by Al K. Line
"Let's do it."
"I hope it works," I said as I stepped forward to the newly installed portal.
Vicky pulled back on my arm and scowled. "What happens if it doesn't?"
"If I put it together wrong, or failed to activate it properly? Or it decides to go a little wonky?"
"Arthur, you're scaring me." Vicky twirled her ponytail, frowned for a moment, then said, "Yes, what happens then?"
"Then, my vertically challenged vision in polyester, we will be broken down into our constituent parts and scattered throughout the endless planes of existence. But it'll be quick," I added, not wanting to scare her or anything.
"You take the fun out of everything." Vicky took a deep breath and I stepped through the Gate.
"Damn, that felt good," I sighed and took a moment to slow my heart to something sensible. Magic is dangerous, and extreme magic is not without its problems. I trusted the Gate, and I trusted my skills as a wizard, but things could, and did, go wrong more often than I'd have liked.
"What am I going to do?" Vicky turned like I had an answer for her. I didn't.
"Honestly? I don't know. But you get one shot at this so if things aren't right then you should change them. If you need money I've got plenty and you're welcome to it."
"Thanks, but after the last job, and, er, other things, I've got plenty of that."
Vicky always insisted she never used her hacking skills to steal money or do anything that could get her into serious trouble, and I'd never believed her, but it wasn't my business. I wondered how much she had, not that money was the motivator here. She would do what she felt was best, was looking for answers she knew I didn't have. Sometimes you just want someone to tell you what to do so you don't feel so helpless, so alone, when truth is you already know what you should do. It's merely a matter of having the guts to do something that will tear your world apart. No easy thing.
"Come on, let's go make dinner." I drove home slowly, windows open so I stayed awake. I was exhausted, the familiar feeling of not quite being myself, almost falling out of my body, taking over until I was hardly Arthur, just a random body moving on autopilot.
Even by my standards it had been one helluva day. The night had been spent stealing that damn book, which had been easy enough thanks to some advance computer wizardry from Vicky. But then Cerberus, then the sale, not to mention the move, had utterly done me in.
I felt like I was stretched out, my body alien, as if I towered above it and was attached by the frailest of tethers. Ready to float off into the clouds at any moment, never to come back down to earth.
The life of an insomniac is a dangerous thing. You can only go so far before tiredness takes you and it can do so when you least suspect or want it. But this was how I slept, the only way I knew how. To push and push until my mind and body screamed and there was nowhere left to go but to the mini-death I greeted with such relish. A fickle mistress who never came when I called, but would sneak up on me and drag me down and wrap me in her numb embrace so I could recover enough to continue my waking dream and plunge back into a world filled with violence, danger, excitement, and thankfully a little love.
Country air blustered through the open windows and replenished me somewhat. Such a relief after the stench of the city, this priceless purity. I admired the fields and the sliver of sea I could see in the distance, tiny boats bobbing on water like glass, free and far away from the games men played and the horrors they inflicted on each other. Yet the sea had its own cruel nature, taking those ignorant of its ways, and my thoughts darkened as I pondered, not for the first time, the death and the chaos that awaited us all eventually.
Everything turned to dust, or rotted away, or was eaten or destroyed in one way or another. Where there was death there was life, but always death, the final piece of a puzzle I knew I'd never solve.
Still, I was home, and my daughter and a nice meal awaited me, so it wasn't all bad all the time.
Poor Vicky, she looked so small sat beside me, lost to her own dark thoughts same as me. But I couldn't help, she was on her own, and she was strong. She'd pull through, maybe even come out the other side better than before.
Maybe.
Buster's Hat
My hat vibrated anti-clockwise, a tingling that ran around my scalp faster and faster as I wandered down the hallway past bookshelves packed with books on their sides and all manner of weird and wonderful objects in desperate need of a dusting.
Forgetting to breathe, I sped up and stormed into the kitchen, my wand already out of my pocket.
"If you've hurt her I'll kill you and make fucking sure you spend eternity in a particularly nasty part of the Nolands," I said to the back of the man, ex-man, I guess, leaning over my kitchen table, blocking the view of George's face.
"That's no way to greet a friend," said the stranger. He turned and I gulped air but kept my wand raised. "Ivan. What the hell are you doing here?" George looked surprised at my tone, her smile fading, the game of Scrabble on the table ignored.
"Can't I come visit now and then? After all, this is where our lives changed forever, is it not? Where I did you a favor, not that I asked for anything in return."
He was different to the last time I'd seen him, mere weeks ago back at vampire HQ, right before he was to be made a Second. It was clear to see that Mikalus, vampire First, had been true to his word and Ivan was now as close to an original vampire as any being could ever get. My mind did the necessary mental shuffle to keep him on the right wavelength so I could see him properly, and he looked... Beautiful? No, not that, but somehow more than the sum of his parts.
He didn't shine, wasn't taller, thinner, or more muscular, just exuded a bizarre sense of impossible health and vitality. Which was weird considering he was now a bloodsucking vampire that I knew wasn't alive in a way I understood.
He was basically awesome looking without being any different at all.
