Firefly’s Folly: Chapter Nine

Nine

Elle pursed her lips, looking down at the crumpled form of her long-time friend and colleague, Siaran Firefly. She was coming to, and Alys leaned down and put her into a sitting position.

“That was … quite something, my dear friend,” said Elle, slightly awed by her friend’s skill. It was true that Elle had seen Siaran summoning many times before, but it was also true that Siaran had never summoned in battle, and she had definitely never summoned such a powerful being in her presence. It led to an understanding, of sorts.

Siaran put her hand to her head and gave her a dry smile. Alys helped her to her feet, and brushed off the older woman’s dress.

“That was amazing, Headmistress!” she said, clearly full of awe.

“It works better on demons,” replied Siaran, wincing as she put too much weight on her leg. Summoning such a powerful force had its consequences, she noted. “It’s a pity we have to go back now,” said Siaran, looking around the valley wistfully.

“We can come back,” said Elle, clasping Siaran’s hands in her own. She caught sight of the werewolf’s corpse over Siaran’s shoulder, and wrinkled her nose. “But we’ll send a clean up team in first, I think.”

Alys nodded at the unspoken command, and Elle turned to look her friend in the face.

“Let’s get back,” she said, softly, “and we can see about tending your injuries.”

“I’ll have to carve a new token,” murmured Siaran, “and perform the ceremony of thanks…” she added as Elle guided her out of the valley with Alys stalking silently behind them, poised for further attack. Just as we trained her, thought Elle absently, her arm draped about the other woman’s shoulders tightly.

*

Pharos scowled as he settled into his seat in the smaller of the school’s auditoriums, Sierra to the left of him and Hayden to the right. He scowled again when he saw the back of Claudia Rawlins’s head, and once more when he looked up at the stage and saw a tall, graceful woman with chestnut hair and low-cut dress.

Mother, he said, speaking into the coldly-beautiful woman’s head, how lovely to see you. He nodded to her, an action which she returned almost imperceptibly.

Son, she replied, the connection shaky and malformed. Pharos smirked, secure in the knowledge that his own skills far outstripped those of his mother.

“Is that–” said Sierra, but Pharos cut her off.

“Yes,” he said, tersely. His relationship with his mother was a strained one – something that Sierra knew well – and her presence at the school disturbed him. She was here on official business which made it slightly more tolerable, but he knew that she would use it as an excuse to drill him about his studies. His resentment was made worse by the fact that his time was being wasted on a free day.

“Attention,” said Selene Goldenrose, rapping the hardwood podium with a small hammer. Pharos snorted. “I would like to introduce Countess Darbay, Lady Amelia Ward. She is here to give a presentation on the subject of succubi.” The students clapped politely, but the sound died quickly. Selene nodded to Lady Ward, who stepped forward and took her place at the podium.

“Good morning, all,” she said cheerfully, the words a contrast to her stern face. “I am Lady Ward of Darbay, and today we will discuss the various methods of casting succubi from the bodies of their male victims. I regret to say that incubi do not fall within my experience. Now, can someone tell me what a succubus is?” She looked intently at Viktoryia Hansel, whose hand shot into the air instantly.

“Yes?”

“A succubus is a particular type of demon who feeds on the sexual energy of men,” said the tall blonde in her oddly accented Darrian. “They are female.”

“Correct,” said Lady Ward, “if a little limited. Does anyone care to elaborate?” Pharos rolled his eyes. He knew the answer she was looking for, even if nobody else did. It was easy to overlook. He was spared discourse with her by Mima Springwood.

“Succubi are not just demons,” she said. “A succubus is any female being with the ability to feed on the sexual energy of men. Usually limited to demons, sometimes it’s … not.”

Lady Ward gave no answer save inclining her head.

“Succubi are somewhat uncommon in Spyr Darr proper, although in some parts of the Empire they are rife. Now, how does one spot the victim of a succubus?”

This time, Hayden raised his hand. Pharos shot him a dry look, one eyebrow raised. Far be it from him to prevent his friend and squadmate participating, but he had wanted his mother’s attention to linger elsewhere. She nodded to him.

“Tiredness,” he said, and then added, “a deep, restless kind of tiredness coupled with sexual frustration.” Pharos narrowed his eyebrows as Sierra fidgeted next to him; he missed his mother’s reply as he scolded her.

“One of the major problems with succubi is that the majority of the world does not believe they exist. In our so-called Age of Enlightenment there is no room for succubi, demons and monstrosities. A dangerous mode of being,” said Lady Ward, pausing to take a draught from her goblet. “Now, tell me – you, with the large breasts,” she said, pointing at Sierra, “what is the quickest way to cast out a succubus?”

Pharos slid down in his seat, not caring about the lecture his posture and manners would get him. He even missed the answer Sierra gave, his face red. The blunt, direct attitude of Lady Ward had attracted trouble in the past, and now, it seemed, she had decided to inflict it upon him. She knew perfectly well that the girl she had selected was Sierra Firefly but it was her way to inflict embarrassing directness upon those she encountered. It would only get worse from that point on, he thought, and dared to pay attention once more.

“An excellent method,” said Lady Ward, “though not the quickest.” She scanned the room, and settled on Susannah Anders. “Ah. You look like you would know.” Pharos snorted as she spluttered through an explanation. It was useless asking, he thought, since they had only covered succubi briefly in their fourth year.

“Quite right,” said the tall, graceful woman, “the quickest way to oust a succubus is to take her victim as your own. If one lays claim to a man through the simple act of sexual intercourse she will be forced to leave for greener pastures. Ethereal sex cannot compete with the friction of two flesh and blood beings.” The Lady Ward spoke passionately, almost reverently.

