by Terence West
Toby shrugged. “I like the new one. It has an actual plot that makes sense."
The Maker started to retort, but I intervened. I couldn't take anymore of the sci-fi geek talk. “I need you to build me something."
Eyeing Toby with a hint of anger in his blue eyes, I knew he could continue this argument the rest of the night. He slowly pulled his attention back to me. “What do you need, Rosy?"
"Some way to track a Sprite,” I answered.
"Oh,” the Maker breathed. Crossing his arms, he ran his fingers over his beard stubble thoughtfully. “That could be a tough build. Good thing it's already done.” He turned and started inspecting piles of inventions scattered throughout his living room.
I raised an eyebrow. “You already built what I need?"
"Yes, yes.” The Maker waved off my concern. “Seems we had a similar problem. A swarm of Sprites took up residence in the swamp cooler on the top of my house and were sneaking in through the vents to steal my beer."
Toby looked at me with an odd expression perfectly capturing the absurdity of the moment.
I shook my head with a soft smile. The Maker really was good at what he did. He was just a bit ... insane, that's all.
"I couldn't catch the little monsters on camera, so I invented a tracking system,” the Maker continued. “I flooded the swamp cooler with an ionized compound that attached to the Sprite's flesh so I could trace and capture them. Kind of the same principal behind the Sprite repellant I made for you, Rose."
"Which worked very well,” I added.
"What's the compound composed of?” Toby asked.
"Trade secret,” the Maker replied, pulling an unmarked silver aerosol can from one of the bigger piles of inventions. Turning, he handed it to me. “I wouldn't necessarily want to get a mouthful of this stuff though. Might prevent you from ever having children.” He paused and thought for a moment. “Or continuing to live."
I quickly passed the can to Toby. “Thanks for the heads up."
Toby eyed the can warily.
Slipping his hand into his robe pocket, the Maker retrieved a small white palm pilot. Sliding out the stylus, he activated the device and tapped the screen several times. “I designed a program that tracks the compound and had to modify this PDA to use it. It's almost like Spock's Tricorder now."
Oh, Lord ... more sci-fi babble.
"Cool,” Toby said with a twinkle of delight in his eyes. Moving past me, he stopped next to the Maker and peered over his shoulder. “How does it work?"
"There are sensors built into the device now,” the Maker said, pointing to the rectangular, translucent piece of plastic on the top. “When used in conjunction with this program I designed,” he tapped the screen again, “it creates a pretty powerful tracking system."
Toby studied the PDA. “What's the red dot on the screen?"
"The aerosol can,” the Maker replied.
Toby nodded. Moving the aerosol can with his outstretched arm, he watched in delight as the red dot on the screen matched his movements. “What's the range?"
"You know,” the Maker clicked off the PDA and handed it to Toby, “I don't know.” He pointed up to the swamp cooler vent in the ceiling. “I didn't need to track the buggers more than ten feet. I'm not sure how far it will go. Best stay close to your target,” he advised.
"What happened with your beer-stealing Sprites?” I asked, although I regretted it as soon as the question left my lips.
"They go down good with a little barbecue sauce.” The Maker smiled devilishly.
I wasn't sure if he was kidding or not. I don't think I really wanted to know. “Karl?” I shouted into the back hallway. “Can you bring the Sprite?"
I watched the little green Goblin wander into the kitchen with the Sprite's ersatz prison in his hands. The inside and outside of the bottle was wet and Karl was grinning broadly.
"What did you do?” I sighed.
"The little bastard tried to drown me!” the Sprite shrieked.
"Nothing.” Karl set the jar on the kitchen table. “Just wanted to see if little mouthy Sprites could swim."
I closed my eyes for a moment trying my hardest not to laugh or yell at the Goblin. Dragging my hand over my face, I regained my composure. I turned to Toby. “Would you do the honors?"
Toby smirked. “With pleasure."
Shaking the can, Toby walked into the kitchen and snatched the Sprite's jar off the table. Unscrewing the top of the Sprite's prison, he held his hand over the top. Tilting the aerosol can beneath his meaty paw, he depressed the nozzle. The quick blast covered the Sprite and filled the jar with a glittering, golden substance. The Sprite fell to the bottom of the jar gasping and choking.
