Damn it, Goliath’s here.
Menessos sprang over the Botanical Garden’s fence and landed beside a white oak. The fence wasn’t incredibly high, but I was impressed that such fine suits could endure that kind of activity without damage.
Goliath passed what had to be Aquula’s wrapped body to him, then vaulted into the gardens himself before taking the bundle back.
I considered waiting until Xerxadrea showed, but my conscience reminded me that I was the Lustrata. Being a coward around Goliath wouldn’t cut it. So I intentioned myself under the branches—brooms steer on intentions—and landed on the pathway behind them. Maybe giving him the higher ground would show my lack of hard feelings.
Menessos came forward. Goliath, holding the little body as if it were a swaddled infant, wore indifference like a mask. Though I put him on his knees, he’s likely assuming I’m foolish to give him any advantage.
“The rose garden,” Menessos said. “She would like that.”
I’d been to the gardens a few times, and having just done a flyover, I led the way. After a few steps I realized this was silly. The vampires could find their way in the darker garden interior better than I could, and with me having to contend with the impractical boots, I just slowed our progress. I followed inset stone stairs that, as the pathway steepened, gave way to railroad timbers. At the bottom, going around a spindly fir tree, we passed a hedged container bed and arrived at a concrete path with rounded steps and two stone masonry columns supporting wrought-iron gates.
In the summer, hostas lined this pathway with their broad and lush leaves, but the gardeners had evidently been preparing the beds for winter. In the dark, the empty patches were ominous in this solemn place, too quiet without crickets.
We emerged at a clearing with a tall red oak. I spotted Xerxadrea flying over. We hurried down the stone path and stopped at the edge of the rose garden. The roses, trained over the arches in the summertime, had also been trimmed back for the winter. The main bed held sad remnants of red and orange mums, and the water feature was drained and dry.
I knew this place could be so much more. To find it lacking just now, with the sad duty we had before us, made holding back my tears more difficult.
Xerxadrea stood before one of the stone benches. She wore white robes, and her hair, parted in the center, fell loose about her shoulders. Single white strands rose on air currents and afforded an extra measure of mystery to her magical countenance.
In one hand she held her broom; the other was just removing a black velvet sling bag from her shoulder. When she settled, Ruya landed where the bag’s strap had lain. “Water is the element of the west, and this is the western bench,” she said. “Come summer, it will overlook the spray of water, but be in the shade of roses.”
“Perfect.” Menessos moved into position beside her at the stone bench. She furnished him with items from inside the velvet bag and he quickly arranged the bench as if it were an altar. As he worked, I studied him. He was dressed in a suit as stylish as any he wore, but next to Xerxadrea’s ceremonial garb he almost seemed incongruous.
He lit a pair of illuminator candles and placed a dried starfish in the center, made a ring of eight white candles around it, and ended by creating a ring of aquamarines and tiny shells outside of that. Xerxadrea passed the velvet bag to me to hold. As an afterthought, I slipped it over my head and underneath one arm as Xerxadrea had carried it. She must have been distracted not to simply do this herself.
Menessos removed his suit jacket and he passed it to me. I shoved it quickly into the bag. The candlelight showed a subtle white-on-white pattern to his shirt. He and Xerxadrea now seemed more compatibly attired, enough to perform a funeral rite.
At Menessos’s signal, Goliath came forward and held out the bundle. Menessos took the swathed body into his arms and cradled it, saying,
His aura pulsed, sending out energy he didn’t have to spare. In response, just behind the bench, the rich black earth writhed. At the roots of a rosebush, the ground opened up to accept what Menessos had offered. Roots reached up, waving in the air in a manner that had me thinking of an octopus. Leaning over the bench, Menessos placed her into those waiting arms. Suspended there, Menessos blew out each candle and took up the aquamarine and shell before it, tucking them inside the swathing. Lastly, he took up the starfish, inserted its topmost and bottommost points under the wrappings, and whispered, “Until then.”
The body sank as the ground received her and conveyed her deep enough not to be found by the groundskeepers.
I intended to let this moment of grief pass, and offer some of my energy—not blood—to him soon. After all, I had my bloodstone back at the haven. I could draw some energy for myself out of it if I needed.
Xerxadrea faced the sky and whispered something to Ruya, who took to the air, clutching something in her talons. I had to wonder what. Curiously watching the Eldrenne, I saw her flip her broom bristle side up—and the night was pierced by a sudden, shrill whistle.
Xerxadrea stamped the wooden handle end of her broom onto the stone pathway and cried out, “Afflatus!” Air whooshed outward from her, shoving the vampires and me backward, knocking away leaves, and propelling small, unanchored things like fairies into the air, tumbling as if shoved.
Fairies!
In the next instant, Xerxadrea had settled onto her broom and seized Menessos by the arm. “Come!” He fell across the broomstick and they shot into the air.
I straddled my broom and glanced at Goliath. I couldn’t leave him. The fairies had already killed one of their own to wound Menessos, they’d surely kill Goliath if they could. “C’mon!” I shouted.
He didn’t move.
The broom lifted me aloft and as much as possible I tucked the toes of the boots up behind me.
A fireball zoomed through the air toward me. Beau’s charm grew warm against my skin. The fiery blast shifted and hit the stone pathway. Luckily, Goliath had leaped clear the opposite way, and crouched beside the next bench. I heard the skittering laughter of fairies. That fireball meant one thing: fire fairies. Fax Torris is here!
“Now!” I shouted, gliding swiftly in to get him and concentrating on drawing protective energy back out of the jaspers and into my aura.
From the tree, fairy shot filled the air like a gray cloud descending on Goliath. He stood and ran toward me, but not before one of the little arrows slammed into his cheek.
Another bolt of fire flashed in just as he leaped for the broom.
The charm warmed again.
Menessos still dangling, Xerxadrea zoomed by—and the fireball was gone.
Goliath latched onto the broom handle. It didn’t even dip under the new weight. He heaved himself up like a gymnast on the uneven bars, doubling himself over the broom. Not a pretty position, but it worked. We flew up, but before I could rocket away Goliath pointed at a large jagged circle of broken glass and bent steel below us. He shouted, “They went into the Glass House!”
Intention sent us speeding back to it. I gauged the size of the hole. “Tuck your feet up.”
“Fuck that! Drop me in and you follow!”
I didn’t have time to make two passes. Leaning low across the small of his back, I took hold of the hem of his pants and yanked so his legs came alongside the broom. It rolled him uncomfortably on the broom handle; I didn’t care.
He swore, but knowing I was doing this my way, he twisted more to comply. He reached for my ankle and lined his torso along the broom’s other side. We were as lean as we could get.