Undead Chaos (13 page)

“Anything else?” Pip asked hopefully. Nick raised his eyebrows at me and I shook my head.

“I think this will do it for now,” I said. Pip’s face fell slightly, and I suddenly felt bad for the little guy. Spending days in a dark, cold basement transcribing text was a lonely profession.

“Actually, I could use a really good cookbook. One with a lot of pie recipes.”

Pip was gone in a flash. He returned an instant later with a huge tome. The cover was faded and peeling.

“It’s the best we have!”

I took the book and added it to my heavy pile.

“Is that all you need?” Nick asked. I nodded and he motioned at the door. I started toward it, then turned to the bookworm.

“I really appreciate the help.”

Pip beamed impishly, but seemed at a loss for words. I waved as best I could without dropping the books and followed Nick out of the storage room.

The trek up the stuffy stairwell was less intimidating, mostly because I was more concerned about keeping a grip on the books than I was about the snakes. By the time we exited into the back office, my hands were beginning to ache. I set the stack down, barely noticing as Nick reengaged the snake-defense-mechanism to the secret passage.

“So does he stay down there the whole time?” I asked.

“Pip comes and goes as he pleases,” Nick replied.

“How?”

“No idea. Bookworms know forms of magic that are as mysterious as the wind. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to take my granddaughter home.”

I nodded. “Any chance I can get a sack for these things?”

Nick handed me a canvas knapsack from a cardboard box. It was beige but, unlike others around the store, didn’t have the store’s name stitched into it. Considering the dark tomes he’d given me, I wasn’t surprised.

“How much?” I asked.

“Keep it along with the books. Consider them my final payment to the Shifter family. Just make sure to forget where you got them.”

I promised I would and thanked him. Then I stuffed the books into the sack, placing the dark tomes at the bottom and the more “acceptable” ones on top. I clipped the flap shut and slung the thing onto my back. The weight of the contents squashed the scabbard against my shoulder blades. It was uncomfortable and awkward, but allowed me to keep both hands free in case I needed to draw my sword or gun.

Nick escorted me through the store, allowing me to stop long enough to say goodbye to Erma. She waved, then returned to her story once more. As I exited to the front door, I paused and held out my hand.

“Thank you,” I said earnestly. “And I’m sorry I had to call in my favors. I know it was asking a lot. I also hope you believe me when I say that I didn’t want to do this. There was simply no choice.”

Nick shook my hand. For the first time all night, I realized just how exhausting my visit had been for him.

“I like you, Marcus,” he said softly. “You’re a good person who means well, so please don’t think it’s personal when I say that I hope to never see you again.”

“It’s okay,” I lied. I was going to miss the old man and his dusty shop.

He shook his head. “I don’t envy what you’re attempting. Anyone willing to work outside the view of the Council is either brave or stupid. You don’t strike me as the latter. Just be careful where you tread.”

“No promises.” The prickles returned to my neck. “Want me to escort you and Erma home?”

Nick shook his head. “Thank you, but we’re already there. We live above the store. Goodnight,” he added and shut the door to his shop. He turned the bolt, flipped the sign to “Closed,” then pulled the blind.

Locked out of the store, and likely Nick’s life as well, I turned to leave. I took two steps, then stopped. The entire alleyway was black, which was odd since the lights were on when I entered. The moon was no longer visible in the night sky. The tingling sensation returned and my heart began pounding in my chest.

I sensed rather than saw the motion coming toward me. I twisted and felt a compression of air brush my face. There was a hiss-thump as a black-shafted arrow slammed the wooden door frame where my head had been seconds before.

I dove to the side, my hand instinctively drawing my blade. The alleyway ahead was dark as midnight, offering no help in finding my attacker.

I sensed the alley with my Skill. Faint tremors indicated movement in the distance as the gentle breeze swept over an object. I focused on the feeling, imagining a spider’s web in my mind.

There was a slight tension in the air followed by another hiss. This time I jerked sideways, narrowly avoiding the arrow that imbedded into the wall behind me. Stone shards clattered to the ground, but not before I pieced the geometry of the shot together in my head. I tossed my sword into the opposite hand and launched myself down the alley wall, collecting bits of moss and water from the stone structure along the way.

When I had enough, I squashed the contents together and hurled them in the direction of the shooter. I tweaked the trajectory with a boost of Skill, then rifled three more sloppy balls behind the first with machine-gun speed. I added half a dozen air-ball spells—similar to the ones I’d used against Banks at the hospital—for good measure.

