I let out a sigh as my knuckles hovered over his door, the wood thick and lacquered and as dark as a starless sky. My head drooped as I rapped against the wood. It opened immediately, gasping as it did so. The Directors apartments were lavish to say the least. But, compared to his apartments back at the Circle, these were sparse. The contemporary landscape paintings on the walls and the wide cherry wood table that greeted me peasants fare if compared to the marble his rooms in the Circle boasted.
I made my way through the foyer and into the dining room where the low hanging crystalline chandelier was not lit. The long, thick, cherry wood table was not set; and the smell of vegetable and fruit fare did not linger. I scanned the dining room, its lacquered walls, the unlit candles in the dark corners and finally, my eyes rested on the balcony doors far—far—to my right.
What nonsense is this?
Music, I heard music. The gentle playing of a piano, a quick C chord, then a sharp A minor chord. I followed the music to the balcony and was met by, well, dinner.
The Director, hands in the pockets of his tailored suit, looked up at the moon as I entered. He was a big man, and a handsome one at that, but he exuded an aura of intimidation. One as black as his suit coat and trousers. He regarded me with his crimson eyes over his broad shoulder, turned and wafted his hand toward the plethora of food carefully placed upon a low, cherry wood, table.
The man certainly loved cherry wood.
“Director Espen,” I said, keeping my eyes on him but my mind scattered at the sound of live music playing without a band, “good evening.”
The man didn’t smile. Never did. He nodded curtly, then said: “Dinner?”
“Of course.”
It was strange, sitting on pillows with my knees squashed beneath that table. There was no meat on the table and, the first time I attended his “professional” dinner, I was surprised. The man is a sanguinarian, a mortal who thrives on blood, yet he didn’t eat meat. I’d yet to ask why and I’m pretty sure I’d never ask. Asking questions initiates closeness and, honestly, I felt that eating on my butt beneath an almost full moon with the Director almost bumping elbows with me; was close enough.
I lied to Bira, however. This dinner was one that I hoped kept me on the Directors good side, but I also used them for my own purposes. Politics, you see.
I ignored the live-music-sans-band, “The beans are delicious,” I started lamely, “did you cook these yourself?”
“You were rather close to waking the Dreamer today,” he said, ignoring my compliment entirely, “what pulled you out?”
I swallowed hard enough to require a glass of water, but only found wine. I hesitated as my fingers wound around the stem. There was no water anywhere. This was strange and getting stranger by the moment. These were supposed to be professional.
“Ah,” I took a sip. The wine was as dry as his tone, “I found his nightbeast, but not him.”
Espen hummed his response and took a bite of a biscuit. Then, swishing his wine around in his glass, he looked beyond the table at the partially clouded sky, “Did it attack?”
“No,” I said, “but I pulled myself out because, without the Dreamer, I can do nothing about the beast.”
He nodded his assent, “Then, you are close.”
“Closer than I’ve ever been.” I pushed the plate away and drummed my fingers on my knees, “I believe, that after All Souls, I’ll be able to wake him up—”
“—and cure his Demise?”
I nodded, “Yes.”
Firelight danced in his eyes as he stared beyond the table. When he brought his eyes to me, I felt the wine burning in my stomach, “You are amazing.”
I couldn’t keep from blushing. To be told by a champion of research at the eastern Circle that I—basically a nobody—was amazing…well, it was better than any complement I could ever give him.
“And…you look beautiful tonight.”
The blush faded. Regret made my tongue sour. I shouldn’t have worn this dress, but I had my reasons. And now, they were looking pretty shabby.
“And, on the topic of All Souls…”
“Come,” he said, taking two wine glasses from the table, “stand with me.”
We moved from the table to the balcony bannister. Wings guarded the corners, painted a tarnished justicar gold. From this vantage point I could get a really good look at the moon as a cotton candy cloud obscured it somewhat, passing slowly over it like a veil.
Director Espen handed me a full glass, “I am going to Mare to procure pure lunar obsidian,” he said, “with no error percentage.”
My eyes widened, “But that’s impossible—”
“I know,” he chuckled darkly, “but I know a Circle energist who has succeeded in creating such a gem.” He turned to me, at least two heads taller than me, towering over me with those crimson eyes and too-broad shoulders, “Would you like to come?”
He didn’t have to tell me that this would be the trip of a lifetime. To watch an energist create crystals with a percentage error of none? Without a patent, only those the energist held in his confidence would be able to look upon the process. And one of those people could be me.
“I…,”
He raised a thick eyebrow, “Unless you have something else you would rather be doing?”
I actually did, but now that I knew his plans…
I took a sip of the wine and placed it down, “My mother, actually,” I started. I had to choose my words carefully, “she’s holding an All Souls gala at the eastern Circle. I haven’t seen her in three years and it would be nice…”
He sat his wine glass down as well and leaned upon the bannister, those uncanny eyes directed at me, “Your mother is rarely in one place for a very long time.”
So he understood?
“But this is a once in a lifetime opportunity.”
No he did not.
My face fell, but I turned it toward the moon so that he would not see. I did not like how close he had come to me, how things had changed; in the past, we ate in the dining room without the aid of wine. Tonight, tonight was so much more different and I hated it. It made me feel dirty and…well, gross.
A part of me wished Axelle was here. That’s how bad it was.
His hand hovered over my shoulder, then perched, “As we’ll be apart for several days, I thought dinner could be a bit different tonight,” he said, indicating the table and the strange bandless music, “I purchased a gramophone for this night.” He said, pointing at a strange square device settled on a little table in the corner, “And I was hoping that I could offer you a dance before this night was over,” he said, “while you think.”
I swallowed. The wine was not helping. If anything, it was making me more anxious. A low hoot sounded overhead from his aviary. By the divines, even his owls were watching this.
I nibbled my lower lip and nodded. His other hand slid around my waist and pulled me into a slow waltz that matched the pace of the piano.
Everything in my head screamed at me to stop this—to go back to my quarters. To tell him frankly that I’ll be going to see my mother, thank you very much. If I decided to go to Mare, what would I tell Bira? That again, I’d sidelined our friendship for my job?
“Tell me,” the Director began, “when have either of your parents ever attempted to raise you up in your chosen career?”
I bit back the retort that struggled to come out. I wouldn’t want them to. I wanted to stand on my own merit.
“Correct me if need be, but…is your mother not the one who pushes you toward joining the Dreaming Elite? Does she not want you to put research aside for what she deems as better?”
I looked down at my feet. With him, I was somehow graceful. But still, I was stepping all over him and with the comment my heel narrowly missed his big toe.
“I know I should have told you earlier, and I am sorry,” he said, “but this is meant to be a secret between me and my friend. The creation of pure crystals.”
“Of course.”
“Then, what will you do?”
The movements we made were sensual and slow, like dancing on a frozen lake with life lighting up beneath it. My body burned where he touched me, as if my energy body wanted to step right out of my skin.
“It’s getting late,” I tried, but he wouldn’t let me step away.
“You leave tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“Then, you’ve made your decision?” he chided, whirling me so that my back was toward the bannister. Toward that blackened drop below that ended in tree spires, “And you’ve chosen people that do not even push you to do what you want? That only see themselves when they look at you?”
The dance stopped. He practically dropped me. My hands landed on cold iron.
“See’s my mother,” I tried, but he was already walking toward the gramophone. The device made a peculiar sound—something between a cats cry and a silk ribbon being violently untied—and the music stopped.
“Thank you for spending this night with me,” he said, “and happy All Souls,” he didn’t give me a glance back as he walked out.
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