Chapter 12
Islip away from the group, a silent shadow detaching from the huddle of formidable allies. The cool evening air rushes past me as I activate my vampiric speed, the world blurring into streaks of color and light. I am a whisper in the wind, a specter haunting the edges of perception.
That’s a little dramatic even for me. Faerie must be affecting me more than I thought.
The town unfolds like an intricate tapestry as I navigate its streets with supernatural swiftness.
Tiernan may have scouted ahead, but I seek what lies beyond sight and sound of a mere shifter—the invisible threads that could unravel us all.
My new coven, these fierce alphas and supes, rely on me to fortify our defenses, to ensure not a single crack exists for enemies to exploit.
A shiver of awareness tickles my senses as I pass a dimly lit alleyway—the sensation of being watched. I file it away, mentally marking the spot. Later, I will return to confront whatever curiosity or threat found interest in my passage.
For now, I focus on the task at hand. Fiadh’s safety is paramount, as her well-being has quickly become the axis upon which my world turns.
To protect her, I must shield the coven now that I have bound them to me through the ancient magic of ‘feeder’ lineage.
My thoughts drift to a jeweler, one whose craft transcends mere ornamentation, capable of weaving my blood into protective wards.
That’s what I need since I do not have access to my usual sources on the side of the Veil.
My pace never falters as I scout each potential danger zone: hidden alcoves, rooftops with clear lines of sight, escape routes obscured by the thrumming life of the town.
Knowledge is my weapon, and the map etched into my mind is my shield.
Yet, even as I dart unseen, I can’t shake the nagging intuition that something lurks just out of view, observing, calculating.
I note the time, the place, the angle of the gaze I can almost feel against my skin.
The feeling is a discussion for later, indeed—after protecting my coven is secured, after the jeweler’s craft binds us all in blood and magic. Only then will I turn hunter, and whatever watches will find itself the prey.
I slide into the shadows of the shop, the faint sound of the bell above the door masked by my silent movements.
It’s a cozy space filled with the scent of old parchment and herbs, shelves lined with artifacts that pulse with latent energy.
I scan the room, noting the intricate charms and amulets before my gaze lands on the owner.
Definitely Fae, though possibly mixed blood. I can scent it from here.
“Welcome,” he greets, his voice as rich and smooth as aged whiskey.
His eyes gleam with a dark inner light, betraying his Midnight Court heritage even before the scent reaches me.
There is power here, the kind that can’t be faked or bought, and it resonates with my own.
This Fae is much older than our Prince and possibly older than the rulers of his own kingdom.
His experience will prove invaluable for this task and I’m satisfied that choosing a back alley shop rather than flashy main street ones was a wise decision.
“Your expertise is needed,” I start, watching his face for any sign of deceit. The Fae cannot lie, but they can trick you if they are crafty enough. “I require three commissions with very specific details and in short order.”
He raises an eyebrow, a challenge or perhaps an invitation, then gestures to the more private confines of his work area.
The air is thick with magic, and I feel it brush against my skin like a physical touch.
His magic is powerful, and the precision he wields it with is obvious.
Likely others who enter this place do not sense it, but I am ancient.
My friend Diaval could feel this as well, but the rest of our motley crews would not.
“Exiled,” he reveals without prompting, his tone laced with bitterness and pride. “For refusing to bedazzle the conscienceless whims of a queen.” I nod, understanding the weight of such integrity. There’s no room for ethical compromise in my vampire court, either.
I’ve killed or exiled members in the past for violating my ethos regarding compulsion and consent.
“Three cuffs with premium materials holding the stones,” I say firmly.
Handing him the slip of paper, I give him the sigils and words that will adorn them.
“Amulets for protection, bound by my blood and containing these words and marks.” I hold out my arm, and without hesitation, he slices across my palm with a blade that sings with enchantment. My blood wells up, dark and potent.
“Swear it,” I demand, locking eyes with him.
I have to ensure he’s locked into a contract he cannot wiggle out of.
Ancient feeder blood is powerful and he could fetch a pretty penny should he seek to cheat me.
