The Storm of Garmr

by Bo Luellen

  A few seconds later, Richard was shoved into the back seat of his armored Hummer. He took one last look at the blood-soaked stage through the tinted windows and allowed himself a muffled laugh. The Eastland flag fluttered in the cold morning wind and had red splatters draped across its lion logo. The national reporters were standing their ground, capturing all the action and recording the grotesque murder scene.

  Richard whispered to himself, “Perfect.”

  Daniel Harris started the car and said, “Good morning, Rich. A crying shame what happened to your boss.”

  Richard was in a forgiving mood, “Yes, indeed. It is a shame. Now, what did I tell you about calling me that?”

  The thief weaved the car in between the escaping spectators, “Yes, yes, alright. I suppose I’d better get used to calling you Governor-Elect, now that you are going to take Dunn’s place.”

  Samuel Howard dropped from the roof into the passenger’s seat next to him. The ghost was wearing his black robes of the Crimson Brotherhood in place of his usual grey suit. Richard and his former mentor shared a satisfied look.

  Richard broke the silence first, Well, is Ankh-es-en-amon adequately impressed?

  Samuel spoke in Latin and waved his hands in the air. A glowing tan spectral globe appeared inside the cab of the Hummer. On its surface was a topographical map of Earth that was accurate down to the last detail. Magical ley lines crisscrossed along the continents as glowing golden threads. Half of the sphere encompassed the front half of the vehicle. Daniel continued driving, oblivious that a mystical image of New Zealand was cycling across his face. The ghost took his hand and rotated the map until the Mediterranean was in front of Richard. A golden ibis hieroglyph hovered over a section of land next to the Gaza Strip.

  His heart leaped, The resting place of the Scroll of Thoth? It has appeared?

  Samuel nodded with a grin, as Daniel tilted his head back and asked, “Where to Governor?”

  Richard smirked wickedly, “Egypt.”

  Chapter 19: Edward II

  Los Angeles, California - Saturday, November 17th, 2018 – 2:41 p.m. PST

  When Edward Tallman arrived at LAX, the Kono Clan’s Oyabun, Yakumo Odawas, was there personally to greet him, “Mr. Hyde?”

  The Yakuza boss eyed him with suspicion as he replied, “More or less. Hyde has joined with another, and I’m the result. Edward Tallman, at your service.”

  Yakumo scowled, “I see. Mr. Hyde has been of great service to us in the past.”

  Edward took off his black leather gloves, “When I recovered Hyde’s phone from storage, I was pleased to see your request. I find myself in need of capital and your expertise in gaining a legal identity.”

  His Japanese host walked him through the airport. “I see. So you intend to stay in this body for some time?”

  He thought back to Lucifer’s offer. “It is my intention.”

  From the crowd, several of Yakumo’s bodyguards flanked them, “I do not mean to be indelicate, but Mr. Hyde was gifted in the dark arts. He had no compunction about taking on jobs for the Kono Clan.”

  Edward let one of the guards open the limo door, “And you’re wondering if you can expect the same from me?”

  The elderly man bowed, “Yes.”

  Edward smiled. “You’re an honorable man, Yakumo Odawas. Hyde assisted your father, and then you since the ‘40s. In the matters of spiritual problems, I’m happy to assist in exchange for fair compensation and your continued friendship.”

  The two bowed to one another, and the pair loaded into the car. The detail of well -dressed Japanese mafia followed them in a new black town car. Each of them was well-armed, and Edward knew from Hyde’s past that they were ready to do anything for their clan.

  He unbuttoned his black coat and asked, “Perhaps it’s time you tell me why I’m here?”

  The Oyabun lifted his chin stoically, “My firstborn son, Koki, is the future heir to the Kono Clan. His honor has been… lacking. He impregnated a young gaijin prostitute some months back. A disgrace to my family which has caused some in the clan to question my authority.”

  Edward nodded, “A mistake on their part.”

  Yakumo looked out his window, “Hai. Koki further visited disgrace onto my name when his wife Mizuno discovered his betrayal. In response to her anger, he pushed the American woman off a building, killing her and his unborn child. Dishonored by my son’s actions, she prayed for Koki to be punished and took her own life.”

