Preview: The Necromancer's Gambit, Part 6
And now, part 6 of the preview for The Necromancer's Gambit, due September 23rd. The Necromancer's Gambit follows the travails of a cell of mages operating in Portland.
Previously:
The Necromancer's Gambit, part 1
The Necromancer's Gambit, part 2
The Necromancer's Gambit, part 3
The Necromancer's Gambit, part 4
The Necromancer's Gambit, part 5
The Necromancer's Gambit, Part 6, The Interrogation
The safehouse is on the other side of town. We stop at Voodoo Doughnut because they have the least bad coffee around at this time of night. Rook orders a voodoo doll and a diablos rex; “You’re practically a stereotype,” I tell her. She refuses to try a bacon maple bar.
On the way back out to the car she says, “I couldn’t help but notice you left a fairly sizeable tip in the jar- well north of fifteen percent. There an actual Vodun Botono in there?”
“I have no idea. Once I complained when their coffee gave me heartburn, and for a week I had blood in my stool,” she looks down at her already headless voodoo doll donut with concern. “But I’m a regular, and you don’t screw with the people who make your food.” She shrugs, and bites off another of his limbs.
The safehouse is within walking distance of Voodoo, and I can’t help but think that isn’t coincidence, but we drive, anyway. Pawn’s smoking in the alley, and I hand him a box from Voodoo, the phallic cock-n-balls with “eat me” written down the shaft in red frosting. “Again?” he asks.
“If you didn’t slurp the whole thing down every time I brought you one-”
“Prick.”
“And the nuts. I’m told it’s important you don’t neglect those.” He grinds his cigarette out on the brick and lets it fall. I catch it in my hand and bring it inside, throw it in a trash basket. It’s sloppy- leaving around something personal like that- but that’s Pawn. I can’t honestly tell if he’s just come to expect me to clean up his messes, or completely doesn’t give a fuck.
His vampire CI’s in the next room, visible through a one-way mirror. Rook’s staring at the glass, trying to figure it out; there’s a slight flicker that gives away that it’s not just half-silvered. Then she spots a small red mark in the corner. “That sigil blocks light going in but not out,” I tell her. “It sidesteps the second law of thermodynamics by mimicking an optical isolator, somehow imitating a Faraday rotator. I have almost no idea what that means, but Bishop was adamant it involves physics.”
Pawn ignores the science talk, and starts speaking through the cock-n-balls in his mouth, “Gothy little fruit goes by Maleficitus. Real name’s Cedric. Kids an illegal and a vampire- and a simperer, for what that’s worth. He’s just a winner on all kinds of fronts.”
“Why’s he bleeding?” I ask.
“He tripped, and landed on my fist.” He laughs, and genuinely doesn’t seem to understand why nobody laughs with him.
I open up the door into the interrogation room. “You’ve really got to be more careful,” I said, and close the door on him before he can follow me in. “You okay?” I ask the kid.
“What the fuck, man? I’ve always been straight up with the gambit.”
“I know.” I pick up a box of tissues on the table, which he seems to be stubbornly refusing, and offer them to him. “And we appreciate that, we really do. But Pawn’s a dick, and about the only way he knows to show his appreciation is to spit in your face.”
He takes one of the tissues and dabs at his bleeding nose.
“You have any idea how hard it is to get vampire blood to coagulate?”
“I know you’re not the first vamp to bleed all over this carpet; we may still have some coagulant factors.” A few seconds pass and Pawn opens the door long enough to hand me a bag and an IV; he waits there a second, hoping his fetching it means I’ll let him into the room- but I don’t. I jab the needle in Cedric’s arm, hand him the bag, and position his arm so the bag stays above the needle.
“Thanks.”
“Yeah. I’m sorry, about all of this. It’s inconvenient, even if it weren’t for Pawn. But I have contacts in the police. If I were to handle it the way they’d like, you’d be sitting in their interrogation room. And they wouldn’t make the kind of accommodations it’d take to keep you alive. Not to mention that if you tried to tell them you were a vampire, they’d figure you for a lunatic and pin the murder to you and never bother looking anyplace else.”
