by Paul Neuhaus
Under the Asura, Channeling maya was for men. Even the Jihma, the ones that had started the revolution against their ancient masters and used their mysticism to make Aisling what she was, clung to that dogma and resented her for being their deliverer. As the rain plastered her red hair to her head, she looked through the torrents of water at the Channelers who’d come together to change the natural order. It was a necessary thing, but as Aisling looked at the men, she saw little boys at play. Makers of magic, yes, but also creatures consumed with a sense of their own terrific importance. As Aja, the woman could see the universe’s ever-shifting patterns and she knew that no single entity in a single place and a single time was anything more than a link in a chain. The other links were versions of the same man or woman performing slight variations on a theme.
Aisling couldn’t fool herself. She knew full-well that even she was nothing more than one of those hapless links. She would perform her slight variation here today and she would die. That was what the universe expected and that was what she would provide. To make a romance of her actions would be meaningless and sad.
More than anything else, Aisling was exhausted.
Quinn woke up, thirsty and sore. She had no way of knowing how long she’d been out, although she assumed it’d been a while given the severity of the assault against her.
She’d finally done it. She’d gotten stupid and paid the price. Now she was in a cell with bare walls and a cot without a mattress. Of course the statue of Horus was nowhere to be seen. I deserve this, she told herself. Six months of believing your own press and this is exactly the kind of thing you get.
The Resolute and the Hexenjäger had handled her in precisely the right way. They caught her by surprise and hit her hard. Henaghan could’ve taken on one of those Channelers—hell, she could’ve handled any ten of those Channelers—but she couldn’t do it with them coordinating and striking at her unaware. The addition of the Hexenjäger at the end was the icing. In her mind, the girl flashed back to Brian DePalma’s The Untouchables. The one with Kevin Costner as Eliot Ness. Throughout the film, Ness and his posse develop a reputation as being untouchable. Until the bad guys catch one of the posse in an elevator by himself. They kill the poor schmuck and write “touchable” on the wall using his blood.
“Fuck,” the girl said, sitting up on the cot. That was a mistake as it turned out. All the blood rushed from her head and she very nearly passed out. She quickly laid back down. “Touchable,” she muttered to herself. Unable to move, she went back to thinking. What were the Resolute doing working with the Hexenjäger? Weren’t the Hexenjäger also working with Simone Gros? How had she not seen Nate’s double-cross coming? Why was her world suddenly shrinking so much? Was there anyone she knew who didn’t secretly know everyone else she knew? Was Molly Blank a secret Asura spy?
She stopped herself. Molly wasn’t anything of the kind. If Quinn had one point of focus in her life, her partner was now it. And she’d let Molly down. By charging into this and getting herself captured, she’d let Molly down. Suddenly, she didn’t care about the statues or the mesh protecting everything. She just wanted to see Molly again.
The voice that came out of the darkness startled her. “Did they bind you?” it said.
Quinn raised her head so her chin, again, rested on her chest. Outside the cell, she saw Matt Abrigo step into the light.
“Did they bind you?” he said again, more insistently.
The redhead struggled to process. “You mean like with handcuffs?”
“Yes, like with handcuffs.” By then he could see her and see she was not bound. “They didn’t. Good. The bars of the cell are dampeners. I guess they thought that’d be enough.” Without further comment, the handsome man stuck a key in the lock and opened the cell door.
Even in her discombobulated state, Quinn knew this wasn’t right. Why the hell was Abrigo helping her? Also, should she accept the help? She’d gotten herself into this. Shouldn’t she get herself out? “This isn’t right,” she said.
“What isn’t right?” Matt said, opening the door and standing out of the way.
“This,” Henaghan said. “The escape. You helping me.” She sat up again and didn’t nearly pass out. A small miracle.
“You wanna stay in?” the man asked, shutting the door again.
“No, no, no,” the girl said, raising a hand. “It isn’t that wrong.”
Abrigo came in and helped her to her feet. “Funny. Those’re the exact words Father Flanagan used to say to me.”
