Into the Shadows

by Gavin Green

  Alright, the situation was sure as shit not mundane. Dykowski was basically asking if anyone had fucked with my memories, like Viggo said some hemos could. And the steroid-ridden bitch squeezing my neck was really pissing me off. "You two work for Le Meur, right? Ya know, the first time I saw that skank she had snot running out of her nose. And she was walking funny, like she just came from a gangbang. Huh, maybe it wasn't snot after all."

  The grip tightened. "Actually, we work for Mr. Riva, but we still -"

  I stomped down hard on her instep. I don't care if some people say it's a cheesy move - it fucking works. Immediately after, I rammed my elbow back into her. I intended to catch Dykowski in the solar plexus, but the foot stomp made her hunch over a little. Instead, my elbow hit her hard in one of her tits, but it was enough to make her stagger back a few steps.

  A rubber bullet hit me in the shoulder. Even with the protection of a leather coat, those damn things hurt. The guy, Cantrell, was standing in front of their car and aiming his revolver at me for another shot if the first one didn't make me give up. It didn't. I could have pulled my Ruger, but it had live rounds and I didn't want to shoot a cop.

  For lack of options, I charged at Cantrell. I surprised myself with how fast I came up on him. By the look in his eyes, he was surprised, too. He let off another shot, but was unsteady from trying to assume a defensive pose at the same time. The second rubber bullet ripped through my coat at the elbow, not slowing me down a bit.

  I speared Cantrell with enough momentum that I took him off his feet, over the hood of his car, and smashing into the windshield. Not waiting to gauge his condition, I cocked my arm and hammered him in the face. I felt and heard his jaw break. His head lolled. I rolled off the hood and into the street.

  Over to my left, Dykowski was wobbling on one foot while pulling a small gun from a rear belt holster. In front of me, Cantrell lay unconscious on the hood of his car, the safety glass sagging under the weight of his torso. To my right, I suddenly noticed three people moving up the residential street toward us.

  I looked back at Dykowski. Her.38 snub-nose was pointed right at me. She wasn't going to give me a warning; there was murder in her eyes. I dove for the cover of the Ford just as she fired. I heard the shot ricochet off the pavement, and was relieved not to feel the burn of a bullet wound that I was all too familiar with. I silently thanked Viggo for my heightened reflexes.

  "Drop it, bitch," one of the three strangers barked. Crouched against the car, I could only see two of them. The one closest to me was still walking forward confidently. He looked like a mix of races; black, white, Mexican. He had cropped black hair and was dressed in nice but casual clothes. I figured him for the leader of the trio. His hands were empty, but the long-haired guy on the far side of him had a shotgun aimed past me, in Dykowski's direction. I couldn't see her reaction from my angle, but I hoped she wasn't stupid enough to try and shoot her way out. Then again, I kinda hoped she was.

  I heard the bar door bang open. The leader, who stopped next to me, said to the curious patrons, "You should go back inside, gents. This isn't over yet." A few seconds later, I heard the squeaky door shut.

  "Yeah, nice and slow," the third guy on the passenger side of the car said to Dykowski. "Now kick it away." The gun clattered on the pavement. I saw it spin to a stop in the middle of the street.

  "Get up, man," the leader said calmly to me. I stood and turned. Dykowski stood there nervously on the sidewalk, favoring one foot. Over the roof of the car, I saw the third guy; denim jacket, stocking cap, four-day beard, grinning while pointing two pistols at her. Cantrell groaned and made a feeble attempt to sit up. To Dykowski, the leader said, "I think you and Frank should run along home now, Carla."

  Without a word, she limped forward and pulled Cantrell off the hood. He reeled like a drunk while she stuffed him in the passenger seat. She glared at us as she came around the car, leaning on it for support. The leader and I stepped back to let her get in. Dykowski started up the dented Ford, rolled down her window to see where she was going, and then gunned it around the corner and out of sight.

  I turned to the leader. "Let me guess - neighborhood watch?"

  He grinned. "Not quite. I'm assuming you're Leonard Beck?"

  "Leo, it's just Leo," I said with a sigh. "What, you guys are following me, too?"

  "No, we were following them," he replied, pointing to where we last saw Dykowski driving off. "While we were figuring out what those two were up to, we learned about you. It turned out to be quite a coincidence." He turned to the other guys. "Go get the car, fellas."

