Emily Shadowhunter 3 - a Vampire, Shapeshifter, Werewolf novel.: Book 3: BITTEN

by Craig Zerf

  The door that the group of four had exited, opened out onto a landing that was situated near to the roof of the cavern. More steps led down into the actual town.

  ‘Before we proceed,’ said Sylvian. ‘If anyone talks to us, let me answerer. I have a residence here and am known by many. Emily, remember – pastel blue. Center yourself. Calm.’

  Em nodded.

  ‘What makes the light?’ Asked Tag.

  ‘Earth magik,’ answered the Bloodborn. ‘The council manage it. It’s some sort of endlessly repeating spell that uses the power of the earth to create light. Similar spells pump the water; provide heating, cooling for foodstuffs, pretty much everything.’

  ‘Do you grow stuff down here?’ Asked Troy.

  ‘No. All food is purchased from above. As are most raw materials. This is simply a living space, it has no real economy as such.’ Sylvian started to walk down the stairs and the rest followed him. It didn’t take long and they were at street level. As they walked the cats wound around their legs, rubbing their heads up against them, purring and pushing.

  Emily projected pale blue and the cats treated her and Troy no differently to anyone else. The streets didn’t seem to follow any rhyme or reason in their layout. Some turning back on themselves, others broadening out into small squares full of vendors and yet others narrowing until they became a dead end.

  But Sylvian knew his way and walked with a purpose. Ten minutes later he stopped in front of a three story dwelling, opened the door with one of the large brass locks that he was carrying and ushered all inside.

  Unlike his above ground house this was dark and dusty and it was plain that there were neither servants nor service that kept it clean and stocked with food. He went to a brass handle that was set into the wall and cranked it a few times.

  ‘Calling some help,’ he said by way of explanation.

  They all stood awkwardly in the hallway for a few minutes as Sylvian offered no further explanation nor did he invite them to go further into the house. After a few minutes the door opened and a group of tiny people walked in. There were six of them, around three feet tall, long brown robes and curly black hair. It wasn’t immediately apparent whether they were a group of males or females or a mix, such was their asexual appearance.

  Sylvian bent close to them and had a short muttered conversation. They nodded and split up into three sets of couples, heading into the interior of the house.

  ‘What now?’ Asked Tag.

  ‘They’re going to give the place a quick clean, stock the larders, ready the beds, that sort of thing,’ answered Sylvian.

  ‘Look, not to be that guy,’ said Tag. ‘But could we sit down somewhere? I don’t really fancy standing in the entrance hall for the next few hours while the little dudes clean up.’

  Sylvian laughed. ‘The little dudes, as you call them, are Urisks. Some call them Brownies. And it won’t be a few hours. More like a few minutes.’

  ‘How?’ Asked Tag.

  ‘Magik. They used to be more prevalent in human society some four or five hundred years ago. Particularly in the Celtic countries. They would help keep the house clean, churn butter, prepare the fire. All for a little honey and some milk. Nowadays, not so much. Modern man refuses to believe in them and they find that they make a much better living working in the hidden cities. Gone are the milk and honey days. Now they have a union and even though they can clean a house in a few minutes they charge as if they had worked a full ten hour day. Still, it’s worth it.’

  As the Bloodborn finished talking the Brownies came back. They had a brief muted conversation, Sylvian handed them a single gold piece and they left.

  Sylvian beckoned to the group as he left the entrance hall. They followed. The house was rustic but well furnished. It was also spotless. Not a single speck of dust. Fresh flowers in vases and the smell of newly baked bread wafted through the air. Candles burned in wall mounted sconces, throwing a warm yellow light. Sylvian took them to the eat-in kitchen where there was a central table laden with food. Bread, cheese, hams, salads, pickles and jugs of apple juice.

  ‘Is the food real?’ Asked Troy.

  ‘Of course,’ answered Sylvian. ‘They transport it here magically; they don’t simply create it out of thin air.’

  Emily pulled out a chair and moved it far from the table before she sat down, the smell of the food obviously disagreeing with her.

  Tag had already made himself a Dagwood sandwich, layering four thick slices of bread with the various foods and condiments. He bolted it down, barely chewing, chasing every mouthful with a draft of apple juice straight from the jug.

