Blood Magic

by N. P. Martin

  “Sacrifices?” Brentwood said. “That’s what these are?”

  I nodded. “I know they are.”

  “Sacrifices to whom?”

  “Rloth, Lord of the Kiroth Dimension.”

  Brentwood huffed once. “The Kiroth Dimension? What is this, Star Trek?” He looked at me dead serious.

  "I've had this discussion with you before," I told him, glancing back at the bodies. All their stomachs were cut open, the insides excavated like valuable minerals and placed in careful piles. "There are many dimensions in the universe, more than anyone can count. Rloth, as Dimension Lords go, is as dark and scary as it gets."

  “I don’t really care about some fucking Dark Lord in another dimension,” Brentwood snapped. “I care about the motherfucker who is piling bodies up in this dimension.”

  That’s it, I thought as anger suddenly rose in me. I’ve had enough of this man’s stupid fucking ignorance.

  “Listen to me, Brentwood,” I said, turning to face him with a deep scowl on my face. “Let me just explain to you a few home truths about this fucking situation. Firstly, you had better start caring about fucking Dark Lord’s from other dimensions, because if you don’t, one of those fucking Dark Lords is going to destroy this fucking planet and every goddamn soul on it. That’s every soul, Brentwood. Every last fucking one, including you and your loved ones, and their goddamn pet guinea pigs.”

  Brentwood glared at me with barely contained anger in his eyes, but I didn’t care. I’d had enough of being treated like a second class citizen by these fucking government types. Leona told me to calm down, but I pretended not to hear her.

  “And just to set the record straight,” I continued. “You’d be hard pressed to find an adept not only as capable and as experienced as me, but one who fucking cares more than I do. Believe you me, Brentwood, if the shit hits the fucking fan and Rloth invades this world, you can guarantee that every adept capable of doing so will save their own skin by moving elsewhere in the multiverse, leaving every Sleepwalker behind to suffer in agony at the hands of Rloth. They won’t give a shit, but I do. That’s why I’m here, so you’d better start fucking appreciating just what it is I do for you, or I’ll be joining my brethren setting up shop in some other world that is far from away from this one.”

  Brentwood stared at me after I’d finished balling him out. As a general in the Army, he was more used to dishing out the verbal than taking it. His face said it all. He was seething.

  “Okay,” Leona said as she awkwardly intervened while throwing me a look. “Now that we’re all on the same page, why don’t we get back to work.”

  “That depends,” I said. “Are we on the same page now, Brentwood?”

  Brentwood nodded slowly. “I guess we are.”

  “Well, that’s great,” Leona said. “I’m glad to hear it. Why don’t you tell us what you know, Creed?”

  There was another moment of awkward silence before I turned back to the scene of bloody carnage beside me. All seven bodies laid out in spreadeagled postures carried the same demographics as the only other 'remembered' victim, that being young women in their twenties with symbolic carvings from their flesh, the only visible difference being the aforementioned depositing of innards by each of the bodies. Had there been coptic jars present, you'd be forgiven for thinking that the horror before you had some form of ties to the immensely detailed and varied practices of the ancient Egyptian culture of this realm; given the exception of tattooed symbols in lieu of actual carvings from the flesh, and the obviously large difference between respective purposes. The heads of the bodies met in the middle to form a circle, and with their feet touching as well, they reminded me of synchronized swimmers in a pool of blood. The outlay of the blood had increased the size of the summoning circle from the typical size of such circles which usually measure nine feet in diameter. The killer had obviously cut the throats of the women first. Then he had arranged their bodies to his liking post mortem. All the victims’ intestines were also removed and placed on the floor between the women’s legs. The smell was as awful as you’d imagine it to be. From somewhere high in the rafters of the warehouse, a pigeon shat and the whitish gray mess landed on the head of one of the victims. A final insult after death.

  “Creed?” Brentwood said, a new level of respect in his voice now, I was glad to hear.

  With great effort, I managed to turn my head away from the repulsive, yet strangely hypnotizing scene so that I could address Brentwood. “I met the guy earlier.”

  Both Brentwood and Leona looked at each other. “He made contact?” Brentwood asked.

