by CM Raymond
“Yes, sir. My father worked there. His father worked there. I worked there. Some would say we’re part of the Alarawn family. I would not. But I don’t know what I can tell you.” The woman’s face was vacant.
“I’m trying to figure out as much as I can about the worker movement of 1902. Did your family tell you stories?”
The woman leaned back in her chair. She gripped its arms, her knuckles going white. “All we did was tell stories, but I don’t have much to say about that. I think I’m what you academics would call a dead end.”
“Anything you could tell me would be helpful. About your father and the men he worked with. Anything about the Alarawns. About Thomas. I believe he was still in charge at that time.”
At the sound of that name, Jelana’s body stiffened.
“Đavo. Da će trunuti u paklu.” Jelana made the sign of the cross and kissed her fingers.
Although Elijah couldn’t explain how, he knew exactly what she was saying. A knot tied in his stomach, his skin grew hot. “What do you mean they are evil?”
Mrs. Novak’s eyes went wide. She was as shocked as he was by his linguistic skills.
“That family, that man…he did things, terrible things. My family was terrified to speak his name, even decades after he was gone.”
On je proklet—and his seed shall taste fire.
Elijah kept his gaze on her, ignoring the voice once more.
The woman stood, crossing her arms. “I’m sorry, Dr. Branton, I don’t have anything more to give you. Our time is over.”
Elijah stood as well. “Please, ma’am, I need help. I have something to show you.” Elijah reached into his pocket. He could feel the medallion cold against his fingers.
He pulled it out and held it up. “Do you know what this is?”
The woman gasped. “You need to go now,” she nearly shouted at him. “You need to go now, zduhać. Leave me. I’m at peace. Leave me now. There’s nothing else I can do.”
The woman was screaming. Two staff members in scrubs came over and took Elijah by the arms. They led him out of St. George’s, nearly throwing him down the concrete steps.
Elijah’s mind raced. There was much he had to make sense of. The conversation with Willa in her apartment and all that transpired still seemed like a dream. It also felt like a lifetime ago.
Driving through the Squirrel Hill tunnels, back toward the city, he couldn’t get the wild look in Jelana Novak’s eyes out of his mind. She was panicked—in a frenzy. What could Thomas Alarawn have done to give him such a reputation? The medallion was obviously important—he needed to figure out why.
As he broke out of the tunnels, the memory of the voice returned to him. It had something to do with all of this. Or he had clearly slid into madness.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
“I don’t know how to help him. He’s either lying to us about what he knows, or he’s telling the truth about being in the dark. In which case, he thinks we’re the liars.” Willa sipped her caramel latte. She seemed tired, like she had just run a marathon and had another one planned for the next day. “Either way, there’s a trust barrier that is impossible to cross.”
Chem nodded along as the poet spoke, but his mind was far from this conversation. The Vida Serum sat in the lab, just waiting to be tested. It consumed his thoughts, threatening a distinct lack of objectivity from the scientist. So he had called Willa and left to get coffee, hoping some space from the serum would clear his mind. So far, it was an utter failure.
Chem took a sip of the light roast and willed himself to focus.
“I don’t fault him for being a little skeptical,” he said. “Hell, I’m skeptical, and I saw him change with my own damn eyes.”
Kiva Han was a good place to meet. Patrons packed the small shop like sardines in a can, but they got a small table positioned under a Jackson Pollock clone. The indie rock playing over the speakers mixed with the grinding of coffee beans provided cover for their conversation.
Willa lowered her voice anyway. “So what do we do?”
Chem shrugged. “Why do you have to do anything? What’s your deal with all this?”
Willa hesitated. She wasn’t the same person Chem spoke to only yesterday, like something was holding her back. “Mount Washington wasn’t my first encounter with the...the creature. The night before, I had a run in with him outside the university.”
“Shit,” Chem said. “And you survived?”
She nodded. “I had help. From a man in a ski mask. The exact man, in fact, that I had been looking for.”
He waited, figuring it was best to let her spill the rest of the story at her own pace.
“One of my students is missing. Sean. I’m convinced this masked man has something to do with it. But he’s a ghost. My only lead is Elijah. If I can bring the pieces together, I might have a chance of finding the kid.”
“I don’t know. He saved you from the creature. Maybe Mr. Ski Mask is one of the good guys.”
She stared into her cup. There was no doubt in her reply. “No. Definitely not one of the good guys. Whatever he was doing that night, saving me was ancillary to his goal. It was more like...he was saving Elijah. Like he has some sort of plan for him.” She looked up and locked eyes. “Percy, I’m terrified about what that plan might be.”
Chem wanted to make a joke, something to lighten the tension. But nothing came to mind. She was right. The thought of that thing let loose with some nefarious purpose...that was no world he wanted to live in. He thought again about which lab in the city could be behind this monstrous creation, but there were no answers to be found that way.
“Then we better make sure we’re ready. I’ll try and get ahold of him. See if he’ll talk to me. I can be pretty persuasive. I’m one charming motherfucker.”
