11

“As soon as I leave this room, you will forget everything about me.” Constantine held the singer’s vacant gaze until she nodded in confirmation.

“When you leave this room, I will forget everything about you.” She headed to the vanity by the bed, dressed in a luxurious lace bra and minuscule baby pink thong.

Constantine glanced at her one last time. She truly had a talent, but it wasn’t singing. He threw on his shirt and pants while the woman, as if in a hypnotic trance, brushed her silvery-blonde hair, as well as the contraptions she’d attached to it. Constantine had found out about them the hard way when their night play had got rough, and those things she called extensions had ended up in his clenched fist.

“When you leave this room, I will forget everything about you.” She smiled at her reflection in the mirror.

She had a snub nose, full, pouty lips and a body that could shame the top supermodels. No wonder the preppy rich boys were piling up at the nightclubs where she sang. But last night, their golden chains had done little to impress her. A single glance at Constantine’s six-foot-seven athletic frame, and she’d sent her guards away and crawled into his booth. His brown monolid eyes, accentuated by dark straight hair, had the power to place thoughts in humans’ minds, true; but in this case, it was his charisma that had ignited the singer’s desire for him. Then the same old story had followed, just like with any other singer. And any other woman, in fact.

He laced his shoes and headed for the door. Erasing her memory would cause her to have unpleasant side effects such as nightmares and confusion, yet repentance didn’t reach him today. As a necromancer, he could see deep beneath the surface, and what he found underneath her exquisite exterior was ugly, to say the least. Not that he was some sort of moralist. Quite the contrary – that was exactly how he liked his lovers.

A moment before he walked out of the room, her smile turned into a grin, offering a full view of her perfect white teeth. She sang out, “When you leave this room, I will forget everything about you.”

Constantine strode out in the elite neighbourhood, frowning through his dark sunglasses. For an area touted as the Orange County of Sofia by real estate agents, it sure had fallen short. Though it had been built on empty lands and had expanded over the last twenty years, Constantine could find no appeal in the potholes littering the road, rows upon rows of buildings, and lack of green spaces. He appreciated beauty and style, and thus couldn’t comprehend why humans attributed value to shit that didn’t possess any.

He got into his black SUV. Constantine admired quality, that much was a fact. His suits were tailored to fit every inch of him to a T, much like the one he’d worn last night – the sporty elegant pants, highest thread cotton sea-blue button-up shirt, and matching linen blazer. His shoes and belt were leather, his watch was an Audemars Piguet limited edition in twenty-four carats of pure gold. And his car, well… Five hundred and fifty horsepower roared under the hood in anticipation. Now that was something worthwhile.

The powerful vehicle started down the road. Lately, his day-to-day resembled a mundane old movie that would replay over and over. Yes, TV screens had expanded by inches, cars had gained horsepower, women had emancipated and shed their restraints, but Constantine… Well, he was still the same.

Beyond the centuries, beyond the wars, beyond the empires he’d seen rise and fall… Hundreds of years had come and gone since his birth in the tenth century in the Byzantine Empire, and aside from a few additional wrinkles, he hadn’t altered physically.

When the Changes had occurred, he’d felt there was an end to his road, a final and paramount goal. A new chapter, where the real Beyond began. But nothing had really changed for him. Every day continued to be a chaotic drive through life’s miserable roads. And Constantine was getting so damned tired of it all.

Ten minutes later, Mikhail’s name appeared on the dashboard as the car’s smart system announced an incoming call.

Constantine hit a button on the console and the manticore’s voice boomed in. “I need a favour. At the Hospital. ASAP.”

“Be there in thirty.” Constantine steered the wheel towards the Ring Road, taking a shortcut to the Hospital. Already, his mind was whirling with possibilities – what could Mikhail want that required his immediate presence?

Constantine had been a member of the Council of the Twenty for many years now, although he’d never engaged in healing practices. He didn’t see himself as a scientist, even if he did enjoy astrophysics from time to time. And who would ever trust him as a healer, anyway?

He was one of the few necromancers who walked the Earth. Almost all of his kind had been killed after 1744 just for being what they were – mediators between the living and the dead. A bridge to the other world. To most, however, the word necromancer equalled death , so he was used to the hostility that came along with it. In his teenage years, his peers had avoided him, and then when he’d reached immortality at thirty-three, they’d trembled with fear before him. But they had never accepted him.

