Come, Seeling Night

by Daniel Humphreys

  I nodded.

  The voice that filled the room when he answered the phone made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. My memories might have been fuzzy from the drugs, but I remembered the voice.

  “This is Valentine. Is the situation under control?”

  “Everything is sweet as a peach,” Anjewierden said. It seemed a strange comment, and to top it all off, it elicited an aggrieved sigh from the phone speaker.

  “Of course, a duress code doesn’t mean shit if he put a whammy on you and made you use it, isn’t that right?”

  “I don’t do that sort of thing,” I interjected. Well, not much. “If you didn’t go off half-cocked and took the time to ask some actual questions, you might have figured that out.”

  “Paxton.”

  “What’s up, Doc?”

  He sighed again. “I don’t have time for this shit. What do you want?”

  “My friends released, for one. They didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “That depends on your perspective. I’d have to take off my socks to count the number of felonies they racked up just with the automatic weapons.”

  “Yeah, well,” I responded lamely, “you need something with a little more kick when you go up against magic-using politicians and Aztec gods, what can I say? And last I checked, you’re not exactly advertising your presence.”

  “Well, we can’t all be on Craigslist.”

  “You should be.”

  His voice turned thoughtful. “Maybe so. What’s in this for us?”

  “I help you stop my Mother.”

  “What makes you think you can?”

  “I did it once,” I said. My voice sounded far more confident than I actually felt. “I can do it again.”

  Valentine fell silent, and I took a look at Anjewierden. His face was calm, but beads of perspiration were building on his temples. I got the sense that he’d rather be anywhere else than here.

  You and me both, buddy.

  “Here’s the deal. I really am busy. I don’t have the time to come to you and make a handshake deal. If you’re serious, you come back to DC so I can look you in the eye.”

  “Anyone comes at me with a needle and all bets are off,” I said. “I’ll stop her myself,” I bluffed. Hell, I don’t even know where she is or where she’s going! From the sound of things, though, Valentine had an idea.

  “You’ve got it. Anjewierden? Cut the friends loose and get the young man on the next flight.”

  Paxton—Wednesday evening

  Joint Base Andrews, Maryland

  Between coughs, Kent told me I was a damn fool.

  Division M had sequestered him, his wife Jean, and Father Rosado away from the rest of my friends in the base clinic at Luke Air Force Base. After I’d come to my agreement with Agent Valentine, Anjewierden arranged for us to meet in a small lunchroom used by the doctors. Between lectures, I wondered how they felt about being kicked out of their own space by secret agents.

  My friends didn’t like the deal, and they were happy to yell about it. That wasn’t such a big deal for myself, but I felt bad for Anjewierden. The agent sat in one corner, a strange look on his face as he watched the proceedings.

  “Look,” I said, finally, cutting Esteban off before he could go into another spiel about habeas corpus. “I get it. I do. No offense, but you guys weren’t shipped off to wizard Gitmo, either. This is bigger than me, and if I can get you guys free, I’m taking that deal. End of story.”

  “What if they change the terms on you?” Carlos said. He’d given me a bit less of a hard time than the others, but then, he’d also been texting like a mad man on his returned cell phone. I got the impression Karen, at least, was pretty ecstatic about how things had worked out.

  I glanced at the agent in the corner. “That’s not going to happen. Do I trust them completely? Of course not, they haven’t earned that yet. But my eyes are open now. I’m not going to get blindsided again.” Roxanne grinned at me from her position near Anjewierden. I hadn’t told anyone about my new sidekick yet, and I planned on keeping her existence to myself as long as I could. If nothing else, she could be the eyes in the back of my head. “We’ll stay in touch. If we don’t hear from each other at least once a day, we get the lawyers and press involved.”

