by Terence West
Amused, I decided to play along. “And if it doesn't cooperate?"
"Puree,” Toby answered.
I tried to take in the moment, but it was simply too strange. I had a Werewolf and a Goblin in my kitchen threatening to blend a Sprite into a fine paste. Where was Rod Serling when you needed him? I had definitely entered the Twilight Zone. I turned back to the wolf. “Any luck?"
"No.” Toby sighed. “I don't think the Sprite thinks we'll actually hurt it so it isn't talking."
I rubbed my temples for a second trying to regain some of my composure. “Okay, let's do this right."
Toby cocked an eyebrow. “What?"
Marching into the kitchen I snapped my fingers at Karl. “Move."
The Goblin leapt off the blender without protest.
"New player.” The Sprite laughed as I approached.
Reaching into the blender jar, I snatched the three-inch tall Sprite careful not to smash it. Scooting the blender aside, I pressed the Sprite to the counter and reached into a nearby drawer with my free hand. Grabbing the largest knife possible, I held up the shiny silver blade for the Sprite to see. “I'm going to ask questions and you're going to answer,” I instructed.
"Or what?” the Sprite asked confidently. “You're Brimstone. You won't hurt me."
I stared at my would-be assassin through narrowed eyes. Its yellow flesh looked rich against my white hand. Completely naked, Sprites had no need for clothing. Asexual, there were no male or female Sprites. They simply multiplied like cells through mitosis. One Sprite became two. Two became four. Four became eight ... you get the picture. Only a small, empty quiver for its Pixie Sticks was slung across its chest. The Sprite's hair, green and wild, reminded me of the novelty Troll dolls that flooded stores a decade ago. Sprites were notoriously vain about their hair, often dying it every color of the rainbow and spending hours styling it. Sprite hair was a status symbol in their society. The bigger and brighter it was, the better.
"Let's try this again,” I said as I held the knife just above its hair, “I ask questions, you answer them. Understood?"
The Sprite snorted grotesquely at my threat. “You don't have the huevos, Princess."
"You don't know who you're dealing with.” Karl snorted.
"Well,” I smiled, showing my perfect fangs as my eyes shifted to black, “you're right about one thing.” Pressing down, I cut a massive chunk of hair off the Sprite's head. The tiny Inhuman shrieked in disbelief as I picked the hair up from the counter and showed it to it. “I start on body parts next,” I warned.
"Okay, okay! Don't cut me again,” the Sprite gasped between sobs. “Cripes, lady! You're freaking insane!"
Pleased with our captive's newfound spirit of cooperation, I handed the wee beast back to Toby. I desperately needed to sit down. Going vampy on the Sprite had taken more out of me than I realized.
Toby dropped the Sprite back into the blender as I perched on the edge of the counter. “What's your name?"
The Sprite peered angrily through the glass at me then gave to his attention to Toby. “Braxis."
"Good,” Toby said, delighted from finally getting an answer to one of his questions. “Who sent you to kill us?"
"Who's ‘us,’ dog-boy?” the Sprite asked. “You got a mouse in your pocket?"
Karl rolled onto his back and laughed out loud.
"We were sent to kill the Vampire bitch who cut off my mane,” Braxis explained, running his hands through his now spiky hair.
I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
"We just tried to kill you and the annoying Goblin to get to her,” the Sprite offered cheerfully as he pointed to me. “Kind of a buy one get one free kind of deal, you know?"
Toby crossed his arms across his chest. “So Karl and I were basically added bonuses?"
The Sprite nodded and shrugged. “Whatcha gonna do?"
"It's good to be needed,” Toby joked, trying to hide his discomfort. The wolf shook his head and turned away.
Ignoring Toby, I glanced angrily at the Sprite. “Who hired you to kill me, Braxis? I want a name!” I started to lift the knife from the counter again.
Braxis pushed himself as far away from me in the jar as it could, its tiny hands clawing at the glass. “Lucas,” it breathed. “Lucas Nash."
I knew the name. He was another powerful figure connected with Brimstone. Why did it seem like the fates were aligning against me? What did I ever do to them? “Why does Lucas want me dead?"
