The moment we pushed through the double door entrance I knew we’d bitten off more than we could chew. Like any other apartment with wealthy residents, a security guard loomed broad and tall behind a reception desk, his thick, block-shaped shoulders stretching the powder blue fabric of his shirt to the point of seam-ripping strain. His eyes were downcast until he heard the door open, at which point they lifted and met mine, a single, innocent glance across the wide expanse of the entrance lobby. It was a moment, nothing more, but in that moment, I knew something about the man.
I knew, for one thing, that he actually wasn’t a man at all. Granted, he could pass for one, as so many supernatural creatures could— but anyone with a little experience or exposure to the supernatural world could see right through the mask. It was little more than a thin veneer, an almost transparent sheath, if you knew how to catch it in the right light. The guard sitting behind the reception desk was an orc. Half-brother to the elves, orcs came in all sorts of shapes and sizes and many of them were so lumbering huge and monstrous that they preferred to stay out of the public eye. Still others were built smaller, more slender, and while they still resembled football linebackers in human society, they could, at least with the right make up and a masking spell, look like a large, but relatively normal human. I’d run across my fair share of orcs throughout my service to the Caretakers and by and large, they were real assholes. But seeing them so immersed in normal human existence was a rarity.
I heard the soft grind of bone on bone as the guard’s jaw flexed, his blunt teeth scraping beneath narrow lips. Where Kobolds, like the one that attacked Sammy’s family a few years back, could actually mold and shift their appearance to resemble not just humans, but very specific humans, orcs relied on a bit of a different sort of thing. They wore enchanted tunics that, for lack of a better term, created a sort of holographic distortion, a gradual shifting of the contours of their face, so that no matter what angle you tried to look at them, you couldn’t quite get a full picture of their features. Their features seemed normal, especially to human beings without that heightened sense of supernatural perception. For someone like me there was a low, undulating shimmer that rippled throughout their face, shining like a lighthouse on the proverbial dark and stormy night. I rested my hand on my belt, very close to the hilt of Christine, who was one of the blades I’d chosen.
“Help you?” His voice was a few octaves above an orc’s normal growl, a sign that he’d been well trained and conditioned to interact within humanity. Sammy didn’t seem to suspect anything as he approached the desk and rested his curled fingers upon it, his eyes scanning the board mounted to the wall behind the desk.
I wanted to warn him, to tell him to be careful and approach with caution, but I also didn’t want to alert the orc that I was attuned to his presence. That had the potential to open a can of worms that I was not well-prepared to close, at least not without the conflict spilling out into the city streets at our backs.
Instead, I silently mouthed a quiet incantation, a perception spell designed to look through the orc’s disguise and to reveal the creature for what it really was, at least to my own eyes. I felt the soothing warmth of veil energy pulse within the knife at my belt and I gently touched it with my fingers, drawing that energy into myself. Looking at the orc, I saw a rippling charge of light follow the rounded contours of his skull and the illusionary spell fell away, at least to my own eyes, revealing the actual creature beneath.
“I’m looking for Victor Fuentes.”
The orc studied Sammy, his eyes like the silver hides of swimming minnows catching just the right amount of light through the water. Thick cartilage bunched above each one, furrowing his wide brows, covered in calloused, pale, green skin. None of that was visible to Sammy, but I could see the creature very, very clearly. A pair of ragged, chewed ears were pressed tightly to the orc’s head, his squashed nose a crumpled pile of smashed skin with two long, narrow nostrils. His lipless mouth was barely parted, the hint of yellowed teeth visible, a row of fenceposts pressed tightly together. Some orcs had fangs, others didn’t, and typically how sharp the teeth were was a sign of how feral the breed of orc was. For obvious reasons the fact that this particular creature wasn’t feral brought me very little comfort, given the situation.
“He expecting you?” The guard made absolutely no motion to check a visitor log or to do anything other than sit in the chair and stare back at Sammy, his fingers linked together on the top of the desk, angled next to the computer keyboard. How the hell did he type with those thick sausage fingers?
“No, he’s not, but he’s going to want to talk to me.”
The guard shifted a bit in his chair, the furniture straining beneath his bulk. “I— kinda doubt that, friend.” He leaned back, his eyes moving from Sammy to me, then back to Sammy again, the narrow nostrils flaring slightly within the clenched fist of his nose. “You smell like a cop.” One corner of his mouth broadened, revealing more rows of bony teeth. “Mr. Fuentes— he don’t like cops.”
“From what I understand,” Sammy replied, without a hint of intimidation, “the cops don’t like him much either.” He kept his hands on the desk and didn’t move. “Good thing I’m not a cop.”
“You’re not a cop?”
“Not a cop.”
The guard turned his head to look at me, his linked fingers tightening as he studied my face. I worked as hard as I could to keep a normal, neutral expression, even though I could see the orc for exactly what he was.
“How about you? You a cop?”
“Not even a little bit.” I shrugged, my hands lifted.
“Mr. Fuentes has a— packed schedule. Come back later. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe never.” The guard returned his gaze to the computer screen in front of him but didn’t even attempt to stab at the keyboard with fingers that would have likely done more harm than good. I heard Sammy heave a frustrated sigh, pressing his palms into the top of the desk and leaning over the computer monitor to look down at the guard. I wanted to call out to warn him, to tell him to ease back a bit, but I also didn’t want to warn the brutish orc that I knew who, or what, he actually was.
The creature’s eyes lifted from the screen, glancing just over the top edge of the monitor, and fixed keenly on Sammy. To Sammy’s eyes, I could only imagine what it looked like, the dull, unintelligent pallor of a bland stare. In reality, I could see the shimmering hunger beneath the narrow ovals, a thirst for violence and a barely contained storm of rage, ready to be unleashed. I had to give the orc credit, actually. In another time or another place, the orc would have long lost his control by this point, flipping over a table or potentially even ripping Sammy’s head straight from his shoulders, tearing the spinal cord out along with it, leaving a twitching, headless corpse behind. I’d seen it before, and to tell the truth, I had no desire to ever see it again, especially not to the closest person I had to a friend.
