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Vitae
The hotel my thrall had found for a new headquarters didn’t have underground parking. I parked my Mercedes as far out of the way of falling pecans as I could, making a mental note to have a covered parking area constructed.
Scurith met me just inside the front entrance.
“Were you successful in retrieving the...” the canine’s ears lay flat against his head. “Um, your swords?”
Even after the drive across Atlanta, clinging fury blinded me to all by my desperation to verify Mare’s egg.
“Begone retch!” I snarled.
Scurith scurried from my sight, ears pressed to his skull and tail tucked tight between his legs.
I ascended a grand stair to the second floor.
Grendling guards flanked a double door into my study. Their pungent aroma of a rotting low tide bay offended my nose.
Fingers stretched out under their chins.
They raised their chins to accept the pleasure a gentle touch brought all my thralls.
“Your stink offends me.”
I tore out both throats, spraying the new hardwoods with gore.
Their bodies thunked to the floor a moment before my study doors clicked shut. A basin of holy water stood just inside, personally transplanted from Central Presbyterian Church since my servants couldn’t touch it. Dipping hands into the liquid burned away the dead Sidhe filth from my hands, scalding my fingers in the process.
I wiped my hands on a hand towel and strode through leather chairs, dark oak shelves and a fireplace built to house the crystal phoenixes of my shield. They’d been missing from our former sanctum, leaving me to despair their absence until I replaced our automata.
Another set of oak doors parted, admitting me to an antechamber. Doors led left, right and center to my private library.
I turned to the left hand door, fingers hesitating at the brass handle. My breath froze in my lungs, blocked by the heart lodged in my throat. The slightest push swung the door into Mare’s new bedroom suite.
Her egg nestled in velvet cushions atop a marble pillar at the foot of where her bed would’ve rested if it hadn’t been destroyed.
My breath rushed past my retreating heart.
Three strides brought my fingers all but the last inch to her egg. They trembled over her sapphire and celestial silver ovum.
Flooding relief brought on by the presence of her egg washed away fury and fear.
My legs collapsed.
Fingers lapsed onto the pedestal’s edges, unworthy to bridge the distance and caress her egg.
My voice rasped like a rustle of ancient parchment. “Mare...”
Tears poured from my eyes down a long sharp nose only to leap free of me in disgust.
“I failed you, my beloved, again.”
Mare’s egg glowed a soft steady light in silent judgement.
“I could never bring myself to confess my love to you in life. My devotion to you would’ve undermined my loyalty to Him, foreswearing my oath and duty.”
Something that would have cost me your love and respect.
Lifting my eyes to behold her egg rivaled Hercules’s Labors and Odysseus’s Trials.
“I’ve failed you again, beloved. I’ve lost Dolumii’s sword.” Anguish flashed to rage. “That twice-cursed slut stole you from me!”
I was on my feet, ranting and pacing without memory of the transition. “I’ll get it back, and see her punished for her insolence, mark me on that. She won’t keep us apart. Nothing will.”
Mare’s egg rested atop her pillar in silent judgement.
I reached for her, heart then fingers.
Both fled before they could caress her.
I spun on my heels and marched from Mare’s suite. The Sidhe wanted a war with my Shield, and I would see them bleed rivers to atone for what they did to my precious Mare.
Quayla
Getting onto to the station without paying had been simple at the perimeter station. With the city transit system, MARTA, completely underground downtown, there was no way to drop down onto the platform beyond the turnstiles.
Being male presented me more hindrances than opportunities. If I’d still been a woman, I could’ve flirted my way through a few of the geeky guys in the food court, scraping together enough money to get on MARTA and maybe buy one of the heavenly cookies I smelled baking nearby.
New bodies were always virile, but the sea of scantily dressed men and women cosplayers made walking around in Viviane’s too-tight boy toy cast-offs less than comfortable. I stepped into a men’s room to discreetly adjust my overeager penis into a more comfortable position. After a few moments, I gave it up as a bad job and tried visualizing Vitae. Unfortunately, my jackass Shieldheart had always been handsome on the outside—especially his newest, sultry body.
Breasts can be a pain, but nowhere near the aggravation of penises.
Remembering the bloody chunks of Vitae I’d left behind to dissolve into essence did the trick, but not for long enough. I sidled into a bathroom stall and transmogrified. I suppose technically, if I took enough time, I could shift my gender, but all I really needed were clothes I could fight in with an unruly penis. Rewriting essence memory of just my clothes proved hard enough. Almost a half hour’s worth of work and several attempts by desperate men to open my stall door, I finally overcame all of the mistakes to produce a reasonable facsimile of the martial arts gi of one of Dylan’s anime favorites.
