Blood Bound

by M. D. Massey

  If so, the child was much more than he appeared. Perhaps he was in league with someone who wanted the foul, mysterious thing hidden below—a mage, witch, or necromancer. Was the child being forced to steal it? Certainly it wasn’t just childish curiosity, because then how would he have seen past the glamour cast on the door?

  If he was a mundane child and not someone clued in on The World Beneath, that boy was in serious danger. Should he disturb whatever the store owner kept locked away beneath his shop, he’d likely not survive the encounter. Missing children tended to bring police, who would in turn suspect the owner, who might possibly be jailed…

  … and then, no more comic books for Crowley.

  “Drat,” he cursed under his breath. Without another word, he cast a concealment spell on himself and slipped behind the curtain.

  16

  Theo’s heart beat in his chest as he made his descent, pounding out a steady “whoomp-whoomp-whoomp,” a testament to the fact that the boy needed to get more exercise. Yet it wasn’t just the short sprint through the store that had his heart aflutter; he was excited about the prospects of what he might find below, and more than a little scared that he might be caught. Outside of being reprimanded for reading comics during Mrs. Wamble’s class, and that time he knocked his stepmom’s ceramic owl collection over while playing Star Wars in the house, Theo had never been in trouble in his life.

  The stairs creaked with his every step, loudly enough that anyone in the store upstairs would hear him trespassing. Thankfully, there’d only been one other person in the store, and that dude had his head so deep in the stacks Theo doubted he even paid him any mind. And he hadn’t yet heard the front door chime, so he knew that Richard was likely still investigating the source of the noise.

  It was a simple trick, really, one Theo had designed so it removed all evidence of wrongdoing once sprung. He’d taken one of his stepmom’s cigarettes, torn the filter off, and poked a wick-sized hole through one end, as close to the tip as possible. Then, he’d unwrapped a package of firecrackers, stuck the fuse through the hole, and lit the cigarette, hiding the makeshift time bomb carefully beneath the old-school mailbox that sat in front of Prince Mark’s. After a short jaunt down the street and back, he’d entered the store as invisibly as he always did these days, in plain sight but ignored by Richard and everyone else of consequence.

  Amazingly, it had worked. Theo had finally pierced the veil and was about to see if the rumors were true. And if they were, he’d put his plan into effect. Like the time bomb distraction device, his scheme was simple yet ingenious. He would steal Richard’s most valuable comics, such as the Amazing Fantasy #15 and Tales of Suspense #39 he was rumored to have locked away in the basement. There were also supposed to be three copies of Avengers #1 down here, but that was no big deal. Still, he’d snag those too, just because he wanted to flip through one of them—only if it was GD quality or below, mind you.

  And then he’d wait a few weeks, biding his time until things cooled down and Richard lost hope of ever getting his prized collectible editions back. At that point, Theo would show up saying he’d found the comics in a dumpster. Then, the cool kids would know he wasn’t a cheat and Richard would insist they accept the younger boy into their peer group. He’d be a hero.

  It was the perfect plan, and Theo was already halfway there. Now, he just had to follow through and snag those rare comics. That is, if the rumors were true.

  As he reached the bottom of the stairs he paused, hiking his backpack higher on his shoulders. Then he closed his eyes and took a deep breath before rounding the corner into the room beyond.

  “Holy shit,” he whispered when he first saw the place. “Those assholes were telling the truth.”

  The room ahead was rather large, perhaps twenty by twenty feet. The walls were cinder block, painted in murals that depicted fantasy scenes and famous comic book cells. The artwork had been expertly done in crisp lines and vibrant colors, so the characters and creatures portrayed seemingly jumped off the wall in 3D.

  In addition to the artwork, the place was a geeky kid’s paradise. Old-school arcade games and pinball machines lined one wall and beanbag chairs were scattered here and there, as well as a huge, comfy-looking leather couch. In the corner sat a soda machine that had “FREE” written on a piece of white tape that covered the price sign. Even better, if the button labels were for real, the machine was filled with Jolt cola.

