No one ever dared to admit it but there were three schools of magic in the Wyrding. Everyone knew and respected Domdaniel that had eventually birthed Scholomance. Domdaniel saw Scholomance and its founder the Dark One as ungrateful upstarts, but Scholomance had long since outstripped Domdaniel in popularity. And relevance.

But few dared to mention the Vulcan Tower.

A school founded by heretics and traitors. And the greatest of all the heretics had been Drystania. Advisor to the Baron in all things magical. The blasphemer who had resurrected blood magic and worship of the Magnificent One. Or that was what cowards who dared not go far enough to uncover the truth about the world called Drystania. Her base of power had remained hidden in a cold volcano and guarded its secrets jealously.

Until Vincent of Osetaria had found it and claimed himself as its master.

For centuries Vulcan Tower had been home to spiders and rats, but the books filled with writings and recorded experiments of the greatest minds in the Wyrding had been kept safe. Vincent suspected that after Girusai had burned the Seven Great Libraries of the Wyrding, Vulcan Tower was the most important concentration of knowledge in all the lands.

And knowledge was true power.

Over the decades that Vincent had called Vulcan Tower his home, he had banished the spiders and rats while sealing off more and more rooms. Eventually all the secrets of the tower were concentrated in a few chambers that he could access easily. He had not considered taking students and had only the dead spirits painted on his skin for company. In his private study he was huddled over his desk covered in wood chips and drawing a glyph into a wooden knife he had carved himself. Using a needle that had been heated red hot in the fireplace, he burned the glyph into the knife. The design was intricate and only partially visible to the human eye. Only his fellow grandmasters of Scholomance could have appreciated his skill. Once he was happy with the knife, he picked up a stone that had lied in a river for decades and the currents had filed it completely smooth. To carve the necessary glyph into the stone, he used a small chisel and a hammer. These runes were less detailed, but a chisel was a far clumsier tool and demanded far greater concentration. Not even the ghostly Cinder lying by his feet, pleading him to play could make Vincent ignore his work.

He was a man possessed.

When he was finally done, Vincent absent mindedly rubbed the back of Cinder’s neck and although the spirit could not feel his touch, it could sense his affection. After wrapping the knife and the stone in an oil cloth, Vincent snapped his fingers, and a ghostly army of rats ran to his side.

“Clean this up.” Vincent ordered.

While the ghost rats ate the mess his work had made, Vincent got dressed. His green greatcoat and yellow cape protected him from the cold and the rain while his wide brimmed blue hat shaded his eyes from the sun.

“Cinder, to me.” Vincent ordered.

Cinder’s ears twitched and then he jumped towards Vincent, transforming into another tattoo on his skin that could move freely. Cinder rested right over his heart.

“Good boy.” Vincent said.

When he was ready, Vincent pulled another knife hanging from his belt and slashed at air, cutting a hole in reality. One of the many runes he had drawn into his personal knife sizzled and burned away but there was still plenty left. Vincent stepped through the portal and into the infinite space between worlds. It would have been so easy to lose himself there and left wandering until the end of time looking for a way out, but he had made sure to leave himself many guideposts.

Lighthouses in the dark and cold of primordial chaos where the Queen reigned.

Over the years he had left behind Anchors at the doorsteps of his most valued customers, and he opened a door that took him deep into his beloved Osetaria. And not a moment too soon. He could feel something ancient and hungry lurking in the dark just out of sight. Something ravenous that knew he was there. The monster lurking in a place before time and light had existed had never stopped rousing his curiosity and he promised to learn more of them when he had more time on his hands. Right now, he had work to do.

The Portal System brought him to the gates of a mansion built in the Blights.

The mansion known as the Pink Pearl had been intended as the first step in civilizing the Blights and the dregs living in it. Unfortunately, the dregs had not been interested in being driven out of their homes by greedy men who had coveted their lands. The nobles had always looked down on the people they ruled over, but the commoners had been smarter than they had been given credit for. The gentrification project had promised that the riches would trickle down to the poor in the long run, but the commoners had learned the hard way that the only thing that trickled down was shit and piss.

The gentrification project had failed and now the Pink Pearl was the most expensive whore house in the Blights. So it went.

A shiver always ran down Vincent’s back when he saw the Blights. A part of this place still owned him even though it was almost fifty years since he had been begging on the streets. Just another unwanted orphan left to die in the ditch. Dying and starving. That was how Old Flea had found him. The memory stirred something in his frozen heart, but the cold hand of his god crushed it inside his steel gauntlet. Vincent let the memory wash over him and he approached the Pink Pearl’s gates. Armed men were always guarding the Pink Pearl and an iron fence that looked like spears planted in the ground surrounded it. It made the Pink Pearl seem hostile but also all the more desirable. Everyone who saw it couldn’t help but wonder what wonders and pleasures it held inside and wish they could afford to enter it.

The spell that made people ignore him dissipated when he approached a familiar guard.

A younger guard panicked when Vincent materialized from thin air as far as he could tell and raised his rifle. Vincent smiled and couldn’t help but be curious if he could stop bullets with his spells. The older guard shot and annoyed look at the younger man and told him to put down his gun.

“Master Vincent.” The guard said and did a slight bow.

Vincent fancied himself the most curious man in Osetaria, but he had never felt the need to learn the guard’s name.

“The Pig wished to see me.” Vincent said.

The older and younger guard glanced at each other and a smiled flashed on the younger man’s lips like he knew a joke Vincent didn’t understand.

“Not bloody likely.” The younger man said.

