Promise: Caulborn #2

by Nicholas Olivo

  “What is that?” Herb whispered.

  Keeping the panic out of my voice took superhuman effort. The thing looked exactly like it had in Megan’s book. “I believe,” I said, my voice cracking ever so slightly, “that is the Glawackus.”

  Chapter 13

  The amulets we found appear to have powers based in fear. One bestows the ability to manifest horrors, while the other grants the wearer mastery over what people in the area are afraid of. They’ve been dubbed Fear and Courage. At first, we believed Fear could only create illusions, but recent tests have shown it can create physical manifestations of spiders, serpents, and other nightmare creatures. Courage is different; if the wearer is afraid of heights, Courage negates the fear and bestows upon the bearer the ability to fly. We’re going to conduct further tests on both of these to determine their origin and creator, but for now, they’re safely stowed in the Shaker Springhouse.

  —Journal entry from Jack Santo, dated 1938

  The Glawackus shook itself as it stood before us. Its lion-like head was framed in a fiery red mane, and its eyes were glowing embers against the golden-brown fur of its body. The great claws on its bear-like forepaws clicked, as if it were drumming its fingers while considering what to do with us. I shuddered at the intelligence I saw in those hellish eyes.

  “Vincent,” Herb whispered, his eyes flaring orange. “There are dead all around this thing. It’s like it has an army of spirits just waiting for it to give a command.”

  “Lovely.”

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Laras sounded like an art critic describing a Rembrandt. “Truly a one-of-a-kind creation. Did you know it was fashioned by a family of inbred psychics dubbed Melonheads by the locals? They grew tired of being persecuted for being different and crafted the Glawackus by using an artifact they were poorly equipped to comprehend. The Glawackus ravaged several towns in Connecticut before beginning a lumbering trek north into Massachusetts. As it did, a Caulborn agent named Santo came to me and asked for aid in capturing the beast. We provided two pocket dimensions for him: one for the Glawackus; the other to imprison the Melonheads.

  “We’ve been keeping the Glawakcus safe for some time.” He pulled back his left sleeve, revealing a tattoo of a caduceus. “In fact, I personally harvested some of its organs to restore your friend Cather’s treasure sense.” I gaped. That was the Loremaster’s medical tattoo. Laras continued, “Even so diminished, I felt the Glawackus was uniquely qualified to serve as guardian for your partner.”

  “And why is that?” I asked. I was vainly trying to come up with a plan, but my mind kept locking onto the Glawackus’s teeth, which were as long as my finger and reflected the room’s light on razor points. C’mon Corinthos, keep Laras talking, maybe he’ll slip and give you a way out.

  Laras chuckled. “Don’t be foolish, Mr. Corinthos, I believe it’s plain to see. Still, if you are unclear, I suppose it’s best for you to find out for yourself.” With that, he and Julie pressed a button on their wrist guards and vanished.

  The Glawackus roared, a deafening sound like a thousand animals raging at once. I involuntarily put my hands over my ears. Herb and Gearstripper did the same. The Glawackus rushed forward, impossibly fast for a creature its size, and swatted Herb aside. The necromancer sailed across the room and landed face-first on the floor. I threw out a telekinetic bubble around Gears and me, and the Glawackus’s next strike rebounded off it. The creature’s eyes flared with pure hate and glowed brighter. Twin beams of red light shot forth from its eyes and struck my bubble. The force was incredible, and my faith reserves dropped drastically as I fought to keep up the shield.

  My bubble bowed as sweat ran into my eyes. It was like watching a piece of plastic melt in the sun. I didn’t have the faith reserves to waste on holding a shield. “Gears, be ready to run.” The gremlin nodded, and I dropped the shield and threw myself to the side. The Glawackus’s eye beams struck the spot where I’d just been, and the floor exploded in a cloud of concrete dust.

  Gears scrambled over to the table with Megan’s belongings and grabbed one of her 9mm pistols. The gun was comically large in his hands and he struggled to aim. The recoil from his first shot threw him off the table. The bullet ricocheted wildly around the ceiling, sparking with each hit. “Don’t!” Herb cried. He’d staggered to his feet, his face bloody. “You might hit Megan!”

