Nightlord: Orb

by Garon Whited

  “That’s how I avoid making a mess. It all soaks in.”

  “So I see,” she sighed, faintly. “I don’t suppose this is it a trick I can learn?”

  “It’s something that comes to you, eventually. I didn’t work on it; I noticed it happening.”

  “It’s becoming much more tempting to ask for some of your blood,” she grumped. “It must be insufferably convenient to be able to do that. I can’t tell you how many times bloodstains have been a problem, and not only for my wardrobe.”

  “Fair enough. I’m not dead-set against it, but I’m not sure how you’ll react to having my blood in you. We’re not alike. It might not go well.”

  “I may need to,” she said, sadly. “We’re still in a lot of trouble.”

  “True. But you go ahead and hit the bathroom; we’ll discuss it more when you’ve finished your evening routine.”

  “Oh, and do you have some of that makeup?”

  “Of course.”

  “May I see it? And a comb?” she asked. I handed her a new compact case; I have spares. She opened it, dabbed it, and gestured me to turn my head. She treated the area along my left temple, near the hairline. She handed me back the case and ran a comb through my hair.

  “There,” she said, returning the comb. “You were a little rumpled.”

  I thanked her. I didn’t add she might be handy to have around. This not being able to see myself in mirrors is more troublesome than I anticipated. Bronze tells me where I’ve missed a spot, but she can’t actually apply makeup.

  Or can she? If I put a makeup kit on a shelf, could she handle it with her mane? Interesting thought.

  Mary went upstairs and I moved her clothes for her. I took the animal bodies out to the barn, ran them through an old, hand-powered meat grinder, and scattered the remains through the fields. It might attract larger animals.

  Mary was dressed and in the living room when I returned. She’d selected the red dress and the matching heels. Well, it was the only dressy thing we had; the rest were all practical clothes.

  “You look good. Did you try on anything else?” I asked.

  “Some of the shoes. You did a good job on those, by the way.”

  “The salesgirl was pretty sharp. She picked out most if. So, who do we see and what do we say to get them to stop being annoyed with us?”

  My phone rang. The caller display told me it was Sebastian.

  “Excuse me; business call.”

  “Of course.”

  “Hello, Sebastian,” I said, sliding out the earpiece from the skinphone. I plugged it into my ear in time to hear his reply.

  “Master Smith! I’m so glad to hear your voice. I know it’s after nine o’clock, but is it too late to call?”

  “Not at all. I’ll cheerfully take your call whenever I can. If it’s not a good time, I simply won’t answer. Since time zones are tricky, feel free to try me whenever is convenient for you.”

  “Fair. Very fair. I can’t see you on the vid, though.”

  “I know. I don’t get dressed to take calls.”

  “Ah. My apologies, sir.”

  “Think nothing of it; you had no way to know. I take it this is a business call?”

  “Yes, indeed. Are you interested in another commission?”

  “Always. The scheduling may be tricky. Things are busy for me right now, but I’ll be happy to see what I can work out.”

  The client was in Mexico, which was something of a problem; I didn’t have a passport. I should be able to get one, but it would delay things. I told Sebastian I would have to sort some things out and he agreed the scheduling was flexible. I’d call him when I had a better idea of when I would be available. We signed off and I turned my attention back to Mary.

  “I don’t think I ever found out what you do for a living?” she asked.

  “I’m independently wealthy, occasionally rob casinos by cheating, grow diamonds and some other gems with magic, and have commissions from families of magi to put power-gathering spells in place for them. What’s your job?”

  She cocked her head to one side, a gesture that made her look inquisitive and much younger.

  “You know,” she observed, “when you answer my questions, you raise twice as many.”

  “I apologize for being complicated.”

  “That’s all right. I kind of like a mystery,” she told me, smiling. “I’m also moderately wealthy,” she continued. “I don’t really have a job, as such, but I occasionally do work as an international jewel thief.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Yes, I am. But I am a pretty good thief. I can pick any mechanical lock or crack a tumbler-based safe pretty easily. I can feel around inside it, you know. These new electronic versions are harder; I have to try and trace along the circuits to find the trigger. Then, bypassing the logic portion, attempt to fool it into thinking it got the unlock signal.” She shook her head. “The jobs are easier, now that I’m undead, but more dangerous. If I’m caught, I’m pretty much going to die. That’s why I usually stick to small-scale stuff, these days. Housebreaking, mostly—things I can fight my way out of. I still try to keep up on the technology, though.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “Mind if I ask how you do what you do? I mean… a professional magic person?”

  “Not at all. But hang on a minute; I want to get something from the kitchen.”

  I fetched back a vial of rabbit blood and explained about roulette and my telekinetic trick. Technically, now that I’m a part-time undead, I’m always a little bit psychic; my nighttime tendrils seem to raise it by a couple of orders of magnitude. Like everything else vampirism changed in me, it’s strongest at night and weakest during the day—but I didn’t explain about the daytime thing.

  I had the vial orbit my head while I explained. I didn’t use my hands.

  “So, a small white ball?” I shrugged. “If the wheel isn’t rigged, it’s nothing to me to bounce it exactly where I want it.”

