The Art of Madness

by A. J. Mayall

  “Fine, Moroux; he’s your problem now.”

  “He’s been my problem longer than he was yours, you insufferable jackass.” She smiled and turned back to Phoenix. “Now, would an enemy do something that stupid just to prove herself to you?”

  It had been years since Phoenix struck Jeremiah. He looked the woman up and down, then to those who dispersed after the conflict.

  “Okay, beginning to believe you a bit.”

  “Good. Turn. Walk. Now.”

  Phoenix gritted his teeth and acquiesced, being tugged away by the strange woman at the sleeve. Into the distance, away. A ten-second walk found them in a pocket of empty floor, the main meeting areas of The Cloister like a distant star.

  Moroux reached into her pocket and pulled out a pipe, bringing it to her lips and closing her eyes, a plume of smoke wisped into being out of the bowl.

  “You came looking for me, what do you need?”

  “That’s the thing, I have no idea. Hell, I forget how long ago it was, but The Cloister told me to come here to talk to you, that you had the answers I need.”

  Gypsy pointed behind Phoenix, making him turn his head and look into the distance. The void greeted him, but when he turned back, he found Moroux had produced two armchairs facing each other, herself seated in one. One of the first things he learned and never mastered was how to shape this unmonitored reality. If he didn’t look, there was no proof there weren’t two chairs there.

  “Thanks, knees are killing me.”

  He sat and slumped forward, pushing his forehead into his hands. The chair was comfortable. He closed his eyes and leaned back, trying to set his feet on an ottoman that had not been there the second before. His feet lowered back to the floor, without the comfortable rest present.

  “Damn.”

  “I’ll teach you how to do it, one day.”

  Unnerved, Phoenix looked back toward the speck of light where he had last seen his former mentor.

  “McGee, you came here looking for me to give you answers, but you ain’t asked me no questions.”

  “Okay, I have missing people. I have dirty cops and a damn Mafia war on my doorstep. I’m in over my head, I made a friend in a high place recently, but I’m not about to include him this deep in things.”

  She smiled and puffed on her pipe, it carried the smell of roasted almonds, oak, and sage on the air. “Who are the people?”

  “A couple who I got into this mess, one was a client of mine. Thought his wife was cheating on him, she was, they went missing. Things have been strange since.”

  “Boring. Next.”

  Phoenix leaned back and stared at Gypsy. He wanted to be mad, but he could see she was taking in information, in deep thought. He had to trust her, even if he didn’t like the attitude.

  “One of the Mafia bosses’ daughters.”

  “Boring. Next.”

  “Now, come on! A kid is in danger!”

  “Next!”

  “Some guy. Expert on the local Mafia, mediator…”

  He saw Gypsy shoot him a glare, reaching for the pipe.

  “A prostitute who works for the other family; they’re as mad about her as the other is about the daughter missing.”

  Moroux put her hand down, and nodded. Phoenix watched her in thought.

  “She’s important,” she muttered around the pipe, the bowl bouncing with each syllable. “Gangsters caring about losing one of their girls? That’s where you press.”

  Phoenix rubbed his temples and leaned back in the chair. He’d have to press on Bellacino again. He cursed, stomping the ground and tried his best to figure out how he’d do it. Would it be by force like before? By pleading and offering favors in return?

  The mental strain was not lost on Gypsy, who set down her pipe, a look of concern crossing her face. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you this worked up over something, normally you’re more…”

  “Gypsy, please. We both know the rules,” he muttered under his breath.

  One of the first things a GearWitch learns upon entering the Cloister is what it is and isn’t for. He knew that, like her and those before him, he too was here, hidden away. His spirit or ghost, or whatever essence remained of him after whatever took his life, through external means or time eventually catching up with him. It was the price one paid for the power.

  The downside was one couldn’t tell an initiate or current bearer of the power how they solve their problems. Advising was fine, though. The last thing the Cloister needed was individuals throughout time, spawning massive paradoxes through a pocket dimension outside the laws of reality.

