by S T Branton
The satyr and I were equally shocked that I had just moved fast enough to block a bullet. But before either of us had time to figure it out, the gang decided to try it again. Rather than pressing my luck, I dove for cover as a rain of bullets blew through the alley.
“Did you see that,” I yelled, pinned down behind the dumpster again.
Most impressive. I told you, guns are no match for a true warrior wielding the blade of Kronin.
“You make it seem like it’s a scissors beat rock kind of thing, but I just blocked a bullet in midair. That’s the coolest thing I’ve ever done.”
Yes, well. Until you perfect this particular skill, I would recommend not getting shot at.
“Thanks for the advice.”
The satyrs continued their barrage, and I waited for my moment. But it never came. Lights flashed and a police horn echoed in the narrow space. Peaking around the edge of my metal barricade, I saw the vehicle. It wasn’t a cruiser, but a black Suburban.
And I knew immediately who it belonged too.
The doors flung open, ejecting Deacon St. Clare and his frigid blonde partner onto the pavement.
“Freeze!” Deacon bellowed. “FBI!” His customary jacket was nowhere to be seen, affording me a great view of the way his biceps stretched the sleeves of his shirt.
The goat brigade did not obey his command. On the contrary, they turned their guns and began firing in rapid succession. Deacon and his partner dove for cover and the sound of screaming metal and shattering glass could be heard above the gunfire.
But if they were shooting at the feds, they weren’t shooting at me.
I prepared the Gladius Solis and launched it into their midst, hoping that Deacon would be too busy ducking to see. While not very strong, the satyrs had a fair sense of approaching danger. They scattered as the sword crashed into the pavement, sending pieces of asphalt into the air.
I ran out from my hiding spot and called the sword back to me, ready to take advantage of the chaos to run them through. But apparently they had had enough of a fight already. They ran, their powerful legs vaulting them onto and then over the Suburban blocking their escape.
Deacon and his partner looked up from their cover and watched them flee wide-eyed before standing and turning to me.
He crossed his arms, and his dark eyes bore into me while his partner called in the attack on their radio. It wouldn’t do them any good. The friendly neighborhood satyr-men were long gone.
“You know what I wished for this morning,” he said, sliding his gun back into his holster.
“I bet you wished, ‘Man, I hope I get to see Vic today,’” I teased. “And if so, congratulations! You have two wishes left.”
He laughed in spite of himself. “We had calls about young punks shooting out stores all up and down this area. Thought it was some new gang trying to make a name for themselves. But you’re here. Which tells me, that I probably don’t know what the hell is really happening.”
“Well,” I said with a shrug. “That’s not the worst detective work I’ve ever seen.”
He stared at me for a second, like he was deliberating pulling that gun out again. I tensed, unsure of how he’d respond to me showing up at yet another crime scene.
He then leaned close to his partner and whispered something. Her face darkened, and I could feel the anger flowing in my direction. But she nodded and returned to her radio.
Deacon moved in my direction.
“Listen,” he said. “As much as I do enjoy seeing you as often as I do, I’m getting a little sick of our little game. We need to talk. Now.”
There was warmth in his eyes, but his voice held no room for debate. Still, I considered my options. Lorcan making moves, the Forgotten acting up without regard for consequences. New York was in trouble, and I could use all the allies I had. Maybe it was time to come clean.
“You’re right,” I said.
He smiled, relieved by my response. “Well, there’s no need to do it in the middle of this ally. I’m starving, and I can convince Steph to cover the paper work. She loves that shit. And as acknowledgement of your cooperation, I’ll pick up the tab.”
CHAPTER FIVE
I dropped Marcus off with Maya so he could fill her in on the satyrs. Whatever was about to happen with Deacon, I didn’t want him buzzing in my ear. I valued Marcus’s advice, but the decision to talk with Deacon was mine alone to make.
I trust you, he said before I took off the amulet. And for what it’s worth, Deacon seems like an honorable fellow.
