Chapter 6: Chapter 6

Content Warning:

-Graphic Sex

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The old precinct's fireplace crackles with life. Laid out in front of it are several piles of luxurious goose-down pillows. I plop down on one such pile, keeping my eyes locked on the dancing fire before me. I grab another pillow and curl myself around it, hugging it close and filling my nostrils with the flat musk of its stuffing.

Sidhion is beside me, warming his boots. The air is filled with uncertainty, though Sidhion appears to be wholly unaware of this fact."That tears it. Tomorrow, I'm picking up a bottle of the best liquor I can find and we're gonna really celebrate this break in the case."

Despite how obnoxious I find his cheer, I force myself to pay Sidhion a smile. "That'll be nice. Forget our troubles, and all."

Our conversation is interrupted by the distinct clatter of a key struggling in the precinct lock. Soon we are met with Walter, beaming at his apparent success. He looms over Sidhion and me, plopping a thick book on the floor between us. "I wasn't interruptin' anything, was I?" He gives Sidhion a sly grin.

Sidhion just huffs and picks up the book. "Any luck with the gun?"

"No sign of it. But I found something better. Seems ol' Panril was right about the smuggling ring."

I lean to the side and read over Sidhion's shoulder as he flips through pages of records. There are plenty of names and illegal goods listed. My eye is caught by the Rynor name. Approximately every two weeks like clockwork, the Rynors purchase a gallon barrel of something labeled as, "Oleo."

Sidhion points to another spot on the page, to a name. "Isn't this the person Kellerman said was holding up his ‘oleo’ deliveries?"

"Adrian Alkane," I read aloud. "Bought two vials of ether?"

Walter's voice takes on a serious, protective tone. "That's the family Elaine works for. Why does a farming family need ether?"

"I'm sure they'll be very forthcoming with an answer to that." I look sarcastically at Walter who ignores me.

"We can check it out. But first we ought to find out what the Rynors are buying to feed this 'pet' of theirs,” Sidhion adds.

"Asking around might be a long shot. Might also be a good way to make sure everyone in the smuggling ring goes to ground." Walter leans on the desk behind him.

I think back to the book still tucked away in my bag. "I think I have a place for us to start. We can go first thing in the morning."

---

 

The Athenaeum is a gorgeous building. The yard in front is encircled by wrought iron fencing, supported periodically by white stone pillars. The grass-covered lawn is regularly punctuated by elegant topiaries depicting shapes ranging from simple to paradoxical.

The building itself is round and topped with a dome which is supported by delicately carved pillars. Every inch of the building is constructed with white marble. The only speck of color on the building is the climbing ivy which has been allowed to flourish and cover large sections of the walls.

The interior is as richly decorated as the exterior. Blue and yellow tilework stretches the length of the floor. Shelves upon shelves of books line every wall and every shelf set in the center of the yawning hall. Twenty feet above us is a landing which coils around the entirety of the building, granting access to the highest reaches of the shelves. And near the entrance, forming with its particular placement a foyer, is a huge, mahogany front desk. The twirling, abstract scrollwork carved into the wood matches the pillars outside.

Behind the desk is a stunning, tall woman. Her skin is pale, sky blue. Her hair is an ocean of silver all contained by a tight, neat bun. A pair of deep blue horns rise from her temples and curve back over her head. A pointed tail swishes back and forth behind her. Her manner of dress is as conservative as they come, with high collar and loose fabrics to disguise any sense of body shape.

"Good day, officers. Welcome in." She smiles warmly.

I stand to my full height, trying to appear as professional as possible. "Hello, ma'am. We're here on official business."

A little mote of magical light flashes in her eye and she extends a perfectly manicured hand. “Ah, yes. I believe you found something of mine.”

I am taken aback by her foreknowledge. My eyes become stuck examining the face of this woman. Her lips are thin and with their shape form the moderate curl of a smile, patient and warm. The little creases at the corners of her gray eyes betray her age but serve only to give more life and beauty to her. The bridge of her nose is aquiline but demure. Her cheeks are bright with color. 

