Dark Seduction (18 page)

“Call what?” Leo frowned.

“It was a bet that got me into this mess, so ...” he shrugged.

Leo shook his head. “This is no time to gamble.”

“There's never a better time. Call.”

Leo rolled his eyes heavenward, and said, “Tails.”

Zen removed his foot, looked at the coin and shrugged. “Heads. Sorry, this is as far as I go.” He turned and started walking away.

Leo grabbed Zen’s shoulder and pulled him back. Pain flared up Zen's arm. “You can't just run away. They’ll find you wherever you go. There's no escape.”

“I'll take my chance, now just let go of me.” He shrugged Leo off, gritting his teeth against the pain. “If you want to be a hero, be my guest. You can have all the glory you want. Far as I'm concerned, this place and everyone in it can burn.”

“Do you really think it's going to be that easy?”

“I'm willing to risk it.” He walked away without looking back.

After navigating a few twisting alleys, he eventually glanced over his shoulder. Leo hadn't followed him. Despite being what he wanted, the Shadowland now looked even scarier. Leo's companionship provided security, and he wondered whether he had made the right decision.

Sounds drew his attention. A shout, a scream, a rumble like dislodged bricks, and Zen shivered.

Although able to follow the trail of destruction on the way in, it wasn't there any longer, the streets devoid of the aftermath of bloody skirmishes. He wondered whether he had taken a wrong turn somewhere, or whether some of the inhabitants removed the bodies to feast on them. Shaking off the morbid thought, he continued on, following a twisting path until he came to a dead end, a brick wall daubed with two luminous red, spray-painted words:
world’s end
.

Déjà vu. He had been here before, when the police – or whatever they were –chased him and Chastity. He clenched his fists, eyes narrowed to pierce the gloom.

“Damn it,” he muttered, shaking his head and chastising himself with the whip of his dreadlocks. Leo was right. He couldn't just run away, because if he did, his conscience would haunt him. But how to find his way back when lost?

A noise whistled along the alley. It sounded like someone shuffling along (or someone dragging a body, a little voice in his head said). A small creature sitting on the window ledge of the building to his left cackled, startling him. It looked a bit like a small reptile, but with a beak and wings. His heart beat fast and he gripped the knife with his left hand and withdrew it, finding it awkward to wield.

The shuffling sounded closer.

He looked along the alley, thought he saw movement. A figure that slipped between the shadows, sticking to them like treacle.

“Who's there?” Zen said, but the words didn't come out as loud or as strong as he would have liked, so he cleared his throat and tried again. “Who's there?”

Apart from the small creature, which cackled again, no one answered.

The shuffling sound inched closer, Zen's ears attuned to the resonance as though nothing else existed in the world.

Closer ...

Closer ...

His injured hand throbbed like a barometer reacting to the eerie atmosphere.

The baroque buildings on either side crowded closer, their roofs almost touching. A muddy light emanated from the high windows of the building on his left, illuminating the gables and the grotesque audience of stone sculptures on the building opposite.

The sculptures moved and then took flight. He couldn't believe they were real.

The Shadowland reminded him of something Goya might have painted, giving flesh to the secret fears of the mind. The artist might have even visited here for all he knew.

The reptile creature clicked its beak together. Zen wished he wasn't alone; that he hadn't left Leo.

Unsure what to do, and with no chance of retreat, he crept back the way he’d come, his eyes alert. 

He saw movement ahead, and the sound followed, a shuffling timbre, wet and insidious. Again, he thought about someone dragging a body along the alley, leaving a bloody slug trail in its wake.

He tried to hug the shadows as best he could, but he wasn't as adept at it. He confused the real with the imagined, sure that someone or something was going to jump out at him, that the shadows into which he slipped, were already occupied by something heinous.

The winged reptile cackled, as though laughing at his timidity as he avoided a particularly ominous doorway.

Something coughed, or growled. He couldn't distinguish between the two. The sound originated behind him.

Before he turned around, something grabbed his shoulder and squeezed.

CHAPTER 27

Zen squealed, the sound a combination of shock, fear and pain. He spun around, trying to dislodge the hand from his arm. His eyes took in the grotesque figure and the squeal became a scream. 

The pale green creature grinned, its mouth lined with sharp teeth stained with blood and remnants of flesh. Its head looked reptilian, a bit like a gecko, its eyes catlike. The small winged reptile alighted on its shoulder like a well-trained pet.

The hand that had gripped Zen’s shoulder looked more like a claw, the thick talons piercing his flesh.

The shuffling, dragging noise turned out to be the creature's long, lizard-like tail that whipped from side-to-side like a happy dog.

