Divine and Devour, page 11
Xephriel rose and shifted the witch woman so that she was gazing in the direction of Cimmeria. He indicated with his palm out, “Amé, meet Cimmeria, a First Witch of Libra. Valen is her heart song.”
Amé gripped Xephriel’s arms and flopped against his chest. She was rosy with astonishment. When she articulated her feelings, her voice was airy. “First witch? She’s your heart song?” She narrowed her eyes in concentration. “Ah, there. I can view the outline of her auras.”
Valen moved to Cimmeria’s side and linked his fingers with hers. “Yes. We came to seek advice about what we should do about our differences in forms.”
Amé stared at Valen’s hand, which, from her standpoint, must appear as if he grasped air. She shook her head and said, “Heart songs are not really either of our expertise, but we can perhaps tell you what occurred with us, and maybe that will help?”
Xephriel doused water on the whole discussion. “The problem is not with the heart song itself, but the differences of their worlds.”
Amé worried her lip as she mulled, “It is a pretty puzzle.”
Xephriel brushed her cheek with his gloved fingers. “This is not a puzzle you can get involved with, Amé.”
Amé leaned into his touch. “I do love to solve problems, but I understand this is beyond my scope of magic. Unless you’d like to be made into a flower.”
Xephriel groaned, “Do not even think about suggesting a flower mate. We had one catastrophe with them already.”
Amé huffed, “It wouldn’t work anyway. Flower mates don’t have genitals.”
Valen coughed and thumped his chest as surprise overtook him. “I don’t think I follow.”
“That makes two of us,” Cimmeria concurred.
Xephriel rubbed at a spot in the center of his head. Cimmeria was guessing since that part of his features were concealed. It appeared as if he had a headache. Amé noticed and pressed her lips together in concern.
“We don’t have enough time to explain my flower mates. They would not solve your problems, either. We are sorry we cannot be of more help.”
Xephriel tensed behind Amé, and when he dispensed his final remark, it was gravelly and strained. “I have a friend who is an omni-grim. I’ll consult him on the matter. Leave your address, and I will contact you after I meet with him.”
Valen rummaged through a pouch on his toolbelt and selected his address card. He passed it to Xephriel. “Thank you for your advice and assistance. If you learn anything, please send us a message.”
“We will do our best,” Xephriel commented and bent to grasp the edge of the table. The bones blared indigo as his shoulders shook. Amé grasped the card and rubbed Xephriel’s back as he panted in discomfort.
Cimmeria had sudden clarity as she recalled Xephriel informing her of his empathic condition. Their time was up. She shifted from the table to give the other heart song couple their space. Valen thanked the witches again and headed to the exit. They departed the Humerus with as much hope as they had when they arrived.
On the street, they paused and attempted to find words to ease the pressure of their discouragement. Valen finally said, “Could be worse.”
Cimmeria couldn’t envision how it could possibly be worse, but she said, “Let’s go to Divination Street. You need to eat.”
A smile spread Valen’s lips, and the corners of his narrow eyes crinkled. “Always concerned with my diet.”
“You had a muffin and two cups of coffee. You need more than molecules to survive.”
Valen swooped down and kissed Cimmeria’s lips. “We’ll stop at Aurelia’s café on the way home.”
“I’m worried about you,” She gripped the edges of her gown to distract herself from the forlorn emotions surging through her system.
His features softened. “I’m okay, Cim. Are you all right?”
“Valen?” She wasn’t even sure what she was asking.
He pressed his forehead to hers, and the desperation on his face mimicked the pulse in her soul. “We’ll think of something. Don’t worry, okay?”
She tried not to surrender to the impotence replacing her hope. A soul and a divination witch. It was morbidly poetic. Cimmeria had clarity on why the witch council had strict laws against this kind of relationship. She’d rather die a thousand times than live with this kind of feeling. The universe was having a laugh. A sacred gift was changing into a wicked nightmare. She couldn’t imagine Khaos abandoning them in their need, but it appeared as if their relationship was in peril. Unless a miracle manifested, Cimmeria and Valen might have to resign themselves to a lifetime of hardship and impossibilities.