“Shut up.” The older guard barked at the younger man: “The Pig is gone. Maximo is in charge now.”

Maximo? He had heard that name in a passing. One of the Pig’s scarier enforcers. Had the Pig wound up as bacon?

“And he wishes to see me?” Vincent asked.

“He does. He is waiting for you.” The older guard said.

The gates to the Pink Pearl were opened and servants were ready to hold doors open for him. He was a known quantity in the Pink Pearl. The Pig had understood the power of magic the way only someone who had been burned by it could and had been generous in financing Vincent’s side projects in exchange for trinkets. Vincent had always been accommodating to him but had been careful to never cross the Old Man of the North. The Pig might have been a king, but the Old Man of the North was the suzerain.

Behind the closed doors, high walls and armed guards was a kingdom of earthly delights.

Legend had it that the first Iron King Jormund had built a secret pleasure house sparing no expense and filled with the most beautiful women, softest carpets and brightest fireplaces that never exhausted. He would then drug his rivals and spirit them into the pleasure house to convince them he had the power to open the doors to paradise. Vincent had always imagined the Iron King’s pleasure quarters had looked much like this. The Pink Pearl had been built as a home for nobles and even after their throats had been slit, the mansion remained a fitting home for lords. There were half a hundred rooms furnished luxuriously and the hallways were filled with women beautiful and naked enough to make a man swear he had died and gone to heaven. Usually, the women there were a cheery bunch… at first glance. They were well-taken care of with warm lodgings and hearty meals, but they knew they were never far from being kicked out in the streets. A case of venereal disease? You were out. A crazed client cut your face? You were out. The Pig had never felt much loyalty to those who had made him rich.

But this time it was the usual quiet fear.

The women working in the Pink Pearl were openly terrified… and pissed. Vincent could never have imagined the women throwing a temper tantrum but today they were not saving their words when they went at the only man in eyesight.

“… Another girl killed! Like she was mauled by an animal! When will he do something about it?!” The women growled.

The man getting chewed out looked like a bean counter with his neat haircut, smart suit and thin glasses that reflected everything he looked at like mirrors. Only when he glanced at you over his glasses, you caught a glimpse of eyes hard as stones. When the man saw Vincent, his eyes narrowed behind his glasses.

“We are working on it.” The Accountant said and then brushed past the women: “Master Vincent.”

When the women noticed him, they fell silent, but he could also sense their hope. Like he had come to save them.

“Accountant.” Vincent said and looked around: “I hear there’s been a change of management.”

“A bit of restructuring.” The Accountant said.

“Curious.” Vincent said: “Apparently he wants to see me.”

“I’ll take you to him.”

The girls gave them wide berth when the Accountant led Vincent deep into the lower floors of the Pink Pearl. Like most mansions Vincent was sure that there were secret passages for a lord to flee if the commoners ever decided to revolt. Not that the passages had been much use to the Pig. Most dead lords had that in common. They forgot that during the revolt it wasn’t the peasants who were the real threat but their own inner circles who had no interest going down with them.

“Someone’s been asking about you.” The Accountant said.

“Have they now? Curious. The Ratking?” Vincent asked.

“Not to my knowledge.”

Vincent had always been fond of the Accountant. Almost everyone who met him regarded him with dread. Like he was some venomous spider that could break out of its cage at any moment. They could never put it into words, but they felt the lingering effects of the contract he had made to acquire his knowledge. But not the Accountant. The man’s heart never beat faster than seventy times per minute and his skin didn’t break into a nervous sweat. A man like that had met worse than him and no longer knew fear.

“Have you told them anything?” Vincent asked.

“No. Maximo has no patience for snitching.” The Accountant said and shot him a nervous look: “Do not test him. He’s not like the Pig.”

“I doubt he has met anyone like me.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” The Accountant said.

Vincent was about to keep talking when he noticed how bare the underground floors of the Pink Pearl were. The Pig had been a grotesque man who had liked to surround himself with beauty and luxury. Every time Vincent had visited, The Pig had bought more expensive furniture, softer carpets, and more fabulous art. Like they could beautify him. Now all animal comforts had been stripped from the lower floors, leaving behind only things necessary for the quarters to function. It had the air of a haunted house that someone had been cursed to live in.

“Out of curiosity, what happened here?” Vincent asked.

“He does not like clutter around him.” The Accountant said.

The Accountant took him to the cellar and the hallway was filled with groans and grunts of some huge beast that was fighting against its chains. They followed the animal sounds that eventually led them to an underground gym where the stench of blood and sweat were overwhelming, and Vincent saw Maximo.

Maximo the Outlaw was big the same way mountains were big. You did not fully grasp their size until you stood in their shadow.

Maximo’s shirt was stained with sweat when he did overhead presses with a barbell that had hundred and fifty kilos stacked on it. Vincent had never seen muscles like that. It was almost like a mad artist had tried to carve a man out of granite. Looking at him, Vincent thought of the doctor Frankenstein’s creation. He had tried to create the perfect man and his unnatural son had shot far past perfection to horrifying. Every lift was accompanied by an animalistic growl while Maximo kept pushing the limits of his inhuman strength to force his muscles grow even further. Being over two meters tall and weighing roughly hundred and twenty kilos, it was shocking how toned and fit Maximo was. His muscles were so well-developed they looked malformed and there wasn’t any extra weight to slow him down. Vincent would have loved to cut him open while Maximo was still alive to uncover the secrets of his musculature. Vincent and the Accountant watched in silence while Maximo tested himself and waited to see who would yield first.

