Come, Seeling Night

by Daniel Humphreys

  The fits and starts as the bus proceeded from stop to stop took a bit to get used to, but I drifted off into a strange quasi-sleep. It was only when the bus went through a wide turn, pulling my head away from the window, that I opened my eyes. I was alone on the bus, and I met the driver’s eyes in the mirror.

  “End of the line unless you missed your stop,” he called out, and I gave him a thumbs up as I slid out of my seat. Brakes squealed, and the doors opened with a hiss.

  Exiting the bus, I felt like I’d stepped off the edge of the world. The south side of the road was well-lit, occupied with various buildings and businesses. The opposite side was empty desert scrub, undeveloped save for a Circle K gas station on the northeast corner of the intersection.

  The temperature had dropped even further during my trek north, and a sudden cold wind out of the east made me shiver. I shoved my hands into the pockets of my appropriated sweatshirt and wished I’d grabbed something more substantial. It was moot now, but I mentally added a warmer change of clothes to a shopping list that had far outpaced my available resources. “Baby steps,” I told myself. I headed west toward the freeway. If I remembered right, there were a couple of big box stores and a shopping center there. That would be a better place to thumb for a ride than here in the boondocks.

  I’d only gone a few blocks when I heard echoing footsteps behind me. Taking a quick glance, I saw a skinny figure in a hooded sweatshirt and ratty pants. He was far enough back to not be an immediate threat, but something about his demeanor instantly raised the hair on the back of my neck. Stepping faster, I gritted my teeth as the sounds of his own movement increased. I don’t have time for this shit.

  I wheeled off the sidewalk into an empty parking lot. The festive pink stucco of the building bore murals of dogs, cats, and birds on either side of a pair of glass doors. The steel security shutters rolled down behind the entry would have made a formidable barrier for anyone but me, but I was done running. Turning around, I planted my back against the wall of what looked like a veterinary clinic and awaited my pursuer.

  He hesitated at the entrance to the parking lot, looking both ways as though expecting a trick. Finally, he surged forward. I got a look at a pitted face surrounded by stringy blond hair as he moved into the halo of illumination cast by the roof-mounted security lights.

  Metal clicked, and light flashed off the edge of the switchblade he pulled out of his pocket. “Empty your pockets and hand over your wallet.”

  “Are you serious right now?” I said. My heart thumped in my chest. Even though I knew intellectually that I was in no danger, more primal instincts screamed at me to run.

  He stepped forward and raised the knife higher. “This look like a fucking joke to you?”

  I pulled my own hand out of my pocket and smiled. The lighting was good, this close to the door, but it wasn’t bright enough to overcome the blue lines of the force blade extending a good three feet from my balled-up fist. “Mine’s bigger. And a hell of a lot nastier.”

  His knife hand shook, and he took two steps backward. “What the hell?”

  “Stop,” I pushed. He froze, and a look on panic spread across his features. I grimaced and resisted the urge to command any further. I stepped closer, imitating the position he’d taken earlier with his own knife. “Throw yours up on the roof,” I said. I didn’t put any magical command behind that, save for the implied threat of the force blade.

  “Okay, okay.” He leaned back and heaved. I heard metal click on the tiles, then silence as it came to rest behind the knee wall. A little curiosity for the maintenance man to find, someday.

  Banishing the force blade, I crossed my hands over my chest. “What have we learned about mugging people?”

  He blinked. “Not to, uh, do it?”

  “Correct,” I grinned. “Now—empty your pockets and hand over your wallet.”

  I got a good look at a mouthful of rotten teeth when his jaw dropped. “Are you serious?”

  “Does this look like a fucking joke?” I snapped. “Pockets. Wallet. On the ground.”

  It took him several attempts with fumbling hands, but he eventually threw a rubber-banded roll of cash, a plastic baggie, and a Velcro wallet on the ground. Frowning, I collected it. Pocketing the cash, I held the baggie between two fingers and studied the brownish powder inside.

  “What’s this?”

