by Andrew Dudek
“What happened after that?” I asked. “I mean after your mom died. That was, what, five, six years ago? You were on your own that whole time?”
“I stayed with Squirrel until I was eighteen, then I got a place of my own. I was working at a bookstore in Brooklyn when I heard about the disappearances. It sounded like vampires to me. I found Maria just after her family got killed and you know the rest.”
I guessed I could understand Nate’s troubles. Going to see a friend of his mother’s must have been difficult, like going back to a time he thought was done. He’d built a life for himself, and asking for help from someone who might remember him as a child made him feel like a child. I couldn’t imagine going back to my old life, even if it was possible. That’s what this must have felt like to Nate: going back to a world he thought he was truly past.
For my part, though, I was excited. I had no idea what Felix Guinness, this sorcerer, could teach us, but the possibilities seemed endless. Nate’s little gadgets were impressive, but Guinness was apparently in a totally different league. Who knew what a mightily powerful and fully trained magician could do?
Up till now, the Family had been, at best, a local sheriff’s office. Really, though, we were a neighborhood watch. We were reactive, unable to do anything until we knew where a vampire nest was. Now, though, with Guinness’s help, I could see us going on the offensive. The war suddenly seemed to be on more even footing. We were about to become the goddamned Navy SEALs.
At the same time, I felt a hell of a lot smaller. When I’d first found out about vampires, it was as if the walls of the world had been blown out and reconstructed miles away. The rules were different—the world was bigger. Now it had happened again. The boundaries had been knocked down, but this time they hadn’t been rebuilt. There were no boundaries. There was no way of knowing just how different the rules of the game were. Someone had ripped up the instructions and told the world to go nuts.
I felt like I had found my destiny. It sounds cheesy, I know, but it’s the truth. For the first time in my life, I felt like I fit into the world. So far I’d been part of the Family’s quest for vengeance, but there was more than that. This was about protecting people. It was about making sure that no other kid ever lost his family in the way that I had.
It was exciting, but it was scary, too.
I had a purpose in life.
That’s big for a seventeen-year-old. A lot of people—most people, maybe—never find their purpose. If they do, it’s usually not till they’re much older. They waste their teen years, their college years, rolling from degree program to degree program, job to job, relationship to relationship. And here I was—even if I hadn’t dropped out, I wouldn’t yet have finished high school.
And I already had my purpose.
Nate put a hand on my shoulder. A man was crossing the street, heading towards the building identified by the business card. Despite the warmth, he wore a long black coat with the collar pulled up high and tight. If I hadn’t known that vampires didn’t look the way they do in the movies, that’s what I would have thought he looked like—an extra from a vampire movie. I smirked at that, too.
But when Nate spoke, his voice was serious. “Come on,” he said. “I think that’s him.”
Chapter 12: Pints with Guinness Make Us Strong
We followed the man into the building, up a flight of stairs, and down a long hallway. He never looked back, or gave so much as a hint that he knew were trailing him like hunting dogs. Guinness’s hands were in the pockets of his big overcoat and he walked with a jaunty, sort-of-hitched step, like he had not a care in the world and he couldn’t wait to get where he was going. There was nothing that suggested he had any idea we were onto him, that he was watching us watch him.
But when we followed him around a corner, he was gone. We were only a couple of seconds behind him, ten feet at most. There wasn’t time enough for him to open an apartment door and get inside. We would have heard a door close. He should have been in sight—but there was nothing and no one. The hall was empty.
A hand fell on my shoulder and soft, deep voice, like something from the bottom of the sea, said, “Can I help you boys with something? I should warn you—if you’re looking for somebody to rob, gosh, did you pick the wrong man.
I spun around, one hand reaching inside my pocket for my screwdriver. Nate was faster—his switchblade appeared and, like a streak of silver lightning, he slashed at the man’s face.
