
Blood and Fire
By
Carrie Clevenger
and
Nerine Dorman
©2011
Blood and Fire
Carrie Clevenger and Nerine Dorman
Published January 2012 by
Dark Continents Publishing
www.darkcontinents.com
Copyright ©2012 Clevenger and Dorman
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information retrieval system, without the written permission of the author and the publisher, except where permitted by law.
This book contains a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's creation or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
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Published in the United States of America.
All rights reserved.
Vampires should never have to make sandwiches. My first instinct? Whine about it, but that wouldn't seem fitting for a six-foot-five bass player. More than likely Charlie, the owner and resident slave-driver, would find it fucking funny. He was a real cool older brother with a penchant for wearing a fedora and slacks with suspenders. His latest idea for business at Pale Rider was to offer cold sandwiches on Friday and Saturday, which meant somebody had to make them. I figured his girl Linda came up with the idea of serving food in a bar. Like the peanuts and chips weren't enough. Food was food.
"When you done with those, make sure the coolers are filled with ice." Charlie looked over the sandwiches I'd already wrapped before putting little round, blue price stickers on them. Darrell burst in to the kitchen and halted mid-step. He was a big boy from Texas who could shred a riff on lead guitar like nobody's business.
He made a show of stroking his braided goatee. "Do I smell...egg salad?"
"Touch a sandwich, lose a hand, asshole." I waved the knife at him for emphasis.
"You're gonna make somebody a good little wife someday." He walked on by, his laughter echoing in the hallway leading to the barroom. I sighed and finished the last three sandwiches uninterrupted. Even Charlie seemed satisfied I did a decent job.
It wasn't much, working there, but it gave me a place to stay and let me usually do whatever I wanted. That and free whiskey---a definite perk. In fact, free booze was about as attractive to me as a 401K retirement fund to a human. There was a peace of mind in the bottom of a bottle. It quieted the vampire side of me and diluted the memories of a life lost. I didn't venture out much anyway, and was usually found roosting slumped at my usual dark table in the corner with the scarred top like a proper bloodsucker, or in my room. To keep myself busy, I played bass in Crooked Fang, a cover band there at Pale Rider.
Once I stashed the sandwiches in the antiquated fridge Charlie just couldn't stand to replace, I cleaned the area up and headed out to the barroom for the ice bucket. The ice machine was in the stockroom with extra beer coasters, napkins and bagged snacks. It took about ten trips to fill up both beer coolers behind the bar. By that time, Bea walked in to start her shift. Her hair was dyed cotton candy pink and was done up in two pigtails.
"Did Josh show up yet? He said he was going to stop by the gas station for a fill-up." She stood there looking at me, twirling her hair. Even close to thirty, she looked young. Had she not been my drummer's wife, well...
"Do I look like his keeper?" I stuck my tongue out at her.
She smiled and gave me a playful punch on the arm, tiny thing that she was. Still, we got along really well. We picked on each other like kids in school. "Bullshit, I know you two cover for each other enough."
I wasn't a typical vampire either, really. I didn't let on to those people that I was a vampire. I wasn't all growly and inhuman, but I definitely wasn't the cuddly kind either. I just was Xan Marcelles, asshole bassist and regular dude. No intentional bad-assery. I smoked and drank like many red-blooded American males, only my blood ran cold.
Bea tilted her head to look at me. "So, have you seen him or not?"
"Maybe you need to keep a better leash on your husband." I grinned. "Nope, he hasn't shown yet. It's still early. Give him time."
She rolled her eyes and plunked her purse on the shelf under the cash register. "Probably playing on that pinball machine again."
I snorted and pulled out my pack for a cigarette. Of course she had to help herself to one too. Not like I could turn her down when she looked at me like a lost puppy.
"When did you plan on bringing your own smokes to work, Bea?" I offered my lit Zippo and she leaned in to catch the flame with the tip of her cigarette.
"Oh, I brought some. They're just way over there." She waved her hand back in the general direction of her purse.
I sighed and rubbed my face. "I'm going to see if Josh has showed up yet. Maybe we can get set up early. I don't want to get Serv up until closer to show time."
"Why does he sleep all day anyway? Must be a rock star thing." She giggled and wandered over to the far end of the bar where one of her regulars waited for a drink.
Serv slept all day for more than a few reasons. Also a vampire, he was way newer than me, a few years compared to a little over twenty-five years in. I just didn't sleep much at all, which was totally to Charlie's liking. He could always find shit for me to do.
I slipped outside through the front door before Charlie came up with any other unpleasant chores. A couple of young boys sat on the little bench out there, apparently waiting for their parents. They both played handheld video games. Combating theme music cut the cooling Colorado air.
I spotted Josh getting out of his car as the automatic lot lights came on and met him halfway, hands on my hips. "Get sidetracked? Your woman is looking for you."
He cringed and ran a hand through his dark auburn hair. "I might've gotten caught up in a couple of games when I went in to pay for my gas."
"That's why Margaret keeps those pinball machines there. She knows she'll at least sell a lot of pop. Come on inside. I'll wake up Serv after we get set up for tonight."
We fell into bandchatter as we went back up the stairs, but the loud jukebox killed it with another one of those country tunes that couldn't decide if it really wanted to be rock or not. Josh broke away to greet his wife behind the bar while I thumped upstairs to rouse the dead. Fuck him. He could get up now.
Serv answered his door on my second try. His hair was all fucked up and a couple days' worth of face-fuzz had sprouted. "Dude, you realize it's late, right?"
"Mrrf," he grumbled and slammed the door in my face. I knew the routine. He'd be down to greet his adoring public eventually, preened to perfection. Serv never missed a chance to be admired. It fed his already oversized "I'm-the-singer" ego.
I joined Darrell and Josh up on stage to get shit ready to play within the hour. Darrell opened a case at his feet. He'd bought a new Gibson. It was a pretty thing---red, with pickups in both the bridge and the neck. I know it had cost him quite a bit but unlike me, he had a part-time job delivering pizzas on every night except weekends. He was the kind of guy that saved for months to buy the perfect axe.
Serv came down the stairs just as we finished. "Hey man, sorry." His tone didn't match his words.
"It's all good, Serv. Your shit's ready for you. You can go." I shooed him with my hands. "Mingle."
The place was about half-full by that time. People favored the small private tables over the large benches, but eventually would fill those too. Friday nights were usually our best nights. I guess I did okay with the sandwiches, because people were munching on them like crazy. The bar was so busy, Charlie was backing Bea up. Someone fed the jukebox again, and Brian Johnson's screech split the air with Back in Black. The atmosphere changed, charging with anticipation, leaving it up to us to give these people satisfaction. I shuffled through the throngs of chatty folks to slip behind the bar, wanting to get my booze and chill out for a little while before we hit stage, but was stopped by a pair of blondes.
"Hi," they said in stereo with bleached-white smiles. The one on the left had a massive pair of---
"Take these girls' order, boy." Charlie paused with a handful of Bud Lights dangling by their necks between his fingers, before he popped the tops off with expert speed. He distributed them to the guys at the far end of the bar. I flashed my nicest grin at the blondes, the kind without fang.
"Pick your poison." I gestured to the rows of liquor behind me.
"I'll take a shot of Maker's Mark and lemon water."
"I'll have what she's having." The blonde on the left favored me with a sexy dip of her chin and thrust out her chest. "We wouldn't be opposed to having a bartender chaser." They both had blue eyes. I licked the back of a fang and marked the one on the left as a possibility for later.
After I served them their drinks and was rewarded with a double shot of cleavage, I headed up to the private roof deck to have a smoke, drink my whiskey and get in the zone to perform. This was the reason I saw a procession of three identical black SUVs come up the rough road from the state highway and pull into the lot. They parked in a line and a litter of suited dudes got out that could've been extras in Men in Black. I ground my smoke out in the ashtray and returned downstairs to find out what the hell was going on. This was Pinecliffe, Colorado, and Pale Rider was a tavern off the beaten path, but worth it for the friendly local atmosphere and cheap beer. We didn't have slick types like these goons coming out to the sticks to have a drink and shoot pool.
I stopped at the foot of the stairs, watching them through the bar. They talked fast and low, like they were from the city, business-like. A flash of a badge. The sound of my name reached my ears and I froze. Me? What the fuck did they want with me? I had a goddamn show to do. I pasted on a smile and closed the distance to where three suits stood discussing my whereabouts with Charlie. His relief at my approach was apparent and he scraped the fedora off his skull to scratch like he always did when he wasn't sure what to do, then nodded once in my direction. "There's the man you're looking for."
His gaze held a glint of suspicion, but then again it wasn't the first time I'd tangled with the law. The problem was, this time I couldn't think of a single thing of which I hadn't already been exonerated. The three men turned as one to follow his line of sight.
"Mr. Marcelles?" Credentials were jammed under my nose and I dragged my eyeballs over three very nasty letters to belong to somebody looking for you: FBI.
Great. I was caught up in the fucking X-Files. Maybe they'd finally figured out I was really a vampire after all.
"I'm Agent Clarkson and these are my associates. We'd like to request you come with us." The dude had a goatee so neatly trimmed it looked plastic. Gray hairs peppered the black. His eyes were dark, unreadable---a man used to secrets. I glanced at his polished shoes then at my scuffed boots and gave a casual shrug.
"What's this about?" I pressed my tongue behind my right fang and resisted the urge to bolt. Police were bad enough. They had jails. Feds? They had prisons you disappeared into, hangars with secret alien ships and warehouses of seized illegal goods. I couldn't fuck around with the Feds. I damn sure couldn't run from them, either.
"We'd prefer to discuss that in a more secure location."
"How secure?"
"Mr. Marcelles, please come with us." Clarkson looked back to his buddies and they stiffened their postures. They were pretty much set on dragging my ass out of there if they had to. I blinked and gave them a nod.
"Should I bring anything?"
"That won't be necessary. This shouldn't take long, provided all goes well." Provided all goes well---not exactly the reassurance I was digging for. I'd miss the show. Crooked Fang couldn't play without me, but these fuckers weren't giving me a choice.
I turned to Charlie. "Would you tell the guys?" Serv, Josh and Darrell would freak out if they knew I was taken in by the Feds. I couldn't see any of them. They were probably out back, dicking around. Josh was still there, I knew that much. Bea called the night's shot special and two-dollar wells. The sudden loudspeaker interruption almost made me jump out of my skin.
"After you." Clarkson jerked his head in the direction of the door and the rest of the suits filed in behind us. There were a few more than three. More like six---no doubt all packing weapons powerful enough to drop a LSD-laced lunatic in his tracks. I was ushered outside and into one of the black SUVs. It wasn't until after the door shut that I noticed the lack of handles on the inside. A wire cage separated the back seats from the front, like in the old cop movies.
The driver looked at me in the rearview mirror. "Make sure you buckle up."
The truck smelled like cheap American leather and fear. Odd that they would be scared of me.
My vampire special talent had always been smell, like I was a dog or something. Sure, I was stronger than more than a few dudes put together, but being immortal kind of raised expectations. Too bad I wasn't any good at reading minds. It would've been useful right about then.
Since I couldn't see much outside the heavily tinted glass, I stared out through the windshield. I wanted to ask why I was being transported like a prisoner, but I kept my mouth shut. Nobody said anything. The radio droned some lame-ass love song but I didn't recognize it. I laid my head back against the seat and closed my eyes.
The truck came to a stop outside a guarded post. The driver waved a card over a stand-alone reader and the gate rumbled open. Just beyond came the telltale whine of a helicopter powering up. The SUV came to a stop.
I leaned forward as far as my seatbelt would allow. "What the hell is this, man?"
"Patience, Mr. Marcelles."
"Patience my ass, you said this wouldn't take long."
The passenger got out and opened my door. Torn between kicking him in the teeth and being a good boy, I let reason win one more time. He was another dark-haired man, with a thin moustache. He also didn't look American. Neither did the driver, to be honest. He was hiding something in his hand.
"What's that in your---"
Other agents came from behind to take hold of me so the driver could jab a needle into my arm, thumb on the plunger. Cold slid through my veins and the world went fuzzy.
"Prepare it for transport." It? The driver's voice sounded far away. My knees buckled but I was dragged toward the helicopter, where they put handcuffs on my wrists. I tried to talk but it came out unintelligible, my tongue feeling way too big for my mouth.
"It's not out yet, sir."
"It's disoriented enough."
Whatever trouble I was in, it looked to be big. Since when did the FBI drug people? It wasn't like I was giving them any trouble. Alarm bells rang in my brain, I was drooling and my head lolled like it was attached to a broken stem. Their conversation seemed a mile away. My stomach lurched as the helicopter lifted off the ground. Whatever they'd injected me with finally won. I blacked out.
The landing woke me, but I didn't open my eyes. It seemed best to let them think I was out still. The rotating blades slowed as the engine powered down. The door opened and hands grabbed hold of me to pull me out. These weren't FBI agents. Whatever the fuck they were up to wasn't good for me. My hands were uncuffed so I could be propped between two men again. I peeked through half-closed eyelids to get an idea of where I was.
