Dark Legion

by Rob Cornell

  Kate’s mouth went dry. She looked down at her feet. The bronze cube rolled out from under the bed as if it had a life of its own, pushing itself from one side to the next. Thump. Thump. Thump.

  Kate shot out of her chair, knocking it over. Her hands shook. Her stomach churned. When she tried to kick the cube back under the bed the thing didn’t budge, as if a permanent fixture to the floor. Instead, she stubbed her toe. Jagged pain gripped her foot and stars sprayed across her vision.

  Jessie writhed on the bed, tugging at the sheets, twisting them around her. Her mouth opened wide and a horrible strangled sound came from her throat as if some invisible force choked her.

  Frozen. Blood cold. Kate could not move. What the hell was happening to her daughter?

  About a foot out from the bed, the cube jittered on the floor. Kate—god, this sounded crazy—sensed anger from the artifact. Anger and longing.

  “Mom, please,” Jessie moaned.

  Kate circled the cube and put a hand on Jessie’s leg. “Tell me, Jess. What can I do?”

  The cube continued to dance on the floor as if having a temper tantrum.

  “I need it.”

  Kate’s eyes felt swollen. Her skin crawled. She glared at the cube. “No. We have to get you away from that thing. It’s hurting you.”

  Jessie wept. “Please,” she said, drawing out the word.

  Kate shook her head. “No. No. No.”

  The cube hopped and flipped.

  “Leave her alone,” Kate screamed.

  Jessie reached a hand out off the side of the bed. Her fingers opened and closed. “Need…it.” Her body broke into convulsions.

  What could she do? The pain in Jessie’s face tore Kate in half. She had to stop this. Had to stop it now. She snatched the cube up from the floor. It felt like a block of ice in her hand. Squeezing her fingers around it, she looked at her daughter, then the bedroom door. Could she run away with it? Take it out back and break it apart with the axe like Craig was supposed to have done.

  As if reading her thoughts, Jessie said, “Don’t.”

  Hot tears flowed over Kate’s face. What’s happened to them? She never wanted this life. Magic and wicked creatures out to kill them. She thought she had come to terms with it all. But this was too much. Too far.

  Jessie lifted a hand and reached for Kate. “I need it.”

  Fighting every motherly instinct that screamed inside of her, Kate handed Jessie the cube.

  A blue spark snapped at Kate’s fingers when she released the cube, like an angry bite.

  Jessie hugged the cube to her chest. “This is how it starts,” she said. Then screamed.

  Kate leapt toward her daughter, ready to yank the cube away from her. Some force pushed her back, knocking her to the floor. “Damn you.” The cube had become a living thing to her. An evil consciousness out to destroy her daughter. She wanted to smash it against the floor. Stomp on it. Chop at it with Craig’s axe again and again and again.

  Then Jessie sat up. The cube rolled into her lap and lay there as dead as it had when Kate first entered the room. Just an object.

  Kate’s heart rose when she noticed the clear look in Jessie’s eyes. Jessie turned and saw Kate on the floor, actually saw her. “Mom?”

  A sob burst from Kate’s throat. She scrambled to her feet and sat on the edge of the bed, hugged Jessie almost hard enough break a rib. But she couldn’t let go. Not on her life.

  Jessie went stiff in Kate’s arms at first, then softened and hugged her back. “What happened?”

  “That thing,” Kate said, her voice thick with tears. “It did something to you.”

  “What…thing…” Jessie squirmed out of Kate’s embrace and looked down at the cube in her lap. “Oh, shit.”

  “What were you thinking? Do you have any idea what you put me through?”

  Jessie’s eyebrows drew together. “Put you through? Did you even think to ask what I went through?”

  Kate pressed her fingers to her lips, breathed deep through her nose. “I’m sorry. You’re right.”

  Now Jessie lifted her eyebrows. “Wow. Never thought I’d hear that in my life.”

  Kate forced her gaze down to the cube. “What are you doing with that?”

