by HP Mallory
Bram threw his head back, laughing heartily before his merriment died on his lips and he faced me with a wide smile and shook his head in wonder—like he seemed to approve of my sense of humor. "Of course, sweet, of course."
I nodded and continued. "The truth is that I broke into the Head of the Netherworld's office with the express purpose of holding a gun to his head and forcing him to release Knight." Bram's eyes went wide, but he said nothing while I merely shook my head, admitting that my plan had gone off with a major hitch. "The joke ended up being on me when I found out Melchior was my father."
"Quite the sobering joke," Bram said in an aristocratic tone, his English accent dripping. Sometimes I wondered about how, after living in California for a hundred years, his accent still sounded like he'd just jumped off a plane from Heathrow airport. Yep, Bram was one of those people who impressed himself often and it wouldn't have surprised me in the least to learn that Bram talked to himself just to hear the sound of his own voice.
"Yeah, I wasn't exactly laughing," I admitted.
"Then you negotiated the Loki's release with the Head of the Netherworld?"
"Yes," I replied, feeling suddenly uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was taking. The matter of what those negotiations with my father entailed was now just a matter of connecting A with B to arrive at C.
"And what did your father gain in return for releasing the Loki?"
"A daughter," I said simply, not wanting to delve much deeper than that. I already felt as if my business was now standing in front of us, completely naked and embarrassed.
"You have sold your soul to the devil, it appears?" Bram deduced aptly and I felt my stomach drop. Sometimes he just had this uncanny ability to see right through me. It was almost as if I were a book and he'd merely opened me to the chapter where my innermost thoughts and feelings lay.
"Then you're aware of my father's ... business dealings?" I asked, eyeing him pointedly.
Bram was quiet for a few seconds and then simply nodded, saying nothing. But I wasn't about to put up with his silence. Not after I'd just spilled my proverbial blood. Now it was his turn to do a little bleeding. "How long have you been aware of it?" I asked, finding it somewhat ironic that I couldn't put a word to my father's underhanded ways, that I couldn't refer to them as what they were—illegal.
"The entire time I have lived in Splendor," he said softly, pursing his lips together in something that most resembled a frown.
That was when I remembered Bram telling me, upon our entrance to the Netherworld, that he hadn't stepped foot on Netherworld soil in one hundred years. Jeez, that had to mean good ol' Pop was older than I'd imagined. I mean, I knew elves could live a very long time—the oldest on record having lived to see her four hundred and twelfth birthday—but this was still a surprise. "How old is my father?"
Bram cocked his head to the side as if my question had given him cause for pause. "Perhaps one hundred fifty," he finished.
I couldn't help the astonishment that overtook me. I just hadn't figured Melchior was so old—he didn't look a day over fifty. "And how long has he been the Head of the Netherworld?"
Bram didn't hesitate. "A century."
"Then you came here to Splendor to get away from him?"
Bram cocked his head again, this time to the other side. I was convinced he encouraged these long pauses just because he liked to build up anticipation. If nothing else, Bram was a drama queen.
"I would not use those exact words," he finished.
I shook my head, feeling exasperation starting to fill my entire being, my ears even heating up with it. "Bram, can't you, for once, just cut this melodramatic crap and give it to me straight?"
He huffed like he was offended, but then dropped the charade a few seconds later, thank Hades. "Ask me what you care to know."
I leaned forward, realizing what this meant—that the ordinarily reclusive Bram was going to let me in. Questions swarmed through my mind. "What was your connection with Melchior and why did you leave the Netherworld to come here?"
"I was your father's partner," he finished succinctly as my eyes widened.
"What do you mean?"
"Before O'Neil ever became the Head of the Netherworld, he was first and foremost a business man."
I frowned, surprised. I wasn't sure why, but it was like I hadn't ever conceived of the idea that Melchior had ever been anything but a lying, double-dealing, piece of shit. "What sort of business?"
"Importing products from Earth to the Netherworld," Bram said softly and his eyes took on a faraway sort of glaze—like he was reliving a time long gone.
