by Kris Greene
“Fucking shadow magic!” Marty shrieked. “And they say you shun the dark side, bullshit! This is as black as magic gets!” Marty wiggled around on the floor looking malnourished from all the weight he had shed trying to slip out of the bands. He pushed with everything he had, but the darkness would not give.
“Now why’d you run, Marty?” Rogue asked, slowly raising his hand. The shadows lifted Marty to his feet as if he was a puppet at the end of the dark strings.
“You’d better let me go or I’ll—”
“You’ll do what?” Rogue jerked his hand upward, lifting Marty from the ground with his shadows. “You gonna call on your brethren to avenge you?” With a wave of Rogue’s arm he slammed Marty against a wall and then jerked him violently back. Rogue slowly closed his hand, tightening the bands around Marty as he did so. “Muthafucka, I could turn your freakish ass into a puddle in this alley and no one would miss you. Now, you can talk to me like you got some sense or I can leave a nasty stain out here for sanitation. What’s it gonna be, Marty?”
“Okay, okay, just loosen the bands.” Marty’s eyes were beginning to water. Rogue nodded and opened his hand, giving slack to the bands but not freeing Marty. “Ain’t you gonna untie me?”
Rogue smirked, shaking his head. “And risk you doing another hundred-yard dash on me? No thanks. All I need moving is your mouth, so let’s hear it. Something really nasty is about to pop off, and I think you know what it is.”
Marty gave one last weak push against the bands, but they just tightened. With a sigh he decided to cooperate. “Rogue, you gotta give me your word that you ain’t gonna tell nobody where you got this from,” Marty pleaded.
“Marty, I’m a lot of things but never a rat. What’s going on?”
Marty looked around as if the shadows were listening. “They’re saying that someone is trying to bring the storm back.”
“Storm?” Rogue asked.
“The Dark Storm; don’t you know your history? The big showdown where the Knights of Christ kicked most of our asses back across the dimensional rift.”
“Don’t be funny, Marty. I know the story of the Seven-Day Siege. They say that all those guys died off and the weapons were lost. The storm was a freak accident and even if someone wanted to try and reopen it, they’d need all the weapons just to create a spark of what that thing was. Last I heard, the weapons and their masters disappeared over the years.”
“But they aren’t all lost.” Marty dropped his voice to a whisper. “The church has snagged a few; some say the Inquisition got lucky. Proof of ownership is hearsay, but the weapons are still out there, waiting for some poor schmuck to wake ’em up. Most people who find ’em can’t make much of ’em, but there are some who can and have.”
“Marty, I think you’re bullshitting me.” Rogue raised his hand and Marty with it, a coil of shadow supporting him. “These weapons surfacing at different points in the world wouldn’t have caused that riptide.”
“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger,” Marty gasped. “You wanted information and I’m giving it to you; it ain’t my fault if you’re still too stuck on this side of the line to process it! It’s not just the weapons; it’s the weapon. They’re saying the Bishop himself has made a guest appearance in the Apple.”
“The Bishop?” Rogue lowered Marty. He knew the stories surrounding the cursed weapon and dreaded the thought of it falling into the wrong hands.
“Mr. Attitude himself, Rogue. I don’t know how true it is, but they say it rolled into the city a few weeks ago. Nobody really said anything solid, but I hear the old-timers are spooked. Some are even thinking about going underground. If that thing has popped up, we’re all up a fucking creek.”
“Where can I find this trident, Marty?”
“That’s the question on everyone’s lips, but you can’t find the trident unless it wants you to,” Marty told him. “The last time anybody heard a peep out of it was ages ago, down near Africa I think. The only reason it even made a stink was because it killed the poor sap who woke it up and wiped out his entire village. I can’t say for sure if or why it’s popped back up, but you can bet your ass it wasn’t an accident.”
“So the Stalkers were here looking for it?” Rogue asked.
“More than likely, but you’d better be more concerned about who sent them than why they were here.”
“There are a few people who can create those abominations,” Rogue pointed out.
“But how many of them have a big enough hard-on for the trident where they’d send a pack of Stalkers to tear up Manhattan?”
