In a flash of light, Sariel was gone, leaving the two voodoo siblings alone with Xlina and her demon. Xlina shuddered as Valeria cast a look of pity on her. She knew a firm scolding was due.
“That could have gone better,” Tamera ventured cautiously out from behind her chair, stuffing her pistol in the back of her pants.
“You’re lucky to be alive,” Valeria flashed a look of wrathful scorn at the siblings. “Whose damned fool notion was it to summon the Seraph.”
“Mine,” Tamir rose from the floor behind the desk, drained from his dark spell. “But we did not know it was a Seraph.”
“Ignorance,” Valeria spat, offering Xlina a hand and pulling her up from the floor by her good arm. “You owe me Bokor and if you cannot pay said debt...”
Valeria let the threat linger in the air. The sprinklers stopped as the holy fires were finally extinguished. The sound of footfalls in the stairwell drawing closer was a fitting punctuation to Valeria’s threat. With a flash of infernal fire, the demon blade vanished, no doubt returning to its place beneath New Pandora’s. If Tamir failed to meet her demands, then he, too, would be marked. His soul forfeited to the demon who had no doubt saved his life.
“Come pet,” Valeria cooed, holding Xlina gingerly by the good arm. “You have found enough trouble for one day.”
“Archam will come for you,” Tamir called to Valeria as she escorted Xlina toward the stair well.
“Not before he comes for you,” Valeria turned, casting a threatening glare over her shoulder. “You two better sally up to the table, you’re a part of the infernal game now.”
Chapter Fifteen
The Trickster
Xlina’s eyes blinked open and were instantly stung by the harsh fluorescent light above her. She flinched as she drew in a sharp breath, a painful reminder of the Seraph’s powerful blow. A machine-like buzzing filled her ear, ringing in her head in a discordant monotone metallic hum that made her eye twitch. Her head lolled to the side to avoid the stinging fluorescent light. She stared at a sea green painted wall covered in drawings and colorful images. She lies reclined on a medical gurney of sorts, and she could feel bandaging snugly around her chest.
“Back with us?” a heavy male voice rang over the metallic hum. She rolled her head to the other side to see a brute of a man hunched over on a three-legged stool. He held a tattoo gun in his hand as he labored over a prone man.
“I guess.” Xlina tried to sit up, but her head swooned as her ribs cried in protest. “Ow.”
“Easy, you got rather banged up.” the man did not look away from his work. He just continued, head down and focused. He was well muscled, short of the bulk of a bodybuilder, but he definitively could have been a pro-wrestler with his build. His black tank top obscured an enormous tattoo of a Jackal’s head on his back. She couldn’t quite make out the full image, but she could see the Jackal’s head clear enough over an oasis of some sort.
“How did I get here?” Xlina looked around wearily. The tattoo parlor was well kept but was by no means medical facility. Her last conscious thought was of leaving Baptist, Bernard, and Edwards with Valeria. They had just entered the stairwell when she had coughed. She remembered pulling away, her hand covered in blood and then nothing. It was all back. No dreams. Just emptiness. She closer her hand gingerly, noting the dislocated fingers and cracked bones were mended. “How long have I been here?”
“You were dragged in drowning in your own blood,” he stopped the tattoo gun, carefully setting it down on his workbench next to the gurney. He leaned back, observing his work with a nod, before patting the man on the shoulder. “Looks great Axe, you’ll be the envy of your crew.”
The large man on the gurney sat up and looked at his fresh tattoo depicting a Harley roaring down a road in the desert with Route 66 sign in flames. It was impressive ink; she had to admit. He smiled in approval and retrieved a wad of sweaty bills from his jeans. He appears the stereotypical biker, from his soiled blue jeans to his black leather chaps. He flashed Xlina a grin, revealing two gold teeth through a straggled unkempt beard before turning to depart the parlor.
“Axe, you didn’t see her,” The bulky tattoo artist nodded to Xlina, “Copasetic?”
