Villains Deception

by M. K. Gibson

  “The Corrupted Brain of the Patchwork Golem from Sagebein,” Myst said, setting a wet lump wrapped in a damp cloth on the table.

  “Gross,” I said with a sniff. “But well done. What else?”

  “The Carapace of the Elder Child,” Lydia said, reaching up and setting on the table what looked like a bug’s molted exoskeleton.

  “That’s disgusting,” I said, dismissing the sloughed-off shell with a sniff.

  “That’s amazing,” Wraith Knight countered. “The legends said that this could only be found in the sunken city of Khour’ley.”

  “Freaking nerd,” I sighed.

  “How did you get it?” Wraith Knight asked, ignoring me.

  “Well, we have a submarine,” Myst said. “And one helluva pilot.”

  “Damn right you do,” Sophia remarked as she walked through the war room. She was carrying a comically large wrench over her shoulder and walked with purpose. On her way through, she stopped for a moment and handed me a sealed envelope.

  “Here you are, sir. It’s all arranged.”

  “Thank you, Sophia,” I said, taking in what she was wearing.

  Instead of her normal attire, my receptionist-turned-chauffeur was clad in a pair of goggles, thick gloves, a tool belt, denim overalls . . . and that was it.

  Wraith Knight did his best to avert his eyes. Lydia and Myst did not.

  “Sophia, please,” I said, rolling my eyes and gesturing vaguely towards her . . . torso.

  “What?” She paused by the next hatch.

  “You’re supposed to wear an undershirt with overalls.”

  “You honor Rosie the Riveter in your way, I’ll do it mine,” Sophia said with a smile. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to make those modifications you wanted to the Umbra,” she said.

  “Of course. Oh, and those communications I asked about?”

  “Sent and they’re standing by, sir.”

  “And the rest of the plan?”

  “Everything is in motion, sir.”

  “Excellent,” I said with a smile.

  “Now that we have all these . . . things,” Lydia said, gesturing towards the pile of artifacts, “you mind telling us why are we’re assembling them?”

  I lit a cigarette, already uncomfortable with where this conversation was going. “In order to find the rest of the prophecy and hopefully a clue to Evie’s location, we need to find this world’s Place of Memory. As such, we need the relics of Horreich’s first monsters.”

  “To do what?” Myst asked. “Clearly they’re components to something.”

  “Yes.” I nodded. “They’re part of a binding ritual. Something capable of holding a god. In this case, a goddess.”

  “You mean to bind Branwen, The Raven Goddess?” Lydia asked, then added, “Your ex?”

  And that was where I didn’t want the conversation to go. Despite our incredibly liberal and progressive views on extra-marital encounters, the topic of past relationships had always been touchy between Lydia and me.

  Sexual liaisons are just that, sexual. A carnal release that distracts the body and mind for a brief, flickering moment. But relationships—those take more than mutual objectification. Those require commitment, depth, and legitimate emotional connections. All of which I previously loathed, in part, due to my past relationship with Branwen.

  “Yes, I mean to bind her. I believe she was the one who killed Hermov. So it’s our closest lead to Evie.”

  “How will this bind her then?” Lydia asked.

  “Branwen borne into her world five horrors. These remnants of her being have power over her.”

  “And how do you know this?” Lydia asked. “During pillow talk?”

  “Yes,” I said, returning her stern glare. “And no. She mentioned once while we were . . . together that her first children were her weakness, but nothing more. After we broke up, I made sure I knew what that weakness was and how to exploit it.”

  “What did you see in her?” Lydia asked.

  “Honestly?”

  “Yes.”

  I conjured an image of Branwen. Her spectral image floated in the air for everyone to see the exotic features of the raven-haired beauty. Stylish tribal markings adorned her exposed, dusky skin. Hair made of black feathers fell to the middle of her back. Her full lips bespoke dangerous mischief, her curves demanded lust, and her yellow eyes shone with ferocity and death.

  From across the table, Myst whistled.

  “Goth girls with pierced nipples was kind of a turn-on in my younger days,” I admitted.

