by Kris Greene
Alec waited for almost an hour before scuttling out from behind the rock and making his way toward the fort. The two guards at the front gate were too busy arguing over the carcass of some small animal to notice Alec when he slipped in. He ran down a winding hallway, completely unsure of where he was going and what he would do when he got there. When he slammed into a pair of stone legs the choice was taken from him. A stream of urine ran down Alec’s leg as he stared into the terrifying eyes of Illini, Orden’s executioner.
“What have we here?” Illini regarded the dwarf. Alec’s face said that he was about to bolt, so Illini gave him something to think about. He raised his blackened hand, which was beginning to smoke as it heated. “Tell me, little dwarf, do you think you can make it back down the hall before I incinerate you?”
Alec trembled. “Please don’t kill me.”
“And why shouldn’t I?” Illini placed his hand close enough to the dwarf’s face for him to feel the intense heat.
“Because I can tell you where to find the witch.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
After about a half hour of trying to convince Morgan that what he had seen wasn’t what it looked like, with both of them wrestling naked, they were back on the road again. Rogue had retrieved his black Suburban from a nearby parking garage. He normally only drove the bulky SUV when he was doing surveillance but since his Viper was totaled, it was either that or catch a taxi. Rogue was not about to let himself be crammed in the back of a taxi with Morgan again.
It was after six. Though the rush-hour traffic had began to thin, the West Side Highway was still teeming with cars, which only irritated the impatient mage. Rogue pulled a bogus police light from under his seat, placed it on the dashboard, and turned it on, parting the cars before him like the Red Sea. Rogue whipped the big truck in and out of traffic as if it were a VW Beetle, almost clipping a Mercedes. Morgan was gripping the armrest so tight that Rogue was afraid he might break it. Asha, on the other hand, looked like she was having the time of her life.
“Man, I didn’t know these things could move so fast,” Asha said, watching the passing scenery.
“They can’t, unless you have a friend of a friend who knows a little something about jet engines,” Rogue told her, steering with one hand and typing on his portable laptop with the other. He wasn’t worried about Titus’s agents picking up on his wireless signal and finding them, because it ran through a series of routers that changed every ten minutes. It made for poor connection speed, but it was better than dying.
Asha leaned forward on the backrest of Rogue’s seat. She was so close he could feel her warm breath on his neck when she spoke. “So, are you going to tell us where we’re going or do we have to guess?”
“All we’re gonna end up doing is crashing if you don’t cut that out,” Rogue said. “We’re gonna see a friend of mine and see if he can’t help us with gaining access to Midland.”
“So you’ve said, but you still haven’t told us who this friend is,” Asha pointed out.
“You wouldn’t know him even if I did. This friend of mine likes to keep a very low profile,” Rogue said, and left it at that.
They exited the West Side Highway at Canal Street and headed east. The smell of fish permeated the air from the many markets that lined the streets. People roamed up and down the sidewalks buying, selling, or plotting. In the back alleys of Chinatown you could get a knockoff of a thousand dollar handbag for a few hundred bucks, or something more sinister if that was your pleasure. Not only was Chinatown a popular attraction for tourists, it was also the center for much of the supernatural activity in New York City.
“I don’t like it down here.” Asha ran her hands up and down her arms. Azuma bristled uncomfortably in the seat beside her. There was heavy magic in the air, and she could feel it on her skin like an army of ants.
“I feel it too,” Morgan told her. “Jackson and I have had our fair share of skirmishes in this part of town. Jonas calls it the Devil’s Playground.”
“Well put, considering the amount of demon activity that goes on in this place. Over the last few centuries the Dragon Lords have turned this into quite a hot spot,” Rogue told them.
“Dragon Lords? What are they? Some type of Asian street gang?” Asha asked.
Morgan had to laugh. “No, child, they are a thousand times worse. The Dragon Lords is an ancient society of supernatural beings that dates back further than most civilizations. For the most part they keep to themselves, but have been known to make nasty examples of those who are foolish enough to run afoul of them. Rogue, if it’s a member of the Dragons you’ve come down to barter with, we’d best come up with another plan. I’ve seen the price they extract for their services,” Morgan said, thinking of the budding young mobster they had come across a few years prior.
