The League of Skull & Bones

by MJ Fletcher

  “Don’t do it,” Slade called out, entering the house and holding an Impossible Engineer wrench in one hand and slapping it in the other.

  “Fine.” Smidgeon shrugged, and I released his hand. He lifted it out of his pants palm up to show us it was empty.

  “Now tell us what we want to know,” I said.

  “Sorry,” he smirked and swung his hand out, slapping the dark wood paneling hard. A click thundered around the room and the ground shifted, throwing me off my feet. I rolled with it, taking the brunt of the force with my shoulder. I rolled out of the room into the hallway. Shaking my head to gather my senses, I came up on my feet. Smidgeon was running down the same hallway and I was about to give chase when Slade’s massive body flew towards me, thrown by the quaking floor. I jumped out of the way at the last moment, and he hit the floor with a thud.

  I hurried over to him, slipping my arm under his shoulder and helped him to his feet. He shook his head and laughed aloud.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “A trick floor— that’s a classic,” he said with another laugh.

  Slade was right, and I laughed along with him until I caught sight of Smidgeon as he entered a door and smiled before slamming it closed.

  Metal creaked and churned and my senses went wild as I felt something activate nearby. Slade and I looked at each other, knowing something bad was about to happen, and then the hallway suddenly filled with light.

  “Wonderful,” I said.

  Chapter 2

  “Move, move, move!” Slade yelled as he ran down the hallway. A red and yellow fireball crashed through the opening behind him barely missing him as he leapt out of the way.

  I clenched my fists and activated my Skeleton Key Guild powers, even though I was letting death take another bite of me. But I was damn tired of playing games.

  The power roiled through my body like an old friend returning. And damn if I didn’t welcome and revel the intoxicating energy. Whispers floated at the edge of my awareness as the Artifact coursed through my body. And I wondered why I would ever want to surrender this kind of power.

  “You okay?” I asked as Slade pulled himself up and brushed at his pants.

  “Slightly singed, but I’ll survive,” he replied.

  “Good, because now I’m pissed off.”

  “Jess, don’t!”

  His warning came too late as I stepped into the hallway and followed the path of where the fireball had originated. The wood paneled walls were covered in soot and scarred by the flames. The door at the end of the hallway was blackened and hanging on by a single hinge. I brought my heeled-boot up, kicked it in, and stepped through.

  “You can’t have it!” Smidgeon stood in front of me holding what looked like a cannon on his shoulder. Gears ran along its side, twisting and churning as he worked the dials on the handle.

  I hated going after Impossible Engineers, but, with a resigned sigh, did what I had to do and walked toward him.

  Smidgeon fumbled with the device and it began to hum as he squared it on his shoulder and aimed for my chest.

  “Leave or you’ll get burned, Guilder.”

  “You have something that doesn’t belong to you, and I want it.”

  “I warned you,” he said and pulled the trigger.

  The cannon shuddered and a flaming red ball burst forth, rocketing toward me. I brought my arms up in front of me to form an X. A shield of crimson energy sprang to life, and the fireball smashed into it, exploding in smoke and flash.

  As the smoke cleared, Smidgeon waved his hand to clear his vision and his mouth dropped open at the sight of me.

  “But this is a series three Fabulous Fireball Thrower, you should be a cinder.” He stuttered as he spoke and began twisting the dials once again.

  I was on him quickly, swinging and punching him in the jaw and sending him flying head over heels. The cannon clattered to the ground and I kicked it aside, the massive weapon scuffing my new boots.

  “Are you friggin’ kidding me?” I knelt down and rubbed my finger over the mark.

  “You okay?” Slade asked from behind me before making his way to the cannon to deactivate it.

  “Because of this jerk, I scuffed my new boot.”

  “Well, at least you aren’t on fire,” Slade offered as he deftly disassembled the weapon.

  After cleaning up my new boot, which I should have known better than to wear on a mission, I twisted my arms and clenched my hands as I concentrated on the power flowing through me. It took all my willpower to shut down my abilities. The Artifact worked like an addictive drug, making it harder to switch it off after each use. But if I didn’t, it brought me one step closer to death.

  “Where is it?” I kicked at Smidgeon.

  “What?” He came too groggily, sitting up and shaking his head.

  “You’re already in possession of illegal Engineer tech, so don’t make it worse, Smidgeon.” Slade had the weapon in small pieces in front of him.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m an honest tech dealer, and you can’t have that. Do you know how many trades it took me to get it?” He waved at the pieces of his Fabulous Fireball Thrower.

  “You’re a black market dealer who was stupid enough to not keep his business quiet. Now where is it?” I was in no mood for small talk. I was working this case for one reason, and I wasn’t about to lose out now.

  “That weapon was all I had,” he insisted.

  “Enough” —I yanked Smidgeon up by his shirt and pulled him close— “where is the Timelock device?”

  “I’ve never seen one.” He gulped and his eyes rounded to the size of saucers.

  “I’d answer her if I were you,” Slade said and slipped the pieces of the weapon into a case and snapped it closed. He hefted it and looked around the battered room for anything else illegal.

  He pointed to the case Slade was holding. “That’s all I have, honest.”

