Waylon's Crossing - 3. Chapter 3: Pick-pocketing is not Normally so Exciting

Waylon's Crossing
Chapter 3: Pick-pocketing is not Normally so Exciting

Bryce Knopf loved the night. He ought to; he was a vampire, after all. And a thief, not to forget that.

He grinned to himself and ducked into the shadows of an alley as a pair of watchmen rode past.

Bryce had a title, if he wanted it. Duties and responsibilities came with titles. Bryce didn't want anything to do with them. He'd been forced to give up everything. Now all he'd asked was to be left alone.

Vampires were not naturally occurring; they'd been made. Few remembered, but Bryce had lived it. Ripped from a life of luxury and ease, he'd been thrust into misery and darkness. His own memories of those times were hazy and weak, only coming back in vague, tormenting nightmares.

A mistake, that's what he was, a magical mistake, birthed because demonkind had lost its ability to breed. Bryce wasn't supposed to know that. There was a great deal he'd learned back then. Top of the list was survival, and how to be silent. Demon currency was by secrets. If the Queen had known just how much Bryce knew, she would never have let him go.

Demonkind's hatred of vampires was hardly secret, but even demons didn't even really know why. They just knew that vampires, and their even more polluted, distant relatives, werewolves, possessed demonic blood, and for that they were tainted, outcasts.

Vampires, who could not abide the daylight at all, and werewolves, who turned into savage monsters upon the full moon. Made originally from humans, vampires could breed with a handful of other races, and so their species grew. Werewolves could only breed with humans, and so their kind had dwindled. The few remaining packs had inbred so much they were little more than animals.

Should Bryce encounter a demon, their reaction would be one of two ways: disdain or hatred. Disdain or disgust he could handle. Both would ignore the others' existence. Hatred was a little harder. Bryce was not large, but he had a demon's strength, speed, and senses. He could heal quickly, though not as well as half-demons, and his eyes were even more sensitive to the light than a demon's cat-like eyes. A vampire's pupils did not contract; they were designed for the night. Even in the Borderlands, Bryce must wear sunglasses to protect his sensitive eyes.

He liked Waylon's Crossing. The big city had an extensive underworld, often called the borderlands within the city. With so many crossings into the Borderlands, the City Watch was kept on their toes.

Territories within the Borderlands were often lawless places, ruled over by many a gangster or ordered criminal unit. Some places amongst the Borderlands were darker than others, more frightening, more deadly, but others could be easily mistaken for an old, comfortable country lane. Everyone knows of the Borderlands, but getting there is not so easy. Some people can see the passages, but find themselves only in a dead end or blind alley instead of the street they thought they glimpsed. Most see nothing at all.

Finding the access ways was a learned skill, one that had consumed centuries of Bryce's life. Now he could slip from one world to the other with almost as much ease as demonkind.

There were two, now, that he had his eyes upon.

Demons lived for gems, but not the way that people of the Light did. In their world, Demons wore their gems as status symbols. The finer and rarer the stone, the more influential they were, the higher their standing. Having lived beneath the crust of their dark world for millennia, even a poor demon was wealthy compared to an average citizen of Waylon's Crossing. If Bryce could lift just one gem, he'd be set for weeks. Months, if he was frugal, but that was no fun.

Outside the Dark Court and their cities, demons wore little. Shirts were impossible with those huge, sweeping wings and horns, but they wore torcs or baldrics, cuffs about their forearms, bracelets and necklaces, hoof-covers and belts. They'd even found a way to paint tiny slivers of gems into their skin. Gems that would show up well against red and black skin were the most sought-after amongst demons, and so more rare and valuable in human cities.

The two that Bryce sneaked toward were bickering about the spoils from some fight, but the thief didn't care about that. He wanted the gem off the pommel of the one's sword.

Bryce edged stealthily through the shadows along the wall, staying upwind and praying that his scent would not carry to the demons. Experience and experiments had taught Bryce that his unique, musty scent could not be covered up, and so he dealt with that as well as he could. Demon noses were sensitive. If they caught wind of him, the gig was up.

Then one of the demons whipped out a strange object. Shaped like a fist, with an outstretched finger, pointing, the object was metal, with pearl inlaid into the handle.

A revolver!

Even rarer than gems, an actual gun was priceless. There were less than a handful of people around the world who could make them, and less than half actually worked. A whiff of sulfur and smoke teased Bryce's nose. That gun had been fired recently. That meant it was a working model! He shifted goals instantly.

It must have been his lucky night.

"You there!" The voice rang clearly in the night.

Both demons looked up. The scent of werewolf was suddenly overpowering, followed closely by ho -- no, centaur -- no, centaur and horse. Members of the City Watch were chasing a werewolf, and they were coming this way.

The demons rose from their crouching, heated discussion. Bryce took the opportunity to leap from the shadows and seize his target.

