“How are your loyalties divided, Mr. Grey?”
“I...”
Just then, the note attached to the air vent burst into flames and dissolved into wisps of ash. Dorian readied his notepad and had already plucked his finger with his pen before the first of them arrived. As inoculate as it might have seemed, I noticed that an unusual fly rose up through the grate. I drew my Westinghouse not knowing what else might be following it, when suddenly behind me I felt a flash of heat. I turn to see the last remnants of the sigil guarding the doors fall to the ground. A gentle rapping at the door focused our attention on it.
Escape was not an option, since Tesla was still scoping out the food car. We couldn't just leave him behind. Dorian pointed at me and then to the top of the bunk bed. I climbed to the top and flattened myself against the wall and waited. This position gave me the advantage of seeing several more of the curious little flies as they escaped the vent. They appeared as ordinary flies, except their coloration appeared to be of a metallic gold or copper color. Then one landed on me. I saw it rub its wings under its belly. Shock gripped me. It was a Tsetse fly, from Africa. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. One landed on my arm, but I smacked and consequently killed one before it could probe me with its funnel like mouth.
The trypanosomiases parasite was treatable, but these were magicked Tsetse flies, so who knew what other spells they would inject if they bit you. Realistically, I wasn't even sure if I would be able to find the antidote to the relatively simple sleeping sickness before I went comatose from it. It was a bad situation any way you looked at it.
Dorian saw my shocked expression and shifted his focus on the flies, also. His eyes widened and his brows lifted in surprise. So he knew them as well. He pointed again at me, but this time directed me to the ceiling escape hatch and then made the universal finger slashing across his neck and pointed at whoever was behind the door. This I understood.
The door started rattling, whoever was outside was growing impatient. I took one last look at Dorian, before closing the hatch. He was waiting for me to leave and swooshing his arms around, keeping the flies at bay. Once I was on top of the train, I methodically grabbed the railing that ran along the roof of the train car. We weren’t going as fast as I thought we should be going, so crawling to the next room’s hatch wasn’t too difficult. Once I found it, I discovered it was locked, so out came my picks. It was a few precious moments longer before I was able to drop down into the next car.
The car was empty, the occupants probably gone for breakfast. I found a lady's make-up mirror and picked it up. I then slipped open the car's doors quietly, lifting them as I pulled, to prevent any creaking, as they slid open. Next, I positioned the mirror to see who was out in the aisle.
To my surprise, it was a priest, or at least that was the type of clothing he wore. Only the Deists bothered with the trappings of ceremonial garb. The Estonians were much more practical and refused to follow rhyme or reason when they had their backroom meetings. Even though I was only witness to one or two in my life, I believed that most of them preferred to have their meetings skyclad.
The priest was abnormally tall with close cut white blonde hair. It was not the weasel for a priest from the other night who helped Lovecraft, but it was someone probably equally dangerous. Anyone like him, who could control diseased insects while trying to break down the door at the same time, would be a worthy adversary, if his attention weren’t severely distracted.
It took only a moment for me to decide if it might be prudent to capture or to kill him. It seemed unlikely that he had any information that we could use, mainly because in between trying to break down the door he was repetitively cutting his wrist and flinging blood onto the door while chanting under his breath. So he was a Hemomage, just like Lovecraft and Dorian, but he lacked the ability to inflict magic without using his own pain with his raw blood. He was most likely merely a soldier for the cause and knew nothing except the agenda that was dictated to him. He was either simply trying to get information from us and kill us, trying to capture Tesla and kill us, or just plain ole' trying to kill us.
It was time for him to die. A bullet might not kill a Hemomage, since they had amazing rejuvenating powers of the blood. The Westinghouse might cause any airborne, magically enhanced blood to ignite, exploding the car, with us in it. With that option, there would be no one to wish me alive. Since a black dart would be a mercy killing that he didn't deserve, it was the stilettos then. I preferred face to face killing myself; anyway, it seemed more personal and respectful if you were going to take someone's life.
