Page 19

Ashley stared at the photo on Jack’s phone, lifting his glasses and peering intently at the screen. “These were on Chris’s wrists the last time he was solid?”

“Yep, remind you of anything?” he asked, knowing full well Ashley would understand what he was alluding to.

“They look like the ones we removed from Catlin and Simon.”

Catlin Redbourn had been found at the facility when they’d gone undercover to rescue Simon, and they’d both been retrieved with a cuff on either arm and a case of amnesia. Once they’d been able to remove Catlin’s cuffs and Simon’s magic had been restored, Simon had been able to rifle through Catlin’s mind to give her memories enough of a nudge to restore them.

“Catlin’s had elvish markings from what I recall.” Jack hadn’t been the one to remove them, but he remembered being close to them left a nasty taste in his mouth. “I didn’t see any on the ones Chris had, and there was none of the residual nastiness about them either.”

“The WRC have Catlin’s and the cuffs we removed from Simon. It might be worth examining them so when you next see Chris’s you have a more recent memory to compare to.”

Jack thought the idea had merit, and fancied spending a few hours away from the hall. Chris was sleeping off their last recharge and feed and had decided to lie low for a while. “We can go now if you’re free.”

“Where’s your blond bit?”

“ Chris is having a nap. I said I’d look into the cuffs, but I don’t want him near the WRC in case someone decides he’s their next research project.”

Ashley opened a portal. “Come on then. We’ll head straight to the special collections, and you can hope Colleen’s not on duty.”

Jack groaned. “She just won’t take a hint. We had one drink three decades ago and she keeps trying to get a follow-up.”

“It’s your own fault for going out with a ghoul.” Ashley sniggered. “Best be nice to her if you want to get near those cuffs.”

They stepped through into the reception area of the WRC Collection, which was where the exciting books and artefacts were housed. It was only due to their security clearance that they were allowed in, and sure enough, Colleen was there, her alive but rotting body seemed to have disintegrated further since the last time he’d seen her, with her jaw hanging slack. She shoved it back into place as she spotted Jack and sat up straight.

“Mr Webb! I heard you weren’t well. And Mr Niven, it’s been a while.”

Ashley smirked. “Hello, Colleen. I’m here to request access to a couple of objects.”

She swivelled her computer monitor to face him. “If you key in your request and clearance then I’ll buzz you through.”

“Thank you. If you could sort Mr Webb out with a private room we’d appreciate it.”

She stared at him with wide eyes full of longing and Jack wished he’d never mentioned the cuffs, but he smiled his best fake smile. “Always happy to see you, Miss Colleen. Hope you’re keeping well.”

Ashley busied himself with requesting access and Jack endured Colleen mooning at him as if he were a prime steak. “Very well, thank you. But seeing you always brightens my day.”

“You give me far too much credit.”

She made a strange simpering noise that sounded like a distorted squeal due to her dislocated jaw, and he followed her to one of the examination rooms. No one was allowed inside the collection without permission and with a good reason. Legend had it that there was an archivist inside, although Jack had never met them. He suspected that if they did exist, then they had to be some sort of temporal or para-dimensional being.

Thankfully, Colleen was needed at her desk and a few minutes later Ashley returned holding a box. “According to the records, they’ve destroyed Simon’s cuffs, or rather Simon did, under strict observation.”

“So, what have you got there?”

“These are Catlin’s.”

Ashley laid one of the cuffs on the table. The residual ickiness from before had gone—whoever had wiped the magic had done a great job. He picked it up and saw a series of letters down the length of the underside of the cuff, but the writing wasn’t elvish. “I think the cuffs were originally elven, but this writing is Sanskrit. I think the lich adapted them from their original purpose.”

The cuff was hinged, and he opened it to reveal more engraving, and this time it was in the language he was expecting. “My elvish isn’t brilliant, but these are markings for tracking the wearer’s actions—a bit like the tracker the humans use when they release prisoners under licence.”

Ashley was examining the other cuff. “Yeah, but then Catlin doesn’t have any magic so she wouldn’t need oversight in that sense and this Sanskrit appears to be a memory spell.”

Jack took out his phone and opened the photos of Chris’s cuffs. Apart from the general construction, there was nothing else linking them. “I can’t see any writing on Chris’s.”

“Could be on the inside. Or they could just be decorative. Both the fae and the elves love their bling.”

“If he ever gets corporeal enough again, I can see if he can take them off.”

Ashley snorted. “If he gets solid enough for that, I suspect taking his cuffs off will be at the bottom of the list you pair will do.”

“Ashley!”

