by Joey Ruff
“There’s not much. Just a security tape and a fingerprint.”
“Why didn’t you say something sooner.” Coyote snapped his fingers again, and the dream was over.
I sat suddenly upright on the old bed in the jail cell. Someone cleared their throat, and I turned to see Coyote, now dressed in a policeman’s uniform and standing on the opposite side of the bars.
“Show me the tape,” he said.
* * *
With a snap of his fingers, we were in the interrogation room. It was a neat trick – one I’d have to get him to show me later.
Even though we were alone, I felt uneasy. I was out of my cell, in a room that wasn’t exactly private, with someone pretending to be a cop, and had no viable explanation for any of it.
“Relax,” Coyote said. “I’ve created a time loop. Nobody can see or hear us.”
“I hope you’re right. Because the least they’ll think, if they catch us, is that I’m trying to destroy evidence.”
“You’re fine. This trick almost always works.”
“Almost always? Why do I not find that comforting?” He smiled at me. “What’s the trick?”
“Everyone in the building is suddenly very invested in a game of solitaire. Buys about ten minutes or so. Give or take.”
“Well, let’s get to it, then.”
Coyote took a seat at the table as I turned the TV on and hit play on the security feed. “The Four Seasons,” he said. “Nice.”
“How do you know that?”
“Seriously? Paris, Oprah, Ma Theresa… all the big shots stay there when they come to town. Hell, I think Kanye’s even staying there this week.” He shrugged. “It’s where I stay.” I didn’t say anything, and we watched in silence as the video played out. Once it stopped, he said, “Well, it wasn’t a trickster, but you were definitely set up.”
“You think?”
“Calm down. You’re emotional, I get it.”
“And tired.”
“Humans and their need to sleep.” He shook his head. “Tired and emotional. That’s why I’ll overlook the fact that you’ve become sloppy in your job.”
I wasn’t in any kind of mood to be insulted. “The static at the beginning, that suggest some kind of supernatural presence. I know that.”
“That’s not all of it.”
“What then?” I asked.
“First, the bodyguards. When the attacker enters, they pull their knives. Did you take note of the blades?”
“They were knives. What about them?”
“They started to glow.”
“I wouldn’t call it a glow. It’s barely noticeable.”
“What would you call it, then?”
“Maybe a flicker?”
“Whatever. It’s because of the camera. The effect is too expensive to translate on film. Budget cuts in the industry. It appears as a shimmer.” He stopped and stared at me for a second. “Or a flicker, if you prefer. It’s much more pronounced live and in person.”
I didn’t say anything.
“Cintamani knives glow when something from…what do you call it…the Midnight is around. Being that you’re human, that’s your get out of jail free card. Not the lack of scars, though that is a clue you should consider. If it had been you in this video, the blades would not flicker like that.”
“Well, tell that to the police.”
“Right now, I am the police.” He grinned from ear to ear. “I can snap my fingers and put you back in that cell at any time. The Pope’s important. If you had done it, well… Let’s just say it’s good you didn’t.”
“Okay…? Now that we’ve got that settled…”
“What you need to consider about the scars is, who doesn’t know you have them?”
“Certainly Loki would…”
“We’ve already ruled him out. Moving on.”
“I…don’t know.”
“Kay. Well, in that case, let’s ask, who has access to the Pope? Who just walks in?”
“Cardinals. The Swiss Guard. Maybe certain hotel staff?”
“Time to think outside the box.” He seemed to be growing impatient. “You’re not getting it, Finn.” He motioned to the black TV screen, which flashed to the attacker taking out the two guards. “Watch as the third guard enters.” I did. “Notice anything? What weapon does he have?”
“None.”
“Exactly. Why not?”
I didn’t say anything. He rewound the footage with a flick of his wrist.
“Watch the daggers of the first two guards.”
As the third guard entered, both Cintamani daggers flared brighter. It was just a quick flash, easily dismissed if you weren’t looking for it, but undeniable if you were.
“He’s not human?”