Flesh or steel?

The workout was torturous to watch. Maximo didn’t seem to even know they were there while he fought with himself to snuff out any human imperfection in his physique. Finally, Maximo dropped the barbell, and the impact made the ground shake. Drops of sweat dripped off his shaved head and Maximo rubbed his scalp to keep the sweat out of his eyes. Out of reflex, his thumb rubbed the diamond shaped scar on his forehead. Then the pale green eyes landed on Vincent, and he had to suppress a shudder. At that moment Vincent could understand why he held no fear over the Accountant. The Accountant had survived Maximo after all.

“Mage.” Maximo said.

Maximo had a voice to match his size. Deep and powerful but also so measured, smooth, and nearly tender. Vincent gave him a light bow.

“Lord Maximo.”

Maximo nodded and then glanced at the Accountant.

“Leave us.”

The Accountant was quick to obey, and Vincent could not help but marvel at the absolute power and control Maximo held over everyone. Charisma born out of fear. No one would even dare to think about disobeying him. Some men would have said it was because of his bulk but they were fools.

The secret was in his eyes.

Maximo’s eyes were the palest shade of green. The color of poison. The eyes of a poisonous insect. Light gleamed off them like the shell of a warrior wasp. The stinger was prepared and ready to strike. A man like that would fight to the bitter end and beyond. Just killing him would not be enough to stop him from coming after you. Vincent wondered what would happen if he peeled Maximo’s skin off. Would he find muscle and tendons? Or an ogre wearing a human skin?

“The Pink Pearl has changed since my last visit.” Vincent said while looking at Maximo’s private gym.

The walls were lined with kettlebells the size of Vincent’s head and in the middle of the room hung a sandbag that made him think of animal carcasses hanging in a butcher’s workshop. Was some underling or enemy who had displeased Maximo the Outlaw stuffed in there and was now slowly being beaten to death?

“Old Man of the North wanted the Pig gone so he is gone.” Maximo said while walking to the punching bag.

The punching bag was custom made and had to weight around hundred and forty kilos. Few men could have punched it without breaking their wrists. Maximo’s fists made it swing. Could anyone withstand Maximo in a boxing ring? Vincent watched while Maximo worked on the punching bag, and he could only marvel. Maximo carried his weight easily and any opponent who thought they could just tire him out would be horrifyingly disappointed. Not only was Maximo bigger and stronger than any man, but he was also tireless and knew how to make the most of his size. There was obvious skill in his swings that even a novice like Vincent could appreciate. Every punch had his full weight behind it and could knock a grown man off their feet just by grazing them. When Maximo finally stopped his workout, he was scarcely out of breath and his pulse hadn’t reached triple digits.

“Out of curiosity, how is the Old Man of the North?” Vincent asked.

“Still in charge.” Maximo said while drying himself with a towel: “Have you known him for long?”

“Before he was known as the Old Man. I am older than I look.” Vincent said.

“I presume that makes you the wizard who introduced him to the troll.”

“The one you killed? Yes. Yes, I did.” Vincent said and bowed his head: “I hope our professional relationship will be equally fruitful.”

“As do I, wizard.” Maximo said and sat on his weight bench. Even when Maximo was seated his eyes were on even level with Vincent’s: “I know of the arrangement you had with the Pig. I wish to renew it. The apartment you have here has been maintained and is yours whenever you need it.”

“I had no personal loyalty to the Pig. It was just business. The new arrangement is acceptable.”

“Then let’s shake on it.” Maximo said.

Maximo’s hand was the size of a spade and when they shook hands, Vincent’s palm was fully enclosed inside Maximo’s. He could feel power that could crush bones and rip his arm clean off its socket if Maximo so chose. He wondered if he had ever done so. Would he try it now? He did not and Maximo released his hand after a brief shake.

“Have you brought it?” Maximo asked.

In response Vincent pulled out the wooden knife he had been working on and offered it to Maximo. The knife looked like a toothpick in Maximo’s veiny hand, but he handled it with surprising delicacy.

“Where’s the Anchor?” Maximo asked.

“Right here.” Vincent said and produced him the stone he had turned into an Anchor: “Do you understand magecraft?”

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

“Enough to know its value. This has one charge, correct?” Maximo said.

Vincent couldn’t help but marvel how the Pig could have been so blind to what Maximo was. Mistaking him for a dumb brute was not a mistake you would live to regret. The only qualities in Maximo that matched his muscles were his cunning and ambitions. The Old Man of the North was playing a dangerous game leashing himself to this monster.

“Yes. One free get away trump card. From wherever.” Vincent said and tapped the wooden knife: “Just slash the knife and let the magic do the rest but be very careful. If anything happens to the Anchor, there will be nothing to guide you through the Portal System. You could be thrown anywhere or even be trapped between worlds for good.”

“Anywhere?” Maximo said while studying the knife.

“The only person I know who survived the experience was Gonzalo the Spider and it took even him years to find his way back.” Vincent said.

“Fascinating.” Maximo said and then picked up a leather bag from the table: “For your troubles.”

Vincent opened the bag and found it to be filled with gold. Gold teeth. Some of them still had blood on them and lingering stench of the previous owners last meal.

“I dug those out personally. There is more where that came from.” Maximo said.

“I’m pleased to hear that.” Vincent said and pocketed the gold: “If you need more knives, let me know. I will deliver.”

“I will be sure to do that.” Maximo said and stood up: “I will be having dinner tonight. I insist that you join me. To celebrate our new agreement.”

