“But look at this mess,” Amber chided, coming into full view as she entered the hall. She wore pink wool pajama bottoms with a powder-blue tank top that was a size too small and completed the ensemble with blue monster feet slippers. She was the kind of girl Xlina hated. She was the perfect height, the ideal weight, and guys were drawn to her like moths to flame. The only thing real about her was her daddy’s money, which had bought her perfect breasts, a stunning smile, and perhaps even a perfect personality sculpted by years of private schools and tutors.
“It’s been a rough night,” Xlina said with a sigh, turning back toward her apartment door and walking quickly.
“Now just stop right there, Miss Pudding Pants,” Amber said, placing a hand firmly on Xlina’s shoulder. “You’re tracking... what is that, paint? You’re making a right mess of the hallway.”
“I’ll clean it up,” Xlina retorted, turning to look the clueless college co-ed in the face. If Amber had any inkling of what she had seen tonight, the poor thing would piss her pants. The sheer thought of it brought a half-smile to Xlina’s face. “As soon as I clean myself up.”
“That’s all we ask,” Amber replied through a sweet smile. “These late nights are starting to get common. You know, many incoming freshmen who fall prey to the wild frat parties and college nightlife quickly burn out and soon after drop out.”
“Thank you for your concern,” Xlina said sourly. When she had come to Portland, she had enrolled at the University of Maine; it had provided a good cover for her work, and at her age of twenty-two, it seemed to be a natural fit. But she hadn’t planned on Miss Cheerios living down the hall pestering her every moment and keeping tabs on her like she was the highlight of the school paper’s gossip column.
“I am just trying to help, crabby pants,” Amber replied, her false personality practically gleaming through a smile. “Don’t take your guy troubles out on me.”
“It’s not guy trouble,” Xlina huffed in irritation. “Just tired and aching for a shower, but Barbie’s evil twin is holding me hostage in the hallway.”
“Oh, you,” Amber said, patting Xlina on the shoulder and trying hard to avoid any of the sticky black goo. “That dour personality thing doesn’t work for you, dear; you need to make up for your lack of beauty with personality. Trust me, your looks alone are not winning you any pageants anytime soon.”
There it was; the mean girl that resided below the surface of the sticky-sweet persona. Perhaps the one bonus to letting the cephalopod escape was that it was still out there, and there was a chance it could solve her Amber problem.
“I’ll take it under advisement,” Xlina said, pulling her shoulders away from Amber’s grasp and making a direct line for her door. Her key hit the lock, and the heavy clank of the deadbolt gave way with her turn.
“Don’t forget your droppings,” she heard Amber chime from down the hall as she passed into her apartment, closing the door behind her and throwing the dead bolt. She leaned against the door for a moment. Lost in her frustration, she loosed a deep sigh as the aches and pains of the night flowed through her. The promise of a hot shower was the only thing forcing her to keep moving. She finally pulled herself from the support of the door and lumbered into motion.
Her apartment was a studio. The kitchen lined the wall to her left with the typical appliances, all matching black on a linoleum tiled floor with a small wooden table. At the center of the room, the tile changed to hardwood and opened into the living slash bedroom area. On the far wall in the corner, a door marked the bathroom, where a hot shower beckoned. Her living area was sparsely decorated with a coffee table flanked by a sole chair that faced a TV stand and her couch, which housed a pullout bed. Her eyes blurred in the darkness as she reached for the light switch next to the front door, flicking on the ceiling fan and light. She was taken aback to see a lithe form sitting in her chair, fingers drumming impatiently.
“Not a great night,” the woman almost purred. Her voice was deep but sultry instead of masculine. She sat legs crossed in the chair, leaning back like she owned the place. She had shoulder-length black hair that was pulled back into a ponytail save for the three of four strands that fell perfectly from her bangs down over her face. She wore a black business suit jacket with a white blouse and a matching black pencil skirt, which was cut a little high on the side, showing her shapely legs in black sheer stockings with matching heels. She looked like a chic Wall Street businesswoman.
