The Bastard (17 page)

“You haven’t asked what we’re paying,” Rex reminded.

Lacy shrugged. “You’ll be fair. I trust you.”

Silence fell like a bomb. Dray stopped chewing, Nomad stopped scratching and Myth merely blinked. Rex took a step back. Vike could have dropped to his knees right then and kissed her feet.

“I better get breakfast cleaned up if I’m going to start playing maid.” She squeezed his arm, took Dray’s empty plate and left the room. Not a single man moved, their eyes still on the empty door. Inside the kitchen, Lacy started singing.

“You lucky bastard,” Myth mumbled.

Using some clever contextual clues in an old Hindu story, Myth came up with seven possible locations for Samael’s soul-storage locations, places he might have stored other Scion souls, or even worse, a Scionim soul. He and Zale had been out for days, scouring texts, deciphering scrolls and digging through the layers of time and dirt. The first three yielded nothing. Now they stayed behind at H2Q while the rest of the Forsaken searched the last four.

Vike Leaped into Tikal, near the Great Mayan Temple. Nine hours of searching only rewarded him with sweat under his arms, dirt in his teeth and an ache in his back. His cell chirped and Dray complained of the same thing, except he got a touch of frostbite from the extreme north Russian wind. Rex uncovered nothing but a junkie using an old ruin in Zimbabwe as a base camp. He decided they should all meet up with Nomad and see if he had any luck.

He Leaped into the Chinese province of Shaanxi behind Dray. The black linen balaclava Vike wore trapped moist breath against his lips and kept the cold wind from his cheeks. His eyes narrowed, struggling to adapt faster to the night. Rex appeared beside them without a noise, flashlight in hand. Even totally cloaked in black, with their hair covered, Vike could easily tell his team members apart. The black leather band peeking from beneath Dray’s glove acted as a wrist guard for his weapon’s swing and Rex’s boots were hand-stitched.

Dawn was still two hours away and the nearby lights of Xi’an bounced off the Qin Emperor’s tomb mound. The domed mausoleum stood silent, all exterior lights extinguished, and a hushed air whispered through the valley. The flashlight beam sliced across the terrain before swinging back to the building. A door at the far end was propped open with a rock. The three slipped in like fog. Inside was just as dark and only a fraction warmer.

“Fuck me,” Dray whispered.

Long ditches filled with statuary stretched beyond the narrow flashlight beam. Although he’d heard of The Terracotta Army, Vike had never seen the legions of soldiers crafted from clay. Over eight thousand warriors, chariots, horses and other non-military figures dropped his jaw. Each one was unique, life-sized and many still bore chips of paint in bright colors. Vike fought a shudder. Too fucking real-looking for him. It made the hair on the back of his neck prickle, his body preparing for a battle that would never come.

A soft grunt jerked the flashlight ray to the left. Nomad pulled himself from one long trench. A black knit cap covered his head but he’d removed his mask. A smudge of dust rested above his beard line. Omen sat above ground, his snout quivering with the scents of damp earth and pottery.

“’Bout time you cuntwoggles showed up.” Nomad stuffed a soul-bag into his pocket, both thighs bulging with the leather packs. He nodded to a pile of crystal boxes beside the trench. “About fifty or so over there, no Scion though. Found the soul-boxes hidden inside the heads.”

Rex’s light spun wildly from statue to statue. “You didn’t break them open, did you?”

“No, I just fondled their clay balls.” Nomad rolled his eyes. “Piss off, Rex. I’ve been doing this since before you first sucked your mama’s tit. These statues were made in pieces and assembled. Just pop the heads off, grab the box and bag the dust. No damage done. Load up. I want to get out of here. That alarm bypass isn’t going to last long.”

Vike pulled his soul-bags from his pocket and a folded paper square fluttered to the ground. The dim light made it hard to read but behind his mask, a smile grew.

Erik,

This note is an IOU for a back rub, clothing optional. Hurry back. I miss you. ~Lacy

The past few weeks had brought out something softer in him, something playful and almost tender. He and Lacy had a little game of leaving each other notes in strange places. This morning he’d found a message wrapped around his razor. He idly wondered if she’d found the one he’d left in her slippers.

“You waiting on an invitation, Viking?”

