by Megan Derr
Definitely a basement, with the rough flooring, the unfinished ceiling, and the rickety-looking stairs leading up to a door in the floor above.
He was in some sort of cage, which was in turn surrounded by a spell cage. Jackie reached out to touch the bars, but stopped before he actually did so, sensing the magic and the pain it would cause. "Damn it all to hell and back." He hoped his pa was okay. He hoped the others realized something had gone wrong, but likely it would be a while before he was missed. Of course, he had no idea how much time had passed since Firebrand had captured him. He stood up, wincing as the movement pulled at his chest. They'd left him in only his jeans and socks. He hovered fingers over his wound, wincing at the sight of it—the burned, blistering flesh, the blood smeared and dried down his chest. Damned thing would scar up good, that was for certain. Jackie spat out the blood in his mouth, tongue running over the hole where a tooth had been. Getting that repaired was going to be annoying. He hated dentists.
He hurt like hell, but there wasn't much he could do about it. Jackie sighed again and tried to glean more of his surroundings, but there just didn't seem to be much to look at: the cage, the slip of window high on the opposite wall, and a wooden staircase about a dozen or so steps away. Otherwise it was nothing but dirt, dust, and cobwebs.
He tested his own magic, but wasn't surprised to find the spell circle prevented his doing anything. Damn it all, he hoped that idiot demon didn't come after him. If Jackie was the reason Ned was finally captured after so long, he would never forgive himself.
What did he even have to do with anything? He hadn't known about Ned until he got tangled up in the whole mess, and he was only involved because Robin had trusted him with the matter, because Robin had been a good man who deserved better than to be murdered in his own home by an ugly shadow from the past.
Jackie didn't understand why they were so certain he'd be of use capturing Ned. A demon who'd spent his whole life running, hiding, and occasionally killing to keep himself secret and safe would not throw all that away for a man he'd known only a matter of days.
That didn't ring quite true though. Ned had taken Jackie home. The talisman he'd given Jackie had seemed special, even if Ned had never spelled out what it was for, and Jackie hadn't yet puzzled it out. Ned had straight up said Jackie wasn't his consort—
Firebrand had said something about that, hadn't he? What was it he'd said? "Stupid bastard is probably desperate for whatever he can get seeing as his consort is dead."
But that didn't make any sense. Ned had been a prisoner in Corrigan's nightmare house. He wouldn't have been able to find his consort, and even if he had, they obviously hadn't bonded because Ned was still alive. Had something about killing…
Oh, god. Jackie closed his eyes as all the pieces came together. The runes that covered Ned, drawn in blood and then burned or carved into his skin. The master marks at key points, especially over his heart: My heartbeat is your heartbeat. My breath is your breath. My soul is your soul, until my heart ceases to beat, and my breath at last runs out, and my soul passes on.
Except they hadn't done it right. The bastards had somehow managed to find Ned's consort and then used his blood and his soul, his life, to free Ned from his bindings. Ned was a demon who could not be bound because he literally wore his consort on damn near every inch of his skin.
Jackie stumbled to a corner of the cage and threw up, tears stinging his eyes, stomach acid scraping his throat raw.
So much about Ned made sense. Why he was determined to spend his life alone. God, if another demon ever met him, they'd kill Ned without a moment of hesitation. If the wrong sorcerers or alchemist figured out how to replicate the spell—and someone would, because people were as smart as they were dumb—Jackie didn't want to think about the chaos that would fall upon the world.
He should have left well enough alone like everyone had told him. Thanks to his fool notions, his pa might be dead and Ned was in for a world of hurt unless the fool was smart enough to run. Jackie hoped he did, but he had the sinking feeling everything had gone to hell and was just gonna keep going deeper in.
Part 09: Face to Face
How long he was stuck down there, Jackie didn't know. Too long, that was for certain. The pail in the corner smelled, the light from the window had faded off, and he was mighty damn tired of prowling a six by four space with nothing to occupy him but a lot of useless anger and fretting.
