Obsidian Gate - Chapter Five

*Well, did some minor editing on Chapters Two and Three. Hope these improvements help the story along. Here's Chapter Five in the meantime and I hope you really enjoy this one*
Chapter Five:
Ominous Beginnings

- Solaris -

The priest sat in a darkened room, kneeling on the floor before a small altar, an easily lifted slab of obsidian about a foot across. What little candlelight there was barely illuminated the stark surroundings and even that was obscured by the smoke of the incense, billowing from the altar’s lit brazier. The man, however, did not seem to care. Eyes closed and stripped to his plain, white cotton briefs, he knelt in prayer. The small room with its bare wood floors, slightly chipped wash basin, small oak trunk, and simple sleeping pallet, strewn with only the plainest of white cotton linens and single pillow, might as well have been a continent away. His name was Cabal Discord and he was waiting for word from his god, Mordus.
Cabal would have been a handsome man under any normal circumstances, but harsh training and a harsh life had planted a permanent scowl on his face, pitted it with hard lines, and robbed him of some of that handsomeness. His bleach pale skin stretched over a frame that was very athletic and broad, some six feet and three inches in height. What remained of his hair had been shaved, except for one long topknot, which was braided and slung over his shoulders and hung to the middle of his back. This was as pale, fine, and snow white as his skin. His muscles were hard and lean, honed from years of hard, physical labor, training, and conditioning and his body was riddled with scars from old battles. Two particularly nasty ones stood out, a nasty diagonal cut on his cheek that had nearly taken his eye and another across his stomach that had almost spilled his intestines.
Cabal remained motionless, sweat trailing slowly down his body. His thin, pale, crescent brows twitched, as he strained and concentrated, waiting for a sign from his god that it was time to move. Finally, he felt it like an electric shock to his system and his ruby red eyes snapped open. Drawing a quick breath, the albino priest steadied himself, then corded legs the size of tree trunks pulled his broad frame to its feet.
Cabal was neither surprised nor concerned that night had fallen while he prayed and meditated. He was safe in his church’s sanctuary and none of his underlings would dare disturb his communion with his god. Stretching out his thickly corded arms, hands ending in long, tapered fingers and even longer, sharp nails that better resembled talons, plucked a simple black robe from the hook beside the door.
Slinging the robe on without bothering to belt it, Cabal quickly left his quarters and padded, barefoot, down the stone corridor, completely unconcerned with his state of dress or the few scraggly underlings he encountered along the way, who rushed to get out of his way. Cabal felt the stone slabs beneath his feet, as he padded towards his destination but heeded little else. No one impeded his progress. Only a fool would meddle in the affairs of a High Priest of Mordus without prior permission and, even then, only as far as they must. After all, to meddle in the affairs of one who worshipped the god of murder was to court death itself.
Cabal quickened his pace, rounding a corner and entering a small chamber where he found several lesser priests of his order sitting, playing cards. They all immediately rose to their feet, giving the albino High Priest respectful bows in perfect synchronicity. Cabal barely even waited to acknowledge their bows before pointing directly at one of them, an obsequious fellow with dark hair, skin, and eyes, his taloned nails stabbing at the air.
“You,” Cabal snapped, “I need you to saddle a horse immediately and ride for the city of Jinx, in Relston.”
“Immediately, My Lord,” the priest began, bowing again, “May I inquire as to-”
The albino cut his underling off with a sharp gesture.
“There’s a priest of Salazar in that city by the name of Sylus Stryfe,” he said, “I want you to find him and bring him here to me immediately. I have important information for him.”
“Right away, My Lord,” the bewildered priest stammered, bowing low again.
Without another word, Cabal turned and strode out of the room, heading for the relative privacy of his chambers, leaving the priest to his travel preparations. He had no fear that the man would fail him. Cabal trained all his people far too well for that. However, he also had serious preparations of his own to make and he wanted no interruptions while he was making them. For now, he would trust his will would be done and make ready for the tasks ahead. If his visions were as true as he guessed and he was interpreting all the signs correctly, there was much to be done. As he closed his chamber door behind him, he readied himself for the first step.

2.

~ Earth ~

Tobias Simms was a much younger man than what Al had expected. He was barely seventeen years old with wide, blue eyes and a full mop of dark, medium brown hair. He couldn’t have been taller than five seven and he had the nice tan that would develop into a genuine glow over the summer. His leg was resting up in a cast and several bruises marred his face but he was, all in all, a handsome young man. Flowers rested neatly by his bedside with his water cup, evidence of a recent visit from his mother, and he glanced up curiously as Alex entered the room.
Immediately, the detective turned on the charm. Her face lit itself up in her most dazzling smile, acting at its best. Alex knew she looked good and knew exactly what kind of effect her presence would have on the poor, unsuspecting seventeen-year-old. Something told her she’d need every inch of that appeal and charm to pull this off.
“Tobias Simms?’ she asked cheerfully.
“Yeah,” the young man said, grinning, “Please tell me you’re one of the nurses assigned to me.”
Alex chuckled a little, using the laugh she knew caught a man’s attention from a mile away, and shook her head softly.
“Unfortunately, no, but Ah would like t’ask yuh a couple questions, if y’all don’ mind.”
The southern accent seemed to throw the young man a little, appealing to his hormones, however, Simms was not a total fool and his eyes narrowed, as he regarded Alexandra with suspicion.
“You’re not a reporter, are you?”
“No an’ Ah’m not wit’ de police either.”
“Good, ‘cause I’d hate to have t’tell a pretty lady t’leave.”
“May Ah sit down?,” Alex inquired.
Tobias nodded slowly, eyeing her up and down, as she settled herself down in a chair near the bed.
“Mah name’s Alexandra Lee,” the woman began, “Ah’m wit’ de Sirens’ Detective Agency.”
“What can I do for you, Miss Lee?” Simms asked, his tone polite but guarded.
“Ah need t’know about what happened t’night,” Alex replied.
“What about it?”
Simms’s tone was almost petulant in its anger, the voice of a younger man, and it made Alex feel a bit more inclined to cut him some slack but it didn’t excuse his involvement. Alexandra Lee was not one to allow someone to get away with anything without a fight.
“That fight y’all were in earlier, Ah need t’know as much as you can tell me ‘bout what happened; how the fight started, why it started. Anythin’ you can tell me’d be much appreciated.”
The detective’s earnest efforts were met with a stony, eerie silence and, for a moment, Alex wondered if she’d misjudged the boy. Could he be more heartless than that young voice indicated? Al searched his face and saw her answer there, plain as day. Without even being aware that she was consciously making the decision, Alex switched to a different plan of attack. She sighed heavily and looked Tobias Simms in the face, honesty and sincerity pouring off of her in waves.
“Look, Ah’m tryin’ t’help a very nice young man here but, t’do dat, Ah need yoh help.”
Simms took the bait swimmingly.
“Who’re you talkin’ about?” he asked, his tone perfectly conveying the right amount of confusion and innocence. He thought he knew what Alex was trying to do but the young man had underestimated Alex’s cleverness.
“You,” she replied.
“What?”
Tobias’s mouth fell open in honest astonishment. He hadn’t seen this coming and Alex capitalized on his surprise.
“Y’all’re playin’ a dangerous game,” she said sadly.
“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about!” Simms exclaimed.
“You can play innocent all yuh want, honey, but we both know it ain’ true. Y’all’re runnin’ wit’ a dangerous crowd.”
“What do you mean?” Simms demanded, “You’re talkin’ nonsense.”
“Deny it all yuh want but, deep down, y’all know dey ain’ good people. Only place they’re liable t’land yuh is prison an’ y’all’re too young t’be dealin’ wit dat on yoh record.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about but you sure got a lotta nerve talkin’ about my friends like that,” Simms shot, his confusion and playacting all chased away by anger.
“A criminal record’ll haunt y’all fer de rest o’yoh life,” Alex countered, voice softening a little, “an’ a guilty conscience’s somethin’ y’all really don’ want.”
“I haven’t done anything t’feel guilty about!” Simms nearly screamed.
“You an’ yoh friends attacked a man t’night, someone who was a lot stronger than planned,” Alex continued, gently but stubbornly refusing to give up.
“That’s not true!”
“Please don’ lie, Tobias. Ah may not’ve been dere for de whole act but I saw de aftermath. That boy was beat t’Hell an’ shot wit’ silver. Dere’s no way y’all can convince me y’all jus’ happened t’have silver on hand an’ dat de lycan was stupid enough t’attack four people all by ‘imself, ‘specially when he knew y’all had silver bullets.”
“We were just defendin’ ourselves!” Tobias screamed, “The lycan rushed us! Our weapons weren’t silver an’, even if they were, he’d’ve never known that!”
“Toby, honey, no offense but y’all suck at lyin’.”
“I’m not -”
“Please, spare me, sugah. Ah treated dat man’s wounds mahself. Ah know how fast lycans heal an’ dose bullet holes didn’t close fer hours. Lycans can smell silver. He’d’ve known y’all had ‘em at about thirty feet.”
Alexandra folded her arms in impatience and she and Tobias glared at each other, attempting to stare each other down. After about five minutes, the young man finally caved and his gaze dropped dejectedly to his lap.
“You pity him, don’t you?” Simms asked softly.
“He ain’ a monster, Toby,” Alex replied gently, “He’s a livin’, breathin’, sentient bein’ who happens t’have an incurable disease. Lycanthropy’s only partially contagious and most lycans try t’have some semblance of a normal life. He’s got hobbies, loves, hates, fears, an’ faults like everyone else an’, right now, he also happens t’be in a lotta pain, so yes, Ah do pity him.”
When Tobias didn’t say anything, Al continued.
“Most lycans aren’ born dat way. Almost all of ‘em’re survivors of a horrible attack of some kind. Dey’re victims, Toby, not criminals.”
“What’s gonna happen to him?” Tobias asked quietly.
“If no one tells de truth, he's gonna go t’jail f’assault,” Al replied, “His lawyer’ll try t’save ‘em as best he can but lycans ain’t too popular. People’re too afraid of ‘em. The jury’ll probably convict, no matter what, find a way t’lock ‘em up f’good, ‘less Ah can stop it.”
Tobias’s face seemed to twitch and jerk with a range of violent emotions; intense dislike warring with pity and guilt all at once. Alexandra watched the emotions play for a moment, then delivered the crushing blow.
“Yeah, y’all sho fixed dat po’ boy good,” she said bitterly.
“What do you know about it?!” Simms screamed, “You don’t know anything about me!”
Al’s entire being simply froze for a moment. Watching Simms was like watching an echo of herself from so long ago. So young, so angry, so defiant and ready to take on the world. It brought back so many flashes from when she had been Tobias’s age that Alex had to catch her breath before old memories and emotions stirred to haunt her. Centering herself and pushing away the past violently, Alexandra looked over at Tobias with a rueful smile.
“Ah know more than y’all think,” she said softly.
Tobias looked her skeptically, all the scorn of every teenager who felt the need to rebel against authority in that one raised eyebrow. Alex responded with a rueful smile and plunged on with her story.
“When Ah was yoh age, Ah went through de same thing. Ah thought I knew who mah real friends were, thought Ah knew everythin’. Ah started hangin’ out wit de worst kinda crowd, getting’ in all kinds o’ trouble. Wasn’t til it was too late dat Ah realized mah so called “friends” were really jus’ junkies, criminals, murderers, and thieves. Ah jus’ don’ wanna see y’all go down de same path. Believe me, y’all don’ wanna have t’learn some o’ de lessons Ah did.”
“What happened?” Tobias asked, eyes wide, as he began to become interested in Al’s tale.
“Mah so called “friends”, de people who were supposed t’be mah family, put a bullet in mah skull, damn near killed me,” Alex replied, tapping the side of her head where the metal plate from her operation was.
“Why?”
“Ah fell in love wit’ de wrong man. Ah was pregnant at de time but dey didn’ care. Ah woke up six months later from a coma an’ found out Ah lost de baby, dat Ah’d never be able t’have kids. Dey shot mah fiance right in front o’ me. Blew his face clean off. Mah whole life got taken away in one moment. It almost destroyed me. Hate t’see somethin’ like dat happen t’someone else.”
Alex did her best to tell the story without losing herself to the emotions it evoked but a small part of her was screaming, recoiling from the horrible pain it all brought her to even contemplate her past. The detective focused, as much as she was able, on Tobias instead, though she could still feel her whole body shaking with the weight and horror of her revelation. Simms’s face was filled with many emotions, his eyes almost brimming over with tears, and his hand had snaked out to catch her own. There was so much compassion and uncertainty in that one touch that Alex knew she had hit her mark. For the moment, however, she was stunned and could only pray that Tobias would do the right thing.
“I’m sorry,” he said, finally, after several moments of sheer quiet, “What did you do?”
“Got de Hell outta dat part o’ de country, got mah head on straight, went t’school, got a job an’ tried t’make somethin’ of mahself,” Alex replied, “It wasn’t easy but Ah found mah real friends, real family, an’ good people willin’ t’support me. Dey helped me through. Ah turned mah life around an’ Ah know for a fact, y’all can too. Ah messed up big time an’ Ah paid de price foh it but it ain’ too late f’y’all t’get outta dis before it gets too deep.”
Tobias seemed to take this well, looking at her thoughtfully, and Alex decided to go for broke, putting everything she had into one last great argument.
“If y’all keep hangin’ wit de punks you been runnin’ wit’, it’s all gonna be over,” she said, “Ah took a peek at de files de police have on you. Y’all’re a good kid. Got a good family, good, clean, solid record. Yoh academic record’s spotless, helluva lot better den mine ever was. Y’all got a chance t’make dat wrestlin’ thing really work, get a scholarship an’ go to a good school. Why would y’all wanna jeopardize dat an’ hang out wit a buncha losers?”
“It’s not that easy,” Simms replied, “My dad’s been having a real tough time at work. They laid him off because o’ some paranormal affirmative action crap an’ he’s been real bitter about it, depressed. My mom’s had t’work extra hours just to help pay the bills and things’re really tight. I need those scholarships or I may not go t’college at all and my family needs money. Buddy o’mine told me about a way t’make some extra cash. It seemed like a great way t’bring home a little somethin’ t’help out so my mom can afford t’buy my sister some of the art supplies she needs for school.”
“Go on,” Al encouraged.
“The guy who told me about the job’s older than me, one o’the guys all the rest of us look up to. It was the coolest thing t’have him helping me out, you know.”
Al nodded.
“That’s how all de bes’ crooks work, sugah,” she said softly, “Dey always show up when you need dem de mos’ wit de answer t’yoh prayers an’ den de price dey ask in return ain’ worth it.”
Tobias bobbed his head a little in agreement, then continued.
“He seemed t’really take an interest in me, showed me everything. He introduced me t’this group personally, took me along t’these meetings, and they paid us to do all sorts of jobs. Paid us really well.”
“What kind o’jobs?”
“Illegal stuff” came the quiet reply, “Nothing too dangerous but definitely illegal.”
“Were y’all dealin’ drugs?”
“No. They wouldn’t let us touch the stuff. Thought it was too risky. It was more like collecting money from people who owed them for one reason or another, hassling some paranormal support groups, protesting mutant rights. Little things like that.”
“What group was this?” Al demanded, looking at Tobias intently.
Simms said nothing for several moments, clamming up as tightly as if he’d never spoken at all. Alex tried to outwait him but could feel a budding impatience. Every moment could cost the handsome stranger his freedom and this boy was her only link to his possible salvation. Al leaned forward then, all but begging.
“Toby, honey, please. Ah need t’know.”
Simms hung his head, then answered so softly that Alexandra could barely hear him.
“AFH.”
“What on Earth’s a straight “A” student like y’all doin’ wit Advocates For Humanity?!” Alex gasped.
“I told you. I needed the money,” Tobias replied, a bit on the defensive now.
“Honey, no amount o’ money or gold’s worth what AFH demands in return an’ no one who’s really yoh friend would ever ask y’all t’join a buncha mean, hatemongers like dem! Who got y’all int’dis anyway?”
Tobias went so silent for so long that Alexandra was afraid she had pushed him too far. Gently, she prompted him again, trying to shut down her own sense of rising frustration and panic. Simms merely crossed his arms and shook his head.
“I can’t sell out my friends like that.”
“Dey’re about t’frame an innocent man foh assault,” Alex exclaimed, “’Dat don’ sound like friends t’me. Worst part is, y’all’re helpin’ ‘em do it by protectin’ them.”
Simms’s face seemed to crack a little at that and Al went in for the kill.
“At worst, de police’re gonna question y’all an’ it’s only a matter o’ time ‘fore one o’ y’all cracks. You think yoh friends’re gonna stick by yuh when all dey gotta do’s turn you in an’ dey go scott free? Dey’ll let y’all hang in dere place den pretend nothin’ ever happened. At best, dey gonna drag you down wit dem. Y’all jus’ gonna sit dere and let it happen?”
“What d’you want me t’do?!” Simms finally cried, putting his head in his hands.
“Cooperate. Tell de truth. Give de police what dey need an’ free dat innocent man y’all helped put b’hind bars.”
“What good’ll that do?”
“Y’all’re a good kid, Tobias,” Al replied, “Give de cops what dey need an’ dey might be willin’ t’make a deal, ‘specially if y’all’re willin’ t’testify.”
Simms seemed to sit there forever, just digesting Alexandra’s words. When he finally did speak, it was with sincerity and emotion.
“Elias Woodrove talked me into joining AFH a couple months ago. We were out with some of our friends an’ we saw that guy. We thought he was a mutant at first ‘cause of his skin and ears, then when we saw how fast he was, we realized he was a lycan. We all freaked an’ jumped ‘em. Woodrove was the one who shot him an’ hid the weapons, said we should frame ‘em.’
“Y’all willin’ t’tell the whole story t’the cops?” Al asked softly.
“Will Elias and the others go t’jail?’
“Probably.”
“What about me?’
“That’s up t’the police an’ the judge but Ah’m pretty sure, given yoh record, dey’ll be willin’ t’make a deal.”
“Will that guy go free, the lycan, I mean?” Tobias asked.
“Wit’ yoh help an’ a little luck, yeah.”
Tobias bit his lower lip, as if finally making up his mind, then nodded.
“Okay.”
“Thanks, Toby,” Alex said smiling.
She leaned over and gently gave the young man a chaste kiss on the cheek. The boy’s face turned a lovely shade of pinkish red and Alexandra practically skipped, as she waved goodbye to the boy and exited the room. O’Brian and Landen were waiting there with Sarah and Marissa, pacing and gnashing their teeth like a couple of wolves in a cage. Their heads jerked up when Alex exited the room and she smiled.
“He’ll talk.”

