The felled bat-faced man yelped in high pitched whines, his legs slowly kicking while he tried uselessly to stem the blood pumping from his neck. Hatred warred with pity as the Cipactli’s raw suffering poked some softer part of Cole.
Soft feelings were generally undesirable, but with the shock of alien cruelty and the riot of information his parasite had been feeding him, pity was a welcome break. The Cipactli whimpered and bled beneath him. He lanced his arm down, finishing the bat-faced Cipactli with a clean strike through the heart.
Life leaving the Cipactli was now played in stereo, and he felt the creature’s heart vibrations stop. The Cipactli’s body processes hit critical compensation, then ground to a halt. To see the Cipactli die in that level of granular detail threatened to void Cole’s guts again.
Scorpion-man – who had been doing something by the back wall – came at him while he was distracted, the motion kicking Cole from his stupor. Cole spun and leapt in a fluid motion, scything through the air, siphoning on reflex. It roared along his arm, sheathing his fist-knives in murderous energy that cleaved straight through the Cipactli’s oversized stinger as it darted in at him.
He landed on the Cipactli, bowling them both backward. When their combined weight hit the floor, it caved in, and they fell, the scorpion-man lashing out at Cole and screaming. Claws raked for him as he punched down into the Cipactli, his shadow knives lancing into its vital organs, and the Cipactli died while they plummeted, thrashing and furious.
They hit the floor below. At last, there was stillness. Cole fought to stand. The faint light filtering from the room above had trouble illuminating the space he found himself in. A moment later, he found a light switch.
The light bulb burned, dazzlingly bright. He could feel nothing inside the room; nothing moved. No heartbeats. Safe, for now. He fought to push It back down, cutting off the flow of the corruption that fed him from the muddy power beneath. Somehow, the whisky bottle had survived, and he drank until Its complaining tone was reduced to sandy noise.
Once It had subsided, it took some moments for Cole to orient himself. There was no doubt this room was supposed to be concealed; it must be in the building’s foundations. Several large pinboards on one side caught his eye.
On the boards were photographs. Lots of photographs of flats and houses. Some were derelict, some were in the city. Time stamps on the pictures went back a month. There were some vaguely familiar names under the houses. There were photos of people. All had a halo of light around them, the telltale sign of the glamour at work. It always showed up that way on camera. These were the vampires of the city.
Each set of vampires had its own report, giving details of the vampires’ movements. Notes on their defences and vulnerabilities, best times to strike, how to gain access to their houses.
Weeks, maybe months of surveillance on a dozen targets. All laid out, professional, well-orchestrated, and nowhere did it mention Andrew Ancroft by name. Whoever the leader was, they were simply called the Boss.
He’d just solved both of his problems in a oner. He took a swig to celebrate, glancing about the grim space. There was no fanfare. Just the corpses of dead monsters and the rats to keep him company. Where was Natalia? He pushed the thought away.
Andrew was the Boss – he would put money on it. Andrew had sent the Cipactli to his flat. They’d been looking for Henry. Andrew was knocking off rivals, having the Cipactli disappear them. Disappearing the vampires was smart – an overt assault would quickly get a lot of unwanted heat. Maybe the Cipactli were eating the vampires, in which case, the bones would be close.
The room was large. The bodies might be down here, somewhere. There was a second door, deep in the back of the space. He moved around musty, soiled desks and some low couches, toward the door.
The chill coming from the door as he approached it raised his hackles. Did he imagine the smell of death? He stood in front of the door, sure he didn’t want to know what was on the other side, but also sure he had to find out.
The door opened smoothly. The floor had been dug out. Bones of all types and shapes littered the ground. It was a mass grave. The faint smell of rot rose, bringing his stomach contents up, raw whisky burning his nose and mouth. Small animal corpses mixed with bigger bones.
Looking twisted him up, but he owed it to the victims of the Cipactli butchers. He tried to take in the scene, until his disgust turned him away, and he closed the door on the atrocity.
He would be back. With others to witness what had happened there and to carry the bones out of the foundation and into the light of day. And Andrew would pay for this.
