Uncanny Collateral

by Brian McClellan

  Alek!

  I’m awake! I responded, pulling myself gingerly to my knees. My lower back—where I’d hit the tree—felt like I’d been hit by a wrecking ball. The rest of me ached so badly that my fingers tingled. I remembered the house, then remembered my gun, then remembered that something very angry was on its way to eat me. I used every ounce of concentration to get to my feet. Gun? I asked Maggie.

  Eight feet to your left. Yes, there.

  A scream pierced the night as I recovered my weapon. It was followed by another, and the screams soon erupted into a chorus. I swung toward the house, watching in horror through the hole in the wall as something tore through those imps as easily as I would a box of pet-store bunnies. Why isn’t he coming after me? Why is he… shit, he’s killing my witnesses! I broke into a sprint, ignoring the pain in my side. I checked the Glock, not bothering to close more than half the distance before I pulled up, braced myself, and squeezed off two quick shots.

  The screaming went silent, and the shadows inside the house went still. I approached slowly, gun raised. I didn’t kill it, did I?

  I don’t think so… Maggie sounded uncertain.

  I reached the corner of the house and eyeballed the spot where the creature had snatched me and pulled me through. He must have gone in the same way, because the hole was quite a bit larger than I was. Inside, the living room light had been shattered, and the room was illuminated by a knocked-over lamp and light coming in from the kitchen. Is it gone?

  Maggie didn’t answer.

  Carefully, I climbed up into the living room. I cleared it, then the kitchen and back bedroom before returning to the living room and taking in the carnage. It was the same as in Ashtabula—corpses lay like discarded rag dolls, some of them separated from limbs and heads. Bellies were torn open; throats were cut. The killing had no pattern beyond whatever was quick and convenient. Blood spatter covered the walls and ceilings, and blood still spurted from one headless body.

  A sickly cough brought my gun back up. I spun toward the front door, where I was surprised to find Hairlip lying halfway behind the television, one leg skiwampus with the bone sticking out, using both hands to hold in his intestines. I swallowed my bile and knelt next to him, pulling out my phone and hitting record on the camera. “That thing,” I said. “That’s what you were afraid of?”

  Hairlip’s eyes were closed. He let out a whimper.

  “Do you know who or what it is?” I said. “Does it have a name?”

  Alek.

  I know it’s shitty, but I need to know, I told Maggie.

  It’s not that. Back up slowly. Do it now. Hairlip’s real body is on the other side of the room.

  Hairlip’s eyes shot open. My first thought was that they were bright yellow, like a cat’s, and my second was to throw myself backward as Hairlip’s body shimmered and twisted, one enormous, mangy, taloned hand shooting toward me with the speed of a striking adder. The talons snagged in my flak vest, and the strength of the creature threw me sideways into the wall. Grendel’s claw flared to life on my left hand, and I brought my hand down hard in a karate chop, using the power of the tattoo to sever the shapeshifter’s hand at the wrist.

  The shapeshifter recoiled, letting out a strange, warbling scream as it finished shifting from Hairlip into a something that looked like the fuckchild of a rabid werewolf and an excavator. Even with its shoulders hunched, its head dragged along the ceiling. It took one step back, let out a howl, and drew its long, black tongue across the bloody stump at the end of its arm.

  Without a second thought, I emptied the rest of my Glock into it.

  The shapeshifter fell back several more steps, grunting as the bullets traced crimson flowers across its chest. The impacts barely seemed to have any affect, and I braced myself for the thing to leap at me, jaws snapping. It seemed to shimmer again, growing smaller even as it leapt toward the window.

  “God damn it,” I said as I ran toward the front door.

  By the time I was outside, all I could see was the tail of something catlike disappearing into the underbrush far faster than I could ever hope to give chase. And I had no interest in chasing a shapeshifter in the dark through unfamiliar woods. I waited for several minutes on the front lawn until Maggie gave me the all clear. I stumbled back inside.

