*
A cloud of cigarette smoke escaped into the night as I pulled open the door. For all its claims to the contrary, Blackbird was not a progressive town. Therefore, no hint of an indoor smoking ban had yet to come up in the local legislature. Though I expect if ever there was such a ban, the Five Penny would pay it as much mind as the original proprietors did prohibition. Which is to say, not at all.
Abbey’s absence hit me the moment I stepped into the pub. Through the usual torrent of emotions, I was always able to sense Abbey’s Guardian influence, but on this night, there was a void. In its place was a presence I hadn’t felt since my days in New York. A presence I had hoped to avoid dealing with ever again. Typically, a replacement would be sent at the same moment the previous agent cycled out, yet the energy I felt was most certainly not a Guardian. There had to be a logical explanation. Surely, the Creator wouldn’t leave me in the lurch.
I immediately made my way through the crowd, curious as to who, or what, would be tending bar. I wasn’t at all prepared for what I found. I knew, and had braced myself for the fact that no one would remember Abbey, but the surrealism of the situation still floored me. Despite ninety percent of the patrons being Five Penny regulars, not a single one questioned the fact that their petite, Irish, and very female bartender had suddenly been replaced by a large, black, and very male bartender.
He caught my eye and excused himself from the group of college girls who seemed to be making a poor attempt to chat him up, and walked over to where I had managed to squeeze between two groups for bar real estate. Rather than ask for my drink order, he held out his hand and stated simply, “Name’s Desmond.”
“Seth,” I replied, taking his hand in what I hoped wouldn’t be a bone-crushing handshake. The physical contact amplified the presence I had felt, confirming what I had hoped to be wrong about. Desmond was no Guardian.
I flinched, but to my credit, I didn’t pull my hand away or do anything else that might embarrass me further. It shouldn’t have come as a shock, but when the Creator said it would consider posting a Warrior in Blackbird, I had hoped it was only trying to scare me out of the funk I had been in when we last met. Not that I had a problem with Warriors. In the grand scheme of things, we were all agents of Order, working to maintain balance. Still, Warriors made me nervous. Not only were they imposing figures, but Desmond’s presence suggested that the rising Chaos in Blackbird was far worse than I had originally suspected.
Guardians, as I mentioned, were proactive. Warriors, however, were predatory. They operated on a policy of noninvolvement when it came to the humans in the Cycle. Their only objective was to find and destroy the Discordant, the agents of Chaos who fed on lost souls. To see a Warrior bartending in the biggest attractor of lost souls was both surreal and disturbing.
“No Guardian?” I asked.
“Just the one who handed me the keys a few minutes ago. Already cycled did she? Should have known. I’ve seen that look before.” Desmond’s voice was as deep and rich as I’d expected. That was the other thing about Warriors; it didn’t matter if they were male or female, big or small, simply their presence was imposing enough to make an Observer like me feel woefully inadequate. That Desmond was built like a titan did nothing to improve my feeling of self-worth.
“I’ve spoken to the Creator regarding this unusual situation. I’m sure we’ll see her replacement soon enough,” he said with a forced smile that made me think he didn’t really believe that either. “In the meantime, keep your eyes peeled. I’ve got a bad feeling we aren’t alone tonight.”
“Welcome to Blackbird,” I said, unable to hold back my sarcastic chuckle. “There’s a reason you’re here.”
“Besides Affirmative Action?” Desmond muttered, sweeping the sea of pale faces with an appraising, yet skeptical eye, which drove home his point.
It wasn’t as if Blackbird was entirely populated by white people, but for a city that built its foundation on progress, there was a decided lack of progressive thinking. There was an underlying racial divide that was never outright acknowledged, which only fed into its strength. Sadly, this is typically the case with small Midwestern communities that are situated too far from a metropolitan hub. Aside from the occasional student, the Five Penny appealed to an almost entirely Caucasian clientele. Our few minorities drifted toward the nightclubs on the other side of downtown, which incidentally, were not on the Discordant’s radar at the moment, despite what movies would have you believe. Don’t get me wrong, all of Blackbird offered the Discordant plenty of lost souls packaged in a variety of ethnicities to choose from, but the Five Penny pub was a veritable buffet of instability.
