by Nick Pollota
At the three-minute mark, I finished cutting the desired pattern, the dials spun themselves like crazy, and the bolts disengaged. Killing the DeTalion, I placed the warm vibrating tube tenderly in my kit and eased open the door, being wary of any additional magical or demonic defenses. But there were none.
Inside, the safe was stacked with mounds of cash, a clear plastic box filed with vials of colored liquids, and a flat jeweler's box. Sliding on my kid leather beauties, I eased open the case so that it was facing away from me. There was a puff of greenish smoke and a dart thumped into the carpet. Satisfied the boobytraps were all deboobied, I rotated the case and looked inside.
I think my eyes left my head. Silently, I sent heartfelt thanks to who ever watched over fools and private dicks. If I hadn't been wearing gloves when I picked up this case, my hat size would now be zero. Because no catalog of legendary occult amulets was necessary for me to recognize the infamous Necklace of Me.
A millennium or so ago, a mad master magician who had been born mute forged a unique amulet out of metals stolen from the center of the Earth, smelted in a furnace fed by trees he had personally grown, and quenched in a bucket of his own blood. To say that this guy needed a hobby was putting it mildly.
As the mage had never been given a name by his parents, whom he killed by the way, he refused to christen the necklace. Instead, whenever the mage thought of a person he disliked, the poor slob would be bodily torn to pieces by the thundering clarion telepath call of ‘IT'S ME!’ Hence, the name.
Although weakened by the passage of thousands of years, it was still a lethal psionic booster. Now without a master, ME wildly amplified the telepathic ability inherent in any person, so that with a single touch your head would explode. Nobody could touch the amulet and live. Nobody with even the faintest smidgen of telepathic powers. Except, perhaps, for my telepathically dead wife.
Wrapping the case in a Bureau handkerchief, I slide it into an inside pocket of my jacket and buttoned the flap down. After what I went through to get ME, I was taking no chances on losing the necklace.
Job done. Two minutes remaining. In smirking satisfaction, the impulse came upon me to take the money. Or burn it. Depriving the Brotherhood of a few million in cash would seriously hinder their operations. The rub was, I was a cop.
This necklace was stolen property. Not provable in court, but the truth nonetheless. A grateful President had given the Bureau great legal leeway in these delicate matters. I felt little remorse reclaiming the dangerous artifact from homicidal lunatics.
However, the vials of chemicals and the cash were the undeniably legitimate property of the Brotherhood. And there I had to draw the line. I know that George would have no such reticence. Or Mindy, for that matter. Which was why neither would ever lead their own field team. But I did. Ah well, sometimes it was tough being the good guy.
Duck-walking out from under the desk, I stood with a creak. Standing inches away from the wall of lasers beams, I could truly appreciate their searing gigawatt majesty. With a flick of my right wrist, I activated my next to last magic bracelet and turned Invisible. Unharmed, I stepped through the deadly curtain of lasing photons. With no colors to react to, a laser was just so much indirect lighting. Ain't science grand?
But at the exact moment the jewelry case passed the brink of the lasers, I heard glass shatter. Eh? Pivoting, I saw the broken vials in the safe, their bubbling liquid contents combining into a translucent greenish ooze, which broke apart into small spheres and bounced to the floor. Pulsating, they commenced to grow: ping-pong balls, baseballs, basketballs...
Utilizing extreme wisdom, I ran for my frigging life.
In the hallway, I nearly tripped over the sleeping guards whom had given the ol’ Morpheus happy handshake. I made it past the infrared sensors no problem and passed through the X-rays as easily as they did me. But I paused at the top of the main staircase. The winding expanse of carpeted marble steps appeared totally innocent, open, and safe. In this place? Yeah, right. Hey, Bolt! Sell me some swampland only driven by a little old lady minister on Sundays.
Removing a special Bureau device from my side pocket, I placed it at the top of the stairs and, with a finger push, started the Slinky down the steps.
Ka-ching, ka-ching. Arrows flew, bullets zinged, flame whooshed, poison gas hissed, spears jabbed, swinging blades did, crashing weights also. But at knee and chest level. Casually, I strolled along in the calm wake behind my diminutive six-inch-tall assistant. Ka-ching, ka-ching.
