The Last Line Series One

by David Elias Jenkins

  “Sorry, darling. Ohh, you look like a man who likes to take charge. Are you busy? Would you like to join us in a private room?”

  Her companion, a young man in what looked like a diver’s wetsuit, smiled at Usher from beneath his false eyelashes. “We don’t have a safeword. You don’t need to stop until one of us is dead.”

  Usher looked at the couple. He wasn’t sure how to respond. The couple looked at him with absolute sincerity. Usher wasn’t sure if they were under some kind of Unseelie glamour or if they were just pushing it to extremes.

  Kids.

  “I’m afraid I’ve already committed to a group tonight. So…maybe later?”

  The woman sighed and stroked Usher’s sleeve.

  “Well you know how to find us. Down this corridor and just follow the screams.”

  The couple gave him one last sultry look and trotted off into one of the antechambers.

  Usher shook his head and carried on down the corridor. As he approached one curtained doorway he began to hear a stringed instrument playing a melancholy lament and a cacophony of human scream and animal grunts.

  Usher slipped one hand into his jacket and around a pistol grip, but did not draw. He approached the open curtains and peered inside.

  A cage was set into the far wall. Inside paced a hairless feline creature with iron grey skin and sabre teeth jutting down from its drooling mouth. Its green eyes shone out with hunger and lust at the spectacle in the room.

  In one corner of the room sat a very thin old man with milky white blind eyes, playing a cello that rested between his bony knees.

  A fat man with lips clamped down on a ball gag was bent over a cushioned sofa. His pasty naked body shone with sweat and tears flowed down his cheeks. He was being sodomized by a huge blue skinned Ogre the size of a bull, who growled and spat as he worked. The voyeuristic creature in the cage hissed as it noticed Usher at the door. It reared up on its hind legs, showing Usher the extent of its arousal on six bullet point breasts. From its back a set of brightly coloured dragon wings unfurled and fluttered in excitement. The Ogre’s eyes were closed in effort but its voice rumbled out across the room.

  “Stop fucking distracting me Belladonna, I’m not done with it yet. You’ll get the leftovers don’t worry. I’m just tenderizing the meat.”

  The Ogre’s dirty laugh rattled about the room. Usher’s first instinct was to draw his pistol and shoot it between the eyes. Then he looked down and noticed that the ball gag had slipped and the fat naked man was alternating between laughing and squealing.

  “Not yet my friend, keep tenderizing, she likes it rare!”

  Usher just stared.

  I have no words.

  He tried to burn the image from his mind. He closed his eyes and quietly resumed his search along the corridor. Turing left he passed a series of alcoves.

  Propped up in each one was a six foot St Andrews cross. Strapped to each one was an emaciated figure clad head to toe in PVC, their slumped heads covered with slick black masks.

  As Usher passed each alcove, the heads slowly rose to greet him. Each mask covered everything except for a hole cut around the mouth. Pale corpse lips were drawn back to show gums receding from long grey teeth. As Usher walked past them they began to furiously buck and struggle against their bonds, arching their backs to horrific angles. Usher was sure he heard bones break as they spasmed in their bondage, but he did not draw his pistol. He was here for bigger fish.

  A few more partygoers dressed in glamorous evening wear tottered down the corridor past him, laughing and swigging from a bottle of champagne. One of the men nodded to him as he passed and held out the bottle.

  “Magical night isn’t it old boy? Don’t be glum, get some poison inside you!”

  Usher smiled and walked past them. The man seemed offended and was saying something to him as he moved away, but all Usher could see was the unassuming door next to the stairwell. A sign on the wall pointing up the stairs stated Showroom, and Usher could hear the music thumping down from above. Above the little door to the right was a faded sign that said no entry: staff only.

  That got Usher’s attention.

  Nothing says ‘Unseelie this way’ like a forbidden door.

  He squeezed his push-to-talk button.

  “I’m at the stairwell leading up to where you boys are. Be with you in minute. You got eyes on Laszlo?”

