by Rachael Byrd
She nodded. “Good. If I fight him, I want him to fight me with all his strength. I will kill him or not; there won't be any reservations."
"That's what you mean to do? Kill Angel?"
"If he gets in the way.” She glanced toward the door. “That's not important right now. I want to find the other Chaotics."
"They're not a friendly lot. They don't trust vampires, but they don't trust each other, either. Each of them seems to think that he's the only Chaotic, that the others are just pretending."
"That's a problem?"
"Could be."
"Aren't there any of them that work together?"
Hawk hesitated. “I heard something once ... I don't really know."
She nodded. “Stay here."
Hawk frowned. “I don't know if you'll—"
"Stay. I know this place better than you'd believe.” She walked out without another word, and he stared after her. Had it really been less than an hour ago that he'd led her to this house? She had not even recognized the house at that time; now it seemed as though she had completely opened her memory and seen into the past that had never existed. She knew herself now, but there was more than that; she knew everything here now.
Sighing, he walked into the bedroom that had once belonged to Gemstone and fell asleep on the worn cot that had once served as a bed.
* * * *
The night was dark as obsidian, lit only by the vibrant full moon overhead and the handfuls of brilliant stars littering the black dome of sky. There was no need for streetlights here in this part of The City; the vampires didn't need them and the remaining humans were hiding.
The air was cold and fresh and Intrigue was filled with icy confidence. She walked boldly down the center of the street, heel planted squarely against the ground with each step, toeing the white line down the middle of the road. Her hips swung rhythmically, keeping time with the cadence of her heart. Her steps were sure, confident, and arrogant. She was alone in the dark, and this was the first time she had felt so sure of herself. Her shoulders were flung back, her hands loosely at her sides.
There were Chaotics close by; she could feel them, smell them. There weren't too many in this neighborhood, but they existed, all the same. Two, maybe, three at the most. She flexed her claws, delighting in the cool tension of the pliant steel against her skin. They'd come to her sooner or later, but she had a goal in mind.
She could smell the sweat and fear even from here. The odors were not unfamiliar to her; only a few days had passed since she had been lying in a cell there.
The Warehouse.
[Back to Table of Contents]
13
Myst leaned back against the greying edge of the hardwood countertop and pushed her sweaty blonde hair out of her eyes. It had been a busy night and she found herself again reconsidering her choice of careers.
Asylum was a bar, a liquor and blood palace where nearly anything was available for a price. The liquor had been a cheap additive in the beginning, but as the vampires took over more industries, the humans’ manufacturing of hard liquor began to slip. She had hired her own brewers and distillers and they manufactured whatever she asked for; they were fantastically talented and she paid them well. Over the past few months, Myst's personal fortune had soared, due in most part to her choice in currency; while most vampires now accepted only blood as payment, Myst had observed that blood could spoil rather quickly, no matter how many preservatives were added. She dealt in silver and gold, and the Factory in Macabre loved her for it. She was one of their best customers.
Liquor and blood were all right with the young vampira; it was the other business that bothered her. Asylum was the busiest bar in The City, but it was better known for its upper floor. There were eight rooms in the upstairs of the Asylum and seven young vampiras to take care of that end of the business. The eighth room belonged to Myst herself and she had declared that she would never allow another in that room.
She shifted her weight a bit; her white sneakers were about half a size too small and she hadn't found the time to get a new pair yet. Myst twisted again, trying vaguely to move the pressure off the blister forming on her heel. Her murky brown contact lenses were making her eyes itch and the heavy makeup was hot and uncomfortable. She considered again how much easier it would be for her if she would turn the vampiras out of their rooms. She would be able to stand here, in her own bar, looking the way she naturally was. Her waist length hair was an extravagant shimmering sheet of ivory-blonde and her eyes, when unhidden, glittered green against the pale copper of her skin.
