PART ONE

NIGHT OF THE AUTUMN FAE

CHAPTER FOUR:

Once Upon a Time

Edward seemed to settle into his new-found home rather quickly. Yokomi gave him a spare office near her own and it seemed he spent most of his hours looked up pouring over papers and letters from far and wide. Curiosity of his scent certainly enticed me, but I still kept my distance. He might have the stench of an angel on him, but I had sincere doubts he truly was a creature of heaven. He ate as a man, drank as a man, and tired as all of us did. Not that he spoke much during dinners or at breakfast. For the week and a half he’d spent with us Stormborough had made much of an attempt to befriend any of his neighbours. He would arrive to break his fast with a coffee black as could be, two slices of buttered toast and three apple slices. The same every morning. And at supper it seemed he scarcely ate at all. But he drank. Oh, from what I’d witnessed he enjoyed a full and dripping tankard more than the rest of us combined. He even managed to out-drink Sinclair, which was a feat in of itself. Sinclair himself seemed even more guarded, happy to avoid me as much as I’d made a point of avoiding him.

Keisuke on the other hand seemed less and less present, either out in the woods collecting fruits and wild carrots or locked himself away in his room and private study. I’d decided upon giving him some space, for the meantime.

At some point I’ll gather up some courage to talk to him…gently.

He was hard not to think about, considering his quarters were right next to mine. But I certainly wasn’t about to go barging in. I stalked past his door, quietly as I could as to not disturb his reading and made my way down to the kitchens. A maid had come to my room upon the request of Yokomi, urging me to make and deliver some tea to Edward with a letter waiting for me by the tea pot. A curious request. Yokomi isn’t usually this vague with her requests. I had called the Sanctuary home the longest out of all of its residents, and Yokomi felt no hesitation when making requests of me. And who was I to object? This place was my home, and I was happy to serve it and its founder. But this was certainly curious. It begged the question of whether Yokomi was fully aware of Stormborough’s true nature.

I set the tea to boil and played with the hanging nets of onions and garlic, swinging them back and forth. Hmmph. I must be kidding myself, of course she must be aware. She had been a general once. Always a born leader. Attention to detail isn’t a trait for her, it’s how we’ve all survived.

With a tray in hand holding both the letter and the tea, I stood before his office door. I’d been in this room once. Five years ago, when Yokomi had offered me a position as her advisor. I could’ve earnt some coin, shadowed her and grown to one day maybe even take over as leader of the Sanctuary. But I think in that moment, weak as was upon first arriving – I knew who I was. And I was not the advisor she needed. Or maybe I could’ve been someone so much greater. With a face both soft and guarded, I tapped on the door with my foot. After a clutter of papers and a stuttering of apologies Stormborough opened the door, his eyes wide when he realised who was before him.

“Hello, uh, Edward. Yokomi asked that I bring you your tea and letter. Apparently she asked that we both open it,” I announced, gently shoving the tray into his arms. He blinked his confusion away quickly.

“Yes, yes. Um. Come in,” He waved me inside, placing the tray oddly carefully onto his messy, cluttered desk. Edward is…awkward. But the scent is still there. Oddly, it’s not stronger up close. Either way. I wouldn’t ever suspect this man to be an agent of the heavens. He’s…far too human. Stormborough obliged, taking a drink of the steaming peppermint and ripping open the letter with little to no grace.

With strained eyes and a glasses adjustment, he announced its mysterious contents.

“We’ve been invited to a play in the city. The Tale of Little Red Cap.”

***

The city of Illen was a day’s ride from Sanctuary, from dawn until the last few final rays of the sun dipped beneath the horizon. An invitation for a play at Illen’s most prestigious amphitheatre was extended to myself, Stormborough, Sinclair and Keisuke from Yokomi. From the moment Stormborough had opened our invitations, her true orders had become clear. Sinclair’s report was vital for our survival and continued funding, while Stormborough was new money. A new chance at tempting sponsors for our cause, to curry favour with those at court to send new residents. Yokomi was playing a balancing act, and this play was another feather on the scale. I had to make sure Sinclair remained happy and placid on the trip, while Stormborough would receive the right impression of the heads of Sanctuary. Keisuke had received an invite due to his knowledge of the Illen…and was to act as our personal guide.