“I didn’t do shit, man.” But I get the feeling he doesn’t quite believe that; he’s hunkered down, only occasionally looking up at me, like a dog who hopes his master isn’t pissed anymore.
But I’ve got no reason to beat on him. “I’m not accusing. Or threatening, for that matter. I just want you to know your place in the world at the moment: it’s precarious. You were the first person on my scene. Did you see anyone suspicious? Smell anything?”
He sniffles through blood still coming out his nose. “Won’t be smelling shit for a while.”
I’m getting tired of the petulant act. “Don’t pretend you couldn’t tell me everything about everyone in the room, down to their blood types.”
“Blood’s about the only thing I do pay attention to.” He’s preening- and yeah, now I do want to beat on him a little- but Pawn’s already a lock for bad cop. But ‘bad’ is relative.
“I’m not some college girl you’re trying to bang- I know you’re a predator. And you know your prey. You have to. Especially in a place like the Cauldron. It’s the only way you can keep from trying to feed off a mage or a hunter, or maybe something worse.”
“Mages stink to high fucking heaven of the craft. It’s in your blood, on your clothes, fingertips. I ain’t ever been close enough to know if you shit magic, too. But hunters, yeah- never know when the rabbits have claws unless you’re careful.” Something flashes in his eyes, and I know- and suddenly all his bravado makes sense.
“You don’t know the room, do you? Because you weren’t there- not initially. So who the fuck pointed you towards the body?
He is a predator, and knows he’s cornered, so it’s die trying to kill me, or, “Patrice.” He says the name softly, protectively.
I change my tone, trying to reassure him. “And who’s she?”
“Girlfriend.” He clams up anyway. The body’s likely a dead end, and whatever is going on with this vamp is probably my only lead- and no amount of magic can heat back up a cold trail.
“You kept her out of your narrative. Why? Or maybe you’d like to tell me why you haven’t asked for an advocate from the VC. You know that’s your right, by treaty, right?” He doesn’t deny it fast enough, and he knows I have him by the short hairs. “I got all day. And Pawn’s got all night. Given the amount of blood you’ve lost already, I’d be surprised if you’ll last that long.”
His eyes flash red at me, but before he can do something stupid he recognizes it’s the situation that’s gone wrong on him. Being stupid only makes it worse. “I turned her.” He flicks his tongue over his eye teeth, and I notice his fangs are drawn- he was that close to jumping me. But it’s out there, now. His secret. Even if he could delude himself into thinking he could kill me straight up- fighting his way out, through Pawn, and I’d be surprised if he hadn’t smelled Rook, too.
I try not to betray too much. By treaty, the vampire colonies police their own. Anything that might endanger the colony- like turning a human without sanction, or killing during feeding- is forbidden. Which means if they find little Cedric and his lady out, they either murder the both of them, or spend the next decade torturing him to make sure the lesson sticks. Maybe both, if he finds the colony in a lousy mood.
But that’s if they find out. “We’ll need to talk to her.” There’s a moment, where he calculates attacking me, and how many milliseconds it would take to tear out my throat, and I pull the meanest spell I can remember into my forethoughts, but his muscles relax. “I don’t report to the colony authority, and what consenting adults do is their business. But I need to know what I can about this murder. So I’m asking that you bring her in, so I can talk to her.”
“Not that little pit bull of yours?” He’s earnest; it’s at least a part of why he lied to us- he knew Pawn would get his licks in, and he was trying to shelter her.
“He doesn’t even need to be in the room.”
“So am I free to go?”
“Keep her nose clean. You know what they’ll do to the both of you if she gets found out. Other than that, yeah. I’ll see if we have a brick of halvah, and I can get you another bag of coagulant factor, unless you want me to try to cauterize it.”
“You’re as likely to burn a hole in my face.”
“Fair enough.”
