Old Wounds

by Ren Hamilton

  When their cab arrived, they locked up the house and headed down walkway to where it waited on the street. “Do you think he’s got like...abilities?” Patrick winced. “Like, in bed?”

  “Don’t,” Wesley said.

  They got in the back of the cab, and Wesley asked the driver to take them to Monty’s Bar and Grill. Patrick stayed silent on the ride there, his mind spinning.

  Though his head still spun with thoughts of Robin, and of Juris’s magical cock, Patrick tried to have a good time once they arrived at Monty’s, for Wesley’s sake. And they were doing just that for twenty minutes, until Patrick spotted a handsome, black haired man shooting pool at the next table over. Ice blue eyes turned and looked at him.

  “Oh crap,” Wesley said. “Joey Duvaine’s here.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  A mix of emotions—surprise, hatred, weak sparks of leftover affection—flitted through Patrick’s mind as Joey smirked at him from the next pool table. A half dozen people hovered around him, a redheaded woman adjusting her cleavage and gazing at him like he walked on water.

  At Monty’s Bar with Joey. Like old times. Except Joey wasn’t one of his best friends anymore. He wasn’t the guy Patrick went to college with, spent nights watching movies with, stood by his side at his family’s funerals. This was a new Joey, the one he’d briefly met the night before he fled. The Joey that told him he’d never given a shit about him. The Joey that told him their entire friendship was nothing more than act for Shep’s great purpose. Right before he displayed his newly acquired strength—courtesy of Shep—and slammed Patrick’s head into a wall.

  “We should leave,” Wesley said.

  “Why? He should have to leave,” Patrick said. “I doubt Shep even knows he’s here. No way Shep would let Joey go out to a pub alone with everything going on.”

  “But he won’t leave,” Wesley said. “His energy is itching for conflict, and I don’t have to explain that two Swords in one room is a bad idea. We clash, and that’s only metaphorical for the time being. If we stay, it may become literal, and I’m not a fighter, Patrick.”

  Patrick averted his eyes and concentrated on making the shot. “Just ignore him,” he muttered as he hit the ball. It missed by an inch, and he cursed. “Joey won’t try anything in public.”

  “Ignore him?” Wesley lined up his shot. “Kind of hard to do. He’s surrounded by giggling groupies over there and his energy feels about to suck the life from this room.” He hit his ball, and it clanged into the pocket. “You forget, Patrick, I can feel such things. It is most…distracting.”

  They both glanced warily up as Joey broke away from his gaggle of admirers and approached, slinging a brotherly arm around Patrick’s wide shoulders. “Well look at this!” he said. “Feels like we’ve gone back in time, huh, Obrien?”

  Patrick gave him a quick, polite smile, then broke the contact and went to retrieve his beer nearby.

  “Oh, you’re not gonna talk to me?”

  “I don’t have much to say to you, Joey.”

  Crossing his arms over his chest, Joey huffed. “Thought this week was all about bygones. Shep and Litner working together. You can’t even be civil to me? I haven’t even mentioned how sad it is that you’re here with Shep’s old, rusty Sword, like you’re trying to replace me.”

  “Replacing you is the last thing I want to do,” Patrick said, trying to control his anger, and failing miserably. “I don’t even like to think about you, never mind see your face. So piss off, Duvaine. I mean it.”

  Joey snickered. “Poor, sad Obrien. No friends left, except a sociopath Fed and Shep’s little abortion over here.” He pointed his beer at Wesley. “What do you think, Wesley? You must really like being sloppy seconds.”

  Patrick snorted. “Maybe my math is off, but it seems you’re the sloppy seconds, Joey. Wesley came first.”

  “Don’t, Patrick,” Wesley urged. “Not worth it.”

  Joey glared at Wesley. “What was that, abortion boy?”

  “Don’t talk to him,” Patrick said. “He doesn’t speak your language. He’s an adult.”

  Joey shook his head. “You can’t fool me, Obrien. I know you’d much rather have your old friend Joey back. You loved Joey, remember? He was so patient when you confided in him about all your stupid problems. Inside I was always dying of annoyance, you boring fucker.”

