Undead Chaos (17 page)

An antique ship’s bell on the mantle dinged, and Agatha glanced at it. “Well, it’s getting late,” she said, “and I have some business to attend to. Unless you have any other questions, that is.”

“Actually, there is.” I pulled the note from my pocket and handed it to her.

She examined it with a frown. “Where did you get this?” she asked.

“It’s the caption to a bedtime story I was reading. I couldn’t translate it, but Jones said to ask you.”

“It’s unfamiliar to me as well. You say it was a caption?”

“Yes.” I described the image in the dark tome. As I spoke, Agatha’s face grew serious.

“That sounds like
very
dark magic. Unfortunately,” she added a little too quickly, “I can’t help you.”

Something in her voice told me we’d crossed the line between “can’t” and “won’t”. Agatha was a wealth of information, so I decided that I’d rather stay on her good side in case I needed something from her in the future.

“Thank you for your time and for the information,” I said, standing. “I really appreciate it.” I offered her a hand and struggled to heave her to her feet.

Apparently art brokers ate well.

She patted the notepad in her pocket. “Believe me, it’s been my pleasure.” She escorted me to the door. “If you see Jones again, tell him I say thank you. Just make sure you do it in a locked, soundproof room.”

I thanked her one last time and stepped through the door into the darkness of Cameron Alley.

* * *

The marketplace was a different animal at night. Gone were the vendors and tourists, and an unsettling calm replaced the cacophony that made the Alley famous. Like Deek Street, the quiet was eerie.

The feeling of being watched returned with a vengeance. I felt eyes on me from all sides while the light breeze was like the misty breath of a predator on my skin. Considering the outcome of the night before, I had good reason to be jumpy. I kept my senses alert as I headed back toward Millie’s, checking for anything unusual.

Well,
more
unusual than the normal weirdness of the Underground.

Bubbling beneath my paranoia was also a sense of frustration. Each time I unearthed a piece of information, it moved me forward inches instead of miles.

Simeon was powerful, knew a lot of evil spells, and had successfully stayed hidden for days.

That last feat alone was impressive. Hunters, especially ones as talented as Treble McCain, were impossible to shake. They specialized in finding people who didn’t want to be found. It was one of the reasons why the profession was so sought after.

If I had learned anything from my mother about Hunters, it was that even the most highly Skilled person left a trail. All you had to do was find it. The fact that Simeon had none strengthened my opinion that something unusual was in play. People like Pip and Agatha reinforced that belief.

But if Simeon was using an extinct form of magic, then what hope did I have of finding him? The magical elite were stumped, which did not bode well for my chances.

I kicked a chunk of stone and watched it vanish into a dark, narrow alleyway. Moments later there was the distinct sound of it colliding with something metallic, followed by the racket of a lot of junk toppling over. As the noise died down, I paused.

I hadn’t seen the stone do anything, but I knew what had happened based on the sounds. It was
logical
to assume the stone had collided with a trashcan.

As I stood there, staring into the darkness, the wheels of thought began to turn. Perhaps the answer didn’t lie in magic, but logic. As impressive as magic was, many of the Skilled used it as a crutch. We relied too heavily on our special talents and not enough on practical applications. Sometimes a problem required a person to step back and examine it from a different perspective. It was something I’d learned during my years away from the community, and the lesson stuck with me when I came back to the family practice.

I cursed myself for my stupidity. I’d approached the whole situation from a Skilled perspective since I’d assumed that’s how Simeon would behave.

But that was exactly the problem. Simeon
had
to have known by now that Hunters were after him and that they’d rely on their abilities to track him, so if he wanted to stay off the magical radar all together, he’d have to act more like a Normal.

So if that was the case, how would I track someone with no magical capabilities?

The first thing would be to follow the money trail. Credit card and ATM usages were paramount. Unfortunately I knew Simeon hadn’t used any since both were pointless in the Underground. The next was communications to the outside world, but again, if Quinn was with him, then it negated the need to reach out to anyone.

