Chapter 30

Will had a moment of conflict in his mind. He’d just met Shae. It seemed a little soon to be calling him a pet. He wasn’t sure he liked the implications, but he brushed his concerns aside. Taling to her about it now might throw off everything they’d negotiated. People in power were often oblivious to how their words came across. She probably didn’t mean anything by it. Maybe it was just the sort of thing she was into? If she liked it, that was good enough reason to indulge her. What could it hurt?

He gave Calli an appreciative smile and pushed himself back up to his knees. The tavern girl was a mess. She was covered in Shae and Will’s mixed juices. Her hair was plastered down, and her freckled face was red from being abraded by the dark hair between Shae’s legs. Her swollen lips were still gently suckling on Will’s slowly softening manhood. He gently pulled himself free of her mouth. She made a sound of disappointment. He laughed and stroked her messy wet hair out of her face. “Sorry, I’m all out.”

She pouted up at him, then smiled. “Maybe if ye’re good, Miss Shae’ll let ye give me more later.”

“Maybe,” Shae interrupted.

Calli’s green eyes were wide and happy as she looked up at him and started collecting his cum from her face and pushing it into her mouth. Will could only laugh in surprise at the sheer lewdity of it. As her fingers drifted down to her chest to continue collecting white strands and droplets, something strange slowly came to him. Through the alcohol and pipe weed, it took a while for Will to figure out what seemed odd.

Calli’s thick wavy hair was black as night, but between her legs it was a pale copper red. His brows knitted in confusion for a moment, but Shae cleared her throat. He and Calli both looked up and started moving again.

Calli carefully rolled off the bed and stood up, taking care not to get any of the various fluids she was coated with on Shae’s blankets. She opened her eyes wide and clasped her hands in front of her expectantly.

“You did well, Calli,” Shae said warmly as she adjusted her bustier back into place over her breasts. “Show Mister Sterling to his room, then clean yourself up and head to bed. You may pleasure yourself to completion, once.”

“Thank you, mistress,” Calli grinned happily as she began collecting her scattered clothing. Rather than getting dressed, she simply wadded everything into a ball and tucked it beneath her arm.

Shae stood up, took Will’s hand and carried it in front of his face, presenting her fingers to his lips. “I’ve very much enjoyed our negotiations, William.”

“Likewise,” Will said, kissing her hand politely. He felt a bit taken aback at the sudden dismissal but not sure what to say about it.

Behind her, Calli turned down the bed. Shae slid into it languidly with a contented sigh. She stretched her arms over her head and gave Will a satisfied look. “Goodnight, William. We will speak again tomorrow.”

“Looking forward to it,” Will said as he tucked himself back into his trousers and did up the buttons before gathering the rest of his clothing. “Goodnight.”

“Calli, wash my bedding in the morning, and be sure to air out the room,” Shae added.

Calli gave Shae a slightly awkward, naked curtsey before taking Will’s hand and practically dragging him out the door.

Leaving Shae’s opulent quarters was like entering another world. The back halls of the Red Door were a maze of rough hewn tunnels carved out of the stone. Calli chattered constantly, pointing out tripping hazards and gesturing down halls to tell Will where they went. They passed occasional people, squeezing past them in the narrow confines. They grinned knowingly at him and eyed Calli’s messy naked body. She was still covered in drying love juices, but seemed to enjoy the attention. She smiled back proudly and put an extra strut in her step every time someone leered at her. It was all a blur. His head was happily adrift on the cocktail of alcohol and more exotic drugs Shae had plied him with.

He found himself moving more slowly, looking at the art Shae had on display. Tapestries and paintings hung on the walls, and rugs covered parts of the uneven floors. Occasionally between the wall coverings Will could make out faded paintings and carvings. They looked like Akula decorations, but it was hard to tell because of their age. Mismatched lanterns, sconces, and braziers lit the passages, but some had sputtered and died leaving stretches of swallowing darkness. Calli knew every rise and crack. She talked non stop, telling him where they were and where the branching corridors went while pointing out things he might bump into or trip on.

Finally they reached a door that had been haphazardly hammered into a crooked frame made of wooden support beams. They looked similar to what he’d seen in old mine shafts, with a door to a ship’s hold nailed into it.

