Drown Another Day

by F. A. Bentley

  “So our Angel of Death is bad news then?” I asked.

  Lis shook her head. “Not sure. If he’s a low tier goon who just happens to have a fancy aspect like Death, then lots of Supernaturals have the power to stand up to him. However--”

  “However?”

  The she-devil frowned. “I haven’t seen him for myself. So I can’t be sure.”

  “Lis,” I said. “You’re holding out on me.”

  “I am?” she asked with the innocence of a cat caught in a newly empty bird cage.

  “What aren’t you telling me.”

  “Ignorance is bliss Charlie,” came the reply.

  I shook my head. “When have I ever chosen ignorance? Tell me.”

  Lis’ eyes shone with something I couldn’t quite make out. Anger? Uncertainty? Pride? Whatever it was, it made her spill the beans.

  “Here’s the thing about your Angel: Neither agents of Heaven, nor those of Hell should be able to interact with the Mortal world as he has. There’s rules Charlie. There’s proper channels.”

  Anger bubbled up inside me. The weight of a Itabimori’s cooling body in my hands returned. “What the hell are you trying to tell me, Devil?”

  Molten yellow eyes locked onto mine. “I’m saying your Angel of Death simply can’t exist. You’ve either been fooled by an impostor, or mistook some other boogeyman for an Angel.”

  My knuckles cracked as I balled my hand into a fist. “Just how stupid do you think I am, Lisistrathiel? I’m not a goddamn rookie that’s just--”

  “Romans chapter three, line twenty three: All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God. Charles Montgomery Locke, you are a Mortal,” Lis said. “Making mistakes is what you guys do best.”

  I cursed under my breath, turned my back on the she-devil and walked as fast as I could away from her. A mixture of exhaustion and simmering rage nearly saw me stumble a few times on the uneven cobblestone roads, but I straightened my pace and kept my pride.

  What did I expect from an Infernal Adversary, really? Some sympathy? Some understanding? At the very end of the day Lisistrathiel was here for one reason only: My immortal soul. To think of her as a mentor, or worse, as a close confidante was folly on a biblical scale. Selfish, self assured, Lis never spared a stray thought for anything other than her own damn amusement.

  Fine by me.

  I’ll see Itabimori’s killer dead at my feet. Whether it’s an Angel or not doesn’t matter one bit. I’ll kill the bastard. Even if I have to drag him to Hell with me.

  By the time I reached the villa I barely had the energy to reach the bed. Sleep came instantly. I dreamed of nothing.

  Chapter 26

  The angry shriek of the alarm clock woke me up. On the third strike I managed to finally smash my hand into the noise maker. The hit silenced it, but only because something round was placed atop the snooze button.

  With a groan, I raised my face up from my pillow to see a shiny red apple in my hand. A peace offering from Lis?

  “Nice try,” I muttered, tossing the apple aside.

  I fetched the remote from among the sheets and turned on the television. Might a well hear the weather while I dressed. I could use some good news.

  “--Say that the attack was likely perpetrated by an organized group of vandals, and not in fact terrorists. No groups have taken responsibility for the destruction of the harbor-side building, though it is speculated that the U.S. Fleet’s docking is a possible motivation to the senseless attack. The police are urging residents to remain indoors. Chief Caravello had this to say about the--”

  I killed the t.v. and straightened my collar. I’ll just find out what the weather’s like the old fashioned way.

  Seven in the afternoon, my cell phone cheerily displayed. I’d been asleep for about twelve hours.

  “Dinner it is,” I muttered.

  I donned my coat and pocketed both my pistol and my wand. Just before I left, I noticed a crumpled paper resting atop the snooze button. It seems Lis’ peace offering came with some intel.

  Carissimo Charlie,

  Last time I saw one of those six headed snaky things it was called a Scylla. Just an FYI.

  Doom and Damnation, XX Lis.

  I crushed the paper in my fist and crammed it into my pocket. Useless. I had no idea what a Scylla was. At least calling it a six headed sea snake I could visualize it. Shoes on, and out the door I went.

