Night War: the Dark Side of Dayton

Night War: The Dark Side of Dayton

Copyright 2017 by Kit Bradley

By Sword and Lion Publishing

Email: swordandlion@gmail.com

Website: http://swordandlionpublishing.com

ISBN: 978-0-9987780-2-0

The rights to all stories are the possession of their authors and used with permission.

Table of Contents

One Night Only by Douglas Miller

Drain the Cup by Ashlan Swain

And Seven Times Never Kill Man by K. E. Conway

Wolves Through the Black Gate by Kit Bradley

Rumspringa Derby by Warren Fitzpatrick

Stray Secrets by Ashlan Swain

Djamilla's Story by Quinn Cheshire

One Foot Upon the Earth by Ashlan Swain

The Crone's Guard by Kit Bradley

The Grave of Owls by Ashlan Swain

Queen and Doctor by Kit Bradley

About the Authors

One Night Only

by Douglas Miller

The monotonous hum of the car's tires on the wet highway and the pitter-pattering of the rain on the windshield were starting to wear on Saffron. It wasn't that she didn't like the rain. Quite the contrary: under normal circumstances, she'd be pleased with it. However, she'd been awake and driving for far too long, and she was still conflicted about what she was doing.

In the backseat, the cat, Samir, meowed in discontent, scratching at the windows.

I know, Saffron sighed. We're almost there.

As the car continued along U.S. Route 35, tall buildings of a city began to emerge. They weren't particularly tall skyscrapers, and there weren't a particularly large number of them amid the other city buildings. Still, as Saffron looked up at them, her feelings began to stir within her. She smiled faintly, brushing her light auburn hair out of her eyes. She looked at the lights shimmering through the cloud-darkened night's sky and glinting through the rain.

Dayton, you're looking handsome tonight, she said as her energy began to return to her. Shall we dance?

***

Clayton was looking himself over in the mirror once again. He never liked all of the frill and pomp necessary for his show. It seemed to him to be a distraction from the actual act. Not just for him, but for the audience as well.

There were two camps of stage magicians still left performing in the modern civilized world. Well, there were many more than two camps, but there were two main ways of going when it came to how to dress. The first was traditional. Fancy old fashioned clothes. Tuxes and top hats. Things that brought back an imagined nostalgia and reminiscence of the golden age when magicians were more awe-inspiring and people didn't have television and the Internet to ruin the experience for them. The second was an attempt to be more modern by appearing edgy. Bad boy types with leather jackets and punk haircuts, the Criss Angel look. Clayton was the former kind. It wasn't because of any draw that he had to the past, although his teachers certainly had such things. It was more that he just didn't care for the undignified punk look.

And the Victoria Theater was a perfect place for the feel of Clayton's act. The old-fashioned marble façade outside the building conveyed the proper feel, and the fancy decoration inside made it so that audience members who came into the theater could feel like they were in the past. And it had the history to go with it. Even Harry Houdini had performed in the same spot.

Clayton's white-gloved hands straightened his red bow tie and moved to the door. He looked to the curtain that he had set up by the door, hoping he might catch his first glimpse of that which brought him. Still nothing.

As he walked up from his dressing room to the backstage area where he could watch the stage itself, the manager was finishing his introduction.

I now present to you Viktor the Renowned!

Clayton walked onto the stage, his cane in one gloved hand while his other waved towards the audience.

Good evening, people of Dayton, he greeted, reaching down for his deepest and most mystifying voice. From the hand, he was waving erupted a burst of confetti. There was a mild applause. It hadn't been a great trick, he was saving those. But still, the limited nature of the praise made him wonder about just how large the audience was.

The Victoria could seat a bit over a thousand people, and it was used to having shows that would sell out. Clayton knew that they couldn't justify his being there if they didn't think he could sell most of the tickets. Still, with the lights beating down on him, he couldn't tell. Still, he would perform his show to the best of his ability regardless.

