by Ryk E. Spoor
"True enough." I thought for a moment. "I'll make you a counter-offer, Mr. Carruthers. You will arrange the same immunity for all those associated with me—specifically, you give up on Tai Lee Xiang and all his relatives. If you have his wife or daughter still in your possession, or that of anyone you have influence over, you'll hand them back. Verne Domingo, myself, Sylvie, and to be blunt my whole damn hometown is off-limits to you and your gene-twiddled friends."
"Have you completely taken leave of your senses, Wood?" Carruthers stared at me. I couldn't completely blame him, I had upped the ante a bit, specifically in his own project's area.
"Hey, you're the one who came here. Take it or leave it. I'm not interested in just personal immunity—that's not enough to make it worth playing this game with you. I'll trust in Verne and Tai Lee to whip the crap out of any of your assassins that happen to wander through." I turned my back on him and got myself a ginger beer out of the fridge and congratulated myself that my hands shook hardly at all.
I turned back to face Carruthers' silent glare. I returned it with a raised eyebrow and sat back down.
Silence. None of us moved.
After what seemed an hour but was probably only a minute, Carruthers broke into a smile and spread his hands. "You have my measure, Mr. Wood. It is, indeed, that important to me. I accept your terms, with a single exception: Jeri Winthrope. While she is not, at present, high on our list of targets, she is connected to an organization which is in an adversarial position to us, and I will not agree to something which would potentially leave me bound to permit an enemy to strike at me without my own freedom to strike them as I saw fit."
I didn't like the exception, but I also knew what "organization" he had to be referring to, and whoever they were, they played their own brand of deadly hardball. A warning to the Jammer would suffice to make sure they kept their eyes open.
"Agreed."
"Excellent!" Carruthers stood to go.
"Whoa, there," I said. "I want you to swear to this agreement."
"Certainly," he began, but I held up my hand.
"In the name of the King himself."
His mouth tightened, then relaxed. "Yes, I suppose you would guess that one. So be it. I, Virigan, one of the Eldest Five, swear, by the name of our Father and King, the Final Devourer, Virigar, that from this day forth no forces under my control, or under the control of any I influence, involved with the Project or of our people, shall seek to harm, kill, interfere with, or otherwise inconvenience Jason Wood or any of the people associated with him as follows: V'ierna Dhomienkha, known as Verne Domingo; Tai Lee Xiang and any of his family; Sylvia Stake; and any and all residents of the community of Morgantown, New York, current or future, with the sole exception of Agent Jeri Winthrope and any that she recruits or imports to the area, aside from those already mentioned. In addition, I swear that if any of the family of the previously mentioned Tai Lee Xiang remain in the custody of any I control or influence, they will be returned to Tai Lee Xiang and will enjoy the same status of protection.
"In return, Jason Wood, you swear that you will undertake the investigation of these killings in Venice and environs, and will devote the same ingenuity and effort that you have to prior investigations, ignoring considerations of our races' differences in the pursuit of the perpetrator. Have I your word?"
"You have my word of honor, yes. I'll do the best I can."
Carruthers bowed. "Then it is agreed and sworn to. I would suggest you call the Sh'ekatha; he will be able to tell you many things about what you may be facing. In the meantime, I will be instructing my people to cooperate with you fully—including giving you information on ourselves and our enemies which we would otherwise never reveal. I shall not be available—I must return to my own duties elsewhere." He extended his hand, which I shook reflexively, a shiver going up my spine. "Good-bye, Mr. Wood. I doubt we shall meet again."
The door closed behind him. I looked at Sylvie. "Why do I have a feeling that despite having him over a barrel, I still got the short end of the stick in this one?
58
"You may have been tricked, Master Jason."
I closed my eyes for a moment. "Why, thank you, Morgan. Just what I needed to hear."
Sylvie and I had just finished filling Morgan in on the details; after I had called Verne and started to tell him the situation, he had cut me off, not wanting to discuss things by phone, and sent Morgan down by chartered jet. Another peculiarity of Verne's existence that I hadn't known until now was that he could not travel a great distance from home, or stay away for any length of time, without significant preparations. Therefore he had sent Morgan—his oldest living friend and retainer—to be his right arm.
