BOOM: A Lovecraftian Urban Fantasy Thriller

by Ben Farthing

  Everard expected her to turn back at the last second to do something to Mr. Huff, but instead she joined them on the street.

  "Now you," Loretta pointed at Everard, "are going to explain a few things."

  Chapter Eleven

  Loretta lead Jose and Everard back towards the amphitheater, interrogating Everard along the way.

  "You made his lighter go out, yes?"

  "How would I do that?" He'd made a few things happen throughout the evening, fighting against that invisible weight around his mind. Might be interesting to find out exactly what that was, once he got his privacy back.

  Loretta drifted from one side of the street to the other, which Everard thought was odd, as none of this could be new to her, until he realized she was placing herself between her husband and any perceived threats - dark alleys, passing strangers, stray dogs.

  "Plenty of ways you could do it," she said. "Make the wind blow it out. Create a vacuum to smother it. Pull the moisture in the air to put it out."

  "I didn't do anything like that," said Everard.

  "I know you didn't," said Loretta. "So what did you do? What were you thinking about when it happened?"

  They reached the amphitheater, headed down the steps.

  Everard struggled with how to say it. "How I didn't want to get thrown around again."

  "And you imagined the flame going out?"

  "I guess so, yeah."

  "And you didn't imagine water or wind or anything putting it out?"

  "No, just that it went out."

  Loretta stopped by the stage. She spoke more quickly. "This is important: did you want the flame to be extinguished, or did you want the flame to simply not be."

  "What?"

  "Was it a positive thought, that you wanted something to happen, or a negative thought, that you wanted something undone?"

  Everard tried to remember. "The second one, I guess."

  Loretta grabbed his shoulders. "Think very hard on this last question. Were you focused on the flame itself, or the idea of the flame?"

  Everard took a step back. "I don't know. What difference does it make?"

  "Whether you're influencing fire or reality itself? It makes a huge difference!"

  Everard understood why people were afraid of her.

  "Loretta," said Jose, in a placating tone, "c'mon. If we get home before midnight we can put the kids to bed ourselves."

  Loretta took a breath, adjusted her belt.

  "I'm working tonight," said Loretta. "Sorry."

  "No, it's okay," he said quickly.

  Everard rubbed the back of his neck. Never fun to hear a couple arguing.

  He'd never called Abby.

  He checked his phone. He had service, but no missed calls. Not even a text. Ah geez. It was quarter to midnight. She'd probably be asleep. If the Burgesses had left him the hell alone, he could be next to her right now, rambling about the next hobby he wanted to explore. Aquariums weren't really something she could do with him. Maybe they could try sailing? He should at least send a text for her to see when she woke up.

  "Which is it?" asked Loretta.

  "Huh?"

  "Did you deny the fire or that there was fire? The thing itself or the reality of it?"

  Everard considered. "It was more the whole thing. I hate bullies, you know? And I saw how everyone was afraid of him—mainly because of that little magic lighter. I wanted the whole thing undone, especially that black fire."

  Loretta said something under her breath in Spanish, a curse or a prayer. "One more question: how difficult was it?"

  "Felt like shoving my way through really thick mud. You saw; I couldn't do it twice."

  Loretta grunted.

  "Is that good?" asked Everard.

  "For who?"

  "Um, me."

  "Depends."

  "Who else would it be good for?" he asked.

  "Depends," she said again.

  "On what?"

  "You."

  "Is she this cryptic all the time?" he asked Jose.

  Jose shrugged. "Depends."

  "You two are perfect for each other." Everard tucked his phone back into his pocket.

  Loretta led them into the hall next to the amphitheater stage. She lit the way with a police-baton-sized flashlight. Everard didn't know where she'd been hiding it between her sweatpants and t-shirt.

  They came to the fork that split off toward the slums and then the Junk Shoals.

  "Hold on." Everard shined his light across the floor, looking for the Ruger. "Damn. Gone."

  "Lose something?" asked Loretta.