Chapter 9
Valen snuck across the city to Blood Street after his third reading with Fauna. He was surprised she’d returned. Most clients did not continue to seek his guidance after their first reading. Three was incredible. He might have considered it suspicious, except she slipped a nugget of information into their parting remarks that got him thinking. She mentioned how the Taxidermist might fashion a body for his heart song. The offer was too enticing to pass up.
The Taxidermist had the power to bring his puppets and revenants to life. Why not enlist his help to be reunited with his fated mate? It was worth investigating. He went alone to protect Cimmeria from the Taxidermist. It is best to be cautious when dealing with the overseer of Blood Street.
Hooking around the bend, he rushed to the Hide and Twine. Rapping on the door in the pattern he had memorized, Valen waited to be admitted into the den of all iniquity. The door creaked open, and he slipped inside. The tricky part was going to be finding the location of the Taxidermist. Valen engaged with the arena on occasion, but he didn’t have any inkling about where the transactions for skins took place.
He unsnapped the pouch of his tarot deck and whistled for Perdita, the spirit of lost things. The card slipped out of the deck and floated in the air. His auras illuminated the face of the small rectangle enough to recognize the tarot card. Her card was depicted with a storm of objects spiraling around her as she held a compass.
A portal between the spirit realm and the physical plane swirled on the surface of the tarot card. Perdita grasped either side of the card’s edges as she thrust her head through the opening. Her gray locks tumbled in thick waves as her rotund body slipped through the rest of the portal.
She was dressed in a smokey-ash pants and shirt combination. She shook her hair and grew in size until she was at eye level with Valen. She straightened and surveyed her surroundings. Perdita had a beautiful teak complexion that matched her eyes. Around her neck hung a large compass that had an intricate clock and navigation system no mortal or witch mind could comprehend. It was a device that she had invented in her lifetime and maintained when she passed on to the realm of ghosts and souls. He didn’t know how she managed to bring it to the other side of the veil, but it was one of the reasons he offered her a bargain.
“Been a while since you summoned me, old friend,” Perdita greeted with a deep and succulent accent.
“Hi, Perdita. I’m in need of your assistance.”
Perdita lifted her device and asked, “What would you like me to find?”
Valen said, “The Taxidermist.”
Perdita roared with laughter and gripped her stomach as an imitation of tears trickled down her dark cheeks. “Khaos, but that was funny. Let’s try that request again. What do you wish me to find?”
Valen repeated himself.
Perdita’s features transformed into a rendition of skepticism and reluctance. “I’m not the type of spirit to impart advice, but I feel inclined to suggest that you get your head checked. You clearly are ill and require a healing witch.”
“Not ill, Perdita. Can we hurry it up? I don’t want to linger.”
With an expostulated roll of her eyes, Perdita lifted her device and began to glow with silver light. Her aura blinked like fireflies as she fell silent and searched for the Taxidermist. It felt interminable, but she finally imparted, “He’s sewing.”
Valen failed to understand how the Taxidermist’s hobby would impede his request. It was his desired outcome. “Can you take me to him, please?”
“My response was code for I would rather pluck my eyes out and eat them than go near his creepy nightmare chamber.”
Valen tried to lighten the mood. “You don’t have physical eyes.”
Perdita didn’t appreciate his humor. “I feel disinclined to capitulate to your request.”
Valen crossed his arms and nudged his intentions into her contracted bond. “You will take me to the Taxidermist.”
She curled her lip in repugnance but, in compliance with her contract, led the way. “You owe me.”
“That’s not how it works. You may not like what I’ve requested, but you are bound by the contract in exchange for a foothold on the physical plane. We’re friends, Perdita, but I’m also the keeper of your tarot card.”
She grumbled out of his hearing range, but Valen had no problem deciphering the emotion behind it. He let her ire roll off without affecting his sensibilities and followed her down the gloomy halls. The mournful baying of the souls pressed in on them, but Valen blocked out their pleas.
