There were three silhouettes approaching us. We were standing directly under a street lamp, and I couldn’t get a good look at them. I checked and felt the reassuring weight of my switchblade tucked neatly up my sleeve.
“From what I can see,” Petra replied, “he’s the only real man around here. Get lost.”
“Hey, I know you,” the voice came back as the silhouettes got closer. “You’re one of those hottie lingerie models. What color underwear you have on right now, baby? Oh, this is gonna be fuuun…” He and his pals came into the light. I was reaching for my switchblade when Petra shot forward faster than I could follow, grabbed the speaker by the shirt, hoisted him up with one hand, and threw him thirty feet across the street. He screamed as he bounced off a brick wall and crashed into a group of garbage cans. His friends froze on the edge of the light.
“Uh, we don’t want no trouble,” one of them said.
“Then get lost before I toss you, too,” Petra replied as she cracked her knuckles. Her voice hadn’t changed; it was still cool, melodic. But there was an undertone there that was a little scary. The men ran to their friend as Petra grabbed me by the arm. “That was stupid,” she said to herself. “Stupid.” To me, she said. “Come on, let’s get out of here before anyone asks questions.”
We hustled down the street. My mind hadn’t quite managed to process what I’d just seen. “How did you do that?” I finally asked. Petra’s brown eyes were frantic, and she stammered for a second. She took a deep breath.
“I’ll tell you. But not here. Those snacks that you and Gearstripper always have, do you have those at your place?”
I nodded, and the next thing I knew, we were on the T back to my apartment. Petra held my hand the entire way, and the closer we got to my stop, the tighter she squeezed. At one point, I must’ve whimpered under her grip because she blushed and her grip went slack, but she didn’t let go.
Back in my apartment, she told me everything as we tore through a bag of Cheetos. How she’d been crafted by Pygmalion; how, as a living statue, she was super-strong, fast, never aged, and could never physically change: no haircuts, no tans, no weight gain. That last part explained how she’d been able to tear through bag after bag of junk food; I’d been worried at first that she might have an eating disorder.
When she finished, her dark eyes searched mine. “That’s my story,” she said. “That’s who and what I am.”
I wanted to say something witty, like one of the leads in those movies that can make women laugh. Or maybe say something really romantic, the kind of thing that would make the writers at Hallmark jealous that they hadn’t come up with it first. But nothing witty or romantic would come into my mind. So I settled on the truth.
“You’re really cool,” I said. It felt weak and lame, and I was already kicking myself for not taking a second longer to Glimpse back at the Shakespeare plays I’d read in high school. But to my surprise, Petra let out a huge sigh of relief, and her smile lit her face. She reached across the table, grabbed me by the shirt, pulled me close, and kissed me. For that brief, shining moment, there was nothing else in the world. When we finally broke apart, she giggled and let me down.
“So,” she said as she stood up from the table, “Do you have any ice cream?” I nodded and stood, but she was already at the freezer. She pulled out a pint of Ben & Jerry’s and then opened the fridge. She stuck her head in, looked around, and I tried to think if I had any actual food in there other than condiments. “Hmm.” Her head popped up and she smiled as she tipped her head to the side and looked at me. “Don’t suppose you have any whipped cream and sprinkles?”
I cut off the Glimpse. The Loremaster was startled. “That was it?” he asked as he took his hand from my face. He sounded both surprised and disappointed. “That one kiss?”
I leaned back in the chair and let out a breath. “Bear with me,” I said, rubbing my face. “I’ve never tried to articulate this to anyone before. It was a combination of things: the fact that Petra’s a geek girl; the way she’d trusted me with her secret; the way she seemed so comfortable around me. It was all those things, and the kiss, too. But it wasn’t the kiss that did it, though that was awesome. When she looked at me while she was standing at the fridge and smiled like that, well, it was the first time that apartment felt like home. I’d been living there for a while, but it was just a place to live, you know?”
