by Al K. Line
On the outskirts of the city, surrounded by the detritus of consumerism gone bad, the unfinished warehouses, and small businesses struggling to stay afloat, where scrub had replaced manicured landscaping long ago abandoned, and you felt a million miles away from the hustle and bustle, the cosmopolitan feel, the back alleys teeming with ne'er-do-wells, and the private clubs and meeting places of the underground, sitting alone surrounded by tall, majestic oaks is a building.
Constructed by a man with more money than sense, it was his idea of giving something back to the community of magic users. Something special, something that was ours, something functional.
Wizards weren't big on function, they were big on messing about with things they shouldn't and getting into lots of trouble. So, inevitably, this wizardly wonder had its quirks. I'm convinced the true reason why this magnanimous benefactor built this was because he stank and wanted others to admit the same.
The end result was a strangely out of place building, somehow overlooked by the industry that came and mostly went from the city, standing isolated as it did surrounded by scrub and broken fencing from the days when its neighbors were wealthier.
It was a modest but elegant building, all thick lumps of stone, taking design influences from Turkey and the more ancient Roman bathing houses, but from the outside it looked like little more than a large blocky building with a rather nice portico entrance.
Don't let the name put you off, it was truly one of the best experiences of your life—although, obviously, it's wizards only.
Welcome to Satan's Breath.
It'd had several owners over the centuries, but the current owner was the only one I'd ever known. He was as permanent a fixture as you could get in our world where faces were the same until poof, one day they've just disappeared. It happened a lot, especially to the novices and the older guys. The young ones did something stupid and went up in smoke, the older ones dug too deep and their power became uncontrollable, or they called forth something they shouldn't and found themselves dragged off to some section of the Nolands. Or went there voluntarily if they happened to summon something that could guide them through the nicer parts.
I had no intention of doing either. I wanted to live a long and fruitful life and go out in a way unrelated to magic. Yeah, there was fat chance of that happening, right?
I parked up between vehicles that told the story of the life of wizards. Some were expensive Bentleys and other status-symbol vehicles, others were battered Fords or station wagons, a few trucks, and even several bicycles. Modes of transport running the gamut of the world we lived in. Rich to poor, most of the owners living lives far from respectable and usually making their way through this thing called life on the wrong side of the law the country would have us live by. Ha, if only they knew what we got up to.
We had our own laws and we lived by those. Many magic users hardly gave the rules the general population mostly abide by even slight consideration. Magic, it attracted a certain kind of person, and that person was usually someone looking for something different to the world they'd been told was all that reality contained. They wanted more, to uncover secrets and look behind the veil. Many hated what they saw, others, like me, were the opposite. Some were simply desperate, searching for a way out of poverty or the mundane life they felt trapped in. When they got a taste of the power, it's understandable they saw the way the world functioned in a very different light.
Or maybe it really was just me and I'm looking for a reason to explain why I behaved the way I did and ran in the circles I ran in. Often, it felt like I had no choice, but even then I was old enough and ugly enough to know that was an excuse. And a lame one at best.
I loved this stuff. It was what made me The Hat. But it meant I got stinky so it was time for some relaxation and cleansing.
The Gossip
As I stepped into the cool of the expansive foyer, the space much larger than the entire building from the outside—proper Dr. Who style—I felt like all eyes were upon me. I tried to act casual, but the moment you think about how you are holding yourself, where you look, who you make eye-contact with and what you do with your arms, you become so aware of your body and your every action that you may as well be holding up a sign saying, "Hey, look at me! I done summit bad and you all already know, don't you?"
I caught myself just before I began to hum a tune, a sure sign I had something to hide.
The walk across the intricately tiled floor, each tiny piece taking an imp a year to make, seemed to take an eternity, so I took the time to adjust my hat, smooth out the wrinkles in my shirt, and tap the package in my pocket just so I knew the day hadn't been a dream. Nope, it was real. Bummer!
"You've been a naughty boy," said the Turk, owner and man of mystery. He rubbed at his hairy chest, partially concealed only by a white vest, the brittle black strands in a perpetual state of trying to make a break for freedom in any direction they could.
"Eh, what? You've heard?" From what the Second had said, I'd assumed I was on safe ground here, that less people than I'd at first believed knew what I'd taken. Only Cerberus and the vampires in the know. Surely nobody knew what I'd given them?
"Heard? Heard what?" asked the Turk, large belly jiggling as he bent to a pile of towels and handed me a couple.
Aah, the feel of fresh, soft towels. Nothing like it. I was itching to get into the steam room, but the Turk seemed to have no intention of letting me go just yet.
"Um, nothing. Sorry, bit distracted. What can I do you for?" Guess this was about something else, which was a mighty relief. I put the sweat down to the anticipation of getting steamy, but considering it was always cool in the foyer that didn't really wash. He didn't seem to have noticed.
"You forgot to renew your subscription. It was up last week. The Turk is not happy," said the Turk, scribbling in the large book always open on the small table he seemed to spend half his life behind. The other half spent sweating and pouring cool buckets of water over his powerful, gross, hairy frame. He also liked to talk about himself in the third person, which was kinda fun. Made him sound like a wrestler.
