Balm of the Gods

Author's Note:In this chapter, I cribbed a term for a kind of benevolent vampire from a certain vampire novel that actually helped inspire a lot of the 'supernatural polyamory' dynamics that I wrote into stories like Balm of the Gods and Love and Fortune. No idea whether anyone here would have read it, but on the off chance someone has, the name of a certain vampiric 'species' you're about to meet will definitely stick out!

This one's very plot-heavy, without as much overt sexytime (at least, not until the end), so bear with it -- there's plenty of worldbuilding and character stuff I had to set up as we get into this second book's story here. I can already promise that the next chapter will be alotsmuttier. Hope all are enjoying things so far, and thanks as always for reading!

17. Foreign Customs

The quiet and darkness of the parlor was absolute. Opulent furnishings, high windows, and priceless decor showed the place had once been the center of another's lavish, wealthy life -- and indeed, sometime long ago, it had probably been bright and airy and full of activity. But its current proprietor, ages old and ever cautious, kept it dark and still. Just like he preferred.

Just as was necessary for a vampire.

Outside the windows, a heavy mist stirred, thick as ink, with the occasional glimmering spark to remind of its enchantment. Not even the pale moon could peek through the glass under that cover. It wouldn't do for any outside light to intrude, after all. And though Alessandro di Volterra had paid a price for this enchantment -- and still rankled at the memory of the unsavory, capricious 'business partner' he'd petitioned for it -- it paid its dividends. The vampire lord got protection from the sun's burning touch, even at the height of day. His estate was completely obscured from the outside world, who never even suspected it was there. And no one, mortal or supernatural, could see through the mists without an invite, let alone set foot within their reach.

That was paramount now, as he was to have company tonight. And the matters they planned to discuss would demand complete secrecy.

Alessandro usually reigned alone here. He'd never seen the need for a court of sycophants or the company of lesser vampires. The occasional mindless thrall served his needs, and that was all. Centuries had taught him to keep his distance from others unless they offered a clear benefit. Even now, so many years into his undead existence and more powerful than ever, he could hardly afford to be reckless -- or worse, sentimental.

That was partially why he still kept his guard up even now, when he stood as one part of an uneasy triumvirate of dark magic and malign intent.

Alessandro felt a chill in the air before the ghostly white portal opened. He didn't flinch or stiffen. He knew exactly what this meant: one of his new allies had returned from her errand. As Genevieve bled into the room, shimmering white amid the darkness, he simply turned his gaze to her, not even rising from the deep, plush armchair.

"Well?" he demanded, low and cold.

The Grieving Ghost gave him a small curtsy of greeting before her voice came like a distant, mournful sob. "Our message has been delivered at the gates of the golden god's abode. I tasted the life-force of his favored ones."

Alessandro nodded curtly. "Excellent. Then the young upstart has had his warning." His lip curled in a sneer. "I did not doubt you, but I am glad to hear things went as predicted."

"He shall think twice of stepping into our way now," the spirit murmured, "if he wishes to avoid the suffering and loss of those he loves."

"And the god himself?" Alessandro's question came sharply.

"His power was... considerable." A wail of frustration rang behind the ghost's words like a distant siren. "He wields a force he does not even understand. I could see it in his face, hear it in his thoughts. He can... barely grasp the true extent of his divine magic." Genevieve paused and lowered her head. "He attempted to strike me down, but I evaded him. I told you I would be careful."

When she looked up again, her expression pleaded for reassurance that she'd performed her mission well enough. Alessandro almost pitied Genevieve sometimes -- almost. He'd never chanced to run into her during her mortal life, but from what he'd since heard, the woman who would become the infamous Grieving Ghost had risen up out of quite the sob story to claim what was due to her in a series of power plays fueled by dark, draining magic. Alessandro could respect ambition like that. A shame, then, that it had all gone awry, and the girl's ultimate play for immortality had instead led to her spirit stripped away from her body forever -- and, not long later, imprisonment at the hands of a certain sorceress with a do-gooder complex.

Yet Alessandro knew pity was a useless emotion. In truth, he only cared about results. And with Genevieve de Montferrat bound to himself and his other ally, even if that reduced her to much less than she could or should have been, she could deliver without fail. Her arrival back to his lair with good news just proved that.

