But despite the two groups’ striking differences, they had one important thing in common: they clearly loathed one another, and given the aggressive way they were acting, I knew it would only be a matter of moments until…
A heavily tattooed Arcane man wearing a dragonskin jacket raised his hands and began chanting a spell in a language I didn’t recognize. The words seemed to echo in the air, and despite the fact that I have no nerve endings in my ears, it hurt to hear those words spoken aloud. A few seconds later, a half-dozen other Arcane joined in, and soon all of the magic-users stood chanting, hands raised toward the sky.
The Demonkin’s reaction to the spell was dramatic.
They fell back several steps, roaring and hissing, shrinking in upon themselves and averting their gazes as if it was too painful to look upon the faces of the chanting Arcane.
“What’s happening?” I turned to Scorch, hoping she might be able to tell me, but she didn’t respond.
She stood there with her hands pressed over her ears, eyes squinted closed, jaws clenched tight, as if she were trying to shut out the world – or perhaps just the Arcanes’ chanting.
“The magic-users are attempting a binding spell!” Devona said.
I understood what was going on then, but I had a hard time believing it. The enmity between Demonkin and Arcane goes back centuries, back to before the Darkfolk left Earth and emigrated to Nekropolis, when witches, warlocks, and wizards would attempt to summon demons, bind them to their will, and enslave them. Having a powerful creature like a demon to command was an attractive prospect for a magic-user, but you can see how a demon would find the arrangement less than appealing.
After the founding of Nekropolis, slavery of any sort was outlawed by Dis and the Darklords, more as a practical matter than for any other reason. It’s hard enough to keep the peace in a city full of monsters without having to worry about them running around constantly trying to enslave one another. The prohibition against slavery included the summoning and binding of demons, but the fact that it was now a major crime didn’t seem to deter these Arcane in the least, and I doubted any of them considered what they were doing as breaking the law. After all, war was in the offing between Glamere and the Sprawl, and people – Darkfolk or human – are only too willing to suspend the rule of law during wartime… especially when it gives them an excuse to indulge the darker side of their nature.
Devona put her arm around Scorch as if to lend the demon strength and turned to look at me. “We have to stop the spell, Matt! If we don’t she’ll become the Arcanes’ slave, bound to them until they set her free!”
I sighed. “Of course we do. Shamika, you stay here and take care of Scorch. Devona and I will be right back.”
Up to this point Shamika had been staring wideeyed at the scene in the street, but she tore her gaze away and gave me a solemn nod.
“But if the Arcane finish the spell and Scorch becomes bound, get away from her as fast as you can,” Devona added. “They’ll be able to make her do what they want, and she won’t be able to resist their commands.”
Shamika nodded once again, and I turned to Varney, who was watching the action in the street, undoubtedly filming it all with his cyber-eye camera.
“As for you…” I trailed off. I wanted to tell him to stay put, but I knew there wasn’t any point. “Just try not to get in the way.”
“Will do,” he said. “You know, Matt, you get into some of the strangest situations.”
I sighed again. “It’s a gift.”
Devona gave Scorch’s shoulder a last squeeze, and then the two of us starting walking into the street, Varney following close behind.
“I don’t suppose you know any way of blocking a binding spell,” I said to Devona.
“None whatsoever. I figured we’d just do what we always do: stick our noses in where they don’t belong and see what happens.”
I grinned. “I thought I was the improviser and you were the planner.”
She shrugged. “What can I say? You’ve rubbed off on me.”
We continued walking toward the two groups, and while I did my best to project an air of casual calm – letting anyone in Nekropolis see how scared you really are isn’t conducive to your long-term survival prospects – I frantically tried to think of some way to diffuse the situation Devona and I were about to insert ourselves into. I’d restocked my weaponry before leaving the Midnight Watch, and I now carried a few of my more interesting toys in my pockets, but I couldn’t see how any of them would prove useful against an angry mob of combined Arcane and Demonkin.
As we neared the two groups, I noticed a small shop a couple doors down from Overhexed called The Teahouse of the Gibbous Moon. It had a large front window, and sitting at a table, keeping an eye on the incipient mayhem in the street, was a figure garbed in a voluminous crimson cloak with a large hood. At first I didn’t think she saw me, but then she lifted her teacup in greeting, and I gave a slight nod in return.
Devona had picked up on the exchange, either telepathically or through old-fashioned observation.
“Who is it?”
“The cavalry,” I said. “I hope.”
As we drew nearer to the mob, I could see that the binding spell was coming along nicely. Most of the Demonkin lay curled in fetal positions on the ground, rocking back and forth as they let loose blistering streams of curses or, just as often, loud wails and streams of tears. I wasn’t sure how much longer it would take before the spell was complete, but I doubted we had more than a few moments at this point. No time left for subtlety.
I reached into my jacket pocket and brought out what appeared to be an empty glass vial sealed with a black rubber stopper. “Cover your ears,” I warned Devona and Varney, and then I hurled the vial toward the mass of magic-users. It struck the ground at the feet of an Arcane woman who appeared to be wearing a gown made of shifting multicolored mist. She held her hands raised above her head and was chanting along with rest of the Arcane, but the moment the vial burst her voice – along with the voices of her fellow magikers – was drowned out by a high-pitched shrieking. The sound rapidly grew in volume until it seemed to fill the entire world, and the Arcane broke off their chanting and clapped their hands over their ears to block the deafening noise. It didn’t bother me – no nerveendings, remember? – but Devona pressed her palms tight against her ears to muffle the sound.
Given her sensitive vampire hearing, the noise must’ve been incredibly painful for her, but the only reaction she showed was a slight tightening of her lips. A tough gal, my Devona.
Varney didn’t bother to protect his ears. Maybe he was even tougher than Devona, or maybe his ears also had cyber implants and he was able to mentally turn down the volume on them. Either way, he simply watched and recorded the action unfolding before him.
The shrieking only lasted a few seconds, and when it was over, the Arcane slowly removed their hands from their ears and turned to look at us, confused.
“That was a gift from a friend of mine named Scream Queen,” I said, shouting so that they could hear me over the ringing in their ears. “She was nice enough to bottle a bit of her voice for me. It probably didn’t do too much permanent damage to your hearing, but it did manage to shut you all up long enough for us to get your attention.” Scream Queen was a banshee and lead singer of Kakaphonie, one of Nekropolis’ hottest pop bands.
Devona and I, along with the rest of the Midnight Watch, had helped her out once, and she’d been so grateful that – after paying Devona her fee – she gave me a few of her screams. How the banshee had managed to store them in a glass vial was beyond me, but I was grateful that it had worked. Up until the vial had shattered, I hadn’t been a hundred percent sure that it would.