Darke Desires Season 1 Episode 15+16

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FAFO

It was a quick trip to the east end of Humbolt Park where I pulled up to a stretch of office buildings that had seen better days. Therein lay the operations center of the Ronin Agency, a group of human mercenaries who contracted almost exclusively for the supernatural underworld. Some considered them a loophole in the Pact and needed to be reminded otherwise from time to time.

I made no attempt to be stealthy in broad daylight. The Constable of River North was here on official business. I wanted them to see me coming. And clearly, they did, as evidenced by the buzzing as I neared the front door. I gave the unobtrusive camera overhead a salute as I entered.

A chesty young brunette behind the reception desk nodded sideways. “Mr. Garrick said to show you right in.”

“I know the way,” I said without slowing.

A burly, olive-skinned man with a TEC-9 slung at his flank stood before the room’s only other doorway. “I insist.”

Seeing as I wasn’t there for a fight, I stopped walking and gestured for him to lead on. Then the secure metal door buzzed, and I followed him through.

A cavernous warehouse on the other side stood in stark contrast to the welcoming, professional office feel of the lobby. Metal tables, racks, and shelves littered the floor. Men and women carrying long guns milled about the concrete floor and patrolled on scaffolding overhead. The most prominent gathering of people was a cluster in the center of the massive room, surrounding a tall, dark-skinned black man with a short, block afro, cold gray eyes, deep set features, and an authoritative air about him.

“Emma,” he called out as if we were pals on a first-name basis. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“You know full well, Garrick. I shook two of your tails on the way here.”

“Did you?” he teased. “Fine, Darke. I don’t suppose you’re here to tell us where our mutual friend is so we can clean up this mess for you.”

“How do you figure you’re doing me a favor?”

“Markov gets what he wants. We get paid. You no longer have a dangerous fugitive loose on your streets. And you don’t get caught in the middle of Cossack affairs. That’s a win-win…” He counted off and added, “Win-win.”

I scoffed. “Did Markov not tell you what happened last time he asked me to be a good little girl and go home?”

“Not directly, but I heard. I had to ask. Courtesy and all that.”

“I’m here to tell you the same thing I told him. Back off. She claimed asylum. That means she’s under Pact protection. And letting you shoot up my city and rack up bodies that I’d have to explain to CPD wouldn’t be what I’d call helping.”

“Whose bodies? We only want the vamp.”

I’d been careful not to say Ana’s name in case they didn’t even know who they were after, or why. It was sounding more and more like they didn’t. “No,” I said flatly. “Yours. She’s out of your league, Mo.”

Garrick’s men joined him in laughter. “I don’t care how old she is.”

Okay, so they had some idea who they were after. “This was me being nice, alright. By sundown, if not sooner, Ilyin is going to call it off anyway. I’m just trying to save you the headache.”

“And why’s he going to do that after the down payment he made?”

I just looked at him in silence.

“Oh it’s like that, huh? I guess you’re still in there after all, huh?”

“I never left,” I said darkly.

“That’s up for debate,” he replied. “Most think your fancy title’s made you soft. But you’ve still got brass ones bigger than half my men. I’ll give you that. Fine. Sundown. If we don’t hear from the Cossacks by then, game on.”

I shook my head. It’s a concession I’d have to take given my packed schedule. I was on his turf, after all. So, I nodded and turned to go. “Good talk.”

“You’re welcome back any time, Em. My door is always open.”

His double meaning was not lost on me.

Home sweet home was a brick 3-bedroom cottage in Noble Square, a reasonably short walk from Fulton Market. It had a witch’s dream kitchen, decent sized rooms for my private library and other supernatural accoutrements, and a full basement for my workshop. It had been in my family since the Great Chicago Fire, so it boasted an iron clad threshold and was warded out the ass.

Best of all, all I had to pay on it was taxes. Which I did, because the Cook County Assessor’s office was way scarier than the vampire clans.

Sabrina, my champagne-colored Burmese cat, greeted me with a grumpy sound. It wasn’t the first time I’d left her alone too long, and we both knew it wouldn’t be the last. Making her my familiar helped, so she at least knew I was okay, but that meant she knew when I was in trouble and stressed, too, like I was all night.

And for as much as she preferred having space, she got testy when I was gone too long. Having a steady supply of food from a time-release feeder only went so far. All was forgiven after a good ear-nuzzle, though.

I stood before a full-length mirror in the study, looking at Ilyin Markov’s bedroom. My little pixie friend had done her job well. The room was pitch dark thanks to blackout curtains, appearing in shades of staticky black and white like a film negative. The vampire was still asleep, but I knew him to be an early riser.

When the clock ticked by five o’clock, I took several steps away from the mirror so as not to disrupt the magic field, and dialed my restaurant manager, Maxine.

