by Jake Bible
Think of the travel like crossing the borders between countries, except the border crossings were suddenly left wide open. People didn’t need rituals, spells, trances, blood sacrifices anymore to pierce the veil and spy on another dimension. If they had the will and the power, they could walk right through. Both ways. Plenty of people, and other things, so many other things, had come sauntering into our dimension ten years ago that everyone’s definition of normal changed.
Almost everyone. The powers that be on Earth weren’t too keen on letting the cat completely out of the bag. The vortex points like Asheville and the other cities each got their very own Grand Hex. An all-encompassing spell that allowed folks to enjoy, or not, the strangeness while inside the borders of each portal’s geographic area, but as soon as they left, their memories became fuzzy and that sasquatch they’d seen hiking on the Appalachian Trail became a recollection of a really hairy, tall man that had yelled, not growled, with fangs bared, at them.
Until the federal, state, and local political and law enforcement apparatus could fully get a handle on things, what happened in Ashevegas stayed in Ashevegas. And a lot happened in Ashevegas.
We wove our way through the crowds of people and beings until we could duck down an alley as a short cut. Two turns later we came out onto Lexington Avenue, almost directly across from our destination. A destination succumbing to the inevitable, greed-fueled, corporate gentrification that has been threatening the wonderful weird of Asheville for the past decade.
Human or monster, tourist heads wanted expensive pillows to sleep on, and enterprising entrepreneurs were great at catering to that want while disregarding the needs of the actual people that lived in the city they were tearing down and building over. The future boutique hotel across from us was case in point.
However, the rows of police cars and barriers with yellow police tape that cordoned off the building were not case in point and had to be hurting the real estate prices up and down the block.
“Lawter! Dammit, what are you doing here?” a voice bellowed from a group of suits standing just inside the police tape. “Get over here! Now!”
Detective Carl Willitz was a middle-aged man with olive skin and a receding hairline that could be fixed with a decent haircut. Instead he was going for the skullet look. He was in horrible shape, but that was expected for someone that spent life going from desk to car and back to desk again. He was probably going to die of a heart attack within the decade; if not from his lack of physical fitness then from the fact he was under a lot of strain working for the NC Department of Extradimensional Affairs.
I’d only left Willitz a few hours earlier. He was the one that let me out of jail when the charges were dropped. He let me out personally, partly because of the extradimensional nature of the charges and partly because he needed a favor.
Needing that favor was probably why he didn’t shoot me on sight. We weren’t exactly friendly. Another reason could have been the fact he had what looked like a small army of Feds on his back. They were milling about, talking on cell phones, looking at notepads and tablets, speaking with patrolmen and patrolwomen.
That Federal bustle stopped and every bureaucratic eye turned to glare at us as Willitz waved us over.
“We could walk away,” Lassa said. “Bail on their suit-wearing asses. We don’t owe that guy shit, dude.”
“Or we could kill them all and sleep better at night knowing there are fewer Federal fucktards loose in the world,” Harper said. She actually reached for one of the blades on her belt.
“Nope,” I said. “Willitz isn’t so bad. The guy is under a lot of pressure.”
Lassa and Harper turned and stared at me like I’d sprouted angel wings from my back.
“The Feds are in town because there’s a dragon problem heading our way.”
“The six up in Mars Hill?” Harper asked.
“Three Canadian dragons with a grudge against the six in Mars Hill.”
“Dragon fight. Yikes,” Lassa said.
“Still not a reason to go soft on Willitz,” Harper said.
“I’m not going soft. All I’m saying is he isn’t as bad as”—
“Lawter! Get your freak ass over here! Now!” Willitz yelled.
“Yeah. I don’t know what I was thinking. He sucks,” I said. “Fuck this asshole. Let’s go back to the office.”
We turned and came face-to-sunglasses-wearing-face with four Fed tough guys and one Fed tough gal. The four men had hands on their government-issued pistols. The woman had her hands clasped in front of her.
“Chase Lawter. Harper Kyles. And Lassa . . . ? I’m sorry, do you have a last name?” the woman asked. She was average height, maybe in her early forties, and almost as dark-complected as Harper. Her eyes were hidden behind her sunglasses but the smile she gave us held zero warmth.
Lassa looked her up and down then flashed that smile that made most women, and men, weak in the knees. He may be a seven-foot tall, shaved yeti from another dimension, but he also happens to be one of the most attractive beings ever to set foot on Earth. Almost everyone swooned when in his presence.
“I would love to discuss my surname,” Lassa said, the charm so thick you could taste it. “Perhaps over breakfast?”
“Jesus,” Harper muttered.
“What a nice offer,” the woman said as she undid a button on her blouse. To show us a rather large amulet made of some type of stone that refused to stay the same color. “However, I will pass.”
“Since when do Feds wear stasis wards?” Harper asked. It was not a casual question and her right hand gripped the handle of a very large knife. “That’s swamp witch hoodoo there.”
“You know your amulet magic,” the woman said and her cold smile warmed slightly towards Harper. “Your file is slightly lacking in details. I’ll add that in when I finish my paperwork for the day.”
