“You don’t keep promises by proxy, kid,” Orcus growled. “That’s low.”
“Low? You want to talk about low? How about holding someone accountable for a slip of the tongue?”
“I hold you to your word!” Orcus roared. His voice was thunderous and terrible. I’d pressed my hands over my ears without even realizing it. Orcus glowered at me, and I put my hands down. With visible effort, he composed himself and pointed to the iron-bound book sitting on the pedestal behind him. The book was open to a page written in my hand, in my own blood.
I, Vincent Corinthos, have promised Megan Hayes that she will be fine. I swear this upon penalty of loss of power, loss of followers, and eternal damnation in Tartarus.
“I hold all gods accountable for all their promises,” Orcus said through clenched teeth. It sounded like he was straining to keep his voice level. “It keeps some of them humble and teaches others to keep their mouths shut. But you, you have to prove how damned clever you are.” He shook his head, disgust plain on his face.
“It wouldn’t have come to this if you’d just cut me some slack,” I said.
Orcus’s shoulders slouched. “Fine, kid. Fine. You win. Congratulations, enjoy it. But one question: did you ask them how they were going to keep her fine? Sure, they’ve got people watching her, but they’ve taken casualties, kid. How many people do you think they’ve got willing to sacrifice themselves to keep your promise? How long’s that gonna last before they find some other way?” My mouth worked, but no sound came out. “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he said as he shook his head again. “See you around, kid.” Orcus’s realm faded and I was back in my kitchen.
I pulled out my phone and dialed Megan. Four rings later got me to her voicemail. I cursed and dialed Leslie. “Les, has Megan checked in today?”
“One moment, Mr. Corinthos,” Galahad’s secretary replied. A pause. “No, it doesn’t look like she has.”
“All right. Tell the boss I’m headed over to her place now, and I think she’s in trouble.” I hung up and flagged down a taxi. Megan’s place was in the South Side, so the cab ride was blessedly short. I Opened the door to her apartment building and took the elevator up to the sixth floor. The building was newly renovated and there was still the tang of fresh paint in the air as I moved as fast as I could down the hall without actually running. I found her apartment and knocked three times.
“Megan, are you in there?” Three more knocks and I still hadn’t gotten a response. I Opened her door and stepped inside. As I did, I had a sudden fear that maybe the reason Megan hadn’t answered her phone or her door was because she and Herb were having some quality time together. “Megan, it’s Vincent,” I called out. No response. My gaze swept around the apartment. It was like walking onto the set of a 1950s sitcom. Here in the living room, the couch and armchairs had little lace doilies on the backs and arms. A poster-sized copy of the Saturday Evening Post issue showing a little girl holding her doll up to a doctor hung on the far wall. A copy of Quilter’s Monthly magazine sat on the coffee table. Of course, it was unlikely that June Cleaver would’ve had Handguns Monthly sitting right next to that, as Megan did.
I moved in further, calling her name. There were diplomas on the walls from high school and college, situated just below a pair of crossed field hockey sticks and a few medals. A bookshelf was packed to bursting with books on both the occult and leadership. A copy of Taking People with You – The Only Way to Make Big Things Happen, was on an end table next to the shelf, several dozen Post-it flags marking various pages.
I poked my head into the doorway on the left. Megan’s bedroom was neater than I’d expected, if that were possible. Laundry sat in baskets against the far wall, and the bed had hospital corners that would’ve made any nurse proud. The comforter, blankets, and pillowcases were all pink and purple pastels, as were the drapes. No sign of Megan, though. The kitchen was immaculate, as was the bathroom, and I couldn’t find any signs of a struggle or forced entry. I tried her cell again.
I started as What if God was One of Us? began playing from the kitchen. I found her phone there, with my name prominently displayed on the screen. I killed the call and sighed. She’d probably just gone out and forgotten her phone. I tried to convince myself that people did that all the time, but this was Megan we were talking about here. Still, even she wasn’t perfect.
