Hiram Grange & The Chosen One

by Kevin Lucia

  Silence, punctuated only by Therese’s gasps. She lay on the floor, curled in the fetal position. Hiram knelt next to her, grasped her shoulder. “Therese? Are you hurt?”

  She crawled upright and hugged herself. “I-I don’t … no, no, but I’m cold. Freezing.” Her teeth chattered, but from chill or shock he couldn’t tell. “Wh-what’s … what’s happening?” She looked around, not really seeing. “These … things … they want to kill me. Why? W-what are they?”

  Hiram didn’t answer. He quickly checked the scanner. The indicator bar reached across the screen, shading from yellow to vibrant orange. “We’re close.” He looked up and saw stairs about twenty feet away, at the end of a long phalanx with no doors or corners. An idea sparked. If he could close off this intersection, he could buy some time. First things first, though. He unslung his satchel to reload his weapons. First the Webley, then the Franchi.

  “Hiram …”

  He stopped. “Yes?”

  “What’s happening to me?”

  “How much do you remember?”

  She shook her head. “Everything, but it’s like I watched it through a fog.” She paused, rested her chin on her knees. “I remember power. I destroyed them all, except one.”

  “That explosion … you?”

  “Yes.” She frowned and looked away. “At the campus bus terminal. A flash, and it was over. It happened again after I fell down the stairs. I was able to catch one of those things. But when you ran out of bullets … I wanted to burn everything down. Destroy the world.” She gazed at him. “What is happening to me?”

  Hiram set the shotgun down. “Power strips away all sense of right and wrong. All that remains are basic desires.” He sighed as he reached into the satchel. “Deep inside, you want justice, a world rid of darkness. Nothing wrong with that. Problem is, the only way to completely destroy darkness—in this world, at least—is to destroy everything.”

  “You didn’t answer me. What’s happening to me? What am I becoming?”

  His fingers closed around several bricks of C-4. “I can’t say for sure. It’s not my thing, metaphysics.” He pulled the explosives out, set them aside, and rummaged some more.

  “And this is?”

  He shrugged. “Yes. There are nasty things in our world—monsters, if you will—that come from a horrible place: the Abyss, the Black, Kadath, Gehenna, Sheol, Hell … there are hundreds of names. It’s my job to kill them. Send them back. Along the way, I try to protect as many innocents as I can.” He paused as dark emotions clogged his throat. “Too often, I fail.”

  “Sadie. When the power took me, I sensed your thoughts … your pain.” She swallowed. “I’m sorry. It was wrong to look into your head like that.”

  He sucked in a deep breath as he pulled out a handful of the infrared receivers and emitters for the C-4. “Not your fault.”

  She nodded, then added, “She was important to you. Almost more important than anyone else … since your mother.”

  He grinned weakly. “You’re going to give my boss a run for her money as an armchair psychologist.”

  She stared at him. “I offered to cleanse your pain. You refused me.” He frowned, not liking her tone, but he let her finish. “Why keep pain like that, if you could be rid of it?”

  He sat back on his heels. Why indeed?

  He looked at her. “Because it makes me who I am. It makes humans who we are. Without pain, all the other feelings we cherish would die. It’s all one package, see? Can’t be separated. I don’t like it. Honestly, I hate it, but here on this plane of existence, eliminating pain would destroy the whole balance of things. Understand?”

  She shrugged. “Not at all.” He resettled about his work, until she asked, “So, does it always go this badly?”

  He grunted. “Not always.” He paused and frowned, reconsidering. “Though frighteningly often, it does.”

  She snorted at this, then fell silent for several seconds. Finally, she said, “Hiram, I have to ask you something, and I need the truth.” Her irises flashed an icy, cobalt blue. “These monsters you hunt. Am I …”

  Hiram’s lips tightened as he molded another mound of the plastic explosive. “No. You’re not a monster, Therese. You are—or were—a scion of Faerie Kind, chosen to be a Faerie Queen. There were five others chosen also. They’re dead. You’re next to die, or at least … that’s what someone wants.”

  Therese’s eyes clouded over. “When the power took me, it told me about the Faerie and the scions. I thought I was hallucinating.”