“I ain’t seen nothing,” the biker named Axe winked lewdly before pushing his way through a glass door to the streets beyond, leaving her alone with the artist. She studied him for a second. A blond goatee neatly trimmed bore a friendly smile that screamed trouble. His eyes were bluish green like the sea, with blond hair cropped and cut close to his head in a military fashion. He folded his arms on his chest, leaning back on his stool.
“Why am I here,” Xlina eyed him cautiously.
“You were hurt,” he answered with a shrug of his massive shoulders, “And to answer your other question you have been sleeping there for nearly three days.”
“Three days!”
She tried to move, but the ache in her chest prevented her from sitting up, stirring another coughing fit that rattled her already inflamed ribs. The artist waited patiently for the coughing fit to pass before continuing.
“You’re lucky it was just that. Whatever magic you have about you mended you tremendously in such a short time.”
“Why didn’t she bring me to a hospital?” Xlina held her stomach gingerly, wishing badly for something to dull the pain.
“Which one would you suggest? St. Mary’s? Mercy? By my understanding, you have the faithful tearing the city apart looking for you and you want to lie unconscious in their backyard?” He smiled as if her ignorance amused him.
“The hospitals?”
“Not just the hospitals,” he corrected, waving his arm in a gesture to highlight the entire city around them. “The food banks, the shelters, and even the damn daycares. The faithful have soldiers everywhere.”
“That’s some high-grade conspiracy theory you got there, mister,” Xlina winced as she turned to get a better view of the parlor. “Do you sell foil hats here too?”
“Crazy? Me? That’s a hoot coming from the girl that just got dragged in like a slab of beef by a bloody demon.”
“You sound like her,” Xlina eyed him suspiciously. He merely shrugged innocently in response.
“What’s so hard to believe? At the same time as the pagans and fae fled Europe to the new world, so to the faithful followed. While the pagans built community and tributes to the spirits of the land, the faithful built infrastructure. Bloody brilliant too. Schools, hospitals, whatever it took. You can’t throw a stone down main street without hitting something named after some saint or religious scholar. Do you really believe that is by chance? As if it were by some freak coincidence?”
“You see ill-intent in generosity and caring,” Xlina shook her head. The artist sounded far too much like Valeria for her liking.
“Oh, sure, there are plenty with good intentions. I do not doubt the good work done at all. I say that there is a motive for the work beyond caring for thy neighbor,” the artist stood and began disassembling his tattoo gun for cleaning.
“Motive? What motive?”
“The same as everyone else. Power. Control.”
“Hogwash.”
“One nation under god, In God We Trust, face it girl, the Faithful have been in the mix since well before the founding. They teach the young, they treat the sick, and they feed the hungry. Noble. Merciful. True enough, but it also ensures their survival. Ensures their voice in all that is.”
“Just one big ruse, is that it? Just a giant cover to stay in control?”
“I could be wrong,” the giant of a man turned and tilted his head, “But then you tell me why there are no coven hospitals? Where are buildings and monuments celebrating the legends of other cultures? Surely one would think you could find a library named after the great bard Taliesin. Perhaps a Prometheus General Hospital. No?”
“Who are you?”
“I am Nico,” the artist paused, contemplating his tattoo gun.
“You’re awakened,” Xlin
a held her arms over her torso, feeling vulnerable. Why had Valeria left her alone with a stranger and what in the world was happening out in the city?
“I am.” he carefully eyed vials of ink from a rack on his workstation. Finally, his eye settled on a purple ink that brought a smile to his face. He retrieved the vial and loaded it into his gun. “Are you ready?”
“For what?”
Nico flicked a switch on his gun and the mechanical buzzing returned, filling the room once more. She looked nervously at him with a resolute shake of her head. He rolled casually from his workbench to her right side, holding the gun in the air above her. She could see the needle jabbing like a sewing machine.
“Hell no,” Xlina sunk back against the gurney as if she could physically melt through the uncomfortable mattress. “Stay back.”
“It’s not going to hurt,” Nico smiled, waving the gun innocently, “Be still and I’ll be quick about it.”
“I have enough marks, thanks,” Xlina squirmed on the gurney, drawing another wince as her ribs ached in response.
