Stained Glass: An Alexi Sokolsky Supernatural Thriller (Alexi Sokolsky: Hound of Eden Book 2)

by James Osiris Baldwin

  “Let me get my things,” I said. “I’ll go with you.”

  “You sure you’re up for this?” Zane shrugged on his heavy jacket

  “Of course.” I cracked my neck and rolled my shoulders, then carefully turned around and wobbled off back the way I came. It was absolutely a lie, but I had no choice – when it starts raining shit, you never get a trickle. It’s always a flood.

  Zane and I took the Buick, while Duke and Jenner rode behind and beside us on their hogs, visors down against the spitting rain and gusting wind. Zane chewed a toothpick, worrying it down to fibers while we cleared the city limit and hit the highway out of town. Binah was fixed to my shoulder, her flank pressed against the side of my head, meowing with excitement as she stared out the window. If pirates could have shoulder parrots, I guess I could have a cat.

  The sun was just barely warming the horizon when Zane finally spoke. “What do you think we’ll find there?”

  “Not a clue,” I replied. In the back of my mind, I was turning around the words I’d use to discuss his fight on Saturday, the one that I needed him to throw. I could be honest, and tell him what finding Celso meant to me, or I could lie and say it was about the children. For the sake of expediency, I was leaning towards the latter.

  “I’m worried,” Zane said. “Someone taking out a couple of Christian counselors is one thing. Mason… man. Mason’s a machine.”

  I opened my eyes from where I was dozing against the window. Binah was in my lap, now, sleeping in a tight, twitching ball on my knees. “I guess you must know him well.”

  “Yeah.” The big man’s jaw worked. He’d lost the toothpick by now: we’d been driving for nearly an hour. “He went to Vietnam because he wanted to fight. Joined the Marines in 1964, went to war in ’65, and stayed until 1969. He was a true believer back then, he told me. But then he met Jenner.”

  I’d been a child during the Vietnam War, far too preoccupied with the depredations of my father and my mother’s death to pay it more than cursory attention. The most significant Vietnam War-related event in my life was its end. “Is she… his wife?”

  “No. He wishes, but Jenner isn’t really the marrying type.” Zane smiled, momentarily at ease. “She was Viet Cong, though. That’s the weird thing. They started out as enemies. Jenner was really young – only sixteen or so. She was already unit commander of a rural guerilla team, and she ambushed Mason’s unit and cleared them out. Killed them all. Mason shifted to survive, and she saw it and had to shift to fight him off and protect her men. She kicked his ass and saved their lives, but then her unit and their command basically went and lynched her.”

  I shook my head in disbelief. “Humans make precious little sense.”

  “It’s a pretty common outcome for Weeders. But anyway… somehow, ages after that, she and Mason ended up running into each other in this prison camp. She’d let herself get captured, because she was planning to change and massacre the place. Mason was touring through there with intelligence looking for this one guy they needed to talk to, and he recognized her. So he set up some time with her and they talked. He learned she was an Elder, and the War was lost by then anyway, so they put things aside. He helped her escape and they went to Thailand for a while.”

  “I suppose that if you can remember multiple lives, any single war would seem foolish and transient,” I said.

  “Yeah. Being an Elder gives you a new perspective on things, I think,” Zane said. “So they organized to split together. I don’t remember the full story of how they got here, but they started the club in 1980 and kept recruiting. I found them when I started fighting. Mason and me went to Thailand together… they’re like my mom and dad.”

  I thought about the strong fraternal bond I’d shared with Vassily and was able to draw some kind of parallel. “Mm.”

  “Something has to have happened to them.” Zane was shaking his head, mouth grim, brow furrowed. “But I don’t know how. Have you figured out anything about the murders? I mean… you found Josie.”

  “I think it’s one person,” I rubbed the joint of thumb and forefinger and stared out at the dark rush of forest from the window. “An individual killer. Maybe hired, maybe on contract, maybe a summoned entity. I’m leaning towards the latter. I don’t think they’re human.”

  “What? Why?”

