Ibenus (Valducan series)

by Seth Skorkowsky

  "So what's this I hear of you getting engaged?" Allan asked. "You plan on inviting us or is it some voodoo-only affair?"

  "We're not exactly engaged yet," Malcolm said. "Just talking about it. She's…working it out."

  "Oh."

  "You know how it is." Malcolm touched the machete's hilt. "Relationships are difficult for our kind."

  A bitter knot pulsed in Victoria's stomach.

  "Yeah," Allan said casually, seeming to laugh it off but the words still stung. He glanced uncomfortably to Victoria.

  "So what's in the case, Mal?" Sam asked, changing the subject.

  "This?" He lifted it up and set it on the table. "Little housewarming gift." He removed a key from his pocket and unfastened the twin locks. "Now you need to treat this thing like it's plutonium or a canister of mustard gas."

  "Oh, you didn't?" Allan's eyes widened like a kid finding a Christmas pony under the tree.

  Malcolm thumbed the latches and opened the case. Expecting a weapon or some form bomb, Victoria scrunched her nose at seeing a white marble mask glaring hatefully back at her. It was a woman's face, her mouth open impossibly wide, revealing a pair of long slender fangs. Stainless steel bars enclosed it like a wicket-keeper's face mask with one rod coming up through the open mouth, making it impossible to remove without cutting it.

  Allan's fingers moved toward it, then seemed to think better of it. "Lamia?"

  Malcolm nodded. "She'd been lurking around New Orleans since the time of Lafitte. Found out about her last year during that…incident. Managed to track her down." He pulled the tightly-packed foam from around the weird sculpture. The bars connected to a black enameled metal plaque.

  "Niriffo?" Sam asked, reading the single word engraved along the bottom.

  "That was her name," Malcolm said. "Real nasty bitch, too. Spitter. Had a pair of ghouls under her. It'd been a hell of a lot easier to just have killed her but trapping one, especially a breed that powerful, was a rare opportunity. Don't expect me to try that again."

  Schmidt reached in and touched the bars. "This is phenomenal."

  "Hold on," Victoria said. "Trapped?"

  "The demon is inside it," Malcolm said. "It can't escape unless you put it on, hence the cage. Breaking it will release the spirit, but it won't have a body to go to. Dangerous as hell, so it'll require a dedicated security system."

  "We will start on that at once," Schmidt said, his fingers still tracing along the bars.

  "But why trap it?" Victoria asked.

  "Because it's the best damned ward made," Malcolm said. "No demon can even get close to it. The obsidian ghoul masks had a range of about fifteen feet. But this thing, I'm guessing double that. Mount it before the entrance or the weapon vault and no one that's demon-corrupted will get through."

  "But it's alive in there?"

  "Yeah."

  Victoria sneered, meeting the mask's loathsome stare. "I think it would have been better to have killed it."

  Malcolm gave Allan a grin. "I like her." He looked back at Victoria. "These things are bad news. If Master Turgen hadn't specially requested it, I wouldn't have made it. But aside from holy weapons, these are the best weapons we have."

  "Is this for Paris, then?"

  "No," he laughed. "No, this needs to stay here. It's too fragile and far too dangerous to take in the field."

  Good, she thought. The bloody thing was creepy as hell. It was as if those hateful white eyes were boring directly into her, cursing her. Then something clicked. New Orleans. She looked at the machete on Malcolm's belt, then the tattoos. "You're the Machete Man. From the video."

  Malcolm gave a sour smile. "Yeah. Bad day and someone caught it on their phone." He blew out a sigh. "Not my finest moment."

  "You heard about Luc?" Allan asked.

  Malcolm grunted. "Already talked with him. He's not taking it too well."

  "Can't blame him."

  "Nope. Not in the least." Malcolm shook his head. "Of course I'll have to rethink my plans for Paris."

  "What do you have in mind?"

  "I got something." Malcolm licked his lips, then glanced at Schmidt so fast Victoria wondered if anyone but her noticed it. "Might sound crazy but I think it'll work."

  "You want to share it?" Allan asked.

  "Not yet. You find me a list of entrances?"

  "Still working on it. We have a few possibilities so far."

