11. Caspian

CHAPTER 11

Caspian

I bash my skull against anything available. Beat these brains out of the bones and flesh. It feels good to watch my own blood drip down. Onto my face and dry into a crust. I need to feel muscle and tendons meld, and flesh become whole, driven to knit together again by the vamryre curse.

Then I bash, bash, bash it all out again.

It's only amid the pain that I can think. Try to remember…

Something. Why the fuck can't I remember?

I try again. Endure again. Bash and break and barrel this stupid brain into submission. I will recall it all, no matter the cost. Why those paintings were so goddamn familiar. Why she was in them. Why my fingers tingle and ache as though itching to perform some vital task? Something I forgot how to do. Remnants of it tease the edges of my broken mind.

Canvas and oil.

Oil and Pigment.

"Caspian—"

Canvas and pigment.

Pigment. Oil.

Bash.

"Caspian!" That voice itches in my mind, but it isn't Cassius's sly murmur, so I don't need to let it in. Not that I'd want to let him in. Damn him. Damn him.

But he knew. Those things I forgot and want to remember. Cassius knew them all. He would taunt me with them.

What a naughty little sadist of a mortal you were, my Caspian. I plucked you from obscurity. Saved you. You were always meant to be mine. You came to me, willingly ? —

"If you want to track down your little, morbid, fae toy before she's chopped to pieces and sold on the black market, I suggest you cut out this ruckus, Caspian. Listen to me!"

Listen. Fae. Toy. Mine.

I see her. Beautiful, fragile little Niamh, chopped to pieces. Sold.

I stop, even though I still want to bash. I think of her, and I stop. Then I blink away the blood and try to see. Focus.

I'm in a room. A room with chains dangling from the concrete walls and a harsh light above. A room that reeks of blood and bodily muck that isn't mine. Piss. Shit. So many men and women alike have been herded in here and left to rot. Their stink has collected in the metal drains carved into the floor. It's never been cleaned properly, just hosed down with water that smells like sulfur. A naughty room this is. Meant for containment.

Not of mortal or vamryre, or lunaria alike—but all.

All kinds of races have been stored here.

Butchered in here.

I want someone to try to butcher me. Oh, what fun we will have?—

"You need to focus, Caspian," that stern voice cuts in. Nags. "I don't much care for the little creature, but I shudder at the damage she can do while unleashed upon the population unsupervised, even for a moment. You need to help me find her. Damn, what was its name again? Eve? Neel?—"

"Niamh," I say. Her name is a spell that snaps me back. Clarity returns with icy precision. My Niamh is out there alone. Beyond this butchering room.

Because I left her. I wandered off into that museum and saw those damned paintings.

Or is it a lie? This creature is keeping her from me. He aims to take her.

I turn on him, blinking more of his body into view. Tall, slender. Piercing green eyes and a sly grin. What did Niamh call him? Altaris, the one she hates.

"Where is she?" I demand, my hands in fists, fangs drawn. My skull is melding together again, and my vision is clearing by the second. Should he lie to me, I'll have more than enough strength to kill him.

"I was hoping you could tell me," he says without fear. "You've mated with her. Use your little mental connection thing and tell me. Or were my suspicions of her wrong? Perhaps, she's merely a powerless abomination? It doesn't seem that her blood melted your body, at least." He strokes his chin as if seriously questioning an answer.

"Can't hear her," I snap, not that he is worthy to know any inch of her thoughts. There is too much chaos in my head. Too many whispering murmurs. Despite my best efforts, I am unable to find her thread—the connection to her mind. That realm of perfect peace.

"Ah, a coherent response. Finally, it seems you have regained some of your senses," the man, Altaris remarks with a sniff. "It appears that over a century in Cassius's little mind dungeon hasn't tamed that temper of yours. Still impulsive, as always. Still prone to stubborn resolve when you don't get your way."

"Don't speak as if you know me," I snap. He doesn't. Not who I was before or after. No one does—except Cassius. One day, I will make the bastard tell me. I'll rip the answers from his skull.

"Of course, I would never presume," Altaris replies, but his tone is light. He is mocking me.

Any other time, I'd care. Not now.

"Niamh. Where is she?"

