Wolves of the Tesseract Collection

by Christopher D Schmitz

  A grating noise startled the two girls: metal chair-feet scraping on the sidewalk. The homeless man, Robert, had snuck up on them unnoticed. He quickly took a seat across the small, outdoor table.

  Both girls sat frozen. They were not terrified, but rather stunned at his incredible audacity; neither knew quite how to react.

  For several long moments he stared at Claire. “Amazing,” he finally said. “You look just like her—in so many ways you are her.”

  Claire responded, “Of course I am. Uh, Robert?” She threw out the leading question, trying to make sure they had properly identified him. She looked him up and down, finally close enough to see him clearly. He was not unattractive, despite his longish hair and several days’ worth of stubble; he clearly possessed all the qualities that had Jackie sighing wistfully to her left.

  He exhaled and furrowed his brow, searching his mind introspectively. “Robert… Robert? Yes. That’s my name. Call me Rob.”

  “We all went to school together,” Jackie interjected.

  He seemed only slightly confused. “Yes. You’re right about that, too. Here in this town.” The last statement almost came off as a question rather than a statement.

  “What do you want?” Claire asked bluntly, keenly aware that Rob was a homeless man who’d followed her for several days, now.

  Rob met her brash remark with a hard stare of his own. “I want you to stay safe.”

  “Okay,” she led. “But you’re acting kind of stalkery.”

  “What do you know about me,” Rob cut her short.

  “Well,” she looked him over. “You look like you’ve maybe fallen on some hard times, lately. Maybe you heard I was marrying some famous guy—”

  “Famous, cute guy,” Jackie added.

  “—and you maybe thought there was a way you could bail yourself out?”

  “I wasn’t asking you to speculate. What do you know about me?”

  The tension in the following moment was palpable. “Very little,” Claire admitted at last.

  He motioned for her to continue.

  “I know that you’re a little… different,” she softened the blow, choosing a word other than ‘weird.’ “I know you once rescued me from what turned out to be a poisonous snake and you got bit instead—but then you kinda disappeared a few weeks after that. Nobody knows if you moved, or joined a terrorist group, or what. You are a ghost, Robert Schaeffer,” Claire remembered his full name at the last second.

  Rob suddenly looked fidgety and distracted. “Yes,” he responded as he stood. “I am a ghost. But are all ghosts evil? You be careful, Claire Jones,” he begged her as he turned and departed.

  “Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod,” Jackie burst out once he’d left earshot.

  Claire nearly melted as well. Her adrenal glands felt like they’d just exploded. The potential danger of such an encounter left them both giddy.

  “You handled that so well!” Jackie gushed. “And oh my God. He got so hot!”

  “Who’s hot?” a familiar voice asked over their shoulders. James sat down, steaming cup of black in his hand.

  “You are,” Claire stated emphatically. She gave Jackie a warning look to try and change the subject.

  “Oh really?” James pressed. It was obvious he hadn’t been fooled.

  “Just some guy we knew in high school,” Claire offered. “Jackie’s got a crush.”

  “I do,” she confirmed. She laughed, more serious this time, “I think I really do.”

  …Days ago…

  Zabe splashed his prisoner with the cold, bitter water he’d collected from a pool in the deep, rocky cave. She groaned and thrashed.

  “I’m going to take the gag out in a minute.” He warned in a stern voice, “You’re going to tell me the truth. You will accurately answer all my questions. If you don’t, things won’t remain so pleasant for you. He let the water drip down her face; everything looked black. He dared not light a torch, but could surmise that the fetid seepage which formed the pools had probably drained from the vyrm army’s hastily dug latrines.

  He yanked the gag down her chin. She spat and gagged; her stomach retched.

  “Who are you?” she croaked into the darkness. “We have everybody of importance already taken care of! Nitthogr’s plan is fool-proof! None remain who are capable of stopping what has been thrust into motion!”

  “I’m glad you’re so chatty, Caivev.”

  “I recognize your voice. You’re Zahaben’s son.”

