by T. G. Ayer
“You, of all gods, would know that it is hopeless,” snapped Parvathi. Her eyes blazed, windows into a universe brightened only with the fires of hate. “What did your worshippers do? Forget about you, abandon you. Where are they now? Do they even remember your name? Just because some boring old historian dusts off ancient carvings that bear your word, does not mean the souls in the earthly realm give a damn. How much more belief do you think you will need in order to rise back up to the heavens?”
Parvathi’s words rang out around the room and Brahma had to admit that even he had experienced the impact of them. She’d mentioned the one thing that could get to them all.
The banishment from the heavens.
All the gods at the table shared the same yearning; to go home to where they belonged.
But the passing of time, the waning of faith, and the strengthening of demonic power, all combined with the age of Kaliyug, had only served to ensure the gods’ entry to the house of heaven remained tightly shut and nigh on impenetrable.
Brahma scanned the faces circling the table and felt his stomach drop. They were taken with her words, and he feared he was losing hold of them.
He cleared his throat. “Grief is a palpable thing, my dear sister. Do not let it control your emotions, or blind you to the truth.”
Brahma felt horrible for using her pain against her but it had to be done. A few nods here and there around the table told him they’d swayed to his point.
Relieved, he continued, “We all are abandoned too. But even in His absence we cannot lose hope. The souls we care so deeply for are hardened to us. But would you turn your back on your children if they turned theirs on you? Or would you continue to be there for them in the belief that the day will come when they will return to our arms?”
Brahma scanned the table again and began to circumnavigate them.
“What would you do if one day those souls turned their shining hearts back to us? What would you do if they prayed, and we did not hear? What would you do if their cries are not heard and they sever themselves from us permanently?”
More nods and sober expressions.
“Hanuman must continue his work, fighting the battles as they come. Krishna . . .” Silence throbbed in the room at the mention of the god’s name, “Krishna is a perfect example of how the loss of faith can ruin us.”
“He is not beyond saving,” snapped Kali.
Brahma nodded. “We know he isn’t.”
“And Narasimha?”
At the mention of the god’s name a blanket of cold fell upon the room as if winter had decided to visit. Brahma glanced up and met Yama’s eyes. The god of death now vibrated with anger.
“What happened to Narasimha was his own fault.”
Yama leaned forward, pointing a finger at his own chest. “I am the wielder of justice. If he had needed punishment, I should have been the one to mete it out. Yet you and Shiva saw fit to take over.”
Brahma shook his head. “It was more than the actions of a single god and you know it.” Brahma knew Yama was angry, but the god was also well aware of why Narasimha had taken his leave. And a deposed god was a dangerous thing. Slightly less dangerous given the almost non-existent faith in him, but dangerous nonetheless.
Though Narasimha had pledged himself to silent contemplating and good works, Brahma was waiting to see what happened next.
“We have a faction on our hands,” said Hanuman softly, as if to remind the gathered gods of the reason they’d called the meeting in the first place.
Brahma stilled a sigh. He’d always found it hard to maintain control of a crowd, especially a resistant one. “Yes. One, it seems, we are unable to control.” He inhaled sharply. “You all need to know what we are facing. And that we have put things in place which will allow us to attack them from an entirely unexpected end.”
Kali glanced Brahma’s way. She knew of the plan. Had been the one to suggest it in the first place. But discretion was of the utmost importance for the girl to succeed.
“What things?” asked Parvathi, for the first time appearing interested.
Brahma shook his head. “I can’t divulge this information yet. The mission is underway, we have people in place that are executing their individual orders as we speak.”
Parvathi surged to her feet, a sea of darkness swirling in her eyes. “You are withholding information from us when we have every right to know about it?” Her skin was flushed, anger feeding rage in a maelstrom of emotion.
Dharamraj leaned toward her and patted her arm. “Perhaps, my dear, it is best we do not know. We may influence the integrity of this . . . mission should we accidentally divulge information. As much as we’d like to believe otherwise we are, in fact, all too fallible.”
Parvathi flashed a furious gaze at him. “Are you saying you think I’d leak information on the mission?”
He shook his head. “Of course I’m not saying that. What I am saying is that I could leak it, you could leak it. He,” he pointed at the god Agni who gave a single sober nod, his dark mustache twitching, “could leak it. We have no idea when, or where, any one of us may encounter the source of the leak. Should the mission still become compromised we will know where the mole is situated and enable Hanuman, Brahma and their teams to eradicate it faster. Add us all to the mix and it would be impossible to locate the source of that leak.”
Parvathi sat slowly, her expression calming somewhat. “I apologize for my outburst. What you are saying does make sense.”
She inhaled slowly, her chest rising and falling, but Brahma was no fool. He knew Shiva’s wife was a dangerous link in their chain. Having her watched would have to be sufficient for now. Not that he suspected her of being the mole. He only believed that the goddess was now driven mostly by emotion, which would influence much of her decision-making.
At least until Shiva decided to return.
Brahma rolled his shoulders, hoping to relieve the tension in his muscles. He’d been on the earthly plane long enough to become accustomed to normal human ailments, and he felt a deep sorrow for the burden humanity bore; pain, illness, suffering, all things gods were immune to.
