Lady of Blades

by Saje Williams

  She was strongly tempted to strangle him. Not that it would do any good. She could wrap a piano wire around his neck and throw him out her office window and he'd simply take the elevator back up to reclaim his head.

  "Just stay out here,” she snapped, stepping into the restroom and slamming the door behind her. “Bastard,” she growled under her breath.

  "I heard that,” his calm voice penetrated the door. “And I assure you, my parents were indeed married ... or at least as close to married as we had on our world."

  She closed her eyes and leaned back against the door. Now all she wanted was to get rid of him. Unfortunately, that was much easier said than done. Since he'd promised to obey Athena's orders, and she'd ordered him to watch over the city's top cop. So nothing short of a point blank nuclear strike would chase the man off.

  * * * *

  Jaz woke with a start as her door crashed open. She peered up at the warrior standing in the doorway. “Hello,” she said.

  Realizing she was no longer blind, he clawed for the blade at his side. She swung her legs off the cot and dove across the cell, wrapping her left hand around his wrist and pinning his arm in place. She brought her other hand up and punched him between the eyes with everything she had in her.

  It didn't even hurt, she realized. At least, it didn't hurt her. He fell as if she'd clobbered him with a baseball bat. She drew the sword from its scabbard and stepped through the doorway, returning a second later to pull his identifying ring from his finger. She used it to open the other cells, only to find them all empty.

  Her mouth went suddenly dry. Had they killed everyone else? “Quickfingers!"

  He materialized silently by her side. “Yeah, boss?"

  "Have you seen anyone here but Hecate and her Neanderthal warriors?"

  "Sure, boss. There's the white ladies."

  "The what?” She didn't have the faintest idea what he was talking about. All she knew about were the warriors, the slaves, and Hecate herself.

  "White ladies,” he replied. “White hair, white skin, and pink eyes. There aren't a lot of them, and it doesn't look like they have a lot of contact with Hecate or her lackeys. They're considered inferior because of their albinism, so they're not worth breeding with, and I guess they maintain the systems aboard this thing—whatever it is."

  "It's called Strihava, and it's a dimensional construct,” she told him. “Near as I can tell, it's a giant goddam space station in a place between the universes."

  "Huh. Well, that's sure interesting. Are we getting out of here?"

  "If you don't know of where we can find any other slaves, we are,” she replied.

  "Sorry, boss. I don't know of any."

  "Good enough. I trust you. What the hell did you give me, by the way?"

  "One of Hecate's immortality viruses,” he replied. “Congratulations, boss. You're one of the big dogs now."

  She blinked down at him, smiled grimly, and tousled his ears. “Thanks, Quickfingers.” She honestly couldn't think of anything else to say.

  "Not a problem, boss. C'mon ... this way."

  * * * *

  It took them fifteen minutes to locate Strihava's main worldgate. The imp had stumbled upon it in his explorations and, having observed it being used a few times, swore he could operate it. Again Jaz found herself taking his word for it. As far as she knew he hadn't lied to her yet.

  They turned a corner and found themselves facing a small army of Hecate's warriors, about forty-five of the bastards, armed but unarmored.

  * * * *

  Jaz's eyes narrowed and she allowed herself a slow, vicious smile. “How many of you bastards held me down and filled me with your filth?” she asked in a deceptively mild voice. “Don't be afraid to answer now. It won't hurt any more than what you did to me."

  "Kill her!” the Guard Commander howled. As one the warriors drew their swords and began their rush.

  Forty-five of the fuckers against my imp and me? Bad odds. She glanced down at Quickfingers and winked. Guess they're just going to have to take their chances.

  Perhaps they expected her to turn tail and run. Regardless, it seemed the last thing they'd anticipated was the speed with which she rushed at them. She met the first attacker with a straight right arm that shattered his breastbone and hurled him back into the ranks. His sword flipped through the air, knocked free from his grasp, and she snagged it out of the air.

  The imp bounded into their midst, taunting like only an imp can. “Hey, is that your back hair or are you wearing a bear-skin rug? Don't answer that. Nice sword. Ever notice that swords are remarkably phallic? Compensating for something?

