Wolves of the Tesseract Collection

by Christopher D Schmitz

  She turned back, but Rob had disappeared. She touched the jewelry hanging from her neck. Yesterday she might’ve questioned if Rob was even real; she might’ve believed he’d been a figment of her imagination or a delusion. Now? Now she knew better.

  Claire turned to shout back, “I’m just getting coffee. Do you want any?”

  “I’ll be right down and join you. You know; doctor’s orders and all. I’ve got to keep an eye on you.”

  Throughout the day, Claire regularly checked over her shoulder trying to spot Rob. She still didn’t have him figured out. Her seeming paranoia kept prompting James to ask her what she was looking for; it forced her to concoct any number of tiny, white lies as she placated her fiancé’s protective doting.

  Nearing evening, she finally twisted James’ arm enough to drive her to a cell phone dealer; she hadn’t replaced her destroyed mobile yet. Until she’d retrieved her necklace, she hadn’t even realized how much she’d been thrust into complete isolation, and if Rob’s crazy story was right, mental control.

  She understood James’ hesitation to venture out, though. Everywhere they went, people snapped selfies with him and tried to engage him in conversation. Claire made the stop quick, however; she told the first person inside the door exactly what model she needed and merely replaced her previous phone and inserted her memory card.

  They weren’t there long, and they’d planned it for as close to the store’s closing as possible to minimize any kind of circus. She’d explained to James that she simply couldn’t wait another day or two if she ordered one and had it delivered. What if her father needed to call?

  “Here’s your device,” the salesman stated, handing the device over to her as it powered up. “It should be activated and your service automatically transferred over. Can we help you set it up or show you its features?”

  She snapped it away as the alert signal began to chirp repeatedly. “No. I’ll do it myself.” She quickly gathered her materials and she and James departed for her apartment.

  Claire did feel a twinge of guilt as she ignored her fiancé, even though he could’ve been more on top of this matter. James couldn’t get in a word with her; she’d fixed her gaze on the screen, attempting to update and sync all its services so that she could get back up to speed.

  The notes from her friends and acquaintances who had tried contacting her these past few days reminded her who she was. It felt like she had been restored, much like the software on a device. Jackie had especially freaked out, sending a flurry of messages. But her first call would be to her father.

  Once back at her apartment, James sat at the couch and asked how she felt. He resigned himself as mere observer as she spread her wings and returned to her former life.

  “I’m fine,” she reassured him even as she dialed the out-of-country phone line. “I’m finally back; I feel well.” She smiled apologetically. “I’ll probably be up late,” she shrugged at her phone to indicate the reason. “I’ve got to call my dad and bring everybody up to speed, assure them I’m okay.”

  James smiled neutrally. He picked up his own mobile and thumbed the screen over to the internet. “Just promise me you won’t read the news from the past few days? TMZ aren’t the only ones who like to throw wild, yellow-rag speculation around when celebrity news is concerned, and you probably don’t need the added stress that garbage can bring.”

  “I promise,” she said, clicking the green dial icon. She slipped into her room and lay on her bed, conversing with her father.

  She calmed him down and reassured him that everything was okay. Claire caught up with Jackie immediately after. She followed that with a blast of text messages to other people and then read the news. James had been right. Bloggers and instigators had been critical, blasphemous, and downright unkind, especially since one of the first responders had quoted her raving about a fire demon and a werewolf rescuer. There were even a slew of internet memes comparing her with a raving lunatic and comparing James with previous, famous actors who had married mentally disturbed people.

  Claire scowled at her news feed and then peeked out her door. It had been several hours since she’d gone to her room; time had flown without much notice and James had fallen asleep long ago.

  Her thoughts turned inward as she absentmindedly fingered the amulet under her chin. What had Rob meant by his comments? What about a sorcerer? It all sounded so crazy—the ravings of a madman! …just like her. They’d said she was crazy at the hospital: that her experience was a total break from reality.

