Unsurprisingly, the books were written in a strange language. It didn't seem to be related to Babel, the language everyone had spoken back before the mana leeched away. Patiently, Golem picked up one of the books and worked a translation spell, hoping that there was enough mana in the world to allow the spell to work. It was a mental spell, rather than a physical spell intended to affect the outside universe, but...he allowed himself a sigh of relief as the letters seemed to twist, becoming something more comprehensible. A moment later, he was thumbing through the book and trying to understand just what had happened. Nothing quite seemed to make sense.
It was nearly an hour before he started to realise the truth. He’d been sleeping for at least three thousand years, perhaps longer. Magic had certainly been gone from the Earth at the dawn of recorded history, even though there were tales of gods and magicians that lingered through the years. Golem, who knew what had happened when the gods had truly walked the Earth, found some of the stories bitterly amusing. The human race had forgotten the sheer majesty of the gods – and the terror they provoked. Enchanter had once admitted that the human race was glad to see the gods gone, no matter how much they had worshipped them.
So much had been lost. He’d expected the modern world to remember Enchanter, the most powerful white wizard of them all, but there weren't even legends about him and his great deeds. Or the heroes who had led the war against the Thirteen, or the Thirteen themselves for that matter. Magic was dismissed as a myth, something that primitive humans had believed in without any real proof that it had even existed. Golem found that attitude incomprehensible, to say the least; surely, the modern humans had to be capable of realising that myths had to have had a basis in fact somewhere.
You are not human, Enchanter had said. You have no idea how lucky you are.
A human would have shaken his head, and then sat down to recover from the shock. Golem just put the book back on the shelf and walked over to a set of atlases, opening one to see a map of the entire world. It looked strange to him, but it took him a moment to realise just what was missing. Atlantis had once dominated the Great Northern Sea, before it had been destroyed, but there wasn't even a trace of its presence as far as the modern world was concerned. They only knew Atlantis through legends that were so vague they could have pointed anywhere.
Very few of the political boundaries made any sense to him and none were familiar. Greece seemed to be a single country now, a strange change from the warring city-states he remembered. The Fertile Crescent had become a desert, dominated by kingdoms and states that relied on oil for their survival. Ys, once the hub of a trading empire that had rivalled Atlantis, was now nothing more than an offshore island near a state called Europe, which seemed to be made up of several smaller states. Golem found himself working the puzzle thoughtfully, wondering why humans made their own lives so complicated. They didn't have to make their lives so difficult.
“Here, here, here,” a voice said, from behind him. “This is not a lending library.”
Golem turned slowly to see an immensely fat man standing behind him. It had been rare to see men that fat, back in the past; the only men who could afford to fatten themselves were the nobility or the wealthy merchants. Here, he’d seen plenty of fat men and women, suggesting that this era was capable of feeding everyone. That made a pleasant change.
It had been centuries, literally, since he’d had to speak to anyone. Enchanter had given him a voice, using a tongue ripped from a dying man’s mouth and charged with powerful mana, but he was out of practice. Golem had to swallow twice before speaking and, even when he did, his voice sounded cracked and broken. If it hadn't been for the translation spell, he suspected, the human wouldn't have understood him at all.
“What is a library?”
The man stared at him, piggy little eyes peering at the glamour surrounding Golem. “This is a bookshop,” he said, in tones of exaggerated patience. “You give me money and take my books, not thumb them until they are worthless...”
“Books are never worthless,” Golem said. The human had no idea how lucky he was that Enchanter hadn't survived through the centuries to return to the world. He would have turned the human into a puddle of goo for daring to suggest that books were worthless. “Where can I find a library?”
The man stared at him. Maybe he had a talent for magic, enough to sense the glamour even if he couldn't see past it, or perhaps he just wanted to convince Golem to leave his shop. Golem listened politely to the instructions, memorised them, and walked out of the building, leaving the man behind. A library would help him to learn about the modern world, and – if they were anything like the ones he recalled from the past – would also tell him what was going on in the world. It wouldn't be long before the humans realised that the mana was back.
And the Thirteen wouldn't be far behind.
Chapter Three
New York, USA
Day 2
The knock on the door brought Matt out of an uneasy slumber. Nightmares were part of a police officer’s job, but these were different. He’d dreamed that he was a great hero, striding over the land clad in nothing more than a loincloth, carrying a sword that seemed to cut through anything, no matter how tough. It would have been a fairly basic male fantasy, if it hadn't been for the level of detail – and the horrors he’d encountered. One creature, a woman with snakes growing out of her hair, had turned him into stone...and that had been when he'd woken up.
He pulled himself off the sofa and scowled around the living room. Policemen were supposed to be neat and tidy, but he hadn't really bothered to clean up after the pizza delivery boy had brought him the pizza he had ordered. A half-empty bottle of Pepsi added to the suggestion that the owner of the apartment was nothing more than a slob, but right now he found it hard to care what his visitor thought of him. He hadn't even bothered to shave in the morning before going back to sleep.