  Gears must’ve been firing armor piercing rounds, because one of the light fixtures on the ceiling had come loose, and now hung by only one support. It looked heavy. I telekinetically latched onto it and heaved. The metal creaked, but didn’t give way. I hadn’t had time for a proper recharge, and now I was burning through faith too fast; I was pretty much at the dregs of my reserves. Herb had grabbed one of Megan’s guns and put himself between her and the Glawackus. He emptied the gun in a couple of seconds, the Glawackus roaring as Herb’s shots ripped into it.

  The light fixture rattled and groaned. Come on, dammit. What had they made the supports out of, adamantium? Gears scampered across the floor, a belt of some kind trailing over his shoulder. He clawed his way up the Glawackus’s back, looped the belt around its neck, and leaped backward. He nimbly rolled as he hit the ground and slid to a stop at my feet.

  “Light the collar on fire, Vinnie!” I shifted my focus and burned the collar. A series of sharp retorts cracked in the room. The Glawackus screamed and collapsed to the ground. As it thrashed, I flared my telekinetic pull and tore the light fixture from the ceiling. It crashed on top of the Glawackus and showered the area in sparks and shards of glass. Many of them tinkled and bounced off of the electric field surrounding Megan. I collapsed to the ground, my faith reserves empty.

  “What was on that collar?” I asked.

  Gears grinned. “I took a bunch of Megan’s spare ammo and threaded it through some slits in a leather strap that was attached to the table.”

  “How’d you cut the leather?” Herb asked. Gears held up his hand and let the flickering light reflect off his claws. “Oh, right. Sure. Come on, let’s get Megan out of here.” Herb rushed back over to the energy field that surrounded Megan. “Can either of you open this thing?”

  I pushed myself up on my hands and knees and looked around. No Laras or Julie. That seemed wrong. If my pet monster had just been killed, I’d be pissed. So where were they?

  My train of thought was interrupted by a horrible wheezing sound. I scrambled to my feet and joined Gears and Herb. “Is the Glawackus having some kind of death throe seizure?” Gears asked.

  It took me a second. “No, Gears,” I said. “It’s laughing.”

  A thin white fog crept from beneath the rubble atop the creature. It ghosted along the floor and gradually rose to eye level, becoming a translucent curtain that was rapidly extending across the room.

  Silhouettes flickered into existence in the fog, vague outlines of people.

  “My God,” Herb whispered, his eyes turning orange. “Those are the souls of all the people it’s consumed.”

  “I don’t suppose any of them would be willing to help us?” I asked hopefully.

  Herb’s face went white as he shook his head. “They’re mad.”

  “I would be, too, if I’d been eaten by a giant demon out of a Dr. Seuss book,” Gears said.

  Herb’s orange eyes flickered. “No, not mad angry, mad insane. Any semblance of humanity is gone from them. They only know hate.” The silhouettes were more pronounced now, taking on definition.

  “Let’s get out of here,” I said.

  “No,” Herb said firmly. “I’m not leaving Megan.”

  “I’ve got no power left, Herb. The only tech in here for Gears to play with is hooked up to Megan, and if he screws with that, it might kill her. I don’t want to leave, either, but this thing is way beyond anything I expected to deal with.”

  I ran over to the door we’d come through. Locked. I put my hands on it to Open it.

  I was suddenly on my back, my body smoldering and tingling.

  God dam
mit, again?

  Laras’s laughter came over the invisible speaker system. “I never get tired of watching you do that, Mr. Corinthos. It’s amazing that you can be so talented and keep falling for such a simple trick.”

  I pulled myself to my feet. The fog had spread further in the room. People were stepping out of it. They were dressed in old-fashioned clothes from the 1930s. They stalked more than walked, and their glowing red eyes and ragged yellow nails reminded me of wights. Each one wore a wicked, feral grin. If Norman Rockwell ever painted a zombie parade, this was probably pretty close to what you’d see.

  My switchblade dropped into my hand. I wasn’t going down without a fight. The Olympian steel flashed blue as I cut a deep slash in the forearm of the closest undead. The undead’s flesh sizzled as the blade passed through it. It recoiled and howled as its arm blackened and smoked. Thank you, Uncle Heph.

