Savage: An Urban Fantasy Novel (The Solumancer Cycle Book 2)

by J. C. Staudt

  A carpeted staircase descends into darkness. Pretty sure I’m the only one in the downstairs group who can’t naturally see in the dark, so I let Shenn and Urdal lead the way. Fremantle is huge and heavy on the staircase behind me, her stony wings scraping the walls as her joints make soft grinding sounds.

  The hallway at the bottom of the stairs splits left and right. Shenn leads us left; we pass a home theater with cushioned leather chairs and a panoramic screen, then a king-sized guest suite with a ribbon-lit tray ceiling, on our way into a huge L-shaped lounge where a wet bar and sectional couch flank billiard and ping-pong tables. It’s the luxury version of everything I could ever want in a basement.

  Urdal flips the light switch, and the recessed baffles blare to life.

  Shenn whips her katana past the orc’s nose and flicks off the switch. “Don’t touch that. In fact, don’t touch anything.”

  French doors look onto the backyard, where a two-level deck wraps around the sculpted contours of a waterfall swimming pool, complete with night lighting. I didn’t know vampires went swimming. This pool strikes me as especially out of place given their aversion to running water. Keeping up appearances, I guess. Even more suspicious is why the pool is filled in the middle of a Michigan winter. Then I notice the wisps of steam rising from the surface. It’s heated.

  We spread out to search the big L-shaped lounge room. Around the corner, a framed panel holding the billiard rack and pool cues is mounted to the back wall. There’s something not quite right about it.

  I try pushing; it doesn’t budge. But when I grab the panel’s beveled edge and pull, the whole thing swings outward. The door behind it looks like any normal interior door, except it’s bolted and clasped with industrial-grade locks. “Found something,” I whisper.

  The others gather.

  “I’ll open it,” Urdal offers. He points his shotgun at the padlock.

  Shenn grabs him by the shoulder. “Wait. Wait. Urdal, don’t—”

  Urdal fires. The shotgun rings blisteringly loud through the low-ceilinged room. Buckshot ricochets off the padlock with the sort of pwang I thought only happened in old spaghetti westerns. Everyone recoils except Fremantle, who grunts as a lead pellet bounces off her stone face. The padlock is now dented but nowhere near broken.

  “Urdal, you numbnuts,” Shenn shouts, smacking the orc upside the head. “You’re going to attract every vampire for miles.”

  Fremantle wipes something oily from the pellet mark in her skin. “If there are vampires nearby, they already know we’re here.”

  “Give me that.” I grab Urdal’s shotgun and pump the action to eject the old shell and chamber a new one. “That’s not how you breach a door.” I angle the barrel above the lock, pointing downward toward the spot where the tongue pierces the doorjamb. “This is how you breach a door. Stand back.”

  “Put the gun down and move aside, stupid human,” says Fremantle.

  She barely gives me time to stumble out of the way before she bulldozes a six-foot hole through wood and metal, breaking locks, frame, and all. From inside the pitch-black room beyond, she shakes a corner of the doorframe off her foot and turns back to me, red eyes glinting in the dark. “That’s how you breach a door.”

  “That’s how you breach a door,” Urdal corrects her. “The rest of us have to work with what we’ve got.”

  Fremantle appraises the orc with a look. “Don’t work too hard.”

  Urdal bares his tusks in a snorting laugh.

  “You two can flirt later,” says Shenn. “Urdal, go keep watch.” She follows Fremantle through the doorway and finds a light switch on the wall.

  It’s the classic setup: bare concrete floors, stained drywall, naked lightbulb dangling from the ceiling, plastic bucket in the corner. A mattress sags on a rusted bed frame beneath the weight of an unconscious man whose arms and legs are riddled with bruises and needle marks. He isn’t thin or malnourished, yet his lethargy in the wake of our noisy break-in speaks of his exhaustion.

  “That’s him,” I say. “That’s Lorne. Let’s get him out of here.”

  Shenn nudges me with the butt of a handgun. “Take this. Fremantle will carry him.”

  I take the weapon, a Glock 17.

  “We’re a Glock shop,” says Shenn. “Hope you can hack it.”

