Till it's gone- (Jesse Fforde)

[Balthazar]

”Not sure if I can make it any farther.” Lunch Box was dragging *** behind when Balthazar finally took the risk to stop his mile long sprint to look back. The small mountain of flesh that was Hugh Jass was bent over, sweating rivers of ripe body water. Thick, beefy hands were on his knees gripping tight like he was told to assume the position and get ready for what was coming next. Small clouds of mist escaped his mouth floating into the cold crisp air. The best friend a guy could ever have coughed up his best suggestion that he could come up with on such short notice. “You keep going. You don’t need to get in trouble for something I did.” That wasn’t true. Not when it came to their first rule of friendship. Leave no man behind. Okay, so they thought it sounded cool when they heard it at the movies. No matter. The fire was set and there was no saving what was left at the center of it.

Balthazar could hear Lunch Box laughing in his ears as his arms pumped in a life or death fluid motion. It was 2017 and there he was a blur of motion and his best friend was dying all over again. Only this time it was all in his head and the cause of second death would be of pure laughter at his buddy Balthazar, a grown man, getting bit by his long lost brother who just so happened to be a ******* vampire. The beads of sweat bounced off Zar’s face. Each one plunged from the bones of his ink and hair peppered face landing below on each hand as it pushed forward into the night air. The sounds of his respirations increased in volume from his puffing and deflating cheeks as if the force of it all would better the odds that his *** was making ground and creating distance from what he was running from.

He wasn’t looking back. Not this time. The laughter in his head was real and he knew it. Why wouldn’t Hugh laugh at his current predicament? Leave it to Chris to get him in another shitstorm and this time it had nothing to do with something simple enough to leave behind with the closing of a back door and a hop over the neighbors fence.

“Dude! Slow the...What the …!”

The voices came and went as Balthazar kept running past the downed display board outside a restaurant that smelled like meat. With the mission he was on he would never waste the time finding out for sure. Ristorante Torrioni would not be missed or the cuisine within. The hiss of his soles taking the liberty of clearing the street with the brief break in traffic reminded him he still was on the run and captain of his path ahead. He spotted the large mall on the next block and headed in. A few more precious seconds and he could get a look at the shape he was in. A rough brush of his jacket at shoulders passing him by didn’t slow him down.

“Coming through!”

He plowed through a group of kids knocking a bag of freshly salted peanuts to the tile inspiring the immediate protests of the group otherwise left to wonder what the hurry was. Two doors in front of him labeled public restrooms snapped back and rattled against the subway tile walls behind them. Sliding in with an exhale he found the mall lavatory surprisingly empty which he took full advantage of by locking the doors as if any moment Jesse could be right behind him. Blood may be thicker than water but so was his sense of survival.

Especially when he pulled off his jacket ignoring the sound of the small urn in the right pocket as the coat landed on the stretch of vanity between multiple sinks. It was then that he set eyes on the smaller than expected wound. The dried blood was really the only proof that anything happened. And, surprisingly enough, all it took was the first palmful of cool water slapped on his neck to wash wash that away.

“What the ****?”

He asked his reflection as if the answers would come back to him if he kept staring at his ghostly white mug. Nothing happened. Correction. Something did happen. And as it did he barely had the time to get to the one place where he could take care of it. He hated puking. It was the one thing that made him wish he was dead instead… except this time. Puking was a much better alternative. Which he went about doing as he gripped the support bars on each side of the bathroom stall.

[Jesse Fforde]

Jesse could feel it only after Balthazar had left the building. The bell over the door clanged, there was a swirl of fresh air, and then there was stillness. It was not silent – the music still played overhead. But it was still, and Jesse finally felt the weight of what he had done, and of what had just occurred. He could barely process the idea that he still had a living father, that he had a half brother. A living brother. A brother who had not been thrown over the edge of a building to die on the pavement.

Like any ordinary person should be, Jesse Fforde was ashamed that he’d been about to kill his own half-brother. There was a voice that told him that guy wasn’t a brother at all. He was just another person and this could all still be some kind of hoax. And what did it matter, anyway? He’d survived all this time without family of that sort, so why bother trying to make good with one now? Glancing down at his hands, he realised he still had a hold of the keys to Balthazar’s car. The guy had booked it, but how far could he really have gone? Jesse stared at the keys, gleaming in the low light, and truly considered finding the car, and driving all the way to Seattle.

