"Until The Fall" - 29/48
Title: Until The Fall
Author: Rissy James
Characters: DG, Cain, Azkadellia, Jeb, Glitch, Raw, Tutor, the Queen, Ahamo, and some old & new OCs
Pairing: Established Cain/DG; established Jeb/Az
Rating: M
Summary: Sequel to " Of Light". After an annual of living in the O.Z., DG sets out to complete the task given to her by the Gale. Soon, she must learn that there is always more to everything than first meets the eye.
Extras: Cast Page on livejournal.com
Chapter Twenty Nine
The old wizard's face was weary, but his lips held a friendly smile. He didn't look at her directly as she approached; he only stared up at the immense machine that took up a good portion of the wall. His hands were stuffed into the pockets of his trousers, and oh, how he did stare at the machine. He didn't push buttons, he didn't turn cranks, or handle the gear-shifts with an adeptness that resembled ballet... still, and staring, he waited for her to take in the entirety of the contraption before speaking.
“I know why you have come,” the old man said. “What is your name, child?”
It didn't perturb her in the slightest to realize she wasn't exactly sure how to answer that question. Being asked your name should come as easy as breathing, shouldn't it? “I don't know if I remember,” she said, which was not entirely true. She remembered, but she wasn't sure that it was right, and she would be so embarrassed to give the wrong answer to such a simple question.
The old wizard turned to smile at her. “The small and meek.”
Glancing back up at the many dials and gauges in front of her, she nodded. “Something like that.”
The wizard's blue eyes shone sadly at her when she turned her head to risk a glance at him. “Do you know who I am?”
She glanced behind her to the heavy, dark draperies that closed the cubicle off; they were thrown wide open, bearing no false witness. “You're the man behind the curtain,” she said slowly. This didn't disappoint her as much as she thought it might; indeed, she braced herself for the let-down, only to be surprised at the complete... lack of reaction.
His smile returned, infinitely tired. “You walked far to reach me. Met many people, saw many things.”
“I'm very tired,” she said slowly, turning to study the machine again. Looking a little closer, she noticed the panels were dusty, that the glass-fronted gauges were coated with many annuals worth of grime. “I've followed every inch of the Old Road. I've seen every sight.”
The old wizard shook his head. “Not every sight. Not every inch. Spans, my dear, you've yet to see.”
With a sigh, she turned away from the machine completely, away from the gleaming copper switches, the brass tooling, and toward the great hall, the marble floors, the open, empty, windowless space. Recluse, hermit, old man hiding where no one may enter. He shut out the world, but the world still went on.
“It was just a piece of paper, just a tin clock, just a bit of junky jewelry,” he told her; her head snapped toward him, trying to make sense of his words. He held up a black velvet satchet, big enough to hold a pocket-watch, or a bottle of perfume.
“There was nothing in the bag for you, my dear,” he said, and handed her the draw-string satchet. True to his word, it was completely empty. A part of her wished for her every desired answer to fall out into her palm. The old wizard caught the disappointment in her eyes and gave her an encouraging smile.
“You've had it with you all along,” he told her.
She nodded as if she understood, and in truth, she sort of did. “I shouldn't doubt myself.”
“Never for a moment. Your doubts can beat you as surely as your enemies can. Purity of Light flows through you unfalteringly. Don't disrupt it by assuming you're anything but a channel,” he said very carefully, keeping his eyes trained on hers to make sure she didn't miss a single word. “The magic will do as it will. Hold on, keep it grounded. Got that?”
She awoke abruptly then, half-sitting up as her body jerked to consciousness. It was completely dark; feeling around, she found the other side of the bed empty and cold. Lowering herself back to the mattress, she waved a hand in the direction of the bedside lamp; a flame flared at the soaked wick-tip.
Struggling to bring back the pieces of her dream, DG put her hands over her face.
'Hold on, keep it grounded. Got that?'
“Yeah, got it,” she whispered groggily to herself. Sleep had claimed her while still in Cain's arms, and he'd slipped away from her sometime while she slept. She couldn't blame him. They were both eager to get back onto the road, to be reunited with their companions and be out from under the Commander's oppressive thumb.
No more running around, no more confusion. Every forward step taken was a step closer to the meaning of all this. Ridding herself of the Emerald, being able to stop running, stop fighting, and just live her life.
She climbed out of bed and braved the cold floor. She tugged on her own clothes, pulled her hair back into a ponytail. Someone was coming for her, something inside told her to stay put. Unable to just sit, she made the bed, and laid out the dress the Commander had sent her. It struck her curiously as she studied the frock... she'd seen it somewhere before. Before it had been sent. She just didn't know where.
A knock on the door. Nearly jumping, she hurried over and almost cried out in relief at the sight of Hass. She restrained herself - just barely - from hugging him. He noticed, and gave her a grateful smile. “Ready to get out of here and hit topside?” he asked her, as if they spent days upon days underground all the time.
“Definitely,” she said, already pulling on her wool coat and turning up its collar. “Are the others waiting for us?”
“We're to meet them at the surface,” Hass told her as he held the door open, and they escaped the quiet of her room without once looking back. Nothing there was hers but for the clothes on her body and the tiny band on her finger. All her other possessions were buried under the snow somewhere along the road. “Captain seemed to be in a bit of a hurry,” Hass added, breaking into her self-absorbed thoughts.
“I should have gotten up sooner,” she said, cursing herself silently for dreaming. “We could be on the road by now.”
“Naw, the captain seemed to think it best if you were left to sleep for a while,” Hass said; something in his voice piqued her curiosity, and when she turned to look at him, he gave her a rueful grin. They said no more for quite a while, as the hallways were not void of traffic, slaves and soldiers alike busy despite the early, early hour. Hass navigated their way through the corridors and DG stayed close behind him. When finally they reached a thick, metal door, she glanced at him, impressed. “I've got a good sense of direction,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders, making her laugh.
The door read, Surface Access. DG had to admit, she hadn't seen two more welcome words in quite some time. Opened, the door led to a hall on a gradual incline, one that steepened ever so slightly with every turn in the passage.
“So,” Hass said conversationally, after they'd walked in silence for a while. “Is someone going to explain to me why we're taking on a wanted criminal as our guide, or am I just taking it on good faith that he's not going to kill each and every one of us in our sleep?”
DG frowned. His tone was knife-sharp by the time he'd finished. “I don't think Cain will be sleeping much,” she said offhandedly, not sure where she was supposed to begin explaining. Not only am I seeing things in the mirror, I'm hearing things. The voice told me that Zero would lead the way.