  “Right up my alley,” I say, racking the slide.

  “When it comes to solving your problems, they say there’s no such thing as a silver bullet. We’ve got supernatural problems, and ten-thousand silver-plated rounds in the depot back home that say that theory’s bullshit.”

  “Back home? In that tiny bungalow I picked you up from?”

  Shenn smirks. “Yeah… that wasn’t my house.”

  “Vamps incoming,” Urdal shouts from the room outside. “Let’s get moving.”

  “Got him?” Shenn asks Fremantle.

  “Do I got him… Pf-f-ft.” The gargoyle bends to scoop Lorne into her arms with all the care and ease of a mother with her infant.

  There’s a distant pop-pop, followed by the dug-dug-dug of assault weapons fire.

  “That’ll be Des and Ryovan,” says Shenn. “Time to blow this Popsicle stand.”

  We file out of the dungeon room and cross the lounge toward the stairs. Something outside catches my eye, a flash of movement in the rippling glow of the pool lights. Urdal and I duck behind the couch, guns trained on the glass-paned French doors which serve as our only window to the outside, while Shenn and Fremantle slip past us down the hall.

  More gunfire from above. I barely know these people—these Guardians. I’ve got so many questions about how they found me and what they want with me, but I can’t help worrying about Ryovan and Officer Dolman, and even the little flying devil who tried to save me from the vamps at Megatavern. While their motives aren’t clear, their hatred for Mottrov and their desire to rescue Lorne and I couldn’t be more crystal, and for that they’ve earned a shred of my trust. As things currently stand, they’re my best and only chance of making it out of this alive.

  Chapter 17

  There are vampires in the backyard. I can hear them climbing the sides of the house, heaving themselves upward on powerful arms. Urdal breaks from the couch, backing down the hallway behind Fremantle with his shotgun low and ready. I break last and back down after him, handgun trained on the French doors.

  “I don’t think anyone knows we’re down here,” I whisper.

  No sooner have I said it than both doors shatter inward beneath the force of a pair of charging vamps. I put two silver bullets in the first. Urdal steps up and fires a blast over my shoulder at the second, singeing my ear hair and rendering me newly deaf on the right side. Both vampires twitch and stagger to the ground as the silver burns through them.

  Shenn waggles her head and speaks in a mocking tone. “I don’t think anyone knows we’re down here.”

  “You were cooler when we were dating.”

  “You were cooler… let’s see… never.”

  “Shut it, children,” says Fremantle, trudging up the carpeted staircase toward the main level.

  I squint through the shattered double doors into the backyard beyond. Where the pool lights fade near the distant stone wall surrounding the compound, I see something I’d rather not believe. There are shadows pouring over the wall. And when I say pouring, I don’t mean like a watering can or a faucet. I’m talking full-on Niagara mode.

  “Are those vampires?” I ask, turning around.

  Everyone’s gone.

  “Guys? Hey guys?”

  Footsteps creak up the stairs. I round the corner to find Urdal nearing the top behind Shenn and Fremantle. I sprint up after them. “Wait for me.”

  “Keep up, stupid human,” says Fremantle.

  The main level is quiet. Through the depths of its maze-like floor plan, whispers of the approaching tide fill every room and hallway. I’ve fought hordes of demons, herds of goat-men, and a mob of zombified homeless people. Against this many vampires, I’m not sure
there’s a weapon or spell in existence capable of putting a dent in them. Fortunately I don’t have too much time to let the thought bother me, because Ryovan and Des come stampeding down the stairs, stowing their empty magazines and jamming new ones into place.

  “There are tons of them out there,” says Ryovan, panting. “Feels like half the coven sent their minions after us. They’re coming from every side.”

  “Every side but one,” says Des, looking to Fremantle.

  The gargoyle rolls her red eyes. “Yeah, we’re screwed. Oh, wait. Raise your hand if you can fly.” She demonstrates, cradling Lorne in her other arm.

  Githryx raises his hand too, flashing a vacant smile.

  “Climb on, freeloaders.”

  “Climb on what?” I ask.

