6
Zacharia slammed the brakes of his black Lexus, blocking the right lane and worsening the already chaotic rush hour traffic. A cacophony of honks filled the boulevard. His eyes darted to the buildings on his right, scanning for any sign of Mikhail and Amelia, but they were nowhere to be seen.
He double-checked the location Mikhail had sent via an app on his phone – they had to be close.
The muffled curses of an irate driver behind him filtered through the closed window, as the car tried to manoeuvre around the obstruction.
Zacharia ignored it and stepped out of his vehicle, into the sea of stalled cars.
The moment his boots hit the asphalt, the noise ceased.
His imposing figure, clad in black, and the stern set of his military haircut made people instinctively keep their distance.
He resumed his search. The air was thick with fumes, but he inhaled deeply, tapping into his lycanthrope senses.
The acrid stench of the city couldn’t mask what he was after – blood.
His nostrils flared, catching a familiar scent: the unmistakable essence of a manticore, tinged with the delicate notes of geraniums and citrus. Amelia.
And… the mirabelle flower. A scent that had belonged only to the previous Oracle. It was the same fragrance he had detected on Amelia not too long ago. His heart pounded while his eyes traced the source to a cluster of low buildings nearby.
Just then, Amelia emerged from a narrow alley, dragging Mikhail’s limp body.
She was hunched over, her hands gripping his armpits while she struggled to pull him, step by agonising step, away from the shadowy passage.
Her boots had one heel broken, making her gait even more unstable, and she was leaving a trail of red-stained dirt behind them.
Zacharia rushed forward. Without a word, he lifted the manticore’s massive frame over his shoulder. Mikhail had passed out, his complexion as pale as a sheet of paper. His body, although having lost a significant amount of blood, still weighed over three hundred pounds.
Mustering up all his strength, Zacharia headed back to the car.
How the hell had Amelia managed to drag Mikhail’s body all the way here?
The distance was not short – the bloody path coming from behind the building was a testament to that.
It was also why he had explicitly forbidden her from moving him.
It was one thing to erase a pool of blood in some back alley, but a trail leading to the bustling boulevard was another thing altogether.
“Open the door!” he barked.
Amelia reached for the handle of the back door. Zacharia placed Mikhail’s body on the seat and returned behind the wheel. Amelia climbed in beside the manticore. No sooner did she close the door than the Lexus’ front-end was already forcing its way between two other cars.
One hand over the wheel, the other clutching his phone, Zacharia dialled Constantine. “Mikhail’s wounded. I’m taking him to the Hospital now. Amelia’s with me. There might have been witnesses. Blood, too. Can you handle it?”
There was a brief pause before the necromancer’s voice responded, cold and efficient. “Where?”
“Sending the address now.” Zacharia’s fingers moved swiftly, sending the location.
“I was going to take him to a human hospital,” Amelia said, her voice tight. “I didn’t think you’d make it in time.”
Zacharia didn’t respond. He knew nothing of medicine, but the sight of Mikhail’s blood-soaked body spoke volumes. He pushed the car forward, fighting through the gridlocked traffic inch by inch.
“It was a reptilian. He wanted to take me, but Mikhail…”
Zacharia caught Amelia’s reflection in the rear-view mirror. “We’ll talk when we reach the Hospital.”
Amelia nodded, her eyes dropping to Mikhail’s pale face. The boulevard ahead was a solid wall of cars, and Zacharia clenched his jaw, switching lanes in a desperate bid to move faster. The city was a labyrinth, and every inch felt like a mile.
“Call the Hospital! They need to be ready for surgery as soon as we arrive,” Amelia urged.
Zacharia fished out his phone, his attention divided between the road and the device. “Here. Talk to Nyavolski.”
He hit the speaker button, and after a long ring, the surgeon’s voice boomed from the speakers. “Damn you, hybrid! I’ve got intestines in my hands and a phone shoved in my ear!”
“Mikhail is badly injured. We’re on our way,” Zacharia cut in, his voice steady despite the chaos. “Amelia will explain his condition.”
