by S T Branton
“So, you’re saying that guy has a boss, and I’m guessing that boss is bad news.”
“The demigod we witnessed is known most often as Delano.” Marcus turned the flask over in his hands. “His greater god is Lorcan.”
“And Lorcan is the god of what?” I asked. “Being an enormous dick?”
“In profane human terms, yes.” Marcus allowed himself a grim smirk. “He is a master of darkness and deceit. He would call himself a master of death as well, but that particular power eludes him. Still, he is not to be trifled with. If his most loyal servant is roaming the city, it can mean no good for anyone. The two of them must be stopped.”
“That seems easy,” I said. “God of darkness with an insanely strong right-hand man? No problem.” If true, this whole setup made Rocco and his goons look like peanuts in comparison. But most of me remained unconvinced. The guy was creepy as balls, but a demigod? I just couldn’t wrap my head around that.
“This is why no general rushes into battle without a plan.” Marcus pushed up into a standing position, then offered me his hand. I took it. “Our first objective is to locate an old acquaintance of mine. I have much to discuss with him. But before that can commence, I need something.”
“Oh, so we’re a team now?” I elbowed him gently. “Nice to know it just took some good, old-fashioned dirty fighting for you to think of me as a partner.”
I made light of the crippling blow to his wound, mostly to assuage the guilt I felt about it. At least his wonder drink had him ready to go again.
He headed for the door, motioning for me to follow. At the door, he stooped to scratch the cat, who had crept out of hiding. “I value your counsel, Vic. And you strike viciously. You are a good asset on the field of battle, provided you are on the correct side.”
“Thanks, I think.” I checked my purse and hesitated. “Do you have your sword?”
He indicated his belt. “You were too busy kicking at me to notice I had taken it back. I think that means we are even.”
“I guess so.”
Ever the gentleman, Marcus let me exit the apartment first.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“Back to the water. I have left something behind.”
***
The docks looked only slightly more hospitable in the rapidly fading twilight than they had in the dead of night. We arrived there using more conventional means this time, with only mild trespassing. I made Marcus stop and wait for a few minutes, just so I could make sure the police weren’t still snooping around. A patch of ground near the base of the pier was stained a dull, rusty red. I chose not to dwell on it.
“You are certain it was here?” Marcus asked. “I confess that I cannot readily remember the events of that night.”
“Trust me,” I said. “I can.” I led him out to the end of the structure, and we stared into the gray depths of the river. “I spotted you just out there.” I pointed. “Right after that meteor lit up the sky.”
Marcus grinned. “I do know how to make an entrance.”
I grinned back, granting him his bullshit story. We had work to do, after all.
His eyes searched the water. “How did you locate me? I assume I must have sunk rather quickly.”
“The sword was glowing. I could see the shape of it like a beacon at the bottom of the river, illuminating the deep shadows. If it wasn’t for that thing, I might’ve had to abandon you.”
“I see. I am grateful.” Without further ado, Marcus removed his armor and stripped off his tunic. “Wait here. I will return shortly.”
“Try not to freeze down there.” It made me cold just looking at him, and I was thankful that he didn’t need a diving partner. One impromptu trip off the end of that pier was good enough for me.
I watched him dive into the river with surprising grace and disappear. The water seemed to swallow him whole. I hoped his wound wouldn’t reactivate or somehow incapacitate him while he was underwater.
“Am I really worrying about this guy?” I wondered out loud. “Jeez.”
Less than an hour ago, we’d been at each other’s throats. Right now, we only had each other.
Marcus was gone for what felt like an inhumanly long time. I kept my gaze fixed on the choppy surface of the river, peering down for any sign of him. What the hell was he looking for, anyway? I wished I’d had the forethought to ask him. As usual, forethought was not my strong suit.
I was just getting ready to kick off my boots and dive in after him when I saw his head break the surface a few yards out from the initial site of impact. He did not appear to be carrying or dragging anything; he swam toward the dock with both arms. I was ready to help him out, but he hopped onto the dry concrete like a seal, wiping drops of water from his eyes.
“It is cold,” he said.
“I tried to warn you.” I picked up his tunic and held it out. He stood up, did his best to shake off the river water, and shrugged back into it. “I don’t think it’s cold enough for you to get hypothermia, but we should probably get somewhere warm, sooner rather than later. You were a long-ass time.”
“Yes.” He shook himself again. “But my hunt was miraculously successful.” He reached beneath the tunic and drew up a golden chain in his fist. A medallion dangled from the shining links, engraved with a coat of arms.
“That’s it?” I asked, genuinely bewildered.
“What do you mean, ‘that’s it?’ This medallion is crucial to the next phase of our plan.”
“How? You think that bling is gonna get you into a club downtown?” I sort of laughed at my own lame joke, but, of course, Marcus didn’t get it. He ignored my sass completely.
“It is evidence of my association with Kronin in the highest order. I wore it when I would carry out his missions. It is an irrefutable symbol of my authority.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” I said. “Let’s go. You’re starting to soak through your tunic.”
