ONE

DAY 1

Saint George’s Day

“Y o, Garters, how they hangin’?”

The woman, who was bent over a raised flower bed full of lavender, sighed heavily before straightening up to turn and face me. “Ah, it’s you. Effriflem.”

“Effrijim, although I’m thinking of dropping the Effri part.” I struck a pose that I hoped would sway her, even though I had little hope of doing so. In the six hundred years I’d been a sprite and Hildegarde was Sovereign, she’d yet to be impressed by me, although just a few years ago, one of the female sprites told me I looked like a dark-haired Norseman. I assume it was a compliment, since everyone knows how the Norsemen who used to pillage around here ended up winning over all the women, and not just because they bathed more than once a year. “Jim sounds good. Jim sounds solid. Thoughts?”

She slid me a look that would have felled a lesser sprite, and released another of her exaggerated sighs. “What is it you want, Effrijim?”

I took a step back when she added a bit of power to my name, making it sting. I thought about pointing out the head of the Court of Divine Blood wasn’t supposed to hurt her employees, but decided I’d hold on to that bit of advice for a time when she wasn’t looking so particularly cranky.

“I don’t know. You called me. Also, you still miffed about Bingen?” I asked, sitting cross-legged on the grass, since she’d almost shot flames out of her eyes when I sidled toward the only wooden chair available.

She paused in the act of wiping the dirt off her hands. “What about Bingen?”

“The mortals,” I prompted her, but when she just continued to stare at me with a face that could sour honey, I figured it was only right to clue her in. “The ones who filched the idea of the Court for some nebulous dogma they’ve been promoting. I mean, yeah, they are calling it Heaven and not the Court, but still, it’s an obvious rip-off, and that sort of betrayal has to hurt, huh? I don’t blame you for being crabby.”

“Crabby!” She did a snorting thing that made me think of dragons breathing fire. “I am not crabby ! I dislike the sea intensely, because shellfish unbalances my humors.”

“I just don’t get that,” I said, shaking my head. “I, myself, love crab. I can eat buckets of it. That sweet, succulent meat dripping with melted butter ... yum. But to each their own, right?”

“Crab,” she said softly, her eyes narrowing on me. It was a pointed look, one that once again stung, and it was on the tip of my tongue to tell her she could absolutely hold her own in Abaddon if she ever wanted to become a demon lord, but the memory rushed back to me of a few centuries before when somehow , during a Court-wide banquet to celebrate the Sovereign’s three hundredth anniversary, some deliciously magnificent crab ended up in what was an otherwise intolerably boring, bland fish soup.

Hildegarde had been stuck in the privy from midday until the following evening. Bowel Unblocking Day (as I’d referred to it, and the name kind of stuck) went down in Court history as a great mystery. No one owned up to slipping the delicious crab into the tasteless soup.

I smiled a big ole “ain’t no crab on me” smile at the boss lady. The same sprite that thought I looked like a dashing Norseman also said I had a nice smile, but did Hildegarde notice? Not her. Truth be told, she was always complaining about me indulging in a few hijinks. Like there’s anything to do at the Court if you don’t get creative and stir things up a bit.

Hildegarde took a deep breath and pinned me back with another of those burn-you-at-the-stake eye-flame looks. “If I exude the barest hint of frustration and regret, it’s because it is needful I must have a discussion with you. Again. And I find myself at the end of my limits with you, Effriflem. I’ve borne your pranks for as long as I could, given the debt the Court has to your mother, but as the centuries pass and your japes and pranks become more and more unbound, you leave me with few choices. It is for that reason that I wish to speak to you about an opportunity which I believe you may well enjoy.”

“I’m all ears,” I said, getting more comfortable on my spot, ignoring her complaining about my active sense of humor. It’s not like I hadn’t heard it hundreds of time before. “Well, not literally, because that would be weird having nothing but a pair of ears running around the Court helping people, but I was thinking that I’d like to try out some different forms. Dogs, for instance. Dogs are nice. Everyone likes dogs, right? I was thinking about a big leggy lurcher. Or maybe a greyhound. Or one of those black-and-white alaunts?”

“I don’t believe—” the Sovereign started to say.

“How about a fancy spaniel? The kind with the curly hair? The ladies love those,” I said, thinking about the local nobility’s dogs.

