Ryk E. Spoor's Blog, page 57

Paradigms Lost: Chapter 23

 

I’m pretty sure this is the shortest chapter in the book.

 

 

 

—-

 

 

Chapter 23: Remembering Old Times

“Okay, Jason, what’ve you got?”

That was Renee, straight to the point. “A whole lot. But first, come here; there’s someone I want you to meet.”

She followed me to the living room. Verne rose from the red chair, bowed as I introduced them. “Renee Reisman, Verne Domingo.”

She didn’t shake hands. “Jason, we’ve had our eye on this man for some time. I’d like to know just what his connection is with you.”

“I shall explain, my lady,” Verne said. “Look at me,” he continued in a low but commanding voice.

Reflexively she shot a glance into his eyes—and froze.

He stepped closer, touched her temple gently with his right hand. He gazed intensely at her for several seconds. “Remember,” he said.

Renee’s eyes widened. A choked scream burst from her lips, and she staggered back, sagged, pale and shaking, onto my couch. “Oh dear God …” She closed her eyes, massaged her temples, and took several ragged breaths. Finally she raised her head. “I… I remember now. But until now, it was like those memories didn’t even exist.” She stared at Verne, still shaking.

“My sincerest apologies, Renee—may I call you Renee? Those memories were still there; merely locked away, as you requested. But Jason has convinced me that we need your aid, and we both knew that you must have your full memory to help us.”

The old Renee was reasserting herself, albeit slowly. “That bad, huh?” She raised an eyebrow at me. “I’d assume that his being here means that he isn’t our killer.”

“You’re right.”

She turned back to Verne. “Okay, Domingo. Now that my brain is back, this had better be real good. Because,” she shivered again, “I don’t think that I’ll be able to go through that again. Having my memory switched on and off like a light …”

Verne smiled, the gentlest expression I’d ever seen him use; his fangs didn’t show. “Milady, you showed courage far greater than mine to undergo that treatment once; neither of us either desired or expected that you would once more ask to forget.”

“Damn straight.” She ran her fingers through her hair, took a deep breath, and crossed her legs. “All right, let’s have it.”

 

 

Paradigms Lost: Chapter 22

 

Jason’s got some information gathering to do…

 

 

 

 

Chapter 22: Three Conversations, One Problem

I got back to my house, opened the door, and went to the kitchen. A few minutes later, sandwich and soda next to me, I booted up my terminal program. I needed to contact “Manuel Garcia O’Kelly Davis.” Manuel was actually a fairly high-placed military intelligence analyst. I thought he was Air Force, but there was no way to be sure. I sent him a secured e-mail, asking for a conference. He agreed, and we set up the doubly secured relay, with me supplying a few bells and whistles that would make anyone trying to trace either one of us end up chasing their own tails through the telecommunications network. As per our long-established habits, neither of us used the other’s real name; to him, I was “Mentor of Arisia,” and he remained “Manuel.”

>>Hello, Mentor. You ready for the apocalypse? Less than six months to go!<<

I snorted. We often joked around about the “Y2K” problem, but it hadn’t been a joke for a lot of people I knew – it was a costly problem that people had put off for years and in these last few months people were scrambling to put the last patches in. Not that the disasters predicted were ever likely to have happened, but it WAS going to be a major pain in the butt. I typed back,

>>*MY* computer software is up to date. It’s you guys in the government that have to worry about your antiquated systems with two-digit date fields.<<

>>True dat. What’s up?<<

>>Got a problem. You have time?<<

>>Two hours enough?<<

>>Should be.<<

I filled him in on the situation, leaving out the gory details and concentrating on the NSA factors.

>>Can you find out what their angle is?<<

>>Christ. You don’t ask for much, do you. Look, I can check into it, but you’d do better to just drop out, you know?<<

>>I can’t. It’d nag at me forever.<<

>>I know the feeling. Just remember, anything I tell you, I didn’t tell you. Right?<<

>>Right.<<

I signed off, then finally got on to one of the underground boards; one run by a pirate and hacker that I knew pretty well.

>>Hello, Demon? You there?<<

>>Readin’ you loud and clear, Mentor old buddy. You slumming?<<

>>Looking for info, as usual. You still keep up on the doings of the rich and infamous?<<

>>Best I can, you can bet on it.<<

The Demon was a damn good hacker – almost on a par with the legendary Jammer – and very well informed. He kept an eye on criminal doings not merely on the Net, but throughout the world. He viewed his piracy as a matter of free information distribution; since I make my living by distributing information and getting paid for that service, I found myself simultaneously agreeing and disagreeing with him. Nonetheless, we got along pretty well since the Demon absolutely hated the real Darksiders—people who destroyed other’s work. To his mind, copying information was one thing. Destroying or corrupting it was another thing entirely.

>>Demon, what’s going on now that might be bothering the Feds?<<

>>You talking big or little?<<

>>Big, but not like countries going to war; NSA stuff.<<

>>Hold on. Lemme think.<<

I waited.

>>Okay, there are about three things I can think of; but lemme ask, did something happen in your area?<<

>>Yes, that’s how I got interested.<<

>>Got you. That only leaves one. NSA and the other agencies have been checking your general area trying to locate a real nasty Darksider who calls himself Gorthaur. He’s a total sleaze. None of the respectable hackers or crackers will deal with him, but no one’s really got the guts to tell him to kiss off. There are a lot of ugly rumors about him. Or her, no one’s really sure either way. Gorthaur’s been heavy into espionage and industrial spying and sabotage. A real prize.<<

>>He ever sign on your board?<<

>>He did until I found out who he was. Far as I know, I’m the only one to tell him what I thought of him. I told him that he’d better not log back on ’cause if I ever got anything on him I’d turn him over to the cops so fast it’d make his chips spin.<<

>>Bet he didn’t like that.<<

>>He told me that it wasn’t healthy to get in his way. I told him to save the threats for the kiddies.<<

I frowned at that.

>>Look, Demon, if it turns out this Gorthaur is part of what I’m involved in, you’d better take his warning seriously. There’s already one corpse and the place is crawling with NSA.<<

>>I’ll be careful then.<<

I got off and sat back. Then I shut the system down and got up, turned around. A tall, angular, dark figure loomed over me, scarcely a foot away.

“Holy CRAP!” I jumped back, tripped over the chair, dropped my glass, fell. My head smacked into the edge of the table and I flopped to the floor and just lay there as the red mist cleared.

“My apologies, Jason. Let me help you up.” Verne Domingo pulled me to my feet as though I were a doll.

I pushed him away; he let go. “Christ! What in hell did you think you were doing? You scared me into next week!” I rubbed the already growing lump on my skull.

“I have said I was sorry. I did not wish to call you via phone; the government has ears, after all. And coming obviously in person would call just as much attention. I had only just materialized when you turned, and I had no chance to warn you.”

“Okay, Okay. Sorry I yelled.” I started for the kitchen, went towards the freezer.

“Sit, Jason. I will take care of that.” He took the handtowel from the countertop, rinsed it, dumped several ice cubes into it. Then he folded the towel into a bundle and squeezed. I heard splintering noises as the ice was crushed. “There. Put that on the swelling.”

I did. The cold helped, even when it started to ache. “What’d you have to see me for?”

“To explain, my friend.” He stood with his back to the refrigerator, stiff and somehow sad. “The story you told me last night… it had very disturbing elements in it, very disturbing indeed. I had to check them before I could believe what my heart knew was the truth. Now I must tell you what is happening here, and for you to understand, you must hear a little history.

“Vampires are among the most powerful of what you would call the supernatural races, but – as I am sure you have guessed – we are not the only such; most have …” he hesitated, then went on, “… either long since died out or else found some way to leave this world that is no longer congenial to them, but a few, either through preference or necessity, still live on. My people are, on the whole, cautious not to arouse the awareness of you mortals, and this suits us. Bound as we are to the world in which we are born, we cannot leave, and so we live as best we can without doing that which could rouse you who now rule it to pursue us.

“There was another race of beings, however, which was not so circumspect. They did not reproduce as we do, by converting mortals; they reproduced themselves as do most races, and this is perhaps why they had less sympathy for your people. But more likely they lacked sympathy because it was not in their nature; for they preyed on us as well.” He looked at me steadily. “Your people call them werewolves.”

I blinked. “Oh, no. Not again.”

“I am afraid so. You have stumbled into the realm of the paranormal once more.”

Vaguely I had the feeling that there was something missing—something Verne was avoiding telling me. But it wasn’t central; the main points, I was sure, were the real thing. But something else wasn’t quite… right. Well, maybe he’d clear that up later. I grimaced. “What was that line from Die Hard 2? ‘How can the same shit happen to the same guy twice?’ Look, how could werewolves prey on you? I mean, you guys are awfully hard to kill and once you die, well, you go to dust, at least the older ones. Klein took several days. Not much to eat there. Besides, couldn’t you just turn around and eat them?”