  Wesley gasped. “My God. You are such an unbearably infantile dick.”

  Patrick and Joey both turned to Wesley.

  Wesley held two fingers to his lips. “Sorry. Did I say that out loud?”

  Patrick snickered into his fist. He had no desire to antagonize Joey, but Wesley’s outburst was priceless. He made a mental note to feed Wesley beer more often.

  Patrick’s incorrigible laughter set Joey’s temper ablaze, the only evidence a vague flush in his cheeks. Joey took a slow step toward Wesley, wearing a disarmingly handsome grin that made Patrick shiver. Stepford Joey. Joey had always been odd, it was part of his charm during their ten-year friendship. But never in that time did Patrick catch even a glimpse of the truth that Joey Duvaine was actually a mean son of a bitch. He leaned into Wesley. “Excuse me? Did you say something to me?”

  Oh, here we go. “He said you’re a dick, because you are,” Patrick said, trying to divert his attention away from Wesley. Then in a desperate attempt to diffuse the situation, “Can I buy you a beer, Joey?”

  Joey sneered at Patrick. “What, on your accountant’s salary?”

  “Do you want a beer or not?”

  “Not from you,” Joey said. “Buy one for your little friend here. He’s clearly not used to being out in public. Doesn’t know how to behave.” Joey looked Wesley over. “Needs to learn some manners.”

  Patrick chuckled. “This whole...tough guy thing you’re trying to work here? You’re not pulling it off. You forget I know you.”

  “You never knew me, Obrien. That must make you feel stupid, huh? That’s why you’re still harping on it.”

  Patrick took a sip of his beer. “What about the night you drank that homemade moonshine at that hippie chick’s house on the Cape? I spent three hours holding your head over the toilet so you wouldn’t drown in your own vomit. Knew you pretty well that night.”

  “Oh stop.” Joey fanned his eyes. “You’re getting me all choked up.”

  “Fine, you don’t want to have a beer with us, just piss off,” Patrick said. “We’re gonna finish our game.”

  Joey shocked Patrick by walking straight up to Wesley, stopping only when their faces were inches apart. “Why are you still in town?”

  “Why are you?” Wesley returned without hesitation.

  “I don’t answer questions from Shep’s reject.”

  Wesley flinched slightly, then stiffened his jaw. “I’d rather be his reject than his puppet.”

  Patrick’s brows shot up. Beer-Wesley was definitely a braver version. And Joey had clearly expected weakness from Wesley, but now he looked conflicted as he held his gaze.

  Wesley returned that stare with pure, titanium challenge, unlike his usual vaguely insecure hesitance. They were nearly the same height, Wesley’s body a bit leaner, contrasting hair colors but equally handsome faces. Odd mirror images of each other, both chosen by Shep. Both tainted with Shep.

  When Joey put a hand on Wesley’s shoulder, Wesley immediately did the same to him. Patrick started to step forward but paused, sensing something weird happening between the two, something outside his understanding. Neither of them moved, each gripping the other’s shoulder. The odd, face-to-face staring continued for longer than Patrick’s patience was comfortable with, but something about their stillness stopped him from interfering.

  But if Joey made a move toward violence, he would definitely step in, regardless that Joey’s newly installed strength meant the fight wouldn’t be fair. Patrick would take his lumps, but he wasn’t about to let anyone hurt Wesley. He’d felt protective of the guy ever since they’d met—obviously, since he’d taken a
bullet for him. A few punches from Joey would be mild by comparison.

  Wesley’s jaw trembled, and Patrick was alarmed anew to see Joey’s doing the same. They stared at each other with quiet intensity, each of them shaking now, neck muscles straining. What the hell is happening?

  Finally, Joey broke contact and stepped away. To the vocal disappointment of the red-haired vixen he’d been wooing, he snatched his jacket off a barstool and headed swiftly for the door. The door banged loudly as he left the bar.

  Patrick whirled around to Wesley. “What the hell was that?”

  “I...I don’t know, but I think he was...” He looked up at Patrick. “Scanning me.”

  Patrick’s head jerked back. “What?”

  “The weird thing was something inside me sort of ignited.”

