Orphan of Mythcorp

by R. S. Darling

  Chapter 22

  ‘Get up, Morgan!’ Castor’s voice intruded on my sleep. ‘Get up off your ass. That Hunter scumbag is coming and he doesn’t look happy.’

  I tried to pry open my peepers, but they felt glued shut, heavy with caked crap.

  ‘Oh please wake up,’ Marie this time, sounding like a woman pleading for her kidnapped boy to be released. ‘Felix says he doesn’t see Malthus anywhere and you can’t fight Nimrod off on your own. Oh Jesus, please wake him up. Morgan!’

  I was wondering why she didn’t just try to possess me again if she wanted me up so badly. But then, maybe pulling the old spook-possession-snafu robs spooks of their ectoplasmic zest. Either way I didn’t want to be around when Nimrod showed. So I raised my hands—which also felt all gummed up with crap—to my peepers and pried open the lids.

  “Owee.”

  Marie, shining bright in the dying light of day, was the first thing I saw. Not an altogether unpleasant way to wake up. After blinking a zillion times, I sat up and had a peek around.

  “What the flip?” noticing the dried, purplish fluid coating my hands. “Whose blood is this?”

  Not one of my spooks dared answer. Through the pavement I could feel the thud of someone heavy pounding my way. “Whose. Blood. Is. This?”

  Bile rose. Hands jittered. Butt rumpled from the thud of approaching bad news, and despite lingering heat from the spring day, my flesh was ice. Marie floated towards me, Castor lingering behind with a kooky expressing screwing up his ugly face. ‘It’s Sanson’s. Castor made you attack Sanson with that,’ pointing a partially transparent finger at my cane sword, which lay open; the tip of the blade was covered in sticky redness.

  “What?” I gasped. “Castor took over? I thought he wasn’t going to.”

  ‘Yeah,’ Castor ghosted up to me. He could not hide the smirk, even behind a network of scars. ‘But what you think and what happens is not always the same thing. In fact—”

  “Shut up!” Oh man oh man. I was in deep.

  I turned over slam-bang-like as my gut rumbled and sourness rose. Clear vomit spewed out of me. I retrieved the sword and stuffed it inside the cane shaft. Crawling forwards, around the derelict F-150, I followed the blood trail. The unholy crimson drops became larger the farther I crab-walked. On the other side of the pickup was the school garage-slash-tool shed. The drops led inside through the open door. I paused. Stood. Thunder boomed as I peered inside.

  Castor, noticing my scowl, said, ‘What are you so worked up about, stretch? You were the one who was all like ‘follow that scumbag Sanson. I want to know what he’s up to.’ What do you care what we did to him?’

  “I wouldn’t have taken a frigging sword to the guy, jeez.”

  Now that I had voided every bit of morphine in my system, my chest and back were ripe with little blooms of pain, red blue and yellow ones all gunged up with dirt and Sanson’s blood. I tried not to emit too many cries as I hobbled into the tool shed.

  Felt around for a light switch. Snagged my fingers on some rough wood, absorbed a splinter. I shuffled a few feet inside and felt something light brush my forehead. I jerked back. “Nasty.”

  ‘What is it? Are you okay?’ Marie asked from the safety of the door. “Is it him?’

  “No,” I said, red-faced. I pulled the light cord without confessing how I feared the cord was a spider web and the knot at its bottom a giant angry spider out to get me. Dull light illuminated the shed. Paint cans decorated with dried drips, all the same ocean blue shade of the school hallways. My peepers lingered on these cans before falling on the body lying in the center of the shed.

  Cold panic rushed through me. And that was before I noticed the dozens of gloomy-Gus spooks looming over Sanson in the hazy light. These spooks noticed me. By the looks on their buggered faces I deduced I wasn’t their favorite pulse-pounder. A few of the more draggled specters took swipes at me. Chill gusts rushed through my body where they struck, but otherwise I was unharmed. Observing my immunity to their hatred, Sanson’s spooks turned to face mine.

  While kneeling down to inspect Sanson’s body, I said to Marie, “You better scram.” She scrammed, bamfing without hesitation. It seemed Sanson’s spooks could not leave his side—which suggested they were something different than mere spooks.

  Other than for the two gashes mucking up the left side of Sanson’s chest, and the bump on his noggin, he didn’t have any marks suggesting he had gone the way of all zipperdicks.

