Authors: Steven Montano
Soulrazor (9 page)
Cross smelled fried potatoes and alcohol, smoking meat and onions. The air was chill and the wind was hard, and he tasted exhaust fumes hidden beneath the tantalizing scents of street vendor's wares. Hawkers and doormen yelled out for patrons to get in, quick, and purchase their needed goods before night fell!
The crowds were thick as everyone scrambled to get home or take care of last-minute business before the sun went down. Even with all of Thornn’s defensive measures, there was still a war going on, and it paid to be careful. While no official curfew existed, it was well understood that anyone who chose to remain outdoors after dark was taking his own life in his hands.
Cross was almost to the intersection of Glocker and Pine, which with a quick turn to the right and a trek up the hill would take him into the Grange district and straight to his lonely apartment.
He hesitated. The muscles in his back were tight, and his nerves were on edge. He had the feeling he was being followed.
His eyes went up and traced the shadowy outlines of stout stone buildings covered in concertina wire and iron walkways, structures connected to one another by networks of arcane wiring. Churning storm clouds hovered in the darkening skies. They wouldn't bring rain: it hadn't really rained since before The Black.
Cross felt eyes on his back. His gauntlet sat firmly on his left hand, and his spirit, who’d been so reclusive and quiet since the incident in the hospital, suddenly flared to life. She was a cloak of anger that ignited Cross' skin as he spun round to face his stalker.
The little boy jumped back in fright. Based on the unkempt state of his clothes and his filthy skin, Cross deduced he was some sort of street urchin. A few more children stood in a nearby alleyway, and they laughed and smiled at the boy…until they saw the flames that tore away from Cross' open hand. The would-be thief screamed.
"No!!!" Cross shouted.
Black fire screamed out towards the child. Cross felt a hot and searing wind that scalded his eyes. In his mind's eye, he saw the child on fire, saw him scream and tear out his own hair as he tried to put himself out
just like the boy back at Ramsey's safehouse, just a little boy
he sees Snow, burning on the train
"NOOOOOOOO!!!!!!"
Cross gripped his gauntleted wrist with his free hand and pulled it back towards himself. Fire swept across his chest and stomach. His clothing smoked.
Given the choice between pressing the attack or burning a hole in her host's chest, his spirit called back the flames, and they went out moments before Cross would have caught on fire.
He fell to his knees. His heart hammered, and his fingers clenched. Something molten burned in his stomach, and he felt dizzy. Panic seized his chest.
The boy stared at him in horror. Nearby townsfolk jumped back out of the way, and Cross heard screams.
He also heard whispers. Like the voice of his spirit...but they didn't belong to his spirit. They were someone else’s voices.
Black voices.
What's happening to me?
He ran, and at first he didn’t even realize it. His lungs burned and his legs ached. He ran through alleyways and backstreets, and he pushed his way past anyone he ran across.
Trails of vapor followed in his wake. Spectral faces leered at him. He heard their idiot wails and felt their phantom breath. He turned and faced them, succumbing to the fact that he would have to fight…
And then they were gone. Cross stood alone on the street, flushed with sweat, but his skin felt dull with cold. He was out of breath, and suddenly the world was quiet, even as people came to their windows and balconies and gathered down the street to look at him. The Watch would be there soon, undoubtedly.
Full night approached. Cross turned and walked home, as quickly and as quietly as he could. He couldn’t stop shaking. Whispers lapped at his mind like a cold touch – it wasn’t his spirit, but something else, something so dank and fearful that even she recoiled at its touch.
The shadows were long all of the way back to his apartment. He kept checking over his shoulder to see if it was just the lost spirits he heard, or if someone really was there behind him. He worked through the topiary paths and twisted roads in the Grange, and he kept the looming north walls in sight as he made his way up the last stretch of stone steps, carefully avoiding the thirteenth step, just as he always had. He held his HK in hand as he came to his own house, a squat flat located on top of an abandoned bookstore that had been converted to a wood and cement storage facility for the city.
Every shadow stared back at him. Every twist of moonlight that leaked through the purple clouds looked like a wraith.
It was that black liquid in the Bonespire, I know it was
, Cross thought, but the notion of going back to the hospital, or of finding Black or Ash or even Warfield to get help, was terrifying.
