by C. T. Phipps
“I can’t speak for the others but Falconcrest City is a massive convergence of negative energy both in its architecture and ley lines. Those who practice evil magic find it a better place than anywhere on Earth to work their rituals. It’s why Diabloman was so dangerous despite being a relatively minor tattoo mage.”
“We’re on a frigging portal to hell?”
“Essentially.”
“Is that why this town is such a shithole?”
“More like this city’s misery led to it becoming a convergence for everything bad in the universe. It’s why Arthur and Lancel were so determined to fight human evil as well as foster goodwill around the city. They hoped to weaken the malevolent occult forces gathered here to prey on the helpless.”
“I just thought it was because they were nice.” I searched the kitchen drawers for a flashlight and found it. Turning it on, no beam came out. “Great.”
“Arthur was a good person. Lancel...was complicated.”
Deciding it was more likely the batteries were dead than demons from hell were coming to kill me, I headed to the basement door, passing by Galadriel who’d woken up and was moving around in the dark.
They were as close to kids as I’d likely ever have.
“Should I ask about that?”
“No,” I said, heading down the stairs with one hand on the bannister. “Don’t ever ask again.”
“Alright.”
It was blacker than the already dark house upstairs, verging on pitch black. The stairs were unusually creaky, too. If not for the fact I didn’t think it was within his powers, I’d say Cloak was trying to scare me.
Which was a lost cause. Nothing scared me since Keith.
“That disturbs me because it seems to be true.”
“I’m scared of losing Mandy and my friends, but death? No, that doesn’t scare me. I made peace with that a while ago.”
“May I offer you a piece of advice?”
“Can you not?” I asked, wondering if I was going to be stuck with a surrogate dad in Cloak for the rest of my life.
“I advise you to be wary of Diabloman and Ms. Wakowski. Diabloman is affable enough to his friends and those who treat him with respect, but responsible for many deaths. Cindy is a broken woman like so many others who survived the south of Falconcrest City. Anything good in her died a long time ago.”
“And maybe you’re a judgmental prick.”
“Perhaps.”
That was when I felt my costume slither over my body as if it was a bottle of ink poured over me. It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling and I enjoyed Cloak’s presence in physical form. Uh, for some measure of the term.
However, I didn’t summon him.
“Did you do that?” I asked aloud.
“No.”
“Uh-oh.”
Lifting my right hand, I conjured a ball of flame to illuminate my surroundings. Instead of its normal golden-orange color, though. The flame burned a brilliant white. For the most part, what I saw was nothing more than the usual stuff I found in my basement: washing machine, dryer, polybagged comic book collection, unused gym equipment, Mandy’s highly illegal arsenal of weapons in case of P.H.A.N.T.O.M attack or alien invasion, and boxed Hanukah decorations.
Then I turned around.
Greeting me on the other side of the room was a naked blood-soaked Mandy or a woman who looked identical to her except for the eyes which reminded me strongly of Gabrielle’s. Her fingernails were like talons and she reached out to me.
Her voice was like the voice of Hell itself.
“Oh, my Samael,” the bloody figure whispered in the dark. It was like hell itself. “God sent you to me to be my gevurah.”
I retracted my earlier statement about never feeling fear. I screamed like a little girl. Actually, no, my sister Kerri was a little girl once, and she never screamed like this. I screamed like a very scared shrieky person.
“Soooooooon.” The bloody figure vanished.
I swore for the next minute. I was still doing so when the basement lights switched back on.
“Calm yourself,” Cloak said. “It is over.”
“What the bleep was that?” I asked, actually using the word bleep since fuck had lost its power after the sixteenth time I’d used it.
“Death,” Cloak said. “The Master of the Reaper’s Cloak. She’s trying to contact you.”
“Death as a concept, angel, goddess, force, or anthropomorphized entity?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you, so very much,” I muttered. “Did the Nightwalker deal with her much?”
“No, he did not. This could be very good or very bad. Probably the latter.”
I cursed again. “I was fine with ghosts who look like little girls and bankers. It’s cheating when they look like loved ones.”
Cloak was not sympathetic. “Oh boo hoo.”
I cursed at Cloak and dismissed the attire. Taking a moment to calm myself, I sighed. “Okay, this is just one more of the many-many surprises I’m finding out is involved with owning the Reaper’s cloak. I’ll deal with it like I’ve dealt with the others.”
“Good,” Cloak said. “She used a word to describe you. Gevurah. Do you know what that means?”
“You don’t know something?” I asked.
“It happens, surprisingly enough. Judaism is one of the few areas I’m wholly unfamiliar. The Rabbis of Falconcrest refused to teach Master Warren anything due to his past involvement in matters best left unspoken of.”
“His loss. It’s some Kabbalistic stuff I’m not too certain on but Kerri is into. It is God’s mode of punishing the wicked and judging humanity in general. It is the foundation of stringency, absolute adherence to the letter of the law, and strict meting out of justice.”
“An odd thing to ascribe to you.”
I frowned. “Perhaps not.”
“Oh?”
“Samael is the name of the Accuser in Judaism. The corruptor, the tempter, the seducer, and destroyer. He’s also the Angel of Death who works for God rather than opposes him like Lucifer. He’s both good and evil.”