“Foolish girl, lie still and let the magic do its work,” Nico pressed on her shoulder with his free hand as if to calm her. It was at that moment that she caught the scent of his magic in the air. It was thick and woodsy, like a damp forest after the spring rain. Wolfsbane, his magic, had the aroma of wolfsbane. She breathed in, inhaling the aroma as he laid the gun to work on the skin of her bicep. It was an odd sensation, as if dozens of pins and needles worked over her flesh. Her lower arm went numb as Nico worked furiously. He muttered ancient and arcane words under his breath as he wove a beautiful tapestry or runes on her arm.
“What is that?” Xlina shivered, feeling a strange magic coursing through her.
“It’s my magic,” Nico finished the last rune and thumbed the gun off. “I needed you to be awake for this last part.”
She examined the runes on her arm etched in a glowing purple that seemed to hum with arcane power. The symbols looked strange to her eyes, as if they were constantly moving and reshaping themselves. She tried to make out individual runes, but one line blurred into another, and she was forced to look away lest her eyes be drawn into their ever-changing depths.
“Impressive art.” Xlina locked eyes with Nico as he reached for her free hand. He delicately brought her hand to the tattoo and let it hover above her skin.
“The magic is temporary and will soon fade once activated, but it shall grant you a respite from the pain. Mind you, this spell is not one of healing, but of trickery. The wound will remain where the pain will not. Simply touch the ink and accept the magic. Allow it to flow over you. Through you.”
Xlina studied him cautiously. The warnings from Oxivius about trusting Otherworlders and Awakened played in her thoughts as he backed away, returning to his workbench. She hesitated for a moment before letting her hand fall on the tattoo. She felt the magic coursing in the runes and reached out with her feelings, accepting the spell. Sweet, sweet relief washed over her as all her aches and pains faded away. She sat upright immediately and stretched her arms over her head.
“That feels wonderful,” she twisted at the waist, marveling at the lack of pain.
“Be careful not to injure yourself,” the artist Nico warned once more, even more sternly as he worked on disassembling his gun once more. “Remember, you are still injured; your mind has simply been tricked into thinking you’re not.”
“Thank you, I really must go,” Xlina slide her legs over the side of the gurney and cautiously stood. She marveled at the lack of pain as she looked at the purple tattoo on her arm. Already the vibrant purple had faded.
“When the ink is gone, the pain will return,” Nico cautioned, not taking his eyes from his workbench.
“I’ll get plenty of rest before then,” Xlina smiled, patting her arm gingerly.
“Tell the demon my debt is paid in full,” Nico casually threw out the statement, but his words struck her profoundly. Too often she forgot the price Valeria’s favors extolled on her unfortunate victims. Had his soul not been in play, would Nico have helped her at all? She looked around the tattoo parlor one last time, seeing the small room from a fresh perspective. Her eyes roamed the many mundane designs and styles that adorned the walls. Everything from hearts and tribal tattoos to animals and cartoon cutouts was available for purchase. Her smile faded, realizing this poor guy was just trying to make a living when the demon came calling. She wondered what favors Valeria had done for the artist which threatened his soul. Her eyes landed on a moon symbol above the door. It was a blue crescent moon with a coyote chained by the neck below.
“That means something.” she pointed to the symbol, feeling the magic within.
“That is Fenrir, wrongfully imprisoned by the gods out of fear that the wolf would kill Odin and bring about Ragnarök.” Nico looked up from his bench with a curious glint in his eye, “That is the symbol for the Wolves of Ossory, a wolf worshipping coven of shaman’s and witches. It marks me as a member of their order.”
“Well met Nico of the Wolves,” Xlina took a formal tone, understanding the trust the shaman had just shown her. “If ever a stray demon-marked Baku can be of service, then feel free to call on Xlina Dar’Karrow.”
“Wolves are hunters. I am but a trickster. My peers call me the Coyote of the pack. You should be careful with such offers of aid, Xlina,” Nico smiled, turning back to his workbench. “They often lead to more trouble than they are worth.”
