Chapter 20: Chapter Fourteen : Sinking In

LAST NIGHT

Dark pressed heavily on the City, sticky fog growing as the night cooled further and further. The moon was shrouded by clouds, the manalights in the street lamps dimming naturally as midnight passed. Very few had any business at this hour, and fewer still dared be out this late. The noise of crickets and frogs had been all but silenced by the human hive, the wind and sea the only sound this deep into the night.

Silence, in all places but one.

At the abandoned site of Zinnia’s home, heels clicked on stone. A woman sauntered onto the property, dressed casually in slacks and a tight bodice that shoved her sizeable breasts up into a pronounced heart shape. If there was ever a woman who could be called an hourglass figure, it was her; and she moved like she knew it. The long locks of her black hair twisted in parting fog, long ringlets dancing as she walked.

She strode through the remaining grass and flattened lavender, regarding the sunken circle of dirty white stone where the house once stood. The shredded carcasses of crabs and lizards alike were scattered throughout the circle, black rats and displaced gulls squealing as they fought over the scraps of their devoured meal. The woman popped her puffy lips, and stepped inside the circle, sending the rats scattering to the edges, bits of skin and bone dragged behind them.

She twirled a thick black bone in her fingers. With a twist of her wrist, the bone popped apart into segments. Now holding a thin cane, she scraped it against the stone. With another flick she brought the thin needle point of the cane to her mouth and sucked.

“Paint,” she said, smacking her lips. “Roc blood. Dandelions. The resin of the floatwood as a base… and Ochre?” she snorted. “Why? To make it more vibrant? Who would care about such a thing in spellwork?”

There was a rustle of papers, and a thick voice answered, “The resident was an artist. Flashiness was her profession.”

The woman snorted. “You’re telling me a mere artist spun a spellweave this complex?”

Her companion shrugged. He was a fat little man, little being the key word. Even before his turning, his Fabric was dense in death. And while there was always variance in those with a deathly fabric, his had made him stunted, with fangs and floppy ears long before his vampirism. Whether his greed and gluttony was a result of his Fabric’s affinities or his upbringing was hotly debated by the scholars of the world. This man stood by the gate and sucked a feather quill, scrawling everything down in a black book. His thick, ring-ladened fingers were surprisingly deft.

“She attended University of Vivania,” he explained.

“Never heard of it,” the woman replied shortly.

He rolled his eyes. “It has one of the finest schools of magic in the world,” the man explained.

“Excuse me,” the woman smiled wickedly, long fangs readily apparent. “I care not for the teachings of lesser Witches. Let them pretend to learn how the world works. They will never reach a fraction of my skills.”

If Aurelius were here, he would have dug into the woman with a jab. Something like ‘former skills.’ But the fat little man was a coward, so he held his tongue.

“Now, now, my darling ones… do not bicker.”

There was a low rap, rap, rap on the cobblestones, rapid and jaunty. A simple figure strode out from the thick fog. His floating black hair was augmented by the fluttering of a red captain’s coat, a contiguous shadow in the night. He limped like one used to such a thing, strong enough to bear themselves without a cane. Yet he still kept it by his side, for, if one didn’t know better, sheer style alone. Ares followed at this man’s heel, holding himself at a subdue parade rest despite multiple bruises and cuts across his face and back.

“Gene,” Asphodel said without looking at the fat man. “Tell me about these women. Tell me what they’ve done with my most precious treasure.”

The fat man nodded, and, after fanning his current page dry, flipped back several pages.

“Zinnia Scarlet. Studied at Vivania University, Delland. Likely Delland native. Came to White Cliffs promptly after her schooling, where she’s been…” Gene waved his hand in the air and made a scratchy ‘eeehh’ sound. “Bumming around. Starving artist type stuff. Had started gaining fame as the star of a little Cliffside tavern’s theater troupe when Aurelius scooped her up for potential feeding.” Gene looked up from his book. “She was scheduled for this week, right?”

Asphodel quirked a sly smile, “Was only waiting for her little friend to arrive.” He sighed. “A regrettable loss that… I was looking forward to it. Now… the other one?”

Gene nodded, lips thin. “Yeah, this Hazel Webb is a doozy. A lot easier to dig up info on, that’s for sure. She’s a Weaver born in High Valley–” That got the woman to look up sharply from her work. “–she went to Vivania University as well, little after Miss Scarlet. But Miss Webb, pardon, Doctor Webb continued her schooling, and joined the Psycho Magical Healing Research Division of the University. She was a lead researcher on uh…. Psycho- sick- cactus,” Gene awkwardly sounded out. “Which was the result of something called Post-Traumatic Mental Scarring?” Gene huffed and waved his hand through the air dismissively. “That sciency stuff was a bit above my head. She did about five brain surgeries on former soldiers, but botched the last one. She basically gifted all her earnings to the grieving family, and fled here.”

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As Gene talked the woman stomped up to Asphodel. Ares reached out to stop her with a broad hand, but with a single raised finger from his sire, Ares retreated. Eburnae strode right up to Asphodel, her voluminous chest pressing against his as she glared up at the elder vampire.

“Dearest Eburnae…” Asphodel crooned down at his thrall.

“Let me have her,” Eburnae hissed. “Let me sup on her blood and flood my Fabric with her own.”

Asphodel gave her a crooked smile. “You know I can’t let you do that.”