I put the mirror in one of my pockets and aimed a stiletto. Even though the angle was not the best, there was a thin strip above his collar that showed the promise of exposed skin. Magic Users that were priests were notorious for using impervious collars that were enhanced to resist casual weapons and magic, alike. Fortunately, my stilettos were not the usual and customary type. It was also good that I didn't plan to question him, since his throat would be ruined after I threw the knife. I found that calm, dead place inside me, and all the color seemed to leach from the world. Next, all the rattling the car was making on the tracks disappeared. Finally, everything grew blurred that wasn't my target and time seemed to freeze.
I threw the knife.
He froze and then he seemed totally surprised and confused about what just had happened. He clawed at the knife. I used that dazed moment and removed the other stiletto from my sheath. Then I leaped out of the doorway and rounded behind him, but I didn't do it to prevent him from grabbing me. No, his hands were too preoccupied trying to remove the knife from his neck for me to be concerned about that. My stilettos were a modification of the embalming instruments the ancient Egyptians used, with a tiny, razor sharp hook on each end. They caused more damage coming out than going in. He would be working at it for a few more seconds. Good luck with that.
It was time for this show to end. From behind, I stabbed the other stiletto into the base of his neck and twisted. Once I pulled it out, he started to crumble. I stood over him as he went down and shot a bullet into the temple of his head for good measure. Blood and gore sprayed out onto my face and coat. Black is always a good color on me.
I retrieved my stilettos and pulled the body out of the way. Then I attempted to open the door. The handle was ice cold, slippery, and beyond comprehension, it seemed frozen shut. It wouldn't budge. I turned around and headed back into the companion room that I escaped through, and that was where I saw Dorian coming out through the hatch door in the ceiling. He landed with a bounce on the bunk, and chunks of ice fell off of him.
“Are you all right Dorian?”
“I iced them. Nasty buggers those were. I once had the sleeping sickness and had to have an African shaman pull me out of the blasted nightmare. I then had horrific time trying to pay off the debt. He wanted me to marry his daughter. Awful business all around,” he shuddered.
I followed up his commentary the only way I knew how and said, “I killed the interloper.”
“I knew you would,” he said as he bounded off the bunk and landed on the floor next to me. “But we have another problem.”
“And what would that be?”
He pointed with his thumb behind him and said, “Our car is slowing down, and I believe according to the schedule that we have been provided that we another hour before we are due to arrive at Niagara Falls.”
I looked out the window and saw what he said was true. While we hadn't come to a complete stop, there was definitely something amiss.
I dodged out into the aisle again and looked out of each door leading to the next set of cars in the line. At least our cars were all still connected. “Did you notice anything while you were out there?”
“No, but I'm dying to investigate the body of who precisely was attacking us.”
I pointed at the body in the hallway that was hard to miss. Then I went and locked the doors on both ends, leading in and out of the car. By the time I was done secu
ring the car, he had examined the wounds from the stilettos in his neck. He eyed them appreciatively, before he said, “I'd like for you to arrange for me to meet your weapons maker sometime, when this business is through. These are nothing like the items in the arsenal that S.O.A.R. had shown me.” Then he began thoroughly searching the body.
I smiled and said, “Perhaps, if you prove yourself worthy, I might consider it.”
He feigned a distasteful expression as he said, “You offend my honor.” Then he smiled and said, “Oh, what do we have here?”
He pulled out of a hidden pocket of the frock coat a tiny vial filled with blue liquid. He pulled the stopper out and smelled it. “I believe this is the antidote for the sleeping sickness.” He handed it to me and I dipped my pinky finger into it. I next tasted it on the tip of my tongue. It tasted acerbic. I spat it out.
“At least it doesn't appear to be a poison.” I slipped the vial into my pant pocket. One never knew when that might come in handy.
