Damian Drake walked into his apartment and sat down. Across the room from
him was a young woman, sitting in a lotus posture, meditating.
“Things continue to spiral out of control, I presume.” she said without
opening her eyes. “I can sense your anxiety from across the room.”
“This level of violence is unprecedented in my experience. Oh, I've seen
Kindred kill thralls and mortal allies in these wars, but never have I seen
vampire blood shed so freely.”
“And why would that bother you? What difference does it make to us?”
“Because it is our allies who now lie in ashes. The Bishop burned the
bulk of the Servants tonight. I am now unemployed.”
“Someone of your skill? I doubt that will remain for long.”
“Perhaps not. My inclination is to side with the winners...”
“But?” The woman's eyes came open for the first time.
“I do not trust this Bishop. His fanaticism is unpredictable. Any pact I
make with him is likely to be void the moment whimsy strikes him. He's a childe
of Ernie and potentially the most like him in nature. A madman born of a
madman.”
“That leaves what options?”
“Retreat, of course.”
“You've never been one to run, sir. It's not in your nature and never has
been for all the years I've known you.”
“No, Opportunity grows greater the more chaotic things
become. There's no telling what openings may occur in the midst of this
turmoil. Retreat at this point would surrender the best possibilities I've had
in decades.”
“Then why mention it?”
“Because the alternative is almost as unpleasant, maybe even more. To
ally with Maximilian and the Old Guard.”
“Why is that so horrid an option?”
“Because they will demand atonement. An act of contrition that proves my
good faith to them.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“I think you know. They will want a sacrifice. And I will give them one.”
“A dead lich?”
“And the souls of the willworkers in her possession.”
“So, I must make preparation then.”
“Yes, it seems the only way.”
“So be it...master.”
---
It was worthy of a small newspaper article. Nothing much, but it was nice
to have something positive in the news with all the violence of recent weeks. A
new church had opened up on the beachfront, having taken over the old
Nightstyles nightclub. It was to cater to the tourists, give them a place of
worship in an area often neglected by the religious minded. That this new
church sat a mere two blocks away from a large Methodist congregation appeared
to evade the journalist's notice. Nor did he mention that the true owners of
the church were vampires.
It was a Wednesday when the article appeared. It was the same Wednesday
that the Primogen council had summoned all the kindred of the Tidewater to a
conclave at the new church. Failure to attend would not be well regarded by
those in power.
Michael arrived early and used the time to scope out the tone of the
assembled vampires. The room was schizophrenic in many ways, divided in two
between the dour defeatist tone of the Old Guard (and those handful of Anarchs
who were present) and the jubilant almost-giddy sense of victory by the
Disciples. There were no Servants present. Michael did not know if the Bishop
had managed to destroy the rest of them, but he did know that Sarah had stayed
away. It was a decision he could not disagree with.
Maximilian arrived next and did nothing to rally his battered coterie.
They had been outfoxed at every turn, and Michael could guess why. The game of
the Danse Macabre had rules and they had played by them as best they could. The
Bishop and his insane sire cared nothing for the rule book. They had pillaged
and burned their way through the Kindred community in a way none of them had
ever seen before.
Michael was only now becoming aware of that truth. He was, he admitted,
still a novice to the game, however much influence he might command through his
allies. It made him feel better to see the veterans just as defeated however.
At least, he could chalk this defeat up to something unexpected, rather than
his own naiveté.
Guy came next, then Damian. As best Michael could tell, only the Bishop
and Ernie were not yet in attendance. That, Michael was certain, was
deliberate. They were the Kindred of the Hour. Michael may have been
inexperienced and naive, but he, like everyone else, knew what this meeting was
truly about.
There was a new Prince in Tidewater.
“My children!” boomed a voice over the dim of conversation. The gathered
crowd grew silent, trying to determine a source for the voice. The Bishop
appeared on a stairway that led up to the upper level of the club/church,
dressed as he often was in his tattered clerical robes. Descending the stairs
to the Bishop's left was Ernie.