"Too much?” Toby asked the Maker.
The Maker shrugged. “Probably."
"Okay, T,” I said as I watched the Sprite recover. “Now take it outside and let it go."
"You're letting it go?” Karl asked in horror. “After what I did to it?” He took a deep breath and leaned against the kitchen table leg with a long face. “I'm boned."
Toby eyed me warily. “Seriously?"
I nodded.
"Okay,” Toby exhaled. Walking past me, he opened the front door and stopped. Looking at the Sprite one final time, he pulled his hand away from the top.
Flittering out, the Sprite turned and gave us the finger. “Just wait until I find a new swarm,” he warned us, “you three are dead! Dead!” Turning, it glowed brightly and flitted off.
Toby set the jar down and handed me the PDA. “I hope you know what you're doing.” He looked at the glittering gold spot on his hand the spray had created.
I forced a smile. “Me too.” Activating the PDA, I watched a red dot moving around the screen. It looked as if the Sprite was drunk. “Seems to be working,” I nodded to the Maker. “I'll bring it back when we're finished."
The Maker dismissed the idea with his hand. “No worries. I can make more.” He turned his attention to Toby. “You might want to wash your hands, big guy."
Toby's eyes widened. “Why?"
The Maker smiled. “No reason.” He rubbed his beard stubble again. “Might want to hurry though."
With a sigh of disgust, Toby charged into the kitchen and noisily began moving dishes out of the way to get to the sink. Cranking on the hot water full blast, he submerged his hands in it.
I handed Brutus back to the Maker. “Thank you."
Cradling the Pomeranian in his arms like a baby, he scratched the dog's belly. “No problem. Be safe, Rose."
"We will.” I smiled. “Come on, guys,” I said as I turned to the door.
Toby searched for something, anything, to dry his hands on. Finally giving up, he shook his head and wiped them on his pants. Without another word to the Maker, the Werewolf walked past me and out the door.
Karl hung his head and marched toward the door like a condemned prisoner heading to his execution. Stuffing his hands in his pocket, he stopped and looked up at me. “I knew you would get me killed.” Dropping his head again, he stepped outside and jumped off the steps.
Turning back to the Maker, I shook my head. “Partners. They're such a pain in the ass.” As he laughed, I closed the door and headed for the car.
Chapter 25
"I always liked Scooby-Doo,” Toby remarked as he reached into the bag and pulled out a handful of curly fries left on the bottom from our fast food stop.
The conversation had gradually shifted from our current situation to favorite television shows as we passed the time. The Sprite's red dot on the Maker's PDA was holding steady within a nearby building. We weren't exactly in a position to go charging in, so we decided to surveil the building. So far ... nothing. This place did seem familiar, though. I wasn't sure why.
"Come on,” I shot back, “it was so predictable. In every episode, Velma finds that one clue that ties everything together perfectly, and then they capture and unmask the villain. And they always say...” I pointed to Karl.
"I would've go
tten away with it if it weren't for you meddling kids,” Karl imitated, lowering his helium filled voice to sound a bit gruffer, “and your pesky dog."
"That's what made it good.” Toby laughed. “It had the perfect ending. Everything was neatly wrapped up and you knew the world was safe until the next episode."
"But life isn't like that,” I objected.
"Exactly,” Toby pointed at me with a fry, “it isn't real life. It's television. Viewers don't want to be left hanging. They want a nice, tidy bow at the end of the episode."
I looked at Toby curiously. “Why are you eating fast food?"
"What?” Toby asked as he stuffed another handful of fries in his mouth.
"Fast food,” I repeated. “You always told me you could smell the chemicals on it and that's why you didn't eat it."
Toby stared at me for a long moment. “I was really hungry,” he defended himself.
The answer didn't sit well with me. Maybe my senses were on high alert because of the pod people. I wasn't sure who I could trust anymore.