3.

-Elsewhere on Solaris -

Sylus Stryfe stared up at the carved image before him and smiled, brushing a shock of his dishwater blonde hair out of his face. It was cut short and slicked back to avoid getting in the priest’s way but sweat from toil and exertion had wetted it down again, leaving the locks to their own devices. His face was not a handsome one. Rather, it was the kind of visage one would forget in an instant, the kind that would become easily lost in a crowd. This was something that Sylus had always greatly appreciated when he needed to blend in, however, the effects of all the work he had been doing were not appreciated at all. Sweat also ran freely down his bare, narrow, defined chest, lanky arms, and lithe legs. It was not yet summer but the priest wore only simple black pants at the moment. His most recent work had taken quite a toll and, though his skin remained the pale tint of most Corubadins, there were several dark patches, where sun and weather had made their mark.
It had taken several months’ worth of planning and execution but the homage the priest had been planning to his god, Salazar, was finally done. Though he wasn’t much of a sculptor, the statue he’d just finished chiseling out of a piece of granite had turned out better than expected. The idol had a slightly bluish cast to it, as the stone that it was made of had been quarried from far off Shadira, where it was rumored you could quarry almost any stone of any color. The stone was now shaped into a seven foot tall man with short hair, nondescript clothes, and dark, beady eyes that seemed to hint at shifty behavior. The smile the creature bore was a smirk, cold, cruel, spiteful, malicious, and mean. It only seemed to heighten his sleaziness.
“Not a bad likeness, considering my feeble talents,” Sylus thought, smiling as he recalled the stunned faces of the gold dwarves guarding the caravan, when they had realized that their entire shipment of granite had been hijacked right under their noses.
The idol sat now on a wooden pedestal where Sylus had been working on it. The room around him was small and mostly barren, left empty so that whoever entered would have room to work. The bare suth wood floors were cold and black under Sylus’s feet but he barely noticed. The stones that made the rest of the room and structure served well enough to keep him warm.
Sylus reached forward to take hold of the newly made statue and place it in the main part of the church where everyone would be able to admire it, when a hand seized his shoulder roughly, spinning him around. The startled priest instantly went for one of the many daggers secreted on his person but was halted by a wicked looking kukri blade pressed hard to his throat.
Sylus froze, hands neutral at his sides, not wanting to upset the wielder of the oddly curved blades. He tried to turn his head and the blade at his throat pressed in a bit sharper in response. The priest gasped but remained still, noting the black clad arm that held him in place. Before he could demand to know who was daring to threaten him, a black clad figure stepped out from the shadows. He was covered from head to toe, hands clasped behind his back, and calm as could be. Sylus could see nothing of his face and form, except that he was somewhat taller than Sylus, who was five nine. The man’s outfit appeared to be of a vaguely Eastern design, like the ninja clans of far off Ryusaka, however, Sylus highly doubted the man was actually of that racial stock, given his height. The stranger carried himself with all the demeanor of a king and was, undoubtably, younger than Sylus’s 35 years, and the priest had no intention of startling him.
“Good evening, Shadowmaster Stryfe,” the man said, addressing Sylus formally by his Church title, “I trust we have your attention.”
“Undivided.”
“Good,” the man said, not a hint of any accent betraying his origin, “We bring a message from our Deathdealer, Cabal Discord.”
“What does my cousin want?” Sylus demanded, recognizing both the title and the name.
“To meet,” came the reply, “He has several things he wishes to discuss with you, things we are not privy to, so don’t bother asking. You will have to ask him for yourself.”
“Fine,” Sylus muttered, exasperated, “Where does he want to meet?”
“His private chapel, in Perkyn,” the man replied.
Sylus’s dark hazel brown eyes took in the man’s entire appearance and demeanor, memorizing what little there was to see. Then, with an offhanded smirk, the priest glanced around at his captors.
“Certainly an odd way for dear ol’ Cabal to ask for a favor,” he mused out loud, “Wouldn’t put most people in a mind to help him at all.”
The knife about his throat tightened a bit and the man to whom he had been speaking hissed in anger.
“You, sneak thief, have no right to question his authority at all!” he snarled.
Sylus’s face darkened immeasurably and he flung his reply at his uninvited guests with such ferocity that they both froze in their tracks.
“And you, gentlemen, should know better than to accost a high priest in his own church!”
Before either man could say a word, several small crossbow bolts flew at them from out of nowhere. The man holding Sylus tried to duck and use the priest as a shield at the same time but failed miserably. He caught two bolts directly to the back before he had the chance to even finish a single movement. The man who had done all the talking sprouted two bolts as well from his right leg, not far from his knees. His head whipped around but, despite desperate searching, he could not find the shooter.
Sylus smoothly dodged out of the way of the lumbering intruders and drew two of his favorite throwing knives, as he fell into an easy, defensive stance. The knives were Baatorian green steel, sharper than the sharpest blade on the mortal realm, and glowed with an angry light, as the priest regarded his attackers stoicly. They attempted to draw weapons as well but stumbled and collapsed to their knees, unable to move further.
“Now, gentlemen, take a message back to Cabal for me, will you?” he said casually, “Tell him I will meet him where he wishes three weeks from now at sunset, but not a moment sooner, and if he ever attempts to summon me in such a crude manner again, we shall soon see which of us is the deadlier. Do you understand, gentlemen?”
The intruders looked at each other for a moment, then back at Sylus, then nodded subtly.
“Good, now please remove yourselves from my church,” Sylus said coldly, “I never want to hear from either of you again.”
Both men simply nodded and gingerly pulled themselves to their feet, supporting each other haphazardly. Then, in a flash of light and shadow, they were gone, leaving Sylus to smile and contemplate what he had learned. After a moment, the priest simply heaved a sigh and glanced around at the room. He knew his servant, who was a nezumi, or ratling, was hidden somewhere nearby.
“You can come out now, Rodolfo,” Sylus said quietly.
It did not take long for the rat-like creature to respond. From the shadows in the rafters, a small bipedal figure finally emerged and jaunted silently to the priest’s side. He was an odd creature, standing barely two and a half feet tall, covered from head to toe in jet black fur, except for the small hands and feet, and the two foot length of solid, pink tinged tissue that was his tail. His beady little black eyes regarded Sylus thoughtfully and he carried in his oddly shaped, clawed hands a small hand crossbow with several darts ready to be shot. All-in-all, he resembled a rat on two legs with clothing on. How in the Nine Hells the creature’s hands, feet, and tail were prehensile, Sylus didn’t know. All he knew was that this particular creature was useful.
Rodolfo’s pinkish tinged ears flattened on top of his head, as he approached Sylus. The nezumi did not like the priest one little bit, Sylus was certain, but he still retained a degree of loyalty that the man could not expect out of anyone else. Rodolfo’s tiny pink nose and ghostly whiskers, far more sensitive than any nose or ears most humans could hope to have, twitched a bit, showing the young ratling’s irritation. No doubt he was upset at having to come to his master’s whim, yet again, but Sylus really did not care. Other than his annoying habit of dressing in garishly bright colored human clothes, the priest found the nezumi dead useful and pleasant, when he wasn’t bitching about being a slave, of course.
Today it seemed Rodolfo had outdone himself with his wardrobe. He was dressed in the height of nezumi fashion, glaringly bright yellow tunic, breeches, pants, cape, and fancy little hat, all done in simple cotton material. If not for the crudeness of the cloth, however, Rodolfo could have passed for the height of fashion anywhere in Avalonea. No doubt the modest faux gold scrollwork on his collar and cuffs would have pegged him for the servant of some well-to-do nobleman. His black leather boots, though well worn, were highly polished, as were the mithril rapier and dagger that Sylus permitted him to wear at his sides. He wore the orange and white feathers in his hat with jaunty pride, as if daring Sylus to chide him for it, and his face bore a rather human expression of annoyance, distaste, and weary acceptance.
“Pack supplies for three weeks’ worth of traveling and make sure my best robes are somewhere in my haversack,” Sylus replied, speaking softly in Nezu, the creature‘s native tongue, “We’re going to Perkyn, in Freeport. You and I are going to find out what my dear cousin and his detestable crew are up to.”
Rodolfo sighed wearily, then nodded.
“Yes, Master,” the ratling said quietly, then, with another small sigh, he turned quickly to obey.
Sylus, meanwhile, had already forgotten the nezumi’s presence as soon as he had dismissed him. His mind was already occupied going over any and every reason he could think of that Cabal Discord would willingly lower himself to speak with a member of the Church of Salazar. Frowning, the priest soon gave up contemplating what his wicked cousin could be up to and decided to simply see what happened when he arrived in Perkyn. Promising himself that he would keep an eye open, the priest turned back to his statue and picked it up, as he headed for the main chapel. All knowledge would come in time but his god rarely waited for any man.