“Makes two of us,” Hass said.
As they continued on, she slowly grew winded. The narrow passageway seemed to go on forever, twisting and turning, and she finally called for him to stop, her voice bouncing loudly off the high walls. Deciding on a point, she began. “All right... you know the face that's been appearing to me in the mirror?” Oh, that sounds insane, she thought unhappily. Hass nodded, his face still. Sighing, she said, “She... whoever she is, Lost Princess or not, said Zero is the one meant to help us, not the Commander.”
“And what, exactly, is he meant to help us do?”
DG shrugged. “I've got no idea. We're going to have to see what happens.”
“That's a very vague plan,” he said with a sad shake of his head. “And even with the vague plan of vagueness, I don't quite see how we're going to move across the entire country undetected. A wanted criminal, a princess, a Viewer, and two AR soldiers, we're going to attract someone's attention. That book the Lady Catt's got...”
“I'm hoping I might have fogged up the glass a bit on that one,” she said, offering him a smile, a real smile.
“You sure do sound confident,” Hass said approvingly. He pushed away from the wall. “You think that confidence is gonna see us through?”
DG shrugged her shoulders, taking in the long, dimly lit corridor that stretched out ahead of them. “That and a bit of luck,” she said, and she felt the smile on her lips begin to falter. “We've been in worse scrapes than this before. I think we'll handle it easily.”
Glancing around, she didn't let on at how anxious she became to see there was no wood to knock on.
An hour passed, and then most of a second. The air grew chiller, but also cleared; their breath appeared before them in visible puffs. The quality of light began to shift, and the passageway split. Voices could be heard in the corridor that forked to the right, familiar voices that caused both her feet and Hass' to speed up.
Raw was smiling at her the moment she appeared in the doorway, but she barely noticed him as her eyes drank in the long drivebay, flanked on both sides by stalls of all sizes. At the far end was a heavy wooden door set on gigantic, rusted hinges; in the two stalls nearest to the doors were transport trucks, ancient and dismantled to varying degrees.
Immediately interested, DG wanted to go down and peek at the trucks, but Cain came up behind her before she took off running. “You ready to start this?” She turned to him, at a loss for a moment before she noticed him nod toward the horses that were saddled and ready - their own beasts, stabled by the Commander, taken care of and ready for departure.
“I guess I've got no choice, do I?” She meant it as a joke, but there was a weight to the words that caused something inside of her to sink.
Cain chose to move past what she'd said without comment. “Four of us will ride,” he said; it took her mind a moment to work out that he meant Hass to scout by air. “Longcoat seems to think he's callin' the shots. He's got a mind to stop for the night at Fog's Bank.”
DG's brow furrowed, her blue eyes turning to his. “Fog's Bank? Where is -”
“Little village between here and the stone. Not but a few hours outta the way.”
“Is it okay? I mean...” She lowered her voice. “Is it safe?”
Cain shifted uneasily on his feet. “Could be worth the risk of entering a civilized area. Sleep on a bed instead of the ground.”
An image of the night before flashed through her mind, and she felt her cheeks grow hot. “Well, I can't say no to a bed,” she murmured. She reached out to run a finger along the cross-strap of his gun-belt, returned to him by the Commander's men. The gesture, seemingly too intimate in front of present company - she looked around, and only Raw was watching from the corner of his eye - made Cain uncomfortable. Retracting her hand, she offered him a hopeful smile. “What do you think of the 'Coat's plan, Captain?”
“It'll be a hard day's travel to reach Fog's Bank,” he said, but there was no definitiveness in his words. “It'll be after dark, so let's get a move on.”
With a quirk to the corner of his mouth, and a gentle touch on the shoulder - and if his hand lingered over long, she didn't call attention to it, not wanting to push him away - Cain directed her toward Juniper, who looked passively at DG. Scratching the mare behind the ears for a moment, DG twisted her head to see Zero watching Cain warily.
A shudder went through her, and she forced herself to look away.
***
Ambrose was flustered and moody all morning, and he couldn't quite put a finger on why. There was nothing out of place in his office, there were no mysteriously appeared objects - brought in by him when he wasn't paying attention - cluttering his desk. By lunch time, all his work was done. He just couldn't think as to why he felt like something was amiss.
It was almost two in the afternoon by the time he realized that he hadn't seen Tory since the night before.
Ambrose checked everywhere he thought the boy might be. The suite on the thirtieth level assigned to him was empty. The bed hadn't been slept in, though the covers were rumpled enough to give the impression that someone had lain upon them.
The boy wasn't in the library. Nor was he in the portrait gallery, or the kitchens, the arboretum, or the parlour with the windows overlooking Gale Square that he'd taken a liking to.
Frantic searching was turning up absolutely nothing, and Ambrose grew not only frustrated, but a tad worried. Alta Torretta in its glory, its beauty, its hundreds of hallways and dozens upon dozens of rooms, was too much for him to handle himself. It didn't comfort him in the slightest that he was looking for something he himself hadn't misplaced. For once.
There would be no alerting the guards to the missing teenager he was trying to keep swept under the rug as much as possible. Absolutely batty of him to try and bother the Queen with such matters - though, Azkadellia had taken a strange liking to the boy and would want to know he was missing.
Ambrose pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead and put his mind to tracking the kid down while putting in the least amount of physical effort. Searching the palace room by room, needle in a haystack, impossible odds...
What if the kid wasn't in the palace? Not in a single one of the sprawling rooms with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked a city spread out and tangled in and out of itself. What if the kid had gone through the gates, out into the city itself? To explore, to search, to breathe, to...
Ambrose tried to walk slowly down to the floors designated to security, he walked uncomfortably by Cain's new office, dark and uninhabited.
In the right office, with the right words to the right person, Ambrose had the roster in his hands, the guard rotations for the front gate. Most of the security personnel that served the palace lived on-site, and within minutes the advisor was knocking on the closed door of the guard who'd worked the night-shift.
The young man answered the door bleary-eyed and shirtless, holding his pants closed.
“Uh, hello, sir,” the young man said, his eyes widening in surprise. “Can I, uh... I mean...”
Ambrose looked away politely as the soldier buttoned his fly. Clearing his throat, he said, “You were on the front gate last night, weren't you?”
The soldier nodded hurriedly. “Yessir,” he said, head bobbing. “Twelve hours, off-duty at oh-six-hundred.”