  ‘Starving,’ he muttered as he noticed that everyone was looking at him.

  Troy laughed and put together a plate of food for himself, as did Sylvian.

  ‘When can we start?’ Asked Emily.

  ‘Well, I thought that we could eat and perhaps rest a little,’ said Sylvian. ‘Then we can start to make enquiries.’

  ‘You said that we can rest when we are dead,’ answered Em.

  ‘I know,’ admitted the Bloodborn. ‘But there are human physical limits.’

  ‘Please,’ begged Emily. ‘There is some urgency to this. I don’t know how long I can keep thinking pastel blue. I’m starving. I can’t satiate myself with a cheese sandwich. And if I do feed then there is no way that I’ll be able to remain centered. Every bloody cat in the city will be down on me and that would be the end of us.’

  Tag gulped down his last mouthful and stood up. ‘Sleep is for wimps,’ he said. ‘I’m ready to rock and roll.’

  Sylvian sighed. ‘Fine. No time like the present.’ He put down his half finished sandwich. ‘Let’s go.’

  The group trailed out of the house, following the Frenchman.

  ‘This lighting is pretty and all that,’ noted Tag as they walked. ‘But it takes some getting used to. Seems to create more shadow than light. Why can’t it just stay still?’

  Sylvian shrugged. ‘Not sure how it works. Magik has never been my thing. Here,’ he pointed at a narrow alleyway in between two rows of buildings. ‘The people that we want to see are in there. Now remember, I do the talking. Things are different down here. More subtle. You can never be one hundred percent sure who, or what, you are talking to. And you wouldn’t want to inadvertently offend some minor godling that could dispatch you with a fireball or give you the plague. So, be polite and be nice.’

  At the end of the alleyway they came upon a wooden door. Brass bound, a large iron knocker in the center and a viewing slot above. There was no visible handle.

  Sylvian raised the knocker and beat out a complex tattoo. Seconds later the viewing slot slid open and a large eye stared out at them, blinked a few times and then slammed the slide shut.

  The door creaked open and Sylvian walked inside, gesturing for the others to follow. They entered a large room, high ceilings, smoking torches for lighting, polished marble floor. No decorations. The door banged shut behind them and they all turned to see the owner of the large eye that had peered through the viewing slot.

  A single eye. In the center of the beings forehead. The humanoid creature stood at well over eight feet tall and was built like an Oak tree. Or perhaps a Baobab. Huge, gnarled and lumpy.

  Sylvian held out his hand and the tree took it gently and shook it. It was like a child greeting a linebacker.

  ‘Good to see you again, Scratch,’ greeted the Bloodborn.

  ‘Your grace,’ answered Scratch. ‘I see that you have brought some guests. Please don’t forget to sign them in, you know the rules.’

  Sylvian nodded and then left the room without introducing Scratch to the others. He stopped briefly at an unmanned reception desk where he opened a ledger and scrawled a few names in. Tag glanced at them as they continued by.

  ‘Mickey Mouse, Pluto and Daffy?’

  ‘The club rules dictate that I sign all guests in,’ explained Sylvian. ‘They don’t specifically say that I have to use the guest’s actual names so I
see no need to advertise who you all are.’

  ‘What is this place?’ Asked Em.

  ‘A club,’ answered Sylvian. ‘Pretty exclusive. I’ve been a member for over three hundred years. The movers and shakers of the unseen cities. It’s pretty stuffy but they serve a good cocktail and if you need info on anything then this is one of the places to get it.’

  ‘One of the places?’ Asked Tag.

  Sylvian nodded. ‘Put it this way, let’s hope that we can learn what we need to know right here in the club. If not then we shall be forced to go to some of the less salubrious places in the city to delve for facts. And most of those places even make me a little nervous.’

  They proceeded down a long corridor and into a large sitting room. Wingback chairs were scattered about the room. As were various other seating arrangements. Large divans, small stools, outsized single chairs and even a few areas covered in mountains of scatter cushions. In amongst the seats were low coffee tables and along the walls stood a score of waiters. The waiting staff seemed to be human, or at least mainly humanoid.

