by J A Stone
“She’s following her.”
“Yes, come,” Caelum dropped his scope and receded into the alley like the Ghost he was. “In a few minutes she will make her move, but we will be there,” now he was running. “Keep up Assassin!”
Shadoweye was ten paces behind when Caelum Fay rounded the corner of a brick building. She slid to a stop and hugged the wall when she heard British’s shout.
“YOU AGAIN!”
“British, don’t shoot! It’s me!”
“My name is Brayton and my Father died five years ago,” Bray pulled back the hammer on her magnum. Behind her, Tawana was advancing slowly with her own long-barreled pistol drawn and cocked.
“Tawnee come out please,” Caelum called to the alley and Shadoweye stepped into the open. When Brayton and Tawana looked in surprise, the man from another world snatched his firearm free and let loose, catching Tawana twice in the chest.
Brayton spun about. Now both Feys held Tawnee’s doppelganger at barrel’s end.
Tawnee stepped closer, her mouth dropping to the concrete in wonder at her otherworldly clone, still standing, smiling wide as the red fluid appeared through her clothing.
“Really? Thought your Dad would know by now to use silver,” Tawana kept her gun trained on Brayton.
“That’s not my Dad—bitch.”
“No shit asshole, he’s dead, we were both there. Where’d he get my twin?”
“No clue cunt. Are we gonna do this or not?”
“I take it your bullets are shiny?”
“Solid silver, open wide for me you blood-suckin’—”
“WAIT!” Tawnee raised both hands. “At least make it fair. Mister Fey, lower your weapon. Mister Fey? Sir?”
Tawnee looked, as did the earth-girls. The man standing there with a gun was no longer. In his place was the ghastly specter of the Aequitas Caelum Vindictis twisting a maniacal grin across a distorted visage.
The Daemon thrust his bony taloned hand like a whip for the throat, clamping a vice-hold on Tawana and snapping the cervical vertebrae apart in his grasp as the girl unloaded her clip uselessly into the hazy, misty body of the spectral predator.
Tawnee stood there watching in shock, when Brayton Faye rushed her, pumping six rounds into her belly and staring a murder hole of utter hatred through Tawnee’s eyes until they faded into darkness.
It broke her heart, forget the bullets, the look on Brayton’s face was too much.
*
She opened her eyes again. Tawnee was alone in a city park. She cried, placing her face in her palms, when a firm hand clasped her shoulder and she jerked away, knowing damned well who it was.
“Don’t worry, this last one is a genius, not so much a fighter. I’ve tried several times on Earth to take Brayton Faye for British, but she eludes my grasp so,” said a young Caelum Fey. He pointed, and fifty feet away her double was reading a textbook on a bench.
“This one is a student. She has a crush on my Daughter who is in her class.”
“She’s just a kid! NO!”
“I don’t need you here for this, when you wake, you must jerk to the left, your head, jerk to the left, do you understand me?”
“NO SIR! NOOOO!” Tawnee struggled violently to the blackness, silently screaming at the top of her lungs as the ballpeen hammer missed her skull, bashing the right ear.
*
Shadoweye opened her true eyes to see the Tiborean Executioner raising the large hammer for another blow. She then opened her mind to the anger, the rage, pulling a shackled hand free with incredible strength—ripping the bolts from the floor. She drove her fist into Jenna’s astonished face.
Using the half-second of surprise to rip the second chain loose, Tawnee tackled her would-be executioner, wrestling and snatching the hammer from her hands and putting it to proper use.
Moments later, Danica Warfell and Eventine Delacroix burst into the chamber to see Shadoweye hunched over her victim, covered in blood, vomiting on the corpse.
“Dammit girl—get those cuffs off her Eve—we’re leaving now,” said Warfell, grabbing her friend’s clothes as Eventine kneeled next to Tawnee. Both women could feel the pain and anguish emanating from their good friend.
She was just a kid—he didn’t need to—didn’t need, her damaged mind screamed.
She threw up again.
