Hound of Eden Omnibus

by James Osiris Baldwin

  Once the door was closed, I limped to the sink and fumbled for the tap, trying to push through the brainfog. When I looked at myself in the mirror on the back of the door, I saw why it was so difficult. All up, I was stuck with probably two feet of broken glass, plus or minus the smaller shards that bristled from my arms, chest and face like porcupine quills. My clothing was ripped to hell. The white shirt I’d worn under the jacket was now variegated pink and red: red where I was bleeding, pink where my sweat had tracked blood through the weave.

  Gingerly, I began to take off what clothing I could, hanging the ruined jacket and torn shirt, cutting around the slacks and freeing them from around the punctures. When I was done, I grasped the piece of glass in my hand and pulled it free with a low, breathless snarl. The pain peaked, and then ebbed as blood pulsed sluggishly from the wound. I tugged the damp glove off to find my hand crusted dried blood that was liquefying as the new stuff flowed across my palm and ran down to patter on the floor. I wouldn’t be fighting anything for some time, not with this hand. I gingerly flexed my stiff fingers, and got a small spasm of motion from them. The nerve wasn’t severed, at least.

  There was a knock on the door, and it opened to reveal Zane’s burly tattooed arm as he held the Wardbreaker out to me, grip-first, and waved it back and forth. “Hey, man. You forgot this.”

  “Come in.” I was picking glass out of my face, dropping the pieces of it into the sink. They were stained, dirty-looking things, and not just because of the blood. The glass itself was grimy, with little particles of matter trapped inside. “How is Duke?”

  “Fine. He’s a Weeder. They heal fast.”

  “They?” The question was an absent one, thought out loud as I opened the kit and got the materials I needed to patch up my hand. Painkillers, first of all, and anti-inflammatories. Saline, antibiotics, dressings.

  Zane sighed, a testy little sound. “We, whatever. How long do you think you’ll be?”

  I glanced at him, and then returned to working on my palm. “Until I’m done.”

  He looked like he was about to snap at me as he fought for his next words, but was apparently struck mute as he watched me pick a four-inch piece of glass out of my arm with forceps.

  “Jenner’s called a meeting,” he said, thickly. “She’s mad, Alexi. Really mad. I think she’s going to do something stupid.”

  “Gang politics.” What more was there to be said? It was the same in every gang, clique, mob and company. “Those with power always want more.”

  Zane frowned, and looked down. “I know. Jenner’s good people, Alexi, but this has wrecked her. Seeing Mason like that… She blames Michael and John for all of this.”

  “John’s dead,” I said. “I’m not certain why she blames him when he was murdered and her partner is still alive, however demented he may be.”

  “Yeah. Zane watched me in the mirror while I dabbed styptic on the wounds in my face. It stung terribly, but the powder stopped the bleeding.

  I supposed this was as good a time as any to bring up the fight. “So I needed to ask you som-”

  He awkwardly and accidentally spoke at the same time as I did. “I’m sorry to hear about your friend.”

  My hand froze, poised to dab the stinging powder onto the oozing cut just below my cheekbone.

  “I uh… I lost people, too. I mean, have lost them.” Zane shuffled uncomfortably, massaging the flesh between thumb and index finger with the other hand. “Maybe not in the same way. But no one can talk about their deaths, you know, and no one ever does. Not without being fuckheads about it.”

  I resumed my delicate work, eye ticcing as the styptic set the nerves in my face alight. “People here love to call for war, but they ignore the soldiers who die unless it’s politically useful.”

  “Not Vets,” he said. “Gay men.”

  I froze again, this time in confusion.

  “You just struck a chord in me back there, I guess,” Zane shrugged, nervous and jerky. It was odd to see a man of his size in that kind of posture of defense. “You said you were angry that people were lying to you all the time. I… lied over breakfast that one time, after getting off the phone with Caleb.”

  “I know,” I replied. “But I didn’t think to remark on it.”

  He laughed uncomfortably. “Well, you have to admit that mafia guys generally aren’t real tolerant of anything outside of their zone. I know a few guys that got killed coming out of clubs and bars. People beat on them.”