“That’s super-gross,” the girl said, allowing him to throw one of her arms over his shoulders and help her walk out. With his face so close to hers, she blurted out, “You know, you’re unusually handsome.”
“That’s something else Father Flanagan used to say.”
“Ew.”
He helped her down a hallway that opened into a larger space. He sat her down on a wooden chair and went over to one of the four walls. There were two unconscious guards propped against the wall. Dharmin. “Cover your eyes,” Matt said. Then he put a canister on the floor. It was roughly the same size and shape as a Redbull. As soon as it was in place, he shuffled backward and covered his own eyes.
The top of the canister flew off and emitted a flash of light. It was a gateway in a can and the three people using it had to dash through before it disappeared. With Quinn and Abrigo in the cinderblock room, were Simone, Arnold Ristich and Pietro Laskov. All of them were dressed in black and had utility belts and small arms.
When she saw her downstairs neighbors, Henaghan dropped the arm she’d been using to shield her eyes and weak rings of fire appeared around both her hands. She remained seated so the display probably wasn’t as intimidating as she’d hoped. “What the fuck?” she mumbled, still not fully in command of her own musculature.
Ristich and Laskov raised their semiautomatic weapons in response to Quinn’s show of force. Gros pushed the guns down, one with either hand. “Would you two relax?” she said. Then she came forward and knelt in front of Quinn. Her face was lit by Quinn’s fire. “Here’s the situation,” she said. “We, the four of us, are a gang of sorts. A criminal gang. Our goal has been, for some time now, to get the statue of Horus you so recently lost. We, you probably already surmised, would like to sell it. Given its one-of-a-kind status and its elusiveness, we could ask anything for it we chose. That said, my one stipulation to these gentlemen has always been, if we’re put in a position where we can lay hands on Horus and repair the mesh keeping out the Asura, that is what we would do. They agreed, I think, because the possibility was so remote. Now, however, we have that opportunity. The statue of Horus is here. The statue of Set is here. You are here. You can repair the mesh.”
Quinn’s fire dissipated and she lowered her hands. “What happens after we repair the mesh?”
Simone sighed, standing. “My, but you are an obstinate one. Let’s sort that out after you’ve assured the safety of your kind for the next couple of millennia. And, not incidentally, the health and well-being of Asura women everywhere.” She held out her hand.
Quinn looked at the hand for a moment, but finally took it. Gros pulled Henaghan to her feet with surprising strength.
As they exited the room, Laskov kicked one of the unconscious guards. Matt Abrigo picked up a black, military-style duffel bag next to the exit.
As they wove through the Resolute facility beneath the Transamerica Pyramid, Quinn found herself wishing Darren Taft was there. Beyond the cinderblock holding area, the Resolute had gone all-in on the decor. The winding hallways, with their torches in sconces, looked for all the world like something from a real medieval castle. Taft’s Dungeon’s and Dragons-tinged boy side would’ve loved it. On the other hand, Henaghan saw no evidence for Nate’s “traps within traps”. A bluff on his part.
Pushing forward, Matt Abrigo whispered. “The layout of this place is a downward spiral,” he said. “The center slash bottom’s a big cathedral-like space with pews and candelabra. The whole
nine yards. Looks like a set from a Gothic horror movie. The two statues’ll be there. ”From time to time, he would fire a crossbow into the back of an unwary Dharmin. No doubt the bolts were tipped with a maya retardant as well as a knock-out drug. All the robed men went down and Abrigo never missed. As soon as he dropped one of the Channelers, he’d reload the crossbow. At no point did he stop talking. “Being undercover here has been a godsend. I know the full layout. I know the full routines of everyone here. I could walk through at any time with full impunity. Like I’m in a well-rehearsed dance.” In front of them, a men’s room door opened and a large, hairy Resolute came out, adjusting his robes. “Oh, shit!” Matt said and he barely got a bolt launched before the surprised man got his hands up to Channel. The Dharmin went down.
Simone scowled at Abrigo. “Well-rehearsed dance?”
“You gotta factor in things like Leon taking a dump.” They all stepped over the prostrate form on the floor. “That’s Leon,” Matt said. “Leon, everybody. Everybody, Leon.”
