“So, your proposition is to infiltrate Vampire Square in an effort to identify and kill the vampires working against Elior?” Alatar arched his eyebrows and a sipped his herbal tea. “In order to prevent the vampires bringing this war onto pack lands and seeking your mother’s blood, which you also share?”
“That is about it, yes,” she agreed with false bravado. “Are you looking for sugar, honey?” She asked the devil. “Because it is on the table.”
“Sugar?” Cael wrinkled his nose. “No,” he replied as if it were an outrageous suggestion.
He continued prowling the kitchen, his feathers dragging the ground as he helped himself to the contents of Alatar’s cupboards. They watched him pull the lids off the various canisters in Alatar’s meticulously organized pantry, sniffing at the contents. Some he pulled a face at and returned immediately to its shelf, others he dipped a finger in to sample it. So far, he had filled a bowl with cornflakes and orange juice and seemed to be searching for something to add to it.
“Be careful with that one…” Alatar started to caution the devil as Cael stuck his finger into a red powder and then into his mouth.
“This is good,” Cael said with approval, using a spoon to add it to a bowl of cornflakes.
Ashlynn met Alatar’s eyes and smirked. The warlock wore a look of fascinated horror as the devil cheerfully took his chilli, orange juice and corn-flake combination over to the window, looking out onto the street below as he ate.
“That is an interesting combination,” Alatar murmured and repressed a shudder. “Your mate,” he told her.
“I know,” she was smug. “Isn’t he pretty?”
“Back to topic,” Alatar ignored the comment. “You know your plan is insane, right? There are so many holes in it that I don’t even know where to begin. Well, actually, I do,” he amended. “You are quite possibly full of juicy, vampire enhancing blood, and plan on walking it right into their nest?”
“She will be safe. I will be with her,” Cael replied confidently.
“As I remember it, you weren’t that hard to defeat,” Alatar pointed out. “Two werewolves and a first level warlock managed to whisk Cecelia away from you.”
“It has been twenty years,” Cael glowered. “I have spent my time as a fugitive and have learnt much. As your power has advanced, warlock, so has mine. And I was not defeated by two werewolves and a warlock but exhausted myself imprisoning three Wingless, after just opening the door between realms, and enchanting a family to abandon their home.”
“I am pretty sure my kick-ass mother rescued herself, or, at least, that was how I was told the story,” Ashlynn pointed out.
Both devil and warlock bristled.
“I opened the portals,” Alatar pouted.
“Of course, you did,” she soothed his pride. “Let’s focus. Of course, I am not going to just walk into the vampires’ nest and advertise who I am, Uncle. Which is why I am here. I need a glamour. One that vampires can’t see through.”
“You want to glamour vampires?” Alatar was intrigued now.
“I want to glamour vampires into thinking that I am a vampire,” she confirmed. “So that they don’t connect me as being the child of Cecelia and Raiden Grenmeyer and being full of juicy vampire enhancing blood whilst I spy on them and see if I can find out who has betrayed Elior and what they intend on doing next.”
“And me,” Cael amended. “I need a glamour, too.”
“Oh, no, sweetheart,” she smirked. “You are going to be my blood slave.”
“I am not a slave,” Cael was outraged by the suggestion.
“You are already my sex slave, so it won’t be much of a change of pace for you,” she enjoyed provoking him.
His outrage shifted into cunning. “I could be the vampire, and you could be the blood slave.”
“You don’t know the inner workings of the Other world,” she replied reasonably.
“What is there to know?” He shrugged. “They are slaves that drink the blood of other slaves.”
“Point made,” Alatar rolled his eyes. “Ashlynn would be the more appropriate vampire.”
“Thanks Uncle,” she smirked.
“As will I,” Alatar added.
“Uncle,” she protested.
“No,” he took his empty teacup to the sink and rinsed it. “If your father finds out that I not only knew about but also aided you in your hare-brained scheme, Ashlynn, I will be a dead man. The only way I will survive his wrath is if I accompany you.”
“Good point,” she admitted. “But it is dangerous, Uncle. We could just pretend that I broke into the shop and raided your shelves without you knowing.”
“You came to me because you knew that you did not possess the skills to cast a glamour that Others could not see through,” he opened the door into the hallway. “And your father would never believe that you managed to break into my shop without me knowing.”
Cael trailed behind, looking into the rooms they passed with interest. “Do you live here alone?” Cael wondered aloud, and then inhaled. “Yes, I do not smell anyone else,” he decided.