“I don’t know what an amulet has to do with anything,” Lassa mumbled under his breath. He hated rejection. “I’m not magic.”
“No, pal, you aren’t. What you are is goddamn handsome. Screw this chick,” I said and rolled my eyes. “Now, how about the chick gets out of our way.”
“I think not, Mr. Lawter,” the woman replied. She smiled.
I sighed. “Okay. Chick is not getting out of the way. Does the chick have a name?”
“Special Agent Alexandrine Ducheré, Federal Department of Extradimensional Affairs,” she replied. “Call me chick again and I’ll crack off some of that Dim you manipulate and place it somewhere you really do not want it to be.”
“I think I like her,” Harper said. “Creole fire.”
Special Agent Alexandrine Ducheré nodded at Harper. “Don’t start liking me yet, Ms. Kyles. I’m not here to be your friend.”
“Why are you DEX peeps here? Other than to completely misunderstand how Dim works,” I said.
“I was being facetious,” Ducheré replied. “But, to answer your question, I am here because what has occurred inside that building across the street was far from normal. In fact, I would appreciate it if you three would accompany me to the crime scene so I may ask you a few questions.”
“We all have alibis,” I said. “Hell, Willitz only let me out of jail this morning. My associates can also”—
“None of you is a suspect,” Ducheré interrupted. “I was there when you were interrogated a couple weeks ago for the suspected murder of Iris Penn.”
“Who is very much alive,” I said.
“Exactly. I have also spoken with Detective Willitz about your willingness to assist in the dragon issue. You and your associates have a unique perspective on extradimensional phenomena and I would like your take on . . . what’s inside.”
“That doesn’t sound good,” Lassa said.
“How much blood we talking?” Harper asked.
/> “No, not good in the slightest. And there is a great deal of blood,” Ducheré responded.
“That sounds like work,” I said. “We get paid for work. Speaking of, we don’t have time to play cops and Feds. We have to get back to the office for our appointment with”—
“The One Guy,” Ducheré said.
“You really gotta stop interrupting people, lady,” I said. “I know trolls around here that rip off arms when people are rude like that.”
“You will not be meeting with the One Guy today, Mr. Lawter. Your appointment has been cancelled.”
“Because . . . ?”
“Because it has. That frees up your afternoon and evening considerably. And if your office manager is worried about losing business, I do have funds available in my budget to compensate outside consultants. I am sure we can negotiate a fair rate with Ms. Spaglioni.”
“You know a lot about us.”
“I do.”
“And you probably won’t take no for an answer.”
“There is no probably, Mr. Lawter.”
“I could call our lawyer.”
“I already have and Ms. Sullivan is sending a representative from her law firm to supervise. Apparently, she was too busy to attend herself. She said she had a prior engagement, but my instinct says you pissed her off.”
“Chase? What did you do?” Lassa asked.
“I negotiated a lower bill for the whole Fae thing,” I said. “She didn’t like the way I did it.”
“Don’t want to know,” Lassa said.
“You already called our lawyers?” Harper asked. “How’d you know we’d even come here?”
“I didn’t,” Ducheré replied. “I was planning on coming to your office. You three saved me a trip.” She gestured towards the building. “Shall we?”
The three of us shared looks then sighed almost in unison.
“I take that as a yes. Come on. Oh, and please stay within the hex lines once inside. That’ll keep you from contaminating the scene. It will also save your shoes from being ruined. There truly is an excessive amount of blood.”
4.
THE SIGHT OF BLOOD doesn’t usually affect me. I’ve seen my share. But Ducheré was right, there was an excessive amount. Couple that with the gnawing hunger in my belly and I was two breaths past queasy.
“Total exsanguination,” Harper said as we stepped onto the second floor, which was nothing but the frames of future walls for future overpriced hotel rooms. “How many? A dozen bodies?”
“Fifteen,” Ducheré replied. “The full construction crew. They arrived on the site between 6:15 and 6:30 this morning according to cell tower and GPS records.”
“You found their phones?” Harper asked.
“Yes.” Ducheré pointed at a small table set off to the side of the room with several cell phones lined up on top. “Our manipulator was able to glean the data despite the extensive damage caused by the blood.”
A man wearing khakis and a polo shirt (orange) was standing by the table, his eyes narrowed as he watched the activity in the room. And there was a lot of activity. Every second or so his eyes would light up with green fire then turn to black before returning to normal.
“Feds are actively involving practitioners now?” Harper snorted. “Finally figured out that the Universe doesn’t give a shit about fitting into your little crime-solving procedures, huh?”
Lassa and I shared a look. Harper was taking way too much interest in the scene. Something had her hackles up and when Harper’s hackles are up, it meant pay attention.
“Theories?” I asked.
“Something large came through into our dimension and butchered these men,” Ducheré admitted rather candidly. “That is all we know.”
“Large somethings usually like to snack when traveling,” I said. “How chewed up were the bodies?”
“Not at all. No bite marks. No marks anywhere on them. Despite being torn to shreds.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” I said.