  “In a way,” I said. “His apparition appeared to me. Did more than appear actually. It tried to snatch my soul."

  “Did you recognize the man, or his ghost or whatever you saw?”

  "His apparition was like a more twisted and grotesque version of the man," I said. "Obviously I didn't recognize him because he didn't want me to. I'm calling him Mr. Black for now. Seems apt.”

  “So what did this Mr. Black say then?”

  "Not much," I said, looking down to see that I'd stepped in blood. With a small sigh, I wiped my boot across the floor, leaving a red streak behind. "He said I'd caught up to him before, which I knew anyway. He also said he wouldn't be stopped."

  “What’s his endgame? All these crazy fucks have an endgame. What’s his?”

  "Not sure," I said. "But I got the sense that he wanted to somehow plunge the world into darkness."

  "Don't they all?" Brentwood huffed.

  "Yeah, but this guy could actually do it. He has the power. My guess is that he's trying to bring Rloth here, probably by opening up a portal."

  “Jesus Christ,” Brentwood said, sounding like he could have done without hearing that. But tough shit because it was the truth.

  “How are we going to stop this maniac?” Leona asked.

  "By finding out exactly who he is first," I said, glancing over at the bodies again. "And as he seems to have stepped things up, he's probably nearing whatever endgame he's got going. Which means…"

  “We don’t have much time,” Brentwood finished.

  I nodded. “Exactly.”

  Brentwood sighed and thought for a moment, during which time my eyes drifted to Leona and her tight fitting trousers, the perfect curve of her buttocks and her—

  “Creed.” Leona was throwing me sideways glances.

  “Yes?”

  “Stop.”

  “I—”

  “All right, Creed,” Brentwood said in his frighteningly deep voice, startling me slightly, and for a second I thought he was going to admonish me for eying up Leona, but he didn’t. “Lawson tells me you helped us with cases in the past. Is that true?”

  “It’s true,” I said, smiling over at Leona, causing her to look away in near embarrassment. “I’ve offered you my services before.”

  Brentwood nodded. “Fine. Since you seem to have a connection to this case, you can work it with Lawson here.”

  “Sir,” Leona said. “I don’t think—”

  “You have a problem with that order, Lawson?” Brentwood demanded.

  "No, sir."

  “Good. Find this motherfucker before he kills anyone else.”

  "Yes, sir."

  “I need some time first,” I said, just as Brentwood was about to walk away.

  “Time?” Brentwood said, confused and clearly irritated that I wasn’t playing ball the way he would have liked, which is to say that I didn’t immediately jump to it. “What for?”

  “I have something important to take care of first.”

  “What the hell is more important than this?”

  “My soul,” I told him.

  Brentwood shook his head. “What do you mean?”

  I sighed. “Long story short, I’m going to lose my soul very soon thanks to the curse Mr. Black put on me. I’ll spur you the details of what happens when my soul departs forever, but it ain’t pretty. Bottom line, I need to do this before I can work
on stopping our serial killer.”

  Brentwood had that frown on his face that he sometimes got when I explained things of an esoteric nature to him, like everything I was saying was in an alien language that he couldn’t fathom or understand. “All right,” he said eventually. “If doing this thing of yours means getting you back on this case, then I’m all for it.” He turned to Leona then. “Go with him. Make sure he doesn’t get killed. As Creed so eloquently argued earlier, we need him on this.”

  I nodded, a slight smile of victory on my face. “You do indeed.”

  27

  Partners

  LEONA AND I left Brentwood and his team of suits at the scene of the latest murders and went outside, but only after Brentwood had pulled Leona aside for a quiet word, probably telling her to keep a close eye on the weird magic guy; which if you’re wondering, would be me. I mean, how many other weird magic guys are out there? Yeah, you're right…too fucking many.

  "What did Sergeant Major want?" I asked Leona as we walked to the Cadillac, the agent who almost shot me earlier giving me the hard man stare as I walked away, as if I'd actually done something on the guy. I tell you, those ex-military types, they have chips on their shoulders the size of Mount Everest. The ones I keep meeting do anyway. All that action they see in foreign lands, it fucks with their heads. At least that's what Leona told me in one of her more vulnerable moments (vulnerability being like a disease to Leona--something to be avoided at all costs, but sometimes it leaks out no matter how good your defenses).