“I didn’t get much help from you,” Xlina said, always amazed at Valeria’s ability to come and go as she pleased, doubting the ever-watchful Amber had even noticed her passing. “I could have used some support.”
“Indeed you could have,” Valeria responded with a nod, motioning to Xlina’s injured arm. “That looks bad. I have to remind you, however, I am your court appointed social worker, not your personal bodyguard.”
Xlina smirked. As usual, Valeria referenced her cover in the human world. After a particularly nasty outing in Massachusetts, Xlina had been dragged in, half dead, to the emergency room at Boston General. Imagine their surprise when she had ranted about werewolves in the city. As a precautionary measure, she had been blue papered and spent four weeks under “medically supervised treatment,” which was far less medical and much more confinement. She had been grilled by shrinks, given a steady stream of sedatives, and abandoned by her father, who considered her predicament a lesson to stay out of the affairs of the druids and focus instead on her schoolwork. Then Valeria had showed up, her court appointed social worker appearing like a guardian angel in her time of need.
Valeria had managed to get Xlina released and facilitated her transfer from Boston University to the University of Maine with no questions asked. She had been a blessing. She wore a glamor, like the creature in the alley, that allowed her to move about among humans and act as one of them. She had a job, paid her bills, and for all intents and purposes lived a normal human life. Except she focused her practice on those who were like Xlina: the awakened. It was an odd choice for a creature to live in the human world. Some did it to protect the Mist between worlds, and some functioned as ambassadors, maintaining a fragile truce between the humans and the Otherworlders. Yet in Valeria’s case, Xlina suspected it allowed her the freedom to do as she pleased.
“Cephalopod,” Xlina shrugged, extending her arm to show the circular burns where the tentacles’ suckers had latched onto her flesh. “It got away, but it lost an eye for its efforts, and it knows I’m hunting it, so hopefully it will move on and find a safer food source.”
“Impressive.” Valeria shook her head in dismay. “Of all the humans I have met, you’re the second to so foolishly court death. Is existence that terrible?”
“Sitting on my hands is terrible,” Xlina shot back. “What am I supposed to do? Watch a horror show in my dreams every night and play Sally homemaker during the day? Find a nice guy, settle down, then when a good doozy of a night terror rolls through, I cook him like an eel in my sleep?”
“You will eventually learn control,” Valeria retorted. “Your daddy issues aside, there is no reason to go bumping against things that go bump in the night like some battle-crazy troglodyte... at least not in the way you have been going about it.”
“Control? That’s your answer,” Xlina barked defensively. It was a familiar argument, like a comfortable old sweater that you pull out and snuggle in because it reminds you of home. “Always control. I have had these dreams since I was three. I incinerated my favorite Care Bear plushie when I was four because I dreamed about a vamp down the street. It’s been nearly twenty years. I would think I’d have learned some level of control by now.”
“Not with that attitude, young lady,” Valeria said dismissively with a shake of her head. “Listen, tomorrow after class, I want you to go meet another of my clients. I may not be able to help you in your foolish misadventures, but at the very least you could stop going out on these suicide missions alone.”
“Well,” Xlina stammered, sh
ocked at the turn of events. She had expected a long therapy session instead of actual help. “Thank you.”
“See? Was that so hard?” Valeria teased with a smile. She had a alluring look about her that sent shivers through Xlina. She could be cold, nagging, and overbearing, but there was something exotic about her. Powerful. Confident. Xlina was secure enough in her sexual preferences to admit that Valeria was attractive—or at least her glamor was.
“So where can I find this client?” she asked, turning to open the bathroom door and peeling her halter top off as she flicked on the light and partially closed the door behind her. She discarded the halter top into the laundry basket and drew a washcloth from the shelf behind the door. Xlina turned the sink faucet on, letting the water warm up before she began washing off the sticky black ink. She was definitely going to need a long hot shower.