“The Discordant is only interested in the color of your soul, Desmond,” I found myself saying, against my better judgment. It may not have seemed like a strong admonishment, but that I would say anything at all, especially to a Warrior, was out of character for me. Yet despite my general uneasiness around Warriors, there was something reassuring about Desmond that I couldn’t place. It was almost as if I’d known him for years instead of mere minutes. Stranger still, I somehow knew that I could trust Desmond, despite both his being a Warrior and a total stranger.
“Fair enough,” Desmond acknowledged and handed me a beer, my usual in fact. How he knew that just added to the mystery. “Just let me know if you find anything. I swear I sensed something Discordant a moment ago.”
“Will do,” I said, keeping my face contorted into a neutral smile as I pushed my questions away. Even without a Guardian, I still had a job to do.
Desmond’s hunch had been correct. There was a Discordant in the Five Penny. I thought I had sensed that something else was off from the moment I walked in the door. Initially, I wrote it off as my confusion over Abbey’s absence and Desmond’s presence, but there it was again. Definitely a Discordant, but the trail was faint. With a nod, I left the bar and wandered back to where the pool tables and dart boards resided in dangerous proximity to one another. This was a good place to start my search and ascertain the overall mood of the crowd. If something was going to happen, this would most likely be the place. The only thing that could start a fight faster than drunken bets on a game of pool was the possibility of a stray dart lodged into one’s anatomy.
I found an available support post to lean against and cast my mind out into the crowd under the guise of watching the action at the pool table. Plenty of underlying frustrations rebounded back on me; finances, relationships, course loads, nothing out of the ordinary. Within that, there was competitive aggression, but the overall feel was balanced with small victories, such as the fact that it had been payday for a large employer in the area. None were lost and none were Discordant, so I moved on.
For the better part of an hour, I wandered from group to group, catching but a snippet of the dangerous vibe coming from the Discordant, only to lose it just as quickly. Finally, just as I was about to go to the bar for a refill, I felt the force of Chaos hit me full on. Instinctively, I turned toward the source of the dissonance and froze.
No. It couldn’t be her. Not here, not now, and not one of them. But then, yes, of course it could. I wasn’t in complete denial over what had happened. I only wished to put the event that led to my employment with the Order behind me forever. Yet somehow, I always knew that this particular part of my past would one day catch up with me and catch up it did. It felt as if an icy hand gripped my heart and held me, suspended and helpless, where I stood.
I gathered my wits just as the cascade of raven black hair swung out of sight through the back exit of the Five Penny. Shaking off the momentary stupor, I followed the Discordant out into the alley. If she knew I was there, she didn’t let on as she walked without hurry back toward Main Street. I followed, keeping a short distance between us, grateful that my footfalls made no sound on the cobblestones, one of the few gifts of Order bestowed upon the lowly Observers.
At the edge of the downtown district, she stopped and spread her arms wide with a throaty chuckle,
symbolically crucifying herself on the shadow cast by the cross that sat atop the ancient Catholic cathedral in the distance. Arms still splayed, she turned in a slow circle until her cold, icy blue eyes met mine with a cruel smile.
“What’s the matter, Seth? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Chapter 2
Welcome to Blackbird
“Four minutes and fifty-two seconds. That’s a record even for you, Desmond,” said the Creator, shaking its head as it noticed that it once again appeared as a popular actor’s portrayal of the Norse god, Thor. “I see the movie franchise is still going strong as well,” it noted with amusement.
“Be glad I wasn’t feeling puckish,” Desmond said dryly. “Surely, you are familiar with the depravity that is the internet.”
