07- Black Blood Brother

by Morgan Blayde

  When people flatter me, I keep a hand on my wallet. He was up to something, but as long as he was in a talking mood, I had questions. “Are you really my brother?”

  “Sure, grown in a test tube, just like dear old Dad.” The colored chalks orbited his head, not quite a halo.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Able. Cain and Able, fitting, no?”

  “You’re fucking kidding me.”

  “It will do, for now. Able’s the one who bled, and Cain’s the one who was cursed.” He lifted a hand and a shadow knife formed in his fist. A knife identical to the one I held.

  “Going blade to blade didn’t work out well for you last time.” I watched him, but also Donner. Chrys’ brother might be waiting to catch me unaware.

  “No,” my twin said. “I don’t repeat my mistakes.” He cut his own hand across the palm. Where my blood had been red, his flowed black, dripping freely; he’d really cut deep.

  His cut hand jerked, like he was throwing something.

  I stepped back, bringing my knife up in a guarding stance.

  But he’d made no move on me, simply splattering his own blood on the pattern I’d already activated. He turned and walked away, accompanied by my floating sticks of chalk.

  What the hell?

  A quick look at the pattern revealed a change in the chalk lines. They’d darkened from red to black.

  He’s hi-jacked my spell.

  The black chalk on the ground pulsed. The whole thing expanded, sliding under my feet, bringing me inside—where I was trapped.

  In the back shadows of my mind, my dragon’s golden eyes flared brighter. He whispered to me: Something’s in here with us.

  “I hope so, or I’ve gone to a lot of trouble for nothing.”

  TWENTY-SIX

  “Well, this sucks ass.”

  —Caine Deathwalker

  I turned in a tight circle, my senses straining. What I felt wasn’t exactly alive, or dead, but a stirring of energy, as if magic itself moved around me, unseen, hungry, and searching. The air at the center of the circle double-pulsed like a heartbeat, crowding me to the edge of the warding. My hand touched the air above the line dividing the inner circle from the outer containment ring. My touch caused a patch of shadow to appear, defining a barrier I couldn’t push through. As my hand moved, the stain followed.

  Outside the pattern, Donner dragged Chrys off the boulder, struggling to get her over his shoulder for a fireman’s carry.

  “Here, give her to me,” Abel said. “You’ll drop her.” He took her up, having no trouble with the weight. They plodded off, leaving me to my fate—whatever that was going to be. On the rock, the white ceramic mask still smiled, staring at me with empty eyes.

  A blast of wind scraped me sideways along the inside of the barrier. My feet slid on the ground, but the black chalk didn’t scuff, having burned itself into the rock. I braced against the growing vortex, using my dragon-strength. It only slowed me since there wasn’t anything I could brace against or hold onto.

  At the center of the storm, a black hole irised open. A kind of furnace danced there, black flames choking some kind of magical portal. Beyond the shadow-fire, in some other place, I heard a brittle clacking like rattling bones, and dry rasps of insane laughter.

  Not good.

  The vortex continued to slam me along the inside of the barrier. From the opened hole, lashes of black plasma unwound, crackling with voltage. The lashes beat at the barrier, doing it no damage, but one of the streams cut into my side, slicing open my shirt, drawing a searing line across my side that would have bled if my skin weren’t a lot tougher than a human’s.

  The gate of black flames pulsed again, doubling in size. More lashes spewed out, like the tentacles of some monster. The winds kicked up in force. Several more lashes cut into my clothing. I was finding out how a tomato felt in a food processor.

  Fuck!

  My inner dragon said: Sucks being you.

  Hey, if I go, so do you.

  You had to bring that up. What do we do?

  What we always do; grab the devil by the balls and squeeze.

  I pulled a thin layer of shadow magic over my body and kicked hard against the barrier. The reaction shoved me at the core of the storm. Black flames rippled over me, doing no damage. My second-skin of magic protected me—for the moment.

  My inner dragon said: We’re getting pushed back.

  I hadn’t kicked hard enough; the vortex slammed me into the barrier again.

