Come, Seeling Night

by Daniel Humphreys

  In my defense, a stubby but wickedly-curved claw tipped each finger on those hands. That would have been frightening enough on its own if the skin of the hands wasn’t a mottled brown-and-green pattern reminiscent of military camouflage.

  A face appeared in the gap, and it was as much a horror as the hands—flat, with a broad slash of a mouth filled with needle-like teeth and a pair of parallel slits for a nose. A pair of surprisingly-normal looking brown eyes looked at me from under a heavy brow ridge that rose into a bald pate, all framed by a pair of bat-wing ears.

  “Calm, wizard,” the thing said, and I realized that the creature was my neighbor. “Hold the door steady, or it will crush us both.”

  “What—” I started to say, then took a deep breath to steel my nerves. “No offense, Puck, but what are you?”

  He laughed a familiar wheezing chuckle. “We call ourselves ‘the people’, but you humans have to have a name for everything. Division M calls us pukwudgie. Can you make it through the gap?”

  I eyed the space and shook my head. “No, but I can do something I should have tried from the get-go.” Releasing my grip on the door, I went out of phase and stepped through the metal. I tried to avoid the strange creature, but I passed through his side on the way through. He laughed again.

  “Tickles, wizard.” He studied the door, then released it. “Should hold long enough for us to move. Come!”

  He scrambled down the hallway, bouncing over and around intermittent piles of rubble. Seen in full, his appearance proved to be stranger. He was short, no more than four feet in height, and bow-legged. His arms were long and muscular, and he ran more like an ape than a man, resting on his knuckles to lever himself up and over anything in his way. What skin I could see was the same mottled camouflage color as his hands, though he wore a red and black plaid shirt over a pair of cutoff khakis. I never thought a goblin or troll would look like it stepped out of an L.L. Bean catalog.

  Puck stopped and turned back to look for me. When he saw I hadn’t moved yet, he shouted, “Run, wizard! Division M will be coming!”

  I wasn’t able to move so fast as my strange companion as I picked my way around chunks of concrete. Taking the occasional glance at the cracked ceiling, I crossed fingers that it would hold long enough for us to make our escape.

  Some of the other cells hadn’t been so lucky. The door on the third cell from Puck’s had fallen completely inside. Blood seeped out from the wreckage, mixing with the dust. I could make out a hint of tawny, golden fur through the opening, but little else. If I’d had any remaining doubts after seeing Puck that more than a few of the inhabitants of this mysterious underground prison weren’t human, that settled it.

  Further down the hall, my companion muttered something inaudible. Even without being able to make out the words, I could tell that he was annoyed.

  “Yeah, yeah, keep your pants on,” I said, moving forward. Further down the hall, it brightened significantly, until I could make out a massive gash in the upper half of the prison wall. Dirt mixed with concrete had fallen inside, forming a rough ramp. Outside, I could hear the vague sound of sirens. Puck was right—we needed to hurry. I could probably make myself invisible, if not now, for certain once I was outside, but I didn’t know if he could say the same. He may have looked weird, but he’d saved my life, and that counted for something.

  Another, closer, groan stopped me. I turned away from the opening. After looking into the sunlight, it took a moment for my eyes to adjust, but I finally made out the crumpled shape of the food cart, buried under a massive slab of concrete—along with one of the guards. I didn’t see the other, but something told me hadn’t been as lucky as this one. Part of the frame of the cart kept much of the debris off, but chunks of rubble pinned one exposed leg.

  I pulled on one end of the cart. It moved easily—the slab had stopped on other chunks of concrete, which was probably good for this guy. Sheet metal and aluminum wouldn’t have stood as much of a chance.

  The guard was the one who’d brought breakfast on Saturday, the talker. He blinked at me as I knelt beside him and tossed chunks out of the way. “How bad is it?”

  The dust-streaked name tape on his uniform read STOCKER. He took a shaking breath and replied, “I can’t feel anything below the knee. Don’t know if that’s a good sign or a bad sign.”

