by E A Comiskey
Albert rocked on his toes and tapped his hands against his skinny legs. “Pretty fancy, eh? I bet half the world wishes they were here tonight, but you couldn’t even buy your way in. Have you heard how many celebrities pitched a fit about that?”
In fact, she had heard about it at great length from her mother. Madeline hadn’t shut up about it the whole time they were shopping and getting ready. Clearly, she was trying to live out some kind of fantasy vicariously through Burke.
Story of my life.
Burke wandered along in Albert’s wake, distracted, for the moment, by pondering whether her mother would be thrilled and energized if she knew exactly how Burke spent her days. I could tell her about the wendigo in Colorado that I burned with an actual military-issue flamethrower, and the mummy in Virginia that I drowned in a vat of ammonia.
In her imagination, Maddie scolded, “Burke Dakota, that’s disgusting. No proper lady spends her days wrestling with monsters. My goodness, it’s no wonder you’re getting muscly like a man. What kind of husband will you find if every man you meet is scared of you? Men prefer a woman who’s soft and feminine.”
Nope, nopety, nope, no. There would be no big revelation to Mom regarding the hunter life. They’d all be doing Maddie a favor by leaving her in blissful ignorance.
Burke wove her way through the candy cane forest of bright silk and sparkling jewels under a sky of twinkling white Christmas lights that cast their soft but insistent light on the crowd, banishing the shadowy darkness to exile in the world outside this magical square of luxury. Laughter trilled heavenward like birdsong. Musicians dressed in silver played soft, futuristic-sounding songs on unfamiliar instruments.
Albert found his name on a card set atop a table in a corner farthest from everything and held it up for Burke to see. “This might seem far from the action, but it’s actually great because we don’t have to worry about people constantly bumping into our chairs.”
What Burke wanted to say was, Whatever you need to tell yourself so you can sleep at night, buddy, but she held her tongue and eeked out some sound she hoped would pass for agreement. Two sullen-looking single men and a woman in a dress that Burke guessed had been brand new around the time she’d danced to Whitney Houston’s latest hit at the high school prom, sat in silence. The men gawked at them. The woman stared out at the party with eyes as blank as if her mind were already on a rocket ship to Mars.
“Hey freaks and geeks! We’re here. You can start the party now!” Albert fell into a fit of snorts and shoulder shaking.
Their wide eyes looked from him to her and back again. When he’d sufficiently recovered himself, he gestured to her grandly. “This is my date, Ms. Burke Martin.”
Their gazes settled on her again.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Burke lied politely. Her mother would be so proud.
They stared so long she began to wonder if they were mute. Finally, one of them asked, “You came here with Albert?”
“I did, yes.” A painful but undeniable truth, thanks to her mom and Stanley Kapcheck.
“Don’t seem so surprised, Tim. It’s not like I’ve never brought a lady to a company party before,” Albert said, pulling out his chair and dropping into it.
“You brought the sixty-year-old crazy cat lady from across the hall of your apartment building to the Christmas party last year,” Tim replied.
Albert grinned at Burke. “She’s a real cougar, that one. Don’t be jealous, though. It was never a real thing. I confess, I had a bit of a dry stretch, but things are downright exciting these days. Am I right? The fates have smiled on me.”
She assured him she’d find a way to overcome her raging envy and took her seat in a folding chair covered in bright white canvas.
From nowhere, servers appeared and, thank God from Whom all blessings flow, she had a glass of wine in her hands within moments.
Tim, Albert, and the other guy whose name no one ever mentioned had fallen into a heated conversation about what Burke assumed to be some sort of online fantasy role-playing game. She knew it was all BS because they kept saying that a stalker could kill a mage without batting an eyelash and in her experience, killing a mage was like fighting a god. A mage could be bound, captured, or banished, but hardly ever killed. Whatever a stalker was, it would end up as toast in a real-life battle.
She took advantage of their distraction to scan the crowd. Lots of creepy rich guys, but not a single Caroline creeper. Dozens of shifty eyes, but none that glowed yellow. Not a single guest, so far as she could see from her seat in this luxurious corner of Siberia, sported tell-tale drops of blood on their starched white shirt.
What am I supposed to be looking for anyway? Stanley had been infuriatingly vague on that point. There could be anything at the party. Or nothing at all. Every sort of human, or perhaps just the powerful elite who control the destiny of the entire planet. Gather information. Stop the launch. Don’t let anyone notice you.
No problem.
Having effectively tuned out the men at the table, she leaned toward the silent woman next to her. “Do you work for Coleum?”
The woman fiddled with a bit of lace on her skirt. “I’m here. I’m really here.”
“Yes, but why?” Burke asked.
The woman startled at the question and met Burke’s gaze as though she was noticing her for the first time. “Half the world wishes they were here tonight, but you couldn’t just buy your way in. This is quite a privilege.”
Her bizarre echoing of Albert’s statement pinged on Burke’s Something Is Weird Radar. “Yes. A privilege.” Burke reached for the water glass next to her wine. “So, you work for Coleum, then? Are you in IT, the same as Albert?”