A knock came at the door. “Megan?” I crossed the room and opened the door to find Herb Wallenby standing there, a bouquet of roses in one hand and a Parcheesi board in the other. His coat was mostly unzipped, and he wore a nice pair of slacks, a button-down shirt, and shoes so perfectly polished they actually reflected the light from the hall.
“Vincent?” he asked. “What are you doing here?”
“Looking for Megan,” I said as I ushered him in. “You?”
“We had a brunch date,” he said. “She was going to make waffles, and I was going to bring the Parcheesi board.” He jiggled the game beneath his arm.
“You guys seriously play Parcheesi on dates?” I asked. Then I shook my head. “No, forget it. Listen, Herb. No one at work knows where Megan is. Her phone’s on the counter. There’s a chance she’s still at the grocery store getting maple syrup or something, but I’m not betting on it. When was the last time you talked with her?”
Herb pursed his lips. “Around 9:30 last night. That’s when we made plans for brunch today.”
“You went home? I thought you guys were…” I ran a hand over my face, then put up both my hands. “No, never mind.”
“Hey, wait a second,” Herb said. “Do you have a key to Megan’s apartment? How’d you get in?”
“All Caulborn agents leave a key with HQ in case of an emergency,” I lied as I jangled my own key ring in my pocket. “Standard procedure. Look, Herb, I need to find out where Megan went. If you hear from her, or if she comes home, call me at this number.” I rattled off my cell, which he plugged into his phone.
I started for the door, but Herb grabbed my wrist. “Wait,” he said. “If Megan is in trouble, I can help. If you learn anything, or if you need anything, don’t hesitate to call me, Vincent.” There was a determination, almost fierceness, in his eyes that I hadn’t expected. Wow. Mr. Wallenby had it really bad for Megan, and I was starting to think he might be a good match for her after all.
“Don’t you worry, Herb,” I said as I put a hand on his shoulder. “I will.” I left him there and headed back for the street. Protocol said I should check in with HQ to update them on the situation, but I had some people I needed to speak with first.
I caught a cab to Keeper Central and sprinted up the stairs. When I got inside, my high tops squeaked agonizingly loud as I crossed the tile floor to Julie’s desk. The receptionist flashed me a chipper smile as I approached. “Good afternoon, Mr. Corinthos.”
“Julie, I need to speak with Laras right away.”
“I’m afraid Mr. Laras is indisposed at the moment, Mr. Corinthos,” she said, pulling a pencil from her bun. “I’ll be happy to make a note that you stopped by, though.”
This was one of those insanely frustrating moments when I wished my telepathic powers worked on humans. Unfortunately, something about the human psyche prevents telepathic communication with people. It’d be so much easier if I could just mentally dominate Julie to make her pick up the phone and tell Laras to get his ass down here. Instead, I took a breath and tried to think of how Megan would handle this situation. “Julie,” I said. “I realize that Mr. Laras is a busy man, and I assure you I am not one to waste his time. However, an issue around our arrangement has arisen, and I need to speak with him immediately. It may well be a matter of life or death.”
“Issue?” Julie looked genuinely confused. “Ms. Hayes is perfectly safe, Mr. Corinthos,” she said.
I blinked. “You know the details? Jesus, Laras said he was discreet.”
Julie’s annoying smile quickly returned. “You forget that I drew up the paperwork myself for this agreement, Mr. Corinthos.
” She folded her hands on the desk. “I assure you that the Keepers maintain a strict level of discretion when speaking to outsiders. Within the organization, though, there are no secrets. This enables us to ensure that all bargains are properly fulfilled.”
“All right then, maybe you can help me. Laras said that he was assigning a group of people to ward Megan. Now she’s vanished. I’d like to know where she went, or to speak to the people assigned to protect her.”
“I assure you she is completely safe, Mr. Corinthos.”
“How do you know that? What aren’t you telling me?”
“That knowledge is not necessary for the bargain. You upheld your end, and we uphold ours. Megan Hayes is completely safe and will forever be fine. This obligation is no longer your responsibility.”
“I need to see her.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“It is to me.”
