Full Metal Magic: An Urban Fantasy Anthology Read online

  "Where's Tilly?" she asked.

  Paintbrushes tickled her bare stomach. The sweeping lines felt cool and hot at the same time. Her skin tingled as a chorus of voices built around her. An incantation of some sort, like a ceremony.

  "What's happening?"

  A warm, salty liquid splashed her face. She jerked her head side to side as it kept coming. Shut her mouth as the fluid swirled around her lips. Into her nostrils. It soaked into the blindfold. It saturated her being. As the liquid cascaded over her, she dared not scream for fear of drowning. But it was hard not to.

  The smell of it. The taste of it. It was blood.

  We stopped at the foot of the stairs. Murmurs and candlelight snaked around the narrow hallway. The giant had to duck as he lurched around us. It reminded me of a bad Igor impression. But this wasn't some sniveling assistant. Unlike the doorman on the street, this one had the stink of magic on him. A foot too tall. A sight too ugly. I made him for a low-level fiend masquerading as human. A hasty disguise meant only to fool the uninitiated.

  "You weren't stupid enough to bring weapons, were you?" he rasped.

  He patted us down, only coming up with my small bronze knife. He didn't look happy about it. I shrugged and said, "It's ceremonial."

  He frowned and folded it into his large grip. "You'll get it back." Then he nodded us forward.

  We didn't linger. Rachel and I pushed ahead, eager to find some space to move in the basement.

  We weren't disappointed. The sub-floor wasn't gigantic but it spanned the entire building, with only scattered support columns getting in the way. The ceiling opened up so the giant could stand at full height. A throng of onlookers filled the generous space. Some meekly watched from the back, unsure if they should be here but too frightened to back out.

  One thing was certain. No one cared about me or Rachel. All eyes were on the center of the room. A huddled mass of robed figures in hoods stood against the light of numerous open flames.

  The doorman directed us around the outskirts. The shadow was thicker here, and I took the opportunity to let the black seep into my eyes. A bit of passive spellcraft. My green irises darkened and I could see my surroundings plainer than a cat.

  Upside-down pentagrams and anarchy symbols scratched into the walls. Statues of goats and well-endowed nude women with horns and hooked tails. This place looked more like a rebellious teenager's idea of black magic than the real thing. I shit you not, I passed a group of teenagers wearing plastic vampire teeth.

  This was the type of thing that gave my vocation a bad reputation.

  Well, not the only thing. You see, despite all the poser accoutrements, this wasn't a mere movie set. The Intrinsic energies that are the foundation of all magic buzzed in the air. Something was happening here. Something bad. And it had nothing to do with the wannabes on the fringes of the circle.

  A booth of faux black leather was cradled in the corner. I thought the giant was leading us there, but instead he cut into the throng. Into the ceremony. The kids shied away from his presence, unexplained instincts reliably warning them of danger. Those in the inner circle, the ones wearing robes, had no such qualms. They remained focused on the ceremony. The giant led us to a spot behind them.

  "Wait here," he said, not a request.

  The hooded figures parted for him and he entered the center. For the first time, I had an unobstructed view of the main attraction.

  A ritual. This was real, honest-to-goodness spellcraft. And this spellcraft required real, honest-to-goodness girls tied to the floor.

  The scene was shocking.

  A pentagram was smeared onto the concrete floor in blood. One girl lay on her back, lengths of rope tied to each limb. Her body was forcibly extended as if she were being quartered, with two hooded figures holding each rope. The girl could've been a carbon copy of Rachel, too. Skinny, perfect teeth, still-blonde hair. She was frightened and sweaty, wearing a red silk blindfold.

  A noose was fitted around her neck. The other end of the rope culminated in a second noose and a second girl, with only two feet of length between them. This one had a short punky haircut, dyed blood-red. Black eyeliner but red lipstick. Red lines on her cheeks. A plaid skirt, black fishnets, no shoes. A club kid all the way. Her eyes were wild. A baby giraffe surrounded by lions. She hovered over the other girl protectively. Uselessly.

