Messiah of Burbank - An Urban Fantasy (Quinn Henaghan Chronicles Book 3)

by Paul Neuhaus

  “That’s what he said,” Quinn replied.

  “What does that mean?”

  “I dunno. What’s Josie doing?”

  Blank gave her girlfriend a look that said, “You gotta ask?”

  “Right. On the couch. Sucking on sugar and watching a show about katydids.”

  “I think it’s wolf spiders. Which are fucking creepy as fuck.” The brunette came in sat down on Quinn’s lap. She put her arms around her girlfriend’s neck. An observer would’ve found the scene amusing since Blank was significantly bigger than Henaghan. “Later, I was thinking you and me could get buzzed and fool around.”

  Quinn kissed Molly on the mouth. “As long as you don’t mind banging an Overchanneling freakazoid.”

  “Mind it hell. I’m all about it.” Molly stood and went back to her kitchen. It was still morning and breakfast was still forthcoming.

  Henaghan knew she’d have a great evening, but there were things to get out of the way first. It was Thursday and that meant Cam Blank was coming over for breakfast. In the last few weeks, Molly’s father had taken a turn for the worse and the two women went out of their way to make every Thursday special. The first change had been switching the weekly get-together from evening to morning. Cam had no energy in the evenings. For his part, the elder Blank insisted on pretending as though nothing was wrong. Despite chemotherapy, he came to them instead of the other way around. His voice was scratchy, his eyes drooped, and he tired easily, but he remained Cam. When he arrived, Josie ran out to the driveway so the ex-policeman would have someone to lean on when he came in. Since Annabelle had flown the coop, Cam had transferred his affections to Taft. He doted on her as if she were his own daughter. “Look at this girl,” he said, as the two of them entered the home. “God, you’re getting bigger every day.”

  At the sound of Cam’s arrival, Quinn patted her frog’s head and went in to greet her de-facto father-in-law. He gave her a warm hug when he saw her.

  “She’s literally getting bigger every day,” Molly said from the kitchen, turning the topic back to the niece with the peculiar life cycle. They hadn’t kept the fact that Josie was a Changeling from Cam. He’d been clued in to the world of magic at the tail-end of Quinn’s San Francisco adventure. It didn’t matter that Taft was an infant in a teenager’s body (or a teenager in an infant’s body), the elder Blank loved her just the same.

  As he sat down on a barstool at the counter between the kitchen and the living room, he noticed the empty birdcage next to the TV. For a moment he glowered. “I told you to put that cage in another room. It breaks my heart to see it.”

  “You heard the man,” Quinn said to the younger Blank.

  “So sue me for being a sentimentalist,” their chef said.

  Cam pulled both Quinn and Josie to himself. “Look,” he said to Molly. “I finally got me some pretty daughters.”

  Molly didn’t look up from the pot she was stirring. “It’s a miracle. Considering your ugly mug.”

  “Amen. Especially lately.”

  Josie was tentative. “How’s your treatment going, pop pop?”

  “It’s chemo, you dumb idjit.” The old man flicked the young girl’s ear. “How do you think it’s going? I’m either throwing up or shitting my brains out. Sometimes both.”

  Molly rolled her eyes. “And, on that note, breakfast is served.”

  They all sat down at the table and the younger Blank dished out a simple but delicious hollandaise sauce over poached eggs. Her mother Sheila’s recipe. Cam took one bite and closed his eyes. “Hot damn,” he said. “It’s like you’re channeling your sainted mother.”

  Molly served herself and sat down. “Don’t say ‘channeling’,” she said. This prompted Quinn and Josie to smile.

  Cam turned to Henaghan. “How are things in the Wizarding World of Harry Potter?”

  The redhead sighed. “Peachy.”

  The elder Blank gestured with his fork. “Please elaborate.”

  Quinn shrugged. “As of right now, there are no looming threats to the world at large.”

  “All quiet on the Western Front.”

  “Exactly.”

  At that moment, David Olkin came through the front door. He was running a few minutes late. “Sorry, sorry, sorry,” he said. “Don’t get up.” He breezed past them into the kitchen and made himself a plate.

