Swim Like Hell: A Visit to Superstition Bay

by Benjamin LaMore

  “A fiend wouldn’t have bothered with small talk. If you were one, you’d have sprouted claws and jumped me on the spot. That means you’re human, either a witch or a warlock, and even though crossing genders isn’t as taboo as it was fifty years ago, it’s still not too common. Therefore, you’re a witch presenting herself unannounced and uninvited in my town, and I want to know why.”

  “I understand your caution all too well, Mr. DeLong. I need your help.” She coughs delicately. “Is there any chance we could discuss this without the gun?”

  I hold the gun on point, considering. The sundress is a clingy garment so there aren’t many places she can be hiding a weapon or another magical implement, but that doesn’t mean that she’s not dangerous. Witches are notoriously tricky to deal with. The strong ones (like the ones that can possess comely young women) can spin magic that is beyond detection, subverting your will, manipulating your senses until their desires become your own. Of course, if that doesn’t work they can just hex you. It’s the difference between seduction and rape.

  Since she knows who I am, she has to know that none of those tricks will work on me. But just because she can’t turn me into a newt or throw me into a wall doesn’t mean that she can’t throw the wall at me.

  Ultimately, I have only my instincts to rely on, and they are telling me that she means no harm. At least at the moment. As I’d told her, if she had wanted to attack me she could have done so easily instead of letting herself be seen. I decock, lower the gun and slide it back into its holster.

  She lets out a pleased breath, smiles at me with relief.

  “My name is Madeline,” she says.

  “Madeline,” I repeat. No last name, but that doesn’t surprise me. It’s not likely to be her real first name, anyway. “OK, Madeline. Say what’s on your mind.”

  She flicks an unfamiliar strand of hair out of her eyes with a quick wave of her fingers. “You’re not too generous around magical folk, are you? So quick to draw your weapon. You must have a low opinion of the people you deal with.”

  “Let’s just say that not every magical being I’ve bumped into has tried to kill me, but they’ve all thought about it at least once.”

  “I haven’t.”

  “Give it time. Tell me why you’re here.”

  “I need you to recover something for me.”

  “Sounds like you need a private detective. If you want, I can recommend one. There’s a zombie PI right here in town if you’re picky about not working with normals. I’m sure he can help you.”

  “I don’t need a detective,” Madeline says flatly. “I need you. I’m told that you have a knack for dealing with situations like this one, that you are able to settle differences between magical creatures in a fair manner. They call you Marshal around here, isn’t that right?”

  “Not exactly.” Someone hung the name on me once, but not by my choosing.

  In the world of magic and monsters the Aegis is the equivalent to the CIA or MI5, only their reason for being is the keep the “normal” world safe from the magical. Most of the time the monsters live their lives without incident under the public’s radar, just going about their everyday pursuits with the regular humans next to them not being any the wiser, but that doesn’t mean that they don’t bear watching. Sometimes even the best of them become dangers to the world around them on one level or another. Sometimes an ancient beast gets awoken, either accidentally or on purpose, and has to be put down. Sometimes men and women with awe-inspiring powers decide to use them to hurt, enslave, or even kill the powerless around them. Sometimes an errant monster loses control and slaughters the innocent. The “normal” human has long since been dethroned from the top spot on the food chain and none of them even know it.

  That’s where the Aegis comes in. It’s not an offshoot of the Illuminati. It’s not bent on world domination. It maintains the balance. Its purpose is to act as a shepherd, a shield, sending its Envoys to protect those who don’t have magic from those who do.

  Not many people who serve in the Aegis manage to retire. The lucky ones generally leave the service in a casket. Most don’t leave enough behind to bury. The fact that I had actually lived long enough to retire with my body mostly healthy and mind reasonably intact made me a bit of a celebrity in the magical world, something that at times is both a benefit and a hindrance. My reputation usually precedes me, but part of that reputation is my vulnerability.

