by Ken Lange
I walk around to the back of the tomb and make my way up to stand in front of him. “I’m here. What’s on your mind?”
The Baron offers me a disapproving look. “Are you always in such a foul mood?”
Suppressing the urge to knock out his teeth, I clench my hand, causing several of my knuckles to pop. “Not at all. Most of the time I’m actually quite pleasant. But I’m not a fan of your parlor tricks.”
He snickers. “It wasn’t me.”
I’m seriously tired of his crap right now. “All right, Shaggy. Again, what’s up?”
He pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket and dabs his forehead. “Very well, I guess it’s down to business then.” He tucks the cloth away. “I come bearing bad news…and to perhaps strike a bargain with you.”
By the tone of his voice, he’s serious. “Uh-huh. I’m listening.”
He places both hands on the skull of his cane. “As it happens, someone very foolish made a pact with one of my brethren, and he’s coming for you.”
Arching an eyebrow, I ask, “And you’re telling me this why?”
He suppresses a grin. “As I said, there’s a possibility we might be able to work something out. If that were to happen, my standing amongst my peers would be greatly enhanced. And for one such as me, that’s of prime importance.”
Of course it is. Craning my neck from side to side, I blow out a long breath. “Who’s after me?”
Annoyance flashes in his eyes. “Don’t you want to hear my offer?”
I shake my head. “Not really. And definitely not before I know who’s supposed to be hunting me.”
He narrows his eyes. “It’s Bakulu.”
Okay, that’s some serious shit. Almost all the information about the loa is contradictory and/or completely nonsensical—except for the stuff about this guy. He’s supposed to be all sorts of bad news.
And here it is, folks: the fuckening—the proverbial craziness that’s going to wreck the peace and quiet I’ve been experiencing lately. I knew it was coming, but goddamn, you’d think the universe would cut me some slack once in a while.
When I speak, my tone is laced with a healthy dose of sarcasm. “That’s fantastic. Any idea why?”
Lifting one hand off the cane, he gestures at me. “Other than the obvious?”
Maybe it’s clear to him; for me, not so much. “Yes.”
Revulsion crosses his features. “You’re an abomination that’s upset the natural order of things. Worse yet, you’ve slain several loa.” He shrugs. “Now that someone has performed the ritual to release Bakulu from his metaphorical shackles, he’s able to make you pay for your crimes.”
I furrow my brow. “You’ve obviously got me confused with someone else. I’ve never even met one of you before today.”
The Baron gives me a sad smile. “Actually, it’s you who is mistaken.”
Pulling air through my teeth, I shake my head. “I really don’t see how that’s possible.”
His tone turns condescending, and he taps his cane against the roof. “Of course you don’t.”
Oh, my, god. Everything about this guy makes me want to rip his head off. “You really might want to consider explaining yourself before my patience runs out.”
He rolls his eyes. “Fine. While it might be true you haven’t met a loa such as myself before, you have had several encounters with the wraiths over the last year. Correct?”
“Yeah, but…” Then the implications practically punch me in the face and a shiver runs through me. “Hold on. You’re saying the wraiths are somehow related to the loa?”
He wobbles his hand back and forth. “Related is such an organic term. The wraiths are a part of the loa, but the bodies they inhabit have been altered into the form you’re familiar with.”
“Ahhh…” I blink several times, trying to process the information. “Wait…the wraiths and the loa are the same?”
He shakes his head. “Not exactly.” Sighing heavily, he gestures out at the setting sun. “Long ago, before this star was ever born, they were like the rest of us. Then Bakulu made a deal with Heidr of the Álfheimr, transforming his followers into the beings you know today.”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. Finally, my thoughts catch up with my body. “That’s just fucked up, man.” Not exactly poetic, but accurate. “Okay, why is Bakulu holding a grudge about that? I thought this was about someone putting a hit on me.” Waving my hand at him, I say, “None of this makes sense.”
The Baron struggles to suppress silent laughter. “Oh, child. You’re young and don’t understand the rules. But you will.”