***

The theater had a decent crowd, but sprinkled throughout were still some extra seats. On the lower level, Saffron had been pleased to find that the seats on either side of her were unoccupied.

She had to stifle a laugh as she watched Clayton, or Viktor the Renowned, performing on the stage. The last time she'd seen Clayton was well before he'd ever taken the stage. At least, before he'd ever been on stage as a starring magician in front of an audience. While she knew that this was the path he had been on at the time, watching him reminded her of how out of place it was for the boy she'd once known.

It amused her to see as he did the various magic tricks. Made objects disappear and reappear. Guessed the thoughts of audience members. Did any number of fancy things to keep the audience in wonder. He seemed to have two young ladies as assistants. Each very traditionally attractive and decked out in the most sparkly sequins imaginable. Saffron frowned at the feeling that arose in her as she heard him flirt with these girls. It was an act, and she knew it. Even if it weren't or if something was going on backstage, Saffron knew that she had no right to feel anything about it. So, she tried not to and focused on the show.

She smiled that he was still, at least, being true to himself. When she had known him, Clayton had always been for reducing the amount of magic that was done in magic performances. No one else in the troupe had understood why he spent so long trying to master sleight of hand and the arts developed by people trying to imitate what the members of the troupe could do. And yet, Clayton did. It wasn't to say that he didn't ever use magic in his performances. Sometimes it was necessary to create effects to truly baffle and amaze. Still, he had always thought that it was something like cheating when it came to his performances.

For this next trick, I'm going to need a volunteer, he called out. Hands went up across the audience. Eager participants with the excitement of children. Saffron smirked, directing her will upon the universe and the participants within it. She raised her hand slowly and calmly.

***

As Clayton saw who his assistants had chosen as a volunteer, his heart dropped into his stomach. Normally his assistants would have looked her over based on how she was dressed alone. Most people in the audience were, no doubt, well dressed in nice button-up shirts and good blouses. Many probably had their hair styled and wore thick makeup.

Not Saffron. If she wore any makeup at all, it was very subtle. She didn't have expensive or fancy jewelry, just a small diamond nose-ring on her nostril. Her light auburn hair hung loosely and untidily over her shoulders. She wore a grey-blue sundress, but over that, she had a hoodie. Not just any hoodie. That hoodie. That damned mustard-yellow hoodie that she had worn all those years ago. Still, even though they wouldn't usually pick someone so underdressed, he knew that Saffron had tricks she could have used to make herself get selected. It was cheating.

Clayton had to focus to maintain his composure. He had to remind himself that right now he wasn't Clayton. He was Viktor the Renowned.

A part of him worried if she was going to try to mess up his show. He wanted to send her away and get another volunteer, but he knew that there was no way of doing this and saving face.

Good evening, miss. . .? he asked, twisting this around and allowing a microphone to appear in it suddenly.

Brittney, she answered with a smile, changing her voice so that it mirrored a stereotypical ditzy blond that he almost wondered if he was wrong about it being her. His eyes fell on her yellow hoodie again, and he realized this wasn't true.

Tell me, Brittney, have we ever met before? Immediately as the words left his lips, he regretted uttering them. It was pre-scripted since normally the volunteer was someone he hadn't met before. Being thrown off by her presence, he'd just fallen into auto-pilot and gone on with the script, not considering the ramifications of something simple like a question.

Yes, Saffron said honestly.

Clayton frowned. This was not what she was supposed to say. Then he realized he was frowning, and that he needed a save. He smiled towards while his mind tried to reach for a solution to the issue.

Saffron was happy at the moment of awkwardness that she had managed to illicit from Clayton, but she decided that she would throw him some rope now. Yeah, you totally performed in NYC last year. My BFFs were there on a vay-kay and we went to see it. We shook your hand afterward. It was, like, awesome.

Yes, well, thank you, Clayton answered, grateful that she had done something to illustrate her cooperation at least for a little bit.