Mikhail’s invitation to join the Council had come as a surprise. At the time, the two of them had known each other for about a century and were good friends. Mikhail was one of the few who didn’t care about the necromancer’s dark blood . Time and time again, Constantine had warned his friend that the rest of the Council wouldn’t accept him, but Mikhail had been relentless. Whether through his tenacity or his zero tolerance for being told no, Mikhail had got his way – everyone had been forced to trust the necromancer among them.

That was why Constantine was now rushing to the Hospital after a single call from the manticore. Partly because he felt he owed it to Mikhail, and partly because he didn’t know where else to go.

Soon after he left the city vista behind, his SUV started climbing up the winding mountain road. Fifteen minutes later, he was in front of the Hospital’s iron gate. It parted to let him in, and he drove past the guards and towards the underground parking. A dark staircase led him to the first floor from where he travelled to the main hall.

Korovin waited for him, slumped in his chair at the far end of the table, where a closed wooden box sat on top. As soon as he walked in, Constantine detected the unpleasant stench emanating from it.

“I’ve got mail.” Mikhail pulled a decapitated head out of the box and rolled it across the table.

Constantine recognised her. “The witch.”

“Yes. She must have been killed right after the Council meeting last week.” Mikhail then proceeded to tell him all about the mysterious arrival of the box a few days ago.

When he was done, the necromancer shoved the head back into the box. “You want me to connect with her soul and figure out what happened?”

“Yes, I’m eager to know who could be strong enough to strike down a powerful witch like Kaliope, yet foolish enough to threaten me with such messages on the threshold of my own hospital.”

Mikhail’s tone was even, but Constantine knew him well. Under the calm fa?ade, a storm of vengeance was brewing. In all the time he had known him, Constantine had never managed to comprehend why the manticore was so set on saving the immortal species. Were these wretches better than humans? Had they done something to deserve their immortality? Constantine was certain he hadn’t. But he wasn’t one to ask superfluous questions, so he stood in front of the box, disposed of his belt and watch, and placed them on the table.

As he focused on the task at hand, his clothes disintegrated into microscopic particles that revealed, just for a fleeting second, his sinewy body beneath. Despite not having the same bulging muscles as a manticore or a lycanthrope, he still possessed great power.

An unseen fire erupted next and melted his naked skin, then swallowed the tissues and organs of his body, leaving behind only Constantine’s skeleton. The two black wings that had emerged on his back remained hidden between his shoulder blades.

His sentience then ascended above the table and the pile of bones. Mikhail was sitting a few feet away and looking askance at the skeleton that would remain motionless until Constantine’s soul fed him with life once more.

He flew through the ceiling and kept going until he reached the tower. He rose further up, above the building, the mountain, and Earth’s bounds. Soon, the first flickering lights came into view – the souls of creatures that had recently passed and were still struggling to accept the inevitable end to their earthly existence. They crashed into each other as they soared through the void. Some of them would scuttle around for years, chasing and tormenting the living in useless attempts to regain a physical life. Constantine had always thought of them as newbies, na?ve enough to believe that they could change the rules of the universe.

He had expected to find Kaliope’s soul among them, but he couldn’t sense her presence. Most curious…

Undeterred, he focused his senses again, extending his consciousness while also cloaking himself in a veil of energetic protection. Higher up, he went, until the quickly moving lights dwindled to slower greyish shadows.

A child-like voice called out to him. “Necromancer…”

“Get away, you evil demon!” a female hissed.

“What do you want from us, necromancer?”

This place was for the souls who awaited their rebirth or transformation to the next level, where they would dwell as shadows for a long, long time. As a young creature getting acquainted with his new powers, he had roamed among them often to observe. He might have found them fascinating, but they feared him because of his most coveted necromantic ability – the consummation of souls. He could devour someone’s soul, granting himself access to its most cherished memories and hidden desires, caging it into an eternal prison. A necromancer could either take a live creature’s soul on Earth or feed here, straight from the source.

As special as this gift was, it was also the heaviest of burdens. A memory wasn’t simply a memory. It came with emotions, often painful, horrible ones, that the necromancer himself needed to feel, in order to gain access. The more souls he consumed, the more memories intertwined. Life was complicated enough without adding that to the mix, so Constantine avoided taking creatures’ souls unless he had no other choice.