He then pulled off of the priest's body an elaborate string of rosary beads. He must have been a true believer then. It was fortunate indeed for me to be able to attack him from behind before he ended up using the beads on me.
While the Deist Church frowns upon its parishioners using magic, it was a dirty little secret that they encouraged priests who were Users to practice, unbeknownst to their congregations. These priests could never serve any higher positions, like that of a Bishop, or at least that is what we had been spoon-fed. However, they were told that they were specially chosen warrior soldiers for God and fought the good fight against evil for God Himself. More than likely, he would have used that string of beads as a whip or a garrote on me.
Their rosaries were unique to each priest. It was up to the priest to add whatever medallions they wished to pray upon. Each medallion could add strength to the rosary or additional powers. From what I heard, they reinforced their medallions with parishioner blood donations. I once had to assassinate one of them and got surprised. I don't like unplanned for surprises. As I was driving a knife into his stomach and up to his heart, he encircled his rosary beads around my neck. It didn’t kill me, but the resulting burn never left me until I was finally called to go Neverland. Peter laughed at me as he administered a healing drought to me. It was humiliating, but a well learned lesson. Another good reason to always kill a priest from behind or by surprise. Or better yet, by both. Neither he nor I could use the rosaries, so he left them on his body. Most, if not all, of these powers would have left them by now with the passing of its owner.
He broke my reverie by chuckling. Then he asked, “Wow, when did they start adding Edison's image to the medallions?” But he didn't wait for an answer, as he pulled out a small set of pictures. He exclaimed, “Balderdash!”
“What is it?”
He held up three pictures to me. They were painted daggertypes, a fast developing daguerreotype with only rudimentary colors added. Each was a miniature version of Dorian, Tesla, and me at the train depot. How could that be? We were only there a few minutes in the station house and that was only a little over two hours ago. Then it clicks together in mind, “It's a trap.”
“So it appears. Let's collect Tesla and get off this train before something else can go wrong.”
“I don't fancy climbing through the hatch to retrieve our bags.”
“I'll worry about our baggage, you worry about Tesla. In all honesty, there may be too much luggage to carry safely, though. Can we leave one of your bags? Maybe the one with your clothing?” How did he know one bag held all my weapons and the other my personal effects?
Well, at least I still had on my coat and I didn't really need any trappings besides my weapons and a few sundries. “Just be sure to transfer the maps, my identification papers, the governor's pass, and the copy of my book to my weapon's bag.”
“Consider it done. Now hurry, I estimate that we have only a few minutes before we make a complete stop for whatever god forsaken destination Lovecraft has crafted for us. Meet me at the caboose in five minutes and we'll make the jump... again.”
He didn't wait for an answer, but pulled himself back onto the bunk and disappeared through the hatch. I took off for the dining cart, passing the dead priest's body on the way.
Chapter 11
Chiromancers and Caravans
“Always listen to what an ancient, blind gypsy says when she reads your palm to tell you your future.”
-Dorian, October, 2232
From Dorian's Journal of Memorable Quotes to Live By
Discarded mail littered the floor as I ran through the post car. Just as I opened the door to the next car, Tesla appeared on the other side, reaching the car door’s handle with one hand while balancing a plate that had been piled with sausage links and a mountain of scrambled eggs with his other. I grabbed his free hand, and a mild electrical buzz seemed to warm my hand through my glove. Maybe it was the static electricity from the car applying its brakes, or maybe it wasn’t.
I snatched my hand away and exclaimed, “What was that?” Then thought better of it and said, “You know what Tesla, never mind. Follow me, we've had a complication.”
I had to give him credit. He set the food down and followed the brisk pace I set for us, since I was determined to beat Dorian back to the caboose.
Tesla replied, “Yes, I've observed a minor complication, as well. The track has been destroyed up ahead and the train is stopping.”
“Do you think it was the government? Could you see any militia up ahead of us?”
“No, the conductor came through and merely delivered the barest of facts. I saw nothing.”
