Chapter 9
Dalca woke, which was surprising.
What's more, he awoke on a bed, which was decidedly pleasant. The pain he was feeling wasn't, but he'd felt pain before. You didn't spend centuries living without feeling centuries of pain. He could live with pain, because that's what living was.
Dalca pushed himself up, and began to second guess that sentiment.
"Lie back," Jean said from across the room. "You need to rest."
"How long was I out?" he asked, ignoring her. Looking around, he realized they were probably in the nicest motel room Goslar had to offer.
"All night," she replied. When he managed to turn his head her way, he saw that she was sitting on a chair near the door. It seemed she'd taken up a sentry position.
Dalca wasn't sure what she was defending against, considering that the two wizards were already in the room.
"It looks like it survived," Wagner muttered darkly from the other bed.
Dalca shifted to look over at him, and saw that the man was wrapped head to toe in bandages. Beside him lay his apprentice, who was similarly attired. "So did you," Dalca observed. "You're a persistent roach, I'll give you that."
Wagner's smoky cobalt eyes narrowed, but he didn't rise to the bait. Dalca shifted his gaze back to Jean. "What's our situation?"
"Mara is sulking outside," the girl replied. When Dalca quirked an eyebrow at her, Jean shrugged. "She didn't like healing them."
Wagner just grunted on the other bed, clearly not entirely excited about it himself. "You got the girl clear?" Dalca asked.
Jean nodded. "I dropped her off at the police station after we finished dragging you all out from beneath the rubble. Barely got you out before the place went up in flames." Her gaze drifted back toward the window, where she kept a dutiful eye on the crack between the curtains. Dalca could see she was tired, and likely hadn't rested. "I saw some of the Wolfshits escaping, and we've been worried they'll come back to finish us off."
"Here. Swap with me," Dalca said as he sat up. Jean turned back, ready to protest, but Dalca waived her off as he managed to get his legs off the bed. "You're no good dead on your feet. I can keep an eye out."
"But—"
"Don't sweat it," Dalca said as he forced himself up. He made sure the pain didn't show through on his face, but there was no concealing it from his posture. "They won't bother coming after us."
Jean rose reluctantly as he approached. "Why do you say that?"
"Because they think we're dead," he replied as he settled into her seat.
The girl hovered for a moment, before finally heading to the restroom. After a couple of minutes, she returned, and slipped beneath the covers of the bed Dalca had just vacated. It didn't take long for her soft snores to sound across the room.
It was obvious the girl had pushed herself to manage things on her own. While Mara had likely handled the majority of the healing, it had most likely fallen to Jean to dig Dalca and the wizards out from the rubble. She was good with kinetics, and she was stronger than she looked. But it's no small matter to move material in a partially collapsed building that happens to be on fire.
If she'd made any mistakes, it likely would have come down on her, and crushed the rest of them in the process. And even assuming that had gone off without a hitch, she'd then been left with the unenviable task of dragging three grown men to the vehicle, ditching the sacrificial girl, finding a place to stay, and then transporting them inside without anyone noticing.
A long night had been made longer by necessity, as she'd taken up guard duty. Dalca had no doubt that Mara could have handled things, but Jean wasn't the type to take chances. Not with two wardens so close at hand.
One of the two was still awake, his head rotating stiffly as he silently studied Dalca and the girl. Wagner was clearly trying to figure out exactly what was going on, and eventually voiced his concerns. When he did, he did so softly, as if to avoid waking the other two.
"Why did your servant save us?" Wagner asked quietly.
"I don't know," Dalca lied. "I would have left you buried."
"Of that I have no doubt," Wagner replied darkly. He glanced at the girl. "She's a mortal?"
"As mortal as you," Dalca confirmed. "Although considering your ability to survive, I'm beginning to wonder."
Wagner considered that for a moment. "How did you coerce her into serving you?"
"She didn't have a choice in the matter," Dalca said as he kept an eye on the slim beam of light filtering through the curtains.
"I've heard that about you," Wagner said softly. When Dalca turned, it was to find the man's shadowed eyes fixed on his own. "Dubhlainn."
Dalca couldn't help but smile. "Ah. Become a bit of a fan, have we?"
Wagner scowled. "I made it my life's mission to find out everything about you."