  A pause in the darkness.

  “I’ll take your silence as a confirmation.”

  “What is Nitthogr’s plan?” Zabe asked.

  Silence.

  “What is Nitthogr’s plan?” Zabe asked again, calmly.

  “Look at you. Keeping all that rage in check. Daddy would be proud.”

  “What is Nitthogr’s plan?” Zabe asked. He couldn’t keep all the tension out of his voice this time, his tone rumbled more insistent.

  “Your father was the same, you know. He single-handedly dismantled an entire squad inside the keep. Clever man; rigged his blaster to blow and took out many vyrm before they even knew he was there.” She paused just long enough to test if she’d hooked him with the story. “It was the same in the end… in the interrogation rooms. He stayed calm until the end.”

  The blackness flashed with light. Caivev’s head rocked back as Zabe’s blow struck her from the dark. She laughed and then spat, tasting blood.

  Something wet and hard hit Zabe’s face and stuck to his cheek; she’d spat something on him. He wiped the spittle off and turned the object over in his fingers: one of her molars. He took a little pride in that.

  “There’s that rage. Everyone knows it. Your father knew it. But he so rarely uncaged it. He couldn’t, not as the wearer of his crest. Do you wear your father’s wristband? Can you control your emotions as well as he, or will you unleash your inner beast?”

  “What is Nitthogr’s plan?” He ignored whatever distraction she had tried to feed him.

  “I’ll give it up,” she toyed. “But only because you can’t possibly stop him. And also because the warning beacon embedded in my tooth activated when you knocked it out. I’m curious to see if my rescue arrives before I can share all of the gruesome details.”

  Her voice echoed off the wall and she spoke loudly and clearly, trying to echo-locate Zabe’s position based on the subtle shifts in tone. She couldn’t discern it. He’d either fled or been more adept at stealth than she’d ever thought.

  “He’s going to use her up you know: the princess. He wants what he’s ever wanted, control of the Tesseract—domination of all the aligned realms. And he’ll force a marriage to get it! The sealed royal chamber of power and secrets will only open to one with both the will and the blood to do it. If your princess has the blood, but not will, that makes it obvious! This contingency has been running for years, you know. He’s a patient man; he will eventually have access to the Architect King’s cache—even if he must marry her and wait for his future child to grant it.”

  “But the royal blood, the arcane element that seals their power, will not pass to an heir without marriage—and she would die before marry him!”

  She grinned in the blackness. His voice came from far off. He’d bet his evasive skills against the clock.

  “What if she loves him? What if a child is born before her Prime spirit passes from one body and bonds to new one of Nitthogr’s choosing? The child could be his,” she cackled.

  Footsteps in the distance. “Do you really think you stand a chance against a plan ten years in the making?”

  “One would have to be sick to love that monster,” Zabe spat.

  The words hung in the air. It was no secret to those in the court that Caivev pined for twisted warlock; it was the catalyst to her fall.

  “The more Bithia hates him, the more her nonprime variant will love him,” she stated with a mocking, sing-song voice.

 
The Dimensional Inversion Pendant! Zabe realized its theft a decade ago must have been tied to Nitthogr’s long-term plans.

  “He will marry the earth girl, and after their child comes, Nitthogr will bring his wife here and then kill the princess. Bithia’s spirit will take hold of the earth variant and then she will be the prime and the child will be heir.”

  A light flashed! Blinding in its brilliance it washed everything in white illumination as a troop of vyrm guards swarmed the chamber of the cave. Flares burned through the veil of darkness, maintaining a constant but low level visibility. Chaos ensued; vyrm scrambled through the chamber. Some wielded guns and others held blades in preparation for whatever scenario they might encounter.

  The only thing they found was Caivev. Dirty and bleeding, she sat tied on the stony floor. They helped her up as she scanned the ill lit cavern for her captor. Crevices and fissures broke off at many random junctures.

  It was not likely they would find him, at least, not immediately, and not in these caves. Let him run, she thought. There’s little chance he can save her.