  You’re bleeding.

  I touched the side of my head. My fingers came away crimson. That thing hits like a truck, I told Maggie. Fast as hell too. I carefully crossed the room, looking for my phone, and found it between Hairlip’s real head and the severed foot of one of his companions. I wiped the imp blood from my phone onto my torn-up flak vest and replayed the video I was in the middle of taking when the shapeshifter revealed itself. I saw the yellow eyes and the swiping of the claw, and then the phone got thrown across the room when I went into the wall. It had landed at an angle, catching a good shot of the creature’s head as the sound of my Glock cracked sharply in the background.

  I turned off the video. Sitting on my haunches, surrounded by bodies, I ran my hand over my face. My hand brushed across my tusks, and I let out a tired little laugh. I hadn’t even felt them emerge. I willed them back to normal, ignoring the pain in my gums to focus on the pain running down my side. Such a hit would have probably paralyzed a normal person—maybe even killed them outright. I’d feel lucky if X-rays didn’t show a couple of cracked ribs.

  What do you want to bet that our shapeshifter has either already killed or is on his way to kill anyone else who’s worked for him? I asked Maggie. I got up and walked into the kitchen, looking across a bunch of meth-making equipment that didn’t look like it had been used yet. I glanced through the cupboards, then walked into the back bedroom and opened the top drawer of a dresser. Staring back at me in the drawer were at least a dozen soul mirrors. Well, that’s a start, I said, gathering them up. He didn’t have time to grab these before he took off. I paused, listening for some reply. Maggie?

  Yeah, I’m here, she replied distractedly.

  What’s wrong?

  Nothing. I’m trying to read.

  Well, you picked a damn strange time to do it.

  Research, dummy.

  I checked the rest of the drawers, then underneath the beds and in the closet. All in all, I left the house with almost thirty soul mirrors. I tossed them in the Prius’s trunk, got in the car, and started driving. I hadn’t been on the road long when my phone rang.

  “Hey, Alek, it’s Nadine.”

  “You still at work?”

  “I am. Still digging through that file on Judith Pyke.”

  To be honest, I’d completely forgotten about it. I perked up. “Anything useful?”

  “Not sure. Just a random tidbit I found.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Judith herself might not even know, but the offices she rents downtown are all owned by Kappie Shuteye.”

  “Huh. Anything else?”

  “Not yet. I’ll let you know.”

  I hung up and drove in silence, considering this new bit of information for several minutes, unsure of which direction I wanted to take this. Tying Kappie to Judith could mean Kappie was involved… or it could just mean that whoever was using Kappie’s muscle also had access to his more legitimate records, like rental tenants. I was almost back to the office when Maggie broke into my thoughts.

  I’ve got it, she said.

  Got what?

  What we’re dealing with.

  That’s good?

  No. No, it’s not.

  I cleared my throat. Trickster god?

  Not quite. It’s a ghoul.

  You mean one of those things you were telling me about the other day?

  Yeah. Maggie sighed. You don’t want to be driving when I tell you about this.

  Chapter 13

  I stood by Ferryman’s card table in his realm of darkness, watching while he
carefully placed an eight on top of a nine. The thirty recovered soul mirrors sat on the table beside him. He ashed his cigarette absently on one, then seemed to notice what he had done and gently blew the ash off of it. He moved a queen of diamonds and finally peered up at me.

  “Well done,” he said, tapping one long fingernail on a soul mirror. “Where are the rest?”

  “A thank-you would be nice,” I replied.

  “Thank you,” he said flatly. “Where are the rest?”

  I took out my phone and set it in front of him, pressing play on the video I took the night before. He watched it in silence and, once it had finished, tapped the phone to watch it again. He leaned back, gazing up at me thoughtfully.

  “I think it’s a ghoul,” I told him.

  “Certainly a shapeshifter,” he said. I could have sworn that his eyes darted ever-so-quickly toward Maggie’s ring. “A ghoul seems likely,” he amended. “An undead desert spirit. What the hell is it doing in Cleveland?”

