Rare Kinds

When Mohan woke Mortimer was staring down at him, stone-faced. His eyes were fine slits of scrutiny and the one weird eye turned Mohan's stomach. It was a grayish filmy dead looking thing gazing at him—a hell of a wake-up call.

"We must begin," he said and tossed him a clean shirt. "Get up."

Mohan rubbed at the sleep in his eyes, not quite sure if he was actually awake or having the creepiest dream he had ever had. He glanced out of the hole in the wall that served as a window and noted the sky was pitch-black. Night sounds echoed from within the swamp, not even the moon was out. It seemed it too was still abed just as Mohan would rather be.

"Sun's not even up yet," he mumbled, still looking out of the window.

"This is important. There is no more time for sleep."

Mohan reluctantly dragged himself out of the straw bed at those words and yawned loudly. "Is there time for food, maybe?"

That was answered with a deep scowl. "If you have ever been given special treatment you will not receive it here. Do not expect this will be easy."

Those words snapped him awake. "Care to explain what's going on?"

"You are out of control," Mortimer explained as if he were talking to a bad dog. "I will control you until you can control yourself."

"What?"

"You will learn to control the beast within you or die," he said, "Which will it be? Fight or accept death."

"You were slightly nicer when we first met."

"You are mistaken," Mortimer crossed his arms over his chest, his expression leaving no room for argument. "Choose."

Mohan coughed nervously into his fist. "I don't want to die."

"That will suffice for now. How is it, I wonder, that you have held onto your humanity for so long?" Mohan shrugged. He had no ideas. The fact that it had something to do with his heritage was a given, but why it was happening the way it was …was a mystery. "For most the change comes earlier, deciding once and for all which is dominate."

"Which one usually wins?" Mohan had ten silvers on evil. Many years in the master's service had taught him to always bet on black.

"It is down to strength of will." Mohan rolled his eyes. He should have known the man was going to say that. "Do you have enough to cow your creature though? Would you destroy it if you could or share your life with it as I have?"

"It's very destructive," he said and wasn't trying to argue; more than anything he feared the thing would become so strong it would eradicate who he was. And he didn't want it around any of his friends, either. "You've made 'peace' with yours I take it?"

"We had a common goal from the start: survival at any cost. Our anger and desperation is what brought us together."

"You are better for it then?" he asked incredulously, gesturing to the run down home around them. "Living in this shack so far away from everything?"

"I wouldn't say I am better for it," he said with a sneer, "But it is better here than anywhere else, and I am not so far from the town that I cannot go and speak with those there, if they should deign to speak with me."

That didn't really explain at all what he was doing out here. "I'm sensing a story there."

"It does not matter and it does not pertain to what I wish to discuss."

"All… right…"

"I am guessing your upbringing was far different from mine, soft as you are." Mohan scowled over at him. "Your mother, I assume, is human."

"She was. A witch."

"I have heard of witches that make bargains with demons," he said the word witch like he was spitting something horrible out of his mouth. "She bore a child of theirs by choice?"

He nodded gravely, "By her word."

Mortimer snorted, amused. "Brave woman. What of your sire?"

Mohan paused and looked away. He had often thought of the demon. In the dark sometimes he still felt its blood, slick like oil on his hands. The satisfaction of knowing it could never return was hardly consolation considering only it had the information he needed. The thing had gloated, laughed in his face, and in a blind rage he had killed it instead. If this man could really teach him to control his inner monster, then he could finally let go of that regret.

"She killed him once the deed was done."

Mortimer's good eye narrowed at him, studied him for a long moment before he said, "I will not press you further. In the future I ask that you not lie to me again as it is most unwise to do so."

"What's the point of this interrogation?" he shouted, angry that this man could see through his lie. "What of your mother?"

"My mother was lured by a group of cultists and then given to the Kara'tel as a gift. Subsequently she was raped and tortured repeatedly."

Taken aback by such a frank and dispassionate confession, it was some time before he could scrounge up something to say. The Kara'tel of course had been absorbed into the master's ranks way before Mohan's time. They were rumored to be extremely vicious, even by demons' standards. He had heard of the blood cults that worshipped the Kara'tel, the atrocities these human cultists had committed in their name, but had never been face to face with one of their victims. At some length, he came up with, "She's dead, I hope?"

"She is dead." Mortimer might as well have said 'This shack is brown' for all the emotion that was in those words.

Mohan found it hard to look him in the eyes. At least this time it wasn't because of his crazy eye though he didn't feel any better. "I regret asking."

"I have no feelings on the matter. They are dealt with." His tone was dismissive; he swept the words away with a wave of his hand. "Tell me how you came under Andreschi's thumb."

Mohan wouldn't have exactly put it like that, but it was truth of it and would not argue the point with this man. He had been debating the issue long enough with Roger, who seemed to want to argue more than actually discuss anything. And this man, well, it would definitely be different than running with Roger. He could already tell Mortimer wouldn't let him get away with avoiding the issue.

"She was not unskilled but since she had no ties to an official school she was already an outcast, having me made her more so. After my mother died there was no one that would take me in." Not that he had anyone else. "No one wants to be saddled with an abomination."

Mortimer nodded. "People fear what they do not understand. A witch on her own without sanction is dangerous, and a child not fully human should never be allowed to live."

