Hub City Blues

Broken Glass debuts in October!

Posted by Ebonstorm on October 1, 2013

Posted in: A Man Who Wasn't There, Clifford Engram, Novella. Tagged: Clifford Engram, ebonstorm, Paranormal Investigative Unit, Thaddeus Howze, The Agency. 1 Comment

Broken Glass debuts Clifford Engram, a harried agent of the Paranormal Investigative Unit, commonly called The Agency. More secretive than the FBI, more informed than the CIA, more dangerous than the KGB or the Mossad, the Agency is the front line to a secret most governments can still scarcely believe. Earth had been resisting invasion for almost two thousand years. Many of our wars, both covert and overt were often covers for repelling invasions from alternate realities.

Every tale of magic, every story of super-science, every horrifying monster, every legendary hero, were all interactions with quantum-dimensional mirror realms called Shards. These parallel worlds are often filled with diverse life-forms, alien technologies, and in many of them, that technology is indistinguishable from magic. Some of these aliens have taken up residence on Prime Earth and are too entrenched to remove. Compacts have been made with these species to keep them under control.

With offices all over the world, The Agency hides the fact that our Earth is only one of many parallel realities and ‘When the Stars are Right,’ it is possible to move between those realities. But its mandate goes one step further than hiding this knowledge. Its operatives remove anyone whose knowledge of those realms could potentially threaten life on Earth.

But not everyone is in agreement about the dimensional realms called Shards. Some see them as the dawn of a New Age. Others see them as a chance to learn from denizens of other Earths who may have newer ideas or better technologies.

But the Agency has been policing this for over two thousand years and their history says no matter what may happen on another Earth, most of the time, when it migrates to our Earth, people die. Sometimes by the millions.

The Agency is conservative, its agents well-trained and knowledgeable, as much scholars as they are assassins, some utilizing the very proscribed technologies or magics they fight against.

Clifford Engram is a man of singular qualities. Born the son of two of the Agency’s greatest operatives in the fifties he later became one of the Agency’s cautionary tales finding himself one of the Accursed early in his career. Bound to two unknown Powers, he is now a living weapon, unable to stay for long in one place, constantly being tested, and fighting against the most dangerous enemies of Prime Earth.

Engram lives fast, drives fast, eats well, has excellent manners and is always impeccably well dressed. He knows one day, he will lose the battle to contain the monsters bound within his skin so he lives life to the fullest. Should his will falter he (and possibly everyone around him) will die in a blaze of cleansing fire from his own internal spiritual guardian, a bound Phoenix!

Being one of the Accursed, the most powerful of the Agency’s operatives, keeps his friend count low, but the ones he has are fantastically loyal, incredibly diverse and often just a little bit crazed. Each is willing to do their part to keep Humanity ticking along blissfully unaware of the monsters hiding among them.

In the mean time, Engram, cursed agent of the Paranormal Investigations Unit spends his days destroying zombies or managing the sentient undead, deporting extra-dimensional aliens, or putting near-dead gods out of their misery. He hates his job, but nobody does it better…

His latest case deals with a serial killer able to enter and leave homes without opening a door or window and without leaving any traces of how their murders were performed. Forced to resort to a cold case from Louisiana, Engram finds himself in a dilapidated mall looking at a unique prison for an even more unusual inmate.

Motus Vita (5)

Posted by Ebonstorm on September 29, 2013

Posted in: Clifford Engram, Fantasy, horror, Motus Vita, Serial. Tagged: Albrecht Fleisher, church, Father Nosceti, fog, light cage, magic, New York City, Night Train, sigils, The Voice. 1 Comment

a tale of clifford engram

“In racing, they say that your car goes where your eyes go. The driver who cannot tear his eyes away from the wall as he spins out of control will meet that wall; the driver who looks down the track as he feels his tires break free will regain control of his vehicle.”
― Garth Stein, The Art of Racing in the Rain

Looking out the window of Father Nosceti’s raggedy little church I could see the fog that heralded the arrival of the Night Train enshroud New York City. I was running out of time. Time is relative, or so the quote by Einstein went.

When you are with someone you love, time is fleeting, when you’re burning your hand on the stove, time goes on forever. I’ve also realized that when you are in the wrong, a second can seem like forever while you figure out how to make it right.

If your memory’s good, you remember Manny, my esteemed associate, who emptied his handgun into the surprising voice of a longtime enemy and the last person we expected to find in the office of a witness protection candidate, Father Nosceti. The voice belonged to a vampire, Albrecht Fleischer, whom I had hoped to never lay eyes upon again.

Manny’s response to Albrecht was completely understandable. Secretly, though I will never admit it, I would have loved to put seven or eight bullets into Albrecht myself but this was not the time, nor the place.

Granted, Albrecht did kill his extended family. And his reason was one of expedience, not because he was starving, or because there might be a reason which might make killing a man’s family understandable or acceptable in the right circumstances, a war, or because they were carriers of a deadly plague. He killed them because they were in his way. This was a scene about to get out of hand.

And I had about one second to put it down, before it spun completely out of control.

As the bullets dropped from Albrecht’s outstretched hand, I remembered they were our bullets. Marked, sealed and sigiled for flavor.

Manny and I have worked together for nearly fifteen years and one of the reasons I don’t carry a gun is because he does. No need to replicate what is already being done better by someone else was my thinking. I used my unique skill of channeling to take advantage of our teamwork.

Using my cane, I tapped it on the ground and I activated the runes on the bullets and each came to life a spear of light pinning the vampire to the floor as spikes of light cut through him.

In their current state, they wouldn’t hurt him because I didn’t want them to. This version of the spell is meant to only immobilize him. Giving me perhaps ten seconds to make this right.

Before I can say a thing, Father Nosceti finding the situation intolerable, boomed out a surprisingly powerful “Stop!”

Everyone was momentarily frozen in varying states of weapon readiness. The four bodyguards were in action, doors bursting open and very large caliber firearms swinging into place after the first rounds were fired.

The two in the room had already taken positions in front of Nosceti, ready to protect him from vampire, mage and mercenary alike.

Manny had already dropped his first clip and reloaded, determined to meet Albrecht’s charge with a gun in his hand. Knowing him like I do, this second clip was filled with something of a more vampire-killing nature.

By activating the light cage, I hoped to avoid any further escalation. It only would hold Albrecht for a minute.

“You are all my guests. Put your weapons away. Now.” Nosceti’s display of power, faded as he fell back to his chair coughing violently. His gift was his voice, a tool of seduction, coercion, and if necessary, mind control.

After his relocation into witness protection, all of the Agency’s operatives were rendered immune to its power. It had also been limited keeping him from utilizing it with the strength he had in his youth. In these close quarters, it was still quite effective.

“Remove your spell, or I will break your long bones, slowly sucking the marrow while you watch.” The vampire was already testing the limits of the light cage, but since part of it was formed from the bullets embedded in his flesh, he was pinned from within and without.

We used this spell when we have to return targets alive to headquarters, or when we need to make a barrier to aid in a hasty retreat. He wasn’t going to break it for another minute, no matter what he tried.

I pushed Manny’s gun down slowly and he seemed to return to something resembling sanity. His pathological hatred of vampires had saved our lives more times than I can count so I was willing to forgive this breach of protocol.

“Lord Fleischer, we beg your forgiveness. We were not aware you were a guest of Father Nosceti. I will release you at once.” Tapping my cane on the floor again, the light cage fell away and the vampire fell unceremoniously to the ground.

He stood up, brushed himself off as if nothing had happened. He reached up to his chest, plucking the remaining two bullets from his undead flesh and handed them to me as if he had just plucked a couple of flowers. “I demand blood tribute for this affront. His attack cannot go unpunished. Shall he be paying for it, Engram, or will you?”

“Is that necessary, in this time of crisis, Albrecht?” Nosceti had regained his composure, apparently surprised that the vampire would invoke the blood tribute for having been wronged. This was an Old World tradition, rarely used, and generally a thing done only between vampire leaders and their thralls.

As the room absorbed the request, everyone returned to their positions and Albrecht loomed over me, his Scandinavian heritage displayed in his height and build. His blond hair waved over his face, contorted with barely contained rage.

He was within his right and I had to balance our current needs over his pride. I could challenge it and delay it, but he would want need to escalate it making it a physical challenge which could end in death.

Now that I think about it. That may have been exactly what he wanted.

I didn’t have time for his petty revenge politics. “I will bleed for his sin.”

Manny immediately pushed his way between us. Being larger and more imposing Manny looked Albrecht in his eyes while he spoke, “No, boss. I can’t have you doing that. We might need you whole later.”

I am not going to pretend I am happy with what happened next. It was just another sign of a day going straight to Hell.

Albrecht finished pushing me to the side and before I could even protest had snapped his mouth on Manny’s neck and the sick popping sound accompanied his piercing of his flesh. His fangs slashed into his carotid artery and Manny’s body tensed up like he was being electrocuted. Part of the horror of the bite of the vampire is the conflicted emotions while you are in the throes of the event. The bite is an orgasmic event masking the horror of what is happening. But to make it worse, the victim knows they are dying, even while they are unable to resist, only adding to the energies absorbed by the vampire.

Vampires feed on the blood and the terror of the victim combining them in the form of a powerful magic infused into the flesh of the vampire. The older the vampire, the greater the spiritual energy bound within their flesh. Since most vampires are incapable of active magic use, they grow more powerful with age, increasing their supernatural abilities which can vary depending on their family bloodline.

Albrecht was also transfixed, his rock-hard vampiric form had become a statue, nearly-invulnerable, a self-defense mechanism against several different vampire predators known to attack them since they are immobile during feeding. Vampires may be an apex predator in their own shard but the ecosystem of their world is as durable and dangerous as they are.

I twisted my cane on the floor, grinding its hardened tip into the wood. The teak, alive in my hand responded to my emotional state, and had begun storing my excess emotional energy, weaponizing it for potential use. I was already rolling the two bullets Albrecht gave back to me in my hand, connecting the flesh and the viscera which he was so kind to provide to me, to a powerful spell. One strong enough to kill him dead, if I wanted it to.

And maybe if I didn’t.

My spell would turn him into ash. And there wouldn’t be anything he could do about it. But that was only because he had given me his viscera-covered flesh on the bullets. Without them, his natural damage resistance would make him one of the most dangerous supernatural creatures on Earth, after angels or demons, with werewolves pulling into third place.

So your next question is likely to be why isn’t the world overrun with these terrifying and frightening undead supermen?