At the bottom landing I reclaimed the coiled spring and was forced to nudge the snoring butler out of the way of the front door. The empty suits of armor stirred at the action, but did not attack.
Stepping outside, I closed the door as quietly as possible. Safe! The Brotherhood mansion was tightly sealed against teleporting and gating. But once off the front veranda, I was home free! Then a bronze arrow the size of a javelin slammed into the doorframe. Turning, I saw the whole zodiac advancing towards me. Oops.
Nimbly, I ducked between the shapely legs of Virgo, and outmaneuvered the Gemini twins, the hollow metal giants clanging like church bell when they collided, but Aquarius drowned me in water and Leo pinned me to the ground under paws the size of sofas. Shaking the fluid from my ears, I could hear sirens starting to wail. Yawning guards were stumbling onto the grounds. Options came and went in my mind like the fluttering pages of a book. I was only a yard from freedom. But my Magnums, grenades, acid squirting pen, pocketknife, dazzling personality, nothing I had could even dent those bronze Titans. No, wait a second, that was wrong.
Taking the jewelry case from my coat, I tore off the handkerchief and tossed it at the lion. Leo made the catch in his mouth and his head exploded like a bronze balloon. Moving fast, Virgo snatched the case before it hit the ground, and her skull blew apart. Pisces made a successful snap and went to pieces.
Animating an inanimate object was always a tricky job. Being born dead, they were incredibly stupid and your instructions had to be most explicit. Bolt had probably ordered them to get the necklace. Telepathically.
Well, they got it. Each and every one.
Bullets were starting to fly my way when I used gloves and handkerchief to recover the jewelry case from amid the jumble of headless bronze junk. Contemptuously, I thumbed my nose at the onrushing guards in the official Bureau 13 salute to bad guys, took two giant steps, and used my last bracelet to teleport away.
* * * *
As per regulations, I appeared in the parking lot of the motel instead of in our rooms. That was just in case anything could follow a teleport. Ha. What a laugh.
Then a swarm of large black balls appeared.
Yikes! God bless regulations.
Cursing Mathias Bolt, I emptied my pistols at the bouncing spheres. I raced across the parking lot and hit the door to our rooms in a baseball tackle worth of any center. The cheap wood bent alarmingly under my strike, and didn't crack, but the lock popped and I lunged into what I sincerely hoped was the correct room.
“Orson Wells!” I cried, announcing the invasion, and I dove over the bed towards my suitcase.
My team turned, and the balls were upon us. Closest to the door, George dropped his sandwich and kicked the television on top the first globe. In an explosion of electrical sparks, the black thing was gone.
Spinning around from the sink, Jessica quick-drew her Uzi and started pumping 9mm rounds into the demonic ... whatever these things were. Satan's beach balls?
Larger than the rest, King Beachball hissed a billowing cloud which set fire to a cushioned chair, while another spewed a stream of brackish liquid at me. Fast as possible, I ducked out of the way, and the vicious liquid hit the wall, dissolving the wood panels, glass mirror, and lamp. Wow. Talk about morning breath.
Slamming a clip into an Uzi machine pistol, I gave the devil rounders a taste of 9mm Parabellums Ala Alvarez.
Charging in from the parking lot came two more beachballs. Frantically, Raul gestured and a loud gri
nding noise suddenly came from the doorway, although nothing was visible. Unstoppable, the balls leapt into the air to sail through the doorway at us.
Bad move. As the globes crossed the doorjamb, they were converted into fine mist which sprayed across the hotel room, dampening the carpet and wetting the bed. The Barrier of Wering had worked again.
However, bullets were not doing so well. Lead slugs simply bounced off their adamantine hides, phosphorus rounds flattened as glowing dots of yellow fire, the steel rounds musically ricocheted away, and blessed wood splintered. Ah, but then I noticed that silver bullets hit the beachballs with sledgehammer force. I tried to keep them busy while Jess got more silver ammunition.
Going for her sword, Mindy flipped over backwards in her chair as a ball jumped to get her. As it passed overhead, a slim hand holding a silver knife shot up and gutted the thing in mid-flight. Deflated, it collapsed and vanished.