  He could feel the man’s anguish, “I take it the act of seppuku attracted the attention of something?”

  The man’s eyes conveyed his uncertainty, “For the last two weeks, Shinto priests have formed a circle around my son to stop an Oni from attacking him.

  Edward sighed and then asked, “What kind of Oni haunts your son?”

  Yakumo lowered his head, “The holy men say it is an evil Yōkai spirit here to fulfill a blood pact it made with Mizuno. It wants to see Koki dead for his actions. Since the priests placed him in the protection circle, two of my son’s closest friends have been killed. Their skins were found lying on top of the American woman’s grave. I offer you the new identity you seek and two hundred thousand dollars to rid my family of this Oni.”

  They shook hands, as the Nephilim replied, “I agree to those terms.”

  Thirty minutes later, they arrived at an abandoned factory and drove to a derelict warehouse. Several Yakuza guards were standing outside and opened the door for them with a bow of respect. Inside, Koki was lying on a mattress in the middle of a massive concrete floor. Hundreds of lit candles and burning incense enclosed the future Kono Clan leader in a twenty-foot radius. Rust-robed Shinto monks sat around the edges chanting a spell of protection.

  On one side of Kiko’s enclosure were bedding and a plastic outhouse. On the floor were dozens of discarded bags of takeout food and empty beer cans. Blaring on a TV was a music video of a rapper with several broad-chested back-up dancers.

  Edward stopped at the edge of the candles. “Charming.”

  The holy men weren’t holding up too well, and all of them sported dark circles under their eyes. He counted twelve of the priests singing their spells and keeping the vengeful Oni at bay. Edward looked at the five armed Yakuza along the walls, and a sizeable blood spot was on the floor next to one of the monks.

  He walked over and regarded the crimson pool, I’m guessing it isn’t advisable to stop chanting.

  Koki sprang up as he saw Edward, “Hey! Are you the guy that is supposed to get rid of that bitch’s curse? Where the hell have you been, man? Do you know how long I’ve been locked in here?”

  The Oyabun shouted at his son, “Shizukani shite!”

  Koki looked as if he was going to protest his father’s scolding but reluctantly bowed. Edward took note that the monks had edged the circle in salt and oils. He looked up at the tin rooftop and observed a series of long rips in the metal. Dozens of such tears gave a view of the blue California skies. The long slashes suggested a set of massive claws had sliced into the metal roof.

  Yakumo stood next to him, “Every night the Oni visits us at 2 AM. Our men have tried shooting it, but it passes right through. Our priests have attempted to banish the monster, but it’s too powerful.”

  Edward carefully negotiated the candles and inspected the ring of salt, “3 AM is the witching hour in most Anglo-Saxon cultures, but in Japan it’s different. The witching hour there is 2 AM. That’s when all your sins come to life and ask for blood.”

  Koki marched to the edge of his circle and stood in front of Edward, “Enough talk. Do something!”

  He turned away and told Yakumo, “Remove the monks. They look like they could use the rest. Have someone bring a broom, so this salt can be swept away.”

  Koki flailed his arms in the air, “What? You idiot! That is the only thing keeping it out! Father, this thing might be in league with the Oni!”

  There was a pause, then a shout in Japanese from the white-haired Oyabun. Instantly, th
e monks stopped chanting and uncoiled their stiff legs from their Zazen position. They shuffled out of the room, bowing to the clan leader as passed. While Koki screamed in protest, one of the guards returned with a broom.

  Edward took it and held it out to Koki, “Honorable Odawas-san, Koki must do the sweeping to fully remove the protection.”

  Koki unleashed a string of insults in Japanese and walked back away from Edward. The few hard words from his father finally brought the tirade to a halt. Koki yanked it from his hand and mocked the Nephilim, as he overexaggerated his motions. Once he was done, the man threw the broom across the warehouse in frustration. It scooted across the ground, but never came to a stop. The guards chattered nervously at the way it slowly traveled along the smooth concrete. The broom picked up speed and slammed into the tin wall with enough force to shatter the wooden shaft.

  Edward looked at Yakumo with a smile, “Well, that didn’t take long.”

