Embracing the Shadows

  Embracing the Shadows

  Book two of the Shadows series

  By Gavin Green

  Copyright 2015 Gavin Green

  Smashwords Edition

  Also by the author:

  Eire of Intrigue (book one of the Eire series)

  Eire of Mystery (book two of the Eire series)

  Eire of Hostility (book three of the Eire series)

  Eire of Aggression (book four of the Eire series)

  Into the Shadows (book one of the Shadows series)

  This is a work of fiction. All characters and events are purely imagined. Any resemblance to real people or situations is completely ridiculous, and you should get professional help if you think otherwise.

  Dedication:

  To sugar, caffeine, and nicotine - my unswerving, lethal friends. Also to you, for putting up with my ramblings . . . and all the damn cussing.

  "Every man casts a shadow; not his body only, but his imperfectly mingled spirit. This is his grief. Let him turn which way he will, it falls opposite to the sun; short at noon, long at eve. Did you never see it?" -- Henry David Thoreau

  Embracing the Shadows

  HEALING

  The taste of something familiar and strong woke me. It was harsh, sweet, and potent in a smooth combination - Viggo's blood. One of my eyes fluttered open to dim light, and a blurry shape looming over me. There was a noise - I couldn't understand it at first, but I recognized it as Viggo's deep, ominous voice. I wanted to listen and obey, but all I heard was mumbled tones.

  And then pain flooded in. Most of my entire right side throbbed with gut-wrenching agony. I gasped, which created a whole new world of searing torture. My left eye sprung open; only my left, because my right eyelid didn't want to cooperate. All I could make sense of was Viggo's cracked face looking down at me. I tried to speak, but could only force a wet cough.

  When Viggo spoke again, I realized what he was saying; seeing his lips move helped to make sense of the words. "Heal yourself, Leo. Concentrate," he commanded. "You have my blood in you. Use it. Focus on mending."

  I followed his order. Shutting my eye, I blocked everything else out and focused what energy I had, picturing Viggo's strength coursing through my veins and healing me. Pain was spiking in my side, so I directed my efforts on my smashed ribs. I gnashed my teeth through the slow process of muscles and bones shifting to their intended positions. I flexed my jaw, and then willed my energy into my shoulder and upper arm. Next was the side of my head; I didn't know how messed up it was, but it sure as hell didn't feel good. Before I could try to fix my unbending knee, I passed out from exhaustion.

  The next time I woke, it was to the sound of a violin being played. I don't know shit about music, but it was obvious that there was a lot of talent involved. Skilled hands hit perfect notes and the virtuoso melody was soothing, but a deep echo gave it a haunted feel. It made me think of my parents; mom was the music, dad was the echo. I ignored the throbbing in my leg, kept my eyes closed, and just listened.

  Too soon for my liking, the music ended. A moment after the last note faded, there was applause from a small audience of what sounded like four or five people. After that, I heard conversations begin, although they were garbled by echo and distance. The air was still and musty, with sweet incense that I could almost taste. Plus, there was a faint odor of raw meat mixed in. My right eye was still crusted shut, so I looked around with my left. I was in a dark space; dim light glowed far off to my right where the voices were. I was on a soft but ugly couch, and still in my sewer gear. I slowly sat up to get my bearings.

  The first thing I noticed was that the floor under me was made of sections of metal grates, like the bridge over the chasm was. I guess somebody bought 'em in bulk. The couch was against one smooth stone wall of a twenty-foot square room. Ten feet to my left was a heavy iron door. Across from me was another couch, with Viggo's boxes stacked next to it. To my right was another room half a level up with stairs cut into the stone to access it, like a split-level house. From my angle, I could only see part of the low ceiling of the large room beyond. Pale blue light reflected off its smooth surface.

  Next to my couch was a small table that held a dog bowl full of water and a rag. I assumed it was for me. While I sat in the near-dark and scrubbed dried blood off my face, I caught sluggish movement below the grated flooring. Searching, I found my cracked hardhat next to the table and checked the headlamp. I was surprised it still worked. I stretched my bad leg out to the side, leaned over, and shined the light down. That wasn't such a great idea.