  "Good." Malcolm stuffed the foam back into the case and closed it. "Once I'm done with Master Turgen, I'll come back down and help."

  #

  Two nights later, they filed into the briefing room. Allan grunted as he lowered into a seat near the edge of the front row. Between scouring maps, photographs, practicing drills and climbing exercises, he ached from eyeballs to toes. Victoria slid in beside him, giving a subtle wink as her back was to the room. He smiled back.

  Once this job was over he was going to take Matt up on that offer and take her to South America for a much-needed escape. Master Turgen wouldn't like it, of course, Allan skipping off to the other side of the world at the same time Luc was slated to go to Chile. But after a hunt this large they all deserved a little holiday. Of course he'd use the argument that he needed to train Victoria, tour the various archives. No one could argue with that logic. It was winter where Matt was. Maybe a little skiing was in order to relax. Then, after the slopes, he and Victoria could spend some time warming each other up with no Masters in the same hemisphere.

  "This looks to be everyone," Malcolm said, standing from his seat. He thumbed the remote, bringing up a multi-colored map of the Paris underground onto the screen.

  "In going over the reports of these mantismeres and encounters with the previous two eels, we have a lot of obstacles. The catacombs are enormous, up to seven levels connected by slopes and vertical well shafts. Large portions are either partially or completely flooded. Between that and cave-ins, most maps are only eighty percent accurate at best, at least for the hard to reach zones." He thumbed the remote and several areas of the map turned dark red. "We need to treat the catacombs as equal a threat as the demons. We can get trapped or, if one of us is injured, we might not be able to get them out. The water is damned cold and keeping dry is probably going to be impossible. Except for Orlovski."

  Orlovski grinned and patted his kukri.

  "Sound doesn't carry very far," Malcolm continued, "but firing a gun, even suppressed can cause hearing loss. Do not fire an unsuppressed weapon unless you have no choice. Ricochets are another concern. Chaya has made us all low-velocity ammunition with gem tips. Hopefully that'll cut it down but be aware of your field of fire if you do shoot. If we determine which elements hurt these mantismeres, she's going to bring enough gear for us to manufacture that type of ammo. We're all going to help her with that. Until then, if you shoot one, keep track of what gems and metals don't work. We'll narrow it down until we find it.

  "Radios are another problem. Even on the highest levels, GPS won't work. Reception between hunters will be impossible over long distances, which means that once we go in, we're effectively cut off from the outside world, even each other. So to help with that, in addition to loading bullets, Chaya has something for us." He extended a hand to Chaya who stood up.

  She picked up a clunky gray box wrapped in tape and linked to one of the tubular night vision cameras with a coiled wire. "In order to boost our signal strength, we'll be setting radio repeaters wherever we need. By linking them to our cameras we can keep an eye on them or anything else moving around behind us. I coded them for our frequencies, so when they pick it up they'll retransmit it from that point. However, they're heavy so each hunter will need to carry one in. We also won't have near enough to cover the whole system so we'll have to move them regularly as we search."

  "How many do we have?" Turgen asked.

  "Nine. We'll need additional parts before we can make more."

  "We've already put in an order," Allan added.<
br />
  The old man nodded.

  "The biggest hindrance is battery life," Chaya continued. "They pull a lot of juice to boost the signal so the cameras are now motion-activated instead of constant feed. When something trips them, they'll activate for two minutes after movement stops. If one of them goes dead, it'll break the entire chain, so we can't let them run dry, or leave them somewhere where they might get found."

  The hunters nodded.

  "On the subject of batteries," Malcolm said. "If your lights go out, you'll never make it out of there. We'll all keep extra batteries and lights. However, we're going to keep them dim red. That way bright lights don't kill our night vision."

  "What about night vision goggles?" Gerhard asked.

  "We'll have some nightscopes with us but we don't want to wear them. They're fine if you're shooting, but they distort your depth perception too much for using a holy weapon. Also, a big tube off your face is clunky and there's no way to keep the lens clean."

  "Easy to say if you can see in the dark," Orlovski said, eliciting a few chuckles.

  Malcolm grinned. "We all have our gifts."

  Victoria leaned over to Allan's ear, "What does that mean?" she asked, her voice low.

