He pouted, his eyes unnaturally wide. He kept them that way until my own began to water, then giggled. “I hate…hate,” he said, emphasizing the word with a snarl, “making deals for other people. They don’t appreciate the craft.”
“What are you rambling about?” Alucard asked, taking a step forward as if he might snap the little man’s throat.
“He thinks he can use me,” Rumpelstiltskin said, ignoring Alucard altogether. “That his sleight-of-hand will keep everyone’s eyes away from what lies behind the curtain.” The little man clapped gleefully, hopping up and down. “But I know what Hell is.” He stopped jumping and yanked at the skin of his face, pulling at his cheeks until the scars were thick and wide across his face, the words written in bold font. “I know what Hell looks like!” he screamed.
Dorian and Magnus turned at the scream, startled.
“It’s all in the fine print,” the little man whispered, drooling absently. He looked up, met my eyes, and winked. “They traded their futures for the only thing none of them cared about…their pasts.”
With that, Rumpelstiltskin disappeared, his giggle lingering long after he left.
“Magnus!” Alucard called, his voice startlingly loud in the silence the dealmaker had left in his wake. “I think this has gone on long enough. Let’s be done with the pleasantries. I’m ready to take you on.”
Magnus cocked an eyebrow. “You’re not a Master anymore. Why should I accept?”
“No, no, this is good!” Dorian said, excitement animating his hauntingly beautiful face. “It’ll make for a great fight card. We have the Daywalker vying for the title belt, the ex-Shepherd turned vampire, and the…” Dorian peered out in my direction as if noticing me for the first time. “Excuse me, what are you?”
“She really doesn’t like that question,” Alucard advised, holding his arm out in front of me to dissuade me from firing at the legendary aestheticist.
“I wouldn’t have shot him,” I lied, glaring at my vampire companion while I subtly slid my finger off the trigger.
“Well, whatever she is, I’m afraid her odds aren’t great,” Dorian said. “But maybe we’ll get an upset! The audience loves underdogs.”
“Audience?” I asked.
“Of course. It’s all been prearranged,” Dorian asserted.
“What has?”
“Your fights to the death, of course! The newest edition of Freaky Fight Night.”
Chapter 35
Roland crossed his arms over his chest. “What makes you think we’ll play along?”
Magnus started playing with Terry’s hair, coiling its ends around his finger. “I thought you came here trying to rescue people?”
Roland sneered. “And we’re supposed to believe you’ll let us walk away after all this?”
“No trust, I see. Old habits die hard don’t they, Shepherd?” Magnus said, smirking. “I swear that if you win, you’ll be free to go.”
“And the girls? Othello?” I asked.
Magnus snapped his fingers. “Right, I’d almost forgotten. Follow me.” The Master vampire turned, dragging Terry by one arm, and waded through the small harem, many of whom hadn’t bothered to rise after being knocked to the floor.
Dorian waved us on up and trailed after Magnus. “Excuse me, ladies. Coming through,” he said, gently urging them aside like you might a herd of sheep.
“Guess we’re playing along, for now,” Roland grumbled, heading towards the stairs. I took the stairs with Alucard, who seemed lost in thought after finding out his challenge would be accepted. I nudged him.
“What?” he asked.
“Can we trust him to keep his word?”
Alucard considered that, then nodded.
“So, what’s got ye so gloomy?” I asked.
“None of this is making any sense. What’s Dorian Gray doing here? Why the show?” Alucard shook his head. “By taking me on, he’s gone all in on the first hand. He thinks he knows what cards I’ve got, but it’s a risk. You don’t get as old as he does by taking risks. So, what’s in it for him? What’s he got up his sleeve?”
Together we dipped through the crowd of girls, much as Dorian had. I made a silent promise to help them, although I had no idea how I was going to do it. They’d bartered with Rumpelstiltskin for a better future, and had lost their pasts in the process—their memories. Without that, what was left of them to save?
“You’re still takin’ him on, aren’t ye?” I asked.
Alucard grunted. “Of course, I am. I can’t back down now. How about you, planning on taking Dorian up on his offer?”