Guinness simply flickered, vanished, and reappeared just out of range of Nate’s knife. He raised a hand and Nate and I were both lifted off our feet. I was flying through the air, spinning like a cartwheel, before I knew what was happening. We hit the wall at the far end of the hallway and fell in a heap, a mixture of limbs and soreness and bruised bodies.
I blinked. The man had been well out of arm’s reach when he attached, but I’d felt his hand on my chest, giving me the shove. Not only that, but there was no way an ordinary man would have the strength to fling us away like that. This guy was operating on a different level. A magical level, maybe.
Once again, Nate was faster than me and on his feet. He glared down the hall at the man, something like hatred in his eyes.
Felix Guinness whistled softly. His skin was tanned as if he’d spent the summer in the sun. He took off his hat, freeing a mane of curly, sun-bleached hair. His jaw was strong, clean-shaven, and dimpled. He had blue eyes, which were currently focused on his own hand. He was holding Nate’s switchblade. I hadn’t seen him take it.
And then Nate moved. Snarling, he barreled, slowing just long enough to snatch up my screwdriver from the floor. For a second, I thought he might make it, that he was going to take the sorcerer down and stab him in the neck. He certainly got close. Five strides away, he was, four, three, two. As he took the last step, Nate screamed, a wordless, blood-filled cry of rage, and lifted the screwdriver.
Guinness looked like he’d only just noticed Nate, and said something in some foreign language. Nate’s legs went out from under him like he’d been hit by a bowling ball. The sorcerer made another motion with his free hand and the screwdriver was pulled from Nate’s hand and deposited itself in a pocket of Guinness’s big coat.
Nate spat on the carpet and pushed himself to his hands and knees. Guinness pointed one finger and said, “Stop.” All trace of levity was gone from his eyes, from his face, from his voice, and Nate deflated like a balloon.
Guinness was still holding the silver switchblade. He closed it and used it as a conductor’s baton to point at Nate’s face. “I want to know where you got this.”
Nate looked up, and I could hear the hatred in his voice when he said, “My mother gave it to me.”
Guinness clicked his tongue. “Your mother. So that makes you…” He looked at Nate like he was seeing him for the first time. “You’re Nathan Labat.”
“Yeah.”
“By the Art, boy!” Guinness threw back his head and laughed. “Why didn’t you say so?” He made a gesture, like a sideways karate chop. Nate stood up. “If I’d known who you were, I’d’ve invited you in for a cup of coffee or something, not treated you like a common mugger.” He walked to an apartment door, took a set of keys out of his pocket, and opened it. “Come on in. Both of you.”
Guinness’s apartment was nothing like I expected from the dwelling of a sorcerer. There were no palimpsests or jars of frog parts. It was tastefully appointed, modern-looking. The couch and twin chairs were cloth-upholstered and comfy. There was a big-screen TV set up along one wall and a bookshelf full of old VHS tapes. They were mostly romantic comedies, like the kind my mom used to like. No horror, sci-fi, or fantasy. I wondered if those kinds of things reminded Guinness too much of work.
The sorcerer cleared off a table (by hand—there were no Merlin-esque motions to make everything clean itself) and indicated that Nate and I should sit. He disappeared into the kitchenette, opened a refrigerator door, which blocked him from view, and rooted inside with lots of cla
ttering glass.
“What do you think?” I whispered, hoping that any conversation would be masked by the din from the kitchen.
“I’m not sure.” Nate’s hand were running nervously along the top of the table, and I was distinctly, powerfully aware that Guinness still had my screwdriver and Nate’s switchblade.
He returned then, holding three green glass bottles of beer, already opened. He set one down in front of each of us, then took a seat himself. “I know you’re not of age, but looking at you, gosh, I guess no one in this city needs a drink more than the pair of you. Sorry I don’t have anything stronger—I’m not much of a drinker.”
“Thanks,” Nate said. I went to take a pull of beer, but Nate put his hand on my arm. “But my mom always told me not to take drinks from strange magicians.”