"Oh, ah. Sorry. You know you should just do direct debit, right?"
"Don't trust all that technology," he said, looking at me from under heavy lids like I'd cursed all things wizardly.
"It's how everything works now, Turk, you should get with the times."
"Arthur, the Turk has lived for many hundreds of years, has seen more than you will ever know, and one thing he is certain of is that this computer business is just a passing fad. What happens when the power goes out? Eh? Tell the Turk that. Where will his money be when all the computers get fried or some numpty somewhere puts in the wrong numbers or misspells his name?"
I said nothing, knowing I couldn't win such an argument with the Turk. Just grunted.
"Exactly," he said, smug, then scribbled in his book some more. "Right, the Turk will put you down as a yes for annual subscription renewal, you'll find your bill waiting on your way out. Pay it within the week or you know what'll happen. The Turk has a waiting list, so don't forget."
"I won't. Thanks, Turk."
For months after I started coming, I felt extremely uncomfortable calling the Turk "The Turk," feeling it to be a racial insult. But it was what he referred to himself as, and to be honest I think he did it just to act mysterious, but mainly as a tax dodge and to keep any other wizards from trying to hack him. Even though he was so paranoid he wouldn't let you use your phone inside Satan's Breath—his wards blocked all technology more powerful than a light bulb.
I used to ask him his name, ask what I should call him, and he would freak out, thinking I was a wizard spy out to get him and do despicable things to his business. So Turk it was and Turk it remained.
It was doubtful he was even from Turkey. He had a mild Northern accent, but also sported a big mustache and that seemed to be enough for everyone else to take him at face value. Whatever, he ran a tight ship and what happened in Satan's Breath stayed
in Satan's Breath. It was our oasis in the desert, our ship in the most dangerous of seas. Cheap, too.
I took my towels, went into the locker room, and greeted various men in disconcerting states of undress—the only real downside to the place. Naked wizards were not a thing of beauty, more concerned with exercises of the mind than the body, and there were way too many saggy bits and dangly bits for my liking but life's all about sacrifice.
My locker, like all others, had no key, but rather a ward given to me each year that changed. Summoning up the counter ward, I reached out with my mind and positioned one over the other. The door swung open, along with the shield that gave me utter privacy.
Think of it as a safety deposit box for wizards, the place as much a bank as somewhere to get clean. Inside, I had various bits and pieces I wanted to ensure remained safe, plus several changes of clothes for all seasons, heavy on the rainy weather for that's what was most likely.
I stripped down to my hat, wrapped a towel around my waist, locked up, and put my dirty clothes at the end of the row of lockers—they'd be clean when I returned.
First I took a warm shower, soaping and scrubbing until I glowed pink, then turned up the heat in preparation for the inferno to come.
Once as clean as a fish in water, I padded barefoot through one of several arched entrances that led to the main attraction. The steam room.
The pool at the center was super-heated, almost scalding, and dotted around the impressive circular room were large pits with hot stones tended by novices who poured water on them to keep the air just below a temperature that would boil your blood.
Wizards relaxed in various states of lobster-like contentment on recliners, others sitting at the edge of the pool dangling their knobbly, pale legs. Several hardened souls were actually in the water, gasping for breath, skin puce, eyes bleeding.
I activated the wards in my hat and blissful cool air swirled lazily across my scalp, keeping my brain at a cool temperate so I remained sharp and didn't have a seizure. Picking a vacant recliner I leaned back, put my arms behind my head, and sighed. Relaxed for the first time that day.
What was I to do? I knew this was bad, very bad, but the scale of it hadn't quite filtered through yet. I knew I wasn't entirely to blame, people had been trying to kill me all day, after all, and I didn't know what I had until it was too late, but still, I was the one who'd finally got my hands on the First and I'd handed him over like he was little but a stolen piece of jewelery.
I figured I had a little time to come up with a plan, but how much I had no idea. Would they have everything ready for whatever creepy ritual they had to perform to get him reanimated? How did they go about doing it? It wouldn't be straight necromancy as there was no body as such. This would call for something much more serious involving one helluva lot of magic.
Who could do such a thing? Would the Second—or maybe there were a few here?—be strong enough to call him forth? I honestly didn't know. If you think wizards and magic users are kinda private then you ain't seen nothing until you try to find out about vampires and what they're capable of.
After all this time, all these years, they were almost dismissed as being of no importance. Their numbers so low, their influence on others in the life so weak compared to what it had once been, and the truce between wizards and vampires having held for so long, that nobody gave them a second thought.
Until now. Until me.
Where's the Water?
I couldn't relax, couldn't let my mind drift and for a solution to present itself.
I needed information, something to go on. A way to retrieve the ashes of Mikalus before he was dragged away from whatever corner of hell he currently resided in. If not, the world would soon be a very different place.
As I paced, getting dizzy with the heat, a sudden, some would say rare, insight came to me. The reason why I was here. I was afraid. I was afraid to be alone, to deal with this, so I'd sought sanctuary. Safety in numbers. Knowing nobody would try anything here, in a place surrounded by wizards and strictly off-limits for violence within the community.