“Not human and not a typical bodyguard, or he would’ve had a bright and shiny dagger of his own.”
“So…what? What are you saying? This guard is working with the assassin?”
“Two threats when you’re only expecting one. Seems like a smart play.”
“A conspiracy to take out the Pope? Why?”
“Indeed.”
“Going back to your question,” I said, “you think that guard let the attacker in?”
Coyote smiled.
“So, we’re looking for shape-shifters?”
He nodded. “Makes sense. Nobody seemed too concerned by that third guard’s appearance, which means he was someone they knew.”
A million thoughts ran through my head in a few, quick seconds. “Maybe they sensed I was a hunter and posed as me to take me out before I noticed anything.”
“Awfully full of ourselves, aren’t we?” He laughed. “Or they just picked you at random. Either way, they would’ve had to have seen you somewhere. Or…half…of you.”
“Which means I may have seen them.”
“Right. So start retracing your steps.”
“No time for that. Zap us over there. We can warn the Pope and take out that guard.”
Coyote’s head fell back in riotous laughter. I stared awkwardly at him for a full minute before he collected himself. Sobering quickly, he let out a deep sigh.
“I forget how little you actually know,” he said. “If you ran in the same circles I did, you’d know why the Pope’s security carry Cintamani blades.”
“Because they’re Swiss Guards?”
“Because they’re not. The Swiss Guard are costumed idiots. Fresh-faced and doe-eyed. Most of them know less than you, if you can believe it. The bearded fellows in the video, they’re Templars.”
“As in the Knights? From the Crusades?”
He smiled.
“They were disbanded,” I said. “By the Pope. Around 1300 AD.”
“Wow, look at you. Real Catholic fanboy.” He smiled. “1312, officially, but that was a shell game,” he said. “Smoke and mirrors. More like moved underground.” He laughed again. “No pun intended.”
I didn’t get it.
Maybe he saw the blank look on my face. “Because of the Cintama…nevermind. Nobody gets Naga humor anymore.”
“So…wait. You’re telling me the Swiss Guard are all Templars? And you’re scared of them?”
He winced. “No. Not at all. The Swiss Guard are the Swiss Guard. They’re there for the tourists and they do the daily lifting, directing traffic and shit. But the top nine soldiers, the Pope’s Honor Guard, are knights. Since the Reformation, anyway.”
I eyed him suspiciously.
“And no. I’m not scared of them. That’s silly.” He flashed me a smug grin and then seriously added, “I’m terrified. Hello…Guardians of the Catholic Faith. They’re well-trained and armed to hunt folk like me. If they so much as smell me, it’s all Hatfields and McCoys.” He shook his head. “Sorry, Finn… But you’re on your own with this one.”
“My name is Finnegan, actually.”
“Oh, don’t be sore, Finn.” He watched me for a second. “I’ll get you out of here, at least… But then you’re on your own.”
/>
“I don’t even know what I’m up against.”
“When’s that ever stopped you? Work your mojo. Retrace your steps.”
From outside the room, someone coughed.
Coyote glanced toward the only entrance, then back at me. “Looks like time’s up,” he said. “Ready to go?”
As the door knob began to turn, Coyote snapped his fingers.
* * *
Next thing I knew, I was outside of my hotel, poolside, reclining in a lounge chair. The sun was just coming up, and I was alone.
I stood, groggy and a bit confused, found I was a little dizzy, also. My ears were ringing as I looked around. I couldn’t help but reflect on what had just happened. If I was being honest, I’d have to admit that I didn’t know Coyote could do all that, teleporting me through the police station, then back across town to my hotel.
To be perfectly honest, I hadn’t considered what he could do at all. I knew he was a trickster whose tales were recalled Native American legends. To them, he was some sort of demigod. I’d been living the lifestyle for so long that supernatural elements seemed almost too common place that I barely considered them. I didn’t know what the extent of Coyote’s powers were. He was almost certainly immortal, having been around for several hundred years, at least. And he didn’t die after being splattered by a speeding eighteen wheeler.