The woman frowned and blinked. She seemed to think about the question for a long moment before replying, “I’m here.”
“Are you sure?” Burke asked.
“Oh, yes. I’m here and it’s a real privilege.” Her attention, dubious as it was, drifted back toward the crowd.
While Burke pondered how best to press for more information while remaining utterly unnoticeable, the music stopped and the man who’d been playing something that resembled a metal lute requested that the group turn their attention toward the stage. In a rustle of expensive fabric and metal chair legs scraping against polished concrete, the masses settled, leaving only a ring of servers standing around the edges of the rooftop.
Burke watched with a hunter’s eye.
Maybe five hundred men and women had gathered for the momentous occasion. Most smiled and whispered, fidgeted, cleared their throats, sipped cocktails and water, and did all the things anyone would expect from a crowd that size, but here and there, like so many mannequins in a crowded mall, someone sat in perfect stillness in a state of expectation, exactly like the woman next to Burke. She counted ten, maybe twelve of the zombie freaks visible from her vantage point.
Not real zombies, though, or the sterling silver flatware would have presented too much of a problem for them as it could cause their flesh to sizzle on contact. Plus, they weren’t decomposing or trying to eat their tablemates. That was a dead giveaway.
Ha! Dead giveaway. She couldn’t help but grin a little at her own unintentional pun.
With everyone settled in, someone new stepped up to the microphone, a tall, skinny guy with thin wisps of sandy brown hair. “It is my distinct honor and privilege to introduce to you a man who needs no introduction. Not the god of war, but one who will lead us to a land unfortunately named after the red deity, and usher those lucky enough to be chosen into a new era of peace heretofore unknown by those on this blue marble.”
As one, the zombies leaned in. Next to Burke, Weird Lady’s breath quickened, and she made a tiny noise disturbingly sexual in nature.
Apparently, Albert noticed it, too. He snorted, although to give credit where credit was due, he snorted quietly. “The ladies all swoon for Jones,” he whispered in Burke’s ear. His overly minty breath tickled her nose and threatened to make h
er sneeze.
At the door through which they’d exited the building onto the rooftop, one of the goons stepped aside and John Jones himself emerged from the dark space—six feet tall and gorgeous, with eyes so blue they sparkled under the twinkle lights. He strode toward the stage with shoulders back but head bowed, confident in his power, striving for humility, failing completely at being humble. The scar across his left brow shown far more visibly in real life than on television, but somehow the jagged line only served to increase his appeal. Without it, he’d have been nearly boyish, too smooth and sleek. With it, he became both mortal and dangerous. In a word, interesting.
The not-really-zombies leapt to their feet, clapping and cheering, fully animated, at last. The entire crowd followed. Burke could easily say she’d never seen any group of employees so overjoyed to see the boss. She peeked in Albert’s direction and noticed the tears glistening in his eyes.
Jones possessed undeniable sex appeal, and he positively radiated charisma, but to bring a grown man to tears... What did this guy have that every other boss in the history of corporate America lacked?
At the podium, Jones made motions in the air as if patting his screaming fans on the head in a weak attempt to make them quiet down and settle back into their seats. The crowd screamed even more wildly.
Burke wondered if the people on the street could hear the ruckus. On the heels of that thought came the realization that, while she’d noticed several news vans and cameras down there amongst the common people, she’d not seen so much as a cell phone camera up here on the roof. She wondered what would happen if she pulled out her iPhone and started recording John Jones’ speech. Probably not the best way to remain invisible.
Eventually, the crowd spent their ecstasy and settled back into their seats. John Jones beamed at them, a benevolent king looking over his subjects, a father gazing out upon his loving children.
Burke leaned close enough to Albert to smell the Irish Spring scent of his skin. “Where’s Umbra?”
Albert held a finger to his lips without ever taking his eyes from Jones.
“Five days, eleven hours, eight minutes until launch,” Jones said.
The crowd surged to their feet again, roaring, screaming, weeping. The woman next to Burke performed a fantastic imitation of a fourteen-year-old girl at a boy-band concert. Burke clapped politely while stitching together a hasty plan of action should the lady faint.
An absurd amount of time passed before the group hushed again. Everyone resumed their seats, sniffling and wiping their eyes. Burke carefully smoothed the WTF frown off her face and focused on John Jones, who encouraged them all to dream big, and reminded them that the launch was a win for the whole team. Each of them played an essential role. High praise was doled out to the engineers and designers, the agricultural scientists and the architects. A brief mention of the technical people who kept the wheels of progress turning caused Albert to visibly swell with pride.
The man displayed great skill at the artform of talking a lot without saying anything.
At long last, Jones paused, during which time he managed to appear as though he made eye contact with each and every person present. “After we do this thing, there will be no need for those who have lingered under oppression to cower and hide from their oppressors. There will be no squabbling over land and resources, which threatens to escalate into nonsensical wars that threaten the existence of us all. There will be, I promise you, space for all.”
Burke braced for another eardrum-shattering standing ovation complete with screams and fanatic shouting, but the crowd maintained a hush that gave her the same sense of holy awe she’d experienced at well-preached Christmas Eve masses. The prophet had spoken. His disciples cowered in awe of their god.
