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Chapter One
Brazen
At times in my life, I’ve made some questionable decisions.
Some are inherently riskier than others, and it’s pretty obvious—usually—when I’m about to do something crazy. Like that old joke, whenever someone says ‘Hey, Bub, watch this!’ or ‘hold my beer,’ they usually end up in the hospital with no memory of the previous seventy-two hours. Gonna go out on a limb here and say that no one’s probably ever said ‘hold my beer’ (which I just did) right before following a mysterious vampire into a city in a parallel dimension based on a world created by a fantasy author.
I’m a pioneer like that.
When I said ‘hold my beer,’ Anthony gave me this flat look as if bewildered at me for not actually having a beer on me. Tammy got the joke and cracked up. I can’t give Allison credit for getting the joke since she can read my mind. The look Kingsley gives me is more of a head shake because he knows I don’t drink beer.
They say it’s like a class thing. Working-class people prefer beer while the rich favor wine. Back in the day, white wine was one of the few liquids I could keep down, outside of water and blood. Drinking wine had helped me feel normal... well, as normal as I could. These days, I can drink what I want, which is a gift unlike any other, so to claim I have a preference for wine isn’t really an honest statement. I did what I had to do to get through the day... or the through the night.
Anyway…
We’re following Demetria into Tarramor since I have no better ideas at the moment. While we have located the part of Quentin existing in this place, it’s not like we can just grab him and go home.
And boy, do I want to go home. Seems as if a dark master got her claws into Quentin Arnbury and is trying to devour his mind so she can take over his world and rule it like some kind of demonic vampire queen bitch thing. I dunno. If dark masters were a pill one could take, ‘warning may cause extreme irrational megalomania’ would have to be listed as a side effect. Quentin is presently in a coma at the hospital and doctors can’t explain what’s wrong with him. Acting on a hunch, I tried using a description of a field in his unpublished manuscript the same way I use a picture of a place I’d never been before in order to teleport there… and it worked.
We—that’s my kids, Kingsley, Allison, and I—ended up inside the world of Quentin’s Contest of Sovereignty books. When I took a case to find a missing college student, Lindsey Drake, who seemingly vanished without a trace, I never imagined it would take me to another dimension. The girl gets into her books, in this case literally. Also, Damon Michaels, an actor who plays Lord Ceomar in the HBO adaptation of the series, is here. No idea how the two of them managed to get themselves yanked across worlds. Damon’s at least famous and high profile… there’s some shred of reason there as to why a dark master would try to grab him. Lindsey? She’s like a genius level smartie but is neither rich nor famous. Not sure what interest the dark master has in her. More than likely, the depth of her love for those books pushed her across the barrier between worlds by accident. If the dark master didn’t grab Damon on purpose, I have no darn idea what the heck he’s doing here.
Anyway… Our job is pretty simple: find Quentin’s soul, break the dark master’s control of him, and get out of here before everything falls apart. To make matters worse, a neighboring kingdom to the west, Stonnebrin, which just so happens to be ruled by werewolves, has sensed the dark master’s arrival and is about to invade this kingdom. Kingsley managed to talk them into giving us a little time to fix the problem first. If we can’t stop this dark master, the werewolves are going to storm over the border and purge all the noble houses of Frostmarch. Since they don’t know which one is doing the bad stuff, they’re going to eat all of them.
We have about a week, maybe two to fix everything. Sounds easy, right? Problem is, I have no idea where to start… except for another vampire mysteriously showing up and offering help.
My son found Quentin’s soul stuck in some sort of crystalline prison.
Simply trying to tear him out of the crystal won’t work. Anthony explained how Quentin’s soul is trapped inside this giant obelisk here, which is holding him prisoner as much as it is protecting this realm’s existence from his presence. Simply smashing it won’t work. We probably couldn’t break it… and even if we could, doing so would—at best—destroy Quentin too. At worst, it would destroy this entire reality. I’m simultaneously proud of my son for figuring all this crystal stuff out as I am frightened of what it really means for his future. And no, I’m not afraid something will happen to him. What I fear is his fate eventually pulling him away from me so we only rarely see each other if at all. At least with him, he’ll still be alive in some sense. Tammy’s going to grow old at some point and… well, hang on. Maybe not. She said something the other week about faerie magic and life energy.
