Judgement - Legacy Book 4 (Legacy Series)

by Ryan Attard

  “A guy can hope.”

  “That guy better also pack some heat, ‘cause hope ain’t gon’ cut it.” He shoved a pancake into his mouth.

  “But why?” I asked, lightly poking at my food with my fork. “Why here? Why now?”

  “That’s easy,” he replied. “In two years you turned this whole town upside down. You took down two of the Seven Deadly Sins. That sort of power gap tends to get filled up pretty quickly.”

  “With fuckers like Alan Greede.”

  “Exactly. And fuckers like Alan Greede bring along with them all sorts of baggage. In this case, quite literally, in the form of the Necronomicon.”

  I cut a slice of pancake and put it in my mouth. “The goat guy at the Precinct,” I said between mouthfuls. “He was there to steer me in the right direction.”

  “Yup.” Amaymon had already wolfed down half of the contents on his plate and washed it down with big gulps of coffee. “Goat Boy was another MacGuffin.”

  “I’m starting to hate that word.” I sighed and put down my fork. “Okay, so we got motive, or as close to motive as we’re gonna get with just a whole load of guessing. This is the part where we come up with a plan.”

  Amaymon grinned, exposing his serrated, shark-like teeth. That smile made me feel better: Amaymon was back to his usual self.

  “Oh, I got a plan,” he said. “And if things are gonna play out the way I think they are, then I got the motherlode of all plans.”

  I cocked my head and felt myself emulating his smile. “Do tell.”

  We spent the next thirty minutes talking. Amaymon shared his speculations and did an excellent job of connecting the dots. I found myself nodding, surprised at how everything he said made sense.

  This was the same guy who, when I first got him as a cat, broke the doorbell out of spite.

  Although, now that I thought about it, his plan was very much along that same mentality.

  “There it is,” he said, with a self-satisfied smile. “The grand plan to fuck the fucker.”

  I grinned. “Is that an official title?”

  “It could be.”

  “We gotta let Abi in on this.”

  “Already on it,” he said, lifting up a phone.

  My phone.

  The phone I had in my pants pocket.

  “I thought I told you to stop doing that,” I said.

  “I’m a demon, Erik,” he said pointedly. He finished texting and handed the device back to me. “There. She’s all caught up.”

  “Hey, that was quick. Wait, you Facebook messaged her our plan?”

  The demon smiled slyly.

  “A text message would have been way too obvious,” he said. “And besides, do you think Greg would have access to Facebook? The problem with guys like him is they think magic can solve everything. They overlook the little stuff, and that’s where we get them, every single time.”

  I pocketed my phone and signaled for the check. “You know, you’re beginning to scare me. And not in a violent kind of way. You’re kinda acting like your brother.”

  He sighed and made a face. “I know. How d’you think that makes me feel? That asshole is so lame.”

  Chapter 20

  When we got back to the office Greg was still downstairs, muttering to himself.

  “How’s it going so far?” I asked.

  He looked up from the map. One of the candles had been more consumed than the rest, meaning he had actually zeroed in on a direction, and was now working on an exact location.

  “I found three possibilities,” he said, glancing at the circled locations on the map. He tapped the first. “This one is another cemetery.”

  I shook my head. “Unlikely,” I said. “He’s planning something big and he’s got way bigger zombies with him than whatever he could find in a cemetery. Besides, to a guy like him, going back to that sort of place would feel like being stuck. He’d wanna move on.”

  “Agreed,” Greg said. “So perhaps this one. A museum. There are several antiques here that could be emitting such a signal, especially if the people handling them have no idea what they really are.”

  I grimaced. “I don’t know about this one. We could be following loose ends here.”

  “Loose ends are all we have, Erik.”

  I pursed my lips. “What’s the other one?”

  Greg sighed. “You’re not going to like this. It’s another museum.”

  I groaned.

  “And this one is right across the street from a school,” he continued. “A community college.”

  “That’s new,” I said. “Okay, we gotta narrow this down. Abi!”

