The Vigiles Urbani Chronicles- Year One

by Ken Lange

  With a shove, I pulled the knife free, letting him sink lifelessly to the pavement. The gates flew open as Andrew stormed out of the drive. Power washed off him in waves, pulsating across the ground with enough force to move Timothy’s body several feet. Isidore strode out from behind Andrew, his face twisted, preparing to transform into the beast he kept just below the skin.

  Leaning over, I wiped my blade clean on Timothy’s shirt before checking for a pulse—not that I expected to find one; it was a gesture to calm the others.

  I pushed myself up to my feet with a grunt and clipped the knife in place. “He’s dead, guys.”

  With a great deal of effort, Andrew forced calm onto his features. “Is this your friend from the other morning?”

  “Yeah, he came looking for the cane.”

  Isidore shoved a shoe under Timothy’s head and lifted. “I don’t recognize him.”

  Andrew focused on the face before Isidore removed his foot. “Me either.” He brimmed with questions. “Any idea how he’s connected to all this?”

  With a brusque nod, I gestured at the corpse. “His name is Timothy Miller, a hired thug out of Canada.”

  Andrew’s face turned sour. “Do you know who hired him?”

  There was that itch in the back of my head again, telling me just how badly he wanted to know. Fighting off the compulsion, I glared at him. “I do, but we’ve got a few things to tend to before delving into specifics.”

  Andrew stalked over and shoved a finger hard against my chest. “You’ll tell me who it is, and you’ll tell me now.”

  I knocked away his hand. “How about we deal with the dead body first?”

  Andrew scowled—he wasn’t used to being denied information—but reluctantly agreed. “I’ll call Lieutenant Baptist.” He stepped back, glowering at the corpse. “He’ll be able to clean this up without too much trouble.”

  Ten minutes later, the first cruiser pulled up and blocked off 4th Street. It took another ten minutes for the UCD to arrive. Andrew was speaking to the lieutenant when someone grabbed an arm to spin me around. Whoever it was didn’t have the strength to do so, but I followed its pull and found Captain Hotard glaring up at me.

  He was crimson with rage, and the top of his head glistened through the thinning hair and bald spots. His voice was low and threatening as he sneered at me. “You’re responsible for this?”

  To say I wasn’t happy with Bryan’s attitude would’ve been an understatement, but Kur was absolutely offended by his tone and arrogance. It took some effort to keep myself in check, but I managed it. Barely. “You seem to be forgetting that he tried to shoot me.”

  The captain folded his chubby arms, his face turning sour. “That’s your story, but I’m not sure it’s the truth.” While I was sure I hadn’t personally done anything to the man, hatred radiated from him. “I’ve taken the liberty of having Sonia do a background check on you. It won’t be long before I know what type of degenerate you really are.”

  The fact that he was digging into my past gave me pause, not for myself but him. The people I worked for wouldn’t take that type of intrusion lightly. “I’d be very careful if I were you. You never know what you might find.”

  The triumph on his face was palpable. “I knew it! You do have something to hide.”

  Glowering at the shit stain, I sniggered. “Not in the least.” Dropping my voice so only he could hear, I continued, “However, the people I used to work for probably do, and I seriously doubt they’ll take kindly to you sticking your nose in their business.”

  His bloated face filled with rage. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

  With a smirk, I lifted my right hand. “I think I’m the newest vigil.” That caused him to stagger back, and he paled. “I’d appreciate it if you took it down a notch.”

  Looking ill, he clapped a hand over his mouth. It took a moment, but he found his voice. “How? I thought it wasn’t happening until next week.”

  Without as much as a goodbye, he waddled away into the crowd of officers, making a beeline for Andrew.

  The lanky lieutenant I’d seen at the funeral appeared in front of me, sticking his overly long, thin hand out. He spoke with a heavy Russian accent and blinked in time with his words. “Good evening.” He paused, glanced over at the body bag, and sniffed. “Well, as good an evening as one can have after being forced to end someone’s life so abruptly.” He looked me over again and checked his notes. “Mr. Randall, isn’t it?”