“Titus.” Rogue knew the reputation of the so-called favorite son of Belthon, but he knew Titus’ advisor Flag better. Like Rogue, Flag was a mage, but he was of the house of Renoit. It and Thanos were the last official houses. Like Rogue, Flag was an outcast amongst his people. Rogue because he shunned the darkness and Flag because he had dived into it headfirst. Several years prior, Flag had traded the lives of his house’s elders in exchange for the favor of the dark lord. As a result, Flag had been marked for death, with the prize being the crown of his slaughtered house and all the secrets that came with it.
“You got it,” Marty continued. “As soon as I got the word that Riel and Moses had been spotted around town, I knew it was about to get ugly. Those guys are bad news. Rogue, I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye, but leave this one alone, huh?”
Rogue’s mind told him that Marty was right and he should abandon the investigation, but his all-damning sense of morality wouldn’t let him. Belthon was one of the nine lords of hell, and by far one of the most threatening. He had tasted the sweet chaos of the mortal world and thirsted for more of it. If Titus secured the Nimrod for his master, it would be the beginning of hell on earth.
“Can’t do that, Marty.” Rogue waved his hand dismissively and the shadows released Marty. “You and I both know what’ll happen if Titus gets his hands on that thing. Somebody’s gotta piss on his parade, right?”
Marty shook his head. “You’re an honorable guy, Rogue. Stupid, but honorable.”
“Gee, thanks. Now you got any ideas where I can get a lead on this thing?”
“Can’t say for sure, but if you linger around the Triple Six long enough you’re bound to get a lead.”
“Or killed,” Rogue added.
“More than likely, but if you insist on putting your head on the chopping block, the least I can do is send you in with a turtleneck. The kinda magic that’s sure to be dripping off the Nimrod, and whoever has it will attract the darkness like a moth to a flame. You might resent those eyes of yours, but they’re gonna be your best friend on this.”
“Thanks, Marty. Maybe you better lie low until all this blows over.”
“Oh, I intend to.” Marty’s form wavered as he assumed the form of an elderly homeless man. “A buddy of mine has got a boat on the shore that I can crash on. I’m gonna get fall-down drunk and look at the ocean until this blows over,” Marty called over his shoulder as he headed down the alley.
“Wise choice,” Rogue agreed.
“At least one of us is making them,” Marty laughed, disappearing into the shadows.
“The story of my life,” Rogue muttered, tucking his hands into his pockets and heading for the main street.
He stepped out of the mouth of the alley to find that the line to get into the club had only gotten longer since he’d arrived. He was about to retrace his steps to the back door when something caught his eye. There was a young man dressed in a windbreaker walking into the club with two attractive girls on his arms. Rogue would’ve paid them no attention if it weren’t for the fact that his demon was going crazy and the boy’s aura was lit up brighter than anything Rogue had ever seen.
“I guess Marty was right about these eyes,” Rogue said before wrapping himself in darkness and vanishing.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“What do you see?” Lane asked her sister impatiently. For the last ten minutes Lisa had been sitting motionless on a
bar stool staring out into space. Her eyes had gone completely white as she saw what her familiar did. Asha had taught both twins the trick, but Lisa was more adept at it than Lane.
“Shhh, I’m trying to concentrate,” Lisa muttered. She squinted her eyes as if whatever she was seeing was right in front of her instead of in the next room. “Shit, I think you messed it up, Lane. I can’t see anything now. Let me try to—” Lisa’s breath suddenly caught as she grabbed her chest.
“Sister, what is it?” Lane rushed to her side. She watched in panic as her sister slid down the side of the bar gasping for breath.
“How fucking stupid can you two be?” Asha approached them. She had her fist held out in front of her, and every few seconds she would tighten her hand and along with it the stranglehold on Lisa’s heart.
“Stop it, Asha; you’re killing her!” Lisa pleaded as her sister began to turn blue.