A sprawling estate. Fancy lighting. White fences. The smell of horses. The grass beneath my feet was crisp and perfectly trimmed. Someone'd brought out a wheelchair, one of those special mental patient ones, with straps and buckles intended to keep my ass in it. I opened my eyes wide and raised my head, surprising my captors by wrestling free from their grasp to get as far away as far as I could.
"It's awake! Capture the beast!"
Men shouted behind me as I broke into a run, my feet cushioned by golf course-style grass. Springy. Shots rang out and bullets whizzed past my ears. The property wall was just ahead of me. To my right, a paddock and a huge stable. The smell of horse shit was strong.
Pain blossomed in my back as one bullet hit home, then another. I growled but kept going, until another shot took out my knee and sent me flailing face-first to the ground. With gritted teeth I tried to get back up but I'd received enough damage to make it impossible, at least for a few minutes or more. I rolled over on my back and spat out grass.
They caught up to me, shining flashlights and pointed rifles at my skull. I groaned and stayed prone, fully feeling the effects of losing so much blood at once.
I was lifted up between a couple of guys, unable to do a thing about it. The lack of blood made me weak and woozy. It wouldn't be long before that really desperate hunger kicked in. The world was a messy blur, stripes of lights streaking blue and white. Dots of gold and the scent of fresh-cut turf tickled my senses. More voices sounded around me. They were dragging me back and I struggled against them, I felt chains slide over my skin. Heavy links, and the click of a lock. I was secured in the chair with the buckled straps. Warm breath brushed in front of my face and I felt the too-tight pull of my blood-starved veins. Their pulses were bass drums. I wanted to ask what was going on, but only groaned---barely louder than a whisper. I couldn't keep my eyes open anymore. Fatigue tugged at the ends of my desire to remain awake. I lost the battle and fell into unconsciousness.
I didn't sign up for any of this immortality stuff. I didn't know what I was getting myself into way back in the early 1900s but I was here still. The person I was back then wouldn't recognize who I was now, though. I still got caught up short when I caughta glimpse of my reflection in a mirror. After half a decade knocking around in this stolen body I still couldn't quite believe it was true. But hey, it was better than being truly dead, without the assurances of Those Who Return.
To modify a line from a really trashy 1980s fantasy movie, my name is Ashton Kennedy, I was born during the late-Victorian era as Elizabeth Rae Tomlinson, died in 1966 and returned in the body of this man.
I die and am reborn through the ages and I am Inkarna.
This wasn't the first time I'd visited the States and I reckoned I'd gotten a handle on driving on the wrong side of the road. But hell, Texas of all places? Guess it made sense. House Montu, a rival Inkarna House, was like an octopus, with tentacles everywhere. It seemed simple enough as my superior in House Alba explained it: go in to Luxor Stables, find the cartouche of Amunet the First, apparently a priceless artifact recently turned up in House Montu's clutches, and get the hell out of there.
I hadn't expected this.
The house was huge. The place hulked as a sort of gothic nightmare that bristled with a mad conglomeration of minarets and Victorian turrets six stories high in places. No wonder it proved so tricky to get past the initial security measures. It was like the Winchester Mystery House on steroids---if that were at all possible.
Now that I was in, I wasn't quite sure how to proceed. A large stretch of lawn surrounded the place, dotted with topiary. If I studied the rambling architecture hard enough, order was apparent in the chaos. They'd based this on some bizarre Pythagorean ideals, to be certain. The place fair crackled with subdued menace. I would have to be careful. The very bricks carried sentience, held memories.
A few lights shed buttery warmth but, for most, the manor bristled menace beneath the star-pierced sky, a monstrous blackness against the inky night. I didn't want to even know what lurked within the no-doubt labyrinthine corridors. How the hell was I supposed to find a golden relic smaller than my palm?
With great care not to alert any Inkarna who'd have the power to equal mine---there had to be at least one or two here for sure---I pulled in tendrils of daimonic power. Slowly. Whispers borrowed from the wind, from the electrical cables running to the house. I'd had enough time in this Kha to grow accustomed to how the body functioned. Whereas my previous Kha had been delicate, a surgical instrument of exquisite sharpness, this one was steady, strong, if a little blunt at times. With each passing year I had regained some of my previous skill, but what I lacked in daimonic finesse still, the physical attributes more than made up for it.
Hidden as I was, in a dark corner by a paddock, with the sharp tang of horse manure in my nostrils, I reached out with my awareness, and kept just enough of myself within the physical Kha. I didn't want to chance discovery by the numerous security guards patrolling the premises. It wasn't easy for a man of over six feet to lurk in the shadows, but I made damn well sure I did a good job of it. The place belonged to Alexander Goodkin and, as far as my superiors knew, Alexander was possibly Inkarna. Now that I'd had an eyeful of Luxor Stables' main building, I was tempted to run with the latter.
With a pang, I thought back to the old chapter house that belonged to my now-defunct House Adamastor in Simon's Town. My brethren wouldn't have the power to punch another Inkarna through for decades, the way things had gone, and the link with the material and spirit worlds broken. I was it. If I fucked up now, there might never be another chance for my people to reestablish a chapter house in the material world, and I would have to rely on the charity of House Alba. That is, while I was still useful to them.
This monstrosity before me was more than a chapter house, though. It was a veritable nexus of power---a temple. What the hell was I going up against? This could be House Alba's set-up to get rid of an inconvenient scion of one of the Great Houses for a few generations---a last gesture to clean up a mess my escape from Sea of Nun five years ago started. I didn't want to follow that train of thought.
A million pinpricks of blue-green fire flittered over the roofs of the manor. They flashed and spun---an earthbound constellation. There was a pattern there, one to which I could attune myself. A mortal or an initiate might blunder into this sophisticated system, unaware of the web of awareness spread to catch just such an intrusion.
I could sense some life within the building and pinpoint not one but four bright fires and at least half a dozen verging on the same frequency. Sweet Amun!
With an almost physical snap I fell back to my Kha. Cricket song sawed loudly in my ears and I drew a shuddering breath. Me, go up against four Inkarna and six initiates? Did House Alba want to send my disembodied souls howling back into the Tuat? They needed an army for this encounter, not a lone warrior.
Although my heart hammered in my throat and my mouth had gone unaccountably dry, I rose, hating the way my joints clicked. Some remnants of the daimonic power I'd gathered a few moments ago remained and I sucked in a little more to wrap myself in a bubble of silence. A determined watcher might distinguish a shadow but most---and I hoped this would be the case---would find their gazes slide away from my progress across the lawn.
Somewhere a sprinkler hissed. A horse whinnied, the sound chilling in the dark, grass-scented air. I couldn't help but think of long-ago days, of growing up on a wine estate in the shadow of Paarl Mountain.
Of course it was clear why House Alba's elders would ask me to do this---go alone. For years House Adamastor had perfected the art of secrets, of passing by unseen and foiling all manner of modern technology. We were once a House of mysteries and forgotten knowledge, small and insignificant tucked away at the tip of Africa until House Montu dislodged us from our precarious nook.
Now it was my turn to repay the favor, although my actions were more in line with an ant trying to make an elephant budge. Every small bit helped. It was best to remind myself of that. How could the other Houses stand by and let Montu grow so powerful? Or was it a case of divide and rule through the aeons?
Here I was, a mere flyspeck that slipped from shadow to shadow; as insubstantial as the wind in the face of this monolithic task.
The small hairs on my nape and on my forearms tingled as I approached the building. I felt like I was being watched in my paranoia, despite my precautions. Each of my senses screamed for me to get the hell out of here but I couldn't. One tense moment passed when a pair of security guards rounded the corner and I flattened myself against a rough sandstone wall.
I'm not here, I'm not here, I'm not here...
They passed, their booted feet crunching on the chip-stone walkway, as they talked in low tones about some movie actress with big tits. Men. Typical.
I paused long enough to wipe the sweat from my brow, and drew a deep breath. There were benefits to being nigh on invisible, but I wouldn't be able to keep this up forever. I needed to get inside the house and pray the place wasn't completely riddled with security cameras and the like. Of course it would be, and I'd need to identify and circumvent each threat as I encountered it.
I rounded five wings of the building before I located an entrance that was suitable. It looked like a cellar door, half sunken into the ground with three steps leading down to a semi-subterranean level. It was a simple process to negate the electronic lock, which snicked open with minimal fuss or expenditure of energy. Even better, I'd deactivated the alarm, which engaged again as soon as I slipped inside, a minor blip on House Montu's radar, if I played my hand right.
The air in the passage was musty and heavy with the scent of dry rot. It was almost pitch-dark and I stayed perfectly still long enough to reach out with my daimonic senses, gratified when I encountered no electronics or wards. Good. I let slip the cloaking with the same relief of shedding a coat in a too-warm room.
My ears rang with the pressure of the weight of the quiet. I swallowed reflexively and pushed my daimonic senses forward and backward, alert to the slightest buzz of electronic surveillance equipment or approaching people. Nothing. House Montu obviously didn't expect someone to foil their electronics. Or so I could only hope and pray to The Opener of the Way that this be the truth of the matter. Anpu Upuaut go before me, let no one stand against me...
I reached up to touch the Anubis pendant where it rested beneath my shirt. On cat feet I walked, pausing every so often to listen, to sense and feel my way ahead. What function these passages had I couldn't decipher. I envisioned cells containing prisoners then hastily shoved those hellish thoughts away. Heavily barred doorways opened to my right every ten paces then the passage hit a T-junction, with a further stone-flagged passage running perpendicular to the one in which I now traveled. More doors. Locks, rusted from disuse. What have they stored, forgotten for centuries?
I could get lost in here, which was not something upon which I wished to dwell. To follow those thought trails invited certain failure. Ten very dangerous individuals lived and worked in this gargantuan building, and possibly two dozen highly inconvenient human guards. I needed to remain alert. Cold sweat trickled down the small of my back and I had to stop for a few heartbeats to regain my composure.
A little voice inside kept asking, why me?
What would Richard do? Leonora? Would my beloved friends, many years gone from the material plane find themselves paralyzed by this choking fear? I imagined Richard's disappointed expression and the old sadness returned.
Richard, though decades separate us, I miss you.
Enough of this. I pushed farther and took three left-hand turns before I realized my foolishness. I was like Theseus in the maze beneath Knossos. Any moment now, the Minotaur might find me. How apt too, the symbol of the bull for which House Montu had so much fondness. I stopped for the umpteenth time. I needed to have a systematic approach.
Voices echoed. Mortals without the agitated fizz-crackle of daimonic presence. The way the passages were laid out I wasn't sure from what direction they approached but, either way, I had to make myself scarce. Anyone who had ever played hide and seek would understand that adrenaline rush of knowing one was pursued by the seeker, of remaining hidden. Only this time the stakes were so much higher.
I didn't fear death---at least not in the greater sense of dying and passing through the Black Gate---there were other, more exquisite punishments House Montu could mete out if I were discovered. Though I could negate these mortals easily, the action would, no doubt, betray my intrusion---a cost I could ill afford at this point. With that threat distracting me, I must have taken far too many wrong turns. While I couldn't hear the speakers any longer, the darkness had become almost absolute and I felt my way along blindly.
The blackness pressed down, heavier than the weight of rock, mortar and the floors above me. My lungs threatened to collapse, my breath wheezing painfully in my chest. I'd never done well with not being able to see. This was absolute. A cloying, solid thing with presence that would crush the very life force out of me.
I didn't see the short flight of stairs to my left until I fell. I tumbled, my breath knocked out of me with each impact. The first thing I did was draw breath while I lay dazed, unsure of how far I'd plunged. Of all the items I did not bring with me, a torch had been one of them. Nice one. Lizzie would have thought of that, not Ashton. My identities blurred until I took hold of Ashton, not Lizzie. As my eyes adjusted to the sudden presence of light, I could breathe again despite the haze of pain that incapacitated me.
I was sprawled on a landing. Another short flight of stairs down to my left was illuminated by a subdued green gleam---the reassuring one encountered when the electricity cut out. After I made sure all my limbs functioned and no extremities were broken or twisted, save for the bruises no doubt blossoming on my ribs and the tender spot at the back of my skull, I crept down those stairs.
Yet another labyrinth existed deep below the ground. If the twists and turns became any more bizarre I would need a ball of yarn to find my way back. Here the stucco walls had been painted with scenes one would rather expect in the tombs of ancient pharaohs than beneath an eccentric businessman's ranch house.
The artworks were standard, depicting an afterlife in the Tuat, of huntsmen casting nets over flocks of waterfowl, of sheaves of wheat ready for harvest. Prominent in all of this was the symbol of the Apis Bull, of falcon-headed Montu smiting his enemies.
Delicately executed hieroglyphs were painstakingly executed then enclosed in ellipses with horizontal lines at one end to denote royal names, and if I grasped the meanings of these names above the sealed doorways, I had accidentally entered a sunken tomb complex. The names read like the who's who of Montu nobility, legendary personages I'd heard whispered of in the Tuat after my first passing and return as Ashton Kennedy.
