Tomorrow Wendell (White Dragon Black) (31 page)

Magic was rarer, and its victims, harder to spot, despite the horror of their doomed existence.

Jonathan did his best to explain the unavoidable, horrific outcome that working magic produced.

He spoke seriously about the level of addiction that magic use created and of the need that came from calling up the energy used to produce spells.

“So, every time you use, you are paying with your own body?”

“Yeah, it’s tiny—most of the time—but that’s the cost. I can keep those who can’t keep themselves safe, but at a price. I decided the price was worth it.”

“Because of what your dad told you?”

Jonathan glanced away. “In part, maybe, but I like to think it’s just who I am.”

“So what happens in the end—I mean if this is constantly changing you . . .?”

“If I’m lucky, the parts that are transformed, when there are enough of them, cause my body to start failing. Too much foreign matter and the system can’t function. It shuts down, breaks apart, and crashes. If I’m lucky, I get to die a slow and horrid death.”

“If you’re lucky!”

“The alternative is that the otherness takes over, finishes consuming me, and transforms me into a vessel for it. It animates itself in me and . . .” Jonathan repressed a shudder. “Trust me, the slow death is the preferable exit.”

“Is it really so addictive?”

”I’ll give you an example.” Jonathan shared with his client about a practitioner he had known who tried getting hooked on heroin to distract himself from the need to use magic. He explained how it hadn’t been enough and, in the end, the man had died of an overdose.

“He had reached the point where he used the heroin to dull the side effects of the magic, just so he could perform longer and better and get the high from that.”

Jonathan continued on the subject for a few more minutes and did his best to make sure Wendell understood that the proper use of herbs was safe and smart. However, to go beyond that, in even the smallest of measures, could be considered tantamount to signing your soul over to something worse than the Christian concept of a devil.

He seemed convinced.

Jonathan could only hope that, over time, his client would continue to remember and heed the warning.

Hardly the first time he’d had to make that speech, Jonathan had the main points down pat. His pseudo nephew, David, knew the speech by heart. Jonathan meant every word of it—every time he said it.

Mary, who had been so affected by the reading she had given Wendell, could call him a hypocrite, and would if she heard him, but keeping others from using was part of why he did this job.

The clock over the door had just clicked past ten o’clock when Jonathan got a sensation in his head that was becoming too familiar. At that hour, he doubted it had anything to do with another applicant for the job of secretary.

“Stay put.”

He pushed his chair back, spared a glance at the window to make sure nothing lurked out there, and walked to the front office.

The entity that had tripped the ward had already reached the doorway before he’d crossed into the front office. He first thought of an orangutan standing upright—but the rope it held at its side didn’t look like a leash. It looked like a weapon.

He raised the gun but waited.

Although ugly as sin itself, he didn’t know why it was there. Its face, a vulgar mockery of human features with skin the color of tar, didn’t reassure him, but appearances weren’t everything. The memitim had been beautiful.

It was dressed in long, loose wrap shorts of bright orange which matched the copper colored hair that stood up on end, thick on its head, but like a human man, on its arms and chest, too.

Jonathan simply didn’t know what stood before him.

With a snap, faster than his eye could follow, the rope lashed out. It seemed to grow as it came towards him. Jonathan fired and rolled to the side. He let out a cry of pain, but came up in a crouch fast.

Not fast enough.

He heard the whistle of the rope slicing through the air, and then the sting in his wrist.

His arm was jerked with tremendous force. The Beretta leapt from his hand to slide across the floor, and he sprawled on the ground.

The loop of rope, a lasso around his wrist, was no more than a quarter inch thick. It cut and abraded his skin, tearing it raw. Jonathan yanked his arm back over his body with all his might. He only managed to gain a half-foot of slack and force the coarse fibers deeper into his flesh.

The thing in the doorway started to haul in the rope, one long fingered hand at a time. It stood no more than five feet tall. The monkey-like arms had strength Jonathan couldn’t imagine.

The loop around his wrist dug in, his arm yanked towards the black skinned creature, and he slid across the floor. With the rope pulling at him, he couldn’t use his hand reliably to cast anything.

He looked frantically about for the gun, and saw Wendell getting out of the chair.

“Sit!” he screamed even as he was jerked another foot across the floor.

Jonathan reached out with his left and grabbed the rope. It cut into his palm, but he heaved on it all the same. Pulling himself up by the beast’s tension on the rope, he got his feet under him and just kept going.

He launched himself across the front office, keeping his left hand clenched over the rope. The monkey man reeled in the rope. He wasn’t fast enough.

Jonathan’s body slammed the creature, hoping his superior size would help.

They tumbled together into the hall, and the thing twisted and writhed in his grasp until somehow it straddled him.

Whatever he fought, it was strong, quick, and lithe. Not a combination Jonathan found commendable in an opponent.

However, he had managed to keep his hand on the rope. It was an advantage he put to use. As the creature lashed out with its hands for his face, Jonathan jerked up hard with both hands.

The rope pushed up against the monkey man’s throat. Jonathan allowed it to slide through his left hand as he looped his arm, and the rope with it, around in a circle.

With the fibers of the cord cutting into his flesh, he pulled his hands away, tightening the rope around the monkey man’s neck. The creature arched its back away and reached up with both hands to try and free itself.

Jonathan took advantage of the moment and rolled. Now he was on top. He shifted his knee into the thing’s chest to help give him leverage, and he pulled with all his might.

The face of the beast had started out as a grotesque parody of a human. Now it had become hideous as its eyes bulged and it struggled to breath.

Jonathan pulled up and out with the rope. His arms shook with the effort. He pressed down with his knee, intent on crushing the ribs beneath it.

