by J. C. Staudt
“Not until we know what they want from you. Perhaps they’re mistaken, or simply bluffing.”
“You think orcs and goblins have the sophistication to bluff?”
“They’ve got the sophistication to ride bicycles.”
“Good point. Canton and East Jefferson is down by the riverfront, near Belle Isle. That’s a ways outside the Warrendale neighborhood.”
“Indeed it is. I’d better come with you. Whoever this is and whatever their intent, they’ve chosen a bloody strange way of getting in touch.”
Several hours later I park the hearse on the corner of Canton Street and East Jefferson Avenue to find nothing but an empty grass lot beside an abandoned white brick building. The takeout Chinese food restaurant on the adjacent corner is locked up for the night, doors and windows barred. Across the wide lanes of East Jefferson Avenue, a waist-high chain link fence surrounds a huge tract of land where weeds poke through cracks in the asphalt of a decimated parking lot. A padlocked gate spans the turnoff, at the far side of which the scenic Detroit River flows beneath the MacArthur Bridge between the mainland and Belle Isle.
“What now?” I ask.
“Open the windows.”
“All of them?”
He shoots me a look.
It’s freezing cold outside, but I know better than to question Ersatz at a moment like this. I zip up my jacket and bounce my legs while he sniffs the frosty air, slithering toward the back of the hearse. He raises up on his hind legs to look out the rear window. “I smell othersiders.”
“Goblins?”
Ersatz shakes his head. “Something… harder. What’s the time?”
“Eleven fifty-eight. What do you mean harder?”
“There. Look.”
I turn to look across the street. Moonlight illuminates a group of dark-clad figures as they shuffle through the weed-strewn parking lot. They’re carrying something, but I can’t tell what. There’s no one else around besides the occasional late-night car rattling down the avenue. “Should we get out?”
“Have you taken your pills?”
I drain half a water bottle choking down the two fat gelcaps filled with a custom residue mixture we’ve brewed up special for tonight. It’s go time.
Ersatz climbs into the passenger seat. “Open sesame.”
I unzip my jacket halfway, and he slithers inside.
The night is bitter, one of those bleak northern Februaries where the wind cuts right through you. I’m not sure whether to lock the hearse because of the part of town we’re in, or leave it unlocked for my inevitable getaway. I roll up the windows and leave it unlocked. I could do worse than to see the day this thing gets stolen.
Looking both ways—safety first—I jog across the street and crouch before the padlocked gate in the chain link fence, on which a white sign with red and black lettering reads:
WARNING!
PORTIONS OF THIS SITE CONTAIN
HAZARDOUS SUBSTANCES
NO TRESPASSING
The streetlamps don’t reach very far into the huge empty lot, but from here I can tell the figures are wearing heavy coats and gloves over dark business suits. They lower their burden to the cracked asphalt and disperse. It’s a woman, pale and unconscious in blue jeans and a beige turtleneck sweater, long blonde hair bunched beneath her head. Her bearers leave her lying there and turn back across the open parking lot in the direction they came from.
I’m hesitant to intervene; something about this situation doesn’t ring of being summoned to a secret midnight meeting. If I stay where I am there’s a chance the figures won’t notice me. But even in that sweater the woman is going to freeze to death out here if I don’t do something. I climb the waist-high gate and vault over to the No Trespassing side. “Hey dickweeds. A gentleman ought to offer a lady his coat.”
They exchange looks. They appear human, though in the runny-nose cold the only thing I can smell is Ersatz fuming in my coat. When the closest figure pulls a gun it becomes clear they’re not open to discussing the terms of their surrender. “This is none of your business,” he says. “Get lost.”
“You just made it my business, pal. You want to play?”
They spread out and come at me, unaware of the perfect remedy I’ve got for a cold night like this one. I wave one hand to spray an arc of sticky black tar across the asphalt in front of me. When I snap my fingers, sparks flash from my hand toward the ground.