I grinned and raised the duffle bag up for good measure, hefting its prodigious weight long enough to ease the tension off my shoulder. “I’m always ready for a fight.”
Alucard eyed the bag. “You want me to carry that, cher?”
“No, I wouldn’t want ye to break a nail before your big fight,” I said, winking.
Alucard rolled his eyes.
“Hurry up, you two,” Roland said from perhaps a dozen feet ahead of us. “I’m pretty sure we’re headed to a dungeon.”
“What makes ye say that?” I called, disturbed by the idea that Magnus was leading us to a cold, dark cellar full of cages.
“I can smell it.”
I didn’t want to think about what a dungeon smelled like. Especially if it had something to do with Othello, which had prompted this tour in the first place. “Ye sure we aren’t headed to the wine cellar?” I asked. “Surely there’s a wine cellar?”
“I doubt it. Dungeons are much more popular. A nice real estate feature for Master vampires looking to relocate. It’s a feng shui thing, not to mention a convenient disposal site.”
Wait, was Roland making a joke? I arced an eyebrow at Alucard, who shrugged. “I was a Master in New Orleans. We had the bayou. Alligators did the job for us, no muss, no fuss.”
“Fuckin’ vampires,” I said, with a sigh, earning a chuckle from my two companions. Their laughter faded quickly, though, our momentary reprieve from the seriousness of the situation over. The longer we walked, the higher the tension rose as we considered what Dorian Gray and Magnus had in store for us. I was so preoccupied, in fact, that I hardly noticed that we’d crossed to the rear of the mansion and had begun descending. I could smell it now—the damp, earthy aroma of wet stone.
“Ah, Mr. Gladstone,” I heard Magnus call out from around a corner up ahead, “I see you’re enjoying your new accommodations.”
I took off past Alucard, who tried reaching for me but wasn’t fast enough. Roland seemed too surprised to stop me, and within moments I’d turned the corner, my gun held high, prepared to put a bullet in the bastard who’d kidnapped my aunt. I found Dorian leaning against the wall, studying his fingernails, while Magnus—arms folded behind his back—stared up at the wizard. I followed his gaze.
I lowered my gun to my side.
Alucard and Roland were behind me in an instant, using their preternatural speed to cover the distance. Roland took a look at what lay beyond and hissed through his teeth. Alucard said nothing.
“I’m sure that, if he could,” Magnus said, turning to face us, “Mr. Gladstone would extend his greetings. But, such as he is…” Magnus drifted off, meaningfully.
Such as he is. I flicked my eyes over Magnus’ shoulder to where Gladstone hung, naked, suspended from a series of thin steel cables that pierced him through various parts of his body and attached on either side to the mortar. It was like he’d been crucified by a series of power lines, his limbs hanging limp where they weren’t strung up—a leg swung listlessly back and forth.
His eyelids flickered.
“Did you know that you can invade the human body at several points without doing any actual damage to their organs?” Magnus said. “I got the idea from the Emergency Room at Lincoln Memorial. I was looking for a new blood supplier and met a young man who’d been shot six times without any permanent damage to his vital parts. Can you imagine?” Magnus glanced over his shoulde
r at the suspended man. “Still, I must say, he’s holding up surprisingly well.”
Roland was the first to speak. “Get that man down from there, you—”
“No,” I interrupted. “He’s good where he is.”
Roland whirled to face me, but whatever he saw on my face made him pause. He shared a look with Alucard, who seemed relatively unperturbed in comparison. “You sure?” Alucard asked me.
I nodded. Thing is, part of me was truly disgusted by what had been done to the wizard. The human, feeling part of me. The part of me which got excited at Christmas and loved kittens and would give me the courage to save a child from a burning building. The good part of me. But the rest of me saw the man who’d mercilessly slit his own partner’s throat, the man who’d nearly gotten someone I cared about killed, the man who’d been content to send a demon after priests if it meant the death of his archrival, the man who’d used my aunt as leverage in his bid to open a gateway to Hell. That part of me couldn’t be happier to watch the motherfucker suffer.
“So. Othello?” I asked, yet again.