  Wincing, I held back my comment. With most of the smaller stuff out of the way, I had the guard’s upper body freed. If not for his leg, I could pull him out of there and help him outside.

  Abruptly he shouted, “Holy shit!”

  I spun in place, then relaxed. Puck stood nearby, bouncing nervously from foot to foot. “Leave him, wizard. We have no time.”

  “You’re with that thing?” Stocker demanded.

  I looked back and forth between the two of them. “Okay, no offense, man, but you’re the one running the top-secret black site here. Still waiting on my phone call, by the way.”

  “That thing ate three campers,” the guard wheezed. “It deserves to be locked up.”

  I gave Puck a wary glance. “Is that true?”

  His nervous shimmy told me everything I needed to know before he spoke. “They were on the people’s land but left no offering. I had every right!”

  Blue light flared, and Puck’s eyes widened at the force blade I’d brought up between us. “That’s not how things work, Puck,” I said slowly. “You can’t just go around eating people.”

  “Kill it,” Stocker blurted. “We don’t have any way to subdue it.”

  “I saved your life, wizard. Foolish. I should have expected betrayal from a human.” He lifted his chin in defiance. In spite of his monstrous features, I couldn’t help but see a bit of wounded pride, there.

  I banished the blade. “Go,” I said. “In thanks for my life.”

  Puck blinked and took a glance at the light. “Truly?”

  “Truly,” I echoed. “With one condition.” Taking a deep breath, I pushed. “You will never kill, injure, or eat another human.”

  He squealed in frustration, and the sound made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. Somewhere, I’m sure, dogs were howling. “Unfair, wizard! But I will heed your bond.”

  “Go home, Puck,” I said. “I’ll take care of this guy.”

  He spat onto the floor, disgusted. “They don’t deserve your kindness. They will capture you again and use it against you.”

  I shrugged. “Maybe. But I’ve got bigger fish to fry right now. Can you get out of here without anyone seeing you?”

  Wheezing another laugh, my strange friend shook his head. “Of course. Until we meet again, wizard.” He turned, hurtled up and out of the hallway, and vanished from sight.

  When I turned back to Stocker, he was staring at me with wide eyes. “What have you done? That thing’s dangerous!”

  “Not anymore,” I said. “I pushed him—you heard that, right? I don’t like to use it on people, but—”

  “That’s not a person,” he interrupted.

  I rubbed my forehead and tried not to sigh. “Whatever. You want to get into a semantic argument, or you want to get out of here?”

  He closed his eyes. “There’s nothing you can do.”

  Studying the slab of concrete, I only half-heard him. “Maybe. Maybe not.” Phasing myself through the blockage wouldn’t do anything, but what if I phased him? I’d never tried it. Up until a few weeks ago, I’d always considered the spells I’d learned to be good for one thing. Cassie had pointed out the possibility of using spells in fashions other than the way I had been. The effect I called force blades was simply a telekinesis spell, applied a little differently. When I’d first gained the ability, I’d thought it useful only for grabbing drinks out of the fridge.

  As the saying went, sometimes you needed a second set of eyes. “Try to relax,” I said. Wrapping both hands around Stocker’s knee, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. When I’d healed Cassie, I’d sort of pushed outside of myself while. If I did the same thing w
ith the phase spell—

  Stocker gasped, but I forced myself to ignore it and focus on what I was doing. His leg felt lighter, less confined, somehow, and I pulled. Halfway through the motion, I opened my eyes in time to see a horribly-crushed limb phase through the slab of concrete. I didn’t want to overdo it, so as soon as I saw that he was clear, I killed the effect.

  Blood spurted instantly—I resisted the urge to curse as the guard screamed in agony. The pressure had kept his wounds closed, but without it, the sleeping limb was coming back to life while Stocker bled out.

  I didn’t hesitate—I grabbed his knee again. The sense I got of his body as I began to heal it made me wince. His leg was the worst injury, but he had broken ribs, a slight concussion…

  The leg was the most pressing issue. The last time I’d done this sort of thing, I’d put myself in the hospital, so I had to walk a fine line. I couldn’t fix him completely, but I had to do enough to keep him stable. I shook with fatigue as I felt shattered pieces of bone drift back together, while blood vessels and veins sealed.

