Perseus made his way down the hill slowly, his mind occupied with thoughts of Lei. When he reached the car, Shelley was shivering along with Kurt.
"Who was that you were talking to up there?" Shelley asked.
Perseus smiled faintly. "An old acquaintance."
"He didn't kill Quin." Shelley's statement was half question.
Perseus shook his head, then turned to Kurt, who seemed to be preoccupied with something.
"Something bothering you, Kurt?"
The darker man turned to Perseus, his arms tightly wrapped around his body. "I just saw a man I could have sworn I saw at the airport."
Perseus' eyes narrowed, and he scanned the landscape, looking for the man Kurt mentioned. "Well, he's gone now," Kurt said.
Perseus gave an imperceptible nod. "It was probably just a coincidence." <But I'll look into it anyway,> he thought to himself.
Shelley hugged herself tightly. "Shall we go to the hotel?" she asked, opening the car door.
Perseus and Kurt nodded assent, and the trio was shortly on their way.
The "hotel" was actually a small bed & breakfast run by a rotund married couple by the name of Hoffman. They were friendly, ebullient, and slightly annoying. Perseus deflected all of their questions with practiced ease and paid for the rooms. Once he and Kurt were checked in and unpacked, they met Shelley downstairs.
She was still wrapped up in her winter gear, and seemed surprised that both Kurt and Perseus had discarded their coats. "Aren't we... uh... going to look at the... uh... the castle?" she asked, puzzled.
"No," Perseus said. "Not yet. All I've had to eat in the last twelve hours was the meal on the plane. I'm not going anywhere until I have some real food." Kurt had already slipped past him into the dining room.
Shelley seemed about to argue, but then thought better of it.
She went upstairs to get rid of her jacket, while Perseus entered the dining room. Against his better judgment, he was impressed with the layout of the place. All hard wood, with beautifully carved chairs and tables, a small bar and a huge picture window that let the bright afternoon sunlight spill into the room, the style was decidedly un-German in Perseus' opinion. Too much light.
He sat down across from Kurt at a table for four, and picked up a menu. He scowled in distaste at the choices, but wasn't surprised.
German food had a tendency to be rather heavy. Kurt, on the other hand, seemed in seventh heaven. "Twenty-seven kinds of sausage," he said, drooling. "And maple syrup to die for... pancakes... strudel... oh, man. I've forgotten how much I love German cuisine!"
Perseus rolled his eyes. "Food this rich could kill you, you know," he said.
Kurt laughed. "This coming from the man who owns stock in RJ Reynolds."
"I don't own stock, I just... enjoy tobacco."
"Right." Kurt grinned. "You're probably planning on lighting up right now."
Perseus, who had just been about to draw a cigarette, decided against it. He changed the topic. "Impressions."
Kurt kept grinning, although the laughter left his eyes. He glanced at the door, making sure Shelley wouldn't just appear. "This is a town with secrets, and they like to keep them. Pierce's burial was too quick. And that castle... something about it..."
Kurt was interrupted as Shelley finally made an appearance, and Frau Hoffman arrived to take their order. Shelley just got a salad -- she said she felt "too keyed up to eat" -- while Perseus settled for some apple pancakes. He felt fairly certain he was better off eating something with identifiable ingredients. Kurt ordered a huge plate of various sausage treats, and, to his credit, he ate every bit. Everyone drank beer with their meal.
"How can you eat that stuff?" Shelley asked Kurt.
Around a mouthful of food, Densmore answered, "It tastes good."
Perseus set his tankard down with a satisfied sigh. <Beer is one thing the Germans excel at,> he admitted to himself. "And there are certain advantages to having a metabolism that can easily digest that kind of food," he said.
Shelley looked puzzled, and turned to Kurt. "But you're not...," she glanced at a man in the corner, reading a paper, then continued.
"That is, you're not like Perseus and I. Or I would have sensed you. Right?" She looked to Perseus for confirmation. He nodded.
Kurt swallowed with the help of a healthy sip of beer. "Right," he said. "Someday, I might explain what I am. But this really isn't the time or place."
Shelley looked abashed. "Sorry, I didn't mean to pry..."
Kurt nodded. "S'all right." He dug his fork in for another shovelfull of food.
Perseus, who had long since finished his meal, swallowed the rest of his beverage in one gulp and stood up. "I'm going outside for a cigarette," he said.
Shelley stood up as well. "I'll go with you."
Outside, the sun was slowly sinking in the west, casting a rosy glow across the peaks of the mountains that gave the snow a pinkish cast. The bed & breakfast was on the outskirts of town, and from the porch, Perseus had a decent view of the entire valley. With dusk fast approaching, the lights in town were quickly being turned on.
