Book and Blade: Book One of the Hand of Perdition (7 page)

"I don't think he has any more to say," Rath said.

Rath's voiced carried, but it seemed little more than a whisper. Ambros was not sure how he performed that acoustic trick. But then again, Ambros was not sure about a lot of things regarding Rath. But he had become Ambros right hand man, no matter how much the man creeped him out. Rath also didn't appear to speak German or have an accent, which made him rare among Ambros’ lieutenants.

"It's okay, we knew his answer already, but an example had to be made. Leave him where his people can find him. I think they will be much more willing to work on my terms when they see this."

Ambros took out a handkerchief from his inner pocket and wiped off the top of his shoe, no use ruining a nice pair of Jimmy Choo's just to make a statement. They were in an abandoned warehouse in Yonkers. The walls were covered with graffiti, and layers of muck covered the floor of the dilapidated building. He hated these kinds of places, but it seemed he did quite a lot of business meetings in places like this. He was eager to leave and get back to his penthouse. Maybe take a shower.

Rath thrived in decaying places like this. He almost seemed at home here. Ambros made an involuntary shudder.

There was a slight commotion from outside the warehouse door. Ambros was not concerned, he had his men scattered all over the grounds. They would not be disturbed without quite a bit of warning.

The door banged open and Karsten came through.

"Sir, Ich kam so schnell, wie ich konnte. Wir haben ein problem," Karsten said.

"English please," Ambros said calmly with a glance towards Rath.

Karsten look disheveled and had a light sheen of sweat like he had been running quickly. The right side of his jacket and part of his shirt were stained dark, as though splattered with blood.

Karsten slowed down as he approached his boss. He shot a quick glance at Rath and hesitated. Most of his people were nervous around Rath. Ambros didn't blame them. One reason Rath's interrogation techniques were so effective was his aura of savagery. Like he would rip your head off without a thought.

"Of course sir, I didn't see... um, him standing there in the shadow."

Ambros didn't believe that, you don't miss a figure like Rath, shadow or no. More than likely, whatever had him so shaken up had distracted him.

"We have a problem," Karsten began again.

"The Sawyer boy? I assume he is finally dead?"

"No sir. Something went wrong, both Jon and Malden were killed."

"What exactly went wrong?"

Karsten swallowed audibly and flicked his eyes to Rath and back to Ambros.

"Jon and Malden went in as planned. They took out the cop outside, and I am pretty sure they took care of the one inside."

"You're pretty sure?" Ambros asked. This didn't sound good.

"Yeah, it was my turn to wait in the car. So I didn't see what happened in the house, but then about fifteen minutes later the upstairs window exploded out onto the street. A guy had jumped through the window and was standing in the middle of the street."

"That had to be thirty feet below the window," Rath said in his unnaturally loud whisper. "He didn't break anything?"

"No, he just stood there like he had just taken the stairs. And he had a flaming sword in his hand..."

"A flaming sword?" Rath suddenly interrupted. He stepped closer, his eyes seeming to burrow into Karsten. "Are you sure it was a sword? And flaming?"

"Well, it looked like a sword and it was lit up with this strange looking fire. But that's not the craziest part. Malden came running out of the building. He ran straight for the car, and I started it. He got in and I pulled out. I floored it because I have never seen Malden so scared before. Anyway, this guy jumps like fifty feet and lands on the roof of the car. Yeah, I know that sounds crazy, but it’s what happened."

He looked at Rath as though daring him to contradict his story. Ambros didn't for a minute believe that a man had jumped from a window thirty feet up and landed on a moving car, but he did believe Karsten thought he had seen what he said he saw. Ambros didn't interrupt because Rath was listening with such intensity that he thought he might be missing something. Rath usually showed dispassionate apathy around most people.

"Then the fucker shoves this flaming sword through the roof of the car right into Malden."

"So he killed Malden?" Ambros asked.

"You could say that, but it was more like the sword tore him apart. Splattered blood everywhere."

