When faced with an ugly reality, we tend to deny it. What we can’t deny, we avoid. Avoidance comes at a cost, however, for truths simply don’t vanish when we aren’t looking at them.

Out of sight may be out of mind, but it’s hard to put things away when they chase you down and beat themselves over your head.

It’s harder still when the truth we’re avoiding is a loved one.

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Little Mary Everton was a splash of pale color against the cold white sheets of the hospital bed. I hung my jacket up on the hook by the door in her father’s office and slipped into the room after washing my hands. When I settled into the chair beside the bed, her eyes opened, and she smiled at me. It was such a simple thing, but it still tried to break my heart.

“Hi there, Princess,” I said quietly, reaching out to run a finger lightly across her shoulder. She moved to pin it between her cheek and shoulder, her version of a hug. It was all she could offer most days now, and I smiled softly. “I hear you had some visitors today. Tell me all about it, so I don’t get jealous, hmm?”

For the next half an hour, she whispered stories at me, telling me what the girls had read her and the games they’d played. We played a game too, where she would choose a language and then have me name the things she pointed to. Rabbit. Hand. Pillow. She’d mastered the French and was working on the old Irish.

The last thing was always a storytelling. I’d weave a tale of the green of my Irish home, or the endless twisting vineyards of France. Today she chose the lush green of Ireland, and I swallowed my own homesickness and gave her the memory of the little creek that ran through the trees on the South side of Chiarraíleigh, my childhood home. I told her about the flat rock where you could sing with the pixies in the copse of trees, and just as I got to the little cave, she slipped away back into sleep. Were I a thoughtmage, I’d have given her the memory itself to dream within.

“You can’t imagine how happy that makes her. She tells me all about what you share with her, from the French to the tangy taste of the skin of the grape as it breaks under your teeth,” Everton said to me when I returned to his office. He’d cleared away the food and brought out the research files. I waved them off as I sat back down, as this wasn’t a business visit.

I hoped one day she’d be able to taste those grapes for herself, but I knew full well that it would take a medical equivalent of a miracle. It would be a simple act of magic, but try as I might, my healing abilities simply refused to answer my frustrated calls. Healers were few and far between, mostly because they were poorly suited to walk within the modern world; most of them were devout Buddhists and cloistered themselves in temples in the Tibetan Mountains before vanishing into secrecy.

A few Elvin healers lived in the world, but thus far, I had been unable to locate any who were willing to listen to me. The older and more powerful bloodlines were incredibly xenophobic, though some elves understood the need to co-exist. A handful of clans even accepted interracial relationships. Elves like Suzu, those who chose to walk out of the shroud of secrecy and live daily amongst humans were a rarity.

“I’ve called a few contacts in the hopes of getting a magekind healer in to help, but thus far, I’ve not had much luck. I’m not giving up on it, though. Eventually one will answer the call, right?” I just hoped that it would happen before that tipping point. “The other thing I need to let you know is that I may be scarce for a little while. There’s been a few things come up and I may have to do some travelling.”

He looked disappointed, and I could understand. I looked forwards to our impromptu meals, and I knew that Mary adored me. But with things the way they were now with Suzu and Xelander living right there… I felt a distinct need to get out of town and put in an appearance in London or even Lyon. “I’ll stay in touch, and my phone is always on.” That was, at least, entirely true.

“I’m sure we’ll manage. Even better if you bring her back photographs of the places you go.” He understood the necessity of travel in my work, but I’d kept from him the nature of said travel and the true line of my work. “But let’s not keep you; it is getting late, and I have some work to take care of before I can call it a night.” I couldn’t imagine leaving her here each night, but I knew he lived close enough to walk. I nodded and we shook hands as a way of farewell.

It was closing in on eight in the evening when I got back to my townhouse and slipped in the front door, closing it against the world behind me with a solid click. I let myself sag against it for a moment, taking a few deep breaths, and then I stepped away and headed into my kitchen.

The cabinet next to the refrigerator probably should have contained dry and canned goods, things that normal people could cook and call a meal. Instead, it held bottles of varied shapes and sizes, the contents of which were mostly alcoholic. There was an odd bottle of water here and there, but they weren’t in the majority. I pulled out a brandy, poured myself a healthy drink, and then took the bottle with me when I left the room.

Being Irish by birth, it takes some concerted effort on my part to get drunk, but that was my goal tonight. There was nothing in this world I wanted more than that blissful silence of the mind that came after practical application of alcohol. I wanted to forget the pain I’d seen in that little girl who had more to offer the world than I did, and the echo that her father carried knowing that one day he’d lose her to a Heaven that I’d long given up on believing in.

By the second glass, immortality wasn’t weighing so heavy on me, and I could almost feel amused about the way Mary Everton brightened when I walked into the room. She didn’t know what I was, didn’t know how many came to death by my hands, and in the light of that frail little smile, I almost wasn’t that bloodstained man.

