Disclaimer: I don't own anything except the OC.
Warning: This is written as a story not a fic. So if you don't like it, deal.
FYI: Reviews and even flames are welcome.
BTW: I'm looking for an editor. The only thing I can offer in payment is all chapters early.
Ch2
Voltaire had the distinct feeling that she was surrounded by wind. And darkness. The same darkness she had seen in the portal. She now realized she had seen it pulse with the wind. Feeling something underneath her, and the fact the wind had stopped, she opened her eyes and found herself staring into a pair of golden ones. She yelped and stood, cursing herself for wearing the damn stiletto heeled boots. "What is your name, rank, and jewel, and why have you come to Ebon Askavi?" he asked. He was well over six feet with black hair and, Lord, where those wings? Voltaire felt the floor tilt slightly underneath her. He seemed to be expecting something. Ah yes, now she remembered.
"I'm Voltaire," she managed at last. He seemed puzzled.
"Are you alright? Maybe I should get a healer," he asked grabbing her arm to keep her from meeting the floor. She jerked her arm out of his grip and eyed him coldly.
"Well, how would you be, if your klutz of a friend sent you to an alternate dimension because she wanted her pencil back?" she snarled at him, rage over coming the shock. She wanted to kill something, anything. He gulped and looked at her. "Perhaps you'd like to speak to the queen? Since I know nothing about this," he snarled back, the gentleness gone from his face. Well that was fine with her. Like she needed some guy to take pity on her. She followed him as he walked down the hall.
Voltaire sat across the room from a woman with dark exotic looking skin just like her own. Blonde hair was pulled away from her face and dazzling blues eyes looked down at her. At her feet was a large cat, some kind of leopard from what Voltaire had seen in zoos. On the woman's right a man sat. He was darkly handsome with dark finger nails that reminded her of a Goth. He watched her from hooded almost sleepy eyes, that made her want to shiver. She had just finished telling them her story. "Your tale is a fantastic one," the woman, Jaenelle, said. Voltaire sighed.
"But?" Voltaire prodded. If they didn't believe her she'd not have access to the gate to get home. "I've only one way to see if it's true. I must weave a web. Do you have something I could use to weave it around?" Jaenelle asked her. Voltaire was now thoroughly confused. She had to provide her with something, even if she didn't know what was going to happen to it. She reached into her purse and felt them tense. She pulled out her favorite pen.
"Will this work?" she asked handing the pen to Jaenelle. She handled it like a bomb. She stared at it and Voltaire felt a slight tug. Jaenelle looked up at her and shook her head.
"I need something you use or wear almost all the time," she said. Voltaire's hand went to the necklace she was wearing. It was almost always on her neck. It had always felt right there. Would she give it up to go home?
"Will I get it back?" At Jaenelle's nod she pulled it up over her head. The silence as Jaenelle examined it was almost deafening. Suddenly a ring sounded startling everyone.
"Merciful night, what is that?" the guy from the portal asked. Voltaire blushed as she realized it was her cell phone. Who was calling her? Who in bloody blue blazes could reach her? She opened her bag and pulled the sleek little black phone out.
"Hello?" Voltaire said her heart beating fast.
"VOLTAIRE? It's Wayra. I'm not sure how long I can hold this connection," Wayra's voice was like heaven.
"Wayra, you've fucking got to get me home. NOW! I'm pissed as is. Do you have any idea what this is putting me through? I've got people sitting here looking at me like I'm insane," Voltaire snarled into the phone feeling the rage at what her friend had done come full circle.
"I'm so sorry. I don't know if I can. The portal left when you fell through. I can't remember the order and Nick fell through too. Damn it, Voltaire, I'm afraid I can't do much else. I'll tell…," whoever Wayra was going to tell was lost as the phone broke up. Voltaire looked at it as it read that the batteries were out. Snarling viciously she threw it as hard as she could against the far wall.
"Fucking batteries! Damn it! That was my last connection home, and unless your hiding a charger in your shirt, it's beyond help," she snarled getting up and stalking around the room. She didn't care about the funny looks she was getting. Especially from the men. "This will work," Jaenelle said quietly. Voltaire felt her rage disappear as she turned toward her. "Thanks. Sorry about the outburst. I just kinda got frustrated about the whole thing," Voltaire said feeling self conscious about the whole thing. "Could I ask you something about that?" Jaenelle's voice was careful as though afraid she might trigger something.
"Shoot," Voltaire said and then regretted it at the looks she got from them. "I mean go ahead." "What do you know about the power and the craft?" Jaenelle was watching her as she sank into the chair across from hers.
"Not much. Only what Wayra, my friend, taught me. Why?" Voltaire asked a small suspicion nagging her. "No reason. Daemonar, see her to some rooms. See that she gets dinner if she's hungry. I've a web to weave," Jaenelle said dismissing them. She waited until the girl and Daemonar were gone before turning to her husband.
"What was that about between you and Daemonar?" she asked messaging her temples. Just what she needed dropped in her lap. Daemon came around and started on the tension in her shoulders. "You didn't feel it?," at the shake of her head he continued, "She was riding the killing edge during whatever she was doing with that thing. Just like a Warlord Prince."
