Vampiris Sancti: The Elf (11 page)

“Yes and they
saw us back!” she replied, furthering the panic of her
companion.

“What do, what
do?” Beb fluttered in demented circles, repeating the question as
if a mantra to calm.

Zyre knew that
once a Pixie was full of chaos the only safe thing to do was toss
him back home through the Reveal. “We do nothing and you go home
before Vampires find us.”

Though he was
quite capable of flying, she needed to ensure Beb went exactly
where she wanted. The problem was that she didn’t have enough
energy to dissolve a terrified Pixie fluttering against her. Aware
that they had limited time to remain hidden and that she needed the
respite of a garden, sooner rather than later, she stood up and
scented the air. To her relief she could find the sting alcohol
riding the breeze, so grabbing the Pixie once again by the collar
she muted his protests with the word juniper. She transported them
near an untidy row of shops and this time didn’t bother with
exchange—fair or otherwise. She was an Elf on the run for her life.
Keeping a firm grip on Beb she shimmered in and out of the shop in
a blink. She stole the bottle of gin with a finesse that spoke of
familiarity of theft and removed them to the safety of another
roof. If a being ever forgot where the door home was they would
head to logical places, ports, train stations, airports as if
travel was a contagion spread throughout the multiverse.

She pushed Beb
towards the wall, but he was surprisingly resistant—even with half
a bottle of gin in him. He turned to the Elf his ruby eyes
glittered with gin and concern as he waved the bottle towards the
entrance.

“Come back
home, we can pixilate the Martyc and make him think all Gnomes are
Elves!”

As amusing as
the thought of watching a Xatn attempting to seduce a Gnome might
be—Zyre was well aware of their truth.

“You know we
not get close to him—not with many Varkja. Even if we could, can
you pixilate a strong Xatn alone?”

Beb gave a
depressed belch. “Maybe, don’t know, if you distract? You be
singing for him.”

Zyre shook her
head for while Pixie song burned, the Elf song soothed and as
strange as the generous offer was to help—she had a reluctance to
involve Beb. So the tinge of friendship finally entered her
life.

The Pixie
continued. “You be good Elf and am sorry Xatn wants you.”

She gave her
somewhat friend a cheeky grin. “Wanting and getting are two
different things—kick a Goblin for me!”

The Pixie
giggled at the last thought—something only an Elf would suggest
because the Nefarious One was best avoided on all worlds. Unless
you were Zyre as she seemed to enjoy pulling the tails of sleeping
monsters and negotiating other dangerous Elf hazards. He gave her
the leer resembling a smile and faded into the doorway back to a
home she dared not visit. At least, not until the Xatn here had
something else to occupy him—other than chasing down a reluctant
Elf.

With Beb gone
she dissolved until she collapsed under a tree in a small city
park. Though she could use the plant energy to recover she was
going to need a bigger jolt for instant power. She looked at the
dark cityscape knowing that the night wouldn’t offer her the same
level of protection as day. Demons and Vampires were restricted by
the harsh reality of sunlight during the day, but night provided no
barrier. Under the artificially illuminated sky, many illusions
were possible and even the Varkja could walk around unmolested due
to the poor nature of human vision. She needed to find a quiet spot
until the welcoming sun returned and then she could make plans that
were more substantial. Zyre removed herself to another roof and
scanned horizon to discover it alive with a myriad of creatures,
but she couldn’t think of any daring enough help an errant Elf. Her
choices limited she considered returning through the Reveal, but
had misgivings about her continued ability to avoid the
machinations of the Elders. She couldn’t move about any demon realm
for too long—none would be safe once word spread of the interest of
Vryn Dhaigre. She could attempt to seduce a human and secrete
herself inside his world, wait until the furore died down and then
abscond. The problem with this plan was that humans had the same
proclivities as demons leaving her host to fall invariably in love
and want sex, or attempt to tie her into a relationship. The last
thing she needed was to add another unwanted suitor to the chase as
Dhaigre would have little patience with interference. Zyre was
happy to leave the Poqir to his fate as she judged him according to
the activities of his kind, but to her humans were mostly innocent
bystanders.

