Reality Bites

by Nicola Rhodes

  ‘What’s funny about that?’

  ‘Witches don’t need phones.’

  ‘They do if they want to blend in, I suppose.’

  ‘Good point. Well, I suppose we should go back and see if Denny’s had any luck.’

  When they got back, Denny was not there. Tamar panicked. ‘Oh my God, we led them straight here, no wonder they let us out, they took him.’

  ‘Calm down, what would they want with him? I thought it was me they were after?’

  ‘Who knows? Maybe it was all just misdirection, who knows what’s really going on.’

  ‘That’s been my point all along.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I said we should try to find out what’s behind all this, and you shut me down, or rather he did, and you agreed with him.’

  ‘Oh God, you’re right! And now they’ve taken him, and it’s all my fault.’

  ‘Look, you don’t know that they took him, there’s no sign of a struggle, besides how did they get in? He wouldn’t invite them, would he? He’s not stupid.’

  ‘Mind control – remember? Isn’t that how they got you? Anyway, the door’s off its hinges, look.’

  ‘It was like that before.’

  ‘It was? Are you sure?’

  ‘Positive! Anyway, I thought you knew about vampires, the mind control doesn’t kick in until after you invite them in.’

  ‘So, where the hell is he? And how did they get into your home?’

  ‘Who said they did?’

  ‘Oh, I just assumed.’

  ‘You do that a lot don’t you? Anyway, about Denny, can’t you find him, contact him, like telepathy? You said …’

  ‘Oh, oh yes, I can try. But if he’s where we were, then …’

  ‘At least you’ll have your answer then.’

  ‘Answer to what?’ said Denny walking in.

  Tamar rounded on him. ‘Where the hell were you?’

  ‘I just went out to get a paper, what’s the matter with you?’

  ‘A paper? At a time like this? What’s the matter with you?’

  ‘I’m sorry, I was getting nowhere on the computer, and my legs had cramped up. I wasn’t expecting you back yet; I just wanted some fresh air.’

  ‘I thought something had happened to you.’

  ‘I think I’ll just – go – in – here,’ said Stiles, backing into the kitchen.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Denny was saying. ‘I didn’t mean to scare you, I didn’t think. How come you’re back already?’

  ‘We found one.’

  ‘Already? That’s great. Wait – just one? Isn’t that unusual?’

  ‘I guess, maybe not though, how do I know? I suppose they don’t all live together, like a commune.’

  ‘I suppose not. Have you forgiven me then?’

  She did not answer in words; Denny smiled; oh yes this was why he put up with her. But she pulled back quickly; it was just too frustrating. So close and yet so far away. Denny considered for a second, telling her the truth about the Athame, maybe now, with his own power, he could be close to her at last. But for some reason he said nothing.

  ‘I have missed you,’ she whispered.

  Behind the kitchen door, the forgotten Stiles sank to his knees, stuffed kitchen towel in his ears and cringed.

  Later, around two a.m. Denny rose and padded through to the living room. He wiped his forehead. Tamar was right; it was hot in here. He checked that nobody was around (meaning Stiles) then he clicked his fingers. The safe appeared, and he removed the book and replaced it in the bookshelf. He was not sure what mischievous impulse had made him hide it in the first place, but he felt guilty about it now. The Athame was secreted in his bedside drawer; he had almost forgotten about it.

  * * *

  The next morning Denny seemed almost himself again, but he did not confess what he had done, nor did he tell Tamar about the Athame. He did “find” the book, however, and they talked about what to do next.

  ‘I think we have to summon this Ran-Kur first,’ was Stiles opinion. ‘I want to know why he wants me dead.’

  ‘That’s far too dangerous,’ said Denny. ‘You just said it, yourself, he wants to kill you.’

  ‘If he was going to do it, himself, don’t you think he would have done it already?’ demanded Stiles. ‘I don’t reckon he can, or else he doesn’t want to get his hands dirty.’

  ‘No, Denny’s right,’ said Tamar (predictably, thought Stiles). ‘It’s just too risky.’

  ‘Okay, but I still think we should try to find out somehow.’

  ‘Catch another vampire maybe?’ said Denny.

  ‘They must know something.’

  ‘Maybe we should summon Hecaté first,’ said Tamar. ‘Ask her if she’ll do it.’