After his mother’s answer, Pharos began to ignore the presentation. He had, after all, seen and heard it before at home. Before he was even eight years old he had known how to expel succubi from a home and man. The talk ended soon enough, although not before several of his peers were walked through answers with an embarrassing lack of tact from the Lady Ward. Before Pharos was able to leave, however, his mother spoke into his mind.

I should like to speak with you, she said, in a tone which brooked no opposition. He frowned as he received the thought; her psionics had improved, it seemed, no matter what his earlier opinion had been.

Done speaking with Selene Goldenrose, Lady Ward seemed to glide over to Pharos, her dress trailing behind her delicately.

“Pharos, my dear, dear, son,” she said, embracing him. “It’s lovely to see you!”

No it’s not, he said. “A pleasure, Mother.”

“And your studies are going well?” she said mildly, giving no indication he had said anything else.

You aren’t interested, so why pretend? he said inwardly. “As well as can be expected. My squad is currently placed second in the Inter-Squad Championship.” His mother flashed him a smile.

It will do, she said simply, but outwardly, “It pleases me to see you do well.”

At least I’m not dead, he countered, “I hope to improve our standing as of the next Mission.”

A pity, replied his mother, her face the picture of a serene, happy woman. See that you do.

“I have every confidence in your abilities, my dear son, and even though it pains me to leave you, I am afraid I must. I have business to which I should attend.” She leaned forward and drew him into an embrace.

“Give my regards to Father and Anila,” said Pharos mildly. She gave a sharp nod and strode purposefully out of the room. He rolled his eyes at her. Their relationship – or lack thereof – had been the same since he had started the school.

“We’re going for a walk in the gardens,” said Tara, who had waited for him to finish with his mother even as the other students had filed out of the room. “Want to come?” He shook his head.

“No, I have to go to the library to do research,” he said. He shrugged.

“Right,” said Hayden, nodding. “Sierra?”

“Can’t. Mother needs me – something about a ‘ceremony of thanks’.” She grimaced, and shook her head apologetically.

Pharos watched Hayden and Tara walk out of the auditorium, and walked behind them slowly, turning the conversation with his mother over in his head. He was dimly aware of Sierra walking beside him, eerily quiet like a cat stalking her prey.

Her command of her psionic abilities had improved greatly, something with which he was distinctly uncomfortable. If she continued improving, they might even match his own, which was a worrying thought.

“Your mother seems nice,” said Sierra carefully, walking slightly behind him.

“Hardly,” replied Pharos instantly, falling into her trap. He swore to himself.

“Oh? She can’t be worse than mine.”

“Ah. But you’re not a disappointment, are you? You’re just a danger to yourself and everyone else.” And a reminder of her guilt, he added mentally.

“No,” she conceded, “I’m not. I’m something of a success, I think.” Pharos snorted.

“Well, I am a disappointment. Mother likes to control things, and I’m out of her control. I don’t sit there and accept her views. I push. And she doesn’t like it.” Pharos frowned. “She puts on a front in public, of course, but she hates me and what I stand for. Freedom,” he added, seeing Sierra’s blank look. He waited until understanding dawned in her eyes before continuing. “So she has as little to do with me as possible, and only asks that I ‘do no irreparable damage’ to ‘the good name of Ward.’”

“That’s sad,” said Sierra, touching his elbow tenderly. “I hope you can salvage something.” She paused for a moment, as if considering something important. “If you want, I’ll snap her neck.”

He almost laughed, but a prickly feeling across the back of his neck made him reconsider, and he looked the short, chesty girl in the eyes.

“Ah, no, thanks… I don’t think my sister is ready to inherit,” he said quickly, aware that she was as sincere as she ever was. They parted ways, then, Sierra heading for her mother’s quarters and Pharos for the library.

*

Her office usually gave her a sense of calm, directed purpose, but Elle found that she was on edge. Feeling and emotions coursed through her body relentlessly. She was able to locate fear, and then anticipation, and even further she felt excitement.

“Chin up, Elle,” she muttered to herself, looking over the mission briefing she had just drafted. She knew it was the altercation between Siaran and the werewolf the day before that had her drawn so tightly, something she had last felt many years before. She shook her head in an effort to dispel the memories and turned her focus back to her work.

It would do, she thought critically. Squads IX, X and XI were perhaps not the best qualified for the mission, but the practise was sorely needed. She signed the papers with a flourish, relishing the mark that made it official and a matter of record.

It was necessary for the running of the school, and it did make matters easier when she needed to look a particularly important mission up. It helped that she enjoyed the process, of course. She glanced at the clock hanging on her wall. Operative Alys Zess had an appointment with her shortly.

At the reminder of the skilled young woman, Elle found that her lips had curled into a smile. And why not? she thought to herself. Her plans for Alys were proceeding apace, although the young woman required further training before she would be where she was needed. When the time came it would be welcome rest for Elle, of that much she was certain; of the rest she was content for it to remain a mystery.

Mysteries provide entertainment, if little else, her grandmother had always said, and far be it from Elle to reject such a philosophy. The rigid control preferred by Amelia Ward had been one of the reasons Elle had not wanted her as a part of Blackwood organisation. Despite the stern image she presented to the world, Elle Kilgaran was no lover of stricture for its own sake.

Her reverie was broken by a series of sharp knocks against her door.

“Enter,” she said sternly, looking forward to when she could leave her office and settle down with a bottle or two of the wine she had been sent for her birthday.

~ by metamorphmuggle on September 7, 2009.