Rare Kinds

The sound of thunder cracked all around the three of them. Roger and Mohan pulled the boat on shore. A blanket of storm clouds dominated the sky, circling around Weather Rock. Above the safe house the sky was eerily clear, the moon a slice of white hanging low.

Roger and Mohan helped Laët out of the boat and then dragged it up to the base of the cliff. Mohan had had the good sense to bring dish gloves—of all things—but they seemed to work as Laët could not feed off their energy when they wore them. Mohan said they were for easy cleanup and Roger had often seen him wearing them in the small kitchenette of the bookshop. They were hardly flattering, those bright yellow dish gloves or whatever they were called. They squeaked unpleasantly when one made a fist Roger noted with disgust.

Mohan had only tried the gloves after he accidentally touched Laët once or twice. Roger couldn't remember as he had been in a daze at the time from accidentally touching Laët himself. It had been so easy to forget his power and then be brutally reminded when something as miniscule as a pat on the back would leave one lying on theirs.

Roger's boot heels stuck into the sand. He was so tired and felt weaker than he had ever in his life. It was more than a little embarrassing. He did not want to face the Master like this.

He hated this place and he hated how hard it was to get to the safe house. No one could find it anyway there was no need for additional obstacles. The Master always took things several steps too far.

The sea behind them was calm—they had that going for them at least—but there were the rocks to consider, Roger thought as he looked up at the cliff again, and with a hood on Laët would most likely slip and injure if not kill himself on the way up.

Roger watched Laët in the corner of his vision. He was hunched over with his hands on his knees. The hood covered his face—another one of the Master's requirements—and it moved in and out around his mouth. He seemed to be hyperventilating. Roger let him go.

"How do I know which way is the right way?" his voice was muffled by the hood. He started staggering around in circles. "I can't see!"

"Stand still a minute, you idiot," Mohan barked, staring at the cliff face with a frown. Roger watched him growing tenser by the second.

"Why can't I take this ridiculous thing off?" Laët groaned. "I think I'm going to be sick."

"Shut up, all right, just be quiet," Roger whispered. "It'd be best that once we got inside you pretended to be asleep or—"
"Knocked out," Mohan offered.

"Either of those."

"Brilliant," Laët said from within the hood.

"Wait here," Roger said to Laët. He grabbed onto Mohan's arm and whispered lowly, "What if the Master's been waiting all this time for this to happen?"

They had not spoken about what had happened to Mohan since before they had entered the church. It had been weighing heavily on Roger's mind ever since, and he knew Mohan had been thinking about it as well. He could sense Mohan's reluctance to return to this place. Normally it was all he could do to get back here. He could never hide his emotions properly.

Mohan gave him a sharp look, and then gradually his expression changed as he understood what he was talking about. He scoffed. "You mean, you think he's been waiting for me to--?" Mohan briefly looked away and sighed. When he turned back he had a forced smile on his face. "Like a dinner bell? Ding, your demon's ready."

"Remember the cave we found near Arrow's Bend?" Roger steered Mohan out of earshot, casting a glance over at Laët. "Nothing would work there. It was like one great big dampener for magic. He'd never find you there."

"Roger that was fifty something years ago. It's probably been overrun with bandits by now."

"You don't have to go up there with me," he gestured to the safe house, which Roger was sure would be the last place Mohan would ever see if he went in there now. "I can make an excuse—say anything. Just leave now."

Mohan smiled sadly, wiping the spray from the ocean off the top of his head. Roger knew he wouldn't leave. Mohan was dreading it but he didn't want to believe him—Roger saw that now. He could also surmise what he was thinking: Mohan still thought that maybe he could control it before the Master found out. The trouble was, Roger wouldn't be surprised if the Master already knew, and like he said before, had just been biding his time until Mohan's second nature (or whatever it was) came through. Then he would use Mohan to whatever end.

No doubt he had a similar plan for Mohan as he did for Nicholas and Laët.

