A Knight of the Sacred Blade (19 page)

“What happened?” said Ally, curious. 

Yet some small part of her mind whispered that she did not want to know. 

“Simon was…mugged,” Katrina said, pointing at the driveway. “Right there. The mugger got his wallet, his keys, and his van.”

“Oh my God,” said Mary.

“How come you never told me this?” said Ally.

Katrina sighed. “Simon doesn’t like to talk about it. I don’t, either. Ally. Don’t mention this to your father. If we’re going to talk to you about it, we have to do it together.”

Ally hesitated. “Okay.” Katrina had left something out. Ally was sure of it. “I won’t mention it.”

Katrina nodded. “Good. I…”

The back door banged open, and Simon walked out, iPhone in hand. “Katrina! Guess what? The travel agent called. He was able to get an extra ticket for…”

Katrina gave him a ferocious glare. “Simon.”

Simon blinked. “Oh.” 

Ally frowned. “Extra ticket for what?”

Katrina rolled her eyes. “Good one, Simon. Real good.”

Simon groaned and dropped into the last empty lawn chair. “I’m in trouble, aren’t I?”

Katrina nodded. “Oh, yeah.”

“Oh, come on already!” said Ally. She looked at both of them. “Extra ticket for who?” 

“You may as well tell her,” said Katrina.

“Okay,” said Simon. “Fine. An extra ticket for Mary.”

Ally blinked. “A ticket to what?” 

“You know how we said you had another graduation present coming?” said Katrina.

Ally grinned. “A car, I hope?”

“Dream on,” said Simon. “No. We’re going to Europe, Ally. Britain, Spain, France, Italy. For six weeks.”

Ally’s jaw dropped. “What?”

“Europe.” Simon waved his hand. “You know, largish continent, a few thousand miles that way. A graduation present. I’d wanted to go sometime in the next few years anyway, do some research at a few of the monastery libraries in Italy.” He grinned. “A lot of good stuff in there. Anyway, your mom suggested that it might make a good graduation present.”

“Oh my God.” Ally began to hop up and down in her seat, much to her embarrassment. “Oh my God. Yes!” She jumped up and engulfed Simon in a huge hug. “That is so awesome.”

“Ally. Can’t breathe,” said Simon. Ally blushed and let go. 

“Happy graduation, Ally,” said Katrina. “You deserve it.”

“No I don’t,” said Ally. “But thank you. Oh, wow. Europe. This is so cool.” 

“See?” said Simon, turning to Katrina. “She’s surprised. Doesn’t she look surprised?”

“Simon,” said Katrina. “Your luck has been reduced to tattered shreds. I suggest you don’t push your shreds.”

“Yes, dear.” He grinned. “The best part is that the university is paying for most of it. I just have to do some research, well, a lot of research, while I’m in Italy.” He shrugged. “Of course, we have to pay for Mary’s ticket ourselves. We’ve been planning this for about a year and she came up…um…rather suddenly.”

“Really? We’re taking Mary?” said Ally.

Katrina nodded. “We knew you wouldn’t want to come unless she came, after she moved in with us. So we got an extra ticket.” She looked at Mary. “If Mary wants to come, of course.”

Mary looked back and forth. She stood up, opened her mouth to say something, and started bawling.

Simon flinched. “What? Did I say something? What?”

Ally took her hand. “Mary. You okay?”

She sniffled and wiped at her eyes. “I’m…I’m fine. It’s just…no one has ever done anything this nice for me before.” She squeezed Ally’s hand. “Except for you.” She looked at Katrina and Simon. “Why are you so nice to me? I just moved in with you one day. Most people would have thrown me out.”

“Well.” Simon coughed. “It seemed the right thing to do at the time, and, well, I….”

“What Ally’s dad is trying to say,” said Katrina, “is that we’re used to taking in people, I suppose. Ally and Lithon are both adopted, you know that. And Simon and I have been through some rough times together.” She looked at the woods and shuddered. “So I guess we couldn’t have turned you away.”

Ally grinned. “So you’ll go?” 

Mary rubbed her eyes and nodded. “Yes. Yes! I’ll go. Oh my God. Europe. I never thought in a thousand years I would ever go to Europe.” She giggled through her tears. “I never thought I would get to go to California.”

The back door banged open. Lithon walked out, a bucket and a mop in hand. “Hi everybody.” He dumped the water over the railing. “Hey! Lemonade!” He frowned. “Did I miss something?”

