Explaining Cthulhu to Grandma and Other Stories

by Alex Shvartsman

  “All right,” I said. “Fetch whatever maps and floor plans for this thing that weren’t stolen from your safe and let’s take a look.”

  Perched between Marine Park and the coastline of Deep Creek was one of the last undeveloped areas remaining in the borough of Brooklyn. Thousands of people drove past it every day, commuting via the always-busy Belt Parkway. There was no off-ramp by Marine Park. Drivers could only marvel from afar at the glimpses of primordial wilderness and the scenic view of the Atlantic.

  Holcomb would change that. His plans called for building an Exit 10 off Belt Parkway, which would deliver travelers right to his new hotel’s front door. For now, I had to drive all the way to the Flatbush Avenue exit, park at the Gateway Marina, and walk.

  I spent several unpleasant hours slogging around Holcomb’s construction site. Whoever was messing with the project was thorough, devious, and definitely supernatural. Signs of arcane interference were everywhere. Tree trunks had runes carved into their bark, enchantments spun like shimmering spider webs hung from the tree branches, and stones covered with glyphs were spread along the sandy beach. An ancient magic was at work, intent on disrupting the construction. It was effective and considerably unpleasant, but never lethal.

  This magic was different from the types I’d encountered in the past. I was clueless as to what manner of creature was protecting its territory, but had a pretty good idea of how to flush it out. I set to disarming the trickster traps and clearing the area of supernatural hindrances.

  It was slow going. With no magic of my own, I had to rely on various arcane tools. Each action that any other gifted could perform by merely flexing their abilities was taking me minutes of careful tinkering with artifacts that operated on other people’s stored power. My feet got wet and the bottom of my trench coat was caked with mud. I cursed as the wild shrubs scraped against my skin. There’s a reason I choose to live in an urban environment. I’ll take a paved road over a grassy path any day of the week.

  “You shouldn’t do that.”

  I was knee-deep in disrupting a particularly elaborate enchantment when a voice caught me by surprise. I spun around to see who managed to sneak up on me. It was a man in his late forties, dressed in an earth-tone windbreaker, tough khaki pants, and hiking boots. He was far better prepared for an excursion to this area than I.

  “Don’t break it,” he said. “Do you have any idea how much effort goes into weaving an enchantment like this one? It’ll take us weeks to repair all the damage you’ve caused today.”

  “Repair?” I said. “Oh no, no. We can’t have that. The Watch takes a dim view of magic being used against the ungifted.”

  “I know who you are and what you represent, Mr. Brent,” said the stranger. “My people have deep respect for the Watch. It is a grave disappointment that you choose to side against us.”

  “Back up for a moment,” I said. “I’m not picking any sides. I don’t even know who or what I’m dealing with, and I don’t like that one bit. Care to bring me up to speed?”

  “My name is Graeme Murray. I sit on the ruling council of the Circle of the Sacred Oak.” He saw a blank expression on my face and elaborated: “We’re druids, Mr. Brent.”

  I displayed my encyclopedic and brilliant command of history: “I thought druids were, you know, extinct?”

  “There are still a few of us around, carrying on the traditions of our forefathers. Walk with me, Mr. Brent, and I will endeavor to, as you put it, bring you up to speed.” The druid headed deeper into the brush. I followed him, the still-active enchantment threads glowing faintly behind us.

  “My people ruled the British Isles since the beginning of history,” said Murray. “Openly at first, then behind the scenes, after the Romans came. But things were changing. With time, our numbers and influence began to wane. To make matters worse, the ruling council got us mired in a war against the Cabal in the 1700s.”

  I’d heard about the Cabal before. It was a shady organization of European mystics and sorcerers. They were vastly powerful in the Victorian era and still influential in modern day. The Watch and Cabal had butted heads many a time in the past.

  “The Cabal devastated us. Druids were hunted in Britain and Ireland like common criminals. Siobhan Keane, one of the few on the ruling council to oppose the war, gathered her remaining loyalists and set sail for the New World.”

  We walked toward the far end of the property, near the edge of Marine Park.