Muttering under his breath, he peered through the peephole and saw a dark-skinned woman looking back at him. He didn't recognise her at all, which was worrying. The media might have worked out which policeman had shot the wolf-girl and sent someone he didn't know to interview him. He composed himself and opened the door. The woman smiled at him and held up an FBI badge. Matt blinked at it, unable to conceal his surprise. He could understand Internal Affairs being involved, but the FBI?
“I’m Special Agent Caitlyn Lyle,” the woman said. “I am the head of the task force assigned to investigate the recent spate of incidents.”
Matt nodded and stepped back, allowing her to enter his apartment. There was something about her last statement that sent his cop radar tingling, the sense that he was being misled if not actually lied to, but he let it pass for the moment. The FBI badge had been genuine, which suggested that the FBI had definitely taken a hand. If the media had picked up on a whole series of incidents, the FBI would probably have noticed too.
He motioned for her to walk into the living room, taking the opportunity to study her carefully. Her dark skin contrasted oddly with her white hair, which was tied up into a tight bun. She looked fit and healthy, perhaps thirty years old if he was any judge, with a build that suggested that she worked out regularly. Or maybe she’d seen active duty in her time.
“I know that your Internal Affairs section will probably have said that you shouldn't talk to anyone,” Caitlyn said, as Matt cleared away a chair for her. His apartment definitely looked bad...he shook his head, in some amusement. Caitlyn was an FBI officer on a case, not a girl he was trying to impress. “However, I need you to talk to me. If they give you trouble, just refer them to the FBI.”
“Right,” Matt said unhappily. Most policemen preferred to stay out of power struggles between the NYPD and the various federal agencies. At least this agent didn't have the normal attitude of an FBI investigator, or the conviction that the NYPD was composed of hicks who didn't know what they were doing. “You do realise that puts me in a very awkward position?”
Caitlyn nodded, s
lowly. “I’m sorry, for what it’s worth,” she said. “But your incident was just one of many. I have authority to overrule your Internal Affairs on this matter, if necessary.”
She smiled, rather thinly. “I need to know what happened in your own words,” she said. “Start from the beginning and go on from there.”
Matt fought down the urge to roll his eyes and started to explain, again. He ran through the patrol until the point where he had heard the screams, and then described everything that had happened in careful detail. Every detail was burned into his memory. Caitlyn listened carefully, without interrupting, until he had finished, and then bounced a pair of questions off him. Matt was surprised; unlike Internal Affairs, she seemed more inclined to believe him from the start. He answered the questions as best as he could and then waited to hear what she had to say. No doubt she wouldn't believe him now she’d heard the whole story.
“They found no trace of an animal,” Caitlyn said. She would have seen the reports, of course. “At least, they found no body. They did find tracks that suggested that there was definitely an animal present at the scene.”
Matt kept his expression blank. He’d seen that in the police database, but he wasn't supposed to be able to follow the investigation. The tracks proved that he hadn't been hallucinating, even though they didn't quite explain why he’d shot at a wolf and hit a girl. One of the investigators had stated that it looked as if the girl had been behind the wolf, which puzzled Matt. Surely, if he’d hit both the wolf and the girl, there should have been two bodies on the ground.
“I assume that you have been watching television,” Caitlyn added, a moment later. “Do you realise that your encounter wasn't the only one?”
“Yes,” Matt said, flatly. “The internet claimed that there were hundreds of sightings of giant wolves last night. And apparently there were some deaths.”
“Yeah,” Caitlyn said. She looked down at the floor for a long moment, as if she was debating with herself. “You may not have realised that you were the only person to shoot at a wolf and actually kill something.”
Matt felt a hot surge of anger. “I killed a young girl,” he snapped. “I know I shot at a wolf, but...”
Caitlyn’s eyes met his. “The tracks on the ground suggest that the wolf and the girl were the same person,” she said, carefully. “There doesn't seem to be any other explanation.”
Matt stared at her, astonished. “You have got to be fucking with me.”
“Nine people fired at giant wolves,” Caitlyn said. “Only one person managed to kill the wolf – you. And the wolf became a young girl in death.”
“You have to be insane,” Matt said, but he knew, even as he spoke, that she was right. There was something about it that resonated with him, something he couldn't have put into words. “Are you saying...are you saying that all of those reported sightings of giant wolves were actually werewolves?”
“I know it sounds insane,” Caitlyn agreed. “There are – unconfirmed, I’ll admit – stories on the internet of people witnessing the change. If it was just one incident, I’d agree that there were no such things as werewolves and that you fucked up, but there were hundreds of incidents. And sightings. And a number of deaths.”