Insist? Maximo’s voice flowed smoothly like ice water, and it was almost friendly, but that word felt like a loaded gun pressed against his head.

“I would be happy to.” Vincent said.

“I am pleased to hear it.” Maximo said while looking down on him: “Would you like me to assign you a security detail? On account of someone looking for you.”

“I am my own security.” Vincent said and rubbed the tattoo of Cinder hidden under his sleeve: “And I have a loyal guard dog.”

“Very well. The Accountant has booked us a table at the Golden Goose. I am looking forward to seeing you there.” Maximo said.

With Maximo’s permission to leave, Vincent felt a leash slip off his neck that he hadn’t realized had been there until it was gone. To be in Maximo’s presence was to belong to him. Vincent left the Pink Pearl and wandered the Blights under the anonymity of glamour. You could see the Silver Keep even from here. The home of the Iron Kings. Built at the center of Vashurst so all citizens could be equally close to their king. Or queen in this case. How often had he stared at it as a child in the gutter and wished he could see what’s inside? Sometimes he wished he could go back in time to tell his younger self that a day would come when he was more powerful than a king. One day he would elevate himself to the rank of a King of the Mountain. He would have his own Domain and be a god in his own right.

When evening came, Vincent arrived at the Golden Goose.

The nobility often had secret mansions built in plain sight and the criminal underworld had borrowed the practice. On the surface the Golden Goose looked like a cheap diner where you could have your fill for a crown and leave with diarrhea, but the real restaurant was hidden in upstairs. When Vincent was led to the upper floor, he couldn’t help but shake his head at how asinine it all was. Old Man of the North had built his support by branding himself as more than a mere criminal. He was a revolutionary fighting against a corrupt system. Much like the Ratking in Garuccia…

It was all a sham of course.

Ratking had built his own court and underground kingdom with its own nobility. Just like the Old Man of the North. Underneath their bold claims of fighting for freedom and equality where men whose only problem with their oppressive regimes was that they weren’t doing the oppressing. In a world without kings, Old Man of the North and the Ratking would still find ways to wear crowns. All you had to do was look at the Golden Goose and see that the Old Man of the North had a secret mansion every bit as decadent as the nobles he claimed to hate. Waiters dressed in black suits were ready to listen to a paying customer’s any whim and the air was heavy with the scent of food only a master chef could produce. The restaurant was lit by chandeliers that made the place look like something you could find in the Wyrding.

“Welcome, Vincent.” Maximo said.

Maximo wore a suit that could have fit three men inside it. It was black as tar and paired with a blood red cravat. He stood at the end of best table in the Golden Goose and on his left side sat the Accountant on his right a beautiful woman in her thirties with black hair and a purple dress. Like her male company, the woman had a hardness that her beauty could not hide. Even a decorative dagger could stab you.

“You have met the Accountant. This is Esther. She handles human resources.” Maximo said.

The Accountant’s face was a neutral mask, but Esther was openly displeased.

“A pleasure.” Esther said without any pleasure: “I am so glad Maximo still finds time to wine and dine us while my girls are being butchered in the streets.”

“Butchered?” Vincent asked.

“Like animals.” Esther snarled.

“It is under control, Esther.” Maximo said while summoning servants with the snap of his fingers: “When dealing with a beast of this nature, you need the right kind of bait and trap.”

Wine was poured for them and just the smell of it was intoxicating. As an appetizer they were served cold meats and berries that went well with the wine, but Vincent was more interested in the puzzle laid before him.

“Tell me about the killings.” Vincent said.

“Girls working on the streets have been going missing. One or two every other night.” The Accountant said.

“And when they’re found, they’re mauled but there is no blood.” Esther said.

“No blood?” Vincent said, intrigued.

Esther looked at him suspicious.

“You know something about this?” Esther said.

“Just thinking of a patient, I treated a few years ago. Everyone thought it was anemia. I realized it was a vampire.” Vincent said.

The mention of a vampire made the Accountant and Esther uneasy, but Maximo just nodded.

“Clever. Go after people no one cares about, and you can go on killing for years.” Maximo said and stared at his wine: “Well, it would normally be clever. I care. Someone must.”

When Vincent finished his wine, he was adamant not to have more but Maximo poured him another glass personally and her dared not say no. Then he poured him another. And another. And another. Until the bottle was empty. Then Maximo just ordered another one. The main course was brought with the wine, and they feasted on turkey, meatballs in a pepper sauce, sausages, roasted potatoes, and vegetables in thick gravy. Maximo ate more than all three of them put together and seemed especially fond of the meatballs.

And there was always more wine.

Vincent could barely think straight as he was made to drink more glass after glass. Once the endless stream of wine stopped flowing, he thought he was free but then Maximo ordered them vodka. It was pure madness. Maximo had drunk and eaten the most of them, but he didn’t seem even tipsy. He just lit a cigar and sipped his vodka. Esther had abstained from more wine after the first bottle and stuck with ginger ale. The Accountant seemed to be staying sober out of pure force of will. When a waiter came tell the Accountant that there was a telegram waiting for him, he had to struggle to get on his feet and walk straight. Maximo watched the Accountant go while smoking his cigar before turning his attention back to Vincent.

“Tell me about the vampire who attacked your patient.” Maximo said.

It was a struggle not to slur and he wondered if Maximo was trying to get him blackout drunk so he could be captured, and have his secrets be tortured out of him. If that was the plan, Maximo would be sorely disappointed. Cinder and his other companions were always with him. Always eager to protect him.

