by Jaxon Reed
5
Booker walked down the busy street toward his office building in the morning rush. He jumped when he felt a tap on his shoulder.
He had almost convinced himself the previous night’s events were all a dream, the scowl Bertha Brisbane gave him as he walked out the door notwithstanding.
He had spoken with the stunningly beautiful Tiffany Valor for only a short while after the news bulletin they heard on the radio, before nodding off to sleep. The excitement and the newly healed wound left him exhausted.
He had gone to sleep with the memory of her face etched in his mind, only to wake and find her gone. He wondered if he had dreamed everything.
Yet, here she was again, walking beside him on his way to work.
“I’m sorry, Darius, I have to stick around in your world for at least a while longer. There’s a dangerous fae on the loose here, and I’ve got to take him out.”
“You mean Sleaghan? What is he, exactly? And what do you mean by ‘fae?’”
Thoughts of dreams slipped away as he began to analyze the things she told him. He glanced around at the bustle of humanity around them. Nobody seemed to be paying any attention to their conversation, and he wondered if she had guarded against eavesdroppers like she did in his room last night.
“They’re creatures between angels and humans, and incredibly dangerous. They have little to no regard for human life. They’re scattered throughout the multiverse and cause mayhem wherever they’re found. That’s the quick and dirty version.”
He nodded, soaking in the information. He could not, however, think of anything productive to offer in return.
She said, “What can you tell me about Sleaghan? He’s been posing as a human for some time now in Chicago, I’m sure.”
Booker’s brows furrowed as he pondered the question.
“Well, I don’t know a whole lot about Mr. Sleaghan. I stick to balancing the books, for the most part. But I will say that Mr. Capone’s business ventures have seen phenomenal growth since Mr. Sleaghan showed up. And, I’m beginning to become convinced that more and more of the revenue is dirty.”
Tiff gave him a funny look.
He said, “What?”
“Are you kidding? It’s Al Capone. Of course his income is dirty. He’s one of the most infamous gangsters from this era across most of the alternates.”
A look of indignation combined with incredulity crossed Booker’s face.
“Well, I don’t know about these . . . these ‘alternate’ Al Capones. But this one is on the up and up. At least he was until Mr. Sleaghan came along.”
“Doing what? Rum running?”
“Rum running? More like milk running. I’ll have you know we have the largest and most successful dairy business in all of Illinois! And even if he does dabble in alcohol sales, it’s not like that’s illegal. That amendment failed years ago.”
Tiff crossed her arms and looked at the ground as they walked along the crowded sidewalk.
“Prohibition didn’t passed on this alternate, and that’s a major deviation, but I think I recall something about the original Al Capone being involved in the milk business, too.”
Booker felt defensiveness building to a crescendo. He said, “And every bottle of milk we produce is date stamped for freshness, too. Where else are you going to find a dairy that does that, huh? Nowhere else. It was Mr. Capone’s idea, after his brother Ralph got sick drinking some old milk when they were boys.
“I will have you know, Ms. Valor, that I personally would have never sought employment in a crooked business, or with any crooked person. And as far as I knew, Mr. Capone has always been an honest businessman. Ruthless, perhaps, especially with competitors. But honest.”
He stopped talking, his face frozen in a frown as several thoughts crowded into his mind at once. He bumped the shoulder of a man walking in the other direction. The man stopped and looked back at him in irritation, but Booker ignored him and kept going.
They continued walking together in silence for a moment. Finally, Tiff looked up at him and said, “But then Sleaghan came along.”
He nodded, reluctantly, and wouldn’t return her look.
“Then Sleaghan came along. Now . . . now I’m not so sure that everything in the Outfit is on the up and up. I see money flowing in from places that never had much before. I see numbers that are off . . . way off. I’m finding expenses for which there are no paper trails, along with funds and balances that go completely unexplained.