  “Now,” I continued, “this is rabbit blood, fresh-squeezed today. Pour out a little bit on the coffee table and then drink what’s left in the vial. Let’s see if we think it’s still good.” The vial hovered in easy reach for her and she plucked it out of the air.

  She did as instructed. The blood on the table crawled over to me and sink into my skin, but I thought it was slower than usual. She made a face when she drank what was left in the vial.

  “No good?” I asked.

  “It’s okay,” she said, still making a yuck face. “but it’s cold and thick. It’s like… like… do you remember eating meat? Like steak?”

  “Of course.”

  “Ever not finish? And try to eat the rest later?”

  “Yes.”

  “You know the difference between how it tastes the first time and the second?”

  “I think I see where this is going,” I agreed.

  “Yeah.” She made another face.

  “Well, now we know, in an emergency, blood has a refrigerated life of at least several hours. It could be stored during the day instead of trying to keep something captive until nightfall. That’s good to know. We’ll try another one tomorrow night.”

  She made that face again, but agreed and changed the subject.

  “So, you steal from casinos, you grow gems, and you have dealings with the magi?”

  “Yep.”

  “Which one do you want to explain first? Assuming you’re willing to explain, of course, to satisfy my girlish curiosity.”

  I started with the gems. It’s magic. I can explain the mechanism of the spells, but it’s still magic. As for the magi, what more is there to explain? I have a spell to make a circle that will charge up with power. They can use it whenever they decide they need to. They pay me to cast the spell for them. That’s what I told her.

  “Do they know what you are?” she asked, puzzled.

  “Not that I’m aware of. Some of them might suspect, I suppose. I don’t think I’ve been the target of any
identifying magic, if that’s what you mean.” I decided not to mention my feelings of being watched. It might be Sparky or one of her kind; I didn’t want to bring that up.

  “No, I wondered if they knew they were having dealings with us. They usually avoid us like they avoid sudden death. We don’t get along all that well.”

  “Really? Why not?” I asked, curious.

  “They’re alive. They have blood full of magical power. And we’re magical creatures. Our blood is powerful, and they doubtless think our teeth are useful and magical, and maybe our ashes.”

  “Ah. They think we want to eat them and they want to use us for spell components.”

  “Yep. At least, that’s how it was explained to me. Some of them want us dead. More dead. Thoroughly dead.”

  “I can see how that isn’t an awesome basis for a relationship.”

  “So I’m told. I’ve never actually met them. At least, not that I know of.”

  “I can arrange it, if you like.”

  “No, but thank you anyway.”

  “Okay. So, back to our current troubles with the vampire lords of the vampire tribes. What’s to be done about it?”

  “Well,” she considered, clasping her hands together, index fingers extended, fingertips pressed against her lips. She looked up and to the right, thinking. “I’m making some assumptions, so let me get those out and you can tell me if I should go with them or not.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “First, I’m assuming you either can’t or won’t go to the three Elders of the tribes and kill them out of hand.”

  “Right,” I agreed. “That’s kind of an absolute last resort.” I didn’t add that if it was my only option, I’d give it a try. As it was, I figured I could build a gate and go back to Karvalen before it came to that. Besides, first I’d have to find them, then figure out how to kill them. Either one of those could be a sizable project.

  “Got it. I’m also assuming you don’t want to go that route on a smaller scale. That is, kill every vampire in the greater Oklahoma City region and declare it your private feeding ground.”

  “Also correct. That’s asking for more trouble, I think.”

  “Eventually,” she agreed. “Far better for what we want is to get the Elders to accept you as part of the tribes, declare you off-limits, and make it clear that anyone who tries to drain you will get beheaded so fast it’ll feel like a cold breeze through the neck.”

  “I could tolerate that,” I admitted, “but wouldn’t it be better to keep me at a lower profile? Pretend I’m a nobody vampire and beneath notice?”

  “Too late. Too many people know you exist, and turning Tony into a rag doll didn’t make you any less noticeable.”

  “I could say something about it being the only way to make a clean exit from a moving vehicle.”

  “It’s not the reason, it’s the deed. Tony’s not a lightweight.”

  “So we’re back to the idea of the Elders making me off-limits.”

  “The problem with that,” she continued, hands clasping more tightly, “is getting them to do that. Like Tony said, before you broke him, they’re not going to appreciate having you around. The fact he was taking you—we were taking you—to a council of judgment indicates to me the Elders already didn’t like you.”

  “Right.”

  “So, as I see it, we need to make it worth their while.”

  “I’m okay with the idea of paying them off. It raises the question of their price, though. What do they want? Or, rather, what can we give them they’ll accept as valuable enough? Money? Property? Magical widgets? What?”

  “Um. No.”

  Dammit, everyone always wants the same thing out of me…

  “Ah. They’ll want some of my blood,” I guessed, sourly.

  “Probably. Enough, at least, to feel they’re powerful enough to overrule you if you start to get ideas along the lines of the god-king-emperors. That’s my guess, at any rate. I don’t know—I’m not an Elder. I’m barely a full citizen. Was barely a full citizen.”

