Wild Thing

by L. J. Kendall

  He said nothing at her attempt to change the subject.

  'I think I got blood all over it. Lucky I chose a dark color.' She stripped it off, over her head, and stood there unselfconsciously. 'Boy, I bet I look a mess.' She stretched her arms out in front of her in the dark. 'Yep. I'm going to have to wash up, somewhere. And I guess I better not let anyone see me either, till I do.'

  He wiped a hand wearily over his face. He really shouldn't expect self-analysis from the child.

  'Oh.' She put one hand on his arm. 'Keepie? What about my blood, here? Can you magic it away, so the police won't find my DNA like they did last time?'

  'No, Leeth, I can't.' He checked the weather forecast on his wristcomm. Heavy rain expected tonight. Nor was it likely the bodies would be soon discovered in this part of town.

  He considered the three corpses. They looked CID-less, and given the area, they likely were. Even should the police investigate, the natural assumption would simply be that an argument had turned deadly. But he was not prepared to take that chance. He resigned himself to having to steal cleaning supplies from the nearest 24-7. Which was a long walk from here.

  For the blood on herself and her dress, an invisibility casting and a public toilet should do the trick. Somehow he didn't think Leeth would be too troubled by the prospect of joining him in the Men's.

  At least his painstakingly-learned invisibility spell would not have been an entirely wasted effort. But for the rest…

  The more he thought about what they needed to do, the more useful the invisibility spell looked.

  Twenty minutes later, they returned, Harmon still maintaining the complex pattern of the invisibility. Leeth seemed to be managing the heavy weight of both the bulky containers of bleach and the water with surprising ease. Scanning the alley, he dropped the spell with some relief when he saw it was still empty.

  In the diffuse light of the electric lantern he'd obtained, Harmon looked in mild dismay at the scene of slaughter.

  'Wow, there sure is a lot of blood, isn't there, Keepie!'

  Harmon exhaled. 'Yes. I hope you're not intending to develop it as a trademark.'

  Leeth grinned impishly. 'Will you hold my clothes? I don't wanna get bleach on them.' Casually stripping off completely, she handed him her recently-rinsed dress and underwear, then danced over to the bodies and began splashing bleach liberally around. She set to work with a will, singing happily, as if this was a wonderful adventure.

  He shook his head. Stuffing her damp clothes into his coat pocket, he took up one of the brooms and began sweeping bleach and blood toward the gutter.

  The cab ride home was awkward. After their successful invisible heist of their crime scene cleaning equipment, and a full half hour washing away the evidence, they'd left the bodies and walked to Ninth. From there they caught the Muni as far as Pine, then got off the tram to finally trudge up toward Russian Hill to muddy their trail, in icy silence. Outside a restaurant there, he'd called a cab.

  Leeth shifted on the back seat, trying not to let the driver notice her dress was wet. Or that it had a bullet hole in the chest.

  Chapter 49

  As the two ate breakfast the next day, Leeth insisted on having the trid on. She kept switching channels, watching the morning news reports. She paused as Nina Summers finished the corporation round-up.

  'Thanks, Bart. I guess we'll all have to just wait and see how Mitsubishi reacts to that info. Do you want to make a prediction?'

  'It's too early, Nina, though I'd just like to remind everyone the megacorp has always shown great restraint when reacting to this sort of provocation in the past. I think we can assume they'll do what's best for everyone.'

  Bart faded out, to be replaced by Nina's waif-like figure, now hovering high in the air over New Francisco. Letters of fire appeared in the air behind her, spelling out the legend, “Breakfast from the Dumps,” and beneath it a holopad appeared, glowing enticingly with the “Bodycount Bingo” logo. Harmon gestured, canceling the interactive pad that accompanied the picture. The ground began rushing up, as Nina's urchin-cropped blonde head expanded to fill the view. She pouted seriously. Leeth copied the pout.

  'A slight change of venue for our regular segment now, as gang violence last night reached out from the Dumps practically into the heart of downtown New Francisco.' The view panned back, leaving Nina looking incongruously neat in the middle of a scene of slaughter.