There was part of me that felt guilty for his role. I felt a touch degraded at being forced to smile at Sinclair and allow his gaze to linger, but I knew there was a reason why Keisuke had left the city and never returned. But he came with us without a single complaint. Dressed in his finery, silent and swift as a storm-cloud he got into the back of the horse-drawn caravan and remained the same for the entirety of the trip. I was much the same. I took an old grey cloak and used as a blanket for the trip, electing to mainly ignore the others in the half-lavish caravan of Stormborough’s.

The journey itself was a mostly silent one, but the scent of Stormborough’s angelic self still filled the caravan. It made me itch, fiddle about, shuffle back and forth. But I knew Stormborough’s secrets weren’t for Sinclair, and I had Yokomi’s orders to fulfil. And they always came first. Even if letting Sinclair wrap an arm around my waist made me feel like I was about to crawl out of my skin and simply burst.

We arrived on time, despite all the stiffness in the air and the tension between us all, imagined or not. I’d only ever been to Illen twice in my time at the Sanctuary. And neither had left a good impression. It had its own sense of beauty, in a way. They’d littered the streets and alleys with as much plant-life as they could, but a thousand trees and flowers could not disguise the busy, bustling nature of Illen. The constant stream and thunder of hooves on the cobblestone main roads, pathways littered with merchants and craftsmen. The amphitheatre lay in the heart of the upper district, housing lords, retired generals and guild masters that spent their days dripping with sun, peace and expensive women and wines.

And all had come in attendance of the Tale of Little Red Cap. The story of the wolf and the girl. Graceful and my face neutral as I could make it, I linked arms with Sinclair and swept up the stone stairs of the foyer in a long, red gown. Gold lined my neck and ears, clasps around my wrists. There was a smugness to Sinclair’s polite smile he offered the other guests, some from court, others serving as emissaries from the Merigonis Isles just off the coast. Both thankfully and unfortunately, they ignored me. To them, I may as well have been the red scarf around his neck. I didn’t mind, really. I never cared for this breed of men. It was so odd to me, seeing how at ease they all were with such mindless talk or the charade they all wore, every day and night. Strange enough, it seemed Stormborough felt the same. He held his hands wringed behind his back, twisting and clenching every other moment, and the disdain sat clearly on his face. He doesn’t care for this at all, does he? You’d think this would be a diplomats bread and butter. I suppose he is disgraced, after all. A diplomat who is no longer a diplomat, why would he care what others thought of him now?

Keisuke on the other hand remained stiff as he was polite, mingling with what looked like old university colleagues of his. There was no smugness or carelessness about him. Only the scent of sadness. But my boredom was broken when a man who did not smell of blood or life approached us, whisking our party up the foyer stairs and into the welcome silence of his private bar. He was black hair, black suit with eyes that were simply chips of blue ice, sharp as his jaw and suit.

“Welcome, welcome,” He ushered us over to a set of chaise lounges, servers rushing to offer us strong smelling purple drinks, chunk of ice rattling about in the crystal glasses. Yokomi greeted him with a smile I’m sure could charm even the dead, her wings folded close against the back of her shimmering, golden gown.

“This is Pentaghast, a very old friend of mine. Pentaghast, may I introduce Edward Stormborough, Sinclair Duvall, Celeste Lunthrin and Keisuke Izamaki,” Yokomi introduced us with a wave in our direction. Despite her emphasis on Sinclair and Stormborough, it was Keisuke that drew Pentaghast’s icy gaze.

This creature. This friend of Yokomi’s is…odd.