  “I don’t know. I came here and it…called to me.” Her eyes glazed over with tears. “Then I was stuck in a nightmare. It felt like I was in there for years.” The tears flowed free and Jessie’s voice hitched. “Mom, it was horrible.”

  Kate pulled her close and gently rocked with her. “It’s okay now. You’re okay.”

  Jessie shook against her. “No I’m not. Something’s different. I’m different.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Something is inside of me. I don’t know what. I just feel it. Something that doesn’t belong.”

  Chapter Thirty

  The sight turned Lockman’s stomach, which was exactly what Teresa and Marty had hoped it would do.

  He and Teresa had snuck onto the factory floor and hid behind a large metal shelving unit filled with more of the refrigerated barrels. They could see only a portion of the factory floor clearly through a gap in a pair of barrels. But it was enough.

  Tables in rows, each with an ogre strapped to it, their skin pale, heads lolling as if in a fitful sleep. Each ogre had four tubes embedded into them. Two on either side of the neck and two in the chest by the heart. Dark red fluid flowed through the tubes into steel tanks. Dozens of fresh turns milled about the blood factory, checking on the tube connections, administered some kind of shot once in a while to the prone ogres. Probably something to keep them docile, or something to keep them alive longer so they could get every last drop.

  Lockman watched as one ogre’s tubes ran dry, the ogre still, eyes open and staring at death. A low key alarm sounded, a steady beeping. Six vamps surrounded the ogre, yanked the tubes free, undid the straps. They pulled away the tanks of blood, then worked together to shove the ogre off the table. The ogre’s limp body hit the cement floor with a sickening thud. Four of the vamps each took one of the tanks across the factory floor to a large vat with a set of metal stairs leading to the top. The vamps took turns walking up the stair and emptying their tank into the vat. The vat itself had several pipes with spigots sticking out at its base. The pipes themselves led to more of the refrigerated barrels.

  So many questions ran through Lockman’s mind—as well as a litany of curses—but he couldn’t ask Teresa any of them at the moment. It took every ounce of will to not only stay silent, but to keep from rushing out there and putting silver bullets into vamp heads until his gun ran dry.

  Teresa must have sensed the tension in him. She put a hand on his shoulder and gave him that look asking him if he was still good to continue the mission. Lockman nodded. Teresa pointed back the way they had come. He shook his head and made a cutting gesture in front of his neck. No go.

  He wasn’t ready to leave. He needed to find a weakness. Some way to take this whole factory down.

  While he scanned the room, another six vamps shuffled in with a shackled female ogre. The way the ogre shuffled along made it obvious she was drugged. Her long red hair looked matted and dirty. More dirt streaked her torn pants. Signs that the vamps weren’t holding these ogres in the best of conditions.

  Lockman strained to see through the gap in the barrels where they had come from. He could see the corner of a cage that looked built to hold gorillas. He could just see the arm of an ogre sitting with his or her back leaned against the cage wall.

  He heard a noise, realized it was his own heated breathing, and took a moment to calm down. He gave up his search for a weakness to exploit. Any direct attack would put the imprisoned ogres at risk. Maybe they could blow a hole in the far wall, let in a little sunshine. But even then, those vamps out of the light’s line could use the ogres as hostages and abort the assault before it barely started.

  He caught Teresa’s eye and hooked a thumb toward the way out.

  She nodded and they d
uck walked out the way they came. Neither of them spoke until they were back on the factory roof with the access door shut.

  “Now you know,” Teresa said. Her hair blew across her face in a breeze that mercifully cut the humidity.

  Lockman closed his eyes. He saw Kate and Jessie. Tried to focus on their faces. Images of the ogres with tubes stuck in them, draining their blood, intruded. Opening his eyes, he looked at Teresa. “Why ogres?”

  “We’re not sure. Gotta be something special, otherwise they’d have humans in there. Can’t be easy capturing an ogre.”

  “This is what’s uniting them. This and whoever their ‘king’ is.”

  “I hadn’t heard anything about a king until now. You think it’s another vamp?”

