Nocturnal Quarry: a historical fantasy novella: Land Mysteries, #2

By Celia Lake

The world keeps changing. 

 

Alexander's world was upended three years ago when a spot of espionage had ripple effects that transformed every part of his life, even his relationship with his own magic. Now, he's compelled by politics to spend the summer of 1938 in America instead of with his family and friends. No problem, he can tend to loose ends, like a threat that's been looming over his chosen family for more than a decade. 

 

Alexander knows his duties and his obligations. He's more than adept at the delicate dance of diplomatic parties and careful conversations with scientists and innovative magicians up and down the eastern seaboard. 

 

He's not expecting who has been waiting for him in New York City. Nor how the past few years have changed everything about how he solves problems.

 

Nocturnal Quarry is a character-focused historical fantasy novella about how every change has consequences. Best read after Best Foot Forward, Nocturnal Quarry is full of ongoing conversations, art, shared myth and legend, and unexpected solutions to complicated questions. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Celia Lake
• Release date: Mar 8, 2023
• ISBN: 9798201338237

Celia Lake

Celia Lake spends her days as a librarian in the Boston (MA) metro area, and her nights and weekends at home happily writing, reading, and researching. Born and raised in Massachusetts to British parents, she naturally embraced British spelling, classic mysteries, and the Oxford comma before she learned there were any other options.

Book preview

Chapter 1

JULY 13TH, 1938 AT YTENE

Alexander ran his hand through his hair as he walked through the courtyard. It was decidedly late, after ten o’clock, though in the crest of the summer it was still twilight. He had, at least, managed to write ahead in the Council’s brief break at half-eight that he would turn up.

To his surprise, the footman at the door gestured toward the library. Lord and Lady Carillon are in the library, Magister, if you wish to join them. And your room is ready, of course.

Alexander would have thought they’d be abed by now. Geoffrey was a hedonist in a number of ways, but most days he was up early. Country hours, on the whole, especially midweek. He nodded. Thank you, Mark. I’ll keep my bag. He only had his usual satchel, relying on the clothes in the wardrobe and the rest of the personal kit he stored in his rooms here.

As he took the few steps to the library door, he lifted his hand to knock, but heard Geoffrey’s, Come in, do, before he could actually make contact. Alexander opened the door to find Geoffrey and Lizzie on the sofa, his head in her lap, her hand in his hair. Both of them smiled, and then both of them took in his expression.

Lizzie nudged Geoffrey with two fingers, and he lifted himself up. She looked up at Alexander. Here, your turn. I want to stretch my legs. Drink?

Lizzie, bless her, was made of generosity. Alexander set his satchel down, sliding into her former seat, and letting Geoffrey rearrange to lean head on thigh. It was not the more intimate mode he’d just been in, the one that was tenderness and comfort on show. Alexander still couldn’t quite manage that, even with just Lizzie around. But steadiness and presence, oh, that they could do. And that was what Alexander needed right now, even if it was decidedly odd that Geoffrey was providing it while lying down.

He let himself sink into the sensation for a long moment, let it anchor him as his eyes closed. The sofa under him, very unlike the chairs from his evening. The smell of the books, the leather and the paper, the summer breeze coming through from the windows, with the hints of the garden. When he opened his eyes again, a dozen breaths later, Lizzie held out a glass of brandy. She set one on the table for Geoffrey, before taking her own drink to the nearest chair.

It wasn’t until she was sitting that Geoffrey looked up at him, reading him. Bad news. It wasn’t a question. Granted, it was also the logical call, even aside from knowing they had seen more in his face than others ever would. Most of the news was bad, right now, and it had been for years.

Alexander took a sip of his brandy, let it flow into him, borrowing a bit of the warmth from it. She’d poured one of his favourite cognacs, from near his father’s family’s estates, a mix of nuts and fruit and excellent for coming into harvest season. They’d known he’d be in a mood, then, to have that decanted and ready.

I need to go to America. For a while, perhaps. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t made trips in the last three years, to America, even. But this was the first one that was open-ended, uncertain, and that would likely stretch beyond Washington. He knew enough - Geoffrey and Lizzie as well - that there might be war and destruction and dangerous oceans between them, sooner rather than later.

Geoffrey shifted, reaching out his right arm up to touch Alexander’s side, just the brush of the back of his fingers. Alexander took his hand, fingers threading through fingers. When? Geoffrey’s voice was careful and quiet.

As soon as I can get a suitable berth on a ship. I should know tomorrow. That, at least, had been shunted off to Cyrus - or rather his man of business - to sort out, given the family connections to the Pelagius liners. Maybe Friday. Maybe the following Wednesday.

Lizzie tapped her finger on her glass, just enough sound to let them know she had something to say. Alexander was glad of it, that she was that careful. Tonight he felt like he was all sharp edges, unsettled and unrooted, the way he’d felt before. The way he’d felt three years ago, a lifetime before that, except for gasps and moments and glimpses through the clouds of what the pure bright sun looked like. Is there a particular reason?

The Évian Conference is a disaster. Cyrus is getting regular reports, of course. All argument, no action, and no commitments on anyone’s part to take in refugees. The Zionists only want Palestine. Even the Americans are dragging their feet - they didn’t even send a proper government representative. Just some business friend of Roosevelt’s.

And on the one hand, business drives the Americans, and on the other... Lizzie could see that as easily as a child. Not that she was naive about such things, far from it.

Just so, which made Alexander add, with regret. Chances are good I’ll be gone into August, at the very least. And miss Edmund’s oath and testing. Edmund was Geoffrey and Lizzie’s eldest, busy growing up into a fine, steady young man. He had an earnestness that was nothing like Perry’s flashes had been, but Alexander was sure he held some similarly deep magics in his roots. His twelfth birthday ought to be an occasion, and Alexander had let himself assume he’d be here for that.

