13. Caspian

CHAPTER 13

Caspian

" A ltaris Ipsum," a woman sneers from behind a partially opened door. "Don't you know how late it is? I stop seeing clients after six, you see."

The vamryre beside me grins. He is all charm and smiles. "Ellarika, my darling. As young and spry as always. I know it's late, but could you squeeze me in for a teensy, weensy little contract? Then I'll be out of your hair in a jiffy."

The woman scoffs and sighs. The door she holds is pulled wider to reveal her plump frame, dark eyes, and round mass of coiled black hair. She eyes the vamryre in my shadow warily and shakes her head at what she sees. "Fine," she mutters, stepping back into a dull, drafty room. "But just this once."

"Of course, my darling," Altaris trills, leading the way inside.

As a lamp flickers on, the woman shuffles to a desk piled high with paperwork. This room is small and square, with no windows. The desk alone takes up most of the space, and the woman has to squeeze behind it just to claim a leather seat. Then, she sighs again, more loudly. "What is it this time?"

"Oh, just a minor little arrangement between the two of us." Altaris gestures to me. "My friend needs to amend his contract."

As she looks over me, the woman scoffs. In her gaze, however, I don't find surprise. Her lips press together into a thin line. Recognition? "Bollocks," she hisses, "I know of this one. Tons of unpaid fees and debt to his name. So very many expired visas. Yet he isn't one of yours." Her dark eyes continue to probe at mine, like buzzing flies seeking a way in.

"No, this one is a special case," Altaris says, folding his hands together. "He will need all the required immigration work, as well as his little friend—we shall discuss her case later. Right now, all we need to do is draft a little repayment contract. A few pesky arun. Caspian here has agreed to work it off. There also is a matter of rent for my other home across the city. We can charge him the usual rate, my darling. If I could pester you to expedite?—"

"I can have it for you in three days." The woman grabs a pair of spectacles from her desk and balances them on the bridge of her nose. Instantly, her eyes are three times their size. She is much more than a buzzing fly, but a patient, hungry frog. "No more no less."

"Tonight, I am afraid," Altaris insists in a pleasant tone. "I will reward you handsomely, as you know."

"Blast you to hell, Altaris! I am busy." She makes a show of rustling her papers and prodding her glasses.

All for show.

It is all just for show.

She's had a contract ready with my name on it long before this moment. For years, even. The ink on the parchment is decades old and bone dry. I somehow know it before she pulls it from a desk drawer, safely coiled, sealed with red string.

I've seen it before.

Signed it before.

Many, many, many times.

"Mill about for a minute and let me work," the woman harrumphs before pouring over the document. As if it isn't ready.

As if she hasn't already prepared every single detail.

This is how they work, the two of them. Herding wayward sheep into traps already rigged to be sprung. They think me stupid and gullible like the rest.

I laugh. Then I march to that desk and snatch away the contract.

It's as expected, but the name is all wrong. Not Caspian. Two letters. C.W.

C.W.

C.W.

"Ah, ah, ah!" Altaris wrestles the document away as if it is made from gold. He cradles it to his chest and strokes the parchment with soothing fingers. "No need to wrinkle the damned thing. Just sign your name on the dotted line, darling. So, to speak. There isn't a line. Just scribble your name at the very bottom."

I look at him. Then I smile and chuckle. Or growl. Nothing like Niamh's pretty fucking noises.

"You think I am an idiot?" I ask him. "I am not. You are a liar. A fucking liar." I feel it in my gut—in the pit of my very soul. Even though the details aren't clear to me, deep down a feeling of betrayal stirs inside me whenever I look at him.

I think I'm meant to hate him almost as much as she did.

Until he blinks. Sorrow floods those cat-like, green eyes and he nods. Just once. "I know," he says. "You are right. But there is a deal to be struck. So please sign."

"No." I storm off to another corner of the room. I want to rant and rave and break. There is nothing valuable here to smash, however. Just pages upon pages shoved into filing cabinets and wooden drawers. So many fucking contracts he owns. The bastard must own the goddamn city.

Yet…

He isn't gloating over his possessions and triumphant over them. As he sighs, he sounds exhausted by the burden. A strange thought.

