Torment_Caulborn 6

by Nicholas Olivo

  My father shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. Each half has about the same in the way of powers.”

  “Seriously? That doesn’t seem right. A divine half sounds like it would have more power than a human.”

  My father nodded. “Athena had some ideas about that. The way she explained it was with flint and steel. One is a strong metal, and the other is a sedimentary rock. You can bash someone’s brains in with either of those on their own, or you could sharpen either of them to make a knife, but only by striking them together can you make fire. Each of your halves has a certain amount of power on its own, but the true power only happens when they’re combined.”

  “So how do I get the part Croatoan stole back?”

  “Just being close enough to that piece of your essence should draw it back to you.”

  “You said my powers would be erratic for Croatoan. Does that mean they’ll be erratic for me, too?”

  My father frowned and rubbed his chin. “That’s harder to say. It’s possible they’ll be erratic, but I know they’ll be weakened. Croatoan will be lucky to create a portal to a destination more than a few miles away. Your portals will work better, since the apertus energy belongs to you, but they may not form exactly when or how you want. You won’t be able to create temporal bubbles, either.”

  “Bubbles?”

  “What you did to Sakave,” he said. “Creating a pocket dimension with its own independent timestream.”

  For a second, I was caught off guard at how he knew that. But since my father can look into any point in time whenever he likes, it’s like he has an always-on Glimpse happening for whoever he’s talking to. I gave myself a shake and refocused on his question. “The Tempus didn’t think it was possible for me to create an independent time steam,” I said.

  “Vincent,” my father said, leaning forward in the chair. “I want you to understand something. The Tempus is a smart man. The Tempus is a talented man. And the Tempus can be a rat bastard of a man. But there’s a common theme there. He’s a man. And no matter how talented, smart, or bastardy he gets, he’s still just a man. You are not. You are something beyond his understanding, with powers he can barely wrap his head around.” My father leaned back in his chair. “Pocket dimensions are handy little things. Technically, we’re inside one right now. In time, you’ll learn how to make yours permanent, as I have. It’s a great way to make a little place away from it all, Chroniclers included.”

  “Speaking of the Chroniclers,” I said, “the Tempus said you agreed to leave the timestream during my lifetime.”

  “Yes. It was a bargain I did not enjoy making, nor one I made lightly. But it was necessary to ensure your safety. Both for the protection he gave you from being overwhelmed, and to allow…”

  “To allow an alternate future version of me to communicate with a past me via a rare action figure,” I said.

  “That’s about it, yes.”

  “And now you’re back.”

  “When Orcus dragged you into Tartarus,” my father said, “it was with the intent that you were going to be a permanent resident. Technically, that means your lifetime was over, even though you weren’t actually dead. As such, I’m not breaking my bargain with the Tempus. So yes, I can return for a time. Once you’re restored, I’ll have to leave again.” He held up a hand. “For now, we have time. More importantly, now that you’ve been here once, you can return whenever you wish.”

  I got my father’s meaning. While he couldn’t come to Earth during my lifetime, I could return here. Which meant I could visit Janus again, when it didn’t feel like I had a gun to my head. “Okay,” I said, accepting a fresh Pepsi from the robotic arm. “I need to see Croatoan. I need to know what he’s planning. Can you look ahead and see what he’s up to?”

  My father gave me a patient look, one I saw quite often when I was learning to tie my shoes. “But, Daddy,” five-year-old me would say, “can’t you just do the laces for me?”

  “And how will you learn, Vincent?” was always his reply.

  I took a breath. “Okay, forget I said that. Can you show me how to look ahead? The only times I’ve done it before, the person or thing I was looking at was right in front of me.”

  “That, I can do,” my father said, setting his Pepsi on the glass coffee table. “Hold Croatoan firmly in your mind. Now, imagine the tachyon around you, and imagine dialing it in to a very narrow, focused beam, like a laser pointer. Hold that beam on your mental picture of Croatoan.”

  I shut my eyes and imagined a green laser beam targeting the phylactery Croatoan had recovered from the swamp. “Got it,” I said.