We went out the way we came, thankfully undetected. When we were safely back on normal pedestrian thoroughfares, Marcus patted his chest proudly. “This medal is a family heirloom, Vic. It is said to keep the spirits of my father and our ancestors close, should I need them.” His face grew solemn. “It was of much comfort to me during the early days of my transition.”
The subject felt a little heavy, so I elected not to press. “How long does it take that thing to dry?” I made a motion toward his tunic. It had soaked up most of the moisture and now hung on his frame like a sack.
He shrugged. “Its condition does not concern me. The garments of Carcerum are impervious to wear.”
“Right. Then what do you say we stop in somewhere for a drink? I think we could both use one.”
“I would be pleased to do so.” He bundled up his armor and tucked it under his arm.
“Awesome,” I said. “Just promise me, no duels with strangers, OK?”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“Another!”
A crowd was forming around us, and it sent up a cheer every time Marcus called for a new round in his trademark boisterous manner. He was a hit everywhere he went; people just drank up his friendly eccentricity. I couldn’t help losing myself in the atmosphere of camaraderie he so effortlessly created. If he had been a soldier, he must have been a great one.
The bartender passed over another couple of shots. It was a familiar scenario, except I had no friend to water it down. These were full strength. But I also wasn’t playing a deadly game this time, just a normal drunken one. With my weird, but lovable, friend in a damp tunic.
Marcus tipped his shot glass back, drained it in a gulp, and set it on the bar with a decisive clink. He nodded at me encouragingly. “Take your turn, Vic! I trust you are not yet bested?”
“Hardly.” I took mine even faster, relishing the burn of the whisky down my throat. The crowd whistled and cheered. “Again?”
“Again.” Marcus signaled to the bartender, who passed over two more shots with arched eyebrows.
“I’m not responsible if this gets out of hand,” he told us. “But it’s a hell of a show, and it’s driving my tips up like crazy.”
“Don’t worry. I’m real good at holding my liquor.” This much was true. Between the years of recon in grimy bars and the pathological drinking to forget my past, I’d become a regular human keg. Eight shots in, I was only starting to feel it fuzzing the edge of my mind.
For once, the sensation was pleasant instead of desperate. I was secure with someone I, at least, half trusted. And I was not on the hunt.
The shot exchange went on until Marcus tapped out at twelve, leaving me the unequivocal victor in our little match. I stood up a bit unsteadily and raised my hands above my head. The crowd, now triple the size it had been when we started hours earlier, roared.
Marcus grinned at me. His eyes were a little glazed, but he looked as happy as I’d ever seen him. “I am truly astounded, Vic,” he said. “And impressed. And defeated.”
“Yes! Yes, you are. You’re welcome.” I took the tab from the barkeep and had to look at it three times until the numbers made sense. “Hold on.”
The gears ground in my head. Shit. Do I have that much money? I dug around in my bag for the wallet, which was now alarmingly slim. There were two fifties left in the billfold, plus another few twenties. I looked again at the bill. Just barely.
“Hey, don’t worry about it, sweets.” A burly guy in a leather jacket slapped some bills on the bar. “Ain’t every day you get a show like that around here. I figure it’s fair price for the entertainment.”
“Don’t call me sweets,” I told him. “But thanks. I won’t forget it.”
He laughed. “We’ll see about that.”
Half an hour later, Marcus and I weaved our way out the door and down the street, aiming in the general direction of my place. He had downed half a pitcher of water and a pull from his flask. By the time we hit the stairs, he was more sober than I was.
“Are you all right?” he asked, the amusement bare in his voice. “It would be no trouble to carry you.”
“Don’t you dare,” I growled good-naturedly. “I’m fine.” He went ahead of me to the door, and I clung to the railing like a sailor to the gunwale of a pitching ship. “If I have to puke when we get inside, you can’t look, okay? That’s gross.”
Marcus chuckled. “I promise. I am only concerned with getting you to rest. We must make an early start tomorrow.”
“What?” I stopped where I was, staring up at him. “Why didn’t you tell me that before we decided to go shot for shot?”
He held up his stupid magic flask. “Because I had a failsafe.”
“That’s cruel.” I stumbled onto the landing, and he guided me through the door. The cat, woken from its nap atop my mattress, hurried out of the way as soon as it caught sight of me falling toward the bed.
The last thing I remembered was Marcus pulling a blanket over me. “See you at sunrise,” he said. I thought he was joking.
He wasn’t.
Actually, the loft was still dark when he roused me from the cocoon I had built in my sleep, nudging me with the end of a practice sword from a safe distance.
“What do you want?” I demanded. My voice was low and gravely, and it was a blessing that there was no light yet. All the shots I’d so confidently taken the night before had migrated up into my head and were knocking on my eyeballs. I groaned plaintively. “Marcus, I thought we were friends.”
“We are.” He nudged me again. “This is helping you. Trust me.”
“I don’t trust you at,” I pawed for my phone and squinted into its glaring screen, “six in the morning. What time did we get back last night?”
“I do not know,” he lied, smiling. “It matters not. I warned you that we must get an early start today. Your training is of the utmost importance.”
