Netherworld II: Blood Potion No. 9

by Tracy St. John

  “Bane and Fizz are missing. His trailer is trashed.” I quickly described the carnage, tears spilling down my cheeks when I told him about the blood on the walls.

  Dan frowned. “Definitely not good. The weres checked all the places Hazel has been that could remotely hold a dragon, but nothing was reported.”

  “Okay, so we need to check the smaller areas for Bane. Hazel has a storage rental. C.K.’s got a garage.” I thanked my lucky stars I had double checked the file on the men’s properties before the laptop was destroyed.

  “Where to first?”

  I thought fast. “The shifters reported smelling a lot of weres at the one storage unit. Do you know Simply Storage on Highway 17?”

  Dan grabbed hold of my hand. “Sure. Hang on.”

  We arrived at Simply Storage, outside of the passcode protected gate. Neither of us had ever been here; our knowledge of the place came from passing by during our lives.

  Gritting my teeth, I followed Dan through the chain link of the gate, feeling the weirdness of mesh passing through my body. We ran past aisles of beige storage units, looking for Hazel’s. Of course it was at the back of the place, which was pretty huge. It even stored RV’s and boats.

  We figured out easily where we wanted to be, because at least a couple dozen motorcycles and two cars, one with Bottle behind the wheel, were parked in a group. Beasts, about fifteen of them, milled around, not talking. Expectation hung heavy in the air.

  “I guess this is the place to be,” I remarked to Dan, noting the beat up aspect of Bottle’s old Chevy. Being C.K.’s main squeeze and owner of a blood distributorship had few perks, apparently. The other car was unremarkable but newer, a silver Toyota that hadn’t been off the lot for very long.

  The storage unit was closed, and the air near it was thick. “Warded,” Dan said, his voice strangely flat as he cautiously moved into the heavy atmosphere, right up next to the door. I stood back, nervously waiting to grab him and snatch him out of harm’s way if needed.

  He turned to me and mouthed something. I shook my head. “What?” I stage-whispered.

  Dan took a step towards me, and he spoke in a normal, if still echoless tone. “It’s a sound-dampening spell. Whatever’s going on inside that shed, we can’t hear out here.”

  “I guess we have no choice but to chance it,” I said.

  Dan nodded and took my hand. We passed through the door.

  I blinked in the dim space then froze. A battery-powered lantern showed me Hazel right in front of us. Fortunately his back was turned facing the back of the unit, so he hadn’t seen me and Dan enter. But that’s not what held me riveted to the spot.

  Bane was chained to bolts in the floor, the links connected to a metallic collar glinting around his neck. His wrists were cuffed behind his back. Shifters in various stages of change surrounded him. The dozen Beasts, including C.K., were beating, kicking, and biting him to shreds. Blood pooled everywhere around him. Off to one side, Fizz, still blessedly unconscious, drooped like a rag doll on the floor.

  And in the corner, behind a shimmering curtain of floating wards, a baby dragon, no more than three and a half feet in length (not counting the tail; that gave it another two feet), crouched on a battered love seat, its ice-white eyes whirling in excitement as it watched the beat down. Its flapping veined wings made a dry, paper-rustling sound. Iridescent scales caught the light and turned it to rainbow hues, like the inside of an oyster shell. Its long tapered face, similar to a horse’s, confirmed it was a European dragon. I guessed it might be about a year old.

  I took everything in with a glance then my attention tunneled to a single point: Bane, helpless on his knees, his hands bound behind him, bleeding and gasping as he was mercilessly pounded by the biker gang. I opened my mouth to scream.

  Dan’s hand clapped over my mouth, and the next second we were behind a stack of cardboard boxes in the near corner. He breathed in my ear, “Stay quiet. We can’t help Bane and Fizz with that witch standing there. He’ll make us wraiths.”

  C.K.’s voice put an end to the horrible thuds of blows and snapping of alligator jaws. “Hold up, guys. Let’s see if this fucking traitor is ready to talk.”

