The Glass Gargoyle (The Lost Ancients Book 1)

by Marie Andreas

  Digging into the inner pocket, I pulled out his wanted sheet. A face only a drunken minotaur on a five-day bender could love stared back at me from the sketch. It was a spelled wanted poster, so the image flickered between profile and full front. It didn’t matter; Gorgeous Sammy was hideous from any angle. Round baby-like face, small upturned nose, eyes larger than proportionately necessary, and the obligatory cherub cheeks—he should have at least been cute and childlike. But the round face had jowls and a cruel scowl, the tiny nose, red and bulbous, the eyes permanently bloodshot only instead of red veins, cherubs had green, making it seem like something vile had gone into his eyes to die.

  And I got to go bring him in.

  Maybe I should invest some hard-earned pennies in a spell casting, find out exactly at what point I’d pissed off a deity this much. Then I could go back and pay them off.

  Looking at Sammy’s papers—calling him gorgeous was just too painful even in my own head—decided on my plan of attack. Get him early tomorrow morning when he was still passed out from tonight.

  His current stomping, pissing, and sleeping grounds were in the middle of the Red Light District. He mooched off legitimate hookers and freelance alike, and when that didn’t work, he had a shack in between the Demonic Cherub and Little Lamb, two of the most vile strip clubs in Beccia. Possibly in all of Lindor itself. I guess some twisted part of him felt safe between those two.

  Checking the doors and windows one last time, and carefully locking up all the papers Largen’s goon gave me, just in case, I turned off the glows and went to bed.

  Chapter 17

  The next morning I woke up ready to go find my quarry. Problem was my original plan was shot to heck since I didn’t wake up until the noon whistle blew.

  So much for catching Sammy when he was asleep.

  The faeries obviously had no such problem as they’d left before me. Judging by the congealed butter lying where they’d had breakfast, they’d left long before I even tried to wake up.

  Since my original plan was moot, I might as well enjoy a nice meal before I hit the Red Light District.

  There were better places to eat than the Shimmering Dewdrop, much better places to drink too, but it was home. Foxy took care of me and I felt comfortable there.

  With a wave at Foxy, I went to one of the less shabby tables and sat. He saw me, but frowned before he went into the kitchen.

  Had the faeries come by again? He couldn’t be upset about last night—nothing was damaged beyond a few patrons’ ears. And stomachs most likely.

  I was just about to follow him into the kitchen when I spotted a familiar shape at the far end of the pub. Sitting alone at a small table, watching the door without seeming like he was, sat Alric.

  Crap. Was I never to be done with the man? And with all the people looking for him, what the hell was he doing sitting out in the open?

  Part of me, the self-protecting, stable side, said to ignore him. Handsome or not, the man was bad news.

  Of course that part of me rarely got listened to. With a shrug at my own lack of intelligence, I marched over to his table.

  He ignored me.

  I do not like being ignored, not even by someone I should be trying to ignore myself.

  “Alric, interesting seeing you here.” I kept my tone even and pulled out a chair, but didn’t sit.

  “You made it out of the ruins, I see,” he said without lifting his eyes off his food.

  “No thanks to you. Your friend left me there.” I slid into the chair. If he kept ignoring me I was going to have to punch him.

  A flicker of his green eyes washed over me then he took a long pull of his beer. “He wasn’t my friend; he was what your friends sent to come get you. Better than the alternative.”

  “What the hell does that mean? Better than you? Or better than me roaming around after whatever it is you’re doing in there?”

  “Better than me turning you over to the syclarion.” His voice was so low I wasn’t sure I heard him right. But the ice running down my back told me I had. Was he working for them?

  The frost must have crept into my face.

  “I wouldn’t have done that, but someone could have,” he said as he looked up. “You shouldn’t have been in there.”

  I went from scared to pissed in a heartbeat. “Neither should you. They had that place locked up tight for a reason, and you were playing house there.”

