Spiritride

by Mark Shepherd

  He was about to suggest dinner when the roar of another, quite different motorcycle drew closer.

  Thorn.

  Petrus and Wenlann were both outside by the time he pulled Valerie up on her center stand. Thorn's expression told them right away the news was bad.

  "They have Wolf," he said breathlessly.

  "Who does?" Petrus asked.

  "The Unseleighe, you fool," Wenlann said, distressed.

  Thorn nodded. "Yes, the Unseleighe. And Damien, the Satanists. The ones who killed his grandfather. They abducted him and took him to a cabin."

  "Oh, great," Wenlann said. "I knew we shouldn't have left him alone!"

  "Are you certain they were Unseleighe?" Odras asked, stepping out of the motel room.

  "No doubt. I've met them before, I know what their power feels like. They have made that cabin their own."

  "They must be planning on staying here a while, then," Petrus said, trying to take control of a situation that was becoming quite uncontrollable. "Five Unseleighe, one a mage. One, Japhet Dhu. The humans we can handle easily. And three against five? The odds could be better, but . . . Odras, are you with me?"

  "Certainly," the Mage replied. "That is, if you insist on this course of action."

  Petrus studied him, and in the mage's relaxed, ambivalent look saw that he didn't really think going after the Unseleighe was such a good idea.

  "I know they have humiliated you," Odras said, apparently sensing his indecision. "And granted, the human Wolf is in a great deal of trouble. But we are only three. Even in the best light the odds are not in our favor."

  "All right, then," Petrus said. "We will go and verify the location. Wenlann, would you stay and try to contact the King on the net, and tell him we're ready for reinforcements?"

  "Thank you," Wenlann said, more to Odras than to Petrus, and went back into their motel room.

  Petrus turned to the Rider Guardian. "Thorn, would you kindly show us the way?"

  Chapter Fourteen

  With a start Lucas awakened and tried to sit up. It was dark. He couldn't move: he was bound by something strong and sticky. He tried yelling, but a strip of tape turned the shout into a mrwwwmph.

  Rolling onto his side, he faced a long, horizontal slit of light. As his panic subsided, he realized he was looking at the bottom of a door. He heard nothing except for a whistle of wind coming from somewhere above him. He lay there for an eternity, willing his breathing to slow down.

  He lay on a mattress, which had a cloying, metallic odor. Like someone had soiled the mattress, or had even bled and died on it. His stomach roiled at the thought. He closed his eyes, and with everything he had, summoned calmness. As he relaxed, his heart hammered a little less at his ribcage. Okay, let's try this again. A second attempt at sitting up succeeded, but something around his ankles hindered his standing up.

  He rolled over on his knees and rocked back until balanced on his feet. The strip of light now illuminated his Nikes, and he saw duct tape wrapped around his ankles. The door was not that far away, but required careful hops to reach it. He lost his balance, and shoulder and head slammed loudly into a metal door. He froze, waiting to see what, if any, response the sound would get. Nothing stirred. Righting himself, his hands brushed against a doorknob. He turned it, but it didn't yield. Locked. Great. The doorknob was smooth and featureless. The lock was on the other side. Inching his way along the wall his arm connected with something sticking out of the wall.

  A switch. Light flooded the room when he pushed the switch up with his arm.

  He wished he hadn't.

  Lucas screamed against the tape over his mouth, and backed into a corner where he collided with a work table. But his eyes were on the ceiling and opposite walls; any calm he'd achieved earlier was gone, as he started to hyperventilate through his nose.

  Why don't they just kill me and be done with it? he thought as he tried to push himself deeper into the corner.

  The mattress was indeed blood-soaked, the stains having dried to a blackish brown. In the far corner was a board set up on two cinderblocks, upon which were the bare skulls of what looked like dogs, cats and people. At least five full human skulls grinned silently at him, some small, as if from children, and some with an occasional patch of flesh or hair still intact. Hanging on the walls were several metal wires, with bones strung on them like a necklace. On the cinderblock walls were pentagrams, baphomets, inverted crosses, and other symbols he didn't immediately recognize, all drawn in blood.

  Dear God, Lucas thought, wondering what, if anything, might save him from this. Wind blew through a tiny rectangular window overhead, and beyond it was the darkness of nightfall. The table he was leaning against had a few odds and ends on it. There were a few gallon cans of paint, a jug of mineral spirits, some paint brushes. Then his eyes caught a square can of something marked "solvent," and he had an idea. He hopped over to the other end of the table, tipped the can over with his nose, to where it was hanging over the edge of the table. With difficulty he bent over and reached up with his bound hands.

  A truck or something pulled up outside, followed by a loud slamming of doors.

  "Shit," he muttered, almost dropping the can. He had it in one hand, but it was too big to fit in his hip pocket. Instead he slipped it down the back of his pants, inside his briefs, and pulled his long t-shirt back over his backside. He hopped back over to the light switch, turned it off, and fell back on the mattress.

  A door some distance away opened with a loud squeak.