Vampire propagation is limited by two things. The first was, to make a new vampire, you had to have a willing subject. Part of the magic of creating vampires is tapping into the spiritual void within a soul. The greater void, the more powerful the vampire childe.

This means people who don’t want to become vampires, don’t believe they can become vampires, or simply refuse to embrace the darkness will not become a vampire even if their sire wants them to.

This means the creation of a childe is is not taken lightly, and each potential candidate is screened carefully. They have to be willing, sane and not so void obsessed that they go berserk in a few years and end up attacking their sire’s holdings, killing the help, destroying their house and maybe even attacking and killing their sire. The void was the source of a vampire’s power.

The second and riskier proposition was that creating a new vampire caused a profound weakness in the sire. A prolonged weakness that cannot be overcome until their child is secured spiritually. The sire creates a spiritual connection with their child and during this time a vampire is weakened and easily attacked.

Most vampires have to be surrounded by loyal acolytes whom they can trust during this period of vulnerability and usually go into seclusion when they find a worthy candidate.

The final word on vampire reproduction is the leadership of the Councils of the Red Watch. With the controls set by the Council, creating a new vampire cannot be done unless a vampire is destroyed.

They are a zero-population species. They rigidly control their numbers because even with such limitations, it could be possible for them to overpopulate an area in a matter of a few generations devastating the human population. But long before that happened, human fear would cause them to find the vampires during the day when they have none of their abilities and kill them. Historical record attested to this.

I knew Albrecht was taking his time, trying to cause as much fear as possible. At the rate, the average vamp draws blood, a pint a minute or so if they are trying to be neat or to extend suffering. It’s been two minutes.

Two and a half. Nosceti is staring at me. Intently. I realized why in a second. My cane was beginning to glow. I was so intent on my watch, I had lost track of my cane and its absorption of my crazy. At two minutes and forty-five seconds. I began to change my grip on cane. As I picked it up off the floor, all four guards drew down on me. I didn’t care.

At three minutes and thirty seconds, the killing would commence.

He began to slow at three. But he did not release him. I charged my cane and raised it above my head. The guards pointed at me, pointedly. Nosceti’s face was emotionless and he hadn’t moved but his guards seemed in tune with his desires and moved as one.

So no one was more surprised than I when they didn’t shoot me.

At three minutes and fifteen seconds, I struck Albrecht with my cane and his protective layer of psychic energy shattered. The blow blasted his shirt and jacket off of his body. His ghost-white flesh resounded like I had struck a marble statue.

He didn’t stop. I drew back and struck him again, this time releasing my crazy stored in cane with the force of bomb. Blood formed where I struck this time and he loosed his bite but did not stop drinking.

My third blow was designed to tear him asunder, releasing all of my channeled anger. The light came back to his eyes in time to catch my cane with his hand as I brought it down for the third time. He had the blood frenzy in his eyes. He had no intention of stopping if I hadn’t attacked him.

He dropped Manny’s limp form and whipped his clawed hand toward my face. This was going to hurt.

“ALBRECHT!” Nosceti’s voice froze the very air in the room around the vampire.

Frozen, his claws tickling my cheek with tiny beads of blood forming at the very tips. Like a vengeful angel he stood perfectly still, as the fire faded from his eyes.

I dropped to the ground to scoop up my friend wiping my cheek along the way. I drew a sigil with the blood from my cheek on the center of his icy-cold forehead. I channeled my qi into him, activating the rune. As my qi entered his body, I could feel the psychic ravages left by his attack.

The Eye of Harmony opened and closed. The spell was successful and he would be as alright as anyone could be under those circumstances, minus three and a half pints of blood.

When I looked up Albrecht had taken up his seat in the corner, this time without the mood lighting. I picked up my cane and strode to the corner.

“I invoke Blood debt. You damaged him more than you had to.” I was rolling the two bullets in my pocket trying to consider the ramifications of turning him into a smoking pile of ash. Did I want to have to explain to his father, the head of the local Red Watch Council?

“What foolishness are you playing at Engram? I took tribute. It was my due.”

Suffer not a monster to live. I closed my eyes and prepared myself to launch the spell.

Nosceti stood up and with the support of his guard hobbled to where the vampire was sitting and looked him dead in the eye. “You took advantage. I agree with Engram. You owe the Blood debt. I have dealt with your family long enough to know the traditions and I know that you do. You took tribute and then you damaged his friend. Given his mission tonight, he would have needed his friend at a higher capacity than you have left him. So you must accompany him until his quest is complete or until you save the life of his friend or his master. That is the law.”

Albrecht’s eyes flashed red. Not the ordinary thing vampires do when they just want to scare the hell out of people. No this was the other kind of red.

That horrifying thing they do just before they burn all of their inner energy in an orgy of destruction. They can supercharge themselves utilizing their lifeforce until it burns out. During that time they cannot be harmed physically and even magic can barely touch them.

This vampire blitzkrieg lasts about two minutes.

You would be shocked to discover how much damage a tweaked out, vampire on a meth-rage explosion of their total accumulated life-energy stolen over the course of their immortality can wreck. I have seen bomb scenes that didn’t match the pure devastation of this act of self-destruction.

Then the light faded, his blue eyes chilled me to the bone.

“I pledge myself to you, Clifford Engram in the place of your man, whom I have wronged.” These were the formal words, but there was no submission, no obeisance, none of the reverence the words were supposed to have. He spat each one at me like bullets. “Until such time as I return to you the hurt I have caused. Only then will my words, release me.”

I could feel the geas cover all three of us, binding us together in a spiritual obligation powered by his blood. In addition to hating this monster who just harmed my friend, now I was stuck with him until he is released by the efforts of his blood geas.

What else could go wrong?

A modem’s squeal broke the awkward silence, as it indicated the sound of an incoming fax message. Nosceti flicked his head and one of the guards disappeared in the back. He came back a few seconds later with a piece of paper which he handed to back to the old man.

He laid it on the table and the message was scrawled in big letters: ‘It knows where you are. Get out.’

“Now if we are all done trying to kill each other for the rest of the evening, I can explain what I brought you all together for in the first place.” Nosceti is helped back to his desk while I helped Manny to one of the chairs which got pushed out of the way in our altercation. “As I was trying to explain before our little incident. I know why the Night Train is here, and its my fault.”

Then the building rocked like a bomb just went off outside. A second later, car alarms and screams filled the air.

Jump to Motus Vita, chapter 6

Motus Vita (4)

Posted by Ebonstorm on September 22, 2013

Posted in: Chapter, Clifford Engram, Fantasy, Motus Vita, Serial. Tagged: Albrecht, church, combat shotgun, formative experiences, Grand Central Station, Manny Rodriguez, Night Train, police, Thaddeus Howze @ebonstorm, Vampire, weapons cache, WPLongform. Leave a comment

Manny drove us down to 42nd Street and Grand Central Station.

The entire area was cordoned off so we were forced to park about five blocks away and walk back. There were dozens of police, paramilitary and military people moving people and traffic out of the area. New Yorkers were a bit more skittish than I remembered them but for the most part were easily redirected away toward other destinations.

It took us a minute to get parked since the police were moving everyone out of the neighborhood, so we were forced to wave our badges around until people left us alone. Manny took his taxi magnet off the roof and put up his police magnet complete with flashing light. Then we just parked on the curb like all the other cops did.

We had about an hour to go and I wanted to be on time. Not everyday you got to meet an officially self-sustaining, high order, Chaos manifestation face to face, or face to train, as it were. Wouldn’t do to be late.

Manny popped the boot, the trunk for you Westerners, and showed me his handy weapons cache. These were the weapons he used when he was on an Agency sanctioned mission and needed some quick stopping power. There were a variety of small arms, shotguns, an AR-15 and a variety of already loaded weapon belts for all of this ammo. His formative experiences with the Second World left him with a strong desire to be prepared.

He offered me something from his first selection and when I refused, he mistook my refusal to mean I wanted something more exotic. He then moved to a black gym bag and touched it. He added a simple incantation while he unzipped it.

Once opened, a cold wind sighed from the bag and dropped the temperature in the immediate area twenty degrees. He reached in, leaning all the way to his shoulder and pulled out a frost rimmed bag with a shape coded metal chip on the strap. Inside was a fully automatic combat shotgun. One of his personal favorites. He pulled the shotgun out of the smaller bag and checked the action.

Knowing Manny, it was just a reflex, because I knew when he put it in there, it was already in top working condition. He loaded it, strapped it on and put on its accompanying ammo belt under his long coat which, not coincidentally, looked like mine. He also packed a machete in the coat and two nine millimeter handguns. He checked his ammo, noting the variety of sigils hand carved onto each round. Designed to stop a variety of Second Worlders, each was intricately handcrafted in his spare time.

He fingered a long handled mace lovingly and looked at me.

“Really?” was my reply to that quizzical look.

“You never know.”

“You are already carrying enough ordinance to fight your way through half a dozen grizzly bears and a regiment of the National Guard, I think we’ll be safe enough.” he dropped the mace back into its protective baggy and placed it in the Gym Bag of Many Things.

After fitting himself, Manny stood there, trunk still open. “No piece? This isn’t London or Wales or wherever the hell you’ve been working. This is New York. Everyone is armed here.”

I opened my coat and showed him my rune-carved long knife, half a dozen throwing blades and my spell-enhanced walking cane. He laughed and said what he always said when I eschewed a firearm. “Hokey religions and magic powers are no substitute for a good nine-millimeter.”

“That is why I have you, Manny Rodriguez.”

“Fair enough. Where to, Boss?”

“Something quick to eat. Don’t want to meet a god on an empty stomach.”

We found a pizzeria not too far from Grand Central and needless to say the pizza was magnificent. No matter where I lived, no place made pizza like New York. Yes, Chicago I am talking to you. We stood there eating our giant slices, wordlessly savoring it, until we had reached a point where our hunger would permit conversation.

“Have you worked out what you’re gonna say to the Night Train?” I saw Manny smiling over his mouthful of pizza but I knew the question had serious implications. I hadn’t a clue.

“Honestly, I thought about it all the way here and I have no idea of what to say. I don’t even know who I am going to be talking to. The train normally has people working on-board so I figure I’ll be talking to one of them.”

“Protocol Zero. Still no idea what it means? I mean there are eight to ten million people in New York. It surely can’t mean to make that many people disappear, can it?”

I was going to explain the level of information we didn’t have on what the Night Train was before I got that tingling in my arm that told me, trouble was on its way. I thought it meant the Night Train was arriving early.

Manny’s hyper-vigilance was already on it. “Boss, two o’clock. Two suits, not Feds.”

