Karhi Emelyn

Karhi met Elizabeth in September of 1940. 

He spent most of his weekends at the Chez Paree in Chicago.  It was the perfect place to find a woman who didn’t want any strings.  Sometimes he even got lucky enough to find a man who didn’t want any strings.  They weren’t in the 20s anymore—it was harder to be gay anywhere but in underground clubs—but they still managed.

Karhi sat at the counter that encircled the bar of liquor and wine.  Two young men worked at the bar.  The one closest to Karhi was a smaller man with round cheeks and large hands that dwarfed every glass they held.  He caught Karhi’s eye, and a small smile quirked at the edge of his thin mouth.

“James,” Karhi nodded as James set a glass of bourbon in front of Karhi.

James glanced behind him to see that the other bartender was flirting with some girls at the other end of the bar.  They were all sweating from dancing in front of the stage with the jazz band.

James leaned forward, hooking his thumbs into the red and white stripe suspenders clipped to his black pants.  “Karhi, where have you been?” His Midwestern accent made the “R” in Karhi’s name harder than it would otherwise be.

“Had to go to New York for work,” he said, leaning forward to hide his voice beneath the trumpet solo.  “I’m back now if you . . . ?”

James bit his lip and winked at him.  Karhi resisted the urge to grab him and kiss him.  “I think we can make something work out.” 

Karhi grinned, a shiver of excitement making its way down his spine.  New York had been unpleasant—Ilona had been there.  James always made for a good time.

A woman sat down two stools away from Karhi.  James and Karhi separated, an unsaid whisper saying, later, left between them.

Karhi glanced at the woman for a moment before looking back at his drink.  It would be two more hours until James was done with work.  Maybe Karhi could find a blood whore while he waited.

“LaPhroaig.  Neat,” he heard the woman next to him say.  He glanced at her again.  He only ever heard Lunette and Zeren order straight alcohol.  The rest of them liked their mixed drinks.

The other bartender, a younger man with slicked back hair, gave her a strange look.  “Are you sure you don’t want it mixed, miss?”

“No, thank you.”  Karhi could see the tightness in her eyes as she answered that question.  She didn’t like how he had asked.

Fair, he thought going back to his own drink.

She fidgeted at her hair.  As she did, the soothing scent of lavender and violets filled the air around them.  She smelled good.

“Who orders LaPhroaig and wants it mixed?” he muttered to himself.

Apparently not quite to himself.

“The only mixed drink I could think of with that is if the mix is ice,” she said.

Karhi smirked, glancing at her.  The annoyance on her features was clear, but it wasn’t aimed at him.

He hadn’t really looked at the woman at all, still thinking about the future of his night with James.  But seeing her now, she wasn’t bad looking.  She seemed to be in her early thirties with cupid’s bow lips painted a plum purple and blonde hair swept up and pinned to her head.  Her jaw line was soft, her cheeks delicately pink and rosy.  She wore a soft green dress that brought out the green of her eyes.  It belted at her waist with a white belt and matching white buttons went up the front.

When Karhi met her eyes, she looked away.  Coy?  Or shy?

The bartender set down her drink.  She took a sip, a slight smile on her lips as it hit her tongue.

She set it down, raising her eyes to him and smiling tentatively.  Shy, he thought. 

The smile on her face soured as she looked down at his drink.  “Bourbon?” 

He glanced down.  Bourbon wasn’t his favourite, but James enjoyed it and always gave Karhi a new one when he came in.  He told Karhi that one day he would change Karhi’s mind.  “I take it you don’t like it?”

“I don’t like that I can smell it from here.”

Karhi didn’t often come across people who knew alcohol from the smell alone.  Well, he didn’t come across humans who did, anyway.  “You can tell from the smell?”  He took a sip.  It tasted like vanilla and butterscotch.  Better than the last time James had given him some, but not his favourite.

“My father was an alcohol connoisseur,” she said.  “I grew up with a smell for the stuff.” 