Guinness nodded, and grinned. “Good advice, that.” He stood up, went into the kitchen, and returned with a pitcher and three pint glasses. He dumped the contents of all three bottles into the pitcher, then poured the beer into the glasses. Next he took a swig from one of the glasses and smiled, pushed the other two to us. Nate nodded, satisfied. We sat in silence for a few minutes, drinking beer and saying nothing.
Finally Guinness put his empty glass down. “So. You’re Helena Labat’s son. I always wondered what became of you.” He reached into his pocket and took out the switchblade. He pressed the button to open the knife and examined the silver. “See, these markings on the blade, they’re what give it that extra punch. Basic silver is anathema to supes, but these spells make it more powerful. I guess you know that.” He shook his head. “By the Art, but your mother was great at creating foci. Don’t get me wrong—she was an astonishing witch. But she was one of the best ever at constructing magical tools.” He stared off into space, as if he’d forgotten about us. “Gosh, if she wanted to, she could have gotten a job at the Round Table, building those swords of theirs.”
I looked at Nate. He shook his head—he didn’t know what Guinness was talking about, either.
Guinness smiled. It was an amiable smile. The power radiating off of him made him seem dangerous, but still. It was hard not to smile back. “Anyway, what have you been up to, Nathan? Last time I saw you was your mother’s funeral. You were staying with Byron Edelsworth, that tattooed thug she had working for her. How are you? Why were you looking for me?”
Nate glanced at me. I chewed my lower lip. We were about to take our first steps into the world of real magic and monsters. I was excited, but something inside me shivered.
Nate sighed and leaned forward. “Mister Guinness, have you heard about all of the recent disappearances in the Bronx?”
We told Guinness about the vampires, about how they’d killed people, about the Family and what we were doing. Finally he looked Guinness in the eye and told him that Squirrel had sent us to see him.
Guinness leaned back in his chair and ran a finger along the rim of his glass. He was stone-faced now, nothing at all like the jovial man of a few moments before. He sighed, a world-weary sound, and said, “What do you want from me?”
“We want you to teach us how to kill vampires,” Nate said. “Squirrel said you’re good at that.”
“I used to be,” Guinness said. “I was one of the Magic Council’s best warriors, so, yeah, I’ve staked my share of vamps.” He looked out the window that was just behind Nate’s head. There wasn’t much of a view—just the brick exterior of the building next door. For a long time he stared, and I wondered what he was really looking at.
“Gosh, I’m just trying to think what your mother would have wanted, you know? I mean, I can’t imagine she’d be happy with the life you’re living—did you say you’re sleeping on an abandoned subway platform? By the Art, that’s no life for young people.”
“No,” Nate said. “It’s not. But it’s the one we’ve got.”
Guinness smiled sadly. “Well, if that’s not just the perfect way to phrase it. We’ve all got to do the best with what we’re given, right? Yeah, Nathan, David, I’ll help you.” He looked us up and down, and once again it was like he was seeing us for the first time. “Tell you what, though, I’ve never seen two young men in more desperate need of a fine meal. Let me buy you two dinner, and then we’ll talk about beginning your training.”
My stomach growled and my mouth watered.
Nate shook his head. “We’re part of a Family. We don’t eat unless everybody eats.”
Guinness nodded. “I respect that. I got the money, though, so let’s go and you can get as much food as you can carry to share with your friends.”
Nate and I looked at each other. I shrugged and raised one eyebrow. I was hungry and I knew Nate was, too. It couldn’t hurt, I figured to get a good meal.
“Alright,” Nate said. “Let’s go.”
Guinness smiled again. “Wonderful.” He stood up, stopped, and sat back down. He took the switchblade out of his pocket and slid it across the table. “Sorry. Forgot I had it. Better hold on to this, then. You never know when it might come in handy.”
Chapter 13: The Siege of Legendary Bobby’s
Guinness knew this little Mongolian barbecue joint nearby, but Nate and I weren’t convinced. For one thing, neither of us had eaten much in months, so we wanted something familiar. For another, we’d have to bring the stuff home, and we were concerned with Mongolian barbecue portability. As far as we were concerned, there was only one option.
