by J. C. Staudt
We shuffle through the crowd to a spot in the standing pit near the stage and spend the next half hour waiting for the opening band to come on. A balcony enwraps the upper floor, where more attendees stand waiting. Shenn plays with my hand while she tells me about her week at work so far, and how she got slammed with a huge development proposal that’s due Friday. For a while I forget my problems and let myself drown in the deep hazel of her half-elven eyes.
When the opening band takes the stage, their music turns out to be nothing more than a cut-rate version of Green Mercury’s. The audience members bob their heads and clap politely after each song. The band wraps up after about half an hour.
Then the lights dim, and the room erupts as lasers slash the stage in spinning, blinking patterns. An intro track blares from the speakers. It’s the foreplay; the build-up to entice the crowd. Applause ripples across the audience. Shadowy figures emerge from the dark to take up their instruments amid shouts, whistles, and screams. The crowd presses forward, carrying Shenn and I closer to the stage.
A spotlight beams down on a lone keytar player at center stage. His green bristle-brush hair quivers as he nods his head, tapping out the first violent notes of a song which pushes the crowd’s Annoying Meter to eleven. Guitars swoop in from either side as a synth beat thumps to life beneath. The singer steps to the mic and proclaims in rigid electronic tones, Whatcha-whatcha do to me / It’s a lobotomy / Girl I’m your casualty / You’re cutting through the heart of me.
It’s the literal worst song I’ve heard since Shenn played their other music in the car. Everything about it is sterile and artificial and makes me wish I’d brought earplugs. At least Shenn’s having a good time. She’s gyrating, rubbing her vinyl catsuit up against me as she sways to the beat. I stand there and feign interest in the musicians on stage so I don’t have to pretend I like their music.
Shenn stands on her tiptoes and shouts in my ear. “Don’t be such a downer. Dance with me.”
It’s a simple request, yet it stops me cold. Becoming Arden Savage taught me to fake certain hobbies and interests, but I have my limits. Do I like this girl enough to humor her? Does she like me enough to care whether I enjoy her music or not? Could I see myself attending more concerts like this in the future? If I continue down this path of deception, will things work out between us when I tell her I’m someone else? The answer to all these questions, I think, is no.
Shenn’s request may be simple, but it represents something bigger. I’ve adopted a secret identity for my own protection, so there’s no doubt I’m willing to plumb the depths of morality in the name of self-preservation. What I won’t do is fake who I am in the name of love. I was stupid to think I had any business trying.
Ersatz has been right all along. As usual. Dating Shenn was a terrible idea.
Thinking back to how we met, when Shenn and I collided at the Neon Cafe and spilled coffee all over each other, there was a moment where I saw something in her eyes. A recognition; a familiarity, like we’d known each other our whole lives despite having just met. You don’t often find that in a person, and it was what drew me to her. Love at first sight, or something like it. What a joke.
“I’ll be right back,” I reply. “Gotta use the bathroom.”
As I’m pushing my way toward the back, Green Mercury finishes out their first song with an abrupt cutoff ending. The room goes dark, and the crowd goes insane. I cover my ears while they scream. A long moment passes, and the lights don’t come back on.
The singer says something, but his mic is dead and his voice falls flat without the aid of the sound system. A few people flick on their cell phone screens. As one of the concert security guards pans his flashlight across the stage, a shadow rushes past, moving faster than any human I’ve ever seen. My heartbeat quickens, and I feel around in my pockets for a pill.
I find one in my coat pocket, work up a mouthful of saliva, and choke it down while the crowd murmurs in confusion. It takes a few swallows to move the lump down my throat. In the meantime I draw off my bracelet and cast a quick spell to give my eyes a boost in the dark.
My irises expand to superhuman caliber, and the room’s pitch-darkness pulls into dim focus. Shadows blur through the crowd. Across the stage. Along the balcony railing. Concertgoers grunt as they get shoved aside. The members of Green Mercury are fiddling with their instruments, trying to make them work while the panicked sound engineer tweaks knobs in the booth.
I call Shenn’s name as I scan the crowd for her.
She’s gone.