, Cross thought, but the notion of going back to the hospital, or of finding Black or Ash or even Warfield to get help, was terrifying.
Cross felt tiny, cornered at his own doorstep. He expected something to melt out of the shadows at any moment, to fold around him like an oily cloak and swallow him up.
I’m losing my mind. I brought something back with me, and no matter what I do I can’t make it go away.
He opened the door and slammed it shut, and then he locked it for the first time in years. His flat was a mess of books and maps and spare clothes, stripped-down weapons and a punching bag, a table for drawing and a coffee maker that hadn’t worked in ages. The lone window allowed just enough bloody light in for Cross to see the motes of dust that drifted in the air.
For a few minutes, everything was quiet. Cross sat down on the mattress on the floor and promptly fell asleep.
But the whispers returned. The ghosts waited for him in his dreams.
SIX
DIGGING
Cross went to find Black and Kane the next day. He hadn’t slept for more than an hour.
It didn’t occur to Cross until after he left his apartment that he’d missed the meeting with Elias Pike, the Southern Claw officer that his team reported to. He wondered if Black and Kane had met with Pike on their own, or if Pike would even allow that….he hadn’t been thrilled about Cross’ decision to form the team and leave the Southern Claw in the first place, and he’d been doubly disappointed with Cross’ choice of teammates.
The team had used some funds to purchase a run-down manor to serve as their base-of-operations. It wasn’t much, but it was large enough that any of them could sleep there if they needed to, and there was enough extra space to store all of their munitions and equipment, as well as the Darkhawk.
The building was only three-stories tall, and it was made from pale marble that had been scorched in a vampire attack over a decade before. The previous owners had been a band of merchants fronting for the crime syndicate called The Triangle, a group of weapons and drug smugglers who used the place as storage for their various illegal wares. Even after The Triangle agents had been arrested and sent to Black Scar and the building had been stripped of all of its contraband, the structure had remained unused for over three years. No one could afford the upkeep on such an old building, and few wanted to own something that at some point had likely been exposed to chemical narcotics and experimental arcane-bio weaponry. Cross, Black and Kane decided there was nothing to worry about, especially since it meant they got the place at a discounted price.
Cross approached the manor from the north. It rested against the southern wall of the city, atop a narrow hill that bordered a low stone wall. Grim statues of dragons sat like sentries at the gates.
The entire perimeter hummed with thaumaturgic presence. The network of hex rods and cold iron wire deterred most undead intruders, and there was enough visibility between the house and the perimeter wall that anything lucky enough to get that far was likely to be noticed, since they would probably be on fire by that point, thanks to the outer defenses.
Cross held up his hands so that the arcane glyphs on the exterior wall could read his bio-signature. The ten-foot wrought-iron gates swung open with an ominous creak.
The open grounds were cool green, an expansive lawn littered with broken bits of stone, toppled Gothic statues and drifts of leaves that caught in the chill autumn wind. The old well had been abandoned long before they’d even taken possession of the manor, and they’d converted the gardener’s shack into a munitions shed, a magically locked wooden building filled with blades and rifles in case someone outside had to arm themselves in a hurry.
The manor itself was a dark and imposing structure. Marble columns stood at the top of the wide stone steps that led to the massive front door, and every window was bound in iron lattice and laced with concertina wire. The roof was flat and surrounded with razorwire coils, and the second story balcony was reinforced with sandbags and sacks of holy soil.
Cross always thought of eyes when he looked at those windows. The stone was brick red and covered in scorch marks. The outer walls of the manor had already been damaged when they’d purchased it, and they’d decided to leave them be. Truth be told, no one had really expected they’d get much use out of the place, and to a certain extent they were right, since it was rare for the team to spend more than a week at a time at the manor before they were away for twice that long, trekking into The Reach or the Bone March to engage the Ebon Cities. It had become a fancy warehouse, a secret hideout, of sorts, just like Cross and Snow had pretended to have when they were kids.
Cross’ key clicked in the heavy lock. The thick oak door led to the foyer, a stretch of hall covered in arcane safeguards and anti-undead wards. A powerful undead creature, like a vampire, would make it to the door at the end of the hall, but they weren’t likely to still be in one piece when they got there thanks to coiled hex fields and blessed napalm sprayers. Lesser undead wouldn’t even get that far.