  A growl of something not of this world echoed from outside. The blue skies darkened, and the sunlight was muted. Koki ran to his father, fell to the ground behind the elderly man. Yakumo pushed his son off him and screamed at him in Japanese.

  A low guttural growl filled the empty warehouse as a massive footprint appeared and extinguished a large section of candles. The arrival of the Oni brought a halt to Koki’s yelling. Another step descended in the leftover salt, and Edward took note that it was three feet long and had the look of an elephant print. The monster was invisible to the Mundane and had some magics in place to keep even him from seeing the Oni’s true form. A great billow of air shot out of the mouth of the beast and blew salt up into the air.

  Edward drew some Enochian shapes with his hand and cast, “Revelare.”

  The spell pulled back the invisibility enchantment from the Yōkai spirit. It allowed everyone present to see what they were facing. The monster was the rough shape of an enormous woolly mammoth, with razor-sharp teeth, clawed toes, and a face etched in willful malevolence. Its trunk was twice the length of his body, slapping in the air like a whip and searching for his next victim. Each step shook the warehouse, and the guards circled around their Oyabun.

  Edward stood his ground, as the massive beast blasted through the candles towards Koki. The guards shouted challenges at the Oni, and a couple opened up with their submachine guns. The crossfire of one of the Uzi’s caught an opposing soldier square in the chest, sending him flying backward and leaving a streak of crimson on the ground in his wake. The Yōkai’s spiked tail flailed into a dark-haired young Yakuza in a black suit, slicing his belly open at the navel with a vicious looking spine. The man dropped his weapon and tried in futility to hold his own intestines in his stomach. The wet organs slipped between his fingers, and the brave clansman dropped dead to the ground. The Oni centered in on the clan leader and charged.

  Edward grabbed the elderly Yakumo’s shoulder and cast, “Autem Confundit!”

  The demon stopped his charge and looked around in confusion. Edward pressed his index finger to his lips, instructing the Oyabun to stay silent. The bewitched Oni, having lost sight of its target, switched to its intended prey. Whipping out its deadly trunk, it knocked away Koki’s guards and latched onto his leg. The Yōkai sent him rocketing upwards and bashed him against the three-story-tall tin roof. The monster roared in satisfaction, as it tossed Koki to the concrete floor. The man’s skull was cracked along the center, and his face looked off-center. Confused and in shock, the would-be Oyabun rose to his hands and feet. Blood poured out from both his eyes and ears into a pool beneath him.

  The Yōkai trumpeted in victory after jamming a long spike into Koki’s back. Thanks to Edward’s spell, the Yakuza could see the spirit of Yakumo’s son float up from his body. The Oni latched its trunk around the ghost and held him fast. The newly created specter thrashed against the beast and pled for his father to save him.

  Yakumo instinctively lurched forward to help his son, as Edward held on tight to his shoulder, “Īe, watashinotomodachi. There is nothing you can do. There never was.”

  The massive Oni turned and plodded downward through the floor. The Yakuza stood in defeat as the beast carted off his prize. Appearing in the center of the circle was a single higanbana, a red spider lily.

  The old man gripped Edward’s shoulder, “Where is it taking my son?”

  He turned to Yakumo and replied bluntly, “To Mugen Jigoku, The Hell of Unending Suffering. There he will know an eternity of torments, much like the ones he imparted onto the ones he brought misery to.”

  As Yakumo shuffled over to his son’s body, Edward cast, “Nullam Magicae.”

  Both his spells ceased, as the old man knelt down and touched the broken face of Koki. After a few minutes, he stood up and gave a stoic nod to the guards. Two of them ran in and gently took away the body of his firstborn. They walked in silence out of the warehouse and back to the car. When the door closed to the limo, and the two men were alone, the Oyabun let out his long-held grief. Edward gave the man his dignity and pretended not to notice what was happening.

  Edward listened to the anguish as they drove, I wasn’t here to save his son. This was only for appearances, and to save face with his clan. This was Yakumo’s only honorable path to rid himself of the evil in his family.

  Once the man had composed himself, Edward remarked, “When you live with honor, no person can take that away. Without it, there is no granite in which to carve a life of worth.”