Quinn finally got back the presence of mind and the stamina to ask questions. She was being supported by Ristich. “What the fuck’re you doing here?” She said. “Why’re the Hexenjäger working with the Resolute?”
Abrigo grinned. “Unbeknownst to one another, the Hexenjäger are working with both the Dharmin and the Jihma. There’s tension between the two groups—don’t ask me the details; I don’t do politics—but, historically, neither group has been good at countermeasures. Both of them can turn a place the size of Vermont into a wasteland, but neither can nullify magic. It’s a weird kink in their longtime strategies. So, Uriah, ever the entrepreneur, has been playing both sides against the middle.” He paused long enough to put down another roaming Resolute and reload his weapon. “By the way, if you guys want a tour of Tilted headquarters, I can do that too. It’s across town. Underneath a deli. Pastrami to die for.”
“So…” Quinn said, her temples throbbing. “You’re not really a Hexenjäger?”
Again, Abrigo grinned. “I am now. Although your little revelation back at the bus terminal very nearly landed me in hot water with Yellen. I had to do some serious talking to keep my cover intact.”
The redheaded girl very much wanted to sit down, but she didn’t ask. They were going full-speed toward the inner sanctum and the passages did indeed spiral inward as well as downward. “You knew all this would happen? You imbedded yourself with the Hexenjäger for today?”
Simone spoke before Matt could answer. “No, dear. Matthew is a recent addition to our crew. I had heard through the underworld grapevine the Hexenjäger were dealing with both sides of the ancient conflict and thought it would be wise to get someone on the inside. But I didn’t need to go to the trouble of finding a suitable agent to imbed. Mr. Abrigo—a thief like us—was already hard at work doing precisely what we wanted doing. So I recruited him. With the idea of, somewhere down the road, acquiring the statue of Set as well. I’m nothing if not a completist. Since we forged our arrangement, Matt has been providing us with technology and with intel, but I didn’t think our two operations would dovetail together so nicely. Then again, you’d be surprised how often happenstance plays into criminal undertakings.”
“Wait, hold up,” Quinn said. “Let me try this.” She pushed away from Ristich and attempted to stand on her own. She could do it, though Arnold kindly held his hands out should she topple and fall. “Is it true?” she said to Gros’ Man Friday directly. “Do you murder women and children?”
Ristich smiled. “Who told you that? Yellen?”
Henaghan nodded.
Arnold scowled. “He and I had a run-in once. Many years ago. Before I met Simone, but after I left cheffing. I went to his home. He used to keep dogs. Rottweilers. Big ones. He loosed them on me and I’m afraid, in my zeal—and, frankly, panic—I killed them all. Including the bitches and the pups. Not something I wanted to do, but it was a heat-of-the-moment thing. Anyway, Uriah has a tendency to anthropomorphize to an unhealthy degree.”
“I can vouch for that,” Abrigo said. “He has a teddy bear he talks to. Don’t tell anyone I told you that.”
“This is all very fascinating,” Pietro Laskov said. “But I really think we should get moving.”
“Petey’s not wrong,” Matt said, checking his quiver and resuming their trek.
“Don’t call me ‘Petey’,” Laskov said. “I’ve told you.”
As they wound down yet another loop in the spiral, it occurred to Quinn she could no longer call herself Batman. Batman was a loner with incredible fighting prowess and here she was, part of a task force of people she didn’t like or trust. She’d also had her ass handed to her recently. All in all, not one of her more Batman-y days.
Matt Abrigo drew a halt and put down his black duffel bag. “Okay, this last stretch of hallway is it. At the end, there’ll be a set of double doors that open into the tabernacle. Everybody draw arms, but defer to me. I go in first and lay down phase one. The Hexenjäger aren’t allowed into the sacred space, but if I know Yellen (and unfortunately I do), propriety won’t stop him once the shooting starts. And, speaking of shooting, the guys in this room are all high muckity-mucks. Don’t wing them, you’ll only make them mad. Head shots. Center chest. Shoot to kill, in other words.” He turned to Quinn. “And if you wanna throw down with some magic, Miss Henaghan, I won’t say no. Just watch where you’re pointing it.” He broadened his gaze to include them all. “Nothing less than one hundred percent situational awareness at all times.”