The pill takes hold in my stomach, and I draw the first precious power from its supply. A shadow churns toward me through the crowd, tossing bodies overhead like a lawnmower chewing up a patch of grass. Amid anguished screams comes the wet crunching of bone, followed by the coppery tang of blood.
I stretch my arms toward the ceiling. Pure white light blazes from my hands to saturate the club with the intensity of a stadium floodlight. I scream for everyone to get out, hoping my light will guide them to the exits. No one’s leaving, though. The spell is blinding them rather than making them see. A few startled concertgoers have noticed the carnage in their midst, but the majority shield their eyes and talk amongst themselves as they wait for the concert to continue.
Something buffets me from behind, throwing me to the floor. I roll over and thrust out both hands to blind whoever hit me. Strong hands grab me by the ankles and drag me across the floor so fast it gives me rug burns on my back. I manage a look at the black-clad vampire cringing away from my light but no less intent on taking me somewhere I’m pretty sure I don’t want to go. My arms flail like wild flashlights as he collars me and hauls me over his shoulder for easier carrying.
As we cross beneath the balcony, a fat brown rat squeezes through the railing bars and jumps. Halfway down, a puff of black smoke engulfs the rat, and a winged devil with tall horns and a long barbed tail emerges. It spreads its wings and twists in flight, curving around to strike the vampire low on the hip. No sooner has the devil sunk its claws into the vampire’s flesh than it vanishes in another puff of smoke, taking the vampire with it.
I am now floating in the air six feet above the ground, and still moving rapidly. My body slams upside-down into the wall and slumps to the floor. I lie there gasping for breath until another vampire blurs into view and yanks me along by the arm with enough force to dislocate my shoulder. He carries me down the hallway and through the lobby while I bump across the floor behind him. The glass entrance doors are closed, but vampy don’t care; he crashes through them and pulls me into the frigid night. Broken glass shreds us both, but his wounds heal while I’m only beginning to feel the pain of mine.
I still haven’t caught my breath. The light spell dies in my hands as the vampire drags me down a dark city street with the force and speed of a moving vehicle. The first time I try to dig my heels into the pavement, my right shoe pops off and hop-skips down the sidewalk. The vamp turns down the next street, where a black Lincoln Town Car waits with the engine running.
He slings open the door and tosses me inside. I fly across the seat and hit the opposite door with a crack. The vampires in the front seat glance over their shoulders and smile as my abductor slides in beside me and shuts the door. The driver steps on it, squealing the tires. I’m bruised, cut up, and rug-burned, but I barely feel any of it in the high-octane rush of fear.
The Town Car veers a sharp right at the next intersection. A winged devil descends into our path, hovering above the road. I can’t tell whether it’s the same one I saw in the club. The driver accelerates, aiming to splatter it like a bug on the windshield.
The devil vanishes in a puff of black smoke, reappears inside the vehicle, and grabs the vampire in the seat beside me before winking out with him. There’s a sulfur smell, and black smoke swirls through the cabin. The vamps in the front seat curse and look around wildly. I’ve never seen a scared vampire before. I think it’s my new favorite thing.
Machine-gun fire strafes
the left side of the vehicle, punching holes in the driver door and blowing out the front tire. The car swerves, but the driver regains control and punches the gas while the blown tire flaps over the asphalt. Everything’s happening too fast to make sense of. Unless more of those devils swoop in to take these two remaining vamps, I’m not betting I’ll survive long.
Between the residue pill and my horsehair bracelet, I’ve got enough magic left for one more spell. Trouble is deciding which spell is going to help me here the most. Or at all. I try the automatic windows. Child locks are on, so I can’t turn to mist and float outside. Things might be easier if I could summon a wooden stake or a bucket of holy water. A helping hand from Calyxto wouldn’t hurt either. But as the vehicle careens down the nighttime strip, weaving through traffic, it becomes dreadfully apparent that Calyxto isn’t going to get me out of this one.