  The apprentice poked her head at the entrance of the basement. “You called?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I need you to run a search.” I rummaged for an ancient notepad and grabbed a pencil stub from one of the containers around me.

  “Here are the addresses,” I said, jotting down the last two locations Greg had given me.

  I tore the sheet of paper and handed it to her.

  “And what exactly do you want me to do with this?” she asked.

  “Is there a way to find out their manifest?” I asked.

  She raised an eyebrow. “You really don’t get computers, do you?” She sighed. “I can’t just hack into this, I don’t know how.” She stopped to think and smiled. “But I can do the next best thing.”

  She ran to the office, where a computer was on my desk — no idea why, I rarely used it other than to waste time on Youtube — and sat on my chair. Seconds later she was looking at both museums’ websites, scrolling through the exhibits.

  “You just wanted to see what’s new on display, right?” she asked.

  I nodded.

  “Well, this is a way to do it without bringing the Feds to our door.”

  “The Feds?” Amaymon was curled up in cat form on one of the two couches. “Speaking of which, how’s Jacinda?”

  “Shut up,” I snapped.

  Agent Jacinda Mathews was an FBI agent who visited my office a few months ago on account of someone using my office computer to order escorts, six at a time. Turns out they suspect that kind of stuff, especially when on a crackdown against human trafficking.

  Long story short, I was out on a trip, came back only to be interrogated, and the Feds chalked it up to someone hacking into my computer as part of a larger network. No harm, no foul.

  Until Amaymon seduced the agent, got me fined, and somehow still ended up sleeping with the cop.

  The cat chuckled from the couch and wisely dropped the subject.

  “Anyway,” Abi said. “Here is a list of what they’re showing.”

  She clicked on the first website, the first museum, and I spent the following five minutes staring at pictures of stones, arrowheads, rusted flintlocks, and several other bits of historical junk.

  “Nope,” I muttered.

  “That’s all they got,” Abi said. “Let’s switch over to the other one.”

  The second website slowly started looking like the first one. I sighed and closed my eyes for a second, before opening them again and having a slight heart attack.

  “Wait! Stop.”

  Abi looked at me.

  “Go back,” I said, pointing at the screen. “More, more. That one!”

  Abi frowned at a picture of two men in hard hats unloading a crate. “What about this one? You recognize one of the guys there?”

  “Nope, not someone,” I said, fishing out my phone, “but something.”

  I showed her the picture I snapped inside Greede’s warehouse, of the circular, ten winged symbol — the sigil on the crate that had once housed the Necronomicon.

  Greg frowned at both pictures and nodded. “That is an exact match.”

  “Which museum is that?” I asked.

  Abi check the address. “The one next to the college.”

  I sighed. Of course it was.

  “There’s more,” she said.

  I tried not to sigh again. “What now?” />
  “The community college is hosting a rally of sorts,” she said.

  “You’re kidding me.”

  She shook her head, red hair billowing around her head. “Wish I was. Apparently they won a game or something, so there’s going to be an all-night blow out.”

  I looked at Greg. “That’s our guy. He’s a showman. Plenty of people to awe, plenty of meat shields if something goes sideways.” I looked at the picture on my phone and decided to play a little game with Greg.

  It’s called Fishing-for-Answers.

  “This is convenient,” I muttered, looking at the picture. “They could have at least switched the crates. Throw us off.”

  “Are you suggesting that this is a ploy by Alan Greede?” Greg asked.

  I shrugged. “Who else? That’s his crate, right?”

  Greg poured his icy blue eyes at me, cold and calculating.

  Finally, “I wouldn’t be so sure. Yesterday, he seemed to imply that he too was searching for the Necronomicon. So why transfer it to a museum? What purpose does that serve?”

  “Well, if it ain’t Greede, and it ain’t the Necromancer,” I said, counting down on two fingers, “that leaves Gil, and I know for sure my sister wouldn’t let something that dangerous out in public.”

