Deadly Curiosities

by Gail Z. Martin

  Beneath Chuck’s jacket, he wore a vest covered in wristwatches. The timepieces had been taken off their straps and sewn in rows onto the vest so that they covered the fabric completely. From the sound of it, they were all wound and operational.

  Teag let out a low whistle. “I haven’t seen that many wristwatches being worn by one person since a guy tried to sell me a cheap Rolex in the New York subway.”

  We let Chuck up, and climbed to our feet. Chuck shoved the EMF disruptor in his pocket and glared at us. “I told you, if the watches ever run down, I die. That’s the other reason I tracked you down. You’re my best bet for getting the rest of my clocks out of that godforsaken storage unit and getting rid of that damned demon.”

  Flashing lights outside caught my attention, and I went to the window. “Uh oh,” I said. “There’s a police car outside.” I paused. “You two stay here. I’ll handle them.”

  I straightened my hair, put on my most innocent smile, and headed toward the door. Lucinda’s warding shouldn’t affect the police, but just in case, I stepped out onto the piazza and walked toward the door to the street.

  “Can I help you, officer?”

  The cop looked at me, and I knew he was trying to see behind me, onto the porch. “We got calls that someone was attacked by a vicious dog?”

  I managed to look annoyed. “Did that pit bull get out again?” I shook my head. “I don’t know who he belongs to, but he’s always getting loose. Big dog, all white, huge teeth. He chased a man down the street, but they’re both gone, now.”

  The cop made a note in his book and nodded. “If you see the dog again, give Animal Control a call.

  They’ll catch him and we’ll fine the owner.”

  “I’ll let you know if I see anything,” I promised, certain Animal Control did not want to deal with a demon minion.

  “Have a good evening,” the cop said with a nod, and headed back to his car. I watched him pull out, and then went back inside.

  “I’ll make some more tea,” Teag was saying as I returned to the kitchen. I gave Chuck a level glare. “Now, where were we? Did you say, ‘demon’?”

  Chuck gave me a no-bullshit glare. “You know damn right I did. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have protections set by a Class 1 Practitioner.”

  “A what?” This time, the confusion wasn’t feigned.

  Chuck rolled his eyes. “You guys ever hear about how Hitler wanted to collect supernatural objects?

  You know, like in Indiana Jones?”

  Teag put the kettle on to boil and came over to listen. I nodded in response.

  “Yeah, well over the years, he wasn’t the only one. Every two-bit dictator and narco lord thinks he’d be so much more bad-ass if he just had a demon or two on his payroll. Or an old Egyptian artifact that makes enemies turn into cockroaches. You get the picture. Well, we were the guys they sent in to steal that shit back.”

  “I’ve heard about soldiers going in to save cultural treasures and artwork,” I said. “I’ve never heard about them being airlifted in to snatch crystal balls.”

  Chuck’s smirk returned. “Do you think the government gave a crap about artwork? What do you think was so valuable about those ‘cultural’ treasures?”

  Magic. It made sense. Benign or dangerous, magic was powerful, and whoever controlled the artifact controlled the magic. The Alliance couldn’t be the only group out there trying to get dangerous objects out of circulation. On the other hand, the Alliance destroyed or bound the objects. Governments were likely to want anything with special powers for themselves. So did groups like the Family, which employed the likes of Corban Moran. So hard to tell, sometimes, who the real good guys were.

  “What happened to the items after you ‘liberated’ them?” Teag asked. I figured he had come to the same conclusions I had.

  Chuck shrugged. “You know how everyone talks about Area 51? The place where they think the government hides all the UFOs out in the Nevada desert? The stuff we stole went to a place like that, only they still don’t talk about it.” He crossed his arms over his chest, daring us to contradict him.

  “Is that who you’re working for? The military?” I asked. That could pose real problems. I didn’t much fancy being locked up in a secret facility until government researchers figured out what made me tick, and I figured Sorren would be even less thrilled about the prospect.

  Chuck shook his head. “Nah. I don’t trust those guys. They said they were locking the stuff up but, they work for the politicians, you know?” He leaned forward. “So why are you so interested in going into a place any sane person would leave the hell alone? I don’t think you’re urban explorers, and I don’t think you’re ghost hunters. Someone paying you? What’s in it for you?”

