We're sorry; this story is in redevelopment hell, because the last one was ridiculously long and basically in dire need of repair. As a result, there may be some confusion for new readers about unexplained events between "There are No Such Things as Vampires" and the next story in this world. Maybe someday I will repost, or else just publish these stupid things. In the meantime, just bear with me.
Thank you.
Sunday, November 11, 2012
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
Acknowledgments
I would like to thank:
my friend Tessa, for being so enthusiastic,
my friend Fauve, for nagging me to complete the story, because she wanted to know more,
my friend Sami, for letting me know that my posts were the main reason she checked her e-mail every day,
and all you people out there who are sick to the teeth of vampire stories.
my friend Tessa, for being so enthusiastic,
my friend Fauve, for nagging me to complete the story, because she wanted to know more,
my friend Sami, for letting me know that my posts were the main reason she checked her e-mail every day,
and all you people out there who are sick to the teeth of vampire stories.
TANSTAV part 37
Chapter 10 part 3
Of course, nothing is ever that easy in my life. Oh, we got home all right, taking the bus. On the way, I even got a bit of strength back in my limbs (though I still needed help walking anywhere). But when we got to the apartment, and were in the elevator, a familiar, noxious smell clogged my nostrils. Don't worry, it wasn't Jessup. No points for those of you who thought it was him, sorry. Instead, it was the cloying stench of campfire smoke mixed with too much hair gel and cologne. I glanced at my girlfriend (it felt so nice to call her that!), and could tell that she could smell it too. Xen looked as perturbed as I was.
"Is that who I think it is?"
"Unfortunately, yes." I hesitated. "If one of you could push the button for the floor below ours, we can slip out, and wait until he goes away."
"Huh?" asked Calla. "Who is it?"
"It's-" Before I could finish my sentence, the doors to the elevator opened, and there he was, standing at the end of the hall. There was no escape.
"You're looking rather...shabby, Tristan. Good heavens, is that blood?"
"Hi, Art," I growled, as civilly as possible.
Yes, as you may have guessed, it was my 'treasured' brother, Arthur. There he stood, in his fancy three-piece business suit, already a successful lawyer at the ripe old age of 23 (Personally, I don't know who in their right mind would want to be a lawyer; everyone knows that was a profession invented by demons, for the purpose of making the lives of others more difficult). His hair was brown, like mine, but his eyes were yellow like our mother's. In my opinion, he used far too much gel, so his hair would stay flat and slicked into place; it had no freedom. He had a black ivory comb sticking out of his jacket pocket, and also a bulge that was probably extra gel, showing just how given to vanity he could be about his hair. Every bit of him, from head to toe, was absolutely spotless and tidy. It reminded me so much of Father, I could barely restrain myself from hunching my shoulders and glaring at the floor, my typical pose during one of his lectures.
"What are you here for?" I asked, stepping out of the elevator, with some help from Xen and Calla. The latter was staring back and forth between me and Arthur; obviously she had figured out the connection between us, and was trying to figure out what would happen next.
"Do I need a reason to come and visit my little brother?" he asked.
"Typically, yes," I replied. I had only seen him twice since my fleeing home; the first time had been to try and persuade me to go back (after finally tracking me down), and the second was to bring me a message from Father telling me how foolhardy I was to try having a job as a detective in a ‘hicktown.’ Neither meeting had ended well.
"So, what's the message now?" The three of us began staggering down the hallway, with my brother walking alongside.
"No message. I merely came to see how you were getting on in life. Making sure that you are adjusting well to a life of poverty."
I didn't believe he gave a shard of granite about my welfare. No, in all likelihood this was him trying to flaunt his wealth, show off how much better off he was than I, because he'd allowed our dad to teach him to heel on command, and I hadn't. There was always an ulterior motive in our family; we make the Kennedys and the Tudors look like the Brady Bunch. The only difference is that, to my knowledge, none of us has ever had an affair, or murdered our brother. But if any of them had, it wouldn't surprise me too much.
"I'm doing fine, thanks," I said dryly. "I've just cleared up a particularly nasty case, and I'd like to go lie down now, so if you'll excuse me-"
Arthur finally seemed to notice Calla and Xen. He frowned.
"Who are these?"
"Xenobia Keller," Xen introduced herself.
"Calla Gardiner," Calla squeaked. "I'm his assistant."
"Keller...Keller..." Arthur mused the name, ignoring my assistant altogether, ticking me off even more. Finally, his eyes lit up.
"You were our neighbor! That girl that Father always wanted Tristan to stay away from--"
As he realized what he was saying, and what this meant, he cut himself off. His face became shocked, as he scrutinized the way Xen was supporting me, and how my arm was draped around her shoulders. She started to move away; being seen showing affection in public embarrassed her. I only clutched her tighter to me. Since we had basically let the imp out of the bag, there seemed no point in hiding things now.
"Tristan," said Arthur in a strangled tone, "am I to understand that you are in a-a physical relationship with this-this-"
"I am here, you know," said Xen testily, "You don't have to talk about me like I'm not. And typically, I refer to myself as a chimera."
"And to answer your question, yes, Arthur, she is my girlfriend," I said, standing up as straight as possible. "Actually, to be accurate, she's my fiancée now."
I thought my brother was about to have an apoplectic fit. His face went dark gray (the gargoyle equivalent of blushing, or going red with anger), and he gasped, "You can't do this, Tristan! You can't sully your bloodline by marrying a half-breed freak!"
"I can, and I will!" I shouted. "Don't you dare call her a freak!"
I stepped free of the girls, and advanced in his direction, fists clenched. Except for some staggering, I was able to keep my balance.
Arthur, though good in a verbal debate (which is just a fancy word for squabbling, in my opinion), and a hero on his high school air hockey team (by which I mean literally in the air), has never had to be in an actual fight before. Ever since I became a detective, and even before that, I've had several. I was pretty sure that, even if I couldn't actually take him, I could at least give him a good wallop or two.
My brother was unwilling to stay and face me. He pushed past us, and headed for the elevator.
"Father will hear about this!" he called back over his shoulder. "He will be furious!"
"Good! I hope so!" I shot back. "Tell him he and Mom are invited to the wedding, too!"
The elevator doors slammed shut on Arthur's furious expression. Xen looked at me.
"Are they really invited?"
"It doesn't matter," I replied with a shrug, "They're not gonna come, anyway."
About a week later (after I finally got a new phone), the dreaded call came. A fierce voice said through the receiver, in response to my query of ‘Hello?’, "What is the meaning of this news I have heard from Arthur?!"
"Hi, Dad, nice to hear from you too," I said, after a moment. I had regained most of my strength over the week, and was feeling unusually bold. Of course, if Dad had been there in person, I would probably have cringed and shrunk before him, like I had back home.
"Don't be impertinent, Tristan! Are you or are you not intending to marry that girl?!"
"...Yes. Yes, I am going to marry Xen. In October."
"I forbid it. And I forbid you to continue having that-that human as an assistant."
There was no pleading, no threatening, no explanations, just forbidding. I snorted in disgust.
"I’m not your puppet, Dad. You can't stop me. I love Xen, and am going to marry her, whether you like it or not. And Calla needs me, I can’t send her away. Besides, she’s a mage. She’s not an exact human."
"Tristan, if you ever wish to set foot in my house again, or see even a penny of your inheritance, you will comply with my wishes!"
"Okay. Then we are agreed. Bye." And with that, I hung up.