  "Oh, wait ... now I'm just confusing you, aren't I? Phallic—resembling a penis. Compensating—using something else to make up for a lack elsewhere. In other words, I'm suggesting you have no penises to speak of and keep your swords so long and shiny because you know it!"

  Jaz had to give it to them. The taunts had nearly no affect, though only one of them bothered to take a slash at the imp. No, they were pretty much concentrating on killing the woman who'd caused them so much trouble.

  Too bad she had no intention of cooperating. “Quickfingers! The ‘gate!"

  Already anticipating her command, the imp had left behind the insults and taunts and raced for the control panel for the worldgate. He could work it, but how would he know he'd set it to go to the right Earth?

  Only one way to find out. He leaped back out into the crowd, landing on one of the warriors’ shoulders. He reached over, poked him in the eyes, and snatched his sword from his hands. He leaped back down to the floor. As the Neanderthal turned in circles, holding his face, he calmly bent the steel sword into a loop. As the warrior blinked away the last of the tears that had been filling his eyes, Quickfingers handed him back what remained of his weapon. And grinned. “Say, compadre, how do we get back to where she came from?"

  "Fuck you,” the warrior replied savagely, throwing the weapon aside and going after the imp with his bare hands.

  "Oooh, wrong answer. I don't swing that way,” he said, bounding up and over the Neanderthal's head and landing on his back. He leaned close to his ear and gnashed his teeth. “Then again, I don't swing any way."

  He slapped him over the ear with one diminutive hand, producing a satisfactory yowl of pain. “You little fucker!"

  "You've got quite the filthy mouth, ape-shape,” Quickfingers added. “You sound like a New Yorker. Hell, you even look like a New Yorker.” He pinched his nose. “You certainly smell like one."

  Jaz stepped outside one warrior's slash, neatly amputating his arm at the wrist and snatching his sword out of the air as hand and weapon went their separate ways. She stepped back into their midst, blades spinning and chewing through flesh and bone with every swing.

  "Leave him be,” a soft woman's voice interrupted. Quickfingers glanced up and saw one of the albino women standing by the control console. He shrugged, reached down, and yanked the warrior's foot out from under him. As he crashed to the floor the imp bounded up to where the woman waited. “The command line for your world is X5V725c34,” she said, punching in the numbers on the numerical keypad. “The c34 portion is simply a location designation for the city you're aiming for. You could get more detailed, but it's not important for you to know any more at this time. Now get your friend and get out of here."

  "Will do,” the imp replied. “Thank you very much. By the way, my name's Quickfingers. That's Jaz. What's yours?"

  "Gwen Pas-Aym,” the woman answered. “Now hurry, before she gets hurt."

  Quickfingers teleported into the midst of the battle, stomped on a couple of feet, bit a kneecap or two, and made his way to Jaz's side. “You ready?” he asked.

  "Too much talking, not enough escaping. Let's go!"

  "See ya!” the imp chimed, before grabbing her leg and teleporting them both to right in front of the ‘gate. They dove through together.

  Four

  August 28th, 2017

  Three day
s later

  "Sit down, Jaz. It's good to see you well."

  "Thanks, ma'am,” Jaz replied, taking the proffered seat on the other side of Athena's desk. “It's good to be back."

  "No lasting ill effects, I assume?"

  "None I can't deal with,” Jaz answered quickly. Too quickly, perhaps, but it didn't appear Athena was willing to make any bones about it.

  "I've read your report. Sounds like a nasty place."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "Are you sure the person in charge was named Hecate?"

  "Absolutely.” She quickly described the woman in detail. “I got the impression she was an immortal."

  "Shit. Yeah, she's one of ours. She's been missing for several centuries. Now, at least, we know where she's been."

  "A couple of the places she's been,” Jaz murmured. “I don't think she's been at this Strihava place for very long. I imagine she's been down at whatever end of the chain those Neanderthals of hers came from."

