6 Visiting the Councillors (part 1)

Outside the Council of the Elders abide, I turn over the tiny little object in my hands: a miniscule white dove carved out of birch wood. Thoughtfully, I slip it into my pocket next to the pendant, tucking my white blouse further into my trousers. I straighten the sword at my hip, running the tip of my thumb over the sheath fondly.

The sky is still dark, so much that the Councillor's point of residence- a grand manor several stories high made from a mish-mash of various stones and peppered with a mess of ivy and purple wisteria, is already lit up with a spectral light. Tiny little fireflies dance in the glass globes hanging outside the oak double door, and I fix my eyes on the lion-headed knocker. Swallowing my fear, I reach out. Before I could even knock once a dainty little angel, perhaps a maid for the elders, swings open the door.

"My Queen," she chirrups with a low bow, ushering me inside without letting me get in a single word. I stumble into a dimly lit corridor, two doors to either side of me- one slightly ajar, casting a pale stream of light through a crack. Such a concentrated brightness almost seems startling, and I blink at it numbly.

At the end of the carpeted hallway is another set of double doors, illuminated by two shaded, crescent moon lamps to either side. That is the place. The little angel flattens out her plaid dress, the tiny little wings on her back fluffing up with excitement. Her face is pointed, almost impish, like one of the tiny little sprites that visit our markets on rare occasions when the stars have just begun the gleam, stark and iridescent against the jaws of the blackened sky, wandering idly among shimmering lights and fiery wings.

For a moment I stand stationary, staring at her, my mouth agape. I had never seen such small wings on an angel before. Either she was still young or… A weight drops inside me.

"The Elders are waiting for you," she utters quickly, tapping the tips of her fingers together excitedly, beaming like a happy little puppy. My eyes snag on the makeshift bandage on her wrist, still fresh with golden blood.

"You are hurt?" I cut in.

"Oh this?" she laughs nervously, holding up her wrist. She shakes her head and draws in her arms around herself to hide it from me once more. "It's nothing for you to worry about, my Queen, not at all. You have much more important things to do." She looks at me expectantly, as if that alone would be enough to get me to walk away. Stubbornly, I hold out my hand.

"Let me see," Sheepishly, she places out her wrist. Kneeling down, I begin to unwind the bandage- a job that doesn't prove too hard considering how roughly it is patched up. A deep gash in her wrist leaks out golden blood, the flesh raw and inflamed. Older blood, fading red with exposure to oxygen, stains her pale skin, and she looks away through the pixie cut of her white hair, her eyes darting away from mine.

The smell of iron permeates the air, making my nose tingle. I resist the urge to sneeze. Gently, I run my finger over the cut as small little wisps of golden smoke begin to weave themselves into her flesh, and she squeaks in alarm, attempting to wrench her hand away.

"Hold still," I whisper roughly, my grip on her hand tightening as she watches the alarming sight of her skin being woven back together like fabric being sewn with needle and thread. Her eyes are wide and startlingly bright, like strange glowing lamps, looking the way a deer might look at you if you shone a light that was a little too bright in its face- struck dumb with alarm.

I pull away, letting her hand drop, wordlessly turning from her, acutely aware my time is running out. I fiddle with my cuffs nervously. A heavy weight, amplified by the oppressive gloom, presses into my head as I pace the lengthening shadows of the long corridor, grim colours shifting against the light, sharper than knives. I need to stop stalling.

"T-thank you!" she stammers after me, and I give her a small wave over my shoulder, glad for the fact she can't see the look of unease on my face. Healing magic is not entirely uncommon, and yet the girl looked as though she'd never seen an ounce of magic in her life. That, and then the wing size… it's almost like… I shake my head. It can't be, can it?

The echoes of my quickening footsteps are dampened by the red carpeted floor, soaking up the sounds like water to a sponge, and I barely have time to take in the ebony wood of my carved out surroundings as I storm down the hallway to the double doors. Please, heavens, don't be late. I think desperately to myself, drawing my hand up to hastily wipe the perspiration off my cheek. If I am late the council would surely decline me and then I would never hear the end of it from Ithuriel. Staining, I heave the doors open.

A thick, pungent smell hits me as I am met with a sea of aged and unsatisfied faces, all perfectly placed around a long dining table. There are goblets in hands, sloshing green and red with a viscous liquid that might resemble some form of rancid wine if you didn't look too hard at it. I try my hardest not to wrinkle my nose in disgust. The glass chandelier sways precariously as the door slams shut behind me, feeble shafts of light spattering the dull tones of the uninspiring walls. I cringe.

"Take a seat," Igor says smoothly, gesturing to the far end of the table, barely unable to contain his smirk. My heeled boots clack garishly across the stone flooring as I draw the cushioned chair back with a harsh scrape, swiftly taking my seat to save myself from further embarrassment. Igor glowers at me from over the long table, and I suddenly become all too aware of the myriad of eyes boring into my flesh like smouldering fires. I gulp, shifting on my seat, the tips of my wings brushing roughly against the stony floor.

"I have made my fellow councillors aware of the situation," Igor states blandly, rapping his fingers on the hard, wooden table as he licks his lips with obvious discontent. "We have gathered to hear your case, begin."

"Well," I begin, clearing my throat as I rise from my seat. My heart flutters wildly in my chest, but I strain to keep a straight face, concealing my worries behind an unforgiving mask. "I am sure you are all aware that our recent attempts to make headway with this war to take back the eternal flame have been unsuccessful. In the course of the past three months alone we have lost 20 of our best warriors sent to scout the vampire Capital- Sezeria. It is safe to say that by now, they have either been killed, or taken hostage."

A muted silence fills the room as each angel individually shifts uncomfortably in their seat, looking away as the shamefully reality hits them. Good, I think obstinately. Even Igor, whose eyes are fixated firmly on the table, seems to twitch with unease. I bring my hand down sharply on the table, startling the room.

"Now I know you are hesitant to let me go, but I have been given an opportunity I cannot turn down." Saying this, I plunge my hand into my pocket, fishing around for the pendant. A flash of panic runs through me as my hands grapple empty air, thinking that for a moment the pendant must have dropped out on my journey here. A flood of relief courses through me as I at last I draw it out, the red liquid sloshing in its half moon frame as I dangle it from between my fingers. Some of the angels recoil, others grimace at the gruesomely unbearable thought of any sort of vampiric presence.

"I have been studying vampires since the day I learned to read. I've studied every custom we know, every ability, every power. I've learned to fight and how to harness my magic in order to use it against them. But with this," I say, brandishing the pendant once more, the chain glittering like crystals under the light of the chandelier. "This might be our biggest hope yet."