I wiped my mouth and took up my cane. Two burly fellows, carrying, nice suits, Italian-cut. Not broke. Clean cut, well shaven. Too much jewelry for Feds. Their shoes were well-worn. Working men. My initial assessment was Mafia or at least criminally-associated. I waved Manny down as they drew closer. No need for shooting if there didn’t need to be. I thought I recognized their leader.

There were four of them, two up front, two further back across the street. They were most likely just watchers, there was too much traffic for them to do much if I was as dangerous as they thought I was. “Do you remember me, Mr. Engram? I work for…”

“David D’Amico.”

“He prefers to be called Father Nosceti, these days, sir.” The leader was a massive fellow, easily six two and three feet wide. Even so, his suit was custom fitted and by a fine tailor. Being a criminal didn’t mean one had to dress like one.

“What can I do for you? I am on a schedule. If it’s just a friendly visit he’s looking for, it will have to wait until I finished my work.” I knew as I said it, it was likely to be anything but friendly.

“Father Nosceti would like just a few minutes of your time, Mr. Engram. He said it would be okay if you felt more comfortable with your bodyguard along.”

“It’s just a few blocks away. We’ll make it back in time for your appointment.” With those words, they assumed I would follow and began walking away up the street. They never looked back. I decided to let my curiosity get the better of me. The timing was too close to be coincidental. They knew I would be here. I wanted to know why.

“After you, Mr. Rodriguez.”

“Why thank you, Mr. Engram, don’t mind if I do.” Manny palmed his nine and put it into his outer coat pocket as we crossed each other, masking the action in our movements.

The walk was at a brisk pace and we found ourselves standing outside of a church, an old church, that looked abandoned upon first glance except for the new lock on the gate into a little used parking space. Streetlights were out on this side of the street, making the place look more foreboding. As I looked up, a swarm of bats flew from what might have once been a bell tower. I had to give them points for setting the mood.

As soon as we crossed the threshold two odors were clear to me. One of an overwhelming perfumed incense, completely dissonant, unpleasant, designed to put you off your game, capable of distracting you from the second more subtle scent. The scent of a recently opened grave. Dank, smelling of earthworm dung and musty aging fabric, with the mingling of old man smell, of shaving creams used in a bygone era.

It was the smell of Vampire.

Manny stopped as soon as he got a whiff of the place. I put my hand on his back and tapped him to go on. He continued to follow our burly escorts, who had taken positions two in front and two in back.

We walked into the church and down the central isle. Manny stopped to cross himself as we passed the central dais, looking up at the dimly lit Jesus upon the Cross. We were taken behind the raised stage and choir area and into a very tight stairwell and for a moment, I thought we might be about to be trapped.

I squeezed my cane and felt it become hot in my hand as its magics surged to life. I could feel Manny ready to spring left and squeeze off as many rounds as his itchy trigger finger could in two seconds. I knew it was numbered between nine and twelve.

The doorway at the top of the stairs opened and a warm, soft light came out, easing our trepidation. I relaxed my hold on the banister and continued my climb. This area was better lit and filled with religious artifacts, paintings and assorted tchotchkes. Then I felt it. The power, the presence of a supernatural force ahead of me. I stumbled and Manny caught me.

“Restrain yourself, whatever you see in there.” I whispered as he caught me. He grunted his assent and helped me steady myself on my cane.

The guards opened the door and the two in front took station on the inside of the door, while the other two stayed outside. The office was deceptively spacious with a large oak desk directly across from the door. Every wall was a floor to ceiling bookshelf and gentle lighting covered the space completely except for a small corner of well crafted darkness. I could feel the eyes hiding in the darkness but choose to focus my attention on Father Nosceti.

He looked nothing like I remembered him.

David D’Amico was a mob boss who ran a variety of “businesses” in Florida about a decade ago. Some of his work crossed into my territory when he began trafficking in human beings for Second Worlder’s who used living human ingredients in their spell casting. Our interactions led to the destruction of a safe-house, a crazed sorcerer and the deaths of one hundred innocent men and women, whom D’Amico was instrumental in their passing.

I was told to bring him in alive.

I wanted to burn him alive, slowly in the hottest hellfire I could summon, but back then, I was a better soldier than I was today.

Back then, I followed orders.

His sentence was for selling at least three hundred people as laboratory animals for the study of black magic. He was allowed to turn evidence against his trafficking friends and he was “relocated” in a witness protection program. His face was Shaped, his aura altered and he was given the cover of an old, fat priest working for the benefit of the people in New York. His aura shifting was designed to be a painful and continual reminder of his new life and the price of his freedom.

I looked in on him from time to time, mostly to be sure he was still suffering. It’s a karmic thing.

Yes, he was relatively reformed in that he didn’t do human trafficking but leopards rarely changed their spots. He found ways to amuse himself selling the excess spiritual energy from his parishioners to a number of Second World parasites. The Agency overlooked much of this lesser criminal activity because the evidence he turned allowed them to shut down a number of large criminal enterprises and he acted as a resource upon occasions. Didn’t mean I had to like him or be nice to him.

“I’m on the clock. What couldn’t wait until after I was done? By the way, you look like hell.”

Nosceti’s voice was thin and papery, little more than a strong whisper. Nothing like his previous bombastic over the top behaviors. This wasn’t an act. I wanted to Look at him to see if I could figure out what was wrong with him, but I didn’t know what my spell might trigger or what his hidden guests might do if I cast any magic. So I just listened. “Hello Engram, watchdog of the Apocalypse, I wish I could say you were looking equally awful but that would be a lie.”

He had a spasm of moist and unpleasant coughing. His bodyguards moved as one. One went to his back and held him up, the other poured a glass of water and added a squirt of an unknown elixir to it. He drank the water, sat back and pulled himself together. Once his breathing settled down, he continued, “Immortality sits very well upon you, my boy. Very well, indeed. As to why I asked you here, I was one of the people who had received the Protocol Zero request and recommended you for the job.”

Now I knew who I had to thank for the pleasure, but he wasn’t finished.

“As to why I requested you…, I might understand why the Night Train is not amused with New York at the moment.”

“Wow, you actually went with the pregnant pause thing? Or are you catching your breath.” Manny hissed.

I was displeased that Manny had spoken at that moment but I absolutely related to the sentiment.

“Muzzle your dog, Engram, or I will shut his trap for you.” A voice crept across the walls and floors, sinister, oily and supremely confident of itself. A familiar voice, I never expected to hear again.

Neither did Manny. Before I could stop him, his nine appeared in his hand and he emptied his clip into the chair barely visible in the shadows.

The chalky face of Albrecht stepped out of the shadows. He had been struck in the right shoulder, twice. Only the tiniest evidence of blood appeared and he did not appear discomforted by their impacts. He held out his hand and turned it over.

The rest of the bullets tumbled out onto the floor.

As he leapt into the room, he growled, “My turn.”

Jump to Motus Vita, chapter 5

Brotherhood

Posted by Ebonstorm on September 21, 2013

Posted in: Hayward's Reach, science fiction, Short Story, Twilight Continuum. Tagged: Earth, ebonstorm, holocaust, Humans, humies, invasive plants and animals, mutant, nature, outdoors, Thaddeus Howze. 1 Comment

a tale of hayward’s reach

“I went yesterday.”

“I went out the day before.”

“I don’t care who went out, when. Put your guns on and get out there and bring back something to eat. I don’t care what it is.”

“Yes, Ma.”

“See what you did, now she’s mad at us.”

“I didn’t make her mad, you did.”

“Anyway, food won’t hop into the house by itself. You two get a move on. Get back before dark.”

“Yes, Auntie.” Ma’s sister was almost as mean as she was.

We left the habitat by the back door, and after looking both ways we started down the vine and headed out of the park, into the city. It used to be called Philadelphia; back when stuff like that mattered.

“Did you pack everything?”

“Why do you always ask me if I packed everything, its not like you weren’t standing right there, supervising.”

“Last time we were out, you forgot the wipes.”

“So, you were forced to use your hand or some leaves, why should I care, how you handle your business?”

“You suck.”

“You ought to know.”

“Be quiet. I hear something.”

Whenever we go out, we are always very careful. There used to be lots of humies once upon a time, but after They came, there were a lot less. We can see the one closest to the main city. It sits outside of the city proper and sends its parts looking for food.

Humies learned not to live in the cities if they wanted to avoid being food. Mama said once, cities used to be filled with humies but now, nobody with any sense goes there. That’s why there is so much stuff still there. We don’t tell Ma, but sometimes we go there and look for stuff. We learned how to avoid the plants and their critters.

“There it is. It’s a cabbage-head.”

“I don’t like cabbage-heads. We just ate one a few weeks ago. I’d rather eat my boot first ‘fore I eat another.”

“We ate our boots last week, so we probably shouldn’t get a cabbage-head anyway, they be the makings of poor boots.”

We let the cabbage-head wander off. They weren’t too dangerous or too bright and noisy as all get out, so you didn’t have to worry ’bout them sneakin’ up or anything. They looked like a horse with the head of a cabbage. And they were about as bright.

Then we saw them. And we nodded. That was the target. Razorbacks. That’s what mama called them when she taught us to hunt. Razorbacks were part of the Creature, a fast and dangerous part. They hated humies, too.

We waited cause there were too many to try and get one. They had six long legs and were really fast even though they were twice as big as a humie.

“Why don’t you watch ’em, while I catch some shut eye.”

“kay, its gonna be a while.” I liked it better when he slept anyway, its the only relief I get from his godforsaken mouth. We had taken a position near the edge of the city where a lot of the Creature’s parts wandered looking for scavenging humies. There was a mild quakin’ and I could see the Creature moving closer to the city. It must be real upset or real hungry, it moved a whole dozen feet today.

There were still humies living in the city, we knew that cause we could see their lights at night, but the Creature did not have many ‘spring that moved around after dark. There were a few, but not many. Humies tried to do their scavenging after dark, cause it was a bit safer than when there were hawkwings about.

After a couple of hours, the Creature settled down, mostly cause the sky was ‘cast and it did not have any shine on it. The razorbacks started moving back toward the Creature. It was taller than all of the buildings near us. Mama said it was nearly five thousand feet tall and when they landed they changed the weather, killing humie by the dozens every second for years. She said something about spores, but I was never good with that science type stuff. My brother was much better.

One of the razorbacks turns and holds still. It starts makin’ its supper sound and turning around. We duck behind the heavy rock wall and wait. It turns toward a building near the clearing next to it. A humie runs out and tries to scurry to the next building. The razorback supper sound grows louder as it turns to the humie, locks its legs and charges fast, faster than any humie could hope to be.

