Nightlord: Orb

by Garon Whited

  She gestured at Francine.

  “There’s a guard. Not much of one, really; she’s not an attack dog. Mostly, she counts as an alarm and a deterrent, like the window strips and the cameras. Level one security. The locks on the doors and windows technically count as level two, but the specialized equipment needed to break in consists of a medium-sized rock. I can’t count it as level two security until we get to the basement doors; those are heavy and will stand up to any barehanded human being for hours.

  “But that’s all,” she finished. “Someone who wanted to get in could go through a wall with a claw hammer and determination.”

  “It’s been good enough for a while, now,” I pointed out.

  “That’s because you’ve been hiding. No one knew or cared you live here. Or didn’t know what you are, or something. That’s not even a level of security; it’s avoiding the need for it. After the trouble with the vampire-killing magi, you’re going to have people crawling in through the woodwork. Possibly literally.”

  “You may be right.” I sat and watched the fireplace burn for a bit. Nobody called. Mary sat and waited.

  “A long time ago,” I told her, “I once lived in a much larger house. Vampire hunters showed up repeatedly. Whenever it happened, I upgraded the house. Fireproofing, armor in the walls, extinguisher systems, better alarms for earlier warning, all that stuff. Until, one day, I realized I had made a mistake.”

  “What mistake?”

  “I was sitting there, adding layers of protection, while adversaries plotted ways to overcome that protection and get to me. I was a sitting duck, an immobile target. And, like a target, I drew fire.”

  “So, you started moving around?”

  “Not exactly, but sort of. Long story. My point is—and I’m not sure where this fits in with your security layers—I had the idea if I didn’t keep a fixed address, they couldn’t hunt me too well. Oh, they might find me, but unless they had teleporting assault brigades, they couldn’t bring overwhelming force to bear before I wasn’t there anymore.”

  “There’s something to that,” Mary admitted. “A moving target is harder to hit. It might be tricky to keep our movements hidden from someone with connections, but it would take a major intelligence organization to track us in real time. Even so, we could get one of those mobile home vehicles and drive all over two continents, no problem.”

  “That might work. I’m sure you know more about it than I do. But there’s also another option—sort of the reverse. Not the Golden Rule, more the Iron Rule.”

  “Oh?”

  “I was thinking of finding the people who want to want to kill us and doing unto them before they do unto us.”

  Hurray!

  I knew I could count on your support.

  “That’s trickier,” she admitted. “First we have to find out who they are, where they are, and all that.”

  “Agreed. But I ate several magi recently. I get the feeling—not details, but a feeling—that the magi aren’t a monolithic organization. They’re a loose confederation of families sharing a common interest: magic. Hunting down the undead isn’t the goal for most of them.”

  “How much may we rely on this feeling?”

  “That’s a good question. Once I have a talk with Sebastian, we’ll see.”

  “Great,” she grumped, sourly. “It’s a good thing I’ve already had the idea of taking an emergency road trip. I suppose I should make sure those preparations are all ready.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “And when we have time—tomorrow night, maybe?—can we finally have that talk? You know, the life story discussion? I’ll take the short version in your case. Your life story is probably pretty long.”

  “I’d say so.”

  Saturday, November 14th

  Mark is home. He and Gary moved in on Friday. Fred, Larry, and Brandon—Luke’s father—helped move the furniture from the barn.

  As I suspected, Brandon has an extensive vocabulary of profane language and does not hesitate to use it. I’m amazed Luke can say anything without swearing. Then again, Luke has a hearing problem. Maybe he spends more time trying to analyze what his mother says.

  Myrna stayed at Mark’s house and the ladies helped her arrange the place. She tried to come along and boss the furniture picking, but Francine wasn’t having any of that. There was growling and snarling for Myrna, jumping up and licking for everyone else. Myrna had to content herself with arranging the house.

  Good dog. Treats were distributed.

  After my morning shower and change, I helped haul stuff out of the house and over to Mark’s. Mark was excused from assisting. He was much better, but there was still therapy in his future. His coordination was off and he tended to stammer. I shook his hand and assured him I had complete confidence in his ongoing recovery. And I pumped up his spell again.

  I’m not being nice. Seriously. Gary needs his father.

  On one of the trips back and forth, Susan and I were alone for a few moments in my house.

  “You know,” Susan suggested, “if you’re going to be out of town on business, you could at least give someone a key.”

  “I could,” I admitted, handing her a big sack of kids’ clothes, “but Myrna might swipe it and go nosing around.”

  “She wouldn’t do that.”

  “No, you’re probably right. But I’d rather not give her the temptation.”

  “I wouldn’t tell her,” Susan assured me.

  “I’d rather not tempt you in other ways,” I replied, and winked. She blushed, but also winked back at me.

  Yeah, that could turn into another complication.

  With the house emptied of extra stuff, Susan had me come over to hers. There were two large boxes with my name on them.

  “This stuff arrived for you on Monday. The guy left them on your porch, but I thought it would be good to take them inside.”

  “Thanks.” I looked them over and had no idea what they were. I didn’t order anything. I stacked the two of them and carried them home. Susan held doors and gates for me.