  “Beats the hell out of my status,” I argued. “So, the next thing we need to do is find a way to reach the Elders and pitch the idea. Assuming, of course, my blood is compatible with theirs. I’m a different species of bloodsucker from you, remember. Then again, they’re closer to the theoretical primal source…”

  “Yeah. I’m thinking they won’t even ask about that. They’ll guzzle your blood like… well, a bunch of vampires.”

  “That’s not much of a metaphor.”

  “I can’t think of anything that guzzles like a vampire. Ticks, maybe?”

  “Excellent point. And what if it kills them?” I asked.

  “Well, at least everyone will know your blood is absolutely undrinkable.”

  “Huh.” I thought about that one for a minute. “That would certainly have its good points.”

  “I suppose. But it also means anyone who views you as a threat wouldn’t even try to take you to drain you. They would automatically be out to blow you up, burn you, or force you into the sunlight.”

  “Thank you for that dash of cold water down the trousers.”

  “I’m trying to be realistic,” Mary pointed out, grinning toothily and displaying dimples. “For the moment, at least, you’ll be able to tell who works for the Elders. They’ll be trying to burn you or blow you up. Anyone else will be after your blood so they can increase their personal power.”

  “Great. Ever considered writing a book of inspirational quotes?” I asked. Mary dimpled again.

  “Not lately. But, on a more practical note, do you have a razor that hasn’t been chewed to bits by your face? And scissors?”

  “Sure. May I ask why?”

  “I’d like to shave my head tonight.”

  I considered her expression. She was quite serious.

  “There’s something I don’t hear every day.”

  “This isn’t my natural color,” she explained. “It’s hard to dye it repeatedly. If I cut it off at night, it grows out to this length again while I sleep.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “Your hair doesn’t do that?”

  “Species,” I pointed out. She nodded. “My hair grows more naturally, but also more slowly. I can’t have your trick with the hair. I have to wait, like a human.”

  “Okay, things are different for you. I can go with that.”

  “So, what’s your natural color?” I asked. She smiled again.

  “Wait and see.”

  “That’s fair.” I stood up. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

  “Can I help?”

  That’s an excellent question, I thought.

  “That’s an excellent question,” I mused aloud. “I don’t think so, but I’ve been wrong about so many things in my life I’ve learned not to be certain of anything.”

  “Doesn’t that make life difficult?”

  “No, I just assume I’m wrong and keep going until someone points out how I’m wrong. You get used to it. Come with me.”

  We went out to the barn for the shop tools. Since I was going to have to build a gate in order to experiment properly, I might as well get started. Mary actually was a help. I drew the shapes I needed for a gate and she helped cut and file sheet metal into tiny symbols.

  My new idea came to me while I was working on other projects. Most of my best thinking is done while I’m doing something else. In this case, stomping concrete slabs into the yard.

  What I should have done, rather than go wild-hareing off on my magnet idea, was make a modular gate spell. Admittedly, the magnet thing might still be useful, but I don’t understand the practical aspects of interuniversal transit well enough to make the logical connections I need.

  Right now, setting a destination for a gate spell involves visualizing and projecting that vision into the gate itself.

  As an aside, I believe using a scrying device, such as a magic mirror or crystal ball, to locate the destination beforehand should
act as a sort of line of least resistance, greatly enhancing the ease with which one might target a gate within a single universe. I’m still drawing a blank about how to do that in any practical way between universes, though. I can use the brute force method and hammer on the interuniversal boundaries until I see through them, but that method is not only exhausting, it’s also likely to attract the attention of Things From Beyond. Maybe even attract Them. Bad idea.

  Back to the gate spell.

  My idea is that the subroutines—for lack of a better word—within the larger gate program have specific functions. What those functions are, I’m not sure, but my theory is they affect anything actually moving through the plane of the gate effect. This is a transformative process to “tune” whatever goes through the gate to match the physical constants of the destination universe.

  As an example, if the speed of light were different between two universes, it would have some rather drastic alterations on life as we know it—if that were the only change. There may be an infinite number of universes with different speeds of light. But if we change other physical constants, too, there may be dozens, hundreds, billions of possible combinations where matter, energy, life, even consciousness can exist in forms we can recognize and relate to.

  If, of course, our own physical constants are adjusted to match.

  I suspect the magicians of Zirafel didn’t know this. What I think happened is they tried gate technology—mana-ology? Spell-ology? Thaumatology? Oo, I like that one! Thaumatology!—they tried gate thaumatology between universes and things went badly for the test subjects. So someone added a transformative subroutine that could adjust itself. It would “read” the home universe, “read” the destination universe, and automatically adjust a particular quality from one to the other. Once it set itself up, the next subroutine would do the same thing with a quality not already covered by a previous subroutine.

  So, for some universes, it worked perfectly. In others, it caused nasty reactions in the victims. I mean, “volunteers.” So they added more subroutines and more subroutines, stacking them to affect a greater variety of possible variables. They didn’t know what the variables were, just that they needed more of that particular function. Then, when they didn’t have anyone die, they added some extras. Just because.