  “You put word out at the Dying Star Markets that you had a Timelock.” I shook him. “Where is it?”

  “If I did have something like that it would be a valuable object, something that perhaps might help my current situation?” He smirked, trying to squirm his way out of trouble.

  “You tried to kill us and now you want to deal, seriously?”

  “A Timelock is very rare.”

  “If you have it maybe we can work something out.” I tilted my head and smiled, releasing him. Slade gave me a sideways glance. He knew there was no way I would let this guy off, but I didn’t have the patience to deal with him any longer.

  “Say I did have a Timelock, but had recently parted with it for a very hefty sum?” Smidgeon smoothed his hands over his ruffled shirt.

  “To who?”

  “That’s the tricky bit. They used an intermediary.”

  “And who was that?”

  “I wouldn’t want to get anyone else in trouble.”

  I lifted my arm and slowly began rolling up my sleeve, revealing my scared forearm and Skeleton Key tattoo. “Do you know who I am?”

  “I do.” He gulped.

  “Then you know what this is,” —I showed him the tattoo— “and what it can do?”

  “Yes.”

  “The name?”

  “You didn’t get it from me, but his name is Merric Vale.”

  “Wonderful,” I said.

  “You know him?” Slade asked.

  “Yes, I had a run in with him a few months ago.”

  “You’d do well not to mess with him.” Smidgeon shook his head at me.

  I poked him in the chest with my finger. “Slade take this jackass before the Council.”

  “B—b—but I helped,” he stammered.

  “And your cooperation is appreciated.” I smiled and turned, walking from the smoke stained room.

  “Where are you going?” Slade called after me.

  “To see someone about a Timelock.”

  “Jess, you need to be careful about this,” Slade called out.

/>   “Right,” I said as I left the room and walked down the burnt out hallway. I was done being careful. I needed the Timelock or I would die. Nothing or no one was going to stop me from getting it.

  Chapter 3

  I stepped out of the crimson portal onto the cobblestone streets of Paris. I leaned my head back and took a deep breath, I was home. I’d been living in Paris since I took my apprenticeship with DeAndre Morgan, a tracker with the Skeleton Key Guild who’d been trained by my grandmother. He was now my handler more than Master since the Skeleton Key Guild had made me a full tracker after the war.

  We’d won, and I’d gotten these things on my arms. I slid my sleeves down, covering my scars and tattoos. I didn’t regret it. I’d done what I needed to, and I would do it again if necessary. But I didn’t plan on letting the tattoos kill me either.

  Since that fateful day, I had been searching for a Timelock to help contain the Artifact and stop it from burning me out completely. This had been the closest I’d come to finding one.

  “You have a plan or we just going to barge in screaming?”

  The voice was deep with a melodic tone too it. DeAndre Morgan stood half in the shadows, his long dreadlocks framing his face like a lion’s mane. A wide smile crossed his face as he stepped out into the misty glow of the streetlight.

  “How’d you know I’d be here?” I asked.

  “Slade called. I thought it best if I had a talk with you before you took any action.”

  “Why’s that? You think I need to go slow? Newsflash, DeAndre, it’s been nearly a year and these things,” —I lifted my arms to emphasis my point— “are still killing me.”

  “It’s hard, I know, but we’ve all been searching. We all know the risk.”

  “But none of you have to live with your life hanging in the balance every day like I do. Every time I use my abilities death draws ever nearer, and one day it will be my last. That’s the price I paid for our victory.”

  “Everyone paid a price,” he said calmly.

  I cursed under my breath. So many people had lost loved ones in the war, not to mention the amount of damage that had been done to the Societies themselves. But I didn’t want to think any more about the sacrifices I had made so that others would survive. It was my turn to survive. It was my turn to think about myself for once.

  “You’re not going to stop me,” I warned him.

  “I can see that,” he said.

  “Then why come here?”

  “Because I want to slow you down before you make a mistake you will regret.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean? You don’t think I can handle myself?” I said crossing my arms over my chest.

  “I know you can handle yourself—I trained you. But you need to be cautious. You’re heading into unknown territory here.” DeAndre looked up at the Cantina and his lips tightened while his hands rested hard on his hips.

  “This place?” I asked with a nod at the Cantina.

  “Do you know who runs it?” he asked.

  “Merric Vale. I had a run in with him once during the war.”

  Vale had come across as powerful but aloof. I hadn’t liked him, even though he was damn good looking. He hadn’t wanted to be involved in the war and had made it clear that he had wanted nothing to do with Old Kind.

  “Merric is not a man to trifle with,” he said solemnly.

  “What do you know about him?”

  “He and I don’t see eye to eye.”

  “You know him?”

  “We’ve had a few dealings,” DeAndre said.

  “I take it they didn’t go too well.”

  “You could say that. I tried to have the Council shut down this place.”

  “Since it’s still open, I guess that didn’t happen?”

  “Merric Vale apparently has some very good connections.”

  “Why did you want to shut him down?” I asked.

  “Harboring rogue Guild members and black market dealings.”

  “I’m here about some of those black market dealings,” I confessed.