  Below me, I saw . . . Try to picture an animal that was equal parts rat, Doberman, and nightmare. Then give it growth hormones. Patches of black fur partially covered muscular, dull red skin. Once you have that in your head, picture five of them sleepily lying around fifteen feet below you in a den of soiled blankets and bones. Then, because some idiot shined a light down on them, picture those five animals suddenly glaring up at you with yellow eyes, baring teeth the size of your thumb. When they started snarling and howling, I turned the light off and reactively pulled my foot off the floor.

  "Ah, you are awake," Viggo said from the top of the stairs. "Have you seen to the rest of your injuries?"

  "Uh, almost; I still need to work on my leg. Oh, by the way, sir, I had no idea I could do that - you know, actively heal myself - with your, uh, Eidolon blood. It's . . . Damn, you should bottle that shit."

  "I am glad you approve, Leo, although there are limitations for a minion. As you found out, the strain of mending your wounds was quite taxing, no? For me, in comparison, there would be no fatigue. The need to feed, however, would come along sooner."

  "Oh, okay," I said, realizing how hungry I was. Ignoring the craving for a cheeseburger, I asked, "Was that giant your minion, sir?"

  Viggo came down the handful of stairs and leaned against the waist-high wall. "That giant is simply called Brute, and technically yes, he is one of mine. Other Deviants feed him their blood as well, so he is more thought of as a servant of the faction. Brute has the mind of a pet, but is also aggressively defensive. It was a mistake to send him to carry in the boxes when Roach saw you on the monitors."

  "So it wasn't completely my fault?"

  He shook his head. "We all are aware that Brute is not fond of other Deviant minions. I believe he sees all of you as potential challengers to his favored position down here in the deep caves. Despite the considerable damage you inflicted, he will soon be back at his post."

  "I really didn't want to hurt him, but he scared the living shit out of me. He looked like he was gonna rip my head off, so I pulled my -"

  Viggo stopped me with a raised hand. "We watched the replay on the monitor. While Roach does not agree, Mr. Merritt and I feel you were justified in your actions. Now, focus on healing your leg. There are still introductions to be made and gifts to be given . . . even if some are not fully merited."

  "Yes sir." I looked down at my leg, and once again saw the animals below us looking up. "Uh, sir," I said while pointing down, "what exactly are those?"

  He glanced down. "They are a pack of decades-old canine minions whose diet over the years has solely consisted of vermin and carrion. Being quite intelligent, they have a variety of uses." Viggo then cocked his head slightly to one side and asked, "Would you care to adopt one?"

  "No fuckin' way," I blurted before I could stop myself.

  CHAMBER

  After I healed my knee and managed to stack the boxes so I could carry all of them, I followed Viggo up the stairs into the upper-level chamber. It was basically a deep stone vault carved into bedrock - by a machine, I assumed, because the surfaces were fairly smooth. The area was twenty feet wide and probably eighty feet deep, with three evenly s
paced, four-foot thick stone pillars. The ceiling was about ten feet high, but seemed lower because of the other dimensions. By all the cobwebs along the walls, it seemed that housekeeping wasn't one of Brute's skills.

  On the subject of Brute, it was the hemo called Roach who sent him to come 'assist' me. Yeah, right. He knew Viggo wasn't there yet, and also knew there would be trouble. He was either an asshole in general, or he was yet another supernatural prick who had a personal problem with me.

  The far end of the vault was aglow with bluish lighting, adding another level of spooky to the place. That light came from what I later learned was a bunch of filtered aquariums with bioluminescent algae in the water. Those aquariums were spread around, sitting on tables between all the mismatched living room furniture. If it weren't for the setting, I would've thought that glowing algae was pretty damn cool.

  The blue glow let me see the people at the far end, but I was distracted by what was on either side of Viggo and me as we walked. Banners and flags, some of which I didn't recognize, were hung randomly on the walls. Stacked on the floor in front of them were wooden crates of various sizes and squat bookshelves full of dusty tomes. There were even a few archaic sets of armor on old-style mannequins. It all looked like a history nerd's wet dream.