“We are not as invulnerable as you think.” He hesitated. “The truth is that it is not merely wood which can harm us. Wood harms us because it was once living. Any object composed of living or formerly living matter can harm us. Thus the werewolves could kill us with their formidable natural weaponry. As for the feeding… your writers have often glimpsed the truth. They did indeed consume flesh; but more, they fed on the raw emotions. Fear and despair, terror and rage, these things strengthened them; and when their victim finally died, they fed, directly, on the life force, the soul if you will, as it passed from the body. Nor could we return the favor. Their blood-scent was enticing, true; but any attempt to drain them only succeeded in slaying both parties. We immortals were a rare delicacy to them. We hid ourselves well, but they eventually would find ways to locate us. We fought them off on occasion, but they became ever more devious and effective over the centuries, leaving us alone for long enough that we began to feel safe, then returning to feast upon those who did not know their peril and were unready to defend themselves against the monsters.

“That threat accomplished what none of our talking had managed before; all the different … groups of the vampires united against the lycanthropes, and waged a long and bitter war. In the end we destroyed them. I myself confronted the last, and greatest, of the breed, and I slew him with great pleasure. He had been terrorizing the city of London while using a name which he knew would taunt me.”

“Vlad Dracul.”

He nodded.

“And now you wonder if you really killed him at all.”

“No.” He sat slowly. “I do not wonder at all. I know now that I did not kill him; that somehow he survived what I had believed were mortal wounds.”

“You’d better tell me everything about these things. Especially how to kill them.”

“Silver is the only way – at least the only way that you could make use of. I do not know in what manner, but the metal somehow disrupts their internal balance. Both teeth and claws, in their lupine form, are of some crystalline substance of great toughness. Their strength is immense, their cunning formidable, and their ability to shift shape, though confined to a vaguely wolf-like monstrous form on the one hand, is unlimited in the human range; they can be anyone at all. They do not fear night or day, nor does the phase of the moon have any effect upon them. They also have a talent similar to my own to charm and cloud other minds. They do not have my people’s ability to dematerialize, but they can prevent us from using it if they get a hold on us.”

“Ugh. Tell me, do they become stronger with age like you vampires?”

“I am afraid so.”

“And this one was the biggest, oldest, baddest of the werewolves when you fought him?”

“Quite. I was not alone, however.”

“Not alone? You mean you couldn’t handle him by yourself?” The thought was terrifying. I knew how strong Klein had been, how hard he was to kill, and since then I’d seen what Verne was capable of; trying to imagine something powerful enough to beat a vampire as ancient as Verne…

He showed his fangs in a humorless grin. “I will admit that we never found out. I had two companions …” He hesitated again before continuing, “… both of them… leaders of their own clans or families of vampires. Though normally enemies, we had realized that these creatures were more of a threat to us all than any of us. We ambushed him, all striking at once with the silver knives I had prepared for this moment, and threw the body in the Thames, the knives embedded in the corpse, so that his people would not find him in time to have any chance to save him. So swift were we that he never had a chance to strike back.”

“Marvelous.” I shook my head. “Well, at least you’ve eased my mind on one thing.”

“That being… ?”

“I hate coincidences. I don’t believe in them. Now I know why he’s ended up here.” I looked across the table. “He’s been tracking you. And he’s going to kill you if he can.”

Verne Domingo nodded slowly.

 

 

 

 

Polychrome: Chapter 7 and First Vision

 

It’s time for a point of view we haven’t seen for quite a while… since the beginning, in fact… and then one we will see short pieces of a few more times…

 

 

 

Chapter 7.

   He looked up from the stone he was polishing as the Tempest swirled into the room. “You bring news?”

The bound storm-spirit bowed low before Ugu, and in a thin shrieking voice reported its observations. As he listened, Ugu felt his face tightening, already thin lips thinning. And so it has begun. Once the Tempest had concluded, he nodded and waved it away. “Call the others back; I will have new orders for you soon enough.”

Carefully he placed his tools back in their places; with the strength of a Herkus who had long since assimilated the strength of the mystical zosozo which was the sole province of that hidden group of people, he lifted the three-ton statue he was working on and carried it back to its sheltered niche. Assured that all was neat and clean in his workshop, he left, locking the door with a gesture. “Lady Amanita,” he said to apparently empty air, “we have something to discuss.”

Her light and warm voice replied immediately. “But of course, my King. I will attend you in the throne room immediately.”

Ugu mounted the steps to the great black throne – with its second green throne, slightly lower. He could not quite restrain an acid smile at that. Some would take that to indicate that he was the true ruler, and he suspected that Amanita intended him to view it that was, as well. But he knew that despite his magic being pivotal to their recovery and success, her powers were at least the equal of his own, and she was in some ways far more dangerous.

As the beautiful green-haired woman, eyes sparkling and seeming warm and inviting, appeared in the throne – where a moment before had been fluttering a harmless-looking green butterfly – one aspect of that danger was reinforced. Ugu may have been a hermit in his first war against Oz, but that hadn’t been because he was unaware of certain attractions; and when the former Mrs. Yoop had chosen her new appearance and name, she had made clear that she had very intimate ways to show her gratitude at finally being freed from her prior humiliating shape. Ugu had even allowed himself, for a short time, to believe that she might actually have fallen in love with him. But he had watched people as a sour-tempered Dove for … hundreds of years? He saw her glances in moments out of the corner of his eye, heard what his own spies reported of her behavior and words. Her enthusiasm was for power, and control. Now that she had been forced from her comfortable self-contained retreat, the former desire for isolation had been replaced with a demand for mastery – one as matter-of-factly absolute as her prior assertion of dominance over her home.

So while he still occasionally enjoyed the pleasure of her company, he had to admit it also held the additional thrill of danger – because he was unsure, every time, whether she had some additional plans for his vulnerability. Which was why, in moments he could be assured of privacy, he made his own preparations. She had gathered an array of forces of her own, he knew – and while he had his own advantages, a Yookoohoo with the incredibly honed control that Amanita Verdant (nee Yoop) wielded was a hideously dangerous opponent.

Which was, of course, why the first thing he had done upon acquiring access to his magical tools was to manufacture a charm that prevented any except himself from performing any transformation on him.

“My Lord.” Amanita bowed her head prettily. “What news is this that has you looking so serious?”

“It is time you recalled your spies, My Lady Amanita,” he said, gazing down at the map of Oz and the surrounding countries. “We need all that they have gathered, and we need it now.”

Her green eyebrows quirked upwards. “Oh my. That sounds so… grim, Ugu dear. What has happened?”

“The Lord of Rainbows sent out his daughter but a day or so past.”

“And? The dear girl travels far and wide, and has avoided our little realm.” She knew, obviously, that only one of Iris Mirabilis’ daughters would be referred to simply as “his daughter”.

“And she traveled to the mortal world, directly to the mortal world, and left the Rainbow there.”

All playfulness vanished and she shot to her feet, eyes narrow and cold. “Oh, she did, did she? And has she returned?”

“She has, my Queen. And bringing with her another – a mortal, I would presume.” Ugu was pleased he had managed to surprise her. Often he would call her in with news, only to find that one of her own myriad of spies (in equally many forms) had already given it to her. “Given the reports that Polychrome had indeed rescued that accursed Pink Bear, and the rumors your spies had garnered of a Prophecy, I think we now need the full story. Immediately.”

She nodded sharply. “It will be a loss; it took much to insert a spy undetected into the palace, which is why I have never contacted him until now. But by now he must have at least some of the Prophecy, and with luck all of it. I will recall him and the others.” She gave vent to a curse of such ancient power that one of the green plants she had set in the window nearby spontaneously blackened. “The fools! Did they think we would not know? They think to move against us, now, after we have had all this time to prepare – your marvelous armies, my own Faerie Bindings for power, and all Oz now resigned to our control? Better they had tried earlier – the result would have been the same, but at least they would have made a credible try of it.”

Ugu shook his head. “Do not make the mistake of believing that the Lord of Seven Hues is a fool, Amanita. Even I may be a fool in my own way, but not all others are so stupid as you would make them. If he has chosen to wait, and to act only now, then I assure you he has waited for excellent reasons and has a plan.”

At his quiet rebuke, she glanced at him with momentary fury in the poison-green eyes. But the fury vanished back under the cloak of her control, and she nodded unwillingly. “I… I suppose you are right.”

“I am right, Amanita. We both made the same mistakes before. It would be very well for us both to remember that. We need each other’s power, and we need each other to keep us both from making those mistakes again.”

