by Noah Layton
The wrong side of the tracks in the city were a grim to a sight to behold, a myriad of flashing neon lights and bums lying in the gutter, of the occasional derelict building and of girls in their twenties on street corners, offering up their services but looking a lot older than the aforementioned age.
‘You sure this is the right place?’ I asked Scarlett, keeping my guard up with every step along the sidewalk that we took. ‘Because everybody looks like they want me dead.’
‘Oh, trust me,’ Scarlett said. ‘We’re definitely in the right place – right here.’
We stopped at a shithole of dive bar with a neon sign above the rusty door reading Tony’s. Bustle and dingy rock music played from within, but as Scarlett nodded to follow her we didn’t end up going through the door.
Instead we took a left, descending down a series of narrow stairs and halting at a small platform below street level. Scarlett knocked on a door so hidden within darkness that for all I knew she could have been wrapping her knuckles on a sheet of wood – until a rectangle of red light suddenly appeared in the dark, drawn aside by a hand from the other side of the door, and a pair of eyes appeared.
‘What do you want?’ A voice growled.
‘Something to turn my teeth sharp,’ Scarlett said, the smile on her voice undeniable even in the pitch blackness of the city evening on this lowly level.
The eyes glanced between us before the shutter closed. I heard a series of locks being shifted and undone, and suddenly the door swung open.
I felt like I was in some kind of supernatural mafia movie.
We headed inside, and the door was shut behind us. The light within was as I had suspected; the redness of a photograph development studio, gleaming over everything like a repressed monster.
The man who had let us in was huge – seven foot and entirely hairless, probably clocking in at 300 pounds. He wore a black suit that somehow hung off his figure, looking more like a series of blankets than smart evening wear.
‘Gonna need to pat you both down.’
‘Easy, tiger,’ Scarlett said. ‘I’m with the North Coven.’
‘You’re a witch? Are you fucking kidding me?’
‘Don’t lose your shit. I’m not here to do any prosecuting, so long as nobody’s causing any trouble.’
‘You won’t find any trouble down here unless you’re the one causing it. What do you want?’
‘I need to speak to your boss about a professional matter. Shouldn’t take long, and then I’ll be out of your hair… Metaphorically, I mean.’
I spluttered out an awkward bit of laughter that I failed to repress. The huge bodyguard shot me a look of pure fury, and my laughter quickly receded inside again.
Refusing to break eye contact with me, he opened his jacket and reached within it; half-expecting a weapon of some kind I instinctively went for my staff, but Scarlett promptly planted a hand on my own, shooting me a look.
The man retrieved a walkie-talkie, bringing it to his mouth.
‘Sorry to bother you boss. Got a young lady from a local coven and some asshole here with her who say they need to speak to you.’
He released the button, and all three of us waited. Then-
‘Bring them to me.’
We followed the guard down a short corridor and through a blackened curtain, moving deeper into this red abyss hidden from the mortals of the city, and into something much worse.
Beyond the curtain we entered a large, open space, perhaps a hundred feet in diameter, with a low roof supported by columns. Amongst the columns lurked beds and couches, scattered about in a manic order, most of them occupied by people from all different creeds and backgrounds.
And every single one of them had a reddened moustache of blood above their upper lips, or a syringe lying on a small table by their respective resting place.
‘What the fuck is this place?’ I asked Scarlett, keeping my staff in check.
‘You know how there used to be opium dens all over the world a hundred years ago? Well this is a blood den. Weak blood magic used to satiate and satisfy, just like any other drug.’
‘Jesus fucking Christ… And you’re okay with this?’
‘You can think of us witches as magical cops all you want, Tom,’ Scarlett said, whispering close to me, ‘but we’re not like that. We stop things from killing other people, but beyond that we’re what you would call libertarians. It’s not our responsibility to tell other people what to do with their bodies. You act, and you face the consequences. Places like this will always exist.’
‘But the blood… Where does it come from?’
That question was answered for me as we passed through another door on the opposite side of the red chamber, heading through another guarded by another guard, who nodded to our own escort before leading us into this new room.
This was a smaller room by comparison, but still large for an office. Lining the walls were a series of taxidermy animal heads, all stamped into it like trophies – bears, horses, wolves, even an ox, all perched and appearing so lifelike that you would have thought they had come breaking straight through the wall while remaining perfectly still on display.
Below the heads were shelves occupied with rows of jars, all different sizes, filled with varying quantities of blood. There were hundreds of them, perfectly situated and placed side by side, a macabre array of the liquid life that had once coursed through the veins of breathing, moving creatures.
Opposite us, situated at the other end of the room, was a large maroon-colored wooden desk stacked neatly with books and papers, and seated at it was the most average, uninteresting man that I had ever seen – average height, matted hair, sleeves rolled up and collar undone, and a pair of eyeglasses perched on the end of his nose as he lurched over the desk, entirely still except for his hands working away as he jotted something in a large ledger.
‘Leave us, Gruber,’ the man said resolutely, a deep voice speaking, commanding but reassuring. It seemed entirely out of character for the way he looked, and so did his blue, piercing eyes as he looked up at us while the guard behind left, closing the door behind him and leaving Scarlett and I alone with this man.
