"Well, cut them off. I think you've done quite enough,” Athena directed.
He drew himself up to his full height. “I don't answer to you or Sif, or even Deryk Shea when it comes right down to it, Athena. I'll put them on hold for the moment, but that's mostly because I want to concentrate on trying to figure out what I did wrong with the woman in the box. If I can save her life after all, I'll do it. But I'm not going to take orders from you."
She bit back a snappish reply and finally shrugged. “Fine. I want the access codes to your front door though, Loki. I want to have a hand in."
Loki knew as well as she did that her background in this sort of thing was nearly as extensive as his own. She had every right to ask for it and planned to get it from him one way or another.
"I can accept that,” he agreed finally. “Welcome aboard."
She snorted. “We're not partners, Loki. Consider me your oversight committee. I want to stop you from screwing anything else up."
"If that's the way you want to play it,” he replied. “Call it what you will."
"C'mon, Sif. I gotta get out of here. This place is starting to make me itch."
Three
Johnny Gitano sat bolt upright; bed springs squeaking alarmingly. He wasn't alone and the knowledge had impinged on his sleeping brain just far enough to snap him out of a particularly unpleasant dream involving his shadowy nemesis and a pack of feral dogs.
He instinctively reached for the 9mm on his nightstand as his eyes tracked through the shadowy interior of his room. There wasn't much to the place, just a studio apartment above a shop on Sixth Avenue. The muted light of the pre-dawn streets gently carved a swath of illumination from the window all the way to the door. Nothing moved. “Who's there?” he growled, jacking the slide and aiming the weapon at nothing in particular.
"I intend you no harm,” came a strangely accented, almost sibilant voice from out of the darkness. “In fact, I intend you the exact opposite of harm."
Gitano felt a strange shiver of something not quite fear rush up his spine. Had he been a superstitious man, he might've labeled that voice to be that of pure, unadulterated evil. He didn't believe in evil, so it must have been something else. A bad cold? “How'd you get in here?"
The voice laughed, in tones no human throat could make. “That is of no consequences, Johnny Gitano. We have a mutual enemy—I believe you have encountered it in the form of a living shadow?"
Now Gitano found himself growing intrigued. “Go on..."
"This person is a great nuisance for both you and us, and we would be very grateful if you could find a way to eliminate her from the equation."
"Her?” He hadn't expected that, but somehow he knew the voice wasn't playing a game on him. So the mysterious shadow person was a woman. He filed that away for later. “So what do you have in mind?"
"This.” Something flew out of the darkness, spinning end over end and gleaming blackly against the dim light. He reached up and caught it with his left hand, nearly dropping it as his fingers grasped the strange, oily texture. He turned it over in his hand, recognized it for a large bracelet of some kind. In the low light he thought it looked like one of those large, rounded, plastic bracelets you sometimes saw pre-teen girls wearing.
"What the hell is this?” he asked, holding it up.
"That is the only thing that can protect you against her wrath, and give you the chance to actually defeat her. It is something of our own design, something that she and her kind have never seen before. We call it a ‘sym'—that's short for symbiote, if you were curious."
He wasn't. Not really. But he filed that away as well. “So what do I do with it?"
"You wear it. When you have the opportunity to confront her again, simply desire it to activate and it will. I believe you will be pleasantly surprised.” With a bone chilling laugh and a swirl of icy air, the presence was gone.
Johnny Gitano let a slow grin creep across his face. The voice hadn't told him who his enemy was, but somehow he didn't think that would be a problem. She'd find him.
* * * *
Sif's head snapped up. “You feel that?"
Athena glanced over. “Yeah. A Creeper. About three miles that way.” She lifted her hand, pointed vaguely westward. “Hermes!"
The shimmer came instantly and, in the blink of an eye, the youthful, curly-haired immortal stood mere feet away. “Yes, I feel it, too. His eyes rose to stare into the west. “It's moving."
"Can you track it?"
He smiled thinly. “Perhaps. Care to come along?"
