The DARK Trilogy: Titan's Song Chronicles Volume 1 (Books 1 - 3)

by Jacob Stanley

  Thackery and Joe were both part of the same regional field-unit and had collaborated on a few occasions, but they were a long way from being friends. In fact, Santini was one of the least trustworthy-seeming people Malcolm had ever met, so this news wasn’t much of a shock.

  “I suspect this isn’t the first time he’s got his fingers dirty,” said Malcolm.

  “Probably not, but he might be in serious trouble this time.”

  “Wouldn’t surprise me at all, but what business is it of ours? Last I heard, Joe was just a consultant, not a full initiate of The Order. His private activities aren’t really any of our business, are they?”

  “That changed recently. You heard about that big mess last year in Toronto?”

  “I know the basics.”

  “Joe was right in the middle of that, and there were certain… complications… By the time things were resolved, he knew too much about our business, and we decided to bring him fully into the fold. It was either that, or do away with him, and I’m a merciful soul. I’m surprised he hasn’t mentioned it to you—he was rather pleased about it and was bragging to everybody he could find.”

  “I make it a policy to talk to Joe as little as possible. What sort of forbidden stuff do you think he’s been fiddling with anyway?”

  “He’s been asking around about the use of crystals for linking with inter-dimensional entities, specifically in relation to very powerful things that live in The Gap Between Worlds.”

  “And you’re sure his interests weren’t strictly academic?”

  “Not sure, no. But there were disturbing indications.”

  “Who was he asking? I can’t imagine very many people in The Order know more than he does about things like that.”

  “Kitty knows more than anyone about things like that, particularly when it comes to the science end of it. He came to her about a week ago and started asking questions that made her suspicious. Then afterward, she tried to speak to him further on the issue, and couldn’t get hold of him, which worried her even more. Finally, she broke down a few days ago and came to me about it. I’ve been trying to get in touch with him ever since, with no success.”

  Malcolm tried to remember what Kitty did for The Order but he couldn’t quite recall. Something scientific, apparently.

  He crooked his shoulder up against his ear to hold the phone while he refilled his coffee. “What did he say that made her so skittish?”

  “He had questions about old-fashioned alchemy—how to create materials with enough resonant bandwidth to permit linking to very powerful entities from the dark side of The Gap: titans and the like. He specifically mentioned dragons.”

  “Dragons? You’re kidding.”

  “No. And according to Kitty he’d already learned the basics. He knew a lot about what sorts of materials might do the job, and he wanted her to tell him about the biological problems associated with a person linking to something as strong as a dragon. Especially the initial cellular replacement rates during the resonance matching stage.

  “So you’re saying he was interested in the methods used to become a Darklord then?”

  “It looks that way.”

  Malcolm tried, and failed, to keep himself from laughing.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You do know how hard it is to survive a connection to a being with that much juice, right?”

  “The Gap Between Worlds isn’t my area of expertise, but I understand it takes enormous natural ability.”

  “No… It’s much more than that. There’s a reason Darklords are only spoken of in old legends. The power required to maintain your basic humanity while linked with a titan is practically mythical. It’s like, if psi-potential were equivalent to basketball playing ability, then only someone like Michael Jordan or Lebron James would have a strong enough connection to The Stream to keep from being utterly overwhelmed by a titan. My own connection is well above average, but if I were to link up to a titan—and I’m not talking about anything so grand as a dragon, mind—even with every kind of dampening technology available to weaken its influence, my mind would be gone within a few days, and my body wouldn’t last more than six months. Joe, on the other hand, wouldn’t even be able to put up a fight. He’d be a raving beast within hours and he’d be dead within a week or two at the most.”

  “Unless he has more potential than he’s been letting on.”

  “It would have to be a hell of a lot more. Besides, surely you tested him at some point when you were vetting him?”

  “On tests he shows a fairly minuscule level of psi-potential, but there are ways to trick those tests.”

  “Are you suggesting he was running some kind of long-range con?”

  Enid sighed. “No, not really… My real guess is that he’s working for someone else. There was a time when he had some very questionable associations. He gave those up when we hired him, but he knows a lot of the wrong kinds of people, and someone might have brought him an opportunity he couldn’t resist.”

  Thackery found that much more plausible. If someone offered Joe enough money, he might do any number of questionable things.

  “So,” he said. “If you’ve known all this for a few days, what happened last night to make you email me so late?”

  “Oh come on Malcolm. I’m sure you’ve already guessed.”

  “A dream?”

  “Yes. I had a horrible nightmare involving Joe, and now I’m even more concerned. I think he’s been imprisoned somewhere. If so, it could be a bloody disaster. He knows things now, much more than before, and he wouldn’t hesitate to give it all up under the slightest pressure. It’d be a damn mess.”

  Thackery laughed. “So you’re worried he might be alive, then.”

  “It’ll be on my head if he leaks something and causes trouble for The Order. I’m the one who brought him in on the Toronto thing.”