I start to move forward but stop myself. “What in the hell are you talking about?”
In a bored tone, he says, “God, you’re stupid.” He huffs out a breath. “Fine. Bakulu is bound by certain restrictions, but now that someone’s summoned him, he can finally murder you. As for the rest—” A wicked grin crosses his lips. “It’s just bonus.”
Isn’t that lovely? “How wonderful for me.”
He nods. “Glad to see your little nugget of a brain has caught up to the predicament you’re in.”
I indulge in a brief fantasy of cramming my fist down his throat. “Uh-huh.” The Baron opens his mouth to say something, but I hold up a finger to stop him. “I get how Bakulu is involved, but how do you come into this equation?”
He grimaces. “That’s rather complicated.”
“I’m a smart guy. Try me.”
He sniffs. “Very well. My job is to make things right…specifically when someone has been murdered—such as our fallen brethren in the wraiths.” His tone hardens. “It displeases me that someone bypassed me and went to Bakulu instead. As such, I’m here to make my own deal.”
That’s just messed up. “So, because I defended myself and those I care about against a bunch of rabid loa, you guys want me to submit to some sort of punishment?”
He touches his finger to his nose. “Precisely. I’m actually here to offer you a way to pay your debt entirely…right now.”
Oh, this is going to be good. “And how’s that?”
An easy smile spreads across his lips. “You need to die. Either by my hand or his. The choice is yours, but if you choose to take my offer, you’ll be the only one harmed.” He points off in the distance. “Bakulu won’t care who he hurts as long as he kills you.”
What a world class asshat.
I shake my head. “I’m sorry to disappoint, but neither option works for me. Which means you’re going to leave here empty handed this evening.” Pushing more power into my shields turns them into living black armor from the neck down. “Unless you really want to go ten rounds right here, right now.”
Glancing over his shoulder at the horizon, he smirks. “I think I’ll pass.”
Without another word, the Baron turns, taps his cane against the tar roof, and the air in front of him rips open with a tearing sound. Tilting his head in my direction, he smiles. “Good luck.” He steps through the hole in space, and it vanishes with a pop.
Chapter 3
It may be a trick of the light, but the moment the Baron vanishes, everything becomes a little darker. The clinking of a chain unfurling fills the quiet. A half second later, there’s a squishy wet sound, and a lifeless body flies out of the distance to hit the cement wall of the mausoleum below me. I don’t need to look down to see it’s one of the Ulfr Hunn who shadows me.
My helmet snaps into place with an audible clack, and with a flick of my hand, Draupnir elongates into the nine-foot gilded glaive.
Flexing my fingers, I secure my grasp on the weapon. I step to the edge and tilt the blade toward the mangled body. “You should’ve just come for me directly. Killing one of my people was monumentally stupid.”
In response, a series of bone-chilling screeches echo through the night. I finally place the sound: it’s the wraiths.
A dozen of the nightmarish creatures make their way out of the shadows across the street and into the cemetery. If that isn
’t bad enough, they’re accompanied by oddly shaped beings made of black mist that are flitting between the graves, edging ever closer to me.
Peachy.
While the meeting was doomed to go poorly from the start, there’s no way I could’ve prepared for the fuckery that abounds this evening. The real joy is that my shields are next to useless against the wraiths…but I’m not entirely sure about their buddies. Guess we’ll find out. I’ve got to hand it to Bakulu: when he wants someone dead, he goes all out.
Waiting up here for them isn’t going to help me survive this, so I step forward, drop to the ground below, and stand with my back as close to the wall as possible. They can phase through solid objects, so it’s not exactly a massive obstacle, but it’ll hopefully slow them down enough to let me come up with a better strategy. Currently, all I’ve got is: don’t die.
A few seconds later, the first of the wraiths gets near enough for me to get a good look at the thing. While all the parts and pieces are there, they don’t quite add up to the wraiths I’ve come to loathe over the years.