In the distance, the castle stood, dark and foreboding. As Perseus dug out a cigarette and lit it, he saw several lights, one by one, brighten up the expanse of dark, even stone. But rather than illuminating the castle, the lights emphasized its unearthly appearance, giving it a ghostly, indistinct look.
Perseus breathed out a cloud of smoke, and Shelley broke the silence. "It's so... ominous."
Perseus nodded. "How did you meet Quin?"
Shelley looked at the older Immortal, and her dark look brightened a bit. "I was a grad student at Columbia two years ago, working on my masters in African Studies. Just like a normal person. I needed some field experience to get my degree, and so I went to Kenya. It was really great -- I think I learned more there in two weeks than I did in all my years of school." Perseus smiled, as his first trip to Africa nearly two thousand years ago came to mind.
"Anyway, I was having a great time, until I ran across some poachers. They killed me. When I came back, I didn't know what was going on. I went back to where I was staying, as if nothing had happened. The poachers found out I was still alive, and came after me. Then Quin showed up and saved me. I've been with him ever since. And now..." her voice trailed off, as her eyes were drawn back to the castle.
Perseus took one final drag off the cigarette. He dropped it to the porch, and ground it down with his heel. "We can't bring him back, Shelley. But we can make sure his murderer pays for what he did."
Shelley nodded, but Perseus had a feeling that this wasn't what was troubling her. "Perseus... when... that is, when you're done here... what happens to me?"
Perseus smiled and took her hand. "Your training is not yet complete. You'll come with me. Unless...?"
Shelley shook her head with a wide smile. Relief flooded her emerald eyes. "Thank you, Perseus."
Perseus led her back into the bed & breakfast. "Call me Percy," he said. She laughed suddenly. "What is it?" he asked.
She put a hand over her mouth. "I just realized...Percy and Shelley."
Perseus chuckled himself. "Strangely, though, I've always preferred Byron."
The storm had finally let up and moved on, leaving the sky clear and bright. The moon reflected off the river, fat and round, bright as a newly minted silver coin. Hazard stood on a levee, his Vampiric eyes behind mirrored shades studying the shifting breadth of the mighty Mississippi. He could see all the myriad forms of life that lived on the surface, their tiny hearts beating with life, and could smell the green, dark wetness of it all. It was a smell he had never tired of, not in all the years he had lived in New Orleans.
But tonight, something about the scent was... odd. Something in the natural order was upset, unbalanced. Something gave the green wetness the faint smell of death. Hazard, intrigued, turned from the river and regarded the city itself. Massive, old, and sinking into the earth a few centimeters every year, New Orleans was a hotbed of supernatural activity.
Vampires, Lycanthropes, Gargoyles, and even Demons and Angels called the city their home. Mages labored in secret under 300 year old townhouses, ghouls haunted tombs, and the dreaded Nightspawn hid among the teeming masses of humanity. New Orleans was an old city, and at its heart was an older, secret city.
The Underworld. A meeting ground for the various supernatural lifeforms of the city, the Underworld was neutral territory. It was a place where Demon and Angel, Nightspawn and Vampire could meet without fear of reprisal. The Underworld was ruled by a coven of ancient and powerful witches, and few dared cross them. Their ire was a terrible thing to unleash.
All of this supernatural activity gave the city a certain scent, a scent that Hazard knew well and could separate from the natural smells of the metropolitan area. This new wrinkle, this strange odor, was something else. Something he did not know. But the Vampire was determined to find it out. He cast out his Vampiric senses, seeking information and insight. His mental probes found only the shifting mass of humanity, scuttling about the city like cockroaches. Even his finely honed telepathic abilities could not penetrate the curtain of human thought. The population was far too dense. His eyes, sensitive even in pitch darkness, were drawn to the heat and radiation given off by human bodies, but found nothing out of the ordinary there.
But the scent... the scent remained. And since it was his only clue, Hazard decided to follow it. He flexed his legs and straight up into the air, twisting as he did so. A moment later, his boots thumped as he came down on the roof of the building across the street. Tasting the breeze, he moved north, leaping from rooftop to rooftop as he did so.
After a few blocks, he paused, hearing sounds of a struggle in the alley below him. He looked down. The alley was overflowing with garbage and refuse; the sickly-sweet smell of decay permeated the concrete corridor. A large, lupine shape was hunched over the body of a derelict, feeding noisily. Another wino, clutching a heavy board in his hand, was swinging it wildly at the attacker. The werewolf ignored the attack and continued feeding. Hazard shook his head, disgusted.
The Were were not supposed to hunt in the city. The Vampire stepped off the edge of the roof and dropped softly to the ground below. His light step was not light enough to avoid the notice of the Lycanthrope. It looked up from its feast, muzzle red with blood, and gazed at him with gleaming, silver eyes.
Hazard smiled, showing off his fangs. "You're a bit out of your territory, puppy," he said.
