Episode IV: The Queen of the Dead
My name is Steph. I’m a regular at the Magitech Lounge. I am also undead. I hang out at the Lounge because it’s one place I never feel like a freak or an outsider. Believe me, that’s as important in the twenty-third century as it was in any century that preceded it.
There are other places to go, of course, particularly in San Francisco, which caters to an odd sort anyway. There are vampire bars where my kind tend to congregate, and I would certainly not feel like an outsider in those sorts of places.
But the Lounge is something special. It counts among its regulars such diverse folk as a troll, several lycanthropes, mages, and the occasional immortal, as well as a few other vampires. It’s a place that reminds me that I was once mortal as well, and that’s never a bad thing.
This particular summer night, unusually warm for the Bay City, I sought out the Lounge not because I needed company, but because I was frightened. Someone or something had been killing Conclave vamps, seemingly with impunity, and I knew I was fairly high up on the killer’s list. Rumor, hardly the most trustworthy source of information, had it that Gina Keening, the founder of the Conclave, had been slain in her home in Central Oregon. Adjuster’s Office agents called in to investigate had no leads.
Now, as vampires go, I have an odd assortment of gifts, making me fairly powerful. There is no universal standard in this—some vampires are weak, some are strong. And our powers vary from person to person with no apparent rhyme or reason.
In some ways I may be more powerful than Gina was. Her primary talent seemed to be movement. She could move so quickly that even other vampires had problems tracking her. This is not a gift I possess, though I do have the ability to move far faster than the human eye can track. This is not an extraordinary talent for our kind. All vamps have this power to one degree or another.
I can also hypnotize mortals fairly easily. Roughly fifty percent of all vamps have this one. I have some psychic talents, limited to empathy and astral projection, mostly. I can communicate with rats. Not my fault. My maker was a poor sort, and rats were the first food source he could provide to me upon my rising.
I am also quite resistant to magic, which is also fairly common for vamps. My resistance seems to be stronger than most.
I entered the Lounge this night to find the place enjoying a musical jam session between our two resident musicians. Hammad and Timothy were on stage, Hammad with a guitar and Timothy on a portable electronic organ. I wandered up to the bar and ordered a blood cocktail. The manager, Jack, kept warm synthetic blood on tap for my kind, which was pretty decent of him. Many bars refused to do so, even here in San Francisco.
Callie, the night bartender, gave me a long, measuring look and poured the drink. “You okay, Steph?” she asked.
I shrugged. Callie and I were on friendly terms. In fact, she might well have been one of my few female friends who weren’t part of the dead crowd. I wasn’t sure I wanted to discuss this with her, however. It was way over her head. Hell, it was way over my head. “Where are Hades and Jack?” I asked her, having seen neither of them on my way across the common room. Jack’s usual table was empty, and I couldn’t recall any evening I’d ever been in when he wasn’t either at his table, making the rounds amongst the clientele, or helping behind the bar.
“They had some business to tend to,” she said with a shrug. “I don’t know what.”
Talk about bad news. This was the last thing I wanted to hear. I took the proffered drink, slapped a credit chit down on the bar, and wandered off to sit by myself in one of the booths lining the dance floor.
I found myself absorbed in my own thoughts until sudden movement caught my eye. I glanced over to see Hades talking to Callie, then peering curiously in my direction.
Hades is absolutely gorgeous, in his own way. His skin is as black as obsidian and shines under bright light. His eyes are a frosted blue, wide-set and slightly larger than average. His nose is sharp and straight, flaring slightly at the nostrils.
The planes of his face are exquisitely carved, hewn as if by a razor-edged axe wielded by a master artisan. Nearly every man I’d ever seen seems somehow half-formed when compared to this dark lord. Then again, given the immortal talent for altering their facial features, I shouldn’t be surprised that Hades possessed such singular good looks.