  I kicked harder, putting in as much strength as I could. This time, I hit the center of the shadow-storm. And went through, my body-sheath of shadow magic getting stripped away. There was no flux of gravity, no sense of floating between worlds. The raging wind was gone. I crashed down onto, uh, mud? A cold, wet slime squished between my fingers. It dampened my knees, soaking into my cargo pants.

  The laughter and the weird clacking were louder. And there was little light. I forced myself to stand, slinging muck off my hands. Digging in a pocket on my thigh, I pulled out military chem-lights. Bending the plastic wands agitated them, producing a green glow, enough to see by. I lifted the sticks in one hand, and stared to see just what kind of hell I’d fallen into.

  I stood on a slanted bank, my boots ankle deep in brackish water. Straight reeds poke up along the water’s edge, looking like bayonets. The air held the scent of salt. Small rocks had the wet-oil look I’d seen on the other side of the portal. I had the feeling I was still in the Villager dimension, just somewhere else than I had been. Somewhere underground.

  I looked up. A cavern ceiling hung high overhead. There were deep shadows and icicle-shaped stalagmites splattered with tiny blue glow-worms. It was like seeing interstellar space. This was the first time I’d come across what might be native life in this dimension. Maybe it was all underground.

  I looked up the bank. A trail over the crest cut between pillars of obsidian. I knew if I wanted to see what caused the rattling and laughter, I’d have to climb past those pillars.

  My inner dragon said: You did say we were going to grab the devil’s balls and squeeze.

  “Yeah, yeah.” I started forward, leaning into the climb. “This might even be what we were looking for.”

  Strolling through the gap was a terrible idea; I’d be momentarily hemmed in by the pillars, exposed to whatever awaited me. And something very much waited. The trail might lead nowhere but to a killing field. Near the top of the hill, I dodged to the right, leaning behind the pillar there. It reared ten feet, nothing to the power of my leg muscles. I jumped to the top of the pillar, crouched, and threw the light sticks ahead so they wouldn’t make me a target.

  The sound of the chem-sticks hitting caused the laughter to cut off. The green light washed across a mass of obsidian cables that half-hid a huddled figure, a naked woman with dusky purple skin mottled with mud. Her face was lined with age and fatigue, as if sleep was alien to this place. Her eyes were frosted stones, unfocused, maybe blind. Her silver hair was a bird’s nest, all matted tangles. Her fingers were like talons, the nails ragged and chipped from neglect. The cables sank into her body like parasite worms, stealing her mobility, making her a prisoner. The force I’d sucked into my spell circle had been her guard. Someone had put her here, possible ages ago, someone with no heart.

  Her head turned as she listened. She rasped words that matched no language I knew.

  My inner dragon said: Not what I was expecting, not that I know what I was expecting.

  I called down. “Know any English?”

  She stiffened as if lashed. The rattling conduits fell silent with her perfect stillness. Her next words were halting, oddly accented. “Who…who is there? Come closer.” Her head panned left and right as she waited for an answer.

  A few more words, and she’d probably have me located. I wondered what she’d do then; beg for help, or try to eat me for dinner. Her ribs were showing. She didn’t look like she even remembered what food was.

  My inne
r dragon said: Aren’t you being a little too paranoid? She’s an old woman.

  An old woman that smells so strongly of shadow magic, I’m almost choking on it. Let’s put her to the test.

  I flushed my upper back with raw dragon magic. My Demon Wings tattoo warmed. The spell activated, bringing the sensation of drowning in acid. I held myself still against the agony, stifling all outcries. The sensation ghosted away, leaving no damage. Having paid the cost for the spell, I knew I could no longer be perceived—unless I wanted to be. At least that’s what I hoped. I had the sense that while most of her power was being leeched through the cables, enough might remain to provide a nasty surprise or two.

  I willed my voice to escape the concealment of magic. “Up here, Grandma.”

  I jumped down, trusting my magic to give me a silent landing.