Just then the bathroom door was shoved aside and out came Katrina, stark naked, dripping wet, hair matted with shampoo and the four-foot length of her stainless-steel wizard's wand held in both hands. As lovely as the lady is, I was more pleased to see the staff than her ample feminine charms.
“ ...!” Katrina shouted, her staff pointed at one of the monsters. It went motionless and turned gray as stone.
Bouncing off a wall, a particularly nimble beachball went careening towards Father Donaher. Swinging an arm, he slapped the thing with his steel-reinforced Bible. There was an audible crunch above the tumultuous combat, and the black globe dropped to the carpeted floor, incredibly dead.
“Get thee back, hellspawn!” the priest bellowed, the golden cross in his hand ablaze with holy power. The snarls of rage from the globes changed into whimpers of fear, and the demonic balls retreated.
Snapping the bolt and clicking off the safety, George added the firepower of the big M-60 to the battle, spraying a glittering stream of silver rounds into the remaining demons trapped between the intoning priest and the doorway jammed full of an invisible lawnmower. Steadily blown to pieces, the scraps started to roll into tiny spheres which began pulsating and growing again.
Then inspiration hit! Maintaining fire with the Uzi, I dug inside my pocket and tossed the jewelry case towards my wife. My shirt had ridden up in the battle and the box nudged my bare waist. Fleeting as the touch was, my entire left arm went limp and I was blinded by the mother of headaches.
Through tears of pain, I saw Jess make the catch one handed, but then stagger violently backwards against the wall, her small body rigid in pain.
CHAPTER NINE
Instantly, my wife recovered, her eyes narrowing in concentration. Standing straight, totally confident, Jessica turned towards the bouncing demons. Yowsa! I hadn't seen her like this in years.
"Die!" she throated, clutching the necklace in her bare hands.
Both of the remaining creatures went stock-still, and tiny wisps of steam rose from the bits scattered about on the floor. Equally exhausted, I slumped to floor, hoping to land on something soft. I missed.
Dumbfounded, my team stared with slack jaws.
“How the hell did that happen?” Mindy croggled, lowering her weapon.
“Impossible!” Father Donaher gasped.
"Mon dieu!" George added.
Raul spun about. “And when the bloody heck did you get your telepathic powers back?"
Just now, she sent softly, fingering the glowing necklace in her hands.
“Happy birthday,” I groaned from behind the ruin of the bed.
The team rushed forward and helped me to my feet.
No pain, sent Jess.
Instantly, my throbbing head pieced itself together. Gracias, hon.
You're welcome, pumpkin.
Sssh!
Sheathing her sword, Mindy helped me into a chair while Raul gave me a bottle of healing potion and George offered a beer. As I thanked each of them, I gazed hard into the faces of my teammates. Okay, apparently nobody had received the dreaded ‘P’ word. My pride was yet intact.
“Report,” Father Donaher ordered, in a good impression of me.
I took a healthy swig from the healing potion and my aches went away. Then I took a swallow from the beer and my thirst went away. Alternating sips from the two bottles, I gave the pertinent details: Mathias, rune, safe, statues, balls.
Sitting boneless in a chair, his feet dangling, Raul massaged his chin. “So the Brotherhood can track a ‘port. I'll have to do some work on that."
“Definitely,” I agreed.
Just then, Kathi jerked her head. “Raul!” she screamed, pointing.
Weapons at the ready, we turned to see the angry manager of the motel stepping through the doorway. Raul gestured so hard and fast to cancel the earlier spell he fell out of his chair, but the man stayed in one piece as he walked into the room. Whew, that was close.
“What the hell is going on here!” the manager stormed. His nametag said ‘Fred', and the bulge over his belt said ‘diet'.
Moving fast, Jessica took his head in her hands and he went motionless. “We're a famous rock band,” she said aloud to reinforce the hypnotic illusion. “We're here in disguise to escape our fans. We have given you a deposit of five—"
Generously, Father Donaher lifted a pack of cash from our emergency stash.