The werewolf stepped back from the body and shifted. Flesh flowed like molten wax, fur rippled with a sickening slushing sound. In the space of a mortal heartbeat, the werewolf had changed from pure wolf to wolf-man. It stood well over seven feet tall, a mass of hard muscle and straight, black fur. Its heavy paw-like hands ended in vicious looking claws, and the red-stained muzzle brimmed with sharp, cutting teeth.
Though it looked powerful, Hazard's Vampire senses could detect numerous sores eating into the creature's flesh.
<A renegade,> he thought. <A were who has left the Way, embraced Niddhogg.> Hazard knew enough about Lycanthropes to be wary of the strange adversary. While the werewolf was stronger, and more deadly due to its shift in alignment, Hazard also knew its mind had most likely become unhinged. He would need to be cautious.
The werewolf spoke. Its voice, like its body, was a mixture of wolf and man. Barks and growls were interspersed among the human sounds. "You have made a grave mistake, Blood. Your kind must never interfere in the Ways of the Wolf. Such was the Pact signed Ages ago. You will pay for your disrespect."
Hazard nodded. The Lycanthrope was definitely mad. He lashed out with his mind and put the other derelict to sleep with a forceful suggestion. He knew the werewolf's insanity would make it impervious to his mental attacks. It would be a physical contest. <So be it.>
The werewolf crouched and pounced, launching its three hundred pound frame at the Vampire. Hazard sidestepped the attack easily, and, when the Lycanthrope crashed to the ground, he clamped his hand on the back of the monster's head, and held tight with a grip of iron. He pressed the werewolf's face into the hard ground. It howled and swung a fist at Hazard's legs. A blow that would have crippled a mortal caromed off of hard Vampire flesh.
"This time, doggie, I do believe you've bitten off more than you can chew," Hazard said, applying pressure to the back of the wolf's head. The beast howled again and struggled to pull itself up. It braced itself against the ground with arms and legs and levered itself away from the ground.
Hazard danced away, out of the range of the swinging fists, a large chunk of werewolf skull held in his hand. Suddenly realizing this, the wolf placed a careful hand against the back of its head. When it came away, the palm was slick with blood. Roaring in rage, the werewolf attacked, slashing at Hazard with its claws. He evaded the clumsy, anger driven blows, and retaliated with a few well placed punches of his own.
Though a werewolf's flesh and fur is normally dense enough to ward off even Vampire's strength, this specimen was suffering from its departure from the Way. The sores on its skin were only the obvious manifestation of a sickness that permeated the werewolf's body. The disease would give the werewolf enhanced spiritual and psychic might while wearing away at its physicality. At the same time, the mind grew weak, such that the werewolf grew more savage and more prone to expressions of physical violence, ignoring the use of its greater psychic power.
So it was with that Hazard's punches and kicks drove the werewolf back, shattering ribs and opening wounds, when a normal Lycanthrope would have been non-plussed. The werewolf dropped to its knees, clutching its side, open sores leaking carmine fluid to mat its hair.
It fought to catch its breath, hoping its weakened regenerative abilities would heal it quickly, so that it might continue the battle. Hazard had no patience, though. He dropped his fist down, and, with a meaty thunk, crushed the werewolf's skull. As the creature died, its body shifted once again, until there was no sign of wolf in the naked man that lay in the middle of the alley with a shattered head.
Hazard stepped back from the corpse. He wiped his hand on the coat of the unconscious derelict. He thought about editing the man's mind to ensure he would not remember this night, but decided against it. Chances were, even if he did tell someone, they wouldn't believe it.
The Vampire adjusted his sunglasses and took once more to the rooftops of the city. Although he wanted to dismiss the episode as a random encounter, Hazard knew he could not. He had a feeling that the diseased werewolf and the peculiar scent were connected.
Something terrible was brewing in New Orleans.
And Hazard knew, somehow, he would be right in the middle of it all.
Perseus stood outside the castle, his breath misting in the cold air. He dug his hands into his pockets and looked up at the thick, heavy walls.
All was dark. The walls were shrouded by the night, looking black and -- what was it Shelley said -- yes, ominous. The walls seemed to absorb light, suck it in and swallow it whole. Even the light of the full moon, which gave the snow a silver glow, could not penetrate the castle's gloom.
Kurt's assessment had been correct. There was something going on in this tiny German town. Something hidden, something sinister. Pierce had uncovered it... perhaps even awakened it. And now he was dead, and it was Perseus' problem.
Perseus sucked on the last bit of his cigarette, dropped it in the snow, and turned to go. As he did so, he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Something high on the castle wall. But when he looked, he could see nothing.
He stood there in the snow for a long while. When he couldn't feel his toes, he headed back to the village. <Whatever it is, it'll keep. For now.>
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PoT_Ch03.php -- Revised: January 27, 2021.