“The long night of chaos and uncertainty has now come to an end.” the
Bishop continued. “A bitter time that began with the death of Prince Lazarus,
that was made worse by the deaths of Sheriff Francois and Regent Solomon. But
no more. I have come down from my hermitage in Lynchburg
Michael did not like that threat. Nor was he keen on both the idea that
the Servants were the cause of Lazarus's death and that Francois and Solomon's
disappearances were simply random occurrences. Lies all, and Michael knew it.
He suspected also most of the assembled vampires knew it too, but as the old
saying went the “victors write the history.”
“With the end of these blasphemers and traitors, a new dusk comes upon
the Tidewater. And with it, new leadership. I will guide you through the nights
henceforth. I will be Prince of this city from this time forth. Those who wish
to dispute my claim to the throne will feel my wrath as did the Servants.”
Hiroshi stepped up to the landing on which the Bishop was standing. “We
name Hiroshi Takagi, sheriff and herald of our new order.” said the Bishop.
“All here present will now come forth to pay homage to the new Prince.”
declared Hiroshi. It went unspoken what defiance of that edict might mean.
Michael looked around the room. The Disciples were quick to get in line
before their new leader. Shakespeare and Darrel Mills, as primogen, were first
in line. The Old Guard were more hesitant and the Anarchs most reluctant of
all.
Michael felt very alone in that moment. He had come to this city ten
months earlier in the company of Ernie and Solomon. He had since befriended
Sarah and reunited with Mitch and Boar. Solomon was missing. Sarah was most
unwelcome in this place this night. Boar's presence would also have been
inappropriate. Mitch lay in a hospital. And Ernie stood with the enemy. Michael
was alone.
As he wrestled with his emotions, the line of those giving homage grew
shorter. Eventually, even the Anarchs went forward, pledging their loyalty by
acts of humility and words of allegiance. Soon, only Michael remained.
“My child, you are the last. Come forward.” beckoned the Bishop. “Was it
not you who had been most wronged of late by the vile Servants? I have rid you
of them.”
Michael felt tempted to remind the good Bishop that he had given an order
to kill Michael and his companions at Aegyptus, but he doubted the Bishop
remembered.
“You should be more grateful. You owe me a boon for my generosity.” The
Bishop continued.
“I will abide your laws and your rules, Bishop. But I know what you would
ask. You would demand the surrender of a Servant that I claim as friend and
companion.”
“Indeed I would. We cannot allow this remaining rot to grow and fester
within our fair city. The cleansing must be complete.”
“My answer is no and it always will be. I will not turn Sarah over to
you. If you want her, come and get her.”
With that, Michael turned around and marched out of Nightstyles.
---
Michael decided to take a walk. The night air was warm and it felt good
to mingle among the gathered masses of humanity again. The summer tourist crowd
was brisk and energetic.
“Enjoying your walkabout, I see.” said Boar as Michael entered the hot
dog shop where they'd agreed to meet at midnight .
“How did you know?”
“Just a guess when I saw you on the street as I parked my car. Got the
feeling the meeting went worse than you expected.”
“The throne of Tidewater is no longer vacant. The Mad Bishop has taken
his place at last, somewhat later than many of us expected. Guess he figured
the wholesale slaughter of an entire coterie of kindred would ensure no one
would challenge him. He thought wrong.”
“You?”
“Yes. This is all Ernie's game. He betrayed me in Blacksburg
“I'm with you. Hell, what choice do I have?”
“You could run.”
“I did that once already. Not again.”
“You might find you'll need more allies than a single lycanthrope and a
child-like vampire witch.” The voice was Damian.
“Did you follow me?”
“I did. Had the Bishop sent Hiroshi to end you after your little show of
defiance, I doubt you would have seen him coming. Dangerous mistake.
Fortunately for you, it seems the Bishop has a soft spot. He'd rather see you
redeemed than destroyed.”
