Book 3: Chapter 36
At the end of a dirty street, on a twisting series of back alleys, stood a small building. Its windows were dark and covered in dust. It was here that Paskal slowly made his way, carefully checking behind him to ensure he had not been followed, before he slipped inside. Exhaustion clouded his features, but after he had let himself in through the front doorway, he paused, taking a moment to regain his composure. As difficult as the fight against the necromancers and the undead horde of zombies they controlled had been, his many years as a gang leader told him that what was to come would be even harder. Fighting was easy. After all, his strength lay in crushing anything in front of him, not in navigating the tricky politics of leading a large gang. Hearing murmurs ahead, he realized that many of the gang's surviving members had arrived before him.
Dozens of them had fled throughout the fight, and while he doubted any of those who had run early were here, those who had stayed until the end or close to it had gathered together, no doubt to determine what should come next. Walking on quiet feet, he made his way down the hall, pausing just outside the door as he listened to the voices inside.
"We should leave the city," spoke up one of the gang members, a large burly man with a black beard streaked with dried blood from a cut on his cheek. "If we don't, we'll be crushed once the army comes."
"You really think we can get out of the city?" another of the gang members snarled.
This was the voice of one of Paskal's lieutenants, a wiry man with a knife-like gaze.
"The entire city's going to be impossible to move around in. It was already locked down, but that's going to be nothing compared to the guard on the gates now. Even getting out of the district will be impossible for a good long while. I don't know if you saw, but the army was moving in, which means this entire district is going to be under martial law as soon as the sun rises."
"There are ways," the big bearded man said, not cowed in the least by the fierce glare directed his way. "This gang is dead in the water. We're done, I tell you, done."
"Oh, are we?"
Paskal's voice caused the room to fall silent, and as he strode in, he looked around with a cold glare, finally fixing it on the bearded man who had spoken before.
"That's funny. Last time I checked, I was the one in charge of this gang, and nobody told me that it was done."
His face pale, the bearded man mumbled something and tried to sit down, not wanting to draw Paskal's ire, but the Brass Tiger Syndicate's gang leader had never been one to allow things to slide. Fierce energy swirled in the room, and the bearded man's eyes widened, but before he could shout, an ethereal paw slammed down on top of him, crushing his body into bloody paste. As the stench of blood filled the room, Paskal looked around, his expression fierce.
"The Brass Tiger Syndicate is my gang, and until I say we're done, we're not going anywhere. We rest tonight, and in the morning, we'll gather everyone once again to make sure we can maintain our territory. Well be hunting down anyone who deserted and decorating the graves of those we lost with bouquets made from the cowards guts. Any questions?"
Cowed by the brutal violence he had displayed, no one dared say a word, and with a sneering look at the corpse of his former gang member, Paskal stalked out of the room and up the stairs to the second floor. Entering the gang's office, he sat at the desk, pulling a bottle of liquor from one of the drawers, and took a big gulp. This building was one of the gang's safe houses, the most hidden and well-stocked of them. It was here that the Brass Tiger Syndicate had weathered many a storm, but that wasn't the only reason Paskal had come to this hideout. After listening to make sure no one had come up the stairs after him, he placed the bottle down on the desk, and slipped over to the bookshelf set against one of the walls.
With quick fingers, he undid a series of hidden latches, and slid the bookshelf aside on its greased rails, pausing twice to make sure no one was nearby. Behind the bookshelf, set in a hollow in the wall, was a large safe, along with three boxes filled with thin gold wafers. This was where Paskal hid the most precious of the gang's resources from prying eyes and sticky fingers. Grabbing a bag, he was about to start filling it, when he heard a muffled knock at the door downstairs and froze. Stepping to the window, he peered down and saw a familiar figure, standing with three of her men.
Gero, Paskal snarled, furious at being interrupted.
Thinking for a moment, he put his bag back and resealed the bookshelf. He would have to come up with a good reason to send Gero away before he continued. As much as he spoke of staying and rebuilding the gang, he knew it was a lost cause. Even if the other gangs overlooked the fact that the Brass Tiger Syndicate had not been able to hold against the zombie attack, he had lost too many men to maintain his position as one of the Underworld's seats and if he lost his seat on the council, it would only be a matter of time until he and all of his men were dead. No, better to leave the city, and try again somewhere else. His plan had been to gather his resources and make a getaway while the gang slowly reassembled, but Geros arrival threatened to disrupt that plan. Making sure the bookshelf was secured, he grabbed the bottle off the table, and took another swig, glaring menacingly at the door as there was a knock.
