‘Never mind,’ Cam said. ‘Just don’t touch that bloody bucket.’ Grímnir shrugged and walked away from it. He sat on one of the stone slabs.
‘He’s a bit big to be a Hobbit, don’t you think?’ Dow asked from directly behind him. Cam jumped at the sudden noise in his ear.
‘Jesus,’ he said, clutching the shotgun closer to his chest. ‘You scared me.’
Dow almost laughed. ‘You’re jumpy.’
‘Jumpy?’ Cam whispered furiously. ‘I’m stuck down here with a chainsaw-wielding lunatic on some sort of holy quest, and there’s probably a small army of zombie … things … sat in the shadows, trying to decide whether my brain would taste better pan-fried or fricasseed; I can practically hear them licking their lips. And we’re in a kitchen. Of course I’m jumpy.’
‘You worry too much.’
‘I’d just prefer it if he doesn’t go knocking that bucket down that well. We don’t want any noise.’
‘No argument there.’
Cam went and sat near Grímnir. Dow followed. ‘The Tower used to be lit with magic,’ Grímnir said reflectively. ‘Every corner, every alcove lit brightly so that there was no darkness.’
‘The Svartálfar?’
‘Yes – it was a defence against the dark Elves. But it was also a celebration of light. The Tower at Dawn used to be a place of hope and whimsy. It saddens me to see it like this – abandoned to the shadows.’
Cam fidgeted, uncomfortable with the big man’s melancholy. ‘How are we going to find the Maiden of Earth and Water?’ Cam asked to change the subject. ‘We can’t just wander around here forever.’
‘The Tattooist,’ Grímnir said. ‘He will know.’
‘Who?’ Cam asked. Dow looked just as confused.
‘The Tattooist. He lives on the twenty-fifth floor. He will know.’
‘I’ve never heard of him,’ Dow said.
‘He values his privacy. Do not worry, my friends. The Tattooist will know where to look.’ Cam and Dow exchanged meaningful glances. Or at least Cam looked at Dow with a raised eyebrow, and the Elf stared back at him impassively.
‘Look, Grímnir, have you considered the possibility that this Tattooist guy might be … well … dead?’ Cam asked. Grímnir laughed and Cam bridled. ‘Dow’s never heard of him, it’s been two thousand years since you were down here, and a zombie apocalypse kicked off in his backyard. You’ve got to admit that the odds are against him.’
‘He will be there.’
‘This is useless, Grímnir,’ Cam said. ‘We’re wasting time. The magic you harbour could give us fresh hope …’
‘No,’ Grímnir said. ‘I will not abandon my quest.’
Cam looked at Dow helplessly. This time, the Elf did seem to reciprocate his feeling. ‘Grímnir, you have a duty to your people,’ Dow began.
‘My people? I did not see any of my people in The Tower, Dow Sė Mochaomhog. What do I owe my people?’
‘The Jötnar have suffered the most with the dying of the magic. They have gone into retreat in the forests atop The Tower. Your people need you more than any …’
‘My people understand the importance of my quest. They understand the sacrifice I have made. They understand that it is immutable. That is why they did not seek me, and why I did not seek them. You Elves have always been too hasty, too changeable. I will finish what I have started.’
‘Finish what?’ Cam demanded. ‘This is lunacy. We’re chatting in the bowels of a zombie-infested labyrinth, and you’re holding to some meaningless tradition!’
‘If Cú Roí is allowed to run free, then these ORCs you are so worried about will seem as children. The plague he will unleash will mean the end of the world.’
‘Don’t you understand? Our world is already ending! The magic’s dying! Without the juice in your body art, it’s going to die all that much sooner. We need you!’
‘Is that why you accompanied me, Camhlaidh Ó Gríobhtha?’ Grímnir roared. ‘To divert me from my task? To fulfil your own selfish desires?’
‘Of course it is, you dildo,’ Cam screamed back. ‘I don’t want to die!’
‘Well, you’ve got a very intelligent way of preventing it,’ Dow snapped sarcastically.
‘What?’
‘Stop shouting. Listen.’ Cam listened. Through the walls and darkness, the sound of a thousand howling voices could be heard. ‘The Twisted,’ Dow said grimly. ‘They know we’re here now. Your noise has undone us.’