"What sort of products?"
Bram shrugged. "Automobiles, horses, food, clothing, building supplies ... anything that existed on Earth that could be considered useful in the Netherworld." He sighed deeply which was all for show because he had no respiratory system. "O'Neil and I were quite close friends," he continued. "Little by little, your father's ...
"Please don't call him that," I said, suddenly deciding that just because I was related to Melchior didn't allow him to bear the title of my father. A father was someone who, in my mind, had been involved in his child's life, or at the very least, cared about his child. And there was no evidence that Melchior had ever given a crap about me. As far as I was concerned, Melchior was basically a sperm donor.
"How would you prefer I label him?" Bram asked, his eyes softer as if he understood my need to distance myself from good ol' Dad. Well, knowing him first hand, Bram had to be aware of what a rotten person he was.
"Melchior is fine," I answered. "’Course, the devil works too."
Bram nodded with a sad smile. "Very well." Then he started with his story again. "Melchior's interests turned away from imports and he became increasingly enthralled with the politics of the Netherworld. Eventually, he ran for the office of Head of the Netherworld and was elected."
"So the Netherworld is a democracy?" I asked, completely confused because it had seemed anything but.
Bram shook his head. "Many moons ago it was, sweet, but not so any longer. Melchior has taken it from a republic to ... how shall I say this ..."
"Don't sugarcoat anything," I interrupted, my expression and tone staunch. "As far as I'm concerned, my father is my father in name only."
Bram nodded. "Melchior is a tyrant," he finished.
"Why hasn't anyone tried to get rid of him?" I demanded, finally broaching a question that had been plaguing me all along. "I'm sure the creatures of the Netherworld don't want to live under a tyranny."
"Quite so," Bram agreed. He steepled his fingers together only to begin drumming them against his thighs. He was obviously a fidgeter. "The last attempt on Melchior's life was a century ago."
"And what happened?" I asked, now on the edge of my seat.
Bram shrugged. "The interloper was captured, tortured and his corpse paraded through the streets to discourage future attempts on Melchior's life; apparently the warning achieved its purpose as there have not been any other assassination attempts since."
I swallowed hard, thinking it sounded like a punishment from the middle ages or something more befitting the court of Henry VIII as opposed to the Netherworld a mere century ago. "And is that why you came here to Splendor?"
Bram simply nodded. "I chose not to subject myself to the oppression of Melchior any longer and, instead, opted for a quieter life."
"I'd hardly call owning No Regrets a quiet life," I said, but my thoughts weren't really on Bram's nightclub. Instead, they were centered on the feeling of a knot twisting my stomach. My father was much worse than I'd given him credit for. I glanced at Bram again, needing one more question answered. "Are you aware of his ... extracurricular activities?" I asked.
"If by 'extracurricular activities,' you mean his illegal potions importing, yes, I am."
"Are you working for him?" I continued, hoping and praying the answer was no. Why? Because I liked Bram and didn't want to think that my father had not onl
y royally fucked up Quillan's and my lives but Bram's too. But somehow, in my heart of hearts, I didn't think Bram was in the employ of Melchior.
"No," he said resolutely and then faced me, concern in his eyes. "How deeply are you involved, Dulcie?"
I held my breath for a few seconds as I debated over whether or not to admit anything more. But, really, what more was there to admit to? "Deep," I finished in a small voice.
Bram nodded and his expression was suddenly drawn, his eyes narrowed. "Was it worth it?" he asked, flicking his eyes back to mine.
It was the same question Quill had asked me. I just simply nodded, knowing if I had to make the choice all over again, I wouldn't change a thing.
###
I got the call from Knight around one fifteen a.m., and of course, I'd been waiting for it. He called to say that Trey had just gotten a vision of a potions delivery in the loading docks and that I needed to hurry. Of course, I was already dressed in my leathers, my helmet waiting beside the front door. Once I hung up the phone, I locked the door behind me and started for my ANC provided (read: Knightley Vander provided) red Ducati Diavel motorcycle. Throwing one leg over the seat, I strapped on my helmet and turned on the engine until it was purring excitedly, and I was off.