  “I agree,” Greg said. “Tales of her prowess have reached as far as my country. I have confirmed with my own eyes that she is not irresponsible.” He scratched his beard. “Which leaves Greede, the morally questionable one.”

  “Nothing questionable about that,” I said. “Guy’s insane.”

  “Yes,” he said. “But something makes him even more perilous: his ambiguity. Despite our encounter with him yesterday, we still know nothing with regards to his motives.”

  “So you’re saying he’s pulling a Machiavelli on us,” I said.

  “I do not know what that means.”

  “He’s pulling a Rasputin,” Amaymon loudly interjected.

  Greg pursed his lips, even more confounded.

  “Whatever,” I said. “Point is, we gotta stop this,” I tapped the screen, “before either the crazy guy with the zombies gets the book, or the magical sociopath.”

  I heard it too, and sadly that sentence made perfect sense in my life.

  I turned to Abi. “Meanwhile,” I said, “I need you to investigate Arnold’s case. I sent you a couple of leads on your phone.”

  She never batted an eyelash. “Yeah, I got that,” she said, her voice giving away nothing. “I’ll get on it as soon as you guys leave.”

  “Good,” I said. “Take the kid with you. Some fresh air might do him good. Amaymon, mind the shop.”

  The cat pressed a paw on the TV remote. “What is it you think I’m doing?”

  “Wasting your life away.”

  “I’m a cat, Erik.”

  Touché. Score one for the household feline.

  “Okay, then,” I said, picking up my weaponry. I looked at Greg. “You ready?”

  “To put an end to this? Most definitely.”

  When we got the museum, chaos had already erupted.

  Not the evil, Necromantic kind.

  No, this was worse — much worse.

  Two streakers ran past, their genitals flapping in the wind and paper bags over their heads, as a crowd of people wearing college t-shirts cheered them on as they blazed by. The ground was a mess of beer, paint — which everyone had on their faces — and various other bodily fluids that I tried very hard not to think about.

  Stickers depicting an animated moth were found at intervals, and the banner with the same mascot indicated that the moth was either the symbol chosen by whichever sports team had yielded them this particular victory, or perhaps a Chthonian deity that had suddenly invaded their minds.

  Not sure I was able to tell the difference.

  Greg and I had to park a few blocks down and walk through the rally, since the massive influx of inebriated people made it very difficult to operate a car through.

  From across the campus I could see the dimmed lights of the museum, with workers still loading crates for exhibits. There was a full block separating the party from the workers, and from that darkness, emerging like the villain of cheap horror flick, the Necromancer came out.

  And sadly, like most villains, he did not come alone.

  Swaying in the darkness, dozens of zombies emerged, gaunt and decayed, materializing from within the shadows. They did not groan — reanimated dead people had nothing to say, really — and walked slowly, deliberately.

  Markings all over the Necromancer’s body glowed deep crimson. He was shirtless, wearing only his sleeveless tunic, a thin leather coat that came down to his ankles. Leather pants adorned his skinny legs, with silver charms and skulls clinking with every step he took.

  Behind him, the largest bodyguard in existence. The Draugr, the one on which the Necromancer had escaped on from the cemetery, hoisted its axe and shield, grunting with every breath. The faint green glow of its body created a mesmerizing effect in contrast with the crimson coming from its master.

  The zombies made their way towards the museum, only to be intercepted by a parade of students.

  “Hey, what the hell, man?”

  The guy who uttered that barely got a chance to process what happened to him.

  The zombies turned to him all at once, pouncing with primal need, tearing at his flesh.

  It’s a rather dumb misconception on the part of Hollywood to assume that zombies eat brains. Zombies don’t care what part of the human body they eat.

  So long as it’s alive.

  Chaos erupted as the Necromancer lost control of the zombies’ natural hunger for mortal flesh. His army pounced on the student rally and he just stood there, wondering where it all went wrong.

  And that’s when he saw me and Greg standing on the other side of campus.

