The Dark Storm

by Kris Greene

  “I don’t like it either, but what, am I gonna say no to the king? You stay out here and watch my back,” she told the monkey, still staring at the mirror cautiously. She carefully pushed her finger into the glass and found that it gave under her finger. Taking a deep breath, Asha stepped through the mirror and into Dutch’s study.

  Dutch’s office was larger than Asha’s entire apartment. It boasted high ceilings and authentic furniture from a bygone era. He had had it remodeled to resemble the receiving area of an eighteenth-century Austrian castle, a tribute to his native home. Each wall was adorned with significant events throughout the country’s history, with likenesses of Dutch in place of the actual people who took part in the events. Behind the huge granite desk hung a life-sized portrait of him and Angelique, sitting on thrones. While his was made of onyx, hers was made of ivory.

  “Listen, Dutch, if you’re pissed about the thing with me and Lucy, I understand,” Asha said once they were both seated.

  “No, I called you in here on a matter which may be of some importance,” Dutch told her.

  “Let me know what you need and I’m on it.”

  “As I knew you would be, which is why I need you to keep what I say to you tonight between us.” Dutch’s face was serious. Asha nodded. “Something vile has touched the city tonight, and I fear that it may mark the coming of something I dare not mention.”

  Asha thought back to her dream. “I felt it too. At first I thought it was someone casting some really heavy magic, but it didn’t feel right. It was too dark to be a spell.”

  Dutch studied her for a time and pondered what she’d said. Of all the students in his and Angelique’s charge, Asha was a rarity. Because of her mixed lineage she was the best at not only diagnosing different kinds of magic but also neutralizing them. This was the main reason that Dutch wanted to speak with Asha; the brush with Lucy just gave him an excuse to do so. “If this is what I think it is, then you’ll be right, and it isn’t a spell but something more malevolent. What it is I am not yet sure, which is what I need you to find out.”

  “So we’ll be calling a Hunt?” Asha asked excitedly.

  “No, this must be kept as quiet as possible. I don’t even want Lisa and Lane totally aware of what’s going on until we find out exactly what has surfaced in the city and if we can claim it as our own.”

  “I am more than willing to get it done for you, Dutch, but tackling this thing on my own could be pretty risky. We don’t know what it is, but if it’s serious enough to have you send me off on a secret mission, I know it’s not something to be taken lightly.” Asha gave Dutch a sly look that he knew only too well.

  He touched her cheek lovingly. “Asha, you are one of my most promising followers, so it’s only right that you are properly rewarded for the courage that you will surely have to show in your mission.” Dutch leaned in and kissed her softly on the lips. It was a gentle kiss, but it sent a rough wave of power through Asha. By the time she snapped out of it, she was slumped in the chair, embarrassed at the moisture that had built up between her legs. “That is a sample of the power that you will taste when I make you my Mistress of the Hunt.”

  Asha was so shocked that she couldn’t find her voice. The Council was who everyone respected as elders and leaders of the coven, but it was the Hunt that they feared. To be Mistress of the Hunt would mean a seat at the table. “Dutch, the others would never accept me,” Asha said weakly.

  “Asha, I am king here and they will accept what I say.” Dutch placed a hand on each side of her head and shared more of his power with her. This time it wasn’t so intense, but she could still feel the nerves in her body come to life. “Do this for me, and finally be recognized amongst your sisters as a daughter of the God and Goddess.”

  “Your will be done, my king,” Asha said enthusiastically before leaving Dutch’s study.

  “Of this I’m sure,” he said when she was out of earshot. With a wicked grin, Dutch settled back in his chair and waited for the pieces to fall into place. He was so preoccupied with his scheming that he never noticed the transparent spider perched on his ceiling.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Gabriel staggered through the streets of Harlem, trapped in his own thoughts as well as the thrall of the Nimrod. The relic had been still since he’d left the house, but he could still feel it, raising the hairs on his arms like a cool breeze. He wanted to examine the tattoo to see what he could make of it but didn’t want to run the risk of having it let loose another surge of power.

