by Gary Starta
“It sounds pretty clear to me,” Briana offered. “Maybe you experienced your changes to keep the Ennead in check. My stars they do need it. You said it yourself. They roam freely without question.”
I laughed through my tears. “Yeah, well that’s pretty much expected of gods.”
Briana grabbed my wrist. “Caitlin, do you ever wonder about becoming a goddess? Maybe this is—”
“Do you mean do I wonder what it would be like if I just give Isis permission to take over? It’s too frightening to ponder, but you know, I don’t feel she would do it without my consent. She could do it at anytime. Yet, she doesn’t. She knows she would have to consume my entire being to become fully conscious again. I don’t know if the Ennead will push for this. But I suspect it. I think an FBI agent sharing a body with a goddess might pose a threat to their agenda.”
“Well, if we can believe them; their agenda’s altruistic. They want to reacquaint humanity with mother earth. Gee, imagine that.”
Briana’s sarcasm wasn’t lost on me. The Wiccans obviously followed these principles without real-time assistance of gods. In effect, faith was enough for them. But not all of this world’s humans or demons, for that matter, had lived in such harmony. A part of me wanted to trust the Ennead. We should be less materialistic and more spiritual in our relations with humans, demons, animals and nature. I just had to wonder how their ideology could take such a quick grip. Money-driven people in particular should be resistant. The people had to be under a spell. The entire world’s economy had been thrown off balance in a matter of hours. Consumers benefited from supply and demand. The missing demons forced manufacturers to lower prices. The government had imposed a moratorium on foreclosures pertaining to homes once occupied by demons. Banking vultures couldn’t just scoop up vacant homes and resell them. The demon disappearance meant the world’s economy had to adjust. Entrepreneurs made money off selling Ennead merchandise. Part of that enterprising would involve me inking a contract with Imogen Press, which was so not going to happen. I had to imagine what would have happened in my former world where capitalism meant everything. Yes. I was sure of it. There had to be a spell or at least, a scientific equivalent—like mass brain-washing. And then I began to wonder about Charlize’s welfare. Her phone went straight to voicemail the three times I’d called. I didn’t want to say anything to Briana right now. She was stressed enough about Manners.
I was heating a second pot of tea when the phone rang. Briana and I just stared at each other for a long moment. I sensed the call was about Charlize, but not from Charlize. And in fifteen seconds, I’d been proven correct.
“What the hell do you mean they’re going to arrest her?” I demanded from Chuck.
“This is a heads-up, Caitlin. I shouldn’t be doing this. You know that.”
Chuck had thrown my new world out of balance once again. DC police had issued a warrant to arrest Charlize. Tut had been found murdered mere hours ago, the back of his head caved in from a blunt object. Charlize, according to hotel security, had been the last person to see the boy king alive—well, in the strict definition of alive and breathing. I still had to wonder just what the supposed resurrected king really was. I knew he had the charm and wile to seduce my dear genetically-engineered teen. It was clear the pair shared a hotel room for the better part of the evening after the concert. What wasn’t absolutely fucking clear was Charlize’s part in his death.
Chuck made me promise I wouldn’t try to contact Charlize, FBI protocol and such. Boy, I loved this man, but he sure was clueless. I believed myself and this world’s Caitlin Diggs shared a predilection for bucking the system. Protocol was for time-sucking bureaucrats not for heartfelt FBI agents who would do almost anything when lives were in the balance. A part of me knew damn well Chuck was privy to this. Was he doing me a favor? After I hung up, I questioned motives. I trusted Chuck with my life. But what if Seals ordered him to call me? Was it to see how I would react, and if so, to catch me breaking Seals’ precious freaking protocol?
I didn’t care. Either way I was going to contact Charlize.
I felt an arm around my shoulder. “Caitlin, please implore Charlize to not say anything, and especially don’t advise her to run.”
“Damn it, Briana. You know me too well. And to think, I’ve only been in your universe for less than a season.”
