The Eldritch Trials

Chapter 6: No, really, all through the night

Shane

I walk into the Alchemist's shop a little after midnight. High time I were home. However. Now I'm curious.
The shop is stuffed to the brim with artifacts, and there's smoke from a forge out back. When I step in I'm nearly hit on the head by a set of axes that hang a bit too low near the doors.
"Didn't know you were back in the states."
"Hello Mr. Wrigley," I say, smiling, "Got an artifact for you, can you date it for me?"
"Let me see," he says, getting up from his stool and coming up the glass counter. The case beneath us is filled just of precious stones.
"I found it in a tomb, I'm trying to see how old it is," I say, laying the dagger that Mac had used down on the counter. "I estimate the tomb it was in had been sealed for hundreds of years but—I'm second guessing myself."
"Hmm, let me see," he turns it over, "I need young eyes—-Angel, can you come here a minute please?"
A teenage boy, probably a bit older than Mac, comes out from the back. He's wearing a singed apron and his curly hair is full of soot. He glances at me briefly before coming to his mentor. Alchemists often do take apprentices right out of school, or offer them internships while they study chemistry. I'm fond of Alchemy but never had the patience for it.
"EM, Emmet Malloy—," the boy says, tapping the inscription on the bottom of the handle.
"That who forged it?" I ask.
"No, who it belonged to, this was forged for one person," Mr. Wrigley tells me.
"And how do you know who he is?" I ask.
"He got famous for locking himself in a tomb with a vampire king—the most famous vampire king, Czar Tusand, to prevent an outbreak, it's a silver blade," the boy scoffs, clearly thinking I should have known this. I don't personally memorize every single bit of magic related trivia. That said I know who Czar Tusand is he's a legendary vampire king. Vampires gain king status by killing the entire coven that turned them. Feeding on that much vampire blood makes them absurdly dangerous. Only a few vampires have even achieved that bloodthirsty (pun intended) of a feat. I hunt vampires so that trivia is my thing.
"The famous alchemist Hector Ruthfield forged all of Malloy's weapons. Malloy died in that tomb, presumably, and Ruthfield disappeared not long after. One of the greatest alchemists, we all study his principals, but after Malloy's death? He disappeared without a trace, some say he threw himself into the sea, some say his ghost still walks around the tomb, searching for his lover," Mr. Wrigley says.
"He's got faerie tales for everything," Angel scoffs, as he goes to rearrange some display.
"How long ago was this?" I ask, frowning.
"Nearly seven hundred years."
"Great," we're looking at at least eight lifetimes? If Ruthfield knew Malloy was going to reincarnate—did he too? And do the vampires still have a beef with this guy who is now—almost definitely my kid? Calm down, maybe Mac ten lifetimes ago just borrowed Malloy's personal vampire slaying dagger. I don't suppose there was any nice likely to survive to an old age person in this story who probably maxed out the dagger? No, just the guy who killed a vampire king a locked tomb with it. This is fine.
"You doing all right Shane?"
"Moderately," I say, taking the dagger back, "Tell me do you have anything—I suppose silver, newly forged? As in forged by you no one has ever used it before? I need something for my son."
"Old stuff has more magic in it, easier to use," the boy, Angel says, coming over, "Especially for a kid."
"Yeah, not this kid," who has touched every goddamn magic object known to man and over maxed it before throwing it away because apparently that's his one strategy of combat. I'm not saying I haven't done it. I'm saying the kid needs help.
"Angel don't sass—go on, fetch one of those blade's we'd been working on. The problem with the small vampire blades is, well, you don't want to get close to a vampire—,"
"Yeah, no, this is just—precautionary," I sigh, as they bring me a clean silver dagger, nearly six inches long. Long enough stab through a heart. And the silver alone will keep vampires off of him.
"Got a vampire nest you're investigating, Soren?" Angel asks.
"It's just Shane," I say, emptying one pocket, "Five Drachmas enough?"
"You are a treasure, Shane, these are so hard to come by," Wrigley takes four putting one back in my hand, "Don't tell me you're going out tonight, lad."
"Going to the boy and his lovely mother," I say, picking up the dagger, "Night now."
I go out into the damp, misty night. Hopefully poor Gale is off making poor choices with the pond nymphs. They were my only friends and playmates in that cursed house when—well I was entirely sneaking off to fight cryptids and vampires at his age, but it's nice that he's not. I'm pleased Mac doesn't do that either but now I'm worried about that kid. When is the latent idiocy going to surface?
I reach the apartment by one am, and am pleased to see a light on in the window.
"You ought not open doors for strange men," I say, as Nel opens the door.
