The limo stopped. The chauffeur opened my door and handed me out.
We stood in a street with older houses, though some of them were not the towering golden buildings, but humbler ones whitewashed with tile roofs.
It was dark and a cool wind had picked up. I turned to look at the ruins of the ancient church.
That first glimpse was hard to describe. The earthquake, or a minor one later on, had stripped the church of all extraneous material, leaving only the bones of the building as it were: soaring arches rising to the sky, as though they were intended as a monument to despair, to portray all those who had asked for help from God and been denied. It was beautiful and cold and stark, with something faintly wrong about it, something that promoted thoughts of loss. I shivered.
Hansel adjusted my stole, as though he were a servant or one of those people hired to do hair and makeup. “Just be calm.”
“I am calm.”
“Your body language says you are ready for a fight.”
“I’m calm when I fight.”
“Please, just let me do the talking.”
Other limos were stopping in front of the building. A crowd was forming. Sure enough, most of them were wearing decorative masks. We joined the line coming in behind a tall, squarish man who was speaking in rapid-fire Russian to another taller, squarer man. One of them said something that sounded like an insult, then spit on the sidewalk.
I wondered if these were human players, perhaps members of the Russian mafia—did the Russian mafia play in the supernatural? I’d have to ask Krasnov—or if these were supernatural beings wearing human disguise. Many creatures without a shred of humanity in them will wear the mask of humanity to do what they want to undetected. They got good at it because they had to. Anyone meeting the Queen of the Enchanted Forest would take her for a trailer park inhabitant, with all the usual vices. The fact that she was a four-hundred-year-old elf, with actual working magic wasn’t obvious. I remembered how many times I’d been reluctant to go to the trailer park, knowing I’d pay respects in the form of cigarettes and booze, and have to put up with the queen’s incontinent dogs. In retrospect, the Enchanted Forest seemed downright homey compared to this.
The people, or whatever they were ahead of me, were all very well dressed, glittering like the cream of society, the apex of human life, when many of them probably weren’t human at all. As we got further away from potential witnesses, the attendees got weirder. Ahead of the Russian speakers was a man who was a dead ringer for a Hollywood actor. His name escaped me because, frankly, I just don’t watch that many movies. Owen does, and I sit with him because I enjoy his company. On the actor’s—or disturbingly close look-alike’s—arm was something so tall and thin that I knew she couldn’t be human. Yeah, I know we all make jokes about how thin models are and how fragile they look, but trust me, in this case it really was impossible. If she was a human, she would have to carry her internal organs in a backpack or something. Her waist must have had a circumference of ten inches. She had wings coming off her shoulders, veined with red but otherwise looking much like fly wings. Without my glasses it was hard to tell, but I’m pretty sure those weren’t decorative.
When they got to the head of the line, the two very large men who were checking the guest list motioned the star through but put a hand on the chest of his companion, pushing her back.
The actor turned around, putting his arm around her, “You shall not divide us.”
The guard bent slightly and spoke to him in a quiet voice. The actor looked anguished. “But she must come with me. She’s here to ensure I am safe.”
The guard said something else, and the creature with the wings gave what sounded like a loud whistle, and then split apart. I don’t know how else to describe it. One moment she was there, tall, blonde, and slender as supermodels dream of being, tottering on impossibly high heels and acting like she owned the Earth, with her creepy wings flapping in the cold wind, and the next moment she dissolved into countless pieces, each of the pieces an angry, buzzing fly. The flies held the shape of her body for a few moments, then spread all over, like black contrails over the crowd and towards the sky.
As the final flies zoomed away, the actor stared, dejected, like someone had broken his little red wagon.
We were close enough now I could hear the doorman. He spoke in English with an accent I couldn’t place. “Brother Death stated that none of his kin are welcome. This auction must be carried out in the most aboveboard way possible.”
There were whispers and talk up and down the line, and under the cover of the chatter, Hansel leaned close and said, “A goddess of the Salt River. Chinese. Very ancient. Older than mankind.”
“Lovely,” I said. If that was considered kin, that just meant that I knew even less about my target than I thought I did.
One of the Russians looked over his shoulder to check me out. He even elbowed his companion to take a look. To be fair, I really was rocking this dress.
As we got nearer, I hoped Management’s mask would be enough to stop whatever magical scrutiny we were being subjected to. Not that I was an ancient salt goddess of the rivers or whatever, but I was probably something much worse as far as they were concerned: the true “owner” of the goods about to be put on auction.
The actor went through, his shoulders slumped, and the Russian speakers gave their names. I was now close enough to see that the door guards were, in fact, not human at all. I really missed my glasses. Instead of flesh, Brother Death’s security seemed to be made out of a light tan clay. Golems? But they weren’t clumsy like a golem. They were wearing black suits, and they were intelligent enough to communicate politely and read invitations.
My mind started flipping through all my monster lore. Lots of cultures had stories about animated creatures, though I didn’t know of any from Africa. Not that they needed to be from Brother Death’s original area of operations, of course. A monster could learn and obviously some traded with each other. If there was a good idea, they’d steal it. Anything that helped them survive or become more powerful would be adopted. A long-lived monster was usually big on multiculturalism.
