DUHN DUHN!
1:34 AM
134 Franklin Street, Burgundy
Two weeks worth of stake-outs
and they were no closer to figuring out what the hell the creature haunting 134
Franklin Street was. Nor were they able to figure out who the other two
children were—there were too many missing, kidnapped or simply lost children in
police files to identify them.
Ollie did know, however, that
little red-headed Ruby had been kidnapped almost a year ago from her bed. The
missing child report detailed that the window was open when her mother came
into the room the next morning. Local detectives determined the kidnapper could have climbed the tree outside,
lifted the window and snatched the little girl from her bed, all without waking
anyone in the house or alerting neighbors, but probably didn’t. Police turned
to suspects within the family; an estranged step-brother, an overly helpful
family friend, a close uncle. The investigation yielded nothing. The
eight-year-old had vanished.
But the local cops never considered the
kidnapper was a dark magic monster.
Ollie stared at the house
through night-vision binoculars, this time looking at the back. The small back
yard was fenced and tall trees grappling together overhead mostly covered the
space, along with a good view of the windows. Between the branches Ollie
glimpsed dark curtains, or perhaps blankets, over the windows. In one corner,
meager yellow light shined through.
“They’re up,” he muttered.
Next to him, El tilted her
binoculars up. “Upstairs?”
“Yeah.”
They watched the house. “It’s
late,” El said. “Kids shouldn’t be up.”
Ollie chewed on his lip. “Nope.”
He tried not to think of what was happening in that yellow light.
He knew a number of monsters
preyed on children. Humans were one of them, some said the most common group,
but Ollie couldn’t figure it that way. Vampires also hunted—and kept—children.
Some vampires even kept them relatively well, Ollie knew, keeping them fed and
clothed—though always at a price. He remembered a case last year started by a
nurse who called Monster Force when the same child kept coming in to the
office, treated for anemia again and again. The boy, crisscrossed in red bite
marks, swore the vampire that kept him loved him. Ollie might’ve assumed the
creature on 134 Franklin Street was a similar vampire degenerate—and part of
him still suspected it was—but vamps didn’t vanish into darkness the way this
monster did. Vamps, some vamps, had the power to disappear, among other magic,
but they used it carefully, deliberately. This thing, it folded into the
shadows like it belonged there.
He wasn’t sure how he knew, but
he was certain it wasn’t a ghost. It has to be some sort of devil. There
were plenty of those. Though civilized society kept a better watch over their
children than they had when child-eating monsters roved, unabated, there were
still plenty of the sinister creatures left. Russian agents caught and killed
the infamous Baba Yaga as recently as 1986. Wisconsin police captured
Kinderfedder in 1991. Both had kidnapped, terrorized and eaten children for
decades, perhaps longer, and used black magic to evade police. The real number
of their victims would never be known. If the Franklin Street monster was a
child-eater—and Ollie and El could connect it to other disappearances—it would
be the biggest case of their career.
How long have you preyed on kids, you son of a bitch?
The light turned out and
darkness filled the space again. Ollie lowered the binoculars.
This time, you won’t get away.
2:20 PM
Monster Force Headquarters, Downtown Burgundy
El made the preliminary report
to deliver to Monster Force Captain Rane Reeves and Ollie—wondering how he got
stuck with the unfortunate job—made the information report to deliver to the
Monster Force white magician, Senior Agent and Mind Reader Saphim Serk. In
Ollie’s opinion, he’d already had to deal with the new Senior Agent too much on
their last assignment; taking down the degenerate vamp who murdered his vampire
Father, his Father’s fiancé and three cops, all in the name of a jealous rage
and vampire supremacy. Saphim had been helpful enough—he was, after all, the
one who actually uncovered where the sadistic vamp holed up. Though Ollie
noticed no one else in the precinct made any mention of that fact. Saphim was
also an insufferable know-it-all, an icy, encyclopedia of a man that seemed to
enjoy his own intelligence and little else. In his first few weeks after taking
over for Agent Lor, Saphim certainly hadn’t made any friends.