My superiors in House Alba had a lot to answer for. This was like being thrust into the belly of the serpent Apep. If I got out of here with Kha, Ba and Ka intact, I'd be one infernally lucky Inkarna.
Down here the air was cool---much colder than above---and I cursed not wearing something warm under my jacket. At least it was dry, and the faint breeze that stirred on my sweaty skin told me air-conditioning was at work. And thank the moon god Khonsu there was light, even if it was a sickly hue that made my skin look like putty.
I felt it then: a faint prickling miasma of pain drew me down a side-passage where there were no tomb paintings. Pencil sketches showed that an artisan attached to House Montu planned to add the pigments at a later stage. The door was unadorned and unsealed. Wave after wave of frustration bubbled, as though from the stone against which I pressed a palm.
This was not some rescue mission, yet whoever was beyond that door radiated a terrible frustration and---and this frightened me somewhat---a horrific hunger. I should turn away, continue on my mission but I couldn't. That damnable curiosity that was the hallmark of House Adamastor's Inkarna tugged at me. I must look.
I gathered a few tangles of daimonic essence, just enough, in case I had to strike, and pushed open the door. The barrier swung inward, grating dryly on invisible hinges. Within was a chamber, its unplastered walls revealing redbrick and mortar. The only source of light was yet one of those horrid green fittings that illuminated a lidless sarcophagus, which, at a quick glance, appeared to be carved from limestone.
Within lay a man with Native American features, his body bound painfully with chains in a mockery of a mummy's bandages. Several padlocks held these bonds in place. He wasn't a mortal. His lips were pulled back in a silent rictus snarl to reveal vicious elongated canines---which would not look out of place on a wolf.
I woke up in degrees, a dream I couldn't remember melting away to reveal reality. The air was dry and chalky, sticking my tongue to the roof of my mouth just behind my fangs. I couldn't see anything. Hinges on a door groaned close by as someone joined me. A dude. I could tell from his scent. Human males used masculine soaps and deodorants with names like Lava and Irish Spring. Girls usually smelled like flowers, or at least something sweet. He walked real quiet-like, which was odd. Sneaky, even. I don't know why he bothered, not like I could do a whole lot about whatever he wanted to do. His pulse was rapid and sounded like a little tom-tom. I groaned. If only I could move just a little. I licked my parched lips.
"You might as well stop sneaking around. I can hear your heartbeat." My voice sounded like sandpaper on gravel. Baking in July. In the back of a dump truck trekking through Mexico. Somewhere I'd tasted dirt, probably when I face-planted into the neatly trimmed turf grass. I squirmed. "What do you people want from me?"
"Who's to say I want anything?" He had one of those uppity British-sounding accents, only a little flatter, softer, as he moved to stand behind my head. "What are you anyways?"
I inhaled through my nose and chuckled a little. Specks of green dotted my sight when I peeked; my vision was returning. "I figured you'd know what I am, considering you and your buddies decided to vamp-nap me."
"Vamp-nap? I have nothing to do with your situation." He came closer.
I must've looked like hell, drained of blood as much as I was and doped up more than a ghetto hooker. I didn't even fully fit in whatever the hell they had me lying in. My knees were bent like I was crammed in a Toyota. I was beyond normal tall, but just under doorway height. I could be grateful for that tiny favor of nature. Else I'd be smacking my head on every door frame I passed through as much as I usually drank. I lived in a tavern, it worked real well to kill the blood thirst for the most part, so I ran with the solution.
"You're a vampire."
"Really? Amazing powers of perception, genius." I smirked despite the circumstances. It couldn't be helped.
"I beg your pardon?"
"You're not one of them I guess, so that makes you a special guest, Mr.---"
"I'm not giving my name to a vampire."
I shrugged under the heavy weight of the chains. "Suit yourself. I guess you're not going to tell me why you're here either."
"Amazing powers of perception."
He was fucking with me. I snorted. "You plan on eyeballing me for the next week, or is it possible that you get me loose?" I opened my eyes wider and immediately squinted at the swirls of light stabbing my retinas.
"And why should I do that?" He lingered just outside my field of vision.
"Because I got a feeling you don't want to be here anymore than I do." I swallowed, biting back my rising need to sink my fangs into a fresh hot vein. I laughed to myself. Shit, I was losing my mind. If he didn't buy my story, I'd be a snarly mess before long.
"What guarantee do I have for my safety?" the man asked.
"It's not like I got a lot to offer either way."
He took a step forward and I was finally able to see him. Shit, he was tall as me. Maybe more, with dark eyes and dark hair, paler, tattoos peeking out of his collar, hard to tell in that fucked-up green lighting. Big holes in his ears stoppered up with round black discs. I blinked. "What are you, some kind of metalhead or something?"
"You're one to talk."
"I actually play in a band. Are you gonna help me or what?"
"Who are you? Why are you here? You must tell me these things first."
"Why should I?" I snorted. "You didn't tell me shit."
"I'm not the one in chains begging for release now either, am I? I just came here to retrieve an object of value to me. Not rescue vermin."
"Vermin, huh? And I wasn't begging." I sighed and ground my teeth together. "Fine. I'm Xan Marcelles. The Feds brought me here..."
"Feds?"
"Federal agents. You know, like investigators? Only these Feds drugged me and stuffed me into a helicopter and brought me fuck knows where. And you know what? I don't think they were Feds after all."
"You're in Texas. Just outside of Fort Worth."
"Texas?" I squirmed again. Texas was full of gun-crazy nutbags. "Come on man. Help me get out of here. I'm just a bassist, I swear."
"That drinks the blood of the living to survive."
I rolled my eyes. "Lay on the drama. You know what, Mr. No-Name? Never mind. Just go the fuck away."
"I didn't say I wasn't going to help you. Stop being an asshole." He tested the strength of the chains. "They've got you trussed up like a Sunday roast, hey?"
His comment reminded me of the question that almost formed in my blood-deprived brain before. "Where are you from, anyway?"
He peered back over his shoulder and started working on the lock. I couldn't see what with the way I was lying, but a tingle rose around the area that made my hair stand on end. The room wavered for a moment, making my eyes cross. The lock sprang open. The only ones capable of that kind of magic were the old vamps that I knew, well up to that point.
"I should ask what the hell you are." The chains loosened a little around me and I wiggled around trying to shed them while he worked on the next one. He held his hand over the thing and there was that weird bend of reality, kind of like the universe was being pulled inside out but only around him and no, that dude wasn't some ordinary human.
"They must be fearful of you." His gaze met mine.
The chains fell away from me like dead vines. I shrugged then popped my jaw. "What gives you that idea?" His look of worry increased as I shed the chains and tried to stand, which didn't work out quite like I planned, because I crumpled to the floor. My liberator shook his head as he watched me scramble to get to my feet. Red flashed in my sight and I gritted my teeth, willing to hold on as long as I could. The whole need thing was coming up on me and, with him being the only one around...
I yanked him down to the floor with me, clamped a hand over his mouth and held him down under my weight. He made a noise through his nose and I whispered close to his ear. "Ssshh. Now. We're in a predicament here, and I'm going to help you do whatever you came here for, but I need to drink now, and I'm really sorry. I can't think of anything but..."
I clenched my fingers in his hair to hold him tight and sniffed at his throat, nearly drooling. Blood thundered under that inked skin. I bit into his neck.
It was like being slapped in the face with epic and awesome at the same time. A rush of volume, a vortex of intertwined colors, I forced a moan deep into my bite as I pressed my hip into his in an involuntary response.
I choked and gasped over the wound, his blood spilling over my lips. Sparkles danced in the air and I tilted my head to watch, mesmerized. I might have noticed that they were attracted to my new victim, but then again it was like a mad rush. The light dimmed and crackled, snapping like a brown-out, flickering. My hair stood on end again and there was a smell of ozone, like before lightning---
I can't say it was a roar, or a rush of wind, but he shoved me away and sparks shot out from his hands into my chest, hurling me into the opposite wall. It was like being shot out of a cannon by the biggest electrified mule-kick in the universe. I slammed backfirst into the bricks, cracking them, then slid down the wall like a bag of dominoes and shook my head.
"How dare you attack me, like I'm some sort of...sorry? You apologize? Do you realize I've now given away my location, you imbecile?"
I jumped to my feet and backed away from him to the farthest corner. Motes of shiny stuff spun around his hands and his head. I blinked rapidly, not believing what I was seeing. And his blood, holy hell, his blood bubbled and danced in me, charging me with my own amperage, it felt. Not his blood, my blood. I rubbed at my eyes with the heels of my hands. My palms were smeared with blood. Something wet trickled from both my nostrils. More red. I tried to speak but was stunned like an escaped convict in a SWAT attack. Cows must feel that way right before they collapse to the floor to be processed as hamburgers and steaks. A rush of sound flooded my ears and I slapped my hands over them, groaning in pain.
"What the fuck are you man?" I don't know if I said it, or thought it. Sound was color, color was light---of which there was none left but us.
I should have seen it coming. Really. That sympathy Lizzie always had for those in predicaments---the same that had her getting streetwalkers into gainful employment or stray dogs into homes---had left me open to attack by a half-starved beast.
I might as well have planted a great shining beacon over both our heads saying Here we are, come get us. We were both beyond fucked. As I examined the blood painting my fingers from where I'd pressed my hand against the wound on my neck, I calculated we had maybe five minutes to make ourselves scarce before the first House Montu security goons crashed our party.
Vampires. I'd heard whispers of them, mere annotations in journals, with the skin walkers and other fell beasts. I'd never dreamed I'd ever encounter one face to face, or let alone try to reason with it.
Monster or not, Xan didn't deserve to be dissected by House Montu. No one did. The whole "enemy of my enemy" thing.
I glared at him then wiped the blood on my T-shirt. "I should kill you for that."
My daimonic powers had thrust him clean across the chamber and he had been thrown bonelessly against the wall. The blast would have killed a human. He merely blinked at me as runnels of blood trickled from his eyes, nose and ears, then shook his head as though to dispel fuzziness. Some part of me couldn't help but admire the raw beauty of the creature. His maker had definitely picked him for aesthetics as well as brawn.
Xan laughed and I readied another blast as I watched him lurch into a more stable pose. It didn't take much to put two and two together. House Montu clearly sought to use him in some sort of nefarious magic. They sought to boost their already ferocious martial arts skills with vampiric powers. My blood ran cold at the thought. They wouldn't, would they? Immortal in both body and soul, able to bend reality to their wills better and better through the years...
I should kill him, but that wasn't my call to make if I could reason with him. Besides, with our common enemy, he would prove a useful ally. Alliances between our kind and theirs were not unheard of in the past. So long as he didn't try any stupid stunts like this one, we'd be good. "We don't have time to shoot the breeze, creature. I don't like you but I'm not leaving you here to benefit House Montu either. Brand that name into your dead gray matter and avoid them for the rest of your miserable existence. You do not want to cross paths with them. Ever."
He narrowed his eyes at me. "Are they like---?"
"They're like me, on steroids, and if you try any bullshit with me like you did a moment ago, I'll up the voltage."
Xan laughed. "Right on, Mr. No Name." The way he stretched each limb carefully in turn suggested he was still in considerable pain and I cursed myself for the reflex action.
The enemy of my enemy is my friend... It wouldn't help if I'd inadvertently damaged him. He'd be absolutely no use when it came to combat, which was a certainty, knowing House Montu. How was I so sure he'd align himself with my cause?
"C'mon, we need to go. You can ask questions later once we get out of this maze." I gestured at the door and waited to see him limp after me. Poor bastard.
He was a cold taste of death on my heels. My daimonic senses knew him, understood on a molecular and spiritual level that this monster's souls had passed through the Black Gate but instead of completing the process of judgment, had been sent howling back into the original Kha. What madness lurked beneath the exterior?
Abomination, I wanted to name him and perhaps it would have helped if he wasn't such a bloke, for lack of better description. Monster or not, he was just some guy who'd had the misfortune of running into the wrong people. His emotions flared around him. Xan was genuinely afraid and angry, not only because of the Inkarna who'd captured him but of my powers. It must have been a new feeling for someone used to being the apex predator.
I kept us moving down the passages which made turns, split into T-junctions or terminated in dead ends. At about the third of these, Xan must have gathered enough of his bravado to speak.
"You got us lost, didn't you?" His chuckle had a nasty edge to it.
I growled. "Slightly off course."
He sagged against a wall and rested his forearms on his knees. "You got us totally fucking lost. Some rescuer you are."
"Shut up!" I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose. It didn't help that a residual headache throbbed dully just between my eyes. It had been ages since I'd been so jumped up on my daimonic abilities.
His negative buzz of energy loomed just outside my immediate reach---impossible to ignore. I needed to know whether House Montu had sent a bunch of goons or even one of their own to find us and, in order to do that, I had to concentrate to push my awareness beyond the now.
Dare I trust him while I quested beyond our immediate predicament? By the same measure, for us to continue blundering about these subterranean passages without a clear idea of where we were headed would also be a very bad idea.
