One by one he consecrated each stone by pressing it into his bloody palm while weaving a chant in Molder above it. The language of the dead isn’t meant for living ears. The little I could make out sounded like the burbling hiss of decaying flesh crossed with the rattling of dried bones.
I could feel its effects even if I couldn’t understand the weaving. We all could. It came on slowly, a dark pulse like a black heart beating in the dead of night, growing stronger as Thomas worked his way through each of the stones. By the time he reached the thirteenth and final stone the beat grew into a howling crescendo and then it was gone leaving behind a silence as final as the grave.
Thomas slumped back into his chair, his eyes glazed, his breathing ragged while Bender leapt into action. “Relax, the hard part’s over,” he hissed to me. I slowly released the death-grip I hadn’t realized I’d held. Glancing around I saw that the rest of the unit were in similar positions, hands locked on chair arms or the table to keep from running and breaking the spell.
Bender moved quickly, placing the stones on the floor around us until each of the thirteen stones marked a point in a perfect circle. Once he’d positioned the last of the stones he raced back to Thomas’ side and helped him sit straighter in his chair. “Thank you,” Thomas said waving a lazy hand towards the stones. “It grows more difficult.”
“She works against you,” Bender replied. “I fear she suspects your involvement now that the witch has arrived.”
“Then we have no more time to waste. We planned for this eventuality. Activate the circle. I fear our friends won’t stay silent much longer.”
“As you will.” Bender moved to the western quarter and raised his hands. He didn’t speak. He didn’t draw sigils in the air. He raised his hands and a finger of mist crawled counter-clockwise around the circle of stones. As it completed the circle the mist lengthened and grew, forming a dome over our heads. Within moments we were locked behind a bubble of billowing gray.
“Damn that’s impressive,” Stevens said and it was. Magick without word or gesture was possible, but exceedingly difficult. The rituals and formula bent the mind into the proper channels. To effortlessly direct the energies that Thomas raised . . . with a start I remembered that I’d done the same during the Ghost Walk, only I’d been pure spirit then. Who or what are you, Bender?
Thomas chuckled. “Mysterious are the ways of Bender.”
Bender snorted as he returned to Thomas’s side. “We are now beyond her reach,” he said. “Explain the situation while I attend to your hand.”
Thomas turned his hand palm up and laid it across the table while Bender set a variety of unguents and oils beside it. Lastly, he produced a square of black silk and began dabbing at the blood. Thomas winced once and then turned back to the rest of us while Bender worked.
“It’s a long tale, so forgive me if I go over something you’ve already discovered. You are right Julian, I did involve your unit, but not in the way you fear. I need your help.”
“Shit right you do,” Ramirez snapped. “You’re going to need our help just to keep breathing. God-damn you’ve got balls, big hairy ones after the shit you pulled in the park.”
“You were drawing your weapons . . .
“You threatened Nunez!”
“Quiet, both of you!” I bellowed in my best imitation of Mac’s angry voice. “Sit your ass down Ramirez so we can learn what we came here for, and as for you,” I snapped rounding on Thomas, “he’s right. You’ve got some serious explaining to do if you want to stay off our enemies list.”
Ramirez sat. Thomas glared. Mac rested his hand on my shoulder. He could have been warning me that I’d gone too far, but I didn’t take it that way.
Thomas opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off before the first words crossed his tongue. “Don’t do it,” I said. “Don’t justify or cloud the issue. You were a friend once; convince me you still are.”
A thousand responses flashed behind his eyes before Thomas spoke. I knew he was calculating, turning over possibilities, running analysis on what he thought he could or should say. I hoped that he’d settle on the only thing that was going to satisfy us; the truth.
“You mentioned la Bajios Noche back in the park,” he started, but I cut him off with a wave of my hand.
“Nope, that’s not the way this works. You first, explain it to me and I’ll tell you what I saw.”
“What you saw? How could you have seen . . .
I sat still as a stone, staring across the table into his cold eyes. I wasn’t going to budge. I knew this game, whoever speaks first loses.
