Page 121 of Envious Of Fire
“Keep your word,” says Mance, voice level, casual, sincere, “and on my daughters’ souls, I swear I’ll keep mine.”
With his eyes still closed, Tristan pulls out the tube, holds it in his hand for three precious seconds, as if wishing it good luck or bidding it farewell for now, then presses it too quickly into Mance’s ice cold palm. Then he lets his eyes open.
Mance closes his fingers around the tube of dark, sinister fluid. “Good boy.” He pockets it at once, then winks. “See you tomorrow night.” And with that, he turns and heads off.
The Ferals slip away as well, sliding into shadows, passing around corners, all of them gone as quickly as they had come.
Tristan frowns.I haven’t yet told you how to get into the House.
“The box was opened, wasn’t it?” Mance calls out over his shoulder. “That’s all I need to do my part. Your contribution was telling me thewhen. Hey.” He stops at the end of the row of slot machines, smirks back at Tristan. “If this is the real deal, no sweat wasted on this dark blood I’ve got now. As long as it remains safe, your loved one might live as long as you do.”
It’s only Mance and Tristan now.Was that…box enchanted somehow…? Contained a child’s spirit who’s been enslaved to you, now hidden in the walls of the House? Reporting back to you? Are you able to see what that spirit sees? What was in thebox, Mance?
“Don’t make me take off all my clothes in front of you, you naughtythang.” He playfully pulls his trench coat closed, then wags his finger at Tristan. “Let me keep some of my secrets.”
You still have all of them, says Tristan,every last one of them.I don’t for a second believe that the vampire who killed your family is still out there.You got them already, didn’t you.Got your vengeance.Do you really need to destroy Markadian, too?
“Cold feet already? Too late, sugar. Plan’s in motion. Notake-backsies.” He stops by the exit door. “Bet you’re already excited to watch me kill your boss in full black tie. Don’t worry. I won’t disappoint.”
Then Mance is gone.
And the slot machine bursts into music, jackpot, pouring tokens out of its mouth, a pile on the floor at Tristan’s feet. It keeps ringing and ringing, pouring and pouring.
Tristan closes his eyes, clenches his teeth.
The long walk back down the Strip is considerably more tense. Tristan tries to avoid eye contact with anyone he passes, but now instead of playful, drunken, costumed individuals, he sees monsters. Anyone who is slightly tall is possibly a Feral in disguise. No one is trustworthy. No one is friendly.
“When did the Ferals start organizing? Did you know?”
It’s minutes later that Tristan is back, making his way down the long corridors of the House of Vegasyn, and through every shadow he passes, Wendy speaks to him.
“Your plan makes less and less sense to me,” she says from the shadow of a potted fern Tristan walks by. “You get rid of George, securing your inevitable return to Lord Markadian’s side,” she says from the shadow of a thick red-and-gold striped curtain he passes. “You mollify Ashara by supporting the notion of a joint Lordship in front of the other directors,” she says fromthe spidery shadow of a chandelier he passes under. “And now you have struck another deal with the witch to take down the very House you are gaining power in, sparing only you, Raya, and the Bloods. Is there a bigger picture I do not see?”
There are always bigger pictures, says Tristan.
“It is too chaotic a picture to comprehend.”
Perhaps you are standing too close.As long as this next step goes to plan, and I retain my ability to move the pieces where I please, you will have nothing to fear, nor any bigger picture to decipher.Really, Wendy, haven’t you known me long enough to trust my plans?
“Do you remember what I said once? Long ago? When we stood on a set of train tracks, and we had just saved a boy from a burning house?” says the shadow of an opened door. “Do you remember how you claimed to keep that boy alive for a purpose you did not yet know?” says the shadow of the archway Tristan passes through. “And when I said that it would only be a matter of time before your every effort was undone?” says Tristan’s own shadow as he enters the Midnight Garden. “That the act of saving the boy may someday cut your immortal life short?”
Then Tristan sees no more faces in the shadows.
Hears no more words. No more Wendy.
Tristan comes to a stop, heart turning cold in the abrupt silence. He looks to the left, feeling a chill. To the right. He spins around completely, looks the other way, eyes darting here and there. All the trees and flowers and plants sway ominously. Hissing against one another’s leaves and branches. Whispering words that make no sense.
Tristan knows at once that something is wrong. He hurries down the cobblestone path, makes a left, hurries further, makes another, then stops in front of a tree. Where once was a mound of dirt, now is a hole.
Tristan turns at a sound. Standing there: Ashara. AndGeorge.
“What a funny sight,” says Ashara. “To see the creature of Tristan in shock. Is he ever shocked?” she asks a stoic George, covered from face to shoes in dirt, unsmiling, unmoving. “Oh, by the way.” She saunters up to Tristan. “I just happened on an intriguing discovery. The violinist you and Raya tried to hide. I knew it at once, something was amiss. With the littlest effort, I found his true name. Shall I give you three guesses as to whom I plan to take this information? Or will you need only one?”
Tristan reaches at once, drags fingertips over her face. It is he, instead, whose eyes rock back, as he collapses to the floor.
27.
Not Bad, but Definitely Not Good.
