Vampiris Sancti: The Elf (18 page)

Zyre closed her
door and wandered out onto the small balcony which gave her a
perfect view of the large garden. She watched the plants receive
the grace of the morning light and finished the gift with gusto.
For after all an ally was still an ally—regardless of
circumstance.

Elf Magic

The Elf was the
magical being that utilised their talents to the utmost for they
were also the magical being that tended to stray furthest from
home. These wandering adventurers would exploit whatever attributes
affected those they encountered because they were often the only
means of survival the Elf had. While the Elf happily exploited her
profound effect upon demons she remained unconcerned of the long
lasting effect of the most powerful of her weapons—the magic of her
own being. She used the caress of her voice, mesmerised with
kaleidoscope eyes, yet she would be offended if accused of seducing
another. That her lips, filled with the promise of delights, could
distract even the most hardened Varkja or enlightened Martyc long
enough for her to form an escape was a truth she deftly avoided.
The Elf, a creature without visible weapon or armour, had been
fortified by the universe far more formidably than the sturdiest
warrior demon.

Subject to lure
of misbehaviour the Elf used her hypnotic ability to create a
moment of distraction where she could assess the extent of her
affect upon her audience. It was within these glimmers that she
considered the path that achieved her goal without actual intimate
interaction. The Elf was not a creature that considered a
straightforward approach when mischief was available and for her to
ask for what she needed was as offensive as asking a Varkja to hand
over his weapon. Her life was a myriad of wicked adventures formed
without forethought of consequence. True to her magical spirit she
sought to relieve whoever she encountered of their wealth,
information, or hubris, with the relative ease of one blessed with
both beauty and ability.

An Elf entering
an area, if she didn’t have a specific target in mind, would scan
the vicinity to find the blatant desires of the most foolish among
those present. Their desire and fear would radiate like the
blinding rays of a fierce demon sun to attract the Elf like a moth
to flame. Her focus, evident to all those who sought to distract
her attention, sought out a victim who suddenly found themselves
with the company of a highly desirable yet terrifying creature.
Usually the overwhelming desire of the being was the signal an Elf
required to choose their company, unless the desire radiated from a
Martyc. This demon was uncontrollable and any mischief would be
considered an invitation to pursue a relationship. Therefore,
sighting of a Martyc usually entailed a hasty retreat before the
demon had time to exercise his power over the environment.

Once cornered
the victim found themselves prisoner of her eyes, the strange
kaleidoscope of blue and green ever changing according to her
mood—they could entrap a demon for an eternity. Her voice, like
rich honey, would embrace and seduce while wrapping the hapless
creature into a haze of ecstasy allowing the Elf to manipulate them
into agreeing to anything. If the subject had a resilient nature,
then she would use the proximity of her body to overpower their
senses. The tinkle of her laugh, like delicate bells on a gentle
wind, would distract as she repositioned herself until she
permeated all their senses. The victim would recall the ruby of her
lips inviting a besotted gaze, the sweet floral scent of her, the
emerald of her eyes caressing their soul while her voice bewitched
them into revealing all.

Only those who
had been accosted by Elf magic could understand the impact of her
upon the world of her target. Though they would outwardly curse the
day that they crossed paths with this magical rogue—her seduction
remained forever with them. It was the hidden desire in the mists
of their dreams for an Elf might be gone, but she was never
forgotten.

**********

The
opportunity for doing mischief is found a hundred times a day, and
of doing good once in a year.

Voltaire

Zyre awoke in
the garden because while it was pleasant to be allocated a bedroom
in a mansion—it was the vibrancy of life that riveted the attention
of an Elf. On her world their homes were not cut out from the earth
or created from artificially induced materials. The magical world
wove their structures from living trees, their homes were in
constant flux as they grew around them giving a constant connection
to life.

The Zhismi had
been bustling throughout the day as the morning shift took care of
Vampire business and she watched their quiet efficiency with
interest. The Zhismi held no arrogant posturing with interactions
that were a perpetual motion of cheerful cooperation as they
conversed in their soft dialect. Handsome youths flirted with
pretty girls while oblivious to their magical audience, except of
course for her new friend who took only a few moments to find
her.

She met his
happy smile with a no more than, “Aha!”

Once exposed
the magical being could return to hiding in plain sight, but like
every other creature in the multiverse she discovered that the
effort of ongoing deception of a child was arduous. Children saw
through the artifice of adults and Elves with ease, so to remain
unobserved would have her expend a great deal of energy. Since she
had no intent in concealing herself from him she took the proffered
orange with a smile and together they watched the activity of the
household from the comfort of their leafy den. Later a sharp call
informed them that his absence had been noted and the child ran off
towards the loud demand with a happy grin. Their interaction had no
verbal content since the Elf and the boy both knew that sometimes
all you had to do was eat an orange under a tree to understand all
the mysteries of life.

As the day fell
away into late afternoon she felt the first stirrings of her
Vampire hosts before seeing their presence. In anticipation of an
amusing afternoon she entered the dining room and asked a passing
Zhismi girl for fruit. A few minutes later the girl appeared with a
large bowl filled with seasonal offerings. Zyre smiled and the girl
despite her nervous demeanour couldn’t resist and smiled back.

“Please bring
more—lots more!”

The Elf
demanded with a cheery smile that would have shaken most
demons.

The girl
scuttled away into the depths of the kitchen to return with a laden
trolley and Zyre smiled at the bounty presented to her. While she
helped herself to a bit of everything the girl set the long table
with a series of china mugs. Zyre watched her deft movements with
interest as the girl heaved a huge silver coffee pot and a glass
carafe onto the ornate buffet lining the wall. The girl gave her a
shy nod before leaving the Elf alone with more china than was
prudent to leave near any magical creature—much less a bored
Elf.

