Dagger

by Steven dos Santos

  “No need. If you undo these cuffs, I can show you the wonders I can work with a gas can.”

  “It’s time to accept your gift.” Heinrich held the silver box in front of my face. He leered. “I hope you like it.”

  I sighed. “You assume I’m into antiques. Stereotype much?”

  “Your gift lies within.”

  “The keys to these handcuffs, perchance?”

  “Those are quite safe here.” He patted his left breast pocket.

  Bull’s-eye. Thanks for volunteering that useful tidbit, dumbass. Had this guy actually read my file, or just jacked-off to the photos?

  He opened the lid. A foul stench like rotting fish escaped. Something hissed.

  Oh shit. “I hoped you saved the receipt.”

  “Inside the box is a Vijon, one of the ancient Gods of the Netherworld.”

  “Awww, Heinie. You shouldn’t have.”

  He brought the box to my feet. Something dark and slimy slithered out of it. “The Vijon will burrow into your body, altering your physiology until your soul has been eradicated, leaving a hollow shell.”

  “You know, a simple eCard would have done the trick.”

  “Once the Age of the Sixth, is upon us, I will summon a new soul to take up permanent residence inside you. Not a hair on that handsome head will be damaged, yet you will no longer be Dagger Beaumont, but one of us.” He leered. “And perhaps you shall be more receptive to me.”

  I ran out of spit. The slimy Vijon curled itself around the sole of my right foot. It felt rough, as though thousands of tiny little bristles were scraping my skin. I tried to get a better look at it, but all I could see was a tangle of blackness, slithering up my foot, around my ankle, working its way up my calf muscle like a snake.

  “Heinrich. You don’t have to do this. I can give you what you want, willingly.” I needed to appeal to his weakness for me, say whatever it took to bring him nearer.

  My tone must have affected him. He came closer, hunching over me until his face was inches from mine. “I wish I could believe you.”

  The Vijon wound its way around my quad muscle, squeezing, hissing. I fought the urge to puke right in Heinrich’s face.

  “I can be all yours, in body and mind,” I whispered.

  He moved nearer, his lips practically brushing mine.

  Instead of slinking past my leg and up my hip, the Vijon took a detour between my legs and under my groin.

  Oh, hell no.

  So much for trying to gain entry down my throat.

  I lifted my head and opened my mouth to receive Heinrich’s kiss—and instead thrust forward with a vicious head butt.

  His head flew back, and I tore into his pocket with my teeth, grabbing hold of the key in my mouth and spitting it at my right palm. There was a sickening moment when the key almost slipped through my fingers, but I grasped it just in time and twisted it into the lock.

  Click.

  Ripping my hand free, I slugged Heinrich’s jaw before his teeth could sink into my throat. He roared, rolling off the bed.

  With the Vijon literally knocking at my backdoor, I released my other hand and reached between my legs, seizing it before it could penetrate me. “Sorry, pal. I’m saving myself for Mr. Right.”

  The creature was fierce, a cross between an eel and a snake. It wriggled and snapped, fighting to escape my grasp. Heinrich’s shadow fell over me. I pulled the stubborn Vijon as hard as I could, flinging it at the ghul. “Catch!”

  The surprised Heinrich’s hands shot to his face, batting the creature away. But he stumbled backwards, crashing into the armoire.

  Taking advantage of the momentary reprieve, I freed my ankles and rolled off the bed, barely escaping the pouncing slug.

  Sheesh. This thing reminded me of one of those face huggers in Alien, determined to pierce and seed me, without so much as a hint of a sweet nothing in my ear.

  I crawled over to the door. If I could just make it out and seal it in—

  Slam!

  The Vijon smacked against the door. Its tail slithered around the doorknob. Raising its maw toward me, it hissed, slimy drool flowing down to the carpet.

  I backed away—and right into Heinrich’s waiting arms.

  The ghul locked his legs around my waist, securing me in place. “I made the mistake of succumbing to your charms before, liebling. I won’t do so again.” Using both hands, he pried my mouth open. What the hell was it with people wanting to shove things down my throat?