Normally, they’re this horrific concoction of shadow and flesh. These guys, however, are different. Starting with the rancid odor of death and decay wafting off them in waves. Plus, they seem way too solid. It’s as if someone had the recipe for them but got the ingredients slightly wrong or baked them for too long or not long enough—whatever the case, they’re marginally less terrifying.
A half-baked wraith darts forward, raises its claws, and does its best to remove my head with one swipe. It’s as fast, if not faster, than the real deal and it’s all I can do to duck in time. Razor-sharp talons tear through the concrete wall above me and shower me with cement dust.
Seems that whoever cooked these bastards up got that part right. For the record, that’s not a good thing.
I lift the glaive at an angle to slice through its abdomen and chest. Intestines and internal organs slide out onto the ground with a wet thwap. The stench of a corpse gone bad in the sun hits me, making my head rock back as bile catches in my throat. It’s all I can do not to vomit into my face mask. Trying to knock the thing away, I lift my boot and kick it in the chest, getting more gore on me before it crashes to the ground a few feet away.
I can’t help staring for a second. There’s an actual corpse in front of me. Weird. Usually, these things turn into a neat pile of white ash. I’m not complaining, though, because they’re easier to kill, and there are a lot more of them than there are of me.
One of those peculiar mist things slithers along the ground until it stops beside me. Before my mind can catch up to what’s happening, it creates three long tendrils that end in jagged spikes. Stumbling back, I do my best to put distance between us, but it’s too late. It drives two of the barbs through my thigh and another through my calf. The agony catches my breath in my throat, my stomach turns, and I nearly black out as poison burns into my bloodstream. I swing the glaive and it passes through the smoke without finding purchase. When the mist pulls back, the pain brings me to my knees, screaming.
It prepares to strike again. I’m not sure I can take another dose and remain upright. Desperate, I summon a bolt of lightning. The charged plasma hits the swirling mass of shadows, killing it instantly. All that’s left is a pool of black blood.
Before I’m back on my feet, two more wraiths come at me from either side. The first one slams its palm into my chest hard enough to lift me off the ground and smash me through the wall. Broken coffins spill out, littering the cement with the decaying remains of the dead. Its buddy slashes its claws across my face, but my shields hold…barely.
Even with the Idunn fighting the effects of the poison, my muscles are on the verge of giving out and it takes more than a little effort to shove the blade through the first one’s gut. It doubles over and lets out a wail of pain. With a yank, I pull it free and narrowly miss its friend’s neck as it skitters back in an effort to keep its head attached. Swinging the glaive around, I cleave through the skull of the first as it tries to right itself. I throw lightning at the other, stunning it long enough for me to slice and dice the thing.
Great. Two down, ten to go…and more of those fucking mist things are closing in. It hurts like hell to put pressure on my injured leg, but it’s either that or die. Standing up straight, I summon lightning from the sky. When the brilliant white light fades, all that’s left of them is smoldering goo.
My living armor flickers as the poison takes hold and while I’ve still got my shields, they’re a lot less effective. Three more wraiths dart forward to crash into me. The impact sends me careening to the side and just out of reach of two of their claws. The third one, however, finds its mark, carving a long diagonal gash across my back. Burning pain courses through me as I push myself to my feet and cough up blood.
If you haven’t figured it out already, this isn’t going well.
Another wraith comes at me. As I step forward to meet it, a thin black mist wraps around my wrists and yanks me to the side, leaving my flank open. The wraith screeches in joy as it slashes through what’s left of my shields and rakes its claws down my ribs to my waist. My entire side goes numb and my hands begin to shake.
Summoning my will, I silently chant: Movement is pain, pain is life, life is movement.
I wrench free of the mist, bring the glaive around, and sever the wraith’s arms at the elbow. I spin the blade and yank upward to remove its head at the shoulders.
The Idunn are working overtime to patch me back together, and doing a damn fine job. Doesn’t mean I don’t hurt, just means I won’t bleed to death—not yet, anyway. Glancing over my shoulder, I look for a way out, but all the exits are blocked by the wraiths. Still, if I can get through one of the gates, I might survive this. Might being the operative word.
