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"I beg for asylum."
The Keeper lowered the scroll and stood. "There's a little known law amongst paranormals," he said slowly, "that if anyone asks for asylum before being offered as a tribute, asylum must be granted."
I let out a breath. I had gambled on him knowing this. However, he had no obligation to adhere to it. He was well aware of that, I saw it on his face.
"It's a rarely used law," he continued, "since apparently witches, or the Keepers of the past, have little desire to give away their people." He picked up the scroll and finished reading.
"I offer you the artefact's escort, Viva Taylor, to do with as you please." He raised his eyebrows.
"What do you expect from a witch?" someone muttered.
"It seems you know the Covener well," the Keeper remarked. He looked down at me, his expression guarded.
"Yeah, just a bit," I replied.
"Well enough to not only anticipate his actions, but to do something about it. How long did it take you to find that law?"
"About a year," I admitted.
"Clever and persistent," he said approvingly. "Put your claws away." He crouched and picked up my knife.
He smelled of spices. Something similar to cinnamon. I couldn't quite place it. Either way I let a sliver of power draw and soothe my racing heart.
"Fine steel, nicely made. Did you steal it?" His mouth was turned up at the side as though teasing, but his eyes were shrewd like his aunt.
I flushed. "No, I did not. It was a gift from my sisters." Some of whom I had been tempted to use it on at times. I might use it on myself if I failed here.
He nodded, turned the knife and offered it to me, hilt first. "If you really want it, asylum is granted." He looked me in the eyes, firm and unwavering. "Please, join me for dinner. I'm sure we have a lot to talk about."
"Thank you, Keeper," I said softly. If I was the kind to cry, I might do it now. I had secured my freedom. The Covener and his asshole son were going to be furious.
To Hades with them, I was safer here in the Vault than anywhere near the Council.
"Please, call me Dex." He gave a bow to those gathered, tucked my hand into the crook of his arm and led me from the room.
3
Viva
"How didyou know about that law?" I asked. I propped my elbows on top of a round table as thick as my arm. All around the side, carved dragons and griffins battled each other.
Witch made, I presumed. Otherwise the work would have taken a master craftsman years to complete. It wasn't something bought at the local furniture place, or IKEA.
Worn sections on the surface suggested it was old or well used. Possibly both.
Dex sat back in his chair and smiled slowly. "I read a lot." He seemed to be teasing.
"It's true." Calista swept into the room. She wore the same style of wide trousers and blouse as she had when I met her. Instead of turquoise, she now wore bright, intense pink. A matching clip held back the side of her long hair. The rest tumbled free, almost to her waist.
She slid in the chair beside Dex with the grace of a cat and gave me a wink.
"Anything he could get his hands on since he was three," Calista continued. "It didn't matter what it was, he would read it. Naturally, we kept some things out of his reach until he was old enough." She chuckled.
Calista was easy to like. So was Dex. Now that I had asylum, I might begin to lower my walls, but not immediately. Not tonight. I was still on edge, waiting for the condition of my place here. There would be one, there always was. No matter how subtle.
"That's whattheythought," Dex said in a loud, conspiratorial whisper clearly designed for Calista to hear as well. "I was good at putting things back where I found them."
Calista shook her head indulgently and gave a hand signal to one of the servants, a pale skinned woman with short hair and similar clothes to Calista, but in a subtle, pale yellow.
