The Ballad Nocturne (The Midnight Defenders Book 3)

by Joey Ruff

  The Tikbalang stopped and stared down at me, allowing me only a second to pop Grace open and extract her spent shells. It started stamping its hoof again and snorting from flared nostrils before narrowing its cold, empty white eyes at me. I slammed in two fresh shells and brought her up with a snap of the wrist, taking aim, preparing for it to charge again.

  But it didn’t.

  Instead, it whistled.

  The move had only barely registered when I heard the sound of rustling from behind and around me, and as I spun to look, leaving myself exposed to the Tikbalang from behind, I saw the underbrush moving as several things came directly for me.

  I heard the clapping of their ears maybe a second before the first of the sigbin burst from the foliage and leapt at me. I pulled the trigger and it burst like a water balloon in mid-air, splattering me in warmth. Two more leapt for me. I swatted one to the ground and stomped on its neck as Grace exploded the second with the other buckshot round. I looked down at the sigbin underfoot and put the rifle shell between its eyes.

  The last two sigbin sprang at me, and I sidestepped, smashing one against a thick tree trunk with Grace’s barrel.

  I managed a look back at the Tikbalang to see it writhing around again, spinning circles and leaping. On its back, holding tightly to each end of the scarf-like rope, was DeNobb. Son of a bitch.

  Before I could wonder how he’d managed it, I saw the dozens of miniature action figures climbing and clawing all over the Tikbalang. Each was about a foot tall and the spitting image of a naked, sexless DeNobb. Some had sticks that they used as crude spears, jabbing them into its skin, forcing it to stumble mid-spin.

  Ape called the creatures homunculi. DeNobb called them Gremlins, as they developed in pus-filled sacs across his skin like the titular monsters in the Spielberg film. He must have used the gremlins to overwhelm and confuse the Tikbalang while he grabbed hold of the rope and mounted its shoulders.

  Despite his shaky demeanor, DeNobb was managing to hold on. The rope was wrapped around his hands like it’d been around mine, and he was keeping his head down. He looked like he was struggling. “Count the seconds!” I shouted to him. “Focus on the numbers, not the ride.”

  I took a few steps back, kicked one sigbin as it advanced and smacked the other away with Grace. Stealing glances at DeNobb every chance I could, I shouted, “Remember to breathe!!!”

  As the Tikbalang spun, one of the gremlins was thrown from its thigh and landed in the brush five feet from me. The way the tiny weatherman bounced back to its feet so quickly, you’d think it had been made of rubber, but before it could move, one of the sigbins snatched the bugger in its jaws and tossed it back like a pint.

  Not having any time to reload, I detached Grace’s butt-stock and pulled the leather sheath of the machete blade. As the first of the sigbin leapt at me, I caught it in the gut with the wide blade and split it open. The other came just behind it, and I took its head.

  I leapt over the bodies and ran for the Tikbalang as it slowed its spin. Holy shit, I thought. The wanker might actually pull this one off.

  “Keep your eyes closed!” I yelled as I neared.

  I was a few yards away, and as I drew closer, the Tikbalang dropped to its hands and knees, breathing heavily, but otherwise remaining as still as a stone table.

  Sensing the change in motion, DeNobb opened his eyes and looked over at me. “What do I do now?” he shouted.

  “Search the mane,” I said, motioning to its head. “There are three thick braids. Find one.”

  Reluctantly, he let go of the rope with one hand and began sifting through and parting the thick, straw-like mane. “I think I found one! It…looks like a dread…?”

  “Yeah. Cut it.”

  He looked at me, wide-eyed and stupid. “With what?”

  I held up the machete butt-stock. Then, with no warning, I tossed it to him. He screamed as the blade sailed through the air, but he stuck his hand out to catch it. The handle touched the tips of his fingers and dropped down, blade-first, to stick into the shoulder of the Tikbalang.

  The Tikbalang made no sound, only snorted, remaining low, and DeNobb pulled the machete. He held it uneasily for a second, feeling the weight of the weapon, and then brought it down to the braid and began moving it in a sawing motion.