“I'm curious if you saw anyone leave the grounds.”
The soldier smiled slightly. “Lots of people, sir. Anyone in particular you're thinking of?”
Ambrose shook his head, an absent and distracted gesture. The wheels in his mind turned, cogs and springs all squeak and groan. “How about late night traffic. After the suns set.” He made sure not to ask a direct question. He didn't like secrets. Outright lying he could manage without blinking, after so many annuals at court and at Her Majesty's side through the annuals following DG's 'death' and Azkadellia's plotting and eventual takeover and then out in the countryside trying to eke out some sort of survival, those nine annuals that could barely be considered existing.
“No, nothing out of the - well, there was a... now what was it?” The young man looked genuinely confused, eyes raising in thought, staring at nothing. “It was a boy - young man.”
Ambrose tried his best to look as though he thought this fact was odd, giving the guardsman a perfect 'Huh,' expression. “You didn't stop him to identify him?”
The trick of light in the guardsman's eyes shifted so quickly, Ambrose almost didn't catch it. And, indeed, if he'd never had such an effect explained to him by Tutor, he might not have noticed it at all. Just a faint shimmer of fading magic, no harm it it really... but for the fact that a palace guard had been touched by some sort of spell.
“No, didn't seem necessary,” the young man said.
Ambrose refrained from grabbing the man by the shoulders and shaking him, for it seemed a very pointless, panicky thing to do. He also stopped himself from firing the man on the spot - not that it was even in his power to do so without the proper paperwork filed.
No wonder DG managed to sneak out of this place so many times, Ambrose thought bitterly to himself. He'd make sure to launch a full inquiry into perimeter security, as soon as he could find some underling to unload the task onto.
He'd left the guardsman standing in his door-frame, turning around too fast to see the young man's mouth gaping open after him. His mind didn't register the sound of the dormitory door shutting as he hit the end of the hallway.
There'd be no reprimand for the young guardsman. Most in the O.Z. were utterly defenceless against magic, and the guard had had a spell worked over him, it didn't take even half-a-brain to figure that out. There was no worrying now about why Tory had gone. The question was who had helped him get past the guard.
Ambrose needed to speak with the Queen.
***
Jeb's hands were calloused and blistered. His hair was grimy and sweaty, and the fragrance of the damned red flowers that covered the temple grounds was beginning to give him a headache. He and Travers took turns with the axe, but as Travers had gone off on a supply run and Jeb had been left alone, he took the few minutes of reprieve as actual reprieve, leaning against the tree he'd only begun chopping at, and watching the grounds with a lazy eye.
There were red flowers everywhere, big-petalled heads on thin, tiny necks. Growing without sunslight, without encouragement. Wherever the damn things could take root, take root they did. The men clearing the grounds had long given up on trying to win that battle, instead focusing on the saplings that seemed to want to come up at a rivalled pace.
Under the carpet of flowers was an ancient section of Brick Route, the same arm that led straight through the camp and right up to the sealed doors of the temple. Though, one would never be able to tell, the flowers grew so abundantly as to hide the thin, winding section of brick.
It was as his eyes followed this unseen path that Jeb saw the approaching ex-Longcoats. Two men, armed.
“Cain!” one called out to him; by the voice, it was Cole, the officer who'd so graciously allowed Jeb and his companion to live until the Lady's return. Which, by the grim looks on the faces of the two soldiers as Jeb walked over, was now. Surely enough, Cole's face stretched into a menacing grin. “The Lady Catt has requested your presence in her tent,” he said, barely able to contain the gleeful satisfaction he got from watching the son of Wyatt Cain crash and burn in his chosen endeavours.
Jeb was unceremoniously manhandled through the encampment, where most of the soldiers between the temple grounds and the Lady's tent stopped to get a good look at what was happening. Cole, still grinning, shouted for all the men to get back to work.
The Lady Catt's tent was a massive construction, reminding Jeb of a festival pavilion draped in red. Cole stopped short of the entrance and gave Jeb one last shove between the shoulders. Trying not to act timid or cowardly - trying not to feel that way - he entered the tent. There were no other soldiers inside, only the two standing guard outside the entrance, and the two surplus that had escorted him from the temple grounds.
In the center of the lavishly decorated and heavily furnished tent stood the leader of the army outside the tent. On first glance, the sight of the Lady near took his breath away. She was tall, and carried herself with great authority. Though she was beautiful, there was nothing soft about her; not the brash, bright shade of her red hair, nor the cut of her dress, nor the angles and lines of her face.
Jeb swallowed back a lump in his throat. She hadn't yet noticed him; she was leaning over a long, wooden table, staring at a heavy tome that was open on the tabletop. With the intensity of her gaze, he wondered if she'd manage to burn holes right through the pages with her eyes.
Without looking up at him, she said, “I didn't expect any surprises when I returned here. But things, it seems, aren't exactly running as I expected they would. There have been too many alterations, too many changes. There is too much secrecy abroad.”
Jeb said nothing, staring down at his feet now in case she decided to look up and catch him peeking.
“Jebedias Cain,” she stated, as if it were written down in the book before her. “Son of Wyatt and Adora. Fighter, and sometime leader of the Resistance against the Sorceress Azkadellia during the time of the Emerald War.”
“That's a position I didn't hold very long,” Jeb said quietly. He looked up at the Lady then, and saw she was watching him with a pair of piercing green eyes. “The Resistance failed, anyhow. I didn't fight to put Azkadellia back on the throne. I fought to bring an end to her rule.”
“But you served her after the death of the Witch for almost an annual,” Catt countered, smiling at him most winningly. “You were in a very, very close position to her, were you not? Her very... life was in your hands.” A bit of unadulterated wickedness gleamed in her eyes.
“And the hands of the other's on her protection detail,” Jeb interjected, putting emphasis on the truth of her statement and not the intention of her words. “I gave my word to someone that I would protect her.”
The Lady looked unimpressed; she returned her gaze to the book. She turned a page, and Jeb saw that both sides of it were blank, as well as the next page. “This is a truly divine creation,” she said slowly, running her fingernails over the paper, the scratch of it reaching his ears in the quiet of the tent. “It boggles my mind to think of who could have enchanted it to show the incredible things it can.”
Her voice became a gentle purr, coaxing and lethal in its deceptiveness. “Do you know what it can show you, Boy?”
