The Good Fight 2: Villains Page 19

  “Look at the guy with the swords. Now look at this.” He scrolled down, and it was obvious that he was viewing an online forum, pointing at pictures in one post after another—a medieval tapestry showing a battle, a wall from an Egyptian pyramid, a Sumerian tablet, a cave painting.

  “Oh, come on.” She tapped twice with her finger. “Typical internet conspiracy bullshit. How many people must there have been in history who carried two short swords, two knives or whatever he’s got.”

  He held up a finger. “One more picture. If you don’t believe me, I’ll go.”

  She sighed. “Fine. One more, but I’m telling you it doesn’t take much to look like you’re immortal. Plenty of sorcerers manage it. They could easily manage the shapeshifting too.”

  He showed her the last picture. It was of a page from a book. It showed several men. Each of them carried two identical swords. Each had different facial features, skin tone, build, height, and clothes. The background illustration’s colors changed to match the clothes, implying a progression.

  Ben couldn’t read the calligraphy, but from the way her eyes widened, he guessed that Tiffany could.

  “I have that book—not an original, but a copy. One of the Dark Circle made a pdf.”

  She grabbed a tablet off the kitchen counter.

  Ben stood next to her so he could see the screen. “Didn’t they try to kill you? When did they start sharing pdf’s of spell books?”

  Tiffany frowned as she touched the tablet. “There are so many things wrong in what you just said it’s hard to know where to start. First, it’s not a ’spell book.’ It’s a guide for summoning and negotiating with demons and other supernatural creatures—

  “Gunther’s a demon?”

  She narrowed her eyes and said, “No. Damn it, listen to me for a second. There are more creatures out there than demons, and he’s not a demon. I think he’s in the chapter called ’Lesser Mysteries.”

  “Second,” she looked up from the tablet and caught his eye, “I’m going to be joining the Circle. My initiation is next month. They’re under new leadership. If one of them comes here, please don’t mention the past. It makes things awkward.”

  “I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

  “Please.” She turned her eyes back to the tablet, dragging her finger across it several times, and then stopping.

  “Found him.” She grinned. “He’s barely worth mentioning. Yes, he’s immortal, and he’s a killer, but he’s only a little better than a human. He can be captured, and bound, and this book has circles for summoning him, and wards to keep him out. He works as a mercenary and sometimes a musician. He’s been observed to help certain individuals and even families without being formally bound.

  “I’ll take the job,” she said. Then she named her figure.

  He nodded. “Good enough. I’ll send the money to your account.”

  She stopped looking at the tablet. “You’re not trying to argue me down?”

  He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. Between what I saved before and what I’ll get out of this, I’ve made more than enough. I don’t have a problem with paying you. When it’s done, I’m out, remember?”

  She stared at him for a long moment. “I remember. I don’t believe it.”

  He didn’t say anything.

  She shook her head, took a breath, and held up the tablet as if to read it. After a few seconds she put the tablet down. “If we’re going to beat him, we’ll need a sacrifice. We’’ll need something with strong emotions, and a deep attachment to this place. A child would be best.”

  He turned away from examining the junk on the counter—rubber bands, twist ties, piles of leather bound books, chalk, and candles. She’d never been especially into keeping house, but she’d gotten worse since they’d broken up.

  He’d considered cleaning up, but it wasn’t as if he lived here anymore.

  “No,” he said. “Not a child. I’m trying to hide here, not start a manhunt. Besides, should we even be here? Shouldn’t we be running?”

  She turned, her mouth tightening. “Did you just hire me? I think you did. As the resident expert on magic and mysteries lesser and greater, I’ll make the decisions here. My life is on the line too. What that means, is that when I tell you I’ll be strongest here with my own house, and all my materials, you listen, and when I tell you we need a sacrifice then you get a sacrifice. Got it?”

  “Killing a child won’t get me off the radar right now. After all those murders downtown—”

  “Fine. Then get a dog. I don’t care.”

