Conquest Of The Fallen: Dark Dominions

The desk clerk looked from Rosa's deadon stare to the fat purse in front of him. "I have to ask, are you family?" Rosa's crooked her head at him. Cora's mouth tightened further. Rafel folded his arms. The young man was visibly intimidated by these tall, beautiful people. He stammered, "it's hotel policy."

Just then, the baritone of the concierge rumbled out from the side door. The man himself walked out. And the wiry clerk scooped up the coin purse before his boss's lynx eyes could catch it. The hotel concierge spoke to the young man to leave him with the new guests.

"Go on, Curtis. I'll handle this from here."

The concierge's eyes weaved through the troop of three, passing the women to halt at Rafel. Clearly, he was one of those men who viewed males at the top echelon in the gender portfolio. Old school. Hence, a real piece of work. The concierge was an older man, and spoke directly to Rafel. "Good to see you again sir.

I am Stanislaus. So you were saying you need a room number?"

"Not ours," Rosa said, drawing his attention to her. The man moved to turn his head back to Rafel but she followed his eyes with her face. "Hey, STANNIS, I'm the one talking to you. It would do you well to look at me."

It was clear in the concierge's eyes that he did not like the abbreviation of his name—made him sound like some Baroness's puppy he thought. He squinted at Rafel.

"She's right." The Hel prince said simply.

As if convinced by Israfel's veto power to the 'little bob girl'—for this was how he viewed Rosa, the concierge Stanislaus now turned his full attention behind the desk counter to her. "I'm not sure what you've been told, ma'am, but this is a five-star establishment. What you're asking is impossible. Even if I wanted to help—which I'm not saying I do, I can't.

If you're not family, nor are a visitor to our resident here at Grand Tourniquet, I don't see why you need inside our suite."

"Really?" Rosa blinked.

"Yes, really, MA'AM." The concierge's tone was anything but polite. "It's quite tantamount to a threat."

Rafel had enough at this point.

He moved between Rosa and Cora and leaned forward on the desk. His gold eyes fired off into Stanislaus'. Rafel's voice was extra dark when he said in palpable coldness.

"I am the King of the seas. Consort of the Queen of the Atlantean Colonies. Unless you want to see how the ocean floor looks like on your next travel, I suggest you do as she says. Now this you can believe. . .is a motherfucking threat."

Stanislaus gulped.

"Keys." Rosa held out her hand. "Now!"

This time the silver bearded concierge spoke, he had actual respect in his voice. "Of course ma'am, right away. Name please?"

Corazón finally broke her silence. Her own smile was far darker than the corners of the grande lobby shielded by the long curtains.

"Constance Juliana Medici."

Stanislaus went back. "The Countess?"

"Is there a problem, Stannis?" Rosa quipped.

"Not at all, ma'am. Let me just check with our system." He looked down to the glinting panel, a screen with all the list of hotel guest showing in magical green. "The Countess is in Room 309. This is the card you'll need. Here you go, ma'am."

Rosamunde collected the fine Moravian keycard from the concierge and passed it to Rafel. He looked it over and gave it back. "You may keep your head upon your shoulders, human—for now." The three of them turned swiftly and began gallantly walking off.

A stricken Stanislaus, the well-spoken and enviable concierge of the notable Grand Tourniquet watched their backs all the way to the gilded elevators with cold spit lodged in his throat like a pebble in a brook.

Rafel waited until the elevators doors shut them in before he turned to Cora and Rosa with a smile.

For a moment, temptation of the closed box flowed between them, and they just about ripped each other's clothes off.

There was just something about elevators.

But Cora's marine eyes was the deal breaker. The blue seemed to say: 'we can't.'

Rafel heard the whirring of the lift going up and said to his two gorgeous ladies. "Are we ready?"

Cora moved her dagger swiftly in striking moves in the air, "to kill a witch bitch? Fuck yeah!" And she sheathed it again.

Ding! The elevator chimed to a stop on the hotel's third floor and the doors screened open. Cora's hard military boots were the first ones out. The hallway was long, and wide. And empty. The jade green wallpaper of lush rainforests on the opposite walls ran into infinity.

Rafel couldn't see the end of the silent corridor under the translucent white lights. The Grand Tourniquet Inn had emerged beyond the use of torches or lamps, but rather more artificed—and expensive—lights that fed of the mana pouch of the entire hotel.

Something of a generator.

If that generator had an infinite mystic source, as fresh and pure as the oxygen in the air.

Rafel traced the wallpaper as Cora read the plaques off each door they passed. Rosa was at the other end too, doing the same.

"Room 301."

"Room 303."

305—

307—

"Here it is." Cora dropped her feet at a lime green door, just about the last one in line. She lifted two fingers in the air to keep the others quiet as they moved in. Rafel made a signal to go in first. He reached back his right leg and kicked in the door.

BAM!

The whole pinewood tore off the hinges. The door flew in. And they all marched in.

