As they crested the ridge, Victor could no longer deny what his eyes were showing him. In the near distance, a castle – an actual medieval castle complete with turrets and ramparts – loomed against the blue sky.
And Levia emanated from the castle, a slow, steady thrum that built up deep inside his bones. It reminded him of the land's inherent resonance, though far more concentrated.
Sitting in front of him, Mirage breathed in sharply. Victor wondered what he was thinking, but there was no point in prying.
Then Mirage sat up straighter, shoulders stiffening, before flicking Pudding's reins. Obligingly, the leema squelched its way down the ridge.
As they headed closer, Victor realized the castle wasn't standing alone. Dozens of rough structures cobbled from stone surrounded it like a ramshackle little village.
"What is that?" he couldn't help asking.
When Mirage shot him a sharp look, Victor instantly regretted it. But then Mirage shrugged and said, "The Ziegler stronghold is built over a natural Levia vein. They harvest it for their own use, but will also distribute some to their followers. That's why these people gather here, that and the protection from monsters, of course."
Snorting, Mirage shook his head. "Pathetic, no? Even on Tielos, there are fools who can't survive without clinging to wizards."
And Mirage had once counted among their ranks. Of this Victor was now certain.
They rode in silence the rest of the way. The castle grew larger, its stone face scowling down upon them. When they passed under its shadow, Mirage's hands tightened around the reins, nails digging into leather.
But he didn't turn back. Soon, they reached the edge of the village.
Mirage swung himself off Pudding, boots hitting the ground with a dull thud. Victor quickly followed suit. As they strode into the village, a few passers-by threw them glances, but none seemed all that interested. No doubt it helped that Mirage had removed his illusory finery. In his traveling clothes, hood pulled up over his hair, he looked as nondescript as any of the villagers.
Mirage himself strode with brisk confidence, almost swaggering. Clearly he had no fear someone might recognize him. Well, Victor supposed this was easier than trying to sneak in.
Despite himself, his gaze lingered on the buildings. After spending more than a week sleeping beneath the stars, these stone huts seemed almost inviting. Not that he was here to sight-see; instead, he ought to memorize the layout of the narrow dirt streets, in case they needed to make a quick getaway. Nor would it to hurt to analyze the villagers, all potential enemies.
Most seemed to be nephilim or demons, with the occasional hulking golem. Some wore light armor and carried swords – undoubtedly guards. Though they paid him no attention, Victor didn't relax.
He was so focused on the guards he almost ran into Mirage when the demon came to a stop. As quick as he could, Victor stepped back. Mirage absently patted Pudding's side before gesturing at Victor and stepping toward a nearby building.
They were going inside? No time for questions. So Victor followed, though he kept a careful eye on Pudding. Hopefully the leema's slime-spitting defenses would deter potential thieves.
Victor had to duck his head to fit through the entrance. Even inside, he couldn't straighten without hitting the ceiling. The air was hot and stuffy, with a strong musty smell, and he could barely maneuver between the narrow shelves.
Mirage, however, expertly wove his way to a glass case across the store, wiping off the dust to reveal – Victor blinked – glass bottles of perfume. But those were hardly the strangest wares. The shelf nearest Victor offered old-fashioned tin soldiers, scratched makeup compacts, even stacks of moldy composition books.
Then his eyes landed on something hanging on the opposite wall. A cello, varnished so heavily it almost sparkled in the gloomy shop.
A cough somewhere to his left. Alarmed, Victor turned to see a stooped old man with more liver spots on his head than hair. "Caught your interest, boy? It's a genuine Montagnana. Well, not like that means anything to – "
"A Montagnana?" Victor blurted. "Here?"
"My, my." The old man blinked some more, then his toothless mouth stretched into a grin. "Might you be a wizard? What an honor indeed."
Victor took a deep breath, fighting the red-hot embarrassment clawing inside him. He hadn't meant to say anything – he shouldn't have paid the damn cello any attention in the first place.
"Now, now, don't look at me like that," the old man croaked. "I'm from Earth myself. This here is my shop of miscellany, odds and ends I've fished from the nearby portal."
"So you're a wizard too? A Ziegler?"
"Heavens, no." The old man flapped his hand. "I'm not even a wizard, m'boy. It happened quite by accident. Sometimes, you know, where the barriers are thin...a new portal can open, and everything that falls inside goes on a one-way trip to Tielos. It was...I can't even remember how long ago. How nice to speak to another human again. And one who knows his cellos, at that."