Fort Salvos, War Deck
Forget station, duty, honor…
The Master Knight of Tibor became just a startled man, when he raced to the bay window’s edge to see the Ghost of Caelum Fey catching his Daughter mid-air and then hefting an impossible arm about the huge Snowhorse’s waist, lifting both free as the grassy courtyard beneath them simply disappeared.
He never heard or even felt the explosion at two-hundred feet negative altitude, only the strange weightlessness of the freefall as the entire castle; the magnificent Platinum Palace collapsed into the underworld.
“Good play little girl—well done,” the Master Knight whispered to his enemy with a smile as the War Deck became one with the pulverized stone, steel and mortar beneath.
Rot-Root Grove
British and Snowflake raced across the grassland with the Aequitas Caelum Vindictis matching speed beside them.
“Gods, please let them be all right,” she said as the small stand of twisted scrub pines drew closer.
You must be brave Daughter, if you wish to beat them there and say something witty
British shot her Father a disapproving glare.
Several minutes later, the Knights of Salvos emerged, covered in black soot, horses frothing with lather, panting for breath.
Tom Snow, Iris and Bigfoot were first followed by Magnus and Master Po. They panned experienced eyes across the dark green horizon beneath a night sky. The distant plume of dust and smoke that was once their home took on the appearance of a thunderhead. Fort Salvos was forever lost to them.
“Did—did she make it?” Bigfoot dropped to his knees.
“Yeah, this is British we’re talking about. Don’t you worry big buddy,” the Snowman searched the grasses nervously.
“Hey you guys, little help over here?” the pixie’s meek voice emanated from somewhere close.
They scrambled, searching the waist-high grasses and reeds.
“BOSS!” Iris yelled as they tried to find her desperately.
“BRITISH!” shouted Tom.
“FOUND HER!” Robert John Stone was standing with hands to hips, shaking his head side to side as his fellow Knights gathered in a circle around a seated British Fey. She had her leather bound field journal out with a pen in her hand.
“I need two words that rhyme with ‘slowly’, and ‘long’, like in how slowly you moved and how long it took you guys to get here.”
They tackled her…
Danica, Eventine and I arrived on scene with the morning equi-fade.
As Warfell gave her report, I watched British carefully, wondering how I could ever bring myself to destroy her Father. The man saved my life—again. He said he’d teach me how to give my other personalities an identity, but now I just don’t know if that is wise. Like Danica said, I may not like what I find.
One thing I do know: the kid he murdered was OUT OF LINE.
And I intend to do something about it.
Case #46 The Man Who Took It Too Far
Fey Mansion, Seventy Miles Northwest of Salt Mountain
“It’s good to have you back little one, I’ve missed ya so much,” Mrs. Donabrook was hugging the life out of British. “All of ya get in here, bushes to brambles what’s happened? Well aren’t you folks a motley bunch—lookin’ like a castle fell atop the lot of you! Inside! Inside!”
“It’s a long—STORY!” British wheezed into her former Nanny’s huge boobs as the old woman squeezed even harder.
Oceanport
WILLIAM FRAKES NEVER did learn when to quit, when enough was enough. His friends and fellow drinkers in the pub pulled him off the poor sod just in time. Just as he could feel t
he thin seashell-like cranial bones beginning to crack beneath his relentless knuckles.
“Dammit Billy, you’ll kill him!” his best friend finally got the arm around the neck that stopped what was seconds away. “It’s only a beer!”
“GET OFF ME! Sumbitch,” Billy shrugged away and stumbled for the exit, pulling several precious coins from his front pockets and letting them clink to the wooden decking of the pub as he left. It wasn’t the chokehold Zachariah had him in, it was the distant whistles of Constables that brought Billy around.
Zach followed him, of course. Somebody had to make sure Billy got home without killing himself or someone else. In two days, Zach needed Billy for a new contract at Fey Mansion; seems the Lady of the House has returned home.
The Fey Estate was making a bid on the Salt Mountain Denga Temple, and if successful, they needed a hearty refurb crew. Oddly, the bid given by the Estate was for the interior of the Mount and not the actual buildings of the Temple. They specifically invited the Denga Monks to return there, once they proved Salt Mountain safe again.
