“Brenda, my dead wife, and I got these tattoos together.” Aareth’s eyes glazed over as he repeated words he hadn’t uttered in years. “Brenda loved stories of quests and warriors. We got them to remind us that we would always be there for one another, fighting whatever life threw our way, together. I’ve never seen another one like it. I don’t know how, but she’s alive, and now she’s this woman we’re hunting.”
Jack wanted to believe Aareth. The look on his friend’s face was more than desperate. Whether he knew it or not, Aareth needed someone to agree with him. He needed validation that he wasn’t losing his mind, someone to tell him he wasn’t going crazy, that his wife was, in fact, somehow, still alive.
“And you think she’s involved in this Order?” Jack did his best to hide the skepticism he felt inside. “How can you be so sure?”
“Listen, I think The Order is tied to it all. It could give us both answers, but don’t do me any favors if you don’t want to come—”
“I didn’t say that.” Jack shook his head. “I meant it when I said I was with you until the end. Now that my dad’s gone, you, Sloan, Abigail, and Elizabeth are the closest things I have to family. I just don’t want you to be disappointed if we find out that it’s not your wife behind that metal mask.”
“I don’t know how”—Aareth wiped sweat from his brow—“I saw her body. She was dead. But I’m telling you, our assassin is my wife.”
Jack had a dozen different questions to ask about the events surrounding Brenda’s death, but this wasn’t the time. He could only go back to the palace or move on with his friend. It was clear whatever his decision, Aareth was planning to go on without him.
“We should talk more after tonight. I have about a half-dozen questions I need to ask you.” Jack cleared his throat. “But I’m with you. If your wife is alive, I’ll help you find her. Let’s go.”
Aareth didn’t thank him. In fact, he didn’t say a word. The look of relief on his face was enough for Jack.
The two men turned the corner and approached the largest building on the street—a decrepit steel refinery with pipes and rods weaving in and out at sporadic angles.
“This is one of the last pockets of New Hope that hasn’t been restored,” Aareth whispered as they approached the behemoth of rust. “Let me do the talking, but be ready for anything.”
“You got it.” Jack flexed his right hand. The holster carrying his wand rode low on his right hip. In a heartbeat, Jack could grab his weapon and have a bolt of green magic racing toward his target.
Aareth stopped beside a door that looked as though it would fall from its hinges with the next knock. Aareth pounded on the door three times, then two, then three more times.
Silence, then the door swung inward. The room was so dark, it took Jack a moment to realize a man in an iron mask, covered in a dark robe, was beckoning them in. If the man wasn’t eerie enough, he was wearing the same helmet as the hitwoman when they met her in the alley. The same contract killer that, if Aareth was right, was his dead wife.
“You may enter.” The masked man’s voice was emotionless as he made room for them to come in.
Jack followed Aareth inside a small room. A single candle lit the dark entrance. A closed door led deeper into the structure. What looked like a bar tabletop separated the room. Another mask-wearing cloaked figure stood behind the bar.
“Weapons,” said the man behind the counter, in the same flat tone as his clone.
Jack looked to Aareth for consent. He had more than a few reasons why he’d rather hold on to his wand at the moment.
Aareth, however, tilted his head forward, removing a short, double-barreled shotgun from his cloak, along with a large bowie knife. He placed the items on the bar top. All eyes turned to Jack.
Jack’s fingers itched. It went against every fiber in his being, but he had no choice. If he wanted to gain entrance to whatever this was, surrendering his weapon was the only way. Reluctantly, Jack removed the belt holding his wand.
It was a small comfort that Jack had the ability to channel magic without using an object. The only drawback to using this method was the level of fatigue that came with performing magic in such a way.
Jack placed the items along with Aareth’s on the counter. The lifeless eyes behind the man’s mask looked them up and down. He gathered the offered weapons, storing them somewhere behind the booth. “You’ll get your items back after the meeting. However, you will still need to be searched. Don’t argue over such a trivial act. The Order awaits just beyond these doors.”
