“What manner of monster are you,” Xlina whispered, though the participants in the dream could not hear her.
The man moved forward, clad in a black and gray camo uniform with black combat boots. His attire looked to be a cross between a priest’s garb and a commando uniform complete with the white collar. A chain with a silver cross hung down on his chest, bouncing with every heavy step as he closed in on his prey. As he moved between the pews in pursuit of the dark-skinned woman, a nearly translucent green sphere of energy reflected the candle’s flame around him.
“Oh, a warding of some kind,” Xlina mouthed, moving closer to the strange man. The dark-skinned woman swung the candelabra at his face and he merely shrugged aside the clumsy blow dropping with a practiced precision that only came from years of training. As his head and shoulder bobbed under the strike, he squeezed the trigger on the crossbow. A heavy snap of the bowstring caught Xlina’s attention as the bolt flew in painfully slow motion, catching the dark-skinned woman in the high right side of the stomach. She winced and grunted, dropping the candelabra to the floor. It clanged heavily, the noise echoing in the empty cathedral. She fell to her knees, grabbing the shaft of the bolt reflexively before looking up plaintively at her killer’s cold features.
The man released the crossbow, and it fell to his hip, suspended by a shoulder sling. His hand moved to his opposing hip, drawing an athamé threateningly from a sheath on his belt. The blade was not silver, rather; it had a dull gold hue, as if made from titanium. The bronze cross guard on the religious dagger spun around with sharp points clearly resembling a crown of thorns. He loomed over the dark-skinned woman, grabbing her long black dreads in his free hand and yanking her head roughly to the side. Her neck bore a tattoo. Inked in white and purple, it clearly was a form of magical sigil, but Xlina could not place its origin or meaning. Before she could study it further, the man slit the dark-skinned woman’s throat from ear to ear. Her breath came in a gurgle as blood seeped down her neck and her body collapsed to the floor. He stood over her with grim satisfaction on his face as he bent down and began carving off her ear.
The dream was quickly closing in on her, breaking down at the edges as she consumed the nightmare. Had this happened already, or was it about to happen? Who was this dark-skinned woman and what on earth was she seeing? She scanned the cathedral, looking for some clue to answer her questions. There crouched in the back, hiding between the pews lie a boy. A child no more than ten. He was dirty, covered in grime from head to toe, and he appeared to be sleeping in between the further pews. His eyes wide with fear, he peered out from the pew. It was his dream, his nightmare, she was consuming. She looked back to see the soldier, satisfied with his bounty, stand and turn back to the door through which he came. He walked with purpose, determination, like he had somewhere to be.
“Sorry ‘bout the mess, Padre,” he muttered with a thick Irish accent. A priest came into view, eyes wide, as if he had seen a ghost.
“Another of the lords lost lambs,” the priest exclaimed, making the sign of the cross as he peered over the lifeless woman.
“Caplata,” the soldier spat the word as if it left a foul taste on his tongue.
“Archam,” the priest replied firmly, “All are children of the lord.”
“Aye, but if the Shepard had tended his flock in the first place, then the Heavenly Host wouldn’t have been summoned, Padre.”
Xlina gasped as the words rang out, the edges of the dream quickly fading into darkness. She looked back at the waif hiding in the pews and whispered a silent prayer that the boy remain silent. It was a wasted effort as the moment she finished the thought; the boy fumbled into the aisle, drawing the attention of the two men. He scrambled to his feet and bolted for the wide double door as the priest called after the boy. The soldier leveled his crossbow and drew the string, setting another wicked bolt in place. The boy burst through the doors and out into the street as the dream faded to black.
Xlina lie in the soft bed, awake and staring at the ceiling. Sweat beaded on her forehead and torso as her chest heaved with ragged breath. The world spun around her, and her ears filled with the rhythmic thrumming of the bass from the nightclub above. She rolled from the bed, allowing her grogginess to pass, and stretched. Her muscles felt refreshed, and she could feel the pent-up nightmare energy returned in her abdomen.
