If he were honest, Ethridge would admit he has no idea what he’s talking about.
He recalls starting to share his history with the karaoke bar that was closed to accommodate his party. Then there was a story about a girl with whom he’d spent a crazy weekend in Cancun. A tale about a regrettable tattoo. Then his train of thought was completely off the rails.
His gathering of wizards and demons sit and pace nearby. They’re anxious and eyeing his table like vultures waiting for something to die. Roman scowls. No surprise there. The mountainous wizard ditched his coat and rolled up his sleeves, showing off his massive arms.
The pretty bartender knows something unusual is happening, even if she has no idea what it is. She quietly refills drinks without daring to ask for payment. The rest of the bar’s employees were sent home as soon as they had prepared a nice steak.
The tension in the room is excruciating. So Ethridge talks, and talks, and talks. He speaks as if his words are all that stand between life and death. As if his silence will summon forth the darkest, foulest creatures of the darkest, foulest nightmares of man.
Every eye is on Alexander Blackwell, but he’s oblivious. Or seems to be, anyhow. He casually cuts up his steak and consumes square after medium rare square. He occasionally takes a sip of a scotch. Once he swallows the final bit of meat, he dabs his mouth with a napkin and neatly places it on his plate. He pushes the plate to the side and finally decides to listen to what his verbose host is saying.
“I mean, there’s just no way that Superman could actually turn the world backward,” Ethridge rambles. “And even if he did, that wouldn’t rewind time.”
Alexander furrows his brow. “What?”
Quickly sitting up, Ethridge smoothes out his tie. “Uh, nothing. How was your steak?”
“I must admit, when you brought me to a karaoke bar, I was skeptical, but it turned out to be an impressive morsel.”
“I told you,” Ethridge chuckles. “If I may, Mr. Blackwell, perhaps we should get down to business.”
Alexander stares passively. “We don’t have any business, Mr. Ethridge. Was this not a simple gesture of hospitality?”
“Uh...yeah. Yeah, of course, it was.”
“Then what is this business we have?” Alexander asks.
“Well, I was hoping to help you.”
“With what?”
“With whatever it is you’re doing here,” Ethridge answers, trying not to get flustered. Lots of eyes are on him.
“So, you don’t know why I’m here, but you want to help me do it?”
Overcome with a feeling of foolishness, Ethridge glances at Roman for support. His friend stares back and displays a tight fist, a symbol of strength. The message is clear. Emboldened, Ethridge sets his jaw. “I know why you’re here, Mr. Blackwell. I was just trying to be polite and not presume.”
His guest’s expression doesn’t change. “Do you?”
Ethridge bristles. Alexander is going to beat around the bush until his host proves what he actually knows. “Yeah,” he answers, annoyance feeding his confidence, “you’re here for your kid.”
Alexander’s brow only rises slightly, but his eyes flare. He calmly laces his fingers and eases back in his chair. “I see. The locals are aware of her then?”
“Just rumors.” Ethridge can’t stop himself from smirking at his small victory. Roman tries to catch his eyes, frowning deeply. Ethridge has never been able to score a social goal without wearing the win on his face. The last thing they need is an antagonized Blackwell.
If the smile bothers Alexander, he doesn’t show it. “Well, the rumors are correct. I am indeed here for my daughter.”
“I knew it!” Roman rolls his eyes as Ethridge pumps his fist. “Word was this guy, Beck, found her. Next thing anyone knows, his shop is smashed, his warehouse is burnt to the ground, and he’s dead.”
Alexander smirks. “It’s never wise to provoke a Blackwell. Even a disgraced one.”
The subtext of the comment goes right over Ethridge’s spiky head. “See, I can help you find her. And then I thought you could help me establish my House.”
“An admirable ambition,” Alexander acknowledges, “the problem is I do not need, nor want, your help.” The bar goes quiet. Ethridge’s jaw drops as if that possibility has never occurred to him. “In fact, your meddling is most unwelcome. My daughter’s whereabouts, while not exactly a secret, is not something that is supposed to be common knowledge either.”
Wizard and demon alike tense as Blackwell pushes his chair back and stands, grasping his cane. “This puts me in a fairly difficult position.”
Ethridge rises with him, looking at Roman. The muscular wizard pops his knuckles and steps toward Alexander. Glancing between his allies and his guest, Ethridge swallows nervously.
He was a spell-slinger of some ability, but he has never been very good in combat situations. Pressure and stress always prevented him from making the best use of his magic. Having Roman close by usually saw to it that he didn’t need to break out magic to defend himself. He doesn’t like his odds against Blackwell.
Alexander notices the crowd drawing closer and circling him, but his eyes do not leave Ethridge’s. He stares with cold scrutiny. “Are you afraid, Mr. Ethridge?”
The question is more of an accusation. Ethridge’s nostrils flare. “Hell, no!” His forceful response brings an approving nod from Roman. Spurred by the gesture and his superior numbers, his voice rises. “You’re a real big shot in Boston, but you’re in Carmadie now, bitch!”
Alexander meets the furious outburst with indifference. “There is no shame in fear, Mr. Ethridge. Fear is our constant companion. Our default state of mind. Our most basic evolutionary instinct.”
Ethridge raises an eyebrow as Alexander circles around the table. “Anger fades. As does sorrow. Most people never even know happiness. But fear lingers. It knows neither age nor circumstance. We fear as children and we fear as adults.”
Ethridge steps backward and flinches every time Blackwell utters the four-letter word. “When times are good, we fear they won’t be for long. When times are bad, we fear they always will be. The man who has everything fears losing it. The man who has nothing fears it is all he will ever have.”