  “What do you think it is, man?” He squirmed in place. “Keep the money, just let me have the crystal.” The hint of a whine seeped into his tone toward the end.

  I ignored him and tore open the wallet. The driver’s license picture showed Darrell Goetz in healthier, presumably non-drug abusing days. When I shifted it to take a better look, a plastic picture holder flipped over. A gap-toothed blond girl grinned at me. “This your little girl, Darrell?”

  He swallowed audibly. “Yeah, that’s right.”

  Closing the wallet, I stared at him. “You do right by her?”

  “What is this?”

  “Answer the damn question!” My anger frightened even me, but at the same time, part of me liked it, and I felt a little dizzy as I considered the rush I felt at holding power over another person. Was this what it was like for Mother? Is this what drove her to such atrocity? Take it down a notch.

  “I try to,” Darrell said, both hands out toward me. “I know I’m a mess, you think I don’t know that? I stay away from her and my old lady, that’s what’s best for them.”

  I closed my eyes and tried to bring my sudden fury under control. The uncharacteristic rage boiled deep down in my gut.

  When I’m not using it to create force blades, the telekinesis spell is pretty wimpy. Focusing on the raw emotion coursing through me, I pushed that into the spell, focusing on my target. The resulting effect had more than enough oomph to shatter the glass of the entry doors when I flicked my fingers. Immediately, a siren sounded from behind the roll-up shutters.

  I heaved and threw the plastic bag of crystal meth out into the night. “Here’s the deal, Darrell,” I said. “You’re going to sit here in front of the door and wait for the cops. When they show up, you’re going to admit that you’ve been mugging people. You broke the glass to see if there were any drugs inside.” The push had him transfixed, and I looked away. I didn’t like the glazed, half-aware look in his eyes.

  It was too close to what I’d seen in my dad’s eyes when Mother killed him.

  Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to continue. “You need help, Darrell. You’re going to take whatever deal they give you, but you need to go to rehab. And when you go, you’re going to go all-in. You’re going to get clean, and you’re never going to abuse drugs ever again.” I waved the wallet in the air. “You’ve got a kid who needs a father. Maybe you haven’t been the best in the world up until now, but you’ve still got time to fix that. For better or worse, you’re going to be better. Got it?”

  The haze went out of his eyes. He licked his lips and nodded. “Okay. Should I sit down now?”

  “Sure,” I said. I handed back his wallet. “Be good, man.”

  The cops might have ignored a lone figure walking away from a crime scene, but I didn’t take the chance. As soon as I stepped out of the parking lot, I went invisible and kept moving until I heard the squeal of tires on the pavement behind me. Looking back, blue and red lights flashed on the pink stucco.

  I allowed myself to smile as I watched them cuff Darrell and ease him into the back of one of the squad cars. The man who’d been ready to stab me for my wallet had a different manner about him, as though a great weight had come off his shoulders.My pledge to refrain from using the push hadn’t lasted long. I couldn’t decide if I should feel guilty or shrug it off. Yeah, I’d usurped another person’s free will, twisting to bend to my own—but if he was better off, wasn’t that a good thing?

  The wind picked up, then, and something about the rising pitch of it reminded me of the ghostly voice of my father in the hospital after Cassie and I beat Melanie and the Edimmu. He�
�d warned me about regarding people as tools.

  My ensuing shiver was only partly due to the chill in the air.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Valentine—Monday evening

  Walter Reed Army Medical Center, Maryland

  Visiting hours were long over, but if you had the credentials to access the areas of the hospital restricted to Presidents and covert agents, the nurses and security didn’t get too up in arms.

  Even so, he came bearing gifts. “Lucky Luciano from the Don’s, people?”

  The MP at the nurse’s station raised an eyebrow. Val didn’t recognize him, but the two nurses had worked the top-secret ward for a few years. He slid the top box off of the pair he carried and let it rest on the counter.

  Delia, the brunette, shook her head as she spun the pizza box around. “And it’s still warm! One of these days you’ve got to tell me your secret route.” Don’s Wood-Fired Pizza was nearly thirty miles away in Sterling, but Val’s only shortcut was a heavy foot and flashing lights.

