hung in dirty strings, and I absently pushed it out of the way. As my hand passed in front of my face I was startled by the dark, crispy coating of dried blood that stained it, and then I remembered how I’d stretched the mirror in the earthen room beneath the faerie mound.

“Out, out, damned spot,” I muttered, my voice dry and raspy in my throat. Shaking my head, I glanced at the alarm clock on my nightstand and was surprised that it read a little after four. I really hoped it was the following morning and I hadn’t missed any days during my misadventure in Faerie. It was entirely possible, considering I felt like I’d been run over by a truck. Stumbling to my feet, I wobbled over to the door and opened it. Spots danced in front of my eyes as a warning that I needed to consume mass quantities of coffee and pancakes, and soon. First I wanted to check the date, so I continued on into my living room and flopped down into my desk chair. I slapped my mouse to wake up my computer, raining flakes of dried blood onto the mouse pad in the process, and waited as the screen took its own sweet time to wake up.

At long last I was able to confirm the date: June 29^th, and a refreshing 4:36 a.m. Lovely. At least I hadn’t lost any days, just hours. For a few moments I sat in the chair and debated the pluses and minuses of showering first versus eating first. The shower sounded very appealing-I felt like hell, gritty and grungy like I’d been dragged through the mud. Eventually I settled on the shower in order to save myself the time and effort it would take to clean the blood trail I’d leave behind in the kitchen. I only caught myself losing my balance twice and managed to hold onto consciousness the entire time.

Go me.

Dressed in my fuzzy purple bathrobe and matching slippers, I puttered about in the kitchen, fixing my “Huzzah for survival” feast. Instead of coffee I forced myself to brew a strong herbal tea, one I knew had healing properties in it. As usual I decided to comfort myself through the cunning use of fattening food-cheesy scrambled eggs, sausage links and chocolate chip pancakes. And, most importantly, nothing that included cinnamon, which was how I realized I was no longer alone in my apartment when the scent of it wafted down the hallway halfway through my meal. I stared down at my eggs, and decided I was too tired to get up and go to her.

“Portia, it’s still too early for the game show,” I called out.

A cry of childish disappointment answered me, followed by the pitter-patter of little combat-booted feet. I was vaguely surprised to see Tybalt following behind his sister, as he rarely made an effort to travel to the human realm.

“She said it isn’t on,” he reminded her.

“It is too on, there’s an entire channel of the game show, the guide says so!” Portia waved a copy of this week’s TV Guide in Tybalt’s face to punctuate her point.

“There’s more than one kind of game show, hon.” Scooping up a forkful of pancakes, I watched her mull that development over while I chewed. Rolling his eyes, Tybalt walked farther into the kitchen and plunked my sword and dagger down on the counter. A wave of relief washed over me at the sight of them-it would have been a serious pain in the ass to buy new ones. Good swords are hard to find, and run damn expensive.

“Do they all give away new cars?” Portia asked.

“No. Some of them do. Wheel of Fortune does sometimes.” I shrugged, and her eyes widened at the idea.

“There is a game show about the Wheel of Fortune?”

Aside from being associated with Pat and Vanna, the big Wheel is a member of the major arcana of the Tarot deck. Not one of the cards I particularly relate to, but still, something amusing to keep in mind next time you watch someone buy a vowel.

“Is it on now?” she asked, thrusting the TV Guide at me.

“Answers first, game shows second.” Leaning back in my chair, I took a long gulp of tea. Tybalt took the opportunity to hop up and perch on the corner of my stove, which looked very strange considering he has no wings. He had the ability to wear wings, but I once heard him comment that wings got in the way during a fight.

