That Old Black Magic [40% Complete]

[Emma Fairfax]

Prompt List

• Magic
• King
• Love
• Iron
• Blood
• Loyalty
• Masquerade
• Feather
• Accident
• Diamond

[Emma Fairfax]

M A G I C

One moment, Emma had been arguing vehemently with Eithne and Nicolette about how best to archive the information regarding the strange Eldritch abominations that the chemist from Crimson had reported - they wanted to file it under some sort of Cthonic section, while she wasn't entirely convinced that the beings weren't Old Ones by nature, having seen similar things in the Dark Court - and the next, she was standing in the center of a circle in a room that smelled of yarrow and rue. The asafoetida satchel that hung around the dark wrist of the man who had apparently summed her hadn't escaped her, either. She took an angry step forward, raising her power, and smacked into an invisible barrier. The purple and black crack of her power sparkled before her, like an unnatural miniature lightning storm, and she focused her peacock-coloured eyes on the man wielding the stinking bag.

"And so the Baron dares request an audience with the Queen?" she said, her voice sing-song as she crossed her arms and fixed her standing position by letting her weight fall to one side. The way she spoke may have sounded friendly, but it was all malevolence, and her posture looked relaxed, but they both knew that as soon as she had the chance, she would return the slight tenfold.

"Dat ah do," the man said. He didn't smile, instead keeping his eyes focused on her as he walked closer to the circle. He kept the satchel in front of him, but his stride was casual, almost lazy. The so called Baron waved his free hand at her. "Relax, Queen. Ah mean you no harm."

"You could have fooled me," she said. "Rue, really? That hasn't worked on me in years," she added haughtily.

"You keep talkin' 'bout what don' work like you wan' me to fin' sometin' dat do," he observed. As if to prove his point, he shook the bag of asafoetida at her, and grinned as she frowned and took a step back. "It seems dat I won't be needin' dat rue after all."

"What do you want?" she snarled. Clearly, Emma wasn't impressed. He hadn't summoned her into a circle of iron, just of soot and symbol, so obviously he hadn't wanted to harm her. If she had any guess, he wanted her help, and she wasn't feeling very helpful just then, so the quicker he told her, the quicker she could tell him no, get out of the circle, and then harm him.

"Not jus' yet, Queen," he said, raising a finger. "First, I wanna know one thing. How much do you know about what m'brother been doin' these past few weeks?"

She blinked rapidly. Was that what this was about? "I think maybe you should just let me out now," she advised him. There were sharp cracking sounds as she pushed out with her magic, contacting the edges of the circle and sparkling like small fireworks around her.

"I t'ink maybe I'm gon' fill you in on what I t'ink you haven't heard yet. Den we'll see about lettin' you out."

"If you think I'm not going to punish you for this, you'd better spit a good game at me, Lazare," she warned him, using his real name - which nobody ever did.

"I t'ink by the end of dis, I will have you thoroughly convinced, Queen," he said, making a low, sweeping bow.

Back at Diamond, Eithne and Nicolette just stared at the spot where Emma had been, utterly dumbfounded. Eithne reached out with her finger and swiped at the ground where she'd been standing, surprised to find a black, sooty residue there. She looked up at Nicolette, her face twisted in an expression of anger and frustration worthy of the internet cat 'NO' meme, and jumped up, darting out of the room.

"MURPHY!" she screamed. She found him and Aaron in the weapons cache taking inventory and doing an awful job of it because they kept battling with every non-projectile weapon they had on hand, and held her finger up in his face, nearly getting her head chopped off by some sort of Viking battle axe in the process.

"Watch it, Thor," Murphy warned, looking over Eithne for a moment before back at his sister. "Wanna tell me why you're running in front of the pointy tools?" he asked her in a patronizing tone.

She just stuck her finger in his face.

"Well, Aaron, I'll see you later," he said suddenly. The two left as quickly as Eithne had come, and left Aaron standing alone in the cage with shit totally everywhere and only himself to clean it up.