Roger nodded, finding it difficult to drop the subject completely, and as soon as he tried to say something else about it Mohan waved him away. Roger walked back to Laët, Mohan following closely behind. The subject was closed for now, he supposed, and all he could do was hope for the best.

"Unlikely," he muttered.

"What was that?" Mohan cleared his throat and turned his attention to the cliff face. "Now, how are we going to do this?"

"He'll never make it with the hood," Roger said flatly. Beside him Laët was completely on edge.

"He'll never make it without the hood."

"What are you talking ab--?" Laët began and Roger pulled the hood abruptly off his head. Laët stared at the cliff face in front of him, mouth agape. His head tipped back, his eyes rolling to the top of his sockets just to see the top of it. "No, no."

"Yes, yes," Mohan said and pushed at him on the back. "We haven't got much time. Let's just work it out."

"Who's first?" Roger asked and made a fist, which squeaked unpleasantly.

Mohan peeled off his glove and reached a hand out to Roger for the other one. "Laët will have to wear them."

"How does that help us again?" Roger peeled off his glove with a skeptical look on his face.

"He can hold onto me and I'll take him up on my back." He turned to Laët, who was shivering, but Roger was sure it wasn't from the cold. Mohan had to bend down to talk to him, as he had dropped to his knees staring fearfully at the cliff. "Put these on and when we get to the top you'll have to grab and pull yourself up. Don't touch me with anything but these gloves or I'll lose my grip and who knows what will happen then."

"I've changed my mind. I don't want to go."

"Laët, please." Mohan pleaded, holding out the gloves to him. "It's either this or we send you back to Grey."

"What's going to happen to me?"

"Nothing if I can help it," Roger said, but when he looked down at Laët's frightened face, he saw Nicholas' face instead. Confused and suddenly feeling angry, he blinked and turned away, walking toward the cliff. "I'll go first."

Roger mustered up his remaining strength and began his ascent.

****

Lent took off his coat and threw it over a nearby stool. The room he was in had a long table, topped with many canisters, jars and beakers. When he went to close the door the candles lit and set the room awash with light bright enough in which to work. He set the small phial of Nicholas' blood on the table and took a deep breath.

He hadn't been in this room in a long time. Cobwebs hung in the corners and on the ceiling and on just about everything. The windows were covered with a dusty gray film which seemed to absorb the candle light. When Lent snuck a look under the table a very surprised rat blinked up at him suspiciously. It had half a spider in her tiny clutches and she chattered angrily at him before dragging her meal away into a hole in the wall.

Lent's shoulder ached and itched but for the moment he pushed it to the back of his mind. Lent stared at the phial, knowing that what he was about to do probably wouldn't have a chance of working. Although the potion he had given him much earlier worked just fine Nicholas seemed immune to most of their magic. Strangely enough, Lent found considerable comfort in that despite his vow. He didn't like messing with control, and blood magic was the worst violation of a being he could think of, and why would he choose Nicholas? Roger was the one who had problems controlling himself.

For the moment, however, he would simply analyze and then try to rationalize proceeding with the Master's wishes.

***

It was a struggle up the hill as all three of them were incredibly tired. They had taken back the gloves much to Roger's dismay, and they squeaked with every slight movement of his fingers now.

Despite that and other complications, they all seemed to have arrived at the safe house doors in one piece, but, Roger thought as they prepared themselves to knock on the very unnecessarily large wooden doors, they were less likely to remain in one piece once they got inside.

"Take a deep breath," Roger whispered in the direction of what he hoped was Laët's ear. Roger had placed the hood back on his head once they had all reached the top of the cliff. "And ignore everything that's said."

"Oh yes," Mohan said in agreement, "It would most likely just upset you needlessly."

"I miss that old priest," Laët said in a desperate rush, his words laced with regret. "And his disgusting tea."

"Quiet," Mohan insisted. "That won't help you." He glanced and Roger and had to do a double take. "Would you stop looking at me like that?"

"Like what?" But Mohan ignored him.