“Hey, girl,” she said in greeting.

“Heya. So, I know I said to open at sunset, but I might be a minute. Wait till I get there, ok?”

“Uh, we got people hanging around already.”

I muffled a curse. When the vampire lobby got daylight savings abolished it was considered a good thing for the bar business. Not so much this particular night. “Just staff, right?”

“Yeah, we told customers seven. What’s the hold up, though? Was there a problem last night?”

I wanted to laugh at the irony of the question, but resisted the urge. The whole idea was not to raise suspicion, but I couldn’t let anyone in there lest they open the freezer unsupervised. “Just a minor labor dispute,” I said dismissively. “It’s been handled. But they’ll only finish if I sign off personally. You know how gnomes are. Don’t go in until I get there. I’m serious.”

“Okay, okay.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can. Ooh, I got to go.”

I set the phone down on an end table across the room as Ilyin rolled up into a sitting position in the mirror. He didn’t seem to sense anything amiss. The scrying charm that Meavie planted on his dresser was holding up nicely. If I focused on it too intently, though, Ilyin would detect me immediately. For the time being, I waited.

The Russian vampire stood up in his PJs. Thank Gaia he didn’t sleep naked. I may not have been able to unsee that. As he opened his wardrobe, I tapped on the side of the image to turn the view more squarely on the bedroom door, gladly giving him some privacy. Doing so might have given the vampire a sense that something was off, but tilting the camera, so to speak, didn’t require enough Will to give him more than a nagging feeling that quickly dissipated.

And I waited some more.

The view brightened considerably and shifted to color. Ilyin must have opened the curtain to let in the waning evening light. The glass of every window was doubtless enchanted, but the act showed an intriguing hint of humanity in the vampire.

Ilyin, now wearing one of his trademark tracksuits approached his door shortly after. I stifled a snicker of anticipation as he turned the doorknob.

The door swung open, pulling taut a concealed length of string that in turn yanked loose a daisy chain lattice under a precariously balanced water balloon overhead. Ilyin couldn’t see it through the cloaking glamour, and it was too late by the time he heard it.

I cracked up as the burly Russian panicked under a downpour of more water than the little balloon should have been able to hold. He glowered at my charm in a hunched-over perma-cringe, drenched from head to toe, and my laughter only grew.

“You court death, Darke.”

“You got that backward,” I countered. “Look behind you.”

He did so, and the letters FAFO lit up in crimson paint on his door. I made sure Maevie wrote it in an ornate script so he’d think they were mysterious runes to heighten his fear, assuming the undead geezer didn’t speak Gen-Z.

“You’re going to call the contract off on Anastasia,” I explained. “Or next time it won’t be an innocent prank. Maybe I fill it with holy water. Or garlic and silver shavings. Maybe I target your sire’s room down the hall.”

“You would not da — ”

“Try me, Ily. I know where you live. I can get to you any time. And if anything happens to me, have fun with the full weight of the Aos Sidhe bearing down on you.”

“She is not worth all this.”

“Anastasia Matchenko is under asylum and all the protections that come with that. Now if I need to have a sitdown with Piotr to make sure we all understand each other…”

“That won’t be necessary,” he snarled a little too fast. As I suspected, he must’ve been running this job himself on behalf of his family back home. His boss was out of the loop.

To confirm, I said, “Naughty, naughty Ily. Going behind Piotr’s back like that.” I smirked at Ilyin’s revelation that he’d given me new info. “Now back off. Call Garrick now or, you know, fuck around and find out.”

Ilyin glared at me, then at the letters on his door as the words registered and he realized the script was nothing more than graffiti to add insult to injury.

“Remember, this is me being nice.” With that, I severed the connection with such force that it shattered my charm on the other end to punctuate the statement.

I shook my arms and shoulders to discharge the mystic static from that stunt and fetched my phone to call Dante. To my pleasant surprise, he answered right away.

“Where are you?”

“Relax,” I said. “Even Merlin couldn’t find you. The coast is clear. How soon can you get to the club?”

“Am I bringing Anastasia?”

“Yeah, if she’s up to it. I’m going to need her help, too.”

Loose Ends

I stared into the open cooler in the club’s kitchen, asking myself the same question I’d been pondering every idle moment of the day. “How the hell am I going to do this?”

Compounding my frustration, I couldn’t take the time to inspect, much less appreciate, the new remodel. When I arrived, I reminded everyone they had to stay outside while I entered the club alone, ostensibly to give final approval to the workers. In reality, they were long gone. The work was done and even if I had problems with it, too bad. While they technically had a satisfaction guarantee, they did not take kindly to anyone trying to invoke it.

