Shadows of Amn

"Vampires have certain powers, Abdel," she said. He shook his head in answer, but she continued, "You weren't necessarily—"

"Stop," he said, too loudly. "Please."

"We should take advantage of Imoen's need for rest," she said, not looking at him, "and rest ourselves."

Abdel nodded, but neither he nor Jaheira moved for along time.

Chapter Fourteen

"Your skin," Bodhi said, her eyes sliding slowly along the drow's lithe body, "it's so … May I touch you?"

The drow woman smiled and shrugged. Bodhi brushed the back of one finger against the drow's cheek, and the woman leaned into the touch, smiling. Bodhi recognized the subtext of that smile. She'd offered it herself in the past, usually right before she made a vampiric thrall out of someone.

"Satisfied?" the drow Phaere asked playfully.

"No," Bodhi replied, taking her hand away, "but there are other … priorities tonight."

"Is it night?" Phaere asked playfully, lightly, but with the understanding that something terrible could happen any second.

"Force of habit," Bodhi admitted. "My apologies."

The drow woman crossed the dimly lit chamber, her slippered feet whispering on the fine spidersilk rug. She uncorked a decanter of wine, picked up a glass and tipped it toward Bodhi, who only shook her head.

"You're not afraid of me," Bodhi said.

"Should I be?"

"I'm a vampire," Bodhi said directly. "That unsettles people."

Phaere laughed, the sound tickling Bodhi's ears in a way that was at once pleasurable and disturbing. "I'm not 'people, Bodhi. I am drow."

"You say that like you're the only drow."

"And you speak as if you're the only vampire."

Bodhi nodded in conciliation and sat in a deep armchair upholstered in a strange, soft leather. She touched the leather in the same way she'd touched the drow's ink-black skin.

"Halfling," the drow offered. "Very expensive."

Bodhi knew she'd passed another not-so-subtle test by not recoiling from the fabric.

"You have the pieces of the lanthorn," Phaere said, changing the subject.

Bodhi nodded and said, "My brother will hold up his end of the bargain as long as you do."

"I'm drow," Phaere said. "We're all about bargains. I'm a decoy, aren't I?"

Bodhi laughed and nodded, shrugged, and said, "And you'll get what you want in the process, Phaere."

The drow smiled, her violet eyes twinkling.

"I like it here," Bodhi said, her eyes caressing the richly appointed room, lingering on the tall window overlooking the subterranean city. "The sun never shines here."

"Vampire paradise," Phaere murmured.

"Drow paradise," Bodhi replied.

Phaere looked at her sharply and said, "We weren't always down here."

Bodhi returned the drow's stare and said, "You'll get what you were promised if you do what you have promised."

"The mythal," Phaere said.

"Power," Bodhi concurred. "Enough to destroy your mother, yes?"

Phaere smiled and turned away. "I won't expect you to understand the subtleties at work. It's not just matricide."

"Of course not," Bodhi said quietly, though she knew that's exactly all it was.

It started with mist.

They'd been underground for some unmeasurable length of time and had fallen into a sort of routine, the three of them. The Underdark held certain surprises, but each was dealt with in turn. They persevered and continued on. They found traces of Irenicus and someone else at odd intervals—enough so they knew they were on the right track.

The mist, at first, was just the next oddity in the long string of oddities that defined their adventures in the Underdark. The mist was cool, not too thick, and didn't even really seem u

They continued on, maybe a little more cautiously. The three of them tried to keep closer together so as not to become separated in the mist.

"I find it hard to believe," Imoen said, "that this is just some random thing."

She'd recovered from her nearly deadly wound but not completely. Her face was drained of color, maybe a bit gaunt. She seemed gray and was tired almost all the time. Jaheira prayed over her, and it helped a little but always fell short of what might constitute a "cure."

"I have to admit," Jaheira replied, "that this is a little out of my field of expertise, but I don't think we have to panic."

Abdel drew his broadsword and smiled. "I'll try not to panic, but if something's using this mist for cover.."

"It can be dangerous down here," an unfamiliar voice echoed out of the mist.

Abdel stopped, planting his feet, ready for anything, even though the voice was obviously a young woman's and not terribly threatening on its surface.

"Over there," Imoen said and pointed into the swirling heart of the mist.

It was a girl in her late teens. She was pretty and blonde, with features so perfect she looked like some Netherese statue—the kind people said were actually petrified slaves made perfect by magic, then frozen as stone for all time. She was dressed in a simple white silk toga, and a fine silver chain wove through her almost white hair. Her eyes were crystal blue and glistened in the feeble torchlight.

"You don't have to be afraid of me," she said. "My name is Adalon."

"I'm not afraid of you," Abdel told her, "but I find it hard to believe that a girl like you could just happen to be wandering around down here alone, cloaked in mist, casually strolling through the Underdark like—"

She cut him off with a laugh that implied a wisdom greater than her age. "Not much gets by you, does it Abdel Adrian, Son of Bhaal, Savior of Baldur's Gate?"

"Why do people keep calling me that?" Abdel asked. It was his way of asking how she could possibly know him.

"You work with Irenicus," Imoen assumed aloud.

A look of impatience crossed Adalon's pretty features for half a heartbeat, then she smiled and said, "Not in a million years, Imoen."

"But you know us," Jaheira said. "You're here waiting for us. Tell us what you want."

"I want to help you," she said.

Abdel sighed and stepped closer to her, his sword still in his hand. She didn't seem the least bit afraid of him.

"We're not even sure how to help ourselves," he said. "Who or what are you, and what do you want with us? What does Irenicus want with us?"

A flash of yellow light passed in front of his eyes, and somehow the girl seemed to notice it.

"Calm yourself, Abdel," Adalon said. "He's changed you. He's brought out what was inside of you—what you, with Jaheira's help, have managed to keep deep inside of you. Your father's blood powers his avatar, and you will lose yourself to it if you let yourself."

"Why?" Jaheira asked.

"You'll have to ask Irenicus that," the girl said. "I'm sure you'll get a chance—Abdel will at least—soon enough. Irenicus has designs against Suldanessellar, and I've been a friend of Suldanessellar for a long time. I don't want to see harm come to them. I can help you help them, help you help yourselves, help you get to Irenicus. If he gets what he wants, Abdel will lose his soul, and Imoen will waste away to nothing, Suldanessellar will lay in ruin, and Irenicus will be immortal. That's not a world I'd like to live in."

"What are you?" Imoen asked.

"If I told you I was a dragon," the girl said, addressing Imoen with a soft tilt of her head, "would you believe me?"

Imoen let out a breath but didn't look away. "I stopped choosing what to believe in a while ago, thank you."

"What do you want in return?" Abdel interjected. If there was one constant in his dealings with people, elves, dragons, sons of dead gods—whoever—it was what Gorion used to call quid pro quo.