  "What do you mean? What sort of coincidence?" I asked suspiciously. "Who are you guys?"

  After the other two walked past us, the leader pulled out a business card and handed it to me. Shit, another one; I was going to have to get a rolodex.

  "This is my boss's number," he said. "A while back, he told us that he was going to hire you." There was a chance that the guy's boss was one of the people that Gwen mentioned. "Everyone calls me Blake." He didn't extend a hand. "You should know it if we happen to work together."

  I looked at the card. Trade Solutions Import/Export was the company name. Printed under that was Declan McKenna, manager, and then a phone number. "I doubt your boss is still going to be interested in a security agent who's wanted by the police."

  "The police . . . You mean Frank and Carla? Don't worry too much about them. I was told to take an interest in those two since they seem to stay quite busy while off duty. And as far as Mr. McKenna knows - and he stays very well informed - there aren't any open cases on you." We both stepped aside when a Cadillac pulled up in front of us. Blake opened the back door and paused. "It might be in your best interest to give that number a call. Have a good night, Mr. Beck."

  I stood there under the glow of a streetlight, absently watching the Caddy drive off. I held my bruised shoulder, wondering what the hell I'd gotten myself into. And, dammit, I had another hole in my coat.

  TRAVEL

  Driving home from my old neighborhood, my phone chirped with a text message. 'Get home now', it said. The number was from ShadoWorks. The Tuesday evening traffic was light, so I leaned on the gas pedal and broke a lot of traffic laws. I made it back to my house in record time.

  I hurriedly unlocked my front door. Viggo was sitting on my couch watching the TV show 'Supernatural' when I came in. "What a ridiculous program," he commented in his low, rumbling voice. The irony of his statement left me speechless. He used the remote to turn my TV off and looked at me with those unnerving, pure black eyes. "I received your message. Yes, the Doyenne does have strong influence with the local police and judicial system. For your safety, we may need to speed up the wheel of the rumor mill concerning your powerful affiliations."

  Finding my voice, I said, "If you don't mind me saying so, sir, I'd sure as hell appreciate it. I just had a little incident, if you'd like to hear about it." When Viggo nodded, I told him about the event outside of Rizzo's. When I finished with the details, I asked if he knew either a Mr. Riva, who Dykowski mentioned, or a guy named Declan McKenna. I had no idea if they were hemos, normal yet important people, or just dipshits. If my commander didn't know, he could find out.

  "Riva is Dominic Riva, an Adept who is slowly making a name for himself in the escort trade," Viggo said. It had to be the same Dominic that Barnabus almost chopped into greasy cutlets. "Mr. Declan McKenna is yet another numen -a creature of the night. Like many of those of relatively advanced years, he has spurned the abused label of 'vampire', and instead refers to himself as a daemon. He is most notably the spawn of Jack Fletcher, elder of the city's Outsider faction. Mr. McKenna otherwise busies himself with being a covert thorn in the Doyenne's side. Does this information help you?"

  I shrugged. "I don't know about it being helpful, sir, but it's good to know. Uh, one last thing, if you don't mind. When you say relatively advanced years, how many are you talking about?"

  Viggo stood and straightened his long coat. "
Most of those who can claim the term 'daemon' are usually a respectable two hundred to five hundred years old, sometimes more. Some older ones care little for other titles, so they continue referring to themselves as that. Now, unless you have any truly important questions, we need to go visit your pseudo-mistress. Come with me."

  "You mean the dog-woman?" I asked as I followed him into my dark kitchen.

  "Her name is Ragna, but she takes no offense to that canine title." Viggo stopped and held out an arm out wide. "You once inquired about my uncanny mode of travel. It is time I answered your question. Step closer, Leo. I will show you."

  I was suddenly afraid. Look, only a fool would say he fears nothing. I'm not the brightest star in the sky, but I'm no fool. I've had more than my share of scary moments and scenarios, and I've faced them. But, standing there in the dark with the looming silhouette of an ancient being who was about to share something so eerily supernatural with me . . . Shit, I was terrified. I trusted Viggo without hesitation; that wasn't an issue. The thing was, I was about to step into the unknown, the unimaginable.

