Bound

by Alan Baxter

  ‘How did you cope?’

  ‘Joseph. He found me one night, figured me out. He liked me and took me under his wing. For all his talk of hating humans, he’s been close to a few in his time, including my mother. But, you know, he has a reputation to protect.’ She smiled, lost in reverie. ‘He showed us into his Den and took care of us. Of course, my mother grew old and died a long time ago, but I guess I’ve always been closer to humans than most Kin because of her. And for that, the majority of Kin hate me.’

  ‘You lot are some fucked-up individuals.’

  She laughed. ‘You think?’

  Alex tried to imagine the implications. Sil’s history made fairy tales sound dull. But she was right — she couldn’t help what she was.

  ‘What about you?’ she asked.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well, while we’re getting all deep and meaningful, what’s your story? What made you?’

  Alex felt the old hurt turn its knife in his guts. ‘I don’t like to talk about it.’

  Sil wrapped him in her arms. ‘Wow, you really have some pain inside.’ She kissed his neck. ‘You can tell me.’

  Alex sighed. ‘My parents were killed by a drug-fucked psycho who ploughed them down in the street in a stolen car. He was running from the police and they were just leaving the cinema.’ Alex took a shuddering breath, emotion flooding up. ‘Wiped out in an instant. I was home with a babysitter when the police came to the house.’

  Sil squeezed him tighter. ‘Shit.’

  Now he was talking, the floodgates were open. He wanted to tell her everything, though didn’t know why. ‘I was only six. The police had no idea I was awake, listening from my room, so I got all the gory details I wasn’t supposed to hear. That fucking junkie took everything from me. I went from one foster home to another and I fought everyone. I was angry, belligerent, mean. I was an arsehole. Then I found my Sifu and something I could direct my anger into. He taught me ways to control and channel my hurt. It helps.’

  Silhouette rested her head against his. ‘And you’ve been fighting ever since, huh?’

  ‘I guess so.’

  She kissed him again. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Me too.’ The pain burned deep in his gut.

  They sat in silence for some time. Eventually Silhouette relaxed her hold on him. ‘So, you gonna read that book?’

  Alex sucked in a breath, picked up the grimoire. He thumbed through, letting the dense arcane script flitter by in a blur. Know your enemy, Isiah had said. There was wisdom in that. Never pass up an opportunity to learn about your opponent. No information, however seemingly insignificant, is ever useless.

  He turned to the front and looked at the first page. The characters swam in magesign, blurring and shifting. He concentrated, letting his eyes and mind penetrate beyond the physical text, looked deep. Like reading the intent in a person’s shades, he gleaned the meaning from the eldritch letters. It seemed different to the passage he had read in Peacock’s shop. The words swelled in his consciousness, The mind of a power beyond this universe swims and sings above and outside you, within and beneath this. Your life is wrapped in the fronds of a creation palm, older than life and bigger than intellect, playing, dancing, singing, ecstasy.

  Alex looked up with a sound of discomfort. ‘Fuck me.’

  Silhouette slipped her arms around his waist. ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s like reading madness.’

  ‘What does it say?’

  He shook his head. ‘I’m not entirely sure.’ He looked again, picking his way through the shifting lettering, Power is universe alive and allowed, power is always outside the grasp and underneath the mind. Power is yours when power is taken. Your desire will lead you to power, and power in the universe is yours.

  Silhouette ran the back of one finger across his brow, smoothing out the frown. ‘You okay?’

  Alex closed the book. ‘I can feel some meaning. I think it’s talking to me. It’s not like a normal book, that’s written and can be read. I think it’s communicating directly with me, in a kind of bookish way.’ He made a wry face, apologetic that he couldn’t explain it better.

  ‘And what’s it saying?’

  ‘I think it’s telling me to pursue this stone. That I should try to get it.’

  Silhouette stroked his brow again. ‘I hear a but in there somewhere.’

  Alex barked a humourless laugh. ‘But. But it seems to think that the power of the stone will be for me. I can’t help but think that means just for it. How can I trust anything this thing tells me?’

