Darkmoon Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Sincerely Yours

Dry dust bit into Emerin's skin, worming its way into the shirt he had pulled over his mouth.
He was sitting with his knees drawn close to him, looking down in silence at his prisoner. It was a small space to be in, but he managed. If this cupid could return to this area day after day, he could survive here himself for as long as it was necessary to get his answers.
A groan behind made him turn quickly, but it was a false alarm. His captive was still out cold, sprawled on the harsh dirt. The cloak he had been wearing was gone, and all the cupid had was a tattered vest over what seemed a once fine tunic. Emerin estimated at least another hour before he would even begin to stir back to consciousness, but he figured a bit longer. He shouldn't have used a human male's dose on such a smaller being, but he had been rushed.
        The time passed slowly. The cupid's chest rose rhythmically in time to his breathing. The pixie gazed absently at one of the silver feathers that had come loose, then leaned forward and picked it up.
  He twiddled it between thumb and forefinger, admiring the way soft strands locked with miniature teeth into other quills. Stroking it against his cheek, he slipped one hand under the cupid's tunic.
Underneath the coarse cloth, Emerin could feel a small bag. He tried to pull it out, but found it was attached to his belt string. Not one to give up, Emerin pulled out his knife. The blade cut easily through the leather strap.
It jingled when he put it up to his ear. Eagerly he opened it. Nothing.
  Of cash value, anyway. He was more than a little disappointed as he lifted out a tarnished silver trinket. A deep purple semiprecious surrounded by a tiny battered garland of white roses on a string.
Fingering it, he wondered what value it had. It could very well fetch a decent price, if he bargained right…
A rustle of feathers brought him to his senses, and for once, he was caught off his guard.
The tip of an unpleasantly sharp knife prodded his shoulder. A single drop of blood trickled down his shirt.
  What is he doing awake already? He thought furiously. This cupid had way more resolve and grit than he had ever expected. Too much trouble for his own good. Maybe that was why Asperus seemed interested in him.
   Give it back, ordered a slightly shaky voice in his mind. The hold on the knife wavered but steadied.
Emerin held it up to the sun, letting it dangle. The miniature silver white roses on it sparkled.
"And what if I don't?" he asked quietly.
The cupid's breath was ragged, but he seemed to be otherwise recovering. The blade dug in deeper. The meaning was blatantly obvious.
Emerin inclined his head slightly and smiled at the cupid in an unsettling way. Raising his right hand, he showed its glowing blue center to him.
"First," he said grimly, "Tell me why you are so important all of a sudden."
The cupid glared at him, his lips drawn in a thin line and his eyebrows slashing downwards. In a flash, he had thrown himself at the pixie. Emerin held out his hands in self defense. In a split second, everything changed.
The alley exploded with blue light.

***
Sincere was breathing hard, his anger flaring. Almost tauntingly out of reach, Emerin held up his necklace. He wished he could carve that stupid sly smile right off the smug pixie's face. The mere thought almost brought a smile to his own.
"First," he was saying, "Tell me why you are so important all of a sudden."
His rage snapped right there, and he lunged, Elvaen curse the consequences!
Mid-lunge, he saw Emerin's hands fly up in front of him, still glowing with eldritch energy. The weirdest sensation overtook him as he crashed down, and something seemed to burst open inside his body.
        Emerin's hands moved in his chest, and he writhed in the pain.
        Unable to take it, he threw back his head and screamed.
***
The world seemed to vibrate, pulsing with shimmering light.
  Emerin could feel everything inside of Sincere, from his heart beating crazily, to the blood rushing to his brain, even the pained shrieks that emitted from his lips.
He held it like that for a moment, his own life force draining with the effort needed to carry out his wishes. Sincere's body was lit from the inside out, and his palpitating heart was clearly visible to Emerin's enchanted eyes.
Stretching out his wrist, he tried to touch it, to end it. The shock of an alien entity entering the body's inner regions would kill him instantly.
   But he was caught off guard yet again. Something invisible suddenly gripped his hands in a vise, denying him access. Applying more energy, he tried to push further but was met by this strange resistance.
Emerin was now frightened, truly frightened, for the first time in five years. Psioniscim was one of the most dangerous magical arts, and the risks were obvious. But he had never been caught in something, or someone, before. This was every psioniscist's nightmare.
Panicking, he attempted to back out, but the barrier wouldn't let him. It ate away at his energy, leaving him trembling at the knees.
With a shout, he desperately threw himself backward one more time, and was finally released with a loud bang.
Something came away in his hand, and he stood there for a moment, panting, fatigued.
Sincere fell not too far away from him, as if he had been hung from puppet strings that had just been cut. His surprisingly heavy body collided into the already weak Emerin, bowling him over.
He let his head rest on the cool inviting earth for a moment, then allowed his exhaustion to overtake him for the time being, ignoring his location and situation.
***
By the time he woke from his regenerative slumber, it was already night again. The thinning sliver of moon barely illuminated Sincere's upturned face. His eyes and body realized and recollected where he was, and he pushed Sincere off him.
Something new was with him, something he did not recognize. It was a warm feeling that emanated from his tightly clenched fist, quivering and beating in a fluttery way against his fingers.
Sitting up, he opened his palm gently, cupping his other hand over it protectively.
What he saw was unlike anything he had ever seen before. It was almost like a tiny golden sphere, an ethereal swirling mass of liquid fire and ice trapped forevermore. It was as if someone had been able to capture the sun and lightning together at once. Countless images swam through its depths, too vague for him to make out. Different emotions kept roiling through him, mostly pain and fear, occasionally punctuated by a sharp joy.
He marveled at its sheer delicacy, and tentatively prodded it.
A soft moan escaped Sincere's lips, and he nearly jumped. A throbbing fuzzy hurt jolted him.
Cupping it closer, he poked it again, this time a little harder.
Sincere curled up his knees, moaning louder.
Encouraged, Emerin jabbed at it more vigorously. He wasn't expecting the result.
Sincere let out a stricken cry, his back trembling. The sound of broken sobbing reached his ears. Pain immediately rushed through the odd orb to Emerin, and he was seized with the unnatural desire to cry. But his theory was proven correct.
   
Unbelievable as it seemed, it appeared as if he now held Sincere's very soul within his hand.
***