Roger grabbed the knocker but the doors opened on their own, giving them the full view of the empty entrance hall. Torches hung on the wall and the place was considerably cleaner compared to the last time they had seen it. Roger idly wondered if the Master convinced the empty shells he calls guards to wash the marble floor and pull all the cobwebs down. The mental image amused him.

"What's funny?" Laët asked, trying to pull free from their grip.

"Nothing," Mohan said. "Stop laughing, Roger. What's going on with you?"

"What's going on here?" Roger gestured to the empty hall around them before let go of Laët's arm as Mohan moved him inside. The doors closed with a barely noticed creak. He grabbed a torch from the wall and began walking up the stairs.

"Where are you going?" Mohan jerked his head in the other direction, the door to the left that led down.

Roger glanced at the door and cocked his head at Mohan. "The cells?"

Mohan dropped his head in disappointment as Laët renewed his struggle to get from his grasp.

"Cells!" Laët was panicking again.

Roger really started laughing now. "What do you know, Mohan, he doesn't want to be in the cells."

"You know what we're supposed to do," Mohan said. "He's here right now, in case you are too dumb to notice."

"You want to be heartless now?" Roger walked down the stairs. He really didn't give two shits for Laët and Mohan knew that, but he wasn't going to take him to the cells. "After all that's happened tonight let's just bend over and take it."

"It's Laët that's going to be bending over." Roger knew what he meant but it was clear Laët did not. He whacked Mohan on the bridge of his nose with an elbow and tried to pull his other arm free.

"Ow, shit!" Mohan exclaimed, "It's an expression!"

Roger stalked toward them both with a scowl on his face and grabbed Laët by the collar. "Fine, Mohan, if you want to throw him down there let's just go do it." He was bluffing, but dragged him through the door on the left of the entrance hall just the same. Laët was shouting and clawing at Roger's glove with both hands.

The path before them was stone, wet and slippery in the dark. Roger held the torch high in one hand and dragged poor Laët on the narrow path leading down at a slight angle. Mohan followed closely.

"Why don't we get a cell for you when we get down there? Which do you think has the nicest view? Only the best for you, Mohan."

"They don't have windows. You know that," Roger hated the even tone in Mohan's voice. "Careful, don't let him touch you."

"We took the gloves back, remember?" Roger snidely commented, but even as he said it his vision was going strange and his grip on Laët's collar had loosened. He looked down at his arm. Laët had slid his hand up his sleeve and his blunt fingernails were digging into his forearm. "You stupid thing," he managed to say to Laët before he was gently laid on the floor.

He had somehow let go of Laët but he couldn't move. This had happened before, right after he had shown them the portal that had torn open in the woods. Roger could still see, but his vision was fuzzy around the edges as if everything was a dream. He stared up at Mohan, who was bent over, inspecting him from above.

"Blink twice if you're all right." He did because it was all he could do. "Good."

Mohan pulled the yellow dish glove from Roger's left hand and put it on. He then straightened and grabbed the torch from the floor. "I'm sorry," he said to Laët and Roger watched Mohan knock him out before he dragged him further away, presumably to the cells below ground level.

***

Roger didn't sleep but his mind sort of drifted. He had stopped paying attention to what was going on because nothing was going on anymore. There was nothing to hear or see except the darkness around him and the steady drop of a continuous leak from somewhere near him. He didn't snap out of it until someone reached down and slapped his face with enough force to jumpstart a horse.

"Roger!" someone was whispering loudly. Was that a shadow kneeling beside him? "What are you doing on the floor?"

Roger's vision cleared as his mind slowly came back together. It wasn't a shadow—he recognized the voice—it was Lent. His concerned face gazed down at him, while his right arm shook him violently by the shoulder.

"I'm awake, I'm alive," Roger said with a sort of groggy intelligence drunks have the morning after. He struggled to sit up.

"You look terrible," Lent said and held out a hand to help him up.

"I could say the same to you." Roger pointed weakly to Lent's bandaged shoulder. "What's that smell? That's not your blood."

Lent showed him the phial in his hand. "Failed experiment."

