by A. J. Aalto
One of the Youngers hissed from the dark shadows, and a closer revenant bared his fangs in a dominance display rather than hunger.
Ludovic called at our backs, “How is the Exile endangering his line?”
I turned back to face him. “Well, if a nosy mortal DaySitter like me can find out that the Lord of Exile exists in under a week, bumbling around with no clues to start with, while I’m supposed to be on vacation, no less…” I made a sad trombone noise. “Crack that crypt, one stake, ash-o-rama, dude. Easy sleazy, like me after a few bourbons.” I winked broadly and added behind my hand, “Don’t spread it around.”
“But what would you ask of us? What could be done?” one of the Youngers asked, and there was heat in his voice now. I’d ruffled their feathers. The destruction of an entire line was no joking matter, and being so disloyal as to not act in defense of the ruling house was also a big no-no. Whether Ludovic wanted to be the eldest in the region or not was still a murky subject, and my Empathy was giving me mixed signals about it, but having a reputation for standing aside and letting a vampire hunter remove an entire house from the face of the planet was in a whole other league of wankery.
“I have an alternative suggestion to the whole vampire hunter nonsense,” I announced. “Tell me what I need to know about this Lord of Exile and House Sarokhanian, so I can move the eldest to safety.” I spread my gloved hands in a gesture of openness. “It will free the mortals in that neighborhood from the sickness he causes, peacefully, removing him as a threat to be staked. But if you won’t help do it peacefully, me and my squad will have to be rid of him by force.”
That caused bold, forced laughter, ego-thick to hide a ripple of concern; they couldn’t hide the dread from the Blue Sense, though. I showed them my most honest face, the one I tended to save for Harry.
“Gentlemen,” I said, laying down the hard truth, “I am the only one involved in this case, undead or human, that would see a resolution to this problem that involves keeping that bloodline intact.” I let them taste my honesty for a moment before continuing. “I have mortal law on my side. The Dreppenstedts don’t care if I destroy House Sarokhanian. Maybe you don’t, either. But there are dozens of, well, not exactly innocent, but uninvolved Sarokhanian revenants in the world, aren’t there? And your initial reaction tells me you don’t want this to end in ashes upon ashes. Master Nazaire, I don’t, either. If he is feeding in phantasm form, the Lord of Exile needs to go.”
Ludovic shook his head. “Go where?”
“Would you have him drain another village?” one of the Youngers asked.
“Of course not.” I put my hands on my hips. “He needs to go beyond the Bitter Pass to rest. They kept Remy safely on ice for how long, before she took the throne? The former King Den is dreaming in the deep even now. The Falskaar Vouras have their ways.”
“The Lord of Exile cannot hope to get enough sustenance there,” Nazaire said, mostly to himself, deep in thought. The Blue Sense told me that wasn’t the entire truth, but Ludovic feared it was close to the truth.
“You’re telling me he can’t get enough DaySitters to fill his tanks? I mean, c’mon…” I trained off at the Feeling of trepidation in the room. “Seriously? Just how old is this dude?”
That sure as hell wasn’t going to get an answer, but that in itself was the answer — he had reached such an age that, when awake, he was too powerful and required too much blood and energy, more than could reasonably be supplied or replenished by a bevy of willing human bodies. Perhaps Remy would have a solution. The King had once had plenty of sustenance, until age drove him mad. There had to be an answer.
Malashock clued in, but in an outsider’s fashion. She’d likely never encountered the primeval ones, only the troublesome new dead and swaggering Youngers who often misbehaved enough to catch the attention of mortal law and its consequences.
“And what happens if I wake him?” I asked. “Just me, alone?”
New glances were exchanged, and the Blue Sense was helpful — they didn’t know how bad it would be, only that it would. It wasn't so much a mood as the collective imagining of a plague of locusts and piranhas in a frenzy, stripping every living thing to a denuded skeleton. I imagined a goddamn bloodbath in town and thought, Batten, and immediately on the heels of that, I need to stop him.