  This whole song and dance was quickly turning into a disaster. No Supernatural ears would have been fooled by the vandalism story. And if the Mundanes catch even a whiff of the Supernatural, I might end up getting more than chewed out at the debriefing.

  Thankfully, between the assassins and Lis, I’ll probably wind up dead before I have to deal with any red tape. Just gotta think positive.

  The restaurant across the street provided me with my meal. Seafood marinara felt appropriate. As I ate, my mind couldn’t help but drift. With so many frayed threads, I struggled to wrap my head around the whole ordeal.

  Ashwell asked to meet at midnight. If I go he might prove a friend. Then again it could also be an ambush. He must know I’d dare not leave that precious book of his somewhere it could be stolen. Maybe he plans on taking it from me after I drop my guard.

  A dropped guard is just what my assassins are hoping for as well. Who knows when and where they’ll strike next. Maybe I could go to the Olympians for aide. Or bodyguards. Or maybe they’re the assassins. No, what reason would they have to kill an ally? What could they possibly gain?

  And then there’s Lis.

  I shook my head. I payed my bill and tipped the grinning waitress for the swift service. And her unbuttoned blouse. I hung a right outside the restaurant door and hit the streets to clear my mind and kill time.

  I wasn’t seeing the whole picture. Did I ever? It was like standing in the middle of a minefield. Even though my instincts cried at me to run in one direction as fast as I could and just get it over with, I was absolutely certain doing so would leave me a gory mess.

  My melancholic brooding was interrupted when I caught sight of a figure out of the corner of my eye. I was being tailed. Again. At first I thought it was overactive paranoia, but with every twist, turn, and alley shortcut taken, my pursuer stuck to me like glue.

  Whatever they were, they weren’t Mundane. The overpowering scent of mucky upturned earth was my first hint at a Supernatural foe. The sudden mistiness of magic soaked air was all the confirmation I needed.

  I cut onto a deserted street, just out of eye shot of my pursuers, and set an ambush. Back pushed up against a wall of urban brick, I drew my wand and waited.

  Open your ears. Wait for the steps. Count them, and when they’re near, you spring the trap. In a flash, a blade of hard arcana solidified from the tip of my wand, and in a flourish, I pressed it against the throat of my closest stalker.

  “Hello. Conversation or violence?” I asked.

  What felt like a million ton anvil suddenly crashed into my stomach and sent me flying. Luckily the concrete broke my fall. As I scrambled to my feet, a broad shouldered man completely devoid of any hair and with arms as thick as logs, charged me like a bull.

  “Violence it is then.”

  Just as he reached me I leaped up one side of the wall, skipping off and over my stalker’s head. Wand in hand, I swung my blade down his back. A proper wound like that would have put anyone in the hospital. Or in a wheelchair depending on the spinal injuries. Unfortunately today was about to become a bad day for me.

  Turning to look at my opponent, the man was completely unharmed. Besides his smoothly slashed shirt at least. His skin was stony and gritty all over. It had a vague gray color to it and gave me the impression he was more of a boulder than a bull.

  The sight evoked two words in my mind: Earth Elementalist.

  The mountain of a man quickly became the least of my worries. As the bruiser charged at me again, I discovered that both of my legs were frozen from the ankle down. I didn’t even feel a slig
ht chill, and yet I couldn’t move them. My arms refused to budge either.

  With a triumphant grin, the earth mage slowed his roll and sauntered right up to me, winding back his fist, and prepared to deliver a knockout punch.

  “Quite enough Clifton, don’t you think?” spoke a child’s voice from behind me.

  “You know how he likes picking on warlocks though. Let him have some fun,” argued another voice. Shrill but feminine.

  Phantom shackles? Frozen without feeling cold? Big brute elementalist with strong defensive magics?

  “Egomancers, if I had to guess,” I managed through magically chattering teeth.

  Egomancy. Mind magic. And I’ve only seen one flavor of Egomancer in my experience.

