by N M Thorn
Damian sighed, dropping his head. Even holding his head upright was taking too much of his energy. “Damian,” he replied quietly.
“Aw, wonderful, you do have a human name. I’m sure there is a last name too, but we’ll get to it later.” Ricardo chuckled, flushing his paper-white teeth. “Well, Damian, I’m prepared to make you an offer, and if you have any brains in that head of yours, you will accept it, because—and my guards can attest to that—this is the first time in many years I’m offering something like this to a being of magic as yourself. Besides, the alternative is not going to be pleasant either for you or for your vampire pet.”
Damian grunted, anger spiking through him at Ricardo’s last words. “I’m all ears,” he growled, raising his eyes.
“Oh?” Ricardo searched his face with new interest and then glanced at Cole. “Or maybe this vampire is not your pet, but someone a lot more important—”
“What’s your offer?” Damian interrupted him, and an uneven smirk crossed Ricardo’s face.
“Good, you do have brains after all,” he murmured, twirling the dagger between his fingers. “Well, Damian, if you promise to behave, I’m going to remove the gray stone from the room and allow you to gain your strength. After that, we’ll talk in private, like any civilized individuals should. I’m a businessman, you know, so I have a business proposition for you.”
Damian glanced at him in shock. “Not without my friend,” he said coldly.
“But of course. I apologize I didn’t say it right away.” Ricardo snapped his fingers, jerking his chin at his guard. “The vamp is coming with the two of us.” A few seconds later, the guard walked out of the collection room with Cole thrown over his shoulder. “Do I have your word now, Damian?”
Damian glanced at his brother, and his heart jolted painfully. While he knew Cole was as alive as a vampire could be, his arms hung limply, swaying with every step the guard took, and his blond hair was soaked with blood.
“You have my word, Ricardo,” he said, his vocal cords too sore to produce any sound louder than a whisper.
“Aw, come on, Damian.” Ricardo shook his head reproachfully. “We both know how it works in the World of Magic.” He put the dagger into Damian’s hand, wrapping his weak fingers around the grip. “You know what needs to be done.”
Damian nodded, still feeling weak and lightheaded, and he wasn’t sure if it was the gray stone that made him feel so sick or if it was the idea of getting into some kind of agreement with this slippery man.
With effort, he squeezed the hilt of the dagger, noticing that neither Az nor Ricardo had lied about it—the dagger had absolutely no magic in it. Placing its tip against the floor, he tried to bring one knee up to assume the proper position but was too weak to do it. He sighed and raised his eyes at Ricardo.
“I can’t take one knee,” he said, feeling more drained by the moment.
“That’s okay. I’m an understanding kind of fellow.” Ricardo waved his hand dismissively and winked. “Your position is fine. Just say the right words.”
Damian nodded. “I swear...” His voice cut off, and he groaned, forcing himself to pronounce the words clearly. “Ricardo Torres, I swear that for as long as I’m under your roof, you won’t be harmed either by me or by my vampire friend.”
“Perfect,” Ricardo breathed out, straightening. He took the box from his guard’s hands and closed the lid tightly. Holding the box in one hand, he seized Cole’s hair with the other hand, yanking his head up, and quickly explored his face. Cole moaned, his tortured gaze meeting Ricardo’s cold eyes. “Take this vamp into a shower and wash the silver off of him. Get him a clean set of clothes and a blood bag. Once he’s ready, escort him to my office.
“No,” groaned Damian, struggling to get up, but to no avail. Even though the gray stone was no longer affecting him, he knew it would take a while for him to restore his strength. “I’ll take care of him myself.”
“Damian, Damian, Damian.” Ricardo threw his hands up. “A little trust, please? Now that we’re friends, I promise... No, I swear, your precious vamp is not going to be abused in any way. While he’s under my roof, he’ll be treated as my guest with appropriate respect.” He threw a pointed stare at the guard holding Cole.
“Yes, sir,” the guard replied, moving Cole carefully off his shoulder and into his arms.
