Tortured Souls (Broken Souls Book 2)

by Richard Hein

  Lockyer chuckled. “Perhaps. Perhaps. Those would be the outliers, not the norm. When most of the world is aware and capable of handling the threats, the small brush fires that are these few edge cases would get stomped out quicker than, forgive me, a single little group of overworked specialists can properly handle.”

  My heart quickened a little, anger bleeding in. It felt like he was telling me how to do my job. Even Daniel, who had been with the OFC for years, didn't understand the stress sitting behind the big desk brought, and Lockyer hadn’t even been a Seneschal, let alone an intern. How—

  Lockyer held up a staying hand, apparently reading me well. “That’s not a criticism of you or of the Ordo, Chancellor Walker. I apologize if it appears a critique.”

  I shifted in my chair. “I’m sure you didn’t call me here to air grievances over how your father was treated.”

  “Merely setting the stage, Samuel.” He grinned around his cigar. “May I call you Samuel?”

  “That’s what my driver’s license says.”

  “It helps to understand how I was raised. From an early age my father clued me in to the greater mysteries of the world. It colored my childhood. While other kids were playing stickball in the streets, I was learning how to leverage my will and cast out demons. He taught me much before Christina’s little coup, and I carried on the tradition once my family was cut off from the OFC.”

  “Carried on the tradition?”

  “Oh, come now, Samuel,” Lockyer said with small shake of his head. “Don’t play coy. We’re equals here. I’m speaking plainly enough for you and I’d appreciate the courtesy of you not treating me like I’m some back woods yokel that doesn’t know a demon from a hole in the ground. For almost thirty years I’ve continued the work my father trained me for — stomping out magic when it rears its ugly little head. Casting out those from another dimension. You and yours may not have known it, but you’ve had help.”

  I sank back into my chair, wreathed in thoughtful silence. I’d known the OFC wasn’t the only organization out there, but it was the only professional one. The Twins did some work as well, though they kept it quiet. I had little doubt that various shamanistic or hermetic traditions exorcised the occasional thing from beyond. This, though, was a different beast, a spin-off of the OFC prime-time show.

  Very interesting.

  “Fair enough,” I said with a shrug. “So you’ve been out there, fighting the good fight. I suppose you’re not inviting me here to grant you a medal. I’ll just assume we can skip through all the preamble and get to the part where you ask to rejoin my organization.”

  Lockyer’s lips pressed together. “Your organization.”

  “My name’s on the lease,” I said. “Business cards are in the mail. Takes extra for color, you know.”

  He stared at me, puffing away on his cigar, dark eyes calculating. Finally he smiled, and I had the impression it was just a conscious act.

  “I don’t want to join the OFC,” Lockyer said at last, spinning his drink glass on the arm of his chair with one hand. “That feels rather silly, don’t you think? Just because Father was a member of — and managed — your little group doesn’t mean I feel it’s something owed to me.” He gave me another careful smile. “Nothing is ever owed to us, Samuel. We titans forge our own paths.

  “We’ve been doing well on our own,” he continued. He gestured toward the city with his glass. “I’ve taken the ideals my father taught me into the world. To protect it. Not because he raised me to do it, but because it is right to do so.”

  I chuckled. “I can agree there, I suppose. Left to my own devices I’d build a little fort out of empty scotch bottles and live inside it forever. World needs saving, though, so I guess that’s kinda that.”

  “Then we agree,” Lockyer said. “Our goals are the same, Samuel. Our priorities are in tune. A partnership, then. You have resources I lack. The records of two-thousand years. The network of informants that ring you up every time someone chants a few funny words in Latin. Inroads with government, great tomes of power, and, in a word — information.”

  “Legitimacy,” I added. Lockyer frowned, but nodded.

  “There is that, but like I said, we’ve been doing just fine. The fact of the matter is that there’s been an increase of supernatural activity over the last six months.”