  “Now, drag the laser to the right, as if you were fast-forwarding a video on the screen of your phone.”

  The world shifted.

  This was something like a Glimpse, but with an odd shadowy cast. The colors of the world were wrong; everything was muted, dull. A wight was carrying Croatoan toward a church.

  Park Street Church.

  The church where the demons from the Dodici prophecy were imprisoned.

  Croatoan’s wight approached the threshold. As it reached for the door, a figure in a black trench coat appeared out of the shadows and stepped in front of Croatoan’s bearer. The newcomer said something, and then glanced around, as if looking for someone. I saw a shadowy figure, just a blur of chaos and light emerged from a ragged green portal, and then the world rocked and spun around me in a kaleidoscope of colors.

  My father helped me up off the floor. I hadn’t even realized I’d fallen. “You did well for your first try,” he said. “What did you see?”

  “Hang on,” I said, my voice sounding drunk. “The room’s still spinning.”

  My father guided me to the couch and pressed a bottle of water into my hand. Half of it was gone before it registered that I’d drunk any.

  “This is what I meant when I said your human brain can’t parse the timestream. You can peek into the future, but you can literally give yourself a stroke if you’re not careful. I wouldn’t recommend trying this trick again for a few days, maybe even weeks.” I nodded, my head clearing. “Now then, what did you see?”

  “Croatoan’s going to Park Street Church. Maybe he’s going to try to free the demons that are there? That’d be a great way to start off his army.”

  “What else?”

  “Isn’t that the important part?”

  “The most immediate part, yes. But you saw more than that.”

  “I saw a swirling figure, someone who felt… chaotic.”

  My father grinned. “You were looking at yourself, son.”

  “What?”

  “That’s what happens when you try to look into a future that you can impact, and see yourself making that impact. Same thing happens to me when I look ahead. You’ll learn not to go too far into the future, because the farther you go, the less defined things get. If you noticed that the world looked washed out, that’s why. Look a day, a month, a year into the future, and things start to fade to gray. Look thousands of years ahead, and it’s just dim with a few spots of color, those fixed events that can’t be changed in time. The future can be a lonely place.” His voice was quiet, and his black eyes were far away. Then he came back to the present. “But now you have the knowledge you need of Croatoan. I’d suggest you make use of that.”

  “Will you come with me?”

  He shook his head. “How will you learn, Vincent?”

  I couldn’t help but smile. “Had to ask. What will you do now?”

  “There are sixteen hours left on your mission for Hades. My bargain with the Tempus is suspended until then. I’m going to see your mother. We haven’t had dinner together in years.”

  We got to our feet, and he hugged me. “I’m proud of you, son,” he whispered. “You can do this.”

  I hugged him
back. There was a lump in my throat, and I couldn’t do any more than nod into his shoulder. Then we parted, and I portaled back to Boston.

  There was work to do.

  Chapter 13

  It only took me a few minutes to collect my friends. Croatoan had teleported them to the edge of Hockomock Swamp, just like he said. Jeal had been knocked unconscious when Croatoan had teleported her away, and the little kobold was only now coming to. It took three tries to make the portal back to the swamp. Dad wasn’t kidding when he said my powers would be weakened. But once the portal formed, I kept it open and took everyone to my apartment and gave them all a chance to clean up and dress their wounds.

  “What happened back there, Vinnie?” Gears asked. I filled my friends in on what had happened with Croatoan and how Hades had restored me to life. It felt good to be able to hug Petra with both arms again. But despite our rediscovered ability to embrace, Petra was fuming. “He killed you! He actually killed you! When I get my hands on this asshole, I will tear his arms off.” She grabbed me in a bear hug, and I felt her tears running against my cheek.

  “Technically, he doesn’t have arms, Petra. He’s just an asshole in an inanimate object.”