"Would you mind at least filling that in?" Sylvie asked. "Exactly how we were tricked, I mean."
Morgan smiled slightly. "Perhaps 'tricked' is too harsh a word, but slightly misled, certainly. While it is, technically, true that there are several ways to produce the effects that you have described, only one seems to me and Master Verne at all likely—and even that one is so unlikely that only the very existence of these crimes would make us consider the possibility at all."
"I see." I said. "What you mean is that he made it look like the thing they were afraid of wasn't necessarily here, while in fact he was pretty darn sure that it was, right?"
"Essentially true, yes, sir. In our opinion, you are dealing with a Maelkodan."
I typed the word into my laptop and frowned. "That one does not come up in the little database I made a while ago, Morgan."
"Master Verne realizes this and sends his apologies, sir. The creatures were rare even before the disaster, and mostly not found on Earth in any case; it did not occur to him that any such could have survived until now."
I noted the word down. "And just what is a . . . Maelkodan?"
"As the Werewolf is the origin of several legends—that of the lycanthrope, several demons, and so on—the Maelkodan is the original source from which the legends of Medusa, the basilisk, the catoblepas, and so on have derived. They are monstrous creatures, intelligent and devious, of vast mystical potential.
"As were so many monsters, they were created by sorcerous experimentation. In the case of the Maelkodan, a misguided attempt to create a creature capable of hunting down Werewolves produced a monster with the requisite abilities, but with its own agenda. As nearly as Master Verne can determine, this was due either to a genuine mistake by the wizards doing the design, or possibly due to deliberate interference by someone—perhaps Virigar, perhaps one of the magicians themselves playing a deeper game. The Maelkodan was created from a combination of Werewolf, Human, and Teranahm souls and bodies."
"So," I said, "a group of powerful but possibly not very forward-thinking wizards went ahead and made this weird crossbreed. Um, what was that last species? Tera . . ."
"Teranahm," Morgan repeated. "The translation would be 'Great Dragon.' "
"Ooog." It wasn't the brightest-sounding rejoinder, but I wasn't able to think of appropriate words.
"Indeed, sir. The resulting creature lacked the fluid shapeshifting ability of the Wolf, but as both Wolf and Teranahm have this as an inherent ability, a Maelkodan nonetheless has three forms. The first is its true form, which from the fragmentary descriptions available would be something akin to a slender lizardlike body with a vaguely humanoid torso rising, centaurlike, in the front. It has Wolf-like claws and teeth, and the scales are excellent armor. Unlike the Werewolf, it is in fact not vulnerable to silver, but on the much brighter side is vulnerable to ordinary weapons, as a general rule, though if they become powerful enough their armor will withstand blows from swords and so on wielded by mortal strength. Master Verne and I are of the opinion that bullets will remain effective."
"Well, praise the Lord and pass the ammunition, will wonders never cease; a horror from beyond time that I really can just shoot dead." I said. "By the fact that the Wolves are scared of this thing, though, I guess it must have something to ma
ke up for the fact that it can be killed conventionally."
"Indeed, sir. Several." Morgan paused, knowing I liked to work things out myself if possible.
I considered what he'd said so far. "Okay. Given what you say it originated in the way of legends, it has a death gaze. If it looks at you, you die. I'd guess that you have to also be looking at it—not only is that what the legends say, but if it could just kill by looking around, the thing would be virtually impossible to beat by anyone, and I presume the things did get killed on occasion."
"Scoring pretty well so far, Wood," Baker said from the doorway, carrying a box of papers, presumably the records I needed.
"What I don't get is the different methodologies; why did Mansfield end up just plain dead and Karl playing statue?"
Baker shook his head. "Not different methods, Wood. Different kinds of beings are affected by the Mirrorkiller differently."
"Um, 'Mirrorkiller'?"
"It's what we call the things. For what it's worth, the damn things fulfilled their design purpose. They like hunting us. They just like hunting everything else, too."