  Bane’s pained gasps filled the cramped space. A sliver of a growl slipped out, defying C.K.

  Dan whispered, “That collar must be silver. Otherwise, he’d have shifted.”

  C.K.’s snuffling stupid voice rang out again. “Who you working for, you shithead dog? Huh? The cops? Tristan Keith? The Savannah chapter of the Beasts? Who sent you, asshole?”

  There were a succession of meaty thuds, and a sickening dry sound, like a thick branch snapping in half. It took me a moment to realize C.K. was kicking Bane, and had broken something in the process. The horrible sound of retching and sickly-sweet odor of vomit joined the coppery notes of fresh blood and the smoky scent of something burnt. I shuddered and offered my own little moan in sympathy. Dan’s hold on me tightened.

  C.K.’s voice was rising in rage. “I’m going to feed your mangy ass piece by piece to my dragon. It’s your choice whether I do it while you’re dead or alive.”

  Hazel spoke. He actually sounded bored. “Don’t waste your time. I’ll get Fizz to spill.”

  That got Bane talking, his voice ratcheting out between pants and growls. “She knows nothing. Leave her alone.”

  C.K.: “Go on and take her, Hazel. Make her confess. Make her scream. Then make her die.”

  There was movement beyond our shelter of cardboard. A moment later, Hazel came into view between the edge of the boxes and the unit’s wall. He had Fizz’s tiny frame slung over his shoulder.

  I swallowed, feeling ill to see the hard-on tenting the crotch of his jeans.

  He rolled up the unit’s door to let himself out, allowing a blinding flash of light in. The dragon screeched. Smiling like a kid on Christmas morning, Hazel called back, “Say bye-bye to your girlfriend, Bane. I’m going to have lots of fun with her.”

  He left, rolling the door closed behind him. With the witch gone, I popped out from behind the stack of boxes, Dan right behind me. I tried hard not to look at the bloody mess Bane had become

  C.K. stood over him, his piggy face uglier than I remembered. “I think the dragon is hungry, and wolf meat will go down fine, I bet. Let’s start with this mutt’s dick.”

  Dan scowled at the Beasts’ leader. “Screw Bane’s case and Tristan’s agenda. I’m not letting this bastard kill anyone else. I’m going for help from Gerald’s crew. See if you can distract them,” he told me.

  “Hurry, Dan,” I begged.

  He disappeared, leaving me to save Bane’s family jewels and all the other parts attached.

  All I can say is thank goodness for this technological age, because every last one of those shifters had the telltale bulges of cell phones in their jeans pockets. I went to the one closest to me and drew energy until it beeped death.

  A couple of the shifters were tugging at Bane’s waistband, apparently intent on making good on C.K.’s intention to feed the dragon the werewolf’s tastier bits. After killing off another cell phone, I went to work.

  I flung the battery-powered lantern at C.K., missing him but smacking a weregator pretty good on the side of his scaly head. Then anything small and light I could get my hands on flew through the air: a screwdriver, a small lamp, a calculator, a

  few empty beer bottles, a small sign that said No Cover Charge. This and more battered the Beasts, making them duck and yell and flail at the air.

  “Damn it!” C.K. yelled with a very piggy squeal. “Why the hell is Hazel keeping a ghost in here? Stupid fucking witch!”

  He yanked out his cell and hit a number. It didn’t make the first ring before I sucked it dry. I raked C.K.’s round cheek with my nails and was delighted to see raised scratches appear. Then I kneed his crotch. My position and his shortness didn’t allow for optimum force, but he snorted and bent over a little anyway.

  “Fuck this shit!” Mr. Potty Mouth Pig squalled. �
�We’ll finish this lousy dog somewhere else. Let’s get his ass out to the car.”

