The Thin Black Line Between Infernal and Divine

by Andrew Seiple

  He threw up on the snake. In between heaves he caught a brief glimpse of Kingsley, with a metal post in her hand, prodding the sodden remains of the hag.

 

  “Blaaarrrrrgh!” He coughed and spat.

  The serpent furled its crest.

  “Yes,” he managed, before coughing out more bile. “Carrots? Oh come on. I didn't even eat— BLARGGGGHHHH!”

  CHAPTER 7

  Kingsley sighed as Coleman collected himself. She'd hoped that smashing the pot would free him, and that had been the case. The hag seemed well and truly dead, and she dropped the post she'd used to good effect a minute ago.

  “Snakes,” Jamie intoned, “Why'd it have to be snakes?”

  came the voice that she didn't hear with her ears.

  “He wishes,” Kingsley grinned. “So Galeru, huh? What are you doing here?”

 

  “Give him a minute. He got a faceful of her smell, it looks like.”

  The serpent bobbed and nodded, and she studied it. “So. This man who took your pipes... he's playing them now? That's the Baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa sound I'm hearing?”

 

  “Dreamers. Like Jamie?”

  Jamie looked up, and hid a taxidermied bunny guiltily behind his back. “I didn't do anything.”

  “You saved my butt kid, that's worth a bunny to me. Keep it.”

  “Really?” The kid grinned. The bunny went in a pocket, dread in every bit of its body language.

  The serpent answered Kingsley.

  “Okay...” Kingsley popped her gun free of its holster, and slid her last clip in. Only a few bullets. Well, she'd just play it by ear, wouldn't be the first time. “Can you describe the perp?”

 

  “That's, uh, not exactly helpful,” said Moynahan.

 

  “Two? Okay...”

 

  “You've lost me there,” Kingsley said. She looked to Moynahan, who spread his hands and shook his head.

  She shrugged back. “Come on, let's go. You can lead the way, Galeru-of-this-place?”

 

  Moynahan squinted. “Scales. Are they rainbow colored?”

 

  “Kind of. Actually, when we get a minute I'd like to talk—”

  Kingsley held up a hand. “Afterwards, Rookie. Galeru-of-this-place, just show us the way. We'll take it from there.”

  The feathered serpent slid across the floor, and they followed.

  And as they did, things got weirder.

  They went up a flight of stairs that shifted position and proportion as they went, seeming to breathe as they expanded and contracted. They crossed through a room where water streamed from the floor up to flood the ceiling, and skeletons of fish and other sea life chased each other through the upside down ocean. At one point they moved through a hallway where music had colors and patterns. But Galeru-of-this-place kept a slithering course and never hesitated, so they ignored the scenery and kept up.

  They came to a tower room that flashed with odd light. The pattern in the floor reflected to the ceiling, and the walls were a sheer black, as if they were made from obsidian. In the center of it was a large symbol, carved into the floor with glowing light. It was a dreamcatcher, and in the center of the web a woman sat playing a long pipe. She didn't stop playing, not even to draw breath. The woman's skin was light brown, her hair black and straight, and she wore silver-rimmed glasses. Her calfskin dress was embroidered with beads and symbols, and her eyes were lost in some sort of trance. She was wearing tennis shoes and white socks that had no place with the rest of her costume.

  Over her stood a man with skin as brown as a nut, with a full gray beard. His eyes were sharp and twinkling and gold. He was wiry and had a strange stance, as if standing upright was a thing he rarely indulged in. His only garment was a furry pelt wrapped around him, with the head and muzzle draped over his own head like a hood. As they watched, he dipped his head so that his face fell into shadow, and the pelt almost seemed to open its eyes.

  The teeth were still on the pelt, Kingsley noticed.

  Then Moynahan stepped forward. “Old Man Coyote.”

  The old man cackled.

  Coleman looked toward him. “Who?”

  “Low-grade deity. Trickster type. This joker gets up to trouble like you wouldn't believe. I did a paper on him a few years back.”

  “Dude, you're naked,” Jamie said. “Put some pants on, man.”

  “Pants?” Old Man Coyote's voice was high-pitched and wobbled, but full of an infectious joy. “I need no pants! Damn the pants, full speed ahead!”

  “Yeah,” Moynahan went on, “There's good aspects of Coyote. But this isn't the kind Coyote, or the serious Coyote who helps his people. This is the stubborn, foolish, horny one who gets drunk and does stupid stuff. The head shaman of the reservation I visited had nothing but bad things to say about him.”

  “Hey! I can hear you!” Old Man Coyote scratched his beard. “Perhaps that means my wife here should play louder. Play louder, woman!”

  She tried, but the volume didn't increase by much.

  Galeru-of-this-place poked his head up.