  "He told me to keep an eye on you," Leona said, wearing her mirror sunglasses against the bright sun, looking like a sexy secret service agent. "But you knew that."

  "Of course. I've known Brentwood longer than I've known you. He could never bring himself to trust me, or even like me for that matter. I think he views me as part of the problem he thinks he's fighting against."

  “And what problem is that?”

  “Magic of course, even though magic is not the problem.”

  “What is then?”

  “People. The problem is always people.”

  “You’re saying there’s not bad magic out there?”

  I shook my head. “It’s all just energy at the end of the day. It’s what you do with it, and what you use it for.”

  When we reached the car, I leant lazily on the roof, like I hadn't a care in the world. Leona tended to have that effect on me, her very presence making me forget about my worries. She was so damn beautiful and poised, so confident and self-assured, that all I wanted to do was bask in her magnificence. Leona had her faults, of course. She could be cold at times, uncaring if she were in a dark enough mood. She also had the annoying habit of removing cups and plates before I had finished the contents. Like if she was finished eating or drinking, then so was I. It was the clean freak in her.

  Leona opened the passenger side door, hovered there as she looked across at me, her face unreadable with those shades on, which I'm sure was the point. “All right, Creed," she said like she'd been waiting to ask this since we left the warehouse. "What were you talking about in there? What is it you have to do? Something to do with getting that curse lifted?"

  “Precisely,” I said. “And as we’re partners now and everything, I thought you could help me.”

  Her head cocked to one side like it did when she was about to put me straight on something, which she often did. “Let’s get one thing straight, Creed. We’re not partners. You’re just helping out on this case. I don’t do partners.”

  I nodded. “I know, you don’t like the idea of being responsible for anyone else, not since Iraq.”

  She stared across at me, and I stared back into her black mirrors. “I hate it when you do that.”

  “What?”

  “Pull stuff like that out. It’s like you’re reaching inside my head. I don’t like it, and it’s really fucking weird not being able to remember you.”

  “How do you think I feel? No one remembers me, except the psychopath who cursed me in the first place, and trust me, I wish to hell he didn’t know me.”

  Leona looked away for a second as if she knew the situation was weird and unprecedented, but also knew that she would just have to live with it for a while longer. “All right, Creed. So what is it you have to do? I thought the demon you summoned was supposed to fix this?”

  “It wants payment in return. Souls, to be precise.”

  “Souls? How many?”

  “A hundred, but I’m just going after one.”

  “One?”

  I nodded. “One dark soul that’s worth a thousand souls to a demon. I’m hoping anyway.”

  “Belonging to whom?”

  "A psychopathic warlock with a soul as black as this car."

  "Another psychopathic warlock?" She shook her head. "Are you attracted to these fucking freaks or something?"

  "Attracted? No, definitely not. But unfortunately, my path crosses with many undesirable people. Magic is like any power. It corrupts absolutely."

  “Are you corrupt, Creed?”

  I looked away for a second, felt the magic in me pulse and swirl. It was a feeling so familiar to me, and it felt as essential to my system as the blood that coursed through my veins. As far as answering Leona's question, I could have said something like, "Sometimes I wield the magic, sometimes the magic wields me," or, "My moral code is shifty, like most people's," but neither of those answers would satisfy Leona, who wasn't really one for ambiguities. So I decided to ignore her question completely and hope she accepted that as some sort of answer. "Hans Belger is the name of the warlock whose soul I will try to steal. He lives on an island off Morgan County. The plan is to go in there, to get what I need to give the demon what it wants, and thus to fix this mess I'm in as soon as possible. I can't do it alone, though."

  “You want me to go to this island with you?”

  I nodded. "Yes."

  She gave a short sigh but nodded back. “Fine, Creed. I’ll go with you, make sure you don’t get killed, if only because Brentwood wants this killer caught and I happen to think you’re the only one who can do that.”

