Running on Empty (Journeyman Book 6)

by Golden Czermak

  “M-my Lord… why are y-you doing this?” Sallos pleaded. “Please… s-stop. Y-your Grace! STOP!”

  Dajjal did not care for the hopes of lesser things.

  Sallos tried to run but his legs were locked in place… tried to scream but his voice was sealed inside… tried to cry but there were no tears to spill…

  Forneus had reached him and the two of them stared at each other with distress.

  “I’m so sorry,” Forneus mouthed and before the words were even finished, his hand was moving to do Dajjal’s bidding, stabbing Sallos in the neck several times.

  With each thrust, flashes of yellow light came and went amidst the red, and before the last of it faded, Forneus turned the blade upon himself and carved his own neck.

  Their now hollow, punctured bodies collapsed to the floor and Dajjal smirked as cold wetness pooled around his feet.

  “Hartland, you said?” Dajjal asked, his broken hand already healing.

  Morax nodded.

  "Yes, my Lord. To the north near the Barkhamstead Reservoir.”

  That was all Dajjal needed to know, consumed by a sudden flash and a thunderous boom. The grand demon had vanished, driven to follow Death’s trail and discover the location of the scythe. The future of his reign, and his sanity, depended on it.

  TY OPENED HIS eyes slowly and was surprised by how bright the morning already was, its light spilling through narrow slits between the otherwise dark curtain panels in his guest room. He sat up, scrambling for his glasses on the nightstand, putting them on a short time later.

  If he was right, the Odyssey was nestled above Front Street and it was getting close to eight, perhaps nine o’clock. Either way, the last thing he remembered before falling asleep was seeing the Homer veer off, heading toward the shipyard for repairs when they were about an hour out from the city. The Iliad had also sailed away, sent on another mission by Councilor Tyrol. Gabriel, Nathaniel, and Sean were aboard.

  All that was nice, but far too much thinking for his weary brain; he just wanted to bury his face back in a pillow and sleep for at least twenty-four more hours, though he could probably manage more with some herbal aids. It was a luxury that would have to wait for another day, as he was scheduled for a meeting today at ten over in his favorite place: the headquarters building.

  Ty got out of bed as unhurriedly as he could, strolling over to a pile of clothes atop an ottoman in the corner of the room, gathering up a pair of ragged black jeans and a black tee. He searched the stack and the floor nearby for his cap but couldn’t find it. Frowning, he trudged over to his backpack and gave his untidy hair a swipe. Kneeling, he opened the enchanted bag and fumbled around inside, at times going in all the way to the elbow. There was a lot of stuff still inside, but far less than when he first came aboard. Most of it had been potions-related and could be found strewn across Henry Abington’s lab over at HQ, which is probably where his cap was since it wasn’t inside the bag.

  “Dammit,” he mumbled, closing the backpack before tossing it onto the mattress.

  While down on the floor he reached under the bed and pulled out his boots, slid them over his feet, and laced them up. Ty was up a short time later, crossing the room with backpack slung over his shoulder. He entered the corridor on Deck Three and closed the door behind him. Walking down the passage and up the stairs, he peeked his head into both the galley and lounge – somewhere he had yet to go. He thought – and hoped – that it wouldn’t be empty and there would be someone to talk to, but found that only silence was there to greet him. That and a smattering of pancake batter in spots on the table, and stove, and walls…

  That mess has those shifters written all over it, he thought, yet at no point was he remotely upset about it.

  Closing the door, he recalled that Seth and Kyle mentioned something in passing about taking care of family business once the ship docked, so assumed they were off somewhere in Manhattan or Brooklyn stirring up trouble with their unusual attire and even stranger behavior.

  Joey on the other hand had been in a rough state, memories of Marcus flooding back in alongside the pain of Gage’s loss. He’d taken himself down to Deck Four last night to recuperate, and Ty hoped he was able to find the peace he needed.

  Adrienne fared no better with the love of her life snatched away. Ty assumed she was still in her quarters lamenting, given that her particular meeting was not scheduled until after noon.

