New Dominion

by C. G Harris

  “Once more and I will have Mastema stitch your lips closed with dental floss from the UK.”

  I wanted to point out the fact that no one in the UK used dental floss but decided to make a locking motion next to my mouth and throw away the key instead.

  “As it so happens, the Council of Seven takes its namesake from the very same.”

  That almost drew a fist-pump, but I didn’t want to know what Mastema would stitch my fist to, so I kept my hands down too.

  “Each council member represents one of the original sins and are the most ancient of demons. They are upholden to no one but the father of lies himself. Sometimes even that seems questionable.”

  Judas took a breath, as if to rest some inner frustration, and sat back in his chair. “Suffice to say, the council orchestrates and carries out its own missions. I am seldom aware of them before the council carries them out, but in this case, special circumstances have left a small but crucial bit of information in my hip pocket.”

  Judas crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow at me as if this, of all times, was the moment I should chime in.

  I raised an eyebrow back in question. He called me with a double eyebrow raise and upward tilt of his chin.

  “All right, you win. What is the information?” I slumped in defeat. “What did you find out?”

  Judas’s eyebrows went back down ... a little too far to be neutral.

  “Weren’t you listening? I told you, the council is preparing a Catastropher.”

  I sat waiting for him to say more but nothing else followed.

  “Wait, that’s it? That’s all you know? You’ve given me no information at all. It’s like saying, ‘A trailer park in Nebraska will be hit by a tornado.’ That’s what tornados do. We don’t know when or how; they just do it.”

  “Well, it is now your job to learn the name of this particular tornado and predict when and how it will hit, so you can stop it.”

  Judas peered at me with a tight-lipped grin beneath his beard that betrayed not a single ounce of mirth.

  The information mallet from earlier must have cracked my skull because now my mouth wanted to roll like a runaway train.

  “This mission is impossible. I have nothing to go on. Sabnack isn’t helping. He has us assigned as a glorified package delivery service. I suppose I could deliver the Catastropher’s mail ... assuming we had his address, of course, which we don’t. What about a postcard? Hell’s great! Wish you were here! How am I supposed to find one guy out of literally billions with no leads?”

  Judas pounded a fist onto his desk and stood up, forcing me back into my chair so fast I almost toppled over. One of these days my mouth would have to stand up for itself because the rest of my body was ready to check out.

  “You have a duty like no other. Do you think the world cares about the logistical problem with your current assignment? Do you think they will understand that your personal schedule is too complicated to keep them from dying by the millions? I suggest you find a way to get reassigned. Work around your problems and serve the calling of the denarii, no matter what you’re asked to do, for that is the true place of the Denarii Division. We do what has to be done for the greater good, no matter the sacrifice, no matter the cost. We do it because we must and to make sure those in The Council of Seven and the one overseeing them don’t win.”

  The lecture storm ended with an eerie quiet that lasted an eternity, then Mastema broke through the silence with one of her homicidal giggles that made me want to rip the armrests off the bone chair.

  “First, please accept an apology on behalf of my mouth. I believe you’ve scared the pants off of it, and my mouth will not be returning to its earlier state for quite some time. Second, Denarii Division is a truly kick ass name. Kudos to whoever thought of that. And third,” I paused a bit longer this time, fearing a reprisal. “I do not mean to be indignant, but my mouth only meant to mention the fact that my tender, little brain has nowhere to start. I will, of course, do my best, but if you come across any other information, I would appreciate it if you would pass it on. Until then, with your permission?”

  I motioned toward the door, trying to keep my feet from running the second he nodded his head. When he did, I got up without a word and turned to leave. I was almost home free when his voice reached out to grab me like an icy hand.

  “One other thing that may be of use. The Council of Seven has a different ... shall we say, mode of operation. Be on the lookout for anything unusual. It may give you a lead as to the identity of the Catastropher. I do know he is someone in the United States. That is why I chose you for this assignment. You have the most experience with US customs, even if they are a bit outdated.”