  “The computer,” I said. “Everything else had been trashed, including some of the older electronics. It was almost as if whoever was in there didn’t know what it was, to the point that they overlooked it completely. A demon or summoned fetch wouldn’t know what a computer did, even if they’d been instructed to break all of the telephony. It would look like a rock, or a storage hutch or something. Besides that, there’s evidence that the murderer is supernaturally strong and fast. No footprints, no fingerprints. The tendency to leave messages and codes, as well. In the age of forensic evidence, it’s… old-fashioned.”

  Zane grunted, rumbling a little in his throat. “Were there messages left at this guy’s house?”

  “Yes.” I closed my eyes, recalling the image. When I lay a hand on Binah’s back, it returned vividly. She went still under my fingers as I pet her. “The number thirteen. Two interlocked rings, each with eight marks. The last message was Biblical, so I’m inclined to say 2-16 rather than, say, ‘eighteen’. Thirteen… the thirteenth book of the Bible is 1 Chronicles. New Testament is 1 Thessalonians. Neither of those bring up any strong memories for me… nothing worth leaving a message about.”

  “Thirteen’s a gang number. But… Bible content. Four, maybe?”

  “Book four is Numbers. Again, nothing especially arresting or descriptive.”

  Zane pursed his lips. “What about the letter M? Thirteenth letter of the alphabet.”

  M, maybe. M for Mark, or M for Matthew? There were at least five Books that started with that letter. “It could be. I usually have a good memory for these sorts of things, but after tonight… I’ll have to hunt through it when we get back. I’m sure we can find a copy of the Bible somewhere.”

  “Yeah.” Zane’s heavy brow furrowed. In the darkness, he looked like a statue at the wheel. “Man. I hope Mason’s okay. If he and the two oldest Elders of the city can’t take on whatever’s there, we sure as hell can’t.”

  I sighed. “I’ve known many strong men – and several strong women – who simply ran out of luck.”

  “Maybe. Or he’s hunkered down in the forest,” Zane said. “I mean, he’s a goddamned tiger.”

  “Is that the gang motto?” I arched an eyebrow. “’We’re the goddamned Tigers?”

  “No. As in, he’s literally a white tiger. Weighs like one and a half thousand pounds.” Zane shook his head, and slowed, scanning the trailheads. Jenner ripped past us, turning her head to look, and then waved Zane on as she took a right onto an off-road track.

  I stiffened up in my seat as Binah yawned and then stood up with her paws on the dash, fixing ahead on nothing. “I thought it was a faux-pas to reveal someone’s… other form.”

  “Secrecy is what got us all into this mess. I don’t think I really care about it anymore.” Zane pulled onto the track, lighting up the way ahead as Jenner slowed down on the slippery track. “Not when people’s lives are at stake. The Fires guys think the Ka is this big holy secret. The Crew are just private about changing, for the most part. But I mean, we call ourselves the Big Cat Crew and don’t worry about it too much.”

  Binah looked up at me meaningfully. I could see her in the headlamp shining in through our rear window, though it was pitch dark outside. When our eyes met, I felt something… synapse. A brief connection, a kind of primitive understanding. She had sensed something, transferring her sense of the world to me, even though I had no magical sense of smell of my own. “There’s something out there.”

  “What?” Zane carefully steered us around a sharp turn. It felt like we were going downhill.

  “I don’t know.” I pulled my flashlight and ritual knife, the engraved one. Using magical objects wi
thout being able to do magic was probably not effective, but the grooves held the tea tree oil better than my other knife. “She feels it.”

  “Binah?” Zane rubbed the back of his head. “All-Seeing Eye Cat, right?”

  “It’s true.” I wound down the window, shining the light out, and sniffed deeply of the cold, damp air.

  Ahead of us, Jenner tapped her brake light. She pulled over to the side of the road, leaving her bike running and the headlight on, and waved us down.

  We were coming up on a clearing, with a small, sparse meadow in an area of fallen logs. I saw something with an odd shape looming in the shadows of the trees, and my hand tensed on the knife hilt as we pulled up behind her. Zane turned his headlights up, and they lit on the half-hidden form of a white Jeep parked just outside the treeline.