  'Keepie, look! That's mine!'

  Leeth forgot her game of copying the newscaster's expressions as Nina turned, now appearing to stroll through the carnage, her gestures carefully pointing out the dead and how they died, while the camera obliged with graphic close-ups.

  'I'm standing on the corner of Heron and Eighth, just five minutes from Union Square when the traffic is light. Joining me now virtually is city security officer, Craig Walters.'

  A tall, good-looking man in PeaceCorp security armor materialized beside her.

  'Good morning Craig, and thanks for joining me here. What can you tell our viewers about the situation?' He looked around and the camera's view obligingly panned once more over gaping wounds, washed even cleaner by heavy overnight rain.

  Somehow that made the memory of all their hard work scrubbing the crime scene doubly irritating.

  On the trid, the private security officer was talking. 'Statistically speaking, Nina, we have to expect these occasional random spill-overs of violence from the Dumps. Of course, we'll increase our patrols in this area to monitor the situation for a while.'

  'And how sure are you, Craig, this was just gang violence?'

  The security officer shrugged. 'Hell, all three are CID-less.'

  'Thanks Craig, and thank you PeaceCorp. Next, the shocking death last night in the old San Francisco General Hospital of its senior administrator in suspicious circumstances in the psycho-trauma ward. What was he doing with the possibly-naked female mental patient, and was it the witnessing of his murder that destroyed her very mind?

  'But first, we'll cross live to Lacey Steel, on the set of her latest thriller, Orbitzone -

  Harmon gestured the device off and turned to Leeth. She met his eye, looking suddenly apologetic. 'I didn't do real good, did I? They only attacked me one at a time, but….' She sighed. 'That's why I was on my way to the dojo.'

  Harmon shook his head. 'No, Leeth. Last night's little episode has made me realize one thing at least. There is no way you would fit into a dojo.'

  'But-'

  'No. Remember: they're sheep, Leeth. They think human life is sacred. If those people had had citizen IDs, there would have been a real investigation. Perhaps they might even have invoked a street-spirit to see if it had witnessed the incident. I don't want your face on the register of people with martial arts skills. Or even known to that community.'

  'But-'

  'What we will do, is organize proper vids for you to watch. Training vids. Vids of real bouts. We can even attend some live fights.'

  She considered this. 'We'd probably have to go and see lots of them, wouldn't we?'

  He sighed, and suppressed a smile. 'Yes, Leeth. I suppose we would.'

  Her eyes lit up. 'Did you know the Shaolin Wudang Association is practically just across the Golden Gate Bridge? It's in a place called Fort Mason. I found it last night, after we got back home. And it didn't get damaged even one bit by the Big Quake thing! It was underwater, but the whole school worked to fix the buildings up once the sea went back down. It's been there forever, it's older than you are, Keepie! And it looks even more perfect than the Red Fist Dojo!'

  Leeth faltered to a stop at the look he gave her: correctly guessing that he wondered why she hadn't chosen the Wudang Association instead of the Red Fist Dojo, last night.

  She probably shouldn't have used “killer” as one of her search terms, the first time, but Leeth wasn't going to admit that out loud. Half to distract Harmon, she leaped to her feet. 'Vid: search Shaolin Wudang Association, special events.'

  A soothing fema
le voice began reading the scheduled bouts and exhibitions from the calendar of events which the screen now displayed. But Leeth had already darted over, excitedly pointing out the very first entry and talking over the synthesized voice. 'This one, Keepie! That's Siouxsie Cheng!' She turned excitedly to him. 'She's properly fast, like Bruce Lee was. She'll be fighting Maxxon Caine: she'll destroy him!'

  Then she paused, and her shoulders slumped, and turned back to him, distressed. 'But it's not for six weeks!'

  Harmon blinked. Dare he hope it would distract her from Godsson's upcoming episode?

  He shook himself. What was he thinking?

  'Perhaps in the meantime you should monitor the news reports to see if there is further investigation of your escapade last night. We do not want another visit from Detective Garland and his overweight colleague.'

