A Mystery of Light

by Brian Fuller

  They worked their way down toward the river through some grabby underbrush until they encountered a trail leading to the bridge. Argyle raised his fist for a halt. Did he see something? Helo wanted to edge closer but was sure Argyle’s eyes would pop out of their sockets if he did. After a few moments, Argyle led out onto the bridge at a run, heading straight for the rear of the barns. They all tromped after him, boots heavy on the grayed wooden slats.

  An old green tractor with a beat-up trailer sat in the weeds behind the first barn. A small field extended into a larger one cleared of trees, now filled with corn about waist-high. They rounded the barn, and there on the back of the wraparound porch sat an old man with a friendly Ash Angel aura. Helo thought Argyle would relax, but he approached the house like he was about to breach it.

  “No Dreads here, Irishman,” the man said. Helo had to admire the morph job. He looked about seventy, lines and wrinkles and spots expertly covering his weathered face and hands. Well-traveled cowboy boots, stained blue jeans, and a clean button-up denim shirt completed the old-farmer ensemble, cowboy hat hanging on the post of the chair he was sitting in. He even had hair bushing up beneath his nose and in his ears.

  A table held a sweating glass pitcher of lemonade, six glasses ringed around it. The man stood gingerly, as if his back were sore. “Martha!” he yelled. “They’re here!”

  “We’re looking for Commander Spade,” Argyle said. “We’re here to—”

  “I know why you’re here,” the old man said, starting to pour. “Have a seat. Martha!”

  “This is urgent,” Argyle said. “We’ve—”

  “I said I know why you’re here,” the old man snapped. “I am Commander Spade. Sit down so I can give you a damn glass of lemonade.”

  The back door opened, and an Ash Angel woman morphed to about the same age as Spade walked out carrying a plate of brownies. She wore a loose floral-print dress and patchwork apron.

  “Now shuck your packs and guns,” she said. “Sit down.”

  “But commander,” Argyle said.

  “I said sit the hell down,” Spade said. “That’s an order.”

  Helo smiled. That did it. Argyle undid his pack, and all followed suit. There was a wooden bench and three white wicker chairs. Helo took one of the wicker chairs, which creaked and snapped as he settled in. Spade handed him a glass of lemonade, and Martha came along after him, doling out generously-sized brownies.

  “Oh, dear,” Martha said. “I’ve forgotten the napkins.” She shuffled inside and came out a few moments later, passing them out before joining Spade at the table.

  Helo savored it. The lemonade was fantastic. The brownies rich and moist. This was the best start to a mission he’d ever had, before or after dying.

  “Any of you idiots been here before?” Spade asked.

  “We’re not idiots, sir,” Argyle protested. “We’re Sicarius Nox.”

  “Yeah,” Spade said. “You’re the ones that go find Shedim on purpose, right?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Idiots.”

  “Someone’s got to do it,” Argyle argued.

  “True,” Spade said. “The idiots have to do it. No one else would volunteer. Don’t get me wrong. People give idiots a bad time, but they really get a lot of unpleasant stuff done when properly managed.” The old man’s eyes, morphed to a dull brown, fell on Helo. “You the Unascended?”

  Helo swallowed his last bite of brownie. “Yes, sir.”

  “What’s this Angel Born nonsense?” he asked. “You make that up?”

  “No, sir.”

  “You can really use Bestowals in desecration fields and kill Shedim without a sanctified weapon?”

  “He can,” Shujaa said. “I have—”

  “Didn’t ask you, tree trunk,” Spade said.

  “And I can’t be torched,” Helo added.

  Martha looked at Helo, eyes narrow, then back at Spade. “Now that’s a new thing. At least, I haven’t seen anything like it in my 150 years.”

  “Or in my 198,” Spade said. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

  Sparks whistled—198 years! Helo could hardly believe it. This man had been born in the 1800s. Martha too—before the Ash Angel Organization was even formed. They must have originally been Old Masters.

  “You the one all moon-eyed over some Dread woman?” Spade asked.