  ‘You can’t. It’ll play with you and tease you, it’ll try to get you to do awful things and try to engineer some kind of destructive and spectacular death for you when it’s ready to move on. That’s what I got from what Joseph told us. But you have to try to resist the urges it puts on you and take the reins for yourself. I think you have a chance with this.’

  ‘What kind of a chance do I have? I’m a fucking ant in the cosmos! In the last few days I’ve discovered there are vampires that aren’t really vampires, gargoyles attacked me and I had to fight a shapeshifter. I’m a fighter. I fight for money. I fight humans for money and that’s that. How can I fight this?’

  Silhouette slipped around him, sitting on his lap, her legs locked behind. She took his face in her hands. ‘I was damned impressed with the way you fought Ataro.’ Her eyes smouldered. ‘The others are right when they talk about your potential. You’re a very impressive human. Your vision is just the start of your abilities. I think you have it in you to face this.’

  ‘What if I don’t?’

  She pulled one hand away and slapped him across the cheek, hard enough to shock him. ‘Then you die, Iron Balls. But so what? You don’t fight, this thing will drive you mad and kill you. If you do, you might die, but at least you’ll die fighting. Those are your options.’

  He stared into her icy blue eyes. She was right. He had very few choices. It really did boil down to give up or brawl. And he didn’t have it in his nature to give up on anything. If he had to fight, he needed all the weapons at his disposal, every advantage he could find. The tiny shard of stone around his neck drenched him with a kind of power he wouldn’t have believed a week ago. If he could find the rest, surely there was nothing he couldn’t do. The battle didn’t end until you were out cold on the floor.

  ‘So I guess we just have to wait until Petra’s people contact me,’ he said. ‘See what clues they can give me and start trying to find a way out of this.’

  She smiled at him. ‘I guess so.’

  He threw the book across the room, far away from the bed. ‘So, what shall we do while we wait?’

  She leaned back, that half-smile pulling at her lips, starting a fire in his groin. ‘Well, I don’t know. What shall we do?’

  Alex put a hand behind her head and pulled her to him. She came willingly and they kissed, hard and urgent.

  Ms Sparks did nothing to hide her anger, knuckles white around the mobile phone. ‘What do you mean, Butler’s dead? How?’

  The voice on the other end trembled. ‘Well, pretty much ripped to pieces, ma’am. Him and his whole crew.’

  ‘By whom?’ Sparks demanded. ‘And why?’

  ‘They must have found something too big for them to handle, ma’am. Beyond that, I have no idea.’

  Sparks revelled in the man’s fear, as much terrified by reporting to her as he was by what he had seen. But it was small consolation. Her initiative in sending crews to all of Peacock’s known associates had almost paid off, obviously, but she’d ended up with less than nothing, a crew dead. Whoever killed the bookseller seemed more dangerous than she had suspected. She would have to think carefully about whether or not she told Hood. While he appreciated her proactive approach most of the time, it’s what made her such a valued PA, when things went badly he was … less than appreciative, and enthusiastic about laying blame.

  ‘Search the place for any clues, however small,’ she snapped down the phone. ‘Then g
et back here without delay!’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  She hung up and took a moment to compose herself, then pushed open one side of a garishly carved dark wood double door.

  Mr Hood, behind an enormous mahogany desk in an ostentatiously decorated office, acknowledged her. Glass cabinets stood around the room containing all manner of arcana, crystal balls and ancient scrolls, leatherbound books and shrunken heads, strange coins and yellowing bones. A larger than lifesize painting of the man himself hung behind the desk, dominating the room with a condescending smile. Hood, wearing the same expression, reclined in a huge wing-backed chair. The Subcontractor occupied one of two leather chairs opposite. Ms Sparks perched on one end of the desk, legs crossed, and began filing her nails, her long, straight hair half hiding her face.

  ‘You found them?’ Hood asked.

  The Subcontractor smiled, a baring of teeth with nothing friendly about it. ‘Of course. They’re quite an interesting pair.’

  Sparks breathed a soft sigh of relief. No need to report her failure.

  ‘A pair?’ Hood said.

  ‘Yes. A human male and a female Kin.’

  Hood raised his eyebrows, stroking one finger along his livery lips. ‘Really? And which of them killed Peacock?’

