by Alex P. Berg
I wandered along, more or less sticking to the home’s back wall, before I arrived at a staircase. A glimmer of light caught my eye from below, and I heard something. A voice. Maybe two. Laughter?
I took to the stairs, moving slower than before. I slipped my right hand inside my pocket, the brass knuckles sliding into place. Despite my newfound basilisk fighting experience, I still preferred beating on someone to going after them with a knife. Something about cutting into human flesh gave me the willies. I wasn’t sure how Cairny did it, even on dead folks.
I paused at the bottom of the stairs and peered over the railing in the direction of the light. A glow flickered at the far end of the hall, but the voices I’d heard had quieted.
Even with only one fully functional hand, the element of surprise would give me the upper hand if anyone were to show up, or at least that was the lie I told myself to force my feet along the hall. More wind and rain battered the windows at my side, and in the far distance, I heard a peal of thunder. Shadows danced across the front of ostentatious decorative pieces: wrought iron chandeliers, the dozens of candles contained therein unlit, heavy drapes, tall bookcases crammed with tomes, a series of paintings, even a suit of armor for crying out loud. Apparently, whoever owned the manor had spent their efforts decorating the first floor and had run out of funds for the third.
Speaking of whoever owned the manor… The paintings which hung along the wall were portraits, depicting a series of young men dressed in fine clothes and standing in dramatic poses. The fashion in the first few were of the stuffy and dated variety, but they grew more modern as I walked down the hall. Each of them also had a brass plaque affixed underneath them. Christopher Markeville. Anderson Markeville. William Markeville.
I paused as I reached the last in line. It featured a lean young man, one with wavy brown hair and an aura of superiority. It was unmistakably a picture of Sebastian Cobb.
The plaque confirmed it—sort of. It read Sebastian Markeville. So…who the hell were the Markevilles? A long-lived crime family that had kept their efforts hidden over the years? Or had Cobb—Markeville, rather—split from family tradition, using his wealth to launch a career of a decidedly illegal persuasion?
I heard a cough and a loud hawk around the corner. I nearly jumped.
“Gods, I’m bored.”
Another voice. “You signed up for this. What did you expect?”
“Not to play babysitter, that’s for sure. Everyone else is out there, gettin’ shit done. I mean, this is the night! And we’re stuck here doing nothing.”
“It’s safer in here. Drier, too.”
The first voice snorted. “The rain don’t bother me. In fact, I think I’m gonna go have a smoke.”
“Really?”
“Like I said. You okay on your own for a few?”
“Don’t take long. You know how the boss feels about slacking off. Best not be lying about the rain, either. He’ll smell the smoke on the upholstery.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
I heard a squeak of a chair, and I panicked, realizing I should’ve hid. As it was, my options were limited. I darted behind a set of drapes, hoping beyond hope the approaching guard wouldn’t notice the awkward bulge and set of feet protruding from beneath them.
Footsteps came and went, and I breathed a sigh of relief—or I would’ve if I weren’t worried about making noise. As it was, I counted to sixty before sneaking out from behind my cover.
I crept to the hallway’s edge and peered around the corner, catching a glimpse of another nondescript tough sitting in a chair, idly rolling a heavy club between his fingers. Like the thugs who’d guarded my room, a lantern stood on a desk beside him, but Kyra hadn’t come by to extinguish it.
I pulled back and considered my options. I could rush him. He looked alert, but I was pretty sure I could win, even with my left hand in the condition it was. I doubted I could silence him before he could yell for help, though, and unfortunately, I had no idea how many guys patrolled the manor’s halls. I needed a quieter option. Something sneaky.
Years of reading mystery novels had taught me the best way to get someone’s attention was with a whistle, ideally a birdlike one that sounded natural in occurrence. The only problem was I couldn’t whistle to save my life. Shay had tried to teach me. Claimed it was simple, but I’d never managed it. The real question, though, was could I whistle to save another’s life? With the fingers of my right hand curled around the brass knuckles, I put my lips together and blew.
I didn’t whistle, but I did squeak out what sounded like an intermittent fart.