"You'd never get in," she grins, letting me in, "I'd just given up on you."
"Don't you dare," I say, kissing her lips.
"Ew, get a room," Mac says, he's at the table, fussing with candles and stones by the look of it. No doubt they were scrying; it is a full moon.
"Why do we have you?" I mumble, still kissing Nel. She's pretty as ever, hair pulled back tight, out of her nurses clothes so she's in a long black dress. I can still see lines on her shoulders from where her work bra dug in. I kiss her neck then shoulder swiftly.
"Very gross, can we not invest in a memory potion next time you do that around me?" Mac asks, coughing, and lying his head on the table.
"Shut up, you love us," I say, handing him the silver dagger.
"I swear you hand me silver to make sure I haven't turned," he says, taking it and handing it back.
"For you, keep it, I'm not lugging it around till your birthday," I say, as Nel warps her arms around me.
"Really?" He asks, sitting up a little, "It's nice—dad—,"
"You're welcome, don't use it but—," should vampires have a grudge against you for killing one of their most famous kings. Like they probably still have wanted posters of this guy. Tusand's a reign of terror was over a hundred years, Malloy was a hero to have killed him, we still talk about Tusand and are glad he's dead for good.
"You're not using it, except in self defense," Nel says, hugging me around the waist and subtly trying to figure out if I've been cursed, (I have).
"Thanks," Mac smiles, shyly, he smiles like Nel, tipping his head almost hiding the grin, when he's really happy.
"Look, I brought dinner," I say, swinging my bag off my back before Nel notices where the curse hit me (right rib, third one up, it's not a big deal I just can't drink water until it's lifted).
"Did you get cursed?" Nel asks, going to remove my jacket.
"Did you steal all this?" Mac asks, unpacking my bag and stuffing a muffin in his mouth.
"No, they're my family it's borrowing—Ow—,"
"Damn you, Shane!" Nel laughs, finding of course the curse, "You want me to lift that or what?"
"No hurry I'm just becoming an alcoholic," I say, uncorking the wine.
"Can I have some?" Mac asks.
"Absolutely not, unless your mother says yes in which case sure," I say.
"Not going to ask why you're becoming an alcoholic—you're lucky I prepare my curse lifting stuff when I think you're coming home."
"I'm just lucky," I say, kissing the top of her head as she weaves her way under my arm to put the poultice on the curse.
"Who cursed you?" Mac asks.
"Some very petty vampires that aren't undead anymore they're just dead," I say, wincing as the spell slowly leaches the curse from me.
"Both of you," Nel mutters, bringing the poultice over to Mac, "I've got extra, come here." He has two unbreakable curses, which Nel in her magic can sooth but unlike my minor curse they are never going to go away. On the contrary the welts from them have gotten bigger and more painful as he ages.
"I didn't do anything," Mac says innocently.
"In a past life you did," I mutter. Several past lives. Why is he back? He's clearly been with important people who helped him with the reincarnation spell? And aren't they going to be looking for him?
"You both did, you're the worst people to argue with each other," Nel says, coming back around to me. I tug her into my lap, an arm around her waist.
"We really are—was Gale all right when you left?" Mac asks.
"Yeah, he was fine, avoiding his family that's what you do in that damn house," I mutter. May have set him up to get mauled by water nymphs but I'm sure they had a nice chat once they realized he wasn't me. It's good for him. I gave him a new amplifier he'll have fun.
"What's that mean?" Nel asks.
"Means I'm glad I'm here," I say, kissing her temple.
Mac makes his excuses to slip off to bed, he sleeps up in the loft so we have to kiss very very quietly and then sneak onto the mattress in the closet behind the bath, which is great because I'm excellent at sneaking places. It's like my primary talent next to kissing this woman's mouth.
She tugs me into the closet and crawls into my arms readily, slowly taking off my shirt while I kiss her. My hands work their way around her dress, checking her over.
We don't talk about it a lot because I'm aware the entire baby incident was far more upsetting for her than it was for me, however, it was not great for me, escaping kidnapping with barely my sanity, heavily cursed, confused, starving, half dead, trying to find this girl I hooked up with over the summer because I was terrified some curse lain on me had fallen back on her, only to discover that yeah she'd had my baby while I was gone, and I didn't know how long that was, so I wasn't even aware it could happen. I also hadn't really generally thought about the fact that she could be pregnant. Yeah I was aware I'd slept with her but actually having a child seemed far fetched. I'm aware I'm stupid. But showing up to the flat to find her holding our dying infant child, me also dying, was a really not great experience. Again, we don't talk about it because you see, it was far worse for her bearing the child out of wedlock. If someone you know and love had both legs cut off, and nearly died, you don't get to talk about how you got exactly one finger cut off. It's just not something you bring up.
