Category: Short Story

My name is Reginald Nathaniel Caster Williams.  The Reginald is from my paternal grandfather, the Nathaniel is for my maternal grandfather, the Caster is because my father thought it would sound cool, and the Williams is because I am a Williams.  It actually is my mom’s last name, not my dad’s, since my father has not been in the picture since I was a year old.  I would like to say that my mom raised me right, she sure tried, but in the end, I kind of raised myself.   I love my mom, and she is a saint, but no mom from this town can be a single parent without a gang trying to take the place of a strong family.  We all yearn for it, we all want it.  We want to be included.

Not for lack of trying, I tried to avoid it altogether.  I really did. I focused on school like my grandma and grandpa wanted.  My grandpa even slipped me a twenty for every straight A I brought home.  My last report card, I pulled down a hundred and twenty bucks.  My cousin though, my mom’s sister’s son, Curtis is a god damn idiot.  We are about the same age, and I wish I could say we were up to the same thing, but that would be an outright lie. He doesn’t go to school any more… he thinks he is the man of his house now.

If my grandma heard that, she would hit him so hard upside the head, he would have both of his ears on the same side.  My grandma don’t carry no one’s shit, especially not Curtis’s. But like I said, he wants to be included.  He wants to be a part of things.  He wants to be a gangbanger like his pops.  And like my dad too, I guess.  Although his dad is running on the streets, my dad is on a ten-to-twenty because he thought robbing a bank was a good idea. It falls to me to watch over Curtis because he don’t think, and if his head weren’t screwed on, it would float away.

I got shot because of it.  Twice.  Once in the left shoulder, two inches below the joint, three inches from my heart.  The bullet went straight out after bouncing off of my clavicle, and made an ugly gaping hole in my mid-back. The second bullet hit the side of my head, a glancing blow that gave me a concussion, and pushed my temple up and back, carving a shallow gash all the way past my ear.  I don’t know if I shot anything back to be honest, because as the adrenaline wore off and my blood loss caught up to me, I blacked out at the feet of an old white dude in a golfing hat.

Then I woke up in a god damn graveyard. I won’t mention the rest right now.  Let’s just call this shit crazy and come back to it later.

“Curtis,” I said. “You should come talk to the librarian with me.  She was telling me about the GED program they run.  You could work on getting your diploma.”

“I don’t need no diploma, Reg.  Shit, son.  After this score, I am going to be set. Taking care of it.  One bitch ass nigger dead, his deal is mine, and then I take it back to my pops and earn my place.” Curtis laughed, sliding his finger along the flat edge of his hat brim.

“Curtis, you just going to get shot.” I said emphatically. “You have never even shot a gun before.”

“I have too.  I have shot Miles’ nine.”

“At glass bottles. And you were drunk.”

“Don’t be spittin’ at me, son.  I know what the fuck I am doing.  What you doing?  Huh?  Being a little bitch, that’s what.  You can do this shit the easy way, Reg.  Come on, man.  Help me out.  You need this as bad as I do.” Curtis thought he was acting cool, but we grew up together, so he was just coming off as a fake.

I raised an eyebrow and shook my head. “Curtis, this is bad all around. Who told you about it?”

“Janks, man.  Swore up and down it was legit.”

“Janks man?  He is stoned all the time!  How would he know anything, Curtis?  The dude can barely put his shirt on straight.  He uses man, he uses bad.  You can’t trust that.”

“You can, and I will.  I have the glock already.  I got my pops snubbie.  You take one, shit, I will even let you use the glock.  I got the .38 down.”

“I don’t know.  Who else is going to back this up?” I asked incredulously.

“No one, Reg.  Don’t you get it?  This is for us.  Just like we used to talk about.  This is for all that shit those fuckers laid down on us.  Do you remember that shit?  Or did you lose what was important?”

“And what would that be?”

“Each other, Reg. You and me versus all those lame ass fuckers.” Curtis laughed.

“You gonna get your ass shot.”

“Only if your aim is that bad.”

“Fuck you, Curts.”

“Fuck you, Reg.”

We sat there in silence for a while, the back stoop started getting darker by the minute as the sun went down behind the drab concrete buildings that made up this part of the neighborhood.  Curtis fidgeted with his shoe laces pretending to ignore the monumental question that hung between us.

“I need you on this one, Reggie.”  Curtis dropped his swagger and his street all at once.  It was the Curtis I remembered sitting next to me.  “If you don’t want in after we are done, I will leave you be.”

I looked him in the eye, and I saw he was being as true as Curtis could be.  I swallowed heavily.

“Fine.  Meet you at Corner Store at ten.”

“Yes! My man. Yes!” Curtis said as he grabbed my arm and shook me vigorously. “That’s right!”