More people had come up behind us, all black ties, beautiful dresses, and ornate masks. I wished I could tell who they were.
“What’s wrong, Julie?” Hansel asked.
“I’m worried I’m going to bump into my mother.” I wondered if she would recognize me. Sure, I was wearing a disguise, but what mother wouldn’t know her own daughter?
“Do not fear. This is the mundane entrance. For guests of her stature, there is a special entrance.”
“Stature, huh?”
“Yes. I’m afraid she’s become something of a celebrity in this particular subculture.”
Figures. As a human, Mom had always been an overachiever. Why would Vampire Mom be any different?
The golem—or whatever it was—took a gilt-edged card from Hansel’s hand, then it looked at both of us. Despite it being dark out, they were wearing sunglasses. If it wasn’t for their skin they would appear to be ordinary-looking men, shaved heads, bland features—in fact, they could be twins—but this close I could tell their flesh had the texture of a fired clay pot. Gargoyles were made of stone but had molten joints. I couldn’t tell how these bent, but from the way they moved their fingers and elbows, and tilted their heads to read, they were flexible, though they looked dry and hard.
I had to resist the urge to reach out and poke one.
It was hard to tell with the shades, but it was clear that it was looking me up and down, then giving the same treatment to Hansel. He didn’t check my purse for a gun, and he didn’t pat down my stole to check for a shoggoth and a doomsday artifact. These things were less invasive than the TSA. At long last, it passed the invitation card to his counterpart across the doorway and said, in the tone of someone who had reached a conclusion, “An assistant of Management, and Management’s guest.”
The other one rumbled, a low, in-the-throat noise that sounded l
ike the beginning notes of a song, and then they both stepped aside. Hansel and I entered.
We were walking on smooth, evenly cropped green grass, so smooth and evenly cropped it was obvious someone must cut it regularly and also seed it and look after it. The effect, given the attire of the people and creatures around was that of a high-class building with green carpet.
First I’ll have to explain the setup of the ruined church. It had the traditional gothic layout, with two side naves and a central one. The naves were separated from the center part by columns which also rose up to support the multiple peaks onto which there had once been a roof. And both side naves were divided into multiple bays.
I supposed, when it had been in use, all of the main body of the building would have been filled with pews. Now there were none. There wasn’t even an altar, though in front of where the two secondary altars would have been, there were interruptions in the turf that looked suspiciously like tombstones. Nothing strange there, of course, as ancient churches often had tombs in them, but for some reason it made a shiver chase up and down my spine.
There was no altar, but someone had put up what looked like a Lucite table. Behind that, there was a deep red curtain. I looked frantically around for Ray, but I couldn’t see him. I couldn’t hear him either. I realized my ears had been perked up for any sound of him since I’d entered the place. But of course he wouldn’t be here, would he? I mean, there being no honor among monsters, the seller—Brother Death, I presumed—wouldn’t bring him in until the auction was about to start. After all, what if some of the bidders had come prepared to take him by force?
Like I would if Hansel couldn’t win this damned thing.
We were met by a little man as impeccably dressed as Management’s servants and—from his body language—as well-mannered and devoted to service too. Except when I say little man, I mean little. He looked vaguely gnomelike, was maybe two feet and a half tall, but no beard or hat, was green, and had pointy ears. The ears were hairy. They flicked up and down as he bowed to us.
“Monsieur, madame,” he said in unaccented French and then gestured for us to follow.
As we walked across the grass, I became aware of a strange phenomenon. There were portions of the side naves which were simply not visible. They weren’t covered; there wasn’t any kind of curtain obscuring them. There was just this sense that when you looked at them there was nothing there. By which I don’t mean it looked as if the church ruins were empty, but more like they too were not there. Like there was nothing there. No stone, no grass, really nothing…just an empty space, devoid of matter. It was an interesting effect, and I was sure it was some kind of magic which would keep the auction participants from seeing each other.
Our guide asked Hansel if he cared to socialize with the other guests, or if he’d like to be shown to his seats. Thankfully the lawyer wasn’t much for socializing.
There were more of the clay men inside, all of them dressed in identical black suits, looking so similar that I suspected they were created by pouring something into a mold. There was one of them stationed near each nave.
I tried not to get caught looking, but that wasn’t hard, since a few of the other guests were openly gawking at the creatures. Those guests must have been new to this kind of thing. They were rich assholes wanting to play in a dangerous and mysterious world… If I did need to go to my gun, I wasn’t going to worry in the least about collateral damage. I just followed the little man to a nave where there was a delicate golden table, small and high like you’d find in high-class cafes. Next to it were two chairs of the same design. The table had a tray set on it with what would be, in any other party of this kind—not the prom of the damned but just a black-tie party—appetizers. The triangles looked like some kind of chip covered in artistic bits of sauce of various colors and olives.
It was probably just regular food, but you know what? I had seen the contents of the bicho-papão’s refrigerator, and I had absolutely zero intention of partaking of anything in this place. Besides, my stomach was churning.
