Bloodbound

by F. Wesley Schneider

  “Slavery,” Considine piped. “So dramatic.”

  “What about your visit? Should I be concerned about you returning to his service?”

  He shrugged. “He made an offer.”

  “And?”

  “And he made an offer.” He shrugged as he turned to survey the yard. “You’ve been busy. Who are they?”

  “It wasn’t me. Sounds like they’re Rivascis’s thralls. They came with a foreigner in black and tried to carry off Kindler.”

  A brow arched. “You don’t say? So your traveling companions did all this?”

  “Seems like they did the best they could. Jadain’s missing. They beat Rarentz nearly to death—”

  “No shame there,” he interrupted.

  “And Tashan …”

  I had his attention. Eternal youth made it rare that any sort of gravity weighed on Considine’s features. But for an instant, he was a man of his true age, the frailties of his hundred years obvious in his darting eyes. It so surprised me that all I could do was nod.

  Considine followed my look to the body-shaped pile of ashes heaped against the doorframe. A bronze sword lay next to the heap, the pommel’s eyelike design sealed beneath a lid of soot.

  Something in Considine’s continence quivered, then burst.

  Mist tumbled across the porch. It seeped between slats and wafted against my boots. The fog was thin enough to see the mossy floorboards through by the time it washed around Tashan’s corpse. It thinned further.

  There was no distraction in the yard-turned-battlefield. Beyond the city’s austere spires stars were just beginning to appear out of the deepening dark. I watched a dozen blink open, then a dozen more.

  Most of the light had faded by the time a column of fog soundlessly built itself at my side. Considine’s thin shoulders froze in its midst. Wood screeched as his nails dug into the railing.

  We stood not speaking for a while.

  “You tore your vest.” I finally ventured without turning.

  “Yes …” His voice sounded just as casually bored as usual. “I’d grown especially fond of it, too. My favorite for quite some time, actually.”

  I nodded.

  “Someone’s going to pay for that.” Turning away, he headed for the far end of the porch. “I’ve something to show you.”

  I rounded the side of the house just as Considine squeezed a heavy chain in his palm. It burst, its loops falling away from the cellar door’s handles. The flimsy wood panels clattered open and he vanished inside.

  “I took it upon myself to see if our hostess had any conveniently dark places hidden away.” His voice descended the rickety steps. “As it turns out, she does … and better.” The stairs that barely squeaked at Considine’s passage groaned under my steps. For not the first time I considered the wisdom of following a vampire into the dark.

  Kindler’s basement was much as I expected, filled with the shapes of dusty boxes, old furniture, and the like. Considine touched a lantern and gave an impatient command. Light sprung from it, though no flame burned within.

  A broad circle etched the flagstone floor, its cultic geometries traced in crimson wax. That was something of a surprise.

  Not the only one either.

  I’d spent the day listening to Kindler recount tales from her travels. Although they were filled with mysteries and strange explanations, they were still an old person’s stories—epics to her but meaningless episodes to anyone else. They’d already blurred together in my mind, but here they became real.

  “This is all from Kindler’s travels …” There was plenty to take in.

  Brushing dust from the lacquer surface of a portable Pharasmin altar, I avoided the pieces of silver cutlery impaling the wood. “She just told me about this. It’s from the failed exorcism of House Beumhal. Three priests died trying to expel a knocking spirit from the hostel’s kitchen.”

  I slipped deeper, between stacks of crates to a leaning coffinlike box. Although its iron surface was fixed with a dozen padlocks, its doorlike lid lolled open. Desperate scratches scarred the interior. “She imprisoned the ghoul-mayor of Clover’s Crossing in here. The thing starved inside for a month before it gave in to interrogation.

  “And these are likely some of Ramoska Arkminos’s failed cures for vampirism.” I ignored Considine’s snort, pulling a lengthy red vial from a full wine rack that clearly didn’t hold a single vintage.

  “Even this.” I strayed back to the room’s center, kneeling at the sinister diagram’s edge. “Kindler and her colleagues summoned the devil Abeixul right here, and convinced it to return the soul of Istan Calmeyer’s nephew.”