We each followed a trail of those coloured, sharp-scented drinks to the top-level of the theatre where we were shown to a private booth. There, more drinks pulled me into a lull, a sort of dream-like moment where I could even pretend to enjoy Sinclair’s company. The smugness was still there, but I didn’t care. I ignored the brushes of his fingers across my thigh, soft and lightning-quick kisses on flushed neck when the lights were dark and the chatter of the crowd was loud enough to muffle my hisses. I didn’t really even register the play itself. A young girl, beautiful and plump dressed in a glowing red and flawless white. She danced about with a wolf in the woods, foolish enough to accept his flowers and flattery. I had no interest in the stories of a young girls foolishness, not when I had my own. And not when I had the conversations of my company to listen in to. Keisuke spoke of Illen and its wonders to Stormborough who I doubted registered any of it, being about five drinks in. I didn’t really blame him. Or envy him.

A yelp from the stage snapped my attention away from Keisuke’s dull duty. The wolf was tearing out the guts of Little Red Cap, red ribbons and paint colour the bed of flowers around them. Sinclair leant in as the theatre darkened and pushed three curious fingers up the split in my gown. With a final fiery hiss I gave in and took his wrist in a crushing grip, and threw it away. I left and searched for the bathrooms, eager for some semblance of silence and safety. Away from young girls and wolves. Away from Sinclair and the debt he believed I owed him.

The bathroom was as brightly lit and lavish as the rest of the amphitheatre, dressed in red and gold and crystal. I let the tap run and hoped it would slow my racing heart. I thought I understood Yokomi’s game here. But she’s pawned us off. At some level I understood that, but, not like this…not like toys. Simple wooden things to be thrown out to entertain others. Maybe things need to change. Maybe Sanctuary could use a change.

A quick patter of footsteps scattered outside the bathroom door, followed by a muffled shout.

An air of danger crackled in the air around me, and a familiar feeling on the back of my neck began to spike. A feeling I hadn’t felt such a long, long time. Fast as I could I burst outside the female bathroom, and found the scent of panic led into the male bathroom. And the scent of dead flesh and black blood. Old instincts kicking me into gear I raced into the male bathroom without a thought and I found chaos. Two stall doors were smashed in and a broken pipe had begun to flood the tile floor. And the vampire Pentaghast atop of Keisuke, pinned to the floor with his fangs sunk deep into his throat.

There was a fire, that quickly ignited inside me. Deep in the dark cavern buried out inside my very core, there was a flame that had awoken. Bright, warm and fierce.

And it grew. Keisuke cried out, desperate for my help. His blood, a bright blue had begun to dribble out and mix with the flood water. His throat was being crushed by the weight of Pentaghast’s strength, but he croaked for help, eyes wide and red.

The flame, without warning, burst from my inner core and out through my skin, and suddenly I was alight.

My pink-silver hair rippled, smoked and became black, wild and mane-like. My gown of red and gold melted and burnt away for ash and darkness to cover my breasts, torso and hips. A tail, twisted and lion-like formed from my spine and horns blacks as coal pushed up and out of my skull to crown my hair of darkness. And those flames rippled from my skin, the red and yellow of my eyes. I was a monstrosity once again. A terrible shriek erupted from my jaws, and that Pentaghast drew back and looked to me with the fear in his ice-chip eyes I’d missed for so long. With a terrible, rumbling laugh and launched forward, black-clawed hands reaching to grab a fistful of Pentaghast’s shirt. As though he was a toy, a light, nothing of an object and slammed him into the wall, claws buried his chest. It began to burn, and he screamed.

There was little that the undead feared, but fire and stakes made the top of the list. And a demon burning with the flames of hell could turn even a corpse a shade paler. He screamed and screamed, mouth foaming as he thrashed beneath my grip.

I thought of mercy, for a moment. But in this form the scent of Keisuke’s blood and pain was so strong I could scarcely bare it. The flames that had dimmed for but a second glowed brighter and fiercer than before.

With a fire raging in me that I could not control if I wanted to, I slammed my clawed hand into his already cold throat and ripped it clean off. I held his head aloft, and ash and black gore dripping from his open neck and I remembered why I’d begged Sinclair to chain me all those years ago.