A Journey of Black and Red-Novel

After silencing Melusine with the promise of unbridled violence, I have the notable displeasure of facing a large group of irate vampires demanding answers. From their perspective, I was gone for half an hour while they were fighting for their freedom and the only witness to my disappearance was Martha. My friends would know that duplicity is not in my blood, quite literally, although deception is. The temporary allies I gained for this project are significantly harder to convince, and I do not blame them. Indeed, I have acquired invaluable strength while they held the line. The major issue here is that they are my allies and partners and therefore I cannot simply bash them over the head with a heavy root for questioning my honor.

Although, the drive is strong.

There is something different with me. I assumed some of my behaviors would fade with sobriety, but it appears some of the changes are permanent. The urge to remove shoes indoors will be manageable. My sudden bouts of irrational anger might prove more problematic now that the incentive to stop is considerably lower. Why would I care for consequences when I am the consequence? I must force myself to be mature, composed, and patient, the wiser person so to speak, especially when faced with an insistent Sephare buzzing with concern.

We move through the portal with our ‘prisoners’, although they keep their weapons and armor. They spread across the tents while we gather on the ritual site with the most precious of commodities and the reason why I moved us all here in this starved, desperate place.

Coffee.

I would have stabbed Constantine if he had insisted on talking outside when I have my own fresh supply of ground beans waiting for me in a prepared pot. It has been close to five bloody years without a nice cup of java. To deprive me would be a crime.

For the next two hours, I give them an abridged and simplified version of my discoveries, omitting the adventure and insisting on the spheres themselves — their compositions, populations and so on. Cadiz supports me whenever my word comes into doubt, not that they believe I would lie but they consider that my mind could have been influenced. The existence of the Sovereign of Summer spreads confusion and dismay among my kin.

At some point, one of the Mask vampires thinks himself smart by ‘retiring’ to a nearby tent for the express purpose of eavesdropping. Although not completely a breach of contract, the practice annoys me enough to shove him back to his own men with a forceful application of roots to the groin. Let it be known that I shall answer low blows with lower blows.

The questions come soon, and most of them relate to what I can do now since I have kept the existence of Pookie and the Dalton’s Fury secret so far. I answer politely. I answer patiently. Even the insinuations that I knew, should have expected, or planned my departure. The only accusations I struggle with are those of delaying my return. Unfortunately, they are correct. My arguments that the opportunity to gain advantages was simply too important fail to gain traction.

I can tell they are not satisfied and I know why. I have made incredible progress with this trip, progress that I have not shared yet. They most likely feel neglected. No amount of explanations will make up for that, and that is fine. I will reveal my gifts and acquisitions after they are properly secured.

I suspect what upsets them the most is the sudden upheaval of the balance of power. Constantine himself seems unsure on how to handle me, though my calm and lack of grandiloquent evil speech on world domination must assuage his fears.

Eventually, there is not much to do but to remind them of the reason for their coming.

To my surprise, Constantine diplomatically addresses me.

My outrage must have been obvious because the Speaker winces, aware of his heavy-handed approach. Have I not been his supporter all along despite what he did to me? Do the years spent working on golems together not matter at all?

Of course I damn will.

Most vampires turn to Jimena, who had been so far standing awkwardly and with puppy eyes next to her equally uncertain progenitor.

Suddenly, the public attention switches to Cadiz and I see something that I never anticipated from my kin. Relief.

Oh, they mask it so well I had mistaken it for concern but what they feel is fear, really. I can taste it in their aura, though they try to mask it. They are… smaller than I remember. The Accords vampires are afraid of me. Not all of them, of course, but enough to be telling. Despite what my dear Jimena said to defend me, the others will not trust me. Our kin cares about their immediate network to some extent, everyone else is rival, ally of circumstance, or prey. There is no in-between. She will not convince them.

In the next ten minutes, my ally and I perform an improvised social gig to soothe everyone. Sephare and a Constantine walk up to welcome Cadiz and fail to walk back, staying by my side instead. The Cadiz form a line behind the Progenitor who stays around while discussing his plans to stay for a while and observe. The Roland rally around Adrian who smoothly recenters the discussion around what demands we should make of our Mask captives. Ten minutes after the talk has started, I have graciously receded in the background of a newly formed circle, only intervening when the others involve me.

I am part of the group again.

The fear recedes, turned into the respect afforded to the strong as more and more people ask me questions about the fae spheres and the hypothetical danger they represent. I do not begrudge them their curiosity and answer truthfully, even though I know I will have to repeat myself in front of the council. The meeting winds down when Constantine walks to a waiting Bertrand, standing with Hastings herself. I hear the unassuming woman jest to Sephare about the large number of Progenitors present. We do have four, an extraordinary occurrence. The fact I brought them together brings me great pride.