I didn’t tell Charlize to run. I don’t know how I didn’t. I don’t believe it was due to any intervention. I just believed in our justice system. And I knew I could catch whoever was manipulating it.
Charlize answered, hesitance lacing her voice, on the second ring.
“You’ve heard?” I asked.
“Star of the Sea, it’s all over the news. I left him alive—with a…kiss.”
I heard her sob. “It is okay, Charlize. I know you loved him. I also know you didn’t do this.”
“You shouldn’t be talking to me, should you?” Her tone changed segueing back to her adult voice. “Don’t worry, I won’t run. I won’t say anything until they give me a lawyer.”
“That’s good to hear, hun.”
Then she segued back to a scared child. Maybe I shouldn’t have called her hun.
“My mother can’t know about this. You’ve got to help me get out of this before she gets back from her trip.” She said this as if out of breath, in the throes of hyperventilating. I could identify with her fear.
Truth was I was more scared of her foster mother, Dr. Federov, than all the Ennead combined. She’d pulled a gun on me while I sat in her dentist chair. Federov realized I wasn’t from her world when I pretended to be her Caitlin; as you might imagine, the odds of x-rays being exactly identical are slim to none. Anyway, Federov became a great ally when she realized I could help her daughter. Well, when she wasn’t pissed at you at least. I so needed to sort this out before the good dentist returned from the Ukraine.
Before hanging up, Charlize asked permission to ask me one more thing. Her voice was frail and tiny. “Caitlin, do you really believe I could love? That someone like me could have those feelings?”
I smiled with my voice. “Yes, I do believe. And you’re probably more capable of having those feelings than any ordinary being I’ve ever known.”
I promised her I’d explain the situation to Brahms. With any luck, we could post bail. But that might not be so easy because besides the obvious setup, police and FBI officials don’t always play so nice. I decided to have Brahms post bail even though it would expose his connection to the genetically-created child.
* * * *
I found Charlize in a cell a few hours later, sullen and defeated, shoulders hunched. I had never known the child to appear so beaten, so crestfallen. Truth was she was far more self-confident and optimistic than I ever believed I was.
The police had already taken her prints and matched it those they believed to be from the murder weapon, a statuette. A plain-clothes detective, whose personality matched his rumpled suit, told me the weapon was on the floor, right next to the deceased. He claimed such a brazen act could only be one of passion. In his mind, Tut had fueled sufficient passion in Charlize to kill him. I know the detective was clueless to Charlize’s origins, yet alone Tut’s, making it really difficult to believe his confident assessment. I knew a lot more than in the detective’s words “love gone wrong” was responsible.
I also knew I couldn’t begin to imagine the ramifications. A violent hand had just been turned against our ancient but prestigious visitors without provocation. I could hear the media now. They had come in peace to allow us to live in peace. But humanity once again ruined paradise in spite of itself.
Now I was sure I wasn’t going to be on the bestseller list any time soon.
My job now, along with proving the Ennead were involved in our president’s murder and demon displacement, was to prove their hand had once again been surreptitiously used against the very humans they claimed to cherish.
Charlize’s shrilling tone—again out of character for he
r but not without reason—disrupted my thought process. I fathomed her amazing vocal chords gave the ability to produce any sound she pleased. But the guard wasn’t so enamored. He shouted at her to tone it down.
She whispered at me, defiant and angry. “Did they tell you who the statuette symbolized?” She shook her head, not waiting for my answer. “It was of Isis, my beloved Isis. I couldn’t—I wouldn’t—ever do such a thing. I’m not capable.”
To be fair, I had to pause. I didn’t know what this genetically-crafted child was fully capable of. I implored her to recount her story in vivid detail to a court-appointed attorney. I also told her, in whisper, I would find Brahms and see if he could post bail. But the arresting detective appeared from out of nowhere behind me. “Let me formally introduce myself. My name is Detective Swanson and your girl pal isn’t going anywhere. I’ve been on the phone with the district attorney. She’s pushing for no bail.”
