“Will you photograph the entire contents of the date book?” she asked. “We’ll upload the images to a secure server; then, even if we lose the book, we’ll have backup.”
“Got it,” Rafferty said. “I’ll do the documenting while you compose your story.” He quickly set up the book so that it was braced open, and put the camera on a tripod. “How’s this?” he asked as the first image appeared in a file on the laptop.
Melissa set up the receiving file to one side, then logged in to her blog, opening a new post. She checked the image. It was in focus and legible. “Perfect.” She scanned the handwritten text. “Lots of names and dates to cross-check here. It’ll be a lot of work.”
“You’ll pull it together,” Rafferty said with welcome confidence.
Melissa fought against her excitement—both in the book’s contents and Rafferty’s support. She knew she had to focus. She had to do a perfect job so that Daphne’s sacrifice wasn’t wasted.
They worked together steadily until Rafferty cleared his throat. She realized he was reading her account over her shoulder.
“Maybe you should phone your friend Doug,” he suggested.
“No need,” Melissa said with a smile. “He’ll be calling me.”
She glanced up at Rafferty, loving that they were working together toward the same goal, and this time she knew it wasn’t her imagination.
The darkfire burned brighter, not just between the two of them but in all the mineral samples on the bookshelves. Its impish light flickered blue-green, painting the room with erratic and surreal color.
Daring Melissa Smith to believe all over again.
Unbeknownst to either Melissa or Rafferty, a green salamander materialized in the dark cellar of Rafferty’s Hampstead Heath home as the pair worked together in Rafferty’s office.
The salamander was panting, bleeding from numerous wounds and unsteady on its four feet. It staggered across the stone floor, desperate to hide itself before it collapsed. It climbed the wall weakly, falling twice before managing to secrete itself in a crack between the stones. It closed its eyes, its heart racing.
Then it groaned quietly, as salamanders so seldom do.
The cellar was chilly and damp, a small puddle having gathered on the far corner of the floor. It was a hospitable space for spiders, but not so welcoming for salamanders.
But the jade green salamander stretched out one foot toward the ceiling. It closed its eyes and basked in the heat of a firestorm, one in close proximity. It let the heat of that firestorm slide through its veins, invigorate it, and coax some modicum of healing. The firestorm blazed brighter and hotter, almost as if it responded to the salamander’s need, although that was not the case. It wasn’t as good as the Elixir, but it was the closest alternative available.
It would have to do.
The salamander had feared the firestorm might be sated too soon, that it burned too hot and would be extinguished before he had even arrived to drink of its feast.
Lit with mercury’s eerie blue-green light, it burned hotter than anticipated, infusing him with new strength. The salamander that was Magnus Montmorency smiled in the shadows.
Trust Rafferty to inadvertently give his old enemy exactly what was needed. Darkfire would suit him very well. His scent was disguised, and his arrival had gone unobserved.
That was far better than Magnus had anticipated.
That Jorge was alive and determined to kill him was less good news. Fortunately, Jorge was still stupid enough to believe a lie.
Or greedy enough. The details were unimportant. Without his own quick thinking, by this point, Magnus would have been Jorge’s lunch.
It had been harder to follow the heat of the firestorm, so wounded was Magnus, and he had had to move closer in incremental jumps. Each shift had cost him dearly, and he was uncertain how long it would take to restore his strength.
He strained his ears to listen, his eyes widening as he heard what Rafferty and his mate did with his own book. Magnus wanted to roar in frustration. He wanted to halt this abomination before it went too far.
But he was weak, and he knew it.
And Jorge was afoot.
Magnus would never survive against both Rafferty and Jorge.
So he gritted his teeth and bided his time, seething at the injustice of it all and his thirst for vengeance growing with every word he heard.
He would triumph.
He simply had to choose his moment with care.