Something about her tone annoyed him.  “Well, Miss . . . ?”

“Seeley,” she said.  “Elizabeth Seeley.” 

He grinned a bit more sharply than he meant to.  Especially to a woman of such . . . class?  She certainly seemed to want to show off her class.  “Well, Miss Seeley.  If you are as knowledgeable as you claim, how about a little wager?”  He tilted his head slightly.

She mirrored him, tilting her head in turn. “What are the stakes?”  Her own smile was a little too sharp.

“If you can guess the brand and year of this bourbon by taste, I’ll buy your next drink.”

She mulled the offer over, nodding slowly.  “And if I’m wrong?”

“You’ll buy me the next drink.” 

Her smile turned devious at the challenge.  But she seemed excited, not offended.

He had hoped to offend her.

He handed his drink to her.  She sniffed it before handing it back to him.  “Bond and Lillard Kentucky Straight Bourbon.  1934.”

“You got that just by the smell?” he asked.  He had to admit, he was a bit impressed.  Most humans didn’t have a sense of smell that good unless their entire life was alcohol.

The smile on her face was definitely coy.  As he had thought, the shyness was an act.  “I take after my father.” 

He nodded, tipping his drink towards her before taking another sip. 

She finished her drink and looked at the bartender.  “Another, please,” she said.  She glanced at Karhi.  “On his tab.”

The night continued on.  He learned that she had come into money when her father died.  She was Swedish though she barely had an accent.  But her Swedish was impeccable.  She lit up when she learned he could speak it too.  It was a pleasant experience, and he enjoyed talking with her.  It had been some time since he had spoken with someone as travelled as one of his siblings.  She had been all over the world.

She excused herself to the restroom at one point and James came by.  “Are you trying to make me jealous?” he murmured as he wiped the bar down.  Karhi noted that there wasn’t anything really to wipe down, but his hand came to rest close to Karhi’s.

“You’ve left me all alone,” Karhi pouted, pursing his lips and batting his eyelashes at James.  “What am I to do?”

James winked at him.  Desire thrummed down Karhi’s spine, but he held himself in check.  “I think I’ll be later than usual.  If you’re seeing her home, do you think you could still come by later?”

Karhi brushed his fingers over James’s.  “I would love to.”  It would give him enough time to work off this alcohol, too.  He was feeling a bit light-headed.

James grinned before stepping away. 

Elizabeth returned, stumbling into him as she tried to sit down.  He steadied her.  “Seems you may have had a bit much to drink, miss.”

She looked up at him with big doe eyes.  “Heavens . . . it seems so.”

“I should see you home.”

“Oh, you really don’t—”

“It would be rude of me to allow you home alone in your current state.”  He stood up and held out his arm. 

She paused for a moment before nodding.  She took his arm and allowed him to escort her out.  He had already had a cab called for them.

Elizabeth told the cabbie her address—it wasn’t too far from the bar.  However, it was far enough that it wasn’t safe for her to go alone.

They arrived at a set of stone buildings, each a loft for a family.  Karhi got out to open the door for her.

“Thank you for the wonderful night,” she said, taking his hand as he helped her out.

“I can see you up,” he said.  He still had some time before he could see James.

“Oh no,” she said.  The slur in her speech had disappeared and he met her eyes to see that maybe she wasn’t as drunk as she had appeared.  She let go of his arm as she stood upright.

Interesting.  The flush on her cheeks and the wobble in her walk said otherwise, but he could see the clarity in her eyes.

He bowed to her.  “Then, good night, my lady.”

She giggled.  “Thank you.”

He watched her go up the steps to her home.  Her hips swayed as she moved, and he enjoyed the view.

Once she was inside, he got back into the car.

The cabbie put the car in gear.  “Strike out,” he said.  “Shame.”

Karhi shrugged.  “You can’t win them all, right?”

“Where to, sir?”

“Back to the club.”

 “Right back at it then, eh?”

Karhi didn’t answer, something catching his notice in his peripheries.  There was a piece of paper on the floor where Elizabeth had set her clutch.