  I made a note to check through the old records when I got back to Sanctuary. I wondered if Christina had known about him and what her thoughts on it had been. Clearly she hadn’t made contact or he wouldn’t be reaching out only now after her death.

  Plus there was that whole killing Lockyer’s father bit. That puts a big old piss-soaked blanket over one’s fire.

  “And you want to fight these increased threats with every tool in your shed,” I said, nodding. “If that means making a deal with the OFC after all this time, you’ll do that? Is that the case?”

  “I need your resources to do my job efficiently.” The cherry on his cigar burned bright for a moment. “Let me be frank. The Ordo has shattered. You have two, perhaps four, people working for you right now. Every single member of the once-mighty Ordo Felix Culpa lies dead, killed by a group of angels.”

  I bristled. That felt like a little jab. Maybe he was unaware I’d been the one to inadvertently release said angels on said Ordo, but he was also too well informed to not have at least some of that information.

  “A ‘host’, technically,” I noted too cheerfully, feeling my calm slipping. I battered down the urge to count down from ten and curled my fingers around the chair’s arm for support. “A group of angels is a ‘host’, we’ve determined. Needed quantifying.”

  Lockyer stared.

  I suppressed a sigh. “We’re getting off point.”

  “This partnership would not be one-sided,” my host continued. “There would be benefits bestowed.” He drained his glass and held it up. Alvin slid forward, as smooth and silent as a shadow, and snatched it from his grasp, retreating to his original position. I wondered if the kid did anything besides play messenger and fetch. He’d known who I was and what the OFC entailed, but did that mean he was out in the world kicking ass?

  “Like that little parlor trick you did earlier?” I said, trying to sound casual. “Some sort of instant double exorcism?”

  “Like that,” Lockyer agreed, and his smile this time was the grin of a man who had just hooked a big fish. Inwardly I swore. He knew what I wanted to know, and I’d shown my hand.

  “There’s also the potential for monetary gains,” he said. My heart quickened.

  Truth be told, I wanted the money more than the stage act. I could almost feel myself salivating at the prospect of a benefactor to help bring the OFC back to where it should be. I could pay people. Hire new help.

  Buy name-brand food again.

  “I see,” I said, forcing myself to sound even more casual than my last failed attempt. I needed to pay this right. I couldn’t let on that Scrooge McDuck was giving me heart palpitations.

  “You say you need resources,” I said. “From what I’ve seen you’ve got more money than the Ordo ever has in its entire existence. What exactly do you want?”

  Lockyer stared out over the yard, puffing thoughtfully. “There’s more than monetary concerns to this business. Access to the store of archives you have. Journals. Research. A vast store of knowledge I don’t have access to and would make my job a whole heaping load easier. I had to build everything from scratch, you see. I was a child when my father was killed, and only had the vaguest of notions on how magic, demons, and the whole ‘other dimensions’ things worked.

  “Sanctuary has things I could use. Weapons crafted from another dimension would come in a mite bit handy. Things that would give me an edge in dealing with certain problematic demonic forces that plague this city.”

  The cherry of his cigar burned bright for a moment as he considered. “There’s also The Long Night.”

  I straightened in my chair. “You know about that, then?”
>
  Locker shook his head. “Nothing definitive. My father believed it was some sort of world crisis. It’s another thing I’d like access to research, to prepare against.”

  I deflated a bit. Lockyer knew little more than I did.

  “I’d also like to see Sanctuary itself,” my host said. “The place where my father worked and labored to save this world. Where my legacy began, as it were.”

  Not at all unreasonable, all things considered. It was something to mull over. The cynic in me said a hook lay hidden in the offer, but I was damned if I could see it.

  “Can you at least tell me what happened with that woman?” I took a puff of my cigar, leaned sideways and blew the smoke at Alvin just to see if I got a response. His jaw twitched, eyes blinking to clear them. I grinned.

  “Magic is the application of your will, setting up a conduit between your target and a hole you punch to an infinite reality, correct?”

  My fingers curled around the smooth wood of the chair, numb from the cold. “So I’m told,” I said in a monotone, hoping not to betray that I’d done that exact thing twice.