  These girls were drugged or disoriented or something. Same as Rachel had been. Neither wore a shirt. Two robed men dipped paintbrushes in pitchers of blood and scrawled markings on their pale flesh. Around their bras, on their stomachs and necks. It was reverent, sensual, and twisted.

  My stomach turned at the sight of it. So much for poser magic.

  The haze began to lift. Rachel was conscious of her surroundings once more. Unsure of how much time had passed. It was quiet now, but she could hear breathing in the darkness. She wanted to scream but her body was too sluggish to respond.

  "Don't be afraid," said a woman's voice. Soft. Gentle.

  Rachel was confused. So confused. "I'm tied up. I can't see anything." She squirmed in her bindings. The harsh rope scratched her skin. "I can't—"

  "Let me help you," said the voice, light without whispering. "You need to relax. You need to trust me."

  Rachel only saw darkness. The blindfold. It was sodden with blood that dribbled into her mouth and nose. Seeped into her eyes. Her dizziness and confusion gave way to a warm numbness. Happy almost.

  Until something dark and foreboding intruded on her senses.

  I forced down my rage to get a handle on the ritual. To see if I could help these girls.

  The blonde was on her back, aligned with the pentagram, but not with the five points proper. She was upside down. Her legs were pulled to correspond with the arms of the star, tight pants straining in the painful pose. Her arms, instead of being spread at right angles from her body, stretched up and over her head to match the star's legs.

  The upside-down symbolism was amateurish. New age devil worship stuff. Supporting that theory was the severed goat head at the top of the star. That explained the blood. Two beer pitchers were full and warm with the animal's life essence.

  Towering over the animal head was a freestanding mirror framed in fancy black oak. It stood at the head of the ceremony, reflecting its arcane horrors. This was why the girl was upside down on the pentagram. She was a subjugant to what was in the mirror. An offering or vessel of some sort.

  This was something I hadn't seen before. The trappings may have been new age, but they weren't without power.

  The giant strolled to the center of the ritual without an ounce of reverence. He leaned into the three huddled figures over the girls and whispered. After a beat, their hoods turned to me in unison.

  The man holding the noose spoke. "You don't belong here."

  The murmuring of the crowd went deathly quiet. The implication of violence hung in the air. Nobody wanted to move lest that wrath take notice of them.

  "I belong here more than anyone," I said.

  Anger tinged the man's voice but he spoke evenly. "I could have you killed."

  "You could try."

  More silence. Deeper somehow. The man caressed the bound girl's hair and stood, releasing the noose. The slack allowed the girl in the skirt to rise to her knees. She blinked her eyes, coming out of a daze. The girl on the ground swiveled her head between me and her friend, frightened behind the blindfold. The doorman watched with apathy.

  I considered taking them all out right then and there. I was inside. I'd found two new victims. But I also needed to know what was going down here. Who was responsible. I needed a name.

  "You Derek?" I asked the standing figure.

  He exchanged a glance with the others and lowered his hood. Wavy black hair. Black eyeliner and lipstick. Sideburns ending in double points like forked tongues. He was the one.

  "Why are you looking for Derek?" he asked.

  I scoffed. I was done with games. I tossed the balled-up blindfold at h
im. He caught it and unwrapped it slowly. Carefully.

  "Where'd you find this?"

  "Does it matter?" I shot back. "I wanna play too."

  Another figure snorted. "He's not a disciple of Ageroth."

  Oh, brother. Sounded like someone's bad D&D campaign. An elder god of Lovecraftian proportion, no doubt. Giant eyeball, face tentacles. You know, the usual. But it jived with the goat offering under the mirror. A sacrament of life to a long-dead god.

  I clenched my jaw. All I wanted was the Dungeon Master. Then the whole act was over. I cleared my throat and looked to the man as a teacher. "We're all blind before we open our eyes."

  He smiled as his ego soaked up the compliment. Hungry for more, maybe. He took a step toward me.

  "I found this on him," warned the giant, holding up my knife.

  He shrugged. "A voodooist, then." His head cocked in interest. "What other gifts have you brought Ageroth?"

  I stepped aside to reveal Rachel, pink hair splayed out behind designer sunglasses. She remained stolid. No smirk this time.