  He was still hurt, and probably bad enough to be permanently crippled, but Stocker was no longer in any danger of bleeding out. I forced myself to stop, yanking my hands away from his leg. His screams of pain had become soft sobs. I wanted to tell him it was going to be all right, but my throat was terribly dry and my stomach rumbled with hunger.

  “What did you do?” He stared down at his leg. When I’d phased it out of the concrete, it had been a lumpy, flattened mess. It still didn’t look so hot, but the bones, at least, were straight, and his foot stuck up.

  “Fixed it, as best I could,” I said. “Come on.” I got around on his bad side and threw his arm over my neck. “You’re going to have to help me some, dude. I’m about to fall over here.”

  Using his good leg, he was able to get up onto one foot with my help. He winced as we stumbled toward the exit. The incline up and out was steep, but I bore down. Escape was my first priority. I could rest up later. Stocker banged his injured leg a couple of times and bit back screams, but to his credit, he didn’t stumble or fall.

  Blinking in the sunlight, I took a quick look around. The building behind us was a two-story block construction that had the look of a converted warehouse. We’d come out on the back side—I could hear the sirens, but the grassy area in front of me didn’t have a parking lot. A couple of concrete picnic tables told me this was probably some sort of community lunch area. The grass rose up into a small hill peppered with trees. It was green enough that I knew I wasn’t anywhere close to Arizona, but I’d already figured that much out.

  I helped the guard to the ground and leaned him against the wall. A massive plume of smoke rose overhead from closer to the front of the building. “Any idea what happened?” I said.

  He shook his head. “No clue. We were doing the normal rounds, then boom.”

  “Same here.” I started to rise, but he snapped a hand out and seized my wrist.

  “You aren’t going anywhere, kid. You’re still a prisoner.”

  Staring down at him, I saw more than a little fear in his eyes. He’d put on a brave tone, but it was all a show. What is he afraid I’ll do to him? “I am not the bad guy,” I said, taking my time with each word. “One of your coworkers got a bug up his ass and threw me in here, but there’s someone bad out there that I need to stop. Keeping me locked up in here isn’t going to help that happen.”

  “I don’t know your story, and I don’t care. You can take it up with—”

  “The judge? You guys wouldn’t give me a phone call, remember? Last I checked, this is still America. Ever hear of the Constitution, asshole?” My hands tingled with the urge to do something, but I pushed it away. I was right to be angry, but that didn’t mean I needed to escalate things. I went out of phase, and Stocker’s hand passed through my wrist as I took a step back. He couldn’t chase me, not with that busted-up leg, but he could cry for help. Even over the sirens, someone would hear him, eventually.

  The move was obvious, but I hesitated. I could use the push to make him forget he ever saw me, but that came too close to the sort of meddling Mother was fond of. I wasn’t that person, no matter how hard it made things on me. “Damn it,” I said, to myself more than Stocker, then pushed. “When I snap my fingers, you’re going to fall asleep for a few minutes. When you wake up, you tell whoever you need to tell to make it happen that you need to talk to Valentine. Tell Valentine that Paxton Locke is on his side, but he’s not helping matters, much. Got it?”

  He wobbled back and forth, his eyes a little out of focus. Recovering, he said, “Yes, but—” I snapped my fingers and cut him off. I’d considered making him sleep until someone came upon him, but who knew how stable the building. I’d hate for it to collapse on top of him right after I dragged him out of there.

  As for me, it was time to run. The direction didn’t matter so much as getting away. I turned, picked a point on the hill behind the building and took off.

  My legs didn’t hurt anymore, which helped, but I was tired and hungry. I needed to find someplace to rest up, muster some strength. I needed to find out where I was, and figure out how to get back to Phoenix. From there, I didn’t know yet. I had to track Cassie and Mother down, somehow. The De La Rosas and I hadn’t had any sort of plan of action if I up and vanished on them, but I hoped that they’d stayed in the wind. If I could get my hands on a phone, I could get some help.