Wordlessly, I reach into my bag and withdraw the book with the library’s stamp on it. When I place the book in her hand, a swell builds in my chest. It’s nearly imperceptible and passes just as quickly as it appeared. I barely recognize the feeling this woman stirs within me. It is kinship. It is storge. It is rest at the end of a terrible journey. Our fates are intertwined somehow.

The librarian appears oblivious to my reaction. She opens to the book's inside cover and marks the date of return beside Panril’s name. “You have my deepest gratitude for recovering this for me.”

Walter steps up to the desk, seeming to  pick up on my hesitancy to speak. “We also needed to do a little research.”

“Ah, then you have come to the right place. I presume this is about your investigation.”

“You presume correctly.” Walter mimes tipping a hat to her.

“Ah, wonderful. It is my great pleasure to assist you with any general knowledge you need. I hope I can make your investigation smoother.” She turns to the side and gestures to a distant stairwell. “You will find encyclopedias on the second floor.”

Sidhion and Walter follow her gesture to a staircase which copies the curve of the room. Their tromping footsteps echo forward and back several times as they climb. I remain downstairs, pacing shelves and pursuing my own line of inquiry. But every time I pass a gap, I can see the librarian sitting at her desk. I cannot help but linger in these gaps, wondering at why my heart stirs when I look at her. I force myself to look away. To walk onward and focus on my reason for coming here. I pass another gap. The librarian is not in her place.

“I believe this is what you’re looking for.” A voice from behind shocks me from my stupor. 

I turn quickly and am faced with the librarian towering over me. She leans nonchalantly on the shelf beside her. She's holding a worn, green book with no title on its cover. My mind is swimming. My hand works without my commanding it and accepts the book from her. She pays me a smile and turns to go. I manage to choke out, “Wait-!”

She turns her head and looks at me over her shoulder. “Yes, little rosebud?”

“How do you know me? Who are you?” My words only come out as a whisper.

“Ah, I didn’t expect you’d need to be told my name. I am Katali.”

“Katali..”

“I’ve already checked that book out in your name. Feel free to study it at your leisure." 

I can feel, welling within me, the sense that an opportunity is about to pass me by. If Katali passes out of my view, if I let her return to that monolithic desk, it will stand between us forever, eternally marking our relationship as librarian and patron. And never will I find the answer to why, when I look at her, a deep yawning chasm opens in my chest. "Hold on. I don't think we're done talking. You can't just treat me like an old friend and walk away forever. "

“No? I gave you your book.”

“But how did you know I was looking for it? Why are you acting like you know me?”

A mischievous little smile curls Katali’s lips. A cloud of magical mist swirls down from her shoulder and crawls along her arm. The mist congeals in the palm of her hand, seeming to fill an intangible container. And once the container is brimming with smoke, it crystalizes into a huge, thick book. The cover is a dark red. Painted on the spine in bright gold is the letter O. “Would you like to join me for a cup of tea?”

Katali leads me to a cozy seating area, nestled in a far corner, between two imposing shelves. She sits, with one dainty leg crossed over the other, on a wide armchair upholstered entirely with blue silk. My seat is much the same. The cushion sinks several inches under my weight. 

Katali raises a perfect hand. Her long fingers twist around each other to snap. And when her fingers glance off each other they let off a bright white spark. A puff of smoke rises from between our seats and dissipates just as quickly as it appeared. And in its wake, a finely carved side-table appears, bearing a tall silver teapot and two matching cups. 

Incredulous, I reach out a hand just to see if it will collide with the matter she summoned. Creating and moving objects, even small simple ones, is a feat reserved for mages even more studied than I. The table and its contents are proven to be no illusion as my finger bends against a solid teacup. I lift the cup nearest me. It’s already filled with a pale, piping hot brew. I take a testing sip. The tea is perfect. Precisely how I like it. My mind buzzes with possibility. 

Katali seems to read the amazement on my face. Her ever-present smile is cut by her words. “I am a librarian. We are expected to know everything.” 

I lean in conspiratorially and whisper. “Are you like me?”

“No, dear. I do not have your affiliations.”