“She was… a noble girl. The vampire snuck in her room and… poisoned her with his fangs.” Vincent said.

“Disgusting.” Esther said: “What kind of a coward would attack a child like that?”

“Predators always prey on the weak.” Maximo said and blew out a perfect smoke ring: “Were you able to help the girl?”

“No but… she ended up making a full recovery. After a fashion.”

“After a fashion.” Maximo echoed: “Are we talking about the Dying Oracle of Starfort? They say that her recovery drove her mad. Tell me, wizard, how many fae do you think are hiding among Garuccian nobles?”

Vincent reached for his pipe to buy himself time. To collect himself. He could count four. There was Livia de Grimaldi. Salvatore Torrini working for House Rossi. Then there was the Gonzalo the Spider enslaved by House Neri. But the most famous of them was…

“There is Selkie-Jack. A skin-changer.” Vincent said.

“Everyone knows about Selkie-Jack.” Maximo said.

“I don’t.” Esther said.

“He was…” Vincent began and tried to remember what he knew of the man: “A French sailor on a slave ship. On his first trip he realized he didn’t want to be a slaver and freed the cargo. They took over the ship and became pirates. Rumor has it he was the lover of prince Gabriel de Emmanuel.”

Maximo laughed. It was a deep booming laugh.

“Rumored? I have seen those love letters too. Prince Gabriel loved the three esses. Sea, sodomy, and Selkie-Jack.” Maximo said.

“No need to be rude, Maximo.” Esther said: “How did he become a skin-changer?”

“During the brief war Garuccia had… with America. He impressed the selkie princess and she made him one of her kin.” Vincent said, straining to sound sober.

“Did he ever offer the gift to his prince?” Esther asked.

“If he did… he said no. Prince Gabriel died when he was fifty-eight… of a stroke during his morning swim… Water… terrible place for a stroke.” Vincent said.

“And he still serves House Emmanuel. The true power behind their naval might.” Maximo said and put out his cigar: “The real reason we have never bested Garuccia at sea.”

The Accountant returned and he had regained the ability to walk in a straight line. He sat next to his master who looked at him expectantly.

“We have located and destroyed the last of them. All except the one in a ship. As per your orders.” The Accountant said.

“Good.” Maximo said and finished his vodka: “And with that the night is done. I thank you all for indulging me. Although I would like to bother our wizard a bit more.”

Esther and the Accountant left without a word. Leaving him alone with Maximo who had poured himself another vodka.

“Was there something else… you needed from me?” Vincent asked.

“Yes. When I went through my predecessor’s notes, I found out that you had approached him about a plan. A plan I might be interested in.”

Vincent smiled to hide his sudden unease. There had been a plan. One he had thought the Pig could have a part to play in but Maximo… was an entirely different kind of beast. Maximo was a too shrewd for his liking. Too unpredictable. And he couldn’t shake the feeling that Maximo already served another master. One with a more… infernal origin.

“The plan has fallen apart.” Vincent said.

Maximo raised a single arched eyebrow.

“Has it now? Fascinating.”

When Maximo flashed him a smile, it made Vincent think of chimps. Instead of mirth, Maximo’s smile showed only teeth. To a chimp a smile was a threat. And what a threat it was. Vincent had never seen jaw muscles like that. He had little doubt that Maximo’s teeth could bite through bone. Maximo stood up and seemed to fill the room. His shadow was like an eclipse. With a vodka in hand, Maximo walked over to the window and looked at the darkened city.

“Everyone has their plans, and they think I don’t know about them. Which makes it all the more infuriating. I am a pawn in a game I only now begin to understand.” Maximo said and glanced at him over his shoulder: “Did you know the Old Man of the North is an undercover agent for Osetaria’s secret police?”

The wine and vodka numbed the shock of the blow like he was a punch-drunk fighter.

“I did not.”

“Now you do, and it does make sense, doesn’t it? There was no way he could have gained that much power and influence without consent from the state.” Maximo said and sipped his vodka: “If we must have crime, better it be organized crime.”

Maximo chuckled but it sounded like the growl of an angry lion.

“It’s also useful to have your own pet gangster. There are all those dirty deeds that need doing that civilized people can’t be afforded to be seen doing. All this time men like me think that we’re rebelling against the status quo but are secretly enforcing it.”

Maximo’s voice and face were calm but the way his left hand clenched into a fist revealed the murderous rage simmering in his heart. The man’s soul was concentrated hellfire.

“The state is going to need a new pet soon. The Old Man of the North is getting too old.” Maximo said before finishing his vodka and turned to look at him: “Is there anything you’d like to add?”

“No. Not really.”

He was caught in the vice grip of Maximo’s glare while the ogre tried to stare into his brain.

“Then I suppose our business here is over. Off you go then.” Maximo said.

Ever since he had traded a piece of himself for a taste of his true master’s power, fear had become something that happened to other people. What he caused in other people. But he couldn’t help but feel uneasy when he left Maximo’s company. The Infernal Emperor had been hiding in Castle Pandemonium for centuries but if Gehenna was beginning to spread its influence, the plan would have to start moving faster. Vincent left the Golden Goose and wrapped his cloak tighter around himself. The night wind was cold, and clouds covered the stars. Only the streetlamps fought against the blackness, and they seemed inadequate for the task. Vincent walked uneasily under their pale light that was the only thing between him and a bottomless night. While he walked towards his apartment, another thought came to him.

Where was everyone?