Either Hansel was too nervous to eat or he also didn’t trust the food because he made an exclamation of disgust and thrust the tray aside before sitting down. Mr. Trash Bags probably would have eaten them, but he was being a good little shoggoth and staying hidden in the furs.
When I looked straight up, the starry sky was visible through the arches of the ruins.
While we waited, I tried to count potential threats. It was difficult because the same sort of thing that protected the other bidders from view also blocked our view in every direction save one: we could see clearly to the center back of the church, where the altar would normally be and where the strange table was now placed.
We could hear the other guests, but the sounds seemed unnaturally muted, like everyone was whispering. They’d probably done that for our privacy. The attorney was really good at keeping his expression neutral, but I noticed sweat droplets forming on his brow above the mask.
“How are you doing, Mr. Hansel?”
“I am merely thinking through the repercussions if this does not go as I hope. And you?”
“The same.” Though I was sure we were coming to vastly different conclusions.
At one point, a tentacle, presumably from the nave next to us, came squelching and questing along the ground towards the base of our table. It looked like a normal octopus tentacle, only enormous, easily as big around as my arm, and it was dripping wet, leaving a puddle of salt water behind. It started towards my foot, and Hansel moved like lightning. He grabbed the appetizer tray and bought it down edge first onto the tentacle, in the process upending all the appetizers onto the grass.
The tentacle immediately curled into an offended shape and then retreated back to the other side.
“Sorry.” Hansel told me as if he’d broken etiquette. “Such things make me very uncomfortable.”
There was no complaint from the next partition, just a sort of wet snuffling.
Silence reigned for a long time.
A bell rang at midnight.
Then the curtain behind the table opened with a flourish and out stepped the tallest, darkest man I’d ever seen. He was shirtless, and every visible portion of his skin had been oiled so that he seemed to shine with a light of his own. He was physical perfection, too perfect to be human. And that was confirmed when he turned so I could see his eyes, too large and blood-red, and when he smiled, it revealed long narrow teeth that gave him the look of having a mouth full of needles.
It was Brother Death.
He was holding my baby.
Chapter 17
“Ladies and gentlemen, beings from other realms, Hell spawn, fey, and everything in between…” It was undeniably the same voice I’d heard on the phone. I couldn’t figure out how he spoke so clearly with a mouth full of needles. “I am Brother Death. Welcome.”
I took in every detail of my son’s appearance. The weird thing is that he seemed so normal. You know, exactly like he looked at home. He was wearing a disposable diaper, a little blue T-shirt, and he looked chubby and contented, if a little sleepy. I wondered if it was a simulacrum, like how he’d deceived me earlier, but surely Brother Death wouldn’t dare do that to this level of evil players, right? Surely he wouldn’t. This really had to be Ray.
It took everything I had not to walk out of the nave shooting. I must have tensed up because Hansel reached over and put one firm hand on my arm. He shook his head. “Give me a chance. Please.”
“I am pleased so many illustrious guests were able to join us tonight, as well as some newcomers. Others were unable to come themselves but have sent representatives in their stead. We have a few newcomers who simply wish to observe the festivities. All are welcome here in the spirit of peace and cooperation. I thank you for temporarily putting aside your differences. Let there be no conflict between us tonight.”
Brother Death set Ray down, facing us, on the table, then took a package of raisins from his pants pocket and shook a few
out in front of Ray. When he saw the raisins, Ray’s eyes lit up and he started taking one at a time and putting them in his mouth, munching contentedly. Ray was acting like he couldn’t see the rest of us—I’m sure he would have looked at what must be a really strange assemblage of people and things—but instead, he acted like he was alone in the church.
“I offer for auction a healthy baby male, six months old. This is the offspring of two faction champions. This is the son of a Guardian and a Chosen, blessed of mankind, descended from a long line of Hunters, imbued with all the magic you would expect from such a momentous bloodline. As you can see, he is in perfect condition.”
He’d better be.
There was a question from one of the secret nave bays. It was a strange voice, high and balloon juicy with what seemed like an undertone of snickering, “How do we know he’s the genuine article and undefiled? If he’s been touched by magic, other than that of his breeding, his value is markedly lower.”
Brother Death smiled and I wished he hadn’t. “A good question, fine sir, a very good question. We assure you there is no trickery here. Since I would not ask such extraordinary confidence in my word alone—” The syringe came out so fast it was like a magic trick. One moment Brother Death was gesturing, the next he had jabbed a needle into Ray’s leg. My son wailed.
You could see that for whatever reason he couldn’t see Brother Death, wasn’t aware of him or his movements. Then, out of nowhere, there was this lancing pain in his thigh. As the syringe filled with blood, Ray’s face crumpled in a mix of outrage and shock. He opened his mouth to wail and raisins dribbled out.
It was the most woebegone countenance in the whole world, and I wanted to hold him so badly my arms ached. It took all my self-control to not leap up and run to him.
Monster Hunter Guardian (ARC) Page 22