  Despite my continued barrage of flying bits, the weres managed to unchain Bane from his position on the floor. They kept him cuffed and collared though, and he seemed weak as a puppy as they dragged him out into the sunshine. I was sure hoping someone was around that would see the gang shoving and kicking him to wide-eyed Bottle’s car. Unfortunately, my lack of luck held, and no one in a position to help was in sight. As C.K. ratcheted down the unit’s door and locked it up, Bane fell to his knees next to the back of the car.

  “Pop the trunk,” C.K. yelled at the gape-mouthed Bottle. She did so and C.K. gave Bane a kick before turning to his menagerie. “Load him up. We’ll take him to the woods and have us a meal.”

  Oh crap. I’d seen shifters fight each other to the death. The survivors had eaten the remains to dispose of the evidence. No doubt C.K. and his group didn’t have any qualms about doing the same.

  My mind flew as the Beasts loaded Bane into the trunk and closed the lid with an adamant thump. I’d succeeded in keeping Bane from being fed to the dragon, but now they were taking him somewhere else to finish the job. Dan with his contingent of Tristan’s weres wouldn’t be able to track them down in time to save him.

  As I fretted, wondering what in the world I could possibly do, C.K. directed his troops. “Out behind the old Snak Shak on 341. You know the place, boys.”

  Everyone knew that place. The Snak Shak, once a dispensary of burgers and barbecue, its dining area an outdoor cluster of picnic tables, was now a dilapidated shell. It had gone out of business three years ago after a gang — really a half dozen teenage boys who liked to race crotch rockets, set dumpster fires, and knock over mailboxes — was found brutally murdered, their bodies draped on top of the tables like a macabre buffet. The killers were never caught. I now wondered if I wasn’t looking at their murderers.

  C.K. got in the car’s front passenger seat. “Let’s go,” I heard him order Bottle through her open window.

  “C.K.? Honey? If the cops go looking for him, there’s a bunch of his blood in my trunk—” she began.

  His heavy backhand cut her words off. It was a good thing her window was down, because otherwise her skull would have made hard contact.

  “Drive, you stupid cunt!” he yelled. Sniffling, she started the car and pulled away.

  I was out of time. The other Beasts mounted their motorcycles and they roared to life. I ran over to the closest one and grabbed on. The power flowed into my body, and the bike shut down.

  Another biker, his bear aspect making him a shaggy creature, laughed at my hapless victim. “Problems, bro?” He kept laughing until I killed his bike too.

  The world around me was coming into hypersharp focus. I was getting high off the excess power I was drawing, and there were close to thirty motorcycles to disable. My body tingling in reaction, I hit a third.

  As it sputtered, its werehog rider banged a frustrated cloven fist on the gas tank. “What the hell? Someone been messing with our bikes?”

  I shut him down, and it felt like every hair on my body stood at attention. My eyes felt wide enough to fall out of my head. The werehog, bigger and not as butt ugly as C.K. (but certainly not pretty), sat on his dead machine and stared at me.

  He shouted to the rest, “Holy shit, look at the ghost bitch! She’s fucking with us!”

  Bitch indeed. That was no way to talk to a lady.

  Now that they knew what the problem was, the other bikers, the ones with the still-running engines, were starting to pull out. They’d be out of the gate within seconds, chasing after C.K.

  The gate. Aha!

  The hog was cussing me. “You hateful crotch! No one screws with my bike!”

  I grinned at him, energy snapping through me. “You can see me? Well check this out.”

  I flipped him and his two buddies off. Now cussing is for the illbred and I acknowledge waving the middle finger around is a form of cussing, but some things just have to be said.

  Leaving them with their mouths hanging open, I zapped off and materialized at the little box that required a passcode to get into the storage space. The power box was right there too. The other Beasts were approaching the closed gate and would trip it open at any moment. Pulling the energy coursing through me out of both hands, I reached into the two metallic boxes. Then I let enough power back into my fingers to dig at wires and circuitry. No, I had a better idea. I fed them some of the energy that was making me dance in place like I needed to find the ladies room toot-sweet. There was a spark, and a sizzle, and a bit of smoke. I caught a backwash of power and nearly backflipped with exuberant energy. Woohoo!

