Broken

by Ryan Attard

  Chapter 15

  “This is bullshit!”

  The table rattled as I slammed my fist on it. Glasses of water and coffee shook precariously.

  “Erik, calm down,” Gil scoffed in my direction.

  I glared at her.

  “He let us capture him, you do realize that, right?” I fumed at her. “He let us take him. And we brought him here, to the mansion, the one place he’s never been able to get into, despite his best efforts. Or have you forgotten the siege?”

  Gil furrowed her eyebrows. “What have I told you about dictating my business?”

  I looked around the table for support. Abi was grinning at Gil, clearly on the ‘girl-power’ side the discussion, while Amaymon shrugged and did his best to look bored.

  It didn’t take much effort.

  After our mission, Luke had stayed on the Cassiopeia with a strike team. Meanwhile Gil escorted our new prisoner to a dungeon accessible only through the mansion, a place so dark I’ve never been inside. She also ordered Mephisto to set up a barrier and watch over him, just in case.

  And still, I didn’t trust Greede. You do not bring a plague to your house, no matter the precautions.

  A point I was trying—and failing—to get across to everyone inside the conference room, while we decided on a plan of action.

  My sister stood up.

  “The dungeon is secure,” she told me. “And yes, I am well aware this is Alan Greede we are dealing with, and the man is first and foremost a cheat, a trickster, and a liar. Which is why the dungeon is in a remote underground chamber miles away from the mansion.” She sighed. “He let himself be caught for a reason, one that we will not find out by sitting here. So let us go talk to him.”

  “Finally,” Amaymon muttered. “I’ve been wanting to torture that bastard for a long while.”

  Gil gave him a sideways glance.

  “What?” he said. “I thought you were into that.”

  “Torturing Greede will not work,” she said.

  “Then what do you suggest?” I asked.

  “He seems to have an obsession with you,” she said. “Use it to your advantage. Let him taunt you, lure him into running his mouth. If he’s got one weakness, it’s that he loves the sound of his own voice.”

  I sighed. “So that’s the plan? Let him talk?”

  She shrugged. “It’s all I got, brother.”

  “Fan-fucking-tastic.”

  It took us an hour to get to the dungeon.

  Gil wasn’t exaggerating.

  First we had to get on a tram five floors below the lowest basement in the mansion. (I didn’t even know the house had five underground floors, let alone a personal railway system.)

  The tram went on forever, taking us towards what I estimated to be the mountainous region of Trinity forest.

  Once we had arrived at an underground chamber of sorts, we had to walk through a spiral staircase wider than my office, leading us further down. From there, we got on an elevator that took us down.

  And down.

  And down.

  And even further down.

  Once we reached what I could only presume to have been the centre of the freaking planet, we found ourselves in front of a large iron vault. The dungeon was empty, not a single guard in sight.

  “Who the hell do you keep in here?” I asked.

  “No one,” Gil answered. “These dungeons haven’t been in use since the Middle Ages. Back then, this whole area was above ground and part of a large compound spanning miles in all directions. Now it’s just a hole in the ground.”

  Cold wind blew and along with it came the soft rustle of clothes.

  Mephisto emerged from the shadows and strode towards us like a phantasm.

  “We’ll be in the gallery,” Gil said, leading Amaymon and Abi away with her. “We will hear and see everything but he won’t be able to sense us. Mephisto, escort my brother to the prisoner.”

  “Yes, Master Gil,” Mephisto said. “Come along, Master Erik. Our guest has been asking after you.”

  The demon silently led me further down the dungeons, until we arrived at a jail cell with a wide, barred door.

  Greede was inside, sitting on a chair with his arms shackled to the table in front of him.

  Mephisto opened the door and I stepped in. Immediately I felt my powers dampen. Were it not for my curse, I would have been rendered unconscious. Now I understood why Gil took the others to the gallery, or why there were no guards around. Anyone below my power level would have been flattened to the ground.

