Blood Summoned

by N. P. Martin

  Removing the nuns’ habit from her head, she revealed her short, dark brown hair. As assassins go, she was stunningly beautiful. No makeup except a little around her eyes and a light shade of lipstick. “My younger sister was taken about a week ago.”

  “You have a sister? I didn’t know that.”

  “Why would you?” she said, throwing me a sharp look. “We’ve never even met before now.”

  “I know, but your reputation precedes you. I’ve never heard a sister being mentioned.”

  “I didn’t think anyone knew about Charlotte. I was wrong.”

  “How old is she?”

  “Seventeen, soon to be eighteen.”

  “Do you know who took her? I’m guessing not if you’re going through a list.”

  “I’m an assassin, Detective, not an investigator. I kill people.”

  “So you’re just gonna keep killing until you find your sister?”

  “That was the plan.”

  “Was?”

  She turned to look at me. “Until you wandered across my path.”

  “You want me to help you find her?”

  There was a trace of vulnerability in her eyes as she nodded. “I’m letting you live. In return, I want your help.”

  I considered what she said for a minute as I lit up another cigarette, wishing I had the Mud bottle with me, but I left it in the remains of my trench back in the forest, remembering only to take my phone and Callie’s locket before I discarded the coat.

  I could see that Scarlet was doing her best to hold her feelings in. Underneath she was probably distraught as hell, living with the dread that her sister was dead in a ditch somewhere. I knew that feeling well from driving to Crown Point that night, not knowing if I would find my daughter dead or alive. I wouldn’t wish a feeling like that on anyone. I couldn’t help Callie, but I could help Scarlet now.

  Besides which, Carlito would be gunning for me, especially since I hadn’t checked in with him in two days. He’d think I’d gone back on our deal and he’d have his men out looking for me. If he ever got a hold of me, Carlito would probably kill me, if only to make an example of me. Take me out to the alley outside the club and beat me to death with the bloodstained baseball bat he kept behind the dumpster for just such occasions. He would try to anyway, but I wasn’t invincible, and I certainly wasn’t fucking bulletproof. Having the great Scarlet Hood on my side would help matters no end, I was sure.

  “Okay,” I said. “I’ll help you get your sister back, assuming she’s still alive. How long has it been now?”

  “Eight days,” she said.

  “Eight days, and you have heard nothing?”

  “No, but I have to believe my sister is alive somewhere.” She turned to fix her green eyes on me. “You don’t know Charlotte. She may be naïve to the ways of the world, and to people, but she’s also strong and highly capable. I trained her myself. So did my grandmother, before she—”

  “What?”

  “Nothing, it doesn’t matter.” She turned away and looked around to the other side of the church for a second, toward the confession boxes, as if she heard a noise, then turned back to me. “We should leave now. I think the priest and the nun are waking up.”

  “I’d like to stay to see the nun’s face when she realizes she’s been stripped of her modesty,” I said. “Then I’d like to see the priest’s face when he sees sweet Sister Mary half-naked. Do you think he’d get hard?”

  She stared at me a moment before shaking her head. “I think maybe the drugs I gave you have gone to your head, Detective.”

  “Believe me, they haven’t gone to my head enough.”

  “I’m not sure anymore if I want to work with you,” she said, not entirely joking. “Maybe I should kill you now.”

  “Do that, and you’ll never find your sister.”

  “Fine,” she said, standing up and walking to the center aisle before stripping off the nun’s outfit to reveal a pair of red leather pants and a black top. She was supermodel tall with a body to match, apart from the long scars on her arms, and on her lower back, making me wonder how she got them. Despite her natural beauty, she had the look of someone who’d been through the wars. Putting the gun into the back of her leather pants, she stood and stared over at me. “Something wrong?”

  “No,” I said, getting up. “Just admiring what a top assassin looks like.”

  “Perving you mean.”

  “Yeah. Don’t shoot me.”

  We exited the church before the priest and nun woke up and saw us. It was dark outside, the night mild and filled with the sound of crickets chirping.