  "A bargaining tool." He followed her down the path he hadn't taken earlier. He relaxed some, realizing how tense he was. The image of the inhaling and exhaling patches of furry flesh in the walls stuck in his head. He stuck to the exact center of the corridor.

  "Hey," he said, "what's in the walls down that other way?"

  "Could be anything," said Loretta. "We're at the edge of the nook. The barriers of the Periphery can be weak in some places."

  "Barriers between the Periphery and what? The real world?"

  "You mean the world you know? Yes, in some places."

  "And in others? What's on the other side of the barrier?"

  "Other places."

  "What she means to say," said Jose, "or I guess what she'd say if she was feeling helpful, is that the world you're used to - the Central Nook - still makes up the bulk of reality. Livable reality, anyways. The Periphery is the nooks that touch the edges of the Central Nook."

  "Like other dimensions?" asked Everard.

  "You don't talk to Jose," said Loretta.

  "Maybe. Think of it like the reality you know is a big soap bubble. The Periphery is all the little bubbles clinging to its edges, both inside and out."

  Everard touched the dark cement wall. "What's on the other side?"

  "A headache if you expect things like distance and space to make sense."

  Everard decide to reopen his Weird Periphery Shit folder. "Where are we going now?"

  "You want to talk to the Burgesses, right?" said Loretta.

  "They put the bounty on me. So yes."

  "So we're going to the House of Burgesses. I'm looking forward to watching that meeting. We're just making one stop first."

  She pointed her light to a wall, revealing a plain steel door. Everard wondered how many they'd passed in the dark.

  She opened it without a key.

  Everard followed the couple through into an alley. The humid night air rolled over him. Two story brick row houses stood on either side, which meant they were in a nicer part of the city.

  "I'll be home in a few hours," said Loretta. She kissed Jose, who walked out of the alley, whistling.

  She watched him go.

  Everard rocked on his heels. "So, how long have you been married?"

  "Don't ask me about my husband."

  "Okay." The thing was, he actually wanted to know. From what he could tell so far, Loretta didn't live a conventional life. But she made her relationship work. Hell, she'd married the guy. Everard wanted to know how that was possible. Instead, he asked, "Should we get going?"

  "In a minute."

  Everard checked his phone. He typed a text to Abby. Hey, sorry about not calling. Let's talk tomorrow. Waffles?

  Before he could send it, movement on a rooftop above distracted him. He put the phone away. Probably wouldn't get a response until the morning.

  "Hey," he said, stepping between Loretta and the approaching figure.

  It leapt down to a windowsill, then to the top of the fence at the back of the alley, then atop a dumpster. It moved gracefully, the impact of each drop transferred fluidly to the next movement.

  "Loretta," said Everard, wishing he'd found his Ruger.

  The intruder reached the ground silently, a dozen feet away.

  Everard grabbed Loretta's shoulder to yank her around to see.

  "He likes thinking he snuck up on you," she said. "Puts h
im in a better mood."

  "Oh," said Everard. Yet another way to make a fool of himself.

  "Who's this?" asked the stranger, walking closer. He was maybe six feet tall, slender but with some muscle. He wore skinny jeans, and a tight fitting white button-up shirt, with the top three buttons undone. He scratched his cheek, and Everard could have sworn he saw small claws withdraw under the guy's fingernails.

  "Doesn't matter," said Loretta.

  "Wait, I know you." The man sauntered close enough for Everard to see his eyes. His pupils were slitted, but widened as he looked Everard up and down. "You've been masquerading as my brother."

  "This again," said Everard. "I'm guessing your brother is this Ailuromancer?"

  The cat man crouched to see into George's carrier.

  "Aren't you a finely groomed, flealess beauty? You must be an inside cat. Tell my brother hello." He laughed. "Pansy."

  George meowed, sounding offended.

  "That was a misunderstanding, Tom," said Loretta. "He just looks similar. He never claimed to be the Ailuromancer."