  I struggled against Heinie’s embrace, but it was useless. The Vijon uncoiled from the doorknob and dropped to the floor. Its tail looped around its body, preparing to spring. My eyes opened wide. There was nothing I could do.

  Except reach behind me and twist Heinrich’s package.

  The ghul yelped, and I hunched forward. The Vijon sailed past my head and into Heinie’s waiting mouth.

  His legs went limp around me. I slid out of his grasp.

  The horny worm was already halfway inside the ghul’s mouth, burrowing deeper and deeper. A bulge traveled down Heinrich’s throat. His eyes focused on me. “I’ve left you … something … to remember me by …,” he choked out the words.

  “What are you talking about?” Probably just delirium.

  His eyes grew vacant, his face expressionless. Then his body convulsed and he was still. Hollowed out. Empty.

  I cuffed the ghul’s body to the bed, just to be on the safe side.

  “Maybe that’ll teach you not to bite off more than you can chew.”

  One down, two to go. My brother and my would-never-be boyfriend.

  I slipped into my clothes.

  I had a dance to go to.

  ****

  Ground Zero was packed. At least a hundred and fifty students and faculty jammed Montefuego’s Great Hall, which looked like a hung over Party City had barfed all over it. Streamers, balloons, and every other conceivable tacky decoration known to humankind dripped from the vaulted ceiling. A huge seasick-green banner above the stage at the far end proudly proclaimed:

  Welcome To A Bright New Future

  Hmmm. Guess this year’s theme was Irony. Pushing through the unsuspecting sheep downing spiked punch at the refreshment station, hoppin’ to the beat on the dance floor, and googly-eyeing each other without the slightest inkling the apocalypse was about to put a damper on all the post-dance drinking and groping, I felt like I’d crashed Carrie’s prom.

  How the hell was I going to get them all out of here without causing a panic?

  I spied Cassie through the crowd, sitting alone in a far corner, looking like she belonged at a wake instead of a dance. Appropriate, all things considered.

  She stood when I reached her, wiping away charcoal tears from raccoon eyes. “I have nothing to say to you.”

  I grabbed her arm. “Cass, please. Just give me a minute.” Truth be told, that was about all I could spare.

  Her eyes burned through me. She wrenched her arm free and sat back down. “Talk fast and leave even faster.”

  I pulled out a chair beside hers and turned it around, sitting with my chest propped against the backrest. “I know you’re pissed, and you should be. But I promise you, I never set out to snake you. I really tried to avoid Alexei. But there was this chemical thing going on. I can’t explain it. It just happened. I’m truly sorry, Cass. You’re my girl and I screwed you over. If it makes you feel any better, I’m not going to see him.”

  The fire in her eyes cooled to embers. “Papi, I get how you and Lex could be attracted to each other. You’re both hotties.” Her eyes dropped to the table. “The truth is, you and I both have relationship issues. You have a hard time connecting with someone emotionally, and me? Let’s just say I’ve been known to move a little too fast when I like someone.” Her eyes crept up to mine. A hint of a smile touched her lips.

  I held up my hand and pressed the balls of my thumb and index finger together. “Just a tad.” I grinned. Then I took hold of her hands, brushing her knuckles with a soft k
iss. “Are we good, gorgeous?”

  Cassie shrugged. “I’m sure I’ll be okay after a few Long Island Iced Teas and some major ass kissing by you, say like for the rest of your life.” Her smile finally broke through.

  “It’s a date. My puckered lips, your melon butt, forever.”

  Her laughter faded. “Things might not be so easy with Marco.”

  My stomach tightened. “I need to talk to him. How is he? I haven’t seen him.”

  She smacked my arm. “Coño, how do you think he’s doing? He’s crushed. Devastated. He finally has the guts to admit his feelings for you and then he catches you making out with Mr. Studly Centerfold. It’s going to take him a long time to get over this.”

  “Yo! Where the hell have you two been? Let’s Party!”

  Nah. It couldn’t be. I turned.

  It was.

  Marco.

  But not the everyday, ordinary, garden variety Marco. Nuh uh. Someone had taken our cute, wholesome little Marco and given him an Extreme Bad Boy Makeover. He was decked out in sleek black leather, complete with trench coat and boots. His blond hair was slicked and spiked. Maybe it was the lighting, but his skin glowed as if it’d been airbrushed. I flashbacked to that scene in that classic musical, Grease, when Sandy transformed from homely to hot stuff. My chills were definitely multiplying.