We were going to meet under the faded mural for Coke that must have been from the last Olympics, whatever, and wherever that had been.  Some black chick must have been inspirational to the marketing team that decided to penetrate our market, but we could see right through it all.  Stupid pandering from the big businesses that just worked to push us down and take what shavings of quarters we could muster.  No wonder every black man was considered an angry black man… we had every right to be.  Companies that sought to elevate us from our ‘situation’ did everything to make sure we did not leave our place.  I suppose it was better today than it was when my grandma and grandpa had the race riots and the all that horror after MLK was shot, but was it only marginally better?  White folks can’t call us niggers any more, and we can go to the same schools.  But what else can we actually do?  It is a self perpetuating system.  We rise, or attempt to rise, and the complex hand of the market keeps us on our side of the border of inequality.   Here I stood, thinking about the complex state of our little world, and my cousin was walking up dressed in black like he was a ghetto ninja.

“Why you wearing red, fool?” Curtis said.

“Its my favorite color?” I replied.

“Shit.  It just makes you a target.”

“Or they going to shoot at the crazy ninja in black Levis.”

“Whatever man.  Come on.”

“Where we headed?” I asked.

“We are going over to the park, past the courts.”

“That is dangerous territory, Curtis.” I said, trying to not let my voice shake.

“Take this then.” Curtis said as he handed me the glock.

“Shit, shit, shit.” I tucked the gun hurriedly into the small of my back and made sure my shirt covered it.

“Calm down, man.  This is easy.  No one is going to be on the courts, no one is going to see us.  We waltz into the drop, take out the chumps, and walk away.  Its the cover by their drop site.  No one can see the back alley man.  Its a blind spot.  Janks is a genius.”

“If this is such a good plan, why does Janks know about it then,” I retorted sarcastically.

“He, uh, was down the alley and saw it.”

“He was shooting up in a dark alley and happened to see this?  What the fuck, Curtis?  This plan is inane!”

“I told you not to use those words, man.” Curtis shook his head threateningly.

“Its dumb! Stupid! INANE!”  I was getting furious.  “You are going off the word of a strung out junkie that happened to be riding a high in a dark alley!”

“Cool it man, people will notice.” Curtis pushed my shoulder towards the courts.

“Cool it?  You are lucky Curtis. You are fucking lucky that I am here to make sure you don’t fucking commit suicide.”

“How would I commit suicide?” Curtis asked with a bewildered look on his face.

“And you are stupid to boot.” I shook my head.

“Inane.”

“Shut the fuck up.” I spit.

“Right there… between those stores.  See that spot with the light?  We go down a block and we can drop down between that light and the one between it.  Its just a wall, totally dark.  Use the dumpster on the other side.”

We walked around the block and came at the alley from the other side.  The steam from a Chinese restaurant was stinking up the alley, and a bunch of wild cats crisscrossed back and forth in the dark, mewling for whatever the Mexican cooks from the Chinese place tossed their way. We jumped the dumpster, then vaulted over the wall and sure enough, landed in the dark.

Curtis tapped on his shoulder, and pulled out his .38.  I pulled the Glock and checked the safety about twenty minutes too late after shoving it down my pants.  I could have shot my own ass cheek… that would have been a short end to our long evening.

We hunkered down in the dark spot between the dumpsters, just waiting for something.  I kept wanted to ask, but since Curtis was just regurgitating what he had heard from a junkie laying from this very spot, I figured my answer would come soon enough.  My knees started to hurt and the stale smell of old piss and the sweet rotting smell of whatever was stored in the dumpsters was getting to me. Thankfully we did not have to wait long.  One of the doors nearby opened and a solitary business looking guy came out with a couple duffel bags and set them into the crook of the wall, like he was taking out the trash.  He looked right at us, but we must have been well hidden, because he smoked a cigarette, took a leak on the other wall and headed back inside.  The heavy door thunked behind him more than twice before I allowed myself to breathe.

“We grab the bags and jump over.  The gate will unlock here in a minute, a black sedan and a couple OG’s will pick up the stash.  Let’s move!” Curtis pushed the dumpster out and ran over to the corner and grabbed one of the duffels. “Holy shit this is heavy.  This must be thousands man!”

I grabbed the other duffel and unzipped it.  Inside, it was nothing but shrunk-wrapped stacks of twenties, fifties, and hundreds.

“Uh, Curtis.  This is way more than a couple thousand.”

“How much more?” Curtis said hungrily.

“At least ten or twelve bundles in mine. A 100k? 150?”

Curtis put his rolled up fist to his mouth. “Ooooh man, we made it man! Let’s go!”

We grabbed the bags and started moving slowly.  The weight was impressive… money weighs more than you think.  We pushed the dumpster back, and it moved begrudgingly, as if it did not want us to get over.  The wheels squeaked loudly, and I could hear Curtis curse under his breath.  Lights flashed over head, and it dawned on me the crawling lights over the brick was a pair of car headlights turning into the alley and shining through the plastic slats in the fence.

“Fuck. We gotta move, Curtis. The thugs are here, I think.”

“Get up, I will toss the bags.”

“No you get up, I will toss them, you pull them. Go.”

Curtis climbed onto the dumpster and jumped up to the lip of the brick wall.  He pulled himself up and dropped a hand to me.  I pushed the first bag up the grunting.  He grabbed it by the strap and pulled it up with his veins on his forehead bulging.  I heard it hit the ground on the other side.  He stuck his hand back over and I pushed the second duffle up.  I heard the gate behind me start to move, a creaking and squeaking noise as its undersized hard rubber wheel turned hatefully to allow the sedan to pull in.