* * * *
They swirled into being somewhere along a narrow street not far away. The movement had been so fast neither Athena nor Sif could track it. The world had passed as a blur in the split second between there and here.
Creepers were the least of the Enemy's servants, formed of shadow stuff and given a semblance of life. None of the immortals understood how they could exist, but exist they did. They even had some sort of evil intelligence that drove their dark, feverish imaginations.
They caught the Creeper unaware, slinking between the trees along the road. It shrieked in anger, yet attempted to flee, trying desperately to reach a pool of shadow beneath a streetlight gently glowing into the gathering dusk. Hermes caught it mid-stride; a sweep of his arm sent it tumbling into the middle of the street.
He strode toward it, laughing. “You're a long ways from home, little darkness."
Athena and Sif stepped out into the street from the other direction, trapping it between them, holding it under the glare of the light. “Don't move too close,” Hermes warned. “If you cast a shadow upon it, it might escape."
The two women nodded in unison. They had all faced Creepers previously. Creepers had been the first wave sent against their homeworld, little dark minds whispering fear into the ears of the unwary and betrayal into the ears of the ambitious. They weren't powerful, but they were insidious.
Hermes reached inside his white jacket and pulled out a small bottle. The creature, simply a patch of blackness in the shape of a man, drew away as he held it out in front of him. He rolled it across the asphalt toward it. The Creeper shrieked like a tea-kettle on full steam and darted back and forth, seeking some way to escape.
Suddenly the creature froze, then, like black ink flowing backwards, was drawn toward and into the bottle. Its noises drained away and in mere seconds the street was quiet once again. Hermes walked over, picked up the bottle. “We have ways of getting it to talk,” he told them. “Let's see what it has to say."
* * * *
Long centuries had passed since Athena had spent any time around Hermes. She remembered him as a brash, impetuous youngster not all that much different from Loki in his general approach to life. He'd been the youngest of them when Thanatos struck their homeworld, not yet an adult. Somehow the abrupt onset of immortality had frozen his emotional development pretty much where it was.
This simply wasn't the person she remembered. This Hermes seemed calm, self-possessed, and somehow more at ease with himself than ninety percent of the immortals she could think of.
She'd been expecting they'd head back to Shea Industries, but swallowed her surprise when they ended up at the offices of Hermes's own modest messenger service located across from the federal courthouse down on Tacoma Avenue.
The offices were, of course, far more modest than those of Shea Industries, but it was quite clear from the moment they walked in the front door that Hermes was in charge. He leaned across the reception desk and exchanged a few words with the plump, matronly receptionist, then led them into the back, through the small warehouse, and into his office at the very rear.
"Hermes Courier Service is my baby,” he said with a rare grin. “We transport a lot of legal documents and a few other things. We're not particularly large, but large enough for now."
Athena glanced around the small office, noting with half a mind the bookshelves lining one wall and the solid oak desk that dominated the room. Hermes sl
id into the leather administrator's chair and booted the computer. “I hope you don't mind me stopping here for a few moments,” he said. “I have a new contract I have to make certain gets fulfilled on time. When someone screws up—and it happens more than I'd like to admit—it's me who has to do the last minute delivery.” He actually winked. “Kinda handy being able to run like the wind in cases like that."
"Let me guess,” Sif said. “When you say overnight delivery, you mean it."
Hermes responded with a small smile over the flat-screen monitor on the desk. “When it absolutely must, without fail, be there the next best thing to yesterday. Yeah. We only deliver around Washington and Oregon, so it's not like I have to run to Paris every third day. I'm hoping to expand, but I'm in no real hurry."
His fingers flashed on the keyboard and he nodded to himself. “Okay. Everything's right as rain. Let's go talk to Deryk."