She stared at him unreadably for a moment, and then suddenly stepped up and kissed his cheek. “You are right, as you say. I should remember that.” For a moment, he thought she actually meant it. She certainly could not forget centuries as a Green Monkey. “Now I will go to the Great Binding and send out the call through the Spirits.”

“Indeed. Go then, and tell me as soon as they return.”

He watched her go, and shuddered as the door closed behind her. The Great Binding was the thing that most frightened him about Amanita Verdant; her greatest triumph, source of her power… and an abomination that even he found distasteful. When they had laid their plans, they knew they needed more power, to arrange certain events to occur in sequence very swiftly after they made their first detectable moves. Amanita had sought out certain other enemies of Oz, including the most powerful dark faeries of all, the Phanfasms. Deprived of much of their memories in the climactic end of their attempt to invade Oz (and not so simply as the mortal books had depicted it), the Phanfasms had no real knowledge of who they had been, though they were no less powerful than before. They were mischievous, sometimes cruel children in their minds, and Amanita’s beauty and words had captivated them. She had whispered pieces of the truth to them, awakened vague memories and rage, and they had sworn to assist her at the proper moment. She had even promised that this time they need not even march to battle.

And – as she always did – she had kept her promise. As Ugu cast the spell which was intended to bring down the Curse of Stone on their enemies, they had known great and powerful defenses would resist such a direct strike. Amanita called the Phanfasms in to “assist in the ritual”, lending their power to the enchantment.

But the pentacle and runic circles she had inscribed had been a trap, something even Ugu had not fully recognized. With the First and Foremost, leader of the Phanfasms, in the center, and all the mass of his people gathered within, focused on a task of malice and destruction… she had enacted a terrifying transformation, a combination of ritual magic and Yookoohoo power that bound the very essences of the dark faeries into a swirling vortex of power, filled with hate and rage and dismay, that she could draw upon. So far, she had used scarcely any of that mass of power which, as far as Ugu was concerned, was the closest thing in faerie to the power of Hell.

He closed his eyes, then shrugged. As long as there was an external enemy, he needed her – and she would be focused outside, not inside.

And it was not as though he, Ugu the Unbowed, did not have his own reserves. When he no longer needed Amanita, there were ways to remove her. Perhaps even taking that tempting abomination for himself.

He smiled, and turned back towards the hall to his workshop.

 

First Vision:

     She tried to turn away, but the light surrounded her. Not the bright and piercing warmth of the sun, the green-white of deep forest illuminance, the rosy color of castle lamps or pale white of the moon. It was the sick blazing actinic hue of daylight to one suffering a headache, the color of burning steel. There was nowhere to turn, no escape from the roiling unrelieved soundless conflagration of stabbing brilliance.

She tried to cry out, but she had no voice, she had no mouth, she had no self. There was only the terrible light and behind it the sense of loss, of failure. The pain of the people who counted on her, who looked to her in times of trouble, who needed her. Something monstrous had happened, but she was barely able to be aware of that fact, scarcely capable of realizing with molasses-slow thought that she, too, was caught in a trap, a web of deceit and diabolical purpose whose nature was all too clear, now that she could do nothing whatsoever.

And the light continued, searing into her. It was the light of prison, the light of torment, the light…

…the light of enslavement. Even as she thought it, she could feel it now, her own connection with the world being reversed, flowing from her, through her, at the will of another. She could not fight it; the binding was complete. Only something so utterly opposed to her enslavers that it lay completely beyond their knowledge or understanding could possible break that binding… and it would then, of course, be something that could have no knowledge of how to do such a thing.

And the light burned on and on, wearing her away, ever thinner, yet never quite able to vanish, never able to die or be destroyed. She would have wept, had she tears or eyes to cry them. Despair was foreign to her kind, but she recognized that in the end even she would fall to it, with no help or hope remaining for her people, her land, and herself. Already she could feel it, an aching emptiness that, once fully opened, could never be filled again.

And then there was a single point of dark. So faint, so distant, but it was there, a negation of fever-brightness and hateful brilliance.

And without lips or face, still she smiled, because the name of the color of dark was hope.

 

 

 

Paradigms Lost: Chapter 21

 

 

Jason has some personal issues to deal with…

 

 

—–

 

 

Chapter 21: Admissions and Evidence

The door opened. “Jason!” Sylvie said, looking surprised.

“Hi, Syl. Can I come in?”

“Sure. Watch out for the books on the floor, I’m rearranging the library.”

I stepped in. I noticed again the odd, warm smell of her house; the dusty, comfortable scent of old books blended with a faint tinge of kitchen spices and old-fashioned perfume, a smell that didn’t fit someone as young and gorgeous as Syl—except that, somehow, it did fit, because it was Sylvie’s house. Sylvie stepped ahead of me and carefully lifted a stack of books off a large chair.

“I suppose I should apologize, Jason. I was pretty hard on you.”

“No, Syl, you were right.” I sat down; she took the arm of the couch right next to me. “I’ve been trying to have it both ways and it doesn’t work. I can’t flirt with you half the time and then expect you to act just like a friend the other half. You can’t just switch your behavior to match whatever my mood is, and even if you could it’s wrong for me to expect you to.”

“I know, Jason,” she said gently. She put her hand on my shoulder. “I’m the person you’ve practically told your life story to, remember? I’m only a little surprised that you’ve understood yourself so quickly.”

“It wasn’t me, really. Someone who has better perception than I do held a mirror up to my face.”

“Now who would…” she trailed off, staring at me. “My god, Jason. Not … him?”

I had kept my interactions with Verne quiet, so I wasn’t terribly surprised by her surprise, but… “Verne Domingo, yes.”

She shuddered slightly, then studied me intensely; I almost expected her to start doing some kind of crystal ritual or something. “Are you… all right?”

“What? Of course I’m all right. What’s the matter?”

She stared at me, wide-eyed. “What’s the matter? He’s a vampire! The question should be why you have anything to do with him! Yes, I know you worked together with him but… you’ve gone from turning up your nose at the drug-runner to, it seems, being his best buddy! For that matter,” she frowned, “why does he have anything to do with you? I still don’t understand why he let us remember. It sure would have been simpler for him to make all of us forget.”

“He let us remember because, well, he needs me to remember if I’m going to be of any use, and he knows that part of the price of my cooperation is that he keeps his hands off you. Not that I’m worried about that so much, now. I’ve gotten to know him since. He’s lonely, Syl! Just think about it for a minute. Here you are, immortal, for most purposes invulnerable, with all these superhuman powers, and at the same time you don’t dare mention it to anyone! I think he got to the point that, when he realized that I wasn’t all that scared of him, he just couldn’t make himself wipe my memory away and shut me out of his life. He needs someone he can talk to, someone who knows what he is and still will treat him like a person.

“Also, that’s smuggleddrugs, not smuggles. Those stories aren’t just for show—he really has become an art and artifact expert.” I hadn’t gone over the entire story before with Syl, and didn’t want to muddy the waters right now.

Syl’s face was serious now. She’s very empathic; I could see that she understood. “So why did he wipe Renee’s memory?”

“Because Renee told him to do it. She said that she would be better off not knowing, and it would help her carry conviction in the story we cooked up.”

“I see.” She looked thoughtful now.

“I also think he hopes you will visit him. He speaks very highly of you.”

She looked surprised at that, but then her gaze sharpened. “Jason, why were you there yesterday evening? I know it wasn’t just to talk about your love life.”

“You’re right.” I gave her the whole story along with everything Verne had said. Just as I finished, the phone rang. It was Lieutenant Reisman. She was calling from a pay phone, so I took the number and called her back. “What’s up, Renee?”

“Remember our Federal friend? Well, his business associates showed up. We’ve been told to butt out; national security and all that.”

“Well, we could have predicted that. SOP.”

Renee snorted. “Bullcrap, Wood. Usually the Feds cooperate with the locals; they don’t want to piss us off. When they go into a total stonewall like this, they’re not kidding around, and there’s something big involved.”

“So why call me?”

“Because I know you, Wood. You dropped into the middle of it and you never give up on anything. I haven’t told them you’re in the picture. No one else on the site really saw you except the ME, and he’s so close-mouthed he wouldn’t say if he saw his own mother at her funeral unless he was under oath. I’m just warning you about what kind of trouble you could be in if you keep poking into this.”

“What about you?”

There was a pause, then an explosive, short laugh. “Yeah, you know me too.”

“Can you get me the ME report?”

She thought for a moment. “I’ll have to figure out some way to weasel it out of him without alerting the Feds, but yeah, I think I can. So what are you going to do for me?”