  I nodded and reeled at the fact that Judas had all but told me the United States was my region of responsibility. Like all of it. All 50 states and three hundred some odd million people. No pressure. Find one guy in three hundred million. Shouldn’t be that hard at all. At least it was better than a billion.

  “Thanks for narrowing it down.”

  Judas narrowed his eyes. “It appears your mouth didn’t scare as easily as you thought. I will have to try harder next time.”

  That drew another giggle from Mastema and an exhausted head shake from Procel. I hated to disappoint the big guy, but I had to be me. Judas would come around sooner or later. That or my lips would wind up as an art exhibit in his little hall of horrors. Either way, I had my work cut out for me. I turned without allowing my mouth a breath to say anything else and walked out the door.

  Chapter Six

  My favorite part of each day had to be my ride home on my roached out, modified Vespa 98, artfully dubbed the Rusty Rocket. The name fit, not just because the little Hell-powered scooter was faster than anything on two wheels had a right to be, but it also trailed a rooster tail of noise and black smoke that would make the space shuttle jealous. I didn’t know how the little Vespa motor did it, but whatever hellion mojo fed the thing made my Rusty Rocket the envy, and the bane, of every Woebegone I passed.

  Lost souls watched me roll by and shot me glares and waves. They all wanted to take me down, either to steal my ride or to burn it to a fiery cinder, but word was out. I was a Judas agent now and that carried a certain amount of fear and respect, even among the dredges of The Nine. They knew messing with me meant messing with the agency, and that was something no one wanted to do.

  Of course, you’re only in trouble if you get caught. Rolling through the countless shanties, mountains of scrap iron, and nonsensical mazes of catwalks and stairs left plenty of places for a crafty Woebegone to set up a deadfall or some other trap. They could watch from a shadowed corner or sheet metal window to catch a glimpse of my blockbuster crash then swoop in with everyone else to pick up the pieces. Survival of the craftiest. And The Nine was never short of crafty lowlifes.

  I rolled up to my black-market shop in the center of Scrapyard City. A fitting name for the mishmash slum of iron scraps and tin that made up pretty much every structure in the area. My shop sat in the middle of it all, buried in a crisscross of iron beams and heavy metal, making the place one of the few reinforced structures in Scrapyard City. Strong enough to withstand the occasional firestorm or marauding murder posse that rolled through.

  Zoe stood at the shop window waving as I pulled up. The Rocket’s engine coughed, backfired like a bazooka fueled with black powder, and then rattled to a stop. I started to raise a hand to wave back but wound up covering my face instead when all the smoke and exhaust wafted over me, eliciting a coughing fit of my own. I waited for the looming cloud of doom to pass over me, then I threw down my kickstand and headed for the shop, watching nearby Woebegone scatter as the smog monster threatened to choke them too. No wonder everyone hated this thing.

  Zoe had her arms crossed, leaning over the counter while she watched me stagger up to the window. She wore her usual red plaid shirt and jeans. An innocent Elly May persona that served her well in black-market bargaining and in no way reflected her
true personality—not anymore. “You really need to think about doing some kind of emissions work on that thing.”

  “What, and lose all that quirky charm?”

  “More like vaporous harm.”

  I laughed. “Whoa, Crissy Creative. I will have you know the Rusty Rocket happens to be a gift from a dear friend. I wouldn’t think of changing a thing.”

  “Well, your dear friend does not want to see you lynched on your way home.”

  “All right, all right. As soon as the local Jiffy Lube opens up, I will have them take a look at the little exhaust issue. Happy?”

  Zoe smiled. “Yes, thank you.”

  “So, how’s business? Any clients stop by today?”

  My, or rather, our black-market shop didn’t work like most establishments in The Nine. Zoe came into her share of the place a while back. She had offered to take over the business side while I did my thing as a Judas Agent. Translated, that meant she had blackmailed me into giving her half the shop in exchange for not opening her own place in direct competition while I was gone. Zoe was particularly good at bargaining in the commodity in which I liked to trade. Secrets. We learned secrets from wide-eyed, open-eared Woebegone and traded them to low level hellions who had the resources to acquire rare antiquities Topside.