  "Finally we've got the sonofabitch," he heard someone say, followed by the sounds of shuffling feet, as if a two or more people were carrying something heavy.

  "Leave the handcuffs on," the voice said again.

  "What about the little shit in there?" That was Satanic Panic.

  "Check him."

  Lucas closed his eyes and feigned sleep. The door opened briefly, then closed.

  "He's still out," Panic said. "You gonna give me the bag now or what?"

  "Here," said the voice, then came the rustle of plastic. "Same as the last. Be careful with it."

  "I'm always careful," Panic replied, and giggled like a schoolgirl.

  The door opened again, and an engine started. Lucas waited until the van was long gone. Whoever or whatever they had brought in wasn't moving. He got back on his feet, turned the light back on, and began peeling the tape off his mouth using the corner of the table. Nearly all of it was off, the long strip hanging off his right cheek, but he could finally breathe freely through his mouth. Then he studied the window at the top of the wall, a horizontal strip of space that looked about six inches high. If he pulled the table over, he would be able to get up to it. But first he'd have to get unbound.

  Before trying the can of solvent he tried the worktable's corner to free his hands. Lucas hacked away at the tape, cutting his hand a few times in the process. The blood running over the tape made it slick, and well nigh impossible for the table corner to gain purchase. Then he heard something outside, and froze.

  Something was just outside the window. Then came a long throaty growl, the kind of sound that only comes from very large animals. The sound shook the glass in the window and reverberated against the cinder block walls like a mufflerless motorcycle. A mountain lion. Had to be. It was huge.

  It wasn't leaving. What is it finding so attractive? Perhaps it was the blood on the mattress and walls, not to mention the fresh blood on his hands. But he wasn't ready to die yet. He considered the stuff on the table, wondered if something there would hide the smell of the blood. The mineral spirits might make this an unappetizing buffet after all. The solvent was still in his pants, cool and clammy against his left buttock. I could use the table corner to open it. . . .

  In the midst of putting this plan to action, he heard the cat scream again. Then another wild animal sound: A wolf, in the room next to him. What is this, a goddamn zoo? he thought, staggering backwards, away from the sound. Maybe I don't want out of here after all.
The metal door holding him in looked pretty stout. Now he was glad it was. The Wolf's bark rattled his diaphragm.

  Big dog, big cat. Great, maybe they'll fight it out and leave me alone.

  The ruckus sounded like the mountain lion and wolf were trying to disembowel each other. The fight traveled outside, as he heard a distant version of it from beyond his window. Soon, the fight faded to silence.

  Then he remembered, The others. Panic. Whatshisface. They're going to be back.

  They will kill me.

  In the darkness Japhet Dhu and Nargach observed the lone Seleighe through the motel window, keeping their distance from a set of subtle but effective wards protecting the room. Nargach had muttered something about this being the work of Odras, but had failed to elaborate if this was a problem for him or not.

  "She's reading a book. Sideways," Japhet observed.

  "That's not a book," Mort informed them. "It's a laptop. She's probably on the Internet."

  "Which means?" Nargach asked, saving Japhet the trouble.

  "Which means," Mort said, brightening, "the phone is unplugged, and she can't call 911. How convenient."

  "Well, where are the rest of them?" Japhet said, annoyed. Everything the demon said was gibberish.

  "Off somewhere else," Mort replied. "There is only one elvensteed."

  "That conveyance?" Nargach asked, squinting at the space next to the room.

  "Do you know the Seleighe to use anything else?" Japhet replied shortly.

  "As a matter of fact, I do. That's a motorcycle . . . No, wait. That is an elvensteed, in disguise. How clever of them," the mage said sardonically. "Too bad it won't do her any good."

  "Does she suspect anything?" Japhet said before thinking.

  "Of course she doesn't," Nargach replied shortly. "Can't you see that?"

  Japhet held his tongue, focused instead on the task ahead of them. Capture the Seleighe, take her Underhill. I wanted a bargaining chip, now I have one.

  Presently Rochad returned from his brief recon around the other side of the motel. "I had to negotiate a gate of cold iron, but I was able to observe the far side of yon dwelling. There is indeed an exit, a large wind hole with panes of glass over it. The frame is cold iron, which any elf might overcome if desperate enough."

  And she would be, to get away from me, Japhet thought with grim satisfaction. "And the wards?"

  Rochad looked down, as if afraid to relay the news. "As Nargach said, they surround the inn."

  The mage waved the observation away. "The wards are not a problem. I can eliminate them rather easily, I just can't do it without the Seleighe's noticing."

  Japhet shrugged, "Then, what is the problem? I think our concerns were of giving advance warning to a party of three." He spied the dim figure, still sitting at the book. "We will not have a better chance. What have you in your bag of tricks to make this wench more manageable?"

  The mage's eyes furrowed, more a look of concentration than annoyance, which is what Japhet was after. Well, perhaps later. "A version of the trap I set back at the cabin."

