Then there was the food.
The great food halls at the bazaar were a perpetual source of misery to Keith’s law enforcement persona but served as a source of personal delight for the chef’s heart that still beat beneath his cheap suit. He took any excuse to go there if only to increase his base of knowledge.
Plus Gunther loved the skewers there, so it made a good date.
He picked up his phone and tapped his favorite contact, then texted:
“Hey babe wanna be my bodyguard tonight? I’m going to the GGB.”
Chapter Three
The Grand Goblin Bazaar did not exist in regular reality, or at least that’s what everyone told him.
Sure, stepping out of a portal into the always-busy streets, a man could feel like he stood on the surface of a normal planet. The sky above swirled with the colors of a majestic violet and indigo twilight—but stay a few hours and you couldn’t help but realize that the incipient sunset never came. More than that, no stars lay beyond that apparent stratosphere.
Was it some kind of lighted roof? Keith didn’t know. And neither did anybody else.
“The bazaar is at the crossroads of all places,” the merchants would say if questioned. And if you asked, “But where is that?” they’d just say, “Everywhere, of course.”
Keith had always meant to track down one of the NIAD physicists and force them to try and answer the question in a way he could understand. But by the time he returned to the earthly realm he’d have forgotten his passing curiosity about magical physics and become infatuated by some new spice or fancy emerald-colored finishing salt harvested from the kraken home world—his current favorite brand came from a stall owned by a rather eloquent fish-boy who communicated with the oxygen-breathing clientele via marker board.
The first time Keith had come to the Grand Goblin Bazaar he’d been scared out of his fucking mind. The apparent lack of building codes alone had made him nervous about entering any of the wonky, leaning buildings. Golden finches perched atop every roof, bridge and gateway. Another agent had once told Keith that these birds were snitches—keeping tabs on the market for the powers that be.
Then there was the knowledge that some doorways led to different planes entirely, so in one step he could be two miles below some abyssal sea, or on a frozen asteroid deep in space, or in an endless plane composed solely of flesh, blood and eyeballs.
But Gunther’s family regularly came here to shop and to meet their extended trans-goblin family, and slowly Keith had learned his way around one tiny corner of the vast tangle of streets and walkways.
The first few times he’d come here, Gunther’s mother had insisted Gunther hold on to Keith’s hand in case some hunter tried to snatch him, and ever since then he and Gunther had fallen into the habit of casually linking arms or holding hands whenever they came.
It was actually the only place Keith did feel comfortable openly displaying their relationship. Even living where he did in DC, he preferred not to elicit the kind of casual slurs from passersby that being a man holding hands with another man could provoke. Because he knew what would happen. Gunther would inevitably try and engage the verbal attacker on a personal level, which would only lead to additional cursing. At this point Keith would become enraged and escalate the situation with his own curses and maybe by throwing whatever happened to be in his hand, for example an ice cream cone, at their attacker. Red-faced and sticky, the attacker would come at Keith. And this would force Gunther to have to step in and break the man’s arm, then get reprimanded for it and have his pay docked.
Or at least that’s how it had played out last time. Keith had not eaten ice cream since.
But at the bazaar they were barely noticed.
So, fingers entwined, they headed for Copper Pot Row, where he knew he could buy the skewers that Gunther liked—some mystery meat doused in accelerant (a secret recipe the vendor refused to reveal to Keith) and eaten while still burning. The blue flames matched the blue of Gunther’s eyes. Gunther had changed into suitable civilian gear for the excursion—jeans, a T-shirt and Kevlar cuirasses, all covered by a black leather frock coat. He wore his scimitar at his hip and kept his mage pistol in a shoulder holster.
Keith wore a cheap gray suit and tie, as he always did when investigating. His own mage pistol was tucked under his left arm. No one gave them a second glance as they moved through the crowded food market.
Farther down, Copper Pot Row intersected with the Blood Iron Alley. At the end of the alley lay the Yawning Gates of the Realm of Eternal Night, the primary portal to the vampire home world.
The Yawning Gates were experiencing very heavy traffic. Every few seconds the black mist broke and a thin, gray vampire stepped through into the market. A golden finch that had been perching at the gate’s apex lit out after a particularly large party of vampires who emerged in the midst of a loud, hissing argument.
“There’s the place.” Gunther pointed discreetly about fifty yards down the alley—a narrow, swank storefront of gray concrete adorned by a neon sign depicting a red teardrop. “You sure you want to go in?”
“Yeah. I’m sure. I called ahead and everything.”
“Okay then.” Gunther shrugged his shoulders, subtly shifting his holster. “After you.”
When Keith opened the door, the humid smell of vampire sweat hit him full-on. It was a weird, earthy scent that reminded him of earthworms and rust. To Keith’s unaided eye, the room appeared to be pitch-black, though he could hear pulsing music like a giant heart thudding against his eardrums.
He tapped the side of his spectral lenses and green-tinged night-vision spells activated, allowing him to see the club was, in fact, crowded with patrons and also that the doorman, a tall, slim gray vampire with a toothy circular mouth like a hagfish, was regarding Gunther with annoyance.