I opened my eyes only to lock gazes with the man. He watched me intently, his gray eyes missing nothing. Although his posture suggested relaxation, the faintest tic of his jaw and the way he kept probing at a canine with his tongue told me he was anything but.
"I didn't come to rescue you, and I'm not going to divert my mission just because I got you out of that coffin. In return for your freedom, you can help me. I'm going to do something," I said. "Can you keep chips to make sure we don't get surprised? I need to have my attention elsewhere."
His brow furrowed. "Planning on doing some more of your hocus-pocus stuff?"
"Ja, I'm going to do some more of my--- Fuck it."
He smirked. "Man, I could use a cigarette."
"Don't be daft." Of all the stupid things to consider. I didn't want to think about my own pack of fags, tucked nice and far away in the glove compartment of my hired car. His needling me was certainly no help.
We maintained eye contact for a good few heartbeats then I looked away first. I didn't know what it was exactly. Something about him resonated with me. I caught the ghost of a memory, one of his, of a soft-eyed woman with blond hair attached to an inescapable sense of loss. I didn't want to think about my own loved ones. I had no way of telling whether they were still alive and I shoved that particular grief as deep as possible lest it distract me from the matters at hand. I probed at the still-weeping wound on my neck then leaned against the wall opposite the creature. He was once human, as was I.
And we had both taken lives---on numerous occasions. What made me better than him? The fact that I still had a beating heart? He might steal blood to stay alive but I stole bodies.
In another lifetime, Lizzie would have found him undeniably attractive; charming even though he affected an unsophisticated façade.
I closed my eyes again and cast out with my senses.
It didn't take me long to pinpoint movement---living signatures that hustled through the vast building---termites in a mound. I suppose it couldn't hurt now to knock out the security system. After all, they knew someone was here. How many someones I wasn't sure. Not all Inkarna were sensitive to the degree that I was, though if it came down to hand-to-hand combat I'd probably be royally fucked.
I breathed deeply and gathered, and tried to not let a specific point create a dimple in the overarching energy of the immediate environment. After that it didn't take long---three or four deep breaths---before I found the first of the sensors and could trace the data transmissions all the way back to a roomful of servers.
My interference was a case of nudging the electrical fields here, of creating an interruption that sparked and overrode the existing patterns. It was a daimonic equivalent of pushing against a boulder with one's shoulder, of overcoming the initial inertia. Something snapped out of place and an explosion of energy flared along the pressure points I'd found. My awareness blinked out.
The next I knew I was conscious again, on the ground, with grainy dust from the brickwork pressing into my cheek. The damn creature hovered over me, a cool hand pressed on my shoulder as he shook me.
"Dude, you okay? You just fell over with your eyes rolled back in your head and did this twitching thing." He mimicked the action.
"Ungh," I managed then swatted at his hand as I pulled myself into a seated position. "I'm fine."
He crouched only a meter from me, his brow furrowed as he regarded me. "You got some blood..." Xan indicated under his nose.
Damn. I wiped at the warm trickle below my left nostril and examined the rusty smear. I glared at him. "Don't get any ideas."
"After what you just did to me? Nah, but I thought I'd mention that I heard voices. There's some people down here. Don't know where exactly, because the sound's all fucked up. But I didn't want to just leave you lying on the floor. Since, you know, you're my best bet of getting the hell out of here." He gathered his hair, which hung loosely over both shoulders, and pulled it to one side as he stood. "You need a hand up?"
"I'm good." I suppressed a groan as I got up then paused to listen. My head throbbed as though I'd spent the whole of the previous day drunk out of my skull on cheap beer. The small hairs on my nape prickled, which suggested someone with daimonic power was casting out to find us.
It was definitely time to move again and I tried to recall my observations of the floor plan. My out-of-body stint of moments earlier suggested we were to the north of the complex. If we kept taking left turns we'd work our way to the perimeter---a tricky process with me trying to maintain a grip on two ways of perceiving reality at the same time.
All the while the vampire muttered behind me. I purposefully didn't listen to his words but eventually I spun around to face him. I was just that little bit taller than him but he didn't so much as flinch when he came to a halt mere inches from me.
"Will you shut the fuck up with your smart mouth?" I shot back at him.
"I was just saying that for someone looking for something in particular, you sure aren't very prepared." His grin was so that I wanted to smash it off his face but instead I kept my fists clenched at my sides and glared at him.
"In case you hadn't noticed, we're kind of in a deep mess at the moment."
"So much for the hotshot wizard." He snickered. "You gonna get us out of here this year?"
"I would if you didn't annoy me to the point of wanting to smear you into a pulp against a wall."
"Well, then let's move along, shall we?" He executed a mocking half-bow and gestured for us to continue.
I bit the inside of my cheek and turned my back on him. Did the guy have a death wish? He should be grateful I'd hauled his arse out of that tomb and yet he taunted me with every step. This was some stupid time for a dick-measuring contest, for sure. He should try walking like a bloody magical nuclear reactor and have conversations at the same time while worrying about where the enemy was.
I had worse issues hanging over my head than one annoying vampire dogging my heels.
We rounded the corner straight into a number of black-clad security guards. I don't know who was more surprised, me and the vampire, or the four men who hastily lifted their guns. I didn't wait to ask questions.
Excuse me, can you show me where the nearest exit is?
I almost laughed but released a raw burst of directed daimonic power instead. The two goons in the front fell even as I staggered back from the magical recoil. A twinge of pain in my sinuses warned me I was skirting close to a full-scale nosebleed. I was pushing this Kha into far too much sustained daimonic activity. It'd been ages since I'd been forced to tap into my innate powers to such a degree, and the flesh wasn't quite that willing to comply.
As it turned out, I didn't get a chance to worry about the other two. Xan shoved past me hard so I had to steady myself against the wall. The force of his attack was impressive. That's the thing about bringing a gun into close-quarter combat. Often there simply wasn't time to point and shoot.
Before either of the unfortunate pair had an opportunity to pull the trigger, the vampire had smashed into them, the fury of his assault landing them in a pile of thrashing limbs on the ground. Xan's fist connected with skulls, the sickening impact thudding again and again, until one man lay quite still, while the other one couldn't possibly last for long. So fast. Maybe Xan would be able to hold his own against one of House Montu's finest, after all.
The two I'd felled were quite dead. The force of my attack had liquefied their brains, so far as I could tell. Empty eye sockets gaped at me, mirroring mouths wrenched open in what must have been a split second of exquisite agony. They hadn't even had a chance to cry out.
I'd killed again. They might serve my enemy but out there they must have wives and children. Always, that knowledge bit. Yes, it grew easier every time, but it didn't settle nicely.
I glanced up at Xan, who crouched over the men still. "You okay?"
He held his hand at the gasping guy's throat then glared at me. "Yeah, I'm fine. I hope you don't mind..."
"Mind what?"
"I'd like to...you know..." He gestured at the man, whose eyes bulged. "I'm still healing from your blast, and this here would do the trick to finishing that up, you know?"
His smile made me feel scratchy behind the eyes and I turned away. He meant to drink their blood, of course. "Don't mind me," I muttered and took a few steps down the passage from whence we had come.
The liquid sounds of his feeding turned my stomach but at this point it was just a case of just damn well shut the fuck up.
There are times when I'm not proud of what I am, and that was one of them. Doing my vampire thing in front of him was awkward and vulnerable as hell, but I had to, since we weren't exactly in a safe spot for me to sweet-talk some chick into following me into the hallway at Pale Rider. I didn't really like feeding off dudes. My reaction to drinking blood was, well, uncomfortably close to erotic, for lack of a better word. Mr. No-Name turned away at least so I didn't have to feel watched. I made it quick. Blood flooded my mouth and, for a minute, I forgot where I was as I drank deeply, not concerned about hurting the guy. I probably did. Hell, he would have killed me anyway, and that threw my usual caution out the window. Strangely enough, though I braced myself for it, he didn't have the same wow effect on me, so I guess he was human all the way. When his body gave up the ghost, I stopped. Blood tasted different even one minute after death because the victim no longer took in oxygen. I dropped the corpse and stood.
My partner glanced back at me, but not directly. "Are you quite finished?"
"Yeah."
"Then let's keep moving." He turned and brushed past me to walk the same way from which the guards had come.
Wall-mounted pods every fifty feet cast a soft glow in the corridor, and I frowned as I noticed the Egyptian-style paintings on the walls. Who the hell were these fruit loops? Some kind of born-again Ra maniacs? Instead of stopping to check the scenes out in greater detail, I followed my companion, rounding corner after corner 'til I almost felt dizzy as stupid as the maze was. Doors interrupted the drawings every so often, and everything had that heavy Egypt vibe and smacked of cult freak. Cults were scary because of their focused purpose and belief in something completely irrational. Usually they bristled with lunatics that probably didn't need any extra help in the crazy department.
He stopped in front of me when we reached a wire-glassed steel door and turned to me. "Stay quiet now and let me lead." Sparks crackled from his hands and the door unlatched by itself. It seemed to have some kind of adverse effect on him, because another bead of blood tricked down his lip and his skin was glossy with sweat. I wrinkled my nose at the new smell, which while it wasn't bad, wasn't very fresh either. Instinctively, I plucked my shirt out to sniff at it. I had their smell all over me. He blinked at me, rolled his eyes and shook his head.
I shrugged and jerked my head in the door's direction. "After you."
We slipped through the door like mice, which was a funny feeling, because I wasn't used to worrying about my surroundings. If shit went down at Pale Rider, I was the dude to handle it, and I had plenty of people to back me up. If they were as bad as this guy or forbid, worse? Fuck. I had to trust him. Either that or take my chances in this rat trap. And the place was goddamned immense, with all its twisty hallways and billions of doors. Who lived like this? Maybe they were the Feds. Maybe this guy was a nut. Maybe I was lying somewhere at Pale Rider passed out and this was just some whiskey-glazed nightmare. Nah, the pain was real enough, which had healed just fine, thanks to the double infusion of hot yummy blood. Especially his. It was like vampire coke or something. I smirked. Bottle that shit and lay it on the older vamps. They'd jump all over that.
The hallway widened and terminated at another door hung about three feet from the floor, equipped with a fancy digital keypad. Nice, shiny, executive steps led up to it. He crept up those stairs and hesitated before touching the handle to do his magic thing on the door. I cleared my throat and he jerked at the sound.
"This leads inside the mansion, I think." He whispered like we were at the library in the reference section.
I nodded once. "Gonna unlock the door then?"
"Shh." His eyes rolled up in his head and he kind of quivered in place. A green swirly form breathed out of him and penetrated the door.
"Uh...dude?" I reached out to shake him, but thought better of it. Just as I started to get concerned, the green mist returned and settled back inside him. His eyes refocused on me and blinked rapidly.
"They're farther in. Stay close." He reached for the keypad.
"What exactly did you just do?"
"I checked ahead."
I laughed. "Then why don't you just use that power to find your thingie?"
"I can only travel so far and exert a minimal amount of energy. Otherwise I stand a chance of allowing them to triangulate our exact position." He rested his palm over the keypad and it flickered before going dark. Then it rebooted itself, but once again I heard the lock disengage.
"I have no fucking idea what you just said. Triangulate? You're one weird motherfucker."
He snorted softly then opened the door and went through it, holding it for me. "Come on, hurry."
I followed him inside and eased the door shut behind me without a sound. The hallway was very wide in there, measuring about twelve feet across, with open doors. The walls were papered with gilded fabric, and very expensive-looking paintings hung perfectly straight. Voices alerted me to the patrol before he heard them. I pulled him into one of the rooms, covering his mouth with my hand to stifle his surprised yelp.
His wide-eyed look melted into a frown and he scooted away from me. "What are you doing?" he whispered.
I pointed to the door. Then he could hear them too and his frown smoothed out. He nodded. The patrol passed by without incident, the guards' footsteps hushed on the padded carpet. My friend peeked out the door after they'd gone and motioned that the coast was clear. But I wasn't paying attention because I'd just gotten my first good look at the room décor. It was painfully Victorian, with candlesticks and wing-back chairs that perched in front of an unused fireplace, but even that wasn't the weirdest part. It was the trophy head hanging high above the mantle, almost all the way up to the crown-molded ceiling.
A horse's head. Not exactly white, but not tan either. Big brown glass eyes gazed at us serenely, and from the center of its forehead, a single twisted horn.
"Will you come on?" My partner tugged at my arm because I just stood there gawking at the thing.
"Is that what I think it is?" I said without looking at him and he sighed, following my line of sight.
"Yes, a bloody unicorn. You act as if you've never seen one."
"I haven't."
He snorted. "Some supernatural creature you are. Next thing you'll tell me you've never seen a Sasquatch either."
I elected to keep my mouth shut. Good thing, because apparently the patrol we'd waited out had retraced their steps and now blocked the door. I scanned the room for an escape, but there was no way out except through them. The men had their guns out and shouted at us not to move. The lead guard, a young and really attractive female, brandished a thick-strung crossbow. Even from my distance I could see the bolts loaded and ready to shoot in the thing.
I held up my hands and walked slowly toward the group. My partner was ready to unleash some shit again, but since it was taking a toll on him, I decided to do things my way.
