The Second Book of Babylon

by Barry Reese

  “No. Communications outside the British Isles are on the fritz—works for some people, some of the time... for me, none of the above. But they’re out there and I’m going to get back to them. Somehow.”

  “I’m looking for spells that might be able to help... and so is Byron.”

  “I know.” John turned away from her, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “I’m hitting the road, kid. Wanted to tell you in person. I’m going to travel wherever I have to, looking for a way through that Barrier. There’s gotta be one. I can feel it.”

  Jennifer wanted to tell him to stick around but she knew his mind was made up, and he was as hard-headed as they came. “Be careful, cuz.”

  “You, too. And I’ll be in touch.”

  “You better.” Jennifer watched him disappear back into the shadows and a moment later she heard his own motorcycle roar to life. She was left alone with the ghosts of the dead... and cosmic spirit of retribution.

  ***

  BBC-1 Newsfeed

  “... This is Trish Tilby, reporting on location in London. We still have no idea how many people outside the Barrier might be receiving this transmission but if you are... let me tell you that this situation is like none that I could have ever conceived.” The attractive young reporter moved past the smoking ruins of 10 Downing Street, where emergency workers still held out hope that they would find survivors amidst the rubble. The New Olympians known as Aphrodite and Atlas were assisting in the removal of debris, their faces covered with soot. “With the dramatic events of the past week, we’ve seen former Prime Minister Tony Blair drafted out of retirement as the Labour Party has temporarily resumed power. This is a very different England than it was even just one month ago. Technology of all sorts is now operating on an inconsistent basis, sometimes with alarming or disastrous results. Various hospitals have reported widespread power outages, resulting in numerous complications and even deaths. For this and many other reasons, a state of emergency has been declared and Mr. Blair addressed the nation just hours ago, reassuring people that basic services will continue and that the economy will survive. In response, many store owners have announced plans to reopen as soon as—Oh my god!”

  Something large swooped down over Trish Tilby’s head, making the woman scream and duck out of the camera shot. When she stepped back into view, she and the workers nearby were staring skyward. “Ladies and gentlemen, that was a gargoyle. A living, breathing gargoyle! The creatures of myth that have been appearing in greater numbers since the Black Mass have now sprouted up everywhere—fairies, gargoyles, trolls, goblins... This is in addition to scores of people reporting strange powers of their own developing: everything from precognition to flight.” Taking a deep breath, Trish wrapped up by saying, “Despite the riots and panic, despite the bizarre creatures that now live amongst us, the people of England are persevering. Life goes on, as strange and frightening as that may be. Trish Tilby, reporting.”

  ***

  “Are you awake, Mr. Bolan?”

  Michael Bolan opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling of the small guest bedroom he’d been set down in at Bansi’s flat. His aches and pains were fading, though scars now littered his torso, making him look like a patchwork man. His shirt lay on a chair nearby and he looked down to see that Bansi—or his mother—had doctored him as best they could with the first aid materials they owned.

  “Yeah, I’m awake.” Bolan sat up, running a hand over his short-cropped hair.

  Bansi poked his head into the room. The young man was obviously dressed for work. “I’m going to be heading into town to re-open the shop this morning. Are you sure you don’t want me to take you to the hospital?”

  The former NYPD officer swung his feet off the bed and stood up. “I heal really quickly.”

  “So I see,” Bansi replied, marveling at how this stranger had revived since ending up on his doorstep.

  Bolan cleared his throat. “Look, I appreciate you taking me in the way you did. Not many people would’ve done that.”

  “Well, you looked pretty bad. You still haven’t told me what happened. I think you owe me that much.”

  Bolan grinned. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  Bansi strode over to the window and pulled back on the curtains, allowing the morning sunlight to stream in. A trio of imps were perched just outside the window, feasting on a small bird that they’d killed. Each of them looked up at Bansi with glittering eyes and wet mouths. “I think,” Bansi said, gesturing toward the imps, “that I’m open to pretty much anything at the moment.”

