Waylon's Crossing - 9. Chapter 9: Who is What Again?

Waylon's Crossing
Chapter 9: Who is What Again?

Aure left the justiciar's study and walked through the precinct back to the thief's interrogation room. Luck was with him; the Watch had not yet put the prisoner back in his cell.

When the magistrate moved to unlock the door, Aure slipped through the crack between door and floor, entering first.

"He did not believe me," he told Bryce, forming a slightly opaque network of air to separate vampire and magistrate.

Bryce smirked. "Told you." He stretched lithely, knowing how Aure loved to watch the play of his muscles. Elementals did not have muscles. "Want me to be all animalistic and stuff?"

"Is there a choice in the matter?" This was no time for jokes.

"Not really," Bryce answered. He tossed his booted feet on the table and leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, feigning a relaxed expression he certainly did not feel.

Duncan entered, considerably less at ease than earlier, and strode to the seat waiting across from the vampire. He wondered briefly where the elemental had gone, curious as to how the creature might 'protect' him from the mean and evil vampire.

"State your name for the record," Duncan began, setting his case on the table.

The magistrate's scent washed over Bryce as the man sat down. Nostrils flaring, Bryce clamped his hands more firmly around his arms, clenching his jaw. Every muscle sprang alert and remained poised. He fought himself to keep his non-threatening position, watching the magistrate out of slitted eyes.

They watched each other intently for several minutes. Duncan had all the learned patience of time, waiting silently, poised to begin the interview.

Bryce slipped his feet to the floor, sitting more upright to grasp the table, bracing his body from leaping over the scratched surface to sink his fangs into the long neck. He panted a moment longer, a moan choked back, before looking away at a wall. With his whole heart he wished he were somewhere else.

To Bryce, the magistrate smelled like freshly-baked bread, still hot and steaming from the ovens. His scent filled the room the way baking filled a kitchen and overflowed to the streets beyond, bringing customers to partake of the offerings. The scent was only that strong up close, calling to the vampire in Bryce to claim that tastiness as his, to ravish and devour. Fresh blood could sometimes lend a vampire a semblance of life: raising body temperature, prompting the heart to beat, sending tingles to hands and feet not unlike numb limbs waking. Prick a newly-fed vampire and he would bleed.

Duncan stared in open fascination. The vampire looked, well, normal. He was close to Duncan's height, dusky-skinned, with dark hair and even darker, oval-shaped eyes. He made Duncan wonder how many vampires he might have encountered just in everyday activities.

"I am Duncan," he said. "I've been assigned as your justiciar." Still no response. With a mental shrug, Duncan popped open his case to pull out his papers. "Your file is quite extensive. Known thief of the Guild --"

"Prove it."

There was nothing physically different that Duncan could see when the low, guttural snarl brought his gaze back to the vampire, but he still shivered from the challenging and seductive tone. The dark eyes were open now, fixed on Duncan, and the tiniest spot of white fang dimpled his lip.

"Um." He cleared his throat, glancing down at the roll of parchment held in now shaking hands. Duncan did not move to uncap ink or unfurl his quill. "Um ..." Why was his mind not working?

"Look at me."

He looked. The vampire still had his hands along the table edge but instead of sitting back in his chair, he leaned forward. Even though Duncan knew that it was a bad idea to look a vampire in the eyes, he did so anyway.

"Oh." Hands dropped the scrolls, pressing instead to his groin while Duncan blushed and writhed a little in embarrassment. He'd of course heard about a vampire's magnetism, but this was beyond anything he'd ever imagined, so basely erotic as to reach beyond preconceived ideas of attraction and straight to biological function. Just a look and Duncan wanted to strip the concealing clothes from his body, flushing even darker at such a wanton thought.

There were those who sold themselves to vampires or deliberately placed themselves in a vampire's path. They lived an uneasy, symbiotic relationship with the bloodsuckers. Much like street walkers and brothel workers, they gambled with their lives, hoping that the vampires they whored themselves to would continue to feed them the endorphin and orgasmic rush they were addicted to without draining them beyond recovery. Until now, Duncan had always considered those people as a touch mad.

Shocked to discover himself imagining bending his neck to this vampire, Duncan shot to his feet. He stumbled backward, his chair crashing sideways without notice.