“Sleeping late,” Valeria’s smooth, silky voice snapped her attention to the stairwell.
“Bad dreams.”
“Good, you’ll need your strength,” Valeria cooed, leaning on the spiral stairs railing. She wore a chic black dress cut in a diamond in the front that revealed most of her cleavage down to her belly button. It was alluring, and Xlina shuddered at the thought of the poor unsuspecting men above who would fawn over the demon. More pressing matters entered her mind.
“What is a Caplata?”
“Where did you hear that?” Valeria answered suspiciously. Suddenly, the normally aloof demon seemed intently focused on Xlina.
“In my nightmare,” Xlina admitted, not seeing a reason to lie to the demon.
“A Caplata is a term for a voodoo mercenary,” Valeria replied. “A female, the male being a Bokor. They are said to serve the Loa with ‘both hands’ as it were.”
“What does that mean?” Xlina asked impetuously.
“To practice with both hands is magic code for good and evil,” Valeria answered nonchalantly. “They practice dark magic when the need arises.”
“Why would the Heavenly Host want to kill one,” Xlina followed up, thinking to herself aloud.
“Shut your mouth,” Valeria spat viciously. Her eyes wide and her mouth agape.
“What did I say?” Xlina replied, mystified at the response.
“What did you see Xlina,” Valeria demanded more urgently than ever.
“A man,” Xlina answered plainly, “and a priest. They killed a woman, violently. Well, not the priest, but he watched and acted like it was nothing.”
“And they mentioned,” Valeria pressed on urgently.
“Yes, Archam, the priest called him Archam. He said they had summoned the Heavenly Host,” Xlina recounted slowly as she walked through her dream.
“Hellfire and brimstone,” Valeria cursed.
“What is it,” Xlina asked, curious at the demon’s sudden response.
“Probably nothing,” Valeria replied distantly, her voice trailing as she thought. “I’ll need to go to Boston immediately. I’ll return as soon as I am able. You will stay inside Pandora’s until I return.”
“I need to tell the Burglecuts,” Xlina reminded. Why did it feel like she was a delinquent teen being grounded in her room?
“Fine,” Valeria chimed dismissively, “But to the Hearth and back. No detours, no exploring, and hell’s luck no crossing paths with any of the faithful.”
“The faithful?” Xlina inquired.
“The soldiers of god,” Valeria answered callously.
“Really.”
“Don’t get any ideas about the mark,” Valeria snapped back quickly. “They would skin you alive and hang the mark in the halls of their sanctum. A warning to those who would dare consort with my kind.”
“The longer I play your game,” Xlina answered in a wry tone, “The more the forces of good and evil resemble each other.”
“How very Oxivius of you,” Valeria smirked before turning and ascending the stair.
“What about Pandora’s?” Xlina asked as the demon reached the top of the spiral stair.
“I have an associate running things upstairs,” Valeria remarked coldly.
Xlina’s curiosity had been piqued. Valeria had not mentioned hired help. It made perfect sense, after all. She was not actually running the club. There would be servers, bartenders, bouncers, and entertainers. Plenty of human staff to make such a venture possible. She wondered how many of the staff were aware of Valeria’s true nature, if any at all? What did she tell them about the strange girl living below the club?
&
nbsp; Xlina scampered to her feet, eager to set about into the night ahead. She approached a cherry-stained dresser and paused, only now stopping to realize all her worldly possessions had been in the back of the hearse. She sighed in frustration, pulling the drawer open and seeing an assortment of clothes in her size. Once again, her demon patron had seen fit to ‘take care’ of her needs. She rummaged through the drawer, looking for something she could fight in. As she picked through designer dresses and lacy tops, she realized the futility in assuming the lust demon would have practical outfits in mind. She settled on a pair of black leggings that had cut out panels on the hips and matching crisscross cutout halter top. She found a stylish leather jacket tucked away in the dresser’s bottom and slipped in on, thankful there was at least something somewhat covering in the ensemble.