When he heard the creak of a door and the sound of feet on the steps, he damn near jumped right out of his skin. He hung back as the figure approached, biting back everything he wanted to say when he saw it was Finn Wayland. Casting Jackie a taunting smirk, Finn set a tray down on the floor just outside the spell circle. The plate was piled high with food that looked and smelled amazing: meatloaf, potatoes, steamed veggies, and there was even a bottle of beer—homebrewed by the look of it.
He wondered if it was tainted, or if they were hoping to encourage cooperation by way of his stomach. If so, they had another think coming. Finn rose to his full height, smirk spreading into a grin just dripping smugness, and crossed his arms over his chest.
Jackie almost surrendered to temptation and opened his mouth to ask questions, but before he could the door opened again and softer, slower footsteps made the old wooden steps creak. Jackie watched as a man he didn't know approached. He studied the stranger, running through everything he knew. "I'd be willing to wager you're Marion Howler."
"You would win that wager," Marion said, voice soft and raspy. Jackie wondered how old he was, 'cause he hadn't aged well—but then again, longevity came to abnormal humans as a side-effect of magic. Marion didn't have his own magic, he was just affected by his immersion in it. He wouldn't age as well as someone like Jackie. "You are Jackson Barnaby Black, son of Jebediah and Esther Black."
Sadness washed over Jackie to hear his mother's name. She'd always hated it, had gone by Rosie all her years as a prostitute. Pa had called her Essie, but she'd always said her favorite name was Mama. "Ayah, that's me. Don't see what it matters to you who I am, hoss. Or why you done put me in a fancy cage. My impression of you folks was a 'kill everything' policy."
"Generally, yes," Marion replied. "However, I think you may be what we have been looking for all these years, and the confirmation of a hypothesis I have held for a very long time."
Jackie didn't like the sound of that, not even a little bit. "Much as I hate to say it, I'm thinking I prefer you just kill me."
"Not even the slightest bit curious, Master Black?"
"I'm only curious when someone pays me to be, generally speaking. It sure ain't done me a whole lot of favors the past few months. I've already bitten off more than I can chew; I don't aim to go biting anything else."
Marion laughed, and the sound of it made Jackie want to scrub at his skin. "I forget how charming an accent you southern types have. It's been a long time since I left New York."
Well, at least he knew where they were, though Jackie didn't know how he'd make use of the knowledge. "At least I don't sound like a Yankee trying to get all their words out in one breath. But we ain't here to talk north versus south, hoss. Why don't you stop mincing about and come to your point?"
Finn stepped forward, but Marion swung a cane out, catching him on the chest and stopping him short. "What do you think of my assistant here? I'm sure by now you've noticed your guns have no effect upon him."
His guns didn't affect any member of Marion's posse, but Jackie played along. "No, it was a lot like hitting mud. I'm guessing he ain't alive, for all he acts like it."
"He's a golem," Marion said. "One of my earliest experiments. It took me many years to perfect him. You can hardly tell he is no longer human."
Jackie frowned, studying Finn from head to toe, hating that Marion was correct: it was impossible to tell Finn wasn't human. "He acts human enough—how did you manage that?"
"I transferred his soul and mind. The form needs to be replaced every decade or so, but that provides me
with plenty of practice."
"You're a regular Frankenstein, ain't you?"
Marion beamed, though Jackie hadn't meant it as a compliment. "Indeed. The Howlers are descended from a branch of that family. Very distant, but the blood is there all the same. It is where I get my alchemical brilliance, though I regretfully lack the ability to execute my own theories and ideas." He patted Finn on the shoulder. "Finn here has been my most faithful assistant, which is why he has been rewarded this way. Finn is not who interests you, though, is he? You want to know about Baruel, the reason you are here."
Baruel … Surprised realization shot through him. "That's Ned's real name."
"Yes," Marion said. "He's quite the specimen, is he not?"
"He ain't a specimen," Jackie snapped, barreling forward, grabbing the cage—and jerked back with a cry. Annoyed with himself, he looked at his red and blistered hands. "Damn it."