"No!" he cried, hands still at his crotch and the painfully hard erection there. He shook his head dazedly. "Stay out of my head, bloodsucker!"

The vampire yowled, like the sound a cat makes when its tail is stepped on. He sprang out of his seat and onto the table in a single, fluid bound, hissing and spitting in thwarted rage. Hitting the near-invisible netting, the vampire snarled louder, pulling and climbing, trying to locate a weak connection. He yanked and pushed and sliced with retractable claws, but could not get through. His fangs glistened as he bit the net, but they refused to yield.

Duncan shivered where he stood with his back pressed against the wall, staring at the slavering creature who had, just minutes past, been a very humble-seeming, quiet young man. On occasion, he had felt a certain amount of concern for his safety, but he had never feared for his life the way he did at that moment.

Now that he'd had his attention drawn to it, Duncan could see the barrier formed by the elemental. Only the thin, fragile-seeming web separated Duncan from the vampire. He prayed it would hold, gathering his wits about him to slither, sideways, from the room. He didn't dare take his eyes from the vampire, however, until several inches of stout wood separated them. He re-locked the door, and then leaned against the wall with a huge sigh of relief.

He jumped when something slammed into the door from the other side, rattling the hinges.

"Now do you understand?" asked Aure, solidifying at the magistrate's side.

Duncan rubbed his arms, unconsciously shifting from foot to foot. He nodded, still very pale from such a close call, and still with a raging hard-on.

"Then, with your permission, I will take the thief with me to speak to the werewolf. They have some familiarity with each other."

"Th-that thing's dangerous!" blurted Duncan, creeping away from the cell as the banging noises increased in volume.

"He has your scent now," Aure replied, his tone not betraying whether that was a good thing or ill. "The werewolf will react much the same -- worse, probably, because he is younger and lacks the experience to resist the call of his blood."

"But ...!"

"I assure you, the vampire is only dangerous to you and your kind."

Duncan let the elemental's words sink in, lowering his head in defeat. What they still needed to uncover was worth the risk. "Very well." He held out the large, brass key. "Here. I will report his release to the Watch."

Aure nodded sagely, watching as the magistrate walked uncomfortably away, surreptitiously adjusting his robes to mask the slowly-decreasing problem. With a purely internal sigh, Aure turned back to the cell. He waited patiently until Bryce regained control over his faculties, and then unlocked the door. He placed the key on the table, next to the neat stack Bryce was making from the magistrate's scattered documents.

Bryce placed the last scroll onto the stack. "Is he gone?" he asked, though the scent had already greatly dissipated.

A thought sent the air in the room swirling away, recirculating and dispersing their scents.

Rolling his eyes, Bryce sighed loudly. "Show off. You still wanting to talk to this werewolf, then? I'm gathering you got permission to free me." As if anyone would deny an elemental.

"You know where he lives?" Aure ignored the sarcasm. Losing his self-control always made Bryce snappish. While Aure had no doubt that he could track the werewolf, he wasn't sure they had the time to spare.

"He told me," Bryce confirmed. He rolled his shoulders to work out the kinks, and then with all his usual, outwardly-relaxed confidence strode out of the precinct. David was nowhere in sight. If he was smart, and Bryce knew he was, then the other vampire had departed as soon as he'd realized the magistrate was there. Everyone else was far too busy to pay attention to question someone who so obviously appeared to be moving with purpose. He resented the loss of his weapons, but Bryce was not about to tempt fate by stopping to argue the matter.

The city bustled with early evening traffic; businesses were closing down, people hustling to conclude their errands and return home. The whole place had an anticipatory feel, like the quiet hush before the first snowflakes fell, as if everyone was holding their breath. Bryce slipped on his sunglasses to protect his eyes, but it was a comfortable time to be out in the city.

Alan had said he lived along the outer wall of the city, near the South Gate. He'd complained loudly and at length about a few of his neighbors, clues enough to lead Bryce almost directly there. Closer, he could follow the werewolf's scent on a trail invisible to the naked eye, but far too obvious to a vampire's enhanced sense of smell.

He grimaced. Werewolf spoor was about as subtle as a crowbar to the head. Another werewolf could distinguish age, sex, health, and family traits all from sniffing another werewolf's scat. Normally, werewolves lived in packs and were wildly territorial. That Alan's scent was alone and undisturbed made the hairs on the nape of Bryce's neck stand up in agitation. It was unnatural that one werewolf, living alone, would be undisturbed by any other of the werewolves in the city.

