Dagger

by Steven dos Santos

  The Cerby formerly known as Thong B succeeded in wrenching Purp free. It dragged him off sans one arm, still screaming, toward a trio of tall, pale humanoids clinging to the wall off to the right like spiders. The two males and a female were garbed in black uniforms, which displayed the very familiar crest of the three demonic triangles on their right breasts. They grinned, exposing rotting, jagged teeth. Their smooth skin rippled into the decaying natural state of ghuls. The Cerby dropped its prey on the ground below them, keeping its head bowed. In seconds, the triad pounced on their victim and dragged him around the corner of the building. The sounds of screaming faded into tearing, slurping, and chewing.

  Aristede gripped my arm. “There wasn’t anything you could have done.”

  I wrenched myself free, fighting to control my own furious tears. Aristede was right. I’d thought the bouncers human. Had I attacked, they would have torn me limb from limb, too. Aristede had saved my life. And a part of me hated him for it.

  In front of us, Thong B had reassumed his familiar visage, with the addition of Purp’s severed arm still locked in his jaws. His naked torso was matted with blood and gristle. The arm dropped from his mouth, landing at my feet. The fingers were still outstretched in a gesture of supplication.

  Or accusation.

  I breathed deep, remembering my training, compartmentalizing my emotions.

  I had a job to do.

  Putting my breakdown on hold, I looked back up at the bloodied bouncer, who held out an equally bloodied hand.

  “Vostro Invito,” he said, requesting our invitation. It wasn’t a question. It was a command.

  Aristede pulled the keycard from my clenched fingers and handed it over.

  The bouncer licked the blood from his mouth and looked both of us up and down as if trying to decide between vanilla and chocolate. Without looking away, he slid the invitation into the scanner.

  That unfriendly buzzing and flashing red light cut through the haze of shock. Uh oh. It looks like we’d gone over the manufacturer’s suggested retail price.

  So much for Felanie’s hack into the security system.

  Thong B grinned, his lips stained crimson as if he’d smeared them with lipstick. Was that Purp’s skin caught between his front teeth? Someone had obviously failed to impart the finer points of brushing and flossing after every meal to this asshole. Maybe he was waiting until after he’d wolfed down a Dag-Istede sandwich.

  Aristede, always the gentlemen, even when about to be eaten, didn’t lose his cool. “Le nostre credenziali sono authentiche.”

  I highly doubted the Cerby would take his word that our invite was legit.

  I sensed the crowd backing away behind us. Probably to avoid the blood splatter, though I was sure there’d be someone in this crowd just eager to lap it all up.

  Thong B, now shimmering, signaled to his still follicly-enhanced companion, who bounded over to us in a single leap, fangs bared and ready for the main course.

  A hush went over the onlookers.

  They were about to be treated to a double-header in the Underworld Series.

  Chapter Five

  The Cerbys moved in for the kill.

  I held out my palm. “Aspetta.”

  Before either bouncer could bounce, I ripped the keycard from the scanner, snuffing out the flashing red alert.

  I examined the invitation. Smears of Purp’s blood obscured the magnetic strip. I turned to Thong B. His transformation was in a holding pattern.

  “Il invito è cuperto di sangue,” I said, pointing out the blood covering the card. I held it up for him to see, careful not to get any of the scarlet goo on my fingers.

  The fully transformed Cerby growled as if pissed it was only a scanner malfunction. Something told me he wanted to eat us anyway.

  I thrust the card in Thong B’s face.

  “Provalo di nuovo,” I said, instructing him to try it again.

  He tore the card from my hand, but instead of crumpling it like he’d done to Purp’s, he lifted the invite to his mouth and licked off the blood, never once taking his eyes off me. Then he slid it back into the scanner.

  My pulse thudded in my ears as I waited for the colored light that would determine our fate. Aristede’s eyes glowed like yellow beacons in a fog, his Adam’s apple rising and falling, parted lips revealing flashes of razored death.

  Then there was a sound. Not the harsh buzz this time, but the beep a scanner makes when it rings up your purchases at the store. The light shone green. I let out a long breath, relieved there’d be no shedding of coils, both mortal or otherwise, just yet.

  We’re in.

