by Terence West
"Yeah, you skin tubes are all alike,” Karl commented. “I can't tell one of you from the others."
I shot the little Goblin a snide glance. He was just being a pain in the ass for no good reason, other than he was Karl. “The night of the raid,” I said, “he didn't seem like himself. He disobeyed a direct order. The Patrick I knew would never do that."
"That would also explain why he brought charges against you.” Maynard exhaled as the implications of this new information hit him. “What the hell is going on?"
"I wish I knew,” I answered. “We have Inhumans being experimented on and now Seekers are being body snatched? This is a pretty disturbing revelation."
"Maybe they meant to do the same thing to you,” Toby said.
I turned and looked at my partner. “What?"
"When Lucas took you,” Toby answered. “Maybe they were going to replace you with a pod person but you managed to escape."
"Makes sense,” Maynard concluded.
I felt a shiver run down my spine. The idea that there was a copy of me out there somewhere didn't sit well with me. I knew what I was capable of.
"So,” Maynard said slowly, “is it possible Lucas Nash is responsible?"
"I don't know,” I answered. “When I injured Lucas during my escape, I really felt like someone, or something, recovered him. I don't think he's acting alone,” I summarized. “He's a Warlock, not a scientist. Lucas just doesn't strike me as bright enough for the pod people and the experiments."
"Maybe that's what he's experimenting on,” Toby theorized. “Maybe Lucas is learning how to make pod people."
I studied the Werewolf for a moment. He was on to something. “But what about the mutations Yaz found in the Vampire you recovered?"
"You know, you can actually see the little hamsters in their training wheels spinning behind her eyes when she thinks.” Karl laughed.
Reaching over, I flicked the Goblin off the table. I heard him smack the floor with satisfaction.
With a sigh, Toby reached down and scooped Karl off the floor and set him back on the table. The Goblin was holding his head. “That really hurts, suckhead."
"Good,” I said. “Hush and it won't happen again."
Karl pressed his lips tightly together and motioned as if he were locking them and tossing away the key.
Maynard wiped his hand across his brow then down his face. “I don't like where this is going."
I took a moment then turned to Toby. “What did you two find out about Cantrix Unlimited?"
"We couldn't find anything on it,” Toby answered. “It simply doesn't exist. There was no paper trail. We couldn't even track the deposits paid to Vlad."
I frowned. “So it's a dead end?"
"Not exactly.” Toby smiled. “Karl did some research on the name."
The little Goblin smiled broadly.
"Turns out ‘Cantrix’ is short for Praecantrix,” Toby explained. “It's Latin for Witch.” He paused. “Or Warlock."
The connection seemed to be made. “So it is Lucas,” I breathed. Adding up the facts in my mind, I shook my head. “But what about Overseer Sumner? Where does he fit into this?"
"The tip from Chithula,” Toby reaffirmed. “I don't really know. I don't see how he's involved."
"Sumner's a Witch,” Maynard said after a moment.
I didn't know that. “So Cantrix could be referring to him?” I considered. “That could be where your orders are coming from, boss."
Maynard nodded.
"He could be using his position to order the experiments,” Toby theorized, “then have Brimstone Seekers clean up his mess."
"Stands to reason,” I summed up.
"Good work,” Maynard complimented. He thought for a moment. “I'll assign a Seeker to follow Elena and Patrick. Meanwhile, Rose, I want you, Toby, and Karl to find out where these pod people came from."
Karl beamed. That was the first time Maynard referred to him by his name.
"I want to know what the hell is going on out there and who is and isn't a pod person,” Maynard concluded.
"Tall order.” I nodded. “What about Lucas and Sumner?"
"My guess is when you find out what's going on, you'll find them,” Maynard replied. He grabbed his handcuffs on the table and scooted them toward my partner. “Toby, cuff Rose."
My eyes widened. “What? You're leaving me in detention?"
"Sorry, Rosy.” Toby walked around me and lifted me easily out of the chair to my feet. After he pulled my arms behind my back, I felt the click of cold steel as the cuffs were replaced.