  Anjewierden grimaced at the mention of the media, but he didn’t say anything. For all my talk of trust, everything that had happened since I’d spoken to Valentine boded well for their good intentions. I had my phone and wallet back, and another agent had brought my RV and the De La Rosa’s van from the impound. Between the two vehicles, they’d all be able to get back to San Diego. Phoenix PD had fired Kent before Mother made her visit. It was up in the air whether the termination was official, given that the officers doing the firing had been under Tlaloc’s influence, but losing his house had put my friend in a somber mood. I wouldn’t have called him broken, per se, but he looked beaten down.

  Their treatment hadn’t been as bad as that of the De La Rosas, but I imagined being handcuffed to a hospital bed didn’t help speed up healing times. I’d made my escape to San Diego and the ocean over a decade ago when dad died—I couldn’t begrudge my friend for wanting to fight another day, himself.

  In the end, Father Rosado was the peacemaker. “Kent, Jean—we know what Helen told us. She wants Paxton to come to her. The Lord only knows what horrors she has in mind, but it can’t be good, no?”

  I shuddered at the memory of the nightmare vision I’d received from the grimoire and nodded in silent agreement. Kent grumbled in annoyance, but he nodded, as well.

  “You have to stop her, Paxton,” the Father said. “If there’s anyone I know who can do it, it’s you. For us to try and keep you safe when this is what you’re being called to do is purely selfish.”

  And that was that. My flight was waiting, and my friends were free to go. There were hugs and handshakes all around as I bid them farewell. Scope tried to talk me into bringing him along, but I pushed back on that as gently as I could. “I’ve got some tricks up my sleeve, man. They caught me by surprise the first time. That ain’t happening again. But if I need backup, you’ll the first one I call, I promise.”

  A few hours later, my third cross-country flight came to an end. It had been the most comfortable of the bunch. The Air Force personnel on the plane informed me that the C-21A was the military version of a Lear Jet, and the sumptuous interior confirmed that. After that initial exchange, the flight crew ignored me and went about their business. I should have slept, but my promise to Esteban and the others that I’d watch myself weighed heavily enough on my conscience that I forced myself to stay awake, watching the countryside roll by below us.

  The landing was routine enough, and after we taxied to an open hangar, getting off the plane was a breeze—I was the lone passenger, and my only luggage was the backpack I’d carried on with me. I could get used to traveling like this.

  The Division M agent waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs was alone, leaning casually against the side of a black Suburban that screamed government vehicle. Despite my earlier bravado, my stomach clenched a bit at the sight of Valentine. I swallowed my nerves and began my descent.

  That’s the glowing man, Roxanne said. She’d been quiet since I’d met with my crew, but we hadn’t had much alone time to be able to speak. The one who killed Kelsey.

  “He’s dangerous, I get it,” I mumbled. Throwing my shoulders back, I hit the bottom of the stairs, marched across the tarmac and stuck out my hand. “We meet again, Agent Valentine.”

  He shook my hand without hesitation. A hint of a smile crossed his face, but then he cocked his head to one side. “Who’s your friend?”

  “You can see her?”

  “Not as such, but I know something was around. She?”

  “Roxanne,” I said. “From Kent’s house.”

  “Ah,” he said. “Miss Mills. I’m surprised she’s still around.”

  I glanced at her—she didn’t have anything to say, but
she kept her face still as she stared at him. “She’s a pretty good scout, actually. She had some interesting stories about the fight back in Phoenix. I was trying to figure out if the last time we met was a hallucination, and she threw another bucket of crazy on top.” I looked around the hangar. We weren’t alone, but the crew servicing the newly-arrived plane stayed well away. “Where’s the robot and the werewolf?”

  Valentine closed his eyes and shook his head. “He’s not a werewolf,” he said with a sigh. “And he just got out of the hospital.”

  I grinned, reveling in the fact that he seemed a little off balance. “What’s your story, then? Roxanne called you the glowing man—do you prefer that, or something more vintage, ‘Doc’?”

  He frowned. “First of all, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t blast my identity to the sky. I should have kept my mouth shut, but you’ve got a way of getting under people’s skin, don’t you?”

  “It’s a gift. It can’t be shocking that I’m curious—you look pretty good for a senior citizen.”