  As climbed up one more deck, walking onto the quarterdeck on his way to the forecastle, something gnawed at him. This felt off in some way: the separate interviews, the persistence of the department heads to be present, all of it more like an inquiry than a standard debriefing. He couldn’t yet deduce why and though his stomach wasn’t squirming, he definitely had an uncomfortable feeling about it. Hopefully the meetings would go well and some light shed on things, preferably before Dajjal struck again with something even nastier than before.

  AN HOUR AND a half later, Ty arrived just outside the corrugated metal door that served as the entrance portal to Order Headquarters. He had decided to walk there instead of taking a Journeyman cab, absorbing the sights and sounds of the city one more time, just in case things took a turn for the worse.

  Behind him people were rushing past, clutching their briefcases, backpacks, and purses. There was talk of the recent coastal attacks, some whispering about seeing strange and nightmarish creatures while others claimed it was all some kind of hoax.

  All were anxious.

  Ty sipped gingerly on his large Americano behind the cover of the illusion field, watching and listening. His phone chimed, giving him a quick startle, and he realized the time for the meeting had come. Turning to face the door, he recited the latest password and the door groaned and shuddered. A large behemoth stepped out from the corrugated metal, leaving a shimmering hole behind. It then lumbered off to the side.

  “Greetings, Mr. Sheridan,” said the guardsman.

  Ty nodded and stepped through the gap right away. A tightness formed in his lower back and he was drawn forward, whisked away to the entry hall.

  Upon emerging, three Felidaen guards immediately set upon him. The one in the center looked like a lion, broad and powerful, while the other two were more slender, resembling a panther and a jaguar. Around him the entrance hall seemed darker than expected, forebodingly empty.

  “Tyler Sheridan?” the foremost guard growled, his paw firmly holding a baton that was sparking.

  “Yes…” Ty replied carefully, lowering his cup. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

  “Nothing out of the ordinary. We are here to provide escort to you meeting at the request of the Departments,” the guard replied, the tone in his voice telling Ty that he couldn’t be trusted. “Now please, if you would relinquish your bag to Nyx.”

  He pointed across his chest to the jaguar.

  “I’m more than happy to keep it with me,” Ty answered, gripping the strap more tightly. “But thanks for the offer.”

  “It was not an offer,” Nyx replied with a growl. He stepped forward, an expectant paw outstretched. “Hand it over. Now.”

  Ty didn’t think starting a fight with Order security would make the best impression, even though he already felt like he was in trouble for something. He slid the strap off his shoulder, jostled the bag once, and tossed it over to Nyx.

  “See, that wasn’t so hard was it, Sheridan?” Nyx replied as he donned the bag himself. He looked back at the lion guard. “Come on Dukat, enough time’s been wasted and we are already late.”

  “This way,” said Dukat as he backed away from the portal.

  Ty followed and the other two moved after him, the three officers forming a triangle with Ty in the center. Ushered toward the elevators that led to the Council chambers, the guard’s boots paraded in cadence and Ty glanced furtively to his left. There he saw the shadowy shapes of many people shoved down a couple of the long hallways. Prevented from moving, their advance was held back by burly sentries posted at the ends. There
must have been some kind of muting spell in effect too; a few were obviously unruly yet there was no sound.

  “Listen… Simba was it? What’s the meaning of that back there? What’s going on?” Ty asked as they entered the elevator lobby.

  Instead of pressing any of the standard call buttons, Dukat moved to the end of the lobby, stopping ahead of an opulent table, itself set in front of a floor to ceiling mirror. He moved a large vase full of stargazer lilies out of the way, revealing a bright red button on the tabletop, which he pushed.

  “It’s for their own protection,” he growled, spinning around to look Ty in the eyes.

  “Protection?” Ty asked, staring right back fiercely. Marcus made this easy for him. “From what exactly?”

  “You…” said Nyx, prodding Ty with the baton. It shocked him and he winced.