  A crackle of static and then Santiago’s voice.

  “He’s at the bar doing his best to look casual. Whatever Unseelie are in here, they’ll be able to sense the thaumaturgy off that knife he’s carrying from a hundred paces. He’s a sitting duck and he knows it.”

  “Well let’s hope his courage lasts until we can lure out our necromancer friend.”

  “Then what boss?”

  Usher drew one of his pistols and started quietly up the stairs.

  “Well then we got a fight on our hands.”

  25

  Two nervous figures approached the bar of Club Thorn.

  “Dude this place is like totally messing with my high.”

  Laszlo gazed at his old friend as they negotiated their way through the goths and industrial rockers that were jumping at the edge of the stage. Around the dance floor, elegant groups in evening wear and masks smoked and observed. They were the rich tourists of the macabre who travelled the world to stand on the shores of the Unseelie realm. The same people who used to attend the fight events at the Secret Arena to watch human and Unseelie battle to the death. Club Thorn was an eclectic mixture of the world’s most extreme experience seekers.

  “You’re high?”

  “Tonight has just really freaked me out, I needed to just soften the edges a bit, take it all in.”

  “How’s that working for you Buller?”

  “Back in the flat, when I was eating your half a sandwich and watching your little Frodo magic-trap spinning at the window, it was actually helping quite a bit.”

  “And now?”

  “I need to ask, was your intention in bringing me here to make me feel like I had fallen into a music video directed by Clive Barker and then shit my pants? Cos I am like…really unsettled. My IBS is gonna flare up any minute and I’m willing to bet the toilet cubicles here have no doors. No one wants to see that Laz. No one.”

  Laz glanced about at the bizarre motley collection of revellers at this most exclusive of underground clubs.

  “Actually Buller I think I’ve seen about five people since we got here that would probably just smoke a cigarette and watch that from the hand driers. Besides, I didn’t intend to bring us here. We need to work with these people if we want to stay alive. And we can’t let this Lilith come back to life. Or there won’t be anything left for any of us.”

  Buller cocked his head and looked sidelong at his friend.

  “Who is this imposter? Sound almost like you’re trying to do the right thing Laz. Giving me shivers.”

  Laz shrugged and tightened his grip on the box that held the First Knife.

  “Well it’s not going to last. By tomorrow, if I’m still alive, I’ll have forgotten all about this brief moment of heroism and be back to selling people fake trinkets.”

  “I doubt that, old pal.”

  Laz raised a hopeful eyebrow.

  “Really? You think I can become a better man?”

  “No, I mean I doubt we’ll be alive by tomorrow.”

  “Oh.”

  Buller glanced fearfully around the crowded nightclub. It was hard to pick out potential Unseelie in a room filled with people in masquerade, fetish gear or gothic makeup.

  “I’m really not equipped for this. I’m your best friend Laz, but look at me. Do I look like a next-gen ghostbuster to you?”

  “You look kinda like the-”

  “If you say I look like the stay puff marshmallow guy I am gonna unleash some hardcore rock on your little Slavic ass right now.”

  “-I was gonna say like you could bust some serious ghost. Chill.”

 
Buller sighed and tried to stop his big hands shaking.

  “Let’s get a drink, Laz, I need a beer to take the edge off this weed.”

  “Right. What do you want?”

  “Anything, literally anything.”

  “Two vodka red bulls. Get us psyched up in case there’s action.”

  “Action? Laz we’re standing here as bait at the fringes of a secret war against...like…monsters, dude. In what way is an energy drink and shot of vodka going to prep us for that?”

  “Buller if I’m gonna get eaten, I am not gonna be sober when it happens.”

  Buller nodded and brought out his wallet.

  “Reasonable point. I’ll take a double shot in mine.”

  “Buller, I brought something to help us blend in.”

  Buller peered around at the regular clientele of Club Thorn.

  “Strap-ons?”

  “No. Look.”

  Laszlo reached into his bag and brought out two scuffed old leather jackets. One had tassels on it and the other an assortment of sewn patches. They appeared to have been in fashion around 1986.