Needless to say, I have not heard from him, or anyone else in my family, in the past three months. But, since I have received a raise from the chief, as well as a rewarding payment from the Jorgensen and Skald families, and Xen's paintings have become incredibly popular (it's amazing what sudden fame will do for you), meaning she is getting more money too, I don't especially care. Of course, there are times when I wish things could have been different between us...Oh, well, water under the burning bridge, right?
Jessup was sent back to prison, with security around his cell (and everyone else's, for that matter) increased tenfold, so hopefully nobody can escape, or be smuggled out, again. Despite his pleading insanity, Fleming was convicted, and also sent to Chernabog. This has all given me immense satisfaction. So now, I can only sit in my office, or in my apartment, and wait for my next case to arise.
Of course, nothing is ever that easy in my life. Oh, we got home all right, taking the bus. On the way, I even got a bit of strength back in my limbs (though I still needed help walking anywhere). But when we got to the apartment, and were in the elevator, a familiar, noxious smell clogged my nostrils. Don't worry, it wasn't Jessup. No points for those of you who thought it was him, sorry. Instead, it was the cloying stench of campfire smoke mixed with too much hair gel and cologne. I glanced at my girlfriend (it felt so nice to call her that!), and could tell that she could smell it too. Xen looked as perturbed as I was.
"Is that who I think it is?"
"Unfortunately, yes." I hesitated. "If one of you could push the button for the floor below ours, we can slip out, and wait until he goes away."
"Huh?" asked Calla. "Who is it?"
"It's-" Before I could finish my sentence, the doors to the elevator opened, and there he was, standing at the end of the hall. There was no escape.
"You're looking rather...shabby, Tristan. Good heavens, is that blood?"
"Hi, Art," I growled, as civilly as possible.
Yes, as you may have guessed, it was my 'treasured' brother, Arthur. There he stood, in his fancy three-piece business suit, already a successful lawyer at the ripe old age of 23 (Personally, I don't know who in their right mind would want to be a lawyer; everyone knows that was a profession invented by demons, for the purpose of making the lives of others more difficult). His hair was brown, like mine, but his eyes were yellow like our mother's. In my opinion, he used far too much gel, so his hair would stay flat and slicked into place; it had no freedom. He had a black ivory comb sticking out of his jacket pocket, and also a bulge that was probably extra gel, showing just how given to vanity he could be about his hair. Every bit of him, from head to toe, was absolutely spotless and tidy. It reminded me so much of Father, I could barely restrain myself from hunching my shoulders and glaring at the floor, my typical pose during one of his lectures.
"What are you here for?" I asked, stepping out of the elevator, with some help from Xen and Calla. The latter was staring back and forth between me and Arthur; obviously she had figured out the connection between us, and was trying to figure out what would happen next.
"Do I need a reason to come and visit my little brother?" he asked.
"Typically, yes," I replied. I had only seen him twice since my fleeing home; the first time had been to try and persuade me to go back (after finally tracking me down), and the second was to bring me a message from Father telling me how foolhardy I was to try having a job as a detective in a ‘hicktown.’ Neither meeting had ended well.
"So, what's the message now?" The three of us began staggering down the hallway, with my brother walking alongside.
"No message. I merely came to see how you were getting on in life. Making sure that you are adjusting well to a life of poverty."
I didn't believe he gave a shard of granite about my welfare. No, in all likelihood this was him trying to flaunt his wealth, show off how much better off he was than I, because he'd allowed our dad to teach him to heel on command, and I hadn't. There was always an ulterior motive in our family; we make the Kennedys and the Tudors look like the Brady Bunch. The only difference is that, to my knowledge, none of us has ever had an affair, or murdered our brother. But if any of them had, it wouldn't surprise me too much.
"I'm doing fine, thanks," I said dryly. "I've just cleared up a particularly nasty case, and I'd like to go lie down now, so if you'll excuse me-"
Arthur finally seemed to notice Calla and Xen. He frowned.
"Who are these?"
"Xenobia Keller," Xen introduced herself.
"Calla Gardiner," Calla squeaked. "I'm his assistant."
"Keller...Keller..." Arthur mused the name, ignoring my assistant altogether, ticking me off even more. Finally, his eyes lit up.
"You were our neighbor! That girl that Father always wanted Tristan to stay away from--"
As he realized what he was saying, and what this meant, he cut himself off. His face became shocked, as he scrutinized the way Xen was supporting me, and how my arm was draped around her shoulders. She started to move away; being seen showing affection in public embarrassed her. I only clutched her tighter to me. Since we had basically let the imp out of the bag, there seemed no point in hiding things now.
"Tristan," said Arthur in a strangled tone, "am I to understand that you are in a-a physical relationship with this-this-"
"I am here, you know," said Xen testily, "You don't have to talk about me like I'm not. And typically, I refer to myself as a chimera."
"And to answer your question, yes, Arthur, she is my girlfriend," I said, standing up as straight as possible. "Actually, to be accurate, she's my fiancée now."
I thought my brother was about to have an apoplectic fit. His face went dark gray (the gargoyle equivalent of blushing, or going red with anger), and he gasped, "You can't do this, Tristan! You can't sully your bloodline by marrying a half-breed freak!"
"I can, and I will!" I shouted. "Don't you dare call her a freak!"
I stepped free of the girls, and advanced in his direction, fists clenched. Except for some staggering, I was able to keep my balance.
Arthur, though good in a verbal debate (which is just a fancy word for squabbling, in my opinion), and a hero on his high school air hockey team (by which I mean literally in the air), has never had to be in an actual fight before. Ever since I became a detective, and even before that, I've had several. I was pretty sure that, even if I couldn't actually take him, I could at least give him a good wallop or two.
My brother was unwilling to stay and face me. He pushed past us, and headed for the elevator.
"Father will hear about this!" he called back over his shoulder. "He will be furious!"
"Good! I hope so!" I shot back. "Tell him he and Mom are invited to the wedding, too!"
The elevator doors slammed shut on Arthur's furious expression. Xen looked at me.
"Are they really invited?"
"It doesn't matter," I replied with a shrug, "They're not gonna come, anyway."
About a week later (after I finally got a new phone), the dreaded call came. A fierce voice said through the receiver, in response to my query of ‘Hello?’, "What is the meaning of this news I have heard from Arthur?!"
"Hi, Dad, nice to hear from you too," I said, after a moment. I had regained most of my strength over the week, and was feeling unusually bold. Of course, if Dad had been there in person, I would probably have cringed and shrunk before him, like I had back home.
"Don't be impertinent, Tristan! Are you or are you not intending to marry that girl?!"
"...Yes. Yes, I am going to marry Xen. In October."
"I forbid it. And I forbid you to continue having that-that human as an assistant."
There was no pleading, no threatening, no explanations, just forbidding. I snorted in disgust.
"I’m not your puppet, Dad. You can't stop me. I love Xen, and am going to marry her, whether you like it or not. And Calla needs me, I can’t send her away. Besides, she’s a mage. She’s not an exact human."
"Tristan, if you ever wish to set foot in my house again, or see even a penny of your inheritance, you will comply with my wishes!"
"Okay. Then we are agreed. Bye." And with that, I hung up.
Needless to say, I have not heard from him, or anyone else in my family, in the past three months. But, since I have received a raise from the chief, as well as a rewarding payment from the Jorgensen and Skald families, and Xen's paintings have become incredibly popular (it's amazing what sudden fame will do for you), meaning she is getting more money too, I don't especially care. Of course, there are times when I wish things could have been different between us...Oh, well, water under the burning bridge, right?