Amelia leaned forward, her hands still pressing on Mikhail’s wound. “He’s been stabbed in the lower left epigastrium. Heavy bleeding. He lost consciousness about ten minutes ago. His pulse is unsteady.”
Nyavolski’s tone shifted from anger to focused urgency. “BP?”
“I don’t have a monitor,” Amelia replied.
“Check the radial, femoral, and carotid arteries. Which ones have a pulse?”
Amelia’s hands moved quickly, her expression tense. “All three.”
“Good. But pressure alone won’t stop the bleeding. You need to tamponade the wound. Do you have a piece of cloth?”
Amelia’s eyes scanned the car, her breath hitching. Without hesitation, she dug her nails into the bottom of her dress and tore a strip of fabric. “Got it.”
“Stuff it in the wound and use your fingers to apply pressure.”
Zacharia forced his gaze away from the rear-view mirror and onto the road, trying to ignore the grim task unfolding in the back seat. He had seen enough blood in his life, but this was different. This was Mikhail.
“I think I’ve got it,” Amelia said.
“Do you have an IV?”
“No.”
“Then keep pressing and hurry. I’m prepping a team.”
Zacharia weaved through the traffic, frustration mounting with every delay. The smell of blood filled the car, suffocating, inescapable. His mind drifted back to the first time he had met Mikhail.
It was in the early eighteenth century in England, though Zacharia couldn’t recall the exact year.
It had to be before the Industrial Revolution, as the immortal world was still untouched by the Changes.
Likely after the Acts of Union, which merged England and Scotland into Great Britain, as the celebrations were winding down.
For Zacharia, it was just another brief stop in his endless travels. He never lingered anywhere for more than a night, and never grew close to anyone beyond sharing a beer or finding a fleeting companion.
That night in Birmingham, he was leaning against the wooden bar of a local pub, hearing that an arranged fight was set to take place later. The pub was filling with impatient locals, eager to place bets. Dirty jokes and empty mugs abounded as patrons anticipated the bloodshed to come.
“Bet on Toothless Tom,” the barman said with a wink.
“Who’s the other guy?” Zacharia asked.
“Tough Bo.”
“I think I’ll bet on him.”
“You sure? The last time he took such a punch, his brain probably turned to jelly. They say he swings the wrong way sometimes now.”
“I’ll take the bet.” Zacharia wasn’t invested in the fight itself but needed something to do until morning, when he’d catch a stagecoach to Bromwich Castle, then through Chester to London, where he planned to check out a private witch market.
He didn’t intend to buy anything but was curious about the secrets the witches were hiding.
His senses soon detected an unusual scent, unmistakable for an immortal.
Zacharia scanned the room, spotting him immediately.
A man whose presence demanded attention.
He wore fine linen with intricate embroidery, a pretentious wig, and a golden-trimmed shirt.
The air around him was thick with arrogance.
Beside him was a woman whose beauty rivalled the most enchanting of the time.
They sat two seats away from Zacharia. Despite his heightened senses, the manticore seemed oblivious to his surroundings, absorbed in his self-importance.
The night wore on, and Zacharia almost forgot about the manticore until he overheard his companion’s desperate pleas. “Release me, master! Please, do not enslave me to cannons and false morals!”
Zacharia cursed his acute hearing, which often caught such distressing details. His innate inquisitiveness drew him into trouble, and tonight was no exception. He glanced at the woman, whose face was etched with sorrow.
The manticore grasped her hand. “Silence, harlot! Every word from you is blasphemy.”
“Do not hurt me again, master,” she pleaded. “Is this the justice of your god? To inflict pain and restriction…”
“One more word and I will scourge you!”
Zacharia sighed. He wanted to ignore the scene, but something compelled him to intervene.
“Please…” Her voice trailed off, but Zacharia could still hear her. The raucous laughter of the pub drowned out her cries, leaving her distress unnoticed by others.
“Shut up, whore!”
