by Ken Lange
“Are you aware that Pete found a few implants in the bones from the graveyard?”
I do my best not to sound like a know-it-all ass. “It was in the report this morning, but they hadn’t had any luck tracking down the serial numbers.”
He frowns. “There might be a reason for that.”
Okay, that’s news to me. “Oh?”
He taps the back of his phone. “I’ll know more soon, but they’re likely part of the underground market.” His expression hardens. “It’s part of the cost of doing business in my line of work. It’s not always in our best interests to visit our neighborhood physicians.”
Translation, if someone gets hurt on the job, they have to go to a private surgeon who’s lost their license. They’d, of course, deal in items that weren’t in any regulated database.
“I see.”
Nigel suppresses a grin. “Have you heard from Leonard since you…fired him?”
I shake my head. “Not a word. But I’ve got it on good authority that the two of you have been in touch.”
Irritation flickers in his eyes. “If you mean that I’ve been systematically dismantling his organization, then yes…we’ve had a few conversations.” He sits back in his chair. “Now for a very important question. What condition were the wraiths in when you encountered them last night?”
I blink. “Ah, well…that’s a hard one to answer. As I said, they weren’t quite the wraiths we’ve all come to despise, but they were pretty fearsome nevertheless.”
His phone beeps. He glances down at the message and closes his eyes. “Shit.”
“Bad news?”
Nigel nods. “You could say that.”
Thomas sets a plate of sushi on the glass above us. “Please enjoy.”
Nigel picks it up and puts it between us. “Thank you.” He slides his phone over and pulls up a photo. “Do you know this man?”
I shake my head. “No. Should I?”
He shrugs. “Probably not since I’m betting you didn’t spend a lot of time with Leonard or his people.”
I glance down at the screen. “He’s one of Leonard’s?”
He nods. “Yeah. Well, he was.” Touching the screen, he moves to the next photo. “This is what he looks like now.”
It was a pile of bones on a surgical table with a closeup of the titanium rod in his leg.
“Oh… Wait, how’s it possible one of Leonard’s men is inside a mutant wraith?”
Shrugging, he says, “No idea yet. But you said Leonard was connected with Bakulu.”
I close my eyes and blow out a long breath. “Crap…and the loa are related to the wraiths.”
He blinks. “They are?”
I nod. “Yeah, I’m not clear on the particulars, but the wraiths are a mutated form of the loa.”
He cups his forehead in his hand. “Well then, this news will only get worse. All the other implants trace back to men who’ve worked for Leonard.” He shakes his head. “I guess this explains why things have died off recently.”
I swallow my food. “Come again?”
He gives me a dismissive wave. “Over the last few weeks, we’ve encountered less resistance from his people. I’m now guessing it’s because there are fewer of them to deal with since they’ve been turned into baby wraiths.”
I guess that’s as good a way of describing them as any.
“You’re right, things did manage to get worse. Any chance you know how many people the man had working for him?”
Nigel clenches his hand, and his knuckles pop. “Not really. A few hundred throughout the city. Possibly more.”
Great…there are likely a hundred or more of those things running around the city. “That’s shitty.”
Nigel picks up his phone and swipes through several screens before stopping suddenly. “I do have some good news. Some of my people followed a group of men to an abandoned hospital at 609 Jackson. They went in and never came out.”
I take a drink of tea and nod. “How many were there?”
He shrugs. “Maybe six. But that was just one batch. There could be more.”
“Yeah, there probably are.”
He gestures at me. “So what now?”
I nod at Thomas. “I’m going to enjoy the food, go home, and make a plan where things come out rosy for me.”
He laughs. “Because that happens.”
I shrug. “There’s always a first time.”
We have four more rolls of sushi and each is better than the last. Nigel and I talk about his kids, work, and, occasionally, tidbits about the MCC slip in. An hour later, I’m well fed and on my way to the office.