  He ran his eyes over her body. "Your friend?"

  "Barely know her."

  The others considered my date. After approving nods, the man motioned to the doorman. The giant stomped over to us and casually planted his fist into Rachel's stomach. She doubled over to her hands and knees. The sunglasses clattered to the floor.

  "Do what you want," I said calmly. Without emotion. I put the heel of my alligator boot on Rachel's back and shoved her thin frame to the floor. "I'm done with her. She's yours now."

  With a pained grunt, Rachel reached for her shades and slipped them back on.

  "She has spirit," one of the men said with a chuckle.

  "We can use that," agreed another.

  The man with the sideburns studied us. If he was in control here, he was no doubt an animist who knew a trick or two.

  My confidence, my age—no doubt he'd pegged me for something too. But I knew he wouldn't heed his internal alarms. Call it a fault of the profession. Makes you cocky. Me too, guilty as charged. With the power of spirits at your fingertips, it was hard not to be.

  But cocky was different from evil and greedy. This pursuit, this testing of magical boundaries, it requires restraint. Discipline. Respect. Without them, you get lawless underground clubs that tie helpless girls to the floor.

  "Derek," came the wandering, confused voice of the victim. She was totally out of it. "Please, Derek," she pleaded.

  "Shut her up," he barked.

  "Shh," whispered the redhead in the skirt. "You'll make them angry."

  I fought away my distaste. Wondered if I was taking this too far. Did it really matter which one of these scumbags was Derek? Everyone here was culpable, but those taking part with paintbrush or rope were the ringleaders. I very much questioned the value of their lives.

  The giant pulled Rachel's hood away. He dragged her to her knees by her disheveled pink hair. An avant-garde style, long but trimmed wildly in some sections. Hastily.

  "You don't mind if we hold onto her from now on," said Sideburns. "Do you?"

  I shook my head firmly. I didn't mind one bit. This would all be over soon enough.

  "You wish to serve Ageroth?" he asked.

  I kept a straight face. "I do."

  "Then to your knees."

  I kneeled. As the man approached, I rested my hand on the dark floor, hiding my smile.

  "Ageroth demands blood payment," he preached. He dunked his fingers in a pitcher of blood and stood before me.

  My hand sunk into the depths of the shadow, pushing through solid concrete like water. When I pulled it back, I came away gripping my sawed-off shotgun. A surprise in a shadow box. In a smooth motion, I stood and rested the barrel against his chest.

  "Let's cut the shit, Derek."

  His eyes widened. Spellcraft or not, I doubted any of these noobs had ever had a gun pulled on them before. The hooded figures flinched to their feet. The girl in the skirt too. The ropes forcing the other girl down slackened and she tried to sit up.

  "No!" screamed her friend. The girl with dyed hair pushed her back down, hugging her to the floor with her body.

  That threw me off. It didn't fit with everything else I'd seen. With the narrative I'd built in my head.

  Looking back, it all seems so obvious now, but in that fraction of a second I hesitated.

  The giant's left arm hooked around my chest from behind. I tried to tug away, but he was strong. At the same time, the man with the sideburns wrestled for control of my shotgun.

  I didn't hesitate again. An explosion of birdshot ripped into him. He fell backward in shock.

  The giant knocked the gun away. I let it go. It didn't matter because it only carried a single load. Instead I focused on escaping the fiend's grip. My struggle was short-lived. He brandished my bronze knife at my neck.

  "Don't move," he ordered, "and you may live a little longer."

  I ground my teeth in wordless acceptance. Normally I could phase into the shadow, become one with the nothingness, untouchable to both bullets and blade. But this giant had a grip on me now. I wouldn't be able to shake him. At best I could take him for a ride, but how far would we get before my own knife found its way into my neck?

  The panicked gasps in the throng transitioned to silent shock. The single robed figure who had lowered his hood, the man with the wavy hair, contorted on the floor as blood dribbled from his mouth. His leaned on his elbows, trying to rise. He looked at me with confusion, then fear, and pulled open his robe and shirt. A hole the size of a quarter was inches from his heart. Each breath, each beat, gushed another deluge of blood.