  ‘Do you think we should go and collect that witch first?’ asked Denny.

  ‘No, I’ll give it a try first,’ said Tamar.

  ‘Okay, so are we all agreed, we summon Hecaté?’ asked Denny.

  They nodded.

  ‘Okay then, there’s a potion, we’ll need a few things.’

  ‘Eye of newt?’ said Stiles, ‘wing of bat?’ He said this with a perfectly straight face, so they were not sure whether he was joking.

  They stared at him. ‘Anyway,’ said Denny eventually. ‘You go and get the stuff, I’ll make a list.’

  ‘A roc’s egg,’ said Tamar, startled. ‘Oh my God, this’ll cause some trouble.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Stiles.

  They’re sacred birds,’ explained Denny. ‘Especially to the Djinn.’

  ‘But Tamar isn’t a Djinn anymore,’ objected Stiles.

  ‘Actually, I’m more worried about how damned vicious they are,’ said Tamar.

  Denny smiled. ‘Do you want me to go?’

  ‘Very funny.’

  ‘You’ll be okay; I have complete faith in you.’

  ‘Easy for you to say,’ snorted Tamar and disappeared.

  ‘So, what are we doing?’ asked Stiles.

  Denny held up a finger. ‘Wait for it.’

  Tamer reappeared. ‘Forgot the list.’ She vanished again.

  ‘So,’ said Stiles again. ‘Now what do we do?’

  ‘I’m going on the ’net, to see what I can find out about Ran-Kur, why he might want to kill you.’ He gave Stiles a sudden hard look. ‘You haven’t been sniffing around his girlfriend, have you?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Just stay away from her, okay? Do you think I’m blind?’

  ‘I haven’t …’

  ‘Look, let’s just get this straight,’ said Denny. ‘I’ve seen the way you look at her. I may not look like much but …’ He picked a long knife off the wall rack and bent it into a circle with hardly any effort. ‘I’m stronger than I look. If you cross me, I’ll kill you, myself – understand?’ He straightened out the knife and threw it with pin-point accuracy into the bull’s-eye of a target, painted on the opposite wall.

  Stiles gulped. ‘I wouldn’t do that mate,’ he said. ‘Not even if you were, well …’

  ‘As pathetic as I look?’ said Denny. ‘Okay, mate,’ he said, suddenly quite amiable again as he pulled out the computer, ‘let’s see what we can find out.’

  ‘I feel like I should be cackling,’ said Tamar, dropping ingredients into a large black pot (not quite a cauldron, but close enough) and stirring it, not over an open fire on stormy hilltop, but over a low heat, gas mark 2, in fact.

  ‘Lavender for purity,’ she said, ‘phoenix feather, powdered unicorn horn – Hubble bubble, toil and trouble – ha, ha, ha,’ she made a good stab at a cackle.

  Stiles was in the living room, avoiding her; Denny was still on the computer, but they could both hear her.

  ‘Nutter,’ murmured Denny, good-naturedly. He stared suddenly at the screen. ‘My God!’ he said.

  Stiles looked up. ‘What?’

  ‘Come here mate,’ said Denny. ‘Tamar,’ he called. ‘Can you leave that for a sec?’

  ‘It’ll burn.’

  ‘
Turn it off then.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘You have to see this. I’m pretty sure I’ve found out why the vampires want our boy, Jack here, dead.’

  It was a prophecy; there was an image of it on the screen. Denny printed it out.

  ‘What does it say?’ asked Stiles. His Phoenician was rusty.

  Denny translated. ‘One will come in the second millennium after the coming of the messiah. He shall be a bringer of justice and shall bear a shield, and bear the name of a knave that shall be stepped upon. His coming shall be the beginning of the breaking of the darkness, for he shall sire a child whose very life will be the end of those who walk only under darkness and take the life-blood of the righteous.

  ‘Oh my God!’ said Tamar.

  Stiles looked blank.

  ‘A Knave is the old fashioned term for a Jack in playing cards,’ explained Tamar.

  ‘And ‘to be stepped upon’ added Denny, ‘– A stile, you know? It’s you all right.’

  ‘But I don’t have any kids,’ objected Stiles.

  ‘Yet,’ said Denny meaningfully.