I figured that I would warn him about the body before we passed back through the car. “Well, we had a particularly unsavory character visit our car, who is now consequently dead, and we're not.”
“Splendid,” he dryly commented.
When we got to the car, the body was gone. Blasted! I had hoped that Dorian had pulled the body into our compartment, but the door to our room was still iced over, so he couldn't be in there. Maybe Dorian had disposed of the body, but it didn't warrant further thought, we had to get out of here.
We made it through the rest of the eerily deserted rail and passenger cars. All the passengers must have been in the dining car when the break in the rails was discovered. Even the three cars with animals, in the rear of the train, were quiet. Finally, we made it to the caboose. Dorian was there waiting with my bag and his satchel.
“Where did you put the body?” I asked.
“Whatever do you mean?” he replied disconcertingly.
I looked back over my shoulder and pushed Tesla ahead of me. I bristly ordered, “Go! Now!”
Dorian nodded and plopped off the end of the nearly stationary train, bags in tow. Tesla followed, leaving me looking through the caboose into the darkened cars beyond it. Best to take care of anything here now, rather than in the open forest later.
I wasn't too worried however. I had something that most Users didn't. When Peter changed me into a magical being, part of what he did was activate some dormant strand of D.N.A. that I had. Ones that were laden with Elf strands. Peter was no Fairy; he was a full-blooded Elf, even though he lived in the homelands of Fairy Neverland. Moreover, if there was one thing Elves knew, it was how to stay alive.
All Hedgewitches probably had some forgotten Elf lineage. Although, I had enough of human blood running through my veins that made my personality taciturn most of the time, I also had enough Elven blood in me that I could use a small amount of my blood in the black darts. While the poison I applied on their tips might kill an elephant or even a revenant without my blood, it was imperative I used my blood on a black dart meant for a Deader. It still probably wouldn't be enough to stop it, but it might be enough to slow it down enough for me to try to kill it another way.
My blood was the only allergen for zombies that I knew of. While Zombies could carry plague and disease through their bite that was not how they were made. That
required the abilities of a Necromancer. I didn't particularly care for being bit, so I made sure it rarely came to that. Even in all this time that I have been alive, I have faced only a few deaders and none of their makers. Just who would be waiting for me on the other side of the cars remained a mystery. It was either a deader or the Necromancer. One that I didn't particularly fancy finding out today.
I readied my dart and the Westinghouse. I kept my pistol in my pocket, for fear of drawing too much attention from the excessive noise to myself now that the engines had stopped. I froze in preparation. My eyesight narrowed. After a moment, as if on cue, I saw movement, no more than a shifting grays and blacks really. Then I saw him, his face almost glowing compared to his blood-wet, black frock. It was the same man I had killed mere moments before outside our room. How could anyone have survived that kind of damage I inflicted on him? He didn’t. He had been transformed into a deader. But what kind of Necromancer had the kind of power to turn him, a Hemomage, so quickly into a deader? More importantly, where was the Necromancer now?
He must have spotted me, because he let out a moan and a grunt. Balderdash. Where was that Necromancer? The only good thing about this situation was that I knew one was now on our trail, so I would be looking for him. Revenants made by Necromancers required intent, skill, and magic, but besides requiring a User to create a Deader, an even larger expenditure of all three were needed plus time. The other prerequisite was that the Necromancer had to have their magic available to inject into a dead body. This was a lot of power to come so quickly. It was worrisome. I nibbled my bottom lip.
Usually, Necromancers used the blood of the dead and their own blood to create tattoos of arcane symbols on their bodies, much like how a golem could be created and functioned, but it also acted as a cattle rancher marking his herd. Unfortunately, the mark itself was merely a magical transference tool. I have heard that animals were much easier to commandeer by just force of will. But that was usually only something the required stronger Necromancy magics. Somewhere, nearby, a powerful Necromancer loomed, but I couldn't worry that much about him now, when I had his child of death before me.
Tesla's Revenge Page 13