A wall of flame hisses across the asphalt, lighting the dark lot and shielding me from their advance. I step back as the heat tickles my eyebrows. The wall rises twelve feet into the air, blocking my view to the far side. “What are they?” I ask.
“Humans,” Ersatz whispers back.
“I thought you smelled othersiders.”
“Those aren’t the othersiders,” he says, poking his head out of my jacket. “Those are the othersiders.”
The asphalt begins to move. Lumps the size of basketballs bubble up from the flat pavement and sprout craggy arms and legs, opening eyes and mouths which are little more than dark recesses in a stony veneer. The little creatures run and roll and charge willy-nilly, wearing crowns of flame as they crack together like bowling balls. They’re cute, in a way. But letting an othersider fool you with its lovable exterior is a good way to get yourself killed.
“Rocklings,” Ersatz clarifies.
“What do they do?”
“If you don’t leave now, I fear you’ll soon find out in a most unpleasant manner.”
The men behind my wall of fire don’t want to play bumper cars with the rocklings. They sprint through the flames in a panic, wool and polyester igniting. Ersatz’s advice might be sound, but I’m not leaving without the girl. I circle around the firewall while flaming business suits scream after me and little rock creatures bumrush our legs. I vault and hurdle to avoid them as they giggle with high-pitched glee, rugby players in the scrum battering knees and crushing toes and breaking ankles.
What kind of magic do you use against living stone?
My mind races to determine a form of magic effective against living stone. A water spell isn’t going to erode the rock monsters to death, plus it’ll only spread the grease fire. A shockwave spell will knock them back and buy me some time, but not enough. I need something stronger.
Then it hits me. Miners have a tried-and-true method for getting rid of all the pesky stone in their way. I can emulate it with magic.
I sprint for the girl, drawing a huge uptake from the residue pills to form a pressurized globe in my hands infused with an orange magmatic glow. I twist and dive, hurling the globe toward the cluster of rocklings on my tail. The blast craters the asphalt, lifting me as it sends chunks of rockling across East Jefferson Avenue.
I skid across the pavement and roll to a stop beside the girl. The back of my jacket is smoldering, but with no time to put myself out I scoop her up in my arms and head for the gate. She’s not heavy, but climbing a waist-high fence carrying a hundred pounds and change is no simple feat with rocklings assembling for another round. “Ersatz. A little help.”
He claws up my chest and launches himself off my shoulder, casting a spell as he soars toward the locked gate. When the black tongue of arcane energy slithers from his mouth and pierces the padlock’s keyhole, the lock falls open and the chains slouch through the bars. Ersatz snags the gate in his claws and flaps it open so I can slip through. He flutters to rest on my shoulder as I trudge across the street.
The woman is getting heavier by the step, but when the rocklings reach the fence line they come no further. I don’t look back to see what’s become of the men, though I imagine it isn’t pretty. I pop the hearse’s tailgate and slide the unconscious woman into the back. She’s pale, but there’s warmth in her cheeks.
My jacket smolders against the driver’s seat as I shift the vehicle into drive and take off down Canton Street. I can’t imagine who sent the orc cyclist with the ribbon or why they wanted me here tonight, but it’s safe to say this meeting has
gone nothing like I expected. Nor do I feel any closer to finding out what in hell happened to Lorne Savage.
Chapter 10
The woman is asleep on my couch the next morning when a red-breasted finch lands outside my living room window and taps on the glass. When I let the little bird inside, it alights on the back of my armchair and transforms into a crouched Quimby Takkanopoulis. The chair slides out from under him, and he crashes to the floor with a tremendous thud.
The woman groans and opens her eyes, rubbing her head.
Quim pops his head up from behind the overturned chair, doing the same.
Ersatz slithers behind the entertainment center to hide.
The woman sits up, blinks, and looks around in a panic. She doesn’t notice the address Calyxto scrawled across the wall behind her in red paint. “Who—who are you? Where am I?”
