Marcus nodded in approval, but his eyes were tight. Either the crosses were bugging him as well, or Ivy wasn’t exactly making their clans look too good.
The queen piped up once more, her voice drowning in a heavy Irish accent, and Ivy could barely contain her exasperation. “We apologize for the precautions, Miss Parker.” Her freakish eyes examined the crosses guarding the bench as if to double-check that they were still there. “But we’ve heard many things about you.”
“What, someone told you I was a Christian?” Ivy gestured to the row of crosses. “That part of the job application is private, your Majesty.”
She knew exactly what they’d heard. It wasn’t that she was a kill-for-hire and a ruthless one at that. The Council had been the ones to recruit her, and she owed them a debt. No, it was more likely that they knew she was beginning to exhibit signs of light sensitivity recession. She was becoming old enough that the sun was losing its restraining effects on her. Finally, Ivy would reach a level of strength that only a few hundred vampires ever had, Marcus included.
She wasn’t surprised that the queen was especially nervous. But if she thought that Ivy was going to upset the Council all over again by murdering the queen of the fairies, she was sorely mistaken.
Queen Cayleigh’s fingers stretched out over the table in front of her, as if she were itching to strangle something. Ivy plastered on an innocent smile. Her fangs extended slowly, stretching down to her bottom lip. She had always wanted to taste royalty.
Ivy’s normally bright green eyes had dulled, due to lack of feeding, but they were no less menacing as she daringly glared at the queen. The queen was almost beautiful in a threatening way. Her eyes were wide and completely blackened. She was thin and regal with an air of amusement that made her victims, or subjects, feel as if they were always the butt of some horrible joke. And as for the things she referred to as hands, Ivy made a note to watch out for those talons. But she was more than confident that the odds were in her favor.
Queen Cayleigh flexed her talons and relaxed a bit into her chair. "You don't intimidate me, little girl. Not in those rags." Ivy glanced down at her gloomy wardrobe. It was mostly tattered gray and brown layers which made her look homeless. Except for her boots, those were expensive steel-toed beauties that she rarely ever took off. She liked the way she dressed; it helped her blend into the crowd. No matter how starkly it contrasted with her nearly neon red locks.
Ivy wanted to snap something out at the queen who reminded her more of a vapid cheerleader than royalty, but Pompeii didn't give her the chance.
“Ladies, please. This is a safe-haven for all of us. Do not soil such a bond with violence,” Pompeii stated in a husky, reasoning voice.
Without thinking to restrain herself, Ivy hissed at Pompeii. She saw right through his diplomatic bull—
“Ivy! Show some control,” barked Marcus. He leaned forward and looked straight through her. Ivy shut her mouth but did not retract her fangs. She bowed her head to both the fairy queen and to the wolf, asking silently for forgiveness. Ivy didn’t care how offended Pompeii and Cayleigh were. She only wanted to appease Marcus. He was her only ally, and he was right. She should have learned to control herself after almost six hundred years of this. It was just that she was starving. She was seriously feeling jetlagged from her trip.
“Now,” Marcus began once everyone had visibly calmed. “We’ve summoned you here to ask for your services.”
Ivy knelt on one knee, showing that she was listening. Because when one’s Council asked for something, it was never really a request and it was never simple. “I am at the hand of my brothers,” she said, just liked she’d been taught. It was protocol.
“The Council acknowledges your will and is grateful.”
At those words, Ivy was permitted to stand. She wished they’d just get to the good stuff. Her skin was itching: the equivalent of a stomach growling out of hunger. Her veins were drying up and it was irritating as hell.
Unexpectedly, Pompeii spoke. “We are glad you have accepted our request, Miss Parker. The humans have kidnapped the phoenix.” Ivy waited for the part that was supposed to interest her. “We ask for your assistance in the retrieval.”
Ivy’s jaw almost dropped. They had called her here…for a bird? Yeah, she’d heard a few stories about the ‘amazing phoenix’. So what? It was just a bird. Ivy was a specialist in neutralizing dangerous situations. Whenever a human found out about an Underdweller and had exposure on their mind—Ivy was there. Whenever a crazed cult decided they wanted to summon demon whatever from the dimension Whatever—Ivy was there. The Council losing a fire-pet, however, wasn’t exactly her cup of tea.
“Look, I’m not animal control. It’s gonna die anyway, right? When it does, I’ll loan you a dustpan and a broom. Bring back the ashes and play the waiting game.”