  I reached for one end of the manila rope, but as I held my hand out, the Tikbalang snapped his head in my direction and glared at me, baring razor-sharp fangs. I stopped, lowered my hand, and took a step backward. The Tikbalang lowered his head and turned away.

  “Got it!” DeNobb said. He tossed the machete into the underbrush and began working at the manila rope. I picked up the knife, wiped the sigbin blood against my jeans, and recovered it in the leather sheath, then reattached it to Grace.

  When I looked up, DeNobb was climbing down from the Tikbalang’s back, braid in-hand.

  I looked at the creature. “What’s your name?”

  Its cold eyes met mine with hostility. It said nothing.

  “What are you doing?” DeNobb asked.

  “We need its name. It’s how you summon it when you’re ready to make your wish.”

  DeNobb nodded.

  “You’ve been tamed,” I told the Tikbalang. “Tell us your fucking name.”

  Its eyes maintained the look, but it said nothing, didn’t even make a sound.

  I fought the anger that bubbled up inside, then the annoyance that chased it as I realized what had happened. I looked at DeNobb. “Ask it what its fucking name is.”

  “Why me?”

  “Because you’re the one what fucking tamed it.”

  “What’s your name?” DeNobb asked.

  “Reiko,” the Tikbalang said. It’s voice was low and gravelly.

  “Well, Reiko,” I said. “You’ve been tamed now.”

  Hatred burned within the cold, white eyes that stared at me.

  “Ask it about the girl,” I told DeNobb.

  “Where…” He turned to me. “This is so stupid.”

  My gaze never broke from the Tikbalang. “Just do it.”

  “Where’s Beth Norton?”

  “The hiker is dead,” the Tikbalang said coldly.

  DeNobb looked like he’d just been punched in the gut. “Did you kill her?”

  “Yes. I took no joy in the act. It was purely a necessity.”

  “What kind of sick…”

  “Her soul paid my Teind,” Reiko said. “She was a virgin.”

  I shook my head and looked away for the first time. The girl was nineteen. She was practically Nadia’s age. I took a deep breath to calm myself. Remembering Huxley’s first rule, Always appear confident. “Ask him about the body.”

  DeNobb asked.

  “The sigbin fed on her flesh. There is nothing left.”

  “Fuck,” I said. After a few more deep breaths, I turned and started walking back to the fig tree, stopping to gather the lengths of rope. DeNobb followed, still holding the braid in his hand.

  “What are we doing?”

  I shrugged. “Case closed.”

  “That’s it?”

  “What the fuck do you want to happen? There’s nothing left for us to do here.”

  “I…” He stopped. “What do I do with this hair?”

  “Hang on to it. Keep it safe.”

  I walked on ahead as he put the rope and the braid into his backpack. I was rounding the fig tree when he caught up to me. As he approached, I stopped and turned back to where the Tikbalang had been kneeling, though there was nothing left now.

  “Mind telling me what that riddle meant?” DeNobb asked. “Why did he kill that girl?”

  “Certain spirits have a debt. It’s called the Teind. It’s paid in souls. Virgins count more.”

  “Paid to whom?”

  “How the fuck should I know?”

  I turned and walked past the tree until I was back in the clearing.

  “Now what?” DeNobb asked.

  “Now we go. We have a long drive ahead
of us, and I’d like to be home before dark.”

  3

  Ape

  There was a knock on the door.

  I looked up from the computer monitor and said, “It’s open.”

  Nadia poked her head in with a smile. “Terry, good. You’re awake.” She entered with a tray in her hands. There was a teapot, a cup, and a plate of cookies.

  “What is this?” I asked.

  She shrugged as best she could with the tray. “Well, I figured you’ve been working non-stop at damage control and you deserved a bit of a break. Besides, if Muhammed can’t come to the mountain, the snacks can come to you.”

  I smiled. “That’s…very thoughtful. I guess I could use a little break. For my eyes, if nothing else.” As I closed the laptop and set it on the bed beside me, I said, “But seriously, I’m feeling a lot better. I may have the leg cast, but I can still walk around.”

  Nadia sat the tray on the side table nearest me and poured the hot water from the teapot into the mug. Then she sat on the end of the bed and said, “Terry. Don’t push me, okay. I’ve got too much on my plate right now to worry about having to chase you through the house.” She yawned.

