King of Sin

by Nick Freo

  “Three reasons. It’s old enough to not have an alarm. It’s sexy. And because no thief in her right mind would steal a red sports car, so cops probably won’t even look twice at us.” She gave me another saucy wink.

  “Are those your authorities? Cops?”

  “Sure are.” She effortlessly opened the left side door of the vehicle and climbed inside, leaning across to open the other door for me. “Hop in!” she called, voice slightly muffled by the glass. I had to climb into the waiting seat with care and found my knees nearly touching my ears. “You can push the seat back to give yourself some legroom,” she laughed. “Just grab that handle behind your feet and slide backward.”

  I heard a mechanical grating as I followed her advice, and soon I was reclining further back with my legs extended in front of me. Simple and yet wondrous.

  Alia manipulated the lower regions of the car, beneath the handwheel, exposing a tangle of more colored wires. She set about stripping a protective coating away from several of them, then folded them together until the vehicle sparked to life. As the infernal device coughed and purred, a noise unlike any I had ever heard assaulted my ears.

  “What is that?” I cried, clapping my hands to the sides of my head. “Is this some kind of attack?”

  “I guess the owner of this beauty is into death metal,” Alia laughed. She maneuvered the controls to set the car in motion, guiding it out onto the empty street and accelerating through pools of lamplight. She touched a small protrusion and the strange din cut away.

  “The music of your world is rather peculiar,” I said, but I was more interested in gleaning knowledge of other topics from her, especially about cars. “How are these vehicles operated?” I asked. “I can see that you control it manually, but how is it propelled?”

  She laughed. “What kind of spaceship did you fly here in? It’s powered by gasoline, which is a kind of fossil fuel.”

  I frowned. “Spaceship? I arrived by portal. I know no other means of traveling between worlds. That is interesting... I should like to learn more about fossil fuels.” My left hand twinged where the bullet had pierced my thick skin. “But first, tell me all you know of the bullet priests and the Overseers they mentioned.”

  “They told you about the Overseers?” she asked, surprise strong in her tone.

  “More that they mentioned them in passing,” I explained. “They claimed their authority, as if expecting that to impress me. But who are they? If they command the bullet priests, they must be quite powerful indeed.”

  “They are,” she assured me. “The Overseers are a coalition of powerful creatures who ensure that humans and the hidden races can coexist peacefully.”

  “Hidden races?” I asked.

  “Yes. The vampires are among them, but there are others. Werewolves, shifters, even the occasional elf, although I think their bloodlines were mostly bred out. All of us exist behind a veil of secrecy. It keeps us safe from the humans, who outnumber us significantly. And it keeps them safe from fear of us, since we’re individually much stronger.”

  “I can see that,” I said appreciatively. “This so-called king I killed—he was the mere king of an underworld?”

  “Not even,” Alia snorted. “He made us call him king, but he only had dominion over this city, and as you say, only over the underworld communities. He liked to think that one day he’d expand his reach further, but he was always too weak. I knew someone would come along and prove it one day.”

  The car sped along the mostly deserted roads, pausing and slowing on occasion when necessitated by the colored lamps that dangled above the crossroads. Alia called them traffic lights and explained they mandated the orderly flow of the vehicles. Simple, effective, and designed for cattle. Small wonder the vampires saw fit to feed on the humans. Such a waste of their raw potential...

  We entered a community filled with small dwellings, mostly shorter abodes with narrow paths leading up to them. Alia slowed the car and stopped it on the side of the road. She disconnected the wires to end the car’s rumblings and pointed at a humble home across the street.

  “He lives there,” she said, “and that’s really all I know.”

  I peered at the building. As soon as we had arrived I had surmised it would be the healer’s residence, while simultaneously hoping he would be at some other place. A holy energy emanated from the building; it was clearly a temple of some kind, and not a forgotten and wasted one like the cathedral I had claimed. This house was a true place of worship, the kind that could command the energies I was most vulnerable to.

