by SL Figuhr
Missy made another appearance, checking to make sure they were all right. Eron noticed she had trouble tearing her gaze from Phillip’s face. Even though Eron had not given her any encouragement, it still rankled. After she had left, he risked a glance to the stage. Steve was ignoring him, concentrating on the music.
“I believe that is he now,” Phillip remarked.
Eron didn’t want to know, but it was like a train wreck—he couldn’t help but look. All he saw was a large man in a sharp Armani business suit with two men at his back who screamed personal protection. The man made his way to the bar and, by the look on the faces of the waitstaff, was not wanted.
“But that’s...” He trailed off and looked back at the two vamps.
“Every rumor about him is true,” Illyria breathed hungrily. “Slippery, and cannot be tied directly to anything.”
“He will make a lovely feast, shall I? Or would you like the honors?” Phillip murmured.
“You, I got the last one,” she replied. “Besides, I like to watch you work.” She trailed a glossy red nail down his coat sleeve.
He gave his devastating smile, emerald-green eyes lightening with promises of things to come. “As you wish.” He seemed to slip through the crowd like butter, engaged the man in conversation, and soon Illyria was rising.
“You should ask her out, Eron; she might even be willing to spend the night.” The vamp squeezed his shoulder gently and bent her head near his ear to whisper, “You need something to put you in a better mood.” and was soon leaving the bar with the other men.
Eron wanted to hurl his glass against the wall. He downed the last of his whiskey instead, wondering how they planned to keep the man’s demise out of the news
Missy came over, collected the now-cold cups of espresso, his empty. “Another one?”
“Yeah, sure, thanks.” He was back to staring at the table top.
When she brought his refill back, she tried to engage him in conversation. “Your friends didn’t stay long.”
Eron glanced up. “They only stopped in for a bit, to say hello, this...this isn’t really their thing.”
She smiled at him, a sweet smile that was a little rueful as she admitted, “They did look a little too boardroom for here, as if they should have been at some function making millions.”
He had to admit she had a nice laugh; it brought a smile to his face, lightened his mood a bit, so they managed to chat some before she had to go back to work. It was a while before Eron realized Steve’s set was over, and the band had put away their instruments. The bar was a lot emptier when Steve came over with a beer in each hand and sat down.
“God, what a night.” He took a long pull. “Saw that woman come in, and that man. You nearly blew it with Missy, pal; you still might have.” Steve gave Eron a look of disgust. “Look, you wanna be alone the rest of your life, chasing after screwy women...”
“There’s nothing screwy with those two,” Eron hotly replied. At least not in the sense you mean.
Steve shook his head again, taking another long pull, finishing off the bottle. “Whatever.” He lit another smoke, blowing out a stream, jabbed the end toward his friend. “And another thing, they looked like a couple. What the hell you doing running after her if she’s in a relationship? What kind of man are you?”
Eron motioned for Missy and held up the empty. “Steve, you’re as bad as some old woman.”
“Look, pal, you may be older than me by several thousand years, only you look 30, so lemme tell ya something I’ve learned and which you haven’t. Or maybe you’ve forgotten,” he added after taking another pull of beer and another hit. “Guys looking like that one don’t like poaching on their territory when they’re still with the woman. And that’s another thing: why would you want a woman like her anyway if you know she cheats?”
“Steve, your attitude is puritan. Some people are in open relationships.”
“Hey, it’s called having morals,” He shook his head and took another slug and hit. “All’s I know, she screams danger, and the businessman her and her friend were with? Not the kind of people you hang around with voluntarily if you get my drift. But hey,” he lifted a hand and let it fall, “it ain’t none of my business.”
Missy came over with two more bottles and a double shot of whiskey, “Last call, guys. Here ya go.” Eron was all set to refuse the drink when she said, “On the house. Laphroaig.”
Steve looked at him, a smirk pulling up one side of his face, and took another drink of beer. “I’m telling you, ask her out.” He called out before Eron could stop him, “Hey Missy, my friend here’s a little shy. Would you be interested in going out with him sometime?”
“I curse you, and those, not of my kind that stand here, perpetrators of crimes against our people. I curse you!”
The short phrase resounded and reverberated inside Eron’s head. He was dissolving into a sea of burning whiteness as the blonde woman’s curse thundered through his being.
“Missy, that was her name.” Eron had not realized he spoke aloud until he saw it wasn’t the steady white electrical illumination of the bar’s fluorescents he was seeing, but the flickering fluctuating flame-orange of torches. He was lying on a cold stone floor. Behind him, a door shuddered as people outside tried to break it open.
“What the hell?” He couldn’t think, couldn’t remember what he was doing here.
How long has it been? It was a great effort, but he sat up, a fading ache at the back of his head reminding him of the blow which had taken him out. He had been at the Harvest Ball. The young man who looked like a grown-up version of Nicky had staged a coup. Some weirdo with a staff had set off a firework which burned bright as the sun.
He realized a veil had just been torn from his eyes. Stray memories locked away for centuries crashed down on him intensely. They left him momentarily crippled with emotion. What else am I not remembering because of her? I think Steve was right; I’ve been chasing shadows.