Vashurst was a city that never rested. Even the Blights were always buzzing with life like flies around a corpse but tonight the city was dead, and he stood alone inside a ghost town. It was so cold. Unnaturally so. The night wind cut through his cloak like a knife. It was like his bones were shivering.

It took him too long to realize he was being followed.

His footsteps echoed in the empty streets like pebbles falling into an empty well… and someone was matching his footsteps perfectly. They walked so in synch that the echoes of their feet became one. How could a person mimic his movements so perfectly? It was very curious. Vincent looked around to catch a glimpse of his mirror image, but he could not see anything in the darkness lurking behind the streetlamps. When he got back to his apartment, he would draw up every protective spell he knew. Whoever was following him would learn the hard way that a master of Scholomance was not an enemy to underestimate.

So why couldn’t he find the way back to his apartment?

All logic seemed to have abandoned the city. When he turned right, he found himself going left. When he turned left, it wasn’t the right way either. Roads that should have led to the protection of open spaces, trapped him in dead ends. It was almost like someone had turned the city against him and the streets and darkness were trying to strangle him. Only the streetlamps were his allies.

Then the streetlamps began to snuff out one at a time.

Darkness encroached him like the boogeyman was putting out candles that protected terrified children. Trapping them in the dark with their fears and the boogeyman. For a moment he thought that Old Flea had found him. Darkness followed the ancient goblin anywhere he rode… but what was up with this unnatural cold and why had the Blights suddenly become a maze? He knew this city. He had grown up here. This should have been possible. No matter how much he had drunk, he should have been able to find his way back home.

“Cinder.”

Ever loyal Cinder jumped out of his skin and to his side. The ghostly pallor of the spirit hound offered him some light but not nearly enough. Cinder bared his fangs and growled. Darkness meant little to someone who took the world in through scents. A drop of sweat ran down Vincent’s back when he reached for his wooden knife. If the city did not want to let him go, it would learn that anyone with access to the Portal System, could go where they pleased.

Which made realizing he no longer had his portal knife with him even more chilling.

When had he lost it? How had he lost it? In the Golden Goose when he’d drank enough to lose his wits along with his knife? That was the only explanation he could think of. He would never have been that careless otherwise. He tapped on one of the many runes carved into his staff and the crystal planted into his staff illuminated the dead city.

“You think your tricks or spirits can save you?”

It was a shock hearing Italian this deep in Osetaria. Even more so in the Blights. During the Twelve-Year-War, majority of the recruits had come from the poorest parts in town. A Garuccian who wandered into the Blights was just asking to be shanked and the police would have treated it as a suicide. One did not stick their hand into a bear cage unless they wanted to lose it.

“Show yourself.” Vincent growled and raised his staff.

“Oh, if you insist.”

A man stepped into the circle of light Vincent’s staff had drawn. Or at least he walked like a man. He was dressed in black. His suit was tailor-made, and his long cape flowed behind him like wings. Underneath the suit he was lean and muscular like a soldier, and he was handsome with thick, brown hair that had been slicked back, beautifully shaped eyes and a sensual mouth partially hidden by a short beard. The beauty could make you miss how pale his skin was, how his long fingers ended in talons and how those sensual lips hid fangs.

“You’re a difficult man to find, Vincent of Osetaria.” The vampire said.

A chill ran down Vincent’s back like someone was dragging a meat hook along his spine. He lowered his head and stared at the vampire’s feet to avoid their eyes meeting even by accident.

“Not difficult enough if a vampire has found me. What do you want from me?” Vincent said.

Cinder growled at the vampire who merely seemed bemused.

“You laid a hand on my son.” The vampire said: “You should not have scratched my property.”

“Your son?”

Then he noticed the mole under the vampire’s eye. A mole like a black tear. That boy in Storm Roost had had one just like it.

“You’re Nuncio’s father?”

The vampire just laughed.

“That I am and now I have found you. No one touches what is mine and lives.” The vampire said and licked his lips: “Imagine my excitement when I found out you were a tart. I hadn’t killed one since the war. Let’s see if I still remember how.”

Cinder was ready to attack but Vincent doubted even the most loyal dog was a match to a vampire, so he called out for another companion living in his skin. Few beasts were more feared in the Wyrding than griffins. They had the upper body of a hawk and the hindquarters of a lion and were more ferocious than either of them. They could match skin-changer nobility in battle and bending the spirit of one to his will had been a great success.

Which made his disappointment all the greater when the vampire revealed that a griffon was cause of little worry to a master vampire.

Skin-changes and master vampires were eternal opposites. Gods of rebirth and undeath. And both hid their true form under a human disguise. The master vampire erupted into a giant owl even greater than his fierce griffon and tore it to pieces with his talons and beak. Vincent felt a sharp pain in his chest when the strings that had bound the griffon’s spirit to his life force snapped.

“Any other parlor tricks you would like to show me, wizard?” The master vampire said, his voice distorted by his true form.

Curiosity had driven Vincent all his life and he had almost forgotten what it was like to truly hate someone. He remembered that mocking tone. That sneer when he had been a street urchin of no importance whom anyone could look down on.

“Die!”

Before he could draw runes to cast his spells, he realized the vampire hadn’t come alone. The ghouls came crawling out of the dark, narrow alleys. Their skin discolored and their lips drawn over sharp fangs. Their eyes were nothing more than pits of hunger and they were dragged along by the will of their master.

“I must admit that the city had fed me well and I do think I like you tarts better as ghouls.” The master vampire said.

“If you want me, come and get me.” Vincent said and pointed his staff at the vampire owl: “Let’s see how an archmage of Scholomance fares against a master vampire.”