We took an Uber across town, then sat sequestered in a back booth at a tiny diner I’d never seen before. We both pretended to look at the menu, acting as though we didn’t feel the awkward silence like a weight hanging between us. Finally, I spoke up.
“It looks like your animal injuries aren’t holding you back much,” I said, referring to his wounds I tended to back in Silver Banks.
He smiled. “Had a pretty great medic…Even if she left me tied to the bed.”
“It’s a radical new treatment therapy. All the best hospitals are doing it. Better than leaving you to bleed out in the mud.”
“You’re just a regular Good Samaritan, aren’t you?” he asked.
I shrugged. “I do what I can to help my friends.”
He cocked his head to the side. “Is that what we are? Friends?”
“We could be,” I said, then hastily took a drink of water.
“Look,” he said through a smile. “Just don’t treat me like an idiot. There’s something strange happening to our country, and you’re at the heart of it. So, what can you tell me?”
“You’re not an idiot, Deacon. It’s just that trust isn’t easy for me to come by.”
“I know the feeling. But I also know that without help, sooner or later, whatever you’re after will get you. And I’ll be the one that stumbles across your body in a gutter. Or full of bullet holes behind a dumpster.”
I smiled. “I had it under control before you showed up. And, it was me that saved you in Mormouth and drove off those bastards today. I can take care of myself.”
“Fine,” he nodded. “You’re no damsel. But I’m damn sure you’re no saint either. So, what are you?”
There it was. The question I had been trying to answer ever since the gods returned. And I knew that whatever answer I gave him, it would change everything for us going forward.
“I’m a shield, Deacon. Trying to protect you and this city and the whole damned world from something that’s about to rain down upon it. And I’m the only one who can.” I stared at him, but his eyes revealed nothing. So I decided on giving him the truth then. And just hoped he wouldn’t laugh me out of the restaurant or arrest me. Or worse, send me to an asylum.
“You see,” I continued. “There’s this group—they’re evil, and powerful, and kind of hard to explain.” I stammered for a second, not sure how to really say it. “You see, it’s…it’s complicated. They’re, uh, they’re—"
“The Forgotten,” he said. I nearly fell out of my seat.
“How did you…?”
“Like I said, I’m no idiot.” He leaned back, obviously enjoying my discomfort. But then my shock gave way to anger. I looked around the room, suddenly paranoid that this was all a trap.
“Easy, easy,” he said, placing his hand on mine. I didn’t pull it back. “Look, I’m sorry, but I’m an FBI agent, remember? I’ve been trying to put together the pieces ever since that night you hung up on me. But you were very little help on that front, so I turned to other sources. I didn’t know if I could trust them, trust what they were saying. It was all so outlandish, but so was everything else. And clearly the name they gave me means something to you. The Forgotten.”
I nodded, still reeling from this revelation.
“And does that mean the rest of it is true too? These things we’ve been tracking. Those things we fought today. They really are the work of the gods?”
His face was transparent. Confusion, doubt, fear.
But it was earnest as well. Whatever else Deacon was, he was trying to find the truth.
So, I would help him.
“It’s all true,” I said. “The gods are real. And they’re assholes.”
I told him what I knew about the Forgotten. Our food came and went untouched and what seemed like hours passed by as Deacon’s confusion was replaced by conviction.
“Wait,” he said as I reached the point about the satyrs. “I still don’t understand your place in all of this. Are you one of them?”
His question cracked me up. “I’m still human,” I said. “Just with a little something extra in my blood. And I’ve got a really kickass sword too.”
He leaned back in a daze. “He told me. Told me to find the girl with the sword to get the answers I needed.”
Now it was my turn to ask the questions. “Who the hell is this guy? Your source. Because the gods and their minions are called the Forgotten for a reason. No one is supposed to know about them—except for me and them.”