Chapter 15 - Changelings

Anno Domini 2012

The office door swung open, and Wycliffe glanced up from his desk. Goth strode inside, his leather jacket creaking with every step. The ceiling lights glimmered off his mirrored sunglasses.

“You wished to see me?” said Goth. 

Wycliffe cursed and threw his pen down. “Yes, damn you! I don’t suppose you even have any idea why?”

Goth grunted and said nothing. 

Wycliffe stood. “Two days, Goth. Two days! Do you have any idea what kind of problems you caused by disappearing for two days?”

“Minor concerns,” said Goth. 

Wycliffe threw up his hands. “Is that so?” He walked forward and poked Goth in the chest. “I’ll have you know…”

Goth hissed, a glimmer of red light appearing in his sunglasses, and Wycliffe felt weight of the winged demon’s glare. Terror struck him like a hammer, and he took a step backwards before he regained control of himself.

“Do not,” said Goth, his fangs flashing behind his lips, “touch me.” 

“Alright,” said Wycliffe. He felt sweat dripping down his back. This was foolish. He had nothing to fear from the winged demons, so long as he had the black magic. “Fine. Just tell me where you thought fit to go without telling me.”

Goth remained silent, the glare of red light seeping through his sunglasses. 

Wycliffe folded his arms. “You’re not even going to bother to tell me? Don’t you think I know already?”

“Then tell me,” said Goth.

“It was on the news last night,” said Wycliffe. “Two women were kidnapped not twenty blocks from here. Eyewitnesses say an unknown assailant, described as a large man in black, grabbed them, threw them into a van, and drove off.” He gritted his teeth. “Twenty blocks from here, Goth. Did you have something to do with this?”

Goth said nothing.

“The police are investigating this, damn you,” said Wycliffe. “They even came here to ask questions, cross-examined several employees. Do you even realize the potential danger?” 

Goth shrugged. “If they find me, I shall dispose of them.”

Wycliffe slapped the desk, his anger boiling over his fear. “I can’t have the police snooping around here. I have enough weaponry to conquer a small nation locked up in 13A. I have a Russian Mafia boss, who happens to be buying a nuclear weapon, and his pet assassins staying here, and I have you and your kin here. I have quite a bit I need to keep quite secret, wouldn’t you agree?”

Goth did not seem impressed. “You have the power of the Voice. Use it on any interlopers.” 

“I can’t use the Voice on every person in America,” said Wycliffe. “If any sniff of any potential scandal gets out…I don’t even want to contemplate the problems that would cause.” 

“Your point?” said Goth.

Wycliffe sighed. “Just try to be more discreet.” He wondered if he could use the Voice on the winged demons. Some gut instinct told him it would be a bad idea. “Try not to make such messes. For a nightmare of black magic and shadow, I think you could kidnap people a bit more…quietly.” 

Goth almost smiled. “Very well.”

Wycliffe rolled his eyes. “Might I ask why you thought it necessary to kidnap those women?”

Now Goth did smile. It was not a pretty sight. “My appetites required satisfaction.”

Wycliffe felt his stomach turn. “Are they still alive?” He’d long suspected that Goth had set up a lair somewhere in the city. 

“One. For now,” said Goth.

Wycliffe grimaced. “Why on earth are you keeping her alive?”

“I may wish another son,” said Goth. 

Wycliffe’s nausea grew. “Don’t you have offspring already on your world?”

“Several,” said Goth. “They grow to maturity. Two in particular, twins, have reached the fullness of their powers. They will prove troublesome. But my offspring will fight amongst each other and slay one another. I will then devour the survivors.”

“How very civilized,” said Wycliffe. 

Goth sneered. “I survive.”

A thought occurred to Wycliffe. “But why father a child on a human woman? Won’t it be…I don’t know, half-human, half-demon, or something? Why not knock up a winged demon woman?”

Goth chuckled. “There are no women of the kin.”

Wycliffe’s frown deepened. “Then how…”

Goth grinned like a toothy wolf. “One of the kin will claim a human woman as his mate and father a son on her. He will keep the woman in captivity. When the child is ready to be born,” Goth’s smile widened, “it claws its way free of her womb and takes its first meal on her flesh.”

“Dear God,” said Wycliffe. “That’s ghastly.” 

“We are the kin,” said Goth. “We survive.” He chuckled. “They tried to exterminate us. The High Kingdoms, the Wizards, the Knights, they all feared and loathed us.”

“I can’t imagine why,” said Wycliffe. 