"I'm honored, Sunshine," Dalca said as his gaze shifted back to the window. "So what did you learn?"
Dalca asked lightly, even though his interest was anything but light. There were few that knew the details of his situation, and he'd worked hard to keep it that way. Dalca had several contacts in the White Council, who were supposed to monitor any updates to their files on him.
But as none of them had told him that Wagner had survived, he was beginning to question their loyalty. That, or their efficiency. Incompetence was even worse than betrayal, in many ways. Regardless, they'd failed him in that aspect, and failure was not something he tolerated.
"I know the origin of your nickname," Wagner informed him. "I know when and where you first earned it. I traced you through history, looking for any stories of a man bearing a black blade."
"Is that all?" Dalca asked, disappointed.
Wagner's face grew flushed, something Dalca could see even in the dark room. "I know you can change your appearance at will. You take mortal apprentices frequently. You collect the swords of the fallen, among other prizes; and that's not your original sword," he said, nodding toward the sheathed blade sitting beside Dalca's chair. Jean had kept it close at hand, with her own sitting on the other side.
"And?" Dalca prompted.
"You're a blood drinker," Wagner continued, although he seemed to be floundering. "Which likely means you're a vampire of some sort."
At that, Dalca gave a soft laugh. "Come on, Sunshine. I told you seventy years ago that I wasn't a vampire." He shook his head sadly. "All that time, and you haven't managed to find out anything about me?"
"I know you're not of the Sidhe," he said. "Iron does not burn you, nor does sunlight. And after last night, I learned that fire doesn't either."
Dalca just rolled his eyes. "I thought you said you spent time researching me, not reading what was readily available in the White Council files."
Wagner's eyes narrowed. "I know about Aibell."
Even though he'd prepared himself for it, the name hit Dalca like a battering ram. It took everything he had not to skewer the man on the spot, and even more to act as if the name meant nothing to him. All he did was blink as he looked at the light creeping into the room. "Good on you, Sunshine,' he whispered. "But that's ancient history now. Have you found anything of relevance?"
The old wizard remained quiet for a minute, as if tempted to linger on that name. But eventually he looked away. "Why are you doing this?" he asked, rather than admitting he'd found nothing.
"What? You mean looking for the demon?" Dalca replied. He was pleased that the wizard most inclined to discover his secrets had failed to do so, and let it show with a lopsided smile.
The grin only seemed to irritate the wizard more. "Yes," Wagner replied, his voice terse with frustration. "You did everything you could to summon it seventy years ago. But now you seem to want to stop it." The wizard looked up at him. "Did you have a falling out?"
Dalca laughed again. "I haven't seen that thing since that night," he admitted. "And even then, I thought it was just a figment of my imagination."
Wagner's frown deepened. "Then why were you trying to stop the ritual?"
Dalca pursed his lips for a moment. "How about an equitable trade?" he said instead of answering. "You tell me how you survived all those years ago, and I'll tell you why I'm here."
It was the wizard's turn to snort derisively. "I'm not telling you anything."
Dalca shrugged, and turned his attention back to the window. "So be it."
The room remained silent for several minutes. Dalca could all but hear the wizard arguing with himself; weighing the pros and cons of submitting himself to questioning. Wizards horde knowledge like dragons horde prizes. Giving information goes against their very nature.
Dalca waited the wizard out, knowing the only thing that would override a wizard's sense of secrecy is their desire to ferret out a secret. If he could learn anything about Dalca by sharing, he'd be willing to pay.
"Fine," Wagner finally said. "I'll tell you, but no reneging on your end."
Dalca turned to the wizard and crossed his heart.
The old man took a deep breath. "The truth is, I don't know." Dalca started to protest, but Wagner shot him a look. "I thought I was done for. I tried for a death curse, but everything faded away before I could gather my thoughts."
"That's it?" Dalca pressed, disappointed.
Wagner just shook his head. "I don't know. When I eventually woke, I was in a Council facility receiving treatment. They said Wizard McCoy had brought me in."
That tracked with what Dalca recalled of the evening. Whether Wagner knew of McCoy's other name or not, he couldn't be sure. It wasn't general knowledge, and most of the Council itself had no clue as to the Blackstaff's role in its secret activities.
Still, as powerful as the Blackstaff was, Dalca had never heard of it reviving the dead. At least, not in any way they'd appreciate. "Your heart stopped," he observed.