“I know,” he said nodding. “That thought crossed my mind as well. But I don’t think he’s one of them. He first contacted me the night you and I met. Just a note—a warning. That the world had changed—that you had changed it. I ignored it. Figured it was some crackpot’s idea of a joke. But things kept happening. Then over the next several weeks, his words would show up, offering tantalizing hints.
“He knew things that made sense of what was happening. Knew that I would never find Durant’s body. Knew that I wasn’t mauled by a bear. Knew about you. Last night, I got another letter. It simply told me that the time had come to meet him in person. And to bring the girl with the sword. I just need to message a number.”
I let out my breath. Despite Marcus’s guidance, so much of my mission was shrouded in darkness, stumbling from one crisis to the next. If this mysterious person had any info at all, knew anything that could help me, I couldn’t pass it up.
Even if it was a trap.
I pushed my plate out of the way. Following my cue, Deacon took some cash from his wallet and dropped it on the table.
I looked him dead in the eyes. “Then what are we waiting for?”
CHAPTER SIX
We took a cab across town, and he spent most of the ride on his phone. I stared out the window, letting my thoughts wander in the silent lull of the backseat as Brooklyn fell behind us. I had hardly touched my late lunch, but the only thing I was hungry for was answers. We crossed the river into Manhattan. According to Deacon’s instructions, we were heading for Central Park, and I wondered what a very public space like that could mean. Who were we meeting? Another agent? A government official? Something far worse?
“Here’s fine. Thanks.” Deacon’s deep voice pulled me back into the world, and I automatically got out of the car. He joined me at the curb, and we spent a few seconds just looking at the familiar entrance to Central Park. With winter rapidly approaching, most of the foliage was off the trees, leaving the place more austere than usual. It wouldn’t be pretty again until the first snow fell, in my opinion.
That didn’t mean it was any less crowded than usual. The numbers weren’t nearly as bad as the spring and summer, but the sun was out, which meant the tourists were too. Deacon and I walked casually along a footpath, not really talking, pretending to enjoy the scenery. I fell slightly behind him so he could lead me without being too obvious. Among dozens of happy, chatting couples, we probably didn’t look too out of place.
Definitely not on our way to a clandestine meeting with a guy whose name I didn’t know.
Deacon made the turn so fast I almost didn’t realize he was walking in a different direction. He had to reach back and grab me to make sure I followed him across the grass. I frowned. Where the hell were we going?
Too late to have second thoughts. And besides, I needed all the information I could get. Whatever situation I’d gotten myself into, I’d just have to brave it. I gritted my teeth as we pushed through some close branches. On the other side, a single park bench with a single occupant sat in the shade.
“Oh,” I said out loud but under my breath. Deacon glanced at me, then stepped forward, clearing his throat.
The man on the bench turned his head approximately one degree. He motioned us closer with one crooked finger. With every step, he looked more and more like a statue. The trench coat obscured his suited frame, and the trilby was pulled down over his eyes.
He held a hand-rolled cigarette deliberately between thumb and forefinger, blowing lazy tendrils of smoke into the calm afternoon air.
It was all too perfect. I looked around for a camera, sure we were being punked. But Deacon appeared to be perfectly at ease, like he knew what to expect.
“You’re him, aren’t you?” Deacon asked.
The man nodded slightly. “And you managed to bring her along. I knew my trust in you was worthwhile, St. Clare. Ms. Stratton, it is an honor.”
“How do you know my name, Columbo?”
Deacon winced as I spoke, but I wasn’t about to go easy on this Inspector Gadget wannabe. The man answered without making eye contact. “We know many things, servant of the world. We know of your work against the Forgotten. And we know of the work you have failed to do.”
That took me back a step. “And what have I failed to do?”
“I mean no disrespect. It’s just that you are ignorant of what’s really happening. Your success in Washington confirms who you are, but you do not know of the incidents happening all over the world, even as we speak.”
I looked at Deacon, but he seemed as confused as I was. “I’m in no mood for cloak and dagger bullshit. Just spill whatever you’re selling and we can get on with this.”
