Red Right Hand (25 page)

We passed a section of darkness so complete I could
feel
it press against my skin. A hand touched my shoulder.

“Daniel?”

“It's me. I just don't want to get separated.” His voice was hushed, dampened by the dark.

A chuckle looped around us.

I wanted to move faster, to hurry, to run, and that feeling wrestled with the pressing need to turn and dash up the stairs and back to the light. It was a prey instinct, an urge nestled in the base of my brain, the lizard part that sought safety and survival and self-preservation. It hitched my stomach with each step, but I kept going. I wasn't a slave to my fear. I'd worked too hard to not be, so one step after the other I kept going.

Gradually, so softly I thought my mind was playing tricks on my eyes, the stairway brightened. The light that spilled around the curve of the wall was orange and flickery, growing brighter like the dawn of a polluted sky. Soon my shadow stretched behind me, lying up the uneven, inhuman stairs like a deflated skin.

A low, rhythmic sound began to pulse up the stairs, growing louder with each step.

I stepped down one last step. The stairway ended and a cavern yawned open before us.

“Holy frickin' fish tank,” Daniel whispered.

The floor of the cavern spread before us, littered with stalagmites that jutted like rotten teeth and broken stalactites that had fallen from the ceiling above, shattering into boulders and gravel. From the stairs a pathway had been cleared, rubble pushed aside, smaller limestone spikes sheared off into stumps of sedimentary stone. It led to a man in a crimson robe and a white chef's hat behind an altar of limestone slabs. He held a knife, the sharp edge of the wavy blade glinting in the orange glow of a massive iron-and-glass tank that rose from floor to ceiling behind him.

A syrupy, orange-yellow liquid filled the tank. Bubbles drifted slowly from the bottom, packets of gas the size of me roiling and tumbling five stories to the top of the tank like a gigantic, obscene lava lamp.

A monster floated inside the liquid.

It curled around itself, thickly muscled arms wrapping knotted legs in the fetal position. A swollen, bulbous head lay tucked into its barnacled knees, and one indolent eye revealed itself between lids that parted in a crimson slash. Black wings pressed between its bulk and the glass of the tank, trapped and pinned in place, crumpled and crinkled against the decomposing-pine-tree green of its skin. Seaweed waved around the thing like tendrils of flesh pulling away in strips, and tiny tentacled shapes swirled around its form like schools of fish.

Slowly, as if the effort caused it great pain, the creature lifted its head. The crimson eye shut for a long moment then jerked wide, its slitted pupil dilating to glare at me.

I couldn't imagine something so enormous being alive, being real, but it was—it was horribly, terribly alive. Its mind pressed against mine, weighing against me like an ocean of alien thought, incomprehensible, dispassionate, and inhuman. I shivered as its presence slipped across the magick inside me, sliding, seeking a foothold. It made things low in my body tighten, tension building until my skin wanted to crawl off my bones. Finally the creature's mind bumped against the place it sought and my magick surged, connecting to the presence like a key slipping into a lock.

I couldn't tell which of us was the lock and which was the key.

“Come.” A voice singsonged across the cavern, drawing my attention but not breaking the connection between me and the giant creature. “Come closer.”

The Sushi Priest waved us over, the knife gleaming in his hand.

Daniel spoke. “This is probably a bad idea.”

The Man in Black's coat rustled in agreement.

I thirded the statement.

The Man in Black shrugged. “We do as we must.” Black-pit eyes glittered with excitement.

If the chaos god looked forward to this, it was a really, really bad idea.

 

48

T
HE
S
USHI
P
RIEST
made sushi.

Arrayed across the top slab of the altar were ceramic plates covered in rectangles of sticky rice, lidded dishes, and piles of squirming, wriggling things in high-sided clear bowls.

Intent on his task, he didn't look up as we approached. “Dishonorable Nyarlathotep-san, allow me a moment. The timing of this is crucial for plating.”

I looked over at the Man in Black. He nodded.

I guess we were waiting.

