by Indi Martin
"GET OUT OF THE SHOT!" she screamed at Chaz, but he held on tight, and LaVey's long nails raked the air trying to scratch his face. Chaz sat back, arching LaVey's spine with a series of loud pops, and Charlie could see the woman's eyes bulging as she gasped for air, before, finally, they closed and the large woman went limp in his grasp.
"Is.. is she dead?" wheezed Nate as Chris helped him out of the corner. He had long, bleeding stripes criss-crossing his chest, but Charlie decided they looked superficial and holstered her gun.
"No," panted Chaz, still pinned under Mama LaVey's weight. "Just knocked out."
"You were gonna shoot her," accused Chris, grunting as he placed Nate back in the chair. "You were just gonna shoot her in the back. It wasn't her fault."
"Just like Luke," whispered Nate. "And me."
Chris looked at him and chewed on his bottom lip.
Charlie didn't bother responding to the accusations, but walked over to help pull Chaz out from underneath the woman. "Help me tie her down," she ordered, looking at Chris.
"What?" he asked lamely.
"Chaz, go get rope. Mr. Stivek, help me tie her down. We don't know if he'll still be there when she wakes up." Charlie groaned as she pulled Mama backwards so she was lying flat on the floor. Chaz jogged out of the room, massaging his shoulder.
"No," replied Chris, his face flushed behind his giant beard.
"Then go tend to your friend's wounds," sighed Charlie. "Just do something useful."
Chaz jogged back in with a coil of rope around his arm. "Thanks," she said, holding LaVey's arms together so Chaz could tie them. "Can you handle the rest? I have to make a phone call."
Chaz nodded at her and continued uncoiling the rope.
Charlie took a quick look around and stepped through the backdoor, deftly pressing Victor's number. She put the phone to her ear and folded her arms, keeping her eyes on the scene inside.
"Charlie?"
Charlie sputtered a surprised laugh. "Hanagawa? Where the HELL have you been? I've been trying to call you for days!"
"I know," his voice was measured and apologetic. "I'm sorry. I was... preoccupied. It was important," he added, hearing her surprised squeak of outrage.
"Yori, we're two down. I could really use your help," she said, her voice lower as she scanned the people inside. "I don't know what we're dealing with. I've never seen anything like it."
"Is it Harold Locke?"
Charlie sighed with relief. "You're caught up," she commented.
"I only know what Victor knows, but he's shown me everything you made available."
"Good. It responded to that name, yeah, but it serves a different master," she whispered, her voice cracking. She had seen a lot of things in her tenure, but it was rare that she was so flummoxed as to how to handle something. She quickly ran down the parts of the story he might have missed. “There's a medium here, looks like she's the real deal. We’ve got multiple possessions at the same time by the same entity. Yori, this is serious," urged Charlie. "I've got survivors here, people in danger. I'm not good with that. I need you here."
"You have to handle it for the moment, Charlie. We are waist deep in reports of things just as bad as your Locke situation, across the world." He sounded exhausted, and Charlie wondered if he’d had to spend some time in his chamber after whatever recent job he’d worked. “I’m trying to organize our resources, and we’re spread too thin as it is.”
“Just as bad…” sputtered Charlie in indignation. “Has the mosquito informed you of Locke’s body count?”
“Yes. And there are several other reports that are just as bad, or worse.”
She blinked and couldn’t think of a response to that.
“Just keep everyone alive, okay?” he had transitioned to his cooing voice again, and she fought the waves of calm oozing out of the receiver. “You might be in a unique situation with that psychic,” he said, sounding as though he were thinking aloud. “That might be useful. Is there an elevator in the building?”
“No,” she replied dryly. “Not a lot of elevators around here.”
“Hm,” sounded Hanagawa. “Well, I’ll call you if I find any connection, and you let me know if the psychic gets any info.”
“Can I just bring the lot back to HQ please?” asked Charlie through gritted teeth.
“Not yet,” he replied stonily. “If things get really out of hand, I’ll call you in.”
Really out of hand, she thought drily. How exactly does this not qualify? “Fine,” she hissed. “Call me with anything. ANYTHING, Yori.”