"Yuck," he groused as he wended his way through increasingly narrow streets. "I'm going to stink like wolf." He jumped, startling as unseen fingers pinched his ass. "And stop that, you fucker!" Bryce added, glaring around to wherever Aure was slinking along. The ghostly impression of lips grazed his cheek, a hint of laughter in his ears, and Bryce cursed himself for a sentimental fool, but his anger bled away.

"Jerk," he muttered half-heartedly.

Alan's house was small and one street away from being nestled against the outer wall. During the wars, no one would have dreamed to build so close to the ramparts, but time had seen the steady encroachment as the city's population swelled. This section was poor, but close enough to the Watch's guardhouses along the wall to be fairly secure. Raggedy, one-strong-gust-would-knock-them-over houses leaned tiredly against each other. A few newer, multi-family town homes dotted the streets, but the majority were modest, two-story homes with a youthful energy to them. Childish laughter spilled from open shutters, and giggles from darker alleyways. Parents strode along at a relaxed pace, and there were few carriages or carts to prevent the more energetic children from playing stickball in the streets.

Bryce walked boldly up to the front door and, just as he raised his hand to knock, a loud, piercing scream made him jump backward in alarm. Without further consideration for propriety, he shouldered into the door, nearly sending himself sprawling as the door opened easily. It had not been locked.

Having instantly re-directed the air to keep that scream from causing alarm, Aure zipped past Bryce, calling to the vampire from the kitchen. The young werewolf laid rigid, face pressed almost into bent knees, blood streaming from nose and ears. He did not react when Aure touched him, and there appeared to be no physical cause of injury.

Right as Bryce reached them, the werewolf fell silent with a mewed little whimper. He gasped a breath or two, eyes open and staring, and then passed out. The whole thing had lasted only a minute or two.

"What happened?" asked Bryce, rubbing his ears.

"I don't know," Aure replied, looking just as puzzled as Bryce felt.

"We should take him to a healer."

"You know of one that will treat his kind?"

"This is hardly the dark ages," said Bryce with a frown. Though humans were the majority in Waylon's Crossing, and healers knowledgeable and willing to treat non-humans were in short supply, they did exist. One simply had to know where to look.

He pulled the pack from the boy's shoulders and slipped the straps over his own before gathering the limp body into his arms. "Oof, heavier than he looks."

"Give him here." Effortlessly, Aure lifted the werewolf, holding him in a cushion of air. "Are you sure about this?" Granted, they needed the boy, but he was a werewolf. Vampires and werewolves were more likely to fight than be friends. Both races were well aware of the contempt the rest of the world held for them.

"Do you have another lead?" Bryce countered. "Didn't think so." He led the way back to the street. He didn't have to ask; he knew the elemental well enough to stick to the lengthening shadows of twilight. It was for his own protection as well, because Bryce had no desire for someone to see the hovering body and assume Bryce was some kind of wizard or mage. Magic had been broken, like the Borderlands, in the breaking of the worlds. What little remained took the shape of ancient artifacts from the Demon Wars or before, or in the rare individuals born with some innate talent.

Bryce remembered having magically-propelled toys as a child. Before the wars, magic was something most people took for granted and spent in frivolous ways. Now a-days, most people didn't even believe that magic existed.

"Besides," added Bryce, "the kid's rather sweet. Kinda dumb, but sweet."

"He does seem to have your talent for attracting trouble."

"My talent?" Bryce teased back. "You're the one always sticking your nose where it don't belong. What're you doing here, anyway?" He didn't give Aure time enough to answer, trotting around a corner and down a dark and silent, depressed alley. "Yeah, yeah, I know all about the city 'calling.'" He used his fingers to make quotes. "Why are you really here?"

Aure knew not to press. Even given direct evidence of higher powers, Bryce still refused to believe. The vampire had never forgiven 'God' for the years of misery spent in the demon world. Besides, that was only half the truth anyway.

"I was looking for you," he replied, floating smoothly over the trash and obstacles in the back ways path where Bryce led. Aure let a lighter, teasing tone color his voice: "I had this awful presentiment you'd gotten in over your head again."