We went to a pizzeria.
Go to any corner of New York—I don’t care which neighborhood or street—and you’ll find a kick-ass pizza place. The crust will be thin enough to see through, the sauce will be heavenly, the cheese will be bubbly, and no matter what it will be better than anything you could get in one of those stupid fast food chains that disguise themselves as pizza places. It had been months since I’d had pizza—an eternity in New York time—and I hadn’t realized how much I missed it.
Legendary Bobby’s was a block and a half from Guinness’s apartment, on 148th Street. I’d never been to this particular place, but I knew its like. The space between the front door and the serving counter was cramped, with barely enough room for a few people to stand in line. A burly Italian guy was manning the huge pizza ovens and taking orders. Guinness ordered four pies, three of them to go, with a variety of toppings, and led the way to a small room in the back. Here there were a few tables, dim lighting, and a giant tropical fish tank, all made to imitate a fine dining establishment. Guinness chose a table in the corner, where we were partially hidden by the aquarium and he could put his back to the wall.
We sat in silence while we waited for the pizza. A waitress brought out a pitcher of water and three glasses, and Guinness slid them across the table like he was a hustler in a street shell game, but he never said a word. His eyes flickered around the restaurant. I recognized the expression in his face—he was scanning for threats.
The waitress came, frowned, presumably at the smell coming from Nate and me, and left the pies. She didn’t ask if we needed anything else.
We ate. Guinness picked at a slice of pepperoni, but he mostly left the thin-crusty goodness to Nate and me. It wasn’t the best pizza I ever had—certainly not good enough to qualify as “legendary”—but it was amazing to feel the pleasant sting of burning cheese and the hint of sweet and spicy tomato sauce on my tongue. It could have been Domino’s and I wouldn’t have complained.
When Nate and I had each eaten four or five slices, Guinness leaned across the table and said, quietly, even though the only other occupied table was in the far corner of the room, “I know I’m not your father, but, gosh, I was close to your mother and I don’t think I could forgive myself if I let you get hurt. By the Art, but I couldn’t live with that.”
Nate frowned and swirled a spot of tomato sauce around on his plate. “What’s your point?”
Guinness looked at the ceiling. “If you have your mother’s talent, you could be a very impressive young mage. I know a man who runs a wizardry school in London. A
nephew of mine just started there, and I think you would be a good fit. You could live in safety and comfort, and learn about your heritage. Wouldn’t that be better?”
Nate glanced at me. “What about the Family?”
“Arrangements could be made for their safety. I’ll speak with the Round Table, and they’ll see to it they’re placed in good homes.”
“Foster care.”
“Something like that, but gosh, Nate, they’ll be safe and happy. That’s better than they can expect right now.”
“No,” Nate said. “Not an option. These kids are my family, and I won’t abandon them.”
Guinness sighed and pushed his hair behind his ears. “I was afraid you’d say that. I’m sorry, guys, but I can’t allow this to continue. I’ll have to report you to the Council and the Round Table. They’ll take it from—“
“No!” Nate stood up and slammed his palms against the table. The water pitcher spilled over and fell to the floor with a clink. The silverware vibrated and the air felt like it was being charged with electricity. For the first time I understood what it meant that Nate was the son of a powerful witch—he had some of the power himself. “I will not let you separate my Family.”
Guinness rose, his hands curling like claws at his sides. “I’m sorry, Nathan, but it’s not up to you. You think I can let a bunch of teenagers run around hunting vampires? You’ll die, and I’d never be able to forgive myself.”
I realized I was standing, too, and that my screwdriver was in my hand. Nate’s switchblade was open.
Guinness looked at each of us for a long, pointed moment. “You sure you want to do this? I’m a Council-trained combat mage. This won’t go well for you.”
The waitress appeared suddenly, saving us from having to answer. She looked frightened and angry. “You gentlemen are going to have to take this outside, okay? Or I’ll call the police.”
