by J M Guillen
“I know the feeling.” I covered my stomach with my right hand. Now that I thought about it, I had been gorging myself on pizza and Chinese after I woke up from my little naps.
“Aiden’s got all kinds of snacks hidden around here, some in the fridge and some downstairs.” Simon stood and stretched. “Why don’t you grab yourself something so you don’t fall over dead, and I’ll call a cab. You’ll feel better after a hamburger or six.”
“That sounds perfect.” I smiled and pushed to my feet.
“We’ll talk more when you don’t look like you’re about to eat me.” Simon gave me a smile. “Figure some things out.” He turned and stepped into the shadows.
“Figure some things out,” I whispered to myself. An iron dread settled in my stomach as I ran the fingers of my right hand over my left wrist. A whisper of cold, so faint that I doubted anyone else would notice it, encircled my wrist.
Dammit.
I’d left my motorcycle in Lorne’s little shop of bullshit. I’d gotten my friends hurt, and I’d revealed Simon’s secrets.
And I’d been caught anyway.
I definitely needed to figure some things out.
2
On the cab ride over, Simon complained about his leg and showed me the new brace Abriel set him up with.
“She knew exactly what to do.” Simon raised one eyebrow. “There’s a phone number downstairs for situations just like that.”
“That’s what she said. Something about,” I deepened my voice, trying to sound serious, “the Aftermath Protocols.”
“Heh.” Simon glanced at the unconcerned cabbie. “There’s all kinds of contingencies set up,” he said vaguely. “Our organization is a bit larger than you might guess.”
I nodded, my food-starved mind awhirl. Did he mean the Scions of Babel had doctors on the payroll? Professionals who cleaned up after a job? I imagined large men, ‘cleaners’ from old mafia movies. While the idea made me grin, I had to admit that, at this point, I wouldn’t be surprised to discover almost anything about the Scions of Babel.
It only took us a few minutes to arrive at Nan’s, the closest greasy spoon to Knucklebones.
After Simon paid the driver, we walked inside, one of the servers greeted him.
“Hey there!” A woman in her early thirties smiled a bit playfully. “You want the table in the back?”
“Ah, Marie.” He smiled. “You know me so well.”
“Well,” Marie glanced at me, “it’s the only way to keep you safe from the assassins.”
“Oh, God.” I closed my eyes and shook my head gently. “More poor suckers have bought into your shenanigans.”
“That’s what life is all about.” He held up one finger sagely. “The more people buy into my shenanigans, the better this life becomes.”
Marie took us to the rear of the room. We walked past red and white checkered booths that hadn’t been updated since the 1950s.
Simon smirked as he sat with his back to a wall and gestured for me to sit across from him. This time, I was the fool who had to keep her back unguarded.
“I’ll have my usual.” Simon nodded at Marie. “As for the young lady, bring her two bacon cheeseburgers, some chili fries, and a strawberry shake.”
“Wow, honey.” Marie raised her eyebrow at me. “Hungry?”
“Literally starving,” I confirmed. “Thanks.”
Simon and I sat so far back in the restaurant that no one else could remotely hear what we were saying.
“We’ll take your order back to the store if you can’t eat it all.” He toyed with his mustache. “I get the feeling food doesn’t last long with that Baxter kid around.”
“Got it right in one.” I grinned. “I’m just happy he still has an appetite. I was pretty worried about him there for a while.”
“Baxter will recover.” Simon’s eyes looked grim. “Ol’ Doc Blackthorn got him sewed up, got fluids in him.”
“When you said they were okay, I assumed they had all recovered.” I frowned.
“Baxter will be okay. He needs rest and fluids. He’ll probably have several really cool scars.”
“Well, chicks dig scars.” I winced.
“Rehl’s leg should’ve kept him from running around, at least as much as he did. Kid was on some major painkillers; that’s how he kept going.”
“But he’ll be okay?” I had no idea Rehl’s leg had been that bad.
“Yes—”
Marie returned, bringing Simon a plate of eggs, sausage, and hash browns. Moments later, I sat in front of two of the largest and greasiest bacon cheeseburgers I had ever seen. I dove in.
“Ambrosia,” I mangled between bites.
“No one came out of this little shindig in perfect shape, Buttercup.” He glanced at my right wrist as if to reinforce the thought. “But Doc Blackthorn has a real,” he grinned at me, “knack for making sure folk are taken care of.”
“I see.” The shake drew nearly all of my attention. So. Good.
“Thing you gotta decide now is,” he popped a piece of bacon into his mouth, “what we’re gonna do about your friends.”
“What we’re going to do?” I set the milkshake down, an image of the ace of spades coming to mind, bringing with it a cold sweat.
“Sure.” Simon shrugged. “You are now the legal proprietor of Knucklebones Incorporated. You took over your father’s position and shares. Aiden owned 90% of the company.”
“Okay…?” I took bite of meat and cheese and dabbed at my chin. What did that have to do with my friends?
“Well,” he drawled, “that place is just a cover, as you now know. Your ownership makes you the primary decision maker for the New York Lodge of the Scions of Babel.” He raised an eyebrow at me and shoved a forkful of hash browns in his mouth.
