Trafficking in Demons by Michael Angel

Author:Michael Angel
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Published: 2017-02-20T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Five

Upon waking in a fairytale fantasy world, most people would probably be overjoyed. Or disorientated, depending on how they got there. But definitely a mixture of wonderment, bewilderment, and a touch of fear and excitement.

Me? My first thought on waking up for the first time in my tower bedroom was: Oh my God it is cold in here.

Once again, my modern instincts had led me astray. The small fire I’d left smoldering in the hearth had gone out during the night, and there was no thermostat or central heating to kick in afterwards. On top of that, stone walls and creaky wooden shutters blocked most of the drafts, but they were rotten insulators. I couldn’t see my breath or anything, but my nose felt as if it had turned blue.

The ‘Dame’s Tower’, as my place was now dubbed, was four levels deep. The top level, directly under the castle battlements, was my well-furnished and heated office and living area. I’d had a stone staircase and bedroom furniture installed here, in the next level below. Trap doors and wooden ladders led to the bottom two rooms, which I hadn’t even gotten to cleaning out, let alone using.

The top floor had been a general-purpose meeting room. I had been told that the bottom two chambers had been used as an armory. But I was sure that the floor I’d chosen for a bedroom had been a storeroom for spices. As I pulled back the heavy covers and got up, the air around me carried the faint scent of pumpkin pie spice.

I rubbed my arms through my sleepwear to keep warm as I made my way over to the washbasin and makeshift restroom. I padded across the room, careful to keep my bare feet on the rugs and avoid touching the cold stone floor. While I did so, it occurred to me how absurd my room would look to an outsider.

Herald had found a badly nicked wooden bed frame slated for the trash heap or kitchen fires in yet another overlooked storeroom. To my eyes, the scrapes and dings were only cosmetic annoyances. The frame itself was an aerodynamically carved mass of wood that resembled a giant sleigh.

A double-thick wedge packed full of downy feathers made up the mattress. This, plus the rather loose network of ropes on the underside of the frame, gave the bed a surprising degree of softness. The resulting sensation was like sleeping atop a large bag of marshmallows.

Topping this mound of softness were a set of linen sheets and a comforter done up in creamy white and royal purple. Said comforter and all five pillows were adorned with my quarter-field sigil. All in all, my bed set looked remarkably regal.

By contrast, the wash basin was a pitcher of cold water and a shallow bowl on a plain wooden shelf. Toothpaste, toothbrush, hairbrush, and some basic cosmetics stashed in a travel bag hung on a nearby hook. A few feet to one side sat a privacy screen and my now well-traveled chemical toilet.

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