Communications and money they could do without for a while, but not the basics for human survival. They’d need food and water. They’d also need a place to sleep. Assuming they were lying low and not running, then they’d need a hideout that was secluded, yet provided access to these necessities.

The Underground was huge, and there were numerous places Simeon could hide, but that list narrowed if I applied the parameters of food and water.

The location would need to be close to a market or eatery. The hideout would also need a quick escape route. I started a list in my head of likely places, weighing the pros and cons of each one.

I was so caught up in the excitement of formulating my idea that I failed to notice the sounds of footsteps until it was too late.

There was a scrape of claws on stone and a second later something rammed into me. The blow lifted me into the air, and I twisted in an effort to land the way my old judo instructor taught me.

“Learning
how
to fall,” he always said, “is the most important lesson. Fall the wrong way and you’re injured. Fall the correct way and you will still have fight left in you.”

I rotated enough that when the ground met me, my entire side absorbed the impact. I hit hard, but maintained enough momentum to roll. As I came up to my knees, the attacker slammed into me again. I was thrown onto my back. My head bounced off the ground.

I was blinking to clear the stars in my vision when something heavy landed on my chest. I looked up in time to see a large gray fist coming toward my face. I jerked my head to the right and the fist plowed into the ground. There was an explosion of stone chips, followed by a hiss of pain and fury.

I used the delay to buck my chest upward. The move unseated my attacker, allowing me to slip out from underneath. I scrambled to my feet and dove in time to avoid another swing that missed by inches. I yanked the pistol out of the holster, flipped the safety, then aimed it at my assailant.

My eyes went wide with shock.

Batman had seen better days. His upper body was a colorful mixture of black and blistering burns. They covered his neck and deformed half his face. The wound from my sword was an infected, angry red, indicating that the healing spell used on it was quick and sloppy. The stump of his arm had been cauterized and burned to a sickening black. The leather on one wing cracked and flaked as it flexed.

His wounds hampered him, but he still moved with startling speed. He leaped and I fired two shots, both of which missed. As he came down I spun to avoid a sweep of his razor talons. The creature stumbled past me and I swung the barrel around, pulling the trigger. The gun thundered and a hollow point shattered his right shoulder in a shower of black blood and bone.

Before I could fire again, a powerful leg snapped around in a high arc. It caught me in the chest and threw me backward. I landed poorly, which knocked the gun out of my hand and the breath from my lungs.

Batman sprinted toward me as I lay gasping. I stretched for my pistol, but it was outside my grasp and the creature was almost upon me.

A blur erupted from the darkened side alley and light glinted off the metal blade of a knife. It sailed through the air and sank to the hilt in Batman’s leg. The beast screeched in pain and stumbled sideways into a wall, grabbing at the weapon.

The distraction was all the time I needed. I snagged my gun and trained it on my target. The creature turned his head toward me as I pulled the trigger. The pistol thundered and bullets tore through Batman’s leathery skin with grisly force. The impacts threw him against the wall where he was suspended for a moment before crumpling to the ground in a bloody heap.

I heaved myself upright and cautiously approached the creature. He was alive, though barely, and his body rattled as he tried to breathe. As I neared, he bared his fangs and scraped ineffectively at the air between us. Without pausing I drew my sword and drove the blade through his neck. Blood spurted and his body arched in pain. He released one final hiss of air, then went limp for good.

With a snarl, I removed the blade and pointed it and the gun in the direction where the knife had come from.

“Come out,” I said coldly. For a moment, nothing happened. Then a hazy shadow shimmered and dissipated, revealing a woman with bright pink highlights.

Chapter Fourteen

Down the Chute

“Quinn!”

I immediately lowered my weapons. Relief flooded through me. Her eyes were red and her face deeply lined. Her long black cape was pulled tight around her, either for comfort or warmth.