He leaned over and picked it up.  It was an auto license in Elizabeth’s name.  A woman who drove?  How intriguing.

He would have an excuse to see her again, then.

But for now, he had a date with a very attractive man to whom he did not want to be late.

Hazel and Matadi had lived in Ireland for centuries before they build a second castle in the mountains of Montana.  It was their “summer home”.  They primarily resided in Ireland, but they would stay here if they had business in the states that would take longer than a few days. 

The castle in Ireland was large, but it had nothing on the castle in Montana.  The land itself went for over a thousand acres.  The castle took up about four. 

A Norman style castle, it was made of stone bricks with a wall surrounding it.  Towers along the walls were lit with torches with magic fire that never went out.  The entire building stood almost entirely because of magic.  There was a strong compulsion spell around the castle to keep humans from stumbling on it.

Inside the walls, there were houses with families and a few barns with pens for chickens, cows, goats, and sheep.  Living vampires kept their livestock healthy for blood for the vampires and food for the humans that lived here.  He could hear mooing and clucking inside of the buildings with animal pens.  The houses were filled with warm lights that reflected on the white of the snow.  He could hear the chatter of families in their homes.

One of Hazel’s valets had met Karhi at the airport and driven him the three hours to the castle.  Even as a vampire, the grades of some of the roads had made him anxious.  They had been maybe five inches from falling down the mountains sometimes.  He had had to close his eyes after a while.

He hadn’t been to this castle in a few decades.  It wasn’t much different than the last time.  There were more houses and more families living there, but otherwise, it was the same. 

Marie led Karhi through the yard and into the castle keep.  As he crossed the threshold of the castle, he felt something heavy slam into his stomach.

He had expected it, but it still made him pause.  Marie also paused, clearly expecting this.

“Are you okay, sir?” she asked him.  She spoke in French.  Her dark eyes were polite, but appropriately concerned.

He nodded, straightening.

“The threshold is overwhelming if you haven’t been through for some time.”

“I know, but somehow the magnitude never hits me until I’m here.”  He tapped the ball on his tongue to his teeth absently.

Marie smiled a polite, knowing smile.  “Quite literally, if you don’t mind me saying.”

He chuckled. 

They continued through the cavernous entrance hall, footsteps muffled by heavy carpets.

Karhi had only come here once or twice to visit Hazel on Ilona’s behalf.  He had worked for Hazel occasionally over the years—bodyguard, assassin, detective.  These were roles that Ilona had forced on him, and Karhi was good at it.  His neuropathic abilities were subtle, but they were indispensable for a lot of that work.  And his centuries of living had given him keen instincts with his strength and speed.

Marie did not lead Karhi to the receiving room in which he was normally met.  She led him deep into the heart of the keep, through doors and down hallways, until they ended at a final large door.  It was a simple oak door, but the door jamb was carved with wards.  Marie brushed her finger on the doorknob and the wards lit up with pale white light.

She opened the door for him and motioned for him to go before her.  He went through the door, tense and prepared for the wards to scrape against him.

They let him through with barely a whisper of magic.  He relaxed when he was through the door, glancing back to see echoing lit wards on the opposite side of the door jamb.  They let Marie in with the same ease.

“They’re more delicate here,” she explained.  “The king and queen did not want to be raked over the coals every time they went into their chambers.”

Their chambers . . . Karhi turned to look in front of him and found they were in a receiving room.  Or, more, a huge living room. There were a few couches, long enough to stretch out on, each with their own ottomans or coffee tables and side tables.  Different coloured carpet rugs lay on the floor.  A flat screen TV was mounted on one wall, a surround sound speaker system set up through the whole room.    Different coloured flames hovered on the ceiling and next to the walls.

The décor of the room was busy and colourful, but all together, it showed the influence of King Matadi’s Congolese roots.  The coloured flames gave off a warm, comfortable light.  It reminded Karhi of the times he had visited the DRC in the past.

