by Kit Hallows
Erland finished his wine and stood. "Doesn't it just?" He tipped his hat and slipped into his overcoat. "Be careful. I need you safe, Morgan. I've a feeling things are about to get very dangerous indeed." He placed a hand on my shoulder and walked out of the bar, leaving me alone with an envelope full of cash and a hundred burning questions.
6
The next morning I awoke to a persistent tapping that was annoyingly familiar. "Furry bastards." I got up and stumbled into the living room where a large Persian cat called Maximillion waited just outside the window. He rapped his heavy paw against the glass as several other cats gathered around him in a furry mob of flicking tails.
The window squeaked as I pulled it up to admit the throng. They scrambled through the opening and padded across the carpet, pausing in a huddle while two of them turned in circles and started mewing.
"Shhh!" The last thing I needed was for my landlady to hear them. Mrs. Fitz already believed cats had a working agenda to take over the world, and that their antics were far from benign. Which meant they were feline non grata for the whole building.
I opened a couple cans of tuna, fed them, and was about to sit down to drink my coffee when I spotted the single white cat perched upon the window sill. It regarded me with twinkling green crystalline eyes and cocked its head.
I'd never seen this one before. "Hi." I made my way to the window but as I neared, the cat arched its back and hissed, causing the others to glance up from what was most likely their second breakfast.
"What's wrong?" I held my palms out. The cat gave a forbidding yowl and jumped down to the gabled rooftop below.
It seemed Bastion and Dauple weren't the only ones wary of me. I shrugged it off, grabbed the remote and returned to my coffee. There was nothing worthwhile on TV but the noise was comforting so I tuned in to the endless feed of bullshit and mind-numbing inanity that passed for the news. They were touting a puff piece about a shrew they claimed looked like Hitler. To my mind it just looked like a shrew, but who was I to judge?
I decided to switch on the stereo instead. It filled the room with the thunderous soaring of post-Rock guitars as I wandered off to get showered and dressed. It had been strange, not having to get ready for work these last few days and it felt good to put on my makeshift uniform of a black sweater and jeans. I checked my gun and slipped it into its holster. I doubted I'd need it today, but I was feeling edgy. There were more than enough creatures in this town that wanted to see me dead, and since the events at the asylum that number had probably tripled.
And now the supposedly benevolent overlords at the Council were looking for me too.
I unsheathed my sword, the one I'd inherited from my old friend and mentor, Tom. It was the first time I'd handled it since the slaughter in the asylum. On the surface it looked like a typical sword, but an unearthly power surged within its steel. Again I probably wouldn't need it.
Or so I hoped.
Thankfully, it seemed Mrs. Fitz was asleep or otherwise occupied. I slipped past her apartment and out the front door. The wind whistled as I walked along the tangled, leafy, residential roads and emerged onto the main street.
People hurried by, oblivious it seemed to everyone around them. Each locked away in their own thoughts, unaware of me and the magical quarter; the dark city within a city that operated less than two blocks from where they stood. Face after face, blissfully unaware of the cloaked creatures that even now walked amongst them. Like the demon across the street. It was dressed as a nurse and clearly reveling in the irony as it reached down and pinched the plump cheek of a little boy standing beside his parents. Then it glanced my way and hurried off to vanish into a deli.
I let it go. It had done nothing wrong.
Yet.
I carried on until I reached the Electric Video Club, the front for the Organization's armory and crystal depositary. I strode in, expecting to be greeted by silence, but to my stone cold surprise, the shop actually had a customer.
A blinkered.
The guy was tall with a low hanging gut and a mottled, agitated face. "How do you know? You didn't even look!" he said, his voice surprisingly high.
Madhav remained behind the counter and raised a sardonic eyebrow. Beneath that cloak of unassuming shop assistant was a highly accomplished mage, hired as sentry and first barrier between the armory and the outside world. "Sir, I know for an absolute fact we don't have what you're looking for. Now the door's over there, please use it." This was the longest string of words I'd ever heard Madhav utter.
The man shook his head. "I've been to every goddamned video shop in this state. This is the last one on my list." He leaned over the counter. "Don't hold out on me, man."
