Obsidian Blues

by J. S. Miller

  “Oh, well, I'd love to help a friend,” he said, removing his hat and holding it in his hands. “But thinkin’s mighty hard with my stomach growling so loud.”

  He placed a hand on his ample belly and smiled. I placed mine on the butt of my gun. Bluffing was my only real option here, seeing as I hadn’t brought any cash or valuables and had no idea what these people used for currency anyway. The man glanced down at the gun, and a mocking smile began to form on his lips. But then his eyes stopped on my ring. They went wide, and the smile wilted.

  “Them statue dogs, they who you want?” he asked. “They usually head for The Parish.”

  “The Parish?”

  “Up on Cobblestone,” he said, standing hurriedly and waving a trembling hand in too vague a direction. “Thataway.”

  “I'm afraid I'm going to need more — hey, wait!”

  The old man was already scampering off in the opposite direction. I looked around and took in the street, which had been filled with people only minutes before. Now it was empty, aside from a lone mysterious figure standing in the mouth of a nearby alleyway. He wore a hooded cloak, so I couldn’t make out his face, but he seemed to be silently watching me.

  “And who the hell are you?” I asked.

  The figure, now the only sign of life in the area, backed into the alley and disappeared. I glanced around one last time, but my curiosity got the best of me, and I followed.

  Chapter 13

  The alley would’ve felt more at home on the front flap of a dime detective novel than nestled among the fairytale streets of Astoria. It was dark — too dark with those big green suns shining overhead. And yet I could see well enough. I saw the fire escapes running up both sides like steel stitching on brick and mortar garments. I saw color and shapes where street artists had sacrificed clean wall to the muse. And I saw a dead end a little way down.

  I also saw that the cloaked figure was gone.

  I stepped farther into the alley, and a bad feeling hit me like a cold breeze. My eyes settled on the dark patch I’d taken for a dead end, but the longer I looked, the less mundane it felt, as if a block of light and sound had been surgically removed from the universe. It was another doorway … just like the one back in my lab. Again, it appeared to have been placed here specifically for me. Goody.

  Ignoring my instincts, I inched closer — not too close, but enough to feel air-conditioned air and smell strange smells. Not only the soap and ozone I’d anticipated, but also other aromas that weren’t exactly endemic to trash-lined alleyways. These were cleaning supplies and antiseptic ointment, scents I associated with illness and decay. They set off alarm bells. This was too weird not to be a trap. I spun on my heel, planning to walk right back out of there, but the cloaked stranger stood in my path, blocking the way.

  The figure tilted its head at me, but before I could ask another diplomatic question, the cloak rustled and a foot lashed out, slamming into my stomach. I fell onto my back, gasping. The figure walked around me, grabbed one of my arms, and started dragging me toward the hole.

  “No,” I gasped. “Please.”

  He looked down at me, face shrouded in shadow. It was like gazing into The Laughing Man’s black hole eyes all over again. Then the figure heaved, and the darkness swallowed me.

  The fall was much the same as before. In the void between worlds, you lose all sense of space and time, of the tiny area you occupy in a vast universe, but you can still think and feel and scream. It’s kind of like drowning in an Olympic-sized pool filled with panic-attack-flavored Jell-O. I’m relatively sure I threw up at some point, but who knows where it went.

  A pinhole of light appeared ahead of me. It grew and grew until white filled my vision, and then I rolled out of the abyss, face slapping down onto a cold, smooth surface that felt a lot like linoleum. Oh, hey. It was linoleum. And it smelled of counterfeit lemons. It was that same medicinal smell, the one that comes from using cleaning supplies thoroughly and often. Was I back on Earth? Somewhere similar, at least, with the same citrusy cleansers and affordable flooring.

  The place looked like a hospital room, only nicer and outfitted with higher-end gear. There was a single bed, and medical devices chirped unhappily at the person lying on it, monitoring vitals and pumping fluids. The large form suggested a male patient, but the entire body was wrapped in white bandages. His skin looked swollen under the wrappings, as if he were enduring an intense allergic reaction, and each breath was so rough it practically scraped paint off the walls. On top of all that, some sort of frothy white substance was seeping through the bandages around his face. What the actual fu—

  “Boss?!”