Curtis grabbed the second bag and dropped it.  Any moment the car’s headlights was going to light up my ass, and then I was going to hear gunshots.  I looked over my shoulder at the gate, and realized it was opening slower than my imagination had played it out, thank god.

“Curtis, man, come on.  Pull me up.” I whispered forcibly through my teeth, pulling my lips so tight, they felt like they were going to split.

Nothing.

“Curtis!” I hissed.

Finally I saw his face pop over the edge.  He put a hand down and started to pull me up.  I swung a leg over the wall just as the car pulled into the alley and thought I was out.  I felt something slip from my waistband, and a heavy something liberated itself downwards.  The glock hit the ground hard, fell over, and the loudest god damn gunshot I had ever heard echoed from my feet.  The bullet whined off the brick to the side and I heard a thunk as the bullet hit the back quarter panel of the sedan.

Its brights went on as I dropped over the wall.  Not even a second later, two shots rang out and I could hear the sound of bullets hitting the wall on the other side.

“I saw someone man! On the other side!  Right there, his leg was hanging over and he took his shot at us!”  A voice yelled.

“The bags are gone!” Another yelled.

“Get over that wall!” Yet another said vehemently. “Get in!”

The sedan’s engine roared and the tires squealed as it backed out of the alley.  I could hear someone climbing the dumpster on the other side.

Curtis grabbed his bag and I grabbed mine, and we tore off down the alley.  The bag felt like it weighed nothing at all with how fierce my heart was tearing along, the raging pure wide-eyed realness of it all was pushing itself against me.  The abandon of it, the moment of it, the undiluted pureness of this moment was overwhelming.

I ran hard, pumping my arms with the duffel slung over my shoulder. I took a hard corner, hearing Curtis behind me, clumsily hitting a trashcan and sending it spilling over the sidewalk.  Not far behind, I heard the squeal of tires, and horns blaring.  We had to get off the street. We had to get out of sight.

I pointed at another turn, hoping that Curtis saw it.  I turned, and thankfully, I heard Curtis behind me.

“Run, Reg! Go, go, go.  There is a big motherfucker behind me!”

I took another corner and saw the perfect opportunity as I ran up to it.  A small grate, barely on its fittings over a boarded up window well.  The perfect place to drop a couple bags.  I unslung my bag as ran up to the gate, bending low in a fast motion and pulling the grate upwards as hard as I could.  The remaining masonry screws cried out briefly, and brick dust sprayed outwards.  I dropped my duffel in the hole, and Curtis, without a word, dropped his in after that.  I shoved the grate back down, and Curtis and I pushed a dumpster over the top.

We took off again, and I heard a gunshot behind me.  I felt something pass by my ear eagerly.  I leaned to the left and pushed Curtis into a gap between two apartments.  He shimmied between chain link posts and I jumped and tumbled over the top.  I pushed Curtis ahead of me as best as I could and I felt him pull his snub nose .38 out and in a swift motion, turned and fired.

In the enclosed walls, it was deafening with its potency.  No far off pop pop pop of a video game or a movie.  This was a staccato roar of death baring its teeth.  I turned to see a dark shadow drop like its strings had been cut.  I grabbed Curtis by the collar of his stupid black jacket and pushed him physically in front of me.  We finally made it back to the street and we both ditched our jackets in narrow space.  Curtis dropped his gun into his pocket and pulled his t-shirt down.

We had gotten away.  My cousin had committed first degree murder, I was an accomplice, and we had stolen tens if not hundreds of thousands of dollars from what I was sure was the mafia based on what the suit was wearing.

“Jesus. We are never doing that again,” I said.

“No doubt.” Curtis shook his head.

“We have to walk like nothing happened.”

“You look terrible.” Curtis said.

“I feel like I am going to puke.” And I did, all over the side of the building.  A passerby shook their head, but in this part of town, no one thought much of some youths puking against a wall.

“I think…” Curtis started, but the sound of squealing tires told me exactly what he was about to say.   There was fusillade of noise behind me, and the wall erupted in a spray of broken masonry and mortar.  Curtis’s head rocked forward, and blood erupted from his chest in a fine mist all around him like an aura.  I could taste it. I could smell it.  I turned and felt someone punch me in the chest, and another punch in the side of the head.  I hit the wall in a spin and went down next to my dead cousin.  His hand had the revolver in it, clenched tightly, even in death.  I stretched my arm out and pulled it underneath me, gripping its walnut stock as tightly as I could.

“Shit, we have to hustle.  Cops will be on their way.”

“We got to see if one of them is alive, Abo. Or the bossman is going to be pissed.”

“That one is definitely dead,” the first voice said, his thick latino accent was barely understandable.  He must have been fat.

“Yeah, he is done.  This one is still breathing.”  I felt a hand grab my shoulder and rolled me over.

I had the gun at my hip and I put the first shot into the suprised face of a skinny ragged looking black guy with a wide nose and wider eyes.  The bullet must have killed him instantly, because his weight fell immediately over me.  I pushed the snub nose out from his armpit and took another shot at where the fat one was standing.