  “What, do you need me to hold your hand?” Alia asked. “Go knock on the door! I’ll make myself scarce. If that old bastard so much as smells a vamp, he’ll probably lock himself in his panic room.”

  I walked across the cracked street and up the gravel path as Alia rolled away, feeling exposed as the porch light reflected off my dragon scale armor. I reached up with a heavy fist and knocked hurriedly on the whitewashed door.

  Chapter 10

  There was no answer, which in itself felt like an invitation. The feeling of holy energy made me hesitate momentarily, but then concern for Pride pushed me onward. I opened the door and stepped into a neat, cozy little room, a kitchen. An old man sat at a table, sipping from a steaming mug and watching. For a moment a flicker of recognition crossed his face, as though he had recognized an old friend or foe in my face. But then the flicker died away, and he turned his attention to his tea.

  I closed the door behind me and strode across the kitchen, choosing to stand behind the only other chair at the table rather than sit in it. I towered over the old man in my dragon scale armor, weapons bristling at my hips. He did not seem surprised or intimidated in the slightest. He merely sipped his drink and gazed up at me. It was a plain green tea—I could smell the aroma wafting on the gentle indoor air currents.

  “You are the healer,” I said at last, because the old curmudgeon would not speak first and I could think of nothing else to say. He nodded. He did not ask who had sent me, and the reason for my presence seemed obvious enough. “I require your services,” I said. “Come with me.”

  The old man placed his mug down on the table and covered it with both hands, as if warming his palms on the rising vapor. Finally he spoke, and his voice was like dry leaves scuttling along a stone path. “He who seeks to capture steam will be forever grasping at thin air,” he said as if imparting some ancient wisdom. Then, he picked his cup back up and took another sip.

  “Are you as simple as you are old?” I demanded. “One of my people is in need of healing. Come with me at once.” I drew my dagger, brandishing it in an overhand grip. He did not appear to notice. I forced down the growl that grew in my throat and slammed my weapon back into its sheath. I would suffer his impudence for Pride’s sake.

  “Please,” I said at last, forcing the word past my lips. “I require your aid. My friend is mortally wounded. If you come with me now, I will offer whatever reward you require.”

  At long last the healer turned his attention from his tea and looked at me with clear blue eyes. He scuffed a hand through a shock of white hair and smiled.

  “There, manners will get you everywhere in this world, you know.”

  “So I see,” I replied quickly. “Will you aid me or not?”

  “Well, you’ve shown some civility,” he sighed. “I suppose that must have been like pulling teeth for you. Alright, just let me get my coat and my bag of tricks. I never go anywhere at night without a decent coat, and I’m useless without my knicks and knacks.”

  “Let us hurry, then,” I said. “If you would,” I added.

  He disappeared into a back room and re-emerged a few minutes later wearing a long black leather coat and carrying a large matching bag. He had also donned a leather hat with a small purple feather sprouting from the band.

  “Did you drive here, or ride a horse?” he inquired, raising an eyebrow at my attire as if noticing it for the first time.

  “I arrived by
car, but not my own,” I explained awkwardly, not wanting to mention the vampire who had brought me.

  “We’ll take my truck then. This way.” He gestured for me to follow and moved through the back of the house. I pursued him recklessly, knowing it could be a trap and not caring. He and his house both reeked of holy energy, and I would be glad to be away from at least one of them. We came out of the little building onto a creaky back porch. He did not bother to close the doors behind him. Small keys dangled from a mount under the truck’s handwheel. I entered the truck, sitting next to him on the front seat as it rumbled to life. He stared at me.

  “Well?” the healer asked.

  “Why do we tarry? We are wasting time.”

  “I’m wasting time? You haven’t told me where we’re going!”

  I realized that I was not sure how to guide him there. “There is an old cathedral, near the middle of the city. The road bears a sign. Oak...”

  “Wait a minute,” the healer touched the keys and the truck became quiet. He twisted in his seat to look me in the eye. I hated what lurked behind those calm, penetrating orbs. “That’s the vampire base of operations in this town.”