  Thong B turned to his canine cohort. “Portare li al il campanile,” he grumbled.

  Great. We were being taken to the bell tower. How Victor Hugo.

  The Cerby snarled at us. Guess we were off the menu. For now.

  Thong B stepped aside for us to enter. “Puoi entrare.” His eyes followed us past him with a trace of amusement.

  Taking a deep breath, I followed Aristede and the hellhound into the belly of the beast.

  ****

  Stepping through the doors of the monastery and into the vast, candle-lit chamber was like traveling back to the Middle Ages. Well, that is if you ignored the techno-music blaring from the rafters and the strobe lights revolving at dizzying speeds. But despite the modern accoutrements, the place reeked of ancient, the air cold and musty with the dust of five centuries, the mossy walls oozing dampness.

  The club was jam-packed with Goth humans, faerie-kind, and the undead alike. The long, narrow nave led straight to the dance floor, crammed shoulder to tentacle with revelers. Flanking the nave were cocktail bars and seating areas. The absence of pews and kneelers didn’t prevent a few of the more zealous patrons from dropping to their knees and, uh, worshipping.

  The altar had been converted into a stage, featuring a quartet of ghulish male and female exotic dancers teasing the decadent rabble. They were strippers all right. Literally. Not just stripping off their clothes, but their skin, layer after layer, exposing ligaments and tendons.

  “Care for a lap dance?” I hollered to Aristede over the din.

  “Nah, they’re showing a little too much skin for my taste,” he shouted back.

  Cerby led us through the horde toward an alcove at the rear of the club. The masses parted in front of the beast like an eager bride. Amazing what fear of dismemberment can do for crowd control. Beside me, Aristede’s piercing eyes, bared teeth, and low growling warded off the groping appendages trying to cop a feel as we passed. He looked fierce, like a wild animal protecting its young. Thank God he was on my side.

  We stopped in front of the alcove. A spidery-shadow skittered down from the ceiling, alighting soundlessly in front of us. It was a tall, chiseled ghul with a buzz cut. He was clad in the same Reich uniform worn by the trio of ghuls that had dined on Purp. A Luger clung to his waist. Even the undead could appreciate the expediency of firepower over dismemberment.

  “You are late,” he scowled with a hint of a German accent.

  Aristede stepped forward protectively. “We were unavoidably detained by your over eager staff.”

  The ghul’s black gaze fixed on him. Nostrils flared, no doubt recognizing the scent of its own kind. Then he raised a brow and turned to me. “You have the package?” His pale hand hovered above his sidearm.

  “Yes, we do. Now are we going to stand here and jack each other off, or are we going to do some business?” If I was supposed to be Reinaldo, an amoral, back-stabbing, greedy prick, I might as well sound like him.

  The ghul’s eyes darted to the Cerberus, who nodded.

  Before I could register his movements, the ghul had already turned and was halfway through the drapes. “Heinrich will see you now,” he called behind him, vanishing into the darkness.

  The Cerby barked at us. Then it turned and padded after Buzz Cut.

  Aristede and I followed. Behind the curtain, we found ourselves in a high-tech elevator, its
steel and glass incongruous with the rest of the monastery’s architecture. The Cerby kept watch at our side, no doubt making sure we didn’t try anything. Didn’t he have party crashers to rip apart out front? Maybe he was on break.

  Buzz Cut muttered some words into a hand-held walkie finished.

  The elevator doors flew apart, revealing a—surprise, surprise—dimly lit foyer overlooking an equally dim chamber. Geez, with the Reich’s rep as technophiles, you’d think they wouldn’t skimp on electricity.

  “Step into the parlor,” Buzz Cut barked.

  Okay, feeling like a fly now.

  Instantly, the door whooshed shut, and we zoomed upward toward the bell tower. The Cerby howled the whole trip.

  I gave Aristede a subtle nod and pressed the button above my ring’s stone. Hallucinogen activated. Hopefully, we’d finish our business within the thirty-minute window. If not, we’d be

  The Cerby led the way, with Buzz Cut on our heels.

  Two burly agents flanked the elevator doors, carrying semi-automatics. Their expressions were less lively than the Queen’s Foot Guards at Buckingham Palace.

