Another Bloody Love Story

by Rachel Green

  “I thought that was the other end?”

  “It is.” Wrack pulled something out from between his teeth and examined it. “I meant the other end.” He dropped the item onto his tongue. “Yum,” he said, “escargot.”

  “That would be the end in Peppercorn row.”

  “Not that one either.” Wrack stared at her as if she was being deliberately dense. “The other end. The one to get us back. Well. You back. I can get back on my own.”

  “Can’t I get back that way?”

  “Sure, if you don’t mind me chopping you into imp-sized pieces to get you through an imp gate.”

  Valerie nodded. “Perhaps not then.” She pulled at the door, which hissed as the pressure behind it equalised. “That’s interesting.”

  “What is?” Wrack peered past her leg. “It’s a furnace. What’s a furnace doing in a wasp factory?”

  “I thought there weren’t any wasps?”

  “There aren’t.” Wrack paused. “I’m pretty sure there aren’t. The heat from a furnace would shrivel their wings.”

  “Good.” Valerie pulled the door wider and went into the room. It was huge, at least the size of a warehouse and she tried to figure where they might be. The absence of windows didn’t help. “It seems quiet enough.” She reached down to her leg and pulled out a single-edged blade, holding it upside down so that the steel ran against her forearm. “Shall we?”

  “We might as well.” Wrack danced past, his hooves clicking on the concrete. “We’re not getting anywhere in a hurry, else.” He paused and turned around. “I must point out, however, that should we encounter difficulties you’re entirely on your own. I can gate out of here at will.”

  “Can you gate to somewhere you don’t know?”

  “Sort of.” Wrack polished his claws on his loincloth. “I can gate anywhere that any imp knows.”

  “Could you gate to here?”

  Wrack sniffed the air. “Yes,” he said. “There are imp tunnels through the shadow planes all over this place.”

  “Then where are we? Can you go out and come back again?”

  “Sure.” Wrack flickered. “We’re in the Magelight complex,” he said. “Currently, about a hundred meters below the statue of the angel and the dragon in the park.”

  “Really?” Valerie frowned. “Are you sure? I didn’t know the Magelight complex went that far underground.”

  “Of course I’m sure. What do you take me for? A goblin?” Wrack inserted a claw up his nose and examined the contents. “There’s an exit one-hundred and fifty metres to the north east, a shaft leading to a manhole cover.” He wiped his finger on his loincloth. “Think you can find it?”

  “Sure.” Valerie darted forward toward the ruddy glow of the smelting chamber. “As soon as I find out what this foundry is for.”

  “What do we care?” Wrack pulled on her trouser leg. “Wait,” he said. “Haven’t you wondered why a portal in the street might bring us here? It’s bound to be a trap.”

  “It was hardly in the open.” Valerie shook her head. “You’re probably right,” she conceded. “I’ll be careful.”

  “Good.” Wrack nodded, mollified. “Just don’t open that sarcophagus.”

  “Sarcophagus?” Valerie stepped closer. “You’re right. I wonder what’s inside.”

  “Are you totally unaware of modern culture?” asked Wrack, running to stand in front of her. “’I wonder what’s inside’ is what we call a slasher hook. It’s what a B-character says, before the mad axe man cuts their head off with a hacksaw. Anybody who says ‘I wonder what’s inside’ comes to a bad end. Let’s find the exit and get out of Dodge.”

  “Dodge?” Valerie lifted the lid of the steel tomb. “I always dodge.”

  True to her word she ducked when the resin arm came vertically upwards intending to remove her head from her spine. When nothing further happened, she peered in again.

  “It’s got no head,” observed Wrack. “It must not be finished yet.”

  “That must be the skull Keritel was playing with,” said Valerie. “It wasn’t finished, but it’s close enough that they didn’t need Julie’s book any more. That swipe must have been an automatic response.”

  “Odd to have such a deadly one,” said Wrack. “What does Hunt want with a metal man, do you think?”

  “It’s resin, not metal. This is his homunculus,” said Valerie, running her fingers over the chrome chest. “I wonder who the model was.”

