Destroyer of Worlds

by Jordan L. Hawk

  While Forsyth watched, the man drew another sigil. “Again, please.”

  Caleb crossed it.

  They worked their way up slowly, alternating between the two agents, until both of them worked on a spirit ward together. To make it more powerful?

  “It feels so. But it still cannot hold us.”

  “Again,” Forsyth said.

  Caleb took a deep breath. Here’s where things got dicey.

  He walked up to the spirit ward—and stopped. “The fuck?” he tried to sound confused.

  “What are you doing? There is nothing preventing us from moving forward.”

  “Keep going, Mr. Jansen,” Forsyth urged.

  Caleb leaned forward, before jerking back. “No. He doesn’t like it.”

  Forsyth’s pale blue eyes gleamed avidly. “The drakul?”

  “Right.” Caleb swayed, as if fighting against himself to cross the sigil. “Fuck! I can’t!”

  “What nonsense is this?”

  I don’t want Forsyth knowing what we can do. If he thinks these things can keep us contained, it’s going to make it a lot easier for us to walk out at the end of the week.

  “Ah. We are tricking him.”

  The Specs looked at Forsyth. Caleb shuffled back from the sigil, trying to appear as if he wasn’t doing it on purpose. Why couldn’t he have been an actor instead of a painter?

  “No need to make your guest unhappy,” Forsyth said. “Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Jansen. The guards will escort you back to your room until you’re needed.”

  Caleb went back out. As the door shut behind him, he overheard Forsyth say, “I think you’ll agree this has been most informative.”

  It sure has, asshole.

  * * *

  Forsyth finally returned John’s calls on Monday afternoon.

  John spent the rest of Sunday arguing with himself. He trusted Caleb, absolutely. But Caleb had never trusted SPECTR. He’d worked with the agency only because his other option was sitting in one of their cells. With Forsyth taking him into custody, of course his paranoia had kicked into high gear. If Caleb had just asked Forsyth about the smell of NHEs, he probably would have gotten a straight answer.

  NHEs aside, John was required to report a security breach. Not doing so meant a serious violation.

  And yet, he hadn’t.

  Over the years, he’d developed pretty good instincts. Those instincts had insisted Gray posed no danger to him, even though all logic said otherwise, and they’d been right. Now, they told him to listen to Caleb.

  Too much was on the line to trust gut feeling, though. The only other thing he could think to do was call Forsyth. Not to report the breach, at least not right away, but to get a feel for the situation.

  When the phone rang, it startled John out of the introspective fugue in which he’d spent most of the day. Forsyth’s voice greeted him as soon as he picked it up. “You wanted to speak to me, Starkweather? My secretary said it was urgent.”

  “Yes, sir,” John replied, straightening in his chair even though Forsyth couldn’t see him. “I know you’re a busy man, so I’ll get right to the point. When I spoke with Caleb, he said you intend to exorcise him Saturday morning.” Which Forsyth no doubt knew; RD had certainly monitored the call. “I’d like to request details on the exorcism ceremony.”

  Forsyth’s smooth voice held a slight warning chill. “The drakul is no longer your case, Special Agent Starkweather.”

  “Yes, sir, I understand. But I’d like to be prepared if I ever run across something like this again.”

  “Should such a thing ever happen, you can put in a request for the information.” The chill turned outright cold. “Until such a time, the details are on a need to know basis.”

  John’s mouth went dry. This didn’t make any sense. Exorcism rituals weren’t classified information. Even if they had been, surely the people in the field would be the first to need to know them. Why wouldn’t Forsyth share it?

  Unless he’d lied, and the ritual didn’t really exist.

  “I see,” John said quietly.

  “I’m glad to hear it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have other matters which need my attention.” Forsyth hung up without waiting for John’s reply or saying goodbye.

  John put the phone back in its cradle, then sat staring at it, as if it could open a psychic link from his mind to the assistant director’s to let him know what was really going on.

  If Forsyth didn’t have a means of exorcising Gray, why lie about it? Just to keep Caleb quiet for the next few days, so RD could continue their tests? And if so, did they intend to kill Caleb and Gray when time ran out?