Roger took a step back and leaned against the wall. Lent hadn't brought a torch and since his encounter with Laët, he was having trouble discerning shapes in the dark. All of this could be fixed of course by a feeding, but there was little chance of that considering what they had done in Grey. He'd just have to wait and hope that something changed.

"Blood magic?" he spoke of the phial, "That's hardly your thing, is it?" Then Roger cocked his head at Lent, suddenly realizing something. His eyes narrowed and he snapped, "You're not supposed to be here."

"There was no time to tell you," Lent rushed to explain himself but it only served to make Roger angrier. "You were away."

"Where's Nicholas? Is that his blood?" He felt along the wall, walking as fast as he could down the tunnel to the cells. "What have you and Maria done with him?"

Lent followed close behind him. "He's all right, Roger." He grabbed Roger's arm to try and stop him. "Shouldn't you wait until you've fed to see him?"

"I'm not going to hurt him, you berk! Look at me!"

"You haven't even asked about Maria."

"I don't care about Maria."

"What about Mohan?"

"What about him?" Roger snarled. "He's just as determined as you are to die for his Master." He pulled his arm out of Lent's grasp once they rounded a corner. "I don't need your help here."

Lent looked as if he had more to say, but he pursed his lips and let him go. He didn't follow him further as Roger moved along the curves in the tunnel in the dark. Once he got far enough he leaned against the wall again to rest. His shuddering breath gave it all away. Things had unraveled so quickly. He suspected the mission was a trap. It was all really about his compliance, wasn't it? And the master had everything he needed for that now. Maybe Mohan had been right; he was sounding paranoid now even to himself. The Master could be a mind fuck but this wasn't his style.

Roger closed his eyes and tried to catch the scent in the air. It was so unusual, enticing, it stood out in the mix of mildew, rot and stagnant water, which admittedly was an easy thing to do if one was the scent equivalent of a siren call.

A fire was building in side him as he pushed off the wall with both hands and rushed toward that smell. A fleeting thought ran through his mind: perhaps Lent had been right; now probably wasn't a good time to see Nicholas. But then the thought was gone and all care went with it, and when he stopped in front of the cell door he could barely control himself from ripping it open.

Lent stepped beside him, appearing casual. Roger hadn't noticed that he had followed. Just his presence seemed to quiet the fire inside of him. Roger suddenly felt the complete toll of the past two days, making his entire body ache. He was so very, very tired. Was Lent doing that or was that Laët's newfound gift?

Lent reached out when he nearly fell against the door, but he caught himself and scowled at the Tangarian beside him. The phial, Roger noticed, had disappeared into one of his pockets, probably, and Roger suspected his failed experiment with blood magic would piss him off so he didn't ask about it. The less he knew about it at the moment, the better.

"I thought I told you not to follow me," Roger hissed. He made no move to make Lent leave; he was far too exhausted to fight, but this wasn't how he envisioned reuniting with Nicholas would be like: Lent in tow like a mother hen.

"When I heard you running I became concerned," Lent said. "We're friends, aren't we?"

Who was he trying to protect, him or Nicholas? Roger snorted and took a few staggering steps back from the door.

"We'll see," and he nodded toward the cell. "Open it."

***

He heard voices in the dark, just beyond the door of his cell, and then the door creaked open. Nick crouched in the corner, waiting for whoever it was to show his face. He expected light to fill the room but the corridor beyond was even darker than his own cell. Shapes were all he could discern, vague shadows—and he heard their footsteps. One of them was injured from the way he dragged his feet slowly into the room.

Nick rose to his feet and pressed his back into the wall. The back of his head throbbed; he knew it had been bleeding where it struck the wall. When The Master and whatever unnatural power—even thinking it didn't sound possible!—had pushed him back.

"Where are you?"

Nick recognized Lent's voice but remained silent. Instead he pushed himself off the wall and attacked in the direction of his voice.

"There he is," someone answered helpfully as Nick fell down the largest shadow and began pummeling him as hard as he could.

"Get him off me!" Lent grunted between blows. He grabbed Nick's arms and held them away but was still unable to throw him off. Nick shouted at what he hoped was his face.