[Emma Fairfax]

B L O O D

Alistair stood in his library, eyes scanning the various old books that he'd collected over the years. He was the current King of the Seelie Fae, but even he needed a break every once in a while from the stiff, bureaucratic nature of the Court of Light. That solace was found on the beautiful Isle of Skye, despite the fact that he was in Scotland being more than a little cliche (many Fae, especially of the Light variety, pretended to have roots in the area), in a castle that overlooked the water. It was calming for him, and more importantly, it was considered neutral ground. The human realm in general was more or less neutral, but he felt comfortable in a familiar setting, and thus he'd summoned his guests here as opposed to a place he'd never been before.

He heard a female voice growing louder, and let out a sigh, his fingertips sliding from the spine of an old grimoire. Artemesia had arrived. He turned to greet her just as the door flew open, and in she stormed, several of his servants on her heels.

"Apologies, Master Blackwood - I tried to have her wait in the study, but she insisted - " an older woman cried, before she was cut off by his loud guest who literally stepped in front of him to block his line of sight and prevent him from paying attention to anyone else.

"How dare you, Alistair?" Artemesia hissed. He almost forgot to speak for a moment, caught in her radiance. When she was angry she was even more exquisite, her red hair ablaze against her ivory skin. Her eyes nearly sparked with her magic, the irises a mixture of teals and violets like the feather of a peacock. "Who are you to order the Queen of the Dark?" she demanded.

"It's quite alright, Miss Huxley. Please, leave us," he said finally, waving his worried head of staff. With a nod, the woman retreated, closing the door quietly behind her.

He turned his attention back to Artemesia, who stood rigid, her eyes wide as she waited for an explanation. Her hand was held up, in her fingers the note he'd sent to her requesting her presence at the specific date and time. "Artemis," he said softly, reaching out to take her hands. "It was not an order, my love; merely a request. You refuse to see me any other time, and I cannot allow you into the Light as you stand now." His eyes wandered down her slender form, fixing on the enlarged belly that was rather obvious beneath her lovely black dress. "You yourself even agreed that it would be unwise to be seen together, so I followed your wishes, but that doesn't mean I don't want to see you. You've just been making it difficult," he chided.

She looked away from him, unable to meet his sapphire blue eyes a moment. For a split second, he thought he saw her lower lip tremble, and the thought of having upset her so greatly made his chest ache - but she quickly fixed her mouth into a line and looked back at him. Whatever emotion she'd felt had been pushed back down, and he resisted the urge to shake her for it. For the Unseelie Queen, she could summon resolve like the best of the Light Fae in his Court.

When she didn't speak right away, he removed his hands from hers, walking behind her and gently unclasping the cloak she wore around her shoulders, allowing his fingers to brush gently against her pale throat. He felt her stiffen at the touch, and he bowed his head forward slightly to drop a kiss on the junction where her neck and shoulder met. It felt like a feather on her skin, and finally she sighed. However minimal it was, it was still a sign that she had calmed.

"I just hate the stupid rules imposed by your Court," she finally said. She shifted her weight so that she was pressing her back to his chest, and it never failed to amaze her how warm he was, while she was always so cool. That warmth moved across her stomach in the form of his hand, fingers spread as he greeted the son she carried inside of her. "He's been moving a lot today. I felt queasy for much of the morning," she confessed. "It's so mortal to be ill because of a pregnancy," she spat.

"You must know that he feels your anxiety, Artemesia," Alistair said, that matter-of-fact tone of voice a sound that she was all-too familiar with. "If you can't remain calm, I think you'll find that you will feel ill quite often. Tell me, aside from your irritation today, how are you? Honestly?" He made no effort to move from the position he held her in, nor did he try to hide his elation when his son kicked against the palm of his hand. My son, he thought to himself. My son.

"Honestly?" she parroted. Honesty was not something she had a problem with, even if the Dark Fae were particularly well-known for their deceptive nature. They were all rather open about their feelings, a drastic contrast against their counterparts. It was part of the reason Alistair loved her so deeply, but also one of the main reasons she could never rule by his side. He had seen Fae switch Courts over the years as they aged and their beliefs altered their alignment, but with Artemesia, it seemed as though the Unseelie Court had been made in her image. She was as much their Queen as he was the Light King.