  “That’s my point. If you let me move around, you won’t have to do so much. I can at least feed the dogs.”

  “Don’t worry about me. The boys will be back before long, and I’ll go clean up the stables. Maybe I’ll take a ride down to the grotto.”

  “I haven’t been down that way in years.”

  “I didn’t know there was a grotto before a couple months ago. It was the last place Crestmohr and I rode. You have so much land.”

  I smiled. “Used to be more. When my grandpa was a boy, it was about eighty acres, maybe more. They sold off what land they could. Actually, now that I think about it…the grotto isn’t on our property.”

  “Who owns it now?”

  “I don’t know. There’s no buildings or anything. It’s all just wild. Maybe grandpa sold it to the state? Crestmohr might know.”

  She was quiet for a minute before she said, “I miss him.”

  I nodded.

  Crestmohr was my Chinook groundskeeper. He’d been the heart and soul of my family estate ever since I could remember: tending the animals, landscaping, gardening, cutting the grass, and everything in-between. A few months ago, there was an epidemic of gargoyles that attacked the city, killing several civilians in their attempt to get at a pagan god – well, fallen angel – named Aegir who was in town to settle an old score. Unfortunately, that score was Crestmohr, who was, completely unbeknownst to me, a thunderbird. Possibly, the last of his kind. It was a heated battle, and if Crestmohr hadn’t intervened…well, I try not to think about it. He saved all of our lives that day. I didn’t know what Aegir wanted with him, and Crestmohr wasn’t around to ask. He’d sustained some pretty heavy wounds and took some time off to recover.

  “My fingers are crossed that he’ll be home soon,” I said.

  In the meantime, Nadia was doing more than her fair share to help out, caring for Crestmohr’s hounds, tending the stables, watering the flowers, and probably plenty more that I didn’t even know. I hated her doing all of that work, especially at just eighteen years old, but the same battle that took Crestmohr out of the game, also took me out. I’d spent the last two months bed-ridden, hardly able to move. My left leg was in a cast, and it hurt to put too much weight on it. I had a few bruised ribs. If I stood for too long, I tended to get a bit dizzy. Plus, my side was sore from where I’d been stitched up. The good news, though, was that Doctor Cooper said I was healing much faster than should be humanly possible.

  It was probably because I wasn’t entirely human. Although not sure why, during puberty, my body began growing reddish-brown hair…everywhere. I looked like a sasquatch with a cowlick. Along with the hair, I also developed a heightened physique and the ability to lift several times my own body weight.

  “So,” she said, breaking the silence. “Did you find anything else on the computer?”

  I grabbed the laptop and opened it back up. “Those crackpots from the website...”

  “The ones that keep leaving messages at Jono’s office?”

  “Yeah. They’ve posted new pictures. All the same kind of stuff, though, about the gargoyle attacks. Photos of claw markings on roof tops and ledges, that kind of thing. It’s all circumstantial, but the problem is, their number of followers keeps going up. More comments on the forums of first-hand accounts from that night. Blurry cell phone pictures. People seeing things they can’t explain. Still not newsworthy, but enough to pique the interest of the skeptics and the curious.”

  “They have no hard proof, and nobody would believe them, anyway.”

  “I know,” I said. “But the Hand’s not returning our calls, and we still don’t know who did the clean-up work.”

  “Terry…”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I’m just…frustrated. I hate this. I hate being stuck in this bed. I hate not having the answers. I hate that the only thing I can do is debunk these forum posts and troll the internet for conspiracy junkies that actually have a glimpse of the truth for once. Although, I have found that an effective debunking strategy is to elevate their claims to ridiculous levels. If some guy claims he was attacked by a gargoyle with gray skin and wings, I tell him I was attacked by one also, but mine wore a rainbow wig with matching leggings and pooped candy bars.”

  “Make them second-guess their stories, huh?”

  “Shows them how ridiculous they sound. I learned a few tricks working with the Hand. They have an entire Internet and Social Media team, like the Cyber Crimes Division of the FBI. They’ll hijack pictures people will post and add just a touch of something to make it look Photoshopped. Not much. Just takes a little to sew doubt.”