  The shout came from behind me, and seeing as I was already slightly on edge, I jumped. But the voice was familiar and welcome.

  I turned and saw three small gray figures standing in the doorway — the room’s actual doorway, leading into the hall. They peered at me with puzzled expressions over steaming cups of coffee. Guess this was my Earth after all. So much for Coppersworth’s theory of infinite universes. Otherwise this was one hell of a coincidence.

  “Cagney, Brando, Hanks,” I said. “You have no idea how nice it is to see you guys.”

  “Where the hell did you come from, Boss?” Hanks asked.

  “That is a long and confusing story,” I said. “Where are we?”

  “One classy joint, that’s where,” Cagney said. “I followed your instructions, called them guys from Arclight, and them guys brought us here.”

  “So that’s Agent Crusher in the bed? Why does he look worse than when I left him?”

  “Ya got me, Boss. The doctors fixed him up, but he’s real sick or somethin’. They used this word, whatcha call it — oh, yeah, he’s ‘excretin’ this ooze all over his face. Weirdest damn thing I ever seen, Boss.”

  “Either way, he's gotta be better off here than a normal hospital,” Brando said. “Arclight most assuredly knows their shit.”

  “Great,” I muttered to myself. “So what am I doing here?”

  “You don’t know, Boss?” Cagney asked. “How’d you even get in here? This place is locked up tighter than Fort Knox.”

  “I’ll let you know as soon as I figure it out. Hey, where’d you get that coffee? I could really use some.”

  “If you want a pick-me-up, Boss, they probably got stronger stuff here.”

  “Nah, you know me. I’m one of those weirdos who actually likes the taste.”

  “But Boss, you ain’t been able to taste anything for—” Brando began, but Cagney and Hanks both elbowed him in ribs. I grinned. It really was good to see them again.

  “I can still enjoy it in my own way,” I said. “Let’s go.”

  The gargoyles led me out of the room, past two guards with holstered sidearms who gave me slightly confused looks, and down the corridor toward a small break area.

  Signs on the walls displayed the Arclight treasure chest and key and claimed this place was a medical center, but it looked more prison than hospital. Most of the doors were solid steel and featured industrial strength electronic locks along with heavy, sliding, manual deadbolts, although many of the latter weren’t latched. Either those cells were empty or someone was slacking on their security duties. Not terribly surprising. The longer things go right, the less people worry about them someday going wrong.

  “What gives with the security here?” I asked. “Seems a bit over the top for a medical center.”

  “I dunno if you noticed this, Boss,” Hanks said. “But Arclight doesn’t really do tender lovin’ care. Sure, this facility has medical gear and doctors, but it specializes in housing … how best can I put this … supernatural nut jobs.”

  “You’re joking, right?”

  “Wish I was.”

  “My day just keeps getting better and better.”

  “Eh, you get used to the screams,” Cagney said. “Heh. Just a little joke, Boss. You know how I get when I’m—”

  Back down the hallway behind us, someone screamed.
>
  “You sure about that?” I asked.

  As if to say “you ain’t seen nothing yet,” the fluorescent lights stretching the length of the corridor flickered and went out. Red emergency backups clicked on, and crimson walls leapt from the darkness. Then the electronic locks on all the doors around us sparked, hissed, and slid into the unlocked position.

  “Follow me,” I said. “Stay low, stay quiet.”

  “Brando ain’t got much choice but to stay low, Boss,” Hanks whispered.

  “We’re the same height, dummy,” Brando responded.

  We crept back the way we had come, taking time to slide any unlocked deadbolts into their proper position. Evidently the inmates had been taken by surprise, too, because none of the unlocked doors had opened yet. Or maybe my guess had been right and standard operating procedure called for locked deadbolts only on occupied rooms. I was just starting to feel hopeful that we’d make it back without incident when the first door creaked open.