  Gray had smelled other NHEs there. Did they tie in somehow?

  John’s heart sped, jagged spikes of fear-induced adrenaline moving through his blood. Caleb and Gray were both in danger, and he couldn’t warn them, couldn’t save them…

  But they already knew the situation, probably better than he did. Caleb wouldn’t just meekly go like a lamb to the slaughter. Did he have some plan in mind to escape? He’d said he would call John on Friday, but not how or from where.

  Goddess, this sucked, not knowing for sure, not being able to communicate. Being helpless.

  No. There was one thing he could do. He might not be able to get them away from Forsyth and RD, but when Caleb and Gray escaped, they would need an exorcism right away. Which meant John had to be ready.

  The phone rang, making his heart rate ratchet up even higher.

  “Get in my office, Starkweather,” Kaniyar said when he answered. “Right now. You and I need to have a little chat.”

  * * *

  “Sit down,” Kaniyar told him.

  John sank into the uncomfortable chair across Kaniyar’s desk. District Chief Indira Kaniyar wore her glossy black hair pulled tightly back from her face, as if to make sure no one meeting her could miss the four white scars marring the bronze skin of her face. As the story went, a therianthrope left those scars back when she’d been a field agent.

  She regarded him with dark eyes which seemed to strip him to the bone, even though she was an exorcist, not an empath. “I just received an interesting call from Assistant Director Forsyth,” she said. “He seems to think my agents don’t have enough work to do.”

  Oh shit. “I only wanted to request—”

  “I don’t care if you wanted to sing him Happy Birthday,” Kaniyar snapped. “The drakul is no longer under the jurisdiction of this office. I will not receive any more reports of you working on, thinking about, or expressing interest in any case which is not yours. Are we clear?”

  He wanted to protest. Wanted to tell her something was off about the situation at RD.

  But if he did, she’d want to know how he knew. And if he told her, she’d want to know why he didn’t report the security breach immediately. He’d end up stripped of his badge and gun, probably prosecuted, destroying any chance of exorcising Caleb.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said.

  “Good. And since you obviously have too much time on your hands, there are a few abandoned buildings in this city which need to be checked for ghouls.”

  “You’re putting me on the ghoul squad?” he exclaimed, caught between shock and anger. It was shit work, the sort of thing they gave newbies to get rid of their shine. For an experienced agent, ghoul squad was either an insult or a punishment, or both.

  “Yes. Take McNamara and Ward with you.”

  Great. Now Sean and Tiffany would be pissed at him, too. He took a deep breath, carefully keeping his voice level and his hands relaxed, instead of clenched into fists. “With all due respect, Sean and Tiffany don’t deserve it. They just helped take down a wendigo. Putting them on ghoul squad with me is—”

  “My decision, Starkweather.” Kaniyar’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “You’ve always been an exemplary agent. You’ve bent the rules a few times, but you’ve always known where the line is. Now is not the time to forget.”

  What did she mean by that? “Yes,
ma’am.”

  “Good.” She sat back in her chair. “Don’t worry about informing McNamara and Ward—I’ll tell them myself. First thing in the morning, I want you back on the job, ready to hunt some ghouls.”

  Chapter 4

  Gray stares at the mortal in front of him and wonders if he should have bothered manifesting after all. But he is bored and growing annoyed. And this exorcist insists on blowing garlic powder in their face, which upsets Caleb, and thus is not to be tolerated.

  “I do not like you,” he informs the mortal, in case the—man? Yes, male—in case the man might think otherwise.

  The exorcist staggers back, eyes going wide. He smells of fear and sour sweat, and his eyes are not brilliantly blue like John’s, but a sort of green which might be mildly interesting, if Gray were inclined to find it thus. He isn’t.

  The mortal starts chanting, shaping energy and trying to turn it into a weapon to drag Gray free. Foolishness. Do these mortals not understand yet? This will not work.

  “Forsyth said they wanted to try, just to see.”