"While you were getting yourself wrangled by a whole squadron of mortal police before the boneys showed up, she skipped away. Vanished. Perhaps the fae retrieved their creature, but I would hear if their agents came through the portals. They are a noisy, dramatic sort." He sighs in disgust. "However, it's been dead silent on that end. Someone else must have her. Unfortunately, that does not narrow it down. There are quite a few unsavory characters on the prowl who would dream of coming across a wayward, unprotected fae. For nefarious reasons, as I am sure you can imagine."

They would sell her.

Whore her.

Destroy her.

"Not so fast," Altaris warns as I lunge toward him, aiming for the doorway at his back. "There is the little detail of you having been placed in boney holding to deal with," he tries to explain. "I suggest you listen, because those chains around your limbs are not for mere decoration. They are more than capable of restraining—and severing the limbs of—vamryre and lunaria alike, so I suggest you calm yourself ."

He uses that tone again. The stern, authoritative one. In some ways, it reminds me of fucking Cassius, but in other ways, it doesn't. Altaris is stern, but he can't punish me if I resist him. He can't torment my brain. He can't make me see what only he wants me to see.

Yet, he is just as dangerous as the entire vamryre horde. Perhaps more so. He hides his true nature well behind his frilly clothes and polished manners. Bullshit. Lies. Underneath his exterior, he is worse than I am. Rages more than me. Hates far more fervently than I ever could.

He is intriguing, so I listen, even if the chains are thin enough to shatter. Some might take an arm or leg in retribution, but so be it. I'll crawl limbless to find her.

Suddenly, it feels vital to.

I remember her standing in the gallery, hair alight by the sun, eyes wide and expressive. It wouldn't take a callus actor to harm her. A bus. A car. A fucking motorbike.

"I need to find her," I say. If she isn't dead already, smashed to bits by her own infernal curiosity.

"Finally, you are beginning to see reason," Altaris remarks. He threads his fingers together and eyes me from across the peak they make. "We must discuss a matter before I can secure your release. The bond on your head is very high, my friend. Two-point-one million arun. That's practically astronomical. Being a fugitive and wanted for several unsolved mortal murders, and now mangling and disfiguring seven hapless mortal security guards and four boneys, I am surprised they granted you a bond at all. That must be Anna Greeves's doing, trying so desperately to bring civil order to this haphazard place. In any case, I happen to have exactly two-point-one million arun lying around that I could lend you. Two million will come with no strings attached?—"

"Why?" I snap, sensing bullshit. Everything has a price. Nothing is for free. Two million arun must be stupid mundane money. Play money. Doesn't matter. No one gives away the lint in their pockets for nothing.

"We can consider it settling an old debt between you and me. Don't worry yourself about the particulars."

"Particulars?" There are none. "Don't know you. Don't owe you."

"All very well and good." He unlaces his hands and waves me off with one. It's a practiced gesture. He pretends to mingle with the mortal riffraff now, but once, this creature was powerful. Once, he commanded millions with the slightest wave of his hand. He hides it now, but his body remembers. "The point is, you will owe me the remaining arun. You may make your own arrangements to pay it off, but frankly listening doesn't seem to be your strong suit. Before we see your fae, we need to visit a friend of mine first. Someone who will help us tie up any loose ends when it comes to my repayment. Then we will find your fae. Agreed?"

"No," I hiss, rattling the chains that bind me. "I will find her first! I must find her now!"

Without me, she's lost, vulnerable to any monster with eyes. Oh yes, they will hunt her. Sink their teeth in and feast on my pretty fae. I won't let them. I'll kill them all.

"Frankly, my dear, this isn't negotiable. Unless you plan on staying in boney prison until some sham trial that Jack will use to flaunt his authority, I really am your only option."

Him. Lying bastard. He lies to me still. There is something lurking in his gaze, slipping away as I try to find it. He knows something. He is afraid of something, but it isn't me or my fae. He reeks of guilt. Pathetic. Repulsive.

However, it makes him different from Cassius. His guilt implies that he means what he says. Repayment for payment.

"Fine," I say. "Just take me to her. Before…"

Before she's hurt again. Killed. Before I lose her good.

Altaris nods. "Give me a minute or two to track down the riff raff, ah. Speak of the devil and they shall appear." His tone is a hiss as a woman enters the room through the partially opened door behind him.