  "Good guess.” Athena sighed. She rubbed at one eye as if it pained her. “We really can't spare the resources to deal with her right now, you realize. We're barely able to keep a lid on the things on this world that are threatening to explode every second of every day."

  "I realize that, ma'am. Has something happened while I was gone?"

  "Oh, nothing really worth mentioning. Some sort of revolution in China, led by a dragon—of all things—who calls himself the Reborn Emperor. He's got the communists’ panties in a wad. They haven't really adapted well to magic, though they seemed to have taken well enough to meta and para humans. If there are any preternaturals over there—and I can only assume there are—they're not advertising the fact."

  "Huh. Well, that's interesting."

  "But hardly relevant, right? I agree with you. We caught your sexual predator, by the way. Daniel Stark? While you were gone I put someone from MAD on it and they had him pinned down within a couple of days. We're still not sure what to do with him. He's currently locked up under constant guard, but he's a continual escape risk, as you can imagine."

  "And he's not a candidate for The Pit, is he?” she asked, referring to the maximum-security prison sank some several hundred feet below the North Atlantic. They'd built it to house certain kinds of metahuman and preternatural criminals, but Stark was specifically one of the kinds it couldn't house. He could slip right through most forms of solid matter, and most likely float through the frigid waters of the North Atlantic just as easily.

  "That's right. He's not. We may have to go all the way with him. Preliminary psych evaluations suggest that it's only a matter of time before he rapes someone."

  Jaz's eyes went flat. “Then maybe the Omega Option is the best choice for him,” she said grimly.

  Athena met her cold gaze with one of her own. “Am I hearing you right, agent? You think we should kill him because he's likely to rape if he is released or manages to escape?"

  "All things considered, ma'am, I do. He's impossible to contain. We don't have any means to take away his metahuman abilities. He's proven himself to be a sexual predator on an escalation path. If he rapes, he'll continue raping, and then it's probably only a matter of time before he kills someone."

  "That's taking the extrapolation a little far, don't you think?"

  Jaz shrugged. “Maybe. But he's dangerous, and we have no way of controlling him. Just like a vampire who's gone rogue."

  "He's nowhere in the same league as a rogue vampire,” Athena told her, shaking her head. Not in disagreement, but more in disbelief.

  "Just a matter of perspective, ma'am. I say snuff the fucker and let the chips fall where they may."

  "So noted, agent. Dismissed."

  Jaz nodded once, pushed herself to her feet, and left the room.

  Athena stared after her, scratching her chin. Jaz was starting to worry her. Whatever had happened to her had been bad. Very bad. But she wasn't talking. She needed to talk to someone—a professional. But Athena knew she'd never agree to it unless Athena figured some way to force the issue.

  The PAC was under enough fire from the politicians and the press these days. They definitely didn't need something to draw more criticism. Having an agent go psycho would definitely fall under that description.

  * * * *

  "Beer me,” Chaz said, sliding onto a stool next to Jaz. He glanced over, noticing her nursing what looked like a glass of lemon water. “Hell, get her a beer too,” he said.

  The immortal Loki, owner and occasional bartender at the famous—or infamous, depending on one's point of view—nightclub known as Coyote Blue, stopped in his tracks and glanced back at Jaz. “You want one?"

  "I don't drink, Loki. You should know that."

  "Sorry, lass. I'd forgotten."

  "You'd forgotten I don't drink? What kind of bullshit is that?"

  The red-haired immortal heaved a deep sigh. “Okay, I didn't forget. I just figured that if you accepted a beer—or several—it might be good for you."

  "Alcohol is good for me? Are you sure this is the universe I came from?"

  Loki's thin lips quirked into a wry smile. “I'm the last person to advocate drunkenness, Jaz, but sometimes, particularly after a traumatic event, your brain needs down time. And a good drunk can provide it like few other things can."

  "Thanks, Loki, but no thanks."

  He shrugged. “Your choice. You doing okay?"

  "Good enough.” Jaz still hadn't told anyone about the immortality virus, and had no intention of doing so. She could trust the imp to keep his big mouth shut on this one. He had a scheme up his sleeve with the rest of the vials and so she knew he wouldn't be wagging his tongue about the one he'd already given to Jaz.

