Ink and Shadows (6 page)

Choking on the mouthful of vomit on his tongue, Kismet spat, gasping for air. He hurt. Deep inside of his skull, a hurt burned away his thoughts until he wanted to claw his eyes out, anything to make the pain stop. Another sharp stab of agony lit up the back of his head, and Kismet cried out, twisting as he grabbed at his hair.

Fighting to stay above the pain, Kismet forced himself to swallow again, the bile in his stomach rising to fight the influx of vodka. Willing the creature away, he felt something shift inside his brain, a breach of fluids popping suddenly behind his eyes. Fiery agony ran loose in his nerves, hitting the soft spots of his temples and curdling his testicles up into the hollow between his thighs. Crying, he struggled to be free of the creature, flailing wildly. The bottle tilted over, its meager contents splashing out and running into puddles over the moisture-resistant comforter.

He followed the bottle with a tight-boned tumble onto the floor.

The smell of the carpet hit Kismet’s face, a stale sourness reeking of puke and piss. A hiccup brought up a mouthful of his own belly’s fluids, the rough scratch of the rug pile harsh against his skin. Slithering over the edge of the bed, the creature’s mouth reached for the front of Kismet’s face, its lower jaw unhinging to bite at his skull. Kismet barely heard the echo of the man’s voice again, a barking order stopping the large wraith.

The air folded up around the creature, spines of wind snapping through its body and shoving it back into the curtain of shadows. It left nothing behind except the stink of its oily scent.

A final burst of white washed his vision clear, and Kismet felt his body surrender. Welcoming the numbness seeping into his bones, he let go, allowing a heavy slumber to settle over him. If the creature came back, he thought before the hard blackness tugged him under, it could have him.

T
HE
ELEVATOR
air shifted cold as the Veil thickened around them, a perceptible chill in their bones. Ari no longer felt the slicing cold, but Mal still shivered at its touch. Glancing at Pestilence, Ari kept his grin tight and began humming, a short ditty about a girl from Brazil, as the lift slid down into the garage.

“That’s annoying,” Mal commented, stepping from the elevator when the doors opened into the garage.

“Yep.” Ari jingled his keys. “That’s what makes it so fun.”

Mal wasn’t sure who paid for the private garage level or, for that matter, the two-storied penthouse they lived in, four quarters divided around a large living space and kitchen area. The enormous dining room meant to host dinner parties instead was a training room for the Horsemen, its walls Pitted and scored from mock battles. When asked about finances and the like, Death shrugged and told him it was taken care of.

Mal hated secrets, and Death had many.

The garage’s low lights glowed a sickly tangerine. The level’s retaining walls came up nearly to Ari’s chest, thick expanses of grooved slats, nearly blocking the skyline vista. Shadows pooled thickly on the ground and lapped at the occasional column, dust blurring the white painted lines on the ground. As they walked, the Horsemen’s shoes made hollow sounds, echoing against the emptiness of the private level.

Ari’s sleek red Mustang chirruped in response to his thumbing the alarm. He missed his old
one, a broad Grande Coupe from the ’60s, but it met a tragic death. He’d fallen in love with the reissued
Pony, grinning like a young boy with a new plaything when he brought it home. Death properly admired it.
Min showed her disgust at being dragged down to the garage to look at a chunk of steel. He’d not asked
Mal his opinion, and he’d tried to pretend it didn’t matter, but Mal beamed when Ari took him for a drive
down to Ocean Beach, the car screaming around the tight curves of Point Loma in the middle of the night.

“I could drive,” Mal offered, longingly glancing at his reliable SUV, a squat monster of hammered steel and much safer on the road than Ari’s car. Min’s motorcycle leaned on its stands next to Death’s ashen Aston Martin, a fine layer of dust coating the Vanquish’s gleaming waxed metal skin. Ari snorted at Mal’s suggestion, hooking his hand into the Mustang’s door handle.

“You could walk.” Ari cast a glance over his shoulder, jerking his head toward the passenger side of the car.

“I think you’re scared of my driving. Big bad Ari is frightened of my SUV.” Mal stepped toward the Mustang.

And slipped on a puddle of shadow.