  “Nine Towers. Peace and Corrections department,” I muttered. “In other words, the assholes that make sure that Mundanes are kept completely in the dark about anything remotely Supernatural.”

  The imagined frosty shackles, real enough to my mind, suddenly dissipated. I turned around to find a small boy no more than ten years old, and a twelve year old girl behind me. Probably siblings.

  “And you must be the guardian, Mr. Clifton,” I said, as a heavy hand clamped down on my shoulder.

  The earth mage all but snarled at my words. “Bow your head, show respect to your betters, and you might just make it out of this in one piece, warlock.”

  Just what I needed. An inquisition.

  Chapter 27

  You know I don’t think I’ve ever explained it, but as it turns out, there’s a logical reason behind why no one ever notices any Supernatural shenanigans happening.

  Some attribute the blissful unawareness of Mundanes to them simply refusing to believe what they see right in front of their very eyes. Others would have you believe that big dumb Oni and drunken Norse Giants are capable of extreme stealthiness despite their legendary stupidity and or alcohol abuse. In some part those theories are right.

  For all the Humans that slip through the cracks, we have Egomancers.

  “You must be Charles Locke. I can tell cause you’re on your own but not really scared,” spoke the scrawny boy. “I’m James.”

  “I’m Valerie,” added the girl. “And you’ve already met Clifton. Do you know why we’re here?”

  “I’m sure you already know whether or not I know why you’re here,” I replied.

  Egomancers meant two things. Messed up sentences like the one I just spoke, and imminent mental danger. They were guard dogs, with a side of clean up crew and a dash of Gestapo mixed in. They only show up when something bad is happening, or is about to happen. That’s why the symbol on both James and Valerie’s staffs was a black cat, back arched and thrilling with menace.

  Lucky me.

  “Don’t be like that, warlock. We don’t really like going into anyone’s minds unless we have to. You’re not planning on being uncooperative, are you?” Valerie asked.

  “Perish the thought,” I replied.

  “Don’t get cheeky, scum,” Clifton snarled.

  “What, I’m not even allowed to make a little mind erasing pun around them? If I planned on resisting I’d have tried something by now, but I’m hoping you will play nice. We are on the same team, aren’t we?” I asked.

  The air felt thick with danger. Like getting tossed into a lion’s den.

  “C’mon, the longer this takes, the longer we get to go without ice cream,” James mumbled.

  “Fine,” Val replied. “Let’s cut to the nitty gritty warlock. You were behind the destruction of the harbor side building, yes?”

  “If it’s any consolation I had a giant six headed snake thing attacking me,” I said.

  “Excuses. Though you aren’t lying, judging by the stillness of your thoughts,” Valerie said.

  James shook his head. “Doesn’t change the trouble we went through.”

  “Trouble?” I asked.

  Clifton held up three gravelly fingers.

  “Three witnesses.”

  “Let me guess, you had to change their minds?” I asked.

  Valerie smirked. “Yep. Take your scuffles somewhere private next time. You remember what happens to people that can’t, or won’t uphold the laws of secrecy, right?”

  Wizards have always been straddling the fence between Mundane and Supernatural. Because of this, as long as there have been sorcerers, warlocks, mages and shamans, there has been a need for very strict secrecy.

  Repeat offenders were hunted down without mercy.

  “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind. Is that all?” I asked.

  “Nope. All the memories we erased mentioned you and someone else too. A Mundane girl. She has to be fixed as well. Where is she?”

  “Mundane girl?” I asked.

  It took me a while to realize just who they were talking about.

  “Lis. You’ve got nothing to fear. She’s not Mortal.”

  Valerie passed a glance towards James. Clifton’s brows furrowed in displeasure.

  “Well, he’s not telling a lie,” James said with a shrug.

  Valerie threw a suspicious look at me, before shaking her head.

  “Cross it off the list. Locke, you’re getting off with a warning this time. Oh, and get your act together or the big cowls will have your head. Clifton where’s the nearest Dairy Queen?” Valerie asked.

  Clifton sputtered at the demand. “Dairy Queen? In Venice?” he asked.

