by Mac Flynn
"As I said before, the reasons are unimportant. The uses drained your humanity to the point of undeath, and nothing but freedom from the ring or complete death can change your fate," he insisted.
"You're just full of good news today. Next you're going to tell me that Ruthven's following our trail with his werewolves."
"Actually, I have that news," a voice spoke up. I started and jumped into Vince's arms. He caught me and turned us to a shadowy figure that emerged from the darkness. Officer Romero, zombie cop for the Parasquad. "And it's worse than that. He has-"
"Doppelgangers. We have already fought many of them," Vince finished for Romero as he set me down.
"Then you know how dangerous this is, and how dangerous you're making it for everyone else," Romero mused.
I frowned at him. "Dangerous for everybody else? We're the ones being chased by shadows and dog-breathed monsters."
He turned his narrowed eyes on me. "Ruthven doesn't care who gets in his way, and his lap-dogs don't discriminate between those they're tracking and innocent bystanders. They've been attacking anyone who comes through these tunnels, even members of my squad."
"We can't help who Ruthven chooses to attack," Vince argued. He tried to step past Romero, but the zombie held out one of his rotting arms.
"Maybe you can't help there, but you can help me with info. Why the hell is he causing this much trouble now? What'd you do to tick him off so much?" Romero questioned us.
"This isn't your fight," Vince argued.
"Like hell it isn't. Ruthven's making this everybody's fight, what with those werewolves crashing the tunnels and those black books he put on the market," he growled.
"But we stopped those," I defended us.
"We might've stopped the manufacturing, but there's still a whole bunch out there causing trouble," he pointed out.
"If you wish for the trouble to stop, then let us proceed," Vince commanded him.
Romero frowned. "Why shouldn't I just drag you to headquarters and see what I can get out of you? That'd be a lot less trouble for me then letting you two cause trouble around the sewers."
"The more time we waste here the more time Ruthven has to find what he is searching for," Vince told him.
"And what is he looking for?" Romero persisted.
I shrugged. "We honestly don't know, but we do know it's why Tim was killed."
Romero's foggy eyes flickered between us. He sighed and lowered his arm as he shook his head. "I suppose I owe you guys big time for saving my skin back there, even if I did let you borrow my dog. However, if I hear one bit of trouble and you two are involved, I'm hauling your asses down to headquarters for that info, got it?"
I saluted him. "Got it."
Romero stepped aside and jerked his head down the tunnel. "Get on then, and don't cause trouble down here. We've got our hands full of hairballs as it is."
We strode past the zombie cop and down the lit tunnels to the lights at the end. I glanced over my shoulder and saw that Romero had already disappeared. "Sounds like Ruthven's getting desperate to find what we're looking for," I whispered to Vince.
"And Bat," Vince reminded me.
"You think Bat's down here?" I asked him.
"There is that chance. Bat had a great many hiding areas he spoke of to me, but there were also many he kept to himself," Vince told me.
"So we can't just go searching for him in all the places you know?" I surmised.
"That's correct."
My shoulders slumped and I sighed. "Of course, that would make this too easy."
We reached the end of the tunnel and the mouth opened to the underground city of the supernaturals. Something was off. Rather than the usual booming business of witches, hags, zombies and mummies walking to and fro for their shopping, there was only emptiness. The streets were nearly deserted. Only a few stragglers scurried from shop to shop in search of essentials.
Vince didn't miss a stride, but walked through the emptiness. I stuck close to him and turned my head from side to side. "Things must be worse than Romero said," I whispered.
"They sense the presence of the doppelgangers," Vince explained.
My eyes widened and I stepped closer to him. "So they're here?" I asked him.
"No, but they have been, and may return."
"Small comfort."
We reached the Boo Bar and stepped inside. The tables were empty and the bar tender was gone, but our old friend and informant Mitch sat at his usual table. He looked up at us as we approached and frowned. "You guys are way to predictable. They counted on that."
