Aphanasian Stories

by Rhonda Parrish

  proved true—this time.

  "Yes. Xaphan has been terrorizing all the girls who work in the Dregs, threatening them with unspeakable consequences if they don’t work for him and hand over most of what they make each

  night."

  She paused, looking at me to make sure my mortification

  matched hers, so I sculpted my face into a mask of outrage and held her gaze while spitting, "That bastard."

  Of course, I did think him a bastard for using the whores that way, but I didn’t see why Charmaine involved herself. Surely there had been a lot of pimps who’d come and gone over the years, but she’d never called on me before, never requested my services.

  "What’s so special about this one, Char...Margaret?" I wanted to hear her say it, though I already suspected the answer. Xaphan had made quite a name for himself. I knew what he was, and Charmaine must as well. After twenty years, you don’t ask the childhood friend who turned his back on you to deal with a pimp. The question

  remained: would she tell me about it? Forewarned is forearmed, so they say. Would she arm me or send me out after this creature, assuming him to be merely another man?

  "He’s brutal. He’s murdered at least two girls because they refused to pay him for protection, and he’s kidnapped one of my girls who left the streets to join the Order."

  Ah, true to her God and his teachings, Charmaine wasn’t going to tell me all she knew; she would let me find out for myself. I wondered then if she realized the sort of danger she was sending me into on her behalf. After one look at her steely blue eyes, I knew that she did. She knew, and a part of her probably wanted me to perish at this creature’s hands—the part that was still furious at me for abandoning her so many years ago.

  - 168 -

  Aphanasian Stories

  I understood; a part of me remained rather pissed about it too.

  If only I’d stood up to my father a few years sooner, maybe then I could have talked her off the streets. Who knows how many beatings I’d have saved her, how many men she could have avoided sleeping with. Who knows what would have happened if I’d had the guts to tell the old man no and mean it. So no, I didn’t blame her, but that wasn’t going to make the job any easier.

  "Okay, Margaret. I’ll do it."

  I thought I saw a flicker in her eyes—fear, perhaps, or relief.

  Whatever it was, she quickly masked it once more. You don’t serve the God of Lies without learning a thing or two about keeping secrets.

  She nodded, pulled her robes tighter against herself and knelt at the altar to complete her prayers. As I moved to go, I noticed how the candles around her made my shadow flicker and morph as it crossed the floor. It shifted with each step, at one moment looking positively demonic, at another quite mundane. Strangely enough, when I glanced back over my shoulder at Charmaine, bathed in light from the flickering flames and lost in her prayers, she was wholly bereft of a shadow of her own.

  ~*~

  I didn’t need to go looking to find Xaphan; I knew exactly

  where he was. Two decades of hunting creatures like him had given me knowledge no mortal should have nor want. I knew where to find him and how to kill him, but that was the easy part. Catching him at a vulnerable time and getting through his security would be the challenge.

  Xaphan was a vampire, a leech. He thrived on misery, survived on blood, and lived for far longer than any human could. He hadn’t lived this long through luck, but through skill and attention to detail.

  Not only would I have to find my way to his resting place, I would have to go through the veritable army of followers he’d set in place to guard him while he slept the daylight hours away.

  I’d ended the lives of innumerable men and creatures; if the

  Gods permitted, I wanted to continue doing so for decades to come.

  Normally, I’d make a trip to one of my favorite mages, load up on spells and then storm the vampire’s residence. A fireball or two would take out all his followers, and you’d be surprised how fast an

  - 169 -

  Rhonda Parrish

  item enchanted to cast "sunlight" at a word will turn a voracious vampire into a pile of stinking dust. But this time I felt as though I might need more. Something about this Xaphan, and the job in

  particular, tickled my mind. I wanted to do it right, to make things up to Charmaine. I wanted to help her now, even though I’d been

  unable to do so then. I think that caused part of my hesitation to do it the usual way—part, but not all.