  “What, these?” Old Man Coyote pulled what looked like a jeweled sash out of his pelt. Glittering and twisting in the odd light, they caught the eye and held it with a myriad of colors. Kingsley felt the tug, felt the urge to flick on angelsight and view the order of it...

  She resisted. She had the feeling that she would be there a while if she did that, caught in the glory of their order.

  Instead, she asked “Why?”

  “What why?” Old Man Coyote said. “We made a bargain. I kept my end.”

 

  “Well, I told you I would give them back when I was done cleaning them. I'm not done yet. And why are you not soup, foolish serpent?”

 

  Old Man Coyote laughed. “Oh, you killed my other wife? Well good, it would have been ugly babies anyway. And that breath, whoooo!”

  Kingsley heard Coleman starting to gag behind her. She pushed horrible mental images from her mind. “No, I mean why are you doing all this?”

  “Ha, it is simple. Well no, it is complicated. But since you are very stupid, I will tell you what is happening. I am fixing my mistake.”

  “Mistake?” Kingsley asked.

  Old Man Coyote wrung his hands, and nodded. His face betrayed long-suffering. “Yes, I know, it is hard to believe. But I once made a mistake. Long ago, death was not what it is now. People could come and go as they pleased, between living and dead. I told them to stop that. Living should be living, and dead should be dead. Otherwise people would fill up the land!”

  “Well duh,” Jamie said.

  Old Man Coyote grinned. “You understand! Smart child. I will find you a wife. You should have more smart children when you are a man. Anyway, the people disagreed with me. So they built a lodge, where the dead cou
ld come to be alive again.”

  “Wait,” said Jamie. “Didn't you just say that people could come and go between life and death already? Why would they need a lodge for that if they could already do it?”

  “Who is telling this story?” Old Man Coyote shouted, his face disappearing under the pelt. It almost seemed to snarl, as the light twisted. “I take it back! You are very stupid after all! I had hopes, since your skin is brown. But no, you are white in spirit.”

  “Dude, not cool,” Jamie said. “You're kind of racist.”

  “Shut up. Anyway, they put a feather on the lodge. When someone died, it would turn bloody. And the people would see the bloody feather and come and sing, and the dead would ride the whirlwind to the lodge. And the people would sing them alive.”

  “All right,” said Kingsley. “So what did you do?”

  “Hee... I waited until a whirlwind came, and I shut the door. And so the whirlwinds carry the dead forever.” He glanced over his shoulder, looked around at nothing. Then he turned back to them and smiled, laying a hand on the pipe-player's head. “But she is helping me change that.”

  “Who is she?” Kingsley asked.

  “Some woman. Sought to be a shaman. Called me up. Got more than she expected.” He shrugged. “Her pups will be smarter than she.”

  “Poor kid,” Coleman said.

  “Ah, but she plays well,” Coyote smiled. “And with this borrowed dream medicine, I can change the story. The dead of the people will be able to come back now.”

  “How does that help you?” Kingsley asked.

  “Well when I told the people no more dead returning, I meant it! But we did not plan for a whole horde of white people to come out of nowhere and kill us! Now my people are few. But when the dead start to come back, my people will grow in number again, so that they can take this land back! And then maybe some of your land too, see how you like it.”

  Kingsley looked over to Galeru-of-this-place. “Can he do that?”

 

  “Uh.” Moynahan shook his head. “This magic deals with dreams, right?”

 

  “So what kind of dreams of the dead have we been through lately? The dead rising are a source of fear in modern myths. I don't think he'd grant his people the resurrection he wants. I think he'd curse his people to rise as zombies. That's the trick with aboriginal dreaming, you don't always get what you want. You aren't the only dreamer out there.”

  Kingsley shuddered. “It makes a horrible kind of sense. Ah, Coyote, I think this is gonna go bad for everyone. Dreams of the dead are not so nice these days. I think you need to stop. This is one of those plans.”

  “Hee hee hee! No. Soon the dream will spread, and I will have enough powerful dreamers to make this work through the land. You may as well go home. It will all be done in a night or two.” Coyote's teeth were sharp as he smiled.

  She raised her gun and fired at him. Moynahan and Jamie jumped at the report, which echoed through the chamber.

  Nothing happened.

  “Fool of a woman!” Coyote laughed. “I planned for this. I knew stupid white people would try to stop me. Only creatures of the dream can pass through this medicine I made!” He indicated the design below. “Nothing else will pass.”

  She looked over to the serpent. “Galeru-of-this-place? Anything you can do here?”

  The serpent shook his head from side to side.

  Kingsley looked to her team, and beckoned them in. “All right, group huddle.” Once together, she glanced over to Moynahan. “Okay Rookie, what's the play?”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah. You know this guy better than we do.”