"That's what they told us." He studied Mortimer and thought he must know that Hadaikam held the same prejudices. Although they allowed him sanctuary they thought him feeble for being half human and had no reservations with telling him so. "I went to the underground. Eventually I had no choice but to give myself to him. Most in his employ will tell you that. I've had a better life with him that I would have anywhere else."

"That is only because you are weak." He said that as if it was a well-known fact.

Mohan knew the old man was just trying to rouse him, but his pride wouldn't let that statement go without answer. "I am not weak."

"We shall see." Even his gross eye looked skeptical. Mohan growled at it. "Did you take the brand?"

Mohan pulled off his ruined shirt, tossing the clean one he had been given to the side for the moment, and turned around. Getting the brand was a close second to the most painful experience of his life. For most initiates it was a requirement—all that swore were branded. Roger didn't have one, as he seemed to be immune to the dark magic.

On Mohan it was a raised pink scar on his shoulder blade—the lion-pawed eagle with its wings outstretched, surrounded by a perfect circle.

"Fitting," Mortimer hissed. "Andreschi is more of a monster than all of you wretches combined. How could you do that to yourself?"

"I didn't have much choice! Who do you think would have taken me in knowing what I am?"

"It doesn't matter. You're here now and if he knows where you are he's already written you off. You can never go back to him again." He seemed pleased about it, but Mohan didn't know what to do with himself.

There was no plan now. There was nothing to do and nowhere to go. Mortimer was the only one that could help him now. Roger was too far out of reach, and probably wouldn't really care all that much.

"You're probably right…" Mohan put on the shirt to avoid looking at the smug grin on the man's gnarled face. "How are you going to teach me to control this thing?"

"Ha!" Mortimer shoved some dried meat in his hand. "Eat this and listen. If you are going to accept it as I have you must first stop calling it a thing. It is a part of you that you must embrace. You must both give in to the other in order to survive as one."

"What if I can't do that?"

"Be quiet and eat," Mortimer scolded. "If you can't then you'll destroy yourself and to spare you the pain I would kill you. Understand?"

Mohan would have laughed if he didn't look so serious. The Master would eventually send someone to off him. The longer he was out of contact the more of a liability he posed. The only downside was waiting around. This guy was right in front of him, and clearly didn't trust his ability to control himself. Mohan couldn't say he was alone in that. Mortimer would have no problem cutting him down—if he could best his inner demon, and he probably could if Mohan was being honest with himself.

Having no options and nowhere else to turn, he gave a tensed nod and tore into the dried meat.

"Good. There is no room for doubt." Mortimer took a seat at a leaning wooden table and regarded him carefully. "I was taught through pain and necessity. I will have more patience with you than my captors had with me. We must go to the western mountains, in the deep forests there. There's been much activity in what used to be Pergne lands, and we will find subjects for you there."

"What kind of activity?"

"Does it matter? They are Northmen poking around at corpse." Mortimer then turned his back to him and began packing some things into a bag. "Out of their element."

"Corpse? What are you talking about?"

"You'll see when we get there. The ruins are what I speak of. The abandoned keeps hidden in the weld."

Mohan had never been there. He had no idea the keeps were still standing.

"And when you say 'subjects'?" Mohan cringed to think of it; what could Mortimer be saying?

The man let out an exasperated groan. "Do you normally question this much? Does Andreschi put up with this nonsense?"

"I haven't questioned him." Honestly, he couldn't imagine doing it and coming out unscathed.

"Therein lays your problem. One of them anyway," Mortimer insulted him casually. "We will capture a few and you will test yourself on them."

Mohan had no idea what that meant but it couldn't be good. It called to mind the night at the inn. One of those men he had ripped to pieces and… consumed—all that had been left was the violent spray of his blood all over the room and a pile of armor. The other… wherever he had gone, had left a hand and a trail of blood that led into the street. If this was going to be a repeat of that he'd definitely have to steel his nerves. He had come this far to keep the thing from harming anyone, but to unleash it? He wasn't sure that was wise.

Mortimer watched him carefully. "They're Northmen. Surely you don't give a wit for them?"

"…No," he said but he wasn't really sure that anyone deserved what his inner monster had in store for them.

"Good." He gave him a terrifying smile. "We'll need blood. A lot of it."

---

Asesil led them up the narrow stairs to an old door. "Roger's already seen this, but I apologize in advance. My mother lived up here. After she died we closed the door and it's been closed ever since."

The door creaked open when she pushed lightly on it, a long sustained groan that sent shivers down Nick's spine. "Did she die up here?"

"Oh no," Asesil said as they all filed into the dark and dusty room. "She died long ago, way before she stopped living."

It seemed an odd thing to say but he didn't question it after seeing the look on her face. He looked around, noting the thick layer of dust on everything. Cobwebs hung from corners of the ceiling, clung to the heavy fabric covering the furniture. The curtains must have been very nice once, but when Nick touched them they fell apart in his hands.

"How long has she been gone?" Asesil didn't answer; and when he turned to look she had already gone down the stairs.

Nick wiped two fingers down the wall and discovered that the wallpaper was lime green underneath all the dust. He cringed, seeing hand-painted hummingbirds suspended in flight randomly on the wall, hovering around large pink flowers.

Behind him Roger was pulling cloths off the furniture, stirring up large clouds of throat-choking dust, and Lent had gone through a door on the far side of the room.

"There's a bed in here," Lent called from the other room. "Though she probably died in it."

Nick and Roger shared a horrified look. "Not it," Nick said and turned back to the window, pushing aside the fragile curtains to reveal a dingy window. He turned the latch, pushed the panes outward and was rewarded with a disturbing view of the parade down below.

