Into the Shadows Read online

  "Okay, good to know." I forced myself to look at him when I said, "Uh, hey, sorry about telling you to kiss my ass last night."

  Barnabus smiled through his beard, and it wasn't so creepy that time. "Mr. Beck," he said, "welcome back." Then he turned, opened the door, and walked out of the room. The door was left open.

  The angle of light from my room didn't help much for me to see beyond the doorway. I slowly walked over and stared into the dark hallway beyond, making out only a few details. After taking a deep breath and releasing it, I stepped into the shadows.

  CLARA

  The walls felt cool and chalky as I used them to guide me down the dark hallway. The floorboards creaked under my secondhand Velcro sneakers. The air smelt of dust and . . . bacon? Not that I minded, but that was about the last damn thing I expected.

  I hadn't gone far down the hall, feeling bare walls and closed doors, when I discovered a staircase on my right. The bacon smell was stronger. As my feet found the stairs and a landing, I heard muffled talking and saw light hitting the second short flight of stairs. Down on the first floor, I looked down a hall to my left and saw light coming from an open door. That bacon aroma was joined by toast and coffee. After weeks of dry goods and cold meals, my mouth was watering.

  I took a few steps in that direction, but stopped short to listen.

  " . . . And did Vivian have anything to say?" That was Viggo, no doubt about it. You can't forget a voice that sounds like a rockslide.

  "Viv didn't tell me anything this time." It was a female voice, probably a young woman. It was quiet for a second, and then I heard her gasp.

  I heard Viggo murmur a few words. Then, in a louder tone, he said, "Leo, join us."

  Shit; busted. I took a deep breath and stepped into what looked like a dimly lit break room. At the far end of the room was a kitchenette, where a woman stood cooking. The bacon aroma was strong; I heard it sizzling on a skillet. A coffee pot gurgled. Orange juice was sitting out on the counter. The woman was buttering toast. It was real food, warm food. I mean, okay, the flavored oatmeal I was given is technically real food, but when you have to make it with cold water, it sucks dick.

  Closer to me, sitting at a cheap round table, was Viggo. Even the ceiling light from over the kitchenette seemed afraid of him. You know how people say that someone is radiant or glowing for whatever natural reason? Viggo was the opposite of that, and it wasn't natural.

  A girl stood next to him, almost behind him. It was the fast kid from that night at Everett's mansion. I first thought she was a boy because of her small stature; turns out she was a black girl who probably wasn't five feet tall. Despite her size, she looked to be in her late teens by her pretty face. She wore a purple poncho with blue crescent moons and pink stars all over it. Her hair was hidden under a lavender stocking cap. She stared at me with big brown eyes, looking scared.

  "Have a seat," Viggo said as he gestured to a seat across from them. When I did, he continued. "Leo Beck, this is Clara Page." He turned his head slightly toward her and said, "Leo is a friend."

  "He's human," Clara said quietly.

  "Almost all of us have human friends, my girl," Viggo responded almost tenderly. It was strange to hear that tone coming from someone who looked so inhuman. Clara only fidgeted. "Did you want to go?" he asked her. She nodded her head emphatically. "Very well, go." As Clara gave me a wide berth and hurried past, Viggo added, "And no more hunting near the rail yards."

  After Clara was gone, I couldn't help but ask, "That girl . . . she's one of you?"

  "Quite so; Clara is . . . complicated, and a conversation for another time. For now, I have asked Natalie to prepare one of your favorite meals, and then we must talk. You have a decision to make."

  OPTIONS

  The woman named Natalie made two short trips over to deliver everything. She was a plain woman in her late thirties with short, dark hair, a bit plump in the hips, and a pleasant smile. She set down a number of breakfast dishes, drinks and silverware. Besides steak, a big breakfast was one of my favorite meals. I didn't ask how Viggo knew that, and right then I didn't care.

  Natalie stepped away without a word to clean the pans. Viggo pulled out a cell phone, got up, and walked out of the break room. By the time I was finishing off the last of the hash browns and scrambled eggs, Viggo returned and set a grocery bag next to my plates. Inside of it were my wallet, keys, phone, flask, and my little Ruger.