She is tall, dressed in black leather with a silver stick in hand. It is long, nearly the length of her willowy frame. Paired with her stiff posture, I assume it is a weapon of some kind. One she desperately wants to use on me. Her dark eyes scan my body with a swipe, cold and appraising.

To her, I am a beast on display. She'd request more than two million arun—whatever the fuck that is—for me. Twice as much. Perhaps far more.

"I knew this one had to be one of yours," she sneers to Altaris, returning his derision with her own harsh tone. "How many times must we warn you, shopkeeper? Watch your little vermin or we will shut down your sleazy operation and send every one of those monsters to the pits where they belong."

The pits. A place that makes Altaris flinch, though he scoffs. This mortal doesn't scare him, even with her threats. She amuses him. He toys with her, flashing a gleeful smile.

"Boney Marin, ah. I thought I'd smelled your presence when I arrived. Still on the Lys , I see. I heard in the papers about that awful incident your crew investigated the other day—that awful Black Fang nonsense. I'm sure the stress must be driving you to many a sleepless night. Is Jack aware?"

The woman pales, her dark eyes flashing. "Mind your fucking business, vamp. Are you here to pay his bond or run your mouth?"

"Both," Altaris replies. "Frankly, I'm surprised you're here in the station, babysitting one of my little monsters while a serial killer is on the loose. How is the hunt for the Black Fang going?" He pauses.

Marin says nothing.

"Unless, of course ," Altaris continues, "you are the one being punished with a day of desk work. Tsk. Tsk. Now, will you file his bond work, or shall I?"

"Bloodsucking prick." The woman storms from the room, her posture defensive. As he watches her go, Altaris is beaming.

"Must have been something I said," he replies innocently before following her out. "Should be only a minute or two, Caspian."

A minute or two. Long enough for Niamh to get swallowed up. Chewed into pieces. Spit back out.

I left her. I left her. How could I?

Because of them. Those paintings. I try to remember them—recall what they looked like—but I can't. They are blank, black squares devoid of meaning. I need to go back to that damn museum and find them again.

After I find her.

"Well, that is done with." Altaris reappears near the open door, and two men follow him inside. They're dressed in the same black leather as the woman, sporting similar sticks that dangle from belts at their waists.

They approach me. Hesitate and share worried glances. "Are you sure he's properly sedated?" one of them wonders of the other. "This little bastard took out two of our best men. I hear he nearly ripped poor Joel's bloody arm off!"

"I will vouch for him, my darlings," Altaris says. "Dear Caspian won't do anything naughty, now will he? Naughtiness will result in your bond being revoked, all my money being poured down the drain and more time wasted. We don't want that, do we?"

"No," I hiss. "We don't."

"Good. Now, hurry to it, boys! We have other business to attend to!" Altaris claps his hands, and the men jump to attention. They fear me, yet they fear him more. They scurry around, trading fearful glances between us both as they wrangle their chains and use silver keys to set me free.

When they do, I finally notice the state of me. The mess I've made. So much blood, both mine and that of others. Oh dear. I've made such a mess.

I'll make a much larger one if Niamh isn't found. If she is harmed. If she is dead? I will tear this world to shreds.

"Hold on--" The female returns, stick in hand, held at the ready. She stares past me, straight at Altaris. Her smile alone is smug. "Looks like this one won't be going anywhere."

"And, pray tell, why is that?" Altaris counters.

He takes a single step, placing himself in between us. As if he--slender and tall--would be a match for several muscular men, and a woman at that. Yet he is. All three mortals tremble. Only the woman looks willing to take him on.

She swishes her stick impatiently through the air, then lowers it. "There's an envoy from the other side here to take him back. Looks like this vamryre is here illegally. Even your smooth-talking and false paperwork can't get him out of this mess."

"Is that so?"Altaris swipes a thumb along his chin. He hides it well, but he is uneasy.

Because ‘envoy' or not, this has all the hallmarks of Cassius. My old master has come for me already. Not directly, of course; he wouldn't bother his pompous ass with such a demeaning task.

But he's sent one of his pawns, for sure.

I can smell them, even if their thoughts are blissfully absent from my skull. Somewhere nearby.

"Now, now, Caspian. There is no time for theatrics," Altaris tells me. As he approaches Marin, he shrugs. "Show us the way to this envoy. I will negotiate on Caspian's behalf."

The woman laughs. Then scoffs. "Right this way."