  But that wasn’t the most amazing thing about the room.

  No, the feature that jumped out at Theo was the huge gaming table that served as the centerpiece. Jaw-droppingly large, it was probably bigger than his bedroom, and a heck of a lot cooler. Easily fifteen feet long and almost as wide, the surface was chalkboard green with pale gray grid lines marking it from one end to the other.

  Currently, it looked to be set up for a dungeon module. Much of it had been overlaid with map layouts that depicted an underground complex of caves, tunnels, and sewers, all as artfully depicted as the wall murals. Painted miniatures were set up all over the board, as if someone had been planning out a campaign and deciding where to hide all the monsters and villains. And, to top it all off, a set of chrome-plated metal dice sat atop a black crush velvet bag at one end, next to a leather dungeon master’s screen that had been folded flat.

  Theo slowly walked around the table, taking it all in and committing the sight to memory. He might not be back this way, as his plan required him to leave the shop without being seen. So, he wanted to make sure he remembered this perfectly; that way, he could play it cool when Richard invited him down here.

  But this wasn’t what he’d come to find. With a reluctant sigh, Theo tightened his backpack straps and headed into the next room.

  17

  “Honestly, who lives like this?” Crowley muttered as he carefully picked his way down the stairs. Every step was strewn with garbage and debris, the detritus of a modern underachiever’s depraved lifestyle. Beer cans, soda bottles, cellophane wrappers, empty potato chip bags, pornographic magazines—it was enough to make the wizard vomit.

  And spider webs—ugh, how he hated spider webs. It wasn’t that he was afraid of them; it was just that their silk tended to cling to one’s clothing, and the wizard hated to present an unkempt appearance. Crowley torched the thin gray strands with a snap of his fingers as he picked his way down the stairs, careful to avoid puddles and stains that were potentially suspect.

  “Oh, for the sake of all that’s dark and unholy,” he hissed as he stepped in something soft and squishy that clung to his shoe.

  They were Berluti’s, and possibly ruined now. Thankfully, he had two more pairs just like them, but it still irked him that he’d have to get in his car and drive home wearing soiled shoes. Unfortunately, the unique nature of Crowley’s magic meant that it was great for destroying things, but not so useful for fixing them. The last time he’d tried to clean a pair of shoes with magic, his tower had smelled of burnt leather for days. Cleaning a pair of shoes by hand was simply out of the question, so into the trash they would go.

  “That child had best not trigger a deadly curse or release a denizen of the lower realms of hell before I find him. Because if he does, I’m going to raise him from the dead and then kill the little guttersnipe all over again for making me follow him down here.”

  Before he’d headed down, Crowley had paused just inside the doorway to examine the look-away, forget-me spell that had been placed on it. Interestingly, the wards and runes had been crafted in such a way that the spell was attuned specifically to adults. Which, of course, explained how the child was able to see the basement entrance—but not why the store owner would want to keep such a secret from his adult patrons only.

  Unless…

  That would make sense, since the shopkeep did seem to have deviant tendencies. It was something Crowley would have to look into, once he prevented the boy from dying a horrible death and getting his favorite comic book shop shut down. Perhaps the wizard could hire a
doppelgänger to replace the man, and then purchase the shop through one of the many shell corporations he owned. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t done such things before. Doppelgängers were difficult to find, however, so the wizard would prefer to keep it in the hands of the current owner.

  Once he’d shaken as much offal from his shoe as possible, the shadow wizard proceeded to the bottom of the stairs only to find that the basement was flooded, inches deep. Cursing the boy, his parents, and seven generations of his offspring, the mage stepped into the fetid, stagnant water and forged ahead. A dark cinder-block doorway to his left was the only way forward, and he was about to step through when he noticed something off about the entrance.

  “Well, well—someone has been very, very naughty,” he said, crossing his arms and tapping a finger on his chin as he considered the trap wards that had been laid on the threshold.

