Reality Bites

by Nicola Rhodes

  Your own good sense will tell you why this was not a particularly bright idea in actual fact, at least not in public.

  He had also discovered that he was substantially stronger physically than he had been before and that he could manifest certain objects just by thinking of them, mostly weapons it seemed, but he already knew this. His injuries had not healed, but they were bothering him far less. And when he tried to fix the broken front door he found he could not. This caused him a moment’s irritation, but then he realised that he did not really care very much.

  He was having so much fun that he had not noticed that, although it was only noon, outside the sky was pitch black.

  He still had not noticed an hour later, when he decided it was time to go and find Tamar. He thought he might as well road test his new powers, besides he owed her and she might be in trouble.

  ‘Oh God,’ he thought, ‘what am I doing? I have to go.’ He brought out a map and stabbed a finger at it. ‘Might as well land in the right place,’ concentrated and the man-sized tornado picked him up.

  He landed in a (fortunately) deserted street laughing. My God that was fun.

  ‘Auntie Em,’ he hooted. ‘Auntie Em – you know what Toto? I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.’

  ‘Tamar would love this.’ This thought sobered him up. Tamar! It occurred to him that the new powers he had acquired were going to his head; he was getting giddy; this was a problem.

  ‘It’s not the powers that are important,’ he told himself sternly, ‘it’s what you can do with them; they are only important as a means to an end – get a grip on yourself.’

  He blinked and looked around, where the hell, he wondered, were all the people? He looked at his watch, one forty-five. And why was it so dark?

  ~ Chapter Thirteen ~

  ‘Okay, ready? Jump.’ They were poised on the windowsill; smoke was curling under the door.

  ‘Pretty much a rock and a hard place,’ thought Stiles ruefully. He hesitated.

  ‘It’ll be okay,’ Kitty said. ‘Hold my hand; I’ll break your fall. I’m pretty strong.’

  Stiles nodded; this was true. ‘Okay, on three?’

  She caught his hand, scowled, and jumped dragging him with her. They landed in a snowdrift and rolled to a halt against a tree, unhurt.

  There were people milling around, coughing and crying. A dishevelled woman came running out of the blazing Inn; flames were shooting out of the windows

  She was screaming. ‘My baby – my baby! She’s inside. Help me.’

  Stiles did not miss a beat; he ran back into the building before Kitty could stop him. ‘Jack – no!’

  He reappeared after a few minutes coughing and covered in soot and ash, carrying a small bundle – which was wailing with immense vigour.

  Kitty clasped her hands together proudly. ‘Oh Jack!’ she said under her breath. She seemed to have developed a proprietary feeling about him ever since she had saved his life.

  Stiles handed the baby to the distraught woman, who gave him a look of pure hero worship.

  Stiles was in charge now. He organised the bystanders into a bucket chain, using the nearby river, which had almost burst its banks due to all the melting snow. After they had put the fire out, he herded them into a nearby barn.

  By the time they were all settled, he had picked up a few more admirers. Several of the women were making “sheep’s eyes” at him. Kitty was amused. ‘I could have him,’ she thought, ‘like that!’ She snapped her fingers.

  She sat on a rock outside; Stiles came out to look for her. ‘Aren’t you coming in?’ he asked.

  ‘No, I’m waiting out here for them.’ She looked at him. ‘I’ve had enough of this; I want to find out what the hell is going on.’ She waved a hand at the charred building. ‘Why would they go so far?’ she asked the air.

  ‘You think the vampires set the fire?’ Stiles was stunned.

  ‘I know they did. So much malice, it defies understanding.’

  ‘How do you expect to find anything out?’

  ‘I’m going to take a leaf out of your book,’ she told him. ‘We keep one of them alive and question him – do you carry handcuffs? It doesn’t matter I think I’ve got some manacles.’

  Stiles did not even ask.

  The vampire, who was currently tied to a tree, grinned nervously. ‘’Ere, what’s going on? Just stake me already.’

  ‘Not yet,’ said Stiles. He turned to Kitty. ‘What are you doing?’