"I think we may have to add onto your contract, my friend. Come," Altaris prods, nodding toward the doorway. "Let's hurry before Marin comes up with something else to charge you with out of spite."

I stalk forward, surprised to feel more blood dripping from me. My own. My skull is slow to heal. I'm still bleeding. My vision is still partially blurred. I laugh. Away from Cassius, I must not heal the way I used to. Not lightning quick with barely any pain to feel.

Here, I suffer.

Oh fun.

Swiping away the blood, I follow Altaris from the chain room and into a narrow hallway. Mortals mill around here, all dressed in variations of black leather. Most of them sport silver sticks. The ones that don't lurk behind heavy desks that line the space at varying intervals.

We enter a plain room adorned with only a long metal table in the center. At one end sits a figure, dressed in white. Not one of my old siblings. Not Cassius himself.

Another. Two guards dressed in green robes loom behind the figure, ready to defend at a moment's notice. I sniff the air and frown. Spicy. Like Niamh, yet harsher, with none of her floral notes that mark her scent. Still, they are fae.

And they are here, far from their den of safety.

"Oh my," Altaris says, stepping forward. He inclines his head, but there is no respect in the gesture. Instead, the jerky movements seem insulting. "To what do we owe this great honor?"

The figure cocks their head. Long, white hair frames an impassive face, composed of indiscernible features. The sharp eyes and harsh bone structure are the hallmarks of an elder fae--and not just any. A name comes to me, stolen from Niamh's thoughts.

Lord Master. The one she feared. The one who mutilated her body with numerous scars. In contrast, their body seems whole beneath their white robes. A subtle lump at the base of their neck alludes to the presence of the appendages Niamh lacks: wings.

"This vamryre is a fugitive from the laws of the Citadel," the figure says. "To maintain the established order, we request that it is returned, along with the creature it fled with." Their voice is low and even-pitched. In spite of that, there is a power resonating through it that puts even Altaris's to shame. Their body may be old--yet, still a child to any vamryre--but their mind… It is incredibly ancient.

Almost as if they alone contain their own private hive mind.

Perhaps they do. Among the many reasons why my old master hated them was their love of mystery and secrets. They knew things that even vamryre did not.

Such as how to circumvent the rules of the realm they created. Altaris told Niamh that no fae can enter this world. A lie, it seems.

Yet, when I eye the vamryre, he does not seem surprised, per se . His eyes scan the envoy's front, honing on a silver chain draped around their slender neck. I soon notice that the guards also sport a similar, gaudy piece of jewelry: silvery chains supporting a small, blue stone. Is that the answer, perhaps?

"Ah, well, I am afraid that any vamryre who enters this realm and is rejected by their master, falls under my domain," Altaris says, drawing all attention to him. "It must be an oversight the boneys didn't convey. I apologize for the inconvenience. I am sure you travelled quite the distance." He doesn't move to sit, leaving himself and the table as a makeshift barrier between me and the fae.

As if he thinks they need protecting.

The Lord Master creature blinks. "The fae is not under your purview. We request its return--"

"I'm sorry!" The door behind me opens, and a woman stumbles in. Her long brown hair obscures her features; she sputters, and she tries to bat most of it out of her eyes. She's slight, average height, wearing a brown jacket and matching skirt--not the black that seems the chosen color of the other mortals who inhabit this building. She runs a trembling hand down her front and smiles warily. "I am Anna Greeves, the newly elected mayor. I wasn't expecting an official delegation or I would have--"

"It doesn't seem that there is much to discuss," Altaris says, clasping his hands together. "Caspian is now under my protection, no longer a member of his collective. As for the other… She is not my concern--"

"No," I snarl. My gaze is on the Lord Master. The fae are rumored to have powerful magic, but I'll take my chances. Its figure is thin and lithe, liable to snap under my strength. I'd rip their throat out before they could utter any incantations.

"There is no need for theatrics, Caspian," Altaris warns in his authoritative tone.

"Oh, of course not," the mortal woman interjects. "There is a bureaucratic answer to this, I think." She sways, rocking from one foot to the other. A ball of energy, she exudes a nervous quality that Cassius would scorn.

Yet, Altaris doesn't wrinkle his nostrils at her as he did to the other woman, Marin. He holds himself rigid, his posture almost… Deferential. As if she, this fragile mortal, holds power of her own that I cannot see.