"Didn't think I'd have to clean it up," Roger muttered behind him, beating at what sounded like a cushion.

Nick coughed in a cloud of dust created by Roger. "Lent, did she really die in here?"

"I don't know," Lent shrugged, waving in the air to keep the dust from his face. "Why are you asking me? Have you seen a ghost?"

"What have I gotten myself into?" Nick muttered to himself, staring down at two people who seemed not to realize that they were in the middle of the parade crowd, and were going at it like they were the only two people in the world. A tight circle rallied around them, shouting encouragement. "What kind of festival is this?"

Roger peered over his shoulder, the cushion in his hand poking Nick in the back. "Oh-ho," he said, spotting what Nick was staring at and to his embarrassment said; "Now that's a party."

Lent pulled the dusty curtains closed which hardly mattered, as half of them broke off and floated to the floor like ashes. "The way these people carry on we'll never get anything accomplished."

"It'll be easy to hide in a crowd like this if he sends someone after us," Roger said but it was hardly reassuring.

"Depends on who," Lent answered and gave Nick a sympathetic look. "I hate to say this, but it may be best if you stay here. I don't want you wandering around by yourself."

"You think I want to join that…" he jerked his head in the direction of the window. "…whatever it is they're doing?"

"Would be better than staying in here," Roger said lowly, casting a disgusted look around the room.

"We may be stuck here for some time—at least until it's time for the appointment. The festival may delay that, we can't be sure."

"These people take their partying very seriously, Nicholas," Roger said, mimicking Lent's stoic tone. His impression was very good, even if his voice wasn't right. It wasn't as low or deep, and there was no way he could lower his brow to copy Lent's intimidating stare. "They know nothing of the history of this city or the struggle of their ancestors!"

Nick was tempted to laugh until he found himself under the weight of Lent's disapproving gaze, daring him to try, but he couldn't help but smile. "You have to admit you do sound like that sometimes."

"Sometimes?" Roger cocked an eyebrow and then returned to beating the cushion in his hands.

It took some time to clean up the rooms. Lent and Nick did most of the work whereas Roger took frequent breaks to complain about it. Asesil didn't help—she didn't seem to want to be in the rooms too long—but she brought them tea with the annoying little bits left in after they were finished. Nick really missed that bath in the Master's house, but doubted he'd ever get anything like that again. He felt tired enough that he just might sleep through the drunken chanting outside, however unlikely that seemed.

Lent pulled over a chair from a desk at a side wall and dropped onto it with a groan. The couch was inviting but Nick was covered in dust. He didn't dare sit on it. Roger gently pushed past him, however, and stretched along the length of it. When Nick narrowed his eyes at him, Roger grinned and patted a cushion beside him.

"Get comfortable," he said, his impressively green eyes darkening mischievously. Nick did his best to ignore him.

"It looks better than before," Asesil said slowly, looking around after she had set the tea tray down on a small table in the middle of the room. "I wouldn't have been much help. The memory of her is too strong in these rooms."

"We could go down to the kitchen," Lent offered, but didn't seem too eager to move. Cleaning the place had been hard work. It had been sorely neglected.

"No, no, you're all too filthy."

Roger laughed, "I usually don't mind getting dirty."

"I think I've heard you say that before," she teased him. "I'll leave you to it. My midwife's downstairs waiting for me. Do us all a favor and wash yourselves off or something, but leave us be for a while. We've much to discuss."

"Ugh," Roger sighed, clearly disgusted. "You don't have to worry about me dropping in then."

"I'll just stay here and try to drink around these leafy bits," Nick said, picking up a cup. Asesil gave him a hard look, and smiled tightly. He took a sip and tried to spare her feelings, "It's… different?"

"Thank you," Lent interjected and guided her out of the room. "For all that you've done. We'll be no trouble." He cast a warning look over his shoulder at Roger. "I'll watch them."

"While you're reading all those books? Fat chance, elf," Roger teased.

"Don't fret. Tend to your plans," Lent assured her, but when she left he looked nervous.

"This tea is disgusting," Nick said and poked at the bits within.

"You may not have to get used to it. She's going to have that baby soon. I doubt her husband will want fugitives and a vampire around his young."

"What makes you think I'd want to be around a baby?" Roger asked. He plucked the cup out of Nick's hands and set it on the table. "You really don't expect us to stay inside the whole time?"

"I don't think I'd be able to keep you from doing anything, but I advise that whatever it is you do you make it discreet. We don't need the city guard after us as well. We're already in enough trouble."

"Discretion. Got it," Roger said and gave Nick a wink that he didn't understand but left him a little warm under the collar.

Nick almost reached for the cup again he was so thirsty, but thought better of it as he felt around for tea leaves in his mouth with his tongue. Tea bags would be a good investment. Anything other than tea to drink would be a better one.

"Surely there's something else for him to drink?" Roger's eyes narrowed at the tea tray. "I could nip down and poke around in her cabinets."

"Don't disturb them."

"Mohan usually carried a bottle of something in his pack. Don't you have anything?"

"Funny you should ask," Lent said and went to the desk upon which he had put his bag. "Mohan gave me his pack before he left. Said he wouldn't need it. I thought it was odd at the time but after reviewing its contents I'd say just about everything in here will be useful. He probably should have taken it with him."

"I don't think he ever planned on making it back," Roger said softly, as if he had just realized that.