Sloane and Mira sat in one of the couches to the side of the room.  Sloane’s knee was pressed into the side of Mira’s thigh.  When Karhi came in, she looked up sharply.  He felt her surprise and even a small bit of relief upon seeing him.

He found a modicum of answering relief kindled inside him, too.  He had been worried ever since he got the call from Mira. 

Hazel sat on a couch next to them, King Matadi next to her.  She rose when they entered, and Marie curtsied before her.  Karhi didn’t bow—it wasn’t customary for the Emelyns to bow to the Ruaidhrís.  But he did nod to them.  “Your Majesties,” he said.

Karhi knew that many people drew parallels to Hazel and Ilona because of how similar they looked.  The red hair, the petite, hourglass form, the flawless pale skin, aged no more than mid-twenties—no one could claim not to know they were sisters.

First, it was the eyes, of course.  Hazel’s eyes changed colours, anywhere from deep crimson to violet to bright blue, depending on her mood.  Her children had the same abilities, though theirs tended to be much more apparent than Hazel’s.  Hazel kept her emotions much more under wraps.

But even beyond that, Hazel’s posture and movements were nothing like her sister.  Her movements were poised and composed, not a hint of danger or fury in them.  Her gaze was alert and calculating, but it was calm.  There was nothing hawkish or overbearing about her.  There was none of the threat that underlaid every movement or word from Ilona.  Hazel knew how to handle herself.  She didn’t believe in ruling with an iron fist and she did not need to display her power.  She was simply powerful.

And she was warm.

“Karhi,” she said, a smile on her face.  She kissed his cheek.  He felt warm at her attention.  But it wasn’t the manipulated adoration Ilona had forced on him.  It was genuine.  He did like Hazel.

“Queen Hazel.”  He looked at her husband.  “King Matadi.”

While Hazel took up space with sheer force of personality, King Matadi took up physical space.  He was a bulky mass of a man.  His chest was broader than Karhi’s by almost twice, even though he was shorter than Karhi by almost a foot.  His legs were oak tree trunks, his arms just smaller than them—oak branches, maybe.  His dark, curly hair was shaved close to his head.  He looked to be in his late thirties.

“Karhi,” he said.  He grasped Karhi’s forearm, and they traded grips.  “It’s good to see you.”  Matadi’s accent over the years had turned Irish.  When Karhi had first met him, he’d had an accent that didn’t exist anymore, but it was Kikongo at the time.

Karhi glanced at Sloane.  Her emotions were reticent, but she was alert.  She was uncomfortable.

“I have to admit, your Majesties, I don’t know why I’m here.”  Karhi had gotten a bit out of Mira.  Sloane had a fight with her brothers and had been found close to the castle.  Mira had explained about the soulsilver and the vampires Sloane had killed.  He hadn’t learned why Mira had already been here.

“Thank you, Marie,” Hazel said to her valet.  Marie curtsied again, leaving the room.

“Karhi, please sit,” Hazel said, motioning to a chair next to Mira and Sloane’s couch.  It wasn’t a command, just a request.

He sat down, Sloane and Mira in his peripheries, facing the couch in which Hazel and Matadi sat. They sat across from Sloane and Mira.

The king and queen faced Sloane directly. 

Remembering his meeting with Aoife, Karhi found his shoulders tensing.  He felt Sloane’s unease at being the sole focus of Matadi and Hazel’s attention.  She was itching to bolt.

“Your Majesties,” Karhi said, distracting their attention from Sloane.  “What could you possibly want to ask of a fledgling?”  He didn’t voice the subtext of his question.  They had been the ones to request the penance for Sloane’s breaking of the Samhain covenant.  As he had reminded Aoife, it was illegal for them to ask for penance from a fledgling.  It was to be Karhi’s job.

The court was very clear on matters of succession.  Fledglings were considered children incapable of making their own decisions.  It didn’t matter how lucid or independent they were—and fledglings were not always very lucid in their first year—the laws were clear.  If the laws were broken, the perpetrators were dealt harsh sentences.  Oftentimes, death was a common outcome.

