The Alembic Plot Part 38

I can see where I could be tempted into misusing a n.o.ble's power."

"You are," Odeon said. "I'll take care of it at this evening's ceremony."

19. Invitation

Monday, 16 March 2572

Sara Blackfeather read the invitation for the third time, still not sure if it was real or a poor joke. Inquisitors were most emphatically not known for their hospitality, and it seemed incredible that the notorious Cortin, of all of them, would invite a journalist into her home for a week. Especially a journalist who made no secret of her antipathy for Inquisitors in general and Sovereigns' Inquisitors in particular.

It would be a professional triumph, of course, which was what made it an almost irresistible temptation. On the other hand, it could as easily be a trick, to find out if her stated sympathy for the Brotherhood hid actual membership in the organization--though it would seem more logical, if that were the case, not to bother with such niceties, simply have her picked up for questioning. Though, she thought a bit smugly, they weren't likely to be quite so blatant with a reporter!

Fortunately, she didn't have to depend purely on her own judgement, which could be flawed by considerations like professional glory; in something that had this much potential for benefit or harm, she could ask her patron for help. He'd be busy, of course, at this time of day, but she was free to interrupt him--on this, he'd be upset if she didn't!

So, minutes later, she was on the way to his home, the invitation tucked carefully in her purse.

Lucius studied the invitation, both amused and disturbed. So Cortin wanted Blackfeather to visit for a week, did she? That could be either good or bad, and he couldn't decide which. On the whole, though, he couldn't argue against the visit, since Sara had no valid--no believable, for that matter--reason to turn down such a professionally valuable invitation. "It should be safe enough," he said at last.

"She wouldn't dream of hurting an invited guest unless you do something stupid, and you certainly know better than that. You can also find out for me just what the h.e.l.l is going on."

Blackfeather nodded; he'd made no secret, from her, that he had to be extremely careful about using his "psychic gifts" where Cortin was concerned. "You don't think she knows I'm your mistress?"

"She must--I did acknowledge you as such." Lucius smiled. "By this time I'm sure she has guessed--or been told--my real ident.i.ty, but that can make no difference to her publicly."

Blackfeather returned his smile. He claimed to be Shayan, and sometimes he used his gifts to a.s.sume some of the h.e.l.l-King's attributes, but she didn't believe he really was; he was too different from the Shayan she'd been told about while her parents were alive.

Her first meeting with him was still vivid in her mind, though she tried to remember only the part where he'd rescued her--something the real Shayan never would have done.

Shannon smiled to himself, reading her thoughts. Rescuing Sara had been little more than an impulse triggered by his respect for courage; a five-year-old who killed one of the men trying to rape her was hardly usual. She'd interested him enough to keep her alive against his men's wishes, taking her home until he could decide what to do with her.

She'd proven interesting to have around, and he'd almost immediately discovered that she also added a dimension to his McHenry ident.i.ty, so he'd quickly decided to adopt her--a procedure his McHenry ident.i.ty made both fast and simple.

But his then mistress hadn't wanted to be burdened with a child, and hadn't been worth the effort of reconditioning, so she'd left. He really should have replaced her; not doing so, and raising a child alone, had caused a minor scandal. Sara had claimed all his free time, though, and he'd been fascinated by the idea of making her his mistress. She'd agreed, a formality he insisted on from all his live-in partners--except Victor, who'd made himself the exception by his presumption--in spite of the fact that she couldn't possibly know what she was agreeing to. Some simple physical modifications had made her capable of accommodating him, and some judicious conditioning had insured she would enjoy, but never reveal, their "touching games".

Even then he'd refrained until her birthday, wanting the first time to be special for her.

It had been, with him changing shapes and techniques to amuse her.

She'd enjoyed all of them, not surprising since that was how he'd conditioned her--but he was surprised that she had decided she liked his "cla.s.sical" shape and technique best, especially that early. And she'd kept that preference through the years. She'd become his mistress openly at 16, causing another minor scandal, but that had only amused her.

He came back to the present, reading her apprehension at the upcoming visit, and held out his arms.

Blackfeather clung to him. "I know you said she wouldn't hurt a guest--but I have a horrible feeling I'll never see you again."

"Don't be silly," Shannon said. "Of course you will--unless you decide Enforcement and Inquisitors are respectable after all, and stay with them. She can be quite persuasive." And, an unwelcome thought said, there was more to it than persuasion. Cortin had dissolved the compulsions he'd imposed on Chang without even knowing it; what if the same happened to Blackfeather? An even more unwelcome thought said that would be for the best, and he concealed a scowl. Sara was the first human he'd cared about as anything more than a plaything; did he really want her spending eternity in his realm, even as his Queen?

"Not that persuasive, I don't think." But Blackfeather's apprehension was still there, and she was reacting as she usually did before a dangerous a.s.signment, with growing desire. "Could we, just in case?"