“If I find this Lord of Exile fellow, I can move him. Possibly at rest. Without risk to his well-being. We can arrange enough DaySitters to maintain his current level of phantasm feeding.” That last bit was a bluff. I could arrange some, if I called Gold-Drake & Cross and sent up signal flares. Probably not enough mortal blood to keep him satiated, not without a rather expensive delivery from Shield. Liv’s estimate was more than fifty phantasm victims in the subdivision, so the blood volume alone would be staggering if the Exile awakened.
Ludovic leaned forward in his throne. “And why would we trust the life of an ancient of the Falskaar Vouras to a Dreppenstedt DaySitter prone to misadventure, sworn to avenge a vampire hunter – her dead lover – against that very same ancient’s House?”
Point: Ludovic. The gathered revenants were licking at me now with a cool, distinctly invasive metaphysical probing, tasting me for truth or deception. I dropped all my knee-jerk defenses and stood passively, letting them in, returning to a calm, open, submissive state.
“First of all, I’m not sworn to avenge anyone. I don’t promise dick-all unless I know I can keep that promise. Secondly, I don’t like staking revenants. It's only happened twice, both times in self-defense while I was being attacked. I regret both. You can feel my honesty.” I strode back to Ludovic Nazaire’s grand, padded throne. “I serve Lord Guy Harrick Dreppenstedt, Viscount Baldgate, and through him the Raven of Night, Crowned Prince of the Blood, Wilhelm Dreppenstedt and all the way up the food chain.” I pointed at my neck, jutting my chin towards Ludovic's forehead, in case my bared throat didn't already have enough of his attention. “I wear the brand of the fucking Overlord. I dare you to find me a mortal who works harder for the Falskaar Vouras than I do. I worked my ass off to install a strong and powerful Queen in the absence of King Den. I have employed revenants, I have shielded revenants, I have defended revenants, and I have spoken up to spare the lives of revenants when they were at their most vulnerable.” I squared my shoulders and exhaled deeply. “I offer to do so now out of love and devotion to my companion, and I swear to you, on his name, and on the name of my House, if you trust me with the care of this immortal and his line, I will do every single thing in my power to transfer him without loss of life, mortal or immortal. But please believe me when I say, I can and must protect the humans in that neighborhood. The living are my priority. I don’t want the Lord of Exile dusted. Please help me avoid that.”
“She will destroy him,” Ludovic said about Liv.
I stood firm. “I will not allow it.”
“She represents mortal law,” he said uncertainly, “and is physically dominant to you.”
“Well, whoop-de-fuckin'-doo,” I said, thinking of Batten, “but that won't exactly work with my immortal companion, or even my brother, the Youngling of House Strickland.”
Ludovic squinted hesitantly. “Lord Guy will help you?”
“Don’t ever doubt his devotion to me,” I promised them. “You may not feel loyalty to mortals anymore, but Harry is a son of the New World. He’s young and attached to life. For the loyalty and affection he has for me, he would do as I ask.”
“He serves you?” His gold-shot eyes glittered again, eerily light in their challenge.
I didn’t bother to hide my smirk. “I wouldn’t go that far. Let’s say instead that it’s mutual; we serve each other.”
There were murmurs of admiration, if only among the Youngers who still craved such attachments. Some of them remembered love and devotion, even if they had been bereft of it for years.
“You do not deceive me,” Ludovic said at last, giving Malashock serious preternatural side-eye. “She does. She will stake Dreppenstedt and
the Lord of Exile both, the moment she gets the chance.”
“I won’t give her a chance,” I said. “You have my word, on my honor of all that shit I just said. Sir, do we have a deal?”
When he nodded, it took all my willpower not to cheer out loud. He would break his confidence, not to seize power in the region but to protect the Lord of Exile, and by extension House Sarokhanian; that gave him the excuse he needed. I Felt that he was satisfied but needed a touch more to sweeten the pot. When Ludovic crooked his icky, withered finger at me again, beckoning me to come closer, I refused to entertain any misgivings, knowing that my continuous show of trust would encourage this ancient to trust me in turn. Besides, being stubborn about moving was silly, here; he was telekinetic, and could just move me wherever he wanted if he felt like it.
