don’t sound so glum. Think of it as job security.”
“Make no mistake, mistress. I may protect you now, but as soon as I have the chance, I will rip the flesh from your body and tear your bones apart. I will ensure you suffer so gravely that you will beg me for death. Yet, even then, your soul will not find relief. I will torture it for all eternity.”
He spoke in a flat tone, not as a threat, but simply as a statement of fact. Honestly, after my week of propositions, statements about my impending death were kind of a refreshing return to normality.
“Looking forward to it, Volusian.” I yawned and sat on the bed. “Anything else constructive you’ve got to offer? In rescuing the girl, I mean.”
“I suspect my mistress is too…set in her ways for my advice, but you could solicit help.”
“Solicit it from whom? I don’t have anyone else to go to.”
“Not in this world you don’t.”
It took me a moment to get what he was saying. “No. No way. I’m not going to some gentry or spirit for help. Not like they’d give it anyway.”
“I would not be so certain of that, mistress.”
Gentry were petty and dishonest. They had no regard for anyone but themselves. No way would I appeal to one. No way would I trust one.
Volusian watched me. When he saw I would not respond, he said: “It is as I thought. My mistress will not hear anything she doesn’t want to. She is too stubborn.”
“No, I’m not. I’m always open to things.”
“As you say, mistress.”
The look on his face somehow managed to be angelic and scream you fucking hypocrite all at the same time. “All right,” I said impatiently, “let’s hear it.”
“There is another king, Dorian, who rules the Oak Land. He and Aeson hate each other—in a polite-faced, political manner, of course.”
“No surprise there. I’m surprised they aren’t all turning on each other. That doesn’t mean he’d help me.”
“I believe Dorian would be very happy to see someone come and kill off Aeson. Especially if he did not have to actually do it himself. He might offer a great deal of assistance to see you do it.”
“‘Might’ being the operative word. So you’re suggesting I just show up at his door and ask for help?”
Volusian inclined his head in the affirmative.
“Have I ever killed or cast out any of his people?”
“Likely.”
“Then I think it’s ‘likely’ he’d kill me the moment I set foot on his land. I can’t imagine any gentry’s keen on letting their biggest assassin in the door.”
I wasn’t touting ego in that statement. Much like Volusian’s death threats, I simply stated a fact. I knew my own worth and reputation as far as the Otherworld was concerned. I mean, it wasn’t like I was reaching genocide levels or anything; I just had more notches on my belt than most.
“Dorian has…an odd sense of humor. It might amuse him to welcome an enemy like you. He would enjoy the sensation it would cause among others.”
“So he uses me for entertainment and then kills me.” I couldn’t believe Volusian was even suggesting a plan like this. He hated me, but he also knew me. If he hadn’t had such a stick up his ass, I would have sworn he was messing with me. Yet, his bindings forced him to sincerely give the best of his counsel if I asked it.
“If he gives you his word of hospitality, he is honor-bound to keep you safe.”
“Since when do gentry keep their word? Or have honor?”
Volusian regarded me carefully. “May I speak bluntly, mistress?”
“As opposed to usual?”
“Your hatred of the gentry blinds you to their true nature. You are also blind to the only thing that might let you escape this mad scheme alive—not that I would mind if you were torn to bloody shreds by Aeson’s people. But whatever else you believe, one of the gentry will stake his life on his word. They keep their oaths better than humans.”
I honestly didn’t believe that. No matter how much I might need help with this, it wasn’t worth it. I would not make a deal with the devil.
“No. I won’t do it.”
Volusian gave a small shrug. “As my mistress wishes. It makes no difference if you speed your own death. I cannot die, after all.”
I stared at him in exasperation. He stared back. Shaking my head, I stood up for another summoning.
“Okay, if that’s all, I’m gonna call the rest of the gang.”
He hesitated. “May I…ask my mistress a question first?”
I turned in surprise. Volusian was the epitome of don’t-speak-until-spoken-to. He only answered what was asked of him. He did not seek out other information. This was new. Wow. What a week of earth-shattering events.
“Sure, go ahead.”
“You do not trust me.”
“That’s not a question, but no, I don’t.”
“Yet…you came to me for advice first. Before you spoke to the others. Why?”
It was a good question. I was about to summon two other minions. I didn’t trust them either, but they had more reason to show loyalty than Volusian. They did not describe my graphic death on a regular basis.
“Because no matter what else you may be, you’re smarter than they are.” I could have elaborated on that, but I didn’t. That was really all there was to it.
He thought about this for a long time. “My mistress is less foolish than she normally appears.” I think it was the closest he could come to thanking me for a compliment—or giving one.
I took out the wand and summoned my other two spirits. I didn’t bother with candles or darkness because these ones were easier to call—especially since I was technically only “requesting” one to come, not ordering him.
The coldness and pressure came again, and then two other forms appeared. Volusian stepped back, arms crossed, not looking impressed. The two newcomers glanced around, taking note that I had gathered all of them. The three of them never interacted much in my viewing, but I always wondered if maybe they hung out for coffee or something in the Otherworld and made fun of me. Kind of like how people make fun of their boss after work during happy hour.
Still affecting unconcerned, lazy control, I unwrapped a Milky Way and sat back on my bed again. Leaning against the wall, I surveyed my team.
Nandi was less powerful than Volusian, so she had a less substantial form in this world. She appeared as a translucent, opalescent figure that seemed vaguely female in shape. Centuries ago, she had been a Zulu woman accused of witchcraft by her people. They had killed her and, like Volusian, cursed her from finding rest. Unlike Volusian’s, I could break this curse and send her on to the land of death. I had encountered her haunting this world, more frightening than harmful, and bound her in service to me in exchange for eventual peace. I had demanded three years of loyalty, one of which she had fulfilled. When the other two were up, I would let her pass on. Whereas Volusian always seemed sullen and sarcastic, Nandi was always sad. She was the poster child for a lost soul. A real downer.
Finn, however, was a different story. Of the three, only he looked happy to be here. He too was not powerful enough to have a solid form. He translated to this plane as small and glittering, barely there, much like how humans perceived Disney-type pixies. I had no claims on Finn. He had started hanging around because he found me entertaining. So he popped up from time to time, followed me, and would generally come when called. I had the power to