Hazel and Matadi exchanged glances before Hazel said, “We are in a . . . difficult position.”

“A difficult position,” he said flatly.

“You know our son, Cyly,” Hazel said.

This made even less sense.  “Yes?”

“He is currently engaged to a human.”

He nodded slowly.  “Yes.”  This sounded vaguely familiar.

“Cyly does not want to turn her.”

“The power imbalance of a vampire turning their partner is understated, your majesty.”  He didn’t need to tell Hazel how fucked it was that husbands and wives sometimes turned each other.  She had turned Matadi and had then spent a century searching for every method to break their child-sire bond.  It was a control that many vampires didn’t understand until the sired their own children.

Karhi had spent centuries under Ilona’s control.  He knew firsthand what that power imbalance was like.

“Yes.  And, we have controls in place to prevent this exact issue.”

He hadn’t known that.  He didn’t get much into the details of sires and children—namely because he hadn’t had one until a year ago.

“However, Cyly does not want any of these controls.”

His brow furrowed.  “So . . . his highness doesn’t want a vampire wife?”

She shook her head.  “He does.  He doesn’t want Alice to be a living vampire.”

The more they talked, the more confused Karhi was getting.  Penance for breaking the covenant was usually some sort of labour or some sort of monetary compensation.

Karhi felt a spark of realization, but it wasn’t his own.  He glanced at Sloane; she was staring at Hazel.  “I’m Free,” Sloane said.

Karhi looked at Hazel and Matadi.  Their expressions were impassive—Matadi’s a stone wall, Hazel’s the kind smile she normally had on.

Karhi stood up in alarm as their intentions dawned on him.  “You want Sloane . . . to turn her.”

Hazel remained seated.  “As I said, we are in a difficult position.  As you stated, a fledgling cannot be asked for recompense.  And this is a request that would not go over well in any other company.”

“Because what you are asking for is illegal, your Majesty.”  He kept his words polite, but let his tone go flat.

“We are aware,” Hazel said.  Her expression was neutral, but he saw a minute tightness around her eyes that betrayed her annoyance with him.  “And it is why this request can be denied.”

Karhi blinked.  He had not expected that.  If Sloane denied the request, the penance would go back to the courts.  Hazel had made a special request to choose the penance, but she didn’t have to tell the courts what it was.  She also didn’t have to tell the courts why she was allowing Sloane to decline and returning the penance back to their discretion.

Karhi glanced at Sloane.  He wanted to continue asking questions, but he also didn’t want to speak over her. 

She could feel the question behind his glance.  He felt her response.  She was too stunned and tired to think clearly.  She wanted him to continue.  What had she been through in the past day?

“Hazel,” he said, dropping all the formalities.  “This is an insane request.  You know it is.”

She didn’t argue.

“Why ask this as penance?  Why not just ask Sloane, one-on-one, outside of the covenant, after her year mark, if she would do this?”  Fledglings were not supposed to sire other vampires before their year mark.  It was the responsibility of a fledgling’s sire to make sure of that. 

“There is a certain time sensitivity that I won’t get into,” Hazel answered.  Her voice was even.  She wasn’t angry or annoyed—just firm.

“We wouldn’t expect this to be just in exchange for penance,” Matadi added.  “There would be payment.”  He looked at Sloane.  “To you.”

Sloane finally spoke.  And her question surprised Karhi.  “Can I think about it?”

“Of course,” Hazel answered.  “We would need an answer before your year mark.”

Sloane nodded.  “I haven’t slept since the cell.  I need to sleep.”

“Yes, of course.  Please sleep on it.”  Hazel paused before saying, “And please don’t talk to anyone about this arrangement outside of the people in this room.”

Sloane nodded tiredly, looking at Mira.  “Where are you staying?”

Mira stood up, holding Sloane’s hand.  “Let me show you.  Come on.” Mira and Sloane left, leaving Karhi, Hazel, and Matadi.