  Marco strutted over. Yep. Strutted. I shot a do-you-know-what-the-hell-is-going- on look at Cassie. She downed her drink and reciprocated with a beats-the-crap-out-of-me one.

  He slinked into a seat, bobbing his head and tapping his fingers on the table to the beat of the latest boy band sensation. “So what’s with the constipated faces?” He smirked.

  I was starting to suspect he was high. If my betrayal had turned him on to some shit, I’d never forgive myself. “Are you feeling okay, Marco?”

  “I feel great. For the first time in my life I feel alive.”

  Cassie and I locked eyes. I’m sure we were both thinking intervention.

  “It’s just that you were pretty upset earlier about what happened,” Cassie said.

  Marco dismissed her with a wave of his hand. “Juvenile shit. Besides,” he turned to me and winked, “I don’t think I’m ready to settle down just yet.” He sprang to his feet. “I wanna dance.”

  Before I could protest, Marco grabbed both Cassie’s and my hands and was pulling us into the grinding throng.

  “Hey, Beaumont!” Max Zimmerman shouted as we passed him and his coven clan, Kara Drake, Suzy Carvalho, and Brent- Burn-out-Van-Sant. “Careful you don’t trip over your feet,” he snorted, elbowing Burn-out, who grinned vacantly at his buddy’s comedic prowess.

  Marco halted, staring Max down. “Dag actually has to worry about tripping over his dick, which,” his eyes traveled to Max’s groin, “from what I’ve seen in the locker room, is not something you’ll ever have a problem with.”

  Kara’s and Suzy’s hands flew to their mouths to muffle their cackles. Marco shoved past the red-faced Zimmerman, making sure he stepped on his foot, and led us to the middle of the dance floor.

  We started swaying, Cassie in the middle, Marco facing her, and me playing caboose. What the hell was I doing? I didn’t have time for this. I scanned the crowd, searching for signs of the Reich. Marco’s eyes met mine over Cassie’s shoulder, deep and penetrating, intoxicating shards of icy blue. I felt myself pulling closer to him, drawn to his glistening lips. The Reich could wait. All I wanted to do was taste the sweetness of that mouth again.

  I forced myself to blink. What the hell was the matter with me?

  The lighting went to hell. One second the hall was bathed in brilliant color, the next, everything went dark and stroby. It was disorienting, images coming in flashing fragments of light. Transluscent wings. Flashing fangs. The glint of metal. This wasn’t just some cool D.J. lighting effect. The Reich was making its move.

  I tugged Marco and Cassie by their arms. “I need you two to get the hell out of Dodge. Now.”

  Cassie’s eyes saucered. “Dag, you’re scaring me.”

  I turned to Marco. “Just do it. Leave.”

  Marco smirked. “Your wish is my command.” He took Cassie by the hand and disappeared into the crowd.

  Jostling through the unsuspecting dancers, I leapt onto the stage, tearing the microphone from its stand. The piercing whine of feedback blared through the hall speakers, cutting off the music. “Everybody listen to me. We’re under attack. Proceed to the nearest exits immediately.”

  There was a moment of stunned silence. The strobing increased in speed, revealing snapshots of frightened faces and dark shapes flitting between them.

  Then the whole crowd burst into laughter.

  “I’m serious. This isn’t a joke,” I shouted into the mic.

  That only amped up the hooting.

  “Get off the stage!” a voice suspiciously similar to Max Zimmerman’s shouted. “Loser!” yelled another.

  I glimpsed Limp Dix barreling through the mob toward me. Three Reich agents closed in from behind.

  Why couldn’t things ever be easy?

  “Dagger,” a deep baritone called from across the room.

  That bastard Alexei.

  The moment our eyes connected, he whirled, heading for the exit doors.

  There was no way I could plow through this crowd and reach him in time.

  Unless—

  Limp Dix climbed the stairs onto the stage, lumbering toward me. The two ghuls and the faerie behind me drew their weapons. I was cornered.

