Chapter Eighteen

You didn’t know

What was in the heap.

They show the sightseer

Their mouths full of filth

From The Beggars – Rainer Maria Rilke

Translated from the German by Michael Hofman

I awoke just before nightfall to a slow, steady rain. The world just beyond my windows a sodden, shadowed reflection of a land in the midst of death. It seemed a suitable scene for the upcoming events.

The small reprieve had allowed me to garner my strength, gather my thoughts and find a measure of peace I had been ill afforded over the last few days. It had also allowed Prism to work her own brand of magic.

I had dressed in black leather pants, my favorite biker boots, a simple black leather vest that zipped up the front and a black tank beneath. Tonight I wouldn’t be cold. I had hatred to warm me. Blood and death to kindle my fire.

I made certain to place all of my knife sheathes on my arms and legs, including the new ones I’d had made for the blades I always carried at my back. Oh, I knew that Jirvel had ordered that I come alone and unarmed, but that didn’t mean I intended to stay that way.

I had also decided to take a page from Dax’s book on weaponry. I added a few hidden holsters for guns; laying out and loading with silver a Glock ten millimeter and a Walther 380. It was thin, small and perfect for concealment. It also packed enough punch to knock a hole in your enemy. I had considered bringing a Judge Snub-nose Revolver—they fired shotgun shells and would blast some serious ass—but the creatures I was going after had a bit more magic to maim than the Judge might offer. Besides, who needed a Judge when I was about to mete out my own brand of Other World Justice?

I also made sure I included in my arsenal the Goblin Dagger, Endless Blood. Where I was going, I was quite sure that Mercy might need it, considering what they had done to her the last time she had been held captive.

I still recalled the memories of when Gimlit had told me of this forthcoming moment. It quivered through my belly like maggots on rotting flesh. Like all memories of impending doom, I could only swallow down my fears, the hard lump of the possible outcome twisting like a knife in my gut. The visions flowing like a river of blood.

“Where’s Mercy?” I had asked when Gimlit wrapped me in a blanket and carried me to his Jeep.

“Back at the house, tucked away in the crypt for the day. Healing,” he had replied. His voice had been low, worried as he took in the sight of me.

“And the Changeling, Prism?”

“She is there as well.”

“I found the book, Gim,” I told him. My voice sounded tired, my body badly wounded.

He looked at me with a bright, hopeful expression, and then the light faded from his eyes, knowing that all had not been restored to the Land and the Children of the Light.

“The Goblins took it. Modgav took it,” I said, anger filling my voice once again.

“It is as I thought,” he had replied. “But I am afraid we have bigger problems.”

“Bigger? What could possibly be bigger than that?” I asked, knowing, even then as he set me in the front seat of the Jeep, bundled in a blanket, naked, sore, angry and cold that I truly didn’t want to know.

“Your police have left a message that your remaining Necromancer is missing.”

“Son of a bitch,” I said with feeling, hanging my head. Wondering how the hell I was going to fix this when I couldn’t even fix myself.

“That is not all of it.”

I remember closing my eyes, taking a deep breath. Thinking that whatever it was he had been about to tell me, was seriously going to be the biggest, most massive piece of shit on toast that I’d had to deal with yet, and that it just really needed to be chucked and not even dealt with. I remember thinking that maybe I could just run away and hide somewhere. Now I knew better.

“All right,” I had told him, “just give it to me straight.”

“Jade can no longer sense his brothers, and Jirvel has sent you a personal invitation,” he said, not wanting to look at me either.

“A personal invitation to what?” I asked, finally looking at him askance.

“I’m afraid, Mistress, it is a Halloween Party. However, this invitation comes with special instructions, and I quote, “If she ever wishes to see any of her people alive again—tell her to come alone.”

A shiver ran through me and the memory passed; a few more pieces of my puzzle coming together. If Jirvel wanted me to come alone, well, that’s how I’d come. I mean, she had those I loved and needed anyway. There was no rule however, that stated I had to stay alone. I may have been about to attend Jirvel’s version of Dance Party Hell, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t bring a few guest of my own.

With that dark thought in mind, I said a few last-minute words to Prism and headed for the door. It was time to let the bodies hit the floor. Here’s praying mine wasn’t one of them.