Then Vincent and Cinder were fighting for their lives. Ghouls were coming at them on all sides, driven by a hunger that was a madness in them. They fought with talons and fangs, more scared of disappointing their master than being struck by his spells. The master vampire on his part was more than happy to stand back and watch Vincent wear himself out. Despite all his powers the ghouls had numbers on their side and in a fight that was usually enough.

But he had numbers of his own.

He called out all the spirits summoned to him. The skin-changer bear, the spider big as a cat taken from the Baron’s Domain and the twin hawks, all of them following Cinder into battle. If only he hadn’t drunk that much… if only he hadn’t stayed away from the Wyrding for so long, sapping his powers. The ghouls on the other hand were fresh and driven by their master’s watchful eye.

And it turned out their master wasn’t content just standing in the sidelines.

Vincent was so lost fighting the ghouls that he didn’t notice when the master vampire rammed into him, knocking the breath out of his lungs, and making him taste blood. Something broke when he hit the ground, and the pain made him lose concentration. Then his hands were trapped under the vampire owl’s talons and the beak snapped shut inches from his nose.

“Hello again, Vincent. Did you really think that the magic of Scholomance could match a master vampire?”

Eyes were the gate to soul and when their gazes met, the master vampire tried to break into his mind and make him submit. At that moment Vincent understood just what kind of a man the master vampire was. A brute and a coward who let his slaves fight for him and only going to battle when he had no choice, or he saw an easy opportunity.

But above all else, he was cruel.

It was not enough that he won, all his opponents had to be crushed and made grovel before him. A sore loser and a lousy winner who wanted to destroy you and then make you thank him for it. A little better than the ghouls he commanded. A ravenous, living corpse. Pale and rotting. Nothing but an empty stomach and a sharp maw. What most people truly were. There were so very few true humans. Most were just animals wearing human skin. Animals that needed a true human’s unwavering hand to keep them in check. Once King Eld had kept his kingdom of beasts in check, but King Eld was long gone, and no true human had taken his place, so Garuccia had fallen first to decadence. Then to ruin.

What the world needed was another true human to tame it.

Before that king returned, he would not bow to this Screaming Beast! When the master vampire tried to overwhelm his soul, Vincent responded with powers of his own. The hardest lessons in Scholomance had been becoming the captain of your own soul and maker of your own destiny. A mage who could resist any assault on their free will. When he and the master vampire matched their wills against each other, Vincent could see the shape of his soul clearly.

The vampire had the soul of a cockroach.

A survivor who would stop at nothing to linger on just a bit longer. Not even decapitation or loss of limb would stop him from crawling just a little further. No taboo was too sacred to break if it meant surviving while others perished. To a cockroach, the only thing that mattered, the only virtue worth pursuing was survival. And the vampire could see his own soul reflected back at him. To a creature like that cutting through the lies he told himself and seeing the truth had to be the worst kind of torture. That he was nothing more than a cockroach.

“No!” The master vampire screamed, and broke eye contact first.

That gave Vincent all he needed. An opportunity. His thumb brushed the first rune he had carved into his staff and there was a flash of light that cut the master vampire like a knife, searing his flesh. Normally the Graveyard King’s Curse would have knitted him back together, but the spell came with a powerful curse of its own that kept wounds open.

But even in pain a cockroach remained a survivor.

The master vampire’s talons gored at his abdomen and tore Vincent’s stomach open. He couldn’t even scream when his entrails spilled out and he tried desperately to push them back inside. The master vampire reverted back to his human disguise and held his side. The blast had burned his flesh to the bone. The corrosion was spreading and would have killed a human in seconds, but the vampire’s innate magic was combating and would eventually beat it. But even then, the vampire looked more enraged from seeing his own ugly soul bared.

“You…” The vampire snarled.

Before the master vampire could rip open his throat, a gunshot rang through the night and the vampire forgot about him for a moment. Windows and doors all around them were slammed open and rifles, revolvers, and shotguns were stuck out.

Then a hail of bullets began raining down on the ghouls and the master vampire.

Ghouls might have been born from the powers of Queen of Cold and Dark but even they could not stay upright when bullets tore their flesh from their bones and reduced them to twitching torsos. The master vampire was pushed against a wall, and he shielded his head with his hands when the bullets ripped into him. Ever the survivor. When the gunfire finally seized, Vincent saw men in plated armor rushing at the downed ghouls and running them through with spears. Piercing the heart sent the ghouls back to the grave and this time they would not rise. Few of the plated killers stared at the master vampire but even when wounded, he looked too dangerous an enemy to challenge.

“Pietro Capello, I don’t know whether to laugh or reload.”

Men gave way when Maximo approached. He was still dressed in the suit he had worn during dinner but had also put on a fur-trimmed greatcoat to protect himself from the cold that made him appear even bigger. Maximo walked over to the master vampire but made sure that he was out of his talons reach and there were men with spears between them.

“You made finding you difficult.” Maximo said and glanced at Vincent: “Luckily I knew what you were looking for.”

The ogre had… used him? Him?! The ogre had dared to reduce him to bait?!

“You have been killing my employees too.” Maximo said and looked at the dead ghouls.

“Look into my eyes.” Pietro ordered.

And Maximo did.

Vincent could feel a powerline connecting Maximo and Pietro when the master vampire tried to wrestle the ogre under his control… and found a mind that could not be overpowered. Pietro bit his lip when he realized that his powers had no influence on Maximo.

“… what is this?”