Zacharia placed his glass on the bar and approached them. “I get the feeling you’re disturbing the lady.”
The manticore’s eyes glowed with a peculiar golden hue. “I assure you, the lady is in good hands,” he said and turned his back.
“Doesn’t seem that way to me.”
The manticore didn’t even look at him. “You’re pestering us, hybrid.”
Despite the term being a potent insult, Zacharia was unfazed. “I’m not leaving without her.”
The manticore’s laughter radiated haughtiness.
“Truly, it’s all good,” the woman said, her sorrow replaced with a subtle smile. She was obviously too afraid of angering her master further.
Zacharia folded his arms and widened his stance. “Now, why don’t I believe that?”
“If you don’t back off, I’ll beat you senseless.” The manticore raised his chin, as if fighting a hybrid was beneath him, but he would do it anyway.
And this was coming from a man in a wig.
Zacharia was not a confrontational person and he didn’t like to be in the limelight, but he had a stubborn streak.
The manticore’s superiority complex and sheer arrogance at displaying his wealth among mortals – even if it threatened the revelation of the immortal world – was rubbing him the wrong way.
Add to it that he was also a Neanderthal with women and a zealot, judging by his words, and Zacharia was more than happy to educate him. With his fists.
“Let’s go outside and find out,” he said.
The manticore raised an eyebrow. “Are you serious?”
“Absolutely.”
“All right, then.” The manticore smiled and said to the woman, “I’ll be right back.”
Zacharia doubted the woman would wait for him, given how badly the manticore had treated her.
To his surprise, she clung to the manticore’s arm.
“Please, Mr. Korovin. Don’t act like children!
” To Zacharia, she said, “Thank you for trying to help, but this isn’t what it seems. It’s a scene from The Last Infidel.
My troupe is performing for the Korovins tomorrow.
Mr. Korovin insisted we go out tonight, but I couldn’t join him because I had to rehearse.
So he promised to rehearse with me…” She indicated the script on the bar.
“I didn’t expect anyone would overhear…” Her smile suggested she was flattered by the manticore’s attention, not disturbed.
“Apparently, some people are nosier than others,” the manticore said. “Since when do I need to explain myself to anyone?”
“My mistake,” Zacharia said with a slight bow. “I didn’t think a beautiful woman like you would willingly stay with a man in a wig. Good day.”
His interest in the fight diminished and he left the bar.
“Hey, hybrid!”
Zacharia stopped outside the bar’s doors at the manticore’s shout. Folding his arms over his chest, he faced him once more. “What? Decided it’s not beneath you to fight a hybrid, after all?”
The actress had followed him and grabbed onto his arm once more, her tone pleading. “Mr. Korovin, please, let’s avoid trouble. Please, don’t hurt him!”
“Trouble?” the manticore asked. “I’m not here to fight but to offer you a job. I want you to be my guard.”
That was how Mikhail Korovin, from a family with many enemies, had hired Zacharia to keep him out of trouble while he indulged in excesses and enjoyed the luxurious life his family provided.
Despite his reckless behaviour, Mikhail was wealthy and generous, often engaging in deep discussions with Zacharia.
Their association had lasted twenty years.
Afterwards, Zacharia hadn’t seen Mikhail for over a hundred and fifty years.
When the manticore had founded the Hospital for Immortal Creatures, Zacharia had sought him out to offer his services once more.
After decades of doing ad-hoc work for him and the Hospital, he’d been offered a security position eventually and had moved to live inside the Hospital.
Mikhail’s death would mean not only the loss of a friend but also the failure of Zacharia’s promise – to keep him alive at all costs.
The Lexus wound its way up the darkened road to the Hospital, the city’s lights fading behind them. The mountain loomed, its ancient forest watching with eyes that glowed in the dark.
The towering concrete fence of the Hospital finally came into view. Relief washed over Zacharia, but it was short-lived.
“Zacharia…” Amelia’s voice was a broken whisper.
But he already knew.
“His heart stopped.”