“It does?”
“Yep.” He grinned. “As long as your pop owned the store, I remained the local Rector. But Serin and I had the paperwork all drawn up. It’s always been intended that I pass the title to you when you were ready.”
“I’m definitely not ready.” I shook my head emphatically. “I don’t know if you remember how I almost got everyone killed the other day. It involved me stupidly striking a bargain with an eldritch abomination.”
“The situation isn’t ideal.” He nodded. “But this is where it’s all been going, Bluebird. The moment you signed that paperwork, you were technically the Rector of New York.”
“That makes absolutely no sense.” I stared at him, my eyes wide. “Why would you think I’d be ready for something like that?”
“You done spent six years training in Syracuse. You put down all manner of uncanny beastie and wandering ghost.” He shrugged. “When both your father and your mentor went missing, you figgered out almost everything you needed to know. You gathered allies. You traveled into the Twilight for knowledge. You took up arms, both mundane and arcane. You organized an assault against ‘an eldritch abomination,’” he mimicked.
“That sounds a lot cooler than it seemed at the time.” I shook my head.
“Freckles, you’re everything I needed you to be.” The ‘not-old’ old man shook his head wistfully. “Things didn’t go perfectly, but things never do. In the last week you’ve faced more other-worldly beasties than most Scions do in their entire lives.”
“What does the ‘Rector’ do?” I skewed up my nose. “Rectoress?”
“Naw. A Rectoress is the wife of a Rector.” He gestured at me with apiece of bacon. “As Rector, you are responsible for the daily doings within the New York Lodge of the Scions of Babel. Your jurisdiction is the City of New York in specific, the state in general, and the East Coast in tandem.”
“Tandem?” I quickly felt myself getting lost.
“There are other Rectors ’a course—a couple close by. One in Boston, one in Maine. If you go charging into their jurisdictions, might be nice to let them know.”
“In tandem.” My head whirled. “Got it.”
I did not, in any way, ‘have it
.’
“Mostly, it’s exactly what you did in Syracuse. Abriel and the library upstairs contain a vast amount of information regarding weird happenings in the city. You do your best to make certain things don’t get too uncanny and, in the meantime, you run the store.”
“I run the store by day and slaughter vampires by night?” The idea seemed ridiculous.
“It’s what I believe the Facility Assets are supposed to do—protect humanity.” He frowned, just a touch. “In all honesty, I suspect they were once quite different, more defenders than inquisitors.”
“Did you hear the Gaunt Man going on about them?” I shuddered. “Calling them Templars and Rose-Christians?”
“Rosicrucians.” Simon’s frown grew darker. “I’m not certain what that means, but I’m going to look into it.”
“Anyway, Rector stuff?” I gestured at him with a spoon. “You were talking about all the new responsibilities I’m not ready for.”
“You’re ready. We even have a handy excuse for you to travel
about.”
“Yeah?”
“Aiden created a list of several dozen gaming conventions all up and down the eastern seaboard.” He took a bite of egg. “Good excuse to move about a lot. Keep an eye on things.”
“And what are you going to be doing?”
“The last several years, I spent a lot of my time training a troublesome young sprat.” He winked at me. “But that’s over now. I’ve got more time to put in some hours helping out the occasional Rector who could use a hand.”
“You’re a crazy person.” I chuckled as I shook my head. “Absolutely batshit crazy.”
“Language.” He gave me a playful grin.
“So you’re saying the Rector of New York has a decision to make.”
“I am at that.”
I thought for a long moment and drank my shake.
Simon took a sip of coffee.
“People not associated with the Scions of Babel recently got exposed to our activities.” I munched on a chili-fry. “As secrecy and subtlety are important to our daily operations, I need to decide what to do about that.”
“You understand my intentions well.”
“And you’re not going to change my mind for me? Or use your little ace in the hole to decide what my friends remember?”
“One.” Simon pricked up a finger on his left hand and touched it lightly with a finger on his right. “Officially naming you the New York Rector and then going behind your back would be… What do you call it? A dick move?”
“Simon!” I looked around as if I cared what anyone else might think. “Language!”
“Two.” He tapped the second finger “That particular card got left behind in Fallen Leaves.” He frowned. “Along with my staff.” His eyes grew positively dark. “And my fork.”
“Your fork?”
“It wouldn’t take too much for me to craft another card. But even if I do, I won’t use it on your friends.” He leaned back in the booth. “You’re the Rector. You’re the boss. Make the call.”
“I think the call is already made for Alicia,” I mused. “My understanding is that this whole ‘angelic possession’ thing isn’t something that we can take back.”
“Well…” He vacillated with one hand. “Tricky. But for the purpose of this conversation, I think you can assume that Abriel is on board.”
“As far as the guys go, I think I need to have a talk with them,” I mused. “If they’re going to remain on my bad-ass monster fighting squad, then I should talk to you about what it takes to induct people into the Scions.”
“An excellent thought.” Simon nodded in agreement. “As Rector, you are responsible for the secrets of the Scions of Babel. If others know those secrets, then perhaps they should belong to our organization.”
“Is that your official suggestion?”