  * * *

  An hour later found him carrying the neighbors’ miniature schnauzer into the house’s back door. He’d stuffed into a pillow case, and held its snout shut. It growled constantly, struggling to get away, and managed to scratch him even through the fabric.

  He didn’t mind. This was the most quiet the dog had ever been. When he’d lived here, the stupid thing made a nearly endless racket every time anyone walked down the street.

  They’d never know, but he was doing the neighborhood a service.

  Tiffany stepped into the room as he shut the door to the outside, struggling to keep control of the dog, and shut the door. A bark escaped before he got it completely shut. When he grabbed for its muzzle, he unthinkingly stuck his hand into the pillow case and it bit him, drawing blood.

  She held out her hands. “Give it.”

  He handed it over, “Good riddance.”

  She stilled it with a touch and it gave a muffled whine.

  He followed her into the main area of the house. She’d rolled up the rug in the middle of the room, revealing a ten foot wide circle that she’d burned into the wood years ago.

  She’d taken the wooden cap out of the middle of it. He didn’t know where the dark hole that the cap covered went to, but it wasn’t the basement. He had no intention of ever finding out.

  Over the next twenty minutes Tiffany lit candles, chanted, screamed, and finally gutted the dog above the hole.

  Even as he turned his head away, a darkness billowed out of the hole. The dog turned to dust and disappeared.

  “It’s over.” She walked past the counter, and rinsed off the bloodied blade of her knife above the sink with the sprayer. Unrecognizable symbols on the blade glowed slightly red.

  “Over?” His own guts felt like they’d twisted around inside him. He tried to ignore it.

  “I completed the ritual. The house is hidden from anyone who doesn’t already know it. Beyond that, we’ll have warning any time anyone gets near, and more defense than I normally keep active.”

  Drying off the ritual blade with a dish towel, she gave him a quick grin. “All there is to do now is to have a quiet night at home. Want to watch a movie?”

  “What have you got?”

  She shrugged. “Whatever’s on Netflix.”

  He glanced toward the television. It stood on the other side of the hole. “I can’t believe you’re joining the Dark Circle. You used to make fun of them.”

  She tilted her head toward him. “You used to tell me to keep a distance from clients. You told me that not knowing their secrets would keep me safe. Yet, years later, you know the Rocket’s real name.”

  Frowning, Ben said, “I know. It wasn’t smart, and I know that, but I couldn’t ignore it, and I knew I’d never get another chance.”

  “It’s your life.” She glanced toward the windows. “As for mine, the Circle’s different now. It’s gathering power. When things come together, we’re going to dominate the magical scene. If ’getting out’ doesn’t work, look us up. We might need a tech.”

  He didn’t say anything.

  “Think about it.”

  * * *

  He woke up on the couch. He couldn’t have slept anywhere else. It wasn’t as if he could use her bed, and the other rooms were full of magical accessories piled on top of each other or in boxes.

  He didn’t like to think about what was in the boxes.

  He sat up, picked his jacket
off the floor, and pulled out a burner phone.

  As he dialed, he had to agree. “Our Mutual Friend“ was one of the odder codenames. He’d thought of it as OMF for years. It wasn’t human after all. It was an attempt at a difference engine from the late 1800’s that had somehow achieved sentience. He’d visited it once, and remembered the automatons loading coal into its bins, the hiss of steam, and the constant clacking of its gears. It filled a warehouse, and had for more than a century. While it had automatons to do its work in the world, it supported itself by acting as a bank, advisor, and connection between groups in the underworld.

  He’d tried to connect when he was there. He couldn’t. It had no command line.

  When it answered the phone. Its voice was little more than the whirring of gears, clicks, clacks, and whistles. He had no idea how it managed to be understandable, much less sound like it had a upperclass British accent.

  A high whistle turned into words, sounding like a gasp for breath. “Sss-sorry, Ben. I had no choice. He threatened to burn down the warehouse, and I, as you know, have limited mobility. He destroyed most of my automatons and burned down the north shed with a flamethrower.”

