The Goblets Immortal by Beth Overmyer (read 50 shades of grey .TXT) 📕

Aidan took a seat, but once he heard his friend’s footsteps falling away, he sprang to his feet as one burned. “Too much iron. If I were trapped here….” For whatever reason, he could not Summon or Dismiss iron. Perhaps because he could not feel it, like he felt the wooden side table tugging at his core, or the woolen rug, the glass lamp, the glass and silver chandelier. All these things were alive to him, just waiting for a nudge or a tug.

By turn, Aidan’s gaze took in the iron fire poker, the iron letter openers, the iron fire grate. Where had his friend come across so much of the metal…and why? To comfort himself, he sent a pillow sailing across the room with a thought, and then allowed it to wink out of existence. He exhaled sharply and Summoned the cushion back into being.

Footsteps pounded down the hall, two sets, two human Pulls. Aidan’s nerves tingled, and he fidgeted in a moment of inaction before searching for a weapon. If it weren’t so heavy, perhaps he could use the poker as a sword. He’d wielded iron before with his bare hands. It never felt right. There was no bringing himself to adjust to it in time now.

The doorknob turned, and in walked the woman with the shawl. She studied the pianoforte for a moment, and when she turned, her expression was as empty as Aidan’s stomach. When she spoke, her voice was as deep as a man’s. “Nine days I’ve come, and at last you arrive, Lord Ingledark.”

Aidan’s fists clenched but he otherwise kept his reactions in check. “Who’s asking?”

Her lips drew up into a thin smile. “I’m not asking. I know who you are and what you’re doing here.” At once her eyes flickered in suggestion at the writing desk where now lay the deed, signed in his own red blood.

Aidan cursed himself for leaving his copper dagger out of Calling distance. It was too far away now to safely bring it sailing into his waiting hand. He should have Dismissed it into Nothingness before he left his horse so that he could Summon it from seemingly nowhere now.

The fortune-teller laughed and raised her hands in truce. “Do not be alarmed. I know because I am the seer.”

“Relax, I’m sure now that she’s harmless,” Tristram said.

Aidan did not relax. “So, you’re a seer,” he said, closing the curtains. There were servants out there; he felt their Pulls on him. Too heavy to Call, but still Pulls, anchors, slowing him down.

“Hmm. You’re worried, Aidan Ingledark.”

“Am I, now?” Gathering his wits, he made for the door, which Tristram barred. “I’m sorry, Tris. I must leave at once.”

Tristram opened his mouth as if to object, but closed it. “I understand. Farewell, friend.” Ashen now, he pushed past Aidan, took a seat, and finished the full glass of brandy.

With a frown, Aidan again made to leave, but the seer stopped him with her words.

“I know where you sent them and how you might get them back.”

Aidan stood in the doorway, his fingers tingling. Run. Run. Run. He answered, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t you, now?” The cursed woman smiled with her teeth this time, exposing a large gap between her left incisor and the tooth next to it. “You don’t smoke, do you, milord?”

Aidan’s legs had turned to lead. “You would be the one to know, wouldn’t you?”

Another laugh. “So you believe me when I say I know what happened to Lord and Lady Clement Ingledark and their wee boy. Samuel, wasn’t it?”

As if compelled, Aidan found himself nodding. His limbs had gone numb, and he cursed his need to know. Yet every beat of his heart thumped, my fault, my fault, my fault.

“There is but one who can help you,” the seer was saying. “And if you are to seek her, you’d better start out immediately.” Here the woman gave Tristram a pointed glance before looking back at Aidan. “Walk with me, milord?”

Tristram intervened. “Lord Ingledark cannot draw attention to himself. You would draw that attention, woman. I’m so sorry, Aidan, I thought she might amuse you. It would seem she’s now going to be trouble.” He put his hand up to grab the seer by the elbow, but Aidan motioned for him to stop.

“What must I do and whom must I seek?”

The Roma woman licked her lips and her hands fluttered around. “I saw – so much pain. Lord Ingledark, should you succeed you must seek out Meraude and unite the Immortal.”

His fists unclenched, and the blood came rushing painfully back. “I’m sorry…unite the what?”

She nodded. “You heard me. The first one lies in your path. The others shall prove most difficult to come by.” The woman shuddered. “But for more information, it’ll cost you.”

“Cost me what?”

She was silent, as if considering. “Your blood.”

“How much?”

The shawl around her fluttered to the ground, pooling at her feet. “All of it.”

And that is when Aidan realized the human Pulls on his being had tripled since he’d arrived. “Tris, the house is surrounded. I am so sorry.”

Tristram was shaking. “God help us.”

“Why do you have so much blasted iron? I need lead. Have you any lead or copper?”

The man shook his head. He did nothing. He sat there as one in shock, staring at the amber bottle of whiskey. “I’m the one who is sorry.”

Aidan tore from the room, Calling objects to his side as he ran, only to Release them as he realized their uselessness. “I’ve been a fool.” He made it to the back door, Calling a paring knife from the kitchen, the only object of use he could feel. It jammed into the wall before it even got to his hand.

“Aidan Ingledark,” boomed a deep voice from the front of the house. Footsteps crashed overhead. How had he not felt the hidden soldiers’ Pulls? “More iron,” he snarled. Had Tristram padded rooms with panels of the metal in anticipation of this visit?

“Wound him if you