But I was struck by how clean and well organized they’d left the back of the house. The kitchen reconfiguration was a model of efficiency. The cooks were going to love the new flow. And the new tile looked great. I would have loved to see the front, but I had a body to get rid of.

Lifting Dmitry’s corpse wouldn’t be a problem. I could shift his gravity easily enough. The challenge lied in how to get it past the staff. They all saw their fair share of shady shit in my employ, but expecting them to stay quiet after seeing me haul out a dead guy might be a bridge too far, even for Max.

I could pull off stationary illusions like a pro, but once they started moving, not so much, especially when I had to interact with it. I could theoretically change his shape. If folklore was to be believed, witches were all grandmasters of transmutation, turning their victims into toads and whatnot. But that level of magic required either lycanthrope blood and/or a benefactor from another plane granting you the juice to channel Infernal or Necromantic energy. I had neither, and had to kick myself for even considering that. Besides, the autopsy would detect if he was polymorphed, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

A straight-up invisibility glamour could work, if I moved very slowly. And assuming I could somehow maneuver Dmitry’s six foot bulk around people without bumping into anybody in the kitchen or the hall. Or the stairs and loading ramp as people randomly showed up over the next half hour to start their shift.

I cursed as I realized how much time I was taking. The longer I made them wait, the more suspicious they’d be, thus the harder any attempt at an illusion will be to pull off. Sooo…

Fuck.

Then my gaze fell upon the hand truck we used for hauling beer to the bar, and a plan fell into place. I ran out back and flung the door open with a triumphant wave for everyone to come on in.

“Take a look around. We got time. In fact, let’s have a celebratory drink for our grand reopening. Max, you can do the honors. Whatever they want.” As she passed me, I muttered, “Bottom shelf.”

I followed everyone in, gesturing to make sure they kept moving past the kitchen and keeping them distracted so no one would notice when I broke off and turned around. I took the dolly and promptly rolled it into the cooler. I’d whipped up a story about holding onto some extra cases of beer for a neighboring bar in case I needed it, praying I wouldn’t.

Once in the privacy of the walk-in fridge, I muttered, “Tog,” and lifted a considerably lighter Dmitry into a standing position in the truck. After strapping him in, I pointed at a stack of crates and swiped my finger at him. “Sgàthan.”

Light flickered wildly around Dmitry. It looked scrambled at first, like pieces of a puzzle trying to put itself together, but soon the image aligned to appear as if those same crates were now stacked on the truck instead of Dmitry’s frozen corpse. I strapped him in, taking a step back to make sure it still looked believable, then slowly tilted the truck back at an angle to make sure the illusion held. Satisfied, I pushed the latch on the unlocked door with my elbow.

And nearly fell on my butt when the door swung open unexpectedly.

“Boss? You coming?”

“Oh, hey, Pedro,” I said to my line chief, silently thanking Gaia that I caught myself from tripping. I took baby steps backward with the hand truck as I spoke. “Of course, yeah. I just got to take care of this little thing first. Just doing a favor for Mikey.”

At seeing me struggle, he said, “Let me help you with that.”

“No, no. I got it. I’ll be right there. Go have fun. How do you like it?”

“Looks fantastic,” he said. “Oh jeez, here. At least let me get the door for you.”

I smiled appreciatively. “Thanks, Pedro. Seriously, though. We’re celebrating. Go. I got this. I’ll just be a minute.” I gingerly straightened the truck, glancing warily at a slight flicker in the illusion, and opened the Jeep’s hatchback.

Thankfully, it wasn’t enough of a glitch for him to notice and he headed back inside. I breathed a sigh of relief and tossed Dmitry into the cargo bed.

I dialed Dante and said simply, “Halstead and Eerie, ten minutes,” as I hustled back inside.

A bunch of people called my name in unison as I exited the kitchen. I smiled at the folks gathered around the bar and ordered a shot of whiskey as I marveled at the renovations.

Say what you will about gnomes, they do damn fine work. The outer dining room and bar had exactly the kind of rustic charm I was going for. Further inside, intricate woodwork ran up every support beam from the dance floor to the balcony. The second dining room had more of a sports bar feel, yet flowed perfectly with the décor of the rest of the place.

I joined the others and led them in a toast to a prosperous season for everyone, then declared, “Okay folks, let’s have this place ready by seven. I’ll be back soon.

Max pulled me aside as I started to go. “Hey girl, you alright?”

What dead body in my trunk?

I scoffed at the question. “Just a lot to get done. No worries. Hold down the fort. I shouldn’t be too long.”

And without further ado, I headed out to stage a crime scene.

When I mentioned that intersection, Dante knew where specifically I meant. Not far from there was one of a handful of familiar low-key points of interest in the underworld. It was one of the few blind spots in the most surveilled city in North America. There was barely any camera coverage and it was far enough off the beaten path so foot traffic was of no concern. Under the shadow of the I-94 on and off ramps, it proved ideal for small scale meets.