Despite the heavy makeup she used to conceal her appearance, there had not passed a night without some drunkard seeing through her cosmetics and mistaking her for one of the upper-floor girls. She could not see how anyone could confuse her with one of the whores—the girls were disgusting creatures, far beneath her. Still, they paid premium rent on their low-grade apartments, and Myst Riviera was not one to turn down free money.
They each had shifts to work and Myst had no tolerance for a truant employee, even one who paid high rent. There were plenty of vampiras on the street who'd gladly give up their fangs for a chance at a job in Asylum; there was no need to tolerate shirking. The girls would be downstairs finding customers at sundown and they would not leave until sunrise. They earned enough to support themselves; it wasn't Myst's business to worry about whether they had any free time. She glanced at the clock on the wall, noting that it was ten thirty; fully two hours had passed since full dark and Talon hadn't shown up yet.
Talon was not the youngest of the girls but she was the newest and the calmest. She went about her job with a kind of morose detachment and she was the only one for whom Myst had any sympathy. Talon hadn't wanted this sort of job but she'd confessed to feeling safer in Asylum than on the streets. She had been terrified of the possibility of being bitten and having to join a Nest, perhaps having her fangs blunted so that she would not be able to fend for herself.
Talon still clung to her humanity, desperate for a chance to recover. She'd come to Asylum hoping to bartend or brew liquor but Myst hadn't needed more employees for those tasks. There had been a room upstairs, recently vacated, and Talon was not in any position to turn down a job and a room.
As reluctant and unhappy as she was about her way of making a living, Talon never seemed to have difficulties finding customers. She was attractive, but in a wilder, more carefree way than Myst was. Talon was twenty-two with long golden-brown hair. It was her eyes that really set her apart; they were brilliantly yellow, with elongated pupils that looked perfectly feline. The whites of her eyes were not visible, only the gold and black. Her hair had been sun streaked when she'd arrived and the brilliant flashes of pale gold had not faded. Her skin was deep bronze.
Myst was of the opinion that the girl would have been better off finding a job as a rater or shipper for the Factory in Macabre. She hadn't mentioned it, however; Talon brought in more money than all the other girls combined, and at seventy percent, Myst stood to make a considerable profit.
Still, Talon was two hours late and this was unacceptable. Myst wondered whether the girl had been killed, kidnapped, or enslaved. It was possible that she had simply decided to quit and abandon her few personal effects but it seemed very unlikely.
"A bee, myth?” someone lisped.
Myst turned, frowning. The aged vampire's eyes were dark yellow and there were a number of burst veins around his eyes and nose. His fangs weren't even blunted.
"What's that, vamp?” Her mind slithered to the round blunting shears hidden under the counter. She could snatch them now from where she stood.
He shook his head, swaying on his. “A B ... pos'tive o’ neg, vampira. Doesn’ matter much n'more. Lacer up wif some liquor. Just a shot. On'y need one more shot.” Fishing absently in his pocket, he managed to produce a couple of copper coins, which he dropped onto the aged countertop, grinning drunkenly. Myst raised an eyebrow, her hand scuttling beneath the counter toward the cl
ippers.
"You'll get nothing more than watered down O that, and not much. Unless you've got more than two coppers, you should find the exit now, vampire."
"Name's David Throckett.” He reached back into his pocket, belching as he did so, and Myst grimaced. He dropped a gold coin and two more coppers onto the counter, and Myst's eyes widened. “Change that, Myst. Thass your name, right? Thought so. Couple'a pints that hot stuff, nothing watered down. And a whore besides. ‘S here they work, right?"
A curt reply rustled against her lips but the gold glittered on the countertop. “Here it is."
She stepped back behind the counter, brushing her hair out of her eyes again. Her hand brushed the clippers as she reached for the Vomit bottle but she didn't reach for them. A gold coin for two pints and a girl ... the shot of B would only have cost him two coppers more than he had first put down and the whore and the rest of the two pints just a silver more. She considered the more expensive liquors for a moment, then glanced at David again. The man was swaying on his feet. Chances were good that he wouldn't recognize what he was drinking either. She reached for the Vomit bottle.