  “Okay, I can see your point. Well... I was a cop in New York that ended up making a very bad deal with Lucifer. He’s the father of that Damian guy that made such a mess here. He gave me a suit of Hell-forged armor that’s similar to the one used by Babylon—not quite as powerful in some ways but still plenty good enough to get the job done.”

  “What job was that?”

  “Passing out the kind of justice that I never could as a cop. I did that for a while and then I went a little nuts. Ended up in Hell with scorpions crawling all over me for what felt like eternity. I was freed by Babylon and given a mission—and I came here to London to find him and tell him that I screwed the pooch.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I failed.”

  Bansi sighed. “Okay... and you ended up at my door by chance?”

  “I’m not sure I believe in chance anymore, pal, not after all the crap my life’s become. Something led me here... but I’ll be damned if I know what.” Bolan snatched up his shirt and pulled it on. It smelled good and he figured that Bansi had washed it for him. “The only cash I have is American... which I guess is pretty useless as long as that Barrier’s in place. Still, you’re welcome to it since you’ve been taking care of me.”

  Bansi shook his head. “Not necessary. Watching the telly has been so frightening that it feels good to help at least one person. You’re going to be leaving to find Babylon?”

  “Yep.”

  “How will you find him?”

  Bolan smirked, small bursts of cosmic energy beginning to appear around his face. Bansi took a step back as his guest’s skin was slowly transformed and covered by a dark armor that looked like it had been forged from the blackness of space itself. Blue highlights, much like those Bansi had seen on televised images of Babylon, appeared along the limbs of the armored suit.

  “That won’t be a problem,” the man called Retribution said with a chuckle. “I’m pretty sure he’ll find me.”

  ***

  Thames University, Ancient Studies Department—Noon

  Amber Green walked through the mostly empty campus, noting how eerie the silence truly was. With classes canceled for the moment, only a few members of the faculty and some of the students that lived on campus remained—alongside the gargoyles that had taken up residence on the rooftops and the sparkly pixies that flitted about the feet of anyone that stepped onto the lawn.

  Amber felt a little guilty. While most of the country was in a panic over recent events, she felt like this was a perverse dream come true. W.H.A.T. was now of vital importance to the government and Amber had seen her own stock rise as a result.

  Reminding herself to focus on her job, she stopped at the edge of a small courtyard, putting her back up against the trunk of a tree. Several pixies darted about her legs, chattering to one another in their high-pitched language, and she wondered if they were being nice or rude in their discussions of her.

  Jennifer Black had stepped into the office of Prof. Arlen Thomas several minutes ago, a load of heavy books in her arms. Amber had tried and failed to avoid staring at Jennifer’s behind, which had been tightly encased in a pair of jeans. This particular case—tracking both Jennifer and John Galahad—had been unique in that usually she wasn’t so attracted to her quarry.

  Still, long hours of watching Jennifer had its appeal... but it had also made her very, very concerned. Ms. Black had the disturbing ability to
shake Amber from her trail... and almost always the figure of Babylon would emerge soon after. What was their connection? It didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to figure out that it couldn’t be Jennifer in the Babylon armor... the physical shape was completely wrong: build, height, weight, skin color—everything that could be different, was.

  Of course, magic made anything possible.

  Amber took a deep breath and moved closer to the office window. She could hear voices within and she took out a set of small earbuds that she slipped on. She then placed a second device against the wall, amplifying their voices in the buds lodged in her ears.

  Jennifer was saying, “... I hope these are what you were looking for. Bansi says he’s added them to your account and you can pay at the end of the month like usual.”

  An older man’s voice, obviously that of Prof. Thomas, replied, “Yes, these are perfect. Now that the myths of old are everyday occurrences, I think these old books on folklore will come in quite handy!” After a brief pause, he asked, “You’re new, aren’t you?”

