Vampiris Sancti: The Elf (8 page)

The chameleon
started his bounce across roofs of the city while blending into the
grey of the night. He was oblivious to his magical follower and
Zyre didn’t expect the demon to notice her. Few would be brave
enough to annoy one in the employ of the local Xatn because the
reach of the Empire was as long as it was deadly. He ignored the
usual demon meeting place and kept moving until he seeped through
the doorway of a dilapidated pub of dubious origins. Resting on the
roof opposite Zyre ate the last of the stolen chocolate as
continuous dissolves without the benefit of organic surrounds was
taxing for her. If they had been in a forest she would have had no
problem since she could absorb energy from the living matter
surrounding, but this barren city of concrete and steel left her
frazzled. She waited until the street was clear before she slipped
inside, hiding within the bulk of those more attached to drink than
the company.

The interior of
the pub was as run down as the faded sign announcing McGinty’s on
the exterior, not that she could read human or understand the
dubious Irish origins. She did notice that the threadbare carpet
was just a patch of stain and rot, the walls were dulled yellow by
years of nicotine, the bar pocked by various scuffles. The
clientele ranged from humans too far gone in their alcoholic binge
of a lifetime to notice or care about their companions, to demons
of strange reptilian appearance. Zyre moved deftly between the
bodies while the atmosphere dense with smoky agendas hid her well,
and she wandered into the depths until she found the table she
wanted.

The Poqir
jumped when the copper haired girl suddenly appeared across from
him and he viewed the new arrival with dark suspicion. An Elf
seeking the company of the scout was akin to a celebrity having
lunch with a road sweeper, yet here she was in the flesh. His shiny
ivory skin took on an unhealthy pallor while his sand eyes bulged
in alarm as his hair merged through an endless parade of
colours—the sign of a Poqir in distress. Her kaleidoscope eyes were
emerald as they rested on his while her ruby lips parted in a curve
both hypnotic and disturbing. If the demon were to analyse his
responses then his foremost would be an urge to check his pockets
because when an Elf smiled havoc was bound to follow. Any attempt
to bamboozle a master of deception and mischief would be futile, so
the demon gave her a look of resigned acceptance.

“Vryn Dhaigre
now be a Xatn,” said an unimpressed Elf but a conversation needed a
starting point.

The Poqir would
have raised a brow questioning where she had been hiding, except
this was a magical being and everyone knew that they tended to live
within their own minds.

“For a while
now,” he replied.

“Been selling
him lots of information?”

There was no
point in attempting to conceal that he was in the employ of the
Martyc and had sold her to him because her innocuous question
revealed she already knew.

“Some here and
there.”

It only took a
few minutes for him to look worse for wear from conversing with a
being that could break his heart as easily as he would snap a twig.
The demon didn’t survive the world of espionage without learning a
few basic truths of the universe. The foremost of those being that
a friendly magical being could only mean disaster for the recipient
of the interest.

“What you
want?”

The direct
question was as pointless as unfriendly since he knew she was after
the type of information that he should never divulge. To cross a
Martyc once was dangerous, more than once meant hiding in worlds so
obscure they were off the map. The not so silent murmuring in the
background alerted the Elf that her time there was limited because
by now someone had told Dhaigre of her presence. The humans had
strange talky devices that allowed them to overcome their inability
to read the atmosphere and speak to each other from considerable
distances. Demons were uncommonly fond of technology and used human
ones to great advantage. She didn’t have a plan, or even a
direction, but somehow she was certain knowing more about the world
meant keeping out of Martyc way.

“Tell me of
those who serve.” Her voice was soft upon the air.

“Tis not worth
my life.” He pleaded.

If he hoped she
would take pity upon his dilemma he was mistaken. Zyre was no fool,
she knew how pitiless he would be and how he would sell one to
their death if it meant a profit.

