Keystone (Gatewalkers) (12 page)

If her internal clock was correct, it was about 7 am. Probably well into the day for fishermen, fishmongers, cooks, housewives, and sailors. Charlie wanted to bury her head under the quilts and not think of such things.

Charlie lay there for a while, replaying the previous day. Part of her wanted to curl up here and hide until Rhys brought back the Keystone and she could go home. It still felt so surreal.
 

Charlie sat up, the quilts falling away, and with them their warmth. She rubbed her arms to warm them again. She hadn’t thought to actually ask, but judging from yesterday’s weather and how cold it was now she guessed it was probably early spring here. Or even mid spring.

Charlie emptied the contents of her pockets. Pocket computer with headphones. Name lariat and ID card,
completely
useless in this world. Half a pack of gum. Pen. Mightier than the sword, right?
 

The entirety of her earthly possessions now.

Charlie picked up her pocket comp – its shape was imprinted in her hip where she’d slept on it – and turned it on. No signal, of course. She launched the video diary, and in a moment her own face looked back at her from the screen, pale and apprehensive, with sleep lines on her cheek. It also showed the headboard behind her; further proof that it was real, not collection of signals sent to her brain.

“It’s all real,” she said out loud, her own voice startling in the quiet room. “I really don’t understand how, or what’s going on with this place, but…. I’m here. And it’s really, really freaky.” She recorded the events of the previous day, in as much detail as she could muster. She didn’t want to forget anything.

Vampires existed. Pixies existed. Elves existed, and who knew what all else. Heck, maybe there were even real dragons somewhere in this world. Maybe that was where all the stories of fairies living under hills came from. Charlie found herself running her fingers over the faint purple scars on her wrist and forced herself to stop.

When she ran out of tangled thoughts, she saved the file and turned off the video diary. She’d have to think about charging the battery soon. The pocket comp had solar panels, but she’d never needed to use them before. Pop it in its dock at the end of the day, and it was ready to go in the morning. She’d have to remember that she couldn’t do that anymore.

She rose to her knees and pushed open the deep green bed curtains, tying them back with the cords there.

Pallid sunlight shone from a window with thick, wavy glass, its shutters open and curtains tied back. If there were boards over it before, there was no sign of them now. The opposite wall had a fireplace, but it was empty. The walls were dark reddish brown paneled wood. A chest and a wardrobe of the same wood shared the wall with the door. A nightstand with a porcelain basin and pitcher sat by the bed, and a table with two chairs sat near the window. The room was also free of dust, but she was willing to wager that was a recent development for her benefit.

Her sneakers sat on the floor at the end of the bed, pointing outward and unlaced, with her socks rolled neatly inside. Draped across the back of the chair were an off-white chemise and a brown dress. Charlie went over and picked them up. They were a touch big, obviously borrowed, but otherwise looked like they would fit. A pair of simple brown shoes rested on the floor under the chair.

Charlie hesitated, not quite willing to give up the rumpled ‘cade uniform, and with it any last pretense at “normalcy.” Then again…. Charlie plucked at the hem of the bloodstained t-shirt. She resolutely stripped off the ruined uniform and donned the unfamiliar clothing. They turned out to be a better fit than she expected, and surprisingly comfortable. The shoes felt thin and loose on her feet though, and she traded them back for her “ye olde” socks and sneakers.

It was about then that Charlie’s nose managed to discern the scent of cooking under the house’s ambient smells. Her stomach gurgled, suddenly deciding to twist painfully. When
was
the last time she had eaten? Oh. Yesterday’s disastrous lunch. Her stomach growled more insistently. It hadn’t complained the night before because of the shock of the situation, but now it seemed to want to make up for it with a vengeance.
 

Charlie poked her head out the door.

Light filtered up to the small hallway from the floor below. The rail of the curving stairs matched the dark paneling in the hall. All the dark wood should have given the place a gloomy haunted house effect, but there was a warmth to the color that made it feel homey. Albeit a home with a less than observant housekeeper. Grey cobwebs hung in almost every corner.

Charlie descended the stairs to the round room and found that here too the shutters had been opened and the curtains pulled aside. The smells of fresh bread and something else came from the third door of the round room, now standing open.