"Tut, tut, Master Black."
Jackie ignored that. "Ned ain't a specimen. None of them were specimens. They were people, wronged by normals and then wronged by abnormals. You broke a man and then broke the demon you put inside his shell. You—" he broke off, not able to say it, tears stinging his eyes all over again as he thought of the agony Ned must have endured as he watched his consort's life and soul bleed away, bound forever in Ned's skin. "You're evil."
Surprise rippled across Marion's face. "You know what I did to him."
"Ayah," Jackie said quietly. "What I don't get is why. Ain't nothing on earth worth that kind of pain."
Marion reached out with his cane and pushed the tray of food across the spell circle and through a hole at the bottom of the cage clearly meant for such a purpose. "Your food has not been poisoned; you may eat it without fear. I've no desire to do you harm, Master Black."
"I get the feeling you don't mean to do me harm yet."
"Well, yes," Marion replied. "As to what I did to Baruel and why … how much do you know about soul magic, Master Black?"
The question made Jackie's skin crawl. Nothing good ever came of a man like Marion asking a question like that. "Not much—it ain't really my thing. My focus was always more on binding, mostly warding and caging, with some elemental work. Soul magic is for sorcerers better than me, those that don't do much field work. I know just about anything used often picks up bits of soul, and the more a person handles something, the more bits of his soul are absorbed by it, the more it becomes part of that person. Like my guns, or a witch's runes. That's why it's important they're made right and passed on correctly. Anything oft-used and well-loved will pick up the essence of the person who loves it. People together long enough merge bits of their souls. I know demons are the only ones who can form a soul bond naturally, though there's theories that dragons have a watered down version of the ability that binds them to their Owners. There are spells that can do it, though they're costly and dangerous and practically never done. Only a handful of abnormals can see souls, and demons, of course, are the best at it."
Looking pleased, Mario said, "It's a pity more people do not study soul magic because there is a wealth of possibilities buried in it—many I have explored, but I have pages upon pages of experiments that have yet to be touched. I've not had much luck finding a suitable replacement since your father murdered Corrigan."
Jackie shrugged. "Once a dog turns rabid, best to put it down before it hurts anyone else. I only wish Pa had got to him before he hurt all those people. Wish he'd gotten to you."
Marion smiled at him, slick as oil and smug as a cat. He touched his cane to the spell circle. The world went white-hot with agony, the pain so consuming Jackie was only hazily aware he was screaming. When it finally stopped, he was curled up on the floor, panting, shaking, head feeling as though someone had taken a hammer to it. He sat up, shoving damp strands of hair from his face with trembling hands. "What in the hell …"
"Soul magic is not the only thing at which I excel," Marion said. "Remember that."
Jackie said nothing, just reached for the beer on the tray to have something wet for his raw throat. He grimaced at the taste, which was too heavy on the citrus and sweet for his taste, but drank it down. "I'm tired of talking, hoss. Just tell me what you want."
Finn reached into his blazer, drew something out, and threw it—them, actually, as it turned out—into the cage. A collar and a pair of handcuffs. Even with the dampening effects of the spell cage Jackie could feel the magic coming off them. "Put those on," Marion ordered.
"If I don't?" Jackie asked and sighed when Marion raised his cane. "As much as I do not want to do that again, I'm pretty certain it's better than whatever else you planned."
"I cannot do anything to you until Baruel shows up, and so far he has not. May as well be certain you are ready for when the time comes. If you insist upon trying to remain in the cage, I am happy to send Firebrand out to destroy that filthy club of yours."
Jackie picked up the collar, disliking the too-slick feel of it, the magic that pulsed from within, making it feel like insects were crawling under his skin. There were all manner of restrictions laid on it, leaving no way for him to get easily free of it. He buckled it around his neck and almost threw up as the spell woke and put his magic to sleep. His hands almost shook too badly to make them work as he picked up the handcuffs. Like the collar, they were heavily spelled to keep him from doing much of anything. Jackie hadn't a clue about how he'd get out of either, but hopefully an opportunity would present itself.