  ‘I’m not even married – anymore.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Okay, good point, but still …’

  ‘If you already had a kid, it’d be too late for them anyway, that’s the point. They want to get you now to stop it happening.’

  ‘It doesn’t have to be true anyway,’ said Tamar, ‘as long as they believe it, which they evidently do.’

  ‘This explains it, anyway,’ she continued. ‘This Ran-Kur certainly wouldn’t want this to happen. If he’s got no followers, he’s got nothing.’

  ‘At least I know now,’ said Stiles; he did not look very happy about it. There was an awkward silence.

  ‘Right – potion,’ said Tamar briskly. ‘Let’s get on with it.’ She headed back to the kitchen.

  * * *

  The “Master” was sitting in his private quarters of the big house, reading a bundle of reports on Denny, Stiles and Tamar, with evident satisfaction. They were all behaving exactly as predicted, although he had not expected the Hecaté thing. Yes, they had made one or two unpredictable moves, but on the whole, things were going perfectly to plan. Time, he thought, to make his next move.

  * * *

  ‘Never heard of him,’ said Hecaté bluntly, ‘and I do not wish to either. You got me up for this? You are not even witches. I only help witches. When did you,’ she pointed at Tamar. ‘Give your last offering? – Never that is when. ‘Damned cheek.’

  It had been quite an impressive manifestation, and Hecaté herself was an impressive figure. Very tall and slender with long dark hair, and dressed elegantly in elegant black rags. She looked rather like Morticia Addams, and was beautiful enough to give Tamar a run for her money. So this harangue was a bit inappropriate, at least to Stiles. Tamar and Denny were used to this sort of thing.

  ‘Would you do it for a witch?’ asked Tamar. ‘One of your brethren – sisterhood I mean.’

  ‘No,’ snapped Hecaté.

  ‘But he’s brought darkness on the world,’ said Stiles. ‘They’ll suffer too.’ He looked at Tamar for support.

  ‘Tamar nodded. ‘They’re only human,’ she said. ‘Pretty much.’

  Hecaté hesitated.

  ‘It’s the vampires or the witches,’ wheedled Tamar. ‘You or him.’

  ‘Prove it.’

  ‘Look outside.’

  ‘I cannot,’ said Hecaté.’ ‘I am not really here.’ She pondered. ‘If one of my sisters asks it of me, I will consider it,’ she said. ‘But think on, I have never heard of this Ran-Kur, I do not know his power. Even if I agree, I may not prevail. If I were you, I would try to find another way.’ She vanished.

  Then the vampires crashed through the windows like the SAS.

  ‘Loophole?’ queried Stiles.

  ‘Eh?’ said Tamar.

  ‘I thought they had to be invited in.’

  ‘Later,’ she said. ‘Get down.’

  Denny’s thoughts flew to the Athame; it was in the bedroom. Two vampires blocked his way. He beat them savagely and staked them with a broken floor lamp; the first one with one end and then the other with the other end, as they staggered drunkenly against the doorframe. He dashed into the bedroom and retrieved his prize. He did not intend to use it; he just wanted it. He tucked it into his pocket, and felt better immediately; he ran back into the living room.

  Tamar was on the floor crying. ‘They got him,’ she sobbed. ‘There were too many of them, I – I couldn’t …’

  ‘Locate him,’ said Denny. ‘Quick.’

  ‘I can’t, they’ve taken him back through; I can’t sense him.’

  ‘Oh!’

  You can find him, said his conscience. You have to.

  But you’ll have to tell her, said the other little voice.

  She’ll understand. He’ll die – hurry up, you’re wasting time.

  What do you care? He tried to steal your girlfriend.

  Tick tock, tick tock.

  In the end, it was Tamar’s misery that decided him.

  ‘I’ve failed,’ she sobbed.

  ‘Not yet,’ he said, he drew out the Athame.

  ‘What …? Where did you get that?’

  ‘Later,’ said Denny. He started to cut the air.

  ‘What the hell are you …? Wait – I sense him.’ The veil came down and she vanished.

  Stiles was lying behind some bins, bruised and battered, but very much alive, the vampires had fled. Tamar was startled, to say the least, when Denny appeared in a whirlwind beside her.

  ‘Thought you might need some help,’ he said.

  * * *

  ‘And – scene,’ said the ‘Master’. ‘Curtain – perfect.’