And whatever he'd said, he was here for one reason only. He wanted me to return the favor.
Fuckity-fuck-fuck.
Test's Over
"You'll be pleased, um, maybe not, you'll be intrigued, yes, much better, to know you've passed the test. You obtained and delivered the book for us and now we, I, have a real job for you."
"Busy, gotta make dinner. Hey, George, sorry about breakfast, we got tied up, and er, attacked, and sold a book, and some other stuff."
"Used to it," she said, looking bored. That's teenagers for you. No other species in the universe can show such lack of interest in their father's work or the life they live, even with vampires in their kitchen and talk of murder and magical mayhem on a scale any adult would squirm with delight and horror over listening to.
Guess she'd seen and heard it all before.
"I understand. Please, proceed." Ivan waved a hand at my swanky kitchen. Every time I stepped foot in it my heart sang a little. The renovations had been extensive but worth it. My sanctuary from the chaos of life, the world, even the rest of my home. Where other rooms were cramped and cluttered, maybe a little messy, the kitchen gleamed.
This was how I compartmentalized my mind, my life, my worries and fears. I polished and cooked and cleaned and reveled in the order. I had made a point ever since George came into my life a few years back to always be home for dinner, although sometimes I got tied up—with ropes or magical elven bindings or whatever it might be. Breakfast was important too, but not holy like dinner.
"Is everything okay here?" I asked loudly, waiting for George to answer. She continued to study her letters on the little plastic rack, searching for a decent word. "George?"
"Eh? Yeah, fine. He's good at Scrabble." George poked her tongue out at Ivan.
"Haha, we are equals I believe."
I had a thousand questions, like why had she let him in, what did he want, why the test with the book and much more, but that could wait. This was family time.
"Vicky, how are you?" asked Ivan, studying her closely.
"Fine. What's the job
?" She was perking up immensely at the thought of jumping right back into the fray.
I had other ideas, and her being involved wasn't one of them.
"Later. I assume you still eat?" I asked, unsure if those as elevated as Ivan still did.
"Absolutely. I'd be honored." Ivan took his seat and soon was lost to the game with George.
I wondered how come Vicky and George could see him so clearly, thinking maybe he could choose how much or little of himself he revealed, let his guard down and be fully present if he so wished, but to be honest my brain wasn't functioning properly so I let it slide.
Instead, I fiddled with the small TV, got exasperated and eventually George snatched the remote and with an expert huff managed to get up a Buster Keaton short, the ritual while I cooked.
Then I chose careful chores for Vicky to assist me with, keeping her well away from anything that could cause havoc in my kitchen, and soon enough the meal was ready.
It was a strange experience sitting down with a guest like Ivan. We talked, laughed and joked, discussed the words laid out on the board and generally acted like we were all old friends, which I guess we were in a convoluted kind of way.
When the meal was over I realized I'd been so stunned by Ivan's presence I hadn't even had my pre-dinner smoke, something I was usually gagging for after a hard day of wizarding. So I interrupted George and she handed over a perfect, if somewhat skinny roll-up and I slid open the glass doors at the far wall of the kitchen and stepped outside into crisp, fresh air to give my lungs something to battle with.
What a day, and to finish it off I had a vampire in my kitchen. It brought back bad memories, ones I didn't want to revisit. The fear over losing George, Ivan stepping in and saving her, but saving himself in a strange way too. Life could have been very different if it wasn't for him, and for that I would be eternally grateful.
I inhaled deeply and let smoke sear my lungs and nicotine permeate my system, then breathed out and stubbed the butt in an ashtray I kept on a small outdoor table. I always loved standing out here, looking over the long stretch of lawn that bled into the fields beyond where sheep grazed and were utterly content, never bored for a moment with their repetitive lives.
The doors slid shut behind me. No prizes for guessing who wanted a little privacy.
"Can we talk?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"Please, hear me out, but this is important, Arthur, and personal."
I nodded, and I listened to the saddest story I'd ever heard in my life until that point. Not much could beat it in the many years that followed.
Sometimes life is cruel. Sometimes it's an utter bitch.
A Story
Ivan, known to the underworld until recently as Brains, told me his tale.
"It may surprise you to know I had a happy childhood."
"Hey, someone had to." I sure as hell didn't.
"Even with my condition..." Ivan trailed off and studied the darkening sky, the moon almost full, watching and silent, but having a profound effect on the planet, and even some of its inhabitants.
I wondered how the wolf thing worked with him now he was a vampire and if he was still limited to changing at will when the moon was full, or close to full, or if the vampire nature changed it. Now wasn't the time to ask.
"You were saying?"
"Sorry, this is hard. Things were good. I had loving parents and a cute little sister, and we lived a nice life. I have happy memories of those early days."
"That's great," I offered lamely.
"Yes, it is. Then everything changed. Do you know how old I am Arthur?" Ivan turned, genuinely interested to hear the answer.
"Dunno. Good for fifty, terrible for twenty?"
"I am forty-five years old today." He fished around in a pocket of his three-quarter length jacket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He lit one and offered it to me, then lit another for himself.