  “No. The Faerie are a pain in the ass, but they’re real.” He paused. “Therese, do you have a … keepsake, of sorts? Something left to you by your real parents, a necklace with a charm or something?”

  Therese nodded, held out her right hand. A bracelet with its charm slid down her wrist. A quick glance confirmed what he thought: the charm looked exactly like Mab’s. “Yes. That’s the sigil of Queen Mab. It’s also supposed to cloak the Veil within you, but now that you have so much, it’s not working.”

  Therese sat, fingered the charm, staring at it. “I always believed that even though my parents had given me up, one of them cared enough to leave something of themselves with me in this charm. Now, I suppose it’s more like a fence to guard a possession, rather than a token of love.”

  Hiram didn’t quite know how to respond, so he chose to avoid it directly. “In any case, it was left by your mother … Queen Mab of Faerie. It’s your heritage, I suppose. I imagine you’re an artist of sorts?”

  “Painter.” Therese blinked, as if surprised to be asked something so mundane. “I’m a third-year Art student. Sold a few paintings, here and there. Why do you ask?”

  “Apparently, all scions dabble in the arts. It’s a reflection of the Veil’s beauty inside them. Just satisfying idle curiosity, I suppose.”

  A moment of silence, until, “Hiram … will you have to kill me?”

  “No.” Liar.

  “How will you stop these … things? Are there people you can call for, like … backup, or something?”

  “No, there’s just me.”

  “So how will you …”

  “Someone summoned these things, either with a talisman—something used to focus dark magic—or through themselves, which we call a conduit. Either way, summoned entities are bound to them. Destroy the object or eliminate the conduit, break the binding … poof … back they go.”

  “Wait. Eliminate the conduit? But if the conduit’s a person, that means you’d have to …”

  He nodded but didn’t look at her. “Yes.”

  “Oh.” A thoughtful, heavy pause. “And you’re tracking them?”

  “The little rectangular bit you’ve seen me carrying, the scanner? That’s doing the tracking.”

  “How?”

  Hiram cringed. This part he loathed. “Well, to be honest, some of it … hell, most of it … is over my head. I don’t like technology. Even these twenty-year-old infrared emitters give me twitches.” He shook his head. “Anyway, Bothwell—she’s my boss—knows all the particulars. I do the hunting. When these things cross over, it’s called a confluence. It generates a lot of power. Not only can we detect that energy and locate a confluence, we can find the talisman or the conduit.”

  “Because of the energy attached to either.”

  “Very good. Of course, who would’ve guessed that on the same campus where Sumerian demons were loping about, a vice-provost would also be summoning succubae for his own perverted distractions?”

  “What are they?”

  “Sex demons. Whores from hell.”

  Therese raised her eyebrows. “Oh. So that’s what my roommate was, freshman year. Good to know.”

  “Quite. That’s why I was in the artifacts room. Followed a wrong signal there.”

  “And what you’re tracking now is the right one?”

  “Should be, yes. The readings indicate immense concentrations of confluential energies.”

  They fell into a companionable sile
nce as Hiram worked. When he was finished, he planned to detonate the C-4 and block the intersection with rubble. Hopefully, he’d made the right calculations, Bothwell’s jests regardless.

  “Hiram, I have one more question, then I promise to shut up.”

  He chuckled. “It’s all right, really. It’s been a while since …,” something stuck in his throat and hurt. “Well, it’s been a while.”

  A pause, then, “Hiram … can I trust you?”

  He looked up, understanding but reluctant to voice it. “How do you mean?”

  “When the time comes, will you do whatever it takes to … stop me? So I won’t become a monster?”

  His jaw clenched. He’d no real assurances to give, but what could he say? “Promise.”

  He resumed his work and Therese lapsed into silence. They didn’t speak for some time.

  “It’s quiet.”

  Hiram peered down the dimly lit halls. It was quiet … but something didn’t feel right. “Yes. Fortuitous, but damned odd.”

  Still sitting with her knees drawn to her chest, Therese frowned. “Why?”