Nick stared at him a moment, noting the seriousness in his features when he spoke of his friend. Roger sat up and hung his head. He almost felt sorry for him, but this Mohan, whoever he was, could probably handle himself if he had been running with Roger for so long.

"He'll get himself into trouble without me," Roger whispered in a sorrowful tone.

"If I know anything about Mohan it's that he's a survivor." Lent's smile was sympathetic, but it was only met with Roger's scowl.

"He's fine," he snapped, glaring into Lent's eyes. "I don't need you comforting me."

"Walk it off then, and leave us be," Lent said gently and they both watched him climb out of the window without another word. Lent pulled out a canteen from the bag and tossed it over to Nick. "It's going to be a long week."

"I suspect the same." Nick stared out of the window, hearing Roger's heavy footsteps fall on the roof.

---

Roger was gone for the rest of the evening, which felt strange for some reason. Nick couldn't have gotten used to being under his watch, could he? It wasn't exactly pleasant. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that they were somehow vulnerable without him. And what could he be doing out there in the streets alone? He imagined him out there, stalking alleyways, lithely awaiting some weak-willed passerby. How did he do it, Nick wondered. Did he charm them first or simply catch them unaware? With Roger it was probably charm, and he was charming in a crude sort of way, though Nick would never admit as much aloud.

He and Lent had spent that time in the rooms, pouring over the useless books Lent had acquired from the library. Nick sat on the couch, piles of books around him and not one of them could he read. Instead he tried to work out the creepy ink drawings within them, but even those seemed to be in code. It wasn't long before he had to voice his mounting frustration.

"What I don't understand is why I could read the sign on the inn and not these stupid books!" Nick shoved the whole pile aside, scattering the books to the floor.

Lent looked up from his reading, regarding him as one would a child having a tantrum. "The sign, as most posted warnings and laws, are spelled to convey meaning. There are many that don't know the language or cannot read written word. I saw King's but you saw your own language."

"You're Tangarian," Nick still wasn't used to that. Even saying it felt otherworldly. "Why didn't you see your own language? Don't Tangarians have one?"

He put the book down, "I wasn't raised in Tangar and unfortunately I can't read Tangarian. I can speak it… passably…"

"You can't read your own language." He was in awe, and immediately felt a rush of sympathy for the man. "Why not?"

"I've never needed to," Lent admitted with a shrug and looked ashamed. "Tannika is the seat of this world. The Tangarian culture is disappearing. Tangar is subject to the rule of a human king and has been for hundreds of years. There is hardly anyone alive who speaks Tangar exclusively. I'd imagine the language barrier would be quite limiting given the state of the world right now. It's a lot to explain but I expect you can understand that a child can learn to speak before he can read."

"I'm not stupid, Lent," he said, all sympathy gone as he glanced down at the scattered books on the floor.

"No, don't misunderstand me," he stood and bent to pick up the books. "I'm ashamed and saddened that my heritage has been taken away from me. That there is no place that truly belongs to Tangarians anymore. We are a dying culture. Tangarians today believe their history began with Tannikan rule." He paused, a few books stacked precariously in his arms as he straightened and looked out of the window, eyes fixed on the palace in the distance. Just the top of its tower was in view but it was a beautiful place, trimmed with pale silver light from the moon. "What happened before has been rewritten by kings of men. I believe the Master is the only one of us who has been alive long enough to remember what it was like before Tangar was brought to its knees."

"You admire him. Surely it's not just because he's lived so unnaturally long." Nick couldn't believe that after all this Lent could find anything positive in his service to such a man. "You must know something I don't."

"In a way I suppose I do admire him," he said with a sigh, and placed the books back on the table in front of Nick. "…but he and I are very different. He has had many centuries that have shaped the way he is. Not to mention at my age he was in the army, a general."

"Him?" Nick laughed, "A general… I don't know about that." Then he thought about it for longer than a second and cocked his head. "He does seem to command a lot of power."

"Of course."

"But I suppose he'd tell you anything to get on your good side."

"Nick, you have been listening to Roger's paranoid theories; that is clear."

"He doesn't need to tell me his theories. You trust him, then?" he asked incredulously. "After taking me this far, putting your life at stake to keep me from him, you still trust him?"

"No, I don't trust him, but he can't lie to me."

"That's a very naïve thing to say. Do you have a debt to him, like Roger does?"

Lent gave him a sharp look. "Roger's debt isn't for me to know and I'm surprised he told you about it."

It was clear that this was another thing on the list of many that couldn't be discussed with him. He hated that. And why did Lent think he shouldn't know? A lot of things were simply taken out of his hands as if he couldn't handle the truth of them, but seriously, he thought, on top of all of this what was a few more unbelievable things? And what did they owe to a master they had defied to keep such secrets? Was it that important now?

"He didn't. I just assumed. Why would someone like him follow someone like that unless they had to?" He was surprised that Roger answered to anyone; he certainly didn't act like it.

Lent nodded solemnly. "I am bound to him, yes."

"Why? How?"

"That is for me to regret, though I had no other choice. I will not tell you."

"Figures," Nick muttered under his breath, now more frustrated than he was with the damn books. "Is there anything you can tell me?"

"There are some things we must discuss. I am glad we are alone." He looked meaningfully out the open window and then over to the door, which was shut. Lent then fixed him with such a serious look that he was sure Lent was going to tell him he was dying. "Roger is an unnatural creature."

