Ink and Shadows

by Rhys Ford

  Prepping the powder was easy. Working up the nerve to inject himself was harder. He hated needing the drug. Hated what it did to him.

  But the nightmares were horrific. And were getting worse all the time.

  The tiny vein proved stubborn, sliding around the needle tip. Working it around, the skin puckering as the metal slid farther down the vein’s length, Kismet sighed with relief as a burst of blood stained the heroin darker. Holding the tubing taut, he slowly tapped at the end of the plunger, releasing small amounts of heroin into his blood.

  Swallowing hard, Kismet dragged the needle free from his arm, and his body rode the euphoria. The wave hit him again, carrying him off with a burble of nonsensical sounds he couldn’t follow.

  His legs were unsteady under him as he turned, trying to crawl across the bed. Flailing, his foot hit the bed frame, and Kismet landed facedown on the wadded-up covers he’d thrown on the floor.

  “Mess.” Phantom toes nudged at his face, their nails covered with chipped lavender polish. They were wet, dripping with fading soap bubbles and water. Despite the obvious evidence of a recent washing, Kismet could see the caked layers of dirt caught on the nails’ cuticles. The toes shoved at his cheek again, digging into the tender flesh beneath his eye. Tongue working free from the hole in her face, the ghost struggled to speak, a loose tooth jiggling in her gums as she spoke. “You’re a mess.”

  The carpet moved under him, a rippling mass of fibers sliding him away from the bed. Grabbing at the open footlocker, Kismet struggled to remain flat, but the floor had other ideas, flipping him easily onto his back. The owner of the toes stretched up above him, her face a blank circle with no emotion. He recognized the woman from the tub, her nude body slack from use.

  Behind her a man Kismet had never seen before loomed, the shape of him dark and foamy at the edges. His features were lost behind a haze of nothingness, dull sooty noise blinking in and out. The paneling played peek-a-boo through him, fists raised up behind the woman’s head, danger paused for a short eternity. Kismet could feel the rage pouring from him, amazed the woman could be standing there without screaming. The man’s hands rushed down, suddenly popping her head apart in a splash of brains, the wet splattering across Kismet’s face.

  Then they were gone, leaving him with the gore sinking into his scalp.

  Fighting back a scream, he pulled himself up onto his feet, swaying until the bed hit the back of his knees. Tumbling onto the hard mattress, Kismet pulled a lungful of air into his chest, trying to shake off the vision of the woman’s murder from his mind. His eyes bulged as the ceiling bowed, a single drop of black peeling out from the cracks in the plaster. It struck the mattress, a spot spreading out next to his ear, hissing as the bedding began to smoke and the inky shadows spread, edging closer to his tender skin.

  “God.” His teeth furred under his tongue, time slipping away from him. Kismet’s eyes grew heavy, his limbs refusing to respond to the frantic screams of his brain knocking on the inside of his skull. The stink of burning fabric grew, filling his nostrils with a foul smell. The smoke curled up, billowing softly against the pulled peaks of the ceiling’s cracked plaster. Faces churned out of the patterns, sightless eyes rolling to catch a glimpse of the sprawled young man, twitching uncontrollably as the drug took over his body.

  Broken dreams plagued Kismet’s mind, faces spinning out of misted-over wood paneling tightening around his bed. His throat was dry, and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, a distinct clicking noise when he pried it loose. The room spun when he tried to sit up, a wavy whirlpool of sounds slamming against his eyes.

  Loud voices splintered outside his door, a torrential spate of a local Spanish dialect. From the sounds of it, Luis’s girlfriend found him in bed with another woman, fierce screams of anger tearing into the night. Briefly, Kismet pondered going outside and then thought better of it when his body refused to move.

  Pinned to the bare mattress, he felt every inch of the scratchy cover through his thin T-shirt, knobby buttons digging into his skin.

  The heroin held a firm grip on his senses. Aching, he tried to turn over onto his stomach, feeling the sick in his throat. The high was already departing, its remnants of paranoia and anxiety crawling in to rest in Kismet’s brain. A quick glance at his clock’s glowing red numbers said only a few minutes had passed, too short of a time for the amount of heroin he’d shoved into his veins.

