by Bo Luellen
He felt a chill of exhilaration at the thought of being discovered. “Really, do relate the fruits of your labors? What is it that you think you’ve discovered, little man?”
The reporter adjusted the microphone in his sweaty hand. “I bugged that crappy Volkswagen of hers and tracked her in the hopes that Henry Jekyll might make contact. On one of her many late night adventures to the grave of the Crimson Brotherhood’s top man, Juste Theriot, who do I find? You. I couldn’t make out everything that was said from my car, but I heard enough.”
Edward couldn’t help but be somewhat impressed, “And your deduction?”
Quincy stepped back, “That you are Henry Jekyll. I don’t know whether the Brotherhood paid for plastic surgery or if this is just some kind of prosthetic disguise, but I heard Dallas confirm it. After that, it was just a matter of giving your name to some of my contacts at the airport and car rental companies. What do you know, Edward Tallman books a flight to Los Angeles shortly after that. What’s the first thing he does, meets with the Yakuza. I guess the life of organized crime suits you, with or without Cthulhu to worship.”
Before Edward could reply, he saw two men in the alley walking towards them both. The one on the left was dressed in all brown with a tan dress coat, while the right had a long dark jacket. He could sense the dark magic of Cthulhu on their bodies.
He sidestepped Quincy to get a clear line of sight to the approaching men. The reporter hopped in front of Edward, demanding that he answer his questions. The men split apart from one another, grabbing something long and cylindrical from within their coats. Dark Jacket weaved to the middle of the street, while Tan Jacket quickly started shuffling over behind a light pole.
Quincy held up the microphone in his face. “Why does Dallas Webb claim you are Henry Jekyll? Why is it that no one seems to remember an Edward Tallman in Tulsa before Henry Jekyll disappeared? Why are you scared to talk? Is that because you are Henry Jekyll?”
Dark Jacket spoke into his wrist. “He led us right to him. We have eyes on the target.”
Tan Jacket yelled out in R’lyehian, “Vulgtmah Cthulhu!”
Edward pushed the reporter to the side, sending him flying into a set of garbage cans. Tan Jacket raised a 9 mm pistol and let off several rounds at both of them. With a flex of his shoulders, Edward’s salt-and-pepper wings ripped through the fabric of his coat and expanded out seven feet on each side of him. He turned his back on the assassins and covered Quincy with the feathery appendage. The bullets hit his back and the thick plumes, and then the mangled slugs dropped to the ground. Dark Coat pulled out a 12 gauge shotgun from under his clothes and let loose. The street corner was alive with the echoes of gunfire, as the pair unloaded at him.
Edward cast a spell at Quincy, “Lassitudinem! Procidat Deceptioneum.”
The short reporter stopped struggling to get up and laid listless on the sacks of discarded trash. As he dropped back down, Edward’s illusion turned his body to the same color as the black plastic bags. He twirled around to find his attackers and felt the ping of several bullets bounce off his face.
Tan Jacket quickly loaded a fresh clip, as Edward cast, “Aetate!”
As the spell took hold, the cultist used his thumb to let the slide pop forward, readying the weapon to fire. As he pulled the trigger, the pistol crumbled in his hand. The cultist stepped back in amazement at the collection of brown metal powder dissolving in his palm. He quickly reached back and pulled out a revolver from his belt. As he cocked it, the hammer dissolved under his thumb, and the cylinder fell out onto the ground.
Edward boldly strolled forward towards the pair. He flapped his wings once, creating a thrust that sent him rocketing towards Tan Jacket. He put out his hands and let his acceleration slam two hard palms to the chest. The follower of Cthulhu was thrown backward into the air, planting the spine of the assailant into a metal street pole. The broken body twirled in the air and then settled into a heap on the ground.
The increased spellcasting was taxing him, so he didn’t see Dark Jacket as he approached. He felt the cold cobalt steel of the shotgun barrel on the side of his face a fraction of a second before the man pulled the trigger. The buckshot plowed into his ear and caused his head to jerk a tiny bit. His half Angelic eardrum was unphased, engineered by God to be immune to high pitched sonic attacks.