She turned to face him, breaking him from his unfortunate reverie. "I'm unhappy, Alistair. I'm unhappy and I'm taking it out on everyone around me. I despise that your Court is so uptight. Why won't you consider my offer? You could be my King, rule at my side. You wouldn't have to constantly think before you speak, or worry that you were being watched or play nice with members of your Court that you knew were trying to make political moves behind your back. Alistair, please, I -"

He sighed, stepping away from her. "We've had this conversation a thousand times, Artemis. Do you really want to make this day one thousand and one? It is my blood, my birthright. I was the heir, and so I was next in line for the throne, and the Light value tradition. I know that you don't care for all of the rules that we have, but I do. I would make a terrible Unseelie King, just as you would fail in the position of the Seelie Queen. We simply are too very different people, and neither of us is likely to change."

He paused, drawing in a breath. Now to drop the bomb. "That's why I asked you here today, Artemis," he said, still using his pet name for her as a means to keep the situation calm. "Our son - I cannot claim him as my heir. Not in the Seelie Court. Not with our laws. And if I expect my people to obey the rules set forth before them, than I must also be subject to them. I know the Unseelie Court is different, but in my world, our rules are not simply rules, but axioms. They are the very core of our society."

Artemesia was dumb-struck. She didn't know where to begin, and her mouth dropped open in a rare moment where she could find nothing to say. She heard the door open behind her and whipped around, her hair stinging her cheek as it slapped against her face. An elderly man in a deep maroon robe approached them, in his hands a large leather-bound book. She looked back at Alistair, her eyes narrowed.

"A Blood Sage? Alistair - you can't be serious!"

"I'm afraid I am. Artemis, I love you, and I love our son, but I cannot allow him to take my name. I can't acknowledge him as my heir, my son, or even my blood at all. I'm sorry. Truly. Please know that if there were a way to change it, I would, but my hands in this are tied."

Artemesia felt dizzy. "I need to sit down," she said, her hand pressed to her chest as her heart beat at a maddeningly fast pace. She felt like she would throw up - no, she felt lightheaded, like she might faint. She tried to take deep breaths and found that she wanted to breath short and fast, to the point where she was flat-out panicking. "I don't believe this!" she cried, her eyes glittering with tears.

"Majesties," the Sage greeted. He seemed unfazed by the situation at hand. A Blood Sage was a true neutral Fae, with no loyalty to either side. Their only interest was keeping the promises, and handling the punishment of those who broke them. He set the book on the table and opened it to a blank page, waiting patiently for the duo to gather themselves.

"Artemis, please," Alistair said, kneeling down next to her. "Calm down, the baby - "

"NO!" she exploded. She pushed back from the table, knocking the chair over as she stood. The sudden loudness of her voice startled the unborn child, who responded by kicking harshly, contacting her ribcage. She cried out, doubling over in pain, but when Alistair reached out to help her up, she only responded by shoving him so hard that she nearly knocked him over. "Don't TOUCH me, you son of a bitch," she snapped. She righted herself, still obviously in pain, and held her hand out to the Sage. "Get it over with," she commanded him.

The Sage nodded, holding out the quill. He quickly slashed her across the palm, then turned it upright and placed it in her now-bleeding hand. He shifted the book so that she could read the agreement and sign on the line. "You hereby swear in blood that you will never tell your son of his lineage, and acknowledge that neither he nor you has any claim to the Seelie throne," the Sage read aloud.

Artemesia signed, then threw the enchanted quill at Alistair. "Don't worry, Alistair," she said through gritted teeth, her fingers gripping the table as she received another kick. She ignored the fact that she was bleeding profusely from one hand, hoping that it stained the wood and carpet so badly he had to replace them. "I'll hold my end of the bargain up."

Her words cut him deeply, more than he cared to admit, and it plainly showed on his face. "Artemesia, please - "

"NO," she barked. "I want you to promise me something, Alistair. If anything happens to me, he'll be raised by my Court. You relinquish your paternal rights. It will be like you never existed," she said, her voice breaking on the last two words.

"Artemis," he said again, his tone of voice changing. What had been pain and surprise was now almost a pleading tone - the closest anyone would ever hear to begging from Alistair, ever. "Please don't do this."

"Promise me," she said, her voice laboured by her crying. She finally covered her mouth with her bleeding hand, her other occupied by rubbing gently against her son, trying to calm him down, to tell him that it would be okay - but it would never be okay again, and she didn't know if she could convince him just then.