  “Druids share a bond with the land; most would rather die than abandon their sacred groves. To convince so many to leave the British Isles, to begin life anew elsewhere, was a gargantuan feat. Siobhan Keane wasn’t merely a leader—she was our founder, our savior, as important to us as Jesus and Mohammed are to their followers.”

  We arrived at a small clearing, surrounded by ancient oak trees overgrown with mistletoe.

  “This,” said Murray “is Siobhan Keane’s final resting place. It’s the one sacred site for my people in exile, and we’ll do whatever we have to in order to prevent anyone—gifted or ungifted—from bulldozing it down.”

  The two of us stood quietly for a moment and listened as the Atlantic breeze rustled the yellowing leaves in nature’s requiem for the queen of the druids.

  It took some doing, but I managed to set up a meeting between Holcomb and the druids.

  We sat in the conference room of a nondescript hotel by the airport. Holcomb probably didn’t feel comfortable inviting a bunch of hostile gifted into his home office. He wouldn’t even take my calls, leaving it up to O’Leary to handle the preliminary negotiations. The man was a big fan of delegating, at least according to his reality TV show. To her credit, O’Leary got him to consider the druids’ side of things enough to come meet with the ruling council of the Circle of the Sacred Oak.

  Six rather ordinary-looking men and women, my new pal Graeme among them, sat around the large oval table broadcasting various degrees of annoyance, frustration and overall bad karma. Holcomb was running late. Really late. The druid leaders didn’t appreciate being made to wait. Several of them took to shooting venomous glances my way, as though the real estate mogul’s tardiness was somehow my fault. I kept a neutral expression, hating every minute of it.

  After what felt like hours, the conference room door finally swung open to admit Moira O’Leary and a dozen grim-looking men. They fanned out in a semi-circle, taking positions against the walls and blocking the entrance. Every one of them was gifted and every one of them was heavily armed. They aimed their weapons at the druids.

  “What is the meaning of this?” demanded a councilman. “Where is Holcomb?”

  “He won’t be coming,” O’Leary said. “Mr. Holcomb has left it up to me to deal with this nuisance.” She turned her attention to me. “I want to thank you, Conrad, for flushing out the pagan scum. We’ll take it from here. You should leave. Now.”

  The double-dealing, two-faced mercenary had played me. And I was just beginning to like her.

  “These people are here to negotiate.” I remained seated, so O’Leary and her goons couldn’t see me searching through the pockets of my coat. “You wouldn’t want to jeopardize that with some sort of a rash vigilante action.”

  O’Leary laughed.

  “Rash? We’ve been hunting their kind for centuries. Don’t let the nature-loving act fool you. They are terrorists, ruthless killers of women and children. They’ve waged a guerilla war against the Cabal for several hundred years, and their hands are elbow-deep in blood.”

  So she was a Cabal agent, and the hate in her voice sounded genuine. I wished I hadn’t gotten out of bed that morning.

  “Our faction wants no part of your war,” said Graeme. “Our ancestors traveled across the ocean so that we could live at peace.”

  “These people are civilians, Moira. Look at them. They didn’t try to hurt Holcomb’s workers and they’re certainly no threat to the Cabal.” I smiled and waved my right hand, palm out. “Come on. You know these aren’t the druid
s you’re looking for.”

  No one even chuckled. So much for diffusing the situation with humor.

  “Do keep in mind that these negotiations are guaranteed by the Watch. I’m sure both of us would rather avoid the possibility of friction between our organizations?”

  O’Leary was having none of that. “We have no quarrel with your band of do-gooders, so long as you stay out of our way. You’re free to go and play at policeman somewhere else. But if you stay, you die with them.”

  The smart move would’ve been to take her up on her offer. I had no business interfering in a centuries-old war. Besides, what chance did I have against a dozen gifted? Yet, I couldn’t bring myself to walk out and leave six innocent people to their doom. After years of making careful, calculated decisions I surprised myself by abandoning caution and following my gut.

  “You really shouldn’t have called me a cop,” I said, rising from the chair. “It upsets me.”