‘Fucking Peregrin Took,’ Cam groaned to himself in disgust. Grímnir started his chainsaw, and its cutting snarl roared through the dark room. Dow shrugged his shoulders a couple of times to limber up his arms, and he flexed the fingers of his gauntlets. ‘What now?’ Cam asked.
‘Now, we run,’ Dow said grimly. He turned and stalked towards the double doors at the end of the room.
Mark drove without a destination. His phone rang. When he answered it, Sergei’s voice slid from the car’s speakers.
‘We’ve had a hit,’ Sergei said. ‘Autumn used his credit card. I’m uploading it to your satnav now.’
Mark watched as the coordinates pinged up, and a map was traced on the screen, set into the custom console to his left. ‘That’s not far. I’m on my way. Stay on the line.’
The Corvette roared as he put his foot down.
Sam walked towards the Ferrari carrying a plastic shopping bag. He had stopped at a supermarket. It was one of those huge warehouses that sold anything anybody could imagine or desire. He had bought cable ties and duct tape.
He slung the bag onto the passenger seat and then climbed into the car and started the engine. On the way out of the supermarket’s car park, he saw a blue Corvette with its hazard lights on, parked up in the junction to his right. A wiry-looking man with an olive complexion sat in the driver’s seat. He appeared to be engrossed in a road map.
‘Stupid place to stop,’ Sam said to himself as he turned towards Tabby’s parents’ house. He thought about what he would do there with anticipation. Sam didn’t notice when the Corvette pulled out a couple of cars back and began to follow him.
Once again, it was a noise from downstairs that woke Rowan. This time, he didn’t snap to consciousness. This time, his awakening was foggy and slow, and accompanied by a dry-mouthed moan. He had drunk his eight beers while Tabby drowned her sorrows with a bottle of wine, and he was slightly hungover.
They had talked for hours. He’d told her about work, about his friends, his colleagues, and his supervisor. He told her about his boxing and his next posting. He told her that he had taken up abseiling, and she laughed at him and called him an adrenaline junkie. He tried to explain how safe it was, but she just kept on teasing him.
She told him about Sam and he tried to change the subject by reminiscing about their parents. It didn’t help.
By the end, Tabby was insensible, swinging between false cheer and despairing sobs from moment to moment. She passed out with the bottle empty in her hand, having given up on her glass halfway through it. Gently, Rowan had picked her up and put her to bed still dressed. He had covered her and then gone to his own room and climbed between the sheets. Sleep had come quickly.
A glance at his bedside clock showed Rowan that it was almost three in the morning. He groaned again and fell back to his pillow. The sound came again, and he sat up and rubbed his eyes. Alert now, Rowan pulled his boxer shorts back on and again reached for the golf club.
‘It’s probably just Tabby throwing up,’ he said to himself under his breath, though he didn’t believe it. After his first month in Afghanistan, he had been wary of danger. After the second, he had become paranoid. By the third, he had developed a sixth sense, and it was tingling now. His Spidey Sense in action: something was wrong.
Quietly slipping from his room, Rowan made his way to the top of the stairs, gliding forwards on bare feet. No lights were on. To his left, he could see that Tabby’s bedroom door was open. He had definitely left it shut.
Next to it, the bathroom
door was also open. The curtains were drawn in both rooms, making them too dark to see into. He glanced downstairs. Nothing. It was quiet; Rowan wondered if he was imagining things.
With the alcoholic fog slowly slipping from his mind, he realised he was exposed out on the landing. Best to pretend this was a live operation, even if he was being paranoid. In that case, he needed to secure the house room by room. He stepped back into his bedroom and turned on the light. Then he switched on the landing light.
If there were intruders, they knew he was awake. Hopefully they’d just slip away. Rowan decided to give them a couple of minutes. While he did that, he glanced into the bathroom and Tabby’s room, now lit by the landing. He could see along the bathroom’s narrow length to the toilet. Nobody was in there unless they stood in the bath. Tabby lay in bed, on one side, with her back to him. Her shoulders moved up and down as she breathed. Rowan smiled to himself. She was fast asleep.
Stupid, he thought. He was scaring himself. Still, better safe than sorry. He moved downstairs and turned on the lights. Systematically, he went from room to room, finding nothing. He entered the kitchen last, almost lackadaisical as he strode through the door, the golf club swinging casually by his side.
