The Necromancer's Gambit: Run

It feels like I'm running past the same dark alley I've been past for the hundredth time. Portland is a rat warren. But I tell myself he’s foreign, and can’t know it any better than I do. Unless he’s been hunting in the area- which is a possibility. That twists a knot in my stomach. This shouldn’t be my fight- and certainly shouldn’t be why I die.

But I’m not an idiot. Pawn’s an idiot, and he’s managed not to die. So I should be able to get away from this guy.

So long as I don’t make idiot mistakes.

So what would Pawn do? He’d turn around and waggle his dick at the guy. The opposite of that is running the hell away- which is what I’m already doing. See, I knew my instincts were good.

But I’m getting tired. Fuck, I knew it was a bad idea to buy boots with heels on them. Hurray, I’ll look a little bit sexier when I die. And I can hear the hunter, still chasing me on foot.

I don’t know if Pawn was trying to protect me or not. Two assholes. One a vampire, attuned to preying on humans. The other a hunter, attuned to tracking down and murdering anything that offends his tender religious sensibilities.

He fought the vamp once before- even if he was probably playing opossum then. But maybe he thought the vamp was the tougher opponent. Though that’s kind of specious; I can’t even remember the few spells I learned in Salem that might help me out here, let alone all of Bishop’s crash coursing.

I suddenly feel bad for Heather Graham. You know, in Swingers? When they tell the one guy that she’s just a scared little bunny, and he’s a big bear. Well being hunted fucking sucks. Vince Vaughn’s character was a dick- though, I guess that was a fairly major part of the movie. Still, I'd like to immolate the fucker.

And then I remember the kimia. Bishop mixed it for me, but then wouldn’t elaborate on what it was. “If you know, you might hesitate to use it. So if you think you need to use it, just do.” When I pressed her, all she would tell me was it had to do with fire.

“Catch fire, asshhole!” I yell, and fling it. He does. His entire back and at least some of his hair go up. Holy shit. Flame on, fucker.

He ditches into an alleyway, but I keep running. I look back a second later and he’s after me again; he ditched his holy trench coat and he’s smoldering, but he hasn’t stopped. Goddamn zealot.

What do you do to somebody who shrugs off being set on fire?

If it's a terminator movie, you melt him down- possibly after befriending him. If it's not a movie, you hide behind somebody who's clearly better at this than you.

Which brings us to the real damn issue. When Pawn shoved me out of the way, I lost my phone. With my phone I could have called Knight, or Bishop or the police. Or at least pulled up a Google map back to Bishop's lab. Theoretically, anyway; I mean, I probably would have tripped myself on a homeless person sleeping in a doorway- but it would have been nice to at least have the option. 

I think I recognize neon from one of several trips to a strip club Knight had taken me on, and I take a hard right. The street looks vaguely familiar. I have hope, for a moment, as I recognize the skyline, but not as you recognize it from a car, which limits your view, but the way you'd recognize it on foot.

I take a left, confident I know where I'm going now, but he's getting closer. A hunter probably has to be in phenomenal shape, to compete with vamps. I might be swimsuit ready, but I'm not exactly a marathon runner, and I know I'm starting to slow down. I take a hard right down an alleyway, and almost immediately I know I've fucked up.

I'm ten steps in before I can see that there's no way through, and by that point I can hear him behind me at the entrance to the alley, so I don't stop, I keep going.

I notice a fence to my left, but he's so close now that there's no way I could climb it before he got to me. But there are bins, those retardedly big trash and recycling bins Portland has, and I leap on top of one of those, and jump.

It works well, because the can tips over and smacks into the hunter- it doesn't stop him, but it buys me a few more seconds, and every one of those counts, now. Of course, then I realize I didn't put much thought into my landing, and I hit the pavement too far forward, and barely scrape my toes before I land on my knees, then my hands. I'm bleeding, I know that much, which is bad, but I can see the building now, and I have my bearings.

If the sun wasn't already peaking over the horizon this would probably be far enough, but I know I'm going to have to go inside. I prepare the least timid unlock spell I can think of; if I didn't have for sympathetic spellcraft I'd probably be screwed.

I don't even bother checking the double doors- they're locked, by now, they'd have to be. The spell has enough kick it smashes through both sets of doors. Of course, it kicks me, too, hard, in the guts, and I want to fall to the ground and vomit, but I keep on my feet as I run across the room.

 “Friendly mage, friendly mage!” I shout out. “And the hunter's almost here!”
 
“Oh, don't worry,” I recognize the voice, and that only terrifies me more, as the Conservator says from the shadows, “we smell him.”

He bursts through the doors behind me. He's invigorated, by the hunt, practically high on the adrenaline. And on foot, I don't think he recognized where he was- if he ever knew that the colony was in the Brownstone. 

But then he hears it, the familiar sound of vampires, lots of them, too many of them, leaping down at him by the dozens from perches that the dim lighting didn't touch. They swell onto him, like a black tide, and envelope all of him, even his scream.