  Thanking her, glad she was going to be with me on the mission (but also worried now in case something happened to her), we got inside the Cadillac. “And FYI,” I said, starting the engine.

  “Who says FYI anymore?”

  “FYI,” I said again, ignoring her. “We are actually partners, though not in any official capacity. We’ve worked a fair few cases together, you and I.”

  “And that makes us partners does it?”

  “In a way, yes.”

  “You can’t tell me that I sanctioned any such partnership. I would never do that.”

  "You didn't," I said, now driving off through blocks of warehouses and shipping containers, heading for Leona's Worthington apartment because I knew she would want to gear up before breaching the island with me.

  “I don’t do partners.”

  “You said.”

  She threw me a look, her sunglasses still on, even though the sun had now disappeared behind gray clouds. “What’s this island called?”

  “The Devil’s Playground.”

  She couldn't help herself and gave a small chortle. "The Devil's Playground. Are you serious?"

  "Deadly," I said. "Though not nearly as fun as it sounds. Let me fill you in…"

  28

  Gearing Up

  "SO," LEONA SAID as we entered her spotlessly clean apartment, which I was in just a week before for a mind-blowingly hot sex session before she tossed me out afterward, claiming she needed sleep even if I didn't. Not that she would remember that now. "You're telling me we are going to this island run by fucking Sauron and we have no clue as to what we're walking into?"

  "Sounds about right," I said, enjoying the familiar smell of Jasmine in the air. Leona's apartment always smelled agreeable, unlike the sometimes offensive mixture of scents in my Sanctum (like the scent of a dead body, for instance).

  She stopped in the mi
ddle of the living room, next to one of the only pieces of furniture in there, which was a nondescript black leather sofa. Also in the room was a TV I knew she barely watched and a large book case, every shelf stuffed with paperback novels and personal development books. "That's crazy, Creed. I don't like going into situations blind, especially where magic is concerned." Something flashed in her eyes, and I wondered if she was thinking about the cave in Iraq where her brother died.

  “I get it,” I said. “Look, you don’t have to come with me—”

  "I'm going with you. I'm just saying I don't like surprises."

  I nodded. "Let's hope there are none." Wishful thinking, I knew.

  “I’m going to get changed.”

  Leona walked into the bedroom, not bothering to close the door behind her. I went to the bookcase and stared at all the books, most of which would have been purchased new from Amazon as Leona didn't like to read used books. She said you never knew whose fingers had been on the pages and that she couldn't bear the thought of holding a book that some guy had held straight after masturbating or while he was wiping his ass on the toilet. Consequently, nearly all of the books on the shelves were shiny and new, the spines unbroken on some of them where they hadn't been read yet. Leona was a big fan of Jack Reacher, and she had all of Lee Childs' novels in a row on the top shelf, the spines well broken from multiple readings. She also read detective novels, techno-thrillers and the occasional noir novel. Mixed in with these were self-development books and books on martial arts and fitness, both of which Leona was heavily into, as well as books on guns and general combat tactics.

  Almost out of habit, I walked to the still open bedroom door and leant casually on the doorframe, the way I often did when Leona was changing, so that I could chat with her. She was standing over by a teak open wardrobe that was filled with mostly dark clothes, her back to me as she stood in nothing but her black underwear, the kind she preferred, the kind that looked like shorts and which perfectly accentuated the shape of her ass, which quivered not an inch when you were mounting her doggy, due to the manicured tightness from all the pelvic floor exercises that she did. Despite the fact that I had last seen her naked only a week ago, I still found myself struck by her angelic form and by her long, lithe body. By the muscle tone in her back and arms, and the way her thighs were built up (though not too much) on her smooth-skinned legs. As I stood gazing at her, my belly tingled, and there was an uncontrollable stirring in my groin. Then she turned around and noticed me standing there, instinctively putting one arm across her firm breasts. There was also a fleeting flash of something in her eyes, like a deep connection she was hardly aware off, perhaps a recognition of how things used to be between us. But it was only fleeting and her hard stare soon returned. ”What the fuck, Creed?" she exclaimed. "Are you perving on me?"