Uncanny Collateral

by Brian McClellan

  It’s really him? Maggie still seemed skeptical.

  “It’s definitely him,” I breathed aloud. “That shithead, Kappie, has been dead for almost a year. The Kappie Shuteye we spoke to last week was the shapeshifter. He hasn’t just been running a secondhand soul business; he took over Kappie’s territory completely.”

  Chapter 14

  I came to a stop a couple hundred yards from Kappie’s crumbling elementary school headquarters and took my time putting on my brand-new flak vest and checking my Glock. I didn’t think they’d help all that much, but every little bit counts, doesn’t it? Once I’d finished that ritual, I took off through the underbrush around the perimeter of the school parking lot.

  This is a terrible plan, Maggie said.

  But it is a plan, which is more than I had before. You sense anything?

  No, she said. But the ghoul might be actively trying to mask its scent now. It’s still sort of a jinn. It has access to powers similar to mine.

  The school was home to Kappie and dozens of imps. The chances of it actually being empty were slim to none, which told me that I’d come to the right place. I reached the rear of the school and watched the windows for a few moments before turning my attention on the loading bay. A semi was parked at the bay—a different truck than last week—but the area looked abandoned despite the door being open.

  Here goes nothing. I broke into a sprint, clearing the parking lot and reaching the side of the truck. I checked the cab, then worked my way down the side of the trailer. Weapon at the ready, I rolled into the loading bay and cleared the storage area and then the trailer. There was nothing except a couple of pallets of DVD players, probably stolen.

  No one demanded to know what I was doing there. An imp didn’t emerge from the school to tell me off. The place was eerily silent.

  Do you smell something? Maggie asked.

  I sniffed. There was a hint of gasoline. Semi might be leaking, I said. Moving quietly, I opened the service door leading away from the storage and was immediately hit by a much stronger, more immediate smell. I took a step inside and found myself in a long, industrial-style kitchen. The place was filthy—pots, pans, and dishes stacked high; old food on the floor; pots of grease discarded beneath stainless steel prep areas. Never mind, I said. The semi is not leaking.

  The reek of gasoline was so powerful that my eyes began to water. My feet splashed, and it took me half a second to realize I was standing in a puddle of the stuff. This is not good, I said to Maggie. My first instinct was to get the hell out of there, but I forced myself to keep walking. I rounded the first prep table only to find the gasoline mixing with a pool of blood on the floor. The blood streaked out through the front of the kitchen, as if something had been killed and then dragged elsewhere. There were footprints in the blood.

  Big, taloned footprints.

  I blinked through the fumes. You’re going to tell me if someone lights a match, right?

  If I say the word hop, I want you to dive through the closest window, Maggie replied.

  Got it. I followed the trail of blood through the cafeteria and out into one of the main hallways. It continued a few dozen feet, then took an immediate left through a door marked Boiler Room. It wasn’t the only trail of blood, either. Streaks and drops filled the hallway, all leading to the boiler room. The smell of gas wasn’t as bad out here, but I could see that the trail of yellowish liquid lead in the opposite direction. He’s going to burn the place down.

  That’s my guess, Maggie agreed.

  It’s cinder block. What does he expect to accomplish?

  He can still gut the place—blow up the kitchen, bring down the roof. It’ll be enough to slow down an OtherOps investigation. I eyed the trail of gas but turned to follow the blood instead. I reached the door to the boiler room, the bottoms of my boots slick with crimson. When my hand touched the doorknob, Maggie said, You don’t want to go in there.

  I ignored her and opened the door, stepping through and onto the same catwalk that Kappie had stood on when we’d spoken last week. I had a pretty good idea what to expect, but I made myself look anyway. Beneath the catwalk, at the bottom of the boiler room two stories down, was a pile of very fresh-looking imp corpses. It was the same modus operandi as the meth houses: bodies mutilated beyond recognition, killed quickly and brutally by something much bigger than them. It looked like a scene from the bottom of a butcher’s slop bucket.