  More of the undead pressed forward. I backpedaled, keeping the knife’s glowing blade in front of me. I swiped at hands that reached for me, severing fingers. There were too many of them. This would be a stupid way to die. I bumped into Gearstripper and then into Herb. We were clustered at the outside of Megan’s energy shield. The Glawackus was still laughing. Undead pressed in all around us. This was it.

  “Please,” Herb said to the mass of undead. “Please, don’t do this.” His orange eyes were pleading with them as they continued to press forward. The chubby necromancer clenched his fists and screwed his eyes shut. “No,” Herb hissed. “No. No!” He threw his arms out and roared the most primal sound I’d ever heard come from a human throat. “You will not do this!” His eyes opened and flared an even deeper red than the Glawackus’s and he pointed at the closest undead, whose eyes abruptly turned the same shade of red.

  It turned, grabbed one of its brethren, and tore its arms off. Herb was splattered with the undead’s ectoplasm. A part of my mind was surprised by this; corporeal undead didn’t typically have ectoplasm. Maybe it was because they’d been summoned from a mist-state? I pushed the thoughts away. Analyze things later, when the undead aren’t trying to eat you, Corinthos.

  The dominated undead then began laying into the others using the dismembered arms. Herb began chanting frantically, his voice angry. Another undead followed suit. And another. And another. More and more of the undead fell under Herb’s power and turned against our attackers. A small group of them broke off and began clearing the debris from the Glawackus. The initial stab of panic I felt vanished when I saw these were under Herb’s control, too. They tore away the shattered metal and glass of the light fixture and began tearing ragged gashes into the creature with their nails.

  The Glawackus howled and thrashed. A vein in Herb’s temple throbbed as he forcibly converted more of the undead to our cause and sent them against their former master. Herb’s face had gone beet red and his eyes had turned an even deeper scarlet.

  With a roar, the Glawackus wrenched itself free of the rubble and tore into the closest undead with its claws, scattering a group of them like rag dolls. The Glawackus howled again, and the fog returned. The wights began fading, becoming nothing more than smoky shapes as they tried to dissipate back into the mist.

  “Oh no you don’t,” Herb snarled. “You do not have my permission to leave, I command you to stay!” His chanting resumed, louder and angrier this time. The undead solidified and resumed their bloody assault on the Glawackus. The creature’s snarls became whines. “How do you like it?” Herb hissed. “When I’m done, you’ll—”

  There was a flash of light and Herb jerked. A three-foot length of metal was sticking out through his stomach. Julie stood behind him, the hilt of the Rosario clutched in her hands. A line of blood ran from the corner of Herb’s mouth and his eyes faded to their normal color. “Oh. Oh dear,” he said as he looked at the sword. “That’s bad.” His knees buckled, and he collapsed to the floor, the sword still protruding from his body, blood pooling around him.

  Gears clambered up my leg, vaulted off my chest, and slashed across Julie’s eyes with his claws. She screamed and put her hands up to her ruined face. I ran for the table with Megan’s possessions. Behind me, the Glawackus rumbled to its feet. The fog was starting to pick back up and was coming up to my knees.

  Hoping it would provide some measure of cover, I slid baseball style and dipped under the fog. Despite its increasing thickness, I could make out the Glawackus’s glowing eyes. Don’t see me, I thought as I crawled toward the table. Don’t see me, don’t see me, don’t see me. My skin tingled as I crawled, a residual effect of my most recent electrocution. The Glawackus’s gaze passed over me twice. Almost there. I Glimpsed back to see where a certain 1950’s-style ray gun was on the table.

  My hand bumped against the table’s leg and my skin stopped tingling. I must’ve grounded myself. The Glawackus’s glowing eyes locked onto me. It roared and lumbered forward on mangled front legs. That impediment was the only thing that gave me enough time to grab Megan’s transdimensional pocket cannon from the table.

  I’m a lousy shot, but it’s kind of hard to miss something the size of a Lincoln Navigator at point-blank range. I fired twice and the resulting blue blasts of energy blew two gigantic holes in the Glawackus’s chest. It staggered forward and then collapsed on top of me. The pocket cannon went off one more time before I was pinned to the ground.