“You think I would flee?” she shot.

“You would,” Asphodel stated plainly.

“If a Weaver’s Fabric can supplement my own, then I’d truly be restored!” she insisted. “I could become the greatest asset to you, my Master–!”

She was cut off as Asphodel’s hand shot forward. He gripped her skull, palm pressing against her eyes, hair twisting up between his digging fingers. He slowly tilted her head sideways, and, still smiling, leaned in and whispered in her exposed ear.

“Do not lie to me.”

Eburnae sputtered in his grip. “I… we…” then admitted, “I… care not for the Cliffs. But I do not resent you, my master. I could set up in another country, perhaps back in the Plains, and serve my own ambitions once more…”

Asphodel smiled warmly and released her, patting her on the head. He gently flattened Eburnae’s silky hair with his stroking hand.

“You are a woman after my own heart, Eburnae,” he crooned. “I wept when Aurelius departed… and I would weep to see you leave as well. My sweetest delight….”

He tilted up her chin and kissed her on her puffy lips. Eburnae’s gaze drifted to the side, staring distantly off into the fog.

Asphodel pulled away and patted her on the shoulder. He said, “Let us not put the cart before the horse. We’re dealing with a Weaver, after all. I didn’t get a drink of the last Weaver who opposed me… she was far too dangerous.”

He gave Eburnae a wry grin, who snorted and looked away. Asphodel clicked his fingers at Ares and pointed to a spot next to the woman. Ares fell beside Eburnae, then turned to the side and snorted a clot of blood out from his nose. Eburnae’s face recoiled in disgust, but Ares only smirked down at her, dark blood crusting on his face.

Ignoring his thralls, Asphodel walked forward with a clicking stride to peer at the circle of out-of-place stone. The rats had begun to creep back for discarded scraps, several sniffing curiously Asphodel’s way. They flinched as he loudly scraped the uneven and pockmarked rock with his foot.

“Reminds me of the stone in the grotto,” Asphodel said. “Do we have men searching the caves?”

Gene flipped back to the last page of his book, sucked his pen again, and began scrawling. “I’ll get the boys on it.”

Asphodel tapped a segment of the stone with faded yellow paint. “And what do you make of the spellwork, Eburnae?”

Eburnae hesitated, then walked forward. “Definitely teleportation,” she said. She walked around the circle, peering at the lines. “But too much of the paint was burned away. I can’t make out distance or direction. I suppose… Ares?” Eburnae looked up to her sibling. “How long did the air thin?”

Ares rolled his head on his neck, arcing his eyebrows questioningly at Asphodel. Asphodel waved a dismissive hand.

“You may speak,” he said.

Ares cleared his throat, spat another clot to the ground, and then gruffly said, “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Eburnae cried. “You were right there!”

“When attempting to enter the circle, I was thrown by the spellweave,” Ares said with a heavy roll of his shoulders. “I can tell you I was thrown into the pastures near the Burn. But no more.”

“Gene!” Eburnae snapped, spinning around. The fat man flinched. “The neighbors. Did your men interview them?”

“Did we interview them….” Gene replied mockingly. “Who the hell do you take me for?”

“A fat snake stuffed in a suit,” Eburnae shot back.

“Now now,” Asphodel said, patting Eburnae roughly on the head. “My darling ones, cease squabbling.”

His command rang in their heads and they both stiffened, his Grip tightening around their minds.

“Please Gene,” Eburnae asked politely. “I need to know how long the air thinned,”

Gene’s gaze returned to his book. “No exact timing… just a few minutes, seemingly.”

“Well they’ve not gone out to sea, so they’re likely in the jungle somewhere,” Eburnae said calmly.

Asphodel tapped the stone. “It smells of salt. Another sea grotto?”

“We can’t discount a sinkhole with trapped sea water,” Gene chimed in. “And, if they took the whole house, then there was either something inside they wanted, or they planned to keep using it. Unless this is some kind of misdirect… they’re unlikely to flee to another city.”

“I was just about to say…!” Eburnae swallowed back her anger. “Well. No matter. I see you’re in favor of searching the jungle, Gene.”

“I can put my boys up to it,” he quickly offered. “Or we could ask Ares to send out an Explorer’s crew.”

Ares tilted his head forward in assent, dreads rolling over his broad shoulders.

“No.” Asphodel straightened out and turned away from the spot. “Nobody gets sent out that Aurelius could talk out of reporting back. If they’re just a few miles deep into the jungle, I have a much more thorough method in mind.” Asphodel peered at the eastern horizon. “Sadly, my most precious treasure will have to wait for tomorrow.” He smiled and tilted his head, hair shifting and flowing in a wave. “Ah, such a mistake it was, giving him slack to his leash. Perhaps I’ll have him decorate my bedroom for the next decade…”

“Do we have any idea what he wants?” Gene asked. “It could help us determine what he’ll do next.”

Eburnae snorted. “Besides killing me, then our Master?”

Asphodel tutted and shook his head. “I doubt Aurelius is acting under his own will. It’s more likely the Weaver has cowed him to her will. Though I cannot begin to fathom her aims… perhaps she merely envied my most precious treasure.”

He snapped his fingers at Ares and Eburnae, and both followed in at his heels as they strode past the destroyed gate. With another snap, Gene fell in stride as well.

With a sigh, Asphodel admitted, “We have much to prepare for, and little time to do so.”