The mobster had allied himself with the Lords in order to conquer the territories of his enemies, and once he was in power he crossed them out of the agreement. The Dragon Lords wiped out the mobster’s whole crew as well as their families. The children were spared, but only to be sold into slavery or kept as lab rats for their twisted rituals. The mobster, however, was allowed to live, if living is what you can call what they had reduced him to. They took his eyes, tongue, and privates before putting him on display in a glass case in one of their gambling halls. The mobster served as a warning to those who would seek to cross the undisputed rulers of Chinatown.
“Don’t worry, Morgan, I’m not that desperate. At least not yet,” Rogue said with a chuckle. He turned the SUV up a small side street and pulled up next to a fire hydrant in front of an herb shop. “Hang tight, I’ll be out in a few.”
“What? Are we supposed to just sit here twiddling our thumbs until you come back?” Asha asked, clearly not happy with the prospect of being left behind and missing out on whatever Rogue was up to.
“No, you can make sure I don’t get a ticket while I’m gone. These New York cops are like Nazis when it comes to parking,” Rogue said, and disappeared into the herb shop.
The bell hanging over the door announced Rogue as he entered the shop. His nose tingled from the smells of all the different spices that hung in the air. Vegetation grew from pots, the ceiling, and everywhere else it could take root. Along the walls were shelves lined with jars of herbs and powders for everything from treating the common cold to satisfying darker fetishes. Rogue made a note to himself to stop back at the store another day to replenish some of the items he needed for his spells.
Behind the counter a withered old woman sat trimming the stems off a strange yellow flower. She spat a mouthful of tobacco into a cup near the register and peered at Rogue over the rim of her thick glasses. “What you want here?” she asked in a heavy Chinese accent.
“Hello to you too, Mrs. Chang.” Rogue gave her his winning smile.
Mrs. Chang stopped her trimming and waggled the shears at Rogue. “Don’t come here give me smiley, you trouble. Every time show your face trouble follow. We pay fifteen hundred dollars for last windows you break!”
“Mrs. Chang, I didn’t start that fight and I paid for the window,” Rogue reminded her.
“No care, no care. I tell my husband, ‘No let Johnny in shop, but he no listen and what happen? You fight, you break. Cause us much trouble. Police ask questions and I tell my husband, ‘Tell them truth,’ but the idiot lie for you.” Mrs. Chang squinted at Rogue. “I tell you all the time about wild ways, but you no listen. Look at your face, look like someone kick your ass, yeah? Good for them. Maybe few more beatings keep you calm and away from trouble.”
“What’s all the noise up here?” An elderly man came in from the back room. He was dressed in a smock and had on a pair of thick gardening gloves. When he saw Rogue a broad smile crossed his lips. “Johnny!” He embraced the taller man.
“What’s up, Uncle Chang? Man, it seems like every time I see you, you look younger,” Rogue greeted him warmly.
“Clean living.” Uncle Chang patted his slight potbelly.
>
“More like dirty magic,” Mrs. Chang added.
“Wife, where are your manners? We have a guest.”
Mrs. Chang rolled her eyes. “You call him guest, I call him something else that not so nice.”
Uncle Chang shook his head. “Please excuse my wife. Sometimes she can hold a grudge longer than she needs to.”
“You know I know, Uncle Chang. We busted that window two years ago and she still hasn’t let me forget it.”
“And I never will,” Mrs. Chang assured him.
Uncle Chang barked something at her in Chinese that seemed to calm her, then turned his attention back to Rogue. “So, what brings you here tonight, Rogue? Do you need herbs or have you come to partake of something a little more exotic?” Uncle Chang leaned in to whisper to Rouge so that his wife wouldn’t overhear. “We got some new girls in last week from Burma. I tried two of them myself, very sweet.” He winked.