Chapter 13
It was time to get Nessie out from under the axe. First, Cole had summoned the Council to session on the matter of the Cipactli and the missing vampires. He had insisted that Andrew be summoned to the session, because he had evidence he wished to present.
Next, he’d called the knights, summoning them to the cold grave in the Cipactli nest. Sergeant Wells had sounded preoccupied over the phone. An hour and a half had passed and now Cole stood while two knights and a mage made their way through the yard toward him.
‘You took your fucking time. I’ve got places to be. Where’s the rest of you? I told the sergeant: this is a fucking Cipactli nest!’ The men were bleary-eyed and unresponsive. ‘Look alive, soldiers. Come on, move!’
The lead knight – a scowling man with a thin apology for a moustache, whose name Cole couldn’t remember – crossed his arms, feet planted apart. His comrade – a sloping-browed shaven-headed man Cole had seen around – avoided eye contact. The scowling knight spat.
‘What, you want a parade, do you, sir?’
This was just the sort of insult Cole took a hands-on approach with. Cole was about to step right into the knight when the mage stepped forward.
‘Let’s just keep it civil, gentlemen.’ The mage was an academic-looking type, all wild hair, his robes sitting on his narrow shoulders like they were hand-me-downs. Cole had seen him around too. He was sweet on Nat, that was all Cole remembered about the man. Cole planted his thumbs in his belt, sweeping his jacket open, fist-knives there for all to see. He’d had more than enough tonight without dealing with knights and their bullshit.
‘I’ll keep it fucking civil when they do, and you should have brought more men. This isn’t some robbery or a common murder; there’s a pit of bones under here.’
The scowling knight stepped forward. ‘One of your kind been out for dinner, eh?’ Cole dropped into stance, eager after the night he’d had. The knight stepped toward him, his face boiling with fury. ‘When does it ever change? How many good people have to die? How many?’ The knight was edged, tears welling in his eyes. Cole hesitated, seeing the man’s comrade lay a hand on the knight’s shoulder and raise his other hand in a placating gesture.
‘We’re sorry, sir. Smithy here’s bent out of shape.’
The knights withdrew, and the mage stood close to Cole.
‘It’s the Pit, Armiger. It’s been spitting out beast vampires ever since François Ancroft escaped the other night.’ Fuck. This meant that the city was under siege. Cole rubbed his jaw. The Pit was open. How the fuck did something like that get closed again? He focused. Time for wondering later.
‘It’s contained?’
The mage looked tired as he nodded. ‘For now. It’s taking everything we’ve got. The Grandmaster declared war, so he can get the lodges to come in from around the country. It’s costing us too much to keep the beast vampires down. Smithy there just lost his father. One of the beasts broke through the gunline and fell on the cordon … There was nothing left of the men it caught. The way those things feed.’
Cole cringed for a moment. He’d been a second away from fighting the bereaved knight. He glanced back at the mage whose glassy eyes were lost in private fear or hatred – it was hard to say which. Cole clapped the man on the arm. ‘What’s your name?’ The mage came back to his senses. ‘Murray.’ Cole nodded. The Coalition would need
Cole there; he could fight these things.
‘Murray, you’re the mage I was told had a medical degree?’
Murray nodded.
‘I need you take a look at these bones for me. Tell me who – or what – they belong to. I’m looking for vampire bones, Murray. Quite a lot of vampire bones. The Cipactli were abducting them. I need you to work out what the hell happened to them. The Council will ask – you know what they’re like. Can you do that?’ Murray nodded again, this time looking hesitant, but he made his way toward the old office anyway.
Shit. The entire Order was at the Pit. That meant nothing was manned, not safehouses or anywhere. It left the city vulnerable. It was just as well Cole had found and neutralised the Cipactli. He called the Record Keeper at the Council, to summon them to convene, and began making his way as quickly as he could back into the hustle of the city.
He arrived at the Council quickly enough. A headache loomed on the edge of the whisky glow. He’d gotten loaded before making his way to the Council. It had to be kept at bay. But no sleep and too much booze always made for a sore head. It was still the last hours of darkness; the dregs of night lasted forever in the Scottish winter and hung over well into the morning.