  . . .

  James leaned across the dinner table at the fancy restaurant and took Claire by the hands. She had just brought him up to speed on the details of their wedding plans. The flickering candlelight played across his face and highlighted his starkly handsome features. “It’s so nice to be back.” His mellow baritone voice rattled a sweet spot deep inside her.

  Claire smiled politely. It was sincere, but she and James had just talked about living arrangements. “Are you really back, though? I mean, where is home for us? We don’t really have a place for us. We have your bachelor pad on the west coast and we have my apartment here.”

  James smiled and slid a business card across the table. “I know you really hate Los Angeles and that the Hollywood scene isn’t really your thing. So this is what I am proposing.”

  She picked up the card. “A real estate agency?” She turned it over in her hand. James had written an address on the back. “What’s this?”

  “I have to be at a table reading tomorrow morning, but I’ve arranged for you and my sister to walk through this house.” He smiled. “I think you’ll absolutely love it. If you do, it will be our home. I’ve already had papers drawn up.”

  “Oh, James…” Claire was speechless.

  “I just want you to be happy. I’ll commute. There will be some periods of distance because of the travel, but honestly, that would be the case regardless of wherever our home is. Hollywood can only invade on your terms.” He smiled, “Plus I can certainly see the upside to this,” he joked. “The paparazzi would freeze to death up here if they tried following you.”

  Claire could only smile. Having to bring Vivian along was only a small concession in light of such a gift. It would be difficult to find a moment in her life more perfect than this.

  . . .

  Vivian knocked on the apartment door. It swung open to reveal a disheveled Jackie, holding a rumpled blanket over herself.

  “Oh. I was expecting Claire.”

  “I was expecting pizza,” she yawned. Jackie stepped aside so Vivian could enter the apartment. “She’s on some swanky date with your brother.”

  “You’re not at home?”

  “This is as much my home as my parents’ place is.”

  “Fair enough,” Vivian said flatly. “I was just going to bring Claire these,” she lifted a manila envelope.

  “Oh, what’s this?” she asked inquisitively. Jackie took the package and pulled out a small stack of drawings and articles.

  “I knew she was interested in this thing. I always did say she read too much—it couldn’t possibly be good for her.” She turned the artist’s composite sketch of a hairy, lanky beast. “This was from our most recent event. An eyewitness described this to the artist who drew this up.”

  Jackie recognized this as some kind of peace offering between Vivian and her soon to be sister-in-law. “It looks like Bigfoot with claws… except he’s maybe been working out a little. I don’t get it. Is Bigfoot hitting the roids?”

  Vivian shook her head with a grimace. She cycled through to a few new stills: grainy photographs. The creature looked almost exactly as described, although the photo was low resolution and from a distance. “There was an ATM at the bait-shop down the road. We were able to pull these couple images.” She’d finally managed to silence Jackie.

  “Wow,” was all she could manage.

  “I have no idea what this is, or how to disprove it. I’m not certain that it can be disproved,” She wondered aloud. Letting her thoughts hang in the air. “Whatever this thing is, it might be the real deal.”

  Chapter 5

  Can’t breathe! Claire struggled against the beast that gripped her throat. She lashed and clawed at the wolf as it tightened its grip further. She was impotent against its locked jaws. Just as her eyes bulged and lungs nearly burned out, she coughed and sat up straight in her bed—yanked out of the vivid dream.

  She took a deep, raspy gulp of air and blinked against the burgeoning light that crept through her window. Claire’s sweaty nightclothes were cold and slick and her panting breaths calmed momentarily; she swung her legs over the edge of the bed.

  The toilet flushed and a zombie-like Jackie surrendered the restroom. Jackie shambled towards the kitchenette and declared the obvious. “Coffee.”

  Claire leaned over the lavatory sink and looked at herself in the mirror. A long mark arced across her neck where she’d scratched herself thrashing in her sleep. She looked closer; two reddened handprints, bigger hands than her own, faded from her neck as her color returned. She blinked away the crud from her eyes and looked again, but they’d disappeared entirely and she wondered if they had been a hallucination.