  “Sounds like.” He took a moment to savor the breeze which cooled the sweat on his face, and gazed toward where Marty waited in his Lincoln. “It’s got to be driving him crazy.”

  “You see why we need you now?”

  He nodded. “This has to end.”

  “So you’re in?”

  “I’m in.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Kate dialed the number again, not expecting any different result, but unable to think what else to do. Sure enough, not even a ring. Straight to voicemail with a generic voice asking her to leave a message.

  Damn you, Craig. What’s the point of having the phones if I can’t reach you?

  They had returned to the motel. Kate wanted to stay away from that cabin, never wanted to go back. Unfortunately, they couldn’t leave the artifact behind.

  After Jessie had come around, Kate had insisted they leave the cabin. Jessie, thankfully, agreed. But when her daughter got up from the bed, she held the cube in her right hand.

  Kate glanced at the thing, then looked up at Jessie. “Where did you find it?”

  Jessie lifted the cube and studied it as if she hadn’t realized she’d picked it up. “Buried under a stone out back.”

  Buried under a stone. Hidden. Craig had hidden it from them and lied about destroying it. For the life of her, Kate couldn’t imagine why. After it had nearly stolen his very soul. Nearly led to all of their deaths. He’d kept it.

  “We have to destroy it.”

  Face devoid of emotion, Jessie stared at her mother. “We can’t.”

  “We can. And we will.” She reached out. “Give it to me.”

  Jessie’s knuckles turned white as she gripped the cube tighter. Her eyes flared while the rest of her face remained expressionless. “No.”

  “This isn’t up for debate. Give me the damn cube.”

  “Whatever’s happened to me, this is the key. If we destroy it, we can’t undo whatever it’s done.”

  “You’re fine. You’re back now.”

  “I told you. I’m not fine.”

  “It’s your imagination.”

  Jessie lowered the cube to her side. “I know you want to think you can push this away. I understand why you want to. But we can’t. It’s real. And the only way we can make sure I’m safe is to confront it.”

  Kate rattled her head. They had fallen back into the past. Jessie had been taken from her again. Even as she stood in front of her, this god damned supernatural world had taken her.

  “You have to get past it, Mom. You know we have to take it with us.”

  Every instinct told her to get her daughter away from it. Take off to the other side of the planet if necessary. If she looked through the fog of instinct, though, she saw the ugly reality on the other side. Jessie was right. And damn her for being so strong. “You’re a brave girl. I’m proud of you.”

  Jessie’s mouth hung open. She gaped at Kate as if she didn’t know her.

  “Don’t look so surprised.”

  “I’m sorry. I just…”

  Kate waved her off. “You’re in charge now, babe. What’s next?”

  It took a second for Jessie to shake off her shock. Then her jaw set. Kate could see her daughter accepting her role as leader. Another swell of pride filled her chest and gave her a light feeling, even after the scare with the artifact.

  “We have to find Craig.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  At nightfall, Yora—and how she purred inside at reclaiming her true name—sauntered up the driveway to the pimp’s elaborate, tacky house. It had taken her nearly a century to get used to the mortal plane’s aesthetics. Eventually she learned how to appreciate what was both beautiful and hideous in this world. Sometimes she even agreed with the mortals’ tastes.

  This place? By the light, even the most tasteless of mortals would gag at such a sight. Which said much about LaRue’s clientele.

  She didn’t knock. She let herself in. Such a funny thing about mortal mythology that vampires needed an invitation in order to enter a home. What a stupid superstition. And a deadly one for those who believed it.

  Through the foyer, into the parlor. Niall had told her where she would most likely find the pimp. Sure enough, he sat in the middle of his nymph horde, fawning over them like a little girl with her dolls. One of the nymphs sat sideways on the sofa next to him, her bare and pale legs dangling over the sofa’s arm. LaRue held a silver brush which he gently pulled through the nymph’s blonde hair. In mortal years, the girl looked about seventeen. Mortals had a thing for youth, and little appreciation for age.

  LaRue and his crew looked up as Yora entered the parlor. She grinned at the easy command of their attention, baring her fangs as a show of dominance. “We must speak, pimp.”