Wagner frowned. "I told you I didn't have much to offer."
Dalca nodded. "So you did."
Wagner waited expectedly as Dalca settled in, his attention returning to the window. When he neglected to speak up quickly, the old wizard prodded him. "Your turn."
"Huh?" Dalca said, turning back in surprise. "Oh, that? Yeah, I'm not going to tell you anything. I lied."
Dalca turned back to the front, a slight smile playing across the half of his face that the enraged wizard couldn't see. He could feel the power that Wagner had begun to pull into himself, clearly ready to resume the fight they'd started in the basement two nights prior.
He could also feel it as the bandages wrapped around the wizard began to glow, and the power slipped away.
"What the…" Wagner began, looking down in shock at the white fabric wound tightly around his limbs. Faint traces of old runes were barely visible in the meager light shining from within the wraps.
"Healing spells," Dalca informed him. "Similar to the bandage you used in the basement of the sanitarium."
"But," Wagner began, only to shoot a glance at Jean. She appeared to have slept through the exchange, and was on her side facing away.
Jean might not be good at healing magic, but that didn't mean Dalca let it pass. He'd taught her what he knew of such things, so that she could take care of herself. Unfortunately the spells didn't work on Dalca, which meant he was still dependent on Mara for more severe injuries.
"Standard protocol," Dalca continued. "Those spells will siphon any magic you draw in, and direct it toward the pre-crafted healing spells." Dalca's smile grew. "You could take the bandages off, of course. But I'd reach you before the first strip was unwound."
Wagner settle back in the bed, clearly annoyed. But his quick temper had abated, and the glow slowly faded from the bandages as he stopped trying to draw in power. "Creative."
Dalca shrugged. "Not really. You wizards only seem to concern yourself with learning how to blow things up, rather than doing anything useful."
Truth be told, Dalca hadn't been sure Jean had prepared the bandages with the siphoning spell until after Wagner had gotten worked up. But as they'd discussed the possibility of crossing paths with wizards without having thorned manacles at hand, Jean had known to take precautions however she could.
"So," Dalca said. "Do you plan on pursuing the demon?"
Wagner looked up. "Yes."
Dalca nodded. "Very well. My apprentice and I will assist you and yours."
It was Wagner's turn to blink. "What?" he asked. "Why—"
"You can't defeat it on your own," Dalca said, cutting him off. "Neither can I. It's much too powerful for that. It will take all three of us to kill it."
"Three of us?" Wagner asked, clearly not understanding.
"Yes," Dalca confirmed. "You, me, and Schröter."
Wagner's face twisted up in confusion. "The old sorcerer?"
"I'd hardly call him that," Dalca protested. "But yes, the old man that actually summoned him up."
"But he'd have to be…" Wagner said, trailing off as he did the math.
"Just what I thought," Dalca said. "Until I saw Herzog last night."
"Herzog?" Wagner asked.
"The tall fellow of unnatural durability," Dalca said. "I seem to recall catching the end of your fight with him? Where he was mopping the floor with the two of you?"
"I recall," Wagner bit out.
"Herzog was the leader of the Wolfsherzen back during the war," Dalca explained. "The lycanthrope pack that served Jürgen Schröter. The good Hauptsturmführer was in charge of summoning up a Moloch demon to help fight the Council. And it turned out he was better at it than I thought."
"I think I remember him," Wagner said, his eyes narrowed as he thought back on his capture. "He's the one you turned me over to after…"
"Yes," Dalca said. "After I captured you."
Wagner frowned. "But he'd be in his nineties at least."
"It seems that Schröter was successful in summoning the Moloch," Dalca explained. "My guess is that he and Herzog have been serving the demon ever since. In return, it's given them some modest power and abilities."
"He did seem better off than he should have, given your attack," Wagner admitted grudgingly. Like all mortals save one, the old wizard would have issues with using magic to kill another mortal. Maybe he was jealous.
Dalca had no such issues, nor did he have qualms about it. "It should have vaporized him. But instead, it seemed to have merely burned him. Did you see that golden liquid covering the wound?" Wagner nodded. "It appeared similar to something his pack-mates had at their disposal in the police warehouse. Although they were hardly as formidable as Herzog."