  Patrick walked up close and cocked his head at him. “Ignited.”

  Wesley walked in a circle, hands gesturing wildly. “I don’t know, he was looking inside me, and something within me responded. It felt almost instinctual. But the strangest thing…” He stopped and met Patrick’s eyes. “While he was testing my power...I was testing his back.”

  Patrick scowled. “Well, he left pretty damn quick.”

  Wesley let out a short laugh, but his face had paled. “I don’t think he liked what he saw.”

  “Are you telling me Joey left because you’re more powerful than he is?”

  “Not more,” Wesley said. “But as. Equal. At least I think so.”

  “You never told me you had these creepy powers too! I know you’re infected with Shep, but I thought most of that was…leftover. Dormant, because it’s been so long since you had contact with him.”

  “Yes, I thought as much too. It’s been decades. Perhaps it’s being close to Shep’s blood again that’s…rekindling it. Or perhaps it was always there, unmolested until Joey tried to test me.”

  “Litner said Joey’s melting shoes now! What the hell kind of power to you have, or do I even want to know?”

  “I don’t know, I swear,” Wesley said, his voice on the edge of panic. “Shep brought a few minor things out in me when I was a kid, but it was mostly all about the enchantment. Whatever Joey sensed, it’s a mystery to me. But I felt it responding when he did, like he reached fingers inside of me…and something inside me tried to bite them. That’s when he left.”

  “Holy shit,” Patrick said.

  “I felt it. Something inside me responding. In that moment it was like...I was confident that if he’d attacked me, I could have done something about it. I’m just not sure what.”

  Patrick turned away. “I think you should go back to New Hampshire tomorrow.”

  Wesley made an indignant snort. “Well. Thank you so much for your gracious hospitality.”

  “It’s not that I don’t want you here.” Patrick faced him. “I like having you around, Wesley. So does Litner. We both care about you, that’s why I’m saying this. When my blood bond with Joey, as his Shield, was severed, Shep juiced Joey up with some extra abilities, so he could better protect himself. Joey seems to think he’s invincible now. But if he thinks you’re his equal in Shep’s power, he will wig the fuck out and you’ll be the target.”

  Wesley shook his head. “Why would he bother? I’m no threat.”

  “Really? The other night at the hotel, when Shep asked if you were all right? Joey was looking at you like you just fucked his wife in front of him. That was before this. If he thinks you’re powerful too, I just don’t know.”

  “But I don’t even know if I have any powers, and I don’t care. Patrick, I’m not going to get into a shoe melting cage match with Joey Duvaine.”

  “I know that,” Patrick said. “Let’s just hope he does.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Father Carbone tapped a finger on his temple, chin in his palm as he frowned at Shep and Juris, who sat across from him at his kitchen table. Agent Litner sat in a chair at the end, a mediator if things got ugly. So far, everyone was behaving themselves. But they’d only arrived fifteen minutes ago; there was plenty of time for things to go south. Thus far Shep had done all the talking, his dirty blond hair becoming wilder as the humidity of the kitchen’s hot oven had its way with his curls.

  But rather than watching Shep—who he’d had quite enough of the past few days—Litner watched Carbone’s reaction to Shep. Luigi Carbone, with his silver tinted black hair, olive skin, and sharp eyes, had the look of someone who could knock you on your ass if you even thought about fucking with him. But he was still a priest, a scholar of religion, and he had his fascinations. Shep was one of them. It vexed Litner when he saw the subtle twinkle in his old friend’s eye. Don’t forget who he is. He wanted to jam the thought into Carbone’s mind. Don’t forget what he’s done.

  But he needn’t have worried. Father Carbone knew enough to keep his logic and his caution at the helm. “So you’re telling me,” Carbone said, “that these creatures, these Schlarr hate you, they frighten you, they’re meaner than a junkyard dog and probably will not talk to you. Yet you want to have a sleepover in my church basement just in case one shows up.”

  Shep turned to Litner. “Steven! Will you please tell this idiot priest what’s been going on, and that it’s fucking serious?”

  “I’ve been briefed, Shepherd.” Carbone waved a hand. “Just settle down a minute, let me think.”

