Ward

by C Bilici

  He seemed to contemplate it before dismissing the idea and pressing her to move on to the next location.

  They stood at the front door of a house that looked like a cottage.

  Stacey took a deep breath. “Are you sure this gunk you sprayed on me is going to work?”

  Fenton gave her a deadpan stare. “It will work.”

  She didn’t feel convinced, but knocked anyway. An eclectic looking middle-aged woman wearing a big, knit poncho over a flowing brightly coloured dress opened.

  “Hello, mother.”

  “Daughter. Long time no see.” The woman embraced Stacey before noticing Fenton. “Ooh, and you’ve come bearing gifts.” She looked Fenton up and down. “I approve. You may enter.” She shoved Stacey through the door before holding her hand out to Fenton. “And who might you be?”

  He took her hand gingerly and smiled. “Fenton Wendell, Mrs—”

  “Miss Trampler,” she said with a cheeky grin. “But you may call me Donna.”

  “Donna.” Fenton smiled wide and put his other hand gently on the back of hers. “A pleasure to meet you.”

  Donna turned to Stacey and cocked an eyebrow. “Oh, he’s good.”

  Stacey rolled her eyes. “So good I may puke again,” she muttered.

  “What was that, young lady?” Donna said, leading Fenton inside.

  “I said, why don’t you put the kettle on, mother.”

  “An excellent idea. Tea or coffee, Mr Wendell?”

  “Fenton, please. And tea would be splendid.”

  “Tea it is. Daughter, might you assist your ailing old mother?”

  That was her mother’s code for, come and speak to me in private. Stacey had only just sat down and made herself comfortable, weary from the day’s events. She stood with a huff and followed. “Make yourself at home, please,” she said to Fenton, trying not to sound too bitchy and failing on purpose.

  She watched from the kitchen as Fenton looked the room over. There were paintings and photos about the walls, all her mother’s work. He looked at the largest of the paintings. It was a multitude of colours. It almost looked like an eye but ran vertically, reminding her a bit of the amulet she’d seen around his neck. He looked at a small printed rectangle beneath the painting on the wall that she knew said Flower, self-portrait, 2005, oil on canvas, D. Trampler. His expression shifted from confusion to an almost embarrassed realisation. He stood straighter and looked around for something else to take his attention.

  “Score one for the Trampler women,” Stacey said with a grin as her mother made a show of noisily retrieving mugs.

  “So, what’s the deal with charming British Beach Boy?” Donna whispered conspiratorially. “Has your little,” she drew a triangle in the air with her fingers, “become a square now?”

  “Eww, Mum. He’s old enough to be my dad.” The thought was beyond comprehension to Stacey.

  “He could be given I don’t remember your father,” Donna joked, smirking. “Him though, I think I’d remember.”

  “Oh, gross, Mum.”

  Donna chuckled. “But really. What’s going on? You seem different. Not yourself.”

  Stacey felt the sting of tears in her eyes and a sob escaped her throat. She was again dumbstruck, something that didn’t happen often.

  “I’m a private security agent.” Both women turned to look at Fenton who stood in the doorway behind them, all charm gone, arms crossed, looking very businesslike. “Your daughter’s lovers have been kidnapped by a terrorist cell. One of her friends and a work colleague were murdered in relation to it only a short time ago.”

  Donna looked stunned. She wrapped her arms about Stacey tightly.

  “She couldn’t involve the police so sought out my expertise. I’ve had extensive dealings with this sort of thing before.”

  Donna looked Fenton up and down as if to say his appearance spoke of ineptitude rather than experience.

  “Despite my appearance, Donna, I have a wealth of knowledge when it comes to these matters. I have a very good track record.”

  Donna blinked. “So you’re, what? SAS?” The man just stood there, stone faced. “MI5?”

  “I couldn’t tell you even if I were.”

  “Why on Earth would terrorists kidnap Paul and Jasper?” Donna shook her head.