As promised, the man who had opened the door for them motioned first Jack, then to Aareth to open their arms wide before he patted them down. Jack was clean. Aareth, on the other hand, gave his searcher pause when the man’s hands came into contact with something metal under Aareth’s left arm. “Must have forgotten about that,” Aareth told the masked man. He reached into his shirt and brought out a sheath filled with three throwing knives. “Just slipped my memory.”
The man searching Aareth accepted the weapons. He finished patting down Aareth without finding anything else. Once done, the masked man turned to his counterpart behind the bar. “They’re clean, do it.”
In turn, the steel mask behind the countertop gave a slight nod. He reached under the ledge.
Jack noticed the motion and was ready to act. His heartbeat quickened. Adrenaline flowed as he prepared to jump into action. Heat that preceded his conjuring of magic warmed his right hand. Jack’s fears would be unwarranted. Instead of a firearm in his hand, the man behind the bar stood holding two black robes and two steel helmets.
Jack
The robe itched the back of his neck. The helmet was heavy and hot. After donning the awkward pieces of clothing, Aareth and Jack were ushered through the door on the other side of the room. The only instructions they were given were: “Follow the hall until it ends. The meeting is about to begin.”
Now, as Jack matched steps with Aareth down the abandoned corridor, he wondered if it had been a good idea to give away their weapons. Jack would kill for the comforting feeling of his wand resting at his side.
The hall was better lit than the room. Torchlight quivered against the dark. Jack looked at his companion, but it was useless; the cloak covered every part of a person the mask didn’t. For all Jack knew, a stranger could be underneath the costume in place of his friend.
“If things go bad”—Aareth’s voice came out distorted behind the shield of his iron mask; it sounded alien, almost echoing—“we head back for this hall. There are only two men between us and our weapons.”
“Sounds good to me.” Jack heard his own voice reverberate in his helmet.
There was no more time for talk as the sorcerer and inspector reached yet another door. The door itself was unremarkable. But it wasn’t the door that stood out to Jack; it was the noise that came from the opposite side. A rumbling like a thousand people talking in low voices penetrated the barrier.
Without pause, Aareth opened the door. A large room filled with people dressed in black cloaks and iron masks met Jack’s eyes. There had to be hundreds of them. The room was shaped in an oval with stadium seating. It looked like a hybrid between a courtroom and a coliseum. At the head of the room, a raised platform stood with an empty podium. A group of mask-wearing individuals sat apart from the rest of the crowd behind the podium.
Jack followed Aareth to a seat with robotic-like strides. For the first time, Jack was grateful for the mask; it hid an open mouth well. Aareth chose the closest available bench to the door leading back to the hall. If anything did go bad, they were only a few yards from their exit.
The room was too large to be lit with torches; instead, giant braziers housed flames licking skyward. Jack studied the occupants sitting beside him. He could only guess as to their gender. The ebony cloaks consumed each and everyone’s physical appearance as if tailored for them specifically. The helmets were all exact replicas of one another—two large, dark eyeglasses and an iron
grate for breathing.
Jack tapped into his other senses. If his eyes weren’t able to distinguish anything unique, perhaps his ears could. Most of the attendees around them were silent, the few voices he could pick up past their excited whispers weren’t familiar. Jack paused at a pair who sat in front of them, and listened in.
“This is exactly what this city needs,” a large figure with a barely discernible male voice said to his companion. “Someone to bring us out of this benevolent slump we’ve been caught in.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” said a clear, high-pitched female voice beside him. It seemed that even the helmet had its limits when masking tones. “What the queen is doing, sending all of our hard-earned money to help these animals in the Outland cities is horrendous. Survival of the fittest I say. Leave the peons to care for themselves. Those who do survive were meant to. Natural selection, my good man. What happened to natural selection?”
