by Ben Reeder
“I think you’ve learned enough tonight,” he said. “Go home. We’ll see who has the balls to come back next time.” The six supplicants got to their feet and staggered to the door, all of them casting hateful looks at me.
“That went well,” I said once the last of them was gone.
“They respect you now,” Alpha said. “Or they fear you, which will work just as well. Either way, they will obey you. And that is key.”
“So, what you showed me, with my wolf. Will that work the other way, with the other forms?”
“Yes, if you’re strong enough. And if you can focus.”
“I was an apprentice to a demon. You learn how to focus real damn quick.” I pointed at the shares in the truck bed. “So, how are we going to get this to where I can do something with it?”
“Go home. I’ll leave instructions for you on where to go in the morning.” He turned and walked to the stolen truck, then looked back at me. “Well, get going.” Before I could even voice a protest, I had changed, and was writhing on the floor in pain. Once it stopped, I got to my feet and took off, glad I’d kept my mouth shut. I might have wanted to argue with him, but I knew it was pointless.
Chapter 8
~ Brother to One, Brother to All ~
Motto of the Shadow Regiment
Sunlight streamed through my bedroom window when I woke up. My body hurt, but not as bad as it had after the first beating. I rolled the shoulder that had been hit and found it moved well enough, but the ache was still there, just above the point where I could ignore it. I showered and got dressed, then went downstairs. Mom and Dee were already gone for the day, Mom no doubt working another shift either at Spirit Garden or at the nursery she’d gotten on at. I figured Dee was at Dr. C’s place or at Wanda’s. And as much as I wanted to go to Lucas’s or even hang out at Dr. Corwin’s place, I had something else I needed to be doing. After rummaging through the fridge for something to call breakfast, I checked my phone. Still nothing from Shade. Even Junkyard had taken to going with Dee or hanging out with Ren.
I went out the back door and sat on the steps of the small concrete back porch. I’d thought becoming a werewolf would bring Shade and me closer. But now it seemed like she was further away than ever. The only bright spot in my life seemed to be the time I took from my friends’ lives, and the time I spent with the werewolf who had attacked me and caused all of these problems.
I growled and shook my head. I had all these new gifts and abilities. Strength, speed, endurance, senses jacked up past a hundred. And all I could do was sit on my back porch and feel sorry for myself. Taking a deep breath in through my nose, I closed my eyes and concentrated on the thousand new smells that inundated the air. Pollen from Mom’s garden in a hundred varieties, sprite, dog and the thousand places he’d pee’d, the scent of herbs, dirt, om, Dee and….Alpha. My eyes snapped open.
Alpha had been here. Coming to my feet, I tested the air again, looking for his specific scent. It wasn’t in the backyard. The wind shifted for a second, and I lost it, then it shifted again, and I caught it again, stronger this time. I jumped off the porch and vaulted over the fence with one hand, coming down between our house and the neighbors, by the garage. Following the scent brought me to the Mustang, and a note that lay in the driver’s seat. It was in my hands in a split second, and I read a series of typed directions to where my share of last night’s haul was hidden.
Moments later, I was behind the wheel, the front door was locked, and the Mustang’s tires were skidding across the asphalt as I backed out of the driveway. No matter what I tried, I couldn’t get to my destination fast enough. The speed limit wasn’t an issue, it was all of the other drivers who didn’t have the good sense to ignore it like I wanted them to. Finally, I pulled into the parking garage Alpha’s instruction led me to and sought out the parking space on the third level where he’d left my share of the take. Moment’s later, I was turning into the empty space beside an Oldsmobile that lived up to the “old” part. If it didn’t predate Dr. Corwin, it was probably around when he was a kid.
I got out of the Mustang and followed the note’s directions to the front fender, reaching underneath it to find the magnetic key box. My fingers found the little metallic rectangle after a few seconds of searching, and I pulled it free. Even before I saw it, I felt the dents and dings on the surface. The battered box slid open, and I turned it over to dump the key into my palm. The trunk popped open to reveal one of the aluminum cases we’d grabbed the night before. Ever cautious, I popped the catch and opened it. Sure enough, there were several gold bars and stacks of bearer bonds. Satisfied, I closed the case and moved it to my car. Once the Olds was closed up and locked again, I headed for the Bazaar.