  “Oh Enid, you shouldn’t have done that. He’s the sort of man you keep at arm’s length at all times.”

  “I know you’re right, but I must confess that I’ve always found him very likable.”

  “Eh? Different strokes, I suppose… Anyway, perhaps you’re overreacting. Haven’t you considered the possibility that your dream might just be the result of your paranoia about Joe spilling secrets, rather than some sort of message from the higher realms?”

  “Of course I’ve considered it. You don’t think I’m a moron do you Malcolm?”

  “Certainly not, Enid. It just seems rather convenient that your special dreams would feature someone you were already concerned about in the first place. I mean, the dreams are pretty random usually, aren’t they? You can’t direct them to keep you updated on any particular area of interest, right?”

  “I can’t direct them, no, but they aren’t random either. Think about it this way—if Joe were in trouble, why would the cosmic forces send the message to some random person who couldn’t do anything about it? I know you’re skeptical, but there really is nothing random about the workings of The Stream. Everything happens for a reason.”

  Enid was a firm believer in destiny theory. He waffled back and forth himself, but he didn’t want to argue with her on the subject. In truth, she was smarter than him—much smarter than almost anyone he knew—and absolutely impossible to argue with successfully. So instead of continuing along those lines, he just agreed with her, and asked her to describe the dream.

  “It was… disturbing,” she said. “I saw Joe in a dark place—so dark that I couldn’t really see him clearly, but I knew that he was naked and he was walking in circles, endless circles. Nothing else really happened. It was just him alone in the dark, and I was hovering along beside him, but the feeling of the dream was absolutely dreadful.”

  “You sound as if you’re actually worried about the poor fool.”

  “Maybe a little. I’m not sure what was happening, but he was in terrible shape.”

  Malcolm sighed and sat back down on his couch. “So I suppose you want me to investigate.�
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  “The term ‘investigate’ might be a little too formal for what I’m talking about. More than anything I just need you to go to his house and see if he’s home or not. You’re the only agent I can trust who lives anywhere near his place.”

  Joe had a little shack on the Arizona-Texas border—about a three hour drive for Malcolm. It wasn’t exactly next-door, but it would be an easy enough trip.

  “And what do I do if he’s not home?”

  “Then you sniff around a bit. See if you can turn up anything. I’m especially interested to know if there are any actual signs—energy signatures or paraphernalia or whatever—that suggest he’s really been trafficking with titans.”

  “So you think this really does involve a titan?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. There was definitely something awful going on in my dream, and the sense of a terrible presence hanging over everything.”

  - - -

  After he got off the phone with Enid, Malcolm hastily took a shower, and dressed, then started going through his collection of curiosities, trying to decide what equipment to bring with him.

  In the end he selected several artifacts that he thought might be useful against forces from The Gap between worlds, then loaded them into his van along with all the other things he normally liked to keep handy when working—there were several crate’s. Malcolm liked, and depended on, his gear.

  After that, he filled the pockets of his coat, both inside and outside, with the very important things he always kept on his immediate person, and finally he put his big revolver into the holster under his left arm.

  Within an hour, he had taken to the road, feeling the same mix of fear and excitement that he always felt right before starting a job.

  Tales of evil warlocks and Darklords danced in his head as the miles vanished beneath his wheels.

  Chapter 4 - Off Day

  The bright rays of the sun fell on Simone’s eyes for a while, changing her dreams in subtle ways that she wouldn’t remember later, and then she came awake, not opening her eyes right away, letting her mind gradually rise to a fuller degree of alertness before finally glancing over at the clock.

  It was 1:30 pm, which meant she’d slept a pretty long time. She wasn’t sure exactly when she went to sleep, but she thought it was a few hours before midnight.

  Most nights she only slept seven or eight hours, so this was a little weird. It didn’t matter in a practical sense—she didn’t have anything in particular planned today—but it sucked to miss so much daylight, especially on an off-day from work.

  She shifted in bed and the sheets clung to her body.

  Everything felt sticky.

  She raised her covers, looked down at herself.

  Her night-shirt—an oversized yellow thing with a smiley face on it—was dark with moisture, and a pungent smell of sweat came pouring out from under the covers.

  She dropped the blanket, ran her fingers through her hair, and discovered it was almost as wet as if she’d just climbed out of a swimming pool.

  Huh?

  She looked around, and noticed that she’d gone to bed without turning on her window air unit. And that might’ve been it, but honestly, the room didn’t feel especially warm. Certainly not warm enough to justify this.

  It was the kind of sweat that might break out when you were coming down from a really bad fever or getting over a serious infection. But she’d felt fine when she went to sleep, and she felt fine now.

  Of course, that didn’t mean squat. Lots of people felt just fine all the time and then fell over dead one day from something they never saw coming.

  Hadn’t she heard that people with cancer sometimes had night sweats?

  Maybe…

  It was a worrisome thought, exactly the sort of thing that would get stuck in her head and make her paranoid all day long.

  Great fucking job Simone.