Some little tidbits of inspiration...

Well, now that the first four chapters are up, I thought I would tell you all a little story about how this massive project called the Obsidian Gate got started as well as tell you about the little bits of inspiration that have spawned some of its characters and scenes. When I met my current significant other, about ten years ago, it was as a friend of a friend. I was going through a rough time with my then fiance and really needed a night out. A friend of mine invited me to go out to karaoke (one of my many addictions) and said that she wanted to bring along a guy friend. She said he was really nice and she thought we'd get along. To make the long story short, we did. We started hanging out and he invited me to go play DND (that's Dungeons and Dragons for any non-geeks out there (yes, another addiction of mine)) with him and some of his friends.
After the game, we got talking about some characters of ours. I had never played DND before so I told him of a character that I had come up with around 1992 named Alexandra Lee. She had sprung from my head (much like Athena from mythology) full grown, unlike any other character I had ever attempted to put to page. I described her to Herb and he smiled and said "Wow! She would be a great match for Dan!" He then proceeded to describe his character, Danthias Silverbow, one of the first DND characters he had ever made.
History was made, because, as soon as he finished describing him to me, I said, "Those two seriously need to hook up! They'd be perfect for each other." We then jokingly began plotting how to bring their two separate worlds together. Little did we know that one year later we would not only be dating but well on our way to creating the words you've read on this blog. The words are mine but I cannot take credit for every character or idea you see here, only the way in which they are portrayed. Herb and I bounce ideas off each other and have each contributed about half of the major players in this story. The Sirens, I am proud to say, are all me and, someday, I hope their adventures soar the way that the Obsidian Gate seems to.
As for my inspiration, the very first part of the introduction of the story was inspired by the William Blake poem "tyger, tyger, burning bright." It always makes me think of Dan in his "Shadow Stalker" persona and of the strength and ferocity that lurks just beneath that perfect silver skin of his.
Chapter One pretty much wrote itself but the original scene I was going to have was inspired by Bob Seger's "Turn the Page." I had this image of Dan, tired, dirty, haggard, and ticked off stumbling into Charlie's and trying his best to get help. While the chapter evolved and changed, that song still sums that chapter up for me.
As for Chapters Two and Three, well, the song "Bad Moon Rising" pretty much carried me through those chapters, though I also listened to each character's sound track pretty much voraciously throughout the first four chapters.
Dan's soundtrack consists of quite a few interesting and thrown together pieces: "You may be right" by Billy Joel, "Friends in low places" by Garth Brooks, "Dare" from the Transformers soundtrack, "Eye of the tiger" by Survivor (Tell me you didn't see that coming!), "My way" by Frank Sinatra, "Turn the Page," "The Show Must Go On" by Queen, and "Fred Bear" by Ted Nugent, just to name a few.
Al's soundtrack is filled with songs that really describe her, in my opinion: "Living la vida loca" by Ricky Martin, "Witchy Woman" and "Hotel California" by the Eagles, "Mi vida loca" by Pam Tillis, "Black Velvet" by Alannah Myles, "Rebel Yell" by Billy Idol, "Hit me with your best shot" by Pat Benatar, "Bang bang" by Nancy Sinatra, "Callin' Baton Rouge" by Garth Brooks, "Born on the Bayou" by Creedence Clearwater Revival, and "Objection Tango" by Shakira.
"I won't say I'm in love" from the Hercules soundtrack, "I don't wanna fall in love" by Jane Child, and "Bailamos" by Enrique Igelsias also all played a huge part in forming inspiration for the first part of this book. I'll explain better as it goes along but, to put it short, music moves me and between that and the many novels and movies that I've come to love, there was plenty of inspiration to go around. All of this music is what built the story in my head and now you see it before you. I hope you enjoy.

Obsidian Gate - Chapter Four

*Well, here it is, Chapter Four. Can't believe I've already got this much up. Hope you all like this. For those of you in the know, thought I would clue you in on a little giggle before you read. You'll notice that the tags for Obsidian Gate read "OG." I actually chose that from my favorite play, Phantom of the Opera, where he always signs his notes with those letters, which stand for Opera Ghost. Just thought I'd let a little of my inner geek out. Enjoy!*

Chapter Four:
Silver Lining? Not so much

Born under a bad sign
I been down since I began to crawl
If it wasn't for bad luck
I wouldn't have no luck at all
- Booker T. Jones/ William Bell

- Earth -

Danthias returned to consciousness slowly, like a drowning man swimming frantically to emerge, gasping, from the water’s depths. Whatever drug they had given him was potent. Dan could still feel the aftereffects thrumming in his veins, like a stilted staccato, even as his natural healing and immune system attempted to expel the lethargic concoction. As the elf’s silver eyes finally fluttered into focus, he glimpsed the startled face of a young woman above him, frozen at the lycan’s sudden movement.
She was human, not really a surprise in this place, and slender, with neat, shoulder length brown hair and big, doe eyes, which wore a startled look. She was bent over slightly and she wore a clean, white uniform. Dan assumed she was a healer or a nurse of some kind. All of the color seemed to have drained from her pale skin and she swallowed quickly, lips pursing a bit. Danthias considered her fear odd but not entirely unexpected, given the reception he’d received so far.
A cursory glance confirmed the elf’s suspicions that he was in a hospital. The walls, floors, and ceilings all were painted neutral, clinical shades of white, gray, and beige. The room was filled with odd machines that chirped and beeped, some of which Dan could see that he was, unfortunately, attached to. An i.v. of a much more advanced sort than what the elf was used to connected his arm to a slender, metal pole, where a pouch of a clear, unidentified substance hung. No doubt it dealt a small dose of the narcotic that was, even now, sapping his strength along with the healing serum and necessary fluids that were making their way through his body.
Danthias groaned and started to sit up but his body instantly protested the sudden motion. Cursing, the elf grunted and laid back on his pillow for just a moment and let himself recover from the pain. Now that he knew where he was, Dan wanted out of this place. Now. His attention was drawn back to the nurse beside him, as she slowly stepped away from the bed. Dan gave the woman a weak smile that he hoped wasn’t intimidating, however, she visibly shied away, heading smartly for the door with a decided padding of her feet. The elf wanted to call after her but was too tired to even make the attempt. He simply laid back on the pillow and plotted, as best he could, a way to escape the sticky situation he was in.
As he lay there, contemplating what he should do, a realization suddenly dawned on him. Frantic, Danthias saw that he had been stripped right down to his bones and put in some kind of white gown. The necklace that he had worn hidden under his shirt was gone. Cursing his ill luck again, Dan wondered how long it had been missing and how long it was until the full moon. If that necklace wasn't located... Dan didn't even want to contemplate just how horrific that would be. Before he could really begin his search in earnest, however, life took a distracting turn for the worst.

2.