I shook my head at my folly and moved to pour a third glass of brandy. My intention was to get as drunk as I possibly could, and for that, I had to drink more than my internal healer could burn out. There was a problem with drinking more, however, and it came in the form of the man who was inexplicably standing in my front room holding the bottle of brandy hostage.

“Xelander.” I wasn’t drunk enough to hallucinate him, and while I wasn’t a hundred percent on how he’d gotten into the townhouse, there he was. “Whatever it is, it can keep, because I’d prefer to forget a great many things right now. So do me a favor, put the bottle down and let yourself out the front door. Feel free to lock up after yourself; I’m a terrible host and I know it.”

He did neither of the two things, instead, putting the bottle on the mantelpiece and taking a seat in the chair opposite me. His elbows rested on his knees, and he looked at me from over laced fingers that were pressed to his lips. When I figured out that he wasn’t going to hand me the bottle, I wrapped my concentration around it, allowing the air magic to draw it unsteadily to my outstretched hand. I almost dropped it, but I managed to keep it from falling too far before I got a good enough grip on it.

By the time that was over, I was completely sober again, and I poured myself a glass and set the bottle back on the table. I saluted him with the glass and downed the double in one gulp. “Right. We’ve established you have no intentions of leaving, good. Well, not good, considering that I really don’t want to have to deal with you right now.” I glared at him and was surprised to see him look away, as if he was ashamed of something.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

“You didn’t answer your phone, so I came to apologize. I was upset. Again. Somehow things… happen. When I am upset with you. I don’t know how to explain it, but I didn’t mean what happened. When you fell, it was London all over again. I deserve your anger, your mistrust. But don’t… don’t hold me against your friend. You are special to her, and… she cried.”

All the brandy in the world couldn’t have gotten me drunk after he said that. If Suzu had shed tears in front of him, then by all likelihood, he’d discovered her hidden nature. “She’s a strong woman; a few tears won’t have harmed her.” His answer might well tell me what I was after, and I found myself pushing the glass away and leaning back in my seat.

“She wouldn’t even look at me, Teimhean. She buried her face in her hands and fled from me. I had to take you to my suite because she wouldn’t answer the door to unlock another room for you.” I knew why she’d hidden from him; tears of blood were disconcerting when you knew about them ahead of time and positively terrifying when you didn’t.

“As I said, she’s a strong woman. I’m sure her tears were designed to unsettle you.” Oh, she was manipulative, and I’d not have put it past her to leave Xelander with the mess he’d made on purpose. But the fact that he hadn’t seen her tears made me wonder how many she’d really shed. “I still don’t want to discuss it with you.”

“Teimhean…”

“Tomorrow, Xelander. Just… give me until tomorrow. I need time to think.”

He nodded slowly and rose. “Tomorrow. Dinner?” When I just looked at him, he nodded and backed towards the door. “Call me; I’m off shift at five.” When my answer wasn’t forthcoming, he offered me a faint nod and then turned to take measured steps to the door and leave the townhouse. He even locked the door after himself.

I glared at the brandy bottle, feeling my magic pushing against me, wanting an outlet of some type, and I cast a thought at the fireplace, the flame bursting into life. I had a lot of thinking to do, and I couldn’t do it with my magic itching in my head.

Xelander was a Paladin, though ignorant of it, and unsworn. He would protect openly from any threat. He’d even protect me from myself without even knowing it. I supposed that was what he had done in the parking garage; guarded me against my magic and kept it from hurting me the way it had in the restaurant. I understood what had happened… but only because I knew what he was. He didn’t have a clue, but now Suzu… Suzu probably knew. Her tears may have been genuine… or they may have been a diversion. If he learned of her vampiric nature, how far would he go to protect someone from her? Even if that someone might have been himself?

The thought made my blood run cold.

So, taking stock of the situation, it was nine-thirty at night, and as far as I knew, Suzu was at risk from Xelander, Hell, I was at risk from Xelander, and tomorrow was a Monday. My car was still missing, I didn’t have the first faintest clue what Ravenswing was doing that left me with almost passable nights, and Mary Everton wasn’t getting any better. If I went to bed now, I’d be subject to nightmares, but the only other option was to go wander the city. Bars weren’t open on Sunday in the buckle of the Bible belt.

Three hours later, I was running for my life.

Hellhounds have an alarmingly accurate sense of smell, and no matter what you do, once it has scented you, you’re as good as done. Crispy outside with a softly roasted interior. And while I’d made the mistake of going back to that damned warehouse to see if Angelique was still nearby, there was no way that I could have known there was a Hellhound on the loose.

I couldn’t tell if it was Vanessa’s pet or a wild one, but either way, it wasn’t as if I was going to get out of this easily. I might have taken to the air, but that particular magic wasn’t strong enough to keep me airborne for long enough to get anywhere that the beast couldn’t within moments of my landing. The best I could hope to do was make it to the water and swim for it.