“Here ye go,” Calli said cheerfully. She turned the knob and threw her shoulder into the door forcing it to pop open. The hinges creaked angrily. “It sticks so ye have tae give it some attitude.” She pulled a small tapir from a cup next to the sconce on the wall and lit it before going inside. He followed her and looked around as she lit the lantern on the inside of the door. She put what was left of the tapir back outside, then turned around in the doorway, stood on her tip toes and kissed him on the cheek. “I had fun tonight. Ye’re nice.”

Will blinked and smiled, feeling a few seconds behind the sudden conversation. “Uh, thanks. I had fun too.”

The door shut, leaving him in dimly lit quarters that was little more than a bed, a dresser, and a chamber pot. He slumped down on the bed. The blankets were rich and soft, but stained and the mattress felt like it was stuffed with straw. He had a sinking feeling, like something was wrong but he was too tired and too addled to put his finger on what. He’d think more clearly in the morning. Port space for the Kestrel was secured. The captain would be able to negotiate a price for repairs. Jack was safely away. Their earlier talk had gone fairly well. His curse hadn’t caused any obvious disasters. Shae was delightful and intriguing. He would have to think about it in the morning. He laid down and closed his eyes.

The dreams that took him were full of chains and spiders.

Soft lips pressed against Jack’s. She couldn’t see, but she could smell rum and pipe smoke. A velvet-gloved finger traced down her neck. “Such a good girl,” a throaty alto voice purred. “So loyal.”

She struggled to move. It felt like she was bound by something. Ropes, but softer. Velvet hands cupped her breasts and brushed her nipples. She groaned as that familiar fire grew within her.

“Jack?” Bella’s voice called to her.

The ropes around her arms and legs tightened and those velvet hands trailed slowly down her stomach. “Don’t answer.”

“Jack?” Bella called again.

“Not now!” Jack called.

“It’s important!” Bella called.

“She managed without you for years,” that soft voice whispered in her ear. “A while longer won’t hurt.”

“It’s about Will,” Bella called.

Panic and sadness welled inside her. “He sent me away.”

“You don’t need to feel that way,” the voice told her. “You’re here with me now.”

“He wants to talk to you,” Bella called from somewhere in the dark. “I do too. Where are you?”

“I ... don’t know,” Jack said. The dark was warm and gentle. She felt like she was floating. Or suspended by those soft ropes.

“You don’t want her to see you like this, do you?” the voice said as it slithered behind her. Velvet hands slid around her waist, one teasing upward, the other down.

“She...” Jack said weakly. She was so turned on she was practically trembling. Bella would love seeing her that way. It was the helplessness that made Jack balk. She couldn’t let Bella see her bound like this.

A realization dawned on her. “Why am I tied up?”

“You did it to yourself,” the voice breathed as a tongue licked her ear. “Don’t you remember? You wanted someone else to be responsible. You wanted to be punished. You wanted to be sure you’d never hurt the people you love.”

“Oh,” Jack muttered.

“She’ll never understand,” the voice said with a kiss on the back of her neck.

Jack nodded sadly. “Bella, go away!”

“Can you at least tell me where you are?” Bella called. “I can’t see you!”

“It’s better this way,” Jack said quietly.

“Good girl,” the sultry voice praised her.

Caine and his glowing twin moved like one entity. Even when they separated like this, their minds were still connected. It wasn’t always a helpful sort of connection. The strange sensation of processing two different points of view at the same time was distracting, but they’d had a long time to get used to it. Their ability to feel each other’s presence and intent made up for it. That was how they trained. His nightly meditation wasn’t simply a way to maintain some sense of distinction between his two souls. It helped them keep their edge. Fighting someone who was just as skilled as he was and could read his intentions led to very useful innovations in how to approach a fight. It also made them extremely effective partners when faced with a mutual enemy.

Old Man Teach had seemed prepared for everything, but there was no way he could have prepared for the onslaught of two Caines in perfect consort. They only had one sword, but they passed it back and forth between them like they’d rehearsed it. They parried for each other while the other threw wicked punches. One would draw him into a bind or grapple to give the other an opening. As if outnumbering him and possessing such perfect coordination wasn’t enough, the Young Man quickly discovered that the glowing Caine could overpower him. He was strong and fast and skilled, and now his unleashed spirit was tireless, but the chained Caine was faster. The glowing Caine was stronger. They were both nearly his match as swordsmen, and they far surpassed him in fisticuffs. At the very precipice of completing his revenge, he was on the defensive and losing.

