by R. L. King
Marilee started to speak, but then she noticed something and quickly struggled to her feet. “Hey now,” she called, heading off at a quick waddle.
The others turned to see what she was so agitated about, and all of them grinned. The black kitten had somehow gotten herself stuck headfirst in one of the shopping bags hanging off the side of Marilee’s cart, and her tiny legs were pistoning around trying to get purchase, while her stubby little tail waved in agitation. Marilee quickly dug her out and set her on her feet, where she proceeded to look around with proper feline indignation and then began licking her back leg as if to say, “I meant to do that.”
Stone chuckled. “Another intrepid explorer foiled in her plans,” he began. “She—” But then he stopped. “What is it?”
Marilee had turned to come back to where they were sitting, but she only made it a couple of steps before stopping again. For several seconds she just stood there, looking deep in thought. Her expression glazed over as if she were seeing something far away, and then without a word of explanation she turned her back on them and moved back over next to the cart.
“What’s she—?” Jason started, but Lamar put a finger to his lips, watching her intently.
Her back still to them, Marilee stood regarding the cart for several more seconds. Then she reached out and plunged her hand into one of the several shopping bags she had attached to various points around its perimeter. She rooted around a bit, after a moment coming up with a piece of glossy paper in black and white with garish red highlights. Then she turned as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, returned to the group, and plopped back down next to Lamar.
“What have you got there?” Stone asked her, curious.
She handed it over without a word. The glazed look was still in her eyes, but it was fading.
Stone took it and smoothed it out. His eyes darted back and forth as he took it all in, then put the paper down so everyone could see it.
Even at first glance it was obvious that it was a flyer for some sort of nightclub. They were all quiet for several moments as they read over the copy:
EXCLUSIVE BAY AREA ENGAGEMENT
-NIHIL-
-VERZWEIFLUNG-
-RAZORBABIES-
ONE NIGHT ONLY
Fetish Wear Strongly Encouraged
WILL TO POWER
Free Your Urges!
The flyer was covered with stylized symbols of anarchy and rebellion, along with an image of a square-jawed young man and woman in leather and sunglasses, staring off into the distance at a sky filled with missiles. The date for the show was the following night.
“Look at the address,” Stone said. There was an odd note in his voice.
Jason’s eyes widened. “It’s in San Francisco.”
Verity was staring at Marilee. “You—find things in your cart,” she said, like she couldn’t quite believe it. “I’ve seen you do it before. Could this be—?”
Marilee’s expression had returned to normal by now. She looked at the flyer almost as if she’d never seen it before. “It—could be,” she admitted. “Sometimes I just—find things. Things I need. Even though I don’t ever remember putting them in there.”
Jason was looking at Stone. “Why would she have a flyer for a show at a club in San Francisco?” he asked. “Do they advertise down here?”
“They might, if it’s a big enough show,” Stone said. “But this does seem to be quite a coincidence.” He looked at the flyer again. “I’ve heard of this place. Some of my students talk about it occasionally.”
“What kind of club is it?” Jason asked. “‘Fetish Wear Strongly Encouraged?’ Is it some kind of S&M dungeon?”
Stone nodded. “Yes, among other things. The upper part—the main part, actually—is a nightclub that features bands that play dark music. Gothic, industrial, that sort of thing. Lots of bands imported from Germany and Scandinavia. Occult Studies tends to attract people who enjoy that lifestyle. Some of them are Wiccans, some are goths—some of them just like anything that’s spooky or mystical or ‘evil.’” He put finger quotes around the last word. “And some of them just like dressing up in studded leather, black trench coats, and too much makeup.”
“But what about the rest?” Jason asked, trying not to notice that Verity was looking far more interested than he thought she should in this whole topic.
“The rest is a bit foggier,” Stone said. “From what I understand, the lower level of the club is invitation only, and caters to what a couple of my students call ‘the scene.’ ”
“The scene?” Jason was perplexed. The kind of clubs he frequented were more properly called ‘bars,’ and the music played there was generally of the garage-band hard-rock variety.