"How did you make it here? Did you lose him? Were you followed?" Rath asked and suddenly he was looking around.

Rath's sudden change in behavior was making Ambros nervous.

"No, he didn't follow me. I took a sharp corner, and he flew off the car. I got out of there as fast as I could."

"Rath, don't tell me you are believing this stuff. Something happened, yes, but a flaming sword? Jumping thirty feet?" Ambros asked.

"But sir, I swear..." sputtered Karsten.

"Karsten, I don't think you are truly lying, but you have to agree that this is a little unbelievable."

"Don't be so quick to dismiss him Ambros," Rath said as he stepped closer to the other two. He towered over them. He seemed to grow, his mouth wider, his top hat taller. "There might be more truth behind this man’s words than you think."

"Do you know this man?" Ambros asked.

Rath didn't answer right away, but before Ambros could asked again he said. "No, I don't know him. But I have a feeling, a feeling that this is no trivial matter."

Ambros knew Rath's feelings. The last time he had one, Ambros had found out that one of his chief soldiers was going to betray him and sell him out to a competitor. It had taken some doing with no small help from Rath to turn the tables and kill both the soldier and his rival. Rath's feelings were like that—vague—but they uncovered significant truths. He turned back to Karsten.

"But you don't know for sure if the boy was killed or not?" Ambros asked.

Karsten shook his head. "No, I just saw Malden and that flaming sword guy come out of the house. I don't know what happened to the kid."

Ambros just nodded. "We will have to assume he’s not dead. And the man cloaked in black seems to be a new player. Killing a simple college kid is proving much harder than I thought it would be. Rath, maybe it’s time you take a hand in this personally.”

"But enough for the moment," Ambros clapped his hands and rubbed them together as though they were cold. "Let's get out of this shithole and back to my place. I need a drink and this place stinks."

As Ambros walked away, Rath's powerful and ominous presence fell in behind him. Rath didn't completely dismiss the story his man had told and this gave Ambros some pause. Rath seemed to grasp things that were beyond others’ senses and had talents that Ambros would not describe as normal. Talents that had proved very useful in the past.

He left the building and got into the backseat of his car. His people would take care of the grisly scene behind him. Take care of it and make sure the right people see the corpse and understand its message.

CHAPTER TWELVE

"Let me get this straight. Two highly decorated dead police officers, a third story window shattered from the inside out, and three witnesses that said they saw a man waving a burning torch running from the front of this house down the street and jumping onto a moving car and you didn't see a thing?" Hamlin asked.

"I was scared, I told you." Christopher said. "I was taking a piss. I heard the commotion downstairs so I hid in the bathroom, hoping they would look and then leave."

"So you don't know who this guy is? Or how your window got blown out?"

"No."

"How convenient," Hamlin said.

They were in his bedroom. Technicians from the forensic unit were looking through his room, spraying chemicals all over the window and half the room.

Christopher knew he couldn't tell Hamlin the truth. As soon as he walked in Christopher could see his soul, it was a dingy white, with spikes of gray, but he intuitively knew that meant Hamlin was a fairly decent guy. He also knew that Hamlin wouldn't believe him. He didn't even believe it. One moment he was about to be killed by low life thugs, the next he visited an interdimensional library operated by a ghost-like creature, then he was chasing bad guys down the street with a flaming sword. Yeah, that made lots of sense.

"The question is, what are you going to do with me? You guys have two strikes, hospital and now here. Great job protecting me so far."

Hamlin grunted. "We don't have the resources to leave enough guys here. Technically, you aren't a witness so we can't put you in any of those programs. Maybe a safe house... I know we’re afraid of leaks in the department, but they can't all be bad. Maybe we can keep this to just a few of us? Do you know anyone out of town?"

"No," Christopher said. "I don't think I should run this time."

"Run? Son, I don't think you understand who you are dealing with here. At first you were just icing on the cake, but I think after this it’s gonna be personal. He can't let you get away. Too much has happened. You won't be running away, you'll just be making a smart move."

But Christopher wasn't fully listening to him.