Jessup was sent back to prison, with security around his cell (and everyone else's, for that matter) increased tenfold, so hopefully nobody can escape, or be smuggled out, again. Despite his pleading insanity, Fleming was convicted, and also sent to Chernabog. This has all given me immense satisfaction. So now, I can only sit in my office, or in my apartment, and wait for my next case to arise.
Sunday, November 4, 2012
TANSTAV part 36
Chapter 10 part 2
As bad as that sounds, it was very necessary. She had to check and make sure there was no shrapnel or remains of bullet left in my body, before she could do any real healing. How can I describe the process of being vivisected while one is still alive and mostly conscious? Let me see...oh, yes. As I once said to an annoying reporter during the rare moment I agreed to an interview, even a masochist would find the process impossible to enjoy. Xen has also told me that it’s basically the most disgusting thing she has ever done, but she knew she had to in order to save my life. Some of the experience’s kind of hazy, and I think I blacked out once or twice, which was probably a blessing. One of my more vivid memories is Xen reaching into her pocket and pulling out a small packet of white powder.
"What's...that?" I managed to gasp.
"Powdered Yoon bone," she replied, opening it. "It'll help regrow your ribs and clavicles."
"They...shattered?"
"Oh, yeah. Big time."
Despite the distressing circumstances, Xen kept her voice calm. I admired her self control, and that she was trying to act like a doctor.
She took out a pinch of bone, and gingerly placed it in a few select places. I idly wondered where she'd gotten it. I hoped the Yoon it belonged to was already dead, or that the bone had had to be surgically removed, or something. As the powder got in my system, the sharp pains I was feeling began to go away. Ah, good, the stabbing sensation in my lung had dissipated, and with some spit, Xen plugged up the hole. As soon as she was sure all the bones were put back together, after adding a bit of her blood to prevent infection, she coughed up a large glob of spit (also very gross), and began dribbling it into my wounds. Once in a while, I would point out a spot that Xen had missed, or groan in pain, but other than that, things were going pretty quietly. I noticed that Calla had freed the other prisoners (except Jessup, thank heavens), and had also moved Fleming, who was unconscious and bleeding, into another cage. She came over to where we were.
"How is he?" she asked.
"He's on the mend, thank heavens," Xen replied. The girl's shoulders rose and fell in a sigh of relief. It was then that I drifted out of consciousness again.
It didn't seem very long before I woke up again, but it must have been, because I felt a lot better. Granted, I was still weak, and I once again felt like I had after being thrashed nearly to death by those hired goons (No, I am still unwilling to tell you about it; it was very humiliating for me); but I could tell that the holes in my guts and shoulders had closed up, and my insides felt good as new. I slowly opened my eyes, and saw Xen staring anxiously down at me. I was abruptly a bit anxious myself; having to save someone’s life by tearing them open, and then putting them back together, is a very intimate, personal process. What if she was so repulsed by what she had to do that she no longer loved me? Seeing me awake, she smiled with relief; but what if she was just trying to keep me happy? Behind her, I saw Calla, who wiped her eyes, and cried out, "He's alive!"
I smiled weakly, hoping it wasn't showing my fear, and whispered, "Hey, Xen."
"It's about time," she replied.
Then, remembering something she'd said while attacking Fleming, I said, "Uh, Xen, technically I'm not your-"
"Tristan," she interrupted, "shut up."
And then she kissed me. I shut up.
When I was finally allowed to talk again, the first words out of my mouth were, "Marry me, Xen. Please?"
I know, this was not in my original plans. But I couldn't wait. I had to ask now, before something else happened. She stared at me in shock. A full ten seconds passed, making me nervous. Maybe she was too grossed out to still want me. Then, with an expression of utmost delight, she cried, "Land sakes, Tristan! I thought you'd never ask!"
Pulling me up, she hugged me. I asked, "Does that mean yes?"
She sat back, and scrutinized me, trying to see if I was serious. Realizing I was, she looked me right in the eyes, and said slowly, "Yes, Tristan. Yes, I will marry you."
That made everything all right.
After a long, long while, I finally thought to see what Calla was doing. I glanced over in her direction, and saw that she was standing by the altar, arms folded, staring up at the ceiling. She was humming slightly, and I got the impression that she was embarrassed. I tried to stand up, and felt my limbs all simultaneously collapse. Thankfully, Xen was there to catch me before I could do a faceplant, and drape my arm around her shoulders.
"Take it easy," she cautioned me, "You just nearly died. Give yourself some time."
Slowly we shuffled over to Calla, and I held out my other arm to her. At least, I made a gesture at her with my free hand. She came over, and hugged me around the chest, not caring about my bloodstained clothing (don’t worry, after gargoyle blood cools down, it’s safe to touch). With effort, I returned it.
"I'm so glad you're alive," she murmured.
"Hey, I wasn't gonna leave that easily," I replied. "Someone's got to be there to look after you."
Calla gave a small laugh, the first I'd ever heard from her. It was sweet.
At that moment, the police finally arrived. Ishida burst into the room, with what seemed like half the police force in tow.
"What the devil is going on here?!" he barked. "What happened? What's all this mess?"
Xen pointed at Fleming, and said, "He's the one you want."
I added, “You’ll want to arrest him for kidnapping, attempted murder, theft, necromancy, and deception.”
“Deception is not against the law!” Fleming, who was finally awake, squawked indignantly.
“True,” I shot back, “but it is a commandment.”
“The ninth, to be precise,” said Calla.
I nodded to her. “Thank you, Calla.”
Two cops headed for the cage; I asked the chief, "How did you find us?"
"We traced the last signal we'd gotten from your phone, and-" Ishida stopped, and frowned at me, looking confused.
"Why do you have blood on what remains of your shirt?"
"It's...complicated, chief. I'll tell you in the report. Just know that you've got two new prisoners, one of whom needs to go back to Chernabog, ASAP. And let me know if you find a hooded cloak, or if Fleming has any notes about this. I need something to add to my collection."
(I keep little mementos from all my cases in a file cabinet at work.)
With the help of the girls, I shuffled over to the cage where my enemy stood, glaring at me, his handsome face contorted with a paroxysm of deepest rage.
"Hi," I said. "You know, being behind bars really suits you."
"This isn't over, Wormwood," Jessup hissed, "I'll get out again, and when I do, I'll come for you, and your lady friends, and make sure that before you die you watch them undergo the most horrible, painful-"
"Spare me. If I had a dime every time someone threatened my life, I’d have-” I did a quick mental calculation- “about twenty dollars.”
“You've been threatened by two hundred different people?” Calla gasped.
“No, some of them repeated themselves. Anyway, Jessup, you don't have a snowball in Texas's chance of getting out. And if you do, I'll be waiting. You name the place."
"Yeah. We'll be waiting too," growled Xen. She bared her fangs at him; I noticed that Calla, though looking a lot less intimidating, did have her best glare on. She whispered, "I hope you enjoy prison, sir."
It was then that we decided to go home. I'd had enough for one day, and besides, we had some plans to make.
As bad as that sounds, it was very necessary. She had to check and make sure there was no shrapnel or remains of bullet left in my body, before she could do any real healing. How can I describe the process of being vivisected while one is still alive and mostly conscious? Let me see...oh, yes. As I once said to an annoying reporter during the rare moment I agreed to an interview, even a masochist would find the process impossible to enjoy. Xen has also told me that it’s basically the most disgusting thing she has ever done, but she knew she had to in order to save my life. Some of the experience’s kind of hazy, and I think I blacked out once or twice, which was probably a blessing. One of my more vivid memories is Xen reaching into her pocket and pulling out a small packet of white powder.