“You may go.” He waved at the guard and turned to Damian. “Follow me.”
“One second, sir.” Damian raised his hand, looking around. “I need to use just a small amount of magic. Is it possible to do it here without triggering any kind of unwanted consequences?”
Ricardo glanced down at him with curiosity and smirked proudly. “Did you like my security tech? One of a kind.” He pulled out his cellphone and quickly clicked something on the screen. “Go ahead. Do what you need to do.”
Damian placed his palms flat against the floor and reached out to his element. It didn’t come right away, but soon, warmth spread through him, gathering in his chest, energizing him and partially restoring his strength. He let out a harsh breath, his eyes igniting with a bright orange light, and Ricardo gasped, staring at him intently.
“Magnífico,” he breathed out, shaking his head slightly.
Damian sat back on his heels and picked up the tiny magpie. Placing the bird in his palm, he moved his other hand over it and channeled the healing energy through it. The magpie twitched, jerked its black wings open and flipped to its feet, staring around wildly.
“Heeellooo wooorld! I’m alive... ehhhhh... Hallelujah! Praise the Lord, the gods and the Kid of Earth, no Child... Thank you, gracias, spasibo...”
Unable to contain a smile, Damian placed the bird on his shoulder and got up to his feet.
“I think I’m not going to ask about that one,” mumbled Ricardo, staring at Damian in awe.
“It would be better if you didn’t,” Damian replied and followed Ricardo through the long hallways and up the stairs to the second floor.
Fu-u-ck... What could possibly go wrong with this little agreement...
Chapter 16
~ Damian Blake ~
Just like everything else in this opulent estate, Ricardo’s office was furnished with luxury and comfort in mind. A large room was dimly lit by an invisible chain of lights installed around its perimeter. A dark mahogany desk stood at the far end of the office with two large computer monitors positioned on the side of it. Heavy panels tightly covered the tall windows, and a few oil paintings that looked authentically antique decorated the walls. A faint scent of expensive cologne lingered in the cool air, entwined with the odor of papers and printing ink.
As soon as they walked in, Ricardo took his suit jacket off and threw it on the back of a large leather sofa. His tie followed, and he sighed with relief, opening a few top buttons of his white dress shirt. His face relaxed, and he looked like a completely different person, the layer of malevolent cruelty seemingly gone.
“Finally, I can breathe,” he exhaled, pulling the top of his shirt apart, exposing his muscled chest covered with short black hair.
Damian closed the door but remained standing next to it, following Ricardo’s every move with suspicion. Ricardo turned around and smiled weakly, and for the first time since Damian met this dangerous man, he noticed a touch of exhaustion showing on his hard features.
“Sit down, Damian,” he said, waving in the direction of the sofa. “Relax. Trust me, the worst part is over.”
Damian hesitated for a moment, but then walked toward the sofa and sat down, sinking between the soft pillows. The magpie hopped off his shoulder and flew up to the curtain rod. Damian leaned back and folded his arms across his chest, closing his eyes for a brief moment to get over the dizziness. The effects of the gray stone weren’t gone completely, and he still felt slightly lightheaded and nauseous.
Ricardo glanced at him, shaking his head. “I’ve heard those gray stones are a bitch, and I’ve seen how they work quite a few times, but the way you reacted...�
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Shaking his head almost as if he couldn’t believe his own memory, he headed toward a small cabinet and opened it. Pulling a bottle of expensive cognac out, he partially filled two glasses.
“I need something stronger than water.” His full lips twitched in the semblance of a smile, but deep, bitter wrinkles settled around his mouth, partially hidden by his facial hair. “I think you could do with a stiff drink, too.”
He offered one glass to Damian, and once he took it from his hand, Ricardo pulled an armchair and sat down to face him, still tugging at the collar of his shirt as though it were strangling him.
“Salud!” Ricardo smirked over the rim of his glass, taking a sip of his drink. Then he closed his eyes, holding his breath for a brief moment.