  I exchanged a glance with Teag. I really wanted to say that if I told him, I’d have to kill him, but that was a little too close to the truth. “We work for a global organization that gets dangerous objects off the market,” I said carefully. “It’s kind of a public service. The objects are either destroyed or bound so they can’t hurt anyone. They don’t get funneled into anyone’s arsenal.”

  Chuck gave me a look like I was the biggest sap in the world. “Huh. I used to believe that kind of thing, too. But it’s a nice thought.”

  I wasn’t going to argue with him. “Something brought you here, Mr. Pettis. I don’t think you were entirely surprised to run into a bad spook. So why did you come?”

  For all Chuck’s curmudgeonly manner, there was something very vulnerable about him. Whatever he had seen in the service had scarred him, broken a piece of him, and now that the wife and children I had glimpsed in my vision were gone, those old horrors weighed on his mind.

  “I want my clocks. That’s part of it. But some of it’s for Jimmy,” he said, and I knew he meant Jimmy Redshoes. “I saw what killed him, Jimmy and the other men.” He lifted his chin defiantly. “I knew better than to try to tell the cops. Hell’s bells, they’d have locked me up and probably charged me with the murders if I told them I saw a demon flay those men.” He leaned forward. “But I think you’ll believe me. I think you already know that.”

  “What do you bring to the party, Mr. Pettis?” I asked. I really wished Sorren was here to glamor the guy and find out if he was telling the truth, although my gut said he was, through a tilted perspective.

  “The guy you want is named Moran. Tall, thin guy with a puckered face. Hides under a hat, but he looks like he pruned up in the sun,” Chuck said bluntly. “Jimmy Redshoes and Kevin Harvey, they used to come into Stor-Your-Own and loot the units that were abandoned. They left my stuff alone, and I left them alone. I understood. You gotta do what you gotta do to survive these days.”

  Kevin Harvey. That was the name of the man I’d glimpsed in the vision at the Dennison house. “That’s where they got the things they sold,” I said. Chuck nodded.

  “I also knew those guys who dove for treasure. Russ and the guys from the Privateer,” Chuck said.

  “Nice folks. Something fishy about what happened to them. I think Moran had something to do with it.”

  Chuck’s instincts were too spot on for his own good. His Black Ops background dismissed the notion that he was naïve. I suspected that he was a sterling judge of character in figuring that we weren’t the kind to kill him for knowing too much, and that he likely had a touch of his own magic.

  “You were going to tell us what you bring to the party?” Teag reminded him.

  Chuck gave a world-weary smile. “I know all the ways in and out of Stor-Your-Own. I’ve been going in and out since it closed, and I’m alive to talk about it – which is more than I can say for any of the others.

  I know the layout. It’s not what you might have seen on a map,” he said with a look that told us he figured we had done our homework.

  “The place has gone to hell in a handbasket over the last six months,” he said. “Sinkholes. Debris from the last hurricane that took off some of the roofing. No electricity. That makes the bui
lding darker than the back of the moon, and you’ve got to navigate in and out before something eats you.”

  He gave me a pointed glare. “I know where Moran and his demon make their nest in that place. I know their habits, and I know how to get around them.” He jabbed a thumb at his chest. “I’m your guide. All I want is my clocks.”

  Chuck was bat-shit crazy around the edges, but if he’d seen the action he said he had, he was entitled to it. He had a point. To my knowledge, Sorren hadn’t scouted the interior of Stor-Your-Own, and we sure as hell weren’t going to. I didn’t doubt his claim that he had been going in and out successfully for months, managing to stay alive when so many others hadn’t. What I didn’t know yet was whether or not he was in league with Moran.

  “Your proposal is interesting,” I said. I glanced at the vintage Longines watch on his wrist. “Let me hold your watch for a moment.”

  Chuck looked taken aback, and then he simply stared at me. Slowly, he removed his wristwatch, a real antique beauty. I held it in my hands, pretending to study its face.