My shot went very wide, and the fat one (who was actually very fat) moved so fast that I could not believe it.  In a moment he was gone and the sedan roared away.  My shoulder was screaming, and I could feel the back of my shirt getting very wet.

I pushed the dead gangster off of me, and looked over at Curtis.  His eyes were glassy and staring at me, cold and lifeless.  There was nothing in his face.  Nothing that I could recognize as my cousin. I felt so many things well up inside of me, but I had to get moving or I would be joining him.

I stood up, nearly falling over again.  In the distance, the immediacy of the wailing sirens called out to me.  I clutched the snub nose in my hand tightly and crossed the street in a daze.  I climbed a hill and rolled down the other side, feeling the shock of being shot spread across my chest, and my arms, and my legs.  Everything felt so heavy.

I am not sure how I stumbled through a wrought iron gate, but an old man in a flannel print golf cap watched me intently, setting a rake and shovel down near an old shed. I pointed the gun at him, then lowered it slowly.

“I… I… I…” I said.

Then I passed out and saw no more.

Two figures danced among the far off twinkling of the city lights in the distance, at once present, and then again fading into the mists to discard much notice.  The figures, intertwined in the crush of black velvet midnight, are lovers of a sort, lost then found in the dance they perform every evening.  A lone witness sat observing their dance, smiling in his reverie, appreciating the dark forms as the swirled and turned in their obsidian murmurations, like two swallows alighting upon each other’s wings then parting again urgently.

“Why watch them?” A soft voice asked the man.  “They perform this dance every night.”

“And every night that I can, I shall watch them.” The man replied without looking at his partner of conversation.  “This… spinning… turning… chase is what matters right now.”

“It will be hundreds of such dances until they converge and are made one.”

“Perhaps it is ironic.”

“Why do you say that?” The soft voice intoned.

“Because nightwraiths are only suited for other nightwraiths from the same burial ground.  They are so rare, that they will only ever have one partner…”

“So all the dances are unnecessary?”

“Perhaps,” the solitary man said. “But the dance is what they create.  It brings beauty into this world, and this world is short on beautiful things.  Too much is taken away.  Not enough is created.  Ever forward, the world marches on, and time takes it tolls upon the beauty of this world, but…”

The man trailed off.

“But?” The soft voice asked questioning.

“Yet.  Yet, these two nightwraiths, at the end of their time as people, at the end of their time living, sleeping, eating, and all the things that humans do, after all that!  They still fight it.  They dance unnecessarily, only to bring the beauty of it into the world.  The rage against the dying of the light.”

“A quote?”

“After your time.” The man replied solemnly.

“Why do only a select few become nightwraiths?” The quiet voice asked.

“Why do a select few become gaunts?  Why do a select few become ghosts?” The man replied rhetorically.

“Passion?  Desire?  Fear?” The quiet voice said.

“You are a ghost, Deidre, why do you exist?” The man said quietly.

“I was afraid.” Deidre said sadly, her voice was quiet, but a whisper of a whisper, but the man understood her plainly.  Her pale form stood, barely perceptible behind a nearby headstone.  She appeared to be crying. “It hurts, even now.”

The man continued to watch the nightwraiths, their dark forms coalescing and separating in a dance they would continue for years to come.  Yet every performance was completely unique, as the the observer would not be able to discern their purpose in the movement.  They would not see or understand the motion of thought, feeling, and expression that existed between the two dark creatures spinning in the night.  It was soundless, yet the man thought he could hear the music of their movement, the rasp of their touch, and the soft sighs as the nightwraiths come to learn each other’s essence of being. The man was envious he would never experience such a thing himself.

The man turned away from the dance, and looked in Deidre’s pale face.  The trees behind her moved lightly in the wind, and the branches of early spring buds danced through her features as if she was made of smoke from an extinguished candle. She must have been beautiful herself once, when she was under the blossom of youth, untouched by the unfurled fingers of death himself.  She had died of the plague, leaving behind her suitor, and the plans to live a life worth living.

The Caretaker folded his hands over his shovel and rake handles, and with a sigh stood up.  His knees creaked, and his joints complained about every movement and step.  But he would be in this ground himself soon enough.  He had a job to do until then.  Tonight they were expecting company.

“Deidre, wake the others that you can.  We have someone new arriving.” The old man told the specter still wiping at her invisible tears.

“Who is it?” Deidre sounded distant. Her ethereal form was already gone.

“I don’t know yet.  But something tells me he will be here any moment. I can smell his blood on the wind.” The old man starting walking towards the cemetery gate, and dropped his tools near the shed.

Wounded, and bleeding, the young man stumbled into the gate, his hand clutched against the gunshot wound at his shoulder.

“I… I…” The young man stuttered. His face was very white from the blood loss, and his eyes fluttered as he passed out.

“We won’t like his kind here, Gustav.”  Another shadowy voice spoke from the edges of the old man’s consciousness.

“And what kind is that, Harold?” The caretaker replied.

“He is… a negro.  You know, a colored.”