"So you think this demon… Moloch, you say?" Wagner asked.
"He's a Moloch," Dalca confirmed. When that caused Wagner to frown, he explained. "Moloch isn't so much a name as a title. A whole bunch of old world gods and demons used it back in the day. Sort of like saying its the 'King of' something. Only Schröter knew the thing's actual name."
"So this Moloch is with Schröter?" Wagner surmised. "Any guesses as to where he might be?"
Dalca nodded. "I saw him yesterday."
"What?!" Wagner asked, sitting up in shock. Doing so caused him to wince in pain, and the bandages glowed weakly as a latent draw of magic infused them with more power. "Why didn't you kill him?"
"I didn't realize it was him," Dalca admitted. "He's passing himself off as his own son. The head of hair and the slightly different scent threw me. That, and my own assurance that he must be dead by now." Dalca smiled sanely. "It seems you both have that in common."
"So where is he?" Wagner asked.
"I'll show you," Dalca said, before turning his head slightly. "Jean, bring me the map you were using."
The girl's body tensed on the bed, before slowly rolling over. A blush graced her cheeks as she extracted herself from the covers and headed for her bag.
"She's been awake this whole time?" Wagner guessed.
"Both of them have," Dalca confirmed.
Wagner blinked at that, before turning to the prone form beside him. Jonson gave a half-hearted effort to continue feigning sleep, before he too rolled over, his eyes entirely too fresh for someone having just awoken.
Dalca took the proffered map from Jean, who was still embarrassed at being caught out. But surely she must have realized Dalca could hear her rate of breathing, and knew by that and her waking heartbeat that she wasn't sleeping.
"Thank you," he said, before picking up her sword from beside the chair. Wagner managed to stumble to his feet as Dalca drew the pink-tinged blade from its sheath. Dalca paid the wizard no mind as he walked to the bed and put the map down, followed by the sword.
"Pen?" he asked Jean, who quickly moved to comply. After he had it in hand, Dalca circled several points on the map. "Schwalmtal, where it all began. Beelitz, where they've been conducting sacrifices annually for the last seventy years."
"Why there?" Jean asked as Dalca continued to circle other locations. "Why not where Schröter is?" She must have figured it out as well.
"Because you don't shit where you eat. Or eat where you sleep, maybe," Dalca corrected himself, before pointing to the other locations. "Goslar, where they performed the ritual last night. And Magdeburg, where there's another abandoned hospital on the ley line they might have used."
"Ley line?" Jonson asked.
"A dark ley line, to be precise," Dalca said. He looked up with a frown. "Isn't that how you tracked them to the Königsberg Sanatorium last night?"
"No," Wagner said with a shake of his head. "We used a thaumaturgic tracking spell using the golden metal the lycanthropes had growing out of their fingers and mouths."
The wizard shot a satisfied grin as Dalca took a turn at being surprised. He turned to Jean. "We should have thought of that."
The girl shrugged. "The ley line?"
"Right," Dalca said. He laid the sword across the folded map, and drew a line down the edge of the blade. "All of these locations are on the same ley line. Schröter was particular about his ritual, so the ley line is apparently a requirement."
"So he's somewhere along this line?" Wagner asked.
"Yes," Dalca said as he lifted the sword and unfolded the map. "Just not as close as we originally thought to look."
With the map spread out, Dalca lay the sword back down. Once he had the edge lined up again, he ran the pen along the blade, carrying it further to the west. He finished by pulling the blade away enough to circle a city.
"Brussels?" Wagner asked.
"Kastel ter Meeren," Dalca explained. "It's an ancient mansion that was abandoned around the same time that the war ended."
"You think Moloch set up shop there," Jonson surmised.
"The cold," Jean realized, looking up. "When we were there, I felt the same coldness as at the other sites. I thought it was air conditioning."
"Residue from the ley line," Dalca said.
"So that old man…" Jean continued.
"Was Schröter," Dalca all but growled, his eyes narrowing. "Probably had a good laugh about our visit."
"But you suspected him," Jean said. "Your pointed questions about his daughter, and the petting zoo?"
Dalca just shook his head as the two wizards shared a confused glance. "I thought it might be Becker and his daughter, or maybe just the girl, trying to finish off what Schröter had started. J never guessed it was the man himself."
"So we know where they are," Wagner said, his eyes on the map.