“Are you okay?” she asked, her voice betraying notes of concern.

“A little shaken.” I holstered the pistol and wiped the sweat from my palms. “Was that you with the knife?”

She nodded.

“You’re a lifesaver. Batman here had me dead-to-rights until you impaled him.”

She gazed at the body of the creature and paled as I yanked her knife out of the thigh. I cleaned the blade, then paused to examine the handle.

“Did you get this from a Minotaur?” I asked.

“No, why?”

“No reason,” I replied, handing the knife back to her. It disappeared into the folds of her cape with practiced speed. The way she handled the weapon was both impressive and painfully sexy.

“What is that thing?” she asked, staring at the corpse.

“I’m not sure about the species, but we had a bit of a disagreement recently.” I stared at the creature and felt a twinge in my gut. “How the hell did he find me?” I asked quietly.

“If it was personal, then maybe he was hunting you all this time.”

“Perhaps,” I said, unable to shake the nagging at the back of my head. “This could have also been a chance encounter. Either way, good riddance”

Quinn nodded.

“What are you doing here, anyway?” I asked, turning my attention back to her.

“Following you.”

“For how long?”

“A while.” She fell silent and lowered her eyes.

There was a noise in the distance and she vanished in a swirl of darkness. I recoiled, my mind trying to process the ease and speed with which she’d disappeared. Seconds later, she shimmered back into view.

“We need to go,” she said quickly. “The more time I spend out here, the more likely someone will see me. Head to the end of this alley and through the door on the right. I’ll meet you inside.” She disappeared once more into the shadows that stretched along the stone wall.

I walked slowly, moseying through the moonlight as to not draw attention to myself.

People noticed a person running or acting strange, but someone who behaved like he didn’t have a care in the world was ignored. Of course, as barren as the Underground had become, I could have done cartwheels and no one would have cared.

The doorway Quinn mentioned opened as I approached, and I eased inside. It closed behind me, engulfing the interior in complete darkness. Quinn’s hand grasped mine and she pulled me into the black abyss.

Normally I would have paid attention to our trek, mentally mapping out the path, but the contact of Quinn’s skin to mine shut down every rational circuit in my head. Her fingers were slim and warm as they firmly held on to me. Occasionally she let go to open another door or move an unseen object out of the way, but each time her hand came back to mine. I was acutely aware of how well we fit together.

“So, Shadow Dancing, eh?” I asked quietly. “You know it’s still technically listed as dark magic.”

Quinn sighed. “Survival matters more than the gray areas of good and bad, Marcus.”

“I’m not sure the Council would agree with you.”

Quinn stopped and I nearly ran into her. “You’re not—”

“No,” I said firmly. “I know you and your father are innocent. I’m here on my own to help you guys.”

“I figured,” she replied.

“What do you mean?”

“You haven’t exactly been subtle since arriving in the Underground. Daddy and I heard rumors that someone matching your description was asking questions. I’ve been trying to contact you ever since you burned down The Golden Teacup, but you’ve been pretty popular.”

I thought about the feeling of being watched before my run-in with Jethrow and Treble. I’d assumed that it was due to paranoia since the Underground was being extra spooky, but now it made sense. Someone
had
been following me.

Maybe the anonymous tip Jethrow had received wasn’t about me at all, but rather her. It would certainly explain why Treble was so quick to pull the trigger and why Quinn was being so cautious.

“How can you see anything?” I asked as she pulled me forward once more.

“Part of the technique,” she whispered back. “Walking in the darkness is no different to me right now than walking in daylight.”

“Kinda’ like night-vision goggles, eh?”

She stifled a laugh, then she swatted me playfully on the forearm. I winced and she paused.

“Did that hurt?” she asked.

“Only a little. Busted my wrist, but someone patched me together pretty well. It feels loads better than it used to.”

“What happened?”

“I was sloppy. I’ll tell you the details later.”