Chapter 14
When Eileen woke up, the room was falling into darkness. She saw Erik standing by the window of the bedroom, a shadow against the shadows. She wondered whether he had slept at all. He looked haggard, his expression drawn, his skin pale. He was staring down into the street below, but she knew he wasn’t looking at the view.
Eileen watched him, waiting for him to confide in her. She knew he would be aware of the change in her breathing and pulse. She knew that he knew she was awake. But he didn’t turn. She was used to Erik being grim, being driven, being uncommunicative, being utterly focused on the good of the Pyr he led.
This was different. He seemed to be in despair.
She got up and checked Zoë, who was still sleeping deeply in the cot that Rafferty always had ready for them. When Erik still didn’t speak, she turned on her partner. He hadn’t even moved.
“You heard Rafferty’s story?”
“I heard it.” He didn’t even look at her.
“And the other bits we talked about?” Erik nodded, but Eileen had learned a long time ago to not be deterred by his silence. “So, what aren’t you telling me?”
“A great deal.” He grimaced. “As usual.” He turned to face her, his thoughts hidden. Eileen had a bad feeling about that. “I haven’t been the best partner to you. Not last time and scarcely better this time.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t be such a tough judge,” Eileen said lightly, and moved to his side. “You have some good qualities. Lucky for you, I have a thing for serious men.”
Erik didn’t appear to have heard her, but he stared out the window again. His manner frightened her as little else could have done.
Eileen sat on the end of the bed opposite him, folded her arms across her chest, and leaned forward. “Erik. Talk to me. What do you see?” She referred to his ability to foresee the future, suspecting that some glimmer had soured his mood.
“Little good.” He frowned.
“Sloane’s verse about darkfire mentioned it changing everything.”
Erik nodded, still keeping his gaze averted.
“What will it change? Why are you afraid?”
He looked at her, his eyes blazing. “I am not afraid. I am resigned to what must be, even though it is not easy.” He sighed. “Last time, you left me. This time, I will leave you, though not by my own choice.”
“What?” Eileen was on her feet, but Erik raised a hand.
“All has gone wrong. There is nothing to be gained in fighting the changes that will be.”
Eileen stood, her arms wrapped around herself. Her partner’s words sent a chill through her, but she wanted to know the worst of it. “What changes lie in store for you? For us?”
Erik’s lips tightened. “I will no longer lead the Pyr.”
“But you have led them for centuries! I thought it was your birthright….”
He interrupted her crisply, recounting a list of his failures. “I have been beguiled. I have revealed the existence of a Pyr I pledged to hide. The Pyr are scattered and revealed to humankind. It is only a matter of moments until we are hunted once again. I have failed, in every conceivable way, and if the Pyr are to continue, another must lead them into their future.”
Eileen’s heart was in her throat. “Don’t you think you should ask them about that? Have a vote or something?”
Erik shook his head and looked out the window once more. “There won’t be time. I saw myself walking among the dead. The only way that can occur is if I am one of them.”
“No! You talked to Sigm
und before, when I was pregnant. You told me. You said it must be part of your gift of foresight, maybe a new dimension of it.”
He shook his head. “I think this is different.”
Eileen took his arm then, terror making her heart pound. “What do you mean?”
He enfolded her hand within his, his expression rueful as he studied her fingers. “My gift of foresight has been compromised lately. I don’t believe it would develop new strength when it seems to be in flight.”
“But…”
“You will remember that I sent Sloane to Brandt, to warn him that I had erred.”
“And Sloane didn’t want to go, because he had sworn a blood oath to Brandt. What does that mean?”
“A blood oath is a promise, sealed with blood.” Erik glanced up. “If one Pyr breaks the vow, the other has not just the right but the obligation to kill the oath breaker. It is a matter of honor.”
“You sent Sloane to his death?”
Erik shook his head. “No. He and Brandt have old ties. They are cousins, and there is great fondness between them. Plus, Brandt needs the Apothecary’s skill. I knew they would fight, and that Brandt would be ascendant, but he would not strike the killing blow. I did see this.” He glanced at her, as if insulted that she could imagine he would willingly put one of the Pyr in danger. “I looked for it, before deciding to send Sloane.”