"I've always run, from home, from my father, that's why I went out of the city for school, to get away from him. From my classes, even from my girlfriend. Did you know she was cheating on me? I didn't even confront her, didn't even talk it out. I just stopped talking to her. I ran."

The more he spoke, the more he knew it was true. He had always run rather than fight. Maybe it was the seed of power sitting in his chest, but he didn't think he could run anymore. At some point you reach the end of the runway. At some point running is harder than staying and fighting. He did not think he would be running anymore, ever.

Hamlin sighed, resigned. "So, are you just going to stay here? Right where they just tried to kill you? You'll be a sitting duck."

"I don't think they'll be too quick to come back here. Not after what happened."

Their eyes met and something passed between them. Christopher knew that Hamlin knew he wasn't telling the detective everything, but they had no choice but to trust each other.

"What about this girl you saw?" Hamlin asked. "Do you think she could be involved? You sure you never saw her before the train and then your window?"

"No. I have no idea who she is."

"And no better description than dark hair and a tattoo on neck? Goth, or do they call it Emo now?"

Christopher just shook his head.
Old people
.

"I don't know. She was dressed in dark clothes. It was night, I couldn't see much."

"No problem. I'll put out and an APB, she should be easy to find in New York,” Hamlin said. "She'll stand out like a sore thumb."

They looked at each other and neither could hold a straight face. They both started laughing.

It felt good, Christopher thought. He needed that.

"You gonna be okay with tomorrow? I mean the funeral?" Hamlin asked. "I'll be there with some guys of course. Just to watch out. I don't think he will make a move at something so public, but we'll be watching."

"Yeah, I'll be fine. It won’t be a long service. Burying all three at once, side by side at the family plot and all that."

"Do you want me to pick you up?"

"I'm supposed to take a limo. My dad’s assistant set it up. But I think I'll cancel. I'd rather ride with someone I know."

"Okay, watch your back. I'll pick you up in the morning."

And with that he was gone and Christopher was alone.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The day of the funeral was overcast, but no rain. Christopher thought that maybe the rain part only happened in movies. He wished it would rain to fit his mood.

More people attended the funeral than he had expected. His father had been a crime fighter in a way and beloved by many people. The lanes of the cemetery were packed with cars. Co-workers, city officials, family friends that Christopher had only met in passing stood in a loose semicircle around three neatly dug holes in the ground with the coffins hovering above them. They all waited patiently for the priest to start.

His family was not particularly religious, but tradition was important. It would be a proper affair. Christopher stood uncomfortably in a suit, trying to pretend his shoulder still hurt from the bullet wound. He even kept it in a sling.

It was hard to focus, Christopher thought. He shook hands with many people, accepted their condolences and kind words, but he forgot who they were or what they said moments after they left. He saw their auras, the ongoing ability the only thing that kept him from thinking the night before was only a dream, but he didn’t pay too much attention. He didn't know what all the different colors meant, and he didn't have the strength at the moment to try and figure it out.

It was surreal, he thought. Like he wasn't really there. That none of this, not the deaths of his family, not the weird library, and certainly not last night, had really happened. He felt like he wanted to lie down and fall into a deep sleep. Maybe not even awaken.

Detective Hamlin was there, as were ten more of New York’s finest. Christopher was grateful for the detective’s presence, he was the closest thing Christopher had to a friend. At the very least, Christopher knew he could trust him. Hamlin stood next to him while the others were scattered about the area in what Christopher assumed were strategic locations. They were looking sharp of course, because their boss was in attendance. The chief of police stood only a few feet away from Christopher. It would be crazy for anybody to try and get to him here. That made him relax a little.

That is when he began to smell it.

Like smelling salts, the harsh stench woke him up and made him look around for the source. It was horrible, and for a moment Christopher thought maybe a body was exposed and rotting nearby. This was a cemetery, after all, and that was the only explanation for the stench. It fell over him like a wave. He grew slightly dizzy, and for a moment he thought he might fall over.