She quickly tied back her flowing brown locks as she ascended the stairs to the main floor of Pandora’s. The heavy beat of the bass echoed in her chest as she approached the door, and she braced herself as she pushed through. A dazzling array of multi-colored lasers cut through the air, swapping direction and color in sync with the techno music blaring in the club. The bar was hopping with an assortment of night life as the dance floor beyond thrummed with the chaos of young and sultry patrons grinding and writhing to the beats of the disc jockey at the far end of the club. It certainly appeared Valeria’s touch with the young and attractive crowd had helped pack the place to capacity. Servers in black and white made their way through the throngs of people with trays held high, filled with bottles and glasses.
Xlina moved behind the bar, trying to plot her escape from the mass of humans within, feeling claustrophobic by the sheer volume of people around her. She ducked a server holding a circular platter of shots who passed by without giving her the slightest regard.
“You’re the muscle,” a female voice bellowed from behind in a shout to be heard of the music. Xlina turned to see a young woman with blue dyed hair braided into twin tails that hung down her shoulders. She wore wide circular glasses that seemed more for show that practical use with a white tank top and black pants. She barked orders to the staff behind the bar, pointing to bottles and glasses. “Time to lean, time to clean folks.”
“Yes, I guess,” Xlina shouted over the din of the crowd.
“Well, you don’t look like much,” the girl answered, pushing her glasses up the of her nose with a well-manicured finger. Her makeup was club worthy with layered of light pink on her cheeks, complete with a body glitter that sparkled under the lasers. Her lips were crimson red as her mouth turned up in a knowing smile. Turning slightly, she directed her eyes down to her shoulder blade, where a familiar tattoo peeked out from behind her tank top. There were some minor differences, but there was no questioning it. The tattoo bore an uncanny resemblance to the demon’s mark emblazoned under Xlina’s right breast.
“Who are you?” Xlina barked, sounding more jealous than she intended. She knew Valeria had kept many marked individuals for use. Knew the demon shunned attachments, but something about this girl standing before her wearing the mark as a tattoo made her feel uncomfortable. It was stupid, and she instantly berated the thoughts as they appeared in her head. Why should she care? Every moment Valeria spent on her other projects was a moment of peace for Xlina. Why should she feel special?
“Ivanka,” the girl smiled, offering her hand, “Ivanka Flamel.”
“Xlina,” she answered, accepting the girl’s hand. “So, you’re the boss?”
“No, she’s the boss,” Ivanka replied with a smile, “I’m just helping keep things running while she attends her business.”
“What did she tell you?” Xlina replied, “About my role here?”
“Only that you’ll help keep the riff-raff at bay,” Ivanka answered, her gaze drifting uncomfortably down Xlina’s body to the region of skin under the crisscross halter top. Her eyes lingered on the mark and her tongue peeked between her lips, wetting them hungrily. Xlina had seen that look before on Valeria’s face.
“I must go,” she answered, feeling uncomfortable and backing away.
“No problem,” Ivanka snickered, looking her over hungrily. “We’ll catch up later.”
Xlina nodded and turned away, weaving through the crowd of patrons. She dared a look back to see Ivanka returning to her position of command, ordering the help like a well-trained field general. She looked at the girl’s sleek form, her model like facial features. The way she moved emanated confidence and power, like she had only seen once before. Ivanka was a demon. There was no doubt in her mind.
“Great, now there are two of them,” Xlina cursed as she reached the entrance to Pandora’s and pushed her way out into the cool night air. Leaving Pandora’s, she was greeted with a sense of relief as the scent of the summer night air washed over her. They were close enough to the waterfront to smell the ocean and its salty freshness danced on her senses, a stark contrast to the staleness that lingered in the nightclub’s air. She placed her hands in her pockets and turned down the brick sidewalks of exchange street. She moved with purpose, heading for Heart’s Hearth, the tavern that could only be found by those who had been there. To the warm and loving Burglecuts, where she would break Penny’s heart with the news of Oxivius’ passing. She could not delay any longer, however, Oxivius was not hers alone to mourn, and it was ‘the right thing to do’.