  I turned my attention once again to the far end of the room, and was having some serious anxiety. Okay, more than likely I wasn't in any real danger, but I was going to be surrounded by hemos once again. It was a fair bet that none of them were as pathetic as that Adept, Evan Dean, which really made me feel like a kid lost in gang territory. I had complete faith in my commander, but I also remembered that one of the hemos ahead of us angrily flung me at a rock wall. I wasn't expecting any hugs.

  I hesitated for a second, wishing I could down a few drinks first. Viggo sensed my anxiety and paused with me. He didn't say a word or even look at me; he just waited. I didn't have the words to thank him for that small act of kindness, so I didn't even try. I let out a deep breath, whispered a quick "Okay", and we resumed walking forward. It was time to meet some of the gang.

  DEVIANTS

  Viggo and I arrived at the end of the long chamber. Bathed in the eerie bluish light and stark shadows were five figures, only two of which I recognized. Barnabus Merritt lounged on a couch to my right, and Clara Page sat near him in an overstuffed chair that made her look smaller. We approached those two first. Viggo had me set down the boxes and gave the heaviest one to Barnabus.

  "As promised," Viggo said to him, "a token of my appreciation for your continued assistance. The collective works of Thoreau; I believe you wanted these at some point, yes?"

  "Ah, yes indeed, my friend," Barnabus said with a smile as he sat up and accepted the gift. In the glow, his bulging red eye was a violet color. "Oh, by the by, I've learned something that might interest you. We haven't spoken since before the emissary meeting two nights past, and it held a few interesting topics. One of which was about the Adept's own Mr. Dominic Riva and his recently wayward young scion. Favors are being offered for information concerning the whereabouts of a Mr. Sebastian Horn, who has been missing for nigh on a week."

  "Interesting," Viggo commented. "I had not heard of Mr. Horn before. Considering that Riva is the scion of Lady Le Meur, however, I am sure that she gave him permission to create progeny. Do we happen to have any information about where this fledgling might be?"

  "I know where he is," Clara said softly as she wrote in a notebook on her lap. "Viv told me." With those simple words, that little girl had everyone's attention. The hemo behind us stopped typing on his laptop, the violin player stopped tuning a string, and my peripheral vision caught another guy sitting up straight.

  Like everyone else, I turned to Clara, waiting for more information. I saw the same cute black girl that I first met a couple months back - still shy, still wearing a poncho and stocking cap. She glanced up, saw us looking at her, and dropped her head down to start writing again. I wondered who the hell Viv was.

  "And what exactly did Vivian tell you?" Viggo prompted her in a calm tone.

  "She said he was a bad man. She said he didn't pay attention, and that he got powder in his blood." Clara then looked up at Viggo. "Viv said that you know where he is, too."

  "I do, do I?"

  "Yes, father," Clara replied, and then pointed at me. "Your human caught the bad man, and you hid him away. Viv told me where. I promise I won't tell."

  Holy crap, she was talking about the blood-lusting hemo I put down in Colby Park. That guy was an Adept? I could only guess that the powder she mentioned was cocaine, heroin or uppers, and that Horn either personally sniffed it or drank from someone who'd taken some. Yeah, she said "he didn't pay attention" - the hemo probably drank from an addict who'd just gotten a fix. What an idiot.

  "I know you won't, Clara; you are very good at keeping secrets," Viggo said. He turned, pulled a box from the stack, and handed it to her. "I got you more notebooks, plus pens with different colors of ink."

  "Thank you, thank you!" she said with an adolescent's joy. Clara was a supernatural being brought into the night over eighty years ago, and she still had the mind of an innocent girl. I felt sorry for her, being so fucked in the head like that. And I still didn't know who Vivian was.

  While Viggo pointed out some of the items to Clara, Barnabus said to me, "It's good to see you up and about, Mr. Beck. You and I should converse sometime; I'd imagine you have some interesting accounts."

  "Uh, yeah, sure, that'd be great. I'm staying at the last place we met."

