Chasing Shadows

by Jamel Cato

“I can’t accept all this food just to post process one set of files. It’s not equitable.”

  “Oh, right. One bag is for you and Marianna. The other two are a gift to honor your mother.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if it wasn’t for her, one of the monsters on that recording would have post processed me.”

  I didn’t drive off after getting back in my car. It took less than ten minutes for the ghost of Napoleon’s mother to materialize in my passenger seat. Unfortunately, the ghost of his father materialized in my back seat a few moments later.

  “Margie, why do we always have to break bread with this bootlicking Uncle Tom sellout?” Roland “Ro” Crawford asked from behind me.

  “Says the black revolutionary who married a white woman,” I said into the rearview mirror.

  “I married a French woman who knows more about African history than any sister I ever met.”

  “A French woman who was white,” I reiterated.

  I have absolutely nothing against interracial love, but I knew this got under Ro’s skin.

  “I did more for the Movement in one week than your corporate ass did your whole life.”

  “Like not pay rent.”

  “I will kick your ass right here in this car.”

  “Bonjour, Dr. Tiptree,” Margouix Crawford said, marking the end of what she liked to refer to as a masculine greeting ritual between her husband and me.

  “Salut ma belle,” I said.

  “Better,” she said. “But it still needs work.”

  She could have been summarizing almost any aspect of my life, but I knew she meant my French pronunciation.

  “I’ll keep at it,” I said. “It’s the least I can do to show my gratitude.”

  She smiled. “It took very little effort to convince Felipe to come to your aid. He was quite anxious to fight a Xantu Warrior, especially after I explained that he would not be bound by the normal physical restrictions of the Spiritual Plane.”

  “A Xantu Warrior?”

  “The tall red humanoids with the glyph markings on their skin are called the Xantu.”

  “Never heard of them.”

  “No one from our dimension had heard of them until recently.”

  It is a commentary that a statement like this did not leave me utterly discombobulated.

  “How recently?”

  “It’s difficult to say for certain because of the differing ways the two realms measure time, but Naaru believes first contact occurred about three years ago in human time.”

  I mentally cataloged this for later consideration.

  “Naaru is the arachnid creature who spoke inside my head,” I guessed out loud.

  “Yes,” Margouix said.

  “And you’re on a first name basis with it?”

  “His actual name cannot be pronounced with a human tongue, but that’s what he asked me to call him. In his world, he is a kind of xenobiologist.”

  “And what world is that?”

  “They call themselves The Wru. They’re from a parallel dimension that recently intersected with ours.”

  “How?”

  “He wouldn’t say. He doesn’t completely trust me.”

  “Why?”

  “He knows I’m dead.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. He calls me a Non-breather.”

  Now that was discombobulating. “But he can communicate with you?”

  “He can only do so at two places in the physical world: Pat’s neighborhood and an office park in California.”

  “He told you that?”

  “No, I deduced it on my own. I’ve tried to communicate with him in at least a dozen places in the physical world, but those are the only two places he can detect my presence. I’ve tried to use it to my advantage in my observations of his kind.”

  I’ve seen my share of bad science fiction movies. “They’re conducting reconnaissance in preparation for launching a nineteen-forties style infantry invasion that will be repelled by a handsome actor in sunglasses even though they possess advanced technology that could wipe out us effortlessly.”

  “I thought I was the only one who always picked up on that,” Ro said. “You have the technology to cross the Galaxy, but when you get here, you decide to use sticks and stones.”

  “From what I can gather,” Margouix said, “they are desperately trying to close the gateways between our worlds before humans become widely aware of them. They have used their telepathic abilities to study our nature and sent out reconnaissance teams like Naaru’s group to examine our military installations. They are afraid that we will be the ones carrying out the nineteen-forties style invasion.”

  I recalled a serrated knife being the only weapon I had seen any of the creatures wield. If that represented their level of technology, they had every right to be concerned about us.

  “So, the arachnid creatures are called The Wru and the red creatures are called the Xantu. What about the giant slugs and the dogs?”

  “The gastropod-like creatures are called Silgenath Seers. They have highly developed sensory organs that the Wru use to extend their own senses. The canine creatures are known as Krykin wolves. I believe they perform defense and secondary cognition functions, but I am not entirely sure because Naaru was reluctant to discuss them with me. What he did tell me was the entire group was considered a single entity. The Wru consider the other creatures to be extensions of themselves the way we view our arms and legs. It’s quite fascinating from an anthropological perspective.”

  “Except when they’re trying to kill you,” I quipped.

  “I bet you pissed your pants,” Ro said with a chuckle. “I would’ve paid the white man’s money to see that.”

  “You had already departed for Charlotte by the time I became aware of your destination,” Margouix said apologetically. “Sending Felipe was all that I could do.”

  “I’m a grown man,” I said. “I appreciate the help, but you’re not responsible for my safety.”