  “I know what it is.” Wrack frowned. “He fits so perfectly in that coffin he must have been cast there.”

  “So?”

  “Well, there’s the mold for his head, look. That suggests it’ll be moulded onto the torso right here.”

  “Which will give it a weak neck line.” Valerie looked into the trunk. “There is a sort of lug where the spine would be on a real person,” she said. “That will strengthen it.” She looked at the lid, where the mold of the face was so perfect she was able to reverse it like an illusion to see it the right way round. “He’s handsome, isn’t he?”

  “Aren’t you a nun?” said Wrack. “I thought you were married to God? I can see what you’re thinking and it contravenes several passages of scripture.”

  “I was a nun,” she said. “I’m still married to God. I have my belief.”

  “Course you are,” Wrack pulled at her wrist. “You’re Catholic, aren’t you? You don’t believe in divorce, thus you’re still married until one of you dies and I can’t see it being Him. Now, let’s get out of here while we still can.”

  “I suppose.” Valerie closed the lid on the headless creature, almost sorry it was not animated. “What happens to it when it gets its head?” she asked.

  “It does Hunt’s bidding I suppose.” Wrack hoisted himself up to look in the smelting vats. “Bags not being around when that happens, eh?” He grinned. “These are full of semi liquid plastic. Don’t be in here when they open, else all that’ll be left of you will be a wisp of steam and your rosary beads.”

  “You’re right.” Valerie glanced around. “Let’s go.”

  It took her less than fifteen minutes to work her way to the north-eastern shaft, a further five to disable the alarms on it, and five more to climb it to the top. She emerged a few yards from the Park Museum and paused in the shadows, making sure she hadn’t been seen. Wrack appeared from a gate level with her knee and dropped down to the tarmac. Imps were disinclined to climb ladders.

  “That was too easy,” said Valerie. “We fall through a portal, find the mastermind’s evil lair and escape without confrontation to rejoin our companions.”

  “Plot device,” said the imp. “You should know all about that with your background. Any Creationist worth his salt would use this as an example of predestination. God’s giving you a helping hand to know what’s going on.”

  “I wish he’d tell me.” Valerie slunk into the shadow of the Museum and began working her way to the front of the building, from whence she could leave the park by scaling the Victorian iron gates. “I haven’t a clue.”

  She jogged toward the exit, the imp at her heels. “Wrack?” she said, when they were out of earshot of the museum.”

  “Yes?”

  “Why does the mad axe man cut off heads with a hack saw? Why doesn’t he use his axe?”

  “Simple,” said the imp, his hooves thudding on the grass. “He’s mad.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Felicia rapped on the door with her knuckles, eschewing the brightly lit doorbell on the grounds that a werewolf’s knuckles were enough to wake the dead and did, in some instances, mostly involving sex with a femme vampire.

  The door, a six panel of oak with side operated security bolts, served to amplify the noise and within seconds of Felicia’s second peal of knocking, the fanlight above the door shed ye
llow lights onto the two women. The sound of bolts sliding back was followed by the door opening an inch and a beady dark eye peering out.

  “Oh, it’s you two.” Winston opened the door fully. “Do you know what time it is? What do you want?”

  Julie put her hand over her mouth but failed to stifle her giggles. Felicia just smiled and looked away. “We need to see your sister,” said Julie, trying to keep a straight face. “It’s really important.”

  “So important it can’t wait for tomorrow?” Winston stood to one side, holding the door open. “All right,” he said. “Come in if you must, though I warn you I can’t be held responsible if you throw yourself at my feet and beg me to make long, beautiful love to you.”

  “What will you do to tempt me to that?” asked Julie, running her index finger down his chest hair. If I do, will I get a Spiderman dressing gown too?”

  “I’ll pass, thanks.” Felicia walked past into the living room, flicking on the light. She shuddered at the twin shrines, one to Maitresse Erzulie and one to the Madonna Mary. She could understand, to an extent, the worship of one or the other but not both.