“We’ll see about that, detective. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like some privacy.”
“I know who you are. You’re FBI. I have to wonder…” He paused to shoot an index finger at his temple while I prayed his finger was a real gun. “Why is our suspect a friend with an FBI detective?”
“Then you should know the answer. The world knows I am Isis incarnate. Our suspect here is a devoted worshipper of not only Isis but the entire Ennead.” I laid it on thick, only half-believing my own tale. “I think I’ve said enough.”
“Kid,” Swanson said to Charlize, “if you think these gods are going to help you, you’ve got another thing coming. You just killed one of their own.”
“Not everyone of the Ennead has come to that conclusion.”
He finally sauntered off, but his stride was full of cop pride. He sensed conviction. If you followed the evidence, he was right. But what if you followed who might have planted that evidence?
Charlize balled a sleeve around her fist. “There’s something else I’ve got to tell you. Bastet, I don’t know where she is. I think she bounded out the door when the police came.”
“That’s okay, we’ll find her.” I answered in half a daze. I was more concerned about how they found Charlize’s residence so quick. The answer was the chauffeur. He’d driven Charlize back to her home after her rendezvous with Tut.
“Stay calm, Charlize, we’ll find a way out of this.” I wish I was half as confident as I tried to sound. But Charlize continued to pander about Bastet’s welfare. “She’s lost her demon DNA. She won’t be able to defend herself. You’ve got to go look for her.”
I promised her I would. Yes, I was concerned about Bast. Without her demon DNA, she couldn’t transform into a menacing black panther. But somehow I think anyone who would mess with Bast—in any form—would be the one in need of protection.
* * * *
As I drove away I thought about my former universe. Tut had died at nineteen. A forensic scientist hypothesized the boy king had been murdered for political reasons. I dialed Briana to confirm how this world’s Tut died. She told me he lived to nearly experience a mid-life crisis, dying from natural causes in his late thirties.
Was someone copying the events of my universe?
Another phone call chipped away at my thought process. Although the news lightened my heavy heart in the proceeding seconds before logic kicked in, the consequences conspired to chill my already compromised constitution.
Charlize had found a means to free herself in the interim. Only she didn’t use legal means to do it. A bitter Detective Swanson seemed to blame me with wordless accusation. His prime suspect had apparently disappeared from her cell in a blink, like magic. Everything about it felt terribly wrong.
Chapter 13
Cat and Mouse
The sky is acrid. A crimson blanket dotted in plumes of black smoke, it appears to burn from not only the scorching heat of the desert below but from the zipping triangular, black and silver ships traversing its horizon.
I make out a pyramid in the distance between wisps of smoke. The battle taking place here is far from the general populace. Silver ships dart and weave to avoid laser blasts from the conquistadors in black. It is as if the occupants of the silver ships are being chased, hunted for a reason I cannot even imagine. I am puzzled as to why these high-tech fighters can exist here, in this time frame in particular, because the few people I can discern on the ground are dressed in materials from an ancient time.
Men with shields and swords in their hands scurry from their useless chariots, some wedged in drifts of sand, other ancient vehicles buried in dunes, most probably from the blasts of laser from above. Despite their dismal chances of inflicting harm upon the raiders in the sky, they scream and taunt their foes, maybe hoping to take their attention away from the silver ships. One young man seems to lead them. He is robed in what appears to be a skirt and his headdress is magnificent, gold and regal, with accents of blue and white. I swear he looks a lot like Tutankhamen.
The black ships do not lose their focus, buzzing and zipping with anger, determined to defeat their silver-shipped enemies.
Yet the men below continue their war dance, obliged to die in their effort to save the beings in silver. It is as if they depend on these beings, possibly worship these beings…and I have to believe there are gods in these aircraft.
It seems certain when one of the black ships fires its weapon at the rear fuselage of a silver craft, it bucks in air, fighting to remain in flight, but in seconds it dips and drops like a rock toward a sandy grave below. The men on the ground fall to their knees, weeping and wailing, engulfed in pain. A divine connection severs.
