Jesus, how was he thinking about skirts and legs at a time like this? He’d just been asked to kill his own flesh and blood! And here he was, like some old pervert, unable to keep his eyes off the young woman’s perfect thighs…
“I think you’re providing it already, my dear,” Mr Black told her.
Sarah turned to Michael and smiled that winning smile and he found his tongue thickening in his mouth, as if he were a lust-struck teenager seeing his first glimpse of a girl’s knickers. Her smart suit jacket was loosened and the white shirt she was wearing beneath was straining to contain a pair of magnificent breasts that somehow - Christ knew how - he’d failed to notice as he strode through reception a short time previously.
And now she was moving toward him, Mr Black watching, reclining his chair in amusement, his hands steepled, as Michael Quinn goggled dumbly. Sarah was at the older man’s chair now, flicking that waist-length jet-black hair so that it rippled sinuously about her body, almost a living thing by itself…
Mr Black could see what Michael Quinn could not; the stinger extending around and above, Sarah’s carapace, obscured by the effortless pheromone-laden glammer she extruded when the situation called for it, looming over the poor captured man, dwarfing him utterly.
“Shall I?” she asked her boss eagerly.
“Go ahead,” he nodded.
“I don’t…I don’t understand…” Michael managed.
“No, I don’t expect you do,” she shushed him, running a finger over his lips and causing him to almost pass out from pleasure; the pheromone waves she was pulsing out were overpowering him effortlessly, washing away his reason and logic and replacing them with docility and attraction-
The stinger lanced out, and back. His eyes widened for a moment, just a moment, but the needle was so sharp that it was practically painless. He would have the barest pinprick on the back of his neck to show for it.
“That will be all, Sarah,” Mr Black said. “A job well done, my dear.”
His trusty assistant skittered out, leaving Michael Quinn behind, motionless in the chair facing Mr Black, who took this useful opportunity to, amongst other things, forward an email to all staff reminding them the blood donation truck would be on the premises the following day. Forty minutes or so passed before Michael’s eyes opened.
“Ah, Michael, there you are,” Mr Black said briskly, without looking away from his screen, “that will be all. You remember what we discussed?”
“Eviscerate Dermot Scully.”
“The very job. Any issues with that?”
Disobey? Michael blinked, baffled by the very concept. “Why would I?”
“Excellent. Have it done by this time tomorrow night. Goodnight, Michael.”
Mr Black watched as his visitor stood up and walked out. He smiled. Humans never failed to amuse him; such simple creatures these days, despite their wondrous technologies. They had made much more formidable opponents back in the old days; but then, that was rather the point of this whole enterprise, wasn’t it?
His phone rang. He picked it up, expecting it to be Sarah putting through a call.
It wasn’t.
“Brother.”
Mr Black sat bolt upright in his chair, hardly able to believe it. After all these years… “Dian? Dian, is that really you? Where are you? Who are you? Let me come get you-”
“I can feel it,” the voice went on, ignoring him. “Someone’s crossing over. I thought that was meant to be impossible?”
“All part of some grand scheme mother’s putting together. You know mother.”
“She’s trying to get out.” It wasn’t a question.
“Oh, she’s already out. Well. Some of her. Not enough of her to do anything grand, and she does love grand gestures. Thinks the world hasn’t had enough of them. I think she just misses Dallas to be honest. Hasn’t been the same since it ended…but anyway, enough about her. What about you, my brother? Where are you?”
“Where am I?” there was a laugh from the other side of the line. It lacked any genuine amusement. “Same place as ever, brother. Everywhere.”
“You haven’t lost your talent for dramatic statements. Excellent!” Dother cried. “I was afraid you’d be out of practice on me. Oh, it’s going to be just like old times, little one. So who are you being nowadays? You’re not that newsreader on BBC1 are you? The one with the lazy eye? I swear I see the same glint of bottomless malice in him sometimes that you used to get when-”
“It’s the Morrigan, isn’t it,” Dian said, ignoring the question. “The one who‘s crossing over.”
“What? Oh…yes. The latest one, anyway,” Mr Black said impatiently.
“You’ve got him haven’t you. The Morrigan’s son.”
Mr Black’s mouth twisted ruefully. Dian didn’t miss a trick. “Sort of,” he allowed. “Dian, it doesn‘t matt-”
“I won’t help you. I won’t help her.”
“Come, Dian. We’re family!”
“Family?” there was only bitter amusement in Dian’s voice. “Family? The things she made us do? She stood by and watched me die. She let it happen. Have you forgotten that?”
Mr Black shrugged. “So you died,” he said airily. “You got better.”