  Claire pulled up the website for the real estate agency they’d contracted through. The front page featured a short memorial for Emily Washington and a link to her obituary. Claire clicked to the listing for the home where the fire had occurred; as hoped for, it hadn’t been taken down quite yet.

  She poured over the data online. As a high dollar listing, it contained large amounts of detailed information in an effort to appeal to the most discriminating of potential buyers, either informing them or weeding them out in agented efforts to whittle down the prospect pool to only the most qualified buyers.

  Finding the information Claire wanted, she clicked on the floor plan and layout tab. She zoomed in and located the room where the incident had occurred.

  She ran her fingers through her hair and bit her lip, not wanting to believe what she’d seen. But not wanting to believe the opposite either.

  They’d said that she fled through a back door to escape; that story meant she’d gone crazy. The opposite account, that some monstrous creature had saved her and there was no other route of escape, meant that she was perfectly sane—and everyone was lying to her.

  Claire snapped a screenshot and emailed the image to herself. She stared at the tiny screen showing the wrecked home’s blueprints. Here was her proof: the room had only the one door.

  For the first time since she was a teenager Claire Jones felt terror. At fourteen, she’d been in a hostile, foreign country with her father and the corrupt local military had planned to kidnap her. Her father intervened and prepaid a small ransom to secure her safety. Right now, he felt so far away—and her new captor might just be her fiancé.

  She peeked out her window and down to the alley. Sure that she spotted the shine of Rob’s eyes deep in the alley as a car’s headlights passed, she sighed. Could she trust him? Was he the beast? And if he was, then what about all the local killings? Is Rob the murderer? Could she really trust James?

  Claire laid down with more questions than ever before. She only knew for certain that she couldn’t tell anyone.

  Chapter 7

  …Just Recently…

  Zabe crept across the roof of the archaic building. The immense, multi-level villa stood as a testament to the Prime’s architectural tastes. He rolled his feet gently so that the clay roof tiles wouldn’t click and crack, alerting the guards posted below.

  Peering over the edge he spotted the two sentries posted near the front door of the museum. They stood barely alert, as expected after days spent guarding the tactically insignificant location. Even posting guards here might have been a show of force by Nitthogr as the armies of The Black spread out across the countryside following the capture of the capital. Guarding ancient, artistic relics and historic documents of The Prime made very little sense except to demonstrate that the vyrm’s takeover was utterly complete. The historical records would likely be destroyed once the take-over was complete, anyway.

  Standing resolute as a stone gargoyle, Zabe perched on the ledge and waited for his prey to move close together. They drew close for a moment, undoubtedly sharing some joke at the expense of the royal family or making a derogatory jest at Princess Bithia’s honor.

  His keen ears picked up the conversation. “It’s the new TRX718 cellular disruptor I told you about.” The guard brandished a matte black pistol. “Very limited production—very expensive. Twice the energy cycling rate and larger battery: bigger boom.” He fiddled with the weapon’s co
mponents. “It’s not standard, but I’ve wanted one of these baby’s for so long. There’s no way I was leaving it behind during the assault—”

  Zabe pounced over the edge and hurtled two stories towards the ground. He crashed down upon the two guards and they collapsed under the force of their shadowy assailant. Their heads cracked against the milled stone tiles of the reception area with thunderous force.

  Swinging to his feet, Zabe skulked to the door and reached for the handle. Locked. He rifled through the enemies belongings until he located the key. Zabe also picked up the hefty TRX718 and slipped it into his waistband.

  The door opened silently and Zabe hopped from shadow to shadow, skulking through the corridors and slinking around the displays. He cast his eyes to a giant mural and the relics adorning the hall; they had taught a million schoolchildren about the origins of reality, the multiverse, and beyond. Zabe’s eyes caught hold of the grand creator, depicted in mosaic form. He appeared as a mighty, benevolent humanoid, giving the royal family the keys to the Chamber of Mysteries: the most secure location in all creation, and the origin point of the Tesseract. Zabe sent up a quick, silent prayer to the Architect King and continued through the dark.

