by Lee Isserow
“Why do you need to shroud yourself from me? Who the hell are you?”
“I must shroud myself from all.” The mystery man let out a sigh, his jade gaze skating the ground, as if it were a hardship for him to be reminded of this. “But there is a debt owed.” His eyes snapped back into contact with Jules's.
“So, what, you're some mystical debt collector? I don't have any debts...”
“A debt owed to your grandmother. And it is to be passed down to you.”
“She's not dead... why do people keep talking about her like she's dead?”
“It is due to this debt that I urge you to take a different path, to reconsider the offer made to you.”
“So you work for the Circle? I wish they'd give up these damn terrorist tactics, you're not going to hold me hostage until I agree to take your damn job.”
“You are no hostage.”
“Then let me the hell out of here. I don't want to have anything to do with the Circle, with magick, I just want a normal life, with my normal family. The only thing magick has ever done is screw up my life, my grandmother's life, hell it even took my parents' lives...”
“More will die if you do not offer yourself to them.” The way the man put it made Jules think of it less like a job and more like servitude – or worse, sex slavery. “First, it will be more with magick in their blood. When they are gone, then it will be others. So many others. This cannot be abided, it must not be allowed to pass. If you value this life you have, this normal life, with your husband, your child, then you must accept their offer.”
“You work for them?”
“I work for no one.”
“But you want me to work for them, so you must have a horse in this race.”
“I have no horse. All I wish is for you to work for the greater good.”
“They're not the greater good?”
The man broke eye contact once again. His forgettable mouth left slightly ajar as he tried to find the right words. “They are not good, not as such. Not any longer.”
“You sound like my grandmother...”
“She sounds like me.”
Jules smiled. This man, whoever he was, not only reminded him of her, but made him realised just how much he missed being around her. He made to say something, but the man had vanished. The light receded in an instant, pulling back towards the place where the forgettable man had been standing. The textureless white void replaced by the regular darkness of the bedroom, the cross-hatch from the street lamps back on the ceiling. Jules was standing alone in the night, Akif still softly snoring as if nothing had happened.
He huffed, as he looked around the bedroom. At the man he loved, then checked in next door on the boy they raised together. He would take the damn job, but not for the Circle, and certainly not for the mystery man who broke into his damn house and held him hostage in some plastic sub-dimension. He would do it for his family. For love.
But as he got back into bed, closed his eyes and begged for sleep to wrap his overworked conscious mind in its loving arms, he was already regretting the decision he had come to.
18
Change of heart
The next day, Jules returned to Mansion House Place. He knew it was unlikely that the door was still there, and sure enough, it was not. The Circle had taken his refusal of the job at face value – as had he before his nighttime visitor. He wondered if they had a number in the phone book, then remembered there were no phone books any more. He could Google it, but the likelihood of them having a phone at all seemed slim. He tried to remember the name of the man he spoke to. Barry... Kumquat? It was close, but didn't sound right, and he hated himself for not paying more attention. If he could remember the name, or at least the guy's face, he was pretty sure he could dial straight through to his head. Pretty sure, but not a hundred percent confident, he hadn't used the phone sigil for over a decade, maybe more.
He kicked at the wall where he thought the door had appeared the previous day, and was reminded that whilst their number and address might not be in the book, the address of the door had been on the card. He scoured the floor of the alley, avoiding the remnants of his own vomit as he walked up and down until he found the scrunched-up black card the homunculi had handed him. There was a new address on it. Over in Brick Lane, the closest station was only a few stops on the Central Line from Bank. His legs took the lead before the rest of him had come to a decision, he spun around and trotted back underground with the grace of a wounded gazelle.
As he walked up the escalator out of Liverpool Street Station, his fingers danced on the surface of the card in his hand, enchanting it to act as a compass to lead the way towards the address raised on its surface. Holding the card in his left hand, it made small tugging motions to encourage him to cross the road, walk down a bit, then turn down a road that went straight down past Spitalfields Market. He took a right and kept walking until the card veered slightly to the left, indicating that it was close, on the other side of the street. There it was, just thirty feet away, same black gloss on the door frame and everything. Inconspicuous, and even if it was questioned, if any mundane attempted to open it, they would find it locked.
He walked towards it, finding a smile curling upon his lips. He wasn't sure why he was smiling. It was the success, perhaps, for finding it again. He certainly didn't feel happy for returning, giving in and taking the damn job. Or did he?
As Jules reached for the handle, another hand beat him to it. His fingers took hold of smooth, olive skin, tort musculature lying beneath it. He let go instantly, took a step back, trying to find words to apologise profusely to the tall, raven haired Amazon he had accosted. Despite her height, and despite her looking like a centrefold from some bodybuilding magazine, she had an aura that was meek and bookish. Jules wasn't sure if he was reading it right, it could have easily been his conscious mind reading into the thick framed glasses she wore, eyes hidden behind two wide rectangular windows. `
“Sorry, uh, you here for the interview or whatever too?” he asked.