Arms flailing, Mal fought to regain his footing as a hand rose from the inky black. The hand’s claws stretched upward and tore into the cement as the creature pulled itself up. Elongated arms, spindly and thin, snapped forward, digging long hands into Mal’s leg. A head appeared, red eyes nictitating in a featureless oval. Its skull stretched out into a point, a jutting jaw bristling with brilliant white teeth.

The creature’s squat round body swallowed the light, shaking itself free from the ground and opening its maw to snarl at War. Pulling free, its legs shook out, three truncated limbs ending in nearly flipper-like appendages, wide to balance its heavy body. Keeping a firm grip on its captured prey, the Veiled creature licked its lipless mouth, a dusky serpentine tongue dripping saliva on Mal’s sneaker.

Mal twisted, his leg burning where the creature’s nails dug into his skin. Shouting for Ari, Mal clawed at the creature’s hand, working his fingers under its talons to break loose its grip. It tightened its hold, bending Mal’s fingers back until they strained under the effort of fighting the creature’s strength. He kicked out with his free foot, slamming the wraith across the forehead. A tilt of its jaw giving under the blow gave him little comfort when its head slid back down, mouth widening over his stomach. A popping noise drove panic though Mal as the creature’s distended jaw opened wide, easily leaving more than enough space to fit his rib cage into its mouth.

“Shit,” Mal hissed, eyes widening, shock creeping into his limbs. Nearly numb from the pain in his leg, he caught a blur of movement to the side of the creature. Relief flooded through him when he saw War easing around the Mustang.

The wraith’s right eye jerked to the side, catching sight of Ari, a single crimson orb bright in its deep sockets. The creature growled deep in its chest, warning the immortal off its prey as War circled, wary of the snapping mouth, sharp teeth glistening in the muddy light. Sliding a long knife from its sheath at his back, Ari drew near, testing the creature’s reflexes.

Threatened by the more powerful predator, the creature reacted in a panic. It struck, flinging Mal at the crouching War. The immortal flew wide, his body loose from the shock of leaving the creature’s grip, and he windmilled, trying to right himself. War lunged, trying to get a hold on him as the youngest Horseman flew by, his fingers a few seconds too late.

Mal hit one of the parking garage’s cement columns, slamming hard into its solid mass. The world tilted sideways, and a shower of fine grit covered him as he slid down onto the garage floor, ending up facedown in a puddle of oil-slicked water. His lungs ached to recover his wind, desperate to get rid of the pressed-in feeling in his chest. Coughing, he tried to shake off the ringing in his ears, a high-pitched whining that seemed to fade in and out with each breath he took.

Swearing, Ari feinted to the right when the wraith surged forward. With a snap of its jaw, the creature’s teeth nearly snagged War’s arm. The wraith caught the back of Ari’s hand, blood flying in spiraled curls from the cuts. Ari winced and shifted, trying to keep one eye on the creature and another to check on Mal.

“You okay, Pest?” He stabbed at the creature when it lunged, slicing into its cheek. An unearthly howl ripped from the creature’s throat, the cold metal burning light down into its face.

Gasping still, Mal choked on his breath, lungs filling with paint flakes and head pounding from striking the column. Clearing his throat, he struggled to stand, hands shaking as he pushed off the floor. Nodding, Mal spat the blood from his mouth, slightly amazed that he retained consciousness.

The rippling pain far surpassed anything Death gave him during his rare sparring bouts.

Incredible aches formed under his throbbing flesh. The others always warned him to be careful. Being immortal didn’t mean they didn’t feel every bruise and shattered bone until it healed. Mal now understood what Min meant when she said sometimes it would be better if they died just long enough for their bodies to heal.

Cramped with the agony of his twisted body, sharp breaks in his bones knitting under torn skin, Mal wanted to pass out rather than suffer through the prolonged torture of healing, something not open to him at the moment. Ari would never let him live down passing out during a fight. Mal shook off the pinpricks of dizziness, hoping he wouldn’t throw up if he stood.

“I’m fine. I think I broke a few things, though.” Another cough produced a splatter of red-and-white foam, and his vision swam, refocusing on the small cracks on the garage floor. His hands ached from holding up his weight, and the shadows around him pulsed, pulling away from the Horsemen. “What the hell is going on? And what the hell is that? Is that a wraith?”