"You can't just walk out of here unescorted,” Maynard explained. “You attacked a Seeker—pod person or not—and I can only release you into Toby's custody. There are procedures to be followed,” he added with a wry smile. Once he stood, he headed for the door. “I want answers. You three are the only ones I can trust.” He eyed us warily, I think deciding if he actually believed the statement in light of these new developments. “Get me those answers.” He opened the door and vanished.
Toby patted me on the shoulder again. “You heard the man. Move, prisoner."
I glanced over my shoulder at the wolf. “You're gonna pay for that."
Toby nodded with a grin. “I'm sure I will. Any idea what we're doing?"
A devious thought occurred to me then. I smiled as Toby led me toward the door. “I have a plan."
Chapter 24
"Are you sure this is the place?” Toby asked from the passenger seat.
As I slid my hand around the door handle, I smiled at the Werewolf. “Trust me."
"What a dump,” Karl commented from the back seat.
Popping the car door, I stepped out into the cool air. Opening my arms I tried to stretch my tired body, but crumbled into myself as the pain receptors in my shoulder lit up like a Christmas tree. It was healing, but not fast enough. Slipping my hand beneath the coat, I held it over the bloody wound and realized it probably wasn't best to run around looking like this. Carefully peeling off my leather jacket, I folded it over my arm and walked around to the rear. I popped the trunk and looked inside. Moving the various bits of garbage out of the way, I spotted my spare bag of clothes pushed toward the back. I felt my shoulder ache again and I leaned in and reached for the bag.
"What are you doing, Rosy?” Toby asked as he walked around the car. He must've spotted my shoulder as he stopped short. “What the hell happened?"
I stood straight and looked at the massive bloodstains over my shoulder and down the front of my once white blouse. The shoulder was completely torn open revealing flesh that looked more like raw hamburger than anything else. I had even been forced to jettison my bra because the straps had been destroyed. I was a mess. In retrospect, I probably should have let Yaz take a look at it.
"Looks like you got in a fight with a lawn mower,” Karl surmised as he stepped around Toby, “and lost."
Pulling my attention away from the shirt, I readdressed Toby, “Gargoyle.” I unzipped the dark duffel bag and started to root through it.
"Gargoyle?” Toby grabbed my arm and pulled me up to face him, not realizing he had hurt me. I hid the pain surging down my chest and arm. “And when were you going to tell me?” He paused and looked into my eyes. “You weren't going to tell me."
"It's not a big deal,” I said uncomfortably, not sure if it was his line of questioning or the searing pain in my shoulder that caused it. “I'll heal."
"It's not that,” Toby said, shaking his head. “I'm your partner. You are supposed to tell me things like this."
I pulled away. “I didn't want you to worry. I'm fine. Not let it drop."
The argument wasn't going anywhere. I understood Toby's point, but we didn't have time for this. Diving back into the duffel bag, I snatched a thin, black sweater and pulled it free. Shoving my keys into my pant pocket, I tossed my jacket into the trunk and turned back to Toby. “I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I really am. Now turn around."
With a sigh, my partner
turned his back on me.
I waited a moment for the Goblin to follow suit. “You too, Karl."
Karl kicked at the ground with his tiny boots muttering something under his breath. Begrudgingly, he turned away.
I quickly unbuttoned my blouse and pulled it off. The cool air felt good on my naked flesh for a moment. Looking down, I inspected where the Gargoyle's talons had torn into my chest and shoulder. I didn't realize how torn up I actually was. Tossing the bloody, torn shirt into the trunk, I carefully slipped the v-neck sweater over my head and pulled it on. It was a little more form-fitting than I usually liked to wear, but it was either this or the stained shirt. Nothing said ‘crazed serial killer’ quite like big blood splatters down the front of a person's shirt. Leaning against the bumper, I waited for the dull throbbing to stop. Standing up, I closed the trunk. “Okay,” I breathed, “let's go."
"Where exactly are we going?” Toby asked as he turned back to me and followed me around the car.
"To meet the Maker.” I smiled. “Grab the Sprite, Toby."
"The Maker?” Toby stopped and pulled open the car door. Reaching down to the floor, he then lifted the Sprite's bottle and tucked it under his arm.
