by J. C. Staudt
I also have to move, so I hurdle onto the stage and head for the exit sign over the backstage door. Krydos recovers before I get there and sends a shower of silver meteors in my direction. Perhaps he thinks I’m a werewolf like Felita. Silver or not, they’re going to hurt, and the stage leaves me nothing to hide behind.
With no time to come up with anything better, I raise a wall of ice between us. The meteors punch through and strike me like hailstones with the force of a shotgun blast, throwing me to the floor. I’m still trying to catch my breath when Krydos comes crashing through the ice wall like the Kool-Aid man on a killing spree. He hauls me to my feet, where I find myself in a staring contest with his pecs.
“Take it easy, big fella. We’re all one with the lotus, am I right?”
Krydos glowers down at me. He plants his palm on my chest and stops my heart.
I gasp for air, clawing at his grip. “Did I mention I admire the size of your—”
“Let him go, Krydos.” Jerry staggers through the haze, eyes red-rimmed, breath wheezing. “He’s mine.”
Krydos releases me. “Yours? You have delivered the prince to us, along with a vast fortune. Do you still believe either of these things belongs to you?”
Jerry blinks. “No, Krydos. They belong to the revel. All belongs to the revel.”
“As do you.”
A frown darkens Jerry’s face. “As do I.”
Krydos stretches out his hand. “The revel has begun, Mayor Douglas. It no longer has need of you. I no longer have need of you, either.”
Jerry’s eyes widen. He grips his chest with one hand, lifts his gun in the other, fires a shot. Krydos looks down at the blood leaking from his thigh, but he doesn’t release his hold. Jerry fires a second shot, then a third, but the third is only a click. So is the fourth. He drops the gun, falls to his knees, and faceplants.
I’m still trying to figure out where the second shot landed. I don’t see it until Krydos takes an unsteady shuffle-step backward. His engorged member is wilting like a flower stem in the summer heat, dripping red onto the stage. He grips it hand over hand, attempting to stem the tide. “My spawn,” he whispers, turning his attention to the projection screens.
Then a strange thing happens. The mini-me satyrs rampaging across the cityscape, defiling goats and fighting off werewolves, begin to languish and lose steam. Krydos tightens his grip on himself as if to prevent further decline, and utters a sorrowful cry. “My spa-a-a-wn,” he wails, elongating the word to farcical proportions.
With the demon’s blood running low, I cast my final spell of the evening. A sword appears in my hands, blazing with pure white fire. Krydos is too consumed by the images on the big screens to notice as I lift the magical blade above my head.
I bring it down hard, taking his hands off at the wrists and removing what’s left of his manhood in a single clean sweep. The latter appendage flops to the floor like the head of some venomous snake, wriggling briefly as if alive. I turn away when it begins to smoke and shrivel.
Krydos gasps. He lunges at me and reaches out to stop my heart, but instead delivers a pair of soft wet punches to my chest.
“Looks like something’s been taken from you,” I tell him. “Like Liam Neeson. In the movies.”
I drive the sword through his sternum. It emerges beside his spine with a rough wet sound. He gives a choking cough and slumps over as the sword dissipates in my hands.
I step aside to let him fall.
The club is filling with smoke, not just from my smokescreen spell, but from the very real and very fast-moving fire spreading around me. As the heat melts through the projections screens, the satyr clones are steaming and shriveling like the magic phallus-wand which created them.
I have no idea where Ersatz and Felita are, but I’m not worried. I’m sure they’re fine. They always are. It’s Quim I’m worried about. I’ve seen better odds than finding someone the size of a bumblebee at nighttime in a city this size, so I’ll have to trust he’s found his way to safety.
I dart through the opening Krydos made in my ice wall and exit through the backstage door. Down the hallway and through the rear entrance, I find the hearse right where I left it. I crank the engine and peel out. Soon I’m hurtling down lamp-lit streets while Club Sephora burns in my rearview mirror.
Along the way to Arden’s apartment I spot telltale signs of Krydos’s legion; goats wandering down sidewalks or lapping up the steaming puddles of satyr-spawn left behind. From time to time I see or hear their predators, driven to hunger by the bloated moon.
All across the city, the pack is hunting.
Chapter 32
The blonde pixie newscastress is looking chic in a sleeveless maroon sheath dress as she delivers a breaking news bulletin on Arden Savage’s gigantic television. I’m lounging on the couch in my pajamas while morning light filters through the curtained windows. They’re Arden’s pajamas, actually. The sleeves and pant legs are two inches too short. I’ll have to do something about that.
“Riots broke out across downtown New Detroit late last night,” says the pixie, “after partygoers set a local nightclub on fire and took to the streets in what some are calling a bizarre and unprecedented series of events. Though the motive behind the riots is as yet unknown, officials have cited alcohol and illicit drugs as possible factors. Eyewitness accounts and surveillance videos recovered from the scene are still under review, but Wayne County sheriff officials say the blaze at Nightclub Sephora began around ten p.m. in New Detroit’s Corktown neighborhood. Crews have so far pulled nineteen bodies from the remains of the building, with a large portion of the structure as yet unentered due to the collapses caused by the fire. Among those killed in the blaze were acting mayor Gerold T. Douglas and club owner Craig Dosier.”