That said, I get a weird flashback of paranoia and now I have haunting dreams of her sobbing alone. They cut her open. She says she was all right but there's a scar on her belly they cut her open, and she was alone. Let alone losing her job and having nowhere to go and being brave enough to keep the kid and not give it up for adoption or have an abortion or whatever when I was apparently believed to be dead or turned. So ever since I found her standing there with the child, I have nightmares of her bleeding out on the operating table, walking home alone in the dark carrying our precious child.
"I will marry you," I mumble, kissing her shoulder all the way up to her neck then back down the other side.
"Don't you dare," she whispers, letting me finally finish with her dress.
I kiss her stomach where the Caesarian scar is, then up her chest, moving pendants out of my way to kiss the hollow of her neck.
"You're hurt," she says, sliding her hands down my side. I'm badly bruised, but nothing time won't heal.
"I'm fine now," I say, smiling as I press my face against hers, "I always come back, don't I?"
"Looks like it," she says, cool little hands in my hair.
"I tell you often enough, how great that kid is, and how glad I am we have him?" For however long that is with as sick as he is? I know how easily she could have given him up. Plenty of people want to adopt, let alone she could have gotten rid of it. I wouldn't have blamed her for either. Would I have kidnapped the kid back from whoever she gave it to? Yeah, definitely, that's not the point though.
"Just," she says, smiling but her eyes are dark.
"What do you know about Emmett Malloy?" I ask.
"Some—vampire hunter or something?" She asks, frowning and shaking her head a little.
"I found a dagger, used to belong to him. Mac had handled it," I say, rubbing her back.
"What do you mean?" She asks, lying down next to me.
"The last time this dagger was handled was over seven hundred years ago—and by all accounts it was only ever used by Malloy, I mean, somebody else could have but—still, that's a hell of a lot of reincarnations," I say.
"It would explain the curses."
"Yeah but you did all those rituals when you were carrying him, right?" I ask, cuddling her against my side. Witches have a variety of rituals, to check the health of their offspring, and if there's a wayward spirit trying to possess their child. Now, we don't know that it's a possession, and she couldn't stop a reincarnation. But she'd be able to question the spirit and the like.
"Yes, of course," she says, quietly, "But I'd never done it before, and I was alone. I might have done it wrong. I mean clearly I did— he is reincarnated. And I wasn't able to stop the curses either. I was in a bad spot. And I didn't even know I was pregnant for a while."
"I know, I'm sorry," I sigh, kissing her temple.
"You didn't know either," she says, pressing against me, "Anyway what does it matter?"
"Maybe nothing. I don't know, my parents freaked out that I'd come back, swore up and down that they would make me behave and they refused to tell me what they found out. Later, during an argument, my mother admitted that during a scrying the witches did help her contact my spirit. Apparently I wasn't very polite."
"Sounds like you."
"Just about. But point is I think she knew who I was, or could've if I was anybody. Later on, witches said I only had one past life or maybe two, so a short reincarnation cycle, and no Necromancers or the like showed up to claim me so it was probably just a gift for doing someone a favor," I say. It's not like it does me any good, I don't remember any past lives and this one is fine but I'm not aware of any benefit.
"I'm sure it's the same with Mac. These things happen. Necromancers bestow the odd reincarnation, either for a favorite or for an act of service. Maybe he saved ones life or something. He doesn't know anything more than you do," Nel says.
"Yeah you're right—I just don't want anything coming after him. He's sick enough with the damn curses," I sigh.
"No matter how many tombs you break into, or how many vampires and werewolves you slay, you're not going to break an unbreakable curse," she says, "You know that, right?"
"I do," but I'd like it not to be true. I'd like to find some cure to fix him. He's my son I should be able to save him, shouldn't I? No, I'm useless. I wasn't even here when he was born nor did I marry his mother so he has none of my magic. I've done nothing for him. The one person I ought not fail, and I have, completely.
"We are fine, we're us. I like us," she says, rolling over a bit, "You're good. I promise. You take good care of your son."
"Then why are you crying?" I ask, tracing a tear on her cheek, "Don't weep."
"I love you," she says, kissing my lips quickly.
"I love you too," I should have married you. I should have done a lot of things. But none of that is going to change tonight. I kiss her again, tugging a blanket over us even in the dark. Forget it all. Forget about monsters, and demons, and vampires, and werewolves, and every other evil thing you're meant to be protecting them from. Think of just her tonight.