“Then how do you-”

Katali gives me a wry smile and repeats, “I’m a librarian.”

Katali’s meaning sails right over my head. I decide to drop that particular line for now. “Okay, fine. Why are you helping me?”

“Is it not enough to want to help the cause of justice?” Katali spots my expression and huffs slightly. “Of course not. Call me an interested party. The important part is that I’m on your side.”

I almost leap out of my seat. “Then you know what happened with the murder? Who’s behind it?”

“I could find these answers. But isn’t that your job?” Her logic is as flawless as everything else about her. I watch her carefully curated motions. The way she delicately lifts her drink to her lips. The perfectly deliberate clink when her cup is placed on its saucer. The way her eyes needn’t study me and instead settle into a familiar, friendly regard.

Our conversation seems to carry on for hours. I cannot help but pelt her with questions. How does she acquire her foreknowledge? Why am I the subject of her attention? What is her interest in a random murder case? And my every line of questioning is frustrated by a warm smile and an inscrutable non-answer. I don’t even mind because every question she coils around gives rise to three more. And every time she opens her elegant lips to speak, she impresses me all over again. 

Katali is an ancient soul in an old body. She speaks with such precision, only letting go of hints and details she specifically wants you to know. And she needn’t ask anything of your life or experience because she has already seen it long before you meet her. Her dear friends have been nestled in her heart from the moment they were born. I am lucky to be counted among these friends. It’s a comforting feeling to be known so deeply and utterly without having to give a word of explanation.

Katali is everything I want to be. Katali knows everything.

Our conversation, our laughter, our camaraderie, is interrupted when she again lifts the red book with the letter O on its spine. “This has been a lovely encounter, my dear. But I do believe it’s time to let you get back to it, eh?” White mist swirls around her hand and consumes the book. When it clears, the book is cleared with it.

A faint, “Ah-hah!” in the distance reveals the purpose of this spell.

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Katali stands and pats me on the head. My heart flutters at her touch. I look up at her, still dazzled by her countenance. “May I come back and see you?”

“Any time, dear.” She disappears behind a packed bookshelf. I am not alone for very long.

“There you are!” Walter comes plodding down the aisle. "We figured out what oleo is!"

Walter's interjection snaps me back to the real reason we came here. The oleo shipments. "What is it?"

"You wont believe it. It's a kind of oil."

"... Kellerman is smuggling oil to the Rynors and they are feeding it to something." My tone is utterly, derisively flat. 

Walter shrugs at me. Sidhion rounds the corner with a gloomy expression. He marches up to Walter and leans in close. "We got what we wanted. Let's get out of here."

"Why? I thought you'd like this place since you always have your nose in a book," Walter snickers.

Sidhion's brow furrows. "Let's just go." He doesn't wait for us to follow before he storms out of the building.

Walter and I race to catch up with him and do so just past the Athenaeum gate. Sidhion keeps marching and I have to rush to keep up our conversation. Frustration gets the better of me. "What was that about? I didn’t get to say bye to Katali."

"You would fall right into her trap, wouldn't you?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Think for a second. She's a fey and doesn't even have the good sense to hide it. Worse yet, she's a gancanagh. Just like that Diantha creep."

"What does that have to do with anything? Fey-folk are allowed to exist as themselves."

"It's obvious she's in league with him."

“I never had you pegged for a bigot,” I scoff.

Sidhion’s face turns red and he opens his mouth to speak before Walter interrupts, "She did seem overeager to help our investigation."

"I thought that's what we want? People who cooperate?" I look back and forth between Walter and Sidhion.

"If they're cooperating, they're lying." Sidhion rolls his eyes.

"And you think just because she's a fey, she has to be doing something nefarious?"

Sidhion's expression darkens. His shoulders rise indignantly and he glares at me. "All fey are up to something."

---

 

Night has fallen over the old precinct roof. Sidhion is bowed in his typical prayer position, balancing himself on the crest of the gable. I watch him for a time, observing for some sign that he is too deep in prayer to notice my actions. The stars will survive for one night without my admiration.

