by Doug Burbey
"And what discussion is that?" He didn't look at the Fae.
"About the Fae that are disappearing and the conspiracy between the demons and angels."
Declan jerked and the point of the steak knife slipped into his hand above his thumb. "Fuck," he cussed dropping the knife as he pulled his hand back staring at the blood welling from the shallow cut.
The Fae jerked up straight his eyes riveted on the blood as Declan blotted it with a napkin.
"I didn't realize you had Fae ancestry." There was an odd question in his voice.
Declan looked up, frowning at him. "I don't. Pure human according to the Army DNA tests. Why?"
A frown, that somehow made him look even more regal creased his face. "Odd, I would swear you smell like a relative." He shook his head and waved his hand in the air in an imperious gesture. "I am going about this poorly. I am Duc Artair Niall Donnach. I have resided on Earth for the last two hundred Earth years." He flashed a sudden smile at them and the wave of glamor made it hard to not find it charming. "You may call me Art."
Finishing with his wound Declan put a bite of steak in his mouth looking at the Fae.
How the hell am I am noticing this? I'm still affected, but I know I'm being affected. This is weird.
"So, Art. What the hell are you talking about with a conspiracy between the Angels and Demons? And what about Fae?"
Art finished off his glass and refilled it, a grave look crossing his face. Declan saw Kayter's hand move towards the Fae like she was going to comfort it before she grabbed and stuck it under the table. From the slight shift of her body, he suspected she sat on it. Her other hand wrapped around the hamburger and on the other side of the Fae.
Smart girl.
"That is the problem. We know there are plans going on and that the two sides are communicating, but we don't know what about. But with the sudden influx of portals and demons walking the Earth again, we are worried. Then you weigh the fact that in the last six months over fifty of our citizens, full, half, and quarter blood have vanished, leaving loved ones behind. There must be a connection. Though what they have in common we are unsure."
The words created cold chills running down his back and he shoved a bite of steak in his mouth to give him a minute to think.
"What do you mean half and quarter blood?" Andrew asked and Declan almost jumped. He'd been so focused on the Fae and Kayter he'd forgotten about Andrew.
Art shrugged. "We live a long time and breed, but rarely, but humans are so fertile in comparison, so we have children with humans. Lots by our standards. Given our lives, and that our children rarely live as long as we do, we tend to remain in their lives and in their children's lives." Something real softened his face for a minute. "Our children tend to live well into their second millennia, our grandchildren into their hundreds. We stay in touch and try to help without becoming overly intrusive. Well, some of us do, but a distressingly large number of these relatives have disappeared. If they had died, we assume the bodies would have shown up, but we have not found any."
He polished off the tumbler of Scotch again and Declan noted the level of the alcohol in the bottle rode well below the top of the label.
"So why are you here? There isn't anything we can do."
"Do?" Art rolled the word around as if tasting it. "No, as I do not think you are involved in either the conspiracy or the disappearance of my… our children." He cut off the words and took another gulp of the scotch. "But you fight the corrupted ones and you are aware of the fluctuations in the portals and the currents in your government. Ones such as me can only feel those but faintly. Your government, well most of them, are too suspicious of us to be upfront. Which is funny, considering."
Kayter tilted her head looking at him, licking her lips, but she didn't move towards the Fae at all. "Considering what?"
"Our commonalities. But that doesn't matter anymore, now that we are barely related. But what I am asking, nay imploring - if you see our missing ones, if you hear of their location, let us know. There are families grieving from this loss." He fell silent then took a deep breath. "If you find someone and let us know, we will owe you a boon. A large boon." Darkness flittered across his face, and his voice dropped as his hand tightened on the tumbler. "But know this, those who are behind this, when we find them, will learn that when the Fae turn their abilities to destruction, the Earth itself fears our wrath."
He shook his head, the darkness fleeing from his eyes.
Declan swallowed, that darkness he recognized from the mirror in the wee hours of the morning.
