Grave Beginnings (The Grave Report, Book 1)

by Virdi, R. R

  “Ah,” she said understandingly, “like the Elemental,” she said with a laugh.

  “Kind of,” I replied flatly.

  She laughed again, even louder, “I am Ifrit.”

  Not again…seriously, the supernatural seem to have a broken record disorder or something.

  “The Elemental is nothing,” she said disdainfully, “a tool, a mere shadow of what I am, nothing more than a means to an end.” She continued.

  “I thought it was your offspring in a way?” I asked.

  “Offspring?” she scoffed, “a tool,” she repeated, “one that failed and nothing more.”

  “Wow, you’re a shoe in for mother of the year aintchya?”

  She ignored the jibe and suddenly the temperature in the room began to spike up rapidly, way hotter than it had been in the small room we were previously in. I was starting to get dizzy, well dizzier, just standing near her. What really shocked me was what was happening to the foam that still covered most of her body, it simply began to liquefy, becoming increasingly runny and just sliding off of her and onto the floor where it pooled around her feet.

  The heat was becoming unbearable, I was already in bad shape and now sweating out precious fluids that I needed, my throat was beginning to feel dry again.

  “What do you plan on doing now?” she asked with a Cheshire like grin on her face.

  I managed a weak smile when I replied, “I dunno,” I shrugged, “something like this!” I said as I grabbed the extinguisher by the hose, swinging it as hard as I could directly at the Ifrit’s head. Though the extinguisher wouldn’t do any real harm, that wasn’t really the point, the sheer impact caused the Ifrit’s head to snap sideways violently. It hit her with enough force to cause her to collapse to the ground, the extinguisher however was crushed on impact and the metal was now slag. There was still enough material and heft to it for me to lift the ruined and melting extinguisher up and slam it back down onto the Ifrit’s head, just to make sure she’d stay down for a bit.

  The second strike caused the can to become a complete pile of molten material but it did the job, the Ifrit was flat on the floor, for the moment anyways. I capitalized on the moment and began hobbling my sorry, beaten, borrowed ass down the hall and towards the main building of the museum, praying the Ifrit would stay down long enough for me to reach Ortiz.

  I had limped my way halfway down the hall when there was a headache inducing booming roar, hell, the walls shook!

  “Great,” I muttered, “she’s up.” I continued limping towards the door that led back to guard’s desk. I barreled through the door, alright; I more like fell into it really hard and caused it to fling open. “Ortiz!” I shouted, “Ortiz!” I called out again.

  I grabbed my sides as I continued to struggle walking towards the guard’s desk, the damage to my throat was definitely healing but my sides were still aching, the worst of the pain was subsiding however. “Ortiz!”

  Chestnut brown hair popped into sight from behind the guard’s desk followed by an ovalish beige colored face tinged with the slightest hints of gold, her dark brown eyes were worried. She stood there holding clutching the silver and blood encrusted fire stoker I had given her earlier, holding it in both hands like a baseball bat. “Norman?!” she breathed, sounding shocked to see me. Her eyes drifted to my midsection and the widened considerably, “what happened to you?!” she exclaimed, nodding to my torso.

  “Long story,” I panted, “hand it over slugger,” I said nodding to the fire stoker in Ortiz’s hands.

  She didn’t leave from behind the desk but extended a single arm with the fire stoker in it, handing it out towards me.

  I shakily walked over to her, calmly taking the silver and blood covered weapon into my hand, I was going to need it. My hand trembled a bit as I tightened my grip around the silver spiked rod, man was I rough shape, well technically I guess Norman body was, but then again, I was in it and I was the one hurting.

  Semantics suck.

  Ortiz definitely took note of my bad condition because she looked me over with concern and repeated, “what happened to you?”

  To which I repeated, “long story,” and then adding, “the Ifrit will be here any minute now, no time for story telling.”

  “Then make it a short one,” she replied firmly.

  I sighed, “explosion, impalement, no longer impaled, she stuck a finger in me—”

  “What?!” Exclaimed Ortiz in a mix of confusion and shock.

