Chapter 57
Maeve met him precisely where he instructed at eight AM sharp. She wore a high-collared shirt, covering the black veins that shot up her neck.
When she Obscured to his location, she landed gracefully. Mal was already waiting for her.
“You’re getting much better at that,” he commented.
“Better when I have full strength.”
Mal turned on his heel and exited the shadowed alleyway. Maeve followed suit. They walked along a row of giant, well-maintained, lavish Parisian mansions before stopping at one that was pale pink.
The cream-colored stone steps were imbedded between rows of colorful flowers all the way to the front door. Mal pulled on a golden rope. A bright melody began to play.
The door was opened quickly by a scrawny and ancient Elf. She looked nothing like Zimsy. She was short. Her skin was bruised and sagging. Her hair was silver and stringy, exposing bald spots across her delicate skull.
Despite her haggard appearance, her voice was bubbly.
“Mr. Peur! Miss Vetus will be delighted you are here,” she said and shut the door behind them.
Maeve thought her grandmother Primrose’s taste was gaudy, but Ophelia’s Great Aunt Vetus took the cake on tacky decor.
There were colorful ornate tapestries and curtains all along the walls, even those without windows.
The carpet and most pieces of furniture were a thick shag fabric, and everything that could have fringe did. In every color.
“May I ask Mistress’ name to introduce to Miss Willus?” the Elf said.
“This is my good friend, Maeve Sinclair,” said Mal.
“Thank you so much, Mr. Peur, and welcome, Miss Sinclair. Please wait while I announce your arrival.”
The small Elf tottered into the next room, leaving them in the foyer.
“Lovely taste,” said Maeve under her breath.
Mal smirked.
“Malachite!” A loud squeak came from the next room. “Do come in, dear!”
Maeve followed Mal into Vetus’ drawing-room, which looked no different from her foyer, except for the many glassed shelves and pedestals showing off her collections. All were guarded with Magical enchantments.
“Now, I didn’t say you could bring a guest, Mal,” she said.
Mal smiled at her charmingly. “My apologies. This-”
“Maeve Sinclair, yes, I know who she is,” Vetus. “To think I wouldn’t know The Premier’s daughter- Heavens!”
Mal waltzed through the mayhem of the room, dodging each of the tables piled with antiques, and kissed Vetus on the hand.
With the twirl of his fingers, he conjured a bouquet of radiating magical flowers and presented them to her.
“You naughty boy, you shouldn’t have!” Squealed Vetus. She placed the flowers in an empty vase to her side. “Sit down, dears.”
Maeve took a seat on a gold and pink tufted stool.
Vetus Willus was a plump little woman. She was seated on a yellow velvet seashell shaped chair, which clashed horribly with her puffy, pink, layered dress and her half styled red wig.
She grabbed a compact and began applying pink powder to her already saturated cheeks. Maeve noticed several ornate rings that looked like they were shoved down onto Vetus’ fingers in a way that they might never come off.
“Descendant of Merlin? Or is that hogwash?” Vetus asked Maeve as she powdered her nose.
“My Father says hogwash, though the books say otherwise,” said Maeve with a smile.
“Sacred seventeen, though?” She asked while pinching her cheeks in the compact mirror. A bit of disdain crept into her voice.
Maeve nodded.
“Well, surely Malachite, the darling boy he is, has told you about my bloodline?” Vetus raised her eyebrows at Mal.
“Of course, ma’am,” said Maeve. “How impressive.”
“Jema!” Snapped Vetus. “Come and lace these shoes once more. They’re too tight again.”
The elf servant obeyed, kneeling at her master’s feet. Maeve watched as Jema struggled to fit all of Vetus’ feet into the ornate boots. They were at least two sizes too small.
“I know Mr. Bogstrum has sent you here to persuade me to sell some of my treasures,” said Vetus, eyeing Mal.
Mal smiled at her. “I am only here per your gracious invitation,” said Mal, charm oozing from his words.
Vetus’ chin dipped down as she relished his attention.
“May I?” Maeve interrupted, pointing to the large shelves of antiques.