Melton Copperbottom’s Bazaar of Antiquities and Curio Emporium was originally a traveling market, but once the eccentric little gnome got to New Essex in 1867, he found that the money was too good to ever leave. He put down roots and dug in like a tick on a dog, becoming an institution in his own right. Eventually, people got tired of saying the whole name, and had shortened it to ‘The Bazaar,’ much to Copperbottom’s dismay.
The entrance was through an old subway station from the early 1900s. The signs said closed, and as I got closer to it, I felt the illusion spells try to influence my perceptions. From a distance, it looked like any other deserted place, the doors chained shut, windows boarded over. The plywood coverings were papered with “Missing” posters, and there was never a shortage of signs on surrounding poles and walls advertising yet another person who had disappeared in the area. It kept the casual passer-by from being too interested in sticking around, and made the homeless population tend to stick closer to the camp the Mercantile Guild maintained a few blocks over. Usually, I had to concentrate to break the illusion, but I guess being a Were’ made it easier to see through those kinds of glamouries. I could sense the image I was supposed to see, but the real thing was clear to me.
“Ego sum inter illustrator,” I said when I approached the door. Movement in the shadows gave the impression of a large shape nodding at me, and I walked past whatever was guarding the front door today. Even with the passive measures in place, Copperbottom didn’t take chances. No illusion or aversion ward was as effective as an ogre or a troll standing at the door to rip the arms off of anyone who didn’t belong. Not all of the missing person posters were fake.
Where the Hive and the Underground were like towns, the Bazaar was exactly what it called itself. The train station stretched over quarter of a mile, and stretched almost a hundred yards on both sides of the track, not that you could easily tell. It was packed with stalls and kiosks, with a million colors and a billion smells. I sneezed the second I hit the bottom landing, overcome by the smells of hundreds of beings, too many spices and herbs to count, hundreds of metals, paper, grease, smoke, wood...the link between my brain and my nose shut down like a server under a DDoS attack. The noise hammered at my ears, hundreds of voices, and almost as many languages. I couldn’t tell one from another, but my new hearing did pick something up almost immediately: the tone. There was anger in a lot of the voices I was hearing, and when I got used to it, I could smell the adrenaline in the air.
Most times, I wouldn’t have worried much about security in the Bazaar as much as I might have in the Hive or even the Underground. Copperbottom was serious about protecting his interests, and those of everyone who did business in the Bazaar as a result. He’d hired minotaurs to handle his day to day security, consulted with a dragon for the rest. But today… something felt off. I set the case down and pulled my backpack from my shoulders. With my foot on the case, I slid the holster for my paintball gun out and slung it around my hips. Once it was buckled around my leg, I picked the case back up and started toward the eastern edge of the Bazaar, where all the more secure shops were located. Overhead, I saw sprites zipping back and forth, all of their wings flashing angry red. Down each row, merchants were in the aisles, talking to each other more than trying to sell, and my ear
s started picking up the same words over and over again. Sprites, uppity, place and forget.
When I reached the edge of the market, I turned left and headed for the pawnbrokers until I found the Sign of the Jade Mountain. Unlike most of the merchants, Ieyasu wasn’t joining in all the drama. The tengu proprietor was sitting behind his counter, studiously working on something. His head head came up, revealing hawk-like features. A hooked nose, eyes set close together and hair slicked back all conspired to make his face look more birdlike. The avian eyes and feathers from the midline of his head back just made it obvious.
“Good morning, Chance,” he said, his voice trilling over the R and whistling across the S.
“Ieyasu-san,” I bowed at the door to his shop, then turned to one side and took my shoes off. “Your shop is a tranquil oasis in a storm.”
“This one does his humble best. What does his good friend and honored client seek today?”