When he got there, would he really tear out his father’s throat? A father he never knew, a father he could only have imagined. Could he kill the man without ever truly getting to know him? Jesse’s fingers curled so tight around the keys that the metal soon dug into the flesh of his palm, drawing blood – scratches that would heal as soon as they were given the chance. Numb, weighted feet took him to the front of the shop where he locked the doors and turned off some lights, the ‘Open’ sign flipped to ‘Closed’. He couldn’t risk any human customers walking in right now.

It wasn’t only that he’d bitten his own half-brother that weighed on Jesse. It was the fact that he’d let him go. The guy was out there somewhere, probably terrified, and there was a fifty-fifty chance he was going to turn. Would he come back to the parlour? Jesse decided he couldn’t go to Seattle. That would be wrong. He had to wait it out. He had to be patient. He had to see, now, what would come next.

The keys to the car were dropped into the safe and locked up. Jesse didn’t bother cleaning up – he couldn’t. He was too agitated, his skin crawling, his gums aching, thirsting, screaming for more. The demon within hadn’t got enough. He had to go sate the beast, somehow – had to calm his nerves, so that patience could settle in. He didn’t even say goodbye to the Serpentine staff as he left the building, fire in his eyes.

[Balthazar]

“You sure you are okay, man?” There was serious doubt oozing through the questioning coming across the hotel desk between him and the one who was holding a room key. It was apparent the tracksuit clad part time night employee had serious doubts about handing it over. “We have emergency services and care available. We aren’t that far in the ******* sticks we can’t save a life despite what it looks like. I can call while you take a break on that seat behind you.”
“I am good.” A flame of hot pain licked at the inside of his chest and scorching the back of his throat as he briefly battled and won the threat of hurling up the Gatorade he guzzled down an hour earlier. He cleared his throat with the press of his sweating and pale balled up right hand which squashed the typically bushy but meticulously shaped handlebar mustache on his upper lip. “There you go.” The hotel labeled pen anchored by a metal beaded string effectively welded to the hotel desk slid back to the guy still holding the room key.
“Yeah.” A nervous sweep of a healthy tip of tongue moistened the nervous and dry lips on the shaven face that wore the mask of concern and conflict. The minimal lines that twenty something years on the planet provided seemed to be sinking a little deeper as he palmed the metal passport to a dark forgettable room where a man could die in peace if need be. “You look rough. I don’t know.”
“I was running from **** you wouldn’t believe. I am lucky to be alive.” Balthazar was feeling like **** and it took everything he had in him to stay standing upright and looking the guy in the eyes. “I need that key and some rest. I paid for it. We are good.”
“Whatever.” The drop of the key and the plastic circle attached that was etched with #13 was snatched up in the time to produce a blink with a healthy set of eyes. “I see any ****, smell any **** and I call for clean up. It doesn’t matter what you have to say at that point. Got me?”
“Stand down, son. You best watch yourself.” Balthazar was looking at a kid compared to him and was reminded of it as his body seemed to freeze up leaving him standing there at a loss to move when he wanted to.

It didn’t matter if Zar was in such a sad state of shape that he was about to offer up his longer than they ever should be toenails for proof via brutal gagging. He was not about to be read the deal by someone who was younger and better off than he was in that particular moment. Punks kicked at the older wiser dog when it was trying to catch its breath after battle. Balthazar was wise to that game and wasn’t having it.

“Just saying, ya know, we aren’t the morgue, dude. You gonna die you gotta take that scene somewhere else.” The sound of hand cleanser being squeezed out of a palm size bottle interrupted what Balthazar’s was trying to follow. “Sleep in the bathroom. I already put the carpet cleaner away for the night.”
“Piss off.” The recently bitten Seattle native who was having the worst night in his life managed to get his *** in motion.

Off Balthazar Fforde went heading in the right direction despite the expectations of much less happening with the motel employee shaking his head. A slow reach back had the cameras activated at the back of the otherwise unoccupied hallway where the walking dead was targeting. The young clerk had seen the signs before. A fast draw of his personal cellphone out of his nylon lined pocket had his youthful and tech savvy fingers whipping up and shooting out a text to the employee due to replace him in a few hours. His message would claim they both needed to ask for raises for what they put up with.