  Chapter 21

  “Get the zombies, get the zombies!” I yelled.

  Greg swung his spear, sending a zombie spinning out of his way. “And what is it you think I’m doing?”

  I blasted another zombie with Djinn. Two of them assaulted a single guy, ripping at him and leaving deep bite marks where they wrenched out flesh. I stabbed one of the zombies in the head, kicking the other so hard its neck broke.

  The kid was long gone.

  Greg and I made our way through the confusion of biting, wailing, scratching and flailing, destroying any undead monster coming our way.

  All the while I kept my eyes on the prize.

  The Necromancer and the Draugr strode hurriedly towards the museum, where men were unloading crates, now stunned at the scene of horror.

  “Stop!” yelled one of them, a security guard. He reached for his pistol but the weapon got stuck in its holster.

  The Draugr swung at him, hitting him with the axe. The guard went down, his head split open. Gun fire came from a second security guard. The bullets phased through the undead Viking. It grunted and swung again, and the second guard went limp.

  Meanwhile the Necromancer waved his hands intricately. Blackness shot out from between them, hitting the workers like light rays but ink-black instead. The men screamed as their flesh boiled and melted like tallow.

  Once they lay in heaps on the ground, the Necromancer gave a command. The blobs reached up, tore open their melted skin, revealing white skeletons beneath. Three skeletons rose, their eyes glowing a dark purple reminiscent of ultraviolet.

  The Necromancer pointed in my direction and the skeletons formed a perimeter around the entrance of the museum while the Necromancer and his Draugr entered.

  I struck a horde of four zombies lunging at me and was met with more. At this rate the Necromancer would not only reach the Necronomicon and take control of it, but would probably have time for a bathroom break and order some pizza.

  Time to bring out the heavy guns.

  “Greg,” I called out behind me. “Do you have something that can clear a path?”

  “Yes,” he replied. His spear wa
s a blur in his hands, the cruciform tip flashing white as it tore through the undead.

  “I’ll buy you some time,” I said.

  My gun was in my hands a second later and I fired towards a zombie groping at me from the ground. The buckshot tore its head open but that wasn’t what I focused my magic on.

  The initial spark coming from the gun became larger and larger, growing into a tongue of flame. I repeated the flamethrower spell I’d used at the cemetery, burning a semi-circle in front of me that rose into a low wall of fire. Zombies still came through, but their limbs were burnt off, slowing them down.

  Slow enough for Greg to finish collecting his power.

  “Stand back,” he said, plunging the blunt end of his spear into the ground so hard it shattered concrete.

  Painful bright light shone from the cruciform blade of the spear and shot forwards like a massive laser beam. Any zombies caught in its path were disintegrated, leaving a straight road of charred corpses and blackened ground.

  Greg leaned on his spear, panting heavily. “Go,” he said. “I’ll be fine.”

  His electric blue eyes glowed even more as he tapped into his power — power he must have been holding at bay this entire time.

  He pulled out his spear. I nodded, silently thanking him and ran through the path he had just created.

  The nearest skeleton lunged at me and I blasted its head off.

  “One down.”

  The second one flailed its bony arm, only to be sheared off by Djinn. I kicked the third skeleton in the ribs, loosening one of them, before it could make a move.

  Suddenly, bony arms tightened around me, pinning my arms to my sides. The beheaded skeleton planted its feet firmly on the ground, stopping my writhing. The one-handed skeleton slapped me in the head with its remaining hand, and I felt the world spin. It wrapped its strong fingers around my throat, squeezing the life out of me. In my hazy, rapidly-blurring vision, I saw the third skeleton pull out its loosened rib, holding it like a knife. As it came closer I saw it eyeing my torso.

  I struggled but my head was spinning. I couldn’t focus on one thing and each breath became labored. Something hot and cold at the same time pierced my side. The third skeleton was now face to face with me, pulling out his melee weapon for a second stab. Darkness enveloped me as the mixture of being choked and stabbed sent me to the ground, clinging to life by a thread.