“The books used to be simple and straightforward. Now it’s almost like there’re two sets of books, and I’m working with the wrong one. I don’t want to think that Mr. Capone has gotten into dirty business. But now . . . now I’m not so sure.”
They walked on in silence until finally Booker broke off from the stream of foot traffic on the sidewalk and headed toward the entrance of a stately office building.
“Darius, I’d like to hang around your work for a while. See what’s going on. Maybe I can help you figure some things out, too. Is that okay?”
“Sure, I’d be delighted! But I don’t know what Mr. Capone will have to say about a visitor on the premises.”
“Oh, that’s okay. I’ll make myself scarce.”
Booker turned to say something else and—she was gone!
“Ms. Valor?”
He stopped and looked confused, staring all around. He could see no sign of her anywhere.
With a perplexed expression on his face, he slowly continued walking toward the building’s entrance.
He nodded politely at the doorman, decked out in a heavy red coat as usual.
“Morning, Mr. Booker.”
He walked past the receptionist’s desk to the elevators and stood in the group waiting patiently for a ride up. The doors opened and they squeezed in. Everyone gave their floor numbers to the operator, who dutifully punched the numbers.
Finally, the elevator reached the top floor. Only a couple other people were left in the car with Booker. They exited and headed separate ways. Booker walked down to the last office in the hall on the left, opened the door and placed his briefcase on the desk.
He carefully arranged his coat and hat on a wooden rack in the corner, then sat down in an old creaky office chair.
He let out a long sigh, and wondered for a moment if he might be going insane. Did the party happen last night? Did Sleaghan turn into a monster and did Booker really block a bolt of light, keeping it from hitting the extraordinarily attractive Ms. Valor?
Did he really spend a day recovering in a field of bluebonnets, only to show up back in his room a few scant minutes later, raising Ms. Brisbane’s attention and ire?
And did Ms. Valor keep disappearing, or was she only present in his imagination? Imaginary friends did that sort of thing, he thought. They only appeared when no one else was around.
Booker held out his hands in front of his face, looking at them.
I don’t feel insane, he thought. But then, if I truly were insane, how would I know?
He shrugged, unable to come up with a good answer.
He opened a desk drawer, pulled out an old fashioned green eyeshade and slipped it over his head.
“Insane or not, I’ve work to do.”
The door burst open and Al Capone rushed in.
“Booker! Y’ made it! We couldn’t find you after the feds left. I was worried about you.”
“Oh! Yes. Well, it was all so confusing and dark and . . . I just decided the best thing was to go on home.”
Capone smiled, his chubby cheeks turning red as he looked at the accountant with affection.
“That’s my Booker the Book. Always practical. Always! Now come back to my office, we’ve got to talk about some new ventures.”
“Oh. Uh, very well. I will follow you.”
Booker felt awkward around his exuberant boss, but this was typical so Capone paid no more attention than usual. He waited impatiently in the hall, and waved irritably at his employee.
“Come
on, come on. Youse office types are always so slow.”
Capone tromped down the hall. Booker broke into a jog to catch up.
They rounded a corner and walked into the floor’s lobby. Capone marched past his secretary’s desk and pushed upon the wide double doors to his office, Booker following close behind.
Sleaghan sat on a leather couch, clenching a Cuban cigar. Smoke drifted heavily through the room, filling it with a blue-gray haze. The fae’s eyes narrowed to suspicious slits when they walked in. Smoke curled slowly from his lips and nostrils as he exhaled a long, thick stream.
“Okay, Sleaghan. Let’s go over the numbers again now that Booker’s here.”
Sleaghan ignored Capone, his eyes fastened on the accountant.
Booker coughed and said, “Sorry, I had asthma as a child. Tobacco smoke really irritates my lungs, I’m afraid.”
Sleghan exhaled a large cloud that seemed to have a mind of its own. It drifted over to Booker and enveloped his face. He broke into a fit of coughing and waved at the air, trying to dissipate the smoke.
“What happened to you last night, Mr. Booker?”
