by Al K. Line
Yuki sort of went ape-shit on the guy. He beat him half to death in a frenzy of fists and kicks and didn't even bother to use magic, just old skool art of fighting like I've never seen. I asked him to teach me but he refused, saying he didn't fight any more, and besides, he had a pub to run.
Musings over, I realized I'd drunk half my beer without doing what I'd come here to do. Time to get busy. The sooner I got on the job the sooner it would be over. Was I losing it? My edge, what made me such a good Justice?
No, I was just tired, needed a rest, a sleep. Like for maybe a few decades and when I woke up everything would be back to normal, how it was before the Rift, but that really was just wishful thinking. And anyway, Zeno would be gone then, Mack too, although I did prefer him as a dormouse to a home destroying demon.
Draining my beer, I put down the ancient glass and fished out my phone. I got the email up with the details of the job and read it through again. Damn this new technology, things were much easier when you had a proper piece of paper, a real live person giving you the info. That's progress for you.
Time to get to work.
I caught Yuki's eye and he glided over, raising a brittle white eyebrow. I turned the phone around so he could see the picture I'd been sent. "You know him?" He nodded. "He a good guy?" A shrug of the shoulders. "He hardcore or just playing?"
"He hardcore. Totally immersed."
"Thought so. Shame. I gonna have trouble with him?"
"Lots."
"Thanks." Yuki Ye nodded and went to serve one of the ghosts that refuse to move on—the beer is that good.
So, as I'd assumed by the tone of the email and the look of the guy in the picture, this would be a messy as hell Justice job. He wouldn't submit easily, so this would be no picnic, but it never is. It always sucks and it always makes you feel alive like nothing else.
Time for battle.
I just had to pee first. The beer always goes through me faster than Yuki can take your money.
To the Streets
The city was quiet outside the pub. Ye's is only a few minutes from the heart of the city, the shopping district, a main high street with endless small alleys weaving around the hill and down to the parkland and the river, but it's quiet, set back from the hustle and bustle. The lack of traffic noise was still disconcerting after months of clean air.
It's not until you listen to the city that you realize what's missing, but it's the roar of engines, the beeping of horns, the squealing of tires. It was just background noise, nothing you noticed until it was gone. Now it's as if the city is sleeping, taking a break from the chaos even though it's never been as crazy as it is now.
The narrow alley was empty, peaceful and welcome after the mad morning. The beer had dulled my senses somewhat so, with regret, I let a little magic rise and felt it hit my brain like an ice bath. Foggy thoughts were replaced with clarity and my energy boosted, a hit I am always grateful for but one I knew would leave me needing to eat soon.
Leaning against ancient brickwork, I studied the image of the man on my phone. He had a square, yet long head, thin lips, jaw like granite, thick stubble and the most piercing blue eyes I think I have ever seen. They were cold, heartless, and arrogant. He looked haunted. His hair was a regular brown, hanging halfway down his back, nothing special, neck thick and bunched with muscle just like the rest of him. He was like a troll in miniature, meaning he was massive and looked like he layered muscle onto his body for a living.
Pumi-Sopa Fialkowski, just Pumi to all that knew him, or knew of him. Meaning everyone Strange. For all its integration, those of us deemed Strange are still miles apart from everyday folk. It's a cloistered world in many regards, and we are as much to blame as anyone else. We stick together, each mixing with our own kind, living close by, sometimes many in the same building, and we have our own rules and regulations. But we know of each other, know who is in charge of each group of those involved in magic.
Things may have become a little confused to put it mildly since the Rift, and there has certainly been a lot more trouble, but Strange know their own world, and Pumi was legendary. Yuki had confirmed what I'd heard about him, so it was worth coming, plus the beer was great, of course.
Pumi's a straight up, honest-to-goodness gladiator. Yes, like seriously. A proper, I fought to the death in the ancient Roman arenas and killed and killed and battled tigers and lions and men with nothing left to lose with spears and swords and knives and shields until I won my freedom, that type of gladiator.