Elves had
mastered four elements that ensured their survival in the harshest
of environs; they lied exceptionally well, their preference for the
unexpected was constant, they could often hide in plain sight, and
if worse came to worse they could seduce their way into safety. It
was an unusual demon that could resist an Elf because they were
more than beautiful, or sexually magnetic. The Elf contained the
warmth of the Reveal and her emotional interior was rivalled only
by the fragile, flawed human. Demons fought their own destructive
natures, the harshness turning their focus continually inwards as
they battled the external demands of an expectant universe. It took
the magical mistress of mayhem to bring colour, warmth, tendrils of
joy back into their lives and they pursued her with vigour. Zyre
knew the minds of demons with their desire for the magical and
decided the issue was too difficult to solve on an empty
stomach.

Her brief rest
in the garden allowed her to dissolve again, but unless she
obtained more nourishment than flowers then she would have
difficulty crossing the city with the speed she required. She took
the risky action of standing up on the roof because she needed to
search amongst the city stench to find the delicate scent that
would guide her to recovery. Closing her eyes and tuning out the
cacophony of urban life the night air engulfed her as she aligned
herself with the elusive lure of sweet. This time it came like a
bolt exploding across her senses. While chocolate had been a quiet
enticement floating delicately upon the air this was a velvet coat
lining the night. Following her nose she dissolved away from the
centre of the city back towards the Vampire Chambers and here in
the more industrial part of the city she found unimaginable bounty.
The doorway read Shamplin and Sons Natural Raw Honey, and once
through it—she discovered a storehouse of gold heaven. The human
world had been described as one full of amazing innovation,
plentiful resources, but apart from the chocolate and beautiful
flowers so far there hadn’t been much to recommend it.

The small brick
building created a century earlier for a trade was now a repository
for a small business while the stone floor and barred windows
guarded their contents with antique grace. She wandered through the
loading dock where pallets stood ready for transport with papers
taped across them identifying their purpose. Another sign hanging
at the back explained—Shamplin Clarified and Crystallised Honey
since 1910. Zyre wandered to another room where rows of half-opened
pallets lined the wall each one identified by a plaque above it,
Ironbark, Salvation Jane, and Leatherwood. If she could read human
she might have understood the distinction of variety, but instead
she found herself consumed by the rich enticing scent of the golden
nectar. An Elf consumed was an Elf exposed and Zyre was not hiding
in plain sight when a boy of about sixteen danced his way around
the corner. He was on the cusp of being too young to work such an
early shift, certainly too young to observe work protocol as he
fended off boredom by listening to the blare of music through
headphones. The discovery of a beautiful girl slouched on the floor
surrounded by empty jars while enjoying a magnificent high was an
unexpected win in a dead end job. He should have called for his
superior snoozing in the back room or for the police to deal with
the unusual robbery. His response was as predictable as one could
expect from a bored young guy working early on a Saturday
morning.

“Cool,” said
her impressed observer and he approached his unexpected thief
without concern.

Zyre tried to
focus upon her new acquaintance, but she had imbibed a bit too much
in a short time, which made her head fuzzy. The boy smiled at her,
he obviously couldn’t be bothered to hold the same unsympathetic
view as his employer regarding theft. Eager to communicate he
continued closing in on the delicious girl whose sticky demeanour
made her, if anything, more enticing.

“Hello there,”
he said somewhat shyly since it wasn’t every day a hot girl with
sparkling emerald green eyes noticed him.

Zyre put her
fingers to her lips. “Shh.” She pointed to a mouse in the corner
nibbling on a forgotten crumb.

Taking a marble
from her pocket she rolled the translucent gem towards him watching
his eyes widen as it changed colour with every roll. He bent down
to pick up the pebble looking away for only a second, but for an
Elf that was all she ever would need.