He scanned the space, ignoring the turmoil his presence had caused. She wasn’t there. The witch’s soul had either already reincarnated, or had gone higher up. The first option wasn’t likely, because immortal souls needed longer for rebirth.

Constantine reached out and grasped a stray shadow hovering in his vicinity.

“What do you want with me, necromancer?” she asked.

“Information.” Constantine tightened his grip around her. To his surprise, she didn’t try to escape. “You’re not afraid of me.”

She sighed. “I’ve been here for thousands of years. I’m not afraid of anything.”

She was one of the Forgotten – entities that for some unknown reason got stuck between the levels and neither reincarnated nor moved forward.

He released his hold on her. The Forgotten didn’t run. “You’ve been here a long time. Have you seen or heard the soul of a witch named Kaliope?”

“Hmm… Many souls pass through here…”

“She might have held her head in her hands,” Constantine added, as souls sometimes stayed in the shape they had died in.

“That one? Of course, I heard her. All the shadows heard her. She was screaming like mad… She passed to the Dark Place – chose it herself. Can you imagine? Said that only there would she feel safe.”

Constantine couldn’t believe his luck. “Did she say why she went there?”

“All she said was that she’d be safe because they couldn’t follow her there.”

He might not have been that lucky after all, because this was the first time he was hearing of someone seeking refuge in the place where no light and shadow existed. The World of the Damned where evil spirits, demons, parasites, thieves, procurers and all sorts of monsters resided, all imprisoned for terrible deeds. No soul in full possession of its wits would willingly go there.

Ever since he’d been a little child, his mother would always say that he could do anything he wanted in the Beyond, except approach the World of the Damned. Not that he had heeded her warning…

Suddenly, his consciousness was violently shoved, sending him tumbling through shadows and light until he crashed back into his waiting skeleton. His six-foot-six dark wings spread wide.

Mikhail jumped to his feet. The skull twisted and gazed at the manticore with its empty eye sockets. The jaw moved and spoke in a deep voice. “I still don’t get how some souls can bring their own baseball bats to the Beyond.”

The skeleton’s tissues materialised, followed by all the other body structures, while the two wings disappeared into the invisible space on either side of the spine.

Mikhail came closer. “Well?”

Constantine, now in his human-like form and elegant suit, let loose a string of vulgarities. “I’m not sure… Let’s just say that souls live on different levels, and I can reach each one of them, but the place where Kaliope willingly went… It’s the only place I never visit.”

“The World of the Damned?” the manticore asked. Every living creature knew about the Dark Place. Or Hell, as most humans called it.

“She was running from something – or someone. A soul told me that she was yelling about how she could only be safe in the Dark Place. Whatever killed her also scared the wits out of her.”

“What could be so terrifying to an eight-hundred-year-old witch?”

“I haven’t the slightest clue.” Constantine ran his fingers through his hair. His head was still ringing from the hit. “I’m sorry, brother. If I go chasing after her in Hell, I may not be able to come back.”

“I know.” The spirit of the manticore was flickering around Mikhail, visible only to a necromancer. “There’s something else.” He opened the box, turning the lid upside down.

Constantine observed the bloody letters, frowning. Despite their smudged appearance, he could still make out the message. “So, it’s not just a decapitated head? Whoever did this wanted to make sure you’d take the hint. A little over the top, if you ask me…”

“The cut is extremely precise.” Mikhail glanced inside the box one last time before closing it.

“Weapon?”

“Mystery. I’ve never seen a cleaner cut. We couldn’t determine what caused it.”

“Even Zacharia?”

“Even Zacharia.” Mikhail tapped his fingers across the wooden surface of the box. “We also have no idea how this thing appeared at the gate. The guards haven’t noticed anything, and there’s nothing on the tapes. It just… appears.”

“Just appears? Sounds like magic to me. It could have something to do with the witches. But then, why the blood threat?”

“A warning for the other witches at the Hospital?” Mikhail shrugged. “Could be anything. This would reign havoc if it spread.”

Constantine got the message. “Am I to understand that the Tribunal won’t be made aware of it?”

“For now.”

“Let me ask around discretely. Some kind of information might be circulating among the immortal dumps in the city. Trust me, sometimes it’s better to do it the old way than to delve into the Beyond.”

