The carriage rattled along cobblestones paved onto the road. Every bump and pothole reverberated through its wooden frame. There was hardly any padding on the seats. Sitting on them was like sitting on a flat rock, which made the ride extremely unpleasant.

Aubrey grumbled and squirmed, adjusting herself yet again as she tried to get comfortable. After a few minutes of fiddling with the cushions and rearranging her limbs, she finally managed to find a halfway bearable position. With a quiet sigh, she leaned back against the rough cloth lining the interior of the carriage and closed her eyes.

She felt rather than saw Liza's anxious fidgeting beside her.

Earlier in the evening, they'd accepted Percival's offer of employment, and after a round or two of drinks, the duo had decided to follow the posse back to the Berestour mansion. That would have been fine and well, if only the ride itself didn't feel like it lasted forever.

Percival sat in the rear-facing seat across from her. She could sense his penetrating stare boring into her from beneath those craggy brows of his. Meanwhile, his lieutenants flanked his sides like bodyguards, making the entire setting feel a bit more tense than it really should have. Geoff sat next to Percival, and opposite him was the curly-haired young man who had also taken an interest in Liza.

What was his name again? Ah, right... Jared. Jared Nolan.

Aside from Geoff's constant chatter, a thick, heavy silence hung over the occupants of the carriage. For most of the trip, no one made so much as a peep, leaving Aubrey alone with nothing but the sound of the wheels trundling over uneven cobblestone.

After an excruciating period of time that seemed to stretch on for hours, the coach eventually slowed to a crawl, coming to a halt just outside a wrought iron gate. A pair of guards, dressed in identical black uniforms and carrying long rifles, emerged from behind the walls to greet them.

Geoff leaned out the window and waved.

"Hey there, fellas! Open 'er up!"

One guard nodded in acknowledgement before turning around and signaling for the gates to open. Once they parted wide enough, the coachman drove onward, passing through the opening.

Beyond the walls lay an expansive estate. The mansion at its center towered over everything else within view, lit by rows upon rows of dimly glowing lanterns lining the pathways leading up to it. Gardens and fountains adorned its sides, while a wide expanse of neatly manicured lawn spread outward from the building's base.

"It's quite something, isn't it?" Percival said softly, drawing Aubrey's attention back to him.

She shot him a small smile. "Sure is. Gotta say, you really know how to live it up."

His returning smile seemed somewhat forced. "Come now, Miss Thorne... 'Living it up' implies that we're slacking off. But I can assure you, this grandeur comes at a price. Everything you see here has been built by hard work, ingenuity, and a little bit of luck."

He paused as the carriage rolled to a stop near the entrance. As he got down from his seat, he extended a gloved hand towards her. Aubrey hesitated, before taking his offered hand and stepping out of the carriage.

"And where does the luck factor in?" she asked as they strolled down one of the pathways through the gardens. The other men filed out of the carriage after them, following behind at a distance. Liza shuffled along beside Geoff, who walked arm-in-arm with her.

Percival chuckled dryly. He adjusted his top hat and flashed her a tight-lipped smirk. "One must have good fortune in life in order to succeed. You may call it fate, destiny, or even serendipity, but without luck, all the effort in the world might never yield a worthwhile result. If there's anything that I've learned from my years in business, Miss Thorne, it's that there are no guarantees in life.

"No certainty that today will end as smoothly as yesterday or tomorrow may begin as brightly as today. You must be prepared to seize opportunity whenever it presents itself. Like, for instance, stumbling upon a duo of performers whose talent and charm would enhance an upcoming event... That counts as a bit of good fortune, don't you think?"

Aubrey looked over at him and gave him a wry grin. "Are you sure you're just talking about luck here? Because it kinda sounds like you're boasting about yourself instead of giving me advice."

At that, he chuckled again, though this time there was genuine warmth behind it. He shook his head slightly. "Perish the thought, Miss Thorne! But yes, perhaps I have indulged in a little self-aggrandizement just now. However, please bear in mind that humility does not come easy for me. As I said earlier... Hard work, ingenuity, luck... Those three things combined have propelled me into this position today. And I promise you, they will do the same for you as well, so long as you have the drive to see them through."