  Again, these wards were specifically attuned to trigger only if they were crossed by someone of the adult persuasion. The casting itself was nothing to note—a simple spell-trap that any second-year magic student could disarm. However, the sheer power that had been woven into it and the nefariousness of the effects were something to behold.

  If Crowley had passed into the next room, he’d have been instantly frozen to negative 100 degrees Celsius, then hit with an impact spell that was roughly equivalent to being struck by a fast-moving semi-truck. Once he lay shattered in pieces on the floor, he’d have been sprayed with an ultra-caustic acid, which in turn would have turned his remains into sludge.

  Knowing this, the wizard reassessed his decision to tromp through the rank expanse of water that covered the floor. Upon closer inspection, there were things floating in the murk that might’ve been human bones. He’d have been impressed, if he weren’t so revolted by the untidiness of it all.

  Still, he had to give the caster a grudging amount of respect. As he disarmed the trap and neutralized the spell, Crowley resolved to proceed more carefully thereafter. Such caution would require that he moved at a much more leisurely pace as well, because one never hurried when entering another mage’s sanctuary—no matter how meager the presiding magic-user’s skills.

  It was a tough break for the child, however. He’d likely run afoul of the evil presence that lurked ahead long before Crowley caught up to him. There was nothing to be done for it, but the upside was that the wizard wouldn’t have to converse with the child upon rescuing him.

  He was happily counting his lucky stars when he remembered that was precisely the outcome he wished to prevent. With a sigh, the wizard cast an illumination spell, then trudged off into the darkness while cursing the druid for introducing him to such a plebeian, philistine hobby in the first place.

  18

  The next room after the gaming room was a sight to behold, causing Theo to pause and take his time to explore it thoroughly. The walls were stone—whether fake or real, the boy could only guess—and the ceiling arched, like the inside of an old church he’d once visited with his grandma. Electric chandeliers hung from thick iron chains overhead, lighting the place from corner to corner so each and every feature could be fully appreciated.

  And oh, what wondrous sights this room held. It was set up like a museum, with glass cases spaced apart in a grid pattern so that the room was laid out in aisles and rows. The displays were roped off, and each aisle was marked by its own red carpet that led to the next exhibit.

  Inside those cases were an array of period weaponry, armor, and clothing, the likes of which young Theo had never before seen. Clearly labeled by tent cards and brass placards, each explained what the items were as well as where and when they were from. There were suits of armor from the Middle Ages, swords from every period and nation, shields, maces, morningstars, crossbows, lances, spears, and even a trident or two, which the signs indicated to be Roman in origin.

  “How in the heck did Richard get all this stuff?” Theo wondered aloud as he strolled the aisles, open-mouthed.

  For a moment, he considered that the comic book shop owner might be a Bruce Wayne type—or a Connor MacLeod, at least. However, he quickly dismissed that idea on the grounds that he rarely saw Richard move from his stool behind the counter. Still, there had to be a reason he kept all that weaponry and armor down here. Maybe he sold antique weapons and stuff on the side, to support his comic book habit?

  Speaking of which, Theo had a job to do, and now he wanted to complete that task more than ever. The wonders of the basement rooms beneath Prince Mark’s had proven to be far beyond even his wildest imaginings, and he couldn’t wait to be able to enjoy them at his leisure. With a heavy sigh, Theo bade farewell to the displays, then he hurried on to see what the next chamber might hold in store.

  To enter that room, the boy had to open one-half of a pair of massive steel and wood doors. They were the type you might expect to see inside a castle or dungeon, made from dark wood clad in hammered iron, with thick studded rivets and handles that clanged when you released them. When he finally managed to yank the door open—which took considerable effort and not a small amount of inadvertent farting—he had to admit that the resulting view was a bit disappointing.

  “What the hell, man—a book? Seriously?”