Braxis was silent.
I snatched the knife fully into my hand. “Why did Lucas hire you to kill me?"
"I don't know,” Braxis spat. “I'm just a contract employee! I don't know why."
I set the knife back on the counter. That wasn't the answer I wanted to hear, but I knew it was the truth. “Okay,” I turned to Karl, “keep an eye on the Sprite."
Karl jumped up from the counter next to me and charged toward the blender.
"And don't kill it,” I warned him.
"Crud.” The Goblin skidded to a stop and sighed. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he kicked the blender.
Scooting off the edge of the counter, I paused to make sure I was still strong enough to keep my balance. Turning back toward the living room, I frowned. I caught sight of my partner standing in the dark staring out the window. He was sulking. Fantastic. That's all I needed tonight, a morose Werewolf.
"Toby,” I said, announcing my presence. I knew how he hated it when I snuck up on him.
The Werewolf glanced over his shoulder to acknowledge me but returned his gaze to the window.
I moved closer. “What's the matter?"
Toby shook his head as if to say, Nothing.
"Come on,” I pushed playfully.
He spun and faced me. His face was a mixture of anger and frustration. “I was interrogating that stupid Sprite for almost forty minutes before you woke up and it wouldn't tell me a thing!"
Was that really his problem? That I had gotten the Sprite to talk when he couldn't? “Are you serious?"
"It just proves why you're one of Brimstone's top Seekers.” He paused uncomfortably. He stepped away from the window and closer to me. His face seemed stern in the low light, harder than I could ever recall seeing it. “You're willing to take chances, and my gut instinct is to run."
I knew this would come up again. His comments to me at Chithula's compound were haunting him. “You're a good Seeker,” I offered. “You just wanted to protect me."
I could hear Karl razzing the Sprite again; his strident voice was slowly boring into my brain.
"I can't do this,” Toby said in defeat.
"What are you talking about?” I lowered my voice. “Toby, I need you."
"You don't need anyone,” the Werewolf growled. “I'm just getting in the way."
He was angry and I didn't understand why. “Toby,” I said, reaching for him, “wait. Please?"
"I don't know what I'm doing,” he lashed out. “First it's information that says Matthew Sumner, a Brimstone Overseer, may be connected to some kind of plot to sabotage the Syndicate, and now Lucas Nash the Warlock, a known Brimstone freelancer, is trying to kill you? None of this makes sense.” He sank down onto my couch. “This is all too much."
It suddenly clicked in my mind. He was scared, for himself and for me and he simply didn't know how to handle it. My face softened. I sat down on the couch next to him and lowered my gaze. “I can't do this by myself."
A pregnant pause grew between us.
I saw Toby's hand tentatively move toward mine. I made no motion to stop him. I could hear the pace of his heart quicken. As his fingertips brushed against the back of my hand, I felt an electric spark run up my arm. “Rose,” he said quietly.
I brought my gaze up to match his.
He looked at my face as though he had never seen it before. “I apologize.” He took a deep breath. “It's all so overwhelming."
"I know.” I smiled. “But we can do this."
Toby smiled, even though I knew it was just for show.
"Are you two done? I'm gonna be sick!"
I looked up to see Karl watching us from the kitchen making pretend retching noises as he grabbed his stomach. He was worse than having a toddler around. “Shut up, Karl."
"Rose and Toby sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G,” the Goblin sang mockingly. Worst of all, he was starting to dance, shaking his so-called glorious green ass. “First comes love, then comes marriage—"
I snatched a pillow off the couch and flung it at him. The stuffed projectile hit him and knocked him into the sink. I heard him hit with a dull thump. I looked at Toby with wide eyes.
I hadn't meant to kill him.
Before Toby even stood up, I was off the couch, across the living room, and into the kitchen. Tossing the pillow out of the way, I lifted Karl out of the sink. I pushed a stack of junk mail out of the way and set him gently on the counter. “Karl?"
"Woo-hoo!” The Sprite laughed from the blender jar. “Nice shootin'!"