  He went back to watching his food. As near as I could tell it hadn’t moved. “I needed a place to hide. You’d compromised my other home if you recall.”

  “I compromised it? You’re the one who kidnapped me. Hell you’ve been behind most of the pain in my life since I found you.” I noticed Foxy start to come out of the kitchen then turn back. I needed to have this finished by the time he came out. “Shouldn’t you be hiding somewhere? How do you know I won’t bring you in?”

  The look in his eyes when he looked up again was scary, but a different scary from before. Like he had a deadly secret and was enjoying it too much to let me in on it. “I know. Besides, they don’t want me anymore. I took care of my problem.”

  He gave me a perfectly deadly crooked grin, then went back to eating.

  I started to poke for answers when Foxy started backing completely out of the kitchen with a full tray of grub. Knowing it was for me, and that he’d not be happy with who I was talking to, I scowled at Alric and scurried back to my table.

  What had he taken care of? Whatever had been chasing him was enough for him to risk hiding near a mysterious syclarion and his own private dig. Yet, now he felt safe? With a shake of my head I forced my thoughts on Foxy and the food. I needed to eat up—chasing Sammy might take longer than expected. Even if it didn’t, free food was cause enough to eat as much as I could.

  ***

  The smell that hit me as I entered the Red Light District a half-hour later made me think that maybe I shouldn’t have eaten as much as I did. Normally this part of town was unsavory, but it usually didn’t smell this bad. I rounded the corner, dodging an aging prostitute and saw why. Heaps of trash lay strewn across the main road going into the district. Miserable-looking laborers were trying to scoop it into donkey carts, but the smell grew worse faster than they could scoop.

  There’d been some interesting turf wars going on between the various areas of ill repute in Beccia lately. Possibly this was just another skirmish.

  Covering as much of my face as I could with my jacket, I crept around the outermost edge of the pile. There was another way in to the district but it lay on the other side and going all the way around would cost me an hour or more. I could go back out that way, but I didn’t want to lose the time twice.

  Once past the smell, I tried to orient myself. Probably best to start at his hovel between the Demonic Cherub and the Little Lamb. This late in the afternoon, he probably wasn’t in, but it might give me an idea where to look.

  Maybe it was the mountain of putrid refuse, or maybe something else, but the denizens of the Red Light District were far fewer in number than usual. So were their customers. Even in the middle of the day, jobs were usually going down, deals made, and hungers taken care of. But not today. There were only two prostitutes, a male gnome and a female centaur lingering on their corners, and one drug dealer approached me—a young dreg, desperate enough to approach someone clearly too poor to buy his goods.

  If there was a war between the crime lords, it was having an effect on business.

  Skirting the two drunks lying outside the blood red doors on the Demonic Cherub, I peered down the alley Sammy supposedly lived in.

  Not only was he not in the two-by-four shack, nothing indicated that he’d been there anytime recently. With a few choice swear words, I pulled out the wanted sheet again. Yup, this was the place. Clearly, Largen’s information was a bit old.

  That meant I was stuck going into the bars and other less savory places Sammy frequented.

  Standing back, I studied the doors of both establishments.
Blood red or puke green. Lovely option. Actually the Little Lamb’s door was probably blue at one point in its ill-begotten existence. Years of neglect and clientele had taken its toll.

  Not much of a choice, but at least the Demonic Cherub’s door was clean and freshly painted. As long as it was paint.

  Ignoring the part of me that said to touch it and make sure the door wasn’t covered in blood, I shoved open the door at the handle and blinked into the darkness.

  This place had more patrons at this time of day than Foxy’s place. And none of the gnomish regulars that I thought could be found in all bars. Apparently, even odd little old people had standards.

  It took my eyes a few minutes to adjust to see anything beyond general shapes. By the time they did, no one was looking my way. Or maybe they never had been looking my way; it probably took something far more interesting than me to stir these people.

  Stepping over a few scattered limbs and their unconscious owners, I made my way to the bar. A chilling-looking dwoller woman leaned up against the back wall, watching me under half-closed eyes.