Vetus’ looked annoyed and waved her away. Maeve stood and made her way through the room as she and Mal continued their conversation.
Her house was packed to the ceiling with ornaments and knickknacks. Maeve thought she might as well be in her father’s basement, or Mr. Bogstrum’s shop, The Daydreamer. Only Vetus’ collection was much more curated to her specific taste.
“I have a gift for you, The Dread Prince,” said Vetus.
She had dropped her voice, Maeve assumed, for her not to hear their conversation easily.
“You honor me,” said Mal.
“It is you who honors us, dear boy,” said Vetus. “I can only hope there is a place in your Dread Kingdom for an old Magical like me.”
Maeve rolled her eyes. She bent over to examine a gold-plated mirror with ancient ruins engraved along the handle. The inscription was hard to follow. It was a spell of sorts.
Maeve turned around just as Vetus presented him with an ornate golden goblet. His eyes lifted to hers.
“I told you I had it didn’t I?” She squealed.
“I cannot accept this,” said Mal.
“Of course you can! You must drink from it on the night of your coronation!”
She pushed the goblet towards him. He took it gently in his hands. A wave of relief washed over Maeve. Mal ran his fingers over the two serpent handles.
“Thank you, Vetus.” Mal uttered those words with meaning. “This Magic is ancient magic. My family’s magic. Thank you.”
She kicked her feet and smiled. “Jema will wrap it safely for you, won’t you Jema.” The fragile Elf appeared at Vetus’ side. “I wrote you a card as well. Jema place it inside.”
Jema bowed and took the goblet from Mal. She shuffled away silently.
“I don’t know how to repay this kindness,” said Mal.
Vetus’ threw her stubby hand in the air. “My darling boy, never you worry about that.”
Mal smiled at her.
“Now,” said Vetus, rubbing her hands together.
“I’d like to show you my two most prized possessions after that Goblet.
I did pay a pretty price for it, you know!
” She giggled. “But these spoke to me in a way Magic never has when I found them for sale. I do have an eye for antiquities, you know, dear.”
Vetus continued to ramble, and she pulled a red box from the table next to her and set it in her lap. She pulled off the lid and a soft glow emitted from the box.
Maeve stood to her full height. Something from that box taunted her, caused something in her leg to burn with ice. Magic shot down her arm, ready to attack.
“Go on,” said Vetus encouragingly.
Mal scooped up the silver dagger with sensually delicate fingers, balancing it perfectly.
Vetus’ eyes were locked on Mal’s face, watching his expression.
“A dagger,” murmured Mal, examining the engraving upon the hilt. “With a serpent forged into the steel.”
His eyes slid to Maeve. Her mouth hung open as he held the Dread Dagger.
“Centuries old, I am told. I bought it from a dealer in Argentina years ago.”
Mal looked up at Vetus.
The old woman didn’t know what it was. She had no idea she had just presented them with another ancient magical item of the Dread Trove.
Mal took the dagger in his hand.
Vetus nearly fainted at his awe. “The ruins say ‘forever wounded’ I am told. The dagger’s inflictions cannot be healed with Magic. They must heal naturally if not fatal.”
Jema returned with the Goblet wrapped in a bright pink shiny bag with yellow tissue paper flowing from the top.
Vetus instructed Jema to hand her the other box that sat next to her. Vetus’ decorated fingers gripped the small jewelry box and held it close to her chest.
“This is the one your boss sold me over twenty years ago,” said Vetus quietly. “I daresay he’d love to get it back when I’m dead and gone.”
Maeve watched as her chubby fingers managed to turn the clasp and flip open the box.
The room stilled. Magic filled the air with a soft, pulsing song. Like a burning heartbeat. Maeve stepped closer to see inside the jewelry box. It was filled with bright emerald green velvet, and on it lay a golden locket.
The Dread Locket. Mal’s mother’s locket.
Mal did not wait for her permission to touch this time. He took the locket, holding it in the light and staring at it.
Maeve’s heart skipped multiple beats.
Golden vines wrapped the oval shaped frame. A small marking etched on the front. An ancient and holy mark of power.