Keeping close to the wall of graves, I feebly fend off attacks from wraith and mist alike as the Idunn clear the last of the poison from my system. Not that it makes a huge difference. I’m still weak, shaky, and hobbling on one good leg. The remaining wraiths have fallen in around me to herd me toward their friends, who are anxiously awaiting my arrival.
The cemetery is surrounded by a massive wrought iron fence with a solid wall of crypts to my left that extends some twenty yards, where there’s a nine-foot break. Normally, I’d take my chances with the fence at the first opening, but I’m in no condition to climb anything. While my side is getting stitched up, it’s still hard to breathe, my muscles are on the verge of giving out, and if something doesn’t go my way soon, I’m going to die here tonight.
Three of the wraiths charge me and I swing the glaive in a wide arc that they easily avoid. The nearest one jets forward only to stop as a hole appears in its head. Before it can drop, several more gunshots from a high-powered weapon ring out. Its two buddies freeze in place then hit the ground with a wet thud. Three more shots, three more deaths. The gunner continues to fire, spraying me with black gore as the wraiths and shadows fall. There’s a screech as the wraiths at the gate panic and make a run for it.
My body convulses as pain winds through my system. Unable to catch my breath, I fall to my knees. Draupnir, sensing it’s no longer needed, returns to the spot around my finger. As I gasp for air, I raise my head to scan the area in hopes of spotting my savior, but there’s no one there.
A second later, a lone siren breaks through the silence, and I pull out my phone. There’s little doubt that whoever’s coming isn’t going to be happy with me or the situation I’m in. And if the NOPD shows up first, I’m going to be spending the night, and possibly the next several days, in a cell.
Chapter 4
Not more than two minutes later, an NOPD cruiser skids to a halt just outside the open gate on Conti. Thanks to the coming darkness, poorly placed street lamps, and extremely dark tinted windows, I can’t tell who’s behind the wheel. The only thing I’m sure of is that it isn’t Hotard. That asshole was fired recently, and frankly, it couldn’t have happened to a more deserving human being.
&nbs
p; The door pops open, and Riggs steps out.
Oh, this is going to suck. And not in the fun way either.
On a good day, the man hates my guts, and today isn’t even approaching decent. On the other hand, it looks like this just might be his lucky day. The graveyard is an absolute mess, since these wraiths didn’t have the common courtesy to turn into their usual patch of white ash. Wherever one of them fell there’s a horrendous mashup of bones, blood, and rotting flesh.
If Riggs really wants to be an asshole—and, let’s face it, he probably does—he’ll try to pin a dozen murders on me, even though their state of decay means I couldn’t have had a hand in their actual deaths.
The big man frowns then pushes out his lips oddly, making him resemble a prolapsed sphincter. Not, needless to say, a good look.
It takes a moment, but when he speaks, his tone is calm and collected. “Off the phone, Warden.”
I give him a thumbs-up. “Right, give me a second. Got to go, Henry.” Swiping the end button, I smile. “Good evening, Officer Riggs, what can I do for you today?”
He rolls his eyes. “Don’t get cute with me, Warden.”
I gesture at myself. “Normally, I wouldn’t dream of it, but given it’s just the two of us here, I think we can both agree that I’m the cute one.”
He flips me the bird. “That’s right, yuck it up, motherfucker.” Waving a big hand at the corpses at my feet, he grins. “It’ll be the last time you get the opportunity. I count at least eight bodies.” His chest heaves with silent laughter. “There’s no way you’re getting out of this. I’ve finally got you.”
I wince as the Idunn finish stitching my side back together. “Do you ever get tired of being wrong?”
He lays his hand on the grip of his pistol, and his tone turns dangerous. “Shut your fucking mouth. You may have those idiots at the UCD fooled, but those of us in Special Crimes know better. And now that Crawford’s gone, you’ve got no one to bail you out.”