“Ernie.” said Michael. “Ernie won't let him kill me. Besides, as you say,
I still have a werewolf and a child-like vampire witch as allies. I'm still
vulnerable through those I care about.”
“There's also a friend of yours sitting in Virginia Beach General.”
“I'm curious as to how you know about that.”
“Up until two days ago, we were enemies. I was in the employ of Michelle
La Croix and she had given me specific instruction to make your unlife as
difficult as possible.”
“So you're admitting Mitch's condition is your fault?”
“More my allies than my own, but yes. I was there when it happened. But
now, Michelle La Croix is a pile of dust in a Chesapeake
“As much as that's true, I'll decline your gracious offer.”
“This is not a time to be spiteful. I can make it worth your while. I
know who has your friend's soul.”
Michael gave Damian a sidelong glance. “And what do you get out of it?”
“Our new Prince is a madman. How long do you suppose it will take him to
remember that I sided with the Servants? His hatred of them is the only
consistent thing about him and we're both under the gun for our associations
with them. Makes sense that we team up.”
“So you need me as much as I need you?”
“Essentially.”
“And you're willing to give up the lich to persuade me?”
“Oh, I'd rather you not kill my ally. As I'm sure you've learned, a mage
is most useful to have around. An undead one is even better. But sacrifices
must be made sometimes for the greater good.”
“How soon can you lead me to him?”
“Her, actually. It will take me a few days to isolate her from the rest
of my entourage. Best to minimize damage to my assets and to yours. I will
contact you when all is prepared and the lich is most vulnerable.”
“I don't trust you, Damian.”
“I wouldn't expect you to. But consider my self-interest here. You're my
ticket to survival. Why would I betray you now?”
Michael nodded. Damian stood up and left.
---
Michael looked out onto the beach from the back door of the Fox Club. He
found the sound of the waves comforting, one of the few moments of peace he'd
had since his defiance before the Prince-Bishop. It had been four days since
that event and Michael, Sarah, Boar, and Elizabeth
He knew their hiding place was dangerously obvious. Michael had suggested
that Sarah call in a favor or two from Fiddleskins, her changeling friend, but
she refused to risk the danger of drawing the changeling community into a
vampire war. That made sense, Michael conceded. They had enough enemies as it
was.
Instead, they had implemented a security plan of their own. Boar had
offered to use some of the spiritual gifts of his werewolf blood, calling upon
the animals of the area to create a perimeter against intrusion. Likewise, Elizabeth
But no intruders came. Whatever hold Ernie had over the Prince-Bishop, it
was keeping them away from Michael and his allies.
With their enemies apparently unwilling to make the next move, they were
left with a lot of time to kill. Michael tried to be productive, working a bit
on another sci-fi story. But most of the time, his mind merely wandered. He
thought of Leigh, wondered what she was doing. He had not seen her since he had
somewhat roughly told her to leave that night. It was less than a week and yet seemed
like a lifetime. He longed for her touch, to feel her breath on his face, the
touch of her lips, the warmth of her loins.
Sarah was there, ever willing to satisfy Michael's lusts and desires, but
there was something missing. Michael now understood more clearly than ever what
Sarah had meant in her tarot reading on those early nights of their meeting.
Without a mortal lover, Michael felt incomplete and empty.
And it was more than just physical desire, Michael realized. Thinking it
might matter, Michael had taken Elizabeth
Those were uncomfortable thoughts and Michael tried to avoid them as much
as he could in these idle hours. To occupy his mind, he filled it with
questions about other topics, specifically about the silent resident in Michael's
emergency haven: the former Prince's bodyguard and sheriff, Francois.
Michael wondered what part he had in all these affairs. Was his presence
such that the ambitious and the power-hungry could not move forward with their
plans so long as he was around? Was his quest for answers so threatening to the
assassins that he had to die quickly? The answers did not come and Michael
recognized that in many ways it did not matter if they ever did. Some mysteries
would always remain mysteries.