The newly formed phantom bled green fire. He retreated. Fury and frustration welled up inside him. A lifetime of dedication and planning, the sacrifice of all he loved, all to turn himself into something that could defeat his hated enemy, and he was still outmatched.

His eyes flicked to the ephemeral outline of Caine’s physical body, still sitting slumped on his knees in the mortal realm. An idea formed. He retreated, focusing on quick defenses and circling steps, much like Caine had earlier. With an effort of profound will, he forced his own body to move.

Looking like a foggy ghost to everyone in the Ways, the Old Man’s corpse lurched to its feet and began staggering forward, dragging its saber behind it. It was imprecise and took a surprising amount of effort, like controlling a heavy puppet. There was no way the Young Man could have animated his dead body and continued to fight at the same time, but he still knew something Caine didn’t. A few more quick steps backwards, and he had the pair of Caines right where he wanted them.

The Angel swung its ghostly saber, confident in another opening created by their teamwork, and felt a strange tug. As he followed through with an expert cut, his sword was simply gone.

The Young Man thrust right through the dissipating spectral fog that had been Caine’s stolen sword an eyeblink earlier. The chained Caine snapped a kick into the Young Man’s wrist, barely managing to ruin the counterthrust. Instead of taking the glowing Caine through the chest, the Young Man’s saber tore open his shoulder. Golden light pulsed from the gash. The pair didn’t look at each other, but they could each feel their mutual surprise. They retreated, frantically dodging the Young Man’s wild advance of thrusts and slashes.

Meanwhile, the Old Man’s corpse continued to lurch towards Caine’s unconscious body.

Feelings of confusion passed back and forth between the Caines. Neither knew what had happened. Two pairs of eyes snapped around as they separated and tried to stay out of reach of the Young Man. The green ghost opted to follow the glowing Caine.

“What’s wrong?” the Young Man laughed. “Afraid now that your sad copy can’t die for you?”

The Angel quick-stepped into the swing of another wide, uncontrolled slash and caught the Young Man’s wrist. “Even when I am right in front of you, you still do not see me as I am,” the glowing warrior said disdainfully.

The Young Man tried to free his sword, but his focus was on moving his corpse. His golden foe was too strong to be overpowered. Every attempt to break free was countered. They resorted to footwork to try to outposition each other, punctuating their steps with a one-handed boxing match.

Chained Caine looked back and forth between the combatants and the lumbering corpse advancing on his wounded body. A faint flicker of greenish fire caught his eye. The sword! The corporeal blade was still clutched limply in his physical hand, and now the foxfire glow had returned.

Caine’s mind raced. With a mad dash he ran, then threw himself into a diving roll, reaching for his corporeal hand as his spirit tumbled through his own body. Just as he suspected, he felt the grip of the ghostly saber as his spirit-hand passed through his physical one.

The phantom blade hadn’t vanished. It had returned to its host.

Why? He rolled to one knee and turned to assess the fight between the vengeful spirit and his guardian angel.

“Catch!” he called out, and hurled the green blade at his partner. He didn’t have to shout. The Angel knew what he was doing. He wanted the Young Man to know. The sword twisted end over end leaving a looping trail of green fire. The Angel ducked beneath the Young Man’s sword arm, twisting his enemy into an arm bar and pivoting him into the path of the spinning green blade. The Young Man’s eyes widened in shock, but just before it struck the spinning saber vanished again.

Both Caines shared a moment of amusement, disappointment, and triumph. The thrown blade hadn’t worked, but it distracted their enemy and told them something important. While the Young Man was still recovering from his surprise, the Angel wrenched his arm further behind his back and began raining savage punches down on his head.

The other Caine reached through his own physical body again and felt the spectral sword nested within the physical one. Understanding dawned. In the same way both his souls were connected to his body, the ghost sword was tethered to the mortal one. It could only go so far from its host. An idea took shape.