He watched her for a long moment, then blinked back his own tears and straightened up. It was as though he were a completely different person from who he'd been a second prior. He nodded, running the end of the quill against his palm. His eyes lingered on the bright red line that appeared against his skin for a half-second longer than they should have, but the moment passed, and the quill was pressed against the newly-written promise on the page next to Artemesia's own. He signed his name, then handed the quill back to the Sage, to whom he nodded his thanks before the Sage quickly dismissed himself, having no desire to linger any further and possibly get caught in the crossfire.

"Get out." His voice was empty, his tone low, and he didn't look at her when he said it, but he knew she heard him all the same. Her response was a sob, and the pain in his chest from his heart breaking in half only fueled the anger rising through his body. He kept his back to her, because he knew if he turned around, he would break apart just as badly as she had, and unfortunately, he didn't have that luxury of being able to emote whenever he wanted.

When he finally did turn around, she was gone. He was thankful, because he had begun to shake, and he didn't know exactly when it had started. The realization that he would never, ever see his beautiful Artemesia or his son again washed over him like a numbing cold wave. The last image he would ever have of them was of her sobbing as one hand held protectively over her belly while the other covered her mouth to cease herself from making noise.  He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, then reacted only as he knew how: by swallowing the lump in his throat and ringing the bell on the wall to summon the housekeeper. There was blood soaking into the two-hundred year old oak table and if it remained there much longer, it would stain it.

[Emma Fairfax]

LOVE

She dreads his bedtime. It seems strange to members of her Court that their Queen should care for her son on her own, as it seems beneath her, but she does. He is the only child she has; the only child she will ever have, and so she will care for him on her own. This includes things like bedtime, where they can be alone, away from the scrutiny of others. And she loves putting him to bed, but she dreads the questions that come with it.

"Mama..." he begins, climbing over his blankets.

She doesn't answer him, but she raises her eyebrows to let him know she hears him. She already knows what's coming.

"Mama, where is my father?"

She sits down gently on his bed, reaching up to brush his soft blonde hair from his eyes. Sapphire blue, just like Alistair's.

"I can't say, my love," she replies simply.

"Who is he?"

"I can't say, my love," she whispers, handing him the stuffed bear he likes to cuddle with at night.

He usually stops there, but tonight, he presses for a third question, one that she isn't prepared for.

"Doesn't he love us anymore?"

His question catches her off guard, and she lowers her eyes to stop the stinging sensation from tears that still come. She sighs, her breath shaky from the rush of emotion she feels.

"I wish I knew, Cormac," she says, her voice betraying her sadness.

"But you love me, right?" he asks, looking at her with those big sapphire eyes.

"With all my heart," she responds, her voice soft, but firm. She leans down and kisses him on the forehead, smiling when he wraps his arms around her neck for a sudden hug. "Goodnight, sweetling."

"Goodnight, mama."

She walks down the hall to her own room, steps picking up the pace with each footfall until she is running. She continues to her mirror, where she paces back and forth a few times before raising her eyes to it.

"Show me Alistair," she commands, her voice laced with pain.

The mirror ripples, then reveals the Light King sitting in his study, parchments spread forth over his desk. He isn't looking down at them, instead staring into a glass of liquor, gaze empty. She reaches her hand out, forgetting herself for a moment, and Alistair's shoulders go rigid for a moment as he snaps his head up, aware that he's not alone.

"Enough," she commands the mirror, still pacing as she waves the vision away. She doesn't notice the shadow as it backs away from her door and back into the darkened hall, but when she goes to her door to shut it, she kicks something with the the toe of her shoe. Bending down, she places her hand, still shaking from her magic mirror's revelation, on the soft fur of her son's stuffed bear.

[Emma Fairfax]

L O Y A L T Y

He was a man of the revered "Fair Folk", the Seelie King, and he was known for his ability to pass judgment without partiality, to hold reason and logic over emotional whim, and to act with class and poise, as every royal should. Had his Court been there to see him at that very moment in time, to see what he saw, how he had reacted, however, they may have seriously reconsidered their votes of confidence. As it was, the wondrous and very magical mirror that belonged to Queen Artemesia, his once-lover and the mother of his illegitimate heir, lay in shards around his feet, stained with blood from his fist.