  Jenner broke into a run as she pulled her helmet off and threw it heedlessly behind her on her way to the half-seen car. Now that we were stationary, I could make out shapes that were closer by. There was a square block of concrete, strangely enough, and a narrow trail through the grass and fallen logs that led down a small ridge into the forest below.

  “Wait! Jenner!” Zane called out, jogging off after her.

  But she didn’t wait for us. She fled into the darkness, boots scuffing on the ground, and cried out when she reached the bottom of the trail.

  Our flashlight beams swung crazily as we ran to catch up, until light caught the gleam of chrome on the ground. It was Mason’s bike. The huge machine was toppled on its side in the mud, a helmet resting on its crown some distance away. Things had tumbled out of the leather satchels on the sides. Gloves, a wallet, plastic bags.

  “Something’s wrong. Something’s really wrong.” Jenner went to her knees beside the bike, hands hovering over the engine, the exhaust pipes, the leather of the seat. “Mason would never leave his bike like this. Never.”

  “Okay, it’s okay, Jen… look, we’ll go find him.” Duke came up beside her, rubbing her armored shoulder. She brushed him off and got to her feet. Her eyes were hard, her face taut with feral anger.

  Binah arched against my head, regarding the fallen hulk warily. I was with her. The air smelled cold, but the usual comforting, earthy aroma of forest loam seemed faded and dreary. With the smattering of rain, this place should have smelled like petrichor and pine, but it simply didn’t smell of much at all.

  While the three shifters picked over the bike, I set Binah on the ground and moved apart from them to search the area nearby. She ran ahead of me with a chirrup, bold as brass. There were boot prints, clear patches slushed out of the dewy grass, which lead down a narrow rut into the gully beyond the clearing. My cat trotted off to the left; I followed her with the flashlight beam, briefly losing her until she meowed, and I lit on her rubbing herself against the roots of a tree bulging out from the side of a dug-out hill. A round concrete frame was mounted into the scalloped side, a huge pipe-shaped entryway with an open door. The fetid smell of death blew out on a warm breeze.

  “Hey.” I called back up to them. “You should come and see this.”

  “What?” Duke called back.

  “There’s a bunker.” I took a little tube of Vicks from my jacket pocket, squeezed some out onto my fingers, and rubbed it under my nose. “And it smells like something died in there.”

  That got their attention. I had only just put the menthol rub away by the time the three of them came skittering down the path.

  “Jesus Christ,” Duke said. “That stinks.”

  I took the lead, knife held at the ready. The stench that hung thick in the air beyond the threshold was not as bad as the smell at Falkovich’s house. It was the characteristic latrine-and-stale-ground-beef smell of a relatively fresh corpse. The entry tunnel led in and down, and the air became exponentially less pleasant the further we went. I heard someone choke behind me, and turned to see Duke dash out the door to vomit noisily into the grass.

  “Get out of the way, Rex!” Jenner shoved up behind me. “That’s my old man in there!”

  “Please… hold on.” I was scanning the walls and ceiling, moving forward with cautious attention. “It could be trapped.”

  “Fuck traps!” Jenner snarled and seized the back of my jacket, jerking me off-balance. I was so tired that she’d pushed me aside by the time I got my guard up, and could do nothing but watch her stalk off into the bunker ahead of me. The entry wasn’t wide enough for the two of us to move side by side, so I followed up with my flashlight pointed at her back like a weapon.

  The tunnel ended in a small, domed room with two doors on the same wall. One was open, the other locked. Inside the open door was a room where the stench was thickest. Jenner barged ahead, while I searched the wall for a light switch. There was none, and so I turned my flashlight back to look over things as Zane stepped in beside me, his hand over his mouth.

  The bunker looked like a Cold War survivalist relic. Besides the lack of light, the interior was surprisingly modern, though Spartan. It was also quite large for a building of its type. The walls were smooth but unfinished, nothing but stained concrete. There was a shabby lounge suite interspersed with dining chairs set in a ring around a rug, a kitchenette with no visible food, and closed doors along the walls. A stack of bibles on a coffee table came into sharp relief as I swept the beam of light across. When I turned the light down to the floor, I saw something that made me pause in consternation. Bloody paw-prints that were larger than my head, the distinctive pinched triangle and jelly-beans pattern of a feline foot.