  Petra gave a sound that was half sob, half laugh. I gave her an extra squeeze and, in my best Westley voice, said, “Death cannot stop true love.” She started laughing into my shoulder, which quickly became a hiccup, which got us both laughing even harder. “I’ve got too much to live for to let getting killed stop me, Petra,” I said. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. I’m going to get Croatoan, get out of the Pit, and then you and I are going to the Andes, remember?” She gave a tight nod, and a strained smile.

  “I’m going to check on Gearstripper,” she said, wiping her eyes. “I think he was about to eat my baking chocolate.” As she did that, I decided to portal back to Devil’s Altar myself to retrieve the soul crystal and my switchblade.

  It took four tries to make the portal there. I was willing to chalk part of that up to the aftereffects of Croatoan’s wards, but the extradimensional energy felt slipperier than normal. Putting all my concentration into the portal, it snapped open with a satisfying sizzle, and I stepped through.

  I found my switchblade and a handful of other minor personal effects scattered atop the altar. The soul crystal was gone. I looked around the base of the altar and found it, broken into a handful of neat pieces, the dead ghost-witch atop it. Croatoan must’ve commanded her to sacrifice herself in order to destroy the artifact. Could I get another one of those from Hades?

  “No,” Hades’s voice only existed in my mind, but I still jumped two feet into the air. “Your father has negotiated a second chance for you, Corinthos, but I am under no obligation to give you more artifacts. That was not part of our agreement, rather, that was simply a convenience I provided you, and you lost it. You will have to find another way to get Croatoan back here.”

  “Why are you in my head?” I demanded.

  “I told you I could monitor you,” he replied. “I am doing so now. I find it amusing.” I mentally gave Hades the finger. “I am certain your juvenile antics are entertaining to some, but may I remind you that you have work to do.”

  “Right,” I said, giving myself a shake. “I’ll see you soon, Hades.” With that, I portaled back to the apartment. Petra and Gears were at the kitchen table, splitting a bag of Cheetos. Herb had his head down on the table, and Jeal was saying a blessing over the glass of Pepsi she’d just poured herself. I snatched some of the snacks, poured myself a soda, and looked around at my companions. We spent a few minutes in silence, the only sounds the crunching of Cheetos and the fizzing of Pepsi. When the snacks were gone, I said, “Okay, everyone, Croatoan is headed for Park Street Church. There are twelve demons imprisoned in its basement, and my guess is he wants them on his side.”

  “Demons?” Gearstripper said. “Oh, man, I wish Galahad were still here.”

  “You and me both, pal, but there’s someone else who’ll be there to help us.”

  “Who?” Petra asked. I told her. “Seriously?”

  “Sure looks like it,” I said. “Come on, let’s not keep him waiting.” I portaled us to the church, and just as I’d seen in my forward-facing Glimpse, Stranger Wolfram, the man who’d witnessed the beginning of the Dodici prophecy, stood face-to-face with a wight who was carrying Croatoan’s phylactery.

  “Corinthos?” Croatoan’s voice was exasperated. “How? It’s not possible!”

  “You getting your dialogue from Dragon Ball Z cartoons, Croatoan?” I asked. “Anything is possible, especially where I’m concerned. It’s time for you to go back to the Pit.” I figured I just needed to drop Croatoan through a portal into Hades’s office, and we could call it a day.

  “Never,” Croatoan hissed. “And there are some old friends of mine inside who will be happy to help destroy you.”

  “You will not enter the church,” Wolfram said, placing a hand on the wight’s chest. “It is not time for the demons’ chains to break.”

  “I’m sorry, you seem to think I care,” Croatoan replied, sending a blast of energy from the phylactery. Wolfram moved as Croatoan fired, as if he knew the blast was coming. Which, as a guy who divined the future for a living, he probably did. The blast shot just over his shoulder, and I was able to redirect it with a portal back into Croatoan. He screamed as his wight vaporized, and another rushed forward with impossible speed, catching the phylactery before it hit the asphalt. I snapped Open a portal, intending to deposit them back at the Pit, but the extradimensional energies flickered, like I’d lost my grip on the portal as I’d been trying to make it. Croatoan had fallen through, but I wasn’t sure where they’d landed.

