Vampiris Sancti: The Elf (28 page)

“Wait here,”
she instructed the less than enthused Vampire.

Dissolving
across to a roof and out of the Vampire’s sight she appeared before
a waiting Fhreh and his companion. The Fhreh was not curious as to
how she knew where to find him because, like most demons, he
absorbed the myth of the Elf as an undeniable truth of the Reveal.
His companion, on the other hand, would have firsthand knowledge of
Elves and their abilities, but was currently too drunk to worry
about anything except what assaulted his senses.

“I smell the
dirt of Kheleyk,” he grumbled to the Elf.

The fact that
the Pixie was drunk didn’t bother Zyre because she knew that in
order to get him to traverse the Reveal in one piece then sobriety
was best avoided. That Beb could feel what others only could note
by effect was not unusual for while Elves were harmony with the
environment Pixies were a part of it. Unable to separate from the
world he felt everything that had occurred and if Zyre was an
envious creature this attribute was one she would have coveted. She
waved in his face, happy to see that his current bottle of spirit
was empty while nodding acceptance to the Fhreh.

“Are there
witches here?” the little demon asked with a tinge of alarm.

Beb hiccupped
several times before shaking his head as he slumped against a wall.
“They throw dirt spell through doorway—it stinks of Chaos.”

The Fhreh, once
satisfied there were no witches on world, didn’t leave immediately.
The rare experience of being in close proximity of not one but two
magical beings was not often experienced. This was the stuff of
gossip, and many would buy him drinks at the Centre in order to
hear the story of transporting a drunken Pixie.

“The task is
complete.” The demon sought confirmation of prestige.

Zyre nodded
towards him. “Complete.”

The tufts of
his orange hair trembled with curiosity and he watched the
interaction between magical as Zyre wrestled the bottle from her
compatriot.

“Why bring a
Pixie through when you are under the protection of Veraign?” the
Fhreh asked with unusual bravado.

Zyre didn’t
have time for any more Vampire speculation and anything the Fhreh
thought would soon be known by Vampires, so the last thing she
needed was demon gossip.

“I have a
juniper gift for him and it was very hard to get.”

At the mention
of gin the Pixie released a high-pitched yelp that had the little
demon turn in pain. It was only a brief moment, but that was all an
Elf ever needed.

Leaving the
inquisitive demon and the empty bottle behind she removed her tipsy
guest to a nearby roof that was occupied by the Oric. The humans
seemed to prowl the heights of their city endlessly while they
monitored the traffic of demons and this time they were watching a
Perhk apprehended by several huge Aegai. Cornering the demon in a
lane around the corner from the Centre they bundled the objecting
thief into a van and drove slowly away as the vehicle protested
under the weight of the enormous cargo. The force protecting
humanity must have been growing used to unexpected magical
appearances because this time only half jumped at their sudden
manifestation.

Beb let out a
disturbing belch that echoed down the street and the Oric glared at
him in alarm for as capricious as Zyre might be appear she never
put their welfare in peril—well at least not demonic peril. The Elf
wasn’t worried about the wellbeing of her companion because Pixies
were survivors and despite his trend to flutter haphazardly about
he did have his own repertoire of self defence mechanisms. She kept
a firm grip on him as like an Elf chasing mischief he would chase a
rollicking good drunk wherever it might take him. Zyre turned to
the Oric leader and the brash young man was fast becoming used to
the magical creature determined to inflict herself upon his
group.

His irritation
was evident. “What now? You wanted a Fhreh, we got you a Fhreh, you
wanted a Pixie and he brought you a Pixie.”

Zyre pulled on
Beb. “Drunk has to be gone—what can you do?”

The human
furrowed his brows. “I thought Pixies were best drunk.”

He was right
for when travelling with a Pixie or expecting them to do anything
in general they were best managed drunk. What she needed this time
was a sober one as he could use his pixilation only when sober
because it required an intense focus. In her world when wanting to
sober a Pixie they would mix a local herb—sibabera—with his gin and
it worked a treat. She deduced that in this world of infinite
choices there had to be something that could create a similar
result.

