LE LION VERT, 2022
My grandmother told me stories about her escape from Moscow to the sea. The streets were filled with riots and revolution, and the countryside too. How my grandfather had found her, huddled in a dynamited house. He had become such a fiend that he didn’t use his powers to seduce her, only his strength and sorcery. She walked for months through the snow, from village to village.
Each time she would come across a gang of men prowling, she would have to be clever and figure out which side they were on, were they loyalists or Bolsheviks? She would have to profess to be on their side. As her belly grew, she found less mercy, not more, from the roving bands. Especially the Bolsheviks, whom she hated with a passion so strong that even I hated them a century later.
“Are you using your powers on me?”
“Of course not; I wouldn’t do such a thing, it’s impolite.” My attention to my manners kept me from surrendering to my bestial nature. Actually, at this point, suppressing my powers was what I did by default. I had to focus on using them and could become distracted, leading to negative results.
“I doubt it would work on me anyway. I don’t feel much as it is. I’d be curious to know what it feels like, though.”
“I am honoured by the invitation, of course, but a satyr’s powers aren’t exactly unidirectional; it’s really more of an area of effect. I’m not sure the plan for tonight is an orgy.”
“You never know; Fulvia’s in charge.”
“You know her grace?” I shewed more interest than I should have. Fulvia was intoxicating, but there was something deeper about her, something maternal and oedipal.
“She was my teacher when I was younger.”
“That must have been interesting.”
“It was; she’s quite mad.”
“All the best people are, I should think.”
We sat for a long moment, watching the partygoers chatting and dancing. Listening to lively music. I got it into my head that she had mentioned coin, and I wondered about the comment.
“You said that rumours don’t pay well; I was curious what you meant?”
Thea sucked in a herculean amount of smoke and let it out, talking as she exhaled.
“I suppose you’ll hear the rumours soon enough. His grace left me a large stipend in his will. But his children have contested it.”
“Even before the man’s funeral. Distasteful.”
“Just so, it’s not official yet, but there’s nothing I can do. I’ve found some rooms off the Boulevard de Strasbourg, but it’s a bit expensive for my savings.”
“Official?”
“They’ve had a magistrate annul the will. There were a lot of accusations. I’m sure Michelle Louvois — that prick — will get wind of it and write all about it in the papers.”
“He is particularly lurid, I think he’s quite full of enough wind as it is. Does that mean you’re looking to split rooms? If so, I’d be interested.”
“We can go around tomorrow and look at the place if you want; it’s owned by a mundane. A bit old and dusty. I’m sure she isn’t legally allowed to rent it, which is why it’s priced so low. An Armenian lady, probably as old as the building. The address is Fourteen Pouzonville, I’ll be there after six tomorrow.”
This seemed like a capital development. I admit I felt nervous at the moment. But, so far, this was the best connection I had developed, and I didn’t want to blow it.
“I’m certainly interested. I’ve just received my letters from the university, and they intend to boot me from my rooms as soon as possible. Old and dusty would be preferable to cold and wet beneath the Pont Neuf.”
“I guess it’s better than living under a bridge for sure,” she said.
“If you haven’t a stipend, do you work?”
“I’m a consulting sorcerer.”
“A — consulting sorcerer?”
Thea waved her hand in an arc over her head. “Thea Umbra, Consulting Sorcerer, Master Curser, Adjuster of Fates, Cryptothaumatologist.”
“Cryptothaumatologist?”
“The study of hidden magic, the arcane.”
“That’s quite a mouthful; why not Amazing Arcanist,” I said, imitating her early gesture of an arc.
“I like that, Thea Umbra, the Amazing Arcanist. It sounds like the title of a Shadow Play.”
“Are you any good?”
“Very, are you any good at wand-making?”
“The best.” I reached into my waistcoat pocket and drew out my long cane. A sorcerer’s pockets are deep in a magical sense. I gave the cane over to her for inspection. Technically it was a staff, but it would get tedious to list all of the variations of a wand. In reality, wands could be staffs or swords, anything used to focus magic. Walking canes were the current fashion, at least for large-scale magic. Very fine magic usually required something more delicate and small.
I was especially proud of my cane, oiled ironwood with platinum inlays in the Sumerian style. It was a bold mixture of ancient and contemporary aesthetics, topped with a diamond polished to a perfect ovoid that levitated above a flared brass circlet. A pretty piece of magic.
“It’s very clever.” She thumbed the diamond at the top. “How did you get the ether to stay still?”
I was surprised at her question. She was correct; the diamond only seemed to be levitated. In reality, it was somewhat lifted to the top of the cane with an isolated ether stream.
“Oh, I see, it renews. Like balancing a ball on the water from an upturned hose. That’s very cool.” She passed the cane back to me. I was impressed and had to admit she was exceedingly perceptive.
A tall and voluptuous woman with deep red hair walked up to us. She wore a blue silk robe with exquisite gold stitching along the edges. Underneath, she wore a stylish cream corset that made her waist impossibly small. It made me suspect her internal organs had been left at home.
She wore a flowing Sarong over knee-high heeled boots made of suede. Her perfume was citrus and champagne, and she had deep green eyes, the colour of ocean algae. Her nose was slightly upturned with a gentle cleft, and her chin was sharp. She had full breasts, though I could detect she wore supports to enhance them. They were tightly pressed together in the centre and were so far forward they cast shadows on her freckled white skin. She was the kind of girl who’d try to sit in your lap even if you were standing up. The kind whose coquetry was an indictment.
“So this is where the poor and desperate congregate,” she said, “I didn’t know snakes and satyrs got on so well.”
Thea’s grey eyes became cloudy and piercing. “I didn’t know chickens wore push-up bras.”
“It’s a Falcon, you twit.”
I assumed they meant the falcon crest of the Peregrine Court, of which this new girl was a member. I had seen her lurking around Fulvia’s table earlier and gossiping with the other Peregrines.
“Falcons, chickens, they’re all delicious,” said Thea, “Nikolai, meet Fany Deveraux.”