Geoffrey squeezed his hand. We understand. All of us. He spoke confidently, certainly, as if this were just a momentary blip, as if they had years and lifetimes of other moments to anticipate. Alexander was glad someone had that confidence. He certainly didn’t.

What can we do to help? Lizzie asked it, as if she were sure whatever he asked, she’d agree to. Readily. Without consulting Geoffrey, or her social calendar, or the dozen other plots and plans they’d already had in motion.

Analysis, eventually, I hope. Alexander tried to relax - as much as one could, anyway - into the planning of the thing. He’d done trips like this over and over for decades. Cyrus is working up the specifics. Basically, make nice with all my long-established contacts in America, see what additional information I can get, find out how much they’re considering building toward wartime preparations. Anything. Right now, it’s all grasping at threads, mirrors, and unsupported promises. We’ve no idea what’s reliable.

And it has to be you because they’re your connections. Where in particular? Geoffrey was quieter than Alexander had expected, all in all. By this point, he’d anticipated a flurry of questions. The quiet was, honestly, worrying. It suggested that there were pieces Alexander might be missing, somewhere, in his own rush of emotion.

Eastern seaboard. Starting in Washington, but likely with trips up to New York City, perhaps to Boston. Maybe an outing to Chicago, unlikely California. More of my connections are among the academic set, and that’s tricky this time of year. I can’t imagine it will take under a month, more likely two or three, depending on how things fall out. And that’s assuming there’s nothing else that urgently requires my presence there. I’ll be bringing over a few additional journals, some of the limited sets, but most of it is feeling out the options on the ground.

You are exceedingly good at that, Alexander. Geoffrey was still in that thoughtful mode. And Cyrus knows to give you room to fly and see what the hunt brings you.

Nekheny. That at least made Alexander smile, the nickname of ‘falcon’. But it was true. Better now than before Cyrus had taken over as head of the Council. Under Hesperidon in the years before, Alexander would have gone on his way with a set of limitations, prickling chains that bound him. He’d have done good work, the way other men made poetry within the bounds of a form, a sonnet, a sestina, a virelai. Cyrus would tell him the goals and set him free, as Geoffrey loosed his falcons, which was an entirely different thing.

Thinking about something. Give me a moment. That Geoffrey said so, in as many words, suggested substantial thought.

Lizzie picked up the moment. Can you stay until you need to go? Or I assume there’s some back and forth. But the evenings here?

Alexander nodded, reaching with his free hand to rub his face. I’ll need the tailor in Trellech, and a fair bit of preparation, but I can do much of the reading here. I - I may not be good company.

It was Lizzie who responded first. My, you are overthrown, aren’t you? We do not need you to be good company, Alexander, though you always are with us. We need to send you off knowing you will come back home when you can. It was the resoluteness in her voice, the note Geoffrey often got from her, and Alexander far more rarely.

That tone made Geoffrey smile, at least, and he offered his wife a breathy Domina, that Alexander had quickly learned meant certain things once they were in private again. Then he sat up a little. Your room, Alexander? I want to talk a few things out. Lizzie, love, I’ll come to bed - well. Later.

She snorted, amused. I have a book. It’s fine. And I know where you are. She stood, and Geoffrey pushed himself upright, to stand and give her an easy and affectionate kiss, a promise of other things to come in due course. Then he turned back to Alexander.

Bring your glass? Need anything in the way of food? Mrs Mudthon left out some biscuits.

Can’t ignore the biscuits. Alexander scooped up his satchel. And supper was sandwiches, rather a long time ago. He barely remembered eating it, in fact.

Lizzie tilted her head. Biscuits are on the tray in the hall. I’ll leave her a note for a thorough breakfast in the morning. I know you’ve a cast-iron stomach, Alexander, but American ideas of food are somewhat dubious. With that, she went off to whatever tasks she felt needed doing, and Geoffrey gestured for Alexander to lead the way upstairs.

Five minutes later, they were in his rooms, having had a biscuit each. It was Mrs Mudthon’s superlative shortbread this time, the kind that needed no other flavour or fuss. The warding was comfortably pulled in around them like a blanket. Alexander wanted to lean into the snugness tonight, the sense of pressure. He had undressed as far as shirtsleeves and trousers, his jacket over the clothes rack. Geoffrey had done the same, and now he was stretched out on the right side of the bed.

Come talk. There was a note there now, different from earlier, in the sound Geoffrey made. It was the harmonies in him, when he was about to approach something new and sharp. Alexander found his own place, on one elbow, leaning to watch his twinned soul, his other self and his mirror, as carefully as he could. Bawy was the word in Egyptian for them together, the two become one.

There are two things. One about you, and one about me. Laying it out, of course Geoffrey would begin with the logic.

You first. Alexander could guess, at least in part, at what Geoffrey was going to say about him. For all they’d only been close for three years and a few months, out of a lifetime of other experiences, Geoffrey had a knack for naming what Alexander was trying to avoid. He had, back when they were still enemies, or next thing to. Three years of regular opportunities, well. The man never ignored a possible advantage, and Alexander entirely approved.

How much time do you think you’ll have on your own?

I’ll need to stay within a portal or train journey of Washington, most likely. Possibly into the depths of Vermont, or the other summer homes, but not for long if I do. But - this might have a fair bit of waiting in it. Politics moves either very quickly or very slowly. I’m certainly not going to lurk and glare from a perch near their Capitol. For one thing, it’d be most tedious. Moments of fleeting amusement weren’t