by Alan Baxter
A distant sound caught his attention. It sounded like a scream, cut quickly short. He heard a frantic, muffled conversation outside the door, too disrupted by the walls of his prison to understand.
Shoes slapped the concrete floor as one man ran away. Alex clenched his fists in anticipation. Only one man stood guard now. Only one gun. He could happily play those odds.
‘Don’t you make a fucking move,’ the man outside the door called, as if reading his mind.
‘What’s going on?’ Alex shouted. ‘Who the fuck are you people?’
‘None of your business.’ The man sounded distracted.
Alex decided it was his best chance. He remembered Peacock’s heavy oak door. Could this fridge be much stronger? He concentrated, let the stone swell into his body. He pictured his leg lifting, the kick flying out. Another distant cry floated to him, cut off like the last, then two gunshots punctured the pause. He hammered out a kick and the fridge door burst off its hinges. The man outside half turned before the heavy metal and plastic struck him, knocking him to the ground. Alex leapt out into the strangely warm air and swung a kick at the man’s head. His shin connected with a sickening crack and the gangster slid across the floor, flaccid as a rag doll.
A shape moved across the dimly lit space ahead, like a huge animal of some kind moving swiftly on all fours. Alex dropped into a corner, blinking. Did I really see that?
He crept along the hallway, trying to force back the darkness with his eyes. Another shadow moved, this one definitely shaped like a human. A very familiar human. ‘Alex? Is that you?’ Silhouette sounded nervous.
Relief coursed through him. ‘Yes, it’s me.’ He stood, hurried along the hallway.
Silhouette stepped into view, her smile mocking him. ‘Tell me you didn’t really think I’d deserted you? I can’t believe that worked, to be honest.’
Alex felt a tinge of guilt, but remembered it was justified. ‘You once said you owed me nothing.’
She patted his cheek. ‘True. But you’re not like other humans I’ve known. Come on, there might be back-up coming any minute.’
She led him along the corridor and through a room with a table and chairs, tatty sofas and a TV playing Judge Judy. Bodies were scattered among the furniture with blood spilling copiously across the floor from rents and gashes in their flesh. In some, large chunks of that flesh were missing entirely. He saw a skylight in the high ceiling had been smashed through, shards of frosted plastic scattered throughout the room.
Alex swallowed hard. ‘What the fuck, Silhouette? Did you do all this?’
She ignored the question and pulled at his jacket, dragging him through the door. They emerged into a warehouse, the white van parked in one corner. A side exit led out into an industrial estate, warehouses all around, trucks and cars moving slowly between them, fork lifts carrying precarious loads. Silhouette took Alex’s hand and they walked casually but swiftly, heading for the main road. ‘Looks like you got away with that unscathed,’ she said.
‘I guess so,’ Alex agreed. ‘Listen, thanks for coming back for me. It’s good to know I’m not alone in this.’
‘I think you were managing pretty well. What was that, a fridge they had you in?’
Alex could see a certain humour in the situation. ‘Yeah, it was,’ he said with a laugh. ‘They thought if they kept me cold it might slow me down.’
‘Well, more fool them. We need to get to my Den. On the way we can try to figure out just who the hell they were.’
The Subcontractor fronted up to a huge metal roller door, sniffing casually. The trail had become less clear along the way, like they were travelling in a vehicle again, but it definitely led here. The closer he got, the fresher the trail, the easier it was to follow, even wrapped in the metal and oil of a car. He knocked and waited. Nothing.
Pursing his lips, he walked around the building, looking for another way in. A side door stood open. As he approached the door, the scent became very clear, leading away. Intrigued, he carefully entered the warehouse. The stench of fresh blood swamped all other aromas.
In a lounge room he found the bodies and evidence of quite a struggle. He smelled gunpowder and panic. Down a long hallway he saw more damage and destruction. These two were certainly leaving a pretty obvious path but it was messy and confusing. What had led them here? Why had these unfortunate men become victims? Peacock murdered, Welby’s house destroyed, now this. He tipped one man’s face up with his foot and sighed, recognising one of Sparks’s hired goons. Such redundancy, always hedging her bets, trying to win the boss’s favour. And with useless thugs like this? It was an insult to professionalism. These men must have got lucky and it killed them. But it did prove the danger presented by this pair he tracked. That gave him a small rush, the thought that perhaps they might prove to be at least a bit of a challenge. Life could be so boring. Anyway, with these hired guns out of the way, perhaps he would be able to get on with his job now, as contracted.