Alarm bells went off in his mind when he saw the back door barely on its hinges. The door jamb had been smashed out in long splinters where the lock had been forced through it. A quick series of popping noises came from somewhere. As he turned back towards the hall, Rowan heard a muffled cry.
‘Tabby,’ he shouted. ‘Tabby, don’t worry, I’m coming!’ Rowan stormed up the stairs holding the golf club in front of him like a baseball bat. The lights were all off again, and the darkness smothered him. His breath hissed out in short, panicked bursts. He flicked a switch but nothing happened. Taking a step forwards, he muttered a curse as his bare foot came down on broken glass. Skipping back, Rowan went very still.
The intruder was up here somewhere. Whoever it was must have been hiding in Tabby’s room. He had probably removed the upstairs light bulbs and stamped on them; that would have been the popping noises Rowan heard. He had left the shards as a trap at the top of the stairs.
Rowan was lucky: he hadn’t put his weight down, and the sting from the minor laceration was already fading. His mind whirled. Pray he’s stupid, Rowan thought to himself.
‘Who’s there? If you don’t get out now, I’m going to fuck you right up.’ There was no answer. The guy wasn’t stupid. Rowan peered into Tabby’s bedroom; it was pitch black. Suddenly the house felt cold and his nipples tightened. He felt vulnerable, stood there in the darkness wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts.
For a second he hesitated, then he squared his shoulders, gripped the golf club a little firmer, and moved stealthily towards the darkened bedroom. His sister was his priority. He knew about fighting in the dark; he was trained for it. The intruder was not giving himself away, and Rowan wasn’t going to give him the advantage.
Crossing the threshold was hard. Rowan did it quickly, shoulder barging the door, hopefully crushing anybody hiding behind it. Simultaneously, he swung the golf club in a wide arc at head height, hitting nothing, and pushed his back against the wall to the left of the door.
For a second he stood and listened. Whistling, shallow breath came from the bed. Tabby. Relief forced a gasp from him when he realised she was still alive. There was nothing else – no movement, no sound. Rowan used the club to test his surroundings, waving it around like a blind man.
Nothing. Rowan took a step to the bed and reached down to touch Tabby. Her scream was muffled. Feeling around, Rowan found her mouth was covered with tape. ‘Tabby, it’s okay, it’s me,’ he whispered. She stopped moving, and Rowan pulled the tape off.
‘Rowan?’ she whispered.
‘Yes. What happened?’
‘I don’t know – there was a man.’
‘Where is he?’
‘You’ve got to get us out of here. His eyes … there’s something wrong with his eyes.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.’
A new voice came from the corner of the room. ‘No, you won’t.’
‘Sam?’ Tabby asked into the darkness.
‘Shut up, whore,’ Sam said pleasantly.
‘Sam, please …’
‘I said shut up!’ Sam screamed. It was a furious sound, insane and aggressive. Tabby went quiet.
‘What do you want, Sam?’ Rowan asked.
‘Rowan,’ Sam said, his voice calm and even once more. ‘I didn’t expect to see you here.’
‘I’m on leave.’ Rowan’s hands searched Tabby as he spoke. She was quivering, her breathing quick and shallow. He found the plastic ties that were wrapped around her wrists. Similar ones bound her legs.
‘You won’t get them off easily,’ Sam said conversationally.
Rowan froze. How could Sam see what he was doing in the dark? ‘Why don’t you come out where I can see you?’
‘Why should I?’
Rowan stared into the gloom. Something was there in the deepest shadows – two yellow specks floating eerily in nothingness. ‘What do you want, Sam?’
‘The bitch. It’s nothing personal … well, actually, that’s a lie.’
‘Watch your mouth,’ Rowan snapped, his temper finally fraying.
Sam chuckled. ‘I’m sorry, I did not mean to offend your fraternal sensibilities. However, I do need Tabby, and you can’t stop me taking her.’
It was Rowan’s turn to laugh. ‘Come on Sam – I can take you one-handed.’
‘No, Rowan, you really can’t.’ Sam stepped out of the shadows and Rowan saw that his eyes were yellow and feral, and glowing like a wolf’s.