  “All right, Madeline, you have my attention. What’s the problem?”

  “Something that belongs to me was stolen. A box, about this big.” She holds her hands about nine inches apart.

  “Is the box itself important, or is what’s inside?”

  “Both, but the box is really just an archaeological curiosity. Inside the box is an antique straight razor. The kind barbers used to use for shaving.”

  “It’s magical?”

  “Very. It’s a potent talisman, Mr. DeLong.”

  “As long as we’re being civil, Madeline, you can call me Ian.”

  She smiles at that, and it makes me wonder what her real smile is like. “It’s called the Cleave. Have you heard of it?”

  I think for a second, then shake my head. “What is it?”

  “All I know for certain about it is that it’s a straight razor. The rest of its story depends on who who’s telling it. Some think it was stolen from Satan’s shaving kit. Some say it’s a piece of Excalibur. Some say it was forged by Hephaestus, some by God. Some say it can cut the sky, some say it’ll only cut demons. I have a knack for research of that kind, and I intend to get the real truth of it, but first I have to get that blade.”

  “Sounds like something a lot of people would like to get a hold of.”

  “That’s putting it mildly. I won it a week ago at an auction in Miami, through an intermediary. It was to be escorted to me by a three-man transportation team from Linear Protection. They didn’t want to fly with it or take it on a boat because of the restricted spaces, so three days ago they left Miami and started to drive out to my place in Port Lavaca. Two days ago, the team changed their travel route at the last minute and cut off all contact with me. I believe that they brought it here, to this town.”

  Her story definitely peaks my interest. I’ve heard of Linear, of course. Most people who deal with magic have. They operate along the lines of Brinks, if Brinks outsourced its training to a Ninja clan headed by Abraham Van Helsing. When it comes to the safekeeping of supernatural items they have a stellar reputation. Even the Sovereigns, the bigwigs of the Aegis, respect them. Three of their people going dark at the same time in the middle of a job is unheard of. “Why would they have done that?”

  “I believe they must have been bribed, or coerced.”

  “No, I mean why bring it here?”

  “I don’t know for certain. They work for Linear. They know a lot about magic. They weren’t far from here, and being in the business they are they certainly know about this town. If they wanted to sell or trade something this powerful, this would be an ideal place to go.”

  That makes sense. It’s common knowledge in the supernatural world that Superstition Bay has such a disproportionately high population of magical beings. I’ve never been able to figure out why, but it’s been true for more than a century now. I’ve never taken a census, but off the top of my head I can list by name more than a hundred beings here who either are magic or have magical abilities. The logic, if Madeline is telling the truth, isn’t without merit.

  “Why not track them down yourself? You’ve obviously got a lot of power at your disposal, pulling off a possession this smoothly. I’m sure you could have found them easily enough without having to come calling to me like this.”

  “It would have been so much simpler to just project myself into your mind but that won’t work on you. I don’t have access to most of my powers when I’m borrowing a body, but I could still find Ernest by myself.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “He’s the point man for
the team. He’s carrying a token that belongs to me, and I can use it to track him easily. That was part of my agreement with Linear, that I be able to track them if I should need to. My only worry is what made them do this in the first place. Even without most of my power I can handle it if the only problem is that they’re being held by some thug at gunpoint. But if there’s something magical at work, which is more likely, I might not be able to muster enough power to handle it. If that’s the case, your magical immunity would be very helpful.”

  She brushes away a lock of hair that drifts annoyingly into her eyes. “I’m sorry, Mr. DeLong, but this is very important. I’m still learning about the Cleave, but I definitely know that it’s far too powerful to be left out in the open, unguarded. I need your help. Just help me recover it, and I’ll be out of your hair.”

  I let my mind run, never taking my eyes off her. No matter how fresh and innocent she looks she’s still clearly a person who holds a hell of a lot of power, and you should never take your eyes off something that dangerous.