  The man’s disheveled dark hair matched the unkempt beard. His suit, however, was perfectly pressed, his blue-green eyes were clear, and his demeanor was competent and pleasant.

  Taking his outstretched hand, I nodded. “Please call me Gavin.”

  He smiled, showing me his bright white teeth. “Da. I’m Lieutenant William Baptist.”

  With an accent that thick? I twisted my head in surprise. “Baptist?”

  He shrugged. “My real name was difficult for most people to pronounce, so I changed it.”

  “I see… How can I help you today, Lieutenant?”

  He waved an unconcerned hand at the captain’s back. “Don’t worry about him. He’ll get used to the idea soon enough.” Something strayed through his mind that made him chuckle. “And if he doesn’t, fuck that asshole.”

  Apparently, Captain Hotard was a popular man even among his own people.

  I stifled a laugh. “Thanks.”

  He turned and pointed, and I followed his finger. “We’ve reviewed your neighbor’s surveillance system…clear case of self-defense.”

  “That’s what I was saying.”

  Lieutenant Baptist didn’t look particularly bothered, but tried to explain away the captain’s problem with me. “Yes, but look at it from his perspective. This is the second death attributable to you in less than a week.”

  Cocking my head, I acknowledged the accusation. But it was my guess that the captain’s hatred of me had less to do with the dead bodies, and more to do with Andrew. Even so, I couldn’t help but state the obvious. “In my defense, both men were trying very hard to kill me.” I gestured at the body bag. “Personally, I think I should get credit for saving the taxpayers some money.”

  He tittered. “While I may think so, the captain does not. These incidents are shining a spotlight on our division.”

  “Not a good thing?”

  The lanky man let out a belly laugh, and he patted me on the shoulder. “Not when you’re trying to get out of the UCD.” He gestured at the other officers. “He doesn’t take pride in what we do, and he thinks the Archive is a travesty, if not a crime against humanity.”

  From the sound of things, bigotry was rampant on both sides of the fence. “Most of the Archive doesn’t think much of humans either. I guess fair is fair. People seem to be shitty no matter their affiliation.”

  Baptist made a dismissive gesture. “I suppose that’s true.” His face went blank, and he looked up into my eyes. “Mind if I ask you a personal question?”

  The way he said it made me cautious. “You can ask, but I reserve the right not to answer.”

  He pulled out his smartphone and showed it to me, pressing the play icon in the center of the screen. It was queued up to the point when Timothy had fired the gun, and Baptist let it play for several seconds.

  Pocketing the phone, he cocked his head to the side. “You didn’t even twitch when he fired.” He looked at the marred brick wall across the street. “It was obviously loaded with live rounds.”

  Raising an eyebrow, I waited. “Is there a question?”

  The man’s blue-green eyes sparkled. “Care to tell me why you’re so accustomed to gunshots?”

  It had been a long time since I’d been around normal people, and I’d almost forgotten how annoying their curiosity could be. “I really don’t, but if you want a hint, I’d hang around the station. Once Sonia pulls my records, I’m sure some unpleasant people will stop by to give her a piece of their mind.”

  Baptist’s face darkene
d under his scraggly beard. “Who gave her...?” He looked over at the captain and shook his head. “I’ll handle it.”

  “I’d be very grateful.”

  He produced a card and handed it to me. “If you need anything, let me know.”

  I shoved it into my back pocket. “I heard the captain cleaned out Martha’s office. If there’s anything he missed, I’d like to get my hands on it.”

  Baptist nodded. “Not a problem.” He paused for a moment. “I’ve been informed of your new position. Would you like me to provide you with space to work at the station?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”

  Baptist cut his eyes at the captain. “Don’t let him run you out of the precinct if you want to work there.”

  I laughed. “It’s not him, I just need some time to get my feet under me, and that’ll be hard to do with me tripping over others in the process.”

  He seemed disappointed, but accepted my answer. “In that case, I’ve got a full evening of paperwork. Keep in touch, and don’t forget to call if I can assist you.”