  “Mum, that’s not—”

  “Hostages,” Fenton cut her off. “And your daughter saw the whole thing and they somehow managed to track her to her place of work. Luckily for her, I had also. But not soon enough.” Fenton’s face contorted in anger, the muscles in his neck and arms tensing.

  Donna could only shake her head. “And you’re here because—”

  “Because you need to leave town, Mum,” Stacey said. “Go to Grandma’s. Go to David’s. Anywhere. Just far away from here.”

  David had been her mother’s on and off long time lover and friend, living in an artist commune on some far off island. Stacey’s grandmother, on the other side of the country. Australia had that going for it at least. Given a situation like this, one could get lost. How many could say they’d been in situations like this, though?

  “But—”

  “No buts, Donna,” Fenton said, serious-charming again. He walked up to her and put his hands on her upper arms, looked her in the eyes. “Your daughter is in grave peril. They could use you as leverage. If anything were to happen to you or her friends she would be completely lost. We can’t have that.”

  “No. No, we can’t.” Donna looked around to Stacey and then turned to give Fenton an angry look only a mother could. “You better have more than just charm and flirtation up your sleeves to protect my daughter, Mr Wendell,” she said sternly.

  He gave her a knowing smirk. “Donna, you have no idea.”

  She stared a moment longer and then nodded. “Nevertheless. Stacey is coming with me,” she said sternly. “You can find Paul and Jasper on your own.”

  “What? Mum, no!” How could Stacey explain?

  “I don’t care how good he says he is, Stacey, these people have kidnapped two people, and killed another two. End of discussion.”

  “I agree completely,” Fenton said.

  Stacey glowered at Fenton. “What the fuck?”

  “Except for the fact that they have tagged your daughter with a radioactive isotope and can track her wherever she goes.” He stared the woman dead in the eyes. She didn’t flinch. “The only reason we can be here at the moment is because I have applied a masking agent to her, but it will only last a short time. Time we do not have.”

  Donna clearly couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “This is a joke, right? There’s no way this could be happening. Tell me you’re joking, Stacey. This is some sort of stupid prank, isn’t it?”

  Stacey’s eyes welled with tears again. “Tammy and Justin are dead, Mum! The kindergarten burnt to the ground, Justin with it. I watched him die in front of my eyes. And Paul and Jasper are gone and I can’t—” Stacey felt herself trembling, fighting a losing battle with her grief.

  Donna shook her head in disbelief. “I don’t believe you. I don’t want to believe you!”

  Stacey pushed her mother angrily into the living room. Snatching up a remote, she turned the TV on, searched for a news program she couldn’t find. The remote flew across the room, parts scattering as it hit the wall.

  “This isn’t a fucking joke, Mum!” She was crying in full now. “I’m scared shitless. For you. For Paul and Jasper. For myself. If there was any other way…” She dropped to a crouch, hands over her face. Her mother came to her side to comfort her.

  Stacey heard Fenton walk away, the front door gently opening and closing.

  * * *

  Stacey hugged her arms as she watched Donna drive away. She shook her head and wiped tears away with the ball of her hand, cigarette in her fingers shaking. “Now can we find Paul and Jasper? I don’t think I can take losing anyone else.”

  “Yes. We can start looking.”

  She turned to him with a stern look
on her face. She took a pull on the smoke and puffed. “How?”

  “As I said, we have to go see someone.”

  “Alright. Let’s get back in the car and—” Fenton pulled a face that said she didn’t know what she was talking about. “What now?”

  “We can’t drive there.”

  “Okay, so you teleport us there, or whatever the fuck it is you do.”

  “I can’t. I expended too much of my power.”

  “Are you fucking serious?” Arms akimbo, she shook her head. “What, you need a recharge? A cup of tea, a scone and a fucking nanna nap?” she snapped.

  “Essentially, yes. If only it was as mundane as a cup of tea and a sleep, though.”

  “So, what do you need then?”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  FIONA HAD PUT on all her gear and made preparations for her work. All her tools were laid out the way she liked them and she was dressed the part, her partner eagerly awaiting. She didn’t like it when they were too eager. It always made her worry that they may have a deviant streak. She often wondered what that made her.