Once inside the room Balthazar secured the hardware store cheap locks and peeled away the clothing that felt like a noose around his entire body. With every draining and fatigued step he felt like he had survived the fast run over of a street paver. One glance in the first mirror he spotted confirmed he looked like death itself trying to choke down a cursed cracker. Jesse was the poisonous fire flooding his veins but it wasn’t a full conclusion yet. Balthazar was working on more pressing issues. The sounds of a man slowly dying rang out within the tiled walls. With a loud splat of sweat slick tattooed skin the body he was losing ground with effectively dropped to it’s knees to embrace the porcelain god he paid to worship undisturbed for the next eight hours.

"Just give it up, Zar." Hugh was coaching him from the thin air that was growing increasingly sour with the scent of partially processed food that he couldn't recall eating. His gut was supposed to be empty by now. Everything became a blur as his dead buddies voice offered up advice he didn't have the energy to take. He dropped back and *** to the floor naked to the ceiling above him as the words rang in his ears."Use your finger. Don't hold on to it."
"**** you, Hugh." He growled as his insides felt like they were curling up like shavings of wax under the heat of a close of flame. He cursed those standing witness from the safety of wherever the dead linger."**** you all."

[Jesse Fforde]

Jesse’s night was not as adventurous as Balthazar’s. Not in Jesse’s estimation – the Necromancer who made a habit of wreaking havoc every now and again. No, he would not cause another raging bushfire but, there would be a few humans who’d lose their lives in the next few hours. The rowdier streets of Redwood were left behind, past the other bars – Lancaster’s, Handle Bar – and the quieter streets of Newborough were claimed. Jesse didn’t claim the usual streets of Stag Heath for reasons of common sense and because he craved something different. Too often did he go for the thugs and thieves, the drug pushers and crime lords. To slaughter them was a safe bet because the city didn’t want them. They’d prefer to do without; the investigations were less thorough, more assumptions were made. They were bad men. They deserved their deaths.

But Stag Heath was too often used as a slaughter ground. If he continued the way he did, those in the lead of all the investigations might begin to suspect; they might gather enough clues. Tonight, he was instead going to take a risk.

Most of the office blocks were empty, some of the lights still on but only as a matter of forgetfulness. In one of the squat office buildings, however, there was one floor blazing bright and, standing on the opposite footpath, Jesse could see a group left behind. Two women, three men – working late on a project, perhaps, working toward a deadline. The building wasn’t even locked; the security measures were lax. Because the group were still there, no one bothered to lock any of the doors.

The group were ensconced in one of the conference rooms and the vampire had free reign of the building before he reached them. The first thing he did was take out the lights. Groans of dismay could be heard emanating from the conference room. There was a loud curse – someone hadn’t saved their work, and now it was lost. None of them expected foul play. They assumed it was just a power outage.

One of them mumbled something about the city outside – no one else had lost their lights. It must just be this shitty building.

They did not see the vampire as he slipped into their midst. He clung to the shadows, the door’s click as it shut masked by the frustrations uttered by the corporate sheep. One of the women noticed the rolling of one of the office chairs, consumed by a moving shadow. Her scream was the shrillest as the vampire gripped the edge of the desk and flipped it; computers crashed to the ground, papers went flying – the table wedged against the door, blocking their exit.

Only then did the vampire allow the shadows to drop. He was revealed, in all his creepy tattooed glory. The humans went silent, the room hushed; Jesse could smell blood. That’s all it took. The single whiff of blood where the table had caught somebody’s temple, and he was gone. Unlike the tattoo parlour, Jesse didn’t try to hold it back, here. He didn’t try to control himself. The frenzy was let loose, given freedom. Veins were ripped from necks and the screams and shouts were music to his ears. As much blood was consumed as was splattered across the windows and walls.

In his element, the vampire gorged on the buffet he had chosen.

