Prelude (Underworld Lucian Fanfiction)

91 - Chapter XCI: An Unexpected State of Affairs

Ten minutes later.

It was the first sign of things falling apart, Allegra feeling ill as she saw, among other things, the sight of tea dripping from her gown, followed by Freyja, and then Morrigan sweeping out of the hall. The first having to leave out of principle—followed by every Northerner in the hall—and the second likely seeking the nearest telephone. Magnus was gone...and she could only wonder at it briefly with so many things vying for her attention. Chaos surrounding her, an uproar of voices trying to draw her in with questions. Demands. The crowd starting to get unwieldy until Raze abruptly stood up from his chair, removing his mask and raising the two fingers of his left hand.

Tall and commanding, the sign visible by all and drawing them into silence. Like sheep who'd forgotten they were wolves. His gaze, stable and stern, passing over them in peace, reminding them to stand rather than falter. Before signing what they already knew: Keep to the shadows, survive the war. A beacon for those who were too young to remember the last time and the time before that.

So that as they left the hall, it sounded like a ship's deck being swabbed. Servants quickly rousing from the sidelines, working to clean the blood off the wooden floor. She could hear a hundred breaths being released. The musicians starting a jaunty tune as some of the older folk suggested an early refreshment until the rest of the ball could commence. Their respect for Raze—the second lord of their existence—causing some to drop to a knee as he passed. Allegra reaching for his arm, his hand over hers as they did what they always had to do, picking up pieces and mending damage. And yet, she wondered still where Magnus had gone.

The thought fleeting as they proceeded without him, the two of them, Raze and Allegra, synchronised in purpose and intent on finding their quarry. The trail leading quickly to the lycan-master's quarters where a picture began to form. A vaulted door unlocked, and the next three rooms they encountered, left unbarred...

...and spotless.

An expected state of affairs if they had not happened to see the interior a few days prior. The great disarray that had mysteriously vanished. No more vomit-stained shirts on the carpet. The stacks of bowls with dried blood in them. Or empty bottles. Langley nowhere to be found, but the scent suggesting he had wisely vacated the area shortly before their arrival. Perhaps uncomfortable with explaining why one of the wardrobes was empty. Why everything was not only clean, but displaying a relentless thirst for order, save for the recent addition of blood on the carpet. A trail of footprints leading to his bathing room.

Locked.

Allegra looked at Raze...

...who entered first, breaking the handle as though it were a twig. Then pushing against the door until the chair behind it gave way. Crossing the threshold and then reaching back for her hand, squeezing it once and pulling her forward. Safe. Her husband keeping just enough distance that she could Change easily if the situation required it. Her eyes reflecting first on the claw-foot tub and the marble sink, so focused was she on the blood, that it would be a further minute before she saw the real danger, that which would rock their future as a Council for years to come.

A room that was still magnificent, filled with an endless supply of heat after the Council sought to increase the lycan-master's enjoyment by supplying hot water from the same pipes connected to the swimming pool. An achievement in engineering, one that rarely had the opportunity to shine, given that so many of their society were forced to hide in plain sight, using problematic infrastructure and regressive technology, despite having spent six hundred years ruminating on how to build a better toilet.

Yet in spite of it...

...in spite of all they had done, trying to keep him...satisfied...in their world, they were now confronted with his absence. A chill lingering in the air. A window left ajar, allowing snow to fall on the radiator. The smell of Lucian—so infrequently sensed by those who were younger than centuries—still there, marking his presence only a few minutes before, followed by a hasty exit. A pile of clothes discarded by the bath, filled with a few inches of steaming red water, next to a dozen plush towels, once white, now covered in blood, shoved haphazardly into one corner of the black tile.