  Fremantle grimaces. Her veined wings explode from her shoulder blades, showering me with stone fragments as they extend to a span of almost thirty feet. “I’ve got a rocket in my pocket.”

  Shenn swivels a jazz hand. “Eh.”

  Fremantle frowns. “Too much?”

  “Sounds try-hard.”

  “I’ll work on it.” The gargoyle turns to me. “Get on, stupid human.”

  “On… your back?”

  “No, on my tail.”

  I laugh.

  She doesn’t.

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  Somewhere nearby, glass breaks. Wood splinters. Hinges squeal. Apparently Mottrov wants us extinguished, and he’ll worry about the damage to his house later.

  Ryovan opens fire on a cluster of charging vampires. They don’t fall twitching to the floor like the others. His bullets blow holes in them, and they topple over bleeding and lie still.

  “Did you change ammo?” I ask.

  Ryovan shakes his head, fires another burst. “Those were thralls.”

  “What’s a thrall?”

  “A human under a vampire’s control. A thrall is a vampire’s eyes, ears, and lunch. They use them as servants, spies, and blood bags.”

  “Cade,” Shenn cuts in. “Will you stop asking questions and get out of here? Go. Now.”

  Cade. She called me Cade.

  Fremantle takes a knee. “Let me make it easier for you. On my back.”

  I look at Shenn in alarm. “What are the rest of you going to do?”

  “Fight our way out. We’ve got a van parked down the street.”

  “You’ll never get through them all.”

  She shrugs. “We’re sure as hell going to try.”

  Ryovan, Des, and Urdal form a protective triangle around the rest of us. They open fire as mixed groups of thralls and lesser vampires converge from all directions. Our enemies spill through the foyer. They advance up the hallway from the kitchen. They emerge from the house’s west wing to vault over furniture and race across the open living room. Githryx is winking in and out, leaving behind sulfurous clouds and taking a vamp or a thrall with him each time he vanishes.

  I raise my gun and tag a thrall through the neck. “I’m staying. Get Lorne out of here.”

  Fremantle frowns, but stands with a grunt. “I’ll bring Baz.”

  Ryovan nods. “Go. We’ll cover you.”

  “Who’s Baz?” I ask, but the noise of Fremantle’s wings drowns me out.

  Her feet leave the ground. Lamps and picture frames and throw pillows and wall hangings topple over and skid away in the rush of wind. It’s a good thing this is a huge house with huge rooms, because each of her wings is longer than I am tall. She pumps a few times to build momentum before rising to the two-story ceiling and latching onto the wall.

  From there she climbs across to the foyer, cradling Lorne in one arm. Her every hand and footfall lands like a sledgehammer against the crumbling plaster. Vampires take to the walls around her, climbing on all fours. She reaches out to slap them away with the tips of her wings. Ryovan pinpoints the ones she misses, dropping them one after another before they can get close.

  Fremantle’s coloring changes to match the wall color as she moves, a chameleon act which puts her within a shade or two of the off-white paint, albeit with a stony texture. Against a backdrop of stone, she’d be invisible. When she reaches the ceiling above the entry staircase, she launches herself into a dive through the semi-circular transom light above the front doors. The last glimpse I catch of her and Lorne is when she spreads her wings and settles into a glide, vanishing into the night.

  That’s when I fire my last round. The Glock’s slide locks back. “Got another mag?”

  Shenn cuts a vamp’s leg off at the knee and kicks it in the chest. “Busy.”

  Many of the fallen vampires are rising again, shrugging off their wounds as though the silver burning inside them is nothing more than an annoying rash.

  “They’re not dying,” I shout. “Why aren’t they dying?”

  “The silver doesn’t kill them,” says Shenn, “just paralyzes them for a while.”

  “Do you want me to kill them?”

  “You don’t know much about vampires, do you?”

  “I know enough to stay away from them.”

  “If I had a flamethrower, I could show you how to kill some vamps.”

  “I’ve got one,” I say, pocketing the Glock and sidling up to Urdal. “Mind if I touch you?”

  “Huh?” he asks, reloading his shotgun.

  Drawing magic off a live othersider is like reaching into the pants-pocket of someone you don’t know. It’s rude. It can also make them sick for days. But the vampires are sprinting down the hallway from the kitchen faster than Urdal can shoot them, and they’ll be on us soon if I don’t do something.