“The farmers market,” Valeria called from the other side of the bathroom door. “He’ll be selling cured meats and jerky. Don’t buy any, and definitely don’t eat it if he offers it to you. He’s an odd duck, but tell him I sent you, and he’ll help.”
“Doesn’t this break your whole client confidentiality code you shrinks have?” Xlina chuckled, raising her voice so she could be heard in the other room as she scrubbed. Her arm was going to require something more delicate, a soak perhaps.
“I’m not a shrink,” she called back defiantly. “I’m a therapist. One who has clearly overstayed her welcome. I’ll show myself out.”
“Sorry,” Xlina called back. “The smell of low tide is killing me. I have to get this squid juice off of me. He shot it from his belly button.”
“That wasn’t his belly button,” Valeria chuckled. “Like the squid and octopi here in the Earth Realm, cephalopods store their ink in a fluid sack. When threatened, they flex their muscles and spray the ink from their anuses.”
The wave of nausea returned as Valeria’s words sunk in. Just when she thought she couldn’t possibly be more disgusted. She really needed that shower.
“That can’t be,” Xlina responded, her voice filled with disbelief. “It shot me from the front.”
“If you’re going to meddle in the affairs of the Otherworld, you are going to need to leave concepts such as all of creation conforming to human anatomy designs behind,” Valeria called back with a resounding chuckle. Xlina thought about the creature, about the lack of ribs she had noted on her first attack and how her elbow strike should have forced the air from its lungs but didn’t. She could only mutter under her breath and concede that the creature had used spray from its anus to make its escape.
“Thanks for that,” Xlina said dryly. “I could have gone the rest of my life without knowing that I was bested by... butt spray.”
“Cephalopods don’t have buttocks,” Valeria quipped. “Perhaps I should have transferred you to a nice university in the Otherworld. Some anatomy classes wouldn’t hurt.”
“Not on your life,” Xlina called back through the door as she kicked off her ankle boots and peeled off her leather pants and bikini briefs. She reached beyond the shower curtain to fumble the stainless steel knob to hot and let the water run. “Will I see you tomorrow?”
“No,” Valeria’s voice came from close behind her. Xlina spun defensively, startled to see Valeria through the crack in the bathroom door. “I have other business to attend to, matters that require my direct involvement, and you need to heal that arm. No more hunting for you until you get full movement back. AND focus on your schoolwork. It’s only a cover if you don’t fail all your classes and manage to stay enrolled.”
“Yes, ma’am; it’s a promise,” Xlina said bashfully. She didn’t know how much of her Valeria could see through the crack in the door, but standing nude in her bathroom, she felt exposed. She reached the door and pushed it shut. Leaving her alone at last to her hot shower. Valeria would be gone before she got out. She was certain of it. She had a way about her, half teasing, half serious. Xlina could never tell what her true intentions were, but she had been nothing but helpful, and she was, after all, court assigned.
“The hallway,” Xlina gasped, remembering her assurance to Amber that she would return to wipe up the mess. “Let the prom queen handle it.”
She shrugged her cares away, pulling the lever to switch the water from the showerhead to the tub and gently flicking the stopper in place with her foot as she eased herself down into the tub. She had earned a good soak.
Chapter Two
The Hungry
The farmers market was a staple for the trendy college students, providing a gathering place for vegans, vegetarians, and other assorted health nuts. Its setup, conveniently across from the University of Maine campus in Holder’s Park, was also ideally suited to drawing a throng of students, faculty, and random market-goers. It was always bustling at this time of day. Xlina’s last class, applied mathematics, let out at two pm—prime shopping time for the market. Due to the crowds, she tried to avoid the market at all costs, shopping instead at the corner market around the corner from her apartment. She didn’t drive, but it wasn’t a hindrance in a small place like Portland, which prided itself on sustainability and boasted a plethora of natural gas-fueled buses and bike rental kiosks. One could easily get around without the luxury or expense of a car.