"I know this," Nick said with a disappointed sigh. "Your potion proved useful. He has kept his distance."

He held up a hand to stop him from saying any more. "The potion is gone and I have no further ingredients to make more."

"I…" Nick uncomfortably cleared his throat. "I see."

"Yes," Lent pulled the chair over from the desk and sat across from him while Nick fidgeted on the couch. He sat down and continued in a hushed voice, as if the subject of their conversation might drop in on them at any moment. "Don't relax around him. He can be dangerous in his negligence."

"I'd think he would be dangerous all the time."

He shook his head but still seemed unsure. "I do not think he means to hurt you intentionally, but he is a vampire."

"Why aren't you afraid of him?"

"He wouldn't dare go after me." The confidence of that statement made it wholly believable. That and the fact that Lent looked so damn intimidating.

"How am I supposed to protect myself from him? I don't have any holy water or crucifixes…" Nick trailed off, feeling stupid as Lent just stared at him with a confused expression.

"Whatever those are, they won't stop him," he said, "But you've gotten him to back off before. You're stronger than you think." Lent cocked an eyebrow and gave him a rare smile, which looked a little strange on his normally so serious face. "You have nerve enough to fight your way out of a corner."

He got up and retrieved something wrapped in cloth from his pack by the desk and tossed it over. Nick unwrapped it, surprised to see a dagger within. Its blade was crooked, wavy like an embroidered stitch, and when he touched it, it was so sharp that it cut his fingertip with the slightest graze.

He looked up at Lent's mysterious smile, "You're giving me a knife?"

"Sharp enough to shave with. I'd been meaning to say you ought to, but I wouldn't recommend using that."

"This… will keep him away from me?" He stared at the thing with wide eyes.

"Doubtful, but it's better than nothing. Have you ever used one?"

"Stabbing Roger in your master's house was the first time." And it had been satisfying in an extremely disturbing way.

"If Asesil wasn't so pregnant I'd have her teach you. She's the best with a short blade, aside from Mohan… who isn't here to say anything about it. The blade's his but he won't miss it. As I recall he never used it. It has a sentimental value."

"Then it's hardly right that I should keep it." Nick held it out to him but Lent refused it.

"You must. It's the only weapon here. I don't use weapons and Roger doesn't need them."

Roger he could see not needing anything more than a grin and all those pointy teeth; that made sense. "You don't use weapons?"

"Nothing will stand between me and my enemy. If I will best him it will be with my hands or by my craft."

"You're like a walking wall. Anyone would be stupid to try." Nick certainly wouldn't. All of his plans of escape included everyone being asleep right at the start. Or somehow turned to stone. He hadn't worked out the details.

"Some don't have the sense," Lent shrugged. "Keep the dagger. Maybe it will be useful to you."

"Thanks, I think."

"You should get some sleep, there's nothing more you can do." Lent scanned the pile of books on the table and frowned at his journal. "I will look over what we have left. Roger will be back sometime. I'd lock the window in that room if I were you."

"You don't think he would …?"

"Try to rest," Lent said and bent his head over one of the books.

Nick took the dagger into the other room and shut the door behind him. He put the thing under his pillow but couldn't stop staring at where he had put it while he was taking off his shirt. He stretched out on the clean sheets and pressed his face into the pillow. Despite the noise outside, it wasn't long until he was fast asleep.

---

Days of travel had placed Maria on the edge of the western mountains, a beautiful wilderness in what used to be a province governed by the Pergnes, a line that held that land since the first king of Tannika was crowned. She gazed out from the window of the coach, seeing a stone keep through the towering trees, and immediately thought of Lent. He was a scholar, a great lover of history, and would be the one who would most appreciate such a sight.

The keep had been standing for hundreds of years and indeed looked it as they came closer. It seemed as if the Northmen had hirelings repairing the thing, lest it all come tumbling down on them. What were they doing out here in the wilderness? She had never heard of Northman preservationists. The thought furrowed her brow.

"At last, my dear. We are finally at the outpost," said 'Mister Black'. She had been doing her best to ignore him the entire trip, despite his unfailing and suspicious politeness. "You will rest and then we will speak at length. There is much to tell you."

Maria barely graced him with a glance, her thoughts elsewhere. Ever since leaving the Hadaikam, agreeing to this mess, whatever it was, she had felt so tired. Her power was dwindling, but she couldn't decide if it was because of being threatened into betraying Olecksi or if Olecksi already knew what she had done and was drawing it out of her. Gods, she was sounding as paranoid as Roger, she admonished herself inside her head. Olecksi was indeed a powerful man, but how could he know?

"I don't think I'll be able to rest until I hear what's to be done with me," she said as the coach was stopped at a gate so carefully concealed by ivy she didn't notice it until it swung slowly open before them.

"Then know that we will speak and no harm will come to you. We are in desperate times, my lady, and we need you."

She turned to look on him then, the sincerity in his words lost on her. "Am I to trust men who would use threats to get me in their service?"

He bowed his head and had the decency to look a little sheepish. "That was a precaution yes, to get you here."

"You're that confident in your argument?" Maria entertained the idea of killing him right then, but then she'd have to fight a few dozen men to get out of there. "Would you allow me to leave if I disagree?"

Black chuckled deeply and swung open the door of the coach. He stepped out and politely extended his hand to help her out. "I will present you with facts and let you be the judge of what is needed."

