by N. P. Martin
"What does?"
"You claiming responsibility after you spent years ignoring us."
Frank sighed, then looked away and nodded to himself. "All right," he said. "We might as well get this over with now. I’m a drunk, Leia. I have been since…for a long time. Apart from that, I mostly fight against monsters for a living. I’m not the kind of man who raises two kids, you understand me?"
My eyes narrowed as I struggled to contain my anger. "If you only knew the things that have happened to me and Josh since we were taken into care. The abuse, the degradation, even the fucking horror…" I trailed off as I shook my head. "Did you really think the fucking foster system was a better environment for us to grow up in? At least here with you, we would’ve been with family, or does that not mean anything to you?"
"Of course it does," he said quietly.
I snorted derisively. "No, Frank. If it did, we wouldn’t be having this conversation."
I looked away to the trees as we stood in tense silence for long moments. Finally, Frank said, "Okay, I admit it, I’m a selfish bastard. The fact is, I didn’t want the responsibility of bringing up two kids, at least not in the world I lived in."
Tears stung at my eyes, but I refused to let them come. "So you left us to rot in the system instead," I said quietly. "At least you’re honest, Frank, if nothing else."
"Hey." He took a step toward me. "I still kept an eye on you and Josh over the years."
"You mean you watched from afar, like you were doing yesterday?" I shook my head. "That doesn’t make me feel any better, Frank."
"Look," he said, coming forward. "I’m not going to pretend that this situation is ideal for either of us. But the fact is, you need me to help you get your brother back. After that, if you never want to see me again, then so be it."
"You’d like that, wouldn’t you? No more responsibility then."
"You’re wrong. It was always going to be this way."
"What?"
"When you and Josh were born, I made a promise to your mother."
This should be good.
"What kind of promise?"
Frank sighed. "She made me promise that if anything should happen to her, that I would step in when you and Josh turned eighteen, when your true nature as Nephilim emerged. She wanted to make sure you both received the proper training, at least when it was possible for you to do so."
"What about my father? Assuming he was still alive, of course, where you going to just steal us from him? Kidnap us?"
"Peter is…" He stopped as if he didn’t know how to explain. "Your father didn’t want this life for you two."
"I know. My mom already said so in the video. I think she thought my dad was weak or something."
"He was," Frank said, then shook his head as if he regretted saying it.
I took a step forward and looked him right in the eye. "My father was not weak, you hear me?"
Frank held up his hands. "I didn’t mean to offend. The fact is, though, he thought he could shield you and your brother from the truth."
"Who says he couldn’t have?"
Frank gave me a look. "You really believe that?"
I was forced to shake my head. "No. This shit is…too big to hide from."
Frank nodded as if he approved of my choice of words. "So you see, I always planned on making sure you were all right when it really mattered."
"When it really mattered?" I shook my head in disbelief. "You really don’t get it, do you?"
Shaking his head, Frank said. "I do get it. You know what else your mother said to me?"
"What?"
"She told me that if anything ever happened to your father as well as her, that I was to stay away." His dark eyes stared into mine, and I saw the truth in them. "She didn’t want…she didn’t want me raising you or your brother. I was only to keep an eye on you from a distance, that’s it." Frank mashed his lips together and looked away for a moment. "She wasn’t the smartest person I knew for nothing."
I stared hard at Frank for a moment, at the pain in his eyes. Then I looked away myself as I considered what he’d just told me. Christ, was he really that bad that my mother instructed him to let Josh and I get taken into care, rather than be raised by him? Considering Frank was family, it seemed a bit harsh to me. But then, what do I know? Going by the last few days, not very fucking much.
"Jesus," I said eventually. "My family is much more fucked up than I realized, and that's saying something, ’coz I already had a pretty fucked up image in mind to begin with."
Frank looked at me, and then laughed. "I’m sorry," he said after a moment. "Sometimes laughter is the only response."