The room beyond proved to be a dining room with a long rectangular table and six chairs. Two tall, broad windows allowed sunlight in, revealing that here too had been freshly dusted and swept. A curio cabinet against one wall had one door open, revealing shelves of dishes. A second door in the room obviously led to the kitchen.

The two pixies sat on the table, sharing a slice of brown bread drizzled with thick amber honey. They smacked their lips and licked their sticky hands with all evident delight.
 

Charlie paused on the threshold of the dining room, not quite wanting to actively seek Rhys out, but her stomach insisted on action.

“Oh, look,” Tom said cheerfully. “She
is
alive after all.”

“We are very truly sorry about yesterday,” Lallia said earnestly. “Have some toast?” Lallia broke off a piece of their honey bread and held it out toward Charlie. It was about the size of Charlie’s thumbnail; probably a generous portion from Lallia’s perspective.

“No, thank you,” Charlie said. “I’ll get my own.” She passed by the pixies and went through the kitchen door with a boldness she did not feel.

***

The floor of the kitchen was sunk a good foot lower than the rest of the house, though the ceiling remained at the same level, allowing the room to be spacious. Three wide steps descended from the door. Walls and floor were all clean, unadorned stone; to help prevent fires Charlie supposed. There was a fireplace large enough to cook half a cow, as well as an oven, but only one table. The kitchen felt oddly wide and empty until Charlie realized there had probably been more tables, now moved to the basement. Thinking of which, where was –
 

“Good morning,” Rhys said.

Charlie jumped despite herself. She hadn’t noticed him standing utterly motionless by the table. His colorlessness blended into the grey stone surrounding him. As far as she could tell, he wore the same clothes as yesterday. But then, he did seem different in some subtle way. Younger, actually. Yes. Quite a bit younger. Maybe as much as fifteen years. There were far fewer wrinkles around his eyes and mouth, and his skin in general looked less thin and crinkled. There might have been more color to his –
 

Charlie’s legs suddenly felt weaker. Vampire. Right. More blood, more color. Fewer wrinkles too, it seemed.

“Good morning,” Charlie managed to answer. She took a deep breath. “Look, we got off to an awkward start yesterday.” She thrust out her hand. “Charlie Donahue, Manager on Duty for the Virtual Reality Arcade in Apple Blossom City Mall.”

Carefully deliberate, making no sudden motions, Rhys set down the knife in his hand and crossed to grasp her wrist. His hand was warmer than yesterday, though still cooler than hers. “Rhys son of Gwalchmai. Death Wind of Alta Mercenary Guild.” Charlie grasped his wrist in return.

Charlie’s stomach growled loudly.

A ghost of a smile flashed across Rhys’ face, quickly enough that she might have imagined it. He turned back to the table, where he had been spreading some sort of butter on thick slices of toasted bread. “I expected you to wake hungry.”

He finished spreading the butter, then took a bowl from the table and ladled in stew from a small cauldron in the fireplace. He set the bowl on a plate with a few slices of the bread and handed the lot to Charlie, along with a spoon. He took a second bowl and started ladling stew into it. A second plate of bread rested on the table.
 

Charlie settled on the kitchen stairs to eat. Rhys seemed content to lean against the wall, holding his plate and bowl. By unspoken consent the more formal setting of the dining room was left to the pixies.

Rhys must have felt her curious eyes, because he said, “I do need to eat. As anyone else does.”

Blushing, Charlie looked down at her stew, picking up a bread slice and starting to nibble. The bread was dry, and coarser than the white bread she was used to, but the creamy butter had softened it where it melted. She cast him another curious look when she recognized the strong taste of garlic. He dipped his bread in the stew and was eating contentedly.

“Aren’t you…” Charlie began without thinking, but stuffed her toast in her mouth to stop the rest of the stupid question.

Rhys returned her curious look. “Yes?” His brows lifted slightly.

Charlie chewed and swallowed. “Aren’t vampires supposed to be allergic to garlic?”

The flash of a smile darted across his face again. “Where did you hear that?”

Charlie shrugged. “It is just a common vampire thing… on my world.” It still felt strange to say it.