Marcus was already shaking his head when Queen Cayleigh began to laugh. “Ignorant girl! You disgrace yourself with your naivety.” Ivy took a step forward. But the queen was already too delighted to be perturbed.
“The phoenix is not a bird. Not simply. Twenty years ago, The Covenant came across what we can only define as a second-generation phoenix.” Ivy visibly started at Pompeii’s phrasing. A second-generation anything was unheard of. That meant hybrid. All of the human-Underdweller hybrids had been wiped out at the beginning of the twentieth century. Ivy would know. She’d had a hefty part in the mission. The wolf continued, pressing past her obvious disbelief. “We convinced this second-generation to join our cause, however, she passed, leaving behind only a daughter. But two weeks ago her guardian was found murdered and the phoenix was gone.”
Ivy wasn’t impressed with Pompeii’s intimate knowledge of the mission. This lycan had the tendency to drone, and it was difficult to keep her attention on him. Her body was nearly burning with hunger and there was blood in that room. Ivy’s dull green eyes were drawn to the fairy and her mouth began moving before she’d realized she’d spoken.
“What if she’s dead already?” The Council said nothing. Oh. Regenerating species. “Right…”
“She is a human when she dies in a spectacular inferno and human when she is born again, at the same age. She ages like a human, but she has the ability to shift into her true phoenix form at will. She is the future of the Underdwelling. You must retrieve her. Whatever it takes, we will cover your tracks. She is the most important asset we have if we want to carry on with the Surfacing as planned. She is our only link to our still human side.”
Ivy rolled her eyes and snorted, impressed by the story but not by the wolf. “Are you still holding onto the idea that humans and Underdwellers can live in some kind of after-school-special harmony? If I wasn’t undead, I’d vomit.”
“Ivy, please,” Marcus said, drawing her attention. His lips were turned downward and the normally smooth span of skin of his forehead was wrinkled. He always looked that way when he was reprimanding her, which was often. It didn’t faze her much. “You have already accepted the burden; your quick tongue is better saved for someone else.”
“Like whom?” she wondered, not seeing anyone else in the haunting caves.
Queen Cayleigh giggled to herself like a vapid cheerleader. “Like your partner.”
Suddenly, Ivy wasn’t so hungry.
There is no cure for birth and death save to enjoy the interval.
--George Santayana
Dane scrambled to pull on his pants and secure the buckle on his belt properly. The sweat on his body was just beginning to dry but he didn’t have time to take a shower. Almost tenderly, he pulled his discarded t-shirt out from under Sophie’s sleeping form. She grunted delicately, if that was possible, and turned over on her side, sighing. Damn, she was hot. But Dane had to go and Sophie would always be there.
Without a backward glance at the ravenous brunette, he leapt out of the small room and yanked on his t-shirt. He passed by his pack members as he left his house, most of them wishing him luck, and all of them knowing exactly wha
t he’d just come from doing. He smiled to himself as he smoothed down his hair, his lopsided grin taking up most of his face. He was young. At his age, he was supposed to be fooling around.
He was glad though that he was the wolf being entrusted with the re-capture of the phoenix. He’d heard some pretty wild stuff about it.
That it was half-bird, half-girl.
Or that its hair was always on fire.
Or that if you looked at it too long, you’d catch fire.
But none of that really mattered to him. No other wolf had been trusted to partner with a vamp. That was something he’d be able to hold over his alpha brother’s head for a while. Dane usually tried to shy away from tasks handed out by the Covenant; he didn’t want them thinking that he was rising toward an alpha position. Too much responsibility was sure to cramp his style. But he couldn’t pass up the chance to be the first Underdweller to see the legendary half-phoenix. He was virtually sweating pride. No, wait. That was just sweat. He dabbed at his forehead with the hem of his wrinkled t-shirt as he jogged down the sidewalk to catch the next bus.
He noticed a pretty girl glancing at his exposed stomach as he brought down his shirt, and he let himself enjoy the view thoroughly before moving on. Something about brunettes always got him. He saw his bus at the station. Grinning, Dane sprinted for it.
His own brown hair was getting long, he thought to himself as he caught sight of his bangs hanging in his eyes. He’d cut it later. For now, he’d just be a shaggy wolf. He didn’t miss his own unintended innuendo. Dane leapt onto the bus just as the driver was closing the doors. See? His brother had nothing to worry about. Dane had great timing.
Quinn Loftis, Rapture
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