  While Nargach summoned the forces for his work, Japhet dispatched the others to cover the rear exits, in case the wench tried to get out the back way. The prospect of a real female prisoner seemed to add spring to everyone's step. So be it. If it helps morale, then all the better. Provided she doesn't become a liability, if we are overestimating our bargaining power with her . . . then it's execution time.

  She had hoped to catch the King on one of the chat lines, where he often lurked as a matter of course, but there was no sign of him there tonight. Could well be it's daytime, or he's preoccupied with other matters. The time difference between this world and Underhill had never been constant, and that the two realms could communicate in this manner was a miracle. Wenlann made do with a detailed letter describing what was happening.

  She had removed the wolf tooth necklace and set it next to the laptop, its white teeth shining brightly in the lamplight. Still, it fascinated her. Or was it the previous owner that had her interest? Whenever she thought about him a chill ran down her back and other places, this humble, fragile human with the power of a mage lurking just beneath the surface of his thin defenses, the shields of a child. Granted, his rounded ears and strange eyes were at first a slight turnoff, but everything else about him compensated for this threefold. His immunity to iron added to his alien appeal, and to see him on a motorbike, a real motorbike, in leather and boots . . . Well, this was not something one saw in Underhill. But it was something a maiden might dream about.

  You're being ridiculous! she chided herself. An elf and a human? What about the in-laws?

  Wenlann pushed the thought aside, a bit annoyed at herself for such silly thoughts. It just isn't done!

  But the moment she turned off the laptop and closed it, she knew something else was wrong. Her 'steed seemed to be spooked by something. She went outside to check on it. There, there, she soothed, but the 'steed was not being very communicative.

  She noticed nothing amiss in the darkness, except for a nearby streetlight that looked like it was about to go out. Odras' wards were still firmly in place. If anything unfriendly tried to get past those wards, I'd know in an instant. After all, they were among humans. Perhaps one of them was considering ripping them off.

  Wenlann laughed at the prospect of a thief trying to steal her 'steed. Now that would be a rude surprise. They'd be lucky if they got away without a pair of hoof prints embedded in their forehead.

  Frayed nerves, that had to be it. She returned to her room and locked the door behind her, then opened the front window a crack before pulling the curtains all the way closed. The one small window in the back afforded a cool breeze, a little stronger now that the front window was open. Wenlann suspected the little air conditioning unit, which looked to be about a hundred years old, would blow tainted air.

  Perhaps her anxiety had to do with Petrus and Odras, but no, she would have really sensed something then. The old mage was somewhat of an enigma, and while parts of his past were a bit blank she trusted him implicitly. It was rather sly of the King to make sure Odras came along, she thought with a half smile. No matter what kind of trouble Petrus got into, the mage would likely be able to compensate for it.

  Whatever she was sensing, it was real, and it was close. Just as long as the human isn't wielding a cold iron blade. The possibility made her shudder.

  Maybe I should shut all the windows after all, she thought, getting up.

  In mid stride to the front window, the universe froze for perhaps a second. It was as if a pulse of negative time had been sent through the land, holding everything in place for an instant, then moving on.

  Then, beyond the thin curtains, she saw and heard the wards scream in alarm. This is no human, she thought. Some yards away, beyond the front window, a circle of light reminiscent of a Gate formed momentarily. And when it went out, so did the ward on that side. Indeed, they were Unseleighe.

  Something scratched at the rear window. She turned, saw a dark Unseleighe face gazing back at her, the tip of a bronze sword scraping the glass.

  There were what, five of them? She had to assume they were all out there. Too many to fight, especially when one's a mage.

  Act now, or you're done for!

  She made a run for her elvensteed, the only thing at her disposal that would put her at any kind of advantage. The second I'm on her, we could be out of here, her thinking went. She ran outside, reaching for the 'steed which was only a few feet away. Her body hit something magical, like an invisible glue, or a strong, unseen spider web. She tumbled over on her side, unable to move anything, not even her head so she could see the bastards walking up to her.

  Two towering shadows stood above her, their faces grinning like skulls. Unable to do anything except observe, she recoiled inwardly as they picked her up, and placed her over another 'steed-as-motorbike. At one point she caught a glimpse of her own 'steed, evidently imprisoned by the same paralysis spell.
/>   She rode draped over the back of the seat. The mage cast some manner of glamorie over her, and when she saw that she was riding through Albuquerque cloaked as motorcycle luggage her resolve to kill each of these rodents solidified. During the ride into the darkness, away from the comforting if garish electric lighting of Albuquerque, she caught herself fading into unconsciousness, and back again; while awake she probed the working that had immobilized her, but found herself unable to break through it.

  At least I still have my mind, she thought in a frenzy. I have something to work with, some chance to get out of this mess. Listen. Observe. Look for weaknesses.

  The 'steeds decelerated, the simulacrum brakes even emitting a faint, scorched rubber scent. Beyond her periphery was the unmistakable vibration of a Gate, its yellow light reflected on the sand around them.