Eileen waited, but Erik said no more.
“So, what’s the problem?” she prompted.
“I swore the same blood oath to Brandt,” Erik said. “He will have no such compunction against killing me. In fact, he will deem it just to avenge himself upon me for my part in sending Sloane.”
“Where?”
“Wherever I am.” He nodded to the world beyond the window. “He comes, even now. He is mere hours away.”
“And you’re just going to sit here and wait? Let’s go!” Eileen hurried across the room, making a mental list of what she had to pack. “Let’s hide. Let’s take a trip….”
“I cannot evade him, Eileen,” Erik said with force. “It is his right. I will not stand in the way of justice.”
“This is not justice!” Eileen cried, not caring who heard her. Zoë, incredibly, did not stir, which maybe said something about her exhaustion.
Erik shook his head. “It is the justice of our kind. I know no other.” He regarded her, a slight smile curving his lips. “Don’t you see? There is no evading the reckoning of darkfire. I cannot outrun it or hide from it. I had thought there was little risk. I am much older than Brandt. I am a better fighter, although he will have passion on his side.”
“But?” Eileen said, folding her arms across her chest. She felt as if she had to do so to keep herself from exploding. She couldn’t match Erik’s calm demeanor, not in a thousand years.
Not if they were talking about Erik’s death.
“The Sleeper awakens. That changes everything.”
“Okay, what don’t I know about the Sleeper?”
“There are a hundred old stories that have their toes in this one, Eileen. There’s only one that matters.” He turned a glittering look upon her, and she saw that he shimmered slightly around his perimeter. She heard the dragon in his challenge. “What do you know of sleeping heroes who awaken after centuries? What happens then?”
“Well, Rip van Winkle lost everything.” Eileen frowned, rolling through all the stories she knew. “And Thomas of Erceldoune did the same thing, while beguiled in the realm of the faerie queen. Thomas the Rhymer they called him. Ditto for the lover of Jenny…”
“Men, Eileen,” Erik interrupted with impatience. “Those are men. What of those who are more than men?”
“Kings,” she whispered, raising her hands to her mouth in realization. What stories had Rafferty been talking about in the kitchen? “Arthur, the once and future king. He will awaken, when his realm has need of him or when the challenge is too great, and lead his people into a bright future, one of prosperity and goodness.”
“Provoking change.” Erik smiled, but there was no humor in his expression. “Just like darkfire. The Sleeper and the darkfire are hand in glove. Everything must change.”
“No!” Eileen protested.
“Yes,” Erik replied. “Who can stand in the way of change for the sake of good? How can I obstruct a change that will improve the situation for the earth and its treasures?”
“But…”
“But nothing! There will be another leader of the Pyr, and the only way that can occur is if I am no longer alive.”
“There has to be another way,” Eileen said, hating how he had made his peace with his fate. “You could just quit, cede the role to another….”
Erik frowned. “Lorenzo said the Pyr would destroy one another, if there was no natural opponent for us. I see now that he was right. Brandt comes for me, and I no longer believe that I will triumph over him.” He shrugged. “Or even that I should. Sigmund said there are three crystals, and I know nothing of them. He told me the third one must be found.”
“But you could find it….”
“I know nothing of this, Eileen. It is a test, and one that I fail in my ignorance.”
“No! It doesn’t have to be that way,” Eileen argued, stepping toward him. Erik stopped her with a look.
His eyes narrowed, the first sign of his dismay. He was keeping her away, and she knew it. He didn’t want to do this any more than she wanted him to.
But she knew Erik. He would follow tradition. He would do his duty. He would follow the ways of the Pyr.
Even if it killed him.