“But Lord Marugon has exterminated them, hunted them down like vermin,” said Goth. “They have perished. The kin have survived. And now their world belongs to us.”

Wycliffe raised his eyebrows. “Then why are you here?”

“Because,” said Goth, his voice a quiet hiss. “Your world. It fascinates me. So full of darkness and power. Not even Lord Marugon himself could have dreamed of your world.”

“A ringing endorsement, indeed,” said Wycliffe. “There is one thing I wonder about, though.” His lip curled. “There are no female winged demons. They can only father offspring on human women. Correct?”

Goth nodded. 

“Then how did the winged demons begin?” said Wycliffe. “How did they originate?”

Goth shrugged. “I know not. I care not. Perhaps Lord Marugon knows. You may ask him, if you wish. But it matters not…”

The door opened a crack. “Senator?” Kyle Allard stepped inside, briefcase under his arm. “We had an appointment…”

Goth spun, his lips peeling back in a wide snarl. Allard yelled and hopped back a step, his briefcase falling to the floor. Goth towered over the skinny man like a wolf looming over a lamb. 

“Goth!” said Wycliffe. “Mr. Allard. Do come in. Please pardon Mr. Marson. He’s very zealous in his job.” He put on his kindliest smile and picked up Allard’s briefcase. “You have met Mr. Marson, haven’t you? He’s head of security here.”

“Charmed,” said Allard. 

“I’ll see you tonight, Goth,” said Wycliffe, his tone dismissive. “Ah…make sure you carry out Mr. Marugon’s instructions. Without making a mess, please.” Goth stalked out of the office. “Mr. Allard. Are you quite all right? You look as if you’re about to faint.” 

What had he seen in Goth’s face? Did he know too much already?

“Yeah,” said Allard. He wiped his mouth on his hand. “Yeah. I’m…I’m fine. It’s just a hot day out.”

“Quite so,” said Wycliffe. “You’ll excuse my lateness for our appointment, I hope. Mr. Marson and I had quite a bit to discuss. Reporters are constantly sniffing around.” He laughed. “They all want to expose the next Watergate, and they all come to me to find it. Fortunately, Mr. Marson is quite adept at keeping the premises secure.”

“Yeah.” Allard shuddered. “He…he looks pretty good at his job.”

Wycliffe smiled. “You didn’t happen to overhear anything, did you?” He watched Allard’s face. If necessary, he would use the Voice to modify Allard’s memory. Or to arrange a convenient suicide. 

Allard was useful, but not indispensable to Marugon’s little side project.

Allard shook his head. “No. I was waiting outside, but I couldn’t hear anything through the door.”

“Good,” said Wycliffe. “Now, to our business. I hear you have reached every address on your list?” Marugon’s instructions had been clear. Using his connections, Wycliffe had obtained a list of everyone who had bought cigarettes using credit cards or checks in the last six months. Allard had been sent to distribute the cigarettes made from the tobacco in Marugon’s crates, under the pretext of establishing a customer base for Stanford Matthews Tobacco. 

Wycliffe still wondered what Marugon had in mind.

“Yes, sir,” said Allard.

“And what did they think of Stanford Matthews Tobacco’s cigarettes?” said Wycliffe.

“I think we have a big hit on our hands,” Allard said.

Wycliffe leaned forward. “Do go on.”

“Almost everyone liked them,” said Allard. He rummaged through his briefcase and produced a notepad. “Eighty-nine percent of the consumers who received free samples said they would switch to Stanford Matthews as their preferred brand of cigarette.”

“Eighty-nine?” said Wycliffe. “Well, well. Our little test has gone rather well, hasn’t it?”

“Yes, sir,” said Allard. The man had learned respect, at least.

“Good, said Wycliffe. “Very good.”

Allard coughed. “Do…um…you have another list for me?” 

“No,” said Wycliffe. “Stanford Matthews’s board of directors is planning to go to full production in another month.” It had been some trick, setting up the front company without attaching his name to it, but he had done it. “Your efforts have laid the foundations for a strong customer base in Chicago. You will find a definite bonus in your next pay envelope.” He made a little tent with his fingers. “I had originally intended your position as temporary, you know that, but you’ve done so well, I’ve decided to keep you on. If you’re willing, of course. How does a position as a sales executive sound to you, Mr. Allard?” Allard had been good at his job. 

And if Stanford Matthews Tobacco fell apart, Wycliffe could always use Allard as a scapegoat. 

Allard gaped. “But…but…I’m hardly qualified.”