“No.” She scoffed, pushing her glasses up her nose with her middle finger. “I'm an asset, I got called in.”
“What's your, y'know, thing?” he asked, all to aware that his small talk game with magickians was not strong.
“Everything,” she said, with a tone that sounded more like she had said 'duh doy'. “I've learned all the adepts, read all the arcane texts, the gnostics and grimoires, liturgies and papyri, Qumran and genizot texts –“
“-- Oh. Uh, that's nice.” Jules said, interrupting her so as not to have to hear yet more names of things he hadn't heard of thrown in his face. He hated to admit it, but part of him was a little dejected that although he had received a magickal education, it was nowhere near as involved as this young lady's. Then again, there was the much larger part of him that was glad he hadn't wasted his life enrolled in some kind of Hogwarts academy as this girl obviously had.
“And you?” she asked, with a tilt of her head and a smile that wasn't quite a smile.
“Shadow,” he said. “Adept, that is.”
“Is that all?”
“Yeah... I mean, I know bits and pieces, but don't really need it much in my day to day --”
She tried to stifle a laugh, but didn't try very hard. It came out as a snort with an encore of a titter. To escape his eye contact, she reached for the handle and turned it, pushing the door open. A white glow emanated out as the Epicentre appeared behind the threshold. Jules warned his gut before stepping over and following Shana through.
“Shana!” Talika said, hopping across the room to greet her. “Thank you for coming, so glad you could make it!” She was all too aware that she was being over enthusiastic, and attempted to make a mental note to tone it down. “Oh!” She gasped, seeing Jules, her eyes darting back and forth between the two. “You're back!”
“Change of heart.”
“Right. Well, uh...” Tali bit her lip, embarrassed at having called Shana in, now that Jules had de
cided he wanted to be involved with the op. “Come this way,” she said, turning and strutting across the room so she could avoid eye contact with either of them. ”Both of you, we've set up a briefing room right through here.”
Jules trailed behind, wondering why the hell he was there if he had been replaced by the giant bookworm.
“Mister Nichols,” Comstock barked, catching sight of Jules before he even made it into the briefing room. “Didn't expect to see you back here.”
“Didn't expect to be back.”
“Yet you've had a change of heart.”
“Yeah. You guys need a hand, specifically need my adept, who am I to be a dick? Fate of the world at stake and all.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“So, if you've got him,” Shana said, with a huff. “Why am I here?”
“As a contingency, Miss Kanta.” Comstock was not happy about having to explain himself to the over-ambitious young girl. “One that is no longer necessary.”
Jules saw the colour sap from her face, cheeks natural tan becoming pallid and pale. He wasn't sure if it were real, if it were her aura interfering again, or perhaps her hold on a glamour weakening. Whatever it was, he didn't like to see people hurt. Even if she had been rude to him, Jules certainly wasn't going to let Comstock get jollies by making her sad. “I wouldn't mind you having my back,” he said. “Haven't exactly been on one of these rodeos before...”
A genuine smile came to Kanta's lips, a rosiness trying so very hard to appear in her cheeks as something akin to embarrassment came over her. Jules took her smile of relief in, but couldn't help notice that she also looked nervous. He started to wonder how much actual experience she had on missions such as these, given how much time she obviously spent studying.
“Very well. Miss Kanta, please take a seat. You've already met Talika Rei, she will be in your ear for this operation to assist in any way you might require.
“Unless we get cut off by the barrier...” Talika mumbled under her breath.
“This is your team leader, Isaiah Faith.” Comstock gestured across the table to a tall, broad man who sat with his spine straight, shoulders rolled back, muscles held in a permanent state of flex under his clothes that seemed almost skintight. Jules couldn't help but wonder if all clothes became skintight once you gained a certain amount of muscle mass. Faith's hair was clearly once black, but had been doing its hardest to attempt to grey for the last few years. It was cut, Jules was almost certain, to try and make his face look like it was a perfect rectangle.
“Nice to meet you,” Jules said, receiving a grunt in response.
“These are Jacobian and Leopold Bly, your close quarters specialists,” Comstock continued, indicating to two identical men sat next to each other. Identical, but inverted. Jacobian wore black whilst Leopold wore white. Leopold had long black hair, whilst Jacobian had long white hair. Both had thin faces with olive complexions, carved with identical long, sharp noses, prominent cheekbones and bright, wide eyes with not a single vein of red amongst the white.
“Sabre Lightfoot will be providing long range support.” A voluptuous Filipina with bright blue hair raised her hand and fired a finger gun at Jules and Shana with a glint in her bright, light blue eyes. They were so pale, Jules wondered if she was wearing the contacts people wore in zombie movies.
“Don't you people ever have normal names?” Jules found himself asking, smart mouth shooting off without his permission. “Aren't there any Jeff Smiths or Steve Joneses here?”
“Like Jules Nichols is your real name?” Leopold scoffed.
“What did you do, take your first from your favourite sci-fi author and second from the first black actor in Star Trek?” Jacobian asked, with a guffaw.