  When I looked up, Considine was watching me. “What?”

  “Sounds like you’ve joined the old woman’s church.” Suspicion tinged his voice.

  “Quiet. I’ve been listening to this all day.”

  Not that he was wrong. I was definitely more than a little impressed. Tales I could have written off a moment ago proved far more impressive with the realities—often grim ones—collected before me.

  “Oh, then I suppose you won’t be interested in these.” He toed open a chest’s lid and nodded, purposefully keeping his distance. “Look familiar?”

  They did.

  The chest’s padded quarters brimmed with glass flasks, mirrored squares of silver, mummified bulbs of garlic, sturdy lengths of sharpened hawthorn, and stranger paraphernalia. Most were tools I was well acquainted with and, from another perspective, so was Considine.

  “Been snooping?”

  “Simple curiosity.” He shrugged. “And I’m glad I did. I was set to make this my temporary residence before seeing these. I’m not terribly interested in being the boar that fell asleep at the butcher’s.”

  Kneeling, I tested the weight of one polished stake. Something inside shifted. I barely felt the hidden seam and, twisting the tip, dumped the contents onto the floor.

  Considine was past me in a breeze of chilly mist, reforming quickly. “Watch that now!”

  The water pooled, clear and plain. Considine’s reaction answered my question as quickly as it entered my mind. Holy water. Handy.

  Nodding, I replaced the stake with the others, noticing in doing so that all the others were not stakes. Discarded among the wood was something far more elegant.

  The dagger was light, as if carried by the spreading wings that formed the hilt. A carved bird skull stared from the intersection of blade and grip, its hollow sockets encrusted with dust. The residue made it look like it had just woken. Even in the dimness the silver blade practically glowed.

  Silver, which with the right incantations …

  “Ensorcelled?” I asked, holding it up for Considine to examine.

  He rocked back, but something caught his attention. Muttering without words, he leaned in to studying the thing.

  “Oh,” he said after a moment. “Oh, that’s nasty.”

  “What?” I pulled it back, looking into its eye sockets.

  “Whoever made this had a grudge.” He gave a dark chuckle and nodded at the knife sheathed at my hip. “Cut me.”

  My look told him not to dare me.

  “Really. Do it.” He gave his cockiest grin.

  That made it easy. The familiar edge gleamed, arched for his forearm, and bit. Not deep, though, as there suddenly wasn’t anything for it to slice but spreading mist. Considine reformed a step away, the nick on his arm already healing.

  He ignored my “So what?” look, nodding at the other blade. “Now with that—and nothing fancy.”

  Was that worry in his voice? I repeated my stroke with the winged dagger. The blade pierced and slid effortlessly. Before I could jerk it back, it had transfixed the vampire’s arm. We both made surprised sounds, Considine’s through gritted teeth.

  I yanked the dagger back. It made a sound like it was being drawn from a sheath. “Why didn’t you dodge it?”

  Considine clapped a hand over the gouge piercing his wrist. The first knick was already gone, but thi
s looked like it would take longer to heal. “Like I thought—nasty thing.” He nodded at the dagger’s dry blade. “Something locked when it touched. Not quite as bad as being staked, mind you, but truly an unsettling feeling.”

  “You couldn’t change?”

  He shook his head. “I really don’t know how you manage, always having to drag all that weight around.”

  I pointed the blade back at him and he lifted his hands in surrender. This was already proving useful. Reaching back for the dagger’s sheath, I found something better. The dagger’s twin was a perfect match. Hefting one in each hand, I found their weights to be identical. These were true treasures.

  I fixed the sheaths onto my belt, but kept one dagger drawn. “Why are you showing me these?”

  His head made a bored roll. “I haven’t had to bother with Father’s delusions of justice and deservedness for some time. I’ve recently been reminded that I prefer things that way.”

  “So you want me to use these against Rivascis?” I didn’t take to the idea of being his cat’s-paw.

  “What you do with them is your business. Visit the Royal Opera, perhaps. I just came from there, it’s quite a lovely building—if you don’t mind rats. Or Pharasmins.”

  Pharasmins? “Jadain?”

  He closed his eyes and again showed his palms. “I merely want to ensure you have your full range of usual options.”