The room stands in almost reverent silence as Alexander Blackwell speaks. “Religion tells us that a man without God should fear a hellish afterlife, but that a man with God must also fear. Fear God Himself. We may achieve some level of happiness by raising families, but they too bring us fear. Every time our children are out of our sight, we fear. We fear for their safety, for their happiness, for their futures, for their very souls. Fear. We fear the things we don’t understand, and yet, we also fear the things we do.”
Now standing nose to nose, Blackwell and Ethridge stare into each other’s eyes. The dark, enveloping orbs of Alexander Blackwell seem to promise every horrible thing imaginable. A power dwells within that makes Ethridge’s lip tremble. “The things we know. The things we have stood in the presence of, stared into the unblinking eyes of. The things we understand at their most basic. The things we have seen into the very core of. Whose true nature we have experienced.
“Those, Mr. Ethridge,” Alexander’s voice lowers to a whisper, “those are the things we fear the most.”
Roman starts when he realizes how close Alexander had come to his friend. His monologue seemed to lull them into complacency. If it was a spell, it’s a subtle one. When Roman steps forward, the rest of the party snaps out of it as well.
Without looking away from Ethridge, Alexander lifts his cane and drives it down with authority. Thick smoke billows out from the tip. As the plumes spread, canine shapes begin to emerge. Dark eyes glare and bestial teeth bare. A pack of ghostly dogs charges the gathered forces.
“Shadowhounds,” Roman grumbles. They are fairly elementary creatures. The hounds are vicious and fast, but also prone to disloyalty, ripping their summoner to shreds as quickly as anyone else. Any wizard of skill could conjure one, but only the truly powerful could call forth an entire pack and keep them under control. Roman has no doubt Alexander Blackwell is adequately skilled.
Fireballs flash and demons roar as dozens of the dogs leap at jugulars and snap at hamstrings. The hounds lose several of their number, but they overrun the group's bulk within seconds. More than a few launch themselves at Roman. He catches one by the throat and uses it to bat away several others. He grabs the creature by the spine and rips it in two, reducing it to a puff of dark smoke.
Swatting another away with little regard, he peers through the smoke to find Blackwell. He spots him as he twists the end of his cane and slowly pulls out a long, slender blade. Ethridge stumbles backward and puts a hand up, but no spell answers his call. With a growl, Roman charges, shadowhounds bouncing off him like the debate team trying to tackle the star running back.
“Impressive, wouldn’t you say?” asks Alexander as he slides his fingers along the sword. “The Black Blade it’s called. Forged by my father. One of the few things he did right. No known magic can heal a cut from this blade.”
“P-please,” Ethridge stammers, his composure frayed, “I didn’t want any trouble.”
“Lion tamers don’t want trouble either, yet they can hardly be surprised when they find it, can they?”
Alexander lifts the point of the blade to Ethridge’s chest. Ethridge stares at the blade not with fear, but resignation. Suddenly, Alexander spins away from him, bringing the Black Blade around in a wide arch. He is not a physically powerful man, but the sword cuts through skin, and tissue, and bone, as though they are water.
Ethridge’s mouth opens but he finds no voice as Roman’s body tumbles awkwardly as its momentum carries it across the floor. His head strikes the ground nearby with a red splat. The sight of his best friend’s beheaded corpse brings Ethridge down to his knees.
Alexander stares at the severed head with disdain. “For the record, his gawking did bother me.”
“Why?” Ethridge asks quietly, bringing Alexander’s attention back to him. “Why do this? I...I just wanted...” He doesn’t know how to finish the sentence. He’s actually quite surprised he started it.
Alexander bends down toward him. “Do you think I’m a monster, Mr. Ethridge?” He continues without waiting for an answer. “I may appear so at times, but I assure you, I’m not. I sat by while my wife performed experiments on my youngest child. A worthless child, yes. A child that had to be removed from my House, certainly. But my child nonetheless. I allowed it to continue because one day it would be worth it. The product of those experiments would represent the pinnacle of arcane achievement.”
Ethridge looks up at him, water in his eyes, but says nothing.
“Somewhere in this city, is a prototype that could be the key to my invincibility. I know how quickly word spreads in our communities. Once others hear about what happened here, they will know to stay out of my way. You wanted to help me, and so you have. You are an example, Mr. Ethridge.”
With a casual swipe of the Black Blade, he cuts a diagonal slice through Jacob Ethridge’s face.
Turning away, Alexander slips his blade back into the cane. Only four shadowhounds remain, but they are victorious. Bodies spewing blood of red and black litter the bar. They snarl at Alexander as he approaches but don’t dare take a step toward him. With another tap of his cane, the dogs dissolve into mist. “You can come out now, young lady.”
The pretty bartender pops up from her hiding spot behind the bar. Tears run down her face. “No! Please! I won’t tell anyone about anything!”
“On the contrary,” he corrects, “you’ll tell anyone who will listen. Most will think you’re crazy, but the right people will believe you.”
She only stares at him, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“Go,” he commands. Without a second’s hesitation, she dashes for the door and is gone.
Glancing around at his handiwork, Alexander starts for the exit also. A chime from his jacket pocket stops him. “Yes?” he answers.
“Dad,” Madeline begins, “I found a loft that will do nicely.”
“Good. Text me the address. And the boys?”
“They have a lead. They’re headed to a club downtown.”
“Go and join them. I want her found as quickly as possible.”
“I will. Where are you?”
“A karaoke bar, if you can believe it. I’m leaving now.”
“Coming to us?”
“No.” He slips his coat on and steps out into the city. “I’m off to see an old friend.”
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