Judgement

by Ryan Attard

  “You’re an ass, Greg.”

  Right that second, Sun Tzu appeared at my side, carrying a plate of noodles, steamed dumplings, and vegetables. As he set the plate down he glared at me.

  “What?” I retorted. “He started it!”

  More glaring.

  “I won’t do it again,” I said, defeated.

  “Enjoy your meal,” Sun Tzu replied, leaving our table.

  “I’m taking the dumplings,” I whispered at Greg as I reached for them with my chopsticks.

  Greg shrugged. “Help yourself,” he replied. “I’m a vegetarian.”

  I rolled my eyes and stuffed my mouth with food in an effort not to say something very rude. As if I needed any more reasons to dislike this guy.

  “Okay,” I said, swallowing my food. “We’re in a safe place. Start talking.”

  Greg sighed, took a drink and gently set his cup down. “What do you want to know?”

  “We’ll start with the basics,” I said. “You’re a Kresnik.”

  “Correct.”

  “What the hell is a Kresnik?”

  Greg raised his eyebrows. “A hunter, just like you.”

  He must have seen the look of annoyance on my face because he sighed again and decided to elaborate.

  “Most lore describes us as the natural enemy of vampires, creatures of purity as opposed to the tainted nature of vampires. In reality, we are hunters of all things undead, seeking to restore balance between the cycle of life and death.”

  Okay, that made sense now, given the demonstration I had seen in the cemetery.

  “So you’re not human?” I asked.

  “Yes and no,” he replied.

  It was my turn to sigh. “Has anyone ever told you how annoying that is?”

  “Yes,” he admitted, “but one has to provide one’s own entertainment.”

  “One also needs to answer the fucking question,” I shot back, “before one gets a sword shoved up their ass.”

  Greg grinned.

  “No, to answer your question,” he said. “I am not human, not by your definition anyway. I eat, feel, and bleed just like everyone else, but my nature has better equipped me to deal with my task.”

  “Like grabbing two giant zombie Vikings with your bare hands and wrestling them to the ground?”

  “Precisely,” he replied. “Although if we are talking surprises, you would win in that department. I’ve heard of your powers but I did not believe the reports until I saw them with my own eyes.” His eyes narrowed. “Do you often lose control of yourself like that?”

  I put down my chopsticks. “Listen Greg, I barely know you. So excuse me if I don’t spill the beans on my most intimate secrets.”

  “I merely ask out of curiosity,” he replied.

  “Here’s one of my curiosities,” I retorted. “What reports are you talking about? Who the hell is compiling notes on me?”

  “I belong to the Russian Orthodox Church,” he replied.

  “I barely noticed the accent.”

  Greg rolled his eyes and ignored my comment. “My organization was contacted by your sister, Gil Ashendale, to investigate the disappearance of one of our most dangerous artifacts. Her network of spies informed her that said artifact resurfaced here, and as such, here I am.”

  “So she wanted to make sure that if you ran into me, you’d know what you’re in for,” I said.

  I shouldn’t have been surprised. It was not beyond my sister to go all Machiavelli on me. What really surprised me was that she didn’t inform me about any of this.

  “I was following my own case,” I began.

  “Yes, I saw the ghost child,” Greg said.

  Before we showed up at Sun Tzu’s place, I told Arnold to go back to the office and tell Abi and Amaymon what had happened. I told him to tell them to lay low, and to expect some kind of revenge.

  People like the Necromancer were petty by nature.

  “I’m led to believe that both our cases are somewhat related,” Greg continued. “Your mysterious ghost infant, and the disappearance of the Necronomicon.”

  I leaned forwards. “Yeah, speaking of which, what exactly is this thing anyway? Some kinda super spell book?”

  Greg snorted in derision.

  “You would say so,” he said. “The Necronomicon is the single most powerful Necromantic tool in existence, containing all spells which relate to life and death, and the cycle thereof. However, its real power lies in the summoning of beasts that lie beyond our dimension. Ancient civilizations had different names for it, most notably the Book of the Dead in ancient Egypt. Its modern name comes from a story by H.P. Lovecraft.”