“It’s alright,” I tell her, taking a seat on the coffee table. “I’m not going to hurt you. My name’s Arden.”
“Arden.” She repeats, as if the name has struck a familiar chord. “Arden… Savage?”
“Yeah,” I say, astonished.
She stares at me with equal astonishment. “Lorne’s brother?”
“Uh huh.”
“How did you find me?”
“This the girl?” Quim interjects, noticing the red-painted address but keeping his mouth shut about it.
She jumps at the sound of his voice.
“Hey, Quim, thanks for coming over. Yeah, this is her.”
“Hi. I’m Quim. Arden’s best friend.”
“Paige Tarpley,” she says, shaking his hand.
“Whoa, hold on,” I say. “You’re Paige?”
She glances from me to Quim and back again. “Yeah. Why? What’s going on here?”
“That’s what I’d like to know. Are you and Lorne dating?”
She laughs. “Dating? Why would we be dating?”
“He said you were, uh… sleeping together.”
“Oh, what a liar,” she says aloud, then groans and clutches her forehead.
“Lie down. I don’t know what those guys did to you last night, but they left you in bad shape. Who were they?”
A blank stare. “Who were who?”
“You don’t remember. Half a dozen guys dumped you in an abandoned lot by the riverfront. I chased them off and brought you back here so you could warm up.”
“This is crazy,” she says. “You’re the brother of the guy I got abducted with, and you randomly found me outside.”
“You and Lorne were abducted? By who?”
“That’s what Lorne wanted my help figuring out. It’s how we got into this whole mess.”
“You’d better start at the beginning. I heard you met him at an art exhibit.”
“Sure, I go to art shows sometimes. I like to cut loose every now and then.” She smiles. “I met Lorne at the Muncie Gallery a few weeks ago. We got to talking, and it turned out I had connections with some people he wanted to meet.”
“Did you see each other this past Friday night?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know where he is?”
She hesitates. Something in her look lets me know there’s more to this than she wants to let on.
“When was the last time you saw him?”
Her face is knit with concern. “I… I can’t remember.”
“What did you do on Friday night? What happened?”
She shuts her eyes, shakes her head.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pressure you. Take your time.”
A heavy sigh. “I was helping him find out what your sister’s involved in. He thought she might be in trouble.”
“What sort of trouble?”
“Apparently one of her old high school friends invited her to a meeting a few weeks ago with this group who calls themselves the Order of the Raven.”
Quim’s eyes light up. He’s righted my armchair and is sitting in it now, leaning forward on his knees.
I produce the slip of paper I found in Lorne’s kitchen garbage can. “This your handwriting?”
She looks at the name, nods. “Giga Motts is the group’s founder.”
“His real name is Gilbert Mottrov,” says Quim. “He owns Mottrov Multinational.”
“I know. My dad works for him. That’s why Lorne was so interested in me. He said his sister had been going to these town-hall-style meetings in the old Civic Center. They meet every Friday night and once a month on Sundays. He was worried about her because he’d heard some shady things about the Order of the Raven. Us spending time together was a sore subject with his girlfriend, and he didn’t want his best friend to know what we were doing either because their new company plans to subcontract with Mottrov Multinational. Since he didn’t seem to have anyone else to go to, I offered to help.”
I wonder why Lorne didn’t feel like he could come to me. Maybe he didn’t want me worrying about Carmine if it turned out there was nothing to be worried over.
“We went to the meeting on Friday,” Paige continues, “but they wouldn’t let us in because we weren’t vetted members of the group or invited guests. Your brother isn’t the type to give up just because someone tells him no. I’m sure you knew that already.”
I nod.
“So we went snooping around, looking for an entrance someone might’ve left unlocked. No such luck. We ended up running into a couple of security guards who cornered us. I don’t remember much after that. They separated us. The rest is a blur. Then I woke up here. Do you think they dumped Lorne somewhere like they did with me?”