  “Okay, we both know the others have pissed you off and you don’t have any reason to trust me. We also both know the more you come here, the more likely it is we’ll synch up.” She said this with a knowing wink, making the hair on McGee’s neck stand on edge. It wasn’t an outright telling of his future, but it was enough to let his temporal senses ache and creak.

  “Ms. Moroux, I have no idea what I’m going to do with this. You have no idea how much power these men have; people are dying and I’m the one who started this mess.”

  Gypsy stood and picked up her pipe, relighting it for a moment and breathed in the smoke.

  “McGee, the sad thing is you got no idea how powerful you are. You really got no clue.”

  “I know I can hurt people if I’m not careful. I don’t know about you but I was a kid when this happened to me. Warping the laws of reality? Bending time? You think I don’t know how powerful that makes me?!”

  “I wasn’t talking about your powers, kid. I know you can handle this. You’re frustrated, but you aren’t angry yet. I’ve seen you angry. It’s been a long time since you cut loose, and it’s high time you let those bastards know who’s boss.”

  “You don’t know what you’re asking of me.”

  “Damn right, I do. I’m asking you to do your job.”

  McGee turned his head to the side, finding it hard to meet the shorter woman’s gaze. “You sound like Jeremiah, always on about being the chosen one.”

  “I mean, you’re a damn detective. You have a case, now solve it.”

  Phoenix turned back, finally meeting her gaze. That sternness and those pools of blue were both familiar and terribly alien to him. She looked at him with the gaze of an old friend who wasn’t about to let her comrade-in-arms wallow in self-pity.

  “You really mean that, don’t you?”

  “I do. Listen, I know more than most the troubles being one of us causes. You came here looking for answers, right?”

  Phoenix nodded. “I was called. They said you had the answers I was looking for. I don’t even think any of this had ever happened yet.”

  “You’re out of sync, but I’m here to help anyways.”

  “I fucking hate this GearWitch shit.”

  “You love it,” she said with a smile, followed with a wink.

  Phoenix grumbled, stretching his legs as he stood. “No, I’m pretty sure I hate it.”

  “Love and Hate are two sides of the same coin. It is sadly the currency we buy everything in our future with. Paid now for uncertainty later.” Gypsy said, looking off in the distance at the gathered.

  “Do you always sound like a fortune cookie?”

  Gypsy laughed from deep in her chest. “You’ve brought me a couple of those, Phoenix. You always acted like it was an inside joke between us and now I know why. Fortune cookies were a bit before my time, kid. I’m just trying to help any way I can, like you said, there are rules. Gotta be cryptic.”

  “Fine. Listen, I don’t want to press Bellacino about his girl.”

  “Press both parties; you’re allowed to cut loose, McGee.”

  “They could hurt people.”

  “Then show them they aren’t the only ones who can make good on a threat.”

  Phoenix chuckled. “You sound like Suzette.”

  “Normally, you say I sound like someone else.” Gypsy gave him a quick look over. “Don’t think you
’ve met them yet, though.”

  “I assume you won’t tell me.”

  “Damn right.”

  “Should we head back?”

  Gypsy shook her head. “No, you leave here, I’ll see you soon. Come visit again, and not much later, we have a lot to work out.”

  Phoenix extended a hand, that smirk finding itself on his face once more. Gypsy took it and gave a firm shake and tugged him down to look her in the eyes.

  “It’s time for you to get mad, McGee.” He nodded sheepishly and she squeezed his hand. “I mean it, Phoenix. If you are where I think you are, it’s time to step up your game.”

  The detective closed his eyes, stepping backwards from the woman, feeling the sensations of time and space in flux around him until he felt soil underfoot and smelled the cool desert night air. Not but a few seconds had passed since his entry into the Cloister.

  With another look at the graves of his fallen friends, he took off into the night sky and flew back to Rouge Mal.

  Jack sat outside McGee Investigations, checking his watch. Suzette had said she’d meet him there and she was on her way. He looked around nervously; things back at the station had been taking a strange turn. He felt like he was losing the connection he had to The Pack. He tried to shove off the feelings, dispelling them as Pack Panic.