Check back next week for another excerpt or join my mailing list to be notified when The Necromancer's Gambit is available for purchase.
Previously:
The Necromancer's Gambit, part 1
The Necromancer's Gambit, part 2
The Necromancer's Gambit, part 3
The Necromancer's Gambit, part 4
The Necromancer's Gambit, part 5
The Necromancer's Gambit, Part 6, The Interrogation
The safehouse is on the other side of town. We stop at Voodoo Doughnut because they have the least bad coffee around at this time of night. Rook orders a voodoo doll and a diablos rex; “You’re practically a stereotype,” I tell her. She refuses to try a bacon maple bar.
On the way back out to the car she says, “I couldn’t help but notice you left a fairly sizeable tip in the jar- well north of fifteen percent. There an actual Vodun Botono in there?”
“I have no idea. Once I complained when their coffee gave me heartburn, and for a week I had blood in my stool,” she looks down at her already headless voodoo doll donut with concern. “But I’m a regular, and you don’t screw with the people who make your food.” She shrugs, and bites off another of his limbs.
The safehouse is within walking distance of Voodoo, and I can’t help but think that isn’t coincidence, but we drive, anyway. Pawn’s smoking in the alley, and I hand him a box from Voodoo, the phallic cock-n-balls with “eat me” written down the shaft in red frosting. “Again?” he asks.
“If you didn’t slurp the whole thing down every time I brought you one-”
“Prick.”
“And the nuts. I’m told it’s important you don’t neglect those.” He grinds his cigarette out on the brick and lets it fall. I catch it in my hand and bring it inside, throw it in a trash basket. It’s sloppy- leaving around something personal like that- but that’s Pawn. I can’t honestly tell if he’s just come to expect me to clean up his messes, or completely doesn’t give a fuck.
His vampire CI’s in the next room, visible through a one-way mirror. Rook’s staring at the glass, trying to figure it out; there’s a slight flicker that gives away that it’s not just half-silvered. Then she spots a small red mark in the corner. “That sigil blocks light going in but not out,” I tell her. “It sidesteps the second law of thermodynamics by mimicking an optical isolator, somehow imitating a Faraday rotator. I have almost no idea what that means, but Bishop was adamant it involves physics.”
Pawn ignores the science talk, and starts speaking through the cock-n-balls in his mouth, “Gothy little fruit goes by Maleficitus. Real name’s Cedric. Kids an illegal and a vampire- and a simperer, for what that’s worth. He’s just a winner on all kinds of fronts.”
“Why’s he bleeding?” I ask.
“He tripped, and landed on my fist.” He laughs, and genuinely doesn’t seem to understand why nobody laughs with him.
I open up the door into the interrogation room. “You’ve really got to be more careful,” I said, and close the door on him before he can follow me in. “You okay?” I ask the kid.
“What the fuck, man? I’ve always been straight up with the gambit.”
“I know.” I pick up a box of tissues on the table, which he seems to be stubbornly refusing, and offer them to him. “And we appreciate that, we really do. But Pawn’s a dick, and about the only way he knows to show his appreciation is to spit in your face.”
He takes one of the tissues and dabs at his bleeding nose.
“You have any idea how hard it is to get vampire blood to coagulate?”
“I know you’re not the first vamp to bleed all over this carpet; we may still have some coagulant factors.” A few seconds pass and Pawn opens the door long enough to hand me a bag and an IV; he waits there a second, hoping his fetching it means I’ll let him into the room- but I don’t. I jab the needle in Cedric’s arm, hand him the bag, and position his arm so the bag stays above the needle.
“Thanks.”
“Yeah. I’m sorry, about all of this. It’s inconvenient, even if it weren’t for Pawn. But I have contacts in the police. If I were to handle it the way they’d like, you’d be sitting in their interrogation room. And they wouldn’t make the kind of accommodations it’d take to keep you alive. Not to mention that if you tried to tell them you were a vampire, they’d figure you for a lunatic and pin the murder to you and never bother looking anyplace else.”
