Chapter Ten - Tammy
My eyes drifted shut halfway through Mordo’s rant about procedural shit. When I opened them, the room was empty and dim. I was sprawled out on a futon, a thick purple blanket draped across me. A strip beneath the bar was the only light, softly buzzing at the edge of my hearing. My head didn’t hurt anymore – and boy was that a surprise.
Maybe they’d helped me sleep it off?
There were two notes on the closest table, next to a bowl of glistening fruit. One in the same scrawl as Mordo’s invitation, and one in neat loops and elaborate flourishes.
“Hey Thing One, thanks for giving me an excuse to cut shit short. I know the Boss’s hangovers can get bad – trust me, it was easier to let you sleep it off. Back door’s next to the bar, but there’s usually an acolyte or two up top if you need something. Good luck getting Thing Two back, but we will not help you with the Fae. Boss has a hard rule on that, and I’m not gonna fuck us over. Fruit’s fresh from our horn of plenty, and feel free to call if you need a break from the doom and gloom to party.”
They’d signed it with a lipstick print. And under it, another line.
“By the way. Don’t Threaten My People Again.”
Water and an apple washed the fuzz of sleep from my mouth before I grabbed the second letter.
“As you are indisposed at the moment of writing, I can only wish you well. What follows is a small gift, in recognition of services performed by your grandfather. I hope it shall prove helpful, and that you shall think of myself and my Pride should you require support going forward. As heir to the Aufrey legacy, you are in a delicate position moving forward, one which we would be honored to aid.”
Below it was a neat list of contact information and a book title. The Biers of Immortals.
My stomach twisted as I realized that one was from Alara.
I made note of the back door nestled in a tidy alcove along an alley, set into a building that didn’t even seem attached to the main bar. Interesting. Next time – I’d just skip the line.
The drive home, now that I was rested, was interesting. I started to see faint runes in the gravel the moment I left the main road – growing thicker and brighter as I hit the driveway and made my way through the trees. When I made it out into the clearing, the weathervane angel atop the roof turned to watch me. An ethereal overlay added more features and an ominous black sphere cupped in its hands.
That explained a bit about why delivery drivers could never find us – and why they’d just…left the letters. It didn’t excuse it. But I had the feeling that that thing might be incredibly dangerous. Nothing black that left an afterimage was safe.
There was a thin layer of ash under the bracelet that washed off in the shower. I stepped out to come face to face with Scully, before I’d even grabbed my towel.
“Lady Blackleaf, a message from the Paranormal Incidents Division has just arrived. A transcribed copy of it and the previous missives has been made available for your perusal upon request.”
“Um, okay? Put them on my desk if they’re important. And Scully? Could you try not to bother me when I’m not dressed? It’s distracting.”
I kept talking as I toweled off and found the bracelet was back in my hair. This time, I just left it there.
“Apologies, Lady Blackleaf. Preferences updated; I will no longer appear or speak while you lack clothing.”
Good enough – and probably the best I’d get. “Oh! And could you bring me a copy of The Biers of Immortals?”
The mirror stayed blank even once I had a shirt on, but her voice echoed out anyway. “Will there be anything else?”
“Not that I can think of. Just tell me if something weird happens, or get me if you need something. I trust you to handle everything else. Oh, and Scully? Thank you.”
“It…it is no trouble, Lady Blackleaf.”
~-~-~
“While I am young, by the standards of Immortals, the ennui that stills our souls has begun to reach me. So, I turn my pen towards the task of writing of our biers; the pedestals upon which those of us that have seized immortality sit upon and rot.
As many of you may know – I have just seen the dawning of my second century. I have aged not a day since long before my home rebelled against the King. Everything I have ever loved – each and every one of my friends and kin – has withered and died before my eyes. My children’s children’s children have come and gone from this world and on to fates outside of our unseen domains, and I am forgotten. It is a story as old as humanity, perhaps older still.
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Immortality is as varied as the beings one may find upon the Earth, within the Wood, or trotting the infinite Roads. What few realize before they have irrevocably set themselves onto this path is that, without exception, it is inseparable from loss. One born mortal cannot live beyond their years without sacrifice. To disconnect ourselves from the flows of time, we must lose an anchor. We come unmoored from everything that has ever grounded us. To survive past our second centuries, and become something or someone remembered, we must have a passion. Something that staves off lethargy and makes us more than preserved corpses held in state for the world to look upon our follies.
For those blessed from birth with immortality, that passion is a base part of their psyche. A need to hunt, to build, or to collect as just a few examples. An indelible portion of their being that, if missing or lost, leads them to wither on the vine. For us mortals, we are shaped in the change by what resonates most strongly within us. To delve into knowledge lost and unlearned, to feel the joys of creation, plague your enemies for generations, or steer your descendants. To achieve and to experience. These are the things that keep immortals tethered to existence, rather than driving deeper and deeper into a fading routine that heralds the birth of a new spirit.