  “Risky as all hell. That conduit is more like a highway, letting some nasty thing drive right back up into your mind and set up shop. Exorcism, of course, is just raw application of will against your target, pushing them home.” Lockyer looked at me sideways. “What if I told you that willpower, as it relates to magic or exorcism or anything we do, is just a form of energy? Intangible, yet real enough to clout some of these extra-dimensional pricks hard enough to send them packing. And that it’s possible to augment that energy by consuming it from something else?”

  My eyes widened. Lauren stirred once more, and I had the impression it was using my ears to listen as intently as I was. My eyes locked onto his as my mind raced through the implications.

  “When an Entity crosses over into our reality, it fashions a shell of its will,” I said. “It is, in effect, a mind and a lump of willpower. You…” I swallowed as it all crystallized and my eyes widened. “Holy shit. You rip that will away from them…”

  “Which severs their link and kicks them out of the universe just as if I’d exorcised them,” Lockyer said, nodding with a cat-like smile.

  I rose.

  “And you dump that into an exorcism.” I whistled. “So it’s like a group exorcism, but solo, and with a lot more punch.” I paced around the wide upper tier of the deck, one hand raking through my tangled and cold mess of hair.

  “Holy shit,” I repeated.

  “Holy shit,” I said again for good measure.

  It was staggering. Entities could cross over to our reality in two different ways — through possession, which was the most common method. Someone plays with magic and whoops now their head is a twenty-four-hour ball pit for a demon to play in. You could also use magic itself — frequently in a ritual flavor — to pull a creature over. Magic was about swapping a bit of our reality with another. Six months earlier I’d subbed out the air between myself and an Archangel with the concentrated heart of a star in another universe, blasting it with a jet of super-heated plasma. You could do the same and just swap over a creature, though, if you focused hard enough. Frequently that’s what someone possessed winds up doing — calling home to invite the friends to party with magic. After all, they’re already possessed and you can’t get double whammied, so why not call up the old gang to stomp around and kick over people’s sandcastles?

  I had no idea how Lockyer did it, but it made a certain sense. Use the willpower of a creature physically in our universe, sever their tie to send them home and pour all that gasoline into an exorcism. Neat, clean, and potentially very strong. I’d cast out the Archangel Michael only with help — Lauren’s demonic strength; Kate and the personal tie she held with Michael after the Archangel had manipulated her mind in the time after her car accident.

  Hey, wake up, I said in my mind. You getting this? Is he on the up and up?

  You’re asking me for information now, Samuel? Lauren responded, smug.

  I’m calling in an expert witness. Demon on demon here. You going to answer or not?

  There was a pause. Just because I came from outside this universe doesn’t mean I’m privy to all the details of how it all works, Samuel. Crap, I’m mostly Lauren and she didn’t know this. It sounds plausible but I have no damn idea.

  I stood, mute and contemplating the implications. If I could figure out how to do that, I might quietly kick Lauren out of my head without having to bring Kate or Daniel into the know. I wouldn’t have to explain how I had come by my psychotic house guest.

  I swallowed. I might even free Kate of Michael’s influence. Could it wipe away that connection it had formed to her, so that when some praying schmuck accidentally called the Archangel back it would discover it wasn’t able to control her anymore?

  My heart thundered with the possibilities. The two of us could be free. Lockyer could bring a dump truck full of money and shovel it into our very empty coffers. We could have trained and knowledgeable people help rebuild the ranks of those that punched evil right in the dick.

  “Samuel?”

  I blinked and snapped back to focus, realizing I’d been standing there silent and having a conversation with the ghosts in my head for the last half minute or so. Lockyer frowned up at me. Even Alvin was looking a little worried.

  “Just running through the implications,” I said without lying. The wood groaned as I collapsed back into my chair, feeling as if I’d just run a marathon. I hefted my cigar, stared at it, and tossed it into the fire pit.

