by Ryan Talbot
I stood carefully, my eyes seeking the last of the elementals. Air hadn’t done much after initially disabling me. But now, without the interference of the others, I couldn’t find him against the dark sky. I turned slowly, using my peripheral vision to ferret out movement. Nothing. I silently cursed myself for not realizing that Air wouldn’t need to touch my wards to cross them. It made no difference if he were one foot or one thousand feet off of the ground, the intervening space between us was his to command. I smiled.
“I’ll let you leave,” I said loudly. “I won’t destroy you if you go in peace. Just go, and you’re safe.”
“You don’t have that choice, Jason Beckett.” Came a new voice from the darkness. A human voice. “You’re coming with us.”
A tall swarthy man with shoulder-length black hair framing a horribly scarred face stepped into the flaring candlelight. His gray trench coat blended with the dim twilight. A pinstripe gray three-piece suit peeked out from beneath his coat. This was a first. Normally, I’m the only asshole in the room with any fashion sense. In one black gloved hand, he held two ivory cards. He tossed the first one at my feet.
“For your friend.”
The Magician. No real surprise there.
“You’re mistaken,” I said.
“About your choice?”
“No,” I said. “About Corrigan. The Magician refers to a charlatan. Corrigan’s not someone you want to fuck with.”
“No?”
“And neither am I,” I said as I kicked my legs out from under me and fell backward, yanking my Beretta free of my belt. I fired a single shot. He never moved. The back of his head exploded and he dropped like a stone.
I snorted and lowered my pistol. “Going with you,” I laughed. “Like hell I am.”
Shoving myself back to my feet, I strolled over to his corpse. My Beretta remained casually pointed at him, in the event he decided to play Jack in the Box. A drop of blood stood out against the cold ivory of the card in his black gloved hand. With one eye fixed on his horrific face, I reached down and yanked the card out of his hand. Two things happened in the same instant, his eyes snapped open and I realized what the card was without turning it over.
The Fool.
8
This is the part where I tell you what I was going to do. This is the part where you nod and think, damn, that would’ve been so cool. I would’ve shouted out a Word of command and stunned him as my finger yanked the trigger of my Beretta and I buried a piece of molten lead in his freakish fucking face. Yep, that’s what I would’ve done. Instead, I cursed myself for a fool.
I opened my mouth, a Word already rolling across my tongue. My pistol elevated of its own accord, the sights aligned perfectly on a point just below his right eye. And my world went white. Agony tore through me, as Air showed himself. The moment my mouth opened, Air surged forward, swirling and twisting himself into a tight vortex and hurled himself down my throat. My lungs swelled to capacity instantly, shattering my ribs as they expanded to unnatural size. Blood poured from my nose and mouth as the soft tissues of my esophagus and sinuses ripped under the intense pressure.
I collapsed as the pain overtook my senses. I pounded the ground with my left fist, crushing my knuckles into powder. My mouth worked in a silent scream and my right hand tore at my throat, my Beretta discarded. Mind you, I wasn’t suffocating. I didn’t need to breathe, I’m dead, remember? But, Air was crushing me to pieces from the inside, and more importantly, without my lungs, I couldn’t speak. Again, no thought, no Words. No speech, no sorcery.
The dead guy stood up, his head knitted itself together as he brushed twigs and dead grass off of his trendy coat. He smiled at me once he was finished primping.
“As I said, Mr. Beckett,” he picked up the tarot card from where I’d dropped it and casually tossed it atop the Magician card. “You’re coming with us.”
Tears poured down my face as I tried to speak.
“Oh,” he held up a finger in a waiting gesture, his other hand dug into an interior pocket. “Let’s not waste those.”
He pulled a chrome pocket flask and quickly worked the screw-top stopper. With a deft snap of his hand, he poured out the contents on the ground in front of me. The sweet smell of scotch hit my raw nostrils as he gently held the flask to my cheek, catching my tears.
“Bowmore fifty-seven,” he shrugged. “We all make sacrifices.”