"Hey,” the Sprite protested as the movement woke it, “careful, meat bag!"
"Stuff it, firebug.” Toby quickened his pace to catch up with me. “Rose?"
We were way out of town. And it was only here that he could get away with this debacle of good taste and design. Sitting amidst a lot of dirt, sagebrush, and long-since abandoned cars, was a long, rectangular, singlewide, mobile home. The tan and brown paint on the siding had started to chip off revealing the silver tin beneath. Weeds and sagebrush were overtaking the yard and house that looked like it had once been fervently maintained. Numerous colored pinwheels lined the sidewalk spinning and sparkling slowly in the morning's calm, while various stone lawn gnomes were scattered amidst the weeds still trying to go about their lives. A four-foot chainlink fence once surrounded the home, but several of the posts were now missing and the one closest to the adjacent driveway was dented and bent so badly it looked as if it had been hit on a daily basis. Karl was right. It was a dump.
"Does anyone else hear banjo music?” Toby asked under his breath.
I smacked Toby on the shoulder. “This isn't Deliverance."
"No.” Karl laughed in amazement. “But this place is cracker-tastic! I haven't seen this many gnomes in one place since my visit to Santa's Workshop!"
I shook my head. I really needed to start leaving these two back at the office. Running my hand down my face, I steadied myself. Had to do this. “Come on,” I said finally. “Let's go."
Once I made my way up the weed-covered sidewalk, I walked lightly up the rickety wooden staircase. The entire structure wobbled beneath me. Tapping on the flimsy trailer door with my knuckles, I waited. Listening to the faint rustling inside, I knew the Maker was home, although I wasn't sure he would be happy to see us at this hour of the morning. I knocked again.
"Just a damned minute,” I heard a gruff voice announce from within. The door was flung open revealing a gruff man in a battered blue robe that had seen better days. “What the hell do you want?"
"Hi.” I smiled.
The Maker's angry, unshaven face instantly softened. “Rosy!” He reached out and patted me warmly on the shoulder. I tried not to fall down crying as pain arced through me. “How the hell are you?"
I gritted my teeth, the pain nearing the point of unbearable. “Good."
"What brings you to the neighborhood?” he asked, his blue eyes sparkling.
"Business,” I answered. If he didn't let go soon, I think I was going to pass out.
The Maker looked from me to my two companions and finally stepped out of the way. “Where are my manners? Please, come in, come in."
Nodding with a forced smile, I was able to think again as he finally let go of me. Stepping over the threshold, I had the sudden urge to turn back around and leave. The inside was very similar to the outside of the house. The smell of animals hung in the air, and it seemed every surface that wasn't occupied by a dirty plate or stain was covered with pet hair. There was no actual furniture in the living room; it was filled with masses of wire, bits of steel, plastic, and glass he had salvaged, and several archaic-looking devices that were probably his current projects. The kitchen, separated by a waist-high bar, heaped high with dirty plates, pots and pans, had a single table on the far side that seemed to be his workspace. Tools of every shape and size occupied the surface of it while three powerful lamps oversaw them. Moving inside to let Toby and Karl enter, I tried to stand out of the way hoping nothing would reach out of the piles and grab me. Toby shot me a look of disgust, while Karl was pinching his nose closed.
As the Maker closed the door, he smiled at me again, and quickly made for the kitchen. “Would any of you three like coffee?” He pushed a stack of plates away from the hidden coffee pot and snapped it on. Several of the plates and silverware crashed to the floor in protest. Ignoring them, he crunched over the broken pieces as he returned to us. “Coffee?"
"No thanks,” I said with a horizontal wave.
The Maker, so dubbed because of his uncanny ability to make just about anything, was a perfect match for his home. Scruffy and dirty, he was a slightly overweight Inhuman who looked to be in his forties. His white tank top was stained with sweat, food, and numerous other substances I couldn't identify, while his black boxers seemed relatively clean. His thick robe looked as if the seams were about to give way and fall apart. Holes, rips, and tears were scattered over it, certainly negating any warmth it could offer. His balding head was lined with fine, nearly white hair while his facial hair still clung to a bit of the red coloring it once had. Or maybe it was barbeque sauce. I wasn't sure.