Chapter 7
Bright shafts of afternoon sunlight cut through my car windows. Which means only one thing: it’s going to be miserably hot out there today. The hazy sky above is more gray than blue, but that’s due to the pollution, not a storm. To make things worse, the ancient oaks on St. Charles are unusually still. I guess a breeze of any sort is too much to hope for.
Glancing down at my gear, I frown. Everything’s black. I need to have a serious talk with someone about my wardrobe during the summer months. There’s got to be some sort of fashion choice that’ll allow me to do my job without giving me heatstroke. That, however, is so far down my priority list it’ll probably never be addressed. Oh well.
Over and above the issues with the heat and stale air, I have no idea what I’m about to walk into. For all I know, this is baby-wraith central. If it is and they’re using this place as some sort of birthing station, what’s the proper protocol? Am I supposed to bring a gift, or some sort of card? I doubt Hallmark makes one for this occasion, but you never know.
Even if it isn’t packed full of wraiths, you can bet the homeless in the area have turned it into a giant cesspool. Not that it’s their fault. Without running water, it doesn’t take long for things to go bad in a place this size.
Of course, standing here dreading what may be waiting for me is a good way to get nothing done. I grab my pistol and tuck it into its holster. Normally, I don’t make a spectacle of myself by going out so heavily armored, but today is an exception to the rule. After the fiasco in the cemetery, I’ll take any added protection I can get.
While I would’ve liked to bring along an extra set of hands to help clear the place, it really isn’t an option. Most of my people are out in the field handling the issues created by Nigel and Leonard’s war. Then there are all the folks currently on leave due to having to pull double duty with the Archive to help maintain the peace.
Kira’s home but she’s tied up with Xiwangmu’s impending arrival, and Nicholas is meeting with John Smith, the leader of Pacis Gladius, today. So this is a bit of inconvenient timing on Leonard’s part. However, if Nigel’s tip pans out, I’ll simply make a call and the cavalry will arrive within a matter of minutes, since it’s a short trip from the office to here.
Wanting to get a feel for what I’m in for, I drive around the block. From what I can gather, there aren’t any obvious cameras or guards posted outside. I hate to say it, but Nigel might’ve given me some outdated information. It’s looking more like a waste of my time than some secret hideout. That’s not going to stop me from searching the place, though. There’s a small chance that one of Leonard’s men could’ve dropped something that’ll tell me where they went after stopping here.
I park in front of what looks like a defunct church. Reluctantly, I get out of the car to cross the street. The partially shattered cement drive that used to service the ER is obstructed by overgrown bushes, and weeds have forced themselves up through the cracks to reclaim this land for Mother Nature.
The place has been boarded up for a while—probably since Katrina—but someone’s taken the time to put up new sheets of plywood. There might be something to Nigel’s claim, after all. Given the location, though, I’m probably going to be walking into an industrial-sized meth lab. According to my sources, Leonard’s been a bit strapped for cash over the last few months, so he’s turned to peddlin
g low-end street drugs.
Such are the joys of recon work.
After a precautionary glance around to ensure no one’s watching, I pry off the plywood protecting the door. The glass has obviously been missing for a long time. After setting the wood aside, I duck through the empty frame and sigh. The interior is as expected. It’s dark, filthy, and the smell… Imagine, if you will, a decomposing corpse that’s been locked inside a trunk and left in the heat to distill. Now add to that shit, piss, and something I can’t identify, and you’ll be getting warm.
A large portion of the drop ceiling is hanging at a precarious angle. The humidity has caused most of the acoustic tiles to fall, and someone’s taken the time to shatter all the florescent bulbs in the waiting room, covering the floor in tiny shards of glass. If it’s supposed to be some sort of early warning system on the cheap, the little trail weaving through the room to the stairwell on the far wall defeats the purpose. But this is what I’ve come to expect from Leonard and his people. They’re lazy, undisciplined, and do everything in their power to make things easy for themselves.