  Ben gripped the phone harder. “When was he there? How long do I have?”

  “I don’t know, but wherever you are, run. He’s unstoppable. He found me through our client, the one who wanted you for this job. I don’t know if he’s still alive.”

  Ben hung up, running toward the upstairs bedroom shouting.

  Tiffany met him in pajamas—a red top with Spongebob Squarepants bottoms.

  “What?” She stood in the bedroom’s doorway, hands clenched. “Is he here?”

  “Yes. Er . . . No.” He looked down the stairway and out the window next to the front door. “I don’t know, but he’s coming. OMF told me. He sounded damaged.”

  Her face tightened, mouth turning into a line. “He sold you out. What about the client? Are you still getting paid?”

  “Don’t know.”

  Flickers of white light leapt from her fingers. “I’ll burn him.”

  Ben didn’t know whether she meant OMF or the immortal. Before he could ask, something began to bark. It sounded like the neighbors’ schnauzer—if they had not one but one thousand dogs, and if the dogs’ barks were being distorted like an electric guitar.

  Ben met Tiffany’s eyes and then they both ran down the stairs.

  Ben’s awareness expanded to include cellphones, the neighbors game systems, all the tablets and laptops on neighbors’ wifi networks, and most importantly, everything he’d brought in his jacket and installed in his car.

  For a moment when he got his powers he thought he might be able to create super-technology. As an adult, he knew where to buy it. He grabbed his jacket, pulled out his sunglasses, and started flipping through the streams of video from his car.

  It looked like a normal winter morning in the suburbs—snow glistened under the sun, icicles dripped one drop at a time, and no one came outside. It was too cold. The kids were inside playing video games—or so Ben assumed.

  Tiffany whispered, “What do you see?”

  “Nothing.” Ben flipped through the car’s camera’s again. “You?”

  “Nothing. They’re upset. That’s all I know.”

  “Does it have to bark like that?”

  “You chose the dog. I wanted something that could talk.”

  Ben glared at her, and then he saw it. A man walked down the street. He did not fit anywhere except maybe on the cover of a fantasy novel that had been set further south. Around five feet tall, he had light brown skin, black hair, and wore brown and green clothes could have come from a renaissance fair, or the cover of a Green Arrow comic book. He didn’t have a bow though.

  He carried two short swords.

  Ben told the car to arm itself and then to track the man’s movement. Picture after picture updated, all of them now showing the man in the crosshairs of a sight.

  His stomach flipped and he faked a grin. “I’ve got him.”

  Tiffany stared out the window. He wasn’t visible. “Then take the shot. Don’t wait for me.”

  .50 caliber fire burst out from a hole in the car’s trunk, one shot after another.

  The man fell down, lying with his back on the sidewalk.

  “I hadn’t thought it would be that easy.” He zoomed in on a picture the car’s camera’s took. The man didn’t seem to be moving.

  Tiffany went to the front window. “Overrated,” she muttered, and continued, “Even if you did take him down, you still owe me for asking a favor from a demon.”

  “Did I say I wasn’t paying?” He checked the camera feed again. The man still wasn’t up. He began to feel relief for the first time since yesterday morning.

  “No, but you might have to find your own buyer now, and I insist on being paid.” She turned away from the window.

  He shrugged. “Look, I’ve got the money for you even without the sale.”

  He flipped between the car cameras again, realizing as did that the man’s body wasn’t on the sidewalk anymore. He was running across the snow covered lawns, and doing it even though one shot appeared to have taken a chuck out of his lower leg, opening it up down to the bones.

  It didn’t even seem to slow him down.

  In desperation, Ben considered setting the car to fire whenever it had a shot, but that was stupid. A few shots might pass without notice, even as loud as these had been, simply because people here didn’t expect to hear gunfire. Lots of shots, and they’d call the police.

  He flipped through the cameras’ streams, trying to find him. He’d be willing to risk another shot if was a good headshot. Even magical creatures generally did worse without brains.