“It’s a BDSM sex club,” Stone said, “For people who are into leather and whips and tying each other up and playing slave and master. That sort of thing.”
Jason was silent for several seconds. “And he’s in there?”
“It sort of makes sense, doesn’t it?” Verity said, speaking up for the first time. “They like pain and misery and strong emotion. What would be a better place to get a steady source of that than a place where people go to hurt each other and get hurt on purpose?”
“That’s a damned good point,” Stone agreed, nodding. He looked at Marilee. “You’ve done this before, then?”
“Yes,” she said. “Lots of times. I usually find things that our group needs—coupons, sometimes old tools or a hat or socks or that kind of thing. Occasionally a little bit of money. It’s never anything very valuable, or new—just stuff I might pick on the street. Except that I never remember picking it up after I find it in there.”
“Interesting…” Stone said. “So—if this ability of yours helps you find the things you need, then—we need to locate this person, and you find a flyer for a club in the very city where he’s supposed to be.” He looked at Jason. “I’m inclined to take a chance on this,” he said. “I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t seen some of their abilities firsthand. But this just seems like too much of a coincidence not to follow up.”
“So—we’re going to an S&M club,” Jason said. He didn’t sound at all enthusiastic. “Are you sure about this, Al?” He glanced at Verity, unable to hide his big-brotherly concern. “It’s probably 21 and over. I bet V can’t even get in.”
Verity rolled her eyes. “Come on, Jason. I spent the last five years in the nuthouse and even I know about fake IDs. We’ll just have to get me one.”
“Yeah, I guess,” Jason grumbled. “And where are we gonna find ‘fetish wear’? I don’t even know what that is. I’m not going anywhere in skintight spandex pants and a leather harness, and there’s no argument about that. The Evil can take over the world before that’s gonna happen.”
Stone chuckled. “I don’t think it will come to that,” he said. “I’m not exactly enthusiastic about the idea myself—I’m a bit old for this sort of thing—but we’ll do what we have to. As I said, I have some students who are familiar with the place—or at least the club. I’ll give one of them a call for advice. They can probably also give us the basic layout so we don’t have to go in blind.”
Lamar and Marilee had been watching them, saying nothing. Now, though, Lamar spoke up. “You—don’t want any of us to go with you to this place, do you?”
Stone shook his head. “No,” he said gently. “You’ve all done enough already, and we can’t begin to thank you for it. There wouldn’t be any point in putting you in further danger. In fact, I’d say it would be best if we didn’t contact each other anymore until after we’ve checked this place out. Of course, if you need help, you have only to call.”
Both Lamar and Marilee looked relieved. “I hope this is what you’re looking for,” Marilee said, nodding toward the flyer. “I hope you can do it. And I’ll pray for your safe return.”
Spontaneously, Verity
threw her arms around the old lady and gave her a hug. “You keep yourselves safe,” she told her, her voice shaking a little bit. Then she pulled back and smiled. “Hey, you don’t happen to have a fake ID with my name on it in that cart, do you?”
Chapter Forty-Four
“You’re sure about this?” Jason asked. It wasn’t the first time he’d done so.
It was eight o’clock the night after they’d last seen the Forgotten. He, Verity, and Stone were in San Francisco, in the front room of the small suite they’d rented at a motel that wasn’t too far from the club.
“Jason, stop being a wuss,” Verity told him, rolling her eyes. “And quit worrying about me. I’ll be fine.”
Stone’s students had come through not only with information about the club and advice on what to wear so they would blend in as much as possible (and where to buy it), but one of them had also put him in touch with an art major who was known in student circles as a wizard with fake IDs. Stone had sent Jason along with Verity to approach her, since he didn’t think a professor trying to obtain a fake ID for an underage girl would go over too well. The young woman was a little hesitant at first, but changed her mind when Verity offered double her normal fee. By early that morning, she had produced an extremely realistic-looking driver’s license proclaiming Verity to be 21 years old.