  I was unsure what to make of that information. I fell back on the default that I’d learned from growing up with Mariya and Vassily: Thank people for their time and at least pretend to be grateful. “Thank you. If I seem unresponsive, it’s because I am in a lot of pain.”

  “No worries. I just figured I’d show you some honesty. Might be the last time I have the chance. No matter what Jenner decides, I have to back her.”

  “You don’t have to back Jenner.” I stopped for a moment, turning my head to regard him with what I hoped was a steady eye. “It doesn’t matter if she’s an Elder or not. Power only exists when people comply without question.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” With a final uncertain smile, as brief as it was forced, Zane left me to the plink, plink of falling broken glass, and the frustrated recollection that I still had to talk to him before Saturday.

  Healing was uncomfortable work, made more uncomfortable by the sudden emotional intimacy I’d neither wanted or expected from a man who was not yet my friend. My knowledge of homosexuality was limited to assertions by adamantly heterosexual muzhiki that gay men were cross-dressing, confused people who were dangerous to children and/or ‘turned’ in prison. Given what I now knew, their hatred of gays was as shallow and suspect as everything else the Organization accepted as being ‘right’. Anyone who could fuck and torture children didn’t have any right judging someone like Zane.

  Grinding my teeth, I grasped the largest piece of glass in my leg and pulled it free, holding it up to the light to get a better look at it. I could see the same crackled texture within the material that I’d seen in the knife. Now that it was under normal lights, the pattern was far subtler… but as I studied it, looking for some reason why it was still strong enough to stab with when it looked like it should have crumbled, I noticed something.

  The crackle was formed by tubules: tunnels, like a tiny ant colony. I waited, breathing through my teeth as I fixed my gaze. There were things crawling inside the tubes, tiny translucent mites so small that they were invisible unless you got within nose distance of the surface.

  The vivid image of Mason vomiting broken glass flashed through my mind, and I stared down at the pile of discarded, bloody shards in the sink as realization dawned. Mason’s chest wound. The knife. Duke.

  “Meni tse treba yak zuby v dupi!” I threw it down with a clatter, and stumbled off at a limping run, Wardbreaker in hand.

  Chapter 32

  My punctured leg quivered and nearly gave out as I stumbled into the bedrooms, searching each one. Angkor was laid out on one of the beds, piled with blankets. Someone had cut his collar off, and it lay broken on the dresser beside him. Binah was curled up in a slumbering ball on his knees. I went to the den: the TV was on, and the smell of tea was on the air. When I staggered over to look into the kitchen, Talya turned to me and smiled for a moment before her expression turned to one of obvious concern.

  “Rex, you look terrible,” she said. “You need-”

  “Where’s Duke?” I said. I hadn’t bled to death, but I had bled enough to feel weak and parched.

  Talya’s eyes widened. “He went to go get pizza… we decided we were too tired to cook. Why? What’s wrong?”

  “The glass is a vector.” I let go of the doorway and moved back. It felt like I was laboring for every breath, but I could still speak. “It carries something, a virus or a parasite that mutates your Ka and corrupts it. Lily and Dru had it: they had it for a long time. Mason has it. Duke was stabbed with it. We can’t let him
back in the house. Does he have keys?”

  Talya was frozen with shock and indecision. “I… Uh…”

  “Does he have keys to the apartment?”

  “No. Zane took them and gave them to Stitch and Marcus,” Talya said. “They’re downstairs in the shop, to make sure that the fat guy doesn’t escape or anything like that. I… how long before..?”

  “It might only have been a few minutes or hours for Mason. Onset of the symptoms might vary from person to person,” I said. “We can’t let Duke inside. We need to call Jenner. Can you talk to the others? Stitch and Marcus?”

  The girl swallowed, chewed on her lip, then straightened. “I’ll try and explain it to them. And I’ll call Jenner. Will he be okay if we get to him quickly, I mean… and what about you?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not a Weeder. Maybe it won’t infect me at all.” Haltingly, I reached out and patted her shoulder with my better hand. It was not something I’d ever done before, not with a person as unfamiliar to me as Talya, but I couldn’t deny that something about her made me feel protective. Fraternal, maybe. “I’m going to go and talk to Vanya while there’s time. Before I go do that, I want to go check something on Angkor.”

