The Dark Storm

by Kris Greene

  “I prefer the term ‘consultant,’ ” Rogue continued, “and I consult you jokers more than I handle my own cases. Hell, it’s a wonder that I even stay in business.”

  “I don’t care what and who you are; you can’t cross the line. This is a crime scene,” the chubby officer shot back. He folded his arms and stared at Rogue defiantly.

  Rogue sighed. He’d been hoping that he could use just his fast tongue to get what he needed from the crime scene, but the cop was being a prick about it and Rogue didn’t have time to play twenty questions. He was hoping he didn’t have to rattle the cage, but Rogue wasn’t big on twenty questions. “Let me talk to you for a second.” Rogue moved closer to the officer. Peering over the top of his shades, he said, “I just want a quick look to see if this is related to a jumper I’m looking for. I won’t disturb the scene.”

  The chubby officer knew that it was against procedure to let a civilian onto a crime scene, but there was something about the soothing tone of Rogue’s voice that made him feel wrong for denying the man. “I guess a quick look won’t hurt anything; just don’t tell the sergeant,” the officer said, not quite believing the words coming out of his mouth as he spoke.

  “Good man.” Rogue patted him on the back and crossed the yellow tape. His guest snickered quietly, but Rogue blocked him out. As he got closer, he could see body parts and broken glass strewn all over the parking lot. At the edge of the crime scene there was a second officer leaning against a car, spitting up the leftover Chinese food he’d had for dinner.

  “What’ve we got here?” Rogue asked, startling the second officer.

  “Hey, you’re not supposed to be back here,” the officer said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “It’s cool; I’m with the department,” Rogue told him, infusing his words with power.

  The man’s face was unsure, but his words came out steady. “It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen.” He nodded towards the scene. “It’s as if somebody dropped a bunch of rotting corpses all over the street. I count at least three of them.”

  “Rotting corpses?” Rogue raised an eyebrow behind his dark glasses.

  “If that’s what you wanna call ’em,” the chubby officer said as he joined them.

  Rogue turned his back on the officers and stepped close to one of the corpses. Behind his sunglasses Rogue let the boundaries of the physical world fall away and examined the scene with his other eyes. The fluids on the ground were fresh, but the corpse had died long before that night. The corpses were without a doubt Stalkers, which was what concerned him. These were the foot soldiers of hell and had no business being so far away from the keeps and estates that hid their masters away from the world. It had been the sixth sighting in almost as many nights, definitely a bad sign. If these beasties were running loose in his city, then something big was going down.

  Rogue removed a small penknife from his pocket and knelt beside one of the corpses. The stench reminded him of a murdered dealer he’d come across in his days on the force. The man had had his throat cut and was stuffed into a meat locker. He’d been in there for at least a week before his body was uncovered. Rogue collected a sample on the tip of his knife and scraped it off into one of the small glass vials he kept in his pocket for such things. It would take a day or two to complete the spell that would lead him back to whatever had destroyed the monsters, but from the way the Stalkers had been dismembered he wasn’t sure if he wanted to.

  “What do you make of it, sir?” the chubby officer asked, a little unnerved by how still the bounty hunter had gone.

  Rogue stood and turned his shaded eyes to the chubby officer. “I think it was a classic case of vandalism. Some kids probably got drunk and trashed a few cars.” He shrugged. “Not much to do except contact the owners and hope their insurance is paid up.”

  The chubby officer looked at Rogue as if he had taken leave of his senses. “Rogue, I don’t know if this is getting through to you or not, but we’ve got three stiffs here. I think this goes way beyond drunken kids. I gotta call it in.”

  “Couldn’t agree with you more.” Rogue removed his sunglasses and stood directly in front of the officer. The chubby officer froze when he looked into Rogue’s eyes . . . the eyes of something that was clearly not of this world. They were black, but not like the color. They were the black of the universe before the supposed big bang that created the world. A black so deep that even if you shone a flashlight in them, they still could not reflect the light. Dancing within the blackness were dozens of star-like flakes. Staring into Rogue’s eyes was like looking up at a Nebraska sky on a crisp September night. The eyes were a gift and a curse from a demon his youngest brother had been foolish enough to summon and lose control of. With the combined efforts of Rogue and his father and uncle, they were able to coerce the demon back to the pit it had crawled out of, but not without a price. When you are dealing with demons there’s always a price.