And the girl. Why did it have to be a hot chick up front? Didn't they protect their females in this nuthouse? Back when I was alive, my mother instilled a deep respect for women in me at a young age, which was reinforced by my dad when I went to live with him. The difference between the two was that Dad had definitely been a ladies' man and had a weakness for beauty. He'd dated more than one at once, collecting them like Pokémon or some shit. Although I wasn't a two-timer really, I did possess an ingrained fascination for pretty girls. Women. This one here? Couldn't have been much older than twenty.
She looked almost Russian, with smoky green eyes and black hair restrained in a braid draped over her shoulder. The crossbow leveled with the center of my forehead.
"If you move, I will fire." Her lips curled upward. Maybe she enjoyed doing that just a little bit much.
One of the dudes behind her, wearing an expensive looking steel-gray sports jacket, spoke in low tones to his handheld radio. I was close enough to her to see the pale freckles sprinkled across the bridge of her nose. Okay, so maybe not Russian. Hell, I didn't know. Women were women, with different coloring, shapes and accents.
"You sure you can hit me, baby?"
"Fuck you, vampire." I could sense that same static electricity lurking in her. Before she could lay some hurt on me, I took a chance and lunged for her weapon and jerked it from her hands with my fancy vampire speed which took her by complete surprise, but the damned thing still fired. One of her escorts popped off a shot at me, but the bullet went wide. I shoved the girl back into the third guy, who seemed to be confused at whether he should shoot at me or the guy with me first. Number two was plucked up by the collar and introduced to the nearest wall face-first, courtesy of Yours Truly. I disarmed the third one still tangled up with the female and scraped the sole of my boot across his face at high velocity, shattering his nose. He covered it with his hands and howled in pain, blood flooding over his lips.
A left hook surprised me from behind. It was the girl, agile as a spider monkey and obviously trained in hand-to-hand combat. While I recovered from the first swing, she performed a beautiful roundhouse kick on me. I saw the big black boot coming in enough time to move just a hair to the right and avoid a lights-out sort of contact with my skull. She screeched like a harpy and swung at me again before a psychic blast shoved her right into me. I let her drop to the floor. Of the three, one was dead. He'd stopped nursing his nose and lay still. The other dude just kind of curled up on his side groaning a little and the girl was already scrambling to her feet to have another try at me.
"For bloody sake, kill her and be done with it!" My friend backed to a corner of the room and slid down the wall to land hard on his ass. I barely had time to register that he lay there on the floor with a bolt jutting from one side of his chest before she leaped up at me again. That time I caught her by the throat and slammed her to the floor. I picked up one of the discarded guns and aimed it point-blank at her face. She set her jaw, her eyes filled with daggers.
I couldn't pull the trigger. With my now-wounded friend screaming at me to just kill her and her lying there bracing herself for the inevitable gunshot to the cranium, I lowered the muzzle of the gun and shot her in the thigh instead. She screamed. I shot her again in the kneecap on her other leg. She screamed louder. I walloped her in the temple with the butt of my gun and she went quiet and slack.
"You should have killed her," my companion said, his voice wheezy.
With the immediate danger past, I went to his side. He lay halfway propped against the opposite wall, looking like the world's largest and most rockin' voodoo doll with that wooden shaft protruding just under where his left nipple should be. I crouched next to him and prepared to pull it free, but he stopped me.
"Don't. Just leave it. It's too deep."
I shook my head. "Dude, you have to trust me, but I gotta pull this thing out to help you."
He lifted an eyebrow. His skin was clammy and I was sure he wouldn't last long. The soft squeal in his breath told me that yeah, that pointed tip had gone between his ribs and probably had ripped into a lung. "What are you going to do then?"
"Tell me your name."
"What?"
"I want to know who I'm healing. Tell me your name and I'll help you."
His head lolled around on his neck. His eyes crossed a little then refocused on me. He took a couple of shallow breaths. "Ash...my name is Ash."
"Okay, Ash. This is gonna hurt..." I jerked the missile free and he cried out. He watched as I dug my right fang into the inside of my forearm and tore a small gash there to make my blood flow. His eyes widened when I jerked his shirt up and shoved his jacket aside to let the black liquid drip down into the gaping circular wound.
To the Inkarna, names held an inordinate amount of power, especially true names or Rens, as we called them, and for a moment I'd been tempted to share my own Ren, but the pain that screamed through my entire being went beyond anything I'd ever endured and blanked out all rational thought. When Xan pulled the crossbow bolt from my chest it was worse than not being able to draw breath properly, and whenever I did, a fresh blaze of agony had me coughing weakly.
What got me in the end was not the fear of death, but rather the concern in his eyes---as though a creature such as he were capable of truly caring about fellow sentient beings.
His blood was viscous and black, and where it seeped past the broken skin to dribble through the torn flesh, it burned as it sent its questing fingers of fresh fire into the very essence of my being. Beyond that, I could feel it act upon my Kha. It knit the muscle and skin, and restored my physical self to an undamaged state even as it imprinted its signature upon my Ka and Ba.
Some trick of the dark magic he worked sent a slew of memories flashing through my consciousness.
Bright lights shine in my eyes so I can barely make out the sea of faces turned toward me in adoration. My fingers slide along a fret board as I ready myself. The opening notes of Summer Breeze give me a shit-eating grin.
A blue-haired girl smiles at me, takes me by the hand and leads me into her bedroom. She smells sweet and I allow her to drag me down into the fluffiness of her bed where I nuzzle her throat and gift her with soft nibbles that lead to her collarbone.
The whiskey bottle is empty by the time I look up to see the paling sky outside. Through the window the light makes my eyes water and, for a moment, I try to snatch at the remembrance of sunlight playing across my skin. I can't hold the memory without phantom prickles of pain sliding along my flesh.
"Can you sit up?" Xan's voice pulled me out of the reverie. His hands were so strong and assured I allowed him to raise me into a seated position. At this point I couldn't complain, as he was the only solidity in my world.
The room slashed in and out of focus. The pattern of the Oriental carpet blossomed into a three-dimensional profusion of plants and flowers. The iron tang of blood was heavy in the air---so much so that I could taste it at the back of my throat.
Urgency pressed me to my feet and if it were not for his grip on my upper arm as he rose with me, I would most likely have staggered into a large oak armoire and brained myself on its scrollwork.
I pressed my hand against my forehead and surveyed the carnage. Bodies sprawled everywhere. The young initiate lay groaning slightly but remained unconscious.
"Why didn't you finish her?" I asked.
"She's a female."
I managed a rasp of laughter. "And you'd still say that when she rips your 'nads out and hands them to you on a silver platter." I stumbled forward to snatch at a pistol that lay discarded on the floor but he stopped me.
"We need to get out."
Slowly I turned to face him. Xan probed at a fang with his tongue. Whether he did it unconsciously because he was out of sorts or because he knew it made me uncomfortable to be reminded of his true nature, I wasn't sure.
"I know we need to get out, but I need to find what I came for originally. I won't get a second chance."
He snorted. "You're crazy."
"Well, if we carry on standing here arguing, they're going to catch us. There are nine others in this house we seriously need to worry about now that you've incapacitated the girl." I gestured at her. "Let's keep moving."
I didn't give him the chance to disagree and made for the exit, pausing at the door long enough to make sure no one used the passage. Hide and seek had never been my favorite game when I'd been a kid. Invariably I'd crouched in terror while my friends or siblings had searched for me. I hadn't had the pluck to change hiding places or stalk the seeker.
The house was full of people on the go. About the only advantage we had now was me having taken out the security system, but that wouldn't stay down forever. The vampire tailed me but this time at least he didn't mutter anything. His nerves made me twitchy. Three times we hid just in time to avoid patrols. I got my first glimpse of one of the House Montu Inkarna; an older man with florid features, he nonetheless moved with surprising alacrity with two youngsters in tow---initiates I was sure. That was one group to avoid.
This man's features didn't match the visuals I'd been given of Master Goodkin, whose photo suggested he was in his mid-forties, with iron-gray hair and a patrician nose. A formidable foe then, I was certain. It was best that we slink out as fast as possible. The only clue to the relic's whereabouts was that it was in a study on the west wing. Which floor, I wasn't told, which meant it could take us a lot longer to randomly search. I blew my breath out in frustration. This wasn't working.
"I need you to watch over me," I told Xan. We'd ducked into a small room filled with chests. There was very little room for two big guys but I figured it'd go better for us if we stayed put for a bit.
Xan's nostrils flared and he leaned against one of the larger containers, all the while watching me. "You're gonna get us killed."
I had to laugh. "They don't want either of us dead, or we would have been by now." I didn't want to explain my fears---for both of us---should we be caught. "But you'd soon wish you were."
He frowned. "So, now what?"
"I've gotta do that whole looking out in the---" I waved my hand in the air. How to explain this to a non-magical creature? "Astral travel thing. I need you to make sure no one comes in this door."
By now I was sure I could trust him to a degree. It was clear our time in the house had him spooked---hell, I too could do with a good, old-fashioned hightailing it out of here. But the chances of getting back in to get that little item after today's disturbance seemed unlikely. As much as spending a moment longer in the Luxor mansion was distasteful, leaving empty-handed was less of an option. It was clear House Alba's elders placed great importance on it. Why, they weren't telling me at this point and, after this, I wasn't sure I even wanted to find out.
Right now I needed to catch my breath. Something in that infusion of vampire blood had hit me like a line of coke---something this Kha's previous tenant had been well-acquainted with---and if I didn't rest a little, I'd probably go bug-fuck crazy.
With a last glance at Xan, who watched me with a thunderous expression, I sank to my haunches with my back pressed against the wall then drew the first deep breath.
I spun out of my body with an almost audible snap into a maelstrom of daimonic essence. If the material world was in turmoil at our presence, the atmosphere on a magical level was akin to the tempest in the eye of Jupiter.
I was buffeted this way and that until I was able to drag enough calm about me to rise above the mess. What I found could only be described as two or more aware storm fronts bulging against each other, with very little space for anyone else.
They hadn't tasted my signature, though. I was beneath their notice, for now. For a few moments I hovered then marveled at the silvery line that traced back to my Kha. The vampire glowed dully, a paler splotch next to my heat trace.
I held onto the knowledge that names held power. All Inkarna knew that the moment they came into being in the Hall of Judgment and uttered their Ren to He Who Balances the Scale. I had been sent here to search for the cartouche of Amunet the First, founder of House Alba. If I already had the intent to find this object, then surely uttering the Ren would draw me to its position---especially if House Montu was not to possess the item. Synchronicity played into the hands of those who sought to rectify injustice.
So long as none of those currently searching for me traced my signature, I was free to conduct my own. Several times I changed the frequency of my being as the others came close. I don't know how many knew that trick, or indeed were aware that they could alter their patterns, but it worked.
My near escapes still made me feel a bit like a sparrow hidden as the shadow of a hunting hawk passed over him.
The house was filled with many wonders. It wasn't an easy thing looking for a particular star in a nebula. That was the only way I could describe it. All the while I still fretted about my Kha somewhere below me in the world of matter.
While my gut instinct told me the vampire was no longer my concern---if he'd heal me, surely he wouldn't mean to kill me---I simply had to trust him with my prone body there. The problem with freeing one's awareness in this way was judging the passage of time. I could be out of my body for five minutes---or an hour. Each minute that ticked by brought us closer to discovery. I couldn't turn back empty-handed either. It wasn't simply a case of losing face. It was admitting weakness to those who never forgot.
Rocked by the constant explosions of power around me, it took what could have been a few heartbeats or an aeon to focus long enough to quest with tendrils of my own power. Whip-thin thoughts pinged, much like a bat's sonar, as I scanned the daimonic powers that surged about me. Amunet, Amunet, Amunet. I tasted the word, turned it over and imbued it with the idea of House Alba.
That seemed to do the trick, because a faint glimmer answered me---good! We were not far and if we went down two floors and headed south...
Fear coupled with a terrible sense of urgency had me lurch back into awareness in my body. I woke to find Xan crouched over me.
"Dude, answer me, man! They keep walking past the door. Can you hear me?"
The disorientation that accompanied my jaunts into the aethers had the vampire doubling then returning to a singular entity before my eyes and I had to dig the heels of my hands into my sockets to rid myself of the sensation.
"Okay." I stifled a groan. "Just give me a second."
"That was longer than just a couple of minutes. More like fifteen." Xan rocked back on his heels to seat himself opposite me. Accusation lay heavy in his tone. There wasn't much space on the floor but he did his damndest not to make any physical contact, his knees pulled up to his chest.
"That's not too long." I managed a smile.
"It's not funny." His scowl was positively ferocious.
"Well, if it makes you feel any better, I know where we need to go now."
He continued to glare at me which, for some reason made him look comical. His hair looked like he'd been raking his fingers through it and bits stuck up at odd angles. I couldn't help myself. I laughed. After all, what else could I do?
Xan jumped to his feet. "I'm going to---"
"What? Leave me here to die? I'll just come back and bite your arse in a few decades if you're still knocking around." A little bit of truth never hurt.