When I dipped closer to his face, as he urged me to do, he used a soft brand of audiomancy to whisper only for my ear, “Truthfully now, little DaySitter. Is he truly dead, your lover?”
I drew back, allowed myself to look directly into his cornflower blue eyes, shot through with the gold ribbons that marked him as Malas’s creature. I knew that this was his payoff; my secret was the true cost of doing business with him, this was the real gamble. Captain Casino, here, was holding a full house. He wasn’t going to lay down his cards unless I did, too. There was no guarantee that he wasn’t working for Aston Sarokhanian, trying to trick me. The Blue Sense and my gut instinct told me to go all-in.
I shook my chin ever so slightly to the left. No. Ludovic dropped his chin in a single, subtle nod, then wiggled that finger for me to come back. I dropped my ear near him again, and he whispered a name. Then he said, “The caves. No campfire, no lifeguard. Fear the cold reaper. Don’t trust the cooks. The kegs are full. Feed the sightless shale and let the pot boil over.”
The Blind Shale Boggles. There had been one boggle tunnel without an old campfire outside — I had discounted those pits as simply teenage summer drinking and make-out spots, but Ludovic’s “no fire” made sense. Revenants were extremely flammable, which is why Harry and I had safety precautions for fire. No lifeguard. I’d seen that sign, too, not far from the cheese cave. The cheese cave had had a campfire but the one to the east had not.
We had confirmation, we knew which tunnel to search. I understood, and nodded at Ludovic. I could have kissed him despite the fact that he looked like the Cryptkeeper' gnarly older brother. Did he even have lips left? I refused to stare.
Now, I just had to put Malashock on a leash, snag Batten and tell him the plan, ask the were-geologist to feed the boggles, let the pot boil (whatever the fuck that meant), ditch said were-geologist for his own safety, and then figure out a way to distract several elder and primeval revenants long enough to go spelunking in their secret caves with scary rock monsters, find the Exile, wake him, round up a hundred willing bleeders, and transport a terrifyingly old revenant to the Bitter Pass. No problem for a pro like me, right?
I was definitely going to need coffee first.
Thirty
On our way to the shore, I called Nyquist three times, but he wasn’t picking up. I’d done a quick online search to see what the boggles ate, in case I had to feed them as Ludovic advised. As Nyquist’s notes had said, Blind Shale Boggles hunted their favorite prey, Mud Goblins, by following vibrations in the ground, like goblin-munching aardvarks or woodpeckers. Their usual fare being in short supply in Mr. Merritt's pantry, I made Malashock stop at a gas station to grab a few packs of turkey jerky. All boggles grow stones and pebbles on their skin, but Blind Shales supplemented their natural armor by affixing coats of shells with a sticky secretion. If the local boggles got their coat supplies from Lake Ontario, they were liable to be razor-sharp Zebra mussel shells. I hoped they wouldn’t cut through my gloves in the case of a tussle, but I wasn’t confident.
A term caught my eye on the last page I checked: a group of goblins was called a gang and a group of boggles was a riot, unless they were swarming — the swarm was called a boil. Let the pot boil over. Ludovic was trying to tell me something about the creatures in the cave. I sat back and chewed on that, just as a soft evening rain began to patter on the windshield. Soon, the pavement became a black, reflective pool as we headed down towards the lake.
My phone rang, and I swiped before checking the number display. I hardly recognized the voice, but to be fair, I’d only heard it once before. If I was hearing it now, it meant that Umayma had taken the reins and cured her curse of silence again. A while back, I had accidentally helped cure her of the muteness spell that had been placed on her by her revenant companion, Jeremiah Prost. She had decided at that time to return to her silence until she was ready for speech. The accidental spell had been relatively easy to do, and the choice to do it again had been left in her hands. Maim had quickly become one of the most independent people I’d met after her revenant was staked; she didn’t take the loss badly, and was flourishing on her own.
“Didn’t want you to worry,” she said. “We’re bailing. Going somewhere safer. We’ll be back when we feel it’s okay.”