  The sky darkened; the moon was full, making Jack anxious. When the Stygus had emerged, it was in the wake of the Omnus revelation, making the acceptance of the supernatural a bit easier to swallow. Still, worry about the potential and danger of Stygus stigmatized them for decades. Hemovores had the Hunger, lycanthropes had Lunar Mania and Pack Panic, none of which was helped by the misconceptions spawned from legends.

  As he looked up at the moon, his bestial self rose to the surface. The change was manageable, and only cosmetic, but he relaxed and bulked up, his inner wolf becoming a part of his human self. It was easier than the alternative of focusing solely on keeping his purely human appearance. His only hope was Suzette would be comfortable around him.

  He peered off toward Sandfall, seeing a shooting star streak across the sky. He silently wished everything would work out for the best, with his work, with his standing in The Pack, with Suzette. He squinted and realized the shooting star was headed in his direction, on a crash course with McGee Investigations. For a second, he saw it was Phoenix, surrounded with a crackling energy. He worried he’d explode out the other side of the building. The detective flew through the loft windows; with a brilliant flash that turned the night into day for a second, he stopped. It wasn’t even ten seconds before the door flew open violently and Phoenix hovered there, eyes backlit, sparks arcing between the gelled spikes of his hair.

  “Tell your friends I’m calling another meeting.”

  The limo carrying Suzette arrived in unison with the SWAT van with The Pack inside. She gave the driver a nervous nod as he stepped out to open her door.

  “Is everything alright, miss?” he inquired, the obvious answer staring him in the face.

  She nodded, looking toward Jack and then to Dorian, who stepped out of the van. The events of the week had taken their toll on her, and her patience was wearing thin. She stepped out of the limo, offering the driver a tip, which he politely declined.

  It was time to be angry.

  “Officers, do you have a fucking reason to be here? I’m not having a good day, and I could use a reason to cause trouble.” She marched toward them, Dorian arching a brow and Jack stepping back in shock. A few of the other members of The Pack instinctively moved away, the presence of an alpha female triggering a primal submission. It was short-lived as Dorian turned to look at her.

  “Excuse me?” he growled.

  “Officer, respectfully, unless you have a warrant, get the hell out of here.”

  Phoenix, seeing from the door what was about to transpire, rushed between the two of them. He didn’t need to bail her out of jail for assaulting a police officer.

  “Suze! I invited them! It’s cool!” He faced her, smiling nervously. “It’s okay; they aren’t going to do anything like before, right?”

  “Did she just threaten me?!” Dorian growled, Jack rushing in this time, back to back with Phoenix, facing his superior.

  “Leave her alone, Dorian. She’s been through enough.”

  He huffed and turned, punching the van to vent his frustration. “You’re damn lucky she’s got you backing her up, Omega.”

  A few moments passed. Suzette went back to her desk, working on some paperwork as The Pack milled about, under her watchful eye. Dorian made a few calls to set up the meeting. Jack scooted around behind her, rubbing her shoulders to relax her.

  “Jack, I’m pissed,” she said simply in response to touch.

  “I know.”

  “You’re supposed to be a cop. I’m supposed to be able to trust you. This is bullshit.”

  “I know.”

  She brushed off his attempts to soothe her, more content to embrace her fury. He sensed it, as did the rest of The Pack. They kept a distance from her, except for Dorian, who felt a challenge to his position from her. There was a hint of respect under the anger, not reciprocated by Suzette.

  Phoenix sat at the top of the stairs, keeping a watchful eye on the powder keg downstairs. Minutes passed like hours, but soon the meeting was coordinated, Dorian advancing toward Phoenix, looking to vent his frustrations with intimidation.

  “Get your ass down here, dick. We’ll take you back to the safe house.”

  Phoenix shook his head, defiantly, his eyes backlit again. “I’ll fly, thank you for the offer.”

  “It wasn’t an offer, it was an order.”