  ‘Is he dead?’ Felix the spook asked.

  A finger to his carotid revealed no pulse. “Oh man, I don’t think he’s breathing.”

  ‘Nice job, Dr. Carter,’ Castor snorted, keeping some distance from the advancing spooks. ‘That doesn’t mean jack, jack-off. He never had a pulse, even before you slashed him up like some brain-addled doojee-fiend.’

  “You mean before you sliced him up,” I corrected. Sanson’s kooky watch was bleeping. I lifted his arm. His flesh was cold, like a mannequin left in the freezer, and just as rigid. “It says fifty-two degrees. Is that good? Cas, did you ever notice what it read when he was walking around?” My pumper was thwacking away at my chest. “Well?” shrill-voiced now.

  Felix shrieked as a Sanson spook slapped him. ‘I don’t know. I’m sorry.’ With a bamf he was gone.

  I looked over at Castor, who shrugged with smugness. Her Royal Highness, an arrogant female spook, offered no help whatsoever. “You are all completely worthless, you know that? What’s the point of being haunted if the haunters don’t know dick?” I released Sanson’s wrist but his arm did not fall. “What do I do, what do I do?”

  ‘It should read between sixty-one and sixty-five,’ Naked Charlie called while taking a pummeling from the other eternally buggered people. ‘You need to load that gun of his, there,’ pointing at a silver case that lay open beside Sanson. ‘Snap one of those vials in place, yeah, like that. Now, just press it firmly to his neck and pull the trigger.’ He screamed and lingered just long enough to make sure I correctly loaded the gun and pressed it to Sanson’s neck properly, and then he too faded away to Limbo.

  I pulled the trigger, dropped the gun and struggled to my feet. At the door I waited, bit back fear and pain. A good fifty ticks passed before Sanson’s arm slowly dropped.

  For all I knew I/Castor had snuck up on the zombie without him ever knowing it was me/Castor. That was the hope anyway. So I turned to leave before Sanson could wake.

  ‘Look out!’ Castor screeched.

  He was too late. Before I could even yelp ‘oomph’ Nimrod had snatched me with his blue-black metal hand. I could feel the robotic finger joints digging into my skin, something warm and wet slithering down between the sham digits violently massaging my neck.

  “Gbblka.”

  “Did you kill him?” that creepy rasping voice again. My feet were hovering a couple inches off the ground, and not in the way Marie’s did. “If he’s dead—”

  SIZAP!

  Instinct had taken over, inspiring me to press that magic little no-no button on the back of the crow-head. Nimrod, shocked, dropped into the Ford’s bed, while I was thrust backwards where I plopped to the pavement smack-dab on my rump.

  “Is he dead?” I asked.

  ‘Doubtful,’ Marie had returned now that I was away from Sanson’s spooks. She danced up to Nimrod as smoke wafted off his body. ‘Knox pulled that same maneuver on him fifteen years ago. It didn’t kill him then, and that was before he had all his expensive hardware. Better run while you can.’

  Run I did. Well, I hobbled away with enthusiasm. A turtle could’ve caught me. As I limped around to the back doors of the school, I said to Marie, “You know, I’ve noticed you’re memory has been loads better lately.” She was twirling along beside me, ignoring both me and the drops of rain beginning to drizzle.

  I had just reached the corner of school, decided on risking slipping on the slick grass to get away rather than limping out to the safer sidewalk, when Naked Charlie bamfed in front of me, wavin
g his arms (and that wasn’t all he was waving around). ‘Behind you!’

  “Oh crap.” I twisted round, swinging the cane.

  Nimrod caught it in his augmetic hand and directed the purple peepers away from his face. He was a quick study, sure as sure. “Where did you get this cane from, boy?”

  I yanked on the old cane and tried to wriggle out of his grasp, but Nimrod’s augmetic hand was like a vice on my left bicep. If I couldn’t escape, then I’d have to fight him off. Fight off the Mighty Hunter. Right. I’d have better luck battling a rabid lion.

  “Who gave you this cane?” he snarled. Seriously, drool dribbled out of his mouth. I don’t know what I did to earn such hatred. “Was it Dex? Tell me now and I’ll take only one finger.”