I heard the thugs’s voice from around the corner. “That you, Chuck?”
On a whim, I tried again. This time, the sound was wetter if no less flatulent.
The goon’s voice again. “What the hell is that?”
The chair squeaked, and I heard him approach. Gods, I couldn’t believe it actually worked!
I waited patiently.
“Chuck, what are you—”
I blasted the thug in the side of the face as he turned the corner, hearing a crunch of bone as I made impact. He groaned and toppled, but I caught hold of him before he hit the floor, putting him in a headlock and squeezing tight. He only gurgled for a second or two before going quiet.
As silently as I could, I dragged him to the chair. I blew out the lantern’s flame. Darkness had aided me thus far, and I planned on keeping it that way. Then I tested the handle of the door behind the thug’s chair. Locked.
I checked my unconscious friend’s pockets, where I found another key ring. My eyes were still readjusting to the darkness, but it looked the same as the ring I’d taken from my first jailer.
I started testing keys in the lock. Nothing on the first two. Upon trying the third, I heard a click.
My heart jumped into my throat. With trembling hands, I turned the handle and pushed in.
The darkness inside suffocated. If the room contained any windows, they were hidden behind heavy drapes. I heard the whistle of wind and the patter of rain, but nothing else.
A swish of air filled my ears. An explosion of pain erupted from the side of my head, and I tumbled to the floor.
30
Red spots danced in the darkness in front of my eyes, and I grunted as a weight crushed me. Something sharp pressed against my neck, and I heard a voice.
“Don’t move. Don’t say a word of I’ll cut you from ear to ear.”
I blinked, the spots slowing their twirl. “Shay?”
Her outline began to take shape in the darkness. “Jake? Oh, gods…”
The sharp tool at my neck disappeared, clattering across the floor as Shay tossed it away. The knee against my chest lifted, and her arms enveloped me. “Gods, Jake, why didn’t you say anything? I thought you were one of them.”
I put my arms around her. Her breath warmed the crook of my neck. The tenderness and strength of her curves pressed against me. Her chest swelled as she breathed. Her scent filled my lungs. Not her lilac perfume—that was a faint memory—rather the purest scent of her, her natural smell, her aura of power and independence and femininity. I took a wracking breath and sighed, feeling a trickle on my cheek. My own, I think.
“Jake? Are you okay? Talk to me.”
“Yes. I’m okay. I am now, anyway. Though physically, I’ve been better. Mentally, too. Gods, Shay, I was worried. I shouldn’t have been. I mean, look at you. You can take care of yourself. I know you can, and the Captain made sure to tell me that. But I couldn’t help it. I was petrified. I was a mess. But I’m okay now. You’re here. We’re here.” I took another deep breath, trying to calm my frayed nerves.
“That’s not true,” she said. “About taking care of myself. I’ve been a wreck, too. The only things keeping me sane have been tearing this room apart in search of weapons and knowing you’d come for me sooner or later. I need you, Jake. I always have.”
I felt her lips on mine, and we kissed. It wasn�
�t what some might consider a passionate kiss. Our lips barely parted, and our tongues didn’t meet. But it was a long kiss. Slow and tender. Our cheeks brushed against each other, both of them slippery. I wasn’t the only one crying.
Shay finally pulled back. “Thank you for coming, Jake. And sorry for putting another dent in your skull.”
“Water under the bridge,” I said. “I wouldn’t have expected anything less from you. Besides, the cumulative effects of brain injuries don’t pile up until your later years. I’ll be fine for now.”
Shay rolled off and kneeled next to me, wiping her cheeks in the murky blackness. “Right. I suppose we should get moving. Where are Rodgers and Quinto?”
I sat up, my head still aching, along with most of my other body parts. “No idea. Kyra suggested they were still cleaning up the mess at the King’s Theater.”
“Kyra?” I couldn’t make out her face, but I imagined Steele was giving me one of her raised eyebrow looks.
“Right,” I said. “How much do you know?”
“Painfully little. But that ogre who the tattoo artist at Thicker Than Water described to us? You’ll never guess who it is.”
