Necessarily Evil- Prophecy

by Shad N Freud

  Jeeves slowly walked into the room, his face completely blank as he walked to the nearest wall and placed his hand on it. The wall became an oversized television screen, which immediately turned on to the BBC news. “…the body count continues to rise as search and rescue workers try to find the living among the wreckage. Early this morning, the Naval Base in San Diego, California was overrun by demons, led by an unidentified female. They hit the area hard and completely destroyed the base before moving on to attack the military and civilian housing in the area. Reports say that they seemed to be looking for someone in particular.”

  The screen shifted, showing a petty officer third class who’d been mauled pretty severely, if his bandages were any indication. “They came out of nowhere, just…so many. I couldn’t…I couldn’t save…” The enlisted man broke down and started crying. “There was just so much blood.” The screen shifted again to a marine that had been stationed at the base. “Word is, some Inquisitor’s wife was living nearby and that’s who they were after.”

  The fork fell from Carl’s hand as he stared at the screen, his eyes turning an unhealthy shade of red as he glared. He looked down at his coffee mug which had cut his hand after he’d crushed it in his grip, blood running freely on the table before he ignited his hand and healed the wound instantly. He immediately pulled his phone out of his robe and hit speed dial. The other end picked up immediately.

  “We know, Carl. I’ve dispatched Graahl, Catherine, and a squad of Black Hand to escort your wife out of the Black Site we put her in during the attack. She and your daughter are safe for now. You need to get to Hong Kong. I’ll make sure they call you as soon as possible.”

  Carl sighed in relief and hung up the phone. The two people he cared about most in the world were safe. He stood, pinching the bridge of his nose as he waited for the blood to stop pounding in his ears, and looked up at the table. Every eye in the room was on him, and he looked at every one of them in turn.

  “Fun’s over, folks. The Abyss decided to take a big swing at us today and gave the U.S. a black eye. They did it because they were after my wife and daughter. It’s clear to me that we’ve got ‘em worried. We’ve got nine of the coins, the car is warmed up and waiting for us in Berlin, and the Gun…well, we know it’s in safe keeping. To top it all off, we’ve got five of the strongest, smartest, and downright scariest fuckers in the entire plane ready to go kick Cthullu’s ass back into the Abyss where he belongs. Someone needs to let that squid faced bastard know that the apocalypse has been cancelled!”

  The others cheered loudly, save Jin who stared right into Carl’s eye with a deep frown on his face. “Really?”

  Carl looked at him curiously. “What?”

  “Seriously? Cribbing lines from Pacific Rim? I thought you were better than that.”

  “Well…sod you! It was a good speech! I just…borrowed a line or two. And so what? The point is, we are not going to lose this. We all have too much to live for after this shite is over with and I, for one, am going to take a long vacation. Might go on a tour of all the theme parks in the U.S. I always wanted to see the world’s largest cigarette at the Blackjack factory in Kentucky before I died, and I don’t plan to miss it before I get to meet Lucy in person.”

  Jin nodded. “I always wanted to see the Sin Land under the Basilica in Los Angeles. Does it really have devils walking around as mascots? And the members only area is all you can…well, everything?”

  Carl smiled and looked Jin in the eye. “Can’t tell ya about the last part. Requires you’re a member of the faith and a cardholder. Although, if you were one, you’d probably have a barcode tattoo like this one.” Carl pulled up his sleeve, showing off the eighteen-digit barcode on his wrist. The first sixteen digits were zeroes, and the last two numbers were 69. “I had to pay a few blokes to let me hop ahead of them in line. Wasn’t cheap getting that particular number. When the wife first saw it, she just laughed and laughed, called me a try-hard. But, if I couldn’t have 007, I’d be damned if I’d miss a chance to be 69.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Carl? Silly question…but, uh, why are we at an airport? I don’t see any planes with the Pope’s logo on them, so…are we really about to fly on a regular commercial aircraft? I only ask because, well, we had these bingo cards made up and ‘flying commercial’ is the last one I need to win the pot,” Zeke said, scratching his head as he looked at the security line, the bane of every traveler seeking to cross long distances in as quick and efficient a manner as possible.