  “This will not work,” Gray informs the mortal. When he had said as much to John, John had answered. This one does not, as if he believes ignoring Gray will somehow make him vanish. Mortals often fool themselves so.

  This is tedious. He would not have chosen to spend his last days in a living body doing this. He would have preferred to run and jump, to feel the delight of muscles moving with perfect ease. To memorize all the colors in the world, to feel textures against his skin. To hunt demons and eat them, the act elevated to one of ecstasy.

  Mainly, he wishes they could have passed the time copulating with John. Even though it would not be wise to manifest during the act, he could at least watch and feel, hovering just beneath Caleb’s skin. To be held after, and perhaps, very quickly, peek out through Caleb’s eyes and touch John’s face, after they were both deeply asleep.

  “You did? Creepy.”

  Only once.

  “Still creepy.”

  But instead he is here, and there are demons here, so there is that, at least. Perhaps he will have one final chance to feed with Caleb, if they are lucky.

  “Not really my idea of luck.”

  And this is not mine.

  Enough. The exorcist looks even more worried than before, and the stink of fear is sharper. There is no point to any of this.

  Gray folds himself back inside and leaves Caleb to deal with them.

  * * *

  John pulled the big, black SPECTR SUV up to the curb in front of one of the addresses Kaniyar gave them. The place lay close to where he’d met Caleb and Gray, just one more reminder of the hole which had opened up in his life.

  He worried about them constantly. Whether they were okay, and if he’d ever see either of them again. Beyond that, he simply missed them, like someone had amputated a part of his body, leaving behind only phantom pain in the form of an empty house and cold bed. He’d slept like crap and resented every minute spent working on shit like this, instead of trying to find the right exorcism ritual, the one which would finally work.

  But if he took the week off, Kaniyar would get suspicious. He never took personal time, and ducking out now would surely result in her looking closer into his business than he wanted. Maybe he’d get away with calling in sick on Friday, but not yet.

  “I can’t believe this bullshit,” Tiffany said, tossing her braided hair back. John gritted his teeth. As if the rest of his life falling apart hadn’t been bad enough, Tiffany took her sudden demotion to ghoul squad exactly the way he’d predicted. “I swear, Starkweather, I should’ve set you on fire back in school, when I could blame it on lack of control of my abilities.”

  “It isn’t John’s fault,” Sean snapped from the back seat. “Kaniyar got her ass chewed out over the drakul, and now she’s taking it out on us.”

  Tiffany’s full lips twisted in annoyance. “Of course it’s his fault. He’s the one who couldn’t keep his dick in his pants.”

  “Fuck you, Tiffany.” He needed to set an example as the agent in charge, but to hell with it. He’d had enough of being responsible.

  “Not your type,” she replied. “Thankfully.”

  “Gray saved your life,” he said, hands tightening on the steering wheel until his knuckles showed white. “The wendigo would’ve torn you to shreds and eaten whatever it could fit in its mouth, if not for him.”

  “He’s not the one I’m blaming,” she shot back. “Screw this. Let’s just get it over with.”

  She climbed out of the car, slamming the door behind her. Sean leaned forward to put a hand on John’s shoulder. “Ignore her. Kaniyar will get over things in a few days and let us off ghoul duty. Tiffany will still be a bitch, but at least she’ll be a bitch we won’t have to put up with every day.”

  “Yeah.” Sekhmet give him strength, John didn’t know how he would get through this. “You’re right.”

  He unsnapped his seat belt and climbed out of the SUV. Tiffany waited impatiently near the entrance. The ugly cinderblock building had probably started life as some kind of business, but the area went south long ago, and only liquor stores, pawnshops, and the occasional off-brand fast food joint remained open. Iron bars still covered the windows, but scratches around the door suggested someone had broken inside that way. The scratches didn’t look particularly new; no telling how long ghouls had infested the place.

  Assuming they did. Gray would know. Hell, Gray would probably have already charged in and eaten half the pack by now.

  How was he holding up in captivity? Better or worse than Caleb?