  “Right.”

  “You’ve always called your particular brand of stubborn nonsense ‘justice.’ Here’s a box full of it. Share as you please.”

  I scoffed, sheathing my new dagger. “If that were the case, do you really think you’d benefit?”

  “Normally, no.” He flipped back another box lid and shook out a long cloak of dark leather. It was patched, but well kept, with a severe style. Unlike the one I’d lost in Kavapesta, this was obviously tailored for a woman.

  “You’re trying to buy me off with a cloak?”

  “Of course not, dear.” Grinning, he reached back into the case and withdrew something equally severe. “I know you much prefer hats.”

  40

  MONSTER HUNTER

  JADAIN

  Having teeth doesn’t make you a wolf, little lost priestess.” The unveiled creature’s voice slipped between moldy wood crates. “Even mice can nip.”

  The empty cellar room where I’d been held opened into another basement room, this one crowded with all manner of crates and stranger shapes. It felt larger, despite the junk, but I couldn’t be certain.

  “I once treated a drunk who had his fingers eaten off by rats,” I said into the dark. “When I told him I needed to take his entire hand, he didn’t sound half as worried as you.”

  I raised the lantern high, illuminating a leprous giant’s skull. It gaped from atop a stack of musty banners, its eyes red sequins, its parchment-bone crumbling. Beyond stood row after uneven, awkwardly stacked row of crates, scrap timber, and enough hanging garments to shame a queen’s wardrobe. Pulleys and rigging dangled from the rafters, casting tall shadows amid so much that already resembled half-hidden figures. The garish colors and strange shapes made it look as though someone had locked away an entire carnival down here, then forgot it entirely.

  I began cautiously down one aisle, choosing the one crossed with the fewest torn banners and stray limbs. The lantern light seemed to spread farther than it had in my prison, a mixed blessing as buttons glistened and shadows swayed with every step. The sharp wood in my grip twitched every time I thought I saw a glint of gold.

  “Are you hunting me, blind little mouse?” The voice came from nowhere in particular, echoing off stone here even while musty gowns swallowed it there. “Do you want to meet your goddess so badly?”

  Dull pain burned my face. “You had your chance for that. It’s my turn to return the favor.”

  Her ugly rattle-laugh drifted above the clutter. “When I die, the Horsemen will tear apart and devour my soul. A feeble thing like you won’t be what sends me to them.”

  “Then why hide?”

  Silence.

  Could be she didn’t have a quick retort. Also could be I was getting close.

  I stepped through a row of fallen polearms with blunt wooden heads. They were props, like so much in this basement. Beyond them, collected bits of set dressing matched in shades of black and crimson, repeating patterns of horns and flames. Exaggerated suggestions of red-faced devils leered out of the dark. The wooden head of a single massive fiend loomed like a gate, so tall its fiery brows scraped the ceiling. Its mouth gaped wide enough to consume the damned three abreast, and mirrored eyes glinted as I approached.

  Slipping between the hellmouth’s blunt teeth led me into a cramped corner of the room. Battered wooden representations of torture devices lined the walls while heavy curtains hung in tight bunches. Grim-faced iron maidens surrounded a long pine box. Whatever performance these were all for, I had no interest in seeing it.

  Gold danced at the edge of the lantern light and my scrap of wood jerked up. It felt desperate.

  Fortunately, the metal wasn’t affixed to a familiar gown. Rather, it was a brooch hanging from one of the corner’s bundles of dark fabric. The piece of jewelry was far from alone. The entirety of the curtained mass sparkled with mismatched trifles, glittering earrings, sunburst brooches, a Sarenrite’s ankh, gold foil twisted around iron bands, and more. Individually, the tiny decorations would have been entirely unassuming. Set on somber fabric in their haphazard collection, they openly betrayed their owner.

  Something behind me dripped.

  I spun, a prayer on my lips—but again, nothing was there. A muffled drop sounded once more, water splashing into water. I knew my captor was wounded, but surely not badly enough to be sopping like that. The noise was faint and close. I held the lantern toward it, raising it to the box at the makeshift room’s center. Not a box at all, I realized with a second look, but another exaggerated recreation, this time of an overlarge coffin. If this were the urdefhan’s den, it made some sort of sense—a fake coffin for a would-be vampire. At least she was practicing.