The werewolf dashed down the alley.

The demons lifted into the air with powerful sweeps of their wings, drawing weapons and screeching their fury.

Confused, the werewolf paused, skidding to a halt and almost causing the chasing watchmen to run right into him.

"Run, you fool!" hissed Bryce, but he didn't hang around. Using the werewolf's scent to mask his own, he darted away to safety, keeping careful watch overhead. Demon eyes were just as powerful as his own in the night.

A werewolf, out and about during the full moon. Had he lost his mind?

Bryce sprinted from one alley to another, instinct spurring him to duck and roll, just in time to avoid an air strike from the hovering demons. Back against a wall, he got a nose-full of werewolf.

"Shit!" he cursed. "Stop fucking following me!"

He bounced back to his feet, keeping to narrow, twisting alleys to throw off his pursuers. Eyes open wide, he hunted for the nearest sewer entrance. The Borderlands were close, but the demons could follow him there. The watchmen were already falling behind, hampered by the centaur's horse body and the human's slower speed while afoot. If Bryce could get to the sewers, he'd evade them all. Why couldn't it be raining? A week shy of Winter Solstice, the temperature had been chilly, the weather drizzly for the past few days. A good breeze or rain would scatter Bryce's scent, hampering anyone tracking him.

He supposed, if he still had blood to pound in his veins, it'd be pounding pretty damn fast about now. In times like these, his body almost seemed to forget it was dead. Bryce didn't really need to breathe, but he was gasping hard enough to give the impression of life -- and the gods-be-damned werewolf stuck to his heels as if they were tethered! Bloody beast was going to get them both killed, or worse.

Certain he'd see the creature's mad eyes and slavering fangs if he were to hazard a glance behind, Bryce kept his eyes on the ground in front of him. "Where is it? Damn it!"

The scent of wood smoke and pine drifted by Bryce's nose suddenly, going straight to his crotch. One hand pressed to that awkward bulge as he threw his head back, sniffing thickly after that elusive touch. The thief almost tumbled headlong into the open manhole he'd been looking for. He caught himself on the lip, grasping for the rungs. The werewolf leaped in after, splashing to a noisy landing at the bottom.

"Aure?" whispered Bryce, peering out of the hole cautiously, but no less intently. He didn't see anything, but he did feel a slight pat to the top of his head. Grinning, Bryce slipped hands and feet to the outside of the ladder and let himself slide. The closing cover blocked out the dim light of the city above.

The darkness was all but complete down in the sewers and the smell! Bryce wrinkled his nose, still grinning goofily, and directed his gaze toward the werewolf's hefty sneeze.

"You, my friend," said the thief, though the wolf was nothing of the sort. He was merely unwinding after that jolt of adrenaline, spike of lust, and the thrill of escaping with his prize. "Are mighty damn lucky." His hand moved toward the tiny crossbow at his back. With his sharp eyes, Bryce would only need one shot. An eye for an eye. His grin widened. Aure would not approve.

Alan lifted one lip in a snarl, but he did not attack. While fleeing the City Watch, he'd gotten a whiff of Kynan's scent. There was much about Kynan that Alan didn't know, but that smell, of sweat and steel, was undeniably his. Alan would recognize even trace amounts of that scent. Somehow, this vampire had obtained something of Kynan's and Alan wasn't about to let him go without finding out how or why. He laid his ears back, baring his fangs.

The werewolf was black, a dark shadow in the night. Only his eyes caught what little light trickled down into the sewers and they were hauntingly gold. The wolf was big, too. This, Bryce suddenly realized, was not a derivative cast-off but the real deal, a pure line.

The wolf had the advantage over Bryce in the subterranean levels. Unless the vampire wanted to spend the night clinging to the access ladder, out of reach, he would take a lot of damage should the beast attack. Recoverable, of course, but that was something he could do without. He knew that the demons were still out there and likely pissed as hell at him. Hanging around was not an attractive option.

"Can you understand me?"

Alan was puzzled. Frozen in time from the moment of their birth, vampires did not visibly age. Like demons, their flesh remained youthful until death, at which time vampires collapsed into dust. This one smelled old -- the stink of death and decay, which clung to vampires, only grew stronger as they aged -- old enough that he should have some experience with werewolves. Granted, not all werewolves and vampires got along. Their prey was much the same, after all, but this particular vampire watched Alan intently. Not as if he'd never seen a werewolf before, but rather as if he couldn't quite believe what he saw.

"Of course I can," Alan retorted, though puzzlement and not ire colored his tone.

"Well," said Bryce, letting his hand drop away from his preferred weapon. "Then, why were you following me? What do you want?" He wracked his brain but couldn't think of the last time he'd bothered a werewolf. Well, with more than just killing in mind, anyway.

"You have something of mine."

The only things on Bryce not his own was the money pouch he'd lifted off his breakfast, and the gun. His eyes narrowed.

