Triad Soul

by Nathan Burgoine

  The address Curtis’s friend had relayed wasn’t far from where he’d parked. Luc strode directly toward it, though he allowed his predator senses to reach farther into the night around him. The streets were near empty. They were a bit removed from the Market proper, and between the hour and the temperature, little caught his attention.

  When he reached the door—Body Positive, according to the sign—he caught the barest trace of brimstone and hesitated. The storefront was blocked by a series of placards showing various bodies decorated with tattoos, and the door itself was solid wood. He had no way to look inside the building. He strained his hearing and caught the barest murmur of Curtis’s voice from deep within.

  He relaxed and gripped the handle, which turned without resistance. Broken. When he pulled, the ruin of the handle was all the more apparent. The wood was splintered, and the faint scent of brimstone grew stronger. The room wasn’t large, though it was clean and well presented. The walls held more framed examples of tattoo work, and behind the counter, a single doorway led farther back into the store. A small cash register lay shattered on the floor by the counter. Coins had rolled around the tiled floor. A black singe mark across the countertop as well as a large dent in the plaster behind the counter spoke of a fight.

  Someone was thrown over the counter, Luc thought. “Curtis?” he called.

  “In the back.” Curtis’s voice was strained. A pulse of relief passed along their connection.

  Something had definitely happened.

  Pulling the door closed and nudging it until he was sure it wouldn’t blow open, Luc returned and reached for the single door that led into the back area.

  The moment he opened it, the scent of blood teased him.

  *

  Two wounded men occupied the reclining couch-like seats Luc assumed were normally for clients to lie in while they were being worked on. The closest one wasn’t so bad off, Luc thought, though the mix of singed flesh and four cuts across the man’s stomach wasn’t a particularly pleasant sight. He was dark, built large, and muscular. His shirt had been torn open to reveal claw marks raked across his stomach, but the wounds had obviously been cleaned. They were scabbed and no longer bleeding. He looked ready to leap from his prone position, and he eyed Luc warily.

  “You’re Luc?” Unspoken threat lay heavy in the man’s voice.

  “I am.”

  Luc turned his attention to the other chair. In a word, the occupant looked ruined. Slimmer and leaner, the man had long blond hair tied back into some sort of knot, but it had come mostly undone and was matted with blood. The fingers of both hands were puffy and swollen, dark with bruising. His left eye was barely a slit, the right swollen closed. Small burn marks dotted his chest and arms, particularly along the man’s many tattoos, which they appeared to intentionally ruin. His stomach was black with bruises, and the scent of blood was strong. The ruins of a shirt lay on the floor.

  His breathing was labored, coming in short, obviously pained bursts.

  Curtis and another young man were standing to either side of him. Both had their hands on the man’s shoulders, obviously concentrating. As Luc watched, Curtis’s friend tilted his head to one side, closing his eyes, and murmured to himself. Luc didn’t catch the words, which didn’t seem to be English or French.

  Water coalesced around the wounded man’s shoulder and then spread out across his chest. The man flinched as it ran over cuts and burns, but it clung to him, and after a second, it seemed to soothe.

  “Curatio. Spiritum,” Curtis said. The man took a deeper breath and seemed somewhat better off.

  Luc watched them work, not wanting to interrupt. They repeated their chants. The water seemed to slide along the man’s skin in waves, growing dirty with blood. Curtis’s friend flicked his wrist, sending it in an arch to a sink on the back wall, only to repeat the process again and again. The burn marks had paled to almost nothing, and even some of the lines of the targeted tattoos beneath the burned flesh seemed to be reappearing. They were still ruined, but perhaps they would be redeemable.

  Curtis let go of the man’s shoulders and took a step back. He swayed.

  Luc went to him, touching the small of his back. Curtis leaned against him.

  “Thanks,” he said. “He’ll need more healing magic. It’s not one of my strengths. Matthew’s handling the burns and cuts. I think we got the bones to line up right, at the very least. That was hard. His hands were a mess. But I think he’s going to be okay.”