  He ducked into a wing branching off the middle-histories section. The archway had the title of “The Dark Years,” and a free-standing sign warned sensitive visitors of the graphic content.

  Zabe slipped past the bio-summaries of Basilisk and Nitthogr; his heart rate thumped high as he skulked around the full-sized replica of Nitthogr. He remained ever watchful, as if the realistic mannequin might spring to life at any moment.

  Deeper inside, full wall-sized images from the Syzygyc War splashed across the walls: images of an entire planet laid waste with its population incinerated or turned to living stone. Nearly all surviving members of the reptilian dimension’s race, the vyrm, pledged fanatic loyalty to the Brothers of the Apocalypse. Images showed the power of the great and vast vyrm army. Most terrifying of all, however, was an artist’s rendering of the Tesseract’s membrane being pressed in upon by Sh’logath, “The Great Devourer.” An actual, grainy image taken in The Desolation inset from the diagram sent a chill up Zabe’s spine. He shuddered and continued; he knew he was on the right path for what he sought.

  At the nexus of all the histories rested a heavily secured glassine enclosure. Leaned upon a display rack lay a bundle of papers ripped out from the Grimmorium Nitthogr prior to the Syzygyc War; in fact, their removal may have been the premiere cause of the event. Displays pointed out the danger of inter-dimensional travel, pioneered by Nitthogr prior to his fall from grace as the chief cleric to the King, over a thousand years ago.

  Recognizing the danger inherent in such a thing, it had been taken from Nitthogr’s personal collection: such knowledge was too dangerous to remain at large. The verdict had sent the traveler-cleric into a spiral of depression and madness: a corruption already begun by his older brother, the founder of the Cult of Sh’logath, himself a fallen monk who betrayed The Architect King’s service long prior.

  None could know that the depraved warlock had committed his records to memory. Hundreds of years later, he would later fling wide the gates during the celestial alignment, pouring vyrm armies out in the first sortie of the war: a battle that would last nearly another century, renaming an entire dimensional reality as Desolation. The Syzygyc War pitted the Prime reality against the Brothers of the Apocalypse, unrelenting until a dark bargain had been struck in the reemergence of the Architect King, himself.

  For many generations, this forbidden text, scrawled by Nitthogr’s own hand, had been secreted away inside the Chamber of Mysteries by the royal family. Only in recent centuries had it been made into an object of archaeology: a historiological warning to those who would dabble with the corrupting influence of Sh’logath: Agod of Destruction.

  Zabe examined the case. For nearly an hour he tried to break past its security, constantly rejected by the sophisticated protocols programmed into the near-sentient system. Finally, frustrated, he slid the TRX718 out of his waistband and dialed in a low power setting. Zabe put the barrel up to the security interface and pulled the trigger. An electric crackle of energy erupted from the weapon; sparks and shrapnel blew out from the hole and the corner of the enclosure broke open.

  He reached in and snatched the chapter of the profane text. Tucking it away alongside his impressive pistol, he promptly fled the building, only pausing long enough to locate his next destination. He cross referenced a crude star-chart made in his enemy’s handwriting. Within hours, he would flee The Prime for Earth.

  …Now…

  The shrill vibrations of her cell phone jolted Claire from her fitful sleep; it rattled noisily against the polished wood of her nightstand. She reached across and checked the lcd screen on her device: it was awfully early for Jackie to call. It must be very important, she thought, swiping to answer the call.

  “Hey,” Claire croaked.

  “Don’t speak,” the gravelly, male voice commanded her. “Just listen. I… found this phone and I would like to return it to your friend. You know where to find me, down in the alley.”

  Claire recognized the voice as Rob’s. She answered him with the silence he’d ordered her to.

  “I’m sorry to wake you so early, but you mustn’t bring your fiancé. This was the only way I could think to get you away from him. I have to tell you something in private: you were right. Come down. Tell no one.” He ended the open line.