Instead, I lay that worn green book on my lap. The corners are curved from hundreds of hands lifting them. I open the cover and am met with my name at the top of a fresh check-out card. There is no return date listed. The next page reveals the title of the book Occult Worship: Signs and Sigils.

An odd selection. Was this meant to be her way of telling me she knows of my background? But she gestured at her knowledge of me in person. Somewhere in these pages, there must be a hint to her intentions.

I flip to the table of contents. There are many names of many cults here: The Sanctified Knife, The Silent, The Holy Wounds, and more. I find my sect's name listed, The Society of the Luminary Mirror. A likely place to hide a secret note. I flip to the section on my sect, expecting to find something slid between the pages.

Instead, I find only accurate information about our iconography and practices. That we worship light and its power to reveal truth. That our sigil is a seven-pointed star. That we bathe in starlight to absorb its knowledge. That the particularly devout will regularly consume the light embedded in people's skulls. Explicit notes denying accusations of cannibalism. But no gifts from Katali. 

Perhaps there's another reason for this. I flip back to the table of contents and read the entries again. A name catches my eye and sparks recognition. The Church of the Mind Coil. I find my notebook and flip to the crude drawing I made yesterday. A spiral inside a skull. 

Eager, I flip to the page. My heart sinks into my stomach. Most of the pages have been torn out. Only the first one remains. Both sides contain a selection of icons and sigils: Two triangles each encircling a spiral, a complex figure which, in addition to the spirals, depicts many forking lines and abstract geometry, and last a spiral inside a skull with three sharp teeth.  

My contemplation is startled by a voice in my ear. "What'cha reading?"

"Did you have to sneak up on me?"

"I asked first." Sidhion smirks.

I don't have the energy to argue. "If you must know, I found a clue you missed." I jab my finger hard onto the image of the skull. "This is the symbol Kellerman used to summon that gancanagh gentleman. It's from a cult."

Sidhion takes the book and inspects the symbol. "Hey, a second break in the case! Good work." He snaps the book shut. "But I recall we were going to celebrate our findings tonight."

"Oh, right." My mind is swirling with thoughts about the implications of Diantha's cult involvements. None of them cause me to want to celebrate. 

Nonetheless, Sidhion pries open a bottle of some delicious brown liquid. The way the smell of it burns my nostrils, I am content that this will flush my mind, if only temporarily. We drink merrily, joke, and play games. We even dance together when the bottle becomes nearly empty. When the moon hangs low in the sky we settle and simply lay beside each other and talk. 

Sidhion downs the last of the bottle and pays me a smile. “Listen.. About the case. You did good out there." 

I turn my head to look at Sidhion. Our faces are mere inches apart. “You think so?”

“You bet. You spotted that sigil.. Tracked it down.. We do alright when we decide to get along.”

I don’t respond. Sidhion is positively giddy at the break in the case but I’m more troubled by it than anything. And worse, neither he nor Walter will understand. 

Sidhion yawns and gets to his feet, standing over me. “Alright, kid, I’m tired. I’m gonna cut our celebration here.”

“Oh, okay. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Don’t stay up too late. I’m making fey toast for breakfast.”

I wave and watch Sidhion disappear down the side of the building, leaving me with only my thoughts. Instantly, last night bubbles to the surface of my mind. Lord Diantha is beautiful, that is certain. But I’ve seen beautiful people before. Katali is beautiful and even she doesn’t stir the parts of me Diantha does.

Something about his aura or presence fills my stomach with fire. He stands above the rabble of Two Rocks and bandies about his power, striking fear into the souls of those around him. Even I fear his terrible presence. He regards his subjects like a cat regards a caged bird. But there is beauty in this show of power. To climb above others, to assert one’s own will upon the world, to never let such an albatross as, “conventional morality” impede the assertion of personal power. This is the core tenet upon which I was raised. It is that which I hold most dear.

I think back to my childhood. To white robes and singing chants. To ceremonial daggers and branding irons. To cracked skulls dripping their light into my mouth. Regrettable necessities. What a lovely thought, to have someone who understands these things. And to understand them in another. To conduct one’s journey to power while bathed in blessed light. With no fear of reprisal. A kindred spirit to ease my burdens. 