It slept, half comatose by the sheer quantities of whisky he’d poured on It. Never in his life had he siphoned this much before – but at least the end of the shitty events of the last few days beckoned. The Cipactli were dead, the vampires would stop disappearing, the mage, Murray, would work out that they were being eaten by the Cipactli or something like that. Could the Pit be connected? If so, how? There seemed to be no link except it all involved vampires, but no doubt, the Council would figure out what was going on.
The bigger problem was what came after. Andrew, the slippery corpse, wouldn’t be drawn out. Not by Cole, not now. There’s no way the Boss wouldn’t have heard about the night’s rampage. Ancroft would be in hiding.
But the Council summons would force Andrew to show. It would look wrong if he ignored it. Andrew still had the dirt on Cole in the form of the memory he claimed to possess, and the fact he had successfully blackmailed him into killing Henry Millar.
But once Andrew arrived, Cole would claim the Cipactli said they were working alone and appear to bail him out. He was hoping to leverage the Cipactli over Andrew and have the charges dropped. Afterward, the mouldy fucker wouldn’t get far, no matter which hole he tried to climb in. And so, disappearing in a city in turmoil, Andrew Ancroft would meet his fitting end. It would be weeks before anyone would even notice. If Andrew wouldn’t be leveraged, it would leave the problem of Nessie’s memories, but he’d work something out. Either way, he should have more than enough time to see about having some of his own memories burned from his mind. Yeah, chimed his brain, what could possibly go wrong?
However it all turned out, Nessie would be furious at Cole. Natalia would be furious for slightly different reasons, to do with justice and rules. No one lived in the grey like Cole did, and he’d rather ask forgiveness than permission.
He glanced around the chamber. No brother knights had gathered. Up in the cheap seats, a few mages sat, their bodies slumped and weary. Probably taxed beyond use after defending the Pit.
A few minutes later, a raucous noise from the cheap seats started. Men, knights, poured in. Their gait was too relaxed and their fatigues too clean for them to have seen action. If they were reinforcements, they should have been at the Pit. Cole stood, about to challenge them when the double doors at ground level swung open.
A broad-shouldered man swaggered into the chamber like he owned the place. Peter Cruickshank, leader of the Order of the Northern Lodge made his way to the crescent of raised seats at the front of the Council chamber. He spat on the floor when he passed Cole at the front bench.
‘Leech.’
The soldiers jeered from above, causing the tired mages to turn nervously. Cole shook his head.
‘Cruickshank. Shouldn’t you be at the Pit?’
Cruickshank shrugged and climbed toward the seat reserved for the leader of the Northern Lodge. He settled like a lordling. ‘We said we’d come. And we did. For justice. We’ll see your neck stretch for what you did in our hometown, leech.’
The jeering swelled as Murray arrived in a flap of documents, red eyed. Murray eyed Cruickshank’s thugs. Cole spoke low. ‘Ignore them. They’re here for me. What’d you find out?’ Murray set down his papers and coffee and wrestled his oversized coat onto the seat next to Cole’s by the front bench.
‘You know they sent a Guardian to get me? Is this really that urgent?’
The Council must have been chronically short on manpower to be using the Guardians like that. Murray continued. ‘To answer the question you asked, those bones were mostly animal and some human. Not a vampire among them. But you do know Cipactli don’t eat the undead, and what you found was a feeding chamber, so you were expecting this, right?’
Shit. No, he wasn’t.
‘The bones – how many people?’
Murray, finally settled, turned to Cole. ‘It’s strange. There’s not a full skeleton in there. There are hands, feet, legs. But no skulls or ribs. You’ll need to figure out what they were doing with the vampires; I don’t know the answer.’
Andrew was feeding the Cipactli on parts of people? The room quieted as the Grandmaster, in full battle gear flecked with mud, entered. His guard, flanking, were also in their khakis and vests, their guns ready to track whatever their alert, scanning eyes deemed a threat. This was no joke. Council in war mode.
