Into the Shadows

by Gavin Green

  How the hell was I supposed to know that? I'm not a fucking therapist. I thought for a second and threw out the first thing I could think of. "Uh, because Elias thinks those homeless people are sheep?"

  "Not even close," she replied sourly. "Elias already has his smooth little plan in motion, and I didn't know about it. That upsets me. Plus, he's an ass." Ragna looked off for a moment, and then back up to me. "This new Sentinel Church needs a permanent delay. We both have some work to do, Beck."

  CIVIL

  When we got back into my car, Ragna told me to take her back to her territory and then return to the theater. If Elias - Edward - and his minions were still there, I was supposed to follow them. I used his real name from then on because Ragna planned on ending his preaching career, so there'd be no more Elias and his warped religion. I was to report my findings to her the next evening at the Chinese restaurant. I didn't know how long it would take Edward to sip on a dozen or so vagrants, so I stepped on the gas.

  During the fast drive, Ragna thought out loud about the situation. She said that Edward could have gotten info on a lot of people through his access to hospital files; those without insurance and destitute, plus anyone with mental health issues who were weak or gullible. Those folks may have been located from their files and given personal invitations, and maybe some sort of lure, like food or money. She doubted that any Adept controlled the small theater, so Edward most likely enchanted the manager or owner for its use. As for where the would-be priest got his Sentinel doctrine, she wondered if one of the other Deviants with the Gift of Mania - whatever that was - messed with Edward's mind.

  I dropped Ragna and Gungnir off and shot back to the theater. The lobby lights were off, but windows in the back of the building were still lit. There was a small parking lot back there, which still had a few cars in it. I found a spot to park on a residential side street where I could keep an eye on the lot exit. I hoped the cars belonged to Edward and his people. Otherwise, I would've been sitting there for a damn long time with no food, a half-empty flask, no place to piss, and nothing to show for my time.

  After an hour of waiting and being bored as hell, I saw two cars pull out of the lot. An SUV was first, followed by a sporty little two-door, and they both headed to the nearest highway. Without much traffic, it was fairly easy for me to keep my distance and still have their rear lights in sight. The two vehicles eventually pulled into the driveway of a big ranch-style house in a nice neighborhood out in an eastern suburb of the city. At that time of night, the street was deserted and none of their neighbor's house lights were on. If only they knew what lived among them . . .

  It made some sense for a hemo to have his minions live with him, I guess. I wouldn't have been too surprised if Ragna let her dogs curl up around her, although I couldn't picture Viggo sharing his space. Then again, he didn't need to; when some young hemo thinks you're a god, you don't need any peon watching your back.

  I checked the street signs to get my bearings, waited about ten minutes, and then drove by Edward's house. Both vehicles had been pulled into the two-car garage. A couple lights were still on inside. The lawn was wide and level, with a number of mature trees both in the front and back. I surveyed as much as I could from my car, and then circled the block. Parked down the street between streetlights, I waited for any other activity. The lights were finally turned off around four in the morning. Those fuckers were probably playing Halo the whole time.

  The next day, I walked to Keegan's for a late lunch, and ended up having a few too many drinks. Lucky for me, Tanya came in for her check. She drove me home, where we shared a few more drinks. She thanked me for the hospitality by giving me a fun, sloppy romp. After she left, I had just enough energy for a workout, and then toasted the good afternoon with more alcohol.

  I met Ragna at the Chinese place that night like I was told to. I still had a buzz, but played it cool and tried not to breathe in her direction. I gave the boring report of what happened, which was basically nothing other than finding out where Edward and his minions lived. She told me I'd be on another stake-out at his house soon, so I should get whatever I needed. First, though, we were going to meet some other hemos for a business deal.

  Ragna made a point of telling me to act like I was in thrall to her - be protective, follow every order without question, blah, blah. I planned on pretending she was Viggo. There, problem solved.