  "Tattoos," Allan whispered. "Each one gives him a power. One is seeing in the dark."

  "In addition to all of this gear," Malcolm continued, "we're going to be carrying in plenty of food, water, and one med bag per team. We'll be down there for eight, maybe up to twelve hours at a time, so your kits are going to be heavy."

  Allan raised his hand "How many teams?"

  "Two." Malcolm flipped through some slides, stopping at an image of the tunnel at G 21. "We'll start here. Teams will go in." He flipped to another map of the tunnels, zoomed in on those around G 21. "Well set up a supply cache here, then continue down the southern branch to this intersection. Drop a camera there and Team 1 will continue on while Team 2 will circle around through this tunnel, meeting at this chamber. If there's any demons in there, we'll herd them. Otherwise they'll just lead us around indefinitely. Once we've made sure a region is clean, we'll pull out our cameras and move on to the next deep zone."

  "Who are the teams?" Turgen asked.

  "Ah." Malcolm cleared his throat. "Allan and I will serve as team leaders. The teams will be broken down on strengths and weaknesses. Allan's team will consist of him, Orlovski, and Gerhard. Orlovski can move across water, and while Gerhard is our newest knight, Umatri can warn of unseen threats."

  "There's only five knights," Sam muttered, echoing Allan's thought.

  What are you doing, Mal?

  "My team will consist of myself, Chaya, and Master Schmidt."

  A sudden burst of coughs and gasps filled the room.

  "Excuse me," Turgen said. "You wish to take Max?"

  Malcolm nodded. "I do."

  "Absolutely not."

  "Let me explain." Malcolm raised a finger. "Master Schmidt is an active knight. He will not be front-line but we need him. Specifically, we require Lukrasus."

  "Malcolm, you just explained how physically difficult this will be. Max is seventy-five years old, do you—?"

  Schmidt put a hand on Turgen's shoulder. "I can speak for myself, Alex."

  Turgen let out a growling sigh and leaned back, that nearly forgotten fiery anger now in full force.

  "Why do you require that I join?" Schmidt asked.

  "Simple," Malcolm said. "You can move up walls. With Ibenus, Allan can move down any shafts providing he has room to swing, but no one can move up without serious risk. Lukrasus would allow you to move up and down. You can also attach ropes and act as short-range scout. You will not be asked to engage. That's for Chaya, myself, and the other team. Luc can serve as Base Knight in your absence."

  Allan shook his head. No wonder Malcolm hadn't wanted to discuss the plan beforehand. It was mad.

  Turgen leaned over, his voice calm and sympathetic, "If you're injured, they won't be able to get you out. You can't carry anyone if they're hurt."

  Schmidt ran a finger across his moustache, seeming to mull it over. "I accept."

  Allan blinked. He can't be serious.

  "Max," Turgen pleaded. "Be reasonable. Please, I beg you."

  "I am," Schmidt said. "I'm Lukrasus' protector. She is needed, and it's my duty to carry her when she is."

  The remaining hunters exchanged looks but no one dared speak.

  Malcolm gave a relieved smile. "Thank you, sir."

  "When do we leave?"

  "Tomorrow."

  Chapter Fourteen

  They arrived shortly after sunrise, approaching in a pair of white, Mercedes-Benz cargo vans decorated with large magnetic signs emblazoned with an orange telecom logo. Allan slowed as he neared a battered chain link gate.

  "Site's clear," Sam said from the neighboring seat, her voice echoing through his ear bud. She stared at the screen in her lap, watching the twin video feeds of G 21. The night before, shortly after their arrival in Paris, Malcolm had set the cameras in place.

  Malcolm's voice came through the radio. "Let's do this."

  Allan stopped just past the entrance and Orlovski pulled open the side door. Casually, the Russian strolled to the fence, tool belt slung at his side and his head low, face hidden beneath a yellow hardhat and mirrored sunglasses. He stopped at the gate and fidgeted with the padlock before pulling the chain loose and swinging it open.

  Allan turned in his seat and backed the vehicle onto the gravel drive running alongside a pair of rusted railway tracks. Trees and shrubs lined the narrow canyon, shading the debris and discarded refuse littering the old rail line. After twenty meters, he stopped before a graffiti-coated stone block wall. Cars moved along the road above it.

