by HDA Roberts
"Looks can be deceiving, Sir," I replied evenly.
"The force and I parted ways. What do you want?"
Straight to the point, I could deal with that.
"How much did Tethys tell you?"
"That you'd pay cash and that I should treat you right."
I shrugged, not much, then.
"I need information. I'm looking for the people that manufacture a drug called Source. I need to find them very quickly."
He sat down and leant back, scratching his head. A few hairs drifted out of the thinning patch.
"And why would a nice young man like you be looking for that sort of thing?" he asked.
"That's my concern."
He snorted.
"Take some advice, Kid, go home to your Mummy and Daddy, and forget all about this place. You'll be better off; you've got no business sticking your nose into these people's affairs."
"I know what I'm doing, Mister Harrich. I'd like your help and I'm willing to pay for it, but if you are unwilling or unable, then let me know now, so that I don't waste any more of my time."
"I loved her once, you know?" he said, resting his hand on the handle of his shotgun, "I would have given everything I had, and everything else I could get my hands on to get a fraction of the concern for me that she showed for you in just a few words."
Tethys...
Oh dear.
"And now she's calling in her favours... for you," he said with a sneer on his face, "What makes you so special."
"You won't like finding out, Mister Harrich," I said acidly, my tone making him blink, I didn't like the way he was fondling that gun of his and it was making me testy, "I am not here to play games with you. Information. Now, or I'll walk."
He had the gun up and pointed at my head in less time that it took me to blink. Not that it mattered, I'd been shielded since I'd left the hotel.
"You arrogant little prick!" he hissed, "You come into my town, my office, you stand there with your toff manners and your polite bullshit and you give me orders?"
He racked the slide, chambering a shell.
"Put that down," I said quietly, "Now."
He aimed at my head.
"Hand over any money you have, maybe I'll leave you with one or two working limbs."
I shook my head and called my Will. The trigger bent and splintered, flying away and slashing at Harrich's fingers on the way out. He bellowed in sudden pain and I lashed out again, little more than a mental swat, really. He fell back into his chair, which smacked into the wall behind him with a thump.
"Bloody Magicians!" he shouted, thrashing against my mental grip, grasping at his torn fingers.
"Oh, do be quiet," I replied.
It took him a second to calm down.
"I'll kill you," he said menacingly.
"Look, either you can tell me what I need to know or I can crack open your mind and drink the knowledge right out. Makes no difference to me, but I'd imagine you have a preference."
He glared, I kept up a steady pressure as he thought it over.
"Fine," he said.
I let him go.
"Ten grand, right now or you get nothing."
"Five. I don't like being threatened."
"Seven-five," he countered.
"Six."
"Done."
I pulled six small cylinders of fifties out of my satchel and tossed them to him. He caught them one by one and pulled the rubber bands off to count the money. He took his time; I think just to annoy me.
"Vivian Price. She runs the Red Carpet, one-eight-six King's Road. She'll know what you're looking for. She is to Gomorrah what Tethys is to everywhere else. She'll want payment, a lot of it, for the information you need."
"Can you set up a meeting?"
"You're rich, you're male and you're easily parted from thousands of pounds. Show up after sunset, she'll see you," he said with a smirk.
"If this turns out to be a false lead or a trap, then I'll be back," I said quietly.
"Leave town quick, Stone. Your kind don't do well here. If you had what it takes to live here, I'd be dead right now."
"I'll sent Tethys your regards," I said, perhaps a little mean-spirited of me, but I didn't like it when people pointed weapons at my one and only head.
He snorted again, but there was no amusement in the sound this time.
I stood and dropped the Asimov I'd been working on into his head. It was a discreet series of enchantments that would prevent him from willingly harming another sentient being, which seemed to be something of a necessity for a man willing to shoot an unarmed kid. I left him just about capable self defence, but hurting people had just become very difficult for Mister Harrich. I grinned nastily as I walked out of his building and back into the street.
Well, that was a waste of six grand. I should have just taken the knowledge directly from his mind, but that set a bad precedent, and I didn't want to start down what was a very slippery slope.
Now what? Sunset wasn't for... eight hours? What was I supposed to do until then?
"Well, well, well, lads, what have we here?" said a voice from behind me. I turned to see three policemen, all immaculate, all armed. They were men, tall and strong-looking with dark hair and predatory eyes. I still had my shields up, and I reinforced them just to be safe. Gardenia wasn't the sort of place where policemen could be instantly trusted.
"Looks like scum up where he doesn't belong," said one.
"What you doing in decent places, Scum?" said another.
I snorted, which probably didn't help, but this place was just so... nasty. I mean, I wasn't wearing a Seville Row suit or anything, but I wasn't dressed that badly; certainly not enough for this reaction. Had Harrich tipped them off? I wouldn't put it past him, even if that meant he'd have had to arrange for this before our meeting (making him a bit of a turd and a prime candidate for a Magical neutering).
"Something funny?" the middle one asked, his eyes narrowing dangerously and giving him the look of an irate warthog.