“My blood for these amulets alone. You will not use it for any other purpose than what I have just stated.”
“By the lost stars of my Court, I swear it,” he intones solemnly, and I know he will keep his word. “An hour,” he tells me, already coaxing the blood into the gemstones. I nod and step back into the daylight, leaving behind the musty smell of magic for the crisp air of the town.
If he doesn’t keep his word, I will not only hunt him down, but I will send every ally I have amongst the vampire after those he holds dear.
With that decided, I head for the middle of Arrowwood, hoping to find sources of information.
Alcohol loosens tongues, as I well know, so I scout the watering holes first. The bar I choose is bustling, the atmosphere charged with anticipation for the Prince’s concert.
I lean against the polished counter, silver coins appearing and disappearing between my fingers—a parlor trick, but one that never fails to draw attention.
“Prince’s visit has everyone excited, eh?” I murmur to the bartender, who’s eyeing the coins with a mix of curiosity and greed.
“Whole town’s abuzz,” he admits, sliding a drink toward me. “Not every day royalty graces us with his presence.”
“Any whispers of discontent?” I probe, sipping the drink and feeling nothing from its contents. This shit is so watered down that I wouldn’t use it to clean the toilets in Cocktails. Regardless, I’ll pretend for now to get what I want.
“Here and there,” he says, leaning closer. “Thieves’ guild’s got their fingers in deeper pies than most realize. And then there’s the tale of the Harvest Court’s treasure—”
“Go on,” I prompt, sensing this is the lead I need. Local legends are almost always based on older mythos, and the prizes they conceal predate any current governing bodies. Faerie, especially, is an untapped resource most do not dare to pillage.
The Wild Hunt would find them before they could ever loot the lost treasures of this vast realm.
“Old legend,” he whispers, glancing around nervously. “Those who seek it disappear. They say it’s nature’s justice, taking those greedy enough to steal from gods.”
“Interesting,” I muse, filing away the information. Tiernan will be perfect for ferreting out more details; subtlety is required for this delicate task, not the brute force Khol might offer or the deference Revelin would inspire.
The bartender stays close as I order more god awful drinks, content to ply me with stories and gossip as long as I keep sliding him florins.
I’m pleased as fuck. I sent Louie for a stockpile of the Fae currency before we left; it will be extremely useful in getting things done here.
When I sense he’s running out of things to share, I finish the last flagon quickly and pass the man another coin.
His gnarled goblin face smiles with gap-toothed happiness at the extra tip.
“Thanks for the chat,” I smile, pushing away from the bar and melting back into the throng of bodies, unseen and already planning our next move.
On to my next stop….
The chime of the shop door announces my return, a sound almost lost beneath the thrum of magic that fills the air. The scent of crushed herbs and enchantment clings to every surface as I step inside, my eyes adjusting to the dim glow of witch lights hovering lazily overhead.
“Your timing is impeccable, Dezi,” the Fae jeweler says from behind the counter, his voice as smooth as the polished stones that line his shelves. With hands as old as time but steady as stone, he presents a velvet pouch, the contents within singing with protective charms.
I wouldn’t chance him deciding I’d skipped out so he could sell these; he’d do it in a heartbeat.
Taking the pouch, I slip the cuffs out, inspecting them carefully.
The pieces are exquisite, each one pulsing with my essence and intention.
A surge of satisfaction courses through me; my coven will be safer with these.
“Your craftsmanship is certainly worthy of royal appointment. They were fools to lose you.”
Looking around for a moment, I consider how I will interrogate an ancient Fae this sharp.
“Careful questions bring careful answers,” the Fae remarks cryptically as he meticulously tidies his workspace. I catch the subtle shift in his gaze, the way it lingers on the shadowed corners where whispers of the thieves guild seem to dance just out of sight.
“Tell me more about this Harvest Court legend,” I probe, sliding extra coins across the counter, a silent pact between us that speaks louder than words.
“I only know that those who venture for the treasure rarely wish to speak of it again,” he replies, fingers brushing the coins into a hidden drawer. “And those who do...” His eyes darken, leaving the sentence to hang unfinished in the charged air.