"Uh-huh. You were horny." Checking the access point, Bryce stepped sideways into the Borderlands on a shortcut to the other side of the city.

"We don't get 'horny.'"

Bryce rolled his eyes at the royal 'We,' replying, "Could've fooled me."

He had to drop to hands and knees at the egress point. Bryce poked his head out into the city to make sure they wouldn't be observed, and then beckoned to Aure.

"Whatever else," Aure continued in an even tone as he followed, "if the boy's working with demons, then he must be pretty remarkable." He angled the werewolf's body to fit through the low overhang.

"That's true, I suppose," Bryce agreed. "But we're talking at most a half-demon, and that's pushing it. For no one to notice his demon features, he's got to look more human than demon, so he's most likely an eighth or less."

This part of the city was busier than the rest. Bryce made detours to stay in unobserved alleys. An area of low rent, poor and borderline middle-class families populated this neighborhood. It wasn't as rough or dangerous as the slums or the warehouse district, but not as safe as the area where Alan lived.

Bryce wanted to end up in what was called the Triangle, where slums, warehouses, and what was called the 'Borderlands within the City' all abutted each other. There were half a dozen different well-known and often-used entrances to and from the Borderlands in the Triangle, and one all-important half-breed.

Jacen usually referred to himself as a half-unicorn, though he was many other things besides. With naturally dark-violet hair, Jacen stood out in a crowd even without the tiny, spiral horn on his forehead, legs and hooves like a satyr, and a tail that put small ponies to shame. He'd been in Waylon's Crossing about as long as Bryce, using his healing talents to tend anyone who came to his door, no questions asked. Jacen was a jolly creature, successfully staying aloof from the disputes that plagued the Triangle and yet managing to stay on everyone's good side.

Demons were tough bastards and it took a lot to bust a bone, but they could be sliced and diced as easily as anyone. This talent for resisting blunt damage was not passed on to the hybrid races containing demon blood, but vampires and werewolves could heal very quickly from damage that would prove fatal to a human. Half-demons healed faster still, though many had weak constitutions due to the rigors of birth and were often ill.

Although he'd heard rumors of the healer for years, Bryce had first sought out Jacen when he'd suffered a stab wound that refused to heal and oozed yellowish pus. As he'd sort of figured out by then, the blade which struck him had been poisoned. For anyone else, Jacen would have simply cleansed the wound, but vampires could not abide even a half-unicorn's touch. Bryce had to make do with the healer's potent, but much slower-acting poultices and tisanes.

Anyone with any illness or injury could go to Jacen and he would help them. He had only one rule: no fighting. Jacen's house was neutral territory. All disputes and feuds had to be left behind at the door. Break that rule and he would toss you out, no matter your condition. Since Jacen never forgot a name or face, there was no recovery from being black-listed.

When they arrived at the house, Bryce took Alan back into his arms so that Aure could dissipate into the gathering dark. Juggling the werewolf, Bryce knocked on the back door, conveniently located beside a little-known, hard to find access way to the Borderlands.

Jacen's current assistant, a no-nonsense woman with arms the size of Bryce's legs, opened the door. "Race?" she asked. They took nothing for granted at Jacen's house.

"Werewolf."

She let the door swing wide, letting them inside. "Bring him this way. The healer is occupied at the moment."

Bryce nodded, and kept his mouth shut as they went up the short stair into the house. Two demons glared as they passed, but Bryce ignored them. They could glare all they wanted, but they couldn't touch him. Not here. He placed Alan on a cot in an empty room on the ground floor.

Jacen's assistant pried open the werewolf's eyes, checked his pulse, and gave him a cursory exam before asking, "How was he injured?"

"I don't know," said Bryce, shaking his head. "He was screaming fit to be burned alive and then nothing. Just this."

"Where were you when it happened?"

"Look, we shared an encounter with the Watch last night --"

"You and about half the city."

"Yeah, well, I know next to nothing about the kid, okay?"

"Hm. Wait here, the healer will be in to see you presently."

Bryce leaned back on one of the empty cots, doing his best to ignore Aure's sneaking slithering along his skin. As a race, elementals were shy, solitary beings, seeking out lonely, isolated places. Aure liked the mountains; that's where Bryce had met him. They'd wandered the world together for centuries, the elemental becoming further and further estranged from his people due to his fascination with studying other races and cultures.