  The blatting motorcycles drew to a stop on the other side of the now nonfunctioning gate. I did a crazy little victory dance for the benefit of the staring and trapped shifters. Oh sure, they could climb over the gate, but their bikes couldn’t. Game, set, and match to Brandilynn.

  I laughed and stuck my tongue out of them, shaking what my momma gave me. Okay, maybe rubbing their snouts in defeat was a little much. Just remember I was jacked up and high as a kite right then. I think I can be excused for my poor sportsmanship.

  “So long, boys!” I shouted at the snarling shifters, who were fighting to get the disabled gate open. “I’m gonna do some hog hunting now!”

  Their curses and shaking fists let me know that they heard and saw me just fine. Being visible gave my hectic brain an idea to help Bane out of the jam he was in, and I was raring to go. So I went … straight to the hood of Bottle’s car.

  I arrived planted on all fours in the middle of the Chevy’s hood as it clattered down 341 near the industrial section. You should have seen Bottle and C.K.’s faces as I glared through the windshield at them, even before I yelled, “BOO!” Bugging eyes and round, manhole mouths. I swear to you, C.K. screamed louder and higher than his girlfriend, his cloven hands thrust out to ward me off. Bottle let go of the steering wheel to grab the sides of her head, and the car squalled as she hit the brakes hard. Priceless.

  Then the car swerved out from under me, and I popped over to the side of the road to watch it jump the curb. Bottle had rolled up her window, and I heard it when her head thunked against it. Ouch. The car came to rest a few feet from train tracks and stalled out.

  Forget PIT maneuvers and spike strips. All you need is a seriously amped-up ghost as a hood ornament and the bad guys stop.

  Neither passenger moved, and I materialized by the driver’s side to check the situation out. Boy, I hoped I hadn’t killed Bottle. C.K. – meh.

  Bottle was breathing but out cold. C.K. shook his head, clearing the cobwebs. A rivulet of blood ran down the side of his jowly face. “Ha ha, tag, you’re it,” I called.

  His nearsighted gaze swung over to me and squinted, trying to make me out more clearly. He bared his yellowed tusks, and I offered a big, theatric yawn. I’m already dead. Whatchoo gonna do, Pig Boy?

  What he did was lean over Bottle, throw the car door open, and shove her out onto the ground at my feet. “Stay out of my way, bitch,” he snorted to me as he slid over to take her place behind the wheel.

  Yeah, he was a real winner to take home to Mom.

  He tried to start the car back up. It ground to life, but when C.K. jammed the transmission into reverse, neverminding his girlfriend who would get run over if he followed that course, something under the car screeched. The car shut off again without moving a bit. I blew C.K. a raspberry.

  He tore out of the car to scream in my face. His was as red as a beet. “Fucking ghost! You think you can fuck with me? I’ll take his ass out now!”

  With that, he leaned into the car and popped the trunk. Uh oh. I materialized at the back of the car as the lid swung up, and Bane’s startled gold eyes stared at me. Crap, why wasn’t there any traffic on this road, someone who could make a 911 call? We were

  between the gravel yard and the waste treatment plant. Surely cars moved down this street on a regular basis. />
  Of course, the gun C.K. was pulling out of the waistband of his jeans would kill Bane before the police would show up, no matter how fast someone called. Double crap.

  “Bane, he’s coming with a gun! He’s going to kill you!”

  “Damn straight I’m going to kill him,” C.K. growled, coming around to aim at the werewolf.

  Fortunately for Bane, C.K. had underestimated the power I still had. I swung both arms up, pouring all the energy I possessed into them. My forearms hit C.K.’s wrists hard, knocking his aim off. The gun went off harmlessly into the sky before Pig Boy lost his grip on it. It flew into the weeds where the bright sun winked off its metal.