The Last Smile in Sunder City (The Fetch Phillips Archives #1) - Luke Arnold Page 0,29

was expecting battle-scarred mercenaries with bloody knuckles and eye-patches. Not only expected it, I wanted it. I could convince myself that there was justice in ridding the world of a few heartless murderers. That story would be nice, wouldn’t it? We could all go home happy, our bellies full of the sweet satisfaction of putting bad men in their place. But these weren’t villains. They were kids. Sure, they were dumb as hell and had faces even a mother would punch, but they were just too young. Misguided and scared and confused about what it would take to make them men. I’d been the same at their age. Worse, I was even like that later. I don’t know if that made me hate them more or less but it certainly gave the devil pause. My grip on the steel lifted.

“In the old days, Dog-men lived well,” the redhead continued, “Humans who merged with animals and thought that somehow it made them special. It made them sick. They dirtied their blood with magic and now they’ve paid the price.”

He was talking about a Werewolf.

Long before Sunder City, the village of Perimoor was built atop the cliffs of Kar. On the eastern coast of Archetellos, a sacred peak stretched out towards the horizon, pointing to where the moon would often rise.

There, they learned the secret of how to bring the spirits of humanoids and animals together. For reasons that have never been explained to me, when a Human and an animal stood atop that mountain on a particular night and performed a particular spell, they would be joined as one. The warriors who discovered this became the first family of Werewolves. Already a rich and influential city, their new powers only increased their strength.

“There is a Dog-man living on these streets and it’s up to us to put him down,” rallied the redhead. Before the crowd could cheer with approval, I coughed loudly and shushed them.

“We’re not going to do that.”

I didn’t move when I spoke. They all did, though. Every little punchbag face turned in the candlelight.

“Oh?” asked a long-haired kid with a milky complexion. “Why not?”

He thought he looked tough in his black leather suit, but the long knife in his fingers had only ever cut crusts.

“Because you were babies when the Magum had their power. They didn’t oppress you. That was just your mommies and daddies filling your heads with stories of mistreatment and the great inter-species war. That war never existed. It was just jealousy and bruised egos. If you want to grow up old enough to make the same mistakes, then you better find some smarter role models.”

“Like you?”

The pasty, leather-clad kid was wasted. It gave him the liquid courage he needed to step forward and raise the kitchen knife in my direction.

The steel slid down my forearm and I caught the end in my fist. I waited till he raised his arm in a nice, big, threatening move that exposed his fingers. He didn’t see the flick of my wrist till the metal rod cracked him across the knuckles.

He screamed like a monkey on fire. Blood spattered across the marble floor as he tumbled back into the other nervous hoodlums. From the look in the eyes of half the kids, you’d think they’d never seen anybody bleed before. Maybe they hadn’t. Some of them were still attempting to look threatening, but not a single one stepped forward.

“What did you do to the Vampires?” I asked.

Silence. Nervous little eyes bounced in acne-covered heads.

“What Vampires?” asked a tall blond kid with his hands in the air.

“In the teahouse. Which one of you wants to take credit?”

The bloody-fingered thug with dribble on his chin yelled up at me. “You crazy asshole!”

I raised my metal bar and the boy backed away.

“You want me to break the other one?” I asked him. “I’m not sure a teenage boy can survive without one good hand.”

“We didn’t touch any stinking Vamps!” he screamed, and his spit caught the torchlight as it flew through the air.

I looked around at the timid faces as their bravado dropped like an executioner’s ax. There was no guile or secrecy in the cowering kids, just an open-faced desire to get out of there and back to bed.

“He’s telling the truth,” said a voice from my left. It was a girl with a shaved head. “We haven’t hurt anyone yet. It’s just talk.”

Embarrassed grunts and nervous nods came from the candlelit faces around the room. I sighed to myself.