Verity had enjoyed the subsequent shopping trip immensely; her two male companions, not so much. Stone and Jason spent much of their time trying to be as inconspicuous as possible and not to look like they were as uncomfortable as they were. Verity, meanwhile, moved around the stores like she’d spent her life there, picking out items both for herself and for them. When she’d finished, both of them had to admit that she’d done a good job finding them outfits that wouldn’t make them feel completely ridiculous: for Jason, she’d chosen black jeans, a studded black belt, combat boots, a tight black T-shirt with the logo of an industrial band he’d never heard of, and a black leather biker jacket (she’d declared that his own leather jacket, which was brown, was simply “all wrong.”) She had even more fun with Stone, deciding he needed to look “more formal.” When she got done with him, his look was reminiscent of a German SS officer, albeit without any of the Nazi iconography. She’d put him in a black military-style tunic, black pants tucked into tall shiny black boots, and an impressive-looking black overcoat. When he got a look at himself in the mirror, he glared theatrically at his reflection. “Where’s my bloody riding crop?” he asked, half-sourly, half-amused.
Verity herself looked like she was finally able to dress the way she wanted to. Her outfit consisted of her own black biker jacket that was similar to Jason’s, a tight leather top that laced up the front, a black leather spiked dog-collar choker, black miniskirt, fishnet stockings with artful holes in them, and her black Doc Martens. Jason took one look at her and started to say something, but her glare silenced him. He had to concede, albeit grudgingly, that she carried the look off. She didn’t look vulnerable— she looked completely in control of herself and more than a little intimidating. It scared him a bit. What was his tomboy kid sister turning into?
She had also picked up some hair dye and cosmetics, and when they got back to the hotel after permitting themselves dinner at a good restaurant for a change, she locked herself in the bathroom for an hour while Jason and Stone sat out front and went over the crude map of the club that the student had given them. Unfortunately Stone hadn’t been able to track down either of the two other students who were familiar with the lower level, but at least they wouldn’t have to go in completely blind.
Stone was arranging his various magical items in the pockets of his overcoat when Verity emerged from the bathroom. He and Jason both stared at her with wide eyes. She’d dyed her hair jet-black and used some sort of gel to spike it up into points, and done her face in dramatic makeup that made her look paler than she was and emphasized her large dark eyes. Her lips were blood red. “Whatcha think?” she asked grinning.
“I think you’re having entirely too much fun with this,” Stone told her.
“Well, you did say we had to blend in, right?”
Jason didn’t say anything. He wasn’t sure what to say, and a little afraid that if he spoke up, he might say something he’d later regret. In many ways, this new transformation in his sister was causing him more mental difficulty than the entirety of the insane and magical proceedings that he’d been dealing with for the past couple of weeks. She was becoming an adult, and there was no stopping it. He couldn’t keep treating her like she was twelve, even though that was the last time he’d really known her. He had to let her grow up, regardless of whether he approved of the way she was doing it. He knew that in less than a month she’d be eighteen and technically he wouldn’t have any control over her anymore—not that he did now. “We ready to do this?” he finally asked.
Stone, who’d been smiling at Verity’s enthusiasm, sobered. “Ready as we can be,” he said.
Will to Power was on the waterfront, a mile or so off the main part of the Embarcadero. Here, glitzy souvenir shops and seafood restaurants gave way to derelict warehouses and ugly, looming industrial buildings. “Definitely not the posh end of town,” Stone commented. “But that’s not too surprising, given its focus.”
They were in a cab; the driver was a dark-skinned, Middle Eastern man who barely spoke English, but who had given them a strange look when they’d told him their destination. He didn’t comment, though. Jason figured they were just a few more of the tourist weirdos he had to endure daily.