I allowed a smile at the memory, of his still-beating heart in the middle of the Nebraskan highway, before forcing it from my mind. I stared off absently at the still pool water. It occurred to me that Coyote, like all demigods, Loki included, was Fairy by nature. A demoted angel of some kind, but hearing him talk about the Fallen, he almost certainly wasn’t among them. The only thing that made sense was that he was one of the Seelie, which would explain why he was helping me. The Seelie were mostly benevolent spirit beings. Then again, he could have been something else completely.
The jingling of keys snapped me out of my head. I turned to see a young Hispanic girl coming around the corner. She wore a housekeeping uniform under a light jacket. She startled when she first saw me and eyed my scars warily as she approached.
I get it. Early in the morning, you don’t often expect strange guys to be sitting poolside. I was dressed only in my boxers and wrapped in a hotel robe. When I turned, her body language relaxed, maybe from seeing the hotel logo on the breast.
I smiled and waved. She waved casually back and headed for the door, using her keycard on the lock plate to open it. I didn’t say anything, just keeping things casual, and strode up just behind her. She was polite enough to hold the door for me. Which I was hoping she would do, since I didn’t have my own key on me.
I took the stairs up to the second floor and wound around to my room. I didn’t bother with the front desk, as the night guy had seen me hauled away in cuffs a few hours ago and was likely still manning the computer.
As I approached my door, I’d been considering my options for getting inside. Luckily, it was all in vain. The door was opened just a crack, propped in place by the u-shaped metal piece that served as a deadbolt. Yellow police tape was spread across the doorway, advising any passers-by that this room was now a crime scene. I guess it kept the maids out, too.
The hallway was quiet and clear, likely none of the other guests had awoken yet to see the crime scene tape, and I tore it down quickly, slipping inside.
I closed and locked the door behind me and sank back against it for a minute. I’d slipped into a mood all of a sudden. It was the same mood that hit me nearly every night. Loneliness. As a Priest, I was in communion with God, with other priests and cardinals. I prayed in every spare moment I had, just to thank him for his goodness and provision. I felt whole, then. Like a person.
Not anymore. These days, I just felt empty inside. Unworthy to pray, though my words would fall on deaf ears, anyway. Heaven had been closed to me. The hookers, the booze, the occasional drugs…I’d hated who I’d become, but I felt so lonely all of the time, and those things were the only things I had that allowed me to feel…something else. Less lonely, I guess. More human. Ironically, they didn’t help. Nothing did. And the only other thing I ever wound up feeling was scared…that who I had been was slipping away. That excommunication would be permanent, despite my best efforts. And of course, I did feel angry, too. Mostly at myself for violating my oaths, neglecting my duties. But part of me, just a small part, was angry at Heaven for shutting me out. I was trying to do good. I was trying to be good. Instead…
It didn’t matter. I shook my head, pushed myself away from the door. It didn’t do anything to think this way. I didn’t have time for escape. All I had was the job, the task at hand. And if I succeeded, maybe all this loneliness, fear and anger could finally be behind me. I just needed a few minutes with the Pope to plead my case, and now I had another reason to get close to him. Not only did I need him, but he needed me. I wasn’t going to let him down.
I moved to the dresser and grabbed my clothes out of the drawer: a pair of jeans and a fresh t-shirt. Needing something besides the stone silence in the room, I turned the TV on. Maybe it was morbid curiosity, but the first thing on was exactly what I was looking for.
The local news was talking about the attack on Pope Innocent. No details were being revealed. I half expected them to play the security footage, but they didn’t. There wasn’t even a picture that looked like me.
“Local police have apprehended a suspect and taken him into custody,” was what the news anchor said.
If they’d noticed I was missing, they hadn’t reported it. The manhunt hadn’t yet begun, which meant I had a few minutes to spare. Feeling disgusting, I decided on a quick shower. Afterward, I brushed my teeth.
Ten minutes later, I was dressed and standing on the toilet. I used my pocket knife to unscrew the vent cover, then grabbed my wallet and phone. Five missed calls, three from Jasper Mars, my recruiter in the Hand. The other two were from Hunter.