A dozen howls erupted behind us, and we spun around in time to see twice that many werewolves burst through the front doors of the establishment. Their clawed feet skidded on the linoleum, but the momentum of their entrance slid them towards us. Vince grabbed the nearest tables and slid them into the path of the oncoming hairballs. The front wolves collided with the tables and rolled across the tops. Their brethren at the rear collided into them and tumbled in a doggy pile on the floor.
Vince grabbed my hand and we raced to the side door that led to Mitch's 'office.' That direction was cut off when another two dozen werewolves burst through the doors and stood in the door frame. Their teeth glistened in the dim light of the swinging lamps and their yellow eyes called for murder. We stopped and turned around. The other werewolves climbed to their feet and snarled at us as they clacked towards us. Behind the hairballs I could make out the shadowy forms of doppelgangers. They brought up the rear at both exits. We were surrounded.
"Sorry about this, guys. They made me do it," Mitch spoke up.
"That makes us feel a lot better," I snapped at him as Vince and I backed up against his table.
A sly smile slid onto Mitch's lips. "If it makes you feel any better, this was a trap for them, too."
Mitch raised his hand and snapped his fingers. A quiet rumble arose around us and the ground beneath our feet began to shake. There was a loud crack as something broke through wood. I turned my eyes to the front wall of the bar. My eyes widened as I beheld the large eye push forth from the wall and bring with it a massive body clothed in a toga. The eyeball was a cyclops and its body was a bundle of muscles that looked like it was constructed of rock. Its shoulders squeezed through the small hole that once held its eye and fissures ran along the walls on either side of it. Plaster fell from the ceiling and the werewolves yipped and scattered.
The eyeball was ready. It snatched the werewolves with its large hands and tossed them into its wide mouth. They howled and screamed on the way down, and some clung to the rotten teeth. The cyclops smashed their hands and they fell back into the abyss of its gullet. Those werewolves still on the ground entered full panic mode. We hit the back wall near Mitch's table to avoid the panic as the werewolves raced to the windows and tumbled over each other to escape through the doors. It was a massive pileup of hairball traffic, and the cyclops gobbled down dozens of them before the survivors were able to escape. The werewolves crashed into their shadowy accomplices outside the establishment and scattered the darkness to the four winds of the underground complex.
The whole episode was over in a minute. Only we remained in the ruins of the bar, and all was quiet. The lamps swung precariously from the ceiling and cast strange shadows over the cyclops and Mitch's face. Mitch waved his hand at the lights, and the cyclops arrested their swinging with his hands. "That's better. Those damn lights were making me sick," he commented.
"H-how? What? When?" I choked out.
Mitch stood and chuckled. "You really thought an eyeball inherited this place?" he asked me.
I pointed a shaking finger at him. "You're. . .you're the owner of the Boo Bar?"
He spread his arms and grinned. "Guilty as charged."
I shook myself from my shock, and gestured to the cyclops. "Well, in a crazy world like this having an eyeball own a place didn't sound that impossible," I argued.
Mitch nodded at the cyclops who blinked back at us. "He's my employee, o
r, to be more specific, the business' security."
"Then how come he missed those demons the last time we were here?" I pointed out.
He shrugged. "Nobody's perfect. Besides, he's used only to clean up the big messes, and those werewolves were a big mess."
"What did they promise you in return for your help?" Vince questioned him.
"My life, and a chance at a little spot of my own after Ruthven's takeover of the city," Mitch told him.
"Ruthven's takeover? Is that all this is about? Him trying to take over the city?" I spoke up.
Mitch frowned at me. "First the city, then the world. The werewolves hinted that he had big plans, but they needed you guys to achieve them."
"Did they mention anything about an alchemist?" Vince asked him.
Mitch shook his head. "No, nothing that particular, only that they wanted you two alive." He leaned towards us and scrutinized our faces. "So what is this about, anyway? The whole story, I mean. Ruthven's not just looking for you two so he can have a nice, friendly chat."
"That is our concern. What we need from you is a reading of this." Vince pulled out the weathered slip of paper.
Mitch took it in hand and raised an eyebrow. "This is some seriously old paper, and infused with magic, to boot. Where'd you get it?"
