The Consort's Fate

Chapter 5

Finn

Golden banners line the entrance of the three-story mansion. A dazzling red cloth is stitched into their borders, and they shimmer beneath the sunlight. They cave to the pressure of the wind, curling and rolling like a fabric frame.

"I haven't seen the red color before," I note aloud.

Douglas follows my gaze. "Nor I. It's not likely Mr. Primary will take kindly to the deviation."

"You think he'll view it as a sign of disrespect?"

Douglas hoists our luggage from the vehicle, but his eyes never stray from the beautiful, taunting ribbons of peril. Their movements give the illusion of slender fingers, beckoning us closer before sliding around our torsos like a snake to its prey.

"The original Secondary fortress was lit with torches," Douglas muses quietly. "No sunlight. Only flames. It's rumored that Mr. Primary chose gold as his royal color to signify the Secondaries once again uniting with daylight. To walk amongst humankind beneath the sun. The red color makes it look like a flame, transforming what should be a banner of respect into a message of silent contempt."

"Or a silent threat."

"Perhaps."

I ponder the notion and study the banners more closely, focusing my hyper-vision into the stitching of the pattern. The careful hand of the golden flag becomes ragged as it bleeds into the red border. The flag was not intentionally made with this border. The sloppy work is evidence enough of that. It was done hastily, by an inexperienced hand, at that.

"I'd argue the danger of a threat isn't of the threat itself, but rather, who's behind it," I say.

Douglas nods us towards the entrance, deftly avoiding my gaze. We fall in step with one another, and the sun becomes lost to the marble pillars of the entryway. Dull and weathered, gray bricks stretch along its exterior, curbing the potential for aesthetic grandeur.

"Do you imagine this was done by Vampire Sympathizers? Or Secondary opposers?" I press.

The wind dies down. The air itself is eavesdropping, eager to gobble up our conspiracy theories before feeding them to the trees.

Douglas' lips thin into a mulish line as irritation knits into his brows. I realize these are not conversations which should be openly pondered, especially not with my guard. It's tactless and dangerous. Unfortunately, there are few who I can trust. Mr. Primary would have the answers, but I don't believe he'd share the full truth with me. Besides, getting answers from him would require an amicable approach on my end, and I'd rather not give him the satisfaction.

Douglas ushers us into the safety of the foyer and scrutinizes our surroundings for potential threats. The marble floor and sconces are pristine. The décor is so familiar to the Secondary fortress that I idly wonder if Mr. Primary had this home renovated prior to our arrival.

"Finn," Douglas whispers, moving close to me and lowering his voice. "My job is to protect you. And I will, even if that means protecting you from yourself. Your curiosity tends to get you into trouble. In the Fortress, that's fine. But out here? Where there are people who want to see you dead? I need to strongly encourage you to put your curiosities aside."

The scent of his blood intertwines with his fear, and the combination produces something acidic, bitter, and...stale? I scrunch my nose. That can't be right. I lean forward and breathe in his scent. Douglas arches a brow as I allow my immortal senses to inhale all that encompasses him. No fear. There's strength and curiosity, perhaps, but his blood is fresh.

I lean back and breathe deeply again. The stench of fear and stale blood is everywhere. Someone else is among us, and whoever it is, they're no longer alive.