Another laser blast blinds me in a red haze of light as strong as the sun. I go to cover my eyes…
I am now somewhere else. In a magnificent house with a high ceiling that seems go on forever. My attention is taken by the people in robes who scurry around a cylindrical tank.. They remind me of ancient doctors. Their patient is sealed in the transparent device. Her hand appears to move, but just slightly because her body appears trapped in amber. Her eyes are piercing and almond shaped. They remind me a lot of Hathor—
Meow! Meow! Meow! The staccato mewls of a cat have taken me from my dream.
Blurred vision prevented me from immediately jumping off of the couch I must have dozed off on. I’d gone to Charlize’s residence after learning of her disappearance or what DC Police have labeled a prison break. I’d hoped Charlize would have returned to her senses and her home after spending a few hours on the run. But the cries I heard at the door weren’t human, demon or from a genetically-crafted being. I was sure it was my cat, Bast. But I wasn’t sure of much else lately so I approached the door with gun in hand.
I holstered my 9mm upon the sight of my feline love. She danced in strobes of sunlight, prancing back and forth with impatience on a flower-printed welcome mat.
“Bast!” I cried, “Come to Mommy!” She jumped without hesitation into my waiting arms. “Where were you girl?” I wished she could talk. Explain her disappearance. For some reason, I believed her disappearance wasn’t incidental but part of a larger, headache-inducing puzzle. The rays of light casting into Charlize’s home also reminded me of the laser weapons in my dream. I paused a moment to reflect, plopping back onto the sofa with Bastet cradled in my arms. Did I just experience a vision from the past or was it simply a dream? The ships could be a large clue if I’d indeed seen an event from the past. There were ships in our skies now. Were the two events related?
I pulled out my cell phone and dialed FBI headquarters to request an emergency meeting with Nephthys.
* * * *
Bast gnawed into the wedge of salmon cat food I gave her with a great zeal. Her hunger for food rivaled my hunger for knowledge. My current case load wasn’t just about solving murders, it was about saving the lives of those still living and hopefully about bringing back the few billion demons currently gone AWOL. I had come to this conclusion standing before my opened refrigerator, scavenging for a few edible scraps of food it
might contain. I gobbled something akin to cheese, another food resembling leftover chicken and washed it down with the contents of a soon to be expired orange juice. Not very palatable but this sustenance wasn’t about enjoyment. I was in survival mode. Not just for me but for an entire new planet. I’d almost lost Bast today, my best non-human friend. I still didn’t know where my beloved daughter-like Charlize was and Briana’s incubus friend, Manners was also among the missing. These people wouldn’t end up forgotten, their images plastered on milk cartons in failed attempts to find them. These people were my friends. My work had become personal and I wasn’t going to ignore it for protocol’s sake. I would use personal pain to drive me. It had fueled me in my past when I was an agent and without paranormal abilities and the accompaniment of an Egyptian deity. Despite my changes, I was still Caitlin Diggs, a top investigator with the highest conviction rate in two universes.
Satisfied Bast was secure in my house, I phoned for a cab to take me to meet Nephthys. Seals said she “jumped” at the chance to meet me. His tone was laced in his usual sarcastic timbre so I was sure Nephthys wasn’t a very happy goddess right now. On the way, I phoned Briana for her to take over sentry duty at the Federov home. I still harbored hope Charlize would return there. She was many things but still a child and often runaway teens gave in to sentimentality. Regardless, I wanted someone there—preferably someone not hostile—to greet her if she did. I still felt like her second mom despite the reality at what she might have done. I couldn’t outright deny she hadn’t killed Tut right now. Yet I’d support her no matter the outcome. My love for the child convinced even the hard-asses at the precinct to allow the FBI—that being myself and Briana—to stand watch on the Federov home for her possible return. I promised I’d bring her back to jail without delay. I bit my lip thinking about that promise in the cab. Would I really be able to keep it?