The boss.
‘Well, step closer,’ the man said. ‘Can’t see a damned thing from over here with these glasses.’
We headed towards him, taking a pair of seats across from his own as I tried to get comfortable despite the hundreds of litres of gallons of blood that surrounded me.
‘Thank you for meeting with us,’ Scarlett said. ‘I’m Scarlett. This is my associate, Tom.’
The man gave me a brief glance, going straight back to Scarlett.
‘I’m Corcoran,’ he said, shaking hands with both of us before looking back over at me and giving me his full attention. ‘Just Corcoran. You’re new, aren’t you?’
‘New to what?’ I asked.
‘This whole gig. This world. I can see the fear in your eyes.’
‘You think I’m afraid of you?’
‘Well, you’re in a room filled with animal blood. Why wouldn’t you be afraid?’
‘If anything,’ I said, determined to hold my frame and control my breathing, ‘I actually feel a little better. For the last few minutes I was wondering if any of this was human blood.’
The man paused, staring me down, before laughing hysterically.
‘So you are new! Ha! But you’ve got a pair of balls on you, which I admire. Let’s see how long they last. Well, you’re hanging with the witches, so nice to meet you, warlock. Now, let’s get straight to it. What can I do for the pair of you?’
‘We’re here for information,’ Scarlett said.
‘Much like every other witch that comes my way. It’s one of my strengths, you see. When everyone is so terrified to simply be found in possession of information pertaining to blood magic, the canvas of the human mind is the best place to store it, and my mind is the compendium. Well, one of the best, anyway.’
Despite the eccentricity of the guy, the
re was a peculiar charm to him that I couldn’t help but admire, even with the décor of the room.
‘And that’s exactly why we’re here,’ Scarlett continued. ‘Will you help us?’
‘I suppose I don’t have a choice, do I?’
‘Not really. Enlighten us and we’ll keep turning a blind eye.’
Criminals and corrupt cops… But what had to be done had to be done.
‘Fair enough. So what can I do for you?’
‘We’ve been tracking an individual for several weeks who has been killing humans on one hell of a trailblaze. Number is fast-approaching 30, and he doesn’t seem to be showing any sign of stopping. We know that it’s blood magic, but we don’t know what the purpose is.’
We all fell silent, and it was only after ten seconds that I realised that he wasn’t just waiting for Scarlett to finish. The man was staring between us as he sat back in his chair, drumming his forefingers against his lips habitually as he considered what had been said.
Suddenly, after perhaps half a minute had passed, the man pushed his chair back sharply and crossed to one of several filing cabinets that lined the wall behind him. Surveying the drawers, he finally found the one he was looking for, pulled it open, flicked through the files and retrieved one.
Returning to his seat, he opened the folder for all of us to see, revealing a collection of notes and the occasional newspaper article.
‘I don’t like computers,’ he said, rifling through the papers. ‘Don’t even own a phone… All of that information flying through the air for anybody to grab. There’s nothing more precious than blood and information, and I deal in both. No point in putting it somewhere where anybody can get to it, so it all stays in here with me… Of course, sometimes people miss rare information that’s right in front of them.’
He pulled free a small clipping and examined it.
‘This is from a newspaper several month ago. Small article, page-filler. A suspect escaped a police cruiser. Both cops in a critical condition. At least that’s what they would have you believe; my sources tell me that it was, in fact, a high-security bus transporting a prisoner that crashed. Kept quiet and pushed under the rug.’
He pushed it forwards across the table slowly and drew his fingers away leaving us to read. It was no doubt authentic, cut straight from the city paper. No description of the man in question.
‘Not exactly specific,’ I said.
‘Take away from it what you will,’ the man said, taking back the clipping, ‘but there’s been a trail of killings across the state that the police are trying to keep quiet.’
‘Why?’
‘Same reason most crimes are kept quiet. Public panic. Once this is figured out by the press it’ll hit the fan, believe me. If it gets figured out. So yeah, it’s the same guy. But that’s only a small part of the problem, isn’t it? That’s not why you’ve come to me.’
‘You’re one of the only people that can help us,’ Scarlett said. ‘One of the only ones that we know of, anyway. We know this guy is using worgs as back-up.’
‘Worgs?’
‘I was chased by them,’ I said. ‘He’s got two in his stead at the least. Seems like he’s using them as guards. But I’ve seen him use magic, too. He’s powerful.’
‘But he wants more,’ the man continued, ‘just like every power-crazed individual… Like myself.’ He fired a chilling, toothy smile at the pair of us. ‘Blood magic can do many things – it can command living beings, turn the strongest of objects into pulp… It can even allow a being to change their form into that of another.’
‘Like shapeshifting?’ I said.
‘Exactly like shapeshifting. But I don’t think that’s what this is. He’s saving up for something big…’ Another long pause as he drummed his index finger against his chin – ‘… He’s trying to access something.’
‘Access what?’ I asked, hanging on his every word.
