Stroke Of Midnight: The Grimoire Chronicles, #2

Erebus

One

Erebus strolled down the obsidian halls of the Winter Palace, the clap of his boots echoing off the walls. He passed all manner of Faerie, some covered in spines, others in fur, some had wings, and others…well…just damn weird looking. Ah, but that was the Peripheral, wasn't it? A hodgepodge of existence, intentional, experimental, and accidental.

All of it beneath his feet.

He wore the nicest suit human money could buy. He kept his hair coiffed, his face devoid of scruffy extra hair. His gait reflected his confident attitude even as the varied gazes of the denizens of this fragmented realm followed him. Erebus stopped at the end of the hall in front of twin gold doors. A woodland scene had been carved in relief on the surface. He noted the birds, the maiden fair in the center, and the unicorn.

Quaint.

No guard stood outside the new Queen's chamber. No one thought Erebus a threat. After all, he was there in a human body.

The doors opened. Erebus stepped through.

The new Queen sat in a high-backed throne of red velvet, quite a gothic touch against the backdrop of the black floor, walls, and ceiling. She had skin the color of milk, hair the color of a brilliant autumn, lips like cherries, and eyes…

Her eyes told of the transformation taking place inside of her. They told him the rumors he'd heard were true. A God Mother's child sat on the throne. The strength of that blood alone would be feared, but to see the transformation from Witch to Faerie—

Terrifying.

He could only imagine what it was doing to her mind. To effect such a change meant she'd drunk the blood of a pureblood Queen. It was no wonder the former Queen Medbh couldn't be found. Erebus assumed this little monster ate her.

He bowed low at her chair, his arms out to his sides, just as he was coached. My Queen.

"Obsidian Queen, she said. She had the voice of a child. Erebus. Twenty-third son of Samael and Lilith. Former First Born of the Abysmal Realm, otherwise known as…"

When she paused, he looked up at her. "Hell, your Grace."

Yes. I like calling it Hell. Please stand.

Erebus straightened and glanced around for some kind of chair. There were none. So it would seem a guest was to be put at an instant disadvantage. I have come as you requested, your Grace.

I've been familiarizing myself with Medbh's previous duties, her relationships, her treaties, and her deals. Those whom she considered enemies, and those with which she formed…covenants.

I see. So why have you requested a visit from me?

You and Medbh had a covenant, Erebus.

I'm afraid you're mistaken.

Brendi smiled. Her teeth were just narrowing into the familiar sharpness of a Faerie's. I'm afraid you're evading responsibility, but her notes warn it is your nature. Medbh had been mad, but not stupid. She helped you acquire the body you now possess, and you wear it quite well. Thus saving you from a return to the Well of Souls when you were…exorcised. She leaned her head to the right. She didn't immediately ask for payment then and left it open-ended.

Ah. So that was it. And you want to make good on what I owe Medbh. Erebus pointed at her. "Not you."

Yes. Reviewing her records, you were the best asset listed for—acquisitions.

Living or dead?

Has to be living.

Human Realm?

Yes. The Queen leaned forward in her throne. You have a knack for…breaking your prey when you're invested. Please understand, I have no argument with this. In fact, I'd prefer this one to be broken.

"You can to tell me…who you want acquired. Erebus crossed his arms over his chest as he studied her actions, her motions, the way she spoke, the tone of her voice, the speed she blinked her eyes. Everything about her said lie, and yet…he couldn't identify the lie. And then I can inform you whether or not I wish to acquire them."

He's a Goblin. One of Medbh's brood. He's dangerous and I want him brought back here where he'll be safe.

That…sounds too easy. Erebus strolled to the right side of the throne, his left. Why don't you bring him back yourself? If he's a Goblin, then you can sing to his Faerie blood.

"Not from here. That would require my presence in the Human Realm, and I can't step into it just yet. My transformation is still hinging on my remaining in Alfheim to assure my purpose."

Not even on the mist?

No.

