First Kill: A Dave Carver Novella (10 page)

I spun around, one hand reaching
inside my pocket for my screwdriver. Nate was faster—his
switchblade appeared and, like a streak of silver lightning, he
slashed at the man’s face.

Guinness simply flickered, vanished,
and reappeared just out of range of Nate’s knife. He raised a hand
and Nate and I were both lifted off our feet. I was flying through
the air, spinning like a cartwheel, before I knew what was
happening. We hit the wall at the far end of the hallway and fell
in a heap, a mixture of limbs and soreness and bruised
bodies.

I blinked. The man had
been well out of arm’s reach when he attached, but I’d
felt
his hand on my
chest, giving me the shove. Not only that, but there was no way an
ordinary man would have the strength to fling us away like that.
This guy was operating on a different level. A
magical
level, maybe.

Once again, Nate was faster than me
and on his feet. He glared down the hall at the man, something like
hatred in his eyes.

Felix Guinness whistled softly. His
skin was tanned as if he’d spent the summer in the sun. He took off
his hat, freeing a mane of curly, sun-bleached hair. His jaw was
strong, clean-shaven, and dimpled. He had blue eyes, which were
currently focused on his own hand. He was holding Nate’s
switchblade. I hadn’t seen him take it.

And then Nate moved. Snarling, he
barreled, slowing just long enough to snatch up my screwdriver from
the floor. For a second, I thought he might make it, that he was
going to take the sorcerer down and stab him in the neck. He
certainly got close. Five strides away, he was, four, three, two.
As he took the last step, Nate screamed, a wordless, blood-filled
cry of rage, and lifted the screwdriver.

Guinness looked like he’d only just
noticed Nate, and said something in some foreign language. Nate’s
legs went out from under him like he’d been hit by a bowling ball.
The sorcerer made another motion with his free hand and the
screwdriver was pulled from Nate’s hand and deposited itself in a
pocket of Guinness’s big coat.

Nate spat on the carpet and pushed
himself to his hands and knees. Guinness pointed one finger and
said, “Stop.” All trace of levity was gone from his eyes, from his
face, from his voice, and Nate deflated like a balloon.

Guinness was still holding the silver
switchblade. He closed it and used it as a conductor’s baton to
point at Nate’s face. “I want to know where you got
this.”

Nate looked up, and I could hear the
hatred in his voice when he said, “My mother gave it to
me.”

Guinness clicked his tongue. “Your
mother. So that makes you…” He looked at Nate like he was seeing
him for the first time. “You’re Nathan Labat.”

“Yeah.”

“By the Art, boy!”
Guinness threw back his head and laughed. “Why didn’t you say so?”
He made a gesture, like a sideways karate chop. Nate stood up. “If
I’d known who you were, I’d’ve invited you in for a cup of coffee
or something, not treated you like a common mugger.” He walked to
an apartment door, took a set of keys out of his pocket, and opened
it. “Come on in. Both of you.”

Guinness’s apartment was nothing like
I expected from the dwelling of a sorcerer. There were no
palimpsests or jars of frog parts. It was tastefully appointed,
modern-looking. The couch and twin chairs were cloth-upholstered
and comfy. There was a big-screen TV set up along one wall and a
bookshelf full of old VHS tapes. They were mostly romantic
comedies, like the kind my mom used to like. No horror, sci-fi, or
fantasy. I wondered if those kinds of things reminded Guinness too
much of work.

The sorcerer cleared off a table (by
hand—there were no Merlin-esque motions to make everything clean
itself) and indicated that Nate and I should sit. He disappeared
into the kitchenette, opened a refrigerator door, which blocked him
from view, and rooted inside with lots of clattering
glass.

“What do you think?” I
whispered, hoping that any conversation would be masked by the din
from the kitchen.

“I’m not sure.” Nate’s
hand were running nervously along the top of the table, and I was
distinctly, powerfully aware that Guinness still had my screwdriver
and Nate’s switchblade.