  She was rummaging again. ‘Aha!’ She emerged with a small knife, a bottle and an evil smile. The vampire gaped. ‘’Ere, I know you.’

  ‘Shut up,’ she said.

  Stiles was alert.

  ‘You’re her!’ said the vampire, ‘aren’t you? You’re Tamar Black.’

  Stiles shot her a glance; she looked sheepish. ‘Okay,’ she sighed, ‘I suppose it doesn’t really matter now.’ She turned to the vampire. ‘Now,’ she said. ‘We’d like you to answer a few questions.’

  ‘And then you’ll let me go?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Maybe’s not good enough. I want a guarantee.’

  ‘Okay, you tell us what we want to know, and I guarantee I won’t do this again,’ she said, slicing off his little finger in an unconcerned manner.

  The vampire howled. Stiles turned away.

  Tamar shook her head. ‘Just remember, he’s not human, he only looks like one.’

  She turned back to the vampire. ‘Let’s start simple,’ she said grinning slyly at Stiles. ‘Name!’ She barked.

  ‘My name?’

  Tamar rolled her eyes.

  ‘Pall.’

  ‘Paul?’ said Stiles. ‘That’s a bit ordinary isn’t it?’

  ‘I think he spells it P-A-L-L,’ said Tamar.

  Pall nodded.

  ‘Okay, Pall, who sent you?’

  Pall shook his head. Tamar took his hand, almost gently, and held up the knife.

  Pall shook his head frantically. ‘I don’t know, really.’

  ‘I don’t believe him,’ she said to Stiles. ‘Do you?’

  ‘No, take it off.’

  ‘Or,’ she said opening the bottle, dipping a finger in it, and smearing the contents on Pall’s forehead.

  He shrieked as the flesh burned away.

  ‘Holy water?’ asked Stiles.

  ‘Holy water,’ agreed Tamar. ‘And it’s nothing compared to the pain he’ll suffer if I leave him tied up here until the sun rises,’ she added threateningly. ‘That was just a taster.’

  Pall grinned evilly. ‘There will be no dawn,’ he said in a sinister voice.

  Tamar barely faltered. ‘Not here perhaps, but somewhere in the world the sun will be coming up. I can do it; you know I can.’

  Pall flinched.

  ‘Who sent you?’ reiterated Stiles. ‘Just tell us.’

  ‘I don’t … aaagh!’ Tamar had poured the contents of the bottle over his hand. It burst briefly into flames and crumbled away.

  ‘He has to die!’ shrieked Pall, pointing at Stiles. ‘Ran-Kur has decreed it.’

  Stiles and Tamar smiled and nodded to each other.

  ‘And who is Ran-Kur?’ she asked.

  ‘No.’ Said Pall, stubbornly. ‘It is forbidden to speak of him to mortals.’

  ‘Well, I’m not exactly mortal,’ said Tamar, ‘no?’ She raised the knife.

  Stiles stopped her. ‘Let me.’ He reached into her backpack and drew out an axe. ‘How about the whole arm this time?’ he suggested.

  Pall squirmed but remained stubborn. ‘Do it,’ he said. ‘I’m not saying anything else.’

  Tamar sneered. ‘Yes you will. You know you will, in the end.’ She smeared some more holy water on his face.

  ‘Okay, okay, I’ll tell you if you promise to let me go.’

  ‘No deal,’ said Tamar. ‘You know I can’t. But I’ll tell you what, you tell us, and I’ll stake you, nice and quick. If you don’t tell us, I’ll let you burn slowly in the Bahamas somewhere.’
>
  Pall hesitated.

  ‘Tick tock,’ she said. ‘What’s it going to be? Staked or parboiled at dawn.’

  ‘Bitch!’ muttered Pall. ‘All right you mad harpy, Ran-Kur is our god, the creator of our kind; He ordered his death. That’s all I know.’

  ‘Vampires have a god?’ said Stiles, incredulously. ‘Now I’ve heard everything.’

  But Tamar had gone white. She walked away silently. Stiles followed her.

  ‘’Ere, what about me?’ yelled Pall indignantly.

  They both ignored him.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Stiles asked her. ‘What is it?’