“I don’t have a mate,” Alatar confirmed mildly. “Why do you ask?”
“The number of bedrooms,” Cael replied.
“I often have guests,” the warlock told him. “And I entertain a lot.”
“We are not house shopping, Cael,” Ashlynn reminded the devil. “Stop counting bedrooms and come one.” She could hear the brush of his feathers against the walls as they took the elegant staircases down to the shop level and his grumbled complaints.
When she had been a child, Alatar’s shop and home had been dark and dated, but as he had moved up through the ranks of warlocks, he had renovated the premise to its current slick elegance, using magic to expand the internal space beyond its actual physical footings, and werewolf contractors to modernize it. It was a very masculine space, she thought, lots of dark wood, and dark colours, but it was definitely an improvement.
The shop was a generous space lit by large windows on the street-front. Lovely, dark wooden shelving against the rear wall displayed raw materials, and tidy lines of free-standing open shelving displayed the mixed potions ready for purchase. A heavy farmhouse style table tucked against the staircase served as a workspace for the preparation of spell components and the mixing and blending of them into spells.
Alatar handed her a canvas bag. “Grab anything off the shelves that you think might be useful, whilst I mix the glamours. You, feather boy,” he fixed Cael with a pointed finger. “Sit on the stairs. With those wings, letting you wander in here would be like letting lose a bull in a china shop.”
“I can retract them, but it hurts to do so,” Cael sat on the stairs, sulkily.
“Yes, I remember Lia saying something to that effect,” Alatar muttered, already busy over the table. “She doesn’t fly much. Perhaps that is why.”
“I think it is more because my father worries that if she is flying frequently, she might become a target. She stays on pack lands unless he’s with her,” Ashlynn said from amongst the shelves.
“Smoke bombs,” she crowed tucking a few of the small pouches into the canvas bag. “I remember these from when I was a kid.”
Alatar chuckled. “Always a favourite amongst the cubs,” he agreed. “They like to hunt each other through the smoke,” he explained to Cael. “It is good for developing their hunting skills.”
The bell over the door to the shop rang as it opened.
“Ah, shit,” Ashlynn pulled a face as her father entered.
“Alatar,” Raiden greeted the warlock.
“Raiden,” Alatar was not surprised by the werewolf’s arrival.
“You told him where we were!” Ashlynn accused. “And played us to get our plans out of us!”
“Of course, he did,” Raiden growled. “He is my friend, Ash. But I was already on my way here – you told Nate you were going to visit a warlock you knew. Of course, I knew you meant Alatar.”
“Shit,” she had, she remembered.
“Told you, you should have kept your mouth shut,” Cael muttered.
“Her idea is not without merit, Raiden,” Alatar said, continuing to mix ingredients at the table. There was a flash of light, and Ashlynn wrinkled her nose at the sharp scent of magic. “Glamouring the vampires in order to infiltrate their nest to locate and assassinate Elior’s vampire uprising is creative but plausible.”
“Then you and I will do it, Alatar. Ashlynn, you and Cael will return to pack lands,” Raiden glowered at Ashlynn. “And your other mate, who is by the way, understandably, furious.”
“Shit,” Ashlynn pulled a face. “There are other things that Cael and I can do to help, dad. We could go to the Fae Faire, or try to spy on the humans to find out what is-”
“Ashlynn,” Raiden was patient. “I know you want to help your mate but putting yourself in danger is just increasing Elior’s worries, not easing them. Sometimes the most helpful thing a person can do is to stay out of trouble.”
Alatar looked up suddenly, his expression alarmed. “Talking about trouble. Something powerful just crossed my wards.”
They heard the squeal of tires and Raiden cursed, pushing Ashlynn towards the stairs. Cael stood, catching her up against him.
“Alatar,” the werewolf turned to the warlock. “Any ideas?”
“Fight,” Alatar replied.
“Are they humans, or vampires?” Ashlynn demanded.
“I don’t know,” Alatar replied.
“Cael, take Ashlynn from the roof,” Raiden met Cael’s eyes. The devil inclined his head.
“Here,” Alatar shoved a pouch through the stair railings into Ashlynn’s hands.
“What did you do that for?” Raiden demanded.
“In case we don’t win,” Alatar replied grimly. “Her plan has merit, Raiden. Plus, we might need rescuing ourselves.”
“Go,” Raiden barked over his shoulder at Ashlynn and Cael as the door was kicked open. “Go! Go!”