  "You should go talk to Renee,” Loki suggested, gaze growing concerned. His wife Renee was a vampire psychic, the former Commander of PARD, and the PAC's unofficial psychologist. The idea of talking to her at this point sent a shiver down Jaz's spine. That's the last goddamn thing I need. I don't need someone else rummaging through my mind—I don't want to be there myself.

  She'd freaked Athena out by suggesting they should just kill Stark, but, in all fairness, Athena had been the one to bring it up. Seemed a pretty obvious conclusion to her. If we can't hold him, what choice do we really have?

  She expected an order from on high to go see Renee anyway. If she couldn't squirm out of it, she'd end up with no choice but to go. She only hoped the vampire could deal with it. It was actually a good thing she'd left service, since she was a bit too soft to be running something like the PARD, vampire or not. Unlike Raven, who was one of the coldest people she'd ever met—at least when action was necessary—Renee had been so far sheltered from the harsher realities of the world of monsters and mayhem that she barely seemed like one of the monsters at all.

  Not that being one of the undead made you a monster. Hecate was a monster, as were her beastly lackeys. It didn't surprise her that the PAC wouldn't be going after her. It simply wasn't worth the time or resources. There was quite enough stuff on Earth to keep the PAC busy. The fact that it was the simple truth didn't make Jaz any happier about it though.

  "Jaz?” Loki was leaning close, frowning. “You there?"

  She shook her head to clear the wool and nodded. “Sorry. What did you say?"

  "I said—you should go see Renee."

  "I don't need my head shrank, Loki. I'll manage without it."

  He shrugged. “Suit yourself."

  "Thanks,” she replied, with a too-bright smile. “I will."

  "You always do,” Chaz muttered darkly.

  She decided not to comment on that. Instead, she drained her lemon water in one long pull and set the glass carefully on the table. “Have a nice day, gentlemen."

  After she'd gone Chaz lifted his gaze to Loki, who was standing there staring at the door while wiping out her glass with a bar towel. “She's spookier than she was before."

  "You can say that again. And I would've sworn that wasn't even possible."

 
* * * *

  Raven appeared in the doorway of the PARD squad room as silently as his reputation suggested he could. He ran a cold, withering glance across the agents sprawled across the interior of the rooom and grunted. “We got business, folks. Trouble in Vamp Town."

  "Don't it just figure,” growled Ben Dalmas, the scrub-haired blond craning his neck to stare over his shoulder. He had a full house in hand, and a pot full of gold on the table.

  "Hey ... at least you're lucky in love,” Raven told him with a smirk. “Get your asses in gear. I want to be there in ten minutes."

  With no small amount of grumbling, the PARD unit assembled on the roof awaiting the chopper's arrival inside the five minute mark.

  In another five minutes they were airborne, cruising northwest around the edge of Commencement Bay toward Ruston. Or, as it was more commonly known these days, ‘Vamp Town.'

  The chopper dropped low over what looked like a rumble between street gangs down the center of Ruston Way. “Time to bail, boys and girls!"

  Raven flung himself out the bay door, dropping like a stone to the asphalt some hundred and fifty feet below.

  Unlike some vampires, he had no gift for flight, or any of the more impressive powers. But he'd more than made up for it by being the scariest goddamn vamp to ever step out under a harvest moon. He landed lightly on the pavement and strode toward the fighting vampires. He drew his twin Glock 33s mid-stride and chambered a round into each in turn. He bore down on the fighters wearing a grim, stony expression.

  Ben smashed to Earth right behind him with a sound like a two ton boulder hitting the street. Jagged cracks raced across the street from two foot-sized imprints where his feet struck. He pulled them out with a distinct crunching sound. “Damn,” he heard him mutter. “Didn't flex the knees quite right."

  "It's all in the timing,” Raven told his best friend as they strode together toward the battle. As they approached Raven fired a single shot into the air. “What the fuck are you people doing?"