  Through the soulless eyes Rogue was able to see the world as no mortal ever would. He could see people for what they truly were and sometimes what he saw was horrifying, which was why he wore the sunglasses, to help block out the ugliness of the world. And just as Rogue could see as the demon would, the same held true for the donor. The demon could see the world with the simplicity of a mortal without leaving the solitude of its pit. The eyes bound them not only in sight but also in power. Because of their connection Rogue found that he was able to tap into the darkness to add to his own magic, magic that he used to banish the creatures of the dark and sometimes those of the light. No one escaped the bounty hunter when he was set on a trail.

  Locking gazes with the chubby officer, Rogue called his power. The starry night in his eyes brightened and the flakes began to swirl in the darkness. “When you call it in, you will report it just as I said. Some kids got drunk and made a mess of some cars, do you understand?” The chubby officer was so enthralled that you could’ve slapped him in the face and he probably wouldn’t have noticed. This was just a sample of the centuries-old magic Rogue commanded.

  “Sure thing,” the chubby officer said, through a goofy grin. His partner stood beside him nodding. By the time their heads cleared they wouldn’t even remember having spoken with the bounty hunter.

  Rogue made one last circuit of the parking lot, sprinkling a brown powder over the corpses he passed while mumbling in Swahili under his breath. When he was back behind the wheel of his Viper he began processing what he’d learned, and it didn’t sit well with him. One or two Stalkers he could’ve shrugged off as a coincidence, but six sightings meant that something nasty was about to go down in the rotten Apple, and he’d more than likely find himself in the middle of it. Throwing the car in gear, Rogue peeled out onto the road. In his rearview mirror he could see the effects of the aging spell he’d cast as the wind began to take what was left of the decomposing corpses.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  After a very cautious trek to 86th Street and Lexington, Gabriel and De Mona boarded the 4 train. It was only one stop to 125th, but the ride seemed to take forever. People spared the soiled couple a brief look, but no one commented on their appearance. In New York City you were liable to see far stranger things on the subway than two people in dirty clothes.

  After exiting the train station they headed west, crossing 127th Street. Both of them were wrapped in their own thoughts but still very alert. De Mona watched Gabriel curiously as he led the way through the streets of Harlem. She had known there was something unusual about the fork but never imagined how much so. If the grandson was able to bring it to life by touching it, then the grandfather would surely know how best to use it against her father’s murderers.

  When they got to 127th and Fifth Avenue, Gabriel motioned for her to stop. Within the shadowy doorway of a building he detected movement. His immediately removed the trident from his pants and tried to activate it. To his surprise, it did nothing. Though it was still warm to the touch, he could not will it to life as he had done in the parki
ng lot. Just as they were about to break and run, a homeless man with a shabby white beard stepped from the doorway. He gave them a curious glance and continued foraging through trash cans.

  De Mona let out a breath. “What happened? I thought you were gonna make with the light show again?”

  “I don’t know.” Gabriel turned the fork over in his hand. “Maybe I busted it in the fight. I’ll check it when we get to my house.”

  “Well, how much further is it? I’ll feel a lot safer once we’re off the streets.”

  “It’s just up the way.” Gabriel motioned up the street.

  They continued deeper into the block until they came to a brownstone. It stood about four stories, with a small iron fence blocking the entrance. The brownstone wasn’t as well kept as some of the others on the block and wasn’t in the best condition.

  Bypassing the main entrance, Gabriel led De Mona down the three steps that led to the basement of the building. The door was made of a very thick wood and De Mona could make out faint markings in its finish. When she mouthed them a stale taste settled at the back of her throat. She knew just what they were but wondered how well they were cast.