“You call going through the Ordeal better? You call what I became better?”
“Disembodied is better than dead, Dian. Come home.”
“I had a home,” the voice was hollow now. “I had a family. It was taken from me.”
This produced a frown. “Dian…?” he said, an unmistakably older-brother tone creeping into his words. “Dian, what are you talking about? What have you done?”
“It doesn’t matter. You can’t help me. I thought I was done with it, all of it, but feeling the Morrigan cross over…I’m making my own plans, brother. I have my own revenge to think of.”
“Get in mother’s way and she’ll destroy you.”
“I won’t. Why are you calling yourself Mr Black, Dother?”
“Call it a tribute to our trapped brother,” Dother said impatiently. “Dian, tell me what-”
“The brother you’ve always hated.”
“Yes, that miserable bastard. Come and join me, Dian. You and me together. Just like it was; riding out in flaming chariots pulled by fell creatures, crushing the humans left and right underfoot by the thousands. Better than it was. You should see my secretary-”
“I’ve seen her. I was there the day you recruited her, remember?”
“Well then,” Dother continued without a pause, “you should see my Audi. This world is a ripe, spoiled, fat, glorious paradise and I’ve got such plans, brother-”
Click. Dnnnnnnnnn.
Dother - aka Mr Black - stared at the receiver for a long moment, before sighing and placing it carefully back in its cradle. The baby of the brothers, Dian had always been his mother’s favourite. For some unknown reason, she’d consistently refused to acknowledge his shortcomings, whereas he – the faithful middle brother – could never do enough to garner more than a cursory nod in his direction.
He shut down the computer and walked to the office door, turning off the lights as he went. Sarah was on the ceiling of reception above him as he walked through; her glammer gratefully discarded since they were the only two left in the building.
“Early night?” she said, surprised.
“Come on,” he sighed, proffering his arm. A leg as thick as a man’s thigh snaked around it and she descended to stand beside him. “I could use a little cheering up. I’m taking you out for someone to eat. My treat…”
***
Say what you wanted about Steve – and most people took the opportunity to – but the guy could land a punch.
Danny rubbed the side of his head, just beginning to throb from the sucker-punch Steve had landed there. As he tried to get to his feet, Steve came at him again, swinging a foot towards his midriff. Danny threw himself to the side with reaction speed he didn’t know he had, avoiding the strike. Steve’s standing foot went in
the wet soil and he came crashing to earth. Danny was on him in a flash, pinning his legs to the ground with his knees and clamping his hands over Steve’s wrists.
“Stop!” Danny wheezed. “Stop it, for fucks sake!”
Steve writhed beneath him like a mad thing, almost throwing him off, but Danny had been through enough in the way of supernatural setbacks to accept such a grubby fate as getting a kicking from his best mate. He held on grimly, repeating his pleas with Steve for him to calm the fuck down and wise up and just stop for a fucking minute…!
Sboooosh.
Steve froze in place with shock as the bucketful of cold water impacted him right in the face. Danny, who was sufficiently close enough to experience splash back on the order of what felt like well over half the contents of the bucket, did likewise, the frigidness of the water chilling him right down the marrow of his bones as the chilly evening air bit. Both men simply panted for a moment, waiting for their hearts to start beating properly again.
“Fuckwits,” Bee said disgustedly, an empty bucket swinging limply by her side.
Two heads turned to look at her with murder in their eyes. She met their gazes and shrugged. “And sure what was I meant to do? Wait until you two finished up yer wee pissin’ contest?”
“Who…the fuck…are you?” Steve gasped. He heaved up and Danny allowed him to wriggle free. Both stood apart, eyeing each other warily as they shook their heads like two dogs, trying to get rid of the excess liquid.
“She’s…Beatrice O’Malley,” Danny informed him, panting.
“Oh right…glad I asked,” Steve returned, obviously none the wiser for this enlightenment. He turned away from his elderly assailant and back to Danny, making no move to attack him but fixing him with a powerful glare. “I can’t believe you’d do this to me,” he said simply.
Trying to explain would be hopeless, Danny knew. But unlike Maggie, with Steve he felt he had to at least give it a shot. “It’s not what you think-” he began.
“It’s not? So yous two haven’t been seein’ each other?”
Danny’s mouth gulped air as he first went to deny it, then had a brain-freeze from the sheer reality-bending mindfuckery of it all.
“I don’t even know where to begin,” he said, truthfully enough.
Steve’s anger seemed to have cooled now. Somehow that was worse. His friend looked broken, defeated. “You wanna know something, man?” he said quietly. “You always got things faster than me. You were always quicker off the fuckin’ mark pickin’ up stuff. Better at sports and better at touchin’ for girls and ya know, if it had been any other fucker I’d have been jealous of it, but it was you. Me and you…me and you were…” he trailed off and stared at the dirt around his feet.