There wasn't much to do besides wait, though Bryce had the dubious satisfaction of not snapping in uncontrolled lust before Jacen walked in.

"Bryce!" the healer exclaimed, smiling brightly.

Vampire and half-unicorn embraced warmly, careful not to touch skin-to-skin.

"You always bring me such interesting puzzles," said Jacen, drawing back. He glanced directly into the shadows where Aure skulked. "Come out, my friend, I know you are there."

Bryce followed that gaze, more annoyed than he ought to be when Jacen knew where Aure was and he had no clue, even after spending the last few minutes fending off being molested.

"He's not the one I've brought," Bryce griped, "but the werewolf." The distraction didn't work, because of course at that moment Aure decided to become his more human-like form.

"Where did you come by that ring?" he asked, just as Jacen exclaimed, "Smoke! It must be you!" and darted forward to embrace the elemental.

Aure vanished, leaving Jacen grasping comically at thin air. Bryce shook his head, muffling gleeful laughter behind a hand. The healer took the refusal in stride, laughing along with Bryce.

"Isn't this a surprise!" His eyes tracked Aure as the elemental re-formed safely on the other side of the occupied cot. Jacen bowed slightly at the waist, falling back on the tradition he'd been taught and momentarily forgotten. "You honor my house."

Aure inclined his head in an answering nod and sent a tiny, chill wind to dart across the healer's right hand. "How did you come by that ring?"

"It came to me," Jacen replied, turning his hand over to twist the ring on his middle finger. He smiled serenely, but his eyes danced with excitement.

"That will be one angry magistrate when he finds you."

A happy grin bubbled up onto the strange face. Jacen nodded, unfazed. "I know."

Bryce glanced from one man to the other, puzzled. Unicorns were fey creatures, more innately magical than any other earthly creature, except perhaps elementals, but this seemed a little over the top. "Do you, uh, know each other?" He wasn't jealous. No, he wasn't, just miffed that Aure had once again stubbornly refused to be surprised by anything. How many people met someone as unique as Jacen? Few, that's what, and now Aure appeared to have already known him. Bastards, both of them.

"He came to my Naming," said Jacen, beaming happily at Aure. "Father was quite pleased, even if nobody else knew."

Aure added, "Jacen's father and I fought together."

"Oh." Bryce tried to keep his disgruntlement off his face and out of his voice. He wasn't entirely sure how successful he was. "I didn't realize unicorns lived that long."

"Oh, no," laughed Jacen. "Father's not a unicorn, he's a Lightbaby. Even he's forgotten how old he is!"

Bryce gawked. That explained Jacen's prolonged youth, though he'd assumed it had something to do with his mixed heritage, but there were no more Lightbabies! Didn't they all get killed in the wars? They and their unicorns fought on the front lines. And Jacen knew Aure -- Aure knew Jacen? Why was Bryce always the last to know these things?

"Uh, and what about the werewolf?" he asked for lack of anything clever to say.

"Oh, he's fine," Jacen said off-handedly. "Just asleep."

"Fine?" Bryce echoed. "He was screaming his fool head off just moments ago. How can you tell without even looking at him?"

The healer gave Bryce a long-suffering sigh. He moved to the bedside. "Fine, I'll look at him, but I'm telling you, I'm -- huh." He paused, palm on the boy's forehead, a look of surprise briefly flitting across his features.

"What?" asked Bryce. "'Huh,' what?"

Aure silently hushed the vampire while Jacen's look of concentration intensified. Beads of sweat popped up on his brow before he finally dropped his hand, defeated. "Water," he croaked, wiping his face with a rag pulled from his pocket. He sat on the edge of the cot, staring at the werewolf while he quenched his thirst, making Bryce fidget with impatience.

"If you believe in souls," said Jacen finally, looking down at the young face, "then, it seems someone tried to rip his from his body." The mind was huddled in on itself, resisting even Jacen's careful touch in an effort to guard against a second attack.

Bryce and Aure wore matching frowns. In fact, Jacen noted, Aure's features were an obvious mimicry of the vampire. That could be no accident. He rubbed his palms against the front of his apron. "It was very powerful, but distant, and more like an echo." The boy wasn't the real target, and Jacen inwardly winced for whomever the attack was meant for. "I've never encountered anything like this before."

Bryce and Aure tried to speak at once. They glared at each other.

