The laser stink-eye.
"What happened, Devlin? CliffsNotes version if you don't mind, kind of got a full plate already." I collapsed into one of the newly uncovered chairs. It was brilliant, damn comfortable. Why hadn't I done it sooner?
Devlin had been standing at one of the boarded up windows, looking out one of the little gaps between the wood. He turned to me with a furrowed brow and worked his hands over his cane, gripping it and worrying at it.
"It happened not long after you left. A pack of Others, faceless men in service of the Sleeper, came bursting in. They assaulted me and disappeared with Sarah."
"Why didn't they kill you?" Rosa asked from across the room.
"Excuse me?" Devlin looked at Rosa like she'd started speaking gibberish.
"It's a good question, actually," I scratched at the burn on my face. It was super comfy there in the chair, but sitting down was giving the adrenaline a chance to wear off and make me pay attention to my various aches and pains. "Every time we've ran into the Sleeper's goons, they were looking to kill us."
"They tried, but I am not quite so easy to kill," Devlin said, straightening his back. "They were there for Sarah, they went straight for her."
"When Grannok was preparing to use the Libro Nihil, women folk started going missing. He used their deaths to power the ritual," Hack said, still staring pointedly at Devlin.
"You do not have to remind me," Devlin fired back.
Hack and Devlin sat looking at each other in silence, a palpable tension crackling between them.
"Okay, so, anyways. Devlin, what do you know about the God-Spear?" I asked. Eventually Devlin broke away from his staring contest with Hack and looked at me curiously.
"Your great-grandfather?"
That confirmed my suspicions, then.
The God-Spear that Flesh-Thing kept raving about was my great-grandfather, Henry.
"Yeah, but why was he called that?"
"The family name dear boy, Geirtyr. God-Spear. Feared slayer of dark and evil gods," Devlin said, "I thought you were supposed to be a scholar."
"Well. Shit."
That was another fun fact that old Henry had conveniently left out of his journals.
That reminded me; I needed to have a look at those. The business Flesh-Thing had mentioned about the Neverborn was itching at my brain.
"That's good to know," I said as I stood.
Swift had left the room, but I could hear him rummaging around down the hall in the kitchen. Hack had averted his gaze to now look anywhere but in Devlin's direction, and Rosa was keeping herself busy with fussing about the room cleaning things, must have been a nervous habit. Jesus was nowhere to be seen.
"Devlin, I'll see what I can do about Sarah. More than likely, whoever it is that has the book has her, too. You might as well hunker down here; it's the safest place I can think of. The rest of you can tuck in, I've got to get my thinking cap on." I said and there was some wordless grumbling and shifting about as I made my way out of the room, "And try not to kill each other or anything silly."
I passed the kitchen on my way to the stairs and noticed Swift, who was standing at the counter staring disconsolately at the heels of a loaf of bread and an empty jar of peanut butter.
"What kind of sad creature has no peanut butter, no jelly?" Swift said gravely.
"I'll buy you a swimming pool full of jelly with the money Devlin's going to owe me once this business is settled; until then, would you mind keeping an eye on the others? Especially Hack and Devlin, there's something going on with those two."
"Kind of like you and Hack?"
"I doubt it. Anyways, I've got something to take care of, shouldn't be long." I left the kitchen before Swift had the chance to say anything else.
Eventually, I was going to have to talk to Hack about the rift between us, now that I had a bit more age and sense on my side and could see it from his perspective a little better. I had acted like a young, foolish asshole. I mean, putting out an ad in the yellow pages and exploiting my talents for money? Lifting the curtain on the Other Side? Who knows what kind of trouble I could have started? I had enough on my hands without drawing ordinary folks into the mix unnecessarily.