My jaw hung slack and tears poured freely. The bastard had just dumped out the most expensive Islay on the planet. To prove a point. In a temple. In a fucking temple! I was going to kill him so slowly. Before I could tell him so, Air sent lightning through my brain and nothing else really mattered.
9
I awoke in the back of a limousine. I’ve been in so many, I didn’t even need to open my eyes to be certain. My chest ached and my tongue was glued to the roof of my mouth with dried blood. I tried to swallow, and gagged as my tongue refused to break free.
“Here,” the swarthy man spoke, and I heard him uncork something.
My eyes fluttered to life, and they settled on the brandy snifter he extended toward me. I snatched it roughly from his hand. Glowering at him, I drank it in a single gulp. The sweet burn of the brandy mixed with my own blood was vile enough, but when the burn of it hit my raw throat, my whole body shuddered.
“It’s an acquired taste,” he smiled at me as he poured himself a drink. “I learned to love it when I toured the Cognac region.”
I casually sat forward, trying to close the gap between us. One good punch and I could bury the shards of his snifter in his fucking gullet. A massive shock shot through my lungs, folding me up as my muscles spasmed hard enough to make my eyes bleed. And you motherfuckers wonder where I learned to take a hit?
“No,” his thick, black curls shifted as he shook his head. “No blood.” He waved a hand past my face and searing heat boiled the blood away.
My confusion at his demand faded as the pain subsided. He wasn’t talking to me. He smiled and sat back.
“My servant’s methods are barbaric,” he chuckled. “But effective.” He crossed his legs and leaned back, lifting the snifter to his nose. “One cannot expect to refine an elemental, but I do try.”
I flipped him off.
“Such displays do not become one of your stature, Mr. Beckett.”
I pointed at my Mark and flipped him off again.
“I think you will find the whole experience significantly more tolerable should you choose to cooperate.”
“I have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about,” I mouthed. “Who the fuck are you?”
“My name is Gavin Thorne,” he bowed his head slightly. “And I am the Harbinger of Days.”
I held out my hands and furrowed my brow. “What?” I mouthed.
“There is much for you to understand, but in time, all will become clear.”
I looked out the window in frustration and immediately had to suppress a grin. I knew where we were. I caught a glimpse of the FDR between the buildings as we sped by, the traffic somewhat reduced at this hour. I only had a block or so to get ready. I gestured at the brandy again and put my hands together in a gesture of prayer.
“See,” he smiled. “There is the civility I expected.”
He picked up my snifter from the floor, waved his hand over it and heat blasted me again. He poured a generous portion and handed it back to me.
We hit the corner as I tossed back the brandy, careful to swallow none of it. With one swift motion, I hurled the glass at him and dove through the window.
The shattered glass floated around me in slow motion as Air set my insides aflame with his lightning. I rolled to a stop against the far curb as the limo driver locked up the brakes. Blood poured freely down my face as my innards twitched and burned with every movement. I clawed my way over the curb and whimpered soundlessly as I stumbled past Standard and Poor’s, tripping over the knee-high concrete barriers that blocked the traffic from Water Street. I heard the limo door
open as I pulled myself across the invisible barrier that marked the entry to the Vietnam Memorial Plaza.
I opened my mouth and let the brandy pour out onto the plaza stones. I pounded my left palm against the stones three times, then lifted it skyward as I signed furiously with my right hand.
“The Emissary of the Lord of the Fallen requests sanctuary!”
I heard Thorne’s designer shoes clicking on the pavement. I rolled over to face him and tried to gauge the distance between us. I hoped against all hope that it was far enough. There was a flash of starlight, and the clicking stopped. He froze, his eyes wide in shock.
“Beckett!” He yelled, a look of furious horror crossed his freakishly placid features.
I signed at him with a single finger.
“Beckett,” a sultry voice purred.
