Page 120 of Envious Of Fire
Mance’s smirk deepens. His eyes sharpen delightfully into blades. “Who says I work alone?”
Tristan’s expression falters, for a moment confused.
Until shapes emerge from the darkness around them. A tall figure from around the corner, long black hair, pale naked body and wicked eyes. From behind a machine, another tall shape in a long red robe, bald, beady eyes. From directly behind Tristan, causing him to leap to his feet and spin around, yet one more tall figure makes themselves known, stepping out from behind an old ATM machine, long talon-like fingernails, pointy nose, chin lifted arrogantly, dragging a tongue over their teeth.
Tristan looks from one to the next, at a loss.
Ferals. Three of them. Maybe more he doesn’t even see, hidden, waiting, greedily licking their lips, yet to show their twisted, inhuman faces, their long bodies and limbs.
“No plus-ones, you say?” Mance chuckles at that, kicks his feet up onto the machine. “How about plus-a-clown-car?”
Tristan, always an expert in shielding his emotions from his face, turns to Mance.I’m not so sure I’m in on the joke, he muses lightly.Are full-blooded vampires not your sworn enemies?
“You know the sayin’. Your enemy’s enemy is your friend.”Mance tilts his head, smirking. “Or maybe it’s total bullshit and your enemy’s enemy is just another fuckin’ enemy. But this lil’ team I got is workin’ out for me so far, and if you’re here offering an invite to the party, I think everyone in this room has somethin’ to gain by roughin’ up that douchebag a’ dicks callin’ himself Lord.” Mance’s eyes narrow. “Including you, sugar bottom.”
Is that a gay slur?Tristan wonders.It sounds cute, but I don’t think it’s intended to be.
“Is it? Shit, we could be besties if you weren’t so stingy on the dicks you put in your mouth or the words that come outta mine.” Mance kicks away from the machine, drops his feet, and stands, towering over Tristan. “So that’s the final offer? You let me and my fangy friends into the party through the backdoor, and I get to do whatever I want, in exchange for your safety?”
Tristan peers up at Mance. It’s been so long since he dared to allow himself to stand so close to the necromancer, he nearly forgot how tall he is.And the humans’ safety.And me and Raya.
“Don’t seem like a balanced deal to me. You’re givin’ me an awful lot in exchange for next to nothin’.”
We both let each other down with our last deal,says Tristan.This is to make it right for both of us.Wreak your vengeance on your former best friend.Give me a chance to escape with my loved ones and the humans imprisoned there.
“Shit, boy, things have really gone south that fast for you, huh? Am I waltzin’ into the middle of a lover’s quarrel here? Honeymoon already over for you and hotshot Markadian?”
Do we have a deal?
“This is a lot easier than I expected. You’re just leadin’ me right on to the good water, ain’t you? And this isn’t even a trick,” realizes Mance, his eyes digging into Tristan’s in that specific way that feels like he sees more than anyone could ever suspect, like he knows how everyone dies, sees their end as clearly as hesees the colors of their irises. “You’re the real deal right now. You’re as horny for Markadian’s demise as I am. Itchin’ for it.”
Do we have a deal?Tristan repeats.
“How’s that dark blood doin’? Keepin’ it safe?”
Tristan is struck by the sudden, out-of-nowhere question.I keep it with me at all times, at all hours.It’s in a test tube, the only container I could find in a pinch in a hospital supply closet…
“Good. Because I’ll be needin’ it.” Tristan stares blankly back. “Collateral. So I got somethin’ to hold over your clever little head if you decide not to pay the piper. Or in this case:pipers.”
Tristan doesn’t need to look at the Ferals again—the other “pipers”. And he doesn’t want to, either. His insides are already plenty frigid in the presence of so many dangerous individuals in one small, suffocating space.
“Hand it over.” Mance extends his hand, palm up. His face turns to stone as he stares Tristan down from the mountaintop, triumphant before the battle’s even begun. “A precious item for a precious deed.”
Tristan stares at that outstretched palm.
He remains still.
“You want that mortal to stay alive real bad, don’t you?” asks Mance, voice taunting. “The one whose face and name you thought of a hundred times for a hundred hours for a hundred beads in that belly of yours …? You care about him so damned much, don’t you?”
Tristan’s eyes remain glued to his discolored palm, the dark greyish fingertips.Yes, says Tristan.I want him to stay alive, so he can…fulfill a bigger purpose…
“Ain’t that the greatest lie of all,” grunts Mance, “that any one of us has a fuckin’ purpose. All we live to do is eat, shit, and fuck. No sleep for the wicked, and boy, don’t I know, ain’t no onesafe from being a little wicked.” He wiggles his fingers. “As soon as that tube sits on my palm, you’ve got yourself a deal.”
You may as well ask me to place my heart on your palm.
“Let’s not play with each other. Ain’t neither of us got one. I’m keepin’ the blood for collateral. To ensure you don’t walk me and my scary-ass friends into a trap. To ensure you keep your goddamned word for once, you slippery little minx you.”
Tristan closes his eyes. Instinctively, his hand moves to the breast pocket of the beige-and-lime patchwork coat he wears, the pocket with a subtle bump in the shape of a test tube.