As expected of Mask, they smoothly turn the occasion into a socializing event and vampires who were skewering each other a couple of hours before now exchange jokes and taunts. A few sanctioned duels occur when opponents find themselves curious to see who would have prevailed. The abundance of willing mortals helps sake the thirst of those who were seriously wounded. I am fine with this outcome so long as they leave me alone, because I have not forgiven them. I only tolerate them because of our code. We are still on my land.

My mild annoyance melts when Urchin and Doe approach me.

He clasps my hands in his giant mitts in an unusual display of physicality. I allow it because it is Doe.

They obey, disappearing behind the arguing pair of Martha and Melusine. They look so similar besides hair color. I find the resemblance eerie. Shaking my head, I turn to Jimena as she discusses excitedly with her Progenitor.

Cadiz keeps silent for a few seconds, then slowly, a genuine smile blooms on his pallid face.

Before we leave, Constantine together with Cadiz, Ako, and a few other warlords ask to spar with me. It soon becomes obvious that despite their considerable powers, I still win. The thorn forest may not seem as impressive as Jarek’s seismic fists, but it is uniquely suited to making me control groups and their numbers do not help them when I can grow roots between each member of the squad and focus on one while keeping the others busy. Constantine’s barrage of powerful chains exhausts itself chasing ghosts while statues overwhelm him despite his decent close quarter skills. Cadiz cannot match my speed and I show no mercy in my style, fully aware that any sloppiness on my part will be paid later when I face my sire. I outpunch Jarek — which brings him great satisfaction — thus canceling his main strength. Ako and Wilhelm are not strong enough to oppose me although they use axes to great effect. The chaos of battle inevitably ends in my victory although I do have to make efforts. Between magic, fencing, my Magna Arqa, and guns, I have the tools to overcome any opposition.

I use the opportunity to remind Jarek that he would personally sponsor me for the seat Queen of America if I were to defeat Bertrand in single combat. My remark is taken quite seriously and leads to a round of negotiations behind closed doors in the Boston fortress.

In the end, I accept not to claim that title for two reasons.

First, there should be no queens in America. The last time someone tried it did not end so well.

Second, I find our community to be a den of ruthless, manipulative, devious, stubborn old curmudgeonly predators and I refuse to spend a second more than I have to on unruffling feathers. I would very much leave that task to Sephare since she not only excels at it, but she enjoys it too. Truly career socialites are strange creatures. The same applies to Constantine and his Watcher-cursed paperwork. I am pleased to let him handle taxes, fees, trade dispute arbitration and the general application of the law and by that I mean that I would rather stab myself in the knee with a sharpened cross than be more involved. I have enough to handle as it is.

***

The streets of Moonside have not changed much. A population of werewolves tends to remain stable at most times, due in part to their amazing physical resilience, and the lack of children. Jeffrey greets me with his usual congenial smile.

“It’s good to see you bosswoman. How did that little thing go? I told June it would be fine, that you knew what you were doing after all this time but she wouldn’t stop.”

“I am sure the thought of losing me was too much to bear,” I sarcastically reply.

The werewolf leader gives me a mischievous wink under the worried gaze of his guards. So long as I live, the werewolves are well-protected from many dangers.

“I happened to travel to the other side for a little while and I bear a gift. Or rather, I thought it was when I found it, but it might be double-edged.”

“The other side? The dead world you mentioned?”

“No. The world of the fae.”

“You… went there.”

“Briefly. And I brought something back.”

I remove a statuette from my pouch. It features the frame of a woman, little more than a miniature mannequin.

“Hmm. Very nice?”

“Touch it Jeffrey, and you will understand.”

He does and his fingers freeze as soon as they touch the delicate artifact, or delicate in appearance at least. His eyes search mine.

“It is calling but… I cannot answer. So calming.”

“Only women may bind this. If she touches it during the full moon…”

“It will cut her from the curse.”

“Yes.”

“But then…”

“Yes.”

Jeffrey breathes hard. He licks his lips with nervousness and a powerful longing.”

“Will the child…”

“I do not know. I only know that it will be possible. The artisan was quite certain it would function.”

Jeffrey guffaws. It is not a nice laugh.

“Poisoned indeed, bosswoman. The sweetest poison you could ever find. Ah, and to think we went five years without murder. Only one person at a time can bind this item, is it not so?”

I nod.

“It was difficult to acquire, or rather, I had to find one who could do it.”

“Yes. How wonderful and damnable. You know, bosswoman, sometimes hope is a curse. I read somewhere that all gifts of the fae were traps. You are no exception.”

“You could return it.”

“No, I really could not. Name your price.”

“I want you and your clan by my side when I face my sire. I will not send them to fight my kin but I will need all the help I can get during daylight.”

“When will it be?”

“Not any time soon. This is a pact between myself and your clan. Your clan must adhere to it and they will collectively hold the promise.”