  My faith in Viggo gave me just enough courage. After I took a long swig from my flask, I stepped next to him. He wrapped his long arm around my shoulders, and then he began to turn us in a circle. The dim outlines of my kitchen appliances suddenly blurred into a dizzying darkness. It felt like we only made one 360 degree turn, but in that short movement we'd slipped into a jet-black void.

  Shades of black swirled and pulsed all around me. There was no smell, no sound, and nothing under my feet. I only felt the pressure of Viggo's iron grip on my bruised shoulder. The churning abyss started to surge. Bands of it flowed at me and caressed my skin, like slow licks from a cold, dry tongue. A chilling, lonely noise began to fill my ears and mind. I couldn't hear myself, but I think I screamed.

  Just as I was about to fully panic, Viggo yanked us to one side. Sensations came rushing at me. My vision cleared, like running out of a dark room. My boots landed unsteadily on pavement, and I collapsed to my knees. I gulped for breath and took in the stench of the dumpster I was kneeling next to. I put my hand on the side of it to make sure it was actually there. The air was cool, the only light came from a crescent moon, and I could feel Viggo's presence behind me. My eyes focused on the dark, dirty alley we were in. Just to be sure of my condition, I clinched my butt to make sure I hadn't shit myself.

  Viggo crouched next to me and waited until I had control of myself. My hands were still shaking and my breath was still ragged, but I managed to turn my head to him and say, "I'm sorry I asked."

  RAGNA

  "You endured it quite well," Viggo said.

  "Seriously, what was that?" I asked, back on my feet but bent over with my hands on my knees. I could still feel that touch of nothingness on my cheek and hands. It kept giving me chills. I fumbled my flask out of my coat pocket and took a long drink to help calm my nerves.

  Viggo put a hand on my back. "It is an old and rare Gift, once called 'travelling the abyss'. I now refer to it as 'void-walking'. It was practiced by a small sect of Eidolons long ago." His voice lowered and became more ominous than normal. "I learned it when I drained them and consumed their souls."

  Soul consumption sounded like some very bad shit. I looked up at that cracked, gruesome face and saw that some dark emotions had turned Viggo's rough features into a deep scowl. He stared off, lost in a memory. As I studied his harsh profile, I noticed shadows gathering around him, causing his form to shift and blur. I thought he wasn't doing it consciously; it just seemed to happen when he was feeling some deep emotion. I also thought that the effect was spine-chilling every time I saw it.

  I didn't want to keep standing in a damp, smelly alley all night while he brooded, so I put my flask away and spoke up. "So," I said quietly as I stood straight, "where are we?"

  Viggo brought his attention back to me and answered, "We are in the claimed territory of Ragna, the dog-woman. Ah, speak of the daemon . . ." He pointed to my right. I looked past the dumpster and saw movement at the end of the alley. I was just able to make out the shapes of a hunched figure with a full shopping cart, surrounded by tail-wagging dogs of all sizes.

  "That's Ragna?" The question fell out of my mouth before I could stop myself. I couldn't make out her features from that distance and lack of light, but she gave the impression of an old, stooped homeless woman in layers of clothing. That was a powerful hemo?

  "Don't let her appearance fool you," Viggo advised. "She has chosen her lifestyle, and many within the other factions underestimate her for it. Living on the street also keeps her quite up to date on certain events. Ragna's body may be warped, but her mind is strong. Her Gift of Fauna is potent; with that comes her benevolence toward lost or discarded lesser beasts. I will caution you, Leo; Ragna is eccentric and has peculiar views, but she is both wise and trustworthy. Keeping my honor and your own safety in mind, you will be respectful. I will speak with her first. Wait here until I call for you."

  "Yes sir." I watched the figure of my commander slowly return to a solid form as he walked away. Some of the dogs were at first apprehensive of his approach, but they quickly calmed and returned their attention to her. Viggo, who stood at over six and a half feet, looked even more like a giant compared to Ragna's stooped form. While they talked, I looked around at the two-and-three story brick buildings that framed the alleyway; not many windows, and only a couple of them lit - a commercial district, probably. It was a good place not to be noticed. But, shit, it was a good place not to be in the first place.