  “Seems like a lot of work,” she said. Her hand moved to cover her mouth as she yawned. “I’m sorry. Not been sleeping well, on top of everything else.”

  “You still having those dreams?” I asked.

  She nodded.

  “I have something for that, you know. Doctor Cooper prescribed something to help me sleep. Takes the edge off the pain, knocks you right out. Dreamless, restful sleep. It’s pure bliss.”

  “I just need to take the necklace off before bed, but I just crash at night and forget to.”

  Her necklace was a flawless lavender amethyst, Marquise-cut and mounted on polished ebony, only slightly bigger than the gem itself, backed with a blue bird’s feather, and flanked on either side by three golden beads and a dried wishbone. Four jet beads, a dried cat’s bone, three red tiger’s eye beads the size of small walnuts, and a half-dozen roughly hewn onyx stones completed the circuit on either side. It had belonged to a man I knew only by reputation as a powerful voodoo man. Although, he was into much more than just voodoo. Though we didn’t know what the amulet’s intended purpose was, we learned not long ago that one side effect was that while wearing it, Nadia could access the memories of the long-dead wizard, who also happened to be her father.

  “Why don’t you go take a nap?” I suggested. “Without the amethyst, of course.”

  She shrugged. “Maybe. I just… There’s something about the dreams. Like maybe they’re happening for a reason. I can’t shake the feeling that she’s in trouble, and I think I need to help her.”

  “So go. Help her.”

  “We can’t just leave you. Jono won’t…not with Anna’s pool…”

  “Don’t worry about me, okay. And Jono… His video app will work anywhere he has cell service.”

  She nodded.

  She was right about Jono, though. Several months back, he found an ethereal pool beneath the Space Needle, tucked away in some underground caverns. None of my research had been able to tell us what the pool was, but Jono just called it his wishing well, because as he looked into its depths, it showed him Anna, his six-year-old daughter that had died nearly twenty years ago. After he discovered it, he quickly became obsessed with it, and he would spend hours…da
ys even, sitting poolside and reading from a library of books to Anna’s specter. It got to the point where I bought him a cell phone just so I could get hold of him. That is, until Aegir cornered him down there, alone in the underground, and made a veiled threat against her. He hasn’t been back since. He’d never admit it, but he was terrified of Aegir, scared beyond belief of being caught exposed and vulnerable, like he was with her.

  Like any addict, he started suffering symptoms of withdrawals. He needed Anna, and he’d quit her cold-turkey. It was like killing her all over again. When she died, he took up quoting poetry, songs, whatever would keep his thoughts from her. Two months ago, he started doing it again. I couldn’t take it. Maybe installing the cameras to monitor the pool could be considered enabling him, but I couldn’t live with him otherwise. We upgraded his phone and installed an app so he could live-stream the camera footage from anywhere.

  “Yeah,” Nadia said. “A nap sounds good. Do you need anything else before I go?”

  I shook my head. “I think the tea will keep me for a while.”

  She smiled and excused herself. Not fifteen seconds after she was gone and the echoing sound of her footsteps on the hardwood died away outside the door, a voice rough like gravel said, “You are sending them away?”

  In the corner of my room sat an old secretary desk. It was folded open, and sitting along the top was a figure maybe a foot and a half tall. He was man-like, though he would never be mistaken for a man, and not just because of his size. Apart from the brown overcoat that he wore, the end of which came down about a mid-thigh, he was naked, although sex-less, with a skin that was pink and called to mind images of a hairless rat, but mottled with splotches of a milky white. His head was squatty, more long than tall, like a football, with large pointed ears at either end. His face bore the basic features of a man, two eyes, a nose, a mouth, but the eyes were too large and solid black so you couldn’t tell what direction he was looking. His mouth was too small, and his nose was just a bump in the middle. The top of his head was crowned with spry tufts of what looked like chocolate grass. He had such a weakly-defined physique that he appeared little more than skin stretched tight over a frail skeleton. He wore little boots on his feet, and each hand was composed of only three thick digits, each nearly the size of his wrist, which is to say roughly the diameter of a cigar, and a crust of bread lingered in one fist.