Whenever a customer left a drink unfinished, she or one of the few attendants would empty the vacated glass into a bottle simply marked ‘Vomit.’ The contents reeked of unfit mixing and stale heat. Vomit was sold night-round and the bottle was never emptied or cleaned out; any brave patron could buy himself half a pint of the stuff for a single copper.
She paused, a pouch clasped in her left hand, the Vomit bottle in her right. Smirking to herself, she replaced the B positive on its rack and reached for a pouch of Bloodbath, the suspicious smelling stuff that came cheaply off the streets. The stuff was based on O, although whether it was more positive or negative was impossible to tell, and Myst was fairly sure that it had been cut with a fair amount of animal blood. However rich David Throckett seemed to be, he was clearly drunk off his ass and he was going to get two pints of Vomit-Bloodbath for an unimaginable price, nevermind that that she could barely give that stuff away. Myst filled the mug half full of Bloodbath, and the rest of it with Vomit. Dishonesty was frowned upon when it came from tavern owners, but what of it? Hell, she was no angel's child.
She plunked it down in front of him and David grabbed it, slurping the reeking stuff eagerly. He never flinched, never even seemed to notice that it was awful stuff and that he'd just given away a king's ransom for it. Myst rolled her eyes.
"If you'll stand here for just a moment, Throckett, I'll see which of our young ladies are in and available for service.” She scooped the money into her black box, relocked it quickly, and slipped it under the counter beside the clippers. “If one is available, you may pay her upstairs."
"Yeah."
She sighed and pushed past him. The old fool hadn't even remembered the price that he had just paid for an awful drink. For a gold, she could hire an entire band of mercenaries, pay them for months on that alone, and start her own Nest. Myst snorted laughter—Nest leaders, full of arrogance and overblown pride. Warring constantly against themselves, never a moment's peace for the rest of them. As far as she was concerned, most of them were just Chaotic bait anyway. Might as well take the plunge and head for Hell.
She knocked on the first door to the left, hoping Crystal was in. Myst would be delighted if she could shove the monster off on the rich vamp downstairs and make him pay a pretty price for her. She didn't know precisely why, but she was feeling particularly vindictive that evening.
Crystal's door swung slowly inward and Myst scarcely repressed her shudder of disgust. Crystal had apparently been fairly old when she died, although Myst had never asked her exactly how old, and she was showing every day of it. She was ridiculously tall and fairly bulging with either fat or muscle; Myst could not tell which. Her eyes were a smooth slate grey, bloodshot and swollen, and pus dripped slowly from the inner corners and trickled down the sides of her nose. The surfaces of her eyes were milky and thick looking, not quite opaque enough to indicate blindness, but nearly so. Her fingers were freakishly long, so swollen with muscle that they looked like grilled hotdogs, engorged in their own fluids and about to split down the centers. Her dirty blonde hair was falling out in great clumps, and although this deterioration had presumably stopped when she'd died, she had never gained any of the beauty possessed by most of the undead.
The old whore looked even worse than usual tonight; her usually swollen face was saggy and wrinkled and her mouth hung slackly open, displaying a bit of white powder on her lower lip.
"What is it Myst?"
"Customer. Are you busy?"
"No,” the monster slurred, “how much?"
"Name your own price; the old bastard's drunk off his ass. Just remember that your rent goes up this month. Three silvers and five coppers."
Crystal was silent.
"And you know there's no negotiation,” Myst continued. “Pay it or be out.” She pulled away, heading back down the stairs and away from the unsightly old crone. David Throckett still sat on an old stool in front of the counter, now licking the last few drips out of his mug.
"Have another on the house, Throckett. Thirsty?"
He nodded fervently, nearly tumbling off the stool as he did so. She lifted his glass, filling it with the most potent liquor she had beneath the counter. It was considerably more expensive than the Vomit, but she had been paid well and it would be interesting to see just how drunken the old buzzard could get. She slit a thimbleful of O into the mug and slid him the whole two pints of fire. In his eagerness, he allowed nearly a quarter cup to escape and trickle down over his chin. He finished shortly and set the mug back on the counter.
