by Todd Downing
“You’ve bitten off more than you can chew with me. Now I will be rid of you.” Alexei brought his fingers together, and energy once more crackled around him. Placing palms together and his thumbs against his forehead, Alexei concentrated on the image of Crowley.
The apparition bellowed and screamed as the fire surrounding Crowley intensified. Vapor shot skyward in a geyser of steam. You will not escape me forever, Alexei Romanov. I will hunt you down and take your essence. Mark my words.
Alexei intensified his thoughts, purging every trace of Crowley from his psyche. He jolted awake to find himself in the cell. “I’m free,” he whispered. He searched his mind for any evidence Crowley still controlled him. He found none, threw back his head, and yelled at the top of his lungs. “I’m free!” He laughed for several minutes like mad lunatic, then brought his relief into check. He still had to convince AEGIS who he was and then had to plot how to overthrow the revolutionary usurpers blocking his right to the Russian throne.
“You Bolshevik bastard,” a young man shouted as he stormed down the stairs into the brig. “What did you Silver Star scum do to Joshua?”
Though deeply offended at being called a Bolshevik, Alexei could see the man was distraught. He knew instantly who the young man meant. Joshua Monaghan. The AEGIS agent seduced by immortality.
“Talk!” The dark-haired man with vivid green eyes roared. “Or I’ll come in there and beat you to a pulp.”
Alexei came to the door and peered through the bars. “I did nothing to your agent. He was captured, but instead of tortured, he was cured by Crowley’s latest experiment in exchange for his service and loyalty. He signed the blood contract.”
The man stiffened. “Cured from what?”
“A cancerous tumor that had ruptured and filled his body with the disease. The camp doctor said he only had a year, maybe less, before the cancer would consume him.”
Silence for a moment as the man took in the information. “Liar!” He roared and reached through the gap in the bars to grab at Alexei’s neck.
Jumping back before the fingers could close around his throat, Alexei raised his hands. “Calm yourself. I’m not lying. Joshua Monaghan was seduced by a dark force. I was as well, but I fought back and am free.”
The man slumped from view, and Alexei peered out of the cell window. “Why didn’t Joshua fight?”
Alexei sat with his back against the door, imagining his frame leaning against the hurting man on the other side. “The blood contract is usually too strong to resist once signed. He didn’t realize what he was agreeing to.”
The young man yelled as something banged against the door, making Alexei jump away. Sobs echoed off the walls of the cell, and he moved back to the door, placing a hand on the cool metal.
“I’m Alexei. What’s your name?”
The young man sighed heavily. “Seamus.”
“Do you have family, Seamus?”
Another trembling sigh. “Joshua was all I had.”
Alexei was used to being the center of attention. Only son of the Tsar. Heir to the throne of Russia. He’d never consoled another person before. Never even thought about another person’s experiences or hurts. Even his sister Anastasia had remarked how much their parents spoiled him, and she was the youngest. But this man needed someone to talk to.
“You are lucky to have had this young man. My family is gone as well. Tell me about your Joshua.”
Before Seamus could continue, footsteps sounded through the brig.
Captain Grant’s voice echoed through the room. “Seamus, what’s going on?”
Seamus stood, and Alexei could see dark curls against the bars of the cell window. “Sorry, sir. I was speaking with Alexei…uh, the prisoner.” Seamus glanced behind him and gave Alexei a tentative smile. “He’s been kind.”
“Come on, son. I need you to get a message through on the wireless.”
Seamus moved away from the door, but paused and returned to look through the window again. “Thanks, Alexei. I’ll come back later.” His face faltered for a moment. “If that’s all right with you, sir.”
“I don’t see why not.” Captain Grant peered through the bars, giving Alexei a guarded appraisal. “I’ll see about your request for asylum.”
Alexei nodded. “Thank you, Captain.”