***

Kaliope Gazis, of her living, had inhabited a sumptuous Mediterranean style, two-storey estate with a bright concrete fa?ade and a spacious yard with an outdoor pool. It was in the heart of Dragalevtsi, surrounded by other luxurious houses, tall bushes and a wooden fence that served more as a decoration, rather than protection. Like every other estate in the area.

Zacharia rang the bell at the front gate. After a while with no answer, he vaulted over the fence and landed close to a pile of fallen leaves that someone had swept up. He observed the drained swimming pool as shuffling noises drew his attention to the backyard.

An elderly man in camouflage clothes appeared from one side of the house, holding a hunting rifle. Pointing the weapon at Zacharia, he shouted, “One more step and ya’re a goner.”

Zacharia raised his hands. “I’m not a thief.”

The man squinted at him through his thick eyebrows. “Then why d’ya jump over?”

“I rang the bell, but nobody answered. I’d like to ask you a couple of things about the owner.”

The man licked his white moustache. “Owner’s gone. Get outta here!”

“You work for her?” Zacharia asked.

“ We work for her, and she’s ordered me to shoot at anyone she’s not told me ‘bout!” He stepped closer towards him.

Zacharia shrugged. “She can’t really warn you when she’s dead.”

“The hell ya doin’, Sal?!” A younger, bony woman emerged from the house, bobbing her boyishly cut brown hair at the weapon. “How many times do I ‘ave to tell ya not to throw this metal thing left ‘n right?” She stomped her foot, setting her hands on her hips, the bright red vest across her shoulder like a traffic light against the white fa?ade of the house.

“Get inside, woman!”

She didn’t blink at the man’s harsh tone. Instead, she eyed Zacharia with curiosity. “Who the hell’s this guy?”

Sal bared his yellow teeth. “Some bucko claiming the mistress kicked the bucket.”

The woman’s black eyes widened. “She what now? No way!”

“Don’t believe him. I’ll bump him off!”

“Hold it, hold it.” The woman raised a hand. “Why’re ya here?”

“I want to ask you something about the madam.” Zacharia approached them, palms lifted high.

The woman threw an incredulous glance at Sal. “He a cop? We’re forbidden from talkin’ to cops.”

“I promise you I’m not. I’m prepared to pay you,” Zacharia said.

The two humans faced each other, then the woman turned to Zacharia. “She really dead?”

“Really.”

Sal re-angled his gun – which had lowered with the woman’s approach – at Zacharia. “I don’t believe him; could be lying.”

The woman’s expression twisted into a grief-like emotion. “It’s true, Sal, it’s true. Madam always tells us when she be gone, now she’s been gone a few days and hasn’t said nuthin’…” Her features hardened as she stared at Zacharia again. “How much ya payin’?”

“How much do you want?” he asked.

Sal’s gun wasn’t taking a rest. “You sure ‘bout this, woman?”

She nodded and ran her eyes up and down Zacharia, as if trying to figure out how much to ask for. She must not have believed him very well-off, because she said, “Fifty bucks a piece.”

“All right.”

“I’ll keep this here pointed at ya the whole time,” Sal warned.

They led him to a small extension of the house in the backyard and settled him down on a wooden chair that was comically unsuitable for his build. They explained they had been caring for the property for six years. Sal, as an ex-military, handled the security and the pool. He also did some gardening from time to time. His wife Rosa cleaned. In exchange, the madam, whose name Zacharia was beginning to suspect they didn’t know, allowed them to live on the estate’s premises. The only conditions were they didn’t ask questions and just did their job.

“And you were never curious about who she is?” Zacharia asked. “Not everyone can afford such a house.”

“Couldn’t give a rat’s ass.” Sal pointed the gun to indicate his wife. “This bimbo ‘ere sometimes be snoopin’ around when the mistress has ‘em guests over. But I know my place.”

“Anyone interesting visit the lady lately?”

Rosa grinned. “Might ‘ave. But it’ll cost ya extra.”

Zacharia took out another bill from his leather jacket and set it on the table.

Rosa turned to Sal. “Would we get another fifty if this bimbo ”—she pointed to herself with her thumb—“hadn’t been snoopin’, huh? Ya old goose.”

Sal lowered the rifle and smacked a loud kiss on his wife’s cheek. “My wife – not just pretty as a rose, but clever like a fox, eh?” He smiled, showing off his many missing teeth.