Myst frowned, frankly stunned that he was still conscious. There were quite a few vampires who couldn't take three shots of that stuff without passing out, but David Throckett had stomached something approaching a quart of it and was still sitting upright, his eyes bloodshot but still focused. As disgusted as she was by the old thing, she had to respect his constitution. And his money, of course.
"Her name is Crystal Ivora. Up the stairs, first door on the left.” She leaned back against one of the shelves, not offering to help him up the stairs. “Prettiest girl in the Asylum."
The old buzzard stumbled to the stairs, using the banister as a way to guide himself and as a means to haul himself upward. Myst pulled the hair tie out of her sleek ponytail, carefully smoothing the flyaway strands back into place before she retied it. She settled herself onto a stool on her side of the low counter and allowed the steady drone of conversation to lull her into a half-sleeping state. Everything was normal in Asylum; the screams wouldn't start for hours.
[Back to Table of Contents]
14
Intrigue shivered against the damp air. She crouched down behind the dead branches of an old bush, smiling at the pale glint of the air vents she'd first seen during her stay in the Warehouse.
Her mind was still racing as she considered what she was about to do. Any vampires inside would be awake and there might be a few humans and half-turned. Not really a problem. The cool metal claws were tense against her hands, large enough to be a bit unwieldy but still small enough to fit comfortably against her wrists.
Intrigue moved forward.
Scaling the side of the warehouse was simple enough, but even as her claws sank into the cool sheets of metal for the first time, she was aware that she was leaving deep punctures in the smooth sides of the building. They'd see someone had been here; they'd see how she'd gotten in, and Angel would suspect. There was nothing to do about that now, so she went on ahead.
She reached the air vent and turned for a moment to glance behind her. A brief wave of acrophobia washed over her, replaced seconds later by serenity and security. Intrigue returned her attention to the task at hand. Sinking her right claws deeper into the metal sheeting, she hooked her left under the edge of the vent's cover. She pulled sharply upward and outward and the metal grating tore free.
Intrigue slipped up
ward into the duct, the contours of her body sliding effortlessly along the cool metal. Motes of dust spiraled around her face. She gripped the sides of the chute with her claws and hauled herself forward.
She glided smoothly through the right turn and found herself peering through a gate overlooking the main room. The cages were mostly full.
Intrigue pulled the cover quietly off the vent and set it behind her. None of the prisoners glanced upward. She hauled the upper part of her body through the duct. The room appeared to be void of both Aymir and the transporters. She might just as easily have walked through the front door.
She considered her options for a moment, then hauled her legs up behind her until she was in a sort of crouch against the wall. She tensed her legs and sprung upward and outward, spreading her arms to create resistance as she did so. Intrigue plummeted toward the floor, bent her knees, and hit the ground hard.
All eyes were on her.
She stood, moving with slow, catlike grace, toward the prisoner in the first cage. His musty brown eyes met hers without flinching and she found herself intrigued. Intrigue leaned up against the door, her claws hooking through the metal links of the cage. His hair was dark blond, maybe light brown; it was difficult to tell in the jaundiced glow of the flickering overhead lights.
"A Chaotic?” the boy asked.
"Don't worry about it."
"Will you purge The City's shops and warehouses alone or will you find the others?"
"I'll free those I come across."
He hauled himself to his feet, holding her eyes the whole time. “My name is Crow, and I'd have yours."
"I have no name."
"I'm sure you do. What do you call yourself? What would you have me call you?"
For a moment, she considered arguing with him further, telling him that he would not see her again, but she decided the effort would be a waste. “Intrigue."
"Beautiful."
"My ... name?"
"That too. Get me out of here, Intrigue, and I'll lead you to the other Chaotics. They're bringing Angel in to turn me in the morning."
