Dangerous Creatures

CHAPTER 3 Master of Puppets

In the shadows of the Underground, anything can look evil.

That was what the guy standing on the edge of an ancient New York City subway platform thought. He was eighteen years old, and he still dreaded coming down here. He shook the unruly lengths of caramel-colored hair away from his gold-flecked eyes.

It’s impossible to know the difference between darkness and Darkness down here, even for a Dark Caster like me.

And Lennox Gates was plenty Dark.

The pale girl sitting on the edge of the platform across the tracks from him was not plagued by the same philosophical questions. Slumping inside a fitted black leather jacket quilted in diagonal stripes, she looked like a futuristic criminal. Her hair was buzzed down to an inch, except for a stripe of spiky blue that ran down the center of her head. Only her baby face looked innocent.

Dangerous, but innocent.

Lennox thought about her future. He wished he hadn’t seen it, but he couldn’t stop himself from picking up on the things he did, every time he accidentally looked into a fireplace, a lit candle, or even a flickering lighter. Her future, like so many others, had come to him in bursts, like the flash on a camera, streaming a high-speed flood of information he couldn’t control. He had seen anguish and guilt, blood and betrayal.

Love.

The Dark Caster Necromancer was in for a wild ride.

Leaning against one of the support beams, her eyes milky white and opaque instead of their normal Dark Caster gold, she didn’t look conscious. He felt bad about their arrangement, though she’d agreed to the contract. It had been her idea to wipe it from her mind, for security reasons. Like so many Necromancers, she didn’t want to know what she was saying or who was saying it. Though the girl wouldn’t remember any of this, he would—every dull, wasted moment.

Why did I have to inherit this mess, along with everything else they left me?

The ring of candles surrounding her on three sides had burned down to waxy puddles. Spirals of smoke drifted up toward her blank face. Her legs dangled over the edge of the tracks, kicking involuntarily to an unknown rhythm.

It’s a good thing these tracks are abandoned. If a train came by, those legs would be cut from her body, Necromancer or not, Lennox thought. As good as she was, she couldn’t protect herself in this state. She relied on him, and he could never forget it.

Occupational hazard of her job.

He slid a cigar from the inside pocket of his black trench and considered it. He hated the smell of cigars—and the smell of this one in particular.

Occupational hazard of mine.

He stared at the cigar as if he wanted it to disappear—as if he wanted to disappear right along with it. But he couldn’t. He was the last of his family line, and there was still work to be done, even if he didn’t want any part of it.

Do any of us really have control over our destinies? Maybe we’re all just as helpless as little Mortals in the end.

He heard a sound from across the tracks. The girl would wake up soon. No more time for self-pity.

Time for an offering.

So he held the cigar up in the air in front of him, raising his voice. “Barbadian. Your favorite. I’d give one to your obeah there, but I don’t think she’d appreciate it.” He lit the cigar, letting the match burn out and drop onto the tracks. Nox didn’t look directly at the flame, not even the burning cigar. Fire made him see things he didn’t like to see. “I understand you want to talk. Here I am. What do you want from me?”

He looked over at the girl across the tracks.

She was still comatose, but she raised her head when the cigar smoke reached her, and her mouth opened like a puppet’s. The voice that came out belonged to an old man—low and gravelly, with a distinct Southern accent. “What I want is to avenge my family’s honor. For my blood debt to be paid.”

His blood debt? After all the blood he’s shed?

Lennox tried to keep the rage out of his voice. “Some people say the ones who are to blame have paid over and over again. Even their friends have paid. Your family got what was coming to them. At least, you did.”

“Accordin’ to who?” The girl’s face twisted into a sneer.

“Me,” Lennox said coldly.

“Think again, boy.”

Careful, Lennox thought. He might be dead, but he’s still dangerous.

Lennox shook his head at the possessed girl. “I did what you asked. I set certain events in motion. I’m knee-deep in a pile of bones and moldering bodies, as Homer would say.” He knocked the ash from the cigar without ever touching it to his lips. “I’m glad my mother isn’t here to see it.”

“I wouldn’t worry yourself. Your mamma never gave a thought to what you did.”

Lennox snapped. “She didn’t have a chance. You made sure of that.” When you tortured her.

“I make sure of everythin’.” The girl took a moment to savor the smoke, and smiled cruelly. “Your job isn’t close to done.”

Lennox wanted to hurl the cigar at her.

At him.

“The Wheel of Fate crushes us all. Isn’t that what they say, old man?” Lennox shook his head. “That’s a dangerous business. Messing with so many people’s fates at once. Are you sure it’s worth it?”

“Don’t be a coward, like your father,” the girl muttered. “I will have my vengeance.”

Lennox only smiled. “So you’ve said.” My father should’ve killed you when he had the chance.

“What you grinnin’ at, boy?” The girl snarled at him from across the darkness. “Until I find my rest, you won’t have any peace, either.”

Lennox waved the cigar in the air between them. “I’m glad we’re moving on to the threats. I was starting to feel slighted.”

“Not just a threat. A promise. I’ll see to it myself. That, and a whole lot more.”

The Dark Caster cocked an eyebrow. “No wonder I turned out to be a model citizen. Considering I was raised in such a loving community.”

“You are not my blood.” The animated girl spat.

“Thank god for that.” Lennox was tired of the old man. Even death hadn’t lifted the burden of his presence. “Why don’t you move on already? Cross over? You spent a lifetime exacting revenge on everyone you ever met. Aren’t you bored yet?”

“I’m not goin’ anywhere, boy.” She growled. “I want them all gone. Not just the hand that drove the blade. Not just the traitor who led me there. Everyone who got them to that point, to that hour of that day.”

“All of them?”

“Every last one. You hearin’ straight? Because I want to be perfectly clear. You. Kill them. For me.”

Lennox stared down the tracks. There was nothing but darkness.

What choice did he have, really?

When it came right down to it, there was only one answer. There was always only one answer. He sighed. “I’ll do what I can.”

The words sounded strange in his mouth, as if someone else was saying them.

“I take it that’s a yes?”

“If only in the name of family honor.”

The Necromancer smiled, raising her hands. “My family thanks you.”

Lennox looked repulsed. “I meant mine, not yours. Don’t flatter yourself.”

“But our families were so close, Lennox.” The voice echoed through the Tunnel. “Almost hard to tell where the one ended and the other began.”

Not for me, thought Lennox.

He tossed the empty matchbook down to the tracks. Six letters were printed on the crimson cover. One word.

SIRENE.

Above the tracks, the girl slumped to the ground like a rag doll. The old man was gone. As many times as he’d seen it, Lennox was still unsettled. He waited just long enough to make sure his Necromancer was coming out of it.

She would be sick in the morning. Sick, and stinking of cigars. He’d have to work harder to make her forget this one. Maybe put a little something extra in her paycheck. It wasn’t her fault she was particularly good at communicating with dead psychopaths, but it was one of the reasons she was so valuable.

Another occupational hazard.

Lennox walked away, disappearing into the deeper dark. There was always more darkness waiting for him. He’d lived his whole life in the shadow.

He couldn’t help but spread it around.