By Alex Wooten

The first thing I saw when the wool sack was yanked off my head, once my eyes adjusted to the light, was the beautiful woman sitting next to me. She blinked in confusion, squinted at me, then grimaced. There went the one bright spot in my concerning situation.

“Ah-ha! We finally caught the elusive Thornpeak.” Whoever removed the sack was behind me, but this voice came from a hooded man facing us, backlit by a large fireplace. I tried to bolt, but rough ropes bound my wrists to my chair’s arms and my ankles to its legs.

Then his words sank in, and I examined the woman again, who was also restrained. She wore a long gray overtunic, same as when I’d introduced myself back at the bar. The flowing blond hair I’d complimented, now tousled, still stole the show. We must have been sold out by the bartender and drugged before being brought here. But why?

“Are you Thornpeak?” I asked her.

She rolled her eyes.

“Playing dumb will not work here,” Hood said. “We saw you pass Agent Lucia a message.”

“What? No, I was just introducing myself, inviting her to play darts, and then slipped my address into her bag…” I realized I wasn’t helping my case. With my kidnappers or Lucia.

“You did what?” she hissed.

“A well-acted ruse, both of you, but I repeat, it won’t work.” Hood gestured to the person behind me. “Do whatever you need to end this game.”

He left, and the henchman went to a cabinet by the fire and pulled out a concerning variety of sharp objects. He examined them slowly, menacingly, like in adventure stories. Lucia squirmed. I couldn’t look away from the glinting torture devices—not even for her.

“I promise you, my name is Nix Nochte, I’m a private investigator, everyone in town knows me, please don’t pick the bone saw!”

Something brushed my leg, and I yelped. Thankfully the henchman didn’t react. Lucia had scooted her chair next to mine and was reaching for one of the potion bottles on my belt. Her fingers plucked a small vial of swirling midnight.

“That one explodes!” I whispered.

“Perfect.” With as much leverage as her tied-down wrist could provide, she flicked it in a sailing arc into the fireplace.

Explodes isn’t exactly what this potion did when the vial shattered. There was no roar of sound and heat. Everything was just…pushed away from it. Violently.

For a moment, the fireplace stones formed a ten-foot bubble around where the vial shattered. Then gravity took over, and everything crashed to the ground—which appeared to be several floors down.

The henchman’s gargling scream cut off as he fell into the new large hole in the tower. Most of the stones followed him. A few logs smoldered on the floor around us, various torture tools scattered among them.

Another touch at my waist; Lucia was trying to draw my knife. She didn’t notice the dart I’d tucked away behind it, though, and let out a curse as she jerked away from its jab. “Do you perhaps have an unhealthy obsession with darts?”

I gave her a flat look.

“Don’t squirm,” she said icily as she positioned the dagger between my chair’s arm and the ropes.

“So… you’re not Thornpeak, and I’m obviously not, but it seems like you have some idea of what’s going on here,” I said.

“I belong to a secret society working to take down a group called the Dark Phoenix. The less you know, the better.”

“Wait, the Dark Phoenix?” Legends of political assassinations and vampire covens flashed through my memory. “You and Thornpeak tracked them here to Coburn?”

She huffed as she worked. “There is no Thornpeak. The name is a decoy—an agent who happens to be doing something important the same night as a major operation. It divides their efforts, and he always evades them.”

Lucia finished freeing one wrist and handed me the knife to get the other one. “That man in the hood is a Dark Phoenix goon who goes by Cursed Fang. I’ve encountered him before, and he knows I often work with ‘Thornpeak.’ At least this fiasco distracted him from our other mission.”

“Oh, my. I wasn’t sure Ashwit would get any information from you, but I didn’t expect this.” Cursed Fang swept into the room, hood off. Skin pale beyond death, red eyes gleaming, pointed canine teeth in a predatory smile.

“I’d complain about having to do everything myself,” he said, removing gloves to reveal chiseled-sharp fingernails, “but… I enjoy it.”

He charged us with inhuman speed. Lucia threw herself, chair and all, to the ground to evade him. She grunted as her head hit the floor.

That shook me into action. I had both hands free now, so I snagged the dart I’d tucked away earlier and picked another potion vial. I’d never tried it on a vampire before, but surely it would work… A quick dip in the congealed goo and one chance for a bull’s-eye as Cursed Fang locked his talons into Lucia’s arms and went in for the bite.

The dart speared deep into his cheek. The fiend didn’t react in pain, but as he turned to me, the acid designed to dissolve only organic matter ate through skin, tongue, gums, and quickly reached his eyes. He screamed, clutching at his face, and Lucia shook him off her.

I freed my ankles and grabbed the bone saw from where it had landed on the floor. Fitting. I’d never performed a beheading myself, but I strode toward the writhing vampire confidently, hoping to impress Lucia.

When it was done, I untied her and helped her up. “I take back what I said about the darts,” she admitted as we hurried to find an exit that wasn’t a giant hole of debris.

“You were impressive yourself. I’d ask you out again, but I prefer not to be mistaken for Thornpeak.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Alex Wooten edits sentences into submission and tames wayward typos at Christianity Today magazine in the Chicago area. She was reared on a steady diet of science fiction and fantasy and has a degree in Professional Writing from Taylor University. She’s one of the rare few who enjoy sports as much as D&D and loves her husband and dog, in that order.

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Writing as Alex Mellen | Author Website