I shook my head at him, a smile on my face despite myself. "Fuck you, Frank," I said only half jokingly. "This shit isn’t funny. My brother has been kidnapped by demons, for fuck’s sake."
"I know, but hey, I’ve been doing this shit my whole life. We’re going to get your brother back."
I took hope from the conviction in his eyes. My mother may not have trusted him to raise her kids, but she trusted him to train them. Well, one of us anyway. She trusted him to guide us at this point in our lives. That had to count for something. If nothing else, I was geographically where I needed to be.
I just wished I could say the same thing about Josh.
"All right, Frank," I said, finally lowering my guard. "So tell me. What’s the plan of attack here?"
12
"You’re going to ask around?"
I stood staring at Frank in near disbelief. We were still outside in the cold morning air, and my previous conviction in Frank’s ability to get my brother back was on the wane once more. "That’s your big plan of attack?"
Frank sighed and shook his head as if I didn’t know what I was talking about. "These things take time," he said. "You know how many demons there are in this city? Any one of them could’ve taken your brother. So yeah, the plan is to gather information first. Once we find out who took Josh, then we can come up with a plan to get him back."
"Jesus Christ." To be fair, I knew Frank was right. At that point, there wasn’t much to go on, so as much as it killed me to do so, I would have to accept the fact that it may take some time to locate Josh. Which was so goddamn frustrating, that it made me want to scream.
"I know this is hard," Frank said. "I’ll do all I can to find out what we need as soon as possible. You can count on that. In the meantime, you can make yourself at home here. It’s the safest place you can be right now."
I thought there was no way I could just sit around while Frank made his inquiries, so I decided there and then to take another course of action instead. "There’s something I have to do," I said. "Somewhere I have to go."
Frank frowned. "What? Where?"
"My mother’s storage unit."
Frank shook his head. "That would be a bad idea. You can’t leave here."
I stared at him a moment, then said, "Watch me."
Then I turned and walked away from him.
"Leia," he called, chasing after me. "You’re making a mistake leaving here. At least let me go with you."
"Sorry, Frank. I have to do this alone."
I walked by the side of the cabin, then toward the Mustang. When I reached the car, I looked back to see Frank hovering by the front of the cabin, standing there with his arms folded like some pissed off parent. "You’re being reckless, you know that, right? Demons from all around the city are looking for you. If they wanted Josh then they must surely want you as well."
It was difficult not to agree with him on that. I was being pretty reckless. But as I already told Frank, this was something I felt I had to do, and do alone.
Before I got into the car, I stared over at Frank, then told him, "I’ll be careful."
Frank stared back for a moment, before shaking his head and walking away without saying another word.
"Back again?" old man Hector said with a smile that was halfway between sarcastic and salacious, as I came walking through the front d
oors of the storage facility. "It’s nice to have a pretty face come walking in here."
I shook my head at him, in no mood for his lecherous ways as I headed down the hallway toward the storage locker.
"I hope you ain’t planning on creating any trouble here," he called after me.
"Don’t worry, old man. I’m just here for what’s mine."
Much like reading my mother’s journal, being inside the unit with the shudder down, surrounded by all her stuff, gave me a weird sense of comfort. As alien and crazy as half the items were, they still created in me a strange sense of excitement and belonging. I hadn’t felt truly at home anywhere in eleven years, so to feel like it now, surrounded by guns and potions and crazy books, was something I was still getting used to.
Unlike on my previous visit with Kasey, I took my time looking around at everything. The array of weapons on display captured most of my attention first, but I didn’t know why. Violence wasn’t in my nature, even though I’d been forced to confront it many times over the years. Josh was always the one that ran toward violence, not me. He didn’t mind getting his knuckles bloody; he outright enjoyed it, in fact. With me, however, violence—and the tools of violence—usually left me feeling queasy.