“My training? Oh, hell no.” I went to bury myself back in the blanket, but he prodded me mercilessly until I got up. “Fine. Fine! Just let me drink some water first.”
A glass and a half later, I picked up my training sword and stood in front of him, eyelids still drooping. “Let’s get this over with.”
Marcus said it wasn’t as brutal as it felt, but by the time we actually left the loft, I was tired all over again and sore, to boot.
“You are improving nicely,” he insisted, leading me down the still-darkened street.
“Yeah, yeah.”
I couldn’t deny that all the physical activity seemed to be helping. My sword moved with a greater purpose. It found its targets more often. Also, I noticed that I felt better about myself. Less stupid. Less like a caged animal just fighting to survive.
More like an assassin.
“Where are we going?” I called after Marcus, trotting to keep up. “And what are you doing?”
He was all over the place, checking tons of weird places for something. Under trash can lids, in dark, scary corners, in the pockets of dead-end alleyways. Every now and then, he’d stand still and gaze at the fading night sky, calculating something in his head.
He fished in a pocket of his tunic and came up with a roll of brown paper which expanded into a map. I peered over his shoulder. “Where is this? Carcerum?”
He shook his head absently. “This is your city, before it was a city.”
“What? No way.” I made a grab for it, but he moved the paper deftly out of my reach. “No fair. Let me see.”
In response, he tilted it toward me from a distance.
It looked nothing like the New York I knew. I didn’t understand most of the symbols on more than a vague level, but Marcus clearly did. He looked between the stars and his map for a moment, then turned slightly and headed in a new direction. “This way.”
“How can you tell?” I asked. “That map is ancient.”
Marcus smiled. “Some things never change.”
His orienteering led us down a meandering path in which I failed to see the logic. We passed bars, boutique shops, garages, and subway stations. Every time I asked, Marcus wouldn’t tell me what he was searching for. Finally, I made him stop on the sidewalk and talk to me.
“Dude, I know you’re in the zone right now or whatever, but as long as I’m here, I might as well help. So, tell me what exactly is going on, please.”
“Right.” He scratched his head. “I apologize. But let us keep moving while we converse.” He kept consulting the map, pausing every so often to mutter to himself. “The base of the truth is this: long ago, when gods and their ilk walked the earth, they existed among all manner of other creatures. Today, the creatures, as well as the gods themselves, are little more than memories. They have been forgotten by your world.”
“Okay,” I said slowly. “And what exactly are these Forgotten like? They wear armor and talk strange like you?”
“They are difficult to classify. As varied as their species were, so were their temperaments, and their crimes against the rightful inhabitants of Earth.”
“That would be humans?”
“Good, you are learning.” Marcus patted me on the shoulder. “So, when the time came that Kronin banned the greatest of the Forgotten to Carcerum, he gave these lesser beings a choice: to join him in Carcerum or to stay among the denizens of the Earth. A significant number of them chose to stay.”
“Here? Why?” I glanced at our surroundings. They were hardly appealing.
Then again, I was biased.
Marcus thought for a minute. “There was a rift between the greater and lesser Forgotten, between those with tangible power and those who got along under the surface, making their way by staying inconspicuous. Many of these lesser found the idea of eternity alongside the gods intolerable. So, they elected to remain on Earth, bound by Kronin’s rules, instead. At least then, there would be some distance.”
“I mean, I guess, but it sounds like they still had to listen to him.”
Marcus nodded. “Or face his wrath. And after Carcerum was founded, few dared to question the power of Kronin.”
“Years ago, Kronin sent me to check in on a Forgotten of note who lived near this city in a swamp. Even if that swamp is long gone, he is a sedentary figure. I believe he cannot have moved more than a mile or two from his original location.”
“A swamp, huh?” I smirked humorlessly. “Well, if you think we might find him in a similar environment, I have a suggestion.”
“Oh?” Marcus glanced my way, curious.
“You’re certain he must be around here?” I asked.
He looked down at the map again, then nodded. “Yes. I have no doubt.”
I pointed down the street at a garish sign lined with dim, flickering marquee lights. The board was dingy, and the letters were faded. GIRLS! it read, and then, the ever reliable XXX.
“If you’re looking for slimy, I’d start right about here.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The bump and grind music was enough to revive my hangover in almost all its former glory. I screwed up my face against the noise. “Please tell me we don’t have to spend too much time in here. I think my skull might come apart.”
Marcus didn’t hear me over the bass. He was back in tracking mode, his gaze roving over the dark, smoky room. As my eyes began to adjust, silhouettes emerged from the shadows. They were hunched in the familiar posture of the miserable, drowning their sorrows in booze and flesh. The whole scene left a bad taste in my mouth.
I stuck close to Marcus and followed his lead, letting my eyes wander around the murky room. There was nothing of note in there, nothing I hadn’t seen a million times in a million other seedy joints before. That was, except for one behemoth of a guy who sat at a corner table, leering at the world through bloodshot eyes. He was half smiling, his jowls pocked and dangling. Below the table, he seemed to become amorphous.