“I would like for you to remain here with Zoë,” he said, his words coming thick with emotion. “Brandt is not malicious, but he is passionate, and he can forget himself in anger. The darkfire may exacerbate that tendency.” He met her gaze, and she saw his regret. “Remain here under Rafferty’s protection, Eileen, so that I do not have to fear for your survival.”
Eileen could barely speak, her throat was so tight. “Won’t he hunt us? Won’t he hunt the Wyvern?”
A great sadness came into Erik’s voice, and she saw the fullness of his disappointment in himself only then. His gaze fell on their sleeping child, and she knew she saw his tears. “I fear that Zoë is not the Wyvern,” he said quietly. “She is just a little girl, exactly as you wished.”
“But…”
“I have failed my kind in every way. Do not let it be said that I failed my mate and my child, as well.” His voice broke, and the last word he uttered was no more than a croak. “Stay here. I will meet Brandt elsewhere so that you two are safe.”
“I love you,” Eileen said.
“And I love you.” A tear slipped from Erik’s eye then, and his voice dropped to a whisper. His torment nearly destroyed her. “But it is not enough, Eileen. I must go.” He evaded her embrace, striding from the room.
Eileen heard Erik climb the stairs to the attic. When she heard the creak of the roof access open, her tears began to fall in earnest.
Eileen picked up her daughter and lay on the bed, rocking the sleeping toddler’s warmth against herself. She was as stung by Erik’s lack of belief in the power of love as by his decision to leave them behind.
But Eileen Grosvenor wasn’t giving up that easily on Erik Sorensson. She wasn’t at all convinced that the only way forward for the Pyr was for Erik to die. Even if he wasn’t going to be leader, he could still survive. She would find a way. It had taken her long enough to find Erik that she wasn’t going to lose him after just a couple of years together.
Love wasn’t strong enough to fight darkfire?
Eileen would see about that.
On the Trail of the Truth
posted 12:23:10 05:00 EST on MelsNewsBlog
Sometimes stories come together immediately. Sometimes stories are exactly where you expect them to be. Other times, the trail is tangled and takes years to unravel. There are times when the truth is never known—or can never be proved. A long time ago, I started to follow a story
that led me on a more twisted path than anyone could have expected. I had come to believe that this might be one of those stories that never fully emerge, but this week, I was proved wrong. Let me take you on its trail, right from the beginning.
This story started in Baghdad, in 2005. When I first arrived there to be embedded with the troops, I met a street urchin, an orphan named Daphne. I never knew her surname. Maybe she didn’t know it, either. She was pretty and she was clever. She had a charm about her, but our whole crew was aware that she made her way by petty theft. It was hard to hold that against her—there was really no other way for those kids to survive. I liked Daphne, and I tried to give her a chance. I asked her for help with different stories, and when she came through—which wasn’t every time—I rewarded her. I hoped she would learn that the world didn’t have to be a place where every person fended alone for himself or herself.
The first gift I gave her was a bright red T-shirt, the one I’d been wearing the day we met. She’d obviously coveted it, so when she brought us advance news of a potential hit on the troops, I gave it to her. She was thrilled. Can you remember ever having such joy from a single T-shirt? These kids had nothing….
One day, I asked her to find out more about a man we suspected of being an arms dealer. She was good at finding out things she shouldn’t know, and I thought she might bring us a good clue. I never would have done it if I’d imagined that question would lead to her death….
Melissa was excited. It was wonderful to see this story finally coming together. She decided to write it as a diary of her following Magnus’s trail. She sent a message to the cameraman, Bill, who was now stationed in Asia, and he sent her a couple of jpegs of Daphne almost immediately.
Along with a greeting: A warm welcome back to the land of the living.
As always, Bill made Melissa smile. It felt good to be doing what she believed she was best at doing.
She was aware of Rafferty reading over her shoulder, of the glimmer of darkfire at her back. She felt safe in his library, in his company, by his side. She liked that he went through Magnus’s book as she worked, compiling a list of the ways the entries might be cross-checked.