  “Cauterized wound, painful, here we are playing twenty questions,” I continued as if Ortiz hadn’t interjected.

  “Well you look like crap,” Ortiz said seriously.

  “Flatterer.”

  “I’m serious Norman, you don’t look like you’re up for this,” she said firmly.

  “I’m really not,” I replied wearily, “how’s James doing?” I asked.

  She pursed her lips, a worried look coming over her face, “you might want to take a look for yourself,” she said softly.

  I leaned on the top of the desk for support as I gingerly walked around it to where Ortiz was standing; James was lying on the floor near her, huddled up into a sort of a fetal position. He looked like hell, still emaciated, elderly and just frail, his breaths were long and shallow, if the Ifrit didn’t kill him, well he’d die soon anyways from the looks of it.

  I looked at Ortiz, “he say anything yet?” I asked.

  “Lots actually, bits and pieces, some incoherent, some not,” she replied.

  “Any of it useful?”

  Ortiz didn’t respond, her gaze turned away from me and became transfixed to a sight behind me, her eyes widening when she spoke, “what the hell is that?!” she yelped, pointing a finger down the hall from where I came.

  I turned around as fast as I could, it hurt, my torso twinged a helluva lot when I did. Coming down the hall and towards us, was an entirely naked burnished red body, obsidian protrusions here and there, multicolored hair in hues of fiery oranges, reds and yellows. Her eyes resembled massive pieces of perfect black gemstone jet, her whip like tail swaying from side to side, a predatory smile on her face.

  “That,” I said sighing, “is round two.”

  Chapter Twenty

  “Is…that who I think it is?” asked Ortiz, still in shock at the sight before her.

  “Yeah,” I said sullenly, “yeah it is.”

  “So…. round two?” began Ortiz.

  “Yeah.”

  “Who won round one?” she asked.

  “You know,” I started, “the judges are still debating that one, I had my moments.” I quipped.

  “That bad huh?” she replied.

  “Worse,” I answered as the Ifrit drew closer, still taking her sweet time to cross the hall, it was like watching a lioness stalk wounded prey, no rush, just savoring it.

  “So, what now Norman?”

  Without taking my eyes off the approaching Ifrit, I reached back and handed Ortiz the oil lamp that was the Ifrit’s vessel. “Take it,” I said hurriedly, “keep it safe.” There was no word of acknowledgement from Ortiz, just the sensation of the vessel being calmly removed from my grasp. “Stay down,” I said firmly as I began walking towards the Ifrit, hoping to keep her as far away from Ortiz and James as I could.

  “Norman!” called Ortiz.

  I turned my head back to look at her but I still kept walking forwards, “what?” I asked.

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Keep the vessel and James safe, hell, see if you can get him to make a selfless wish, that’d be great.” I replied.

  “Norman,” she said again, although now her tone had changed to seriously worried.

  “Yeah?” I replied.

  Her lips pursed once again, turning her face into an anxious mask, “just…just don’t die,” she said.

  I snorted, trying to show a bit of bravado, not wanting to worry her anymore, it’s not like this was the moment to tell her that I die all the time. “Don’t worry,” I called back,
“I won’t,” I added, before muttering under my breath, “I hope.”

  Ortiz bit her lip nervously before giving me an assuring nod, I think the nod was more for herself than me but I responded with a reassuring smile of my own before she ducked back down behind the desk. I turned back to face the Ifrit who had now stopped and was regarding me carefully, her eyes drawn to the silver in my hand.

  I twirled the silver rod in my hand with a bit of a flourish, stretching out my other hand and taunting her with a beckoning gesture. It got her attention, she approached me albeit warily this time, good, she knew I could hurt her and boy did I intend to.

  “You know it cannot kill me, mortal?” she said more as a question.

  “Oh I know, I’m not planning on killing you with it, I am planning on beating the living crap out of you however,” I responded, a smile playing across my face.

  I guess she didn’t like that idea as much as I did because she surged forwards with monstrous speed, swiping at me with her claws.