“Bonesaw,” I said. “I’m way ahead of you. It’s not your fault. A lot’s happened since you were abducted.”
“Fill me in, then.”
“We’re not out of the woods yet, but I can give you the quick and dirty version. Bonesaw’s running with a new gang by the name of the Winds of Change, and they seem to be run by none other than Sebastian Cobb.”
“The recruiter who you interfaced with during the Wyverns case?”
“The very same. Except his name isn’t Cobb. It’s Markeville. Apparently this is his estate—we’re somewhere in Brentwood, by the way. I’m still putting together the pieces, but after he escaped following our bust of the Wyverns, it would seem he doubled down on his desire to head one of New Welwic’s gangs. He rebranded his operation and set up a meeting with the heads of the city’s most powerful organized crime operations. And he killed them all. Every last one. Sprung a trap on them in the heart of the abandoned King’s Theater. It was a massacre, of sorts.”
“Of sorts?”
“It was a bloodless affair. Markeville sicced his basilisk on them. Froze them in an instant.”
“His what?”
“Basilisk,” I said. “The mythical creature that can turn a person to stone with a glance? It doesn’t petrify people, per se, but it does kill them, and cause rigor mortis to set in unnaturally quickly, as we found out following Cairny’s analysis at my place.”
“This isn’t the time to be screwing with me, Daggers.”
“I’m not. I should know. I fought the thing and won. Ripped its stomach open with a knife before dropping a body on it from four stories high. It was one tough son of a bitch. Messed my left hand up something good.”
Shay took my hand in hers. I winced. “Careful.”
“Daggers, you need medical attention.”
“I know, but I haven’t exactly had an opportunity to get any. I only woke up from a fist induced coma a half hour ago.”
“They captured you, too?”
I nodded. “Kyra sprung me. Remember the elf thief who was trying to join the Wyverns alongside me and Bonesaw? I managed to recruit her help…somehow.”
“Somehow?”
“Don’t get jealous. She’s into me, but the feeling’s not mutual. She split as soon as she paid me back for saving her life.”
“So we’re on our own?” said Shay. “Still trapped in Cobb—I mean, Markeville’s mansion?”
“Kyra and I have taken out three guards. One of them should be back momentarily. It’s time to go.”
Another peal of thunder sounded outside, distant but potent. Shay glanced toward her drapes. “Right. But Daggers? Before we go?”
“Yes?”
“I don’t know what these Winds of Change goons are planning, but I don’t think they’re done. Bonesaw’s the one who abducted me—I can fill you in later—but before dumping me here, he mentioned they’d capture you as well. Apparently the guys who came after you last night were only supposed to knock you around before kidnapping you. Regardless, Bonesaw said he’d wait to kill us until after they showed us something. Something big.”
“Markeville insinuated the same when he captured me,” I said. “Claimed I was too late. We’ll figure it out later. Right now we need to get out of the frying pan. Need a weapon?”
Shay bent over and picked up a length of steel. “I’ll stick with this one. Worked pretty well the first time.”
“Only too well. Come on. Let’s find a way out.”
I moved to the door and checked for intruders. Hearing nothing, I motioned for Steele to follow and set back along my path toward the stairs. I imagined I could find an exterior door or accessible window from somewhere along the hallway.
I paused halfway along the stretch of Markeville portraits, holding an arm out to keep Steele from crashing into me.
I heard footsteps. Heavy ones, coming our way.
31
I pushed Steele back the way we’d come. “Back, back!” I said in a hushed voice.
I was too late.
“Well, well, well.” Bonesaw’s booming voice echoed down the hallway, crashing into us like an ocean swell. “Look what the cat dragged in—or let out of its cage, I should say.”
I froze in my tracks. “You ought to steer clear of metaphors, Bonesaw. They’re not your strong suit.”
Lightning flashed. Long shadows splashed against the wall, including a massive black stain stretching from Bonesaw’s shoulders. Darkness swallowed him back up, followed by a distant peal of thunder.