"What's...that?" I managed to gasp.
"Powdered Yoon bone," she replied, opening it. "It'll help regrow your ribs and clavicles."
"They...shattered?"
"Oh, yeah. Big time."
Despite the distressing circumstances, Xen kept her voice calm. I admired her self control, and that she was trying to act like a doctor.
She took out a pinch of bone, and gingerly placed it in a few select places. I idly wondered where she'd gotten it. I hoped the Yoon it belonged to was already dead, or that the bone had had to be surgically removed, or something. As the powder got in my system, the sharp pains I was feeling began to go away. Ah, good, the stabbing sensation in my lung had dissipated, and with some spit, Xen plugged up the hole. As soon as she was sure all the bones were put back together, after adding a bit of her blood to prevent infection, she coughed up a large glob of spit (also very gross), and began dribbling it into my wounds. Once in a while, I would point out a spot that Xen had missed, or groan in pain, but other than that, things were going pretty quietly. I noticed that Calla had freed the other prisoners (except Jessup, thank heavens), and had also moved Fleming, who was unconscious and bleeding, into another cage. She came over to where we were.
"How is he?" she asked.
"He's on the mend, thank heavens," Xen replied. The girl's shoulders rose and fell in a sigh of relief. It was then that I drifted out of consciousness again.
It didn't seem very long before I woke up again, but it must have been, because I felt a lot better. Granted, I was still weak, and I once again felt like I had after being thrashed nearly to death by those hired goons (No, I am still unwilling to tell you about it; it was very humiliating for me); but I could tell that the holes in my guts and shoulders had closed up, and my insides felt good as new. I slowly opened my eyes, and saw Xen staring anxiously down at me. I was abruptly a bit anxious myself; having to save someone’s life by tearing them open, and then putting them back together, is a very intimate, personal process. What if she was so repulsed by what she had to do that she no longer loved me? Seeing me awake, she smiled with relief; but what if she was just trying to keep me happy? Behind her, I saw Calla, who wiped her eyes, and cried out, "He's alive!"
I smiled weakly, hoping it wasn't showing my fear, and whispered, "Hey, Xen."
"It's about time," she replied.
Then, remembering something she'd said while attacking Fleming, I said, "Uh, Xen, technically I'm not your-"
"Tristan," she interrupted, "shut up."
And then she kissed me. I shut up.
When I was finally allowed to talk again, the first words out of my mouth were, "Marry me, Xen. Please?"
I know, this was not in my original plans. But I couldn't wait. I had to ask now, before something else happened. She stared at me in shock. A full ten seconds passed, making me nervous. Maybe she was too grossed out to still want me. Then, with an expression of utmost delight, she cried, "Land sakes, Tristan! I thought you'd never ask!"
Pulling me up, she hugged me. I asked, "Does that mean yes?"
She sat back, and scrutinized me, trying to see if I was serious. Realizing I was, she looked me right in the eyes, and said slowly, "Yes, Tristan. Yes, I will marry you."
That made everything all right.
After a long, long while, I finally thought to see what Calla was doing. I glanced over in her direction, and saw that she was standing by the altar, arms folded, staring up at the ceiling. She was humming slightly, and I got the impression that she was embarrassed. I tried to stand up, and felt my limbs all simultaneously collapse. Thankfully, Xen was there to catch me before I could do a faceplant, and drape my arm around her shoulders.
"Take it easy," she cautioned me, "You just nearly died. Give yourself some time."
Slowly we shuffled over to Calla, and I held out my other arm to her. At least, I made a gesture at her with my free hand. She came over, and hugged me around the chest, not caring about my bloodstained clothing (don’t worry, after gargoyle blood cools down, it’s safe to touch). With effort, I returned it.
"I'm so glad you're alive," she murmured.
"Hey, I wasn't gonna leave that easily," I replied. "Someone's got to be there to look after you."
Calla gave a small laugh, the first I'd ever heard from her. It was sweet.
At that moment, the police finally arrived. Ishida burst into the room, with what seemed like half the police force in tow.
"What the devil is going on here?!" he barked. "What happened? What's all this mess?"
Xen pointed at Fleming, and said, "He's the one you want."
I added, “You’ll want to arrest him for kidnapping, attempted murder, theft, necromancy, and deception.”
“Deception is not against the law!” Fleming, who was finally awake, squawked indignantly.
“True,” I shot back, “but it is a commandment.”
“The ninth, to be precise,” said Calla.
I nodded to her. “Thank you, Calla.”
Two cops headed for the cage; I asked the chief, "How did you find us?"
"We traced the last signal we'd gotten from your phone, and-" Ishida stopped, and frowned at me, looking confused.
"Why do you have blood on what remains of your shirt?"
"It's...complicated, chief. I'll tell you in the report. Just know that you've got two new prisoners, one of whom needs to go back to Chernabog, ASAP. And let me know if you find a hooded cloak, or if Fleming has any notes about this. I need something to add to my collection."
(I keep little mementos from all my cases in a file cabinet at work.)
With the help of the girls, I shuffled over to the cage where my enemy stood, glaring at me, his handsome face contorted with a paroxysm of deepest rage.
"Hi," I said. "You know, being behind bars really suits you."
"This isn't over, Wormwood," Jessup hissed, "I'll get out again, and when I do, I'll come for you, and your lady friends, and make sure that before you die you watch them undergo the most horrible, painful-"
"Spare me. If I had a dime every time someone threatened my life, I’d have-” I did a quick mental calculation- “about twenty dollars.”
“You've been threatened by two hundred different people?” Calla gasped.
“No, some of them repeated themselves. Anyway, Jessup, you don't have a snowball in Texas's chance of getting out. And if you do, I'll be waiting. You name the place."
"Yeah. We'll be waiting too," growled Xen. She bared her fangs at him; I noticed that Calla, though looking a lot less intimidating, did have her best glare on. She whispered, "I hope you enjoy prison, sir."
It was then that we decided to go home. I'd had enough for one day, and besides, we had some plans to make.
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
TANSTAV part 35
Chapter 10
All right, so I lied about dying, as you may have realized from the fact that I am still writing this book; however, I do nearly die, which is close enough. And almost get attacked by leeches in the bargain.
The first thought that entered my head upon feeling the bullet hit me was: Ouch. It was followed a few seconds later by: He shot me! And then I felt it explode into two bits, which flew out my shoulders (one of the nastier habits of splatter bullets), thankfully missing my wings. I looked down, and saw a huge crimson burst spreading across the left side of my stomach, where the bullet had hit. I lifted my hand to try and staunch the blood flow, but it seemed like time was slowing down. My hand moved with all the speed of a glacier on the move, and was trembling like I had Parkinson’s disease. Finally, I pressed it onto the wound, which shot a wave of pain through me. It was about then that I realized I was falling, my knees collapsing under me.
As I hit the ground, ultimately landing on my back, I caught a glimpse of Calla, her white face covered in horror, screaming my name.
She really is quite fond of me, I remember thinking. Poor girl. I hope she doesn't blame herself for this, and that Xen will take care of her. I wonder what Fleming's doing right now.
With unbearable slowness, I rolled my eyes over in his direction, and saw him staring back at me, with a very nasty grin of triumph. He lifted the splatter gun, and cocked it at me. I got the impression that he was going to shoot me again, maybe in the heart this time. By some miracle, the last bullet had missed it, instead hitting what felt like several other important vital organs. I stared back at him, wanting to go out bravely. And then, I saw an angel above Fleming. She must have been an avenging angel, because she was dive-bombing him. A gray avenging angel, with furry wings, and red and brown hair.
