by Ryan Attard
“That was the general idea, yeah.”
“And now?” he said. “I take some hostages and you stop? Where’s your conviction, Mr. Ashendale? The drive to do whatever it takes?”
“That’s the difference between you and I, Greede,” I said. “There are lines I don’t cross.”
“And that’s why I WIN!”
The sudden outburst took me and Abi by surprise. Even the manticore reared its head up before lying back down again.
Greede ran his hand through his slick-backed hair. “Sorry about that. That was my bad, completely my bad. But it’s so frustrating, Mr. Ashendale, to see what you can become — if only you just gave in.”
“Is that what this is all about?” I asked. “You figure if you got me to turn over to the dark side, then you’ll be safe.”
“No, no, no, no, no!” Greede stomped his foot. “There is only one way our fight ends, Mr. Ashendale, and it’s with you on the ground. You cannot beat me with magic, you have the limitations of a human body, and your mind is broken. You cannot out-spell, out-fight, or out-think me.”
“He’s not alone,” Abi spoke for the first time.
Greede looked at her with murder in his eyes. “Speak again, girl, and it will be the last time you shall do so.” He beamed. “Uh, that was creepy, wasn’t it? But seriously, darlin’, hush up. The big guns are talking.”
He waved his hand and I felt a slight burst of magic. The crystalline barrier shifted, driving a wall between me and Abi, isolating her outside.
He pushed his spectacles into his face.
“Where were we?” he said. “Yes, right. Your inevitable doom.”
“I’ll take my chances,” I said.
Greede nodded, bobbing his head back and forth. “Okay, you wanna be a tough guy. I get that. Your daddy was the same.”
That got my attention. “My dad?” I asked.
He beamed. “Of course. I knew your dad, back in the day. Didn’t you know, your dad had an empire. This was back before the States were United, back when we needed one of those old-school leaders to inspire us all. Your father was that leader. But after the war was over and everyone settled down, your daddy found himself a nice girl, got her knocked up, and moved far away into the forest, where he spent the rest of his days doing… well, I got no idea to be honest..
“But the soldiers, Mr. Ashendale. They were lost. They only knew how to fight. That’s when I gave them the one thing they were missing: a home.”
He spread his arms.
“I welcomed them into my little group. Gave them a little tattoo to commemorate the occasion. A symbol of brotherhood. Well, that, and if they ever sabotaged me, ka-boom. But then again, what kinda villain would I be if I weren’t at least a little tyrannical?”
I stood there and listened. It made sense. I knew my family history was fucked up but this was something else. I always suspected but I never knew… until now. My dad figured out how to live a really long life and created fake relatives to give credit to. He was the one behind everything, all the history, the misery; the darkness I face today.
Add one more to the therapy list.
I crossed my arms and immediately uncrossed them again. “So what? You’re saying I’m just like my dad?”
“Oh no, on the contrary,” Greede said. “You’re the opposite. Your sister is the thinker, the schemer. But you, you’re the hero. You’re the guy who walks through fire, the guy who’s been through hell and back.” He cocked his head. “Do you really think there’s a happy ending to this, Mr. Ashendale?”
“I should just do what you did then?” I shot back. “Break the world, and why exactly? Did someone tell you no? Wouldn’t give you any candy?”
Greede’s expression darkened for a second before the mask was back on his face.
“I suppose the game is on then,” he said jovially. “Good. I could use a distraction from my side projects. You wish to stop me? Rent a tux, Mr. Ashendale, and follow your sister tonight.”
“What?”
“You’ll see.”
Greede flipped open the Necronomicon. Pages flipped on their own until they stopped and Greede slammed his hand on the page.
The room barrier, the manticore, the faceless men, and Greede himself, all disappeared within the book, until it too popped out of existence.
I looked at Abi, who looked back at me. I felt a tightness in my chest, but I held back the panic attack. That didn’t stop me from hyperventilating though.
Abi and I walked outside and wordlessly made it back to the Comic Con area.
Amaymon came rushing.
“What happened?” he asked. “I came as soon as I no longer felt your presence.” He grinned. “And then I rushed over here.”
“Greede,” I said. “He just wanted to talk and gloat. Had a barrier up, which probably explains why-”
Abi suddenly rushed in and punched Amaymon in the dick. He bent over clutching his genitals.
“That’s for having sex with my mother, asshole,” she said.
He opened his mouth and struggled to get the next words out. “Is that anyway to treat your new daddy?”
She kicked him in the face. “You gotta sleep sometime, Amaymon,” she spat before storming off.
He rolled on the ground for another minute, pretending to be injured. Once she left, he sprang back up.
“Did she really call me an asshole?” he said. “I would have preferred ‘motherfucker’ — cos it’s literally true in this case.”
Suddenly the tension from confronting Greede was lifted. I burst out laughing, regurgitating fear and anger in an uncontrollable cackle.
“Get your jokes out now, man,” I managed in between laughs. “Cos she’s really pissed at you. Where is Abi’s mom anyway?”
“Disheveled and worn out,” he replied. “Somewhere.”
“You’re a class act, Amaymon.”