Annoyed at being caught off guard, he sent his wing careening into the back of the man’s head. The momentum carried the cultist straight into Edwards’s rising knee. A sharp crack rang out from the impact. The assassin’s neck snapped, and his head rested on his back as he fell to the ground dead.
He turned towards the pile of trash bags and cast, “Nullam Magicae.”
The illusion faded away, and Quincy Hunt sat up. He shook his head clear of the cobwebs from Edward’s exhaustion spell. Quincy reached out and grabbed his backpack, and hugged it like a security blanket.
Edward folded his wings back into his back, “Are you injured?”
Quincy’s eyes darted from his retreating feathers to the dead men on the ground. “What you did… I saw you. Y-you were shot and those wings.”
He held up his hands, “Look, don’t jump to any…”
The reporter jumped up on his feet, “You’re an angel!”
Edward finished, “…conclusions.”
Quincy waded through the garbage bags, “Wow! That was just amazing! Was that Latin you were speaking? I saw that guy shoot you in the face, and you didn’t even flinch! You know I’ve reported about amazing things all my career, but I’ve never actually seen it. Wow!”
Edward put his arm around the man and walked him in the direction of his hotel, “The universe is full of such wonders, and harbors terrors that will chill your soul. You’re a very innovative man, Quincy Hunt. You managed to track me down when the Crimson Brotherhood couldn’t. Someone that resourceful is a person I very much want to know and befriend.”
Quincy nearly blushed, “Friends, with an angel? Me?”
Sirens could faintly be heard coming their way, “First, let me correct something. I’m not an angel, I’m what’s called a Nephilim. I’m the blend of two creatures, one being Henry Jekyll. So, I congratulate you on your keen mind and investigative skills. You’ve impressed me.”
The reporter’s forehead wrinkled. “A Nephilim! You mean you’re a half-man, half-angel?”
He smiled and tapped the man’s chest, “Spot on. Now, let’s say you and I have some coffee in the lobby of the hotel I’m staying in. It isn’t like we want to stick around to explain to the good law enforcement of this town how two cultists died.”
Red flashing lights bounced off their backs as police screeched to a stop in the intersection behind them. The officers piled out of their cars and radioed for an ambulance. One of the cops yelled after them and broke into a run in their direction.
Edward held onto Quincy and cast, “Procidat Deceptioneum.”
The sizeable Italian cop’s feet beat to a slow trot as he looked around perplexed, “Hey, where did they go?”
The officer behind him yelled. “Who knows. Get back here, there’s another one!”
The reporter observed, “They didn’t see us.”
Edward continued concentrating on the illusion. “No, and they won’t. So catch your breath and let’s get in out of this cold.”
A few minutes later, they had a seat in the lobby of the Four Seasons. Edward felt exhausted and listened to Quincy go on about the things he had just witnessed him doing. He let him rant on as he gathered his strength again.
Quincy stopped his gushing, and asked, “Wait, why were those Crimson Brotherhood guys trying to kill you? Is it because you used to be their leader?”
Edward propped himself back up, “Henry Jekyll was never in league with the Crimson Brotherhood, but having him look as such deflects the public from the true puppeteers. The cult benefited from Henry Jekyll’s disappearance from the hospital, and, admittedly, I used the time to prepare and set a few things right
. Perhaps I lingered too long in my machinations. The more central point is that you cannot air this story. When you leave my charge, it will be the end of your days. The Crimson Brotherhood will track you down.”
Quincy’s face formed a stoic expression, “Then to hell with the story. This is bigger than me. You said I was someone you wanted to know. Likewise. I’m coming with you!”
Tallman glanced outside to the place where he saw the owl, “It seems fate has placed you in my care. I accept your proposal, Quincy Hunt.”
The starry-eyed reporter clapped his hands and cheered. “I’ll be a great help! I’ll be the guy on the laptop telling you to turn left or turn right. It will be like Mission Impossible!”
Edward smiled, “Perhaps. Nevertheless, my work here is concluded. I’m bound for Tulsa, where I have one last piece of unfinished business to attend to.”
Quincy popped up to the edge of his chair. “What’s the operation?”