The directness of the question, and its brusque tone, took Darius by surprise.
“I, uh, well as I told Mr. Capone, in all the darkness . . .”
Booker trailed off, and gulped. Sleaghan’s eyes never left his.
Capone said, “Yeah, yeah, he scooted back home when the lights went out. Now, let’s get down to business.”
“Just a minute, Al. I think Mr. Booker is hiding something.”
“What? He ain’t . . . Oh, alright. I seen that look in yer eyes before, Sleaghan. Y’re not gonna let go of it until y’er satisfied. Okay, Booker. Fess up. Whatcha hidin’?”
“I, well, I . . . uh, nothing, Mr. Capone.”
Sleaghan took another puff on his cigar and blew it out toward Booker. The smoke reached Booker’s face and curled tight around his head again. Booker broke into another coughing spasm.
“Lift up your shirt.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Lift it up.”
“Now see here, Mr. Sleaghan—”
In an instant, Sleaghan bounded off the sofa. He shoved aside Booker’s suit coat with one hand, and ripped the man’s Oxford and undershirt straight up with his other hand, exposing Booker’s stomach.
Belatedly, the accountant stepped back, shoving down his shirt.
“Really, Mr. Sleaghan! That is completely uncalled for!”
“Yeah, Sleaghan. Wassup with that?”
Sleaghan stepped back, but his eyes never left Booker’s while he answered Capone’s question.
“I think our Mr. Booker has made some new friends. Let’s find out if they’re here in the room with us.”
He raised his arm and a flash of light radiated from his hand. Tiff became visible, standing to Booker’s right.
Capone jerked his head toward her, shocked.
“Where’d the dame come from?”
Sleaghan disappeared. Then Tiff disappeared again.
Capone’s eyes bulged out of their sockets. He turned to Booker and they stared at one another in shock. They watched in confusion as the lingering smoke in the room seemed to swirl about, moving impossibly fast. Where it had simply clouded up in the confined space before, now it streaked about, as if something stirred it into action.
Specks of light seemed to flicker through the smoke, too, but they flitted by so fast the men couldn’t track them with their eyes.
“What’s going on here, Booker?”
“I have no idea, sir.”
-+-
When Sleaghan disappeared, Tiff reached out immediately to Cait.
“Where’d he go?”
“He has accelerated his mass, vibrating extraordinarily fast. It allows him to move without being seen.”
“Like a hummingbird’s wings?”
“Precisely.”
“Can you duplicate it for me?”
In response, Tiff felt her body vibrating. She looked down and watched her hand start to blur. Suddenly, time seemed to stand still all around her. Capone and Booker froze in place. The smoke hung motionless in the air.
Sleaghan stood in the same place, visible to her now. He sneered at her.
“Your technology is remarkably adequate to be able and keep up with this spell. But remember this: technology will never be a match for magic!”
He thrust his hand out, sending a ball of pure light flying toward her.
She whipped out an iron rod from a dress pocket, which instantly quadrupled in length, and swung it through the middle of the light, breaking it in two. It dissipated harmlessly, half passing to her left, the other to her right.
“Is that all you’ve got, Sleaghan? Not impressed.”
He sneered again and thrust out both hands, sending flying disks and balls spinning toward her.
Tiff batted each one away as though they were dinner plates.
She said, “I mean seriously. I’ve seen monkeys fight better than this.”
Sleaghan’s eyes narrowed in anger. Then his lips curled up in an evil smile, and he turned toward Booker.
“Do not bait him, Tiff.”
“Thanks, Cait. Now you tell me.”
“I have warned you repeatedly about taunting higher order creatures. It is extremely unwise, it is—”
“Shut up, Cait.”
She ran to intercept a new round of disks before they could reach Booker. Time seemed to slow down, despite her increased speed. She reached out with the rod and pierced the first blast of light a few scant inches from Booker’s chest.
Then the rest of her body caught up with the rod, and she batted down the others.