  Carl rolled his eyes and pointed out to the Tarmac where a plane was coming in for landing. A private jet with the red five-pointed star surrounded by barbed wire on a black hand in a red circle; the symbol of the Black Hand. The door to the plane opened, the stairs rolling out as three men and two women disembarked, assault rifles raised and sweeping the area. Carl shrugged. “Sorry mate, I didn’t arrange the accommodations. We’re taking that one.”

  Jin laughed, pointing to his card. “Private jet, motherfuckers! Bingo!”

  Cenere ripped up his card up in disgust. “I was hoping for a submarine. Always wanted to ride in one.”

  Camilla looked at Sachi and both laughed as Carl opened the security door, setting off the alarms as he led the group out and down to the plane. The security inspectors tried to follow, cursing in French, but Carl took off his glove and flipped them the bird while showing off his brand. The plane’s security team pointed their guns at the unarmed security men, who promptly stopped with their hands up. Carl and the rest boarded the plane and the security detail gave the finger to the French rent-a-clerics before taking their seats, too.

  Takeoff was immediate, cutting off a commercial flight and causing a lot of French cursing on the air-traffic control band of the radio. The plane quickly left French airspace before a second and third set of jet engines slid out of the fuselage. The plane lurched forward as it broke the sound barrier and jumped to Mach three. Zeke gripped his armrests tightly as he heard a snorting sound over the intercom. “Snnnnrt! Whoooo! This is your captain speaking and we are currently zipping along at twenty-three hundred miles an hour, and I can’t feel my fucking face! Co-pilot’s plane! Whoo!” The door slammed open as an elf popped his head out of the cockpit, his entire nose covered in white powder and a lit cigar hanging from his mouth as he stepped into the passenger area.

  “Carl, my old friend! What a pleasant surprise!”

  Jin grimaced as the elf ashed his cigar on the floor then blinked as he watched the ash sink into the floor. The smoke rose up to the ceiling and disappeared. The elf smiled, a pair of fangs glinting in the dim light of the plane. One of the guards pulled a cold bag of O-neg out of the minifridge, tossing it to the vampire. “Thank you, Dmitri. Good help is such a blessing in this day and age. How’s the wife and kid, Carl?” the vampire-elf asked as he pulled off his aviator shades and exposed red irises. He jabbed his fangs into the pouch and drained it.

  Carl smirked as he pulled out his Blackjacks, lighting one as he answered. “Tryst and Sophie are doing fine. Bit of a dust up where they were, but they made it out alright. So, where’d you dig up this monstrosity, Jean-Louis? A jet this size with six engines? That fold away?”

  “Cost me a pretty penny. A very pretty penny. Hidden space-expansion rune work, reinforcement arrays…hell, thing isn’t even metal. Whole thing’s ironwood, except for the engines. Speaking of which.” Jean-Louis pulled out a bill of sale. “That penny? Mithril shekel. Sound familiar? Here’s the name of the gent who bought it. Figured you might be interested in talking to the man. He’s got nine others. Had a rather…interesting spear.”

  The plane hit a spot of turbulence as Carl slapped an envelope into Jean-Louis’ hand. Jean-Louis’ smile slipped, and a snarl issued forth from his mouth as a warning siren started blaring. The vampire began cursing in old French as he made his way to the cockpit. “Three million for three hours work my ass! Carl, I love you like a brother but if anything hurts my plane, I’ll be wearing your
teeth on a gold chain!” The vampire pulled a small red lever and shouted, “Hold on!”

  Outside the plane, the demons straining to catch up were scorched to cinders as a fourth set of jet engines popped up and the pressure wave from jumping to Mach 4 caused a window shattering sonic boom for the cars a few kilometers below. Zeke looked a little greener than usual and reached for an air-sickness bag. Carl’s smile became more manic as the plane started pulling more G’s. He had always loved roller coasters. He even would have loved the impromptu sky-dive they’d endured on their way to the Aztec temple several weeks ago were it not for the fact that the plane and its crew died to the vile vulture-like demons that tore the cargo jet to pieces before Carl’s shaped charge took the burning plane and it’s reluctant passengers straight to Hell.

  The rise in speed ended up shortening the trip by half the expected time and the plane landed at a private airstrip near Hong Kong just as the sun started to rise. Jean-Louis bid them a safe journey as his crew refueled the plane, the extra engines retracted back into the fuselage. Zeke kissed the ground as soon as they’d disembarked, then glared at the pilot’s smirking face as the plane’s door sealed shut, Satanic hymns blaring as the pilot snorted another line.