“It is just a boy,” another voice said from the near the oldest oak. “He is so young.”

“He is old enough,” the caretaker said. “He was brought here, tonight, because he was meant to be here.  He is to be my replacement.”

“I will not be taken care of by a nigger.” Harold said emphatically.

Gustav knelt down to lay his hand on the ugly seeping wound. But for a moment, he looked up from the ashen face of the fallen boy. “Then go take care of yourself, you racist ass.”

Harold faded from sight as the other voice near the oak spoke again. “How will you heal him, Gustav?”

“I will bless him.  It will knit.”

“But you will die.”

“Then you all will have to teach him.” The old man sighed. “Mary, you most of all.”

“Will he listen?  What if he runs?” Mary’s misty voice asked as a groan issued from a nearby mausoleum where a gaunt pulled itself from behind its heavy door to find out what all the commotion was.

“He won’t run, Mary.  He will be bound to all of you, as you will all be bound to him.  The blessing of being a Caretaker will come to mean a great many things to him, and he will be better for it.  I can see he is the right one.” The old man lowered his hands to the boy’s chest. “I will need all of your help to do this.”

“We are with you, Gustav.” A voice called.

“We will miss you, Gustav.” Another said softly.

“We love you.” Mary said.

The ghosts all came close to lay their hands on their dear friend. At that moment, the mists parted upon the hill of the graveyard, as the moon peaked from behind the clouds.  The moonlight illuminated the spirits, and gaunts, and wraiths that continued their dance, and all at once, the forms of many people stood encircling the old caretaker and his dying protege.  The young man was unconscious still, as his bullet wounds leaked his life blood onto the dark earth underneath him.  The entire cemetery came to witness the transition.

Gustav looked at all of his long friends standing around him, smiled once, and died.  The young man next to the old man’s cooling form laid still, yet his breathing grew stronger, his heartbeat surged, and his body started to tie its wounds back together as if they had never happened out on those dangerous city streets.

Mary floated near the corpse of her blessed friend.

“Close my eyes, will you?  I look silly.”  A voice called behind her.

“I will, Gustav.  Safe travels.”

Mary pushed the old man’s eyes closed and laid her ghostly hands on her new Caretaker’s warm face, as he slept peacefully under the moon, the stars, and the careful watch of all of his new charges.

Harold muttered underneath his breath at the edge of the circle. “I can’t believe its a negro.  The indignity.”

Another specter slapped him over the head viciously.

“Laura.”

“What!?”

“If your clothes were any tighter, you would be a packed sausage,” the vampire said.

“The only way I will fit in at this stupid club is to look this way,” Laura replied sarcastically. “Plus, if I wore one my normal outfits, every single beastie, freak, and otherworld being in this place would run.  They hate my kind.”

“Because, my dear,” the vampire breathed heavily, “your kind typically ends their kind.  A cockroach should be afraid of the exterminator.”

“Why aren’t you afraid then, Lash?” Laura said in her best little girl voice.

“I have no idea why I have a witch as a friend, but so far it works for me.  You are the most interesting human I have met in my four hundred or so years.”

“That is impressive.”

“Or I have a poor choice in friends,” Lash replied dryly. “Why are you friends with me?”

“Because in my twenty or so years, you are the only vampire I haven’t killed.  At this point, you are essentially a pet.”

“Oh thanks.” Lash growled.

Laura slapped his leather clad shoulder playfully. “Seriously though, its nice to have someone I can be normal with.  But the second you look at me like I am piece of meat, I am going to reduce you to ash.”

“You would probably taste terrible anyway,” Lash waved at a nearby ghoul attempting to work the door of the club. “That’s Bernie.”

“Will he know me?”

“If you didn’t have that shade all over your person, everyone would know you, Laura,” Lash said.

“I have to, and you know it.  The shade is the only bit between me and this crowd.  They would try to rip me to shreds.”

“Well lucky me that I get to be in on it.”

“Just get us in, Lash.” Laura sighed.

“Bernie! Its Lachishiel.” Lash said, bowing theatrically for the ghoul.

“Hey, Lash,” the ghoul laughed. “Who is your hot date?  She looks delicious.”

“Bernie, this is ah… uh…” Lash paused. “Sorry love, forgot your name.”

“Audra. Nice to meet you Bernie.  You look funny.” Laura said in her best imitation valley voice.  With her tight leather pants, her tank top, and tiny jacket coupled with her teased up blonde hair, she looked the perfect dumb bimbo trying too hard.

“Lash, buddy, is your date here… susceptible?” Bernie asked with a sly grin.

“No, you just look like shit, Bern.” Lash drawled.  “Audra! Audra, here, is mine for the night.”

“Fine, fine. Nice to meet you Ah, Ah, Audra.  Don’t have too much fun draining the fun out of your guest, Lash.” Bernie opened the door with a wink, his human cover slipping slightly at the reality of interacting with the door handle, revealing the bluish colored skin and razor like talons at the end of each of his fingers.