* * * *
Loki turned off the monitoring equipment and slowly walked to the glass coffin, his heart heavy as a huge chunk of lead sitting inert in his chest. He opened the containment device, slowly and carefully drew the needles from her flesh, plucked the monitor's contact wires away from her skin, then lifted her body and carried her across the floor through the lab door. Each step was weighed down with a thousand regrets. He'd hoped to make her immortal. Instead, he'd killed her even faster than the disease that had been wasting her body.
He didn't really have anywhere else to put her, but it seemed disrespectful to leave her in the glass coffin when her spirit had flown. He had a rolling medical gurney, like the ones they used at the morgue, stashed in the back. He'd leave her there for a few hours while he considered what to do with the body, he decided.
He laid her gently on the gurney and stroked a stray lock of black hair away from her forehead. I'm so sorry, Renee. He found himself wishing he'd gotten to know her better. Now that'll never be, will it?
He turned away, taking a few steps toward the door, when a sound from behind him drew him up short. What?
Something possessing immense strength grasped both his arms, shoved him up against the wall, and drove twin motes of fire deep into the side of his neck. He screamed, straining with all his might to break free. Slowly—far more slowly than he could have imagined, he managed to turn, breaking the thing's grip on his shoulder.
Renee stood there, eyes blazing against the darkness, his blood streaming down her chin. She wiped the blood away with the back of her hand. “What did you do to me?” she hissed.
His jaw dropped. “Y ... you're dead. I killed you. I didn't mean to, but...” My God, what did I do?
She simply stared at him for a long moment, then glanced down at her hands. She lifted the one with which she'd wiped her mouth and licked off his blood. “So I'm dead? Funny, I don't feel dead."
I've created a vampire, he realized suddenly, his stomach doing a lazy roll. For a second he almost felt as though he was about to faint. His head spun.
"I'm so thirsty,” she said, her eyes pinned to the side of his neck, where he could feel the wound already closing. “It hurts."
Without thinking he offered her his wrist. “Here."
She took his arm gently, then, with all the fury of a starving dog, drove her teeth through the flesh of his wrist. She drank greedily as a sort of euphoria overtook him. Each pull from her mouth sent another wave of pleasure through his body. Finally, just when he thought he could take no more, she lifted her mouth away and dropped his arm.
"That feels ... better.” She took a step back, shaking her head. “I feel so strange."
No wonder. What the hell have I done? “You realize what you've become, don't you, Renee?"
"How did you do this? Why did you do this?"
He offered her the tiniest shrug. “It wasn't what I was trying to do—something went wrong and I don't know what. I can try to fix it, but I'm not sure I can."
"Fix it?” She laughed suddenly. “I feel like a god! Why should I even want it fixed?” She looked down, seemed to realize for the first time that she was naked. “Where are my clothes?"
"I'll get them,” he said, crossing the room and opening a cabinet before she had a chance to say anything more. He took out the bundle inside and turned to hand them to her. But she was already standing within arm's reach, having moved there within the blink of an eye without a single sound.
She took them and slowly started getting dressed, seemingly unconcerned by such mundane issues as modesty. Even the chill in the room didn't seem to touch her.
"You can't go out,” he told her. “We have to study this, figure out if we can reverse it. Maybe it's simply the first step to making you what I am."
"What you are? What are you, Loki? Your blood was like ambrosia to me. I feel so—omnipotent—yes, that's the word. I feel like I could bench press a semi, or race a jet. Can you do these things?"
He realized suddenly that, somehow, he'd created something more powerful in many ways than he was himself. It was a sobering thought. “I can't let you leave like this."
"Let me leave? You would hold me prisoner here? Tell me, little man, how do you propose to stop me?” She seemed to grow taller and the air of menace that filled the room almost breathed against the darkness.
"Renee, please. I need to understand what happened. I need to test your blood, see what it is that the virus has done to you. Just give me a few hours, enough that neither of us are surprised by what happens next. In return I'll answer any question you have. Any question."
The menace faded slightly and she took a deep, shuddering breath. “As you will, Loki. Indeed, let us discover together what you've done to me. And then—and then the night is mine."