“—ten thousand dollars for any damages we might incur to your property. You interrupted us in the middle of an orgy. You joined in for awhile, and now, totally sated, you're going back to the office for a nap.” She released his head.
“Take care, gang,” he said with a wave and ambled away whistling a Madonna tune.
Chuckling, I locked the door, Raul closed the window curtains, and George offered Kathi a robe.
She looked puzzled, then laughed. “Da! Nudity taboo. Forget. I go finish shower.” Unconcerned, the natural blonde strolled into the bathroom with the grace of a panther, and soon we heard the sound of running water again.
“Conference,” I announced, pulling up a chair.
“Wait,” Jessica commanded and slowly revolved once, twice.
“There,” she sighed with a smile. “I've put everybody in the motel asleep again and sent the police off to the nearest donut shop."
Will that accursed stereotype never die?
Meanwhile, the rest of the team had gathered cushions and chairs around me to form a rough circle. That way we could talk face-to-face and watch each others’ backs.
“Okay. We have protection again,” I started, resting my arms on my knees. “What's the fastest way to get a replacement Bureau vehicle, so that we can go and crack this Hadleyville nut?"
“The longer the Scion is left unsupervised, the harder it will be to stop them,” George stated.
“Closest supply dump is our own in Chicago,” Mindy said, sitting cross-legged on the rumpled bed. “With Raul and Kathi to drained for a mass teleport or Gate, it'll take us five, six hours to drive there."
“Only two, if we put Flash Renault behind the wheel,” Father Donaher gibed.
Sucking on a fresh lollipop, George was not insulted. Our daredevil soldier firmly believed that highway speed limits where merely social guidelines to be used by the weak and confused.
“We could ask for an air drop,” Raul suggested.
Jess gave a snort. “Air drop an RV?"
“Okay,” the wizard said. “Or how about a nice tank?"
“A Bradley Fighting Machine would be better."
Reloading his M-60, George frowned. “Might as well announce ourselves to the media with a bullhorn."
“Hrmph,” Raul grumped.
“Then again, maybe we don't need an armored assault vehicle,” I said thinking aloud. That caught their attention.
“What'cha mean, Ed?” Raul asked, leaning on his staff.
“The Scion might think that we died on the Ohio highway,” I explained. “If so, we can sneak back, find out what they're doing, and stop it before they even knew we're alive."
From the ex
pressions shown, my idea was met with general approval.
“Jess, can you do a soft recon of that town and give us more information without endangering yourself?” I asked.
My wife chewed a lip for a moment and then nodded. “Yes, I can do that. But it would help tremendously if I could see the place."
“Any maps of West Virginia?” I asked the group.
“In the RV,” Mindy answered, getting comfortable on the floor. “Burned to ashes."
Floating in closer, Raul smiled as he tucked both feet underneath his butt. “There I can help. Mike? The hair, please."
Smiling in understanding, Donaher reached inside his cassock and withdrew a white evidence envelope. Using tweezers, he pulled into view the werewolf hairs he had found on the corpses on the highway. How long ago was that, a million years?
“Standard ritual?” Father Donaher asked, loosening his rosary.
His fingers already crackling with power, Raul nodded and we prepare for the long-distance call. This was not going to be an easy task for mage or telepath. There was a good thousand miles to cover, with nobody on the other end that either was familiar with, plus it was hostile country patrolled by an enemy telepath as strong as Jess. Maybe better. Just your average day on the job.
Clearing a spot in the wreckage, we laid a soft blanket on the floor and dimmed the lights. Placing the hairs in the middle of our circle, Raul gestured at them and a white spotlight illuminated the follicles. Then he began speaking under his breath, raising his voice in timber and volume until he shouted the last unintelligible word and lightning crackled from his staff to the hairs! Whew, what a stink.
In ragged stages, a blob of light formed on the blanket, a splotch that moved and changed, flowed and reformed until it suddenly clarified into an aerial view of Hadleyville and the surrounding country. It was primarily the same as we last saw it, with but one notable exception.
The hotel was gone. Only a flat-bottomed hole remained to show where the ten-story structure had once stood.
“Confirmation,” I barked, staring at the translucent three-dimensional image. “Is this the past, present, or future?"