  “Sure thing.”

  Baptist strolled off to tend to the crime scene, such as it was. It took nearly another hour before I could pull the car into the garage for the evening. Now that the NOPD were gone, we could get down to the real problem at hand: Walter Percy.

  Isidore was still downstairs when I walked into the apartment and found Andrew at his desk wearing the old gold-rimmed glasses. He waved me over. “Have a seat.”

  Laying the file from Elmwood in my lap, I suddenly felt like I’d been called to the principal’s office. “Evening.”

  He grabbed a bottle of scotch and poured us both a stiff drink, pushing my glass across the desk to me. “I wanted to apologize about my behavior earlier.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  Andrew raised a glass in my direction. “I’m still curious about who...Timothy, wasn’t it?” He waited for me to nod my confirmation. “Who did he work for?”

  And…we were back to where we’d started a few hours ago. I sat up straight in my seat, taking a long drink of scotch. “I’ve got a few questions first.”

  Andrew seemed only too happy to accommodate me. “By all means, ask away.”

  Isidore pounded up the stairs, but when he pushed open the door, I kept my eyes focused on Andrew. “As far as I can tell, I’m the vigil for the southern district of North America. Is that right?”

  Andrew waved Isidore over and poured him a drink. “Correct.”

  Taking another drink, I toasted Isidore. “Which means I answer directly to Amelia, and not you.”

  Andrew made an unpleasant face but grudgingly agreed. “True, but—”

  Making a deliberate show of setting the drink on the desk, I put the file next to it. “In that case, I’m going to insist that you let me do my job.” Andrew started to object, but I held up a hand to stop him. “Look, I don’t mind keeping you informed, and I’ll even give you the information you want. Make no mistake, though, that this is my job, and I won’t tolerate you getting in the middle of it.” I kept my gaze fixed on him to ensure he understood how serious I was. “If you can agree to those terms, I’ll give you the file. If you can’t, I’ll be out of here tonight, and when it’s over, we can talk. The choice is yours.”

  Isidore was ashen and tried his best to be invisible, drinking his scotch very quietly as he glanced between us.

  Andrew chewed this over. He clearly wasn’t happy with the arrangement. “Very well.”

  Both Isidore and I let out an audible breath. I slid the file toward him. “There are two files in there…one of them on Timothy, and the other one on Chan Wong, the man who attacked me on Sunday evening.”

  Andrew took the file and leafed through the pages, skimming them for the information he wanted. After several seconds, his mouth parted and his face darkened. He glanced up at me and then back down at the page. “Walter?”

  “That’s what it looks like.” Andrew started to get up. “Sit down.”

  “We’ve got work to do.”

  Shaking my head, I gestured for him to hand the file back. “No…I’ve got work to do.” Turning to Isidore, I glared at him. “If I’m right, your job is to keep Andrew safe?”

  Isidore scrambled back in his seat. “Don’t bring me into this.”

  “Answer the question.”

  Isidore moaned, hanging his head in defeat. “Yeah, that’s my job.”

  I nodded. “Good.” Turning to Andrew, I sighed. “I know you want to help…or more likely, murder Walter, but I doubt that’ll end things. As we’ve already discussed, this entire situation revolves around a group and not just a single person. I’m begging you to let me handle this.”

  Andrew considered my request for a long moment, and his shoulders slumped as he reluctantly agreed. “Fine… What can I do to help?”

  Tension seeped out of me. “I’m going to need more information.” Pulling the clip and single round out of my pocket, I pushed them across the desk. “Can you tell me if these were enchanted?”

  Andrew picked up the bullet, focusing his attention on it for several seconds then shook his head. “They’re standard ammunition, as far as I can tell.”

  After retrieving the items, I took another drink. “I’m guessing he didn’t have a secondary focusing item since he didn’t use magic this time.”