  “I thought it sounded familiar,” I remarked. “So in essence, this is a big bad evil grimoire that, for some reason, your church was guarding instead of outright destroying. And now it’s somewhere in Eureka, possibly in the hands of the most inept Necromancer to ever walk the planet.”

  “A Necromancer who summoned six Draugar, and both Gozu and Mezu in one sitting,” Greg countered. “Inept would not be the word I would use.”

  “And Jiang-shi,” I added, remembering the fight I had the last time I visited Sun Tzu’s place. “But it doesn’t make sense. The most he ever did was raid morgues. Now he’s the Chuck Norris of Necros? Something doesn’t fit here.”

  “Perhaps he took lessons,” Greg said. “From a very competent teacher.”

  “If someone was giving magic lessons that made people that powerful, I’d know about them,” I said. “Or at least my sister would.”

  Greg shrugged. “Fair point. The fact of the matter is, he was questioning the dead about the Necronomicon’s location, which means he hasn’t found it yet. We must not let this happen.”

  I nodded. “On that, we can agree,” I said. “So what’s our next step?”

  Greg raised an eyebrow. “Our?”

  “Yes, our,” I said. “You didn’t think I was just gonna let you run around by yourself, did you? Besides, that asshole sent goons after me. And I agree with you on my case being involved with yours. Something here stinks, and my gut is telling me to see this Necromancer business ‘till the end. So, again, I ask: what’s our next move?”

  Greg shrugged. “I do not know.”

  My jaw dropped a little. “And they call me clueless,” I muttered.

  “Do you have any ideas?” he retorted.

  I extracted my cellphone. The screen was still showing me the last picture I took: the Ryleh Corp business card I swiped from goons who abducted me.

  “Greg,” I began, “you won’t believe the evening I’ve had. It started off with a nice date, after which I got kidnapped, escaped, traced their employer to the graveyard, fought a shitload of undead, and now I’m here with you.”

  “You make it sound like this is a date,” he said, laughing into his glass. “Word of warning, Greg is not cheap.”

  “The point is,” I said, ignoring him, “in light of this evening’s events, I suggest we both get a good night’s sleep and go see my sister first thing tomorrow morning.”

  He shrugged again. “We can even go now. I like working at night.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s three in the morning here on Earth,” I said. “And Gil will punch you in the throat if you interrupt her beauty sleep.”

  He grinned. “Maybe she too has a date.”

  “That’s just wrong, dude. She’s my little sister,” I replied. “And besides, I pity the poor guy who’s shacking up with her.”

  “She’s that horrible?” Greg asked.

  “I wouldn’t say horrible,” I said. “Unique is the word. Don’t worry, you’ll understand soon enough.”

  Chapter 14

  Unlike her financially-challenged brother, my fraternal twin sister lived in a mansion; the same one we grew up in during our childhood. As kids, we were filthy rich — Michael Jackson, rich. My family descended from one of the oldest magical families on the planet, so we had saved up a few million tons of gold over the years.

  And
we were also the best Warlocks around, hopping from one dimension to another in such a way that would have made the British Empire look like an afternoon stroll.

  I left that life when I was just a teenager and headed out on my own — my sister did not.

  Greg and I walked past the front gate, the first ominous and foreboding barrier to the Ashendale mansion. Masked guards were stationed everywhere, peppering the enormous verdant front yard like giant ants. I used to be terrified of them when I was a kid, but now that I had faced things that would have driven any other person into an insane asylum, I barely even noticed them.

  A maid held the enormous, intricately carved, front door open for us, inviting us in. I walked in first and looked around. Memories always flooded back every time I walked into this place. Greg came up behind me, politely wiped his feet on the thick bristles of the carpet, and froze when he sensed the newcomer.