Back outside the trail hung in the air, unmistakable. He sniffed appreciatively and headed for the main road.
Alex and Silhouette stood outside huge wrought-iron gates in a quiet street in Wandsworth. Conifers shivered in the cold breeze, tall behind a red brick wall to either side, shielding the house beyond. Alex’s phone beeped. He cast an apologetic look at Silhouette and checked it. One new message from Amir.
situation heating up, brother. stay quiet, will call when everything fixed. wont be long.
He smiled ruefully. With everything else happening he’d forgotten all about that. It seemed a lifetime ago. With a slight shake of the head he tapped out, thanks brother, and pocketed the phone.
Silhouette gave him a quizzical look.
‘Nothing important.’
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Remember what I told you. Let me do the talking.’
She pushed open the gates and dropped into a crouch. Alex waited. Two Doberman Pinschers came bounding over, growling deep in their throats. Silhouette held out both hands. She spoke in a strange, lilting tongue, her voice soothing. The dogs sniffed and cocked their heads to one side, looked up at Alex. He stiffened while doing his best to hide his trepidation. Silhouette spoke more soft words and the dogs turned and loped away into the gardens.
A Victorian mansion stood among manicured lawns at the end of a gravel driveway, the lower storey of worn russet bricks, rough white stucco above. Weathered, lichen-covered tiles marched up the steep roof to several tall, intricate chimneys. The grounds appeared to spread far and wide beyond the house.
‘This place must be worth a fortune,’ Alex said.
Silhouette laughed. ‘Most probably. We’ve been here a long time. Joseph had this house built for us, back when this was a distant suburb of London and land was cheap. The building is just the facade though.’
‘Facade?’
‘You’ll see.’
The front door stood in a shadowed porch, clay tiles on the floor. The door itself a heavy, dark oak, studded with iron bolts. A green-tinged copper gargoyle head gripped a massive iron ring in a distended jaw. Silhouette ignored it, using a key from her pocket. ‘Follow me,’ she said. ‘And don’t say a word.’
Alex followed her into a long, wood-panelled hallway. Oil paintings lined the walls, Victorian furniture laid out neatly in every room. The whole place stood cold and still, unlived in. An odour hung in the air, a musky scent that tickled the back of the senses. Otherwise nothing but dust and silence.
Silhouette led him into a giant kitchen, a freeze-frame from a previous century. Copper pots hung in rows above marble benchtops. A black iron stove, big enough to cook up a feast for an army, took up a large portion of one wall. Huge ceramic sinks lined another. They looked as though they hadn’t been used in decades. A dark wooden door, arched to a steep point at the top, dominated the centre of another wall. Silhouette walked straight to it and tapped a foot impatiently.
The door opened. A tall, imposing man, ebony skin taut over bulging muscles, stood in the sh
adows beyond. He smirked, showing inhumanly sharp teeth. ‘Playing with your food again, Sil?’
‘Shut up, Ataro. Come on, Alex.’ Silhouette pushed past the big man, not sparing him another glance.
Alex, trembling slightly with nervous tension, followed her. He nodded at Ataro as he passed. Ataro leaned down to take a long, deep sniff of Alex’s head. Alex flinched away, casting a frown back at the man. Ataro laughed and licked his lips, a quick, lascivious action.
‘Ignore him,’ Silhouette called out. ‘He’s a big idiot.’
The small room had a black and white tiled floor, no more than three metres square. Presumably a walk-in larder at one point it now housed a couple of old leather armchairs and a television on a small table. A bookshelf stood against one wall. Shadowed stone steps led down into darkness from the far side. Ataro slumped heavily into one of the chairs, picked up a book left on the arm of it, an airport thriller.
Silhouette started down the steps. ‘Come on, Alex.’
The steps wound down into a wide chamber. Large grey flagstones spread across the floor, similar stone carved into smooth blocks made the walls. Red bricks vaulted to a high ceiling, curving up into a dome with intricate patterning. Columns stood throughout, carved with patterns and topped with grotesques, dragons, imps, angels. A large archway at the far side led through into a much bigger room, warm, flickering light from flaming brands around the walls danced over everything. Alex sensed enormous power. People milled around, sat on comfortable chairs or at tables, read and played games. Every one of them paused to watch Silhouette and Alex enter. They all wore an expression of amused interest.