  Amid the chaos of sound, he listened to the world around him, hearing it breathe in and out like a living thing. Even the argument next door felt like something alive under his skin. With the numbness gone, Kismet could feel every little shiver through the air, each person’s reverberation against his own.

  Then the world went silent. Abruptly. Without warning.

  The sounds of Luis and his girlfriend were gone. The chatter of people across the courtyard watching the fight, a pair of gossips soaking up every miserable second of other people’s lives, was quiet. Even the rush of traffic just beyond the alleyway behind his room muted to a whisper, no sound of the cars pulling through the cut toward the other buildings along the way. Nothing but the sounds of Kismet’s own breathing in his ears.

  Nothing moved but the shadows around him.

  “Shit, maybe this crap finally caught up with me.” He gulped at the air, forcing the heat into his chest.

  Something had changed. He felt it. Something was different in this trip. He couldn’t put a finger on it, but the numbness and the honeyed flow of the world was altered. And so much scarier. None of the black, inky shapes melted away. If anything, the creatures lurking in the crevices of his room grew more distinct.

  “It wasn’t supposed to happen this way,” Kismet murmured to himself. “I do this, you all go away. It’s what happens. You’re not supposed to get stronger.” He struggled to regain some control over himself, trying to break loose of the drug’s creeping lethargy. “What the fuck is going on?”

  A heartbeat pounded in his ears, the single thump followed by another tortured skip. His body fought the release, refusing to give over to Kismet’s demands. Grasping at every bit of melted powder in his blood, his limbs became dead weight on the mattress, and he stared up in horror as one of the shadows broke loose from the cluster and worked its way toward him.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  MAL STARED out of the passenger window, watching the city roll by. They’d stopped at a few places, Ari getting out to talk to someone after ordering Mal to stay in the car. Mal was certain Death hadn’t suggested that he go along with Ari for a silent tour of the city. Ari was somber after the attack in the garage, the teasing lilt gone from his voice when he spoke. His manner toward Mal was calm, nearly professional. A far cry from their normal relationship.

  Mal nearly missed Ari’s taunting. Nearly.

  Not everyone they stopped to talk with was human. A few darkfae and a Sidhe. Before that, a very aware phantasm caught on the edges of the Veil, unable to cross. Death did not come for everyone. Trapped, the ghosts faded from existence or remained, watching the world pass and making note of its changes, while others refused to believe they were dead.

  Death and Ari both said they didn’t know what happened to a dead person’s soul, if it continued on or merely ceased to exist. The mysteries of life and souls were as enigmatic to the immortal as they were to humans. Mal was fairly certain Death knew more than what he was telling.

  Secrets annoyed Mal to no end. But Death was Death. No one could pry anything out of the eldest Horseman if he didn’t want to say something.

  Mal sighed as Ari disappeared into an alleyway, watching with hooded eyes behind his wire-rimmed glasses. He strained to see around a planter, but Ari was entirely out of sight, and Mal resigned himself to a long wait.

  The parking lot teemed with the Veiled, snippets of shadows weaving in between humans going about their daily lives. Behind the Mustang, a couple of children played, cars ghosting through their wispy bodies in an odd game of failed tag. There were other spe
cters, some nearly too transparent to see.

  Those were the ones that tugged most at Mal’s heart, echoes of people left behind.

  A tap on the windshield glass made Mal jump. Peering at him from his perch on the car’s hood, a squat lower fae tapped again, his face a curdle of flesh and straggling hair. The redcap’s hat was newly soaked, tight against his tanned forehead. Red speckles dotted his cheeks where the blood drops hit, his pointed tongue darting out to pluck off the fattest dribbles before they rolled down onto his clothes.

  Draped mostly in discarded clothes he’d found in a charity bin, the Veiled looked more like a lawn gnome cobbled together from leftover burned biscuits, with the sharp tusks poking up from his lower jaw.

  “Horseman.” Its voice creaked, a rusty nail scraping along an iron blade. “Wake up. I’m trying to talk to you here.”

  Mal cast a glance over his shoulder, hoping to spot Ari strolling out from the side street, but the parking lot held only humans and whispers of wraiths. A drop of blood from the creature’s cap struck the Mustang, and Mal winced, knowing he would hear Ari rant for hours if it dried and ruined the paint.