  Walking slowly, the tapping of his dress shoes echoing along the corridor even before he came into our field of vision, Mephisto waltzed in, clad in his usual butler suit, swallow tails and all. Tall and lanky, with his ponytail gently swaying with each step, he smiled politely, and sent a continuous stream of shivers down my spine.

  Behind rimless spectacles that he did not need, his cat-like yellow eyes glowed ever so slightly, just enough to make one question what it was they were looking at.

  I heard Greg suck in a breath, and gave him a sideways glance, trying to convey that this guy was not the enemy, no matter what his instincts were telling him.

  “Master Erik,” Mephisto said in his usual cool, dry tone.

  I grinned, trying to show him he did not unnerve me. “ ‘Sup, doggie.”

  Greg relaxed a fraction of an inch and said nothing — not even when Mephisto looked directly at him.

  “Welcome, honored guest. Master Gil is currently attending to an issue, but has instructed me to invite you both to the dining room. Breakfast is being served.” He spun sharply on his heels. “Please come along.”

  Greg waited until Mephisto was a few paces away from us before giving me a quizzical look.

  “Yep,” I said. “You’re on the right track.”

  “But he’s-”

  “A demon, I know.” I sighed. “Mephisto’s been in our family for… well, a very long time. He’s Gil’s familiar, so try not to start anything.”

  Greg grimaced. “Such a foul creature.”

  I rolled my eyes and stopped us both on our tracks. Mephisto, a small distance away from us, sensed our halting and stopped walking, but remained with his back turned to us, waiting.

  “Listen up, Knight in Shining Armor,” I said, addressing the Kresnik next to me. “This is a Warlock’s house. Which means you’re gonna see some shit you ain’t gonna like. And then you’re gonna see some other shit that is just downright nasty. So either accept that and let it go, or walk away. If you feel the need to spout some holier-than-thou crap, keep it to yourself. If you feel the need to start some shit, don’t. This is a lion’s den and trust me, you do not wanna poke whatever monsters are lurking around us.”

  I looked pointedly at Mephisto, and then back at Greg, who nodded silently. We resumed our walking and from the front I heard Mephisto say,

  “Eloquent as always, Master Erik.”

  Gil sat at the head of a long table, barren save for a plate of sliced fresh fruit in front of her. She saw us coming in, nodded in acknowledgment, and cocked her head towards the chair adjacent to hers.

  “Well then, double your efforts,” she said into her bluetooth earpiece. “Yes, I know.” She rolled her eyes. “I know. Just do it. Transfer the usual funds and do your bloody job.”

  She tapped the earpiece and threw it next to the plate.

  “The one time my assistant takes a day off, and all hell breaks loose,” she said, running a hand through her long white-blonde hair. “Figuratively, of course.”

  Gil stood up and extended her hand towards Greg.

  “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” she said, almost reverently. “Your reputation precedes you.”

  Greg looked at her hand and left it hanging, nodding instead. “And yours, Gil Ashendale.”

  I looked from my sister to the Kresnik. “Is it just me, or am I sensing some tension here?”

  Gil ignored me — not an unfamiliar occurrence — and sat back down.

  “Sit, brother,” she said in a tone that sounded very much like she was chiding me. “You too, Sir.”

  “Call me Greg,” Greg replied. “Your brother certainly does.”

  “I apologize for his manners. Or lack thereof.”

  I poured myself a glass of orange juice and paused midway to see the both of them looking at me.

  “What? It’s eight in the morning. I’m starving.”

  Gil sighed and snapped her fingers. Almost immediately, a maid appeared with a tray of food, an assortment of fruits, meats, and pastries. She set the tray down and hurried off, never making eye contact with any of us.

  “Why does it feel very Mein Kampf in here?” I asked, spearing a sausage from the tray.

  Gil rolled her eyes. “By now, you’ve heard that the Necronomicon has made its presence in our city, yes?”

  I pointed at Greg with the fork. “Isn’t that why he’s here?”

  “It is,” Greg replied. “I must retrieve the book and take it back to my church, where it will be locked away for eternity.”