She strolled aimlessly, browsing the collected stalls and trying to look like a casual shopper. Her oversized University of Maine sweater was bulky and hot on the uncommonly warm autumn day, but it hid the damage to her arm and avoided any uncomfortable questions. The last thing she needed was a rumor spreading about the emo girl who liked to hurt herself. Her hands hung by the thumbs from her blue jeans, and in stark contrast to her outfit from the night before, she appeared like the typical Maine girl next door. One would never guess she was searching the farmers market for an awakened.
“Sheep,” came a friendly male voice to her left. She turned, startled from her thoughts, to see a small stand set up with a rotisserie and a dehydrator used for making jerky. Lengths of pepperoni and sausage hung by the link from the top of the multicolored stand. It resembled a cross between a butcher shop and a flea market. She noted the sign hanging from the market stall. Cut into a heart shape, it was painted deep red with black cursive lettering that read Food from the Heart.
“Excuse me,” she said, making eye contact with the vendor as she took a few steps in his direction. He was pale, with long black hair that hung to his shoulders and a matching well-kept goatee. He wore a dark red, almost black, jacket that looked like that of a carnival barker, with black khaki pants and polished black dress shoes. He leaned on a black cane with an ivory head that was carved to look like Dracula. He would be perfectly placed in a Victorian setting, but from behind the market stall selling meats, he couldn’t have looked like more of an oddity.
“Them,” he replied, pointing his cane to the throng of students assembled around a stall across the parkway featuring the latest trends in vegan foods posing as meat. “The sheep follow the fad, they eat the grass, while the wolves prowl, sustained by the sheep. Such is the nature of life, is it not? You, my lady, look like a wolf.”
“Are you calling me a dog?” Xlina asked coyly, coming to stand in front of the strange vendor. He was handsome in a peculiar way, and for a moment she let her girlish desires flood over her, just taking the moment to appreciate the attention. After a rough night, a little harmless flirting was just what she needed for a pick-me-up. Besides that, this had to be Valeria’s client she was here to meet. How many jerky vendors could the farmers market possibly have? He definitely looked the part of an awakened.
“Ahhh, the derogatory connotation made popular by your rap music,” he replied with an accent that sounded Eastern European. “No. That’s a filthy word meant to demean and degrade; you are powerful. The alpha wolf stalking the market searching for her prey while pretending to be a sheep.”
“What makes you so certain?” she replied quizzically. The man certainly was an oddity.
“A wol
f can recognize the difference between the sheep and other wolves,” he remarked with a sly, knowing grin. “And Valeria has good taste in clients.”
“Awww, and here I thought we could play this dance a while longer, my mysterious meat man,” Xlina cooed. She allowed for a hint of disappointment in her voice, hoping it didn’t make her sound desperate.
“Ahhh, the wolf likes to play,” he continued with a twirl of his hand. “Well, chérie, please indulge me, and try my wears.”
With a sweeping bow, he gestured to his stand, following with a flourish as his hand swiped invitingly across his display. Xlina had remembered the warning from Valeria to avoid the food, but that could just have been a personal preference of the sleek woman, and she hated to disappoint the man before her, who was obviously struggling to make sales given his products’ lack of popularity with the “meat is murder” crowd. He was fortunate he didn’t have protestors picketing his stall. She reached deep in her pockets, producing four crinkled dollar bills, a scuffed quarter, and a dime that was half covered in a sticky substance. She dumped it on the counter with an awkward smile.
“What can I get with this?” she asked, looking at the display nervously. She had used most of her funds for the week already during the stake-out at Pandora’s and was running a little tight. Had she nabbed the squid the night before, she might have gained something of value on the black magic underground. Given her failure, however, she would have to wait until her next shift waiting tables at the Sea Shanty and hope the tourists were good tippers. A certainty in the summer months, but unlikely for late autumn.
“Hmmmm.” The man stroked his goatee, drawing it down into a point below his chin. He seemed deep in thought, almost as if he were considering the meaning of life itself. Then, as if struck by a flash of insight, he fished into his rotisserie with a pair of greasy tongs and produced a four-inch-long homemade sausage.
The Infernal Games Page 3