“Yeah, it does,” Harper said. “If we’re talking about a blood ghast.”
“Blood ghost?” Lassa asked.
“Ghast,” Harper replied. “Nasty little shits. They get into the body through any physical opening then rip the victim open from the inside out. It explains the bodies and the blood.”
“Never heard of a blood ghast,” Ducheré said.
“Shit. I have,” I said, looking at Harper for confirmation. “Those two kids back in 2002. You said that’s what got them. “
“Yeah,” Harper replied.
Harper and I knew each other from way back. We’d spent a few years on the streets of Asheville amongst the other street kids. This was before the extradimensional happening. But, Asheville had always been a weak point between the dimensions, a vortex point for the strange and unknown, so sometimes nasty shits slipped through the cracks.
I looked around the building. I had a very bad feeling we were standing in one of those cracks.
“Now you see why I was about to seek you out,” Ducheré asked. “This has happened in Asheville before and your names were associated with the event. There was zero mention of a blood ghast, of course, but I do not believe in coincidences.”
“Me neither,” I said.
Back then I’d thought the two kids had pissed off some crack dealer and got themselves butchered. Harper had known better and tried to explain to me that things weren’t always as they seemed. I humored her, but I had serious doubts. Then the portals opened and I apologized for every one of those doubts.
Looked like this was my day for the past to come for a visit. First the One Guy, now this.
“Speaking of coincidences,” I said as I nodded at the huge team of Feds walking along the glowing hex line paths cut through the crime scene. “What are the odds that you happened to have a full investigative team here in town today? Wasn’t that lucky.”
“The dragons in Mars Hill present quite the”—
“Excuse for a bullshit cover,” I interrupted. “You don’t need this much manpower to talk to a few dragons. And dragons prefer the diplomatic approach. You’re here for some other reason.”
Ducheré smiled, but said nothing.
I continued. “Full investigative team with muscle and firepower in tow. At least one hex manipulator.”
“There will be two more,” Harper said, eyes studying Ducheré. “They work in threes.”
“Exactly,” I continued. “Three hex manipulators? You don’t bring that kind of mojo unless you expect trouble. And not the dragon kind of trouble. They’d devour those manipulators before any could even fart.”
“I have asked you here, Mr. Lawter, to get your opinion on what has happened in this building, not your opinion on my overall duties,” Ducheré responded, ice and menace coloring her words. “I was showing you courtesy that I do not have to show. I could throw you back into a jail cell without batting an eye. Same with your friends.”
“On what grounds?” I asked. “You already admitted that you know we aren’t involved.”
“Yes, yes, that is very true,” a small voice said from the stairwell. “Mr. Lawter, please do not say anything else.”
We looked over our shoulders to see a small, white-bearded face trying to peek around the black-suited legs of the two men guarding the stairs.
“Flip,” I said. “Teresa sent you to help? Nice.”
“Yes, it was nice of her,” Flip, a two-foot tall gnome, replied with a pleading look. “Special Agent Ducheré? I was sent by Teresa Sullivan. If you could have your men move, please?”
“You are a lawyer?” Ducheré asked. “I thought that firm was made up of only banshees for lawyers.”
“I am a paralegal,” Flip replied. “But, I am more than capable of handli
ng the situation.”
“He totally is,” Lassa said. “And he makes a wicked cup of chai tea.”
My stomach growled. Chai sounded great right then. Along with ten pounds of Flip’s cookies.
“Let him through,” Ducheré said.
The guards stepped aside and Flip hurried over to us on his short legs. He was dressed in classic gnome attire—pointy hat, red pants, blue shirt, gold-buckled black belt. It was hard to tell gnomes apart sometimes, but we knew Flip from our last job and I’d made a point of remembering him. He was good gnome.
“Dear me,” Flip muttered as he reached us. “This is all very horrible.” He put the back of his hand to his mouth and blinked up at Ducheré. “Blood ghast. Please tell me you have it contained.”
“I wish I could, Mr. . . . Flip, was it?” Ducheré said.
“Flip. No mister. Simply Flip.” He waved his tiny hands about. “Never mind names. Are you saying you have let a blood ghast loose without proper containment protocols in place? Oh, dear me.”
“We did not let anything loose . . . Flip. I am here to investigate these murders”—
“Please, Special Agent Ducheré, do not insult my intelligence or the intelligence of the firm I work for,” Flip said. “We have been tracking your movements since you arrived in Asheville. You might want to be more discrete next time you come looking for a blood ghast.”
“Flip, let me be frank with you.”
“I would appreciate that.”
I glanced at Lassa and Harper and they were enjoying the show as much as I was. Flip was a capable gnome, but watching him go toe-to-toe with Ducheré was goddamn riveting.
“We had no idea a blood ghast was involved”—
“Then why the hunt for the kobold head?” Flip interrupted. “As soon as you arrived you put out a BOLO on the kobold prince’s noggin. Every law enforcement agency for five counties has been hunting for that head. And the only reason you would need a kobold head from that exact bloodline would be to summon a blood ghast.”