  Andrew sneered. “Some witches are arrogant like that.” He looked over at me with a smirk. “Not that I think it would’ve made much of a difference if he had.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Andrew poured himself a second glass, letting his thoughts flow with the whiskey. “It’s just a theory, but I think it’s a pretty good one.” He took a long drink. “The gash you received from Chan on Sunday night was healed by the time you got to the hospital, right?”

  Shifting in my seat uncomfortably, I replied, “Mostly. There was still a scab and it was tender, but yeah, the bleeding had stopped.”

  Andrew wore a eureka expression. “And then you met Timothy later that morning, and he hit you with a significant amount of power.”

  “I suppose.”

  Andrew grinned. “After that, you snapped a focusing object with little more than a broken door to show for it.”

  “True.” Where the hell was he going with this?

  Andrew’s face turned serious. “When you showed us the cut, it was as if it had never happened. So, it would appear that you’re able to absorb power to make yourself stronger, heal, and god knows what else.” His voice was full of awe. “You’re essentially immune to magic.”

  “I get that, but… What does it mean?”

  Andrew shrugged. “Not the faintest idea, but it’s fascinating and frightening as hell.”

  Isidore shivered. “That’s something you’ll want to keep quiet.”

  “Why?”

  Andrew’s voice turned hard. “Because you’re everyone’s worst nightmare.” He waved a dismissive hand at me. “Every one of us have spent years, decades, and in some cases, centuries learning our craft. And here you are, impervious to our every ability, which makes you a dangerous man.” When he glanced at me, I thought there was terror in his eyes. “You could come after any one of us, and there would be nothing we could do to stop you.” He paled. “If the others found out about your abilities, they’d panic.”

  I was sure a bullet between the eyes would stop me instantly, but I could see his point. “Sorry?”

  Andrew let out a nervous chuckle. “No need to be, but it’s something you should be aware of.”

  Hesitantly, I turned to Isidore. “Would you mind if I changed the subject?”

  He shook his head. “I’d appreciate it if you did.”

  “You mentioned that you work for Amelia… Did she mark you?”

  Isidore shifted in his seat and reluctantly nodded. “Yeah.” He pulled back his sleeve to reveal a scar that encircled his wrist. It was about an inch wide, but I could still make out the word Pax in the
same spot the Aquila had appeared on Gabriel.

  Pointing at the sigil, I asked, “Is that her mark?”

  “Yes, it’s the mark of the vigil.”

  I thought he must’ve misunderstood my question. “Vigil’s mark?” Then again, maybe he hadn’t. “You mean they’re all like that?”

  Isidore frowned. “All that I’ve seen.”

  The Aquila couldn’t be that rare, could it? “And how many would that be?”

  He thought about it for a minute and grunted. “Maybe a dozen or so. Why?”

  As I was the new guy, and there were already a string of odd things piling up at my feet, I thought it best to keep the centurion’s mark to myself.

  Clamping my mouth shut, I shook my head. “I was curious about something I read in one of the books. They didn’t have a picture, so I thought I’d ask to see yours.”

  Andrew cleared his throat, drawing our attention back to him. He gave me an odd look. “And where have you been all day? Where did you find this file?”

  “There was an old storage unit Martha used out in Metairie that had a small treasure trove of information and a few items.” I thumbed back at the wooden crate containing the swords.

  Andrew focused on the crate. “I didn’t know she had an office there.”

  Last thing I needed was for Andrew to find a nephilim who happened to be Martha’s son setting up house with her things. “It’s more of a storage unit than an office.”

  Isidore’s stomach growled loudly enough for us to hear. “Anyone else hungry?”

  Nodding, I said, “Starved.”

  He waved us to our feet. “Excellent.”

  A few minutes later, we were warming up leftovers and onto other, less nerve-racking subjects.

  Chapter 17

  Thursday June 4th

  Sleep escaped me most of the night. When I did find it, it was full of dark and disturbing images. Waking with a start one last time, I gave up. Twenty minutes later, I was showered, dressed, and sitting at the desk, looking through some of the older books for the Aquila. The problem was, I wasn’t finding any reference to it, or the centurions.