  I shook my head. “Not anymore. I cleared them out. There may still be one or two lingering, but I can promise they will not molest you.”

  “You don’t say!” He chuckled and slapped the handwheel, then brought the truck to life again and proceeded backward onto the road. “Maybe there’s hope for you after all.”

  He navigated the darkened city streets easily despite the unsteady rumble and pop of the truck’s bowels. I knew nothing of this world’s self-powered vehicles, but this one did not sound healthy. We arrived by the side of the road outside the cathedral, and the old man silenced the vehicle. He took the keys with him this time, and we climbed the long flights of steps to the towering front doors without a word except for the occasional grumble about the weight of his bag.

  Pride had not moved from the side of my bed where I had left her. The healer set down his bag and removed his hat and coat, hanging them on a nearby chair.

  “Well?” he said. “Pull back the blankets and give me a look. I’m afraid she hasn’t got all day.” He was studying Pride’s pallor with a worried expression on his face.

  I peeled back the blankets, producing a moan from the semi-conscious elven woman. The seeping wound in her side had stained the sheets a dark crimson that was starting to turn brown.

  “I know this injury. This is the work of the bullet priests, isn’t it?” he asked. “No mortal firearm can make such clean, perfect wounds.”

  “Will that be a problem?” I asked, gripping the hilt of my dagger and preparing to plunge it into his heart.

  “Not at all,” he replied, oblivious to my threat. “I hold no allegiance to the Overseers.”

  “Good,” I replied, “because they hold no love for me.”

  “We must act swiftly if you wish to save her,” the healer said. He bent down and rummaged through his bag. “Get those soiled blankets away from her. Bring me fresh sheets, at least two bowls of boiling water, and another two clean, empty bowls. Everything else that I need, I believe I have. Except for a second pair of steady hands. Can you provide that?”

  I looked at my callused hands. They had led me through battle after battle. They could guide me through this. I nodded. “Tell me what I must do when the time comes.”

  He nodded. “Do as I said and then be ready. I’ll need to examine her to determine the extent of any internal injuries, and then we can begin treating the actual wound.”

  I hustled down to the cathedral’s kitchens and found clean metal bowls. I fumbled with the stove before using my own dark arts to bring the water in an iron pot to a boil. I found a linen closet and gathered an armload of fresh sheets. I carried everything the healer had requested and a full bottle of spirits up the stairs, only to find that the old man had brought his own liquor.

  Pride was stretched out on the bed as he bent over her, tending to the wound.

  “You’ve both got the devil’s damned luck,” the old man grumbled. “That bullet went clean through her and didn’t hit anything too important. I’ve never seen anything like it in all my years. Then again, I’ve never seen anatomy quite like hers.” His eyes wandered up past her full chest to her high cheekbones and pointed ears. “She’s a purebred elf, isn’t she? I didn’t think they existed anymore.”

  “What do you mean... never mind. Yes, she is an elf. Can you still make her well?”

  “Yes. I know little of elven powers, but she seems to have a natural resiliency to the wound. Most humans would be dead already.”

  That was likely more because of her inclusion in my Viceguard than her species, but I chose not to share that.

  “Good,” I said. I set the bowls down on the bedside table at the healer’s elbow. “What is this contraption?” I demanded, reaching toward an instrument with thin ropes or wires bound to Pride’s hand.

  “Don’t touch it,” he said, slapping my fingers away. “It’s monitoring her vitals, and I need it. It’s almost as good as having a trained nurse on hand. You know, a trained nurse with no arms.” He laughed at his own joke, eyeing me as if expecting me to join in.

  “Monitoring her vitals?” I inquired, taking a closer look. The device seemed so mundane. How could it possess such intricate capabilities without the use of magic?

  “Yes. Her heart rate, blood pressure, so on and so forth. It keeps me up to date on a number of things I need to know. Now come here and hold her steady while I sew this wound shut.”

