The Necromancer's Gambit: Premature Commemoration
Nicolas Wilson
I have an erection, that’s how good I feel about the information the squealing little vampire gives me- trust me, it ain’t related to me going back to the Hole. Knight’s usually the one who gets to save the day, so I admit, it’s nice for once to beat the golden boy at this game.
I park in the spot out front just past the handicap post I’m coming to think of as mine- though I still question the utility of a lap dance if you’re in a wheel chair. The lot’s empty, since they don’t open for another hour or two.
“You’re becoming a regular here,” Tiny, the bouncer, says with a wink. I once made the mistake a asking Tiny how he got that nickname, since he’s six something. “It’s ironic, cause I ain’t.” Which on its own wouldn’t have disturbed me, but then he pantomimed a cock as big as a pop can, and proceeded to bob his head on it. I’m still haunted, not knowing if he was trying to tell me he’s Tiny, sucker of large cocks, or Tiny, sucker of his own large cock- and that’s the kind of shit you don’t want keeping you up at night.
We’ve sprawled across the VIP lounge, though why they call it that is anybody’s guess; it’s just some raised seating at the back of the club.
Bishop’s got her professor’s cap on and is marching around the table. Rook looks tired and overwhelmed, barely able to keep her head out of an old and moldering volume; I feel for her. I was there last year, when I accidentally gave a perp some genital warts when all I was trying to do was knock him out- garble a couple fucking syllables of Latin and suddenly someone’s cock is covered in warts. That talk. And claim to be a Princess in need of a kiss.
Queen, sitting cross-legged at the end of the same table, gives me a bemused look, but that might just be the forest of dead martinis on the table.
I try to squeeze past, but Rook leans into me. “She keeps going on and on about the Huna principles. I have a migraine so big it feels like my brain is ectopically pregnant. How do you get her to stop talking?”
Bishop’s on a tear, so I barely have to whisper. “Usually I say something sexist.” She gives me a dirty look. “That might not work for you.” I’d help her if I could, but I have no solutions, and bigger fish to fry.
King’s got a laptop and he’s sitting in the corner, far enough away you might not realize they’re in the same party. One of the beefcakes is actually bouncing for him, and it isn’t until the old man waves me in that he undoes the velvet rope. I swear, in Hell the old man would have Satan for his valet in an afternoon.
“You look like a cat that’s bringing his master a dead bird- that perhaps for once isn’t my canary.”
“And you look like a prime candidate for colorectal cancer.”
“Is that your idea of a sense of humor, or did something vile just crawl into your head and die?”
“It didn’t die.” I stop and light myself a cigar, because if I have to smell smoke I might as well taste it. “I found the guy- or the vampire.”
The King is barely surprised. “And you’ve what, left him in your jalopy?”
“Hunter who helped me track him down took him- had a romantic weekend planned.”
“You were working with a fucking hunter?” Uh oh. I meant to omit that part. “So, naturally, you decided to ask yourself how we could turn this whole thing further to our disadvantage- maybe even set off a national incident” He rubs his eyes, but then puts up his hand. “Okay. Ignoring the thing I didn’t just hear you tell me, presumably you’ve brought me something. So you interrogated the assailant.”
“The Norteños started dealing, a variation on ayahuasca, spiked with mana
huaanga.”
He nearly drops his laptop. “What?”
“Edible magic. Gets into the blood, then gets inside the brain. Does insane things- the kind of high junkies chase their whole lives. Every time- with no degradation, even with repeat use. With it, they were going to take every last inch of Sureño territory over the course of a fortnight. And the kicker: they were hiding behind Castle’s skirt; I don’t think the Norteños even knew what he was, just that he wasn’t a man a bunch of punks with guns could fuck with. But the Sureños took em at their word, and hired the warlock and his bunch. Vamp didn’t even know Castle was Gambit- until Knight started asking questions. It was a pusher territory dispute. Fucking believe that?”
“It would seem difficult to,” says the King, but he’s playing coy; I bet he’s hard as I was.
Then I hear Tiny. He’s helping carry somebody, and I recognize it’s Harry talking with him. “He passed out on the way here. Thankfully the car was still in park. I’m not sure I fared much better, though. Anybody know how bad it is if you run over a stop sign?”
“I run em all the time,” I tell him.
“No, I, I hit one. Pretty good. Fell down like a domino.”
“Ah, it gives a bumper character,” I tell him, and smack him on the shoulder.
Tiny helps the man sit in a chair by the King, and I can see now it’s Knight- back from the Keep; the trip has thoroughly kicked his ass- though his eyebrows seem to have survived the trip. “Yeah,” Knight mumbles, “what my car needed was more character and less bumper.”
“What’s the word from the Keep?” the King asks, still coy.
“There was a bind.” I nearly drop my fucking cigar. Because a bind means the little vamp was a plant- and I swallowed his whole fucking tale. And Knight couldn’t have gotten here three minutes earlier, saved me the embarrassment?
“And you removed it,” the King concludes.
“Yeah. It was good work. Beyond anything I’ve seen before. It’s safe to say these are new players- either the Kindred brought in ringers or they’re working with some high end talent these days.”
“Kindred?” King asks, but Knight just keeps going.
“We’re going to bring you back to the Center; Bishop will start beefing up the defenses there.”
Bishop overhears that last bit, “But-” she starts, but stops when she catches Knight’s eyes.
“I’m going to say one name, and then you’re going to do exactly as I say.”
“All right, but it better Johnny Depp- and he better be naked,” she says.
“Baldur.”
“Shit. He’s not nearly as cute.”
The King looks like he’s just been on the receiving end of a sausage sandwich- that’s a two-man lap dance, if you ain’t spent much time in the Hole. “I thought maybe he’d be dead; it was the silver lining I was hoping might come out of this whole debacle.”
The Queen might well have been- I know he wouldn’t stop talking about it last night- but he still doesn’t look too happy about the news.
Me? Well, Baldur and his cronies made me look like an asshole. Which puts me in the mood to kick in some teeth. And Baldur and his cronies have a whole lot of teeth.