“And a home is where you are surrounded by people you love, and who love you back,” the Loremaster mused, steepling his fingers. “Not the traditional love story I would expect, Vincent Corinthos, but then again, you are not a traditional god.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I said as I stretched my arms over my head. The Loremaster’s hand shot out and grabbed my wrist, turning it over to display the brand I’d received from the chest at the museum.
“How did you get this?” he whispered, his eyes huge. “No tomfoolery, Vincent Corinthos. How did you get this mark?” A knot of dread formed in my stomach. The Loremaster knew about every freaky thing in the universe. For something to upset him, even just a bit, meant it was really, really bad. I filled him in on the encounter at the Museum of Science, and the strange metal cross I’d recovered. He swallowed. “May I see this artifact?”
I nodded. The Loremaster reached forward and placed his hands against my head as I Glimpsed back on the metal cross I’d recovered. The clearer the picture I held in my mind, the easier he’d be able to identify it. There was a brief rush of cold along my face and then the Loremaster was leaning back in his chair, rubbing his hands on his bike shorts like they felt dirty.
“Legends and lore,” he whispered, his dark eyes huge. “The Rosario.”
“Should that mean something to me?”
The Loremaster was incredulous. “The Rosario was to be the first of its kind, a new weapon to be used by mankind to destroy paranormals once and for all. It was forged by Paracelsus himself.” The Loremaster looked at me speculatively. “You do know who Paracelsus was, don’t you?”
I hadn’t read his biography or anything, but I knew that Paracelsus was to alchemy what Steve Jobs was to computers. “Yeah,” I replied. “But hang on, didn’t Paracelsus live back in the 1500s? How’d the Rosario wind up in a chest crafted by Vikings back in 993?”
The Loremaster rubbed his chin. “There was a battle,” he said, as if not sure how much of this he should be telling me, “in which the Rosario struck the chronometer of a Chronicler. You are familiar with the devices?”
“Oversized watch, lets you screw around with time and tachyon fields,” I replied. I’d worn one for a brief period of time, and the thing had let me use my Glimpse so I could look forward in time just a hair.
The Loremaster nodded. “Correct. When the Rosario shattered the chronometer, the device sent the Rosario and its wielder back to the time of the Vikings.” The Loremaster put up his hands. “This story is likely not relevant to your needs, Vincent. If you face the Rosario today, you need to know about it, not the story surrounding it.”
“All right, what else can you tell me?”
“Paracelsus crafted the Rosario of metals both terrestrial and alien, using formulae that have thankfully been lost to the sands of time. The wielder of the Rosario can cut through any supernatural armor and resist any supernatural attempt at sundering it. It can grow from the size of a man’s hand to the size of a great sword with but a thought, and it can create a special poison attuned to whomever its bearer is fighting.”
I thought about the enchantments Thad had detected and mentioned them to the Loremaster. “Why didn’t Thad pick up on the nature of this thing?”
“From what I know of Thaddeus Piper, he is a talented artificer, Vincent Corinthos. But he is not the same caliber as Paracelsus. No mortal man is.”
“Okay, this is one badass weapon. I get that. So how do I destroy it?”
The Loremaster steepled his fingers in front of his face. “That is a question many paranormals asked while they were be
ing hunted. Our kind is fortunate that Paracelsus was killed before he could make more.” He sighed. “Nonetheless, I believe that if you were to completely immerse the Rosario in a non-living paranormal substance, say, ectoplasm, and hit it with enough force, it may shatter.” He held up a finger. “Understand, though, that this is simply a theory.”
My shoulders slumped. “Nothing’s ever easy, is it?”
The Loremaster spread his hands. “Ectoplasm was merely an example, my friend. One who is clever and possesses resources, such as you, should be able to find a viable alternative.” He rubbed his hands together. “But now that we have that out of the way, I will gladly answer the question you came here for.”
“Who are the Keepers?” I asked without hesitation.
The Loremaster’s shoulders slumped, and he sat back in his chair with a groan. “They are people best avoided and not spoken of,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Please tell me you aren’t caught up with them.”