The Goblin slowly opened his green eyes. He tried to look at me, but couldn't seem to focus. He pointed his finger accusingly at the empty space next to me. “You'll be hearing from my attorney.” With that, his head fell limp as he passed out.
At least he wasn't dead. Slipping him into my arms as though he were my infant, I walked back into the living room and set him in the recliner. “Where did you find this guy?” I asked Toby as I put a blanket on Karl.
"We play poker on Tuesday nights,” Toby replied.
"Nice.” I looked down at the Goblin. He looked like a favorite doll tucked neatly in the chair. “Since Karl's sleeping here tonight,” I turned back to the wolf, “I think you should stay too. You can sleep on the couch. There are blankets next to it."
"Thanks.” Toby peered over the arm and found the blankets. Grabbing several, he dropped them on the couch next to him.
I started for my bedroom.
"Rose?"
I stopped and looked back at Toby. “Yeah?"
"Are we cool?"
Smiling, I nodded at my partner. “Yeah, we're cool. Goodnight, Toby."
"Night, Rosy.” Toby pulled the blankets onto his lap and stretched out on the couch. It was barely long enough for him.
Looking at him one last time, I seriously considered it. He seemed willing. Despite his unease with my true nature, and Lord knows it's been a long time for me. I ran my fingertips down the doorframe imagining it was his chest. I couldn't.
Sighing, I walked into my bedroom and closed the door.
Chapter 17
The smell of blood woke me.
I was up and out of bed before my conscious mind was aware of what my body was doing. My hunger pushed me to my bedroom door. Somehow remembering my guests, I snatched my robe and pulled it over the black tank top and panties I had worn to bed. The blood's odor was sweet and heavy on the air. It seemed to waft into my room and caress my face. I was starving.
Throwing open the door, I stopped dead in my tracks. This wasn't my apartment. I ran my hand over my face. This didn't even look like Earth. You know those designs by M.C. Escher with upside down and backwards staircases leading to doors set at impossible angles? It felt like I was smack in the middle of one. From my vantage point on the floor—or was it really the roof?—alternating black and white catwalks twisted around each other creating massive knots while staircases shot vertically into the ceiling over a checkerboard floor. Doors opened from every direction that seemed to lead nowhere, and everywhere at once. I was standing in a room that scoffed at those that only utilized three dimensions. And it was making me nauseous to look at.
Directly ahead of me was a small table. A single, yellow mug occupied the center. Filled with still-warm blood, it beckoned to me. My senses were on overload, but I couldn't resist the smell. My bare feet plopped against the cold floor sending echoes off into the various dimensions as I approached. I studied the table and mug. Unlike this place, there didn't seem to be anything fantastic about it. It was simply a table and porcelain mug. Ravenous, I started to reach for the blood. I could already feel its warmth sliding down my throat replenishing me. I wanted it. No, more than that, I craved it.
I stopped and took a step back. I couldn't do it. The alarms in my head were blaring. What was this place? Was I dreaming?
"This isn't a dream,” a disembodied voice answered. It was deep, smooth, and creamy in tone. “The blood is very real,” the voice paused, “and completely safe."
I refused. My hunger had temporarily overwhelmed me, but I was in control again. I looked up into the room that seemed to rise indefinitely. “Where am I?"
I saw a tiny figure emerge from a far door at least four levels above me. Walking down a vertical catwalk, he seemed to be standing on it horizontally with no problems. From this distance, I couldn't manage anything in the way of description. “This is my home,” its voice boomed as if right next to me. “I admit, it's a little extravagant, but I find the design stimulates my imagination."
I pulled my robe tighter around my frame as the air in the room seemed to cool at the figure's entrance. “Who are you?"
"Ah!” the figure remarked exuberantly. “I thought you knew! Time for a proper introduction."
The figure retreated into a door and emerged from another—upside down—on the opposite wall. It seemed normal physics weren't in effect here. Walking briskly along the catwalk, he stopped before me, his maroon robe displaying no signs of bowing to gravity. Made from thick wool, his robe draped off his shoulders and licked at his feet. The long, V-shaped neckline showed the collar of an expensive black dress shirt with a blood-red tie knotted at his throat. Probably in his late sixties, his facial features seemed to be chiseled out of granite, while his mousy brown hair fell lifelessly over his brow. A pair of smoky black sunglasses perched on his nose hid his eyes. Only the tips of his perfectly white sneakers were visible below the robe.