All things gods were no longer immune to.
If they did not succeed, it would be the beginning of the end.
If the girl did not succeed, the gods would all die.
7
It was nearing sunrise when Vee wrapped a paper mask around her face and tied the two sets of strings behind her head. She’d pulled on rubber gloves and slipped into a spare lab coat from the hook near the doors that Max had nodded at on her very first visit.
She gave Syama a glance. The hellhound stood guard at the entrance to the room, watching her with liquid eyes, and would remain there, even if the door was closed.
Syama was familiar enough with the autopsy room to know that there was little chance of any danger to Vee, having already sniffed the room out for potential threats—demonic, magical or otherwise.
As Vee approached the steel autopsy table, suitably clothed and masked, her stomach let out a loud growl. Max and Jo responded with mild laughter, both understanding too well the pain of going hungry when the job demanded immediate results.
“There’s a PB&J in the fridge if you’d like,” Jo offered, her blonde head bent as she unzipped the black body bag, revealing the pale face of the dead girl.
“Not a chance.” Vee snorted, the idea of appeasing her hunger making her want to hurl. She’d seen enough in her life to not be nauseated at the sight of blood and guts, but usually her association with gore was limited to times when she’d had to fight demons and dead things, both of which possessed blood or guts, in some combination, though not of the type to turn her stomach.
Cutting up a human body?
Something else entirely.
She stood to one side, making sure she wasn’t in the way of either Max or his petite, ponytailed assistant. Jo Hawking, or Just Jo, with her bubbly personality and her bright smile, was both the most unlikely morgue as
sistant, and probably the best that Max could ask for.
Vee watched as the girl stood at Max’s side, passing tools and implements before he could ask for them. They moved together in a silent dance, clipping away the girl’s clothes and untying her plastic-wrapped hands. Vee could have told them not to bother with fingernail scrapings—with what she’d seen from the residual imprints confirming the girl hadn’t touched her killer—but she knew they’d do it anyway as a matter of procedure.
With the wounds bared, Max reached for the bright lamp above him, his graying hair giving him an erroneously feeble mien. He shifted the light to direct it onto the dead girl’s abdomen, then used a ruler to measure the wounds, holding it in place as Jo snapped off half a dozen photographs for evidence.
The white of the flash brightened the room, throwing stark light onto the four occupants, making Max look far more ancient than his sprightly sixties. “From the depth of the cuts, and the damage to the flesh, I’d guess these wounds were caused by some type of animal. Very likely a large feline.”
Ice sluiced through Vee’s veins as she sucked in a soft breath. A feline? Like a lion? The hairs on the back of her neck rose stiffly as she recalled the residual image she’d seen at the scene. Half man, half lion. No distinctive weapon in his hand as he slashed the girl open.
Despite her fatigue, Vee tried to concentrate on Max as he studied the glistening flesh for a moment before picking up a pair of long-nosed tweezers. With a gloved finger, he pressed the edge of one of the gashes, opening the wound wide enough for him to slip the ends of the tweezers inside.
When he withdrew them, Vee frowned. Between the tips of the tweezers was a tiny pale object. Max pursed his lips. “Looks like a piece of the claw broke off. Must have hit bone to snap off like that.” He squinted as he held the object up to the light and peered at it.
“Are you certain this is animal-inflicted?” asked Vee as she studied what looked like an off-white piece of broken bone. When Max murmured his confirmation, Vee found herself recalling the distorted face of the lion man again. If she herself couldn’t fathom the meaning of this, she’d hate to see how Monroe would react to the discovery.
“I’ll get this up to the lab. Shouldn’t take too long to get some DNA off it.” Max dropped the piece of bone into the waiting plastic jar, held in place by the ever-efficient Jo. She screwed on the lid then pulled a sheet from a bound tablet of printed forms and began to record the tests required.
Vee sighed as she stepped away. She’d gotten what she needed from the autopsy. No need to stay for the rest of the gore. “Thanks, Max. Can you let me know the results?” she asked as she untied her mask and ripped off the gloves. She tossed both into the hazardous materials bin behind her.
“You’ll be the first to know,” Max said, giving her a short nod before returning to his work.
Vee had no doubt she’d be the first to be told. She shrugged out of the lab coat and returned it to the hook on the wall before leaving Max and Jo to their dissection.
At first, she’d thought Max’s enthusiasm in sharing information with her was because of her FBI status, but having worked with him for the last few months she knew she must have proven herself, no doubt with repeated, albeit uncanny, success. Enough to earn Max’s trust. Despite his amenable air, Max didn’t hand out trust to everyone who walked into his lab. That was something you earned no matter who you were.
Now, Vee was keen to get back home as fatigue began to take its toll. Time often dragged within the lab and when she glanced at her phone she saw it was already eight in the morning.
She’d need to report in to Rossi and catch up with her enigmatic informant Karan; one more urgently than the other. Karan, for a snitch, was certainly demanding of her time, but he held sway over Vee and the team because of the accuracy of his tip-offs.
Gift horse and all that.