“Jules is from Julian Mayfield, civil rights activist that could kick your ass. And Jules Verne didn't write 'science fiction', he wrote about giant squids and hot air balloons, both those things are science fact.”
“I stand corrected!” Jacobian spat, with a roll of his eyes.
Jules turned to Tali. “Nichols is from Nichelle Nichols though...” he said, under his breath.
She smiled at him politely, unsure what to do with that information.
“You must forgive our newest asset,” Comstock grunted, attempting to vie attention back in his direction. “Mister Nichols was schooled... unconventionally.”
“No, I get it,” Jules said, with a roll of his eyes. “We all have fake names, after all 'names are power'.” He used the phrase with wry intent, having heard it so many times from his grandmother. “But at least my first and last names are actually names, rather than grandiose combinations of speech sounds...” Silence fell on the room. The others were not amused at his tirade. “Just, y'know, wish you'd just call yourself Nigel Bloggs, rather than Apocalympics Krunk or whatever.”
“Are you quite done, Mister Nichols?”
Jules was, for the moment. He might have agreed to help the Circle, but he wasn't going to just roll over and take their pretension lying down. He was prepared to call a spade a spade, and if anyone there attempted to call him a spade, he would have no problem kicking their ass.
Shana put things back on track; “Why are you using this configuration of team? I thought they were usually evenly matched?”
“Traditionally, Miss Kanta, yes. But the last team that went in was... compromised. As a result, we're trying something different.”
“And what are we here to do?” Jules asked.
“You are primarily involved to allow access to the building.”
“The building being...”
With a wave of his hands, Comstock conjured light to burst forth from the bulb in the ceiling, reconfiguring and recolouring itself in mid-air to take the shape of a holographic representation of the building in question. . “The Villa De Vecchi in Cortenova, Italy has been taken over by a creature you might know as a djinn or Genie.”
“No way!”
“Yes Mister Nichols, genies are real, or at least one is...”
“No, it's not that, I know they're real, I've told the story of the djinn to my kid before bed...”
“Hardly relevant, and certainly not crucial to this briefing... As I was saying, the djinn was released from the lamp, which was stolen from our archive.
“Is Shaman still around? Shaman Kahgo? Can't you just call him and he can put the guy back in his box?” Silence fell on the room, Talika and Faith exchanging looks. “What?” Jules asked, looking around the room. “Is he... dead or something?”
Comstock sneered, almost growling under his breath. “Mister Kahgo is no longer involved with the Circle. Now if you'll allow me to continue? The djinn has taken over the local village, either killed or mesmerised the residents to do his bidding. He has set up a barrier around it that cannot be passed in the Natural World unless he wishes for it to be penetrated... which is where you, and more specifically the Shadow Realm, comes in...
19
That damn name
Jules found the briefing more boring than anything he had ever been involved in his entire life, and that was including the day that he repainted the living room and literally watched it dry. As soon as they escaped from Comstock's clutches, he had a thousand questions to fire at Faith and Talika. Not about the briefing, but about something much closer to his heart.
“What happened to Kahgo? He's the hero in almost every one of my grammy's stories.
Isaiah Faith scoffed loud and hard.”First of all, 'grammy' is adorable.
“Don't be a dick,” Tali said.
“You want to know what happened to Shay? He screwed us, all of us. Beryn worst of all.”
“You knew him?”
“For a little while, sure. Before he left without a damn word in the middle of an op, taking a damn treasure trove in the process. Thousands of god damn people died because of him. Thousands. Including a whole bunch of our friends... Don't you dare say that damn name around here again, you hear?” He spat the last sentence out, storming off across
the Epicentre, as if he wanted to get as far away from the conversation as possible.
“Is that true?” Jules asked, trying to ignore the prickling in his eyes.
“Not as cut and dry... but yeah.”
“What happened?”
“Not here,” Tali said. “Nobody likes to hear about it, even in hushed whisper...” She looked away, sighed quietly as she came up with an alternative. “Op doesn't start 'til nightfall, wanna grab some lunch?”
Jules wasn't sure he could eat. His stomach was unruly in anticipation of the incursion he was going to facilitate as soon as it got dark. But he needed to know the truth about his childhood hero, more than anything. He had to hear the story out, if for no other reason than so he could shout it down and prove the legend true.
Of course, he reminded himself, whether he would be able to do that would depend on how bad Talika's story was...
20
Power corrupts
They took a door to a cafe in Paris. Tali apologised profusely for being quite so pretentious, but assured him that the food was worth seeing past the ostentation of translocating to continental Europe just for a snack. She also felt it necessary to apologise for her name, given his enthusiastic tirade during the briefing. “It's essentially my real name, just modified a little...” she said, in-between bites and chews. “Same with a lot of us. But you know why that is, right?”
“I guess? my grandmother just always said 'names have power'.”
“But you don't know why?”
He shrugged, it had never come up, and he had never really cared that much.
“Because they're with us all our lives, from when we're born, often before we're born. What our parents call us is pretty much etched into our bones, so it has power over us. just like our hair and skin and fluids --”