  “I’m not wearing that, dude. I get heat rashes and I sweat profusely in just t-shirts. If you want to be the one to talcum under my man boobs tomorrow then by all means make me wear that.”

  “There’s one for me too. The last tenant left a load of clothes and he was into death metal. They were in the back of the wardrobe I just cut the sleeves a bit.”

  “Give it here.”

  Buller squeezed his large frame into the leather jacket. Laz nodded at him and patted the tasselled sleeve.

  “Man, with your hair and build that actually works. Seriously Buller, you’re rocking out.”

  “I look like Meatloaf.”

  “Who is...a...rock...act.”

  Buller raised his hand with fingers extended in the devil’s sign and waggled his tongue at Laszlo.

  “Yeah? That what you want?”

  Laz spread his arms wide and modelled his new look.

  “What about me?”

  “You know that thing they bring out the box in Pulp Fiction to watch Ving Rhames get sodomized?”

  “The…gimp?”

  “Drink your drink, Laz, we’re spies now.”

  They clinked glasses and slurped through the straws.

  “Totally spies.”

  For the briefest moment Laz forgot the danger they were both in. Then he saw the figures moving towards them from the corners of the club and his heart fluttered. Dark shapes were cutting through the assembled clubbers towards them like velociraptors through long grass.

  “Buller. I think they’ve seen us.”

  Buller backed up against the bar.

  “It’s ok. Those soldiers are out there. As long as they keep us in their sights, we’ll be ok.”

  Laz stared through the crowd at the figures heading towards them. The dancing masses unconsciously parted as the figures glided through their midst. One was a tall slim black man with a bald head and sunglasses and the other was a painfully thin old man with an equine face. Behind them, a thick yellow fog was gathering like dry ice. It gathered around their knees and then began to rise like a tidal wave behind them. Dancers were swallowed up by it in moments.

  Laz began to panic as he realized what was happening.

  “Buller, I don’t think they’re gonna have eyes on us for much longer.”

  Laz put his finger up to his ear and spoke into the concealed throat mike.

  “Empire One they’re coming! They’ve seen us. This place is filling up with some kind of weird fog. You have to get us out of here!”

  Across the dance floor, Santiago and Jeter noticed the two gaunt figures closing in towards the bar. They quietly slid their silenced pistols from their holsters.

  “Brock. Stromberg. I have eyes on two Unseelie at ten o’clock, moving in towards the civilians.”

  The gruff voice of Brock crackled over the airwaves.

  “I see them. The one in the black hat, you see his face from your position?”

  Santiago stole a glance.

  “Negative. Wait…”

  Santiago felt his Latin blood run cold. He knew that long deathly face anywhere.

  “It’s him boys. It’s Cornelius Fortune.”

  Jeter stood perfectly still, never taking his eyes from the Laz and Buller at the bar.

  “Eyes on civilians. Don’t lose them.”

  From a booth across the dance floor, Stromberg shook his head.

  “He’s jittery. I think he’s gonna rabbit boys.”

  Santiago bit his lower lip.

  “Laszlo? Nah, he’s good. He’s on mission, he just has to stay there like a good lure for another few moments. Just until he draws them out.”

  “I’m telling you boys, look at his face. His courage is going. We have to move in before he runs off with the only thing that can kill Lilith.”

  Santiago squeezed his push-to-talk button.

  “Hey, Laszlo, you hearing me ok? Hearing these Doubting Toms? You’re cool…right?”

  A high voice filled with tension crackled into the team’s ears.

  “I’m not comfortable with this, I think it was a bad idea. I was pressured into it.”

  Santiago tutted and hissed.

  “Take your fucking finger away from your ear. Be cool like your big buddy.”

  Laz glanced out across the dance floor and caught Santiago’s eye. His look spoke volumes.

  “The only reason I’m not running is cos he can’t catch up.”

  Buller’s deep voice chimed in.

  “I have an earpiece in too you know. I can hear all this.”