“And I should, because you almost put my head on the chopping block with your little stunt.” Asha opened her hand and revealed the spider that Lisa had sent into the meeting on Asha. The spider was crumpled but alive. “You’re just lucky I picked up on your little spy instead of Dutch.” Asha tossed the spider on Lisa. The crystal arachnid hobbled up the side of Lisa’s face and disappeared into her hair.
“We were just trying to make sure you were okay,” Lane said while helping her sister back up onto the bar stool. She glared murderously at Asha, but the other witch wasn’t moved.
“Bullshit. You were being nosey. Besides, if Dutch was trying to off me, there wouldn’t have been much Lisa’s bug could’ve done to help me.” Asha held out her arms and Azuma jumped into them.
Lane started to press the issue but decided to leave it for another time. “So?” She looked at Asha inquisitively.
“So what?”
“We didn’t get all the details, but we know Dutch is worried about something that’s popped up in the city and we’re waiting for you to fill in the blanks,” Lane said as if she’d figured out some great puzzle.
“Why don’t you tell every fucking supernatural in the city what I’m doing?” Asha hissed. She looked around to make sure nobody was listening. “It may be something or it may be nothing, but either way I have to investigate . . . alone.”
“What kind of rogue shit is that, Asha? You know we hunt as a pack.” Lisa was finally coming around.
“We hunt as a pack when we have an idea of what we’re after, not on blind tests of loyalty by the hierarchy,” Asha told her. “I can’t run the risk of you guys getting hurt while I’m off chasing my tail for Dutch.” It was a white lie, but it saved her from hurting their pride by relaying Dutch’s orders.
“So we’re supposed to sit idle while you rush into Goddess knows what?” Lane asked, sounding less than pleased to be left out of the chase.
“Of course not. While I’m taking care of business you guys will be my eyes and ears around here. Anything peculiar goes down anywhere and I wanna know before it happens.” Asha was about to say something else when she suddenly felt finger pricks of ice run down her spine. Her eyes grew wide as she whipped her head back and forth looking for something only she could see.
“What’s wrong?” the twins asked in unison.
Asha ignored them as her mind frantically touched different beings in the club, looking for the blot on the page. She whispered something to Azuma and sent him scurrying through the club. Someone had to be either very foolish or very brave to invoke such magic in Dutch’s domain, and she intended to find out who or what.
“You wanna tell us what that’s all about?” Lane folded her arms.
“Somebody just used shadow magic inside the Triple Six,” Asha informed them. Asha was no stranger to shadow magic, because the demons who used it were the same ones her mother’s people had worshiped.
“Fucking shadow demons. We need to root them out and bring their heads back for Dutch,” Lane said, moving for the exit.
“I’m already on it,” Asha said, checking her blades. “You guys hang tight and remember what I said about reporting anything strange,” she said over her shoulder, heading towards the exit.
“And where are you going?” Lisa called after her, but Asha didn’t respond.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Gabriel moved with extreme caution as he made his circuit of the Triple Six, trying futilely not to make contact with anyone in the crowded club. The tattoo had been silent, but there was still too much he didn’t know about the Nimrod to trust it. Gabriel had circled the main floor twice, and though there was no sign of Carter, he spotted Vince near the bar.
“What’s up?” Gabriel startled Vince when he tapped him on the shoulder.
“Don’t fucking sneak up on me like that, asshole. I could’ve knocked your head off for that.” Vince tried to hide the fear in his voice. “What’re you doing here, nerd?”
“I’m trying to find Carter.” Gabriel ignored the insult.
“Do I look like his keeper? He’s around here somewhere. Now get the hell away from me before one of these chicks thinks we’re friends,” Vince slurred. The liquor clearly had a firm hold on him.
Gabriel started to turn and walk away, but he couldn’t let it go. “Why do you have to be such a dick?”
“What’d you say?” Vince put his drink down.
“I said that you can be a dick. I’ve never done anything to you, Vince, but you go out of your way to give me a hard time.”
“I give you shit because I can.” Vince poked him in the chest.
Gabriel didn’t even flinch. “I think you give me shit because you envy me.”
Vince scoffed. “Gabriel, you’re a noodle-dick faggot who would rather touch a book than a woman; what the fuck could I envy about you?”