# # #
The Buckley slowed as the Daedalus hovered in the air over the ocean. Captain Grant ordered the anchor dropped, and the airship came alongside and connected to the docking moors specially fitted to the side of the ship. Deck crewmen affixed the gangway from the Daedalus to the Buckley, and the hatch opened.
Brandeleine whistled at the small but ultramodern dirigible hanging just off the edge of the aircraft carrier. Her outer skin gleamed in the setting sunshine. Ace stood next to her, as did Captain Grant. The Silver Star prisoner claiming to be Alexei Romanov made up the rest of the group waiting to board the airship.
The door opened, and the four of them stepped across the gangplank to the airship, following a dark-haired crewman to the main salon. Brandeleine settled her eyes on a man waiting beside one of the tables.
Her lips curved upward. “Well, Jack McGraw. I thought you’d given up flying.”
Jack grinned. “I should. I’m a father. Doc says I shouldn’t, though, so here I am.” He peered at her closely. “Brandeleine, how did you manage to get younger?”
“Jack, you are a flatterer.” She realized fully his confusion, not really understanding what had happened herself.
His grin disappeared. “You’ve got to be about…” His eyes fell on Ace who narrowed her gaze and scowled at him. “…twenty-nine.” He cleared his throat. “But you look more like early twenties.”
Captain Grant stepped forward with the battered gun from the hillside and the case full of technical specs and experiment results. “We’ve known that Aleister Crowley is trying to extend his life by whatever means possible. These documents detail his latest attempts to defy nature.”
“What does this have to do with her ‘youthening’?” Jack looked from Brandeleine to Captain Grant. He seemed to notice the other member of their party. “Haven’t I met you before?”
Brandeleine stared at Alexei, who shook his head. “I don’t think so, though you may have seen photographs of my family. I am Prince Alexei Romanov.”
Jack’s eyes widened. “Yes, of course.” He frowned. “But you died ten years ago.”
Clearing his throat, Captain Grant moved to one of the tables in the salon and opened the briefcase. “I read through some of the documents after the attack originating from the Silver Star base near Mount Rainier. It seems our friend is telling the truth. An agent infiltrated Yurovsky’s circle. It may even have been Yurovsky himself.”
“After saving me from death, he asked me if I wanted to live forever.” Alexei addressed everyone in the room. “Men came and took me away to some sort of machine far from Russia. They cured the hemophilia I’d been plagued with my entire life. I swore allegiance to the Silver Star and signed the blood contract with Crowley.”
Jack nodded at Brandeleine. “What about her?”
Brandeleine looked first to Alexei and then to Captain Grant. “Was the gun the same technology as what Silver Star did to Alexei?”
Lifting a sheet of paper from the case, Captain Grant read from the page. “Initial tests confirm the success of Operation Fountain of Youth. The machine cures disease as in the case of Alexei Romanov. No traces of hemophilia remain after one treatment. Subjects Fofanoff, Kaine, and Spurgeon physically reversed fifteen years of aging from features and gained remarkable improvement in stamina. The machine is ready to be converted into a weapon.” Captain Grant looked up and met Brandeleine’s gaze. “You’re the result of the weapon.”
She thought back to Joshua’s words. “Monaghan asked me if I wanted youth or age as he fired the weapon at me. It must either age someone to death or ‘youthen’ their body back to nothing.” She shivered. “Horrible either way.”
“The AEGIS scie
ntists can analyze the gun and the paperwork,” Jack said as he approached Captain Grant. “It seems we need a team to go in and neutralize the machine.”
Adrenalin surged through Brandeleine as she stepped forward. “I volunteer.”
Ace moved to her side. “You’ll need a pilot.”
“And I know the terrain. Take me as well.” Alexei volunteered.
Captain Grant narrowed his gaze at the three of them. Brandeleine had seen this look a hundred times in her commander’s face. Calculating the odds, looking for flaws, reassessing needs. Finally, he nodded. “You’ll need a communications expert and someone to bring back as much of the technology as possible.”
Lifting the weapon in his hands, Jack examined the battered metal. “We’re being sent off on another mission, so I can’t spare anyone.”