He decided that he wasn't mentally prepared for trying to focus on the show and on sorting out his thoughts and feelings on Saffron being around, let alone her making herself become his volunteer.

He intentionally dazed out. He'd done this show enough times that going on autopilot was a legitimate way of dealing with the situation. He figured that if Saffron did something to upset the flow of the trick, he'd snap out of it and react.

She didn't. She was a model volunteer. The next thing that Clayton knew, he'd finished his show and was back in his dressing room. He wiped his brow and let out a sigh of relief. He was glad it was over and glad that he wouldn't have to deal with Saffron any longer. It was good because he knew that his real work had just begun. He couldn't afford any distractions.

There was a knock at the door. He opened it, expecting to find a member of the Victoria's theater staff. Whoever it was that was supposed to show him around. He'd hoped for more time to change, but he knew it wasn't any trouble just to tell them to wait for a few minutes.

He opened the door and was surprised to see that damned mustard yellow hoodie, and the woman within it. Samir, the cat, slipped past her and into the room, leaping upon Clayton's vanity.

***

Saffron watched Clayton closely. A part of her was wondering if he would be upset that she had come, especially without notice, while the rest of her was assuring her that she didn't care. She knew that it had been something of a nasty trick, making herself a volunteer for the show. But it was fun. Still, she would understand if he was upset with her for it.

I didn't expect to see you, Clayton said. Tonight, or ever again, really.

It's my city, she answered with a shrug. When I heard you were performing in it, I had to make sure you weren't planning on doing anything foolish to it.

I heard you left, Clayton answered. Moved far away. Not your city anymore.

She shook her head. Social networking was a wonder, wasn't it? She knew that Clayton sometimes saw her posts online, but she wasn't sure if he had known about her move.

It's still my city, she protested. Samir leaped from the table at Clayton's arm. He pulled away, and the cat fell to the floor, landing softly on his feet, but looking up at Clayton in disappointment.

Clayton had always hated cats. But he had liked Samir for one reason or another. Something in the cat's playful attitude. Still, Clayton knew of Samir's tendency to play violently. He didn't want his nice tuxedo jacket to need repairs after the cat got ahold of it.

Clayton looked at Saffron. Despite that it had been years, she hardly looked as though she had aged a day. Still could pass for an older high school student or a young college one. He felt like he'd taken on more than enough years for both of them at this point, his hair beginning to gray early and wrinkles starting to accent his face. His mind began to wander to the fun times that they had enjoyed in his youth when. . .

So, what is the troupe doing in my city? she persisted.

First off, still not your city. You don't get to claim a whole city, especially not one with as much going on in it as Dayton has. You can't even pretend to be monitoring all that's going down here nor were you ever capable of such a thing. No one is. Not even those damn government folks.

Still defensive as ever. . .

Second, he continued as though he hadn't heard her, this isn't troupe business. I was brought in independently.

Cute, she said with a smile. Still doesn't answer the question of what you're doing here, though. You don't just perform shows in places without a reason. And to bring you to Dayton. . .

I know, Clayton answered. No hiding from you.

One of the volunteer workers of the Victoria Theater appeared in the doorway.

Oh, she said, I'm sorry sir, I don't know how anyone got back here. Miss, I must ask you to leave the performer alone.

Saffron turned to Clayton, eyebrows raised. They both had choices here, and they both knew it. Clayton had to choose if he wanted to have the girl take Saffron away, or not. Saffron could turn on the girl and do harm to her, and Clayton knew that he wanted to make his choice such that she didn't make that one. Of course, Saffron could also try to inflict her will on the situation to try to make the girl allow her to stay, but since the reality had already occurred that the girl had found her and expressed a desire for her to leave, this would be tricky. Saffron was smart, but Clayton knew that she'd never been one for coming up with the elegant solution in the moment. Then, of course, Saffron could just leave. If Clayton expressed that that was what he wanted, would Saffron listen? Would she honor his preferences? Or would things get bloody?