  “Merric is something,” —he stopped, searching for the right word— “other.”

  “Not Old Kind?”

  “I honestly don’t know,” DeAndre said shaking his head.

  “The one time I met him he seemed,” —I thought back to an argument we had had about the war and a sliver of anticipation ran up my spine— “powerful. It had also been obvious that he despised Old Kind.”

  “You’re right about that. He hates Old Kind, all of them. But the real danger is the Cantina.” DeAndre gestured toward the building in front of us.

  “How so?” I asked.

  “Merric has done something to it. You can activate your abilities inside, but if you attempt to attack or use them against someone, your power turns back on you. Nobody knows how he does it. The Council has been trying to find out for years.”

  It was obvious DeAndre admired Merrick’s ingenuity, even though he didn’t like him.

  “I only want to talk to him.” I curled my fingers into a fist and flexed my arms. I wondered what might happen if I tried to use the Artifact inside the Cantina. Would the power of the Artifact overwhelm whatever defense he had or would it turn on me?

  “I think it’d be best if I didn’t go in with you then.” DeAndre nodded.

  I got the feeling he wasn’t telling me everything. But that was something I’d gotten used to. I was usually the one told what to do, but not why.

  “I’ll be fine,” I said.

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “I’ll let you know how it goes.” I waved at him and grabbed the door, swinging it open and bathing the street in light. I glanced over my shoulder and saw that DeAndre was gone.

  I stepped into the Cantina. It was filled with customers at every table and the length of the bar was nearly occupied. The noise was at a crescendo, and I weaved my way through the crowd of people who were standing around and cheering wildly at something. I pushed my way through, elbowing here and there to get to the center.

  I finally broke through and found myself standing in a full circle of men and women cheering as two men faced off against one another. The first stood well over six feet and his head was shaved bald. His body wasn’t defined, though it was thick, like someone used to hard work. He circled around the other man—Merric Vale.

  Vale watched the bald guy, but didn’t make a move. His long shock-white hair was tied in a single braid that hung down past his shoulders. He was shirtless, his body lean and it didn’t lack an ounce of definition. But it was his youthful face I was most drawn too. The white hair made you assume he was older, but he didn’t look much older than me. His steel grey eyes were locked in on his opponent as they stalked one another.

  The bigger man suddenly dashed forward, swinging his meat-hook like arm toward Merric. He dodged the blow with such agility that it appeared as if he barely moved. He came up under his opponent’s arm, slipping his own arm across the man’s torso. Lifting his massive frame off the ground while kicking his leg into the back of his opponent’s knees, Merric slammed him down to the floor.

  The building shuddered from the impact, and I threw my hands out to steady myself.

  Merric pulled himself up on his knees and sent a scathing look around the room full of patrons as he called out loud enough for everyone to hear. “I will say it one more time, no fighting in my bar.” I’d been involved in plenty of fights, and I knew the highs and lows of them pretty well. Merric had dispatched his opponent quickly, but he was forgetting one essential rule of a fight—the bad guy isn’t always alone.

  I spotted the guy watching Merric closely while he was busy pushing himself off the floor. People were coming toward him from both sides to congratulate him, and he’d let his guard down. The man looked down at what I assumed was his friend on the floor, and his face flushed red. Bad sign since he was about to let his anger get the best of him. And sure enough, he rushed forward, his hands balling into fists as he
came at Merric from behind.

  I reacted without thinking. Stepping out in front of him, I planted my foot hard on the floor for balance and pivoted, swinging my booted foot around and caught him in the stomach, bending him in half. He let out a yelp of pain and as he straightened up, I shot out my left hand and caught him on the jaw, knocking him off his feet.

  “Nice punch,” someone said behind me.

  I spun around and found myself face to face with a shirtless Merric Vale. Up close, I could see a series of scars that crossed his chest and stomach. They were old and faded, and reminded me so much of my own. My hands reflexively wrapped around my body as if trying to hide my scars from him, even though my clothes concealed them.

  “Thanks,” I said, “he was making a move.”

  “I must be getting sloppy not to have noticed that, so thanks for having my back.”

  My eyes lingered over his scars, and I wondered how long he could have had them for them to have faded that much. Or for him to feel comfortable enough to walk around like Tarzan—shirtless. .

  “You’re Jessica Grimm, aren’t you?” he asked as the crowd parted and several men stepped forward to remove the two offenders from the bar.

  “Yes,” I said. For some reason my ability to talk in complete sentences seemed to have escaped me at the moment. Maybe it had something to do with the half-naked guy in front of me.

  Merric reached over and grabbed his shirt, hanging over the back of a chair, and used it to wipe off his chest and arms.

  “I thought you looked familiar. You’re one of the heroes of the Old Kind war.”

  Merric turned and walked toward the back of the main room of the Cantina. I followed after him, not wanting to lose the chance to talk to him about the Timelock; the whole reason I had come here in the first place. Maybe if I could pry my eyes away from his body for a moment I could do that.

  “We met once before, during the war,” I said.

  “Did we?” Merric glanced over his shoulder, looking me up and down slowly. A smile spread across his face. “I don’t think I’d forget that encounter.”