Suddenly Thomas winced and turned on Bender. “Careful,” he hissed.
Bender continued doctoring Thomas’s hand, seemingly unaware of his gaze. “Your friend asked you a question.”
Again, Thomas paused and then he nodded. What is their relationship? Bender was undoubtedly Thomas’s bodyguard, but it went much deeper than that. They weren’t exactly friends, although I’d heard them joking on the road. It was something deeper, a counselor or advisor or something . . . I just couldn’t put my finger on it.
Thomas broke my reverie when he turned back to me and started speaking. “What do you know about the South American drug cartels?”
“Not much,” I said. “They’re hyper-violent criminals, but they’re mundanes so they’re not on our radar.”
“Not all of them,” Nunez added. “There are rumors that some of the mountain brujas offer protection, but there’s no proof.”
“And who provides the proof?” Thomas asked. “Who chooses the targets?”
Before I could respond Mac squeezed my shoulder. “The Company is only concerned with military targets.”
Thomas’s gaze moved from me over to Ramirez and then back to Nunez. “I know for a fact that isn’t always the case—
“Damn it! Be careful old man,” Thomas yanked at his hand, but couldn’t pull it from Bender’s grip.
“Sorry milord,” Bender replied. He kept his eyes focused on the ruin of Thomas’s hand, but I thought I caught a flicker of amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. He hadn’t been surprised at Thomas’ outburst; he’d caused it. “I didn’t realize how delicate you’d become or how easily distracted.”
Thomas sucked in a calming breath and turned back towards us. “Perhaps the short version would be better,” he said fishing for something in his pockets with his left hand. After a few moments he produced a small glass vial and laid it on the table. “You recognize this?”
I felt my unit stiffen around me; it was a twin to the one the Captain had shown us a few days prior. “Graveyard dust,” Mac hissed.
“It’s quite an extraordinary substance,” Thomas continued as if he hadn’t noticed our reaction. “Beyond the obvious narcotic effects, it allows the casual user to peer beyond the veil, straight into the Halls of Death. Repeated use however, slowly severs the addict’s spirit from his body, eventually leaving an empty shell behind.”
“My God! Why would you create something like that?”
“Oh, you misunderstand me Sergeant. I didn’t develop this abomination. Stevens did and I want to know why.”
Chapter 27
Jacksonville, Wednesday 02:30
The Rookery
“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Stevens exploded from his chair and lunged across the table, but he wasn’t faster than Bender. In one fluid motion Bender dropped Thomas’s hand, picked up the bloody knife and slid under Stevens’ outstretched arms. Before he was halfway across the table Bender was crouched beneath him, the knife held to his throat.
“Thomas, don’t do this,” I said.
Thomas lifted his right hand in front of his face, ignoring me and carefully examined his ruined palm. He turned it back and forth and even in the dim light I could see that the blood had stopped weeping and his wounds were mostly healed. What should have grown into ribbed scar tissue looked likely to fade into a pale web of faint lines and swirls. “You do good work, Bender.�
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“Now then,” he said turning back toward Stevens. “A little over a year ago your current unit was in the Iraqi desert hunting a Yezidi sorcerer. Where were you?”
“I was on assignment, asshole.”
“Yes, yes you were,” Thomas replied, “and before you think of lying to me about that assignment, I’ll let you in on a little secret. Bender can tell if you’re lying. I’m not sure how he does it, something about listening to your heartbeat or tasting the truth in the air. I don’t really care, but he’s always right. Lie to me and he’ll slit your throat before the words are fully formed. Do you understand?”
Stevens nodded, saying nothing.
I tried again. “Thomas, I know him, he couldn’t be involved.”
“For all our sakes, I hope you’re right, but forgive me if I don’t share your trust in your fellow man. Now then Stevens, what was your assignment?”
Stevens stared back at Thomas, but said nothing.
“Let him go,” Mac said in an icy voice. “He won’t talk to you.”