  Fiona looked down at the naked girl on the trolley.

  The police wanted this one done ASAP, putting a rush on it. The cause of death was obvious, even to the untrained eye. But everything outside of that was bizarre beyond belief. Beyond anything she had ever seen or even heard of.

  As a medical examiner, she had seen some grisly stuff in her time, but she always got satisfaction from the closure that her job provided. This, though… This was just a bundle of more questions. This poor girl’s family would not get the quick closure they deserved and she worked so hard to provide.

  Looking at the girl, neither had she.

  Fiona stood at the girl’s side waiting for her assistant to get his own gear on. They transferred her body to the examination table when he eventually joined her. She switched on the overhead lamp and a digital mike that hung swinging from a cord.

  “Fiona Redfern conducting coroner’s office examination of subject Tamara Miyuki Kawagami. Female. Age twenty-three.”

  She continued with the details, pulled back the sheet to the girl’s clavicles as she spoke. Even having read the report several times and given the body a cursory examination, she still stopped and blinked. She looked up at her assistant who was frowning and smiling at the same time, obviously excited at the prospect of something bizarre. What in the world had befallen this poor girl?

  “Beginning preliminary examination.” Fiona nodded to the young man, who pulled the sheet away and disposed of it. She looked about the pale skin trying to decide where to begin. “The victim exhibits multiple puncture wounds of varying shape and size distributed randomly about the torso, upper arms, abdomen and thighs. There is a dark discolouration about the wounds, which exhibit a viscous fluid within the tissue. Could you get me a sample kit, Tom?”

  The young man passed her a swab in a sealable plastic tube. She pushed the long stem until it extended as far as it would go and inserted the balled end into one of the larger wounds. The tip twisted about before she pulled it back. What followed the swab was a sticky, black substance that had the imprint of muscle tissue on it.

  “What the hell is that?” Tom said, moving in closer to see the stuff.

  “I’m not entirely sure.” Fiona shook her head in slow disbelief. “I’ve never seen anything like it.” As Fiona pulled, more of the substance came. It was as if she had hooked a muscle and was extruding it, but with no effort. “It’s almost like the tissue has gone through some sort of plastination. Get some shots of this will you?”

  Tom picked up a camera and started taking pictures from various angles and distances while she held an evidence photo scale beside the stuff. She eyed it more closely when he was done. It was clearly the girls own flesh somehow transformed. She could see the delineation of muscles, fat and sinew as clearly as a geologist might identify the strata of rock in a cliff face.

  “We have no idea what we’re dealing with here,” she said with sudden concern. “We need to isolate the body, put it in quarantine, and call it in. Let the higher ups figure out what this is. Cut that off just below the swab will you please?” Fiona sealed the sample container and placed it in a high priority bio-hazard bag after Tom had cut it away with scissors. Her hands shook as she labelled the thing. “I… I think we should follow full bio-hazard protocol.” Her voice wavered even to her own ears. She looked up at Tom’s blanched expression and gave him a small smile, which he valiantly tried to return.

  They moved quickly to get into hazmat suits and double bagged the body, storing it in the large freezer it had initially been in, and then sealed its door with yellow tape. Working in the suits was awkward, but they managed to spray down the exam table, equipment, the entire area and each other before getting into decontamination showers. There, they further washed down their suits, put them into an incinerator, then stripped off and destroyed their clothing, and showered themselves.

  Fiona walked out feeling physically and mentally raw. She was scared. She’d seen and done several things in the last few hours that she thought she would never have to do in her entire career, let alone in the one night. The last of which was making that call. The call she’d always dreaded.

  She paced about in a disposable suit not made for size or comfort, waiting for the response team. Her clothing should have been the least of her worries but was on her mind nevertheless. The thing didn’t make it easy, itching in all the wrong places. She fought the urge to pick the course, paper-like material from crevices of her body.