  Somewhere in the distance, I thought I heard a voice. Carefully, I closed the door and returned to the trail of gas, following it down one long hallway, then another. The voice grew louder as I progressed, and I soon realized that someone was singing.

  “Taaaaake meeeee oooooon! Iiiiiii’ll beee gooooone!”

  I reached the propped-open door to the school gymnasium and stopped just outside, peeking around the corner. The gym was full of pallets of stolen goods, from electronics to toilet paper to power tools. Kappie—or, rather, the ghoul wearing his Kappie suit—stood in the center of the room, gleefully tearing open a pallet of paper towels before dousing the whole thing with fuel from a large gas can.

  I could sense Maggie holding her breath.

  Anything you want to say before I kick this off? I asked her.

  Don’t get yourself killed, you big dummy.

  Right. See you in a few.

  I leaned against the gym door and called out, “Hey, Kappie.”

  The ghoul spun toward me with a decidedly un-implike growl. Its eyebrows rose, and the side of its face twitched at the sight of me.

  “You know,” I said, “I would not have expected an undead desert spirit to be a fan of eighties Norwegian synth-pop.”

  The ghoul discarded the gas can and turned toward me. I noted that it had an intact left hand. Either the shapeshifter was able to cover up its wounds in a different form, or the limb had regenerated. The second thought did not appeal to me. The creature frowned at me, then seemed to remember what it had been singing. An embarrassed, strangely human smile flickered across its face. “You pick up the strangest things over the course of time.” The smile disappeared. “You, Alek Fitz, do not take a hint.”

  “It’s why I’m the best.”

  “How did you figure out what I was?”

  “Because I’m the best.”

  The ghoul rolled its eyes. “Are you? If you’re so smart, why are you still after me?”

  “I said I was good, not smart,” I answered.

  “I let you live last night. I even killed someone you hate.” It gestured at the face it was wearing and ran its tongue over its lips. “I saw his memories. I watched him drag little-kid you across a parking lot and shove him into a car. I watched him take the money from your boss. I even felt it when you broke his nose. Kappie was a piece of shit, and you should be thanking me for taking him out of this world.”

  I fought to suppress long-buried memories and looked toward the ceiling. “You know what? You’re right. Thank you.”

  The ghoul seemed taken aback by my response.

  I continued, “I gladly would have crushed his skull myself, if I’d been allowed. I would have drawn the line at eating his brain, though. Imps are nasty.”

  “You’re mocking me?”

  “Only a little. I’m genuinely pleased that Kappie is dead. But this thing between you and me has nothing to do with Kappie.”

  The ghoul took a step back, tensing up, and I realized it was seconds away from shifting into some speedy animal and taking off like it had last night. “There’s nothing between you and me,” it said.

  I gestured at the gym. “Why all this?” I asked.

  The sudden question seemed to take the ghoul off guard. It peered at me curiously. “All what?”

  “Taking over Kappie’s business, stealing souls—this.”

  The shapeshifter seemed to consider the question, and I wondered if anyone had ev
er inquired after its motives before. “This is the twenty-first century,” the ghoul finally said. “There’s OtherOps, the Rules, cameras everywhere, high human population density. There aren’t many places for someone like me to hide anymore. This was an experiment to see if I could join the rat race, to be something more than just an undead.”

  The answer surprised me. There was even a tinge of emotion in the ghoul’s voice. “That almost sounds romantic when you put it that way—trying to rise above your circumstances.”

  “That’s exactly what it is,” the ghoul sniffed. “The Greater Other don’t like the undead. They might show some deference to a few of the Vampire Lords, but the rest of us are just gutter trash. They don’t want us to get involved in contracts or have a say in the Rules. I’m trying to change that.”

  “And you thought stealing from Death was a good way to go about it?”

  The ghoul shrugged, but I could tell from the shifting of its feet that it might have gotten an inkling that this had been a mistake. “I don’t know what the big deal is. There’s nothing to be afraid of. He’s just a dog without a bite.”