  Lydia was forced to nod her head. “Okay, I get it. I’d totally bone her also.”

  “What’s the fifth?” Wraith Knight asked, ignoring the image of the dark beauty.

  “Come again?”

  “The fifth of Branwen’s children. We have four objects. You said we needed five. So, what’s the fifth? Is it . . .”

  I repressed a smile. My nerdy minion had already pieced it together. Well, time to let my blerd have his day.

  “Indeed, Branwen had five original children. The first werewolf, the first Lich, the first elder being, the first flesh golem, and . . .”

  I paused and looked at looked at Wraith Knight, who was practically pissing himself in anticipation. “Go ahead.”

  “The first vampire,” Wraith Knight said more breathlessly than a man should.

  I pulled out the envelope Sophia had given me earlier and opened it, revealing a finely crafted letter on expensive card stock. I flipped it around for the table to see.

  “Okay folks, time to get dressed up. We have a vampire ball to attend.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Where We Suffer a Living Wiki, We Receive Vampire Tips, and I Get Scolded

  We were captured.

  The very moment The Zenith Umbra arrived in Zahnstadt, we were under attack.

  An attack without end.

  Without mercy and without remorse, our captor held us hostage. Lydia and Myst looked at me with pleading eyes, silently begging me to end their misery. I too suffered. I shared their pain.

  And it was all my fault.

  Why, you ask?

  Well, simple reader, there are certain rules to live by. I’d tell you these rules, but that might make you successful, and thus a competitor to me. And I can’t have that. However, there is one I will tell you for the sake of sanity. Ready?

  Never take a fanboy to the very center of their respected corner of nerddom.

  Because they won’t shut the fuck up.

  ********

  “And then there may be the Astrogathian style of vampire,” Wraith Knight said, his vocal tempo and cadence matching that of a seven-year-old on their way to Disneyland. “They are particularly skilled in mind effects, so try not to stare them in the eye. Oh, and if one of the counts asks you . . . or are they dukes? Hmm.”

  “Shut . . . up,” Myst droned as she looked out the carriage window.

  But my minion was on a roll.

  “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Because if the ancient Kostalli are there, then . . . well, I don’t think I need to explain what that means.”

  “I’m going to kill him,” Lydia said.

  And she meant it. Lydia pulled out one of her enchanted stilettos from her boots. I waved her off, but I could tell she was seriously contemplating sticking that weapon into his ear.

  I pulled out my pocket watch and flipped it open. Thanks to all the time spent outside the Umbra retrieving the artifacts, we were running out of time. Damn it. Soon, The Blessing of The One would be off, and then the gods would come for me.

  I looked out the window to distract myself from WK’s incessant prattling. The carriage we’d rented at the docks carried us into the coastal city state of Zahnstadt, and towards the manor of Lord Astroth du Cynfael and Lady Sabine ’un Thessalia. Thus far, Zahnstadt was gloomier than the other locales we’d visited. A haunting vision of how emo-vampire people see the world.

  Persistent twilight served as a backdrop to the juxtapos
ed industrial and Renaissance setting. The sprawling cityscape was a daunting, imposing figure unto itself. People and machinery flowed through the streets as blood in the veins. And said life was taken by the princes of this region, the vampires.

  Gods above and below . . . some people have issues.

  I always chalked vampire fanatics up to two types of people. Those who deep down want to be bitten, as in dominated or protected, by a more powerful being. And those who wish be the proverbial vampire in order to dominate others, demand respect, and live out their dark fantasies.

  The bitees are weak-willed cowards, probably socialists, who are too afraid to become more than they are. The biters are equally chickenshit because they aren’t vampires. Therefore, they don’t have power, and secretly (or overtly) want it so they can dominate everyone who was mean to them in high school.

  Twats, all of them. Sad sacks who masturbate to Lovecraft prose, wear far too much jewelry, think their style of glasses defines them, and try to use the word “ennui” in order to seem sophisticated.

  Which brings me back to my own personal twat.