  "I'm not Tom anymore. 'Shadow' is more mysterious, don't you think?"

  "You're not a tom anymore?" asked Everard, immediately biting his tongue.

  Shadow's claws extended, shorter than an inch, but sharp as nails.

  George hissed, backed to the rear of the carrier.

  Shadow relaxed and laughed. "You look like him, you've got the same sharp tongue. Are you sure you're not my brother?"

  "Positive," said Everard.

  "You do seem comfortable outdoors. But are you an outside, or a stray?"

  "I don't, uh," Everard looked to Loretta for an answer.

  "You're not a cat," she said.

  "Right," said Everard, confused.

  "Now that we're all acquainted," said Loretta, "maybe you can answer my questions?"

  "When did you ask him anything?" asked Everard.

  They ignored him.

  "The outsides kept watch all day, the strays all night. Nothing to report."

  "And you've still got eyes underground?"

  "Yes, although I think Hokey Pokey's going to hate me if I keep sending him down there."

  "You don't have someone there all the time?"

  "Of course I do. Hokey Pokey's just there a few hours a week, and he's already mad at me for making fun of his name."

  "For the next few days," said Loretta, "I want you to double your surveillance. And alert me immediately if anyone even looks at my house, Jose's office, or my children's school."

  "Someone threaten your family again? You want me to get my cousin to deal with him?"

  Loretta's tightened jaw twitched.

  Shadow shrunk back from her impassive gaze. Gracefully, somehow. "I get it. You've got a more hands-on approach to things."

  "Anything else?" she asked.

  "Nope." He gave an exaggerated bow.

  "Let's go, Everard." She opened the steel door, which definitely did not lead into the house of the wall it was on, and went through.

  Shadow stopped him. "My brother won't care that it was an accident. Better stay out of his way for a while."

  Piecing things together, Everard said, "If he doesn't go outside, that should be easy."

  Shadow's wide smile revealed sharp canines. "I like you. You're much too clever to be spending time with insides."

  George rowled.

  Shadow lowered his voice. "But careful around that one you're with. She's always been somber, but the last few years she's seemed... miserable. And when dangerous people are that unhappy—well, don't get on her bad side."

  Everard thought he might have already screwed that one up. "Uh, thanks."

  He followed Loretta back into the dark, pulling the door shut behind him.

  Chapter Twelve

  Everard followed Loretta further down the dark corridor.

  "The tomcat comment was stupid," said Loretta.

  "I thought it was funny."

  "Shadow didn't. You've already pissed off Undone Duncan and Inc. Do you really want the Ailuromancer against you, too?"

  "The guy who thinks I'm pretending to be him? Yeah, I'm sure right now he's my biggest fan."

  Loretta whirled on him. "You don't have the same laws protecting you down here. The Burgesses stop murderers and rapists and kidnappers, and nothing more. Someone decides to rearrange your face, no one's going to stop them."

  "You stopped Bowman."

  "I don't like Bowman. Point being, down here you find your own protection. Most join a faction."

  "A faction?"

  "Cabal, sect, group, cult, junta - whatever you want to call it."

  "That's what the Burgesses are? A protection racket?"

  "A community. People coming together who share a culture, or belief, or bent. The Burgesses all worship the Founding Fathers. Capitol Bohemia consider themselves artists, or at least connoisseurs of art. In the nineties, the Hexers, Hoodoos, and other factions of traditional cultural bents merged to form the Folkmeisters."

  "And Inc is what? Businessmen who burn money?"

  "No," said Loretta. "It takes a certain type of businessman to be invited to Inc."

  "Let me guess. They have to be willing to give up everything?"

  "Not exactly."

  "Are there people who just look out for themselves?"

  "Only a few who actually survive."

  "Who are you with?"

  "Nobody."

  "Then what are you?"

  "Tired."

  He followed her back through out through the ampitheater, past shops that were mostly closed, and down another side street.

  "The Mall nook doesn't connect to the Hall of Burgesses. We'll cut through the Central Nook."