Clearing his throat, as he'd been asked an outright question, Jeb answered, “I've heard a few things around here as to its nature. Hearsay, I guess, as I don't think a one of them out there ever laid eyes on it proper.”
“Come closer,” she said enticingly, and he went, though not because he found any allure in her. “Let me show you what it does.”
With the table separating them, the Lady Catt gave him one last cheeky grin before saying clearly, “Show me Azkadellia, Queen of the Outer Zone.” She turned the book to face him. The blank page... Jeb's eyes widened as ink appeared on the paper in all colours, creating an ornate gilded border around the two pages. A picture appeared then, clear and pristine as if he were standing right in the room with the Queen and a panel of her advisors.
Az sat at a table, posture perfect as she signed her name to an endless queue of documents. A man on her left side placed papers in front of her, a man on her right reached down to take it away when she'd added her signature. The process repeated, it was something he'd seen a hundred times before.
The scene in the book slowly shifted, taking in a wider scope of the room and giving a better view of her face. Her jaw was set, and her lips thinned; she was bored, and she barely saw what she was signing, he could tell by the glazed look in her eyes. Even as he watched her, feeling a horrid guilt at intruding without her knowledge, he fought to keep his face impassive.
She looked... sad. Surrounded by those she trusted, but all alone just the same.
A voice sounded from within the book, one he recognized but could not put a name to. “Your Majesty,” said the out-of-frame voice. “Master Ambrose is requesting a meeting with you. He says its quite urgent, and cannot wait.”
Another voice, the advisor standing at her right shoulder. “The fool can wait. Even a brain as damaged as his must realize Her Majesty cannot be dragged away from -”
Reaching out, Jeb slammed the book shut. The letters 'O' and 'Z' were tooled in gold on the black leather cover. There was an exclamation of disgust from the Lady Catt at his sudden movement, though she recovered quickly enough to say, “Absolutely ingenious, isn't it?”
Jeb nodded stiffly. “Yeah, its something else.”
The Lady smiled at him, showing him a row of even, white teeth. The tension he felt between his shoulder blades mounted. Before he even had the opportunity to think that he didn't like where this was going, the Lady had turned the book to face her once again and had opened it to a random page. “Show me Princess Dorothy of the Outer Zone.”
Jeb cringed inwardly, but - nothing happened. No colours appeared, the page didn't shift.
The Lady Catt seemed unhindered. She turned the page, and said again, “Show me Her Royal Highness, Princess Dorothy Gale.”
The page remained blank. The Lady sighed in frustration, though he could tell by her calm reaction that she wasn't surprised at the book's answer.
“She's hiding from me,” she muttered low, her hair shielding her face as she bent over the book, back to caressing the pages with her fingernails, perhaps hoping she could coax the answer out with a bit of petting and kind treatment. “I'd never tried to call upon her before. Absolutely no use to me, just a Slipper. But the book can't find her, no matter how I spell it out. She's hiding.” Then she laughed, an unhinged sound that caused a ripple of apprehension to shoot up Jeb's spine. “Show me Wyatt Cain,” she said suddenly.
Jeb's heart seized, but... nothing happened. The page remained faded ivory, blank. Jeb wasn't sure what he was meant to say, but suddenly, the book was whirled toward him again, and the Lady's voice had gone from a quiet murmur to a forced tone of conviction. “Find me your father.”
His eyebrows went up. “My - what?”
“Your father, your father!” she exclaimed impatiently.
Jeb cleared his throat. With an aggravated sigh, the Lady snapped her fingers, and Cole marched into the tent, pulled the hammer back on the revolver he'd pulled from his belt, and dug the tip of the barrel into the back of Jeb's neck, quick as blinking.
“Find me your father,” the Lady Catt repeated.
Jeb fought to keep his calm. “Show me Wyatt Cain.” Nothing. He turned the page. “Show me the Tin Man, Wyatt Cain.” Not so much as the thinnest line, the most faded glimpse, nothing. Feeling a relief spread through his veins more nourishing than blood, he relaxed despite the gun pointed at the back of his head - at least, as much as one could in that situation. The Lady wasn't stupid, he was useful and his survival - for now - was assured. Her threats meant nothing to him, but he did his best to make it look like he was in the very least put-off.
“I think your book's broken.”
The Lady Catt chuckled, a crazed and disturbing sound. She shook her head, the mane of flowing auburn hair playing with the meager light in the tent. “Its not broken,” she spat out at his obvious idiocy. Jeb pretended to be contrite and thoroughly lashed by her tone. “Its being tricked.”
From behind him, Cole spoke up. “Tricked?”
Lady Catt raised her eyes, glaring at the soldier who'd lowered his firearm away from the back of Jeb's head. “Tricked! Deceived, outwitted, screwed with. Magic, by my guess, at the princess' hands.” Sharply, she turned her eyes on Jeb. “You. Who tutors the girl in her magical studies?”
Jeb cleared his throat uncomfortably. “That would be Tutor. Or, um... Lesley, is his name.”
She gestured impatiently at the book. “Show me,” she demanded.
Frowning, Jeb said, “Show me Willian Lesley of Central City.”
The page before him fogged and swirled; it was all the same as before, yet... different. A border formed at the edges of the page, this time a trail of muddy black paw-prints. Tutor, handsomely tailored and utterly peaceful, was lounging on a sofa in what Jeb could only assume was his quarters at Alta Torretta. The man was sleeping.
Lady Catt frowned as she viewed the picture upside down. “No, no,” she said slowly. “You're of no use at all, are you, Jebedias Cain? Well, we'll see, won't we?”
She was looking at him expectantly, and he was required to answer her. “I guess we will,” Jeb said evenly.
The Lady smirked, an ugly ripple across her features. “You'll be a part of my personal escort,” she said with a sense of finality that had Jeb repressing a shudder. “A man doesn't often turn on the woman he lies with.” She nodded then to the book, and damned if the pages didn't give the faintest trace-outline of the golden border that had framed Azkadellia. “I want to keep an eye on you, Lieutenant Cain. You have yet to prove yourself loyal to our cause. We'll see just how useful you've yet to become to me.”
Author's Note: I don't bite... much.