I got to my room and fired up my computer. For years, I had been digitizing all the knowledge that was collected under my roof and in my brain, from ancient grimoires and texts on esoteric physics to the personal journals of my father, grandfather, and great-grandfather and any other shred of information pertaining to the stranger side of life. It was a labor of love, a lifetime's work, my true motivation. It was my goal to compile all the information I could, and create a definitive database. For my own personal use of course, there was nothing altruistic about it. Some of the things I had learned could be dangerous in the wrong hands, used towards unsavory ends.
Soon as I was able, I got into my database and entered the word 'Neverborn.' It ran the search, estimating it could take a few minutes to complete as it went through the thousands and thousands of documents stored inside the computer. While it was going through the motions, I opened up my bag and went through what I had left in it. Jesus's pistol lay gleaming on top; I pulled it out and looked at it. It was awful heavy, way heavier than it looked. Years of watching movies had taught me everything I knew about guns, namely that you pointed them at the things you wanted to die.
I laid it on my desktop and checked the status of the search; it was still going, computer humming with the effort. I decided I needed to give myself an edge, something that would make me feel a little less worthless the next time I found myself in the middle of a battle royale, so I picked up the gun and studied it for a moment.
I couldn't hit the broad side of a barn, but maybe I didn't have to.
Years ago, when America and Russia were having it out over who could build the better bomb, the Russians came to the conclusion that they couldn't build a nuke with the precision or technical skill that the Americans were able to. So instead, they just made the biggest damned bomb they could; the philosophy there being that if you make the explosion big enough, you're guaranteed to hit your target.
I swept a spot clear on my desk and laid the gun back down, pulling some chalk out. I began drawing a circle around the gun, to entrap the forces I would be willing into it. I needed a way to make sure if I shot at something, it was going to go down, something like the chalk-comet, but on a different scale. I worked magics of inertia, velocity, and destruction into the circle, and infused it with some of the burning power of the cosmos itself. The working swirled about in my head as I drew around the gun, building and growing, adding layer upon layer.
When I felt like I had poured enough of myself and my will into it, and my head was swimming, I reached forward and put my hand flat on the gun and breathed out. I released my will, my hold on the brimming forces, and pushed them down into the circle and into the gun. The air smelled like ozone and a ripple went through reality as if through a pond, when it was all said and done little stars burst in front of my eyes.
My hand was still on the gun, it was warm to the touch, it shone, glowed faintly as if with an inner light, and red streaks of energy ran down the barrel. I couldn't be sure exactly how well the enchantment worked until I used it, but hopefully it wouldn't blow up in my face.
Literally.
I looked over at my computer to see that the search was completed, had been for a while probably. Time had a tendency to act funny when in the middle of futzing about with magic. It flashed that it had found one result, one entry among thousands in reference to my query. And it was, like I thought, from one of my great-grandfather's old journals. I opened the file the search directed me to and scanned through it.
Son of a bitch.
Years ago, Henry had met a curious creature. It had come to town, following the railroads, and - here's the good part - claimed it was from the far, far future. Only one of many, an entire race of beings that had never been born yet, flung back in time.
Never been born.<
br />
Neverborn.
I could hear raised voices as I approached, when I came around the corner into the living room Hack and Devlin were standing and shouting at each other with Swift standing between them like some kind of referee.
"You knew the whole damn time! I ought to blast you to smithereens you sorry parasite," Hack growled, a storm cloud of energy growing around him.
"What would you have me do, you cantankerous redneck? Appear weak before the wolves?" Devlin fired back, his cane raised like a war club and burning orange.
In the time I'd been away, Rosa had somehow managed to pry some of the boards away from the windows, and late afternoon light filtered into the room. She now sat on the couch, along with Jesus who had reappeared at some point, watching the argument go back and forth like a tennis match.
"How about not lie to the boy?"
Try as he might to appear serious, I could see Swift trying very hard to contain a smile. Granted, it did look like a round of geriatric fisticuffs was about to go down.
"Not lie to the boy about what?" I asked finally.
The two stood down, still glaring daggers at each other, or lasers in Hack's case.