There was a wet splat followed by the thud of an air-ball hitting its mark. Someone cursed softly. I leaped to the opposite side of the alleyway as another arrow snapped past. I launched several more spells, using the distraction of speed and annoyance to get closer to the target.

I was maybe twenty yards from my attacker was when something grabbed my right shoulder and spun me around. Pain exploded down my arm and my sword clattered to the ground. My knees gave out and I attempted to cushion my fall on the stone alleyway, only to land poorly on my wrist. The tendons protested from the odd angle. I tried to roll, but the knapsack and its contents prevented me from doing so.

Instead, I wound up floundering on my side.

Before I could recover, a boot caught me in the gut. I gagged as the impact lifted me into the air and flung me into the alley wall. The collision knocked the wind—and what little fight was left—out of me. I collapsed to the ground in a heap. Stars filled my vision and I blinked to clear my head.

Suddenly the street torches flicked on, bathing me in soft amber light. Two large forms materialized out of the darkness. I gazed in terror at the one on the left, but it was ultimately the man on the right who held my attention. He was handsome with dark hair and dazzling hazel eyes. He knelt down, peering at me.

“Marcus?” he asked.

“Why, Jethrow Wright,” I replied in a wheezing, Scarlett O’Hara voice. “Whatevah’ are you doing out on a night like this?”

Chapter Eleven

The Best of Frenemies

Everyone has a nemesis, a certain someone who consistently plagues them over the course of their lives. Captain Ahab had Moby Dick, the second Mrs. De Winter had Mrs. Danvers, and Miss Havasham had the entire male species.

I had Jethrow Wright.

To be honest, aside from his dashing good looks, being the best Warlock out of our peer group, and the whole stealing-my-girlfriend episode, there wasn’t anything wrong with the guy. The son of a poor Skilled family, Jethrow’s natural ability with complex spells was already impressing people by the time we met in school. He and I constantly jockeyed for the top spot in our class, and that rivalry bred a friendship that seemed bulletproof.

Then I quit and our relationship fell apart.

In the years since, Jethrow had grown into the kind of Warlock people envied. He was kind to strangers, patient with kids, and probably adopted kittens and puppies in his free time. He had a certain political aptitude that would undoubtedly lead to a senior position within the Council. A lot of people in the magical community knew he was destined for great things, and almost everyone worshiped the freaking ground he walked on.

“What the hell are you doing at Nick’s Knacks so late?” he asked. “This isn’t exactly your kind of place.”

“I come to the Underground all the time. Wonderful tourist attractions.”

Jethrow stared blankly at me, completely missing my sarcasm.

“I could ask you the same question,” I continued, attempting to sound nonchalant. The stars in my vision were fading, but my wrist was beginning to throb. “Shouldn’t you be at home baking cookies for the homeless or feeding orphaned panda cubs?”

“I’m on official Council business. I know you aren’t, though. What’s going on?”

“Just trying to sell some old books.” It was a thin lie, but hopefully enough to cover Nick if Jethrow found the dark tomes. My former friend’s face darkened. He was a lot less charming when he was annoyed.

“Don’t mess with me, Marcus,” he warned. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“Scouts honor. Check my pack.”

Jethrow pulled the flap of the knapsack open. He removed the top book and stared at it. Then let out a hearty, booming laugh. His eyes sparkled with humor.

“You’re not kidding!” he said. “I’m sorry for being skeptical, Marcus. Hey, Treble, check it out.” He tossed the huge damaged cooking tome to the second figure, who caught it in midair as if it was made of feathers.

Jethrow’s partner was gigantic—half a hair smaller than a rhinoceros. His bald head was covered in tattoos that spiraled onto his face and disappeared down his freakishly thick neck. He had forearms that would make Popeye jealous and a substantial goatee that was held together by several beads. A large quiver hung on his back, and he carried a huge compound bow in one hand. Strapped to his hip was a wicked broadsword. He glared at the book, then handed it back to Jethrow with a scowl.

“Marcus, you know Treble McCain, don’t you?” Jethrow asked, passing me the book.

There were all sorts of stories about the world-renowned Hunter and if even a fraction were true, he was one scary dude. If Treble was working with Jethrow, then heaven help the unfortunate soul they were after.

“Sure, I’ve heard of him. You play the piccolo in the Council band, right? Or was it the flute? Something girly.”

The large man stared down at me and sneered.

Jethrow chuckled. “Good old Marcus. Always kidding around. Here,” he added, offering me his hand, “lemme help you up.”

His grip was firm as he pulled me slowly to my feet. My head swam and I leaned against the stone wall as a wave of nausea passed. Jethrow kept a tight grip on my good shoulder, helping to balance me.