"What are you looking for?" I asked, more from morbid curiosity than any serious concern.
"Jenna Squeezem's Hot Workouts, Volume Two." He spoke each word louder than the last.
"Never heard of it."
"That's because most people are only aware of volume one. Naturally the novice has no idea about volume two. It was released in 1986 for a few short months before tragically being recalled. You know, after the incident in Kuala Lumpa."
"Listen pal, I've no idea who Jenna Squeezem is, but I'm a regular here so I know for a fact they don't have her videos. Trust me," I tried to keep my voice calm despite the fact I needed to get to the armory and this jerk was blocking me.
"You've never heard of Jenna Squeezem?" He raised a furry eyebrow. "She's only the hottest video vixen ever to grace the spools of adult entertainment. At least as far as the more discerning viewer's concerned. And I count myself as such." A slow burning smile crept across his face. "Jenna's a star. A golden once in a lifetime discovery! Except of course for Back Road Babe, which was a crushing disappointment-"
"This is ridiculous." I glanced into his bloodshot eyes and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Shut up. Forget Jenna Squeezem, he hasn't got the tape and you're never going to meet her. Now get out of here, try to find your way back to the real world and get on with whatever's left of your life. Got it?"
He gave me a startled look and began to slope away, head down, his feet dragging like a crestfallen child.
Madhav nodded as I passed the counter, and returned to the eBook he was reading on his phone.
The illusory clutter used to disguise the back of the gloomy store had changed. Today it was teetering stacks of buckets with labels suggesting highly toxic substances, as well as a murky green fish tank that spanned most of the faux brick wall.
I walked through the veil into the armory beyond. Clean bright purple and blue light emanated from the cabinets of crystals. It seemed like they'd restocked since I'd last been here. Rifles, handguns and all manner of gadgets were mounted on the wall, all designed by the wily dwarven mind of Bastion Stout.
"Morning, Morgan." Bastion sat behind the counter polishing a short sword. "Long time no see." His voice was friendly enough but I saw the look of reservation in his eyes.
"How's it going?"
"Pretty shitty." Bastion sighed. "It's Saturday and I was supposed to be at an Oktoberfest event, but they called me to work instead because apparently it's of dire importance that I'm here."
"There's always tonight," I said. "I'm sure there'll be plenty of beer left."
"I doubt it. The party starts at noon and knowing my friends, the place will be dry before sunset. Anyway, how can I help you?"
"I need pretty much everything, including ammo." I placed my satchel on the counter and pulled out the empty crystals, salves and ointments.
"Sure." Bastion set the sword on the counter and leaped down from his stool. He opened the drawers behind the counter and gathered handfuls of sparkling crystals.
"Did you see I brought back the empties like you asked?" I said, trying to raise his mood. "It must be a blue moon."
His smile was broad but short lived. "Aye, must be."
He returned to the counter, set down the crystals, slid open an apothecary cabinet and began to refill the salves and potions.
He gave me an odd unnerved stare. "I heard about the asylum. Is it true?"
"What, that I took out a bunch of demons, sadists and blood suckers? Yeah, it's true."
"They said you went dark. That it was a massacre and they'd never seen anything like it."
I shrugged. "That's my job. Eliminate the bad guys. So that's what I did."
"Indeed." Bastion nodded, but he still looked troubled. "Anyway, I'm sure a lot of it was just hyperbole."
"What exactly have they been saying?" I tried to keep my voice light. I liked Bastion but his wariness was starting to mess with my head.
"That the Organization's changed. That we're now little more than an assassin's guild and you're their number one asset."
I gestured to the weapons hanging on the wall behind him. "Well, I guess that's not entirely unfounded."
"Just as long as we're still the good guys. But then I suppose everyone wants to think they're the good guys. Even the demons."
"True. But listen, whatever you heard is bullshit. I haven't gone dark." I turned around. "See? No wings springing from my back and my eyes don't glow in the dark. At least not as far as I'm aware. I'm still me, still your old friend Morgan. And still up for that legendary pub crawl. You know, the one we've been talking about for forever. If you're still up for it?"