"Idiocy in action," I replied, in no way intimidated. I'd already cast Mage Sight and knew that they didn't have a Spelleater Amulet with them; they were essentially harmless to me.
"What did you sa-"
They fell over. Sleep Hex. The trio dropped to the ground with satisfying thumps. It wasn't an especially strong version of that Hex, but the force of the Spell would keep them out for fifteen minutes or so. It was actually rather a complicated bit of Magic, and I'd had to sacrifice longevity for area of effect. Sleep spells, any Telepathy, really, generally required a very specific type of Magic construct, which didn't lend itself to multiple recipients. Modifying it as I had made it more easy to resist, if you knew how (not that they did, apparently).
I used Will to drag them into a nearby alley and then walked away. I didn't normally go around knocking out coppers, just so you know, but this seemed simpler at the time, and they didn't seem like particularly nice people.
I walked out of the plaza and onto a wide and busy street, but I didn't make it far before I heard shouting.
"There he is!" one voice said, "Oy! Armed Police! Hands on your head!"
I turned around.
Six men, all aiming guns at me. Two Spelleaters. I'll say this for the Gardenia Police, they reacted quickly.
They opened fire before I'd even had the chance to follow their instructions. Bullets bounced off my shields by the dozen, ricocheting around as the two constables with Spelleaters sprinted for me from either side. There were screams all around as people made a break for it, trying to escape the gunfire.
Poor idiots...
Here's one of the perks of being an Archon, Spelleaters can knock out most Magicians' powers without any problems, but I could throw out enough power per spell to get through them without much more than an extra effort. Not that I was going to bother with that, too flashy.
No, I simply conjured a pair of heavy orbs made of Shadow, making them solid with an extra jolt of energy, using a s
pecific spell from the Shadow Codex. That spell changed them from insubstantial constructs into actual, physical objects, not dependent on Magic to exist. They were still made of Shadows, but now the Shadows were actually matter. A tiny effort, and the orbs smashed into the Spelleater carrying policemen, knocking them down hard. The ones firing on me were reloading and I cast more sleep hexes.
More police were coming, dozens more from the station, all toting guns, many with Spelleaters. I should probably have been running.
But these people... they just opened fire without taking into account collateral damage, without even trying to stop me peacefully. They fully intended to do their very best to murder me, right there in the street.
I didn't want to run from people like that.
But I couldn't just knock the lot of them out with a wide-angle Sleeping Hex; there were too many Spelleaters in amongst the onrushing mob which would easily disrupt anything big enough to put that many people down (without killing most of them, anyway. If I'd been that desperate, I could always have pulled a building down on them, Spelleaters didn't work on several thousand tons of rubble, but that was a little excessive).
Spelleaters were so dangerous because they stripped the Magic right out of a spell, leaving the energy to dissipate back into the world. This could still be quite dangerous, as spells could carry a lot of energy, which was why anyone trained in the use of Spelleaters knew to get close to the Mage as quickly as possible, thereby choking off spells at the source, rather than having to dismantle incoming weapons as they were coming at your face.
Now, with that in mind, the best response against a Spelleater is a Magical effect without the need of a spell to transfer that effect, like the solid shadows I'd thrown earlier. Simple physics did that job.
In the seconds I had until I had to do something drastic (and probably permanent), I called up a well practiced spell I'd learned for precisely this situation. I drew in light and sonic energy, not my two favourite energy types, but they were essential for the spell.
The air around my hand seemed to shimmer as I raised it, re-casting Mage Sight as I closed my eyes. The Air exploded with light and directed sound. I watched through my Magical senses, as upwards of thirty policemen staggered to a halt, clutching at their heads as they slowly but surely keeled over, first one at a time, and then more and more until they were all unconscious, some twitching uncontrollably as their brains took the strain and misfired.
Sensory overload. A very useful, if somewhat ugly, spell. A word of caution if you ever find yourself using it; practice first. The first time I tried it, I messed up the directional component and spent the next hour throwing up. Cassandra thought it was hilarious.
I went among the fallen police, pulling their Spelleaters off and stuffing them in my pocket, which was easy now, as the wearers needed to be conscious for the enchantments to work. It was a safety mechanism to avoid the amulets draining someone to death; they were powered by the wearers' life force, after all. A couple more police came out, I glared at them and they retreated in short order, no doubt calling for even more backup. I got the last amulet and looked for a suitable patch of shadow. I found one just as the first police cars showed up, sirens blaring.
By the time the first man got out, I was gone.
In my defence, I was in a strange city, and I'd just declared war on the police, so it's perfectly natural that I'd get a little bit lost, alright?
Anyway it took me an hour to get back into the hotel room, where I found Cassandra stress-eating her way through what looked like the entire room service menu.
"What the hell took so long?" she asked, coming over to inspect me for damage (with grease-covered fingers, I might add) and not very gently.
"Got lost coming back," I said sheepishly.
"You reek of guilt, what did you do? Not just guilt, either, vindictive satisfaction."
"I've got to start shielding again," I muttered before sitting down and stripping off my jacket.
I told her what happened.
"You brought the amulets with you?!" she almost shouted, "Matty, they can track those!"