  He winked and laid a finger alongside his nose. “Top secret, ladies and gentlemen. He in the usual room?”

  The redheaded nurse, Patty nodded, pulling paper plates out from one of her desk drawers. “Being his normal cooperative self.” The MP looked less dubious now, accepting a plate from the nurse. The cafeteria was pretty good, but it wasn’t like a top-secret facility could order-in anything better.

  Val strolled down the hallway. Only a few of the rooms had closed doors. Every room with an open door remained dark and empty. On the others, the nurses had labeled the charts and patient information with cryptic code names. The third door from the right bore the legend ‘Mr. Red.’ Val balanced the pizza, opened it with his other hand, and walked inside.

  Eliot looked a damn sight better than he had just a few days ago. That wasn’t saying much, since the fight with Helen’s coven and their familiars had left him on death’s door.

  “Kids today,” Val said in mock-complaint. “A few bumps and bruises and they just lie down and whine.”

  “Piss off, you old fart.” Eliot wheezed as he tried not to laugh. He fumbled for the controls on the side of the bed and raised the angle so he could look the other man in the eye. “When’s the last time you saw your intestines, smart guy?”

  “Been a few years,” he had to admit. He laid the pizza box down on the wheeled table next to the hospital bed. “Brought you a Sicilian Hit. I thought you might appreciate the irony.”

  “All these years, you’re still not funny.” His partner eyed the box with an expression serious enough to be considering the meaning of life.

  “Think about it all you want,” Val said. “I’m eating.” He grabbed a slice and plopped down in the chair. The TV was blank, which was typical Eliot. Have to see if he wants any books. He felt bad that he hadn’t seen his oldest living friend since he’d been in the hospital, but it wasn’t like he’d been resting on his laurels in the meantime.

  Eliot finally made his decision. “Screw it. If it hurts my guts, I’ll get over it.” The pie Val had kept for the two of them was heavy with pepperoni, sausage, ham, and meatballs.

  Should have grabbed some Tums. Grinning, Val said, “That’s the spirit.”

  They ate in silence for a few minutes before Eliot spoke up. “I heard about Leesburg.”

  “Yup. Boss ain’t looking so good.”

  “You running things in the meantime?”

  Val raised an eyebrow. Eliot shrugged. “Logical choice.”

  “If you say so. I’m just a trigger-puller.”

  “How about Locke? You get a line on her?”

  “We had a solid lead in Texas, but she slipped away.” He made a disgusted face. “Freaking magic.” He cocked his head and thought back to the cop he’d talked to in Amarillo. “Remember the last time we went to Amarillo?”

  Eliot thought about it, then nodded. “Giant snake. Good times.”

  “What did that hippy say when we blew up the culebron with George’s bazooka?”

  “Far out, man,” his partner quoted.

  “Heh, that’s right.” Val leaned back in the chair. “I ran into one of Ernie Hidalgo’s trainees out there. Guess he’s been dead for a while.”

  “Comes for us all, in the end. Well, most of us. Think he’s still yapping in the coffin?”

  In point of fact, Hidalgo had never shut up. That was impressive, considering the end of their joint mission had seen the extermination of a rampaging culebron with high explosives. The giant snake started out sampling longhorn cattle from the local herds. By the time Val and the gang got wind of the situation, the beast had gotten a taste for human flesh, stalking and consuming four hikers in as many days. “I didn’t think much of the ‘60s, but at least they didn’t have camera phones.”

  “Lot easier to confiscate or destroy film,” Eliot agreed. “What’s got your goat, old man?”

  Val sighed. “Too many moving pieces. I don’t know where everything fits, yet. We’ve got a Division M employee on video killing Dr. Schantz and planting the device—”

  “Hans is dead, too? Shit.”

  “Yeah, Menard, the director’s security detail. Bunch of office staff. Most of the Menagerie is flatter than a pancake, including about half of the occupants.” He groaned. “That reminds me, I need to sign a bunch of condolence letters.”

  “Who planted the bomb?”