  “What you want?” The lisp in her voice told me that a few of those canine teeth in her mouth were a bit longer than the others. A wild dwoller breed. As if the skeletal beings weren’t disturbing enough, I was going to have to deal with one that could rip out my throat with her teeth before I could even turn around. I almost did just that. No bounty was worth dealing with genetic aberrations shunned by their own people.

  Then she moved her hand. She was chained to the bar. It wasn’t a heavy chain, in fact rather decorative, and very out of place in this bar. But both hands were clearly chained, limiting her ability to go any further than the bar before her. She must be one hell of a bartender for someone to take that risk.

  Judging the slack on the chains, I stopped about a foot outside their reach.

  “I’m looking for a cherub.”

  “You found him, sweetie.” A low voice crawled out of the floor in front of me. It took me a second to realize that there was a drunk and skinny cherub lying on the ground in front of the bar.

  His girth, or lack thereof, and youth told me he wasn’t Sammy, but he would be in a few years. Providing he stopped feeding the dwoller. His skinniness wasn’t nature but a byproduct of too much drink and allowing himself to act as a food source for the chained dwoller. He probably got free booze out of the deal, but that wouldn’t keep him alive when she finished draining him.

  “I’m not looking for you. I’ve got a job for a specific cherub, a special job for Gorgeous Sammy.” I kept my eye on the dwoller even as I spoke to the cherub. She might be chained, but who knew the last time she fed on someone not ninety percent alcohol.

  “Sssammmy is not here.” The dwoller’s voice was raspy and thin, most likely she wouldn’t be around too much longer either.

  “I can give you what you need, better than that washed-up bow slinger.” The skinny cherub picked himself off the floor, ignoring that his old school diaper was almost off his hips. The obscene gesture he made almost made it fall completely off. Maybe I’d have the faeries pay this cherub a visit—they hated the horny little things worse than I did.

  “Look, this job is for him only, if you can’t help me, I’m gone.” As I spoke I took out a coin, careful not to show it was only a penny and made as if I would pay for information.

  “He’s at the Farm.” A voice behind me broke up the odd staring contest the dwoller and I were having. With a shudder I turned to my new friend.

  Alric was wearing a black hood and long cape, but enough of his face showed.

  “Why are you following me?” I hissed as I looked around the room quickly.

  “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

  Shoving my penny back into my pocket, I growled at him. “I was here first if you’ll notice. I’ve got a job.”

  Alric’s laugh held no joy. “Like you had with me? Good luck. Sammy’s a nasty piece.” He turned away, joining a pair of men in the back corner.

  I thought about following, but shook it off. Alric’s business wasn’t any business of mine. Especially if no one had a bounty on him.

  Whirling away from the bar, an effect spoiled by my almost tripping on a cherub’s tiny bow, I stomped out.

  The Farm was a seedy place, as if that classification had any meaning in the Red Light District, a place where anything or anyone could be bought. Or sold. I hoped I could find and get Sammy before someone decided to buy or sell me.

  Chapter 18

  I pulled the hood of my jacket up and wished I’d actually worn my cloak. The damn things were a nuisance, but my jacket left too much of myself open to view. The Farm was a dingy gathering of semi-portable buildings left over from some wars too long ago to be recalled even by the oldest old-timer. They’d been bought cheap by some enterprising moron who thought he could make money by legalizing all of the sales of contraband and illegal drugs in the red light. The guards shut him down a few times, then the gangs took over and his body was never found. They didn’t like the way he was cutting into their business.

  So now only really low-level hoods hung there, ones not affiliated with any of the larger gangs and selling only things they could ditch quickly in case of another raid.

  The lighting consisted of some recycled glows; ones whose spells had burnt out long ago but were operating on junk juice—cheap spells that could mimic other spells briefly.

  There weren’t many folks selling today, probably a continuation of whatever was keeping the usual predators off the streets outside. I made two laps of the sorry displays, glaring down anyone who tried to approach, before I finally spotted Sammy.