“But not to us.” Julie’s eyes were suddenly hard. The change in her demeanor was so fast that I took a step back. She unclipped the cord of her headset from her black cardigan, stood, and stalked around the desk to me. Her gray slacks swished as she moved, and I noticed they looked more like karate pants than they did business casual attire. She took my arm with a too-firm grip, her manicured nails digging into my biceps so deeply that I thought they’d draw blood if not for my leather bomber. “Mr. Corinthos, your request will be noted and relayed to Mr. Laras. In the meantime, I believe it is time for you to leave the premises.” She physically dragged me across the tiled floor, my Reeboks squeaking the entire way.
“Hang on,” I said as I tried to pull away.
Julie’s hands moved faster than I could follow. The next thing I knew, my left arm was locked behind my back and she’d marched me out the front door. Before I could do anything, she’d launched me off the doorstep and down the stairs, where I promptly collided with a blue metal mailbox on the side of the street. Going by the force with which I’d hit, I wouldn’t have been surprised to see a Vincent-shaped dent in its side. Julie stepped back inside and shut the door. As I shakily got to my feet, a steel security door rolled into place.
I brushed myself off. Okay, you want to be like that? I marched up to the security door and stretched out my hand to Open it. If these Keepers thought they could stop me with something as simple as a metal door they had another thing—
Pain jolted up my arm as electricity arced from the metal door and into my body. I was thrown back down the stairs and left a second indentation in the blue mailbox. I twitched for an eternity and a day until the world went completely black.
Chapter 8
Twelve will come. Twelve will open the gates of Hell, and all will burn.
—From the Dodici Prophecy, as translated by Stranger Wolfram
I heard sirens for a moment, then nothing.
Then there were two men arguing.
Nothing.
Then a few whispered words in Latin.
Nothing.
The world grudgingly came back into view. I was on a bed in Medical. I groaned and tried to raise my head.
“Easy, Vincent,” came a gentle voice. “Take it slowly.”
I blinked my eyes until Galahad XI’s face finally came into focus. The dark hollows under his eyes spoke of a man who hadn’t slept much. Just the same, his steely gray hair was neatly combed and he was clean-shaven. “Hey, boss,” I said. “How’re you doing today?” The boss is the eleventh man to hold the title of Galahad, a name that goes all the way back to the Round Table. I’ve never learned his real name, and what little I know of his life before the Caulborn comes from Glimpses. He’s a champion of truth and justice, and there’s absolutely nothing cliché about that.
“A bit better than you, by the looks of it,” he said as he pressed a squeeze bottle of water into my hand. As I took a long pull from it, my Glimpse kicked on.
Galahad XI stood in a dark cement room; a sub-basement, by the look of it. Ahead of him, twelve demons wreathed in flame struggled against chains of black metal that held them to stone pillars.
“We will triumph over you, human. You are but a fallen man of faith. You cannot hope to defeat us. The combined power of the Twelve—graah!”
The demon cut off with a shriek as Galahad summoned a sword of light from thin air. Its luminescence bathed the room in a gentle white light. Holy light. Holy light, which burns demons like acid. All twelve of them recoiled and screamed in pain. “The sword of the bastard!” one of the demons cried.
The sword in question also went back to the Round Table, having been wielded by each of the eleven people who held the title of Galahad, including Sir Galahad himself, a.k.a., the Blessed Bastard. I’ve never learned exactly how the boss acquired the sword, or the full extent of its powers, but I’ve seen it in action enough to know I’d never want to be on the receiving end.
Galahad pointed the sword at the demon that had spoken earlier. “I have heard enough from you.” His voice boomed, and I wondered if the holy sword did something to augment its wielder’s voice. “This is your punishment for standing against God all those years ago. You suffer as the souls you corrupted suffer.” Galahad dismissed the sword and turned to leave.
“Foolish human,” the lead demon spat. “The prophecy states that twelve will come. That twelve will prevail. Your time grows short, mortal. When we are freed, yours will be the first soul I consume.” The demon let out a terrible, hissing laugh.
The Glimpse faded. I choked on the water I’d been swallowing. Galahad hurriedly grabbed a small blanket from the foot of the bed and helped wipe me up. “Drink slowly, Vincent,” he said. “Easy, now.” Once I had the coughing under control, he looked me squarely in the eye. “What did you see?”