I drew in deeply, exhaled, said, "Thanks, and happy birthday." I was shocked. He seemed older, much older. Older than me, and I was the epitome of what people called a face with character when they were being nice. A scarecrow with charm, when they were being honest.
"Thank you. Do you know, this is the nicest birthday I have had since I was eight?"
"That's when it all went wrong? What happened?"
"Are you sure you want to know?" Ivan disappeared behind a cloud of smoke, maybe to hide the sadness or maybe the anger. I saw both, and a whole world of hurt.
"That's not my call. If it will help then tell me. If it brings up too much from the past that's painful then don't. But you came here for a reason."
"It couldn't hurt any more. It has been with me for so many years now and it never goes away. But the pain has eased, did so the moment you came into the room and asked for a bazooka. I had a feeling my life was about to change then, Arthur, and I was right."
"You sure were, buddy, you sure were."
We smoked in silence for a while then he continued. "I will tell you. Private, never to be told to anyone but your loved ones, and only if you need to," he warned.
"If nothing else, I'm good at keeping secrets. You have my word as a wizard and a father."
"Thank you. When I was eight my sister, just five years old, was taken away, and I haven't seen her since."
"Hell, I had no idea."
"It was so long ago, she was so young. You may not know, or remember, but back then Merrick's father was the boss."
"Before my time. I wasn't here then."
"Ah, of course. Well, my parents were rather strange by some people's standards, but they were smart, and wealthy, and that drew this terrible man's attention. He bled them dry for years, had, shall we say, a rather strong hold over them." Ivan glanced at the moon and I saw the lust in his eyes, the craving for the freedom his transformation offered. To be wild and free and the wolf. Yet unlike most shifters he remained in control, part animal, part human, and there was nothing more dangerous than that, apart from maybe a wolf-man who was also a vampire.
"He blackmailed them?"
"Exactly. Except one day my parents had had enough. They were almost destitute by then, and my father tried to kill Merrick's father. It backfired. He was not a nice man by any standards, this gangster, and his young son wasn't much better, even though just a few years my senior. They came, him, his men, and his young boy. Threatened us all and beat my father so bad almost every bone in his body was broken. Then they went for my mother." Ivan was whispering now, as quiet as the wind rustling gently through the trees.
"They took turns, laughing and joking, and it happened to be a full moon. Both my sister and I were young and couldn't control it. We were terrified but knew they were doing bad things to our mother. We turned. Merrick was in our living room with some of the men, and my sister was fast and strong, but she lost herself to the animal and she attacked them all. Three grown men she killed, and then she went for the boy. He was nasty even back then, but things might have been different if she hadn't gone for him."
"That's how Merrick got the scars? From a five-year-old?" I'd always wondered, had assumed they were from a fight of a different kind.
"Yes. She tore his face and neck to ribbons and the screaming brought in the other men and the father. At the sight of his son, he killed my mother on the spot. I can still picture it now, her lying naked on the hall floor, crying and screaming and covered in blood. Merrick's father walked up to her, his face a mask of rage, spittle flying. He shot her in the head. Then he did the same to my father."
"Jesus."
"They took my sister away. They knocked her unconscious, which was no easy thing, and she hurt more of them until finally her small body could stand it no more. They took her from me and then they took me too."
"And made you work for them?"
Ivan nodded, too distraught to speak. Tears streamed down his face but his features were still, like water trickling over pale rocks. He was past rage, past the emotions he must have felt and the hatred a
nd the self-recrimination and more sorrow than I could imagine. The tears just fell. "They abused me, never going as far as they had with my mother, and Merrick was... he was... Hell, I was his pet. I was given to him by his father. A plaything, a companion. We were taught together, schooled in everything from algebra to the life of the gangster. In some ways I don't blame him, for it was the only life he ever knew, but he was a cruel boy and he turned into an even crueler man."
"You grew up together?" I was amazed Ivan was still alive, that he hadn't killed Merrick years ago, or left, run away. As if reading my thoughts, he coughed, no effort made to wipe away the tears.
"You must understand, I was a young boy who had seen his parents murdered and his sister taken. I was told to behave, to be good, to entertain Merrick and be his friend, his constant companion, if I ever wanted to see my sister alive again. Each year I would talk to her once, on my birthday, then was forbidden to mention her. If I did I would be terribly abused, so I learned to keep quiet.
"I was indoctrinated, I guess. The past faded, at least a little, and this new life became the only one I knew, the only one I believed I would ever have. For many years I thought of running away every single day, but I never did. And over time such urges receded, until my life became normal. I suffered the abuse of Merrick and his father, and grew into a man."
"I don't know what to say. This can't get any worse, surely?"
Ivan lit another cigarette and passed me the pack and lighter. I lit up while he continued. I think he'd been waiting to talk about this for so long that there was no stopping him now. "It gets worse. After a few years they used me every month to eliminate enemies. Either I would have to turn and kill a prisoner, and they would watch and whoop and laugh and goad me, or once I became skilled enough I would be sent to hunt men, to track them and kill them, then they would dispose of the body. Every month for so many years I have killed, they made sure the animal within got to have its freedom."