  Winston closed the front door and following her in, noticed the look. “What’s the problem?” he said, reaching for his tobacco to roll a cigarette. “Voodoo and Catholicism are closely related.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.” Felicia turned. “I need to speak to Latitia. She has to put off the wedding.”

  “Her wedding? The one in four days time?” Winston laughed. “You have got to be joking. Latitia’s been working on the wedding non stop for months. She’s going to need a damned good reason to call it off this close to the day. The church is booked and everything.”

  “She has to. Jim…” Julie lowered her voice. “Jim’s not himself.”

  “Who is he then?” Winston wandered through the arch between the living room and the kitchen to put the kettle on. “A ninja assassin from the planet Tharg?”

  “According to an imp we met at Magelight,” said Felicia, “he’s been possessed by a wasp spirit.”

  “Though to be fair,” said Julie, “Wrack said it was absolute rubbish. What we do know is that he’s into some pretty nasty stuff. He’s got an imp carving magical symbols into a skull for a start. He’s the one making a homunculus.”

  Winston dropped a tea bag into a mug. “Can you prove any of this?” He crossed to the fridge and took out some milk. “It sounds pretty far-fetched. How does all this tie in with Pennie?”

  “We don’t know yet.” Felicia put a hand on Winston’s arm. “She’s connected somehow. She happens to have the papers in her house. She happens to be divorced from the scientist working there…What about her boyfriend?”

  She saw Winston’s scowl. “Her other boyfriend? I saw him talking to a strange woman tonight. What was that all about?”

  “How should I know? All she told me was, they spent the day together and he had to leave suddenly. She didn’t want to be in her flat on her own so she called me.”

  “Where is she now?”

  Winston shrugged. “Upstairs. I brought her here. I couldn’t face sleeping in the bed she’d shared with…”

  “Chase?” said Felicia.

  “Steven?” said Julie.

  “Someone else, I was going to say.” Winston shrugged as he poured boiling water onto his tea bag. “It didn’t feel right.”

  “But you felt fine about her sleeping in your bed, where you’ve shagged untold numbers of women,” said Felicia.

  “That’s different,” said Winston. “I know where I’ve been.” He pulled open the back door and led the two women into the back garden. He pulled a tin of tobacco from underneath a flowerpot. “I can’t believe you think Jim’s an evil mastermind, though. I’ve known him for ten years. He got me this job.” Winston peeled back the lapel of the dressing gown. The motif on his pyjamas was Magelight. “Say what you like about Jim. He’s as thick as two short planks with a plank sandwiched between them.”

  “And yet he’s the director of a top secret research facility,” said Felicia. “I remember when I met Jim the first time. He was still giggling about fart jokes.”

  “Yeah, he was.” Winston grinned. “He grew up fast, didn’t he?”

  “Overnight,” agreed Julie.

  “Almost as if something was controlling him from the inside,” added Felicia.

  “Funny that,” said Julie. “I remember you looking out for him. Showing him the ropes, keeping him out of trouble, teaching him how to talk to girls.”

  “Then suddenly, he’s the director of twilight and he gives you a piss-ant job as a security guard.”

  Felicia sat on the bench and took Winston’s cigarette out of his hand. She took a long pull of it, coughed and threw it to the ground. “You’ve got to give that shit up,” she said. “It’ll kill you.”

  She ground the cigarette under the toe of her boot. “Can you honestly say you’ve never wondered about that?”

  Winston shrugged. “I get a lot of time to myself,” he said. “I read and I sketch. At least they didn’t give me the crappy night watch job. Nothing happens at night. It’s like working in a mausoleum.”

  “You should see a mausoleum when the dead rise,” said Felicia. “It’s a gas.”

  “And we’re back to the fart jokes,” said Julie. “Thanks a bunch!”

  Felicia shrugged. “Only when they’re bloated.”

  She turned back to Winston. “Look,” she said. “The Jim you knew is long gone. Whatever is directing the Magelight operations hasn’t been Jim for a very long time. You can’t let your sister marry him. It. Whatever.”