We maneuvered through the darkness in silence for a long time. I had no idea how far we’d traveled, but eventually I was aware of the lingering smell of cooked meat. I smiled.

Hooray for logic!

We walked for another minute before descending a long set of stairs. When we reached the bottom, I heard the unmistakable sound of a bolt being thrown. Moments later, Quinn opened a door. I squinted as light from inside bathed us in a yellow glow. Then I followed her through the doorway.

The room was a small, circular space. Opposite the door we entered was another that led to the restroom, and in the middle of the space was a kitchenette, twin bed, fold-out couch and a small television from a previous generation.

Seated in a plastic picnic chair near the kitchenette was Simeon Fawkes.

He rose as we entered.

“Sweetheart, where on earth have you—” He stopped when he saw me and we stared at one another.

His face was pale and lined. Dark circles had formed beneath his eyes, and he was sporting the beginnings of an impressive beard. His palms were wrapped in thick, dirty gauze.

“Quinn,” he said softly, “what have you done?”

“I’m sorry. I know you said not to, but Marcus is trying to help.”

The Necromancer narrowed his eyes at me. “I’m sure his intentions are earnest, but they are in vain.”

I took a step forward. “Mr. Fawkes, my father will see to it that you’re treated fairly. What happened at the hospital was my fault, not yours.”

“And yet my daughter and I are the ones being hunted like animals.”

“The Council has made a mistake. My testimony is on record, and with Dad’s help, we can correct it.”

“The
Council
,” he said bitterly, “cares nothing for admitting wrongs. They have an agenda and anyone caught in their path is crushed. I know this better than anyone.”

I glanced from him to Quinn and back. “What are you talking about?”

The Necromancer eased into his chair. “What sort of stories have you heard about me, Marcus?”

“Unpleasant ones,” I responded honestly.

“Like how I was raising an army of undead to conquer the Council? How I murdered people just to have access to fresh corpses?”

I nodded.

“Lies,” he said heavily. “All of my Necromancy was above board and was part of an authorized program funded
by
the Council. Our mission was to uncover why the Skilled lived longer than Normals. The project included the reanimation of both. All experiments were conducted in a controlled, observed environment, and all research notes were properly documented.”

“How come no one ever knew of this?”

“Our experiments were kept secret to prevent public alarm. The Council didn’t want word to leak that we were dabbling in the gray areas of magic—especially as the peace accord neared finalization. But our work was beginning to gain traction and we felt we were on the verge of a major breakthrough.”

“What happened?”

“The project was cancelled without warning. Officially we were told it was due to lack of funds, but there was more to it. One day we were fully operational, the next, all our materials were confiscated.”

“You keep saying ‘we.’”

“My team,” he said. “There were six of us in all.”

“What happened to them?”

“Two died several weeks after my trial began. The remaining three simply disappeared.”

I struggled to process this information. “Do you really think the Council betrayed you and your team?”

“Perhaps not the entire Council, but elements within it certainly did. All the evidence used against me was directly from our case files, but the results and meaning behind each experiment were twisted and distorted. Once the seed of fear was planted there was no stopping it.”

“But who ordered the research in the first place, and why weren’t they on your side during the trial?”

“Our only point of contact was a Wizard named Henry Thames, but he died several weeks before our project was shut down. I have no idea who took over once he passed.”

“How was this kept from the public?”

“I tried to speak the truth, but was censored from the beginning. The only information that the Council ever received was through intermediaries.” He paused and rubbed his eyes with his bandages.

“I was a scapegoat, Marcus. Something went terribly wrong, and my team and I were eradicated to cover the evidence. Had it not been for the intervention of several key members, including your father, I would have been put to the sword immediately.”

“But you went to prison instead.”

“Yes. Perhaps it was not the best answer for those behind my betrayal, but it meant I was out of the way.”

“I’m surprised no one came after you upon your release.”

