by Erik Lynd
“Wait,” Silas said.
Father Delentante’s eyes were drawn to the old rosary and his imaged re-formed.
“That was my grandfather’s rosary,” Delentante said. His voice faint and hollow sounding as though from far away. He looked sadly at Silas. “When I pass, when I go, will I have these memories?”
“Not sure. I’ve never died before and probably never will,” Silas answered. “I need to know what happened to you underground.”
The shade’s look turned from melancholy to confusion. Then that too faded and the shade looked at his body on the bed. They were losing him.
“You will remember,” St. Abigail said next to him.
She stepped forward seeking the shade’s attention.
“You will keep some memories, but they will be different. But that isn’t what matters. What matters is what those experiences and memories have made you now. That is what you take with you into these new worlds.”
Silas wondered how many memories she carried with her now after passing through. He was beginning to wonder if he could trust Mort’s assurances that she had no memory of the time on earth before her death.
Delentante nodded slowly as though understanding and then came around the front of the bed. “The two of you don’t belong here. But I don’t think you belong back there either.” He nodded toward the gray and blurred figure of Brother Talbot standing against the wall.
“Father,” St. Abigail tried again. “We need to know what happened under the city. What happened when that creature attacked you?”
“Yes the monster, the writing. The writing on the wall. Old drawing, well carving actually. Old even before the Europeans arrived in the country. And next to it writing, modern phonetic. Lenape maybe?”
“What were the drawings? What did the writing say?” Silas asked, he was getting impatient. The reports had mentioned writing and drawings, but no details. They were taking too long; they would not be able to hold his shade much longer. Already the image was beginning to dissolve again.
“Doug can take you to it. He remembers,” Father Delentante said. His voice was definitely getting weaker.
“Doug’s dead Father. He ain’t going to be of any help to anyone,” Silas said. He was holding back his anger.
St. Abigail gave Silas a harsh look and stepped closer to Father Delentante regaining his attention. “Please father, is there anything you can tell us?”
“Lily, she can lead you there. She was working with Doug.”
“Lily who?” St. Abigail asked.
Delentante shrugged. “The Native American will help, I think. He had a headdress and a club.”
He was fading fast, Silas held up the rosary again, but Father Delentante ignored it. He was losing his grip.
“What did the writing say Father, what were the words and the pictures?”
Delentante was almost transparent by now.
“Tell Doug I think he was right. They were guardians not hunters, they had not killed it.”
“Silas,” St. Abigail whispered. “Something is coming.”
Silas could feel it too. Something was coming.
“What do you mean guardians? What are they guarding?”
Again Delentante just shrugged.
“Silas!” St. Abigail cried.
Silas saw it. In the corner of the room a black swirling mass had appeared. “What did the words say?”
Father Delentante spoke his last words before fading away. “The monster wakes.”
“Silas, we need to go,” St. Abigail said.
The blob of darkness in the corner had grown and shifted into a churning mass of forms. Some human, some not, shifting and sliding through each other. Mouths and other orifices opened and closed in silent screams as the mass flowed into the room.
St. Abigail was right. Silas was not sure what this thing was, but it was a creature of this in-between realm and was probably dangerous. He had had enough fighting for one day. He leaned down and blew out the candles.
Instantly the room returned to normal and the black tide of spirits was gone. Colors flowed back into the world, the necromantic door was shut. Talbot stood up straight, surprised at their sudden return.
“Did it work? I saw you sort of fade, but not completely disappear.”
“We got something, but I don’t know how useful it will be,” Silas said.
Silas pulled out his cell phone as St. Abigail continued to fill in Brother Talbot. He called Mort.
“Mort. I need you to look up the name Lily at NYU. I don’t know her last name, but she would be doing post graduate work in the archeology or anthropology department.”
“Did you go see the priest? What more did you learn? He was in and out of consciousness when he made his report.”
“Well he gave us the name. Apparently she was working with this Doug,” Silas said.
“I will look her up for you. Did he say anything else?”
“Just something about an Indian with a club, guardians, and a monster waking up. Got to go.”
“A monster waking up? Guardians? What the…”
Silas hung up on him. Monks were coming in and out of the room now talking with Brother Talbot and then rushing off to carry out his orders.
“Sir, I know how they got passed our perimeter security. They never went through it,” Brother Harold was saying.
“Come again?” Talbot asked.
“They came from within the building.”
“Let me guess. The storage rooms have access to the basement,” Silas said.
Brother Harold nodded. “There are stairs to the cellars.”
“And I bet we could find some old, unused tunnels that connect or at least come close to the sewer system or utility access tunnel,” Silas said.
Again Brother Harold nodded. “I have already begun assembling a team to learn where they came from.”
“Be careful, they might still be lingering below. I want everybody working in teams of no less than five,” Brother Talbot said.