They’d met only once before, in a coffee shop of all places, and Vee had been intrigued by his dark brooding looks, and wary of the power that seemed to emanate from him. He’d held himself the way a man did when he was born to power, a little bit of arrogance spilling over into his expression and his tone.
Some old Beatles music had played on the system while Karan had explained to her that there was more to existence than what humanity knew or saw.
He’d certainly had no idea what she’d seen of the universe and of existence itself. Something she’d have to enlighten him of in some future coffee-shop conversation, but she’d nodded and listened as he’d explained his position and the reason he wanted to help.
Apparently he had powers. Powers much stronger than Vee’s own inherited, or learned, ones.
She’d been unimpressed but she had refrained from showing it, only because he was offering her inside information on paranormal crime in the city. And perhaps because he was good to look at. Vee wasn’t the type to engage in inter-office romances, but she still prided herself on having an eye to detect hot men.
Pity not all hot men were actually nice men.
Although when she’d asked him who he was and how he knew such significant information, he’d evaded the question and insisted that she needed his cooperation, and he hers.
In the end, she’d tentatively agreed and they’d settled into a comfortable working relationship.
She hadn’t seen him since.
Vee left the autopsy room, closing the door behind her. A soft shush echoed as the heavy door closed onto the contained air of the room, taking with it the pungent odor of chemicals, as well as the reek of death.
With the corridor empty, Vee glanced down to Syama who rose from her haunches slowly, as if to make it clear that she wasn’t at anyone’s beck and call.
The hellhound trotted to Vee’s side and glanced up at her. “HQ, please,” she spoke so softly that even someone standing next to her wouldn’t hear her.
But the hellhound’s ears would pick up every sound.
Syama shifted them into a back room of the small off-the-books facility, and Vee headed off to see Rossi.
He was going to love this one.
8
After the stop at HQ for a couple of hours—meetings were the worst—Vee headed over to the coffee shop, eager to get the meet over and done with. She didn’t trust Karan. Didn’t know who he was, or why he saw fit to help them. But Assistant Director Rossi wasn’t questioning the informant’s motivations. Vee’s chief and his bosses were only too happy to have new cases on the books that were very soon marked as solved.
Vee wasn’t entirely sure those cases would be so easily solved without her though. Not that she was being in any way arrogant. It was her ability to read the scene that had helped them solve so many normal human-related crimes. Only recently had Rossi agreed to branch out into supernatural crime.
That route had more than likely been taken because Vee had been stupid enough to allow him to catch her red-handed. She’d teleported to a job once, without checking if it was clear. Granted, she’d been super pissed off after a fight with her mom, but she should have been more careful.
Instead, she’d materialized two feet in front of Rossi. With Syama, no less. It was possible he was a latent aural reader because he’d stared at Syama in shock, without saying a word. She had to give the man props though. He hadn’t fainted. Nor did he lose his shit. In fact, he’d been so calm that she’d suspected he’d had a stroke.
But no. Those wheels in his brain had been spinning at lightning speed. And the very next day he’d put the offer on the table.
Special Agent in Charge, New York Division, FBI Supernatural Investigative Unit, Codename RED DAWN.
Stupid name.
Did they think the team was going to be battling vampires and bloodsucking demons all day? It was a dumb name but after a short argument with Rossi, Vee had bitten her tongue. He’d said that even he hadn’t had a choice and that he’d agreed with her. But neither of them could do anything about it. She could have sworn the man had been amused at her fury.
&nb
sp; Vee instructed Syama to wait outside and entered the coffee shop. As she weaved her way amongst the tables, she hid a smile. A young redhead tapping away at her keyboard glanced up from her laptop with a faraway look in her eye. Vee smiled, but the girl didn’t notice as she stared off into the distance, then focused on the keys with a renewed passion.
Thesis? Article? Novel?
Didn’t matter. Most writers looked the same while writing anyway—focused, distracted, dreamy and passionate, all at the same time. There was an aura of intensity around them, just like with this girl, her eyes shining feverish and filled with a passion unseen, even the dark hair knotted haphazardly on the top of her head glowed the same way her aura did.
Vee skirted the girl’s table, careful not to bump the laptop and took her seat opposite her snitch. Today he wore a long charcoal coat, a Nehru neckline, with hand-woven patterns that created a wide border around the neck and down the front of the lapels to the hem. Inside, he wore a silky black shirt and a pair of black pants that fit him so well they had to be tailored.
Either he came from money, or he’d stolen it because nobody looked this good by paying with good looks and sexy smiles. Vee hoped the meeting wouldn’t be a long one. After Kort’s amorous attentions she needed a shower.
She lifted her gaze and met a pair of piercing black eyes. Black as granite. He tilted his head to the side. “What news do you have for me?” Pale blue light from the washed out morning skies outside clashed with the artificial overhead lighting, bringing his sharp features into stark contrast. For a second Vee’s vision faltered, an image shimmering, flooding her consciousness, an image too intense to comprehend.
She blinked it away, chalking it up to too much aural reading and not enough rest. Steadying herself, she lifted an eyebrow at Karan and waited. She was here to update him as a courtesy and yet he behaved as if he controlled the whole op. Her annoyance was slowly turning into something stronger. Not quite anger, though. Not yet.