It took me exactly ten minutes to reach the west end of the loading docks where I could already see the tanker ship, Alice, present and accounted for. Just as Baron had claimed, she was the only ship in sight. I pulled off the road, maybe one hundred feet from the docks, and hid my bike beneath a massive oak tree. A salty breeze traveled up from the docks, wrapping around me in a chilly embrace. I shivered in spite of myself and hopped off the Ducati, toying with my helmet as I pulled it off and placed it on the seat. Unzipping my leather jacket, I slid the Op 6 from my shoulder holster, palming it in a low ready stance, the muzzle pointing down. I stayed mostly to the shadows offered by the oversized oak trees along the stretch of road leading down to the docks. I had to look every inch the alert and prepared Regulator. Even though Baron and his men were more than aware that I was coming, I had to maintain the charade for Knight.
I continued down the dark road, the sound of insects chirping from the tall grass beside me in chorus with the lonely calls of a few seagulls who flew overhead. I glanced around myself, looking for any sign of Knight or Trey, but nothing. At a bend in the road, I took cover behind a knotty-trunked pepper tree and looked down at the loading docks, which were now maybe fifty feet from me. I could see the men of the ship unloading large crates of Hades only knew what direct from the Netherworld. Whatever portal this ship had come through had to have been pretty large because the tanker was, in a word ... enormous.
I didn't recognize the men who were unloading the crates and figured they had nothing to do with Melchior. As far as Horatio was concerned, there was no sign of him. I pushed out from the darkness of the pepper tree and continued down the road, the moonlight now spotlighting me as I hurried for cover under a large pine tree maybe ten feet away. Once I reached it, I looked around myself and wondered where the hell Knight was.
Well, wonder and you shall receive, because only seconds later, I heard Knight calling me from off to my right, where he was kneeling behind a crumbling brick wall, Trey just beside him. I hurried over to them, kneeling down in front of Knight who gave me a friendly smile.
"Good to see you, Dulce," he said, his smile widening.
I returned the smile hesitantly before facing Trey. "What's going on?" I asked and then eyed the loading docks again, searching for any sign of Horatio or, failing him, Baron. But all I could see were the sailors unloading numerous crates. I could only hope we hadn't come too late. 'Course, I had to imagine Horatio would take his sweet time, knowing his sole purpose was to be caught.
"I don't get it," Trey said and shook his head as if he were frustrated, alternating his stare between Knight and me. "I know I saw something in the vision," he finished, his upper lip wet with perspiration. "It just doesn't make any sense that nothing's happening now."
"And you're sure it was supposed to happen tonight?" Knight asked him, his tone conveying the fact that he, himself, was dubious.
"Yeah," Trey said, emphatically nodding. "I had the distinct feeling that it was happening right as I was seeing it. When have my visions ever been wrong in the past?"
They hadn't been.
"What exactly did you see?" I asked.
"I saw crates of something that looked like Yalkemouth or maybe Arson Flower or Monravia. I couldn't really make it out in the vision, but it was a general feeling I got that hinted at one of those three," Trey finished and then glanced at me apologetically.
"But so far, we haven't seen anything out of the ordinary," Knight finished and shrugged as he glanced at the tanker again.
"Interesting," I said, looking at Knight only to find his attention riveted on me. When I faced him, he simply smiled and I felt myself gulp down the need to throw my arms around him and kiss him.
Knight said nothing but handed me a pair of binoculars. I took them and focused on the loading docks and the men unloading the crates. On the opposite side of the ship, I watched as Horatio seemed to suddenly appear from the shadows, like they simply spat him out. Well, it was about damn time! I felt my heart speed up as I watched him motion to someone onboard. The sailor appeared with a large white crate between his hands, complete with rows of bottled Yalkemouth, the fluorescent blue liquid peeking out through the slats of the crate. He handed it to Horatio.