  As bad as he was in his photo, it was nothing compared to him in person.

  That he seemed to be permanently listing to his left didn’t help matters. His eyes were so swollen only a sickly green slit could be seen.

  “Wanna buy an arrow?” His voice was so slurred he had to repeat it twice before I heard him. Clearly, Alric’s warning of Sammy being hard to bring in wasn’t warranted today.

  “Hey, Sammy, remember me?” I tried to make my voice sound suggestive and hide the revulsion this drooling mass of cherub wrongness raised in me.

  “Sure, sweet stuff,” he tried to move in closer, but couldn’t really lift his body up. “Some help here? I have the best arrows…” his voice trailed off as his left hand fumbled with some rusting sticks in front of him. If those things had ever been cupids’ arrows they’d been plucked so long ago that any spells still in them would most likely kill you. Selling their arrows was common among the fallen cherubim. It was also highly illegal and had even been known to cause at least one deity to descend and smite the offending cherub into a fifty-foot crater.

  Clearly Sammy was too far gone to worry about smiting. However, I wasn’t. I needed to get him away from those sticks. I couldn’t take a chance that they were still armed with any spells.

  “Hey, Sammy, why don’t we step outside?” I reached forward, but I really didn’t want to touch him any more than I had to. My stun cuffs were in my jacket pocket, along with a gag bag. The bag set me back quite a bit when I bought it three years ago, but it was worth it for the smaller collars. Once I managed to stun cuff Sammy and get him inside of it, no one would hear him at all. It should also mostly immobilize him, especially in his current state.

  “How you’d know my name?” His face fell into itself as some tiny remaining brain cell fought for consciousness and screamed a warning.

  “Come on, Gorgeous Sammy,” I said with an amazingly straight face. “Of course I know your name. You’re famous.” I really needed to get him outside.

  “Sammy’s coming with me.”

  I rubbed my forehead at the annoyingly familiar voice. Alric. What, he was taking up bounty hunting now too?

  “Look, he’s…” I dropped my voice as I spun to face Alric, and noticed the crowd of Farm regulars who had been moving in behind me. Crap, I’d misjudged that anyone would care about a wash
ed-up cherub.

  “He’s coming with me.” Alric’s voice was deeper, but the venom wasn’t directed at me, but the people behind us. With a move meant to be causal, he flipped back his cape revealing a large sword. The watchers faded in seconds. He held my eyes, trying to say something, but I was too distracted by the sword. Where in the hell had that come from? And why didn’t he have it the night I captured him?

  “Sammy, be a good man and come with me.”

  Sammy’s eyes were huge, which was not an improvement over their former status. Like me his gaze seemed transfixed by the sword. Not only was it deadly, but it was a symbol of the ruling elite. To be caught with one when it wasn’t warranted was a crime punishable by a few hundred years in a dank cell.

  Had I misjudged Alric that badly? Would Cirocco and Largen be hunting someone of noble blood? I suddenly wanted to be anywhere but next to Alric. The man wasn’t noble—he was a major thief of some kind. One whose fate I wanted nothing to do with.

  Taking a step back, I wondered if I could get extra points from the guards if I used stun cuffs on Alric and his sword, then turned him over.

  “I wouldn’t,” Alric spoke softly then nodded over his shoulder. The others were still watching us. Only his sword was holding them back.

  I was stuck between a highly illegal sword and people who would probably rip me to shreds for the pennies in my pocket. I really shouldn’t have gotten out of bed today.

  “Sammy, come with me.” I wasn’t sure where the bravado in my voice came from but I could work with it. Concentrate on getting my mark, not on the other disasters looming around me.

  Sammy looked like he agreed and that I was the lesser of numerous evils. He rolled himself to his feet and tottered next to me. I still didn’t want to cuff or bag him in here, so I just nudged him with my boot toward the door. His legs were so bowlegged it was amazing he could even walk.