He grinned. “What did Greede wanna talk about?”
“He suggested I get out of the fight,” I said.
“Which means we’re doing something right,” he concluded.
“Agreed.”
“You know our next move?”
I nodded. “Apparently, I gotta rent a tux,” I said before grimacing. “And call my sister.”
Chapter 10
I never felt so nervous in my life.
It started when I put on the tux and couldn’t figure out how to tie the bowtie. Abi had gone out, and Amaymon was less then useless in providing any real help, which meant that, when Akasha showed up in a royal purple dress that immediately gave me a boner, she found her date uttering a profane litany while struggling with the neckwear.
Akasha tied it for me, said I looked handsome, and just as we were getting slightly frisky, my sister rocked up in a limo.
After my confrontation with Alan Greede, I immediately phoned my sister and got all the information about the auction happening tonight. In the process, I learnt several things:
Number one: More people were aware of magic than I thought.
Number two: Most of them happen to be either victims of monsters — that’s usually the type I deal with — while others happen to be amazingly rich and stumble into the magical world via antiques or ancient blood rituals that made them so obscenely rich in the first place.
That’s who my sister primarily deals with.
Tonight’s auction was, unsurprisingly enough, organized by Ryleh Corp. The catalogue was top secret but it didn’t take a genius to figure out that nothing good could come of this.
The venue was a villa.
Massive, spacious, with more decorations and displays of wealth than I’ve ever seen in one place. As soon as we entered through the open automatic black gates, following a row of similar limousines and watching couples exiting from their vehicle wearing clothes made by people who’s names I could not pronounce, our door was pulled open.
I was the first out and smiled at a young valet, who kept his eyes firmly on my shoes. I offered a hand to Akas
ha, and then my sister.
“Thank you, Erik,” the latter said.
Gil flicked a white-blonde strand of hair from her face, while adjusting the forest green dress she wore for the evening. White gold jewelry decorated her neck and delicate wrists. In short, my sister looked like royalty.
She nodded at the valet. “That will be all, thank you,” she said, slipping him a twenty dollar bill.
“Thank you, Madam,” replied the boy before skittering away to the next car.
“Smooth,” I said to my sister.
“I would have to be,” she replied, as we walked inside. “Tipping the help is often frowned upon in these circles.”
She flashed three invitations to the doorman, who welcomed us into a massive foyer big enough accommodate a football match with ease. I found myself holding a glass of pink-colored champagne which smelled like strawberries and was way too sweet for my delectation. The canapés, on the other hand, were amazing. Food of all sorts flowed, hoisted on silver trays being carried by waiters in crisp uniforms and gloved hands. Anything edible was cut into small bite-sized pieces and neatly arranged on the tray.
At the very back of the foyer, a band played. I spotted violins, basses, cellos, a flute or two. The music was akin to background noise, smoothing over the constant trill of people chattering about their yachts, their homes, or whatever it was that people with this much cash chatted about.
I wouldn’t know.
Gil excused herself from me and Akasha, and began flitting from one group to another. I’d like to paint you a picture here: my sister is five two, built like a pixie, and struts about with a natural grace that often made me question how in the hell could the two of us be twins. Or even related at all. Most of the people she spoke to were tall, proud, puff-chested men, wearing suits and coats that further added to their bulk. The women were also mostly taller, usually thanks to skyscraper heels and hairdos that made them look like the wife from the Simpsons.
And yet, as soon as they spotted my sister coming, every single one of these people would stop, slightly tilt their heads respectfully, and engage in polite, animated conversation with the Ashendale queen.
I observed all of this with awe and a slight bit of jealously because I’m only human, until Akasha squeezed my hand.
“How come you’re not mingling either?” I asked her. “These people must know who you are.”
She grinned. “Most of the people I used to mingle with are long dead, Erik,” she said. I raised an eyebrow in response. “And besides, the Grigori try to keep a low profile. We tend to honor the secret part of the phrase ‘secret society’.”
“Have I mentioned how sexy I find your sass?” I said, wrapping my hand around her waist.
She purred. “I never tire of hearing it.”
“Oh, do behave you two,” Gil snapped from behind me as she grabbed another glass of champagne.
“You’re back,” I said, before sinking into an exaggerated bow. “Your Majesty.”
Gil rolled her eyes. “You’re such a child.”
“And you’re more popular than I remember.”
“Just the usual sycophants after my money and influence,” she replied casually.
“Are they getting any?” Akasha asked. Her lips suggested she was joking but I could see the suspicion in her eyes.
She was technically Gil’s boss within the Grigori, which meant that every decision Gil made could potentially affect the Grigori’s assets.
Gil raised her eyebrows. “You give me far too little credit,” she replied.
“My apologies.”
“None needed, Akasha,” Gil said. “I understand that I still have to earn your trust.”
Akasha nodded. “You have my trust, Gil Ashendale,” she said. “It is the others’ that you must earn.”
My sister sighed. “Ah, yes. The joy of internal politics.”
“That,” I added, “and the fact that Jared is a massive dick.”