  “What happened?” Luc ran his hands down Curtis’s shoulders and squeezed.

  “Demons,” Curtis said. He took a deep breath. “The three of us got jumped outside the Village Pub, and then we came here to check on Zack when he didn’t answer.” He glanced up at Luc. “Zach was nearly dead when we got here. He hasn’t come to, either, so it’s just a guess it was demons, but he was burned…” He shrugged.

  “I smelled brimstone.”

  “Right,” Curtis said. He was very pale.

  “Are you hurt?” Luc said.

  “I’m fine. I’m just a bit tapped out. Jace here took the brunt of it. We were outnumbered. Jace held them off while we knocked them back with some bindings and sorcery, and then we ran for it.”

  Luc regarded the large man. “Then I owe you thanks.”

  Jace’s eyebrows rose. “You’re welcome.”

  The other wizard—Matthew, was it?—stepped away from their charge. Water sluiced onto the tiled floor, and the wizard stumbled back, falling. Curtis turned with alarm, but Luc drew on his graces to take the two steps he needed. In a blur, he caught the young man and restored him to an upright position.

  “Whoa,” Matthew said. “You’re fast.”

  Jace swung his legs off the seat and grimaced as he rose to his feet. He was built as tall as he was wide, Luc noted.

  “You should probably stay lying down,” Curtis said. “You could start the bleeding again.”

  “I’m okay,” Jace said. His voice brooked no argument. He crossed the small room, and Luc surrendered Matt to him.

  “Sorry,” Matt said. “Too much in one night.”

  “I believe you saved his life,” Luc said. “His breathing is much clearer now. There was a gurgle when I arrived that is gone now. And his burns look nearly healed.”

  “I’m good with burns,” Matthew said. He rubbed his eyes. Jace wrapped a protective arm around his shoulders.

  “We can’t leave him here,” Curtis said. “The door is broken. But I don’t think moving him is a good idea at all.”

  “I’ll call my pack,” Jace said. “You get Matt home.”

  “I’m not leaving you. You’re hurt,” Matt said. Luc thought the ire in his voice was fairly well projected for one on the edge of passing out, and gave him credit for the effort.

  “You guys got me started, and we heal quick. Even quicker when we’re with our own. Don’t worry. When the pack gets here, Zack will be good enough to move in no time. But you have to get home,” Jace said. “You don’t want your great-grandfather to know anything about this, do you?”

  Matthew groaned. Luc frowned at Curtis. He was missing something.

  “This is Matthew Stirling,” Curtis said.

  Ah. The great-grandson of Malcolm Stirling, no doubt. Luc wholeheartedly agreed with the werewolf. The less Malcolm Stirling knew, the better. He could only imagine the Families taking an incident like this as an excuse to show both the demons and the werewolves their place.

  “What do you need me to do?” Luc said.

  The surge of gratefulness from Curtis was another palpable rush between them. It pleased him in some deep way he didn’t care to reflect upon.

  “If I take Matthew home, can you wait here until Jace’s people arrive? They’ll be a little bit.”

  “Maybe half an hour,” Jace said. He already had his phone in his hand.

  “You’re okay to drive?” Luc said.

  Curtis nodded. “Yeah. I’ll be good.” He reached out and took Luc’s hand, squeezing
it. “I just don’t want to leave them here without backup. Jace was amazing, but there were a lot of demons, and I don’t know if they’ll be back or if they’re watching right now.”

  “Don’t worry, lapin. I’ll stay.”

  Curtis rose up on his toes and kissed him. Luc enjoyed the kiss, letting it linger a moment before pulling back.

  “Come straight back here,” Luc said. “We’ll go home together.”

  “I will.”

  Luc watched Curtis and Matthew go. Jace stood protectively over the unconscious werewolf, resting his hand on Zack’s forearm.

  He sharpened his predator senses, listening to the two as they moved through the front of the store.

  “You weren’t kidding,” Matthew said, his voice a whisper. “Luc is pretty.”