Alexandra could not contain her nervousness as she, Landen, O’Brian, Marissa, and Sarah all finally made their way to Saint Michael’s Hospital. The young woman leapt out of the car almost as soon as O’Brian had safely parked it, barely sparing a glance for her friends exiting Charlie’s car behind her. Her feet carried her fast and faster into the building straight to the front desk. A quick inquiery and the flash of a badge from O’Brian lead them to the elevators, heading for the third floor. Luckily, the elevators in the hospital were rather large so Alex’s claustrophobia never came into play, even with four other people beside her.
The metal contraption came to a sudden halt and the doors slid open with a hallow, high pitched bong. Alex shot out of the door before the sound had even carried, praying she wasn’t too late, and nearly collided with a young, doe-eyed nurse, as the woman raced towards the information desk, her short dark hair streaming out behind her.
“Get Dr. Silicki right away!” she called, “The patient in room 307’s awake!”
Al’s attention was instantly drawn by that and her companions followed her, arriving at the nurse’s station just in time to see an elderly gentleman with glasses and salt and pepper hair approach the desk. He was dressed in the typical white coat, stethescope around the neck and clipboard in hand. He was in his mid-forties, if appearances proved correct, and looked midly irritated.
“What seems to be the problem?” he asked.
“The patient...in room 307...he’s awake!”
The petite nurse seemed aware and embarrassed that she was stammering and stuttering so badly but could not seem to help herself. The doctor was unimpressed.
“And this is news because?.....”
“He’s a lycan!” the nurse gasped, as if that should explain everything.
“Until he proves hostile, he’s just another patient,” the doctor said sternly, then, motioning her away, he turned towards Alex and her party, having seen them out of the corner of his eye, “How can I help you?”
The nurse, noticing her dismissal, shamefacedly turned and returned to her duties. No one paid her even a second glance, except for Marissa, who gave her a disgusted little sniff and glare, as she passed by. Before Alex had a chance to speak up, O’Brian stepped forward, Landen on his heels, both flashing badges.
“Police, I’m Detective O’Brian, this’s Detective Landen and our associates’re with the Sirens Detective Agency,” he said, “We need t’speak with a patient o’ yers, a lycan.”
“I’m Dr. Silicki,” the physician replied, “If you’re referring to the gentleman who was brought in earlier with all the knife wounds, I’m in charge of his case and I’ll let you see him as soon as he’s fit for company.”
“How’s he doin’, Doc?” O’Brian asked.
“He took a bullet to the stomach and the knives were silver tipped,” came the reply, “The boy’s damn lucky to be alive and even luckier he’s not a werewolf. We have to reinsert the i.v. every two hours or it just heals right over the needle, silver coating and all. It’ll be a while before he’s fully recovered but he seems to be stabilizing.”
“Won’t the silver cause him pain?” Landen asked and the doctor regarded him stoicly over his glasses.
“It’ll make him itch like crazy but better that than trying to use regular steel. That only takes moments to heal over.”
“I thought lycans hated silver,” O’Brian said.
“They do,” the doctor replied, “but werewolves are the only ones to whom it’s fatal. The rest just react to it like a mild allergen. It causes their wounds to heal slowly, more like a human.”
“You got any idea what breed he is?” O’Brian asked.
The doctor just shook his head.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “You’ll just have to ask him yourself.”
Landen and O’Brian seemed to nod at that, then regarded the doctor seriously.
“We really need t’get in and see this guy, Doc,” O'Brian said, “We got some people comin’ down here t’take ‘im away fer a crime we’re pretty sure he didn’t commit. It would be helpful if we could talk t’him before that happens.”
“I’ll let you in to see him but I have to check him out, first,” the doctor said, “police or no police, that boy is my patient and I won’t see him jeopardized.”
“Understood, Doc,” O’Brian said, “Lead the way.”

3.

Danthias snapped back to himself still lying in the same position and groaned, as renewed pain stabbed through his skull.
“Must’ve blacked out,” he thought, “This isn’t good.”
Before he could finish those dire thoughts, the door to his room swung open and a gentleman in a white coat entered with several people in tow. It didn’t take Dan long to figure out the white coat was a doctor, as the man leaned down and seemed to examine the elf from every angle he could. He was speaking to the people with him and everyone was talking in a language that Danthias did not know, the same one everyone in this cursed place seemed to speak. It was with every fiber of his being that he forced himself to concentrate and take stock of who was in the room with him. In addition to the doctor and two gentleman in suits, there was a portly looking man in white and, to Dan’s surprise, consternation, and delight, three very beautiful women at his bedside.
One had a distinctive air of danger to her, despite her flawless, exotic appearance. She had short, black hair, very dark, expressive eyes, lush lips, high cheekbones, soft, tanned skin, and more muscles than any normal woman would know what to do with. She had a soft, rounded face that would make a succubus jealous and a lush body made for sin, set off by an impressive rack. However, she was dressed in all black from head to toe and Danthias sensed a distinctive aura about her, a powerful energy that could only mean one thing: lycanthrope.
“She must be alpha,” Dan thought, “but what breed is she?”
The elf was having trouble making heads or tails of the olfactory sensory input he was getting, but he shrugged it off. Gingerly, he tried to sit up. Firm, gentle hands reached out to lower him carefully back down onto the pillow. He wanted to struggle against them but stopped when he saw whose hands they were. The woman was gorgeous, with long, black hair, and black eyes filled with more wisdom than her apparent years would indicate. She was dressed in a red, sleeveless shirt of some kind, black pants, and odd, red gloves. She was also the one Dan had saved from being robbed, the one with the great legs. The shock of recognition momentarily stunned Danthias. Then, realizing she intended to keep him immobile, Dan rebelled. He had never been a very good patient and he wanted out of this bed. Now.
As he tried to get up again, the woman made a small gesture, indicating his stomach. This made the lycanthrope pause long enough to lift up the white sheet he was under and really survey the extent of the damage done to him. The wounds were all ugly, red, and swollen, as if they had only barely healed, an impossibility given Dan’s incredible healing. Nestled in and amongst the myriad of knife wounds, Dan saw the ugly, red gash across his abdomen, the spot where the bullet had entered him, and winced. Instantly, the truth dawned on Danthias. All of his wounds looked much less healed than they should be.
“Silver weapons,” Dan thought, “No wonder I feel horrible!”
It then occurred to him that these people must have been responsible for helping him get the bullet out. Perhaps they knew what he was, perhaps they didn’t. Either way, the looks on their faces were concerned and it seemed to Danthias that they cared enough to see if he was alright. They could not have known that he was not a werewolf and probably thought the wounds were much more debilitating than what they really were. It made Danthias want to sit up and see how terribly he had gotten hurt, but the woman in red stopped him from sitting up when he tried.
“Bloody women,” he thought, annoyed.
He had not consumed his normal diet in almost twenty four hours and his stomach was beginning to cramp. However, as much as he wanted to indulge his hunger, he knew that he could not subject the women to his true lycan urgings, until he was certain of them. Danthias, glancing around him, motioned for his haversack. The third woman in the room, sensing what he wanted, handed it to him with a dazzling smile and Dan felt his heart skip a beat. She was, quite literally, the most beautiful woman Danthias had ever laid eyes on. She appeared to be about 25 and had eyes like the purest sapphire, a drowning midnight blue. Her hair was pure blue/black, as dark as midnight and it trailed in a braid all the way to her knees. She had the face and body of a goddess; full, red lips, soft, tanned skin, high cheekbones, a softly rounded face, amazing curves, and a toned, lithe body. She stood about five feet and four inches tall and had Dan’s immediate attention. It had been a long time since Danthias had felt this kind of instant attraction and cursed the timing of it all.
“I’m either in Heaven or in Hell,” the elf muttered to himself, thanking the gorgeous woman in his own language, as he took his backpack from her.
When she looked startled but did not respond, Danthias assumed the worst, a horrible thought occurring to him.
“They don’t speak my language,” he thought, “just brilliant!”
Rummaging through his belongings, the elf managed to find the vial he was looking for. It was a small, innocuous, red potion carefully wrapped and put away. Dan quickly popped the top and downed the contents. Everyone in the room seemed to panic, reaching for the vial, then stopped, when they saw its effects. For a healing potion, it was potent and went straight through him, soothing sore muscles and helping his hard-pressed healing system handle all the recent trauma.
The potion had done its work. He couldn’t see it but he could feel the energy of the healing flowing through him and he was somewhat less nauseous. Complementing his natural healing, his face now bore very few, minute signs of his fight, only a small bruise or two to mar his handsome visage. He could tell that his nose had been expertly set because it had healed properly, as had his ribs. His stomach still hurt but the wound was much less agitated now. It wasn’t perfect but it would do.
The elf intended to stand up but then noticed how everyone in the room was suddenly staring at him, curiosity peeked. They were all looking at him with such a serious manner that the elf began to wonder if he had done something wrong. Casually, he tried greeting them in his own language, then in Common, and was unsurprised to find that they could not seem to understand a word of what he said.
Groaning, the elf sat up and began systematically going through every language he knew. Dwarven, Halfling, Drow, Undercommon, and Quo-to yielded no response. Neither did any of the other dozen or so languages that he knew. The more he struggled with what he knew of those languages and attempted to make himself understood, the more frustrated he got. When he had finished with those, he sighed and ran his hands through his hair.
“Well, I know some swear words in Abyssal, Infernal, and Goblinoid, but I don’t think those are going to help me any,” Dan thought, “I know Draconic but I don’t know for sure if that woman over there would understand it or not and my Latin stinks. Oh well, I suppose I’d better try it anyway.”
Cursing himself for not studying the language of magic harder, Danthias wracked his brain and got out what he hoped was a passable greeting in Latin. He thought he saw one of the women perk up a bit and felt his hopes soar.
“They said Latin was imported from another world,” Dan thought, “I just hope it was this one.”
The doctor intervened then, noting that Dan seemed to be a bit flushed from all of his exertions, and began herding everyone outside into the main room. The elf tried to stop them but what strength he had was gone, combining with the healing potion to give him what mobility he had attained. Much to Dan's annoyance, the infernal drug still cursing through his veins was beginning to take effect again, aiding the healing, but at a cost. The elf could do little, as the doctor and his companions left the room, the door clanging shut behind them, and Dan sighed in terrible frustration. Would this never end?

4.

