“Hey!” Valerie shouted. “What are you doing?” She started down the alley, and the shadows shifted, taking on definition. Eli was on the ground, holding his face. One of the figures standing over him had a wooden cudgel in his hand, and he turned to assess Valerie. “Leave him alone!” she said, rushing to assist Eli. She didn’t make it far.
A shadow she failed to account for materialized from a wall to her right and seized her by the back of her hair.
“Hey! Get off me!” She elbowed her attacker hard in the gut, and he let out a grunt. It was enough for her to escape his grip momentarily, but the figures ahead of her moved to encircle her. The one with the cudgel advanced first. Valerie ducked to the side and backed away, but there was nowhere to go. A stone wall blocked her for a dozen yards.
“Well, what do we have here?” the shadow asked.
The man she had elbowed stepped closer, one hand lingering on his belly. His face was lean and pockmarked, with one eye that was partially lidded. “She’s got some fight in her. I like that.”
The men carried weapons openly on their belts and wore a hodgepodge of leather and metal armor—hedge knights or mercenaries of some sort. She caught a glint of steel as the man in front of her drew a blade from his belt. The knife was wide and stubby but held a jagged edge.
Utilizing the distraction, Eli scrambled away from the man who had knocked him down. He cast a glance at his bicycle and another at Valerie but then he fled, disappearing into the fog.
“Yeah, you’d better run,” the man with the knife snarled.
Valerie cursed under her breath. She was happy Eli was getting away, but her good deed had simply meant swapping places as victims. These men were looking at her with hungry eyes that roamed over her exposed legs and lingered in places that showed a lack of imagination. It was clear they were used to preying on the weak in the dark, and here she was looking like an easy meal. But Valerie had one thing Eli didn’t, something these men couldn’t have suspected.
She had nearly twenty-four hours of bottled-up rage.
As the man closest to her reached for her bag, a smug grin spreading on his face, his features morphed into those of Jasper Sterling. The self-important smirk. The soulless mirth that came from his untouchable status as a Sterling. It was all there in her mind. These three were now the embodiment of everything she hated about her last day of life. And when she balled her fist and sent it sailing into the man’s smug face, he never saw it coming.
The would-be thief’s nose broke with a satisfying crunch. Valerie shouted, and she struck him again with her other hand. It was without thought or strategy, just pure and uncontrolled hate. She tore at his eyes and grabbed big handfuls of his hair, yanking hard and coming away with strands of it tangled between her fingers. The man reeled from the assault and fell to his knees, clutching his nose. Valerie attempted to kick him but missed and stumbled forward, only to be caught by the man with the cudgel. He may as well have been wrangling a rattlesnake. Valerie twisted and writhed in his one-handed grasp, punching and scratching with her teeth bared. She swung at any part of him in sight, hammering his chest and middle with blow after blow and forcing him backward. He dropped the cudgel in his attempts to shield his face.
Valerie knew she should run while she still had the element of surprise. Some part of her knew the danger she was in and that she ought to flee for the safety of the street. Someone might see her there, a constable or peace warden. Even a passerby might pity her. But she didn’t want pity. She wanted justice.
The man with the knife was next. His eyes were wide as she scooped up the cudgel from the ground and brandished it at him. For a moment, she thought he would turn and run, but she had miscalculated. The man sprung forward and snatched at the cudgel, wrestling her with one hand and waving the knife with the other. The blade flashed close to her face and nicked her ear. She shrieked and relinquished her grip on the cudgel to get away from the dancing steel.
It was a mistake.
She stumbled into the man with the broken nose. He was back on his feet and angry. Blood flowed freely from one nostril. He snarled at her and advanced as she spun away and tried to flee. The righteous indignation she had felt was evaporating, replaced by an icy chill of fear.
The man she’d stolen the cudgel from closed in. This time he reached for his belt and pulled out a wicked-looking sword.
Valerie was trapped. Despite her desire to unleash her vengeance on each one of these thugs, she was outnumbered, outmatched—and as they slowly cut off the last of her escape routes, she was also out of options.