Magnus grinned. “Oh, my. I confess I hadn’t expected that.”
“Me either,” Dorian Gray said, appraising me. “So callous. I love it. Like a whisper of perfume.”
I raised my gun. “If ye make me ask even one more time…” I threatened.
Magnus chuckled. “Quite right.” He snapped his fingers and Terry produced a magnetic key that looked eerily similar to the one I had for Chapman’s hotel room. She turned to a door I hadn’t noticed, tucked away in a small alcove, and swiped the card. The door sprung open and Terry backed away, still in a daze. “You’ll find that Miss Othello is completely unharmed,” Magnus said magnanimously. “Sadly, Mr. Gladstone has been her only company over the last few hours.”
“Othello!” I called as I strode towards the door, my gun wavering between the two men as I went, in case either planned to make a move. Dorian raised his hands and backed into the wall, smiling intently for some reason, as if at an unspoken joke. Magnus joined Terry several feet from the door, looping one arm over her shoulders.
“Quinn! Is that you?” Othello cried out.
“It’s me!” I stepped into the doorway. Othello rose and approached, tears in her eyes. She flicked them away with a dismissive gesture and wobbled unsteadily into my arms. I settled her against my shoulder and turned her around. Alucard was there before I could blink, offering to take her.
“I feel like shit,” Othello said.
I let Alucard pick her up; he held her effortlessly, like a groom crossing the threshold, but seemed reluctant to get near me for some reason. “Aye, that’s because Magnus roofied you,” I said, choosing to ignore the vampire’s hesitancy, “I’m so sorry it took us so long to make it to ye. It was all me fault,” I admitted.
“Not just hers,” Alucard said. “I’m glad to see you’re alright.”
“You’re both here now, that’s what matters. But Quinn?” Othello said, staring down the length of her body, her glare settling on the Master vampire at the end of the hall.
“What?”
“Why is that piz`da still breathing?” Othello asked in a clinical tone, like an executive in a board room.
It was a good question.
Chapter 36
I was first up.
“This is insane,” Othello said, shackled with silver chains to a chair on my right within the walls of the impromptu arena Dorian had constructed in Magnus’ backyard—judging from the size and the thick tarp interior, I was guessing Dorian had borrowed a circus tent for the occasion. Lights and cameras hung everywhere, strung from poles or mounted along walls. Dorian lounged on a plush, dining room chair, flicking grass off his loafers while a small tech crew ran around doing techy things. Based on how they moved and interacted with one another, I guessed they were human—part of Dorian’s entourage, then. A wide set of computer monitors with various controls had been set up already, and occasionally Dorian fiddled with it, panning the cameras and calling out instructions to his people.
“Aye, but there’s not a whole lot we can do about it,” I admitted. “We could take ‘em all on, but ye and the girls would be at risk. They’d use ye as shields. Besides, the lads can’t attack first or they’ll be stripped of their power.”
I didn’t bother sharing my inner misgivings. At this point, I’d given up trying to figure out motive. If they wanted to put on a show, I’d give them a show. We all would. Naturally, none of us had wanted to go along with Dorian’s ridiculous plan, but after we realized that Magnus had called back a couple hundred of his vampires, and after he’d assured us the safe return of the girls as well as Othello for our trouble, it seemed like the best we could hope for.
I still couldn’t understand what they hoped to achieve—what was the point? Why go through all this trouble? Something Rumpelstiltskin had said nagged at me, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Something about what was behind the curtain…I shook it off. That’s what I got for listening to the ravings of a demented fairy tale legend.
Did I seriously just think that?
“What?” Othello asked, as if baffled by my response. But she wasn’t looking at me. She was looking at the wires and monitors, practically drooling. “Oh, sorry. I was looking at the tech. Those are some really nice cameras.”
I stared at her until she had the good grace to look at least a little ashamed.
“Thank you for coming to save me,” Othello said.
“I would never leave ye behind. Besides, I owed ye one for steppin’ in and rescuin’ me from the Justices. Pretty sure their doctor would’ve opened me up to see how I worked if ye hadn’t,” I said, only half-joking. “Although I’m surprised your boyfriend didn’t whisk ye away like he did Serge and I.”