[Balthazar]

Ten hours and a few minutes to spare found Balthazar gripping the waistband of his worn denims. His shaking hands held on for dear life and began tugging them up to stick to the sweat and fatigue laden bones of his hips. Never one for the drug and booze filled party scene meant that Zar was all that much more unprepared for the world of discomfort denying him the simple rest he set out for. As the ache held tight to his inner framework the joints that it bound together came to life once again. Every step was cause for alarm. Whatever had a hold on him was not letting go. Over the time that had passed by he had paced the floor within the dark motel room and nearly climbed the smoke stained walls trying to escape the crawling presence beneath his skin. No matter where he found himself curled up in exhaustion it followed him. It was as if the devil had found a way in and decided to stay.

The slide of his feet into the form fitting leather burned the surface of his skin. It took three attempts to tie his own boots. Knots secured the leather laces and the rugged soles to the bottom of his size twelve feet. Raking his pasty fingers through his hair set the top heavy style to rest in a more organized hand brush to the back of his head. Two palms full of shockingly cool water slapped against his sweat shined face and drooping facial hair. The mirror in front of him revealed the state of his current health. He looked hell. Given the time that had passed he was not half as surprised to discover his condition was leaving him appearing like he felt. An incline and shift of his head to the side offered up no signs of where he had been bit by the blood sucking brother he left behind in Serpentine.

“****** must be rabid.”

He managed to initiate a call to the number that stood out from all the rest on the guest reference of most used community services. One ring rattled his eardrum and was no less disturbed by the click of the call connecting.

“Hello? Are you there?”
“Yeah. I was wondering what you do if you are bit by…” He felt overcome by a throat constricting nausea as he processed the question in his own mind. “****…”
“Sir, this is Ontario Poison Center. Bit by what, Sir? If you can describe what bit you I can…”
“Son of a *****!” He was choking as soon as he tried to get any of the unspoken words out.

A sharp tear of burning pain shot upward and the cell phone in his hand was dropped in the toilet as landed on his knees. The black wafer of plastic floating on the surface was quickly showered and submerged by the vibrant glow of lime green fluid escaping his mouth with considerable force.

Twenty minutes later the back of his damp inked hand passed roughly over his bristle bush framed lips. With his eyes on his own reflection he spit out his disgust at what had transpired from his well intending attempt to do the right thing in the wake of Christopher Fforde’s decades long wrongs. A few steps back made it easier to claw his fingers at his jacket that dangled on the hook by the door that was labeled # 13 on the opposite side. Each arm shot through their prospective sleeves and once inside he performed the pat down check to make sure, even in the most discouraging moment of his otherwise healthy life, that Hugh Jass was still hanging tough at his side via ashes in the pocket sized soldered urn.

“Evening.” The chirpy voice was hard to ignore when the body possessing it nearly jumped out at him from it’s former seating behind the desk. “We have you down for another night. Care to take care of that now or…” Balthazar moved through the space where the man bun master was trying to appear relaxed while tightening up the bulk of the hair in the tie that held it all together. “Later.” The annoying jingle of the bell on the office door pierced the air in his wake. “Got it. Catch you later.” With a body enveloping shiver the clerk slinked back to his station grateful that went so well.

The sun set and melted away by the time Balthazar found his way back to the scene of the obvious crime. It was in the books somewhere that one shall not bite the other without some sort of exchange of formal consent. He was sure what happened had to be considered unlawful. Not that he was going to press charges or file a report. Instead he was tempted to press Jesse’s fang bearing face into the first wall he was standing next to when he located him. Maybe even Chris’s too. That idea stuck in his mind as his feet froze in place and he did his best to talk his body out of expelling any remaining contents within his shaking body from either end. He leaned over and gripped his knees and focused on the permanent art on the tops of his hands while the beads of sweat bloomed to the surface of his forehead. Muscle twitching spasms rolled through his gut and down the backs of his legs but he stayed upright. Sounds erupted. Dry gagging and gas exploding beneath the denim covering his *** filled the open air around him.

“Where the **** are you?” His raised voice was laced with the sounds of discomfort as he called out to whoever would be within ear shot. He roared. “Jesse Fforde, front and center!”