The other cops surely didn’t
overlook the black magic scars on the man’s face either. Ollie certainly
hadn’t. How a white magician had scars commonly displayed on dark magicians,
Ollie didn’t know—it was forbidden for a white magician to practice black magic
and they didn’t graduate the Holy Office if there was any suspicion they were
practicing on both sides. Saphim didn’t explain how he got the long, thin scars
carved under his eyes and no one asked, but Ollie had a feeling it played a
part in the other cops’—men and women who dedicated their lives to taking down
criminals who practiced dark magic—disapproval.
With
the report finished, including a detailed play-by-play of everything they saw
from the subject during the stake-out, as well as pictures snapped of the kids
as they left and re-entered the house on Franklin Street, Ollie rose from his
desk on the edge of the bullpen. To his right, El typed away on the report to
the Captain, not looking up. Comprised of about a half-dozen specialized
Monster Force detectives, top cops that proved themselves against dark magic
monsters, most of the desks were quiet now, leaving only three other cops
typing up similar reports. The office was usually quiet—Monster Force cops didn’t
catch vamps, giants, half-breeds, undead and dark magicians sitting down.
Captain
Reeves’s office, the door ajar with the barrel-chested, bearded Captain
studying his computer behind his desk, was less than five steps from Ollie’s
desk, a proximity that indicated Ollie and El were either the Captain’s best
team, or the one he had to keep the closest eye on. Ollie never was sure which
it was.
Taking
a left down the hall, report in hand, Ollie made his way towards Lor’s old
office, now Saphim’s. The two could not have been less alike. A large, sad man
with a sloping belly and a guilty demeanor that spoke of too many mind reading
sessions with Burgundy’s most vicious criminals, Lor was easy to talk to, if a
bit depressing. Saphim, a short, skeletal man with an abrupt manner and cold
eyes, had been an Agent and a Reader longer than Lor had, but his
less-than-personable attitude had caused four reassignments from other
departments already. Ollie had a feeling he wouldn’t last long in Monster Force
Burgundy either.
Ollie
knocked on wood door, hanging open about a half-inch, and pushed it. “Hey.” Agent Saphim had been in the precinct over
three months now and Ollie expected to see the bare-bones wood shelves and
brick walls of his office lightened. Five books lined one shelf under the
window on the far wall. The brick wall to the right was bare. The off-white
wall behind the desk supported two diplomas in wood frames and a framed, signed
Mind Reader’s Blood Contract, all in a neat column. Papers sat in two wire
bins—IN and OUT—and the thin, pale man sat behind the scarred wood desk. No
family photos anywhere, no grim, cop-wise guillotine or a jiggly hoola gal on
the desk. Like Saphim, the room was void of personality.
“Yes?”
Saphim didn’t look up from his laptop, the white light washing his colorless
Mind Reader’s eyes and the twin scars cutting his nose and cheeks underneath.
Mind Reader magic had turned his pale face into an ink drawing, thin black
outlines around his white irises, black tattoos of magic glyphs wreathing his
eyes and curling around his temples. Ollie suspected, besides giving him the
power to read minds, the marks warned other people what he was capable of. Mind
Readers needed a warrant to read a subject’s mind—technically—but Ollie wasn’t
sure they always followed the rules. The small group of men and women certified
by the Holy Office to use magic abided their own rules.
“The
kidnapping case in Shady Grove. It looks like a haunting, definitely some kind
of black magic.” Ollie waited a moment. Saphim didn’t look up. “I don’t think
it’s a ghost, though.”
White
eyes still fixed on the screen, Saphim pointed to the IN bin to his right.
Ollie
eyed the IN pile. “El is making the report to Reeves right now.”.
“I’ll
get to it.”
Ollie
frowned, unwilling to surrender his case to IN purgatory, but not knowing what
else to say. He stood in front of the desk.