  Grandma shot into the air, taking the slack out of her cables. It looked for a moment like she was impaled by spears, suspended like a trophy. Her clawing hands spoiled the effect, as did her gnashing fangs—demonstrating just how dangerous she wanted to be. The size of her mouth had tripled, her jaw unhinging. She wasn’t human except in general form; it was something to remember.

  She was reeled back into the nest as the cables recoiled. She hissed in disappointment. “Hungry, so hungry.” She moaned piteously. “Why won’t you let me eat you?”

  My inner dragon blinked yellow eyes. I guess you were right.

  I know my karma.

  What does that mean?

  There are certain people that fate does her best to crap on. She’s a pigeon I try not to let roost.

  Oh. So, what do we do about Grandma?

  I reached along my left leg, opening the thigh pocket in my cargo pants. I pulled out a couple trail bars: granola with nuts and raisins. I tore them open and lobbed them so they hit Grandma’s chest. She flinched, then flailed, feeling around her, sniffing. She found the bars and finished peeling them, stuffing her mouth, moaning as she gnawed.

  I backed out between the obsidian pillars and got behind one. And dropped my Demon Wings spell.

  “Enjoy, Grandma. Next time I visit, I hope you’ll be nicer.”

  “Food…food! More!”

  “Why are they keeping you here? What did you do?”

  “My children betrayed me. I loved them. I gave them my power. They took it all. All!” She laughed again, at herself. “I have been such a fool.”

  I remembered the little rhyme Chrys had sung:

  In darkest heart of deepest earth

  the Mother lies with closed eyes.

  She feeds her children with her blood.

  Wearing weeds grown from the mud.

  “How long have you been mortal, Grandma? How long have you been flesh?”

  “A thousand years. A thousand years of hunger. A thousand years of pain.”

  “And what were you before?” I had a crazy idea. I think I knew the answer, but I wanted to hear her say it.

  “I can’t hear you very well, young man. Come a little closer. Closer.”

  “Yeah, cause I’m stupid and easily confused.”

  “I can smell your magic, so strong. So very strong.”

  “Answer my question,” I said.

  Her voice started soft and swelled. “I am the heart of darkness, the emptiness of alone. I am power and promise, the one betrayed.” She screamed. “I am the shadow that lives, and cannot die.”

  “You and Mum-rah both. Sit tight, Grandma. I’ll be back.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Your new best friend.”

  “Free me—now!”

  “I’m not ready to do that.”

  “Free me! Free me! Free me!” Her voice followed me down the trail to the water where I’d first appeared.

  My inner dragon said: Why not take her now?

  This place has to be spell-warded with magical alarms. As soon as I start messing with the cables, the Villager’s military will come sweeping in here in force. First, they need to be deeply occupied elsewhere. If they lose her, they lose everything. They have to know that.

  My dragon asked: Why is she so important?

  “Didn’t you hear her?” I looked for any hint of black flame, any movement of air, hoping the portal back might not be totally gone. I needed a way out of here. “I guess I have to spell it out for you.”

  Small words, please.

  I stopped looking. There was nothing here to find.

  “Before anyone came, she was here—shadow magic itself, shapeless, eternal. Then the Villagers found this dimension. They became her children. No longer alone, she shared her power with them. Her magic changed them, made them better. And then they began to change themselves, abandoning more and more humanity. Along the way, they lost respect for her. She became a tool they used, one they subjugated. They put her in human form to make that easier. I think the cables keep her drained, supplying the cities of this world with the magic. If left alone, she might recover, regenerating herself.”

  You got all that from a child’s rhyme?

  “Also from what the old woman said, and from understanding my father’s people. Besides, it’s an elegant theory, right? That’s got to count for something.”

  Even if you’re right, how is knowing all that going to help us if we’re trapped here, too?

  “We’re not trapped.”

  No?

  The old woman was still screaming to be free. “We’re going to get out of here before that screeching drives me bat-shit crazy.

  Agreed.

  I sighed. “This is going to cost me.” I raised my voice. “I sure wish Colt were here. I have this sudden craving to go to a car dealership and buy a Mustang.”