“We really need t’talk t’this guy, Doc,” O’Brian pleaded.
He knew his words were reaching deaf ears the minute Dr. Silicki started shaking his head.
“The patient has already exerted himself far too much tonight,” he said, “He shouldn’t be moved until tomorrow, when we can be certain he’s healed.”
O’Brian didn’t like it but seemed to be taking this with good grace. Landen and he both just looked at each other and immediately started negotiating, seeing what they could do to set up security for the young man. As the doctor and police talked, Alexandra glanced over through the windows at the young lycan. He was lying back on the pillow, eyes closed, as if fighting some inner weariness. When he opened his eyes he looked back through the glass and glanced over at Al with a weary smile. He looked so tired and worried that Al’s heart went out to him.
“We gotta help him, Hermana,” she said softly to Sarah.
“I know,” her sister replied, smiling, “We will.”
“It’s our job, ain’t it?” Marissa said, giving Al a small grin from where she stood, arms crossed, against the wall.
Alex nodded, then smiled.
“We’ll have t’get the other girls in on this,” she said, “I gotta feelin’ we gon’ need all de firepower we can get.”
“Amen t’that,” Marissa muttered, scowling, as she noticed the young nurse from earlier creeping her way towards the lycan’s room. She gave another snort of disgust and ignored her promptly.
As the nurse tentatively entered the room to check on her patient, the elevator doors slid open, chiming again. Alex looked over and her heart fluttered in panic.
“Landen!” she gasped, grabbing his arm, trying to cal his attention to the new arrivals.
Landen started to brush her off, annoyed, then saw who she was indicating and cursed, loudly and voraciously.
Peter Ewald and Tony Russell, accompanied by an entire squad of policemen trained in lycanthropic extractions, swaggered up to where the small group stood with the doctor. Marissa snarled as soon as their scent reached her and made a motion forward, as if to intercept them, but Sarah smoothly held her back, placing an arm gently in front of her.
“If any of these women interfere, feel free to shoot them,” Ewald said, giving Marissa a pointed grin, as he passed.
“Better have somethin’ pretty strong in that gun, pal,” Marissa muttered, “Lead won’t stop me.”
“Maybe not, Miss Fang, but yer friends will,” Ewald said, “And, unlike you, they ain’t bullet proof.”
“Scumbag,” Marissa snapped, restrained, once again, by Sarah’s firm, unyielding hand.
“Y’know, you can’t protect her, forever, Lee,” Ewald said to Sarah, “Sooner or later, y’might wanna have a long talk with her ‘cause she’s gonna wind up on the wrong end of a barrell with that temper o’hers.”
“We shall see, Detective,” Sarah replied coldly, barely acknowledging the man’s ranting, as she continued to force Marissa to back down.
Ewald scoffed, ignoring Alexandra completely, as he strutted over to Dr. Silicki and flashed his badge in a very ostentatious manner. Alex glared heatedly at his back, eyes narrowed to cat slits, and was pointedly reminded of all those men who were constantly whipping out their equipment just to prove they were better endowed.
“Ah’ll just bet he’s compensatin’ f’somethin’” Al thought, annoyed. Ewald, meanwhile, simply ignored all and continued to posture, demanding to know if Dr. Silicki was in charge.
“How can I help you?” the doctor asked, giving Ewald a look that said he didn’t much care for him, either.
“I’m here t’collect a prisoner, a lycan brought in with multiple stab wounds an’ a bullet wound in ‘is gut,” Ewald replied.
“The patient you’re referring to is still under my care,” the doctor said, icily, “He won’t be going anywhere until I deem he’s ready.”
“Are his wounds healed?” Ewald demanded.
“Somewhat, but I’d still like to keep him, just for observation,” Silicki snapped, “The wounds were made by silver, you know!”
“Is he mobile?”
“Barely,” the doctor replied.
“Is he conscious?”
“He seems lucid enough, but -”
“Then he’s well enough!” Ewald snapped, cutting the doctor off in mid-speech, “As long as he can answer questions, that’s all we need! This guy’s dangerous and I ain’t about t’allow him t’run free ‘cause some bleedin’ heart wants t’hold his hand!”
Silicki started to protest but Ewald began moving up with all of his muscle, the vast majority of it headed straight for the lycan’s room.
“Move aside,” Ewald said.
For a moment, it looked as if the good doctor would protest, however, in the end, he stepped aside and let Ewald pass with a cold, angry look at him and all the manpower behind him.
“Just so you understand, Detective, I will be reporting this to your superiors and testifying against you in court when you get sued for interfering with a patient’s well-being,” Dr. Silicki informed him.
“Be my guest, Doc,” Ewald muttered.
Alex surged forward, attempting to aid the mysterious young man, as the squad moved in on the room. She was cut short by a solid wall of police muscle that easily hauled her out of the way. Landen, Charlie, O’Brian, and Dr. Silicki were all yelling in the background, loud, vehement protests, but it was doing no good. The men held Alex fast, surrounding her and her fellow Sirens. There was nowhere they could move and nothing they could do.
All of them were forced to watch, as Ewald and his gang closed in on the young lycan. In the end, he didn’t make it easy for them, but the handsome stranger was taken.

5.

Danthias jerked his head up as the door to his room was thrown open violently and two gentlemen in suits entered, their faces deadly serious. They both had short, neat dark brown hair and intense dark eyes and they were not alone. The older looking of the two looked at Dan with an expression that was mingled parts disgust and determination, stepping towards the elf with a purposeful stride. People in the main room were yelling and causing a bunch of commotion but it didn't seem to be doing a lot of good. The nurse shrieked and leapt out of the way of the incoming cops and Dan immediately went into defense mode. He knew an arrest when he saw one and was determined not to go quietly.
The head cop stepped forward and began speaking words in that horrid tongue that seemed native here. The elf didn’t bother to pay him, his sneer, or his posturing, any heed. He had eyes only for the black leather backpack across the room. If he could just get to his things... The dirty cop stepped forward and Danthias deftly sidestepped him. To his astonishment, the lycan was seized out of midair roughly and deposited firmly on the bed, flat on his back.
Danthias snarled, lashing out with his fists and feet, a well placed kick sending one of his aggressors flying. The goon was quickly replaced by another, however, and the moon elf began to panic. Using every ounce of his lycanthrope strength, Dan heaved up, surging suddenly, the force of his sheer brute strength toppling his assailants in all directions.
Using the distraction to his advantage, Danthias leapt towards the door, moving with all the speed and supernatural grace of his lycan blood. The elf soared over his assailants, on the verge of escape, when he felt a sharp poke in his side. Glancing down, Dan saw a small dart or needle sticking out of his left side. Immediately, his body felt weak and he began to stumble. Dimly, Danthias was aware of the cop holding a gun of some kind but the elf was too preoccupied with his own survival to really process it.
The man reached Dan quickly and jerked him roughly up and over. The elf struggled to reach his haversack one last time but, in his confusion and want to not injure the man with his superior strength, he simply could not move fast enough to dodge both the man and his partner. Straining as hard as he could, Dan tried to fight the many hands that were pinning him down to the bed but his body just wasn’t up to the battle. Seven or eight pairs of hands held the lycan fast, as he convulsed and twitched, and finally, sank down onto the mattress. They had Dan on his back and a pair of manacles on his wrists before the lycan even knew what was going on. Jerking instinctively, the moon elf tried to snap his manacles and was amazed to discover that he couldn’t. They were some kind of adamantine alloy. At that moment, just how much trouble he was really in dawned on him and he could only think to himself that the gods must be laughing at him this day. When he felt the first burning sensation around his wrist, Danthias merely cursed his luck again. Silver. Perfect. Just perfect. Then, all the world seemed to go fuzzy and Dan finally just let himself drift off.

6.

Alexandra watched helplessly as the gorgeous lycan was only revived enough to have his rights read to him and carted unceremoniously out towards the elevators. Al caught the young man’s haunting silver gaze, as he was carted off between two armed guards. There was such despair written there, as of someone completely surrendering to their fate. It broke Alex’s heart and she had to fight not to cry, as two of Ewald’s goons kept her from surging forward to help the young man.
Ewald, meanwhile, smiled a bit, grinning as he saw the young lycan struggle with the manacles.
“You won’t be breakin’ outta those anytime soon. They’re made with a special adamantine/silver alloy,” he said, his smile turning cruel, “You’ll break before they do, boy.”
“Y’all can’t do this t’him!” Al cried, “Those things’ll burn his wrists!”
“Aww, what a shame!,” Ewald said, “So sorry that the dangerous lycan criminal’s gonna get a little rash! I know all about you and your little group, Lee, so just pipe down and stay outta police business for a change. The boy’s gotta go in an’ I ain’ gonna wind up cut up an’ turnin’ furry just so your cute little boyfriend can run free.”
“He’s a witness to a crime we’re investigating,” O’Brian said, glaring full force at Ewald, “and he doesn’t seem to speak English. We gotta figure out what’s goin’ on here before we just book ‘im!”
“I got several eye witnesses say this’s the guy that jumped ‘em,” Ewald countered, “I got a warrant for this suspect’s arrest and a warrant to enter these premesis to get ‘em. You gotta problem with that, you take it up with the boss!”
“No, what I got a problem with is your attitude,” O’Brian said, stepping squarely in front of Ewald, his voice a deadly quiet whip, “You haven’t even read ‘im his rights yet, or tried t’find someone who speaks his language, you’re interferin’ with an investigation, and I’m seriously thinkin’ of reporting you t’the Captain for insolence and belligerence.”
“Not to mention the fact that you’re a racist piece of crap,” Landen said, a smile wide enough to encompass the Hudson on his face, “We are soooo gonna nail you for this.”
“Save yer mutie lovin’ rhetoric for someone who cares!” Ewald shot, “You wanna dance, fine! My witnesses’ll be comin’ down t’the station t’i.d. this creep. You’re welcome t’whine t’the Captain all you want an’ if he lets you play, fine, but do yourselves a favor and stay outta my way. You don’t wanna tangle with me. Right now, I just wanna get this chump down t’the station before he flips out so I can find someone t’read him his rights and book ‘em.”
“Landen’s right, you really are a scumbag!” Alex shot, her eyes narrowing.
“Outta my way!” Ewald growled, motioning to Russell.
The two men both reached for Dan at the same time. The lycan growled at them full force, fangs bared. Both officers startled back for a moment than started forward again. The elf kicked out at them with his legs, hoping to leap backwards. He was brought up short, however, when he felt a sharp prick to his leg. Gazing down, he swore the most vile oath he knew, as he saw the hypodermic needle sticking out of his leg. He had seen enough of his world’s equivalent to know exactly what was coming next and cursed again, as his vision began to swim and the wound to burn.
“Silver needle, sonova-, not again!” was all Dan had time to think before his legs gave out completely and he slumped to the ground, his entire field of vision going black.
O’Brian’s face, if it were at all possible, went even more dark and stormy.
“You’re gonna fry for this,” he said to Ewald between gritted teeth, “I’m gonna see to it personally.”
“He resisted arrest,” Ewald said, “and the new laws say we have every right t’trank ‘em if they get uppity. Besides, it’ll wear off in an hour or two. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
Without another word, Ewald and Russell carefully collected their prisoner between the two of them and began to lead him out of the room. All the rest there glared after the duo, disgust and anger written on their faces as clear as day. Finally, after the two officers had gone, Alexandra was released and she had to force herself not to shove at the man who had held her, unshed tears in her eyes. Why the stranger and his predicament should effect her so profoundly, Alexandra had no clue but, for whatever reason, she knew she cared about the young man’s fate and Alex had never let go of something she cared about.
Following both her heart and intuition, Al quickly got the attention of the nurse on duty, who was standing there with a forlorn look on her face.
“You, what’s yoh name?” Alexandra asked, all Southern Cajun charm.
“Cordelia,” the nurse replied, taken aback.
“Cordelia, honey, Ah could use yoah help,” Al said, smooth as silk.
The woman nervously nodded her willingness and Alex smiled a bit wider, trying to be as pleasant as possible.
“That fine young man that jus’ got drug away happens t’be a client o’mine,” Al said, “Poor boy’s accused of a crime he didn’t commit and me an’ mah agency’re workin’ wit de cops t’clear his name. Any help y’all could give me’d be greatly appreciated.”
Cordelia pursed her lips for a moment, then frowned slightly.
“How could I help?”
“Well, f’starters, the young men that’re accusin’ mah client’re also here,” Al replied, “If these fine officers an’ mah associates were able t’pinpoint ‘em, we might be able t’convince them t’tell the truth an’ drop the charges, ‘fore that handsome man has t’go t’jail.”
“The men that were brought in earlier are still in intensive care,” Cordelia replied, “They can’t have visitors but I think one of them may have been moved out of ICU by now.”
The nurse bopped back behind the counter of the nurse’s station, quickly searching through records, while Al prayed for a miracle. Landen, who was hurling some final obscenities at the retreating goon squad, noticed the activity and got O’Brian’s attention. As the cops turned to question Al, Cordelia, straightened, smiling.
“He’s on the first floor, room 111,” she said, “His name’s Tobias Simms.”
“Thank you, Cordelia,” Alex replied, “Grand merci.”
“Just make sure you identify yourselves and don’t upset him too much,” Cordelia replied, beaming, “The doctor’ll have my head.”
The man in question was busily making sure all traces of the police had left his building, anger and frustration pouring out of him. Dr. Silicki may have been too busy to hear the comments but Landen and O’Brian were not. They both merely raised an eyebrow, as Al faced them triumphantly.
“What’re you up to now, Lee?” O’Brian demanded.
“Please tell me you ain’t workin’ on gettin’ us fired again,” Landen pleaded.
Alexandra judiciously raised her chin a bit and ignored the comment, plunging on with the good news instead.
“Got us a lead on one o’ those boys accusin’ our lycan,” she said, “Figured we could crack ‘em int’confessin’ his guilt.”
“You sure this guy’ll talk?” O’Brian demanded.
“All we can do is try,” Alex replied, “You in?”
The cops paused for a moment, considering, then nodded.
“I’m gonna regret this,” Landen muttered but, both he and O’Brian followed Alex, Sarah, and Marissa to the elevator and rode it down. On the way down, O’Brian and Landen listened to the few details they’d missed and looked at each other.
“Simms, huh?” O’Brian said, thoughtfully, “From what I understand, he’s a good kid, wrestlin' scholarship an' everything.”
“Yeah, a good kid that got mixed up in the wrong crowd,” Landen commented, “The sheets we had on ‘im say he joined AFH two months ago.”
“How do you wanna do this?” Marissa asked Al, crossing her arms and leaning back against the elevator’s rear.
“I figure a sympathetic ear’d be good enough t’get ‘is attention,” Alex said.
“Perhaps Marissa or I should talk to the boy,” Sarah suggested, having divulged information from the snippets of conversation that she had heard.
“No offense, but no,” Alex replied, “You’re good with people but you radiate too much staunch goodness and Marissa, well, if she didn’t brow beat ‘im, he’d just have trouble thinkin’ ‘cause o’the blood rushin’ away from his head.”
Marissa chuckled but did not say a word, as they exited the elevator and rounded the corner to the room in question. It was like every other hospital room Al had ever seen, sterile, white, and cold. For a moment, bad memories threatened to overwhelm the young woman but she started forward bravely. A gentle hand at her elbow stopped her and Alex turned to face O’Brian, who had remained silent so far but was now toting his infamous somber cop face.
“What’s up?” Al asked, anxious to continue her investigation.
“You should let Landen an’ I question this witness,” O’Brian said.
“WHAT?!” Alex, Sarah, and Marissa all exclaimed as one.
The dirty looks the Detective got didn’t seem to phase him one bit. He just continued on in his calm, logical voice.
“You three may already be in enough trouble, as is, without addin’ charges of impedin’ investigation.”
“We are just attempting to help you do your job by doing ours,” Sarah Lee said, attempting to be as logical as possible.
“Ewald an’ the rest o’the boys won’t see it that way,” Landen pointed out.
“And we’re supposed t’care why?” Marissa muttered darkly.
“You guys’re civvies,” Landen pointed out, “No offense, but that does carry a lotta weight.”
“You ever consider he may not wanna talk t’the cops?!” Al shot indignantly, her temper flaring a bit, “He’s young an’ scared t’death o’ goin’ t’jail an’ rebellious as all Hell t’boot! You go in dere wit yoah suits an’ rules an’ he gon’ clam up on you faster’n you can blink! If y’all jus’ let me talk t’him, Ah might be able t’convince ‘im t’spill what he knows, maybe even talk t’the police.”
O’Brian and Landen appeared unconvinced but Al pleaded.
“Jus’ gimme ten minutes wit’ him an’ if Ah can’t convince ‘em t’talk, Ah’ll back off an’ let y’all try things yoh way.”
Both officers looked at each other for a moment, skeptically.
“You do realize that with your record, you get in any kind o’ trouble, they’ll nail you right t’the wall, right?” Landen pointed out.
“Ah’m willin’ t’take the risk."
O’Brian and Landen just exchanged a significant look and then reluctantly nodded.
“Like Landen said, don’t make us regret this,” O’Brian muttered, his speech almost drowned out by Alexandra’s happy yip.
“Thanks, y’all’re the best!” she exclaimed, fighting off the urge to hug the both of them.
“How did we get suckered int’this?” Landen demanded.
“My sister just has a way of doing these things,” Sarah sighed, smiling.
Meanwhile, O’Brian looked at Alexandra sternly.
“You better share anything the guy tells you,” O’Brian said.
“No problem, boys, trust me,” Al said, flashing one of her million dollar grins, as she reached out and opened the door to the room.
“Yeah, yeah, jus’ don’t get us in trouble,” O’Brian muttered.
“Why is it I always cringe when she says that?” Landen asked, at almost the exact same time, to no one in particular.
Sarah and Marissa both gave Landen sympathetic looks and O’Brian stared at the door intently but Alex barely heard any of it, as the door closed behind her and she was left staring face to face with the boy she was supposed to question.

