by Paul Neuhaus
“Where’d you get these?” Nate said.
“I had them slapped on me by some Hexenjägers.”
Again, the two men looked at one another then back at Quinn. “Shut the fuck up,” Ferley said.
“It’s true. They wanted to know where I put the locker key?”
“You tell ‘em?” Nate said.
Henaghan rolled her eyes. “No, I didn’t fucking tell them.”
Ferley leaned in a little. “This is some next-level shit. This could be a serious problem.”
“True,” Nate added. “The Hexenjägers ain’t been nothing for—well, forever. This marks a change.”
“Do you mind if we send these back to headquarters?”
“I do,” Quinn said, holding out her hand. “At least for now.”
Ferley returned the broken cuffs and the redhead put them back into her purse. “Sorry we don’t know more,” he said.
Henaghan nodded and turned to go to her apartment. Nate called after her, “Hey, if you had those on you, who burned ‘em off?”
“David Bowie.”
“Isn’t he dead?”
“It’s a long story.”
When Quinn got to the top of the second flight of stairs, Simone Gros was coming out of her apartment. After she finished locking the door, the heavyset woman turned and gave a small cry. “Oh,” Simone said. “I didn’t see you there. You startled me. I didn’t—” She stopped and took a closer look at Quinn. “Oh my, what happened?!”
Henaghan hadn’t seen herself in the mirror, but she figured she must, indeed, look like warmed-over dog shit. “It’s been a rough morning,” she replied.
Gros pivoted and unlocked her door again. She popped it open and grabbed Quinn by her bicep. “Come in. Come in at once.”
The younger woman started to protest but decided she didn’t have the strength. She allowed Simone to usher her into the apartment and place her on the couch.
Gros shut the door and called out, “Arnold!”
The door to the kitchen opened a crack and Ristich’s head appeared.
“Our friend here has had a trying time. Put on some tea.” She looked down at Quinn. “Are you hungry?”
Henaghan thought for a moment. Actually, she was hungry but the idea of biting down on anything with her teeth made her shiver. “If you have some pudding…” she said, half joking.
“Of course we have pudding,” Simone replied. “I am fat.”
“Tea and pudding for two?” Ristich said.
“Please.”
Gros sat down opposite Quinn. “Is there anything else you need?” she said.
Quinn shook her head.
“Alright then. You must tell me about your morning.”
The redhead breathed in and held it. She wasn’t sure how much she should say to Simone. The woman seemed innocuous but she was, after all, an Asura. “I— An article recently came into my possession that… many people seem to want. I’ve been… inundated with requests for it.”
“Mmm. Does this have anything to do with the strange men surveilling our parking lot?”
Henaghan nodded.
“Does it have anything to do with the man in the coat and his strange friends carrying a body down our stairwell a few days ago?”
“You saw them?”
“Yes. The circumstance was much as it was today. I came out of my apartment and there were three odd fellows carrying an older man down the stairs. They frightened me half to death. When I asked them what was going on, the good-looking one (the other two were nondescript and rather thuggish) said that his father had gotten himself drunk again and that he and his friends were doing the old geezer a good turn. Something about that didn’t seem right to me.”
“No,” Quinn agreed. “It wasn’t right at all.”
Ristich came in and delivered two cups of tea and two puddings in plastic containers. Hunt’s Snack Packs. Simone picked hers up and peeled back the seal. “I hope you don’t mind, but I prefer the squeeze method to a spoon.”
“Is there any other way to do it?” the younger woman said with a smile.
Ristich looked down at Henaghan. “Are you having problems with your teeth?” he said.
“How’d you know?”
“We rarely get requests for Snack Packs in the middle of the day.” With that he disappeared into the adjacent bedroom. The layout of Simone’s apartment was the same as Quinn’s. The former chef returned. In his hand was a little glass bottle which he handed to Henaghan. “Oil of Cloves,” he said. “Surprisingly soothing. Apply it to the tip of your finger and apply the finger to the pain site.”