  Rumor on the street was, in addition to surrounding his coffin with followers made loyal to him with promises of immortality, Xaphan used innocent hostages. Charmaine’s story about one of her girls gave credence to this tale, and so I hesitated to go in with fireballs blazing. No, this would take more stealth and more

  weaponry than I alone could provide.

  Bayne could be a bit of a barbarian at times; however, he

  owned the most unbelievable sword you ever saw and wielded it with an unparalleled skill. I knew where to find him; he was as constant as the sun, that one.

  I opened the door to Llewellyn’s whorehouse and took a quick

  look around the tap room. Haven was, perhaps, the only city in existence where most anyone could be welcome. Only here could you see elves drinking with dwarves, or reptars drinking with humans. Even so, Bayne was never difficult to spot; even here, he stood out.

  He had white hair—not blond like what you might see on a

  pure human, but as white as bone—and his eyes were an icy blue that made women go weak in the knees. Though he wasn’t beefy, I’d seen him heft full-grown men over his head and through windows without breaking a sweat. Rumor said his father was an incubus; if true, that would account for his incredible strength. Then again, how do you ask a man if he’s half demon? Walk up and say, "Hey buddy, you got horns under that creepy colored hair?" Not a good idea, unless you worship the Goddess of Pain. I never did find out how true the rumors were, but it didn’t matter: he could swing a sword like no one you’d ever seen, and he worked for cheap if you told him it was for a good cause. Yes, Bayne was the man I needed at my side for this job.

  He was currently sitting up on a mound of pillows with a

  tankard in his hand and a gaggle of giggling whores spread out around his feet like a harem. I didn’t have time to admire the view; it was almost midnight, and I intended to strike at dawn.

  - 170 -

  Aphanasian Stories

  "Bayne, you up for a job?" My voice cut through the inane chatter of the girls at his feet like a lightning bolt through a tree. He caught my eye and nodded, and I took a seat at the bar and waited for him to disentangle himself from his fan club. After stepping over the girls scattered around him, he swaggered over to me and plopped himself down on the stool at my side.

  "What kind of job, Michael?"

  Straight to the point; no messing around or lame attempts at

  chit-chat. Yet another reason why I liked the guy.

  "It’s a leech."

  Bayne’s eyebrows shot up and he began to stand. I interrupted his movement by continuing quickly. "You don’t have to go near the vampire—that’s my part of the job. I need you to take out his minions. I can’t use my usual methods because they kill

  indiscriminately, and there is a good chance he has innocent

  hostages."

  He sat back down, looking at me intently with those ghostly

  blue eyes of his. Then he nodded.

  "You know I won’t deal with vampires. The only reason I’m even considering accepting this job is because it’s you offering it."

  He snatched up a toothpick from the bar and started twirling it between his lips. "What’s it pay?"

  Ah, what’s it pay. The question I’d been dreading above all

  others. Truth be told, Margaret couldn’t pay me. Followers of all the main religious orders swear an oath of poverty. Rakkir was no different. Hell, I couldn’t hav
e asked her to pay me anyway, even if she could afford it, not after I’d abandoned her when we were kids. I owed her this job.

  What’s it pay? I’d have offered him cash out of my own

  pocket if I could, but though I didn’t follow any of the Gods, I lived as if I did. Bounty hunting and vampire slaying don’t pay nearly as well as you might think.

  "What’s it pay?" I sighed, and then turned to give Bayne my best look of sincerity. "I’m afraid it pays only whatever you can take off the corpses."

  He spat the toothpick out and took a long swig from the

  tankard in his hand. "Vampire minions? Hell, I could make more robbing a stranger on the street!"

  "True, but it’s for a good cause."

  "What cause? Lining your wallet?"

  - 171 -

  Rhonda Parrish

  "No, it’s for Sister Margaret." He had a soft spot for whores, and Charmaine was practically their patron saint. I hated

  manipulating him this way, but I really needed him with me on this job.