  “Selling secondhand souls, apparently. It’s the twenty-first century. Gotta go where business is, right?” I’ve met enough Other not to bother questioning their motivations. They like money and power just as much as—and often more than—any human.

  Ferryman shrugged. “I can’t argue with that. I don’t like the undead—zombies, vampires, what have you.” He made a dismissive gesture. “Whoever makes them does so in direct mockery of me without breaking the Rules. Ghouls are some of the worst. Some god created them way back in…” He seemed to search his memory, then gave up. “The worst thing about undead is that they don’t fear me anymore, and that’s just unhealthy.”

  Maggie had spent the better part of last night telling me everything about ghouls she either knew already or could glean from her library. From what she’d said, their lack of fear was not the worst thing about them—not even close. Ghouls were powerfully strong in whatever form they chose to take. They were fast, malicious, cruel, and possessed a cunning that allowed them to stay two steps ahead of anyone trying to follow their rampages.

  I leaned over Ferryman’s card table and tapped on my phone. “That is way above my pay grade.” I took a map of northeast Ohio out of my pocket and set it in front of him. I used a pen to circle the locations of the Ashtabula and Painesville meth houses. “He hired imps here and here. Now, ghouls need grave dirt to recharge during twilight hours. I’m willing to bet if you got yourself an OtherOps sweep team and told them exactly what they were looking for, they’d be able to search every graveyard in two counties, starting with these locations, and you could have your asshole ghoul in three or four days.”

  Ferryman didn’t bother to look at the map. “Are you scared of it?” he asked.

  “Are you joking? That thing could be thousands of years old. I’m a twenty-eight-year-old mixed-blood troll. I can throw around imps and humans without a problem. I could probably go toe-to-toe with a werewolf if I had to. But an undead desert spirit?” I shook my head. “I’m betting the only reason he didn’t kill me last night was that he knew a dead reaper would put even worse than me on his trail.”

  “Probably,” Ferryman agreed.

  “So are you going to get OtherOps involved now? I’ve done the work for you. You’re practically there.” I mentally crossed my fingers.

  Ferryman took a long drag at his cigarette, then flicked the butt into the darkness before twirling his fingers to produce another one. “No.”

  “What do you mean, no?”

  “No OtherOps. I want you to bring this thing down.”

  I scoffed. “I just told you: I can’t.”

  “Can’t, or won’t?”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  Ferryman leaned back in his chair. “Jinn aren’t scared of much, but they have a natural aversion toward undead of their own kind.”

  My mouth went dry. I could feel Maggie recoil. “This has nothing to do with her,” I whispered.

  “Are you sure?” he asked. “You have a jinn on your finger. I assume that she gives you advice, and I assume that the advice that she gave you is to avoid the ghoul at all costs.”

  What the fuck is this? Maggie snarled. A playschool dare? He’s trying to goad you into going after a ghoul!

  “Is she wrong?” I challenged Ferryman. He raised his eyebrows at the vehemence of my reply. I cleared my throat, and in a calmer voice, repeated myself. “Is she wrong?”

  Ferryman pursed his lips. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. I still have vested interest in catching this creature without the help of a third party.” He stared at me expectantly. I got the distinct impression that he wanted me to do this, and I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why.

  “Catching,” I said. “Catching? I don’t think I could even kill it, let alone take it alive.”

  “I need to know where the rest of the soul mirrors are,” Ferryman said. “And I’m willing to pay handsomely.”

  “You’re already paying Ada a fortu…” I trailed off, realizing what he meant.

  He gave me his thin-lipped smile and took a drag on his new cigarette. “Finish this job for me, and I will award Ada the agreed-upon price. And I will give you something you want as well. Like the names of your parents.”

  I took two steps back involuntarily, almost tripping over my own feet. “You can do that?” I asked quietly.

  He nodded.