“I could, but then I’d be lying,” I said. “I made the mistake of bargaining with them and I need to undo it.”
The Loremaster shook his head. “Not possible, my divine friend. Once they seal a bargain, it cannot be unsealed. Consider yourself lucky to be alive and unscathed.”
“Anything is possible, especially where I’m concerned. Who are they? Where do they come from?”
The Loremaster rubbed his forehead with the heels of his palms. “Once, they were Chroniclers, defenders of the time stream. But as the Chroniclers evolved, some of their number realized that their complementary ability to manipulate space enabled them to travel to places previously unknown or unreachable. They traded items from these locations for information, for favors, for training in medical skills and more. Over time, they broke off from the Chroniclers and formed their own organization.”
“And the Tempus allowed that?” I asked. I didn’t think the Chroniclers’ boss would be too keen on people making off with his magic watches.
“The Tempus was the first person to seal a bargain with the Keepers,” the Loremaster replied. “The two organizations agreed to co-exist, so long as neither one of them intruded on the other’s business.”
“So the Keepers don’t muck about with time, and the Chroniclers don’t what? Keep bargains for people?”
“The Chroniclers stay focused on keeping time pure,” the Loremaster said. “That is in everyone’s best interest. But they also agreed not to manipulate time to undo the Keepers’ origin.”
Wow. That was heavy.
“So essentially, you’re saying I’m up against Chroniclers but without the headache of time travel.”
The Loremaster’s laugh was mirthless. “If only it were that easy, Vincent. The Keepers have moved well beyond their humble origins. They have knowledge of weapons and technology and magic from every part of the universe, from dimensions you and I don’t even know exist.”
I studied him for a moment. “You made a bargain with them, didn’t you. You made a bargain and you got screwed.”
The Loremaster put his hands in his lap and stared at them for a moment. “Yes,” he whispered. “There are things in this universe that were not written down; things of which no songs are sung or poems composed, things which are completely lost to time. I was young and wished to know everything, especially those things no one else knows.” He undid the leather cuff on his arm and showed me a hideous patch of scars. “Once, I had a tattoo here that channeled knowledge of all things medicine. I traded it for the lost knowledge I sought.”
“Did the Keepers come through?”
His face paled as he nodded. “Oh yes. And I very nearly went mad when the knowledge came into me. It took me nearly a year to recover from the mental shock. They gave me exactly what I asked for. And I paid for it. I will never be able to magically channel knowledge of medicine again,” he said. “I will have to learn it as a normal person would.” He gave a mirthless chuckle. “And to think I believed I was getting a good deal.”
His voice became somber. “If they are your enemy, then I am truly and deeply sorry for you. I promise to keep your legend and pass it on to those who follow, that they might learn from your mistakes.”
“Gee, thanks,” I said as I got to my feet. “But don’t write me off just yet. I’ve still got a few tricks up my sleeve.”
I opened my mind to my followers as I left the Athenaeum, and heard nothing. The eclipse must be happening now. I took a cab to the Children’s Museum and traveled through Aviorla. This was the first time I’d ever seen it truly dark on the Bright Side. The suns and moon had completely aligned, throwing the land into pitch black. Unlike Earth, there were no other stars or constellations visible in the sky. That gave me pause. Was the Bright Side that isolated from the rest of the universe? I’d never thought about it before.
I willed Aegeon to emit a soft white light, essentially turning the great guardian into a giant nightlight. It struck me then that Aegeon had not acknowledged my arrival. As I reached out to contact him, I realized the shadows around the Urisk dwellings were shifting, shifting and detaching from the dwellings, and then rushing inside them.
Moving completely of their own accord.
Chapter 9
Brothers, we have isolated several temporal disturbances regarding the godling Vincent Corinthos. We are certain now that the tachyon fluctuations we’ve been detecting are caused when the being known as Commander Courageous contacts Corinthos. We must observe this situation with the utmost scrutiny, to ensure that Courageous does not alter Corinthos’s timeline in any way.
—Missive from Brother Abraham Webb, to the Chronicler community at large
Aegeon, I sent. There are intruders in the city. What’s our status?