The inside of the club was permeated with a throbbing heavy beat that moved the air between the gyrating dancers in the center of the floor down below, while small clusters of others mingled among the many small tables and booths ringing the perimeter.  The lights attempted to flash to the beat of the music, but heavy supernatural presence had a way of interfering with electronics, so the lights were doing their own thing at the moment.  Lash put a hand on Laura’s backside as he attempted to guide her through the crowd.

Laura leaned towards her friend with a smile on her face.  “Get your ice cold hand off of my ass now, Lash.”

“Can’t blame a guy for trying!” Lash said, dropping his hand casually to his side.

“I can, actually.” Laura grinned. “This way.”

They moved through the crowds on the second level to one of the sets of metal stairs that led downwards.  Laura pushed through a crowd of what looked like scared teenagers, most of which were human, although at least two of them were Mimics.  She was sure the normies were going to be presented as food at some point.  The thought to save them crossed her mind for a split second, but she shook her head and focused on the big picture here.  A couple teenagers dying in the hills behind LA is one thing, stopping the goddamn apocalypse from happening was quite another. She had been tracking the new threat as best she could based on what the vibrations of the ley lines had been picking up, and following the whisperings the community had been spreading about, but to be honest, so far all she had was a gut instinct.  Something big was going down.   She had been around long enough to know that.  But the actual evidence she had was little to nothing.  Tonight was meant to change all that.  She was running out of folks to bribe, and the demons she usually invoked knew shit.

Or they weren’t sharing.

Either way, those kids were going to die.  Or she could be completely wrong and the kids would die, and she could have saved them, and then she would be on a drinking binge to bury the horror of missed chances.  She had enough things in her life to regret, she did not need another.  She added the kids to her mental list of things to take care of before the night was over.

“Lash, hold up.  I need to do something.” Laura yelled in Lash’s ear.

“What?”

Laura held up her hand like she was telling a dog to sit, and moved through the crowd back to the teenagers in the wrong place at the wrong time.  She pulled a small vial from her clutch, shook it exactly three times, invocated quietly under breath, and shoved it gently into the back pocket of the nearest boy.  She leaned in and licked his neck seductively to distract him.  The boy must have been stoned out of his gourd because he barely noticed that the hottest chick in the joint just fastened herself onto his neck.

“Disappointing.” Laura shouted at the group and walked away in mock disgust.

The vial she had slipped the kid was filled with a couple innocuous ingredients that when mixed created a very noxious subconscious psychic repellent for humans.  They would start to feel itchy, slimy, and all together uncomfortable in the next hour or so.  All the humans in the joint would start to feel the pressure to flee, and all of them that could, would. Ironically this mixture occurred in nature around haunted places.  Who knew that the presence of death actually made things grow?  Laura did.  That is why she was a witch, and a goddamn good one at that.   Although the word witch sucked.

She made her way back to Lash, standing idly by like a lithe, supernatural, puppy dog. “What was all that about,” he asked.

“I had to cast out some bad mojo.” Laura said loudly over the wump, wump, wump of the loudspeakers.

“You were saving the meat sticks, weren’t you?” Lash said, showing his eye teeth.

“Yes.  Keep your mouth shut.”

“Such a bleeding heart.”

“This way,” Laura pointed, and they headed towards the swinging door for the kitchen. The door swung open with a push, and Laura walked in like she was supposed to be there. The immediacy of the invasive music diminished significantly, and a couple ghouls dressed as cooks looked up blankly at the intruders.

“Just checking out the place, boys.” Laura smiled wickedly, using a hand invocation to dull their senses. “Trying to find a dark spot.”

One of the ghoul cooks jerked a thumb over his shoulder as if he was swimming through molasses, and pointed to the rear of the kitchen.  Laura waved another hand invocation to encourage short term memory loss and headed towards back.  All of the Ghouls furrowed their brows and started working more feverishly.

“What was that hand wavy thing you just did?”

“Short term memory loss is a funny thing.  If you start thinking immediately about something really important, it causes the memory in the front of the brain to literally evaporate whatever it was holding before.”

“Neat trick, that,” Lash replied. “How many times have you used that one me?”

“Once, maybe twice.  When we first met… don’t let it get to you.”

“Shit.  Did you invoke a friendship spell or something?” Lash laughed.

“No, that’s all real, babe.  You just love me for me.”

“Riiiight.  And the fact that you keep me alive without me having to feed on others has nothing to do with it at all,” Lash said.

“There is that.”

“What are we looking for?”

“I won’t lie, I have no idea.  I will know when I see it?”

“That’s inspiring.”

“I figured we would just poke our heads around corners and pull off a Nancy Drew.”

“Solve everything in two hundred pages wearing drab outfits?”

“Bitch, look at my outfit and say that again.” Laura flourished her hands upwards.

“For the last time, you look like a sausage.”

“You are just jealous.”

“Yes, because that number would look great on me.” Lash frowned.

“See I knew it,” Laura laughed and looked through the storage room.  It was relatively cramped and filled with boxes of produce, food, and wares that any commercial kitchen would have in stock.

“Nothing here.” Lash said.

Laura opened her clutch and pulled out a pen and a little rock the size of a fingernail. She put the rock into the center of her right palm, holding it upwards.  She drew a series of symbols on her fingers with a small ballpoint pen, and said her choice trigger word to invoke the Finder.