“My job. Get you information.” I smiled slowly. “Don’t you think it might help if we can find out why they’re so worried?”

She hesitated. “It sure would. But I don’t want to know how you get it.”

“Right. Look, why don’t you come over for dinner tomorrow, if you’re not too busy? I should have something by then, and hopefully they won’t try to listen in. We can set up some way to talk safely then.”

“Okay. And, Jason,” her tone shifted, “be careful. This is dangerous stuff we’re playing with.”

“I know. Bye.”

I looked up at Syl. One glance froze me. She had that deep-eyed, deadly serious look again. Her “feeling” look. After the last few times, I’d learned to trust those feelings with my life. “What is it, Syl?”

“It’s bad, Jason. Very bad.” She shivered. “More people are going to die before this is over.”

 

 

Paradigms Lost: Chapter 20

 

So, Renee had given him a creepy crime to think about…

 

—–

 

 

Chapter 20: An Unusual Consultant

Red liquid swirled warmly in the crystal glass, throwing off crimson highlights. Verne Domingo sipped. I swallowed some of my ginger ale, noticing how little I was affected these days by the knowledge that Verne was drinking blood.

“Why doesn’t it clot?” I asked idly.

“Heparin, my friend. A standard anticoagulant.”

“Doesn’t that give you any problems?”

His warm chuckle rolled out. “Not in the least, Jason. Nor does anything else within the blood. Disease and toxins cannot harm me. It does change the taste somewhat, and on occasion I do need some fresh blood; but that, too, can be arranged.”

“How’s things going?” I asked, realizing I was evading what had brought me here… but now that I was here I found myself a little nervous. “Your new business and all?”

“Oh, well enough. Sky Hashima was to have visited either this evening or the next, but he had a family emergency; his daughter apparently managed to break her leg and develop appendicitis at the same time.”

“What?”

“The description was a bit… disjointed, but I gather that the infection came on quickly, and when she was trying to come down the stairs the pain hit, she tripped, and fell. So she is now in the hospital, having surgery for a ruptured appendix and a complex fracture.”

“Holy crap. I’d better send them a card or something. I hope she’ll be okay.”

“I believe she will be, and am sure they would appreciate it.” He gazed at me levelly. “Enough of these pleasantries, Jason. Tell me what is bothering you.”

Okay, I can’t hide much from him, can I? “An awful lot of things, really. This has been the kind of day that makes me think I should have just slept on to tomorrow.” I put the glass down and fiddled with my keys. “I really don’t want to bother you, either. I guess any problems I have would seem pretty insignificant to you anyway.”

“Perhaps not, my friend.” He took another sip. “I am many centuries old, that is true, and such a perspective makes many mortal concerns seem at best amusing conceits. But the affairs of the heart, and the concerns of a friend, these things are eternal. Those… immortals who lose sight of their basic humanity become as was your friend Elias Klein. Something I was myself in danger of becoming, and had come very close to becoming more than once in the past.”

He put the glass down. “Truly, Jason. I am interested. It is a rare thing for me, remember, to again think of, and take part in, the ordinary things of humanity.”

That much was true. “Well, first there was a call from Renee,” I said finally. “This kid, Xavier Ross … well, long story short, his brother was murdered in a nasty way, cops closed the case awfully fast, Xavier had reason to think they were wrong, he came to me. I found some other evidence, he took it to the police but they wouldn’t re-open the case, so he waits a few weeks and then takes off on his own – best guess that he’s heading for LA like he’s some kind of hero.”

Verne nodded. “And…”

“And Renee called today; they managed to track him to Chicago, and he just disappears. Some kind of gang fight right in his last vicinity, and they found a lot of blood and a couple traces of clothing that matched his.”

“So,” Verne said seriously, “then you blame yourself?”

“I should’ve cut him off from the start. Damn, Verne, he was sixteen. He shouldn’t have been …”

“Understandable, indeed. Yet… I feel there was more. You must have ways of letting go, so to speak.”

I sighed. “Yeah. Yeah, I do, and mostly I know he made his choices on his own, and it’s not my fault or lookout. But still, that took me a few hours to dig my brain out from under, so to speak, and then I get out of work and Sylvie wants to… talk to me.” I hesitated.

He smiled. He probably meant it to comfort me, but the kindly effect was slightly offset by the sight of his fangs. “I can guess, my friend. The affaire d’amour, eh? And you are, I have noticed, a bit uncomfortable with the subject.”

I stared carefully at my drink. “That obvious, huh?”

“Quite.” He raised his glass and drank. “A word of advice, if you will take it? Women are indeed different from men in many ways – even as they are much the same in many others; but both sides like things that are certain and predictable. If you do not intend a romantic involvement with the young lady, then comport yourself accordingly. I know you, my young friend. You are attracted to her, but at the same time I can sense that you are, to put it bluntly, petrified at the thought of such an involvement. When she demands a decision, she is not telling you to either become involved with her or she will leave; she is telling you to treat her as either lover or simple friend, not something of each. It may be easy for you to behave as your impulses lead; it is hard on her.”

I stared harder at my glass. That was a cutting analysis. I hate having to see myself like that. But he was right. “Sylvie… she’s different from everyone else. It’s strange, really. You intimidate me a lot less than she does.”

Verne laughed. “Now that is odd, my friend. I agree, most certainly, that the lady is different. She has a Power which is rare, rarer even than you or she realize, especially in this day and age. But for a man who has dueled one of the Undead and emerged the victor, a talented young lady should hardly be a great threat.” His smile softened. “It seems to me that, just perhaps, the reason is that she is more precious to you than any others because of this talent—she sees within the souls of those about her, and thus you know she accepts what you are more fully than anyone else living could. To a bachelor such as yourself, she is a grave threat indeed.”

I couldn’t restrain a nervous laugh of my own. “I couldn’t be that clichéd, could I?”

The old vampire smiled again. “I am afraid, my friend, that we are all too often the clichés of our times. I am only unusual because I have outlived all those who would recognize me. Yet, in your own fiction, I have found myself being stereotyped once more.” He finished the glass of blood and set it down. “Was there anything else, Jason? Though I will admit that a young life in jeopardy due to percieved responsibility on your part, followed by friendship troubles is quite enough to make a bad day, I suspect something worse would be needed to make you come here.”

I nodded. “You could say that.” In a few sentences I outlined the horror in the clearing. “So you see I had to come here.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I don’t quite see that you had to come here.”

“Reisman may be thinking ‘psycho’ right now, but that’s because your little hypnotism job, or whatever you call it, keeps her from remembering that there’s a local vampire who could do that to someone a heckuva lot easier than an ordinary nut. And since the guy was a Fed… I had to find out from you if you did have him killed.”

His lips tightened. “You offend me, Jason. Once before you suspected me of being a murderer, but then I had been well framed for the part. Now you know me, and yet you would think I would kill someone in such a grotesque way?”

“Look, I’m sorry, Verne. It’s not that I suspect it. It’s a question I have to ask because Reisman can’t ask it. I don’t believe it. But Elias knew you were a drug-runner, and though we conveniently made that disappear when we did the great vampire coverup, Renee Reisman could easily find it out again, and then she would be up here grilling you. Even though you’ve changed your profession since, the fact that you were ever involved in that kind of thing won’t look good.”

He sat back slowly, and I relaxed a bit. Pissing a vampire off isn’t the way to ensure a long life—what he’d done to Carmichael’s estate had shown that all too well. “I did have another couple of reasons. I thought you might know something, maybe about another vampire that for some ungodly reason decided to move here.”

He shook his head, hesitated a moment, then spoke. “As you know, vampires are one of the few sorts of beings that I cannot sense automatically. Unless your hypothetical newcomer were to introduce himself, I’m afraid that I would have no better idea than you of his presence.

“Besides that, it stretches the bounds of reason to suppose that three vampires would be found in such close proximity.” He chuckled slightly. “We are a rare race; were the environmentalists aware of us, I would not be surprised to find us on an endangered species list. I am still somewhat puzzled by Klein’s presence; he obviously became a vampire relatively recently, yet his maker seemed unconcerned with either Klein’s behavior or survival.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You mean his maker might have objected to what he did?”

Verne nodded. “His maker should have objected, or in fact have controlled him. As a general rule, they try not to make waves, so to speak, for other beings that live in the twilight world between your civilization’s ‘reality’ and the lands of myth. And, not to sound overly egotistical, I am an extremely well-known member of that group. I would have expected his maker to be extremely concerned about annoying me by involving me in the manner Klein did. And, indeed, if I discover who was responsible for making him and leaving him uncontrolled, I will… have a talk with that person.”

“We never did find out how or why Klein became a vampire; couldn’t this killing be due to whoever Klein’s maker was?”