Then it was over.

The creature’s hands slid away from its neck and it lay still. Jonathan remained unmoving as he tried to gain his breath, but every attempt ended in a groan of pain.

He gave up trying, and stood up, throwing another loop of rope around the creature’s neck.

With determined steps, he dragged the carcass out of the hall, through the front office, and dropped it on the floor in front of his desk which he leaned on, instead of falling down.

Have to replace the salt
.

He didn’t think it likely to stop these things if there was more—and he had a bad feeling there would be—but it would make it less likely he had to worry about two things attacking at once.

Not that it’s done a lot so far.

Wendell was standing again, but he had at least remained in the circle. He watched Jonathan for a moment, opened his mouth, shut it, and looked at the body on the ground.

“What is it?”

“I wish to hell I knew.”

That was when the sound of pounding began.

T
he cadence of the sound was irregular; its origin obscured by the reverberations through the office.

Jonathan looked towards the hall and, seeing it empty, risked closing his eyes. He listened, as the nerve-wracking noise thudded over and over.

“What the hell is it?” Wendell’s voice broke his concentration.

Jonathan opened his eyes. He looked at Wendell and slowly shook his head. Holding up a finger, he closed his eyes again.

THUD—THUD—rattle—THUD—rattle—THUD.

Jonathan opened his eyes. The sound was coming from more than one source. It was above them and beside them. The rattle was faint—now—but it was there.

“Chains.”

“Chains? Chains a-are making that sound?” Wendell’s voice cracked.

Jonathan looked to Wendell. He didn’t like the white of his cheeks or the glaze to his eyes. “Hey. They can’t be worse than the sluagh, right? And we fought them off, didn’t we?”

Wendell gave a terse nod. He also jumped when the next impact boomed through the office space.

Jonathan turned his attention from Wendell to the floor. His gun was there somewhere. “Stay in the circle. It’s done a pretty good job of keeping you safe so far.”

Spotting his Beretta, Jonathan crossed to it, and crouched down to retrieve it.

He heard a gibbering in the front office and, swiveling on his knee, raised the automatic.

Twice, he fired at the monkey creature running towards him. The second slug hitting it as it reached the inner door. They moved fast.

Jonathan rose up and looked at the body on the ground. It was identical to the other one—ugly as an orc’s ass and carrying a long thin rope. He wondered if it actually was some subspecies of orc, but doubted it. The gait and speed was wrong.

The constant pounding had already gotten on his nerves, setting his teeth on edge and making it hard to concentrate. Jonathan wondered if that was the point—to distract and disturb his focus.

The next monkey man tumbled from the hall into his front office and came up with an acrobat’s skill. The rope shot through the air before Jonathan registered the creature had moved its arm.

Jonathan threw himself to the left and felt the rope slide against his shirt. The sound of glass breaking accompanied his landing hard on the floor. He didn’t need to look to see what had broken; the smell of bourbon was heavy in the air.

Even as he had moved, Jonathan had seen the second of the creatures come up behind the first in the hall.  He got to his feet as quickly as he could and with none of the skill his assailant had shown.

The first of the beasts ignored him now, its attention focused on Wendell.

Jonathan fired from the hip into the creature’s back. It jerked twice, the second one dropping it to the floor. Jonathan saw the rope coming in from the outer office and raised his left arm.

The line snagged around his forearm, but before it could be yanked, Jonathan brought the gun up under his arm and fired four times.

The creature kept hold of the rope as it staggered back from each shot and even as it toppled over.

The cord sawed into his wrist, the shirt cuff keeping the worst of the abrasion from the skin. He holstered his gun to work at the rope.

As he freed his wrist, Jonathan turned to Wendell. “Still have no idea what they are, but the good news is they seem to be deathly allergic to lead.”

He dropped the rope to the ground and turned to survey the damage done on his desk. The rope must have wrapped around the base of the bourbon bottle, for that had broken off. The majority of the bottle lay on its side in a pool of bourbon.

He shoved the books and papers away from the puddle and picked up the broken bottle to drop in the trash. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement and twisted round.

He’d spoken too soon.

The first of the downed monkey fiends arched its back and snapped into the air. It landed on its feet with a shriek of defiance and snapped out its rope.

Jonathan heard as Wendell’s cry of surprise turned to pain when the rough fibers cut into his skin.

He ran at the creature to body-check it, but it somersaulted over him. Jonathan stumbled, having failed to connect with the creature. He landed against the doorframe, glad it was his right side for a change, and saw the beast had landed beside Wendell.

Hauling the rope back with one arm, the bastardized monkey managed to jerk Wendell up off the seat. It then reached with its free hand and grabbed a fistful of Wendell’s shirt.

It gave a shriek of pain and flung itself backwards. Wendell dropped back into the chair, and Jonathan charged. He thrust out with the bottle in his hand, driving it in under the beast’s ribs.

The shrieks became more strident. Jonathan wrapped his arm around its neck and squeezed as he twisted the jagged glass deeper. He thought he smelled the sickening smell of burned flesh but, as it wasn’t his, he didn’t much care.

It took almost a minute for the monkey thing to stop moving. He let it drop and kicked it to the side.

“Is it dead this time?” Wendell panted.

Jonathan was glad to see Wendell’s face flushed red. He’d joined the fight instead of retreating from the unrelenting noise.

“The first one, it’s still dead—seems bullets don’t do the job after all, but other, more visceral, methods do.”

He unholstered his revolver and checked to make sure it was loaded. He didn’t know if the rowan bullets would have a better effect than the regular ones, but he could hope.