  I saw flashes of the same memories I glimpsed at Chuck’s house: the dark-haired woman, now dead.

  The children, now grown. His loneliness and defiant independence. The guilt over things that had occurred under orders during the war. I saw flashes of his happiest memories, and fragments of the things that haunted his dreams. And when I was done, I knew a few more things. Some of them involved precognition, Chuck’s hidden, burdensome talent.

  Chuck’s belief that he would die without the clocks was genuine. Not necessarily true, but definitely something he believed without reservation. Blame PTSD. I did.

  Chuck’s government connections were severed abruptly and bitterly long ago. He wasn’t going to rat us out to the NSA.

  I glanced up to Teag, who gave me a nod. Teag’s ability to weave information includes perception.

  He’s an insanely good judge of character. Chuck made the cut.

  I realized Chuck was staring at me as I handed back his watch. “You’re psychometric,” he said matter of-factly. “Of course you are. That’s how you know which pieces are dangerous.”

  I thought about arguing, but instead I just shrugged. “We’ve all got our gifts. We can’t all see into the future.” I met his eyes. He looked startled, then his gaze slid away. He knew I’d made him.

  I had no idea how I was going to explain this to Sorren, but I trusted both my gift and my gut. “If you want a chance to make Moran pay for killing Jimmy and Kevin – and for everything else, we’d be glad to have you as our guide.”

  I TOLD SORREN about Chuck and his unusual background, as well as my read of his trustworthiness and my invitation. Sorren had been understandably skeptical, and had asked that he and Mirov get to meet Chuck before plans moved forward. It was a reasonable request, and I couldn’t fault Sorren’s caution, even if it dented my pride a bit to be second-guessed.

  “Look at it this way,” Teag said as we waited in Trifles and Folly for the others to show up. “Sorren’s been doing this for a lot longer. Maybe once you’ve been at it for a couple of hundred years, he’ll let you pick members for the team without him.”

  “Very funny,” I said, but he had a point. I was still new at this. And I hoped my choice had been a good one.

  Sorren and Mirov arrived before Chuck. Sorren had recently fed, because his pallor was gone, and his light complexion was a touch ruddy, as if he had been out in the wind. In low light, he could easily pass for mortal. Mirov, dressed all in black, looked like a hit man out of a Cold War movie.

  “You’re taking a risk by involving an outsider,” Sorren said. “I’m not convinced we need him.”

  “You were going to go check out the storage facility.” I said. “Did you have the chance to go?”

  Sorren nodded. “But I didn’t go past the fence. The energy stinks of demon and death. It’s definitely where the demon is nesting, and if the demon’s there, odds are so is Moran.”

  I leaned back in my chair. “Then that’s a big plus for bringing Chuck with us. He’s been in and out of there fairly often since it closed, so he knows what’s normal and what isn’t,” I said. “He says there’s damage from the last couple of storms, plus lack of maintenance, and he knows how to get around it.

  Plus, he’s certain he knows where Moran and his demon are holed up. Up until now, he’s mostly avoided them. But he’s desperate enough to get his clocks, he offered to guide us.”

  “He’s one more liability,” Mirov added, clearly unhappy about my invitation. “We have no idea how he’ll react under stress.”

  I arched an eyebrow. “He’s been ‘reacting under stress’ for six months now. Teag checked out his story – he really is ex-Special Forces, former Black Ops. He saw combat. Plus I’m ninty-nine percent sure he’s clairvoyant.”

  “He comes with his own weapons,” Teag volunteered. “And he didn’t freak out when the minion came after him.”

  “For all we know, he could be working for Moran,” Mirov said.

  “That’s why I read his watch,” I replied, starting to get annoyed. “He’s frightened of Moran, and repulsed. He genuinely grieves Jimmy Redshoes. He wants a chance to avenge Jimmy and Kevin. And he left the Army on terms that soured him on the military and cut off his old ties, so I don’t think he’s going to turn us in.”

  “He won’t,” Teag said. “I hacked into a couple of military databases. Chuck was reprimanded for insubordination and given a dishonorable discharge for leading a mutiny against his commanding officer.”