“The clan answer to me. Yes, you have a deal. All of my warriors and myself for that last campaign.”

He stays quiet for a moment, though I can tell he has something left to say.

“ You smell…different. What else did you find?”

“Power. I found power.”

***

The White Cabal complex at Avalon may not have changed over the past years, but my accomodations have. Rather than being made to wait outside at the councilmen’s convenience, I now wait in a guest office inside of the expanded government building with a cup of black tea. I do not really enjoy black tea. I hinted at it several times but the only reaction I get from the assistant who delivers my drinks is terror. The last time, she almost tipped the cup into my lap, and so I sip the bitter liquid with mild annoyance. Finally the woman returns to whisper that I am expected. She smells of cheap terror. I can go weeks without feeding now and the mild temptation is easy to keep under control.

The council room is circular, with seats arranged in an amphitheater and each chair placed behind the more decorated one belonging to the main counselors. The fat president still gives and takes the right to speak with bangs of his mallet — I never bothered to learn his name. The Head Librarian is the same positively ancient woman covered in trinkets. There are some new faces however, especially since a few were removed from their shoulders after the attempted coup a while ago.

“What is that she’s holding?” a new councilwoman asks.

The president turns to me this time. I have in my hands a long staff wrapped in a snug wood casing. Its shape is quite obvious, especially for mages whose use of the gauntlet is only a recent change.

“Would you like to tell us now? I assume this is relevant to the conversation.”

“I come bearing answers and a proposal. The staff is part of my proposal.”

“How do we know it’s not a trap?” the councilwoman insists, breaking protocol.

She is quite young and beautiful in a pouty sort of way, with raven hair and thick lips tastefully underlined with minimal makeup. I approve of her efforts but not of her interruptions. Ugh, every time I deal with mages, a good third of the time is wasted on grandstanding. They are like us but without manners.

“Then I propose you start with it since there are bound to be many questions”

“Certainly. I will be brief. There will be a battle in the future that will decide the fate of our planet, and I want you by my side when it happens.”

“We have already agreed to a defensive alliance. Will this be any different?”

“The man we will be facing will not attack us, he will attack another immortal. If he wins, he will gain enough power to take over the world single-handedly, and there will be very little we can do to stop him.”

“One of your kin?”

“The one who made me. The first of our kind.”

They mull over the news in collective silence for a moment. I sometimes forget that the mortals know very little about us as we like to keep our affairs private and deny the curious with extreme prejudice. I consider the current notion to be relevant to the negotiations and ultimately harmless, unlike, for example, the number of top level civil servants we hold sway over. Which is most of them.

“How old is he, exactly?” the Black Dog asks.

“Approximately two thousand six hundred years.”

This time the mages are dumbstruck. They know very well the older a vampire grows and the more powerful they become. It does not take a genius to realize the implication.

“Can a man like this even be stopped?” another counselor asks.

“Due to special circumstances, I have gained the strength to face him at least. Victory is not assured, however.”

“Can you give us an idea of what he can do?”

In answer, I deploy my aura.

I always keep myself under control these days since it is only polite, but now I am here to impress upon them the necessity of unity. This time, I let go. It feels like removing an overly tight piece of garment if said garment encircled one’s soul. I refrain from sighing in contentment.

A few of the people at the back gasp, but the archmages and veteran politicians facing me merely flinch, doing their best to keep their composure. The lights flicker, which is new. Slowly, the warm glow of the lamps turn blueish and the temperature drops. The fading warmth of the mortals’ breath produces amusing puffs of mist.

“You have made your point,” the president says.

I regretfully pull my power back in. The cold lingers for a while, even after someone opens a window to let warmer air in. It gives the mages a moment to consider. Eventually, they recover enough to pretend they were merely considering my words.

“And what do you expect us to do?”

“I do not expect you to face him in direct combat. The strength of mages has always relied on preparations, planning, and superior tactics. This is what I would like you to contribute. In return, I will offer you this staff,” I say, and I open the package.

“What does this do?” a younger member asks with interest.

“It gives you a fighting chance.”

I reveal a silver implement of sublime make, a work of art covered in thin, interlocking layers of runes. No human hand could craft such an elaborate masterpiece, and even a mundane human could feel the power it exudes.

“This is a Blue Court war rod, a proprietary design of their fighting forces. No human mages can live long enough to hope to harness its potential, although Frost would have been able to use the entire ice magic system. The man or woman who wields this shall become a champion among mortal casters. They will outshine entire cabals through sheer might.”

“And the price for that…”

“I already paid it. Only one person may bind the staff, but so long as you hold your part of the agreement by supporting me with your full military for one battle, it will be yours now and forever.”

We understand each other. Mages may not lie or break oaths easily. If they deny me, they might not lose their lives but the staff will at the very least become cursed, not least because it was made by a Likaean. I am asking for a very serious commitment.