Damian drank slowly, enjoying the feeling of the burning liquid traveling down his throat. With all his senses on high alert, he observed Ricardo’s every move, trying to understand why he brought him to this office and what this man’s true agenda was. Perhaps Ricardo didn’t have any magic of his own, but unlike Az thought, he was at least exposed to the World of Magic.
Ricardo leaned forward, reaching for his jacket. He grabbed it and pulled the dagger out of the pocket. Twirling it between his fingers, he glanced at Damian, a question in his cold, dark eyes. Then he exhaled and took the weapon by the blade, offering it to him.
“You went through a lot of trouble to get this dagger,” he said softly. “Here. Take it.” He took a sip of his drink and gave a short nod. “It’s yours if you still want it, but I would like to know why.”
“Why what?” asked Damian, taking the dagger.
“Why this dagger?” replied Ricardo, placing some weight on the word ‘this’. “You don’t strike me as a common supernatural thief. I’ve met too many of them not to recognize an honest man when I see one. So, why did you and your undead friend break into my house, trying to steal it?”
“You’ve met many supernatural thieves?” muttered Damian, recalling how easy it had been for Ace, Cole and Jamie to identify the methods of security in the house, and how simple it had been to break into the building and reach the collection room. It had been a trap—a well-positioned, elaborately designed and perfectly thought-through supernatural trap. Ricardo used his collection as bait.
Ricardo observed him, his attentive eyes crinkling at the corners as his lips curved into an uneven smirk. “I see you figured out that my collection is nothing more than bait. A magnet for supernatural assholes... no offense.” Damian nodded, and Ricardo continued, “But before we jump into this conversation, I want you to tell me why you wanted this useless dagger. My usual visitors go for expensive pieces under the glass, those that have powerful magical properties.”
Making a split-second decision, Damian chose to stick to the truth as much as it was possible in this situation. There was something strange about this man. Intuitive and perceptive, he looked like a smart individual, and despite his previous display of cold indifference bordering on cruelty, there was more to him than he originally thought. In so many words, he told him about the necromancer creating a dangerous situation, igniting a war between the werewolves and the vampires.
“So, you think this dagger used to belong to a powerful necromancer?” Ricardo’s eyes halted on the weapon in Damian’s hands. “Fascinating.” He raked his hand through his black hair, and a chain of emotions crossed his face—starting with doubt, morphing into fear and then settling on the cold indifference Damian had seen before. “I’m glad I decided to spare you and your friend. The war between vamps and lycanthropes would be damaging for my business, too.”
“I had no idea the construction and real estate business was directly related to the status of the Arizona Vampire Court or to the number of werewolves in the state,” said Damian without hiding his sarcasm.
“My other business.” Ricardo cringed visibly, and for a heartbeat, a shadow of self-loathing darkened his eyes. “As you can see, my collection attracts a lot of attention from the supernatural community. Just like you, they all arrogantly rely on their magic or their true nature, hoping it will help them to break in, tricking mundane security tech with ease, and steal unnoticed. What they don’t realize is that their magic—or in the case of your undead friend, his vampiric essence—is their worst enemy.”
He got up and headed to his desk. Opening one of the drawers, he shuffled around for a bit and pulled out a box the size of a small shoebox. Holding it in his hands, he came back to his seat and took the lid off. A few white plastic boxes lay inside. Visibly, there was absolutely nothing special about them.
“What is it?” asked Damian, reaching forward to touch one of the items.
Ricardo took one and placed it in Damian’s hand. “Don’t worry. There is no security in this room. I think you’re one of those rare magical beings who have the other sight. Go ahead, check it.”
Damian explored the box, probing it with his other sight as well as his senses, and shook his head. He couldn’t sense any magic in them.
“It’s not magical,” explained Ricardo. “Pure human tech. It’s made to respond to any magical energy, including elemental powers, vampiric and demonic essence, and even the slight magical waves the werewolves emit. These devices are installed everywhere in my house and around the gates.” He waved his hand around and added, “With the exception of this room, of course.” He sighed and leaned back, stretching his legs. “This is how I knew you were coming. As soon as your vampire stepped closer to the gatehouse, a silent alarm was activated. So, all I had to do was sit, relax, and wait for the mousetrap to snap shut.”