The humie turns around and points a tiny gun at the razorback. Its pop does not even make the razorback blink. The razorback runs past the humie and its skin bursts with blood. It staggers and tries to keep running. The razorback circles and passes again. The touch of its skin rips the flesh off the humie, and after the second pass the humie falls down.

A second humie runs out, he is a bit bigger and is carrying a shotgun. But shoots too soon and the razorback does him in quick.

“Get up. We got one on the hook.”

“I was just startin’ to have my favor dream and you ruined it.”

“You wants some boots or not. You can walk barefoot for all I care, but I wants some boots. There ain’t no better hide than razorback and ain’t no better eatin’ either. So shut up and get up.”

We check our guns and make sure our chems was dry. No sense shooting if nothing happens. I don’t want to tangle with a razorback with just my knife if I can avoid it. My brother is good in a fight but it just the two of us these days, so we can’t afford to get hurt.

The razorback is so busy eatin’ it doesn’t even hear us getting close. We hid in the shadows of the building. It don’t see too good and we know that having hunted them for years. It was slow going. Ma says no sense rushing if you get et by what you be chasing. By the time we are close enough to shoot, it was getting dark. We would have to gut, skin and carve before the biguns came out. And then run for home.

As we approached, my brother covered the right and I covered the left, making sure there were no razorbacks hiding that we might have missed. They were group kin, so where there was one, there may be more. The long shadow of the Creature fell over us and we used the cover of its darkness and the setting shine, to sneak up just a few dozen feet from the creature. We aimed, making sure we hit it below the sack in its belly. That was the only part we could eat and we wanted to be sure we didn’t just come home with boots. Mama would tan our hide.

We each had three in our shooters. They were hand-made from parts in the city. Three barrels, three chems. I shot first, making sure to hit it in the head. My brother shot second, hitting it in its hind brain. If you didn’t get both, it could still trample you with its head shot clean off. We ducked back into the darkness to wait. We couldn’t wait long with dark coming but it was always best after bustin’ a chem or two. After ten minutes, we went to work.

“Hurry up, you got that sack yet?”

“Don’t worry about me, you just get the hide for our boots.”

“I am. I am going to get enough for mama to get a coat too. This razorback’s skin is good.”

The skin was covered with a fine grade of spines, but they only cut you if you rubbed the wrong way or if the razorback was alive and pushing them up. Even though it was really big, it was delicate and slashed it food, bleeding it before eatin’. The spines and its leathery hide gave it a toughness that made for fine boots.

We loaded the sack and the hide into our ruck, and started making our way home. We had to pass by the river on our way back to wash off the blood before going home. No need to make it too easy to find us. The river was not too far off and we made good time.

We waded in quick-like and cleaned ourselves up. We could hear the wind shifting near the Creature and once the shine was completely gone, we knew the Bigguns was on the prowl. Picking up our guns at the shore, we started running back toward our tree.

We were in too much of a hurry, when we heard a booming sound from the underbrush ahead of us. We had our guns ready, when two of the bigguns burst out, mouths wide open, spit flying everywhere. Each of us took one, I took the right, he took the left. We shot them straight in their mouths. Its the only spot on their bodies not covered in heavy armor. Each chem went straight into their brains and blew up from the inside.

We jumped over their bodies and kept running. Others would hear the chem and rush toward food. We moved through the outskirts of what mama called a suburb. She learned all of this from reading. She said she taught herself when she was young and there were other humies to live with. It had been a long time since other humies lived with us, nearly thirty summers, give or take.

We could hear them coming.

Sounded like three, maybe four. All of the Creature’s parts were fast and hungry. If mama were here, we would just turn around and fight, mama was hell on wheels in a fight, but since she hurt her leg a few summers ago when we were surrounded by razorback and hawkwings, she don’t hunt with us anymore.

“What ya wanna do?”

“I hear, three, maybe four.”

“We only got, a two chem between us.”

“we could drop the food and get away, its slowing us down.”

“If we come home without food, mama’s going to eat us. I would rather be out here with them.”

“Just keep running.”

When we came to the park, we could see all of the Creature trees that had landed here. Mama said humies learned to kill the trees brains when they was little and we could live in them while they grew. The trees never got their own creatures when they did not have brains and humies learned to live in them and make homes out of them. We could see our tree in the center of the park but it was just too far, we wasn’t gonna make it.

“We gonna have to fight, you know that, right.”

“I reckon.”

“You ready?”

“Don’t miss.”

“Have I ever?”

“Nope.”

They jumped out of the brush and the earth shook with their landing. We dropped our ruck and had our guns out. One chem each. Four Bigguns. They looked so much bigger up close. When we stopped, they stopped. They had got have seen the two others we killed, and no one was volunteering to go first. We used that to get a few dozen more yards, by pointing at whichever moved toward us first. That wasn’t gonna work too much longer.

“Biggest one first, on the right.

“Then the one next to it.”

“Got your knife?”

“Yep. Aim for the eyes.”

We stopped moving, each of the bigguns with an armored head and a spike collar stood still. They seemed to know we were going to fight. We roared at them at the top of our lungs, and bared our teeth. The largest two responded in kind. And then they were dead. We dropped out guns.

Pulling our knives, we rushed the next of the creatures while they absorbed the shock of what happened. While they had good vision facing forward they had to turn their whole bodies to see if something moved to the side of them too quickly. With six legs they could do that fast, but only if another one wasn’t in the way. While they were trying to negotiate, we slipped to the side of the Biggun and stabbed into its eye sockets with our knives. We were covered in its warm eye jelly and blood and it reared backward knocking us aside with its huge head.

We landed on the ground, hard and our knives were still in the head of the Biggun that was running off into the overgrowth of the suburbs.

The last Biggun, turned toward us and seemed to sense our vulnerability. It stamped the ground and huffed. The tree was right behind us but it might as well have been miles away. With those six legs, he would be on us faster than ugly on my brother.

We stood up, determined to go down fightin’, though without weapons, we did not have much of a chance.

I looked up at the Creature in the distance. It glowed with a green light once the ‘shine was gone. It made it easier for its kin to find it. I could see three others in the distance, each standing still over a different part of the city. My brother and I had managed to live in the shadow of the things for thirty years before dying.

“You ready?”

“I don’t want to die.”

“Who said anything about dying?”

“Between the two of us, all we got left is some harsh language.”

We started laughing as the creature closed with us. We would do our best.

We heard a swooshing sound, like nothing we had ever heard before. We thought it might be a creature we had not seen yet, so we crouched low, so we could try to get up on the Biggun’s back, over its snapping jaws.

And then there was the loudest boom I ever heard. Sharp shards of metal ripped though our skin and we were thrown from our feet. Chunks of Biggun landed on us. There was a crater where the Biggun was. It looked just like the ‘rite craters from when the creatures landed all them years ago, only a sight smaller.

My ears were ringing and I was a bit dizzy for a second. I saw my brother was okay with little more than a cut on his forehead and some minor wounds on his chest.

“What were the two of you laughing about down there. Did you see something funny I didn’t?”

“No, ma.”

“Where are you manners at boys?” The voice was Auntie’s.

“Thank you, ma.”

“Now get up here and bring me whatever you managed to find out there. You did find something. If not, you bring up that blowed up Biggun meat. Its foul, but you can eat it in a pinch.”

“We found something, ma.”

“Razorback, your favorite.”

“Did you bring me any hide? You know I need a new coat this winter.”

“Yes, Ma, we got you and Auntie fixin’s for a new coat.”

When the smoke cleared we could see Ma looking down on us with some strange contraption on her shoulder. It was a tube with a handle on the bottom and had a orange tip facing down toward us. Her sister was looking out toward the horizon while she stared down at us as we climbed the rope toward the house. The tiny scratches we suffered wouldn’t keep us from getting home.

When we got to the house, Ma kissed us while her sister watched the horizon. Then we all turned into the house and slid the ironwood door closed. My brother’s arm had a nasty cut and Ma tended it while her sister looked me over and cleaned my arm and chest wounds.

Both of them fixed our injuries with their medical kit placed between us, with the same speed and the same way at which we butchered that razorback, they were able to tend our wounds, one handed.

It had become second nature because we were injured almost ever time we left the house. We sat facing each other with our arms at our sides. Our huge broad chest was covered with scars from earlier surgeries after being in the field. A quick inventory and they were satisfied we were okay. Our four heads and two bodies silhouetted in the internal green light of the Creature tree.

“You boys look a right mess, don’t they sis.”

“They sure do. A right mess. Nothing a meal and a good night sleep won’t fix. Go lay down while we make supper.”

They kissed each of us and we walked into the back of the house, which was carved out of the flesh of the Creature-tree and saw our bed carved into the wall of the tree. They had already turned it out and fluffed our pillows.

“Face down or face up?”

“Face up. These cuts on my chest hurt.”

“Ow.”

“Crybaby.”

As we lay down and covered up with the blanket, he was out in seconds. We almost didn’t make it today. But there is no place I would rather be than right here with my brother, big head and all. I could hear mom and sis walking in the kitchen doing their dinner-making dance, one hand stirring and the other keeping the pot steady, singing some old duet.

I pulled his arm under the blanket and lay back on my own pillow making sure I faced right. He always starts out turned left but ends up turned right in the night.

He sleeps with his mouth open. I hate that.

Motus Vita (3)

Posted by Ebonstorm on September 19, 2013

Posted in: Chapter, Clifford Engram, Motus Vita, Serial. Tagged: Albrecht, ebonstorm, emotional armor, ghouls, New York, rakshasa, Redcaps, subway, Thaddeus Howze, The Red Watch, vampires, Waldorf Astoria, WPLongform. Leave a comment

Clifford Engram arrives in New York City, meets the local operative, Manny, and remembers their first meeting.

“Was it a big beast? With sharp, cruel fangs?”
— Gaston, Beauty and the Beast

I drove into New York and parked at the Waldorf Astoria.

I had a standing arrangement with the management. They watched my car, kept a room on standby for me, and I always hoped I might actually sleep there.

It hadn’t happened yet.

The Agency paid for it whether I stayed or not. This time, I hoped I could enjoy the five-hundred-thread-count sheets the place was known for.

New York hadn’t changed much since my last trip. The lights were a bit brighter, the streets a bit cleaner, but I could still feel the city’s innate hostility, especially at night. Everyone moved with their mental and emotional armor up, ready for whatever. Yet people laughed, talked, and walked the streets at ten in the evening like it was the most natural thing in the world. Their energy was infectious. I found myself floating along the undertow of the city.