Chapter Three - Obsidian Gate

*Hope everyone enjoys this. Will blog more inspiration stuff later*

Chapter Three:
When it Rains...

Alexandra Lee sat patiently at the bedside of the young lycanthrope and brushed a stray lock of the silver hair out of the young man’s face. Her sister and Marissa had both gone home for the night, leaving Al to sit with Landen and O’Brian by the lycan’s side. The officers were entertaining themselves with playing a card game as they waited, using the dresser for a table, silently dealing and shuffling, filling the room with that slight noise.
Alex allowed herself to simply enjoy looking at Charlie’s newest inhabitant, memorizing his fair features. He was covered in clean, white cotton sheets, dressed only in his black leather pants and skivvies. The white sheets made his skin look all the more pale. By all that was holy, it should be illegal for someone to look that good! Idly, she wondered what color his eyes were and then forced herself to try and analyze his situation objectively. True, he peeked Al’s curiosity in many ways, (not to mention he was absolutely yummy), but she knew she could not afford to let herself get too involved with him. She had to make herself see him as a potential client and nothing more. The private detective agency she ran with her friends was going through a bit of a slow spell and the additional revenue would be sorely needed.
“You stare at ‘em any harder an’ he’s gonna have a hole burned right through ‘is skull,” Landen drawled suddenly, shattering the silence.
“Ah wasn’t starin’!” Alex shot indignantly.
“Yeah right,” Landen snorted, “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were gettin’ a thing fer that fella.”
“As if!” Al retorted, “Ah don’ hardly know ‘em. I just feel sorry for ‘em layin’ there helpless's all!”
Landen merely sniffed and went back to his card game, leaving Alex to heave a sigh of relief. While she felt a little guilty for hiding the man's armor and weapons from the police, something inside Alex told her that there was no possible way this lycan's case could go well for him if it were discovered that he was armed to the teeth and Alexandra and Marissa had pulled enough weapons off of him to arm a small country. The weapons were now hidden safely in a space hallowed out under the floorboards of the guest room closet, ready and waiting for when their owner was well enough to retrieve them. The rest of the young man's things had gone into his haversack, which now lay at Al's side.
Suddenly sirens, loud and insistent, rang out in the starry night and Alexandra bolted upright. Landen and O’Brian followed suit, faces tight with concern.
“Oh no,” Alex thought, distressed, “The one time New Yorkers actually decide t’give a damn!”
Before she could say anything, the door was thrown open and two men in suits aimed large caliber guns directly at her. Alexandra simply eased her hands into the air and regarded the officers stoicly.
“Welcome t’Charlie’s officers,” she drawled, smiling a little, “How can Ah help y’all?”
“Step away from the bed, please,” one of the men said, a gruff forty-something that looked like an old-fashioned Mafia hit man with eyes like two pieces of dark brown steel, cold and unyielding.
O’Brian and Landen saw how quickly the situation was deteriorating and moved to try and alleviate it before it got any worse.
“Ease down, Ewald,” O’Brian said, “This young man’s a key witness in a case an’ Miss Lee here’s givin’ us assistance in gettin’ him around.”
“Save it, O’Brian,” Ewald replied, “You can explain yerself t’the Captain, after I get this lycan down t’the hospital.”
“Has anyone ever told you what an asshole you are, Ewald?” Landen said brightly, hands stuffed into his pockets. He didn’t appear the least bit concerned with the guns pointed at him and Alex had to give him points for keeping his cool.
“You can shove it, too, Landen,” Ewald said, acidly, “You an’ yer partner’ll be lucky not t’be up on charges!”
“Pleasant as always, I see,” Landen replied, still keeping his cocky grin.
Alexandra took her cue from Landen and tried to copy his confident, nonchalant pose, while still being as reasonable and even in tone as possible.
“Look, Officer,” she said, “This man’s hurt. Ah found ‘em -.”
“I don’t care if he’s yer brother!” Ewald shouted, “Move away from the bed. Now!”
“Do it, Miss,” the second officer, this one slightly darker and younger, said, “Step over t’the wall, please.”
Alexandra complied reluctantly, knowing she would have no chance of arguing with two guns. No sooner had she moved than a team of white coated paramedics rushed into the room, all making a beeline right for the bed where the young lycan lay. They wasted no time in checking his vitals and sedating him. Unconscious though he was, Alex couldn’t help but notice that they had wasted no time in making sure he was safe and that not one of them looked very thrilled about having a lycan to look after.
“We need that kid!” O’Brian was raging at Ewald.
“He’s a potentially dangerous, unregistered lycan,” the second officer spoke up, “We’re gonna make sure he’s physically sound but then we’re haulin’ him down t’the station.”
“On what charges, Russell?” O’Brian demanded.
“Assault. Couple o’kids got jacked earlier an’ their description matches his almost exactly.”
“So as soon as he’s awake y’all’re haulin’ ‘em t’jail?” Alex demanded, incredulously.
“That’s right, M’am,” Russell replied, earning him a dirty look.
“He got shot, Russell!” Landen said, “I mean, look at ‘em! Ain’t no way he hurt anyone, ‘condition he’s in.”
“We’ll get t’the bottom of it when we read ‘em his rights,” Ewald shot, nastily, “Now, I’d appreciate it if the two o’ you an’ Miss Cornpone over there stayed outta our investigation.”
Alexandra glared daggers at Ewald, eyes blazing. Miss Cornpone, indeed! O’Brian and Landen screamed and shouted some more but it didn’t do any good. The paramedics finished loading the young lycanthrope up onto a gurney and strapped him in tight for good measure. As they retreated out the door and down the stairs towards the ambulance with their charge, Alex couldn’t help but spare a hateful glare for them, too. Spineless cowards! As if that poor little hottie could even move with the severity of his wounds! Peevishly, she hoped Charlie heckled the crap out of them as they were going out the door.
“You haven’t heard the end o’this,” O’Brian said coldly.
“Do what you gotta do,” Ewald snapped, “In the meantime, I gotta case t’deal with.”
The surly man turned on his heels and simply stalked out of the room, Russell in tow, shooting dirty looks as he left. As soon as they were gone, Alex turned to O‘Brian, concern on her face.
“What’re we gon’ do?”
“‘til that boy wakes up, there’s not a lot we can do, ‘cept talk t’the witnesses an’ see what we find out.”
“D’y’all think we’re gonna get in trouble fer tryin’ t’keep ‘em away from the cops an’ the hospital?”
“Probably,” O’Brian replied, stoicly.
“What hospital y’all think they took ‘em to?”
“Saint Michael’s, most likely. They’re the only ones with lycan safe rooms available.”
“Then why don’t we all go down there an’ pay that boy a visit?” Al suggested, “Worst come t’worst, we can be there when he wakes up.”
O’Brian seemed to think about that hard for a few moments, weighing the options, then nodded.
“Maybe we can shake somethin’ loose from those other kids,” he agreed.
“Let me call Sarah an’ Marissa,” Alex replied, grabbing the lycan's haversack, “They might be able t’help us. Charlie should come, too.”
Neither Landen or O’Brian put up any objections and the calls were quickly made. Both women agreed to meet Alex at the hospital and Charlie was only to happy to accompany them. Luckily, it would be a short drive. That didn’t, however, stop Alex from musing about the last time she had been in the back of a police vehicle.
“Never thought I’d get int’ one o’ these things willingly,” she thought, idly.
Over and over again, Alex kept playing in her head the image of that poor, young lycan lying there on the street, a silver bullet embedded deep into his perfect flesh. It was travesty enough that a good looking thing like that had been assaulted but, worse yet, it stank of a hate crime. While Alexandra would have liked to believe that life was good and the law just, she knew in her heart of hearts that that just wasn’t the case. The law was supposed to protect everyone alike and make all people equal but, sometimes, justice was quite blind, especially for those down on their luck to begin with. All Alex could do was pray that she would not fail this man, that this time things would be different. She hoped fervently that she could find a solution before it was too late but, as the police car sped through the darkened streets, a small surge of doubt welled up deep within her. Yes, sometimes justice could be blind and the innocent were rarely spared. Sometimes, they were the first to be hurt.