“I’m away in for another cuppa,” Bee said in despair. She rapped the door. “Casey! Casey love, I’ve got yer wee bucket! Stick the kettle on, God love ye!”
“She was mine,” Steve said weakly. “She was mine and the wee man was mine and even though you had this amazin’ job and a big house an all, I thought - well, there we go, finally I’ve beaten him to the mark on somethin’. I thought - when it’s time for him to have a wee one, he’ll be the one comin’ to me for advice. But then…you had to go and take that from me too, didn‘t ya. What was it we used to say to each other, lad, eh? Bro‘s before ho‘s to a blind donkey,” and he paused to let the impact of those words sink in, even as water dripped from his nose, before repeating them with even more caustic emphasis, “bros…before hos…to a blind donkey.”
Danny felt like tearing his hair out. “Lad this is crazy,” he said. “None of this is real! I know it sounds nuts but ya have to believe me! I was the one with Ellie! I was the one had the son with her! Luke! His name was Luke! And this - this fuckin’ thing here,” he gesticulated toward the stone tablet they were both standing at an end of, “…it’s all…well it’s like a parallel universe or something. You’re not a Da, lad! You must feel it. The bottles and the feedin’ aren’t comin’ natural to you - you said it yourself!”
“Fuck off,” Steve snarled. “So not only are you fuckin’ around with my girlfriend behind my back, but now I’m a shitty Da into the bargain, is that it? Some fuckin’ best mate you turned out to be. Bastard…”
Face twisted in disgust, Steve turned as if to go. Danny took a step forward to go after him, his foot landing on the stone tablet, even as his entire body was tensed with emotion.
It happened very quickly.
Danny could feel a strange kind of pressure building up; as if he were suffering the onset of hay fever within a matter of seconds. His sinuses seemed as if they were about to explode. He blinked rapidly, trying to moisten suddenly dry eyes. It wasn’t all, though; the synaesthesia was going apeshit; tastes flowed across his tongue at such a rate that his mouth began to water uncontrollably as he tasted fish…and potatoes…chicken…pear…garlic sesame…wheatoilBeans
Guinnesssoysaucecherriescurrylettucestrawberrysaltcheese-
And he tasted purple. And red. And Wednesdays. And sarcasm. And Ellie…
His sinuses, he realised, were closing as a defence mechanism because he was smelling ten, twenty, fifty, a hundred different smells at once; like the tastes, there was no order or rhyme or reason to them, and some were pleasant and some were awful but they were whirling around too quickly to discern which was which and he was falling, sinking to his knees and throwing out his hands to steady himself, his downturned palms striking the stone-
-and it got worse. He heard sevens and they sounded like July. He knew the colours of the smells and the sound of the tastes and it overwhelmed him, a lifetime’s worth of flashes all screaming for room inside him all at once and the weirdest thing, the absolute weirdest thing about it was that it all sort of seemed to come together…
“Open,” he whispered.
The stone split down the middle with a dry snap - chirnk. Fragments of it flew this way and that; one sliced his cheek and drew blood. He touched it, felt its wetness, and fought the sudden urge to taste it.
Two shadows fell over him from above.
“You did it,” Bee said wonderingly. The excitement in her voice made her sound much younger, much more alive. “It’s true…”
“Give me your hand,” was all Steve said, extending his own down to Danny’s. Danny took it, and made to step out of the hole in which he stood.
He couldn’t.
Dreamily, even as he heard Steve’s voice raised above him, ordering him to do something, or try harder, something like that, he looked down, and saw with no great surprise that the crack in the centre of the tablet had widened sufficiently for his foot to fall into.
To sink into.
Steve was pulling as hard as he could on his hand, resisting the tug from below. Danny tilted his head upward toward his friend, a smile of acceptance on his face. Both his legs were gone now, to the knees.
“Let me go,” Danny told him.
Steve was leaning over, almost bent double, shouting, refusing, pulling so strongly. Sweat made his hand slippery and Danny’s fingers began to slide through his grasp. Danny could see his friend make one last desperate attempt to regain his hold, but the pull from below was too strong.
He sank into the earth and it closed above his head. The oxygen died almost immediately with the light and he closed his mouth and eyes, feeling the soil pry and poke at his ears, fill his nostrils, pressurise his lips and force its way inside. He couldn’t breathe, could do nothing but feel himself be dragged further downward. The hole he was creating was filling itself in as he kept on going, dropping soil and insects by the hundreds on him.
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