  Staring dumbfounded at her phone Claire quickly weighed the pros and cons. Warning sirens blared in her mind, cautioning her against what Claire knew she would eventually do in the end. She pulled on a pair of pants and threw a hoodie over her tousled hair. Creeping out into the apartment, she kept a cautious eye on James as he snoozed on the couch. Claire cradled her keys in her palm and slipped out the door.

  In a few short moments, she found herself in the middle of the crosswalk. Streetlamps glowed above as the sun had yet to bulge against the horizon.

  Walking with purpose, she strode right in front of him and jammed her hand out, as if to demand that he return the cell he’d likely stolen from Jackie. He gently placed it in her hand; the burn marks on his wrist obviously causing him discomfort.

  “So you have something to tell me?” she demanded. “Maybe we start with those burns?”

  Rob sighed, relenting. “First, let me see that you’re wearing it.” He indicated her neckline.

  Claire jangled the necklace for him to see.

  “Good, good. The amulet is from my realm; it dispels much of the influence that Nitthogr has over you.”

  “Say what?” Claire asked skeptically. “That’s not even English.”

  “I’m sorry,” he continued. “I keep forgetting that things are so very different here. But I confess, I did get these burns saving you from that fire demon. I’m not sure of its allegiance, yet.”

  “I knew it!” she hissed. “And you’re the monster, too? The one killing people in the parks! Or was that some kind of hallucination?”

  Very somber and serious he stated, “I am no monster. I am not sure exactly what I am. I never transformed until I left The Prime. I never knew I could do that.” He glanced at his leather wristband, the embossed wolf imprint.

  “The Prime? Nitthogr? Fire demons?”

  “Let me try to start again. I don’t come from this land, Claire Jones. I came here from The Prime—the ultimate reality—and while you barely recognize me, I know you. We are very connected.”

  “Now you’re just talking gibberish,” she accused as she wagged Jackie’s phone at him. She made to leave, her anger at his thievery motivating her curtness.

  “Please,” he pleaded.

  Something about the urgency in his voice made her pause and listen.

  “Think of all reality like a giant crystal. This is the Tesseract: a crystalline cube within a cube with many facets and vertices—the lens of an ancient machine th
at creates reality. This giant diamond’s facets each make up a reality: a different realm of existence.” He grabbed his shirt and tugged, as if to indicate the material facticity of the world. “If each face is a different reality, or dimension, then the substance, the essence of the jewel at its thickness, that is the Prime.”

  “And what?” Claire chided. “You want me to drink some magic Kool-Aide and ride on your rocket ship into an alternate reality?”

  He looked at her quizzically, not understanding her euphemism.

  “Next, you’re going to tell me that you are from The Prime? You’re probably on some special mission or you are a very important person?”

  “Yes,” he stated, still confused.

  “I swear I must’ve been hit in the head,” she talked to herself, further confusing the man in her alleyway. “That would sure explain everything.” She paused. “It might be the only rational answer to all of these questions.”

  “You are not losing your mind, Claire Jones. At least, not exactly. There are powerful forces at work—a sorcerer has been trying to wrest your mind from you.”

  It was Claire’s turn to give a quizzical look.

  “The amulet,” he pointed. “You began to question your sanity after you lost it at the fire, correct?” He understood her silence as a confirmation. “It has been since then that you began to question your judgment, your sanity, and your mind has felt vapid and elusive? It is the work of Nitthogr. The amulet has kept him at bay, even if it works toward his ultimate cause. A creation of the Royal Primes, it cannot be so totally bent to the will of the warlock and so it protects you as he twists its purpose.

  “Once it was returned, did you not feel your old self come back? You became less timid, more confident. You share these strengths of character with your Prime: Princess Bithia. You are defiant, strong, wise, and stubborn. These things returned, did they not?”

  Claire nodded, seeming to agree, and then she quickly turned on him. “You’re insane, and you’re stalking me.” She put up a finger of warning, “You need to back off. I don’t care if we did go to school together; I’m not going to let you suck me into your delusion.”