"Then it is your mistake to put your trust in me," she said, gently pushing aside his arm, much to his amusement, and exited the coach without assistance.

"Perhaps. We will see."

"Very well, Mister Black."

"Forgive me for not guiding you inside. You will be taken to one of the refurbished rooms where you may recover from our journey. I will call on you later on. Until then your time is your own," he paused and gave her a gracious smile, "But I plead with you not to try to escape until you have heard what I have to say."

"Make it good," she called over her shoulder, as men gathered around her to take her to her room.

---

It was good to get some fresh air. Even if the fresh part was the distinct undertone of rotting garbage. Nick was enjoying being out in the sun, and he had to admit he was curious about the city, even if he had to take Roger with him.

King's town seemed to house the oddest conglomeration of architecture. It wasn't as if it was all that unusual from what he would have found in his world, but to have all these structures in styles from different eras all bunched up together called up all kinds of nervous feelings.

Asesil's block was all clustered wooden houses, awash in shades of brown. The streets there were mud rather than the brick streets they had taken to the university. Now that had been a thing to see. It was a spiraling structure, oval shaped, with those apartment buildings Lent had called dorms connected to the main tower by wooden bridges. It was intimidating the way it loomed over, blocking out the sky when you stood at its front steps.

"What first?" Roger asked, interrupting his open-mouthed staring at the city around them.

It hadn't taken them long to cross from Asesil's muddy part of town onto the cracked brick streets further in. These were wider, more accommodating to wagons and of course, the giant parade heads should they happen to pass by again.

Rows of tables were set up along a side street, men and women standing beside them, peddling their wares. One merchant was so adorned in copper jewelry it hurt Nick's eyes to look at him. Within his kinky beard were braids, multicolored beads and more copper jewelry, making him look pretty ridiculous even for this place. He stood out and it really worked for him judging by the man's disposition.

"Oy," he yelled in greeting at them. On the table before him was a row of interesting lanterns made of what looked like twisted metal and blue stained glass. They practically sparkled as much as the merchant beside them. "I see that. Come have a look!"

"Hey," Roger warned loud enough for the man to hear. "Don't make eye contact."

Nick laughed and walked over; amused at the way the man bristled at Roger's comment, and the way he turned away from him to smile at a hopeful customer. His loss, as Nick's wallet was in another dimension… apparently… and he doubted this man would accept a credit card anyway.

"Bah," the man swatted at Roger's direction. "He is obviously a creature incapable of recognizing true worth."

Roger scowled in his periphery. Then something strange caught his eye below the merchant's twisted beard. Was that… a name tag? "Where did you get that?"

"Oh, you've noticed my medal," the man beamed and thrust out his chest in pride. "I received this honor in Petit-foret. Weird, close-minded folk, but sublime wine in that one tavern of theirs. They have that Tangarian Red. Knocks a man down flat!"

"It's a name badge," Nick insisted and jabbed the air in front of it with his finger. "It says 'Welcome to Lucky's gas station. My name is Carl'."

The man deflated, his shoulders slumping. "My name's not Carl," he confessed sadly.

Nick stared at him. "It's made of plastic!"

"What's a gas station? Never mind, good sir," he said. "My name might not be Carl, but I found it in the forest there in Petit-foret, so I wasn't lying really. I often find unusual things around my fairy hunting grounds there."

"Oh no," Roger said suddenly, "This is about to get unpleasant. Don't ask—"

"Fairies?" Nick asked, ignoring Roger's warning.

The vampire hung his head, "Oh gods…"

"I caught a nest of them hoarding interesting relics like this," the merchant gestured to the name badge and Nick snorted. "Bonus, I'd say."

"Fairies, though?" Nick almost laughed it sounded so ridiculous. "Really?"

"You've never seen one?" At this point, Roger had grabbed his arm and was slowly dragging him away. Nick shrugged him off so the man could continue. "They're these little blue naked things about the size of your fist. Hair made of light and these stupid grins on their teensy faces. Runs me ragged chasing them. Brats. Got the faces of children and tiny cold hearts—if they even have those."

"Let's walk away now…" Roger whispered but Nick continued to ignore him, though it was becoming increasingly difficult.

"Anyway, I pop their heads off and smash them up." Nick's mouth fell open, but his shock went unnoticed as the man continued, staring down fondly at his product as he explained. "I use the goo left to coat the glass. They glow for at least a year. They're really popular with couples. A lover bathed in fairy light is a sight to behold, certainly."

Nick stood, aghast, and could only stare from the lamps to the strange merchant and then finally at his name tag in horror. Carl was a complete bastard.

"Amazing, isn't it?" Nick fervently shook his head in disagreement. "You'd think it'd be unprofitable, me telling you that, but most people prefer to buy them rather than go to the trouble themselves."

"I can't imagine," Nick said.

"Interested?" The merchant grinned, his gold capped teeth blinding him momentarily.

"God, no!" Nick took a few giant steps back and thought he was going to be sick for a second.

"I knew you wouldn't like it," Roger said gently, a sympathetic smile on his face. "Lent doesn't either."

"It's so…" but the word for what it was escaped him. Roger guided him away, and that was good because he couldn't stop staring at those lamps. The merchant called after them but he was thoroughly ignored.

"Don't look like that," Roger said. He smacked his cheek a couple of times lightly with his hand. "Aww, you look like a child. Stop pouting."

Nick jerked away and narrowed his eyes at the market strip behind them. "He's painting lamps with fairy goo."