My words had the desired effect and he froze. "You're not bullshitting me about this reincarnation thing, are you?"
"Nuh-uh." Gingerly I pulled myself onto my feet. My joints felt as though they weren't articulating properly. How the hell I was to succeed in my task, let alone escape, was beyond me, but it would do no good to communicate my misgivings to the vampire. His agitation was heavy in the air about him.
My Kha's previous tenant would, no doubt, have smashed his fist into the wall, or sworn a lot. I could feel those expletives itching to roll off my tongue but I held back. "You ready?" I asked Xan.
He opened his mouth as though he would argue, but a muffled shout from the passage outside the door had us both freeze. I could hear my pulse as we waited for whoever was on the other side to pound past. Then, when things were as quiet as I thought they would be, I pushed the door open.
Xan and I shared a quick glance then we exited into the corridor, and I was glad that he stuck close to my heels. I tried to shield us both but the pain that screamed through my brain all but had me double over, with the vampire bumping into me from behind.
He steadied me. "Are you sure you're all right?"
The house around us was alive with people calling to each other. Walkie-talkies crackled. I peered at him through a haze of pain. "I'm doing this to keep us both out of sight." Or so I hoped.
He frowned and looked about us. "What is up with this green shit anyway?"
"You see it?"
Xan nodded.
"That's just fucked up. You shouldn't." Now wasn't the time to wonder at this peculiarity. The blue-green motes were there, perfectly visible to me if I squinted. They coruscated about us, mist-like, as though possessed of a life of their own.
I simply didn't have the leisure to wonder at the unholy alliance posed between us. It hurt too much to think right now, with the cartouche of Amunet's location branded on my consciousness.
Xan proved his worth again and again. I hated to admit that on my own I would have failed, as he often sensed danger long before I did, so wrapped was I was in my efforts to hide us and zone in on my goal. If the security system had been up and running, I'd have had cameras to deal with on top of my quest.
The room we entered was unexceptional compared to the countless others we'd passed through during the course of our continued misadventure. It was a small study, with a large bay window overlooking a hidden courtyard with a very long drop to the ornate flagstones decorating the bottom. Three of the walls were lined with bookshelves loaded with a fortune in leather-bound tomes. Gilt letters glinted in the low light. We locked ourselves in.
Xan pressed his back against the door and looked as though he would sag to the floor. "This it? Can we go now? I'd kill for a smoke."
"In a moment." The way I felt now I'd probably join him with a cigarette, though I'd been trying---and failing---to quit, for months now. I glanced about until my attention settled on a small chest on a shelf nearest the window. It was unadorned, its dark wood gleaming from years of handling. It wasn't the only box between the books but something about it felt right to my daimonic senses.
It didn't take much probing on my part to snick the lock open and I lifted the lid to reveal the object I'd been looking for. It was a flat oval made of gold, with the hieroglyphs raised from a textured surface. I gulped back a sob of relief and quickly slipped the object into my front jeans pocket. The cartouche was small---no larger than a cellphone. The metal felt warm to the touch.
Xan quirked a brow. "You mean to tell me this is why you were here? For that itty bitty thing?"
"If it hadn't been for the cartouche, you'd still be in that sarcophagus in the basement."
"True. How about now? Can we go or would you like to hang out some more in this office?"
"The fun isn't over yet." I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, willing some steadiness into my tired limbs.
"You can't like magic us outta here, can you?"
"No." I looked at him. "It doesn't quite work like that. I'm sure you've figured that out by now."
"Damn, okay." His disappointment was tangible. "Well, let's get this shit over with. If it's a fight they want, then fuck it. They get one."
He had a point. I let Xan lead. I don't think it mattered where we went, so long as it was down. There were plenty of doors to the outside once we made it to the ground floor. The only problem is that our enemy would have a better knowledge of the exits and could simply lie in wait for us to stumble into their clutches.
We hurried down flights of stairs, ducked into side passages and took out small groups of security guards. It became almost mechanical---too easy, I wanted to tell him, though I'd never been much of a brawler in my past life---what a joke---so I had to rely mostly on the vampire now despite my current imposing physique.
I didn't want to let on to Xan that these confrontations, some even with one of the more daimonically active initiates, took a lot more out of me than I'd expected. Added to that, this house played tricks on us, I was sure of it. Its presence swirled about us, the anger of its sentience leading us down passages away from where we'd intended.
Sounds of pursuit were never far off. Voices echoed, deceiving as to their actual location and possibly driving us even farther off course. Xan would pause every so often to sniff at the air like some goddamned dog. I'd have to trust his sense on this one. I sure as hell wasn't certain anymore where we were headed. Up. Down. Back through the way we'd come in the subterranean levels.
Those daimonic blasts that I did catch left my head and body feeling as though I'd been beaten by a pack of thugs. My left ear screeched with a terrible ringing and if I jerked my head too quickly pain lanced right through my central nervous system so I almost blacked out. Every breath was a fresh blaze of agony. Cracked ribs? This was likely.
Xan didn't look like he'd fared any better. Blood trickled down his nose and out of his ears. The sad fuck was caught up in something that went way over his head and a sudden wave of sympathy for him surprised me. He was just some bloke. Vampire or not, he hadn't asked to get caught up in House Montu's business. Hell, in another time and place we might even have been friends.
Uncomfortable thoughts of my past self slipped forward. We may even have been...
Ugh. This Kha I possessed now balked at the idea. My former female self was long dead.
We rounded a corner and pretty much almost stumbled into Alexander Goodkin himself, who somehow succeeded in looking down on us, even though we'd almost taken the last few steps to the ground floor. Unlike the other unfortunates we'd neutralized, the man and his cohorts were ready for us.
"Alexander Goodkin, I presume," I said to the man. I had to find some humor in the situation. I wasn't quite ready to play Stanley to his Livingstone, but then what the hey...
His eyes widened and I was certain he recognized me from House Montu's "most wanted" list though he didn't say anything. Instead he nodded once then I felt the first inrush of his daimonic power. This was not going to end well.
I'd had just about enough of the funhouse. The old guy and his two goons didn't look menacing, but since I'd seen those glittery things floating around Ash, I knew what that meant when I also saw them gather around these guys.
"Get down!" Ash shoved me to the ground before a sonic blast blew over my head, caught one dude like a leaf in the wind and crammed him into the wall behind us. I knew the tricks in fighting, magic or not. His people were powering up to hit me too and I rolled out of the way to avoid one then fell back on my ass to avoid the other. The old guy cursed and started sucking in all the sparklies, which meant bad news for me and Ash. I charged him like a linebacker, throwing my shoulder into his thin frame and we both went down.
Charged with electricity and a healthy dose of hatred, he glared at me and I was lifted off him like I'd been launched out of a cannon. I turned my head to see Ash going toe-to-toe with the other two, blasting each other like they were in a double-Ryu match in a Street Fighter gameathon. I shook my head to clear the pain. It wasn't a big deal. I healed from minor injuries pretty fast, but what did worry me was that the old dude was back on his feet and joining in the psychic battle with Ash.
It was surreal, the way they shot bolts of lightning and shit at each other. Speaking of lights, they flickered overhead every time one of them attacked the other. I was kind of insulted at how quickly I was disposed of and forgotten, like none of them felt I was any kind of threat. I grunted and slid sideways, gathering my feet underneath me.
The others tossed threats back and forth like tennis balls. From the wiggly sort of language they used, Alexander Goodkin was like the leader here or some shit. I braced my weight over the heels of my hands, moving slowly. Ash glanced at me and the other three caught it. I smiled innocently and lowered myself to the floor. Dizzying patterns of carpet tickled my nose. Here I was nothing. A spectator. Audience. According to the whole chaining me up and possibly having some pretty nasty uses for me in mind, also obviously House Montu property. It reminded me a little of the houses my kind liked to keep. Families, clans, whatever they wanted to call them. More cults. It was all about the crazy.
Ash and Goodkin started swinging at each other with fists, apparently bored with blowing smoke up each other's asses and I took advantage of the moment. Physical combat I could do just fine. One of his goons stepped in my path as I rose to my feet. He growled and showed perfect, even white teeth. His gaze wanted to pin me to the wall like a butterfly in a millionaire's collection, but I was no butterfly. While he pulled in whatever he used to charge himself, I threw myself at him, catching him by the shoulders to throw him down on the floor. His fingers tightened around his gun, but before he could react, I socked him solid in the jaw.
"Blast me now. Go ahead." I punched him again. His eyes crossed then refocused on me again. Another spear of electricity shocked me and threw me back, ripping through my body like frozen fire. I sprawled on the now-bloody carpet. A stupid portion of me wondered if they'd have it cleaned or replace it entirely.
"Enough!" Goodkin shoved Ash away. Even with one man down for the count, it was clear we were completely outgunned. I struggled to rise, my muscles still twitching from the sick amount of energy thrown at it, but only flopped a little like a dying fish dropped on the dried planks of a beachfront pier. Baked fish. I definitely felt a little roasted. Goodkin nodded to the other grunt, a blond man with a severe expression who wore a sports jacket, and he crossed the corridor to drag me up to a kneeling position. My head felt like it weighed a ton and blood dripped from my nose. I'd just about had it with the goddamn fireworks, being blown back by these freaky Jedi motherfuckers, and now, this dude's hands on me as he pinned my arms way up behind my back.
"Have at it," I snarled, well actually slurred. It was like being drunk, but not in a good way. "Fucking do it again. It doesn't stop me."
Goodkin laughed. Ash called out, and my world...simmered. That was the best way I could describe it. I felt like my blood was coming to a slow boil, right in my veins. The pain I'd felt before was a lover's kiss compared to the building agony deep in my core being.
It was like my actual soul was on fire.
"Stop, you'll kill him!" Ash had risen to his feet.
Goodkin didn't take his eyes off me. "And what of it?"
"You obviously want him alive for a reason."
Goodkin scoffed. "There are others. He's been trouble enough. And make no mistake, you are next."
They were talking about me; I could hear the words, but the pain gripping my body was all-consuming. For once, I had absolutely nothing to say. Ash met my gaze and looked back at Goodwin, coming around to face the evil bastard.
"Look, you selected this one for a reason." He pointed at me. "You'll have to hunt down the perfect one for another go at whatever it is you've planned."
Even in my state of agony, I could smell the sweat of his fear as I dimly realized he was bargaining for my life. I hoped he knew what he was doing. The choice had been taken out of my hands.
"We'll go peacefully." Ash glanced at me then back at Goodkin. "You have my word."
Goodkin exhaled, and the torture ended. I fell to the floor on my face, clawing at the carpet. "Thank you," I mumbled before his men came forward to lay hands on me. Out came the syringe I'd become familiar with. It made sense, considering it'd be hell to just knock me out. Ash watched as they slid the needle in my vein. I grinned stupidly in relief as I passed out.
Pain brought me back to reality. My arms were stretched above my head and the weight of my body dragged me toward the earth. My mouth tasted as though I'd dined on week-old road kill. The air was smoky with incense and I could pick out the bitterness of myrrh among the tones of frankincense and woody cedar. This brought on a fit of coughing, which didn't help my bruised ribs one whit. I hacked until I was sure I tasted blood and didn't give a shit whether anyone heard that I was awake. Inkarna tended to be more physically robust than the average human, but it was still possible to kill the Kha. As I was right now, I was harmless to House Montu. After all, I'd said I'd not give any further trouble. I could only hope that whatever they had planned for Xan would leave him alive afterward. As for me? Maybe a sarcophagus awaited me with promises of eternal torment.
I tried to focus on my surroundings. Easier said than done. My vision refused to clear at first and I had to blink furiously until I could discern where the hell I was. A chamber. Of course. It would be some chamber. The domed area was covered in hieroglyphs but my vision was too fuzzy to read any of the words. Most were scribed in hieratic, and the artist's hand was very slanted.
The lettering created bands around the circumference of the room that caused a peculiar optical illusion---akin to 1960s op art---that pulsed and made me look to the ground. It wasn't that difficult to stare at the ground. My neck was sore anyway. Where the hell was the vampire? What had they done with him? For surely if I was here, in this environment that crackled with suppressed malice, chances were good they'd intended me to watch, or at least be a part of the proceedings. And that thought chilled me.
In many ways my ignorance of House Montu's plans were worse than being strung up like game waiting to be gutted. They had no qualms about harnessing the life forces of others. My own prospects didn't look good either. While my mortal Kha remained alive, they could easily use me as some sort of battery. Kinda like in that movie, the one where the machines kept the humans in suspended animation. Visions of that sarcophagus returned yet again.
I shuddered and coughed again, the pain spiking simultaneously from my head and my chest. Now we both needed rescuing. The black humor of my situation drew a twist of a grin. Damn House Montu. Every time we tussled, the axe I had to grind just got bigger and bigger.
My heart fucking broke just recapturing the brief happier times before House Montu had shoved its filthy tentacles into my life again. All because of secrets.
None of that really helped at present, with me hanging like so much meat while...