  “Right?” Curtis’s voice answered in kind. “Though Jace is hot, mister. Big ol’ slab of hunkmeat. I can see why you had visions of him.”

  “Truth.”

  The rest of their conversation was lost as they opened and closed the broken door.

  Luc was not entirely pleased at Curtis’s assessment of the large, burly man, despite it being accurate. He supposed, much like Anders, something was to be said for the man’s rough, masculine look, but…

  Luc shared a glance with Jace, who was dialing. The smug smile on Jace’s face made it perfectly clear werewolves had excellent hearing themselves.

  *

  Jace’s compatriots appeared just over twenty tense minutes later. Part of Luc had hoped the demons might return, as the scent of blood in the room had left him itching for the opportunity to sink his fangs into flesh and swallow deep.

  Instead, the time had passed achingly slowly, with Jace holding Zack almost tenderly, and Luc able to measure the visible improvement in Zack’s state. What the wolf had said was true: They healed faster around each other.

  Finally, Luc heard the door. His ears caught three sets of footsteps. They came through the front door and straight through to the back area, as Jace had told them to do when he called. He hadn’t mentioned Luc, though, and they hesitated when they saw him, dark looks on their faces, their noses twitching.

  Luc raised both hands, palms out. No doubt they had scented him as a vampire. “I’m a friend,” he said.

  “He is,” Jace said.

  A woman and two men. Luc couldn’t tell much more about them, given their thick jackets and hats.

  “How is he?” the woman said. She took off her hat and unzipped her coat, shrugging out of it and throwing it over the empty tattooing couch. Underneath, she wore a short-sleeved black V-neck. She moved to Zack’s side and placed her hands gently on his chest.

  “He’ll be okay, thanks to Matt and Curtis,” Jace said.

  The woman glanced at Luc. “You’re Curtis?”

  Luc shook his head. “I am the Duc Luc Lanteigne.” He paused. “Curtis is my wizard companion. He had to take Matthew home. It seemed wisest not to bring the Stirling family any more into this than they might already be.”

  “I see.” She exchanged a glance with the other two. “Take his hands,” she said. “They’re pretty bad.”

  The two men added their own coats, hats, and gloves to the pile, then took a position to either side of the wounded Zack. Each of them gently lifted one of Zack’s hands, placing it between their own. A soft noise of pain rose from the man, but he still didn’t wake.

  “Shh,” Jace said, stroking Zack’s cheek. It was an unexpectedly tender moment, and Luc wondered if all the tales he had heard about werewolves might not be entirely true.

  “He’s going to be pissed about his ink,” one of the men holding Zack’s hand said. He was the oldest of the bunch, a dark-skinned man whose hair was greying at the temples. Like all of them, he was fit, arms roped with muscle.

  “He’ll get them redone,” Jace said.

  “Don’t talk about me like I’m not here.”

  Luc felt a small measure of tension relax. The slim werewolf hadn’t opened his eyes. Both were still quite swollen, though even this was fading the longer Jace held the man’s face between his hands. His split lip had turned up in a small smile.

  “Welcome back,” Jace said.

  “Do I remember you giving me a bath?” Zack’s voice was uneven and a little dreamy.

  “No, that was Matt,” Jace said. “He did some magic on you.”

  “I knew he was hot for me. Hey, I know the magic he does on you. What did he do to me? Do I like boys now? Is that what he did? I hope I still like girls,” Zack said.

  Jace rolled his eyes. “Yeah. He’s going to be fine.”

  Luc zipped up his coat.

  *

  Luc went out into the night ahead of them, sharpening his eyesight. He scanned up and down the street, but he could see nothing.

  He waved them forward.

  Between the two men, Zack was managing a slow, heavily assisted walk. His labored breathing sounded painful, but he didn’t complain. The woman opened the door to a large grey van, and the men helped Zack inside, settling him in the middle position on the back row. Jace watched them, his jaw working every time Zack hissed with pain.

  “Would you keep me appraised of how he does?” Luc said.

  Jace looked at him in surprise. “I can do that.”

  “Good.”