He has wide shoulders, and typically wears sleeveless shirts, revealing elaborately drawn silver-blue tattoos running the length of his muscular arms. If one watches carefully, one can see the tattoos appear to writhe against his skin.
His hair is so black it’s almost blue, cascading back from his high forehead like a fall of ebon water tumbling across his broad shoulders.
One might get the idea I’m slightly infatuated by the man, and I guess that might indeed be the case. He’s an extraordinary figure, a legend in his own right, and possesses the right balance of bad boy and redeemed sinner in a singularly spectacular package.
Hades had once been the ultimate bad boy. An immortal scientist and mage, it had been Hades, in a quest to create the perfect army, who had stolen thousands of mortal children and transformed them into goblins. He’d promised to save the last of the Sidhe, and transfigured their bloodline into the source of the Abyssians—great bat-winged humanoids that kept the beauty of their fey heritage, but only if one had the vision to see through their demonic appearance.
Yes, Hades had once been a villain’s villain, but somewhere along the way he’d had a change of heart. I remember the night he’d come into the Lounge, seeking absolution. Since then he’d proven his worth to all of us several times over, but never as clearly as he had when he’d risked his own life to save hundreds from a terrorist attack against the Confederation Courthouse a couple of months ago.
Hades was one of us now—a regular at the Magitech Lounge and a freak among freaks. And, unless I miss my guess, genuinely happy for the first time in ages. And I mean “ages” in a literal sense.
He strolled over, meeting my gaze and smiling as he snatched a chair from a nearby table, spun it around so the back rested against my table, and straddled the seat. He crossed his arms over the top and laid his chin on his forearms as he studied me. “Callie says you were asking after me,” he said, after a moment of silence. “Is everything all right?”
If he knew of my infatuation with him, he kept quiet about it. I’d never once sensed anything in his demeanor that suggested he’d take advantage of it. I am still unsure of whether this is because he’s not interested, or because he doesn’t want to make assumptions and interfere with the casual atmosphere of the Lounge. This isn’t a “meat market”, as they used to say, nor is it a place for game playing. The men and women who patronize the Lounge after the tourists leave meet as equals, enjoying the camaraderie of shared freak-hood without the politics of romance getting in the way.
Didn’t mean I didn’t want to jump his bones. It just meant I needed to be subtle about it, and hope he wasn’t the kind of guy who didn’t “get” subtle.
I told him about the slayings of other Conclave leaders and his eyes grew wide as the implications sank in.
“You’re in danger, aren’t you?” he asked.
“I might be,” I answered with a shrug. “To tell you the truth, I’m not sure what it all means.”
“Any news from the Adjuster’s Office?” he asked.
Regular murders are usually investigated by municipal police departments, but anything with paranormal or preternatural parameters, or involving specific requests from the families of the victims, were automatically an Adjuster’s Office matter. AO agents don’t screw around and people know it.
I shook my head. “Unless and until they tie the murders to the Conclave specifically, I’m not on any need-to-know list.”
His lip quirked into a cute half smile. “And how likely do you think it is that it’s not connected to the Conclave?”
“Not very.”
I flinched at a loud laugh from the othe
r side of the room.
Damn. My nerves were raw. Even the proximity of people I liked and trusted was starting to wear at my state of mind. I wanted nothing more than to be someplace dark and quiet.
The problem was that I was safer here than anywhere else I could name. That was just a plain truth. Word had it that the Lounge had been built with a failsafe. If anything went down in here we couldn’t handle, reinforcements would arrive within a minute or two, and, though I’d never met these reinforcements personally, I believed Jack when he said they were of the kick-ass variety.
“Where’s Jack?” It came out of my mouth as if of its own accord and I wanted to kick myself. It really wasn’t any of my business and I knew better than to ask questions like this.
Hades grinned back at me. “Personal business,” was all he’d say. Personal business which required that Hades accompany him through at least a part of it? My curiosity was piqued, but Hades’s response left little doubt I’d learn nothing more.