They had seen it before. A symbol of divine magic, translated into text books. It wasn’t always the same. It was like a scar. Just a reminder of the Magic there.
Vexkari had been on the tree in Israel where the crown was. It was on the Dread ring on her finger. She had seen it on Reeve too, tattooed up his neck and on his jewelry.
It was across her neck. Down her body permanently.
“A Vexkari mark,” said Mal quietly, as the sunlight bounced off the ornate snake in the shape of an S.
The Vexkari mark. A mark of Magic, of placing ones own magic in something else.
“What’s that dear?” Said Vetus.
She appeared delighted in watching Mal marvel at her own treasure.
“Nothing,” said Mal.
Vetus had no idea she held three of the seven Dread Armor artifacts. Nor that she was about to lose them all.
“I had to pay an arm and a leg for it, but I couldn’t let it pass, a not a real treasure like that.
Ancient antiquities have my heart. I had to have it for my collection.
Bogstrum bought it, apparently, from some ragged-looking human whore who seemed to have stolen it.
No way someone like her could have had this locket by honest means-”
Maeve audibly gasped as Mal’s eyes flashed red. His grip on the locket tightened. Vetus was still rambling, but Maeve was focused on Mal, and he was focused on the locket.
“-she would have taken a single copper for it being pregnant and all-”
A soft hissing sound began to fill the room. Vetus was unaffected. Her rambling continued. It grew in intensity. The language foreign to Maeve. But Mal-
He understood every word of the Magic resonating from the Dread Locket. It was finally back in the hands of its blood.
“So there you are Malachite darling, and I hope you appreciate these trinkets as much as I do!”
Vetus’ hand was stretched out, grasping for the locket, but Maeve knew she was never getting it back. Maeve was slowly pulling her fingers together.
“Are you all right, Malachite, darling?” Asked Vetus as her smile faltered.
“Oh yes,” said Mal quietly, his eyes meeting Maeve’s. “Yes, I’m very well. . . .”
“I thought. . . Your eyes,” started Vetus, but she trailed off. “Just some odd trick of the light, I suppose. Or my old age getting to me.” She laughed nervously.
“Make short work of this, Maeve,” said Mal, all sweetness in his voice long gone.
There was a flash of blue light, and Vetus slumped over, unconscious.
“How dare she speak of her that way,” said Mal darkly.
Maeve knew what was coming next. Vetus’ life would have likely been spared, and her memory simply altered, had she not made those nasty comments about his Mother while dotting on Mal and pinching his cheeks.
“Jema,” called Mal.
The Elf came tottering back into the room.
Bright white light shot from the tip of Maeve’s fingers. Jema froze, completely unable to move, but still conscious.
Maeve quickly decided the easiest course was to confound Jema into believing she killed her master. She would need only to implant the smallest of ideas, and the frail house-elf would believe wholeheartedly that she accidentally slipped some poison in her mistress’ morning tea.
Maeve worked quickly to confound the small framed Elf and alter her memory. When she was finished, she searched Jema’s mind and made sure to show Mal handing the locket and the dagger back to Vetus, and graciously accepting the Goblet as a gift.
Maeve had implanted many memories by now, but this was the first time it wasn’t for practice. This was an invasion of the mind, unconsenting and unwilling. Her arms tingled weakly as she finished. Her full strength was not yet restored.
When the memory charm was perfected, she stunned the little Elf just like Vetus. Maeve caught her boney frame before she crumbled to the floor like a discarded piece of parchment.
“I’m sorry,” said Maeve. “If I could, I would break yours too.”
Jema would be tried for murder. Likely spend the rest of her life in a Magical prison. But there was no one else to frame.
She laid the Elf gently on the shag carpet and turned her attention to Mal. He was staring down at Vetus dangerously.
Maeve’s heart kicked at his expression. She hadn’t seen him kill Kietel. She hadn’t witnessed the revenge in his eyes. The hatred. She had seen him kill, but even in killing his father he was calm and calculated.
Rage resonated from him.
“To sit here, on a pile of gold, and still be so unworthy of possessing it,” said Mal, raising his pointed finger.
The room flashed red, and Vetus lay dead.