She goes on to explain the extent of the damages from both the fire and the riots, which total in the tens of millions of dollars. Her narrative is interspersed with newsreel footage of the aftermath, though strangely—or perhaps not so strangely—the footage shows no trace of satyrs, werewolves, or mutilated goats.
“In a statement issued earlier this morning, Wayne County Sheriff Ben Stocker gave his condolences to the families of the victims and promised a speedy investigation into last night’s events. When asked whether city officials were up to the task, Stocker said he has every confidence in the abilities of his people. As to whether the individual who started the fire may still be at large, Stocker said officials are still investigating.”
“Investigating my ass,” I mutter.
“No one wants to do that,” Ersatz says from his perch on the couch’s armrest.
Arden’s cell rings. It’s Carmine. I pick up.
“Arden. Are you alright?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“Did you hear about the riots?”
“Yeah, I’m just seeing the news story on TV.”
“The strangest thing just happened. The probate lawyer called and said Jerry was killed in the nightclub fire last night.”
I glance at Ersatz. “No way. That’s crazy.”
“Yeah. So we’re getting everything. You, Lorne, and I. You’re alright with splitting it three ways so we each get equal shares of Mom’s assets, aren’t you?”
“Uh… sure. Yeah. Fine by me. What’s the, um… I mean, how much are we getting?”
She tells me.
I drop the phone and fumble it back to my ear. “Sounds about right. Okay.”
“I don’t know if this is karma, or a sign, or what,” Carmine says, “but somehow I feel like we’re finally getting some justice here.”
“Me too.”
“I love you, bro.”
I hesitate. “You too, sis.”
She laughs. “Sis? That’s new. I don’t think you’ve ever called me sis in your whole life.”
“I haven’t? Well, then I’m making up for lost time, sis.”
Another laugh. “You’re a cornball. Talk to you soon, okay?”
“Okay. Bye.”
He smirks. “I take it you’re staying, then?”
“I don’t know. You think I should? If I leave now, Arden becomes a missing persons case, and the cops scour this apartment for every shred of evidence they can find. I know it would be wrong to stay, and you told me never to use magic for evil, but—”
“Forget evil. This is survival. Your father had many enemies on the otherside. It won’t end with the Disciples of Velos. Your kingly lineage is both your greatest virtue and your most perilous vulnerability. It must be kept secret at all costs—even if it means going into hiding.”
“You’re sure?”
“Assuming another person’s identity is a difficult proposition, in theory. With magic on your side, the risky bits become easier. I must confess, I rather like the idea. So long as Arden Savage’s death is never officially recorded, no one ever finds out he died. You’ll have to do something about that sister, though.”
“What do you mean?”
He gives me a knowing look. “Oh, come, now. Isn’t it obvious?”
“You know I hate when you say that.”
“When she told you she loved you, you hesitated.”
“If I told Carmine Savage I loved her back, it wouldn’t be in the brother-sister kind of way. That scares me more than taking over her brother’s life. Is that weird?”
“It’s infatuation. Put it aside. You must become a part of this family, and you can’t do that while you’re harboring feelings for your sister.”
“Luke Skywalker did it.”
“It was gross then, and it’s entirely inappropriate now.”
“What if I can’t stop feeling this way about her?”
“You must. If you don’t become Arden Savage, you can either wait until the authorities catch you or turn yourself in and save them the trouble. They’ll be hard-pressed to accept your confession of accidental murder by magic. Nor are they likely to entertain claims of poltergeist-possessed homeless persons, a demon-infested orphanage, or a legion of supernaturally-conceived goat-men. You’ll be convicted and sent to prison for the rest of your depressingly-short human life.”
“What about my life? What happens to the life I had before?”
“What life? You have no family, no romantic prospects, few friends, and a dead-end job cleaning houses. And you don’t even have that anymore.”
“If I’m going to be Arden Savage, I want to be a better Arden Savage than he was. I can’t sit on a pile of money like this and not use it to do good. This city needs a guardian. Someone who can protect it from the darkness.”
A smile passes over the dragon’s face. “A mantle any prince would be honored to wear.”
“Let’s not start in on the prince thing again. This has nothing to do with that.”
“If you say so,” Ersatz mutters amusedly. “Your father would’ve been proud.”
“He will be proud… when I find him.”
“That can wait. At the moment, you’ve got a couple of friends to find.”
I go into the bedroom to change. With the door closed I inspect the two injection sites on my thigh where the demon blood went in. Black veins spider out from the needle marks, painful to the touch. I’m sure they’ll go away in a few days. Calyxto’s mark on my palm is a different story. Looking at it reminds me I may be in hiding, but I am by no means a free man. Not yet.
I change into some of Arden’s too-small clothes. Then I don the spellvault belt and, with a crack and a twist, become him again. The pain of my many wounds recedes, though it still lingers beneath the surface. From now on I’m never leaving this apartment unless I’m disguised as Arden. There’s no such thing as too careful.
Leaving the battered white hearse in its parking space, I slip into the Maserati with Ersatz beside me and head into the city. I’ve called Quim’s and Felita’s cell phones half a dozen times each with no answer. Felita’s place is closer, so I check there first.