Damn it all.
Okay, I’ll admit it. I’m snoopy. Too curious for my own damn good. Of course, truth be told, I was probably just trying to distract myself from my own problems at the moment. Hades seemed to understand. He had an unmistakable look of compassion in his eyes as he regarded me silently.
“You’re safe here,” he said, echoing my earlier thought. “No one’s going to be able to get to you here.”
“Yeah, but I can’t stay here forever,” I replied. Come dawn I’d have to be somewhere else, someplace insulated against sunlight, or risk being turned into a pile of ash. I’d be vulnerable then, and the notion was like an itch I couldn’t quite reach. This was no time to be vulnerable.
As if there’s ever a good time.
“I’d invite you to spend the day at my place,” he said, “but it’s not very homey.”
I frowned. “What do you mean, homey?”
“I’ve got a lamp and a recliner and a book collection stacked in the corner.”
Immortals. Most of them don’t need to sleep and, from the sounds of it, Hades had little motivation to make his home into something other people might enjoy. He probably spent all of his downtime sitting in that chair reading.
I had to chuckle a little at that.
“What?”
I shook my head and laughed a little louder. “I gotta know. Do you keep anything in your fridge?”
“Juice,” he answered. “And bottled water.”
“I take it you don’t cook?”
He shrugged. “Why bother cooking for one person? It’s cheaper all the way around just to come here or hit an autochef at the mall.”
He had a point.
It’s interesting to note that, since we seemed to be having a private conversation, the other regulars didn’t see fit to interrupt. People here are like that. We give each other space when we need it, and comfort when we need that as well.
He shivered suddenly and I glanced toward the door, wondering if he’d been hit by a draft I hadn’t felt. As it was still securely closed, I shot him a questioning look and he shrugged in response. “I don’t know,” he said. “Just a weird feeling all of the sudden.”
I extended my psychic senses and felt the hairs on the back of my neck standing at attention. I’d always thought that was just an expression, but now I had proof positive it wasn’t. I brushed back my chair and stood, facing the door.
A cold wind blew through the place and everyone shifted uneasily, though I’m not sure anyone realized why. The wind wasn’t physical, it was psychic, and strong enough that anyone with any sensitivity at all would have felt it. It was that powerful.
On this psychic wind I thought I heard the whisper of a voice, a woman’s voice, calling my name as if at a great distance. I lifted my head and stared at the door, sure beyond all shadow of a doubt that someone—something—stood just outside, perhaps in the street beyond the door, calling my name in a manner only I would hear.
It became obvious that this wasn’t the case when the door opened and Jack strode in unconcernedly. Obviously no monster waited outside, nor whispered my name on the astral winds from the street. To be honest, I found this a source of greater fear on my part. It meant that the creature that stalked us was even more powerful than I imagined.
Jack was greeted by a loud hello from the patrons and spent a few minutes glad-handing before making his way towards his customary table. As he passed us, he met Hades’s gaze for a moment, smiled at me, then slid into his booth in the corner.
“Where’s Anya?” I asked Hades, as he sat there in the booth, his miniature pincer cradled in his arms. Anya had come a long way from the lonely child whom Hades had rescued from the Dimension of Mirrors his first night here in the Lounge. Though I know little about magic other than as an observer, it seemed to me that her talent had grown considerably in the proceeding months.
He gave me an odd look and I realized that their little venture had involved something about the girl. And, for whatever reason, they weren’t sharing details. Or, at least, Hades wasn’t. I wondered if Jack would be so reticent.
He noticed my glance in Jack’s direction and shook his head warningly. “I wouldn’t, if I were you,” he advised quietly.
He knew me well enough to see my slight smile for what it was. A silent admission that my curiosity was going to get the better of me.
“You are the snoopiest creature,” he said with a groan. “Can’t you accept the fact that it’s none of your business?”