  Desperate times, and all. I grab him by the back of the neck and unleash a stream of fire from my other hand. The flame shifts from purple to blue to bright red. It’s got orc written all over it—random and volatile and unpredictable and much, much stronger than I expected. The fire expands to fill the hallway and gushes out the other end, dousing our foes and dismantling their charge. The vampires don’t scream while they burn. They take it like champs. The thralls are a different story. Urdal stares at me, blinking and wild-eyed. He snorts a giddy laugh. “That was wonderful. Do it again.”

  “Turn this way,” I tell him.

  We pivot toward the living room, where Officer Des is having her own troubles keeping up with the rush. She’s out of ammo for her AR-15 and is putting down thralls with her handgun. “Bring that business over here,” she shouts.

  “Hold onto your eyebrows.”

  I sweep my arm in a wide arc to bathe the chairs and couches. The fire fluctuates in color and temperature as I draw from Urdal’s capricious supply. The coffee table’s tempered-glass top bursts, and the herati-patterned area rug beneath it kindles flame. The wood floors begin to burn. Everything’s burning, furniture and walls and vampires and thralls, and the air is getting too hot to breathe.

  Ryovan’s rifle clicks empty. “I’m out.”

  I pull Urdal to the front and spew fire into the foyer. Vampires climb the walls to escape it, rising over our heads like roaches. Ryovan draws a combat knife while Urdal empties his shotgun, putting more holes in the ceiling plaster than the vampires.

  “Well done,” Shenn shouts. “Now we’re trapped.”

  A vampire drops onto Des’s shoulders, driving her to the floor. Shenn hacks at its neck, but her sword gets stuck a third of the way through, smoking as it renders the vampire paralyzed. Des rises with surprising strength and heaves the vampire onto a flaming couch, where it sizzles and burns.

  “Can you make a water spell?” Urdal suggests. “You could clear us a path.”

  “Too unpredictable. We could take a steam bath and get scalded to death.”

  Urdal coughs, waving a hand in front of his face. “Better than choking to it.”

  “Too bad we don’t have a metric ton of baking soda,” says Des.

  “Sorry,” I say. “I skipped out on culinary magic school.”

  “We don’t need baking soda,” says Shenn. “Just water.
”

  “I told you, if I cast a water spell—”

  “I’m not talking about spells. I’m talking about the swimming pool.”

  “What about it?”

  “Follow me. Unless you’ve got a better idea.”

  I don’t. And since I’d rather not kill Urdal before I’ve gotten to know him, I’ll lay off on drawing from him again for now. He seems to like me. I doubt that’ll last when his magic hangover starts in a couple hours.

  Shenn backtracks to the basement door and shoulders through, shielding her face from the fire working its way down the hall. As the only members of our group armed with silvered blades, she and Ryovan take the lead down the stairs. Githryx brings up the rear, slamming the door behind him and bracing himself against the stairwell with his feet and wings to hold it closed.

  The basement lounge is empty. Faint impressions in the carpet are the only traces of the vampires we wounded earlier. Smoke trickles through the air ducts. The ceiling creaks. Cold air billows inside through the shattered French doors. The pool lights ripple, gleaming against the night. It’s too quiet out there for my liking.

  “Shenn and I will go first,” Ryovan says. “We’ll hold off anything we find along the way so the rest of you can get to the pool.” He raises his voice. “Githryx?”

  “Me,” Githryx shouts down from the top of the stairs, where the door he’s holding is being torn to shreds.

  “We’re heading for the pool,” Ryovan shouts up. “You know what to do.”

  “Swimming,” Githryx replies.

  “Not that this isn’t a fine winter’s night for a swim,” I remark, “but what the hell are we doing?”

  “Are you really this clueless about vampires, or are you just pretending?”

  “I’m familiar with the whole running water deal. Vampires can’t cross it without a boat. So say we make it to the pool. What then?”

  “As I mentioned, better ideas are welcome. Rescuing you and Lorne from a vampire’s mansion wasn’t part of the plan.”