guest.
“And, as you have done me the great favor of vanquishing my nemesis, I am here to offer you my services in return.”
“And what would you possibly be able to do for me?” Patrice said.
Crowley gave a condescending look. “Well, while you might be vibrant and powerful, your background has left you largely unschooled in the grim realities of occult politics, my good man. By virtue of our education and breeding, most of us are seasoned warriors by the timewe reach the top. But you are positively virginal, if you don’t mind me saying so.” He sat forward and arched a sparse eyebrow. “And take it from someone who knows. You need to be a seasoned warrior in order to survive the constant dogfight that is the Council.”
Patrice felt himself grow angry. How dare this—this bullfrog of a man presume to condescend to him in this way?
“I would hazard that some new contender will challenge you for leadership before this year is out,” Crowley said, quickly interrupting Patrice’s thoughts.
“Is that so?” Patrice said.
Crowley regarded Patrice with his eerie gaze. “If you don’t watch out, it is you who will crumble to dust.”
“You are entitled to your opinion,” Patrice said.
“What you need is a mentor.
I
could be that mentor, if you’ll let me.”
“That is a most generous offer. But if what you are saying is correct, why not challenge me and take my place? What possible benefit could you gain by helping me?”
Crowley smiled. “It is true, I have always coveted de Montague’s place on the Council, I will not lie to you about that. But you, Mr. Chevalier, by assuming leadership, have changed the playing field forever. You have been touched by that which dwells in the deepest, darkest recesses of the Shadow realm and you have lived to tell the tale. I have spent years studying those dark recesses and I can only guess at what must be going on inside you. I mean, just look at you. You are a work of art, such beauty and grace and intelligence. Looking at you now—it’s, it’s … like watching a panther from the jungle,” Crowley drawled. “It sets my pulse racing.”
Patrice felt himself blush. “I suppose I am rather unique,” he said, looking away.
“Exactly so!” Crowley exclaimed. “And we cannot leta rare and beautiful creature like yourself be swallowed up by the filth of the system. It would be a complete travesty, so hence my offer to help you.”
Patrice narrowed his eyes. “Admiration is all fine and well, but what’s in it for you?”
Crowley’s smiled broadened. “Well firstly, I get to spend time with you, you delicious beast. And, as I understand matters, you still need to fill that thirteenth place at the table. If you like what I can do for you, I would be honored if you could consider me for the place. As a token of your appreciation, of course.” His eyes grew dreamy. “Just think of all the wonderful things we could do together, you and I.”
Patrice nodded slowly. He wasn’t entirely comfortable with the advances Crowley was making. They left him feeling flattered and slightly aroused at the same time, which was rather disturbing. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
Crowley did have a point, though. Patrice knew he needed help. He had almost been sucked into the swirling vortex the alchemists had created in their plan to use darkness to take over the Council not two years before. And he had barely escaped from it with his life. He had spent months limping along half in reality and half not, until his run-in with the Lady in White. She too had nearly finished him, but in the end he emerged transformed: a self-made warlock.
He was the first of his kind, not born of the ancient bloodlines. It was all thoroughly nouveau and exciting, but also deeply dangerous.
“And how would you help me if I were to agree?” Patrice said.
“I gather you have heard the rumors?” Crowley said.
“Depends on the rumor,” Patrice said.
Crowley laughed.
“And, as you have done me the great favor of vanquishing my nemesis, I am here to offer you my services in return.”
“And what would you possibly be able to do for me?” Patrice said.
Crowley gave a condescending look. “Well, while you might be vibrant and powerful, your background has left you largely unschooled in the grim realities of occult politics, my good man. By virtue of our education and breeding, most of us are seasoned warriors by the timewe reach the top. But you are positively virginal, if you don’t mind me saying so.” He sat forward and arched a sparse eyebrow. “And take it from someone who knows. You need to be a seasoned warrior in order to survive the constant dogfight that is the Council.”
Patrice felt himself grow angry. How dare this—this bullfrog of a man presume to condescend to him in this way?
“I would hazard that some new contender will challenge you for leadership before this year is out,” Crowley said, quickly interrupting Patrice’s thoughts.
“Is that so?” Patrice said.
Crowley regarded Patrice with his eerie gaze. “If you don’t watch out, it is you who will crumble to dust.”
“You are entitled to your opinion,” Patrice said.
“What you need is a mentor.
I
could be that mentor, if you’ll let me.”
“That is a most generous offer. But if what you are saying is correct, why not challenge me and take my place? What possible benefit could you gain by helping me?”
Crowley smiled. “It is true, I have always coveted de Montague’s place on the Council, I will not lie to you about that. But you, Mr. Chevalier, by assuming leadership, have changed the playing field forever. You have been touched by that which dwells in the deepest, darkest recesses of the Shadow realm and you have lived to tell the tale. I have spent years studying those dark recesses and I can only guess at what must be going on inside you. I mean, just look at you. You are a work of art, such beauty and grace and intelligence. Looking at you now—it’s, it’s … like watching a panther from the jungle,” Crowley drawled. “It sets my pulse racing.”
Patrice felt himself blush. “I suppose I am rather unique,” he said, looking away.
“Exactly so!” Crowley exclaimed. “And we cannot leta rare and beautiful creature like yourself be swallowed up by the filth of the system. It would be a complete travesty, so hence my offer to help you.”
Patrice narrowed his eyes. “Admiration is all fine and well, but what’s in it for you?”
Crowley’s smiled broadened. “Well firstly, I get to spend time with you, you delicious beast. And, as I understand matters, you still need to fill that thirteenth place at the table. If you like what I can do for you, I would be honored if you could consider me for the place. As a token of your appreciation, of course.” His eyes grew dreamy. “Just think of all the wonderful things we could do together, you and I.”
Patrice nodded slowly. He wasn’t entirely comfortable with the advances Crowley was making. They left him feeling flattered and slightly aroused at the same time, which was rather disturbing. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
Crowley did have a point, though. Patrice knew he needed help. He had almost been sucked into the swirling vortex the alchemists had created in their plan to use darkness to take over the Council not two years before. And he had barely escaped from it with his life. He had spent months limping along half in reality and half not, until his run-in with the Lady in White. She too had nearly finished him, but in the end he emerged transformed: a self-made warlock.
He was the first of his kind, not born of the ancient bloodlines. It was all thoroughly nouveau and exciting, but also deeply dangerous.
“And how would you help me if I were to agree?” Patrice said.
“I gather you have heard the rumors?” Crowley said.
“Depends on the rumor,” Patrice said.
Crowley laughed.
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