Dark Game (Merikh Book 1)

by C L Walker

  “It would be the first time.”

  “But it is possible?”

  “Perhaps. I will have to wait for him to be removed from the world to perform an analysis.” Ahn examined the manicured nails of its host, preparing to depart.

  “You believe he will die here?”

  “Of course,” Ahn replied. “He faces the machinations of a priest of Wrath. No matter the mysterious advantages he has, he cannot face something of that power.”

  “But—”

  “Enough.” Ahn left the room and the woman. She looked up at the knight without seeing him, momentarily confused.

  “Good luck,” the knight said before the chain pulled taut.

  Chapter 6

  “I don't understand how you're doing so well,” Mouse said. She was sitting on the end of my bed and biting at the skin around her nails.

  “Then why am I not in a hospital?” I was propped up with a pillow supporting me, and every muscle in my body gave off a dull ache. Better than I should be, and getting better by the minute, but still in a bit of distress.

  “I was on the way there when the call went out on the police radio. Someone found deputy 'roid-rage and called the sheriff, and I didn't think turning up at a hospital with gunshot residue and all the signs of having a cop try to beat you to death was a good idea.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “And now you're healing, somehow. Any thoughts on that?”

  “Maybe,” I replied. Mouse had seen at least one broken rib poking through the skin and I’d left a bloody mess on the bed that no amount of cleaning was going to resolve. We were not getting back the extra deposit we’d put down on arrival.

  Now I was achy and a little light-headed, but otherwise I was doing fine. I’d felt worse getting the flu as a kid, and it had taken longer to get better.

  “I drank some of the ambrosia,” I said. “I threw it up again half a second later, but maybe some of it stayed in my system.”

  “So you've got magic healing powers now?” She was joking but there was an edge to it, an undercurrent of concern.

  “Temporarily, yeah. Maybe.”

  “Why temporarily?”

  “The cop, Bill, said he tried it at a party once and it worked for the night, but he was back to normal afterward. I think it works its way through your body and the effects go away after time.”

  “He wasn't throwing it all back up?”

  “No.”

  “So something about your ability to see magic makes it less effective on you. You drank the stuff and instead of turning into officer short-fuse you got a little contact healing-factor.”

  “Seems so.”

  “You don't sound convinced.”

  I wasn't. I’d seen someone healing thanks to the ambrosia – Bill and the bones moving after our fall – but I’d also seen someone healing more slowly. The assassins of the clan healed the way I had and our leader, Walter, regularly showed the ability to his students as a carrot for them to work toward.

  “I think I was further along the path to mastery at the clan than I thought.”

  “You're a good fighter, I'll grant you that, and a stone cold psycho when the situation calls for it, but you're not magic.” She'd never believed my stories of the clan. She thought they were just a school for killers and no amount of my explaining would change her mind. “I have to believe in magic because it keeps pissing in my soup, but you'll have to show me something concrete if you want me to believe your clan are part crouching tiger and part hidden dragon.”

  “I assume that's a movie reference?”

  “Culture, Merikh. Get some.”

  “I don't think this was the ambrosia,” I tried again.

  “I've seen you get hurt. I've even seen you hurt by magic and you healed at the same speed we did. You handled the pain better, perhaps, but you healed slow and natural.”

  “True.”

  I needed to get out of bed. Sitting around talking about healing wouldn't aid the healing in any way, and we had decisions to make. I dragged the blanket off and swung my legs over the side, fighting a wave of vertigo at the sudden movement.

  “Maybe try it a little slower,” Mouse said. She reached out and tried to take my hand to offer support but I left her hanging. I needed to do this myself.

  When the room stopped spinning I stood, this time moving a little slower. The walls stayed where they were meant to be and though I was a little shaky I succeeded. Bolstered by this triumph, I took a step toward the bathroom, and tripped over my own foot. I landed in Mouse's arms.

  “You can rest, you know.”

  “We either need to finish the job or leave town,” I said as I got my feet back under me. “Either course of action requires me to be mobile.”

  “Still.”

  “Let me try.” She let me go and stepped away, crossing her arms to let me know she wouldn't help the next time I fell.

  The first step was difficult, as muscles in my chest objected to my legs moving, for some reason, and the world went a little wobbly again. The next step was easier and the one after that was practically normal. It also brought me to the bathroom of our tiny space, and I stepped inside and closed the door for some privacy.

  Looking in the mirror was a shock. I thought I had an idea what I looked like based on the state of the bed, but in the harsh light of the overhead fluorescent I got a much better picture of the beating I’d suffered.

  My chest was a patchwork of dark bruises and barely healed cuts, my chest hair matted with dried blood. My face was relatively unscathed but there was a haunted look around my bloodshot eyes. When I went to poke at one of the bruises my hand shook uncontrollably and I paused, waiting for it to go away. I stared at the hand, willing it to calm down and obey, and in a few minutes it did.