"You-" the angel screamed, as she landed on Fleming, ripping the splatter gun out of his hand, "-do not touch-" her lavender eyes blazed with fury- "-MY BOYFRIEND!!!!"
Oh, Xen, I love you, I thought, smiling dazedly. I'm sorry about leaving you like this.
She slammed Fleming really hard in his already-wounded shoulder and arm; he screamed so agonizingly that I almost felt some semblance of pity from him. Xen was becoming quite vicious, hitting and tearing at him so quick and fast that he obviously couldn't even think about using his magic. Calla ran across the room, probably to keep her from doing any permanent damage. Dear Calla; she was so tenderhearted, even for the bad guy.
It was at that moment that Jessup woke up. He blinked, and then sat up, obviously confused. It appeared that Fleming's hypnotic hold on him had been broken, probably because he was so distracted at the moment. The demon looked over at the altercation going on, glanced down on the altar he was on-and then he saw me. He looked shocked, but then an expression of utter delight lit up his heavy-lidded eyes.
Uh-oh.
Slowly, Jessup got down from the altar, and, neatly sidestepping Xen, who was still trying to kill Fleming, and Calla, who was trying to get her back under control, he came over to my cage. He pulled open the door, and crouched down by my side.
"Well, well, well!" he purred. "In a spot of trouble, aren't you, Wormwood?"
"Oh, it’s not that bad," I croaked unconvincingly.
Jessup chuckled.
"It doesn't look like you'll last the night," he said, making polite conversation.
"Yeah, that's what they said about the Star-Spangled Banner," I shot back. My vision was becoming awfully hazy, which made it hard to see his stupid sideways smirk.
"True, true. But you're losing an awful lot of lifeblood, Wormwood. Far more than can be good for you."
He contemplated me for a moment, and then murmured, “There are so many ways I could kill you right now. I could, perhaps, break your neck, just like this.” He placed one hand on the top of my head, and the other around my throat. “I could jerk one hand left, the other right, and snap! No more you.” It was an echo of our conversation in his cell; I was sure he was doing it on purpose, as a cruel irony. My slowly fading pulse got a few extra jumps in; I hoped he didn't notice my fear, as it would only spur him on. With my luck, he did.
“Or maybe I could just throttle you.” Both hands became wrapped around my throat, and he squeezed gently. It was enough to start cutting my breathing off, so by the time he took them away, I was gasping a bit.
“Or, if I got my hands on one of those excellent scalpels our captor must have lying around, I could slit your carotid artery: quick, and efficient-”
“Just pick one already!” I growled. “I get it, I’m at your mercy, blah, blah, blah!”
Jessup clucked his tongue, and furrowed his eyebrows at me.
“You've always had a mouth that was unable to close once it was opened, Wormwood. But don’t fear, I’ve already decided your death. And I intend for it to linger for as long as you’ve got left.”
With that, he stood up, and exited my cage, going into the one containing the leeches. Grabbing a nearby pair of tongs, he snatched up a couple, and, holding them at arm’s length, began meandering back to me. Somehow, my companions were so involved in handling Fleming, they noticed nothing. I tried to move, or cry out, or something, but I was so weak, it was nearly impossible.
Jessup entered the cage, and dangled the leeches over me; they began thrashing around eagerly, obviously smelling my blood.
"These leeches must be enchanted so that they can drink your type of blood," the demon observed. Since gargoyle blood has a temperature of over 128 degrees Fahrenheit, and gives severe burns to anyone who touches it, except other gargoyles, that did seem like the only plausible explanation.
Jessup suddenly lifted my hand off the hole in my gut. I was unable to do anything about it, because I was as weak as a baby sparrow. Dangling the leech-bearing tongs over my wound, he said, "You know, it's almost a shame you're going to die like this. You were my greatest opponent."
"Just get on with it, you plant-spawn!" I spat. For a demon, that is one of the worst insults you can call him without resorting to outright cursing. Apparently there's this old myth in their culture about a demon born from a union between his father and a woman born from a tree (reminiscent of a dryad), and when he was fully grown, he caused 1000 years of destruction of the demons somehow. So to call a demon plant-spawn (or son/daughter of a plant) is to ask for death. But since I was dying anyway, I figured I had nothing to lose, and might as well tick him off on my way out. Jessup lost the smirk; giving me a hate-filled glare, he began to lower the hungry leeches to the wound.
Without warning, he flew backwards, as if a giant hand had smacked him, slamming into the wall. The tongs (with the leeches still attached, thank goodness) were wrenched by something unseen out of his hand, and zoomed back into the tank.
"Oh, no you don't!" an angry female voice shouted. To my surprise, I recognized it as Calla! She marched over, hands clenched into tiny fists. Then she waved her left hand, and the cage containing the Ghul burst open. The creature scrambled out in terror, and fled the house. She let him go, and instead used her power to push Jessup into the cage, which relocked itself. After that, I didn't see any more of what was happening over there; suddenly Xen was by my side, staring down at me.
With all the willpower I could muster, and the last ounces of strength in my body, I reached up and touched her face, caressing it.
"You're beautiful, my angel," I whispered.
Sniffling, she croaked, "You keep getting yourself into the biggest messes, don't you, Tristan?"
Then, grasping my hand tightly in one of her her own for a moment, she tore open my shirt and quickly began making incisions throughout my chest cavity with her claws.
All right, so I lied about dying, as you may have realized from the fact that I am still writing this book; however, I do nearly die, which is close enough. And almost get attacked by leeches in the bargain.
The first thought that entered my head upon feeling the bullet hit me was: Ouch. It was followed a few seconds later by: He shot me! And then I felt it explode into two bits, which flew out my shoulders (one of the nastier habits of splatter bullets), thankfully missing my wings. I looked down, and saw a huge crimson burst spreading across the left side of my stomach, where the bullet had hit. I lifted my hand to try and staunch the blood flow, but it seemed like time was slowing down. My hand moved with all the speed of a glacier on the move, and was trembling like I had Parkinson’s disease. Finally, I pressed it onto the wound, which shot a wave of pain through me. It was about then that I realized I was falling, my knees collapsing under me.
As I hit the ground, ultimately landing on my back, I caught a glimpse of Calla, her white face covered in horror, screaming my name.
She really is quite fond of me, I remember thinking. Poor girl. I hope she doesn't blame herself for this, and that Xen will take care of her. I wonder what Fleming's doing right now.
With unbearable slowness, I rolled my eyes over in his direction, and saw him staring back at me, with a very nasty grin of triumph. He lifted the splatter gun, and cocked it at me. I got the impression that he was going to shoot me again, maybe in the heart this time. By some miracle, the last bullet had missed it, instead hitting what felt like several other important vital organs. I stared back at him, wanting to go out bravely. And then, I saw an angel above Fleming. She must have been an avenging angel, because she was dive-bombing him. A gray avenging angel, with furry wings, and red and brown hair.
"You-" the angel screamed, as she landed on Fleming, ripping the splatter gun out of his hand, "-do not touch-" her lavender eyes blazed with fury- "-MY BOYFRIEND!!!!"
Oh, Xen, I love you, I thought, smiling dazedly. I'm sorry about leaving you like this.
She slammed Fleming really hard in his already-wounded shoulder and arm; he screamed so agonizingly that I almost felt some semblance of pity from him. Xen was becoming quite vicious, hitting and tearing at him so quick and fast that he obviously couldn't even think about using his magic. Calla ran across the room, probably to keep her from doing any permanent damage. Dear Calla; she was so tenderhearted, even for the bad guy.