Obsidian Gate - Chapter Two

*Here's Chapter Two for everyone to read. Will be doing a blog later about the inspiration for this and where it all came from. Hope everyone likes this and enjoy*

Chapter Two:
Double, Double, Toil and Trouble

I see a bad moon a-rising
I hear trouble on the way
Creedence Clearwater Revival

Officer Aiden O’Brian hung up the phone and stared at the receiver before sighing heavily. The mound of paperwork on his neat desk was slowly accumulating and he knew he should be tending to the thousand and one things that were piling up. However, that phone call had changed everything. Running his hands through his short, neat, dark brown hair in frustration, the Detective stood up, looking for his partner. Just as he was beginning to get impatient, Patrick Landen came into view.
You could never have asked for two more different partners. Where O’Brian was tidy, black pants, white shirt, and black tie always immaculate, Landen was somewhat slovenly. His slightly long sandy brown hair was hanging in an artfully disheveled mess, his hunter green suit and pale yellow shirt were rumpled, and his green tie hung at an odd angle. Where O’Brian was in his mid-forties, Landen was barely out of his twenties, young and cocky. Even Landen’s desk was the mirror opposite of O’Brian’s, a disaster area. O’Brian had time to wonder, for about the hundredth occasion, how Landen found anything in that mess before Landen’s cheerful whistling brought him back to reality.
“What gives, boss?” Landen asked, quirking an eyebrow as he handed O'Brian a cup of coffee.
“I just got an urgent call from Charlie Hutton,” the detective said, “I think we need to check it out.”
Both pairs of brown eyes met and not another word needed to pass between them. Landen was already checking to make sure he had everything he would need before they left. They left the building, waving to their various co-workers and headed to the garage. It was dimly lit this time of day, a hushed atmosphere hanging over it. Landen could not help but think it fit the mood perfectly but neither he nor O'Brian broke the silence until they were in their registered vehicle, doors shut, seat belts locked, and well on the way to Charlie’s Nightclub. Finally, Landen simply looked over at O’Brian and said,
“What’s happened this time?”
“What makes you think anything’s wrong?”
“We’re driving to Charlie’s on a weekday night when there’re about several thousand other cases that need solving.”
Landen paused only long enough to give his partner a look that said he was not into playing games right now, then said,
“What gives?”
“Someone got shot there tonight."
“So did a lot of other people in this city, O’Brian; Why are we being called in on this one?”
There was a very long pause. Then, O’Brian abruptly broke the silence.
“’cause the vic’s a lycan.”
“What?!” Landen exclaimed, “Jesus, O’Brian! Not again! Please tell me you’re not gettin’ us involved in another one o’ Charlie’s “save the paranormal” routines?”
“They’re people too, Landen,” O’Brian said fiercely and firmly, giving his partner a very penetrating and angry look, “You know what’ll happen if they call anyone else.”
Landen cursed voraciously, as O’Brian continued.
“The paramedics’ll take him t’the hospital an’ when they see what he is, they’ll have ‘em detained.”
“The law says they have to be monitored,” Landen said, frustrated, “We are cops, you know. It is kind of our duty to obey the law.”
“Yeah, well those so called treatment centers’re no better than prisons,” O’Brian snapped, “Some of ‘em ain’t even as nice as the paranormal containment cells we got in the basement. For cryin’ out loud, Landen, you know that! They’ll trank the kid t’high Hell an’ then lock ‘em up.”
“I know! But-”
“Then, he’ll be lucky t’get a fair trial, an’ really lucky if he can avoid bein’ locked up like a caged animal for the rest o’ his life. Just ‘cause the law says ev’rybody’s gotta treat lycan’s the same as everyone else don’t mean everyone actually does.”
“I know that and, believe me, I think it’s just as unfair as you do,” Landen yelled, “Hell, I got friends that’re paranormal too, O’Brian! I know you an’ Charlie go way back, but you’re riskin’ both our necks here!”
“It’s nothing less than Charlie’d do for us and you know it,”
The tone of finality in the older detective’s voice told Landen more than anything else that there would be no going back. Nothing he was about to say would make a damn bit of difference.
“Fine,” Landen sighed, “Let’s just make sure we don’t regret this.”
The ride was soon over and the detectives quickly made their way to Charlie’s, the biting wind hounding them the whole way. Had they not known the way, Charlie’s would have been hard to find. The building was old, brick, the kind that’d been there since the city was founded. It looked odd nestled between all those towers of steel and glass and the entrance was subtle. Any unsuspecting tourist could miss the entire building if it weren’t for the sign. It said “Charlie’s Nightclub” in huge, neon letters. The “C” looked like a gigantic, yellow, crescent moon, while the rest of it was done in a lovely, soft blue. There was also a small, red “Open” neon sign in the tiny window that faced the street but most people barely noticed that one. Parking across the street and behind a chain link fence, Landen and O‘Brian made their way to the bar. It was just after eleven o’clock.
Glancing up briefly, Landen caught sight of the moon, hanging in the sky. It wasn't yet full but it hung brightly, shining between the dark clouds that had gathered. The way it peeked out eerily between the shadows made Landen wonder fitfully just how close the full moon actually was. He quickly fought off the urge to cross himself and entered Charlie's after O'Brian.
The building was quiet, deserted, all the patrons having made their way home. Just another presage for disaster in Landen’s book. He said nothing, however. He merely followed his partner’s lead, like any good cop, praying the whole time that he was not doing something that would end both their careers. The inside of the nightclub was immaculate. The actual bar was old-fashioned looking with an immense lighted mirror behind it. All the lights were in delicate little globes and it made the bar look ethereal, homey. There were two signs posted on the mirror. One read “We’re a mutant friendly establishment, get over it!” The other read “Proud to serve paranormals.” These always had Landen shaking his head. Charlie sure knew how to make ripples. The carpet that ran throughout the front part of the nightclub was a dark blue somewhere between royal and navy, except for two little runners that ran out towards the back. Those were a deep, cherry red that looked like heart’s blood. Everything in the front was made out of a rich, deep, cherry wood, and every single cushion in the house, whether leather or faux velvet, was a deep blue to match the carpet.
Charles Nathan Hutton himself stood quietly behind the bar, waiting patiently for their arrival. The man looked calm, peaceful. You would never have known someone had nearly died on his doorstep less than an hour ago. He was putting away the last of the glasses that he had only now had a chance to finish washing. Charlie was a rather interesting character. Heading into his mid-forties, he was roughly six feet tall and appeared to be about thirty pounds overweight. He was a burly, big, New York bear of a man, with craggy, lined features, thin, pursed lips, and a stub nose that had been broken no less than three times. Contrary to appearances, the thirty extra pounds were muscle, not fat, and between that, his bouncers, and the shotgun hidden under the counter of the bar, Charlie managed pretty well to keep his bar a peaceful place. He wore the traditional uniform of his establishment, white shirt, simple tie (dark blue today), black tweed pants, and black shoes. All of it was neatly pressed, shined, buttoned, and arranged perfectly. Even his white apron was spotless, a perfect match for his outfit. If nothing else, Charlie led by example.
No matter how hard Landen tried, he couldn’t remember a single time that Charlie had ever been rumpled, unclean, or untidy and he expected his employees to be the same, no exceptions. Charlie’s was a classy joint and the boss kept it that way. He was Italian to the hilt and God help the person who thought they could talk him out of something when he had made up his mind.
Landen and O’Brian approached the bar, Landen taking a seat on one of the plush cushions. Charlie finally acknowledged the detectives when he had wiped his hands and put away his towel. He came around the bar to greet them, shaking hands politely with Landen.
“Aiden, Landen, good to see you,” he said, nodding in greeting.
“Hey, Charlie,” O’Brian said, hugging his old friend once quickly and then immediately going to business.
“Where is he?”
“Upstairs,” Charlie said, jerking his head towards the staircase, “The girls’ve been lookin’ after ’em.”
Charlie’s voice, somehow tailor-made to match his appearance, was deep, rumbly, and so heavily laden with New Yorker accent that, if you didn’t listen carefully, you could miss his words in all the slurring and grumbling.
“Please tell me they kept a low profile,” Landen implored, as he followed Charlie and O’Brian past the podium and into a small hallway that lead towards the far left corner of the building.
“They’re not stupid!,” Charlie shot, his intense, dark brown eyes glaring at Landen fiercely, “of course they did!”
“I had to ask, Charlie, some o’them aren’t known for keeping their tempers."
The young Detective simply held up his hands. Charles Nathan Hutton was a big, burly bear of a man all right. If you were talking about grumbly, Italian teddy bears with hearts of gold. He always wanted to believe the best of anyone and it was hard to convince him otherwise. He was also more overprotective of his people than a momma grizzly in a bad mood. More than once, Landen had worried that Charlie’s generous nature would backfire on him someday.
“They’re still paranormals, Landen,” Charlie said, seriously, “they don’t want attention any more than they want this young man to attract attention.”
“Do you even know what breed he is, Charlie?” O’Brian asked.
“Marissa wasn’t able to get specifics,” Charlie replied, “All we know is he’s some kind o’ cat lycan.”
The bartender ran a hand over the top of his head, as if wiping away sweat. Landen knew better. There was no sheen on his slightly balding pate and not one lock of his sandy hair, which was sort of longish in the back, was out of place or damp from perspiration. Charlie was more nervous than he was letting on.
“Great, with our luck, it’ll be one of the really dangerous breeds!” Landen muttered.
“He’s a lycan, son, they’re all dangerous if you push ‘em,” O’Brian pointed out, as they finally came to the end of the hallway. There were two doors leading to restrooms and on their right was a stairwell leading up. Charlie led them up the short staircase and stopped in front of a small oak door on the left side of the hallway at the top of the stairs.
There was another doorway directly at the very end of the hallway, which the detectives knew lead to Charlie’s apartment, but neither of them paid them any notice. It was what was waiting behind door number two that interested them. Charlie said nothing, simply opened the door and led them into the small bedroom he had taken to keeping for what he affectionately called his “guests.”
Contrary to O’Brian and Landen’s fears, the lycan in question did not look dangerous. In fact, he looked downright vulnerable, barely old enough to be legal.
“Who is he, Charlie?” Landen asked.
“No idea,” Charlie replied simply, “He hasn’t been conscious to answer questions.”
“Jesus, Charlie!” Landen exclaimed, truly aghast, “You let some strange paranormal sleep right next t’ya and ya don’t even know ‘is name?!”
“He just got shot, Landen! Besides, I prefer t’let the kid answer for himself, thanks! ’Til he’s up an’ functional, we don’t know if he’s dangerous or not.”
“He’s a lycan, Charlie, for God’s sake!” Landen screamed, “It may not be the kid’s fault but that don’t make ‘em any less dangerous!”
“Are you implying that I should turn this young, helpless man away just because he’s a lycanthrope?” Charlie asked quietly.
“I’m just askin’ you to think a little, Charlie, that’s all!"
“With all due respect, Detective, I think we can handle things here,” Charlie replied, his shoulders stiffening with the beginnings of pride and indignation, “I was in the service, you know. I think I know how to look after my own.”
“That gonna ease you on your way if this guy flips out?” Landen demanded, refusing to break eye contact with the older gentleman, “I’m not presumin’ t’judge this guy’s character outside o’his condition, but what if he’s a newbie, Charlie? They don’t always have perfect control, all good intentions aside. Nine times out o’ten, they flip out their first full moon. They need someone o’their kind t’look after ‘em. You wanna take the chance this kid’s gonna go bonkers the next full moon an’ kill you?”