If she were that worried, Shannon thought, it wouldn't hurt to indulge her. Indulge both of them, rather, because the idea of letting the Enemy have her was becoming more attractive. Most humans were disgusting weak things, not fit to be more than toys for his minions, but Sara was different. She was strong, attractive--and she loved him.

Part of that was the conditioning he'd given her, of course, but even at first that hadn't been all of it; she'd taken to him without any prompting, unless you counted the rescue itself. And he hadn't felt Cortin using her power, even unconsciously, for some time, so perhaps it wouldn't be too much of a risk using his own. It would take so little to transport them to his realm, and Cortin should be either asleep or too preoccupied to notice anyway. Giving in to temptation, he kissed Blackfoot hard, pulling her blouse open to grasp her breast as he set himself for the transfer.

Blackfeather gasped in startled joy as her lover's power surrounded them for the first time in months that seemed like years. She felt a sensation of movement, and they were standing before ruby thrones at one end of a great hall hung with rich dark draperies, brightly lit by flames that moved at random, without burning anything. This had to be an illusion, she told herself at more normal moments, because they could be here for hours, even days, with no time having pa.s.sed when they returned--but it felt real, and while she was in it, she didn't question that reality. This was h.e.l.l's throne room, he its King, and she his Queen.

She remained herself, only her clothes changed; instead of a proper tailored suit, she now wore gold streamers generously sprinkled with rubies. They hid almost nothing even when they fell quietly from shoulders to feet; stirred as they usually were by her movements, they swirled open at random times and places.

But he changed completely, more spectacular in his nudity than even the most ornate robes could make him. Flame-red hair and amber slit-pupilled eyes emphasized alabaster skin, as did huge wings with gleaming jet-black feathers. This was her favorite of his forms--though it shocked her to see that for the first time, he wasn't erect. Taken aback, she stared at him. "Is something wrong, beloved?"

"That is." His wings spread, shadowing them. "I love you as well, you see, which is why I cannot continue to let you love me. It must be love, because I find your welfare more important to me than my pleasure, which is the cla.s.sic definition. It is also an emotion I never felt before, in all my millennia, and one I find both unfitting and remarkably inconvenient."

Blackfoot started to speak, but he stopped her. "Let me finish.

Despite your disbelief, I am Shayan, and I will prove it to you shortly. Although I am inclined to keep you here with me, your welfare demands otherwise. So you will go to Cortin, and you will become one of her followers, perhaps even--" He broke off. There was that possibility, yes, and if it worked it would guarantee her spiritual safety and happiness, though not her bodily survival.

"Perhaps even what?" Blackfeather was confused, a little hurt--though she could feel his harshness was because he had her welfare at heart.

He bent to her, brushed her forehead with his lips. "Let me concentrate, beloved. The Enemy has, by this time, undoubtedly given her a priest or priests to build her a personal staff equivalent to mine; there may still be a place on that staff for you."

"But . . ." Blackfoot was getting even more confused. "Even if there is a place, what makes you think they'd accept me? Or that I'd want it?"

"They would accept you because you know me and are almost sinless--and you will want it once the compulsions that have held you for over fifteen years have been dissolved. Now be silent; what I need to do will be dangerous, even without distractions."

Without waiting for an acknowledgement, he reached out, searching for mental traces he'd never felt before but didn't think he could mistake.

The Protector's priests should feel both free of sin and erotic, an unmistakable combination he'd kept from coming together for millennia . . . yes, there was one . . . another. One male, one female--Sister Mary Piety and Father Mike Odeon. Piety was no surprise, but he'd have thought it too early for Odeon's tempering, and he frowned at the timing. He'd expected perhaps another year; now, it seemed, contact and final testing would be within months. Part of him regretted that the speed would cut short his enjoyment of Odeon's suffering--at his hands, anyway; if Odeon survived the tempering and made the correct final decision, his foes in the wars to come would insure far more suffering than Shayan himself could hope to inflict. Well, time to begin the tempering, with a lesson his "student" would never forget.

*Wake up, Priest!*

20. Lesson

Odeon woke, a scream caught in his throat, pain knifing through his head. When it eased, he found himself gasping, staring around in the dark. "Who--"

*Do you always ask foolish questions, priest? You belong to the one you call Cortin; you should be able to sense who I am. And you need not speak aloud; survive, and this will be only your first taste of mental speech.*

*With that clue, I think I do know who you are.* Odeon braced himself, wondering what Shayan wanted with him.

*A service that will be to both my benefit and Cortin's--and so indirectly to yours. And you're right--I do not generally do things for others, especially enemies. Nor am I changing that policy; this is primarily for myself, if that will relieve your mind enough to listen.*

*Do I have any choice?* Odeon asked.

*About listening, yes, though only because I choose to give you the choice. About doing what I ask, the choice is totally yours. Will you listen?*

*In that case, I don't see any unavoidable danger; go ahead.*

*You're so kind. I gather you're one of Cortin's holy staff?*

*Of her core group, if that's what you mean,* Odeon replied cautiously.

*The same thing. Is the group complete?*

*No comment.*