  It doesn’t even cross my mind not to help her. If she’s on the level about this Cleave being an object of real power, and nothing about her story rings to me as false, then my refusal might lead to people getting hurt and that was simply out of the question. But I hate going into situations I know nothing about, and nothing was exactly what I know now.

  I glance up at the shuddering sky. The moon has bequeathed its last silvery gift and vanished behind a bank of swelling thunderheads, removing the last source of natural light. I don’t like that. I don’t like a lot about what could possibly happen in the next few hours. Give me a little bit of time and the right materials and I can handle nearly any situation you want to throw me in. I’m about to plow headlong into a situation I know nothing about, with no plan or tools, in a town where things go bump in the night as a matter of course and a Gulf summer storm is leaning its ugly head over the town. My instincts tell me to go home and have a shower, a snack, and a pillow, in that order. They have to wait.

  “Let’s go,” I say with resignation.

  So much for my instincts.

  Two

  Madeline has rented a clean little Mercedes but I insist on driving my own car, not out of chivalry or machismo but because if there is one thing I’ve learned from the life I’ve lead it’s that you should never be at the mercy of another person’s transportation.

  I’m parked a block away from the Hole. Madeline looks surprised and a little skeptical when she sees my vehicle, a green Jeep Wrangler Unlimited that has been treated a bit roughly. It happens sometimes that the situations I find myself in force me to chauffer large, heavy, and occasionally violent people (and not-quite people), and too many claims can make your car insurance skyrocket. It’s okay. A single look will tell you that I’ve never been vain about my car. Both front quarter panels are cracked and there is a large dent in the front passenger side door. The roof has been scratched more than a car roof should explicably be and the front bumper has been welded back on, twice. When she sees the three claw marks scored deeply into the rear door she raises her eyebrows at me. I wave off her questioning look and climb in. She follows suit, I start the car and we pull out into the nighttime traffic.

  “Where are we going?” I ask.

  Her eyes glaze over visibly and she begins peering about as if she was looking for a light switch in a dark room. In no time she smiles. “I can see the residue of my token,” she says, pointing roughly west. “Go that way.”

  I nod, pleased. There’s a small neighborhood out that way with a lot of cheap rental properties, many of which are empty even in the touristy summer months. Perfect choice for someone looking for a quick, anonymous layover, and far less likely to invite civilian interference than a busy suburb. We drive in silence for a minute or so, then she smiles bright enough to catch my eye.

  “What?”

  “It’s true what they say about you. I’d heard about you, of course, but I needed to see it for myself before I believed it.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Your magical immunity. I just tried to hex you, but it didn’t work.”

  “Now? While I’m driving? We could have been…”

  “Relax,” she laughs. “It was nothing serious. I just tried to turn your hair blond.”

  “Why?”

  She shrugs carelessly. “I like blonds.”

  At that moment the Jeep’s radio blares to life, untouched, startling us both. Evil Woman, by the Electric Light Orchestra, floods the speakers. I reach out and click the radio off.

  “What the hell was that?” Madeline gasps.

  “Relax, it’s just Simon,” I tell her.

  “Who is Simon?”

  “A local ghost. Practical joker. He likes messing with people’s music.” I look sideways at her. “Or is he trying to tell me something?”

  She doesn’t flinch from my stare. “You mean, like am I evil?” She shrugs again. “There are some people who’d say so. There are some people who think I’m a saint. I’m a businesswoman. That’s all. If it makes you feel any better I have never used my powers to hurt people, so even if you were still an Envoy you’d have no business with me.”

  I’m not sure if I believe her, but that’s a matter for another day. She turns and looks out the window at the crowds. It’s a fantastic night, and since there is no such thing as last call in this town the sidewalks are still full of people melting in the humidity, strolling down the sidewalks, dipping into the bars. Some of them are heading for the boardwalk, maybe thinking about a midnight swim. If they knew what I know they’d never dip a toe in that bay, though. I know what lives in there.