Matt snorted. “Good luck trying to convince the Mayor that I took a shot at a werewolf,” he said. “He wants my badge.”
“We’ll see about that,” Caitlyn said, as she stood up. “I've arranged for the body to be moved to an FBI facility in the city. If we’re lucky, we should get some evidence that we can use to convince my superiors that this is serious.” She looked down at him and smiled. “Do you want to come with me?”
Matt stared at her in disbelief. “Why...is that even permitted?”
“My instincts say that I should bring you,” Caitlyn said. “And I have learned to listen to them. Besides” – she glanced around the apartment – “do you really want to stay here and wait for Internal Affairs to finally decide what to do with you?”
“No,” Matt admitted. He smiled back at her. “Just let me get my bag and coat.”
***
Caitlyn considered Mathew Coombs as he followed her down the stairs and into the FBI car she’d borrowed from the local office. He was young, according to his file, but he should have moved off the night shift by now. It wasn't entirely clear why he hadn't moved to the day shift; the file stated that he’d volunteered to remain working during the night, but Caitlyn knew that probably wasn't the full story. Maybe he was just a night owl, happier working in the dark than in the daytime. He didn't have a wife or a girlfriend, judging from the condition of his apartment, so he wouldn't have to alter his schedule to fit into someone else’s life.
He was tall, with a rugged face that made him look rather less handsome than he might have hoped, but there was something about him that bothered Caitlyn until she placed her finger on it. The events that had led to his suspension from the force had left their scar on his mind, fraying away at his composure and weakening his ability to remain in firm control of himself. Given time, he would recover, particularly if the girl and the werewolf were definitely proven to be one and the same. If that was the case, he would have done nothing wrong.
She looked up at him and shook her head, inwardly. No, he would never be the same again, not after killing a young girl. Even if he didn't develop outright PTSD, it would still be hard for him to recover his balance, no matter what had happened. Or he might sink into mindless resentment that would, eventually, force him to quit the force or betray it.
And you’re attracted to him, you silly bitch, she thought, in the privacy of her own mind. She’d had boyfriends, of course, but none of them had stayed with her for very long. And none of them had made her feel so...oddly exited when she looked at him. Be professional, damn it.
The FBI maintained a small complex in every major city, staffed with agents and support staff that would allow the FBI to establish a presence at any major crime scene. Caitlyn parked the car in the underground garage, led Matt through a series of security checks and then walked down towards the morgue. The girl’s body had already been moved into one of the autopsy rooms, ready for the investigation. Caitlyn invited Matt into the observation room and smiled when she saw Doctor Chandra Singh already studying the corpse. Singh had always been a workaholic.
“Subject positively identified as one Katie Sheehan,” Singh was saying, as they took a seat. The NYPD were already trying to backtrack her final hours, although according to the last update they’d discovered that she had shared an apartment with Dawn Granger, the other girl who had died in the alleyway. “Blood, dental and DNA tests positively confirm descent from Martin and Janice Sheehan.”
Caitlyn glanced over at Matt and smiled, thinly. She had never been particularly fascinated with forensic investigations, let alone autopsies, but this one promised to be interesting.
“Subject is a young girl, seemingly in her early twenties,” Singh continued. “Her parents have stated that she was twenty-three when she died. Immediate cause of death appears to be a bullet wound through the temple; x-rays have revealed three bullets within her body, including one in a very strange position...”
“We’ll get some coffee,” Caitlyn said, realising that the autopsy was going to take longer than she had thought. “And then Singh can brief us directly.”
An hour passed before Singh handed the body over to his assistants and came into the main briefing room. “There are too many weird things about the body to count,” he said, briskly. “For a start” – he looked over at Matt - “just what kind of ammunition were you carrying?”
Matt blinked at the question. “Standard ammunition,” he said, puzzled. “Why?”
“I pulled three bullets out of the body,” Singh said, as he took a cup of coffee. “Two of them were lodged inside her head, the third was in her shoulder. The weird point is that the bullet wounds do not directly correspond to where I found the bullets. One was in her temple, one was in her neck and one was in h
er chest. It looks as though the bullets bounced around inside her body rather than coming out the other side.”
Caitlyn leaned forward. “What does that mean?”
“I honestly have no idea,” Singh said. “The best theory I have been able to develop is that non-standard ammunition was used, something designed to cause massive trauma rather than simply kill the victim. But the bullets looked standard when I pulled them out of the body...”
He shook his head. “The second weird thing is that she was hyped up on something when she died,” he continued. “I ran it through the computers, but they weren't able to discover a match. They have no idea what she took.
“The third weird point is that I found traces of human flesh in her stomach. My assistants ran it through the DNA reader and compared it to the other dead bodies at the crime scene. They found a match. She ate human flesh belonging to the men who tried to mug her – and her friend. Quite how she managed to do that I don’t know.”
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