“Zing!” Laura said.

“Slick Laura.  I love watching you use puppet spells,” Lash grinned widely, then his face turned to concern. “Wait, have you used one of those on me, as well?”

“Uh, no?” Laura teased.

“Cunt,” Lash said sternly.

The rock lifted from her palm and shifted back into reality as a black, nearly blue dung beetle.  The Finder was a Slave of Osiris, and was leashed to Laura’s fingers like the world’s smallest puppy.   The Finder lifted from her palm with a buzz and flew in a straight line without any hesitation. She felt the tug on her finger tips as the Finder went through a crack in the wall on to the hidden tunnel on the other side.  Laura closed her eyes and looked through the Finder’s eyes to see a fractured view of a lit hallway, well furnished in wood paneling and tasteful art along the walls.

Laura smiled widely.  “Something hidden, something found, something clever…”

“Something round.” Lash said as he reached out and grabbed the end of a soup ladle sitting on the shelf, pulling on it gently.  There was a click, and the wall spun open with nary a noise.

Laura motioned to Lash to not talk. She pulled the invisible tether of magic binding her Finder to her finger tips and closed her eyes again, walking forward into the hallway, allowing her Finder to be her eyes and ears along the way.  Lash followed her silently, pulling the rope on the other side to reset the counterweight.  The wall slowly reset as they made their way down the hallway.  There were doors on either side, at regular intervals on the hallway, and a single door at the end.  Laura paused at each door, sending her Slave of Osiris under the doors to snoop.  In each, there were simple offices and small stands of cubicles, nothing nefarious or out of place.  Besides the fact that all this bureaucratic nonsense was hidden behind a secret door at a club that catered to the underbelly monsters of Los Angeles.  Nothing weird about that at all. Except… that monsters usually did not use bureaucracy in any way.  The closest were like Lash following along behind… vampires used a sense of family hierarchy for control, like the mob.  The werewolves were in packs, just like their canine brethren.  The fairies had their weird kingdoms and fiefs, but this was like boring human.

And humans could be the absolute worst.

They came to the last door, and Laura pushed her Finder under the door.  On the other side, there was a series of monks around a chalice set on the floor.  Each monk was dressed in red and grey robes, with vestments hanging over their shoulders, and a simple rope at their waist.  Each held a cross in their outstretched hand, the prayer beads glowing like well polished marbles.  Very dangerous looking swords were outstretched in their other hand, held inverted to form a cross.

Laura pulled the Finder back, and let the beast settle into her palm again.  She closed her fist, ending the spell.  She tossed the rock and her pen back into her clutch and pulled Lash back down the hallway to one of the empty rooms that had a few unoccupied cubicles.  She softly shut the door, and started stripping her clothes off.

“What are you doing, Laura?”

“We are in trouble. Here take this.”  Laura handed Lash her clutch and continued to throw off her clothes, until she stood there in her panties and a strapless bra. She motioned for Lash to hand the clutch back, and she pulled a small packet out. She smacked it against her six pack, and the wrap spell unfolded around her in moments.  She stood in her uniform of sorts, a simple long sleeve t-shirt, blue jeans, and her trail runners. She pulled her hair up into a simple pony tail.

“Ahhh, there is the Laura I am used to.”

“Shut up.  The Brotherhood of the Glory is down the hall.”

“Shit.” Lash’s face sagged. “I got to get out of here, man.  If they find out a vampire is nearby, we will have all kind of end of the world shit happening.”

“No we won’t.  Think Lash.  Outside the kitchen, there are what?”

“Ghouls, vamps, harpies, and least one skinwalker. I think I saw at least two changelings.”

“You did, there a couple of Mimics.  So if all that bad stuff is right on their front step, do you think they are going to worry about a witch and vampire a door down?”

“Oh yeah.” Lash said. “What do you think they are doing?”

“They are invoking an Angel.”

“What!?  Why?”

“I did not get a chance to ask, Lash.  But we should probably stop them if we want to keep LA intact.  The last Angel that phased into our world kind of wiped half of London off the face of the earth.”

“They rebuilt ok.  I was there, remember?”

“I know. You, of all people, know how bad an Angel is.”

“Yeah, and everyone thinks demons are bad.  At least the demons are selfish.  Keeps them out of trouble.  So what do we do?” Lash asked.

“We take this…” Laura pulled a gun out of her clutch. “And I shoot one of them in the head.”

“Christ, Laura.  You are actively trying to go to hell?  Shooting a Brother of Glory is just asking for some notice.”

“Yeah, but at least six brothers would be ineffectual at making it worse.” Laura said.

“Why don’t I do it?”

“Because they would kill you, Lash.” Laura shook her head.

“I might get two of them,” Lash said defensively.

“They all had their swords in hand and they all had their vestments on.”

“Crosses don’t do anything to vampires, Laura.  Plenty of vampires are Christians.”

“Irony there,” Laura smirked. “But the fact is they are all the best of the best, they have their armor and their weapons. We have a literal strike team down the hall calling in a nuke.”

“So what do I do?”