With
a slow blink, Saphim looked up. “I’ll get to it, Detective. You’re not the only
cop in Monster Force, but I am the only Agent.”
Ollie
extended the papers. “Would you just look at it? Tell me if it’s a ghost or
not.”
Expelling
a quiet sigh, Saphim took the report. He didn’t lean back as his white eyes ran
down the pages, he sat upright, like a teacher was about to whip him with a ruler.
“Dreamwalking.” He kept reading. “Patterns. Location haunting. Disappearing.”
He finished and looked up. “Possession, fire starting, stalking, loitering,
written or verbal threats, cursing, any of that?”
Ollie
shook his head. “No, not that we know of.”
Saphim
paused, staring at him. He blinked and, when he handed the papers back, Ollie
felt like he’d turned in a report written in crayon. “I need more than that.”
He turned back to the computer.
“What
about his relation with the kids?”
“I
can’t tell.”
“What
if he’s possessing the kids?”
“Then
he’ll likely kill them eventually, or they’ll kill each other.”
Ollie
shook his head at the man’s mechanical tone. “What? How?”
“I
need more information, Detective. There’s no point in speculating.”
Ollie
drew a breath, pulling in thinning patience. “I can’t get any more information.
He comes to the house, he leaves the house. The kids come, they leave. I need
to get in the house to get more information, but I need to know what this thing is to get a warrant to get into the house.”
“That
is not my job.”
Laying
both hands on the desk, Ollie leaned close to the Agent. Saphim met his eyes,
unimpressed. “What about if he kills them? Or they kill each other? Is it your
job then?”
“No.
That will be your job. To figure out what happened and give me the information
that I need to figure out what the subject is, and what spells we need to find
it, detain it, and get evidence to convict it.”
Frown
tightening, Ollie stood there, locking eyes with him.
After
a moment, Saphim waved a hand. “The kids were definitely kidnapped, what more
do you need? Three minors and some kind of black magic creature, that’s enough
for a warrant.”
“Could
it be a child-eater?”
The
boredom in his eyes slid back under a glint of surprise. Or perhaps intrigue.
His gaze drifted, thinking. “It could be. Three is a lot to keep for a
child-eater though. It’s usually one at a time, sometimes two.”
“But
it happens.”
“It
happens, but when it keeps two they’re usually related, and if it keeps three
it keeps more.”
“What
about Baba Yaga?”
Saphim
shook his head. “Baba Yaga was a special case. She kept three, sometimes more,
but she killed them quickly. Well, regularly. And they weren’t walking around
freely, not like what you described here.”
“So
it’s not a child-eater.” Ollie felt relief tinged with disappointment. And
guilt for being disappointed.
“Unlikely.
For one thing, he would’ve killed the older two already. Child-eaters generally
don’t keep them after ten or twelve years old.”
“What
about a vampire? A captor-type.”
“You’re
talking about a gardener-type, and that is possible.”
“A
gardener-type?”
“The
captor brings victims to his or her lair, feeds on them, then kills them. The gardener lures victims to him or her,
generally children, and entices them to stay in some way, usually offering them
companionship, protection, food, something to that effect. The gardener vampire
keeps them, nurturing their trust or whatever holds the child to them, and
feeds on them, asking for their blood and silence in return.”
Ollie
nodded. Just like the boy last year.
“Gruesome name. Why do they call it a ‘gardener?’”
Saphim
paused. “You can pick from a garden over and over.”
“Oh.”
Swallowing, Ollie shook away the image of red marks, like dog bites, made by
vampire jaws on a little boy’s arms. “So, it could be a gardener-type vamp?”
“It
could. But most vampires don’t display the sort of black magic you described.”
“Right,
that’s what I thought too. What does?”
Saphim
tilted his head, as if peering through a library of bookshelves in his brain.
Ollie suppressed a smile. The Reader wasn’t as hard to crack as he’d first
thought. An appeal to his knowledge was enough to get past the prickish,
impatient façade.