  The most valuable of such antiquities were Twinkies, cigarettes, candy, soda, and the occasional bottle of hooch. Booze didn’t have the kick it did Topside and neither did cigarettes because, well, Hell. But people liked the idea of them anyway.

  “One of your pals dropped by and brought a box of Ho Hos.” Meg climbed out of the back room, a school bus buried in the wreckage behind the shop and our secret hidey-hole for all our goods. “Said he owed it to you for some information about a succubus with a gluten allergy?”

  I laughed. “Yeah. I traded come cupcakes to her a while back, and she turned me in for trying to poison her. How am I responsible for a succubus who can’t control her urges for gluten? I didn’t even know she was allergic. I couldn’t wait to offload that little gem to the right customer. I hope he hits that succubus with a gluten cake the size of Detroit.”

  Zoe and Meg blinked at me, and Jazzy came out to stare as well. All three of them looked like they had just learned clowns were nothing but regular people in makeup. Well, most of them anyway. I swear some of those creeps lure people into dark alleys so they can eat them.

  “What? Hellions can have allergies. They just prefer that the information not be common knowledge, for obvious reasons.”

  Zoe shook her head. “Hellion digestive sensitivity is fascinating and all, but we wanted to talk to you about something else.”

  Meg and Jazzy fell in behind Zoe. Meg was a five-foot two leather clad bombshell with hair the shade of a fire engine and Jazzy a towering six-foot billboard for fitness and muscle. She didn’t bother with heavy clothes like Meg. She seemed content to wear fatigue style shorts and a tank top. They did have one thing in common. They both liked combat boots.

  Zoe had saved Meg and Jazzy from a nasty disposable dealer at the Skin Quarries who had used Woebegone as reusable trash. He forced them to do any number of horrible deeds, only to be killed and recycled back through the Gnashing Field sulfur pools and do it all over again. Zoe had been a disposable herself for a time, and I had saved her. Unfortunately, years of being recycled resulted in a flood of horrible memories that hit her like a freight train when she recovered. Zoe’s personality changed from sweet and innocent to jaded and furious in an instant. Alex had been the only one able to help her. Alex and some unknown shaman who had specialized in pulling disposables out of their dark past. The whole experience gave Zoe a different outlook on life ... or afterlife, in The Nine, and she wanted to share it with as many disposables as possible.

  The three of them stood there staring at me with tight grins and bubbling energy. They looked like they were about to launch a birthday surprise, but this was no party. I recognized this look, and cake and ice cream were the last thing on their minds.

  “Whatever you’re scheming, it needs to stop. How many times are we going to go over this?”

  “As many times as it takes for you to agree.” Zoe’s face turned from gleeful to a mask of stone.

  “The Woebegone in the Skin Quarries have no choice, no hope. If someone doesn’t step in, they will be stuck in their cycle of torture and death forever.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose with one hand and leaned on the counter with the other. “I know. It’s awful, but we need an army to fight them, not four lowly Woebegone in a black-market shop. Plus, The Wax Worx has taken control of the operation. That means they are even more powerful than before.”

  The Wax Worx was an underworld cross between a circus, a night club, and a medieval, torture dungeon. They perpetrated the most horrific of atrocities for the pleasure of The Nine’s elite. It was one of the worst places Hell had to offer, and therefore one of the most supported establishments in all The Nine.

  “All the more reason to hit them hard right now. The longer we wait, the more powerful they become. And you can’t tell me they have more clout than the Judas Agency.”

  I pounded my fist down on the counter. “I don’t know how many ways I can explain this. The Judas Agency, as a whole, has no interest in stopping the Wax Worx or the Skin Quarries. If anything, they endorse their activities. If I demanded their help in shutting down those operations, my motivations for working at The Judas Agency would be questioned, to say the least.”

  “So why do you work for them?” Zoe did not relent. She pounded her fist on the counter across from me and leaned forward to glare into my eyes. “Why would anyone work for an agency that wants to see Woebegone become disposables? Did you like the shows at the Wax Worx? Maybe you can help them expand their business? Come up with some new attractions. I hear public dismemberment is all the rage.”