  He smiled those piranha teeth at me and said, "I'll keep that in mind," and then returned to his book.

  At Viggo's gesture, I picked up the remaining boxes and followed him the few steps to the violin player, who sat on a padded barstool back in one corner. Dressed in only a gauzy black gown, the woman was willowy and tall. Her long milky hair hung straight, and her alabaster skin was riddled with wavy blue veins . . . even throughout her long, smooth face. Unlike an albino's pink eyes, hers were dark, sunken, and unblinking. I didn't know if it was her ghostly looks or that she smelled like death, but something about that violin-playing hemo reminded me of screaming murder and it spooked the shit out of me.

  "Again, Neva, that was a beautiful composition," Viggo said as he took one of the few boxes left and handed it to her. "Since I admittedly know nothing of violin bows, here is a selection."

  Holding her violin in one hand and accepting the gift in the other, Neva bowed her head low to him. When she sat straight again, she didn't say anything but had an expression that could have been taken as gratitude. To me, though, it just looked like a sad smile. But who cares; I wanted away from her.

  Viggo and I moved on. There was an L-shaped desk in the other corner stacked with a bank of over thirty small video monitors. Sitting in front of the desk in a leather office chair was an emaciated, dark-skinned cadaver staring at me with a scowl. He was basically a skeleton with a thin layer of skin pulled tightly over the bones, covered by a bathrobe and slippers. If he wasn't giving me a 'fuck you' stare, I would have laughed at him. But then I noticed the rips in his taut skin, like the one in his cheek where I could see his molars grinding together. I didn't feel like laughing anymore.

  Before Viggo could say anything to him, cadaver boy hissed, "What's your new toy still doing down here with us, Stone? Your trigger-happy piece of shit has caused enough trouble."

  Weird, he just referred to my commander as 'Stone'. I wondered why Viggo would hide his true identity from some of the hemos in his own faction. That I was aware of, the only ones who knew who he really was were Ragna, Barnabus, and Clara. Ragna had that sight Gift, so maybe she saw the truth. It could've been the same for Barnabus and his creepy eye, although I wanted to think that he was just cool enough to keep a secret. And if Viggo didn't tell Clara the truth, I bet the mysterious Vivian did.

  "We have already discussed this, Roach," Viggo replied. "I stand firm that my minion's reactions were justified, especially when
our most aggressive guard was erroneously sent for an unnecessary task. But I would rather not continue to point fingers. What's done is done, Brute is healing well, and I have already fixed the stairs. Here," he held out a large, light box, "a gesture of goodwill."

  Roach slowly accepted the box and opened it. "Hey, sodium bulbs," he said, apparently pleased despite his mood. He then looked up at Viggo and said, "Thanks . . . and sorry about being snappy. Other than the plants, Brute is usually my only company, ya know?"

  "I understand," Viggo said with a nod. "No offense is taken. However, I expect a better attempt at civility if you and my favored minion cross paths again." Hell fucking yes! I was the favored minion!

  Roach acknowledged the statement with a nod and left it at that. Viggo and I turned to move on, and that's when I noticed a hallway cut into the stone. It was between the desk full of monitors and an aquarium table, leading back into darkness. Roach saw me looking down that narrow corridor and said with a smirk, "Go ahead. I dare ya." Viggo reached back and pulled me next to him.

  We moved a few steps over to the couch across the room from Barnabus and Clara, where a small guy slouched with a laptop on his beer belly. By the size of his high-top running shoes propped up on a table, his feet were bigger than mine. He wore a baggy jogging suit and a pageboy cap over his short hair. It was tough to tell what color any of it was in the blue light. He had normal features and a wide smile. The only thing odd about the guy was the two-headed snake that slithered around on him. He ignored it.

  "Here you are, my cunning friend," Viggo said to him, handing over the last box. "And I believe you had something for me as well?"

  "You betcha; I'm emailing it to you now." He took the small box from Viggo without looking at it, tapped a couple times on his keyboard, and then looked up at me. Still grinning, he said, "Hangin' in there, kid?" He spoke with an accent. It was different from Fletcher's, but not by much. I guessed Irish.