Just thinking of the long-dead man, the innocent woman, made his blood boil in anger and frustration almost as great as his anger at Illyria. We were cursed, she got us all cursed.
Why now? Why had it broken now? What or who had caused it to break? Was it from those two men and their strange bomb? One thing Eron had learned in his very long life: the older he got, the faster he healed. As he sat up, he dislodged Illyria’s body.
He had only time to gasp out “Oh shit!” before her eyes flew open, her fangs sank in his neck, and there was nothing he could do as he fell back against the shuddering wood door to the garden.
* * *
I looked up at the webbing of metal catwalks and stairs ringing the room. There had to be other doors leading out, but everything had been painted black, so the foreground blended into the background and made finding the doors a pain. I thought I saw the glint of glass near the middle top, and metal tracks near the ceiling. A large open platform hung from the tracks directly centered in the cavernous room. I could see people inside cages dangling from the cross-bars.
“Son-of-a-bitch,” I muttered, low-voiced. I wasn’t going to play this game. I wasn’t. But I knew if I wanted to save them, I had to play anyway. “Fine, asshole.”
I had already figured out from the taunts of our enemy that the building was wired for audio and video. I didn’t know if he were still watching, so I took the long route up all four flights before making my way to the metal tracks, the platform and its burden hanging down to my right. I could see Alric and his queen, the head of his army, and another man not of their clan but a great warrior in his own right. They looked up at me, able to track my movements. Each one was gagged; chains ran from their wrists and ankles to the cage floor. The Queen looked at me calmly enough, but it didn’t mean anything. She could be in a towering rage and a person wouldn’t know until it was too late.
“I told you not to split up; now look at the mess you’re all in.”
The blond was rattling his chains again to get my attention as I st
udied the setup. He jerked his chin in an odd motion and I followed to see he was indicating the wheels. There was a brick of explosive at each support, so the whole contraption would fall.
“There’s no way I can support such a weight, I’m not that damn good,” I informed him as he gave me The Look. Our enemy loved using explosives. I figured there was more I couldn’t see. I wasn’t sure if the setup had been pre-wired, or even if the people before me had been conscious when they were put in the cages.
“Are the cage locks wired?” He nodded yes.
“The floor where it’s welded to the sides?”
He hesitated, a puzzled look in his eyes I took it to mean he wasn’t sure. I didn’t want to step on the top, for fear it would set off the wheel charges.
I could see the glass from here, dark tinted and opaque. Drat, I couldn’t read my enemy’s mind; it had to do with his kind. However, they did register as blank spots on my mental map. I tried scanning and was fairly sure the control booth was empty, so he was elsewhere in the huge old building.
I looked at the chains holding each corner of the cage, and saw a lumpish gray mass wrapped around the links: some type of moldable explosive. I had no way of knowing if it constituted a small charge, or a large one.
“So, falling the equivalent of four floors constitutes massive damage for you, doesn’t it?” I asked conversationally.
I got an angry rattle of chains and muffled noises as he glared at me. I took the answer as a curse in his native tongue. “Just a question, chill, I’m not going to let you fall when there’s still explosives undetonated.”
I continued my inspection, concluded there was only three significant points set to blow. But I had no idea whether the others would detonate if I tampered with one. I hadn’t come equipped for a problem like it. I wondered if things were rigged to blow if he died. I knew that the charges had to be primed prior to the detonation. I approached their queen and crouched close.
“I don’t have the equipment with me to defuse the charges, and I can’t get it, so I’m going to ask you a rather personal question, and believe me, Majesty, when I say that all your lives depend on a truthful answer.” I waited for her to acknowledge me. Blondie was banging the chains again.
“Shut it, Blondie, this isn’t the time for ceremony or niceties.” I looked his way in case it was a warning, but no, he was pissed with the way I addressed their queen.
I would have to leave them dangling, try to find our enemy, whom I had nicknamed Dead-Man. He had many control centers; each one held redundant systems so he could log in and blow stuff up throughout the building. I wished for the dozenth time the complex had blast doors to seal off sections of the structure.
“I have to leave you here temporarily. I have to get inside the control booth.” I saw the queen close her eyes, not liking my idea. I continued to explain in detail why I needed to do so.
All of them remained silent, dazed horror in their eyes. I needed to locate the rest of the crew; my earpiece had been silent for a very long while. I made my way off the tracks over to the catwalk. Stairs led up to the outside of the booth. “All units report your location, copy, out.”
I waited but heard nothing, so I repeated the call signal again and fumed.
At great length, I heard, “Raptor, Ducat here, copy.”
“Copy, Ducat, what’s your location? Out.” I replied.
“I’m not sure, Crusader One got cut off a while back. Out.”
I felt my irritation grow by leaps and bounds, wondering why neither one hadn’t told me this when it happened, and knew it wouldn’t help to yell at the kid. “Situation, Ducat, out.”
“Whole lotta nothin’, out”
“Can you make your way to base, out.”
“I hope so, out.”