The Lord Master, does not seem of the same opinion. "I do not understand," they say. "On behalf of the council, I--"

"I am afraid that any official extradition requests must be submitted in writing and argued before an official hearing. I am sure you understand." The woman, Anna Greeves, nods and nearly trips in her haste. "The soonest we could schedule one would be…oh, a week, I believe. There is a horrific murder investigation underway at the moment, and the boneys are stretched thin. In a few days, I am sure there will be plenty of time to hear these arguments."

"Is that a denial?" The Lord Master raises a white eyebrow. Behind them, the guards step forward, their expressions unreadable. The twitching of their robes indicates the presence of wings. In such a setting, would they dare to reveal them? I hope so.

"We exercise our right to reclaim our citizens by any means necessary," the Lord Master insists.

They don't draw weapons, but I recognize their stances: prepared to fight.

So am I. I lower my head and curl my hands into fists. Cassius, the bastard, trained me well. He preferred his toys always on alert, waiting for his command. To bite. Tear. Destroy.

"Well, out here, we must do things by our laws," the woman mayor explains, her cheeks flaming. "It is in the official charter. To go against that, I would need a writ signed by the entire council. Unless you have one…"

"It seems this is a conversation well beyond us, Caspian." Altaris practically shoves me to the door. "We should take our leave--"

"No." The Lord Master's voice rings out, firm and echoing. In their path, the mortal woman practically curls in on herself. "We demand that our fugitives be returned--"

"Well, there is one option," the woman says meekly. Some part of me bristles at her display as she trembles from head to toe. Perhaps it is the look in her eye, barely visible behind her wayward mass of hair. Stern, steely, unwavering. "I will put them under my direct observation. They will be tracked at all times, until you can arrange for an official summons. It is the least I can do." She bows again, but when she rises, her beaming smile reminds me of Altaris' dismissive wave. "I happen to have one on me, in fact--" she rummages through her pockets in a drawn-out display. Finally, she withdraws a small object that she cradles in her hand: a red gem no larger than her little finger. "Altaris, will you do the honors?"

He approaches her warily and takes the gem in hand. Then he turns to me. "Don't resist, Caspian," he mutters. "For your own good."

My own good--the reason why he raises the gem to my forearm. Then, with reflexes too quick to resist, he jams the gem against the inside of my elbow. The gem melds into the flesh in an instant, becoming a red, circular patch of flesh. I dig my nails against it, but it doesn't budge.

"Thank you so much for your visit," the mortal woman says cheerfully to the envoys. "Altaris, you may handle the arrangements to ensure this fugitive is given our utmost surveillance."

"Of course. Come, Caspian." Altaris heads for the door, and I follow. Before the Lord Master could argue, we escape the room together.

I sense it is a fragile victory. Red tape will not be enough to keep Cassius at bay for long. He will come for me. The fae will come for Niamh.

The ceremony will commence, and she will die. I feel it in my soul.

Just like I feel the burning itch of whatever the hell he placed into my arm.

I stop short, my gaze on his neck. "What did you--"

"A minor inconvenience," he explains, once again deploying that commanding tone of voice. "Trust me. It is merely a pesky little tracking device to mark your whereabouts, nothing less, nothing more. Be thankful your bond was upheld. That whole incident was, as the mundane say, ‘by the skin of our teeth.' This way--" He advances toward one of the green desks, staffed by a woman dressed in gray. "Let us hope this damn bond has been taken care of. Hello, dear, Elsie!"

"You're all paid up, Altaris," the smiling woman replies.

He nods to her, his smile gallant. "As expected, Elsie. You may forward all notices for his court appearances to my address, should there be any changes."

"Will do!" She looks at me and pales. Her pretty smile falls. "Your first appearance is on the ninth," she says tremblingly. "It will be an official extradition hearing as well. You are to come in through the court entrance and wait there?—"

"Never mind the details," Altaris says, waving me along like I was a dog on a leash. "I will make sure dear Caspian makes all his appointments. Don't you worry."

"There is one other thing," Elsie calls out. "His permits aren't in order. He has some expired temporary visas, but I can't find anything recent. If there is an immigration issue, I'll have to send the case straight to Jack?—"

"Oh, don't you worry yourself about that," Altaris says, still moving me along. "I am on my way to visit dearest Mrs. Willtze now. We will get all his immigration paperwork squared away. Do give your future husband my regards, darling. I just knew you two would make the perfect couple."