  They approached another cement foundation, a square, blank building from down here.

  "That's not really the foundation, is it? There's no way it could support the building."

  "Yes and no," said Loretta. "Neighboring nooks influence each other. The buildings of the Mall push their way into this nook. More or less. You couldn't just dig through to get here; you have to use one of the actual crossover points."

  Around the corner of the foundation, a staircase rose up the side of the cement. Everard followed Loretta up the stairs. She opened a door at the top, and they stepped back into the world Everard knew.

  It took him a moment to recognize where they were. They'd stepped out of a two story red brick building across from Folger Park.

  Loretta hadn't slowed, so Everard jogged to catch up. "We're still going to see Bill Bill, right?"

  She silenced him with an annoyed look. If that's how she wanted to play it, he was fine with it. He kept his head down, checking the shadows for movement.

  They walked three blocks to the Capitol building.

  "What, Bill Bill's a senator now?"

  At the top of the stairs, Loretta led him off to the side of the veranda. He didn't notice the door until Loretta grabbed the handle. The door blended in with the white stone wall.

  "This is it," she said.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Through that door is the Hall of Burgesses."

  "You're leaving me here?"

  "I'm giving you a chance to go home."

  Everard threw his hands up, exasperated. "That's what I want! Kinda hard to do that when there's a bounty on my head."

  "I'm saying you may be better off running. Leave D.C. Start up again in the middle of nowhere. Fewer people, less chance of anyone being involved with the Periphery."

  "I'm not running away." He didn't explain why, that he was afraid these freaks would use Abby or Liz to get to him.

  "You obviously don't play well with others. In the Periphery, that'll get you killed."

  "You're surviving."

  "I'm different."

  "How?"

  "I can pay what it costs to go alone."

  "What's it cost?"

  "You're worse than my... worse than a five-year-old. Listen to me: either
get out of the city now, or once you go through that door, you let the Burgesses protect you."

  "They're the ones who got me into this!" Everard didn't want to join a group where crazy old George Washington impersonators would be in charge of him. But he also didn't want to have his skin replaced with carpet, or his head stomped in by men in suits with weird lighters.

  It came back to Abby and Liz. If it was just him, he could disappear for a while. Maybe even figure out what all this Periphery nonsense was, and come at the problem when he was ready. But if Inc and Undone Duncan wanted him, they'd use the people he cared about to get to him.

  Besides, he'd decided to confront Bill Bill, and he wasn't backing down from that now.

  "Okay," said Everard. "I'll try not to piss off the Burgesses."

  "Good," said Loretta. "Because I only get the bounty if you come willingly."

  She pulled open the door and shoved him through.

  "Wait, what?" Everard caught himself, but hesitated.

  The Hall of Burgesses was gorgeous.

  It was a bustling foyer ripped straight out of the 1700s. Stained and polished oak made up the floor, walls, and ceiling. Great arches led to massive hallways on either side of the room, and at the front of the room, an ornate desk stood in front of a smaller hallway that led to offices. Chandeliers lit the room in a wavering orange glow. Twelve-foot portraits of each of the past Presidents hung on the walls, starting with Washington and continuing with familiar faces until Monroe, then continuing with another dozen men wearing brass buttons, high collars, and ascots, ending with the old man Everard had seen in the amphitheater.

  He pressed on the oak floor with his foot. It had a modern stain, but the planks were uneven. They'd been cut by hand, not by a circular saw. This wasn't colonial style construction; this was actual colonial construction.

  People moved about the foyer, carrying stacks of paper or iPads, talking on cell phones, arguing, flirting, sipping coffee and energy drinks, just like any other night shift office workers in the city. The difference being that these particular office workers were all dressed like Revolutionary War reenactors.

  "Where are we?" asked Everard.

  "The Hall of Burgesses," said Loretta. "The nook that the House of Burgesses uses as their headquarters."

  Some of the people noticed Loretta, but averted their eyes and quickened their pace.