  Out stalked a low, long, thickly muscled shape. Green eyes flashed within a head ringed by thorns, and a forked tongue lashed the air. A lindwyrm, larger even than the one I’d encountered as a child. Rumors had it they possessed some level of intelligence, but was it truly smart enough to belong in a prison for the supernaturally insane? Or was this place also part zoo? Either way, when I saw it, fear poured over my brain and short-circuited my survival instincts. I froze. The lindwyrm lunged, extending its winged forelegs in an imitation of a glide, arcing toward me with mouth open and talons spread wide.

  An instant before its teeth could close around my throat, a tiny gray fist caught the reptile square in the jaw, knocking it out of its flight pattern and sending it crashing into the wall.

  The lindwyrm rose, shook cracked plaster from its head, and turned, searching for this new assailant.

  “I’m ova here, you sonuva bitch,” Cagney said, putting up his fists as he flapped over to the great lizard. It lunged at him, and he dodged with a powerful thrust of his wings. “Oh, floatin’ like a goddamn butterfly. Pays to have wings that work, don’t it? Hanks, Brando, sting like some bees already!”

  The other two gargoyles were already behind the beast. They grabbed its tail, evading the snapping jaws, and did a half-spin before tossing it back into its cell. Cagney was waiting to slam the door shut and manually engage the fail-safe deadbolt.

  We sprinted the rest of the way back to Crusher’s room. The two guards lay face down on the floor, guns undrawn, blood pooling beneath their bodies. I checked for pulses, but we’d taken too long. They were gone.

  The bed inside the room was empty, its sheets scattered on the floor. Agent Crusher had barely been able to breathe under his own power, let alone stand up and go for an evening constitutional. Something must have taken him.

  I exited the room and looked around, trying to get my bearings. The direction we’d come from seemed clear, but the other end of the hall made the sewer where Crusher and I last spoke look like a child’s tea party. Swaths of darker red had been splattered across the crimson walls. People lay in piles here and there, moaning, bleeding, dying. It was happening again. I thought I’d have more time to prepare.

  A man came bounding around the corner. He wore a jumpsuit in a color that could only be described as “inmate orange,” and his scraggly hair and beard were knotted with grime. Faded tattoos spiraled up his neck and down his arms. The terror on his face was unmistakable, but underneath lurked something else. Something darker and almost wild.

  “Why do you stand there gawking?” he cried in surprisingly articulate English. “Run, you fools!”

  “Wait,” I said. “What’s going on?”

  He kept running. In fact, he was running straight for us with no signs of slowing down. I drew the Chemslinger like lightning — OK, as close to lightning as I could manage — and leveled it at him in a way I hoped would add the word “stop” to his vocabulary.

  It worked, and the fear in his eyes momentarily shifted from whatever was behind him to the guy with the enormous gun. Now that he was closer, I could see that the shapes sketched in ink upon his skin weren’t just any old tattoos. They were alchemical runes.

  “Please, kind sir,” he said, eyeing the giant revolver. “Lower your weapon. I am not your enemy. I merely wish to escape this place with my …”

  He trailed off, eyes widening as they settled on my ring.

  “Your what?” I asked. “What’s going on?”

  “You studied at the Royal Academy?”

  “What’s it to you?”

  He studied me for a moment, eyes narrowing.

  “Of course, I should have known,” he said. “What could it possibly mean to me, the prisoner, the defiled, the outcast?”

  “Say what?”

  “I won’t tell you, oh no … I will show you. Show you that it means more to me than it does to you, child. Give it to me. Now. If you do, I shall let you live.”

  “Oh, you’ll let me? Listen, buddy, I don’t know what kind of wacky tobacky they’ve got you smoking in here, but I’m the one with the gun, remember?”

  “So be it,” he said, closing his eyes.

  I felt energy begin to gather, but not within myself. I remembered the sensation from my lessons with Vincent; this man was centering his own life force, and as he did, the runes on his arms and neck began to glow. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and when he opened his eyes, they burned with white fire. When his lips parted, his voice was thunder.

  “You will give me the ring!”