What was left of the night had a stark, lonely feel to it. Like evil lingered in the shadows and death were its illuminated glow. I couldn’t help but feel I was still missing a few pieces of my puzzle. Certain that tonight, with the veil being the thinnest between the living and those that wandered the Shadow Lands, Jirvel would reveal all upon my arrival. Of course, she had achieved her goals and captured all of her enemies.

I could only pray that my ace in the hole would continue to be the Light. But just to be safe, I made one last-minute stop on my way to her Rave.

The parking lot of Silence on the Moor was just as I’d remembered it, minus a few sirens and flashing lights. Since the summer, Jirvel had kept herself rather busy. Not only had she gathered her forces of Darkness, decimated the majority of Kieran’s clan and slain, the Prophets only knew how many others in her vile attempts to gain greater power, but she’d also managed to find some sorry sod to complete the repairs and fix the damages that the murderous Shadow Land Ogre had done to Kieran’s building.

Thankfully, while I’d been sleeping today my truck had been repaired and delivered, the keys left under the mat. Amidst all of my chaos, I was grateful for this small gift the Prophets had blessed me with. Especially considering that if we all escaped—when we escaped—I had no idea where everyone was going to sit. Having my truck back would definitely take care of that problem.

I decided to park it out front, right outside the front door under the streetlight. Screw the bitch if she thought I was going to be skulking about in the night where no one knew I was here and she could hide my body when she was done with me. I got out and looked across the street, the lingering aroma of coffee and danish whispering to my senses from the shop across the street. Who I wouldn’t kill for a cup of joe, I thought with a beleaguered sigh. Ah well, maybe after I’ve rammed a stake through Jirvel’s heart.

On that sour note, two burly, meaty goons strode out the front of the club, the words hardass all but tattooed across their foreheads; mini-Uzis strapped to their chests. They had their sights lined at my chests, snarls firmly planted on their grim faces and I knew my time for inner turmoil, second guessing and extra prayers were at their end. It was time for this child of Light to mosh in the Darkness with the other children of the night.

Who didn’t enjoy a good Halloween party?

Entering the front of the building with Heckle and Jeckle, I said an extra prayer anyway. One never knows when that extra boost might come in handy.

This time I got to skip the long hallway, the winding stairs and the weird trip through the outer door to get back to an inner door. We headed straight through the club, across the huge wooden, polished dance floor lined with an acre of round tables that were covered in red linens and dinnerware, past the box where the DJ mixed his beat and skirted the curved black bar that followed the angle of the far side of the room. The place was huge, a lot bigger than I recalled it being. Then again, I’d only really seen the decimated bathroom; blood, gore and body remnants covering the walls.

Heckle and Jeckle took me through a swinging door just beyond the end of the bar and into a blazing bright, industrial sized kitchen that gleamed with cutlery.

“Do not even think of it,” the one I’d deemed Heckle said, and I felt the first roll of Other come off of him in subtle waves.

I’d been so tense when I’d pulled up and got out of my truck that I hadn’t really looked at who, or what Jirvel had sent to fetch me. Not very smart on my part. I really needed to get my shit together. Get control of the frantic beat of my heart. Calm the nerves that seemed to be teetering out of control. Especially if I wanted all of us to get out of here alive.

“We will be only too glad to rid you of this intent should you continue this line of thinking,” Jeckle added. The purr of his Were trickled down my spine in docile tones and my she-wolf perked her ears.

Jirvel was nice enough to send a Death Stalker and a Werewolf to accompany me on my arrival. How good of her.

I paused and looked at each of them with one of my new gifts. Might as well try out my new Tell while all of the rest of the bad guys are busy waiting my arrival. They’d had plenty of time to plan my destruction, what was a few minutes more anyway.

I turned, blank faced and looked at Heckle. Since Death Stalkers didn’t seem to be my best creature of understanding, I figured I should probably test him first. With a little thought, I opened up my link to this power. Really, it only felt like the blinking of my eyes. Closing one lense and opening another to a different view of the Other World. In it, Heckle gleamed in iridescent shades of grey. Each layer of his aura flecked with sparkles and beneath it lay his true self.

All outward appearances showed him to be a man of mid to late twenties. Long dark hair hung to his massive shoulders, his form too huge and bulky for the appearance of a neck. He had an overly large, round head, a sloping forehead with bushy eyebrows that slashed above the orbs of his dark grey eyes. His nose protruded, bird-like above the arch of a full mustache that hid the crease of his lips. His cleft chin had the scruff of two days worth of stubble. Beneath the whole of it was the burning darkness of rot.