“I have something to I want to...sell.” I laid the case on the counter and opened it. “A fine case of aluminum.” Ieyasu made a show of running his hands along the outside of the case, but his eye was never far from the goods.
“His friend offers a very nice...case. As such things go, he finds it worth...perhaps one fifth market value?” His voice rose and fell as he spoke, almost a song, and his head bobbed and moved left and right.
“I’m sorry, surely I misheard your generous offer of fifty percent?”
“Indeed he did,” Ieyasu chirped. “But perhaps, because this one is feeling charitable, and because he likes Chance,” he paused and tilted his head to one side, “he might have meant to offer one fourth.”
“Forty percent is a most reasonable offer, honorable Ieyasu,” I said. “Though, for form’s sake, I would of course speak of his shrewd bargaining and claim I got the worse end of the bargain. And of course, I would allow for his nominal fee of five percent.”
“Does he promise to tell of this one’s bargaining?” Ieyasu asked. He slid a sheet of paper with a very large sum written on it, just shy of six figures.
“I will curse his name for swindling me out of my hard earned goods,” I smiled, taking the receipt.
“It is a rather fine case,” he said, closing it and setting it behind the counter. “It will make a fine addition to this one’s collection. This one thanks Chance for his-”
“Did you just say Chance?” a high pitched voice interjected. “As in Chance Fortunato?” A white haired sprite dropped down between us, his wings going from red to gold.
“Indeed this one did,” Ieyasu said. “Before being interrupted by a...by a sprite. Why does he ask if this one spoke the name of his friend Chance?”
The sprite spun in midair, eyes wide. “You’re him!” I heard him squeak. He zipped forward and put his hand to my shoulder, then floated back with his fingertips on his lips. “He’s here!” I cringed as his voice hit a note I never thought I could hear and set my ears to ringing. Before I could ask him what was going on, he zipped out the door, and I heard that same high pitched sound.
“Perhaps he would consider stepping outside, before this one’s humble shop becomes too crowded,” Ieyasu said. He added a click at the end, a tengu’s version of a smile. I nodded, and by the time I stepped out the door, a growing crowd of sprites was headed my way. They were speaking to each other using the same high pitched tone that scraped at the edge of my hearing, and I realized that they were speaking in a range above human hearing. Dozens flew my way, all of their wings practically glowing. Finally, they parted, letting an older sprite with all white hair float forward. I held out my hand to let him land on it.
“You are Chance Fortunato,” he said, more a statement than a question. “You are the Liberator, and now you have spoken for some of ours.” He looked up at me, his pale green eyes wide. Like so many sprites, his clothes were simple and obviously handmade, in his case, a pair of handmade pants and a single piece of red fabric that was draped around his neck and crossed in front to tie after being wrapped around his hips.
“You mean Sparo and Finch? Yeah, I helped them get a place to live and a job.” A murmur went through the air.
“Will you help us?” the elder sprite said. Before I could answer, I heard the tread of a heavy foot, or more like a cloven hoof. Eight feet of horned, broad shouldered minotaur rounded a corner and turned his baleful bovine glare on me. He wore a pair of pants with a mace stuck through his chain belt, and little else to cover his furry hide.
It raised one hug hand and pointed at me. “Yer comin’ wif us,” it said. “Us” turned out to be two more minotaurs, one a lighter furred male and the other a female, lean by comparison but still big enough to be three of me with a little left over. Like her two compatriots, she covered her lower half, but with a band of cloth around her chest. The thick cudgel she carried didn’t invite a long look at her, though.
“Looks like I am,” I said. I let the lead minotaur grab the back of my shirt and went along with him. He led me through the marketplace, and up a set of stairs to a long section that overlooked the whole Bazaar. Once upon a time, it might have been a whole suite of offices, but now, it was a lavish home and office for the Bazaar’s founder and owner. Thick cushions and piles of pillows were everywhere, all covered in a thick, shiny satin in every color of the rainbow, and more than a few colors that didn’t exist in Nature.