“Death never says anything without purpose. If she chooses those names to describe you. I’d be very afraid.”
I was.
But I’d never admit that.
I’d had enough of being afraid to last a life time.
Chapter Nine
Promises are Made to be Broken (or Destined)
I couldn’t sleep after my sudden encounter with Death and her mysterious words. As much as I’d wanted this, I was starting to think maybe, just maybe, I’d bitten off a little more than I could chew.
“You don’t say,” Cloak said.
“Don’t be a wiseass,” I muttered, heading to the kitchen and working on preparing Mandy breakfast. “That’s what I’m for.”
It was almost sunrise anyway, and by the time I had the eggs, bacon, and toast made, it was the start of a brand new day in Falconcrest City. According to the Morning news on the kitchen television, there had been eighteen reported murders last night and one terrorist attack. They barely touched on Amanda Douglas being kidnapped but did mention she’d been seen in the company of a boy band member who used to be popular ten years ago.
“Huh,” I said, setting out full plates for both me and Mandy. “That’s a surprisingly slow day.”
“The city is tearing itself apart without the Nightwalker,” Cloak muttered, his voice low and gravelly.
“When the cat’s away, the mice will play,” I said, pouring myself a glass of orange juice. “Except, the cat is dead and the mice are mutant cannibal rats.”
“You are very blasé about this.”
“The Nightwalker was always a release valve on this city. He, Arthur Warren, Ultragoddess, for the brief time she was here, and the Sunlights, kept the city from exploding. The thing is they couldn’t do enough to fix things. Maybe things getting so bad the Society of Superheroes, government, or god forbid, the actual citizenry stepping up will be a good thing. Thin
gs sometimes have to fall down to be built back up.”
“Your anarchist sentiments are noted. But no one gives much thought to just what falling down will look like versus reform. The people in power will not turn to gentle measures to preserve their position. They will turn to the harshest measures they can get away with and the public will let them. They will call monsters who call themselves heroes and give them free-reign. They will test children for superpowers then those children who have them, and their families, will disappear. Cops will stop carrying guns and start carrying death rays. Power will be given to those who promise changes and never surrendered. Then it will have to be burned to the ground. I have seen it happen before.”
I took a long drink of orange juice. “And I thought I was the tin-foil hat wearing crazy person out there.”
“The difference between a superhero and a supervillain is often only that one knows when to stop.”
“Nope,” I said, finishing my drink. “The difference between a superhero and a supervillain is one has style.”
Cloak wasn’t entirely talking out of his ass, well if he had an ass. As much as I envisioned myself as a budding counter-culture icon in the making, superheroes were often in the middle of any argument between the right and the left. They were always counselling moderation, empathy, and half-measures. While I wasn’t a big fan of it, there were plenty of times when the public seemed ready to hand the country over to folk like Tom Terror or General Venom if they got rid of the superhumans.
People would burn the Mona Lisa to get rid of a smudge on it.
“Those who would give up essential Liberty, to purchase a little temporary Safety, deserve neither Liberty nor Safety.”
“Ben Franklin,” I said, recognizing the quote. “It was also about taxation to build a militia.”
Cloak sounded frustrated. “Be that as it may—”
“Yo, Mandy!” I called to my wife as she was getting out of bed.
Mandy was dressed in an extra-large black and white Hello Kitty t-shirt. Kitty had a pair of batwings sticking out of her head and a pair of fangs. She was wearing a pair of fuzzy Chewbacca slippers on her feet and rubbing her eyes. “I had the strangest dream about dragons, vampires, and death.”
I grimaced. “Yeah, Death came to visit me last night.”
“Eh?”
“Long story,” I said, handing her a cup of coffee.
“It can wait,” Mandy said, blinking; still shaking off her sleepiness. “So, anything in the papers about your exploits?”
“Not a bit,” I said, shaking my head. “Apparently, I’ll have to raise a bigger stink if I’m going to make it famous.”
Mandy went to give the dogs treats. She then picked up the paper and unfolded it in front of the refrigerator. “The gang wars are heating up, it seems, and way too many costumed criminals are suspiciously out on parole. Maybe they’ll do us all a favor and kill each other off.”
I stared at her, looking up from the Keurig. “Really, Mandy?”
“How many criminals have you killed since you started all this?”
“Not...that many.”
“Since yesterday?”
She had a point. “Well, in any case, I’m going to be out most of this week. I’d like your help in making sure I don’t screw up.”
Mandy didn’t look up from her paper. “So, now you want me to be an accessory to your crimes?”
“What if my crimes are limited to very bad people?” I suggested.
Mandy paused. I could hear the wheels turning in her head. “I’m listening.”
“Marriage is a compromise. Why don’t you help keep me on the crooked and narrow?” I said, starting to cut up my eggs. “We can work together to keep me from doing anything so heinous you’ll divorce me, and I’ll have access to your wonderful expertise in figuring out how to screw over people who stand in my way of being the best supervillain in town.”
“Gary, what IS your definition of a supervillain, anyway?”