A pale woman with long, raven hair stepped over. She might have been attractive if not for the feral twist to her face. She laughed softly and two sharp canine teeth shot down to press against her thin, scarlet lower lip. Alex jumped, his fists clenching. ‘You brought us a plaything?’ she asked.
Silhouette gave her a disdainful look. ‘He’s with me, Caitlin. Put your fangs away. Joseph in?’
Caitlin looked Alex up and down. ‘Shame. I’d like to play with him.’
Silhouette sighed. ‘Joseph in?’
‘What am I, his secretary? Go and see for yourself, bitch.’
Silhouette smirked, flipped Caitlin the bird. ‘Come on, Alex.’
She led him to a corridor on the far side. Alex kept his attention on the back of her head as they walked, determined not to catch any of the eyes that followed them. ‘She doesn’t seem to like you,’ he whispered.
Silhouette’s shoulders hitched slightly. ‘None of them like me much. I’m something of a pariah.’
‘Among your own people? Was she a vampire?’
‘It’s a lifestyle choice, remember. Fucking try-hard is what she is.’
‘Try-hard?’
Silhouette paused, half turning to him. She opened her mouth and her own canine teeth quickly grew to long, sharp points. Alex took a step backwards. Silhouette shifted her jaw and all her teeth lengthened and sharpened. She moved again, her nose and jaw extending into a lupine snout before snapping quickly back to her recognisable face. ‘We are Kin, Alex,’ Silhouette said. ‘We can be whatever we want to be. She’s nothing special. I also told you not to say anything.’
She turned away. Alex followed her along the corridor, desperately trying to process everything. As soon as he got used to one incredible revelation, another knocked it for six.
Several doors led off on both sides, most closed. Through the few open ones Alex could see lounge rooms or bed chambers. What had he got himself into? Every step he took led him deeper into danger. Or simply changed one menace for another, equally life threatening. Amir’s text seemed ludicrous in the face of his new experience.
At the end of the corridor a massive door dominated the wall. Silhouette stood before it, silent, patient. She didn’t knock. After several seconds she reached for the handle. She turned to Alex, drawing one index finger across her lips. He nodded.
A luxurious apartment spread before them, deep red silks and velvets, rich, intricate Persian rugs, old, cracked-leather furniture. Doors led from the room to other chambers. A man lounged on a deep, soft sofa in the middle of the room. Two more people sat across from him in armchairs, a tall man and a woman, both dark-haired with icy eyes. All three examined Alex and Silhouette. Alex returned their inquisitive gazes.
The lounging man radiated an authority that left Alex in no doubt that he must be the Clan Lord. With long, blond hair, a thin, sharp nose and narrow, dark eyes he was both handsome and frightening. His shades were completely unguarded and powerful beyond anything Alex had ever seen. It was like trying to look at the sun.
His guests were equally enthralling. The woman had a stunning beauty and power about her, but a softness too. She looked at Alex with a curious kindness. The man next to her had a similar look of concern, though his presence seemed colder. He emanated strength, his entire being seemingly carved from granite. He wore a tattered leather jacket and jeans, tousled dark hair hung down to his shoulders. If not for the arrangement of the seating, Alex could easily have mistaken this man for the Clan Lord. He had an age about him, an undeniable aura that humbled Alex, made him feel small, insignificant. Both their shades were guarded, closed, but Alex had no doubt they concealed considerable power. Neither guest was Kin, but both seemed far more than mortal human.
Silhouette touched gently against his chest, staying him. She stepped forward, bowed low to the man lounging on the sofa. He languorously held out one hand. Silhouette knelt, taking his hand in both of hers. ‘My Lord Joseph,’ she whispered, kissing his knuckles. ‘It pleases me to see you again. I apologise for disturbing you.’
Joseph stroked her cheek then looked over at Alex. His eyes penetrated Alex’s own, his mind sliding up and down with no concern for propriety. Alex stiffened again, but held himself immobile. He left his shields as they were, didn’t tighten or relax them. Silhouette had warned him that Joseph would look at him closely and he had anticipated that would mean looking inside and out. ‘Who’s he?’ Joseph asked. He sounded tired.