  The room ahead was dark, lit only in the center by a single light that shone down upon a pedestaled display case, not unlike the ones Theo had seen in the previous room. Shadows played at the corners of his vision as he entered, as if things were moving in the dark that did not want to be seen. He almost turned back, but there was something about the book inside the case that made him take another step… and one after that… and the next until he stood in front of the case.

  “Whoa.”

  The book had been left laid open, revealing thick, yellowed parchment pages that had been written in a harsh, angular script unlike anything Theo had ever seen. Except perhaps in a Dungeons & Dragons manual, or on a high fantasy novel cover. As he stared at them, the letters began to swim and blur, causing him to avert his eyes.

  Wait—was it his imagination, or had he begun to understand what it said?

  The boy looked at the pages again, steeling himself to keep his eyes focused on those weird symbols even after they’d begun to shift and change shape. He soon grew nauseous and broke out in a cold sweat, and the hair stood up on his arms. But then, the words reformed before his eyes. Their meaning became somewhat readable, if still gibberish:

  SORCERIE AND CONJURESON FOR ENPRISONMENT OF DEOFLES

  “Cool.”

  It was beyond a doubt the absolute best D&D prop Theo had ever seen. Obviously there was some sort of hidden camera, projecting words and images onto the pages from above, perhaps in the light overhead? He wished he had time to figure out how it worked, but he had to get a move on if he was to find those comics and get out of here in time for supper.

  Theo trudged toward the door ahead. This entrance was much more mundane than the last, simply a plain wooden door with a glass handle and nothing more. The boy swung it open wide and out flooded warm, soft light that blinded him with its glow. But as his eyes adjusted to the glare within, he could soon make out the details of the room beyond.

  “Jackpot,” he whispered.

  His eyes slowly swept across the space in front of him, taking in every detail so he could remember this moment forever. It was a sitting room, one meant for reading and nothing more, filled with soft, comfortable chairs, plush carpets, side tables, reading lamps, and shelf after shelf of comics in clear cellophane slipcovers. There were books as well, fantasy novels and grimdark, steampunk and contemporary, modern and classics—but it was the comics that caught Theo’s eye.

  Specifically the shelf with a half-dozen or so older, slightly yellowed copies encased in Lexan display boxes, standing face out for all to see. This was the holy grail—Theo had found his prize. He was just about to start stuffing cases in his bag when a low groan came from a chair to his left.

  He spun quickly, landing in an awkward crouch, only to find that the sou
rce of that noise appeared to be dozing—with a comic in his lap, no less. It was, of all people, his nemesis Rhone. The teen had drool running down his chin, and he was dirty and disheveled in a manner that Theo had never before seen. There was also something on his shirt.

  “Is that… blood?”

  19

  “Oh, now that is foully done,” the wizard observed as he turned the corner from the stairwell into the room ahead.

  The glamour had been subtly cast—obviously not the work of the amateur who’d trapped the stairs, mind—and artfully attuned so it would only appear in the presence of someone who had not yet reached adulthood. It was quite the illusion, and he applauded the deviousness of whoever had woven that spell.

  Essentially, the caster had created the perfect honey trap—a paradisiacal wonderland specifically designed to ensorcell unsuspecting youths. The nature of the illusion, as well as the unique signature of the magic itself, told the mage much about what he might be up against. The danger was worth noting, and he’d be ready should he run afoul of the author.

  Crowley was unconcerned, as he’d dealt with this kind before. However, he paused to make a few preparations for propriety’s sake, shifting his magical energies and shoring up his defenses as well. Even the lowest imp could be dangerous when cornered in its lair, just as it was wise to respect even a simple hedge witch in her sanctuary.

  The wizard proceeded with caution as he moved through the room, watching out for other traps and keeping a careful eye for stacked illusions. Eldritch entities who were skilled at casting glamours would often layer them, one atop the other, in an attempt to deceive those who might pierce the most obvious façade. Inexperienced mages often fell prey to such simple tricks, their pride swollen at having spotted one illusion while another they hadn’t noticed would conceal their doom.