  Harmon considered the matter of her broken promise, but knew what she would say: the killings had not been indiscriminate.

  Yet now she had manifested new and even more deadly abilities. Nor had he been able to determine how she had caused the injuries he had seen last night. Harmon wondered if she could briefly have grown claws?

  He watched her as she munched happily on her final piece of wholegrain toast, with a dawning sense of the havoc she might wreak should she slip from his control.

  Finishing her toast, he noticed her watching him very carefully.

  'Um.'

  He looked a question at her. But instead of speaking up, her eyes slid away. Frowning, Harmon tried to remember the last time she had hesitated to ask a question. What on earth…?

  'Uh, Keepie, you know the summer solstice is coming up?'

  Oh, dear stars above: this was going to be bad.

  'Well, you know how Godsson's the only one, besides me, who can fight Her…?'

  'No. Whatever you're about to ask, the answer is no!'

  'No, wait! I just want him to Teach me how to fight Her, better.'

  Was she insane? 'No! You saw the video, Leeth. There is no way I will ever allow you into Godsson's cell!'

  'What if I didn't have to go inside for him to Teach me?'

  Harmon blinked at her. 'And how do you imagine that would work?'

  Leeth looked away. 'Well, maybe he could magic up some more, uh,' she waved a hand and darted a glance at him, 'I mean, when I say more, I mean especially magic invisible creatures, for me to practice fighting. He could even coach me while I fought, you know? Like, call out instructions on what to do?'

  Was she… was she hinting that Godsson had summoned a creature before, for her to fight? No. Inconceivable.

  The Dragon's Barrier enclosed him. No. No spirit below the level of a so-called “god” could penetrate that. Nor any magic except, perhaps, the Dragon's utmost.

  But Leeth was still nodding, earnestly entreating him. 'You could come with me, Keepie. That way you could keep me safe.'

  She's seventeen, he had to remind himself. Yet in many ways, she seemed still only ten.

  Leaning forward, she grasped both his hands. 'We could even go right now. Come on, it'll be fun!'

  Abruptly, Harmon withdrew his hands and got to his feet. 'Yes, why don't we sort this out right now? Come.'

  The system went into lock-down the moment Leeth followed him through the first security door, while Brian Shanahan's voice shouted from his sequestered wristcomm a moment later.

  'Doc! She's gotten into-.' Silence. Then: 'What the divil? Doc, are you all right? What's going on? I'm seeing you on the monitors with Sara.'

  'My apologies, Brian. I assumed that Sara would be permitted entry if accompanied by me.'

  'Sorry, Doc. No exceptions.'

  Harmon fumed, there on the upper landing of the stairs to the basement with Leeth. Who looked well pleased at being considered such a threat. It took several minutes of three-way communication between him, Professor Sanders, and Shanahan before Harmon and Leeth could proceed with their joint visit.

  Harmon's mood was not improved by Godsson's reaction. Standing close to the narrow, thick window, he eyed Sara up and down.

  'My, Sara, haven't you grown. I see your taste in clothing has not changed. And now you have seduced your Father into bringing you to attend me, I see.'

  Sara just frowned; Harmon, however, flinched. It took him a second or two to recover 'Sara is my ward, not my adopted daughter, Godsson. As you well know.

  'What's this about you invoking spirits for Sara to fight?'

  Sara started, gawping at her uncle. 'What? I didn't… All I said was it'd be cool if he could magic up some especially magical invisible creatures like Her, so I could practice fighting them!'

  She looked back to Godsson who now stared at her, eyes narrowed. She realized he now thought she'd broken her promise not to tell her uncle! She stared angrily back, microscopically shaking her head and thrusting her chin forward. 'I just asked Uncle if I could get you to be my teacher, so I could help you fight Her better, this time! So stop being so mean!'

  Godsson gaped at her. 'You expect me to teach you, in a few weeks, a portion of what it required me two thousand years to learn?'

  'Stop making stuff up, Godsson. This is serious. You're the only one who can teach me to fight Her.' She shrugged, like she didn't care either way. 'If you don't, fine. I'll just learn it on my own. But it'll be faster if you teach me.'