“I really don’t—”

“Of course, terriers are always fun,” I added with a knowing wink. “Vermin hunts, am I right? Nothing but fun to be had there. Maybe a terrier is the way to go. One with a smirk. Hmm.”

She breathed loudly through her nose a couple of times. “No terriers! No hunts! No dog form. Human form is right and proper for a sprite, and so long as you remain in the Court, you will adhere to my rules.” She checked for a few seconds, then, with another narrow-eyed look flung my way, added, “Although that brings me back to the topic at hand.”

“My human form?” I looked down at myself and made a face as I adjusted the leather codpiece that poked up from my tunic. “I got an upgrade when I made sprite third class, but I have to say it really hasn’t been worth it. Now, a dog’s form—”

“A vision has come to me, and that vision concerns a choice to be made,” Hildegarde said hurriedly, averting her gaze from me. She dusted off the chair and sat, her hands clasped together, while her pale gold hair fluttered gently in the breeze. “ Your choice.”

“All right,” I said slowly, feeling a bit rushed, but willing to take the plunge, nonetheless. “I’ll go for a black-and-white alaunt. No, a spotted lurcher! Although they don’t have much mass to them ... alaunt. I choose alaunt.”

I swear she almost rolled her eyes. “The choice you need to make is which path you will take. One path remains here in the Court of Divine Blood, where you will continue to serve those immortal beings as need our help.”

“I’d prefer to help mortals,” I said, wriggling a little to combat the itch on my left shoulder blade. There was nothing behind me I could rub against, and the itch was too high to scratch it myself. Unless I was a dog. Then I would be able to scratch everything that itched. “Mortals are more fun. I like mortals.”

“After the last time you were caught trying to convince mortals to rise up and smite their overlords in a blatant act of rebellion, your sphere of influence will remain within the Court and denizens of the Otherworld,” she said with a tone that was so acid, it could probably etch glass. “As I said, you may remain here at the Court, fulfilling your duties as a sprite, or you may take a much more dangerous path, one filled with adventure and the unknown.”

I sat up straight. “You what?”

A strained smile stretched her lips. Hildegarde didn’t smile much, so it wasn’t the friendliest look ever, but she was clearly doing her best. “I do not often encourage members of the Court to strike out on their own to discover their destinies, let alone the son of our most beloved former Sovereign, but due to my respect and honor for her memory, I will make an exception. Be warned, Effriflem! This is not a choice to make lightly—should you leave the Court to seek renown as you make your way, you will be entirely on your own.”

I pursed my lips as I thought about it. I couldn’t see much of a downside. For one, if I left the Court, I could adopt whatever form I wanted. Visions of a dashing, beefy hunting dog rose in my mind’s eye, and I could almost feel the wind in my attractive fur as I ran through the forest, hunting things, eating whatever I wanted, helping mortals, letting them feed me fine meats and cheeses, traveling anywhere that took my fancy, discovering new foods ... in other words, finding my own way rather than being tied down to a bunch of stuffy Court rules.

“It sounds good,” I said slowly. “I like the part about renown. But I’d have to talk to Camio first.”

“Who?”

“Camio. She’s my friend. We’ve known each other since I was a wee little sprite, and she was a brand-new shiny demon sixth class. She’s fourth class now, and has her eyes set on becoming a wrath demon, although frankly, I don’t think she’s mean enough for that. She also thinks I should switch to a dog form.” I added the last bit just to drive home the point, but Hildegarde sucked in about half the air in the garden, rising as she did so with one finger jabbing at me.

“You are consorting with a demon?” Her voice, normally a bit screechy, lifted at least an octave until it hurt my ears. I quickly got to my feet and backed up a few steps, wary in case she decided to change me into something gross, like a slug. Or a newt. Or a wild boar.

“Not consorting,” I said with my hands up to make sure they weren’t turning into hooves or whatever sort of feet a newt had, glancing around for a quick exit should it be needed. “We’re not a couple, if that’s what you mean. She’s my friend, my oldest friend. I’ve known her for my entire six hundred years, give or take a decade. But we’re not romantic, because ew.”

Hildegarde narrowed her eyes at me. “Do you dislike women?”

