Sanctum (Guards of the Shadowlands, Book 1) (20 page)

“Absolutely,” I said, a little too enthusiastically.

If he noticed my total spasticness, he didn’t let on. “Well, ladies, let’s get going.”

Michael, the weapon master, had a shop at the far west end of the Guard Station, down a long marble corridor lined with ornate gas lamps hanging from decorative sconces. Malachi led the way, his boots squeaking on the smooth, polished floor.

He looked over his shoulder at me. “Take Michael with a grain of salt. He’s kind of irritable.”

Ana snorted but didn’t say anything.

“So, um, Raphael…Michael…are we going to run into Gabriel somewhere around here?” I asked, wondering if I’d figured something out.

Ana’s laughter had a hard edge to it. “No, we don’t have a resident Gabriel. And Michael is…”

Malachi’s lips quirked up. “He’s a very special individual. But I believe he is not now, nor has he ever been, in possession of a halo.”

At the very end of the hallway, two Guards stood in front of elaborately carved wooden doors.

“Ghazi. Sofian,” Malachi greeted as he nodded to each of them. They nodded back and pulled open the doors for us.

“He’s in fine form this morning, Captain,” grunted Sofian in warning. I could already hear the ranting coming from inside.

“Malachi? Is that you? Get in here, you bloody pillock,” a gravelly voice shouted from the far end of the shop.

“What did he just call you?” I whispered as I looked around.

“Roughly translated, an idiot,” Malachi whispered back. Ana snorted again.

It was not the tiny, quaint workshop I’d pictured. I’d had some mall version of Santa’s workshop in my head. Michael’s shop was more like a factory. It reminded me of a giant hardware store, emphasis on the hard. Aisles of metal shelving stretched in front of us, and each contained a different kind of deadly accessory. There were enough scimitars here to equip an army. Knives of all design crowded the shelves: some short, some long, some curved, some serrated, some with terrifying-looking barbs. And armor—stacks and stacks of armor.

“Where does the metal come from?” I asked.

“We don’t know,” said Ana. “Only Michael knows.”

“Malachi! You poxy prat, what kind of nutter abuses a beautiful weapon this way?” Michael shouted above a sharp clanging noise that made me cringe and cover my ears.

Malachi closed his eyes as if praying for patience and led the way toward the back of the shop, down an aisle lined with throwing stars.

I had to ask. “What did he call you that time?”

Malachi gave me a sidelong glance and rolled his eyes. “Again, an idiot. He’s really gotten into British slang these days.”

“Believe me,” said Ana, “it’s better than when he was into Chinese profanity. For two years, we were
huàidàn
this and
kuàxiàwù
that. But the worst was—”

“Russian,” they said at the same time. We turned the corner.

Michael stood at a forge, wielding a red-hot strip of metal. He was incredibly, impressively, amazingly fat. I marveled for a moment at how someone so huge could move with such ease. And also how he avoided burning the various folds of flab that hung from his limbs, belly, and chin. But as I watched the sweat dripping from his hills and valleys, I began to see his movements as a sort of graceful ballet. The longer I observed, the more beautiful he became. I was reminded of Raphael’s indescribable smile, and that’s what I was thinking of when Michael noticed me for the first time.

His smile was…not so beautiful.

“Well, Gor-don Ben-nett,” he said in a slow, appreciative way that made Malachi take half a step in front of me. Michael leaned to get a better view, and I somehow resisted the urge pull Malachi all the way in front of me like a human shield.

“Michael, this is Lela, as I am sure you have realized. Is her armor ready?”

Michael raised his eyebrows, causing folds of flesh to droop over his eyes.

“Bugger. I would’ve made more of an effort if you’d brought her to see me yesterday. Inspiration, you know.”

Malachi started to make that growling noise but caught himself and cleared his throat. “Please, we’re in a bit of a hurry this morning.” He looked around for Ana, perhaps for support, but she had wandered off to caress a particularly pointy set of knives a few aisles away.

Michael gestured emphatically with the now-black strip of metal. “Keep your hair on, you useless wazzack. I just made your fifth staff and reforged your scimitar for the sixth time this month. And your eighth set of knives—how do you manage to keep bending ’em that way? You throw ’em way too hard. And I just waxed your third set of armor—you ever think of bleeding a little less? Inconsiderate git. So don’t rush me, and let me appreciate the scenery. I get tired of looking at your sorry face.”