"Looks like it was Yalkemouth, Trey," I said and handed the binoculars to Knight who took them immediately. He glanced through the lenses for a few seconds before returning them to his jacket pocket.
"Let's move," he said simply and stood up, Trey and I following. "I don't want to lose him," he added, pulling his Op 7 from his waist, holding it in low ready as he started down the road, being careful to stick to the shadows the entire time.
I followed Knight down the road which terminated in a cement walkway, the five ramps leading down to the docks looking like outstretched arms sprouting from the concrete. Our tanker ship was at the bottom of the second ramp.
Turning to face Knight, I watched him pause and figured he was deciding the best way forward. He checked behind him, then, holding up the binoculars in the direction of Horatio, who was still busily unloading his illegal imports, Knight shook his head, the look of impatience plastering itself across his face.
"He's already unloaded three cases of Yalkemouth," he said in a steely voice.
"Who is it?" I asked.
"Looks like one of Baron's guys," he answered. "A were." It wasn't like Knight was on a first name basis with Horatio or the likes of Horatio, so I wasn't surprised that he didn’t know Horatio’s name.
"So what do you want to do?" I asked, knowing whatever we were going to do, we needed to act fast because Horatio only had two more crates left to unload. And if he unloaded them too slowly, that in itself would seem suspect.
Knight shrugged. "We need to act."
I glanced down at the ship and noticed the sailor handing Horatio the final crate of Yalkemouth. Horatio plopped the crate on top of the others and made a big show of being out of breath. Then he hoisted the top crate and started for a Ford Explorer, the only car in the parking lot, which was parked as close to the docks as possible. Once the first was loaded, he returned for crate two and seemed to be taking his sweet ass time. He was obviously waiting for us to make our move and probably wondering where the hell we were.
I glanced at Knight and watched him looking at the scene before him as if he were taking stock of every detail, deciding the best approach to take. We obviously couldn't just walk down the ramp to the ship single file like we were on a field trip. I guessed we'd probably get back on the road. It disappeared around a hillside just above the cement walkway, leading to the loading docks. There were some old, craggy oak trees along the hillside which would offer us ample cover.
"Let's stick behind those trees," Knight said, mot
ioning to the small hillside. Yep, I'd been right. Point for me.
Neither Trey nor I said anything, but simply followed Knight back up to the road, being careful to stay in the shadows and remain undetected. Once we'd reached the hillside, we continued along the tree line, skulking in the shadows. I glanced down at the goings on in the ship below us. The sailor who had been helping Horatio returned to the other side of the ship where he started helping his fellow sailors unload. Yep, he hadn't been involved in Horatio's business any more than just in helping him unload the crates. I wasn't sure why but somehow that fact was a relief to me.
My gaze fell to Horatio again as I watched him pick up the third crate and start for the Explorer. When we were maybe ten feet away from Horatio, Knight turned toward me and motioned that he was going to take Horatio down. I nodded and clutched my Op 6 even more tightly.
"I'll be right behind you," I whispered.
Then I watched Knight sprint down the hill, landing on the concrete just behind Horatio with a soft thud. Before the shorter, stouter man could respond, Knight knocked him down. Horatio released the crate and it crashed down next to him, the bottles of Yalkemouth breaking as the fluorescent liquid began leaking from the broken bottles.
The sailors all turned at the sound of the confrontation and when a few began to walk towards Knight, I stood out before him, pulling open my jacket to reveal my badge.
"This is ANC business," I said sternly.
The sailors nodded and the one who had been helping Horatio glanced at him nervously before facing me again. "I had nothing to do with it," he said, swallowing hard. "I was just helping him unload whatever that stuff was."
I nodded. "It's okay. Just keep going about your business."
The man didn't say anything else but returned to the far side of the ship as I brought my attention back to Knight. Horatio was still on the ground, Knight's knee in his back. Trey was standing at Horatio's head, his Op 6 aimed at the were. I watched as Knight pinned Horatio's arms behind his back and read him his Miranda rights.