Table Of Contents:
1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10
11 - 12 - 13 - 14 - 15 - 16 - 17 - 18 - 19 - 20
21 - 22 - 23 - 24 - 25 - 26 - 27 - 28 - 29 - 30
31 - 32 - 33 - 34 - 35 - 36 - 37 - 38 - 39 - 40
41 - 42 - 43 - 44 - 45 - 46 - 47 - 48
Author: Rissy James
Characters: DG, Cain, Azkadellia, Jeb, Glitch, Raw, Tutor, the Queen, Ahamo, and some old & new OCs
Pairing: Established Cain/DG; established Jeb/Az
Rating: M
Summary: Sequel to " Of Light". After an annual of living in the O.Z., DG sets out to complete the task given to her by the Gale. Soon, she must learn that there is always more to everything than first meets the eye.
Extras: Cast Page on livejournal.com
Chapter Twenty Nine
The old wizard's face was weary, but his lips held a friendly smile. He didn't look at her directly as she approached; he only stared up at the immense machine that took up a good portion of the wall. His hands were stuffed into the pockets of his trousers, and oh, how he did stare at the machine. He didn't push buttons, he didn't turn cranks, or handle the gear-shifts with an adeptness that resembled ballet... still, and staring, he waited for her to take in the entirety of the contraption before speaking.
“I know why you have come,” the old man said. “What is your name, child?”
It didn't perturb her in the slightest to realize she wasn't exactly sure how to answer that question. Being asked your name should come as easy as breathing, shouldn't it? “I don't know if I remember,” she said, which was not entirely true. She remembered, but she wasn't sure that it was right, and she would be so embarrassed to give the wrong answer to such a simple question.
The old wizard turned to smile at her. “The small and meek.”
Glancing back up at the many dials and gauges in front of her, she nodded. “Something like that.”
The wizard's blue eyes shone sadly at her when she turned her head to risk a glance at him. “Do you know who I am?”
She glanced behind her to the heavy, dark draperies that closed the cubicle off; they were thrown wide open, bearing no false witness. “You're the man behind the curtain,” she said slowly. This didn't disappoint her as much as she thought it might; indeed, she braced herself for the let-down, only to be surprised at the complete... lack of reaction.
His smile returned, infinitely tired. “You walked far to reach me. Met many people, saw many things.”
“I'm very tired,” she said slowly, turning to study the machine again. Looking a little closer, she noticed the panels were dusty, that the glass-fronted gauges were coated with many annuals worth of grime. “I've followed every inch of the Old Road. I've seen every sight.”
The old wizard shook his head. “Not every sight. Not every inch. Spans, my dear, you've yet to see.”
With a sigh, she turned away from the machine completely, away from the gleaming copper switches, the brass tooling, and toward the great hall, the marble floors, the open, empty, windowless space. Recluse, hermit, old man hiding where no one may enter. He shut out the world, but the world still went on.
“It was just a piece of paper, just a tin clock, just a bit of junky jewelry,” he told her; her head snapped toward him, trying to make sense of his words. He held up a black velvet satchet, big enough to hold a pocket-watch, or a bottle of perfume.
“There was nothing in the bag for you, my dear,” he said, and handed her the draw-string satchet. True to his word, it was completely empty. A part of her wished for her every desired answer to fall out into her palm. The old wizard caught the disappointment in her eyes and gave her an encouraging smile.
“You've had it with you all along,” he told her.
She nodded as if she understood, and in truth, she sort of did. “I shouldn't doubt myself.”
“Never for a moment. Your doubts can beat you as surely as your enemies can. Purity of Light flows through you unfalteringly. Don't disrupt it by assuming you're anything but a channel,” he said very carefully, keeping his eyes trained on hers to make sure she didn't miss a single word. “The magic will do as it will. Hold on, keep it grounded. Got that?”
She awoke abruptly then, half-sitting up as her body jerked to consciousness. It was completely dark; feeling around, she found the other side of the bed empty and cold. Lowering herself back to the mattress, she waved a hand in the direction of the bedside lamp; a flame flared at the soaked wick-tip.
Struggling to bring back the pieces of her dream, DG put her hands over her face.
'Hold on, keep it grounded. Got that?'
“Yeah, got it,” she whispered groggily to herself. Sleep had claimed her while still in Cain's arms, and he'd slipped away from her sometime while she slept. She couldn't blame him. They were both eager to get back onto the road, to be reunited with their companions and be out from under the Commander's oppressive thumb.
No more running around, no more confusion. Every forward step taken was a step closer to the meaning of all this. Ridding herself of the Emerald, being able to stop running, stop fighting, and just live her life.
She climbed out of bed and braved the cold floor. She tugged on her own clothes, pulled her hair back into a ponytail. Someone was coming for her, something inside told her to stay put. Unable to just sit, she made the bed, and laid out the dress the Commander had sent her. It struck her curiously as she studied the frock... she'd seen it somewhere before. Before it had been sent. She just didn't know where.
A knock on the door. Nearly jumping, she hurried over and almost cried out in relief at the sight of Hass. She restrained herself - just barely - from hugging him. He noticed, and gave her a grateful smile. “Ready to get out of here and hit topside?” he asked her, as if they spent days upon days underground all the time.
“Definitely,” she said, already pulling on her wool coat and turning up its collar. “Are the others waiting for us?”
“We're to meet them at the surface,” Hass told her as he held the door open, and they escaped the quiet of her room without once looking back. Nothing there was hers but for the clothes on her body and the tiny band on her finger. All her other possessions were buried under the snow somewhere along the road. “Captain seemed to be in a bit of a hurry,” Hass added, breaking into her self-absorbed thoughts.
“I should have gotten up sooner,” she said, cursing herself silently for dreaming. “We could be on the road by now.”
“Naw, the captain seemed to think it best if you were left to sleep for a while,” Hass said; something in his voice piqued her curiosity, and when she turned to look at him, he gave her a rueful grin. They said no more for quite a while, as the hallways were not void of traffic, slaves and soldiers alike busy despite the early, early hour. Hass navigated their way through the corridors and DG stayed close behind him. When finally they reached a thick, metal door, she glanced at him, impressed. “I've got a good sense of direction,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders, making her laugh.
The door read, Surface Access. DG had to admit, she hadn't seen two more welcome words in quite some time. Opened, the door led to a hall on a gradual incline, one that steepened ever so slightly with every turn in the passage.
“So,” Hass said conversationally, after they'd walked in silence for a while. “Is someone going to explain to me why we're taking on a wanted criminal as our guide, or am I just taking it on good faith that he's not going to kill each and every one of us in our sleep?”
DG frowned. His tone was knife-sharp by the time he'd finished. “I don't think Cain will be sleeping much,” she said offhandedly, not sure where she was supposed to begin explaining. Not only am I seeing things in the mirror, I'm hearing things. The voice told me that Zero would lead the way.