  “No worries. If we get him now, we should be able to do something.” She smiled, wanly this time, and returned the pat on my forearm before we broke for the front door.

  The two Tigers were smoking and watching TV in the back office of the parlor. Talya split from me and went to talk while I headed for the door leading down and tried to summon energy I simply didn’t have. Usually, I could mine myself for momentum, but it was all I could do to shuffle down each step. My chest was tight, my body was wracked with sharp pain, and I was burned out. Tired… very, very tired.

  The Tigers had stripped Vanya and chained him on his feet, arms raised overhead. His wrists already swollen and bloody from the handcuffs keeping him fixed to one of the overhead beams. He was precariously balanced on a short plastic footstool, wobbling as he continually tried to find leverage against his bondage and a comfortable position for his injured leg. Neither were possible. He could barely fit one foot on the stool, let alone two. It was an agonizing way to position someone, and my regard for Zane rose a notch.

  “I hoped to never have to see you in your underwear, Uncle Vitas,” I said, using the nickname he’d earned so long ago. We were both Ukrainian by blood, and we both spoke Surzhyk, the hybrid dialect common to the part of the continent where we drew our blood and history. “It’s an unfortunate sight. You look… itchy.”

  Vanya spat at me, but even that motion threw him off balance. The mucus landed on floor to my right.

  I watched him for a few moments, tapping the Wardbreaker’s silencer against the palm of my other hand. Exhausted as I was, seeing Vanya like this – sweaty, his remaining hair plastered to his face, bloody and stripped of his dignity – was gratifying. He was used to being on the other end of the stick. “As much as I hate you, I have to admit. You’re smarter than I ever believed. What do you think of chess, Vanya?”

  “I think you’re fucking dead! Sergei’s coming after me. The Deacon’s comin’ after me. You’re dead!”

  “No,” I replied, watching him steadily. “I’m not. Not for lack of trying. Because you’re smart… but your plans were based on a flawed premise. You believe all men are like you.”

  Vanya continued to curse and writhe, but the struggle was wearing him out beyond endurance. I walked up to him, circling around behind him slowly. His skin tensed. I saw it in his tattoos, the way his scars and flab changed shape.

  “So… you have been part of the TVS for long enough to go through an initiation,” I said, from behind him. “And Lev was almost certainly involved. Did Jana bring you in, or was it the other way around?”

  “Fuck off,” Vanya replied.

  “Sergei must know, but it’s not our Pakhun’s way to serve anyone, not even the NO,” I continued, keeping my voice down. “So he sanctioned you and Lev as long as he got his due.”

  “Fuck off!” Vanya roared, rattling his cuffs. He nearly lost his balance on the footstool, unable to find purchase with his gun-shot leg. From the back, the flesh of that leg was purpling… not something that put me at ease.

  “He sanctioned you because Jana knew that the Gift Horse Mare was here.” I drew around beside him, and began to pry and poke at him with the point of the knife, digging it in without drawing blood on his waist and groin, which made his flesh flinch and further destabilized him. Pain was a terrible way to get information, and beyond sadistic vindication, I had no desire to beat him. “And that’s what Sergei wants. The Mare. As long as he gets her, he didn’t care if you wore a purple dress and let Lev fuck your ass under the full moon.”

  Already furious and getting angrier, Vanya spat like an angry camel as he twisted and thrashed. “I’ll fuck YOU in the ass, you stupid piece of shit!”

  I came around enough that he could see my face again. I never liked looking at other people’s faces for too long, but I was a master at using my own for effect. My eyes are nearly white, and one of the advantages of being short is that I can put them in shadow under my brow and wield them like flashlights, a predatory focus that never fail to make bound men jump. When I angled my head and flicked my eyes from floor to face, Vanya flinched.