  Ty grumbled but didn’t have an opportunity to respond in kind, though his fists were certainly ready. The elevator that had been summoned dinged and both table and mirror split, sliding to each side from the center, unveiling an ominous black interior. Dukat stepped to the side and Nyx pushed Ty inside, smashing his shoulder against the back of the lift. There was a soft titter as the guards moved in, lining up to form a wall in front of Ty. Then without a sound, the mirror-doors glided shut. There was a click and the elevator began to descend.

  Ty looked around at what he could see in the dim light. There were no buttons to stop at different floors, except for another red one between Dukat and Nyx’s jostling shoulders, positioned to the side of the door on the wall. Those were solid marble, black with faint swirls of gold, and it was cold. Looking above the doors, he saw there was no display to indicate where they were.

  “Where are you taking me?” Ty asked begrudgingly.

  “To your meeting,” replied Dukat, keeping his view forward. “Where else?”

  “I had that much figured out at least, but I assumed the meeting would be up in the Council chambers like all the others.”

  Someone scoffed.

  “There are other places in the building that are capable of hosting meetings,” Nyx huffed.

  If Ty could see the jaguar’s chest, he bet that it was proudly inflated. He did his best to deflate it.

  “Oh yes, how silly of me to forget such an esteemed place as your litter box?”

  There was a muted growl and Ty smiled.

  Their descent slowed, stopping as the lift doors slid open again; a gloomy corridor came into view. The guards trod out and turned in unison, waiting on Ty to emerge with their truncheons drawn. He did a few seconds later, stepping onto tiles that were so shiny the floor looked wet. He could see himself and the paneled ceiling mirrored clearly, though it all was very faint. In the distance, a hundred or so feet away, two torches burned in brackets on either side of a thick, oaken door while the light from inside the elevator vanished when the doors closed.

  Ty stood with his back to another large mirror, a feeling of abandonment washing over him. He felt cut off from the world far above, his only company the three flea ridden mall cops in front of him.

  “How far down are we?” Ty asked, Dukat starting to march away.

  When he didn’t stop, the others motioned for Ty to follow again and as the group got closer to the door, Ty could make out more details. It was aged and pale brown with flecks of white, decorated with a fancy set of scales encircled by a starburst pattern. The entire thing was edged with Latin that he could not read and it hung on substantial black hinges.

  “We’ve brought you down as far as the lifts can take you,” Dukat muttered as he knocked on the door.

  It crept open and the sound rolled down the glum passageway. The guards stood like sentinels, not allowed to enter the next chamber. Their batons sparked and crackled in the firelight, Dukat waving his toward the darkness.

  “Go,” he snarled. “They are expecting you.”

  Ty stepped across the threshold and felt a blast of cold air. Once through, the doors slammed behind him, shutting out all the light. Their resounding clatter yielded to an unnerving silence. The air was hot, no draft to cool his sweltering skin, and he felt like he was being watched.

  Which he was.

  “Ah Mr. Sheridan,” came a voice from the darkness; it was distant but forceful. “It’s about time you showed up for your own meeting.”

  “I beg your pardon, but there were several things… scheming against me,” Ty answered. “I was under the impression this was a standard debriefing, yet here I stand in the dark bowels of the building, not knowing where I am, why I’ve been brought here, and – most importantly – whose ass I am kicking later.”

  There were murmurs from several others. Ty had no way of knowing how many were also there in the room with him. Their whispers seemed to come from all around.

  “Is that any way to address your superiors?” the voice asked, annoyed.

  “That really does depend on who I am talking to.”

  There was a booming click, like some great switch had been flipped and slowly the room grew brighter. The light came from all around, casting a cadaverous pallor on the walls. There were several people seated at a sweeping table, similar to the one the Council used, talking in low whispers.

  “Is that better?” said a broad, stump-like man with a very bad comb-over.

  He was seated in the center, dressed in an expensive suit with his elbows set on the glossy tabletop. Ty observed judiciously and did not like the look of him at all, nor the faces around him which were just as rancid in their proper dress clothes. They scrutinized his attire bitterly, and his shabby hair. Out of all fourteen eyes looking Ty’s way, there wasn’t a glimmer of any he already knew.