  Carbone’s elaborate tea set sat hot and steaming at the center of the table, though no one had touched a cup yet. The garlicky scent of baking lasagna filled the kitchen, making Litner’s mouth water, and he realized he’d eaten nothing all day. He looked at his friend, and knew every slight shift in his expression. Having known Luigi since their schooldays, Litner could read him well. There was a new sadness in the priest that hadn’t been there a year ago. Whatever comfort Carbone had once called faith, it was gone, replaced with knowledge he’d rather not have, but that he bore as an acceptable burden.

  “Juris,” Carbone said, not quite successful in keeping the contempt out of his voice, “when that Schlarr came and attacked you while you were here before, you said it was trying to protect this place. And Father Bello said that according to writings he’d read, these creatures are tasked with guarding the church.”

  “It’s not about it being a church,” Shep said. “It’s just a gathering place.”

  “I was speaking to your brother.”

  “Oh, excuse me.” Shep widened his eyes and raised his hands. “Thought you wanted answers.”

  Carbone sighed. “I’m asking Juris because he was here when that Schlarr came. I saw it too, and it terrified me. Just let him answer, please.”

  Juris glanced at Shep. When Shep didn’t interject, he turned to the priest. “It’s true the Schlarr came at me because it saw me as a threat to the church. They do protect them. But not just yours, many kinds of churches. Also schools, musical concerts, plays, sporting events. Anywhere people gather in numbers, focused positively on the same thing. My brother was correct. It’s about the church being a gathering place. It’s only about religion in the sense that a church provides that focused energy.”

  “This isn’t really pertinent information you need to have,” Shep said. “We’d just like to borrow your church for a short time. I’ll pay you if you want. Looks like you could use some new...gloomy clothing,” he said, gesturing to Carbone’s faded black sweater. “And you need new furniture. Try something other than the Catholic guilt catalogue this time. Just looking at your décor makes me feel oppressed.”

  The priest laughed. “I don’t want your money, Shepherd. But if you’re going to come into my home and start summoning all manner of boogie men from another realm, I’d like to know exactly what we’re dealing with. Why is the Schlarr so concerned with strangers such as yourself being in my church, if it’s merely a gathering place? If it means nothing more than that?”

  “It’s about the thing they call The Light,” Litner said. “What you call God. Wesley told us something about it. Gatherings of people
focused and positive creates an energy source for it. This Schlarr thing protects that energy so The Light can get fed.”

  “Don’t opine about things you don’t understand,” Shep said. “That person you referred to doesn’t know everything.”

  “His name is Wesley.”

  “I know his fucking name. And he only knows what I told him, so if you have questions, ask me directly.”

  “You explained this to us yourself when you held us captive in your basement,” Carbone said. “That you seek to control that energy flow and hold it hostage, by using Joey as your messiah, and then telling the world he has the only cure for their fertility problems, which you yourself plan to create.”

  “As I said.” Litner nodded. “These Schlarr police such gatherings to make sure nothing threatens the pipeline of energy to The Light. If I’ve got something wrong, Shepherd, feel free to correct me.”

  “If I corrected everything you got wrong we’d be here for weeks,” Shep said.

  “Is he wrong though?” Carbone asked. “Do the Schlarr fight off anything that threatens the gathering of people in large numbers?”

  “It’s not that simple,” Juris said. “A Schlarr could not stop a human or group of humans from interfering with a gathering. It’s only a spiritual threat they’d concern themselves with, not a physical one. I, however, despite being of physical form, showed up on their radar when I was last here, although I am not a demon or any sort of energy thief. But I was held here against my will for only a short time, and the Schlarr came.”

  “I remember,” Carbone said, shuddering.

  Juris nodded. “So now we’d like to make one come again, because we need to speak to it. We need a link to the other side to find out who sent the assassin. Preet may have been targeting us, but he also killed humans and aimed to kill more. This is not only our concern, Father Carbone. It’s important to everyone.”

  Shep smiled and waved a hand toward Juris. “What he said.”

  “Wait…what do you mean by saying you’re not a demon or an energy thief?” Carbone said. “Do demons try to steal energy from human gatherings?”