“You bet,” he said, and the line went dead. Charlie brought the hand up to her forehead, her fist closed tightly around the phone, before kicking a plastic lawn ornament across the garden.
Insufferable, she growled to herself, walking back inside the house.
“Did you just kick my flamingo?” demanded Mama LaVey, who was tied to a chair that looked out the window.
Charlie gritted her teeth and walked right back outside.
19
“Thank you, have a good day,” chirped the receptionist, the words rolling off of her tongue before she lifted her head. Her smile froze uncertainly and she cast her eyes away from his face - a reaction he’d long gotten used to. He knew what she saw: a monstrous vision, his skin mottled with red scars that didn’t fade, shadowed under his baseball cap.
Marcus Owens mumbled a quick “thanks” as he pushed open the glass door and left the medical office, bouncing to correct the placement of the large hiking backpack on his back. The first several years, he’d allowed himself to build a little nest of items before his self-imposed year was up and he had to move on, but leaving things behind grew more and more painful. He’d managed to pare his belongings down to only what would fit in his backpack, this time leaving behind only the most basic appliances in his apartment and a thin mattress he’d picked up at Goodwill. Marcus clasped the hip belt and felt the weight lighten on his shoulders.
He missed Liz, and let himself breathe a heavy sigh. Marcus had never really been one to wallow in his misfortune, but the last five years had taken its toll, and he felt like a shadow of his former self. He used to be happy, carefree. But this life of constant motion, unable to form real, lasting connections with people for fear that whatever had hunted down his adopted family would destroy anyone who got too close, it took it’s toll. There were days he’d rather have died along with Jake. He shivered in the unseasonably warm sun and kept his feet moving down the sidewalk. Liz had been able to see past his scars and Marcus could honestly see himself with her for the long term; the last night they spent together still weighed heavily in his heart. It had only been a week, and the pain was still fresh, made worse when he imagined her reaction to his disappearance. She would feel hurt, betrayed, abandoned, and there wasn’t anything he could do about it. Marcus hunched his shoulders and quickened his pace, his walking sticks clapping against the side of his legs. He was anxious to get back to the trail; he hated having to walk through towns, gathering stares and hushed whispers, but he had made a promise. He scoffed. A stupid promise, he thought, shaking his head at his predicament. Unable to stay in one place, and having to make stops at sperm banks along the way. What a life, he laughed bitterly.
He walked along the road as the houses dropped away, his feet aching from the pavement. He much preferred the soft soil of the trail, even with its mountains and rocks. No one laughed at him there. Marcus smiled, hurrying his pace as he saw the roadside white blaze, and ducked up the hill. He passed another, painted on a large oak, and he reached out to graze the paint with his fingertips. “Hello, again,” he murmured, listening to the wind rustling through the trees. He continued to climb, and eventually the trail leveled out as he reached the ridge line, his old smile painted on his face. What a life, he thought again, and it wasn’t quite so bitter this time.
Part Two
19
TWO WEEKS AGO
Morgan Snyder opened his eyes.
; This alone surprised him. His hand went to his neck, but felt no trace of the blistering pain that he felt at the cemetery. The memory was fresh, even if the pain wasn't. That awful shape, or shapes, at once several and yet still, all fangs and claws and sound that didn't belong and... he couldn't think of it. It was enough to drive him mad.
"Gina?" he called out. "Charlie?" He shook his head to clear his vision, but it was dark here, wherever here was. There was the unmistakable sound of an ocean, which didn't make sense, as he'd been in the middle of Pennsylvania. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw an unfamiliar sky. The stars were wrong, not just in the wrong place - he only knew a few constellations, after all - but entirely wrong. They glowed a sickly yellow-green in the sky, and seemed at once larger and smaller than he remembered. He peered upwards, an easy thing to do since he was lying on his back, but couldn't make sense of the perspective. They were larger and smaller than he remembered, both, at the same time. He grimaced and pushed himself up to a sitting position, deciding to accept that strange thought as fact and simply move on. "Chaz?" he tried again, but quieter, and by now expecting no response.
None came.