No response.
I cursed and ran for the first dwelling. A pair of figures clad in metallic suits struck at a chrysalis with hammers. They saw me and froze. I threw out my hand and crushed the first one’s skull with telekinesis. His helmet crunched like a soda can, and his now exposed skin burst into flame. I vaporized the body as I telekinetically bound the other intruder.
“Who are you?” I demanded. “What is the meaning of this?” I stomped over to the intruder, fire enveloping my fists. The intruder said nothing, but whether that was from fear or from bravado I couldn’t tell, nor did I have the patience to wait and find out. I forced my way into his mind and learned everything he knew. He was Thepim, a hobgoblin from a clan called Phandix. I ripped through his memories, watching them as I would a Glimpse.
The figure stood with his back to the metal-clad masses, his legs spread, his fists on his hips. “Today,” he said, “we cut down the Urisk once and for all. With them destroyed, Vincent Corinthos has no power, and the Bright Side will be ours.” A cheer went up and I got a good look at him. He was bald and had a tattoo of a sun on the side of his neck.
Treggen.
The bastard had his forces hiding out in lead mines, crafting suits of metal that would protect them from the eclipse’s radiation. Thepim here was part of a squad that tunneled in under Aegeon and broke through the earth fifty yards away. Their instructions had been to shatter as many of the Urisk chrysalises as they could.
I dismissed the memory and launched Thepim from the hut. He bounced twice and ran for it. He started screaming as I changed the molecular structure of the lead in his armor to table salt. The remains of his suit ran down his flesh as he burst into flame. Chopping and cracking sounds came from huts all around me. There wasn’t time to run into each one. I shut my eyes and concentrated, feeling for all the lead in the area and transmuting it to air. Blasts of fire and light erupted all throughout the city, and the wails of the hobgoblins were high-pitched, wrought with pain, and short. Too short for my liking, actually. I wanted them to suffer more.
An explosion threw me to the ground, and some of the huts to my left vanished into a giant sinkhole. I altered my vision so I could see through the earth and found a series of networked tunnels running beneath th
e city. Unarmored hobgoblins, safe from the radiation beneath the ground, were collapsing the tunnels they’d used to infiltrate the city. Of course Treggen would have a backup plan: if I stopped his people from murdering the Urisk up close and personal, he’d collapse the city.
“Fuck you all,” I whispered, and changed the air in the tunnels to solid diamond. The creaks and groans coming from all around me stopped as buildings were once again supported. I used my augmented vision to scan for more threats. No hobgoblins in sight. Well, none living. Several dozen were encased in diamond beneath the city, but they weren’t going to bother anyone ever again. The air in their lungs had changed to diamond, too, so they’d suffocated in a most painful fashion.
I was glad for that.
I stretched out with my senses, feeling the city for anything out of place. Then I began the process of searching through the Urisk homes. After an hour of searching, I’d found several dozen shattered chrysalises. My heart sank when I came to a hut that had partially collapsed. It belonged to Daimin, the Urisk who’d praised me so deeply for saving his family. I swallowed and stepped inside. Daimin’s chrysalis was just in front of me, dirty and dust-covered, but intact. His family was another story. Their chrysalises had been shattered when the roof collapsed on them, and their exposed flesh had burned like paper. The only consolation I had was that they’d been unconscious at the time and hadn’t suffered.
I walked back to the cathedral and didn’t stop swearing until I got there. I walked up a set of stairs onto Aegeon’s rim and used my augmented sight to follow the tunnels back through the fields and into the mountains, back to the mines where the attack had originated. Thousands of hobgoblins filled the mines, anxiously awaiting the end of the eclipse and their chance to rule the Bright Side. I didn’t see Treggen anywhere. I’d find him later.
I sealed the entrance to the mines with solid rock, the mines closing shut like drawstring bags. Then I changed the air in the mines to hydrogen. As the hobgoblins gasped and flailed as they began to suffocate, one of them crashed into some smelting equipment.
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