by Ken Lange
I walked up to the blacked-out plate glass doors, found a keypad, and punched in a four-digit code I’d found in the file with this address. A second later, the magnetic lock gave way, and the door popped open.
When I stepped inside, cool air washed over me as the florescent bulbs flickered to life. Then it occurred to me: if the building was empty, why was the A/C running? Heavy footsteps slapped against the tiled floor as the door clicked shut behind me. There was the sound of rubber screeching then the thud of something hitting the wall. Either there was a massive hound wearing shoes headed my way, or this place wasn’t as empty as I’d led myself to believe.
Doing the sensible thing, I put my hands behind my head, interlocked my fingers, and remained very still. About five seconds later, a ginormous man shoved one of the metal security doors open hard enough to knock a hole in the cinder block wall.
I stood a little over six foot six, and this guy made me feel tiny as he towered over me, his massive frame packed with lean, hard muscle. His brilliant green eyes stood out against his dark, almost ebony skin. Then again, maybe I was just focused on them since they were trained down the sight of an AR-15 specially modified to fit his enormity. The light glinted off his bald head as he jerked it to the side. When he spoke, it was in a low, rumbling baritone. “Turn around.”
He seemed calm, focused, and highly trained for someone so young.
I might’ve been magic proof, but bullets were an entirely different story. Complying with his order, I said, “I’m here on business.”
He came up behind me and kicked my legs apart. “Hands on the wall.”
I followed his instructions. “If you give me a chance to explain, I’d be happy to identify myself.”
There was silence as he patted me down. “All right. Start explaining.” I turned, and he kept his gaze fixed on me. “Vigil?”
I nodded and stuck a hand in his direction. “I’m Gavin Randall.”
He lowered his weapon and shook my hand. “Gabriel. Are you alone?”
“Yeah.”
He staggered back a step, sadness worked its way onto his face, and he sniffed. “Martha’s dead then?”
The pain in his voice said that he’d cared deeply for the woman. “I’m sorry to say that she passed away late Thursday night.”
He ejected the magazine and cleared the chamber before motioning for me to follow. Anger and bitterness coated his voice. “It was bound to happen sooner or later.” Sniffling, he choked out. “That’s the lot of a vigil. They always die.”
Business as usual for me, then.
Nodding, I said, “I’m really sorry for your loss.”
Gabriel rolled his shoulders. “Thanks.”
Once again, I’d reached the pinnacle of my comforting abilities, so I focused on the basics. “Where are we headed?”
He gestured to what had once been a conference room. “The armory.” Stopping outside the heavy security door, he punched in a code, and it opened. “Take a seat, and I’ll be with you shortly.”
Gabriel went to the nearest locker and stowed the weapon. He turned around and came to sit in an oversized chair at the end of the table.
Leaning forward, he clasped his hands together. “You wouldn’t happen to be related to Andrew Randall, would you?”
“I am. He’s my uncle.”
He nodded, and when he spoke again, his voice cracked as tears ran down his face. “How did my mother die?”
My body went numb, and my mind blanked. Stammering, I said, “I’m not sure… God, I’m so sorry…I wasn’t aware she had a child.”
Resentment painted his features. “Mom didn’t exactly go around telling people in the Archive about me.” He gestured at himself. “My kind are not exactly welcomed with open arms.”
Kur whispered inside my mind, “Nephilim.”
Having an actual little voice in my head telling me things was weird as hell.
Shaking free of the sensation, I motioned for him to continue. “Forgive my ignorance, but why not?”
Gabriel blinked. “Are you new?”
“Actually, yeah, I am.” I gestured all around me. “I discovered the Archive’s existence less than a week ago.”
He huffed out a laugh. “Lucky you… Sorry. It’s just that my kind are normally enslaved or killed on sight.”
It dawned on me what he was doing here. “Martha skirted the law by having you work for her.”