  The bell tower had high vaulted ceilings. A huge bell hovered menacingly above us, held at bay by crisscrossing strands of frayed rope. The entire room was illuminated by flickering candelabras, casting distorted shadows that crept across the stone walls and floors.

  There was no sign of Dighton Rock. They must be keeping it somewhere else. I quickly assessed the exit strategies. Other than the elevator, there didn’t appear to be any other way out. Great. Improv time.

  Buzz Cut was suddenly in front of us. He attached a chain around the Cerby’s neck and led the creature to a pillar off to the right, securing it there. Oddly enough, the beast never protested. Then Buzz Cut faded into the shadows, leaving Aristede and I to face our host.

  The wall ahead was dominated by the stained-glassed window I’d spotted from outside. Silhouetted in front of it was a figure seated on a winged-chair—no, more like a throne.

  Yep. This had to be Heinrich Von Bueller.

  Aristede and I exchanged glances and stepped closer.

  Two more uniformed agents descended from the rafters in a blur of translucent wings. A dark-haired male with shoulder-length, black hair and a female with long blond tresses. From the glow of their porcelain skin and sparkling sapphire eyes, there was no doubt they were faeries, and not of the teeth-for-cash variety. Guess these days the Reich was recruiting other races. How progressive.

  The duo stepped aside, flanking their boss.

  Heinrich rose with arms outstretched and glided towards us, as if on a conveyer belt. “Begrüßen,” he said, welcoming us in a raspy voice. In the light of the crackling flames, it looked like he was welcoming us to Hell.

  “Danke,” I thanked him, studying his appearance.

  Unlike the popular rep of vamps and werewolves, not all ghuls were Playgirl centerfolds. And this golden-oldie had died during the time a little thing called the Black Death had ravaged medieval Europe. His scraggly platinum blond hair was tied in a ponytail. Jet black eyebrows hovered over sunken, crimson eyes. A scar ran below his left eye, down his cheek. His nose was pointed and crooked, as if it’d been previously broken. Add a rumpled black duster that reeked of mothballs, and you got the idea that fashion wasn’t one of his preternaturally-developed senses. The dude was in serious need of a makeover, but I wasn’t here to pull a Queer Eye for the Dead Guy.

  “I’ve been looking forward to this meeting, Mr. Matias,” Heinrich wheezed.

  I forced a smile. “It’s an honor, sir.”

  Heinrich grinned, exposing yellowed fangs that matched the color of his hair. “Before we initiate our transaction, you will allow us to verify your identity, yes?” His eyes flitted between Aristede and me.

  Like we had a choice.

  Aristede nodded. “Absolutely.”

  Heinrich snapped his fingers. The female faerie pulled out a carved scepter about a foot long. Made of bone, from the look of it. It was ancient, its surface detailed with symbols, probably runic inscriptions, a fave among faeries. Definitely some type of mystic identity verifier. Score another one for Felanie’s intuition.

  Aristede and I spread our arms out like it was a routine sweep. Tresses brushed the wand over us, engulfing us in a cloud of energy. I could feel the ancient sorcery fighting to bore its way into my pores, en route to my very soul. But something was blocking it. The ring. It burned with an energy of its own, countering the scepter’s power.

  Now that’s the Precious.

  Tresses tucked the wand back into her coat pocket. She glared at us. “Sie sind sauber,” she announced, letting Heinrich know we were clean.

  “Gut,” Heinrich nodded. “Now one last thing. My contacts have informed me of your rather interesting predilections, Mr. Matias,” his eyes shot to Aristede, “especially involving those of my kind.” A tongue darted across his lips. “I would very much like a demonstration.”

  This was about more than just the bastard wanting to get his rocks off. It was another test to see if we were legit.

  As if on cue, Aristede’s skin went all pale ghul, complete with dark circles under bloodshot eyes. He moved behind me, pressing his chest against my back. I felt his hot breath nuzzling my neck. His hands roamed down my body, exploring, caressing. I had to hand it to him. The guy was a consummate professional, doing whatever he needed to accomplish the mission.

  His lips and teeth grazed the blood packet fitted onto the prosthesis in my neck, tearing into it. Aristede squeezed me hard into him, sucking on the simulated fluid, giving Heinrich and his cohorts quite a show. It was my turn to up the ante by demonstrating my supposed Morpher abilities.

