Savior (26 page)

“It’s…welcoming,” I remarked after we’d landed and were staring up the hill at the Victorian house and its multitude of looming steeples hidden in the shadows.

“It designed ta be intimidatin’,” informed Miss Mabelle. “Don’t ya let it be.”

I chuckled quietly but didn’t actually verbalize that it was too late.

“I think I should stay,” suggested Theleo, who hadn’t taken his focus off the house since we set foot on the ground. “Maybe we can forgo collecting tonight’s prisoners.”

Eli and his men seemed to agree because they stepped forward, ready to assist.

Before Jameson could answer, Miss Mabelle snapped her head around, glaring from beneath her eyebrows at him. “We don’t need no Vire stickin’ ‘round…gettin’ in the way. Shoo…,” she stated, with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Shoo!”

Still, he waited for Jameson’s instructions before moving.

“I think we have this one, Theleo, but thank you.”

Theleo nodded, hesitantly, and backed up, his gaze slipping beyond us to the house up the hill. It was clear he was leaving against his own will, but he’d been given his orders; and if there was one characteristic that stayed with a Vire, even after leaving The Sevens, it was that they followed commands.

Miss Mabelle didn’t move or drop her glare until Theleo, Eli, and his men had shot into the air. Only then did she relax, rolling her shoulders forward and curling her back as she started marching toward the house. Miss Celia, Jameson, and I followed, avoiding the clusters of spider webs, jagged stones, and fist-sized burrs strategically placed along our dark path. There was, however, another dangerous element missing.

“Where are the Vires?” I asked, having already assumed they would be guarding such an important person - especially from us.

“Hiding,” replied Jameson tightly, and I knew he’d noticed their suspicious absence, too. “Tell me again why we didn’t meet at a neutral location?”

“She insisted it be here,” said Miss Celia.

“Of course she would,” Jameson said so low it was almost unintelligible. “They’ve trained her well.”

I knew immediately what he meant. The Sevens were bent on control and that trickled down to every situation they found themselves in. The control factor was obviously something they had passed on to their Surveyors, judging by this one’s methods.

No light was visible inside, not even as we approached the front door, which was concealed by a deep porch overhang.

“Think it’ll be bright enough to actually see our hostess?” I asked, contemplating out loud. “Or is that part of her intimidation strategy, too?”

Knowing my questions would be answered soon enough, Miss Mabelle ignored me and rapped her cane on the door, sending a reverberating shudder echoing through the rooms beyond.

The door opened just as Miss Mabelle dropped the cane back to her side and a petite, elderly man in a black and white butler suit appeared.

Rather than greeting us, he began shuffling toward a room to the right of the entryway.

Our housekeepers stepped aside and Jameson moved through the door first. I followed, with Miss Mabelle and Miss Celia behind me.

Although the entryway was kept unlit, as we expected, I could make out a distinct lack of personal items. The house was devoid of any furniture. In fact, the only distinguishable sign that this home belonged to anyone at all were the sparse, framed paintings of The Sevens hanging on top of antiquated wallpaper.

Aunt Lizzy and Estelle, with their fashion sensibilities, would cringe at the sight.

Once reaching the threshold to the room where the butler led us, he came to a halt. “Your guests,” he announced in a hoarse voice that reminded me of someone who had lost their ability to speak after screaming too much. He swiveled on his heel and moved down the hallway.

In the darkened room, my eyes adjusted to distinguish a few pieces of antique furniture and an exterior wall with a row of windows covered in long curtains. I did not see the silhouette of a human body anywhere.

When her voice drifted out of the shadows, deep and seductive, it startled me and made my skin scrawl.

“Nobilissss…,” she said in an accent that sounded like a blend from Eastern Europe. “Relicuuummm….”

“Surveyor,” replied Jameson. From the way he said it, I could tell he found her introduction distasteful.

“Lacinda,” she corrected, quietly.

Jameson made it clear he wasn’t in the mood for pleasantries or games by getting to the point. “We understand The Sevens are interested in bartering a truce through you.”

Without any warning, every candle in the room, including those behind us, ignited. It was as if someone had coordinated the synchronized flip of light switches. As this happened, I came to understand that her primary ability was manipulation of the elements, and it had been well-developed.