  The goddess’s symbol, tangled in my grip with the stake, spun as I drew closer. Its shape—seeming more familiar than it had in days—reassured me even as a mild nauseous tide rocked my insides. I pushed past the sensation and whispered a prayer, calling on the goddess to reveal evil even where I couldn’t see. I didn’t expect the magic to pinpoint the creature, but it would let me know if she were close.

  The hint of evil was a bitter taste in my mouth. I circled the wooden case, wary of what might lurk within. The sensation grew stronger, not in the direction of the coffin, but toward the wider room.

  She was behind me. Maybe I could use that fact to draw her out.

  So softly I could barely hear my own words, I called upon the goddess’s aid again. Once more she acknowledged my prayer, her touch a cold, depthless constant far beyond the sickness that momentarily welled up as I whispered. The air around me grew cold, like a cloak left on the line overnight. The goddess’s protection might have been invisible, but if she willed, it would protect me against any evil. Once I might have hoped it would be enough to defend me. Now I knew it either would, or I would soon stand at her side. Neither option was mine to choose, though both agreed with me if such was the Lady’s will.

  I threw off the coffin lid as dramatically as I could. “Ha!”

  I didn’t have to feign surprise as it flipped high and crashed awkwardly, the wood proving far lighter than I’d anticipated.

  “Indeed.” Her voice was close.

  I spun. She was there, standing among the devil’s fangs. With a hiss she threw fingers of black and gold toward me. Noxious green light burst from her palm in a crackling, grasping limb.

  Familiar words were on my lips. If there was any chance the goddess held me in disfavor, this was sure to fail.

  The light’s point coiled and dove for my neck.

  I sped through my prayer.

  With neither sound no
r burst the fetid light vanished.

  “What?” the urdefhan shouted over the final word of my prayer. Shock turned to rage. She rushed forward, eyes blazing, fangs naked, a vision of damnation clattering through the hellmouth.

  My prayer rose on a scream, becoming a condemnation. Between us, light froze in shades of chilling flesh, icy shards forming a radiant dagger. I felt it like it was tethered to my heart, an extension of my conviction manifested by the goddess’s might. It sought my command.

  The urdefhan saw the blade and twisted past. Across her rags, every dented bauble glared hatefully. Claws rose for my face, not to grip, but to skewer.

  A dozen terrible ends came to mind—the Nidalese Quiet Death, the Qadiran Kiss for a Traitor. I pushed my training aside. Whatever this moment was, it would be mine.

  “Take her!” I didn’t need to speak. The blade, sensing my desire, pivoted and struck like a winter gale. Dreary ribbons tore, gold ornaments rained and shattered. The divine dagger slashed lines of frozen light, vicious and impossible to follow.

  A terrible noise, less a scream and more the rattling of alien organs, escaped her. The woman in black stumbled. Fleshless hands came up only to be slashed to the bone. She twisted to keep her invisible attacker in sight and turned her back on me. As firmly as I could, I grabbed her by the arm and heaved. Shock visibly reverberated through fleshy spindles in her transparent neck. She seemed hollow. I heaved, toppling her into the coffin. She landed with a crack. The impact repeated an instant later as the dagger slammed down, piercing her chest, pinning her into the false casket.

  The dagger’s cold light illuminated her from the inside, shining out through the slashed gown and skin like a sea creature’s.

  “Master …” The gurgle sounded like a word. “You promised.”

  Then her life leaked away.

  With the slowing jerks of black veins, the dagger’s glow faded. A moment later it too was gone. In the lantern light, tarnished jewelry glimmered indifferently.

  Something dripped, louder now and more steadily than before. I lifted the light over the corpse. The coffin’s bottom was stone—or rather, the coffin had no actual bottom. The floor beneath was visible, along with a sewer drain barely large enough for a rat to squeeze through. A rivulet of blood wormed into that darkness, each drop’s plummet marked by a steady “tap” into some deeper pool. The sewer, from the smell.