  I concentrated, the way Felanie had instructed. Instantly, the ring’s hallucinogenic spell projected an image of me as a familiar voluptuous blond with golden locks, and ample breasts. Aristede deserved some eye candy after being such a good sport.

  The pseudo-transformation had its desired effect. Heinrich was convinced I was a Morpher, and Aristede’s passion increased. The “blood” dripped from his mouth as he pressed his lips against mine, and fed the simulated fluid back to me. Mmm. Strawberry. I lapped it up, milking this peep show for all it was worth. Finally, I regained my appearance.

  I was drained, physically and mentally. I glanced at the timer in my wristband. Seventeen minutes left of ring juice.

  Aristede released me from his embrace. I pulled out a handkerchief from my vest and wiped the remaining fluid from his lips. Turning, I faced Heinrich once again.

  His smirk oozed with satisfaction. “Perhaps after our transaction is complete, I will be able to witness more and partake?”

  I dabbed at my neck with the handkerchief. “Perhaps.” In your dreams, Hef.

  “Now we can proceed,” Heinrich said, business-like once again. “You have the code key, I presume?”

  Aristede patted his satchel. “We do. And you have payment?”

  “Of course we will require a preview first, merely as a formality to ascertain the validity of the merchandise.” Heinrich’s eyes became slits. His pupils disappeared. He was sending out a telepathic command.

  Buzz Cut emerged from the shadows carrying a pedestal draped in a red velvet cloth. He set it down in front of Heinrich.

  I nodded at Aristede.

  He pulled out a sealed, transparent case the size of a CD from his satchel and held it out to me. It almost slipped from my fingers as I took it.

  Heinrich licked his lips. “Open it,” he ordered.

  I pressed the coded sequence on the case’s side. There was a rush of air as the hermetically-sealed lid snapped open. I carefully removed the disk containing the bogus code key.

  “Hans!” Heinrich barked at Buzz Cut, who stepped forward and lifted the covering from the pedestal. Laying on the velvet surface were three unlikely companions: a laptop computer, an open case filled with bundles of cash, and an ornate, crystal bottle resting on its own cushion. Inside the
bottle, emerald liquid glowed and bubbled, creating patterns of sparkling diamonds on the walls.

  It must be the elixir which would reveal the secrets of Il Evanidus.

  Heinrich’s eyes were glued to the disk. “Slip it into the computer.” He rubbed his palms.

  I pushed the disk into the laptop. The code key’s sequence initiated, displaying the phony translations we’d programmed it with.

  “Simply exquisite.” Heinrich’s eyes blazed. He leaned in closer to inspect the screen. The information whizzed by. A map appeared, highlighting a precise location dead center in the Adriatic Sea. The location of Il Evanidus.Or so he thought. DUST’s security team was already in place, ready to ambush Reich recon.

  My eyes wandered the room. Tweedle Dead and Tweedle Deader were still at their post by the elevator. Cerby paced back and forth on his tether. Fairie-Man and Tresses flanked Heinrich. And Hans stood beside Aristede and me. I looked at the time. Six minutes left on the ring. We had to be ready to move like lightning if Ole Heinie discovered our scam.

  I stepped forward. With Heinie practically jizzing over the computer screen, now was my chance to make a play for the elixir. It was just a few inches from where my hand rested on the pedestal. I moved my fingers closer. All I had to do was touch it for just a sec.

  Heinrich’s bony fingers shot out and grasped the decoding fluid, pulling it away. The stopper came loose. If it weren’t for the ghul’s reflexes, the precious fluid would have seeped out. As it was, he only got a few drops of the elixir on his palm.

  “I was just admiring—” I began.

  Heinrich’s eyes darted between Aristede and myself. He secured the top, placing the bottle back on the pedestal. “You’re not here to admire anything,” he hissed. He nodded at Tresses and Faerie Man, who moved in, tightening their protective net around him.

  I rubbed my fingertips. So much for the digital biometric scan. Crap!

  Aristede cleared his throat. “Since everything seems to be in order, I trust we can take the money and be on our way?” He glanced over at me. I could read the shorthand in his eyes. There was still the matter of copying the elixir.