The Old Man’s corpse brought its saber down like a butcher’s cleaver. Caine let his consciousness snap back into the mortal world, dragging the Angel with him in a flood of light. The Young Man’s laughter at his sudden freedom faded as his perception of the Ways were replaced by the Mortal world again. He did his best to ignore the flood of pain and weight and disorientation. He forced his arm to lift, to intercept the dead man’s cut.

With his second sight he could see the angel’s glowing arm wielding the spectral blade. With his wounds and disorientation, he wasn’t fast enough.

But the Angel was. In an act of sheer desperation, his guardian had wrenched his spirit partially free of his physical body. Somehow the ghost sword had parried the physical one. The shock of it reverberated through him. The angel was strong, but spirits in the Ways were always much weaker when they tried to influence the physical world. The Old Man’s metal blade struck the ghostly one like a hammer. It barely deflected, missing Caine’s skull but battering down on his half-raised saber and driving his flesh-and-blood hand into the stones again. Numbness and pain shot through his arm.

Neither of them had expected the ghost blade to be able to interact with the mortal one. The Angel had been trying to help raise their wounded arm, but had painfully torn halfway out of their body instead. His other soul wasn’t fully merged with him now, so he felt and saw both worlds. It wasn’t pleasant.

Vertigo rose through him as his mind tried to reconcile the conflicting sensations. In the Ways, the spirit and the physical were reversed. What was solid in one was ghostly in the other. It was possible for a thing of one world to interact with the other, like the angel had just done, but everything on the other side was heavier. To the angel, the Old Man’s sword had weighed a ton.

Caine glanced down at himself, looking at the barely closed hole where the ghost sword had pierced his heart. Further understanding dawned on him. The blades existed in both worlds. They could affect both worlds. The Angel’s golden arm lashed out in a quick slash and thrust. The phantom blade passed cleanly through the walking corpse’s neck and pierced its heart. Flesh parted. Blood dripped, but didn’t spray. The Old Man didn’t notice. It just brought its blade down in another heavy chop, forcing the Angel to parry again. Caine could feel the effort of it. The spectral blade could clash with the real one, but one was weightless and the other may as well have been a sledge.

Caine managed to throw his wounded body to the side as the Angel deflected the blade again. Through the vertigo of his split vision, he could see the Young Man standing behind the fight with a look of amused discovery on his face. He was moving, and watching as the Old Man copied him. The corpse’s movements had become noticeably faster and more fluid now that the Young Man wasn’t preoccupied.

“That’s not going to work. This one’s dead already, and the other one is learning fast,” Caine managed to say through the blood in his lungs.

“Well what then?” the angel said tersely in his head. The Young Man’s ghost advanced on them with a triumphant grin and raised his green saber. The corpse’s mimicry was slower and more awkward, but, dragging its saber up for another blow.

“Switch,” Caine growled.

In the moment of shared understanding, the Angel gasped in his head. “No!”

“Just fucking do it!” Caine snarled, then lunged out of his body, leaving the angel inside.

Behind him, golden light flared. He ignored it and bore down on the Young Man.

They clashed once, then retreated again. Their ghostly blades rested gently against each other. Green flames flared brighter where they touched.

“You’re a clever son of a bitch,” Caine said angrily. “You really did figure me out.”

“I’m glad you noticed before you’ll die,” the Young Man said sarcastically.

“How? Divinations? Omen reading? Calling spirits?” Caine asked with a probing thrust.

“Everything you can think of, and more,” the Old Man sneered. Their blades clashed again and again.

“All that work and you thought you’d just copy me? Weaknesses and all?” Caine asked.

“Oh, I’ve corrected for your limitations,” the Young Man assured him with another set of cuts. “I am not a shadow of something else. I am entirely myself, and the body I leave behind is a mindless puppet. It will never diminish me like you do to him.”

Caine ducked and parried. “All that understanding of how without ever asking why,” he mocked as he feinted and lunged. “Reminds me of myself when I was a kid.”

“Is there a point to your rambling?” the Young Man asked, rolling his burning eyes as he sidestepped and deflected.

“You’re not the only one who can run his mouth to buy time,” Caine grinned.