"Quite so," Morgan said. "They were supposed to inherit some human behavioral traits, but instead apparently became mostly Wolfish in their outlook."
"Enough," I said, as I realized Baker was taking it personally as a snipe—which it may have been, but with Morgan's English-butler reserve there was no way to tell. "Three forms, you said. What are the others?"
"One is human," Baker said after a moment. "A secondary shape it can assume while hunting. The third shape is the shape of the last person it killed. So when first hatched, it's only got two forms until it succeeds at killing."
"Why does it just cause humans, for instance, to drop dead, and Wolves to turn to stone?"
"That has to do with the difference in the essential nature of human versus Wolf," Morgan answered. "Correct, Mr. Baker?"
"Yeah," Baker said. "Ya figured out our basic nature when ya made that gadget, right?"
I nodded. I thought I was starting to get the picture. "You're really energy matrices inhabiting a physical form. That's why you can perfectly duplicate a human being without becoming the human being."
"Right. Now, the Mirrorkiller, it eats the soul—the essential energy of any living thing. Being related to us, it's basically the same kind of thing."
"Now I understand. Since it was made using part of your essence, that's why your people can't just sense it, either—it can hide from you just as well as you can from us."
Baker grimaced. "Uh-huh. Now, when it gets you in its sights, it tries to eat your essence. But a human being, he's tied to that body. The body and the soul, they're just part of the same thing for you people. So it's got to rip the energy out of you, bit by bit, until the meat that's left falls over." Baker gave a shiver, a genuine sign of fear. "With us . . . it establishes, um, whattyacallit, a resonance, two similar patterns, and it damps part of ours out—negates part of the will to move, to fight. The resonance makes it take on the shape of the one it's killing."
"Thus 'Mirrorkiller.' "
"And then it moves to the target body, eating directly, leaving its own behind and taking over the shell."
I blinked. "So it's not really Karl's body out there carved in stone?"
"Not really, no. That's the mass which the Mirrorkiller was using beforehand. The next victim we found, well, that was Karl's body after the Mirrorkiller was done with it."
I had to admit, that was a pretty creepy picture. "But then Mansfield's body . . ."
"Well, of course that was the real body," Baker said. "The Mirrorkiller doesn't waste energy forcing its body to maintain a biological structure when it's moving to a new one. And it can't move into a human body the same way—it needs a soul connection to do the move, and it has to rip the soul out of a human first, rather than being able to move in via the resonance. It can use the resonance to paralyze the same way for a human, but that's the most it can manage."
"Okay, so it killed Mansfield. Then, as itself or Mansfield, it could –"
"No, not as Mansfield—where'd you get that idea?"
I looked at Baker. "You said its third form is the last person it . . . oh, I see, the usual Wolf attitude. We're not people. It only takes the form of people whose bodies it's taken over."
"Right."
"In the legends," I said, "basilisks could be killed with mirrors. Is this true?"
"As it so happens, yes," Morgan answered, consulting some notes. "The Maelkodan retain some tendencies of physical creatures; they must see their target with physical sight first, before their soulsense can engage. For them, the eyes are indeed the window to the soul. The mystical connection between sight and soul is exceedingly deep for them; therefore, when they are engaged in the hunt, seeing themselves in a mirror—in attack mode only, mind you—triggers an attack upon their own soul."
I nodded slowly. "I see . . . yes, that makes perfect sense. The energy matrix is of course its own, and by trying to establish a suppressive phase shift, it's going to in essence cancel itself out."
Morgan blinked, as did Baker. "If you say so, sir."
"You emphasized 'in attack mode only,' Morgan. I suppose that means that we can't track down the Maelkodan by looking to see who might have no mirrors in their houses, or by lining the streets with reflective glass?"
Baker chuckled. "Sorry, nope. Only when it's chasing prey is it using the death-stare, focusing its own soul to attack. And they're all pretty well aware of the Perseus dodge, so it ain't easy to catch one off-guard." His tone became more serious. "And a Wolf don't have much chance of getting away with it. A human, he can catch a glimpse, get a jolt but maybe stumble on, break eye contact and keep going. One of us, once the lock starts . . . it's over."