Morgan scanned his surroundings as best he could in the dim starlight. He was sitting on hard ground, marked here and there with patchy grass that glowed a faint white under the orbs in the sky. The ground was rocky, with tall, sharp rocks protruding out of the landscape at odd angles, looking sinister and black. He swiveled to look behind him, and scurried away, breathless. He had been lying mere inches from a steep drop-off. He couldn't tell how far it was in this dark, but he could hear the ocean roaring against the rocks somewhere beneath him. "Not in Kansas anymore," he half-joked aloud in a whisper, feeling slightly better to hear a voice, even his own, as he glanced back up toward the strange sky.
The ground trembled beneath him, and Morgan froze, except for his hand which slid down to his hip to find no holster, no gun, no pants, nothing but skin. He looked down, astonished to find that he was naked on this cliff under this awful sky, when the ground trembled again. Movement caught his eye in the distance, and he jumped up into a crouch, scanning the horizon. One of the tall rocks was not a rock at all, he realized. A giant, lumbering shadow passing between two of the stationary stones and shocked Morgan into a momentary, absolute stillness. Adrenaline surged through Morgan's naked body, and he sprinted for the nearest rock, ducking behind it and trying to calm his breathing. He was dimly aware of pain coursing up his leg, and he lifted his naked foot to get a better look; there was a fresh, inch-long cut on the soft arch, and it responded to being noticed by becoming a great deal more painful. Shit, thought Morgan, applying pressure against the slice as best he could while leaning one-legged against the rock face. This is bad.
Morgan hopped to his left a few inches and leaned over, peering around the rock. The shape was still there, but it seemed to be lumbering away from, not toward, him. He breathed a sigh of relief and allowed himself to slide carefully down the rock into a seated position, ignoring the alien feeling of the grass against his bared posterior. He clamped onto his bleeding foot with both hands as hard as he could to staunch the considerable bleeding and closed his eyes, breathing deeply. I can't panic. Whatever this is, I can't panic, or a cut on my foot will be the least of my problems. He repeated this thought like a mantra until his breathing calmed, pushing away the hysteria that beat in his eardrums. The dawn would come, he promised himself, and then he would set about finding his team. And his clothes. Clothes first, he vowed. Definitely clothes first.
Morgan Snyder stared up at the strange sky and felt more alone than he ever remembered feeling.
20
By the time the trolley arrived in Hlanith, Gina was ready. Her pack was repacked tightly, and to her satisfaction, and the small dagger in its sheath was tied onto her belt next to her pouch. Her hair was out of her face and pulled back, and she felt good to be finally on the road, even if she wasn't sure where the road was leading. She nodded at Kyrri, who had kept to himself for the latter half of the trip, and hopped off of the traincar lightly. The trip had taken nearly the entire day, and only the last few rays of sunlight remained. Kyrri landed beside her. "We should find an inn," he recommended. "It's getting late."
Gina nodded and motioned for him to lead. "Do you know this city well?" she asked, following behind Kyrri as he trotted briskly through the streets.
"Not well, no," admitted Kyrri. "But I know there's a few places this way, at least." He turned down a narrow alleyway and Gina squeezed in behind him, grimacing.
"Remember I'm not a cat, Kyrri," she reminded him. "I'm wider than you."
"Almost there." Kyrri turned the corner and they emerged onto a wide cobblestone street that bordered a black sand beach. Gina skidded to a halt, her mouth a perfect "o" of surprise.
"Gorgeous" she breathed, staring out at a vast body of glittering water that stretched to the horizon.
"Do you not have seas on your world?" asked Kyrri curiously, sitting beside her. "We don't have many details of Earth."
"Well, yes," she answered, closing her eyes and inhaling the salty air. "But that doesn't make it any less beautiful."
Kyrri circled Gina, checking in each direction for threats. "This is the Cerenarian Sea. It's pretty, from a distance."
Gina paused to listen to the waves slapping against the shoreline. "I love that sound," she said, smiling. "Not a fan of the water, Kyrri?"
"Nope," he answered simply, cleaning a paw. "But there's the two inns I mentioned, right next to each other. The Surly Swine and the Swimming Cock." Kyrri pointed with his freshly licked paw to two good-sized buildings along the promenade. They were nearly identical in their construction, reminding Gina of old wooden cabin lodges. Each had a similarly painted sign, depicting a pig and a rooster floating in water.