“So you’ve told me.” Willa smiled. “The question is, does he want to believe?” She paused, taking in the room. “How did you subdue him, anyway?”
“The wonders of science, darling. It’s nice that one of us specializes in something useful.”
Willa broke into laughter. “No offense, Percy, but I’m pretty sure my poems were quite useful last night. In fact, if it weren’t for those lines, you would’ve been in some serious trouble.”
Chem couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “Speaking of skepticism, I’m not saying I believe your story either. You definitely had some effect on him, I’ll give you that much. But magical poetry? That’s some grade-A fairytale bullshit right there.”
She leaned back in her chair, a quizzical look on her face. “And a giant metal creature tossing cars? I’m sure that fits perfectly within your scientific worldview.”
“Touché. That thing was…paradigm-altering, to say the least. But I’ve been analyzing his blood, and I’m sure there’s a physical explanation. I’ll just say that it was a damn good thing I had that little cocktail of mine to knock your boy out with. A little powered-up painkiller can go a long way.”
“What did you find in his blood?”
Chem hesitated for a moment. His project had been his secret for five years now. But something about this poet made him want to reveal all. Her earnestness was rare. And if there was any truth to her magical abilities, then Chem was sure it wasn’t a truth she shared often. He felt compelled to reciprocate, to open up as well.
Instead, he dodged her question, falling back on his same old lines.
“Let me put it in terms that a liberal artist can understand. I think Elijah’s transformation was the result of biological tampering. The next big scientific breakthrough won’t be computers or robotics. It will be the ability to shape human DNA. We’re on the cusp of something huge, and its applications are nearly endless. Longer life, enhanced mental acuity, defense against disease—not to mention weapons. Human bioweapon systems. I started working on a formula for it over a decade ago.”
Willa’s brows rose. “Hold on. You want to create monsters like that thing?”
“Monsters are in the eye of the beholder. A
nd I want to behold him. But, not like what we encountered the other night. Whoever did that to him, they injected him with something powerful, beyond what I’ve ever seen. The problem with Elijah right now is that there’s no control. When he turns he has no idea what he’s doing. I’m trying to configure a way to not only create the transformation but also include a stabilizing component that will give the transformed subject control over their mind and body.
“The power is limitless if I can just figure it out. Think of the good that we could do with that kind of knowledge. And I’m not just talking about his strength. The bigger deal, in my mind, is the healing that accompanies it. He dips his ass in molten metal every night and wakes up with nothing more than second-degree burns. Forget the flipping cars bullshit. That is some potentially life-saving science right there. We need that.”
Willa stared into her empty cup. Chem assumed she was picturing him as some sort of Frankenstein.“Who’s we?” she asked.
Chem shook his head. This was going too far. He looked her dead in the eye as he tried to dodge the question. “I’m just saying, there’s no need to hide from the future. Obviously what’s happening to E is not ideal, but...”
He stopped. The look on her face told him she was no longer tracking with him anyway.
Shit. Here comes the “man was not meant to meddle” speech.
But she surprised him. “I understand. This is a broken world. Maybe it’s worth becoming a monster to stop monsters.”
Willa stared at her hands, almost as if that last line was meant for someone else. She seemed to him like someone gearing up to do something dangerous.
Finally, she rose from her chair. “I’ve got to go. I wanted to say thanks, for the other night. I would have been toast if you hadn’t shown up.”
“Don’t mention it,” he said. “But maybe don’t count on it either. I’d much rather be chained to my desk than out playing hero.”
She nodded. “Before this is over, we may all have to learn to play hero. Or learn to accept the consequences.”
Chem ran his hands across his head and exhaled. “Accepting consequences has never been a strength of mine.”
Willa gave him a weak smile, which twisted something in his heart. She reached out across the table and took his massive hand in her tiny fingers. “I’m going to need you, Percy. Elijah needs you.” She let go of his hand, and without another word, stood and gathered her things.
Chem watched Willa weave through the busy shop. Her dress swished as she moved.
He finished his coffee and sat, alone, pondering her words. She was right, and he knew it.
Damn poet. This is why science is a solitary affair.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
The sun dipped low as Elijah raced down the sidewalks of Pittsburgh, not sure where he was going, just knowing that he had to move. His car lay blocks, maybe miles behind him. But he didn’t care. His head swam.
The old woman’s words tore at him. She called him a zduhać. And by the way she looked at him, he could only imagine it meant monster.
Maybe I am.
His phone dinged with an alert, bringing him back to reality.
After being removed from the nursing facility, Elijah used what little presence of mind he had left to send an email to an old friend from grad school who focused on Eastern European history. He was just now getting the reply.
Hey, E!
Not sure why you’re digging around my neck of the discipline, but I’m happy to help.
That symbol you sent me on the medallion is definitely Slavic in origin, though I don’t know much more than that.
No way is it Welsh, so I’d wager it didn’t originate with the Alarawn family. Some sort of cultic artifact if I had to guess, probably belonging to a minor deity. Christianity tried to wipe out the old religions, but people in these parts have long memories. Many of the old ways remain strong. Other than that you’re on your own.