We. Umayma and…? Thunder rolled overhead and the rain began to pelt hard enough for Malashock to turn her wipers to high speed. “Uh, Viktor? Maim, you’re leaving with Viktor? Big guy, perma-scowl, voice like a gravel truck, built like a mammoth? That guy?”
“I’m fine.”
“Sorry, I’m just…” I’d told Rob Hood to trust Maim, but now I wasn’t. I felt like an overprotective heel. “You’re right. Do what you need to do. Has something changed? You okay?”
The Blue Sense told me she was unsure about how to answer. “I’ll be in touch.”
I couldn’t argue with her. She owed me nothing. Her revenant had been a Seer, and though her own precognitive abilities were fading after the loss of her Bond, maybe she'd had a glimpse of an ugly future event and was shifting gears to face it from a stronger position. “Thanks for keeping me in the loop, Maim,” I said. “Be careful.”
She hung up without any further chitchat, and I was left with an even deeper sense of unease. Malashock cast me a lot of side-eye but didn’t ask, which was good, because I didn’t know how to explain that my mute employee had just told me she was running off to Dark Lady knew where in the company of an undead ogre.
What would I tell Wes? I put that out of my mind immediately. One worry at a time. Step one: get in and out of this cave business without getting drenched. Or broken. Or murdered.
The tunnel without a campfire lay near Jones Beach, closer to the marina, where the sand disappeared, and we parked as close as we were able, because the wind was picking up along with the cold, squalling rain. I took a quick inventory of my fanny pack for turkey jerky and put on my headlamp as we paused near the shoreline. Malashock checked her gun and stakes. I noted they were smooth, uniform — machine-made, not hand carved — and remembered how Batten had always kept his grandfather’s kit, and the hand carved stakes it contained, in the trunk of his car.
I checked my phone, saw I had one message, and brought it up. Sheriff Hood had left it an hour ago and I’d somehow missed the beep.
It said: Got an I.D. on your trespasser. The name Mike Harvey mean anything to you?
It didn’t, and I was in no position to research right now, so I put my phone away. Glancing at the sky, I saw the moon peeking through deep purple clouds, and my scalp prickled with warning — this was the moon at her most bewitching, full and flirting in and out of cloud cover, bashful in the starlight, and I wasn't the only one who felt her pull. The lake was restless and wild, and all life beneath her shifting silver glow was drawn under her influence. I prayed the lycanthropy wouldn’t awaken at a bad time.
Liv grabbed the bolt cutters and we set off, cold and wet in under a minute. We’d barely made it to the cave mouth before I noticed engineered efforts to stabilize and shore up some minor cave-in areas along the entrance. Malashock’s Mag-lite played over the mud and shale walls inside, catching glittering flecks in the stone.
&nb
sp; “We’re violating five or six federal wildlife protection laws,” she told me, even as she examined the shiny spots on the barred gate where the lock had been pried away, taking unknown months of rust and dirt with it, “and it looks like someone violated one more before we got here.”
“So did whoever who put those posts against the walls. Besides, we’re wildlife, too. We’re being violated by something. Or is it just me?” I’d felt drained and sloggy clambering along the rocky embankment at the end of the beach to approach the cave, and was huffing and puffing by the time we found the grate the feds had put on the tunnel’s entrance.
Tunnel was a wild overstatement. What we found upon slipping inside was barely a slit in the rock face at first, a jagged crack no more than eight feet across at its widest. There was a pile of driftwood, pale limbs digging into the sand, smooth as bone, algae brushed clear. I knelt down and tried to make sense of the jumbled footprints in the wet, gritty sand, using my phone's flashlight to cast them into sharper relief. “Why isn't Nyquist answering his damn phone? Where the fuck did he go this time?”
Malashock turned on me. “Why did Ludovic Nazaire leave the theater when Nyquist came in?” she demanded. The moonlight softened her pale, severe face. “There’s something you’re not telling me. What went wrong at the casino?”
“The revenants didn’t trust Nyquist,” I said simply.
“Why?” She glanced behind her at the tunnel, then back to me. “No info-hogging, remember? We're supposed to be sharing everything.”