Someone grabbed him around the waist and lifted him up unsteadily, but they fell over as well, and Nick on his back on top of them. Whoever was under him was laughing.

"Some light, please, Lent," a voice said very near his ear. Nick stopped struggling when he heard a sound very like glass breaking on the floor. Light filled the room. "I'm going to let you go but it's not because I want to."

Nick elbowed whoever it was in the side and leapt to his feet as soon as the man's hold slacked.

"What do you want now? Torture me some more?" Nick shouted at Lent who was passively dusting himself off. He refused to meet Nick's eyes.

"What happened to your shirt?" the man behind him asked.

"It's in pieces and mostly off a cliff," Nick spun around and looked at the man still on his back. His eyes narrowed, "Roger?" He was tempted to kick him while he lay there on the dirt floor, but as he looked him over it seemed Roger had already been thoroughly tenderized.

"Come on, help him up," Lent said and waved his arm at the room. The light spilled into the passageway and seemed to wait there for them. "Let's get out of here."

Nick looked down at Roger who smiled up pathetically. He was reaching up. Nick gave this considerable thought, watching the pained expression on Roger's face as he made him wait.

"You started all of this."

Roger lowered his hand and struggled to sit up. Lent impatiently tapped his foot in the corridor.

"You can blame me if you need to," Roger said and took his time getting to his feet, his fingers clutched at the wall. "There are bigger things to worry about, however, and I'd like to do that somewhere else. For now let's enjoy some hospitality and pretend we may not die in the next few hours."

"You're not taking me back?" Nick felt numb. They were trading him one cell for another? This was getting ridiculous.

"We can't," Lent said tersely from outside the cell. Nick gave him a brief icy glance.

"He's not joking. We don't control the way back."

Nick studied Roger's face for a moment and couldn't determine if he was telling the truth or not. Nick had little experience with reading people's expressions—he had little experience with people in general—but when Roger reached out this time, he took his arm and the three of them followed the light up the steep passage way.

Roger leaned heavily against him, clutching tightly to his arm.

"What's wrong with you?" Nick snapped, uncomfortable with how close he was.

"He needs to feed," Lent explained mysteriously, and the more Nick thought about it, the less he thought about the pain in his head.

What did that mean? What an odd way to put it! All he needed was a shower and some rest. Come to think of it Nick could do with both of those as well. He wondered if he would ever be able to relax again. His heart pounded in his chest, and Roger seemed to press himself directly on his pulse. Oh god, was he smelling him?

"Where are we going and how fast can we get there?" Nick was ashamed at how frightened he sounded but he really couldn't help himself.

"We're just going up a few floors." Lent was ahead of them, guiding the light ahead as they moved along. "You sure you don't want to ask about Mohan?"

"He let Laët suck out my energy and left me lying there for who knew how long." Nick could feel Roger's breath when he spoke; his head was on his shoulder.

"So no?"

"Laët?" the name sounded alien to Nick. Neither of them answered. Roger shook his head against him. "Who's Mohan?"

"He's my partner," Roger explained, his voice barely above a whisper. His feet shuffled painfully slow. Nick was tempted to drag him the rest of the way. "Well, maybe not so much anymore."

"The Master told me you two had arrived hours ago," Lent said and turned around. "Can't you move any faster? I want to leave the dungeons before those things arrive."

Nick's skin prickled and he stopped walking. "Things?"

"The Master," Roger spat those words like they were a curse. He sighed and rolled his head off Nick's shoulder. "He has these hooded man-shaped things."

"They're not men?" Nick swallowed hard, remembering the soulless gray eyes of the hooded henchmen reaching for him as he edged off the cliff.

"They're not alive."

Nick wrapped an arm around Roger's waist and hitched him up. He began dragging him up the passage way. The light could barely keep up. Lent's footsteps pounded behind them.

"That's the pace," Lent yelled and Roger laughed beside him.

"What is this place?" Nick muttered under his breath. The muttering quickly turned to shouting, "A fucking death trap?"