  Chapter 14

  Twirling his hands like a drunken boxer, the mad alchemist commanded the air itself to coil around his body. I began centering my own energy but wasn’t fast enough. He flicked both wrists toward me, and the glowing runes on his arms burst like exploding LEDs. A ferocious gust of wind picked me up, spun me around, and slammed me onto my back. Holy shit. Ow. How the hell had he done that?

  I pushed myself up onto one elbow, looking for the Chemslinger, but the bearded man was already striding toward me, eyes ablaze. Then, for the second time that night, my friends saved my life.

  “Nobody does that to the boss!” Hanks shouted, causing the crazed alchemist to look toward the sound. A medical gurney was flying down the hall toward him, held aloft by the gargoyles like an improvised battering ram.

  “Extraordinary,” the man said as he held up one hand. His rune tattoos pulsed, and the gargoyles froze in midair as if held by invisible strings. He turned away from me to examine them. I took the chance to look for the Chemslinger and spotted it resting against a wall a few feet away. I grabbed the gun and got to my feet.

  The man was still studying the gargoyles, stroking his beard with one hand, so I raised the heavy gun and centered my own life force. His head twitched, and I knew he’d sensed me, but this time he was the slow one. I pulled the trigger. A part of me expected light to roar down the hallway, but the Chemslinger behaved the way it always had before: with a puff of air and a luminous vial spinning silently toward its target.

  His tattoos pulsed again, and the plastic vial broke in midair, spraying glowing liquid off to both sides. Bubbling alchemical residue began stripping the paint from the walls but hadn’t so much as grazed my opponent.

  “Fascinating weapon,” he said, turning. “Perhaps I shall pry it from your cold, dead—”

  Without giving myself time to think about it, I chucked the Chemslinger straight at his head. He had just enough time to look mildly surprised and affronted before the heavy, modified gun hit him directly in the face. Something about the sound it made was intensely satisfying. He crumpled like a house of cards, and the gargoyles and gurney fell to the floor.

  “Thanks, Boss,” Brando said, getting to his feet. “But why didn’t you just shoot him?”

  “In the back?” Cagney asked, helping Hanks up. “Pretty unsportsmanlike, Brando. I like it. Yeah, Boss, why not that?”

  “I tried,” I said. “The guy’s an alchemist. He sensed and countered my first shot,
but I figured, you know, Royal Academy training and all that …”

  “You knew he’d expect a fair fight,” Hanks said, a grin spreading across his face. “All honorable and the like. Good thinkin’, Boss.”

  “Help me out,” I said. “We can’t leave him here.”

  All the doors around me still had deadbolts firmly in place, so I moved to one of them at random. The gargoyles followed me over, carrying the unconscious alchemist.

  “On the count of three, throw him in. Got it?”

  “Got it,” they said in unison.

  “One … two … three!”

  I pulled the deadbolt and opened the door. Inside the room, a massive, hairy creature that looked a lot like a yeti reared up and bellowed in fury. I slammed the door shut and locked it before the gargoyles could react.

  “Next door,” I said, moving down the line. “One, two, three!”

  Inside this cell sat a small girl, no older than 10. We stared at her for a moment, and she gazed back at us, looking for all the world like a frightened child and nothing more. Then she giggled, turned into a cloud of black mist, and flew out the door over our heads, disappearing down the hallway. Sure. OK. Great.

  “Guess this one will do,” I said. “Toss him in.”

  They did. I shut and locked the door, then sat down with my back against it, exhaling hard and asking myself all sorts of difficult questions. What was that trick he’d used with the air? Could he control the gargoyles? And how had he done any of it without an alchemist’s ring?

  I looked around the hall, searching for answers, but saw nothing beyond the dull, red light of emergency.

  No. There was something else. I also saw an exit sign. Four uppercase letters giving me an out, saying it was OK to return to my sad but uneventful life and pretend none of this insanity had ever happened. I could escape this madhouse and let Arclight take care of this nasty business. That’s what they did, right? They’d made it clear they didn’t want my help, and this might be my last chance to go home.

  Another scream rent the air but was immediately silenced by a sickening crunch. Shame and rage overcame my fear. I got to my feet and raced past the exit sign.