  I thought of something that Maggie had said to me when I’d first met Ferryman in Ada’s office. “I’ve been wondering the same thing myself,” I answered. “Why is everyone scared of Death? Seems like a reasonable guy just doing his job. But I’ve decided it’s not about fear. It’s about respect.”

  “There’s nothing to respect about him,” the ghoul spat. Its body language no longer spoke of someone ready to run. I had it on the hook now.

  “Oh? He’s the oldest of the Other—the one being who connects all of us, who has literally seen everything. He takes pains not to interfere with humanity or the rest of the Other, despite his unique position. Seems respectable to me. I don’t know. Me? I’m just doing my job, fulfilling another contract. Right now, he’s my boss, and he’s super fucking pissed at you—so to answer your earlier question, that is what’s going on between you and me.”

  “If he’s so mad, then why aren’t you here with an army?” the ghoul demanded.

  “I am the army.”

  He sputtered a laugh. “You? Really? You’re a mixed-blood troll. I’ve killed full-blood trolls without breaking a sweat.”

  “Ah!” I replied. “But you haven’t killed me. Why? Because you know that OtherOps isn’t gonna care all that much about a bunch of dead imps, but they will care about a reaper corpse.”

  The ghoul glared.

  I went on, “So here’s the deal: no running away. You and me, right now, and let’s see how this goes. My investigation? It’s all in my head. Shit, I’ve even got a video of you shifting on my phone. You run away, and I’ll hand all of that to OtherOps. You kill me now, and the only trail they have is a bunch of corpses.”

  You’re insane! Maggie said.

  The ghoul shifted weight from one foot to the other. Its face shimmered. The creature seemed uncertain.

  “Really?” I asked. “You’re all big and bad when it comes to slaughtering coked-out imps, but you’re a coward when confronted by a man with a gun?”

  The ghoul’s nostrils flared. The tension in its stance shifted forward, and its body began to shimmer and elongate. Kappie’s face and clothing faded, replaced by the mangy hair of the creature I’d tangled with the night before. I didn’t wait until the transformation had finished before I emptied my Glock’s magazine into the beast’s chest.

  The ghoul absorbed the bullets with a series of flinches, drawing back two steps before dropping onto all fours and charging me.

  I tossed the empty gun aside, squared my shoulders, and extended my tusks. Both my Mjolnir and my Grendel’s claw tattoos flared to life. I dropped low, almost overwhelmed by the speed at which the ghoul barreled toward me. I cocked my right arm back, timing for the ghoul’s final leap, and swung my right fist with all my strength.

  I missed.

  The ghoul spun midair, the weight of its body disappearing in exchange for the lithe form of a catlike humanoid. I felt small but razor-sharp talons snag my inner thigh as the beast dropped below my punch and sped past me, jerking me off my feet and throwing me against a pallet of bags of rice. A scream tore itself from my throat, and I looked down to see my torn jeans soaked with an enlarging stain of dark red.

  The ghoul scrabbled all four feet on the gym floor, arresting its momentum on a pallet of TVs and turning to leap for me. I saw the shimmer a moment before the change this time, and I rolled out of the way as the heavy brute force of a bull orc slammed into the pallet I’d been leaning against a moment before. The pallet exploded at the impact, rice scattering all across the gym.

  The ghoul paused, stunned, and shook its head, letting out the dull moan of a wounded orc. I rolled back toward it, coming up on my knees and slamming Mjolnir into its ribs as hard as I could. It was like punching the bumper of a Buick, but it had the desired effect: the ghoul folded around the impact of the punch and flew six or seven feet into the air, clearing the next pallet and landing on a pile of cereal boxes.

  I pressed Maggie’s ring against the tear in my thigh. Cauterize, I ordered.

  A flash came out of the ring, and I bit down hard on my tongue as the stench of burning flesh filled my nostrils. I got to my feet, limping as I rounded the destroyed rice pallet and got my sights back on the ghoul.