  My contract with Ada is… complicated. She owns me, but that’s technically illegal. She bought me from Paronskaft right before they were shut down by OtherOps. The sale was, however, off the books. Even if I were to go to OtherOps and reveal the barcode on my chest and tell them my life story, they wouldn’t be able to do a damn thing about it because I don’t know the names of my parents. Get the names of my parents, and I might be able to track down the contract. Get the contract, and I could have it annulled by an OtherOps judge.

  I could be free.

  You can’t do it, Maggie said. If you corner a ghoul in a cemetery, it’ll eat you alive.

  What about twilight, when it’s regaining its strength?

  It’s not like a draugr. It’ll still be functional, and it’ll be pissed that you ruined its sleep.

  I stared hard at Ferryman. This didn’t even feel real anymore. I’d spent so much time as a slave that the idea of gaining my freedom hadn’t even passed through my mind since I was a kid. A thought hit me—the elusive niggle that had been creeping around in the back of my head for days, getting stronger with each moment. I realized it was that information about Kappie owning Judith’s offices that set it off.

  Maggie, can a ghoul absorb memories?

  She seemed taken aback by the question. I’m not sure. The ability isn’t uncommon among shapeshifters, but they’d have to consume the brain. Why do you ask?

  Because that ghoul wasn’t trying to kill me back there.

  Right, she said. We established that.

  It pulled me through a house and threw me more than sixty feet. If it wasn’t trying to kill me, why did it do that?

  To get you away from the imps so he could kill anyone that could identify him.

  Maggie, normal people don’t survive that kind of thing. How the hell would it know I’d survive?

  I… because it knows you’re a troll?

  Which is not a secret, but it’s not common knowledge, either. There’s maybe a dozen people in the state who know what I am. Which means I don’t have to fight him in a cemetery at all.

  I rounded the table to stand next to Ferryman and unfolded the map. “Okay,” I told him. “This is what we’re going to do.”

  A few minutes later, I sat back at my office desk, fingers still pressed against Ferryman’s stepping mirror. I grabbed my car keys and wallet and sprinted for the door, passing Nadine with a wave. I peeled out of the parking lot, and as soon as I was on the highway, I called Nadine.

  “Forget
something, hun?” she asked.

  “Nope, just in a hurry.”

  “What can I do for you?”

  “Call the OtherOps morgue. Ask them if an unidentified imp body has passed through there.”

  “When?”

  “Anytime in the last eighteen months. I want to know whether the brain was missing.”

  “Right on it, hun.”

  I hung up and eased my seat back a little. I could sense Maggie brooding, no doubt making plans for the eventuality of her ring winding up in the stomach of a ghoul. I looked at the clock. It was ten in the morning. Just a few hours until her anniversary started.

  As if she could feel me thinking about her, she spoke up. You know, you could wait a little while. We can fight it together.

  I was both surprised and touched by the offer. Maggie was always there for me while in her ring, but she’d made it clear since the beginning that her anniversary was her time, no matter what. If I couldn’t spend it with her, too bad. That she’d offer to spend it gallivanting after a creature that obviously scared her meant a lot.

  I can’t wait, I said. If it even suspects that I know who it’s been masquerading as, it’ll skip town. Shit, it might already be gone.

  I hope it is, she said petulantly.

  I don’t.

  My phone rang. It was Nadine. “Got anything for me?” I asked.

  “As a matter of fact, I do. I’ve got one of their morticians on the other line. He says a mangled imp body came through about eleven months ago. The back of the skull was caved in and the brain was missing. They never ID’d him, and there were no zombie reports in the area, so they did an autopsy and cremated it.”

  “Does he still have the autopsy report?”

  “He’s got it in front of him.”

  “Ask him if the nose was broken. Like, a long time ago.”

  “Hold on.” There was a pause as the line went silent. A minute later, she was back. “That’s an affirmative.”

  “Thanks so much, Nadine.” I hung up. “Son of a bitch!” I yelled, slapping the steering wheel.