"Is he going to be okay?" asked Bryce, winning the short battle of wills.

"Yeah, he'll be fine." Werewolves were quite resilient. "Who's Kynan?" That was the only image he'd been able to read before the kid's mind shut him out.

"That's what we'd like to know," muttered Bryce.

Jacen closed his eyes, summoning up what he'd seen. "I'd say ... six-foot, maybe a little more. Human. Blonde hair, blue eyes, smiles like he doesn't smile too often, and very rich. He wears a long coat." The edge of his hand tapped about mid-thigh. "About to here, and a hat with a wide brim. Sunglasses, too. Dark ones. A watchman? No, not with the Watch. Maybe. He doesn't know."

He opened his eyes again, a tender, sad sort of smile on his lips. There was an old friendship that the boy held for this man Kynan, and a deep, enduring devotion. Overlaid was an almost paralyzing fear, not of him, but for him, and an impending sense of loss.

Groaning, Jacen massaged his temples. "That's it," he told the others. "You'll have to wait for him to wake for any more."

"When will that be?" asked Aure.

"Don't know." Using his limited telepathy skills always exhausted Jacen. "An hour? A day? Who knows."

"We need him awake now," said the elemental.

"No." Jacen frowned at him. He didn't fancy going back into that pain-filled mind. "Not without a damned good reason."

"How about a demon civil war?"

Jacen looked from Aure to Bryce and back again. He wanted to ask how they knew, or what they meant, but as quickly as he thought the questions, he knew the answers. He couldn't explain how he knew; he just did. The eerie talent came and went seemingly at random, just like the things that popped into his mind.

"The Queen's Millennial approaches," he said, mouth dry. "She has no heir."

Aure looked at Bryce. Bryce shrugged. "He just knows things."

"The Prince has returned," said Aure, turning back to the healer.

Jacen gaped. "The one who was banished? Why?"

"He was never disowned," Bryce answered. He shrugged when the other two stared at him. "Banished, yes, but not disinherited. Prince Xeran is the heir."

"She can't -- she wouldn't!" gasped Jacen.

Officially declaring Xeran her successor was a bold move, and a dangerous one, because most demons succeeded the throne by murdering the current ruler. If Xeran had an heir or two, then the Assembly of Lords, the thousand-strong Clan Lords that served the Demon Queen much like the city's Counsel, might even vote to depose the Queen. The Queen was a strong leader, but demon politics was an uncertain beast to those not of that world. They knew that the Queen had not killed all her father's supporters. Were her supporters strong enough to protect her from a coup attempt?

As one, they looked over at the werewolf. Where did the werewolf fit into this mess?

"The Watch." Aure spoke suddenly into the silence. "The Prince's Hunters went to a lot of trouble to capture a man. A man who wields a gun. A man strong enough to fight off a dozen or more Hunters."

"There's rumors," said Jacen slowly, "of a half-demon who works for the Queen."

"The Queen's Dog, of course!" Bryce exclaimed, adding, "Sorry," when the healer winced, head protesting the outburst. "Why didn't I think of that before?" He shook his head. "Stupid." He left it to the others to deduce if he meant himself or the werewolf. "His name's Kynan. Not a watchman at all, but a Hunter. The guns, too." He shuddered. The underbelly of Waylon's Crossing feared to even whisper the Hunter's name. "He's the Queen's right hand."

"A half-demon?" Aure questioned in disbelief. Demons did not easily accept half-breeds.

"No one seems to know for sure," said Bryce. He stared at Jacen. "You said sunglasses, right?" The healer nodded. "Well, apparently, he has demon eyes, so that would make sense."

Jacen shook his head. "The image I glimpsed clearly showed human eyes. I don't know if it's possible to be that mistaken."

"I doubt there can be two people with such similar characteristics," Bryce argued. "Alan, the werewolf, said he made the guns for his friend Kynan. I was accused of murdering a bunch of demons with one of the recovered weapons. It can't be a coincidence."

"The attack in the warehouse was very risky," Aure mused aloud. "If the man taken was a Hunter, it was very risky indeed. The Prince must be very close to making his move."

Without prompting, Jacen turned back to the slumbering boy. He placed one hand over Alan's forehead and another over his heart. If what Bryce and Aure said was true, then they had no time to lose. Xeran had to be stopped.