The Painted Lady was a tattoo parlor, wonderfully grungy and chock-full of bad, bad boys. Not as bad as me, of course, but then again, who was? There were more muscles, chains, and leather than you could shake a dick at. At least that was what Goodfellow would think. That soured my good mood almost instantly. I still wasn't at all thrilled about the puck's change of behavior. I thought I'd had him figured. The fact that I was wrong didn't sit well with me at all. And it wasn't just ego, although I had to admit that was a big part of it. No, the real problem was Goodfellow throwing one big anomalous monkey wrench in what I'd thought to be a perfectly running plan. If I couldn't depend on him to perform according to his reputation, what else couldn't I depend on? More specifically, who couldn't I depend on?
Or was that "whom"?
Either way, the answer was the Auphe. They were a lot like me, that was true. And that was also the problem. Know thyself… It was a good philosophy. It often kept thyself from biting the big one. I did want to be on the winning side, but just how long the Auphe would want me there might be a different matter altogether. There's no honor among thieves or monsters. But if I did have faith in anything, it was in my ability to come out on top. Still, life could abruptly get more interesting as things went along, no doubt about it.
Shrugging it off, I concentrated on the matter at hand. Picking out my tattoo. There was plenty to choose from, all artful in their own right. Snakes, skulls, skulls vomiting snakes—which was meant to be an ironic twist, I suppose—and hundreds of other macabre gems. I was as torn as a kid in a candy store, but in the end I chose one of the classics. It was a word. Just one word surrounded by a candy red heart, the letters as black as what passed for my soul.
MOM.
"You should honor your mother, Cal," I murmured to myself as the needle stitched its happy way along my flesh. "If it weren't for her, we wouldn't be here. Neither of us." The design was about an inch and a half high on my bicep, cheerfully stark against my pale skin. It was worth every sting of the needle, every smear of blood on the rough textured gauze. It was enough to make me wish that for a moment we weren't one simply so I could see the look on his face. I touched a finger to a pinpoint of blood and then tasted it. My blood now, but the taste was deliciously strange and new.
The tattoo artist gave a minute shake of his head as he finished up the last letter, but remained silent. In this place he'd probably seen more bizarre behavior by far than some self-sampling. From around me as I reclined in the chair, a few rough looks were shot my way. It didn't go any further than that, though. Too bad. Menacing expressions didn't provide much in the way of entertainment, not enough to bring me up out of the chair. I was feeling nicely lazy, a lion content to let the gazelle pass by.
When the masterpiece was complete, I admired it in a mirror that hung crookedly on the wall. It certainly wasn't a mirror I would've been caught dead in, fly-specked and murky, but it cast an adequate enough reflection. I traced the letters ruminatively on my skin and then the surface of the glass. I couldn't help the sly self-satisfied grin that split my face. It may have contained something more than satisfaction if you went by the sideways twitch the guy gave as I paid him. The sheep tended to startle so easily.
When I hit the streets it wasn't with a new purpose, but with a reaffirmed definition, you might say. Next stop would be Auphe central. See what was up on the Grendel side of things. They most likely wouldn't be ready for a few more days yet, but best to touch base. It didn't pay to make the clients any crankier than they already were. And since I'd already pissed them off, not to mention shooting one of them, it was definitely time for my best behavior. Such as it was.
As I headed for the subway to catch the R train, I considered the Auphe. They'd really thought they had it all planned out and in most ways they'd done a bang-up job. There'd been the breeding program, of which Caliban had been the only viable result. You had to give them points for that. I would never have thought it was feasible—if they could even find a human who'd cooperate. Not that cooperation was strictly necessary, but in this day and age of technological beginnings and endings, cooperation was often more fruitful. So after a few decades or so of trying they had their hybrid Auphe-human. But although his mother had been the very spirit of helpfulness, the son was not. The Auphe had every expectation they'd be able to "convince" him to go along with their grand plan. You couldn't blame them. That was one bet I'd have guessed to be surefire myself.
However; they had been wrong about Caliban. He'd made a break from his indoctrination in Tumulus and they'd seen nothing but his heels since. And without Caliban the only thing grand would be the size of their failure. Big and stinking didn't even begin to touch it.
But while it would've been nice had the stubborn Cal cooperated, it had never been strictly necessary. It simply would've made things easier, especially in keeping track of him while he physically matured and his talent matured along with him. Yeah, it would have made things easier, but that didn't matter now that there wasn't a Cal, not anymore. Possession is nine-tenths of the law. You didn't need to be a lawyer to see that. Once again, thanks to me, the Auphe were in business. All they had to do was iron out the other minor details and they were home free. As the real estate vultures said, it was all about location, location, location.
The Auphe had Cal, they had me, but they also needed a massive influx of energy. This wasn't just any gate they wanted to open. A couple of double-A batteries wasn't going to cut it. They needed a major power source. Crossed ley lines might do it. An abandoned place of worship would be even better. They tended to store up a huge amount of energy over time if the faith was genuine. I was interested to see what the bosses had come up with.
The address I'd been given was in Sunset Park, Brooklyn. In a block that had seen better days, the large warehouse was a hulking, dilapidated brute squatting between two other deserted buildings. Brooding, sooty brick, gaping, shattered windows, and sullen atmosphere—I wasn't hearing church bells ring from this place. No, the sounds emanating from there would be more along the lines of bloodcurdling screams and sobbing pleas for help. That would be more welcome to my ears than any bell and it gave the condemned pit a whole lot of grace in my eyes. It wasn't an E ticket ride yet, but it would be. It would be the biggest, the best, and the very last ride the world took. That I was going to be in the driver's seat made it even more of rush.
Inside, the Auphe were milling about purposefully, clearing the enormous space of what looked to be a decade of debris. There were close to a hundred of them, their long hands pulling and pushing with an unnatural strength. A hundred, that must be just about every Auphe left in this world. Tumulus itself might stand empty as they gathered here. That's the breaks of having your own spot on the endangered-species list. "Hey, boss," I called to the nearest one. "What's up with the spring cleaning?" Transforming the very face of existence took some doing, but I didn't think absolute cleanliness was a prerequisite.
There was no mention of the visit paid to me earlier. The Auphe weren't used to disobedience. They were most likely assuming I was now walking the straight and narrow and saluting the almighty Auphe as I went. Dream on. I was a mercenary, not a whore.
In answer to my question, the Auphe's spidery finger pointed downward. It could've been China he was indicating, but I didn't think so. Jade, pagodas, and stir-fried noodles were nice, but not particularly helpful in our situation. Crouching, I laid a hand on the small area of floor that had been cleared. The concrete was cold to the touch, much colder than the air around us. Much colder than it should have been. It tried to leach the warmth from my flesh as it whispered black, poisonous things in my ear. Evil, horrible things that could turn a soul inside out and turn every shred of light into the darkest of despair. Nifty. "Ah," I hummed with approval. "Nothing warms my heart like a good slaughter."