“Yeah, let’s talk about that a bit later. I’m kind of busy right now, kid.” Ari struck, feeling for the creature’s reach. It dodged to one side, keeping its head low, tilting sideways to avoid the knife. Watching its reactions carefully, Ari moved in again, slicing upward and meeting empty air.

Bouncing away, the wraith moved in, trying to strike under the man’s arm with its gnashing teeth.

Twisting, he drove his dagger down at the wraith’s skull, finding a sweet spot between the creature’s
pupil-devoid eyes. The blade sank down a few inches, stopping short with a shuddering clang when it hit
the creature’s frontal bone. Its crimson eyes flared with pain when the steel bit down into the darkness of
its ether-formed skeletal frame.

Reeling, it struggled to get away from War, claws hitting out in an attempt to injure him. The knife wound gushed, shadowy skin split apart, seeping a viscous oily liquid. Its vision blinded from the ichor pouring from its wound, the wraith thrashed wildly, talons scraping deep into the Vanquish’s front quarter panel. Scorched paint, hot from the creature’s hands, smoked and peeled off the metal below, the panel neatly folding back from the wraith’s talons.

“Shit. Not the car. Come on, not the car,” he pleaded. Rage took over when the wraith continued
to drive its claws into the fender. Ari stepped in tight against the creature, plunging the dagger into its
neck. He drove the blade upward past the swooping curve of its skull, hoping to find a soft spot to reach
its miniscule brain. “Fuck, he’s going to kill me.”

Long strings of pitch mucus spooled out from the cuts, the dagger’s runnel filling and emptying with each thrust. The splashing liquid burned, bubbling Ari’s skin where it struck his flesh. Shaking off the sting of the creature’s poisonous blood, Ari straddled its body, waiting for its final throes.

Keening, the creature gripped at the smoke-stained car, digging enormous grooves into the metal. It reached for Ari, eyes dulling as its essence leaked out onto the garage floor. Sticking its bony elbows outward, it dimpled the car door as it rose to its feet. Panting, straining to maintain its form, it lurched, its body jerking forward before toppling, a stretch of shadow slowly turning stagnant. The creature’s remains oozed outward, leeched dry and flat.

Standing over the thinning puddle, Ari nudged at the length of shadow with his boot tip.

Encountering nothing more dangerous than the cast-off shape of Death’s damaged car, Ari let out a hiss of hot relief. He flicked the dagger with a quick twist of his wrist, then placed the clean blade back into its sheath.

He spent a moment staring intently at the ruined Aston Martin, wishing he could kick at something, preferably the black nothingness at his feet. Resigned to the damage, he headed back over to Mal.

Mal staggered to his feet, head reeling from the attack. His temple throbbed, and his left leg threatened to give out under him when he put his weight on it. Wincing, Mal touched his forehead, feeling a stickiness under his questing fingers. Drawing his hand down, he stared in amazement at the blood filling his palm.

“I’m bleeding.” Mal held his hand up for Ari to see.

“Yeah, I can see that. Won’t be the last time either.” Ari held up his own hands for Mal to see the healing blisters. “Suck it up, pussy.”

Gripping Mal’s face, he checked the younger immortal’s eyes, peering into the other man’s pupils.

Satisfied the boy retained most of his senses, Ari suddenly released him and walked toward Death’s ruined car. The shattered bits of cement column crunched beneath Ari’s boots as he circled around the crumpled Vanquish.

“Do you see what that thing did to this car?” Running his hands through his hair, Ari gripped the back of his skull, knitting his fingers together in frustration, and moaned low in his throat. “Death’s going to be pissed.”

“He can’t blame you for this.” Mal limped over.

Tugging at his jeans, he studied the holes made by the creature’s talons. “This wasn’t your fault. He won’t blame you.”

“That’s what you think.” War snorted derisively. “He still hasn’t forgiven me for shooting his horse with a crossbow once.”

Swallowing around the lump forming on his tongue where he bit into it, Mal gaped. “You shot his horse?”

“Killed it. An accident, but try telling him that, though.” War dismissed the incident with a casual wave of his hand. “Trust me, he’s hard to piss off, but once you get him there, he takes forever to forgive.
Especially if you kill his horse. I don’t even want to think about how pissed off he’s going to be about a
car. He loves this car. The horse was going to die anyway. I mean, it was a horse. But a car, that should
last longer.”