  My right arm snapped under the Glawackus’s weight when we hit the floor. My right knee was killing me, my arm was on fire, and it was hard to breathe with a thousand pounds of dead experimental demon on part of my chest. I was covered in gore and damp chunks of Glawackus, and to paraphrase Han Solo, “and I thought it smelled bad on the outside.” It took me a moment to realize that the horrible screams I was hearing were my own. I tried to push past the pain and focus. My left arm was free and flailed against the Glawackus’s bulk to no avail. I’d lost my switchblade somewhere along the way, and I was out of faith. I’d just opened my mind to the Urisk when a boot connected with the side of my head.

  “You bastard,” Laras snarled. “Your pet gremlin blinded Julie. Do you know what a pain that will be for me to heal? Once this fog clears and I find him, I’ll unmake him. And as for you, Mr. Corinthos, your life is forfeit as of right now.” He stalked off, his boots echoing in the chamber. Laras let out a yell of primal frustration and stomped back over to me.

  “Your last wild shot partially melted the Rosario,” he said. “I will not be able to kill Cather with it now, which means I will have to find another way to slay a dragon. Do you know how hard that is, Mr. Corinthos?” A size-ten, steel-toed boot collided into my ribs. “Do you?” Three more kicks in quick succession.

  “Go fuck yourself,” I rasped. My throat was lined with sandpaper. My fever had kicked in, but there was no way I’d heal fast enough to take out Laras. I felt strangely detached from the situation; maybe that was because I knew I was toast. A part of my mind supposed I could take some solace in the fact that, when he killed me, I had still technically fulfilled my promise to Megan, so I wouldn’t go straight to Tartarus. I hated myself immediately as the thought formed. I thought about the Urisk and wondered who would protect them when I was gone. I thought about Petra and how much I’d miss her.

  As my ribs cracked and I cried out, Laras glared down at me and laughed. Somewhere off to the right, I could hear Julie swearing at Gearstripper. Where had he gotten to?

  As if summoned, Gears scrambled up out of the mist and launched himself at Laras’s face. The Keeper got an arm up in time to block, and Gears’s claws raked across his forearm. There was no sound of fabric tearing, no blood, no cry of pain. Gears’s claws slid right off the paranormal worm silk, and Laras caught the gremlin by the arms as he passed. He closed one gloved hand over Gears’s clawed hands and squeezed. I heard the bones in Gears’s wrists snap.

  Gears yelped and tried to bite Laras’s hand, but his teeth couldn’t penetrate the worm silk glove, either. Laras threw Gearstripper over his shoulder like an unwanted toy. The Keeper’s e
yes were crazed as he looked at me. “If I’d known what a pain in the ass you were going to be, Corinthos, I would’ve had my sycophant kill you in that graveyard.”

  Crap. The Keepers had made a suit that would protect them from dragons. A pyromancer for protection from fire; a wereshark for protection from teeth; and illusionist for protection from deception. I should’ve figured that out sooner, but I’d been too distracted by that damned promise to Megan.

  Laras continued. “You nearly stopped me from gaining the materials needed for this protective suit.” He gestured to the black jumpsuit he was wearing. “Then I had to have the suit improved, using material from the Urisk so that I would be prepared to defend myself against you. Regrettable, that. Those Urisk looked so peaceful in their amber shells.”

  If I’d had any fire or force left, I would’ve sent it all at Laras right there. But I was totally empty. Laras had me right where he wanted me, and he knew it. He smiled widely. “Megan Hayes is in stasis. You and the gremlin are about to die. It looks like there are going to be quite a few openings in the Caulborn’s Boston office.”

  Openings.

  I felt something surge in my chest: part hope, part desperation. I pushed the pain aside as best as I could and concentrated, willing a portal to open behind Laras. Reality tore behind the Keeper with a horrific rip. A five-foot-long, two-foot-high gash in the universe hovered just behind him, a horrible scar of darkness in the fabric of the world.

  “Hello,” Laras said softly as he turned to look at it. “What have we here? You are indeed full of surprises, Mr. Corinthos. Still, this is a futile—” A milky white tentacle snaked through the tear and flicked at the air. It was about as thick as my forearm and puckered with tiny scars. Laras was crazier than I thought because he actually took a step toward the thing.