  As much as I wanted to jump up and shake his hand, maybe even sign a contract in blood if that’s what it took, I couldn’t rush into this. I needed information — and, to be honest, it wasn’t solely my decision to make. Technically Kate was an intern and had no say in the matter, but I valued her opinion. Daniel deserved to have a say in the matter, though I was confident his answer would be to instate Lockyer as Chancellor.

  I’d have been fine with that if it didn’t require my death to pass the connection with Sanctuary to another. Otherwise I’d have given the reins to Daniel the moment I found out I was in charge and gone looking for the first bottle of booze I could find.

  “You’ve given me a lot to think about,” I said, aware that my voice was higher and more anxious than normal. It was a good thing I didn’t play poker. I mean, besides the fact I was flat-ass broke.

  Lockyer took the cue and rose, also tossing his half-consumed cigar in the fire pit. He offered me a hand.

  “I appreciate you coming and hearing me out,” he said as I clasped it. His grip felt like warm iron. “I think we have a lot to offer each other, Samuel. I’m looking forward to working with you.”

  He fished a business card from a case that appeared from inside his jacket. He passed it over. All it had was a phone number — nothing else. I pocketed it.

  “That’s my personal cell,” he said. “Few have that. Please call when you wish to discuss this further.”

  “Sure thing,” I said. I could feel it, heavy with possibilities in my pocket. It felt like it was dragging me off balance. One phone call and I might rectify just about every wrong swirling around my broken little world at the moment.

  “Alvin will see you out. It was a pleasure to meet you, Chancellor Walker.”

  “Likewise,” I said, and he turned and walked away. I stood for a moment in the cold, watching him go before I turned to the youth.

  “If I asked you if Lockyer was on the up and up about all this, would you tell me the truth or are your lips glued to your boss’s ass?”

  Alvin chuckled and gestured for me to follow. I fell into a comfortable pace beside him as we wound around the property on a little stone path lined with well-maintained plants that were bare and as cold as me.

  “Oh, he’s serious,” Alvin said, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “It’s part of why I keep lips to ass, so to speak. Mr. Lockyer is a good man. He’s done right by us all.”

  I
grunted. “You sure you’re not just saying that because you drank the Flavor-aid?”

  Alvin rolled his eyes. “Don’t you mean Kool-Aid?”

  “Nope. You see, it was—”

  “The point is,” Alvin interrupted, “I work for him because I want to. The thing I don’t get is why you’re taking time to think about it. I saw the way you reacted, Mr. Walker.”

  “Samuel. Mr. Walker sounds like an infomercial for a mobility aid. Only eight easy payments. And you never, ever make a deal in the heat of the moment or else you wind up with a really shitty car, Alvin. A really shitty puke-green car.”

  Alvin paused. Our path curved around one side of the mansion, and I could see the circular drive and my eyesore of a vehicle up ahead.

  “I don’t follow,” the youth said with a frown.

  “If you take a deal that sounds too good to be true, you’re not looking for the hidden fine print that’s buried in the lease papers. They pull the old bait and switch and give you a car that’s been repainted with crap that’ll just peel off in a week or with bald tires and… I don’t. I’m not a carologist here. The point is that if you jump into something without distancing yourself from it and looking when you’re not all fired up, you’ll just wind up getting burned.”

  I raked a hand through my hair and gave a shake of my head. “I like your boss. He’s to the point and seems to know his shit. It’s a sweet deal. I feel it’s better to look at it with fresh eyes once I’m not all hard over what he’s putting on the table.”

  Alvin made a face. “I see your point. I think.”

  We resumed our walk in silence. I yanked open my car door a minute later and leaned on it, watching Alvin.

  “Do you do any of it?” I asked. “Going out there and taking care of the ugly stuff.”

  Alvin lifted his chin and met my gaze, shoulders square and full of that youthful pride I so very hated. “Yes.”

  “Once doesn’t count. Was it more than once?”

  Alvin looked away, blushing. I laughed and slid into my car.