  While the two men were carefully securing Zack’s seat belt, a car turned onto the street. Luc felt Curtis’s presence before the car began to slow in front of the store.

  “Curtis told us about the demon that got attacked,” Jace said. “It wasn’t one of my pack. The Alpha assures me. And from what he said, you’re looking for a lone wolf. But if the demons think they can do whatever the fuck they want to us, they’ve got a rude awakening ahead of them.”

  Luc forced a breath into his lungs and exhaled. “It might be best if your pack pulled out of the city for a while. Or at least didn’t travel alone.”

  When Jace scowled, Luc held up his hand.

  “I’m not voicing my support for their actions. Demons aren’t known for their composure at the best of times. I imagine the strangeness of this demon’s murder has left them feeling threatened, and I would rather more violence not occur. Even angry, I sincerely doubt they’d come to you if you were all gathered. Don’t make it easy for them. Don’t come to them.”

  Jace regarded him for a long moment. “That’s up to the Alpha.”

  Luc fought the urge to groan aloud. Werewolves were as bad as demons, it seemed. “I see.”

  The two men had settled on either side of Zack. Each took one of his hands again. The woman got into the driver’s seat.

  “You should go,” Luc said.

  Jace looked over to where Curtis idled, and he waved.

  Curtis waved back.

  “I’ll tell the Alpha you suggested we step back for a while,” Jace said.

  “It might give me a chance to figure out what’s going on, without more people getting killed.”

  Jace crossed his arms. “You’re a strange bloodsucker. Anyone ever tell you that?”

  Luc’s eyebrows rose. “I am?”

  “Yeah,” Jace said. “You smell different. And I almost think you give a shit about us.” He clapped Luc on the shoulder and then slid the door shut on the van. He walked around and climbed in the passenger side. “Nice to meet you, Duke Luc,” he said. Then he chuckled. “Hey. It rhymes.”

  “That,” Luc said, “I have been told before.”

  Jace closed the door, and the van pulled away.

  Luc walked over to Curtis’s car and leaned down. Curtis lowered the window.

  “Everything okay? Is Zack going to be all right?”

  “Yes, in no small part to you,” Luc said. “As for whether or not everything is okay, I’ll reserve judgement. But perhaps it is contained, for now. Give me a moment, and I’ll follow you home.”

  Curtis nodded, and the window went back up.

  Luc walked to the Mercedes, his eyes and ears as sharp as he could make them. Sti
ll nothing.

  Demons who died without crumbling to ash. Werewolves attacked by demons. David pulling Curtis into this mess in the first place. Getting more involved.

  No. Everything was most definitely not okay.

  Seven

  The next evening, after nearly a full day of getting nowhere, Curtis sighed and closed the fifth book he’d tried.

  “Nothing?” Luc said. He’d been watching the wizard work for the better part of an hour and had felt a growing sense of frustration from the man since he’d begun. Luc understood well enough. He had much the same feeling himself. He’d been reading through some of the archives Denis had made available digitally on his laptop, about the various histories of the werewolf packs in the city, but nothing had leapt out at him. Historically, the werewolf packs near Ottawa hadn’t actually spent much time in Ottawa. They preferred the smaller, more rural outlying areas. Merrickville. Gatineau.

  Curtis shook his head. “Nothing. Demons don’t leave bodies, and the closest thing I can find to what I saw with my glasses is some references to necromancy, but even necromancy is magic. This is like the absence of everything.” He rubbed his eyes. “I don’t know. Of course, what I don’t know could fill a library.” He regarded the pile of books. “And my library of actual, useful information isn’t very big.”

  “Give yourself a break. And credit,” Luc said.

  “I think we should go scope out where it happened,” Curtis said.

  “I was thinking that,” Luc said. “Tonight? The scene won’t be getting any fresher, and it’s snowing again.”

  Whatever Curtis was about to say, he bit it off when his phone rang. He picked it up from where he’d placed it face-down beside his computer and looked at the screen. The shock on his face was mirrored through their odd link, a palpable frisson of concern that made Luc sit up straighter.