The Sushi Priest drew the knife in his hand through a slab of meat on a cutting board in front of him. The blade sliced smoothly through the flesh, parting the dark, slick skin on top to reveal the meat underneath. Color exploded from the cut, the light from the tank behind him causing an oil-sheen rainbow. None of the colors were the orange-yellow of the tank; instead they were a riot of purples, magentas, greens, and black
swirling around one another. I had eaten a lot of sushi, and I'd never seen fish that looked like that. Staring at it hurt my eyes.

The Sushi Priest kept working, cutting and slicing, not looking up as we watched. The robe he wore hung on his shoulders and pulled tight across his stomach, the fabric of it a stark red, trimmed in black embroidery. The designs running along the edges were alien, squiggles and angles and swirls. The Mark on my hand tingled as I looked at them. They blurred, making me blink away the strain of watching them morph and change. When I looked again I could read them.

Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh Wgah'nagl fhtan.

I couldn't understand them.

Blinking them out of my vision, I looked at the Sushi Priest's face. He'd finished slicing the meat and now placed a small cutlet on each tiny bed of rice. Reaching into the high-sided bowl, he snagged a wriggling thing with his fingers. My stomach lurched as he pulled it out of the squirming mass. It was one of the little kraken from the dining room. Suckered arms slapped at his hand as he swung it over the plate of sushi. Fingers tightening, he squeezed viciously, and the creature gave a thin hissing squeal. Black ink squirted from the nest of tentacles, and the Sushi Priest drizzled this over the plate with a wave of his hand. He tossed the deflated kraken over his shoulder into the gloom of a shadow. It landed with a wet plop as he spooned a lump of bright green wasabi onto the rim of the plate. Using chopsticks, he laid a pile of shredded ginger beside the spicy horseradish garnish.

Sorrow crashed into my mind. It rained down from above me, through the connection I still had with the creature in the tank. I looked up. It had shifted its head, the red eye now turned down, staring at the spot where the crushed kraken lay. The schools of black shapes around it swam, agitated, zipping back and forth. This close, the creature was too massive for words. The sadness radiating off it crushed me, pressing like stones on my shoulders. My eyes traveled up its form, and I saw that chunks of the creature were missing. Holes gaped in its slick green skin, the wounds a raw rainbow of colors.

As if someone had been cutting slabs off it.

The Sushi Priest looked up.

Our eyes met, and he smiled.

My chest tightened with bubbling anger and magick.

He looked away, pushing the plate forward on the altar. “I apologize for keeping you waiting. Please, help yourselves.”

“I don't think so.” My voice came through clenched teeth.

“Yeah, I'll pass,” Daniel said.

The Man in Black reached forward with his red right hand.

I looked at him. “Surely you're not.”

Skinless fingers closed on a piece of elder god sushi. He lifted it. Black ink had stained the rice gray under the meat. Like the teeth of the people in the dining room and the line outside.

“I have always wondered what another of my kind would taste like.” The Man in Black's lips parted, and he popped the entire piece into his mouth. He chewed with his eyes closed, savoring the morsel. Small sounds came from his throat, jerking their way out and spilling from his lips. They made my skin feel dirty. Finally, he swallowed.

The Sushi Priest looked up expectantly. “Your verdict, Nyarlathotep-san?”

“Earthy. His flesh is rich, if a touch gamey, with a nice flavoring of brine.” He gestured with a flourish. “My compliments. He is delicious.”

I shook my head. “I can't believe you just did that.”

“You should try new things, Acolyte.” He frowned at me, his voice grave. “Do you not know that life is about new experiences? When will this chance come to you again?”

“Never, I hope.”

“Not to interrupt,” Daniel said, moving closer to my side, “but don't we have something to do here?”

The Sushi Priest smiled at us. His teeth were a brilliant white. I'd expected them to be stained gray but they weren't. The sight of them gleaming disturbed me. “Ah, yes, the reason for your visit to my little eatery.” He gestured to the tank behind him. “Have you come to free your brother god? I am afraid I cannot allow it if you have.”

“We are not here to free him,” the Man in Black said.

The Sushi Priest made a face of mock surprise. “You don't intend to share this world with him? To rule the land and air while Great Cthulhu rules the sea? No, that cannot be your game. Whatever could you want, Nyarlathotep-san?”