“Makes two of us,” Hass said.
As they continued on, she slowly grew winded. The narrow passageway seemed to go on forever, twisting and turning, and she finally called for him to stop, her voice bouncing loudly off the high walls. Deciding on a point, she began. “All right... you know the face that's been appearing to me in the mirror?” Oh, that sounds insane, she thought unhappily. Hass nodded, his face still. Sighing, she said, “She... whoever she is, Lost Princess or not, said Zero is the one meant to help us, not the Commander.”
“And what, exactly, is he meant to help us do?”
DG shrugged. “I've got no idea. We're going to have to see what happens.”
“That's a very vague plan,” he said with a sad shake of his head. “And even with the vague plan of vagueness, I don't quite see how we're going to move across the entire country undetected. A wanted criminal, a princess, a Viewer, and two AR soldiers, we're going to attract someone's attention. That book the Lady Catt's got...”
“I'm hoping I might have fogged up the glass a bit on that one,” she said, offering him a smile, a real smile.
“You sure do sound confident,” Hass said approvingly. He pushed away from the wall. “You think that confidence is gonna see us through?”
DG shrugged her shoulders, taking in the long, dimly lit corridor that stretched out ahead of them. “That and a bit of luck,” she said, and she felt the smile on her lips begin to falter. “We've been in worse scrapes than this before. I think we'll handle it easily.”
Glancing around, she didn't let on at how anxious she became to see there was no wood to knock on.
An hour passed, and then most of a second. The air grew chiller, but also cleared; their breath appeared before them in visible puffs. The quality of light began to shift, and the passageway split. Voices could be heard in the corridor that forked to the right, familiar voices that caused both her feet and Hass' to speed up.
Raw was smiling at her the moment she appeared in the doorway, but she barely noticed him as her eyes drank in the long drivebay, flanked on both sides by stalls of all sizes. At the far end was a heavy wooden door set on gigantic, rusted hinges; in the two stalls nearest to the doors were transport trucks, ancient and dismantled to varying degrees.
Immediately interested, DG wanted to go down and peek at the trucks, but Cain came up behind her before she took off running. “You ready to start this?” She turned to him, at a loss for a moment before she noticed him nod toward the horses that were saddled and ready - their own beasts, stabled by the Commander, taken care of and ready for departure.
“I guess I've got no choice, do I?” She meant it as a joke, but there was a weight to the words that caused something inside of her to sink.
Cain chose to move past what she'd said without comment. “Four of us will ride,” he said; it took her mind a moment to work out that he meant Hass to scout by air. “Longcoat seems to think he's callin' the shots. He's got a mind to stop for the night at Fog's Bank.”
DG's brow furrowed, her blue eyes turning to his. “Fog's Bank? Where is -”
“Little village between here and the stone. Not but a few hours outta the way.”
“Is it okay? I mean...” She lowered her voice. “Is it safe?”
Cain shifted uneasily on his feet. “Could be worth the risk of entering a civilized area. Sleep on a bed instead of the ground.”
An image of the night before flashed through her mind, and she felt her cheeks grow hot. “Well, I can't say no to a bed,” she murmured. She reached out to run a finger along the cross-strap of his gun-belt, returned to him by the Commander's men. The gesture, seemingly too intimate in front of present company - she looked around, and only Raw was watching from the corner of his eye - made Cain uncomfortable. Retracting her hand, she offered him a hopeful smile. “What do you think of the 'Coat's plan, Captain?”
“It'll be a hard day's travel to reach Fog's Bank,” he said, but there was no definitiveness in his words. “It'll be after dark, so let's get a move on.”
With a quirk to the corner of his mouth, and a gentle touch on the shoulder - and if his hand lingered over long, she didn't call attention to it, not wanting to push him away - Cain directed her toward Juniper, who looked passively at DG. Scratching the mare behind the ears for a moment, DG twisted her head to see Zero watching Cain warily.
A shudder went through her, and she forced herself to look away.
***
Ambrose was flustered and moody all morning, and he couldn't quite put a finger on why. There was nothing out of place in his office, there were no mysteriously appeared objects - brought in by him when he wasn't paying attention - cluttering his desk. By lunch time, all his work was done. He just couldn't think as to why he felt like something was amiss.
It was almost two in the afternoon by the time he realized that he hadn't seen Tory since the night before.
Ambrose checked everywhere he thought the boy might be. The suite on the thirtieth level assigned to him was empty. The bed hadn't been slept in, though the covers were rumpled enough to give the impression that someone had lain upon them.
The boy wasn't in the library. Nor was he in the portrait gallery, or the kitchens, the arboretum, or the parlour with the windows overlooking Gale Square that he'd taken a liking to.
Frantic searching was turning up absolutely nothing, and Ambrose grew not only frustrated, but a tad worried. Alta Torretta in its glory, its beauty, its hundreds of hallways and dozens upon dozens of rooms, was too much for him to handle himself. It didn't comfort him in the slightest that he was looking for something he himself hadn't misplaced. For once.
There would be no alerting the guards to the missing teenager he was trying to keep swept under the rug as much as possible. Absolutely batty of him to try and bother the Queen with such matters - though, Azkadellia had taken a strange liking to the boy and would want to know he was missing.
Ambrose pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead and put his mind to tracking the kid down while putting in the least amount of physical effort. Searching the palace room by room, needle in a haystack, impossible odds...
What if the kid wasn't in the palace? Not in a single one of the sprawling rooms with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked a city spread out and tangled in and out of itself. What if the kid had gone through the gates, out into the city itself? To explore, to search, to breathe, to...
Ambrose tried to walk slowly down to the floors designated to security, he walked uncomfortably by Cain's new office, dark and uninhabited.
In the right office, with the right words to the right person, Ambrose had the roster in his hands, the guard rotations for the front gate. Most of the security personnel that served the palace lived on-site, and within minutes the advisor was knocking on the closed door of the guard who'd worked the night-shift.
The young man answered the door bleary-eyed and shirtless, holding his pants closed.
“Uh, hello, sir,” the young man said, his eyes widening in surprise. “Can I, uh... I mean...”
Ambrose looked away politely as the soldier buttoned his fly. Clearing his throat, he said, “You were on the front gate last night, weren't you?”
The soldier nodded hurriedly. “Yessir,” he said, head bobbing. “Twelve hours, off-duty at oh-six-hundred.”