Other magic users knew exactly what the place was, those simply criminals thought it a weird private club for dodgy looking blokes with beards that needed a good going over with a hedge trimmer and an update to their wardrobe.
I was hiding.
Coward.
The words reverberated around my skull, taunting me, yelling, until I couldn't focus or think of anything at all. I ambled over to the pool and slumped, hardly aware that my feet were submerged over the side.
I was sweating even more than I should have been. My body felt like every drop of moisture had been sucked out of me and I was dessicated, all dried up. Ash, just like vampire number one. I shook to clear my mind, knowing I was just tired from the craziness, and my lethargy and lack of magic was having a very adverse effect on my focus. For with magic came the ability to consider its implications, how it could help you, and more than anything that was the mistress I sought.
Slowly, everything faded away, and I pictured myself in my room at home. Naked, silent, connected to the no-state, the non-being. Emptiness and power, forces so magnificent they defied description, filtering into me, making me whole and enabling this tiny, puny human to become something more than he maybe should. Everything muted down to such a low level that the magic we think of as powerful is little but a pathetic spark of base energy once it's gone through the leveling effects of such a frail body.
I sat like that for maybe an hour or longer, just absorbing the power, everything joining back up inside me like one of those connect-the-dots picture books. I sweated until I felt clean inside and out, and I was resolute. Mikalus had to be destroyed once and for all. I had to stop the vampires before they resurrected him.
I smiled at my own panic, my own fear. This wasn't who I was. I was The Hat and I demanded respect.
The waves of the pool lapped against my legs, washing over my thighs and scalding them, but I didn't mind, was used to it now. They weren't normally this strong, though. Must mean those in the pool were moving about and causing ripples. Then a large wave splashed right up to my chest and I opened my eyes as the shouts and screams began.
Suddenly, like someone had pulled out the plug, the water sucked down through a massive gaping hole in the bottom, heat roared up, fire and steam hissed and a strong smell of sulfur hit, making it hard to breathe.
"Where is the mortal known as Arthur?" asked what I can only describe as a cross between the creature from Alien and a warped demon's idea of a way to terrify naked wizards. It wore a white capirote that towered up to the ceiling, a conical pointed hat with a mask joined, two rough eye-slits glowing red. Massive horns poked out either side of the capirote, the rest of its huge, sculpted frame naked and bristling with tight bunches of powerful muscle.
The water cascaded off its body, steaming as it evaporated. The sub-demon turned slowly in a circle, inspecting the wizards like maggots as they jumped out of the water or were pulled out. Surrounding the pool, a bunch of undressed wizards, me included, waited.
The ancient being focused its gaze on me.
"Damn, Turk," I whispered, "didn't you think to set wards underneath the bloody building as well?"
Guess not, as otherwise old steamy here wouldn't have come visiting.
Which was a shame, because sub-demon or not, he was damn big and damn scary.
A Little Help
The one thing you have to understand about those involved in magic is most of them were none too keen on fighting those more powerful than themselves. Which was entirely understandable. So it came as no surprise to find that the numbers had thinned rather quickly and more than half those in attendance had scarpered.
"You are he," came the booming voice of the unwelcome guest.
"Says who?" I said, wishing I hadn't dropped my towel as it made me feel less wizardly. I also missed my wand. Actually, just being somewhere else entirely would have been ideal.
"It's hi
m, it's him," said a lowlife across the other side of the room.
"You dirty traitor," I shouted, and there were murmurs of agreement. You don't rat. Ever.
"You're banned," shouted the Turk, incensed that someone would tell on another. "Out. Now. The Turk has spoken."
The guy protested but the Turk turned his back to him and he left, head bowed. Served him right. Or maybe it was a sneaky ruse to get out with his life, in which case lucky bugger.
"You're gonna pay for this," said the Turk.
"Don't blame me," I protested. "I didn't invite it here. Why haven't you got wards for this kind of thing?"
"Because it's only the third time it's happened, and underground wards are a bitch," said the Turk.
There were more murmurs of agreement. He had a point, they really were a bitch to do.
"Anyway," I said to the demon, "Arthur isn't here." I know, it was lame, but I had to try.
"I was told the mortal wears a hat. You have a hat."
"Lots of mortals, er, people wear hats," I said, wishing I didn't right now.
The creature took a quick look around the room and said, "No. Just you."
Damn, time for some action.
"A little help here, guys?" I asked, spreading my arms wide and imploring them for assistance.
Some stepped back, but most who remained got that look in their eyes. The one I was all too familiar with as I'd seen it in the mirror often enough.
It was a twinkle of anticipation, the surge of adrenaline, the chance to test your wits against something supernatural. It was game on.
As the air danced with magic of several kinds, the creature, a form neither solid nor truly spectral but somewhere between the two, heaved out of the hole, revealing its full size. It must have been fifteen feet at least, plus horns, and the capirote flattened as it hit the ceiling then sagged under the humidity fast dissipating because of the ungodly dry heat from beneath its feet.