"Watch out!" Roger shouted and they both collided into solid wood. The light helpfully hit the door just after Nick's face. "The door," Roger grunted beside him. Nick dropped him to rub his nose.

Lent snuffed the light and stepped over them. "I was just trying to encourage you to move," he said in an amused tone and pushed open the door.

He started to say something else but stopped and walked slowly through. Beyond Lent Nick saw three hooded men standing around the doorway. Their milky gray eyes stared unblinkingly at them.

Lent showed the hooded men his palms and whispered over his shoulder, "I think they want us to go with them. We probably should."

Nick helped Roger stand and reluctantly lead him through. The hall beyond was aglow with torchlight. Old dusty red and gold banners hung on the wall. There was a hooded man, creature, whatever it was, on a ladder next to one of the banners, beating the dust out of it mechanically with a broom. For some reason, Roger pointed and laughed at him.

The men turned and guided them further out into the hall. Each took a torch and surrounded them. A voice entered Nick's head and he snapped to attention, he knew it came from the three but their mouths didn't move.

This way. the three spoke inside his mind in one chilling voice.

"Oh," Roger groaned and covered his ears. "I hate it when they do that."

"I prefer them silent," Lent agreed as they closed in around them. He tried to back up but stepped into Nick and Roger. Nick pushed at his back and peered around him. "We had better move or they'll get upset."

Nick had to tear his eyes away from their soulless stare before he could begin to move his feet. "Where are they taking us?"

"I'm sure they're just going to put us away somewhere and make sure we don't try to leave before the Master has his say."

Nicholas couldn't figure them out. Whose side were they on? Weren't they supposed to try to get out of here? "I don't want to talk to him."

"You don't have a choice, Nicholas."

"It's Nick, and no, I can see your point, but none of you are my favorite right now."

"Don't worry, he'll have a go at me first," Roger patted his arm reassuringly and Nick had a sudden urge to shake him off and let him tumble down the stairs they were ascending.

"I guess everything's perfectly fine then. Nothing to worry about. Maybe he'll kill me second," he glanced at Lent, "Or third."

"He's not going to kill you."

"What is this then?" He gestured to the hooded escort.

"Insurance," Roger whispered and put a finger to his lips.

They reached a landing and they were taken down a hallway lined with red and gold carpet. Doors lined both sides, and paintings, portraits mostly, hung between them. As they walked past them, Nick had the strangest feeling that the portraits' eyes were following them but when he turned his head to look, the eyes were staring straight forward. A shiver went up his spine.

The hooded man creatures stopped so abruptly that Lent and Nick walked right into the back of the one in front. Lent shuddered and tried not to touch it… him… whatever it was, and Nick made a weird "Ngnhn" sound in his throat.

A door opened on their right and a familiar voice called from within the room, "Enter."

***

Nicholas' pulse sped up under his fingers, but otherwise he seemed rooted to the spot. Roger pulled gently on his arm, staring in the direction of the door. He could barely think clearly when that constant heart-rhythm was making his stomach ache with hunger. It was all he could do not to press his mouth against any part of his skin and sink his teeth in.

As soon as he thought of it he nearly did, the pulse thundering through him was lighting him up all over. He laid his cheek on his arm just as Nicholas began to move. Lent pulled them away from each other and dragged them both bodily into the room.

"Control yourself," he said quietly.

Roger had just enough control to shove himself into a chair. The Master sat across from him, Maria next to him. She didn't acknowledge their presence just yet; she was staring into the flames in the fireplace, her face blank.

The Master poured himself a glass of wine and sipped before addressing Lent. "Did it work?"

"No, I think—"

"I don't care what you think," the Master waved him away. "Perhaps you don't want it to work."

"Perhaps he's immune, it's happened before."

"Try again."

Lent sighed audibly but said nothing more. He left the room and the door shut behind him.

Nicholas stood awkwardly behind Roger's chair. Roger could hear him shifting his weight from one foot to another, his fingernails digging into the back of the chair behind Roger's head. Nicholas was shaking and to Roger it felt like the whole room was shaking because of his tight grip on his chair.