She spoke
slowly to get her point across. “What makes drunk go away?”

“Coffee,”
responded a young woman and Zyre gave the armoured girl a careful
stare.

She had warm
brown eyes and blonde hair carefully piled on her head. Her
athletic body was encased in the ridiculous outfit the humans
decided gave them either protection or authority. The Elf knew it
was ridiculous because, in actuality, it gave them neither since a
Varkja could tear them apart and few demons would give their
attempt at imposing authority much heed. At least the Oric women
had the sense to answer questions without posturing and she gave
her a brief smile.

The Elf
searched her mind because she knew of coffee for in the Martyc
realm it was bitter as poison, in the human one it smelled better
than it tasted, and she pulled a wry face in memory of the tart
drink. The Oric woman reluctantly handed her a thermos and Zyre
opened it up to sniff the enticing fragrance of the bean. She
whirled Beb around and he squeaked in alarm at her rough handling,
so to calm him she lapsed into the static speech of their home
world. Zyre kept their conversation in the human tongue because
like all messengers he spoke most languages of the Reveal.

“Drink this
one, it be like sibabera and you are needed.”

Too drunk to
follow her intent the Pixie announced, “This world smells like
scourge.”

The force of
the magical comment had the Oric look with concern towards their
leader. He shook his head because the last thing they needed was a
skirmish with a powerful Elf and an erratic Pixie on the doorstep
of demon central. Zyre pulled the Pixie around to face the Centre
while ignoring the fact that after their last adventures in spying
on Vampires he would be wary of anything that involved strangers.
The leader of the Oric made to step forward, but one look at the
set face of the Elf had him reconsider whatever power play he had
in mind.

Zyre tried for
eye contact to get his attention. “Goblin be in there.” This
information caused the Pixie to quiver while ready for a quick
exit.

“You need to
pixilate.”

“Pixie-led the
Nefarious—I—I am not wanting to do that,” stuttered Beb in alarm.
“He can seep into walls.”

Zyre poured
coffee into the small cup of thermos and forced the Pixie to imbibe
the hot, fragrant liquid.

“And you can
flutter faster blinking eye. The Nefarious is not match for Pixie,
and not match for the Pixie Beb!”

The Pixie
choked down a few mouthfuls before giving her a glare. “The Martyc
has the Elf daft, now she wants Pixie magic upon Goblins. Why have
me to bother the Nefarious—you have Elf magic!”

Zyre gave the
Pixie a conspiratorial smile and he couldn’t help but smile in
return for he knew Elf mischief when he saw it.

“He bothered
Martyc—making deals, telling secrets and only because I visit the
Lazulul.”

His eyes grew
wide in astonishment at the Elf’s disregard of any boundaries. “You
walked among the Incorruptible and they not want be killing
you?”

He used the
qualifier want—as even if the Lazulul had wished to kill the Elf
two things would have made it difficult to accomplish. The first
was that the Seal would have protected her from overt attack, then
it also would allow her to retaliate and an angry Elf was capable
of decimating more than the offender before her. The second was
getting close enough to focus any attack as an Elf was usually gone
by the time her presence was noticed.

Zyre shrugged.
“Not if you bring shiny things for temple of the kahat. So now the
Goblin be angry and wants Martyc revenge. He is speaking too much,
so you need to pixilate to find where he rests and who he
meets.”

Alarmed by the
magical conversation the Oric leader stepped closer. “What do you
mean a Goblin is speaking too much? What is he up to?”

The Elf didn’t
scorn the concern of the human as it was legitimate for they
probably had been warned of the Nefarious One and his capacity to
put malice into play. The Pixie stopped fluttering and realising he
was reaching sobriety Zyre turned to him in earnest.

“There be
pieces that won’t fit together and ones speaking to each other that
never do. The Goblin walks here—with Elf and Pixie yet with nothing
to fear—tis not right. There is one Martyc too many and purple
everywhere.”