“I won’t let you have me,” Valerie said.
“Like I said,” the thug with the sword whispered, “I like when they fight.” He tossed the cudgel through the air to his companion. The man caught it with an outstretched hand, then brought it down in one swift motion, connecting with Valerie’s skull.
8
The Twisted Tentacle
Valerie didn’t pass out.
She would have liked to. It would have been easier that way. She’d have liked to check out of this seemingly endless parade of calamity that had befallen her life. Some part of her knew that it had only been a little over a day since she was walking through Briarwood Village with Henry, planning their future, but that felt like a lifetime ago.
Her vision was blurry, and she could make out few details. Boots mostly, and cobblestones.
Her head throbbed and she shivered, holding the terror of her situation deep beneath the surface of her conscious mind. If she let it up, she would have to admit this was real and that she was probably going to die.
She focused on her senses instead.
It smelled of garbage and cat piss down here. Someone’s hands were on her, pulling at her arms, dragging her somewhere, somewhere worse, no doubt. This back alley perfumed by homeless felines was far too public a place for the kind of human filth she was now in the company of. Where would they take her? A sewer? Through the gates of hell?
These demons were surely citizens of an underworld much darker and deeper than this place. Their marauding of the surface world had netted them a prize and she would soon be dragged beneath the earth and lost forever in the black.
But it wasn’t all blackness.
Light spilled onto the cobblestones, momentarily chasing the fog from her vision. A tall figure stood in a doorway, silhouetted by firelight.
Someone cursed.
“Fun’s over,” the silhouette said.
“Mind your business, stranger,” one of her captor’s hissed. “You’ve seen nothing that pertains to you. Go back inside.”
But the stranger didn’t retreat. He strode into the alley and blocked their path. His long shadow stretched up the wall and loomed like a wraith overhead.
“Leave us be, or learn to regret it,” another of her captors snarled from above her. Valerie turned her head and caught the glint of the sword in the man’s hand, shimmering in the light from the still-open doorway. But it wasn’t the only steel making an appearance. The figure in the alleyway drew a sword as well.
More curses punctuated the air above her. One of the men released her arm and she fell to the cobblestones, barely able to catch herself before her head struck.
The stranger was outnumbered but he didn’t waver. He lowered his sword into a front guard. Two of her captors took a step back, but the third man had another trick up his sleeve. He unfolded a collapsible staff, then affixed his knife to the head. This portable pike gave him range he had lacked before and apparently boosted his confidence. “Come and get stuck,” he spat. He lowered the pike toward the man in the street.
The man with the sword strode forward, his eyes on Valerie. Her captor lunged and attempted to skewer him quickly. He never came close. The swordsman parried the blow, then leapt forward, piercing the pikeman’s shoulder. The man howled and sprung back. Far from learning his lesson, however, the experience only seemed to enrage him. He swung his pike again, slashing the air and making wild jabs
.
The swordsman sidestepped the attacks, not even bothering to block the cuts. The pikeman received another piercing for his efforts, this time in the thigh.
Valerie felt a hand on her collar. One of the other men was attempting to haul her to her feet. The swordsman intervened, his blade slicing the air above Valerie’s head. The man who had grabbed her shouted and released his grip. He backed away clenching his wrist.
Valerie rolled to her side and scurried backward, pressing herself to the wall and attempting to extricate herself from the fight. The shadowy swordsman took a position with his back to her, guarding her from the three would-be kidnappers.
The man with the pike still led the attack, his companions at his flanks. They both drew blades of their own. For a brief moment they looked eager, counting on their superior numbers and position. They pressed their advantage, but the swordsman needed no additional ground to maneuver. With his feet fixed in place, his arms moved only slightly, but his wrists did the work. His sword sliced through the darkness with such rapidity that the three men were all cut and bleeding before they could even realize their blunder. Pressing in on the swordsman had only given him the opportunity he needed to reach them all at once. The dagger and cudgel fell to the ground as their owners clutched fresh wounds to their arms and shoulders. The man with the pike looked down to find several of his fingers littering the alleyway.