He leaned back in his seat and looked idly out the window as the cab inched through the thick Friday night traffic; he hadn’t been to San Francisco since he was a kid up here with his dad for a vacation, and he didn’t remember much about it except the Golden Gate Bridge and the tourist part of Fisherman’s Wharf. They had come past the Wharf, but they soon left the lit-up tourist area and moved into a part of the docks where most tourists weren’t brave enough to venture these days. He wondered if he could spot any of the Forgotten symbols, then almost immediately noticed one spray-painted on the side of a rotting warehouse: the circle, X, and squiggly line. Bad place. Danger. He touched Stone’s arm and pointed it out; the mage nodded. “I’ve been noticing them for a while,” he murmured over Verity, who was seated between them.
“All the bad ones, I take it?”
He nodded soberly. “Haven’t seen any others. Wherever this place is, the Forgotten seem to avoid it like the plague.”
Indeed, they had not seen one homeless person or group for the last fifteen minutes, despite the fact that the buildings they were passing were rundown and many were abandoned. It looked like a prime area to be colonized by a few enterprising Forgotten groups, but none were in evidence.
“Weird,” Jason said. “I wonder if even the normal homeless groups avoid it.”
“Quite probably. Remember what Marilee said about homeless people up here disappearing without a trace?”
“You think that has something to do with this club?”
Stone shrugged. “No idea, but I wouldn’t be surprised.”
Jason sighed. “You know, I’d give just about anything right now to be able to call in some heavy hitters on this. It feels wrong to me to be playing Batman, trying to solve this on our own. We ought to be able to call the cops, or the government, or somebody who’s better equipped to deal with it. It just feels wrong that they’re the ones we can’t call, because they’re probably mixed up in the whole thing, and there’s no way to know who’s clean and who isn’t.” He shook his head and dropped his voice even further, glancing at the cabbie to make sure he wasn’t listening. “You know, taking care of this guy, whoever he is, isn’t going to solve the problem. There’s still gonna be all the second-tier Evil in the cops and the politicians and the business leaders. What’s to say one of them won’t just step up and take over the operation?”
“That’s a damned g
ood question,” Stone said. “And I don’t have an answer for you, except to say that, honestly, this probably won’t end it. The best we can hope is that it tosses whatever organization they have into disarray for a while, and perhaps gives us—and others—time to deal with what’s left before it can reorganize.”
“That doesn’t sound very encouraging.” Jason shook his head, still looking out the window.
The cab was slowing down now, working its way over to the right lane. Stone, Jason, and Verity all switched their attention to the front window. “Here it is,” the cabbie said, double-parking next to a group of motorcycles.
Jason didn’t know what he expected to see, but it wasn’t anything like the reality. The club was in a large, old industrial building of indeterminate type, its entire front-facing wall painted black. WILL TO POWER shone in glowing purple neon above a set of windowless, black, padded double doors, and a poster-sized version of the flyer Marilee had pulled from her cart was tacked up behind glass to the right of the doors. Even from inside the cab, the three of them could hear the pounding beat of the music, muted but still quite loud. A large crowd milled around outside, smoking and chatting. Most of them were dressed similarly to Stone, Jason, and Verity: lots of leather, military styles, skintight vinyl, and goth-wear. Most were young—early to mid-twenties—but there were a surprising number of people Stone’s age or even older.
They exited the cab, and Stone paid the driver while Jason and Verity got a look around. Jason noticed two beefy guys in tight black club-logo T-shirts and jeans standing on either side of the doors. He watched for a moment as a group went up to them, noticing that they were collecting the cover charge and doing cursory weapons checks, but didn’t appear to be paying that much attention to checking IDs.
Verity tapped his arm. “Look,” she whispered, pointing.
Jason looked. They were hard to spot this time, chalked nearly at sidewalk level on the side of the building near the corner, and only three inches or so high. But there were five of them in a row: “Bad Place” Forgotten symbols. “This must be a really bad place,” he muttered under his breath. “I hope that means we picked the right one.”