  The ex-cop said, “What’s up, fancy pants?” David waved at him as he arranged food onto his plate. “Successful Hollywood big shot and you can’t afford a watch?”

  “I can afford a watch,” Olkin said, coming into the dining room and sitting down. “And, whoa, hey, look what time it is… Time for you to stop riding me like a little bitch.” Cam smiled. The banter was good-natured. After a few breakfasts together, the men had developed a nice, teasing rapport.

  Cam turned back to his daughter. “Do you remember Jane King from down the street?” He was referring to a childhood playmate of Molly’s.

  “Yeah, of course.”

  “Quadruplets. Last week. She had ‘em in a cardboard box under the stairs.”

  “No shit. Isn’t Jane my age?”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “Most doctors say you shouldn’t get pregnant after thirty-five.”

  Cam waved her off. “Meh. Doctors. When the good Lord decides it’s time for you to squirt out some kids, you’re gonna squirt out some kids.”

  The brunette woman turned to the others at the table. “You guys don’t know this, but Cam trained to be an OBGYN.”

  “That’s right,” Cam said. “I had to give it up. I kept taking my work home with me.”

  Josie swatted Cameron on the shoulder and Henaghan said, “What does that even mean?”

  The elder Blank said. “Unclear. But did it at least imply an unhealthy obsession with vaginas?”

  “I guess.”

  “Then mission accomplished.”

  Molly tried getting the conversation back on track. “How is Jane? Is she—”

  The sound of shattering glass cut the younger Blank short. A canister trailing mist had hurtled through the front window and landed on the couch. “Tear gas!” Cam shouted. The voice of experience.

  Four loud pops. Four darts flying through the same window. The first one raked a line all the way across Molly’s chest and imbedded in the wall behind her. The second imbedded into Josie’s lower back. The third into Cameron’s neck. Another went far wide of Olkin.

  As all the people started choking from the noxious fumes, a fifth dart came through the window, this one headed right for Quinn’s face. As she watched it approach, time slowed. She could see the dart in exacting detail. It was of Hexenjäger manufacture which meant it probably had both a fast-acting tranquilizer and a maya inhibitor.

  Quinn moved her head to the side and she heard the dart clatter to the ground behind her. Without thinking she threw a bubble of force around the whole dining room table. She filled it up with pure air.

  It was too late for Josie and Cam. Both of them went down, victims to the tranquilizer. Henaghan looked over at her girlfriend. Since Molly had only been raked, she hadn’t gotten a full dose. She was woozy, but still sitting. “Get down!” Quinn said. “Under the table.”

  The front door burst open with a crack. Two men carrying a law enforcement-style battering ram entered the home. They wore dark gray cammo with no insignia. Gas masks covered their faces.

  Quinn stood up and the force bubble expanded to accommodate her. She raised both hands and, between her forefingers, a spark ignited. The spark became a flamethrower and doused the two invaders in fire. Their clothing was flame retardant, but it wasn’t heat retardant. They split up, one going left and the other going right. Quinn’s magic shot out the doorway and dissipated over the lawn.

  The already-damaged living room window shattered inward as two more men in gray attire leapt into the house. The two guys by the door drew guns that looked like Glocks but probably weren’t Glocks. Given the nature of the darts, Quinn expected all t
he equipment in use would be Hexenjäger-issue.

  But these guys weren’t Hexenjäger. Quinn knew that right away.

  The man closest to the kitchen raised his free hand and shot arrows of ice toward the redhead. The arrows shattered against Quinn’s force bubble.

  Henaghan raised her right hand, palm down, fingers splayed. From each finger shot a laser-like beam of concentrated heat. If she couldn’t burn them, maybe she could penetrate them. The beams, depending on their respective targets, either shot straight or snaked through the air like guided missiles. Only one beam found its mark. Ice Arrow went down, a smoking hole the size of a dime where his left eye used to be.

  The strain was starting to get to Quinn. Shooting fire hadn’t been so bad, but maintaining the bubble was wearing on her. She told herself all she had to do was not pass out. She was counting on an immutable law of magical physics to save herself and her four friends.