The fight was over.
The men shrieked and ran, cursing and shouting as they disappeared into the darkness.
In a matter of seconds, the alleyway was deserted.
Valerie took a breath and shivered.
The swordsman turned around and offered her a hand up. “Can you stand?”
Valerie stared up at him, unsure what she was capable of anymore. It was still blurry here. Even his features wouldn’t seem to settle into place. What she could see was a stubbled jawline, dark, intense eyes, and a serious brow. His hair was chopped short on the sides, but the rest of his hair flowed forward in a sort of unruly wave that broke over his forehead. He wore an earring and a scowl.
“Bunch of bastards,” Valerie said. She knocked his hand away. “I can help myself up.”
“Have it your way,” the man said.
“Will she live?” The voice belonged to a young woman peering into the alley from the doorway the man had exited.
“Unless she dies of stubbornness,” the swordsman replied. He made his way back to the doorway and, without another word, vanished back inside.
The young woman scurried forward. She tottered across the cobblestones on precariously high heels and stooped to help. Only then did Valerie realize it wasn’t a woman, but a man in women’s clothing. He was wearing a sequined shirt that sparkled and shimmered, even in the dim light of the alleyway. He had a kind face accented with garish makeup, and bright eyes that sparkled as much as his shirt. “Let me help you,” he said, not bothering to wait for a response. He tucked an arm under Valerie’s shoulder and hoisted her to her feet.
“Oh honey, you don’t smell so good. We need to get you cleaned up.” He wrinkled his nose but tightened his grip on her and half carried her toward the glowing doorway.
A woman appeared in the doorway. She had a face lined with many years of hard work, but Valerie would have had a difficult time saying just how many. Dressed in forest-green trousers and a denim shirt, she might have been thirty-five or fifty-five. Either way she was frowning. At her side stood Eli, looking sheepish. “Just what this night needed. More trouble,” the woman said. But she stood aside and let the young man carry Valerie through the doorway.
The doorway led to a tavern. At least a brief glimpse of a tavern. Valerie had time to note a bar lined with liquor bottles and a handful of patrons seated on stools. There was more noise and a cacophony of voices around the corner out of view, but she never had a chance to see what else might lie ahead. She was hauled into a storeroom full of shelves that were lined with towels, spare stools, and the other unglamorous necessities of a public house. She was deposited on a bench across from a stack of toilet paper rolls and three-gallon cartons of industrial-strength cleaner.
The lights finally allowed her a better look at her rescuers. The young man in the wig and flashy shirt was perhaps twenty, short and thin with an athletic frame. He had dimples on both cheeks that appeared when he pursed his lips. It was something he was doing now as he looked Valerie over. “I don’t even know where to start with you. Do you need a drink? I know you need a hot bath. Maybe some bandages? Honey, you are bleeding all over the place.”
Valerie finally noticed that she had skinned one of her knees in the street. The wound had collected some debris. Her head was throbbing from the thump she had received with the cudgel and the less recent impact from the watchman’s mace. A brief inspection with her fingers revealed blood in her hair.
“Is she okay?” Eli asked. The boy was lingering in the doorway with a stricken look on his face.
“Of course she is,” the woman in the denim shirt replied. “But you won’t be. Get on out of here and get home. This isn’t any place for a kid to be hanging around at this hour.” The woman took a firm grip on Eli’s collar and hauled him away.
“But she’s my girlfriend!” Eli objected.
“I’ll grab us some hot water from the kitchen,” the woman said, ignoring Eli’s protestations. She vanished through the door, returning a few moments later with a vat of warm water and no Eli.
Valerie was too tired and dazed to object as these strangers began dabbing and prodding at the wounds on her head and knees. She merely sat and took it. She hadn’t fully appreciated how filthy she was until the towels came away blackened and disgusting.