No restraints
bound him there—no threats were made to terrify. He faced nothing
but a pair of luscious ruby lips curved upwards, yet it was enough
to keep him imprisoned by her side. Once certain of a captive
audience she leaned forward and his skin rippled with both pleasure
and apprehension. The blue and green of her eyes merged into a deep
teal inundating him with the impulse to flee, because such beauty
didn’t voluntarily enter the life of a Poqir. As she spoke her
breath caressed the side of his face and the flush across his skin
told her of the heady desire infusing his blood. This was her
power—the desire for a life no demon could approach and it would
leave him dizzy with foreign longing. Her words stayed suspended in
the air between them awaiting his comprehension and his sand eyes
widened as he struggled to regain his senses.

“A Fairy came
to see me.” Her voice, soft and sweet, belied the threat about to
dance from her lips.

“The only way
the Elders be knowing of me was if someone sold me. Dhaigre knows
of your double-dealing for you be Poqir. But does he know how you
keep me safe from his notice?”

“I never,” he
protested weakly.

Zyre continued
without mercy as her voice embraced him, it stroked across his
soul, a smooth mesmerising silk.

“Who would he
believe? A Poqir that double dips or the one he be searching
for?”

While some
might revel in the thought of power over a Martyc this unavoidable
reality had Zyre quake with dismay. The last thing she needed was
an obsessed demon chasing her about when all she wanted was to have
some fun bothering Vampires.

The demon
gulped as he realised he was a heartbeat away from betraying the
most powerful being in the multiverse.

“There are
three Varkja units he can call upon, and the Verkja the Vampires
are using. He has a Druqe, Gargoyles, and possibly the Aegai that
serve the mutants. There are the human Oric, but they are no match
for anyone.”

A hopeful demon
approached their table offering drinks only to make a hasty retreat
when a storm of teal flashed at him. Everyone knew when the
kaleidoscope eyes of an Elf burned teal this was a bothered and
potentially violent being. Demons might be superior in strength to
many creatures, but none—not even a Martyc—could vanquish an
Elf.

“The
Vampires?”

She was fairly
sure she knew enough about them, but asked just in case they also
were in league with the prince.

“They serve no
demons and would not help a Martyc in a Folly.”

Zyre’s heart
sank because if everyone was calling her his Folly then she was
doomed.

“Who calls it
this?” she demanded sharply.

The eyes of the
sly creature gleamed in memory. “A Myruj is arriving.”

Zyre absorbed
this information because a Watcher meant that the Empire was
concerned how the Xatn handled his chase of her and this meant
public knowledge of his intent. This was worse luck than being made
to listen to a band of Pixies singing dirges! The complexity of her
situation was increasing with every second. Folly was the demon
term for an obsession out of control, and it could range from an
object, to revenge, but more often than not was for a particular
being. What others called desire Martycs called their emotional
interior and Zyre glowed for a second. It was so fleeting it was
almost an optical illusion while she considered how quickly this
had spun out of control. The Myruj, the Watcher of the Empire, only
came on world if the local prince was suspected of failing in his
duties. A Folly was one thing that could affect the disciplined
prince of the Empire.

She leaned into
him again, her breath fine wisps against his skin. “Tell me about
the Druqe.”

The scout
looked like he wanted to weep because this betrayal sealed his
fate. Once the Martyc knew he had been sighted with an Elf the Xatn
would be relentless in his questioning. Zyre knew of the situation
she was placing the Poqir in, but his had been a reckoning long
time coming. These demons sold information to anyone willing to pay
the price never considering nor caring of the consequences, so
their survival was always going to be a haphazard affair. The
Reveal was not a safe place to play fast and loose. Especially when
every other creature encountered had the potential to exhibit a
superior brutality or power.

“Afir will
never betray the Xatn as they have been together for years. There’s
no escape, not even if you leave this world. Once one from the
Empire wants something—nothing can stop them.”

The bitterness
in his voice didn’t elude the Elf because she was well aware of the
Martyc Empire and their devotion to profit at the expense of
everything and everyone else.

She gave the
Poqir a sweet smile. “Should have offered me a drink.”

Startled by her
statement the demon looked across to the bar for a second, but that
was all an Elf ever needed. She dissolved back to the roof across
from the pub and sat in the dark while considering what options
remained open to her.

“Blinkity
buckets, blinkity blinkity buckets.”