Elsie giggles. "Oh yes. That was so nice of you to introduce us?—"

"Altaris Ipsum." The booming voice rings out from the end of the hall. There a man stands. Tall, his dark skin glistens. So does his bald head. He wears the same clothing and sports the same stick as everyone else in this damn place—yet every head swivels to him. Every nearby mortal stands at attention. Fear isn't what guides them but something else. An emotion that Cassius could never, in all his centuries of living, convey from another being willingly.

Respect.

They all respect him here. Everyone, it seems, but Altaris.

"What the fuck are you doing in my domain, vamp?" the man questions. "From what I recall, the last time you were here to pick up one of your crazy, little vamp bitches after she tried to drain an entire family dry, I warned you then. Stay the fuck out of my station. I said then if I caught one more of your vermin, I'd toss them into the pits myself?—"

"And yet here we stand," Altaris says, his smile wide. He folds his hands together in front of him and inclines his head. "Boney Jack, looking as strapping as always. Do give my regards to dear Marin. It seems that the recent increase in workload isn't agreeing with her delicate sensibilities. You might want to check that contraband locker of yours and see if any Elysium is missing."

Boney Jack clenches his jaw—the only indication of anger he gives. Unlike me, he doesn't rant, tear, and brutalize in his rage. He is cold, quiet, and calculating. "Mention her again and I'll toss you into the pits my fucking self," he warns.

"Well, as marvelous a time as that sounds, I really have other business to attend to. So, you'd best get out of my way." While Altaris's tone is polite, his eyes blaze.

Boney Jack resists for merely a second before stepping aside. Then his gaze drifts to me.

"Holy fuck, who let this one out? I thought you were here for the blonde bitch again. You can bond her out, but not this one! A whole fucking squadron out of commission because of this twisted motherfucker. That shitstorm at the museum took a whole day to clear and disrupted an active murder investigation?—"

"My Daisy darling," Altaris says, his voice alarmingly flat. "Who, courtesy of Poppy is no longer blond. Has she been arrested again?"

Jack laughs. "Don't tell me you didn't fucking know. Your kind know everything. She got spotted trying to go after a crowd of bloody Girl Scouts this time. The day she kills someone, vamp, is the day I have your balls in a vice."

"And what a marvelous day that will be," Altaris snaps. "You will call your men and have them reroute Daisy to her home. Since she almost killed someone, she should get what? Probation? A fine? Poppy will arrange to pay the fee from my accounts. As for this one, the bond was set and paid. Take it up with your wonderful mayor if you'd like. She's still on the premises, I believe, dealing with another mess."

He stalks forward. Beckons me with a nod of his head.

I follow.

There is a strange stench in this place. An overcrowding of beings, along with their blood and sweat and tears. I'd been wrong before. They aren't all mortal. They just keep the others segregated in some dank, dark space below. A prison. The term comes to me as I follow Altaris into the night and look back to see a sign perched above the bright green door. Boney Headquarters.

They keep the rules here. Accept bribes to let the naughty voyeurs from the other realm come to play with mortals and watch them suffer. Those who disobey their orders wind up in cages deep below. A prison.

While under Cassius's protection, I've never been here, but I wanted to. Once…

Once, I desperately tried to come here, to find this place. But why? For whom? Who?

I'll cause a ruckus. They'll take me to prison, a woman told me once. Find me there. You have to find me there. Caspian!

"Caspian?" Altaris is watching me, his expression bathed in shadow. "Come along, dear, we have a contract to discuss, you and I. Quickly, before there are any more delays. We can thank our lucky stars that Mayor Greeves intervened, but she is a shrewd one. She won't keep the hounds at bay for long. We must find your fae before they do. Come!"

I shouldn't follow him. I should find Niamh. Crawl into that peace hidden in her mind. Shut out these bothersome memories and nagging thoughts.

I forgot something.

Someone.

Someone important.

Long before Niamh, I left her behind…

No. I shake my head to clear it and fixate on the smiling vamryre before me. He holds the answers to finding my fae, and she is all who matters to me now.

Without her, I can't give a damn about anyone else.

Not even myself.

There simply isn't enough space in my mind to care.