The path twisted and widened. It sloped and curved. A labyrinth of insanity had Valen feeling woozy and disoriented. It was dark and smelled of dank mortar laced with decay.
Perdita halted and checked her device. She pointed to a red door with a puppet hanging from two hooks. The little doll appeared to be snoring in her sleep. Her wrists suspended from her strings as the rest of her body swung like a dreamy pendulum. At their approach, her enormous eyes flicked open, and the red of her irises were akin to blood. Her heart shaped face was white as new fallen snow. Her hair was long spools of gold hair. When she spoke, her jaw dropped and almost unhinged as she wiggled on her strings.
“Friend or foe, all mark their path to death. Do you dare tread where mortals and witches fear to wander? The desperate find their way to the theatre but do not remember how to leave. Why do you seek this place?” Her voice was innocent and melodic. It might have been pleasant if it wasn’t coming out of such a haunting creature.
“We wish to entreat the Taxidermist about one of his enchanted hides.”
“I’m out,” Perdita groaned and jumped into her floating card. Once the portal closed, the card dived into his deck, and the pouch at his hip burned with her displeasure.
Valen had a modicum of regret as he waited for the puppet to decide if he was worthy of entrance. He didn’t like upsetting his contracted spirits. His desperation to find a way to complete the heart song ritual without causing a problem with the etheric field had him edgier than usual.
The puppet clacked her arms and legs as a tiny red aura emitted from her eyes. Her jaw dropped as she announced, “Enter but touch nothing. This is sacred space, and its keeper does not take kindly to those who meddle with his treasures.”
The puppet lowered her strings and swung to the door knob. She twisted the brass bulb and revealed the room beyond. Valen thanked the little doll. He did not wish to invite the ill will of the Taxidermist or his creations. He didn’t know what expectations he might have prophesied for this meeting, but this space of contradictory elements would not have been it.
The Taxidermist was evil. A plague on the good people of Aequitas and the source of all malcontent. He was portrayed as a vicious entity with zero morals and a mind for disturbance. He sewed skins for a living and managed the cesspit of Blood Street. The chamber or Valen supposed he should call it a theatre, was the embodiment of the Taxidermist’s image.
The ceiling was domed and depicted a circus scene. The colors were muted but beautiful and expertly painted. Strings of tiny globes glowed with yellow light from the ceiling. Their radiance was not from gas but appeared to be a form of magic. What magic emitted light without wires or pipes, he didn’t know, but it was elegant all the same. Paper lanterns in the shape of red cranes decorated the perimeter.
The red walls invoked a peculiar air of anticipation. Not the kind that brought warm fuzzy feelings, more like the coming of evil on dark and terrible wings. The sense of cunning disquiet was further exemplified when Valen surveyed the Taxidermist’s secret stash of skins. Racks of mortal and witch hides were strung along one side of the chamber. The witch flesh glowed with the remnants of their auras. A sickening chill suffused his body at the gruesome sight.
The floor was covered with a jade green rug woven with the finest wool. Sculptures of a dragon, tiger, and bear stood sentinel between the light fixtures. A fountain, reminiscent of a miniature mountain, flowed with tranquil rivulets near the rear. A pearl the size of Valen’s fist rotated on a small pedestal in the center of the fixture.
In the front of the room was a wide stage made of bamboo wood. Velvet curtains were drawn over the majority of the area, but Valen glimpsed the narrow portion of the low platform. Dangling from hooks on the stage and the walls were pieces of puppets. Little porcelain bodies were in various stages of completion and delivered an element of unease.
This place was a nightmare made real, and the contrasting picture it painted had Valen’s stomach knotting with fright.
“What service do you seek?” An exotic voice like shadows filled the space.
Valen spun to get his bearings on where the Taxidermist was hiding. His aura screeched as it clashed against multiple vibrations. A barge of dissonance rampaged through Valen’s system, disrupting his magic and making him queasy. The noise seemed to be coming from every nook in the etheric field. It hurt his teeth as his eardrums echoed with the commotion. He gripped his head and groaned as he waited for the sensation to subside. The sounds settled, but Valen heard a faint scratch of nails across a metallic surface in the distance. An itch of a threat, the Taxidermist seemed to poise in case of the slightest sign of provocation.