Rhys pointedly held up his garlic butter toast and took a large bite, fangs shearing down into it. Charlie stifled a giggle.
 

Charlie poked at the thick, pale contents of her bowl. It wasn’t like any stew she’d ever seen, though it did have chunks of potato in it. It also had chunks of orangish, odd textured… meat?

“It is clam chowder,” Rhys said. “It is beneficial for restoring the blood.”

Startled, Charlie let the contents of her spoon plunk back into the bowl. “Whoops. Erm. Thanks?”
 

She’d never had clam chowder before. If it was good for blood production, seaside towns must be great for vampires. Clam chowder and toast for breakfast. The blood loss special.

Charlie demolished the clam chowder, using the bread to clean the sides of the bowl. It was thick and creamy, and she liked the potato chunks but wasn’t so thrilled about the rubbery texture of the clam bits. She nibbled the rest of the bread more slowly.

What was her family doing by now? It was Sunday – on Charlie’s world at least. On an ordinary Sunday, Eva would be prodding kids and husband out of bed for church. Would she let the kids “play heathen” because their aunt was missing? When would she be reported missing to the police? Had Eva told their father yet?

It felt so strange thinking of ordinary life moving forward without her while she sat in a vampire’s kitchen eating garlic toast.

“I’m sorry about your family,” Charlie said, and Rhys tensed, the relaxed atmosphere of the morning vanishing. “I don’t know what happened to you, and I know it’s not my business, but I’m sorry anyway. It must have been really awful.”

Rhys stood motionless for a moment, then collected Charlie’s dishes and set about cleaning up the breakfast remains.

“I can help,” Charlie said, starting to stand.

“Sit. You are a guest in this house.”

Charlie sat. No insulting the vampire.

The house apparently had some kind of plumbing, because when Rhys turned a brass lever near the stone sink, it started filling with water. He washed the dishes, occasionally using sand to scrub off stubborn particles.

“When this is done,” Rhys said. “I will take you to my guild house to arrange a contract.”

“What kind of contract?” Charlie said uneasily. That reminded her. She’d already made a bargain with Taryn, and had no idea how to find dragon eggs.

Rhys didn’t answer at first. Charlie wasn’t sure if she should be worried or not, but he was her only lead on a way home.

“It is mainly formality,” Rhys said. “But a contract with my guild would offer some protection of legality, and the terms would be sealed to deter prying.”

That told her very little. “Are you talking about joining your guild?”

“No. You are formally hiring a Death Wind from the Alta Mercenaries Guild to find the pieces of the Keystone.”

Death Wind?
He
was a Death Wind – whatever that was. Charlie almost jumped up with a squeal, but managed to keep her seat glued to the step.

“And to rescue Princess Maelyn,” Charlie said, managing to sound calm.

Rhys turned to face her, leaning back against the rim of the sink. “Why should you care so much for a girl you’ve never met from a world that is not your own?”

How could he
not
care? “If you found out there was a girl in the hands of psychotic monsters that like to flay people alive and chop off heads, wouldn’t you want to rescue her?”

Rhys flinched. It was fast, but she knew she saw it.

Without answering, Rhys turned to stack the cleaned dishes in a drying rack. “Given your circumstances, you may stay here until I return. I will show you where supplies are kept –”

“What? No! I’m not staying here. I’m going with you.”

“While I admire the sentiment, it is not practical to bring you on such a journey. I work alone.”

Sit around and wait for him to come back? Suddenly the kitchen felt huge and echoing and empty. Waiting in a run-down house, surrounded not only by strangers, but strange creatures and a strange
world
– No. Gareth was still out there too.

“I can fight,” Charlie said. “If that’s what you’re worried about. I’m an archer, and a good shot.” Out of practice with a physical bow, but her eye was still good and she was fit. She could get back into practice quickly. “I’m in good shape, and if push comes to shove I can do some hack and slash too. I won’t be useless. Besides, I’m coming from a different perspective. I might see something, or –”

“You would slow me down,” Rhys said. “Alone I can travel faster and save time.” The blink of an eye took him across the room and crouched at her eye level. “Unless you think you can match the speed of a vampire?”