  I heard the door shut behind me. My senses told me Mephisto had disappeared. I walked towards the chair opposite Greede’s and sat down. It occurred to me how easy it would be to just kill him. My weapons were still on my person—barring that, I could smash his head into the table a few times.

  Greede must have sensed my intentions.

  “Tempting, isn’t it?” he said.

  “Why am I here?” I asked. “Better yet, why are you here?”

  Greede smiled and leaned back. The chains rattled softly, echoing off the walls.

  “You know, I have rarely been as impressed by someone’s growth as much as I’ve been with yours, Mr. Ashendale,” he said. “In the span of a year and change, you went from little more than a thug to a formidable enemy.” He spread his hands. “As is evident.”

  I crossed my arms. “Thanks. Do I get a trophy?”

  “Once I recover my funds, I’ll be sure to send you one.”

  That made me grin.

  “We got you good, didn’t we?” I said. “That boat, that freakin’ aircraft carrier, that was the centre of your empire, wasn’t it?”

  Greede nodded. “Yes, it was. With its loss my resources have been severely depleted. You have set me back several decades, if not centuries.”

  “You don’t seem upset.”

  “When you’ve lived as long as I have, few things tend to upset you anymore,” he replied.

  “But I do,” I said.

  “Don’t be coy, Mr. Ashendale,” he said. “You don’t upset me. You amuse me.”

  “How amusing will it be when I bash your head into that table?”

  “For you, very much I suspect,” he said. “But it will be counterproductive.”

  “To what?”

  “To me revealing all the juicy secrets I know.” Greede leaned forwards. “Do you think I am the worst enemy you have, Mr. Ashendale? I am but a speck in the cosmos.”

  I cocked my head. As far as I knew, Alan Greede was the worst enemy I had ever faced.

  Except, was he?

  I remembered what he had said on the Cassiopeia, that he had not been the one to kill me, but was rather a witness, sitting in the background while something more powerful took his prey away from him.

  What was it he had just said: I am but a speck in the cosmos.

  I chuckled.

  “Something funny, Mr. Ashendale?” he asked. “Do share. The demon they assigned to guard me has very little to offer in the entertainment department.”

  “Oh, it’s nothing,” I said. “I just never thought of you as having an inferiority complex, that’s all.”

  Greede remained silent.

  “I mean, that’s what this is all about, isn’t it?” I went on. “That thing that killed me—you’re jealous of it. Not just that it punched my ticket before you could, but that it could actually kill me. You’re not strong enough. It is.”

  Greede slowly nodded his head.

  “Bravo indeed,” he said. “And tell me, if you have such insight into my psychology, then why am I here? I’m sure you have been arguing with your sister about how to best extract information out of me. I suspect one or two of your team wished to torture me. Your demon and apprentice, I suspect.”

  I smiled. “You know me, I know you, and we’ll go round in circles,” I told him. “You’re here because you’re looking for something.”

  Greede raised his eyebrows. “Go on.”

  “That’s all I
got.”

  He tsked. “Oh, come now, Mr. Ashendale, don’t give up just yet. Come on, you were doing so well. I am petty, I have been wronged, and I am used to getting—nay, taking—what I want.”

  It suddenly clicked.

  “Revenge,” I said. “You’re here for revenge.”

  “And bingo was his name-o.”

  “Revenge against that thing,” I said. “What is it?”

  Greede shook his head.

  “See, this is where shit hits the metaphorical fan, if you’ll pardon my French,” he replied. “As you are well aware, once upon a time, I was but a lowly mortal. Magical, sure, but mortal nonetheless. Then, one day, the stars aligned and I got offered the opportunity to bear a source of unimaginable power.”

  “A Sin,” I said.

  “Indeed,” Greede supplied with a nod. “But it is a gift given, and as you well know, Mr. Ashendale, there is no such thing as a free lunch.”

  It took me a while to digest that and once I did, my entire perspective of the monster before me shifted.

  “You’re bound by something,” I surmised.

  Greede nodded.

  “And now whoever gave you this power is making you act against your self-interest.”

  He nodded again.