  ‘The human.’

  ‘Ah.’

  They sat in silence for a while. Hood liked to make himself seem as important as possible, but the Subcontractor seemed to have no interest in such games. He waited for Hood to ask more.

  Eventually Hood spoke. ‘So, why do you think they killed Peacock?’

  The Subcontractor shrugged. ‘Impossible to say. I didn’t know the man and have no idea what they might have argued about. Maybe for sport. The human is colluding with Kin, after all, and they don’t need an excuse to kill.’

  ‘You don’t sympathise with that kind?’ Hood asked, a smile tugging at his lips.

  The Subcontractor sighed. ‘I’m not one of them, so don’t try to lump me with those freaks. Stop fishing. We have an understanding and I’d hate to have to stop working for you. You pay well.’

  ‘No one walks away from me.’

  The Subcontractor stood, turned to leave. ‘You’re far from my only source of income.’ He started towards the door.

  ‘Sit down, sit down. No need to be so touchy.’

  He turned back to Hood, eyes narrowed. ‘What do you want?’

  Hood smiled. ‘Postulate, if you will. Any ideas why this strange pair might have killed Peacock?’

  The Subcontractor sat back down, his hatred of Hood barely concealed. ‘Peacock specialised in arcane texts. Perhaps a disagreement over one of those. The human shields himself, but he’s not practised at it. He can’t cover the fact that he’s carrying a couple of pretty powerful items. No idea what they are, but he’s sweating ’sign from every pore.’

  Hood leaned back, a lascivious expression sliding across his face. ‘Ah! Well then. Perhaps you’re onto something.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And? My dear Subcontractor, as if you need to ask. I want whatever it is this human has.’

  ‘You want me to retrieve things now?’ His tone dripped with distaste.

  ‘Yes. Kill them both and bring me whatever they’re carrying.’

  ‘Right. Pay me for the tracking first.’

  Hood opened a drawer and pulled out a thick wad of notes. He slid them across the desk with one thin, pasty hand. ‘Here you are, my good man. Worth every penny, as always. Usual rates for this next part of the job.’

  Shaking his head, the Subcontractor took the money and slipped it into a deep pocket in his long, dark coat. ‘One of them is Kin remember.’

  Hood wearily inclined his head. ‘Naturally. But remember, I do not pay for failure.’

  The Subcontractor nodded and left.

  Hood sucked a long, deep breath in through his nose. ‘Ms Sparks, get Jackson to put a bird on him. Just to keep an eye on things.’

  Sparks hopped off the desk and walked around next to Hood. She bent over, reaching for the phone on the far side of the enormous desktop, smiling over her shoulder at him. ‘Of course, Mr Hood.’ She pressed a button and listened at the receiver for a moment as Hood stared at her arse through the tight fabric of her skirt. ‘Jackson?’ she said after a moment. ‘A bird on the Subcontractor, if you will. Have it report back to us every hour.’

  She hung up and turned back to Hood. He sat, leaning his chair back, his cock hard in his hand. ‘Excellent work, Ms Sparks.’

  With a smile Sparks dropped to her knees.

  On the roof of the Black Diamond tower, Jackson limped towards a wood and chicken-wire coop. His beauties chittered and squawked, became animated as he approached. He pulled open the door and stepped inside, instantly mobbed by his leathery charges, like ravens without feathers. Their drawn heads, shining eyes and clacking beaks shivered all around him as he stroked them, cajoled them, cooed to them like they were children. Their black, bat-like wings flapped and scuffed. ‘Ah, pretties,’ Jackson said, his voice like gravel in a tin can. ‘Who’s it gonna be then, eh? Who wants to fly for Daddy?’

  The activity redoubled, a frantic cloud of skin, beaks and claws. Jackson held up a fist and several of the nightmare creatures battled to alight. Finally one caught a grip, black claws digging through the skin of the old man’s knuckles. He hissed in pleasured pain.

  Outside the coop Jackson whispered to the bird, gave it names and descriptions, pressed an old, wrinkled forehead to the bird’s tiny skull stretched with taut dark skin, and thought images into its frantic brain. He threw his hand up into the air and the bird swooped and dipped once and disappeared over the edge of the roof, barrelling towards the busy streets.