  “Miles to go before I sleep,” I muttered. Throwing up my invisibility spell, I plunged into the trees, bound for the top of the hill.

  Chapter Eleven

  Valentine—Monday morning

  Phoenix, Arizona

  The reactions of his fellow agents as he stomped into the office erased any doubts Val had whether the expression on his face matched his thunderous mood.

  The trip to Oklahoma had been a colossal waste of time. Worse than that, he couldn’t understand why it had been so. The ironclad reading they’d gotten at the truck stop had turned into mushy confusion once they reached Beaver Dunes. His jaw had dropped on the side of the road as he pulled out the tracking device. Deployed, it pointed toward the center of the park for the barest moment before swinging one way, then the other, until finally settling into a slow orbit like a sped-up hour hand on a clock.

  It was the mystical artifact’s best approximation of a shrug.

  Anjewierden, to his credit, had weathered the initial storm of his rage with a stoic expression. After Val vented his spleen, the younger agent had asked, quietly, “Need me to drive back?”

  His anger bottomed out, then, only to crest after they made the return trip to the Phoenix office. He marched into the conference room his team had taken over and slammed the tracking artifact on the table.

  Morgan lowered the report she was reading and offered him a single raised eyebrow.

  “Check it,” Val growled. “Piece of shit spazzed out on me.”

  “All right,” Morgan agreed. She opened the container and studied the needle from several angles. With a shrug, she said, “It’s fine. If you want to wait a few hours, I can dig a little deeper, but the surface enchantments remain intact.”

  “Explain to me, then,” Val said, composing himself, “why it gave me a strong signal toward the Oklahoma nexus, but after we got there, it had nothing. I’ve seen uncertain results before, but I’ve never seen it spin around in circles.”

  She frowned. “The only way it would do that would be—” Morgan frowned, then said, “Oh, dear.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Flipping through stacks of paper, his fellow agent didn’t verbally respond, though she did lift a single index finger. Val sighed. He’d seen Morgan do this sort of thing before, and it never paid to interrupt her while she arranged her train of thought.

  Several minutes passed, then she pushed herself away from the table with a pained groan. “Mallacht Dé ort,” she spat. She trailed off into muttering even more mysteriously until Val rapped his knuckles on
the conference table.

  “English, Morgan.”

  She snapped back into focus and gave him a dirty look. “I’ve listened to enough of your Southern invective over the years. You can let me slide on this one.” Morgan stood and leaned over her side of the table. “It’s all connected.”

  He pulled out a chair and sat down. With his arms crossed, he said calmly, “I’m listening.”

  She ticked the points off on her fingers. “Helen Locke makes her escape from prison. Her shield spell has a sigil identical to that used by the Sisterhood of Salem during the Second World War.”

  “Right,” Val interjected. “They were a group of volksdeutschers from the eastern US who relocated to Germany with their families during the Depression. And they’re all stone-cold dead. You know that.” Unbidden, an image of fire and stone came to him, along with the metronomic echo of dozens of pairs of boots marching in precise lockstep. He didn’t like to think much about the past, but it was hard to forget a frequent nightmare rerun for over seven decades.

  “We don’t have much information about them beforehand, but surely if they were as powerful in the United States as they were when they set up shop in Heidelberg, we’d have some record of their existence. Where’d they get their juice?”

  Val sighed, wishing he’d grabbed some breakfast or at least a cup of coffee before storming in. “All we ever got was rumor and hearsay, but the common story going around was that a Nazi officer serving under Rommel found a book in the desert and sent it home. We were in ‘blow shit up’ mode and didn’t take any time to find out.”

  “Right.” Morgan plucked a folder from out of her collection. “We’ve got what’s supposed to be a complete list of everything Helen Locke acquired using her position at the University of Chicago. Between us and the local police, we recovered maybe three-quarters of it.” She plucked a sheet from the folder and handed it over. “Check out what I highlighted.”