  She lay there for a while longer, staring up at the ceiling, thinking about all the different things that might be wrong with her. Then she sat up, stretched, and got out of bed.

  A glance in the body length mirror on her closet door revealed the full extent of her sweatiness. Her hair hung lank, clinging to her forehead, molded to the shape of her neck in the back, and her shirt was so damp she could actually see through it in certain spots. It was pretty gross.

  I’m gonna have to shower before anything. Even before my coffee. It’s almost like I’ve soiled myself or something.

  She went to the closet to grab her bathrobe, then started out of the room, but before she could make it out the door, her eyes were drawn to the pyramid sitting on the shelf to her left, just above the desk where she kept her computer.

  A strong impulse came over her to touch it again, and before she even had time to consider it consciously, she reached out and did so.

  The surface was just as cold as last night, and, oddly, a little damp. Simone almost thought she detected the barest hint of condensation on it.

  She picked it up and surprised herself by pressing it against her cheek, relishing the coolness on her skin.

  And she noticed then that there was a scent coming from it: a lemony fragrance, like an artificially scented cleaning solution. The scent was nice on the surface, but there was also something repellent about it. Something she couldn’t quite define.

  Simone blinked and put the figurine back down, feeling a strange sense of loss as soon as her hand separated from it. She almost picked it back up again, reflexively, but managed to stifle the urge.

  Maybe it really was good luck, she thought, as she made her way to the bathroom.

  It certainly gave her a good feeling to hold it.

  - - -

  Steam from the hot running water made the bathroom so foggy that she could barely see from one end of the room to another.

  She pulled the plastic curtain aside, stepped into the shower, and almost immediately realized the water was too hot. She usually liked it almost scalding, but for some reason she couldn’t stand it today.

  She turned the hot down until the water was lukewarm. Then after a few moments, she turned it down even more, until it was actually cool on her skin.

  The coolness felt good, soothing. She found herself growing calmer, like a fire inside her was slowly being extinguished.

  After about 10 minutes, she stepped out onto a shaggy green bath mat, and glanced up at her nude reflection in the bathroom mirror.

  Not too shabby, she thought.

  She’d put on a tiny bit of weight since moving back home, but most of it was working to her advantage. Truth be told, she’d probably look better in a bikini right right now than she would have three months ago.

  Guess I was a little too skinny before… Could probably still stand to gain a few pounds, honestly.

  She took a moment to dry off, brushed her teeth, and then started to grab the bath robe hanging on the door rack.

  Her hand went to it, touched it, and then she pulled away like she’d just burned herself.

  Which was odd.

  She took a moment to think about why, and realized that for some unknown reason, even the idea of getting dressed was suddenly almost physically painful to think about, and this gave her pause because she’d never been one of those people who felt comfortable running around naked in private. She’d always seen it as a slippery slope—if you weren’t even taking the trouble to do basic shit, like putting your damn clothes on, then what came next? Keep going down that path long enough, and before you know it you’re a caveman sleeping in the dirt, eating raw meat, and pooping in a hole in the ground. She was honestly far more comfortable getting naked in front of a perfect stranger in someone else’s house than sitting around watching TV naked in the privacy of her own home. There were certain situations where being naked was normal, or at least understandable, and others where it wasn’t.

  After arguing with herself for almost a whole minute, she finally managed to quell her revulsion enough to put the robe on, and walked out of the st
ill-steamy bathroom into the cooler air of the hallway.

  She was halfway up the stairs on the way to her bedroom, feeling extremely discontented with the confinement of the robe, when she remembered she needed to give Melvin his morning serving of cat food.

  She came back down, walked into the kitchen, grabbed a can from the cabinet and peeled off the metal lid.

  The rotten fishy smell came wafting up. It was a strong smell, very rich.

  She brought the can up closer to her nose so she could smell it better.

  Her mouth started watering.

  She was about to dip a finger into the can and scoop out some of the meat when she suddenly realized what she was doing.

  What in the ever-living-fuck?

  She put the can down on the counter and stepped away.

  Obviously she must be starving to death. That was the only possible explanation.

  When was the last time I ate?

  All she could remember was grabbing a burger and fries at MacDonald's on her way to work yesterday afternoon.

  Clearly it wasn’t enough.

  She picked up the can, holding her breath to keep from getting another whiff, carried it over to the food bowl and dumped it out.

  She called for Melvin and he came running just like always, but then he froze about six feet shy of where she was standing, his ears down and his hackles up.

  Mel was a pretty chill kitty, so this was kinda weird.

  “What’s wrong with you?” She spoke in a soft, high-pitched tone, trying to soothe him.

  He growled deep in his throat, hissed, and backed away.

  She couldn’t help but feel a little offended.

  She picked the bowl up and leaned it forward so he could see the food in it.

  He hissed again.

  “Suit yourself then, asshole.” She tossed the bowl aside and stomped back into the kitchen.

  Little bastard can go fuck himself, I didn’t do a goddamn thing to him.