  ~ Chapter Sixteen ~

  Tamar was upset and totally confused. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? I think it’s wonderful, but why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘I wasn’t sure, it seemed too easy, I kept on expecting it to stop working. I didn’t want to rely on it, or … well I guess I didn’t really believe it. I’m really, really sorry.’

  By this time, Richard Burton had nothing on Denny. Tamar swallowed it.

  ‘You should have told me,’ she said, ‘but I guess I understand.’

  He put his arms around her – briefly, and the subject was dropped.

  ‘How do you think they got in?’ said Tamar. (Meaning the vampire hordes.)

  ‘Isn’t it obvious?’ said Denny. ‘The bloody landlord must have invited them. I am a bit behind with the rent. That may not have helped. He probably thought they were debt collectors. I mean, there’s not much difference is there? I’m more interested in why they did it,’ he continued., ‘just to dump him behind some bins? Do you think they thought he was dead?’

  ‘How could they not know the difference? Although I have to say, I can’t think of a better explanation,’ admitted Tamar ruefully.

  ‘Me neither.’ And this at least was the truth.

  Stiles was sleeping off his experience in the other bedroom. Denny was hit by a sudden urge to get away from her. He had not told her nearly everything, and he had had a tricky moment explaining why he had not mentioned his kidnap experience, but had brushed it off with. ‘It just never seemed like the right time.’ He was having trouble looking her in the eye and the guilt was making him edgy. He was filled with a strong desire to do some violence – but not to her. Never to her, he was not that bad, not yet. He excused himself, and, from the bathroom, he teleported himself outside.

  By the time he returned, Denny’s conscience was hanging by a thread.

  * * *

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Tamar said, indignantly. ‘Denny would never threaten anyone.’

  Stiles shrugged. ‘Have it your own way. I just thought I should tell you.’

  ‘Well, I don’t believe it. You must have misunderstood.’

  ‘If you say so.’

  ‘He’s not like that, he’s a teddy bear.’


  ‘Really? He struck me as more of a grizzly.’

  ‘Denny?’

  ‘Are you sure you know him as well as you think you do? Guys can get funny when they get jealous.’

  ‘But Denny doesn’t get jealous, he has no reason to.’

  Stiles took the point and sighed. ‘Maybe not, but maybe he thinks he does, we’re guys; we don’t always need a reason.’

  ‘I’m telling you, it’s a mistake.’

  ‘It’s pretty hard to mistake the words “I’ll kill you, myself”.’

  ‘He said that?’

  ‘Look, you know him better than I do, obviously, but don’t you think he’s acting a little – odd? Maybe something’s wrong. I just think you should be careful. I mean where is he now?’

  ‘He’s – he went out. I don’t own him, you know. He can go out if he wants to.’

  ‘Does he usually go out in the middle of the night without telling you?’

  Tamar had no answer for this, so she stalked out of the room. But she was worried, and she resolved to talk to Denny when he got home.

  Denny’s first words on returning home were an apology. ‘I’ve been acting weird I know.’ He even admitted to threatening Stiles, putting it down to stress. He also apologised to Stiles. ‘I’m not really like that,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean it.’

  Later, he told Tamar. ‘I didn’t actually say I’d kill him, he’s exaggerating. But I think it’s best if we just drop it, don’t you?’

  * * *

  It was dark and gloomy and full of smoke in the bar. As Tamar walked in, she saw a large crowd of people, standing around a balcony arrangement, waving betting slips and cheering. Boisterously shoving each other to get a better view of what appeared to be a pit of some kind. ‘Cockfighting?’ she wondered, ‘dogs?’ Where was Denny? She had definitely sensed him here. She pushed her way through the crowd of surging bodies, ‘ugh, sweaty!’, and looked down through the fog into the pit. It was only a few feet deep, and the floor was sprinkled with fresh sawdust, which did not quite cover the bloodstains, and there he was.

  Stripped to the waist and sporting a far more impressive physique than formerly, but still only about half the size of the man he was squaring up to. She cried out instinctively against it, but her voice was swallowed up in the Babel around her. Denny looked perfectly calm, amused even. A bell rang, and she watched in fascinated horror as Denny pulverised the larger man in a matter of minutes, with a kind of furious joy. She even sensed that he was holding back somewhat. The crowd sensed it too.