"You are toying with me," I tell him. "I don't know how, but you are playing me like a puppet."

He's silent. Then, "Please, Caspian, darling?—"

"Don't call me that," I hiss. My hands curl in and out of fists. I want to strike him. Need to kill, pummel, and beat something into submission. A bloody pulp.

"She will not last long on her own," he warns, persistent. "You two picked a dangerous time to visit this city. There are murderers on the loose. A gang of wayward lunaria. Traffickers. Those who ply black magic as their trade. As you saw for yourself, the boneys are stretched thin as it is. Let me help you find her, before it is too late."

"Liar," I tell him. "You have your own reasons. Tell me what they are!"

"Fae do not last long in this realm. Their blood is valuable, and as a novelty they are prized by traffickers. Not to mention the fae. If they sent one of their corrupted elders here, it can only mean danger for her. They will stop at nothing to find her."

The imagery is purposefully cruel, meant to goad me into giving in to him. "You don't care about her."

"I don't," he admits. But he does care about me. He is sorry. Very, very sorry. Sorrow and regret coat him like stinking perfume. He reeks of both. I can't take the smell. My nostrils itch. I'd sign over my soul just to get him far away from me.

"Fine," I snarl. "I'll sign it?—"

"Here." He reaches into the pocket of his purple coat and retrieves a silver pen. Extends it to me.

The parchment, however, he holds aloft and partially rolled so I can only see the very bottom of the page.

Regardless, I wield the pen and slash at the parchment. A single bold line is my signature. It's all the bastard seems to need.

"A pleasure doing business, really. Ellarika, darling, please file this away—" He hands the scroll to the woman, who accepts it with practiced reverence. Carefully she rolls it and reties the string. Once it's safely hidden in her drawer, she folds her hands over her desk and raises an eyebrow. "Anything else?"

Altaris chuckles. "Well, well we shall need those visas prepared. Make them air-tight in case the boneys get antsy. The other realm will want these two, so we must jump through all the bureaucratic hoops." He claps.

Ellarika nods. "Done and done. When I'm through, even Jack won't be able to turn down his nose at these."

"That's my darling." Altaris beams. One could almost miss the pain still lurking in his eyes. That term cut him deep. Liar. Liar. But to what end? He betrayed me somehow, someway. I just don't remember.

Even so, he gives me a wide berth as he beckons me back out into the night-shrouded street, where streetlights fail to displace the impenetrable sheath of darkness.

"I know you've had a very busy day already," Altaris says as he starts down the road in some random direction. "But there is one last detour we must make. Before we can find your little creature, thing."

"Niamh," I hiss. Her name. She went through all that trouble to steal it from her books—I can still taste those memories of hers, how she hunted through pages of text for the right one. How she practiced sounding it out loud as if waiting for the one day when she might say it to another person. Niamh. She fought for that name. Bled for it in vicious scars carved into her back that seemed to never heal. The least he can do is fucking use it.

"Yes, yes." He waves me off. "Before we can rescue your little darling one, there is one little stop we must make first. Unfortunately, Ginni is a stickler for time, and I am not allowed to bother her during business hours. We must see her only in her ‘off time,' after sunrise. I suppose it's what I get for letting my darling ones make their own schedules?—"

"No," I snarl. "No more delays! You said they will come for her."

And alone, she makes for easy prey. Perhaps they've found her already?

"Patience," Altaris warns. As if he knows me. As if he can see into the chaos of my mind and make sense of the anger and hatred there. As if he knows what it feels like to have a hole in your soul where a monster squatted and pissed in for decades upon decades. Only to one day have that reeking spot empty and vacant. Niamh alone can fill it with sweet words and gentle touches.

I need her back.

I'll…

I'll lose what little is left of my goddamn mind without her here.

"I promise I will get her to you," Altaris says. "Safe and sound. You have my word on that."

His word. What use is a fucking word? I want to scoff. Refuse. Then I look him in the eye and see the truth lingering there. The power lurking there. He means it, this one promise.

In this boring, mundane world, his word is law, worth more than Cassius's piles of silver.

Worth enough to wait.

For now.