But the god is nowhere to be found, Burke thought. Where is Umbra?
Jones raised his hands, palms up as though in offering. “In the meantime, let us celebrate our success, both past and future.”
Servers appeared at the tables with tureens of steaming soup and enormous crystal bowls of salad, baskets of steaming bread and bottles of wine with which they topped off every glass.
Chapter Fourteen
Richard
With the bedroom lights off and the drapes pulled aside, the nocturnal happenings of Maddie’s neighborhood played out before the watchful eyes of the two hunters like the world’s most boring midnight movie. Mrs. Dister waddled by in a pink running suit with matching pink trainers and a pink baseball cap. Her short grey ponytail poked out of the hole in the back. The ponytail appeared almost identical to the tail of the little gray mutt on the other end of the leash she clutched in her chubby fist. Her head twitched constantly left and right, leaving no doubt that she kept a keen eye out for the veggie-thieving monster. A handful of smallish SUV’s, four-door sedans, and one ancient station wagon rolled by in slow succession over the course of an hour or so, each one carefully obeying the twenty-five-mile-an-hour speed limit and the general rules of safe driving.
Luke Castleberry dragged his rubbish bin to the curb, peeking several times in the direction of Maddie’s house. Maybe Mrs. Dister’s mystery creature would jump out of the bushes and eat old Luke. After all, he had about as much personality as a head of cabbage.
Richard chuckled at the thought.
“What’s on your mind, my friend?” Stanley asked from his seat on Richard’s left. They’d arranged the two ugly, uncomfortable chairs in front of the window with a little table between them as a convenient place to rest their loaded pistols and hot cups of coffee.
“Watching paint dry’d be more exciting than keeping an eye on this street.”
Stanley shifted. The soft rustle of expensive cotton blend, magnified by Richard’s hearing aid, stirred an itch deep inside his skull. He fiddled with the hearing aid’s dial in an attempt to adjust the volume. Stupid thing was smaller than a tick turd.
“Is Mr. Castleberry an old rival of yours?”
The hearing aid buzzed again. “You’re irritating my head,” Richard told him.
“He seems like a very upstanding gentleman,” Stanley said.
“Luke Castleberry has as much personality as wet concrete.” He continued messing with the volume dial. Too low and it buzzed. Too high and a weird bass pulse thumped in counterpoint to his heartbeat, as if one of the neighbors several houses away played rock music with a baseline just loud enough for the sound waves to jab at his brain. The sensation left him shifting in the rickety chair, unable to settle in with any degree of comfort.
“Could it be you don’t appreciate the affection he clearly feels for your daughter?”
Richard pulled the offending device from his ear and tossed it on the table where it slid and settled to a stop against one of the pistols. Ah, blessed quiet. “Need a battery,” he told Stanley. “I can’t hear you.” He glanced at the clock and took note that it had been almost five hours since Burke left in Albert’s prissy hybrid.
Chapter Fifteen
Burke
Burke leaned over and told Albert she had to powder her nose. He nodded vaguely as though not quite sure what to make of that information, and she left him sitting there to figure it out. Rather than make her way through the middle of the crowd, she skirted the edges to get a good glimpse of the group as a whole.
The not-really-zombies ate, just like everyone else. They sipped their wine and seemed to all be using the correct forks—pure silver forks. None of them appeared to be drooling, so far as she could tell, but neither did any of them speak or make conversation, with one exception.
A young man, strikingly handsome, with ebony skin and deep dimples, muscles apparent even under the layers of his tuxedo, and eyes the exact golden brown of polished oak, who’d earlier acted just like the others, was now nodding along and engaged in conversation at the side of a rather plain-looking woman . She patted his arm affectionately and basked in the glow of his attention, but the moment she looked away, his countenance faded back to a flat forward stare.
This wasn’t anything Burke had seen before. Monsters could suck away memories or even souls, leaving a drooling, mindless husk, but these Stepford people were something entirely new to her experience. Clearly, they weren’t blood-thirsty monsters, but something smelled witchy, to say the least.
She continued around the perimeter of the space until she reached the doorway that led back into the building. The goons let her pass without comment, and she descended from the heavens back into the tower. She’d already noted nothing more exciting than a series of meeting rooms and closets between the elevators and the rooftop entrance. No major revelations came to her as she retraced her path through that space. No bodies with vampire bitten necks or unexplained pools of blood appeared in plain view inside any of the conference room windows. Not one of the little golden plaques on the wall appeared to be hoodoo symbols.
Two men passed her, both of them doing that absurd up-and-down thing with their eyes that men do as if they’re checking out livestock. After that, she found herself alone in the hall. She jumped on the opportunity to accidentally on purpose walk right past the bathroom and around the corner. More meeting rooms. Apparently, the executives at Coleum Corporation used the top floor to impress visiting guests with the lofty view of the top layer of smog hanging over the city on a sunny day. But at the end of the hall, two big glass doors led to a waiting room dominated by a fancy wooden desk.