Valen watched as the Taxidermist prowled from the rear of the gloomy theatre, his tiny puppet companion perched on his shoulder. The Taxidermist was comprised of a geometric matrix of magic. His secondary auras were like watching a kaleidoscope of colors undulate from the center of his chest to the outer regions of his form.
The Taxidermist was shrouded in a violet silk jacket, the hood shadowing his sinister features. His black boots were studded with silver spikes and glinted in the strange light of the theatre. He wore all black beneath the coat, and it matched his long unbound hair. The black strands hung to his waist, straight as stalks and smooth as satin.
Khaos save him, but Valen was in over his head. Coming here was a mistake, and Valen erupted in dread chills as the florescent rainbow gaze of the Taxidermist studied him with predacious intent.
It was clear the mysterious and wicked witch was the apex predator, and Valen was his prey. Whether he would be toyed with or consumed in one gulp remained to be seen.
Valen choked out, “I’ve come to inquire about how you animate your puppets and revenants.”
The Taxidermist’s pace was languid and graceful. Danger and beauty mingled together to cast a pall of sinister temptation over his demeanor. He raised a finger and crooned, “Ah, Ah. Those are my secrets. I will give you points for boldness. I like it when people get straight to the point.”
Gulping down his trepidation, Valen mustered his courage and asked, “What would I have to give you to obtain the information I require?”
The Taxidermist’s auras were hypnotizing. He angled his head as if sizing Valen up for harvest. “That depends on your usefulness.”
Valen tugged on his sleeve and regretted the red cotton shirt in light of the situation. He was a target for blood and gruesome death. His nerves shook his voice. “I want to bring my heart song back from the dead.”
The Taxidermist’s gaze brightened, and the multicolor irises blended like liquid gemstones. Valen’s auras blazed in response. A sickening tickle in his throat made him cough as he tried not to fall into the Taxidermist’s seductive trap.
A ghost appeared behind the wicked witch. Her appearance was similar to the one on the Taxidermist’s shoulder, but a somber expression was painted across her face. She watched Valen as a spirit and as a puppet. The two personalities were so disparate Valen didn’t know what to make of it. The polarity of the two personalities was more discomfiting than the vicious interest of the Taxidermist. The little puppet cackled and clicked her broken sticks in an eerie rhythm. The ghost faded into the ether, leaving behind a wisp of despair and yearning.
The Taxidermist’s posture implied he was unimpressed. If he noticed the ghost, he gave no indication. “A magic skin has finite vitality. You must purchase a new one after it decays. The price for a revenant is greater than a hide. My revenant creations are a part of my court. Are you willing to bind your heart song to my Blood Street kingdom?”
Valen contained his shiver of revulsion. He growled, “Never. She’s mine.”
The Taxidermist’s lips quirked to the side and invited, “A hide to shroud her bones then. I have a selection you can choose from right here. Care to take a look?”
Valen rallied his magic, his auras alternating as they brightened. “It’s been enlightening, but I will be taking my leave.”
The Taxidermist cocked his head to the side, and his demeanor became more cunning. “What if I told you I would give your heart song a vessel in exchange for information about the heart song bond?”
Valen held his ground as the Taxidermist paused at the stage. The wicked overseer hooked his hands behind his back and swept his eerie gaze over Valen. The Taxidermist was a couple of inches shorter than Valen, but his presence was like a hurricane.
Valen poised his hand above his tarot deck strapped to his hip. “Witches have guessed most of the facts already.”
“Ah,” The Taxidermist purred, “That is not true. You are Khaos-blessed with the most sacred of bonds. Tell me what you know.”
“To put it on your terms, you aren’t privy to my secrets.”
The Taxidermist loped to the hides hanging on a drying rack. “A secret for a secret. Is that not a fair trade?”