Which is why I was surprised to feel a definite pull toward my mother’s weapon collection. Maybe it was the fact that the weapons were there to be used on monsters, and not on people. Somehow, the idea of using the weapons for good—to fight evil—seemed righteous to me, and not at all off-putting, especially now that I was fully aware of my true nature, and my expected role in this new reality I found myself living in. My mission now was to follow in my mother’s footsteps, and to repay in blood ten times that which was taken.
It seemed appropriate to check out the guns first, not that I knew the first thing about how to handle a gun, except for what I’d seen on TV. Taking one of the handguns off the rack, I was shocked by how heavy the weapon was, and how deadly it felt in my hand. Holding it with both hands, I held it out in front of me as if aiming it at someone. I was struck immediately by how coldly efficient and awesomely lethal the gun was. Most of all, I was struck by how powerful it made me feel as I held it. It felt like I was holding someone’s or something’s life in my hands, and I became afraid to even touch the trigger, lest it went off. After a moment, I realized I was holding my breath as well. As I exhaled in a rush, I finally lowered the gun. Then I gently put it back on the rack.
"Jesus," I said, staring at the rest of the guns with a whole new level of respect. My eyes fell on the black shotgun, and then the automatic rifles.
I can’t believe my mom actually used these, I thought, as I also considered the expense of procuring such weapons, and the overall expense of the Watcher lifestyle. My mother, in her journal, mentioned at one point a family inheritance as a source of income, but she hinted at others as well that sounded a bit more dubious, like robbing criminals of their ill-gotten gains and repurposing the money into doing some good. As I took in the details of the weapons, I had visions in my head of Frank and I donning masks and guns in order to relieve some criminal gang of their money.
Jesus, what have I gotten myself into?
On a bench below the gun rack, there was also boxes upon boxes of bullets. There even seemed to be some device for making them. Again, something stirred in me as I gazed upon the thousands of rounds of ammunition. I picked up different ones, wondering what they were for, which monster they were designed to take down. I’d read many accounts in the journal where my mother mentioned the weapons and types of bullets she had used to take down her quarry. I knew that bullets dipped in silver nitrate could kill a werewolf. I also knew iron-tipped bullets could hurt demons, although not kill them. Rune engraved bullets could kill some types of demons, though. Runic magic seemed to feature heavily as part of the Watcher arsenal, especially when it came to blades such as the Watcher Knife.
The Watcher Knife was on the end of the bench, placed on top of a stack of boxes, almost like my mother had put it there so I would see it. I thought it slightly odd that she had left it behind her on the night the demon came, but then I realized she must’ve known on some level that there would be no fighting her way out of whatever situation she was in. That thought in itself stirred up another load of questions in my mind, but I pushed them all to one side, for the time being at least.
Thanks to the journal, I already knew a bit about the Watcher Knife. Every Watcher is supposed to have one, but not all did, due to the scarcity of the knives these days. I could only imagine that the demons and other monsters did their best to take the knives out of circulation, given their obvious danger. Bladed weapons were all Watcher’s had to fight demons with for a long time, before guns came into play that is. The blades were forged by specialists who have always been few and far between, and every blade was endowed with runic magic that required the presence of grace in the hand of the user to activate them. Without grace, they were just normal blades.
My mother received her knife from her grandfather, and indeed, the first being my mother ever killed, she did so with the Watcher Knife, when she was my age. The blade of the knife was about eight inches long, double-edged, gradually tapering off into a sharp point. Runic glyphs were engraved into the blade to endow it with magic. That, in combination with the very rare metal of the blade itself, made the knife deadly to demons and many other supernatural beings.
Holding the knife in my hands, it felt perfectly balanced, yet heavier than it first seemed. There was also an unmistakable energy coming off it that traveled into my body and connected with my grace. It then suddenly felt as if the knife and I were one, as if the deadly blade was a mere extension of my arm. As I swiped the dusty air with the knife, I was surprised at how natural it felt in my hand, and how deadly I felt wielding it.
