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“Guess she doesn’t like soap operas either,” mutters Kingsley with a wink.
I put an arm around him. “Guess not. Let’s go.”
Chapter Two
Uniquely Complicated
Demetria leads us down the large northern thoroughfare for about a mile and a half.
The theme of stone buildings continues from the square all the way down this street, making me feel like we’re in an artificial canyon. This city sure looks like it was built to withstand endless wars. Even the candle shop we pass could serve as a battle fortification.
Her manor house is tucked back from the street on the far side of a modestly sized courtyard. It’s about the size of an old-timey hotel, three stories tall and about as wide as six of my house. A little on the small side for a mansion, but it is right in the city where space is somewhat limited.
We enter without fanfare and gather in a lush parlor adhering to the same ‘black and burgundy’ color scheme as the woman who brought us here. There’s subtlety and then there’s not. Like, the fuzzy felt patches on the wallpaper are kinda bat-shaped. Demetria may as well hang a sign around her neck reading ‘I’m a vampire.’ The vases of dead roses are a nice touch, though.
Hey, if you like being undead, might as well run with it.
We arrange ourselves on a pair of small sofas. Tammy elects to stretch out on a divan like she’s at her friend’s house about to kick off a ten-hour anime movie marathon.
Demetria sits in a tall, cushioned wingback chair, facing us. “I appreciate your trust in me,” she begins. “You have my assurance it is not misplaced. Now that we are here, I can answer your questions. Samantha, would you like to begin?”
“I would,” I say. “Who or what exactly are you concerned about eavesdropping on us?”
She purses her lips. “Her name is Nesanth. She’s also the dark master assailing Quentin Arnbury. Thanks to her invading his mind, she is aware of almost everything that happens in this realm.”
“Kind of like how a writer knows everything about their world,” says Lindsey.
“That is precisely the case here,” says Demetria.
Kingsley drapes his arm around me. “This Nesanth person… she’s the one we need to get rid of?”
“Yes.” Demetria stares at him unblinkingly. “The problem is finding her. She has taken on the form of one of the noble house heads and is not necessarily a woman at the moment. Nesanth may be impersonating Roldon Barathor as easily as Sansha Galahir… or even old Nielf Teredwyn.”
I gaze up at the richly decorated tin ceiling. “This sounds like it’s going to be an awful mess.” So much for getting out of here in under a week.
Demetria nods at me. “The houses have always been somewhat antagonistic toward each other, competing for the throne. However, things have become more intense as of late. Take the assassin you saw moments ago.”
“Yeah. They aren’t supposed to directly attack each other like with violence,” says Lindsey. “It’s all scheming, trying to make the other houses lose status or look foolish in the eyes of everyone else. Sure, there is plenty of killing going on, but it’s within the same houses. People killing their parents, siblings, or cousins to move closer to the throne. If someone in one house physically attacked someone from another house, it could set off an actual war.”
“You’re forgetting Quentin’s not writing this now,” says Tammy, stifling a yawn. “Sorry, we’ve been awake forever. Anyway, this Nesanth person is likely doing all the storytelling… or the world is going crazy since she unplugged Q from it.”
“Who is Q?” asks Lindsey.
“Quentin. Just got tired of saying the whole name.” Tammy rolls on her side. “Don’t mind me if I fall asleep.”
Demetria stares at my daughter, and I’m reminded all over again that we’re in the presence of a real bloodsucker. No person should be this comfortable in the presence of a predator... yet there’s my daughter getting comfortable, literally in a vampire’s lair.
We are most definitely not normal.
“Thus far, no assassinations have been successful,” says Demetria, tearing her unblinking gaze away from my daughter. A smart decision. “However, Nesanth is not motivated by an author’s need to prolong tensions as much as possible. These assassins will start to succeed soon.”
“Quentin’s not exactly shy about killing characters off,” grumbles Tammy from her side.
Anthony huffs. “After what happened to him with Elizabeth, he might chill out a bit.”
Tammy holds one arm up, pointing at the ceiling. “Or he’ll just kill them off quick instead of being so cruel with the torturous death scenes. He really needs to cut back on the gratuitous sex stuff, too.”
I cough, not entirely comfortable with the thought of my daughter reading that sort of thing, but hey… she is eighteen now. Can’t keep treating her like a child.