“No Sergeant, that’s where you’re wrong, he will talk. Did you forget that we’re all inside a dark circle? He can either talk to me now or Bender can cut his throat and I’ll twist his spirit until he breaks. Either way I’ll learn what I need.”
“Now then, one last time, what was your assignment?”
“It was a black op, wet work,” Stevens said. “The OSS pulled three of us from other units, dropped us off in the Mexican jungle to eliminate some crazy cult leader. We didn’t know why; you rarely do on assignments like that. It should have been simple, but things went to shit fast.”
“Did you find him?” Thomas asked.
“Yes. It took two weeks, but we found him up in the mountains. He had a camp set up in this jagged crumble; fucking eerie place. Black water spilled out of the mountain, gathered in three dark pools on the valley floor. Nothing lived up there, none of the wildlife that had chattered at us for weeks, no birds, nothing. We went in wrapped in dampeners. We should have been ghosts, but they must have felt the spells. Two men caught us on the ridge above the camp. I fired first, hit one of them twice, center mass, but it didn’t even slow them down. That’s when we lost it, all of us. Fired until our magazines ran dry, but they kept coming. We must have hit them a dozen times, I know we did. I could see the impacts, see the blood and bone blown out, but they didn’t stop until they were on us. They clubbed us down with our own guns.”
Stevens stopped there, shaking his head as if trying to clear the memories. Thomas glanced over at Bender who nodded in return. He needn’t have checked, even I could tell he was speaking the truth. You can’t fake the horror that crept into his voice.
“When I came to, we were tied to stakes. They must have dragged us all the way down to the pools. It stank like sulfur and rotting meat. And it was cold. Cold like I’ve never felt before, deep and biting like it had never known heat. The two men we’d shot stood a dozen feet away from us, just staring at us. They didn’t move. They didn’t blink. Shit I don’t think they breathed. They just stared at us for hours. Sometimes late at night I can still see those cold dead eyes staring straight through me.”
Stevens shuddered, forcing Bender to withdraw the blade before he accidentally slit his throat. “He’ll tell the rest without prodding,” Bender said, but didn’t move until Thomas nodded. He returned to Thomas’ side as quickly as he’d left, like a snake coiling for another strike.
Stevens sank slowly back into his chair and covered his eyes. When he started speaking again it was in a whisper, his voice far off and stretching from some place he’d buried. “It was dark by the pools, like the light was scared, so I didn’t see when our target arrived. He was dressed in coal-black leathers, leaning on a yellowed cane of human bone. Miguel de Oras, wild white hair tied with shriveled blackened fingers, eyes blazing like an Old Testament prophet. You might call yourself a lord of death,” he said pointing to Thomas, “but this man was steeped in it. It hung around him like a perfume of decay.”
If Thomas were shocked or offended, he didn’t indicate it. If anything, he looked intensely fascinated by Stevens’ tale. “Go on,” he said, “there’s more.”
“Oh God yes, there’s more,” Stevens replied, shaking his head. “That bastard looked us over like we were sides of beef. I expected the questions, the threats and torture, I prepared myself as best you can, but I wasn’t ready for what came next. No one could. De Oras stepped up to me, grabbed my jaw in one of his icy hands and twisted my head back and forth. I thought he was trying to look into my eyes, feed on my fear, but he couldn’t care less. He was staring at my skin, running his fingers up and down it, muttering to himself. Finally, he turned back to one of the men who’d caught us, ‘I already have the dark, make me a summer suit,’ he said.”
“I almost laughed when he said it, but something held me back and when he turned away, I understood. There on the back of his leather shirt was a face, big gaping holes where the eyes had been, a ragged slash where a seamstress had sewn shut the mouth. The leathers de Oras wore were human. It was fucking human skin, tanned and stitched together, and he wore it like a suit!”
“Go on,” Thomas urged, but gently. He may have anticipated some of the story, but he couldn’t have calculated this. I felt sick to my stomach and glancing around the room saw that everyone looked the same.