"Come in," he growled, and a moment later the door opened, revealing Gero Twin Blade of the Ebony Association standing in the hall.
Looks like this is the place, Delrisa said, adjusting the cowl on her cloak.
Indeed, Isabelle replied, her hair shifting in the nonexistent wind, as if blown by an unseen force. It appears he is upstairs. Would you like to do the honors, or should I?
Thinking for a moment, Delrisa glanced at Isabelle and then shook her head.
I'm better suited to taking care of the ones below. It will allow me to sate my appetite. Besides, entering buildings has always been a challenge, and I doubt our dear gang leader would be excited to invite me in if I knocked at his window.
Chuckling, Isabelle nodded, and her figure flashed, vanishing into the night. Pulling her robe tight, Delrisa stalked forward, approaching the door to the safe house. Inside, the men were all quiet, shaken by the dreadful violence of the night.
Man, dawn can't come soon enough, one of the men muttered.
As if to answer his words, a pounding on the door caused him to jump, and he looked from one of the gang members to the other, but none of them moved. There was a pounding again, a hurried staccato, somehow sounding more urgent than the first. Gripping his sword tightly, the lieutenant with the knife-like face stood up and took a deep breath, making his way into the hall. He could hear somebody outside the door muttering. Reaching for the latch, he paused.
Who is it? he asked.
There was a brief silence outside, and then the muffled voice spoke again, this time slightly louder, just loud enough that he could hear.
Is this the Brass Tiger Safe House? I've got a message from the Klein family. For Paskal, the Crusher. Can I come in?
There was something magnetic about the voice, something friendly and comforting, and after adjusting his grip on his sword, he undid the latch and cracked the door open, peering out at the figure in the robe. What met his eyes was the most beautiful face he had ever seen, and that same magnetic, hypnotic voice.
It's cold out here. Won't you let me in?
Mechanically nodding, he opened the door, realizing a moment too late what he had just done as Delrisa lunged forward. Her long nails stabbed deep into his chest and her other hand grabbed him around the throat, choking off the cry that rose to his lips. With one swift motion, she pulled him through the doorway while maintaining a firm grip on his throat. The crack of his neck was audible in the early morning air, and she tossed his body aside without looking at it. A moment later, she was in the hall, her eyes fixed on the room where the rest of the gang members had gathered.
Upstairs, Paskal was hurriedly shoving the gang's treasures into a big bag, when a faint shiver ran down his spine and he spun around. His senses were going wild, informing him that there was somebody else in the room, some sort of threat. Yet he saw nothing. Dawn wasn't far away but the darkness outside the window was still thick, and after looking around for a minute or two, Paskal chuckled to himself and shook his head.
"Fighting zombies all night has made me jumpy, he said, giving the shadows a hard look.
As he turned back around, a flicker of movement in the window caught his attention, and with a roar, he spun, his hand slashing out, unleashing an ethereal paw that sent streams of energy ripping through everything in its path. His slash carved through the walls, shattering the window where he had seen the movement, forcing Isabelle, who had been hiding in the reflection of the window pane, to manifest. Her hair spun, blocking the attack, and with a shriek that sent him staggering backward, she unleashed a fierce needle that darted towards him.
At the same moment, screams erupted from downstairs, and the smell of blood soon filled the building. Realizing that they were under attack, Paskal let out a roar and lunged forward, only to be forced to jerk his head to the side, disrupting his attack, when the needle Isabelle sent out stabbed towards his lips. Slapping it aside with a swipe of his hand, he leapt towards Isabelle, who darted out of the way, her fingers raking across his shoulder as she moved. Four thin scratches appeared under her razor-sharp claws, and Paskal felt his heart clench as they began to bleed.
Though most believed that his power lay in the ethereal tiger he could summon, the truth was that his true strength was contained in the brass coating of his skin. It had been ages since Paskal had ever suffered a wound, and even in the fight against the zombies, he had been able to rely on his natural defense to keep him safe. The feeling of nails ripping through his skin caused dread to rise in his heart, and it only took him a fraction of a second to decide to abandon the fight.