“Strange diseases spreading through Australia. Bizarre weather patterns in Africa. Soldiers on the move in Europe. You’ve been sprinkling water on the fire in front of you while the whole world is preparing to burn. The time for discretion and half measures are over. War is upon us. Where is your army?”
Deacon didn’t like the tone in our mystery man’s question. “Ease up, pal. If you know so much, why aren’t you doing anything?”
“I came to you, didn’t I?”
“But not to my superiors,” Deacon snapped. “Not to someone with real power.”
“And tell me,” the man said between long draws on his cigarette. “Do you trust your superiors? Do you trust those who work beside you? How do you know that they aren’t already turned—puppets of the very gods who threaten this world? No, my job is to watch. I risked enough bringing you two together. I will offer what assistance I can, when I can. But it is up to you to rally the rest of the world. To find the other heroes who stand with you.”
“But how do I do that?” I demanded. “And how do you know so much?”
Instead of answering, the man stood up, adjusting his suit and coat. He put out his cigarette and slipped the butt into his pocket. “We’ll be in touch, Ms. Stratton. You can be sure of it.”
I turned to grab him, filled with the desire to use force. To make him talk. But Deacon stopped me with the shake of his head. He was right. It was better this way, better not to burn the only bridge I had.
Instead I looked him in the eye. “How do I contact you?”
“You don’t.” He paused, hands in pockets, his back to me. “I know where to find you when the time is right.” With that, he headed out a different way than when we came in, melting into the scenery. After he was gone, the only evidence he’d ever existed was the faint smell of cigarette smoke on the breeze.
I turned to Deacon. “What the shit was that?”
He gestured for me to be quiet. We retraced our steps, and as soon as we were back on the main path, he let out his breath. “Don’t ask me. You’re the one who’s been chosen or whatever.”
“I’d be pissed at you if we had options,” I muttered. “Still, he clearly knows a ton. I just wish I knew where it was coming from.”
“We’re just going to have to trust him.”
&
nbsp; There was that word again. Maybe the man was right, the time for half measures was over.
“Sorry if he freaked you out,” Deacon said. “But I think we need to start tracking down some of these other reports. They might be painting a bigger picture that we need to be worrying about.”
“Suddenly it’s ‘we’?” I grinned at him. “I don’t remember drafting you to the team, Mr. FBI.”
“He said it—you need an army. And I know how to throw a punch when the moment calls for it.”
“Glad to hear it. But there have to be some ground rules, you hear? Don’t do anything on your own without talking to me.” I arched my eyebrows. “I’m not saying this to be a control freak. But you don’t know what you’re dealing with yet, and I’m in way deeper than you.”
“Vic, I may be a tenacious asshole, but I’m not an idiot. This has to be a symbiotic relationship. A give and take sort of deal. All I want is for you to acknowledge once and for all that we’re no longer on opposite sides of the issue. I can’t afford to be your enemy.”
I didn’t look at him. “Good.” The notion gave me a funny feeling in my stomach that I refused to acknowledge in any way, shape, or form.
“Good,” he answered. “Great.” We passed through a park exit and stopped on the sidewalk, facing the street. Deacon took out his phone and called an Uber. “You got anywhere you need to be? We could ride together.”
“Nah.” I shook my head. “I’ll get myself home. Thanks, though.” Part of it was that I enjoyed traversing the city solo, but there was definitely a part of me that didn’t want Deacon to have any idea of where I lived. Never mind the fact that he probably knew already. I had my pride. And I suspected the whole half-squatting deal wouldn’t go over very well with an officer of the law.
Deacon studied me for a moment. “If you say so. Hey, one last thing.” He tapped his thumb idly on the locked screen of his phone. “You heard from your friend Jules lately? I was talking to Ezra the other day—I think you met him at the party. Anyways, he knows her pretty well, and he mentioned that she’s been out of touch. Guess her social media accounts have gone dark for a week or two.”