  What? That did it. Something inside snapped. I twisted the crow-head and withdrew the sword as swiftly as I could. The sudden motion threw us both off balance. As Nimrod staggered back with the gnarled bone shaft in his hand, I kissed the grass with my already badgered back. “Ockburg!”

  ‘Get up off your ass,’ Castor ordered. ‘He’s coming again!’

  I whisked the sword up to defend a blow from Nimrod. A petrifying whistle sent shivers through my flesh as the Hunter whipped the bone shaft down—aiming for my noggin. He possessed loads more strength than me, so when his weapon struck mine, my weapon smashed into my face.

  Instead of wasting my last breath crying out in pain like some feckling, I looked at Castor and said, “Take over,” because I was no fool. I had no sword training and only about a quarter of my enemies’ strength; if I was going to survive it would have to be by swordplay. Or rather, by Castor’s swordplay.

  A single tick was all it took. But in that holy-moly moment I caught a glimpse of the spooks’ blue peepers. He was addicted, sure as sure. He took over without hesitating.

  This time though I remained partially conscious. Castor was controlling my body, but it was by my choice, so I could watch. Like those voyeurs on CUTV. Castor/I slid-rolled-slithered out of Nimrods reach, blade kept in front to defend against the swinging maniac. Nimrod roared, a kooky sound, his rebreathers giving the roar a certain kind of mad-dog gruffness.

  Castor/I defended ourselves as Nimrod tried to decapitate us. I don’t know where the former Iconocop learned to swordfight, but he was dynamite, sidestepping blows, parrying and attacking with deft skill. For the first time since he’d bamfed into my life eight years earlier, I was glad to know Castor.

  Castor/I ran a few yards around the school, putting some distance between us and the Hunter. It occurred to me then that Castor/I was running . . . and not feeling pain. I was about to rejoice in my own inward-all-alone kind of way, when Castor/I felt something strike the back of our neck. We stumbled and peeped at the grass where the gnarled bone-shaft lay.

  A look the way we’d come revealed Nimrod, not fifteen feet away. He was withdrawing something from inside his bearskin cloak. Castor/I slid the sword into the shaft and pressed the no-no button just as Nimrod took aim.

  A stream of deep-space purple lightning burst from the crow peepers. Castor/I smashed into a tree, back first, as we heard the crack of a gunshot.

  We released the button. When the light died we breathed a smidge sigh of relief. Nimrod was shaking his left hand; his pistol lay on the grass, smoking, while a brass slug lay midway between us, catching the light from a distant street arc lamp. ‘Darn this cane is awesome!’ Castor/I rejoiced.

  Turning, running. Behind us, Nimrod cursing.

  Vision blurred as Castor took over. I let him. I was too tired to fight him off anyway and if Marie was right, the spook would tire soon and I’d be free once again.

  Another fifteen ticks: I was reduced to a smattering of unconscious cells and a dormant ID.

  I, that is to say my awareness of reality, returned. I was lying on wet grass. My left arm felt numb from the awkward position. The immediate vicinity was blessedly Nimrod-free.

  ‘How do you feel?’ Marie.

  “Like a pinball,” I whined. “How do I look?”

  Marie tittered. ‘You’re as pale as a Morai. Try not to move too much, your cuts are all seeping. You should let Ava look at them.’

  Castor was nowhere to be seen. Good and hallelujah. I limped along, careful not to slip on the grass. I needed morphine like fish need water. Who knew high school could be so rough? After about fifty feet of tedious walking I realized I had no idea what side of the school I was on. I nestled down to rest beside one of the eyebrow basement windows.

  Barely ten ticks passed before I heard a scampering behind me. I swiveled on my rump and peered through the window. “Holy crap. Marie, is that Pells?”

  Marie wafted through the wall into the basement. She returned five ticks later wearing a shocked expression. ‘It’s Pellinore, and he’s running from something.’

  “An Iconocop?” it wasn’t really that far-fetched.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Marie fluttered back and forth, a habit she indulges in whenever she’s nervous. ‘You better get in there, help him.’

  I sighed. Can’t a guy catch a break? A light shove on the window revealed it was locked, of course. I knocked harder, to the threshold of smashing the glass. Pellinore passed by between two huge furnaces, and slammed to a halt when he heard my pattering.

  He glanced behind before rushing up to me. A stupefied expression as he peered through the window. “Hey!” With the aid of a bucket he reached the latch and undid it. Eleven profanities later, I was standing inside on the concrete floor.