  Malcolm backed the second van in beside the first as Orlovski closed the gate and trotted to catch up. Pulling on his own hardhat, Allan killed the engine and stepped out.

  The sky was clear, save for the white contrails marring the perfect blue. Shards of colored glass glinted amongst the gravel as Allan circled around to the back and opened the rear door. He heaved out one of the locking plastic bins and carried it to the tunnel's entrance, setting it down before the gated door. Two of the iron bars were bent apart, rendering the barrier meaningless. The other knights, all dressed in matching uniforms of work boots, khaki cargo pants, and cornflower blue shirts, carried the other lockers over as Orlovski leaned over the gate and popped it open with a cylindrical electric lock pick.

  Cyclists and pedestrians passed along the walkway above, none giving more than a moment's glance down at the apparent work crew. Hinges squealed as the gate door swung open.

  Orlovski and Chaya began moving the supplies inside as Allan made his way back to the van. He found Gerhard there, wrestling one of the heavier boxes out.

  "Let me give you a hand." Allan took one end and together they lugged it back toward the cavernous opening.

  Gerhard studied the entrance as they neared, his mouth tight, lips colorless, eyes hidden behind the wraparound sunglasses.

  "You all right?" Allan whispered so the throat mic wouldn't catch it.

  Gerhard didn't answer right away. He nodded, licked his lips, "Yes."

  "Scared?"

  He nodded again. "Not like before. Now I know what's inside. That should frighten me more but…" He shook his head. "It doesn't."

  "The fear lessens but it never goes away." They carried the box through the open gate and set it down beside the rest. The tunnel was fifteen feet wide, its floor mulched with crumpled wrappers, cigarette butts, bottles, syringes, and countless other bits of trash. Every inch of the walls were covered in a layers of spray-paint: symbols, names of forgotten lovers, elaborate and defaced murals, and more penises than he could possibly count. One ten foot section was nothing but red skulls. Allan looked up, wondering how the artists had so completely covered the high, arched ceiling. He preferred to imagine them scaling the walls like lizards rathe
r than by any rational means.

  Schmitt stepped inside and removed his sunglasses. His face pulled into a deep half-smile as he looked around. He inhaled a long breath through his nose and his smile widened like a man sliding into a new car. "What Allan didn't tell you, Gerhard, is that while it doesn't go away, you also learn to love it." The old man didn't lower his voice enough and his words came in through the radios. He flexed his fingers. "You miss it when you haven't hunted in a while."

  "Are you afraid, Master Schmidt?" Gerhard asked.

  "Of course I am. Fear heightens our senses. That's what it's for. And please, during this hunt, call me Max. Same for all of you. No need for titles down here."

  Allan glanced back, sharing a look with Malcolm and Orlovski, carrying the last of the gear. Schmidt had never asked to be called Max before. He was…well, he was Master Schmidt.

  Schmidt gave a little grin like he'd just told a dirty joke in front of a nun without her noticing. Then it was gone. He returned his gaze down the tunnel without a word.

  Today looks to be an interesting day, Allan thought as he headed back toward the vans. Victoria was already setting up in the first row of the lead vehicle beside Sam. Both wore uniforms, their hair hidden beneath ball caps.

  "Are you ladies ready?" he asked.

  Sam gave a thumbs-up as Victoria nodded.

  "Just remember, when you go to stretch your legs, keep yourselves hidden. Stay near the tunnel."

  Sam looked up from her monitor. "That'll put a damper on the shopping adventure we have planned once you're out of sight."

  He smiled. "Just be careful. If you see anything strange let us know and be ready to evac. Drive if you can, through the tunnel if you can't."

  The playful gleam in Sam's eyes disappeared. "Don't worry about us. We know what to do."

  "You be safe," Victoria said, the concern palpable in her tone.

  "We will be."

  Her lips tightened, seeming to hold back the obvious statement, the words she'd whispered when they'd last shared a private moment. I'm not worried about them. You be safe Allan. You. Instead, she slid two fingers in her shirt pocket and extended her hand low. The squared edge of a folded slip of paper peeked from beneath her downturned fingers. "Happy hunting." Her voice came through the radio.