Apparently Balthazar’s courage had expanded the closer to death he came. He, of course, had no idea how serious his condition was. He just felt like hell and was willing to do nearly anything and everything to relieve himself of the universe of pain he was shouldering as he walked into the very doors he blazed a trail out of hours prior. They say the one who creates the pain can take it away. Well, Zar was ready to see if that **** was true. He had no first hand knowledge of the vampire presence that had filled the news. But he was smart enough to put two and two together. Jesse Fforde had that paranormal leverage beneath his gums and he used it. Zar palmed his forehead and pressed the firm pad of his thumb on one temple and added the pressure from a fingertip to the other. While his head pounded to the rhythm of his steps he made his way deeper into the one place he expected to get some answers and perhaps some relief. **** the unfinished ink. **** brotherly bonds and blood. **** Chris too. At this point ff the younger Fforde could hand over one of those little bottles tagged ‘Drink me’ Zar would be happy with the cure it offered and head back to Seattle where he originally came from.

[Jesse Fforde]

Jesse Fforde rarely watched the news. He didn’t read it, didn’t listen to it. Once a week he scrolled the news pages or turned on the television just to keep up with the politics of the city; only the local news mattered. What was the human government planning in regards to vampire-kind? Were they still talking about the creatures of the night as if they were a herd that could be rounded up and told what to do? No ******* way, as far as Jesse was concerned. They were still deliberating, however – if there was anything that moved slower than molasses, it was the government and their decision-making.

When he woke, still covered in blood, he turned the news on only so that he could see whether his antics had been reported. Five minutes in he heard the report; a team slaughtered in their offices. They had no leads. No leads – those were the only words Jesse needed to hear, before the news was switched back off again.

A shower was required; the steam helped to lift the dried blood from his skin, and he used a rough loofah to get at the harder-to-shift stains. He scrubbed at his hair until his scalp was raw, and didn’t stop until the water ran clear. He stood in the shower stall for a good three minutes after he’d shut the water off, the only sound the steady drip as it the water was swallowed by the drain.

He knew he had to go to work. He had to go back to Serpentine, just in case. Even if Balthazar didn’t return sick as a dog, he might return for his car. And now that Jesse had let off steam, now that he had the time and the common sense to really consider what had happened – well. He had regrets. The whole situation could have been dealt with far better than how it had gone down. And Jesse wouldn’t be faced with the possible death of a brother he’d never known he had. There were answers he could have lost forever.

And so he wasted no time getting dressed. Balthazar was still human and no doubt not privy to the particulars of the undead. He wouldn’t know what Jesse couldn’t be there until sundown. He might have already disrupted the staff and customers of Serpentine.

It took five seconds to step through the two portals that would lead him to his business. And just in time, too. He landed to the sound of his name, a scream for assistance. Jesse stepped out of the shadows of the stairway; for all intents and purposes, it would look like he’d just come up from downstairs. That he’d come when summoned.

”Whoa, buddy. Looks like you’re a bit sick, huh?” he said, voice chipper as he stepped in to take control. A couple of waiting customers turned to stare at them; Balthazar looked (and smelled) like a drug addict who’d run dry. A homeless drug addict who had no stash. ”Let’s get you cleaned up,” he said, swooping in to try get his arm around Balthazar’s back, help keep him balanced so he could help (manhandle) the screaming man somewhere more private. Though, with the parlour’s semi-open plan, he wasn’t sure how private they could get.

”Keep your fuckin’ voice down,” he growled close to Balthazar’s ear. The last thing he needed was too much attention drawn to himself – not here, not in his place of business. Not anymore than he’d already attracted, anyway.

[Balthazar]

Balthazar felt the chill of suspicion fixing on him. Then and there judgemental eyes found him and singled him out like he had a spotlight on him in dark room and they were the audience watching for what would happen next. His insides screamed **** them all as the one responsible spoke up. A clap of his weakened grip found the back of Jesse and closed on the first layer of reliable material to support him as he moved with the man growling in his ear. His jaw clenched in ever present rage although it was next to useless thanks to the effects of not having a whole lot to back it up. He was sinking fast. If it wasn’t for the lead the younger Fforde offered Zar it was almost certain that he would be back and *** flat out on the floor of Serpentine for the curious crowd’s viewing pleasure.