“He must be destroyed. It is necessary.”

Slender fingers stroked the Sushi Priest's razor-thin mustache as he considered this. “Hmm.” He shook his head. “No. I simply can't allow it.”

“It is not your decision, priest.”

Daniel elbowed me, drawing my attention. He lifted his chin as he looked over my head. I turned.

Behind us stood a line of black-eyed waiters. With gills.

There were four of them cut from the same cloth, all wearing peg-legged black slacks, white button-front shirts tucked in with the sleeves rolled up, and skinny black ties. Shaggy bangs fell over wide foreheads on moon faces, their features soft, almost mushy. All their eyes were large, teardrop-shaped baby-seal eyes set far apart, as if their faces were melting from the middle out. Their gills flapped up then down in unison as they breathed with a wet snuffling sound.

My hand tightened on the knife. This was not good.

I turned so I could keep one eye on the fish-men waiters and one eye on the Man in Black and one eye on the Sushi Priest.

I had no more eyes to spare.

The Sushi Priest laughed. “You are in
my
place of power.”

The Man in Black shrugged. “Your power is nothing to me.”

“And
that,
arrogance of that nature, is what landed the mighty Cthulhu in my net.”

“He had slept for eons when you snared him.” The chaos god snarled. “You will find me fully awake.”

“You underestimate me at your peril, O Prince of Darkness.”

“Does a shoggoth underestimate a titmouse? Your reach exceeds your grasp, puny mortal. You have no power to harm me.”

“I have no intention of
harming
you, Nyarlathotep-san.” The Sushi Priest smiled. “But you
will
be a delicious addition to my menu.” His hand moved from behind the altar, holding out a medallion on an iron chain. Metal swirled in a cage around a glass sphere filled with liquid. Inside it floated an eyeball.

The eye bulged, an uneven, jaundiced globe trailing pink optic nerve from its backside like an obscene jellyfish. The pupil and iris shone with energy, lighting the sphere like a lantern with violet light. Slowly the eyeball turned to look at us, using the fluttering optic nerve like the fins on a beta fish, a rudder of dangling flesh.

The magick inside me throbbed.

“Surely you recognize this?” the Sushi Priest asked.

“I have seen the Eye of Omens before, priest. Now I know how you took the mighty Cthulhu.”

“With it in my grasp, I can hold two just as easily as I hold one.”

He pointed his hand at the Man in Black, vomited out a chunk of green magick, and the situation went to hell in the blink of an eye.

 

49

V
ERDANT MAGICK BLASTED
over the altar stone in front of the Sushi Priest, sizzling toward us. The air filled with the stink of burnt calamari as the tiny krakens piled in the bowls caught fire. The Man in Black lifted his red right hand, its raw fingers knotted together, and a shield of ruby-colored magick cupped around him. The green energy slammed into it, driving the Man in Black back a step, gobbets of magick spattering off to each side.

The force of the impact rushed across me like a runaway train careening through a station platform. I stumbled from the brunt of it, falling to one knee.

Daniel howled and dove to the ground as some of the excess green magick splashed across his legs. Rolling to a stop, he sat up, beating out tiny flickers of flame that speckled his jeans.

I moved to help him.

“I got it, I got it!” he yelled, pointing with his free hand. “Watch them!”

I spun and found the waiters walking toward me.

They chanted, their voices combined in a quartet of creepy lockstep like a Deadite version of a show choir. Every one of them now held a box-cutter with short, wicked razor blades extended.

I moved the Knife of Abraham in front of me, holding it tight. Mine was longer, but there were four of them. Not good odds. The words of Sensei Laura blasted into my mind.

If your opponent has a knife,
run
. If you fight someone with a knife you
are
going to get cut. Better to run than bleed.

Trapped between them and the sorcery battle, I had nowhere to run.

Daniel stepped next to me. He smelled burnt and limped as he moved. He hefted a chunk of stalactite and leaned toward me, pointing. “What are they doing?”

I looked, and the waiters were still closing in with short, shuffling steps. They had crossed their arms, laying the blades of the box-cutters against the insides of their elbows. Their chanting intensified, beating against my eardrums.