  With his head down and his right hand jammed deep into his jacket pocket, Gabriel continued west on 126th Street. From the corner of Eighth Avenue he could see the green globes making the subway station entrance on St. Nicholas. From the corner of his eye he spotted a group of young boys sitting on a stoop, drinking and passing a joint around. Gabriel kept his eyes locked on the ground when he passed, but it hadn’t stopped them from accosting him.

  “Yo, we got that piff,” one of them called to him. Gabriel kept moving. “Yo, son, I know you hear me,” the kid said a little more forcefully. His words were slurred by whatever they were drinking, but there was no mistaking the hostility in the words. Gabriel was trying to avoid a confrontation, but hearing the multiple footsteps behind them, he knew that he wouldn’t be able to.

  “Muthafucka, how you just gonna walk through my block and not acknowledge me?” the kid who had called Gabriel out said, stepping between him and the train station. The kid was a brown-skinned youth with broad shoulders and a protruding belly. He wasn’t fat just yet, but if he kept hitting the bottle he would be soon enough. Gabriel tried to step around him only to find his path blocked by a second youth. This one was thinner, but his glassy eyes said that he would be just as much trouble as the heavy one.

  “I don’t think my homeboy was finished talking to you,” the thin kid said. He was opening and closing his fist like he was spoiling for a fight. It was then that Gabriel felt his tattoo stir.

  “Look, he got hair like a bitch. You some kinda faggot or something?” the heavier kid taunted Gabriel.

  “He looks like a fag to me and you know homos are always holding,” the thinner one added.

  “Listen, I don’t want any trouble.” Gabriel tried to step between them and someone shoved him roughly from behind. He tripped over the front steps of a building and landed hard on his hands. He tried to block the sound out, but there was no mistaking the roll of thunder in his ears.

  “We don’t give a shit what you want, but we sure know what you got and you’re gonna give it to us,” the heavier kid said. He was standing over Gabriel holding a small gun. “Run it, pussy,” he demanded.

  “And let the cleansing begin. My will be done,” the Bishop whispered.

  Gabriel got to his feet slowly so as not to spook the kid with the gun. It took all of Gabriel’s concentration to keep his voice from booming when he spoke. “I don’t have any money; I’m just trying to get to the train station.” Gabriel raised his hand. The ink from the tattoo seemed to spill from beneath his sleeve, leaving the rough shape of a fork on the back of his right hand.

  “If you ain’t got no money, then how in the hell are you gonna get on the train?” The heavier kid moved closer. His grip on the gun seemed to tighten.

  “I think this cat is trying to play us,” a third kid spoke up. He was fat and wearing a dingy baseball cap, pulled over his eyes.

  The heavy kid raised the gun and pointed it at Gabriel’s face. “You trying to play us, faggot?” The kid never even saw Gabriel move. There was the brief sound of steel against steel and the next thing the kid knew, the barrel of his gun was falling to the ground. He looked at Gabriel and backpedaled when he saw the flashing of lightning dancing in his eyes.

  Having been oblivious to what his friend had just witnessed, the thin kid rushed Gabriel, swinging a wild punch. Gabriel caught his fist in his left hand and held it. The kid watched as Gabriel raised his hand, which was now outlined in a crisp silver glow. Gabriel touch
ed his finger to the kid’s chest, sending a jolt of electricity into his heart. The kid fell to the ground, twitching and foaming at the mouth. The third kid was long gone, but the heavy one hadn’t managed to move from the spot where fear had him rooted.

  Gabriel grabbed him about the jaws, burning the flesh of his face where his fingers touched. For a minute the heavy kid could see the brown in Gabriel’s eyes and a look similar to regret cross his face. “You don’t know how lucky you just got.” Gabriel tossed the frightened and burned man to the ground. The kid didn’t even check to see if his partner was still alive, just took off running. The Nimrod was again still, but Gabriel could hear the Bishop’s voice in his head.

  “My will be done.”