Zyre left her
chair and with the natural curiosity born of Elves and cats
examined each mug as if expecting to find the secrets of universe
stuck to the bottom. After fondling the mugs to her satisfaction,
she walked over to the sideboard to examine the containers left by
the Zhismi girl. The imposing silver coffee pot spoke of a grand
history with ornamental engravings and an ivory handle that had
aged to a rich, buttery cream. The glint of silver was not what
enticed the Elf as she focused upon the carafe because the
beautiful blue of the glass from Murano had her entranced.

“Pretty,
pretty,” she murmured while carefully lifting the lid to sniff at
the contents.

A short while
later two male Vampires entered the dining room to find an Elf
sitting nonchalantly at a table filled with rinds and half-eaten
fruit. Their amber colouring made them seem more similar than their
actual features and they remained inexpressive as they walked over
to the buffet. The Elf was not fooled by their surface demeanour
because she could feel the startled response to her presence echo
in waves throughout the room. Ignoring the Elf they conversed in
low voices as they discussed the impending Ball while they poured
coffee from the large pot. One reached for the glass carafe, and he
poured a steady red stream into his mug only to stop a few seconds
later as confusion suffused his face. Perplexed, he sniffed the air
above the cup as if a terrible discovery had assailed his senses
and his companion reflected his puzzled stare while leaning over to
smell the mug. He stood back in affront, wrinkling his nose with
distaste as his friend opened up the carafe to peer cautiously at
the contents.

“What the…?”
his confused query had his companion look inside the carafe.

Their view was
greeted by a carefully placed selection of fresh seasonal fruit
floating amongst the red syrup of blood. The Vampires, their faces
dark with accusation, whirled back around to face the Elf. Zyre
might have assumed innocence or ignored their glares, but she was
an Elf at loose ends and an Elf at loose ends was a martyr to
mischief.

In true
infuriating magic fashion she gave them an unconcerned smile. “It
looked like tis needed some fruit.”

The Vampires
exchanged the glances of those who were suffering a great burden
and without a word left the errant Elf to her healthy, but
offensive to preternatural beings, breakfast. If she had been the
least bothered to care she might have noticed that no other
Vampires came to join her. As the remaining blast of afternoon sun
crept between the cracks of the heavy curtains she removed herself
back to the garden to enjoy the last pleasures denied to the
whispers left within. Zyre found a cat enjoying her previous hiding
spot and as per usual with magical creatures—the cat ignored her
new companion. They sat observing the new shift of Zhismi prepare
for their night duties of the Vampire household. As the inhabitants
began to congregate inside several rooms the cat stopped her
languid grooming long enough to give the house a glare of disdain.
Following the cat’s lead Zyre looked over at the house and the wave
of old power reached out into the garden to disturb the two
observers. With a disgusted flick of her tail at the sudden
movement of the Elf she left and Zyre wandered back into the house
for a day’s mischief was never done.

Her path
through the house was marked by the ebb and flow of conversation as
her sudden presence caused the exchanges between aloof Vampires to
fade into an uneasy silence. She knew her presence unsettled them,
not only from the view that she was an intruder, but also from
their lack of experience on how to handle a magical creature. She
reflected that demons while wary, entranced, and fearful of magical
creatures, were at least capable of conversation. These mutants
were reduced to no more than dark glares and disturbed
mutterings.

His power lay
upon the air leaving her an easy path to follow and Zyre moved
through the house until she found herself back at in his study.
Estienne sat at his desk ignoring the burst of warmth that suddenly
flooded the room as no young Vampire was able to do. His studied
indifference didn’t fool the magical interloper for a second and
Zyre felt his unspoken yearning fill the air. He was far more
affected by her than his demeanour betrayed, but she was not
concerned about what internal yearnings her presence
perpetuated—only the results. The Elf started to trace the
portraits with a sticky finger until a frustrated Herald abandoned
all pretence and gave his magical guest a fixed stare. Here was his
second mistake for once the kaleidoscope of blue and green met his
ice blue he was lost inside their depths. She stayed silent until
his longing almost smothered her thoughts and she quickly broke the
connection.

“Hey hey,” she
said without further clarification.

Estienne
remained silent while he struggled and she stayed quiet with only a
quirky smile spreading her magic enchantment across the room. As an
aged Vampire he knew the danger of allowing the demon in him to
meet the magic in her so cleared his throat in irritable self-
defence.

“There is a
private Vampire Ball—.”

“Thank you, I’d
love to go,” interrupted the Elf with the full knowledge he was
about to say she was not allowed to go. As he began to shake his
head he caught the kaleidoscope eyes turning a deep teal and
shocked by them—he stopped.

Accepting his
silence as agreement Zyre continued, “Florian Ribeni.”

A brief flash
spiked his eyes and she had seen this possessive streak before when
demons had wanted her undivided attention. A moment later a Herald
in control raised an unconcerned brow. “I don’t think Ribeni is the
one to guide you through protocol.”

Despite himself
the desires of the Vampire coated the air and she looked into the
blue depths of his eyes as the smile on her lips froze while she
became lost in unfamiliar passion of a being caught between the
warmth of man and fire of demon. She ended the link before it had
become a connection.

She explained
further. “Florian Ribeni can help me just fine because his
obsession is one of fabrics. I not be going to a Ball in day
clothes!”

Her mock horror
at a fashion faux pas left him unmoved because it would take a fool
in any world to believe that an Elf could care less about appearing
appropriate. Since whatever mischief she initiated was bound to be
a reflection upon the House of Veraign the Vampire was caught
within the dilemma of watching or denying her. Accepting the
impossibility of keeping an Elf under any form of restraint his nod
conceded that her dress was important and Ribeni was the Vampire
for the job.

“I will inform
him that he is needed.”