"You were successful," he said at last, and heard the ghost's quiet, grateful sigh in response. "I predicted this, too. The golden god is young and naive. That unrefined power makes him a fascinating specimen, but he holds a fatal flaw beyond even his failure to understand his true strength." Alessandro shook his head dismissively. "He is soft-hearted. Gentle. He cares for those who've been drawn to him. He forms bonds; believes in 'love.'"

Alessandro tasted something bitter in his mouth as he said that word. It was as foul an idea to him as sunlight or silver.

"Perhaps he remembers... what it is to be mortal," Genevieve softly offered, still hanging back. "To have attachments. Loved ones."

"Or it may just be his nature," the vampire countered. "It is a disadvantage either way. People like us do better to allow ourselves no such distractions."

Alessandro turned as a pale, thin figure came out from the gloom. It moved silently and emotionlessly into the parlor, showing no fear or trepidation -- or any other emotion at all. The hollowed-out shell of its mind could no sooner have felt than it could have sung opera. Alessandro held out his hand, and the vampiric thrall -- once human, long ago, but now stripped of its life and identity after decades of being drained and remade by his power and will -- placed a goblet into his grip. Alessandro drank, tasting the fresh blood. It was nothing compared to the raw, potent rush of draining a victim in the hunt, but it saved him the trouble tonight. The whole interaction did well to illustrate his point, anyway.

"Empathy is a tether," he told Genevieve, lowering the goblet. "It leaves one vulnerable. But you know that, Grieving Ghost. All those nobles and aristocrats in the old country that you seduced during your mortal life -- then stabbed in the back so their life-force could fuel your rise. You know as well as I do that others are mere instruments. Vessels to be drained, or tools to be wielded. And when they cease to be useful? We discard them. Anything else is a delusion."

Genevieve's floating form seemed to shiver. She nodded, then added, "Evette understands, as well."

Alessandro didn't need to be reminded. He chanced a look over to the furthest corner of the parlor, where the shadows were darkest. But there was no change in the silence or the stillness; no sign of the woman yet.

Sometimes Evette struck Alessandro as capricious. Sometimes he thought he caught a whiff of madness from her -- not just an obsession with power, which he could understand, but a true, deep-rooted mania. And yet, when she'd approached him, she'd brought an offer he couldn't refuse. She'd proposed this alliance, with all its promised rewards. She'd helped him free the ghost and bind her to their cause. So far, all had gone to plan.

And if Evette really came through and achieved what she sought? That would be worth every headache and gnawing suspicion of the partnership. So Alessandro just nodded.

"Whatever the case... a god like that? Weak and mewling?" The vampire's conviction redoubled as he turned the subject back to the enemy they'd laid low. "No, he will not dare to strike at us if there is a risk we retaliate in kind against those he holds dear. He will be fussing and fretting over those you took to death's door, Genevieve -- and despairing over the possibility of losing them entirely. He will waste much time doing so. And so he shall not be a concern for us."

Before Genevieve could answer him, a different voice did. Deep, echoing, and feminine, seeming to come from everywhere around the room at once.

Genevieve looked sharply to the side, like a dog who'd heard the voice of its master. Alessandro didn't bother, just narrowing his eyes in mild annoyance as another portal opened, this one an eerie, pulsating purple. Only once the dark rift had closed, and a tall, imposing woman had stepped out into the parlor, did Alessandro look her way, leaning forward and steepling his fingers.

"Evette."

"Lord Volterra," the Canted sorceress returned with a tone as cold as his. Her dark, smoky robes trailed her. She stood with her arms crossed, her milky skin and night-dark, braided hair catching what little light there was in the room. Wherever she went, Evette was striking, intimidating, and commanding of attention -- and she knew it.

Genevieve bowed outright to the sorceress. "My lady, I offer my thanks once more for your deliverance -- and again for the task you've set for me. It has been accomplished, as Lord Volterra here can attest."

Evette's gaze slid over the ghost, unsmiling. "Not bad for an opening gambit," she said simply.

"Not bad?" The vampire's lip curled. "The young god is cowed. He is out of our way."