I bit my tongue to keep from cracking up and stepped around Malachi, hoping maybe a feminine touch would speed things along. “Michael, it’s nice to meet you. Your skill and productivity—wow. You must never stop.”

Michael shot me his gray-toothed smile as he pointed the scimitar-in-progress in my direction. “Finally, someone who appreciates me. You’re right, love, I go all day. And all night.” He made a rather disturbing movement that may have been meant as a hip thrust but looked more like the swell of ocean
waves. It was kind of hypnotic. Probably not in the way he intended, though.

From the corner of my eye, I saw the muscle in Malachi’s jaw start to jump. He’d clearly interpreted Michael’s movement as it had been intended after all—and seemed rather tense about it. But as long as Michael kept himself, and
all
his tools, at a respectful distance, I figured I could indulge him—provided he gave us what we came for.

“You don’t say.” I lifted an eyebrow, further experimenting with my skills as a seductress. This guy was kind of an easy target. “Well then, I can’t wait to see what you have for me. Want to show it off?”

The muscle in Malachi’s jaw had stopped jumping because now his mouth was hanging open. I spared him a glance but had to look away quickly to keep from giggling.

Michael, too, seemed a little off balance. “Uh. Bloody hell. Um, it’s over here. Close your mouth, you nancy,” he snapped, noticing Malachi’s dumbfounded expression. “Miss Lela, step into my office,” Michael said, newly charming, as he gestured toward a row of armor racks.

“I asked Michael to modify the frame he uses for Ana,” Malachi said quietly.

“And you weren’t kidding.
Impressive
,” Michael crooned, his eyes skating over my body.

With wide eyes I looked at Malachi, who dropped his head into his hands. If his hair weren’t so short, I was sure he would have been ripping it out.

My stomach muscles ached with suppressed laughter. “All right, Michael, shall we see how accurately Malachi described my chest size?”

Malachi made a strangled noise as he followed me and Michael to a set of black armor draped over a rack in the corner. I took a moment to stare at all the leather and metal buckles.

And now I begin my career as a dominatrix
.

Michael pulled the breastplate off the rack. “Twelve ounces per square foot of pure feminine beauty,” he purred, stroking the front of the thing in a way that made me want to bathe in a vat of bleach. I panicked for a moment when he unbuckled the sides and waddled in my direction. Fortunately, Malachi stepped forward and snatched it from his hands.

Michael muttered something that sounded like “Arsehole” but didn’t resist.

“It’ll be stiff at first,” Malachi explained as he met my eyes and held it up, seeking permission to help me. I lifted my braid from my neck, allowing him to position the leather over my chest and back. Malachi’s experienced fingers made quick work of the small buckles that connected front to back along each of my sides. The vest extended down to my hips, where it ended in a delicate flare to give me ease of movement. The whole thing
reminded me of a corset, though it wasn’t too tight. In fact, it fit perfectly, and that made my cheeks very hot for a few moments.

“I guess you were pretty accurate,” I mumbled. “Good job.”

“It will deflect most knife and scimitar strikes,” he mumbled back. Was I imagining that slight tinge of pink in his cheeks?

Something black flew across the room and hit Malachi in the head. He froze for a moment, eyes wide, looking completely stunned.

“Keep your head in the game, plonker,” shouted Michael.

“Whoa,” laughed Ana, skipping down the aisle with three new knives swinging from her hands. “Someone got the drop on Malachi. I think it’s been a few decades since that happened.”

Malachi successfully dodged the next black projectile and caught the two after that. They were my leg and arm protection—greaves and bracers. He ignored the taunts and gave me another questioning look before helping me put them on.

“How do I look?” I posed, flexing my biceps and wiggling my eyebrows. I was glad there was no mirror around, as I was fairly sure I looked like a prat. Or a nutter. Or a git. Yep, one of those.

“You’re missing something,” Ana replied, holding up a belt. She fastened it around my hips and hooked a baton onto it. “Now you look beautiful. Doesn’t she look beautiful, boys?”

Malachi had already turned his attention to his own assorted weapons and did not look up. I didn’t know whether to feel disappointed or relieved.

“Ah, there’s none so fair as thee, sweet Ana, but she’ll do,” sang Michael in a rumbling bass, but it took him a few seconds to peel his eyes from me. When he did, he saw Ana’s new treasures. “I suppose you want to take those knives with you?”