  Olkin popped up and, for a moment, Quinn saw his expression. The agent was furious. He twisted his hand in the air and pulled it back toward his body. As he did it, a cyclone of ice appeared between his fingers and shot out toward one of the invaders. The man was picked up and thrown into the wall-mounted television. He slid down the wall, stunned. The television was unharmed.

  The guys by the door raised their pseudo-Glocks and fired. The bullets impacted off the shield, but each impact made preserving the shield just that much more difficult. On top of that, Quinn had to continue to deliver at least token attacks. If she didn’t, the remaining interlopers might sense something was wrong. She took the same outstretched hand she’d used a moment before and swept it from right to left. A blast of icy wind raked at the men. She wasn’t as successful as Olkin had been. The men were pushed back but they remained on their feet.

  The only man still in the living room, was less stunned than he’d initially appeared. He stood, cocked his automatic rifle and sprayed the bubble with a nearly-solid cone of bullets. They bounced off of the magic shell, but the impacts rocked Quinn herself. Each hit was an attack on her ability to maintain the shield. “Come on, goddamit! What’s taking you so long?!” she said aloud.

  Olkin switched from ice to fire. He shot a blanket of flame so hot that it melted the bullets before they even impacted Henaghan’s shield.

  The invaders redoubled their efforts. All of them opened up and Henaghan screamed under the hail of bullets. Something had to give. Either she’d weaken and drop the shield and all of them would die or her gambit would pay off.

  Just as she felt the flow of maya through her body constrict and weaken, hands gripped her leg and hip. She looked down to see Molly, still on the floor but with her fingers on Henaghan. The brunette’s eyes were tranquil and reassuring. Quinn felt a surge of calm. Just enough to get her through.

  Then her gambit paid off.

  Vidyaadhara—dozens of them—poured through the membrane between the Astral Plane and the Physical, drawn by Quinn’s persistent magic use. They drove toward her and added their rushing bodies to the stream of weapon’s fire.

  The bubble would pop if the phantasms didn’t quickly realize there was another food source nearby.

  They realized it.

  Since Quinn and the people she was protecting were inaccessible, the Vidyaadhara turned and attacked the three men in gray tactical gear. The trio were, at first, shocked. Then terror set in as the snaking forms made of vapor and light tore into them. Like sailors falling victim to a frenzy of sharks, the invaders were ripped apart and consumed. In a few seconds, nothing was left but equipment and scraps of clothing.

  Henaghan dropped the force bubble as the sated phantasms returned home. She collapsed to her knees next to Molly. Sweat soaked her body. Molly threw her arms around Quinn’s shoulders and supported her as she fell backward to the ground. Before she landed on her back, the redhead created a wall of wind that swept the tear gas out of the house through the shattered window and open front door. “Fuck,” she said.

  Before anyone had a chance to recover, there was a loud bam! from the living room. Glen Sharp had appeared from nowhere. Initially, he was above the coffee table. When gravity kicked in, he dropped through the table’s glass top and onto the carpet beneath. He was inside the framework of the furnishing and badly confused.

  By the time he started to cough, Olkin and Molly were by his side, helping him sit up.

  From her place on the dining room floor, Quinn raised her head so her chin rested on her chest. When she saw her former boss and her girlfriend helping Glen Sharp out of the coffee table, she muttered, “What the fuck? Where was my ward? What happened to my ward?”

  On the dining room table, Cam and Josie showed the first signs of returning to consciousness.

  Molly brushed glass shards from the shattered window off of the couch and she and Olkin sat Sharp down. “Shots fired,” Sharp mumbled. “First shots fired.”

  That intrigued Quinn enough that she rolled over onto her side and got up into a crawling position. She crawled from the dining room to the living room and sat down next to one of the chairs facing the couch. “What do you mean ‘Shots fired’?”

  Sharp blinked twice and rubbed his eyes with his fists. He looked down at Henaghan and spoke. “The first shots of the war were just fired…” he said. “At the peace talks.”

  Molly sat down next to Glen. Olkin followed suit, taking the other side. “Glen,” he said. “Can you elaborate? What the hell happened?”

  Glen nodded and was surprised to be handed a glass of water. It was Josie. She was awake, but she looked like she had history’s worse hangover. Her errand complete, she dropped into the chair Quinn was sitting next to.