“You mean why am I not trying to woo Camio? She’s like a sister to me. I don’t have a problem with the female human form itself. The breasts look fun. Now, the male form? It’s downright depressing. There’s hair where you least expect it, and everything flops around and makes it difficult to sit, and the smells! The smells alone threaten to bring me to my knees, and I’d never inflict that on an intimate partner. Not even for a chance at fun female breasts.”

“The fact remains that you have been consorting with a denizen of Abaddon, a demon who serves one of the princes. That is not at all allowed. If you choose to remain in the Court, your relationship—such as it is—with the demon must come to an end. I will not have it said that the Court supports anything to do with Abaddon.”

I could swear she sniffed at the end of the statement.

“There was that time that the Court got involved with the vampire kings who tried to take down the demon lords—” I started to point out, but she stopped me with another one of her scary looks.

“We do not support anyone with ties to Abaddon,” she said in a louder tone. “It is a well-known rule, and not one that I will allow you to violate. The choice is yours, however. You may remain if you wish, but it has become clear to me that the Fates have something else in mind for you rather than the life of a humble sprite. You may have until sext tomorrow to make a decision about which path you wish to take.”

Humility is so not me. And I couldn’t deny that it was an intriguing idea that somewhere, there was a better existence just waiting for me to discover it. “Something else like a chivalric tale? I’m not really looking for a woman, but I like the idea of having dashing adventures and daring escapades.”

She brushed a spot of dirt off her surcoat. “The vision I had did not speak of what goal you sought, only that you were at a crossroads and must choose a path. I feel obligated to share that knowledge with you, since your constant antics indicate your unhappiness with life here at the Court.”

I considered protesting my unhappiness, but when I thought about it, I had to admit she had a point. I’d been at the Court since my mother died at my birth, and although I’d never met her, everyone here seemed to expect that I’d be just like her.

I so was not like her.

But did that mean I was willing to leave the Court? The answer was there even before the thought finished forming. Who could refuse the life of excitement when the only other option was boring spritedom? I’d definitely take Hildegarde up on her offer to head out on my own, and wondered if the other sprites would throw me a leaving party with the strawberry cakes I loved so much.

“Hey,” I said, suspicion dawning suddenly. “You wouldn’t be trying to get rid of me, would you? It’s because of that note I put in the suggestion chest, isn’t it? It wasn’t aimed at you, I swear. The uprising of lesser sprites, cherubs, and powers who tried to kick you out of the Court was just an unfortunate coincidence. I didn’t have anything to do with them. Much. Sure, I painted a few signs and designed a couple of protest tunics, and yeah, I was part of the march on your tower, but I didn’t set fire to the internal staircase. All I did was try to light a wall torch. It’s a shame the whole tower burned. Er ... did I say happy anniversary? Running the Court for three hundred years is a pretty slick achievement.”

“Sext,” was all she replied, but the word shot from between clenched teeth with the velocity of a behemoth on a catapult.

I took another step back, covertly checking myself to make sure she hadn’t done anything beyond sending me a glare so potent that it would have dropped me if I’d been mortal, and watched silently as she marched off, her hair streaming behind her.

A couple of hours later, I sat in a small room off the cherubs’ dormitory, the quietest spot I could find. I rubbed my chin with the feather on a new quill for a few minutes while I thought about what I was going to say, then ran a hand over the vellum to make sure I had suitably scraped it.

Greetings to my friendful Camio.

I hope this missive finds you well. Or, you know, as well as you can be, considering you live and work in Abaddon, and your boss is an actual prince of evil bent on bringing the mortal world to its knees in anguished supplication. I’d like to insert a statement here about my own boss being mean, but I have a feeling that any message I send out will be examined what with the whole fiasco involving Hildegarde’s tower burning, and losing all the documents of her reign, and the way the uprising sprites and cherubs ratted me out.

So! Hilders mentioned today that she thinks I have great things in my future. Really big things like adventures and romance and daring acts and all that shite. She’s going to de-sprite me so I can go be the best me ever, and I’m thinking it’s time to try out some of the dog forms I mentioned in my last letter.

Since I’m going to be at a loose end for a bit, I thought we could meet and spend some time together. I don’t mind if it’s in Abaddon, if you can’t leave. You know me—I’m fine with demonkind.

Let me know what you think, and what entrance to Abaddon you want to meet at. And which dog form you think I should have.

Kisses,

Jim