It had been such a simple question, Show me Artemesia, but what the mirror had shown to him had been nightmarish, and he knew that she was never going to be his again. He closed his eyes, trying to will away the memory of what he'd seen, but it was reflected around him in hundreds of pieces, reminding him of his folly.

Show me Artemesia. Show me your Queen.

"And just what brings you down to my neck of the woods?" the voice purred from the darkness. It seemed ambient, coming from everywhere and nowhere at once. Artemesia should have been frightened, but she wasn't - not many Fae, Seelie or Unseelie alike, would have ventured into the Netherworld where she had, standing at the edge of shadow and nothing, in his domain. It was like being on the brink of nothing, some sort of realm that lay between the Fae and the Ether, a Never-World or an Elsewhere, a purgatory state that was consumed by winding vines and craggy trees and mist so thick it was an ichor swirling around you.

But the shadows, as alive as they were, weren't touching her at all - she had been allowed to walk right through them, right through the inky tendrils of darkness, and now stood in a place where time even did not dare. The Sluagh, like Legion, were many, but they were also one. The one.

Dark man... dear man... the shadows whispered, finally choosing that moment to come closer to the Queen. Chitter chitter, a tasty tasty... you have brought us a tasty...

"I've had time to reconsider your offer," she said. She was as still as stone, as cold as marble, the Queen was - her peacock's feather eyes were burning, alive with anger and sadness and everything and nothing all at once. It had been so long since he'd seen such a life, such hunger for revenge and power and consuming knowledge...

It excited him.

"It brings me joy to hear those words," he said, and the nothing of darkness took form, turning into a something of shadows, ebbing closer as it shifted and changed and fell in on itself, terrifying to behold (some would say Cthonic even, madness twitched in the brain as one observed his true form), but when it stood within inches of her, his nose just at her forehead, it was a man, pale and dark and tall and dashing and grinning.

"Oh, I'm sure it does," she said. She didn't flinch. Point to her - the shadows that were curiously observing her had begun to coil around her - legs, arms, throat. He would have killed her in an instant if she'd shown fear - but she didn't.

"When, my darling Queen, will you ever accept that I am everything and nothing, and I am everywhere and nowhere, so when I tell you what your future holds you will understand that I possess that knowledge?" he asked. His green eyes were large, eyebrows canted down - he spoke almost sadly to her, but his mouth still turned in a smile all the same. He was enjoying this.

When she didn't respond, the shadows wound around her neck tightened. Tasty... just a tasty... eat you up...chitter chatter...

He studied her for a moment, watching her, waiting for her to react - and eventually, she did. It wasn't out of physical pain though, and in fact he was a little stunned at how purely stubborn she was. No, it was out of the old familiar pain that so many of his shadows had, that sensation of having one's heart cut out and handed to them with a smile, the feeling of a knife in the back by a trusted friend - betrayal. Heartache.

"Love, like all things, withers on the vine and dies," he said softly, reaching out with a cold hand to thumb away her tears. The shadows slipped away, fell to the ground like mist, leaving her trembling with all of those things - but still, no fear. "Do you believe me now?" he asked. "I don't understand why you torture yourself so, my dear. You are a queen. You are The Queen. You rule over air and darkness, the masses of shade and shadow bend to your will, and you yet love someone who will never be capable of returning those feelings." It was the most gentle lecture he'd ever delivered, with the swiftest blows - but also he'd left himself exposed, if she was smart enough to catch it. Perhaps she was too traumatized to understand. He wondered; he observed.

"I was wrong to ignore your words," she said, after a long pause where she tried to stifle herself. "I was so wrong."

"Then you shall make it right," he said, his brows lofting with the matter-of-fact tone he spoke.

"I will," she swore.

"You will take my offer, then?" he asked.

His eyes were so very green. "I will."

"Then, my Queen, we have much to discuss." He held his arm out to her simply, offering it to her, and after the briefest of hesitations, she took it. They locked eyes for one final time, and something unspoken passed between them. The shadows whispered in the beyond, chittering and chattering and complaining that they had no tasty tasty, but they wouldn't dare, wouldn't dare touch their Queen.

Alistair stood as still as stone before the mirror. Somewhere in the room, he heard a soft multi-voiced groan, Dark man... dear man.. chitter chatter... and struck the mirror with all of his might.