Chapter 16
We head south and cross the river via the Ambassador Bridge, where I’m certain the Canadian border patrol will come to my rescue when they notice the blown tire and bullet holes in the Town Car’s chassis. When the vampire driver pulls into one of the longer lines without making any move to restrain me or hide me in the trunk, I begin to lose hope. Before I know it we’re at the front of the line, being waved through the booth by a black-haired gentleman in border patrol uniform who smiles as we drive past, revealing a pair of sharp canine teeth.
Despite the damage to the vehicle, no cops pull us over on our way through the Canadian city of Windsor. After a brief jaunt down 401, the car turns onto a dirt road and passes through a tall wrought-iron gate set into a high stone wall. We bump onto a length of smooth pavement which curves into a turnaround driveway encircling a manicured garden. The headlights swing onto a sprawling modern mansion with a grand two-story entrance.
“Welcome to Mottrov Manor,” says the driver, releasing the child locks as the Town Car limps to a halt. “Get out. And don’t do anything stupid.”
I do. And I don’t. The adrenaline has worn off, and I feel my body’s every movement with stinging clarity. The compound is truly expansive, with its walled-in acreage and multiple outbuildings and guesthouses. They lead me into the main house, not through the front door but through a tradesman’s entrance around the side. The interior is a maze. My vampiric hosts lead me through it without seeming to mind the blood I’m dripping on the floor.
We arrive in a large open library whose shelves soar to the tops of grand arched windows. A man with long black hair sits at a desk, back turned to us, leaning over the open pages of what I can only hope is Codex Sepulcrum, the Book of the Grave. There’s a dark presence in the room that makes my blood run cold. I no longer harbor any doubt; I’ve entered the belly of the beast.
“Good evening, Arden Savage,” says the man at the desk, rising from his chair. His hair sways along his spine, smooth as silk. He doesn’t turn. “I’m so glad you’re finally here. Your friends have made it difficult to get a hold of you.”
“What friends?”
He tilts his head to listen as a drop of my blood splashes on the hardwood.
I clear my throat. “I could use a paper towel if you’ve got one. Wouldn’t turn down a whole roll, come to think of it.”
Mottrov flashes across the room to stand face to face with me. He’s tall, with slender features and a cutting gaze. “Don’t try to protect them. You possess a talent they can only dream of. I’m curious. How did you come by it?”
I lean away from him to escape his sour breath. With a house this size, you’d think the guy could afford mints. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He smiles. “You come from a family of normals. Your mother and father were normals. Yet you perform magic as though it’s second nature. Who taught you? How did you come by such knowledge?”
“A magician never reveals his secrets.”
“You’re no mundane trickster. You command the arcane powers with a prowess unique amongst your kind. And you’re wealthy, to boot. You’ll make an excellent servant.”
“Thanks for the offer, but I’m not in the job market.”
“Take off your shoes.”
“Sorry, but I can’t stay. Plus I’ve only got the one. Lost the other shoe while your guy was dragging me down the street on my ass.”
“If you were treated roughly, blame your friends. It was their protection which necessitated your quick extraction.”
“Who are these friends you keep mentioning?”
“They call themselves the Guardians of the Veil, do they not?”
“Oh, those friends. Right.” I shrug. “Seriously, I have no idea who that is.”
He grabs me by the throat. “I will have answers, Mr. Savage. The one who hunts me. She haunts my every step. Tell me where I can find her.”
With his hand clamped over my windpipe, I manage only two words. “No… clue.”
He throws me to the floor. I lay gasping as he paces the room, black hair swishing.
“Where are Dominic and Lazarat?”
“Taken, my lord. To the shadow realm.”
Mottrov glares. “Find them.”
The two vampires vanish down the hallway.
“I told you,” I croak. “I’ve got no clue who the Guard—”
“Silence, wizard. Unless you’re opening your mouth to tell me where I can find them, keep it shut.”
A massive chunk of stone bursts through one of the arched two-story windows and rolls to a stop beside Mottrov’s desk. Another window shatters as the winged devil from earlier soars through to alight on a high bookcase. Through that same window flies a somersaulting ball of black vinyl. Shenn lands, catlike, wielding two feet of silvered steel in the form of a Japanese sword. From behind me, holding Mottrov’s two vampiric minions at gunpoint, arrive Officer Desdemona Dolman of the NDPD and a white-haired male in a Kevlar vest and night-vision goggles. He trains his kitted AR-15 on Mottrov and says, “You want us? Here we are.”