Well. He lowered his arms and put his hands on his hips. I'm afraid I'm busy right now. I have a lot of irons in the fire—

Your covenant with Medbh—

"Is just that, your Grace. A covenant dealt with Medbh. Not you. So, if you'll excuse me. I have a charity event to get back to." He turned with the full intent of immediately leaving this unbearable plane of existence.

I know where your child is.

There were very few things in the world Erebus wanted. Mostly the finer things. And control. Control over his empire, which he'd built in the Human Realm for the past twenty years. Men and women died and lived under his command. He traded everything from drugs and firearms to lives in the shadows, and reaped all the benefits. So there were very few things he could want.

Except the original future he'd planned for himself as the owner of the body of a powerful God Mother's child.

Even vampires have a need for their children.

He stopped and slowly turned to face the new Queen. As a Demon in control of a body, he'd chosen the path of a vampire, but not of a Revenant, a Leviathan. The soul he connected with inside this form did not bond with him. Instead, the trapped soul took the worst of whatever damage he inflicted on the body while his own existence remained as pristine as it could, ready for the next procurement.

This human's child died long ago in a fire.

What if I told you he didn't? He was eight at the time, am I right?

Yes. They found his body. And hers. Hers referring to his host's wife. Honestly? I'd say you're lying just to get me to do your dirty work.

I'm not lying. She slowly stood at that moment and Erebus got a better look at her. She was short. And young. Very young. He couldn't fathom what it was about her human life that would make her believe becoming a Faerie would be better. I know the truth of your son's life. I know where he is. I know why and how he survived. And I'm willing to give all of this to you—if you return my Goblin.

"This…Goblin is that important to you?"

Not just to me. The survival of our existence may depend on bringing him home.

I see. He really didn't, but Erebus didn't care. And if I do this, and I find you're lying to me about my son—

I give you my word.

A chime sounded in the air overhead, and Erebus smiled. The chime meant the Faerie had created a covenant with him, just as he'd made one with Medbh, and now they were bound to each other. This Queen would have to tell him the truth.

He pursed his lips as he nodded his head. Then you have a deal—although— He arched a brow. I'm not clear on the manner you want him delivered. You said you would prefer him broken?

Yes. But alive. He has to be alive.

"Just…alive?"

The Queen smiled. I leave the definition of that to you. But he must be breathing.

All the better. Delivery date and time?

Going by the Human Realm calendar, Friday, by the stroke of midnight.

Erebus made a mental note to start this right away, since the day was Tuesday. Luckily he could come and go between the Human Realm and Alfheim without the usual advance of time. Does this Goblin have a name?

Darren McConnell. Sometimes known as Dags.

Dags? The word felt odd in his mouth, and he made a face to display his distaste. Any place I should start? To quicken the chase?

Savannah, Georgia. North America.

Ah yes. The sister of New Orleans. Seems a nice place to start. He nodded. Until I have him.

She sat back down, visibly spent. The transformation was draining her. She was vulnerable, and he did think for a second or two what it would be like to possess a Faerie Queen. But the curiosity died within the same second and he pivoted away. His boots clapped against the stone floor as the golden double doors opened and he made his plans to dispense with this Goblin and find his son.

And claim him for his own.

ZOMBiES!!!

Two

I never thought or even considered in the slightest that some of that crap I watched on TV or in the movies was real. Take zombies, for instance. I mean, seriously? The walking dead? Vampires had more of a chance of fitting into the waking, sane world of the mortal, especially if you explained them as demon-possessed humans.

Totally makes sense, right?

But an animated, walking corpse that feeds off brains? How is it supposed to eat the brains if it's dead and the stomach's not working? And if it's dead, that means the heart isn't working, which also means there's no blood pumping into the brain, and it's not getting oxygen because the lungs aren't working. So it's just not feasible for such a thing to exist.

Right?

Dags! Stop daydreaming and whammy this thing!

Whammy? Really?