Or in our case, a great place to drop a body that we wanted to be found.

Dante followed me into an alley once I arrived some time after twilight had given way to dusk. I pulled into an empty parking lot, inset between some long-abandoned commercial buildings, then quickly hopped out to direct Dante to the other end of the wide alleyway.

I regarded Anastasia as she rose out of Dante’s car. She still wore the black vest ensemble she had on the previous night, reminding me that all of her possessions were in police custody. I had more bad news to break and I had no idea how she was going to take it.

“You may not want to see this part,” I said.

“Why not? What are we even doing here?”

“I told you Dmitry died, but there’s more to the story. And I got the impression you two were close.”

She regarded me as if choosing her words. “Do you have pets?”

That didn’t bode well for the value she placed on human life, but I simply said, “Yeah.”

“You get attached to them just as much as family.”

“Oh,” I said, genuinely surprised by that take. “Well, when Dmitry died, he, uhm, got back up. He turned into a wight.”

Ana gasped softly. She averted her gaze and her eyes darted around, filled with a swirl of emotions. Mostly guilt, regret. Not the kind of emotions I associate with vampires. “Did he hurt anyone?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Dante and I had to deal with him. Sorry.”

She turned her gray eyes back on me. “Don’t be. It is not your fault. But this does not explain what I am doing here.” On that note, she looked at my truck, starting to put two and two together.

“The police are looking for him,” I went on. “In the process of smuggling you into Chicago, he was ambushed by a bunch of dirty cops. He killed them.”

Ana just blinked, trying to process so much news.

“I have to give CPD a reason to stop hunting him.”

“I see,” she said at length. “You’re right I don’t need to see this part.”

“But I will need you to tell the police that Dmitry kidnapped you. He became obsessed and dangerous.”

“And I escaped him,” she reasoned.

“Exactly. He caught up with you here. That’s when I showed up. We fought. I won.”

Dante piped up at that. “What about me?”

“You were never anywhere near this,” I said. “There are enough moving parts in this story. We don’t need them questioning you as a witness. Just help me with the body and the crime scene.” I winced at the realization I’d referred to Dmitry as ‘the body’ and cast an apologetic glance at Ana.

“Do what you must,” she said. “I want to see him, though.”

I glanced between her and the Jeep. “This isn’t how you want to remember him.”

“I need to see what I did to him,” she said flatly. It wasn’t a request.

She followed me to the truck in silence and I opened the hatch. Her expression became inscrutable when I pulled the tarp off Dmitry’s body. He lay in a grotesque position, half frozen, his once human face contorted with rage. After a moment, Ana took a few steps back, giving me room, but not looking away or seeming like she was going to leave.

“Okay then,” I said. “Dante, give me a hand here.”

Ana looked on as we went about carrying the body out and staging the scene. Dante and I set Dmitry down against a wall and I told him to punch the brick. He did so, making the crack big enough to look like the body had struck it before falling. We then commenced talking over what forensics would look for on the scene. After mapping out how the fight went in our heads, I told him to get moving. I wanted his car well away from here before I started making enough noise to get neighbors to call 911.

Neither Ana nor I said anything in the solid minute I waited to give Dante enough time to leave the area. As if the situation wasn’t awkward enough.

“Stand back,” I said at length, waving her to the parking lot.

I climbed into the Jeep, gunned the engine, and put it in gear. The vehicle lurched forward, creating skid marks as I raced to the opposite side of the parking lot and slammed on the brakes. I then hopped out and drew my wand.

This part was going to suck. I aimed at one corner of my bumper and yelled, “Feachd!” A column of raw force pounded my truck with enough force to put a man-sized dent in the corner.

I couldn’t help but cast an annoyed look at Ana as I channeled my frustration and marched into the middle of the open lot.

“Feachd!” I repeated, caving in the side of a dumpster and breaking a window.

“Gaoth!” Wind kicked up, sweeping across the lot to blow away gravel and knock over trash cans.

“Dealanach! Dealanach! Dealanach!” Lightning arced at every wall, leaving scorch marks, then up into the air for good measure.

And finally, “Reòta!” A blast of icy wind erupted my from hand, consuming Dmitry and leaving a rough circle of frost on the wall behind him.

I took several steadying breaths before turning to Ana, who continued to watch in silence. Though her demeanor had changed. She looked impressed. I fought the urge to smile at that.

“That ought to do it,” I said instead. “In this neighborhood, the cops will be here any minute. Do we need to go over the story again?”

Ana shook her head. If I didn’t know any better, I thought I saw a slight smile creep into her features as she said, “Nyet. I got it.”

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