“You know, I’ve always liked you, Daggers,” said Bonesaw. “That stunt you pulled in the King’s Theater? Taking down eight of our guys and the boss’s prized pet? I’ll give it to you. It was impressive. Even when we were competing to get into the Wyverns, you had moxie. Flair. Creativity. That’s rare in a cop. Maybe that’s why I didn’t see you for what you were until after the fact.”
“Go,” I whispered at Steele. “Run.” Then louder, for Bonesaw’s benefit. “Be honest, Bonesaw. You miss more than you catch. That’s why guys like me have careers, relationships, and friends, and guys like you end up in prison.”
Bonesaw held his hands to the sides. “And yet here I am. A prisoner no more.”
“For how long?”
Shay whispered back. “I’m not running. I’m not leaving you.”
Bonesaw moved a little closer. Fifteen feet. “I don’t think the two of you’ve fully grasped what’s going on yet. You think I don’t understand metaphors? The Winds of Change? We aren’t a gang. We’re a coup, waiting to strike. And we’re striking tonight.”
“Shay,” I hissed. Then louder again. “Speaking of which, we probably owe you some thanks. The gang unit will be happy to have five fewer crime operations within the city limits. Once we finish taking you down, we’ll be up to six.”
Bonesaw laughed, a powerful, malicious, booming sound that echoed off the walls. “Hah! You misunderstand me, Detective. I didn’t say a takeover. I said a coup. The gangs were just the beginning.”
“I’m staying, Daggers,” whispered Steele behind me. “We’re partners. I’m with you, for better or worse.”
I couldn’t fight her off. Not here. Not with Bonesaw bearing down on me. Besides, I didn’t want to. I wanted to protect her, but I had to stop treating her like a liability. She might save my life. She had before, too many times to count.
I gave her a thumbs up behind my back. “The beginning of what, Bonesaw?”
“Everything,” he said. “It’ll be like the good old days. Remember when the Wyverns ran free, operating without restrictions? Maybe you’re too young, but back then, the police took their cut and looked the other way. That’s a decent system, but a costly one. We have a better one in mind. This time, your friends will be too afraid to say a
nything at all. They’ll cower before us. The Winds of Change will own this city. It’s a shame you won’t be around to see it.”
“We won’t?” I said. “See, I got a different impression. That your boss, Markeville, wanted to keep us alive.”
“He did. You hurt him, see. When you busted the Wyverns, he took it personal. Those dragons were the start of something special. An army that could bring the city to its knees. But the boss isn’t like most men. He didn’t pack it in at the first bump in the road. He hunkered down. Put his resources to work and found new soldiers for his army. The ones that would give him the edge he needed to effect meaningful change.”
“I guess he chose wrong, then,” I said. “Turns out his basilisks aren’t too hard to kill once you know where to hit them.”
“I wasn’t only talking about the basilisk.” Bonesaw crept toward the wall. Another flash of lightning lit the corridor. The chandelier above, the paintings at the wall, the suit of armor at Bonesaw’s right. “Luckily for me, the boss is also the pragmatic sort. He won’t be too bent out of shape upon hearing I had to kill you following your attempted escape.”
I needed to put together a plan of attack with Shay, but I couldn’t with Bonesaw bearing down on us and monologueing. I’d have to trust her, trust my own instincts, and hope for the best.
I gripped my brass knuckles in my right hand and shifted my weight to the balls of my feet. “You seem pretty confident about that, Bonesaw. You didn’t fare so well the last time we went toe to toe.”
“I’ve learned from my mistakes.” Bonesaw pulled a poleaxe from the suit of armor’s grip with a clang. “Besides, your half-troll friend isn’t here to back you up, is he? All you’ve got this time is your skinny little elf bitch.”
“I’m a half-elf,” said Shay. “At least get it right, dumbass.”
Bonesaw roared and lunged, swinging the poleaxe at chest level. I ducked and rolled, feeling a whoosh of air over me as Steele danced out of sight. Bonesaw tucked his poleaxe in and spun, whipping his foot at my head. I pulled it away just in time. His boot cracked the tile underneath with the force of his kick. I swore, scrambled to my knees, and dove. The blade of Bonesaw’s axe sliced the void, cracking another tile with its impact.