  “Yes. I’ve only been at Ancient Tomes for a little while. I just moved here from New York, actually... originally I wasn’t sure how long I was going to be here. Guess it’s going to be quite a while.”

  “I know what you mean,” the old man murmured. “My son and his family are in the States. I have no idea if I’ll ever see them again.”

  Jennifer suddenly shifted the conversation by asking, “Would you mind telling me a little bit about that spear on your wall? It seems... unusual.”

  “Ah, you have quite the eye, young lady. That bloody thing is definitely unusual! The University bought it for the department after much prompting from me. It came up at auction about five years ago. Supposedly, it was wielded in battle by one of the ancient Furies. It burns the hand of any man that holds it—and I can verify that it does exactly that!” He held up his right hand and Jennifer saw an old scar in his palm.

  Amber stole a glance through the window, seeing that Jennifer was standing before a wall-mounted spear. The wooden shaft of the spear looked old and battle-damaged, but the blade appeared new and very, very sharp. Jennifer had an odd expression on her face as she studied it and Amber wondered if it had piqued her arcane curiosity. According to the files, Ms. Black was quite the magical adept.

  Jennifer pursed her full lips. “So what did it feel like when you held it?”

  The professor cleared his throat before answering. “There’s a cold sort of burn to it, very uncomfortable. I used to think there was some sort of rational explanation for it all but now... now I assume it’s just what it is claimed to be: a mystic relic.”

  “Have any of your female colleagues touched it?”

  “No... I can’t say that they have. Are you interested in trying it, my dear?”

  Amber didn’t hear Jennifer’s response; footsteps sounded from down the hall, prompting the W.H.A.T. agent to quickly stash away her listening equipment. She tried to look casual by studying a nearby bulletin board.

  The figure that rounded the corner was more than enough to jerk Amber’s attention away from the party invitations and club announcements. The figure wore a long, black bodysuit with a cloak hanging around their shoulders, pinned in place by a skull-shaped pendant. The stranger’s features were hidden behind a golden mask that was, like the pendant, evocative of a human skull. Though somewhat masculine in the breadth of their shoulders, Amber nevertheless thought this to be a woman: there was a hint of femininity in their movements.

  Amber moved toward the figure but the stranger held up a hand to stop her. It spoke in a voice that seemed equal parts male and female—and neither, as well. “Leave if you value your life. I have come only for property that rightfully belongs to me.”

  “Who are you?” Amber stammered, remembering her training: Find out as much as you can before you’re removed from the scene, she heard Heathrow saying.

  The masked figure inclined its head as if contemplating a reply. Finally, the stranger whispered, “You may call me The Furious, for it is as good a name as any. And now, my inquisitive little friend, you should retire from this affair.”

  The Furious closed the distance between them with amazing speed. Its left arm lashed out, the force of the blow sending Amber hurtling down the hall. She landed hard on the floor, pain blotting out her thoughts.

  The Furious adjusted its cloak and continued on toward the office. Inside, Jennifer had turned to face the entrance, her mystical senses warning her of impending danger—and that was before she’d heard a woman cry out in pain. “Professor, I think you should get yourself under the desk or in a closet.”

  “What? But why on earth—”

  Jennifer threw up a magic shield just in time as the door exploded inward, shattering into a million pieces. Most of the shards of wood struck harmlessly against the shield but a few got past it, narrowly missing the professor. He reacted with surprising speed, ducking beneath his desk with a yelp.

  The Furious entered, an air of dispassionate judgment radiating from it. The masked figure seemed less like a vengeful spirit and more like a weary parent come to scold a problem child. “You have something in your possession, Professor. It does not belong to you. The Furious has come to claim it.”

  Jennifer moved forward, keeping herself between The Furious and Professor Thomas. “School’s closed. Why don’t you call back and make an appointment?”

  Jennifer channeled arcane energy through her hands, charging up a crackling eldritch burst that she held in reserve. She wouldn’t hesitate to use it, but it was in her nature to try to avoid conflict whenever possible.