‘Another world, of course. The world-windows may be a closely guarded secret amongst the witches and a few others, but they only allow access to other areas of the world that we currently occupy. If you wish to gain access to another dimension, blood must sometimes be spilled… Especially if you desire to access one of the Nine Circles.’
It was a warm night and we were well beneath the street level, but in that moment a sharp gust of wind came rushing through a nearby vent, one which we all felt.
‘You’re talking about Hell,’ I said quietly. ‘Aren’t you?’
‘Which circle?’ Scarlett asked, leaning forward. ‘And for what reason?’
‘The higher the body count the closer one gets to the centre. But those are two questions that are beyond me. That said, it would stand to reason that if somebody is willing to slay as many as this man has, he’s willing to slay as many as it takes to get to wherever he wants to get to.’
I gulped, feeling the color drain from my face. Could he have been talking about what I thought he was talking about?
From there we knew the conversation was over – we had nothing else for the man, and he had nothing else for us.
After being escorted back out of the blood den we returned to the street, leaning against the railing.
‘You don’t think this has anything to do with… With Rorian, do you?’ I asked. ‘I mean, you girls brought him up last night, that he was down there, and then…’
I looked over at Scarlett, realising that I had broached the subject way too quickly. Even if had only been ten months, the memory of Rorian and his portal were still fresh in her mind.
I ran my hands through my hair and took a walk about the sidewalk.
‘You wanna get a drink?’ I asked. ‘I could really use one right about now.’
‘I haven’t had a proper drink since we finished college.’
‘Then there’s your answer.’
Tony’s, the bar above the blood den, was still teeming with patrons who were laughing and joking and slapping each other on the back. Making sure that my staff was shortened and stowed away in the back of my pants, we made our way through the open front door and into the mild rabble within.
Despite the intimidating weirdos standing around outside, the atmosphere inside of Tony’s was much more welcoming. Patrons were seated at booths drinking and laughing, some stood by the bar top, and others dancing between both. It had the illusion of a dive bar from the outside, but now that I was here it was just like any that your average-joe would want to head into – warm and unsuspecting.
Scarlett and I headed to the bar, and a few minutes later we were six shots into a ten-shot platter that had been set out before us by the one and only Tony, a 50-something Italian with a toothy smile, greasy thinning hair and a quintessential bar towel thrown over his shoulder.
The whisky hit us faster than I could believe – I wasn’t teetotal by any means, but alcohol doesn’t have a delayed fuse. It hits and it hits fast, and we were leaning up against each other and laughing hysterically in no time.
‘You wanna dance?’ Scarlett finally said, nodding to the floor.
‘Are you kidding me? After what I told you before?’
‘Come on. Blood magic, monsters, demons and witches, and you’re afraid of a little dance? You’ll probably never see any of these people again anyway. Who cares?’
I was being stupid, I knew that, but it took the remaining two shots, and one designated to Scarlett, as well as her guiding me by the hand for me to actually do anything.
‘Just follow my lead,’ she laughed.
Fortunately she decided not to go for the crazy arm-pumping – the steady country music playing didn’t afford that anyway. Instead she wrapped her arms around the back of my neck and pulled me close, while I slid my hands down to her hips, and together we moved in time.
Maybe it was the whisky, but after a few moments I got into it.
‘See? And you said you were a terrible dancer…’
‘I didn’t say that I was terrible, I just said…’
‘Said wh
at? That you were scared?’
‘No, I wasn’t scared, I just…’
I laughed, unable to come up with a genuine reason, but good or bad, fate decided to cut through my answer.
Even in a bar that seemed as welcoming as Tony’s, assholeish-ness (a new word for this specific type of asshole) was unavoidable. I had kept my eyes out in terms of the other patrons, but in my drunken state I couldn’t stop what happened from happening.
And when you’ve got a girl who looks like Scarlett on your arm, there’s a decent chance that somebody will do something stupid.
Three drunk frat guys came stumbling through the others around us, one of which felt the need to slap Scarlett right on the ass in the process.
His two buddies looked like they were about to start crying from a mix of hilarity and awkwardness, while he shot me a look that said what the fuck are you gonna do about it?
I guess he just never factored in the possibility that the guy he was pissing off was a newly-minted warlock.
While he took off past me and his two buddies were a distance away, Scarlett looked past my shoulder and shook her head, looking between me and him. I knew that she was expecting me to do something – any girl would.
Fortunately I was way, way ahead of her.
Focus arose in my mind, and in an instant I turned and delivered a striking punch against the frat guy’s back, hitting him right between the shoulder blades.
He stumbled forward to the floor, landing on his hands as the others around us shrunk away. His buddies helped him to his feet, and for a second I thought back to the house on Westmoor Lake, where the Purple Man had appeared with his worgs.
He turned and looked at me, his face going red as a huge vein bulged in his forehead.
‘You little fuckin’ pussy…’
Scarlett stayed behind me as I faced off with them. I knew that she could probably take them all out in a heartbeat and leave them crying for their moms in a heap on the floor, but that wasn’t the point. I was the warlock of the coven, and she was with me.
In a quick whip, I pulled my staff from the back of my pants and pointed it at them defiantly.