  As soon as the plane was ready, it took off, cutting off another plane and likely causing ATC radio to spout colorful language in Chinese, but Carl and the group had no idea as they made their way to the armored limousine waiting for them, a Black Hand emblem on the hood of the car. The doors opened and out stepped Cardinal Hiroshi Kawaguchi, the infamous Grand Inquisitor of Pride and Wrath. He was twitchy, his hand shaking lightly as he reached out to shake Carl’s hand. “Been a while, Carl. Good to see you.” He stared intensely at the group assembled before him. “Nice to meet you. Welcome to Hong Kong. You!” Hiroshi pointed at Jin. “Keep those damned rocks of yours on a leash. If there’s trouble, I’m holding you directly responsible.”

  Jin blinked, looking up at Carl who shook his head as he pulled out his pack of Blackjacks and offered one to Hiroshi. He stared at the pack for a beat before his hand lashed out like a serpent, snatching the pack out of Carl’s hand. He eyed it cautiously, taking a quick sniff before fishing out one of the black cigarettes and sliding it into his mouth before tossing Carl the pack of cancer sticks. He ignited his thumb, green flames lighting his cigarette as he stared at Carl, his eyes darting to each other member of the group.

  His eyes settled back on Carl before his neck spasmed, his eyes rolling into the back of his head for a moment before he smiled a manic grin. Hiroshi grabbed Carl by the back of the head, bringing them forehead to forehead with Hiroshi glaring directly into his eyes. “I swear though, Carl, if you somehow end up screwing up this deal with Wong, I’ll break your fingers and toes, one bone per string I had to pull to arrange this. And then,” Hiroshi pushed Carl back to arm’s length, his hands on Carl’s shoulders, “I’ll do the same to the little guy.”

  Jin glared indignantly at the Grand Inquisitor of Pride and Wrath and demanded, “What the hell did I do to you?”

  The smoke curled out of Hiroshi’s mouth as he turned one bloodshot eye towards the gnome then squatted down to Jin’s level and smiled. “I can hear your little ‘friends’ in the lacquered box at the bottom of your go-bag. I can hear them from miles away. I can smell the darklight on you from handling them. I can almost taste the cold rolling off of you, little dragon. And, as if that weren’t enough to make my damn teeth itch, I hate your stupid face. So, pretty please, with sugar, lard, and cherries on top, shut your fucking hole before I stuff it full of thermite, and light you up like the J-Sin Ferris wheel at night. Am I clear?”

  Carl cleared his throat and glared at his colleague. “Mind not spooking my operatives, Hiroshi? Wouldn’t want there to be another incident like at the French consulate, now would we? I don’t want to need to call up the Vatican to get ahold of the Pope and explain to him why I had to forcibly retire such a…seasoned…Grand Inquisitor. Also…” Carl reached into his coat, and slowly extracted a silver candlestick bearing a black beeswax candle.

  As soon as it cleared his coat and the early morning sun glinted off the polished silver, Hiroshi screamed like a banshee and tried to climb Zeke to get away from the candlestick, hissing at Carl like a terrified housecat from his reptilian perch. Zeke looked up at the terrified devil-man and slowly, carefully extricated the lithe man to set him down gently as Carl put his silver candlestick away, chuckling as Hiroshi slowly calmed down.

  “’Roshi, old buddy, you need to increase the Thorazine. You’re twitchy.”

  Hiroshi’s terror evaporated and he held up his hand. Carl pulled out his pack and tossed them back to Hiroshi who pulled out two cigarettes, putting one behind his ear as he stood up, lighting the other and then tossing the pack back to Carl. He nodded at the car. “Your carriage awaits. It will take you to the hotel, where you and your crew are to remain until it’s time to go to your meeting. Hopefully, nothing-”

  He found it hard to finish that thought as the tough, rubberized handle of Carl’s baton was jammed between his teeth, a throwing knife was pressed to his throat, and a finger crackling with aetheric energies pointed at his balls.

  “Wuff if fomefin I fed?”