Rosa, encouraged by the compliments, babbled at a pace that was hard to keep up with. According to her, the madam, whose name she confirmed they didn’t know, was a rich widow. She’d led a reclusive life and had rarely spoken to them. When she had, it was always related to their work.

“Very closed-off but polite woman,” Rosa concluded, “but there’d been somethin’ covert ‘bout her. She be hidin’ either from the police or from the mafia. So rich and pretty, but single, ya know? At least… ‘til recently. Then again, was I in her shoes, I’d have a young gigolo over ev’ry night. Drain him fully.”

“What’d ya say, ya scarecrow?!” Sal pointed the gun at her once more.

Zacharia slapped another fifty on the table to attract their attention. “Who was visiting her lately?”

“For a long time, there wasn’t no one. But then that guy starts showin’ up. A big man. Important man. Big car! Comes in at night. Leaves a couple big lads, just like ya, waiting out front. Always bringin’ gifts for the mistress. Jewellery – rings, big bling. He mops the floor with his tongue when he be here.”

“His tongue?”

“He be droolin’ over the mistress. Head o’er heels. But ya see, I’m a woman, I read faces. Mistress doesn’t give a rat’s ass about him. She has him in ‘er pocket, all right.”

“Important man, you say. Is he famous?”

Rosa nodded. “Very, very. He be on TV a lot.”

“An actor?”

She shook her head.

“A host?” Zacharia guessed, humouring her in her game.

“No.”

“A politician?”

Rosa grinned.

“So, he’s a politician?”

“Very, very. He be on TV a lot.”

“Yeah, I got that. Who is he?”

“Umm… What was his name…” She stared at the ceiling as she tapped her lips with her finger.

Zacharia dropped another fifty on the table.

Rosa kept scratching her brain. “Sal, what was that guy’s name?”

“Dunno, woman. Ya’re the one watchin’!”

Despite the maid’s best efforts, she couldn’t recall the name of the man, so Zacharia took out his phone and showed her pictures of famous politicians until she recognised him.

“This is getting more interesting by the minute.” Zacharia glanced at Rosa, then Sal. “I have a proposition for you two. Why don’t you stay here for an hour while I search around, then the house is at your disposal. Do whatever you want with it.”

“No way! Whatcha think, we look dumb to ya? Ya’ll just steal all the valuable stuff!” Sal aimed the rifle inches from Zacharia’s temple.

The hybrid didn’t hesitate. In one swift motion, he confiscated the weapon and twisted his opponent’s wrist. “How about you listen to your wife here and put this toy away, huh?”

Startled, Sal jumped back, clutching his arm to his chest and wincing in pain.

Rosa rushed to him. “Ya all right, pickle?”

“So, we have a deal?” With that, Zacharia headed for the door, certain that the couple wouldn’t cause him any more problems.

A short click made him pause and reconsider. He dodged the following shot thanks to his supernatural speed and threw himself at Rosa, who was aiming at him again. He knocked her down and grabbed the little pistol from her bony fingers. With his other hand, he parried Sal’s blow and pushed him against the wall. Pointing the gun at them, Zacharia instructed them to go to the radiator, and then tied them both up to the pipes with some zip ties he found peeking out of a nearby drawer.

When he was done, Zacharia shook his head in mock disappointment. “And here I thought we had a deal…”

“She said to shoot at anyone she hasn’t told us ‘bout!” Rosa cried.

The sight of the most unusual couple he had ever come across left him with a raised eyebrow and a hint of admiration. “Loyal to the death? I like you guys.”

That didn’t stop him from leaving them tied up while he made his way to Kaliope’s house to snoop around.

An hour later, Zacharia left the house with a bunch of love letters from the so-called lover that proclaimed his deep feelings for Kaliope and nothing else that could be of service to him. Her laptop, phone and the rest of her body weren’t there. He didn’t find any sort of documents or correspondence, either. He checked the garage and, as he’d suspected, it was empty.

He then returned to the two humans and freed Rosa from the zip ties. “From here on out, you’re on your own.” He threw a knife at her feet. “And, by the way, those little gifts that the mistress’ boyfriend left her, they’re all still in the house.”

He placed their weapons at the far end of the room before departing, wondering if the information he’d received was of any use. As far as he’d been able to put together, Kaliope had been in a relationship with a minister who, by all accounts, was human.

Worthwhile information or not, at least he now had something important to look forward to – a high-level meeting.