"So there's two things you're more vulnerable to than us," I said, musing.
"Mr. Carruthers mentioned that these creatures gain in power as they kill," Sylvie said. "Can you clarify that, Mr. Baker? Do they have other abilities besides this death-gaze?"
"Ayup," Baker said dismally. "Humans ain't got much, for the most part, on the power scale. Oh, there's a few what have trained in certain disciplines whose souls burn more bright, but for the Mirrorkiller they're strictly potato chips—you gotta eat a whole bag to get much out of 'em. One Wolf, even one of the puppies around here, gives 'em a kick like fifty or sixty mortals. As they get more soul energy, they get stronger. More powerful energy matrix, in your terms—they can do a lot more with it. Physically they get more powerful, no doubt—by now, the bastard we're up against could probably toss a small car with effort. And at some point they'll be able to access the Draconic heritage those damn-fool wizards mixed in. That means magical effects. What with the pathetic magic ratio on Earth these days, at least we don't need to worry much about 'em casting spells, but inherent magical effects ain't out of the question. Poltergeist stuff, at least."
"Moving things by sheer will? Telekinesis?"
Morgan responded. "Yes, sir. Now, it's tied to the spiritual side, which means that it cannot directly affect people—of any sort—but other objects are fair game."
"What about the cosmic mind-woogie?" Sylvia asked.
"Beg pardon, Lady Sylvia?"
"I mean, both the Wolves and the vampires can mess with people's heads. How about these things?"
"Ah. Yes, well, they apparently have some small ability to do this, but it is more along the lines of standard hypnosis—anyone who is aware of what they are facing is really in no danger."
I noted that down, looked at the rather intimidating summary. "That about it?"
"Think so," Baker said.
"Okay. So let me summarize. The thing kills by mutual sight—even a glance is enough to lock down a Wolf, but a human has a chance to break eye contact if he's lucky, but a few seconds will finish anyone. It has three forms—one a lizardy centaur kind of thing, one a base human form—that's a preset, right? I mean, it's born able to turn into some specific human appearance?"
"Right."
"One base human form, and one form that changes with each kill of a Wolf or similar, um, energy-matrix being. So if it kills Joe Wolf, it can then be either its default form or Joe Wolf until it kills Jack Wolf, at which point it loses the option of looking like Joe, but gains the ability to look like Jack. Can these things kill each other?"
"Probably," Baker said. "They don't seem to hunt each other down much, though. There never were many of them, thank the King."
I nodded. "Okay, then we've got several possible investigative avenues for us. First, where'd the thing come from? Your people seem to keep fair contact with each other, at least for big important stuff, and I'd guess you'd have known if there were statues turning up before now. Besides that, I've been doing a search through police files across the country and even in other countries I've gotten access to, and there doesn't seem to be any pattern of a bunch of people being found dead without marks on them. So as a first guess, this thing just recently became active. How and why, and from where?
"Second, we follow the movements, as best we can, of the victims, see if we can come up with anything in common that might lead us to the killer's home. It's a damn shame about the statue trick; it doesn't give us much info on time of death, and that means that since the killer can take on the appearance of its last Wolf victim, sightings of the victim at any time during the day preceding the statue's discovery could actually have been the Maelkodan using the victim's shape.
"Third, we remember that the creature has to be living here somewhere. Probably as a human being. If that's so, it must be using its default form. So you want to look for people who have arrived here only recently and have been here since the first killing. Aside from myself and Sylvie, of course. "
"You I'll grant," Baker said. "But just out of sheer cussedness, why can't she be the one?"
I stared at him, speechless for a moment.
"Y'all gotta admit, the timing fits. And I hear tell she can sense us coming. That's impossible for a human. Nothing can find us except our own kind, and even that depends on how strong the other one is and how bad they want to hide. So just how can she sense us . . . unless she's either one of us, or a Mirrorkiller?" Baker's gun was out now, pointed straight at Sylvie . . . but his head was turned sideways, keeping him from looking at Syl's face.