  “Why did you start with an attack?” I asked.

  Clifton’s switch from bewildered teddy bear to oncoming avalanche was instantaneous. “Be thankful you were spared you ungrateful--”

  “Cause you’re near the top of the ‘lock list, even though you have the weakest magic. I wanted to see if you just cheated to get there or what,” James said.

  Kids these days.

  “I’m honored to have had a chance demonstrated my lack of powers,” I muttered.

  “This way. We’re gonna sweep as we go, ‘kay James?” Val said, grabbing onto the little boy’s hand.

  “Okay,” came the reply.

  Without so much as a look over their shoulders, the two Egomancers and their escort left. I tried not to imagine the bruise growing on my stomach.

  It’s said that most Egomancers tend to be young because of the nature of the job and the magic they have to work with. Their duty was a glorified scavenger hunt. Downright tedious work for proper mages, I guess. See someone with a stray thought about anything Supernatural, coupled with even the tiniest urge to talk about it to someone else and you erase the memory.

  The fact that they were kids also helped with the morally questionable fact that they were technically performing controlled lobotomies on innocent peoples’ brains.

  I checked my Rolex.

  “Quarter past nine,” I muttered to myself. “Perfect time to start making my way to my midnight lecture.”

  I pulled out my cell phone and the card Ashwell gave me. With as little pleasure as possible, I punched the numbers in then waited as the phone rang.

  “Ashwell,” spoke a garbled voice on the other end.

  “I’ve decided I’ve got nothing left to live for and will take your bait. Where are you?” I asked.

  A long pause followed. “Charles Locke. Truth be told I didn’t think you’d actually try it. Color me impressed. However, I’ve got bad news.”

  “Perfect. Because I’m in a bad mood. What’s happened? All out of fish pellets? Gill rot? Ocean acidification making you melancholic?” I asked.

  “The Olympians got here ahead of us.”

  “They know about it? They’re there for the book too?” I asked.

  It wasn’t just a scribbled diary after all. If the Olympians were after it as well, then there was no doubt that it had real value. Or posed real danger.

  Reserved laughter echoed over the line.

  “What’s so damn funny?” I asked Ashwell.

  “The book’s a secondary concern of theirs. If my information is correct, they’re here for a parlay. They’
re planning on bringing in allies to the war.”

  “Allies?” I asked.

  “It’s ahead of schedule, but if we’re going to make a move we’d better strike while the iron’s hot,” Alexander said. “Pick up your feet, Charles. I’ll tell you what I know as soon as you get here.”

  Chapter 28

  I found Alexander sitting and reading in the middle of the University’s garden courtyard. Judging by the stink of fish on the breeze though, the Dagonians had come in numbers.

  “Charles,” Alexander greeted, snapping George shut and nodding his head amiably.

  “Squid mask,” I replied.

  That’s when I noticed a couple of tiny red dots quivering on my body.

  Ashwell raised a hand and said, “Friend. He’s a friend.”

  Americans do not mess around. The fact that they have the most spectacularly bloated military in the world means that they take every opportunity to throw their weight around. Apparently, this extended to the Dagonians of the good ship Massachusetts too.

  Huddling just out of sight and skulking in the shadows of the Ca’ Foscari University’s dormitory wing, I could see squadrons of fish men.

  Most were Hybrids. Passably Human looking and armed to the gills with modern weaponry. Fancy laser sighted rifles. Pitch black helmets, night vision eye gear. Body armor too. It was going to be hard for me not to make a joke involving sardines and cans.

  Shuffling up at the rear of these groups were pure bloods like Maxwell and Wimbleton. Five feet when squatting down, but a solid eight at full height. Their eyes were huge and squinting in the too bright light of the moon. Funny yellow growths crowned their heads.

  “You look ready or war,” I said, sitting down across from Ashwell.

  The man shook his head. “I’d prefer if it doesn’t come to that, but as I mentioned before reports suggest that the Olympians are trying to drag in more Supernaturals to bolster their numbers.”