Alan sniffed noisily, but the sewer stench and the reek of vampire covered Kynan's scent completely. "I know you have it," he said anyway, hoping the dark masked his uncertainty. He hadn't had the best of nights so far. From Kynan's frightening appeal to running afoul of the City Watch, luck just did not seem to be on his side.

"Please tell me," Alan added. "I must find him, he's in terrible trouble."

"It's no concern of mine," said Bryce shortly. He stepped away from the ladder, half expecting the werewolf to jump him, but there was nothing, just those gold eyes boring into his back. Then, after a minute or two, Bryce heard soft footsteps squelching behind him, following.

He sighed. "Now what?"

Grateful that the fur and dark kept his blush from showing, Alan flipped an ear back. "I, um ... It's a full moon tonight."

"I am aware," drawled the thief. The light played havoc on his eyes. He plodded on, making the wolf trot to keep up.

"I can't change back until morning," Alan explained with a huff.

"Ah." Bryce waited, but no further explanation ensued. "You're still following me."

"Because you still have something that belongs to me --"

"There's no wolf stink on anything of mine!" snapped Bryce, hand falling to one of the many knives on his person.

"It's still mine!" Alan growled.

The thief halted in his tracks to turn on the wolf. "What? What then? Well?" The gold eyes just blinked at him silently, and Bryce cursed. "Fine. Shit." He pulled the revolver from the small knapsack strapped securely to his back. "Is this --" He didn't have to finish the question.

Alan lunged forward to press his nose against cool metal. He breathed in deeply of gunpowder and steel ... and blood? No!

"Where is he? Did you see him? Is he hurt?"

Bryce tucked the gun back away. "Hold on, there, ah, what's your name, kid?"

"Alan."

"Alan, then. Steady on, now what's this all about?" He started walking again, hoping that some movement would give the werewolf a constructive way to burn off his nervous tension. "You can call me Bryce, by the way."

"That gun," said Alan, ignoring the rest, "I built it. For a friend." His tail and ears pricked up as he said the name, feeling his spirits lift a little, too. "Kynan. He's on the City Watch."

"Hm." Bryce lifted an eyebrow. This kid, for kid he most certainly was, obviously had no clue he'd just spoken a fairly derogative demon word for 'dog.' In all his time in the city, he'd never come across a demon in the Watch. He supposed it could be a nickname or call sign; it was fairly common for werewolves to be called dogs by demonkind; vampires, too, but that was more unusual. On the other hand, when a person took a demon name, typically they chose something more ... well, more menacing. Take Bryce's demon-given name, Arawn, which essentially meant 'death.'

"He, uh," continued Alan. "Kynan sent me a message. He's in trouble and I smelled blood. On the gun." His ears drooped again in uncertain worry.

"His blood?" asked Bryce. "This Kynan?"

"I'm ... not sure." Alan hesitated. "I've never actually smelled it before." He lifted his head to stare up at Bryce's profile. "That's why I was out tonight, looking for him."

"But you were running from the Watch." Wasn't that just a little odd? If he could get out a message, why didn't this Kynan appeal to the City Watch for help?

"They were going to kill me!" protested Alan. "I'm just a werewolf to them. I ... was in a hurry."

"So you weren't paying attention." Bryce rolled his eyes. In his profession, a single unguarded moment could mean the difference between success and failure, life or death.

Alan winced, almost hearing his father in Bryce's words. He could just imagine the scolding he'd receive if his dad ever found out about this. "Um, yeah, I guess." He hung his head. Kynan was counting on him and he'd failed, almost been killed with the attempt.

Looking down as he heard the werewolf sniff, sounding suspiciously close to weeping, Bryce sighed. "Look, no need for dramatics, kid. Did the message say where he is?" There was a certain, dubious intelligence in sending to a kid for rescue, if that was indeed what this was supposed to be.

"He's at the park, the one by the cathedral." Alan lifted his head a little. "Does this mean you'll help me?"

The thief sighed. "I am heading in that direction." They'd have to leave the sewers far from the park, however. The sewers dipped to flow down to the river on the far side of the city. They'd be able to get the werewolf out there. Then it was a matter of skirting the Watch and avoiding the cathedral and its consecrated grounds. Werewolves didn't suffer from the same stigma as vampires and demons; he'd be fine. Bryce, on the other hand, couldn't set foot on most of Angel's Way.

"Thank you!" yipped Alan. Hope lifted his chin from studying the slime-covered walkway.

"Don't thank me, kid," Bryce grunted. "You can thank Smoke when we see him. He saved our asses back there."

"I didn't see anyone."

"No, you wouldn't," he agreed. One had to be very quick to see the wind elemental if he didn't want to be seen. When had Bryce seen Aure last? Not here. Must be close to a century ago, if not more.

"Are you friends?" Alan pressed.

"You might say that."