  I grinned. “You’re someone’s bitch.”

  Greede sighed.

  “Crass as usual,” he remarked. “But unfortunately in this case, quite right. Your death was part of a larger plan. Not one I wanted to execute, mind you. In fact, I had no idea that you would perish the way you did.”

  “The resurrection ritual…” I began.

  “Was but an attempt to disguise your revival,” he confirmed. “I wanted you back. And in doing so, I forced my… benefactor, to play a rather unsavory hand.” Greede leaned forwards. “Something other than Belial came along with you, Mr. Ashendale.”

  I felt my heart thumping in my chest. Slowly, I steadied my breathing like I had been taught. Control was key in this situation—I had to remain in control.

  “The Knightmare,” I said. “That’s why you’re scared of it. Is it a Sin?”

  “No, not a Sin,” Greede said. “Not directly.”

  “Cut the shit, Greede,” I snapped. “I need a straight answer. What is the Knightmare and how do I stop it?”

  Greede’s mouth twisted into an unsettling smile.

  “And why should I help you?” he asked. “If the Knightmare is a Sin, then it and I are on the same team. And even if I were to betray it, what makes you think I even can? My actions, like you surmised, are limited.”

  I gritted my teeth. Think, Erik.

  “Because you’re pissed,” I said. “And it looks like you got on the Knightmare’s bad side. It’s not tracking me, is it? It’s attacking you. More specifically, the Black Ring Society.”

  “Have I mentioned how ridiculous that name is?” he quipped.

  I rolled my eyes.

  Then I stood up.

  “Fine, be that way,” I said, walking away. “Enjoy rotting in here.”

  “Wait!” Greede rubbed his face. “So impatient. Whatever happened to banter, the quippy tit-for-tat? I so looked forward to that. Fine, I’ll tell you about the Knightmare. Don’t be such a diva.”

  I sat back down. “You have exactly one minute.”

  Greede raised an eyebrow. “There are no clocks in here.”

  “Fifty-seven seconds.”

  “Okay, okay.” He grunted. “The Knightmare is not a Sin. It’s a side-effect of one.”

  “Elaborate.”

  “I just did,” he said. Greede was getting more and more on edge.

  I quite enjoyed that.

  “I don’t know the exact nature of the creature,” he admitted after a few seconds, “but there is a sense of balance in the universe. Sins and Virtues, Heaven and Hell, demons and angels, good and evil.” He smiled. “You and I.”

  “Poetic, but useless,” I said.

  “I do not know how to kill it,” he said. “I’ve only met it once, and did not engage it. I recognized it for what it was and ran. I doubt even Mammon’s powers can hold it off.”

  “So you’re telling me that even you can’t stop this thing,” I said. “You’ve allowed yourself to be captured just to tell me you’re helpless against a boogeyman you inadvertently summoned.” I raised an eyebrow. “Or maybe you think we’re gonna protect you. Maybe even lure it here so we can kill it. Or it can kill us. Either way, it’s a win-win for you, right, Greede?”

  He rolled his eyes. “So Machiavellian. And sure, you might think that, but I know that is not a permanent solution.”

  “So what do you propose?” I asked.

  “How are Sins defeated?” he asked. “I just said it. Sins and Virtues.”

  I remembered our last moments on the Cassiopeia.

  “The angel,” I said. “That’s why she was there.”

  “And if she had been my Virtue I would be dead,” he said. “Which means…”

  “She’s here for the Sin that created the Knightmare,” I surmised.

  He clapped. The chains rattled. I glared at him.

  He stopped.

  “Find the angel lady, and you will have a way to kill the Knightmare,” he said. “But in the meantime, I have taken certain precautions. Namely two.”

  “Do tell,” I said.

  “One, hire a professional,” he said. “Someone who is a better killer than the one after you. Someone precise, who can be bought, and who is excellent at their job.” He grinned. “You remember Berphomet, don’t you?”

  Of course I remembered Berphomet. A demonic assassin, the best of the best. Worst of all, he carried anti-magic bullets which were particularly deadly to someone like me.