When I knock on the door to Apartment 1131, there’s an immediate shuffling sound from inside. I never did drop off her key with Jim Lennox from ZipMaids, so I’ve got it in hand and I’m about to slide it into the lock when the door cracks open.
Felita is in human form, wearing a floral bathrobe with her hair wrapped in a white towel. Her cheeks are flushed, making her look more like she’s just run a marathon than spent the night ripping mythological creatures to shreds. “What are you doing here?”
“I tried calling and didn’t hear from you, so I thought I’d stop in and see—” I break off, interrupted by a slow wheezing chuckle. I look up to find Ersatz clinging to the wall above the door, splitting his sides as if someone has just told him the funniest joke in the world. “What is it? What’s so funny?”
Ersatz laughs for a solid fifteen seconds before mastering himself. He coughs, catches his breath, and sighs, “Nothing. Nothing at all.”
Felita gives him a disapproving frown. “I’m fine. Seriously.”
“I kind of figured you were. Only I haven’t heard from Quim either. He hasn’t contacted you, has he?”
She gulps, opens her mouth, hesitates.
That’s when I realize Felita doesn’t smell shower-fresh. She smells like sweat and exertion. The air coming from her apartment isn’t damp and humid, as it would be if she’d just come out of the shower. “What were you doing when I knocked on the door?”
“I was, um…”
Ersatz starts laughing again.
“Will someone please tell me what’s going on?” I shout.
“I was exercising,” Felita says. “Please go away.”
“What about Quim?”
She slams the door in my face I’m done asking the question.
I knock again.
No answer.
“Ersatz. What’s so funny?”
“None of our business, I’m afraid.”
“If this is about what I think it’s about, I must’ve woken up in another dimension.”
“Oh, you’re in the right dimension, I assure you.”
I gasp. “No.”
Ersatz nods. “Oh yes, my young friend. Yes indeed.”
I knock again.
This time Felita answers. “For god’s sake. What?”
“Is Quim there? Is he inside your apartment?”
“Absolutely not,” she says.
“Hey, Cade,” comes a defeated voice from the other room.
Felita slumps her shoulders. She backs a step and lets the door swing wide.
Sitting on her couch, naked except for a strategically placed throw pillow, is Quim.
I inhale, loud and deep. “I thought you—and you were…” I stammer, motioning first toward Felita, then Quim. “Wow. That was fast. I would’ve picked up on the chemistry between you two, except… there was none. And you guys didn’t even go on a date last night.”
Quim shrugs. “You left before things got good.”
Felita facepalms. “God, I knew this was a mistake.”
“Tensions were high,” says Quim. “And so was I. That lotus stuff threw me for a loop.”
“I do things when the moon is full,” Felita explains. “Things I end up regretting. After a good hunt, the hunger is insatiable. And not just for blood.”
“So you were high, and you were horny. Sounds like a winning combo.”
They both start in on me at once.
I hold up my hands in a gesture of surrender. “Hey, this is awkward for everybody. Not my place to judge. I was just trying to make sure you were both okay.”
“We’re fine,” says Felita. “I told you that the first time.”
“We really are okay,” says Quim, more confident than I’ve ever seen him. “Obviously we need to figure this—” he wags a finger between them, “—out.”
“Things look different in the daylight,” Felita agrees. “Even when you can see in the dark.”
“I could barely see at all last night,” I admit. “Quim, I owe you an apology.
Sorry I punched you in the face with magic.”
“Yeah, that was kind of a dick move.”
“You were terrible last night,” Felita adds. “I mean really, really terrible. You need to practice your wizarding.”
“I know. I owe you an apology, too. Sorry I got handsy.”
Quim frowns. “You got what, now?”
“I was hopped up on lotus.”
“Apology not accepted,” says Felita. “You were, and are, a douchebag.”
“A douchebag who would’ve been toast without all three of you.”
“If that’s your way of thanking us—”
“It is. I’m an idiot, and the lotus made it worse. I’m glad you guys hung around anyway.”
“I stayed for the barbecue,” says Ersatz.
“I stayed because you made me,” says Quim.
“Don’t undersell yourself, QuimTak. That was ballsy, sticking it out while Krydos poured lotus nectar down your throat. Have you noticed any lingering effects from it?”
“I didn’t drink much. Enough to make me whacky, sure, but not as much as Krydos thought. I can shapeshift, and that means making drainage holes in my body where they shouldn’t be.”
Felita looks like she’s about to retch.
“Okay. Well on that note, I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it. I’m going to go snoop around at Kingdom’s Keepe. See what’s become of the place since last night.”
“Why would you want to go back there?”
“Because I’ve got a theory. Krydos cloned himself hundreds of times and induced simultaneous labor in an entire herd of goats. You don’t get access to that kind of magic through your average run-of-the-mill spellbook.”
Quim stands up, forgetting about the pillow for a second and fumbling it into place. “You think he’s got one of the grimoires.”
“My father feared his enemies would use the other grimoires for evil. I don’t know how else Krydos could’ve masterminded his revel without forbidden magic.”