  Once Ragna loaded my car with Gungnir and a lapdog that had teeth like a shark, I was told to go to the Nelson-Atkins, by far the city's biggest museum. It was situated in an area of upscale shops, restaurants, and hotels, so we - especially Ragna - really didn't fit in. She said that the museum and its expansive lawns were considered 'Civil Ground'. I confessed that I didn't know what the hell she was talking about.

  With a surly tone, it was explained to me that there were a handful of places declared as Civil Ground around town - a few museums, a couple event centers, the city zoo, and a few other specific locations where hemos couldn't attack or use Gifts on each other. Well, they could, but that would be breaking one of their few rules. There wasn't any legal red tape bullshit for them; breaking nearly any of the hemo laws carried the punishment of death.

  As directed, I parked on a street that bordered the back of the museum's land. We got out of the car and sat on a low retainer wall that stretched along the back of the wide property. The area was dimly lit by streetlights, but enough to see by. With the museum one hundred yards to the south, big houses across the street to the north, and with no trees or natural cover between, I felt exposed.

  Gungnir hopped over the low wall, and Ragna lifted the demon terrier over it to join him. After a few seconds of sniffing around, both dogs promptly dropped big, steamy loads on the museum lawn. It made me wonder if the rules of Civil Ground covered defecation.

  INSULTS

  Not much later, a familiar modern Cadillac parked behind my Jeep. It was the same car that Blake and his buddies were using when I met them at Rizzo's. The thug who wore a stocking cap got out from behind the wheel, wearing a perpetual grin that was anything but pleasant. The long-haired guy got out of the front passenger door, closest to us. He didn't have a shotgun this time, but he still had the same unpredictable look in his eyes. They both looked like they got off from danger.

  Blake got out from the far rear door and came around the Caddy. With hardly a glance at us, he opened the near passenger door for his boss. Declan McKenna looked younger than I expected - late teens or early twenties, tops. Even though he was on the short side and was dressed well, he still looked like a scrapper. McKenna wore tan slacks and a matching vest over a brown shirt, and kept his light blonde hair slicked back. Something about his posture as he approached made him appear confident and wary at the same time. With Ragna, it was better to just be wary.

  From McKenna's formal greeting, I didn't think they'd dealt with each other much in the past. Neither he nor Ragna offered any pleasantries. She turned to me and said, "Mr. McKenna and I have business to discuss. Stay here until I call for you." They both turned and walked further out onto the lawn before I could even nod.

  Behind me, Blake said, "I'm glad we could meet again, Leo." I turned while he kept talking. "I can call you Leo, right? After all, we did save your life. I think that lends to informality. Now, unfortunately, Leo, my cohorts and I have decided that you would be a poor fit into our group. Since you owe us, we would consider the debt paid if you found a way to exclude yourself from Mr. McKenna's employ."

  My buzzes usually made me mellow, but they also came with a short fuse. Mine was just lit. "Owe you? Do you amateurs really think I couldn't have handled Dykowski on my own? You all better just get used to seeing my pretty face, scars and all. Your boss wants to hire me - that means you guys are droppin' the ball somewhere. And if my Lady says I'm working for McKenna, then that's it, end of discussion. There'll be no 'excluding' myself, you dumbasses."

  "Hmm, we were hoping you had more freewill with the dog-woman," Blake
commented. "I suppose that, like her other minions, you keep your tail between your legs. It's not too surprising, really. But because you won't go along easily, you'll now have to contend with the hierarchy of things."

  My blood was up from his insults, but I kept my tone even. "What the fuck does that mean?"

  "What he's talkin' about, man," said the long-haired guy as he stepped up to me, "is pecking order." He got to within a foot of me, his wild eyes never leaving mine. "You're gonna be pecked down right to the fucking bottom, man." He was an inch taller, but had a lanky build. His long arms flailed out to his sides while he talked his trash and got in my face. "You bein' the bitch-woman's little -"

  I head-butted him on the bridge of his nose, and followed it with an elbow to the face. It caught him on the brow and opened him up. His face was bloody from his nose and the gash over his eye before he hit the ground. Okay, my attack was impulsive, but he insulted Ragna. Under different circumstances I'd agree with him about her being a bitch, but I was supposed to be her loyal minion. I felt justified. If he'd insulted Viggo, I would've just shot the prick.