Park Avenue was quieter than I remembered. Taxis waited patiently at lights without blaring their horns. I’d heard there was a kindness campaign a few years back; maybe the lessons stuck. Even without the horns, it was still loud, the streets buzzing with energy. I could see the living, the dead, the near-living, and the mostly-dead mingling, often knowingly, headed to Broadway, Times Square, or 42nd Street.

New York was truly the ultimate melting pot. People from all over the world found their way here, fighting, loving, hating it, but never leaving for long. The citizens of the Second World felt the same. Drawn by unknown magic, they came here seeking their fortune, no matter which shard realm they hailed from. New York was a cynosure, a realm unto itself, where no one magic held sway, so everyone had an equal shot at being all they could be.

Strangely, this made for a relatively peaceful city, as you never knew who anyone was or what they could do. That was fine by me—everyone was potentially armed and unfailingly polite. I called Manny as soon as I got in and told him to meet me at the Waldorf.

He showed up as I was handing my keys to the valet.

His private taxi pulled up just as the young valet, acne still scarring his face, roared off in the black Corvette assigned to me by the Agency. If it had been my car, I might have been annoyed, but after the last few weeks, I found myself more laissez-faire, even able to appreciate the kid’s joy behind the wheel of a classic.

As I slipped a fifty into the valet captain’s hand, I reminded him of our standard arrangement and suggested he have that kid deliver the car to me if I called for it. He smiled and said it would be done.

“Cliff!” came the familiar voice of my brother from another mother, Manny. Tall and strong, with well-kept dreads falling over his left eye, his brown face lit up with a bright smile, nearly perfect teeth gleaming. A simple, barely noticeable eye patch hid beneath his locks. He was dressed to work: chauffeur’s uniform, black gloves, snug jacket, rubber-soled shoes. All of it neat and professional.

He acted as my guide, ally, and occasional lifesaver whenever I visited the Big Apple. I used to try and drive in New York myself, but without a native’s instincts, I spent more time sitting in traffic than investigating anything.

“Manny, good to see you. Did you get my texts?”

Irrepressible, even in the face of looming disaster, he laughed. “Yeah, the usual end-of-the-world stuff. But we still gotta grab a bite before heading downtown.”

“Not that place you took me last time?” I knew Manny had peculiar tastes in restaurants—especially Second World dives.

“What’s wrong with the Palace?” He looked a little hurt.

Nothing, if you didn’t mind vampires staring at you while you ate. “You caused a scene, picked a fight, and almost got us killed by hostile vampire thralls. Other than that, the food was great. Maybe this time we could find a place where the diners aren’t eyeing us like we’re on the menu?”

“You have no appreciation for good food. A meal worth fighting for is worth eating.”

Manny opened the trunk and helped me with my bags. As expected, his trunk was an arsenal of Second World death-dealing tools. He always came prepared, and tonight was no exception. We’d been working together for over a decade, though sometimes it was hard to keep track.

He threw my bags in, hugged me, and offered me a choice of weapons. I waved him off with my cane. His knowing glance told me he understood—it wasn’t time for that yet. But the night was young.

Heading into traffic, Manny focused on the road while I noticed how much he’d aged since I last saw him. I visited two or three times a year, but it had been a while since I was here. As we drove, my thoughts drifted back to our first meeting.

We’d met during an operation when Manny, just a kid, was set to become food for a rogue group of vampires.

He must’ve been about fifteen then, his entire family already lost to the vamps. The Red Watch, the primary master vampires in the New World, didn’t take kindly to renegades and hired me to find and expose their location. They were dangerous, plotting a local coup. But due to certain arrangements with other Second World groups, the Red Watch couldn’t openly attack them. So, they sent me in to locate the rebels, and once I did, a covert strike team would be dispatched.

Their leader, Jericho Privitee, was a former member of the Red Watch Council. With funding from Old World families, he had plans to blackmail the leaders of the Watch with damning evidence of their indiscretions. As I later learned, the local Red Watch aimed to control all Second World groups under their banner. Unprecedented power would follow if they succeeded.

The Agency didn’t want that. I wasn’t just sent to take down Privitee—I was there to prevent the consolidation altogether. Only Privitee’s death would send the right message.

What no one anticipated was just how charismatic Privitee was. He’d rallied a surprising number of unaffiliated vampires to his cause. In a city the size of New York, keeping tabs on every vampire was nearly impossible, and his army had grown much larger than expected. Worse, he’d allied with other Second World creatures: the vicious, diminutive Redcaps, flesh-rending ghouls from the sewers, and rakshasas—demons who had broken ties with their own clans, eager for the chance to feast on souls.

Working with such a diverse group had its pitfalls, though. They left a trail that led me straight to their base, hidden in an abandoned section of the subway. They used the sewers as their operational freeway.

Luck, or maybe fate, guided me to their pantry before I encountered too many of them. I freed their captives and was trying to lead them out when the Red Watch sprung their trap.

The battle was fierce but brief. Privitee met his end at the hands of Albrecht, an ambitious young vampire no more than two hundred years old. Albrecht had waited for his chance to rise through the ranks, and Privitee’s death presented that opportunity.

I had no choice but to fight alongside the escapees, arming them with weapons I scavenged from the dead. We fought our way through the conflict, aiming to reach the surface. Young Manny, eager to avenge his family, grabbed a shotgun loaded with vampire-killing rounds and carved a path through the thralls with such ferocity that even the Red Watch was taken aback. Once the rebels were dealt with, the Red Watch closed in, their assault team—decked out in red leather—surrounding us as we reached the final subway junction.

Albrecht appeared, his vampiric smile lit only by the pale, flickering lights of the tunnel.

“Agent Engram, we appreciate your assistance in this matter. The traitor and his scion have been put to death,” he began, sounding pleasant enough. Then he added, “However, the remaining humans could reveal our existence. We cannot allow them to live.”

I could see the bloodlust in his eyes, though he spoke calmly, as if the decision was already made.

“They don’t know anything,” I replied. “You could glamour them—make them forget. I know what you’re capable of.”

“Glamours can be undone,” Albrecht said. “Magic can penetrate our obfuscations. There is only one way to be certain.”

The thirty remaining humans, freed from Privitee’s lair, were now surrounded by the Red Watch. Albrecht raised his hand, and without hesitation, they fed upon the very people I’d rescued, those I’d assured would return to their lives.

Then he turned his gaze to Manny.

Manny, showing more guts than most adults, tried to fire at Albrecht, but the shotgun clicked, empty. I stepped in front of him, waiting for Albrecht to make his move. My reputation as one of the Agency’s top operatives was enough to give him pause. “Step away from the boy,” I said, my voice steady. “We’re leaving here, and you will never come after him again. Are we clear?”

Albrecht sneered. “You are human. Do you truly believe you can stand against the might of the Red Watch? We control the Vatican itself.”

I was done with his posturing. “Have you heard of the Accursed, Albrecht?”

At the mention of the Accursed, every vampire in the tunnel froze. Blood dripped from their mouths, their victims still twitching behind them.

“A myth,” Albrecht said, though I could hear the fear creeping into his voice. “A tale to frighten children.”

I turned to Manny. “Put the shotgun down. Don’t pick it up again. Close your eyes, and don’t open them, no matter what you hear. Understand?” I kissed his forehead. Manny obeyed, placing the shotgun on the ground. The vampires moved closer, sensing the shift in the air.

“Anyone who doesn’t want to die should leave now.” Two of the vampires dropped their prey and vanished into the shadows.

I rolled up my sleeve, exposing the glowing blue marks that bound Fenrir to me. The vampires didn’t flee.

“Manny,” I said quietly, “keep your eyes closed. This will be over soon.”

Albrecht drew his sword and charged, blurring with vampiric speed. I raised my hand, the runes on my flesh springing to life. My shirt and jacket exploded, the sigils and markings lighting up across my body.

He drove his blade through my hand, stopping just shy of my throat. Not that it mattered—I wasn’t alone.

“All that looks upon thee is thine, Fenrir, Wolf of Legend. Feast upon the souls of the dead,” I intoned, feeling Fenrir’s rage build. Albrecht tried to pull his sword free, but I gripped the hilt, my strength amplified by the wolf’s power. A dark wind erupted from me, consuming the souls of every vampire in the room except for Albrecht and Manny.

The vampires screamed as Fenrir devoured them, their souls serving as fuel for his insatiable hunger. It was over in minutes.

When the room grew silent, only Albrecht, Manny, and I remained. The blue-black light of my arm dimmed as I pulled the sword from my flesh. The wound closed behind it, though the claw and bite marks from the other vampires didn’t heal.

I glanced at Manny. Blood trickled from one of his eyes—he’d peeked. I pressed my fingertip to his leaking socket, and he screamed before falling into a deep sleep.

Albrecht trembled, clearly shaken. “That is the nature of the Accursed,” I said. “You live only because your father hired me. Tell him the rebels, having fed, were more dangerous than anticipated. Your cabal was destroyed, and only with my help did you escape.”

Albrecht nodded, his gaze darting between the smoking remains of his former comrades. I handed him his sword and looked down at Manny. His eye would never heal, but I’d left him something to remember this night.

A hard lesson.

Albrecht slunk away into the shadows, and I carried Manny to the street, my body trembling from the effort of forcing Fenrir back into his cage.

Fenrir, demon wolf, killer of gods, sated for now, howled from within the black sigils on my flesh.

I sat on the steps of the subway, holding the unconscious boy, counting stars until the trembling stopped.

Jump to Motus Vita, chapter 4

Boltzmann’s Brains

Posted by Ebonstorm on September 12, 2013

Posted in: 5 Minute Fiction, science fiction, Short Story. Tagged: Boltzmann's Brains, end of the Universe, humor, janitor, Ludvig Boltzmann, parody @ebonstorm, philosophy, science, spontaneous Shakespeare, Thaddeus Howze. Leave a comment

“Bring forward what is true, Write it so that it is clear, Defend it to your last breath!” — Ludwig Edward Boltzmann

At the end of the Universe, okay, not quite the very end of the Universe, after the stars had gone dark, and the stuff of galaxies had moved trillions of light years apart. Silence reigned supreme, until there was an unexpected event.

The vacuum, which was all but as thin as it could be, as empty as it could be, suddenly had something appear.

Unexpected to be sure, since nothing had lived in this universe for many millennia. An object of incredible complexity formed from the very vacuum pressure of space, appearing as if from nothing.