  The old Yakuza leader wiped his face. “My daughter has a strong son. A twenty-year-old graduate of law school. He is eager but has little life experience.”

  Edward looked into the man’s eyes, “Teach him that bravery is an act of grace, to steer with his soul, and swing his sword without hesitation. His uncle’s actions are not on his honor, but a reminder that corruption of the spirit must not be allowed. No matter what the temptation, he is his own man and can lead your clan with honor.”

  Oyabun didn’t respond, and the two rode in silence. They stopped at a restaurant and enjoyed dinner together at a Sushi bar. The Yakuza present celebrated the departure of the Oni. Still, Edward thought they were also happy to see Kiko gone as well. The old man did not eat but sat in quiet solitude.

  Los Angeles, California - Saturday, November 17th, 2018 – 8:03 p.m. PST

  The clan took him to a posh hotel in Los Angeles, where they had purchased him a room for the night. Before he departed, Yakumo shook his hand and bowed deeply. One of the soldiers handed Edward a thick envelope and thanked him.

  The elderly leader explained, “I have done as you asked. Inside, you will find a credit card with a balance of two-hundred thousand that is linked to an account in Kyoto, Japan. Also, there is a driver’s license, passport, social security card, and birth certificate.”

  He pulled out the California driver’s license and a photo of his own face, “Just how did you get my picture?”

  Yakumo turned and got back in his car, “You are not the only one with a few tricks up his sleeve. Until next time, O-Tallman-san.”

  He bowed to the Oyabun, “Arigatōgozaimashita.”

  The Yakuza drove away, and he crossed the street towards the Four Seasons. The spellcasting had been taxing, and he felt the siphoning off of his power by the parasitical Hyde. He relished the idea of getting some sleep and recharging, as the doorman greeted him with a tip of his hat. Just before he entered the hotel, Edward noticed a great horned owl perched on top of one of the hotel’s overhangs. The giant raptor turned its head and gazed straight at him. It blinked its left eye and let out an ominous hoot.

  With a quick nod, he told the doorman, “On second thought, the night is too magical to turn in just yet.”

  Edward buttoned his long black coat and walked in the direction of the feathered omen. He concentrated and elevated his arcane sight. With it, the Nephilim scanned the surrounding buildings and searched for a reason for the harbinger’s presence. He saw a gremlin chewing on a power cable in a nearby generator; a pair of p
ixies were flying around a tree, giving it compliments but nothing too terrible to note.

  He stopped and put his hands on his hips, Nature has a warning system if you know how to listen. That owl wasn’t a coincidence. Something’s coming.”

  The bird flew off into the night sky, and he decided to wander to the next intersection. As he walked, Edward heard the jingling of change rattling around in someone’s pocket behind him. He stopped to wait for the crosswalk light to turn white, as the stranger saddled up beside him. Edward turned and gave him a polite nod. The man was wearing brown cargo pants and a black Carhartt coat.

  The aura around him was a dirty gold color. The shadow following me is hyper-focused and intensely analytical.

  The crosswalk light snapped on, indicating it was safe to cross, as the stranger belted out nervously, “Edward Tallman!”

  The name shot through him as he turned to see the stranger had a GoPro camera strapped to his head. The light from the device was shining in his face; the man had shoved a microphone between them. The traffic signal turned white as Edward stayed motionless. The mid-30’s man had a thin layer of sweat on his balding head. His midsection was round, and his nose was pointed like that of a penguin.

  Edward put his hand up to block the glaring light, “You assume.”

  The short man took off his brown backpack. “I’m not asking! I’m telling you. You’re Edward Tallman. My name is Quincy Hunt from the YouTube channel The Hunt for the Truth. The people want to know the answers to a few questions, Mr. Tallman!”

  Edward contemplated ending it there with a simple spell but decided to let the conversation linger. “The people have selected a rude representative. Perhaps they’ve saved me the trouble of liking you.”

  Quincy unzipped his pack and pulled out an audio recorder. “I’ve been tracking Dallas Webb for some time now. Her boyfriend was Juste Theriot, and one of her friends and coworkers was Henry Jekyll. You follow the money, and people like to talk. That is the rule I’ve learned in journalism, Mr. Tallman.”