  Helo let the question hang in the air, draining his cup. “I wouldn’t put it like—”

  “Never works,” Spade said bluntly. “I’ve seen it happen both ways. Never works. So don’t be an idiot. Gotta find yourself a good Ash Angel woman like Martha. Find an older one. Women might be more fun these days, but they don’t know how to cook. It’s all microwave this and open a can of that.”

  Sparks chuckled, Finny grinning beside him.

  “Thanks for the tip,” Helo said.

  “Well,” Spade said. “Here’s the layout. Barn to your left is where the raw materials go in, the barn to the right is where the finished weapons come out all hidden in bags and boxes of produce or beans or whatever. Main entrance for visitors is in the basement of the house under a false bottom of the freezer. Once the fight gets on, I’m supposed to take Helo down and wait for this Sheid, Whirlwind, to come. The rest of you are to take up position and fight to defend the facility.”

  “Where are the other Michaels?” Argyle asked. “We were told you were fortified.”

  “We’ve got a few out and about. Most are in the loading and unloading bays,” Spade said. “We’ll bring them up on the loading elevators when it’s time. Want to hide our numbers. Now, grab your gear and head inside. If you’re lucky, they won’t come before dinner. Martha’s got a roast in the oven and a mess of potato salad in the fridge.”

  Argyle rose and put his glass on the table, and they filed in after Spade. On her way past, Martha grabbed Helo’s arm. “Take another brownie, dear. It’s nice to have something sweet once in a while.”

  Helo nodded and took it. “Thank you.”

  She smiled as he passed her and headed into the living room, where the team reclined on white couches imprinted with little pink-and-purple geese. They were hideous. Only Argyle remained standing, gazing out the window, fingers tapping on the trim, as he waited for the horde of Dreads to show. Helo took a seat on the raised fireplace hearth made from red brick.

  “Wait,” Sparks said. “Why does he get another brownie?”

  Martha came into the room. “Because he’s an American, dear.” She winked and then handed Sparks another.

  Argyle faced the room again. “Any Dread or Sheid sightings on the—?”

  “Relax, Irish,” Spade said, putting the glasses in the sink. “None today. Just got word that the main group of Dreads headed out a couple hours ago. Should be here a bit before sundown, as expected.” Then he chuckled. “But you want to know what’s really off kilter?”

  “What’s that?” Argyle asked.

  Spade affixed his cowboy hat. “The Dreads are all dressed like clowns.”

  Chapter 18

  Clowns

  “Clowns?” Finny said, face falling. “Are you serious? Like creepy clowns or the kind of clowns you send to a birthday party?”

  “Never saw much of a difference,” Spade said.

  Finny clenched his fists. “Me either.”

  “It’s Avadan,” Helo added. “He’s just screwing with us. Everything’s a show to him.”

  Argyle turned back toward the window, the finger tapping increasing in pace. “Are these windows bulletproof? The walls fortified?”

  Spade chuckled. “No. Martha and I built this house in the forties. It’s had a few remodels. Got a new kitchen two years ago, didn’t we Martha?”

  “Love it,” she said.

  “This house is indefensible,” Argyle said, mostly to the window. “We’d be better to take up position in the woods. If Avadan brings that Sheid, this house will get pulled apart. Can’t get captured. Not an option.”

  Helo looked at S
parks, who shook his head. Andromeda bit her lip. Only Shujaa and Faramir seemed oblivious to Argyle’s nervous rambling, both lost in their own thoughts.

  “Hey, Argyle,” Sparks said. “Would you rather have your hands replaced by bear paws, or have horse hooves for feet?”

  Argyle turned. “What the hell does that have to do with anything, Sparks? We’re in for a major battle here, and you’re asking pointless questions. Focus on the mission.”

  Sparks stood. “Just seeing if it would work. I think I need another brownie—if you don’t mind letting a Brit have another, Martha.”

  “Of course,” she said.

  “What about you, Finny?” Sparks said after Martha handed him another brownie. “Bear paws or horse hooves?”

  Finny breathed in and out, face settling. “Well, it really comes down to the most basic question: Are you a lover or a fighter? The fighter’s gotta take the bear paws, but the lover’s got to have horse hooves.”

  “So which are you, Finny?” Andromeda asked.