They walked through the Old Port section of Portland, did little to clear her head. Instead of feeling prepared to break the news, she dreaded it. Even worse, each corner and turn reminded her of the time she had walked this very route with the necromancer. She had just been attacked by the Cu Sith hounds and the Burnished Rose at her apartment. She felt vulnerable, but Oxivius, in his charming and roguish way, had assured her everything would work out. They had walked down the Old Ports laid brick paths, weaving through the city streets as he commented on and on about everything and nothing. The Old Port was a part of the historical district in Portland, and so the architecture and infrastructure remained unchanged from its original design. Oxivius seemed to love the old time feel of this section of the city, like a nod to an age long forgotten tucked away in the center of the urban sprawl that had grown up around it.
She turned the corner, and her heart skipped a beat. The street extended to the enormous cathedral. Despite resting in the confines of the city, the cathedral had a large open yard fenced in with a black wrought-iron gate. The path to the doors was cobbled stone, which led up to a set of large doors of solid oak. Oxivius had teased her, letting her believe he was taking her to the church for her protection. She stopped at the iron gate and leaned on it lazily. In the summer night air, with the moon hung low in the sky, the place looked more creepy than holy. Heart’s Hearth lie just a handful of blocks down the path. She was mere minutes away from the welcoming aroma of Burgle’s fresh baked delights and the chorus of glasses and cheer from the many assorted magical patrons. She could almost picture Penny in her brown dress and apron, bounding from table to table, cheerily greeting the patrons. The Burglecuts had taken her in when she had nowhere else to go. She had lived in the loft above the tavern and had spent many nights looking out of her window at this very steeple. She looked up at the copper cross standing high on the steeple, glimmering in the moonlight, as if in defiance of the darkness of the night.
“Well god,” she whispered to herself, “When are you getting off your almighty ass and helping a girl out down here?”
“God tends to help those who help themselves,” an old voice answered. She looked past the gate on the left side of the yard to see an elderly Asian man weeding the garden. He bent over, examining the flowers with a careful eye. The moon reflected on his bald head as crouched low and delicately pulled on a shrub growing too close to the roses.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Xlina answered bashfully.
“Nothing to fret about,” the old man answered, looking up with a toothy grin. “It was I interrupting your thoughts if I am not mistaken.”
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�I guess,” Xlina smiled as he returned to work in the garden, “Isn’t it late for that?”
“Is it late?” the elder man chuckled softly, “Or perhaps I am early for the mornings chores?”
“You’d be very early it’s not even past ten.”
“I find gardening helps when I cannot sleep,” he chuckled in response.
“I suppose,” Xlina replied with a soft smile, “Bad dreams?”
“Dreams are dreams, child,” he answered, pulling another weed and adding it to his basket. “Bad or good, those are points of view.”
“You remind me of an old friend,” Xlina smiled warmly, “He used to say the same kind of thing.”
“Lucky he is to have such a clever lady in his life.”
“Lucky he was.”
“Ah, but loss at such a young age weighs heavy on the heart,” he remarked with a sigh.
“Though he was very old,” Xlina continued slowly, “I can’t help but feel it wasn’t his time.”
“Time is ever elusive,” the elder answered, leaning back on his heels and folding his hands in his lap. “Its fleeting nature, its unpredictability, makes each moment precious. Treasured is our time, for we never know which moment will be the last.”
“I guess,” Xlina looked up at the cross silhouetted against the moon, “I guess with all the bad, I was hoping for a little light.”
“You seek answers in faith then?” the old man answered, looking up at the steeple.
“I’m not really the religious sort,” she admitted, sharing the view of the steeple with the gentle old man.
“Few are,” the old man answered, looking back at his garden and smiling.
“Things aren’t really coming up roses for me,” Xlina lamented.
“Nor do they for everyone else,” the old man answered as he cupped a rose in his hand. “People come by day after day. All seeking god’s plan. His love. His guidance. All such people face struggles. In that child, you are not so different.”
Dirge of the Dead Page 11