“Come off it, Jack, I bet you’re desperate for him to rail you.”

Ashley wasn’t wrong, but Jack also wasn’t going to grace his arseholeish comment with a response. “Well, I’ve seen what I wanted here. I think we can return to Crofton Hall. Home, Jeeves.”

He gave Ashley the two-fingered salute as he went to return the cuff and a few minutes later they were back at the hall, in the library.

“Fancy some tea?” Ashley offered.

“Sounds good.”

Ashley clicked his fingers and instead of Karl, Alex appeared. “Alex? I was expecting Karl.”

“He’s helping His Lordship with a restock of the potion labs. Besides, I wanted to speak to Jack.”

Jack yawned and he dropped into an armchair. The trip to the WRC had been more tiring than he’d expected, and he was contemplating a nap. “Here I am.”

“I wanted to talk to you about something Karl told me. He mentioned that Chris had been having very specific dreams.”

He knew Alex was on the overprotective side when it came to Crofton Hall and her inhabitants, but he was surprised that he was bothered about the dreams Chris was having. He’d mentioned a couple of the dreams to Ashley, and they’d agreed they were something to keep an eye on but nothing to be too worried about. “Chris has had several, and they’re in the main interpretable by standard dream analysis. I wouldn’t read too much into them.”

Alex didn’t look happy with his lack of concern. “Karl said one of them was about the beheading of three princesses.”

“Yeah, he told me that. Seemed a little gruesome, but again steeped in metaphors.”

Ashley nodded. “I’ve done terrible things in my dreams. I once lobbed Ben’s head off with a machete and used it to play volleyball with a group of tree nymphs.”

Jack snorted; he’d not heard that one before.

Alex made a humming noise. “The trouble is, there is a specific elven mythology with the story of the three princesses who were kidnapped and their heads returned to their fathers. The younger siblings were kept prisoner as additional leverage to get the tribal leaders to cede power.”

“You elves are a bloodthirsty lot.” Alex was one of the rare elves Jack had met who wasn’t a complete arsehole. “But I don’t see why Chris dreaming about a fairy story is a cause for concern. He probably read the myth somewhere.”

“As I understood it, he was the person issuing the orders,” Alex said.

“Yes, in his dream.” Jack wasn’t sure where Alex was going with this.

“I know you think I might be crazy, but we don’t know an awful lot about Chris, and you have to admit he has gone through significant changes of late.”

Jack was hoping he would be changing even more, but it shouldn’t be a reason for Alex’s concern. “And?”

Alex straightened a little, which wasn’t a good sign. “There is a mythological elven warlord who was banished from our world. He had been captured and punished by the fae for crimes of the utmost cruelty, even by elf standards, after he united the elves and led a military campaign against the fae. Legends say when the fae captured him his magic was so dark they had to take special measures to punish him. He was encased in dragon’s blood and gold to bind him for two millennia. He could not be killed, so he was to be reborn anew, and through his repentance, he would be stripped of his hatred and vile ways and only then would be allowed his freedom.”

Jack was not in the mood for children’s stories. He was tired and was hoping Chris would be awake for a quick cuddle and maybe a bit of a light frottage. “Alex, please don't think me rude but where are you going with this nonsense?”

“The warlord was called Christopholous.”

Jack couldn’t stop himself from laughing, and Ashley was shaking as he held back his disbelief. “Oh, come off it. Chris is not some murderous elf he’s… Chris.”

“That’s who he is now, but I think we should at least entertain the fact that he could be someone very dangerous.”

Jack was too tired for this. “Let’s imagine you’re not as mad as a box of frogs, you said yourself this warlord was imprisoned for two thousand years and would come out shiny and new.”

“I don’t think we should leave the safety of the world to whether an elf warlord has had a decent sleep,” Alex said, far too serious for what his suggestion warranted.

“Alex,” Ashley interjected, “you must understand how you’re sounding.”

“I know, but if I didn’t have a real worry, I wouldn’t have raised it. If we could at least get his jar checked out by a dragon that would be a start.”

Chris’s jar was red with gold threads, and then there were the golden cuffs, which Alex wasn’t aware of, still, Jack thought Alex was reaching somewhat with these accusations. “What good would that do?” asked Ashley.

“Because if it is made from dragon blood, then we would have further evidence he is Christopholous, if not then I would drop this theory straight away.”

Jack thought Alex should sod off and stop thinking up random shit to worry about, but telling him that wouldn’t help. They’d sent a picture of the jar to a professor specialising in antique pottery and he hadn’t been able to help, but they hadn’t added about the jar being made from dragon’s blood.