  “Still spry enough to kick your ass, as I remember.”

  “Fair enough,” I shrugged. “Seriously, what’s your deal? Are you a vampire, or what?”

  “Not exactly. Let’s just say when a man with a burning sword makes you an offer you can’t refuse, you accept it.” He smirked. “I believe you two have met.”

  It was my turn for surprise. “I kind of wish he’d pop in right about now, actually.”

  He grunted and gave me the barest shadow of a smile. “He does have a way of leaving you to sort things on your own, doesn’t he?”

  “That he does.”

  “On the bright side, we seem to have the benefit of time, if we’re right.” He jerked a thumb at the Suburban. “Ready to go? We’ll fill you in at headquarters.”

  Nerves or not, I didn’t hesitate. “Let’s do it.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Paxton—Wednesday evening

  Washington, DC

  When Agent Valentine told me he was taking me to meet his team, I wasn’t sure what to expect.

  A bald guy in a wheelchair and a sloppy-looking agent in a rumpled suit sat on the opposite side of the long conference table. Hesitating in the doorway, I checked both sides of the room and immediately outside.

  “Lose something?” Valentine said. He pulled out a chair and dropped into it with an annoyed grunt.

  “No, I guess I expected more than three people.”

  Roxanne walked through and past me into the room and moved into the corner, as far away from Valentine and the others as she could get. He’s the werewolf, she pointed at the scruffy guy. Not sure about the bald one.

  Uninvited, I took a chair of my own. “Howdy, fellas.” I stretched a hand across the table to the bald guy. “You must be the robot. Paxton Locke.”

  “George Patrick,” he growled. “And it’s an electro-thaumaturgical prosthesis. With machine guns.”

  “Nice.” I shifted my hand over to the last man. “Hi.”

  Amused, he returned the gesture. “Nick Eliot. No wonder Val’s in such a bad mood, he’s finally met someone who’s as big of a smart-ass as he is.”

  “One of these times, the doctors will cut out your sense of humor,” Valentine muttered.

  “You know me, that baby will grow right back,” Agent Eliot grinned.

  “Can I start, now?”

  “By all means, lay it on us.”

  “Until the Revolutionary War, the British Excalibur Corps maintained the defense of the New World against otherworldly threats. Once the United States won their independence, that was obviously out of the question. When Congress passed the Judiciary Act of 1789, they authorized the creation of the first Federal law enforcement agency, the Marshals Service. James Madison urged President Washington to establish an organization similar to the Corps within the Marshals Service. Division M was born, and for the next hundred plus years, we held the line. We’ve never had an excess of personnel, but America has a way of attracting unique and talented individuals.” Valentine smiled crookedly. “We made do. During Prohibition, organized crime became the primary trafficking source of illicit magic—along with alcohol—so Division M shifted from the Marshals Service to the Treasury’s Alcohol Tax Unit. After 9/11, the Homeland Security Act moved us to the Department of Justice. In the end, the org chart doesn’t mean a damn thing—we’ve held the line for over two hundred years. I’ve been here for over half that time. Welcome to America’s bulwark against mystical threats.”

  I leaned back in the chair and considered that. Given Anjewierden’s comment about firefighters, the lack of personnel explained their inability to do more than react to situations. Maybe that had worked in the old days, but things seemed to be escalating, of late. Cassie and I had discussed it during our trip to Kent’s house—how there were more and more ghosts. Hell, just in the past few weeks I’d dealt with more ‘otherworldly’ stuff than I had in the last ten years.

  An uptick like that certainly didn’t signal a trend, but if things like the Edimmu, Tlaloc, and the Void were willing to move so brazenly in the open, these guys were outmatched. Worst of all, they didn’t seem to realize it. Institutional blindness? Doing things the same way for what, hundreds of years? “You weren’t joking, were you? You really are Doc Holliday.”

  “Not for a long time, son.”

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you look nothing like Val Kilmer.”