When I put the knife back inside its brown leather sheath, I stood for a moment, shaking my head at the array of weapons before me, marveling at the fact that they were now all mine. Which also meant, of course, that it was up to me to ensure the arsenal stayed secret. I already regretted allowing Kasey inside the unit, even though I didn’t know what I was going to find at the time. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have let her in at all.
Too late now, I suppose. Which only left Hector at the front desk. Could I trust him? My mother did for years, so I guess so. Time would tell.
"Now I just have to learn how to use all this fucking stuff," I said.
I had Frank for that, of course. Despite still having issues with him, he was the only other Nephilim I knew, apart from Josh. Frank was the only one who could teach me what I needed to know.
Teach?
I nodded to myself. "Yes."
It would’ve been foolish for me to believe that there was any going back, not after everything that had happened. For survival’s sake, and for Josh’s sake as well, I had to keep moving forward, no matter what.
After spending some more time looking around, picking up and examining all manner of strange and mysterious objects, I eventually came across an old Army duffel bag. When I opened the bag, I discovered it was full of clothes. My mother’s clothes, of course. It made sense she didn’t keep them at home, given that most of the items in the bag were tactical in nature. Black leather trousers, for instance, with specially sewn-on pockets down the sides, and a sheath to fit the Watcher Knife. There were two pairs of these trousers, both of which appeared well-worn. The bag also contained a pair of heavy combat boots, some dark vest tops, and a leather jacket with compartments sewn all over it. It even had two sheaths sewn into the back, perhaps to accommodate two short swords like the ones hanging on the wall.
I decided to take the clothes with me, as it wasn’t like I could go back to Diane’s house to retrieve my own. Luckily, my mother, although a little taller than me, was a size twelve. A perfect fit. Or at least they would be when I regained the weight I’d lost through months of drink and drug binges.
On top of the clothes, I also put the Watcher Knif
e in the bag, along with one of the handguns, a few boxes of 9mm bullets and some extra clips that were stacked beside the gun. After some perusal, I also took the two short swords down off the wall and slid them into the duffel bag. I figured that would be enough for now. The rest would still be there when, and if, I needed it.
The moment I stepped outside the storage unit, I felt something wasn’t right. There was a distinctive warm tingling sensation in my belly, and my senses were immediately heightened. I was crouched down, about to lock the unit up. The duffel bag was on the floor beside me. The fluorescent lights above my head kept flickering on and off, making a loud buzzing sound as they did so. In between the loud buzzing, I thought I could hear something else, like the sound of someone breathing.
Or something breathing.
"Hector?" I called out after I’d stood up slowly. "Is that you?"
There was no reply as I looked up and down the hallway. The flickering lights had also cast everything into shadow, making it difficult to see properly.
Then a voice whispered my name, and I froze.
"Leia…"
It was a soft, hissing voice, yet full of unmistakable menace.
A sound to my left made me snap my head around, and I saw for the first time, a figure, standing about twenty feet away near the end of the corridor. The figure was tall, gangly, almost misshapen in its form. For a few long seconds, fear held me in its grip, and I could do nothing but stare as the figure drew closer to me, moving in a way that suggested it was moving quicker than my eye could see. The figure would stop for a second at a time to sort of jerk its body in a grotesque manner, then it would close more distance in a similar sort of way. By the time my grace kicked my survival instincts into gear, it was too late. In the blink of an eye, I felt a vice-like grip around my throat before I was lifted off my feet and slammed hard into the wall.
It took me a few seconds to recover, and when I did, I found myself being held aloft by an unseemly long arm, which was attached to the body of a bald-headed man in a black suit. The man’s face was barely recognizable as human, and that’s because the demon in possession of the man’s body had somehow melded it with its own. Jagged stumps of bone pierced through the skin of the man’s face. Where the man’s eyes used to be, the demon’s black, eight-ball eyes now shone through, bulging out of the man’s bloody sockets. The demon’s twisted smile had split the skin of the man’s face, dozens of long, needle-like teeth having pushed out and replaced the human ones.