A gull called out overhead and Michael glanced upward. Despite the
momentary distraction, he also noticed he was no longer alone. Sarah had come
outside and joined him.
“The ocean is peaceful.” observed Michael.
“Not for me.
"That's what he wants." replied Michael. She did not need to
ask who “he” was.
"You sound like them.” she scolded. “It's all a
game to you now.”
“Not by choice.” Michael's voice gained an edge and
Sarah shrank back from him. “I was like you. I wanted to avoid the politics of
this place. I came here with a goal, a mission. To find allies that would help
me back home. I was naive in thinking that I could stay out of all the
scheming. There would be favors demanded of me for what I wanted of them. They
drew me in and now I'm trapped in the game."
He paused and looked at her. "But, in truth, so
were you. All along. You held some of the best hunting grounds in the cities.
Did you really think you wouldn't lose it once Prince Lazarus was gone?”
“Lose?” Sarah laughed mirthlessly. “Listen to you. Don't
talk to me about loss. Do you not even realize what I've lost? My mother is
dead! We've been so busy running from our enemies, I haven't even had time to
mourn her.” Her voice grew angry, the pain slipping through behind the words.
“Lose! What does it matter? It's just another pawn. It's just a mortal thrall.
It's just a house. It's just a business, a club. Something we'll get back when
it's our turn to make our move. There's nothing left for me here, Michael.
Nothing left to fight for. I should just go.”
“We've all lost." retorted Michael. He was angry
too, but not at her and he tried to keep his voice even. "I brought my
sire into slavery. Buried two lovers. Boar was forced to abandon the mother of
his child. Mitch lies senseless in a hospital bed. And Leigh? I threw her out
of my life and it's killing me inside. You were the one who said I should never
be without my 'two' and yet here I am without once more. We've all lost
something in this.”
“And what's that supposed to mean?” Sarah half-snarled
in response, tears running down her face. “That I should just suck it up and
deal?”
“God, no!” said Michael firmly, taking her into his
arms. “Look, I'm no good at this sympathy stuff; God knows I made a mess of it
with Rebecca back in the day. But I can't imagine it's a good idea for you to
leave me. I'm doing this for you.”
“Why bother?” Sarah replied disdainfully.
“Because you're the best thing that's happened to me in
this cursed existence. If I won't fight for that...” he let his voice trail
off. “You say I'm like them. You say it's just a game to me now. Maybe from the
outside it looks that way, but that's not the way I see it. I may be trapped
within it, but I'm playing it my way. They play for resources, for power, for
prestige. I'm in this to protect you. I'm in this to save those I care about.
Those I love.” Michael's own frustration started to emerge in his words. “I've
done a pretty shitty job of it so far, but I'm not giving up. Not now!”
“You can't save everybody, Michael.”
“Maybe not, but I can save you.”
The gull above them began to caw all the louder, joined
in turn by a great cacophony of sea birds nearby. “Someone is coming.” said
Michael, recognizing the signs of Boar's spirit gift at work.
They headed inside and through the club to the front
door. Michael grabbed his Remington off the bar and chambered a round. Boar and
Elizabeth
A long black limousine was pulling into the club's
parking lot. It came to a stop and Damian stepped out of the back. “Not the
most difficult of hiding places.” he called out.
“We have our defenses.” said Michael, lowering his
shotgun.
“So it would seem. Are you ready to go?”
“Go where?”
“I promised you a lich. Now's the time.”
----
Damian took a seat across from them in the back of the
limo. He pulled out his revolver. Now that Michael could see it up close, he
recognized it from dozens upon dozens of Westerns he’d seen: the classic Colt
Single Action Army, better known to most as the “Peacemaker.” Damian popped
open the loading gate on the side of the revolver and began to load it. He
looked over at the three of them.
“Do you know the story of how the liches came to be? It
involves the vampire race, but not many vampires know it. The historians and
scholars of the Ordo Dracul perhaps, but only a handful of others.” Damian
paused to gauge their reaction. Seeing blank and quizzical faces, he finished
loading his pistol and continued.