“Wow, thanks,” Quinn said, taking the little bottle. She turned to Gros. “Can you spare this?”
“Given that neither Arnold or myself are in a state of orthodontial trauma, I’m going to say yes.” With that, the older woman squeezed some pudding into her mouth.
Quinn pulled off her own lid and followed suit. The deliciousness of the pudding mitigated her mild discomfort.
“May I ask you…” Simone said. “What is this object that other people want so badly?”
“I… I don’t think I should say.”
Gros nodded right away. “Of course. Your business is your own. Bear in mind that, although I cannot Channel, I’m also not human. My knowledge may be helpful to you. That is if the item you describe is of a supernatural nature. If it’s something like a Fabergé Egg or a Van Gogh you’re on your own.”
“I wish it was a Fabergé egg. That would be less complicated.”
Simone put down her Snack Pack and picked up her tea. “Did you ever see Octopussy? Doesn’t Bond have a Fabergé in that one?”
Quinn shook her head. “No, it wasn’t Bond. It was double-O nine. And it was fake. He was assassinated for it.” Again, Gros’ unexpected pop culture knowledge impressed Henaghan.
“That’s right,” the older woman said. “I do so love a good Bond movie. Although I can’t say I’m a huge fan of Daniel Craig. A bit too brutish for my taste. I like them suave. Like my Mr. Ristich.” She grinned and she had chocolate pudding on her teeth.
Henaghan nodded, happy for Gros, but not looking for any more details. Something clicked in her head, and, before she’d given it much thought, her mouth was running. “The thing… that everyone wants… is a statue. A statue of the Egyptian god Horus.”
One of Simone’s eyebrows went up and her teacup stopped halfway to her mouth. “The statue of Horus?”
Again, Quinn nodded.
“Now there is something I know a little about. I guess you could say I’m an armchair historian. Not of the world in general but the world as it pertains to magic. A Secret History to most workaday folk. What you have in your possession is a lynch pin in the story of the Asura and their interactions with men on Earth. I daresay the creation of those two statues—the statue of Horus and the statue of Set—is the second most important event in the timeline of magical history. The first being Aisling’s attack on the ancient city of the Asura. You did know there were two statues, didn’t you?”
“I did.”
“And do you know what happens when they’re brought together?”
“That… I’m a little hazy on. ’T.B.D.’ is what I was told.” Quinn put down her own pudding in favor of the tea.
“‘To be determined’ is a good way to put it,” Simone conceded. “How those ancient Channelers were able to make something at once so powerful and so… vague is beyond me. But, yes, bringing the statues together is, according to legend, like getting a single wish from a genie. I’m oversimplifying, but that’s the basic gist.”
“You said the creation of the two figures factored into the history of Asura interactions with men. I don’t see it.”
“I’m not surprised…” Gros said, placing her cup on its saucer and placing the saucer on an end table. “That is, as they say, a deep cut. The very first thing the statues were used for—the only thing they’ve been used for to date—was the creation of a temporary bulwark.”<
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“You lost me.”
“I’m afraid I have some bad news,” the heavy-set woman said. “When an Asura dies, he doesn’t truly die. He returns to the Astral Plane where he is reconstituted.”
Quinn’s shoulders fell. “So, I didn’t really kill Reginald Verbic?”
“No, I’m afraid not. But don’t worry… By the time he’s even strong enough to wipe his own ass, you’ll be long dead.”
The redhead sighed. “I still don’t grasp the scenario, I’m afraid.”