“So I have learned.” Xlina moved to the door, pausing only once to give a last look at the quaint parlor. Nico sat at his workbench, toiling over his equipment. She pushed through the glass door and out onto the busy city streets. The bright morning light was blinding in contrast to the fluorescent glow of the parlor. She glanced back at the exterior of the parlor, noting the paint splattered logo of Coyote Ink. Her familiarity with the city told her she was in the waterfront district down by the harbor on the far side of her familiar haunts of the Old Port. This part of the city was a cluster of industrial buildings and small specialty shops. Dozens of free-range fish markets lined the opposite side of the street, selling fresh wares directly from the independent boats. She strolled down the main boulevard, trying to stay casual while scanning the crowd for members of the faithful. She felt like a lost lamb in a crowd of wolves.
“Hey runt,” a voice from her past called gently to her. She spun on her heels quickly, her eyes going wide at the man standing before her.
“Arri!” Xlina exclaimed, seeing her brother leaning in the alleyway next to the tattoo parlor. He smiled broadly as her face lit up. He looked exactly as she remembered. His brown hair neatly cropped close with a tight matching scruffy beard. She raced to him, extending her arms and wrapping him in a ferocious hug.
“Easy runt, you’re going to pop a rib,” Arrivan returned the hug, wrapping his arms around his little sister. She lingered for a moment, her head coming to rest on his shoulder.
“How did you know to find me here?”
“I came immediately when I heard a word. The failure of parlay with the angel caused a heck of a commotion in the city. You’re in real trouble, runt.” Arrivan ended the embrace, holding her instead at arm’s length with his hands firmly on her shoulders. She stared into his black mandarin collared shirt, unable to look him in the eyes.
“Did father send you?”
“Father is dead,” Arrivan leveled the news quickly and painfully, like ripping a band aid off. His words stung her, and she stood feeling very much in the moment, like the same child from long ago that had been the central cause of so many problems for her family.
“When? How? Is that why he never came to me in Boston?” The questions came faster to her lips than her mind as she raced through possibilities and scenarios, considering her father’s passing.
“Recently I am afraid. He was killed on the mountainside of Dún Bhalair. I’m so sorry.”
“I don’t understand.” Xlina went numb inside, unable to reconcile the lo
ss of her father with her feelings of abandonment.
“Dún Bhalair lies beyond the mist. The druidic goddess of fate came to the order with grim tidings of demonic schemes here in the city. Many Ovates and Acolytes of the Order answered her call and accepted her quest. Few of our brethren returned from her trials, with most being struck down on the Formorian King’s Mountain. All to ensure the chosen one, the Druid of Morrigu, would emerge with a weapon powerful enough to end the demon’s reign.”
“Owen,” Xlina sighed heavily as the mere mention of the druid’s name stirred the lingering command of her master. “We have met. He doesn’t strike me as well prepared to face down demons.”
“Owen’s strength of character is far superior to his strength of arm,” Arrivan released his grip on her shoulders and folded his arms over his chest. “You made quite the impression on him.”
“Why didn’t you come for me?” Xlina finally looked up to meet Arrivan’s eyes, searching for answers.
“I... was scared,” Arrivan locked gazes with her intently. “Word came through the order of the fall of the counsel. Of a Baku marked by demons that traveled with a necromancer. A necromancer! Of all things. I was afraid of what I would find. Of who I would find. When Owen returned from Pandora’s, he regaled me with tales of this valiant woman. I knew in my heart the rumors could not be true.”
“It is true... all of it.”
“No, dark magic and demons? You have always been prone to trouble, runt, but even now I don’t sense evil in you.” Xlina shrunk back a step as he reached out for her. She looked away from him as she steeled her nerves. The moment she had been dreading since Valeria had first placed the mark was here. The moment she dreaded had come calling. She had hoped to face it with Oxivius and Amber, but she was alone, always alone.
“I was alone Arri,” Xlina held her arms as if to shelter herself from the cold despite the balmy day. “I was in the psyche ward in Boston. Scared, hurt, and alone.”
“You know better,” Arrivan reached for her again, receiving a backhanded swat from her left hand for his efforts.
Dirge of the Dead Page 19