And he is sexy as hell and utterly terrifying.
Pumi is also a monster. That should probably be a capital M, but hey, that's not how we talk about ourselves. I'm not a Witch, I'm a witch, and Pumi, he probably deserves to be called Monster, but that would give him too much credit.
He's a monster, meaning exactly that. Otherwise known as a shifter, shape-shifter, changeling, whatever you want to call it. A genuine monster is what I call it and so does everyone else because he is an aberration and feared like no other human being. His type is as rare as a dwarf giving away gold, and he is out of the loop, a loner, neither part of a faction, group, or clique. He is who he is. Unique, a man beyond Alpha who can shift into that which is the form he was born with, from a long line of others just like him. They are far superior to the rest of the shifter communities and so much more powerful it isn't even funny.
He can shift at will, physically or just his inner state, and I have never heard of anyone that has seen him turn into the monster and survive. He earned his freedom by channeling this monster in the gladiatorial ring and triumphing, but now there is no need for him to hide what he is and he is known by us all.
Weird thing is, I'd never known him to cause any trouble. Ever. He kept to himself, a real loner, but a job is a job and if what I'd been told was true then it was time to go get him and deal with him.
Um, yeah. Yikes.
In Search of a Monster
Not long after Strange allowed themselves to be known by the world at large, the shifter communities had an epiphany. They decided to get along. It took time, and it sure as hell kept me busy, but they finally put aside old squabbles, old grudges that meant they fought each other even though they no longer knew why, and they organized, built something real. They are all the better for it.
Even the Rift changed little for them, apart from increasing dramatically their trade in animal skins and the new clothes they began producing that the new Strange took a shine to.
Most shifters moved to a single area in the city, buying up cheap housing in neighborhoods that were always seen as dangerous and poverty-stricken, giving the homeowners a way out and them a way in. This wasn't them shunning outside society, it was how they gave themselves employment and a sense of community—it's no easy thing to hold down a regular job when you could turn into a lion and eat the other telemarketers, or a horse and all your workmates take the piss and jump on your back, yelling giddy-up.
So they got serious and sorted themselves out. Shifter home turf is beautiful, an incredible achievement right in the heart of the city, surrounded by the endless maze of Victorian, red brick terraced houses and their generous gardens. You can smell it a mile away, a curious mix of farmland odors and from spring to late summer the perfume of the gardens—it was like a welcome friend amid the dirt and the stink of fumes.
Now, without the sullied air, the fragrances are almost overpowering in their intensity. With the cars gone the flowers perfume the air with a scent out of this world.
More shifters are spread throughout the country, but they seem to congregate here. I guess that's the draw of magic and of your own kind—it's always better to feel persecuted in company than alone.
They live in the crescent, each house a semi-detached. The gardens behind are about a hundred feet long, but part of the deal is that nobody encloses the rear of their property, just the front. The result is a massive sweeping expanse of land used to grow crops, house animals, butcher, make clothes, process skins an
d anything else they can think of to be as self-sufficient as possible—with the current explosion in population they are doing damn fine business.
Without knowing where Pumi lived, this seemed like as good a place as any to start the search. Breathing deep of the perfumed air, I wandered around the whole of the crescent on the road side, admiring the floral displays in the small front gardens, each home immaculate, windows sparkling, not a weed in sight, cars parked up, no longer used.
I nodded at familiar faces, smiled and waved, acting casual and trying not to get angry at the frowns some greeted me with. After all, I was a Justice on their territory and usually that meant only one thing—one of them was in serious trouble. Knowing I would end up in trouble myself if I didn't get down to business, I stepped across a cattle grid and entered the weird farm.
And nearly immediately got trampled by a bloody huge bull.