While her
concern meant little to the listening Oric it meant a great deal to
the Pixie and his face showed his comprehension of her unease.
Goblins rarely frequented worlds occupied by other magical beings
as these were the ones that could remove the Nefarious One with an
ease often denied their unwilling hosts. Here was one not only
present but living in the open, which meant he was comfortable and
a fearless Goblin meant power. The Goblin knew something that made
him bold, something that could put this world in peril, and once
again, Zyre made an active decision. It seemed her maturation—her
diveye—was about to be upon a world that contained the mystical
delight of chocolate and an annoying Martyc. The Elf tried
negotiating a price needed for him to not only to engage the
tainted one of their world, but to employ the very difficult focus.
However, as with everything else Pixie, he couldn’t gather his
thoughts enough to barter so the Elf hastened the process by
determining a price.

“Five bottles
of juniper and you home safe.”

The Pixie
shrugged as his face twisted. “Zyre, I not want pixilate Nefarious
One tis too much work and too much risk.”

Zyre knew he
was not afraid of the Goblin because it would require several
magical beings to harm the Pixie since there were very few fast
enough to pin down the messenger of their world. The reluctance of
the Pixie was more about remaining sober for the duration as
sobriety left Pixies exposed to the intense physical pain of an
overwrought nervous system. Pixilation would cost him in pain,
peace of mind, and he would avoid the interference of his salve the
way human addicts would avoid obstruction to theirs.

Zyre upped the
ante. “A whole box of juniper.”

The Pixie was
still unconvinced. “You have Martyc in pocket, so just ask Xatn to
remove Goblin—he would do this for you.”

Zyre scowled at
the Pixie who should have known better. “Goblin already been to
Xatn, yet he still walks here not bothered and not gone! Not trust
a Martyc—not in things magical.”

The Elf
searched her mind for the words to make it matter. “In all of the
Reveal juniper is made only here from the berries of precious tree.
If the purveyor of deceit is allowed Chaos then juniper will be
gone forever and all because Beb the Pixie had fear.”

Her friend gave
her a sour look—not because she accused him of cowardice, but that
she had struck the chord that would make him act. Pixies drank the
spirit to remove the pain of their existence yet unfortunately, it
could also remove all sense of him as well. The sober Pixie might
be a creature exhibiting his true nature, but that nature was a
neurotic incapacity to deal with the multiverse. One thing Pixies
loved above all others was human gin and if to keep his crutch he
had to associate with a Goblin—then so be the price.

Zyre pointed to
the Centre, “He stays where protected and if you enter he will not
expect you—not without drunk.”

She moved away
and before she dissolved she looked back at the somewhat friend she
had now involved in her struggle upon this world. Her face was
creased with unusual concern. “Be good Beb. I am at Vampire House
Veraign. Sing when you want me.”

The Elf winked
at the Oric leader, which left him not only flustered by his
attraction to her but also alarmed at being left on the roof with a
now sober creature leaning precariously over the edge. Zyre
dissolved back to a waiting Florian whose relief was so obviously
comical that she regretted not returning with a goat or at least a
homeless person in tow. It was hard for her to resist the impulse
to disturb the immaculate poise of his well-ordered Vampire
existence. Instead, she satisfied her urges by giving Florian a
cheeky grin that set him his face into dismay and granted her the
satisfaction of rippling his smug existence.

Their return to
the House was not direct as their arrival because they found their
way blocked by unexpected street works. Florian cursed under his
breath in annoyance while he swerved the car down an alternate
route. Zyre wrinkled her nose—her mischief radar on overdrive since
these works seemed to be manned by people clumsy with their tools.
She took a closer look and saw the workers were actually Oric in
disguise and she suppressed a giggle at the possibility of fun. She
recognised not only their trained stance for she had seen soldiers
on enough worlds, but also the awkward manner they held the tools
gave them away. Florian started turning down side streets to avoid
the flow traffic while complaining with his usual petulance upon
the unreliability of human endeavour. Not once did he ponder the
strange appearance of the workers, something his Vampire eyes
should have noticed had he not been so self involved. Zyre rolled
down the window and she watched the rooflines of the buildings they
passed until something caught her eye.