  She did not answer; she sat with her head in her hands, silently rocking back and forth.

  ‘Oh περιττώματα!’ she said eventually. ‘Oh God, oh God, Oh God!’ She forced herself to calm down. ‘Well,’ she continued, ‘it certainly explains a few things, I’ve seen the way people act around gods; they’re terrified.’ She glanced at him sombrely. ‘They do whatever they’re told to. And they’ll just keep coming; they’ll never stop. And there’s nothing I can do about it. Gods can’t be killed. This is a foe that’s beyond me.’

  Stiles patted her awkwardly on the shoulder. Pall was still yelling.

  ‘Er, what about him?’ He indicated the enraged vampire.

  ‘What? Oh yes.’ She handed him a stake and went back to her gloom.

  * * *

  Denny was dreaming. He had given up his search for now and gone home to get some rest. He had been to the CID offices and had eventually found Finchley, who had told him what little he knew. Stiles was gone, and the young woman had gone after him, but he had no idea where. He had been unconscious, he had explained with some embarrassment, when she had gone, and before he could even ask her who she was. He rubbed his jaw reminiscently and Denny could not help but smile. That was Tamar all right. He sympathised; he had a strong urge to punch this idiot out himself. Thanks to him, Tamar and Stiles were God knew where.

  So, he decided to get some sleep, he had not slept, he realised, in more than forty-eight hours, unless you counted the sleepwalking.

  It was not the usual dream, this time. Tamar was there, and some strange things happened, involving a large animal of some kind and a medal, then the darkness broke. It was all highly allegorical, just an ordinary dream really. And when Denny woke, he forgot all about it. All he remembered was that for the first night in a long time, he had not had the nightmare.

  ~ Chapter Fourteen ~

  ‘I guess you want some answers,’ said Tamar as they trudged along to where, she had assured him, would be a main road. It was officially eight in the morning, but the sky was still pitch black.

  Stiles looked awkward. ‘I may want answers,’ he said, ‘but it’s really up to you whether or not I get them.’ He held up his hands. ‘I’ve learned my lesson. I will tell you this though – I’ve heard your name before.’

  ‘I know, I’ve been watching you – remember?’

  ‘Yes, I had an arrest warrant for you. I’m guessing the complainant was one of these guys.’

  ‘I’d say that’s a fair assumption.’

  ‘So, I guess that’s why you didn’t want to tell me your real name when we first met?’

  ‘That’s part of it.’

  ‘What’s the rest? No never mind. It seems you’re pretty well known in ghoul town.’

  ‘Oh yes, a legend in my own lunchtime,’ she said dully.

  ‘Why don’t you just kill me?’ he asked.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Or I could kill myself, I suppose; only I don’t really want to, but since it’s all so hopeless and we’re just giving up …’

  She gaped at him.

  ‘After all,’ he continued. ‘I might as well just get it over with; it’s all over anyway, isn’t it. You’ve given up, so I may as well.’

  ‘Nice pep talk,’ she said sourly. ‘But I don’t need it. I never give up; if I did I’d still be trapped in a bottle.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Oh, nothing, another time – just get moving.’

  ‘There is one thing you could explain to me – if you can.’

  She sighed. ‘Yes?’

  ‘What did he mean, a god?’

  ‘A deity – you know. Like Zeus or Thor.’

  ‘They’re real?’

  ‘Not anymore, but they were once, until people stopped believing in them.’

  ‘I guess the vampires still believe in their god then.’

  ‘I didn’t even know they had one. But it makes sense; everybody has to believe in something and supernatural beings tend to cling to the past. Hecaté is still around too; the witches believe in her.’

  ‘There are witches too? Of course there are – why did I ask? I guess vampires can’t – you know, believe in the big guy.’ He pointed upwards. ‘You know God, God.’

  ‘Well no, they are from Hell. I suppose if I’d thought about it, I’d have thought they’d follow Satan.’

  ‘I don’t believe in Hell, unless you count the one we’re all living in.’

  ‘You don’t believe in Hell? But you do believe in God?’

  Stiles changed the subject. ‘So, all the old gods are gone?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So, what killed them? You said …’

  ‘They lost all their believers, I just explained all that.’