  LaRue twirled his brush in the air, an unsubtle threat with the silver. “I’m terribly busy. And vampires, I know, have no interest in what I have to offer.”

  It was true. The allure of nymphs did not touch her kind for the simple reason that vampires had little sexual inclination, though many of the male vampires drew satisfaction from raping their victims. But vampires reproduced by turning others into their own. A far more satisfying process, and not nearly so putrid as having a creature claw its way out of one’s body.

  “Niall has sent me. Would you risk his anger?”

  The pimp drew back his head, turning his double chin into a triple. Yora could smell the fear off his skin from across the room. She showed more fang. “I thought not.”

  “Ladies, you’ll have to excuse me.”

  Several of the nymphs pouted. A few voiced their disappointment with a whiney “Aw.” Apparently, the nymphs enjoyed socializing with a eunuch—the only kind of mortal they couldn’t rape.

  Yora noticed the pimp held onto his silver brush. She let him have it. If the fat man thought it would protect him, he would be that much more vulnerable. He led her to a cross between a den and a library. Yora recognized many of the titles on the shelves. Tomes about ancient Greece. Classic works from Homer to Hemingway. She had read nearly all of them—unlike the pimp, who clearly had never cracked a single volume of his immaculate collection.

  “Won’t you have a seat,” LaRue said, gesturing to a trio of chairs arranged around an ashtray pedestal. The stink of cigar smoke permeated the room. LaRue poured himself a drink and sat himself.

  Yora remained standing. “I’m not here to socialize.”

  “You aren’t the vampire I usually deal with. And seldom do I have the pleasure of receiving a messenger from Niall himself.” He set his silver brush on the arm of his chair.

  What a pompous fool. Did he really believe she felt threatened by such gestures? “You were visited by a mortal recently.”

  “Honey, I practically have to install a revolving door for all the mortals that come in and out of here.”

  “This one would have stood out.”

  LaRue frowned. His pasty face shone in the light from a nearby floor lamp. The scent of fear grew thicker, enough to cut through the cigar smell. “I’ve no idea who you mean.”

  “You’re certain?”

  “All my clients look the same to me. Like walking hundred dollar bills.”

  “And those who are not clients? What do they loo
k like?”

  The pimp gently stroked the brush beside him like a small pet. “If you have something to say, please say it. I’ve no patience for riddles.”

  “One of our lairs was infiltrated. A well-armed and trained mortal killed a powerful guard. Another of our brethren is missing. We would like to meet this troublesome mortal.”

  “Why come to me?”

  Yora stepped around the chair in front of her and closed the distance between them. The gusts of fear wafting from him tickled her bloodlust. But Yora had long since learned how to control her nature. “Because the vampire that works with you lives at the same lair.”

  The pimp shrugged his bloated shoulders. “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

  Yora growled and bared the full length of her fangs. “Did you tell this mortal about the lair?”

  “What mortal? I still don’t know who you’re talking about.”

  “The sweet smell of your fear betrays your lies.”

  LaRue’s hand wrapped around the brush’s handle. “I’m an asset to your community. Don’t forget that while you throw around accusations.”

  “You overestimate your worth.” She charged him.

  He tried to raise the brush, but his sluggish reflexes were no match for Yora’s speed. She gripped the wrist of the hand holding the brush and twisted. The snap of his breaking bones underscored his beautiful scream. The brush fell to the floor.

  “I’ve permission to kill you, pimp. Even to feed on you. You’re only asset to our community now is as my lunch.”

  Whimpering, LaRue cradled his broken wrist in his lap. Tears streamed down his doughy face. “You’re making a terrible mistake.”

  “You are the one making the mistake. Niall will soon rule New Orleans, over mortal and vampire both. Would you be so quick to dishonor your King?”

  Two red splotches rose on either of the pimp’s cheeks. His eyes shone. “No vampire will command mortals. The moment Niall makes his presence known, mobs of humans will come here to wipe you all out.”

  “Our numbers grow daily.”