  “Did you have a good trip?” she asked, as I put the boxes down.

  “It had good points,” I admitted. “I laid out the artwork for a client, but after he saw the design, he decided to go another route.” I shrugged. “It happens.”

  “So, are you busy tonight? Larry has his card game to go to; he calls it a book club meeting.”

  “Ah. Actually, yes; I have to get myself sorted out for a meeting with another client tomorrow. Kind of a last-minute thing. I didn’t think I’d be meeting with him so soon, but when this most recent client cut things off, it gave us a window to meet…”

  “Oh!” she exclaimed, and stamped her foot. “Why do all the good guys have to be so busy?”

  “If we were lazy couch-bums, we wouldn’t be good guys?” I guessed. I think I startled her. The question was rhetorical, but she actually got a good answer. It surprised me, too.

  “You’ve got something, there,” she admitted. “I’ll have to think about that.”

  “Surely. But keep trying. You never know about my schedule. I never know.”

  “All I can say is you better be worth the effort, mister,” she told me, and bumped me with her hip. She sashayed to the front door and resumed walking normally once she left.

  That one knows what she wants, Boss.

  “I got that.”

  Not yet, you didn’t.

  “Maybe not ever,” I replied. “I still want Tort back.”

  Boss, did it ever occur to you that you don’t have to be all obsessive and focused on only one of them at a time?

  “No.”

  Why not?

  That was actually a pretty good question. I had to think about it for a minute.

  “Partly, it’s a cultural thing. My upbringing—and my diet—has put a high value on monogamy. And, partly, I know I have severe limits. Having more than one girlfriend at a time would be like letting them share half a sandwich. They get a bite—no
wisecracks, please—but not enough to be satisfying. That’s unfair to them. I have to focus if I expect to be a halfway-decent significant other.”

  What about Mary? She seems about your speed. At least, she keeps up with you better than most people, including the one who walked out the door a second ago. Plus, she’s dead. She’d only bother you at night. Tort could bother you during the days.

  “Then I’d never get anything done.”

  They’re both helpful, Firebrand pointed out. You could at least give it a try.

  “I like her, but I’m not sure I want to date her.”

  She likes you, too, Boss, and she does want to… as you say, “date” you.

  It seems possible for Firebrand psychically leer.

  “Thanks.”

  I opened up the boxes and examined the contents. One was a sleek bit of electronics; it was an advanced three-dimensional model printer. The other box was full of a specialized plastic compound for it. According to the brochure, the thing could use almost any substance for making models, but the company offered a “revolutionary, proprietary plastic specifically for industrial-grade applications in the home!”

  My reflexive disbelief of advertising was still working, I noticed. If I keep being this skeptical of everything I read, I might start to notice the fnords.

  I set the thing up and Diogenes reported it was working. Why I had one, I wasn’t sure, but my guess was Mary ordered it. I’d ask her about it later.

  With the house cleaned up and sorted out, I checked my projects and my spells. Everything seemed to be progressing on schedule. One more thing to do to prepare for the evening, so I got out the big first aid kit and did it. With that taken care of, I had most of an afternoon ahead of me.

  What to do? More symbols in the garage? No, that could wait until I had help. Instead, I stepped into my headspace and continued dissecting the design of the spell they used in Zirafel to create the Great Arch. A few hours inside my own head would feel much longer. I might even finish the modular modifications.

  Sunset bothered me enough to let me know the time. I wasn’t quite done, but I had a considerably greater respect for the magicians of Zirafel. They didn’t know exactly what they were doing, but they did it with workmanlike skill and an almost insane amount of daring.

  I came out of my headspace and went into the bathroom. After a shower and change, I hauled a couple of the heavier chairs down to the basement. It’s the most private spot in the house. I put them in the Ascension Sphere before I woke Mary. She woke up more easily than the first time. Practice? Was she getting used to waking up right after sunset?

  “Good evening,” I offered. She stretched and ran fingers through her hair.

  “Good evening. Did you have guests over, today? I had a dream I was buried in a grave and people kept walking over it.”

  “Good guess. Yes, several people came and went, taking out the charity stuff.”

  “I was wondering when it was going away.”

  “The house is empty, now. Shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “It never was. At least, not for me.”

  “I also have a new printer. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Is it set up?”

  “Yes. Why do I have it?”

  “Those symbol things. Once we make one, we can use the printer to copy it and make dozens,” she explained. “You say they’re like letters in moveable type and you need lots of each of them. This will do it. You make one by hand and print as many as you need after that.”

  “Huh. That might actually work,” I mused. “The plastic ones will at least last long enough to do a proof of concept trial run. If they melt or catch fire, we can replace them with metal, but it ought to be enough to see if it’s working or not.”

  “See? You need a modern woman to keep you up to speed, you old fogerty.”

  “Fogey. The phrase is, ‘old fogey.’ Fogerty was a musician.”

  “Eh,” she shrugged. “Close enough. I see chairs. Are we going out to eat, or are we staying in?”

  “Do you feel hungry?”