“A thousand years ago, there was a bloodline of vampires
known as the Tremere. These vampires looked upon mortal mages with envy and
longing. Here was a being that had true power, the ability to manipulate the
very essence of the world. If only they could wed that power to the immorality
of the blood...
“Well, the Tremere researched. They studied. They made
pacts with beings of the Outer Darkness and in doing so, they believed they had
found a way. So they kidnapped a group of mages and forced them to participate
in a grisly macabre ritual. Each of Tremere present sought to drink the magic
from the mages’ blood, but they had been mistaken. As they drank the blood of
the mages, it became as fire within them and each of the Tremere in turn burned
to ash.
“But the ritual went both ways. As the power of the
mages flowed into the vampires to their detriment, so too did something of the
vampires flow into the mages. They were changed, twisted into something
abominable. They became something like their vampiric captors, neither alive
nor dead. Immortal, undying, but at a price. Much as a vampire must drink
blood, so too much a lich consume the souls of the living. As long as they do
so, they can live forever.”
Damian holstered his pistol and reached into his coat.
He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one. The air filled with the odor of
burnt tobacco.
“How do you know this?” asked Sarah.
“The story says the Tremere died to the last on that
fateful night they performed the ritual. But the story is wrong. There were a
handful that survived; those who did not participate in the ritual. They and
their childer still walk the night today. They are slaves to the very mages
whose power they once tried to steal and not all of them are terribly happy
about their servitude.”
Damian paused to let his story sink in.
“So that’s why you know so much about the lich...you’re
a Tremere.” said Michael.
“Yes, the grand-childe of one of those who survived that
night.”.
“And the lich you serve is one of the original?” asked
Boar.
“No, thank God. I can scarce imagine what a thousand
years of unlife would create in such a being. They are powerful enough as it
is. No, as time went on, the liches have found a way to add to their number, a
way to duplicate what was done to them and to create more of their kind. This
lich is relatively young; Less than a half-century old.”
Damian locked eyes with Michael. “You don’t believe me,”
he said, recognizing the skepticism behind those eyes.
“Your story of the liches’ origins is plausible. May
even be true. But I don’t believe for a second that you’re slave to anyone.”
“And I never said I was.” retorted Damian. “You added in
that part yourselves.”
All three of them gave him a confused look. Damian
laughed. “Let me tell you another story. About one hundred and fifty years ago,
a Tremere and his lich came to the Drake estate in southern Georgia Georgia Georgia
“...you are the master and the lich your slave. The same
as once...no, it can’t be. You said the lich who first had you was male and our
quarry tonight is a woman.”
“I’ve made a habit of taking various young liches under
my wing in the decades since my liberation.” Damian smiled, as if impressed by
Michael’s intuition. “As I’m sure you’ve realized willworkers are a great asset
to have around, particularly those that are hunted by their peers and desperate
for some form of sanctuary.”
“Why then would you help us kill this one?”
“They are most useful to me when I am able to keep their
existence a secret from my enemies. This one has jeopardized that secrecy by
what she did in Charlottesville
“So, therefore, the lich must die…”
Damian nodded. “Make no mistake, my friends. She is a mighty opponent, as
are all mages. But this one, despite her youthful appearance, has had a human
lifetime to master her craft. She can command the forces of nature: fire,
gravity, light, kinetics. She can animate the dead and use them to do her
bidding. Beware!”
---
Michael stepped out of the limo and checked chamber on his Remington. “Mount Trashmore.
Michael stepped out of the limo and checked chamber on his Remington. “
“An old landfill?” He replied. “Reclaimed or not, only the good Lord
knows what sort of relics that might be of use to a mage lie within it.”
“Why is she here?”
“I mentioned her ability to animate the dead. She has come to create a
servitor, an undead creation made up of bone, flesh, and whatever else might be
of use here.”
“Ugh, sounds like something out of a bad horror film.” snorted Boar.