At the core, these needs are all the same. As exemplified by the oldest immortals, those who remember the birth of the stars and saw as the first of man reached out to Flame, the quest is for sensation. Novelty and excitement, memories and experiences outside of what’s known. The Fae, as frustratingly ill-defined as their courts may be when it comes to their desires, subsist on such. To bargain with them, the unique is what you must offer. Among the ancient legends that still walk this world, the same holds true.
In the remainder of this volume, several well-documented figures of history are compared. Those whose journeys are mirrors to each other, yet where one remained while the other faded. Those slain before their time, as well as the more mysterious of our kind, will not be discussed. Nor, to the undoubted disappointment of many readers, will my mentor’s history be examined. The Lord Blackleaf’s history shall remain a mystery, if you will pardon the rhyme, because he wishes it so. Olaf taught me nigh on everything I know, and not once did he force me down any path. I have sworn to never break his confidence, and this oath I stand by, or else let me be Forsworn.”
There was more to the leatherbound pamphlet, but I had a feeling that what the matriarch had meant was there. I had to get something unique and special, beyond what Teresa was to them. It was…it was daunting.
In small text beneath the author’s name, there was a publisher’s mark. London, 1935. But the writer had been talking about Olaf. That was grandpa. There was no way he was that old, right? But the Sphinx said she was centuries old, and she called him a role model…
“Scully?” I took a sip from the golden goblet that made water taste like fruity tv static that she’d brought me when I asked. It weighed far too little for its size, and never ran empty. “How old was grandpa?”
“Clarify?”
“How old was Lord Blackleaf, my grandfather?”
There was silence for a few long seconds, like she was ignoring me.
“Information not found.”
That was absolutely not a comforting answer.
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A phone call, several hours of reading, and a quick outfit change later, I pulled up to a gated community on the far edge of town. Marble walls that might not even be fake stretched into the sky, hiding the Grecian houses inside from everywhere but the golden metal gate out front. Atop them, bronze spikes glittered with magic in the evening sun.
“State your name and business,” a deep, feminine voice that was as much a purr as anything else came from the buzzer, crystal clear.
“Tamara Aufrey. I’m here for a meeting.”
A rumble of acknowledgement. Then, “You may enter. The matriarch is in the main building. Trust me - you cannot miss it."
That was obvious. The four-story mansion loomed over the screen of trees and fencing that blocked off the inner street from the outer one. The gates slid apart, retracting into the walls rather than swinging. As I drove through, there were no cars parked on the street. Most of the houses had garages and large front doors. There was nobody out and walking, but the curtains on several houses shifted as I drove by. It was too bright to tell if there were glowing eyes like Alara’s inside.
There was a colonnade across from the center of the compound, surrounding a giant sunken pool and an artificial beach that looked far, far out of place. Lounging on the rocky cliffs at one end and in the shade of the trees, were all manner of sphinxes. Their coats ran the gamut from a deep chestnut to a single woman with frosty blue fur. Most, though, were the same pale gold as Alara. There were a few normal people swimming along with them.
I kept my eyes turned away after I parked. So many of them were topless. I did not need to be distracted right now.
I hesitated at the doors. Was that really a lions-head knocker? Wasn’t that a bit…
It opened before I could touch it or finish that thought. Instead of Alara, a girl that looked my age answered. She seemed human enough; long red hair, green eyes, pale skin. No fur and no pointed teeth behind her smile. She also wasn’t wearing very much – just a tank top long enough to make it unclear if she had on short shorts or just wasn’t wearing pants.
It was, uh, a look.
“Hi! You must be Tammy – I’m Alyssa! Come on in, Mom’s up in the study and it’s my job to make sure you don’t walk into something you shouldn’t and get your brain fried again.”
She gestured for me to follow her, in the process bashing her hand into the doorframe. A garbled mess of what I assumed were curses came out of her mouth as water dripped down the doorframe and her body shifted.
She was still mostly human, but closer to Alara. Reddish fur, a few shades lighter than her hair, covered everything below her face and blood-red wings poked through holes in the back of her top. Which had noticeably deflated in front.
“Damn it. Stupid illusion always drops when that happens. It’s supposed to be surprise that…” Her frown was, somehow, still cute even with teeth clearly meant to rip through flesh. “Ugh, I wanted to keep it going too. See how long it took for you to realize I wasn’t just a regular old boring human.”
“Are…”
She flung out a hand and her claws stopped inches from my face. “Whoa, hold it there. No questions.”