Energised by
the honey Zyre dissolved her way across the roofs of the city until
she had the black tower of the Martyc fortress in her sight. She
was hoping that this would be the last place any demons looking for
her would check. To all intents the place didn’t look to be a hub
of activity and she wondered if the Poqir had lied or if the Varkja
had really been sent to escort the Watcher. She examined the
building carefully while trying to formulate a plan but
unfortunately, the extent of an Elf’s plans usually involved
getting to the desired location then enjoying the fallout from
their arrival. The Varkja guards were not milling about the front
as the approaching light meant they needed to stay out of sight of
the awakening humans. The Gargoyles were still stone, so they were
not on guard from attack but a few moments later none of that
mattered. It wasn’t the Varkja or Dhaigre that occupied her
attention because she spied someone far more interesting leaving
the building. It was none other than the famous Afir—the assistant
to the powerful Martyc.

The Druqe
weren’t known as those who wandered about strange worlds alone and
the fact he was on foot without a contingent of Varkja guards to
support him intrigued Zyre. She followed from a discreet distance
uncertain how much the Druqe could discern around him. While most
of the higher caste demons had exceptional awareness of all aspects
of their environment lesser ones were cursed with sensory abilities
nearly as unfortunate as humans were. While not privy to the
faculties of the Druqe she knew that his behaviour was unusual for
one of his ilk. As protected as he was by the Martyc mantle he
would always be a potential target for any foolish enough to take
the risk of abduction. Afir walked with unconcern into the breaking
dawn, not once glancing into the still dark corners. He was either
supremely confident that the reputation of his employer was
protecting him or foolishly inviting disaster into his
presence.

Zyre knew that
the Druqes were not dresniqs, though cursed with insignificant weak
bodies and pale skin; they were clever as any Perhk puzzle. Blessed
with diplomatic patter and a truly eidetic memory the Druqe
survived admirably in their hostile universe.

The more
strange his behaviour was the more curious the Elf and so she
trailed him into the deserted shadows of the sleeping city. It took
three passes of the same area before the Elf realised that the
visitor the Druqe was expecting was herself as no one else had
arrived. Even one with the poorest of demon abilities was bound to
discern a magical presence following his circles. Spinning around
was something even an Elf tired of, so when he rounded the corner
for the fourth time Zyre obliged him with her presence.

If his lack of
surprise at her sudden appearance didn’t confirm her
assumption—then his acerbic response did. “Is about time you
decided to stop wandering.”

Though she was
used to the innate discourtesy of demons she still couldn’t help a
poke at him. She lapsed into the fluent form of speech demons and
humans needed.

“You didn’t
scent me, even Poqir cannot find me if I don’t want.”

“Perhaps if you
were not such a reckless creature wandering about in circles I
wouldn’t be dizzy! But I hear that’s a common magical problem.”

If Zyre was a
being who understood irony she could have pointed out that he was
the one meandering and she was merely an observer. The usual Elf
response to discourtesy was to douse the offender in something
sticky and leave them glued to anything of a great height.

This time her
curiosity won out and leaving the urge behind she inquired of the
cranky demon, “Come to trap me? Plan to sell me to Dhaigre—what
price an Elf?”

Her comments
only made the Druqe snort with disdain. “If I had wished to trap an
Elf, then you would already be my prisoner.”

Zyre viewed the
being before her with interest. Druqes looked like short skinny
humans, with skin so white that even Poqir and Vampires couldn’t
aspire to such blanched absence of colour. His mauve eyes were
startling marbles of colour against the backdrop of his skin and
his matching white hair made him an eerie ghost of a demon. He
couldn’t harm her—he did not have the strength or power for this
and there was no point in threats as Elves ignored them for sport.
That left the demon with personal agenda and nothing Zyre loved to
upset more than was a demon with plans. Her ruby lips curled in a
smile, which anyone in the know would recognise as a sign of an Elf
about to engage in mischief.

“I not be the
dresniq wandering about in circles,” she taunted.