“Why would they?” Fawkes asked. “I was a convicted felon, discredited within my field, and stripped of my rights. Even now there is little I can do to protect myself other than run.”

“There must be something. If we can—”

Simeon waved me off.

“Your father is a good man, and I will be forever in his debt. Because of his influence, I lived to see my daughter grow into a beautiful young woman.” Quinn blushed. “But even your father has his limits. Going to him would do little good. The matter is closed as far as the Council is concerned, and this time, they will not rest until they have my head.”

“So you’ll continue to hide?”

“Until there is a better solution, yes.”

I frowned. “You can stay at the Homestead. You’ll be safe there until we can find the evidence to clear your name.”

Simeon smiled sadly. “Thank you, but it’s a moot point. Any evidence from years ago has long since been destroyed.”

“I’m not talking about the past. If we can convince the Council that you’re innocent of what happened at the hospital, perhaps we can get them off your back.”

The old man closed his eyes.

“You
are
innocent, aren’t you?” I asked, leaning forward.

The Necromancer bowed his head. “Not entirely. My experiments all those years ago delved into the possibility of regeneration. We hypothesized that with enough power, a corpse could be taken beyond basic reanimation and given new life.”

“But when we spoke at your apartment you said it was impossible. That it was beyond your realm of knowledge.”

“Because it was. All our calculations proved that our theories could never happen. Everything pointed to the impossibility of Regeneration. There was simply no way to convert enough power to conduct the spells necessary.”

“But Banks—”

“Is proof that we were wrong. No, Marcus, I am not entirely innocent. That being is undoubtedly based on my old research.”

No wonder the Council was coming after Simeon so hard. Whoever created Banks had used information from his old notes. With enough research, the undead’s very existence could be traced to whoever was responsible for Simeon’s initial betrayal. If that person was inside the Council, as Simeon seemed to believe, then it would not only be an embarrassment to the Skilled community, but weaken our image in the eyes of the Normals.

And the last thing the Council wanted was to threaten the peace we’d fought so hard to establish.

That meant Banks and Simeon were liabilities.

“Someone wants you dead for good,” I said.

The man nodded.

“But why now?” Quinn asked. “Daddy’s been out of prison for years.”

“Because of me,” I said angrily as the truth dawned on me. I put my head in my hands. “How could I have been so stupid?”

Quinn frowned. “I don’t understand. How is any of this your fault?”

Heat burned my cheeks. “Carly Banks called me directly, and I banished her husband independent of the Council. For at least a day, the incident was completely under the radar. Unfortunately, I took you all to the hospital. Banks re-alived, or whatever it’s called, and escaped. The media storm that followed forced people to ask a lot of questions that someone didn’t want answered. The easiest way to deal with it was deflection. Tag the man with a reputation of dark Necromancy and people will gladly follow that line of thinking.” I peered at Simeon. “You ran because you knew.”

“I recognized my old work immediately. When Mr. Banks escaped, flight was my only option.”

“What about the alarm inside Banks?” Quinn asked.

“Probably a warning to his creators,” I replied.

“Exactly,” Simeon said. “Someone knew what they were doing and set an alarm in case anyone found their experiment. Now that my name is connected, the only choice is to remove me from the equation. Coming out of hiding is a death sentence no matter what.” He sighed. “No, with Banks still missing, it’s best that we run. I know many places that are outside the influence of the Council and the Skilled community as a whole. Quinn and I will be fine.”

“You can’t run forever, Simeon,” I said. “I’ve met one team already on the hunt for you and believe me, they are some of the best. Eventually they’ll—”

“You had an encounter already?” he demanded.

The vehemence in his voice startled me. “Yes, why?”

He scowled at Quinn. “Tell me you were not there.”

“I fled the moment they showed up. They had no idea I was following Marcus.”

Simeon glared at us. Then he closed his eyes and cocked his head as if he were listening for something. His face was gravely serious.

“You fools,” he said. “You were followed.”