Even without the idea that Saffron might go crazy if he said the wrong thing, he wondered what he preferred. He still thought of Saffron often, and although he had no desire to rekindle the relationship that they'd once had, he imagined that spending time with her and catching up wouldn't be horrible. But he did have a job to do, and Saffron's tendency to go off-book could create issues.

Her smile twitched, and she began to turn on her heel to face the girl in the door.

She's okay, Clayton inserted quickly. She's going to be helping me tonight.

The girl in the doorway frowned, realizing the implication that Saffron had been in the know about his trick in the show and that had somehow cheapened the magic of it for her. She had no idea.

Okay, the girl said. Are you ready then?

Not yet, Clayton answered. Saffron, if you could please wait outside while I get changed, I would appreciate it. Thank you.

The two women left the room, and Clayton began to get dressed. Samir leaped atop a box of magician's supplies by the door and began to paw at the small curtain that Clayton had set up there.

What is it, boy? Clayton asked, looking over at the cat and the curtain. Slowly, a face began to form in there. Clayton sighed. He pointed his arm in the direction of the face, concentrated, and said, Stop.

For a moment, everything froze. Clayton took one soft step outside of himself. He looked over his rigid body, standing with its arm out directed at the curtain. He walked over to the curtain, patting Samir on the head as he did so.

Hello, Clayton said, bending down and looking at the face. He looked right into the eyes, or at least the shape of eye sockets on the face. What are you doing here?

He closed his eyes and focused on the energy of the face. There was little that he could do without going back into real time, which would allow the spirit to escape. Still, he had wanted to look at it and get a good sense of the spirit before it left. Seemed like a pretty standard run-of-the-mill poltergeist. Nothing to be too concerned about. Clayton stepped back into his body and let things resume.

The face glared at him and then vanished. It had felt his interference and hadn't been happy about it. Samir hopped down from the crate.

When Clayton emerged out in the hallway, Saffron stood alone, her arms crossed.

What did you just do? Saffron demanded.

Sensed a disturbance in the Force? Clayton asked with a sly smile. Her expression lightened, but only barely.

Stop refusing to answer my questions, she snarled. I know you like your whole cryptic shtick, but I've never been a fan.

No one ever has, Clayton answered. I was brought in to look at the hauntings here.

You're not permitted to perform exorcisms in Dayton, Saffron said.

No, I'm not, Clayton said. And people stronger than me, although less informed, have tried and failed on these.

If they've already been looking into it, what the fuck are you doing here? Saffron demanded. And what did you do back in that room? I could feel that you did something.

Calm down, Star, Clayton said.

Did you just call me. . .? Her voice trailed off.

Sorry, Clayton said, folding his hands in front of himself and kicking at the ground.

There was an odd sort of silence. The sort that only happens when someone has said something they absolutely shouldn't.

In the dressing room, Samir had noticed a disturbance, Clayton said. I projected in frozen time to get a better look at it. That's all.

You didn't change anything? Saffron asked, her head tilted in suspicion.

Would I lie to you?

She scowled. He wasn't making things any better. She crossed into the room he'd just left and closed her eyes, allowing her sense of the universe to fill her. When she was content, she came back out and nodded to him.

So what's the deal with that then?

Poltergeist, Clayton answered. Apparently, there was a man who offed himself in the theater. I guess his face sometimes used to appear on curtains backstage. I had to bring in my own, makeshift, since they have doors back here now.

Did he hang himself in the curtains? she asked.

Not sure. Too much of what happened to him has been lost to history and legend at this point. At least one story says he impaled himself on a knife fastened to the back of a seat, but that can't be verified, Clayton explained. Hell, reports even differ as to if he was a patron or a custodian or what. All people can seem to agree on is that he was male, he killed himself, and his face appears in the curtains.