  I took that as a win and began cleaning up, turning on the shower to let the water heat up while I used the sink to clean some of the blood from my face and hands. Not all of it was mine and I realized I must have lain beside the deputy and soaked in some of his.

  Mouse had been wise not to take me to the hospital. The evidence splattered over my body and the timing would have let everyone know who was to blame for the murder.

  Still, I wondered, what would she have done if I hadn't miraculously started healing? What was her plan when she turned away from the hospital and brought me back to the motel?

  I knew what it had been, and a brief moment of emotional pain joined the moaning of my muscles. She would have waited for me to die and then left. It would have hurt her and she would have regretted it for the rest of her life, but she would have left me.

  I wouldn't trade her for anything, but she was a professional with more time on the job than me. She knew the risks and had seen more action than my cloistered life had afforded me. We were partners, and we would fight for each other if required, but we knew the limits of our partnership.

  I shook it off, stripped off my blood-caked briefs, and stepping into the scalding water of the shower. Whatever benevolent deity was keeping me alive had arranged for the tiny hot water tank to actually have something left for me, and steam quickly filled the room. Washing off the remnants of the fight at the distillery was therapeutic and I stepped out clean and ready for the next challenge.

  Mouse had kept busy while I was showering and she barely looked up from her laptop when I stepped back into the room.

  “Anything interesting?” I said. I toweled off and began rummaging through my small suitcase for fresh clothes.

  “The cops are blaming the unknown criminals. The great boogeymen of the county killed a fine officer when he stopped to check on a disturbance at the historic old building.”

  “They could be lying, trying to draw us out.”

  “They know where we live.” When we arrived there'd been plenty of gossip about the young white man and his older black girlfriend. Nothing racist, just a day or two of constant speculation at the edge of perception. Most people had already moved on, but there were enough n
osy neighbors that the sheriff would have no trouble tracking them down.

  “Hopefully nobody at the bank puts it together.”

  “You're the geek who fixes their computers. Nobody suspects the IT guy of being a cold-blooded killer. But it does raise the question again: what's the next step? Do we bolt or do we try and complete the job?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I asked first. You're the one getting your ass handed to you so I think you should get a say.”

  I gave it a thought, checking my conclusions before speaking, but I’d made up my mind in the shower. “We stay. We've still got until Friday to complete the job, which we need to do, and we've got some intel to play with now.”

  “Are you focusing on the job, or the puzzle?”

  “I don't know what you mean.”

  “Yes you do,” she said seriously. “There's some weird stuff going on out there, and some weird stuff going on in here. I get why you'd want to explore it and work out what's happening, but I need you to be focused on the job.”

  “Ever the professional.”

  “You'll get there in time. So, which is it?”

  “A little of both, but I know what's at stake with the target.” The world she'd introduced me to was one that relied on results, and though she could use her name to open doors for me, I was the one who had to prove myself if we were ever going to build a name for ourselves. Not to mention getting killed for not repaying the debts we incurred setting up for the job. That didn’t help.

  She watched me, weighing variables in her head and finally coming to a decision. “Alright, so what's the next step?”

  “How long was I out for?” I realized in the shower that I hadn't checked the time – or the day for that matter – and that I might not have as much of it as I thought.

  “Most of the day. The bank tried calling for the first few hours but they're closed now.”

  That was less than I’d expected. “I'd like to speak to the waitress again.”

  “Remember, we're focusing on the job, not the puzzle.”

  “She and Trevor have something going on. He's using her somehow, and that means we can use her, too. If she knows something it can help us put together a new plan of attack. We already know how difficult it will be to take care of him at home, and I don't think storming a government building is the best course of action.”

  Trevor came from old money. Though his job as a councilman didn't pay much, he lived in a mansion patrolled by armed guards, with a state-of-the-art security system monitoring him at all times. It didn't make it impossible to reach him, but it gave us a reason to look for alternatives first.

  “The tracker is still alive on his car,” Mouse said. “He's at home, so except for the distillery this morning he hasn't broken his pattern. You've got an opening at the diner, if you're sure.”

  “Sure is a strong word to use, but it's something.”

  “I'll monitor from here.”

  “No, come with me. Bring the van and hang back. Unless she tells me something truly illuminating, I'd like to swing by Trevor's place afterward and run the perimeter again. Check for alterations.”

  “Aren't we getting bossy?”

  “You told me to make the decision.”

  “Then let's go.”

  Chapter 7

  Patty waved to me as I stepped into the diner. The place wasn't crowded, with half the tables filled with the after work crowd and two waitresses covering everything. Claire was in the back room. I walked to the table Patty shared with two girls I didn't know.

  “You just couldn't take it anymore,” she said as soon as I reached her. “My speech got you thinking about all the adventures you were missing and you had to run, or risk losing yourself in the mindless tedium.”

  “Something like that,” I replied. “I assume Stephen went crazy?”

  “He was an unhappy Stevie, stomping around and raising his voice.” She turned to her friends. “See, Mark here is a company man, and we don't expect things like that from a company man.”