Dylan.
I’d avoided thought of my lover because I figured it would worsen my condition. I couldn’t have been more wrong.
My heart knotted.
For the first time since entering the convention area, sorrow overcame physical desires.
I’ll never hold him again.
Pushing the sorrow away hurt, but it was necessary. I needed to get back in the game. For that, I needed to earn MARTA fare.
Finding a clear space of floor was challenging, but I eventually found a corner near enough convention traffic. Taking off shoes that didn’t fit the cosplay, I settled into a nearly superhuman display of martial prowess.
After half an hour with nary a tip, it seemed I was going to have to do something more drastic if I wanted to earn train fare. Repositioning my exhibition just inside the Marriott where the sky bridge dumped out, I squeezed my core. Essence bubbled into my palm. Without my Karambit hilts to aid in focusing my will, it took several moments to form a straight razor along one finger. Sawing away three apple-sized essence orbs hurt like no one’s business, but I managed.
I took several deep breaths before turning to face the foot traffic. I laid my shirt on the ground before me and started to juggle. The first few minutes centered on learning the motor controls for the new body. Once I had a feel, I extended both senses and will into the orbs of my essence.
In moments, the spheres sparkled a shimmering blue. The glowing balls changed shapes on the fly. They wove around me in gravity-defying rotations that barely paused to touch my hands. My display of aqua kinesis quickly gathered a crowd.
They gawked.
The more brazen wafers announced in authoritative voices how I managed the trick—none of them even close. Finally, the first tip fell onto my shirt. With the first dollar bill to set the example, others joined. I’d nearly crested to twenty dollars when hotel security chivvied me off the premises.
I bought three chocolate-chocolate chunk-macadamia nut cookies and paid my way down to the platform of Peachtree Center station. I did my best to eat the cookies slowly, but after the aqua kinesis display and my escape, my new as of yet unfed body refused to tolerate restraint.
It would probably sound more romantic to suggest I circled the city working out my next steps, but Atlanta’s train system only allowed for east-west or north-south back and forth travel.
There were spare clothes in my apartment. I had a backup set of Karambit hilts in my room at our Shield sanctum. The safe in the florist shop held several thousand in cash and a checkbook made mostly useless by my lack of ID. I had a new body, but Dunham’s security cameras would know what the new face looked like, so none of my old haunts were safe.
All of us kept stashes of spare gender-neutral clothes spread sparsely throughout Atlanta—though my stashes lacked the arsenals that Caelum had.
Vitae hadn’t been captured by Dunham when I’d killed him, suggesting Vitae had another nest somewhere configured as the primary essence source for his soul’s rebirth—unless he’d been reborn in his egg.
I hate to admit that idea pleased me, but it wasn’t very realistic.
He’d been disappearing a lot—ostensibly to search for our stolen eggs, but I had to wonder if he hadn’t set up shop somewhere else in the city. His new body suggested a death despite no dying cry from his crystal simulacrum.
Good for him for trying to reenter the world, just wish he’d shared his location.
My train ran east then west then east while my mind circled Atlanta. There were no good answers. I was on the run with no support and no resources and no idea how to improve my situation without risking myself.
I could transmog and fly to the next nearest Shield, or back to my old Shield in Hedingham.
It only took two stations of toying with the idea to realize I was the only known free shield in our Prefecture. I couldn’t just leave. I had to protect the city until I could free the other shields.
On my own, but not by choice this time.
I got off at Decatur station and jogged through the searing, humid afternoon to my nearest cache. The small hidden bag was missing. Dejected, I continued on to Ponds de Leon flowers. If the cache had been there, I’d have had a few hundred dollars to work with. I could’ve secured food, weapons and tools to break into the florist shop that night.
Of the choices, my florist shop was the most public venue Dunham could stake out. If his people were waiting, any fight would happen in broad daylight. There were pros and cons to that, but in the day time, Mr. Pete’s staff would be within earshot to call the cops.
Even so, I hoped large glass windows and the open space around the freestanding building would prevent attackers from making a move.
Summus isn’t available. If Dunham unleashed something like the kudzu elemental, things are going to get flashy in a really public way.
I jogged up the sidewalk, allowing perspiration to cool my skin. Pete, the portly owner of Camp Woof, the doggy daycare next to my shop, watched me run by, shaking his balding head. I stopped on the sidewalk out front of Ponds de Leon, putting hands on my knees to catch my breath. When he went inside, I crossed to the front door. A lance of essence cut through a deadbolt I’d have to have repaired. I let myself in, keying a code to silence the alarm before heading to the back.