I looked up and thick blond hair cascaded around my face. Clear green eyes stared into mine, promising the kind of night that comes once in a lifetime. Had I been capable, I would have sighed. Sheena Samhradh, the only whore in the world I was ever happy to see. She knelt beside me, her soft hands stroking my hair, tucking it behind my ears. Ten heavily armed Sidhe flanked her. Each of the tall, slender Fae carried a halberd with a wickedly curved blade.
“Help me,” I signed.
“What choice do I have, Beckett? You poured the libation, you signed the words.” She shrugged. “You want sanctuary? It’s yours.”
“Run along, freak.” One of the guards snapped at Thorne. “There’s nothing for you here.”
Thorne’s scarred face contorted in rage, then suddenly fell placid again. “Another time, Jason Beckett.”
The clicking of Thorne’s shoes receded into the distance and I rolled my face over to touch Sheena’s thigh in relief. I was safe…kind of.
10
“What’ve you got there?” Sheena touched my chest.
“A gift,” I signed. “A sacrifice.”
“Oh, really?” Her laughter sounded like tinkling bells.
I nodded. “You just gotta get it out.”
She leaned over and stroked my face. “Oh, I’ll get it out.”
My eyes flew open as I realized what she meant. I tried to shake my head, but her hands gripped my face and it was too late.
She leaned in and her lips touched mine. The universe came undone. Her kiss consumed me and everything else became irrelevant. Her tongue slid over mine and my skin ignited with pleasure. In that moment, I would’ve given anything, done anything for her. I needed her. She broke the kiss slowly, her teeth closing on my lower lip as she pulled away. My mouth worked of its own accord, willing her back. As much as my body wanted her, it had my mind to contend with. A mind that was loyal to another. Air, however, had no such loyalty.
“Mine!” He shrieked as he ripped his way out of my throat, shattering my teeth and severing my tongue with the savagery of his exit. “More!” He flew toward her, his winds flared Sheena’s hair like an angelic halo, and the dust it kicked up sparked in the moonlight that surrounded her. I shook my head to clear it throwing blood everywhere in the process. Fucking Fae.
One of the Sidhe guard swung his halberd in a vicious overhand slash, driving the blade through Air. Its enchantment tore the elemental to ribbons. Sheena shuddered with pleasure and her eyes glowed with a horrible, feral light as the dying spirit surrendered its essence to her. She devoured it hungrily. With a demure cough, she turned back to me.
“Well,” she laughed. “That was interesting.”
I grimaced at her.
“Who’d you piss off this time, Beckett?”
I shrugged.
“Let’s get you in the Mound. Unless you have elementals hiding elsewhere that I can…suck out of you?” She grinned suggestively.
No. I motioned. No, no, no, no, no, no. NO.
She laughed again, and with a wave, summoned the portal that led into the Mound.
“So, little Miss Sunday School went crazy and opened a Door Veilside?” Sheena reclined on an overstuffed couch and dangled a ripe strawberry over her perfect lips. Ten human slaves stood behind her chair waiting on her any desire.
“Pretty much,” I said, stretching my jaw and wiggling my newly healed tongue.
“I got something you can do with that,” she pulled the strawberry into her mouth seductively with her tongue.
“Shut up,” I snorted. “You know I won’t.”
“Won’t stop me from asking.” She grinned. “So what are you gonna do now?”
“You mean after I tell my Master what’s going on?”
“Yeah,” she frowned.
“Probably find Rachel and try to stop this before it gets any worse.”
“Sooner or later this has to boil over, Beckett.” She tossed the strawberry stem on the floor. One of the human slaves snatched it before it even had a chance to settle.
“Let’s hope that’s not for a long time,” I said.
“What’s it matter to you?”
“I want to get paid, just like everybody else.” I leaned back on the couch. “I don’t work for free.”
“Speaking of which,” she said. “I can get you to the Nadir Market, for a price.”
“That all depends on the price,” I said.
“Tell me about your new friend,” she sat up. “And I can get you there in an hour.”
“Everything?” I asked with feigned reticence.