"You let him out," Maria said, staring above Roger's head.

"Never mind, Maria," The Master said, ignoring Roger and Nicholas for the time being. "What did you see?"

"He's on the mainland already," her eyes studied Nicholas, which made Roger extremely tense. Who was she talking about? "Traveling south as we speak."

Mohan? Did he get out? Roger was suddenly very interested. He leaned forward in his chair. Maybe he had taken his advice. "Where's Laët?" he interrupted.

The Master briefly scowled at him before turning his attention back to Maria.

"You may go now, Maria, and fulfill your obligation," The Master paused to sip from his wine. "I don't want to see you until you've completed whatever task that scoundrel set you."

"Yes, Lord," she seemed to choke out those words, her voice shaky. She stood but couldn't seem to bring herself to leave the room just yet. She turned a glare to Roger. "This is your fault."

"Oh yes, I suppose it's all my fault, right?" Roger shouted, wanting to leap from his chair but lacking the strength.

"Maria, you have disappointed me," the Master interrupted. She turned a mournful look his way but he refused to look at her. "You have shown your resourcefulness in keeping Lent alive but if it weren't for you his life wouldn't have been in danger. Countless times your recklessness has nearly cost me everything. Quite frankly, dear, you are lucky to be alive."

Maria stormed out of the room before he could dismiss her.

Despite Roger's growing hatred for the Tangarian he couldn't hide his grin at those words, but when the Master turned his attention to Nicholas a terrible feeling settled in his core.

"Why don't you enjoy this small hospitality while it's still available? I have to speak to your friend. You will find everything you need to refresh yourself in that room. I don't expect your return until I send someone for you. I'm sure you understand."

Roger reached back and gently pried Nicholas' fingers from the back of the chair. "Look, it's all right, just go do what he says for the time being." He tried to smile up at him but failed. Nicholas looked like a frightened animal, ready to bolt at the first sign of violence. Hopefully there wouldn't be any of that tonight. Roger wasn't feeling up for it.

Roger watched Nicholas edge around the room and go through the door on the left side of the wall. It wasn't until the door was closed that he could concentrate on his current situation. The pulse was no longer at his fingertips; he desired it, but now it was far enough away to ignore.

"You've captured Laët."

"I had thought so," Roger said honestly, unashamedly irritated. "What have you done with Mohan?"

"Then you didn't persuade him to take my property and run off?"

Roger blinked at the man across from him. "What?"

"My property, my property!" He repeated, almost screaming at him. "Laët! Mohan has taken him!"

Roger relaxed considerably, so much in fact that he started laughing. He couldn't remember the last time he had been so elated. If Mohan had been in the room just then he would have kissed him!

The Master scowled briefly and poured himself more wine. He cleared his throat before he spoke again, this time in a calm, even voice.

"I suppose it would be a waste of my time if I were to ask if you knew where he be headed?"

"It really would."

The Master's dark lips twisted into a sardonic grin, "Then answer me this: Why can't you kill someone quietly?"

"We're on the Northmen, now, I suppose," Roger said, feeling his hunger all the more worse now just recalling the memory.

"You look terrible. Let me guess," The Master laughed and set down his wine. He leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees as he addressed him. "You drank from one of them, you idiot."

"How would you know?"

"Because I know they've enough intelligence about us to develop a way to incapacitate you."

"They poison their blood?" Roger was beginning to understand now.

"Doesn't hurt them, but it has done considerable damage to you, hasn't it?"

"You knew about this and you didn't tell me."

"I'm telling you now."

"It doesn't help now!" Roger threw his hands up in exasperation.

The Master's voice was icy, "Why can't you do what you're told? You feed when I say you feed."

"I could do with one now actually," Roger muttered, "Of course, I should have allowed myself to be hacked to pieces by barbarians. Makes it more fun for you, doesn't it?"

The Master watched him in silence and didn't respond other than the periodic sip from his wine goblet. Roger couldn't stand the silence.