‘My God, Sam, what happened to you?’
‘I was deified. Now, step out of the way. I like you, Rowan, I don’t want to hurt you.’
‘To get at Tabby you’ll have to go over my dead body.’
‘So be it.’ The two yellow fireflies sped towards Rowan at an alarming pace. He swung the golf club and it cannoned into the side of Sam’s head. Rowan felt the shaft shiver and break beneath the blow. Graphite piece of shit, he thought as the impact forced him to drop what was left of the shaft.
Then Sam tore into him, and they went tumbling from the room and onto the landing. Rowan twisted and managed to get Sam beneath him. Before he could do anything, Sam forced a leg between them and they rolled to Rowan’s left. Sam grunted as the broken glass of the light bulbs scored his shoulder, and then the world fell away. A series of jarring blows shook his teeth and rattled his ribs as they tumbled haphazardly down the stairs.
Sam was laughing when they hit the bottom. Rowan groaned and extricated himself. He pulled himself to his feet. Sam rose and faced him. Rowan felt the blood drain from his face. On the surface, Sam was the same. His face was the same, his body was the same, even his hair was the same. But his clothes were covered in blood - long spatters that could only have come from slashing somebody.
The other differences were unsettling. His eyes flashed yellow with pinpoint black pupils, his smile was too wide, and the teeth beneath it were long and pointed. The worst thing though – the most alien thing – was the expression on his face. It was full of madness and hate, and in it, Rowan could see nothing of the man he had come to know and respect.
‘Sam … What’s happened to you? You look like a fucking vampire!’
‘Power, Rowan. But it has its price. I need your sister.’
‘You can’t have her.’ Rowan had lost the golf club, but he raised his hands into a loose boxer’s pose and waited. His sister was trussed and helpless upstairs, and he would fight this creature with Sam’s face.
‘That’s a pity. I’ll kill you quick, and I won’t eat you. See how much I respect you?’
Rowan lunged forwards and snapped a quick distracting left at Sam’s face. Immediately he swung his right leg around and down in a chopping motion so his shin drove into the meaty part of Sam’s leg, just above the knee. Both blows landed. Bl
ood gushed from Sam’s broken nose. Rowan cursed and staggered backwards at the sudden pain in his leg. Sam hadn’t even been moved by the kick.
Sam laughed and wiped his nose. The blood had already stopped and there was no bruising or swelling. It should be broken, Rowan thought to himself as he backed into the kitchen uncertainly.
‘My turn,’ Sam said.
‘No, Autumn,’ a powerful voice said from behind Rowan. ‘It’s mine.’
‘Who are you?’ Sam asked politely. Rowan turned around. A tall, wiry man with an olive complexion and black eyes stood haughtily in Rowan’s kitchen. He appeared to be in his mid-twenties, with short black hair and a long nose. His hands were behind his back.
‘Yeah, who the fuck are you?’ Rowan demanded.
The tall man took a step forwards and pushed Rowan to one side. ‘My name is Mark. I’m here for you, Autumn. I am a hunter of your kind.’
‘I doubt it,’ Sam sneered. ‘I doubt you’ve ever seen anything like me before.’ He sprung towards Mark. The olive-skinned man spun gracefully to one side, and Rowan saw something long and black in his hands. As Sam went past, the black thing separated and a silver blur flashed up and out. Rowan saw that it was a sword.
The blade hissed down, slicing the air with a high-pitched keening noise that ripped through the room. The sword cut smoothly through Sam’s left shoulder. His collarbone snapped and gore splashed everywhere. The steel exited Sam’s chest, and a mist of blood came with it, hanging in the room for a moment.
Sam staggered. He turned to face his attacker, but Mark was already moving. He stepped by Sam and the razor edge ran almost delicately over his stomach. Entrails spilled to the kitchen floor, and Sam bellowed in rage more than pain.
He should have lost consciousness by now, Rowan thought. He must be on PCP or something. An awful stench of shit and death filled the room, and Rowan gagged. Sam didn’t seem to notice – he was lost in a blinding haze of fury. The injured man’s movements were jerky, and his face was scrunched up in demented rage. Mark’s movements, in stark contrast to Sam’s awkwardness, were cold and elegant and completely controlled.
Immortals' Requiem Page 19