At this point I looked up and was able to focus on the pale stone plinth that hulked in the center of the room. My head felt as though it would roll off my neck but I held it up long enough to take in the dismal scene before me.
They'd cuffed the poor daft fuck of a vampire to the stone. Whatever they'd administered to knock me out still had him out cold, for he lay slack-jawed and limp, his hair tangled and spilling off the shelf---a platform that appeared to have too-convenient grooves cut into its surface, rather like the embalming tables the elder pharaohs had been prepped on.
I shuddered then glanced around the chamber again.
This was the place where House Montu's dead no doubt had their Khas prepared for the eternal journey. What manner of devilry did they have in store for he who had already passed through the Black Gate and returned?
Unless I could pull a serious fucking rabbit out of a non-existent hat, there was no way either Xan or I were getting out of here. Alive or undead.
I knew I should have trusted my instincts in the first place. Everybody else figured I had no clue for myself anyway. It sucked, but if I'd given this a second thought---the whole coming along peacefully with a bunch of sharp-dressed men---I'd stayed behind, unless they felt they could take me by force in front of better part of a hundred witnesses. Really, what the fuck did they want with me? I clenched my hands into fists, but was much too weak to pull loose from whatever the hell they had me strapped to, so I stared at the ceiling instead. A big-ass dome, kind of like the ones you find in Rome or something. Scribbles all around it. I blinked. This was some seriously hokey shit, but they obviously took it as gospel, or whatever these weirdoes believed. I was stripped to the waist, vulnerable to anything they felt like doing to me.
I knew there was more out there besides ordinary life. I'd been through a little bit before I landed at Pale Rider to assume an ineffectual existence as a bass player. I was put through the paces as a new vampire by my sire, so I came across enough of the paranormal, as people called us now. And some had powers, like mind reading, or making shit move by just thinking hard. I never really inherited much in the way of "powers" but my physical senses had sharpened up nicely.
My body hurt, from my side to my head, my ears, my jaw...all of me. Loss of blood had me wavering between human and that monster thing I kept carefully coiled inside. The real vampire, not the grinning, womanizing asshole that lurked in his seat at a corner table with his booze.That real vampire? One mean motherfucker. Hungry. Unbiased. A killer. Faint memories tickled my brain of Ash's blood and my fangs ached for a little more. Just a little more.
A man with a bald head and dark eyeliner stepped up beside me. His white robe gave him the appearance of a ghost and he chanted stuff in a harsh-sounding language, one I'd never heard before. I wasn't really listening, just working at keeping my shit together. I had to survive this. It couldn't be the end. Or worse, the beginning of some other kind of torture. He laid his hand on my chest, rattling off in that same weird language. My heart tingled. A low growl welled up inside me and slid between my dry lips. Green filaments of light swirled in the air above me; it was the same stuff I had seen around Ash. Speaking of which, where was he? I wanted to look around, but felt so heavy. My heart thundered behind my ribs, like it'd punch out in a bloody mess. I gritted my teeth as pain set in, a hot kind---the bad stuff that meant this wasn't over.
The bald dude's voice rose in volume until he was shouting, the same words, over and over again. I smelled wine. A spatter of thick liquid on what sounded like concrete told me they were pouring it on the floor. The rest of the fools I'd run into before drew close around me lying there like a Thanksgiving dinner. The girl I'd spared earlier was behind the ring of men, smug as she handed the guy above my head another bowl. That guy turned out to be the fuck, Goodkin. He strolled around me, spreading what looked like salt. A leopard skin was strapped over his white robe on his shoulder. A thick hunk of jewelry in the shape of an Egyptian scarab glittered from a harness he wore over his chest. I struggled in my bonds, wanting to break loose and just get the fuck out of there, but the straps held solid and I whined against my will at the heat building inside me.
The green stuff had a calming effect though, and I allowed myself to be lulled by it. Anything to escape from the fire spreading in my body. I felt weirdly compelled to open up, not like physically, but on a deeper level in my mind. A wild head-trip of some kind, and I let it in. The green stuff grew a point and swiftly entered me through the nose, making me exhale. My breath was a red mist that joined the green, spinning and swirling to form some sort of vortex-thing, like a little round portal. Every breath I took and released added to the mixture. The hole opened wider.
Goodkin kept up that creepy monotone chanting shit and raised his hands to direct the growing window. I wasn't sure, but before it left my field of vision I saw black waves, a glistening gate, lightning... Chills ran through me, shaking my spine like a death rattle. Another dude appeared at my side, a little younger, same makeup and identical robe. In his hand gleamed a small but wickedly-curved ceremonial knife. It had to be. It was almost like a sickle, with a modest length of blade and a bone pommel.
I cried out when he cut me. I might be dead but I could still feel that. The fire inside me rushed to the wound as he put a shiny wide-rimmed cup against my ribs to catch my blood.
"What the fuck are you---" I got out before someone from behind me shoved a rag into my mouth. I squirmed in my restraints. This was bad shit. I knew what they were trying to do. They were looking to steal my blood. If they drank it, bad things were about to happen. Consider the fact that I had no clue what these dudes were, but drinking from me without consent?
Well fuck. That could make them a vampire. Or worse.
Every time my wound healed, he cut me again. His eyes were black. Cold. I growled through the makeshift gag as the vampire kicked in. I pulled and jerked at the chains, but they still held. Once he had what he wanted from me, he raised the cup. The green shit twinkled around him and around me, and I closed my eyes. Felt it. A direction planted in my mind. Just a little suggestion. I had to get out of there. I didn't want to be part of whatever the hell they were cooking up.
My eyes popped open again and the scrawling on the inside of the dome above me spun. Faster. Faster. Waves of white noise hissed in my ears like open-air static on a radio. My vision tunneled to a pinprick and then I felt it. An energy. A burn, but this time, psychic. How did I know that? It wasn't cold. It wasn't hot, but it crackled as it soaked into me, like a sponge. A massive implosion of power kicked me in the brain and I jerked on the table like a reanimated corpse. I don't know where the dudes went, maybe off to go party with my stolen blood, whatever, but where I lay, something was definitely happening and the party? It was just starting.
I yanked at the chains again and this time they broke like they were made of plastic. I pulled the gag from my mouth, which had gone dry. Blue-green shimmered at the edges of my vision as I came up off that table like some kind of ninja-Frankenstein. Far away, a piece of me laughed at the joke, but from where I was, there was no joke. Goodkin was drinking my blood, with the now-massive hole standing in place with a rotating foggy ring behind him. There definitely was a sea of black waves, like the metal-flake pearl paint on a Les Paul; fractured peaks of moving nothingness, and beyond that, an enormous black gate. Black-on-black.
In my peripheral vision, I spotted Ash dangling from a chain, just watching me with wide eyes. But below that stare, a little smirk. Something was up here. Goodkin gagged and dropped the bowl to clutch at his throat.
"Stupid ass, don't you know better than to drink that shit?" It was too late to stop whatever was gonna happen to him. He let out a bone-chilling scream and stared at his hands. Two of the robed dudes rushed at me. Instead of bracing myself to throw a punch or kick, I felt a rising bubble of cold burn from the pit of my stomach.
Ghostly blue flames flared out from me and covered everything in front of me like a wildfire after a long drought. In slow-motion, I watched in horror as the demonic wave exploded my offenders from the chest out in a mess of blood, bits of bone and floating hairs, even Goodkin. The backsplash of guts and ooze splattered over everything, including me and Ash. The smell of roasted flesh laced the air, stinging my nostrils.
The window swelled in size until I could've just walked through it, giving a terrible glimpse of what lay beyond death. Then with a blinding flash of light, it was gone.
The female that'd just been smirking at me minutes ago was pressed flat against the wall, coated with the goop from her former friends. Wide-eyed, she sobbed as she watched me release Ash from his bonds. I stood and walked over to her, still feeling that power coiled up inside me like a rattlesnake, ready to strike.
"This power..." She eyed me with obvious contempt. "It is not yours."
Hell no, it wasn't. It was something like I'd never believe I could handle. And definitely something I wasn't interested in using again---to erase people from existence with just a thought? Fuck.
I leaned against the wall, my hand above her head, like I was going to kiss her. Her brows knitted in confusion.
"No, it isn't sweetheart, but you forget something."
"I forget nothing." Her lame attempt to spit on me missed because she was shaking so much.
"Sure you do. And Ash here? Was right. I should've taken you out before, but I don't hit women."
Her chin lifted, hope glimmering in her eyes that she was going to make it out of this room alive. I grinned, making a slow show of my big fangs. Her gaze locked on them.
"Thing is sweetheart, I got no problem biting." I bowed my head to her neck, despite her trying to shove me away. She may as well have tried to push a dump truck uphill for all the resistance it gave.
My fangs slid into her skin as easily as any other victim and I drank deep. The little sparks I felt in that fluid weakly mirrored the same I felt from Ash, which was great. I really needed the extra boost after the shit I'd been through. The day's activities had left me with a thirst I couldn't explain, and especially after I was bled like a weak little lamb on their altar. She was my reward.
The blood rushed over my tongue, hot and spiced with adrenaline. Usually, I didn't like taking from scared people, it made them taste bitter, but I was rolling high on this Inkarna shit, and didn't mind one bit at how she finally killed off that goddamned craving. Of course, that was before I killed her. Would I have done it without being under the influence? Probably not.
"I never thought I'd see that." Ash stood behind me, gazing at our surroundings and oblivious to what I just did. I dropped the girl's body at my feet and turned to face him.
"Of all the goddamned stupid-crazy shit I've seen. The only way I can explain it is when you buggered up their ritual you somehow made a bridge between the world of matter and what lies behind the Black Gate. Pure unformed chaos from the Sea of Nun brought into the heaviest plane. Fuck me. Hectic."
It would've been unbelievable, if I'd had time to stand there and ponder, but reality was setting back in and I became disgustingly aware that I was covered in a pink and red pulpy mess dotted with pieces of bone. Pretty much what it'd look like had the cultists been thrown into a blender and pureed. I wrinkled my nose. "Eww. This is fucking sick..."
"Never mind that, we'll have to find a tap someplace and hose off. But right now, we need to exit out of here." Ash led the way to the door, unlocking it and opening it cautiously before urging me through. It led into a small side room with a desk lamp, a long table and two metal chairs. A couple of books lay next to what I recognized as my shirt and my leather jacket. I brightened. "Hey, that's my stuff!"
"Wonderful, grab them and come on. The guards are bound to be confused without lack of direction but I have no doubts they will shoot us if we're caught waffling around."
"Pfft. Whatever that means." The stuff, I mean person goo, was drying on my skin and was starting to itch. Plus it smelled horrible, like burnt hair and bone, dead blood, and shit. I tried not to gag as I held my clean clothes away from my body.
We slipped through another set of doors that led back out into the main corridor. I looked back and realized the doors we'd just exited were concealed behind a panel. At least the lights had been turned back on. Of course they were. They'd caught us. No need for the guards to be running around in the dark anymore.
The place was full of wild secrets. Things I was just fine without knowing. Ash used the GPS in his head to find the kitchen, where we paused to spray down using the hose attached to the industrial dishwasher.
"This shit is sticky," I grumbled and frowned, trying to pressure wash the bigger chunks off myself and especially out of my hair. Ash, making grabby motions from time to time, paced, waiting for me to finish.
"Give me that." He snatched the sprayer out of my hand. My objection was cut off when he hit me full-blast with ice-cold water.
"Fuck, dude!" I threw my hands in front of my face to block and realized he was laughing. "It's not fucking funny."
"Sure it is. Depends on how you look at it." He grinned and shot me again.
"Hey, godammit!"
"You look like a strawberry sundae."
"I didn't know people had so much...yuck in them."
Ash snorted. "Yuck? You sound like a woman."
"Look at this shit splattered all over me. At least you were farther away." I scowled at him and took back the nozzle.
"You're the one that decided to pop human firecrackers."
"Fuck you, dude." I gave up on scrubbing with just my hands and sacrificed my shirt in the name of getting that shit off me. I was soaked. My hair stuck in wet strands to my cheeks. And here that asshole was laughing about it. I sprayed him in the face, which caught him by surprise, and he shrieked. That made me laugh. "Turn around so I can get your back. Damn man, your shit is fucked."
Swirls of human matter rushed into the wide-mouthed drain in the center of the room and I struggled not to vomit. We stank like hell. At least now I could have a cigarette. They were in my inside jacket pocket. I opened the box and stuck one between my lips before fishing in my jeans pocket for my lighter.
"Really? You're going to smoke now?"
"Fuck yes I am." I flicked my Zippo open, but since I'd just been put through what amounted to a vampire carwash, it was too wet to light. I rattled off half the cuss words in the English language. "Just my goddamn luck. What now?"
"We find ourselves a transport and get the hell out of here." Ash turned on his heel, his shoes squelching in the wet muck and I followed with a lurching stomach. "I wouldn't think vampires could vomit, hey?" He looked back at me with a smirk.
"I'm not old enough to be excluded yet." Mindful of his weird habit of occasionally glancing at my chest, I slid into my jacket, pulling my hair out from under the collar.