He returned then, holding three green
glass bottles of beer, already opened. He set one down in front of
each of us, then took a seat himself. “I know you’re not of age,
but looking at you, gosh, I guess no one in this city needs a drink
more than the pair of you. Sorry I don’t have anything stronger—I’m
not much of a drinker.”

“Thanks,” Nate said. I
went to take a pull of beer, but Nate put his hand on my arm. “But
my mom always told me not to take drinks from strange
magicians.”

Guinness nodded, and grinned. “Good
advice, that.” He stood up, went into the kitchen, and returned
with a pitcher and three pint glasses. He dumped the contents of
all three bottles into the pitcher, then poured the beer into the
glasses. Next he took a swig from one of the glasses and smiled,
pushed the other two to us. Nate nodded, satisfied. We sat in
silence for a few minutes, drinking beer and saying
nothing.

Finally Guinness put his empty glass
down. “So. You’re Helena Labat’s son. I always wondered what became
of you.” He reached into his pocket and took out the switchblade.
He pressed the button to open the knife and examined the silver.
“See, these markings on the blade, they’re what give it that extra
punch. Basic silver is anathema to supes, but these spells make it
more powerful. I guess you know that.” He shook his head. “By the
Art, but your mother was great at creating foci. Don’t get me
wrong—she was an astonishing witch. But she was one of the best
ever at constructing magical tools.” He stared off into space, as
if he’d forgotten about us. “Gosh, if she wanted to, she could have
gotten a job at the Round Table, building those swords of
theirs.”

I looked at Nate. He shook his head—he
didn’t know what Guinness was talking about, either.

Guinness smiled. It was an amiable
smile. The power radiating off of him made him seem dangerous, but
still. It was hard not to smile back. “Anyway, what have you been
up to, Nathan? Last time I saw you was your mother’s funeral. You
were staying with Byron Edelsworth, that tattooed thug she had
working for her. How are you? Why were you looking for
me?”

Nate glanced at me. I chewed my lower
lip. We were about to take our first steps into the world of real
magic and monsters. I was excited, but something inside me
shivered.

Nate sighed and leaned forward.
“Mister Guinness, have you heard about all of the recent
disappearances in the Bronx?”

We told Guinness about the vampires,
about how they’d killed people, about the Family and what we were
doing. Finally he looked Guinness in the eye and told him that
Squirrel had sent us to see him.

Guinness leaned back in his chair and
ran a finger along the rim of his glass. He was stone-faced now,
nothing at all like the jovial man of a few moments before. He
sighed, a world-weary sound, and said, “What do you want from
me?”

“We want you to teach us
how to kill vampires,” Nate said. “Squirrel said you’re good at
that.”

“I used to be,” Guinness
said. “I was one of the Magic Council’s best warriors, so, yeah,
I’ve staked my share of vamps.” He looked out the window that was
just behind Nate’s head. There wasn’t much of a view—just the brick
exterior of the building next door. For a long time he stared, and
I wondered what he was really looking at.

“Gosh, I’m just trying to
think what your mother would have wanted, you know? I mean, I can’t
imagine she’d be happy with the life you’re living—did you say
you’re sleeping on an abandoned subway platform? By the Art, that’s
no life for young people.”

“No,” Nate said. “It’s
not. But it’s the one we’ve got.”

Guinness smiled sadly. “Well, if
that’s not just the perfect way to phrase it. We’ve all got to do
the best with what we’re given, right? Yeah, Nathan, David, I’ll
help you.” He looked us up and down, and once again it was like he
was seeing us for the first time. “Tell you what, though, I’ve
never seen two young men in more desperate need of a fine meal. Let
me buy you two dinner, and then we’ll talk about beginning your
training.”

My stomach growled and my mouth
watered.

Nate shook his head. “We’re part of a
Family. We don’t eat unless everybody eats.”

Guinness nodded. “I respect that. I
got the money, though, so let’s go and you can get as much food as
you can carry to share with your friends.”

Nate and I looked at each other. I
shrugged and raised one eyebrow. I was hungry and I knew Nate was,
too. It couldn’t hurt, I figured to get a good meal.

“Alright,” Nate said.
“Let’s go.”