The massive chunk of stone which came through the window first rises to its feet with a sharp grinding sound. “You told me you were going to be more careful, you stupid human.”
I stare in amazement. It’s the gargoyle; the one I met on the street Monday morning when she stopped the Nerve Ring from rolling down the sewer drain. I gulp. “Yeah, careful’s not my strong suit.”
She affixes me with her gravelly gaze. “So it would seem.”
We all turn as a bespectacled orc in a red baseball cap and a gray bodysuit kicks away the remaining shards of window and clambers through with a pump-action twelve gauge slung over his shoulder. He takes it off and tries to pump it. “Oh, oops. Already did that.”
The white-haired man shakes his head. “Right on time as usual, Urdal.”
“Last, and apparently not least,” says Shenn.
Snickers from the others.
I stare at the newcomer, wide-eyed. The orc who gave me the black ribbon. My gaze drifts to Shenn, who’s watching me.
“You okay?” she asks.
I blink. “So that’s why you’re dressed like that.”
She throws me a look. “I’m dressed like this because I look hot in this outfit. You and your rich-boy attitude could use some adjusting.”
“My attitude? I won’t ask you where you’ve been hiding that sword.”
She smirks. “And you’re a complete music snob too, by the way.”
“I enjoy music that doesn’t suck. If that makes me a snob, so be it. Although I prefer the term connoisseur. What are you supposed to be anyway, the Fantasy A-Team?”
“We are the Guardians of the Veil,” says the white-haired man. “I’m Ryovan Knox. We’ll worry about the rest of the introductions later. For now, I believe Mr. Mottrov here was just leaving.”
“This is my house,” says Mottrov. He takes a step toward me, then reconsiders in light of his foes and their silvered weapons. When he turns toward his desk, he sees the big gargoyle standing beside the book and reconsiders that, too.
“You’
re out of options, Mottrov.”
The vampire sneers. “My thralls are on their way here even now, Sir Knox. It’s you who should be leaving.”
Ryovan raises his assault rifle and fires a rapid burst at Mottrov, who vanishes into a wispy cloud. A bat flaps free of the cloud and escapes out the nearest broken window.
“Ow. Watch it,” shouts the gargoyle as Ryovan’s silver bullets strike her and the tall column she’s standing beside.
“Sorry, Fremantle,” says Ryovan.
Officer Dolman double-taps the vampire in front of her, who falls down writhing as the silver bullets sizzle inside him. She turns her gun on the other vamp, but he’s already on the move. She keeps him in her sights, but can’t squeeze off another round before he leaps through the window.
The devil perched on the bookshelf hikes a clawed thumb over his shoulder. “You want I, eh… make chase, or something?” He speaks with a thick accent reminiscent of Eastern Europe.
“Let them go, Githryx. We need to find Lorne Savage.” Ryovan steps up and shoots the writhing vampire on the floor twice in the face.
“Lorne is here?” I ask.
“Your tip about the Civic Center was worthless,” says Officer Dolman. She extends her hand. “Call me Des. Nice to meet you for real, sort of.”
“Likewise… I think.”
“I knew it was you,” says Shenn, staring at me in wonderment. “I told them it was you all along. Didn’t I?”
Des rolls her eyes. “Yeah, Shenn, you did.”
“Me who?” I ask.
“Let’s not discuss it here,” says Ryovan. “Stay close. This is a big place… wouldn’t want you getting lost.”
“What about the grimoire?” I ask, pointing toward the desk.
“That’s not the book you’re looking for. Come on. Mottrov’s right; this place will be swarming with thralls in a few minutes.”
We haul ass through the cavernous house, passing rooms where every shadow breathes terror and every creaking footstep spells doom. At the base of the rear staircase Ryovan splits us into two groups so we can search the basement and the upstairs at the same time. He and Des take Githryx upstairs while Shenn and I lead Urdal the orc and Fremantle the gargoyle through the basement door.