Ch2
Voltaire had the distinct feeling that she was surrounded by wind. And darkness. The same darkness she had seen in the portal. She now realized she had seen it pulse with the wind. Feeling something underneath her, and the fact the wind had stopped, she opened her eyes and found herself staring into a pair of golden ones. She yelped and stood, cursing herself for wearing the damn stiletto heeled boots. "What is your name, rank, and jewel, and why have you come to Ebon Askavi?" he asked. He was well over six feet with black hair and, Lord, where those wings? Voltaire felt the floor tilt slightly underneath her. He seemed to be expecting something. Ah yes, now she remembered.
"I'm Voltaire," she managed at last. He seemed puzzled.
"Are you alright? Maybe I should get a healer," he asked grabbing her arm to keep her from meeting the floor. She jerked her arm out of his grip and eyed him coldly.
"Well, how would you be, if your klutz of a friend sent you to an alternate dimension because she wanted her pencil back?" she snarled at him, rage over coming the shock. She wanted to kill something, anything. He gulped and looked at her. "Perhaps you'd like to speak to the queen? Since I know nothing about this," he snarled back, the gentleness gone from his face. Well that was fine with her. Like she needed some guy to take pity on her. She followed him as he walked down the hall.
Voltaire sat across the room from a woman with dark exotic looking skin just like her own. Blonde hair was pulled away from her face and dazzling blues eyes looked down at her. At her feet was a large cat, some kind of leopard from what Voltaire had seen in zoos. On the woman's right a man sat. He was darkly handsome with dark finger nails that reminded her of a Goth. He watched her from hooded almost sleepy eyes, that made her want to shiver. She had just finished telling them her story. "Your tale is a fantastic one," the woman, Jaenelle, said. Voltaire sighed.
"But?" Voltaire prodded. If they didn't believe her she'd not have access to the gate to get home. "I've only one way to see if it's true. I must weave a web. Do you have something I could use to weave it around?" Jaenelle asked her. Voltaire was now thoroughly confused. She had to provide her with something, even if she didn't know what was going to happen to it. She reached into her purse and felt them tense. She pulled out her favorite pen.
"Will this work?" she asked handing the pen to Jaenelle. She handled it like a bomb. She stared at it and Voltaire felt a slight tug. Jaenelle looked up at her and shook her head.
"I need something you use or wear almost all the time," she said. Voltaire's hand went to the necklace she was wearing. It was almost always on her neck. It had always felt right there. Would she give it up to go home?
"Will I get it back?" At Jaenelle's nod she pulled it up over her head. The silence as Jaenelle examined it was almost deafening. Suddenly a ring sounded startling everyone.
"Merciful night, what is that?" the guy from the portal asked. Voltaire blushed as she realized it was her cell phone. Who was calling her? Who in bloody blue blazes could reach her? She opened her bag and pulled the sleek little black phone out.
"Hello?" Voltaire said her heart beating fast.
"VOLTAIRE? It's Wayra. I'm not sure how long I can hold this connection," Wayra's voice was like heaven.
"Wayra, you've fucking got to get me home. NOW! I'm pissed as is. Do you have any idea what this is putting me through? I've got people sitting here looking at me like I'm insane," Voltaire snarled into the phone feeling the rage at what her friend had done come full circle.
"I'm so sorry. I don't know if I can. The portal left when you fell through. I can't remember the order and Nick fell through too. Damn it, Voltaire, I'm afraid I can't do much else. I'll tell…," whoever Wayra was going to tell was lost as the phone broke up. Voltaire looked at it as it read that the batteries were out. Snarling viciously she threw it as hard as she could against the far wall.
"Fucking batteries! Damn it! That was my last connection home, and unless your hiding a charger in your shirt, it's beyond help," she snarled getting up and stalking around the room. She didn't care about the funny looks she was getting. Especially from the men. "This will work," Jaenelle said quietly. Voltaire felt her rage disappear as she turned toward her. "Thanks. Sorry about the outburst. I just kinda got frustrated about the whole thing," Voltaire said feeling self conscious about the whole thing. "Could I ask you something about that?" Jaenelle's voice was careful as though afraid she might trigger something.
"Shoot," Voltaire said and then regretted it at the looks she got from them. "I mean go ahead." "What do you know about the power and the craft?" Jaenelle was watching her as she sank into the chair across from hers.
"Not much. Only what Wayra, my friend, taught me. Why?" Voltaire asked a small suspicion nagging her. "No reason. Daemonar, see her to some rooms. See that she gets dinner if she's hungry. I've a web to weave," Jaenelle said dismissing them. She waited until the girl and Daemonar were gone before turning to her husband.
"What was that about between you and Daemonar?" she asked messaging her temples. Just what she needed dropped in her lap. Daemon came around and started on the tension in her shoulders. "You didn't feel it?," at the shake of her head he continued, "She was riding the killing edge during whatever she was doing with that thing. Just like a Warlord Prince."