  ‘And that’s the only way to kill a god?’

  ‘The only way that I know of; they’re not like Kings you know. You can’t just chop off their heads.’

  Stiles was thoughtful. ‘What about Ragnoroc?’

  ‘The Norse Twilight of the Gods, what about it?’

  ‘Well, what you said about Kings. They’re human, right? And if one human can kill another, then …’

  ‘Then perhaps one god can be killed by another. That’s brilliant.’ She subsided. ‘Except I don’t know any gods.’

  ‘What about Heck – Heckle …?’

  ‘Hecaté.’

  ‘If you say so.’

  ‘Hmm, the witches might know how to summon her. Or wait – Denny! He’s got books about that stuff, I don’t know why.’

  ‘Who’s Denny?’

  ‘Oh, he’s – I live with him.’

  ‘Is he a superhero too?’

  ‘No, just a regular hero. He’s a nice guy; you’d like him.’

  ‘I doubt it,’ muttered Stiles.

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘Oh, nothing important.’

  ‘He’s a lot like you, you know. He respects me, my unusual abilities I mean. He’s not – he doesn’t get all intimidated by it, all macho and stupid, you know? He lets me do what I do without getting in my way. You’re the same; I appreciate it; it makes it easier for me. I hate it when some macho fool jumps in and puts himself in danger because he can’t stand the thought of being saved by a woman.’

  ‘Sounds like he means a lot to you.’

  Tamar smiled. ‘He saved me.’

  ‘I thought you just said …’

  ‘There’s more than one way to save somebody.’

  * * *

  Denny was thinking the same thing, only in a different context. ‘Maybe,’ he thought, ‘if I just concentrate on Tamar herself, I can teleport straight to her. That could work. Except I’ll probably end up in a bad situation. I should think about this, I mean if she is in trouble, what can I do about it? Even with all this power, I’m not as juiced as she is. On the other hand, I have got this.’ He took out the Athame. The idea of perpetrating some mayhem was extraordinarily tempting. On the other hand, again, the idea of having mayhem perpetrated on him was not so much. He was torn; he could not decide what to do. He actually looked in the mirror to see if there was a little devil Denny on one shoulder and a little angel Denny on the other. (Denny watched far too many cartoons.) That’s what it felt like though. The angel was telling him to do the brave and unselfish thing and go and save her. And the devil was not entirely opposed to this plan if there was a chance of breaki
ng some heads, but mostly it was saying, No, stay here where it’s safe. Look out for number one; she didn’t want your help. The angel interposed here with. But now she needs your help, you know she does

  That’s her problem, said the devil. You can always break some heads around here; someone you know you can beat. Go – stay – go – stay. Denny shrugged and went back to his Cheerios.

  * * *

  ‘So, what’s the plan?’ asked Stiles.

  ‘Well, we’re nearer to the middle of nowhere than we were half an hour ago. So may I suggest that you save your breath, we may hit it soon.’

  ‘I meant are we going to look for witches? (I just can’t get used to talking like this.) Or are we going to fetch this Denny person,’ he almost spat the last two words.

  ‘Why’d you say it like that?’

  ‘Oh, no reason,’ he said hastily. He had no wish to set her off rhapsodising about him again. ‘I haven’t even met the guy,’ he thought, ‘and I hate him already.’

  ‘He sounds like a prince,’ he said, ill advisedly.

  ‘Then I didn’t describe him very well,’ she said. ‘Most royalty have better dress sense and larger egos, not to mention less brains. Anyway, to answer your question, I think we head for home – my home I mean, and if we happen to find a witch on the way we can change our plans then, okay?’

  ‘Okay, so, we’re going for the Hecaté plan?’

  ‘Unless you’ve got a better idea.’

  ‘Better than brilliant? The Hecaté plan was my idea, remember? If there is a better one, it’s going to have to come from you; you’re the expert, aren’t you?’

  ‘Hmm, perhaps I should try to come up with a backup plan. After all, even if we do manage to summon Hecaté, she could still say no, and we can’t force her. Although in the old days, the gods liked nothing better than a good slaughtering.’