If I didn’t know Tybalt and Portia were related, I wouldn’t have been able to figure it out by looking at them, because there’s little physical resemblance between the two faeries (or at least there isn’t when they’re in the forms I typically see them in). The only common feature is the white hair, but Tybalt’s hung wild and shaggy around his face unlike his sister’s long, glossy waves. While Portia’s eyes are deep blue, her brother’s eyes are pale green, the color of spring leaves. His wardrobe is what one would expect of a faerie, a more traditional combination of a tunic, tough leather leggings and sturdy calf-high boots. And unlike Portia, who doesn’t look like she could swat a fly, Tybalt is never without a weapon, mainly his rapier.

“Okay. First, did I pass the test? Wait, no, first, what the hell was my father doing there? He can’t be Oberon, he’s a damn necromancer,” I spat. “And why weren’t there any other candidates?”

“Cat, there’s no law that says a necromancer can’t do it,” Tybalt explained. “It’s just never happened before.”

“Never? As in never, ever? In the whole history of Faerie?”

“Never. And from what we’ve been able to tell, the other possible candidates were…discouraged from applying.”

“Discouraged, huh?” That couldn’t be good. I also wasn’t comfortable with the fact that this had never happened before. Never was a word with real impact when used by a race that is essentially immortal. I hesitate from saying completely immortal, because they aren’t. Faeries can be killed, it’s just hard to do. They do age, but at a rate that’s so slow that I don’t think one has ever died from old age. They’re immune to all diseases, and their blood is pure magic. One hundred percent Grade A magic, not the watered-down variety we humans have, which is why vamps have no use for faeries. Though vampires need blood containing magic to survive, and the stronger the better, when a vamp feeds from a faerie the results are explosive. Literally. The overload fries the vamp’s brain and poof! Instant death. Real death too, not the corrupted undeath they exist with. I’d pay good money to see that.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but vamps still can’t travel to Faerie, right?” I asked, confused.

“Right.” Tybalt nodded. “They can’t travel to anyplace decent.”

Nodding, I stabbed another forkful of pancakes. The doors were closed to vampires because the Higher Powers (whatever you want to call them) consider vampirism such a terrible crime against nature that they don’t want it to infect any other world. Necromancers can still use the doorways-because they’re technically not vampires yet-but necros really aren’t welcome anywhere. Most faerie clans remove necromancers from their territory with extreme prejudice.

“Hmm. So, essentially the vamps are making a play for political power with a race who won’t talk to them, and that live in a place they can’t get to. That makes zero sense. And why now? Something must have changed… Hey, so did I pass? Fail? The heck kind of test was that anyway? One of those ‘can you think on your feet’ deals?”

I speared some eggs next. Left to her own devices, Portia began poking through my kitchen cabinets, looking for a snack.

“First, tell us what happened to you.” Tybalt raised a curious brow. “There’s been no official report on the results of the first test.”

“Was weird. I got dropped into this room with no lights at all, and I stumbled around for a bit. Tried my glowstone, but it wasn’t strong enough, so I put up my shields and conjured a bit of sunlight. When the room was lit I saw this enormous dragon behind me, just watching me. Why didn’t you tell me dragons could talk, by the way?”

“Sure they can talk, getting them to shut up again is the hard part.” Portia snorted. Fluttering up to reach the top shelf, she pulled down a bag of cookies and shoved her greedy little hand inside. The faerie munched on a chocolate chip cookie, raining crumbs and dust onto my kitchen floor, as usual.

“Good to know. So yeah, it said it wouldn’t eat me, and we talked a bit. I figured out it was stuck too, so I opened a portal to just outside Silverleaf and we popped right through. It thanked me and flew off, and the next thing I know I’m back here again.” I did my best to sound nonchalant about the stunning display of magic I’d pulled off. Sure it was an enormous achievement for me, but faeries can manage that sort of stuff practically from the cradle, and wouldn’t be nearly as impressed with myself as I was. The two faeries digested this information as I polished off my breakfast. Even with the food as fuel I still felt drained from my adventure, and figured it’d take most of the day to recharge my magical batteries at this rate.

“I guess that explains how Dorian ended up burnt,” Tybalt said.