I blinked at him as I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “How’d you know?”
Galahad smiled. “Your eyes go just a bit distant for a moment when you Glimpse something.”
Damn, even when he was exhausted, the boss didn’t miss anything. That’s why he’s the boss, I suppose. “I saw you speaking with demons. One of them said something about a prophecy. Boss, those things looked pretty bad. What can I do to help you with them?”
Galahad sat back and gave a weary smile. “Ah, Vincent, if only we all had the resolve and resources that you do.” He shook his head. “No, those demons are my particular cross to bear.”
“And that prophecy?”
“It’s one of the Strangers’ prophecies. The Dodici prophecy, to be precise,” he replied. “It tells of twelve demons who come to our plane. They stand against the forces of light.” He fell quiet for a moment. “And it looks like they win.” There was a heavy moment of silence between us. “But,” he said, raising a finger, “prophecies are not always what they seem; particularly those that come from the Strangers. Their purpose on this Earth is to ensure prophecies are fulfilled, but how those prophecies are fulfilled is another story entirely. And faith, as you well know, can overcome seemingly insurmountable obstacles. Even Lucifer himself could be defeated, and I sincerely doubt these twelve are in his league. If you’re interested, I’ll let you read the full text of the prophecy sometime. But not now. Now we have other priorities. First and foremost—”
“Galahad,” Leslie’s voice came over the loudspeaker. “The Care Taker is on line one and needs to speak with you immediately.”
Galahad sighed and stood. “We will talk later, Vincent.” As he left, Doc Ryan shuffled into the room.
Doc gave the sensors and monitors next to the bed a quick once over. He swiped a thermometer over my head. “Your fever’s broken,” he said, and began removing the electrodes. “You’re good as new, you lucky punk bastard.”
“Love you, too, Doc. Hey, did you learn anything from that ball of amber I brought in earlier?”
Doc nodded as he checked a few of the monitors. “The tests just finished. Whatever that amber stuff is causes unstable mutations in the worms. I’ve fed some to a couple of them and their size, mass, and DNA structure cha
nges radically.” Well, that explained why Daimin’s family had undergone such horrific changes. After tapping one of the monitors, he flipped to another page on his clipboard. “As for you, you’ve recovered from a mild case of electrocution and minor head trauma,” he said. “The guys at Mass General did a pretty good job of diagnosing your condition and administering the first phase of your treatment. Took a bit of persuasion to get you released into our care. For some reason, they didn’t want to give up a patient who was running a hundred and thirty degree fever.” He shrugged. “In the end, they saw things my way.”
“How exactly did you manage that?” I asked.
“The head of the hospital owed me a favor. Now then, you’re going to need to take it slow. No fighting, you hear? Research. Think. Learn. Use your brain for a change. Healing fever or no, I’m getting tired of spending so much quality time with you.”
“No problem, Doc.” I smiled at him. “In fact, I think I’m going to start by going to the library.”
Before I went to the library, I wanted to take one more look at Keeper Central. Part of me was hoping I’d catch Laras walking in or out. As tempting as it was to just march in there and pull him out of one of his nondescript conference rooms, I didn’t relish the thought of another confrontation with Judo Julie. I froze when I got to the building. My eyes were already relaxed, but instead of seeing a freshly refurbished building beneath an illusion of dilapidation, the building really was dilapidated. The windows were boarded up, faded posters advertising concerts months old peeled away from a big sheet of plywood covering the door, and the place just felt empty and hollow. There was nothing to indicate that some sort of business had ever been here, let alone in the last few days.
I didn’t like this at all. Now I really needed to get to the library.
The Athenaeum is an old establishment in Boston. It’s sort of a private library with tons of resources. But calling it a library is like saying the Smithsonian is just a museum. In addition to original historical documents that go back hundreds of years, it’s also home to a being called the Loremaster. He’s an expert on all things occult, and knows tons of the movers and shakers in the paranormal underworld not only in my dimension, but across nine or ten others.
Promise: Caulborn #2 Page 13