On the other side of the balcony, the dead man continued its relentless chopping, but the bloodied man kept intercepting the blows. Where the chained Caine had been unable to overcome the pain and weakness of his wounded body, the Angel had no such limitations. Deflection was a little higher, and a little stronger until the dead man’s saber stopped cold against Caine’s guard. His eyes blazed with golden light, and he stood up.

In the Ways, the corpse the Young Man was puppeting looked like it was made of translucent fog. Caine’s body looked like a glowing effigy surrounded in faint mist.

“What?” the Young Man gaped. He tried to move towards the other fight, but the chained man side-stepped in front and drove him back with warding thrusts.

“It took him a while to get his feet under him,” the chained Caine explained. “He’s going to be really mad at me later.”

Golden light poured from both eyes and every cut. Step by step the Angel drove the corpse back. “I’m mad at you now!” he barked at his ghostly twin.

The Young Man renewed his assault, trying to break past the chained man to reach the unexpected conflict playing out in the mortal realm. The chained man countered every step.

The dead man was inhumanly strong. His bones were like iron and he felt no pain. In spite of such advantages, he was crippled by a lack of consciousness. By not wanting to lose his sense of self in his pursuits, Old Man Teach had chosen not to leave anything behind in the shell of his mortal form. There was only a simple awareness of its surroundings, and echoes of rage and loss. The corpse could not think, so it could not adjust. I was an unnatural creature of brute force. A tool. A weapon. The Young Man could send it to chop and a wounded and unmoving man, but could not use it to fight a powerful and active foe. Not while also fighting against another foe at the same time. All he could do was defend himself and watch helplessly as the mindless thing he’d turned his body into was slowly overpowered.

“Full blown possession is a bitch,” Caine explained between cuts. “My better half is doing everything he can not to kill me right now.”

“What?” the Young Man said in horror. His form was flattering in his desperation. “Possession? He’s a demon?”

“Angel,” Caine corrected him.

The Young Man held his guard, but stopped trying to advance. He looked back and forth between the two Caines. “Impossible.”

The Angel drove the Old Man to the iron railing.

“Have you always been this dense?” Caine laughed. “Anton, he’s glowing gold.”

The Young Man’s burning form flared with his anger. He roared and threw himself at Caine. Caine countered, but the Young Man bound Caine’s blade inward, expertly guiding it under his arm and grabbing Caine’s wrist. Caine felt his sword bite into his adversary’s body.

The Young Man used to brag about being willing to bleed for victory. He’d worn his scars like medals. He could point to every one and tell the name of the enemy who’d given it to him before he’d killed them. They were stripes of green flame that criss-crossed his torso beneath his ringmaster’s vest. They were such a part of him that even here in the Ways, his spirit bore them. He could not imagine himself without them. In his entire wretched life, there was nothing he’d ever wanted more than to collect a victory scar from his most hated foe.

The Young Man clamped down on Caine’s sword, pinning it into the wound beneath his arm, At the same time he raised the hilt of his saber over his head, letting the blade invert and flick towards Caine’s face. It was a draw cut, a close-combat technique meant to capitalize on an opponent’s inability to block during a bind, without giving an enemy a chance to grab his wrist.

Caine grabbed the base of the blade with his hand.

“You forget I’ve seen that trick?” Caine grinned.

His fingers laced into the saber’s intricate basket hilt. The base of the sword cut deep between his thumb and forefinger. He could feel the green fire burning cold and hot. White blood seeped from the wound and dissipated into fog as it fell, returning parts of his spirit to the Ways.

For a moment, both fights were at a standstill. The undying enemies stared at each other with four separate sets of eyes on two different planes of existence.

Simultaneously both Caine’s snapped vicious headbutts into their enemies’ faces. The Young Man’s ghost and the Old Man’s corpse snapped their heads back in tandem. Both Caines pushed their staggered foes to gain a bit of distance, then brought up a leg to unleash a powerful stomping kick Anton Teach’s body and soul flew in opposite directions.

His burning green spirit crashed through the doorway of his study, stumbling back into the foggy reflection of the room his revenge plot had been born in. The things in his study were old. That’s why he liked them. The older a thing was, the more real and solid it became in the Ways. Old things developed something of a soul. He’d wanted to be able to enjoy his comfortable sanctuary even after he had left the mortal world behind. His desk was centuries old, and felt like stone as he crashed into it. The impact was so hard that it broke the desk in both worlds.

