Steven Montano - Black Scars

“ Lighten up, Vos,” Gregor said with the same salesman’s smile. “We’re all friends here.”

“ Be that as it may,” Black said, “I’d rather take an acid bath than stand this close to you any longer than I have to, Gregor. So like Vos said…let’s get on with it.”

Gregor’s eyes moved to Lucan. The captive warlock sat stoically in the saddle, his eyes on something that wasn’t really there. Whatever the Revengers did to keep Lucan’s immense power contained seemed to reduce the warlock to a zombie-like state.

“ Who are your friends?” Gregor asked Black.

“ Prisoners, and my aides.”

“ But only one vampire,” Gregor said with a sad shake of his head.

“ I’ll discuss that with my brother,” she said. “And no one else.”

Gregor laughed again.

“ You’re a bitch, Danica.”

“ So are you, Gregor.”

“ You go in alone,” Gregor answered.

Cross stretched out his senses through his spirit. The looming shadow that clung to the walls of Shul Ganneth didn’t feel as oppressive as it had before; it had receded to more of a background murmur of spectral white noise rather than a roar of black sound. All Cross heard now were distant whispers through the sonic fog.

Besides Danica’s spirit and his own was one more: a hostile female spirit with an incredible level of aggressive power. Cross could only surmise she belonged to Cradden Black.

If he’s the only one of his gang that’s a mage, at least that’s one advantage that we have. Cross wasn’t sure if that fact made up for how badly Cradden’s gang outgunned them, but it was a start.

“ I can’t take all of the prisoners in on my own,” Danica said.

“ That’s a sad story,” Gregor smiled.

“ Just let one of us help her get the prisoners inside,” Cross interrupted.

“ Yeah!” Kane added. “Don’t be such an ass-hat.”

Vos cracked Kane on the back of the head with a gloved fist.

“ I was trying to help, you hemorrhoid!”

“ My God, you’re stupid,” Vos snarled at Kane. “Do you want to die?”

Kane looked up at him.

“ No? Wait…could you repeat the question…?”

“ Shut up!” Black snapped.

For as often as they hit him, Cross thought, I’m starting to wonder if he doesn’t actually enjoy it.

Gregor looked at Cross.

“ Who the hell are you?”

“ Cross.”

“ You work for Black Scar? You don’t look like a Revenger.”

“ I’m not.”

Gregor and the shotgun carrier exchanged looks.

“ Fine,” Gregor said after a moment. He pointed at Cross. “You can help her take Lucan and the vampire inside. Follow Keegan.” The lantern bearer took a step forward. “The rest of you will wait here with me.” He looked at Black. “I’d behave if I were you. If anything goes wrong, your dyke girlfriend is dead. Mercer is a hell of a good shot.”

“ Who’s Mercer?” she asked.

“ The sniper who gets to blow your lesbian bitch’s skull off if you screw this up. I’m only sad that I won’t get to do it myself.”

“ Gregor,” Vos said. “I’d advise you to shut up.”

“ Still got a crush on your boss, there, Vos?” Gregor laughed.

“ Keep laughing,” Vos smiled. “I’ll be the one who kills you.”

“ The dyke will go first,” Gregor laughed.

The look that Black gave Gregor would have killed a small animal. Gregor just smiled. He wore a number of knives in a harness slung over his aviator’s vest, and he had a pair of six-shooters secured in a hip-strap around his waist.

Black turned and nodded at Cross, and he took the reins of Lucan’s horse. Vos moved to secure Kane and Ekko.

“ Take care of yourself, Chief,” Vos told Danica.

“ You, too.”

Black rode ahead first. The vampire floated silently in her wake, a blazing beacon, and they followed the wordless Keegan into the temple structure.

Cross and Vos exchanged nods, and Cross led Lucan into the building. The lamp faded into the shadows behind them as he and Lucan followed Danica Black into a deeper dark.

Cross’ and Danica’s spirits swirled and twisted around one another as the mages rode down the tunnel. Cross kept his as contained and as close as he could, but she was anxious and almost out of control again, and reining her in made his head throb and his eyes sore. She pushed with skin-chilling force as strong as a hard wind. Her incessant whispers drowned his senses. He could almost make out her words, and they were less than friendly.

The horses’ hooves clattered on the cracked stone as they rode the length of the rubble-strewn corridor. The walls were ancient crumbling sandstone decorated with hieroglyphs, which as far as Cross could tell were random and nonsensical: whorls and spirals and collapsing eyes, discs and curved fangs, moons that fell from idiot skies. The ceiling was just out of sight, a yawning strip of eye-numbing black, and the way ahead was a perpetual hole. The tunnel walls seemed to press in on them. Every sound was a deep and hollow echo.

Glassy frost reflected the light of the vampire’s chains, which lit their way with a flickering orange glow. Keegan walked a good distance ahead of them. Cross tried to remember the names and number of Cradden’s gang, which Black and Vos had given to he and Dillon when they’d put together their strategy outside of Shul Ganneth.

That prick we just met, Gregor. Syn, a swordswoman. Maddox, a Doj. Keegan the silent lantern bearer. A gunman named Taske. Cradden himself. And now this Mercer, who sounds like he’s a sniper. Hopefully Cradden Black doesn’t have any more surprise allies.

They came to a wide and open chamber, a massive courtyard surrounded by collapsing columns and dark alcoves. Felled statues of wolf gods and bits of broken rock littered the ground. Above them hung darkness so rich it could have been mistaken for a night sky, but it was just the underbelly of the cracked dome. The air smelled and tasted of mold.

Two men waited near the center of the enormous room. They rested against a massive stone wolf’s head that must have once belonged to a much larger statue; the stone bust lay cracked and on its side, half of its face smashed away. One of the men was a Doj, a mountainous and broad-shouldered humanoid nearly eight feet tall. The Doj’ muscles bulged beneath a brown flak jacket, and his tanned flesh was covered with tattoos and runes. The blade strapped to his back was nearly as long as Cross was tall.

The second man was unquestionably Cradden Black. His resemblance to Danica was impossible to miss: red hair, sharp eyes, angular cheekbones, and a sour grin. Even with his tightly trimmed beard he was almost a reflection of her. He even wore black leather armor.

“ Hey, Sis.”

Danica didn’t say anything. She stopped her horse a good twenty paces away from her brother and the Doj, who Cross surmised was the infamous Maddox.

“ So…” Cradden said with a smile. “I get the silent treatment tonight?”

“ What the hell do you expect me to say?” Danica snapped. “It’s taking all of my willpower to not shoot you in the face.”

Cradden nodded, and kept smiling.

“ Who’s your friend?” he asked.

“ Hired help,” she answered.

“ Your hired help is a warlock,” Cradden said coolly. “Aren’t you, friend?”

“ Cross,” he said. “I’m not your friend. But I am a warlock.”

Cross sensed Cradden’s spirit, which was hostile and close. It was fast and surprisingly stealthy for a female spirit, and it circled the room like a darting lizard. Cross held his own spirit in check, which he’d been forced to do a lot more than normal over the past few days. If he allowed her to manifest into a combat-ready form Cradden would sense it, and Cross didn’t want to start any trouble until they at least knew where Cole was. Cross sensed Danica exercise the same restraint with her own spirit, but, like Cross’, Danica’s was angry and on edge, and she only barely had him contained.