  “Um...” He gnawed his lip. “Old Man Coyote... He's no fighter, but he set things up so we can't fight. He's kind of a thief, a con artist. Clever but proud.”

  “Focus,” Coleman rumbled. “In the stories, how is he beaten?”

  “Well, he kind of beats himself. He's his own worst enemy.”

  Kingsley nodded. “Alright. That works. Gods like this are all about stories, so if we build a way for him to shoot himself in the foot, he'll have to take it.” An idea occurred to her then, a horrible, wonderful idea. “And I think I know how to kick this off...”

  After a quick whispered conversation, they had about three fourths of a plan. Old Man Coyote watched with amusement, after he pulled a hip flask from his pelt and drank it deep.

  Finally, Kingsley straightened up. “So, Coyote, we think you're full of ploobst.”

  The old man squinted. “What is this you say?”

  “Ploobst. You know, that stuff that happens after you eat. When you move your bowels.”

  “Dung?” He said. He scratched his pelt.

  “No, not that. Like that, but ruder. What's the word?”

  “Ah. You mean shit!”

  Jamie, Moynahan, Kingsley, and Coleman all put their hands to their mouths, and spoke in unison: “Ooooooooooommmmmm...”

  Old Man Coyote stared at them. “What are you doing?”

  The echoing sound of footsteps came from the hall. Large footsteps.

  “WHO'S THAT SWEARING?” A screeching, cacophonous voice shrieked.

  The ears on Old Man Coyote's pelt drooped. “What have you summoned?” He whispered.

  A shadow fell across the group, and the Agents parted to one side, with Jamie and Galeru sliding to the other. “Miss Loomis,” said Jamie. “She don't hold with no swearing.”

  “YOU!” The she-beast screeched, as she heaved herself through the door. Half again as large as Pot Tilter had been, and twice as ugly. “YOU NEED YOUR MOUTH WASHED OUT WITH SOAP! NAUGHTY BOY!”

  “And technically, you summoned her.” Kingsley smiled. “Have fun with that.”

  And then they sat back and watched the fur fly. Literally.

  EPILOGUE

  “That's the full report?” Director Carceri asked.

  “For the most part, sir.” Coleman nodded. “Jamie sent the taxidermy dream bunny in to grab the rainbow scales while Coyote was distracted, and once they were retrieved, Galeru was able to wake Miss Yellow Moon and start restoring the songlines of the city's dreaming. Whatever those are.”

  “We got Jamie some ice cream afterward. He's down getting power testing now.” Kingsley smiled. “We couldn't capture Old Man Coyote, but I didn't expect to. When a trickster god decides to bug out, they bug the heck out.”

  “And Sarah Yellow Moon?”

  Kingsley's voice got an edge to it. “Currently down in medical getting checked out. We took a few minutes to fully explain to her why it's a bad idea to listen to trickster gods. Or to summon things you can't fucking control, that are capable of messing with your mind to get their way. I hate these cases. Smart and talented enough to do actual magic, but dumb enough to think it solves more problems then it causes. We'll be seeing a lot of her, I think.”

  The Gray Man nodded, taking a pull from his cigarette. “Indeed. But then, incidents and cases like this are why we were founded.” He sighed. “Well. All's well that ends well, I suppose.”

  “Yes sir,” Kingsley nodded.

  “Good work. Dismissed.”

  They swung by the medical wing on their way out, and Moynahan stirred as they walked into his room. His face and arms were plastered with bandages, and he had an IV drip in one wrist. “Hey.”

  “Hey yourself. How long are you on bedrest?”

  “Doc says two days,” Moynahan let his head sag into the pillow. “I'll see those birds in my sleep.”

  “I don't doubt it,” Coleman said. He pulled up a chair, eased himself into it. “Still want to be MRB?”

  The young man looked over to him. “I don't know. Don't feel I was much use out there.”

  “You did okay, kiddo,” Kingsley said, moving in closer and ruffling his hair. “Saved o
ur asses in the graveyard, got the victims free of their predicament. And you ID'd the native stuff in the museum. Oh, and figured out Old Man Coyote's weakness. Not bad for your first day.”

  “Well yeah, but I don't have any powers, or anything like-”

  Kingsley slapped him. “Don't.”

  “What?” He put a hand up. “What did I say?”

  “Don't apologize for being human. Don't ever. Because humans? Humans are pretty badass, kiddo. There's a reason that the supernatural critters kept quiet, before they had no choice but to step out of the shadows. They fear us. And that suits me just fine.”

  Moynahan blinked. “You think I did good? Then yeah. Yeah, I guess I'll stay.”

  “Good. Oh, and by the way, you need a new nickname,” Coleman rumbled. “And I think we've got just the one. You've earned it, after all.”

  Coleman stood, and offered his hand. “Welcome aboard, Agent Rook.”