“Yes,” she nodded.
“Done,” I grinned. “His name is Gavin Thorne and he calls himself ‘the Harbinger of Days’. He drinks shit booze and I’m pretty sure he’s into men.” I stood and dusted off my pants. “Take me to the Market.”
“Why do you think he’s into men?”
“He’s a better dresser than I am.”
“So?”
“My wardrobe guy is gay.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, oh.”
“That’s it?” She frowned.
“That’s it,” I shrugged. “Let’s go.”
“That’s not enough,” she pouted. “I need more.”
“Really?” I said. “Here’s some free advice: don’t make shit bargains.”
11
The Nadir Market is like the archetypal Arabian Bazaar. Except in the Market, as the locals call it, you can buy anything. I mean anything. Since it’s located in the center of Pandaemonium, the capital city of Perdition, it’s the cornerstone of Perdition’s economy. A fairly brisk trade in souls, blood, contracts, even livestock flows through the Market on a daily basis. It’s the one area of Perdition that has no travel restrictions. Well, barring Loyalist Angels or the Almighty Himself, I mean.
The Fae purchase contracts for slaves in exchange for any number of services. Actual slave trading is frowned upon by Satan. He has something of a dislike for the practice. And when I say dislike, I mean he’ll fucking kill you for it. Certain creatures get away with it more than others, vampires and faeries rely on slaves for survival, so Satan is prone to looking the other way for them. That’s not to say that they can trade right out in the open; rather, they exchange chattel or contracts in the Market and pick up their merchandise elsewhere.
Being that Perdition exists in a state of perpetual twilight, the Market is open constantly. It’s important to note that the light isn’t harmful to vampires because it isn’t of YHWH’s sun. These kinds of things matter when you’re looking for a place to sell your ill-gotten gains. The Market reminds me of nothing more than a good old fashioned Pirate colony.
I stood in the Market for longer than I needed to. I kept sneaking guilty glances up at the Tower of Grief, it’s hard to miss. Satan’s stronghold is the tallest building in all of Perdition, and it casts its shadow over all of Pandaemonium. On any given day, at any given moment, perched atop the highest balcony of the tower, you’ll find my Master. With a sigh, I stared up at the Tower again. I hated reporting failure.
I felt a tug on my sleeve. A young redheaded woman wearing black acolyte robes bowed respectfully.
“
My lord Emissary,” she said.
“My presence is requested at the Tower of Grief,” I finished for her.
“Yeah,” she tried to hide her grin. “That’s the message.”
“You’re new here,” I said as I started to walk toward the Tower.
She paused for a second, as if confused. Then she took two rapid steps to catch up to me. “I am, my name’s Mara.”
“I didn’t ask your name,” I said.
“Didn’t say you did, cowboy.”
I stopped and she turned to face me with a go-fuck-yourself grin. “Something the matter?”
I grinned back. “You won’t last,” I said.
“Why’s that?”
“They’re all stuffy here,” I said nodding to the Tower as I started walking again.
“I’ve noticed,” she sighed. “Why aren’t you?”
“Because I don’t give a fuck, I guess.” I squinted ahead. “I’m just here for the pay.” There were more guards around than normal. A lot more.
“What’s going on?” I motioned to the guards.
“Oh,” she said quietly. “You know. Stuff.”
“What kind of stuff?” I asked.
“Not sure I’m the one to tell you that, cowboy.”
“Then who is?”
“The Man,” she pointed upward. “The motherfucking Man.”
I grinned, I couldn’t help it. “Mara,” I said, turning toward the gate.
“Yeah?”
“I like you.”
“That’ll help,” she nodded.
“Help what?” I turned as I motioned for the guards to get out of my way.
“You know,” she flashed a huge smile that lit up her eyes. “Stuff.”
“You’re fucking strange,” I said.
“You don’t know the half of it,” she laughed.
“See you around,” I waved and stepped between the guards.
“Not if I see you first,” she flashed a peace sign and stuck out her tongue.