Her Elf curse
did nothing to relieve her stress as she scowled at a brown beetle
scuttling across the corrugated iron dips of the roof. The
information of the scout was of little use, so Dhaigre had tons of
security—all Martycs had tons of security, but a Watcher might be
an avenue worth exploiting. Maybe she could convince him that Vryn
had lost control of this world, or that he had lost his marbles. At
the thought of marbles, she checked her pocket and several shalurs
clinked together reassuringly, so at least she could still get some
sweet. One comment stuck in her mind as the Poqir said Vampires
served no demon, which meant they might be a possible, or temporary
once they had a taste of magical shenanigans, friend. She dissolved
away into the night because it was best to consider her choices
once replenished and she had seen a lovely bed of flowers
earlier.

Had she stayed
a few seconds longer she might have noticed the sleek black car
move with a graceful purr down the street until it stopped outside
of the pub. Two bulky creatures leapt out their silver skin
obscured under the light of an even more silvery moon helping them
feign being human. One opened the back door of the car and a dark
demon exited—the mass of his body revealed by the flickering of the
street light. He stood a good six foot five, a dark creature
against the dark night, with swarthy skin and black hair shining
under the moon. The Martyc moved with the inherent power of
authority and whatever information had him leave his fortress for
filth of a last stop establishment must have been compelling. He
nodded to his security and moving before him they were a wall
announcing his presence as they disappeared through the entrance.
If Zyre was to consider the fate of the Poqir waiting inside she
might have mused that, like all things demon, the contracts of the
Reveal were only as good as the blood they were written in.

The Pixie

In the world of
the magical being each creature applied itself to the task most
suited to their nature. While the merry prankster Elf became the
glue that bound their world together and the surly Gnome became
watchers of the gate, it fell to the mercurial Pixie to be the
messenger. Unlike the Fairies who all looked like girls, the Pixie
was a unique creature of this world because they had no features to
distinguish male from female. All Pixies look alike to the outsider
and no one was sure how they procreated for androgynous as they
appeared asexual—the Pixie was not about to reveal their intimate
life to another.

As the Elf was
beautiful, the Fairy elegant perfection, then the Pixie was static
perfection with a beauty so systemic it became as inert as a
photocopy of a painting. The Pixie was more reminiscent of a china
ornament than a living being and if not for their nervous
disposition and incessant movement they might be mistaken for one.
The Pixie fluttered about, the hummingbirds of their world darting
in and out of crevices delivering the tidings good or bad from the
Elders. The one failing that Pixies had, due no doubt to being
privy to vast amounts of information, was a love of gin and gossip.
Their fluttering movement became less indiscernible and more
ungainly under the influence of the sedation of their beloved gin.
The success of a delivery remaining confidential often depended
upon how many taverns the Pixie encountered between the start and
finish of a journey.

The Elders, the
governing body of the magical world, tended to use Pixies as their
messengers. For like Mercury of the human myth they were swift and
unrelentingly devoted to their task. Despite the lure of gin and
treasure, threat or begging, almost nothing would stop a Pixie from
completing their mission. Not brilliant, unable to withstand strife
whilst sober and generally incoherent outside their realm, the
Pixie found the niche that allowed them to survive unmolested by
external forces. Other creatures found their sudden
appearance—appearing to pop out of nowhere—disconcerting and so the
first reaction when seeing one was to curse them for their sudden
manifestation. If the Pixie was offended by the habitual greeting
of their presence, they never revealed it as the delivery of their
communication had their entire focus. Pixies never carried missives
and could defend themselves admirably, so they were rarely
bothered. All information was stored in their heads, and sometimes
delivery could take hours as they sorted through the maze inside
their minds. Attacking a Pixie in order to prevent the delivery of
a message was pointless since the victim would let out a shrill
scream causing acute stress, both mental and physical, to the
listener. If that didn’t work they could manipulate the atmosphere
until the attacker was burned by all that touched them—even their
own clothes. Demons, once realising this china doll had effective
and often deadly defences, resorted to other means of delaying
information. Their only hope was to get the messenger so drunk that
they became incapable of accessing the vortex of data swirling in
their minds.