"Here is my card." He pulled three cards out of his wallet and passed them over to each person at the table. "A boon from the Fae is no small thing, and it will be comparable to that which you provide." He finished off the amount of liquid in his glass and pushed back from the table, weaving a little.
As Declan picked up the card he glanced at the bottle. The remains were below the bottom of the label. The card radiated pristine white, and on the front embossed in dark brown and gold lay Art's name, an email address, and a phone number. The card had weight and didn't feel like paper, more like plastic or metal. He wanted to pull it apart and look at it but now wasn't the time.
"I do not see an issue letting you know if we find anything. But I have a request to match what you just asked for."
The Fae paused, swaying just the tiniest bit, which was impressive, If he drank that much he'd be unconscious or dead.
"And that would be?"
"If you hear anything more about the angels and demons and the details, let me know. I don't disagree that something is going on, but I don't know enough to stop it or prevent it from going very wrong."
Art tilted his head to the right then nodded. "That is acceptable. In fact, it would be to our best interest if any collusion ended before they invade Earth. That would give them direct access to our realm and that is not acceptable."
Declan froze, he'd never heard anyone talk about that. The military had talked about it, but publicly no one had really known what the Fae had at risk in this battle. Now he knew. They were protecting their world.
Fuck. Who else knows this?
His mouth was dry, and he fought to swallow. Grabbing a pen from his coat he dug into a pocket and came up with a beer receipt. He scribbled his number on the back and handed it to the Fae who took it from with two fingers, an elegant brow raised.
"That's my number. Call me. I'd like to not die in the next war."
Art inclined his head even as he looked at the scrap of paper dubiously. "I shall see that anything we find is passed on. We would prefer there to not be a next war." He started to go, then stopped turning and looking at Kayter.
"Keep that card handy, mi'lady. You are both rare and deadly, and the turning point for too many things."
He bowed to her then headed out of the bar, weaving a little.
"Should he be driving? And should I get business cards that say something like ‘Cold Beer and Dead Demons’?" Declan said turning the Fae card over in his hand.
"He came with a driver," Casey said from behind him and Declan growled.
"Don't do that."
"Sorry." Casey even sounded a bit sorry. "But nah, his driver’s been waiting for him. Might as well take the bottle home with you."
"Blech, that is horrid stuff. Swear it tastes like dirt." Declan muttered.
"I'll take it. That flavor is peat by the way." Andrew snaked out his arm and pulled the bottle to himself possessively. "You have no taste, philistine."
"I have taste, and peat must taste like dirt then. Seriously, do I need to get a bunch of cards to hand out to people? Why am I the only one without cards?"
"What did he mean by all that?" Kayter asked, her face pale and brows furrowed.
Too many questions, not enough answers, Declan reached for his beer and focused on the thing that didn't matter.
"Really? Demon Killers Are Us? Or DK Makes Em Dead? How about, We Kill from Hell?"
Andrew i
gnored him, sealing the bottle of scotch and Kayter chewed on her lip.
Declan focused on his steak and tried to ignore the lump of stress and worry that solidified in his stomach.
"Why do I think Dad didn't tell me something he should have? And I wonder who his father was." Her voice barely audible, but Declan turned to look at her.
"What do you mean?"
"Dad once said he was half angel, half-Fae. He said his mom gave him up for adoption, and his mom was an angel. I thought he was just kidding me."
Her words made him freeze, and he noticed Andrew go stock still also.
"John Reynolds was Fae and angel?"
"Yep. Said he never knew his dad." Her eyes stayed on the door. "Makes me wonder if his dad knew he had a kid. They don't sound like they give them up easily."
Declan just looked at her and wondered when his life had gotten so royally fucked up.
Oh yeah, when the demons invaded and I somehow survived. Really starting to think dying would have been easier.
Chapter 38 - Phonebooth
"Mrs. Lin, please be so kind as to inform our lab manager that I'm heading down for a spot check and will need to make my bi-weekly call while I'm there." Director Ordonio directed his secretary as he walked out his office towards the door to the Pentagon outer A-Ring hallway.