  “So you’ve said.” Gabriel pulled the sleeve of his jacket down and descended the train station stairs.

  Gabriel breathed a sigh of relief when he stepped onto the downtown A train. Of course there were no seats, but he was happy to be away from the mess that was going on in the world above. A few hours ago he was a college student whom no one ever noticed and now it seemed like the whole world was after him. His life and the natural law of things as science dictated were both being dashed to hell in front of his eyes, and there didn’t seem to be much he could do about it but ride the wave and hope he didn’t drown.

  Gabriel tried to busy himself by reading the advertisements that lined the subway car, but the tingle in his arm wouldn’t let him be. It was as if being underground in the midst of all the random power fluxes disturbed the Nimrod.

  Deciding it was best to keep moving, Gabriel picked his way through the subway car. He was stepping around a woman who was riding with her young son and their hands accidentally brushed. Gabriel was immediately assaulted with flashes of her life. He knew her from the aspiring dancer she had been before getting pregnant and the battered housewife she had become. The feeling of sadness in her heart was so great that it staggered him.

  Trying to avoid the battered wife, he bumped into a girl who was standing behind him and her boyfriend. Gabriel immediately saw him working double shifts at his security job to pay for the engagement ring he had presented her with a few hours prior. He had proposed to her in the middle of a crowded street. She had gladly accepted, but now she had to figure out how to tell him that she had stepped out on their relationship and had just found out that she was HIV positive.

  Gabriel stumbled clumsily through the car and with each person he touched came their stories and their pains. By the time he leapt off the train at West 4th Street he was almost blinded by tears. Never in his life had he felt such intense hurt. He wanted to reach out to each of the people he had touched on the train and right whatever was wrong in their lives. He wanted to give them a release.

  “And when you strike, show them no mercy. Let the Storm wash away their sins and remake the world anew,” the Bishop said compassionately.

  “I’m not a murderer,” Gabriel whispered.

  “Cain risked the wrath of God and slew his brother so that history could play out as it was written,” the Bishop offered.

  Gabriel ran his hands through his hair and tugged at the roots. “Get it together, man; you’re talking to your arm,” he said more to himself than anyone else. When Gabriel got up to the street level he inhaled, happy to be free of the tunnels. Something familiar tickled the tip of his nose, but he paid it no mind. He had to get his bearings and find the Triple Six.

  Gabriel had an idea where the club was but couldn’t say for sure, as he had never been there. To his surprise, it didn’t take him very long to get pointed in the right direction. As it turned out, everyone except him knew about the exclusive Triple Six nightclub. As soon as Gabriel set foot on the block where the club was located the Nimrod went crazy. The tattoo had almost completely flared to life before Gabriel was able to force it back onto his arm. That he could make it cooperate if he tried was something that would come in handy in the future. From the way the Nimrod had reacted there was obviously someone or something that it recognized inside the club. If he could find Carter and answers to the Nimrod inside the Triple Six, then he was definitely in the right spot.

  The line to get inside the club was nearly a block long and growing when Gabriel approached the entrance. The brutish bouncers at the front were turning people away left and right for not being dressed properly or cool enough for the exclusive spot. He was wondering how he was going to go about getting in when the bouncer suddenly gave him a very bold idea.

  “Yo, we ain’t letting anything but couples in for the next hour. If you ain’t with somebody you’re gonna have to wait,” the brute addressed the crowd.

  Gabriel watched himself on the giant screen of his mind as he approached the two disappointed-looking girls. They were two leggy shades of chocolate with faces that were cute but not defined enough to be considered beautiful. But on their worst days they were out of Gabriel’s league, so it surprised him more than it did them when he looped his arm in theirs and escorted the ladies to the entrance. The bouncer gave him a funny look about his windbreaker but stepped aside and allowed the trio to enter.

  “That was interesting,” the thicker of the two girls told Gabriel with a smile.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you guys, but I thought . . . ,” Gabriel stammered.