“Do you have any idea what those things were Silas?” St. Abigail asked
Again, Silas noticed how out of place the southern belle accent was on such a dangerous individual. And the fact that she touched upon the one question bothering him did not make him feel any better about her. He didn’t know what they were, but he should have; he knew something about every type of supernatural beastie out there.
“I have no idea,” he growled.
“I read your file, you are the most experienced agent of the Inquisition and you don't at least have an idea?”
“No,” he said.
He turned to leave, but she grabbed his arm. Demonic fury leaped into his eyes as he looked down at her.
“It won’t work with me Silas. You don’t intimidate me, I’m a Saint remember? I have been beyond and your fury does not threaten me.” She noticed she was still holding his arm and pulled her hand away. “Look, Moreales wants us to be partners in this and I am no happier about it than you, but we have to find some way to work together.”
“I work alone,” Silas said.
“I know, and so do I usually. But this isn’t your usual burst into the room all guns blazing type of mission. You will need a little subtlety, some investigative skills.” She crossed her arms and looked up at him with a little smile on her lips. “That’s why I am here.”
“Look lady, Moreales made you my partner because he thinks I need a babysitter. I can’t do my job if I have to turn around every other step and protect you. You’ll just slow me down.”
“Well the Vatican was wrong about one thing; you aren’t stupid,” she said, righteous fury blooming in her face which, Silas noticed, made her southern accent all the more pronounced. “You’re right Moreales did see me as a babysitter of sorts. He seemed to think you might have a problem staying out of trouble with this one. So don’t get all pissy with me, he’s the one who thinks you need help. If you’ve got a problem, give him a call. As for slowing you down, I think I did
alright back there. In fact, I think it was me who got one of those creatures off you.”
That accent was pretty attractive, especially when she gets mad, Silas thought. He remembered the first time he ever saw her. She was dressed in a high-necked blouse and long skirt standing out front of the general store in Tattle, Oklahoma. And she could handle herself in a fight… what are you thinking? No Silas, you work alone.
“You can do whatever you like just stay out of my way and don’t expect me to slow for you or take care of you.”
“Why Silas you do say the sweetest things. I think I’m growing on you,” she said.
Her smile was sickeningly sweet. Probably the same smile a black widow gives her mate just before she kills him. He grunted and moved past her into the hall.
“So I guess this means we are heading underground.”
She was keeping stride with him as he walked down the hall.
“Good luck with that, let me know how it turns out,” he said.
“What are you going to do?”
“I am going to visit an old friend and maybe have a few drinks.”
He smiled at the confused look on her face.
6
Mr. Webb stood at the edge of the roof, leaning over the street below. It was not a tall building, but there was a strong breeze and the cool wind felt good on his face. The wind was sweet, carrying the stink of the city and the noise of its cars and people. He could hear the sirens and voices of millions, so loud compared to the voices of his people below.
It was late and the shadowed rooftop was dark enough to hide him and this meeting, but still it was a risk. Worth it though, so he could see and feel the upper city again. He needed this inspiration to help him prepare to lead his people to the surface again. He would live in this world once again.
Coth stepped out of the shadows behind him, three other of Webb’s personal guard stood off to the side. They gave him solitude when he needed it, but they would be there in an instant to fanatically protect him. That was the way with all his children, they loved him. Then he remembered Jeremy. Perhaps not all.
“I miss this Coth,” Mr. Webb said, absently dabbing at the blood leaking from his eye. “I’ve been underground too long.”
“I don’t. I don’t remember much from before my rebirth, but I think it was a horrible place. I remember suffering up here. Down there I found my family,” Coth said.
Mr. Webb smiled. “I remember you Coth, before you came into the fold. You were suffering; it was a hard life that this world forced upon you. And it was not of your choosing. I am glad I could save you, give you a sense of purpose and of…” He let the words trail off, knowing Coth would finish them.
“Of family,” Coth finished. “All the others feel the same.”
“Even the flawed? Even the ones whose souls were not pure enough and did not survive the rebirth with their minds intact?”
“As you say, their souls were impure; that was not your fault. And we clean up after them as always, as I am doing now.”
“And you come to the point as always. I can count on you and that is why you are my favorite.” Mr. Webb said and turned away from the edge of the roof. “Then report, is the priest dead?”
“He is dead. However, the monks were much better prepared than we had thought.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean they were surprised, but they actually had heavy weapons and reacted more like a military installation than a monastery. We came in through the tunnels as planned and bypassed much of their security. Stupidly they focused on threats from beyond their walls not from within.”
“Yes, few know the extent of the Undercity. Most think it merely uninhabitable sewers.”
Coth nodded. “But soon after we were discovered, we ambushed what appeared to be a sentry group, heavily armed. We had knocked out some of their security systems, but they were back online very quickly, indicating that their security was much more sophisticated than we had thought.”
Interesting. He would have to file that information for later.
“But you were able to complete the mission?” Mr. Webb asked.