Jared was just below Akasha in terms of ranking, coming up at number three. We spoke for exactly ten minutes, eight of which he spent trying to have me executed, while the remainder he spent adjusting his hair and trying to come up with rebuttals to my clever insults.
In short, a massive tool.
Akasha slapped me lightly on the arm. “Behave,” she said. “Even if you are absolutely right,” she added into her glass before sipping.
Gil let out a laugh. “I can handle Jared.”
“And what about Greg?” Akasha pressed, grinning mischievously. “I’ve heard a few rumors about you two.”
Gil shot me a look. “What did you say?”
“Nothing,” I said.
Which was the truth. I did not tell Akasha that Greg may have suggested he was boning my sister.
But I may have implied it.
“Relax,” Akasha said. “So long as the Grigori can function as a unit, I really don’t care what the individual members do.”
Gil swallowed the rest of her champagne. “I like to think I’m a bit more professional than that,” she said.
“You are,” I replied, grinning.
“Thank you, brother.”
I pointed behind her. “He’s also standing right over there.”
Gil spun so fast, the whiplash of her dress nearly broke the sound barrier.
Greg the Kresnik, the fourth most powerful Grigori, scourge of the undead, was standing awkwardly in a corner partially hiding behind a large fern. He wore a grey tux that greatly accented his muscular body and to look at him, you would have thought he was a bouncer. His beard was neatly clipped and his hair tied into a neat ponytail, and given the shine, I would even bet he used some sort of hair product. His electric blue eyes scanned the area as if expecting a pack of wolves to jump out at any moment, and gave Gil a little wave when their eyes met.
My sister turned around, bright red.
I nearly choked to death giggling into a sandwich.
“I hate you,” she growled undertone.
I managed to swallow the food without asphyxiating, and was about to retort, when I saw him come in.
Tall, handsome, his sandy hair in locks that were swept backwards, Jared entered the foyer with two supermodels on either side. Their dresses, which showed an impressive about of side boob, matched his rose gold waistcoat and pants. A crisp white shirt hugged his skinny frame, flashing cuff links that were worth more than everything I owned combined.
He nodded to Akasha, threw me a sniveling glare — which I returned with a half grin and a raised eyebrow — and smiled predatorily at my sister.
“Why is he here?” I murmured towards my date.
“Because the Grigori have a vested interest in this,” Akasha replied. “I have the authority and the knowledge to assess anything in auction. Jared has more money than anyone here. And Greg is the muscle in case this is a trap.”
I cocked my head. “And, just in case you fail, Greede would have killed the top three Grigori members,” I added.
Akasha pursed her lips. “Erik, you know I respect you and will never tell you how to operate your business. Please do me the favor of not telling me how to do mine.”
Ouch.
I raised my hands in surrender. There would have to be a proper apology later on but, for now, I just had to keep my mouth shut and make sure we all came out of this alive.
A clinking sound echoed loudly from the other side of the foyer. The band stopped playing and the waiters retreated to the kitchen. Standing before a set of large, magnificent and intricately carved doors, was a round, portly man with a massive mustache and a pot belly barely contained by his dinner jacket.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said. His voice was reedy and had a high pitch. “Welcome to tonight’s auction. I trust everyone has had a chance to eat, drink, and mingle before the main event.”
He paused for a second, allowing everyone to murmur in agreement.
“I would like to thank Mr. Greede and Ryleh Corp for generously providing tonight�
��s bounty,” he continued. “Unfortunately, Mr. Greede himself could not be here this evening.”
Well, hello Red Flag. Why wouldn’t the big boss himself be here? He made this happen, why not parade his accomplishment in front of everyone?
Unless, of course, this was a trap and every single person in this room was about to get royally fucked.
I pressed a hand along my lower back. Djinn was strapped vertically to the tuxedo jacket. If anything went south, all I had to do was take it off and pull out my weapon.
Gil caught my eye — she was thinking exactly along the same lines.
The round man was still speaking. “If everyone is ready, please follow me inside and take a seat.”
He snapped his fingers and two doormen pulled open the large door behind him. The room inside was even larger, with two columns of chairs set in neat rows. A raised platform and a plinth stood at the opposite end.
One by one, everyone streamed inside. Gil, Akasha, and I sat in the middle of the left side, with me taking the isle seat. That way, if shit went down, I could cover the passageway in the middle and let everyone out. From the corner of my eye, I saw Jared sitting on the right isle — front and centre, of course.
Greg disappeared from sight. The dude was probably in one of the very last rows.
I picked up a paddle from my seat and examined it.
“It’s how you bid,” Gil explained. She went on to articulate the different hand gestures to further increase one’s bid, but given that I had about twenty five bucks left to my name, I stopped listening three seconds in.
The fat man climbed on stage and a few of the doormen wheeled in a rectangular glass case. He opened the glass lid and pulled out a jet black sword, curved and wicked, about four feet long. The man struggled to heft it and laid it gently on a red, velvet cushion where it glistened majestically.
“This weapon is unique in the world, Ladies and Gentlemen,” he said. “The material is not steel but bone, extracted from an otherworldly creature recently discovered by Ryleh Corp.”
I looked at the sword and chill ran down my spine.