Cole looked at Murray. ‘You got any idea what might have happened to the vampires? Any clue, at all?’ The Council was going to need an explanation. The why of things was usually Nessie or Nat’s job to work out. Cole just punched things. Murry shrugged and spread his hands, palms facing up. The Grandmaster stepped up to Cole’s bench, eyeing Cruickshank at the front and the gathered men of the lodge up in the cheap seats.
The Grandmaster brought his gaze down and frowned at Cole. ‘Armiger?’ Cruickshank’s mob growled. The Grandmaster stayed on his feet before the bench, not bothering to climb to his throne, his hand resting on the pommel of his not-at-all ceremonial sword. It was time to do this.
Cole glanced around, looking for Andrew. No sign. Where was the bastard? Nessie’s freedom rested on this gamble.
‘Armiger?’
He didn’t like the Grandmaster’s tone. It sloshed. Cole put his palms out.
‘Sir, where is Ancroft? It’s important he’s here, sir.’
The Grandmaster paced. ‘You will be permitted to educate Ancroft on matters, Cole. Now, whatever this is, it had better not be a waste of our time. As you have no doubt been told, beast vampires are escaping from the Pit. They have been ever since your battle with François Ancroft. I can’t work out why, and more concerningly, neither can the Greatshadow. We are containing them for now, at the cost of lives.’
While he spoke, the Grandmaster looked at Cruickshank who had the cheek to smile.
A bustle of movement in Cole’s peripheral vision drew his eye. Nessie! The Commander was being led out to sit on the ground-floor benches. The old man looked bent, as though he carried great weight. Cuffs bound his hands, glowing with those anti-magic runes the Council favoured. It was a cruel and unnecessary thing to subject him to.
Nessie nodded at Cole, his face soft with something that looked a lot like hope. It was going to be over for Nessie soon. Cole hoped his returned nod said enough.
If he could get Nessie freed, they could both work out what to do next. It might still be prudent to have their memories expunged. Nessie would know what to do, and Cole could go back to doing what he did best. Tracking, hunting, trapping and killing. Leave the rest to more capable minds.
‘Armiger?’
The Grandmaster’s voice was heavy. Andrew Ancroft would be there soon. The Pit’s Guardians didn’t ask politely. He began.
‘Grandmaster, Council, I found a nest of Cipactli in the city. I tracked them to
the north, to the industrial estate. All ten of them.’
Cruickshank spoke. ‘And how many good soldiers did you get killed this time, Armiger?’
Cole felt heat in his blood. He stood, but the Grandmaster’s voice cracked like a whip.
‘Cruickshank! You will have your say, but every second I stay away from the Pit, more men are asked to lay down their lives.’
Cruickshank smiled like he was being the generous one, waving for them to continue from his straw throne on high.
Cole breathed, very deliberately, and carried on. ‘Inside their nest, I found surveillance of the city’s vampires. There is a month’s worth of work, maybe more. How they managed to live under the radar is hard to say. I found their feeding chamber full of bones; it looks like they have been feeding on local animals and possibly on parts of human beings.’
Cole offered the Grandmaster the paperwork from the Cipactli nest. Up close, the old man concealed a weariness, lines etched deep around his eyes. Cole had seen that in Nessie and Nat both, when they had drawn on the Myriad too much. If the vampires climbing from the Pit were like François Ancroft in power, it would take the combined might of the entire city to keep them down.
The Grandmaster glowered over the pages. ‘Good work, this is why we need men and women with your sensitivities, armiger.’ Cole figured then wasn’t a good time to tell the Grandmaster that the Cipactli had come to eat the man Cole had been blackmailed into murdering. There was probably never going to be a right time for that one.
The Grandmaster looked to Murray. ‘You are here to tell us what, doctor?’
Murray rose and bowed.
‘The armiger requested that I test the bones at the site to determine their origin. As he has told you, the remains on site were mostly animal, with some parts belonging to humans. There was no evidence of vampire bones.’
The Cost of Magic (The Ethan Cole Series Book 1) Page 16