The Denga evacuated the Temple permanently when strange things began to happen and Ghosts were sighted. No one had a clue it was in fact the Aequitas Caelum Vindictis, haunting the buildings and passages guised as a Dwarven Phantom, issuing horrid threats, pushing people into walls and hurling furniture about, clearing a future Safehouse for his Daughter and her loyal friends as if somehow he knew what would happen to Salvos.
Zachariah watched Billy stumble to the steps of his modest flat, shaking his head to the sight of his longtime friend. Billy was a machine who simply would not stop working until forced to do so. Not really a handsome man, it was his arms that immediately caught anyone’s eye. He had muscles on top of muscles, never wore sleeves, and never passed up any opportunity to flex them for women.
That was another problem altogether—Billy’s constant obsessions with women way out of his league—and his inabilities to let go when they quickly realized how hollow his head is. This man fell in love at the drop of a hat, was always clueless, and that always became a problem.
“Sleep well my friend,” Zach laughed to himself, making his way through the dark streets of Oceanport.
City Market, Oceanport
“Really? Does this shit just follow us around?” Eventine Delacroix picked up a paper at the Oceanport Central Market and exhaled sharp to the headline:
Brutal Murders in Warehouse District
Victims Torn Apart by Man-Beast
“Aleutha is a big Moon, and people simply will not behave,” Warfell sagely replied as she took a seat overlooking the crowds of patrons and dealers.
“Still—might merit a lookie-see,” British sat with her own copy in hand. “Says he killed three men, warehouse workers—men like that are super tough, like Dwarves.”
“Agreed,” said Danica, now reading over her boss’ shoulder. “What time do you address the Druid Elders?”
“Precisely on this evening’s fade, eight hours,” British answered. “Wow check this out; witnesses thought it was an animal attack at first, until they got close enough to see, trippy-ka-bippy.”
“Trippy?” Eventine was becoming the voice of trepidation in the absence of Tawnee’s vocal chords. “Look, about the mountain, I got a lead on two fellows who are expert tunnel diggers. Sworn to secrecy and if anyone can get us through to the interior safely, it will be them.”
“Dwarven Kin?” asked British.
“No, surprisingly men,” Eventine answered. “One’s a demolition expert and the other is a digger—I’m told—like we’ve never seen.”
“Okay, hire them, because I will convince the Elders to give us free charter and open title,” British was confident as always. She intended to offer a handsome fortune, in addition to the preservation of all artifacts, and ‘in-house’ security for the Honorable Monks when they return.
Contrary to rumored belief, the ruins of Fort Salvos held little treasure. Yes the Knights of Salvos brought home incalculable wealth. Bad guys always had hordes of it and the Knights always took it, but the gems were divided quickly and evenly. Danica gave most of hers away, British sent all of her earnings to her family’s Estate, as did Shadoweye. Even Bigfoot Bob knew not to sleep on top of his money. With or without this, the Fey holdings were indeed vast and British was prepared to overwhelm the Elders with money for that charter to the Salt’s interior.
“Sounds good boss, so what about beast-man here?” Warfell was interested enough now to pursue, which made British smile inside and out.
“Send for Iris, I want her in on this,” the pixie gave Danica and Eve a quick hard look. “Eventine—find and hire the tunnel crew, Warfell—give the Warehouse District a quick little poke, but both of you be on time downtown. Tawnee and I will be in the Archive’s Library until time to go next door and meet the Elders, do not be late.”
Shadoweye approached with a tray of food as the three women stood to leave.
“Bring it with us, we’ll sneak it in the Library and eat as we read,” Fey placed a hand on Tawnee’s shoulder and led her away as the other two dispersed in different directions.
Archives, Library, Fifth Floor
British and Tawnee sat across from one another on the floor, pouring over ancient texts and eating greasy-fried street food.
“Dammit-man this stuff is heaven,” said British, followed by Tawnee’s nod of excited agreement.