  The Furious regarded her calmly, tilting its head to the side. “Jennifer Black,” it said in its androgynous voice. “I am not surprised to see one of your bloodline here... it’s your shared fate to be drawn into moments of grave danger. Tell me, Jennifer, are you aware that the one known as Retribution not only lives but is here in London?”

  Jennifer blinked in surprise, wondering how this stranger not only knew her name but also seemed so familiar with her family’s curse. As for Retribution, the last she’d heard he was suffering in Hell... but it seemed like virtually everyone had escaped from there, so why not him?

  Inside, Jennifer felt Gideon beginning to stir, eager to be free. She sensed that he recognized something about this being and it suddenly clicked in her own mind. She glanced toward the spear just as it flew off the wall and landed in the hands of The Furious. “You’ve got one of the Furies inside you! They’ve come back to Earth!”

  Professor Thomas shuffled to his feet, drawn upward by Jennifer’s declaration. His curiosity about the Furies had put him into harm’s way, though he didn’t realize it at the moment.

  The Furious shook its head. “You are somewhat mistaken, Jennifer. I do not host one of the Furies within me.” The masked figure moved with superhuman speed, hurling the spear at Professor Thomas. The weapon’s tip pierced Thomas through the chest, driving him backward. He died pinned to the wall, mystic flame leaping from his corpse toward The Furious. The being drank it in quickly, seeming to grow in stature as a result. “I host all the Furies,” the androgynous entity stated.

  For a moment, Jennifer’s horror over the professor’s murder was forgotten as the full impact of that statement hit her. “All of them? But how... ?”

  The Furious summoned the spear back into its hands, the act allowing the professor’s body to slide to the floor. A bloody smear was left behind on the wall.

  “Enough of this,” The Furious said. “I have done what was necessary and now it is time for me to depart. We can continue this discussion at a later date... though I would advise you to stay out of my path.”

  Cosmic energy began to appear all around Jennifer’s form. “I don’t think so,” she said. “Innocent blood’s been spilled—and you know what that means, don’t you?”

  “Retribution is at hand!” roared Babylon as his armored form replaced that of Jennifer’s.

  The F
urious remained unperturbed, though its voice raised an octave. “Gideon. Do you still not remember why you fled from the abyss?”

  Babylon was brought short by the unexpected question. Once more the gaps in his memory were brought to the fore and he felt off-balance. A few new elements slipped into place, sparked by the presence of The Furious. “The Furies,” he said. “I knew that the Furies had escaped and chosen a new host.” He paused, noting that the rest of the puzzle was still blank. This was important, however... who had the Furies picked as their new host and why had Gideon found it so distressing that he would flee Hell to find them? Even worse, how much time had he lost during the time that he wandered the Earth in confusion? What had the Furies been up to during all that time?

  As always, he sought comfort in his mission. “It matters not,” he stated. “You must be punished.”

  The Furious ignored his threat. “You sent your little hunting dog, Retribution, after us, hoping he’d stop us before we completed our merger with our host. He failed. We are free. And you cannot stop us.”

  A powerful burst flew forth from The Furious, striking Babylon hard in the torso. It sent him to his knees, leaving scorch marks on his metallic form... these healed quickly but the pain lingered. “You... hurt me,” he whispered.

  Strong hands slid under his arms and helped him to his feet. “You’re lucky it didn’t destroy you entirely,” a familiar voice said. Babylon was too addled to immediately place it. Looking around, Babylon noticed with concern that The Furious was no longer present. “Where... ?”

  “Long gone. You’ve been out for a few minutes, at least.”

  Babylon turned to face the man supporting him and the shock registered in his voice. “Fisher!”

  The old man in the broad-brimmed hat and dirty white shirt spat on the floor, nodding. “Yeah. It’s me... And it’s long past time you and I had a little chat.”

  “Damian said you could explain why I left Hell...”