  Before anyone could react I drew a pencil-thin turquoise glass vial from one of my pockets and threw it as hard as I could against the wall.

  The vial shattered, unleashing a Chinook wind bottled inside. Powerful gusts wreaked havoc in the confines of the room. Hurricane-like currents lifted people and chairs from the ground. Intense fog made it impossible to see beyond arm’s length. The air had become hot and moist, as though someone had run a long, steamy shower.

  The pandemonium around me kept the bad guys busy and gave me a chance to set up a portal. Transportation magic is unreliable and takes at least a dozen heartbeats to activate. What’s worse, a portal charm is only good for a single one-way trip and very difficult to replace. I winced as I activated it, but using up a prized possession was better than facing a Cabal army.

  Someone managed to open the conference room door and the Chinook swooshed out into the hallway. As the fog began to dissipate, everyone could see a portal the size of a manhole cover floating a few feet above the floor.

  “Go!” I shouted at the druids while ripping a golden bracelet off my wrist. The action triggered a force barrier, cutting off the other half of the room. That particular toy was reusable, but it would take four lunar months to recharge. This mess was costing me dearly.

  Druids stumbled toward the portal but the Cabal mages got their act together. They unleashed a coordinated attack on the barrier and within seconds it began to collapse. I desperately tried to think of a way to buy us more time but had no trinkets capable of stopping a dozen hostile gifted working in concert.

  A druid woman in her early fifties turned around. In a few steps she was at the barrier, touching it lightly with her fingertips. Her entire body began to shimmer as she worked her own magic. Infused with whatever power she lent it, the barrier strengthened despite the continued attack from the other side. She appeared calm, almost serene, but I could see the new wrinkles appear on her face and her hair visibly turning gray as she gave up her life force to maintain the barrier.

  The rest of the druids were through the portal now. It was beginning to wobble and would dissipate soon. I took one last look at the woman who did not hesitate for even a moment before choosing to sacrifice herself in order to save her people. A small part of me wanted to stay, to fight and probably die alongside her once the barrier failed, but I knew better. I was no hero. I was just a guy with a few arcane gadgets and lots of bravado.

  I hurled myself into the portal, fervently hoping that its erratic magic wouldn’t teleport me into a concrete wall.

  The portal spat me out in a parking lot. The five druids were just getting their bearings when I arrived. Graeme helped me up.

  “Thank you,” he said as I brushed dust off my coat. “It seems you’ve chosen a side after all.”

  “Couldn’t just walk out on you lot. Would’ve been bad for my reputation.”

  We watched the portal flicker and finally collapse. No one else would be coming through.

  “They got Alice,” said one of the druids, tears rolling down his cheeks. “This can’t be left unanswered.”

  “We must gather everyone,” said another. “Sound the call. We will march to the Holcomb Tower and bring it down on the treacherous bastard’s head.”

  “Hold on,” I said. “Holcomb isn’t gifted. He told me that, until a week ago, he didn’t even know that our kind existed. I don’t buy him as a member of the Cabal.”

  “You only have his word for that,” said Graeme.

  “I’ve watched this guy on TV,” I said. “He isn’t that good a liar. I bet O’Leary set up the trap by herself and never even told him about you.”

  “We will rip the truth out of him,” growled another druid. Everyone began to speak at once. The druids were primed to take some sort of action, anything to avenge Alice and lash out at their persecutors. Then my phone rang, and O’Leary’s number displayed on the caller ID.

  “Yeah,” I grunted, taking a few steps away from the druids. Bent on their revenge plans, they barely noticed.

  “That was very impressive,” O’Leary said with that hint of cheerful amusement in her voice I would find endearing had she not just betrayed and then tried to kill me. “I suppose I should have expected no less.”

  “What do you want?” For once, I wasn’t in a mood for banter.

  “I assume you’re still with the druids,” said O’Leary. “I want you to pass along a message. We’ll be waiting for them at the tomb of their precious founder. If they don’t show by sunset, we’ll burn down the trees, demolish the stones, then dig up her grave and spend a fun evening coming up with ways to desecrate the remains.”