  Gabriel looked in the window. “He’s here, the light is still on.” He slipped his key into the door lock and turned. “Come on.” He cleared the threshold, pulling her by the hand.

  De Mona took a deep breath and stepped forward. There was nothing at first, but when she tried to step fully into the house, fire shot up her arms. It was so intense that De Mona couldn’t even scream; she just whimpered and fell backward into the trash cans.

  “Jesus, are you okay?” Gabriel rushed to her side and helped her up.

  “I’m good.” De Mona rubbed her arms. There were small welts crossing them, but her body was already beginning the process of healing them over. “Just give me a second.”

  “What was that all about?”

  “A ward,” a deep voice answered. “Set to keep out the enemies of my lord. Now, who and what are you?” The speaker cocked the slide of the twelve-gauge he was holding. He was a large man, with hawk-like features. His silver hair hung loose down his back. Though he had a pleasant face, there was a hard edge to him. He was a man who had seen some horrible things in his lifetime.

  “Granddad, wait!” Gabriel stepped between them.

  “Move aside, Gabriel,” his grandfather said sternly. The shotgun was firmly pressed against his shoulder, not even wavering when his own flesh stepped into its deadly line of fire. “That ward was set to only go off when something truly vile tried to cross it. Who is this girl, and what evil have you foolishly tried to bring into our home?”

  “Mr. Redfeather, I can explain.” De Mona took a step towards him.

  He aimed it at her face. “As God is my witness, if you take another step I’ll blow you clean back to hell, demon.”

  Gabriel looked at his grandfather as if he had completely lost it. “Granddad, De Mona’s no demon. Please, put the gun down before someone gets hurt.”

  De Mona discreetly took stock of her situation. She didn’t want to fight, but she would if the issue was forced. She reasoned that even if the old man did manage to get a shot off, she could take him before he managed to inflict any serious damage, but Gabriel might present a problem. She’d seen what he could do, even unintentionally, under the thrall of the trident, and the idea of being rent limb from limb didn’t sit well with her. Even if she was able to defeat Gabriel, the discharge from the trident would attract the Stalkers, and in her exhausted condition it’d be a lopsided fight. No, reason had to prevail where violence wouldn’t.

  “Mr. Redfeather, we don’t have time for this. I assure you that I didn’t come here to fight. All I want is answers and I was led to believe that this is where I’d find them. Now, we can stand out here and bicker until the Stalkers regroup and swoop down to kill us all, or we can go inside and talk like normal people.” She made to take a step in the old man’s direction and the gun went off.

  The stench of gunpowder in the cramped space was so pungent that it made Gabriel’s eyes water. When the smoke cleared and the ringing in his ears subsided he looked at the aftermath of his grandfather’s paranoia in wide-eyed shock.

  The shotgun blast had burned several large holes in De Mona’s already-tattered shirt, but the skin beneath was still smooth and unblemished, save for the powder residue that stained it. Her face was still beautiful after the change, if not more so with the soft glow of the moon dancing in her now-black eyes. A small spine of bone started at the bridge of her nose and went up to her forehead, while two slightly thicker ones went from her eyebrows to her hairline. Her full lip drew back, revealing elongated canines as she glared at the man holding the smoking shotgun.

  “Sweet Jesus.” Gabriel stumbled backward. He was shocked by the revelation, but Redfeather wasn’t.

  “I cast thee back!” Redfeather tried to get off another shot, but De Mona moved with inhuman speed. She snatched the gun from him with so much force that he feared she broke his fingers. She belched a low growl as she curled the butt and barrel of the gun until they formed a U. The animal inside her screamed for the blood of the last of the Redfeather clan, but luckily the rational side was still the ruling force.

  Redfeather slid a hunting knife from his belt and held it, poised to strike at the thing. “Leave us be,” he half-commanded, half-pleaded.