It took several minutes of fumbling before he got them on his wrists, but finally he managed it. Marion deactivated the spell circle and Finn stepped in to unlock the cage and yank Jackie out of it. They hauled him up the creaky stairs into a house that reminded Jackie a little bit of Robin's, though it seemed a touch more old-fashioned. The whole place looked like a snapshot of an earlier time, as if he'd walked into a painting from his mama's days, one of the fancy houses she'd left behind to build her own life in the west.
He was led into a work room that was much more modern looking. It reminded him of Wyatt's laboratory, with a long chalkboard wall and tables that were either stainless steel or topped with chalkboard. Shelves lined two of the remaining walls, and the last one seemed to be one big tackboard with all manner of notes and sketches pinned to it.
Some of the shelves were stacked with books, but most seemed to be filled with the various components of alchemy and stacks of paper bound together at one edge with twine, paperclips, or whatever else probably happened to have been lying about at the time. Wyatt would probably go crazy pawing through the mess. Jackie wanted to burn it.
In the middle of one of the stainless steel tables was a glass box, maybe about a foot square. Hovering inside it was… hell, Jackie didn't even know what: a glowing light, mostly blue but swirling with dozens of other colors here and there in little flickering bursts. Marion led the way closer to it, and Jackie was tempted to make an escape attempt no matter how futile it would be just so he wouldn't have to get closer to the damned thing. Whatever the hell was in that box, he didn't want any damned part of it.
"Don't be alarmed. I promise you will grow accustomed," Marion said, voice so soothing for a second it was hard to believe he was an evil bastard. "It's unnatural to see a soul in this form; it's disconcerting to everyone at first."
Jackie gave a slow blink, dismayed but not really surprised by what he was hearing. "Soul. That's … that ain't possible."
"Oh, I assure you it is quite possible." Marion reached out and touched the box in a way that seemed … almost loving, though Jackie couldn't reconcile that emotion with the man before him. "I had a son once, did you know? His name was Marcellus. He was an alchemist, though not a very good one."
Something Phoenix had said came back to Jackie then. "You are that one that tried to get Phoenix's help years ago, ain't you?"
"Yes, and I was most disappointed that stupid necromancer proved so useless. I know necromancy was once used in the binding of souls. If I'd had that knowledge, this
entire process might have been easier. But all my attempts to gain it failed. Abnormals all seem to share a stubborn refusal to share knowledge even as we steal it from one another. Phoenix, and other avenues I pursued, failed abysmally and so I was forced to find other ways to fill in the gaps."
Jackie sneered at that but kept his mouth shut, instead asking, "So, what, your fool son did something stupid and got himself into a mess he couldn't get back out of, and you're trying to fix it?"
Marion smiled approvingly. "Yes, exactly. He fractured his soul, scattered the pieces across several planes. It took me a great deal of work to get them back, but doing so brought me a wealth of knowledge on soul magic. I daresay no one knows more about it than me."
"You used that knowledge to carve Ned's consort into his skin," Jackie said, voice trembling faintly. "That isn't knowledge anyone needs."
"I need it!" Marion snarled, slamming his cane against the tile floor, shattering two of the dark gray tiles. "My son's body was destroyed, but I salvaged his mind, and I brought back all the scattered pieces of his soul. All the pieces are there except a suitable vessel. I have nowhere to put my poor son, thanks to Baruel and your damned father and every other interfering bastard who has gotten in my way over the years."
Jackie hadn't thought it was possible to feel worse than he already did. "That's what all this is about? That's why you tortured and murdered and hunted all these years? To build a new body for your son?"
"I am not so small-minded, though certainly that is my first goal," Marion said, resuming his icy, creepy calm. "Think of the wealth and power that would come with such knowledge—and I am the only one who possesses it. My associates have some of that knowledge, but not all of it. I hold the keys, and with them I will someday, very soon, stand where we were always meant to: right between the normals and abnormals, ruling both."