As for the word you asked about, zduhać, there are whole books I could send you on the subject.
Elijah took a deep breath. This was the answer he was looking for. Maybe it would provide a way out from this chaos.
A zduhać is a kind of tutelary spirit—a defender of a place. Kind of like a guardian angel, but of a town rather than a specific person. They were real people, from a historical perspective. We know many of their names and histories. Most were chiefs or great men and women from small villages. But here’s where it gets really interesting. They were supposed to possess great powers.
The old-timers still swear by it, that it’s not a myth. It’s a little vague what they could do, but most of the stories say that these protectors would ‘leave their bodies’ when evil was near. The hero would fall asleep and wage battle against encroaching spirits. Supposedly they had great strength and could rip trees from the ground. When they woke up, they’d have scratches and bruises all over their bodies—evidence of the fight.
Blood drained from Elijah’s face. His chest itched.
He stumbled forward, barely able to read the rest of the email. It couldn’t be a coincidence, all the things that happened to him.
Laughter rang through his mind and Elijah panicked. He bolted, sprinting as fast as his academic legs could take him. He ran until the wind left him, and he collapsed on his knees in some empty lot, chest heaving. The laughter only grew louder.
“What is happening to me!” Elijah shouted.
“Hey man, you okay?”
Elijah looked up. Three men were moving toward him, cruel smiles on their faces.
“I’m uh, I’m fine,” he choked out. A different kind of fear struck his gut.
“Well, we better help you out, just in case. Why don’t you let me carry your bag there? You know, lighten the load.”
“Yeah,” another one snickered. “And I’ll take your watch.”
“Look,” Elijah said. “I don’t want any trouble.”
“Then you came to the wrong neighborhood man.”
Without warning, the man lashed out. His fist was small but hard, and Elijah’s head was ringing by the time he hit the ground.
Elijah spit blood. “Just...just leave me alone.” He couldn’t keep the quiver from his voice, and his pleas went unheard.
The second man kicked him hard in the side.
Elijah had never been in a fight before. He expected the pain to be excruciating. But all he felt was heat. The heat spread with every kick—and with it, the rage.
Elijah struggled to his feet. “Stop. Please. You don’t know what you’re doing.”
But they didn’t hear him, and then the voice took over. This time it wasn’t in his head. It was on his lips.
“I’ll kill every last one of you dogs,” it growled.
“Woah,” the leader said taking a step back. “Tough guy, huh. This is my city you little shit. I’ll do what I want. I’ll rip your arms off and shove them up your ass.”
He punched Elijah hard in the stomach. The historian doubled over.
When Elijah looked back up, fire poured from his eyes. The men stepped back in fear.
“That’s where you’re wrong,” the voice speaking through Elijah said. His skin had already started to pulse. “This is my city.”
As darkness began to take Elijah, the sound of his roar overpowered the sound of their futile cries for help.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Elijah came to a moment later, but he wasn’t himself. He was the passenger now, and the voice was the driver. The strange body moved without his control. But he could feel it. His body was a raging fire with steel bubbling and dripping around him. He stared down at the three frightened men.
The voice spoke through him again, and this time it was low and gravelly. Like if a furnace grew lips.
“Now, what was that you were saying about ripping off arms?”
One of the men, the biggest, decided he no longer liked the odds. He tried to run, but Elijah’s body was too fast. The creature grabbed him by the head and threw h
im hard into a rusted out old dumpster. His body flopped to the ground in an unnatural way.
The second man tried the offensive. He had a small knife with him and slashed at Elijah’s giant arms. If it had an effect, it was erased instantly as the liquid steel reformed around the gash. The voice just laughed then kicked. His foot was like an elephant’s, sending the man reeling.
The last of the men, the one in charge, froze in place. Elijah could hear his whimpers over the voice’s laughter.
The creature leaned forward and grabbed both arms, lifting the man up overhead. He screamed and Elijah could smell burning flesh.
The creature dropped him to the ground and raised a fist. The thug wouldn’t survive the impact.
Elijah yelled, and somehow his voice got through.
“No!”
The arm faltered in midair.
The voice shouted. “Let go of me. Let me finish this fool. Pravda cannot rest until the world is refined of the evil filth.”
“You can’t kill him,” Elijah shouted back. He strained with every ounce of will. The arm remained frozen.
“They deserve death. They are a scourge upon my city.”
“You still can’t kill them,” Elijah managed to urge, knowing it was futile.
As they stood there, warring against each other, the sound of squealing tires rang through the air. A beat-up old Mustang charged at them. Elijah released his grip, and the creature turned with just enough time to shield itself from the blow.
Even so, the impact threw it to the ground.
As the creature struggled to regain its feet, dazed by the impact, the driver of the car scrambled out and managed to drag his damaged friends into the car. The creature lunged after it, but the mustang peeled off before he could stop them.
It screamed, its voice filled with rage, and he slammed his giant fists into a brick wall. It crumbled under the blow like a board before a black belt.
“Why did you stop me?” it shouted.
“I...I don’t know,” was all Elijah could muster.