"What did those Northmen really want in Grey? I doubt there were there to sign a treaty as you had said before."

"No. They're messing around in my affairs."

"Probably has something to do with that portal in the forest surrounding Grey, no doubt." The Master stared at him, and Roger thought he registered a brief flicker of shock in those inky black eyes of his. "They're opening on their own, aren't they? That'd be a bit difficult for you to explain."

He seemed to ignore this question and went straight to the lecture. "You and Mohan, of all people, should not be out ripping people limb from limb."

"Sorry about that." Roger was smiling now, feeling giddy, but it was probably because he was starved. His head felt a million miles away when he reached up to push a stray blond hair behind his ear.

"Are you? That's a bizarre statement to make, Roger, and I don't believe you," The Master snorted derisively and leaned back in his chair, casually holding his wine glass as if their discussion was on the weather or some such trivial matter. "If I had not sought you out, how long do you think you'd be underground? How long had you been asleep? Surely we don't have to have this conversation again." He rolled his eyes, making the same motion with the hand holding the goblet of wine. "The first time you were so grateful, and it was easy to be gracious." He leaned forward again and looked Roger in the eye, "You are valuable to me. But every subsequent discussion on this topic has been tiresome. Do you think you cannot be punished?"

Roger shrugged. He was past caring. "Do what you must."

"What is he to you?" The Master pointed to the door on the left, the one Nicholas had disappeared behind.

"What is he to you?" Roger tried to push down the panic that was rising in his throat and swallowed with difficulty.

"I'm not sure yet, but I'm sure that you can help me find out." Roger tried to speak but he talked over him. "You don't trust me; you never have. I respect that. But you have nowhere to go. There are none that would welcome you, except in my service. You have made promises to me, and bonds in my ranks that cannot be broken. You have served me a long time and you will continue to do so."

"There are things out there worse than you."

"Yes," The Master nodded seriously. "And that alone should be reason enough to stay."

"What about Maria?" Roger was more curious about what she had to do to make up for Lent. It was funny, Lent hadn't mentioned any fight with Maria at all, but then again they had had more important things on their minds in the short amount of time they had been together.

"I thought you two didn't get on."

"We don't," Roger said, "But she can't survive without you."

"None of you can," The Master drained his cup and stood from his chair. "Lent will be along in the morning. I have some work for you." He walked over and lay a heavy hand on Roger's shoulder, "Roger, you look awful. You must be hungry," he whispered those last few words in his ear. Roger's mouth watered at the possibility of a meal. The Master pulled back and gestured to the room on the left with a jerk of his head. "You're friend—"

"Nicholas."

"Yes," he stared at Roger thoughtfully for a moment, the trace of a smile still on his lips. "He must hold tons of secrets."

"You want me to…?" Roger couldn't complete the question. He had to admit to himself that he had thought about it. He had thought about it a lot on the way up here: What would Nicholas taste like? But it wouldn't uncover any mystery however wonderful it might be. His stomach twisted and in the haze of all these thoughts he managed to say, "It doesn't work that way."

"How does it work, exactly?"

The Master's hand slid from his shoulder and off his arm. His grin and genuine—was it genuine? Roger couldn't tell—curiosity implied so much. It made Roger very uncomfortable. Did he know what happened between Mohan and him them that night in the inn? Mohan would be in it deep if he had spoken a word of what happened. Not to mention that Roger really didn't want to ever think about it again, let alone relate his version to the Tangarian across from him.

Roger fidgeted in his chair. "Oh, I'm sure you know."

"Not first hand."

The Master turned and walked to the door before Roger could respond. Roger shook his head but could not shake the knowledge of what a terrible turn that conversation had been taking. He stood numbly and found it difficult to concentrate on the Master's next words.

"Once Lent has regained his senses, I'll have him come and explain things in the morning. I'm a busy man." Roger started after him; the hunger within making him desperate. The Master turned and held up a hand, his smile was predatory. "Don't worry, I'll send up something to quench your thirst. I want your friend alive in the morning."

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A/N: I hope you guys are still with me after this. Thanks for reading!