  Haedemus stood at the bottom of the steps, staring down at the town below. “Oh,” he said, turning around. “The meeting of assholes must be over. Thank fuck. This buttfuck town is depressing me. I’ve also concluded that all crickets should be wiped out. What was God thinking when he gave them the ability to make that infernal noise? No doubt he thought it would be funny, just to annoy everyone. He’s such a fucking dick, I tell you.”

  “What was he thinking when he created you then?” Scarlet asked.

  “Please, sister,” Haedemus said. “God didn’t create this majesty before you, Hell did.”

  “Majesty?” Scarlet said. “You look like you just crawled out of the grave. Does your dick even still work?”

  I sniggered at that. Haedemus just stared in mock shock with his bulging red eyes. “I beg your pardon? Did you just ask if my dick was still working? Hold on a second.”

  As Haedemus closed his eyes and stood still, Scarlet turned to me and said, “Is he doing what I think he’s doing?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Haedemus, what the fuck are you doing?”

  “I’m getting hard for Countess Bathory here,” he said, just as the tip of his penis emerged from his foreskin. “I won’t have anyone saying this beast is impotent.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Scarlet said. “I was kidding.”

  “Quiet,” Haedemus said. “I’m trying to fantasize here. It’s working. I can feel myself getting hard. Get ready to pick your jaw up from the floor, sister.”

  “I’m going now,” Scarlet said, walking away.

  “But I’m almost there,” Haedemus shouted after her. “Ethan, tell her.”

  I shook my head at him as I started after Scarlet. “Put that sausage meat away, for fuck’s sake.”

  “Well, I can’t now, can I?” he said. “I must wait until it goes down. Bloody waste of a good erection this is.”

  “Scarlet,” I said as she neared the edge of the forest. “Where are you going?”

  She stopped and turned around. “I’m going back to my cottage to get a few things. I’ll meet you in the city.”

  “You’re gonna walk back?”

  “I have an ATV parked nearby. With the shortcuts I know, it doesn’t take me long getting back.”

  “Okay,” I said, then gave her the address of my apartment in the city, along with a crumpled card with my phone number on that I fished out of my back pocket. “Do me a favor and call me first.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  “My pets don’t like unannounced visitors, and you seem the type to let yourself into places.”

  She shook her head slightly. “You have pets? You don’t seem the type. What kind?”

  “The hellish kind,” I said as I walked away. “I’ll see you soon.”

  “Detective,” she called, making me stop and turn around. “I’m trusting you here. If you make me regret it, I’ll kill you.”

  There was no emotion in her voice. She was just stating a fact. “I know you will.” Something occurred to me then. “Hey, you’re a werewolf hunter, aren’t you?”

  She cocked her head to one side. “And what makes you think that?”

  “I’ve heard things. Plus the undead werewolves buried in your garden were a dead giveaway.”

  “I have a special hatred for werewolves.”

  “Why?”

  “It doesn’t matter.�
�

  “Well anyway, I figured since I’m helping you with your sister that you could help me with something.”

  “You’re pushing your luck. You’re still breathing. Isn’t that enough?”

  I stared at her a moment, then said, “A werewolf killed my wife and daughter. I’d like to find the cunt.”

  “I’m sure you would.” She thought for a moment. “If you find my sister, I’ll help you find the wolf that killed your wife and daughter. If you find my sister.”

  I nodded my thanks, and Scarlet disappeared into the dark forest. Turning, I walked back to Haedemus but slowed when I noticed he was moving his hips back and forth in a strange way. It was only when I came up alongside him did I realize what he was doing— slapping his thick, meaty todger against his belly. “Oh Jesus Christ, Haedemus,” I said. “Fucking really?”

  “Shush, Ethan,” he said, sounding out of breath. “I’m trying to concentrate here.”

  “I can’t believe your standing outside a church fucking masturbating.”

  “I—I—oooooooawwwwfuuuuuuuck—”

  “Jesus Christ.” I turned away just as he spilled his hot semen onto the ground with a long, drawn-out moan.

  “Oh fuck,” he said after he was done, his massive penis still hanging out. “I didn’t realize how much I needed that.”