In the very center of the greeting room, draped in an ankle-length, salmon-colored, chiffon dress, was a woman who seemed only slightly older than us. Strands of glossy dark hair curled down around her slender, tanned arms which she brushed aside while standing from a red velvet lounge in a single, graceful motion.

“At last we meet,” she commented, as her almond-shaped eyes took in a sweeping view of Jameson.

I had the feeling she was speaking directly to him, although he seemed unaware of it.

“Please…,” she motioned to the arrangement of velvet sofas on each side of her. “Relax….”

“We’re fine,” replied Jameson, bluntly.

One of her finely-shaped eyebrows rose, but she didn’t press the issue. And then, suddenly, her expression changed to one of fear and rage. I wondered what triggered it until I realized she was no longer focusing on Jameson, but was looking behind him.

In the tense silence that followed, I glanced behind me and found that Miss Mabelle and Miss Celia had stepped around Jameson and me, into full view of our hostess.

Lacinda’s mouth quivered before a terse smile appeared. “Mabelle,” she said, the cordiality in her tone disappearing instantly. “Celia. I didn’t extend tonight’s invitation to others.”

While that was a blatant request for them to leave, neither one of them moved. Instead, Miss Mabelle replied, in a contrived manner, “We they escorts.”

Lacinda didn’t budge, apparently assessing this change of plans. While clearly unhappy with it, she didn’t seem to have the motivation, or possibly the courage, to push the issue much further. Instead, she sighed delicately and muttered, “Well…,” and left it at that.

Miss Mabelle didn’t seem bothered by our hostess’ rejection of her, but then she never is. “Ya sho’ have risin’ up them ranks as ya wanted.”

Lacinda remained reserved, watching the two of them closely. “Quite a bit has changed since we last met,” she remarked, emotionless, her seductive mannerisms gone entirely.

A slight pinch of Miss Mabelle’s lips told me that was an understatement, making me wonder when they had last spoken.

“Not everythin’ changed,” remarked Miss Celia. “You be lookin’ the same.”

“Fo’ sho,” added Miss Mabelle.

Their observation didn’t seem to be a compliment judging by their puckered brows.

“Well…once you’ve reached the level of ability I have, it’s quite easy to retain your youthful skin,” she replied offhandedly. “A lift here, a tug there. You understand….” Her eyes flitted back to our housekeepers to quickly assess them and deliver a cutting evaluation. “Hmm, no, I’m afraid you don’t.”

Jameson, appearing more offended than Miss Mabelle or Miss Celia, interrupted Lacinda harshly. “The truce, Surveyor.”

She had strolled behind the lounge where she had been sitting and was gently drifting her fingers over the fabric. “Now what did I say earlier,” she admonished, returning to the same softly teasing tone as before.

Jameson struggled to contain the irritation clearly rising in him. “Lacinda,” he uttered, with difficulty. “Do The Sevens want to discuss a truce or not?”

She paused and narrowed her eyes at him, feigning offense. “So testy…” But after a poised sigh escaped her, she added, “I suppose that is to be expected, however. A warrior is, by nature…rough.” The corner of her lips lifted at what seemed to be a tantalizing thought, and I had the urge to knock the expression off her face.

I must have released my own sigh of frustration, because Jameson’s hand took mine, intending to quell my anger.

While it worked with me, the sight of our hands together wiped the smug expression from Lacinda's face instantly.

“Yes,” she stated stiffly. “I have been called upon to negotiate the terms.”

She straightened her back, pushing her chest forward and tilting her chin up, as she made her way around to the front of the lounge. After sitting, crossing one leg over the other and folding her palms daintily over her raised knee, she began to speak, proper and unapologetic.

“A truce will be called upon if these conditions are met,” she stated. “Both Jameson and Jocelyn will surrender.”

I saw Jameson bristle, and I knew why. He had no intention of seeing me be given to The Sevens.

“Jocelyn will travel from province to province performing as a witch doctor. This will appease the masses and channel respect back to The Sevens. She will be heavily guarded by a selection of our Vires at all times and her schedule will be dictated strictly by the ministry.”

I considered asking about holidays, sick days, and health insurance, but refrained. Not only would my sarcasm not go over well, this wasn’t a job they were offering. It was a sentence to slavery.