Simone leaned forward. “It was known at the time of the statues’ forging that the Asura deposed in the ancient rebellion could rally and return. The Jihma and Dharmin, agreeing that that might be a bad thing, decided to do something about it. With Horus and with Set they wove an invisible mesh over the membrane separating the Astral Plane from the Physical. The Durgakarman, they called it. ‘The Fortification’, in the language of my people. This mesh allowed the membrane to pass maya energy back and forth as it always had, but it prevented the reconstituted—and angry—Asura from returning and wreaking vengeance on mankind. Think of it like the nets they have offshore in Australia and South Africa. To keep out the Great Whites. The mesh, unfortunately has a shelf life. Even now, it’s starting to unravel. Since the lifetime of the mesh is finite, its creators deemed the period after its creation to be the Aeon of Horus. The English magician Aleister Crowley coopted the term to sell his bullshit, New Age philosophies. His version of the phrase has nothing to do with the original derivation, but that’s history for you. A game of Telephone spanning eons. Anyway, with the Durgakarman deteriorating, the Aeon of Horus may end soon. I suspect the people trying to take the statue from you either want to repair the mesh or to tear it down and readmit the Asura into the Physical Plane.”
Henaghan sat wide-eyed through Gros’ entire recitation. When the older woman finished speaking, all Quinn could say was, “Shit.”
Simone smiled. “Yes. Merde indeed.”
“Well, hold on a minute. Didn’t you say the Asura return to the Astral Plane when they’re defeated? How do they get through the mesh?”
“It’s a polarity thing. They can go through from this side, but not the other way around. The mesh keeps them from coming in, but not from going out.”
“Is it true the Resolute currently have the statue of Set?”
“According to everyone’s best guess. They play these things close to the vest, but I think Set’s probably here. On the West Coast, I mean. In San Francisco. Or possibly Seattle.”
Quinn sat thinking for a long while. “What should I do?” she said.
“Do you want my feeling or my recommendation?”
“Is there a difference?”
Gros stopped short. “In this case, I guess there isn’t. Ordinarily, I try and leave out my emotions when it comes to the Asura Patriarchy, but this is a much more sweeping problem. If you have the statue of Horus, I recommend you seek out whoever has the statue of Set. With both statues in hand, you could reweave the mesh and keep the Earth safe for another few millennia.”
“Mmm. That sounds like your recommendation. What is your feeling?”
“If you have the statue of Horus, you should give it to me. I will seek out the statue of Set and I will grant myself a wish.”
“What wish?”
Simone seemed lost in thought. “Oh, it doesn’t matter,” she said. “I’ll never be in the same room as both statues.”
Quinn left Simone’s apartment with renewed energy (though her gums still throbbed). She marched right down the steps to Ferley and Nate.
“Long time, no see,” Nate said.
“What’s shaking’, red?”
“I gotta say, you guys are awfully blasé.”
“What’s that mean?” Nate said.
Ferley turned to his friend. “Laid back. Overly so.” Nate nodded.
“You didn’t say word one about the Aeon of Horus.”
“The whatsit of whosit?” the black man said.
“The statues. Horus and Set. They were used to keep the Asura from invading us again.”
“They were?” Ferley said.
“Yeah,” Quinn replied. “Back in the day, they used the statues to add a layer to the membrane separating the Astral Plane from the Physical. The Asura can’t pass through it.”
The two men looked at one another. “That info’s a little outta my pay grade,” Nate said.
“Right,” Ferley added. “We’re both on the need-to-know plan. And we like it that way.”
Nate nodded. “The Man says, ‘Go rustle us up some statues’, we say ‘How high?’”
Quinn shook her head to banish Nate’s use of two overlapping and possibly contradictory ideas. “What you’re saying is you boys are just foot soldiers.”
“Nothing but cannon fodder,” Ferley replied.
“I heard that,” Nate said, pointing at Ferley with his cigarette.
Henaghan threw up her arms and returned in the direction of her apartment.
Still, she couldn’t help feeling the men weren’t being entirely forthright.
As Quinn went back up the stairs, she did a self-check. Was she letting her ego get out of hand? In the last seven months, she’d gone from a mousy girl, often afraid of her own shadow, to a mystical badass with a hot girlfriend. Moreover, she was clearly believing some of her own internal press. Killing two Asura will do that to you. Was she too impressed with herself? After all, very few people could compare themselves to Batman without irony. She’d keep a watch on it, but she expected the ups and downs of everyday experience to keep her head in check. She had compared herself to Batman, but that had been before she’d been kidnapped and mouth-tortured by a radically anti-magic former dentist.