  Hiram prepared another clump of C-4. “According to what I know about these creatures—which isn’t much—they’re like rats. They replicate, consume: that’s what they do. They aren’t coming at us as hard as I’d expect.”

  “This isn’t hard?”

  “This has been horrible, to be sure, but not consistent with their behavior as I understand it. They’re supposed to consume everything in their path, stop for nothing. They haven’t done that.”

  “And this worries you?”

  “Strangely enough, yes. They’re attacking us in packs, strategically. They’re supposed to overrun. It’s too calculating. Methodical. On one hand, it means fewer casualties. I’m all for that.”

  “But?”

  “It means whoever summoned these things has great willpower. I’m not sure which I’m more frightened of: the monsters or their summoner.”

  “Hmmm. I’m gonna go with monsters.”

  “For now, I’m inclined to agree. Afterwards … we’ll see.”

  “If there is an afterwards.”

  “There will be. One way or another, there will … wait.” Something brushed his mind. The lights flickered, plunging them into darkness, then snapping back again. “What the hell?”

  Therese went rigid. “My God. What time is it?”

  “I’ve no idea, maybe early evening, by now.” The lights faded and rose again. Hiram’s head buzzed louder with the voices of the Hive.

  Therese staggered upright. “I can’t believe I forgot about this …”

  He forced his annoyance down. “Now would be a good time to educate me!”

  Lights off, then on. The Hive buzzed closer.

  “The tunnels are on a timer. Lights shut off at five o’clock. There’s a flicker delay, so stragglers can get to an exit.”

  “How long?” The corridor dimmed, lit again.

  “Cassie and I got caught down here last year. One more.”

  “Damn!” He didn’t have time. He stuffed the remote detonator in his pocket; the remaining C-4 into the satchel. He grabbed two magnesium flares, gave one to Therese. After a moment’s hesitation, he pulled the Webley from its holster and handed it to her.

  Therese’s face blanched. “Hiram, I can’t. I’ll never …”

  “Take it. No arguments.”

  She relented. The gun looked ridiculously large in her hands but oddly right, somehow. He tried very hard not to paste his mother’s face over Therese’s.

  He dug into the satchel once more. The light flickered on and off. Pulling out utility tape, he lashed the flare alongside the Franchi’s barrel. “Pop your flare, before …”

  The hall plunged into a swimming, unrelenting darkness. Two sparkling suns erupted, threw strange lights on the walls. The flares hissed and popped. “Back up. This is risky, but I’m blowing the C-4. The sooner I close this hall off, the better.”

  He glanced at Therese. For a moment, he couldn’t help staring. She stood limply, suffused with a soft, effervescent glow. “Therese?”

  She looked at him, face slack. Hiram was struck again by how much her eyes looked like Mab’s. “Yes. I’m still here.”

  He licked dry, parched lips, wishing Bothwell had been kind enough to add a flask of whiskey to the supplies she’d brought him. His knees trembled. During their brief respite, the things inside him had fallen still. Now, the Hive swelled all around, and they twitched in response.

  Go ahead, say it. Don’t mince words now. They might be your last.

  “Therese, you asked me to do the right thing.” She nodded vacantly. “Well, I’m going to ask you something also. If things go bad in here, if you have to let it out … do it. Burn us all.”

  She nodded and closed her eyes. When she opened them, a slight chill ran through him. They glowed cobalt blue. “Indeed.” The voice didn’t belong to Therese Fitzgerald.

  “Right. Shall we?”

  Hiram held the Franchi in one hand, dug the remote from his pocket with the other. He stumbled backwards. He wasn’t sure how much further he needed to go, at least a few feet …

  Shrieks filled the hall. Hiram spun, thumb on the detonator’s switch …

  Therese shouted. A rubbery mass slammed him to the floor. His head struck concrete, filling it with pain and pressure. A tentacle knocked the detonator from his hand. Another wrapped around his neck and squeezed. More shrieks echoed down the hall, and the Hive pounded in his mind: EAT YOU! EAT YOU!