“Yes, the trespasser is dead; however, there is one other problem. Just after we reached the priest’s room more Monks showed up, and with them were a man and woman who were not part of the monastery.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. They did not appear to be mortals either. I left them to fight against my team and my brothers should have been enough to deal with humans. But soon after I killed the priest the man and woman entered. I escaped by jumping out of the window. The man followed by jumping a distance no mortal could survive. We fought briefly, and while he did not overpower me, he possessed great strength and stamina.”
Mr. Webb thought for a second. Something with the strength and power equal to Coth? Their enemies had just become more dangerous. Who were they and where did they come from? Were they working with that Indian?
“What did the man look like? And this woman too?”
“He was large for a human. Looked like he was a biker--leather jacket, old jeans, t-shirt with some sort of band logo on it. He moved fast and I definitely got the feeling that there was something powerful inside him. The woman was tall, blond hair and athletic. I did not confront her, but I saw her fighting some of my brothers and winning.”
Mr. Webb looked sharply at Coth. “Winning? Were there casualties on our side?”
“Yes, but we took the dead with us. No evidence was left behind.”
This was almost unheard of. The brethren had lost one of their own? That did not happen. Only that Indian had ever killed one of his children.
“This is disturbing. We have managed to keep our existence hidden from others, even the other denizens that live in the Undercity, and that is no small task. There will come a time when we will be forced to reveal ourselves, but not yet. It is too early.”
Mr. Webb dabbed again at the blood tears forming in his eyes and dripping past his glasses. He came to a decision.
“We must accelerate our time table; that is the only answer. That should not be a problem I think the flock is ready.” He turned to Coth and put a hand gently on the large creature’s arm. “And you must take care of this man and woman. Discover who they work for if you can, but the most important thing is that you find and destroy them. They will not ruin my plans. If we move quickly enough it will be too late for our enemies to do anything to stop us.”
Coth fell in beside him as he walked back to the roof access door. He towered over Mr. Webb.
“Recruiting is up. The services to the forlorn and downtrodden are going well,” Mr. Webb said.
“Yes sir. You are the father to a very loving flock,” Coth said, adoration in his voice.
“Have you found anything about that Indian?” Mr. Webb asked.
“Not yet. I have searched a large section of the Undercity, which is not easy when you want to stay away from prying eyes. It’s as if he just disappeared after saving the priest, which didn’t do any good in the end anyway.”
“Didn’t do any good? We just had to stage a major assault on a monastery in the upper city, exposing ourselves to two new enemies. I think whatever the Indian’s intention it definitely put us in a more dangerous position. That might have been his intention all along.”
Coth nodded, properly chastised.
“I am returning to the Undercity; there will be a mass service tonight and I am curious to see how large my flock has grown. When we meet again I expect to see blood on your hands. Or at least some information.”
Mr. Webb opened the roof access door and headed down the stairs wondering who these new players were and what part they would ultimately play in his plans
Silas had just grabbed a beer from the fridge when the computer beeped, indicating he had a call. The entire basement of the church had been remodeled into a living space for him—a large area for working out, one wall containing racks of weapons, mostly melee type, but with the occasion
al firearm; his bike sat on a lift at one end; the other contained most of his musical equipment and an isolation room for his guitar amplifiers so the holy rollers upstairs didn't flip out every time he got the urge to pick up an axe and tear out a nasty riff.
By far, however, two features dominated the large warehouse space (well, three if he counted the sixty inch flat screen; working for the Vatican did have its perks). One was the large technical center that Mort had insisted on installing. Multiple computer monitors, large and small, hanging from brackets in the wall. Silas thought it was a waste of space-- computers were pretty much good for Google and porn and that was about it. Not that porn wasn’t important; he just didn’t see the need for all the extra fire power.
The second feature was a block of racks that stored all the equipment a small army would need. Or perhaps an intelligence organization. Everything from night-vision goggles to tracking devices lined the shelves. Microscopic cameras, systems for wiring people for recording, other high tech weapons that he wasn’t even sure how to use. He hardly ever used any of this equipment; he just liked it because it made him feel like Batman. Only Silas had real super powers and wasn’t really one of the good guys in the strictest sense of the word.
His real pride and joy, however, lay behind a small, unassuming door in the corner. He had made a deal, or rather won a bar bet, with a Djinn and had him carve out a room from the space between worlds, effectively making his own little universe. It contained all his mystical possessions; his books, his apothecary storage, and some choice artifacts that he had managed to get a hold of.
The computer beeped again before Silas reached the keyboard. As he switched on the monitor and web cam, Mort’s face swam into view.
“Took you long enough Silas—oh! Jesus Christ, Silas, couldn’t you put some clothes on?” Mort looked away from the screen as though it hurt his eyes.
Silas looked down at his naked body, he looked good. He shrugged and pulled on a pair of jeans from the floor. Humans can be so sensitive.
“It’s okay Mort, I’ve covered the naughty bits.”