Cora's fist was high in the air: filled with fiery blue flames. Her fingers roared with energy, just ready to rip. In her other hand was her dagger, her brass blade seeking cleave. Rosa was armed with a circle of darkness around her waist. The spooky shadows formed many twisting shades, ready to take any deadly shape she willed.

As an [SS Rank] First Year of the Raven Arc, she was quite handy with manipulation of the nocturnal energies. Rafel himself held no weapon. He didn't need any to kill in a second. But his eyes shone out through the blasted door: a murderous demonic crimson.

They were all ready to pounce. But it seemed no one was at home.

Cora growled. "Where the fuck is the cunt?"

Room 309 was dark. No lights were on. But the pumping adrenaline and [Night Vision] helped Israfel and the girls with cat sight in the dark. The blue fire in Cora's right hand blazed brighter.

"WHERE THE FUCK IS SHE?"

"Cora," Rosa tried, aware of her friend's growing fury.

"SHOW YOUR FACE, YOU FUCKING COWARD! COME ON OUT, BITCH!"

"Wait!" Rafel held up a hand. "Look there."

He pointed to a spot in the dark room. The whole suite was one long suite, exquisitely decorated in the best furniture. The left area, floor to ceiling was all glass, overlooking some lake in the distance. From the high perch of the hotel room, the water clashed with sunlight.

And adjacent the glass wall, under a Corynthian painting of one of its many tidal beaches, in front of a dead fireplace was a white armchair.

Someone sat on it.

Rafel clicked his fingers. The lights came on.

And that someone was revealed.

Cross-legged. In a flamboyant immaculate floral gown. Heels like fucking stilts—white too.

The Countess of Avila. Constance Medici.

Her hair dropped behind the chair to the floors. It was holy white. Rafel had never seen such much white on a person's head before. Rosa turned up her lips at the miniature cowled statue of the Martyr on the mantelpiece. The Countess really did like her white. Ironic for a temperamental murderous blood witch.

Constance slowly uncrossed her legs on the armchair. Her voice permeated the bedroom when it hit like honey.

"Good, you're here. You're all here. I've been waiting for you."

Rosa stepped forward. The shadows around her waist coalesced into a dark spear. "Why? How did you know we were coming?"

"Oh, shush girl. You didn't think Stanislaus wouldn't tell me of the hunky triumvirate demanding my room number—in death threats I might add." The Countess stood to her feet as Rafel folded his fingers into fists; he put it at the back of his mind to make sure a mermaid visited and drowned the fucker in his bed. This was why no one really liked hotel concierges.

Constance was on her feet now and looked at Cora's flaming hand like the blue flames roaring in her fingertips were nothing but pesky trouble.

"Oh, drop that will you," she said. "I am the Countess of Avila. What did you think was going to happen? That you were gonna blast in here and take me out. . .the three of you?

Fuck me." She began laughing.

It was soft, bubbly laughter.

Rafel looked her over in the moment: Constance was a stickish woman. She might have been a model in her younger years. She was the kind of thin his Uncle Asmodeus liked. And Lilith too—at the times she chose to fuck women. But more than that. She was crazy.

'Lock up in a mental institution' crazy. She was stupid pretty too.

"What a shame?"

Rafel didn't even know he had said it aloud until she turned from her chuckling.

Constance asked. "What?"

Rafel met the challenge in her eyes. "That you have to die." He went on. "Do not worry, I'll try to make it quick. But I can't say the same about my friends here? You see, you took one of ours. Several were killed in the attack at our school.

The beast you sent? We know all about it. Confess, WITCH!" He roared.

Constance started laughing again. "Oh my gods, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. You really think this is about you and your little friends? Well, it isn't. Until now I guess.

Now that you all have stuck your pretty little heads in." She caught their shocked faces and sighed, explaining: "No, my furious younglings. All these started before your arrival at the academy. My plan shall be revealed in due season. But this I will tell you. You. .

.Apollyon only became my problem when you killed my Basilisk. I rather loved the serpent. It was to fulfill a phase of my plan and you fucked with that."

Rafel blinked. It was the first time the Countess had cussed.

". . .Yes, I sent the Persuada after you. Of course I did! You are a possible FUCKING threat. To me and my partner."

Partner? Rafel stored for later.

Constance was still talking. "The ones you lots, as you so judiciously put it, in that attack were the sorry lot in the way of my pet killing you. The same as your girlfriends here. This is probably the best time for you to break up. I killed them because they protected you. They were in my way; hazards of war," she shrugged.

"You should know that better than anyone, Israfel. And what can I say, I am a tempered mistress. I protect my own."

"SO DO I! DAMN YOU." Rafel growled.

"Not from me, darling, you don't." Constance returned. "Do you know why I called it Persuada? It's because it was a creature meant to persuade you to quit trying to play hero and foil my plans. If killing a bunch of kids is the persuasion, then—"

"A bunch of kids!" Cora lost it. "You know what, fuck this. I've heard enough."

She sent out her flaming hand, releasing a ball of blue fire, thrice hotter than a forge. The flames shot forward with the blast of a ship's cannon. The target: the Countess's white fucking head.