“Careful,” I whispered in as low a voice as I could and Sammy twisted, darting a curious look at me, unsure of the warning. To his eyes, he had the upper hand against a minimum wage security guard, but he’d long since learned to trust my instincts.
“Listen,” I interjected, taking a step forward, positioning myself next to Sammy, trying to draw the creature’s attention from him. “I think Mr. Fuentes is going to want to talk to us.”
“What makes you say that?” The guard remained with his attention fixed on Sammy, clearly viewing him as the bigger threat.
“We’ve got a business proposition for him. All above board— a very lucrative endeavor for both of us.”
The orc peeled his eyes from Sammy and brought them toward me, moving in a slow, methodical twist. I could see the impatience pinching the corners of his eyes, his thick jawline, coarse with leather skin and tufts of dark hair clenching.
“Come back tomorrow,” he repeated. “Or never. Like I said. Whatever you’re selling, Mr. Fuentes isn’t interested.”
“Maybe we could hear that from Mr. Fuentes himself?” Sammy’s voice was low and hoarse, the aggression unmistakable and I knew immediately he’d made a slight error in judgement. The orc pressed his thick hands against the desk and pushed himself upward, rising nearly seven feet. Whatever mystical illusion was used to conceal his more bestial features couldn’t hide the sheer size of him but to Sammy’s credit he didn’t wince or flinch, he stood rooted in his spot, shrugging off any pretext of intimidation.
“This is important.” He stood upright as well, drawing himself as tall as his five foot eleven frame would allow, his arms crossing over his chest as he looked up defiantly into the steady glower of the guard.
“How about keepin’ your head on your shoulders? Is that important?” The low, gravely growl of the orc’s true voice started to leak through the illusion and I saw Sammy falter, just a bit. My left hand moved to the hilt of my secondary blade, touching it lightly, trying to move with subtlety, slipping beneath the orc’s detection.
“All I want is a conversation with Victor Fuentes. A mutually beneficial—”
“And I said Mr. Fuentes is busy.” The guard stepped forward, pressing the barrel bulk of his chest up against Sammy’s own. “Take. Off.”
“Listen,” I interjected, lifting my right hand and stepping forward, keeping the left fingers touching the hilt. “We understand. This is highly irregular. We have a unique situation, a situation that only Mr. Fuentes can resolve. I suggest—”
The guard who wasn’t really a guard wheeled on me, mouth splitting into an oblong snarl, a thick, tree trunk arm shooting out toward me like a home run hitter’s swing for the fences. The words slipped from my lips by instinct, the heat of the hilt searing my fingertips as I drew my secondary blade and erected a shield of magical energy. It emerged in a sudden, swift swipe, barely carved into the narrow space between the orc’s meaty fist and my face. The bones of the creature’s large hand collided with the semi-transparent barrier that had formed in mid-air, striking with enough force to blast it apart, scattering it into dozens of smearing projectiles which faded even as they burst apart. The shield had deadened the impact, but not neutralized it and I was thrown from my feet, airborne for a moment until I went over backwards, my shoulder striking the hard surface of the floor, momentum carrying me into a sprawling backwards tumble.
“What the—” Sammy stepped back, his shirt peeling open, his fingers grasping for the handle of the pistol stuffed into the appendix holster on his belt. He had the weapon out, metal sliding past leather, but the orc had turned his attention on him, lashing out with his second hand, fingers coiling around Sammy’s wrist. The illusion had dropped completely and Sammy’s eyes drew wide as the muscular grip of the orc slowly compressed the tendons of his arm, forcing his fingers open, sending the Glock clattering to the floor.
“What the—” Sammy gasped, seeing the orc for what it was for the first time, his legs kicking as the creature lifted him from the ground with one hand.
“You shoulda listened!” The creature’s guttural growl sounded nothing like the somewhat human voice from moments before. “Now I gotta tear your arm off and beat ya with it!”
The backhand blow from the orc had thrown me six feet backwards. Because the shield had, at least, partially absorbed the blow, I came up in a controlled somersault, back up on my feet, supporting myself with one free hand. My second hand went for the primary blade at my hilt, the one I liked to call Christine, and even as the orc twisted Sammy’s arm, wrenching him upward, I had the blade slipped from leather, the chant already uttered from my lips. The orc heard it and twisted, silvery eyes bearing down on me as I lurched upward, my knife thrust. It pierced the veil, drew magic into its blade, then swiped forward with an artful sideways parry. A sudden rush of concussive force ripped from the tear in the barrier between realms, forced out like a sudden surge of hurricane force winds. It struck the orc in the chest with the full brunt of its force and he gasped, tossed from his feet, his vice-like grip releasing Sammy’s arm, sending the ex-cop tumbling painfully to the floor. The linebacker sized creature wheeled backwards, hissing in surprise before he struck the far wall of the reception area. He collided with a splintering crash, plaster and sheet rock exploding upon impact, the force of my concussive wave pushing him through the wall and into a neighboring office. A conference room table collapsed on the other side, splintered beneath his mass and sent chairs scattering before he came to a rest against the second wall.
There was a quiet, muffled grunt as his legs slumped down and he lay still, buried beneath a broken pile of office furniture, the cavernous hole in the wall separating the two rooms gaping at us like a shocked mouth. I strode toward Sammy and extended my hand, which he took, allowing me to heft him to his feet. Fumbling, he located his Glock and slipped it back in his holster, not removing his gaze from the unconscious orc in the other room.