Verne rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “It is possible, of course. It would eliminate that element of coincidence; if this was the case, then Klein’s behavior might even have been precisely what his maker wanted. But still… a vampire who had decided on such a bizarre and savage method of killing… I find it difficult to believe such a creature would waste so much of the essence of the living. But you said ‘a couple’ of other reasons. What was the other?”

“The murderer apparently phoned headquarters… and he gave his name as Vlad Dracul.”

I would never have believed it was possible, but the blood drained straight out of Verne’s face, leaving him literally white as paper. “Vlad Dracul… that is not possible. It must not be possible.” His voice was a whisper. I felt gooseflesh rising on my arms; Verne sounded afraid.

I didn’t even want to imagine what could scare him. “Of course it’s impossible. Vlad Tepes, the Dracula of legend, died a long, long time ago.” Another thought occurred to me. “Unless… given the initials… you were him.”

He made a cutting gesture with his hand, his ruby ring flashing like a warning. He stepped to the window; for several minutes he stared out at the moonlit landscape. “No. I was not… him. But that name has… meaning…” He paused. “I’d rather not discuss this now, Jason. I must make some inquiries.” He turned back to me. “I’m sorry to cut this short, but you’ll have to leave now.”

One look was enough to convince me not to argue. “Okay, Verne. Can you just tell me one thing?”

“Perhaps.”

“Is it another vampire? Is that what you think?”

A very faint, eerie smile crossed his face. My skin prickled anew. “A vampire? Oh, no, not a vampire.”

That smile stayed with me all the way home.

 

 

 

 

Polychrome: Chapter 6

Our two heroes were finally on their way…

 

 

—–

 

 

Chapter 6.

     We leapt from cloud to cloud, the white mists undefined at close range, yet giving springily underfoot like deep, deep turf, little puffs of mist following every step. If I die right now, I’ll die happy, I found myself thinking. It was clichéd, it was corny, but it was true. I’d met Polychrome, I’d actually found a way to show her beauty, and I’d flown and danced through the clouds themselves.

But I wouldn’t die a success, and the problem wouldn’t be solved, so I hoped that dying wasn’t in the cards for a while yet. The warning of danger and that sharp, perilous smile Polychrome had flashed me added an edge of excitement that was almost too much to bear. Part of me had wanted to hear that there was danger… even though I was very far indeed from being ready to face anything. It was a little galling to recognize that I’d have to depend on Polychrome to defend me, though.

I knew my eyes weren’t nearly as good as Poly’s, but having had good reason to learn to sense movement and oddities in a background – both as an amateur astronomer and as one who had, in his past, been frequently bullied – I was pretty good at noticing things that might pass others by, at least when I was paying attention. I was paying attention now, and a tiny flicker of motion caught my eye.

“Poly –”

A single glance in that direction and her face hardened, suddenly more Valkyrie than fairy. “Yes. We run now, Erik. Do not let go, do not falter.”

The dark shape was terribly small in the distance, yet somehow it had the same eerie implication of deadly power of a tornado; in the sunlight I could see the same green-black color that was unmistakable to anyone who’d ever seen such clouds.

But there was no time to look back now, because Polychrome was pulling me along, forcing me to run, run as I hadn’t in years. I had mastered long walks, gained some endurance that way, but effort-triggered asthma was not something that encouraged distance running.

I ran, though, holding Polychrome’s hand as her power helped turn my heavy mortal steps to inhuman bounds, clearing a hundred yards, two hundred at a step, sprinting at a speed to rival a jet, yet leaving hardly a wake behind us. It was a terrifying but exhilarating experience, and in some ways I wished it could go on forever.

But my lungs were not cooperating. The air was not nearly so cold around Polychrome as it should have been, nor so thin, but my air passages were closing themselves off. I heard the thin, shrieking whistle in my chest, felt the pressure. My ribs began to ache and I stumbled, almost falling, forced myself to continue, but now my thighs and calves were beginning to protest, pain of fatigue starting to radiate through them, stiffening my legs and throwing my stride off. “P…Poly…” I gasped, but my voice was a thin whisper and the wind of our passage tore the word away, cast it backwards.

Then I staggered again, tripped, reflexively reaching out. But Poly had already begun the next leap, and as she did, the rainbow glory that surrounded her passed out from beneath me.

A shockwave of deadly cold washed over my body and my ears screamed and popped as pressure equalized, explosive decompression at 35,000 feet. For a moment even the strangled ache in my chest was forgotten in the ice-bladed agony of that moment.

And then I had something even worse to worry about, as I plummeted like a stone into the clouds below.

Ice crystals tore like microscopic claws of miniature demons over my face, and I screwed my eyes shut to keep the wind from possibly freezing my eyeballs solid. 35,000 feet… terminal velocity maybe 120mph… reached that or close to it by now… about 7 miles… I’ve got three, three and a half minutes before I hit. Ouch.

An apocalyptic blue-white flash and a BOOM like the shattering of a mountain let me know that I might have a LOT less than that. Or more, if I got into an updraft. I was buffeted by turbulent winds and freezing rain soaked me. I was wheezing and shivering and the only reason I wasn’t screaming is that I couldn’t spare the breath.

I’ve still got my inhaler on me. Got to wait until it’s warmer, though… can’t suck this stuff in deep… too cold. I might be dead a couple minutes later, but if anyone could save me, I sure didn’t want to suffocate to death afterwards.

A blast of warmer air, a splatter of rain that was probably still cold, but felt like a warm shower after that last bit. It was pitch black… but no, wait, something light… which direction? I’m going towards it, so it’s down. Oh boy, get ready…

The gray-black mist thinned, lightened, and suddenly I burst out into clear air, the thunderhead still rumbling above me, wrinkled carpet of the earth below. Already I was very far from home, I could tell; none of the geography looked familiar, and I’d done quite a number of airplane flights over the years. A minute or so left…

I pulled out the inhaler, took a shot. It was a feeble first try, but the tightness began to loosen. I waited a few seconds, spreading myself as wide as possible on the winds… Not that this will help much… even if I hit water from this altitude it’ll splatter me like concrete, even if I slow myself to a mere 90 miles per hour or so… Another puff on the inhaler, and that – plus all the adrenalin from the fall – seemed to finally force my lungs to give up on the suicide attempt. I felt air rushing back into me, my brain clearing, as the details of the ground began to resolve, showing that I had only a few thousand more feet to go…

And then I saw a spark of rainbow light above me, dropping from the cloud like a diving hawk. It plummeted towards me, closing the distance… but I was still falling. I glanced down, saw the Earth rushing closer with terrifying speed, looked up, and I could see Polychrome now, a look of grim determination on the beautiful face, drawing nearer, nearer, reaching out…

And our hands touched.

Instantly I stopped, enveloped by warm air and standing on rainbow glory. I looked down.

Polychrome had caught me with about two hundred feet left to go.

I looked at her, trying to smile, while my legs shook from the reaction to near-death, seeing her own pale face mirroring my own. “Cut it… a… a little fine there, didn’t you?”

For a minute I thought she was going to slap me, but suddenly she giggled. “You… you don’t ever do that again!”

“Believe me, I didn’t plan on it. But I can’t keep running like that for long; I stop breathing.” I was glancing around now, looking for a speck the color of gangrene and storm.

She looked concerned. “Are you …”

“All right… for now. But what about our pursuers?”

She gave a shaky laugh. “Your… unexpected maneuver, Erik, probably surprised them more even than it did me. And I did not use my power to pursue at first, merely dropped, so they had not a trace to follow. I hope… I hope that we have lost them, at least for now. Can you walk, at least?”

“I can. Maybe even jog a bit.”

She watched me with concern, but led us upward, away, back into the sky. By the time we reached the heights again, the stormclouds were gone, and fluffy cumulus floated in every direction. “Well,” I said finally, “against that background I think I could see one of those things a long way away.”

“And I could see them even farther, and there are none to be seen.” She gave the first real, relaxed smile she’d given for hours, and that ethereal music rolled out again.

“What is that?” I asked.

“What?”

“I keep hearing music.”

She laughed, and that helped loosen the tightness remaining in my chest and body, just hearing her laugh again. “The Music of the Spheres! It follows all the Faerie in one way or another. ‘Tis the song of the world we inhabit, the spirits and powers that are associated with all Faerie and, perhaps, those above us as well.”

“Above you?”

We landed atop another cloud and saw more stretching before us, a curious formation of one cloud higher than another, almost like steps. “Something had to lay the foundations of the world, chart the direction of the winds, place the stars in their courses. Some even say my Father is descended of these. He might be. I have never asked. But call them the Great Spirits, the Powers, the Gods, what you will, I do not doubt they exist.”