  “And if the Sanguine Court is in session, then you have to remember to--”

  “Wendell,” I said, lighting a cigarette.

  “Boss?”

  “Quiet. Listen, I just wanted to know what we are going to be walking into.”

  “Well, that’s what I was telling you, boss.”

  “Oh, I get it,” I said. “But you have to understand, we’re not you. So just give us the truncated nerd-to-normal person translation.”

  Wraith Knight’s face darkened and he refused to maintain eye contact. “Boss . . . I, I . . . never mind.”

  “Out with it,” I said with a roll of my eyes.

  “Permission to speak freely, boss?”

  “Jesus, Wendell, yes. For fuck’s sake, just say what you have to--”

  “You’re a fucking idiot!” Wraith Knight barked. His hands, now curled into semi-fists, shook in frustration. “All of you are so goddamn arrogant and dumb. You don’t get it. If y’all don’t pull your heads out of your asses and stop acting like you know everything, then we’re going to fucking die. Fuck!”

  “That’s it, I’m gonna kill him,” Lydia said, now holding both of her stilettos. “You hold him and I’ll stab,” she told Myst, who nodded in agreement.

  “Stop, both of you,” I commanded.

  I had to admit, I was not expecting that kind of outburst. Not from a man who used to be named Wendell Dench. Normally, I didn’t allow my minions to speak to me in such a manner. But there was a passion and a conviction in WK’s eyes. So for the moment, I allowed him to continue breathing.

  “Go on,” I told him. “But . . . tread lightly.”

  Wraith Knight took a breath. “You, all of you, are not taking this seriously enough. Sure, we stole some artifacts from some undead and some werewolves--”

  “Don’t forget the mad scientists and the elder horrors,” Myst added.

  “Irrelevant!” WK barked, then rubbed at his face. “Look, all of those are monsters in their own right. But they are not vampires.”

  “We get it,” Lydia said. “You’re a groupie.”

  “Yes, but that’s not the point.”

  “What is the point?” I asked, curious where WK’s mind was going.

  “The point is that you—we—are nothing compared to them.”

  “I’ve dealt with vampires before,” I assured him.

  “As a businessman and a god, sure.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

  Wraith Knight shook his head. “To be frank, boss, you’re not much of a god, not now anyway.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “With The One’s limitations on you, you’re an enhanced human at best. We’ve seen it and that’s fine. But in this world, these vampires—they are the gods among men here, not us. They are the apex predator of this realm. And humans, even enhanced as we are, are just food to them.”

  “I had a plan for those werewolves, didn’t I?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.

  “Those were just werewolves.”

  “Just werewolves?” Myst tsked.

  “Yeah,” Wraith Knight said, shooting her a look like she was stupid. “Just werewolves. Big, powerful, fast, strong, and incredibly dumb. And if Sophia hadn’t bailed us out back on that bridge with the Umbra’s cannons, we’d be dead. Beating a dumb, animalistic enemy isn’t hard. We aren’t going to be walking into a ball full of dumb creatures. We’re dealing with vampires.”

  Wraith knight pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, contemplating his words.

  “Jackson is, without a doubt, a master strategist. He has plans within villainous plans. But what’s the plan for countering a vampire’s ability to read minds? How about their mind-control abilities? What plan do we have tucked away to nullify their raw strength and incredible speed? He might have the forethought to plan for one, two, maybe three of them? But we’re walking into a coven of them. Which is why I’ve been trying to tell you everything I know and have studied.”

  Wraith Knight leaned his head back and sighed. “We’re going into this place to steal the Fangs of The First to complete your binding ritual. But they aren’t going to hand them to us. We have to be smarter than that. Vampires, if nothing else, have a sense of courtly protocol. We have to play by their rules if we even want to make it five steps into Lord Astroth and Lady Sabine’s manor, let alone pull off a heist. Do you . . . do you all get that, or am I just wasting my breath?”

  “Well, you’re done breathing,” Lydia said as she pressed her blade to Wraith Knight’s throat.

  “Stop,” I commanded.

  “You’re allowing this insubordination?”