"That's Carl's business. There are other things to see."

"Something less horrific, I hope."

"There's the university. It's slightly less horrifying, but you've already seen that," Roger turned with the directions his thoughts were taking him: north, toward the inner square they had passed on their way to the university when they'd first arrived. "There's a rather gaudy statue and the cathedral, if you're into that sort of thing."

"What sort of thing?" Nick asked skeptically.

Roger gave him a playful smile and shrugged a shoulder. "Oh, you know. Religion, architecture… a quick snog in the confessional." He trailed off wistfully as Nick tried to work out what snog meant.

When it hit him he desperately tried to keep a straight face but it was difficult as a twitch developed at the corner of his mouth. He had to turn away and disappear inside his head for a moment, where perhaps kissing a vampire wasn't the most dangerous thing he could think of.

"There's the statue, then," Roger said irritably. "If you can't spare a kiss or two." Upon receiving more silence in answer he said, "Oh, come on. I'm only half-joking."

"What's the statue of?"

"Seamus the Knight. He's some dead hero that saved a bunch of people," he said disinterestedly. "They put him up across from the cathedral."

"That's quite the story."

"Lent tells it better."

"Lead the way. Maybe your version will get better while we're looking at it."

A few minutes later they were at the center. An ornately decorated cathedral stood on Nick's right, bathed in the yellow light of the sun. It was like nothing he had ever seen; its columns were high enough to touch the clouds. Crowds of bedraggled folk clustered around them, being attended to by a couple of men dressed in plain robes.

"Some of those lot just need to go home and sleep it off. Anyway, there's the statue." His tone was dismissive. "Seamus," he added, as if that explained it all.

When Nick turned around to look, he found himself in the shadow of a giant, grim looking statue of a man in armor, raising his sword to the sky in victory. Its eyes stared straight ahead, disapprovingly toward the cathedral. Nick wondered if that was on purpose.

Nevertheless, grim as the man looked, he was handsome. No doubt when alive he had been a force to be reckoned with. His sword arm was impressively carved toned muscle, and the sword in that hand was fearsome. It was a great thing, and looked as sharp as the real thing must have been. Along its blade were seven symbols, and of course, Nick couldn't read them, but they must have been important. There was a plaque at the man's feet. Nick couldn't read that either.

"It's…" Nick drew his eyes back up to the statue's face, that strong smooth jaw line. "…impressive," he concluded, unaware of the awe in his voice.

"It's all right," Roger said, his tone slightly suspicious. Nick felt his eyes on him but refused to turn around. He continued studying the statue, eyes drawn to the plaque he couldn't read.

"He's …handsome," Nick admitted offhandedly and stepped closer to run his fingers over the raised characters on the plaque.

"You like heroes, do you?" Roger snorted behind him. "He probably never looked like that anyway. Why are you so fascinated? Aren't there heroes where you come from?"

"I haven't given it much thought." If Nick was being completely honest he wasn't sure if heroes really existed.

"There's no profit in it. I'm sure he wasn't all good as they say."

"What does the plaque say?"

"Name, date…" Roger drawled tiredly. "Something about saving the world. What do you think?"

Nick snorted. Roger was a terribly story teller. "You're a wealth of information."

"Thanks," Roger said uncertainly and began to fidget in Nick's periphery. He was shifting his weight anxiously, arms crossed over his chest. "There are other things to see, you know. We don't have to spend all day staring at this bloody statue."

Nick gave him a brief curious look. "You don't like it?"

"It's fine. The first time I saw it I'm sure I thought the same. I've seen it hundreds of times since and nothing's changed. It's just a big thing made of stone."

"It's pretty amazing. I've never seen anything like this." Nick gazed up at it some more, feeling Roger's hard stare on the back of his head. "The closest was the statue in front of city hall, but that was only seven feet tall. And bronzed. It hurt my eyes to look at it. Always shuddered to see its creepy smile when I walked past. It had a mustache only a pedophile would wear. It didn't have a sword either. It was carrying a briefcase. Really stupid."

"Well, if I can take you away from this paragon of manliness there is much to see."

"Paragon of-?" His eyebrows scrunched together in confusion as he was grabbed at the elbow and dragged out of the square. He jerked his elbow back. "Look, I'd rather just go back to Asesil's if it's the same to you."

"What? There's the royal gardens. I haven't broken in there in ages!" His mischievous smile caused all sorts of nervous feelings to churn within Nick's stomach.

"I'm not breaking in anywhere." He wasn't sure if Roger was serious or not—when did he ever seem serious?—but it wasn't a good idea to push things, tense as they were.

He frowned. "Suppose I could go off and you could run back and make doe eyes at that statue again."

"What-?" Nick didn't get it until he saw the look on his face.

Was he … jealous of a statue? It was a good looking statue, true, but it didn't even compare. Where did that come from? Nick wasn't about to tell him this; it would only encourage the stubborn bastard even more. He felt a little shame even admitting it to himself just now. The way Roger carried on about himself! As if he was the only one in the world.

"Oh, whatever," Roger sighed heavily and set off back the way they came. "Let's go then. I'm sure you'll want to insult Asesil's tea a few more times."

"It's terrible," he defended himself. "I was just being honest."

"Honesty gets you into trouble," he actually sounded as if he believed that. Nick couldn't help but agree that in most cases, lying was probably the best option, but when it got to the point you were coughing up tea bits someone had to know. Roger stopped, a hand on his hip, and spun around to face him. "You're not interested at all in what this city has to offer?"