Guinness smiled again. “Wonderful.” He
stood up, stopped, and sat back down. He took the switchblade out
of his pocket and slid it across the table. “Sorry. Forgot I had
it. Better hold on to this, then. You never know when it might come
in handy.”

Chapter 13: The Siege of Legendary Bobby’s

Guinness knew this little Mongolian
barbecue joint nearby, but Nate and I weren’t convinced. For one
thing, neither of us had eaten much in months, so we wanted
something familiar. For another, we’d have to bring the stuff home,
and we were concerned with Mongolian barbecue portability. As far
as we were concerned, there was only one option.

We went to a pizzeria.

Go to any corner of New York—I don’t
care which neighborhood or street—and you’ll find a kick-ass pizza
place. The crust will be thin enough to see through, the sauce will
be heavenly, the cheese will be bubbly, and no matter what it will
be better than anything you could get in one of those stupid fast
food chains that disguise themselves as pizza places. It had been
months since I’d had pizza—an eternity in New York time—and I
hadn’t realized how much I missed it.

Legendary Bobby’s was a block and a
half from Guinness’s apartment, on 148th Street. I’d never been to
this particular place, but I knew its like. The space between the
front door and the serving counter was cramped, with barely enough
room for a few people to stand in line. A burly Italian guy was
manning the huge pizza ovens and taking orders. Guinness ordered
four pies, three of them to go, with a variety of toppings, and led
the way to a small room in the back. Here there were a few tables,
dim lighting, and a giant tropical fish tank, all made to imitate a
fine dining establishment. Guinness chose a table in the corner,
where we were partially hidden by the aquarium and he could put his
back to the wall.

We sat in silence while we waited for
the pizza. A waitress brought out a pitcher of water and three
glasses, and Guinness slid them across the table like he was a
hustler in a street shell game, but he never said a word. His eyes
flickered around the restaurant. I recognized the expression in his
face—he was scanning for threats.

The waitress came, frowned, presumably
at the smell coming from Nate and me, and left the pies. She didn’t
ask if we needed anything else.

We ate. Guinness picked at a slice of
pepperoni, but he mostly left the thin-crusty goodness to Nate and
me. It wasn’t the best pizza I ever had—certainly not good enough
to qualify as “legendary”—but it was amazing to feel the pleasant
sting of burning cheese and the hint of sweet and spicy tomato
sauce on my tongue. It could have been Domino’s and I wouldn’t have
complained.

When Nate and I had each eaten four or
five slices, Guinness leaned across the table and said, quietly,
even though the only other occupied table was in the far corner of
the room, “I know I’m not your father, but, gosh, I was close to
your mother and I don’t think I could forgive myself if I let you
get hurt. By the Art, but I couldn’t live with that.”

Nate frowned and swirled a spot of
tomato sauce around on his plate. “What’s your point?”

Guinness looked at the ceiling. “If
you have your mother’s talent, you could be a very impressive young
mage. I know a man who runs a wizardry school in London. A nephew
of mine just started there, and I think you would be a good fit.
You could live in safety and comfort, and learn about your
heritage. Wouldn’t that be better?”

Nate glanced at me. “What about the
Family?”

“Arrangements could be
made for their safety. I’ll speak with the Round Table, and they’ll
see to it they’re placed in good homes.”

“Foster care.”

“Something like that, but
gosh, Nate, they’ll be safe and happy. That’s better than they can
expect right now.”

“No,” Nate said. “Not an
option. These kids are my family, and I won’t abandon
them.”

Guinness sighed and pushed his hair
behind his ears. “I was afraid you’d say that. I’m sorry, guys, but
I can’t allow this to continue. I’ll have to report you to the
Council and the Round Table. They’ll take it from—“

“No!” Nate stood up and
slammed his palms against the table. The water pitcher spilled over
and fell to the floor with a
clink
. The silverware vibrated and
the air felt like it was being charged with electricity. For the
first time I understood what it meant that Nate was the son of a
powerful witch—he had some of the power himself. “I will not let
you separate my Family.”