  “It’s cool.” The leggier girl took his hand. She flipped his palm over and pressed a business card in his hand. “I’m meeting somebody in here tonight, but give me a call sometime.” She walked off.

  “Well, I’m not meeting anybody, so if you wanna get a drink we’ll be over by the bar. Thanks for helping us get in.” The thicker one winked and went to catch up with her friend.

  Gabriel stood there momentarily baffled. He looked down at the business card in his hand and saw the tattoo’s ink swirling about his wrists. “I guess you do have some uses.” He tucked the card in his pocket and went to find Carter.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Rogue felt better when they stepped out the fire door and into a side alley. Granted the air was rank from all the garbage, but at least it didn’t reek of magic. He knew he’d been taking a chance coming to the Triple Six, but bumping into Dutch hadn’t been something he counted on. There was no doubt in his mind how it would’ve played out, and he was thankful that he’d been able to get out without incident. His companion wasn’t so appreciative.

  “You’ve got a lot of balls dragging me out here like this,” the girl said in a not-too-happy tone.

  “If that isn’t the pot.” Rogue raised an eyebrow.

  “Anyway, what is it that you want, man?” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Rogue could tell that she was nervous. Good.

  “First of all, you can drop the face, Marty. I’m starting to feel kind of weird about this.” He peered over his shades at her.

  Marty sighed. She closed her eyes and her form began to waver. Magic crackled in the air around her as her features became distorted. Her hips and breasts seemed to deflate while her fingers almost doubled in length. The smooth white skin had taken on a bluish tint, similar to that of a drowning victim. The skin on her forehead stretched until Rogue could make out the small horns beneath. No matter how many times he saw it, the trick still fascinated him. Marty went from an unassuming witch to something that was not of this world.

  Marty was a shape-shifter, one of the lesser demons who had escaped during the first Dark Storm. They were akin to Weres but had no real power to speak of. Not that they needed it with their unique abilities. Marty’s lot could morph into any living thing, making them almost impossible to find when they didn’t want to be found, unless you had an edge, and Rogue did.

  “Happy now?” Marty said, adjusting his tattered denim jacket.

  “Now that’s the Marty I know.” Rogue slapped him on the back.

  “Fuck you, Rogue. Tell me what you want so I can get out of here.” Marty swatted at Rogue’s hand.

  “I need to know about the magical disturbance that hit
the city today. It had the stink of hell all over it and I need to know its source.”

  Marty shrugged. “This is New York City, one of the places of power. Black magic comes through here all the time; it’s not unusual.”

  “It’s unusual when it brings Stalkers out in full force,” Rogue told him.

  “Rogue, I don’t know anything.” Marty tried to hide the fear that had just crept over him, but it was hard for demons to hide anything from Rogue’s eyes, even their true natures.

  “Bullshit.” Rogue shoved him against the wall. “You shifters slink in and out of more private meetings than I get death threats. Marty, your people see shit before it even happens, so I know you’ve got something to tell me.”

  “Listen, I said I don’t know anything. Now if you’ll excuse me.” Marty tried to step past Rogue, but the mage grabbed his arm.

  “Marty, you’re gonna tell me something or we’re gonna have a situation out here,” Rogue said seriously.

  Marty seemed as if he was weighing it when he suddenly jerked away. Rogue tried to tighten his grip, but Marty’s limb had become as thin as a pipe. By the time Rogue realized what was going on, Marty was sprinting down the alley.

  “Don’t make this harder than it has to be, Marty,” Rogue called after him. As soon as Rogue started the summoning, he could feel the owner of his eyes stirring in the back of his mind. He liked to tap into his demonic bond as little as possible because of the lingering effects it sometimes left, but there was no way he was going to catch Marty in a footrace. The shadows lining the alley answered his summons and descended on the fleeing Marty. He tried to leap out of the way, but the first strands had already snaked around his ankles, tripping him up. Marty fought like a caged animal as the tentacles wrapped him from foot to chin. He tried to shrink his body, but the tentacles only tightened to match his decreasing girth.