  What I didn’t say was how ominous I found it that she knew she needed to send Felipe’s kind of help. There was more afoot than anthropology. “What’s the address of that office park in California?”

  Chapter 10

  I dialed one of two phone numbers I knew by heart.

  “If you called me this much when we were married, we might still be together,” Darlene Tiptree said when she answered the line.

  “Really?” I asked.

  “Hell-to-the-no, Preston. What do you want?”

  “I need a favor.”

  She sighed. “How much?”

  “Five million.”

  “Five? It goes up by a million every time you ask. Who the hell are you trying to impress, Queen Elizabeth?”

  “I’ll answer that if you tell me how in the world you could leave me for that curly-headed, light-skinned sweater-vest you call a boyfriend.”

  “Are you going to ask me that every time you call? If so, I’m going to block you.”

  “Don’t do that, Darlene,” I said with sincerity.

  I could hear her smile. “I still like it when you beg for it, especially when you put my name on the end.”

  “I could beg for something else.”

  “Don’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because that door is closed, padlocked and electrified.”

  “Damn, Girl.”

  “You damned yourself, Boy.”

  “I don’t even know why I called you.”

  She hung up.

  I called back.

  “Preston! I don’t have time for this.”

  “Can you still do me that favor?”

  There was silence on the line for a few seconds. “I trust you, but that’s a lot.”

  “It’s not like you’re giving me the money.”

  “Are you helping somebody out or just working a case?”

  “Both.”

  “Who are you helping?”

  “A young mother with a special needs
child.”

  Even though children were one of her weak spots, she still asked, “How young is this mother?”

  “The difference between pretty and beautiful is the difference between you and her. I can’t say it’s just business because my client is Alan’s younger sister, but I can assure you there’s nothing going on but the rent.”

  “Alan Berquist? The one from the Physics Department?”

  “You were always good with names.”

  “That’s not all I’m good with.”

  “You ain’t never lied,” I said wistfully.

  “Go by the Ardmore office tomorrow. I’ll tell Olivia to cut a check for you.”

  Olivia Winthorpe was the office manager of the Ardmore, Pennsylvania branch of the wealth management firm that handled most of Darlene’s fortune.

  “Thank you.”

  “Tree?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m with Byron because he treats me right, doesn’t cheat on me and never brings home anything spooky enough to make me wet my nightgown.”

  In other words, he was the opposite of me, or at least the version of me that Darlene had divorced.

  “Did you tell him how we met?”

  “I told him everything he needs to know.”

  “Are you going to make him sign a prenup?”

  “Mind your business.”

  “My money is my business.”

  “The judge said it’s my money now.”

  The Divorce Court had awarded Darlene half the eight-figure licensing fee that an international eyewear company paid me for the rights to sell V Shades outside the United States. A series of bad choices and defamation suit settlements had whittled the half I kept down to a mere six figures.

  “I still think you did something to that judge.”

  “All I did was have my lawyer tell her the truth about you.”

  “Ouch.”

  “That’s the same thing I said when I found out about you and Candy.”

  I had once worked a missing person case in Richmond that led me into the arms of a Norwalk Witch named Candance. She’d secretly cast a spell that made me see Beyonce whenever I looked her way. And I had to look her way a lot to return the missing father of three to his family. Unfortunately, I had been married to Darlene at the time.

  “It was the spell.”

  “It could only have been the spell if you had your glasses off. And we both know you only take them off for two reasons.”

  “Tell Olivia I’ll stop by around three.”

  Chapter 11

  I rang the doorbell of a Georgian style mansion that was nestled in the expensive woods of Philadelphia’s Roxborough enclave.

  The door was opened by a tall and handsome black man in his late twenties with intricate hieroglyphic tattoos covering his arms and neck.

  Xavier Osiris Hill was the son of Queen Nefertiti and the Pharaoh Akhenaten. I was fuzzy on the details of how he was still alive in the present day, but I was crystal clear on his supernatural ability to shapeshift into a deadly, eight-foot-tall Anubis. As with all shapeshifters, my special sight allowed me to see both of his physical forms simultaneously.

  Xavier’s Anubis form was looming behind him, unnervingly staring both of its red eyes down at me.

  “I like your new crib,” I said. “It reminds me of a beach house I visited when I was tracking down a vampire in French Polynesia.”

  Xavier checked the vicinity to confirm I had come alone.

  “I didn’t bring him with me,” I said.

  “You didn’t bring who?”

  “The vampire.”

  He looked at me. “All the vampires I know avoid oceans and saltwater because they promote decay.”

  “You callin’ me a liar?”

  “Only liars ask that question.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Isabella.”

  Isabella Osilvilic was a gypsy priestess and Xavier’s mother figure. She was something like a cross between Tony Soprano and Mother Theresa inside Philadelphia’s supernatural community.

  “Well then it must be true, Bruh. I said I was tracking a vampire, but I didn’t say I found one.”