  “Are you coming?” Tiffany asked. “Or do I have to do this by myself?”

  John swore silently. He needed to focus. Unlike creatures such as wendigos or therianthropes, ghouls were low-level NHEs and generally ate only carrion, but they’d fight back if cornered. Their teeth, made for shearing through bone, could take off an arm. If John let himself get distracted, the whole team would be in danger.

  “What’s the plan?” Sean asked as they joined Tiffany.

  John double-checked to make sure he had his flashlight; electricity to the building must have been turned off years ago. “You two go through the front,” he decided. “This used to be a business. There might be a delivery door in the back. I’ll go around the other side and check it out. Assuming it’s accessible, I’ll come in that way. The ghouls will stick to the lower floor, so we’ll do a full sweep.” At least most buildings in Charleston didn’t have basements to worry about.

  “Sounds good,” Sean said. John left them and headed around the back.

  The back faced onto a narrow alley filled with dumpsters and cracked pavement. A sour smell hung in the air, and fetid water dripped from a window air conditioner in the back of the pawnshop across the way.

  As he’d predicted, a service entrance lay at the rear of the building. He removed his silver athame from its holster and held it in one hand, his Glock in the other. Easing up to the door, he tried the knob.

  Locked…but the frame itself was broken, and the door swung open at his touch. The hinges squealed, and he winced at the sound. Damn it—he’d hoped to get inside without alerting every ghoul in the place.

  The door opened onto a bare room with a concrete floor. A storage area, probably. The grimy panes still intact on the barred windows only allowed a little light to struggle through. Cursing silently, he sheathed the athame and switched on his flashlight. Too bad he couldn’t see in the dark like Gray.

  Damn it. He had to focus and stop thinking about the drakul.

  He took a deep breath, testing the air. Was there a faint smell of rot? Maybe, but it might come from a dead mouse in the walls as easily as from the remains of a ghoul’s meal.

  Well, there was obviously nothing in this room. The nest—if one existed—must be farther inside.

  Another broken door led out of the receiving room. He shone his flashlight cautiously ahead of him, illuminating cracked and stained vinyl on the
floor. A small break room opened off to the left, and what might have once been an office on the right. A ruined desk, its pressboard top swollen from moisture, stood inside, a chair on rollers still behind it.

  John started to turn away, when he heard the rollers squeak.

  Firming his grip on his Glock, he stepped into the office, shining the light at the desk. “Come out,” he ordered, just in case it wasn’t a ghoul. Fuck, he wished Gray were here to tell him one way or the other.

  A muffled sob. Not a ghoul. Probably some homeless person looking for a safe place to sleep. Lowering his Glock with a sigh, John stepped around the desk. “You’re trespassing…”

  Two forms curled together beneath the desk. One was still human, dressed in filthy clothes crusted with dirt and grave filth. He cowered, covering his face and crying, revealing the full ghoul crouched behind him.

  John flung himself back, but not fast enough. The ghoul lunged at him, lips pulled into a snarl, exposing teeth ready to bite. He tried to bring his gun up, but too slow, too slow—

  A shot sounded, deafening in the close confines of the room. The ghoul collapsed at John’s feet, body limp.

  Sean stood in the doorway, his expression grim.

  “Thanks,” John said shakily, as the possessed man under the desk began to wail. Fuck, he had been sloppy. Sean had just saved his life.

  “Yeah.” Sean lowered his weapon. “You’re welcome.”

  John winced at his friend’s tone. “Sean—”

  “Later.” Sean shook his head and turned away. “Let’s wrap this up and get this guy back to HQ.”

  * * *

  Hours later, John caught up with Sean in the parking garage of SPECTR-HQ.

  They’d put down the rest of the ghouls and brought the sole survivor back for exorcism. Poor bastard was a homeless alcoholic who’d taken refuge in the wrong place, and allowed hunger and need convince him to let a ghoul inside.

  He’d cried when the NHE was gone. “What am I gonna do now?” he asked. “I’m all alone with no place to go. At least I had a home with them.”