  One of the friends, a brunette with glitter in her lipstick, leaned in to the center of the table. “So, where did you go?”

  “Yes,” Patty said, “give us all the dirty bits.” They giggled at each other and looked up at me expectantly.

  I had no idea what to say. What were they expecting? A sordid tale made up on the spot, or did they really want the truth, or the version of it I was going to tell them?

  “Speak, idiot,” Mouse said in my ear. “They're flirting with you.”

  -- I doubt it. --

  “You're clueless.”

  “So,” Patty said, and I realized I hadn't said anything in a really long time. “It's either too sordid for ears as young and impressionable as ours, or you had the runs.”

  “You're losing them,” Mouse said.

  I was sure Mouse was wrong, but I had to say something. “I don't think it's fit for retelling just yet.”

  “Spoilsport,” Patty said as she brushed her fingers along my arm.

  “It needs a little more finesse, but if you're still up for hearing it later I can be persuaded.” Idiot, I thought. Creepy idiot.

  “Well, now that you mention it, there's a little party we’re just heading to. If you're up for it?”

  “Sure.” I wasn't, but I didn't have an excuse prepared to get out of it. I could think of something later.

  “Unless,” the brunette friend said, “you meant you wanted to tell her somewhere a little more private.”

  “Text me the details,” I said, looking for a way out before my embarrassment started to show. “I'll be there.”

  “You're not staying?” Patty said. “We're just messing with you.”

  “I'd love to, but I was expecting someone to be here. He isn't here though, so I need to go find him.”

  “More mystery to add to the story, then.” Patty's hand stayed on my arm, and my face was started to heat up. “I look forward to hearing it.”

  “I look forward to telling it.”

  I turned and retreated outside, then got momentarily confused about where I should go and ended up standing on the sidewalk like an idiot.

  “You were planning on going to the alley around back,” Mouse said. She was enjoying the situation far too much. “Or are you dreaming about the lovely party you're going to later?”

  “Shut up,” I replied. There was nobody on the street near enough to wonder why I was talking to myself.

  “What dress will you wear, I wonder? What perfume?”

  “You wanted me to be more social.”

  “Much like your lady friends, I'm just messing with you.”

  “They're not my lady friends.”

  “Go to the alley.”

  A guy walked his dog in front of the bank across the street. He pulled on the leash, yanking the animal's head forward every time it stopped to sniff something. The man muttered to himself as he walked, upset about something and taking it out on the dog.

  The night was otherwise still and empty, with everyone having already gone home. The full moon hung in a cloudless sky, and the sound of trucks barreling down the highway a couple of miles away was the only thing to break the peace.

  A text came in on my Blackberry. It was the address from Patty, to a place out on one of the old rural roads. I pictured the town map and tried to work out where she expected me to go, but it must have been really out of the way. A great place to have a party if you didn't want anyone breaking it up.

  I moved quickly to the alleyway and ducked in, checking the gloom for danger out of habit before making my way to the rear entrance of the diner. I paused a moment to listen at the door and knocked only when I was sure there was nothing going on inside. My first attempt went ignored and I tried again, and was rewarded with the sound of the bolt sliding open within.

  “Hello?” Claire said, poking her head out the door. The light from within spilled out into the dark alley and gave her a glow around her head, as though she had
a halo.

  “Hi,” I said. I stepped back so I wouldn't freak her out. “I was hoping we could talk.”

  “This is a little creepy. You know that, right?” Despite her words, nothing in her demeanor said she was afraid as she stepped outside and pulled the door closed behind her. “What can I help you with in this dark and empty spot, away from prying eyes?”

  I wasn't sure how to broach the subject. Normally I’d slide up to the point via other topics, earn her trust, and have her open up before I said something that was likely to surprise her. Here, I couldn't see a route from the mundane to the spectacular that wouldn't be obvious the moment I began.

  “I want to talk about Trevor Foster and what you're doing for him.”

  I expected her to look away or stammer, to show some shame at the way Trevor's goons had treated her earlier that day. Something normal.

  Instead her face froze and her eyes attempted to pin me in place. She changed in a way too subtle to be seen, unless you were the object of the change, the cause and the focus.

  “I don't think that has anything to do with you.”

  “The man almost took my head off last night.”

  “Ignore it,” she said, her brow furrowing slightly. “Go back to work and stay away from him, and everything will be fine.”

  A subtle blue glow lit the alley, expanding from her and encompassing me in seconds. I felt it touch me, a million fingers sliding across my skin.

  The glow vanished and Claire lost her intense stare. She folded her arms and cocked her head to the side. “What are you?”

  “I could ask the same question.” Her light had felt different to the usual feel of magic, softer yet more powerful. I didn't know enough about it to speculate yet, but I suspected it was a different variety, or came from a different source.

  “I asked first,” she said.

  “I'm just a guy here to do a job, but there's some weird stuff happening in this town and I think you're at the center of it. I need to know what's happening and I think you can tell me.”