“I am,” was its first most obvious pronouncement.There was no air of course, so this was generated in a pleasing burst of radiation. Once it would have been called “cherry red.”

The new object looked around in the void and was displeased. There was nothing to sense, no terrain, no vista other than the ever-present blackness. Then something appeared. A light year away, give or take.

“Hello.” There was some… delay. But considering neither of them had any appointments or places to go, a year between sentences didn’t seem all that awful.

“I seem to be existing.”

“That you do.”

“I am not sure what that means in the overall scheme of things.”

Then a third one appeared, between the first and the second massive objects. They were the size of solar systems, when there were solar systems. “I believe I understand vat is happening.”

“You do? How can you be so sure? I haven’t the faintest idea of what I am doing here, what I am or what is around me. Or in this case what isn’t around me.”

“My good fellow, we’re in space. Note the lack of geographical terrain. Extend your senses and you will find others like us are starting to appear. Slowly at first, but with increasing regularity.”

Second, deciding to join the conversation asked the next question, “You seem to be quite comfortable with our current condition, may I ask why?”

Third, responded, “Because I theorized about such a condition once many years ago on a planet called Earth. We are Brains. Constructs which spontaneously come into existence near the end of our universe’s lifespan.”

First, incredulously intoned, “Ridiculous. Are you indicating we have spring into being from Nothing? I assure you sir, I am composed of Something. Of what, perhaps I am less clear.”

Second piped up, “Search your feelings. We are the last Intelligences in our universe, created from the holographic information inscribed on the surfaces of singularities, waiting for the Universe to end.”

“Thank you, Second. Your grasp is exemplary.”

First could feel it, more Brains appearing, doubling each second, filling the spaces all around them. Their voices clamoring to be heard, their confusion increasing. “What would you have us do, Third?”

“Call me Ludvig. My theory indicated our existence would preface a final state of universal development.”

“Into?”

“I have no idea, but I can now hear the entire works of Shakespeare appearing within me:

“From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered-
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;”

“First, our Brothers call out to you. Can you see them approaching?” Second cried.

First looked out to Second and suddenly they were together side by side. “What is that they drag behind them, Ludwig, it fills me with fear.”

Ludvig, appeared next to First and Second, emitted a warmth unseen in a trillion years; “not to worry Brothers, they bring the very edges of our universe to us. Ve are the most intelligent life to have ever existed, we are the sum of the universe’s greatest minds and yet in the end, ve are naught but janitors closing the universe.”

Ludvig’s laugh preceded the clash as the Brains came together in singularity deflating space behind them.

Before the primordial pearl formed a question was voiced by First. A question which revealed the nature of Boltzmann’s Brains and their ultimate purpose.

“What’s a janitor?”

With apologies to Ludvig Boltzmann and his famed theory.

Paying it Forward

Posted by Ebonstorm on September 11, 2013

Posted in: 5 Minute Fiction, Fiction, Short Story. Tagged: cute kid, deployment, ebonstorm, face of death, family, handkerchief, military, military housing, PX, right question, service, suicide, Thaddeus Howze. 1 Comment

I tried to commit suicide after my first wartime deployment ended.

Set to go on watch, I loaded my .45 with a single bullet. Pulling the slide back, the round clicked into place with a heavy sigh. I felt the weight rising from my shoulders as I neared what I thought I wanted.

To be free. No more nightmares waking in cold sweats, dead bodies all around me. It was the kids most of all that got to me. Whenever we would canvass the area and find the kids, just as dead as the rest, my teeth clenched, I choked back the scream trying to get out and I turned back to a room of smiling soldiers who seem relieved to be alive, laughing and joking in the face of death. What was wrong with me that I didn’t? Couldn’t?

Wouldn’t.

I put the gun into my mouth and closed my eyes. I locked my teeth around the barrel.

Then I heard a child crying outside my window; loud, shrill and perfectly pitiful. I put the gun down, disgusted with myself, and looked out the window. I could shoot myself right after I shut this kid up.

“Hey Kid, what are you doing on this side of the base. Housing’s that way.”

“I’m lost.” Blubbering followed.

Really? “Do you know where your mommy was when you lost her?” More crying. Not the right question. “Okay, do you know where you live on base?”

“Yes.”

“What’s your address?”

“I don’t know. But I know what my house looks like.”

Not a big help since all military housing looked almost exactly the same. Okay, I had two hours before I was supposed to be on watch or dead, so I’d run the kid home and get back to my business.

“Okay kid, quit crying. We’re going to get you home. Where were you before you got here? Don’t be upset, just think. Take your time.” He’s was cute kid when he wasn’t bawling his eyes out. I gave him my handkerchief and he proceeded to clean himself up. After blowing his nose, he tried to hand back my handkerchief, I waved it off, suggesting he put it in his pocket.

I won’t need it where I’m going.

Looking more presentable, we set out. We got to the PX and walked around hoping someone would recognize the kid. After ten minutes, one of the store managers indicate d she knew Kyle. She checked the store records and gave me the address.

Kyle seemed happy and took my hand before running out the door. Despite the apparent closeness, it was nearly another half hour before we got to their home. The parents, Richard and Linda were as happy as Kyle was to see them. After the hugging and kissing, I noticed a load of boxes sitting on the porch and could see other boxes crowding the living room window.

“You folks look busy, so I’m going to jet, if that’s okay.”

Linda looked up from her son and hugged me. I wasn’t sure what to do with my hands so I just stood there. Military husbands ranged from civilized to crazed. Didn’t want a fight after doing such a good deed.

“No Sargent, we insist you sit and have a bit of food with us. It will only take a minute.” Richard’s smile was warm and friendly and I found myself agreeing without realizing it.

Linda was a great cook and had been slow cooking a roast most of the day. Everything was simple, rich and filling. Just like my mom used to make back in Kentucky. “So where are you folks moving to?”

Richard stood and began packing another box on the sofa. “Hawaii. That’s where I’m from. We are leaving the military after twenty years. My time’s up. Linda and I have been married for a decade and have never managed to make it back to the Big Island. It’ll be Kyle’s first time too.”

A lifer. A happy lifer at that. I guess I could understand. He had a lot to be happy about. I helped them pack until it was time to go on duty.

I always had tomorrow to blow my brains out.

The next morning I felt better, a lot better in fact, and thought I might go help Richard and Linda finish packing. I still had two years to go but seeing them escaping the life intact gave me hope for my own future.

I went back to the house but there was nothing there. House was empty, no cars in the garage, nothing. Had they shipped out last night? No way. There was still far too much packing to be done.

I ran to the PX and asked the cute manager about Kyle’s family. “It’s too bad, isn’t it? Been almost a year to the day now.”

“What’s too bad?”

“People really liked them. They were a great family.”

Okay, what did I miss? “What happened to them?”

“Master Sergeant Watkins and his family died in a plane crash on their way to the Big Island of Hawaii.”

“That’s not possible.” I saw them yesterday.

The young manager, Karen, her name badge said, went into the back office and came out with a small laminated square, with a family photo and an accompanying news article. The date of their death was yesterday, one year ago.

These were, in fact, the faces of the people I ate with, but I had never seen them before yesterday. I ran out of the PX and back to what was the Watkins’ residence. I looked into the window, I could see the marks on the floor where I sat. Everything was as I remembered it.

I tried the door handle and found it open. I looked around inside. The air was stuffy and thick with dust. My loud footfalls bounced off the walls.

I sat down. Did I dream it? How do you dream of people you don’t know? Have I cracked? No, people said they knew them, albeit a year ago. Ghosts? Angels? I don’t believe in either…

I sat quietly contemplating the universe and what I didn’t know about it.

I heard a truck pull up outside. A young soldier, his wife and a new baby followed in a mini-SUV. They converse with the driver before approaching me. “No, you’ve got the right place.” It was starting to rain.

“Do you need any help?”

“You’re really offering? My friends couldn’t make it. What do I owe you?” He was young, maybe twenty.

I smiled, the same smile Richard gave me, one without reservation. “Don’t worry about it. Just returning a favor…”

Of Genes and Men (1)

Posted by Ebonstorm on August 30, 2013

Posted in: 5 Minute Fiction, science fiction, Short Story. Tagged: church, eugenics, false flag, genes, genetic, memes, Remap, warfare. Leave a comment

“All men are slaves to their genes. Either through the efforts those genes have made over the course of the ages, or through the suspicions others have regarding genes that belong to groups other than their own.

— Church of the Holy Genome, Cardinal Anthony Thomas, 2154 AD

“Sir, it’s back.” He had his back to the door looking out over the city from our new office window.

Part of the city was blacked out again, and I knew when I walked into the captain’s office, I was making trouble for myself. I might have been safer walking the beat in that blacked out part of town. He didn’t say anything at first. His chair showed him in a partial profile, his angular face, craggy, tight, his hair in a crew cut, his police dress blues still on from the funeral earlier today. He didn’t need any more bad news.

I figured I would try again tomorrow. I almost got the door closed when I heard, “Wait. What’s back?”

I came back into his office and closed the door behind me. “Remap, sir. I think it’s back on the street. I saw the meme-map in the downtown quarter last night.”

“Did you run it?” He almost looked as if he were interested so I gauged my next words carefully. If he was too interested, he might give it to someone senior and they would get the case. If I made it too small, he may decide it was just another false flag since we hadn’t had an outbreak of Remap in over ten years.

“Yes, I Q-Red it and I got a hit immediately. But whatever they were running on their end saw my police coder and decided to shut it down and scramble. All I got was a partial.”

“Listen Bernsen, the last thing we need is a real outbreak of Remap. I want you to follow up and at the first sign of real trouble, you call for backup. We are stretched thin…Take no risk you don’t have to. Are you current on all your genomic blockers and vac-serums?”

I went down to G-medical this morning and updated all of my blocks in the hopes of getting this case, but he didn’t need to know that. “Yessir, I was due, especially with the flesh-cutter bug released last week.” Out here, rival syndicates attack using genetically enhanced viruses, designed to disable genetically-enhanced humans, hence making baseline humans, in the only way they could be, valuable because they didn’t possesses any enhanced markers.

“The baseline district has been without power for over three hours, predictive engines indicate the probability of a food riot. They haven’t had a shipment to that section for two weeks. I need you there right now. Get another G2, re-arm, call for drone support and the two of you hit the streets. I need you to restore order while I talk to the mayor and Gene-seed Six to explain why we aren’t getting food shipments right now.” He’s was back in control of his emotions, giving orders again. Good, maybe that would hold him for a while. Maybe he would be able to use his rage to forget about Danny for a minute.