Beyond the foyer stood the main hall, a large and open space with arched doorways and staircases. It was the central hub of the large house, the area that saw the most traffic, and the one room that was in less than pristine condition. Ammo crates, duffel bags, canteens, backpacks, spare combat boots, armored coats and flak vests, arcane gauntlets, blades, practice dummies, armor plating…all manner of military-related junk had been strewn everywhere, most of it at least somewhat organized, but significant portions were just a complete mess. While there were more fortified storage areas that housed the true equipment reserves, the main hall was where all of the leftovers wound up. Cross’ team acquired a surprising amount of extra equipment, mostly items acquired from skirmishes with criminal gangs and human marauders in the wastelands.
Ronan was in the hall when Cross arrived. He threw knives at a practice dummy in an open space of floor next to what Cross could only surmise was supposed to be the dining room, since the big wall panel was designed to lift up and provide easy access to the kitchens, which went largely unused. Ronan’s dark camouflage pants and tee-shirt didn’t look all that different from what he wore on missions. A dozen knives stuck out of the wooden dummy, not a single one of them more than an inch away from the others.
“
You’re alive,” Ronan said quietly. Sound echoed easily in the large house, enough that Cross could already tell that some sort of activity was going on upstairs. “Good. Things were fairly disorganized while you were away.”
You’re alive,” Ronan said quietly. Sound echoed easily in the large house, enough that Cross could already tell that some sort of activity was going on upstairs. “Good. Things were fairly disorganized while you were away.”
“
I’m sorry to hear that,” Cross said. “Did we reschedule the meeting with Pike?”
I’m sorry to hear that,” Cross said. “Did we reschedule the meeting with Pike?”
“
Yep,” Ronan said. “It’s going on right now. So your timing is excellent.”
Yep,” Ronan said. “It’s going on right now. So your timing is excellent.”
Figures
, Cross thought. He wasn’t sure if he was annoyed that they hadn’t waited for him, or that he hadn’t been lucky enough to miss it.
, Cross thought. He wasn’t sure if he was annoyed that they hadn’t waited for him, or that he hadn’t been lucky enough to miss it.
“
Who all is here?” he asked.
Who all is here?” he asked.
“
Black, Kane and Ash are upstairs with Pike and Mr. Personality.” Cross knew that Ronan referred to Laros, Pike’s warlock second-in-command, a man that most of the team held a fairly low opinion of. “Grissom is out getting something to eat. Maur is downstairs screwing around with the Darkhawk.” Ronan looked at Cross. “And you’re standing in the hall, looking like you got mauled by something.”
Black, Kane and Ash are upstairs with Pike and Mr. Personality.” Cross knew that Ronan referred to Laros, Pike’s warlock second-in-command, a man that most of the team held a fairly low opinion of. “Grissom is out getting something to eat. Maur is downstairs screwing around with the Darkhawk.” Ronan looked at Cross. “And you’re standing in the hall, looking like you got mauled by something.”
“
Do I look
that
good?” Cross snickered.
Do I look
that
good?” Cross snickered.
“
I was being kind,” Ronan smiled.
I was being kind,” Ronan smiled.
Cross slowly made his way upstairs. The banisters were cool to the touch, and the windows on the west wall illuminated the wide balcony at the top of the steps with muted midmorning light.
Cross’ body groaned as he reached the upper halls. Every door was immense, large enough for even Grissom to fit through. Everything was carved from dark oak, and the ceilings were extremely tall. Grey light cast everything in somber tones. Motes of heavy dust drifted like laggard insects in the still air, and the heavy wood floor paneling made Cross’ trip up the stairs anything but silent.
There were at least a dozen rooms on the middle floor, but there were only a handful on the third, where Cross was bound. The central staircase moved straight up to the massive dining chamber, which the team had converted into a meeting hall. The stray black-and-gray cat that Grissom had adopted a few months back was there on the steps as Cross made his ascent: it stared him down, almost daring him to try and step on it. He’d nearly tripped on the damn thing three times already, and no wonder, since it was roughly the size of a truck. Halls at the top of the stairs led off to the other rooms on the upper floor: map chambers, arcane studies, and libraries. The armories were in the basement, and the team quartered in the suites on the middle floor.
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