“I hope not. If they left him in the cold last night…”
She touches my arm. “Someone would’ve found him, I’m sure. Or he woke up and found someplace warm to wait out the night.” She squeezes her eyes shut and massages her temples.
“They must’ve given you a nasty wallop.” I touch my head in sympathy.
“They didn’t knock me out.” She frowns, recalling something. “They… drained me. They took so much blood.”
I hesitate to ask my next question, given the implicit nature of an organization run by vampires. “How did they take it?”
Paige extends her arms to show me the inside of her left elbow, where a constellation of red needle marks crest purple bruises. Quim shudders and looks away. I survey Paige’s neck and find no evidence of bite marks. That much is a relief.
“How did you say you found me?” she asks.
“It’s going to sound pretty weird. I got a message yesterday telling me to show up at the corner of Canton and Jefferson at midnight.”
“What kind of message?”
“A guy rode up on a bicycle and handed me a note.”
“What did he look like?”
An orc, I almost say. “Kinda ugly. Glasses. Baseball cap. Leather jacket. He didn’t talk much. Just asked me my name, gave me the note, and left.”
“Where’s the note now?”
“I—I lost it,” I stammer.
“And based on an anonymous note, you decided to show up in a strange part of town at midnight, not knowing who would be there or what would be going on?”
“It sounded urgent.”
“I would’ve stayed home and locked my door.”
“That’s what I should’ve done. The cops would’ve found a Paige-sicle in that parking lot this morning.”
She folds her arms and hugs herself, shivering.
“Sorry. I shouldn’t have put it like that.”
“I’m glad you were there, but this whole thing is freaking me out.”
“The person who sent you the message,” Quim surmises, “had to have been someone on the inside.”
“The inside of what?”
“The Order of the Raven.”
“Like a spy?”
“Yeah. How else could anyone have known they’d be in that empty lot at midnight?”
Paige considers this. “Did you see the guys who were carrying me? Could you describe them to the po
lice?”
“I didn’t get a good look at any of them. They, uh… didn’t stay long.”
She frowns. “We should call the cops. Tell them I’m alive, and report what we know so they can find Lorne. I need to see a doctor, too. Who knows what kind of dirty needles those freaks used on me.”
“Yes. Definitely. You should get checked out. And I’ll call the police. In a little while.”
Paige studies me. “In a little while? Did you not call them after you found me last night?”
I gulp.
“You didn’t. Did you?” She sits up. “What the fuck is this? Are you kidnapping me now?”
“No way. I swear. I only brought you here so I could help. You’re free to go whenever you want.”
“Then would you mind telling me what the hell’s going on?”
I could tell her Giga Motts is a vampire, and the messenger who led me to her was an orc. I could tell her the man sitting next to her was a bird a few seconds before she woke up, and the minikin dragon hiding behind the entertainment center is over two hundred years old and has been teaching me magic since I was seven. But Paige would just laugh and shake her head and call me a psycho, just like all my teachers and counselors and fellow students did growing up. Just like the police would.
“Look. I know we just met. But Lorne’s my brother, so please believe me when I say I have his best interests in mind. Same goes for Carmine. We’re into some pretty wicked stuff here, and I have my reasons for not going to the cops yet.”
“It’s been four days. Are you crazy?”
“I’m a bounty hunter. So yeah.”
She stares at me with a curious slack-jawed frown. “That’s right. Lorne mentioned that. So what can you do that the cops can’t do better? This is my father’s boss we’re talking about. If he’s running this ‘social activist group’ so he can take people’s blood without their permission, he’s committing so many crimes it’s not even funny. Mottrov Multinational makes blood-cleaning machines, you know. You think that’s a coincidence?”
“I think if we get the police involved now, there’s a chance we may never see Lorne alive again. Gilbert Mottrov is more powerful than you know. Give me a chance to look into this on my own. We’ll give it until Friday. That’s three days from now. I promise, if Lorne hasn’t turned up by then, you can file a police report, or whatever you want to do. In the meantime, I’m going to need your help.”