“Perhaps. The weight of mortal unbelief makes such creations temporary at
best, but regardless such things have their uses.”
“And what use is she creating for this one?” asked Sarah.
Damian shrugged. “I do not know.”
Michael looked down at his gun. “Well, I guess we get to see if the old
zombies-vs-shotgun trope from the movies is correct.”
There were few trees about, so it was not long before Michael had a clear
view of the peak. There sat a young woman, surrounded by piles of animal bones.
Her chanting stopped and she stood up.
“Vampires.” She said loudly down at Michael. “I have no quarrel with you
and your kind.”
“You have something we want, lich. Give us the soul of James Mitchell.”
Michael demanded in return.
“Come and take it, bloodsucker.” A wand slid down from her sleave into
her hand and she pointed it at one of the bone piles. The bones rattled and
came together, forming a gruesome composite beast of bone and rotted flesh. The
bone dog leaped down the hillside towards them.
Several things happened at once. Boar shifted into wolf form beside
Michael. Damian disappeared, perhaps using his vampiric powers to vanish from
sight. Sarah fetched up a stone and flung it at the bone dog. It struck home on
the dog’s skull, but did no damage. The dog turned and leaped, hitting Sarah
full in the chest and rolling with her back down the hill.
Michael turned to help her as Boar charged forward. The lich brough her
wand up again. “Agoniste!” she barked. Boar let out a canine yelp and
tumbled to the ground, twitching in agony and unable to move.
“Damn you!” snarled Michael. He turned again and fired his shotgun. His
aim was dead on, but the pellets seemed to ricochet off of something invisible
before her.
“What the hell?”
He fired again, with the same result. The lich smiled and raised her
wand. “Solaris!” she cried. A beam of light shot out from the wand and
struck Michael in the chest. Unimaginable pain shot through him and he pitched
to the ground in torment.
Michael forced back the rising Beast within as he saw Damian emerge on
the lich’s left side. His Peacemaker in hand, he opened fire, fanning the
hammer on his pistol Wild West style. The bullets from the revolver struck the
invisible shield just as his shotgun blasts had. The lich pointed the wand at
him and there was a great explosion of rock and soil where he had been
standing. “Betrayer!” Michael heard her say.
Sarah wrestled the bone dog to the ground. Grabbing another stone, this
one much larger, she brought it down hard on the abomination’s head. The skull
crushed to powder and the spell was broken. She came to her feet and rushed to
Michael’s side.
“The shield is dir…” She did not get to finish her sentence before some
sort of kinetic spell from the lich
knocked her off her feet and down the hill.
Michael came back to his feet and rolled over to where Boar was still
spasming uncontrollably under the lich’s pain spell. He brought up the shotgun
again and fired. This time, the lich lurched to one side, as if struck. It was
not a major wound and she immediately turned her fury upon Michael.
The shotgun exploded in his hands.
Michael collapsed, his face and hands shredded by shrapnel. But the wound
he’d inflicted had caused her concentration to slip. Boar let out a vengeful
howl and morphed again into a monstrous man-wolf, 9 feet of fur and fury. He
tore up the hill and bowled into the lich. All Michael could see of the two of
them were claws, teeth, torn flesh, and blood. It was over in seconds.
Sarah ran up beside Michael as he tried to come to his feet. Blood was
everywhere, his hands, his face, but the only wound he could feel was his
chest. “My God, are you all right?” she asked him.
“I…” he started to speak and pain tore through his chest as he tried to
expel the air to form the words. Michael fumbled with his shirt and was
horrified by what he saw underneath. Much of his torso had turned to ash and
was even now flaking off, turning to powder, and revealing bone and organ
beneath.
Michael learned something as he viewed the ghastly wound. Despite all
that he had seen of blood and gore, he now knew there were still some things
that could sicken even him. He felt the world spin round and he knew that he
was on the brink of torpor. Sarah grabbed him by the chin and forced him to
look at her. “No, don’t give in!” she demanded. Michael focused on her face,
her words, and the allure of the long sleep passed.