My name's Darren McConnell, though most people just call me Dags. I can't remember where that nickname came from. Growing up, I was just your average, run-of-the-mill ghost-sensing human during those awkward adolescent years when trying to fit in was harder than passing the eighth grade. Either way, I was small, weird, and a bit of a geek, so I spent an inordinate amount of time inside my own locker or the trash can just outside the gym door.

So by the time I got involved with a Ceremonial cult at the age of twenty-four, I was well established as a long-haired hippie freak.

Weird things happened with that cult. Weird things that led me to having a Witch shove a Grimoire into my soul to save my life.

Yes. I have a book in my soul. And not just any book. A book of magic spells.

Got that? Good. Because I need to duck now.

The zombie swung the top half of a concrete tombstone at my head. I crouched down and ducked to avoid having my brains spattered all over a nearby set of ancient headstones. I was sure my blood would add a certain sense of ambience to the graveyard, but I liked having my brain matter in my skull.

As I hoped, the force of spinning that hunk of rock around took the creature into a second rotation. I stood up as it moved the stone away from me. There wasn't going to be a lot of time between passes before the thing swung back around at me, so trying to pull a spell from the Grimoire wasn't feasible. A sword slicing through its neck, still not enough time to use.

So…the third option I had was to attempt to whammy it, as my best friend wished, with fire.

I moved as far back out of the thing's range as possible. Bonaventure Cemetery was a tight boneyard, speckled with plot-to-plot family gatherings of headstones and mausoleums. Luckily, we weren't in one of the larger plots where massive stone and marble monuments were built to the memory of some patriarch or matriarch of the family. That would have been way too close an area for me. I'm not a big man. I like open space for that fourth option.

Running.

I turned and faced my opponent as I shouted a single word. "Isatum!" It was Sumerian for fire, and boy did it make some fire.

When I first started casting magic, I wasn't sure where the power came from. I assume the Grimoire worked as the catalyst and my own energy, chi, ka, whatever you want to call it, fueled the spell.

Of course, I could be uber wrong.

Fire engulfed the rotting corpse with a bit more force than I intended. Tiny pieces of flying concrete stung my face and bare forearms as the headstone exploded. Then silence.

I had my eyes closed. Which, of course, was a habit I seriously needed to correct. But I didn't want them to get hit with flying zombie guts.

When I opened them, nothing moved in front of me. Bits and pieces of zombie embers floated in the sky like sick little fireflies. I heard a brushing noise just before something clamped down on my ankle like a vise. I looked down to see the bony hand of a torso-only zombie holding on to me for all it was worth. I screamed like a little girl and hopped around on my non-zombie-grasped foot while I tried knocking the hand and lower arm off the other.

A hand grabbed my upper arm. Hold still.

That was Mike Ross. My oldest friend. My best friend. One of his Desert Eagles gleamed in the moonlight as he pointed it at my ankle.

My eyes bugged. Not the ankle, not the ankle!

He fired, and the ugly piece of zombie flew against a nearby headstone. Bits of flesh, bone, and goo splattered on the concrete. A closer look showed that most of the exploded zombie covered the nearby azaleas and trees. I don't know why I yelled. Mike never missed what he aimed at, and barely missed what he didn't.

Mike looked around the cemetery, the weapon pointed skyward with a bit of wispy smoke curling up from the barrel for effect. Dude was ultra cool. Tall, well muscled, and rugged. Women always saw him first.

Well, he was a good foot taller than me, so everyone saw him first.

His body was tense. Mike either sensed other zombies in the cemetery or he was looking out for us. Either way, I propped myself against one of the adjacent headstones and took a look at my ankle. Other than some seriously gross body fluids smeared over my boots, it felt okay.

Instant, burning pain sliced through my calf on the other leg. I looked down to see a zombie sinking its teeth into my flesh through my jeans. Its remaining arm and hand grabbed at the ankle below it and pulled. Hard. I lost my seat on the headstone and slipped down onto my ass, the back of my head