  One of the hooded figures scrambled to place a half-full pitcher under the wound. Capitalizing on the suffering of his dying friend. The wounded man watched him in disgust before collapsing backward.

  "Hold her down!" directed the girl in the skirt. She snapped her fingers at the men with ropes. They drew them taut again. Once the blonde was secured, the redhead unhooked the noose from her neck and scowled at me.

  "Derek," I growled, shaking with rage.

  Dumb move, Cisco. Cocky move. What did I tell you about the fatal flaw of our profession?

  "It hurts," said Rachel.

  "What hurts?" said the woman's voice. Soothing.

  "The... the darkness."

  Rachel knew it didn't make sense, but that was the best way to describe it. Darkness. A presence blacker than black. Hungry. Lusting.

  Rachel fought against it, no longer focusing on her physical body. That part was weak. Overpowered. That part was defeated. Her struggle was now for her mind. Her sanity. Rachel pushed the searing pain away.

  "Listen to me," said the woman's voice. "You need to open your eyes. Tell me what's out there so I can help you."

  "I don't want to." Rachel wanted to please the woman. She wanted them to help each other. But it was against her every instinct to give in to the darkness.

  "Open your eyes, Rachel," said the voice. "I need to know what you see."

  "I..." she started. The saturated blindfold dripped a bloody tear. "I..."

  Like a dam collapsing, searing brilliance flooded into her consciousness. Black burned white. Cold gushed hot.

  It hurt. It hurt so much I had to cut away.

  Derek stood. It was immediately apparent she was the one in charge. The blood markings on her skin, the double noose—she was binding herself to her victim, using these girls for something arcane.

  It had been her damned soothing voice that had tricked me. I had thought it a friend's voice, a fellow victim's, but the whole time it had just been a shine job.

  Studying Derek more closely, she was older than the girl on the floor. An emo look ten years too late and ten years too old. They hadn't been friends at all. Acquaintances maybe. An act to lure the gullible. To take advantage of younger girls like Rachel and the blonde. Peer pressure gone bad.

  "I don't know what you really want," said Derek, squaring her shoulders t
o me, "but I can tell you're curious. You want to witness Ageroth's power."

  I raised my voice to command the room's attention. "This is ending now. I'm putting a stop to it."

  She grinned, amused with my pronouncement. "I understand your defiance." She faced her acolytes. "It's natural for us to be wary of miracles. To turn away the very assistance we crave." She approached and patted my cheek. "In that sense, witnessing this is receiving my blessing."

  The girl on the floor moaned and squirmed. She grew increasingly lethargic. "Please, Derek," she begged. "Please let us go."

  Us. The confirmation of a fact I already knew. There were more girls. More rituals. Beyond Rachel. It was obvious, really. This wasn't a huge crowd, but there were enough people here that word had gotten out. Enough infrastructure to support the secret club. The Underground.

  Derek returned her attention to the girl on the floor. "Quiet now," she soothed. That kindness in her voice returned. She strolled past the man with the sideburns, dead now. She lifted the pitcher of fresh blood and sat beside the girl again.

  "It's about insight," explained Derek, refitting the noose around her neck. "True knowledge. Not the scraps humanity has gleaned in our small lives, prizing grains of sand on a beach. I'm talking about universal truths known by gods older than mankind."

  She turned to the mirror at the head of the star. "Oh, holy Ageroth, we beckon you once more. Heed our invitation."

  Derek upturned the pitcher over the girl's head. Blood rained on her face. She recoiled from it, but a man held her noose firm.

  I closed my eyes. I didn't want to watch this, but I had more actionable intentions. I dove into my pet pigeon. Without eyes of its own, I couldn't see, but a gathering of other senses flooded my way. An extra awareness fueled by spellcraft.

  The bird was trapped outside the Underground. I had it fly over the patio fence to the sidewalk. It landed and skirted the building, pecking at the windows lining the basement ceiling. They were all sealed shut and fogged with dirt.

  I opened my eyes again, allowing my thrall to seek its own entry.