  He frowned as Eliot started laughing. Annoyed, Valentine’s Southern accent sharpened. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but if you ask me to do the huckleberry line, you’re getting two black eyes. And that’s me being nice.” He waited for a beat to make sure I understood, then shrugged. “I always liked Kirk Douglas more, myself.”

  I turned to Eliot. “Wyatt Earp?”

  He shook his head as Valentine interjected, “This isn’t secret identity day. Suffice to say ‘there are more things in heaven and earth, Paxton, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’”

  “You’re laying Shakespeare on me?”

  “Whatever works. Here’s the deal. Your friends told you that your mother wants you in Randolph, Maine, for the Ides of March?”

  “Sure,” I agreed, “but I don’t understand why. She’s got the book. Taking Cassie and baiting me doesn’t make sense.”

  Valentine grimaced. “I’d conference in the fourth member of our crew, but she’s overseas. I’m not sure she’s available at the moment, but she has a theory. When Helen Locke killed your father, it was part of a ritual. You interrupted that and kept her from succeeding. We think she’s going to try it again.”

  My heart sank. “With Cassie standing in for my dad.”

  “Theoretically. Without getting too far into the weeds, Randolph is a mystical linchpin—a dimensional nexus with enough magic securing it to make Hiroshima look like a firecracker. We think she’s going to try and break the locks. Which, needless to say, opens our world up to all sorts of nasty things coming to visit.”

  My hands shook as I thought about the images of pestilence and apocalypse the grimoire showed me when I made the mistake of wondering what Mother had been trying to do. “If that’s the case, why do the first ritual in our house? If she has to go to Maine now to complete it, why not go there the first time?”

  Morgan made a face, as though my question had put a bad taste in her mouth. “In fact, that is an excellent question. Here’s what you have to understand about ritual magic. It creates a battery of sorts, that the caster fills during the process of the spell.” She shuddered though the room was a comfortable temperature. “Breaking one from the outside is a bad idea, as it can release stored energy in unpredictable ways.”

  I leaned back in my chair. “When I broke free of Mother’s hold and pushed her to stop, I ended up in the hospital.”

  “Precisely. If you hadn’t stopped her sooner, it might have turned your house into a crater. Whatever you did, you tapped into the collected energy and hyper-charged your own a
bilities. If it comes down to it, you putting yourself in the hospital again is an ideal outcome. If the feedback is bad enough in Randolph, she could blow the nexus wide open even if we do stop her.”

  I stared at the table, composing my thoughts. “It doesn’t make sense. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to defend her, but I don’t understand it.”

  “What’s to understand, she’s crazy—” Val started, but Eliot raised a hand to silence him.

  “Reason it out,” the scruffy agent said. I met his eyes. Their burning intensity took me by surprise for a moment. If I’d underestimated him because of his rough appearance, that now seemed an ill-advised conclusion.

  “Well,” I temporized, “not to be simplistic, but what’s in it for her? She lives in this world, same as us. If she opens up some dimensional gateway, is Gozer going to give her the keys to the Cayman Islands on the way through?”

  “Who?” Eliot said.

  Valentine sighed. “It’s from a movie. What the hell do you do when we’re not working?”

  “I read, actually. And not comic books.”

  “They’re like this most of the time,” George informed me in a dry tone. “You get used to it.”

  “My apologies,” Valentine said. “Continue.”

  “You have to understand something about the grimoire.” I took a deep breath and tried to think how to say it without sounding insane. That was a challenge. “On the outside, it doesn’t look like anything other than an antique. When you look at it, though, the pages change for you—for me, they turn into English, and the spell, most of the time, is something related to what I was thinking about.”

  The Division M agents frowned. “I’ve never seen anything like that,” Valentine said. “A spell’s a spell, it just looks a little odd if you stare at it long enough.”

  Ask him if they were loose or bound. Roxanne’s silent voice normally had a hollow, emotionless sense to it, but now, it was almost forceful. I didn’t hesitate to glance in her direction—Valentine likely knew she was in the room after all—but I still cocked my head and gave her a puzzled look. Ask him!