I chewed on that as we hopped from one cloud to the next. I suppose that wasn’t the sort of thing Baum would even want to have touched with a forty-foot pole, especially not in the early 20th century. It did give a deeper level to what was happening, and I wondered how these… gods… might be, or get, involved in the current events.

Wind buoyed us up, the Spheres sang, and we rose higher and higher. And finally, leaping once more to another cloud through a level of even higher mists, I beheld…

“… The Fortress of Rainbow.” Polychrome spoke with dramatic flair and a deep pride as she gestured upward.

The clouds here were steps, there was no more mistaking it, as they became more and more immense oblong risers, great stairs a hundred feet high and just as broad, reaching to a Brobdingnagian edifice that made the words fortress or castle utterly inadequate – a mighty palace with invulnerable walls of polished gray-crystal stormcloud, tumbled rose-quartz mists made solid rising as pinnacles, azure crenellations defining the tops of amethyst keep towers within, bridges of gossamer-white fog joining each to the next, and a shimmering aura of all colors shining out from behind it.

I stared at it for many minutes, speechless as we rose higher and came closer to the Fortress of Rainbow. “If you live here, Lady Polychrome,” I said finally, “I can only say that you did our poor mortal city far too much honor, for nothing save your own beauty have I ever seen to compare to that.”

Was it my imagination, or did she actually blush for an instant? “You are far too kind, but I am sure my father will be pleased to hear your words.”

I was going to meet the Lord of the Rainbow. “And when will I have the pleasure of saying these words to him myself?”

We stepped down on what felt and looked like polished marble, and the great golden gates swung wide. “In a few minutes only, Erik. For I am to bring you before him at the very moment I arrive, and even now I can see a runner going before us, telling Father that I am coming.”

I wasn’t sure I was quite ready for this. I didn’t even know what to expect from this meeting. I was damn sure I wasn’t what he was going to be expecting.

I tried to not look like I was gawking as I was led through the streets towards the Palace that lay ahead. The last thing I needed was to be overawed. I managed to achieve this but only by doing something which – in retrospect – might have been more dangerous: looking almost entirely at Polychrome. And once more her beauty captured me so completely that I really, truly did not notice most of what we passed, did not become aware that we had entered the castle until a great thunderous clang echoed through my consciousness and I looked up, to see two massive portals swinging open before us.

“My Father!” Polychrome called eagerly. “I have returned!”

Seated at the far end of a pillared hall so immense that I was sure I could have flown the Goodyear Blimp down it without touching the pillars on either side, looking down from a throne that must itself have been twenty feet high, was the Lord of Rainbows. In the violet-stormy eyes and in something of the set of the jaw I could see that Polychrome was his true daughter, but the heroic frame, muscled like a Greek Titan, the iridescent armor, the white hair falling around a face chiseled and resolute and with a single scar across one cheek, these were entirely unlike the Daughter of the Rainbow. I knew I was looking not merely on a King, but on some being of vast and dangerous power; I could feel it crackling in the air around us.

He rose and bowed. “Indeed you have, Polychrome, first of Daughters. And … this… is the Hero?”

She laughed. “So it must be, for every prophecy to now he has fulfilled.”

He looked grave and – no surprise – doubtful. But he bowed again to me, and said, “Then I give you welcome. Iris Mirabilis, Lord of the Rainbow, Master of the Seven Hues, greets you.”

I gave my own best bow. “I thank you for the welcome, Lord. I, Erik Medon, mortal man and little else, greet you.”

A slight smile acknowledged my own lack of titles. “It is well. Daughter, leave us.”

“But –”

He gave her a stern look, and Polychrome sighed and bowed. “As you will.” As she turned, she whispered in my ear, “Don’t let him scare you. He’s really the kindest of fathers.”

That’s reassuring. We both waited until the massive throne-room doors had closed behind her. Then I turned back to Iris Mirabilis. “My Lord, I –”

The immense Lord of Rainbows had drawn himself to his full height – which was a lot larger than anything human-shaped had any business being – and a swirl of crackling blue-white electricity was forming about his hand.

“Whoa, now, hold on –”

“Stand fast, mortal! For now the truth shall be known – in life or in your death!”

And a blazing sphere of living thunderbolts smashed down on me.

 

Paradigms Lost: Chapter 19

 

Well, Jason had had some disturbing news earlier…

 

 

 

Chapter 19: Blood and Moonlight

When I can’t talk and can’t act and can’t work… I drive. I cruised down the various highways—the Northway, then part of the Thruway, 787, back to I-90—the windows wide open and the wind roaring at sixty-five. Even so, I barely felt any cooler; for sheer miserable muggy heat, it’s hard to beat the worst summer days of Albany, New York, and its environs, which unfortunately include Morgantown. It was days like this that made me think that an air conditioner retrofit would be a really, really good idea; there were a few drawbacks to driving a 1970s-vintage car.

How long I was out there driving I wasn’t sure. For a while I just tried to follow the moon as it rose slowly, round and white. It was the flashing red lights that finally drew my attention back down to earth.

No, they weren’t chasing me—I wasn’t speeding; there were two police cars up ahead and flares in the road. I slowed and started to go around them; then I saw a familiar, slender figure standing at one car. That made me wince; it was that same person’s voice who’d caused part of my major upset earlier, and she couldn’t be feeling great about it, either. I pulled up just ahead of the squad car. “What’s up, Renee?” I asked.

She jumped and her hand twitched towards her gun. “Jesus! I didn’t even hear you come up.”

That was weird in itself. “Must be something pretty heavy if you didn’t notice Mjolnir pulling in.”

She gestured. “Take a look if you want. Just don’t go beyond the tape. We’re still working here.”

I went down the steep, grassy embankment carefully, finally pulling out my penlight to pick my way down. Despite the moon it was pitchy dark, and the high, jagged pines blocked out what feeble light there was; at least it was cooler under the trees. The slope leveled out, and the light from the crime scene started brightening. The police had set up several portable floods and the area was almost bright as day. I stopped just at the tape.

At first it just looked like someone had stood near the middle of the clearing and spun around while holding a can of red-brown paint. Then one of the investigators moved to one side.

A body was sprawled, spread-eagled in the center of the clearing. The green eyes stared sightlessly upward and the mouth hung open in a frozen scream. His throat had been torn out. The charcoal-gray suit was flung wide open, the white shirt now soaked in red-brown clotting blood where his gut was ripped open. My stomach gave a sudden twist as my gaze reached his waist.

Something had torn his legs, still in the pant legs, off at the hip; then that something had stripped every ounce of meat off the bones and laid the bones carefully back, to gleam whitely where the legs had been.

I got my stomach under control. A few months ago I might have lost it, but having watched Elias Klein fry under a hundred sunlamps had been a couple steps worse.

Still, it was an ugly sight, and I felt pretty shaky as I climbed back up the hill. “Jesus Christ, Renee! What kind of a sicko does things like that?”

She shook her head. “That’s what we’d like to know.”

“Who was the vic?” I asked.

“ID found on him says he’s a Gerald Brandeis of Albany, New York. ID also says he’s Morgan Steinbeck of Hartford, Connecticut. His last ID says he’s Hamilton Fredericks of Washington, DC; also says he’s a Fed.”

That got my attention. “Fed? What kind of Fed?”

She glanced hard at me. I made a zipped-lips motion. She nodded. “Okay, but make sure you keep it zipped. His ID says he’s NSA, Special Division. Occupation is just ‘Special Agent.’ His Hartford ID makes him an insurance investigator for Aetna; the one for Brandeis gives him IRS status.”

I whistled. “From the No Such Agency?” It was a cinch that one was the real deal; no one sane would fake that. “One heavy hitter, that’s for sure. Was he carrying, and if so did he get off any shots?”

“Answer is yes to both.” She pointed inside her squad car. I glanced in, could just make out a 9mm pistol. “Smell indicates it was fired just recently and we found three shell casings. With all the blood around we haven’t been able to tell if he hit anything offhand. We’re trying to find the bullets, but in that sandy- soiled forest chances of getting all three is slim.”

A blue-flashing vehicle pulled up; the medical examiner’s office. He got out and nodded to me, turned to Renee. “Your people done?”

“With the body, yeah. But ask the other officers to direct you, we’re nowhere near finished with the site yet and we don’t want anything here messed up.” The ME gestured and he and his assistants started down the hill.

“How’d you get on to this?” I asked Renee.

She looked uncomfortable. “Someone called us.”

I could tell there was something bothering her. “Someone who found the body?”

She shook her head.

“Then what? Come on, Renee.”