  “Well, I’m glad you’re satisfied,” I said. “I’m not sure I even want to get on you now.”

  “Don’t be a prude, Ethan. Get on up here and bask with me in my post-orgasm glow.”

  “Just kneel so I can get on, you fucking cretin. My shoulder is still fucked in case you forgot.”

  Haedemus knelt, but he did so a little too fast and cried out when he trapped his penis between his stomach and the hard ground. “Shit, that hurt.”

  “Serves you right.” I climbed up onto him, and he squealed as my weight pushed down further on his trapped penis.

  “Ethan, you heavy bastard you,” he shouted, quickly pushing himself up straight again.

  Smiling, I tapped my boots against his side. “Giddy up gee-gee.”

  “Now I have dirt stuck to my penis. Thanks a lot, Ethan.”

  3

  Because of the damage done to my shoulder, I couldn’t ride Haedemus as hard as I would’ve liked, so it took us several hours to get back to the city. When we got there, I rode the Hellicorn into Bricktown, ignoring the stares of those who could see us—the Awares and the MURKs—and the shocked, often fearful looks on their faces. Sometimes Haedemus would taunt them, shouting over, “What? You’ve never seen a grown man ride a Hellicorn before?” or, “I know, right? Magnificent, aren’t I?”, or once even, “The devil rides out, baby,” to some MURK crossing the street. Most seemed horrified, even the MURKs. I was thankful we were invisible to the rest of the Unaware population, who doubtless would’ve fled in a mass panic if they’d seen us riding down the street like we fucking owned the place.

  Before we went to my apartment, I stopped off at The Tattoomb, a ratty tattoo parlor on Gristle Lane. “Wait here,” I told Haedemus. “And try not to eat anybody while I’m gone.”

  “That never gets old, Ethan, hearing you say that. What do you take me for?”

  “Someone who ate the homeless guy outside my apartment building.”

  “Fair point. Just don’t keep me waiting.”

  When I walked into the cramped tattoo parlor, the proprietor, Larry Swinger—a man in his late fifties with longish gray hair and a goatee, bare arms inked all the way to his fingertips—was bent over some teenage girl’s naked ass, a cigarette dangling from his mouth as he inked the girl’s dimpled left cheek with a design I couldn’t make out. “With you in a second,” he half-growled as he kept his eyes on what he was doing.

  “Watch you don’t slip there, old man,” I said.

  Larry stopped inking to turn his head and look at the cheeky bastard who’d said that. When he realized it was me, he broke into a smile. “Well, fuck me,” he said, straightening up. “Ethan fucking Drake, as I live and breathe.”

  “What’s up, Larry?” I walked farther into the parlor, smiling at the blond girl as she looked up at me, her face dropping when she saw my bloody shirt.

  “What’s up with me?” Larry said, putting the machine down as he stared at the state of me. “What the fuck is up with you more like? What happened?”

  “I need your services,” I said.

  “No shit.” He turned and addressed the girl. “Sit tight, honey. I’ll be back soon.”

  The young girl tutted but settled down on the stretched out leather chair again, which was probably the most expensive thing in the whole parlor, everything else still as it was in the eighties when the place opened. I followed Larry into the back, through a door into a smaller room just big enough to hold a hospital gurney, a few cupboards, and a sink. The room smelled even worse than the last time I was in it, which was nearly ten years ago. It smelled like someone had shat themselves moments before I arrived. “What the fuck, Larry? You ever disinfect this place?”

  “What for?” he said as he rifled through cupboards and drawers, gathering up his tools. “People just keep bringing their germs in, regardless.”

  I sat up on the edge of the gurney and took off my tattered shirt, wincing when I had to remove the bandage from around my shoulder. “I need stitching up.”

  Larry approached after washing his hands and putting on surgical gloves. Before he became a tattooist, Larry was an ER doctor at Wilshire General, where he became a morphine addict and got so fucked up one time that he killed a patient. He lost his license after that, but once he got out of jail, he found his skills in demand by those who couldn’t go near a hospital, either for financial reasons or to avoid any awkward questions and possible criminal charges.