  "No matter how our conversation ends," Viggo said as he sat back down across from me, "you will be free to return home and to your employers. However, what I have to say might affect your choices."

  I wiped my mouth and pushed my bag of belongings to the side. "Well, first of all, I guess I should say thanks for getting all my stuff back. Secondly, I gotta say I'm pretty relieved; I thought you might do the same thing to me as the Doyenne did. I think back to what she might have made me do, how she made me feel . . . it was fucking humiliating."

  Viggo leaned forward and rested his clasped hands on the table. He nodded thoughtfully at what I said, like my words were insightful or something. I may be a lot of things, but deep and wise are not two of them. It was nice to know he was listening, but I didn't expect him to take me so seriously.

  "Creating a minion is mostly a matter of intent; it is in the blood," Viggo stated. Seeing my confused look, he tried to explain. "The Doyenne has no emotional attachment with her minions. She acquires them, as she acquired you, through manipulation and her strong Gift of Enchantment. And blood, of course. It is a cold relationship, but that is her way. If Barnabus, for example, were to make you his minion, the bond would be comparable to a teacher and his pupil. It varies with each of us. In any case, though, the minion is always unswervingly loyal to his ruler."

  "Ruler . . . that's a strong word; I don't think I would have been too happy calling Le Meur, or anyone, my ruler. It makes it sound like I'd have no free will."

  "With the Doyenne, you would not have had much. Again, it is the intent within her blood. And, yes, being made to call someone your ruler is a touch heavy-handed. Pedro's men, for example, call him either by his initials, PV, or simply "Boss". Those men retain a fair amount of free will, but they also follow every one of his orders to the letter. I suppose you could compare it to some of your former military leaders, only with a much stronger feeling of devotion."

  "Okay, I think I get it. So is this what you needed to talk to me about?"

  "In part; I wanted you to have a better understanding before we continue."

  I looked down and absently studied his large, cracked hands; I couldn't look at his face for too long without losing my focus. "I've been wondering about something; I don't know if it ties in with what you need to tell me or not. You helped me in the nightclub with Evan, and then I guess you turned him over to Barnabus. You probably saved my ass more than once at the Everett mansion. Then you arranged to take me out of Le Meur's grip, covered my disappearance, and kept me in a safe place until the spell broke." I looked back up into his black eyes. "Not that I don't appreciate it, but why?"

  Viggo thought for a second before he answered, "I will only answer simply for now; a more detailed explanation may come later, depending on you. I made a promise long ago to watch over your lineage, to be the vormund of your family line. I have let your kin live their lives and let natural occurrences flow, only exerting influence to avert catastrophe. I did not follow you overseas because if you had died in combat, that is one of the natural outcomes of battle. But then you returned, and were lured and pulled into a world beyond your knowing or choosing. That, I would not allow."

  "No shit?" I wondered aloud. "How far back have you been looking out for my family?"

  Viggo shook his head and said, "As I told you, I will go no further into that topic for now. I must present you with a choice before any other discussions are held. I see three options for you, Leo, all affected by one constant. The Doyenne knows of you; she may want you back in her service, or she may want you dead for s
piteful reasons. Her subordinates and other Adepts know of you, and will act on her orders."

  My chest tightened. Le Meur had a building full of people eager to kiss her ass, and probably more all over town. I bet she had more security guards than the president, not to mention other Adepts. Okay, Evan wasn't much of a threat, but I didn't want a guy like Dominic - who could take an ax to the face and get back up - coming after me. I'd be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life. "Well, that sucks."

  "Indeed, but you have options. The first is to simply go on with your life. I can arrange that you are made to forget every supernatural occurrence, and return to the simple world that you knew six weeks ago. There will likely be attempts made on your life, but I will do what I can to deter them. Nonetheless, you will be untroubled with the knowledge of a paranormal world coexisting with yours."