“I'm curious if you saw anyone leave the grounds.”
The soldier smiled slightly. “Lots of people, sir. Anyone in particular you're thinking of?”
Ambrose shook his head, an absent and distracted gesture. The wheels in his mind turned, cogs and springs all squeak and groan. “How about late night traffic. After the suns set.” He made sure not to ask a direct question. He didn't like secrets. Outright lying he could manage without blinking, after so many annuals at court and at Her Majesty's side through the annuals following DG's 'death' and Azkadellia's plotting and eventual takeover and then out in the countryside trying to eke out some sort of survival, those nine annuals that could barely be considered existing.
“No, nothing out of the - well, there was a... now what was it?” The young man looked genuinely confused, eyes raising in thought, staring at nothing. “It was a boy - young man.”
Ambrose tried his best to look as though he thought this fact was odd, giving the guardsman a perfect 'Huh,' expression. “You didn't stop him to identify him?”
The trick of light in the guardsman's eyes shifted so quickly, Ambrose almost didn't catch it. And, indeed, if he'd never had such an effect explained to him by Tutor, he might not have noticed it at all. Just a faint shimmer of fading magic, no harm it it really... but for the fact that a palace guard had been touched by some sort of spell.
“No, didn't seem necessary,” the young man said.
Ambrose refrained from grabbing the man by the shoulders and shaking him, for it seemed a very pointless, panicky thing to do. He also stopped himself from firing the man on the spot - not that it was even in his power to do so without the proper paperwork filed.
No wonder DG managed to sneak out of this place so many times, Ambrose thought bitterly to himself. He'd make sure to launch a full inquiry into perimeter security, as soon as he could find some underling to unload the task onto.
He'd left the guardsman standing in his door-frame, turning around too fast to see the young man's mouth gaping open after him. His mind didn't register the sound of the dormitory door shutting as he hit the end of the hallway.
There'd be no reprimand for the young guardsman. Most in the O.Z. were utterly defenceless against magic, and the guard had had a spell worked over him, it didn't take even half-a-brain to figure that out. There was no worrying now about why Tory had gone. The question was who had helped him get past the guard.
Ambrose needed to speak with the Queen.
***
Jeb's hands were calloused and blistered. His hair was grimy and sweaty, and the fragrance of the damned red flowers that covered the temple grounds was beginning to give him a headache. He and Travers took turns with the axe, but as Travers had gone off on a supply run and Jeb had been left alone, he took the few minutes of reprieve as actual reprieve, leaning against the tree he'd only begun chopping at, and watching the grounds with a lazy eye.
There were red flowers everywhere, big-petalled heads on thin, tiny necks. Growing without sunslight, without encouragement. Wherever the damn things could take root, take root they did. The men clearing the grounds had long given up on trying to win that battle, instead focusing on the saplings that seemed to want to come up at a rivalled pace.
Under the carpet of flowers was an ancient section of Brick Route, the same arm that led straight through the camp and right up to the sealed doors of the temple. Though, one would never be able to tell, the flowers grew so abundantly as to hide the thin, winding section of brick.
It was as his eyes followed this unseen path that Jeb saw the approaching ex-Longcoats. Two men, armed.
“Cain!” one called out to him; by the voice, it was Cole, the officer who'd so graciously allowed Jeb and his companion to live until the Lady's return. Which, by the grim looks on the faces of the two soldiers as Jeb walked over, was now. Surely enough, Cole's face stretched into a menacing grin. “The Lady Catt has requested your presence in her tent,” he said, barely able to contain the gleeful satisfaction he got from watching the son of Wyatt Cain crash and burn in his chosen endeavours.
Jeb was unceremoniously manhandled through the encampment, where most of the soldiers between the temple grounds and the Lady's tent stopped to get a good look at what was happening. Cole, still grinning, shouted for all the men to get back to work.
The Lady Catt's tent was a massive construction, reminding Jeb of a festival pavilion draped in red. Cole stopped short of the entrance and gave Jeb one last shove between the shoulders. Trying not to act timid or cowardly - trying not to feel that way - he entered the tent. There were no other soldiers inside, only the two standing guard outside the entrance, and the two surplus that had escorted him from the temple grounds.
In the center of the lavishly decorated and heavily furnished tent stood the leader of the army outside the tent. On first glance, the sight of the Lady near took his breath away. She was tall, and carried herself with great authority. Though she was beautiful, there was nothing soft about her; not the brash, bright shade of her red hair, nor the cut of her dress, nor the angles and lines of her face.
Jeb swallowed back a lump in his throat. She hadn't yet noticed him; she was leaning over a long, wooden table, staring at a heavy tome that was open on the tabletop. With the intensity of her gaze, he wondered if she'd manage to burn holes right through the pages with her eyes.
Without looking up at him, she said, “I didn't expect any surprises when I returned here. But things, it seems, aren't exactly running as I expected they would. There have been too many alterations, too many changes. There is too much secrecy abroad.”
Jeb said nothing, staring down at his feet now in case she decided to look up and catch him peeking.
“Jebedias Cain,” she stated, as if it were written down in the book before her. “Son of Wyatt and Adora. Fighter, and sometime leader of the Resistance against the Sorceress Azkadellia during the time of the Emerald War.”
“That's a position I didn't hold very long,” Jeb said quietly. He looked up at the Lady then, and saw she was watching him with a pair of piercing green eyes. “The Resistance failed, anyhow. I didn't fight to put Azkadellia back on the throne. I fought to bring an end to her rule.”
“But you served her after the death of the Witch for almost an annual,” Catt countered, smiling at him most winningly. “You were in a very, very close position to her, were you not? Her very... life was in your hands.” A bit of unadulterated wickedness gleamed in her eyes.
“And the hands of the other's on her protection detail,” Jeb interjected, putting emphasis on the truth of her statement and not the intention of her words. “I gave my word to someone that I would protect her.”
The Lady looked unimpressed; she returned her gaze to the book. She turned a page, and Jeb saw that both sides of it were blank, as well as the next page. “This is a truly divine creation,” she said slowly, running her fingernails over the paper, the scratch of it reaching his ears in the quiet of the tent. “It boggles my mind to think of who could have enchanted it to show the incredible things it can.”
Her voice became a gentle purr, coaxing and lethal in its deceptiveness. “Do you know what it can show you, Boy?”
Clearing his throat, as he'd been asked an outright question, Jeb answered, “I've heard a few things around here as to its nature. Hearsay, I guess, as I don't think a one of them out there ever laid eyes on it proper.”