“I have met the Devil. What is a vampire after that?” Maximo said and looked around: “I really should kill you after all the trouble you caused me.”

“You think mortals can kill a vampire?” Pietro said.

“Will we find out? I do like my odds, but then again pointless risks are just that. Pointless.” Maximo said and crossed his arms: “We have located all the coffins you’ve hidden around Vashurst. The ones filled with Garuccian soil that empowers you. They have been destroyed. All except one. The one in the ship that will leave tonight. It’s a gark vessel so you can eat the crew for all I care.”

Maximo let out a laugh like a thunderstorm.

“Or will we find out if we can kill a master vampire? I know where you live, gark. I know where your children sleep. Are you a man who takes pointless risks? Will we see who meets Jesus tonight?”

Pietro Capello chewed his lower lip bloody before glaring at Maximo.

“One day I will kill you.”

“Maybe but for now you will return to Garuccia. Osetaria belongs to me.” Maximo said.

The Accountant rushed to his master’s side once Pietro Capello had flown away.

“Is it wise to let him go?” The Accountant said.

“Gambling in business for such little gain is a sucker’s game. I have more pressing matters to take care of. We will deal with him when the time comes.” Maximo said.

“I understand.” The Accountant said and looked at Vincent: “What about him?”

Maximo turned to look at Vincent like he had just remember he was there. Vincent tried to push his innards back in with his hands and keep himself from bleeding to death by willpower alone. Cinder was circling him in a panic and trying to comfort him by licking his face.

“Oh, yes. I suppose we should try and save him.” Maximo said and snapped his fingers: “Take him to a safe house and call a doctor. Try not to step on his entrails.”

Passing out was a blessing. Time lost all meaning in the kingdom of unconsciousness. He was faintly aware that his wounds were being sown shut and his bones mended. Sometimes the pain was enough to make him stir but he was just forced to drink laudanum and nothingness took him again. Even then he could tell days had passed when he finally opened his eyes and stared at an unfamiliar ceiling. The windows were boarded, and the floor was covered in sand to suck up the blood. Only the presence of Cinder made him feel at ease and he petted his companion’s head.

“Good boy. We really had it this time, didn’t we?”

In response Cinder nuzzled his head against his hand.

“Return to me now.” Vincent said and Cinder jumped back into his skin.

After studying his tattoos, Vincent was relieved he had only lost the griffon. That alone had been bad enough but there was no time to wait. There was a bell by his bed and when he reached for it, he grimaced. His stomach was bandaged, and he could feel stitches pulling at his skin like he was wearing a suit a size too small. The pain echoed all the way down to his toes and when he pulled the covers, he saw his legs were in splints. His fingers were still numb from the laudanum, and he had to hold the bell like a child with both hands when he rang it. The door to his room opened ever so slightly and he saw someone peering in before closing the door again. After a while Maximo entered… with his queen. The sight of his queen always made Vincent feel like a child who had been caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to. She looked hard and regal in her simple leather armor and red cape. The dark face didn’t bear any marks of age but her once black hair had turned the color of silver. Her eyes were a mix of green and grey like dying grass. Despite being over half a foot shorter than Maximo, she didn’t look diminutive next to him.

“Still alive, I see.” Maximo said.

“Thanks to you.” The queen said and sat by Vincent’s bedside: “Would you mind giving us a moment, lord Maximo?”

“Of course, my lady.” Maximo said.

The ogre bowed and left them alone. Once they had some privacy the queen pulled out a box of cigarettes. After cutting off the end with her knife, she lit it.

“Both legs broken as well as a dozen of ribs. Don’t even get me started on the internal damage.” The queen said.

“… how… am I not dead?”

“The barbarian chieftain has some excellent doctors. Some of them even dabble in magic. I also did my part.” The queen said and then blew smoke in his direction: “Did I ever give you leave to approach an agent of the Infernal Emperor?”

“… I… did not know and when I found out… I thought… he could be of use.”

“You thought you could use him?” The queen said to herself: “When the ogre comes, it will eat the sun. Vincent for such a curious mind you can be dreadfully dull. I have kept you in too loose of a leash. That changes now.”

“… I am sorry, my queen.”

“As you should be. You have put the plan to risk but you have given me loyal service. More than enough me to overlook and forgive but not forget.” The queen said and smiled: “All that matters is the plan and it will bear fruit soon.”

“The plan… is still in motion?”

“Oh, yes. If anything, it will move even faster now. There is another master vampire out there. It is a sign.”

“He will not join us.”

“We do not require his cooperation. Only his blood.” The queen said and put out her cigar: “In the meantime, you will deal with the ogre. I cannot believe you sold him something as dangerous as a portal knife.”

“I will fix it.”

“See to it that you do. I will have you moved back to Vulcan Tower. I expect the matter to be settled by then.” The queen said.

Vincent nodded to show that he understood. While waiting for his wounds to close enough for him to be moved, he began catching spiders. The cold had driven them inside and Vincent only had to wait for one to approach him. Once one got close enough to squat, Vincent acted fast. Using his own blood, he drew a rune to bind the dead spider’s spirit to him. Such a small creature could not resist him, but neither would it last long. Once the spider had become his spirit companion, he gave it its first and last task. The ghastly spider left him and traveled through the Pink Pearl where the Anchor he had carved for Maximo was held. Slipping inside a safe caused little trouble for a spirit and inside the spider sank its pincers into the Anchor rune, chipping it ever so slightly. Just enough to sever its connection to the portal knife. The moment Maximo used the knife, he would be lost in the Void and sent spiraling to parts unknown.