"What can you tell us about the writing?" Vince persisted.
Mitch turned the paper around in a circle and shrugged. "Nothing except that it looks like it's in some sort of alchemist code. I'm no good with that lingo, but I know a guy who might help you." His eyes flickered to us and a smile slid onto his lips. "That is, for a price."
"How much?" Vince wondered.
Mitch shook his head and tapped his temple. "Not that kind of price. I want info, good info. Like what's Ruthven after?"
"Do you wish to have more dealings with werewolves and doppelgangers?" Vince asked him.
Mitch snorted and gestured to the establishment. "You kidding me? This mess is going to cost me a fortune."
Vince stepped up to him and his sunglasses slipped down his nose. His eyes looked into Mitch's own and Mitch stiffened. "Then you will tell us who is able to read the note on this paper."
Mitch's voice held a mechanical tone and his words were flat. "His name is Malichai. He resides on 32 Sunnyside Drive."
Vince pushed his glasses over his eyes and broke contact. Mitch clutched his head and swayed side-to-side. He ground his teeth together and one eye opened to glare at Vince. "You asshole! You hypnotized me!"
Vince pulled a wad of dough from his jacket and tossed it on the table beside Mitch. "I saved your life this day. What you ask is for more trouble than even your cyclops can handle."
"You could have just asked nicer!" Mitch argued.
Vince turned and strode through the mess of the bar and out the front door. I shrugged and sheepishly smiled at Mitch. "Sorry about that. We'll tell you later," I promised as I turned to follow Vince.
At least, I hoped there would be a later.
Chapter 4
I caught up to Vince outside the wrecked establishment. The exterior was unharmed by the fight, and only the claw marks on the ground from the werewolves told the tale of trouble. The underground city was now completely deserted and our footsteps echoed eerily across the whole of the place.
"Sunnyside Drive. That actually sounds like a nice place," I mused to my partner.
"We shall see," Vince mused as he led us to the tunnel.
Unfortunately, we had a bit of a problem. At the mouth of the tunnel stood Romero and half a dozen Parasquad officers. Romero folded his arms and glared at us. "What the hell did you guys do now?"
"We didn't do anything. It was the werewolves and the cyclops," I protested.
Romero raised an eyebrow. "I warned you two not to cause trouble, and with a story like that it sounds like you made a lot of it, and in record time. Now why don't you just follow me to headquarters and I'll get my men on seeing what trouble you caused in the Boo Bar."
"We're in a hurry and don't have time for that," Vince argued. He tried to push his way past, but Romero put a hand on Vince's chest and held him back.
"Not this time, Vincent. This time you do what I say and tell me what the hell is going on," Romero insisted.
Vince's hand whipped up and grabbed Romero's arm. The vampire tore the arm from its socket and socked Romero in the face with his own hand. Romero stumbled back from the double blow. Two men caught him and the other four dove at us. Vince ducked the first swings and stood to catch the lead zombie by the chest. He lifted the officer and threw him into the others. Vince grabbed my hand and yanked me back to the Boo Bar.
I glanced over my shoulder in time to watch Romero put his remaining fingers to his lips and blow. A shrill, clear whistle rang through the complex, and a dozen more Parasquad officers spilled from the headquarters down the street on the lower level. Romero pointed at us. "Get them!" he shouted.
The zombies were faster than they looked as they sped towards us. Others climbed the front wall of their station like spiders to reach the upper level where stood the entrance to the Boo Bar. Vince pulled me up the stairs at a speed that nearly swept my feet from the ground. We reached the Boo Bar with zombies at our heels and beside us, and we burst through the doors with the crowd behind us. The cyclops had returned to its wall watching, and Mitch sat at his usual table counting the roll of bills given to him by Vince.
At our entrance he jumped to his feet and pocketed the money. "Haven't you given me enough trouble?" he complained as we sped through the broken tables.
"Just passing through," I quipped as we passed by him and through the rear exit.