  "For Sister Margaret, eh? How’s she figure into this?"

  "The leech, Xaphan, has been charging all her girls for

  protection. From himself, of course."

  Bayne nodded, rolling his eyes. "Of course."

  "Well, the girls who can’t pay get hurt, or worse, and at least one of them has been abducted."

  "I suppose I can take the job, seeing as how it’s for a good cause and all. But there is one condition."

  I knew what he was going to say—the standard condition

  everyone placed on a job involving a vampire. All the same, I nodded and lifted a brow to make like I couldn’t wait to hear it.

  "If I get turned, you need to kill me."

  His eyes held my own, their creepy color searing me the way

  Charmaine’s had earlier. His intensity impressed me. No one wants to become a vampire, excepting only their deluded minions.

  Bayne stared at me with a forcefulness I’d never seen before.

  He didn’t ask me to kill him if he were turned—he demanded it. I wondered, yet again, what it was with him and vampires; but really, it didn’t matter to me. So I nodded and, with as much conviction as I could force into my voice, said, "If you get turned, I’ll kill you. I swear."

  ~*~

  Several hours later, we stood shivering outside a ramshackle

  factory while the last seconds of night ticked away. I double-checked my equipment. Because Bayne would be dealing with any mortals on this night, I wasn’t carrying much. A collection of sharpened wooden stakes filled the converted quiver on my back, and a big mallet fit snugly into a loop on my belt. I had a pure silver dagger inside another loop, in case monsters other than Xaphan lingered inside, and, of course, my mirror. The mirror was a woman’s

  compact I had paid a mage to enchant. Upon opening, it would cast the spell "sunlight"—light would burst forth from it, harmless to humans but powerful enough to turn even the oldest vampire into a pile of ash in mere seconds. I’d requested the mage put two charges

  - 172 -

  Aphanasian Stories

  on it, costing me all my money. I figured it would be worth it if something went wrong.

  The horizon was tinged with pink when Bayne drew his sword

  and nodded tersely at me. "You ready?"

  I nodded in return and slid my mirror out of my pocket.

  "I’ll go in first and take care of the people; you stay behind me until we’re clear. Once my job is done, I’m out of there. If you really want to find the stinking leech, you’re on your own. I’ll make sure there are no people to help him out, but there ain’t no way in The Abyss I’m going anywhere near him."

  "I understand, Bayne." I looked up at the sky and nodded.

  "Alright, let’s go."

  Not one to waste time with niceties, Bayne kicked down the

  door and went to work.

  I’d seen him at work with his sword before, plenty of times,

  each one better than the last, but nothing had prepared me for this.

  Xaphan had a lot of minions—a lot. They swarmed on Bayne

  like flies on shit, a living wave of fists and feet, all determined to bring him down. None of them reached him. His face, contorted by battle fury, looked every bit like a demon, all trace of humanity erased. He moved the sword as though it were an extension of

  himself, each movement calculated to destroy as many of his foes as possible. Within minutes, the roar of battle subsided to the

  whimpering of wounded, and Bayne’s once white hair was stained pink with blood and gore. An occasional cut ripped through his shirt; one or two even managed to draw blood. But in less then ten

  minutes, he’d reduced the vampire’s army to a pile of mangled corpses and unidentified gore.

  I entered as he replaced his sword in the scabbard strapped

  across his back, careful to watch my step lest I slip on the blood and goo and find myself covered in things I’d rather not contemplate.

  From a far corner, buried in shadows mortal eyes couldn’t hope to penetrate, the distinct sound of feminine sobs could be heard. The leech had hostages after all. Good thing I’d decided against the fireball.

  "You get the girls," I said. "I’ll take care of the vampire and meet you back outside."

  Bayne nodded and delivered a sharp kick to the nose of one of his opponents who lay moaning in the sea of gore. The man’s face

  - 173 -

  Rhonda Parrish

  imploded, shattering beneath the force of Bayne’s boot, and then Bayne headed wordlessly toward the sound of the hostages.