Victor had never heard of such a thing. "So...did it come with you?"
"Oh, no. You'd be surprised what flotsam ends up drifting into a portal. Things, it seems, have an easier time getting through than people. Much of this is junk, but you never know what Tielan might find it useful. This, though…." A wheezy chuckle, then he gestured at the cello. "No one's ever given it a second look. Do you play, by any chance?"
"I don't," Victor said immediately. And that was the truth. It didn't matter that this was the first Montagnana he'd ever seen in person – and in Tielos, of all places. He'd had the opportunity to play a Stradivarius, but never the bold, passionate sound of a Montagnana….
So what. He never would, and he didn't care.
"Hello, sir." A welcome distraction arrived when Mirage pranced over, a perfume bottle in one hand and a crystal in the other – illusioned out of a pebble, of course. "I'd like to buy this, please."
"Of course," the old man said pleasantly.
Victor stood back as Mirage paid, gaze resolutely turned away from the cello. When they left the shop, he would never see it again. Just as well.
~*~
The only lodging the village offered was a stable for leemas. They left Pudding below before climbing into the loft above. A threadbare blanket covered the stone floor as if it could make any difference.
Eyes gleaming, Mirage whipped out the perfume bottle. Scuffed and half-empty, it had clearly seen better days, but Mirage didn't seem to care as he tilted his head and sprayed some on the back of his neck.
The smell bloomed in the cramped loft. Not roses, to Victor's surprise, but fresh, sweet lilies.
"That should work," Mirage said with a satisfied nod.
"Excuse me, Captain," Victor chanced, "but...could you explain why you need that?"
"Oh, because it's harder to illusion scents than appearances. Well, it is possible, but I'd rather spare my Levia if I can."
"So you anticipate using your powers?"
"Yes, yes." Just like that, Levia spiked across the contract and Mirage's appearance changed.
But not into his frilly gothic outfit. Instead, a translucent silk robe draped over his body. His hair had gotten longer too, spilling down his back in silvery-pink waves.
When Mirage looked at him, the breath fled Victor's throat. Those golden eyes seemed huger than ever – perhaps helped by the crimson makeup around them, swirling at the edges into delicate spider lily designs. Spider lilies also patterned his robe; Victor tried to focus on these, not the slim contours of the body beneath it.
But as Mirage crawled toward him, the robe began to slide down, revealing the curve of his shoulder. Victor tore his eyes away, yet his heart didn't stop pounding. Which made no sense – he'd seen Mirage naked plenty of times.
Now, though, it felt different. Maybe because of the strange smell of lilies, or Mirage's slinky movements, or his eyes fixed on Victor's face as if nothing else existed. Instinctively Victor tried to back away, only to bump against the loft wall.
So he had no choice but to let Mirage crawl into his lap. Slender legs straddled Victor's thighs; equally slim arms draped over his shoulder. The lily perfume made his head spin.
"I'm here, Master," Mirage whispered. "At long last, your Spider Lily has returned."
His hand caressed Victor's face, cool fingers drifting across his skin like raindrops. He'd never touched Victor like this before – so light and teasing.
"Master." Mirage's breath puffed against Victor's ear. "What's the matter? Won't you welcome me back?"
Victor drew in a deep breath, even though it filled his lungs with lily perfume. As if in a dream, he saw his own hands rise, settling on Mirage's fully-bared shoulders. They were so slender beneath his touch. One squeeze might shatter them into pieces.
Summoning all his resolve, Victor pressed down. Not hard enough to break Mirage, but enough to push him back. His hand slid away from Victor's face, and Victor told himself he didn't miss it.
"What are you doing, Captain?" he asked.
"Hm?" Mirage tilted his head, then a smirk tugged up his lips. All traces of sultry innocence fled, replaced by a far more familiar wry amusement. "I'm practicing. You don't like it?"
Practicing. So, did that mean...with the Zieglers….
His grip must have slackened, because Mirage leaned forward again and brushed soft lips to his ear. Startled, Victor let go.
"Come now, Master…oh, right." Snapping his fingers, Mirage sat upright. "I suppose we'll have to break the contract, too."
"What?" Victor felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. "Captain, you can't mean – "
"I can't very well show up with your mark on me, can I?" Mirage said. Victor almost welcomed his annoyance – but too soon, he pressed his chest against Victor's and lowered his voice back to the seductive coo.
"Now relax, and leave it all to Spider Lily…."