  “Officer Franklin. I’m going to put this as nicely as I can. Get over yourself. You’ve roughed me up, and you’re setting sights on someone I care about. This does not put you in a place where I’m particularly amenable to pulling punches.”

  Dorian chuckled and crossed his thick arms over his chest. “Is that so? You think picking a lock is going to get you out from a choke hold?”

  Phoenix looked to Suzette, a sternness in his gaze that made her smile. “Officer Franklin. With all respect due to your authority, get the fuck out of my business and meet me at the safe house.”

  “You think you can just talk to me like that?!” Dorian fumed, rearing back a fist, his Pack was already unsure of position with the woman behind the desk, but now this civilian challenging his authority…

  “I will fuck you up, Officer. Get out,” McGee said simply. Just like Gypsy had told him to, Phoenix got in touch with his anger.

  The next few moments were a blur to everyone but Phoenix. The detective focused on the officer before him, the memories of the past few days fueling his anger, and felt time pull at him as he slipped between the ticks of the clock. He grabbed Dorian by the collar and lifted the man quickly, pulling him into his own little bubble of time.

  “You wanted to know what I was officer?” he shouted, energy sparking in the air around him, his eyes backlit.

  Dorian’s eyes widened; the detective blinked out of existence and then a split second later he was nose to nose. Phoenix lifted him with ease, a feat the thin man should not have been capable of. The world took on a slightly bluish tint as he looked at the frozen faces of the gathered, held up by a man he had grossly underestimated.

  “Now you know!” Phoenix screamed as energy warped and wisped off him, looking like the inside sphere of a plasma ball. Dorian gritted his teeth as he tried to shift up, but a punch to his gut knocked the air out of him and lifted him up 6 inches. He felt his abdomen bruise as the shockwave traveled through him, irritating his intestines and making his spine pop painfully.

  The lycanthrope’s eyes bulged, looking into the eyes of the detective, nothing but rage to be seen. Dorian felt something inside give, and pain crashed through his body, a rain of blows pummeling him before the world seemed to snap back, and go topsy-turvy. He found himself falling away from Phoenix, out the door, and across the street. D
orian smashed into a brownstone, the sound of his snapping bones sounding like a twisted roll of bubble wrap from inside the detective’s offices. Phoenix looked to the remainder of The Pack and snapped his fingers; the groaning and burbling heap that was Officer Dorian Franklin caught local gravity and fell twelve feet to the ground.

  The room was silent, and The Pack slowly inched away from Phoenix, Suzette trembled, and looked to Jack.

  “Phoenix, what have you done?”

  “I’m taking charge of the situation.”

  Suzette shook Jack out of his daze. “Go make sure he’s not dead!” Jack nodded, half in a daze from the show of power, but Phoenix held a hand out to Jack.

  “No need, I’ll bring him here.”

  “Phoenix, no!” Suzette yelled, moving from behind her desk, but it was too late.

  The still-groaning Dorian Franklin crawled with his left arm, the only limb not shattered from the impact. He knew he’d survive this; he needed time to shift and rest in his lycanthropic form. He stared across the street, dazed as the red-haired man held his hand out toward him, fingers pointed at the sky and palm facing the detective. He watched as McGee gave a couple of flicks of the fingers toward himself, a beckoning measure. The world spun again; the distance before him became a descent. He screamed as he fell back toward the private eye’s offices, barely missing cars coming at him from the sides. He expected impact, and pain, but hovered near where he stood before. He watched as the world turned a shade of blue once again, onlookers’ features locked in a moment in time.

  “Mr. Franklin, do us both a favor and shift up. Take as much time as you need to heal, you won’t be going anywhere. We’re going to have a chat,” Phoenix said.

  Dorian nodded weakly, drawing in his anger, his will, and his inner beast as his bones stretched and popped. He screamed silently as limbs twisted and bone fragments knit themselves together.

  “You win, McGee…” he grunted, his face pushing out into a lupine muzzle, body hair thickening and soon becoming long black fur. “Don’t think for a second that I’m gonna just forgive this.”