Nomad’s sarcasm ripped the smile from his face. He tucked the note back into his pocket and hurried to the pile of small glass boxes. They were lightweight and fragile. Each man might be able to carry a few each but it was risky. No one wanted to accidentally drop a box and scatter soul-dust to be swept away by the wind. They worked in an assembly-line, filling their pockets with soul-bags then popping clay heads off statues and rehiding the empty boxes.

Nomad punched a sequence of numbers into the alarm keypad and darted for the door. It clicked shut just as the outside lights flared to glowing. He had conveniently broken the spotlight above the door, leaving them in the lone pool of black in a line of bright illumination.

“Smart move,” Vike murmured.

Omen’s ears snapped back with a growl. His haunches quivered in preparation of a jump. Everyone called their weapons. Ten yards away, six shadows formed. The closest shadow stepped into the light.

He was tall, elegant, with a deadly glint to his dark eyes. His long beard was thin, streaming only from his chin. A curved black mustache dripped around his lips. A green silk robe swirled with gold dragons fluttered in the night wind.

“Forsaken.”

Vike’s head jerked up to the door camera. Idiot didn’t realize the building perimeter was being recorded. Vike stretched up, using his sword to angle the camera toward the sky. At worst, it captured a strange man in ancient Chinese dress for a few seconds. Now it recorded nothing but stars.

“Who the hell are you?” Nomad demanded.

“You may call me Sun Wu.” He bowed but not for one second did his posture reflect anything but arrogance. Vike flexed his fingers around his sword hilt and studied Sun Wu, better known throughout history as Sun Tzu, the Master of the Art of War. He was one of Michael’s Righteous. Vike wasn’t impressed.

Nomad hocked and spit at the warrior’s feet. “So what brings you to these parts, sunny boy?”

“The correct address is Master Sun.” Sun Tzu’s eyes pinched into tight slits. “I’m overseeing this new mission.”

Nomad smirked. “Yeah, well, Master Bater, your mission isn’t here.” He pointed toward the glow of Xi’an. “Try the city. Leeches love exhaust fumes.”

“What’s exhaust fumes?” questioned a man in a heavy accent Vike couldn’t place.

Five others stepped into the mausoleum light. A dark, lean man in humble robes, a shaved Egyptian in a hemp groin-wrapping, a woman with bared breasts and a sheathed sword, and two others Vike couldn’t see clearly over Sun Tzu’s towering height.

The Master stood with his fists on his hips. “We know our duty. We will battle Samael’s forces on this plane and be victorious as you never were. However, information is the most valuable weapon. How do you find the Third?”

“Try Facebook,” Rex snorted. “They might have a group page.”

The Forsaken snickered as Sun Tzu glowered. The bare-breasted woman drew her dagger and jammed it under Rex’s masked chin. “Dog, you need to learn your place.”

Rex batted his eyelashes. “Sweetheart, I’ll bark if you want mounted, but put that toothpick away before you hurt yourself.”

“Enough.” Sun Tzu’s soft command carried ominous control. “The Earthly realm is different than Paradise. There the Third come to us, fight on our field. Perhaps I was mistaken in that your vows are the same as ours, to use all of your wits and strength to defeat those who would destroy all good. My mistake.”

The epitome of grace and honor, he bowed once more then turned on his heel and strode into the shadows. The other Righteous followed him.

“Fuck,” Vike breathed. He jerked his mask down, sucking in the frigid air. Master Sun was still a master at manipulation. He played to the one thing they couldn’t deny, the unbreakable vows of the Awoken.

“Yeah, double fuck.” Nomad sighed. “Sun-man, hold up.”

The Forsaken fell behind Nomad and Omen as they melted into the night. They removed their masks and freed their hair to the wind, but kept their stance on guard.

By the light of only a half-moon, time disappeared. It could be any age, any dynasty, any era. Four Forsaken glared at six Righteous with barely concealed hostility. The two factions rarely met but when they did, it was steeped in arrogance, in bitterness, often in blood.

Many among the Righteous were as violent as the Forsaken, with thousands of deaths to their names, but some quirk of human memory had recorded them as
good
. They kept their honor after First Death and their names were celebrated, not cursed. Vike fought to keep his lip from curling.

His pocket rang out and every set of eyes flew to his thigh. He muttered a curse and checked his phone screen. Lacy had texted, asking if he was going to be much later. He ignored the message and tucked the phone away.

Nomad glowered at him for one moment before turning his head and studying the far away hills. “You want to find the Soul-Leeches, find yourself a drunk.”