  “That’s a big mistake,” I told her. “You and your people should leave town, before the Watch stomps on you, hard.”

  “Nonsense,” she said. “Mose will never get the Watch involved. After all, the druids were the ones picking on the ungifted. I’m merely trying to set things right on behalf of Mr. Holcomb. Whatever other disagreements my organization may have with the druids falls well outside of the Watch’s purview.”

  I said nothing, hating the fact that she was right.

  “I suspect,” she went on, “that Mose won’t be too pleased with you for siding with them just now. So why don’t you be a good boy and give the tree huggers my message. They won’t be able to resist trying to protect their sacred swamp and we’ll mop ‘em up. Everybody wins. Mose doesn’t even have to know about your error in judgment. What do you say?”

  “I’ll pass the message along,” I conceded. “This isn’t over.”

  She started to say something snide, but I ended the call.

  I relayed the message to the druids and contemplated my next move. There were less than four hours of daylight remaining.

  O’Leary’s plan was working perfectly. Compelled to defend what they believed in, the druids showed up in force, like so many lambs to slaughter. Nearly thirty men and women joined their leaders in an effort to protect their sacred ground. They were all gifted—but they were no warriors, and no match for the hardened Cabal mercenaries.

  I walked with them, prodding along a prisoner. By my side, disheveled and dragging his Italian loafers through the brown mud, was Bradley Holcomb.

  Moira O’Leary and her people waited for us at Siobhan Keane’s gravesite. There were nearly three dozen Cabal fighters this time, weapons and magic at the ready. They parted to let our procession approach.

  “I’ve got your boss,” I told O’Leary once we reached the clearing. I shoved Holcomb back into the arms of several druids. “If any fighting takes place here, I’ll make sure he’s among the first to die. So, why don’t we talk things out instead?”

  “You’re a fool,” said O’Leary. “And a desperate fool, at that. I heard that you abducted Holcomb from his office in broad daylight. Talk about abusing the ungifted! And for what? Did you really think that saving his skin would get me to back off? Now that we’ve lured out the druids, Holcomb is useless to me.”

  Bradley Holcomb straightened up, stepped forward and looked down his nos
e at O’Leary.

  “You were right, Mr. Brent,” he said. “It appears my arcane security consultant never had my best interests at heart after all.”

  “Moira,” Holcomb said with as much aplomb and dignity as he could muster under the circumstances. “You’re fired!”

  That was all we needed to hear. Holcomb stepped back into the relative safety of the cluster of druids and four of my fellow members of the Watch dropped their concealment spell. I would take any two of them against all the Cabal goons present. Together they were an overwhelming force that should make any sensible gifted think twice.

  Cabal agent Moira O’Leary wasn’t the sensible type.

  O’Leary signaled her men to attack. The tranquil burial site turned into a war zone. Fireballs, curses and bullets flew as both sides unleashed everything they had at each other.

  Terrie Winter of Queens wielded an enchanted staff so powerful you could physically feel the presence of its magic. She moved gracefully, jabbing at enemies and dodging their attacks in fluid, ballet-like motion.

  Father Mancini from Staten Island held a large silver cross with sharpened edges in one hand and a .44 Magnum revolver in another. He had no trouble reconciling his arcane ability with his faith, and Lord help any gifted sinner who got in his way. The good priest stood his ground, striking down any Cabal fighters within reach while quoting scripture.

  Gord from the Bronx stood seven feet tall, courtesy of the giant blood somewhere deep in his family’s Romany past. He carried a sawed-off shotgun that could blast through any obstacle, physical or magic. Gord fired off a few shots, and then took several large strides that placed him in the midst of the enemy. He used his shotgun as a club, tossing men around like rag dolls.

  Manhattan’s John Smith stood empty-handed and smiled nastily at his enemies, his own magic far more powerful than any mere weapon. Elegant in a three-piece Armani suit and a white silk scarf tied around his neck which contrasted smartly against his ebony skin, John cast spell after spell, conjuring ephemeral horrors. They materialized in the air, swooping from above to maul the Cabal mages with their ghostly fangs and claws.