Othello’s eyes widened.
“Oh shit!” I said. “Serge! Has he texted ye?”
“Check my phone. It’s in my pocket,” Othello said, wiggling her ass around so I could fetch her phone.
Before I could check it, the resounding thud of a hand patting a microphone echoed throughout the confines of the tent. “Freaks!” Dorian yelled, his voice amplified by the monitors around him, each of which displayed a different angle of his perfectly symmetrical, drool-worthy face. “Welcome to Fight Night!”
Without an actual crowd present, the introduction fell a little flat, but Dorian seemed pleased by whatever he saw on the monitors. He was probably live streaming the whole bout, which meant there may have been thousands, even millions, of viewers tuning in to watch, judging by the level and quality of the tech filming it all. Were these Freak Fight Nights common? Why hadn’t I ever heard of them?
I shared a pained look with Alucard, who sat beside Roland in the stands that had been erected shortly after we’d been escorted into the tent itself.
So much for keeping a low profile.
“Please,” Dorian called out, “welcome our first contender! The loveliest sadist you will ever meet, Quinn MacKenna!”
So that’s what Dorian had been so intrigued about before; he thought I was some sort of psychopath for leaving Gladstone to rot in Magnus’ dungeons. I scowled, irritated by his choice of words. Sadly, that’s when they decided to turn the cameras on me. My scowl deepened.
I waved using the barrel of my M4.
“Go fuck yourselves,” I said, enthusiastically.
“Ooh! So fierce!” Dorian bellowed, laughing. “Let’s see if she can keep that up.”
I promised myself that—no matter how this ended—I was going to make Dorian Gray pay before this was all over. I was plotting various forms of torture when I realized that he might have a point. Maybe I was a sadist, after all. I studied the remainder of my guns, which lay spread out at my feet; when I’d asked if there were any rules against modern firearms, Dorian had laughed in my face.
I’d taken that as a no.
“And now the challenger!” Dorian called.
I peered at the opposite side of the tent, wondering
who or what I’d be fighting. My hands were shaking from adrenaline and nerves. It was weird; when the actual fighting started, I knew I’d be calm. Rational. Decisive. But at that exact moment, all I could think about was how much I’d rather be at the bar chasing a shot with a cocktail.
A gateway appeared—a jagged slash with flames licking at the edges, smoke spewing from the rent itself. A figure moved into view, almost too large to fit through the massive tear. Behind me, Othello drew in a sharp breath as the creature clambered through the hole.
“Welcome the creature who needs no introduction!” Dorian bellowed. “The mighty Gomorrah!”
“Fuck me,” I breathed.
Chapter 37
I’d laid out my available firepower and organized them according to potential stopping power—the line began with the two sawed-offs and ended with my pistols. I hunkered down as Gomorrah cleared the gateway, slung the MP5’s strap over one shoulder, and fetched the sawed-offs. The rent between the dimensions snapped closed.
I couldn’t believe it had come to this; I never thought I’d regret turning down Serge’s offer to get a bazooka. Of course, how was I supposed to know I’d need an anti-tank rocket launcher on a routine business trip?
I know, I know. Always be prepared.
Fucking Boy Scouts.
I rose, checking the magazines of the various weapons which gave me my best shot at making a dent in Gomorrah’s mountainous exterior—I flipped open the double-barreled sawed-offs, popped two rounds in each, and swung them closed. I’d slung the M4 assault rifle across my body where it hung free at the small of my back and draped the MP5’s strap over the opposite side to let it rest against my hip. I threw my hair up in a messy ponytail and ditched my trench coat. I needed my arms free, and—no matter how chilly it was outside, or how stylish the jacket was—my trench wasn’t going to protect me from jack shit except maybe a cold.
For those of you who know and routinely use guns, you can imagine how ridiculous this all seemed. For those of you who don’t, keep in mind that guns are bulky, heavy things with handles and barrels and other odds and ends which will inevitably poke or prod. Having so many on my person meant I had to waddle to move comfortably. It wasn’t attractive, it sure as shit wasn’t graceful, and I was on live television.
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