  “It looked like Kristin Hughes, but it wasn’t. We got a science division team to her house and found blood all over the place. Matches her type, and there’s enough that she shouldn’t have been able to walk out of there.”

  “Skinwalker?”

  “We’re thinking succubus. Menard died, uh, happy, if you know what I mean.”

  Eliot grimaced. “I thought we wiped all those things out like disco.”

  “Around here, yeah. Betting this was a Euro-trash import. We’re running facial recognition scans of incoming and outgoing international flights for the last couple of weeks. The thing that sticks in my craw, though is the timing of the whole thing. We get our hands on Paxton Locke, haven’t had a chance to properly interrogate him yet, and bam, we get a breach in one of our most secure holding facilities and he escapes quick and easy as you please.”

  “Tough trick to pull, calling in from help from inside the prison. You think the mother was behind it?”

  “I am starting to believe,” Val said slowly, “that she doesn’t give much of a damn about him. She could have taken him in Phoenix, but all she wanted was his grimoire. Yeah, she took the girlfriend, but she’s just a hostage.”

  “We sure about that? Maybe she was playing both sides.”

  Val shook his head. “Up until a few weeks ago, Cassie Hatcher was a college student with a part-time job at Target. Different university from Helen’s crew, and different crowd.”

  Eliot sat silent, and Val let him think. His partner was a much better pure detective than he’d ever been, and he saw things from a perspective that sometimes led to leaps of understanding. Finally, the other agent met his eyes. “It’s a coincidence. The timing doesn’t work, no matter how you slice it. The Menagerie is tight enough that there’s no way that the boy could get word out. How would the mother coordinate that from across the country, while trying to evade capture?” He cocked his head to one side, eyes distant, and then a pained expression crossed his face. “Hell.”

  “You all right?” Val reached for the call button, hoping the pizza hadn’t irritated Eliot’s healing insides.

  “I’m fine. I just realized—we’ve got a third player to concern ourselves with.”

  “Whoever was behind the bombing,” Val said. He rolled the idea over in his head, then added, “Shit.”

  “Succubi are anything but intellectual. We’re talking about someone with the power base to be able to hire or intimidate one into working for them. That’s not Paxton Locke, no way, no how. Maybe his mom? But I doubt it. Not unless she’s been spending time in Paris between serving jail time.”

>   He replayed the surveillance video in his head. “She took something out of the vault. We’re going to have to cross-reference the last inventory with anything about the size of a shoe box.”

  “Hope the boys kept good records. But you can delegate that. What’s your next move?”

  “Apparently, Helen wanted her son’s friends to pass a message along to him. If he wants his girlfriend back, he needs to find her in Randolph Forest during the Ides of March.”

  “Maine? That’s not good.”

  “Seriously?” Val exclaimed. “Am I the only one who doesn’t know about this place?”

  Eliot grinned. “Well, as you said, you are a trigger-puller. Timing and hostage would point toward some sort of ritual.”

  “Morgan thinks she’s going to try and bust the wards.”

  His partner went paler than usual. “Good God, why? What does she stand to gain from that?”

  “I don’t try and psychoanalyze, bub. Like you said, I just shoot ‘em.” Val grabbed another piece of pizza. “I’m headed up there tomorrow morning to try and get the lay of the land. I’m bringing Morgan along to try and track her, but she thinks it’s a waste of time. She thinks whatever method Locke and her hostage used to slip out of our grasp is going to keep her hidden until spring, but I don’t buy it.” He gave Eliot a serious look. “Rest up and get better, brother. I need you watching my back. Something tells me this is going to be a real cluster.”

  “Working on it. Few more days, I’ll be up and at it.”

  “I’m going to hold you to that when I get back, old timer.”

  Paxton—Monday evening

  Phoenix, Arizona

  It ended up costing me a tank of gas, but I found a couple of fraternity brothers making a pit stop on their way back to Northern Arizona University. They were more than happy to let me hitch a ride in exchange for covering their fill-up. Flush with Darrel’s cash, it was more than an even trade to my mind.