“No outside food allowed in the club,” he (or she—Keith had never figured out how to visually distinguish the gender of undisguised vampires) said.
“We have a special invitation from Excoria.” Keith handed over the folded sheet of paper he’d printed out at home.
The bouncer glanced briefly over it, then returned it.
“I’ll escort you back.” The bouncer focused their attention to Gunther. “Weapons go in the lockers.”
“Of course.” Keith surrendered his mage pistol.
Gunther unbuckled his sword belt and hung his scimitar on the hook provided. He also reached beneath his coat and removed a much larger gun than Keith would have thought possible to conceal. Noticing Keith’s expression, Gunther said, “The new holsters bend space a little.”
“I didn’t know we had that technology,” Keith remarked.
“It’s pretty neat.” Gunther carefully leaned the long gun against the back of the locker, then closed it. “Really heavy though.”
As the bouncer led them back to a VIP room, Keith concentrated on not choking on the strange stale smell of vampiric pheromones. More than once a stray hand grazed his bare skin only to be knocked aside by Gunther.
“Not for you,” Gunther spoke in snow goblin. Probably because it sounded more badass, as it was comprised primarily of growls.
Once Keith thought he heard the words “NIAD filth,” but he ignored them.
The VIP room in back was round, snug and furnished entirely in cushions made of some sort of fur. Keith took one that he thought looked good while Gunther positioned himself by the door—still standing.
Like the hot bodyguard he was.
Keith made a note to cook him something extra special when they got back home.
They didn’t have to wait long for Excoria. According to her bio, she’d lived in the earthly realm for a hundred years, though Keith could find no formal record of her residence in the NIAD database. She was famous in the vampire community for her exquisite palate and expertise with human blood.
Her appearance was quite typical—gray skin, round, jawless mouth ringed with rows of teeth, large round eyes that reflected silver ligh
t, almost like a fish. Her cobweb-like clothes were both clingy and shapeless at once. She carried a tray with two small glasses on it.
When Keith had first met Excoria she’d impressed him as being meticulous and having an authentic interest in the culinary arts. She’d been competing in human disguise against mostly human bartenders, “just for the challenge of it.” Plus she’d made him the best mojito he’d ever tasted, which Keith knew wasn’t an indication of character, but predisposed him to liking her anyway.
“Agent Curry.” She lowered herself to the cushions beside him and curled up in a way that defied the human bone structure. “How delightful to see you. I’m sorry I don’t have any human-style alcohol on hand, but I think you’ll like this nectar. It’s from our home world—harvested from the roots of the whitethreads tree. Very special. It won’t give you a buzz though, I’m afraid.”
“I’m just happy you thought of me.” Keith tasted the drink. It was amazing—profound—complex. Savory and sweet at once. He said so.
Excoria didn’t smile but she made the bobbing motion with her head that vampires tended to make when happy.
“And for you, Agent Heartman, I chose goblin frost with soda.”
Gunther hesitated one moment before accepting the drink. Then he politely dropped to the cushion. He downed it in one gulp, then shuddered and exhaled. Keith could see a plume of frosty air pouring out of his mouth. “Thank you very much. It was delicious.”
“Now.” Excoria folded her long hands in her lap. “I’m very interested in this challenge you have for me.”
“Well, first of all I have to say what I’ve brought for you is a lot less nice than what you gave me.” Keith pulled out the blood bag. “In fact it’s downright nasty.”
“Ah—it’s one of those vile meal ration bags from your plane.” Excoria recoiled slightly. “It smells awful. I feel sorry for whoever got that in their lunchbox.”
“And well you should.” Keith briefly related Lupe’s story. “The criminal division doesn’t see this as worth investigating, but I’m concerned about the possibility of deliberate contamination either against the victim personally or against our blood-dependent citizens in general. So I was hoping you could give it a sniff.”
“A sniff?”
“You’re the foremost expert on culinary human blood in the bazaar,” Keith said.
“And so you think . . . what?” Excoria glanced from Keith to Gunther.
“He thinks you might be able to identify all the ingredients in it,” Gunther chimed in. “Like he’s always trying to do when we go out to restaurants.”
Excoria broke into a laugh, which sounded like an explosion of rapid panting.
“Oh, Agent Curry, you can’t be serious.”
“I am. I believe that your developed senses can tell me at least some of what’s in here—and give me something to go on.” Keith kept his expression steady and gradually Excoria seemed to realize he wasn’t joking.
“I can try, but . . .”
“That’s all I ask.” Keith handed over the bag.
Excoria opened it an inhaled.
“God, it’s hideous,” she muttered.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right. Now then, it’s definitely a blend of three humans. One male and two female. And there’s something else in it. A synthetic. Maybe a medicine? It’s not there for flavor enhancement. And there’s a very distinct aroma of laboratory sorcery. Not a scent I’d pair with human sanguine. Ever. Or any blood, really.” Excoria poked a long gray pinkie into the congealed blood then put the tiniest dab on her tongue. Her fishlike eyes rolled back in her head and she gave a violent full-body shudder.
“Are you all right?” Keith shifted away.
Hideous gargling emerged from Excoria’s round, toothy mouth.