  I was headed from the first when a piercing cry of rage echoed from the open door at the other end of the underground longhouse.

  “God dammit, Rex.” Zane muttered. “GOD help us, she had to find Mason like this, of all people…”

  We drew up to the doorway to see Jenner crouched beside the bed, her mouth twisted in a pained expression of grief.

  “I… I…” Jenner was in tears, eyes huge in the beams of the flashlights. “I don’t understand.”

  Chapter 26

  The corpse of what could only be John Spotted Elk was torn open like a sacrifice, his body trapped in a hideous state between human and deer. His eyes were gone. His chest and belly were torn open, ribs cracked apart, and everything above his diaphragm was simply missing. The rest of his internal organs were scattered on the bed and floor around him. His hoof-like hands were still up by his face in a posture of defense, the dark flesh ripped open by claws.

  The mattress he lay on was gouged, the springs crazed. The mingled smell of rotting meat, urine and feces was so powerful that it made my eyes sting. As difficult as it was to think, the defensive posture of his hands, the expression on his face, his spilled abdomen and the deep puncture wounds on the side of his neck all spoke of the same thing. He’d been mauled by an animal far larger and far stronger than he was. It had happened quickly, and death had taken him by surprise.

  Numbly, I turned the torch up to check the ceiling and the wall. Above the bed was a sigil, far more crudely rendered than the one discovered over Lily and Dru’s: An eye with a blank iris drawn through with a cross. The flashlight dipped as I stared at it in dawning recognition.

  The day that Vassily had gone to prison, I’d had a dream with Zarya and this very same mark: the cross and eye. Jana, the psychotic sorceress who had tried to enslave me for an unknown Master, had displayed this symbol in her downstairs basement oratory over a blank black altar.

  “Mason… Mason wouldn’t do this,” Jenner said. She got to her feet, nearly tripping over the upended dresser behind her. “He wouldn’t do this!”

  “Jenner…” Zane called to her from the doorway.

  “He wouldn’t. He never killed anyone without good reason. Ever. He wouldn’t kill him. Neither would Michael.”

  “I know that symbol.” I also took a step back. The reek was making my face hurt. “I have spare gloves if you want to search the room… but don’t touch the body. If someone reports it, we need to make sure we can’t be tra
ced.”

  “If we tell Ayashe we found this… Oh fuck.” Jenner moved back, her hands clenched in her hair. “Mason, Michael. What the fuck?”

  “What do you mean, ‘if’?” I turned to find Zane clenching the edge of the doorframe. He was pale and sweaty. “We have to report this, Jenner. He’s the oldest fucking Elder in the city.”

  “If the Vigiles get wind of this, they’ll kill him!” Jenner said. “They’ll kill both of them. We won’t know… we won’t have any way to find out why, or… or how.”

  “We need to leave now,” Zane snapped. “This isn’t a job for us, Prez.”

  “We have to find something. This is no way for an Elder to die. Rex. Give me the gloves.” Jenner held her hand out.

  “Jenner, come on.”

  “ZANE.” Jenner flashed him a hard look over my shoulder. “Shut the fuck up and see if you can find anything in the rest of this place. Both of you. I need time to think.”

  Without a word, I passed one of my pairs of latex gloves to her, squared my shoulders, and headed for the main room.

  “This is so wrong. Fuck… I can’t believe this.” Zane scruffed his hair and pulled away from the door, coughing.

  There was no sign of the missing Spook. While Jenner sorted through the remains of the bedroom, I padded back out and did my amateurish best to put everything together. The paw prints were everywhere, meandering around the floor. There were human footprints, too. A few cupboards were smashed, a few bookshelves fallen. There were murals on the walls that I hadn’t seen on entering the bunker: Apocalyptic murals depicting nuclear war and the Rapture. The sky was gray and orange and dull red, with a formation of stars that had a crimson star glowing at the center.

  Beware the Red Star in the Morning… beware the time when the sky screams…

  They have begun the Third War, a War as old the ManLands which bore you.

  You will see the Star, HuMan Hound… He comes for you again.

  My stomach jerked. Rubbing it, I moved away to search for other clues.