"I am, sure, there's not much else I can do."

"Sitting around and waiting for that appointment isn't going to do any good."

"I know, all right. That's why I came into the city with you in the first place. I haven't had the best time but it's kept my mind off it." In truth the fairy lamps got them off to a bad start, and fair enough Roger had tried to warn him.

"Don't you care about this? It's a slim chance it can even be helped, whatever it is you've got, but you've got to try, right?"

"Yes, I've got to try," Nick groused. Roger was talking about it like it didn't even matter to him. Of course it did! That was whole reason he hadn't tried to escape yet. It hadn't been easy, getting to this point—where he could accept where he was just as a means to find some real answers. "You can't imagine what it's like not knowing who you are…" Roger sharply looked away and he felt some measure of sympathy, however small. "Okay, so maybe you do. I have to know if what I've been told my entire life is a lie. Part of me wants to believe it can be helped, but nothing has worked so far."

"So it seems a long shot. You take it anyway."

Could it really be that easy? "What's one more disappointment, right?"

"Stop blubbering," his tone was teasing, which only angered Nick further. "You've come so far. It's foolish to just give this up before you've even started."

"I'm not blubbering," he snapped, "I'm not giving up either. You didn't see what I saw. It was terrifying to discover this latent… talent." Nick hardly saw it that way. Whatever this was, it felt more like a curse than a gift. "These dreams too, they may mean something, I don't know. Maybe they don't. This whole thing could just be a product of my deranged mind. Whatever it is, I want the answer."

"You're not deranged. Well, maybe a little," Roger set a hand on his shoulder and it was promptly shoved away. "Try not to dwell on it."

"Try not to dwell on it?" He was on the verge of launching a punch to that cheeky grin on his face.

"Not very charming. You need to get out. Live a little. Have some fun before you're officially declared insane."

"I don't care if it's charming or not, and what you think is fun probably isn't on my list of things to do before I die."

"You're such a coward!" Roger shouted at him, "You've spent your whole life locked away in some place or another and haven't taken a chance on anything! Bet that night weeks ago had been the first time you'd ever been to a pub."

"You have no idea what my life has been like…" Nick's patience was at its limits, not that he had much to begin with, and did Roger seriously believe that night at the pub was so wonderful? He had been horrendously sick, not to mention he hadn't gotten any answers out of him. Not dangerous to you, he had said. Bullshit. He had been shot at by a crazy woman and terrorized by a white haired psychopath that had plans to… well, it couldn't have been good anyway!

"You could have done something," Roger insisted. "You still can."

"I'm doing what I can! Should I do more?" Suppose he could just go back in time and correct it all. Like it was that simple! Failing that, he could just stab the shit out of Roger right now, which is just about the only option than came to mind. "Never mind, I'm not arguing this with you!" Nick had to shove him away again. Were people normally so handsy? "You think you know it all from reading a few pages of notes? From stalking around my apartment like… like a-?"

"Vampire?" Roger offered.

"That's not what I was trying to say," he said darkly.

"What then?" The cheeky grin was back, mocking him. It looked like he was enjoying this. "Go on, scream it at me."

He itched to close the distance between them and give Roger what he really needed. Reining that in was difficult, but he reminded himself that they were on the run, and drawing attention wasn't a good idea. "You're infuriating!"

"Part of my charm. If you had charm, you'd recognize that."

"Oh, shut up. I can't believe I'm stuck with you. How could you help anyone?" Arrogant asshole. "How could you possibly help me?"

"Maybe because I'm one of the two that's willing and capable, or have you forgotten who dragged your ass out of the Mast—," Roger lowered his voice and cast a glance around them for prying ears. He quickly corrected himself, "…the safe house."

"No I haven't forgotten that," he shook his head ruefully, "Thank you, by the way. It's just been awesome."

"A great deal better than what your fate would have been had I left you there."

"I'm starting to wonder." Things thus far hadn't been a picnic in the sun. Only the thought of being locked up again was keeping him from trying to escape.

"Don't be such a fool;" Roger's eyes flashed angrily, "He would use you like he uses me, at the very least. If that's what you want then by all means, head that way."

People were starting to stop and stare. This probably wasn't a conversation to be screaming in public. Nick fixed him with an angry glare. "We're done here." On those words he turned and began walking back the way they came.

Roger laughed at his back. Why couldn't he just shut up and let this go? "And here I thought you might be bold enough to use that dagger Lent gave you."

"It's still an option." Nick didn't bother turning around. "I'm not afraid of you." That last part was a lie and Nick knew it.

Roger frightened him more because of the dreams than anything else. He was a dangerous thing to be sure, but there was something even more dangerous brewing between them. Now that was the frightening part. And confusing.

The thought that maybe whatever the dreams was trying to tell him included the vampire just made things worse. Roger had a part in this, but it had yet to be revealed. Nick scowled, deep in these thoughts, and the scowl only deepened when he noticed the vampire had caught up to him.

"Why are all the handsome ones so stupid?" Roger playfully nudged his side with his own, his arm threatened to slip around his shoulders again.

"Don't," Nick shrugged him off once more. "Stop touching me."

"Keep brooding. See if I care."

Nick walked ahead in silence, well aware that the vampire followed not far behind. Yet it wasn't until he reached Asesil's door that he'd realized Roger had disappeared into the crowd somewhere and had finally left him alone.