“Excuse the **** out of me.” The pressure between his jaws had his gums throbbing while he returned the verbal fire with little focus on how he sounded or who was eavesdropping. He didn't have the strength to yell which benefited Jesse's attempts to keep it between them for public sake. “I came back to pick up my god damned manners. Maybe you have seen them you son of a *****.” The bile bubbling at the back of his throat is all he had left onboard to offer up if he couldn’t hold it down. “I lost them last night when I was running out of here trying to save my fuckin’ ***. That ring any bells for you?”

He couldn’t believe how he felt. Death was supposed to be peaceful. It felt so out of reach. What was going on was so far beyond that really no words could do it justice. No statement was close to profound enough. No threat he could deliver could hold any promise because he was hell bound and **** out of luck. No matter how much he tried his eyes couldn’t pin anything down for a focal point while his feet kept moving with the pace Jesse set. No way could he wash all of this off. The shop owner's offer was empty.

“What in the hell did you do to me?” Balthazar felt all his courage flow to the hand on Jesse’s back to try tugging at Christopher Fforde’s lost boy and take some measure of physical control. It failed in spades. He only managed to stumble and regain his footing before anyone caught on and had more of a reason to continue staring. He leaned in to his younger brother as if he had a final secret to divulge. “I am dying.”

No one had to say it for him. He knew death. He watched it come in and claim Hugh Jass with his unprepared fourteen year old eyes. Lunch Box gave him a front row seat on how it all goes down. The puking and the violent case of the uncontrollable shits. He was chief towel holder and *** wiper all the way to his best friend's end. The stench of rotting insides was now following him everywhere. All that was left was seeing things that weren’t there and the struggling to breathe. Well, that part had not come upon him yet but it was only a matter of time before he was flopping around like a forsaken fish out of water.

[Jesse Fforde]

”Yes, you are dying,” Jesse hissed, hauling his dear brother out of sight and out of mind. He refrained from laughing at Balthazar’s attempts to fight back or gain any kind of control. He appreciated the effort, in fact – appreciated that Balthazar’s actions seemed not to contradict the skin he chose to wear. The moustache, the tattoos, the dark eyes, they all mixed to create the attitude of a man who could not be fucked with. If that fight followed him to his grave and beyond, then he would have a hope of survival.

Once they were in the back rooms, Jesse dragged the lurching Balthazar to one of the chairs and eased – though he may have thrown – him down into one. It would be pertitent to lock the doors out front, to shoo away the customers who had gathered. Thinking on it, Jesse should have pre-empted this encounter and done something about the waiting customers earlier. But oh well. It was how it was, and now he would deal with the curve balls as they were dealt.

”And it’s not going to get any better for a while, I’m afraid. But it will get better. If you do as I tell you,” he said. He’d ignored Balthazar’s sass. The guy was dying. It was to be forgiven. And it was a good sign. A very good sign.

Laya – Jesse’s newest thrall – meandered through from out the front. She gave Balthazar a once over and, having been told to stay out of Jesse’s business, did not ask. Nor did she particularly look interested. She was the day time tattoo artist who sometimes stayed over, enthralled so that she would work hard and do as she was told. Not that he couldn’t find someone who’d do as they were told anyway, but he was lacking trust, and it was far easier to enthral than to try and trust.

”Cancel all my appointments for the evening, Laya. And give me that tome I made you,” he said. She could stay if she wanted, if she needed the space. Jesse was taking the mouthy Balthazar home. Laya rolled her eyes and went to her bag from which she retrieved the magical tome.

”Don’t say I never gave you anything, Jesse. You owe me a bonus for having to deal with your cranky *** customers,” she said, handing over the item. Jesse didn’t touch it, not wanting to nullify the properties of his own tome which fit snug in his pocket. He instead gestured that the tome should be handed to Balthazar.

”Just apologise and reschedule them,” he said. He did not ask, she had no room to refuse. She had to do as she was told. It was helpful, having a thrall.

[Balthazar]

Laya. Interesting look but that was doing nothing for him. If he wasn’t dying he would have been more receptive to the flannel shirt clad woman that had a fierce head of hair going on. It wasn’t a do that just anyone could pull off. Again, that didn’t rate high on importance. He used up too much energy eyeing the one who seemed to be invited into the final fireside chat he was about to have with Jesse. Whatever made her privy to what was about to be said didn’t exactly sink in and raise flags or make sense. Hell, nothing made any sense.