  Sylvian went to a table that had four chairs around it. He sat down and raised his hand to call a waiter.

  ‘Four absinth.’

  The waiter scuttled off, returning quickly with the desired drinks and put the glasses on the table. Next he placed a silver slotted absinth spoon across the top of each glass, put a sugar cube on top and then trickled some iced water over it. The drinks turned from emerald green to a light cloudy color. He removed the spoons and bowed.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Sylvian. ‘Before you go, could you please give a message to count Brovnovsky. Tell him that the Bloodborn would like to see him.’

  The waiter cocked his head to one side. ‘I am sorry, sir. But we have no count Brovnovsky in the club.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Sylvian. ‘I know that. Nevertheless, please tell him that I am here and I need to see him.’

  The waiter bowed again and left the table.

  ‘Right,’ said Tag. ‘What’s this then?’ he pointed at the drinks in front of them.

  ‘Absinth,’ replied Sylvian.

  ‘What was all that thing with the sugar and the water and the spoon?’

  Sylvian smiled. ‘Tradition. It’s a very powerful drink so the water gets the alcohol level acceptable. The sugar is for taste. I suppose that you could simply chuck a spoon of sugar in and then add water but this way is so much nicer.’ He raised his glass. ‘Cheers.’

  The all took a sip except for Emily who turned away.

  ‘Try it,’ urged the Bloodborn.

  ‘I can’t drink anything except…you know,’ replied Em.

  ‘Try it,’ repeated Sylvian.

  Emily wrinkled her nose, lifted the glass and forced a sip. Then she smiled. ‘It’s good,’ she said in surprise. ‘I mean, pretty much everything that I try to drink makes me want to throw up.’

  ‘Except for my tea,’ added Tag.

  Em smiled again and took another sip.

  ‘Careful,’ warned Sylvian. ‘It’s very strong stuff.’

  ‘How come I can drink it?’

  ‘Apparently it’s the wormwood in it. Absinth, or the green fairy as some call it, has been around for hundreds of years and it’s very much considered to be the universal drink. Any species, genus or group seems enjoy it.’

  The waiter returned. ‘Sir,’ he approached Sylvian. ‘The count will see you and your guests in the private dining room. I am told that you know the way.’

  ‘I do,’ confirmed the Bloodborn.

  ‘Good, sir,’ commented the waiter. ‘Because I am not yet privy to that information so would be of no help whatsoever.’

  They finished their drinks and once more followed Sylvian through a convoluted maze of corridors and stairs, finally ending at yet another brass bound door. Sylvian entered without knocking.

  Unlike the proportions of the rest of the club, this room was relatively small. Normal ceiling heights, scores of clean burning wax candles for lighting and in the center of the room, a dining table with ten carver seats arranged around it. The table itself was bare.

  At the head sat an old man. In his left eye a monocle, thick gray hair slicked back from a high forehead. A sharp nose above an almost lipless mouth. He wore a dinner suit. When he stood up to greet them his missing left hand was obvious, the sleeve pinned back just above where his elbow would have been.

  His mouth smiled at Sylvian. His eyes did not.

  ‘Duc,’ he greeted the Bloodborn.

  ‘Reichsgraf,’ returned Sylvian, a smile as false as the counts plastered across his face. ‘May I introduce my friends and traveling companions, Tag, Emily and Troy.’ Then the Frenchman turned to his friends. ‘Count, or Reichsgraf, Brovnovsky, an old acquaintance of mine.’

  ‘After all these years, Duc,’ said the count. ‘And you still do not introduce me as friend.’

  ‘To do so would make liars of us both,’ replied Sylvian.

  ‘True,’ agreed the old man as he stared at Tag, Troy and Em. ‘What an interesting group you have brought into our fair city,’ he said. ‘And also, so illegal.’

  ‘What do you mean, illegal?’ Snapped Tag.

  The count laughed. ‘Oh don’t fret young man,’ he said. ‘Sylvian’s secrets are my secrets.’ He turned to Emily and bowed. ‘Good trick,’ he said. ‘And powerful too, masking the Wolf as well as yourself. I am impressed, never before have I seen such power. But be careful, there are others such as me who can see straight through your little disguise.’