Kneeling, I check the dusty footprints. They only go in one direction, so this is the way in. The way out must be elsewhere. Other than the obvious, there’s something slightly off about the place. It’s almost as if the energy here is tainted, somehow. Not only that, but there’s a weird, chaotic thrumming that’s affecting the air and grating against my last nerve.
I push down my growing irritation with the place and take in a calming breath before following the path to a door marked Stairs. When I pull it open, the entryway is filled with mud, chunks of cement, and a twisted set of metal stairs fallen from the floor above. I climb over the debris and step onto a wobbly metal rung. Great. If I’m not careful, this rickety-ass thing will send me back to the ground floor via the express chute.
It takes way too long to reach the second-floor landing, but at least it seems somewhat more stable, even if it’s covered in junk. The door for this floor has been welded shut. I’ll have to find another way in to clear this level, but for now, the trail I’ve been following leads upward.
After scrambling over the only major obstacle in my way—a beat-up metal desk—I continue my ascent. At the next landing, the door is also sealed shut. And the bad news doesn’t end there. There’s a massive gap in the stairs. They’re not exactly missing, as they’re lying in a heap with the rest of the garbage on the ground floor. Whoever’s been coming here has compensated by using two large planks of wood that are inconveniently standing on the other side. I step back then take off at a run before jumping. I’m not exactly graceful about it, but I grab the bottom rung and pull myself up.
I dust myself off before making my way up, but the fourth level’s inaccessible as well. Which means I’ll have to clear the place from top to bottom instead of the other way around. There’s nothing like the feeling of being herded into the slaughterhouse.
Finally, on the fifth floor, I find a welcome surprise: the door isn’t blocked in any way, shape, or form. Unfortunately, this appears to be the source of that weird, offbeat thrumming. The notes vibrate through my body at different rates, causing my stomach to twist itself in knots. I can’t say why, but the song feels like a violation of the natural order of things. Every last nerve in my body objects to the onslaught.
Maybe this isn’t a meth lab after all. It’s starting to sound like some sort of weird techno goth club. Is that even a thing?
I grab the handle and slowly twist it before opening the door a crack. A putrid stench hits me hard enough to make me rock back on my heels, eyes watering. It’s all I can do not to retch. Steadying myself, I peek through and nearly gag as bile catches in my throat. From one end of the room to the other, the mutant wraiths cover the floor, walls, ceiling. A winding path leads through the throng of swirling bodies made of mist. In the center of this nightmare, a single wraith stands with its mouth open in a silent scream. Stretching out from that one is a strand of sickly yellowish-green light that strings through the nearest clump of churning black mist, where it separates into a dozen smaller beams, connecting each of them in some sort of nauseating whole. Pulses of red light travel along the lines to each wraith.
While I can’t be sure, my intuition—or possibly some vague memory of Kvasir—tells me this is a desperate attempt to make a collective consciousness. The strands are tenuous connections meant to give the group a hive mind. If I’m right, and a part of me is nearly certain I am, they’re more or less oblivious to this world.
Even so, I think it’s time to make a call. There’s no way to take on this many of them and even think about living through it.
I’m reaching for my phone when the weird song stops.
Oh, crap. That’s not good.
When I glance downstairs, four wraiths are making their way up in record time.
Guess I’ve been made.
I tug the door open, pull my pistol, and fire at the wraith in the center of the room. Unfortunately, the shot goes wide. It does, however, punch a hole in the guy against the far wall—not that it matters much as it fills in almost instantly. With no real options, I head for the boarded-up windows. A fall from five stories is better than getting ripped apart… And at least down there I’ll have room to move.
My next three shots pass harmlessly through the wraiths and punch finger-sized holes through the plywood. Shafts of bright yellow sunlight slice through the darkness and into the three survivors. A half second later, they scream and try to move out of the way but turn into smoking puddles of nastiness.
I fire three more times to create what I hope is a safe zone.