He grunted in assertion and spread his hands. “That’s right.” Thinking about his situation, he frowned. “Now that she’s gone, I don’t have many choices. I can run, be imprisoned, or be killed.” He looked up at me and shook his head. “What would you do?”
My answer was instantaneous. “Or you could opt to make a similar deal with the new vigil.” I pointed at my chest. “Me.”
Gabriel’s face broke into a big, toothy smile as he eyed me carefully. “You don’t even know me. Why would you risk so much for a stranger?”
“Because it’s the right thing to do.”
His laughter was a hearty, jubilant thing. “You really are new…but how can that be? No offense, but you look older.”
His joy was infectious. It lightened my heart and left me feeling content. “I left home before my eighteenth birthday and traveled the world on business. It was only after I came home that Andrew introduced me to all this.”
Gabriel relaxed a little. “And when did you become vigil?”
Right to the point then. This made things simple, though I hung my head at the awkwardness. “Yesterday morning.”
He glanced around the room as his tone turned suspicious. “You found me pretty quickly.”
I held up my hands in a sign of nonaggression. “Martha had the address for this place in a hidden file on one of her portable drives.” He still wasn’t convinced. “She was working several cold cases before she died. I’m here to look for more information, because I think it’s what got her killed.”
Suspicion danced through his eyes as he got to his feet. “Come with me.” He leaned over, grabbing a pistol on the way out. “If you’re lying to me, I’ll put a bullet in your skull.”
It didn’t take a brain surgeon to see he wasn’t kidding. “All right, but I’m not sure what more I can do to convince you that I’m not the enemy.”
He guided us through a couple of hallways until we reached a black metal security door. He waved me ahead and pointed at it. “Place your right hand on the door. If it unlocks, you live.”
My chest tightened, and I fought back panic. There wasn’t a palm scanner in sight, and even if there had been, there was no way I would be granted access. But the gun leveled at the back of my head was a great motivator. I pressed my hand against the metal. There was a series of clicks, snaps, and gears whirring as the door swung open. Magic. The scars on my hand must contain a unique signature that had granted me access.
Gabriel clicked the safety on before holstering the pistol. “Welcome to Casa De Morte.”
Stepping through the door, I found myself faced with dozens of individual rooms built out of boxes, crates, and artwork. At the far end of the warehouse were a few cars. All but one—a military-style, oversized Hummer with tinted windows—were antiques. Another section was littered with weapons of various types displayed in cases, on tables, and hung on the wall. Just past that were racks of what looked like different types of body armor, coats, and other miscellaneous articles of clothing.
I couldn’t keep the shock out of my voice. “What is all this?”
Gabriel swept his hand out in grand fashion. “These are the belongings of the previous vigiles.” Frowning, he sighed. “When one of them passes, the next will collect their things, since being a vigil tends to estrange them from their families. So, now, all of this belongs to you. You might want to look through the weapons and armor to see if there’s anything you could use.” He pointed at the far end. “I’ll place my mother’s things down there.”
The last cubical in the line already had a numb
er of things in it. “You started already?”
Gabriel’s face clouded with emotion. “She lived here part of the week to spend time with me.” He walked me down to the spot Martha called home. “It’s been like this since I was a child. She would come and stay. I’ve been to her house.” He looked down into my eyes, making sure I understood. “But that was never her home.” He waved back at the open room and beamed. “This was. I think she had more of her things here than in the city.”
I couldn’t help but admire the ability to turn such a place into a real home. “Either way, I’ll be paying her house a visit at some point in the near future. Is there anything you want me to bring back?”
He didn’t hesitate. “There’s nothing there I’d ever want.” He nodded at the big recliner and smaller wing chair next to it and smiled. “All her photos, notes, and other essentials were kept here.” Trepidation crept onto his face.
Putting a hand on the big man’s arm, I looked up at him. “Whatever you do, don’t change it too much. This is just as much your home as it was hers.”
The dread subsided a little. “Are you going to turn me in?”
“I will eventually have to tell people about you, but as vigil, I can employ you. Just say the word.”