  Peering at my bloody wound now, he said, “Yep, you’ll need stitching up. Did something bite you?”

  “An undead werewolf.”

  “No shit? There’s something I don’t hear every day.”

  Larry had me to thank for opening his eyes to the MURK activity in this town. Before that, he was blind to it like every other Unaware, until I stumbled in here one day after having had my chest clawed to bits by a feral vampire. Larry knew it was no animal attack, so I just told him the truth, which he accepted without protest, saying, “I always knew there was weird shit in this town.”

  “So are you busy these days?” I asked him as he began stitching me up.

  “Always busy,” he said as he pierced the flesh on my shoulder with the surgical needle and pulled the thread through. “I get hunters in here all the time. I swear some of them must think I’m fucking Jesus himself, the shit they expect me to fix. One guy came in here last week with his left eyeball in his hand and asked if I could put it back in the socket for him. You believe that?”

  “What did you say?”

  “What do you think? I told him to get a fucking eye patch.” He started laughing, as did I. “So what have you been doing all this time, Ethan? You still a cop?”

  “Yeah, I’m still hanging in there,” I said.

  “Did this happen on the job?”

  “No. Not that it matters. I don’t think my insurance would cover me for werewolf bites anyway.”

  “You gonna turn into one of those fuckers now?”

  I snorted. “That’s a myth, thank fuck. Mutts are born, not made.”

  “Lucky for you then.”

  “Yeah.”

  He worked on in silence for another few minutes, occasionally tutting as he did his best to repair the damage while I sat and smoked a cigarette, occasionally wincing at the sharp pain of the curved needle going through my skin. Then he said, “Can I give you some advice, Ethan?”

  “Sure thing, Larry. Not sure I’ll listen, though.”

  “I’ll give it to you anyway.” He came around to look at me. “Stop this shit before you get killed. Your body looks like a fucking patchwork quilt. A man can only take so much.”

  “You know I can’t
do that, Larry.”

  “I heard about your wife and daughter,” he said. “You want it to be you next? I’m only saying this because I like you, Ethan, even though I haven’t seen you in years. You’re one of the more genuine ones. I’d hate to see you end up in the morgue. Or worse, torn apart by some fucking monster.”

  “Something has to get us eventually,” I said as he finished stitching me up, applying a bandage over the sutures.

  “I’d rather it be old age than some grisly, violent death.” He took off his surgical gloves and tossed them into a steel bin in the corner of the room. “You know what you should do?”

  “What?” I asked as I put my bloody shirt back on.

  “Write a book on your experiences. Let others learn from you.”

  I couldn’t help but smile and then chuckle at the idea. “I’m not sure it would be a book anyone would want to read. Besides, I still got work to do.”

  “Yeah, I know you do.”

  “Thanks for the stitches, Larry. Can I sort you out next time?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “It’s on the house. Just come by again when you’re fully healed. I’ll fix your tattoos for you, as long as there isn’t too much scar tissue.”

  “Thanks,” I said again. “I owe you, Larry. I’ll let you get back to tattooing that teenager’s ass.”

  He smiled. “Yep, it’s a hard life I got.”

  Outside, Haedemus was standing on the side of the road between two parked cars. “Finally,” he said, turning to face me. “It seems like all I do is wait around on you, Ethan. We will have to discuss the terms of this partnership in more detail at some point, so we can make things more equal between us.”

  I shook my head at him as I grabbed his mane and climbed up onto him, grimacing at the pain in my shoulder. “What the fuck are you talking about? There is no partnership here.”

  “Oh, well excuse me. I thought since I saved your damn life in that vamp club that you looked at me as more than just your mode of transportation.”

  “What do you want, a fucking badge? Get going.”

  “A badge?” he said, seeming to like the sound of that as he started moving down the street. “Why, Ethan, that’s a great idea. We could be a real buddy movie then, like Crocket and Tubbs, or Riggs and Murtaugh, or even Starsky and Hutch, though I’d have to be Hutch obviously since I’m much more handsome than you are.”