“Nah, Uncle Chang. You know I like my women to be at least of legal drinking age. I actually came to speak to Mesh. Is he around?”
The smile faded from Uncle Chang’s face and he gave Rogue a suspicious look. “What do you want with him, Johnny?”
“Nothing, I just need to speak with him about something,” Rogue said innocently.
“Ha,” Mrs. Chang laughed from behind the counter.
“Seriously, Uncle Chang, I’m working on a case and I just need some information from Mesh.”
Uncle Chang shook his head. “I don’t think so. He’s meeting with some important people and doesn’t want to be disturbed.”
“No problem, I don’t mind waiting until he’s done.”
Uncle Chang stared at Rogue for a long moment. “Okay, go downstairs and wait at the bar. When he’s done I’ll let him know that you’re waiting to see him.” Uncle Chang parted the beaded curtain in the back of the store for Rogue to pass through.
“Thanks, Uncle Chang. I’ll be in and out before anyone even knows I was here.” Rogue said before walking through the curtain.
“Just make sure you use a door when you leave and not the window!” Mrs. Chang called after him.
There was an uncomfortable silence lingering in the SUV. The radio softly played the top ten songs of the week, but it was like white noise. None of the occupants were really listening. Azuma was standing on the backseat with his nose pressed against the window, watching the herb shop intently. Asha busied herself with a lighter that she had found wedged in the seat. She wiggled her finger this way and that, manipulating the flame like a puppet, while Morgan watched her in the rearview mirror.
Asha continued to manipulate the flame, each time coaxing it a little higher and a littler wider. Cupping her hand, she passed it between the flame and the lighter, coming away with a ball of fire dancing in her palm. When the flame looked to be growing out of control she closed her hand and extinguished it. “Is there a reason you’re staring at me like that?” She caught Morgan off guard.
Morgan turned and faced her. “You’re not like the other witches I’ve come across in my travels.”
Asha blew smoke from her hand. “You might say that I’m in a class by myself. What’s taking him so long?” Asha craned her neck trying to spot Rogue through the murky window of the herb shop. He’d only been gone for a few minutes, but it felt like ages, and Asha was beginning to get impatient.
“You never can tell with that one. If you haven’t noticed, he dances to his own beat,” Morgan said.
“Well, I’m about to change the song.” Asha pushed the door open and slid out. “Stay here,” she told Azuma before closing the door behind her.
“Where are you going? Rogue said that we should stay here,” Morgan reminded her.
“Rogue ain’t my daddy. You can sit here playing with yourself all night if you like, but I’m going to see what’s going on.” Asha flipped her hair and strode toward the entrance of the herb shop.
“And you think whoever is running this front is gonna just let you stroll in?” Morgan called after her.
“Of course not. I’m going to wow them with my charm.” She winked and slipped inside the shop.
Mrs. Chang had gone back to her trimming behind the counter when she heard the bell over the front door jingle. She looked up and didn’t see anyone, but the door was flapping open and closed from the breeze outside. With a curse she walked from behind the counter and closed the door, locking it. Mrs. Chang returned to the counter, intent on finishing the potion she was working on, but the flower she had been trimming was gone.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
A dim light swayed overhead, barely giving Rogue enough light to see as he crossed the storeroom. Not that he needed the light. With his demon eyes Rogue could see in the dark better than most could see in the daytime. The spacious room was a mess of boxes and gardening equipment. The labels said the boxes contained herbs and cleaning supplies, but Rogue knew better. He knew that Mrs. Chang was surely watching him on the closed-circuit camera, but he still took the risk of peering inside a partially open box that was marked Ginger. Unless ginger had started sprouting with hundred-round ammunition clips, the labels were a ruse. The box contained several high-powered machine guns, and he was sure most of the others did too.
“Same old Uncle Chang,” he mused to himself as he continued through the storeroom. In the far corner, hidden by several boxes, was a handleless door with the word Private scribbled across it with a black Magic Marker. Rogue banged on the door in a pattern that he knew hadn’t changed since he had last been to the shop a few years ago, and waited.