  Greede had to be really scared of the Knightmare to hire someone like that.

  “You’ll find him out in the forest,” he said. “I’m sure your pet demon will be able to track him down. I made sure he left some breadcrumbs.”

  “Why?”

  “So that you’ll be able to work together,” Greede said. “Enemy of my enemy, and so forth. Berphomet will surely be useful. Take him. He’s yours until his contract is up.”

  Great. As if I didn’t have my hands full already. Now I had to deal with a demonic contract killer.

  “You mentioned two things,” I said.

  Greede smiled. Not grinned. Actually smiled.

  Happily.

  “You didn’t catch me,” he said.

  “Uh, yes we did,” I said. “You’re in here, buddy.”

  Greede shook his head. “Am I? Because right now I am en route to a secret location, sipping Mont Blanc on a private jet.”

  I stared at him for the longest time, trying to figure out whether he was bluffing. That grinning poker face gave me nothing.

  “How?” I finally asked.

  “People like us have always used magic to help science,” Greede replied. “But never the other way round. However, you should know by now that I am first and foremost a man of science, Mr. Ashendale.”

  “Meaning, you’re a fake,” I said. “An apparition, maybe a disguise.” I shook my head. “No, we would have seen through the glamors.”

  Greede nodded. “All true. But think of why I did not have the Necronomicon on the Cassiopeia. Or why when I turned into Mammon, it was only a third of the usual size.”

  “You’re biological,” I said.

  “I am.”

  It clicked.

  “A clone.”

  Greede nodded. “I am a clone of Alan Greede, genetically engineered to hold up to thirty percent of his magical output, and given a mental link with the original,” he said.

  The clone looked past me. I glanced back. Mephisto stood silent behind the locked door.

  “And right now you are receiving instructions to detain me, and examine that mental link,” the clone said, looking at the demon. “No doubt you think you can reverse the signal. Alas.”

  The clone stopped talking. His head hung dow
n, eyes still open, still looking at me.

  I waved in front of him.

  “Hey.” I snapped my fingers.

  Nothing.

  “Hey,” I said again, this time poking him in the forehead.

  At my touch, the clone’s facial features melted off. I don’t mean literally melted. It was more like swept smooth. All of Greede’s wrinkles, the curve of his lips, the crow's feet around his eyes, the crease of his forehead—it all vanished, leaving behind a smooth-faced blank slate. Even the eyes lost their color, turning white.

  Blood oozed slowly from the clone’s ears, mouth, nostrils, and tear ducts, followed by chunks of brain matter.

  The cell door opened but it was too late.

  Greede’s clone had died, and with it, our only link to the real man himself.

  Chapter 16

  I have made my feelings on forests clear on many an occasion before, but just in case, allow me to reiterate:

  I fucking hate forests.

  Don’t get me wrong, nature is awesome. If you ever want to believe in magic, or God, or whatever validates your belief in something greater than yourself, observe a storm, or a waterfall, or hike up a mountain. Watch the simplicity of animals, all the way to the complexity of the ecosystem we call home. There is magic there, the kind you can’t fake or learn. It’s enough to keep magic users in awe, wondering how they could ever tap into that source and be a part of something so pure and beautiful.

  But all that shit gets old real quick once you’ve been trekking through a literal shit pile and wading amongst tangled trees with no one other than yourself and your pet demon—who, let’s face it, has done nothing to alleviate the agony of the trip—for the past three hours, searching for the non-existent trail left behind by a demonic assassin.

  Amaymon was whistling, so I threw a branch at him.

  “What?” he complained.

  “Will. You. Fucking. Stop?” I growled.

  “Sure.”

  We trekked some more. Then, after a beat,

  “So what’s the deal with you and Abi these days?”

  I glanced back at him. “What do you mean?”

  He shrugged.

  “I know something’s off with her,” I said, ducking under a branch. Flies buzzed around my face, no doubt attracted by the sheen of sweat on my forehead. “She’s hiding something from me. From us.”