  Reluctantly, Mal got out, mindful of the redcap. They were unpredictable, one of the many creatures that lived behind the Veil, not like the echoes of children scampering around the Volvo parked nearby. Here was a creature that kept itself hidden from mankind, feeding on humans and their wastes. Something that could, if it had a mind to, do serious injury to another Veiled. Like an unsuspecting Horseman with a newly healed leg.

  As he stepped clear from the car, Mal closed his hand around the short knife Ari left with him, its sheath shoved hastily into Mal’s waistband. He’d never mastered the quick feints and sharp stabs Death and Ari tried to teach him. He was more likely to stab himself in the leg again before actually hitting an opponent. Pulling himself up to his full height and squaring his shoulders, Mal tried to look casually formidable, sternly reminding himself that he was one of the Four Horsemen.

  “What do you want?” His words sounded childish to his own ears, a boy putting on his father’s grown-up jacket for a game of pretend. Mal strained his facial features to control the wince he felt ticking behind his muscles. At least I kept my voice from cracking, he thought to himself.

  “I need to talk to Death. Is he around?” The squat creature jerked his thumb toward Ari. “No use talking to that one. He doesn’t listen much to people like me.”

  “Death’s busy.” This talking was easier if he kept to short sentences and the truth. Changing tactics, Mal went on the offensive. “You can talk to me.”

  “You?” The redcap’s mouth screwed up, and he spat at Mal’s feet. “You’re Pestilence. Not even a real Horseman. You and the skinny broad, you’re just filling space behind them.”

  Mal countered with something calmer. “I’m all you got here. Talk, or I go back into the car.”

  “Maybe I should go talk to War.” The creature poked a stubby finger into the air. Mal could see it was tipped red from shoving his cap back into place. “Maybe I can get him to listen.”

  “He’s busy too. Like I said, I’m here.”

  “I’m looking for someone who can actually do something.” The redcap’s beady eyes drifted to where a couple was arguing, drawn by the negative energy arcing between them. “I got some information I’ll trade for.”

  “What kind of information?” Mal steeled himself not to step back when the creature jumped down from the hood, flat feet hitting the asphalt with an audible wetness. Steadying himself, the redcap craned his head back to stare up at the tall Horseman, his tongue darting furiously.

  “Something that came out of the shadows. Something not good.” The scent of fresh blood tugged at the redcap’s nose. Sniffing, he honed in on Mal’s leg, spotting the crusted holes in his jeans. “I’ll want payment.”

  “I don’t have anything to give you.” Mal’s brain crackled, thinking about what Death told him about payments to other Veiled creatures. He came up with very little, scant help to him now.

  “Lick off your leg will pay for anything.” Again, his tongue crept out, a hummingbird of movement. “I’ve never tasted a Horseman before.”

  The thought of the creature’s tongue running over him gave Mal the shivers, and his stomach complained, the nausea scrambling at his throat. Swallowing hard, Mal shook his head. “Tell you what. I have a rag that I used to wipe off the blood. It’s in the car. You can have that.”

  “That would be even better.” Smiling, the creature proved even uglier, sharp teeth fighting for position in a too small mouth.

  Reaching into the car, Mal grabbed at the towel Ari tossed at him when they left the garage, splotches of dried brown splatter marbling the pile. The redcap made a grab for it, brushing up against Mal’s leg when the Horseman jerked it out of range.

  “Talk first,” Mal cautioned, feeling the length of metal against his rib cage. “Then I’ll hand it over.”

  “Deal,” the redcap grunted. “You’re not much of a Horseman, but you are good for your word.

  “Something came up behind me when I was scrounging down by the record store.” The redcap hugged his short, burly arms, wrists clasped about his elbows, drawn by the scent of the Horseman’s fluids. “The wraith’s big, bigger than a mastiff. I haven’t seen one like that in a long time, but that’s what it was. You don’t ever really forget what one that big looks like.”

  “How big of one?” Mal lowered his arm. He’d seen other specters pulled free from the Veil, sometimes taking the form of nightmares or animals, but a wraith was something entirely different, a bad omen from humanity’s past.