As they approached the grand entrance, Aubrey and Liza were escorted inside. The interior of the mansion proved even more impressive than the exterior.

The foyer itself was a spacious chamber, its high ceiling supported by marble pillars, and the floor was carpeted in plush, red fabric. Oil paintings and tapestries adorned the walls, while chandeliers dangled overhead. It all spoke of wealth and opulence—the type of extravagance that only the elite enjoyed.

Aubrey let out a low whistle at the sight of it all. "Not half bad," she remarked with a coy wink.

"I must say, I've never been a fan of such... ostentatious displays, but it's nice to know that our visitors appreciate them once in a while."

Their banter faded into silence as they continued to walk further inside, leaving the posse behind to mill about.

Before parting with Liza to accompany Percival in private, Aubrey whispered in her ear, "Remember the plan?"

"Y... Yeah..." she whispered back, nodding nervously. "I... I remember. Be... Be careful, okay?"

"Always," Aubrey assured her with a confident grin.

----------------------------------------

They sat across from each other in the drawing room of the mansion, which looked more akin to a library. Shelves lined the walls filled with rows upon rows of books. On the side, an ornate fireplace cast dancing shadows on the walls as flames crackled within its stone confines. A large, wooden desk stood between them, topped by an ebony wood slab polished to a shine.

An elderly butler entered the room and set down two snifters on the mahogany tabletop, then proceeded to fill each one with generous servings of brandy. After serving the drinks, the old man gave a slight bow and discreetly retreated, shutting the door behind him and leaving them alone together.

"An interesting companion you've chosen to keep by your side, Miss Thorne," Percival observed as he reached for his glass. "Not exactly the sort of partner I'd expect to perform alongside a lady of your talents, to be honest. How did you two come to meet?"

Aubrey shrugged. "The streets. Where else? If you've seen one street, then you've seen them all."

"A strange pair, indeed... Yet a rather complementary match at the same time." Percival paused, taking a moment to take a sip from his cup before continuing. "Now tell me, Miss Thorne... why did you really accept my invitation? Don't tell me it was merely for the money."

"Who cares what my reasons are?" she replied. "That doesn't change anything, right?"

"It matters because I don't think it's a coincidence that you're here tonight. When you agreed to come with us, I had a feeling that there may be more to your decision than just an appreciation for our financial offer."

He swirled the contents of his glass, peering into its amber depths as if it held an answer to his unasked question.

Aubrey smirked, but said nothing in response.

There was a pause as he took another sip. Then he let out a quiet chuckle and set his drink down. "It would appear that we share the same gift for subtlety. Neither of us likes to speak plainly about certain topics, am I correct?"

"What makes you think I'd wanna talk about my reasons at all? Maybe I just feel like hanging around someplace different than the usual stomping grounds."

A brief silence hung between them before he let out a low sigh. He picked up his glass once more and lifted it up in a mock salute. "Well played, Miss Thorne. Very well played. You certainly aren't the type who'd blurt out her thoughts without thinking, or someone so dense as to wear her heart on her sleeve."

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

She gave him a half-shrug. "I dunno, I'm not trying to hide anything, if that's what you mean."

"Indeed. You speak with honesty," Percival mused softly, studying her through half-lidded eyes. "I admire that about you. No doubt, that's what draws people to you. No one can resist an enigma."

He glanced down at her hands, lingering on the way she twirled the flute between her fingertips.

"In any case," he resumed, standing up from his chair and walking towards a gramophone player set atop a nearby shelf. After placing a record onto its spinning turntable, he gently placed the stylus against the vinyl disk's surface.

A rich, warm tune began playing. Soft, melodic strains wafted throughout the room, creating an ambient backdrop for their conversation.

Something about the familiar music stirred up memories in her. Something nostalgic... bittersweet.

Percival approached her, taking off his top hat and running a hand through his copper locks before offering her a bow. "Would you care for a dance, Miss Thorne?"

Aubrey raised an eyebrow. "Why the sudden interest?"

He smiled wanly at her. "Just an impulse. It wouldn't do for us to spend the night merely exchanging words, would it?"