Wycliffe snorted. “Stuff and nonsense. You have an MBA, do you not?” He bit back his opinion of business degrees. “More importantly, your…ah…previous job experience in sales tax evasion,” Allard coughed, “shows great ingenuity. I think you’re quite qualified for the position. So. What do you say?”

Allard grinned ear to ear. “Thank you, sir.”

###

“You’re back,” said Wycliffe. 

Goth strode through the gloomy shadows of warehouse 13A. Behind him walked two of his kin, both disguised as slouching thugs. They pushed a wheeled metal table covered with a thick canvas cloth. Every now and again a low groan rose from beneath the canvas. 

“Dear God,” muttered Wycliffe. “I hope you managed to keep this quiet.”

Goth’s thick lip curled in a sneer. “Quiet as the grave.”

“How terribly reassuring,” said Wycliffe. “Put our new friend over here,” Wycliffe pointed at an empty space between two aisles of massive wooden crates, “and you are excused for the evening.” The winged demons pushed the table to the directed spot and vanished into the darkness. 

“Is the Russian arms merchant here?” said Goth. 

“No,” said Wycliffe. He walked towards the platform against the warehouse’s far wall. The rune-carved door to the Tower of Endless Worlds stood open, the green-lit hallway fading away into infinity. “He’s terrified of Marugon, though he’ll never admit it. Besides,” Wycliffe glanced back at the wheeled table, “it’s best that he’s not here tonight. All the workers have left for the evening, I presume?”

“Yes,” said Goth. “Lord Marugon desires secrecy. He shall have it.”

“Good,” said Wycliffe. It was almost midnight. He peered through the open door and into the Tower, and saw black specks in the distance. Marugon’s caravan. “Tell me. What do you think of Marugon’s little plan?”

Goth said nothing.

Wycliffe laughed. “You don’t know either, do you?”

“When the time is right,” said Goth. His bearded head turned toward the stack of black crates in the corner. “I can smell the black magic. I know not what he plans. But it shall be great, worthy of Lord Marugon.”

“It better be…ah, here’s Marugon now,” said Wycliffe. Fear and anticipation tugged at him. He straightened and tried to assume a calm mask.

One by one the gunmen and donkeys stepped through the door, each accompanied by a white flash. Bulging canvas bags weighed down each of the donkeys. With luck, Marugon had sent enough gold to pay the thirty million dollar cost of Kurkov’s bomb. 

The door flashed again, and a figure cloaked in heavy black robes stepped onto the platform. Wycliffe’s sense of the black magic had grown with practice in the Voice, and he felt the power radiating from the black-robed form, the iron icy might of a true master of the black magic. Had Marugon always been this powerful? Or had Wycliffe never had the skill to sense the Warlock’s power before? 

He shook aside his doubts, climbed the stairs, and extended his hand, Goth trailing after him. 

“Lord Marugon,” Wycliffe said, smiling his politician’s smile. “Welcome once more to Earth.”

Marugon pulled back his hood. He looked older than Wycliffe remembered. More silver marked his temples, and fresh lines marked his face. His eyes looked deeper and darker than Wycliffe recalled. The power of the black magic hung about him like smoke.

He did look wearier than Wycliffe remembered. 

“Senator Wycliffe,” said Marugon. He shook Wycliffe’s hand, his fingers like bars of frozen iron. 

Wycliffe withdrew his hand and tucked it into his pocket. “Or should I say King Marugon? Or Emperor?”

Marugon smiled. “Not quite, my friend. But very soon. The last of the High Kingdoms has fallen. Antarese is ash on the winds. A pity you were not there to see the Battle of the Emerald Field. Twenty-five thousand horsemen, the flower of Antarese’s nobility, armed and armored in the finest steel, charged my army.” His smile looked like something Goth would wear. “Four hundred of my men armed with Kalashnikovs slaughtered them all, and once they were finished, they killed every man, woman, and child in the city. Never has my world seen such a victory. Antarese was the last of the High Kingdoms. The Knights of the Sacred Blades and the Wizards of the White Council are slaughtered, and the High Kingdoms are destroyed. There is no one left to stop me.” His voice grew distant. “No one left.” His wolfish smile returned. “You were wrong, Alastarius.”

Wycliffe frowned. “Who?”

“No one,” said Marugon. “An enemy dead and gone.” Goth chuckled. “Ah, Goth-Mar-Dan, my friend. I trust you have served Senator Wycliffe well?”

Wycliffe snorted. “Quite well, save when he and his kin are not out terrorizing the city.”