  Just as I started to think about how fucked up my situation was, I heard Viggo's deep, menacing voice echo up the alley, calling my name. I jogged over to them and stopped at a respectful distance. Ragna and Viggo stood at the end of the alley. The nearby streetlights were conveniently burned out or broken. There were a few parked cars on the desolate street. About half of the small businesses that I could see were boarded up. Loose trash lined the curbs. How fucking cheerful.

  A dozen or so dogs that ranged from a little furry mutt to a giant Rottweiler milled around Ragna, most of them eyeing me warily. Ragna herself was a little surprising. What I mean is, she mostly looked like your stereotypical vagrant - shawl around her head with strands of dull hair sticking out, a ratty scarf wrapped around her neck and mouth, worn knit gloves, and layers of filthy clothing over her warped spine. Her eyes, though, were beautiful; large and ice-blue. Her nose was petite, and her cheekbones were high. I bet that under the grime and rags was at one time an attractive woman.

  I glanced at the shopping cart. From what I could see, it was filled with a stained blanket, sleeping bag, and a frayed tarp. Under those items were random bags of dog food, plastic bags full of God knew what, a small radio, a stack of food bowls, and a first-aid kit. Ragna saw me looking at its contents, scowled at me, and pulled the cart behind her. Yeah, like I wanted to steal any of that shit.

  "Ragna," Viggo said to her, "this is the one I spoke to you about - Leo."

  She studied me with her big, light eyes, and then sniffed long and deep. "You reek of liquor," she said in a scratchy voice, slightly muffled by the scarf over her mouth. I was ten feet away; I doubted she could actually smell my breath. I figured she probably saw me taking a swig. "Out of respect for the elder," she nodded her head at Viggo, "I'll be claiming you as my minion for a time. But," Ragna pointed a finger at me, "don't you dare be drunk in my presence. And add more cola to your whiskey to mask the stench."

  I reeked? Was she fucking kidding me? A goddamn homeless woman telling me that I smelled? As Viggo ordered, I kept my mouth shut. It wasn't easy. Then, unexpectedly, Ragna leaned forward and fixed her eyes on me. For some reason, I couldn't turn away, couldn't peel my eyes from her glare. After a few seconds, it felt like something was prodding at my brain. I squinted and tried to push back, if that makes any sense. "What are - what're you doing?" I asked as I felt the pressure build.

  Ragna turned her eyes away from me, and the stress on my brain immedi
ately vanished. To Viggo, she commented, "His mind is stubborn."

  "That is a good thing, no?" Viggo replied almost proudly. "Leo's resolve would make it more difficult for any others with the Gift to coerce him. I've already told you of his other qualities. He is a worthy minion, and will serve you well until I reclaim him." If it wasn't Viggo saying those things, I would have been offended as hell, being talked about like a pet or a slave. "One other topic needs to be addressed," he continued. "Leo is currently without steady employment, so his time is yours. However, he does have occupational options, one of which is complicated but beneficial. Discuss it with him if you choose to."

  "Or I otherwise have to afford his needs?" Ragna asked, obviously annoyed at the possibility.

  "He is not one of your stray dogs," Viggo answered sternly. "If you want to keep him constantly at your beck and call, you must accept full responsibility. If his uses will not outweigh your costs, then he must be allowed to garner his own funding. We've spoken of this before, Ragna . . ."

  She looked away, grimacing. "Yes, yes, elder, I understand. I will hold true to our deal." She gave an irritable hand signal to the dogs, and they all sat down around her.

  "Good," he said agreeably. "I am off to make arrangements for your request. Please send your runners out straight away with word of your new minion." Viggo then turned to me. "Leo, I must leave you in Ragna's good care for a short time, as we have discussed. If you have further questions, she can answer them as readily as I could. Of course, you can always call, but I will be back to visit with you soon."

  "Yes sir, I understand." I understood logically, but my heart wasn't in my words. I knew the move was best for his unspoken plans, and that I was still being afforded some protection, but . . . shit. If Viggo was going to hang out in crap-lined sewers for a year or something, I still would've wanted to go with him. And for fuck's sake, why Ragna? Why not someone like Barnabus, maybe? Okay, he might not have been as powerful, and that big red eye was pretty freaky, but at least he was cool and I would've learned from him. What was I gonna learn from some miserly, cranky cripple with a dog fetish?