Sun Tzu angled his head. “A drunk?”

“A homeless one,” Vike offered. “The older the better. Stay away from druggies though, they see shit that isn’t real.”

“Hookers are good, too.” Rex kicked a loose stone. “A gang leader’s even better.”

“Money talks,” Vike said. “If you have to, bargain with drugs or liquor. It keeps them honest.”

The Righteous looked at each other, disbelief stark on their face, but Sun Tzu kept his attention on Nomad. “Pay the outcasts?”

“Exactly. Those are going to be the ones who know when people just disappear, when shit’s going down that no one calls the police on, who see stuff nice people don’t acknowledge. Leeches are stupid, for the most part. They like the bigger cities for easy-pickings. Check every major metropolis and make nightly rounds. It doesn’t take that long when Leaping.”

“This is how you hunt the Third? By dealing in the filth of humanity?”

Dray nodded. “If it offends your morals, just get arrested and listen to the cops talk.”

“That’s how we used to hunt the Third. Now we use a computer program Myth designed to track assaults, missing persons and police scanners from around the globe.” Rex lit a cigarette and blew a tight stream of smoke toward the Righteous. “We have an App for that.”

Vike glanced at the Egyptian’s…diaper? “You don’t look like you’re ready for the World Wide Web. Stick with the hands-on method.”

“We can learn today’s machinery.” Sun Tzu stiffened.

Nomad stuck his finger in his ear and wiggled it around. “Sure, in a couple years. Do it the old-fashioned way a while and soak up today’s nuances. Figure out how to dress and talk. Buy a Big Mac, drink a Coke, watch CNN. Then you can join the iPhone generation.”

Vike’s phone buzzed again. Nomad snarled. “As you can see, Vike is all up in the iPhone shit.”

Erik, call me ASAP. A’s house was broken into. ~L

Biting back concern, Vike pocketed the phone. Annie’s new place was a dive. It could be just normal punks looking for a quick score or it could be the Third trying to lure Lacy to Annie’s side. He rolled his head, cracking his neck. Lacy was safe for the moment. He needed to keep his focus on the Righteous.

“Word to the wise.” Rex pointed to the female. “Put a shirt on her or those tits are going to draw attention. Her legs aren’t bad either.”

Vike made sure to catch the Master’s eye. “Don’t Leap into view of any cameras. It fucks with the mortal mind when people appear and disappear.”

Paper rustled as Dray opened a roll of Spree candy, popping a purple one onto his tongue. “Don’t engage a Leech on camera either. And don’t tell anyone your real names.”

“You mean lie?” The humbly dressed man bristled.

Vike shrugged. “You wanted to know how we did it. We told you. Take it or leave it.”

Questions peppered the air like buckshot.

“What is a camera?” asked the woman, her arms now crossed over her nipples.

“How do we obtain the proper clothing? What payment is used?”

“How does an eye-fone work? What is an eye-fone?”

“Where do we search for drunks and hoo-kers? What
is
a hoo-ker?”

“How do we know which city to start searching?”

“Big Mac? Who is this?”

Nomad rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Crispy Christ on a cracker, don’t you people know anything?”

“We know we’re cleaning up your mess,” the humble man snapped.

Before Vike could blink, the man fell to the ground with Nomad’s dagger in his throat. For a breath, no one moved.

Sun Tzu’s hand shot out with viper-speed and Nomad slammed to the ground. Omen charged. Sun Tzu threw his arm up to protect his face, but went down beneath a snarling mass of black muscle. Weapons met as the Forsaken and the Righteous clashed.

Vike aimed low, catching the Egyptian across one thigh. Ropey muscle split and spewed blood that shone black in the starlight. He ducked as an angled sword sailed toward his head. Damn, it felt good to beat some sense into the Righteous. His sword sang. A fist jabbed into his gut, but he was ready, jerking his elbow into an exposed nose. Bone crunched.

Behind him, Rex and the woman crossed blades, the clangs ringing like deadly bells. Dray was having the time of his life. His laughter overshadowed everything as he dodged between the two hulking Righteous Vike hadn’t gotten a look at. He still couldn’t tell what era or region they came from. He was too busy smashing an Egyptian into a length of cotton.

A moonbeam sparkled on the thin knife that plunged into Omen’s neck, but the dog never slowed. His huge head shook and a chunk of flesh tore from the Master’s arm. A shot cracked with a flash of bright orange. Everyone froze.