Page 83 of Lux

But I know differently. Deep down, he exudes pity and guilt. They both compose his true nature. The true beast lurking beneath the mask. They are his real weapons—what makes him the most dangerous monster in this shitty realm.

For he knows answers to the questions few would seek an answer to. He is desperate—or foolish enough—to try and change them. He alone has the will to challenge fate.

But he is not naive like Niamh. He knows what awaits him at the end of every attempt. Defeat. Yet, he persists.

And in me, he seems some quest yet unfulfilled. I can feel it. I can sense his fingerprints on some untouched part of my soul. The one that recognized those paintings. The one who signed those old contracts. CW.

Altaris knew him once, of that, I am sure. Perhaps it was he who offered me on a platter to Cassius? Plied me with lies. Seduced and supplicated. Perhaps I fell for his pretty face the way countless others have submitted to mine. I cannot remember what this mortal body may have preferred: male or female? Neither sex matters to vamryre. A mind is a mind is a mind, one in the same. That was what attracted Cassius. He shaped us to think the same. To view our prey as a summation of parts. Thin. Thick. Pretty. Beautiful. Old. Young. An attractive body. A pliable mind.

Then I think of Niamh, and she is none of those things. At the same time, she is all of them. My personal blend of ebony and ivory. Harsh and soft. I look in her eyes and I remember something fleeting, long forgotten.

Perhaps it is the same thing Altaris seeks?

A reminder of humanity. Of what it is like to think and feel stupid, meaningless things. To wonder and gaze at the world in awe. To see new things about this monotonous, morbid gray landscape.

She adds color I’d forgotten existed. Beautiful, bright, and captivating.

But she is more dangerous than even Altaris is. For she holds that light in the palm of her hand.

And at her will, she can snuff it out.

She is worried. Her mind recoils from mine when I try to find out what. It’s a freedom I was never allowed with Cassius. He peeled my thoughts and flayed them from my scalp. Hiding from him was futile, but I tried anyway.

And from him, I learned all sorts of tricks to try. How to corner someone in their mind and lure them into a trap they least suspected. How to deploy cunning and cruelty to achieve an aim. How to twist and turn your victim’s own thoughts against them.

I could try those methods on her now. Make a crack to slip inside her mind and demand she tell me all. I want to. My hands twitch at my sides. I stare intently at her profile, as those black eyes scan the city blocks we pass.

I catch a glimpse of her curiosity and I could latch onto it. Ram and tear and break into that delicate skull.

But I don’t. I focus on Altaris instead and keep moving, chasing his figure through the city. This area differs from the shadowy parts where the mundane congregate and dwell. Mortals live here, on this nice, neat street, organized in a grid. It reminds me of those fae archives. A place for everything, and every lie within its place. I look closer and sense the facade. Mortals live here, yes, but the mundane are cleverer at camouflage. They blend in nicely, refusing to stand out. They cloak themselves in their magic and their wealth.

All in all, it looks like a place Altaris should feel quite at home in.

But he doesn’t. He is furtive, sticking to the shadows between buildings, as if—despite his hood drawn low over his head—he still fears the sun.

“This way,” he calls, once we crest a hill festooned with neat, square buildings composed of black brick. This is a business quarter. I can smell the money and ink. I can feel the fortunes changing hands like the tides of the winds. A place that vamryre would scoff at, for we have no need of mortal money.

Yet, tucked amongst these offices are establishments that mundane and all races alike find appealing. Knowledge—that rare and far more complex than that which the fae kept trapped in their books.

I know this place. Once upon a time, I’ve been here before—though it was different then. Less buildings. Less grandeur. A heavy, anxious atmosphere tinged the air in those days. Something horrific had weighed on the horizon. An event that enveloped the world and turned it upside down.

An event that would make becoming a vamryre seem like a mercy in comparison.

“We are here.” Altaris stops short, his gaze on a building ahead. It is smaller than the rest, composed of white and gray marble, in addition to black brick trim. A title engraved in gold sits above a set of black doors. D. Moure and Associates.

“I haven’t been here in a while,” Altaris remarks, wrinkling his nostrils. “I’d forgotten how nosy these mortals can be and how strict their rules for decorum are. You two will simply not do, dressed as you are. Wait here while I devise some scheme to get you in unannounced.”

He starts forward, his head held high, drawing glances from the few mortals he passes on the streets. This time of day the world is still quiet. There are few here to notice us, though the ones that do gape and stare. Then quickly look away again.

We are unseemly, my fae and I. Our dirty clothes draw notice. As does the muck and grime on my skin, not to mention her beauty. Even her pain cannot dim it. For she is in pain. I can smell it as any predator can, seeping through those delicate limbs.

“Where are you hurt?” I ask her.

She shakes her head. I can feel her thoughts trying to shut me out. Hide from me.

“I don’t like… I don’t like when you hide from me.” They are the wrong words. Cassius would demand and seethe. Never hide from me, he would command. He’d burrow into her mind so that she would never dare to make the same mistake again.

I could so easily do so. A part of me craves to cut inside her thoughts and dare her to keep me out.

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