"A fortunate thing, yes," Evette admitted, "given the trials we will soon face in pursuit of our goals. But I am afraid it was never him who posed the truest risk."

Alessandro's eyebrows lowered. He had a feeling what he was about to hear, but he kept silent for a long beat, waiting to see if she'd elaborate any other way. When Evette didn't, he scoffed. "You can't be referring to Saffron Bouchard."

"But I am." Evette didn't move a muscle. Her tone remained calm, her face impassive. "I know she's out there. Even after all these centuries spent playing the fugitive, hiding her tracks, even from her own kind. She knows how to keep out of sight, but she can't stay out of trouble. She'll catch wind of this. Once she has, I can't see her staying away. She'll find a way to meddle, to interfere -- or worse."

Alessandro could not disagree. He had his own long history with the woman in question. Sometimes he contemplated how much closer he might have been by now to his own ends if Saffron hadn't gotten in the way. Yet that was just the odd, stray thought. For Evette, Saffron was an obsession he sometimes thought bordered on pathological.

"One Level Sorceress could not stand against all three of us," he spoke. "Not even a god could do that now."

"You don't know Saffron like I do," Evette countered. "She's resourceful. Relentless. Clever as a fox and twice as slippery. And she has her own wants." The Canted sorceress's bitterness showed through every word. "Do you understand what she fights for, Volterra? What drives her?"

"The same thing that drives you," the vampire lord retorted. "The same thing that drives any of us." He swept out a hand to indicate Genevieve and himself as well as Evette. "Power."

"And yet she doesn't want to rule the world," said Evette with a shake of her head. "She doesn't even want to be known or recognized. She wants the status quo. She fights to protect and preserve it, and for no other reason. She sees any change to the natural order as a threat. And she will see us, what we do, as the most abhorrent threat to that order yet." With her teeth gritted and her brow lowered, Evette was starting to look as much like a vengeful warrior queen as a scheming sorceress. "You think she will stand idly by and let this world come to pass -- the world of my vision? The world where we rule?"

Alessandro slowly stood. He faced Evette on her level. "I know your vision. You have confided it to me many times. You want to harness the ultimate magical power... and change the world."

The vampire lord's heightened senses stretched through the floorboards, down into a vast darkness beneath. He felt them again -- so many weak, fluttering heartbeats, each one a dim echo of life below his feet. So many thralls, far more than just the one pale servant who'd brought him his blood, languished in the cellars beneath this lavish place. Theirs was a different kind of imprisonment than Genevieve's had been. A living one -- but then, not quite, with their will ever so slowly drained away, their identities erased, until they were only vessels for blood and for life-force.

And all those empty shells awaited a great purpose. They were what Alessandro had brought to the table to offer for Evette's plan.

"It's no myth, Volterra," Evette murmured with a hint of a taunting lilt. "A power so fundamental to the cosmos as we understand it that it can rewrite the laws of reality itself. I spent centuries chasing down rumors about it before I ever revealed myself to you, or thought to break the Grieving Ghost free. Now I've found the proof of its existence. The divine magic that the golden god wields?" Something came over the Canted sorceress's expression that was equal parts awe and hunger. "That power is a drop of water in a mighty ocean compared to the force that I seek -- the one that all three of us shall seize soon enough."

"Yes, yes," Alessandro said, waving away her digression with impatience. "That is the plan. And I am with it. I have readied my piece of it. Genevieve has played her part. We are committed to the cause."

He narrowed his gaze at the sorceress who was his ally -- for now. Purely a matter of utility, he reminded himself; that was all this was. Evette didn't desire his friendship any more than he desired hers. Their paths were one -- and he did believe, to some degree, that they led to something magnificent. But when they reached their goal? He could not say what would happen then. He knew Evette did not trust him. He did not trust her. What Genevieve felt, he wasn't sure -- but then, she wasn't truly free to act outside of their interests, not so long as they held her leash.

"But I can always tell a weakness," he told Evette bluntly. "Your preoccupation with Saffron Bouchard is becoming one."

Evette's dark gaze turned stony. "Then you don't see the bigger picture. I'm not the only one smart enough to seek alliances in these crucial times, Volterra. Saffron's own connections run deeper than even I can know for certain. If she learns of our plans and finds a way to even the playing field..." The Canted sorceress shook her head. "That is what could endanger everything. Far more than some bumbling god with more power than he knows what to do with."