  I scoffed and Greg glared at me. “Do you have something to add?” he asked.

  “It must be a short eternity,” I said, stuffing two strips of bacon into my face. I swallowed and motioned at him with my utensil. “This is a dangerous object that only spells out bad news, right? So why not destroy the damn thing? One less pain in the ass to deal with.”

  Gil cocked her head, as if pondering the question for the first time, while Greg furrowed his eyebrows.

  “We will do no such thing,” he said. “The existence of the Necronomicon is crucial to our state of balance. It is a seal to some creatures, just as much as it is a doorway for others. No, we must retrieve it, and hide it.”

  “In the same church where it was stolen from?” I added.

  Greg turned his head so sharply I thought for sure he had snapped something. “You question our mission?”

  “Nope,” I casually replied. “Only your security system.” I could feel him boiling beneath his calm composure. “I mean, think about it. This all-powerful relic of magic took a trip from Mother Russia all the way to the good old U S of A, without you guys even knowing it was here, or being able to stop it. Correct me if I’m wrong, but if you knew that the book was stolen, you’d do your best to capture it while it was still in transit, where it’s the most vulnerable. The fact that you’re here means you couldn’t do it.”

  “What are you implying, wizard?” Greg said, in a tone that made me miss the zombies in the graveyard.

  “I’m implying,” I said, “that either you got played, or someone on your team is secretly batting for the other side.”

  Greg slammed his fist on the table.

  The ancient, sturdy wood of the table creaked under his superhuman strength, sending food scattering from the tray and plates.

  At the same time, my hand flew on Djinn’s handle. I saw Mephisto hovering by the doorway, still and steady, and very much deadly.

  Only Gil remained unfazed. She gently set down her teacup, steadying it on the table.

  After a few tense seconds, Greg looked away before lowering his head.

  “My apologies, Miss Ashendale,” he said softly.

  “Accepted.” She pursed her lips and gazed at him with something close to annoyance. “However, my brother does raise a good point. You are here now, Kresnik, which means neither you nor your church were able to complete this task on your own. Which brings me to my next order of business: our subsequent step.”

  Gil extended her hand to the side. “Mephisto,” she ordered.

  Immediately, he was at her si
de, lowering a tablet into her hand, before resuming his post by the door.

  “Both of your assumptions were correct,” Gil said, tapping her device, “even if at the end they are wrong. The Necronomicon was indeed stolen, but even if the Russian Orthodox Church was aware of the theft, they would have been powerless to stop it.”

  She set the tablet on the table, and all three of us looked at the same logo.

  “Meet the third, and most likely, scenario,” Gil said. “Ryleh Corp.” She swiped at the tablet’s screen. “And its CEO, Alan Greede.”

  Chapter 15

  I glared at the profile picture on Gil’s tablet.

  Alan Greede looked more at home at the Genius Bar rather than the head of a multi-national corporation. A soft, smiling face, with bright white teeth and horn-rimmed glasses, wearing a dark polo shirt and beige slacks. On his wrist was one of those flat rectangular computer watches, whatever the heck they’re called.

  To the outside world, Alan Greede was Steve Jobs with a full head of hair, but one look at his eyes — his dark, unsmiling eyes — told me that this was a guy with secrets, a guy who got his way.

  Gil swiped the tablet again, showing more pictures of Greede.

  “We know practically nothing about him,” she said. “Ryleh Corp is one of those multi-nationals that seep in everywhere and you just don’t notice. Their money runs wide and deep.”

  “So, this guy’s just another douche-bag collector?” I asked. “Maybe he’s got some fascination with the macabre?”

  Gil shook her head. “That was my first assumption, until I did some more digging. While Ryleh Corp is present virtually everywhere, their activities in Eureka spiked around three years ago.”

  She gave me a knowing look. Three years — that was how long ago we had defeated Lilith, the Sin of Lust.

  Greg caught the look as well.

  “What happened three years ago?” he asked.

  “We fought a super demon,” I replied. “Her disappearance was sure to leave a power void.”