I made a quick call, scribbling out a note and a quick blank check for Atlas Locksmiths. Signing it with my former signature, I headed next store to the dog daycare. Mara wasn’t behind the counter, but the much shorter Pete ducked out from behind a wall leading to their animal staging area.
“Can I help you?”
I extended a hand, my other holding a note and the check. “You must be Pete. We’ve never met, Mr. Grossman, but I’m Quayla’s cousin Quayl. She’s not in town at the moment, but called a locksmith to fix a damaged lock on her front door. She asked me to give you the check. She said you’d take care of it for her in exchange for some chocolate-raspberry croissants.”
Pete’s head turned ever so slightly to one side. “That’s quite a lot for a first introduction.”
“Sorry, there was a death in the family. I had to fly in and then take transit out here. I got off in the wrong spot and ran all the way over, so I guess I’m still running on adrenaline.”
“Uh huh, hold on while I give Quayla a call.”
“Go ahead, but it’s all on the note.”
He called me, not that I could answer the phone or even knew where I’d lost it. When I didn’t answer, he frowned at me.
“Checks made out except the amount, the locksmith didn’t say what it would cost.”
“Kale was it?” Pete asked. “Give me your number just in case.”
I opened my mouth then froze. I didn’t have a phone anymore, but there was no way he’d believe that of someone my age. Manly as it wasn’t, I just wanted to cry. I’d have been better off leaving the shop open and fielding an insurance claim after the fact.
An idea stuck me, but even thinking about it made me want to shrivel up and die. I glanced around once more, hoping not to see Mara. “I don’t have one, they can cause cancer.”
Pete paled, head darting back and forth. The short, portly man was the exact opposite of intimidating, but he tightened up on me nonetheless. “I’d like you to leave.”
I didn’t wait for him to tell me twice. With cash in pocket, my next stop was the garage beneath Shield sanctum to reclaim my baby.
Vitae
My headlong march stopped at the railing overlooking the hotel foyer. The dwarves rebuilding the hotel hadn’t finished with the foyer, but that was so much the better. I had new plans for the space in light of losing my Shield’s automata.
“Scurith!”
The small grey and tan coyll raced into sight below. “Master?”
“Have the vehicles of my other shields relocated from the old sanctum here and have covered parking constructed for mine.”
“Yes, Master,” Scurith bowed low, eyes locked on my face.
“Now!” The growl echoed in the open area, but I turned heel and headed for the basement. The Sidhe needed a lesson on choosing their enemies with caution.
They’re not the only ones with an army.
My experiments infusing Sidhe blood into the essence I used for rebirth had added a number of benefits. Not the least of which was a compulsion I used to press weaker faeries into my service. Unlike failed military leaders throughout mortal history, I wasn’t about to trust my goals to such weak-willed creatures. I had however employed this ability in creating the specialized mixture of my essence and troll bone marrow, giving the concoction to my thrall for the purpose of animating an army loyal to me.
The resultant creatures were more compliant than the cat the mortal had first reanimated, but not autonomous enough for my personal tastes. The subsequent generations of the serum had included my thrall’s blood, allowing me to delegate control to the weird mortal medical examiner that I’d enthralled.
A short stair led me to reinforced doors nearly as thick as those that had protected the control center of the old shield sanctum. A surge of life plasma energized the circuit and a pass phrase in Ancient Babylonian allowed me into the mortal’s living and working area.
My thrall raised his head, brightening at my appearance. “Mister, I mean Miss Vitae. I know you’re very, very busy, but I really need—”
“You will address me as Master or milord, slave.”
“Slave? I don’t think there’s any call for that. It’s a pleasure—quite literally—to be of service—”
“Silence! What is the status of my army?”
My thrall gesticulated wildly.
“You may speak, but only to answer my questions.”
“Thanks, I never was very good at—right, well, I wouldn’t exactly call them an army, more of a large squad of kupas...like from that Mario Brothers movie—you know the one with John Leguizamo?”
“How many are ready?”
His lips quirked to one side. “I’d say around thirty-seven?”
“I require more.”
“Begging your pardon, but I’ve already collected all the John Doe corpses in the Atlanta coroner’s offices, and...well, you kept me here without internet or a phone for quite some time, so I don’t even know if I still have my job.”
“You have a job here.”
“Yeah, I get that, but see, if I lose my access to the morgues, I can’t get any more bodies.”
I considered the young man, tempted to tell him to go shave the lip mold mustache barely thick enough to see it matched his red hair. He was correct that losing access to the city morgues would create situations only I could remedy. I had a city to save. I didn’t have time to collect mortal remains.
