“Doesn’t seem the kind of establishment that attracts the most law-abiding citizens, now, does it? No one comes to regulate the tavern. At least, they don’t live to tell the tale. Human blood is costly, and donors are compensated, as are we.”
Placing the glasses onto a rack under the bar with uniform plinks, Lorietta lifted her nose to the ceiling. “Casmir is a rich one, and very old. He’s foreign, so when he’s in town, he gets all the women he wants; in turn, they want him just the same. Other vampires will opt for the cheaper, more organic alternative,” she added darkly.
Lilac swallowed. She hadn’t heard of many vampire attacks recently. Maybe they had gotten better at hiding it. “Killing people is illegal,” she said, sounding stupid stating the obvious. “Or so I thought.”
“I don’t think they kill anymore,” the witch said quietly. “The local coven tries to refrain from that, so they drink and entrance victims to forget instead. Mistakes are made from time to time, I’m sure. Illegal, by all means, but they live for the thrill of the hunt. Those creatures are driven by instinct. The king’s law doesn’t matter as much.”
“But Casmir had both,” Lilac pointed out, “the woman, and his goblet of blood.”
Lorietta laughed. “He likes to indulge himself. Regardless of how fresh, the bottled stuff isn’t the same to them. Straight from the vein is best, or so I’ve heard.”
Lilac shook her head, trying to process all of it. “So, no one else here cares? About them doing that? Right there in the open?”
“I asked him to go because, really, it disgusts me, too. And you’re here. But, no offense, why would any of us really care? The Fair Folk haven’t imposed any laws restricting vampires from feeding. Remember, your kind is only allowed into Brocéliande at our mercy. You’re in Darkling territory now,” she said, sternly. “It was never in King Henri’s interest to extend his laws to benefit or cover us. The only mortal laws that affect Darklings are those created to limit our power.” She gave a forced laugh. “And humans have the nerve to wonder why we don’t fancy their rules here.”
“So…” Lilac said slowly. It was impossible to keep up. The Fair Folk were something of a mystery to her, and conversely, to humans in general. As intriguing as it was to see them in the flesh, it was also odd hearing someone else refer to the species so casually. Something stood out to her. “What about the faeries? Imposing laws?”
Lorietta paused to hand a frothing jug of mead to the korrigan struggling onto the barstool across Lilac. Her books had painted the pint-sized creatures as thieves, but he didn’t strike her as such at all. Cup in hand, he contentedly sipped the foam off the top, threw her an attempt at a flirtatious wink, and wiggled back down onto the floor.
Lilac glanced back up to see the witch’s lips purse tightly together—almost as if she thought she’d said too much.
“It is in the nature of the fae to yearn control. They operate through manipulation and are baleful creatures by default.” She lowered her tone. “In fact, faeries don’t consider themselves Darklings at all… but on the occasion that they do need something, they’ve tended to work closely with the vampires.”
At Lilac’s expression of surprise, she added, “Vampires can communicate with creatures and humans alike, while faeries are limited to their Darkling Tongue. So, on occasion, the vampires serve as their informants… their confidantes, if you will.
“The Fair Folk turn their noses up at anyone who isn’t of kin. However, they despise the human race more than all of us combined, so most of us look the other way when it comes to vampires and their survival. The vampires keep the faeries out of our hair, so the majority of us could care less about their other affairs.”
“But witches are capable of speaking to both Darklings and mortals,” Lilac observed aloud.
“That we can. But we know better than to concern ourselves with the Fair Folk. They believe in karma like the French believe in God. When faeries are of service to anyone, regardless of how miniscule the favor, they will always demand something in return. Those beliefs don’t align with our values at all; we help when and because we are able, seeking nothing in return and knowing nature’s bounty is our pay. Fortunately, faeries are as uninterested in witches and warlocks as they are you humans. Magicfolk blood is impure to them.”
“What do you mean by that?”
Lorietta leaned in. Her breath smelled like cloves. “My father was a Darkling, but my mother was not.”
“She was… human?” Lilac scratched her elbow, wondering what kind of Darkling the witch’s father was, and how inebriated her mother had to have been to allow it to happen at all. Suppressing a violent shudder, she sipped her mug. She wouldn’t dare ask. “But… but that’s outlawed. How is that even possible—”
“You ask a lot of questions,” Lorietta snapped, narrowing her eyes.
Lilac bit her lip. There was more to this otherworldly forest than anyone had ever led on. Perhaps these were things she wasn’t supposed to know at all. Her stomach churned, and she raised her mug to gulp the guilt away.
As if sensing her alarm, the witch exhaled while toweling the counter. “Contrary to your belief, I’ve not shelled out any information forbidden to you. Your kind simply has not seen fit to enlighten themselves. You know, Brocéliande is the best place for an… open-minded adventurer such as yourself, determined to discern lore from reality. Well, what I’ve told you is our reality. A word to the wise: knowledge is power. Knowledge is survival. And in this neck of the woods, you’ll need it.”
Lilac rubbed her eyes, feeling like she’d need a full day of sleep to digest the bits of information Lorietta had bestowed upon her. The Darkling world she’d been taught to fear was not what she’d expected at all. Frightening, by all means. But, even more so, it was spellbinding.
Lilac leaned back into her seat. A bitter taste rose in her throat and her palms prickled with sweat as she tried to keep the sudden memory of Freya from bubbling to the surface like air trapped at the bottom of a cauldron.
Sarcasm penetrated a familiar voice behind her. “Have you served the poor girl your Lorietta Special?”
Lilac whipped around in her seat. Garin stood there, hands in his pockets and grinning pointedly at the witch.
Lorietta pursed her lips again, refusing to further acknowledge Garin. This did nothing to deter him. An unmistakable warmth seemed to emanate from him, and Lilac blinked through the sudden urge to lean in. His persistent badinage was more than enough to offset the charm.
“A few months ago, she confused a death cap for a toadstool, and, well,” he explained to Lilac, “that didn’t fare too well for the mushroom galette, nor the korrigan who devoured it.” Garin flashed a toothy smile at the both of them. “She’s just fortunate I’m good at disposing corpses.”
“And that’s my cue,” Lilac muttered to Lorietta, hopping off her barstool and turning to leave. Her cozy bed called. Handsome as he was, he wasn’t personable in the slightest. And he certainly wasn’t worth being stood up—save the uncomfortable commentary.
Before she could leave, Garin slid in front of her. The angles on his face suddenly softened in sincerity. “Don’t go—I was only joking. And I’m sorry I’m late, I had to take care of something.”