  He saw flash of metal, and then the car stopped sending pictures. Ben pulled off the sunglasses only to see the man standing on top of the car. Every light on the car had been broken, taking out the cameras. Even as he watched a two handed sword appeared in the man’s hands and he chopped into the trunk, cutting it in half along with the back axle.

  The car’s rear end fell to the ground. As it hit, the dogs’ barking increased to cacophonous levels and shadowy forms began to appear on Tiffany’s front lawn. All of them stopping at the curb—the exact limit of what she legally owned.

  Faces began to appear at the windows of the two story house across the street. Ben could already sense phone calls beginning. He shut them down. Even if it didn’t normally have a command line available to users, he knew how to find it.

  He started with the phones, and went from there to the computers and game consoles. He should have started the moment the dogs started barking the first time. Trying to calm down, he reminded himself that most of the people hadn’t noticed anything until now. Chances are they’d be fine if they ran soon, or if Tiffany called the Circle.

  He didn’t want to owe them, but if it meant not going to jail, he could handle it.

  In front, the immortal stared at the lawn. In a voice loud enough to hear inside, the man said, “Demonic schnauzers. It figures.” He shook his head.

  Then he said a word. Guttural, and harsh, simply hearing it made Ben want to run. Tiffany’s face showed all the fear Ben felt, but she ran to the window shouting, “No, I forbid you to listen to him. I bound you and I bind you again—”

  Then she said the word herself.

  The schnauzers tilted their heads, some looking at her, some at the man.

  The man smiled, and the two handed sword appeared in his hands again. He drew it back above his head, and before Ben could activate any of the devices in his jacket, the blade came down where the lawn met the curb, taking out a chunk of the concrete.

  A sound not unlike an electrical short filled the air. The lawn and even the house vibrated. The dogs disappeared, exploding into bits of black soot.

  Tiffany screamed and fell to the floor unconscious.

  Then the man ran directly toward the front window shattering it with the blade of his sword. This time Be
n activated the jacket, feeling the heat as the lasers hidden in the arms burned, hitting the man, blackening his flesh, and doing no good at all.

  The sword disappeared at some point after breaking the window, and Ben felt a fist hit his midsection. He couldn’t breathe. As he gasped, the man knocked him over on his back, pulled his hands together, and sprayed some kind of glue on them before Ben could muster any resistance.

  “Hey there,” the man said. He’d changed form. In this one he appeared to be a hulking, brush cut man in army fatigues.

  “You can call me Gunther now.” He smiled. It was a little too wide to be human. “I see you recognize the name. Excellent. You steal data. You copied data from Syndicate L’s servers onto something, a thumb drive, probably. Did you read the data?”

  “No.” He coughed the word out.

  Gunther shook his head. “You’re lying.”

  Ben felt like his heart had stopped. He didn’t say anything.

  Gunther’s lip twitched into a hint of a smile. “So, both of them I’m guessing. That’s unfortunate. What about her?”

  “She doesn’t know anything.” It came out as a loud whisper. Ben was surprised at how vehement he sounded.

  Gunther raised an eyebrow. “The truth, finally. That’s good news. That means I don’t have to kill her. As for you . . . Well, let me tell you a story. A long, long time ago in a land far, far away, a man was raised to kill things, and he liked it. His family liked it too, and they thought they’d use him to destroy anything that might be a threat. He enjoyed that, but after a time it began to wear on him. He began to wonder how threatening the beings he’d killed really were. When he asked about it, no one had a good answer, and after a time he left.”

  Ben nodded. He wasn’t dead yet, and the man was talking. If the man kept talking, maybe he’d survive this. This thing used the name Gunther when he worked with heroes. He couldn’t afford the bad press.

  Gunther continued. “The man wandered for a time, but eventually he decided that what he needed to do was stop his family from doing what they did. He made a plan, and by following that plan he’d rid the world of his family and their followers. You know what’s funny? He wasn’t then and isn’t now a good man, but he likes good people, and if he can make the world better for them, he’ll do it.”