  He smiled and ushered me into a lavishly decorated sitting room, where I found a young and slightly rotund Indian woman lounging on a loveseat. The attractive, four-armed Hindu warrior princess standing behind the loveseat made it clear that X wasn’t the only shapeshifter in the room.

  “Sajala, this is Preston. Preston, Sajala.”

  I looked back and forth between them and their magical alter egos.

  “Is there something you want to say?” Sajala asked.

  “The two of you would have made pretty babies,” I said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You’re excused”

  “Thanks, but I meant your comment about our babies.”

  I waved a hand toward each of them. “Stevie Wonder can see the electricity between the two of you. I was just remarking that you would have had beautiful children.”

  “You say that like you already know we won’t.”

  “You won’t, not together at least.”

  Sajala sat up and looked over at Xavier. “Who did you say he was?”

  Xavier sighed, an affectation I see a lot when my acquaintances attempt to explain me to someone new. “He’s the one who told me what Baynin’s fruit really was.”

  “The one who could see into different planes of existence?”

  I spoke for myself and said, “I can see every living thing in its true form, including your other side, who is standing behind you with all four of her arms extended in what I hope is an invitation for a bear hug.”

  Both of the woman’s forms narrowed their eyes at me. “How does that tell you what I’m going to do with my womb?”

  “I can see your DNA. It’s not compatible with his.”

  “Nobody can see DNA without a microscope,” she said with certainty.

  “I can,” I said with equal certainty.

  “It’s true,” Xavier said. “He can see Riva and your DNA.”

  She visibly relaxed, apparently needing no further corroboration beyond her lover’s declaration. “Guess I can return those condoms to CVS and use the money for a manicure on my second pair of hands.”

  I laughed, thinking yet again that a woman with a sense of humor is the sexiest kind of all.

  “You bought condoms for us?” Xavier asked her.

  “Search me and find out.”

  “Can I watch?” I asked.

  “What can I do for you?” Xavier asked me.

  “Actually, I came here to speak with Isabella,” I said. “But her office is not returning my calls and no one is answering the intercom at the gate outside her house.”

  Xavier and Sajala didn’t exchange a glance, but I could tell they wanted to.

  “She’s not available right now,” Xavier said.

  “Is she out of town? I can probably wait a day or two.”

  The stare Xavier gave me was the most threatening gesture I had ever seen from his human side. “Maybe I can help you.”

  I knew when to leave well enough alone. I showed them a photograph of the tattoo that every member of Naaru’s retinue had somewhere on their skin. “I was hoping she could tell me something useful about this.”

  “It’s a Seshen Gateway Glyph,” Sajala said. “At least that’s what they’re called on this plane. Every lifeform which can pass through the different realms of existence has a variation of it somewhere on them. X has a tiny one on his lower abs.”

  “First condoms and now this,” Xavier said. “You’re full of surprises today.”

  She smiled deviously.

  “What else can you tell me about it?” I asked Sajala as I typed into my smartphone’s note app.

  “No one really knows where they came from or exactly how they work, but they’ve been around forever. Like literally forever. If you search the trees near any Fae waypoint, you’ll find one of them has a symbol li
ke that carved into its bark.”

  “Do they have something to do with quantum mechanics?” I asked. “Is that why it’s called a gateway glyph?”

  “You’re asking the wrong person.”

  “Who is the right person?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Who told you about them?”

  “My mother.”

  “Who is your mother?”

  She chuckled. “You mean you can’t see her?”

  Xavier walked me to my car.

  “It’s none of my business,” I said, “but I heard through the grapevine you had your nose open for a siren out in DC.”

  “It’s complicated,” he said.

  I laughed out loud. “Complicated is a Creole word for never beating the Sun home. Keep a spare set of clothes at your homey’s house so you won’t be naked when one of them burns your whole wardrobe.”

  “You’re speaking from experience?”

  “My closet still smells like smoke.”

  His expression turned serious. “You think I can’t have kids?”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  “What’s your honest opinion based on what you see in my DNA?”

  “My honest opinion is that I just broke that girl’s heart even though she kept her game face on. But I figured I would do you a solid and save you the pain of doing it. I could see you were struggling with it.”

  “You can see emotions too?”

  “I can see the same thing on your face that she can. The difference is, I don’t ignore it.”

  “Should I be worried about this case you’re working?”

  My reply was interrupted by a hail of gunfire.

  Puffs of smoke erupted where the rounds struck Xavier’s house. Then the windows of my car were blown out, showering us with glass shards.

  “Get down!” Xavier shouted, pushing me to my knees with excruciating force.

  But he remained standing.

  From my crouch behind the safety of my car, I looked up to see several slugs bounce harmlessly off Xavier’s chest and neck. Whatever juju protected him from bullets apparently didn’t work on glass because there were two bleeding gashes on his face, one of which still had a triangular shard sticking out of it.

  “Stay here,” he told me before sprinting away.