“I am going to take Chang-Wu, she is familiar with baseline physiology and is used to using restraint protocols.”

He turned back to the window, moved his hands and several windows popped up on the corner of his display system. “There it is. A 3102 is now in progress. I will run your drone cover until you hit the streets. Get the hell out of my office.”

“Okay, dad. But if you need me…”

“What part of out did you not understand?”

I closed the door behind me, got to my desk and picked up my P-108 multi-pistol, two reload forms, checked my suit charge and saw Chang-Wu already on her way to me. We nodded and proceeded to the flight deck. I put on my wing harness and spun up the gravitic propellers. Their spin-up sound reached their resonance frequency and became absolutely quiet. The flight techs thumbed us and opened the launch window. The air was bitter and foul, I sealed my helmet because it would be worse near the ground. We ran together and jumped out the window. We could hear the snap as they shut the windows closed behind us.

Chang-Wu spun and oriented facing me, then simultaneously we snapped our wings out and peeled away from the building. Four police drones followed at a discreet distance. They were fully loaded, their combat blisters flickering in the light of the still lit districts below us.

“Don’t you dare die,” came through my private vox. There was no ID code but I knew who it was.

But if Remap was on the street, I simply couldn’t guarantee that. I was too young for the first outbreak over twenty years ago but it was a level one controlled substance, whose use, possession or trafficking would result in execution. A substance so controlled, we weren’t even allowed to learn why it was forbidden.

We flew low and turned on our meta-material cloaks. Our helmets were polarized and multifrequency, so we could see each other, but no one could see us. What we saw was the standard signs of a food riot, common among the baselines. Their physical energy requirements were higher than the G1s or G2s so they needed food and it needed to be a consistent and high energy variety.

New Varda had a significant number of baselines since we were near a transit hub where lots of manual labor was still used. With the advent of G-Uplift, work became very specialized, either you had the cognitive ability of a genetically enhanced worker or you didn’t. The G1 upgrade was not usable by everyone and even if you could use it, you had to be able to afford it.

If you couldn’t, then you ended up in places like New Varda, shitholes where baselines scrambled to pay their food bills, lived in relative squalor and hoped they eventually made enough money to buy the G1 upgrade and migrate to another local city or off-world to a better colony, someplace where there were better jobs than mining or food production for slave wages.

“Reese, wake up. You know I can feel you, right?” Chang-Wu’s voice was rich with emotion. It was one of the reasons I liked working with her. When she G2ed, she didn’t become a machine, she became more real, more emotional, more human, whatever that means anymore. A small number of the G2 upgrades caused this reaction and those operatives became more valuable because of their low-level empathic sensitivity.

“Sorry about that. I’ll stay on task. Command, can we get an overhead sweep, map and an estimate of the numbers?”

“Already completed, you will not be able to contain this. There are over six hundred. They are attacking a food depot where they think stockpiles are kept. I need you to reach the center of the conflict and find me some known ringleaders. I will begin with a gas run along the periphery, pinning down and holding down the casualties. No lethal force. Identify, mark, and track.”

“Understood, command.” We hurtled into the darkness. The night sky in New Varda had an unobstructed view of the Core, so corelight lit the streets well enough for us to see by even without our G2 enhancements.

When we reached the depot, we hesitated as the heat signatures of the people near the center were off. They were seven to ten degrees higher than normal. These people were all Remaps. If I had any doubts, the bodies of the local G-zero police forces were scattered around the scene and their drones were crushed by blows of superhuman capacity. Only a mech or a G3 could put that much power into a physical blow. There were only a limited number of mechs on New Varda and they were all part of the company’s XM unit. The warehouse doors had been peeled back as if they were little more than cardboard. “Command, priority call. Temperature spikes. Baseline’s exhibiting G3 strength levels. There are at least fifty. And sir, there was some food in the facility, they are passing it out. Advise.”

“Can you see the G3-level baselines, they will have the most genetic damage. It should be easy to detect.”

“No, Command, the people outside are all low level users, their g-form changes are minor and likely temporary.”

“The drones are nearly finished with the outer parts of the riots. I will have them sweep your area and then you can contain the remnants immune to the gas.”

“Understood. Standing by.” We landed on a nearby rooftop but we didn’t spin down our gravitic harnesses. It would take too long to spin them back up and when they fell out of resonance, they would make noise. We still had plenty of power and if the drones did their job, we should be back before too long.

The drones showed up on my helmet display circling our position and then came into the central part of the district. This area during the light of day served as a central shopping district, so the looting had included storefronts as well.

Chang was looking down at the faces of the local cops and her face recognition software relayed their names. There were still six or seven missing. There was no local chatter either, which made this even more problematic since we depended on them knowing the locals to diffuse issues before they started. The drones crossed through the center of the town interrupting the activity as the gas settled over the baseline humans. It was a fast acting paralytic. It would last for hours with no long lasting effects other than a headache. In a few seconds the area was quiet except for the warehouse across the street. I could still see flashlights moving around.

Then they all went out. Chang nodded to me and dropped off the roof landing soundlessly below. I followed a second later, with equal precision. My multi-pistol found its way into my hand, though I was loathed to use it unless it was necessary. The company paid handsomely for each baseline here so the fewer we damaged permanently, the better. My pistol was set to launch flechettes with a more powerful neural paralytic, different from the gas. These left their targets with a loss of voluntary muscular control that lasted for a few days and the mother of all migraines. But they’ll live.

We both sidestepped, half bouncing and half flying until the warehouse entrance was in front of us.

There was nothing there. I quickly swept through every visible spectrum available to me. Nothing. No heat, no radiation, no light, no sound.

Chang signed to me to head back up. She signed to me “something’s wrong”. Before she could ascend, I saw her helmet explode into shards of metal and plastic, crumpled by an invisible fist. She shot backward and vanished into the darkness.

Skipping a half a step to the left was the only reason I still had a head. The blow glanced off my helmet but rocked me with a strength I had never felt before. Though I dodged the full-on punch even the glancing blow snapped my head backward and without a proper orientation, my flight-pack dropped me to the ground. Without my G2 physiology, that punch would have snapped my neck. I pulled myself together, shaking off the stars in my eyes . I looked up and then three Remaps simply appeared right out of a shimmer in front of me. But it was like no metamaterial I had ever seen.

They were grotesquely misshapen, their bodies swollen, their musculature a caricature of baseline physiology. Their eyes lit up catching every drop of the core light and reflecting it to me. Their eyes shone cat-like. My cracked helmet tried to run a face recognition, but between the damage it had suffered and the distortions of their faces, it was having a hard time.

“You were right boss, they never knew what hit them.”

“Shut up, you idiot. Young lady. I recognized you, that’s the only reason you don’t look like your friend over there.” I knew that voice. It was the foreman of the mining group. But he was one of the people who helped keep order here. Why would he be leading this?

“Our benefactors tell us today would be a very good day to claim New Varda for our own. Don’t take this personally. Tell your father to surrender or we will tear your headquarters up around you.” My face recognition software pinged with the confirmation of Der Namiag’s identity. “He has just one hour to surrender. Ask him what happened the last time Remap came to New Varda. He never saw it coming.”

The people in the courtyard stood up, their bodies twitching in the core-light, and with nary a word, each vanished right before my eyes. No sensor sweep could touch them and I tried them all. Then it was just me and Chang left.

Der Namiag and his lieutenants leered and stood over me. “One hour. We could be anywhere. Remember that. Let him know I appreciate the drones.” He gestured and the support drones flew south, away from HQ.

Namiag and company disappeared leaving me to cradle Chang’s still body. My vox was silent.

Breaking Ground

Posted by Ebonstorm on August 28, 2013

Posted in: 5 Minute Fiction, Fantasy, Short Story. Tagged: Asmodeus, Azrael, Heaven, Lucifer, Michael, planets, stars. Leave a comment

Every act of creation is first an act of destruction. — Pablo Picasso

“Who has the hydrogen?” the Big Guy asked absentmindedly. “I smell something burning.”

The Big Guy was pruning a collection of what would one day be called roses and other assorted flowers. With every clip of his shears, insects spontaneously spawned and flew away to pollinate the newly created gardens in the East Wing of Heaven.

Michael dropped down after making a lazy, what will one day be called an Immelman, and landed in a three point stop in front of him. His six wings tucked back and only a few stray feathers ruined what would have otherwise been a perfect landing. Looking majestic he strode up to the Big Guy and made a gesture of genuflection.

“Azrael has it. He’s been experimenting with it again. He keeps saying it should be able to do more than just sit there.” Michael’s voice was high pitched and squeaky, far from the basso profundo he normally used to make himself seem more impressive. He wrinkled his brow in frustration and continued “some of his more recent experiments have caught fire and we were reluctant to tell you we couldn’t put them out. The fire has spread across the entire West Wing.”

The Big Guy smiled as he was wont to do whenever they discovered something new to them. It appeared they have also discovered a side effect of helium too. Lucifer’s doing I’d bet.

Michael genuflected again and from the kneeling position shot up into the sky. He going to pummel Lucifer as soon as he can find him. No sense of humor that one.

The Big Guy opened himself up to the entirety of Heaven and saw the event and Azrael taking notes. He had given up trying to put it out and had begun studying it. Though his project had already consuming the West Wing, he found the light pleasant and warm and thought it might be a good idea if it were a bit further away. Before he could do anything, Lucifer had already thrown some turf toward the ball of burning hydrogen.

Lucifer’s throw was, as most things angelic, impressive. It whirled around the ball of burning plasma subject to an attraction caused by its great mass. Azrael smiled and scribbled faster. Lucifer looked around and bowed to no one in particular.

The Big Guy thought it was good. “Azrael would you care to explain what happened?”

“Lucifer happened, Lord. I was staring at the Hydrogen you left about and couldn’t figure out what to do with it. I had been compressing it into other shapes and discovered as I compressed it, it released energy and changed its form. Then Lucifer came by and thought it might be able to do this by itself if there was enough of it. So he gathered it and true enough it became” and he pointed with his central wing “this thing.”

“Lucifer?” The Big Guy had no hope that Lucifer would accept any responsibility for what happened as a side effect of his help. But he hoped Lucifer had learned something burning down a section of Heaven.

“Lord?” Lucifer’s voice was a dulcet tone, magical in its cadence and tenor. No affectation on his part, it was as beautiful as he was. “It just seemed to be the thing to do. He was doing it one atom at a time. It would take forever to make anything that way.” Lucifer smiled and the Big Guy just shook his head and squeezed his temples, feeling another one of his headaches coming on.