"Well, now how could I ever decide between those two?" laughed Gina. As she watched, a group of people pushed out of the Surly Swine door, yelling and hooting around two men that were beating each other in earnest with matching beer steins. "Swimming Cock it is," she murmured to Kyrri, who nodded in agreement.
They slid around the group of onlookers and into the swinging doors of the further inn. Gina found herself standing in a wide, open room dotted with sturdy wooden tables and benches. There was a similarly sturdy-looking bar in the center of the room, around which a wide staircase ascended to the second floor. A few Men sat at the table nearest the door, playing some sort of card game. It was surprisingly bright inside the room, and Gina looked up to see at least a dozen oil lanterns blazing along the walls. She wondered how much of a fire hazard that might be. The men seemed to ignore the newcomers, except one who cocked an eyebrow as he scanned Gina from head to toe. She shuffled forward to the bar, embarrassed and annoyed. Kyrri leapt up to sit on the barstool next to her.
"Ale, milady?" asked the barmaid in a cheery voice, reaching over to scratch the purring Kyrri behind his ear.
Gina blinked. "Yes, actually," she replied. "That sounds great. Can I get a small one for my friend, here?"
"Sure thing!" chirped the fair-skinned woman, turning to pour her a glass. She was wearing a loose top with flowing sleeves and the tightest corset Gina had ever seen, which meant that her considerable endowments were very much on display. Her eyes were the same unnerving black as everyone else Gina had met so far.
"How do you breathe in that thing?" wondered Gina aloud before she could stop herself.
The barmaid laughed, a high, tittering sound. "You get used to it, milady" she replied with a wink. "1 dinier."
Gina fished two coins out and gave them to the woman. "How much for a room for the night?" she asked, sipping on her ale. It was shockingly good, and colder than Gina had expected. She licked her lips and sipped again.
Scratching Kyrri's ear again, the barmaid considered the question. "I was raised in Ulthar," she explained. "It's good luck for a Cat to stay in your inn, you know, and Cats don't visit Hlanith too often. I'll only charge you 5 d
inieri."
"That's a really good price," purred Kyrri, closing his eyes and rotating his head so the woman could reach his other ear.
"Done, thanks," said Gina, feeling for the right amount in her pouch and sliding it across the bar. She added a few more. "Keep these coming. This is delicious."
"Sure thing, milady. Will you take dinner?"
"Say 'yes,'" prompted Kyrri. "It comes with the room."
Gina smiled. "We certainly will."
"Your friend is a talker," she laughed, withdrawing her arm to resume wiping down the countertop and prompting Gina to wonder again what others heard when Kyrri spoke. "Does he have a name?"
"His name is Kyrri," Gina informed her.
"Kee-ree," she echoed. "That's cute!" Kyrri bristled, but continued lapping at his bowl of ale. "Well, my name's Bree, just yell if you need anything. I'll bring your dinner out in a few minutes."
"Thanks!" answered Gina, taking a larger sip of her ale. She could already feel a distinct fuzziness to her thoughts, and the tip of her nose felt funny. She waited for the barmaid to walk toward the front of the inn to check on the card-players and leaned over to Kyrri. "This ale seems really strong," she whispered.
"It'sh really shtrong," agreed Kyrri, lapping with closed eyes.
"Let's wait for our meal to have any more," decided Gina, pushing the young cat's bowl out of reach. "Tell me about our next plans while we wait. I know we have to get to the Eastern Desert, and you said something about a Crossroads, but I don't remember discussing our next step from here."
"I'd rather drink," sighed Kyrri, but he continued. "I don't like it, but the castle isn't on this continent. We have to find a way down the sea and across the Middle Ocean. We could land at Calephais, but that would mean a really long land route to the Eastern Desert." He pushed Gina's hand away and pulled the bowl of ale back to him. "It would be... better... to stay on the water and land at Pungar Vers, or in the harbor near Kadatheron." He lapped at the ale and grimaced. "Either way it's a lot of time on a ship."