  “Why?” Mirov asked, his eyes narrowing.

  Teag gave a ‘gotcha’ grin. “According to testimony, Chuck tried to talk his superior officer out of the mission, because he had a premonition it would go terribly wrong. The officer refused to listen. Chuck wouldn’t back down, and took a swing at the guy. Chuck ended up in the brig, and the officer led the mission.” “What happened?” I asked.

  “The men walked into a trap. All but a handful died. The commander survived and pressed charges,”

  He grimaced. “If Chuck hadn’t taken a swing at him, he might have gotten off with a lesser punishment.

  As it was, he was court martialed, served time in Leavenworth, and given a dishonorable discharge.”

  “No wonder he’s bitter,” I said.

  “He’ll know more than he should about what we do,” Sorren groused.

  I leveled my gaze at him. “Then glamour him. If you can use mind control on Alistair, you can handle Chuck.”

  Just then, Chuck knocked at the locked front door of the shop. I wasn’t about to ask anyone to come in the back door after what happened the last time we used the alley.

  Chuck wore the same type of outfit as I’d seen him in before: olive green jacket (ticking), fatigues, and combat boots. He had a new gimme cap covering his bald head, this time from a trucking company. I saw a Glock in a holster on his belt, and I was guessing he had his ‘remote control’ and possibly other spiffy tools hidden about his person.

  “Thanks for coming,” I said, letting him in. “Come on back. We’re in the kitchen.” He grunted a greeting. I figured he was nervous, as well as just curmudgeonly.

  Teag offered Chuck a cup of tea, but Chuck shook his head and stood at one side of the small table, eyeing Sorren and Mirov. “I’m here,” he said. “What did you want to know?”

  “Cassidy says you’re willing to guide us in to the storage facility,” Sorren said. He was standing out of direct light, leaning against the counter.

  Chuck regarded him for a moment, then nodded. “I said I would.”

  “Why?” Mirov asked. He was at the end of the table, dark, glowering, and intimidating. I suspected it was intentional.

  Chuck didn’t scare easily. “Moran and his attack dog killed my friend Jimmy, and I figure he was behind some other people disappearing. People I liked. I spent ten years getting rid of scum like him when I was in the Army. It rubs me wrong, and I’d like to do something about it – and get
my clocks.”

  “Attack dog?” Sorren asked, raising an eyebrow.

  Chuck gave a sarcastic smile. “What else do you call a demon that comes when you whistle?”

  I could see that Chuck’s attitude and his knowledge was making an impression on Sorren, and I suspected he was using his heightened senses and long experience to size him up. I had the feeling that Chuck was sizing up Sorren as well.

  “What do you know of demons?’ Mirov scoffed. “Comic books? Movies?”

  “I was with a team that fought a lamashtu in Iraq,” Chuck said without batting an eye. Lost two men, came out with four, bound the demon and turned it over to a local holy man to get rid of,” he added.

  “Gave me this.” Chuck pulled up his sleeve. A deep gash ran from his shoulder to his wrist.

  “Go ahead,” he said, leveling a challenging look at Sorren and Mirov. “Touch the scar. If you’ve got an ounce of magic, you’ll know I didn’t get it cutting my lawn.”

  “Anything else?” Mirov questioned, not yet convinced.

  “We put down an Adromalech-level demon in South Korea,” Chuck replied. “Nasty. His minions spit a mix of acid and poison. I got this for a souvenir,” he said, and bent his head so that we got a good look at the puckered burn on his neck. “I spent two weeks in the base hospital. Almost died before they figured out how to knock out the infection.”

  He glared at them. “And I’ll say it again: go ahead. Touch the scars. If you’re what you claim to be, it’ll be clear that I’m telling the truth.”

  We appeared to have a testosterone stand-off between Chuck, Sorren, and Mirov. I rolled my eyes.

  “Folks, we’ve got a demon on the loose and at least a dozen dead men. Chuck can get us in, and get us around the obstacles,” I said. “Personally, I think we need all the help we can get.”

  “Give me a moment,” Sorren said. “I’d like to speak with Taras.” Sorren and Mirov moved into my office and closed the door.