“Come closer,” she said enticingly, and he went, though not because he found any allure in her. “Let me show you what it does.”
With the table separating them, the Lady Catt gave him one last cheeky grin before saying clearly, “Show me Azkadellia, Queen of the Outer Zone.” She turned the book to face him. The blank page... Jeb's eyes widened as ink appeared on the paper in all colours, creating an ornate gilded border around the two pages. A picture appeared then, clear and pristine as if he were standing right in the room with the Queen and a panel of her advisors.
Az sat at a table, posture perfect as she signed her name to an endless queue of documents. A man on her left side placed papers in front of her, a man on her right reached down to take it away when she'd added her signature. The process repeated, it was something he'd seen a hundred times before.
The scene in the book slowly shifted, taking in a wider scope of the room and giving a better view of her face. Her jaw was set, and her lips thinned; she was bored, and she barely saw what she was signing, he could tell by the glazed look in her eyes. Even as he watched her, feeling a horrid guilt at intruding without her knowledge, he fought to keep his face impassive.
She looked... sad. Surrounded by those she trusted, but all alone just the same.
A voice sounded from within the book, one he recognized but could not put a name to. “Your Majesty,” said the out-of-frame voice. “Master Ambrose is requesting a meeting with you. He says its quite urgent, and cannot wait.”
Another voice, the advisor standing at her right shoulder. “The fool can wait. Even a brain as damaged as his must realize Her Majesty cannot be dragged away from -”
Reaching out, Jeb slammed the book shut. The letters 'O' and 'Z' were tooled in gold on the black leather cover. There was an exclamation of disgust from the Lady Catt at his sudden movement, though she recovered quickly enough to say, “Absolutely ingenious, isn't it?”
Jeb nodded stiffly. “Yeah, its something else.”
The Lady smiled at him, showing him a row of even, white teeth. The tension he felt between his shoulder blades mounted. Before he even had the opportunity to think that he didn't like where this was going, the Lady had turned the book to face her once again and had opened it to a random page. “Show me Princess Dorothy of the Outer Zone.”
Jeb cringed inwardly, but - nothing happened. No colours appeared, the page didn't shift.
The Lady Catt seemed unhindered. She turned the page, and said again, “Show me Her Royal Highness, Princess Dorothy Gale.”
The page remained blank. The Lady sighed in frustration, though he could tell by her calm reaction that she wasn't surprised at the book's answer.
“She's hiding from me,” she muttered low, her hair shielding her face as she bent over the book, back to caressing the pages with her fingernails, perhaps hoping she could coax the answer out with a bit of petting and kind treatment. “I'd never tried to call upon her before. Absolutely no use to me, just a Slipper. But the book can't find her, no matter how I spell it out. She's hiding.” Then she laughed, an unhinged sound that caused a ripple of apprehension to shoot up Jeb's spine. “Show me Wyatt Cain,” she said suddenly.
Jeb's heart seized, but... nothing happened. The page remained faded ivory, blank. Jeb wasn't sure what he was meant to say, but suddenly, the book was whirled toward him again, and the Lady's voice had gone from a quiet murmur to a forced tone of conviction. “Find me your father.”
His eyebrows went up. “My - what?”
“Your father, your father!” she exclaimed impatiently.
Jeb cleared his throat. With an aggravated sigh, the Lady snapped her fingers, and Cole marched into the tent, pulled the hammer back on the revolver he'd pulled from his belt, and dug the tip of the barrel into the back of Jeb's neck, quick as blinking.
“Find me your father,” the Lady Catt repeated.
Jeb fought to keep his calm. “Show me Wyatt Cain.” Nothing. He turned the page. “Show me the Tin Man, Wyatt Cain.” Not so much as the thinnest line, the most faded glimpse, nothing. Feeling a relief spread through his veins more nourishing than blood, he relaxed despite the gun pointed at the back of his head - at least, as much as one could in that situation. The Lady wasn't stupid, he was useful and his survival - for now - was assured. Her threats meant nothing to him, but he did his best to make it look like he was in the very least put-off.
“I think your book's broken.”
The Lady Catt chuckled, a crazed and disturbing sound. She shook her head, the mane of flowing auburn hair playing with the meager light in the tent. “Its not broken,” she spat out at his obvious idiocy. Jeb pretended to be contrite and thoroughly lashed by her tone. “Its being tricked.”
From behind him, Cole spoke up. “Tricked?”
Lady Catt raised her eyes, glaring at the soldier who'd lowered his firearm away from the back of Jeb's head. “Tricked! Deceived, outwitted, screwed with. Magic, by my guess, at the princess' hands.” Sharply, she turned her eyes on Jeb. “You. Who tutors the girl in her magical studies?”
Jeb cleared his throat uncomfortably. “That would be Tutor. Or, um... Lesley, is his name.”
She gestured impatiently at the book. “Show me,” she demanded.
Frowning, Jeb said, “Show me Willian Lesley of Central City.”
The page before him fogged and swirled; it was all the same as before, yet... different. A border formed at the edges of the page, this time a trail of muddy black paw-prints. Tutor, handsomely tailored and utterly peaceful, was lounging on a sofa in what Jeb could only assume was his quarters at Alta Torretta. The man was sleeping.
Lady Catt frowned as she viewed the picture upside down. “No, no,” she said slowly. “You're of no use at all, are you, Jebedias Cain? Well, we'll see, won't we?”
She was looking at him expectantly, and he was required to answer her. “I guess we will,” Jeb said evenly.
The Lady smirked, an ugly ripple across her features. “You'll be a part of my personal escort,” she said with a sense of finality that had Jeb repressing a shudder. “A man doesn't often turn on the woman he lies with.” She nodded then to the book, and damned if the pages didn't give the faintest trace-outline of the golden border that had framed Azkadellia. “I want to keep an eye on you, Lieutenant Cain. You have yet to prove yourself loyal to our cause. We'll see just how useful you've yet to become to me.”
Author's Note: I don't bite... much.
Table Of Contents:
1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10
11 - 12 - 13 - 14 - 15 - 16 - 17 - 18 - 19 - 20
21 - 22 - 23 - 24 - 25 - 26 - 27 - 28 - 29 - 30
31 - 32 - 33 - 34 - 35 - 36 - 37 - 38 - 39 - 40
41 - 42 - 43 - 44 - 45 - 46 - 47 - 48