  I was about to reach out and track them when Wolfram said, “They will be back in a few minutes. You evacuate the church while I establish a protective ward.”

  I rushed inside the church, which was in the middle of a service. In the lobby, a familiar face greeted me. “Mr. Corinthos,” Detective Frank Grady said. “Are you all right?” A young girl of about thirteen snapped up her head at the mention of my name. Katrina, Frank’s daughter, was by his side in a flash. Frank Grady was my primary contact on the Boston Police force. Years ago, I’d saved Katrina from Ulysses Pendleton, a shadowman hell bent on destroying Boston. Kat had grown a lot since then, and when Pendleton had tried to abduct her again a few weeks back, she’d fought hard. The Gradys were holding collection baskets, preparing to distribute them to the congregation. The baskets were completely forgotten in their hands as they both fixed me with concerned looks.

  “Is something wrong, Mr. Corinthos?” she asked.

  “No and yes,” I said, answering both of their questions. “Frank, some very bad stuff is about to happen here, and I need to clear everyone out of this building right now.”

  Frank didn’t hesitate. He turned, took three long strides over to the wall, and pulled the fire alarm. The minister called for everyone to maintain calm and help fellow worshippers get safely out of the building. It took longer than I’d have liked; people were stopping to pick up their coats and hats, but for the most part, it was an orderly evacuation. For a second, I thought I saw Leslie, Galahad’s former secretary, among the people. But that must’ve been a trick of the light, because when I looked again, she was gone.

  “Frank,” the minister said, hurrying up to us and pulling his jacket on, “what is going on? I don’t smell smoke.”

  “I’ll explain later, sir,” Frank said. “You should get outside.” To me he said, “Mr. Corinthos, what can I do to help?”

  “What can we do to help?” Katrina corrected. Her fists were clenched and her posture had changed to a fighting stance.

  “Believe me, guys, if we were up against normal humans, there’s no one I’d want more on my side in a fight. But I’m about to go toe-to-toe with an undead demon h
ere, and the best thing that you can do for me is to ensure that the two of you and all your fellow parishioners are safe.”

  Katrina’s eyes were wide, but her voice was level as she said, “Come on, Dad, let’s get everyone out here.”

  As the Gradys herded the rest of the parishioners out of the church to an adjacent park, I hurried over to Wolfram, who had spread a small cloth on the ground next to a snow bank and was laying cards atop it.

  “Seriously? You’re doing a Tarot reading now?” I asked, incredulous.

  “You know little of what we do, Corinthos,” Wolfram replied. “We do not use the ridiculous cards developed by Ettellia; we use cards made by the Fates themselves, handed down from generation to generation. We divine prophecy and when necessary, we help prophecy along. We can learn much from the cards.”

  “Uh huh. And can you learn where Croatoan wound up?”

  His brow furrowed as he turned over another card. “According to this, your portal dropped him over there,” Wolfram said, pointing toward the park where the churchgoers were gathering. “In the Granary Burying Ground.”

  “Granary Burying Gr— Shit! Grady, get everyone out of there, now!”

  But it was too late. I could already see dozens of wights stalking down the path toward the group. “Herb!” I shouted. “Contact any spirits in that cemetery who are willing to help defend the people and get them raised. Gears, call Uncle Dave and tell him we’ll need a containment unit down here. Petra, Jeal, you’re with me.” I sprinted into the Burying Ground, dodging around panicked churchgoers. Most of the people were fleeing, but some, particularly the elderly and people with small children, were getting left behind. I started to reach for my switchblade but stopped. A situation like this called for firepower.

  “Gears,” I called again. “Do you still have that spare wide-range-blaster-whatever it was?” In response, Billy’s left leg split open, and the mech tossed me a laser blaster about the size of a sawed-off shotgun. I powered it up, picked a path through the snow that had already been packed down, and charged, blasting wights into dust. Petra was right behind me, reaching out and snapping wights’ necks with precise, sharp motions. Jeal was invisible and airborne, and the only reason I knew that was because jets of elemental kobold fire would stream down from the sky and set the wights ablaze.