“Where did you find such a thing?”

“You know the fae are gone,” I start.

There is a little back and forth when they deny and deflect, as if the beat of their hearts and the smell of their stress were not all the answers I need. It takes half an hour of pointless deliberations before the leadership admits they knew of this phenomenon, which leads to another fifteen minutes of subtle recriminations from those who were unaware of the fact. It has only been two weeks. The news is still fresh. Casters in general only kept a handful of fae captive due to the amazing reward one could receive by giving them to our kin, and also the risk of being slaughtered if found sheltering them. It does not surprise me to learn that their fate would be hidden under a mantle of secrecy.

I admit I was also wrong, many of them did not know. Sinead has the truth of it. One of the most common mistakes is losing sight of what people know.

I will miss the smug bastard.

“The path to the fae worlds has closed and shall remain so for the next few millenia — barring the odd and unreliable phenomenon — so this is effectively a unique artifact of unmatched power. Please consider this a mark of my esteem, of my respect for your abilities, and of the hope that we will face that devil together.”

Over the next couple of hours, I am asked much about the Likaean spheres and I keep my answers secret and mysterious for a single overarching reason: I am having fun. Besides, being insufferably mysterious is so deeply rooted in our personalities that to act with too much honestly would raise even more suspicions. They finally work their way backward to the conclusion.

“Wait… you freed the fae? You?”

“And sent them to their home plane, yes.”

“How do we know she just didn’t slaughter them all,” the aggravating girl replies.

I learned that her name is Daphne and she is the new face of the human supremacy faction. Although I respect her for her attempts, her continuous insinuations are working against her at the moment. The proper way to do so is to save all those insinuations for her followers and only confront her foes with accusations that are too difficult to deny, otherwise the conclusion is what happens now.

“And how would she have collected the staff then? You can feel its power as well as I can. There is no denying it. It was made in another world,” the librarian scoffs.

I let the argument wind down a little, until I am asked to leave so they can deliberate. I wisely leave the staff in plain sight with a small charge just so they can feel its power calling to them while they talk. Eventually, the temptation is simply too great and I get a carefully worded contract signed. I have the core of a group. Now that it is done, I need to keep searching for new allies. I have time, but so does he.

***

“Ariane? Lass, is that really ye? I thought you were still in the new world doing your thing.”

“I have not left yet and I also completed the project successfully. It is done.”

That’s great ta hear, aye. How can ye reach here from America? No mirrir should be this stable.”

“I have enough power to fuel a spell at this range. I am also using the Aurora’s chestplate. It has changed a little.”

“What did ye do to my masterpiece?”

“The fae ice world helped it along to… completion, shall we say. You will see when you get here.”

“And why would I get… what is that thing? Those runes, but no, it cannot be. I do not… Is that one gravity? Wait. Wait wait wait wait wai Ariane WHAT DID YE FIND?”

“Flying ships.”

“Please tell me ye didn’t let any of those young numpties catch a gander at this they’ll demolish the bloody thing. By Tyr tell me ye kept the diagrams. Drawings. Anything!”

“I brought back the ship.”

“You…”

“Yes. It is currently moored on my land, but we have a problem. The ambient mana is too weak to keep it afloat for extended periods of time. We need a way to adapt the design to our sphere. You are the best arcane engineer on the planet. Think you can help?”

“Dinnae move it, dinnae screw with it, and keep the humans’ mitts of that thing, ye hear? I’m coming.”

***

Over the next few months, I find that the recent crisis has subsided but that its waves only grow with every passing day. The news of Mask’s second defeat and their retreat over the ocean is noted by most information networks including the more mundane ones. The reason for their defeat and the disappearance of an entire species all trace back to me. As a relatively public figure I have no need or advantage denying the truth, especially since many rumors claim I murdered the fae to the last one. The unintended consequence of my success, the sheer scope of the operation, and Bertrand’s crushing defeat in a one-on-one duel propels me to fame. I receive much attention from almost every faction that knows of us. Isaac even hints that the information package on my person has been purchased so many times it became the information broker’s most sold commodity this year.

Not all of this attention is good obviously, and I am compelled to hire additional help to protect the secrecy of my latest project, as well as my life. The sun has not lost its hold on me and as unstoppable as I am at night, the cruel orb still stops me. I suspect summer essence has increased my resilience. It just means I will simmer instead of roasting. Progress.

Eventually, Constantine and Sephare put my request forward and the vote is called. I can tell from the eyes of my assembled kin that they expect some sort of compensation as the council assembles in the courtyard outside of the Boston fortress. I point up to the night sky, surprising many with my seemingly absurd display. Above us, there are only low clouds.

First they hear the flap of propellers and the woosh of hot hair leaving a balloon, then the hull appears, soon followed by sails. Curses and exclamations of surprise emerge from a notoriously quiet crowd, pleasing me greatly.