"Yeah." Bastion laughed as he corked a small vile. "I suppose you're right. I'm sorry, Morgan, I guess I should have known better than to listen to their scurrilous gossip. But it was just nonstop, and you haven't been around.... If it helps, people being scared of you is definitely an advantage in this game." He turned and filled the satchel with boxes of ammo, and several sharp silver blades.
"Now, about-" I stopped as a door slammed in the small backroom behind the counter.
The other armory operative, Snarksmuth, appeared. He wore his customary white lab coat and shiny black boots. His goblin ears twitched just as they always did when he saw me. He smiled, revealing jagged little teeth but the gesture didn't quite reach his narrow, yellow eyes. "Morgan Rook."
Even my high school teachers had never managed to inject so much contempt into my name.
"Snarksmuth," I said.
"What are you doing here?" He looked at Bastion, then me.
"What do you think I'm doing? Making a pick up."
"And everything's being logged?" He raised a warty eyebrow.
Bastion held up a sheet of paper from the desk, angling it so Snarksmuth couldn't see it was blank. "It's for Mr. Underwood."
Snarksmuth glanced from the paper to me. I matched his gaze and added a dash of fire to it until he looked away. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. "Right you are."
"Good." Bastion grabbed the paper and jumped down from his chair. "And now that you're here, I'm leaving."
"Leaving? Why?"
"It's Saturday, Snarksmuth. I'm going to get drunk." Bastion nodded to me. "Take care, Morgan."
"I will." I grabbed my satchel and left before Snarksmuth decided to check the credentials from Underwood. I'd had fun spooking the goblin. But, even though Bastion seemed a little happier than he'd been when I'd first arrived, the initial glint of fear I'd glimpsed in his eyes still had its hooks in me.
7
I was set to leave when Lyra Fitz appeared in the hallway with a wheeled suitcase in her hand. She wore a berry-colored winter coat, matching scarf and hat, and looked happier than I'd seen her in a long while.
"You look nice. Going somewhere special?" I asked, as I took her suitcase and followed her from the house, down the steps and out onto the sidewalk.
"Indeed I am, Mr. Rook. I'm taking a cruise to Iceland. Three weeks of uninterrupted bliss."
"That sounds great. It'll be a bit cold though won't it?"
"Bitterly cold. But I don't intend to venture beyond the spa, library and bar. And do you know what the best part is?" She laughed, the sound slightly manic. "No cats."
"I wouldn't have thought so."
"They're not allowed on cruise ships, and I doubt I'll see any on the glaciers." Her grin grew wider still. "Or on the sea!"
"Unless you happen upon one in a sailboat, with an owl-"
"Listen." Lyra grasped my wrist in her thin, bony hand. "I need you to take good care, Mr. Rook." Her smile faded. "I had another dreadful dream about you. Honestly, sometimes I wonder if you're astrally projecting through the ceiling and infecting my sleep."
I hoped not. "What happened?" The last dream she'd shared had proven to be unnervingly accurate. Not that it had helped much at the time.
"You were in a glass box. Like a casket or an old phone booth, and you weren't moving. I thumped and thumped on the sides but you still didn't move, not a flicker. It was like you were there, but nobody was home."
"Right."
"And then the box filled with water. It rose around you crystal clear but when it reached the top of the casket, it turned as black as coal." Her grip tightened on my wrist. "I'm sure it was nothing, just a dreadful dream, but make sure you look after yourself. Okay?" She leaned in and gave me a peck on the cheek as her cab arrived. I opened the door for her, put her suitcase in the trunk, and wished her a Bon Voyage.
Mrs. Fitz's morbid dream filled my thoughts as I climbed the stairs to my apartment and let the cats back in. I opened a bag of treats and passed them out as fairly as possible but there were still the usual spats, carpet wars, arched backs and boxing matches. "You better enjoy it while you can, this hotel's about to close for awhile." They ignored me and continued to stalk and spar as I grabbed my gear and got ready to leave town.