  “Are you telling me to stop Latitia from doing something? If you are, you know a different Latitia to me.”

  “Who’s talking about me and why?”

  All three of them looked up to see Latitia standing in the doorway, the light from the kitchen spilling out around her and making her a silhouette.

  Felicia closed her eyes and inhaled. The sharp tang of red suffused with tinges of purple belied the woman’s harsh tones. In reality she was worried sick by her brother’s reactions and not from overhearing their conversation, the scents were too deeply ingrained to have been fresh. “You know, don’t you?” she said. “I smelled the anxiety in the house but I thought it was Winston.”

  “Thanks a bunch. I shower daily, you know.” Winston took a second cigarette out of his tin as Latitia, pulling her satin dressing gown more closely around herself, stepped into the kitchen. “Know what?” she said, taking the cigarette out of Winston’s hand. “The man I’m about to marry is possessed? Of course I know.”

  “Why didn’t you say something?” said Julie. “We could have worked something out.”

  “Like sharing him on a rota system?” Latitia sat on the garden bench next to her brother. “He’s the best lover I ever had. There’s no way the original Jim was that good, not when all his experience came from the ‘how to’ pages of a soft porn mag.” She took a long drag on the cigarette and exhaled. “When he first asked me out I did a reading on him.”

  “A reading?” Julie stepped forward. “A tarot reading, you mean?”

  “Yes. It showed he wasn’t what he seemed to be but didn’t give me any indication what. He treated me well so I didn’t bother about it.”

  “But that means you’re about to marry a demon,” said Julie. “Doesn’t that concern you at all?”

  “Why should it? Nobody cares when people marry Christ. Your friend Valerie, for one; she was a nun, wasn’t she?”

  “That’s different,” said Felicia. “He doesn’t get personally involved.”

  “And which is better?” Latitia turned to her, ash from her cigarette falling to the ground in a pattern of grey and whites before they were swallowed into black by the damp earth. “A God that does nothing
but condemn you to everlasting torment, or a demon that gives you anything you could wish for and better sex than a mortal man ever could?”

  “You’ve been tricked by his tongue,” said Felicia. “Tell her, Winston.”

  “He’s done plenty with his tongue,” said Latitia, “but lying to me about my chances for redemption isn’t one of them. Look at me. I’m the daughter of a Catholic father and a Voudoun priestess. I pray to the Virgin Mary and the Maitresse Erzulie. I read tea leaves, tarot cards and the occasional spirit. I predict the future by picking tiles from a bag and I make love tokens and bottled curses. Any one of those things would damn me to the pits if I was married to a saint. Marrying a demon won’t do me any harm at all.”

  “Well, if you put it like that…” Felicia shrugged and turned over a flowerpot to sit down. “How come you’ve booked a church for the wedding, though? Isn’t that a bit of a problem for a demonically possessed groom?”

  “He doesn’t seem to think so. He told me that demons only suffer in churches if they intend to do harm. He intends to marry me, so what harm is there?”

  “None.” Julie squatted in front of her. “This is absolutely fascinating. What tiles do you pick out of bags to tell the future with? Runes, I Ching or Witch stones?”

  “Scrabble tiles,” said Latitia. “Don’t get me wrong. I’ve tried all the others but they’re open to too much interpretation. I mean, you pick out an Ushi tile that means ‘a stranger is coming’ and how do you interpret that? A new lover or a man to read the electricity meter? Worse still, you tell someone it’s a new lover and it turns out to be a bailiff who takes their television.”

  She stubbed out her cigarette and sat staring at the ground. Were it not for her breathing she might disappear into the shadows altogether. “I started using lettered tiles accidentally when I was compiling a crossword. ‘A stranger is coming’ makes a lot more sense when you can tell your client he’s a plumber called Dave coming to fix their tap and he’s already married with seven kids.” She looked up. “I added extra letters and number tiles to my bag. It makes for easier readings, though what Muse of Prophesy works in text-speak I’m not quite certain.”