"Sure," Dalca said. "And we know there'll be at least three of them there, all gifted with power from Moloch." Dalca quickly explained about Jöhanna Becker's display of unnatural strength in the police warehouse. "And there's probably at least a few more lycanthropes."
"Why do you say that?" Jonson asked.
Dalca gave him a pitying look. "There's always more lackeys. Haven't you ever seen a Bond movie?"
Jonson just rolled his eyes. "Okay. So the four of us—"
"Five," Dalca corrected. "Mara will help."
"Okay, five of us," the young wizard continued, "against three juiced-up worshipers, an unknown number of lackeys, and a demi-god."
"Wagner and I can take Moloch," Dalca said confidently. The others were clearly surprised at that statement, and understandably so after the display from the previous night. "Trust me. We can do it."
"So you're going to make the two of us take on the rest?" Jonson said with mild disbelief. "I don't know if you noticed, but that Herzog fellow was a handful."
"Only because you weren't expecting him," Dalca said. "This time you'll be ready."
The boy didn't seem convinced, and for that matter, neither did Jean.
"So, are you in?" Dalca asked, looking between the wizards.
Wagner grew quiet as he studied the monster he'd dreamed of killing for a lifetime, who was now proposing they work together. Dalca could see that he wasn't comfortable with the thought, nor was he trusting.
"You never said why you wanted to stop Moloch," Wagner finally said. "How can I know you're not looking to gain the demon's power for yourself somehow? That you won't betray us?"
"You have my word," Dalca replied with a crooked smile. "But if that's not enough…"
Dalca bent to Jean's ear, and whispered something to her. Her eyes widened, but she turned to obey. Dalca took the time to retrieve his stiletto knife, which the girl had likely taken pains to dig out of the rubble of the building. He'd have to remember to thank her for that later.
Once she'd returned with one of her ever-present witchery supplies — a silver flask, in this instance — Dalca cut his own palm with the small black blade, and let his blood run into the container. After a considerable amount was deposited inside, he sent power into his palm. The heat quickly cauterized the small wound, cutting off the flow.
Dalca carefully licked away any and all of the blood that had dribbled onto the knife or flask, and then secured the top. Once it was clean and secure, he tossed the flask to Wagner.
The old man stared at it, and then at Dalca, with undisguised shock.
"We all work together to kill Moloch and the others," Dalca said quietly. "Once the demon is dead, and its servitors dead with it, you'll return my blood. Until then, there'll be a truce between us."
Jonson looked to Wagner, who's face was slowly slipping into a more neutral appearance. Dalca could tell that the wizard was tempted to use the blood then and there to end the monster that had once almost killed him. To enact the revenge he'd dreamed of for seven decades.
But the more responsible part of his mind knew that he couldn't stop Moloch and the others on his own. And if Schröter suspected that their location had been compromised, they might already be preparing to move. Which made it unlikely that Wagner could summon up help from the White Council in time. Not with their numbers depleted and spread thin due to the ongoing war with the Red Court.
No, the warden knew that to end the demon, he'd need to work with the monster.
But that didn't mean he had to like it.
"Very well," Wagner bit out, the words like ashes on his breath. "A truce, until the demon is dead."
Dalca smiled. "Excellent."
Tucking the blade away, he turned to Jean. "Where's my stone?"
"Over here," she said, before retrieving a small smooth stone from the side table. She quickly delivered it to him. "Great. Gather our things," he instructed her.
Turning to the wizards, he slipped the communication stone into his pocket. "We'll meet you in Brussels tonight."
"Ah," Jonson said, shooting a glance at Jean. "We're not going together?"
"No," Dalca said. "I've got to get us a little more help to defeat Moloch."
"I thought you said we could manage?" Wagner said, his eyes narrowed as he looked at Dalca's pocket. He'd obviously seen the communication stone, and was wondering just who Dalca would be calling.
"We can," Dalca assured him. "But a little insurance never hurt anyone. We'll work on that while you guys finish healing. Leave the wraps on until you feel good enough to fight for your lives." Dalca retrieved the discarded pen and map, and quickly jotted down an address he recalled from his time in Brussels. "We'll meet you here just before nightfall."
At that, Dalca helped Jean carry their things out, leaving the two wizards confused and worried.