The title of Recruiter was a little misleading. He wasn’t the guy that brought me into the Hand, though that was part of his job description. A recruiter’s main job, however, was more like a handler in a spy movie. Each Hand office had several recruiters, and each recruiter had several teams of agents under him that he assigned cases to based on geographic location. Recruiters worked alone, they were stationary. When I was a priest, that was the job I held.
When I stopped being a priest, I traded jobs with Jasper. He’d been burnt out as a field agent after his partner was killed. We both needed a change. I liked Jasper. He was a good guy, a friend, but his calls could wait for now.
I pocketed the phone and grabbed my Colts, holstering them in the small of my back. The last item was the Codex, with its simple leather cover adorned only with a fleur-de-lis.
After replacing the vent cover, I took my leather jacket from the hanger, helmet from the luggage rack, then packed the rest of my stuff into my bag. I wouldn’t be coming back.
* * *
Ten miles down the road, I found a diner.
I walked inside, found a booth, and pulled out my phone. I listened to the voicemails. Jasper’s first call was pretty standard: “Hey brother, got a fresh one for you. This one just came across. Three dead. One still missing. I know Hunter gave you a few personal days, but we really need you on this one. It’s in your area. Well, close to where your last job was, that is. Just outside Kansas City. Town called Olathe. We’ve booked you a room at the Days Inn. Call me back.”
There was a beep and a timestamp before the next voicemail played. The second was quick and easy. “Austin, me again. Call me back.”
I stifled a laugh as the voicemail system beeped. “Call the Chicago office,” I said, mumbling to myself. Jasper’s third message sounded personal. “Austin, it’s Jasper. Look, brother, I’m starting to get worried. Maybe I shouldn’t be. Hell, you deserve some time off. I know that, and hopefully that’s all this is, but it’s not like you not to call. I know the last couple months have been dark for you, brother,
and if I’m being honest, I got this sick feeling in my gut that things are going south for you. I’ve gone through the shit, and you were there for me. Time to repay the favor. Just want to make sure you’re okay. Who knows, maybe you found a nice girl and are just sleeping off a bender. Call me when you wake. Oh, almost forgot, I’m supposed to tell you there’s a package waiting for you at the hotel. Some new Hand tech. It’s pretty choice. Alright. Later.”
I pulled the phone away from my ear and took a breath before hitting the delete button on my keypad. “You’re right,” I said to the phone in my hand. “I do deserve the time off.”
The next message was from Hunter. He didn’t normally call me personally, but from time to time, he did. Like with the thing in Nebraska.
“Austin,” came Hunter’s voice. “I know it’s the middle of the night, but I’ve got some serious shit happening. It’s time-sensitive. I know I promised you time, but it’s all hands right now, and I’ve got nobody else. I know I can count on you.”
Before the message was over, a young waitress approached my table and stood there, smiling sweetly at me. My eyes caught hers, and I turned the phone off, ignoring the fifth message. I was sure it was just more of the same.
“Hey,” she said. My first impression was that of a shy girl, but as I looked up at her, she smiled, thin lips over crooked teeth. There was something endearing about it. She was a cute girl, maybe in her mid-twenties, blonde hair. Large, kind eyes. She looked like a young Jewel, the singer. But that wasn’t the first thing I noticed about her. “Getcha something to drink?”
The first thing I noticed was the sickly yellow coloring around her left eye. It had been black and bruised a day or two ago. You could tell by the way she favored her other eye that she was self-conscious about it. Maybe my scars put her at ease a little.
I couldn’t help but smile back. “Coffee,” I said. Taking a deep breath, I ran a hand through my hair. I was so tired. “Better bring the pot.”
She nodded. “Need a minute with the menu?”
Two menus sat upright at the back of the tabletop, sandwiched between a metal rack that held glass bottles of ketchup and mustard and a napkin dispenser. I hadn’t even cracked it open yet. I shrugged. “Veggie omelet, white toast, side of bacon.”