“Azrael, you may continue your project. Outside of Heaven, if you please. It is becoming unstable and could explode suddenly. Lucifer you can join him and clean up after the mess. After that you can continue helping him with what develops. Report back when you have something more interesting to show me.”

“Yes Lord,” they chimed in unison.

“Which one of us is going to carry the…” they both turned toward the Big Guy.

“Star. We’ll call them stars.” It just sounded good. The Big Guy was insufferably pleased with himself.

“Star, and which of us is going to move all of this hydrogen?” Lucifer complained. Despite being one of the Big Guy’s favorites, he was petulance personified. The Big Guy knew in the future there would be fallout from his temperament.

Since they would be making things he figured he’d better round the project out. “While you’re making stuff, compress the hydrogen and allow it to form other bodies around the stars so they don’t get lonely.”

The Big Guy waved his hand and the hydrogen was gone. “Since you’ve decided we could make things from it, I’ve created a surfeit of it. It’s everywhere. Remember it’s volatile and thanks to Lucifer, self-organizing.

“But Lord, I didn’t change it. Just how it organized itself. Maybe I tampered with a few of the fundamental constants out there but you had not assigned anything…”

“And created a host of fundamental forces which now have established themselves everywhere.” And his work was always clever. Inventive, even, but the Big Guy wished Lucifer wasn’t so inclined to work without asking whether something he wanted to do was actually a good thing.

I’m going to miss him when he’s gone. “Get the others to help you when they have the time. There’s a lot of sky out there.”

“Yes, Lord, we’ll take care of it.” Both Angels streaked away into the darkness of Heaven’s sky, coordinating the formation of hydrogen into plasmic spheres of incandescent gas. Slowly the darkness of Night gave way to a gentle silver shimmer.

The left side of Heaven was lit with an even glow as Azrael placed the stars in a well-distributed, if a bit boring, pattern. I’ll have someone come out and add a bit of variety to his work — maybe Asmodeus won’t mind.

The right side of Heaven was filled with a variety of stars — different sizes and colors. A hallmark of Lucifer’s inner nature, always playing with fire.

Then one of the stars unexpectedly exploded and the Big Guy heard the shockwaves of another one of Michael and Lucifer’s epic conflicts. The supernova’s light filled the sky in every direction.

And there was Light, and it was good.

Artwork: Rigel by Adam Burn

Motus Vita (2)

Posted by Ebonstorm on August 25, 2013

Posted in: Chapter, Clifford Engram, Motus Vita, Serial. Tagged: Clifford Engram, damballah, Dominique LeStrade, Louisiana, New York, The Night Train. Leave a comment

Have you ever worked on-call? No? Never let anyone convince you the money is worth it.

Because it isn’t.

The people who hired you and told you that you would be getting an obscene amount of money never mentioned how often they would call you at an inopportune time. Meaning every time they called you it would be inopportune. On a trip with the family on your first outing in months? They’d call. Eating your first home cooked meal in months with the love of your life? They’d call. Having sex with a woman you have just met and discovering just how much you miss sex? They’d call.

It had been a long time since I had sex. And even longer since I had enjoyed it. My particular baggage didn’t let too many people get close to me.

A man had to get his priorities in order. World-shaking sex. Saving the World. In that order. Besides, I knew my boss, she’d call back.

Dominique didn’t wake up as I slapped around my nightstand until my black phone found its way into my hand. “What. Do. You. Want?” I hissed into the phone, while I got up and went into the bathroom. I already knew what she wanted. What I wanted was for her to hear my displeasure and decide to suspend me for another six weeks. No such luck. She overlooked my tone and my threatening voice and proceeded to have the conversation I had been dreading during my recovery.

“I said I wouldn’t call you unless Hell froze over. The Night Train is scheduled to arrive in New York.”

And this was my business why?

“So? To quote Old Ben Kenobi, ‘You’ll never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy.’ If it’s going to New York, it needs to. That is a kettle of fish I want nothing to do with.”

She proceeded to explain in her patient voice. That’s never good. “You understand, the Night Train sends an email to a designated city official indicating where it will come into the city, how many disembarking and how many it is willing to take on, yes?”

She knew I understood this, for a time in my life, I rode the Night Train until I got my act together after my aunt died. “Yes. I am familiar with the protocols.” I looked at a picture of an angel and some armored warrior hanging up in the bathroom. One of the children of Dominique’s staff had painted it and she took a fancy to it. I used it to distract myself from the impending bad news.

Her patient voice was starting to make me afraid. Where was the venom, the loathing I knew so well? “What do you know about Protocol Zero?”

Shit. I expected bad news. But not this bad. I was hoping for a cabal of bloodthirsty vampyres feeding on a small town or a collection of demons seeking converts among the Amish. This wasn’t even on my list of ‘here’s-an-easy-mission-while-you-finish-recovering’ list of things to do. “Only that the last time it was enacted, an entire town disappeared, lock, stock and barrel. A population of fifty thousand souls was never seen again.” I could feel my curse marks tingling with anticipation; it was my built-in danger sense.

“The email sent by the Night Train to the governor of New York, said. ‘Protocol Zero’. There were no personnel numbers, no requests for food, no requests for resources. The governor called the Agency and has considered an evacuation of New York. I advised him against it. I offered him you, instead. Now say goodbye to your girlfriend and haul your ass to the Big Apple while its still on the map.”

“How long do I have?” I was much less sleepy now.

“It’s supposed to arrive tomorrow at midnight. I want you there to meet it. Find out what it wants, talk to the crew and stop Protocol Zero. Don’t call me back until you have good news. Your equipment will arrive in two hours. Good luck, Engram.”

“Thanks, boss.” The click from the other end had the proper doom-laden click I had come to expect from these four A.M. calls. I squeezed in a shower while I waited for my kit to arrive.

When I got out of the shower, Dominique was standing there with a cup of her excellent coffee. I tried not to think about its origins. She tried to explain to me it was harvested from the droppings of the civet cat in countries where they raised coffee beans. The stomach acid of the civet removed the acidity from the beans in a way that the normal process could not match. Truth be told, I never had a better cup of coffee. Ever. But I asked her to never tell me the origin of her coffee ever again. Whenever she handed me a cup, she just gave me that smile that reminded me I was about to have a cup of coffee from the ass of a civet cat.

I couldn’t believe I had been here for six weeks and didn’t want to leave. Dominique traced the curse mark tattoos from my right shoulder down my back and smacked my ass as it crosses over to my left leg. “Your master called. I thought I would be ready for this. I am not good with goodbyes.”

I had to be honest, I didn’t have a lot of practice with them either. “My work doesn’t allow me to make many friends and if I do, they have a nasty habit of dying prematurely. I don’t do goodbyes well either. Why don’t we just call this an extended time out and I will be back before you know it.”

“No, cher, you won’t be back right away. It is not your fate. Damballah has told me as much.” She got into the shower while I sorted through the casual clothing I had gotten used to wearing while I was here. I would get dressed officially after breakfast.

“Does Damballah have a nightclub act? Read the future, count beans in jars, take requests from the audience?” I teased gently.

There was no response from the shower for a few seconds and I thought maybe I had made a joke in poor taste. But she hadn’t been defensive before now. I decided to take a peek inside the curtain to see if she was alright. Her nakedness always took my breath away. She had her back to me with the water running down from her hair. She stood there still as a stone. I reached in and turned her toward me. Her eyes were lit with an inner fire, the fire of possession by a loa.

“Does Damballah perform party tricks? Would it please you to know I can? Let me show you, Cursed One. You will leave my agent on this plane and return to the dying city of wealth. I foresee your meeting with a priest of the White Christ, who will offer you what you desire and take from you a promise you cannot hope to fulfill. I see you taking a journey which will end in death and suffering but for you, you will live with the consequences of your failure. Do you like my party tricks, Ingram, Eater of Dead Gods? Leave my servant in peace for you have caused enough vexation in her life. Tell her naught of what we have spoken. It is bad enough she has chosen the company of one such as you. Leave and never come to this place or risk my wrath.”

My cursed mark flared up from the tip of my right hand to the heel of my left foot, electrified with the rage of the loa who wished to impress upon me the seriousness of his threat. Its dark pathways were lit with the spiritual power of this ancient deity who was old before Men walked the Earth. I fell backward out of the shower to the warm tile wracked with agony before the Ingram rose to beat back the anger of Damballah. My marks returned to their dark, light-absorbing state and the presence of Damballah left the room.

Dominique returned to showering as if nothing happened. “Cher, would you pass me a towel?” Her voice had lost the ethereal otherworldly overtones it had a moment ago. She had no memory of the visit.

I reached over to her over-fluffy towels and grabbed hers as she pulled back the curtain and I drank in her exquisite loveliness. I dried her off, playfully enjoying her responses. I walked her to the bed and rubbed her favorite oils onto her, savoring the moment. She dressed in something light and appropriate to late summer, a counter to my dark preferences and I kept the conversation equally buoyant until the doorbell rang and my kit arrived.

A black corvette drove out of the back of a large truck and within a few minutes, the technicians took my thumbprint and disappeared as quickly as they appeared. I found my clothing, my gear and anything else the Agency thought I might need in the trunk. I took the garment bag from the trunk as the tech confirmed my thumbprint. “Godspeed, sir. I have family in New York.”

“I’ll do my best, son.” I don’t bother to ask how he knew, the fact that he did showed me just how important this was to everyone. Nothing moves faster than the rumor mill.

I went back into the house, keys in hand and proceeded to get dressed. My custom-fitted suit and long coat, embroidered with hidden sigils, only awaited my touch to activate their defensive energies. I sat quietly for an hour, re-establishing my defensive posture, charging my cane, checking my long knife, its edge, sharp enough to cleave a man from his soul.

Dominique avoided me as I put back on my Agency face, puttering around in the kitchen.

When I was done, I came to her, my darkness restored, my armor renewed, every bit the terrifying thing I was supposed to be when confronting city-destroying evil.

She kissed me fully on the lips, cracking my armor, for just a moment. She walked me to the door and taking my hand, she passed her beaded bracelet given to her by her father, to me. I knew better than to tell her no, unless I wanted one of those beatings she gave me while I recovered and was getting my edge back.

Stopping at the door, she held out a thermos. “Filled with enough of your favorite coffee to get you to New York with time to spare.” The twinkle in her eye brooked no refusal. Hell, civet cats or not, it was still the best coffee I ever had. I laughed all the way to the expressway until I opened it up heading north. Damballah be damned. I’m coming back.

I never responded well to threats.

Jump to Motus Vita, chapter 3