"Please, how stupid do you think I am?" I asked, "I left them in the sewer."
"Why were you in the sewer?"
"I told you I got lost..." I said. She shook her head sadly.
"Worst Shadowborn ever," she said, nudging me gently.
I snorted, "So, what's good?" I asked, looking at the detritus of her meals.
I ordered some lunch and we spent a leisurely day enjoying some of the more wholesome attractions. We went to a couple of casinos and I managed to walk out with a small profit while Cassandra stomped out in a huff after losing three hundred quid on the roulette tables.
We took in a show, I called homes and friends various to check in, it wasn't so bad.
Getting Cassandra to let me go talk to Vivian Price after dark wasn't as easy, but I got it done.
Chapter 7
It was about half past eight when the car pulled up to a pair of wrought iron gates set into a massively thick brick wall with spikes built into the top. The gates had a guard on them, a huge man wearing dark clothes and glasses. I stepped out of the car and into the man's glower, slightly more elegantly dressed, this time, in shirt, trousers and blazer, with illusions in place to cover my various scars (I hadn't let them lapse since I'd arrived in Gardenia, actually).
The guard looked me over and frisked me before nodding and letting me through. The house was wide and brightly lit, made of grey stone with a dark slate roof. Most of the windows were covered with thick curtains. There were more guards on the front door, which one opened for me.
I'd cast Mage Sight as I approached, and there were a lot of people in that place, and less than a quarter were human. Most of them were Vampires, but there were also a few Ghouls, some Lycanthropes and a few other things I didn't recognise by aura. The smell hit me almost like a physical thing, a thick perfume, heady enough to disorientate; the effect multiplied by low and strangely coloured lights and soft music. A greeter came forward, a middle aged woman wearing a dark green suit.
"Good evening, Sir, welcome to the Red Carpet," she said, "I'm Bianca, the hostess."
Her voice was soft and comforting, her posture relaxed and non-threatening.
"Good evening," I replied politely, "I'm here to see Ms. Price, I was told that she had certain items for sale that I might be interested in?"
Tethys told me that subtlety and discretion went a long way with information brokers. It was often unwise to just come out and declare you're looking for information, it made you look crass.
Bianca smiled widely, "But of course, Sir. Ms. Price is seeing another client at the moment, but I'd be happy to take you to her office, if you wouldn't mind waiting?"
"That would be fine," I said.
"Would you care to enjoy a little entertainment while you wait?"
"What sort of entertainment do you offer? The gentleman who recommended you didn't say what sort of establishment this was," I said, genuinely curious.
Bianca let out a surprisingly young-sounding giggle, "We offer companionship, Sir. For an hour or an evening, at your discretion of course. A wide variety of interesting young ladies for every taste."
"Oh," I said, my face growing bright red on the spot.
I was in a brothel. Oh God, what would my mother say if she ever found out about this?! She'd pitch a fit!
"You don't really frequent our kind of establishment, do you?" she asked.
"That obvious?" I replied.
"You're blushing. Most of our customers don't blush."
I cleared my throat and Bianca smiled.
"We have a number of young ladies who specialise in first timers," she said, "You'll fit right in, I assure you."
"Thank you, but I have a girlfriend," I said lamely, so far out of my comfort zone it wasn't funny.
"If you have a picture, I'm sure we can come up with something. We have a couple of fairly good shape-shifters on staf
f."
Good grief...
"I prefer the original," I said, trying not to squeak in sheer embarrassment.
"Shine's still on it, eh? Fair enough. How about a conversationalist then, someone to chat with while you wait? Can be as clean as you like."
"You charge for conversation?"
"We charge for time, what you do with it is up to you. Some just want to be held, some like a little role play. Anything that causes injury costs extra, though, and we'll have to insist that you use a girl capable of regeneration."
"People deliberately hurt your girls?" I asked, aghast, "And you let them?"
"Only the girls that like it," she replied as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Bloody hell! I just didn't need to know any of this! That last bit actually made me feel a little queasy.
We moved deeper into the house, and the sounds started to become less wholesome, if you know what I mean. She took me through a reception area with half a dozen scantily clad and ridiculously attractive women in it, all of whom smiled at me. After that, we had to have passed ten closed doors with little red lights over the handle and some three or four with green lights. I didn't know the significance, but I could guess from the sounds. Red = occupied.
I suppressed a shudder.
She took me up a flight of stairs, more doors and women, very few humans except in the rooms with the red lights. I didn't look too closely at those. At long last she brought me to a small waiting room with a handsome receptionist sitting at a tiny desk, tapping away at a computer.
"Are you sure I can't tempt you?" Bianca said.
"No, thank you," I said politely, my mind screaming at me to run the hell away from this whole mess and go home to Stonebridge where things weren't like this (I hoped).
"Francois will take care of you," she said before making her way back the way she'd come.
I walked over to the man and gave my fake name. His accent was vaguely French, and his attitude snooty, so I decided to ignore him. I sat down in a comfortable armchair to wait.
I didn't have to wait very long, the door opened and a weasely looking man darted out, his eyes downcast, his suit in disarray.