  When at risk of fire or being mutilated by an ancient spirit of fire, what do you do?

  Stop, drop and roll!

  Which is exactly what I did, dropping to my knees I began rolling forwards and underneath her strike. My torso panged as I performed the maneuver, it wasn’t as bad as before though, thank you healing powers.

  I quickly bounded back up to my feet and swung the silver stoker in a wide arc, connecting lightly but still connecting with the Ifrit’s abdomen. My strike had just grazed her, a long shallow cut appeared across her midsection, she reeled back and howled in fury, smoke wafting from her injury.

  “Insect!” she roared in pure fury, her jet eyes began to glow with an inner fire, the deep black eyes contained an orange glow now. She had one of her clawed hands pressed firmly on the cut running across her stomach, her body heaving as she breathed in deeply and oh so angrily.

  “Be careful,” I said tauntingly, waving an admonishing finger at her, “you know the thing about insects right?” I asked. Giving another flourish of the fire stoker, I said with a smile, “they can really sting.”

  A deep guttural sound bubbled in her throat, a snarl later and she was lunging at me, both of her clawed hands swiping furiously.

  “Woah,” I yelped leaping back, narrowly dodging each swipe, “was it something I said?”

  Another snarl and another flurry of swipes followed.

  I must’ve really riled her up, I have that affect on some people, monsters too.

  She swiped again at my face one with one of her hands; I felt the heat emanating from her razor sharp fingertips as they harmlessly sailed by. I wasn’t paying attention to her other hand, that’s the one that got me. She swiped upwards, obsidian talons raked there way up across my torso, chest and nearly my throat. If I hadn’t already been jumping back, her claws would’ve been lodged in my intestines by now rather than leaving a series of long gashes across my body.

  I reeled back in pain, nearly dropping the silver weapon as I clutched at my chest, my hands came away with nothing however, no blood. It was a stinging and searing pain, no fresh trails of blood were leaking down my body, just long scars. The heat from her body was instantly searing the fresh wounds shut, not the most efficient way of killing someone; cauterization stops the bleeding, so I guess she couldn’t bleed me to death.

  A silver lining of sorts…it’s not much but when you’re in a business like mine, you have to look for some positives here and there. Otherwise it’s all gloom and doom.

  “Okay,” I panted, “good hit, good hit, go again?” I asked, goading her with another gesture of my hand. I was hoping the next exchange would go better than the last one, if I kept trading blow for blow with the Ifrit, I’d be dead soon.

  Her tail whipped out lightning fast and towards my face, darting in and out like a rapier, I had trouble avoiding it. I continued dancing around the tail every time it lashed out, it came in so fast that I didn’t have time to follow up with any strikes of my own, it was like trying to swat a hornet.

  Okay, I thought, enough of this dodging crap. I took a chance and dove at the Ifrit’s legs, she sidestepped away but not before I was able to forcefully jam the spike of the stoker into her knee. The hard crystalline protrusion that was atop her knee shattered as the spike pierced it and drove into her, her leg buckled and she came toppling down, howling in fury and agony. I wrenched the silver weapon out of her leg and did so aggressively, much like she had done with the piece of wood I was impaled with earlier, eliciting another shriek from her.

  “Serves you right bitch,” I muttered breathlessly as I rose to my feet, the Ifrit in a heap next to me, her hands clutching at her royally damaged knee. The wound wasn’t closing up like when I had shot her with Ortiz’s revolver earlier, no, just smoke and a black ichor like substance oozing out of it.

  That’ll keep her down for a bit, I thought as I raced back over to the desk Ortiz and James were hiding behind, one of my hands grabbed my sides in an unconscious gesture. I wasn’t hurting down there as much as I was before, I was healing quite nicely, good, the sooner I got back to hundred percent the better.

  “Ortiz,” I gasped, hunkering down besides her, “get your phone out, oh and I need your lipstick, now!”

  A bewildered look crossed her face, “you…what? Norman, now is not the time to act out some cross dressing fantasy,” she remarked. Still, she pulled out her phone and began digging through her veritable treasure trove like purse with its bazillion items inside.