“You, however, Jameson, have put us in a bit of a quandary. You’ve already begun uniting the provinces, placing The Sevens in a precarious position. But there is a place for you. If the person that united them switches sides, then the unity he led them by dissolves. So…” she said, relishing the idea, “…Jameson will become one of us.”

“No,” I blurted, my response driven entirely by emotion.

“Jocelyn-” he started to caution, but I cut him off.

“No, Jameson. I won’t allow it.”

Lacinda’s voice broke in, snide and without remorse. “I am not done.”

She drew our attention back to her, where I found her scowling at my interruption. Very slowly, a sneer formed, overpowering her delicate features and looking like a fairytale heroine gone wicked.

“Jameson and Jocelyn will never again see each other, living entirely separate lives choreographed by the will of The Sevens.”

As she said this, it dawned on me that this farce of a truce wasn’t only to get Jameson and me alone in the same place at the same time for an unexpected assault. It was to play with us, to make us a spectacle. But one can’t be made a spectacle without an audience, which meant…

Somewhere inside this house, were The Sevens.

“You’ve forgotten one crucial factor,” Jameson calmly stated. I wasn’t sure whether he’d come to the same conclusion about The Sevens proximity as I had, but he wasn’t showing it, either way.

“Which is?” prompted Lacinda.

“Our powers dissolve when Jocelyn and I are separated.”

This didn’t seem to come as a surprise to her. She simply hadn’t reached that point of the plan yet. “At which time, you will be of no more use to The Sevens.”

A year ago, when my innocence was still intact, I may have believed that The Sevens would simply let us go. But now I knew better. Those who were of no use to The Sevens ended up imprisoned or, more often, murdered.

“Wow, sounds like a deal we can’t refuse,” I muttered, rolling my eyes.

“No,” Lacinda replied, smugly. “You can’t.”

“And in return?” asked Jameson, at which point I realized he was buying time, assessing the situation. The Sevens had no intention of giving us anything in return, and he knew it.

Lacinda played along, however, and replied, “Peace…there will be no war. Your prisoner army will return to the penal colonies from which they came; their punishments will remain unchanged. Those who have assisted you, your families included, will return to their homes and be given immunity in exchange for never discussing what they experienced. Simply put, life will return to normal.”

“That seems fair,” said Jameson blandly, managing to keep his disgust over this charade to himself.

“We think so.”

“When do these terms expire?”

She blinked as if she hadn’t thought of it.

Of course she hadn’t. She never expected the truce to be fulfilled.

Her quick response showed how adept she was when facing a dilemma and why she was chosen for such a lofty role. “You have one day to appear at the ministry. If you fail to show up, this truce offer is null and void.”

Jameson lowered his head as he contemplated the offer. When he lifted it, he wore a steely expression. “I think we have your answer.”

“You do?” she said, intrigued. She wasn’t expecting it.

“Yes…you can tell The Sevens….” He paused, taking the time to grin back at her. “Why don’t I go ahead and tell them directly?” he offered casually, as if it were a foregone conclusion that he would.

Jameson stepped into the room, and Lacinda swiftly stood, sensing danger.

She seemed confused, bewildered by Jameson’s movement and his suggestion of speaking directly to The Sevens. She relaxed only once Jameson stopped moving.

His voice boomed then, across the room, and it was clear he was no longer speaking to Lacinda. “Peregrine…Hippocrates…Flavian….”

Bookcases began to rotate, trap doors lifted the rugs that were hiding them, and panels in the walls spun to reveal hidden corridors. As black uniforms – all of them pinned with moldavite stones - flooded into the room, Jameson continued, unflinchingly.

He did know The Sevens were here, listening. I bet he expected it even before we arrived.

“Sisera…Caligula…Diomed…Sartorius.”

Jameson fell silent, punctuating a very still room. And we waited.

Then a door to our left opened and, from it, seven individuals filtered out…the very same ones who had sat on thrones at the ministry.

Strangely enough, I felt relieved. I had left The Rope of The Sevens at the village, and therefore, it was inaccessible to them. My next thought was that standing before us now were The Sevens, the individuals who had subjugated our secret world and now intended to do the same with the rest of humankind.