“Does anyone not understand anything at all Matthew just said?” Simone asked them. No one spoke up. She turned to Abrigo. “Lead on,” she said.
As he’d promised he would, Matt led the way into the temple proper. He walked in with a sure stride and pulled a belt of grenades out of his duffel. With the same motion he dropped the duffel to the ground. He fixed the grenade belt over his left shoulder and began firing with his crossbow. Behind him, Simone and Ristich entered side by side, both of them holding a pistol in each hand. Moving so they stood on either side of Abrigo, they fired their weapons into a crowd of surprised parishioners. Pietro Laskov, bearing an undersized gun, slunk in behind Simone and her lover. He stayed behind the other three and fired around them whenever he could do so safely.
With a deep intake of breath Quinn threw away her jacket and kicked off her shoes. She wanted better purchase on the stone floors, and she got it with her bare feet. Moving to the right of the Abrigo-Gros-Ristich-Laskov killing machine, the girl adopted a combat stance and rings of fire appeared around her hands. For a moment, she took in the situation. On the wall farthest from them was an altar. On the altar were two plinths. On each plinth was a statue—Horus and Set. Above the altar, a metal Ham—the symbol of the Resolute—hung from the ceiling. On the floor in front of the altar, a man in a tall hat placed a ceremonial necklace around Nate’s neck. Nate was wearing long robes and looked regal. When the Resolute saw her, they turned toward her en masse since they considered her the most credible threat. This cost a few of them their lives since you shouldn’t turn your attention away from four people with guns. Some of the men closest to Henaghan whispered, “Aja”. From their mouths, it sounded resigned. Quinn used the momentary confusion to unleash a jet of molten lava. The viscous torrent tore through a lane of Resolute, burning them to nothing below their waists. Nate was one of these unfortunate initial casualties. The lava also tore through the wooden pews and knocked over candelabra. In no time at all, a huge fire raged through the tabernacle. The Dharmin in the lava’s path screamed, and they died. Just when it seemed the mayhem was coming to a close, Quinn twisted her waist, backwards and forwards, left and right. The snake of liquid fire whipped in front of her like a dragon’s tail, laying waste to everything beneath it. By the time the lava dissipated, it was cold enough that it only set clothing alight and scorched the floor stones. One or two Resolute ran from the room, trying to cast off their burning robes and, for the most part, failing. When the glare from Qu
inn’s pyrotechnic assault diminished, Simone and her people looked over at her, incredulous at her power. Henaghan had stopped the Dharmin in their tracks. She felt she’d issued some payback for the earlier encounter at the elevator.
In that brief moment where nothing happened, a group of three Resolute made a dash for the plinths on top of the altar. They’d realized they had a profound tactical disadvantage and wanted to secure the statues and run.
Simone shot one of them in the back of the head and he stumbled and died.
Great minds think alike, Henaghan thought, as she loosed an icicle shard and dropped a second man.
Matt Abrigo shot the third fellow in the back with a crossbow bolt. The Dharmin had enough time to turn around and take two drunken steps toward the invaders before he went night-night. “We’re gonna have to work fast,” Abrigo said. “I can already feel my shorthairs scorching.” He turned to Quinn. “Don’t get me wrong—that was cool as fuck what you did. Maybe next time, not so much with the fire.”
“I got a little carried away,” the redhead said.
All five of them drove to the altar. Set and Horus, one atop each plinth, shone in the dancing light. There was only minimal resistance at that point. Most of the Resolute had either fled or perished. Stragglers were picked off cleanly (at least those who weren’t smart enough to make a stealthy retreat).
Matt looked behind himself. “I wish I hadn’t dropped that duffel bag,” he said.
Quinn reached out with her mind, snagged Matt’s duffel and pulled it through the air so it landed in her hands. She handed it to Abrigo. (She had begun to think of that maneuver as the “Skywalker Special”.)