"An impulse...?" Aubrey's lips twisted wryly before she chuckled. "Fair enough. Let's have at it then, Mr. Berestour."

Standing up from her seat, she allowed him to take hold of her by the waist, guiding her in time to the music. His hands rested lightly against her lower back, keeping her close but not overly so. Not close enough to provoke, yet close enough for intimacy.

"So, how long have you been performing, Miss Thorne?" he inquired after a few moments, his breath warm against her skin as he led her in a slow waltz.

"Call me Auriel," she said, her gaze never wavering from his. "As for that question... Let's just say that I've been doing this longer than I care to admit."

"And why did you choose such an occupation?"

Her brow furrowed as she considered her response carefully. "It's the one thing I'm good at. Singing... Music... Making others feel alive... I dunno... it just gives me life, you know? A sense of purpose."

He nodded, seemingly pleased by her answer. "I understand completely. It's the same for me when it comes to my work. There is nothing more fulfilling than creating something that improves upon the world."

His expression darkened slightly. "Of course, not everyone appreciates these contributions. Some call them unnecessary. A waste of time and resources. Others even accuse me of engaging in illicit practices or employing questionable methods... Yet here we stand, sharing a moment together over a simple tune and drink. Does that not prove my critics wrong?"

Their waltz took them around the drawing room, passing the rows of shelves and tables. Percival spun her around and dipped her low, almost touching the floor. She held onto his shoulders, and her eyes locked with his as he brought her back up in another twirl. They continued moving, bodies moving in tandem with the music, while their eyes remained locked, as if challenging each other to turn away first.

"It proves nothing," Aubrey retorted, tilting her chin up at him. "We're here, dancing, talking... This isn't proof of anything. It's just a momentary diversion."

He quirked an eyebrow, looking somewhat amused.

"Ah, there's that tongue of yours again." He spun her around once more, leading her in a series of twirls and turns. "Very well... If words aren't enough, then perhaps actions will suffice instead?"

His grip tightened on her wrist, pulling her closer. He leaned down, his face close enough for her to feel his breath brush across her cheek. "A little demonstration of my 'proof,' as it were..."

Aubrey jerked her arm free from his grasp and placed a palm on his chest, keeping him at bay. She flashed him a coy smirk. "Now, now, no need to get all grabby here. I prefer taking things nice and slow... easing into them at my own pace, y'know? Just like music... You can't force art to happen. Art creates itself."

"A fair point, Miss Thorne." He inclined his head in acknowledgment. "Apologies if I seemed overeager. But as they say, carpe diem. Seize the day... After all, not all of us have the chance to do so twice."

Her brow furrowed, her mind mulling over the implications of those words.

Did he know who she actually was?

No. Not possible. Calm down, girl. It could have just been a figure of speech...

"Whoa, aren't you a bit of a hopeless romantic there," she remarked sarcastically, trying to shake off her mounting paranoia. "What's gotten into you all of a sudden?"

"Perhaps I'm tired of waiting," he murmured, drawing even closer still. His body pressed against hers, his chest flush against her torso. Their faces mere centimeters apart. "Or perhaps I simply don't want to miss out on such a golden opportunity. To savor every precious second of life..."

The gramophone skipped, and the song they danced to suddenly changed. A soft, soothing melody filled the air instead. A woman's voice crooned sweetly in the background, accompanied by violins and other stringed instruments.

No... Not just any woman's voice. It was the sound of her own singing—her voice as Aubrey Sinclair.

Her old voice.

Percival continued to lead their dance while staring into her eyes.

"Familiar, isn't it?" he whispered as they twirled. "Yet different somehow... Though it shares similarities with your performance from earlier today... The timbre and tone... Its soul, even... All seem distinct from your current voice."

He pulled her along, his hands on her waist as they continued to sway.

"But somehow, despite this difference, I still feel drawn to it... Drawn to you. As if you were singing to me. Speaking to me. Beckoning to me. Like a flame calling out to a moth, tempting it closer and closer until it burns itself away..."

His grip tightened.