Dammit, I knew something was off, but who could expect that... Damian ran his hand down his face, exhaling a ragged breath as he threw a quick glance at the door. Where is Cole? What’s taking him so long?
Ricardo probably noticed because he reached for his phone and pressed a few numbers. “Leo, how is our guest doing? Did he recover?” He listened to the reply and added, “Yes, get him anything he asks for. I want him in good shape as soon as possible.” He nodded to Damian, hanging up the phone. “Your friend is fine. Don’t worry. He should be here in about fifteen minutes.”
“Thank you,” replied Damian, wondering about Ricardo’s heightened perceptiveness.
“The devices in the collection room reacted to your friend’s vampiric essence, dropping the bars and releasing the silver mist in the air. As far as the bars blocking the entrance,” Ricardo continued with a light flick of his hand, “the alloy they are made of has powder of gray stones in it. This is why it absorbed your magic.”
“Why didn’t I detect your guards on the premises?” asked Damian. “The second sight allows me to see the glow of human souls. Unless they’re not human?”
“Everyone in my household is human, but they all know what goes bump in the night. And just like myself, none of my staff members have magic. But did you notice the vests the guards were wearing?” asked Ricardo, pride lighting up his eyes. “Blocks any kind of vision—human or magical—including the other sight.”
“Goddammit,” mumbled Damian. “I didn’t know tech like this even existed.”
“No one does. The world’s best-kept secret.” Ricardo got up and put the box back into his desk. “I don’t think even the Destiny Council knows about it.”
“For a mundane, you know an awful a lot about the World of Magic,” murmured Damian, shaking his head.
“I grew up with it. My sister and I had been exposed to the supernatural since I was a child,” replied Ricardo. “My mother was human, but my father was a powerful Brujo. I guess I took after my dear mom. I have zero magic.”
He got up and walked to the window, pulling one of the panels aside. Crossing his hands behind his back, he stared outside, his gaze traveling over the night desert. A vibe of unease rose around him, and Damian decided to give him a moment, patiently waiting for him to continue.
“That brings us to the reason we’re talking right now,” Ricardo said at length, his v
oice hoarse. “The reason I didn’t restrain you and your vamp and didn’t sell you both to the highest bidder.”
Feeling the blood drain from his face, Damian swallowed hard, rising. “You are—”
“Yes, I am,” Ricardo interrupted him, turning around. A haunted look changed his eyes, his tanned face so pale, it looked sickeningly yellow. “I capture supernatural beings and sell them to the underground circles, mostly the fighting pits. And as you figured out, I use the magical artifacts in my collection as bait. Works like a charm.” He sighed, shaking his head. “That’s my second business.”
He walked back to the wine cabinet and brought the bottle of cognac back, refilling his and Damian’s glass. Lifting his glass, he drank it in one gulp and refilled it again.
“Sit down, Damian. I gave you my word—you’re safe here,” he said softly, his voice almost pleading.
Damian lowered himself on the sofa, his fingers digging into its leather upholstery.
Like a plague, the underground supernatural fighting pits spread not only through the United States but all over the world. In the United States, every state had an individual owner who managed all the underground affairs and shady dealings, including the fighting events and activities associated with them, as well as betting procedures and the payoffs. Rich and insidious, the Heads of each state’s Fighting House spared no expense to find the best supernatural fighters their money could buy, and acquiring the Captive Fighters had turned into nothing more than a modern-day slave trade.
The specialized divisions of the FBI, who were well aware of the situation with the underground supernatural fighting pits, put a lot of effort into destroying this malicious circle, but unfortunately, all their work was good for nothing. A few years ago, they had managed to destroy a few Fighting Houses, arresting their Heads, and bringing all their operations down. Unfortunately, fighting the supernatural mob was equivalent to fighting the Hydra. As the FBI removed one Head of a House, another one took their place, and the business ran as smooth and uninterrupted as ever.