"Everything. Every damn thing. He knew Flesh-Thing had the book the whole time," Hack said.
"And for the pathetic creature's own safety, I kept it secret. It was safer in its labyrinth than it ever was with me," Devlin said, lowering his cane.
"Your super mysterious informant, it was Flesh-Thing all along wasn't it?" Another piece of the bigger picture crashed into place, "What the hell did you hire me for?"
Devlin's shoulders sunk, he let out a sigh like it was a breath he had been holding in for way too long. He gave an almost plaintive look to Hack before turning to face me.
"When that it first stole that forsaken book from me, I was furious. Years of searching for a way to destroy one of the Entropics all for nothing, until I cornered Flesh-Thing some years after the incident at Grannok's farm -"
"Figures, Senor Desmond's a freak too," Rosa muttered from the couch.
Devlin pretended not to notice the comment and continued.
"He was looking for a mage powerful enough to enact the ritual, as was I, for only you mages can wield the book. And though Grannok was regrettably flawed, he made up for it in raw power. Until two hot-headed hunters came and ruined everything."
"How were we supposed to know?" Hack threw up his arms.
Devlin scowled at Hack and crossed his arms sternly over his chest.
"I let Flesh-Thing keep the book; as I said it was safer down in his labyrinths. I was busy trying to calm the chaos that arose after Grannok, and over the years I lost contact with Flesh-Thing. I assumed since this mud ball kept spinning he still had the book and all was well, until the Sleeper stirred.
I knew I had to contact him, get the book, but I couldn't be certain the Sleeper's agents hadn't already gotten to him. And I was quite certain I was being followed, which meant whoever I contracted to find the book would be followed. I used you Thomas, I'm so sorry. When you took the case, it began to become more and more apparent who it was leading the Sleeper's minions. The only other person who ever knew I possessed that book."
I shuddered. That was the one piece of the puzzle that I kept hoping wouldn't line up, or would turn into a false lead. But since my whole life was one big nightmare study into the nature of Murphy's Law, I should have known better.
"Yeah, the only person who knew that you're a Neverborn," I said, quietly, barely able to admit it to myself. "My great-grandfather."
Chapter Fifteen
"How many times I got to tell you? It can't be Henry; I was there when he died. I saw it," Hack said.
After the revelation, Hack had shot up out of the chair, eyes spitting sparks, fists and jaw clenched. I wish I was as certain of things as he was; that kind of outrage is good for a person. Rosa and Jesus had retreated from the living room after declaring it too full of crazy for normal people.
I was inclined to agree.
"Did you see the body?" Swift asked, spooking everyone.
He went for so long in silence, just standing and watching everyone, you could forget he was there.
"Excuse me?" Hack turned on Swift.
"Henry's body. When he died, did you see it?" Swift said.
Staggering logic.
I'd seen enough bad horror movies and read enough comics to know you never count someone dead unless you see the body. Come to think of it, I'd never even seen a grave for Henry. My father wasn't even born when he died, and my grandfather always said that the battle that took Henry's life had blasted the whole countryside. Town records claimed it was a rogue asteroid strike.
"He's right, Hack," I said, and Hack leveled his unblinking blue stare at me.
Devlin had something of a satisfied smile on his face as he watched the exchange, tapping his cane absently on the ground.
"How did you walk away from that fight unscathed, Hack? I'd heard the psychophage left no survivors."
"Henry saved me. He sacrificed himself to banish that horror and buy me the time to escape," Hack said. He looked terribly tired, and collapsed back into the recliner.
"That settles it. My great-grandfather's back from the dead and working for an extra-dimensional god of chaos. This is awesome," I said. I wanted to hit something, repeatedly.
Rosa took that moment to poke her head into the living room.
"Hey brujo, there's someone here for you."
"Excuse me?"
"Someone was knocking at the door. Guy says he's looking for you," Rosa said and disappeared again.