  I winced inwardly at the brutality of his action, then shrugged it off. In war, shit happens; he couldn’t be the best sword for hire in the land if he were squeamish about killing. Nor could he afford to turn his back on an enemy who still drew breath, injured or not.

  I watched his back disappear into the darkness and thought

  about calling out to warn him to watch for traps, but then I thought better of it. Bayne was no fool; he knew what he was doing. I could trust him to get the girls out of the house safely. Now it was up to me to find the vampire and kill him.

  Vampires, like most animals, are pretty predictable. And

  they’re paranoid. They like to put their coffins at the lowest, darkest point of the building they are sleeping in, and though they often ward the room with spells, they never let anyone else in it—not even to guard them while they sleep.

  I found the stairs with no difficulty; factories, too, are

  notoriously predictable. Following them down into the dank belly of the building, I kept an eye out for traps. I found two wards outside one door, but they were simple enough to disarm. That’s the thing about magic: it’s difficult to create, but not tough to sabotage.

  I was surprised to only come across two of the damn things, to tell the truth. Xaphan must be a cocky son of a bitch. Of course, if I had my way, he’d soon be a dead son of a bitch, and I thought it awfully nice of him to make my job easier.

  I found his coffin in the room beyond the wards, laid right out in the middle of it, as bold as you please. Most vampires make my life harder: they hide their beds, stash them away in dark corners or incredibly tight passageways. But not Xaphan. He was making this too easy. I didn’t trust it.

  I took my time looking around the room, searching for any

  wards I might have missed, trying to find the trap. No vampire was this bold, this stupid. All I found was a piece of material with an elongated diamond stitched onto it, a diamond that served as

  Rakkir’s holy symbol. It was half- buried in the dirt floor, and I almost missed it. Though it made my stomach lurch to see it there, it wasn’t booby-trapped, if it had been, I'd have been dead by now.

  After one more lingering look around, I decided that if humans could be so cocky they got stupid, surely vampires could too. I resolved to

  - 174 -

  Aphanasian Stor
ies

  make his lack of security the last mistake this particular bloodsucker ever made.

  I strolled over to his coffin and took a few deep breaths to

  steady my nerves. This was the part I hated most: opening the lid.

  When vampires are sleeping, nothing will wake them until nightfall.

  There could be an earthquake—the whole building could come down on top of them—and they wouldn’t know it until night. Of course, knowing this never made me any more relaxed about lifting the lid.

  What if this one vampire was a light sleeper? What then? He would have the upper hand and I would soon find myself a corpse or, worse yet, turned.

  So I took a deep breath, then another, building up the courage to do what I knew I must. Holding my compact out in front of me and toward the coffin, I steadied my nerves. Flipping the lid of the coffin open with one hand, I used the other to open the compact.

  The dank little basement room, so dreary and dark moments

  before, now filled with sunlight that poured from the compact. As the beams flooded the coffin’s interior with their light, an unearthly scream resounded from within the box.

  Xaphan bolted out of it, flying straight up until he met the

  ceiling. His clothing was burning as though I’d doused him in ethanol and lit a match. His skin was charred, and obscene goo dripped off his face and fingers. He writhed there, up against the roof, screaming out his agony in an unholy voice. A drop of his oozing flesh fell upon my hand, making me jump. I kept the compact open, pointing it directly at him, watching dispassionately while he performed his grotesque dance of death upon the ceiling.

  Only after the wailing stopped, when he was reduced to a

  revolting smell and a pile of ash that rained down all around me, did I close the compact. I pulled a bag out of my back pocket and scooped as much of his remains into it as I could. Vampires can’t cross running water, so I’d toss what was left of this one into the river on my way back to see Charmaine, just in case.

  As I emerged from the factory, I blinked several times to clear my vision, squinting in the bright sunlight after the shadows.