  My eyes darted from my Headmaster to the enemy. “Guess I’m in trouble.” I grabbed the mic stand in one hand to use as a makeshift weapon and jumped, clutching the banner overhead in the other hand. Then I was swinging over the heads’ of the crowd, careening toward the other side of the room. Before I reached it, the banner tore, sending me tumbling right into a ghul about to put the bite on Amber Preston.

  Pushing her aside, I shoved the silver tip of the mic stand into the ghul’s heart. He evaporated in a flurry of dust, right in Amber’s face. With her reputation as a coke whore, I probably wouldn’t have to worry about any trace evidence.

  Alexei disappeared through the exit doors.

  I pulled the fire alarm and followed him, just as the strobing melded into a blinding pulse that sent me stumbling outside. No. I was too late. I picked myself up and rushed back through the doors.

  The Great Hall was empty. Every trace of people, both living and undead, had been eradicated, leaving everything else perfectly intact. Il Evanidus was online. My classmates had been merely a dress rehearsal, like Ginny and the others on Roanoake Island hundreds of years ago.

  The rest of the world was next.

  Brushing hot tears from my face, I staggered back outside, catching a glimpse of Alexei rounding the corner of the west wing. The corner which dead-ended at the stairwell leading up to the Tower.

  I trembled with rage. He was going to pay for all the lives he’d taken.

  As I raced after him, one thought burned in my brain.

  Had Alexei not called my name, I’d have disappeared along with the others.

  Chapter Twenty

  I took the stairs two at a time, twisting up the spiraling steps which died at the entrance to the West Tower room. Muffled voices teased from the other side of the door. I pressed my ear to the cold wood.

  Definitely a male voice. Angry. And was that a woman’s voice, pleading?

  My hand found the doorknob and twisted, expecting a deadbolt’s denial.

  Click.

  The door was unlocked. I wedged it open a fraction of an inch, mindful of any telltale creaks, and peeked in.

  Professor Delacroix sat slumped in a chair, haggard and bruised. Alexei stood over her, gun pressed to her temple.

  “This is the last time I’m going to ask. Do it now, or I wallpaper this tower with your brains,” he spat.

  Her lips quivered, but her eyes defied. “Never. You’ve betrayed us all.”

  He shrugge
d. “Have it your way. I guess this time, you’re history.”

  He cocked the gun.

  I kicked open the door and launched myself at him, knocking the weapon from his hand.

  The cruelty on his face turned to shock and confusion. I decided I preferred pain and anguish.

  “Dagger? What are you—?”

  Smack!

  My right fist connected with his chin. Hmmm, I’d always wanted to touch that cleft.

  He dropped to his knees. “Uuunh …. Dag …listen …” he squirmed.

  But I didn’t want to hear anything this lying sack of shit had to say. I spun and kicked him in the jaw. His head snapped back, and he fell on his ass.

  “You … don’t … understand …” he rasped. Still on the ground, he held up his hand, the great and mighty Alexei Dimirov, groveling for mercy. I’d show him the same mercy he and his buddies had shown Aristede and my mom. The same mercy they’d shown all my classmates at the dance.

  “Shut your dirty mouth, murderer.” I batted his hand away and flung myself on top of him, pummeling his face and body with my fists. “My mother and partner are dying because of you—” whomp, “— people I worked with are dead—” smack, “—everyone I went to school with gone—” whack! Tears scorched my face. “You made me believe in you—” thwack, “— made me want to l-l-let—” punch, “—you—” slap, “—in.”

  Alexei collapsed, blood streaming from his nose, his lips. I searched his eyes for a glimpse of what made the monster tick. But all I found there was a question: why?

  “Dagger,” he whispered, and slumped into unconsciousness.

  I stumbled off him, rising to my feet, his blood suddenly warm on my hands. Why hadn’t he fought back? Any why did the sight of him lying helpless make me feel sick instead of triumphant?

  “Mr. Beaumont,” a soft voice called behind me. Delacroix. “Please. Help me.”

  I ran over to her, grateful to have something else to focus on. “Are you okay?” I loosened the restraints binding her hands to the armrests.

  “Much better now, thanks to you.” She rubbed her wrists. “I thought he was going to kill me.”