"The garage is just ahead, to the right." He was talking to himself more than me, so I didn't say anything in return. My mind was set on a cigarette and getting out of there, and not necessarily in that order. A shower would prove stiff competition for even those two wishes on top of that. All these halls looked the same as we navigated them, more long corridors, running lines of carpeting, a decorative table and a phone. Boring, blah paintings on the wall. The kind that nobody bought except doctor's offices and attorneys. Lots of mauve, gray and dark wood. It smacked of rich asshole in there.
I caught a glance of one of the rooms as we passed it. The unicorn I'd seen earlier was staring serenely from high up on the wall. I tapped Ash on the shoulder and he halted to turn around.
"What?"
"We're going in a circle." I hooked my thumb back at the room. "That's the one with the unicorn in it."
"So?"
"So, if you're saying the garage is this way..."
"I know. The irony does not escape me that it was so close to where we started."
I snorted. "Figures that'd be my luck."
Ash jerked his head. "Come on. Can't worry over it now."
The garage was two floors down, we found out after wandering blindly for ten minutes and I suggested we try the stairs. We still hadn't run across a solitary other soul. The place seemed completely deserted.
The relief that washed through me when I saw what must be a dozen black Hummers and other SUVs, and even one or two slick Mercedes sedans almost had me slumping. The pain in my body had polarized and I was about ready to crumple into a heap of misery. Xan was still trying to light his goddamned cigarette and muttered under his breath while doing so. We made a right royal pair. Screw the bloody cartouche. At this point I couldn't be bothered to go back into that awful house to go look for it...unless. I shoved my hand into my jeans pocket and encountered a slim, metallic shape.
"Fuck yeah!" I wanted to jump and punch the air, but my aching body wouldn't let me.
Xan turned to me. "What's got you so happy?"
I retrieved the object. "Damn idiots never checked my pocket." And in my despair at having been caught I'd taken it for granted the mission had been borked anyway.
He peered at the thing, his brow furrowing. "I still think that's a stupid little piece of shit to go through this much for."
I nodded. "Such a small thing except if I were you, I'd be more worried about what they were after you for in the future." I slipped it back into my pocket and patted it for good measure. "Not that there's anyone left to complain. Let's haul ass."
The Mercedes S-class nearest the garage door caught my fancy. It'd been a while since I'd driven one of these puppies. I approached it, laid my hand on the hood and closed my eyes. Although I doubted I'd be able to find that quiet space for focus, the simple act of configuring the car's system to my will came surprisingly easy. Kinda like jumping puddles after trying to leap whole rivers. The vehicle beeped in response and the doors unlocked.
Xan just eyed me and I grinned back while trying to ignore the stabbing pain at the back of my sinuses.
"More Jedi mind tricks? You could make a killing doing this shit."
I shrugged. "The thought hasn't escaped me. You coming along?"
The interior of the car smelled good---leather and a faint hint of pine. It kinda sucked having to ruin it with the charnel house stench that wafted in with us. The digital display told me it was half-past one in the morning. This entire drama had played out in a handful of hours. It seemed surreal somehow, like it should be weeks or months.
Xan slumped into the seat next to me. He still hadn't managed to get his cigarette lit. Apparently those in House Montu were avid non-smokers; the cigarette lighters had been removed from the Mercedes's console as well. I wrinkled my nose and suppressed the wry grin that wanted to twist my lips. Words weren't necessary. The engine purred into life and I nosed the car up the ramp, half expecting some sort of retaliation. There was nothing.
The garage door obliged me and, incredibly, we were on the long driveway headed off the property. Soon enough the house and all its horrors slipped behind a hill. House Alba owed me big time for this.
My hired car, a nondescript gunmetal gray Chevrolet Cruze, was parked where I'd left it about a mile from the Luxor Stables gates. Xan looked ill-inclined to move when I pulled over and climbed out.
"What now?" He sighed.
"We ditch the Mercedes---it's probably got a tracking device or something."
"Can't you fix it? This one is actually a decent size. Now you're asking me to squish up in that sardine can there."
I shook my head. "I could, but the car's too conspicuous. Besides, I need to take the hired car back so I can get my deposit. You need a smoke? I got a lighter that works in the Chevy."
This seemed to motivate him and he unfolded himself from the Mercedes and offered me a sullen glare once we'd gotten into the Cruze. Damn, I'd have to sort out something with the upholstery before I returned the car. But right now? Hell. I could do with a bath, a drink then bed.
Thank fuck my wallet, phone, and all the rest were left in the glove compartment. I'd been sensible not taking any of that with me when I'd gone on my little jaunt. I rolled the windows down, borrowed a cigarette off Xan and dialed my contact. The phone rang three times before going to voicemail---hardly unexpected.
"It's Ashton here. Mission accomplished..." I glanced at Xan. His eyes were already half-closed. "I'll be taking a few days to recoup. Will liaise at the appointed destination."
"You talking to your boss?" Xan murmured after I'd disconnected the call. "But you didn't mention me."
A small snort of laughter escaped me. "You weren't exactly figured into the equation when I agreed to take this mission. I reckoned I could conveniently leave certain details out of the debriefing. Break into stronghold, liberate ancient artifact and inadvertently spring a monster. Not quite sure what to do about you, though."
There lay the crux of the matter, much like other secrets I carried with me. By all rights I should destroy the vampire and perhaps initiate a pogrom to exterminate the rest of his kind like other Inkarna had suggested in the past. He was too dangerous, especially in the hands of megalomaniacs such as House Montu's Inkarna. But then, by the same measure, so was I, a walking encyclopedia of forbidden knowledge. Or maybe we all held each other in some bizarre equilibrium, always teetering, poised forever on open bloodshed.
Absolutely no doubt existed in my mind that the Ba and Ka of Goodkin, as well as those of his fellows, were obliterated tonight, so there were a few less worries on my list. They would not return in a few generations to haunt Xan or me. Neither would that initiate he'd snuffed out, although she'd been on the verge of her full powers. Yet it was all a matter of time before some other bright spark put two and two together to get five.
The weight of the years pressed down on me. "Damn. I need a beer."
"First shower. Then whiskey," Xan said.
I had taken it for granted that Xan would crash at the small roadside motel where I'd rented a room set back from the road and he certainly didn't complain when I invited him in. I resisted the temptation to crack corny jokes about allowing vampires across the threshold. And, for once, I slept through an entire day---without waking to my prerequisite nightmares. We both looked a much better after a full day's rest, and were more or less of a size, which made it easier for me to help him out with a change of clothing.
No one looked askance of the two blokes who arrived at the Longhorn Tavern at sunset, which was a relief. Although I'd rested, my "Spidey senses", as Xan was wont to call my powers, were flat-lined. I was as dull as a brick.
We'd lapsed into an awkward kind of silence at one of the outside tables at the back. Crickets chirruping like mad and the rumble of an engine out front were the only sounds that intruded. I peeled at the label of my Bud. Xan stared moodily at the bottle of whiskey I'd bought him after he assured me a shot or two weren't going to hit the spot.
"Whatever blows your hair back," I told him when I handed him the bottle.
I certainly had enough cash and didn't begrudge him the booze, not after what he'd been through. House Alba looked after its own, even if they were somewhat inconvenient step-children.
"What now?" he asked.
I met his gaze. "Dunno. I'm trying to figure that one out myself."
"What are your plans?"
"I have to go back West. California. Figured I could detour past Colorado."
I eyed him. There were so many questions I did want to ask and I balked at the fact that we'd be parting ways soon. It was safer that way. For both of us. For the rest of humanity, such as it was in its blithering, seething tide of ignorance. Yet somehow it would be grand if there were one other person who understood, who wouldn't be caught in the inexorable march of time---someone who wouldn't change, a touchstone of reality to ground me.
"A ride home would be nice" His eyes reflected a lambent green beneath the overhead lanterns like a cat. "I don't do well with buses, you know."
Texas was bigger than I thought. It took two nights' worth of driving to make our way back up to Colorado and Pinecliffe. Ash didn't seem to mind the night driving, although my ass was crunched up in his itty bitty car a little too long for my comfort. He set us up nice in motels twice during the day, allowing for rest and showers in between. He was even starting to treat me like a person. Although I worried about retaining the strange powers I'd picked up from our escapade, they faded. By the time we crossed the Colorado state line, I felt pretty much like myself again.
It was strange, the shit we had in common. He mentioned he used to sing for one of those Gothic-metal bands in South Africa. I'd never been there, and had the impression Africa was all about safaris, lions and starving people. He showed me some pictures on his phone. Cape Town was surprisingly beautiful. I laid his phone in the console and cracked the window to light a cigarette.
"What I really want to ask you is, why Colorado?" He glanced at me for a second then trained his eyes back on the road.
I shrugged. "I like it here."
And I did. It was full of untouched acres of land. Thick evergreen forests. Mountains and lakes. Plenty of wildlife. The modern age was fine and dandy, with its high-rises, cellphones, and 3D movie theaters, but there in Pinecliffe, I found peace.
"And how long have you..."
"Been dead?" I laughed and looked out the window. Vague memories of sun on those trees drifted through my mind like smoke. "Twenty-six years." I'd doubled my living years almost. I wanted to ask him the same, but didn't. The less I knew of him, the better. He had nothing to prove; I was the one with the stereotype hanging over my head.
We covered the distance from our last stop, Raton to Pinecliffe in just over four hours. I played with the window switch in sheer boredom until he locked it from the driver's side panel. He stopped every so often to let me get out of the car and refuel while he went to take a piss and bought more coffee.
"I take it you don't have to do any of that," he mumbled as we got back in the car. The weather was colder the farther north we traveled.
"What? Piss?"
He took a sip of his coffee before getting us back on the road. "All I've seen you do so far is bite people, drink whiskey and sleep slumped in front of the television."
I turned to look at him. "Yeah, so?"
Ash snorted. "Are other vampires like you?"
"Not exactly." I laughed. "I'm just a dude. With a dependency for blood."
"Have you taken many lives?"
I poked my tongue with a fang and shrugged. "I try not to."
When we hit Pinecliffe, I had to direct him, because his fancy GPS shit didn't even know where Pale Rider was. The address was a rural route. I pointed at the faded sign on the side of the road.
"You really do live in a tavern." He smirked, leaning over the steering wheel as Pale Rider came into view. "Does everyone know what you are?"
"No. Looking like a slacker in his late twenties has its advantages. Sleeping days and being up all night isn't suspicious at all." I opened the door when he parked and got out. "You coming in?"
"I suppose I could, for a short while."
I let him walk in ahead of me. A small smile sprang to his face as he took in the dark wood furnishings, brass lanterns hanging from the ceilings and especially, Bea serving a regular behind the bar.
"This is marvelous." He made a straight line to a barstool, checking her out
"Careful there. She's taken."
"One can still appreciate." He grinned and requested a beer when she came over. I didn't have to tell her what I wanted. She poured Ash a pint and put a bottle of whiskey in front of me.
"You might want to talk to the guys." She pointed toward the dart boards where Serv and Josh were playing a game. Serv turned at the same instant, caught sight of me and stormed over.
"Our wayward bassist," Serv said, showing the points of his little fangs.
Ash raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
"And who is this?"
"Serv, chill." I laughed. "He's just a new friend I picked up."
Serv glared at Ash. "We had to play without bass, because Xan here---" He poked me in the chest. "---decided to get picked up by the police."
"Feds," I corrected him.
"Whatever! We had to cancel the next night. You can't just fuck off without telling us anything."
"Listen man, I'm sorry. Okay?" I held my hands out in defense. Serv growled at me and stalked off in a huff.
"Singer," I told Ash.
He snorted. "So I see."
Charlie tapped me on the shoulder and I spun around to face him.
"You okay? No trouble, right?"
"No boss, it was just a big misunderstanding. By the way, this is Ash, a friend of mine. Ash, this is Charlie."
They shook hands and Charlie nudged my shoulder. "I'm glad you back. The lady toilet is stopped up."
I groaned. Charlie grinned and walked off.
Ash leaned toward me."Did he just suggest that you clean the loo?"
I laughed. "Told you I was nothing special. Listen, this'll take some time. You sticking around?"
Ash shook his head and finished his beer. "I think I'll be going. Wonderful place you have here. Everyone seems so comfortable with you."
"You're welcome to crash for a couple of days if you need."
"No, I best move on."
"Too bad. But what about..." I pointed at him. "And all the Harry Potter stuff?"
"I figure what the bosses don't know can't hurt them." He leaned back and lit a cigarette.
"How long does your kind knock about anyway?"
I laughed and took another drink.
"It's fine. You don't need to tell me. I probably don't want to know anyway. In fact, I reckon there's a bunch of shit we don't want to know about each other's kinds."
"Probably." Hell, I'd miss him. There weren't too many people that really knew what I was. It was nice to talk openly about it.
"So, I propose we just leave it at that, right?" He eyed me and rose from his seat. I did too.
"Yeah. Thanks for..."
"It's fine. Really. Goodbye, Xan."
I watched him walk out the door, laughed, and went to the storage room to find a plunger for the toilet. Back to real life.
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