It was at that moment that Jessup woke up. He blinked, and then sat up, obviously confused. It appeared that Fleming's hypnotic hold on him had been broken, probably because he was so distracted at the moment. The demon looked over at the altercation going on, glanced down on the altar he was on-and then he saw me. He looked shocked, but then an expression of utter delight lit up his heavy-lidded eyes.
Uh-oh.
Slowly, Jessup got down from the altar, and, neatly sidestepping Xen, who was still trying to kill Fleming, and Calla, who was trying to get her back under control, he came over to my cage. He pulled open the door, and crouched down by my side.
"Well, well, well!" he purred. "In a spot of trouble, aren't you, Wormwood?"
"Oh, it’s not that bad," I croaked unconvincingly.
Jessup chuckled.
"It doesn't look like you'll last the night," he said, making polite conversation.
"Yeah, that's what they said about the Star-Spangled Banner," I shot back. My vision was becoming awfully hazy, which made it hard to see his stupid sideways smirk.
"True, true. But you're losing an awful lot of lifeblood, Wormwood. Far more than can be good for you."
He contemplated me for a moment, and then murmured, “There are so many ways I could kill you right now. I could, perhaps, break your neck, just like this.” He placed one hand on the top of my head, and the other around my throat. “I could jerk one hand left, the other right, and snap! No more you.” It was an echo of our conversation in his cell; I was sure he was doing it on purpose, as a cruel irony. My slowly fading pulse got a few extra jumps in; I hoped he didn't notice my fear, as it would only spur him on. With my luck, he did.
“Or maybe I could just throttle you.” Both hands became wrapped around my throat, and he squeezed gently. It was enough to start cutting my breathing off, so by the time he took them away, I was gasping a bit.
“Or, if I got my hands on one of those excellent scalpels our captor must have lying around, I could slit your carotid artery: quick, and efficient-”
“Just pick one already!” I growled. “I get it, I’m at your mercy, blah, blah, blah!”
Jessup clucked his tongue, and furrowed his eyebrows at me.
“You've always had a mouth that was unable to close once it was opened, Wormwood. But don’t fear, I’ve already decided your death. And I intend for it to linger for as long as you’ve got left.”
With that, he stood up, and exited my cage, going into the one containing the leeches. Grabbing a nearby pair of tongs, he snatched up a couple, and, holding them at arm’s length, began meandering back to me. Somehow, my companions were so involved in handling Fleming, they noticed nothing. I tried to move, or cry out, or something, but I was so weak, it was nearly impossible.
Jessup entered the cage, and dangled the leeches over me; they began thrashing around eagerly, obviously smelling my blood.
"These leeches must be enchanted so that they can drink your type of blood," the demon observed. Since gargoyle blood has a temperature of over 128 degrees Fahrenheit, and gives severe burns to anyone who touches it, except other gargoyles, that did seem like the only plausible explanation.
Jessup suddenly lifted my hand off the hole in my gut. I was unable to do anything about it, because I was as weak as a baby sparrow. Dangling the leech-bearing tongs over my wound, he said, "You know, it's almost a shame you're going to die like this. You were my greatest opponent."
"Just get on with it, you plant-spawn!" I spat. For a demon, that is one of the worst insults you can call him without resorting to outright cursing. Apparently there's this old myth in their culture about a demon born from a union between his father and a woman born from a tree (reminiscent of a dryad), and when he was fully grown, he caused 1000 years of destruction of the demons somehow. So to call a demon plant-spawn (or son/daughter of a plant) is to ask for death. But since I was dying anyway, I figured I had nothing to lose, and might as well tick him off on my way out. Jessup lost the smirk; giving me a hate-filled glare, he began to lower the hungry leeches to the wound.
Without warning, he flew backwards, as if a giant hand had smacked him, slamming into the wall. The tongs (with the leeches still attached, thank goodness) were wrenched by something unseen out of his hand, and zoomed back into the tank.
"Oh, no you don't!" an angry female voice shouted. To my surprise, I recognized it as Calla! She marched over, hands clenched into tiny fists. Then she waved her left hand, and the cage containing the Ghul burst open. The creature scrambled out in terror, and fled the house. She let him go, and instead used her power to push Jessup into the cage, which relocked itself. After that, I didn't see any more of what was happening over there; suddenly Xen was by my side, staring down at me.
With all the willpower I could muster, and the last ounces of strength in my body, I reached up and touched her face, caressing it.
"You're beautiful, my angel," I whispered.
Sniffling, she croaked, "You keep getting yourself into the biggest messes, don't you, Tristan?"
Then, grasping my hand tightly in one of her her own for a moment, she tore open my shirt and quickly began making incisions throughout my chest cavity with her claws.
Sunday, October 28, 2012
TANSTAV part 34
We interrupt this program, again, for the sole purpose of annoying you and keeping you in suspense about what happens next while we force you to read our explanation about werewolves.
The first thing you ought to know about werewolves is that, all that information you've heard or read about them only being vulnerable to silver, silver bullets, and/or wolfsbane? Stuff and nonsense. Eating recently buried corpses? Myth. Unibrows, curved nails, red hair and blue eyes? Not necessarily signs of one. In fact, the only things mythology and classic horror pictures seem to have gotten right are that werewolves become wolves every full moon, their eyes and hair are the same colors as in human form, and they transmit the curse through biting others. Another few symptoms that makes them easier to recognize are longer canine teeth, lessened inhibitions, hyperactivity on the day of the full moon, and a strong preference for having their meat cooked rare. Other than that, they can typically fit in with normal human society.
There seems to be no cure for lycanthropy, and it can be kind of dangerous. For example, if a werewolf bites someone while still in human form, it can lead to the bitten person turning into a biped, hybrid wolf-human creature during the full moon. Regardless of whether they become a full or a half wolf, the transformation process is very painful, and makes them become very savage in wolf form. The best thing for werewolves to do during the full moon is to go deep into any nearby forest, so that they won't bite anyone, except maybe a few deer and rabbits. The only known incident of a werewolf-deer or -rabbit was after the Tunguska explosion, when a whole lot of things went haywire. Thankfully, the deformed animals were soon tracked down and taken care of by the monster world-no, that doesn't mean killed, it means taken to a monster community and hidden from the humans.
Some werewolves let their new species control them, and can become very out of hand. They start acting on instincts more, and can get together and form packs of savages, because they ignore the fact that wolves are generally peaceful creatures.
Mages and alchemists have struggled to find a cure, but lately, there has been some protest about their efforts. Many werewolves in this era have begun to see it as a difference in life, not a disability. They argue that to try and get rid of werewolves is to get rid of a way of life, which they have become accustomed to, and even enjoy. Their senses and physical strength increase as a result of being bitten, they suddenly have their own 'packs' who understand what they are going through, and all it takes is a small sacrifice of a little pain, and one night every month that is not their own. To them, it's worth it. Weirdos.
And now, back to our program.
The first thing you ought to know about werewolves is that, all that information you've heard or read about them only being vulnerable to silver, silver bullets, and/or wolfsbane? Stuff and nonsense. Eating recently buried corpses? Myth. Unibrows, curved nails, red hair and blue eyes? Not necessarily signs of one. In fact, the only things mythology and classic horror pictures seem to have gotten right are that werewolves become wolves every full moon, their eyes and hair are the same colors as in human form, and they transmit the curse through biting others. Another few symptoms that makes them easier to recognize are longer canine teeth, lessened inhibitions, hyperactivity on the day of the full moon, and a strong preference for having their meat cooked rare. Other than that, they can typically fit in with normal human society.