  Harmon felt the conversation slipping away from his control, onto paths he had not agreed to explore. 'That is not the issue. The question is, have you been summoning some kind of creatures from the Imaginal, for Sara to fight? Some third kind of Incorporeal Being, such as you keep claiming exists.'

  'Oh, Alex, have I not been telling you for thirteen years now, that some thing followed me back from the Deeps? But, no, no creature which I could summon to me could penetrate these barriers to spirit and magic. Nor have I been summoning creatures for Sara to fight.' He had only attracted one: to frighten her. And one more: to Perfect her. 'That I swear, by my Father's Name.'

  He turned back to Sara. 'I cannot teach you to fight Her as I do, girl. At most I could teach you how to hold her – you seem good at that.'

  Harmon allowed him to proceed. Either the simple “instructions” would help reduce Godsson's delusional fears, or they were real techniques which would help Leeth resist a real threat.

  Godsson continued. 'Do not try to rip her apart, however – you must pin Her. Sheathe your claws.'

  Harmon started. How…? Had that been just a guess?

  'Nor react with such fear. Just hold. Do you think you can do that? If you can hold onto Her here in physical reality long enough, I can destroy Her. Can you do that?'

  Sara nodded. Eager, her eyes alight.

  But for some reason, watching, alert for some trick or trap from Godsson, watching too on the Imaginal for any impossible magic leaking through the Wards, Harmon felt something terrible had just been done. There was too much eagerness in Godsson's body language.

  Leeth of course couldn't see it. He watched her lap up the “teaching”.

  And what had Godsson meant by his talk of Leeth reacting with fear? He didn't recall ever seeing her react with fear during any of Godsson's episodes. It was as if Godsson referred to some experience the two had shared previously. Could he have been referring to the incident where she'd scored her own arms? All those years ago?

  He had a bad feeling about this “lesson.” 'I think that's enough. Come, Sara.'

  But why did he feel the damage had already been done?

  PART IV

  (One week later)

  Chapter 50

  In the end, there had been no surprise visit from the police following Leeth's multiple murders in the city. Which was just as well, since as the summer days passed, the upcoming problem of the “king tide” solstice soon absorbed all Harmon's attention.

  He was not alone. This year, the event was being treated as if there were significant danger. They would have more personnel present to offer support. Already, the area outside Godsson's cell
had been remodeled accordingly.

  The Director had even written to the Dragon Lord, politely seeking his attendance. The Chinese Embassy had equally politely declined. Though there had been a short, impeccably-executed addendum in Han characters which the FBI's experts said translated as either “Kill the mage, finish the threat” or “Kill the mage, make the threat real.” And that the ambiguity was deliberate.

  That postscript had killed any support for Mr Smith's preferred course of action. It also meant the hydrogen cyanide delivery system connected to Godsson's cell, which Brian Shanahan had very nearly blurted out to Leeth one day long ago, had become absolutely their last resort.

  But when Harmon had made that comment aloud, a disturbing expression had passed across Professor Sanders's face. Apparently there was a further defensive measure of which even he, Godsson's primary carer, was unaware.

  As final proof of the level of concern, Harmon's suggestion that Sara should once more attend had been approved. When he had informed her, though, rather than jumping for joy, Leeth had looked worried. Determined, but worried.

  Harmon had a very bad feeling about all this.

  But so, apparently, did everyone else.

  They had all begun behaving as if Godsson's delusion were real. Had the madman affected them all? Had Sara's support for his delusion drawn them all into it? Or was it more like the old problem of climate change – people denying what they didn't want to believe until a tipping point came which forced acceptance?

  He felt they would find out, one way or the other. Tonight.

  Leeth paused by the rose bed at the edge of what she'd used to call the Jungle when she was little. She watched as another truck swept up the long final curve leading to the forecourt. This one had soldiers in it, one hanging outside for some reason, and he did a kind of double-take when he saw her and Faith, and whistled, two long notes, one high, one low.