  Tom gave her a nervous smile and scratched his crotch, pulled the stuff from his arse crack without batting an eyelid.

  The team arrived almost casually roughly half an hour after the call had been made.

  Neither she nor Tom could explain where the body had gone when they led the response team to the fridge and found it empty. The door was still sealed with the tape she’d put there herself. Of girl and samples alike, there was no trace. Not even residue.

  Stranger still, the sample container and body bags both looked like they had burst open from the inside.

  CHAPTER NINE

  A TUMBLER IN hand, Stacey watched Fenton as he sprayed black liquid around the house from an appropriated cleaning bottle from under her mother’s kitchen sink. She could still smell the window cleaner he had tipped out. He was currently spraying the couch where she’d sat after covering her with more of the stuff first, saying the first dose had been too weak. Her skin had tingled where it had touched her, but she hadn’t said anything. Everything about this was crazy enough as it was.

  “So, uh, these Umbra,” she asked, swirling the ice in the glass as he squirted a stream of the stuff to the roof access manhole in the laundry. “What are they exactly?”

  “All in due time,” he said, irritated as he lowered himself from the chair he’d been standing on to spray the cracks of a wall vent. As he passed her to exit the room, he handed over the spray bottle.

  She held it up to the light and shook it, slowly following him. “What the fuck are you?” she muttered to herself. “So are you actually going to tell me what you need to recharge?” she asked louder so he could hear. “Could you at least tell me that?”

  “Ink. And privacy.”

  “Ink? Privacy? What the fuck for?”

  “For my sigils.” He looked about when she didn’t answer and saw the confused look on her face. “My tattoos. I need to re-ink them.”

  “Sigils, Umbra… You sure do like to name things simply.”

  “I didn’t come up with the names.” He sighed and pulled a window shut hard, then turned to her.

  “There are more of you guys?”

  “I know you have a lot of questions. But we’ve very little time. So allow me to give you a brief overview.”

  “Finally.” She put the spray bottle down hard on the kitchen counter. If knowledge was power, she had very little of both in this situation.

  “You saw the Umbra. You’ve
seen something of what they can do. As to what they are, no one truly knows, though theories abound. We call them Umbra, but they’re obviously not shadows.” She gave him a look to say did he think she was an idiot. He didn’t respond. “Living dark matter, demons, aliens. Whatever it is you want to call them, they leak through to our world to take life. That is their food source, their reason for being. Life. Or life energy.” He paused to see if she would interject. She didn’t. “I am a Ward. A Ward of the South, to be precise.”

  “South? So there’s, what, three other areas?”

  He gave a single nod. “We Wards have taken on the responsibility of stopping the Umbra wherever we can. That is our lives. All we do.”

  “And you’re, what? Wizards and witches?”

  “If that makes you feel better, yes. You’ve seen firsthand part of what we can do and that we are not defenceless against the Umbra.”

  “Your magic tattoos? Sigils.”

  “Yes. That power also comes from life. Life being whatever you make of it.”

  Stacey smirked. “You apparently also write bad motivational affirmations.”

  “I mean it quite literally. The true power of the Wards comes from within. Each person interprets life differently. So too with each Wards sigils.”

  Stacey frowned. “So, what? You basically make it up as you go along?”

  He nodded. “As long as a Ward’s sigils holds meaning to them and they believe in it, it works.” He waited again and continued when she didn’t interrupt. “The ink that we use is no different. Everyone has their own recipe that incorporates their life tokens. Things that they most associate with the essence of life.”

  “So, what? If mine was whiskey,” she held up the glass and swirled it about, “I would need to mix that with some ink and tattoo it on myself?”

  “We don’t use actual ink. We make it.” He nodded to the plastic drink bottle on the bench, raising his brows.

  Stacey looked at the bottle and the sprayer beside it in turn. “That’s your ink?” She stared at the stuff, then at the inked images on her own arms. She tried to imagine being tattooed with it. Wilfully allowing it into her skin. A shudder ran through her.