  I bared my teeth at the mere thought of what I had seen the night Alex and I crashed their party looking for Zoe. “I went in there to save you. I wanted to tear that place apart with my bare hands, but I didn’t because if they went down, you went down with them.”

  “So why am I any different than those others? What makes Jazzy and Meg so special? Everyone should have the same chance we did, and you know it.”

  “Of course, they deserve a chance, but saving one or two Woebegone is not the same as declaring all-out war on the entire operation. They could wipe us out in a second. The only thing stopping them is my position as a Judas Agent, but that clout will only hold so far.”

  We stood there staring at one another for a moment, then Zoe hissed and backed away.

  “Fine, I’m done talking.” She stormed out the shop door, followed close on her heels by Jazzy and Meg. “If you won’t help me find a way to burn that place to the ground, I’ll do it on my own.”

  She continued to stomp away, and I folded my arms, determined not to go after her. I hated it when people stomped off in a huff. The stunt was nothing more than a powerplay to force your hand. Besides, Zoe was as street-smart as it got. Even in The Nine, she and her two cohorts could take care of themselves. I would be more worried about me wandering around on my own.

  I stared at them as they got farther and farther away, merging with other Woebegone wandering the streets and walkways. I would not worry about them. Zoe would calm down, and they would all come back when they regained some sort of rational thought.

  They kept walking. Damn it. I rushed inside to lock up the shop so I could sprint out after them. I was about to slam the second shuttered window when Jonny, one of our regular info traders, appeared at the opening.

  “Hey, Gabe. Have you got a second?”

  I glanced out the door and saw the trio turn a corner and disappear from sight. If I hurried, I might still be able to catch them.

  “Not really.” I pulled the support bar out of the window and held it to prevent the heavy, metal shutter from slamming down on Jonny’s head.

  “I think you might want to hear a
bout this. I mean, it’s something personal, you know? Something from when those guys ransacked your place a while back.”

  That got my attention. When I had saved Zoe from being a disposable, her handler had not taken kindly to the sentiment. He and a goon platoon showed up and took everything we owned, including a few very personal items of my own.

  I shot one more glance up the path. Zoe and the girls were gone. I replaced the bar in the window, propping the heavy, metal shutter up again.

  “Okay Jonny, what do you have for me?”

  Chapter Seven

  “If you need to be somewhere, I don’t want to keep you.” Jonny took a step back as if he were going to leave. “I can come back.”

  “If I needed to go, I would already be gone.” The profession was a half-truth, but now I wanted to hear what Jonny had to say. “Relax. What do you have for me?”

  Jonny shrugged a shoulder and stepped forward again to lean in the window. He gathered the collar of his torn-up orange coat with mismatched gloved hands, reminding me of the number one torture in The Nine. Frigid, mind-numbing cold. I hadn’t felt it since joining the Judas Agency. Having a warm body was a perk of the job, but every other Woebegone bore cold all the way to their bones. A pang of guilt hit me as I remembered Zoe, Meg, and Jazzy didn’t enjoy such a perk either. Bundling up never helped, but they hid their shivering discomfort whenever I was around. One more boot to my self-centered ribs.

  “To be honest, I don’t know too much right now,” Jonny continued. “I didn’t want to risk my neck finding out the details if the information isn’t important to you.”

  “That’s fine.” I huffed. His cryptic report was beginning to frustrate me. “I’ll take care of you, just tell me what you have.”

  Jonny looked around and leaned in a little more. “Did you own a locket of some kind when they tossed your shop?”

  I reached out and snatched his arm before I could stop myself. A stranger had traded me that locket out of desperation. A Woebegone woman. She said the item possessed power. The sort that could not fall into the wrong hands. That’s when it dawned on me. The reason The Council of the Seven sounded so familiar. It wasn’t the seven deadly sins. The woman had said The Council was after her. Said they knew about the locket. I had no idea what she meant at the time, but I took the locket from her and hid it away ... That was until a bunch of goons ransacked my place and stole it.