Jack had to physically bite his tongue as he listened in on the conversation. Pain kept him mind busy as he reminded himself a misspoken word here could mean death. As much as Jack would have loved to give the two in front of him a piece of his mind when it came to the survival of the fittest, he had to remain quiet. They wouldn’t last more than a few days in the Outland, left to their own devices.
Jack was grateful for the pause in conversation. But it wasn’t only their conversation that quieted; it was the entire room.
Jack followed the angle the other helmets were directed. A figure had risen from the seats behind the podium to take the stand. A black cloak just like everyone else’s fell down its body, but instead of a steel gray helmet, a gold mask was in its place. The helmet was same in design, but shone with a bright gold plating against the flames of the braziers.
“Friends, brothers, sisters.” The figure lifted white gloved hands in welcome. Jack could tell the voice was male. Past that, only a sense of familiarity with the syntax could aid him in identifying the figure. “Thank you for taking an interest in saving our city.”
A cheer erupted from the stands. To avoid suspicion, Jack clapped along with everyone else.
“Please,” the man said through his mask, “you should be applauding yourselves. It is us together who will reclaim our homes. We must stand as one united front.”
The cheers continued until the speaker motioned them to quiet.
“I have lived in this city my entire life. I am a son of New Hope and I love it with all my heart. However, events have begun to unfold that would hinder our progress. Recently, our elected officials have chosen to expand our borders, not in conquest, but in a plan that would empty our banks and distribute our wealth.”
Angry shouts, crude gestures, and boos permeated the air.
“I know my friends, I feel the same way.” The man began to pound the podium, adding strength to his words. “The Order was founded to combat the decline of our city. We have worked diligently these last years to build our ranks. Our time will come very soon. A time when you will be asked to take a stand against the crown. Will you answer that call?”
The sound was deafening as hundreds of masked voices roared with consent.
“It makes my heart glad to hear it,” The Order’s leader boomed. “But before our meeting can continue, I’d like to draw your attention to a pair of special guests we have with us tonight.”
Jack’s heart caught in his throat. He couldn’t mean them. There was no way they were distinguishable from anyone else in the room.
Jack’s mouth went as dry as the desert Outland as the man in the golden mask pointed to Aareth and himself. All heads turned in their direction. It was like nightmare as Jack swallowed hard and stared back into the dark eyes of his accusers.
Aareth was already on the move, grabbing Jack by the arm and rushing for the door that would lead them back into the hall.
“Stop them!” The shout reached Jack’s ears. “At all costs, they cannot be allowed to escape.”
Ranks upon ranks of Order members met them. They rose from their seats en masse, blocking the door. Jack ran beside Aareth into the army of ebony cloaks. With their weapons, they might have stood a chance. Outnumbered by a hundred to one was too much of a handicap to overcome. Jack knew this as he collided with the first line of Order members, but what choice did he have? If he was captured and killed, he would do so fighting every inch of the way.
To his credit, Aareth felt the same way. With more strength than any one man should possess, Aareth tore through the line of cloaked members. Bodies flew through the air as Aareth took the lead, more animal than man.
Jack’s approach had to be more methodical than the battering ram beside him. He sidestepped, batted fists away, and focused on knees and finishing blows.
Hope seemed to be within their grasp, mostly due to Aareth’s unnaturally lethal onslaught. Aareth was mowing down their enemies, while Jack followed close behind and protected his back.
Just as soon as the idea of escape became a viable option, it was ripped from their grasp. Aareth was beginning to tire. A group of Order members saw their chance and pounced on Aareth and Jack at once. There was nowhere to run; there were too many of them.
Jack felt blows land on his face and stomach, at the same time hands grabbed at his arms and legs. His helmet was ripped off of his face, as was the cloak. Half-conscious, he was dragged down to the floor in front of the podium.
Through a curtain of blood, Jack looked on as his hands were bound behind him with a thick cord of rope. Jack took steady, deep breaths. The first step was to regain awareness. His head was still buzzing from the blows he received. As soon as his vision cleared, he would look for an opening to use his magic. He’d only get one chance at it. As soon as they realized he could conjure magic without the use of a tool, they would kill him.