  Santiago smiled.

  “Good, tell Laz to keep calm, we’ve got your backs.”

  “How do I know you guys know what you’re doing?”

  Santiago began to move forward, his pistol covertly hidden beneath his arm.

  “Because we’re still alive, son.”

  From the back of the room, Santiago saw Charlie appear from the rest rooms and close in on the advancing figures. His east end drawl came over the airwaves.

  “Hey Jeter, what about this fucker?”

  Jeter calmly assessed the scene.

  “The tall black gentleman?”

  “Yeah big Baron Samedi over there. He looks Unseelie to me.”

  “I’m inclined to agree. But until he takes of his mask as it were, and shows his true nature, I’m reluctant to act.”

  “What would constitute that?”

  “Well I would know when I saw it.”

  Charlie looked down at the tall man’s hand and frowned, then called over the radio.

  “Would a big, creepy, spike dripping in poison coming out of the geezer’s wrist constitute that?”

  “I would have to say yes.”

  “Then this fucker’s toast. I’ve got him.”

  Brock appeared by Santiago and Jeter’s side. His Soulblade was drawn and glimmered at his huge thigh.

  “Ten and two boys, I got more Unseelie coming in towards Laz, pincer move. Therianthropes of some kind.”

  “Therianthropes? Werewolves?”

  “Nah. Weirder than that.”

  “You got them?”

  “Got them.”

  Santiago put a hand on Brock’s arm. He pointed to the billowing yellow fog that was drifting in behind Cornelius Fortune.

  “Wait wait, something’s not right. What is that?”

  Jeter began to weave faster between the confused huddle on the dance floor. People were in between fascination and panic. In a place like Club Thorn they were used to the unusual, but their instincts told them something was wrong.

  “They knew we were coming. It’s an ambush for us, not them.”

  The sickly mustard smoke began to pour up over the dance floor and onto the stage. The band had stopped playing, partygoers were panicking and running blindly in all directions, bumping in to the soldiers of Empire One as they went.

  Santiago fixed his gaze on the ter
rified forms of Laz and Buller as they backed up against the bar. Within moments the yellow mist was encroaching and their legs were lost to view.

  “Don’t let them get cut off. Move in.”

  Santiago drew his Soulblade and Brock followed suit. They formed a tight group and moved forward as a single entity.

  As the soldiers of Empire One approached the bar, figures began to appear in the yellow fog at the edge of the dance floor.

  They had the bodies of men but the heads were hircine. Long curving goat horns swept up from their skulls. Their bodies were massive and muscled, with coarse fur dappling them in filthy clumps. The disorienting gas distorted their size and they appeared elongated like giants. They were silhouettes that appeared as something from the dark pagan past. The outlines of long axes jutted out from their brawny arms.

  Jeter flicked his blonde head towards them.

  “I take it that’s the therianthropes you were referring to earlier?”

  Brock nodded his head with a grunt.

  “Who, goat-boy and his crew over there? Yeah that’s them.”

  Charlie narrowed his eyes and rolled out his shoulders like a boxer.

  “Have we fought this sort before? I don’t recall.”

  Stromberg tightened the grip on his Soulblade.

  “Unseelie beastmen. I vaguely recall the PowerPoint Ariel gave us on them but I think I fell asleep at some point. PowerPoint right? You remember if we need some special kind of voodoo to kill them?”

  Santiago spun his knife to loosen his wrist.

  “How about we just turn them into goat curry and take it from there?”

  The seven foot tall creatures stood there like sentinels, the lights from the stage illuminating the fog around them. Then they bellowed, raised their axes high, and attacked everything in sight.

  The club was chaos.

  The Unseelie beastmen moved around the crowd on cloven hooves, swinging their great axes and lopping off heads and limbs. In the thick fog people inadvertently ran into their bristling thighs and were dead a moment later from a ragged swipe of dirty claws. The monsters seemed to merge in and out of the darkness and fog at will, as if their red eyes could see through the cloud.