  “No, my Mexican food seems to be sticking with me. Weird, isn’t it?”

  “Only to someone who didn’t share the meal. Let’s sit and chat. I have a long story to tell.”

  We settled into the chairs and got comfortable. I already arranged my diary notes in my headspace.

  I talked most of the night.

  Mary sat sideways in the chair, arms around her legs, chin on her knees, looking at me. I finished the abridged version of my story. She didn’t move. I waited.

  “Well?” I finally asked. She stirred slightly, then lowered her feet to the floor and brushed her hair back from her face.

  “Do I call you Eric, Halar, or Vlad? Or Dread Lord? Or the Dark?”

  “Depends on where we are and who’s listening.”

  “I guess it does. So, let me see if I get this right,” she began. “You’re not an ancient vampire from the days of Atlantis?”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “You’re an alien vampire from another universe?”

  “Yes. Although ‘alien’ might be a little strong.”

  “You’re not from this planet. You’re not even from this universe. You’re an alien.”

  “Okay.”

  She stood up and paced in a circle, hand clasped, index fingers extended to press against her lips. I noticed she paced inside the circle of the Ascension Sphere. I wondered if that was deliberate, convenient, or unconscious.

  “So, you’re really only about… what? Ninety years old as a vampire?”

  “Something like that. More nearly a hundred, I think. I’ve spent quite a bit of time unconscious or captive.”

  “And you’re terrifyingly powerful because…?”

  “I’m guessing it’s a combination of things. Sleeping in a power circle for decades in a magical universe, for one. Hundreds of thousands of ghosts. Dragon ichor. Metaphysically biting a goddess. Troll and ogre blood. Elf blood. Magician blood and magician souls. The list goes on. When they say ‘You are what you eat,’ it really applies to us.”

  “And you’re not making all this up?”

  “What?” I asked, surprised.

  “You say this is the truth?”

  “As well as I remember it. I suppose I could be insane and hallucinating, but I don’t think so. And if I’m reasonably sane, why would I make up such an utterly fantastic story?”

  “I don’t know. To distract the Elders, maybe. To see if it will throw off the magi. To confuse everybody, including me.”

  “I don’t mean to confuse you. If I have, I’m sorry. And I apologize.”

  Mary paused in her pacing and focused on me. Her eyebrows drew together in puzzlement.

  “I believe you. I’m not sure I should, but I believe you.”

  “Thank you. Do you want to start the question-and-answer portion of the exercise, now?”

  “You already checked and your original, mortal identity exists in this world?” she asked.

  “Apparently so. They’re surprisingly similar worlds. At least, I can easily see my original world evolving into this one.”

  “But you haven’t gone to meet yourself? Him? The other you.”

  “No. He’s old and I don’t want to make him keel over in shock. Besides, what would we talk about?”

  “You have a lot in common,” she observed.

  “Once, maybe. Things changed about fifty years ago, local time, and we’ve become different people.”

  “I guess. And your magical stuff? You’re trying to get home to your magical universe? Karvalen?”

  “That’s the kingdom; I haven’t named the universe. Maybe I should; I keep finding new ones. Anyway, I’m not exactly trying to get back. While I was possessed—”

  “Right, I remember this part. Your demon side was a nasty piece of work and it’s dangerous to be there. So you bailed out and landed here.”

  “Pretty much,” I agreed. “I think T’yl was aiming for my
original world, but I haven’t had a chance to ask him. It’s going to be tricky, considering nasty people will try to kill me if they detect me.”

  “Which is why the face in the flames warned you about a religion over there. They’re thinking of coming after you even though you’re in another universe.”

  “Yes. I would like to get a gate open so I can drop in, get briefed, and then decide if I need to run even farther.”

  “And have a talk about your son being sacrificed to a fire-goddess?”

  I gritted my teeth. I can’t actually grind them together; they lock together too well. Undead problems.

  “Maybe. I haven’t decided if I want to have that discussion.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t realize you were that upset about it. You hide it well.”

  “No, it’s my own fault for repressing it. It bothers me when I think about it.”

  “I don’t suppose you’ve considered dealing with it?”

  “What am I supposed to do about it?” I asked. “Kill my own daughter? My granddaughter? Bite the goddess again? That didn’t work before and could easily get me killed—either by her, during the process, or afterward, by her cronies!”

  “Um. Could you calm down a little?” Mary asked, nervously. “I don’t like the things your shadow is doing.”

  “What?” I turned in my seat to look at my shadow on the wall. Yes, it was a dark, dim area rather than just an area without color. It was also looming much taller than it should, displaying taloned hands and vague outlines of veined wings—tendrils, maybe, spreading like semi-transparent bat-wings?

  As I watched, it shrank, settled, and resumed a shape defined by the normal rules of light and matter.

  “It’s not supposed to do that,” I noted.

  “I agree!”

  “No, really. I’ve only seen it do something like that once before. I’m not sure when it started, or why.”

  “Demon infestation? Religious belief?”

  “I’m afraid to guess.”

  “So, you’ve got a creepy shadow that does stuff when you get angry. Does it do that during the day?”