With a final stare at Alexei, Captain Grant addressed them all. “I believe Seamus will fit the bill perfectly.”
Brandeleine rubbed her hands together. “Let’s get to work.”
Last Call for a Ghost
by James Stubbs
“Dapper” Vincent Colletti was a big fish in a very small pond. That was his delusion and didn’t let small things like the real world get in his way.
The stiff wind of an early winter ruffled his expensive suit lapels as he exited Burkhardt’s grocery. He tugged his hat down upon his brow, the fat roll of fives and tens in his pocket compensating for the chill in the air. Another fine establishment of the community was now insured for another month against fickle misfortune.
His driver, Joey, looked up from the battered magazine he read as Vincent yanked open the passenger door.
“Everything jake?” the diminutive driver asked.
Vincent merely grunted as shifted his rear in the uncomfortable seat.
Joey’s pockmarked face split into a grin.
“Somethin’ funny?” Vincent said with a scowl.
The driver handed over his reading material.
“Naw, but ya might want to put the cushion back ‘less ya want to get cozy wid a spring.”
The protection man snatched the rag.
“Just drive. We’ve still got six more places to hit.”
“I’d say use the mechanical man on the cover. I think it’s thicker th—”
“Joey, shut yer trap.”
“You’s the boss, boss.”
# # #
Edna Haskell peered from her vantage spot in the alleyway and fished her notebook out from inside her mohair coat. She jotted down the date and time next to a few similar notations. As the society page reporter for the Ladies Crier, technically, she was doing her job. It wasn’t her fault that she noticed the distinct lack of newer fashions or hairstyles in the wives and daughters of some of the more upwardly mobile families. In her experience, the only cause ever would be the acute lack of money. Only, in this case, instead of the pinch of hard times, she was sure it was the predication of crime. None of the affected families outwardly seemed to be hurting but, to the trained eye of someone looking out for haute couture, she noticed. Her normal, boring assignment had now become something for the crime beat and she couldn’t have been happier.
This was the first time Edna had seen the Burkhardts pay but she knew personally the Rosenburgs and the Allens were on the hook. It hadn’t taken a genius to spy in her compact mirror as a bag was passed over the counter without a word a month ago at the Ottomans’ jewelry shop.
This wasn’t something she could take to her editor. She well knew the result of something so stupid, she’d be out of a story, her ticket that would get her out of drudge writing. Plus the cops would get called in and be their usual effective self and that’s assuming they’d get ones that weren’t solidly on the take.
It wasn’t until she looked up from her scribbling that she noticed the gray figure dropping from a fire escape to land in front of the car.
Edna’s breath caught in her throat. It was him.
# # #
The newspapers couldn’t get enough of the stories of the mysterious gaunt figure in gray that, over the span of a few months, had become the scourge of both the corrupt and the criminal. The amount of ink spilled on his behalf almost equaled the amount of blood he left behind in his crusade against crime. Edna felt like a small girl on Christmas morning because this was a journalistic gift from upon high and her waiting notepad was about to receive the hottest of hot scoops.
Even from her vantage point, she could see the tall gaunt gunman. His sunken cheeks and thin frame were alarming. It looked like a strong wind would knock him over and she very well might have mistaken him for a dead man like the rumors said if it hadn’t been for the flashes of anger she saw in very-much-alive pale green eyes almost hidden in the sunken eye sockets, bags underneath each one indicating the man slept rarely, if at all. However, if the vigilante never knew a decent night’s rest, the Smith & Wesson M1917 revolvers held steadily in each hand made a mockery of such thought.
The Gunshade was here. Retribution was at hand.
# # #
“Holy Mary!” Joey yelled as the man landed in front of their car and raised a gun toward the windscreen.
“Gun it!” Vincent cried as the glass in front of him spider-webbed from the impact of a bullet. “Run him down!”
Joey didn’t need to be told twice.