She shrugged. “The station got a call from someone at 7:40 p.m. who claimed to have left a body at this location. The operator said it sounded male, but kind of deep and strange. He didn’t stay on long enough to trace.”

“That is weird. I’d assume he didn’t give a name.”

“You’d assume wrong.” Her face was grim. “He gave a name, all right.

“The name was Vlad Dracul.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Paradigms Lost: Chapter 18

 

We start a new section of the book with another brand-new chapter!

 

 

 

 

Part III: Photo Finish

August, 1999

 

Chapter 18: Action and Reaction

“But I thought we would be seeing The Thirteenth Floor tomorrow night,” Syl said.

I winced. Truth be told, I’d forgotten all about our movie plans in the past few weeks, and Verne had made an appointment – after hours, naturally – to discuss several interesting opportunities he was looking into. Given the situation with Verne, I hadn’t yet let Syl in on that secret, and if her unique … sensitivity had clued her in, she hadn’t let me know about it. “Sorry, Syl. How about Saturday evening?”

She shook her head, miffed. “You know my reading group meets on Saturday evening. And Sunday I’m visiting my parents.” She looked at me with a sudden sly smile. “You know, this is the third set of plans we’ve had to cancel in the last couple of months. Are you going out on a date tomorrow, Jase?”

Though there had been a few times I’d been dating in the last few years, thought of going on a date with Verne made me laugh out loud. “No, no. It’s a business meeting, I just forgot about our plans. And of course tonight’s bowling night.” I went bowling with Renee Reisman and not Syl because Syl found bowling utterly boring. “Sorry. Really, how about Monday then?”

“I’ll forgive you… this time,” she said, tossing her long black hair, making her assortment of beads and bracelets jingle with the motion. “But only if you pay for it all this time. Even the snacks.”

I grinned. “It’s a deal.”

“All right.” She glanced at her watch. “Oh! I’d better get moving, Witan and Sherry are going to be waiting for me!”

I went back to work, which right now was mostly research work for people trying to finish up their degrees and a bunch of patent stuff. That made the time both crawl and fly by, a paradox that I didn’t find as amusing as it sounds.

The door jingled and I looked up, relieved to have a distraction. “Hi Renee –” I caught the expression on her face and changed out relieved for worried at the same time I changed my mode of address. “I mean, hello, Lieutenant Reisman.”

She was even grimmer than I thought as she got closer. “Mr. Wood, do you know a Xavier Ross?”

What the hell?… “I did some work for a Xavier Ross, yes,” I said, cautiously. “Why?”

“I need to know everything you said to him, everything you told him.”

I shook my head. “That’s client information. You know I won’t give you any of that without –”

She shoved a piece of paper under my nose.

“—a … warrant. Which this apparently is.” I glanced it over; this wasn’t the first time I’d seen one, but it was the first time I’d had one served on me. “Okay, I’ll get that stuff out. But why?”

“Xavier Uriel Ross disappeared from home – apparently deliberately, as there were signs he’d carefully accumulated both cash and supplies for traveling – a few days ago.”

I swore, something I generally reserved for serious situations. “I told him to go to you.”

“He did,” she said, and if possible her face looked even more grim, set in stone. “LA wouldn’t re-open the case, no matter how hard I kicked them. And I kicked them plenty hard.”

That’s… not good. I started a disc burning for all the information I’d given Xavier. “Do you think they should?”

For a moment I didn’t think she’d answer; she might be here alone but she was still in her “official” mode. But then she shrugged. “Wasn’t up to me. But… yeah, I would have thought so. That was some real interesting evidence you turned up, especially with the erased hard drive and hidden pictures. Usually that does get people to sit up and take notice, and when I talked to the main detective in charge he sounded interested… but after that things just got shut down.”

The disc finished burning; I put it in a case and handed it to her. “Here you go, Lieutenant. This is everything.”

“You got paid three thousand dollars by Mr. Ross, right?”

“Because I gave him a bunch free. I could have charged him another seven easy, and he acted like he had it to spend.”

“He did. Personal bank account worth over twenty thousand – I have no idea where he was supposed to have gotten that much, but his mother was obviously aware of it – and he’d just about emptied it before he left. Withdrawals in cash, too.”

“Jesus. So this kid went missing with over fifteen thousand in cash on him?”

“Yep. You have any idea where he’s gone?”

I grimaced. “You know just as well as I do where he’s probably headed.”

She nodded. “Los Angeles.”

“Where else?”

“All right. You’d better come with me to give a statement, too. You don’t have to,” she emphasized,”but you probably should.”

“Okay, okay.” I started shutting down things for the day. “But since I don’t have to do this yet, at least keep me updated on what happens?”

Renee looked at me, then flashed a momentary smile. “You got it. Now come on, Wood.”

I followed her out, locking the door behind me. Not what I was planning for this evening.

 

 

 

Polychrome: Chapter 5

 

Well, it seemed the Hero had cleared one hurdle…

 

 

Chapter 5.

     He did it. He DID it! For a moment, Polychrome was so filled with joy that she could do nothing but dance in the darkness, the song in her heart echoed by the Music of the Spheres, trying to give to her dance the ascending glory and defiant, mortal pride and courage that glorious City represented. She laughed, and saw his face looking up at her as she floated lightly in the air, and for a moment, she wondered at what she saw there; he seemed transfigured by her own joy, his blue eyes exultant yet wide and filled with something she could not quite recognize, something that made her miss a step, stumble subtly, an uneven movement that a mortal might not notice, but that was the clumsiest motion she had made in centuries.

But there is still so far to go, she reminded herself, and took hold of her joy. It was still there – at long last, they could at least begin, the hope was not gone – but they had to move, and move swiftly. She extended her hand. “Dance with me, Erik.”

He stared at her and blushed. “Um… Dance? I wish I could, but me dancing with you would be like trying to get a hippopotamus to do acrobatics with a dragonfly – the hippo would look ridiculous and the dragonfly might get squashed by accident.”

She laughed and took his hand. “Oh, I am sure you are not quite that bad, Erik, even if you have never danced in all your life. And really, it’s necessary.”

He took her hand gingerly, as though afraid to break her, and she extended her fingers, gripped tightly. “I am not a porcelain doll, Erik Medon, nor a dragonfly to be crushed easily. Now follow the motions.”

He’s definitely never danced as I know it, she thought, as he tried to follow her steps. But he does have some sense of rhythm, not entirely unschooled in musical beats…

Erik seemed to finally recognize the movements, at least in essence, following the music as it followed her. Not perfect, not nearly so graceful as even one of the Storm Guards, but not so bad as she had feared or he had implied. “So… this is necessary?”

She smiled at his puzzled expression. “Very necessary. You see, only by dancing our way through the sky will we be able to reach my Father’s realm. He cannot send another of his Bows here to the mortal realm, not so soon after the last; there are many reasons for that. But I have my own magic that – if you allow it, if you are part of it – can bring us where we need to go.”

“Dance through the sky?” he repeated incredulously, eyes still fixed upon hers as they had been ever since he took her hand. “Poly, really, there’s just no way that could happen. Not with me, two left feet and all.”

She giggled and swept one hand outward. “But Erik… you already are doing it.”

He glanced down and gasped, stopping for a moment, forcing her to continue to dance around him. Beneath them a ghostly, circular rainbow light rippled like a spectral dance floor, but beneath that lay air, hundreds, thousands of feet of air, sparkling lights like faerie itself dusting the land below. She laughed aloud at the wonder in his face, and again as she saw neither fear nor denial but a blaze of joy like the dawn in his face. “We’re flying!”

“Air-walking, dancing in the clouds, yes, even flying, Erik, that we are, on and within that which is my middle name, as long as you have the heart to see it with wonder as I hear in your voice.”

“Within… the glory,” he said, wonderingly. “Polychrome Glory…” His eyes met hers again for a bright needle-sharp moment, and then he seized her hand and led her in a dance, a crude dance but one of energy and sincerity that she cheerfully threw herself into wholeheartedly. “Oh, Polychrome, you… you have no idea. To fly among the clouds… this is one of my dreams. Since I can remember!”

His joy was contagious and echoed her hope, and she saw the glory following his feet as it followed her own, resonating between them as though he had, somehow, always known. Erik glanced ahead and his own smile broadened. “Can we dance to the top of that tower, Lady Polychrome? Will I be able to make it that far?”

In the silver of moonlight and the approaching deep rose of dawn, a mighty thunderhead loomed in the distance, an argent mountain of misted rubies. “That far and farther, Erik, for beyond that a thousand miles and ten lies the castle of my Father – a thousand miles, and closer than a few heartbeats.”

He said nothing, but his eyes shone, and for a moment she saw how he must have looked ten, twenty, perhaps even thirty years before, sharp gaze filled with wonder and a happiness unadulterated by any doubt or fear.