  Nothing.

  Maybe he’s not listening.

  “Maybe he doesn’t trust me.”

  Who would?

  “Shut up.”

  I squatted low and splashed my hand in the water as I played to the shadows. “Oh, I guess he doesn’t want a red Mustang with golden flames on it anymore. He must have changed his mind. Too bad, I was going to spend all this money on him.”

  I waited.

  It’s not going to work.

  I grinned. “Wanna bet?”

  No.

  Colt came across the water, not splashing through it, walking on it. And he wasn’t alone. My hot-as-a-wet-dream werewolf lawyer was with him. Angie wore an emerald suit with skirt that showed off her excellent legs. He rack was praiseworthy, too. Her red hair piled on top of her head, leaving her neck bare. She wore the reading glasses that she didn’t really need, the ones that made her look smarter in court. She carried her leather briefcase, exuding the air of a warrior going into battle.

  Colt stopped in front of me.

  “Why did you bring my lawyer?” I asked.

  “She’s my lawyer, too. This time we’re getting it in writing.” He spoke over his shoulder. “Don’t let him weasel out of it again, Auntie Angie.”

  “Don’t worry, kid. I’m going to bulletproof this contract. He’s not getting out of here until he signs in blood.”

  Colt pointed a defiant finger at me. “Who’s the butterfly now, huh?”

  Damn. I taught the kid too well. I felt both pride and pain.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  “I never met a party I didn’t like.”

  —Caine Deathwalker

  The ladies had gathered in the hotel lobby. They planned on a girls’ night out on the town while we guys headed over to Noctem for the Old Man’s bachelor party. Arrangements had been made. King’s people were expecting us. Cases and cases of extra booze had been ordered. There weren’t going to be any strippers, but a few of us could always find an adult venue for that later. The Old Man definitely needed to do a few things he’d regret in the morning, after all, he was facing the gallows of wedlock. He needed the distraction.

  I should have been laying plans for dealing with the Villager’s decisively now that I had an idea of how to do that, but heavy drinking was bound to help my thought
processes along. And with everyone else getting drunk off their ass, I should be able to get loads of volunteers for what might look like a suicide mission. Since this wasn’t really a clan matter, I’d decided not to ask my demon minions to die for me. Not directly anyway.

  I was going to stage an invasion of the Villager’s dimension, declaring their interference in my royal life to be a provocation for war. It wasn’t an invasion that needed to succeed. It just needed to look good and tie up the Villagers so I could steal their hag of a goddess.

  Imari said, “Too bad Vivian’s still undercover. She’s going to miss out.” She wore a bright orange jumpsuit that contrasted with her fire-demon ebony skin. Her head was smooth, hairless, lacking the usual torch of dancing flame since she was passing for human. She had a non-flaming arm draped over Solstice Truth’s shoulders. The little witch had been invited long and wore a burgundy top and jeans, no pointy hat or broom.

  “It would be nice if Gloria made it too.” Izumi wore an ice blue dress that matched her frosty hair and eyes. Silver snowflake earrings dangled from her lobes. She said, “That’s one vampire that can really let her hair down.” Hovering over her head was Silverwynd. The pixie had invited herself after getting back with Izumi.

  Note to self: call Gloria and see if she’d like to help me indiscriminately slaughter civilians. The only sin in war is losing.

  Among the other girls, Chrys wore an off the shoulder, little black dress with matching clutch purse. She didn’t remember passing out on me, or that her brother had shown up to take her home—along with my evil twin. She didn’t look surprised to see me which told me no one had mentioned to her I’d been left for dead, trapped in my own summoning spell.

  Angie completed their party. She’d just flown in and was a vision of loveliness in a tight red dress that matched her hair and lipstick. The nearness of a full moon spiked her temper a little and added a bit of an amber glow to her eyes, a she-wolf ready to howl. This was not the same Angie that Colt had brought with him to rescue me. That Auntie Angie had come from nine years in the future, and had been sent back to that time.