“Burnt?”

He nodded. “Aye, we have some people keeping an eye on him. When he appeared back at home he had some wicked burns-he must’ve decided to fight the dragon instead of helping it.”

“Why would he fight it?” As I pointed out before, dragons aren’t evil, they just…are. I doubted the other dragon would have found Dorian any more palatable than my dragon found me. Tybalt shrugged, and Portia continued to devour cookies as she moved to perch on the edge of my sink. “I guess he went with a ‘shoot first, ask questions later’ plan. So what happens next?”

“Don’t know that either,” Portia piped up. “More tests are planned, but so far we have no information of what and when. You did good though, we’re proud of you.”

I couldn’t help but smile at her praise, even if it was spoken through a mouthful of half-chewed chocolate chip cookie. I wasn’t entirely sure what happened, if I passed, failed or avoided whatever intended outcome the Council had. All I knew was that I was alive, and apparently still in the running for Titania. I’d better damn well win, too, ’cause there was no way I’d let my father become Oberon.

“Are you speaking to the guardian again?” Tybalt asked.

I blinked at him, surprised. “Not willingly, no. I wasn’t expecting him to be there. Or to show up at the café last night.”

“I can make sure he stays away from you, if you like.” There was tension in his shoulders, and his hand drifted toward his rapier. I smiled inwardly. Tybalt was the closest thing I had to an overprotective big brother.

“Hmm, I’ll keep that in mind.” It was a tempting offer. I wasn’t sure I could deal with the distraction of seeing Lex with the rest of the drama going on.

After my victory feast, the morning settled into a sense of normalcy, or at least it was normal for me. The faeries kept me company, entertaining me until it was time to get ready for my shift at work. Though I could take the day off, the sad truth is a few sick days begin to cut into my small savings and paying the bills gets a bit difficult. Tybalt wanted to go with me, and I decided that with a color and costume change he would fit in well enough. Tybalt’s disguise made him look like the world’s palest surfer, with lanky white-blond hair and enormous aviator sunglasses, but it worked. Portia, on the other hand, I wasn’t about to trust in the café. Promising her I would do my best to be careful and watchful for danger, I convinced her to go home.

The café had a decent amount of customers when we arrived, despite the fact that it was the lull between breakfast and lunch. I set Tybalt up in a booth with a plate full of pancakes and a Chicago Tribune, and then hoped for the best. Squaring my shoulders, I pasted my friendly customer-service smile on my face and began my shift. My section kept me too busy to worry about silly details like the fate of magician/faerie relations throughout the Midwest. As closing approached, we had only three customers left in the café: a young newlywed couple who were regulars seated in my section, and Lex, who’d snuck in at some point and was sitting drinking a cup of coffee over in Maria’s section. She’d left early, of course, and I’d been ignoring him in the hope he’d leave, but he seemed determined to stay. Annoyed, I stopped at his table, coffee carafe in hand.

“Want me to warm that up for you?” I asked politely. I couldn’t tell him off while I was on duty. It’d be unprofessional.

“Sure, go right ahead,” he drawled, smiling slightly. I resisted the urge to pour the coffee into his lap and refilled his cup.

“What are you doing here?”

“Well, I was considerin’ havin’ some pie with my coffee.” There was amusement in those dreamy light blue eyes of his, and I frowned. To my credit, I swallowed my temper and dutifully listed off the pies we had left. He picked apple. How all-American.

I disappeared into the back and Tybalt immediately knew something was wrong. He appeared at my side as I stabbed an innocent pie with a knife that was much too large for the job.

“Lex is in the dining room. Again.”

“I can’t kill him, we’re on neutral ground,” Tybalt apologized, and I laughed.

“That’s true.”

“I can spit in his food.”

“No, thank you. Feel free to threaten him though.”