He thought back to Henry’s memories, “A dear friend, Amanda Lanyon, has had her children stolen from her by the Crimson Brotherhood. I mean to find them and return them to her.”
Quincy clapped his hands. “You haven’t heard? They were found by Thomas Booth and David Keller. It’s all over the news. Keller died in the attempt, but Thomas made it out. The kids are in a sanitorium. I guess they were pretty screwed up. They said that Amanda’s still in witness protection, but my sources say she fled the country.”
Edward stood up and walked over to the window, “One of my kin told me that a great prophecy is unfolding and that the Crimson Brotherhood would usher in dark days. That if I just stand by and let it happen, that I would be free again. I find myself at a crossroads, Quincy.”
The short reporter walked up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder, “That person isn’t you. Tonight you protected me, even though it would have been easier to let me die and just walk away. This relative of yours isn’t you. Edward, no matter what this fella has tempted you with, you get to define your own path.”
Edward smiled, “You know, I was just telling someone something similar today.”
Quincy got a hard look on his face, “I’ve been tracking paranormal and supernatural events in America for over ten years. UFO’s, ghosts, bigfoot the MIB, are all things I’ve thought real. Now, I’m standing in front of a living Nephilim named Edward. No way this is a coincidence. You spoke of prophecy, I’m talking about destiny. The world doesn’t deserve you, but it needs you.”
He nodded, “Well, said my new friend. Where do you propose, we start?”
The reporter stroked his chin, “A good story starts with a good source. Right now, Amanda Lanyon is the star witness against the Brotherhood. She knows enough that they have her in witness protection. Let’s visit her and find out what she knows.”
Edward waved his hands in the air and whispered, “Ostende Amanda Lanyon.”
A cloud of vapor appeared on the glass in front of him. He concentrated hard on the face of Amanda, and let the spell stretch out. The scry continued to swirl but revealed nothing.
Edward lowered his hand, “Empty. I can’t find her. Even if she was dead, my magic would reveal what afterlife she inhabited. Odd.”
Quincy wiped the vapor from the window, “Well, don’t give up. Dial-in Josh Dyer.”
He gave him a perplexed look, “Who?”
The man pulled out his phone and, in a few seconds, showed him a picture, “This is Josh Dyer. He was with her at the battle at the Preserve. He recently canceled all his speaking engagements and disappeared. I think wherever he is, she is. Now, just dial-up Josh on that magical thing, and let’s see.”
Edward couldn’t help but be delighted by the positive spirit of Quincy. He took the photo and concentrated on the face. He put a mental picture of Josh in his mind and repeated the spell.
The fog once again swirled on the window and appearing before him was Josh Dyer. Edward reached out and touched Quincy’s shoulder, allowing him to see the vision as well. Josh and Ian were tied to their own separate beds across from each other.. Wires were attached to his nipples and tied off around a car battery. A dark-robed man with a Crimson Brotherhood symbol on the sleeve was delivering sharp jolts of electricity while asking questions about who Amanda Lanyon contacted in Scotland.
The spell ended, as Quincy asked, “Where was that?’
Edward opened up his phone, booked a flight for them both, and announced, “Scotland. Do you have a passport?”
Quincy got a look of concern, “What will I tell my wife?”
He put a hand on his friend’s shoulder, “Tell your bride that you go out on a hero’s journey and that lengthy confessions will only dull the wonder.”
Chapter 20: Amanda IX
The Scottish Highlands - Monday, November 19th, 2018 – 6:52 p.m. BST
Over the past four days, Amanda Lanyon had passed up several opportunities to travel the road, ask for a ride, or find a phone to call the police. With her red hood pulled over her face, she dared only to stop at a single shop. She used the money she found in the dead cultist’s wallet to buy some food, water, a watch and a map of the Highlands. Lanyon had learned to trust her new feathered friend and continued to follow its lead. Without fail, the midnight colored bird took her cross-country towards Stirling Castle, as the crow flies.
Tonight, the Raven had taken her to the banks of the Allan Water, a small offshoot from the River Forth. She stopped to camp near the small stream for the night and was fishing along its edges. Amanda lucked out and caught three trout within an hour. Soon she was cooking them on a campfire. Her would-be assassins had provided her plenty of camping supplies that included a blanket and a small one-person tent.