"Whoa there, Bruce," yelled Tantus Crane, a scrawny guy in his early forties, all wiry muscle and rosy farm cheeks. He's also a goat shifter, which I'd be a bit down about but I don't think I've ever seen him without a smile on his face. Better than taking it personally, I guess.
Tantus wasn't meant to be in this part of the farm, but I guess when you have a job to do like catch a wayward bull then the rules go out the window.
"Hey, Tantus, keeping you busy is he?"
"Ugh, you can say that again. Bloody thing got horny and has been wreaking havoc. Randy bugger aren't you, eh?" Tantus tugged affectionately on the rope attached to the ring through the bull's nose and it snorted in reply.
"Guess the warm weather is stirring up the juices. Look, you seen Faith? I need a chat with her." The bull was really freaking me out, and he kept looking at me funny. Tantus too, but I was used to his leers.
"Sure, she's tending the tomatoes. You know where that is?"
"Yeah, I know. Thanks." I got out of there before Tantus could say anything else. He liked to chat but I wasn't in the mood and didn't want to waste any more time now I was in Justice mode and on the case.
Skirting the vegetable plots, past miniature fields of crops I should know the names of but didn't, a walk through the apple orchard and I was at the large polytunnel where the tomatoes were grown.
I stood in the entrance, watching Faith at work. She wore a simple green vest that showed off her tanned arms and highlighted hair the color of the straw bales piled up outside. She is slightly overweight, meaning she is curvy in all the right places, has pendulous breasts that act like they are trying to escape and go off on an adventure, and a bum she can hardly contain in her clothes. Pretty and wobbly, bouncing like two puppies under the covers.
Watching her brought back old memories of when she was a few years younger and I was just as jaded as I am now, but friendship is more important than anything, and we have remained friends and grown closer since those few encounters. I still think of those times now and then—those are memories that will never be lost, no matter how old I get and what else has to make room so I can keep them.
Faith must have heard me lick my lips and started at the interruption, dropping a spool of twine she was using to train the tomatoes on their canes.
"You scared the life out of me." She bent to pick up the twine. I'm sure she turned her back to me on purpose, just so I'd get an eyeful.
"Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt, but do you have a minute?"
"For you, always." Faith set aside her things and came to gave me a kiss. It was warm, wet, and tasted of vine.
"You been eating the produce again?"
"Just to check they will be nice. It's too early for most of them but I'm trying out this new strain and they're... Sorry, I'll ramble for hours about tomatoes if you let me and I can see you're busy. Tough job?"
"The worst."
"You want a hug?"
"Keep your hands to yourself, missy."
"Haha, just thought I'd check. Okay, what can I do you for?"
"You know Pumi-Sopa Fialkowski, right?"
"Doesn't everyone? God, he's got a body on him. Like they made a man then stuffed him full of men then put a few extra muscles on him just in case he wasn't manly enough already."
"Whatever. I need to find him."
"For work?"
"Afraid so. Where does he hang out? He come around much?"
"Not as much as I'd like. We get on but a lot of folks won't accept him because of what he is."
"I know, and that sucks, but I still need to find him."
"He comes now and then, I give him some of the produce, and he does like his meat, but haven't seen him for a while. Hmm, probably weeks and weeks come to think about it."
"Any ideas where he hangs, or people he is pally with?"
"Not really. You could try the camps. He does a lot of work there lately."
"The camps? The Rift camps?" Now this was interesting. "What's he doing there?"
"Helping. He's a good guy, Swift. Genuine. He's been helping some of them come to terms with things. It's a major shock to a lot of them and they aren't coping very well."
"He doesn't seem the type."
"That's what most people think, but only because they don't get to know him. Beneath all that macho crap he's a real baby, soft as these." Faith wiggled and her boobs wobbled like they were going to pounce. Visions of her morphing into a sleek, striped cat, purring softly crowded my mind and I had to stop my hands from moving. They seemed to have made a decision I was unaware of.
"Okay, thanks. I'm outta here."