“You’ll need to have this checked out,” he said seriously. I glanced down and saw blood seeping from a gash along the right deltoid muscle. My gaze drifted to the wall behind me and I paled.

Treble walked to the wall and removed the black metal shaft that was imbedded in the stone. The steel tip wasn’t even bent. Had it hit me dead on, it would have shredded every organ in its path. Treble held the arrow and offered me a crooked smile.

“Allow me.” Jethrow put his hand on the wound. He muttered softly and I felt the warmth from his healing spell knit the broken skin together. When he removed his palm, the injury was still an angry red, but the bleeding had stopped.

“That’s the best I can do for now,” Jethrow said. “You’ll still need a Healer.”

“Thanks.” My eyes returned to Treble’s arrow. Jethrow followed my gaze and swallowed.

“Jeez, Marcus, you were pretty lucky. We could have killed you.”

“That occurred to me,” I muttered. “Speaking of which, what the hell
are
you doing here? These aren’t your usual stomping grounds.”

A guarded expression crossed Jethrow’s face, but he quickly replaced it with a friendly grin. “I already told you. Council business. Treble and I are on a hunt.”

“Well if you’re hunting good deals, Nick’s Knacks is the place. Bargain basement prices.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I take it you haven’t found Fawkes or his daughter yet.”

Jethrow’s expression froze in surprise.

“That is...something I cannot talk about,” he replied politically.

“Yeah, yeah,” I said wearily. “Council crap. We were in the same class, so I know the drill, man. But come on, Fawkes is on the run and the Council is all hot and bothered about it. I’ve seen the news and can put two and two together. You and your boyfriend here are obviously after him.” I nodded to the arrow that Treble was cleaning. “Apparently the Council doesn’t care about taking him alive.”

“Don’t make it sound so vile,” Jethrow pleaded. “Fawkes was given a second chance and yet he still violated his probation by practicing dark magic. He’s a dangerous man who knows the punishment that awaits him this time. We don’t have the luxury to assume he’ll come peacefully.”

“Has anyone bothered to consider the fact that he may be innocent?”

Jethrow scowled. “Doesn’t matter.”

I turned to my old pal and frowned. “Come again?”

“The Council is convinced he’s guilty. We’re just following their orders.”

“What about the daughter?”

Jethrow’s face softened a little. “Unfortunately she’s aiding and abetting her father. We have to assume she’s just as dangerous.”

“Jethrow, think about this. The Council needs to do more research before doling out a death sentence. You might wind up killing innocent people. You nearly killed me!”

The Warlock’s Warlock stared at me for a moment, mulling over my comments. Jethrow wasn’t a murderer. I wasn’t so sure about his partner.

Then something dawned on me.

“Wait a minute, of all the places in the Underground, why’d you pick this one as a stakeout?”

“We received a tip that Fawkes was in the area.”

“An anonymous tip told you that Fawkes was here?”

“Him, or someone helping him.”

I stared in disbelief. “And you pulled the trigger on an ambush without bothering to check and see who it was? Do you realize it could have been a patron or Nick and his granddaughter? You two could have just as easily killed an old man and a ten-year-old girl.”

“Well...” Jethrow trailed off. For the first time in years he seemed unconfident. Unconfident? Is that even a word? Maybe disconfident?

Whatever—he was uneasy.

“Dammit, man. You need to be more careful. The last thing anyone on the Council needs is bad press from injuring or killing an innocent.”

“You’re one to talk,” Jethrow shot back, recovering from his mental stumble. “There are a lot of rumblings about your involvement in the matter. Hanging around the Underground doesn’t exactly free you from suspicion.”

“Seriously?” I asked incredulously.

“I’m not accusing you, Marcus,” Jethrow said defensively, “but Witch Cerrus has already briefed the Council regarding your actions. A lot of the members don’t like the fact that you willingly took Fawkes into the morgue. Some are even saying that you orchestrated it all just for the attention.”

Now it was my turn to be stunned. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not saying it’s going to gain any traction, but it doesn’t exactly help, considering your past and all.”

“I don’t need reminding, Jethrow,” I growled.

“Actually, you do,” he snapped. “Dammit, Marcus, just because you don’t like to talk about it and everyone around you walks on eggshells doesn’t change the fact that you summoned a beast that killed a lot of people. I can’t even begin to imagine the guilt you must carry from that, but walking away from your training and your powers was seen as cowardice. Worse, when you finally returned to the Skilled community, you glided through training despite your...weakness...and your preference for Normal weapons instead of spells. And yet you graduated, received a commission as a Combat Warlock, and were sent on your merry way without so much as a peep from the Council. Even you can’t deny that it was because of your family’s connections.”