“Dear God, what the hell did she do to you?” That was Damian. He had
approached unnoticed while Michael was fighting to stay conscious.
“Light.” Muttered Michael. Each word was agony. “Sunlight.”
Damian grimaced. “The lich is dead.” He announced. “Boar made short work
of her once he was freed from that spell.”
“Good.” Michael tried to smile as he buttoned his shirt back up. Sarah
helped him to his feet.
“It will be a long time before that wound heals.” Said Sarah. “Blood will
not do it as it does with our other injuries. Only time.”
Boar had returned to his human form and was sitting next to the mangled
corpse of the lich. Damian leaned over and reached inside the lich’s pants
pocket. He pulled out two small glass orbs.
“Are those…” Michael began to ask through clenched teeth.
“Yes. Soul gems.” Said Damian. “Time to get these to your friend.”
----
Damian walked into the hospital ICU like he owned the place. He began
barking commands to the nurses on duty and Michael recognized that he was using
one of the most famous of vampiric powers; he was mesmerizing them. Damian turned back to Michael.
“We should be undisturbed now. They will remember nothing of this.”
Sarah marched into Mitch’s room. Michael followed close behind. “You
aren’t going to have to get naked for this, are you?” he asked with a worried
tone. “Your secret…” he tried to continue before pain cut him off again.
“No. That was necessary because I needed to appease spirits of the hedge
to help me find Ian’s lost soul. I have Mitch’s soul, so no need for
appeasement.”
“Sounds to me like the spirits of the Hedge are pervs.” Said Boar, who
had obviously overheard what Michael had hoped would be secret.
“Somewhat.” Admitted Sarah.
“We have two orbs.” Said Damian as he came inside last. “Which is which?”
“Michael,” instructed Sarah. “Take one of the orbs in hand.”
Michael reached out and took one of the orbs. As he touched it, he felt a
wave of emotion come over him, uncomfortable, as if he was committing a
terrible violation of a stranger’s most intimate self. His face cringed at the
feelings.
“Try the other.”
He did so, only now the feelings that came over him when he touched the
orb were those of warmth, friendship, and affection. Michael was about to ask
why they were so different, but Sarah sensed the question on his lips and
answered before he could speak.
“Mitch is your friend. His soul is known to you and you can feel it. The
other is a stranger, probably his mentor.” She reached out and took the orb
from his hand. “This won’t take long. The soul will sense its vessel without
much coaxing.”
She placed the orb on Mitch’s unmoving lips and began to chant softly in
some strange language. After a minute or so, the orb vanished in a puff of
smoke and Mitch’s eyes popped open. He took in a deep gasp of breath.
“Mitch!” said Boar, moving to his bedside.
“Where…what…” said Mitch. His eyes fell on Damian. “You!”
Michael moved between them. “Much has happened since you were attacked.
Damian has had a change of heart!”
Mitch glared balefully at Damian for a few more seconds before directing
his attention at Michael. “What happened to me?”
“My lich ally turned your soul into a snack. It has been restored.”
Answered Damian for him. “The lich is destroyed. And I believe this belongs to
someone special to you.” Damian dropped the remaining orb onto the bed at
Mitch’s feet.
Mitch picked up the orb in his hands, incredulous as to its source.
“Why?”
“What Michael said was true. Much has happened.” Damian looked to
Michael. “I’ve kept my end of the bargain. Do we have an accord?”
Michael nodded. “Yes, I think we do. What happens now?”
“For right now, nothing. We are in no condition after tonight to face the
Prince and his allies anytime soon.” observed Damian. “I suggest you rest and
recover from that wound. Mitch has a soul to return to its rightful owner. I
will provide you with some extra security in case the Prince comes looking for
you at the club.”
“Thank you.”
Damian nodded in acknowledgment. He looked at Mitch. “It’s a small
victory, but it is a victory. None of us have had many of those lately.”
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