  “Lev knew where to find me after that first meeting with Sergei, Vanya. He knew I’d rescue Vassily and choose him over the Organizatsiya and the Fruit. He knew I’d do anything for Vassily, whatever it took to save him, because he and Sergei had raised me to do that exact thing.” Almost idly, I pressed the muzzle of the pistol against the swell of Vanya’s tiny, flaccid cock. He flinched again, trying to put his bad foot up onto the stool, and his gathering confusion and fear were enough to steady my tongue for the next words. “You arranged to have Vassily raped and infected in prison, didn’t you?”

  He didn’t say anything until the trigger clicked into position.

  “Little fuck deserved everything he got,” Vanya hissed. It wasn’t hot in the room, but sweat trickled down his body.

  “It was easy to hook him after that,” I said. And I couldn’t keep the bitter sorrow from my voice. “But it couldn’t have been you who thought it up. You’re not creative enough. It must have been Nicolai.”

  “It was Lev, you dumbfuck. Same with Rodion. Same with everything.” Vanya said. His voice radiated a perverse smugness, his pride in justifying the intelligence of the little man in the course of the grand game. It was exactly what I’d hoped he’d do. The Reid Technique depended on pride. “The Deacon bought Jana in, she bought Lev in, and he bought me in. Neither of you little faggots ever saw it coming, haha.”

  “And Carmine nearly ruined everything, didn’t he?” The insults rolled off me like beaded water. Everything he said was a loan, a mark on the tally. I’d be able to claim soon enough. “Jana tried to get him to join, but she couldn’t control him. Not like how she controlled you.”

  “Bitch didn’t control me,” he sneered. “Women don’t have no place in the Organization, and-”

  “So it was Lev who dealt with Wolf Grove?” I cut him off, withdrawing the pistol. Now that he was talking, I didn’t want him thinking about his body. “Lily and Dru Ross? Was it spur of the moment, killing them and taking the kids? Or did he plan it out?”

  “Lev couldn’t fucking organize shit,” Vanya said, bitterly. “Soft-handed little fuckup was too busy sucking Sergei’s cock. He forgot his duty to the All-Father, and so did they.”

  “They got soft-hearted after their initiation, didn’t they?” I locked my feelings down behind the mask. “They got rid of their infection, somehow. Who tried to bring them back into the fold, Vanya?”

  “None of your fucking business.”

  “It had to be someone from your kiddy porn ring who they still had regard for. Who was it? Michael? Aaron? Ayashe? You’re not the kind of man who could pull that off yourself.”

  Vanya looked down his beaky nose at me. He
was sweating so much that it dripped from his chin, and turned my stomach more than any words he could have expressed. “You fucking implying something, faggot?”

  “That you’re too stupid to murder two shapeshifters and leave cute coded messages on the walls?” I had to restrain myself from putting the gun to his crotch and blowing it off like a crushed snail, and the effort made the parasite churn and twist deep in my guts. “Absolutely.”

  “You don’t fuckin’ know nothin’, Alexi, and you ain’t never gonna find those little fucks. Even if I told you, Sergei’s coming for you. All-Father’s coming for you, and you’re never gonna even see it.”

  Vanya’s eyes flicked up for a moment, glancing up over my head in a flash so brief I almost didn’t see it. I heard a single heartbeat thump against my eardrums as I spun and twisted back into his bulk, away from the hatchet coming down at my head.

  Chapter 33

  Vanya snapped at me like a dog as I fell to the side, orientating on my attacker. It was Duke. He was purple in the face, eyes wild, a fireman’s ax in both hands.

  “Duke!” I barked out, dodging as he brought the ax around and lunged for me a second time. Vanya began laughing hysterically, a sound cut off into a squeal of pain as I dove around him and Duke slammed him aside, knocking him off his stool in his eagerness to get to me.

  The man who’d fought alongside Jenner and Zane and taken a blade for them was no longer there. He charged me heedlessly, driving me back into the basement. I barely dodged the swipes in the darkness, trying to get the gun between us. I stumbled, and Duke swung the ax, as fast and strong as only a Weeder could be. There was just enough time to roll my head out of the way, and then kick him squarely in the balls. It sent him staggering back, but it didn’t put him to the floor. I, on the other hand, put too much weight on my injured leg and went down as my thigh shuddered and buckled.

  “My hands!” Vanya was screaming. “My fucking hands! Cut me down!”