  “Yes,” I said, looking at my scared minion sitting across the carriage from me. “He’s right. All of it. We are walking into a place full of powerful beings. My usual . . . swagger would most likely get us killed. So, Wraith Knight’s taking point on this mission.”

  “I am?” he asked.

  “He is?” the women echoed.

  “Yes. Does everyone understand that?” I asked, looking Lydia and Myst in the eyes.

  “Yes,” Lydia said. She put the knife away but pointed at the big man’s face. “You better not get us killed.”

  “I’ll try not to?”

  “This is serious, Wendell,” I said, using his real name for emphasis. I took out two of my cigarettes and offered him one. I lit them both and leaned forward towards the now nervous man.

  “You have the most experience with vampire culture and lore. So, you will be our point man. We will take our cue from you. I assume there is a structure where a servant speaks for his or her lord?”

  “Y-yes,” he said, taking a half-hearted puff off the smoke.

  “Excellent. Then you’ll be my mouthpiece. With you doing the talking, the rest of us can search for the Fangs of the First.”

  “Okay, okay,” Wraith Knight said, getting his wits together. “I’ll be your chamberlain. You will be a visiting noble from another land. I assume you can act like that.”

  “I can.”

  “Great. I can work with that,” Wraith Knight said, looking somewhat relieved. Then, he quirked an eyebrow and looked back at me. “Out of curiosity, how did you get invited to this ball?”

  “Hmm?” I said, leaning back in my seat while taking a puff. “Oh, that, yeah. We’re not invited. Sophia forged us invitations.”

  Wraith Knight’s face drained of all color. “What?!”

  “You’ll do fine.”

  “Do you know what they’ll do if they find out?!”

  “Then don’t fuck it up,” I told him flatly. “Remember, the entire mission, and my daughter’s life, is in your hands.”

  Wraith Knight, or rather Wendell, hung his head out the carriage window and promptly vomited.

  Well . . . this should be interesting.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Where We
Arrive in Fashion, Bluff a Ringmaster, and Learn That Wendell Does Accents

  I stepped out of the carriage with a flourish of my black half cape. I adjusted my feathered hat slightly askance and extended my hand to Lydia, who accepted it gracefully.

  “Thank you, m’lord,” she said in an eloquent tone.

  “M’lady,” I said, assisting her as she stepped lightly down. Her corseted black and emerald dress matched my own ensemble. Together, we appeared to be a wealthy merchant power couple arriving to the ball. We wore matching emerald pendants around our necks along with other assorted finery and accoutrements.

  In other words, we looked like Ren Fest pimps.

  Around us, other carriages were arriving in a similar fashion. We aristocratic humans were ushered towards the slightly less grand entrance spot while the true vampire lords were greeted and escorted up the manor’s main staircase and into the opulent receiving hall.

  The beautiful yet dark manor resembled a miniature castle and sat atop a hill with black marble stairs leading upwards. The home was fashioned from the finest stone and glass from across the lands. Within the central keep stood a circular grand hall with a crystal dome. The dome’s retractable panels were open, allowing the guests a view of the stars.

  By the carriage stop, human thralls in the finest livery moved briskly, catering to our needs. The horses were seen to immediately, while several of the servants bowed down quickly to spot-clean my boots.

  I have to admit, it was kind of nice. While I preferred the royal treatment that the vampires were receiving, this wasn’t bad at all. Wraith Knight, dressed in suitable garb, stood slightly behind me while Myst masqueraded a lady in waiting behind Lydia.

  “Is everyone ready?” I whispered.

  “Yes,” the group collectively whispered back.

  We took our spot in the reception line with the other wealthy humans. Ahead of us, a mustached human man dressed in a garish ensemble of a white top hat, a red waistcoat, and knee-high black leather boots accepted letters of invitation and checked them for authenticity. Beside the—well, ringmaster—stood a bald woman in black robes. She had a beaked nose, slightly pointed ears, and a greenish pallor to her skin. As the human nobles approached and presented their letters, the green woman would stare at them in turn.