Packing didn't take long; I wasn't planning on being gone for more than a few days. I filled a bag with jeans, sweaters and toiletries, then I double-checked the satchel. I had no idea what I might run into in Copperwood Falls but I wanted to make sure I was well armed. It turned out that Bastion had been more than generous; the bag was loaded with gadgets, crystals, potions, weapons and spare cartridges. I smiled, he'd probably done it to get one over on Snarksmuth by screwing up his inventory.
I went back to the closet, grabbed Tom's sword and slid it out of its sheath to check the blade. It was too long and awkward to pack with my clothes so I stashed it in an old tent bag and cast a simple enchantment over it so any curious eyes would feel compelled to look elsewhere.
"Okay cats, time to check out." I put the dishes in the sink, trailed a catnip mouse along the floor and tossed it out the window. One by one they dashed out onto the roof, barely stopping long enough for a farewell pat on the head.
I closed and shuttered the window while I called a cab to take me to the train station. Willow glanced back from her framed photograph on the shelf. I picked it up, pressed my lips against the cold glass, and said goodbye as I headed out.
It felt strange to be going back home.
Or at least back to the closest thing I'd ever had to one.
8
I reclined my seat and looked out the window as the train pulled out and the city fell away one building at a time. The endless grey concrete, brown stone, and chrome-like glass was slowly replaced by green. I could have rented a car in the city but I preferred the train, something about it helped to calm my roaring mind.
The carriage was fairly empty and quiet but for a family with parents that were even more hyperactive than their kids. Each wore matching coats, as if they were members of some strange, suburban cult.
I sat as far away from them as possible and stared out the window as the railway cut through a small valley with a freeway on one side backed by rolling wooded hills. And on one of those peaks stood the asylum where I'd fought the undead assassin. The events of that night played through my mind, like a movie. As if I was watching someone else. And in a way I was.
Because the force that had awoken inside me, heralded by the mist of red fury, hadn't been me. It had been a stranger. A cold, dark malevolent stranger filled with rage and a lust to destroy and conquer. A remnant of another time, an
other life. One I'd left behind when I left the world I'd come from.
I thought about the shade, the puppet's master; Mr. Stroud as he'd called himself. I'd tapped every source I had in the city, looking for clues to his identity but my enquiries had yielded nothing. I was chasing a ghost, in every sense of the word. I might have almost believed I was going crazy, that I'd imagined the specter, but for the fact that the Council already seemed well aware of him. And determined to scrub away the events in the asylum like they'd never existed.
The mountain of unanswered questions was getting way too tall for my liking, but the one at its peak was foremost in my mind. I just hoped my father had an answer for me. That he knew where the hell I'd come from.
And that he was still around.
I glanced out the window as the hills flowed down into dark green meadows and freshly plowed fields that stretched out below the swirling grey sky. I closed my eyes. The train rocked back and forth and my thoughts finally faded into silence.
A tinny discordant announcement repeating the name "Thornton" jarred me from my dreams. I pulled my raincoat on, grabbed my bags, and filed off the train with the other passengers.
The car rental place was a short walk from the station. I didn't have a license or ID. Well, not the kind they were asking for, but the desk clerk was little more than a potato in human form, and his mind was soft and malleable.
"Thank you, Mr. Rook," he said, as he rifled through old bar receipts, shopping lists, and ticket stubs from the string of awful films I'd recently seen. "These documents are fine!" He offered a plastic smile and his dozy eyes struggled to focus on mine.
"Perfect." I punched in my PIN number for the deposit and took the keys.
The car was just an unsurprisingly unimpressive beige sedan, but it would do. Quiet and unassuming was good, for now at least.
I drove through Thornton, the town I'd grown up in since I'd arrived in the world, age ten. It really hadn't changed much. A few of the old stores were gone but new ones had sprung up in their place. None were remotely interesting. I pulled off main street and headed toward the low flat fields that surrounded the town, speeding past the lone wooden billboard, its washed out colors just the same as when I'd left. My dad's house was less than a mile away, but I couldn't face going there, not just yet. I took a quick right and flew past the fields of winter wheat, heading for the small cluster of buildings on the edge of the prairie.