“The fact that I’m gonna be something in life and you’re just gonna fall in line with the rest of them. Vince, you and I both know that if basketball doesn’t work out, you’re gonna be out robbing liquor stores for weed money.” Gabriel’s words were hurtful, so much so that they shocked him, but his shock was nothing compared to the hurt on Vince’s face.
“Muthafucka, you must have a death wish.” Vince grabbed Gabriel by the front of his shirt and drew his fist back, but Gabriel didn’t even flinch.
“What, you gonna hit me?” Gabriel asked defiantly. He heard the storm rolling in his ears but was able to force it back with some effort. “Vince, you can bust me in my mouth in front of all these people and it still won’t change anything. So if you wanna throw down, let’s be done with it, because I’m tired of you fucking with me.”
Vince stared at Gabriel as if he were crazy. Normally Gabriel would’ve shied away under the threat of violence, but something was different about him that night, something that made Vince nervous. “Man, get away from me before I come to my senses and fuck you up.” Vince shoved him.
“You ain’t gonna do anything to me, Vince. As a matter of fact, you’re gonna stay the fuck outta my way from here on out,” Gabriel assured him before spinning on his heels. Everyone who had seen the exchange stared at Gabriel in amazement as he shoved his way back through the crowd.
When he was away from Vince the reality of what Gabriel had just risked finally set in, and it made his legs weak. He knew that if Vince had gotten a mind to, he could’ve probably mopped the floor with him, but he knew that it wouldn’t happen that night. The Nimrod had told him as much, but he wasn’t willing to press his luck a second time. His best bet was to find Carter and get out of the crowded club.
As Gabriel passed the hallway he noticed the familiar smell he had picked up on when he came out of the train station. It was stronger inside the club, overpowering the smell of smoke and funk. He followed the sweet scent to the unisex bathroom, where it seemed to be originating. The bathroom was nearly as crowded as the main floor, but Gabriel didn’t give the partygoers a second look as he honed in on the sweetness. It invaded his nose and mouth, like water to a drowning man. The more he inhaled, the more familiar the smel
l was to him. He knew it from somewhere but couldn’t think where. With his nose pointed skyward he traced the scent to a half-open stall, where he heard faint moans coming from behind the door. Normally Gabriel would’ve left whoever was in the stall to their privacy, but something drove him to peek inside. There was Carter, bracing himself against the tops of the stall and moving his waist slowly. He must’ve felt the presence behind him, because he turned around, and it was then that Gabriel saw the object of his heart’s desire sitting on the toilet seat, with her lipstick badly smeared.
Amidst the flashing lights and loud music no one even noticed when the shadows in the corner near the coat check started moving on their own. The darkness snaked and swirled, gradually taking the shape of a man. When the slithering had finally stopped, Rogue stood in place of the darkness.
It took him several moments to compose himself. Being in possession of the demon’s eyes allowed Rogue to draw on shadow magic to add to his own, but physical transformation, such as Shadow Walking, caused a great deal of strain on his body. The strain was one of the reasons that Rogue hated to tap into the shadows, but his biggest concerns were the lingering effects the magic caused. With each time he opened himself up to receive the demon’s power, he also opened himself up to the demon’s whims. It was such carelessness that almost cost his brother his life and had in the end cost Rogue his eyes.
He scanned the club until he found the two girls he’d seen coming in, but their escort was nowhere in sight. Rogue picked his way through, looking for the boy, careful to avoid the werewolf he’d caused to have a heart attack or anyone who would report his presence back to Dutch. Near the bar Rogue spotted a young man nursing a drink and wearing a worried expression. Something was off about him. Rogue peered over his sunglasses and peeled away the layers of the young man. He was mortal but had recently been in contact with the power surrounding the boy Rogue was following. Homing in on the unique aura pattern Rogue searched around until he picked up the trail. It seemed to be getting stronger in the direction of the bathrooms. Rogue was about to investigate further when he was barreled over by two security guards who were heading towards the bathrooms. From the panicked look on their faces it was something ugly, so Rogue decided to wait outside to see what the outcome was.