“That one,” the man in the gold mask said. “The big one. Yes. Secure him with a double steel chain. That should hold whatever he is.”
The metallic taste of blood was filling Jack’s mouth from a cut on his lip. He spit out the crimson liquid as he searched for the best course of action out of his current predicament.
Aareth was kneeling on the floor beside him, unconscious. Blood mixed with his long, black hair.
They were surrounded by what looked like the entire congregation of The Order. The man in the gold mask was looking down at them from behind his pulpit, shaking his head.
“Wake him up.” He pointed to Aareth. “I want him coherent for this.”
Aareth was shaken, then slapped across his face. A yearning woke deep inside Jack to protect his friend. Stronger was the urge to see both of them escape alive.Jack twisted his wrists against the ropes that bit deep into his skin. His hands were going numb from the lack of blood to his fingers. Still, Jack restrained his magic. His father would have been proud of him.
Marcus Walker had always reminded Jack to be patient, to examine every part of the scenario before making his move.
Another sadistic slap across Aareth’s face woke him from his unconscious state. Aareth’s blue eyes snapped open.
“Good, good.” The man in the golden mask actually sounded happy. Redirecting his attention to the flustered throng, he addressed The Order. “This is a perfect teaching opportunity. That, brothers and sisters, there are those who will seek to prevent us from saving our city. Whatever their reason for trying to dissuade us from our goal, it is irrelevant. The only thing that matters is that they would stand against us rather than with us. Most would simply slit their throats now and be done with them.”
The crowd roared its approval, hands clapping. Some even extended fists with their thumbs pointed to the ground as if the room were an ancient Roman coliseum.
“But we are not animals.” The man in the golden mask shook his head. “We are upstanding citizens of New Hope.”
The crowd hushed, mid-applause. Apparently they were under the impression they were acting in accordance with their leader’s wishes.
“We believe in the su
rvival of the fittest, do we not?” The leader of The Order didn’t wait for a response. “Of course we do. As such, these spies will receive a fighting chance.”
A quick motion of the speaker’s hand brought two masked members standing in front of Aareth and Jack.
Still wearing their masks and cloaks, it was impossible to tell who they were. One was as large as Aareth. The other was slender. Despite her cloak and mask, Jack had seen this exact individual before. It was the same woman who had defeated them both in the alley after the attempt on the queen’s life.
Jack looked over to Aareth to see if he had also figured out who the woman was. Aareth’s face was pale. Through long, black strands of his hair and the blood that dripped into his eyes, his focus was on the woman alone.
“The rules are simple,” the man behind the pulpit went on. “If you two kill the two members of The Order, you are free to go.”
Jack and Aareth were roughly pulled to their feet, their bonds removed. Even some of their weapons were returned to them. Aareth’s bowie knife was dropped in front of him.
Hitting the hard-packed sand floor in front of Jack was the case of three throwing knives Aareth had tried to sneak in. Apparently, The Order wasn’t keen on offering a magician back his wand. Little did they know Jack was capable of using the magic without it.
“We don’t use firearms here,” the golden-masked man said. “It’s uncivilized.”
“We aren’t doing this,” Jack said, loudly enough for everyone to hear. Secretly, he hoped Aareth would have some kind of plan and take the lead. Another look at the inspector told Jack he was on his own for the time being. Aareth was still staring at the woman, squinting, trying to wrap his mind around the impossible.
“Yes, you are,” The Order’s leader answered. “Because if you choose not to defend yourselves, you will die where you stand. Let the contest begin!”
A cheer rose again from those seated around them. The man in the golden mask returned to his seat on the raised podium. The guards surrounding the four combatants retreated past the flaming braziers.
House of Blood: (A Paranormal Urban Fantasy) (The Vampire Project Book 2) Page 8