“If somethin’ goes wrong, I think Marissa can handle it, Detective,” Charlie replied, smiling.
“Dammit, Charlie, she can’t be everywhere at once!” Landen exclaimed.
“Maybe not, but I don’t plan on goin’ anywhere ‘til we know this guy’s safe,” a dark clad woman spoke up from the corner.
Landen turned and faced the speaker, knowing full well that arguing with this person was pretty much akin to beating your head against a brick wall.
“She and Charlie would make a perfect match, if he weren’t such an old geezer,” Landen thought. She appeared roughly in her mid-twenties but not knowing the exact age of the woman in question, he figured it was better to just leave that thought unsaid.
Marissa Li Fang stood up from the spot she’d been inhabiting in the corner and approached the Detectives. She’d been standing there with her arms crossed and, as she unwound and approached, Landen couldn’t help but admire her movements, slow, efficient, and deadly. She moved like a predator, someone who knew how to kill, how to stalk. She was only five feet and three inches tall, being Chinese, but she had a presence and a sense of mind that was larger than life, made her seem much bigger than what she was.
Her shoulder blade length black hair, with all the rich, dark brown highlights, was swept up into a simple mass at the top and back of her head. Her deep, black eyes regarded Landen with cool detachment and the Detective had no delusions about wanting to tangle with this one. If it came down to it, he would be the one in the pine box and he knew it. Muscles rippled and arched, artfully softened by the delicacy of her soft skin. Landen didn’t need to see her muscles to know they were there. The bits of it peeking out at her very solid abdomen spoke well enough for her whole body. Her pants, tank top, tennis shoes, socks, and the leather gloves with the fingers cut out were all stark black, as were the nice, expensive shades she had tucked into the front of her shirt near her very ample bosom. The shirt was low cut enough and only hit her midriff so Landen could see all of her tatoos.
There were three on her right arm, set in a triangle pattern. The one across her collarbone, half hidden by her shirt, was also somewhat obscured by the onyx pendant that Marissa wore. Landen had asked her where she’d gotten it once, because of how old it looked. Marissa had mumbled something about it being a family heirloom and hadn’t mentioned it since. Her final tattoo was around her navel, where her ruby-stoned black navel ring was displayed prominently. How she hid all those when she worked for Charlie, Landen didn’t want to know. Her ears were also pierced several times each. She looked, all in all, like a true badass but Landen didn't back down.
“You willin’ t’bet your life an’ your friends’ lives on you walkin’ out the victor if you gotta throw down with this kid?” Landen demanded, “You sure you’re that good, Marissa?”
“I can’t give you any guarantees, Landen,” she replied, staring directly into the Detective's eyes, “but I’ve yet t’meet anyone who can get the best o’me, lycan or not. An’ I can promise you, if it comes t’that, neither one o’ us’ll be walkin’ outta here. He might get me, but I ain’t about t’give him the chance t’get my friends too.”
“Just don’t do anything stupid,” Landen muttered, “The last thing I want is t’have t’come down t’the office an’ read your name in the processin’ papers.”
“You won’t."
Something in the way the phrase was uttered made Landen shudder but the Detective put it out of his mind and focused on the job.
“So what do we do now?” O’Brian asked.
“Alex and Sarah went fer provisions and some medical supplies,” Charlie replied, “They’re gonna try an’ patch the kid up; then, we just pray he wakes up. He’s lost an awful lot o’ blood but lycans can take a helluva beatin.’”
“What if he didn’t see anything?” Landen countered, “What if he can’t remember? Christ, Charlie, this kid should be in a hospital, not bleedin’ his life out in your home!”
“You know what’ll happen if we take him to the hospital,” Charlie said, softly, “They’ll treat ‘em like crap soon’s they find out what he is an’ we’ll be damn lucky t’find anyone willin’ t’convict the guys that jumped ‘em, even if he can i.d. ‘em.”
“I hate to interject, gentlemen, but I do believe Charlie is correct,” a voice said from the doorway.
All eyes turned as another stunningly beautiful Asian woman stepped into the room. She bore a tray laden with food and drink in her arms and was regarding all of the men with a calm, sure gaze.
“That so, Lee?” Landen demanded, “This another one o’ yer predictions?”
“Yes, I do believe the two of you are his only shot,” she said, in that calm, serene voice of hers, “You may be able to help find the assailants and make certain that the charges against them stick. Any other policeman would simply label him another paranormal freak and let the case drop.”
“There’re a lotta other cases out there, y’know,” Landen shot, trying not to be a jerk but losing his patience.
“Yes, but can you really turn away from someone who truly needs your help?” the woman countered, as she set the tray down near the bed, “Is that not why you both became policemen in the first place? To help people?”
Landen had to concede defeat there. Sometimes, Sarah Lee was just too insightful for her own damn good. Forget that she had some eerie abilities that went above and beyond the norm of humanity. The woman just had a way of knowing things that annoyed and astounded everyone all at the same time. To look at her, you would never think she was so impressive, despite the fact that she was drop dead gorgeous. She was five feet and eleven inches tall, amazing considering her race, and had those fathomless, black almond eyes that Asians were famous for. She also had silky, jet black hair that hung in a perfect line to her waist, like a flawless obsidian mirror. There were two small streaks of medium brown, one on either side of her head, that broke the unrelenting blackness of her hair, emphasizing how truly dark the rest of it was.
Right now, her hair was up in its usual high, straight, perfect ponytail and the two streaks had been pulled together to make one single line of brown right down the middle of her hair. Her face was one of those kind that would not look out of place in a room full of models, all soft, roundness, high cheekbones, a cute little upturned nose, and lips that, even if not quite full, still managed to look quite tempting. She held herself very straight, her spine perfectly aligned, as if a rod had been placed in it and her body was expertly muscled, lean, trim, and very athletic.
Landen knew the woman ran and worked out several times a week. It showed, especially in her legs. Not only did they go on forever, you could see the muscles in them. She didn’t have an insanely impressive bust but it was pleasant to look at and she was softly rounded in just the right places. Every curve suited her, never too much or too little. She wore a simple crimson colored tank top, plain blue jeans, white tennis shoes, and a pair of short, thin red gloves. She bowed slightly to O’Brian with that unpretentious air of hers and smiled. It was a gesture that made her seem far older than her twenty-seven years, though her face made her appear younger, an incongruity that had saved her more than once from someone’s anger.
“It has been a while, Detective,” she said, “How are you?”
“Well, Miss Lee,” he said, “Where’s that hellcat of a sister of yours?”
“She will be here shortly, Detective O’Brian,” Sarah said.
“Can you tell us what happened in the meantime?” O’Brian asked. Silent until then, he had been building his thoughts. Now, he wanted some answers.
“We were almost done with our set when we heard loud noises,” Sarah replied, “There was something that sounded like a gunshot and then sirens. We stopped the show and when we glanced outside to see what was going on, we found this young man passed out on Charlie’s stoop, suffering from multiple wounds, including a bullet wound to the stomach.”
“Ouch, nasty,” Landen commented, knowing how painful those could be.
“We were attempting to try and get him stabilized when we noticed the wounds starting to close themselves, though it looked like they were having a bit of trouble,” the woman continued, “When we inspected the wounds, we guessed that the assailants had probably used either silver weapons or something with high silver content, because of how slowly the wounds healed, and that this gentleman was most likely a lycanthrope.”
“How could you tell the wounds were healing?” O’Brian asked.
“One of them, this one on his face,” she said, indicating a cut just above his eye, “Started closing rapidly. We managed to get him inside and got him upstairs to this room. We wanted to make sure he was somewhere safe, in case his attackers tried to finish the job, and we did not want anyone to see that he was a lycanthrope.”
“Was there any sign of who did this to him?” Landen asked, finally piping up, now that he was getting interested.
“None. They were gone when we found him. Once we had determined that he was a lycan, we asked Charlie to contact you because we all trust you to handle paranormal cases. We cannot say the same for a great deal of your fellow officers, unfortunately.”
While all of this was going on, as O’Brian was noting things down, the door opened again and another woman entered. This one was five feet and four inches tall, Latina to the hilt with knee length, curly blue/black hair that was so thick and heavy that the spirals in her hair had pulled themselves out into what looked like a natural wave. Right now, the waves were hidden in a single, long braid. She had beautiful, unusual, and arresting eyes that were, according to popular opinion, her best feature. They were a dark, fathomless midnight blue, almost on the verge of being black, wide, and ringed with long, black lashes, the gift of some distant Gypsy heritage on her mother’s side of the family. Her lips were full, red, and pouting, and her delicately rounded face was set off by high cheekbones and a small, cute nose. Her eyes sparkled with suppressed mirth, usually a sign that she was up to no good. Her body was the type made for sin, with more curves than the Audobon in all the right places and packed with trim, athletic muscle, a legacy of her running and working out. She had the kind of perfect, soft, dexterous hands just made for those long, perfect, red nails, and knew how to capture the attention of a room.
She wore a midnight blue tank top and black capris with black shoes, the kind that slipped on, and was carrying what looked like a large sack with the logo of the local pharmacy on it. She exchanged amused looks with Marissa, who was back to standing silently in the corner, and with Sarah before depositing the bag at the side of the bed.
“Long time, no see, officers, Ah was beginnin’ t’think y’all didn’ like us anymore,” she said breezily, turning on her Southern style charm for all it was worth.
“That’s because we always seem to run into you when something bad’s happening,” Landen said, “Why's that?”
“I have no idea, Officer,” the woman said, batting her eyes coquettishly.
“Can it, Lee,” O’Brian said, “This isn’t a joke an’ we know you too well.”
“Never can fool you, can Ah?” she demanded.
“Nope,” was O’Brian’s only reply.
“Is your sister always a pain like this or’s she just really good at gettin’ in trouble?” Landen demanded, smirking at Sarah.
“You know Alex,” Sarah replied, “Always the center of attention.”
“Has he woken up yet?” Alex asked, gently brushing aside a lock of hair from the young man’s face.
“No,” Sarah said, “and his body is reacting badly to the silver.”
“We need t’get those bullets out before he goes int’ shock,” Alex said.
“You need t’take ‘em to a hospital!” Landen shot, “Do you have any idea how much trouble you guys can get into fer this?”
“Not as much as this young man will, if we allow the law to have its way with him,” Sarah pointed out, serenely.
“This’s where you try t’talk them outta doin’ this, Charlie,” Landen pointed out, glancing over at the bartender, “They’re gonna get sued at the very least.”
“I have good friends who’re lawyers and since when’ve they ever listened t’me?” Charlie replied.
Landen just threw up his hands in disgust.
“I give up on you guys!” he exclaimed, “You’re gonna get me an’ O’Brian fired one o’ these days!”
“Can you give us anymore information regarding what happened to him?” O’Brian demanded, abruptly cutting off the end of Landen’s tirade.
“Not at this point, but we’re gonna need yoah help if we’re gonna get this boy back on his feet,” Alex said, “Can we count on y’all?”
O’Brian paused for the briefest of moments before replying.
“For now, yes.”