  “Rough night?” Jackie asked from the doorway, sipping the first cup of the morning.

  Toothbrush in mouth, Claire nodded and rolled her eyes.

  “With all that thrashing last night, I thought that maybe James had followed you in,” she suggested.

  Claire glared at her friend’s crass comment and spat her foamy mouth of paste into the sink. “You know he’s a perfect gentleman. James is very proper and has his upright public image to protect.”

  “Oh, I know,” Jackie said. “But he’s also a boy.”

  Claire rinsed the sink quickly. “He’s more of a man, that way.” She stole Jackie’s cup mid-sip and claimed it as her own.

  “Well, I’m glad you’ve been lucky enough to find the last remaining well-mannered man on the planet.”

  “Ha ha, I know, right?” She took a deep draught of coffee. “It’s like he’s not even from Earth.”

  Jackie sighed. “If I only had your luck.” She ticked off points on her finger. “Your fiancé is famous. Gorgeous. Wealthy. Sweet. Gorgeous. Confident. Giving.”

  Claire waived her hands away.

  “I could go on.”

  “You forgot that his sister is a bit of a monster. You’ll find your prince; I’m sure of it. Rob’s probably down on the park-bench as we speak—show some initiative.”

  “I think you might be wrong on all counts.”

  Claire raised her eyebrows.

  “I’ve seen the way Rob watches you. I don’t think he’d ever look at anyone else like that. And even if he could, he’s a hobo… and also, he’s in the alley, not on the park bench. I already checked.” Jackie went to the kitchen again and clicked the brew button for a new cup. “And you never know, Vivian might turn out okay, too.”

  During their visit last night, Jackie and Vivian shared an honest discussion about Claire and relationships. For her part, Vivian seemed genuine in her efforts to be a better human being, at least to Claire and Jackie.

  They sipped their coffee in relative silence, waiting for the gray to burn off the sky with the advent of a full morning’s sun. It had no sooner crested than someone knocked at the door.

  Claire opened the door to Vivian. She held a
full drink tray. No pastries.

  “Ready for the big viewing?”

  “Just give me a few more minutes to get ready.”

  “Do you want to tag along, Jackie?” Vivian offered. She understood Claire would be more at ease with a friend tagging along and understood it might help her build that bridge she worked towards with her soon-to-be family.

  “That would be great. I’d like that. I’ll grab my stuff and get ready.”

  . . .

  “These are incredible,” Claire remarked from the passenger seat as she shuffled through the sketches and photos that Vivian had brought over on the previous evening.

  “I thought you would find them interesting, even if I don’t understand your exact fascination with the supernatural.”

  “But isn’t it your job to?” Jackie asked. “At least in a general sense?”

  “It’s actually to search for the rational answer from a viewpoint of skepticism. Someone says ‘ghost’ and the instant reaction or position my office takes is that we should find a way to discredit it as a potential threat—keep away the sort of thing that starts those UFO cults that mix poison in their Kool-Aid. We’re a small niche inside DHS dedicated to keeping paranormal fear in check. But I don’t know how they’re going to handle… that.” She motioned to the images in Claire’s hands, “At least, not without a gag order.”

  “I am always skeptical,” Claire admitted. “But I grew up with my Dad visiting dig sites all summer long, surrounded by artifacts from ancient civilizations. I’ve seen everything from cursed mummy sites to supposed ancient alien landing pads and other-worldly hieroglyphics. I don’t know,” she trailed off. “Maybe I just loved Halloween too much as a kid. But I think that it’s because I’ve seen the collective sum of cross-cultural, historical superstitions and I find it all so… interesting. Not necessarily valid—just interesting. I mean, I believe in something… I’m definitely not an atheist. I’m just not entirely certain where the line between reality and fiction intersect. I think my father’s curiosity is deeply ingrained in me.”