“Girls like shiny things, Michael,” she said, shaking her hips at him. She sheathed the knives with lethal efficiency. Michael actually shivered, shaking the floor like a small earthquake.

“Michael, thank you for your work,” Malachi said formally. “As always, it’s excellent.” He had put on his own armor and looped the satchel over his chest again. He looked…Ah, it was just not fair. I swallowed hard. He looked amazing, and I looked like a plonker.

Michael apparently did not share my admiration. “Try not to cock it all up this time, will ya? Bring some of it back in one piece.”

“We always do our best,” said Malachi, “but we wouldn’t want you to get bored. You know what they say about idle hands.”

Michael held up his hands and wiggled his fingers at me. He winked. “Don’t you worry about my idle hands, boy.”

Huh. The few times I’d been to church in my life, I’d never heard anyone describe St. Michael as a morbidly obese guy with
a foul mouth and an eye for the ladies. Still, the guy was hilarious. I winked back at him just to be obnoxious.

Malachi grabbed my hand and dragged me down the aisle. “Don’t encourage him, please,” he muttered.

WE WOULD REACH THE
center of the city by midday, or so Malachi informed me. I couldn’t tell what time it was. As always, it was dark, just block after block of mismatched buildings and sorrowful faces.

Guards patrolled in pairs, their glowing eyes sweeping the crowds, searching for unusual behavior. Whenever we passed them, they snapped to attention and waited for Malachi to acknowledge them. They all looked the same to me, but he knew each of their names. He would nod or give a few instructions before sending them on their way. One of them leered at me and said to Malachi, “Finally taking one downtown, Captain?”

The expression on Malachi’s face made the Guard step back and jerk to attention again. I glanced at Ana for clues, but she was staring at the Guard with the same violent intensity.

When I asked why we couldn’t have brought a few Guards with us, Ana answered. “Because this isn’t an official mission. Right, Captain?”

Malachi ignored her and kept walking.

I tried to kill both time
and
the tension by asking all the questions that had built up in my brain over the last few days. “So how come you guys don’t have phones and stuff?”

“They have not been given to us,” Malachi replied. “Guards are outfitted by Michael and supplied with essentials by Raphael. We have not been supplied with a telephone.”

I smiled at the thought of him trying to figure out a cell.

“But you said people can grow entire buildings here—so why can’t you grow one tiny little phone?” I considered giving it a try, just to see if I could do it.

“Guards don’t
grow
anything,” Ana said. “It would be considered a dereliction of duty. We have certain privileges, like being able to enter occupied apartments, but we also have rules.”

“But haven’t you ever been tempted to try?”

Malachi made a strained sound in his throat. “It’s an easy decision, if the choice is between a telephone and being released into the Countryside sooner.” He stopped and turned to me. “When it’s time for you to leave this city, I’d like you to be free to go.”

“
Seriously?
I’m not talking about a luxury pimp palace. I’m talking about a phone. Wouldn’t it make life easier?”

Ana bumped my shoulder with hers. “If you think anything here is supposed to be easy, girl, maybe you aren’t ready to leave after all.”

“That’s enough, Ana,” Malachi said as he pivoted on his heel and resumed the hike. “And Lela, a phone would be completely possible, if a resident of this city ever decided to communicate with another person. But even if they did, who would they call?”

I couldn’t really think of a response to that as we trudged past an endless stream of people, all with glazed eyes fixed on the ground. One lady sat on a curb surrounded by piles of shoes. As I watched, a slimy pair of stilettos grew over her previously bare feet. She took them off, added them to a pile, and bent over to stare at her feet again.

I shook my head. “What about cars? Computers? TV?”

“Oh, we have TVs. They’re in all the apartments,” said Ana. “People gorge on television just like they gorge on food. I myself have been known to indulge at times. Not much else to do. I mean, the
BOOK
stores in this place suck. The print’s too small, and I hate vampires.”

Malachi nodded. “As for cars…I guess they don’t seem important here. People do wander when they first get here, like your friend did, but once they settle in, they tend to stay in one place. Everything they could want is within a block or two, anyway. Some of them never leave their apartments. Besides the
Guards, the only creatures who move around this city regularly are the Mazikin, but because they don’t actually belong in the city, nothing will grow for them, thank God. And, please forgive me, what is a computer?”