There was the sound of footsteps behind the door just before the word Private slid to the side, revealing a peep slot. A pair of dark eyes stared at Rogue suspiciously. Rogue flashed the proper hand signal and the panel closed again. There was some sort of debate going on behind the door and then a second set of eyes appeared in the slot. Rogue flashed the hand signal again and the door swung open. Standing behind the door were two men. One Rogue didn’t know, but the second one he was all too familiar with.
The man was built like an NFL defensive end and sported a mullet straight out of NASCAR. He wore a sleeveless T-shirt that looked like it would bust open if he moved the wrong way. There was a Confederate flag tattooed on his right bicep that stretched from shoulder to elbow, emblazoned with the words Good Old Boy and the number ten underneath. On his neck and in the crease of his forearm Rogue could make out small puncture marks, which would explain why the man was paler than Rogue had recalled. Across the bridge of his nose there were traces of a scar that hadn’t healed very nicely. Rogue smiled to himself, remembering the night he had put the scar there with the broken end of a beer bottle.
“Johnny Boy, you cost me a hundred bucks. I bet one of the fellas that your black ass had gotten greased by one of your own people. Unfortunately, I was wrong,” the tattooed man told him.
Rogue laughed. “Lester, you’re about as funny as a hole in the head and twice as ugly. Let me explain something about gambling to the uninformed: always bet on black.” Rogue brushed past Lester, but the other man grabbed him by the arm. Rogue turned slowly and looked him up and down. “I’m sorry. I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m a headache in a world without aspirin, and you are?”
The man looked confused, but he eventually found his voice. “Everybody’s gotta get patted down before they come inside. It’s the rules.”
Rogue jerked his arm away. “Let me say this slowly so as not to confuse you.” He pushed his jacket open so that the two revolvers holstered under his arms were visible. “I don’t like to be touched uninvited unless you’re a pretty lady, and you don’t look like you have a vagina.” Rogue glared at him. “Then again, I could be wrong.”
The man reached for the gun in his belt, but Lester wisely stopped him. “It’s okay, Bart. Rogue is like family, ain’t that right?”
“Yeah, your mom and me did kinda have a thing going on,” Rogue remarked as he headed down the corridor toward the black curtain.
; Lester clapped his hands. “Very funny, my chocolate friend. Hey, Rogue, please feel free to start something while you’re here tonight so we can carve you up. From what I hear the boss might not be so quick to save your ass this time.”
“Lester, if I were you I’d be more worried about the vampire you’re letting feed off your dumb ass losing control and killing you by accident. If you need me, you can find me at the bar doing my best to give this dump a shred of class.”
“Who the hell was that guy?” Bart asked after Rogue had passed through the curtain.
“A corpse that just doesn’t know it’s dead yet. Get back to your post,” Lester ordered before following Rogue through the curtain.
The moment Rogue stepped through the curtain he found his senses overloaded. Lights blinked in different colors over the stage while a young fairy belted out a tune in a strange language. The vibration from the huge speakers mounted in the corners rattled the guns and holster beneath his jacket. The smoke in the air was so thick that it stung his sensitive eyes, leaving smears of black tears in the corners. Uncle Chang’s back room was one of the most exclusive spots in the city; you could only party there if you were a member, which Rogue had been at one time. During his rebellious days, Rogue had spent more than his fair share of time and money in the back room, gambling until all hours of the morning and rubbing elbows with some of the most notorious men and creatures in the city. Trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible, he moved to the bar and ordered a drink.
From his perch at the end of the bar, Rogue observed the occupants of the gambling hall, reading their auras. All of the tables and booths were crowded with people, mostly mortals, but there was a sprinkling of supernatural beings here and there. There was gambling, drinking, and, of course, girls. As Uncle Chang had promised they were some of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. A girl who looked to be about twenty, wearing nothing other than a transparent teddy, approached him and offered him a dance. Rogue wisely declined. As tempted as he was, he knew nothing in that room came without a price, and money wasn’t necessarily an option for payment.