Doesn't sound that interesting, Saffron said. Not sure why it would bring you here.

It didn't, Clayton said. Come on.

Saffron followed him as he led her up through the theater. He had expected to have someone to show him around, but he'd figured out the layout in advance when he had been setting up for his show.

So, how are things with Felix? Clayton asked. I had heard that you two managed to put the past behind you.

We did, Saffron said. And we slept together a few times. But nothing more ever came out of it. He's elsewhere now.

I guess I just lost track, assumed you two were together after everything that happened.

She went quiet. It wasn't like her to feel bad about things, but if she did, her past with Clayton would have been one of those things. But she tried not to think about it, and Clayton had always been at most passive-aggressive about the issue.

Here, he said, at last, opening the door to one of the theater's private boxes.

Saffron stepped into the box. She sniffed the air.

Rose perfume? she asked.

Not yet, Clayton answered.

What do you. . . ? Saffron started. Clayton began to move towards her. Then she felt it. A terrible chill and a feeling of feminine anger and terror. He shoved her against the wall, holding her arms up. She didn't know what had gotten into him. He had never shown this much force before. Panic began to fill her. Usually, she would have been turned on by such aggression, but something was different here. Something was wrong. He moved down to kiss her neck. She tried to push him away but was weaker than his grip.

Suddenly, there was a piercing scream in the air. Clayton was thrown from Saffron, a bright red handprint across his face, despite that she hadn't lifted her hand.

What the hell? Saffron demanded.

Sorry about that, Clayton said, feeling his face with one hand and scratching his head with another. His feet shifted awkwardly across the floor, and he almost tripped into one of the seats. I wanted to draw out Lucille, and I was pretty sure that pretending to assault you would be the way to do it.

You know, Saffron said with a smile, leaning back against the wall, crossing her legs and then uncrossing them. You don't need to just pretend.

I see you recover quickly, Clayton said, doing his best not to let her offer phase him. For a very long time after he'd last met with her, he would have jumped on the opportunity to jump her. But now he couldn't. He had moved on, more or less, and he had obligations to leave her be. Did you get any sense of what the energy was?

Just a memory, Saffron answered, frowning for an instant before, yet again, recovering. An awful and powerful memory of a woman who suffered and left a rip in the universe where she was hurt. She probably could have become a great witch, although I don't get the feeling that she was one. The rose perfume wasn't her.

I know the rose perfume wasn't her, Clayton said, walking out of the box and back down into the hall. The rose perfume is why I'm here. Checking on Lucille and the man is just a bonus.

Clayton was beginning to get agitated with Saffron's presence. It was one thing to use her skills, it was another thing to interact with her. Sure, without her, he wouldn't have brought out Lucille. Fine. But now that he was moving on to the big fish, as it were, he didn't need her as a distraction, and he wanted to accomplish the real victory on his own.

What's wrong? Saffron asked, her voice maintaining what sounded like real feeling for the first time in the night.

Hmm? Clayton asked.

Your brow was furrowed, and your negative aura was starting to go through the roof, Saffron said. Gotta keep a check on that you know.

Clayton sighed. He closed his eyes and reached inside himself, refocusing. Slow deep breaths. Inner light brought outwards. He muttered a prayer.

Ah, still looking up to God on high, eh? Saffron said, shaking her head and smiling. She'd never shared his faith. Always found it to go against her perception of the universe. She couldn't see how he could justify his religion with his practice of what the Good Book would say was sinful sorcery. And yet, he could. For him, his perception and use of magic came through an understanding of God and the balance and light of the universe. At least, usually. There were times when he drew his magic from other places, and he was always anxious about doing so. As a part of his justification, he had to know where the power came from. When he slipped and didn't consider where the power came from. . . he sometimes panicked.

Saffron didn't care about where the power came from. She just used it and let it flow through her. She found types of powers she liked and embraced them, and Saffron avoided those she didn't like. Notably,