The creature made a guttural sound and lowered its mouth towards Zen's neck. Before it could bite, Zen raised the knife and sliced the back of the creature's hand. The creature roared and released him, its fetid breath emitted on a long, pink tongue from its cavernous mouth. Zen didn't wait for an invitation, he ran, his legs pneumatic pistons. His injuries were on fire. White spots danced before his eyes.

Zen risked a backward glance; couldn't see it. Where’d the damn thing go?

He scanned the alley and the walls, eyes wide, features set in a horrified mask.

His footfalls sounded ominously loud, giving his position away, but he couldn't stop running, because if he did, he was a dead man. His useless hand flopped at his side, fingers like flaccid penises no longer able to rise to the occasion. He felt sick.

The shadows didn’t offer sanctuary, they were just camouflage for the monsters. He felt sure more than one of them pursued him, could hear them scuttling over the walls, leaping across rooftops, skulking along the alley, a whole damn pack of lizard creatures.

How the
hell
had he ended up in this mess?

He noticed a building on his left, the front door ajar, beckoning as it swung back and forth. The building leaned across the road. The black glass of an open dormer window cast a morbid reflection of a pale face from somewhere in the room, like something swimming in a deep, dark ocean. With no other option, Zen accepted the invitation and ran for the door, slamming it shut in his wake. He looked for a bolt or a lock, but couldn’t see one. He leaned against the smooth door, holding it shut with his body. He rested his one good hand on his knee, fighting to draw breath. The knife grinned up at him, mocking. He felt drained.

Sweating profusely, the damp patches under his armpits felt uncomfortable; he wondered whether the creatures could smell his fear.

He looked around what appeared to be a small, round hallway. The walls were a dreary grey, splintered with cracks, the varicose veins of the house. A winding staircase ascended into the ceiling like a strand of evil DNA. Knowing he couldn’t hold the door shut, and unable to spot any doors leading off the hallway, he had no choice but to go up, one careful step at a time, his breath held, ears pricked as he ascended the evil evolutionary ladder.

The steps of the metal staircase creaked and squealed as though disturbed from slumber. The balustrade felt cold and slimy to the touch, which made him cringe, but he held on to keep himself from falling, slipping the knife into the waistband of his trousers.

For a moment, he thought he heard a shuffling noise outside, a tail that whipped across the walls or ground, followed by the leathery beat of wings. The sound made him panic, forced him to move faster.

At the top of the stairs, he stepped onto a landing that allowed him to look back down at the hallway, where he spotted movement, a subtle realignment of nuances, and a darker patch that slipped across the ground. It froze his blood, forced him to back away, seeking shelter.

He looked around and saw three doors.

One door was black, one white, the other red.

Eenie, meenie, minie mo ...

He picked the red door, turned the handle and stepped through.

It was the wrong choice.

CHAPTER 28

Zen stared at Melantha, her green eyes unreadable. She appeared to be unarmed; Zen withdrew the knife. It hardly seemed fair.

If I ever see you again, I will kill you.
 

Zen gulped.

He tried to recall all the bad things that had happened to him in his life, using them to fuel his anger. Being attacked on the bus by a group of drunken louts because his face didn't fit; taunted and bullied at school because his parents were different (how ironic to now find they weren't even his parents), but none of it was enough to make him kill someone; especially not family.

He looked at Melantha with tears in his eyes and lowered the knife.

His legs felt weak, tubes of flesh devoid of bones.

He rubbed his eyes with his sleeve and sniffled. He didn't want to cry because that was a sign of weakness, but he couldn't help it. He hadn't cried in years, his heart having grown as hard as diamond, and just as precious to a man who didn't give it lightly. Now it had broken, smashed into a thousand pieces.

He snorted out a trail of snot and wiped his nose on his sleeve, leaving a silver trail. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

Melantha smiled compassionately. He saw her glimpse at the knife. “I understand. A bond binds us. Even though you've not been brought up a true Roma, I can tell you've had a hard life, but now, together, we can overcome.” She walked across and hugged him, taking care to avoid his injuries.

Zen wanted to believe her. Wanted to believe everything would turn out okay, but a niggling doubt kept chewing away at him.

 Even though he didn't know Melantha very well, he had already witnessed her mood swings, one minute wanting to kill him, the next to embrace him like the long lost son.

That made her dangerous, and even though it might appear he had already let her seduce him with talk of family loyalty, he wasn't going to let his guard down any further. He had to be wary. Hers was a crocodile smile.

If he could believe what he’d heard (and he had no reason not to), Melantha had killed before. He looked at her scarred face. She reminded him of a gruesome Maori warrior. He still couldn't understand how people saw something beautiful when he only saw ugly scars, but he didn't doubt for a second that she possessed a strange power. He envied those who were bewitched; they didn't have to look at the monster. They didn't see the knitted flesh, the sigils, signs and runic scarification.