“Robin Flint has a good friend who’s a dragon,” Ashley said. “Dorian rescued him from a roof when Prince Simon was kidnapped.”

Robin was one of Ben’s House, the future Dark Viscount Whetford, and he’d been left to die on a rooftop when his husband had been kidnapped. It was during the retrieval of Robin’s husband that Jack had been incapacitated, so technically Robin would owe him. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to ask if it would put an end to this madness.”

“Even if we can get a dragon to look at a photo, it might be enough to rule it out,” Alex said.

Alex wasn’t going to drop this, still, Jack wouldn’t agree to the consultation without Chris being aware of the conversation. “I want to talk to Chris first.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Alex said.

“I insist. You’ve told me you think my… friend is a creature so bad he was imprisoned for thousands of years but you have no evidence apart from a red jar and some vivid dreams.”

“The myths are scant of details, but certain stories survived as part of the elvish myths.”

“Myths,” he said. “Not history. This is preposterous to start with, I will tell Chris what you’ve suggested.”

“Let me at least consult a couple of scholars. What if I am right, and we somehow trigger Chris to become Christopholous? We would be slaughtered.”

“Or it’s Chris, and he’s a lovely, odd thing in a jar,” Jack said, trying to inject a dose of reality. “I can’t bring myself to believe we’re in danger from him.”

Alex pursed his lips. “You’d be safe. He’s fond of you, you can’t claim the same for the rest of us.”

He couldn’t, but then he also couldn’t think of Chris as a homicidal maniac either. He stood, swaying a little from his tiredness. Ashley was at his side. “I’m fine. I’m going to have a nap and then ask the pretty ghost boy who hides under people’s beds when they have sex to eat if he’s a murderous bastard.”

* * *

Jack came to gently, with a wall of warmth down his back and a feeling of pure bliss. Chris was curled behind him, and he was seeping goodness into him. There was no better way to wake up. Chris’s attention and his nap had reversed his exhaustion. He turned over to face Chris whose eyes flickered open. “You were sleeping. You looked so warm and snuggly I had to join you.”

“I’m glad you did,” Jack said. Chris was just solid enough that he could run a finger over his collarbone. “I need to talk to you. But I don’t want you to overreact, okay?”

Chris’s brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

“I was speaking to Alex, and he has a theory about you. I said I’d talk to you, I want you to know I think the idea is ridiculous, but you deserve to know what’s been suggested.”

“Go on. I don’t think he likes me much, so I’m not sure he’s going to be the most unbiased of individuals.”

Jack knew that too. “But he doesn’t tend to make a fuss over nothing. He mentioned that one of your dreams is a little close to an elven myth for him to be comfortable.”

Chris worried his bottom lip. “It’s the one about the princesses, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“I thought it a bit horrible too, and I can only think I must have read about it somewhere and it stuck because it was so nasty.” He looked upset. “Those poor girls, the ones in my dream were terrified.”

“The thing is, Alex is suggesting that since you’ve been asleep a long time and you don’t know why it might have been a repressed memory rather than a dream.”

“As if I saw it or something?” Chris asked, confused. “That I was there?”

“More like you were the main participant.”

Chris’s jaw dropped and he made a keening noise. “Me?”

“The elves have a legend that says there was a warlord called Christopholous who was imprisoned in dragon’s blood and gold by the fae. Alex is suggesting we get a dragon to have a look at your jar. It would prevent any more ridiculous claims.”

“Do you think it too?”

He shook his head. “No, it’s absurd. But ruling out that there’s dragon blood in your jar is doable and so it’ll make this silly idea go away. I think if Alex sees your cuffs he’ll make further accusations, so let’s keep those covered as we want to shut him down and not have him make more of this.”

Chris frowned. “He doesn’t like me.”

“He’s an elf. I don’t think they even like themselves.” He urged Chris to cuddle closer. “We’ve someone in mind who is a friend of a friend who is a dragon, and I can handle everything if you’re happy for me to guard your jar.”

“I wouldn’t need to be there?” Chris asked, his voice small and almost timid.

“Not if you don’t want to.”

“And you’ll take care of my jar? It’s the only thing that’s truly mine.”

Jack knew this was a big deal and he wouldn’t let any harm come to it. “I’d protect you with my life.”

“Me?”

He hadn’t meant to say it, but that didn’t make it any less true.

“Yeah, you. And your jar.” The upwelling of emotion he felt for Chris was like nothing else—he was captivated by him, and he didn’t care what anyone else thought. This was love, he hadn’t ever had such an attachment to anyone, even Ashley.