When Blood Runs Cold - Chapter 260

“I am giving you three days to think over the matter. If you wish to learn more, you will do well to visit us before your time is up. Then perhaps you can join our cause. But if you do not, well,” he murmurs, trailing off suggestively as he plays with the gleaming golden rings on his finger…

From the darkness, Azrael shoots me a sharp look. Promptly after, a familiar voice sounds in the back of my mind in a series of gruff tones:

“Help me, Serena. I need you to win us her sympathy,” it whispers, somehow both desperate and angry at the same time, like a hornet buzzing in a hive. Trying to overcome the urge to roll my eyes, I take a couple of paces forward, joining Azrael where he stands before the soul of death. Her milky white eyes seem almost to gaze right through me

It would seem she too has mastered the art of wilful pretending.

Bowing my head, I clasp my hands together, allowing a thick coat of fear to slide over my voice as I step up to her, purposefully not meeting her eyes.

“Please, Miss, we mean you know harm. But we do not wish to see others get hurt at the expense of your actions. Without your help the fate of the whole of Faey will rest in the hands of the treacherous King Soren. He plans to lay waste to the world and those who threaten his supremacy, and will not spare you either. With us, a better, more harmonious world can be formed that is purged of war and weakness. A world without war, as you professed it. Lord Azrael will become the greatest ruler Faey has ever seen, but we need your help. Consider our plea, please.”

“Exactly,” Azrael says in my defence, looking remarkably pleased with me. “There are many out there who would see you die for the powers that you possess, but we believe in its greatness. With us, we would see nobody would get hurt. None of your friends, no one.”

Reigning in the urge to laugh from the mere lies that are riddled within that statement, I do my best to keep a straight face. Inwardly, I am not sure whether to scream or to laugh. On the one hand, the statement couldn’t be more far from the truth- Azrael will stop at nothing or no one to get what he wants, and wont hesitate to try and bewitch half of Faey if he could manage it. He plans to obtain all the souls and become the leading overlord of a reformed world- his perfect vision of existence. And on the other hand…

Well, if Azrael does manage to reform the whole of Faey to his dream vision of supremacy…

Well, there would be no one to hurt if there is no one left alive.

“Hurt,” she scoffs, laughing to the blackness and the faint twinkle of stars that are lost against the sky. Somewhere, a bird screams into the blackness of the night, rustling the creatures that lurk within the broken trees.

“You preach to a dead person. I have no time and place for ‘hurt’ and ‘pain’ any more. But,” she adds, swinging a look in my direction. A bitter cold sweeps up my bones as I feel her eyes bore into mine, the spirits around her following her gaze to linger around my form. Her bony finger extends out towards me, stretching out enough to lift my chin with a single, swift movement.

“I like this one. So tender and young. So… innocent. Perhaps I will be more willing to consider your… generous offer if you allow me the service of this delicate little hybrid. She seems rather negotiable.”

Beside me, Azrael’s eyes sparkle with a dark foreboding. Pulling me out of her grip and into the crook of his arm, my body pressed tight against the firm muscles of his chest.

“I did not permit you to touch her, soul,” Azrael warns lowly, a wavering white light slinking from his form, shimmering like the shell of a mother of pearl.

To this, Ingrid draws back, clapping her hands together with a maniacal, unseeing delight.

“So defensive of a woman who has already been claimed by another man. Now isn’t this an interesting situation,” she cackles, and the spirits cackle with her, laughing with silvery voices and eerie, hollowed words. “Last time I checked, wasn’t she due to be wedded to the Prince of Scarlet?”

Clutching me closer still, Azrael growls to the soul:

“May I have a word with my associate, please?”

“Certainly,” Ingrid chuckles, tapping her fingers together with a bemused expression plastered all over her face. Once more, the little spirits around her chitter and giggle with a malicious delight so chilling that even the trees around her seem to quiver in fear.

This is a completely new side of her, that’s for certain, but she plays the part well.

Dragging me a little further down the beaten dirt path, Azrael rounds on me. Pulling his face close to mine as he blocks me from the sight of the impatiently awaiting spectre of death, he murmurs:

“As much as she is getting on my nerves, she makes a good offer,” he admits, wringing his hands out as he rolls his eyes in a motion of desperation and part out of arrogance. Peering over his shoulder, I purse my lips at the sight of the spectre girl floating a few yards behind us.

“I don’t trust her,” I lie, allowing my pose to curl up in a mockery of fear, my eyes wide, my body resounding with a perpetual glow of terror. And it seems to work too, because shortly after Azrael frowns, closing his arms around me as he draws me against his chest.

As he does so, I hold my breath, disdaining to smell the putrid stench of blood and wine. It is revolting.

“There there, my little pet,” he coos, running his fingers down my long, lose flowing locks. Sighing, I rein in the urge to shudder under his touch. “I promise she will not hurt you. She merely wants you to talk with her, and I would very much like you to convince her of our motives. Gain her trust, if you will. Such a beautiful and enchanting girl as yourself could hardly fail at doing that,” he prompts, his fingers running down my spine to settle on my lower back, caressing me there for a few passing moments.

Between the howling of the wind and the moaning of the trees, Ingrid shouts at us from a distance, waving her ghostly hand through the air.

“Hey love birds, are you done chatting about me?” she calls, flashing her sharp teeth at us from the gloom. Without turning, to face her, Azrael merely calls:

“We will be done when I say so,” he spits, before returning his gaze to me, smouldering.

“She is impetuous,” he sighs with a growl, his fingers slipping down towards my hands. “But alas, to get her to join us, you and I will have to agree to her… ill favoured terms. We want to win her support and her favour, and I have no doubt she will ask you many things about what we are. About what we are doing. But I trust you can… persuade her.”

Slowly, I nod my head.

“I will not fail you, Azrael,” I affirm with a wide smile, dipping my head to him. That is nearly enough to make my stomach turn. To think I am even letting myself be lowered to him…

But I must do it. I must remain convincing.

“There is my good girl,” he purrs, ruffling my hair once more with a peculiar yet somehow terrifying fondness. “I know you will be able to convince her.”

But there is an empty threat that lingers behind those words, the hollow promise that if I fail, something far greater than merely being under the influence of a mind control will befall me.

No, I remind myself as we start to head back to the eagerly awaiting soul. That won’t happen to me, because Azrael very much wants me alive at this point. But, I add to my thoughts, a cold numbness tingling through my bones. There are plenty of other people he can threaten me with. Even if he does hold some love for me, and does not wish to harm me, there are plenty of other innocents that he can take his rage out on.

But I don’t particularly want to think about those consequences right now.

At least Ingrid seems to know what she is doing. I had expected her to put up a show, but playing Azrael into her hands, what’s more bargaining for a time to see me that is not riddled in secrets and deception- well, it’s a clever move.

Certainly her actions will be beneficial to us in the long run.

“So,” says Ingrid, clapping her hands together insistently, her face gleaming with that peculiar ethereal light that encircles us all. “What’s the news? Will you let me talk to her when I like?”

Stiffening, Azrael bites his lower lip.

“You may, regarding we maintain the original conditions I requested. You have three days to decide. After that we might have to resort to more… compelling methods.”

“Fine,” Ingrid retorts, remaining somewhat chirpy, but the shadows under her face continue to lengthen menacingly. “Then let me dismiss those original conditions. I have decided to join your cause. I will be in touch when I need you.” Dusting off her clothes, she throws a dark look over her shoulder.

“Goodbye for now, king of slaves.”

And with a gust of wind, and the melancholy groaning of the trees around us, Ingrid and her spirits are swept off into the night, leaving up both in the eerie blackness of the forgotten forest.