"I always liked The X-Files,” Karl continued the conversation, ignoring my remarks. “They never really had a conclusion for the episodes. Sure, sometimes they captured the villain or the monster of the week, but mostly the agents were left with no proof and a dramatic music sting. Creepy stuff."
"That show was hokey,” Toby argued. “By the fifth season, it was so wrapped up in its own confusing mythology that there was no way the show could ever resolve itself. It was like a snake eating its own tail.” He threw another fry into his mouth. “Agent Scully was hot though."
"An oroboros,” I corrected him.
Toby raised an eyebrow. “A what?"
"A snake eating its own tail,” I explained. “It's called an oroboros."
"Ah, good to know,” Toby said with a sarcastic smirk.
"I've never really enjoyed television shows,” I admitted.
Toby grinned. “It's because you're older than TV, right?"
Karl giggled in the back seat.
"I am not,” I shot back. Stopping, I thought about the statement for a second. “Wait, I guess I am."
"Back in your day,” Karl was doing his best old geezer impression, “we didn't have your fancy televisions with two hundred and forty billion channels. We had two sticks, a ball of twine, and a rock to keep us entertained, and we had to walk uphill, barefoot, in the snow to the store to get ‘em. And we liked it that way!"
Toby snorted as he tried to laugh and swallow his mouthful of fries at the same time.
I shook my head. “Shut up, Karl."
Setting my hands on the steering wheel, I stared out through the windshield. There weren't many working streetlamps in this section of town, and the moon overhead was waxing toward new making tonight especially dark. The squat buildings surrounding us had seen better days, and I didn't think there was a single intact window in this entire district. It suddenly clicked and I recognized the building. This looked like where I had escaped from Lucas. Made sense though. No neighbors to bother him, and big, rent-free buildings to conduct his nefarious plans in. I started to really wish the city would tear these old buildings down and start over.
Toby crumbled the fast food sack into a ball and tossed it over his shoulder at Karl. “How long are we going to sit out here?"
"That's a good question,” Karl said, pushing the trash onto the floor and crossing his legs. “I had too much soda. I have to tinkle."
"That's the last time I buy you a large Coke. Just get out and go,” Toby instructed him.
I glanced out the passenger window past Toby as the Goblin opened the door and slid out. The eastern sky was starting to steadily brighten. “I'm either going to have to go home,” I nodded to the sunrise, “or get in the trunk soon."
"You think the Sprite is waiting us out?” Toby considered.
"If it even knows we're here,” I countered. “We might be giving that little monster too much credit.” I paused and raised my eyebrows certain I could hear music. “Is Karl singing a Counting Crows song?"
Toby and I fell silent. Amidst the sounds of the night and liquid hitting the car tire, we could indeed hear the Goblin singing about Mr. Jones as he relieved himself. Covering my mouth, I snickered.
"Stop listening to me pee!” Karl shouted as he became aware of our silence. “Perverts!"
Toby threw his head back and laughed out loud.
I heard my cell phone ring. Digging into my pocket, I pulled it free and flipped it open. “Webb,” I answered. I don't know, it just sounds more professional when you curtly say your last name.
"Rose, it's Doctor Yazgren.” He paused. “I have those test results you've been waiting for."
"Excellent.” I smiled, even though concern gripped me. Toby looked anxiously at me. I held up my finger to tell him to wait a minute. “What did you find?"
"The Vampire you brought in,” Yaz started, “well, it really isn't a Vampire. It may look like a duck, and quack like a duck, but it isn't a duck—"
"I get it,” I said quickly. “So, what is he?"
"As far as I can tell,” Yaz breathed, “it's a genetically-altered Maryut."
I felt my eyebrows rise. “A Maryut?"
"A Demon,” Yaz answered, “but that's about all I can tell you. The Syndicate had a genetic sample on record, but no accompanying data. The match from the pseudo Vampire was almost ninety-five percent. Having never personally seen a Maryut, I can't tell you what they are, or even what they look like. The only reference I could find was that the Maryut looked like wax people. It was a really, really old source,” Yaz apologized.
"So what does this mean?” I asked.