Alarm prickled over Keith’s skin. His hand went to his empty holster while Gunther sprang to his feet and bounded between Keith and the vampire.
Keith hoped to god—not any human god, but whatever god might be governing the lives of vampires—that she was not about to turn into some kind of bloated leech monster and attack them both. Not only did he not want to hurt Excoria, he had no idea how he and Gunther would fight their way out of this bar. No one knew where they’d gone, which meant no party of rescuers waited in the alley.
Gunther had no such hang-up. Keith knew this from how his expression silently communicated the words, “See, this is why we tell somebody where we’re going when we go to a vampire bar.”
Keith shifted slightly to peer around Gunther’s heavily muscled thigh. Excoria seemed to be recovering herself. She gazed up at Gunther and bent slightly sideways in what looked like an eel performing a sheepish cringe.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Please don’t be alarmed, Agent Heartman. I was just being melodramatic. That stuff tastes really bad. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Gunther’s shoulders dropped, but only slightly. He didn’t sit back down, but he did move aside so that Keith could resume his conversation.
“I thought you might be transforming,” Keith said.
“You needn’t worry about that. I strongly suspect that this substance only affects beings with a significant amount of earthly realm DNA. It has a taste that’s specific to human beings.” Excoria smoothed the veil-like planes of her garment. “I can’t be completely sure, but I think this blood has been laced with the same additive that’s in the local sports drink that they give fighters in the blood games on Seven Moon Way. Do you know the place?”
“I can’t say I’ve ever been.” Keith glanced at Gunther, who shrugged his ignorance.
“Well, I wouldn’t personally recommend it for entertainment or sustenance. The whole thing is a waste if you ask me. All that violence and then on top of that, good food going right down the drain.” Excoria regarded the bag. “Maybe one of the fighters got loose and escaped to the earthly realm?”
“Or someone collected the blood and sold it to Blissco, who passed it along to SSA,” Gunther added.
Excoria seemed to consider this. “Blissco is the biggest human-owned company in the market . . . but selling human parts—that would be disloyal to their own species. That’s unthinkable. Like something out of a cheap horror novel.”
“You’d be surprised what humans will do,” Keith said dryly.
“My app says Seven Moon Way is about seven leagues from here.” Gunther swiped through text on his phone. “They sell the drink at the pro shop.”
“Too bad there aren’t any shoe shops around,” Keith said. Both Gunther and Excoria gazed at him quizzically. “So we could buy a pair of seven-league boots and get there in one step.”
Excoria bobbed her head in laughter so vigorously that Keith thought it might bounce off.
Gunther gave him a faint, fond smile, then shook his head. “Those aren’t real, Keith. We’ll have to take the train.”
“There’s a train?” Keith wondered what weird sort of train company would have opened up on a plane like this.
“Yeah, there’s a station right next to my favorite kebab stand.”
“I never saw a train—” Keith cut himself short. He had at one point seen something train-like traveling along a rickety track. He’d assumed it was a very unsafe roller coaster. “Are you sure those boots aren’t real?”
“You’ll be fine.”
Crammed into a narrow cabin that was surely about ten sentient beings over capacity, Keith took what he feared might be his last deep breath as the train rounded a hairpin curve and plunged what must be hundreds of feet down toward the bazaar’s central entertainment district.
For his part Gunther stared stoically forward, looking neither to his right, where a reeking ogress sat painting her nails cotton-candy pink, nor to his left, where Keith kept a death grip on his seat. The bench across from them was taken up entirely by a lavishly bespectacled giant spider whose mandibles clacked together each time the train jolted on the rough track. The ceiling was coated with her softba
ll-sized babies. Loose strands of spider silk drifted down as each tried to secure itself clumsily to the ceiling.
They traveled in the ladies-only carriage, since the towering troll conductor, seeing Keith casually holding Gunther’s hand, had mistaken them both for children.
“Best not to have the little ones in the mixed car,” he’d said, patting Keith’s head. “Especially not with the bogeymen on holiday over there.” He poked a giant finger to a group of hooded figures who stood apparently gossiping and taking photographs at the end of the railway platform. Each one held a squirming sack bearing the same logo—apparently part of the welcome gifts given to their tour group.
Keith tried to take comfort in the fact that at least he wasn’t being carried off by under-the-bed monsters.
He heard a long, sharp cry. There, flying alongside the train, was a massive, Chinese-style dragon sheathed in gilded scales. It wriggled its sinuous body along, keeping pace with the train. Then the train pulled to a halt and the dragon sped past onto whatever shopping errands dragons did.
Stepping out onto the train platform, their destination was obvious. The huge curving walls of a massive coliseum rose up only a hundred or so yards away. Above it Keith saw huge manta-ray-like creatures circling, like vultures in the air, above the coliseum. Searchlights shot out from the underside of their mantles, sending beams of light slicing through the cheering crowd.
At the ticket booth, a creature—some sort of giant beetle—informed them that the day’s shows were sold out.
“We’d just like to get to the pro shop,” Keith said. “I’ve heard you have a great sports drink that I’d love to try.”
“You would?” The beetle’s voice floated out of a medallion strapped around its neck. Whether the apparatus was mechanical or magical, Keith didn’t know.
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