"Absolutely, sir. Please keep it short though, Director. You have a 1430 with that Colonel from the Air Force Air Mobility Command to discuss your requisition of the C-17s for equipment and personnel transport to Fort Irwin California for the ICER exercise next month. The Colonel is questioning the large number of lifts requested for just a single exercise."
"Oh, let's just move that on over to Mr. Boyd's calendar. He loves talking planes and logistics. The Air Force is always questioning things that they don't need to concern themselves with anyway. Barry can handle it."
"Yes, Sir. I'll make sure Mr. Boyd is informed of your schedule change."
"Thank you, Mrs. Lin. Your meticulous attention to detail is the glue that holds all of America's ICERs together. Without you, we'd be no better than the TSA." The flattery made the elderly secretary blush as the Director left the office. He straightened his tie and buttoned the top button of his suit coat, then stepped into structured chaos.
The ring and ramp system of the Pentagon had originally been designed to support not only people traversing floor to floor, but also to allow for vehicles to move VIPs rapidly around the intersecting rings and between floors. Today, even though the vehicles were gone, the halls could barely contain the number of people moving about the daily business of the Department of Defense. Learning the complex numbering sequence of floor/ring/hall/room number that was used on every door, so it could be located in the maze of the Defense Department’s nerve center, took new arrivals months to master. Kelvin Ordonio mastered it nearly 30 years ago. He turned and followed the descending hallway ramp away from his fifth-floor outer A-Ring office area. Today he was heading to one of a handful of doors that did not specifically follow the standard numbering system. The Soviet Union had long suspected that the Pentagon contained unmarked, and hidden, sub-basement levels that housed everything from nuclear reactors and weapons to dead alien bodies or brothels for senior government officials.
Silly Commies, you only got part of that right.
The thought amused him as he stopped at a Green Beans coffee cart to grab a quick pick me up before he left the public areas on the way to the laboratory.
"Can I get one of those mochas with the whipped cream and caramel chips please?" The Director ordered his drink from the vendor and felt a light tap on his shoulder, as the vendor nodded his head in confirmation of the order.
"Excuse me, Sir?" A slight young lady in her mid-twenties had moved to his side.
Hmmm… isn't this Barry's latest little tryst? Lisa something… Lisa Redmond… RMD?... No, BMD.
"Why hello, Ms. Redmond. How are things in the Budget Management Division today?'
Lisa blinked at him, apparently surprised that he would know her name, "Umm, oh yes, well Sir. Umm."
Child, do you think I don't know who my directors are fooling around with?
"Now Lisa, it's OK. Remember it is best to formulate your full thought in your mind before speaking." The Director took his coffee from the vendor and thanked him as he paid then turned his attention back to the young lady. "So, what was it you wished to discuss Ms. Redmond?"
"Um well, sir," Lisa began.
I must really start getting my junior employees into some form of professional speech training. Some of them are more painful to listen to than the damn demons.
"I was just wondering how Mr. Boyd was feeling. He didn't seem to look very well at the picnic yesterday right before he left."
"Oh really?" The Director had been too focused on ensuring he walked around to glad-hand with the hundreds of his employees in the park yesterday than in really keeping track of his senior staff. He knew they would be doing the ‘leadership mingle with the masses' act just as he was.
Strange, Barry didn't mention anything to me this morning about feeling ill.
"Yes, sir. He looked rather pale and confused after meeting with an old friend and a little red-headed tramp his friend had hanging off him in the park but he was normal a few minutes earlier."
"An old friend?" The Director's curiosity aroused. Pale and confused are signs of someone who was recently bewitched.
"Well I asked him if he was okay and he said he was fine. That he had a few beers with an old friend and thought he should go home early."
"Oh, yes. Don't worry. Mr. Boyd is back at work today. He just got a little dehydrated is all. Now Lisa, I greatly appreciate your concern and I'll share it with Mr. Boyd. Now I must be heading back to work and I'm sure BMD is eagerly awaiting your return."