  “Gotta choose lover,” Finny said. “I don’t think the ladies would be too keen on the bear paws, and women love horses, right? So horse hooves. Yep, that’s my answer.”

  Spade shook his head like everyone was an idiot—which Helo figured was one of Spade’s core beliefs—while Martha grinned.

  “What do you say, Andromeda?” Sparks continued. “Would you rather have a boyfriend with horse hooves or bear paws for hands?”

  “Bear paws,” she said. Helo kept an eye on Argyle, whose tapping had stopped in favor of a death grip on the window trim. His neck muscles bulged.

  Sparks swallowed a big bite. “Really?”

  She shrugged. “Can you imagine a back rub with the light touch of bear claws and fur? I bet it’d be great. I’d—”

  “That’s enough of this stupidity!” Argyle said. “Everyone grab your gear and get up. We’re going to find a place to set up. Combat protocol starts now. Outside. Helo, you’re in here. Move, people!”

  Spade raised his eyebrows and pointed out the window. “There’s a nice grouping of rocks in the trees about fifty feet west of the southern barn. Head out the front and turn right. Not hard to find.”

  He and Martha continued washing dishes like Argyle hadn’t just exploded. Helo grabbed his Big Blessed Shotgun for show while everyone else geared back up and shouldered their packs. They were out the door in thirty seconds and marching across the driveway.

  “That commander of yours ain’t right,” Spade said.

  Helo leaned his weapon against the fireplace wall and sat back down. “Yeah. Archus Ramis got mangled by Avadan and turned into a Dread. Argyle saw him and hasn’t been the same since.”

  Helo wondered what had happened to Ramis. Nobody had talked about him.

  Spade nodded. “The Grand Archus know about this?”

  “Yes,” Helo said. Sparks had brought it up to him at least twice.

  “Well, you watch it,” Spade said as he finished drying the last glass. “I’ve seen men like that before. He’ll freeze. Hunker down. You do what you gotta do.”

  Helo spent the balance of the afternoon with Spade and Martha, who gave an absolute master class on acting normal. It almost seemed like they didn’t care that hell was coming their direction. For three hours they watched game shows and a sappy Lifetime movie. Spade even pretended to use reading glasses to see the buttons on the remote. Acting old was as easy for them as walking, and Helo tried to find any flaws in their appearance or mannerisms but came up empty. They didn’t even talk about the Ash Angel Organization or the operation once.

  At five, Martha served the most delicious pot roast, potato salad, and biscuits—with honey butter!—that he had ever had. Spade had invited the team in for the meal, but Argyle turned them down. He even refused to let the old Ash Angels bring plates out to the team. Their loss, but after eating three pieces of apple pie with whipped cream, a sliver of pity pricked Helo’s heart for the rest of his squad mates. But it wasn’t good to waste food, and Ash Angels could eat forever, so he dove in. There was even milk that was decidedly not skim.

  “We’d better save some, dear,” Martha said when he went to start in on the second pie. “They might be hungry later.”

  “You’re nicer than I am,” Helo said. “But you’re right. This was great.”

  “Yep,” Spade said, a kind light settling into his eyes. He’d had four pieces himself. “Martha can cook up the Rapture, that’s for sure. Let me tell you a secret, son. You want to live a long time as an Ash Angel? Enjoy it. Eat a good meal. Till the earth. Hike the mountains. Make love to a woman. I think the AAO has halved the lives of Ash Angels with all their fighting and missions and carrying on.”

  “You’re in the AAO,” Helo said.

  “Yeah, sort of,” he said. “But I tell them what I’m doing rather than the other way round. ’Sides, it’s been peaceful here. Till now. Just remember what I said. Six Bestowals in what, eighteen months? I think you’ve missed the point of the afterlife entirely.”

  There was definitely an Old Master still in Spade somewhere. But the old man’s point was a new one. Helo had never heard Ash Angel life expectancy tied to enjoying the afterlife. But if an afterlife of misery led to a short afterlife, then Helo figured he was one of the best examples ever.

  Helo helped clear the dishes. “I think it’s a bit late for me.”

  “I don’t know,” Martha said. “Rachel the Unascended lasted for a good twenty years, I think.”