Back in the center of the room, a nauseating yellow light crawls through the space like a cancer, contaminating everything it touches. The others back away from the area directly in front of me, crowding to the other side of the room. Several seconds later, the light dissipates to reveal Leonard standing in the wraith’s place. Since I last saw him, he’s gone through some notable changes—other than being a wraith. He’s now totally bald, his eyes are entirely black, and he’s chubbier than ever.
I guess the emaciated wraith body takes some time to acquire.
Leonard narrows his eyes. “Not that I’m disappointed, but what are you doing here, Warden?”
Placing my back against the plywood, I cock my head to the side. “Looking for you, actually. Well not you, per se, but someone who would tell me where you were. Glad to see we skipped the middle man.”
He frowns. “Why?”
I sigh. “Because you’re stupid, that’s why. You left a trail a mile wide saying you were behind this shit. If you had an ounce of sense, you would’ve left me alone…especially considering how things went for you last time.”
He snorts. “Please. If you can’t tell, things have changed.”
I wave my hand up and down his enormous form. “Yeah, you’re a bloody wraith. How’d that happen, anyway?”
He gestures at himself. “I’ve always been a wraith, but until now, I haven’t been allowed to show it.”
What the hell is this moron talking about? “Come again?”
He shakes his head. “You’ve always been so very dim…”
I shrug. “All right, fine. I’m stupid. Please, explain it to me.”
He blows out a long breath. “I have neither the patience nor the inclination to do that.”
I roll my eyes. “Of course you don’t. You see, that’s your problem, Leonard. You’re an untrustworthy, sniveling little snot who needs to have his teeth kicked in.”
Snickering, he motions for me to come get some. “By all means. Let’s see how this goes now that I’m truly myself.”
I grin. “Sure thing, sparky.”
I push back hard enough to shatter the weakened glass before knocking the plywood off the frame. Sunlight floods the room, followed by an unholy chorus of screeches from the baby wraiths. Wisps of smoke trail up from every exposed patch of skin on Leonard’s body.
Slowly, he steps b
ack into the shadows as the others dash to the back of the room and vanish. Oddly, not all the wraiths are so keen on vacating the premises. In fact, three of them are advancing on me.
Leonard smirks. “I’m going to enjoy watching you die.”
Firing my weapon at the nearest wraith delivers less than dismal results as the bullet passes through without doing any harm.
Great, these are the real deal. Just what I need. The sunlight isn’t going to help, and neither is my pistol. Tucking my weapon into its holster, I hold my ground. The nearest wraith darts toward me, and I wrap lightning around my shields.
When I slam my fist into its face, white ash forms on the spot and starts to spread. The other two howl in rage. Leonard steps forward with a shotgun and shoots me in the legs, knocking them out from under me. I’m face-down on the floor and partially hanging out the open window, so you know…I’ve got this. My breath is gone, taking my concentration with it. The lightning snuffs out, and a wraith rakes its claws down my back in an attempt to remove my spine.
A moment later, three shots ring out overhead.
I roll to the side and onto my feet, but the three wraiths are turning into piles of ash.
Leonard screams, “I’m going to kill you, Warden.”
He turns and disappears into the darkness. I walk over to the window to see if the shooter is out there, but just like last time, there’s no one to be seen.
I allow my vision to shift spectrums and spot the hole in the floor that they used as an escape hatch. I sigh, pull out my phone, and dial the office. This has gone way past what I can handle on my own. Not only that, but my guardian angel wouldn’t be able to follow me if I go after them now. The only thing I’ll succeed in doing is giving the rotund bastard exactly what he wants: my head on a platter.
There’s no way I’m going out like that. Not on purpose, anyway.
Chapter 8
Whoever told my brother about this will need a talking to. Even though I didn’t ask for him, Nicholas made it here in record time. For some reason, he felt the need to extricate himself from his meeting with Mr. Smith, hopefully without offending the man, and drove here in under fifteen minutes—even beating Rick, though it was only by, like, thirty seconds.