“You think she has brain damage?” the man asked. He and the denim woman were inspecting the lump on her head with suspicion.
“I’ll send Carlyn in to help you,” the woman replied. “I’ve got a bar to run. Can’t spend all night playing good Samaritan.” She vanished again.
“Don’t worry, honey. I already did my set tonight,” the man said. “I won’t let you pass out and die.” He reached for a bottle on the shelf. “Here. Drink this. Might make you feel better. Worst case it will at least disinfect your insides a bit.” He helped her tilt the bottle into her mouth. She sputtered a little but then drank. Whatever it was, Valerie felt her insides warming and her senses sharpen. She took another swig and kept her hand on the bottle. “It’s okay. You hold onto that,” the young man said. “You earned it.”
“Who are you?” Valerie mumbled. “What is this place?”
“I’m Rico Caliente,” the man replied. “And this is the Twisted Tentacle. It’s a bit of a dive, I’m not gonna lie, but it’s a classy dive, you know? You could be a lot worse off.”
Valerie lacked the energy to decipher the meaning behind his words. She simply let him continue wiping her down. A few minutes later, Rico was joined by a young woman with dyed purple hair wearing a chef’s apron. The woman, whose name was apparently Carlyn, immediately shook her head at the sight of Valerie’s hair and clothing.
“No way. We have to get her upstairs to the bathroom,” she insisted. “There aren’t enough hand towels in the world to make this right.”
Rico and the purple-haired woman helped Valerie up a set of adjacent stairs and eased her down a hallway toward a bathroom. Valerie objected to nearly everything that was happening to her on principle, but couldn’t see what good it would do her to say so out loud.
Carlyn twisted the tap on the bathtub while Rico pulled Valerie’s jacket from her shoulders. He sized up the torn tank top and ripped cut-offs she was wearing, then eased her onto a bench before working on her boots.
“I can do it myself,” Valerie said, but made no move to help. It was as though her body didn’t believe her. Rico got her boots off and stood. “You handle the rest of this situation. I’ll go see if I can find her something to wear.”
“Oh, lucky me,” Carlyn replied. She gestured for Valerie to turn an
d began pulling off her shirt. Valerie would normally have been incensed by the nerve of a perfect stranger undressing her, but the bath smelled incredible and the warmth of the water was so inviting she felt she could melt into it. She finished undressing and slipped gingerly into the water, wincing as she discovered new cuts and scratches. The tub was deep and soon the water covered all but her shoulders. She laid her head back on the rim and exhaled.
“Don’t go to sleep. With a bump like that on your head, you might not wake up,” Carlyn said.
“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Valerie replied.
Carlyn frowned and gestured for Valerie to sit up. “Come on then. I’ll help you with your hair.”
When Valerie emerged from the bathroom some time later, she was still sore and had a headache, but the scent of garbage and cat urine had vanished, replaced by lavender and jasmine. Her skin was clean and newly bandaged in several places. Carlyn had sworn to burn her old clothes, but Rico had reappeared with a selection of fresh items to dress her in. Most were wildly colored or styled after other centuries. Valerie managed to locate a pair of leggings that fit and a sweatshirt that was far too big. It seemed the perfect item for her to lose herself in.
Carlyn wiped her hands on her apron and disappeared back downstairs with a vague mention of having something baking.
“She’s a phenomenal cook,” Rico explained. “Every successful tavern runs on food, you know. Even down here.”
“You said something about a tentacle?” Valerie asked. “Where are we?”
“The Twisted Tentacle Stage and Tavern,” Rico replied. “Janet owns it. She was the one who helped me pull you inside. She’s the boss.”
“And what are you?” Valerie asked.
“I’m the talent, honey. Singer, dancer, director. Stages don’t just spit up entertainment from thin air.”
“It’s a theater,” Valerie said.
“Well, almost,” Rico replied. “Let’s be honest with ourselves. It’s a bar, mostly filled with drunks and precious few real lovers of drama. But they come for the food and booze and I give them art.”
Sword Fight Page 9