I was not sure where I was, or how to guide the kid to me so we could get the captives out. The earpieces had been a last-minute thought. I knew Crusader One could take care of himself, but he would never forgive me if I let something happen to his friend.
“Any sign of the enemy, out.”
“Negative, out.”
“Return to base Ducat, Raptor out.”
“What about Crusader One, and the packages? Out.”
“Crusader One will call when ready, you’re ordered back to base. Out.”
“I think I should look for Crusader One, out.”
“Negative on all counts, Ducat. Return to base, copy.”
I was inside the booth now and could see the controls and a door leading further into the structure. There was also a table set up with some monitors, a mike, and a rack of computers. A chair sat in the middle of the space, empty drink cans and junk food wrappers strewn about the cabling which ran everywhere. A box of half-eaten still-warm pizza sat on the chair. This room was active, so whoever was running it would be back soon.
I waited for a reply; if the kid had turned me off, I was going to smack both him and Crusader One next I saw them. I heard a new voice in my ear.
“Raptor,” followed by amused laughter, “Oh I like it. I’d tell the kid to say hello, but he can’t talk right now, literally.” I received more laughter before the piece fell silent.
“You’re a dead man, copy.” I threatened in menacing tones. The plan had gone to hell in a hand basket.
“I’ve got a surprise for you.” I heard crackling noises and thought he had smashed the earpiece, but no, it was him making those sounds and they reminded me of something.
“Then come and give it to me,” I taunted. I heard locks click and ducked behind the door as it opened. Perfect.
* * *
Fire shot up in columns, metal screamed as the room shook, huge chunks of glass from the ceiling shattering into deadly shards. The blasts nearly ruined my hearing. Alric had grabbed onto the bottom of the chain, and we were pulling him up when the catwalk he had been on collapsed in a roar of metal. We had just gotten him onto the roof when a particularly lethal cloud of jagged metal rolled up and out the opening. We jumped back in panic.
I motioned the Fae to follow me, and we sprinted across the rooftop. Alric and his court could run almost as fast as I, and we fairly flew across the tops. They found the way down first, and I waited for the two immortal men to catch up. Just as I looked back at Alric, another explosion rumbled from inside and the roof disintegrated. I saw him being thrown free from the blast, engulfed by a rolling cloud of smoke and debris.
I found the queen and her court first. She was keening, wailing a song in her native tongue beside the remains of Alric, which hardly looked like they had once been a man.
Blondie looked up sharply at my approach; he was tall, slim and muscular with long shining blond hair and green eyes. He spoke harshly in the same language as the queen and drew his swords. I stopped several paces away.
The other blond-haired, green-eyed warrior had drawn his long sword and stood in a protective stance, rage making his beautiful, fine-featured face into something frightening and ugly.
I waited. I could hear the calls of concerned humans on the mental ether, and knew emergency personnel were on their way. I heard shouting as Jester, called Eron, came up. He and Crusader One, known as Mica, had cuts, black with dirt and smoke. Their young friend had been blown to bits from what I could make out of their shouting. We did not know what became of the one I had called Dead-Man.
Mica was the first to yell we all had to go. The remains of Alric’s people resisted. The two immortals insisted. The queen turned to me, her anger more terrible than the warriors’.
“It is because of you, night-walker, that my mate is dead. It is because of you our nation shall be cleaved in two and made weak so our enemies may pick us apart. Our time will come to an end because of you,” she excoriated me.
I’m Sorry seemed an inadequate apology.
“It will be dealt with by our kind.” A new voice spoke from the darkness and out of it stepped Phillip. “The box for you.”
I misliked the promise and prepared to batt
le when the queen replied, “The murder of our kind calls for justice from our kind.”
Her tone made me afraid for my un-life. She raised her arms, palms out toward me, “Illyria Sasha Nicolette Caladonea of the Maison du Corbeau. I curse you!”
She was beginning to glow, incandescent, as unseen winds blew her ankle-length hair back. I tried to step back but felt rooted to the spot. “I curse those not of my kind who stand here, perpetrators of crimes against our people. I curse you!”
The short phrase reverberated inside my head: “I curse you! I curse you! I curse you!” I was dissolving into a sea of burning whiteness as her words thundered through my being.
* * *
My eyes flew open in the dark. I was already sitting up, my hands wrapped around the throat and shoulder of someone who had disturbed me. My fangs buried in their neck. I swallowed, the taste of cinnamon, vanilla, and ambrosia flooded my being. There were only a few people I knew who tasted that way. I thrust the person away from me, and Eron slammed into the door.
* * *
Eron and Illyria stared at each other for several heartbeats as they sat on the floor. Behind them, the door shuddered from blows. The commingled voices of slaves, townspeople, and guards filtered through. The memories which had been locked away by the curse a storm in their heads. The strongest, which came to the forefront, over and over, was the night it all happened. They were back there in the parking lot of the abandoned factory. The intervening years, the here and now, retreated before the urgency of the now-ancient night. The bitterness he never knew he harbored against her welled up and slid into place as if it had never left.