I paused, thinking carefully. “A person who commits crimes for their own benefit, ego, and self-interest. Which frankly, let’s be honest, I am.”
“Alright.” Mandy said. “I suppose I might be willing to work with you on this. You need to understand, though, Gary, I don’t think this is a game. You were almost killed fighting the Ice Cream Man and Typewriter and they don’t even have superpowers. You’re also hanging out with very dangerous people.”
I gave her a sly look. “Worried about me straying?”
“With Cindy? No.” Mandy paused. “But that’s because I’m not sure I have enough acid to dispose of both your bodies.”
I smirked.
Mandy lowered her paper, glaring.
I grimaced, taking another bite. Chewing, I said, “Come on, we did good work there, Mandy. We killed a domestic terrorist and saved a celebrity. The police seem willing to look the other way, too. We can do some real good in this town. Maybe we can even get some of the chaos under control.”
“That’s what I’m worried about.”
“What’s that?”
“The easy justifications. You’ve killed people, already, Gary. First it’s robbing a bank after saving it then it’s blackmailing the Douglases for more money. How long until you’re trying to take over the city’s underworld for the greater good?”
“That you don’t have to worry about,” I said, continuing to eat my breakfast.
“How’s that?” Mandy asked.
“I make no pretense of this being for the greater good. It’s for mine and mine alone.”
Mandy looked at me. “Gary?”
“Yeah.”
“If you hurt anyone innocent. A kid or an innocent bystander or someone who is in your way—like a witness—I’ll stop you. Permanently, if I have to.”
Wow, that went dark quickly.
“What did you expect when you embarked on a life of crime?”
Cloak had me there.
I looked up at her, meeting her gaze. I then spoke from the heart. “If I start doing that, I’ll want you to. I want to honor Keith’s legacy, not drag it through the mud to become the kind of man Shoot-Em-Up claimed him to be.”
Mandy and I were silent for a long time.
Finally, she said, “I’ll hold you to that.”
That was when the kitchen landline rang. It was the first call we’d received on there in years. Picking it up, I said, “I really hope this isn’t another phone call from Hell.”
“What now?” Mandy asked.
A thick Mexican accented voice spoke on the other end. “It is I, Diabloman.”
“Oh, hey, Diablo.”
“You’re talking to the Devil now?” Mandy asked, her eyes widening.
“Not yet,” I answered her. Turning back to the mouthpiece, I asked, “What’s up?”
“I have located suitable lodgings for you,” Diabloman said, his voice all business.
“Suitable lodgings?” I asked.”
“Si,” Diabloman said. “You cannot be a proper supervillain without a lair. A place where you can conduct business, store stolen goods, keep weapons and equipment. A location which impresses potential employees with your power and influence. Truly, these sorts of places are a vital part of the process.”
I hadn’t really given much thought to the whole thing but I supposed he was right. I was more surprised he was taking his whole “supervillain consultant” thing so seriously. “Okay, tell me about the place.”
“It is better that you see it for yourself. Big Ben and I have been in negotiations for the past hour and a half.”
Ah, Big Ben, now there was a name which had serious pull in the Falconcrest City Underworld. He’d been at this whole supervillain thing since the Forties, being there when gangsters had started to be replaced with more serious criminals.
Caught by the Nightwalker hundreds of times, he’d managed, to almost always avoid getting convicted of anything serious. He’d served jail time once for an extended period but ended up back on th
e streets in the Nineties. I hoped I was still in the game when I was almost a hundred. I wondered what health foods the guy ate.
“This isn’t going to turn out to be an abandoned warehouse somewhere, is it?” I asked, hoping to God it wasn’t. “I really don’t want to start at the bottom.”
“No amusement parks, abandoned factories, fun houses, or warehouses,” Diabloman said, surprising me with his thoroughness. “I also avoided any buildings with giant M’s on them. I thought that might be a bit ostentatious until you’ve developed a legitimate front to market your image.”
“I’ll have to ask you about branding. Supervillain culture is a big thing now in rap music,” I replied, looking over at my wife. Mandy was frowning at me. Clearly, we still had a long way to go in coming to an understanding regarding my dream. “So, Diablo, where should I go to check out my new digs?”
“The Falconcrest City Clock Tower. It’s yours now.”
“Mine?” I wasn’t sure I liked that. It was expensive-sounding and I hadn’t made that much money. The Clock Tower was the largest building in town and I was pretty sure I couldn’t afford a down payment on a down payment.
Mandy looked over from her computer. “What’s going on?”
“I own the Falconcrest City Clock Tower.”
Mandy looked at me sideways, blinking. “Can you buy landmarks?”
“Either that or I’m buying the rights to use it. This is my first time buying a secret headquarters.”
“You are purchasing the secret compartment behind the clock face,” Diabloman explained.
“Ah, that makes more sense,” I said. “How much will it cost?”
“Ten million dollars,” Diabloman said, calmly.
“Ten million dollars?” I choked out, needing a second to catch my breath.
“What!” Mandy sounded even more shocked than I.
Dammit, that was going to be a conversation.
“Will that be a problem?” Diabloman asked, concerned.
“No!” I replied. “Not at all. See you there in an hour.”