He was up against a couple different factors here, the first being that I am terribly curious by nature. I don’t like being left out of the loop. The second, at this point, was the fact that I desperately needed to drown out the voice whispering in the back of my skull. It hadn’t stopped when Jack had entered—it had merely faded to near inaudibility.
I scooted the chair back and began to rise, but something halted me mid-action. I snapped my head around as the front window, heavily tinted to the point of obscuring the scene outside, shattered inward, showering the foyer with glass.
She looked like a ghost as she entered, a white shape in a diaphanous gown, cloaked in the mist that had shrouded the city for the past few days. She landed lightly amidst the glass and walked up the ramp, seemingly unhurt by the jagged shards underfoot.
She was beautiful, in a way, but there was something frightening about that beauty. It was ethereal and cold and without humanity, like a marble statue of some goddess given the semblance of life.
She was so pale as to appear almost translucent, like the gown billowing around her bare feet. Her skin seemed to glow with its own inner light.
I knew at once that this was the source of the voice I’d heard calling to me.
She paused at the top of the ramp and lifted her arm to point a finger across the bar at me. “You. I called yet you did not come.” Her voice was at once both musical and chilling in its utter lack of humanity. It was much as I suspected the voices of the notorious valkyrie—the deadly immortal creations of the Cen invaders—might sound. If this creature was once human, it had long forgotten what that meant.
I struggled to find my voice. This is not usually a problem for me, but staring at this vision I abruptly found myself unable to find any words.
Across the table from me, Hades shot to his feet. “She does not answer to you,” he said, his voice booming in the deep silence that had overtaken the Lounge.
“Silence, you,” she said simply, and walked forward toward us.
Hades gestured and I caught the barest hint of something brushing at her, enough to move her gown in a way that indicated it hadn’t been the wind. The magic, for it seemed apparent that’s what it had been, had no more effect on her than a beam from a flashlight might have had if it had cast upon her form.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw his gaze narrow and his lips tighten. The failure of his magic did not daunt him in the least. If anything, he grew more determined to keep her away from me.
She accelerated then,
moving at a speed so fast no human gaze could have followed her movement. But the dark immortal’s eyes could follow it, and he stepped into her path and repelled her with a mighty shove. She stumbled back, the look of amazement on her face too rich to describe. It bordered on absolute shock, and it was perhaps the most human expression I’d seen there since she’d entered. “Who are you?” she asked him, her attention finally pulled away from me.
His lip twitched but he did not smile. “I am the dark lord Hades,” he answered. “Who are you?”
Her visage seemed to ripple, and an inhuman calm washed over it in a wave. “I am Alesandra,” she said. “I am the Queen of her kind. She will either bow to me or be destroyed.”
“Not going to happen,” Hades shot back. “She is under my protection and I will not step aside.”
I might have resented his intervention in any other case, but the fact was that this woman terrified me. I recognized her now as a vampire, but one of such age that my hundred years or so was like an eye-blink compared to the length of her existence. She was completely outside of my experience and I knew now, in this instance, what must have happened to my fellow Conclave members. She had confronted them and not received the homage she thought of as her due. And they had not had an immortal there to defend them.
“Not only his protection,” said Hydra, in his booming voice. He lurched forward, his huge hands curling into fists as he stared down at her. “You will also have to deal with me.”
A great rumble, so deep that it was felt before it could be heard, rose from another corner of the lounge, and a hulking black shape, feline and humanoid both, stepped from the shadows. Its massive claws gleamed dangerously under the overhead lights. “Death awaits you here if you persist,” it said, and I realized in that moment that the cat-thing was Boneyard, in his transitional were form.
He loomed nearly as large as Hydra, and it was then that I realized why many vampires respected lycanthropes. They were, in their own way, as dangerous as any of us. Very few, if any, vamps could tangle with this monster, looking like some unholy cross between a great cat and an ape, without risking utter destruction.
Tales from the Magitech Lounge Page 8