  Stocking-cap guy charged and swung with his weight behind it. I barely had time to jerk my head out of the way, and at the same time bring my knee up. My reaction time was a little slow - I should've taken it easy on the booze. I meant to catch him in the gut and let his momentum drive it home, but my knee rammed into his thigh instead. I doubt the strike did much damage, but it made him stumble past me. The unlucky bastard lost his balance and landed chest-first on Gungnir's fresh mound of shit.

  Ragna bellowed my name in a highly pissed-off tone. A second later, McKenna yelled at his men. We all froze, except for the long-haired guy; he was rolling from side to side holding his face while he moaned.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Blake a few paces back. He had a gun in his hand, but was holding it out to the side as he looked down nervously at the little dog in front of him. It was baring its huge, nightmare teeth up at him. That mutt had to be front-heavy from its mouthful of bone blades; I don't know how it moved without tipping over all the time.

  I looked the other way and saw the stocking-cap thug still on the ground, but had rolled onto his side. He was looking with open-mouthed disgust at the crap smeared down his ruined sweatshirt. I turned and faced Ragna, who was clearly more composed than McKenna as they were walking back toward us.

  Ragna cussed up at me in what I guessed was a Norse language, and then in English, said, "You'd better have a good reason for interrupting my barter, minion."

  I gestured to the bloody-faced, long-haired guy. "He insulted you, so I hit him." Then I pointed at the shit-stained thug, who was getting to his feet. "That one tried to sucker punch me. I didn't let him."

  The scowled brows over Ragna's big eyes softened. "Oh, I see." She nodded as if that settled it.

  That didn't do the trick for McKenna. He turned to Ragna and said through gritted teeth, "Is that how you reprimand your newest pet? He's just another wild dog you've added to your collection! Honestly, elder, your servant attacks my men and you shrug it off? I'm offended."

  She turned her head and glared at him. "I'm the one who should be offended. Beck simply defended my name and honor. Your only cause for anger should be that your minions are insolent and inferior."

  McKenna glared back, trying to keep his temper in check. "I want nothing to do with your new servant - I can smell trouble on him. Your terms were ridiculous, anyway. This negotiation is over."

  "No, it's not," said a slightly accented baritone voice from a short distance away.

  FLETCHER

  A powerful-looking man strode toward us from across the museum lawn. His shaggy brown hair hung down onto his shoulders and chest. He had a square jaw and sharp features over a thick neck. For some reason, he wore dark sunglasses. Since it was nighttime, I guess he was either really sensitive to light or he was one of those douchebags that wore shades all the time. Thing was, he wasn't dressed like a douche; hiking boots, faded black jeans, and a red and black flannel shirt. He looked more like a rugged, outdoorsy type. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing thick and extremely hairy forearms. At that point I didn't know if he was some sort of hemo bad-ass, but he sure as hell looked like one.

  Stopping a few paces from us, the first person he addressed was the dog-woman. With a slight bow to her, he said in his deep voice, "Well met, elder Ragna."

  Already in a bowed position because of her warped spine, she gave him a deep nod. "And you, elder Fletcher." She'd mentioned that name before - Fletcher . . . Jack Fletcher. I remembered then. He was the leader of the Outsider faction, and, more importantly to me, the sire of Declan McKenna. Sire, creator, patron, hemo daddy - whatever they called it.

  Fletcher glanced around at us before settling his attention on McKenna. "Send your minions away," he said in a low, threatening voice. "Otherwise I will dice them into chunks and give them to Ragna to feed her dogs." I didn't see any blades on Fletcher, but it didn't sound like an idle threat.

  At McKenna's command, Blake and the stocking-cap thug picked up their long-haired partner and helped him back to the car. McKenna straightened his vest and said, "If you'll excuse me, sire," - hey, I got it right, it was sire - "I was just leaving."

  "And now you're not," Fletcher retorted. I guessed Scottish for the subtle accent. "There is still a deal to be made. The actions of your foolish minions have just changed it a tad. Tell me the terms."