  “I’m still at a loss,” Ty remarked. “You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”

  The man let out some kind of grumble merged with a cough; it sounded disgusting and Ty wondered if he was sick.

  “Robinson,” the man replied harshly, as if he were offended he wasn’t recognized on sight. “Lawrence Robinson. Head of Security, now that we have replaced Quileth.”

  “Replaced?” Ty asked, concerned.

  “Yes. Replaced with someone who has more concern for the security of the Journeymen in the Order, and of course the general population we are sworn to protect.”

  “And that someone who will deliver us all from evil just happens to be you,” Ty said with a hint of spite.

  “Do you doubt Robinson?” asked a beefy man with a trimmed beard; his broad shoulders were barely contained by his suit jacket. “Just a second ago you had no idea who he was…”

  “That’s quite all right, Sullivan,” said Robinson. “I would not expect a degenerate field operative to understand the intricate undertakings of those here at headquarters.”

  Sullivan’s name was familiar to Ty. Gabriel had mentioned something about a Lee Sullivan – ‘brass that was an ass’ he called him – taking over and making things miserable for the elite operatives.

  “In any case,” Robinson continued, waving one of his stubby hands dismissively, “we may now begin our security inquiry with regards to Mr. Tyler Anthony Sheridan. Those present please say ‘aye’ as your name is called. Mac Davidson – Labs, Gretchen Helson – Medical, Bill Whittaker – Operations, Hagir – Fleet, Bruce Nolan – Advanced Research, and Lee Sullivan – Field Operations. Meeting chaired by Lawrence Robinson of Security.”

  All were present and accounted for, staring coldly at Ty.

  “To the matter at hand,” Robinson said, flicking through a stack of documents to his right. “By all accounts, it would seem that Mr. Sheridan – a reprobate Journeyman – has been granted unfettered access to all levels of headquarters by means of an endorsement from the Council.” Murmurings of ‘favoritism’ swept up and down the table like a frigid wind as Robinson continued. “Through such wanton and reckless approval, Mr. Sheridan has been able to use Order resources, not to mention contraband of his own, to gain knowledge of and subsequently obtain the legendary magical artifact known co
lloquially as the Holy Grail, likely with a desire to use its great power for himself …”

  Ty had been so focused on the word ‘inquiry’ that he hadn't heard much of what Robinson said. His heart was beating quickly, switching between anger and trepidation, yet he did catch mention of the Grail.

  “Mr. Sheridan!” Robinson shouted. “For the third time, do you deny using Order resources to obtain this artifact for your own personal gain?”

  “No I don’t, but…”

  “You see fellows,” Robinson stated smugly. “Our cause for concern was right. The Council has overstepped its bounds and threatened the stability of the entire organization. At least there is some honor amongst thieves and Mr. Sheridan has admitted to…”

  “If you would let me finish!” Ty snapped. “I have not admitted to anything. No, I don’t deny that the Grail was obtained for personal gain, BUT it was to help heal a fallen Journeyman, Joey Mosley.”

  “Your brother’s… lover?” Robinson said, his lips and nostrils curled up with distaste.

  Ty's eyes narrowed into slits and he held back the urge for a satisfying kick to the short man’s face.

  “Yes. My brother’s other half…”

  Robinson smirked and leaned back in his chair, chin raised cockily.

  “A brother who is now deceased because of the artifact’s use, am I correct? Dead on Order property, no less?”

  Ty fell silent, unable to challenge that statement, though twisted as its meaning was. All he could do was bite his lip and it hurt with how hard he was having to do it.

  “How wonderful it must be to be so… free; to be you, Tyler Sheridan. Free to do whatever one likes, wherever one goes, whenever one wishes. A lot of us would give anything for such a grand life, wouldn't we?”

  The table filled with indistinct chatter, seeping to every corner of the foreboding room.