  “What are you doing down here at two o’clock in the morning?” I asked Pellinore. Despite the sweltering heat, Pells was not sweating, but he did look remarkably spook-like. Even paler than usual. His shifty peepers scanned our surroundings before landing on me. “I’m chasing the beastie, of course. What about you? What were you doing out? You look like crap.”

  “Thanks.” I was too bushed to point out how there was no such thing as a beastie. “And thanks for letting me in. Well, goodnight.” I hobbled off, leaving a stupefied Pellinore in my wake. At the doorway that led away from the furnaces, I glanced back. Pellinore had already vanished into the steam-hazed bowels of the cellar.

  “How is that fool managing to keep his grades up when he spends all his time down here?” I asked Marie.

  ‘I could ask the same about you,’ she retorted. ‘You spend all your time running around.’

  I made it to Camelot in one piece. Ava, on her own cot beside mine, pestered me for answers. I used to tell her everything, even dirty little secrets. Not anymore; couldn’t tell her about Sanson or the new development with my spooks. But I did need to tell someone.

  Izzy would understand. Izzy would help me figure it out and maybe even find a way inside Mythcorp. Tomorrow I would tell her everything.

  Provided, of course, I didn’t get mauled by Nimrod or vengeanced by Sanson or Mesmerized by Ash or beaten up by pissed-off Iconocops.

  Chapter 23

  Sanson

  The damp smell of rain filled the air as I exited the school. Rain was dangerous. If it was a particularly humid day, rainwater would raise my body-temp. Injections of nanites works great to raise my temp back up to safe levels, but not so well in lowering my temp. For that I’d have to take an ice-cold shower and possible wallow naked in ice cubes in the tub.

  If things get that bad, my joints seize up, and then I need help undressing and getting into the tub. I’m pretty sure that having your mother undress you at fifteen is the fifth level of hell.

  So I hitched my backpack on tight and ran across the front lawn of the school, racing for the parking lot a good two hundred yards away on the other side. A single bolt of lightning arced down and struck the lightning rod atop the school. Rain would soon follow and then I’d be totally screwed.

  I was moving at a good clip, careful though not to trip or push myself into an injury. About halfway across the lawn, I heard my name being called.

  Feet stopped. Standing under the big Willow tree wi
th her black hair framing her face, stood Lexi. She was waving. Before I could return the wave, she said something to her friends and jogged my way. Fortunately, I had the presence of mind to keep my jaw snapped shut as she bounced towards me.

  At least, I was pretty sure my mouth was shut. I lifted my hand to it to make sure.

  “Hey Charlie,” she said, coming to a stop right in front of me. “What’s going on? I’m so sorry about earlier my friends dragging me away from you and all but they just had to tell me something and it wasn’t a guy thing you know so we’re cool right you aren’t like mad or anything and wanting to choke me or spread nasty rumors about me diddling some grungy druggie with a pockmarked face like a pizza and some godawful yucky stuff going on below but I wanted to ask about Ash and stuff did you talk to him did he still want to meet my dad because I think we could figure something out maybe.”

  “Um.”

  Lexi giggled and rocked on her heels. The Goth flock back at the willow tree was watching—and they did not look happy. “I’m sorry. I talk too much Missy is always telling me but she talks just as much as I do and maybe a bit more and always about herself. God does she drone on. But back to what you were saying?”

  “I was saying something?” I asked, genuinely curious.

  “About Ash?” She looked way too eager.

  What did she see in that little Morai yahoo? “Right,” I said. “We worked it out. Your parent-teacher conference will be this Wednesday. The teachers and Principal Steck have already signed on and he’s calling our parents like right now. So, it’s done.”

  “Oh my God!” she squeaked, sounding like a mouse who’s just found a Gouda. She looked ready to hug me, but must’ve thought better of it, after glancing back at her friends. “How did you do it?”

  “It was mostly the Morai,” I confessed. “So, do you think your dad will show up now?”

  Lexi’s face, a compilation of cute and petite features, rolled through a series of unreadable expressions. At last she looked back at me and spoke. “He might. I mean it’s not like I’m asking him to pay for college tuition right? I just want him to come to my school to speak with my teachers. What’s the big heavy, right? Yeah, he’ll come. I’ll drag him here if I have to. So Ash still totally wants to meet him?”