‘My Lord, his name is Alex and he’s a friend of mine. He needs our help.’
Joseph looked disgusted. ‘A friend? Really, Silhouette, I loved your mother dearly and I love you like a daughter, but why must you constantly act so … human?’
Silhouette sat back on her heels. ‘My Lord, I can’t change my nature.’
Joseph laughed. ‘No, you can’t, can you. He needs our help, you say? You may do whatever you wish, dear Silhouette. But why should we help? You’ll be lucky to leave here with him alive.’ He seemed about to dismiss them both.
‘Joseph, please. He can earn the right to your counsel.’
Joseph laughed, his head rocking back in genuine mirth. ‘Earn the right? Silhouette, please, you’ll get him killed quicker than ever that way.’
She smiled sweetly, like a toddler charming her father. ‘I’m serious. He can do it. And he doesn’t care if he fails.’
‘If he fails, he dies.’
‘I know.’
‘He knows?’
‘Yes. He has a considerable problem and he’ll either earn your help or die trying.’
Joseph looked over to the man and woman opposite him. ‘Please, excuse me for a moment.’ The granite man gestured politely with one hand, a small smile curling his lips. He scanned Alex up and down, nodded almost imperceptibly. Alex was too tense to return the acknowledgment.
‘Alex, is it?’ Joseph said.
He jumped slightly, realising he had become the focus of the Clan Lord’s attention. ‘Yes, sir.’ He inwardly cursed the tremor in his voice. He took a deep breath, the words of his Sifu in his mind. Trust always in your own skills. Never think another man above you, beyond you. You’ll have lost before the fight begins. Should you lose, acknowledge your opponent’s abilities and congratulate him, learn from him and beat him next time. Half of every fight is in the mind. He cleared his throat. ‘Yes,’ he said more
forcefully. ‘Alex Caine.’
Joseph smiled, one eyebrow creeping up. ‘Well, Alex Caine, don’t you have balls of iron.’
‘Yes, I do.’
Joseph laughed, swinging his legs to the floor. He sat forward, elbows on knees. ‘You must have, tiny human. You really understand what you’re offering to engage in here?’
Alex concentrated, determined to maintain his centre. ‘Not exactly, no. But I know that I’ll either succeed or die.’
‘You have to fight, Alex Caine. Can you fight?’
Silhouette winked and nodded encouragingly. Fight? Well, that was one thing he certainly could do with absolute confidence. Maybe something’s finally going my way. ‘Oh yes, I can fight. I love to fight. That’s pretty much all I do.’
‘Really? I wonder if you’ve ever really fought, Alex Caine.’
‘My Lord.’ Silhouette put one hand on Joseph’s forearm. ‘I saw him defeat two gargoyles, single-handed. He really can fight.’
Joseph appeared impressed. ‘Well, Alex Caine, you might survive to talk further with me. Our disputes are settled in combat. We are great believers in the trial of the warrior. If you fight here and win, you may ask me whatever you wish. If you lose, well, you’ll lose. Are you ready?’
Alex drew himself up. ‘I’m always ready.’
Joseph seemed pleased by the turn of events. He turned to the man and woman opposite him. ‘Shall we?’
‘Certainly,’ the man said. ‘I’d quite like to see this.’
‘Really?’ Joseph asked. ‘I thought you’d try to save your fellow human.’
The man shook his head. ‘I think he can save himself.’
Joseph turned back to Alex. ‘Well, well. If Isiah here thinks you can prevail, then maybe you really can.’
The huge arena Alex was led to had a ceiling rounded in the same vaulted brickwork as the rest of the Den, only much higher. The sprawling rooms, corridors and halls under the Wandsworth house were like a small town underground, and this space was the largest he had seen. Torch-topped stone columns ringed a circular centre, open and flat, and an eldritch light emanated from the dome high above, bathing everything. Silhouette crouched before Alex, strapping his hands tightly in boxer’s wraps. He had been given a pair of loose cotton trousers. His bare feet were cold against the stone floor, his naked torso cool. The people gathering around, all standing or sitting beyond the columns, were otherworldy creatures, despite their human-like appearance, but he thought of them as just another crowd. This was just another cage. This whole bizarre situation just another bout.