Hmm. If she can extend her lifespan with magic, what effect is that going to have on Anthony’s deal to stick around so he can protect her before fully committing to whatever the angels have in mind for him?
Meh. I’m distracting myself from the moment. Enough mental wandering. I can have these somber thoughts while watching Judge Judy reruns at home. Lives are at stake now. Heh. Odd phrase to use while following a vampire.
So, Demetria…
It’s not too surprising she knows me. The woman is, after all, a vampire from our world. If she’s from the western half of the United States, there’s a more than passing chance she’s heard of me. Dark masters are awful gossips. My years-long war with Elizabeth is coffee table talk for them the way people in the Pacific Northwest talk about Bigfoot. Then again, I met the big fella. They should be talking about him.
Yanno… maybe that’s why she wants my help: she thinks if I can take out Elizabeth, I can take out the one causing trouble here.
I’m a bit dubious as to her motivations but not so much that I’m walking away.
Because, again, I don’t know what to do next. We could spend months going in circles trying to hunt down the source of this event and… that’s time we do not have. Kingsley brokered a one-month armistice with the werewolves to the west. Even that’s pushing things. My gut tells me if we don’t do something much faster than a month from now, the damage will be irreversible.
And as fascinating as this place is, I really, really don’t want to be here for a month. Or even another week.
Demetria strolls through the grand gates of Tarramor with the poise of a returning queen. She acts entirely unafraid of anything. No, it’s beyond that. The way she carries herself is as if she’s above this whole place. Like, if Quentin—who made the world—was able to be here fully, and at any time whatever he wanted just happened, that’s the kind of attitude she’s throwing off. I sincerely doubt this woman has godlike powers.
Fake it until you make it? says Allison in my head.
Yeah, something like that.
None of the locals—from peasants to guards to wealthy—pay us any attention as we go by. It is a bit unusual, to be honest. Kingsley is huge. He always draws a few stares when we’re out in public. Depending on what Allison is wearing, she’s been known to start fights when girlfriends or wives catch their guy looking at her for a little too long That aside, we’re dressed more or less like ordinary commoners. Demetria’s gown is grand and expensive, yet not even she is attracting attention. She’s also ‘vampire beautiful,’ but unlike me… she looks dead. Well, not like rotting dead. Just… way, way, way too pale. Kinda like one of the goth kids from my old high school with a Crow obsession who went for a swim in a bathtub of white face paint.
I can only assume she’s doing something supernatural to deflect attention away from us. Vampires have all sorts of powers. To what extent being in Quentin’s world changes them around, I have no idea. As far as I can tell, my abilities are the same as they should be. Allison and Tammy have both said their magic is stronger here than back home. Lindsey can actually use magic here, which she could not do in the normal world. She’s exploiting the ‘rules’ of this world. Speak the funny words in the right order and things happen.
It’s tempting to start pestering Demetria to explain things right now as we walk. If this woman has the mystical power to hide us from everyone, what’s she worrying about talking in the open for? My wariness notches up a little more. Oh, wait. I bet her powers don’t work on the dark master causing this problem. Duh, Sam. That was kinda dumb. It’s not the nobles or hostile kingdoms’ agents she’s worried about eavesdropping. It’s a much bigger problem.
We reach the end of the street, passing through a grand arch into a huge city square. It’s about twice the size of the square at the town center in Dramden where we brought Thae, and less ‘pretty.’ Lots of plain grey stone walls and basic façades of shops and inns surround us. Tarramor has a pragmatic design aesthetic to it that makes me feel as if we’re inside an enormous castle fortress with slight hints of Victorian England. All the structures surrounding the city’s main square, and for at least a block in every direction, are made of stone. It’s like being in the medieval equivalent of downtown New York City—so much grey. Only, nothing here is taller than three stories.