Gabriel mulled it over for all of five seconds before agreeing. “Sure. Not like I have a lot of choices.”
He was right, he didn’t, but Kur was insistent that he had to be clear. “You’re going to need to be explicit. Yes or no?”
He stood up straight. “Yes, I’ll do the job.”
Kur instructed me on how to proceed. I moved to stand in front of him and grabbed his left arm, turning it so the bottom of his wrist was up. When I placed my right hand over it, power surged through me and into him, leaving me dizzy and weak for a moment. I lifted my hand, and the Aquila appeared.
Gabriel gawked at his wrist. “What’s this?”
Kur whispered inside my mind, and I repeated it. “That mark means that you’re a centurion and a ranked servant of the vigil, and me, in particular. It grants you certain rights within the Archive.” I held up my hand to stop his questions. “I don’t know what they are at the moment, but they have to be better than those of a rogue nephilim.”
The puzzlement on his face was clear. “You can do that?”
Allowing my eyes to linger on the Aquila, I shrugged. “Apparently.”
He staggered off to the big recliner and fell back into it, ogling his wrist. “Thank you.”
I hated to burst his bubble, but I needed him to understand some hard facts. “Don’t thank me yet.”
“Why not?”
My heart fell at the anxiety on the man’s face. “Because I don’t have a clue what I’m doing. If I die, so does the sigil on your arm.” My stomach growled, and I pulled my phone out to check the time. Nearly eleven. “Any chance there’s a delivery joint nearby? I’d like to look around here for a bit if there is. If not, we’ll pick something up and then I’ll go through the place.”
Gabriel perked up at the mention of food and got to his feet. “Do you like pizza?”
Shaking my head in disbelief, I asked, “Who doesn’t?”
He shrugged. “No one I’ve ever met.”
I handed him a hundred. “I’m a big fan of multiple types of meat on my pizza, and order whatever you want for yourself.”
Gabriel took the money and headed for the door. “I’ll take care of it.” He stopped just before reaching it and turned back. “It’s good to see that there’s another vigil so quickly.”
The way he said it made me wonder. “Why’s that?”
He grimaced. “No one wants to let Andrew handle the investigation into my mother’s death. And I do mean no one.”
I shrugged. “The old man can’t be that scary.”
The look of disdain he shot me was clear. “Shows how little you know your uncle.”
With that, he stuffed the cash in his pocket and strode out of the warehouse. While I may not have been as familiar with my uncle as I would’ve liked, I couldn’t possibly have misjudged him that badly. Could I? Shoving that thought to the back of my mind to revisit later, I focused on the task at hand—which was figuring out how to do my damn job. Hopefully, going through the remnants of the others’ lives would somehow offer me a clue.
Skipping the individual rooms created by the makeshift walls of boxes, crates, and artwork hung on latticed rebar, I headed for the weapons. While I’d been talking to Gabriel, light had glinted off one of the swords, as if it were calling to me via Morse code. At the back of the room atop a dusty table lay a gladius, a type of sword used by the ancient Roman infantry.
I took the handkerchief out of my pocket and ran it down the length of the black blade, wiping away the dust. The hilt was made of ebony wood with an onyx pommel. From end to end, it was two and a half feet long. The stone was surprisingly dust free, and likely the bit that had refracted the light earlier. When I grasped the hilt, a jolt of energy surged through me, and a second later, it was joined by Kur’s joy. I flipped the sword over in my hand, getting a feel for its weight.
It wasn’t the only item calling to me. I followed the pull of something else as I scoured the tables before ducking under one to tug out a wooden crate. There lay a wakizashi, two feet of gently curving Japanese steel coated in silver, with a plain wooden handle. When I hefted it with my free hand, it reacted to me in much the same way the gladius had, but with a higher frequency. After sheathing the weapon, I tucked them both into the crate before heading out. Just before I left, I picked up a metal folding knife that I clipped onto the pocket of my jeans.