"It's a Maryut genetically manipulated to look like a Vampire. The Werewolf arm you supplied showed similar signs,” Yaz replied.
I pressed the phone a bit tighter to my ear and lowered my voice. “So it's a clone?"
"No,” Yaz breathed, “the resemblance to Vampires and Werewolves is only cosmetic. They may look, act, and have all of the organs of other Inhumans, but they are still Maryut. They aren't clones, and the exoskeleton structure isn't a mutation."
That could explain the mistakes they're making. They are just acting like the operatives they're replacing. “Thanks, Yaz."
"You're welcome,” Yaz replied.
Snapping the phone closed, I slipped it back into my pocket. I leaned back into the seat and tried to process all the information I had just been handed.
"Well?” Toby asked impatiently. “What did he say?"
A purple glow caught my attention. Looking down at the Werewolf's t-shirt, I could see his amulet glowing behind it. I glanced down at my own amulet shining around my throat. Another Seeker had activated theirs meaning they needed help. Throwing open the door, I jumped out. Toby, seeing my haste and his amulet shimmering, did the same.
"I'm not done!” Karl shouted in embarrassment as he tried to move further around the car to hide.
"No time,” I barked.
Toby peeled off his shirt and shoes and threw his head back. When he balled his fists, I saw his rib cage snap and begin to contort beneath his flesh. Grunting, he dropped down to his knees and hunched over. He was changing.
With no need to wait, I ran out of the alley and skittered around a corner. I could feel the amulet around my neck pulling me toward its source, feeding me directions. All Seekers wore a similar mystically-endowed amulet. When invoked by crushing the purple stone in the center, the signal webbed out and activated every Seeker's amulet in a diameter of roughly three kilometers. The brighter the amulet glowed, the closer you were. Pumping my legs hard, I pushed my body as fast as I could.
Hitting the side of the building, I spun and pressed my back to the wall. Constructed of concrete and steel, this seemed to be one of the more sturdy warehouses in the industrial district. I drew my weapon and the tracking PDA. Thumbing the power switch, I moved slowly along the wall while staring at the screen. The Sprite's red dot was holding steady inside. The w
hispers from my amulet were drawing me to the same general area. I clicked off the safety on my Beretta.
I watched a dark flash of teeth, claws, and fur whip across the street, up the side of the building, and disappear onto the roof. Apparently Toby was taking the direct approach. I had to get inside. Coming around the corner, I spotted an empty loading dock. Pushing the PDA into my back pocket, I used both hands to cradle my pistol. I moved lightly, almost silently, up the stairs to the rectangular block of concrete that stretched out before the large loading doors. Pools of dark chemicals sat in front of the dock, glimmering in the morning light. I could smell the acrid bite of oil and transmission fluid. This dock had been used recently. This warehouse was still in use.
Moving past the heavy metal doors, I saw a regular entrance on the far side of the dock. Glancing quickly through the reinforced window, I couldn't see anything but boxes and wooden crates. Laying my fingers gently on the cool, metal handle, I paused. Certainly there was an alarm. I scanned over the dock. There were no other doors or windows on this side of the building. This was my only choice.
"Wait up, Rose!"
I turned and glared at Karl who was huffing as he trotted up the stairs. Holding my finger up to my lips, I tried to tell him to stay quiet.
"You and puppy just left me with my dingle waving in the breeze."
Which, it seemed, the Goblin didn't understand. “Karl,” I whispered, “shut up."
He paused, cocked his head slightly, and suddenly seemed to understand. I think I could almost see the light bulb blink on above his head. “Oh,” he breathed, “I get it!"
"We need to get inside,” I informed him, “but I don't know if there's an alarm system. I was thinking..."
I watched the green Goblin zip past me toward the door without listening to a word I said. Leaping straight up, he caught the door handle with his tiny hands. Planting his feet against the door for leverage, he twisted the knob.
"Karl.” I started toward him. “Don't do that!"
Pushing off against the frame, I watched the door creak open. Karl let go and dropped to the ground. Pulling the door open, he motioned for me to enter.