Page 8 of First Snow
Thorfinn enters with James Arden plastered to his side. A grin flits across Jareth’s face. Well, well, who would’ve thought that the most arrogant Dom Jareth knows would turn up in his office on the arm of another Dom? Jareth has an inkling who of the two subs for the other. And the thought of James submitting to the Icelander is just hilarious. Jareth rises from his chair and ambles over to greet the pair. He has to admit that they suit each other, the pretty blond actor and the dark-haired Viking.
“Hello, Thorfinn. Good evening, James. I see theshibaridemonstration was inspiring,” Jareth drawls, unable to resist riling James up a little.
“It was way above the sorry standard your club usually shows.” James predictably rises to his bait.
“Fitting, as you seem to have found someone above your usual standard, too. Where is that slimy little bootlicker who’s always following you around?” Jareth retorts, relishing the flush coloring James’ cheekbones.
“Dead,” Thorfinn cuts in.
Now that’s an interesting development. “You killed him,” Jareth states the obvious. Thorfinn only shrugs, obviously seeing no point in denying it.
“He brought this to Iceland.” Thorfinn pulls a book out of the messenger bag slung over his shoulder and places it on Jareth’s desk. The foul stench of dark magic immediately fills the room. Thorfinn isn’t the type to dabble in the dark arts, but obviously he’s the type of guy who is ready to kill people who do. Jareth likes it. He whistles through his teeth.
“A spell book. One of the sinister variety,” Jareth states as Thorfinn doesn’t bother to elaborate further.
“My aunt sends her regards. She thinks you can find whoever wrote this,” Finn says.
Jareth scowls. The Scandinavians’ connection to their part of the hidden realm is weird. Hisaunt, as Thorfinn calls her, must be the Icelandic pendant to the Queen of a Fae court. Crossing paths with such an entity on the British Isles would be incredibly dangerous—if you aren’t one of them like Jareth happens to be. TheHuldufolkseem to have a more relaxed stance towards humans.
Jareth opens the grimoire using a fountain pen. He has no intention of touching this vile thing with his bare hands, otherwise he probably wouldn’t be able to get rid of its stench for weeks. The book falls open with an ominous thud, making James flinch. The actor looks at the opened page, his face turning pale.The Ritual of Loveis emblazoned in red letters across the top. Jareth wonders what the two of them had encountered in Iceland, and what this love spell is all about.
“A spell to force an unwilling person to fall in love, how witless,” Jareth comments. “Did it even work?”
“No,” Thorfinn growls. Jareth has to stifle a laugh at his behavior. It’s hilarious to see Thorfinn being so protective of James, and how James obviously loves it.
Thinking quickly, Jareth connects the dots, trying to make sense of their story. “A curse broken with true love, how very old-fashioned,” he concludes. James and Thorfinn’s fates must align under a special star if they were able to defy powerful black magic like that. The ancient power Jareth suspects runs in Finn’s family certainly wouldn’t hurt, either.
“My aunt will want to know if you’ll take care of the problem.” Finn states, always the calm one.
“You’re no fun. Fine, tell her there will be no more books distributed by this person—not in Iceland, nor anywhere else.” Jareth raises his hands in a placating gesture. Whoever wrote these books is definitely breaking The Truce.Jareth is going after him.
“Good,” Thorfinn says. “But be careful. The sorcerer who wrote these books is powerful and he had a demon in his service.”
Jareth only shrugs. Dealing with the sorcerer doesn’t worry him. An idea hits Jareth. “Do you fancy giving a demonstration of yourshibariskills again this weekend? I mean, now that you two have found your fated love, you’ll surely want everyone to see.”
Jareth just wants to see James splutter through an excuse. He’s quite sure that James won’t let himself be tied up in front of an audience, even if Thorfinn made him acquire a taste for subbing. But before Finn can say anything, James shrugs nonchalantly.
“Of course we want that. Just make sure you keep an eye on your guests. I’m not going to rope-model for a bunch of paparazzi.”
Jareth grins widely. Now that’s a surprise.
Jareth can see the red wood house shining through the trees from afar when he drives up the gravel road. He decided to come to his foster parents’ summer house over the weekend to have a look at the spell book in peace. The gardeners have already prepared the park-like property for fall, and there aren’t any neighbors for several kilometers.
Jareth pulls up in front of the two-story house and pushes the garage opener to park his SUV inside. Before he opens the door to the manor, he takes some minutes to appreciate the quiet and the view of the lake. Most of the families owning houses nearby are now in Helsinki, the somewhat busy summer months during which everyone seems to retreat to their summer homes long having passed.
It’s ironic. Jareth did a little digging into the life of the guy the fairy killed. Mikael Laine lived in London, but he originated from a wealthy family from Helsinki. The Laines own property not even an hour-long drive away from where Jareth is standing right now. By Finnish standards, this is a stone’s throw. Jareth wonders if there’s any connection between Laine and the person who wrote the spell books. Laine was clearly an amateur dabbling in powers way beyond his capabilities and understanding. A person new to the world of spellwork and magical creatures. An opportunist looking for a shortcut to money and power. Which raises the question of who’s willingly distributing powerful spell books to such people.
Turning away from the lake, he pushes the key into the lock. Jareth breathes deeply and a smile lighting up his face as reality bends and blurs around him. When he pushes the door open, the house looks roughly the same. Only upon close inspection does the garden seem a little more gloomy, and the mist creeping up from the lake appears a little too quickly. But the most jarring difference is the sweet smell of roses permeating the air, although it’s far too late in season for them to bloom.
Jareth steps into the halls ofRhosyn Keep,the otherworldly residence of his nearly extinct family. He heard the few remaining High Faegot very agitated when they realized that not only does a half-blood now have free reign over the ancient halls, but that he also relocated the entryway from the British Isles to a lakeshore in Finland. What Jareth would give to have seen their stupid faces.
Chapter 4
Arttu
Pushinghiswaythroughthe throng of people, Arttu feels tense, as if he’s doing something forbidden. Which he isn’t—yet. He squares his shoulders to shake off the lingering doubts. Can’t a detective from Helsinki spend his vacation as he pleases?
The Worshipis crowded this Saturday. Arttu fiddles awkwardly with the neon green bracelet around his wrist, which marks him as a sub looking for someone to play with. Considering the noble interior and the sophisticated ambiance of the club, one would think they’d go for something more subtle than these plastic abominations, but no such luck. He’s already had to dodge several Doms wearing matching bracelets in bright red.