"What, no goodbye kiss?" Faith puckered up and I pecked her quickly then slapped her bum before making a quick exit.
Time to go to the camps, although I could think of better places to be, like, absolutely anywhere else.
Camp Stress
Why would Pumi go out of his way to help those in need? Was it a ploy to get access to the defenseless, or was what Faith had said true?
This guy was seriously full of contradictions. The problem was I trusted Faith implicitly, and her word has always been good. She is the genuine article. Kind, considerate, emotional. A maker, not a destroyer, and if she was friends with someone then you could bet they were decent. She also had a habit of befriending the waifs and strays, the damaged and the needy. All good, but it clouded her vision, making her caring and generous with her emotions, all things I struggle with.
So what was the truth? Only one way to find out.
I regretted it as soon as I got to the camps. This was a shanty town in full effect. Teeming with the confused, the dazed, the hopeful and the utterly lost. Many Strange that came through the Rift were at a loss as to what to do, so they built their own homes of a sort on the outskirts of the city based around some of the industrial areas that were abandoned soon after their arrival.
The warehouses and the massive hangars were perfect for those that couldn't find anywhere in the city to get a roof over their head because of their size, and they also allowed the various groups to meet and talk, lament their lost homes, and generally mope about waiting for things to miraculously get better.
It was like the camp at the middle of the city but with bells on. It was well away from the epicenter of the Rift as few could stand to be in such a place. The magic was too strong, too warped; it did funny things to your head. Humans felt it as an irritation at the back of their mind, our new visitors felt it as a terrible gnawing at their sanity—stay there too long and you would be toast. Not that it stopped them all, of course, some reveled in such mental chaos.
Although there were still plenty of abandoned houses the Strange could have occupied, for many the very idea of shutting themselves inside a brick box was utterly alien. They were used to their own particular worlds—vast, varied, and unknowable. But one overriding, uniting factor was the need to see the sky, feel the air and be a part of the world, not closeted away. Natural, like it always used to be, I guess.
It stank to high heaven.
Have you ever seen the size of a demigod's evacuation? Smelled it? No? Luck
y you. Some of them were less than accustomed to toilet etiquette and the only saving grace was that after a lot of complaints, human and otherworldly, a few enterprising demons got busy with the claws and in no time, with a little help from the dwarves, they had a sewage system any city in the world would be proud of.
But the place was still a mess, full of hastily constructed shelters, makeshift cooking spots, with all manner of weird and wonderful sights to be seen.
I wandered, at a loss as to how to find Pumi, not even sure I wanted to. What then, blast him with magic and hope nobody got in the way? Less than ideal.
I spotted a group of vampires standing around staring at something but I couldn't see what as they had their backs to me, so I dodged the fires and the scratched magic runes on the ground and headed on over.
These were all relatively young ones, by vampire standards anyway. The older ones liked to stick to the nighttime, not because of any real aversion to daylight, just that they felt it only right, to uphold tradition and keep the mystery alive. Such outdated concepts were fading fast and the youngsters refused to tow the line. A few more years and the mystique would be gone, vampires would be nothing but humans infected with a warped magic virus and seen as nothing special.
You should have seen it in the old days, the stuff they got up to, the clothes they wore. You'd laugh if they didn't genuinely go out and suck the necks of virgins and do unspeakable things to them as they lay dying in pools of their own blood.
Recognizing one, I sidled up to him and got a look at what was so interesting. Sickness rose and anger along with it. Was there no peace for any of us? A tiny thing lay on the ground, a raven-haired vampire leaning over it, and as I watched he bit into his own wrist and dark blood dripped slowly into the distorted mouth of the dying creature. The flow stopped almost immediately and he had to bite again, the vampire magic sealing the wound as soon as it opened, preserving the life force of the vampire.
"What happened, Simon?" Look, not everyone has cool names, most people are just regular folk. Even if something supernatural changes you at the core, you still have a name.