Heat burned my cheeks, but I had no witty retort.

He took a breath and shook his head. “I’m sorry. It’s just... I want you to understand the severity of the situation. Your family has been in a position of power since before the Delwinn Council was formed, and that breeds enemies. There are people who would love nothing more than to chip away at your family’s influence. But between your bloody past, the ease with which you made your return, and now your sloppiness traipsing about the Underground, you’re giving them plenty of ammunition.”

Anger filled my veins. Not only was I furious at myself for everything Jethrow had mentioned, but also at him for throwing it in my face.

Treble stepped forward and mumbled into Jethrow’s ear.

“Listen,” my old friend said, “we need to get going. Get that shoulder examined and try to avoid any more trouble, okay?”

There may have been genuine concern in his voice, but if so, I didn’t care.

I turned to Treble. “Try not to kill any little girls the rest of the night.”

The big man glowered. “Funny man.”

“Yeah, I’m hilarious.”

Treble bristled, but backed down when Jethrow stepped between us.

“We
do
need to go.” He placed a hand on my good shoulder. “Seriously, Marcus. Be careful out here. I know things haven’t been the same between us, but you’re still my friend. Remember that, okay?”

I started to speak, but a lump caught in my throat, so I just nodded. Jethrow gave me a small wave while Treble simply glared. Then the two men disappeared back into the night to continue their hunt for an innocent man and his daughter.

* * *

The trip back to Millie’s was slowed by the pain in my shoulder and wrist. My body wasn’t the only thing hurt—so was my pride. I was exhausted from the happenstance fight with Jethrow and angry about how easily I’d been defeated. Granted there’d been two of them, but I’d barely lasted thirty seconds. The fact that they wiped the floor with me without breaking much of a sweat was not only frustrating, but embarrassing.

No one, especially not Jethrow, needed to tell me how far behind the power curve I was. Being reminded of it made me burn with embarrassment. Shifters were expected to tackle huge challenges, to defend the weak, to uphold justice and all that campy do-gooder junk. We were the magical equivalent of knights in shining armor, hell some of us
had
been, and we demanded a lot out of ourselves. History was rife with Shifter men who overcame amazing odds in order to be the champion of the innocent. In my case, the acorn fell next to the tree, but my own stupidity wound up booting it a long ways away.

I dragged my feet through the alleys of the Underground as I sulked. I needed to spend more time in the books, more time in training and a heck of a lot
less
time screwing around. People, like Dad, trusted me to go into the world and help people. It was part of the reason he never questioned me when I’d asked to come back
.
Granted, freelance jobs like the one for Carly might not be official Council business, but it still meant helping people in need. That was the bread and butter of the Shifter existence.

Then again, coming to her aid had kicked this whole mess off in the first place, so maybe that wasn’t the best example.

Thankfully no one else attempted to impale me as I limped back to my temporary residence. With the exception of a few lights, the place was completely dark. I eased the front door open and slipped inside.

It was eerie to see the diner in such a state. The busy kitchen was silent and the tables completely empty. The normal hustle and bustle of the day was gone, replaced by a soft, hushed atmosphere. I was so accustomed to it during the day that seeing the quiet, peaceful side of its personality was strange.

As I tiptoed across the diner my knapsack clipped a chair on top of a table. It fell to the floor, dragging two more along with it. They clattered on the linoleum, echoing loudly off the empty, cavernous walls.

“I’ve heard tractors quieter than you,” Millie said.

She was seated in a corner booth with a large bottle of liquid and three glasses in front of her. There were also several plates of hot food, the steam from which drifted toward the ceiling. Steve was wedged in the seat across from her, his massive body nearly doubled over to avoid hitting his head on the low-hanging lamp.

“Humans,” he huffed. Millie waved for me to join them. I slinked over, dropped my knapsack and sword on the floor, then eased carefully into the seat next to her. She poured a hefty amount of the clear liquid into a spare glass and handed it to me. I took a cautious sip. Fire sliced across my tongue and burned holes in my esophagus.

“Holy cow,” I choked. “What is this?”

Millie held up her glass, rotating it in her hand. “Stonefire. The equivalent of Dwarven moonshine.”

I took another sip and forced down a cough. “Wow.”

“It takes the edge off,” Steve said nonchalantly, downing his drink in one gulp. Millie refilled it and he swirled the liquid around. Golden streaks appeared as the Stonefire spun in the glass and I could feel heat beginning to emanate from the drink. Millie lifted the bottle to top me off, but I put my hand over the glass.