Flattening a guy shooting at you seemed a lot more sporting than running over some defenseless sap.
The heavy sedan sped forward. The man didn’t move an inch.
Another bullet hollowly impacted the solid metal body of the car.
Joey braced himself for the meaty thud of the collision as he felt the acceleration pick up and the powerful engine roar in response to his lead foot.
The gray-clad figure, instead of being thrown over and across their hood, passed through it. Joey could swear the man, who should be by all rights dead, laughed as he went through the dashboard and between the two of them before going out the back of the car.
“Get us out of here!” Vincent yelled beside him.
The gangster’s demands at least kept the driver from dwelling too much on what had just happened. Joey narrowly missed clipping a street lamp as the car fishtailed through the intersection. A man shouldn’t go through a car like a... ghost. The only thing Joey was sure of was that he would be devoutly hitting his knees tonight and sleeping with the lights on.
Joey chanced a glance over at Vinny. He was as white as a sheet and gripping at the gun under his coat as if it would do him any good against a man who was already dead.
The Gunshade had somehow sniffed out their operation and the only thing sure now was that Joey wanted out of this mess and as quickly as possible.
# # #
Edna watched in amazement as the Gunshade went through the hurtling car like a specter. There had been speculation and eyewitness reports of him being able to do such a feat but nothing ever “solid”. Now Edna had no doubt. Her own eyes didn’t betray her. Unlike many, she placed no faith in the supernatural bunk being thrown about in regard to the vigilante. A ghost didn’t need a gun and the bullets left in his victims were real enough. A rational explanation must exist.
Even as her mind wrestled with this conundrum, her fingers furiously wrote down the license plate number from the back of the retreating coupe.
Edna’s phantom-turned-real darted off into an alley just up from her location and she felt herself let out a relieved breath. The excitement of witnessing an attempted assassination would have been nothing compared to coming face to face with the mysterious crime fighter. The questions she would have!
But, for now, the real question was making use of her contacts and finding out who the getaway car was registered to, assuming it wasn’t stolen, which was a very real possibility in Chi-town.
# # #
Douglas Graves cursed to himself as he ducked into the dim alleyway. His waiting car was nearby. He hadn’t expected the two low-rent hoods to try to run him over, which is why he was only
using normal bullets, otherwise the two crooks would be as dead as the day is long. His first shot had only been intended to spook the two of them into running or foolishly trying to shoot it out with him. He’d been hoping to take one or both of them alive. In this case, information would be far more useful to him than corpses.
The Gunshade kept his eyes on the criminal elements of the windy city and Alfonso Bianchi had become far too bold and ambitious. These two thugs were his. Thankfully, most of the bystanders sensibly scattered once lead started firing.
Despite being the third person to assume the mantel of the Gunshade, and being the inheritor of over three generations of mystic knowledge and deadly proficiency with firearms, the fanciful tales of his exploits were that—mostly fantasy. He missed, occasionally, and made mistakes. Douglas Graves was still a man, albeit a very extraordinary one.
Turning incorporeal had saved his life but it had also left him tired. Passing his spirit so close to the realm of the dead never became any easier or more pleasant. The shades there knew he didn’t belong and eagerly reached out for his life energy. As the Gunshade he always must be certain that he wasn’t bringing someone or something back with him into the world of the living. One day he would join their number but today was not that day.
“Dapper” Colletti was small game but you needed bait to lure in the bigger fish and the small-time racketeer was the Gunshade’s ploy. He’d failed this time and Colletti was now on guard. It wouldn’t be as easy to get at him next time. That only made things interesting and merely a matter of time, something the Gunshade had plenty of.
# # #
“Aw c’mon, Donny, be a honey won’t you?”
The perpetually rumpled clerk gave Edna a dirty look.
“Do you have any idea how much trouble that’d get me in?”
“Look, all I’m asking for is for you to tell me who owns the car this number belongs to. I’m even doing you a favor by not telling you why I want it,” Edna said with a sly grin.