"I'm sorry, Rose. I thought you knew who I was."
How did these nuts all know my name?
He extended his hand down to me. “Most call me Lucas."
Fear pulled me several steps back from him. “Lucas Nash the Warlock?"
Lucas bowed, confirming the answer. “Don't worry, my dear,” he laughed, “I won't try and kill you here. You're my guest and that wouldn't be proper in the slightest. At least,” he smirked, “until you leave."
His threat sent a chill down my back. I knew he meant it. “Why am I here?"
Lucas looked more like a professor from old college photos than a powerful, and possibly evil, Warlock. He had an air of power and knowledge about him, yet he seemed quite gracious with nearly flawless manners. Lucas stood tall and clasped his hands behind his back and started to pace. “I find myself in somewhat of a quandary."
I remained silent, but my confidence was shrinking. I was in his domain at his mercy. Lucas held all the cards.
"First, congratulations on surviving the Sprite attack,” the warlock said respectfully. “It's amazing how persistent those little creatures can be, but you and your companions stopped them. Well done.” He lowered his head slightly. “It is a shame some had to die though. They were good employees."
"Indeed,” I replied stoically.
Lucas started to continue, but paused when his gaze caught the still full mug of blood on the table. He seemed slightly perturbed I hadn't accepted his offer. “I assure you the blood is safe.” He paused. “But it's getting cold. You really should drink it before it starts to coagulate."
I looked at the blood one last time then returned my gaze to Lucas. “No thank you."
"I know you're hungry, Rose,” Lucas pressed. “If you think you will offend my senses by drinking blood in front of me, you won't. I have worked with many, many Vampires in my time. Please,” he said, gesturing to the mug.
"I'm fine,” I assured the warlock.
"Very well,” he said then sighed. Leaping down—or was it his “up"?—he spun in the air and landed on h
is feet directly in front of me. “Tell me about the Ifrit."
"Who?” I played coy.
"Chithula,” Lucas confirmed. There was a sharp edge to his voice that wasn't there before. He had dispensed with the pleasantries and was getting down to business. “What did he tell you?"
"That was a very private conversation. I don't think it needs repeating,” I said boldly, deciding that if I were to die here, I would do so with my dignity intact.
"This isn't the time for bravery, child,” he threatened, even though I was certainly older than him. “I want to know what the Ifrit told you. Tell me."
"That would violate Seeker/Demon confidentiality rules,” I mocked.
"I can take it from you if I want,” Lucas said spitefully.
I studied the Warlock for a moment. If he could, he already would have. He was bluffing. “I was simply visiting an old friend,” I lied. “That's all."
The Warlock tipped his glasses down so they barely clung to tip of his nose. He looked at me with solid red eyes over the rims. “You're lying."
I smiled wryly and held two fingers up. “Scout's honor."
"Don't toy with me, Vampire,” Lucas growled. “What did the Ifrit tell you?"
"That he just saved a bunch of money on his car insurance by switching to—urk!” An invisible grip clamped around my throat stopping my witty comeback.
"I am growing tired of this,” Lucas warned. “Tell me what you know!"
I saw a bead of sweat on his forehead. I surmised this wasn't his lair and its upkeep was taxing his powers. Warlocks, unlike Witches, were the result of a pact with a Demon for power. Witches were born with their power while Warlocks were made. Their power wasn't limitless and unlike Witches, it could be taken. “I won't talk."
Lucas drew a slow breath into his lungs and shook his head. “Not a wise decision."
Dropping me to the ground, he pointed his fingers at me and mumbled something under his breath. Before I could react, a dark swarm of insects appeared around me. Massive fly-like creatures, the buzzing of their wings was almost deafening as they flitted in and bit me repeatedly. There seemed to be thousands of them all over me. My skin should have been burning and raw ... but it wasn't.