  Far below, the Subcontractor paused, sniffing the air as he stood on the pavement outside Hood’s building. He caught the dusty, parchment scent of one of Jackson’s planesbirds and rolled his eyes. Hood and his paranoia. No matter. Let the thing follow and report, it bothered him not a jot. He flagged a passing cab and climbed in. The planesbird would earn its meat tonight. He gave the driver the address of the hotel. ‘Drive fast,’ he said, smirking up at the cab roof, smelling the bird circling high above.

  13

  Alex rolled over, pinning the sweating Silhouette beneath him, gasping as he moved with her. Her eyes darkened as she slammed two hands against his chest, nails digging deep into his skin. His blood roared in his ears, his pulse pounding against his forebrain like a punch against a jaw. Silhouette arched up on the bed, breathless, heading for climax. Alex went with her, driving down against her, stroke after stroke, the shudder of orgasm rippling through every nerve in his body. He let out a primal cry as he came and felt sharp heat across his cheek as claws raked his face. Snarling, he looked down at his hands wrapped around Silhouette’s throat, her face half animal, a canine snout, bared teeth, her eyes furious yellow slits. He felt his pulse surge and squeezed tighter and she bucked up, growling deep in her chest. She sent one leg out from under them, using the mattress to bounce them both off centre.

  As they rolled, she hit him again, her face morphing back into the beauty he recognised. ‘That’s enough, Alex!’ She twisted, struck out against his chest, sent him flying into the wall six feet away. He hit the ground, rolling instantly into a low crouch, thinking only of finishing the act, killing what he’d fucked.

  ‘Alex, snap out of it!’ She rolled onto all fours, her whole body shifting into something feline, half lovely, half terrifying. She roared in his face.

  Alex staggered back from her beast ferocity and sat down hard against the wall, sucking in breath. He put his hands against her broad, deeply furred chest as she slipped back into human form. ‘What the fuck?’ he gasped. ‘Silhouette, I’m sorry.’

  She sat back, naked and gorgeous, and laughed. ‘Well, I like it rough sometimes, Alex, but that’s mental.’

  He shook his head, staring at the carpet. ‘What the hell?’

  ‘The book, you idiot. You have to
learn to resist the influence. It wants you to kill and maim and desecrate. You have to resist it.’

  Alex felt his control spiralling away again. Cold-blooded murder, slaying in a controlled bout, violent sex. These things were not in his nature. ‘I don’t think I can.’

  ‘Of course you can. You just did. With my help.’ She leaned forward, that half-smile again. ‘Come on, be honest. That was pretty hot!’

  He was ready to shout and rant, but her eyes mesmerised him. Against his better judgment he laughed. ‘Just as well you’re as strong as you are,’ he said.

  ‘Exactly. I can handle you, Iron Balls. In fact, I think I’m going to enjoy handling you. You’re more like Kin than you realise.’

  ‘I don’t know if that’s a compliment or an insult.’

  ‘Take it any way you like. I reckon we should do a lot more of that,’ she nodded towards the bed, ‘to see if we can’t help you learn to command those urges.’

  ‘You are one messed-up chick.’

  ‘I know.’

  A knock at the door made them both jump. Alex raised an eyebrow at Silhouette, who shrugged. ‘Who is it?’ he called out.

  ‘Petra sent me.’ A female voice, heavy accent of some kind.

  ‘Oh, right. Just a minute.’

  They dressed quickly and straightened the bed, doing their best to conceal the shredded linen. Silhouette wet a towel and dabbed the thin lines of blood her claws had left on his cheek. Alex went to the door. Through the peephole he saw a small, completely bald woman, young and vibrant looking, her skin so black it shone with an almost blue sheen. She smiled, wriggling her fingers at the peephole in a friendly wave. He opened the door. ‘How did you find me?’

  ‘Your mind-print. Petra passed it on to me. You’re surprisingly easy to track down, especially when you …’ She stopped, smiling slightly.

  ‘When I what?’

  She seemed embarrassed. ‘When you let your guard down, you know. When you’re lost in … something else.’