  I shook my head. "No, sorry, I can't do that. The last part is appealing, even though I don't know how in hell you're going to make me forget all this shit. And if I do forget, I won't know about the target on my ass. Not only that, but I can't have you doing nothing else than watching my back."

  "Very well; I understand your reasoning and I thank you for the consideration on my behalf, Leo. Your second option is to relocate, and not anywhere nearby. I can make funds available for you to start over and will continue to keep an eye open for your safety. I must keep my oath. Again, if you choose, your memories can be altered. It would be a fresh start with no complications."

  "It would be running away," I replied quickly. "I'm not big on running away."

  "You would not even realize that."

  "The problem is," I said with a sigh, "I know it right now. This is my hometown. I have friends here. And I'll be damned if I'm going to let some golden-eyed bitch run me out. Then again, if you forced that choice on me, I'm sure I'd be fine."

  Viggo scowled in offense; I felt my bowels loosen. "I would never do that," he said.

  "Exactly; one way or another, one of us couldn't live with that option."

  "That leaves only one other way to go." Viggo sat back and crossed his arms. "You could choose to become my minion."

  I resisted the urge to mirror his pose. "Why don't you sound happy about that?"

  "Because, you would have to immerse yourself into my world to some degree; your situation would demand it. Instead of options where you might choose to have certain memories altered or removed, in this case you would need to know more about us to ensure your survival."

  "What the hell does that mean?"

  "It means that, if you were in danger or being pursued, it would be good to have resources available. We have safe locations throughout the city, points of access to our underground facilities, and a long list of helpful contacts. We Deviants have infiltrated far deeper into this city's infrastructure than the other factions realize. It would be in your best interest to know a few things, at least."

  "You have underground facilities?"

  Viggo nodded. "Sewer complexes, expanded cave networks, and hidden passages into the lower levels of many structures. That aside, there is a more personally relevant matter to consider if you choose to be my minion. Not to be boastful, but my blood is more potent than the Doyenne's. You might have felt a surge in strength or resilience after she fed you her blood a third time. With my blood, only one drink is needed to secure your fealty. What's more, your physical attributes will be greater than what you gained from Emmeline Le Meur's blood."

  "So you're saying I'd be more self-reliant, right? And maybe, if it was known that I was your minion, they might not be so eager to take a shot at me."

  "I still want to keep my presence in the city to be undisclosed. However, there is another Deviant that we could imply you are the minion of for now. The upper ranks of each faction know that she is quite old, but is overlooked because of her lifestyle. I think that would discourage others from approaching you." Viggo paused and leaned forward again. "Are you sure this is what you want, Leopold?"

  I shrugged. "For lack of better options . . . yeah, it is. I mean, I mostly get my life back, right? I'm there if or when you need me, which I sort of would be anyway since I feel like I owe you. And, there are some benefits to it. So, I'm all in, as long as you promise me two things, Viggo."

  "If I can, I will," he said.

  "One, that I won't just be your slave like I was with Le Meur, and two, that you tell your people that my name is just Leo, okay?"

  One side of Viggo's mouth twitched; I think that was as close to a smile as I was going to get. "A promise made, Leo Beck." He leaned further over the table and extended his hand. I took it.

  GOBLET

  Viggo asked Natalie to drive me home, told me he'd meet me there, and then excused himself again. I didn't have a coat, but the heater in Natalie's compact car worked well. During the drive, while I gave directions to my place, I asked her a few questions about being 'employed' for Viggo.

  Natalie told me she'd been loyal to the big guy for about nine years so far. Before that, she considered herself nearly meaningless; unmarried, no kids, few friends, and her only worthwhile offering to society was volunteering at a homeless shelter. Even her job kept her semi-isolated. Natalie worked second shift at the IRS branch in town as a clerk supervisor in her own little office that was tucked away on a lower level. That's where Viggo found her at the end of a shift. He said that her access to certain information made her valuable and important to him. Working for Viggo, she no longer felt insignificant.