Lugging the crate back to the front, I found the armory door open with Gabriel sitting at the far end, devouring a sausage pizza. He waved a hand at the closed box and grinned. “All yours…I can’t stand pepperoni.”
With a quick nod, I opened the box and pulled out a slice before plopping into the nearest chair. “Did Martha have an actual office here or just the place out back?”
Gabriel waved a greasy hand at something out the door. “Take the first left, and two doors down, you’ll find where she did almost all of her work.”
“Thanks.”
Two slices later, I was in Martha’s office sifting through notes—not just about this case, but others she’d been working as the vigil of such a large area. Finally, I stumbled on a couple of files she’d stuffed into the center drawer of her desk. The first was labeled Timothy Miller. When I opened it, I found a photo of the fat man who’d confronted me Monday morning on orders from his employer. The file told me he was hired muscle out of Vancouver. His long and varied rap sheet spanned breaking and entering to attempted murder, which he’d served time for. After he was released nearly ten years ago, he’d left Canada and became an employee of Walter Percy.
Fuck me. Walter was involved, and now I had proof.
The next file was labeled Chan Wong. The photo identified him as the man who’d attacked Heather and me on Sunday night. Mr. Wong was a shapeshifter out of China, who’d escaped the authorities there two years ago and now worked for…Walter Percy. It turned out that Mr. Wong was only twenty-six years old—but of course shapeshifters aged at twice the rate of humans.
Things were starting to fall into place. I didn’t have enough to confront Walter, but that would come soon. First, I wanted to have a nice long sit down with Timothy, and hopefully get more information on Walter’s plan. But if he tried anything stupid again, I’d have to put him down and find the evidence another way.
Before that, I needed to visit Martha’s home to see if there was anything else there that might be important. I found an empty file and slipped a few of her notes and the photos inside for safekeeping. After that, I retrieved the crate and waved my goodbyes to Gabriel.
Chapter 16
The glare of the early evening sun beat down on the city as I turned onto 4th Street. Midway down the block, I spotted Timothy Miller standing in front of the gate leading into Andrew’s driveway. It
would seem fortune had smiled upon me, delivering the very man I wanted to see.
Idling into a parking spot across the street, I threw the car into park and turned off the engine. I took a few moments to appraise the situation. He appeared to be alone, and the only thing out of place was him fidgeting with something tucked behind his back…an impressive feat given his size.
Finally, I stepped out of the car, pocketed the keys, and let gravity close the door behind me. Spreading my arms wide in welcome, I couldn’t help but smirk at the fat man’s discomfort. “Good to see you again, Timmy.”
His head snapped back in shock, and he quickly produced a Glock 9mm, which he leveled in my direction. “How do you know my name, monkey?”
Holding up my hands, I leisurely crossed the road. “You’re from Vancouver, right?”
His hands quaked, and every time he spoke, he waved the gun around like an idiot. The fool was more likely to shoot himself than me. His voice quivered, and he spewed spittle in my direction. “Where’s my cane?”
And now we’d come to the heart of the matter—his precious focusing object.
Cocking my head to the side, I chuckled. “That’s kind of a funny story. For me, anyway. You see, after you tucked tail and ran home to Walter, I snapped it in two.” With an unconcerned wave of my hand, I moved slightly closer.
His scream was one of utter despair. Fumbling with the gun, he nearly dropped it before he squeezed off a round that missed me by several feet. “Shut your lying mouth! How dare you speak my master’s name?” He put both hands on the pistol as he tried to steady the weapon. “Last chance. Tell me where my cane is, or I will kill you.”
Sweat ran into his eyes, forcing them closed, and I struck. I wrapped my hand around his and forced the weapon up. In nearly the same moment, I tugged the knife on my pocket free, and drove the blade between two ribs, scraping it against the sternum before striking the heart.
With a vicious twist, I heaved him off the ground as I ripped the pistol out of his hands. I brought him close and whispered in his ear, “A little advice for your next life. Don’t threaten. Just do it.”