But as they climbed the misty billows, leaping from one height to the next in a dreamlike series of leaps, she saw a flicker of light to one side, far away. Dim and small, but the violet-against-darkness was unmistakable. A Tempest.

“Erik… we must keep our eyes open. Remember what I said about my journey here.”

It was odd; for a moment, she could have sworn that his face lit up more as he realized the implications. But it might have been her imagination, for his expression became grim almost instantly. “You saw something?” He glanced around, eyes scanning the area.

“Only one, and far away. It may not have seen us yet. And they would be scattered far and wide now, knowing that I may travel far from my landing spot ere I return. But I am afraid we need be on our guard. You… are not a warrior, I could see, and I will have to defend you if they catch us.”

His jaw set, his mouth opened as if to argue; but, despite the pride she saw in his face, she also saw him force it down. “I… guess you would.”

That was not easy for him. He probably thinks of me as a fragile mortal girl. “But I’d rather we not have to worry about that.” She led the dance, off to the side of the thunderhead, now reaching the crest. “The sun will rise soon, and while they can function in daylight, their senses will be dulled and – with luck – we shall be able to evade their notice.” She took stock of the situation, the distance they must travel, what songs and steps she might take to find the shorter path between the mortal and faerie worlds, nodded. “Just promise me – no matter what you think is the proper or right course – that you will do as I say if the time comes.”

Reluctantly, he nodded. “All… all right.”

She stood still for a moment, looking to the East; the bright line of sky abruptly brightened and a single beam of sunshine speared out, illuminating them and warming her, casting their shadows like arrows into the vast Western distance. “Then,” she said, with a sharp smile and hearing the music echo her resolve, “let’s go!”

 

 

 

Paradigms Lost: Chapter 17

 

Jason had another client we’d met…

 

 

 

 

Chapter 17: Laughing Assassin

I really don’t like this one.

I’d done plenty of work for the police, and other people. I may not have been very old, but I’d already done everything from enhance photos and research prior art on patents to, well, finding out that vampires were real. Sometimes you get feelings about things, and right now, I had a very strong, very bad feeling about the job I was doing for Xavier Ross.

Not that I felt there was anything wrong with doing the job; I didn’t think there was anything shady about the kid himself. But I was finding way too many questions than I should in a case that had been closed by police. Way too many. Oh, a lot of them were circumstantial, but the fact was that most good cops pay attention to stuff like that, and this case had been closed up so quick and neat…

The door chimed as someone came through, and I looked up from my monitor. Damn. Well, I knew he was coming soon. “Hello, Mr. Ross. Please, sit down.”

Xavier looked hopeful. “Did you…”

“I found some things, yes.” I picked up a file and handed it to him.

“For a fairly well-known figure, your brother was good at losing people. He turned out to be pretty hard to track. The bill for this is not going to be cheap.”

He was already glancing through the file. “I know. Will seven thousand dollars cut it?”

That’s about what I’d charge the cops, but … he’s serious. “I’d find that acceptable, perhaps overgenerous, but Mr. Ross, you are a minor. I’m starting to get very very uncomfortable with this. I find it extremely hard to believe your mother would approve of you spending a total of ten thousand dollars on an investigation that may not even go anywhere.”

“Look,” he said, “can we discuss that afterward? I’d really like to hear what you found.”

I sighed. “Okay. But I’m not forgetting this subject.” I turned to the monitor. “I started trying to trace his movements around the time that we first found indications that his records had been altered. At that point he was working on an article for Time on the nightclub revival in New York City.

“Now, that assignment finished up a little before Christmas; he came back up here for the holidays but then went back to New York for several days. He got an assignment that flew him out to Costa Rica, but as soon as that was done he came back to New York and again spent several days there before he came up to visit you.”

Xavier looked up, startled. “But… I remember him saying he’d flown straight back from Costa Rica.”

“Not unless he was letting someone use his ID and credit cards, he didn’t.”

“Wait… you’re not the police, how could you…?”

“Let’s say that while what I did is technically probably legal I don’t want to discuss the details and the police would take a very dim view of it.” I couldn’t get direct access to such information without police authority, but there were indirect methods to get people to give you that information.

“All right,” the boy said, settling back into his chair. “I didn’t want you to do anything to get yourself in trouble.”

I shrugged. “I’m not in trouble. Now, anyway. If you talk about this to too many people I might be, so it’s up to you whether I’m in trouble.”

“Hey, I won’t talk about this.”

“Okay. Your brother then went to the West Coast and got a couple of assignments in the Los Angeles vicinity. Note that the order there is important. He’d already flown to Los Angeles when National Geographic asked him to do a photo article on modern filmmaking and another for current earthquake research at the universities.”

“So… he wanted to go to Los Angeles and found jobs to keep himself there?”

“That’s my guess. What I can’t get much of without extra research is the exact locations he went. I can show you the hotels where he stayed and some of the restaurants he ate at, but where he went when he was on his own… I really don’t know. There were a couple locations I got lucky and made a hit on – Thanation Research and Development apparently hired him during his visit as a photographer for a big release event, for instance – but for the most part? No clue. I’d have to hire some real talent to do gumshoe work through the city, and the trail’s already pretty cold.”

Xavier rolled his eyes skyward. “Damn. What about those pictures?”

“The girl?” I shrugged. “I did quite a bit of looking through various file references but I haven’t turned up an ID yet. Now, if you could wait a few months…”

He started to shake his head violently, then controlled himself with a visible effort. “Why a few months?”

“Because I might be able to get access to an online image comparator that can access a very large database of photos, if I ask the right people nicely. Something I’d really like to have but it’s way out of my price range, unfortunately.”

“What about hiring those… people you mentioned to do the work to find out –”

No. “Xavier, that would start to get very expensive. Very, very expensive. I don’t care how much your … bank account has in it, this is going too far outside of my comfort zone. This is something much more for the police than for someone like me. You’ve got some circumstantial evidence I’ve given you; maybe they’ll reopen the case. But at this point I think I have to stop. If you were an adult… maybe. Probably. But honestly? It sounds like you’re obsessing over this.”

Xavier glared at me with those startling gray eyes.

“I understand you cared about your brother very much –”

“She laughed,” he said suddenly.

“What?”

“The bi… girl that killed him. She killed him, and he was screaming, and then she picked the phone up and laughed about it.”

Crap. I could see the anger – very cold, very hard – in his eyes, and hear it in his voice. Xavier Ross might be a kid, but he was old enough apparently to have an adult’s desire for justice… or revenge. “You heard this?”

“He was …” his voice caught, then he managed to control it. “He was talking to me when she did it.”

“Sure it was a ‘she’?”

His smile was tight, without much humor. “Yeah. I can’t prove it, but I’m sure. Real sure. Almost sounded like a little girl, and the way my brother reacted before… before she did it, he didn’t think she was a threat, just someone who wanted to use the phone.”

That was surprising on multiple levels. His brother had obviously called him from a public phone – not a hotel room, not using a cell phone. And then he’d been apparently killed quickly and savagely by someone he didn’t think of as threatening. Given that my research had shown Michael Ross as a survivor of dangerous situations around the world, and an expert in both armed and unarmed combat… whoever took him down had to be something special. “And she laughed?”

“Oh, yeah.” His teeth clenched so hard I could see the muscles jump at his temples before he relaxed. “I…” He swallowed. “I heard Mike s…scream, and then… she laughed. Like a … like a happy girl. And she said ‘Oh, so pretty, so pretty, the patterns in the moonlight. But oh, such a waste of blood.’ And then she whispered ‘ Michael’s quiet now. He says goodbye,’ and hung up on me.”

Jesus H. Christ. I couldn’t blame Xavier for his anger. That was one of the most macabre stories I’d ever heard. “I’m sorry, Xavier. That’s… hideous.”

He looked at me. “But you’re still not going to help me any more.”

I shook my head reluctantly. “No. This is clearly police business. Take the evidence I’ve got, bring it to Lieutenant Reisman – you know her?”

He nodded. “She interviewed me.”

“Okay, take it to her, tell her you got it from me. I’m sure they’ll have to reopen the case, especially if you and your family push for it.”

He looked unconvinced, but apparently the expression on my face convinced him I wasn’t going to change my mind. “Okay.”

He got out his credit card, but I waved it away. “Not taking any more from you, not after that story. Consider it a public service. Someone like that shouldn’t get away with it.”

His expression brightened, just a hair. “Thanks. I mean it.”

“You’re welcome.” I shook his hand. “Good luck, Xavier.”

I watched him go out the door. They damn well better reopen that case, because he’s not taking “no” for an answer.