  I knelt next to him at Pride’s side and braced my arms on her shoulders, holding her as still as I could. She flinched and moaned each time the needle pierced her flank, but the old man finished the task within an hour. She still lay unconscious and pale as death, though, eyes opening occasionally to gaze sightlessly at the ceiling.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked. “Is she not healed?”

  “The wound was severe, and she lost a lot of blood... and our operating conditions were far from ideal,” the healer explained. “Fortunately, I still have the power to make it right. You may not want to be present for this part.”

  “I am not leaving her side,” I said, remaining on the floor beside the bed. I took Pride’s hand in my own.

  “So be it.” The old man finished putting away his tools, then pressed his palms together in prayer.

  The holy surrounding him shifted and stirred. It swelled and filled the room, making my chambers feel almost the same as the old man’s kitchen. I looked from Pride to the healer, suddenly concerned for my own wellbeing. What if that energy continued to expand? It might consume me entirely.

  It did not, however. The eldritch sensation waned slightly, then focused into a hard point that the healer directed into Pride’s body. She reacted with a violent twitch and moaned incoherent words as the flow continued between his hands and the wound.

  “Are you certain this will heal her?” I asked, not trusting in his power for a moment.

  “Give me time,” he gasped, sweat sprouting from his brow. The more magic he channeled, the more something seemed familiar about his arcane signature.

  A bolt of adrenaline ripped through me, and I nearly killed him on the spot. The old man’s power was not simply a holy energy—it was the energy of my Enemy! I should have recognized it instantly, but I had been distracted by Pride’s condition. Even with my hazy memory, there was no mistaking that unique source of power. Was that why he had seemed to recognize me? He must be an agent of the Enemy on this world.

  A strong part of me wanted to kill the healer then and there, but I needed him to finish healing Pride. I would wait until she was well before deciding the old man’s fate.

  The ritual lasted several hours. I stayed at Pride’s side, holding her hand and stroking her cheeks and hair when her mumbling grew too loud. The old man had begun mumbling as well, moving his hands overtop of her in the shape of strange symbols, almost as if tracing unseen
meridians. Over time, Pride’s pallor began to improve. Color rose in her cheeks, and her mumbling became less frequent and more coherent.

  “You are almost there,” I whispered to her. The old man seemed to be winding down. His own ramblings, which had risen to a full-voiced chant at one point, had receded to the occasional murmured word of power. He drew a sigil in the air with his hands and touched Pride’s wound one last time before opening his eyes.

  “I thank you,” I said earnestly, climbing to my feet. “Is that all? Will she wake soon?”

  “She will be well,” he replied. “She is surprisingly strong, even for an elf.” I moved as if to shake his hand, and he noticed the wound in the back of mine immediately.

  “You were struck by the bullet priests as well,” he commented, reaching for me again. “Allow me to assist—“ His eyes widened as he touched me. He recognized my energy signature as easily as I had his.

  “No!” I jerked my hand away. Those who knew the art of saving lives could often take them away as easily. On instinct I lashed out with a stiff forearm, striking the healer a fearsome blow. His neck snapped from the sudden impact on his jaw, and he fell to the floor unmoving.

  “Did you kill him?” Pride croaked.

  I turned toward her, returning to her side again. “Pride, you are well! He was an agent of the Enemy, and he recognized me. He was on the verge of attack. I am certain.”

  She nodded slowly.

  “What will we do with him, then? The vats?” she asked, shifting to sit up in bed and clutch at her mostly healed side.

  “No, we will honor him for his aid. I will take him back to his house and make it his funeral pyre.”

  Pride struggled to her feet. “Wait for me. I need to find clothing. And my armor, and weapons. Where did we put them?”

  I pointed at the corner where her armaments had been unceremoniously dumped. “You should rest, though. I can do this alone. I should do it alone.”

  “No. I owe him my life. I should see him off.” She wandered out into the hall, naked and beautiful, searching for wardrobes and women’s clothing.