Something hit me in the back of the legs, and I went down like a sack of meat. Of course, to that thing, I was a sack of meat. I was a meal on two feet, just ripe for the roasting. I half wondered if I’d survive it, and then I realized that the thing was licking me. On the face. With a tongue that nearly blistered on every pass, and breath like brimstone. I couldn’t breathe for the overwhelming sulfur stench rolling over me, and I pushed ineffectively at the monstrosity that had decided that I needed a good seasoning of Hellhound spit before my roasting.

And then, dear Christ, then came the heat. Fire erupted around me; flames so alien to my own that I couldn’t contain them. This was true conflagration, a heat that split my skin and scorched my eyes, and just when I thought I was going to die, truly die or spend the rest of perpetual eternity burning in this literal Hell on Earth, I shoved the heavy blanket off me and sat up in bed, gasping for air.

My hands clapped against damp cheeks, feeling no trace of split skin, no remnant of scarring, and my eyes worked perfectly normal as far as attempting to see in a dark room went. I lit a sphere of fire in the air and saw nothing out of the ordinary; the flame reacted as it normally had. A nightmare, then.

It was five in the morning, and I decided that it was as good as any time to get up and take a shower. After sweating through that nightmare, I’d needed it. I changed the bedsheets while I was at it and set the laundry to a full cycle. What? I’m perfectly capable of doing laundry; it isn’t the electronics that give me fits. It’s just cooking. I blame it on the heat required to cook.

Once showered and shaved, I dressed for the day and realized after the fact that I’d left my jacket at the hospital in Everton’s office. No matter, I could leave it there as a promise to come back and collect it. I pocketed my cell phone and my wallet, grabbed my keys and headed out into pouring rain. Why hello, Monday. So good to see you.

It was a good thing I left early; people in South Carolina have no clue how to drive in the rain. It seems as if they all collectively take their hands off the steering wheel, cover their eyes and go ‘by guess and by golly.’ There’s no call for it and no rational explanation for the sliding and the cutting each other off and the ones who turn on their hazard lights and go twenty miles per hour in the fast lane.

You could always tell the Northern trained drivers when there was inclement weather of any type in the South… and no-one, and I mean literally no-one Southern born and bred could merge. But that’s a rant for another time; I could go off on that for hours and I didn’t have hours. I was in North Charleston within the hour, and six fifteen found me walking through the door to the main floor of Ravenswing Corporation.

Caroline wasn’t in the office yet, but that came as no surprise. She was usually on time at seven in the morning, and if I saw her earlier, it was because she’d arranged some party and was in early to get that arranged before I needed her. She was the mistress of efficiency, and I was afraid of the day she would want to quit.

That was neither here nor today, so I went along with the morning and drank some nasty coffee, checked in on the international news and had read half of my RSS feed before Caroline came in and replaced the crap I’d tried to make with decent coffee.

She dropped off a small parcel, and as she moved to open my blinds, I opened the package. She’d ordered me a new Bluetooth headset. Best PA in the world. I thanked her and she waved it off, returning to her desk and starting to check voicemails.

“Mister Shestin… Master Ravenswing will not be in today… he’s left a message for you to run the Board meeting without him and to send him a summary email after.” Oh, that bastard! Granted, I should have expected something like that, but I did wonder at the sudden secrecy and the fact that he was less and less visible. That led me to absently wondering if demons shed skins, and I had entered the question in a search bar before I managed to catch myself and keep my little finger from hitting the enter key.

I backspaced out the text, wondering what might have happened had I actually searched for it. The last person in the company to figure out that Valen Ravenswing was of demonic persuasion, I’d been forced to take him out to lunch and reduce the workforce by one. There’s your flowery euphemism, how’s that? Yeah, it doesn’t make me feel any better about my job either.

Thankfully the Board meeting was a simple review of the new projects, and I made it clear that while Xelander Wexforth was my brother, there was little concern over any conflict of interest. Kellen wasn’t convinced, but when I pointed out that the Board had approved it before I had even known it was on the table, he had to back down. All in all, it had gone far easier than I had thought it would, and the Board made a few more decisions that I wasn’t sure they’d have done with Ravenswing present, and we adjourned for the week.

Oh yes, that was something Ravenswing took great enjoyment out of: Monday morning meetings with the Board. They hated it, him, and each other, and he thought it was the best thing besides beating up on me. That made me wonder just a little more at the fact that he’d missed it. My phone rang as I walked back to the desk, and when I looked at the caller, I saw it was Ravenswing’s personal line calling. “Shestin, go.”

“You are to pick Vanessa up from school today. Do not ask; I will not tell you. Deliver her to my house unharmed immediately after her classes. Remain there and await further orders.” And then he hung up. Oh yes, something was afoot, and I got the sneaking suspicion that I was about to learn what. I shot Xelander an email apologizing that I’d not be making dinner, and then I headed out to pick up the girl.