  It transformed again, its body morphing into Kappie, then into the catlike humanoid, then back into the orc, and finally into the mangy creature I’d fought last night. The ghoul rolled onto its stomach and got to its feet, staring me down with the chest-cocked posture of a silverback gorilla. The bullet wounds on its chest were now gone, and it was already moving like the blow I’d given him with Mjolnir was only a minor inconvenience. I clenched my fists and snapped my jaw at him, my tusks growing to their full length. I was seeing red now, and I fought to control the berserker rage that would cloud my judgment.

  He’s damn slippery, I said to Maggie. I just need to slow him down for four or five seconds.

  Don’t look at me; this is your stupid plan. He’s not going to slow down until he’s eating your corpse.

  The ghoul took one step forward, then paused, sniffing at the air. He slammed one taloned fist on the ground hard enough to shake the floor. “That magic—what is it? Where did it come from?”

  Shit, Maggie said. He smells me.

  I rushed forward, fists swinging. The ghoul pounded the ground twice and rushed to meet me. He deftly avoided a blow from my right fist, but that was only a feint to take his attention off my left. My Grendel’s claw tattoo flared, sorcery slicing through his meaty stomach and coming up to take his arm off at the shoulder. The ghoul screamed, snatching me with his good arm faster than I could follow and lifting me clear off the ground before slamming me against the floor like a toy.

  A rainbow of pain exploded behind my eyes as I tried desperately to suck in the oxygen that had just been dashed from my lungs. The ghoul’s face grew large in my addled vision, its jaws snapping. I tried to swing my left hand again, but I found my arms pinned by a new pair of pink, hairless arms that had sprouted from the ghoul’s torso.

  I head-butted him, my tusks connecting with his teeth. He roared but did not let go. Great wads of bloody drool dripped from his mouth onto my face. “Where is that magic coming from?” the ghoul demanded. “Where is the jinn?” The creature lifted me by my flak vest and slammed me into the ground to punctuate each word. “I will not let you die until you tell me where to find him!”

  I could barely think, let alone move. My struggles grew weaker. I just couldn’t deal with the strength of such an ancient spirit. I tried to reach for my pocket, unsuccessfully. Maggie, I managed mentally, I think you were right. This was a bad idea.

  She didn’t answer.

  A sudden noise arrested the flurry of violence. It took me a moment to recognize it: a da-nah-nah-nah repeating over and over again. I
t was my phone alarm. During the fight, my phone must have fallen from my pocket, and now it was going off from somewhere by the ruined pallet of rice.

  I choked out a laugh and saw specks of blood appear on the tips of my tusks.

  “What is that?” the ghoul demanded.

  “That,” I said, “means you’re out of time.”

  “What?”

  Over the ghoul’s shoulder, I saw a trickle of crimson and orange smoke. It shimmered and coalesced into an olive-skinned woman who looked to be in her midtwenties. She was around five foot six, with long black hair tied neatly over one shoulder. She was stark naked, and she looked super annoyed.

  The ghoul dropped me and spun toward her, a new arm growing from the stump of his left as quickly as he could swing it. Maggie batted it away with a petite hand, her feet barely shifting, and reached out to grab the ghoul by his bottom jaw. The undead’s body flailed in her grip, its mangy fur shimmering as it struggled to change.

  “Alek, now!” Maggie called.

  I summoned everything I could manage and pulled Ferryman’s stepping mirror out of my pocket. I slapped it against the ground, then grabbed a handful of the ghoul’s fur and pressed three fingers against the mirror. The effect was instantaneous. The world went black, every noise suddenly gone, as if we had been swallowed by a cave deep inside the earth. I could still feel the ghoul’s fur in my hand. There was a hesitant snuffling noise, and suddenly I was snatched up again.

  “What is this?” the ghoul roared. “Where am I?”

  “Put him down, little dog,” a voice said calmly.

  I was cast aside, and suddenly a light flickered into being. It was the one on Ferryman’s damn card table. He sat behind it, dealing out a new game of solitaire. The light of the lamp barely touched the ghoul’s face, casting its body in dangerous shadows. “Who are you?” the ghoul demanded.

  Ferryman looked up, but he wasn’t an old man in the AC/DC T-shirt anymore—he was a grinning skull. “I’m the one thing you never wanted to meet.”