There seems to be no cure for lycanthropy, and it can be kind of dangerous. For example, if a werewolf bites someone while still in human form, it can lead to the bitten person turning into a biped, hybrid wolf-human creature during the full moon. Regardless of whether they become a full or a half wolf, the transformation process is very painful, and makes them become very savage in wolf form. The best thing for werewolves to do during the full moon is to go deep into any nearby forest, so that they won't bite anyone, except maybe a few deer and rabbits. The only known incident of a werewolf-deer or -rabbit was after the Tunguska explosion, when a whole lot of things went haywire. Thankfully, the deformed animals were soon tracked down and taken care of by the monster world-no, that doesn't mean killed, it means taken to a monster community and hidden from the humans.
Some werewolves let their new species control them, and can become very out of hand. They start acting on instincts more, and can get together and form packs of savages, because they ignore the fact that wolves are generally peaceful creatures.
Mages and alchemists have struggled to find a cure, but lately, there has been some protest about their efforts. Many werewolves in this era have begun to see it as a difference in life, not a disability. They argue that to try and get rid of werewolves is to get rid of a way of life, which they have become accustomed to, and even enjoy. Their senses and physical strength increase as a result of being bitten, they suddenly have their own 'packs' who understand what they are going through, and all it takes is a small sacrifice of a little pain, and one night every month that is not their own. To them, it's worth it. Weirdos.
And now, back to our program.
TANSTAV part 33
Chapter 9 part 4
Well, at least he was being honest with us. But the fact that I would receive a commendation for contributing to this maniac's plan did not improve my morale, oddly enough. Don't get me wrong, I'm sure some people find the prospect of having their life force drained in order to create a vampire a very intriguing, even enjoyable idea. However, I have a low tolerance for having my life force drained, especially if its purpose is for ultimate world domination. I'm just conservative like that.
Not only that, but I could see some extreme flaws in Fleming's plan. And, feeling I had nothing to lose, I took the opportunity to point them out.
"...So, what happens when we run out of humans?"
Fleming frowned uncomprehendingly.
"Huh?"
"Well, according to the myths, humans are the natural food source of vampires. If, as you say, you plan on turning the whole human race into vampires, then what are they supposed to eat? I suppose they could feed on animals, but with that many of them in the world, and such a limited supply of animals to compensate, soon there'd be none left, and then they'd have to resort to us. How well have you thought this through? I mean, since you started this with the best interests of monsters at heart, to suddenly have your creations start depending on our blood to survive is kind of-"
"SHUT UP!" bellowed Fleming. "I'll worry about that when the time comes!"
Which was code for, 'I haven't thought about that possibility, but there's no way I'm going to admit it to you, annoying person who just made me look stupid'. I should know; I've used that code before.
It was at that point that I suddenly realized that the ropes, though unbreakable, were not un-slip-out-able. I figured this out by the fact that as I was shifting my hands, I suddenly found that my left thumb was free.
This is great!
Taking the opportunity, I began working on wiggling the rest of my hand out too. Meanwhile, Fleming made a gesture with the bandaged hand, wincing as he did so, and Jessup slowly went to his side. He handed over the splatter gun, and at Fleming's command, he lay down on the altar, hands folded across his chest. I almost felt sorry for him; he was about to be used to create a monster that would annihilate mankind, and he probably didn't even know what was happening. Then I remembered what he had almost done to Xen, and my pity instantly subsided. I went back to concentrating on freeing myself.
Over in the corner, Xen and Calla were not standing idly by, like you'd expect of damsels in distress (believe me, they are anything but). They were standing back to back, and trying to untie each other. Since nobody was taking any notice of them at the moment, now seemed as good a time as any. Needless to say, I did not draw Fleming's attention to the situation. Speak of the devil, he was now pulling a chain that opened a hole in his roof (with the ends of the lightning rods poking through), revealing that the storm had reached its height.
"Perfect conditions!" he cried enthusiastically. "A storm with thunder and lightning, yet on a night when the moon is full! An exact replication of the experiments of President Newman! Now to charge the spell with lightning, add my modifications, and then it will begin!"
Carefully, he levitated the spell into the air, until it was directly below the hole. Then there was a short wait, during which I was able to get my left hand all the way free. After that, it was a simple matter of pulling the loop of rope off my right wrist. But for the time being, just for a moment, I stayed where and how I was, with my hands behind me. I was idly curious as to what would happen.
Finally, I heard the sharp retort of lightning striking the rods (Two bolts at once, in almost the same place? That’s a coincidence that pretty much only ever occurs in the places where monsters live) and sizzling down, to hit the spell, which suddenly turned a brighter shade of green, and looked a lot healthier. Without needing any assistance from Fleming, the ball of light zoomed down, and hovered over the recumbent Jessup. Fleming stood by the altar's side, smiling with glee. Calla, now free of her ropes, started forward, but Xen grabbed her and held her back.
"No!" I heard her cry over a roar of thunder. "It could kill you if you went in there now! It's never a good idea to enter a pentacle when a spell's taking place!"
"But what do we do? He'll be killed!" Calla wailed.
Xen looked despairingly over at me. To her evident surprise, I smiled at her, and mouthed the words, "It'll be fine!" In all likelihood, she thought I was either trying to reassure her by lying through my teeth, or I had lost my mind.
The spell left the altar, and began circling the pentacle, testing it to make sure it was sound. It zoomed around the five points of the star, skimming the ground once in a while, reveling in its new life-and then it stopped. Fleming looked startled. He made as if to approach-and, remembering where he was, froze. He couldn't leave the pentagon that was the center of the star, because that would expose him to whatever damage the spell could inflict on him. The spell in question was hovering tentatively over one particular spot on the pentacle; if it had been alive, and given to emotions, I would have said that it was perturbed. If you looked closer, you would see why: there, marring the perfect chalk circle, were five drag marks, creating a small set of holes in the pentacle.
You forgot about my stumble earlier, didn't you? Well, believe it or not, even with my hands tied, I'm not that clumsy when the situation is serious. I'd remembered that you have to be careful with spells in pentacles; they are very delicate, and if the pentacles or spells are messed up even the tiniest bit, it can destroy the whole thing. I've even heard horror stories of screwed-up spells in pentacles turning on those who cast them, and obliterating them into nasty, slimy blobs of goo. While I didn't necessarily thoroughly wish that on Fleming, it would certainly make fixing this whole mess a lot easier.
Suddenly, the spell went berserk. It began leaping and jumping around the room, smashing into the walls (because of the flaw in the pentacle, it could leave), smacking into the ceiling and floor, just hitting everything it could-though, unfortunately, missing both the insane mage and the demon, but fortunately missing me and my companions. An utterly horrified Fleming tried to intervene, to use his magic to capture and subdue the spell, but to no avail. Old and senile as it was, it had soon beat itself to pieces of residue, lying here and there throughout the room. We all (except Jessup, who was still hypnotized) stared aghast at the remains of what had been one of the most controversial spells of our time. My historian's heart bled for it, and asked President Newman to forgive me for this desecration (though his soul, may it rest in peace, probably rejoiced at the destruction of his great folly).
"How could this happen?!" howled Fleming, clutching his hands to his head, wincing with pain because it involved moving his damaged arm and shoulder. "How?! What did I-"
He stopped, as his bulging eyes noticed the dragged-through part of the pentacle. Suddenly looking a little murderous, he turned to me, and looked down, seeing the white dusting of chalk on the claws of my left foot.