  With great concentration De Mona tried to make her face look as normal as possible. The spines and fangs had receded, but the moon still flashed in her eyes. “I told you that I didn’t come here to hurt you, but if you attack me again, you’ll learn that this trick works on bones too.” She held up the mangled shotgun. She waited until some of the tension had eased before continuing. “My name is De Mona Sanchez; you knew my parents, Edward and Mercy.”

  Redfeather’s eyes showed recognition. “Mercy’s child?” he said. He knew full well the story of Edward and Mercy. Redfeather had happened upon Mercy years ago while working as a researcher for Sanctuary. She had been a refugee of a war that still raged in the farthest corners of the world, seeking amnesty in America. Like most of the demons who immigrated, she had to be processed at Sanctuary.

  Edward had volunteered himself as her sponsor, someone who would familiarize her with the laws of Sanctuary and humanity to help with the transition. Next to the goblins, the Valkrin were the most feared warriors of the Dark Order and, until then, the most loyal to their cause. To hear an account of their culture as told by one of their own was a rarity, and he jumped at the chance to record it for the Order of Sanctuary’s database.

  Edward was taken aback when he first met Mercy. She awaited him in the garden, dressed in a simple white linen gown, with her thick black hair tied into a French braid. When she smiled up at him it was as if the sun shone a little brighter. He knew that the Valkrin were amongst the few demons who had a human form, but he hadn’t expected her to be so breathtakingly beautiful. Had she been of this realm he would’ve placed her heritage with one of the Aztec tribes. Physically, Mercy didn’t appear to be more than thirty or so, but at the time she was well over two hundred years old. Mercy was battle hardened, as was expected, but she was also very well-read and intelligent. During their first session she confided in him that she had spent a great deal of time amongst humans, studying them for the Dark Order as well as her own curiosity, and found herself attracted to their almost child-like weakness. Amongst her kind the weak were shunned and often cannibalized by the stronger warriors, but amongst the humans there was no shame in weakness. When she was away she found herself longing to be back amongst her humans she studied, so on her last outing she had decided that she would remain amongst the strange creatures and sought protection from the Order of Sanctuary.

  Sometimes they would just sit for hours, talking like two schoolkids about everything from the differences between the nine hells to the superiority of DVDs over VHS tapes. Eventually their relationship grew beyond his just being her sponsor to their actual
ly becoming good friends. In him she found someone whose intelligence rivaled her own, and in her he found a willing student, eager for not only knowledge but also love and the understanding of it.

  It came as no surprise when Edward sponsored her visa, but it caused quite a stir when the two became lovers. Redfeather had been there to witness the waves Edward’s decision caused amongst those who still hadn’t quite adjusted to the idea of demons living amongst us. And a few months later when he decided to marry Mercy it made him an outcast. After a while it became too much for the couple, so Edward left Sanctuary, choosing to live a quiet life with his bride. He and Redfeather kept in touch for a while, but the letters and e-mails became less and less frequent as Edward’s antiquing business expanded.

  “My Lord in heaven.” Redfeather’s eyes got wide as if he was just realizing what she had been trying to tell him. He lowered the knife but didn’t re-sheath it. He studied De Mona carefully while she studied him in return.

  “Would you like me to pose so you can take a picture?” she asked sarcastically.

  “I don’t mean to stare, but you’re the first progeny of a demon/human that I’ve ever seen in person. Where are your parents? Are Edward and Mercy well?” he asked. From the concerned look on his face you’d have never known that he’d shot De Mona a few moments prior.

  A flicker of movement across the street caught De Mona’s eye, causing her to stiffen. Thankfully it was only a hungry alley cat in search of food, but the next time it could be one of Belthon’s killers in search of their heads. “Mr. Redfeather, to make a long story short, I have no idea where my mother is and my father was murdered a few nights ago, apparently for that thing your grandson has in his pants.” Gabriel blushed when she said this. “I’ll be happy to fill in the blanks, but there’s a demon lord trying to kill us and I’d much rather not make the job easier by standing out here in the open like three lost crack-heads. Now can you douse the wards so we can go inside and talk like normal people?”