The lock kept my thrall inside because unlike the Sidhe denizens currently in my service, he had no way to produce magical energy to fire the opening sequence.
“Fine, you may leave to see to your other job, but I expect you back the moment your work shift ends and with fresh bodies to build my army.”
“Thank you, Master. What if there aren’t any John Does?”
“Bring me bodies, I don’t care their names.”
“Uh, that could cause problems.”
“Then get a shovel and find a cemetery. I must have a larger army to defend this city.”
The young mortal opened his mouth, but reconsidered blathering at his betters. He grabbed a set of keys from one corner of a work table and moved to the door, awaiting release. A gesture sent Scurith scurrying to release my thrall while I strode up to examine the newest crop of enforcers.
Bradley
Bradley almost made it to his area of Basement-E.
Wallace Cross, a midlevel administrative functionary leapt out of nowhere, grey hair slicked back with enough hair gel to make thinning hair into a helmet. “Where have you been, Sky?”
Bradley looked at the man, unsure what to say. His Mistress—despite ordering Bradley to call him Master—hadn’t given any instruction beyond trying to keep his junior assistant medical examiner job.
“I was abducted by a blood phoenix who used faerie magic to open my eyes to the benefits of abject servitude.”
Wallace eyes bulged further from his skull with each word. “What is it about medical school that pushes your type over the ledge and into the looney bin?”
“Hospital Jell-O?”
“Whatever, you have a pile of overdue reports in your box. I expect them on my desk by end of day.” Wallace rolled his eyes and strode away.
“Huh.”
Bradley entered his bay to the reek of rotting meat. Several gurneys were parked in a traffic jam reminiscent of shopping carts after Black Friday. Paperwork rested on each chest with yellow sticky notes asking for after-the-fact signatures.
He collected the paperwork, scanning each form to find all of the rotting deceased had been identified.
Where am I going to get so many bodies? Maybe I should try cutting one of the enforcers I already have in half.
Bradley busied himself setting his morgue back to rights. The task had never been one he disliked, though a particularly ripe body offered a challenge for even his exuberance. Never before had cutting into a dead body sent pleasure through him. When he’d first joined Master Vitae’s quest to save Atlanta, any time Bradley obeyed her had sent jets of dopamine through him. Even after the relatively short time Bradley had been part of the team, he’d built up a tolerance to those same chemicals until the whole thing seemed like a constant, satisfied thrum—like how he imagined bees serving a queen must feel.
Displeasing Vitae was another matter altogether.
Bradley had gotten used to the pleasure, but the pain of disobedience was always excruciating. Vitae didn’t even have to be present. Just knowing he was disobeying or displeasing his Mistress-Master filled Bradley’s body with agony. The prospect of not being able to fill Vitae’s request for more enforcers loomed like the Sword of Damocles.
I have to find a way to get Master more bodies, but stealing people’s loved ones isn’t right.
The sudden disappearance of the pleasurable thrum warned him, but the more Bradley considered taking identified bodies from the morgue, the more wrong it felt.
But is there any wrongdoing in obeying my Master?
Bradley looked at the middle-aged woman on his slab, breast spread to either side of the chest incision of her autopsy. She was someone’s daughter, maybe even someone’s wife or mother or sister. A heart attack had stolen her life.
Bradley couldn’t steal her corpse.
Pain edged into Bradley’s chest. It wrapped claws around his lungs, squeezing until it became difficult to breathe.
No. She might not need her body any more, but her family needs it for closure. Master will just have to unders—
Agony shot up and down Bradley’s limbs. His legs buckled. He grabbed for any hold as he fell, fingers wrapping around the dead woman’s wrist.
A little voice chastised Bradley.
It reminded him that to question his Master was presumptuous. Considering another’s needs, particularly a lowly mortal’s, over those of Master Vitae was beyond naughty. It was sedition...rebellion...sin.
Pain lessened as Bradley dwelled on the little voice’s wise words, but returned the moment Bradley tried to think of a way to obey Vitae without stealing someone’s daughter.
He writhed on the floor, fingers tightening around the dead woman’s cold, stiff fingers. The body came off onto him, covering him in lingering fluids. Glassy dead eyes loomed above him. Their gazes locked. Bradley fought the pain.
Agony eased, and Bradley took a breath.
A certainty filled Bradley as he eased the body off of him. “Don’t worry, I won’t—”
Pain hit him like a semi truck, driving certainty away and punishing Bradley’s determination not to steal the woman’s body. He screamed as pain became agony became excruciating to the point of unconsciousness.