“Take the offensive, Tiff!”
Tiff grunted something that might have been affirmative. She reached into another dress pocket and pulled out an iron-threaded net. She threw it in one swift motion. It rapidly expanded while sailing through the air.
Sleaghan moved before it reached him, racing for the door. The net grew to double his size and soared past where he had been standing a scant moment earlier. An edge of the net brushed the back of his ankle as he lurched out of the way.
Sleaghan roared in pain, and lost his speed spell as he tumbled to the floor. He seemed to materialize in front of Capone and Booker. He threw up an aura of light around himself in a protective armor spell.
Tiff raced up to him in a split second, still in her accelerated state. The tip of her rod sharpened into a point. She stabbed it into his stomach, his neck, his thigh, his face.
In normal time, Capone and Booker watched in horror as a series of wounds split open Sleghan’s flesh almost instantly.
FOOM!
Blinding white light exploded around Sleaghan, evaporating his human shell, and abruptly bringing Tiff back into normal time.
On the floor, a translucent, oily dark-gray body lay on its back. It looked to be about four feet tall, having shrunk considerably from its previous forms. A bulbous head, seemingly far too large in proportion to the skinny body, lolled on the floor.
Large white eyes fluttered open, five times larger than any human’s, above slits in the face serving as nostrils.
The creature looked up at Tiff, and sneered, the slits flaring in anger.
“You’ve revealed my true form.”
Tiff gripped her rod tighter, keeping it aimed at the creature’s neck. The point hovered inches away, the power of the iron pinning him down.
She said, “I’ve sent 48 of your kind to Gehenna. You’ll be my 49th.”
Its giant eyes narrowed to hateful slits. The upper lip on the slash in its face that served as a mouth curled upward.
Cait said, “Less talk, Tiff. Do it!”
She nodded, and braced herself to shove the point home.
Another blinding light filled the room as a new creature ported through, materializing instantly in a bright flash of golden color.
Cait adjusted Tiff’s pupils immediately so she could see
again. Capone and Booker held their hands over their eyes, screaming in pain.
The creature raced across the room toward Tiff. She took quick note of the details. He too had gray, translucent skin and an over-large head. She could see his bones and internal organs.
He threw out his hands and shot disks of light at her. They flew in like buzz saw blades, whirring and cutting through the air.
She whipped around to bat them down, but she wasn’t fast enough this time. Two of them caught her in the chest, knocking her to the floor.
The newcomer reached Sleaghan and bent down over him. Sleaghan raised his arms up.
“Brother . . . save me . . .”
He pulled Sleaghan up into his arms and they both disappeared in another flash of golden light.
6
“What in the blue blazes was that? What’s going on? Who are you? Where’d youse come from?”
Capone could see again, and he paced around the room ranting, demanding answers. He waved his arms in agitation, fat fingers shaking excitedly.
“Wipe him, Cait, and open us a door.”
A vertical crack of neon light appeared, quickly growing wider. Booker spied familiar bluebonnets through the portal.
Capone collapsed suddenly, falling backward on the sofa.
Booker said, “Is he alright?”
“He’ll be fine. He won’t remember a thing. Come on, give me a hand through the door.”
Booker turned back toward Ms. Tiffany Valor. To his shock, he saw the midsection of her dress had burned away, and a gaping wound stretched across most of her stomach.
He jumped into action and gently guided her through the blue doorway, out into the field of flowers.
Cait stood there in human form, waiting. As soon as they were through, she picked Tiff up in surprisingly strong arms, and headed down the path toward the door to Headquarters.
Booker followed, but Cait called out without turning around.
“Stay here, Mr. Booker. I’ll provide you a seat.”
A lounge chair appeared suddenly to the side of the path. Booker stopped and watched Cait disappear with Tiffany over a little hill. He looked back to the blue-green vertical sliver leading to Capone’s office and watched it shrink, then close and wink out of existence.