Suddenly, the Assassin snapped fingers, and spread a massive scroll wide on the floor. She pointed and British leaned in. “I think you found it!” It was an ancient map drafted by one of the Second Dynasty Dwarven Metallurgists. British shot her sharp browns in every direction, excised her Buck Skinner and cut the appropriate section free, quickly passing it to Tawnee and rolling the parchment back into place as though nothing were missing.
‘Time to go,’ signed Shadoweye.
“Damn skippy,” answered Fey with a fast kiss on Tawnee’s cheek and the look of a lovelorn puppy.
Oceanport Warehouse District
“Thank you for agreeing to meet me here—Constable?”
“Inspector, Jon Davidson, just call me Jon, Captain,” the Inspector gave a respectfully nervous bow. Warfell could tell he was scared of her.
“Okay Jon, where is the scene?”
“Over here,” he led Danica to the alleyway between two bars. Black blood adorned the brick walls on either side.
“What did he do, splash it everywhere?”
“No Ma’am, witnesses saw him throwing the bodies against the walls. It was so loud people from inside the pubs were coming out to see,” Jon answered.
“Were all of the eyewitnesses sotted?”
“Aye Ma’am, all but one, the first Constable on scene, he gave chase and lost the suspect. He said the man ran like an animal, very low to the pavement, thrusting his fists to the ground occasionally to boost momentum.”
“Come again Jon?” Warfell wasn’t expecting that.
“No shit Captain, low on deck, leaping and bounding with the fists impossibly fast,” the Inspector shook his head in disbelief. “This is his statement and the rest,” he gave Danica the file with shaking hands.
“And the bodies?”
“Wow, well Captain, they were torn apart—just not like an animal would.”
“Explain.”
“Animals kill to eat and defend, they go for the neck and the gut. Here, the vics had limbs torn away, heads twisted off and—”
“Got it,” Warfell held a quick palm aloft. “Alright, we will need to see those bodies and interview the street Cop. Will you arrange this for tomorrow’s evening equi-fade at the Constabulary?”
“Not a problem Captain. Um, may I ask a question?”
“Go.”
“Is it true? All the Knights of Salvos survived?” Jon put it out there and kept his head low. If the white-haired warrior was going to strike in anger, he did not want to see it coming.
“Every damned one of us,” Danica smiled. �
�Now may I ask you something?” she blinked innocently.
“Um, go?” the Inspector was sweating now.
“Is it true that all five hundred of the Tiborean aggressors died, including the Master Knight?”
“Every one of them Captain, every last one,” he swallowed dry.
“On the morrow’s equifade Jon, I’ll see you then,” Danica nodded with a soft touch to his shoulder and walked away. Behind her, the Inspector crumbled beneath his noodle legs and took a knee, realizing he would live to see the next day.
“Damn that bitch is scary,” he whispered to Danica’s back at fifty paces out.
“Heard that Jon!” Warfell shouted, thrusting a finger to the sky and shaking it.
“Oh my god, I’m takin’ a shit,” he barely breathed, already soiling himself, unable to stop it from coming.
“That’s nasty Jon!” Warfell yelled back at seventy paces, finally rounding the street corner and shaking her silky strands—she wasn’t that scary.
Oceanport, Southside Residential District
Eventine Delacroix rang the buzzer several times and was about to give up, when the door cracked slightly.
“Oy?” a deep voice came from the darkened apartment.
“I’m looking for Zachariah? It’s about the contract for Salt Mountain?”
The man pulled the door back and Eventine tilted her head sideways with her brows raised high. Billy was an impressive sight, holding just a towel over his lower body, rippling corded muscles everywhere.
“Zach’s not here—I’m Billy,” he said. “You with the Feys?”
“Yeah, uh, Eventine Delacroix—my name’s Eventine—should I come back?”
“Let me put some pants on,” Billy dropped the towel and grabbed his britches. Eventine watched, mentally berating herself for the recent sexual weaknesses and desires that were coming at her from everywhere. Criminy, she was a Denga Master, so much better than this!