* * * *
"A Creeper? Here?” Shea tugged on his chin. “I have a room set up—I think it will work.” His eyes were creased and bloodshot. It was obvious he hadn't slept in days. Even immortals need some kind of rest, Athena thought. Shea looked as though he'd forgotten what sleep was.
Hermes nodded. “If you don't mind, I'll leave the rest of it up to you three. There are others out there who would have a word or two with me and I really must fly."
Shea nodded absently, pulling himself up from behind his desk. He took the bottle from Hermes's hand. “Come, ladies. Let's find out what this creature has to offer."
* * * *
The room was tiny, probably a converted broom closet, literally encased in dozens of high output halogen lamps. Shea flicked a switch and it was like looking through the open doorway into a small sun. “As you both know, sunlight will destroy a Creeper. These sorts of lights, especially cast in such a way that they will make no shadows, will cause intense pain, but not death. It cannot escape and will not die. The perfect torture device for a Creeper."
He popped the cork and tossed the bottle in. He shut the door and threw open the eight inch square viewing port.
The shadow materialized already in agony. It screamed, a sound like a thousand fingernails scraping across a thousand chalkboards. They all winced in unison. “Oh, joy,” muttered Sif darkly. “You didn't mention that the torture would go both ways."
"Hush,” Shea growled. “We don't have time for your nonsense."
The look she gave him in response could've leveled a building with its sheer malice. “Okay, boss. I'll shuddup now, boss. Whatever you say, boss."
As usual, Sif didn't take well to being given instructions. Athena poked her with a finger. “Knock it off, will you?"
Sif grunted, but relented nonetheless.
Shea leaned close to the open panel. “Shadow thing. Can you hear me?"
"Fiend! Evil thing of flesh! I deny you!"
"It's calling us evil?” Athena raised an eyebrow at that.
Shea lifted a hand. “You are our prisoner, Creeper. We want to know what you were doing here in this city."
"Seeking to spread Truth, beast of flesh. The true Lords of All come and all shall fall down and worship them."
"Oh, that's helpful,” Sif gro
wled. “Care to try for round two?"
Shea gave her a brittle look and turned his attention back to the Creeper. “What was your mission here?"
"To serve the Lords of Truth,” it wailed.
"I mean specifically, minion,” Shea snarled. “What was your specific mission on that street at that time?"
"To speak of it would be to betray my masters,” it answered. “I would sooner die and be consumed by the shadow forever."
"I'm sure you would. But that's not going to happen. You will stay here in torment until you tell us what we want to know."
"The Lords will rip you into pieces and consume your quivering flesh while your heart still beats, fleshy one."
Sif snorted. “It doesn't know us very well, do it?"
Shea ignored her. “Fine. If you won't cooperate,” he told it, “sit there and stew.” He shut the hatch with a bang. “Blast and damn. The Creepers have grown stronger, smarter, and more self-possessed in the centuries since we last faced them. It won't break easily."
Athena nodded and Sif shrugged. “On to plan ‘B’ I guess,” Sif said with a feral smile. “So, Deryk, what's plan ‘B'?"
* * * *
Johnny Gitano sat there, nursing a drink, as his eyes followed the woman playing pool over in the corner. She was truly amazing, the living embodiment of everything enticing about the female species. He'd never seen her like in living flesh. She could be a model or even a porn star, he decided. Just watching her was making his groin tense in anticipation.
He flagged down the bartender and ordered another of whatever she was drinking. Thus armed, he made his way over to her, shouldering past the biker type who'd been trying, and failing, to arouse her interest. The large bearded man started to object but faltered when he got a good look at Gitano's eyes. They often had that effect on people. They had a flat, dead quality most folks found disturbing. He'd kill without a qualm, they seemed to say, without even a second thought. Even the most brutal ex-con he'd ever met had taken one look in his eyes and rolled over like an omega wolf suddenly confronted with an alpha.
Gitano scared people. Simple as that. What's more, he enjoyed doing it.
Loki's Sin Page 4