  “Now’s not the time to argue with the guy with the know how and the plan on how to gank this thing,” I replied a bit edgily.

  “Oh,” she began with mock surprise, “so there is a plan?” Ortiz said dryly. “And here I thought you were making it up as you went along.”

  Well technically she was right and I was making it up as I went along, it’s not like I had a ready made plan for if an ancient Ifrit was released and started murdering people. But as a paranormal investigator it’s always good to have a plan ready, if that’s not possible, then give the impression that you have a plan.

  “Yes I have a plan,” I replied defensively.

  “What might that be?” Ortiz asked as she continued rummaging through her fustercluck of a purse.

  “You give me the lipstick and find a way to make that photo my contact sent you pop back up on your phone,” I said hurriedly, cautiously inching my head above the desk to take a quick peek at the Ifrit.

  “The seal?” she asked curiously as I was trying to catch a glimpse of the Ifrit over the desk.

  “Yes,” I replied a bit tersely, which caused her to stop her purse excavation and shoot me with an angry glare. “Sorry,” I murmured, “bit tense, running out of time, ‘bout to be immolated, you know.” I prattled as I watched the Ifrit still on the floor in agony, grasping her ruined knee. I let out a sigh of relief and turned back to Ortiz who gave a sideways shake of her head as well as let out an exasperated huff of air in regards to my comment and resumed her dig.

  Ortiz’s movement ceased and she pulled her hand back out of her purse and with an air of triumph and said, “here!” shoving a small golden cylindrical container into my hands. Quickly, she began tapping a series of icons on her phone and then held it out in front of me to see. On the screen was an image of the seal Gnosis had sent me earlier, a seal rumored to have been crafted by King Solomon himself, the man who in legend, discovered the way to trap Jinns in the first place.

  The seal wasn’t too complex in design, in the very center of it were a series of intersecting lines, two lines ran perpendicular to one another like a giant plus sign. Two more lines ran diagonally through the first two, a giant x of sorts. At both ends of every line was a unique symbol, around the entirety of that, there was a circle around which were ancient writings. Four distinct words that meant, something I guess, knowing the words wasn’t important, atleast not for this seal.

  “Hold that for me please,” I said to Ortiz as I removed the top from the golden cy
linder of lipstick she had given me, there was a silver band around the middle of the container with some design. I gave it a quick twist and a deep strawberry red tube began to protrude from the container.

  “Need me to tell you how to apply it?” Ortiz quipped with a rather neutral expression but there was enough of a twitch in her lips to let me know she was stifling a smirk.

  “Cute,” I replied dryly, “really cute.”

  “I can be,” she said in exactly the same tone I had said earlier to her when she was questioning me about the tiger fiasco.

  I ignored her and held up the Ifrit’s vessel before me, taking the tip of the lipstick, I pressed it against the vessel and watched as the tip began to deform and leave a reddish smear atop the brass.

  “The hell are you doing?!” asked a scandalized Ortiz.

  I continued scrawling a copy of the image on her phone onto the vessel, using her lipstick in lieu of a sharpie, it’s not like we had one, make the best with what ya got.

  “You couldn’t have used a pen?” she muttered bitterly.

  I kept doing my best to copy the image as perfectly as I could when I replied to Ortiz’s question, “did you have permanent marker in your purse?” I asked.

  “No but—” she began.

  “Okay then, lipstick it is,” I said, holding up her now ruined lipstick to accentuate my point before returning to finish drawing the seal.

  “YSL,” she muttered angrily under her breath.

  “Uh, W.T.F?” I said slowly, emphasizing each letter as I was beginning to draw the individual and diminutive symbols onto the seal.

  “It’s the brand,” she replied impatiently, “it’s thirty dollars,” Ortiz said edgily.

  Now it was my turn to be scandalized, “thirty bucks!” I exclaimed, holding the lipstick up before my eyes in a useless attempt to see why it was so expensive. For the life of me, or in my case, for my many lives, I still can’t figure out why makeup is that expensive. “It’s like three ounces Ortiz!”