“I didn’t do shit, man.” But I get the feeling he doesn’t quite believe that; he’s hunkered down, only occasionally looking up at me, like a dog who hopes his master isn’t pissed anymore.
But I’ve got no reason to beat on him. “I’m not accusing. Or threatening, for that matter. I just want you to know your place in the world at the moment: it’s precarious. You were the first person on my scene. Did you see anyone suspicious? Smell anything?”
He sniffles through blood still coming out his nose. “Won’t be smelling shit for a while.”
I’m getting tired of the petulant act. “Don’t pretend you couldn’t tell me everything about everyone in the room, down to their blood types.”
“Blood’s about the only thing I do pay attention to.” He’s preening- and yeah, now I do want to beat on him a little- but Pawn’s already a lock for bad cop. But ‘bad’ is relative.
“I’m not some college girl you’re trying to bang- I know you’re a predator. And you know your prey. You have to. Especially in a place like the Cauldron. It’s the only way you can keep from trying to feed off a mage or a hunter, or maybe something worse.”
“Mages stink to high fucking heaven of the craft. It’s in your blood, on your clothes, fingertips. I ain’t ever been close enough to know if you shit magic, too. But hunters, yeah- never know when the rabbits have claws unless you’re careful.” Something flashes in his eyes, and I know- and suddenly all his bravado makes sense.
“You don’t know the room, do you? Because you weren’t there- not initially. So who the fuck pointed you towards the body?
He is a predator, and knows he’s cornered, so it’s die trying to kill me, or, “Patrice.” He says the name softly, protectively.
I change my tone, trying to reassure him. “And who’s she?”
“Girlfriend.” He clams up anyway. The body’s likely a dead end, and whatever is going on with this vamp is probably my only lead- and no amount of magic can heat back up a cold trail.
“You kept her out of your narrative. Why? Or maybe you’d like to tell me why you haven’t asked for an advocate from the VC. You know that’s your right, by treaty, right?” He doesn’t deny it fast enough, and he knows I have him by the short hairs. “I got all day. And Pawn’s got all night. Given the amount of blood you’ve lost already, I’d be surprised if you’ll last that long.”
His eyes flash red at me, but before he can do something stupid he recognizes it’s the situation that’s gone wrong on him. Being stupid only makes it worse. “I turned her.” He flicks his tongue over his eye teeth, and I notice his fangs are drawn- he was that close to jumping me. But it’s out there, now. His secret. Even if he could delude himself into thinking he could kill me straight up- fighting his way out, through Pawn, and I’d be surprised if he hadn’t smelled Rook, too.
I try not to betray too much. By treaty, the vampire colonies police their own. Anything that might endanger the colony- like turning a human without sanction, or killing during feeding- is forbidden. Which means if they find little Cedric and his lady out, they either murder the both of them, or spend the next decade torturing him to make sure the lesson sticks. Maybe both, if he finds the colony in a lousy mood.
But that’s if they find out. “We’ll need to talk to her.” There’s a moment, where he calculates attacking me, and how many milliseconds it would take to tear out my throat, and I pull the meanest spell I can remember into my forethoughts, but his muscles relax. “I don’t report to the colony authority, and what consenting adults do is their business. But I need to know what I can about this murder. So I’m asking that you bring her in, so I can talk to her.”
“Not that little pit bull of yours?” He’s earnest; it’s at least a part of why he lied to us- he knew Pawn would get his licks in, and he was trying to shelter her.
“He doesn’t even need to be in the room.”
“So am I free to go?”
“Keep her nose clean. You know what they’ll do to the both of you if she gets found out. Other than that, yeah. I’ll see if we have a brick of halvah, and I can get you another bag of coagulant factor, unless you want me to try to cauterize it.”
“You’re as likely to burn a hole in my face.”
“Fair enough.”
Check back next week for another excerpt or join my mailing list to be notified when The Necromancer's Gambit is available for purchase.
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