  “It’s amazing,” Madeline says after a minute.

  “What is?”

  She’s searching the crowds. “There’s so much here. So many of us. I don’t remember the last time I saw so many supernaturals in one area.”

  “About one person in ten here have some kind of magical background. Six hundred, give or take. They’re their own sub community. Around here they call themselves the Grey.”

  “Why?”

  “They think of themselves as the grey area between those who have no power and those who have too much. Most of the people in this town who have magic are fairly weak, magically speaking, but they’re still up higher than normal humans on the grand scale of things. Besides, they seem to like the name. Gives them an identity in the world.”

  “I just saw three werewolves sitting at that outdoor oyster bar.” I don’t think she’s listening to me at all. If she is she’s not acknowledging me.

  “I hate werewolves,” I mutter.

  “Is that a genie on that corner selling sunglasses?”

  “Maurice,” I tell her. “He’s fallen on hard times lately.”

  She shakes her head, awestruck. “You picked one hell of a town to retire to, Ian.”

  “I didn’t pick it.”

  “Then why are you here? Why not just go back home? Or did you just happen to choose the one town to live in that has more magic in it than Disneyland?”

  “I didn’t have much of a home to return to. My parents died years ago, and I never had much in common with the people I graduated high school with. The Aegis offered me one of their safe houses and, well, I’ve made a few enemies in the past. It seemed like a good idea.”

  “But you don’t hide. They can still find you.”

  “True enough, but at least here I’ve got some protection. A perk of my service. Plus, I’ve really got nowhere else to go.”

  “So, you stay here with all of them. And they all live together peacefully? That’s amazing.”

  “If they all lived together peacefully I wouldn’t need to be here with you,” I say.

  “You don’t need to be here now,” she reminds me. “You’re the one who made it out. You actually retired from the Aegis. Fighting monsters isn’t your job anymore.”

  “I just don’t get paid anymore,” I correct her.

  �
��So why?”

  I point out the window. Every face on the sidewalk is visible, and to a one they are all relaxed, carefree, enjoying the night life without a clue what kind of nightlife is right there among them. “What do you see out there?”

  She follows my point. “I see a pissed-off looking flesh golem with a candy wrapper in his hand. That man by the hot dog cart has some kind of mental powers, either precognition or telepathy, I can’t tell which. Another werewolf. There’s a lot of them in this town. Why do you ask?”

  I stop at a red light, looking out my window. She’s spotted a lot, but even Madeline can’t see them all. The monsters. They’re always there, mingling with the humans who are, as always, blissfully unaware of their presence. Most of the Grey have a naturally occurring glamour, an ability to mask themselves from humans and, to some extent other practitioners. Some don’t need to at all, like unshifted weres. Some, like Arthur, just need enough to let them blend in. Every once in a while you get something exotic, like a triton. They need a full magical curtain not to cause a panic. Maybe if she had her full power Madeline would be able to pick them out, but then again, maybe not. Their whole existence is built on the fact that they can hide when they need to.

  Not that any of them can hide from me, of course.

  “That’s why I do it,” I tell her. “You see the monsters. I see the people.”

  “So, you want to save the innocent humans all from us horrible monsters,” she says with a hint of bitter sarcasm.

  “Only the bad monsters, Madeline. Only the bad ones.”

  She turns back to the window again, scowling but silent. We drive the rest of the way in silence, except for whenever she needs to give me directions. I know the general area. There’s a large cemetery there, and cemeteries draw a lot of attention for people in my sphere. For a moment I think Madeline is actually leading me to the cemetery, but ultimately her sight leads us to a house across the street from it.

  I pull up in front of the house and kill the engine. It’s a simple little home with a For Rent sign in the window, just one of five similar houses on this same street. Single story, painted white sometime fairly recently, maybe two or three bedrooms. I carefully get out of the Jeep and gently ease the door closed. Something isn’t right.