As she ate her fish, Amanda heard the loud pop of gunfire cresting over the top of a nearby hill. She dumped her meal on the ground and instinctively took cover. Slowly, Amanda crested over the rise, and in the distance, saw the familiar sight of Stirling Castle. After traveling in so many zigzag patterns, she had lost track of the actual distance to the fortress.
In shock, she dropped to her stomach as the Mantle of Arthur showed her the magical truth of the castle. A collage of vibrant colors was launching out of the ancient building, sending streams of multicolored ethereal plasma strings waving into the night air. She found that the cloak not only let her see the supernatural but hear it as well. Each thread of energy rumbled and gave off a low uncanny shriek. It sounded like a pod of trumpeting humpback whales serenading one another in the unknown currents of the pitch-black sky. She crouched down, stunned by the beautiful spectacle before her.
The Raven landed a few feet next to her. “Well, hello. It’s nice to see you made it back. I’m guessing magical stuff like this is commonplace on Avalon?”
The bird blinked and tilted its head, as rested her head on the cold grass, “I’m talking to a bird named Arthur. People are going to lock me up if they find out.”
Amanda pulled out a small pair of binoculars from her cargo pants pocket and took a closer look at the castle. A few guards roamed the grassy hill below in regular patrols. Thanks to the cloak, she could see the soldiers were coated in a magical white glow. As a side benefit, it made them easy to spot, despite their black tactical clothing. The bird bounded onto her back and let out a caw. Amanda stayed motionless as the Raven plodded along her spine and down to her legs. The animal found the open space between her socks and her pant leg. It stepped a clawed foot onto her exposed flesh, and instantly she felt a head rush. Dizziness caused the world to start spinning, and she shut her eyes tight. Even with her lids closed, Amanda saw the vibrant colors of the Scottish Highlands in great detail. The surroundings were no longer shrouded in the dark night, but illuminated to a level one would find at dusk.
Her eyes shot open, and her pupils had turned as black as the Raven’s. Arthur launched into the air. Lanyon grabbed the grass around her as she saw the world through the magical animal’s eyes. The earth sunk away under her feet, as the bird gained altitude. Amand
a thought she might throw up as Arthur banked several times to avoid the multicolored plasma tendrils that were flailing out from the castle. She wasn’t sure what those threads of light were, but the Raven wanted nothing to do with them.
She felt vertigo building up bile into her throat, as the bird landed on one of the battlements. Amanda gasped at the sharp drop off beneath the stone walls that went for hundreds of feet to the courtyard below. She concentrated on keeping herself focused, as she took in all the detail the animal’s vision had to offer. Amanda saw in perfect detail things that could have barely been made out with her own eyes. Taking several minutes, she felt a sense of steadiness at being a passenger in the Raven’s mind.
Amanda whispered, “My God, is this how you see things? Turn and show me what’s in the courtyard.”
Arthur hopped around and did as she said. The interior grounds were littered with several wooden crates that were as big as a small horse. Several trucks were being loaded with boxes by dozens of men and women in black Crimson Brotherhood tactical gear. Each of the workers was armed with pistols, machine guns, and bulletproof vests. Fluttering in the breeze, the flag of Cthulhu waved. In the center of the courtyard were three posts buried in the ground. At the bottom of each was a bundle of wood, and from their tops, manacles dangled ominously.
Amanda blinked her jet black eyes, “Three stakes, ready to burn someone. That means our three friends must still be alive, and awaiting their turn.”
The Raven shot a look towards one of the castle houses and zeroed in on the second-floor window. The precise vision of the creature was almost overwhelming, and it took a moment to digest the display of detail. Without warning, Arthur took off again, soaring toward the window. Amanda scooted back as the stone wall came streaking at her. The Raven landed, and she let out a little scream with her hands held out in front of her. Catching her breath, the bird cocked its head sideways, looking in the glass. In a moment of connection, Amanda felt the need to tilt her own head, to align with the animals. Inside the room was Ian MacLean and Josh Dyer, both lying down and handcuffed to their beds. A bucket of water and a car battery sat next to them.