  Emily took a step towards the count and bared her fangs. Brovnovsky jumped back, a look of fear fast replacing his supercilious smile. ‘Bloodborn,’ he squeaked. ‘Control your creature.’

  ‘She is nobody’s creature,’ growled Troy as he too moved towards the count.

  ‘Enough,’ commanded Sylvian. ‘Show some self-control. The count meant no insult and he is correct, our secrets are safe with him.’

  ‘How does he know?’ Asked Em.

  ‘He is a wizard,’ responded Sylvian.

  ‘Like Merlin?’ Asked Tag.

  Sylvian shook his head. ‘He wishes. No, Merlin is the wizard. The count is simply a relatively competent conjuror.’

  The count looked upset. ‘Really, Sylvian? A conjurer? That would put me a mere few levels above a magician. A party trickster. Anyway, how can I be of service to you?’

  ‘We’re searching for someone. Two someone’s, actually,’ said Sylvian.

  ‘Someone or something?’ Asked the count.

  ‘Not important,’ said the Frenchman.

  ‘Fine. Have you got names? Descriptions? Anything that I can start with?’

  ‘They’re wereWolves,’ said Sylvian. ‘Not sure if they are male or female.’

  ‘Most probably male,’ interrupted Troy. ‘The Pack is still very misogynistic. Well perhaps not as strong as that, but definitely chauvinistic.’

  Emily rolled her eyes.

  ‘Hey,’ objected the Wolf. ‘Not me, them.’

  ‘So, two male wereWolves,’ said the count. ‘Oh well that’s easy.’

  The group of friends leant forward in anticipation.

  ‘They aren’t here. At least not in Pareen.’

  ‘How do you know?’ Asked Sylvian.

  ‘Because there are no wereWolves in the hidden cities. As there are no Vampires.’

  ‘Patently not true,’ stated Troy as he gestured at Emily and himself.

  ‘Pah!’ Exclaimed the count. ‘You two are the exception that proves the rule. What the girl is doing is impossible. Well, I thought that it was impossible until now. Perhaps there are one or two of the elders that could do it. The Capo or his ilk. But even that is doubtful.’

  ‘Doesn’t seem so difficult,’ grunted Tag.

  ‘Really?’ Questioned the count. ‘It’s beyond difficult. It is taking multitasking to an almost supernatural level. She has got to achieve a meditative state that goes against the very essence of what she has become. Then she has to
maintain that state whilst walking, talking and being generally compos mentis. As well as that, she then needs to expand the area of her mental influence to encapsulate and camouflage another body next to her. And all that while she is also fighting an almost overwhelming urge to feed on every living thing that she sees. Believe me, it is an achievement that goes beyond amazing. It is, as I said before, impossible.’

  ‘So they aren’t here?’ Reiterated Sylvian.

  ‘They are,’ insisted Troy. ‘As there are guardians in all of the other hidden cities. And there have been for many hundreds of years.’

  The count frowned. And looked as if he were about to speak, then he shook his head.

  ‘What?’ Asked Sylvian. ‘You have a thought?’

  ‘There are rumors,’ he said hesitantly. ‘Of parts of the city that are cat-free. Everything-free, actually. Long lost areas. Abandoned areas. Just rumors. Perhaps they might be there. Technically it would still be in the city.’

  ‘Where are these areas?’ Asked the Frenchman.

  ‘Not sure if they even exist,’ admitted the count. ‘But if they did then I would look in the lower levels. Deep down.’

  ‘Why were they abandoned,’ enquired Troy.

  The count shrugged. ‘It is said that the inhabitants went too deep. That they encountered the old evil.’

  ‘What, like dark and horrible death, soul eaters, bogeymen? Nasty burning fires? What the hell do you mean’ Asked Tag irritably.

  ‘On no,’ said the count. ‘Quite the opposite. It is said that they encountered primeval sin.’

  Emily drew a sharp intake of breath. ‘You mean Original Sin?’

  The count nodded.

  ‘Still in the dark here,’ insisted Tag.

  ‘I think that the count is talking about…the Garden of Eden,’ said Emily. ‘Man’s first sin. The seat of all creation.’

  ‘That’s what they say,’ admitted the count.