Flesh that flaked. Putrefied. Skin that oozed and sloughed, muscle that slithered and melted down to the bones beneath. I could almost smell the decay while I stood, transfixed and staring at his Darkness.

Blinking, I tasted bile as it rose in my throat, the picture of his rotting flesh boring a hole through my mind. The thought of this kind of power both interested and disgusted me at the same time. I’d never actually met a rotting Death Stalker before.

I blinked again and the imaged faded. The scent of rot skulking away into the night.

“Do you smell that?” Jeckle asked, nostrils flaring.

Heckle watched me with intent, dark eyes. His brow creased, fingers tightly gripped the handle of his gun, discourse clearly marring his features. “I don’t know what it is you are attempting, Halfling,” he growled. “But do it again and I will go against my mistress’s orders and slay you where you stand.”

Jeckle, clearly confused by what seemed to be passing between us, looked from Heckle to me and back again. “What’d she do?”

“Nothing,” Heckle barked. “Let’s just get moving.”

We’d made it through the kitchen to the elevator that I knew led to the basement and to the sub-basement below. I had no idea how many Others Jirvel had in her service, but I knew I needed to ditch these two, and fast. Two less on her side would be two in my favor. The how of it was another story.

We got on the elevator, Heckle near the buttons, Jeckle facing me, blocking the door. Heckle pushed the button, the door beginning its shushing slide close. I kicked Jeckle in the chest and out the front just as the door was closing, leaving me and Heckle alone in the shaft.

“That was not very smart of you,” he said slowly, turning to loom menacingly over me.

I couldn’t help but smile, the twistedness of my own laughter ringing in my ears as I replied, “My mother always said I wasn’t very bright.”

He looked at me askance. Obviously not getting my joke—no one ever seemed to do so. “I guess we’re going to have to do this the hard way, eh?” he asked, his eyes bleeding to black.

Don’t we always, I thought.

His meaty right fist jabbed out and caught me across the chin before I could reply. I should have expected it, but the crack of knuckles hitting bone knocked me clean off my feet. My head slammed into the corner of the elevator. Heckle turned and punched the stop button on the elevator. With his back to me I whispered the word knife, and one of the handful of weapons I’d laid out at home appeared in my hand. Scrambling to my feet, I knew I had mere seconds to open the door on my Darkness.

It was like the ripping of a door off its hinges, I reached for it so quickly. Heckle turned, hissed his anger, canines protruding. Flesh had already begun to rot while he charged toward me. In the small confines of the elevator it felt like we were trapped in a crypt of decay. The smell of decrepit, rotting things filled my senses.

Heckle was swinging fists that skin was coming off of in chunks. I batted away an arm and slimy, gunky things splattered the wall. He swung with a left, I ducked, bobbed, crossed with an uppercut, and my fist met a face that was gooey, gushing with pus, blood and what should have been several weeks worth of death that appeared in mere seconds.

I reached harder for my darkness and sped the process. I Called his power to me, pulled on his death like a bad dog that I’ve chained with a spiked collar. His eyes widened with fear when I pulsed the power between us—letting him know that I had a hold of it.

“You…you can’t control me,” he stammered. “You…you are not my master.”

“No, I am not,” I told him, pulling the invisible chain tighter between us. “But you are filled with Darkness, Death Stalker. Darkness that I control.”

He stared at me with disbelief and fear marring the sloshing sockets that his eyes had become. I reached again for his power, feeling its vileness like a cemetery of the condemned. I pulled the chain tighter still.

“But…but, you cannot control this dark gift.” He continued to bluster while his flesh sloughed away at an incredible pace. “Only a Necromancer has this gift over the dead.”

He was so confused, I almost felt sorry for him. Poor Heckle was just another pawn amidst so many sent to do their master’s bidding without even knowing why. The master said kill, they killed. The master said die, they died.

“I was born of the Light and the Darkness,” I told him, knowing that my eyes had bled to red. Feeling the Darkness fill me with righteousness. “I am Deneau—I am Justice—the wayward living and the dead of both Realms will eventually answer to me.”

“You are The Chosen,” he muttered. Awe and fear, disbelief and—oddly—relief swam briefly across the bloody pools his eyes had become while his body continued to melt down to bone before me.

“Yes,” I whispered assuredly, “I am The Chosen.” Then I twisted one last pulse of power between us and ripped his body apart.