“Phantoms
do. Wraiths do.” He paused. “Demons do. And dark magicians.”
Ollie
forced himself to look into the man’s eyes, not at the scars on his face.
“What’s your best guess?”
Saphim
put up his hands and pressed his fingertips lightly together. “Best guess? If
it were a woman, I’d say a wraith, the spirit of a lonely mother. That’s not
uncommon, maternal desire often drives wraiths. Paternal desire, though? Very
rare.” He thought about it. His gaze slid to the corner of his eyes. “It sounds
like a phantom.”
“How’s
that different from a ghost?”
“It
is a ghost. It’s a malevolent ghost, though with more complex behavior than a
standard haunter. Phantoms are thought to feed on humans, vulnerable humans,
somehow clinging to them, though not possessing them.”
Ollie’s
eyebrows scrunched. “‘Thought to?’”
“Little
is known about phantoms. It’s a relatively newly defined apparition
sub-species.”
“Ok.
Why would a phantom cling to three kids?”
“I
don’t know, Ollie.” Saphim glanced at the computer. “I need more information.”
“All
right, all right.” Not about to press the man past what good graces he’d
somehow dug up, Ollie put up his hands. “Last thing; where do phantoms come
from? Why do they appear?”
That
tell-tale moment of silence cut through Saphim’s cool logic. “As I said, little
is known for certain, but it is believed that phantoms are driven by negative
intents. Strong negative intents.”
Ollie
shook his head. “What do you mean, like they were summoned?”
“No.
It’s a… Phantoms are reformations of cruel or particularly brutal humans.
Serial killers. Torturers. Child-beaters. Whatever they did in life, whatever
caused them to do what they did, death didn’t bring them any peace. So they
come back.”
Running
his tongue behind his teeth, Ollie nodded slowly. “You think it’s a phantom?”
“It
sounds like a phantom.”
“But
why would they stay? The kids?”
That
silence again. Not a thinking silence, but hesitation. Worry. “Maybe they can’t
get away.”
Taking
a breath, Ollie nodded again. “Ok. Thanks.” He turned, report in hand.
“Detective?”
He
turned back.
Saphim
gestured to the IN basket.
“That’s
all I needed.”
“I
said I’d get to it, I will.”
“You
just did.”
One
eyebrow slid down over his tattoos and scars, annoyed. “Then why bother with
the report?”
They say I have to. He half-shrugged.
“Records.”
The
unconvinced boredom in the Reader’s face resumed. “Uh-huh.” He turned back to
the computer. “Next time, just schedule a meeting. I’ll have a spell do the
records. Save us both the time.”
“Ok.
Sure.” Why didn’t Lor do that? He
turned to go, but stopped at the door. “Agent? Saphim?”
His
white eyes pulled away from the computer, silent.
“Thank
you. For taking the time.” He bit his lip, struggling with his next words. “You
know your stuff.”
With
a blink, the glare softened. He didn’t respond.
“All
right.” Ollie tapped on the door. “I’ll see you later.”
“Ollie?”
He
stopped. “Yeah?”
“A
phantom is just my best guess. It could be a lot of things,” he admitted. “But
it definitely dreamwalks. If it sees you, it will come after you.”
“Oh.”
He frowned a bit, uncertain. So would
every other criminal. “Ok. Yeah, got it.”
“Ollie.”
He
turned again. “Yeah?”
“A
phantom can kill you in your sleep. Any decent dreamwalker can.”
Eyebrows
rising to the ceiling, the word was slow to leave his mouth. “Oh.”
“Take
Ambisom. No dreams. Tell El too.”
“Ok.
Yeah, I will. Definitely.” He hesitated. “Um, anything else I should know?”
“Not
on this.”
“Ok.
See you later.” As he paced down the hall, before he returned to his desk, a
thought struck him. He wasn’t going to
tell me that, was he?
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