A shudder ran down Aubrey's back, her gut lurching at his cryptic words. This wasn't just a coincidence anymore. He knew exactly who she was and what happened to her. Somehow, he'd pieced everything together already. There's no doubt about that now.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said flatly, keeping her tone neutral. "I'm just your everyday street performer."

"Come now," he chided gently. "There's no use pretending otherwise. You can't deny that something has changed between us. That we share a connection. Something deep and primal... An understanding of sorts."

He leaned forward again, bringing his mouth to her ear.

"I will forever be your prisoner," he whispered. "Trapped within your hold... Helpless to resist your allure... Unable to escape from your spell..." His lips brushed against hers, almost touching. "And I wouldn't have it any other way. All I ask for is the pleasure of your voice. So, sing. Sing for me... my lovely nightingale."

Aubrey's eyes widened, and a wave of memories suddenly flooded her mind.

>  The gravekeeper hesitated for a moment, licking his lips nervously before replying. "I-I did bury you, but... there was a man. Paid a good sum to have you interred properly. Said he was a patron of yours, though he never mentioned his name or address. Said he couldn't stand seeing you left abandoned on the streets for dogs or monsters to feed upon."

>

>  "Did he say anything else? Give a name?" Aubrey pressed, leaning forward eagerly.

>

>  The gravekeeper shook his head. "Just that he owed you, for the music and the joy you brought him. Seemed a decent sort, if a bit... eccentric. Kept calling you... um..."

>

>  "Yes, go on?" Aubrey prompted, impatiently.

>

>  "His—his lovely Nightingale..."

Percival held her tightly as the music played on.

"Y—You," she stammered, stepping back unsteadily. "You're the one who had me buried?"

The light seemed to shift around her, blurring everything around the edges of her vision. She could only focus on Percival's face now, on the dark shadows that clouded his features in the flickering candlelight. On his soft, dark eyes. The ones that peered at her own with such intensity.

"It was the least I could do after you gave me so much," he said softly. "No one deserves to end up like that. But my faith in your resilience has proven well-founded, for here you stand today, still beautiful as ever."

He smiled, brushing a stray strand of hair out of her face.

"It pains me to see that your memories of our time together have been lost, but it doesn't matter. Fate has brought you back to me again—no, back to the world. And this time, I intend to fulfill my promise to you."

Aubrey shook her head, taking another step backward. She lifted a hand to her temple, trying to ward off the dizziness that threatened to overtake her.

"Promise?" she asked. "What... What do you mean?"

Percival moved towards her once more, closing the distance between them. He lifted a finger and gently placed it under her chin, tilting her head upward until their gazes met again.

"The promise to fulfill your transcendence. To help you ascend to where you rightfully belong. They may have stopped you that night. That vile group of persons took you from us. But their efforts were for naught, for not even death itself could stop the ascension. A new dawn approaches, and the greatest stage in this world awaits you..."

His other arm wrapped itself around her waist as he pulled her body towards him once more. "Your voice is the catalyst of change, the harbinger of upheaval. With your song, you bestow exaltation to those worthy of it. Just like how you elevated me with your blessing so long ago."

"Exa...?" Aubrey whispered, still unable to comprehend what he was saying. Nothing made sense right now. Everything felt hazy and surreal, like some sort of lucid dream.

Percival smiled at her confusion. He lifted her wrist to his mouth, pressing his lips against its underside. "They won't be able to stop you this time. I won't allow them to. I'll see to it that you reach your full potential and seize the power that has been denied to you. All of it shall be yours for the taking. Nothing will be out of your grasp ever again. No walls shall remain to hinder you. No limitations shall bind you. The entire world will submit under your rule. Your dominion. Your glory..."

He kissed her wrist again, his lips lingering against her skin. A small pinprick followed as his teeth nipped against her flesh. Sharp and pointed.

Her breath caught in her throat. As the fangs pierced her, her blood felt aflame.

The music continued to play and its rhythm seeped into her, guiding her own heartbeat in tandem to its rising tempo.

"...and all of this, and everything else you desire, shall be made manifest within your name..." He kissed her palm, murmuring against her trembling fingers. "...my lovely nightingale, our Sovereign Incantatrix."

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Book One End