“Say no more,” said the Creator with a grimace. “Several of your contemporaries have already enlightened me. Several others apparently need a reminder that I consider any portrayal of the God of Chaos cast upon me to be wildly offensive, regardless of how dreamy they find the actor. But I digress. Tell me, what is it that necessitates a meeting less than five minutes after reassignment?”
“Were you aware of the Guardian’s decision to cycle?” asked Desmond, careful to keep the question from sounding like an accusation.
“I was,” the Creator nodded. “In fact, I’ve just received word from admin that the soul has been seamlessly reintroduced into the Cycle.”
“And so, speaking of admin, has Pete selected a suitable replacement?”
“That…” the Creator paused thoughtfully before letting out a light sigh. “We are, as they say, working on it.”
“And what does that mean?” Desmond asked, clearly agitated. He knew better than to express dissatisfaction with the Creator, but at times, it could be obtuse, which Desmond found maddening.
“What that means is that Pete is processing a compatible replacement for Abbey, but there are complications that will need to be addressed prior to assignment. Fear not, Desmond. You will have your Guardian soon enough.”
“Soon enough? This is not acceptable!” Desmond growled, forgetting all pretense of respect for the Creator. A move that was likely not wise, but at that moment, Desmond did not care. “A Warrior and an Observer without a Guardian is a recipe for disaster! I haven’t got time for that kind of drama under normal circumstances, but after just four minutes in that town…” He sighed and put his face in his hands, taking a deep breath before continuing. “I am sorry,” he said quietly. “I am out of line. But it doesn’t take an Observer to know that something ain’t right with that place. We need a complete team.”
“Apology accepted. But Desmond, one may also argue that the assignment of a Warrior too signifies, as you so delicately put it, that something ain’t right with that place,” the Creator admonished. “Look, Desmond, I am all seeing and all knowing. I know very well that the absence of a Guardian places a lot of strain on the relationship between Observer and Warrior. Admin is doing everything in their power to expedite the placement of the new Guardian. Until then, it is on you to keep order among the Order. I would not have gone ahead with the assignment if I didn’t think you were capable of keeping the situation under control. In fact, I believe it will be much easier than you expect.”
“Why is that?”
“Faith, Desmond. Though you will not recognize this current form, you have previously encountered the soul within this Observer. I believe that once you are able to see with open eyes, you will find your current expectations will come to nothing.”
“And until then?” Desmond asked.
“Until then,” the Creator said with a puckish smile, “you have a bar to tend.”
*
Blackbird. The name must have been someone’s idea of a joke. The only blackbird I see is the middle finger I wish to raise against the Creator for assigning me to this pasty white, backwater joke of a town. Agents of Order are supposed to blend seamlessly into the community where we are assigned. Fat chance of that happening here. Never in all my life did I actually think I would one day find myself missing the cesspool of humanity that is Los Angeles.
The Creator’s words nagged me to keep an open mind, but there was only so far I could open my mind without my brains falling out. I would have had to have been a blind fool to miss the open stares, the fearful glances, and the handful of old ladies who actually crossed to the other side of the street as I walked by. Granted, there was the slightest possibility that it was merely my size that caused concern. After all, at six feet six inches, with the build of a pro wrestler, I admit, I can be intimidating. I am well aware that my physical presence played just as much a role as the nature of my death when it came time to assign me to the role of a Warrior. But nearly three hundred years of being a black man in a white man’s world would not let me dismiss the power of racially motivated fears quite so easily.
I’m not sure what was worse, the fear or the curiosity. Already I had caught the appraising eye of more than a few women who seemed interested in finding out if the stereotypes had any basis in reality. A weaker man may have used this to his advantage, but I do not intend to stoop to the level that some of my brothers will just for the company of a woman. I am a man, not an exotic ice cream flavor.