No one was really sure what the Maker actually was. He wasn't human, that was certain, but no one had ever gotten a good read on him and he wasn't telling. Some in the Syndicate claimed he was a Gremlin from the old world due to his uncanny understanding of design and construction, while others were certain he was one of the rare Shaitan Jinn and even more powerful than Chithula. Of course, none of these claims were ever substantiated, and the Maker certainly wasn't offering to give a blood sample so we could find out. It was enough that he helped the Syndicate when he could.
I scanned over the floor. “Where's Brutus?"
The Maker cocked his head. “You know, I don't know.” He turned. “Brutus?"
I heard the yap of a dog somewhere in the back of the mobile home and the skittering tap of dog claws on linoleum. Emerging from the kitchen was a small, yellow Pomeranian. The tiny dog stopped next to the Maker and sat expectantly.
I knelt down and put out my hands. “Hi, Brutus!"
The little dog turned, stared at me, and somewhere in his tiny brain recognized me. He rushed across the floor to me with his pink tongue hanging crooked out of his mouth. Snatching him up, I held the Pom in my arm and gently stroked his well-groomed hair. He smiled and panted in approval. Vampires and dogs didn't usually agree. Brutus was the exception.
"Cute dog,” Toby said, reaching for the Pom.
The little dog bared his teeth and growled at my partner.
Toby retracted his hand quickly with an odd look. Usually very good with animals, this was a strange experience for him.
I eyed Toby warily.
"Sorry. He's picky,” the Maker explained. “Brutus is very selective about the people he lets touch him."
"Looks like a cotton ball,” Karl commented.
"He's bigger than you,” I noted quickly.
The Maker laughed. “What can I do for you, Rosy?"
"I need a favor,” I replied.
"Anything for you.” He smiled.
Nearly eight years ago, I had rescued Brutus from a clan of Szyss Demons who were collecting dogs to eat. It was one of my first cases for the Syndicate, and had left the Maker in my debt. His hygiene and personal habits made him somewhat unaccep
table in social circles and Brutus was his only true friend. He was one of those brilliant people who had a hard time relating to people. Of course, his special aptitude for building things made him invaluable to the Syndicate, thus explaining why a Seeker was charged with finding a lost dog. I didn't mind. I liked Brutus. The little dog looked up and licked my chin affectionately, and he liked me. I visited as much as I could to keep the Maker company and to see Brutus.
"Karl, would you mind taking the Sprite into the back bedroom?” I asked, pointing to the hallway at the back of the kitchen.
Toby handed the Goblin the Sprite's jar.
"Yeah,” Karl answered, “sure.” Accepting the jar, he cradled it in his little green hands. “It's just you and me now,” the Goblin warned, although it seemed to lack any real threat thanks to his falsetto.
"Bite me, green bean,” the Sprite shot back.
"You two play nice,” I warned. “Or I'll make Brutus come supervise."
"We're just gonna go talk,” Karl assured me as he started toward the back of the mobile home. As he disappeared into the hallway, I could hear him giggling and shaking the bottle.
I shook my head and slowly returned my attention to the Maker. “Sorry about the hour,” I apologized.
"No worries.” The Maker laughed. “I was up anyway. They're showing a Battlestar Galactica marathon on TV."
"Old or new, re-imagined one?” Toby asked.
"Please,” the Maker dismissed Toby's question quickly as if insulted. “Of course the original. Starbuck is a dude, not a chick."
"Ah.” Toby laughed. “I thought the old show from ‘79 was kind of hokey. I mean, angels and the Devil fighting for control of the ragtag fleet? That's just silly. The new one is very dark and gritty. Much better show."
"That's one Werewolf's opinion,” the Maker shot back. “It's not right, but it's your opinion. The Colonials were escaping religious persecution. The show was rife with religious overtones,” he looked Toby squarely in the eye, “if the viewer was intelligent enough to see them."
I looked at the two as if they were having a conversation in an alien language.