  A keening howl tore apart the air. Around them, humans continued to walk and chat, oblivious to the dangers lurking just beyond their eyesight. A thumping rattled the ground, nearly shaking Mal off his feet and sending the redcap tumbling onto his back. Mewling, the creature struggled to right himself, holding his soaking cap firm with one hand while trying to flip over. Another shuddering stomp rippled through the ground, crossing the Veil in a wave of motion.

  Nearby, a fire hydrant popped its cover, metal shards flying. Mal ducked, a bolt barely missing his head. He didn’t want to test out his immortality against a slab of steel in his temple. Gods knew how long it would take to heal from that.

  Seizing the opportunity, the redcap made a grab for the towel, hooking an end over his tusks before galloping a few feet away from Mal. Rocking on his knuckles, the redcap mumbled around the gag, pointing at the enormous doglike creature shouldering past the hydrant’s remains. The wraith was still nearly twenty feet away, but Mal choked on its foul breath, a sourly sweet curdled milk poured into a too ripe pineapple. Its shoulders rose nearly as high as Mal’s elbows, rocky precipices of bony plating with chunks of brown fur growing between the cracks.

  “Damn, that thing is big,” Mal whispered, watching as a woman darted around the waterspout pouring from a crack in the hydrant’s pipes.

  The wraith snapped at the human, its nearly doglike muzzle passing through the woman’s solid flesh. A rounded body, powerful under the scaly plating, was broad across the chest, narrowing down in the hips. It moved on all fours, prowling forward to sniff at the mortals running away from the torrent. The wraith twitched, as if to break into a run, but the scent of its prey didn’t draw it out. Instead it circled the area, looking for something it couldn’t find.

  “What the…?” Ari came running out from the side street, the Veil pulled tight around him.

  Invisible to anyone who might glance his way, he stopped short of the Mustang’s rear end, nearly hitting Mal. He had already drawn his long dagger, cocking it away from the other Horseman.

  “Shit! Where the fuck did that thing come from?” Ari matched the wraith’s growl with one of his own.

  Unseen by the humans avoiding the water pouring from the damaged fire hydrant, the Veiled creature snorted, frustrated at being unable to bite at anyone passing by.

  “What the damned hell is g
oing on? And get down. If that thing sees you, it’ll come for you.”

  Mal ducked down behind the Volvo parked next to the Mustang, Ari crouching beside him. “The redcap said it was a wraith. Looks like a wraith. Sort of. If they were dinosaur-sized.”

  Another chunk of metal flew past and struck a truck camper, rocking the vehicle on its wheels. People screamed as the hydrant blew more water upward, their eyes fixed firm on the real world, not seeing the shadowy beast hunkered into a crouch. Pouncing at the fleeing humans, the wraith ghosted through a security guard trying to herd people out of the way.

  “Yeah, I know it’s a wraith. I’ve been doing this for a while, Cooties,” Ari snarled, noticing the trail of blood on his car. “Lying bastards always leave a mess. And didn’t I tell you to stay in the car?”

  “He wanted to pass along some information about a disturbance,” Mal said, jerking his head in the wraith’s direction. “And he wasn’t lying.”

  “What did you trade? They always want something.” Ari ducked around the Volvo’s squared-down front, trying to find the wraith’s location amid the confusion of frightened mortals. Another hydrant nearby burst open from the overloaded water pressure, shorn bolts shattering through the windowpane of a used book store.

  The air shimmered around its body, and the Veil thinned around its massive frame, then broke, allowing the wraith to pass into the real world. Howling, its roar shook the Mustang’s windows. Coiling its powerful body, it struck out at the guard, its solidifying talons raking open the man’s shoulder.

  “Shit twice! Damn thing is out of the Veil,” Ari growled “We need to kill it, and here I am stuck with you.”

  In the distance, sirens wailed, and blue-and-red lights bounced off buildings in the distance. The creature’s dark shape hovered over the fallen man, his body too still for Ari’s liking. Slavering at the man’s torso, the wraith sniffed carefully, nosing the mortal aside. The creature’s nose passed through the man’s flesh, and streaks of sticky black caught on the mortal’s skin. Strings of gummy pitch snapped off the wraith’s muzzle, wriggling tendrils slithering back into the man’s torso.