  The phone rang. It was one still attached to the wall by a long, curly cord.

  “That’ll be Mars,” Martha said. “I’ll get our gear laid out. Helo, can you put the milk in the fridge?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She took a creaky set of stairs to the second level. Spade’s phone conversation was short.

  “They’re thirty minutes out,” Spade said. “At least five Shedim. Time to get ready. We’ll be back.”

  Spade went upstairs, still using an old man’s gait.

  After gathering his gear, Helo stood in front of the picture window and looked down the road stretching along the riverside. So far, the sky above the trees in the distance was a clear, deep blue with a few lonely clouds plying the evening breezes. Helo decided against putting his earpiece in just yet. He could only imagine how many sitreps an antsy Argyle was calling for.

  About ten minutes later, Spade and Martha tromped back down, their heavy gear inspiring even louder squeals from the stairs. Helo thought they would morph younger, but they hadn’t. A couple of seventy-year-olds in full combat gear brought a smile to his face. Spade even had his cowboy hat. They had, however, given up on their slow gait and slightly bent postures.

  “We’re heading into the facility,” Spade said. “We’ll leave the false bottom off the freezer. Get inside when it’s time. Seal the hatch behind you when you come in. When we’ve got the Dreads trapped in the valley, Martha will take the Michaels out the south barn, and I’ll take the others out the north.”

  “Got it. Thanks again.”

  Martha and Spade had barely left when Helo caught the first stain darkening the sky. He stuffed his comms unit in his ear.

  “Helo!” Argyle yelled. “Respond!”

  “Helo here,” he said.

  “Why didn’t you respond?”

  “My earpiece wasn’t in,” he said.

  Silence. He could almost feel how bad Argyle wanted to chew him out from all the way outside the house. But even Argyle had to realize there were bigger fish to fry at the moment.

  “Perimeter recon has them ten minutes out,” Argyle reported.

  “Roger that.”

  What would Avadan do? Helo looked down the road, at the water flowing by, and at the dense trees all around. Since Avadan was nuts, he had the advantage of being unpredictable, but his methodical dismantling of the AAO fully evidenced that he wasn’t stupid.

  It wasn’t lost on Helo that the Foundry was near water, and water and Ash Angels didn’t ge
t along. But still, would Avadan just march his clown army right down the road into their carefully prepared trap? Helo wished he had read the reports on the attacks on the other facilities. Did Avadan have a certain way of doing things?

  And the clown army. That was the weirdest of all. To take the time and go to the expense to outfit his soldiers like clowns might have been the result of a deranged mind, but the only practical purpose Helo could fathom would be to hide the identity of the attackers, and the only identities that would matter were Avadan’s, Jumelia’s, and Aclima’s. Maybe one or all of them would be there.

  Then he felt it, the Sheid’s stain sliding around his Angel Born soul, unable to find a crack to get into but trying anyway. How had Avadan created such a monstrosity? The roiling clouds in the sky grew thicker over the horizon, lightning crashing along the front. A wave of thunder rolled over the farmhouse, rattling the windows. This was it. It was coming, and at least four other Shedim besides. Sicarius Nox would be put to the test today.

  The mass of clouds swallowed the setting sun with a terrible finality, as if promising no one in the valley would see it again. But the angriest clouds turned north, heading to his left behind the hills, straight to where Grand Archus Mars and his troops waited in ambush. Straight toward Melody.

  “They’ve split,” Argyle said. “Whirlwind has gone north, the four other Shedim south. Dreads and Possessed have also split into two groups. Hold position. Recon estimates we’re . . . we’re outnumbered two to one.”

  Two to one! Helo opened the front door and stepped out onto the porch. He knew it was time to go down into the facility, but he didn’t want to hole up just yet. The storm had swelled and darkened, the center a whirling mass of black death and white lightning. Even though the house wasn’t in the direct path of the maelstrom, the wind whipped the trees, the rain hammering down with huge drops. And gunfire and explosions. The battle was behind the hills to the north and south, the entire valley seeming to quake with the rumble and roar. This was not how it was supposed to go.

  “Mars and Magdelene have engaged the enemy,” Argyle said. “Hold position. The Shedim could be here any moment.”