  Fifteen minutes later, we pulled up in front of my house, Damn, I never realized how much I missed my little place until I saw it again. I grabbed the bag full of my stuff, including the photo of Al, and thanked Natalie both for the meal and the ride. I fished my keys out of the bag and entered my house. I expected it to be dark inside, but a light back in the kitchen was on. I didn't know what to expect, so I pulled my Ruger out and quietly moved forward.

  I crouched low and spun into the entryway of my kitchen. Viggo was standing at the counter, pulling a bottle of Jack Daniels down from a cabinet shelf. "Fuck," I grunted with a deep exhale; I lowered my gun and slumped against the wall.

  "I thought I would add a familiar flavor for you," he said, completely unconcerned that I almost shot him. On the countertop in front of Viggo was an iron-bound container about the size of a shoebox. "I have done it for minions in the past who favored certain tastes." He set down the bottle and looked at me. "Come over here, Leo. I have something for you to see."

  I stood, set the Ruger on top of the fridge, and stepped closer. "You must have been speeding like hell to get here so fast," I commented while eyeing the container Viggo was resting a hand on. "Natalie doesn't exactly pay attention to speed limits, so how'd you beat me here? I didn't see any strange cars with smoking tires parked out on the street."

  "Soon enough, I will show you how I arrived so quickly," he said hastily. "Right now, there is a tradition to be followed." He opened the hinged lid that revealed a fancy cup of dark metal that rested in a fitting of black velvet. "This goblet has been used for the rite of passage for nearly all of my minions, past and present." His voice was almost reverent. "It is tradition going back centuries."

  "Well then, I hope like hell you washed it."

  Viggo gave me a long look; I couldn't tell if he was going to crack a smile or crack my skull. He decided on neither. "More than this being a ceremonial treasure, there is something else about this goblet that you might find quite interesting, Leo: it was made for me by one of your long-departed ancestors."

  "One of my ancestors made that? No shit? Who was he?"

  Viggo lifted the goblet to let the light over the stove show all the detailed scrollwork on it. "His name was Erlingr; he was an artisan. On a summer night in the year 621 A.D., a large band of Saxons attacked his village. I saved him and rescued his family. In return, he forged this for me."

  I did some quick math in my head - not my best subject in school. "Are you telling me that thing is nearly f
ourteen fucking hundred years old?"

  "And one of my oldest treasures," Viggo said as he set it on the counter. He then pulled a short but sturdy steel knife from inside his coat. Holding it to the palm of his left hand, he looked at me. "I offer this freely," he stated solemnly, and then dug the blade into the hard, cracked leather flesh of his palm. Viggo moved his hand over the goblet as black blood flowed out in a thin stream. I just stood and watched with a weird fascination as a third of the goblet was filled. He closed his hand into a fist and held it there for a few silent seconds. When the hand opened, the wound was gone, just . . . gone.

  "You should know," Viggo commented while he opened my bottle of liquor and poured in about a shot's worth, "that the taste of my blood should differ greatly from the Doyenne's. The natures and Gifts come through in the flavor, so I imagine that her essence was rather captivating, yes?" He picked the goblet back up, swirled it once, and then held it out.

  "Yeah," I replied, "it was like honey and fruit and passion all at once." I took the offered goblet of my ancestor with both hands, holding it firmly so I didn't drop the damn thing. I doubt Viggo would have been too happy that I let a priceless relic with his blood in it bounce on my kitchen floor.

  "Leopold Beck," he said with formality, "if you freely choose loyalty to me, drain the goblet."

  It took a couple gulps, but I downed the drink. It was fucking strong, like moonshine but without the bite. It slid over my tongue like a smooth, warming liqueur. Acidic and sweet at the same time, Viggo's blood made me imagine old books and scrolled maps, dark corridors and starlit nights. Unlike Le Meur's blood, which filled me with duty and yearning, I felt like I almost literally swelled with the righteousness of serving Viggo. I'd never felt a truer conviction, and was proud that he asked me to join him for any noble cause he might've had. I had just been invited into a world I knew next to nothing about; the mystery of it had me pumped.