  Henaghan looked over her shoulder at the dining room table. Cam was awake now too. And nursing a glass of water of his own. Sharp drew the redhead's attention again when he spoke.

  “I got there,” Glen went on. “It’s the first day of the talks. Tilted are there. Resolute are there. People are talking. It’s fine. We had one of the banquet halls. It was like a… meeting of the fucking Rotary. Anyway, fast forward to today, the real meat of the thing’s begun, not much is getting solved. I just remember this guy from Philly—Tilted guy—started bloviating about jurisdictions and the Rule of Law or some shit, and another guy—from the Carolinas somewhere, a Resolute—stands up and blows his head off with a lightning bolt. All hell breaks loose. People falling over each other. Magic flying all over. It was like having a front row seat at Archduke Ferdinand’s assassination. Only instead of Archduke Ferdinand, it was a blowhard from Philadelphia.”

  “What happened next?” Henaghan said.

  “Nothing happened next. A fight broke out, the hotel’s on fire, and I came here. Can I have more water?”

  Despite her bleary-eyed state, Josie got up to refill her uncle’s glass.

  Quinn looked to her right and saw a piece of gray cammo attached to a fragment of strap. When Josie sat back down in her chair, Henaghan handed her the cloth and said, “Pass this to your uncle.”

  As Glen took the fabric, Molly stood and went over to her father. Quinn could hear them whispering behind her as she spoke to Sharp. “Does that mean anything to you?”

  Glen was confused. “What do you mean? Sentimentally?”

  Henaghan grew frustrated. “No. Can you identify it?”

  Sharp held the cloth up to his eyes and rolled it over and over between his fingertips. “It’s cammo. Tactical gear. Can I identify it? No, it’s just like every other piece of gray cammo I’ve ever seen. It’s—” He stopped short, bringing the fragment even closer to his face. “I’ll be damned.”

  “What?”

  Glen peeled two layers of cloth away from one another. The tactical gear was two-tiered. In between, was a leaf. He held it up for everyone to see.

  “It’s a leaf,” David said.

  Sharp shook his head. “It’s not just any leaf,” he said. “It’s from the baobab tree. It grows in Africa. On the veldt. Where did you get this cloth?”
/>   “From the carpet,” Quinn said. “We were attacked by men wearing that cammo ten minutes before you arrived.”

  “Tīvara,” Glen replied.

  “Wait. What? Say that again.”

  “Tīvara. Resolute secret police. Ancient, ancient organization. This leaf is sacred to them. It’s a symbol of their connection to the Asura.”

  A thought occurred to Quinn. “Do the Tīvara have special powers? Could they bypass a ward?”

  “Huh? No, they’re not pixies. They’re men. Ninja-like men, but men.”

  With a sudden burst of energy, Quinn stood and bolted from the room.

  Quinn scrambled into the workroom and picked up the frog Pietro Laskov had given her. She placed it flat on her palm and it rose about an inch or two above her skin. She directed the air around the object to harden and close in on it.

  The frog shattered and inside of it was a tiny black machine with a glowing yellow diode. Hexenjäger make.

  Quinn didn’t even need to ask Glen what the thing was for. It was for circumventing a magic ward. She crushed the object and made a mental note to catch up with Laskov again. Very soon.

  Then she heard screaming.

  The scream came from a surprising source. It was Cam. When Quinn got back to the dining room, she saw the old man had gone rigid and thrown his head back. The tendons stood out in his neck like thick ropes.

  Glen and Olkin were up off the couch. David stood at the border between the living room and the dining room, unsure what to do. Sharp helped the junior Blank restrain the senior. Josie bolted over to Quinn as soon as Quinn appeared. She threw her arms around her aunt, terrified. “Pop pop,” she said. Henaghan put her arm around the girl’s shoulders and drew her in. With her free hand, she took her iPhone out of her pocket and prepared to dial nine-one-one. She thought she was summoning aid for a cancer patient in distress. What happened next proved her wrong.

  Under Cameron Blank’s collar bone, a yellow glow awakened and grew, shining through the translucent flesh, lighting up skin and veins. As it spread, the old man screamed louder. Glen crouched down in front of the older man and said, “Hold him,” to Molly.