  “Don’t. Just…don’t. We’ve been jinxed enough on this thrice damned mission already. Don’t throw your own brand of crazy into this, got it?” Hiroshi nodded calmly and looked down at Jin with an eyebrow raised. The gnome’s hand stopped crackling as he cancelled the very painful flare spell that would have likely gelded Hiroshi as well as causing flash burns to the people in the car. The throwing knife disappeared as quickly as Cenere had pulled it and the rubberized grip that could have been used to cast a dental plate was removed.

  Hiroshi rubbed his jaw and looked up to see the greatsword he’d missed, a bare millimeter from permanently parting his hair. Zeke smiled sheepishly as he very carefully pulled the six-foot length of adamantine back and sheathed it with equal care, a true feat considering how little space he had to maneuver around in.

  Deciding that discretion was the better part of Valor and desiring not to be mutilated seven ways from Sunday, Hiroshi remained silent the rest of the ride to the hotel, twitching occasionally during the conversations held by the other occupants of the car. The Hotel, what was once a palace for a minor noble living in Hong Kong before the British occupation, was currently owned by the Inquisition and dripped with opulence. Passports were checked, verified, and modified to hide where they’d been, to cover their tracks.

  Carl was then handed a very ornate key; the key to the penthouse suite. The solid silver key disappeared once the door opened, as did the knob. Carl rolled his eyes as the rest of his group entered the suite and the door itself disappeared into the wall. Cenere raised a delicate eyebrow as he looked over at Carl. “They really don’t want us wandering around in Hong Kong. We, ah, seem to have picked up a reputation.” Carl sneered as he took a seat in one of the sinfully comfortable easy chairs.

  “So, this isn’t all that personal then?” Jin chimed in as he hopped onto an overstuffed couch and almost disappeared into the cushions. Camilla looked at the couch curiously, and pushed down on one of the cushions, her hand sinking deeply into the soft fluffiness. Cenere walked over to the chaise lounge attached to the couch and hopped up, sinking into the decadently plush cushion before reaching up to pat the space at his side, indicating Camilla should join him. She turned her nose up and sat down in one of the easy chairs instead.

  A bell rang and a team of servants came strolling into the room, toting heaps of meats, side dishes, deserts, alcohol…a feast fit for a king. Zeke surfaced from the couch he was laying on like a breeching whale, lunging for a platter of roast beef and grabbing a jug of sake to wash it down with.

  The others watched as he inhaled a Jin-sized pile of beef, causing the gnome to look at the lizard a bit more warily than usual. There hadn’t been anything to eat on the plane, not that he’d have been receptive to anything. Zeke
had come to the realization that the first lizard to go into space aboard a shuttle would have to be someone else, as multiple gravities generated by intense velocity made him feel ill. Carl snagged a covered plate and sat down himself, revealing half of a roast pheasant with grilled asparagus, broccolini, and rosemary new potatoes with a light garlic sauce. He paired the plate with a glass of white, a nice dry sauvignon blanc, and looked at the bottle. An ‘88. Good year for grapes in the south of France, he recalled, sitting down to his delectable meal.

  Camilla went straight for the plate of buffalo wings and a tall mug of lager, from the halfling brewery in the New England area if Carl was to guess, while Jin uncovered a hotpot of sukiyaki which he greedily hoarded to himself, disappearing into a bottle of Kirin extra dry. Cenere almost swam to the edge of the cushion, pulled himself out, and sauntered over to the carts, grabbing a rack of St. Louis style ribs with sweet potato fries, and poured himself a rum and coke before sitting back down on the edge of his chaise and devouring the ribs with gusto. Sachi liberated a thirty-six-ounce ribeye with a baked potato and a tall mug of stout.

  After they’d had their fill, the servants returned, taking away the carts, and asking if there was anything else they might require until their meeting in the late afternoon. Carl shook his head, waited for them to leave and pulled out his Blackjacks. They had a few hours until the meeting, so he kicked his feet up and decided to take a nap since they couldn’t leave.

  A wrinkly old man walked about his shop, pointing out things that needed to be sold quickly, nodding at things his protégé should never remove from their warded containers, and greeting customers to his shop. The meeting with the Devil-men was soon and he needed to make sure his contingencies were in place. Far too much was resting on his shoulders and he rubbed his eyes. The work of a black-market procurer and retailer was never done.