She was an employee? His woman? His whatever?

Zar gave no fucks while his insides went to war and his vital organs finally started picking sides. It was a miserable feeling to have little to no control over what his body was going to do next. The simplest tasks were taxing him and there Laya was ignoring the visibly dying while chatting up Jesse like this was all pretty typical. Maybe it was. He clawed his grip over the nearest surface and held tight as a wave of toenail curling pain rolled it’s way from his shoulders and tore its way down south. He breathed deep and slow. He sweat it out and was ultimately relieved that his bowels were still standing strong and in the fight. Once it passed and there was a brief physical reprieve he caught brother bossman ignoring the offering and trying to pawn it off at the last second in his direction with a suggesting nod. A half-*** attempt at squinting to sharpen his own fading vision did nothing to make out what was up for grabs.

A sympathy gift? Really? **** that.

“You got a ******* car.” Zar growled. “A name. A chance to see the ****** before he dies but you weren’t good with that. Look at this ****. Naw, man, you don’t settle that up with a…”

Balthazar was interrupted by his own inner fire that was out of control.The sweat burst from the pores on his face like he was springing a leak. His back was hot and slick beneath the material that stuck to it like a window cling. He could feel the streams of what already escaped his skin traveling down his chest. Beads of moisture plunged from the dual piercings and were soaking into the waistband of his pants. He could melt into a puddle and evaporate and he still was not going to be pressed to take what he refused to settle for. A man could be weakened but never that broken. Right?

“What the hell am I supposed to do with that? Do I look like I have time to sit my *** down and read? I am going ******* blind, ***********.”

Another near blinding curl of layers of flesh and muscle biting at whatever was between had him catching his breath. Just before his eyes were going to roll back in his head a break in the agony flooded him. He wasted no time inhaling what could be his last breath while yanking at what Laya held. For all he knew it could be a leather bound ticket to end whatever was devouring him. In that case he was going to take it for all it was worth. He had one question left. Maybe two.

"Now what?" The leather covering flopped open over his fumbling fingers. Drops of free falling sweat flattened and spread out while landing on the pages. His body used the closest sturdy surface to keep him propped up. "What does this mean?" He struggled with what he was looking at until his face got close enough that he could smell the hide that he held. What was within became crystal clear. That is when the most bizarre thing happened.

[Jesse Fforde]

The vitriol that spilled from Balthazar’s mouth was as sharp as it was acrid. He spoke as if Jesse had done this to him on purpose, as if he’d somehow cursed the guy with grave illness in return for the things that Balthazar had supposedly given Jesse. As if the things that Balthazar had given him were gifts! What a rort. They weren’t gifts at all. Just when Jesse had thought life had settled and there were no more carpets to rip from under his feet, this guy had come along and found one more.

The Necromancer allowed the human to spill his bitterness and anger; he didn’t interrupt. He didn’t need to. He didn’t have to say anything. Balthazar’s curiosity took care of everything. Jesse waved Layla away as he reached into his own pocket. He waited until Balthazar snapped out of existence before he read the words on his own tome. One second they were in the middle of the tattoo parlour, punk music playing overhead. The next they found themselves in the middle of a silent Limbo, beside the ritual table. The warehouse-style space was colourful; there was a TV with lounges and bean bags, there were arcade games and a pool table, there was a small kitchen for those that required it or could us it – an industrial area interspersed with columns, doors leading through to separate apartments spread out around the edges. There were computers and crafting spaces, there was a forge and storage. Home.

”That was a tome,” Jesse said, straightening himself and reaching for Balthazar’s arm, ready to pull him up into a standing position. They needed to get to the elevator, to go down. As comfortable as this space was, it was too public. Not exactly the most comfortable place for someone who’s so sick they might die. They weren’t zoo animals. They needed their own space.

”It has magical properties and it is bound to this space. This is where I live – with others of my kind. Others I’ve bitten, just like I bit you. Which I didn’t do as any kind of payment, by the way. I was emotional, I lost control,” he said with a nonchalant shrug, as if he should then be forgiven for everything.

”You are going to die. One way or the other. You either die a true death, from which there’s no coming back. Or you are reborn. It all depends on how strong you are. How strong are you, Balthazar?” he asked, hauling the other toward the elevator.