“Oh, I’m not the Rector here.” He put one hand in the air, palm out. “In fact, I don’t currently have a title in the organization at all.”
“It’s almost like you don’t even exist.” I stuck my tongue out at him.
“It’s quite the handy thing, being nonexistent,” he said. “Being nonexistent gives a man time to work on side projects. That way, when one of his friends needs a hand with terrors from beyond reality, he can be available.”
“What about when one of his friends has become trapped in an infernal pact?” I held both my hands out, mimicking being in handcuffs.
“That too,” he said darkly. “I’ve already started research, Little Duck. If there is a way out of the Gaunt Man’s horse pucky, I’ll find it.”
“I believe you,” I said softly.
“In my opinion then, the last order of business we have here today involves my best friend.” Simon shifted in his seat. “It seems as if we have some plans to make.”
“Yeah. About that.” I narrowed my eyes in thought. “I assume that Abriel told you how I learned the little bit I know regarding Dad.”
“The fairy?” Simon chuckled. “Or were you talking about your new relationship with some of the Gentleman?”
“It’s not like that.” I raised one hand. “Abriel told me a little more about your past with them. I would never go looking to hang out with those guys.”
“I dunno,” he teased. “Seems like you were pretty chummy.”
“Ha!” I shook my head and then stuck my tongue out at him. “You already said that Abriel told you everything. You’re just trying to get a rise out of me.”
“Okay. That’s true.” He reached across the table and tapped the new bracelet I wore on my wrist. “But on a serious note, that’s why you’re wearing this. I don’t want those Facility boys thinking they can track down my new Rector whenever they like.”
“They seemed really…” I took a sip of my shake, trying to phrase it appropriately. “Intense about this third party of theirs.”
“I know the group.” He eyed me. “They call themselves ‘Sadhana.’”
“Weird name.”
“It’s a yogic thing. Means a ‘path’ or a ‘way.’” He waved his fork. “Some such thing.”
“Huh,” I mused, pleased to at least have a name.
“What I want to know is why the Assets were so all fired interested in you?”
“The one I spoke with tried to claim it had to do with Dad.” I thought back, trying to remember exactly what Garret had said. “There was a point where he stumbled a little bit in the conversation. I think he may have been about to tell me something I wasn’t supposed to know.”
“Well, I’m no longer the Rector of New York. Therefore I’m not going to sit here and give you orders.”
“What?” I leaned back in my booth, as if stunned. “Whatever shall I do without your guidance?”
“However, as a nonexistent man without title, the Facility is a solid ‘no’ for me.” He raised one eyebrow. “I will not work with them. Not to help you and not to save your dad.”
“Okay.” I hadn’t expected the conversation to turn so serious, so quickly.
“Barring the Facility, however, this is a no-brainer. Been a while since I had true family, Sassafras.” He looked down at his plate, and his tone grew quiet. “I figure family don’t let family stay missin’.”
When he paused for a moment, the silence grew heavy.
“Well, I came for you.” I sighed. “Way outta my way, too.”
“Yes.” He shook his head ruefully. “If I understand correctly, you used grenades and hurled your motorcycle into Fallen Leaves?”
“Maybe a little bit.” I smiled widely.
“Heh.” He reached across the table and put a hand on mine. “We’ll get him.” His eyes grew hard, not with anger, but determination. “You know that, don’t you?”
“I do.” I nodded.
“Good.” He gave me a savage grin and set his fork down.
“Do you have any ideas on how?” I blinked back the beginning of tears.
“I do.” His eyes grew cunning. “Wanna h
ear some ’a them?”
Stealth Check- An Epilogue
January 3, 1998—Three Months Later
Manhattan, New York
Even before my days of superpowered badassdom, the subway was never something I felt particularly nervous over. Other girls my age would worry about creepers and perverts, but for me, the subway always felt like an adventure.
An adventure that smelled like urine, but an adventure nonetheless.
I could have easily taken my new bike across the borough, even with winter’s chill. Usually, I preferred the Valkyrie, even in biting winter.
Today, I wanted to use the subway.
I had no idea how long this little excursion might take, after all. As far as I knew, I’d be parked for weeks, and in New York, that could cost a small fortune.
Not that getting Dad back wouldn’t be worth it.
2
Gold Street, the Sadhana office building. The last place my father had visited while within this world.
According to Black Horn Jack, anyway.
I circled the so-gray-it-was-nearly-black, mirrored-windowed building for the third time. I pretended, hard, that people weren’t beginning to notice me.
Still, no front entrance.
Honestly, how can a building not have a front door? I wondered for the fifth time. Sure, Simon had said I’d never find it, but I’d had to look for myself.
I’d been torn between not really expecting to find the front entrance and expecting to find it immediately as some strange joke on Simon’s part. Not that he joked about things like that, but a corporate building without an entrance?
“How do the employees get in, for one?” I groused.
The second time, I’d paid more attention. I noted the dark safety glass of the windows—difficult to see through, not to mention break—and the security cameras pointed at the only thing resembling a door: the loading dock.
Behind a fence, of course. It was clearly locked down; the giant garage doors prominently displayed ‘NO PARKING’ in bright yellow paint.
“What if I don’t want to park?” I muttered.