I cannot let myself get lost in such impossible fantasies.

I look up and let the whole of the sky fill my senses. Neither tree nor building may enter my periphery and corrupt this view. The majesty of starlight usually clears my head but even this calls his visage to my mind. The stars above look down on me from the heavens. Little eyes watching the plane of mortals, catching my eyes spying upon them, letting me leave with a secret we share. Just like when Diantha's eyes caught me in the underbrush and let me leave with our secret.

I imagine him laid out beside me, marveling at the beauty before us. I imagine his hand tightly clasping mine. His breath on my cheek as he chooses to marvel at me. I cannot stare back at him. If they catch me again, those eyes will become the stars. 

Diantha's hand caresses my cheek. His thumb brushes my lips as his hand journeys down my neck. I can feel his warm fingers threaten to squeeze as they pass. His hand rounds my chest as it travels downward. I can feel his fingers tug my shirt, moving the fabric out of the way of his conquest. The clink of my belt harmonizes with the shimmer of a couple of stars. Now it is fate that he touches me. 

When he reaches between my legs, he doesn't find what he expected. I wait for his hand to withdraw, for him to profess his disgust at my contradiction. Instead, his hand welcomes my anatomy, caressing the last vestige of my biology. I let out a contented sigh.

Diantha's fingers trace along my nether regions, delighting at the options before them. The moment lingers as we drink in the weight of what we’re about to do. My cheeks are red hot, tingling from the alcohol and the anticipation. I whisper his name and even this is an exercise in sensuality. I let each syllable form in my mouth and play on my tongue. Every formation of a new letter is an invitation from my lips to his. I finish his name with a little, breathy moan, “Di-an-tha..”

Still my eyes are full of stars but I can sense his cat-like grin carried on the breeze. Diantha’s fingers find their way to my warm, wet flower, playing in the petals and eliciting a sigh. I feel a finger slide upwards until it finds my pearl and twirls around it. I gasp and his smile widens. His finger rounds again and I barely have time to recover from my last gasp before the pleasure elicits another. As he plays with me, I allow myself to relax into his hand and settle on long, deep breaths. 

Diantha’s fingers are perfectly in tune with what my body is crying for. So perfect that it barely takes a minute before I can feel a shudder attempting to rise from the base of my spine. But we are perfectly in-tune. We know that after tonight we may only ever cross paths as enemies. We know this moment cannot be allowed to pass so quickly. He eases off of my pearl and finds his way to my entrance. I hope that he can see me smile my consent to him. And he answers with his hands. 

First his middle and then his ring finger slide in and curve upward. They softly dance forward and back. I can feel his fingertips teasing my favorite spot as they pass. The softest moan passes my lips but I remember myself and quiet down. Still I can feel Diantha's breath on my cheek, deepening as he is consumed by my allure. His fervor carries him to greater heights of desire and his fingers move faster and faster. 

Now Diantha seeks out my crescendo. His fingers still dance inside me but an errant thumb finds its way back to my pearl. In one smooth, sweet motion, his hand is pleasuring all of me. When his fingers find their way into the deepest part of me, so too does his thumb dance around my pearl and deliver a toe-curling wave of jubilation. His motion is quick and yet deliberate, as if he has known my body always. Again comes the shudder. 

The tingle of ecstasy crawls across my entire body. It begins at my back, washes over my shoulders, grips at my fingertips, crashes over my head. I am breathing heavily now, gasping for air against lungs which will not fill. As the feeling settles and recedes, I allow one final indulgence of letting his name play on my lips. I sigh deeply with the pronunciation, “Diantha..” 

I lay in enraptured bliss. The waves of ecstasy are still softly washing back and forth across my body as I fail to catch my breath. I allow my hand to come into my view. A string of my own juices still connects my middle and ring finger. I blink, for perhaps the first time in a while, and bring sweet relief to my eyes. 

I force myself to turn my head, to face the reality I have always known. My only bedfellow is the empty space beside me. Two ships passed in the night, but not this one.

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