Nunez reached over to comfort Stevens, but he shrugged off his hand. “There’s not much more to tell, unless you want to hear about the cutting,” he snapped. “He didn’t have them killed before he removed their skins and Sweet Jesus, they took their time. I thought the screaming would never end. When it was all over, they dragged me back up the crag and set me free with a message: that if we needed a further demonstration, he’d meet us in the shallow night or some such shit.”
“That’s it?” Thomas exclaimed. “I’m sorry Benjamin, the timing was right, the facts fit, but I was wrong. You didn’t help create the Dust, but damn, what am I missing?”
“Shoals of Night,” I said still grappling with Stevens’ story. “You were exhausted, terrified and not thinking clearly, but could he have said ‘shoals of night’, not shallow?”
Stevens nodded. “Sure, I wasn’t listening that close. I just wanted to get away. Shallow, shoals, what difference does it make?”
“Bajios Noche,” I turned to Thomas, “the Shoals of Night, it was the name of a village—
Thomas tore his eyes away from Stevens and whirled towards me. “Gods below Julian, is that what you were raving about in the park? What did you see?”
I quickly outlined the memory I’d ripped from Ortiz’s head. The meeting between Chamberlain and the narcos above the village of Bajios Noche, the zombie slugfest in the town square, everything I could remember. By the time I’d finished the entire room was in an uproar, everyone was asking questions.
Ramirez, like usual, was the loudest. “This doesn’t make any sense. What would the OSS want with some fucked-up death cult in Mexico? They sent Stevens in to kill their leader, at least at first. You said yourself that you were wrong, he had nothing to do with the Dust, so what’s the connection?”
“I’m struggling to put all the pieces together,” Thomas replied. “I’ve only learned some of this recently. The valley with the three pools . . . those are the Dead Pools, the only place on earth where the River Styx spills onto land. The Aqua Negra cult used to be charged with the guarding of those pools I discovered, but it would appear that their new leader, your skin-wearing lunatic has other plans. In just under three years they have infiltrated or eradicated most of the major players and by my estimate control nearly sixty percent of the drug trade. But as troubling as all of that may be, it’s your story Julian that has me worried the most.”
“Zombie-soldiers? Stevens told you the same thing.”
“It’s not the what, it’s the where,” Thomas said. “Bajios Noche was one of the few places where my family constructed the Deathless.”
; Mac gasped and crossed himself. “I thought they were a myth.”
“No, not a myth,” Thomas replied, “but hardly the scourge your Church believes. In fact, there are only seventeen Deathless if Julian’s story is correct. The two men in the square would have been eighteen and nineteen.”
“Seems like House Sinister and the Aqua Negra have a lot in common,” Stevens growled from his chair. “Maybe the OSS should have sent me against your family.”
“They’re hardly the same,” Thomas snapped before getting a far-away look in his eyes. “Bender,” he said after a moment, “factor the new information into the equation. What does it tell you about the target?”
“There’s an eighty three percent chance it’s the Accords.”
Thomas nodded in agreement. “Haven’t any of you ever wondered why you’ve never been sent against the Houses Major? Listen to Stevens there, he should have been sent against my family, so why wasn’t he? We’re the darkest of America’s black magickians, criminals, murderers, traffickers in misery, so why haven’t you been turned loose against us?”
“Wondered that myself,” Ramirez said.
“Of course, you have,” Thomas replied. “We called it Roosevelt’s Folly when it was signed days after Pearl Harbor. It was a small meeting, just President Roosevelt, Wild Bill Donovan and the heads of the Five Families in the Oval Office. It was a simple thing really, though it took three days to negotiate. In the end the Houses Major agreed to uncover and eliminate any Thule agents working inside the United States in return for official sanction from the government not to interfere in our internal disputes or actively move against our business interests. With the home front secured, Donovan and his new OSS were able to focus on the external threat of the Thule. They kept them from Britain’s shores, but the European Reich took all the rest. And that’s how it stands today, the OSS sends you to fight its proxy wars against the Thule while we keep the homeland secure.”
The Dead Pools Page 19