After venting a little aggression on the pie, I set a non-mangled piece on a plate and carried it into the dining room. Tybalt followed and took the seat across from Lex as I delivered his slice of pie. Without a word I left them alone and headed back to my section to chat for a bit with the newlyweds, who caught me up on the neighborhood gossip. Apparently the city was still investigating the source of a power surge which had blown out the streetlights up and down Main. Oops. Well, that’d teach me for losing my temper. Finally I shooed them outside and began cleaning up their table. As I headed for the kitchen with their dishes I spotted Mac speaking with Lex and Tybalt, and I knew no good would come of that. When I returned to the dining room Mac was in the process of dimming the lights after flipping the sign in our window to “Closed”.

“Something you want to share with me, Cat?” Mac asked from the other end of the room.

Hovering in the doorway, I looked pointedly in the direction of the guardian before turning toward my boss. “With you, sure.”

Lex chuckled, and I glared at him. Those light blue eyes studied me over the rim of his coffee cup, and I felt something twist low in my gut, something that was certainly not the nervous flutter I’d been suffering from lately. Silently I berated myself for still being attracted to him. I knew better than to get giggly over a man who’d more than proved I couldn’t trust him.

I marched over to his table and stared down at him, and he watched me with quiet curiosity. The unmistakable scent of magic wafted up from Lex, the odd mix I’d come to associate with him. A hint of cinnamon marked him as having faerie blood like myself, which could have indicated anything from witch to necromancer, but he was thankfully lacking in the awful rotting stench that clings to necros. There was a bit of the floral scent I associate with witchcraft, but there was also the musk of a shapeshifter and the sharp alcoholic tang of an alchemist-none of which should be found all together. Magicians don’t mix and match their abilities-you’re generally born to what you become-but guardians seem to have a bit of everything.

Guardians are essentially the magic police, but they’re also like the border patrol too. Any otherworldly beings who decide to vacation in the human world and aren’t supposed to-imps, goblins, demons, that sort of thing-get evicted by guardians. If a dragon decided to fly through downtown Chicago, it’d be a guardian’s job to escort it back to Faerie, with extreme prejudice if need be. Just one of their many, many responsibilities. They are overworked, but not underpaid. The Higher Powers made sure guardians want for very little.

Placing my hands on my hips, I eyed him. “Why are you here?”

“You.”

“Oh, be still my heart.” Rolling my eyes, I dropped into the seat across from him and sat next to Tybalt. “To what do I owe the honor this time? Not under arrest, am I? Don’t you have to at least let me commit the crime first?”

“You shouldn’t have threatened Dorian, Cat,” Lex replied.

“She wouldn’t have to if the guardians had done their job and punished him for her mother’s death,” Tybalt countered.

“There wasn’t enough evidence to prove that he was involved.”

“There was enough for us, but your brethren wouldn’t let us avenge Julia’s death. There was no honor in that.”

“I know, you’re right,” Lex agreed, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. “Look, I’m not here to arrest you. I’m here to protect you.”

“Protect her from what?” Mac asked, startled. He crossed the room and stood at the end of the booth, hovering over us. Lex leaned back into his seat and set his empty cup on the table. I reached into the pocket of my apron and pulled out my cigarettes-I had a feeling I was going to need them.

“Well to begin with, when I found out Maureen didn’t have an heir, I started looking into who would step up as possible candidates. Imagine my surprise when your daddy, good ol’ Dorian, put his hat in the ring. Now, personally, I don’t want to work with Dorian, and I really don’t want to work with the woman who holds his leash, which is why I have a vested interest in your health. And someone has to make sure you live long enough to take the tests, because it’s bad form to kill a competitor between rounds.”

“Glad to hear you’re so concerned about my welfare,” I said, lighting a smoke. “So where were you when I was stuck in a room with a dragon last night?”

“Dragons aren’t your problem now.”

“No?”

“Nope. The necromancer council put a price on your head. They want you dead in a bad way. In fact, there’s two vamps across the street right now, waiting for you to step outside neutral ground.”