"Oh, yes sir! Well, thanks for your time Director, and the picnic was absolutely awesome by the way." The young lady turned and moved into the flow of people walking back upwards to the 5A office areas.
Awesome? No. Barry never drank. Did one of those vile Fae wander into my picnic? My picnic! Did it somehow get its hooks into Barry with that poisonous ungodly suggestiveness? What did it learn? I'll really miss Barry if it did. He was always a loyal employee. Almost a friend in fact.
The Director picked up his phone and hit a speed dial number as he continued his walk down the ramps. "Johnathan, good afternoon… No, I don't need the car today, I'm heading to the Lab… I heard… No, not today. He's covering a meeting for me… Yes, I think Mr. Boyd should accompany you on your next trip to the facility… I suspect you will have a splendid, and uninterrupted, conversation about any new friends he may have in private there… I'm certain… I hope he has the right answers for you and you clear him for a speedy return to work… Yes, severance will be granted if that's the unfortunate necessity." The director hung up the phone and let his smile mask slip and frowned.
Damn, Barry would be hard to replace so close to the exercise. But the ledger must stay balanced and if he's now compromised and likely tainted, he's a liability. There's nothing the Fae can do about the exercise, even if they got everything from Barry. But, the Summit. Ah, that could be a problem. Johnathan will find out what he said soon enough.
The Director entered the control room and waited for the heavy security door to seal behind him. At nearly 18 inches thick, it seemed like it would have been better suited for a battleship than a Pentagon sub-basement room. It was the third one the Director had to pass through to reach this particular cramped control room. The lead engineer glanced over at the Director distractedly as he was feverishly typing commands into his keyboard and barking numbers out to the engineers seated on each side of him. "Good afternoon, Kelvin, capacitors are loaded and we’re almost… Fuck, Akber! I said the five channel, not the four! You ignorant ass. Adjust by .097 before you turn us into mush…".
The Director ignored the language and use of his first name in an office environment while his engineer browbeat the o
ther engineer staff into bringing the system into proper alignment. His lead engineer, Doctor John Shotwell, was the only human he had found that could maintain control over the most powerful weapon ever installed underneath the Pentagon. The mechanical and digital integration to sequence the firing protocols was always a millisecond misalignment away from exploding. A singular weapon with a singular purpose. The Portal Cannon. The massive eight-foot diameter octagonal barrel, eight chambered rail gun spanned a hundred meters in length deep under the office floors. The capacitor bank installation alone had required the repurposing of an entire underground motor pool. Simply to house the energy storage banks required a single, synchronized, eight shot kinetic attack in a ten by ten-meter room. The control room they were standing in was located halfway down the length of the railgun barrels that were obscured behind the wall in front of him.
"Pay attention next time, dickweed." Dr. Shotwell tossed an M&M at the offending engineer then swiveled to face the Director. "All set, Kelvin. Our end is primed for your call. A tad more warning before a visit next time would be swell you know. Akber was rushing his shit and almost turned us into smashed cherry gelatin on accident but we're ready. I can't speak for your freaks down the hall with all their weird voodoo shit, but that's not my business. My business is ensuring I can terminate your call in a few milliseconds if protocols are engaged."
"Thank you, Doctor Shotwell. For obvious reasons I sincerely hope you don't get to see your beautiful creation in use today."
"Ah don't worry, Boss, you'd never know it happened anyway. I'd have to send a crew into the Phone Booth with shop vacs to suck up your misty residue as soon as the Sergeant Major allowed a cleanup crew entry."
"Yes, well, on with it then. Please signal ahead to the “weird voodoo” team that I'm on my way." The Director positioned himself in front of a digital panel adjacent to the massive steel door leading further down the rail guns path. "Lab Engineer, I am ICER Director Kelvin Ordonio requesting access to the Phone Booth by authority of the President of the United States of America." The Director placed his palm on a biometrics panel, feeling a quick prick of a needle that extracted a drop of his blood. His palm and retina were then scanned by the system.