Alessandro gave a slow, considering nod. Not far away, even Genevieve stirred and seemed to listen more intently, perhaps seeing the logic of Evette's fears. The ghost's usual aura of cold, draining negativity sharpened, cutting through the scene like a blade drawn out in warning.

"I suppose I do see your point," the vampire lord conceded. "We shall have to prepare, then, for any... complications."

"We shall wait and watch," Evette agreed. She glanced at Genevieve. "Grieving Ghost, know that we will call on you again. You will serve as our agent when we have need of you. And if our enemies come hunting for us, or meddle in the next steps of our plan... you shall be our shield. Be vigilant and ruthless -- across the material, astral, and dreaming planes."

Genevieve bowed low again. Her pale, flowing hair fell over her shoulders and face. "Of course, my lady. You freed me, and for that, I will stand between you and whatever comes. I shall guard this place and those within it -- and the great secret beneath. And I shall drain the life-force of any challenger before they even get close enough to see your face."

Evette smirked. The devotion of the Grieving Ghost obviously pleased her. "Good. For now, you may take your leave."

And with a cold swirl of wind, the spectral white portal appeared once again. Genevieve disappeared through it, leaving Alessandro and Evette alone in the parlor.

Alessandro didn't look at his partner. Instead, he found himself eyeing the nearest window, looking out into the swirling mists and the darkness of the night. He wasn't afraid. He hadn't been afraid of anything in hundreds of years; not with the power and the knowledge he'd accrued in all that time. It was just that a new thought had occurred to him.

"A question troubles me, Evette," he spoke. "If Saffron is so determined to maintain the natural order as she sees it... then what must she think of this golden god who has so suddenly appeared on the stage of our hidden world?" The vampire lord returned his attention to the sorceress. "He is a force of profound change. Unpredictable. And unmissable. A new god, born in an age when such things should be left to the myths. Should she not see him as more troubling than we?"

Evette thought about it. Then a slow, calculating smile unfurled. "I will give you this, Volterra. You are perceptive." She paced the length of the parlor. "Yes, if I know Saffron, she would view the golden god as a... disruption. A wild card she can't control. Yet she's always possessed a certain... attraction to power. Not to wield it, as you or I might, but to understand it. To learn from it."

"Are you suggesting she sees an opportunity?"

The sorceress joined Alessandro by the window and gazed out, like she could see something past the surrounding, obscuring enchantment. "One thing is certain," Evette began. "My old archenemy would never submit, as other mortal waifs do, to the allure of his divine gift. An irresistible scent? Bah. She's stood up to worse."

The look she leveled at Alessandro was piercing and knowing, and brought up bad memories for the vampire. His own glamours and charms, usually potent enough to manipulate anyone, had failed against Saffron Bouchard all that time ago. As it were, he didn't get the sense they'd do anything to Evette now, either. Just another reason he kept his guard up whenever Evette was around.

"What business do you think she would have with the god, then?" he asked.

"I think she would look for a way to get just close enough to study his magic. She might try to temper him. Maybe even to steer his nascent divinity toward the defense of her precious status quo. It's not as though he can't be bent. The Incursions Department has already done enough to try to sway him to that end." She gave the organization's name about as much weight as one might a gnat in their soup. "But that's only my assumption."

Alessandro considered it through another long sip of blood. "And if she succeeded?" he ventured.

"Then the game would change," Evette admitted. "A novice god would be much more than a big, clumsy target to push over if he's guided by a sorceress with millennia of wisdom and knowledge of our hidden world. Level Magic and divine power, working in harmony." Her expression had turned steel-hard. "I would prefer it if that never came to be. But if it did..."

"This is a great deal of speculation," Alessandro demurred. "We do not know if Saffron and this godling have even met."

The room fell silent for a long moment, broken only by the occasional gust of wind outside in the mist-shrouded night.

"Then that's all the more reason to stand back and observe," Evette finally answered. "We shall watch them both. Every move they make. Every ally they gather. If this is war, then let them proceed believing they have the jump on us. Let them show us their hand before we reveal the full scope of our own."