Mark of the Harbinger (Book 1)

20 - A Bar and a Blood Pit

I popped a stick of gum into my mouth and stared at the building across the street. 

For such a terrible place, the bar and blood pit didn't look like much. The warehouse they were located in was square and rough at the edges, the walls papered in rusted sheet metal and plywood. What little I could see of the lot was covered in broken concrete, weeds, and surrounded by a barbed-wire fence. 

"No wonder I didn't notice it before," I muttered as I lowered the car's visor to track the progression of the setting sun. Behind me, Bob's Bowl-a-Rama was just opening its doors, the parking lot mostly empty aside from me and a few employees. The giant neon bowling pin flickered to life.

Settling in my seat, I shut my eyes and cast my soul forward, angling for the dumpy building across the way. 

My first look at the corner of Eighth and Primavera through my other sight was painful. It pulsated like a beating heart, the violence and rage emanating from it in searing rivers of crimson. I'd dealt with patches of violence and death before, as they were impossible to avoid in a place like Roccia Nera, but this was multiplied to an unfathomable degree. The essence left behind by the horde of slaughtered vampires crawled across my soul like acid.

I didn't want to go in there. I didn't want to look. Even if my body wasn't physically walking through the doors, slogging through the emotional and physical agony was almost more than I could bear.

The warehouse was within range, but the press of essence against my soul stretched my ability to its limit. I could sense the beat of music, the passage of bodies pulling through my spiritual form as they went about preparing the space for that evening's fights. There was an actual pit in the floor, a bar and a lounge, and a set of stands painted with greed. I slid into the throbbing well and tangled the individual threads around my fingers, sampling each, feeling the fury and hatred and ugliness stain my soul a bit darker with each taste. 

There were other strains of magic aside from vampire. Fae and Weres fought there as well, and gambled. Had I not run into Xerex Darhan that morning, I wouldn't have recognized his bored, jaded signature lurking about the warehouse's periphery like a jungle cat searching for something worth his interest. If the man could watch people get ripped to shreds and die for money without a single spark of true emotion, I really didn't want to know what could catch his attention.

I found a trace of Theda, faded, buried under the deaths of a dozen other creatures who'd perished since her disappearance—but she had been there, and she had been fighting. I couldn't quite decipher the totality of her emotions, as blended with the others as they were. I kept trying, pushing myself, but I could only sense that she'd gone below the main floor, somewhere into a basement, and the basement was beyond my grasp.

I returned to myself and gasped as pain seared through my skin, stinging as if I was laying on a giant branding iron. The agony only lasted for a second, but it left me shivering, gasping for breath. The energy of the essence I'd tasted inside the warehouse came with my soul, but instead of settling with a dull heat like it would normally, the essence sunk in like so many knife blades pricking my flesh. 

"That's not good," I said aloud as I rubbed my chest and leaned an arm on the steering wheel. My heart leapt toward my sweaty palm, beating hard and fast. When it quieted, I directed my attention toward the blood pit again and peered through tired, heavy eyes.

I needed to get into that building, as much as I wanted to flee from it. I hadn't been able to follow Theda's trail to its full extent, and though a more thorough search could be just as fruitless as my initial inspection, I found it odd that she had gone into the basement, away from the main cluster of emotions and the bulk of the fighting. Why go down there? 

There was a guard outside the entrance. He was difficult to spot at this distance, but I could see him lingering just out of sight, the bottom of his legs highlighted by the last light of day, a cigarette burning near his face. I doubted he'd allow a fumbling, bespectacled college lecturer waltz through the front door. Even if I uncovered my ears and tried to pass myself off as Fae, I wouldn't be getting inside. 

I considered my options, chewing my gum until it was flavorless. Calling Aurel and Telavar was utterly out of the question. Not only would I have to admit I'd lied to him, but Havik would also refuse without hesitation, and Telavar wouldn't dare cross his master. The depth of Havik's refusal to believe Theda's presence at the pit was also a concern, as I didn't know if he'd blatantly ignore my evidence if I did tell him that she'd been here. He could get angry. 

Calling Sibbie wasn't a possibility. A lone detective stood about as much chance of getting into the place as I did, and a raid was highly unlikely. This wasn't the movies; coordinating a raid and putting together the resources would take days, maybe weeks—or maybe never. If Sibbie brought information about a blood pit to her captain, he'd demand to know where she got it. Unseen corruption comprised Roccia Nera's bones, and I worried involving my best friend would paint a target on her back.

The same went for the Centauri pack. Most of them worked hard and were upstanding citizens in this city. Connor himself was a supernatural lawyer, his firm in the employ of the Seelie Court of the River. If the pack master knew I was here, he'd probably drag me away by my hair, growling about ignorant pups and trouble. 

I considered calling out to the demon Maligaphrius, if only to try square the imbalance between us, but I discarded that idea as well. A demon arriving at the blood pit would scatter those in attendance like shrapnel in a bomb blast—and I did not want to be seen with him. People would think I'd summoned him, as if the mere fact of my accidentally saving his life wasn't problematic enough. 

Groaning, I sought a fresh stick of gum in my pocket and found nothing. I tried again and felt a folded bit of paper stick my thumb. I brought it out, frowning—then recalled that the Fae, Xerex, had given me his number earlier that afternoon.

Could I call him?

At first, I laughed aloud at how ridiculous the idea was. It was ludicrous. Asking a Fae for assistance was no better than asking a demon. Such a request would indebt me to the creature for years, and then some. I could wind up with a little silver collar around my neck, being shipped off to the Court of the Archon as yet another indentured servant. 

Then, I recalled Xerex's fading presence within the bar, understanding that he was familiar with this place, even if he didn't frequent it often. There was no doubt whether or not he could get inside, having already been there, and if I didn't get inside and get closer to Theda's essence, I would potentially never find her. How many favors could I accrue by asking Xerex to simply get me through the front door?

The real question was, which option could I live with? Owing an unknown amount of debt to a Darkling, or being a vampire for eternity?

I retrieved my phone, noted the dying battery, and dialed the number. The phone rang without end, so I hung up and tried again, to no avail. I glared at the piece of paper and at Xerex's rather sloppy handwriting. Had it been written wrong? Was I reading it wrong?

"I can never catch a break!" I shouted at nothing in particular, chucking the triangular paper at the windshield. It bounced off the glass and struck me in the face.

Great.

Jamming the keys into the ignition, I threw the car into reverse and backed out of the space. I had no choice but to go and speak with the Fae prince in person, as much as I detested the thought of it. Daylight was fading. Vampires would be arriving at the blood pit soon, and I didn't want to be there when the fighting began. I really didn't. 

I drove toward the sunset, both hands tight upon the wheel. I was headed back to Nera Court.