I shrugged and gave a sort of grin.
"Oops."
Fleming was not appeased.
"YOU!" he screeched. "YOU FILTHY, DESTRUCTIVE, SPELL-WRECKING _________________ INTERFERING ______________ LOUSY__________ SON OF ___!"
A lot of the vile epithets he cried out are ones I would rather not repeat. Let us just leave it at the fact that they were mostly very opprobrious remarks, some of which were not particularly realistic or anatomically possible. I noticed Calla wincing and covering her ears. Good, she was far too young to be hearing that kind of language. In fact, it was stuff that nobody should ever have to hear. I think it was about then that Fleming grabbed up one of the splatter guns and shot me.
Well, at least he was being honest with us. But the fact that I would receive a commendation for contributing to this maniac's plan did not improve my morale, oddly enough. Don't get me wrong, I'm sure some people find the prospect of having their life force drained in order to create a vampire a very intriguing, even enjoyable idea. However, I have a low tolerance for having my life force drained, especially if its purpose is for ultimate world domination. I'm just conservative like that.
Not only that, but I could see some extreme flaws in Fleming's plan. And, feeling I had nothing to lose, I took the opportunity to point them out.
"...So, what happens when we run out of humans?"
Fleming frowned uncomprehendingly.
"Huh?"
"Well, according to the myths, humans are the natural food source of vampires. If, as you say, you plan on turning the whole human race into vampires, then what are they supposed to eat? I suppose they could feed on animals, but with that many of them in the world, and such a limited supply of animals to compensate, soon there'd be none left, and then they'd have to resort to us. How well have you thought this through? I mean, since you started this with the best interests of monsters at heart, to suddenly have your creations start depending on our blood to survive is kind of-"
"SHUT UP!" bellowed Fleming. "I'll worry about that when the time comes!"
Which was code for, 'I haven't thought about that possibility, but there's no way I'm going to admit it to you, annoying person who just made me look stupid'. I should know; I've used that code before.
It was at that point that I suddenly realized that the ropes, though unbreakable, were not un-slip-out-able. I figured this out by the fact that as I was shifting my hands, I suddenly found that my left thumb was free.
This is great!
Taking the opportunity, I began working on wiggling the rest of my hand out too. Meanwhile, Fleming made a gesture with the bandaged hand, wincing as he did so, and Jessup slowly went to his side. He handed over the splatter gun, and at Fleming's command, he lay down on the altar, hands folded across his chest. I almost felt sorry for him; he was about to be used to create a monster that would annihilate mankind, and he probably didn't even know what was happening. Then I remembered what he had almost done to Xen, and my pity instantly subsided. I went back to concentrating on freeing myself.
Over in the corner, Xen and Calla were not standing idly by, like you'd expect of damsels in distress (believe me, they are anything but). They were standing back to back, and trying to untie each other. Since nobody was taking any notice of them at the moment, now seemed as good a time as any. Needless to say, I did not draw Fleming's attention to the situation. Speak of the devil, he was now pulling a chain that opened a hole in his roof (with the ends of the lightning rods poking through), revealing that the storm had reached its height.
"Perfect conditions!" he cried enthusiastically. "A storm with thunder and lightning, yet on a night when the moon is full! An exact replication of the experiments of President Newman! Now to charge the spell with lightning, add my modifications, and then it will begin!"
Carefully, he levitated the spell into the air, until it was directly below the hole. Then there was a short wait, during which I was able to get my left hand all the way free. After that, it was a simple matter of pulling the loop of rope off my right wrist. But for the time being, just for a moment, I stayed where and how I was, with my hands behind me. I was idly curious as to what would happen.
Finally, I heard the sharp retort of lightning striking the rods (Two bolts at once, in almost the same place? That’s a coincidence that pretty much only ever occurs in the places where monsters live) and sizzling down, to hit the spell, which suddenly turned a brighter shade of green, and looked a lot healthier. Without needing any assistance from Fleming, the ball of light zoomed down, and hovered over the recumbent Jessup. Fleming stood by the altar's side, smiling with glee. Calla, now free of her ropes, started forward, but Xen grabbed her and held her back.
"No!" I heard her cry over a roar of thunder. "It could kill you if you went in there now! It's never a good idea to enter a pentacle when a spell's taking place!"
"But what do we do? He'll be killed!" Calla wailed.
Xen looked despairingly over at me. To her evident surprise, I smiled at her, and mouthed the words, "It'll be fine!" In all likelihood, she thought I was either trying to reassure her by lying through my teeth, or I had lost my mind.
The spell left the altar, and began circling the pentacle, testing it to make sure it was sound. It zoomed around the five points of the star, skimming the ground once in a while, reveling in its new life-and then it stopped. Fleming looked startled. He made as if to approach-and, remembering where he was, froze. He couldn't leave the pentagon that was the center of the star, because that would expose him to whatever damage the spell could inflict on him. The spell in question was hovering tentatively over one particular spot on the pentacle; if it had been alive, and given to emotions, I would have said that it was perturbed. If you looked closer, you would see why: there, marring the perfect chalk circle, were five drag marks, creating a small set of holes in the pentacle.
You forgot about my stumble earlier, didn't you? Well, believe it or not, even with my hands tied, I'm not that clumsy when the situation is serious. I'd remembered that you have to be careful with spells in pentacles; they are very delicate, and if the pentacles or spells are messed up even the tiniest bit, it can destroy the whole thing. I've even heard horror stories of screwed-up spells in pentacles turning on those who cast them, and obliterating them into nasty, slimy blobs of goo. While I didn't necessarily thoroughly wish that on Fleming, it would certainly make fixing this whole mess a lot easier.
Suddenly, the spell went berserk. It began leaping and jumping around the room, smashing into the walls (because of the flaw in the pentacle, it could leave), smacking into the ceiling and floor, just hitting everything it could-though, unfortunately, missing both the insane mage and the demon, but fortunately missing me and my companions. An utterly horrified Fleming tried to intervene, to use his magic to capture and subdue the spell, but to no avail. Old and senile as it was, it had soon beat itself to pieces of residue, lying here and there throughout the room. We all (except Jessup, who was still hypnotized) stared aghast at the remains of what had been one of the most controversial spells of our time. My historian's heart bled for it, and asked President Newman to forgive me for this desecration (though his soul, may it rest in peace, probably rejoiced at the destruction of his great folly).
"How could this happen?!" howled Fleming, clutching his hands to his head, wincing with pain because it involved moving his damaged arm and shoulder. "How?! What did I-"
He stopped, as his bulging eyes noticed the dragged-through part of the pentacle. Suddenly looking a little murderous, he turned to me, and looked down, seeing the white dusting of chalk on the claws of my left foot.
I shrugged and gave a sort of grin.
"Oops."
Fleming was not appeased.
"YOU!" he screeched. "YOU FILTHY, DESTRUCTIVE, SPELL-WRECKING _________________ INTERFERING ______________ LOUSY__________ SON OF ___!"
A lot of the vile epithets he cried out are ones I would rather not repeat. Let us just leave it at the fact that they were mostly very opprobrious remarks, some of which were not particularly realistic or anatomically possible. I noticed Calla wincing and covering her ears. Good, she was far too young to be hearing that kind of language. In fact, it was stuff that nobody should ever have to hear. I think it was about then that Fleming grabbed up one of the splatter guns and shot me.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)