Lack of diversity aside, it was immediately clear to me why the Creator reassigned me to this remote corner of the universe. The stink of Discord seemed to permeate every corner of the historical downtown district, which teetered on the edge of quaint, but was one crumbling building and a ‘for lease’ sign away from run down. Remnants of its former glory could be seen in the faded signs of long forgotten businesses. At some point, there was a bookstore, video rental, pharmacy, a Woolworth department store, and several service and repair shops. I imagined that at one time it was as picturesque as a vintage postcard, but those days were long over.
Now, most of the art-deco storefronts housed blinking neon signs advertising check cashing and payday loans. Aside from an overly optimistic cupcake bakery, the remaining businesses seemed dubious and questionable in nature. There was a sandwich shop of negligible health code compliance, a sex shop where the bookstore had once been, and a tobacco shop that I was willing to bet sold more drug paraphernalia than cigarettes. Last but not least, there was the Five Penny Pub, whose dubious nature I would soon uncover.
If Blackbird was the Discordant’s playground, then the Five Penny Pub was the coveted tire swing. The shabby dive, situated in a half-basement setting below the empty storefront of the former Downtown Diner & Deli, held a lingering stench of Chaos that not even the dry rot, stale beer, and cigarette smoke could mask. This place was a magnet for the lost, a feeding ground for the laziest of the Discordant, and now, as I discovered only moments after walking through the door, it was my own personal Hell.
I still didn’t know what I did to deserve this reassignment. I had been told to meet with the Guardian, a woman by the name of Abbey. When I arrived at the pub, she was already gone. Physically, she was there, but it didn’t take an agent of Order to see that she had already disconnected. The Guardian had the familiar aura of one who could give no more and had already booked her one-way ticket back into the Cycle. She looked me up and down, handed me a set of keys, and told me, “Take care of him,” before disappearing down the darkened alley and into the night. I didn’t know who he was, but if I had to hazard a guess, I would assume she meant the Observer. I hoped he would be in better mental health than she had been, but truth be told, I wasn’t feeling very optimistic.
A Warrior as a bartender. If any of my contemporaries back in LA ever found out, I would never hear the end of it. I should have transferred directly into the police department, or better yet, had my own agency set up and waiting for my arrival. In Los Angeles, Warriors have their own special division within the police department. We work closely with Guardians, who work under the vague heading of psych-evaluation specialists. But I was willing to bet that the Blackbird police department had no such special d
ivision. If anything, it was likely three or four overweight white men who perpetuated the doughnut eating, liberty taking, redneck cop stereotypes. Put into that perspective, perhaps owning a bar wasn’t so bad after all.
*
I recognized the Observer the moment he walked into the bar. White and male. Of course he was. What, was I actually expecting to see another brown face in this sea of white? With blond hair and blue eyes, he wasn’t just pale; he was ghostly. Lean, yet hard, he was a paradox of delicate feminine features and a strong male bone structure. He was what I would have called a pretty boy, were he not haunted and stooped under the crippling despair that hung over Blackbird.
Physically, he was just another face in the crowd and could have been a customer coming into the bar for an after work drink. His visible aura marked him as an agent of Order, but it was the intangible weight he carried on his shoulders that marked him as an Observer. If that was all I had to worry about, it would have been bad enough, but this guy wasn’t just any Observer. The blackness that hovered at the edges of his soul suggested he had taken in far too much and was on the edge of the breaking point. Even worse, this guy seemed to have one foot back in the Cycle already. Without a Guardian, this was going to get ugly, fast.
As he made his way to the bar, I excused myself from the gaggle of college girls who were trying to pass off obvious fake IDs and extended my hand, offering my name by way of introduction. The fear, I expected, anticipated even. But the familiarity was like a punch to the gut. I had expected to maintain a professional distance. Warriors and Observers were like fire and ice. Without a Guardian to balance our opposing energies, bad things could happen. Yet, I could not shake this odd feeling. The Creator had said I would recognize the soul and in a way, I did. I don’t know who Seth had been in a prior cycle, but the sudden possessive need to protect him was more than a little disconcerting.
Past Life Strife (Rise of the Discordant Book 1) Page 2