Once in the hall Vince tossed me ahead of him and rammed his shoulder against the door. The metal door bent inward and jammed into the door frame. The zombies hit the door a millisecond after Vince and the door gave a quarter of an inch. They slammed again, and it gave a little more.
"We haven't much time," Vince warned me as he grabbed my hand and dragged me down the dank sewer tunnel.
"Should we really be doing this? I mean, what's the harm in telling Romero everything we know? What's he going to do, help us?" I pointed out.
"Ruthven has spies everywhere, even among the Parasquad. Whatever we would learn, he would learn," Vince argued.
I heard a heavy clamor of metal against metal, and glanced over my shoulder. The door lay against the opposite wall with the frame and zombies poured from the exit. They rushed down both ends of the tunnel and a shout from the group going our way alerted the others which direction we headed. My heart skipped a beat when Vince slowed and the distance between us and our pursuers decreased by half.
I turned my gaze to him. "What are-" I didn't get to finish before he swept me into his arms.
"Hold on to me," he ordered me.
"What are-" Again I wasn't able to finish my sentence when he leaned forward. I saw his ring shine, and our speed increased ten fold.
The walls passed like smears of paint on a modernist piece of art. The wind whipped my hair into my face like small strands of thick chains and pelted my skin like stinging bees. I turned away from the front and chanced a glance over Vince's shoulder. The zombies fell far behind and in a few seconds they completely disappeared. Vince turned corners so sharply that I was nearly given whiplash. I buried my face into his jacket and prayed the trip would soon end.
In a few minutes Vince slowed and stopped beneath the light of a manhole cover. A metal ladder with wet rungs led up the wall and to the cover. Vince set me down and my legs wobbled at the lack of speed. The light from his ring dimmed to nothing.
I leaned against the wall near the ladder and steadied myself. "Not to complain or anything, but that was really fast," I commented.
"A necessity, considering the situation," he countered as he grasped the lower rungs of the ladder. "Now we climb."
I grabbed his arm and nodded in the direction we'd come. "Wait a sec. If you were always able to do that speed then why didn't you
before?" I questioned him.
"The need is greater now than before, and the effort drains my energy and forces me to find sustenance," he explained.
I cringed. "So you're telling me it makes you really hungry?"
"Yes, but we haven't time for talking." He climbed the ladder and I followed him.
Vince opened the cover and slipped out. I peeked my head over the rim and saw we were in a nice, clean part of the city. Suburbia was upon us, and I breathed deeply of its ordinariness. There were repaired sidewalks on either side of the road, and the white houses sat in neat little rows. The lit streetlights illuminated the road, sidewalks and front walks, and the late hour meant the streets were deserted. Cars were parked along the curbs, prepared and waiting for the drive to work the next morning.
"I never thought I'd see something this ordinary again. . ." I muttered as I pulled myself out of the hole.
Vince slipped the cover back on and looked over the area. "Sunnyside Drive should be near here," he informed me.
I raised an eyebrow and let my eyes sweep over the normalness. "Could an alchemist really be hiding in a place like this? I mean, everybody else in the supernatural world seems to prefer the dark, icky places of the city."
"Then the normal, living parts would be an excellent place to hide," Vince pointed out.
He strode down the sidewalk and I followed his long strides. "So if alchemists are one step away from being hermits, how are we going to convince this one to help us?" I asked him.
"We shall see what the alchemist demands when we meet," Vince advised.
"So winging it again? Seems to work out for us most of the time," I mused.
We walked a couple of blocks until Vince stopped at a pair of street signs signaling the names. I looked up and saw we were at the intersection of Sunnyside Drive and Happy Trails Street. "Okay, that's a little too normal," I commented.
Vince didn't reply, but his eyes swept over the area. The houses were still around us, but across the intersection sat a large, low building in the shape of a capital L. There was a small park in the front, and in the crux of the L was a pair of doors that led into a lobby. I noticed a sign at the front of the park and against the sidewalk. "Sunnyside Drive Retirement Community." I blinked and turned to Vince. "We're looking for an old guy?"