  Therese screamed and the Webley hammered—once, twice, and then again. Hiram took fierce pleasure in the sound, futile as it was. The Tanara’ri yanked his neck harder and glared at him with impossible, alien eyes. Eat you slowlyyyyy …

  Useless rage consumed him. He kicked, felt maggots burning his exposed skin, and fired wildly. He missed, but the Dragon’s Breath flame licked the hide of the beast attacking him. It screamed and loosened its hold on his neck. He managed to shift the barrel of the gun and jam it deep into the thing’s belly. Roaring, he pulled the trigger, and the Tanara’ri exploded. He rolled away, covered his face, but the flames still tasted his clothes and burnt his skin.

  The Webley roared, twice more, then clicked empty on its sixth shot—the phantom suicide shell.

  A shriek. Hiram rolled over and fired at a flicker of eyeshine, and another Tanara’ri exploded. Two more filled its place. Hiram fired twice more. They exploded into flaming pieces that scattered light throughout the darkness.

  He had only one shot left. He couldn’t reach his bag to reload. Shrieks and shuffles and scrambling tentacles surrounded them.

  A Tanara’ri lunged at Therese, the gestating host in its belly whipping smaller but still deadly tentacles. Hiram blew it in two. Shotgun now empty, he drew his Pritchard and scrambled to his feet. “Therese! Behind me …!”

  A shuddering impact tossed him past her, into the opposite wall. He struck face-first. The world spun as blood poured down his face. The thing on his back screamed—and suddenly vanished. Light exploded all around. Hiram gasped, rolled over and stared.

  Therese shimmered as she held the monster above her. Waves of power flowed from her and lit up the halls. Tanara’ri filled the corridor. Full grown adults, gestating young embedded in human husks. They froze at the sight of Therese, transfixed by the light pouring from her as she snarled and twisted her hands deeper into necrotic tissue. As one, they scuttled back into the C-4’s blasting path.

  “Therese! The C-4! They’re under the C-4!”

  She shook the beast once as white fire pulsed through it. “Yes!” She wound up and threw the glowing creature at the ceiling.

  The world throbbed with fire, light and thunder. A long psychic wail slammed Hiram into oblivion.

  Therese faced her nightmare door. Something felt different. Nothing pursued her. She stood alone. Biting her lip, she grasped the knob. A hollow voice from over her shoulder said, “You can’t do this alone.”

&
nbsp; She turned, and faced herself. The Chosen One’s eyes glowed a deep blue. Her smile cut, harsh and cruel. “I’m not waiting forever. Eventually, we’re going to have this out.”

  Therese shook her head. “You don’t control me.”

  “But you can’t control me. You’re too weak. Too human.”

  Therese turned away. The Chosen One was lying. Therese could control her. She just had to learn how.

  “Good luck, sweetie.” Heels clicked away in the silent hall. “Call me when you change your mind.”

  Therese blinked and woke amidst smoking debris.

  Sunday Morning

  As soon as the automatic lights—those still working—switched on, Hiram woke to a medley of pains. He blinked, but that only brought a fresh wave of agony.

  The last time he hurt this badly, he’d consumed liters of absinthe and enjoyed the company of many girls. Dressed as police. With batons. He’d an awful premonition that when he opened his eyes this time, he wasn’t going to see any scantily-clad policewomen.

  “Oh, hell.” Hiram pushed himself up. Vertigo swelled and his stomach churned. He winced and grabbed his head. Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply and the nausea passed, but a twitch—the things inside him—still remained.

  Gradually, his headache receded to a dull throbbing. He opened his eyes and took stock of the destruction. The C-4 had done its job well. Rubble blocked off the corridor. Nothing would come through that mess any time soon.

  “You’re awake.”

  Hiram glanced over his shoulder; saw Therese standing away from him, holding the scanner. He ran a hand through his hair and winced as he found several bumps and small cuts.

  “What do we do now?”

  Hiram sighed and rose. “What I do best, love. Figure it out along the way.”

  The door to the surface loomed before them. Weapons reloaded and ready for whatever lay ahead, Hiram now sagged against the wall. Every few minutes, his lungs rattled with wet coughs. His calves burned, arms shook, and the Franchi felt leaden in his hands.