Melton himself was clearly a gnome who had never been accused of having good fashion sense, and had decided to lean into that. His shirt was a paisley pattern that seemed to be made up mostly of pink, gold and dark red, while his silk pants were a series of gods awful stripes in yellow, green, brown and white. At either end of the ensemble, he went with cooler colors, if only by degree, with a pair of electric blue slippers and some kind of fur cap. With so much bad taste going into his outfit, the single ruby ring he wore on his right hand stood out by its simplicity and its lack of company.
Like most gnomes I’d met, he went for facial hair, a thin blonde mustache that drooped down the sides of his mouth to dangle from his chin like a beard in its own right. His eyes were set in a permanent squint, and the sides of his mouth were pulled up in an equally indelible scowl.
“What’s wrong with you people?” he demanded in a high, nasal voice as soon as the minotaur pushed me forward. “Look at you, causing problems, disrupting trade. And for what? Freedom?” He shook his head and got to his feet. “Don’t like the idea of that.”
“What’s wrong with freedom?” I demanded.
“The free part,” Copperbottom snarled. “Bad for business.”
“Get your hands off me!” I heard from behind me. I turned to see another pair of minotaurs escorting a well-dressed human into the room. As soon as he saw Melton, he strode forward. “I am the chairman of the Mercantile Guild. I will not be manhandled by your half-animal thugs!”
“Oh, be quiet, Harland,” the fashion-deficient gnome said. “You have no problem with my ‘half-animal thugs’ when they’re manhandling people for you.”
“Why am I here, Copperbottom?” Harland demanded.
“Because you’re the head of the guild that’s doing all of the bitching. Squeaky wheel,” Copperbottom extended a hand toward Harland. “Grease,” he gestured toward the minotaurs with the other.
“Then what’s he doing here?” the merchant pointed at me.
“Word is, he’s the sprites’ big hero,” Copperbottom said with a broad grin. “They call him the Liberator.”
“You’re the one who freed the sprites? You’re the one who caused all these problems for us?”
“What problems did I cause?” I asked. “Aside from inconveniencing you.”
“Inconvenienc-” he sputtered. “You’ve screwed us out of hundreds of thousands of trade credits worth of investments, cut our light labor force in half and sent our costs skyrocketing, and you think you just inconvenienced us? You’ve threatened our whole way of life!”
“Because sprites being slaves for a century was no big deal to
them,” I said.
“So what? They’re just fae, and lesser fae at that. They’re not even people. Just a little more than animals. Besides, they had it good. They got free food, a place to stay and someone to take care of them. We were doing them a favor.” Harland missed the rumble that went through the sprites gathered behind me. Copperbottom wasn’t looking happy, either.
“But they aren’t slaves now,” I said. “And there’s nothing you can do about that.”
“The way we see it, they, and you, owe us. No one asked us before you took our property from us, and crippled our business.”
“You don’t know your history, do you, dumbass?”
“What did you just say to me?” Harland asked, his tone dropping to a tone most people would mistake for dangerous.
“I just insulted your intelligence,” I said. “No one asked the sprites if they wanted to be slaves. The Unseeligh Court threw them to the wolves as compensation after Second Demon War. The sprites didn’t fight against the Allied Magickal Forces. Their only mistake was in trusting the Unseeligh to protect them in Europe.”
“Typical high school revisionist history,” Roland said, waving a hand at me. “You’re still an apprentice, and a demon’s slave at that. Of course you’re going to buy into that kind of warm and fuzzy crap.”
I reached out and grabbed him, then pulled him to me. “I learned that,” I snarled at him, “from the demon.” I felt the wolf start to emerge, the desire to tear his face off almost palpable.
“What’s wrong with you, Fortunato!” Copperbottom snapped at me. “You are out of line!” I shoved Roland away and took a slow breath, trying to marshal my willpower and harness my wolf. He stumbled and fell on his ass, which felt kind of good to watch.
“We still expect to be compensated for our losses,” Harland said when he got to his feet.