Sometimes, she wished she could go back and be her old scaredy-cat self.
When Quinn got inside her place, she saw Molly wasn’t home and went straight for the bedroom. After throwing the broken handcuffs into a drawer, she kicked off her shoes and got into the lotus position on the bed. She rose into the air and her eyes rolled back into her head.
When Darren Taft saw her, his whole body drooped. He was on the phone, pacing back and forth. “Look, I’ll have to let you go,” he said to the person on the other end of the line. “Can I call you tomorrow?” The person agreed and Darren put his cell into his pocket. “That was Salisbury,” he said. “She lives in Thousand Oaks and she’s a small business owner and her name is Salisbury. Like the steak. Match dot com. Do you know how many opportunities a man gets to meet a woman called Salisbury? I bet the venn diagram of minding your own business versus meeting someone named Salisbury has little or no overlap. Plus you were here watching me take a shit literally ten minutes ago!”
“I know, I know,” Henaghan said. “I’m sorry, but I’m flying solo on this and it’s gotten big. What can you tell me about the Aeon of Horus?”
“The whatsit of whosit?” Taft, said, echoing Nate’s response of a few moments before.
“I’ve been told—and who knows if the information is accurate—that the ancient Jihma and the ancient Dharmin created Set and Horus for a specific purpose. They knew the Asura would reconstitute and come back as a lynch mob. So they—the old school Channelers—gave the membrane between the Astral Plane and the Physical an extra layer. To keep the Asura out.”
Darren’s eyebrows went up. “First I’m hearing about it. But it could work. In theory. I’ve never seen this extra layer, but that doesn’t mean it’s not there.”
“Anyway, this membrane thingy is deteriorating so that means the Old Gods could return soon and they’ll be extra-cranky.”
Taft plopped down on the couch, stricken by Quinn’s information. “Oy vey iz mir.”
“Ya think?”
The storeowner nodded and said, “Let me put out some feelers. Don’t come back in ten minutes this time. I won’t know anything that quick.”
Henaghan nodded.
“And let’s make a pact,” Taft said, his expressi
on deadly serious. “This’ll be the last thing you ask of me. I know I’m probably on borrowed time based on our conversations and I don’t wanna waste it… like this.”
Again, the girl nodded, sad that her teacher would likely never meet the girl named Salisbury.
5
Unexpected Connections
Aisling stood on an outcropping of rock overlooking the city called Devālaya. Home of the Gods. Heaven. Around her, she’d gathered an army of men from all over the still-small world. Once, in a vision, the young woman had seen a much larger world full of people of many colors and conveyances which did not channel maya as their fuel. She knew that, if she failed today, that larger world would never come.
She also knew that visions were capricious. They reflected an actuality that existed somewhere, someplace, but it wasn’t necessarily the actuality the seer lived in. Reality was like looking into a crystal and seeing the world refracted over and over, with each duplicate having a different shading. Even if Aisling failed today, one or more of her sisters in time and space would succeed. That, as haunting as it was, gave the woman some comfort.
As the General of her conventional forces approached her, Aisling looked down at the scar on her right hand. A perfect circle with a star inside, faded almost to invisibility. Making a fist, she could feel how it had embossed her palm. Ever if others couldn’t see it, she would always know it was there.
The General drew Aisling’s eyes up by speaking. “Do you and the Jihma still insist upon being vanguard?”
Aisling, her red hair flapping in the breeze, smiled and said, “I insist. The Jihma, however, have reservations.”
The General returned her smile. Easy and affectionate. His name was Morfran and his face was a patchwork of scars. Aisling didn’t care because she’d grown to love him, and he her. “I’ll give the order,” he said.
The General started to walk away and the young woman took his hand in hers, pulling him back. “I’m afraid,” she said. “I don’t want to do this,”