  McKenna pursed his lips angrily, and then answered, "The elder and I had only begun with our haggling. For the services of Mr. Beck, she demanded $500 a day, and only three days a week in my employ. Moreover, she also wanted access to a pet store warehouse, and for me to buy some small inner-city building and hand over the deed. It's outrageous."

  Fletcher's forehead creased in a frown. "Are you saying, with all of your monies and your big house and your fancy trinkets, that you can't afford her proposal, Declan?"

  "Of course I could, sire, but elder Ragna asks for too much. But it doesn't matter now - I no longer want her minion's services." He waved a dismissive hand at me. "He is unpredictable, and would most likely cause more trouble than he's worth."

  "Ha!" Ragna cackled. "Beck embarrassed your men, and therefore you. Pride is your only trouble."

  "Declan," Fletcher said calmly as he stepped closer to him, "I don't have the skill for bartering - I always simply take what I want. With that said, tell me what you would have countered with if you were still hammering out a deal. Humor me."

  It was a tense few seconds before McKenna replied. "$100 a day, five days a week of service, plus $40 a week as a pet food stipend, but the building purchase is off the table."

  "An insult," Ragna hissed. Shit, it insulted me too. Not that anyone cared.

  Fletcher turned to her and said, "A compromise, then. I offer $300 per shift, four shifts a week. From that money, you buy your own food supplies. The building you seek will be yours at the price of a debt owed. Does that sound fair, elder?"

  "Sire," McKenna spoke up before Ragna could reply, "I don't know why you're haggling. I no longer want a deal with elder Ragna. I wouldn't agree to pay that much, anyway."

  "The negotiation is now mine, childe," Fletcher growled. "But since you choose to intrude, I'll include you in it. While Ragna's debt and Mr. Beck's services go to me, the costs go to you."

  "What! Why?"

  Fletcher leaned in toward McKenna. "You have been dealing with humans for too long, Declan. You've forgotten the reverence for Civil Ground and proper respect for your elders, no matter the faction. While you haven't been under my care for decades, you continue to make it known who your sire is - as a warning, I assume. Because of that, your actions, and those of your minions, reflect on me. From what I've seen tonight, I am not pleased, Declan, and I will have compensation. Or, I could simply take you to the street and gut you in front of your men."

  McKenna was trembling, probably with a mix of rage and fear. He spun and stomped over to his c
ar. The long-haired guy was leaning against the trunk of it, holding a rag to his face. Declan grabbed him by the hair and slammed him down on the pavement. With a restrained roar, he stood over the already-bloody minion and punched him twice in the head. The first hit smashed the guy's face. I heard the bones crunch. On the second hit, McKenna's fist literally sunk into the poor bastard's skull. The long-haired guy no longer had a head; it was bloody play dough with bits of bone in it. What a way to go.

  I've seen my share of spilled guts, bloody body parts, and gross head wounds in combat. That didn't mean I wanted to see more, so I turned back to face the hemo elders. Fuck, I needed a drink.

  Fletcher said to Ragna, "You've never had the chance to accept or decline my offer . . ."

  "I accept," she relied simply.

  "Good; we can meet again in four night's time at the city zoo to finalize our deal. I'll send a message to your eatery with the details." He pulled a small pouch out of his pocket and handed it to her. "Let that be a deposit, or reparation for tonight's poor company. The choice is yours. Good evening, elder."

  After waiting for the Caddy to leave and Fletcher to walk out of sight, Ragna opened the pouch and pulled out a tightly-rolled wad of cash. Then she tossed the pouch to me. I thought it'd be empty, but it still had some weight to it.

  While counting her money, Ragna rhetorically asked, "Quite the nice turn of events, eh, Beck?"

  I wasn't so sure.

  DELIVERY

  I was psyched to have a few days to myself. The last couple of them had been pretty fucking busy with fighting and almost getting shot a couple times and dealing with freaky hemo shit. I needed a break, a chance to remind myself how the normal, mundane world worked. I hadn't seen much of that lately.