His mindless corpse went over the railing.

The Young Man shook his head, then his flaming eyes went wide as he saw his mortal body topple and fall out of sight. “No.”

“Bye,” Caine said with a wave.

“No! Not before you die!” the Young Man rushed forward madly, screaming out his hate. Caine thrust. The Young Man swatted the blade downward, but Caine adjusted and ran the Young man through the gut. The Young Man gasped in shock, but still crashed into Caine like a battering ram and drove him backwards.

Over Caine’s shoulder he hurled his ghostly sword with an angry bellow. “Die!”

The combatants crashed to the ground in a tangle of limbs. Looking up for a moment, Caine saw the green phantom blade bury itself in the Angel’s back.

“An angel. This whole time. You lied!” The Young Man crawled, scrambled savagely, wrestling for position, too angry to care about the sword in his stomach. Caine countered and twisted, keeping the Old Man chrome getting a firm hold on him, but could not overbear the larger man. The Young man spat flaming blood onto Caine’s face. “You said the Warden never wanted my people dead,” the Young man growled.

The Angel turned around, looking at the blade coming out his chest in exasperation. “I just healed that.”

“Tell your god she’s next!” the Young Man bellowed.

In desperation, Caine twisted the blade in the Young Man’s gut. Glowing green eyes widened in shock, then narrowed in crazed hate. His burning hand clamped down on Caine’s securing the sword in place and squeezing with crushing force. His other hand flashed out, reaching for Caine’s neck, but Caine jerked his shoulders to the side and blocked like a boxer. He wrenched again at the sword buried the Young Man’s body, but his enemy was too strong. His sword hand burned hot and cold as the Young Man’s grip crushed it against the pommel of the spectral saber.

“Curse you, Greyson Caine,” the Young Man spat. “You do not get to win.”

“A little help!?” Caine yelled to his partner.

The Angel looked up, then gestured to the ghost sword piercing his spiritual body, and their mortal one. “I’m a bit busy!”

A flaming fist came down like a hammer. Caine blocked, rolled his body, juked, but over and over that fist battered him down. “You still lose,” his archenemy hissed. “You still d-”

In a ripple of green fire and white fog, the Young Man vanished.

Bella’s blood stained the white runes on Jack’s chest a dark glowing red.

Jack’s eyes were clouded over like cataracts. She was muttering to herself but it was too quiet for the others in the tent to hear. Her distress was clear, and Quinn was nervous.

“This is not what I expected,” he said coldly to Bella. “Explain the ritual. Be clear.”

Bella’s other hand was holding Jack’s tightly. Her face near Jack’s ear. She had as much of her naked body pressed against Jack’s as she could without risking the mystic sigils that covered Jack’s face and chest. Without stopping her whispering chant into Jack’s ear, she gave Friday a glance that spoke volumes.

“Cannot guide Jacqueline through the ritual and soothe your fears, she,” Friday said gently. “Be patient, you.”

“Then you explain it,” Quinn countered. “I can feel your enchantment twisting her. This is supposed to free her mind, not cage it further.”

“The drug has created a warped perception of reality,” Friday said soothingly. “Will take anything real, she, and weave it into the delusion. That is why these curses are so potent. Cannot be fought with truth, they. Instead, must give her something better to believe, we. Something she wants more.”

“You are lying to her,” Quinn said flatly. “This is merely replacing one false reality for another.”

“Yes, but do not seek to control her, we,” Friday said.

“Both are unacceptable,” Quinn said angrily. He felt helpless in the face of his mistress’ torment. He had failed. He should not have let her dismiss him. If he had been present when she had been poisoned, he would have known. He could have acted. Now, Jack’s sanity and self control were in danger. He blamed himself.

“What is believed rarely coincides with what is true,” Friday continued softly. “And belief is nearly always stronger.” The Nivalese doctor put a gentle hand on Quinn’s burly shoulder. “Know Jaqueline little, I,” she continued. “Have noticed, I, that seeks answers, she, even when they may not be liked.”

“That is true,” Quinn nodded solemnly.

“So deceive her, we, by convincing her that what she wishes were true, is,” Friday smiled.