I peeked my head out of the living room and saw she had been making her way down the halls, collecting a pile of tarps, cleaning as she went. That was kind of neat. Unexpected visitors in the middle of a crisis were not so neat. I looked back into the living room. Swift had gone up to one of the boarded up windows and was looking out between the slats.
"I don't see a car."
"Well what do you see?"
"Guy in a hat. Coat. He's alone."
Hack was shaking his head and Devlin looked like a cat with its hackles up. Whoever it was waiting outside, it couldn't possibly be good news. I could walk out there and get blown to kingdom come, or worse. It could be Jehovah's Witnesses. I got a bad case of the feeling that someone had walked over my grave, and my back teeth were humming. There was a vibration building slowly behind my eyes; something was wreaking havoc on the Other Side, something disgustingly powerful.
I might have a small advantage or two though. For one, the wards all over the house apparently still worked; otherwise the stranger would already be inside. I was also very aware of the extra weight in my shoulder bag, and figured it might be a great time to see how well my latest dabbling worked. I hefted the gun out, and did my best to square my shoulders and straighten my spine as I made my way down the hall.
Walking down the hall to the door was a bit like trying to walk down a wind tunnel, every step I had to push against the prodigious force of the stranger. I ground my teeth together and planted one foot in front of the other, and as much as it pained me I tried to keep my shoulders straight and my head up. Bravery in the face of overwhelming odds was not one of my strong suits. I was much more inclined to go running back up to my room and hide under the bed.
Hopefully I wouldn't do anything drastic or embarrassing when I got there; I could already see the door standing slightly ajar. I took in a deep breath and opened the door the rest of the way, not making an effort to conceal the pistol.
The man standing on the other side of the door looked as if he had been wrought from porcelain and shadow, his skin dead white in contrast to a long coat and hat so black they sucked in light. His eyes were a solid, empty black, and when he looked at me, I could actually feel him looking into me. He wasn't tall, close to my height, and he wasn't big or imposing in the classical sense. But menace and something distinctly unwholesome poured off him in waves.
"Thoma
s Grey?" The man said in a low bass rumble, tinted by a curious accent.
I tried to respond, I did.
Instead, I found myself nodding dumbly, and the gun in my hand felt massively heavy all of a sudden. I started shaking. The guy smiled at me, and it was just wrong, his thin lips peeling back from perfectly straight and white teeth. It reminded me of something I had read about monkeys before, how their smile is a threat, a warning display of teeth. That's what this guy was doing.
"You're not exactly what I was expecting. I'm Henry. Henry Grey. I believe I have something you're interested in."
For the briefest of moments, in my mind's eye, I pictured myself raising up the pistol and howling unintelligibly. My hand twitched and I shuddered. Henry continued with his unsettling smile.
"That's so weird. That was my great-grandfather's name, too. But he's dead."
His smile didn't falter; he just shook his head patiently and clasped his hands in front of him.
"I've run out of time for foolishness. I came here to make you an offer."
"It couldn't possibly be an offer I can't refuse, could it?"
In my mind another visual flashed, this time coming like a kick in the chest and staggering me. I saw myself with the pistol held up to my head, screaming, pulling the trigger.
And I saw...
And I didn't see anything. I started to get angry; really, really angry. I am not a fan of having my head messed with. I gathered my will together, pulling at the energy invested in my home and all around me, and I lifted the pistol, but not to my head. I pointed it straight at Henry's face. When I spoke, my voice came out strained from the mental assault and from tapping into so much energy.
"Enough with the mind-fuck already. Say whatever it is you came here to say and piss off. Anymore bullshit and I don't care who you are, I'm putting a bullet in your face."
Henry chuckled, a rumbling, low sound in his chest. It was worse than his smile.
"The blood of the Spear hasn't thinned as much as I thought. Good. I want you to join me, Thomas," Henry said and took a half-step back, the overwhelming pressure pouring off him faded away. "I want you with me when I become God."
Run the Day Page 10