“Go back to the club. Throw a couple of these into the crowd. Then run like hell.” Laura pulled a couple small orbs from her clutch and handed them to the ageless man.

“Those are?”

“I call them smokers.  They ignite and burn ultraviolet, letting out Wolfsbane, Eloria, and other repellents.  They are literally supernatural flashbangs.”

“UV?” Lash gulped.

“You will be fine. Two seconds or so?  I have seen how fast a vampire can move, you will be long gone once they pop.  And they pop.  They are loud, bright, and voluminous!”

“Fine.  Stay safe, Laura.”

“I will be fine.” Laura smiled her trademark go-eat-a-shit grin, clutching her snob nose 38 tightly between her hands. “These fuckers ain’t got nothin’ on me.”

“Rashe, come look,” Directed Suicide said.  The AI sounded excited. “The munition package is about to hit in realspace.”

Rashe walked over to the console, and laid her hands on the interface, allowing her visual input to be slaved over to the AI.  Instantly, her vision was filled with a tactical display overlaid with real space input adjusted for the lightspeed differential.

“Where is the enemy ship?” Rashe asked.

“Right there, in orbit of the second moon.”

Her vision adjusted on a view of the moon, a simulated feed built from the mass of sensors that peppered the outside of Directed Suicide’s hull and from the near system probes, all stitched together into a video output that to her animal brain, appeared to be completely real.  She saw the gas giant looming in the background, its mass of rings tilted on a obscure angle with a small glittering white orb floating next to it like a forgotten toy. The virtual viewpoint of the moon zoomed in moments, traveling a light hour in a matter of a heartbeat, and the enemy ship was clearly visible.  The nose of the Ferint Battle Cruiser was evacuating gas, probably a wound from the previous engagement with the nearby science station it had recently obliterated.

A thousand and twelve human beings, two station-level AIs, and thirty one drone-level AIs had perished.  All said and done, the Ferint had taken 1,045 lives on a whim.  The station was not a strategic win for the Ferint, but alas, the Ferint often did not make sense. The distress signal shell had reached Directed Suicide three light days after the incident had occurred, and the immediate outrage that Directed Suicide had felt elicited a very severe response. Directed Suicide had loaded twelve munitions into its tubes, launched them into the grid, and then set course to follow its package traveling through hyperspace towards the Ferint ship.

“This is my favorite part.” Directed Suicide laughed.  It was a maniacal sort of laughter that Rashe assumed the AI had picked up from watching terror movies from the early twenty first century.

The first munition popped into real space at near-c, and the Cruiser immediately threw its shields up, the evacuating gas plume flowered against the near side of the field, blossoming outwards along the inside as if the ship was trying to create its own weak atmosphere.  The first munition exploded three thousand meters from shield perimeter near the planet side face of the enemy ship, intentionally not causing any damage or direct impact.

“By now, those stupid Ferint and their idiotic non-sentient computer are trying to backtrace the munition trail.  They are about to calculate that the path was sent from our previous location.  Then they will calculate that the next one…” At that moment, the visual feed featured another hyperspace wake form on realspace, and the next munition exploded at the opposite end of the Ferint ship, again doing no damage. “Then they will panic, knowing that the two munitions were laid at exact opposite ends of their ship, with an explosion shell that is perfectly synced with an embedded message.  Which they will attempt to decrypt right about now.”

“What does the message say?” Rashe said admiringly.  Directed Suicide was crazy smart for a maritime battle AI, and really enjoyed its job.  The precision employed to direct a series of explosions, projected light days into the future, represented an amazing level of forecasting ability that far surpassed anything Rashe could do as a human being.

“Goodbye Assholes.”

The video feed showed the Ferint cruiser fired its attitudinal fusion drives at its midship, attempting to push it upwards and towards the gas giant behind it in hopes of escaping its inevitable fate.

“They are maneuvering upwards?” Rashe said with scorn written all over her features.

“I planned on it.  The third one is about to hit exactly above.  The fourth will hit exactly below.  Then they will finish their decryption, read my message, shit their collective pants, and then they will be turned into incandescent gas.”  Directed Suicide commented.  If an AI could have a sly grin, the AI would be showing it accordingly.

The third torpedo popped into realspace, exploded exactly at the apex of the ship, the fourth followed suit at the belly, and the enemy ship’s engines fluttered into full thrust far too late to save it. The next series of munition packages entered realspace at sub-c velocities at the shield, and those two completely fried the enemy field generators. The remaining four behind entered real space meters from the Ferint hull, forming a neat line along the cruiser’s flank.  Since each one was traveling at about .95 c, while carrying its own mass out from hyperspace, while carrying antimatter packages as their explosive cargo, each formed a cone of explosive power usually only seen in the plasma layers of yellow sequence stars.  The resulting wake of energies would destroy the moon behind the Ferint Battle Cruiser as well, and the gas giant would have a new ring form in the next couple thousand years. Rashe’s visual feed attempted to show her what it was going to look like if her visual spectrum was that of the ship, but something was lost in translation when one cannot understand the energies involved. Still, it took Rashe’s breath away seeing the destructive power that Directed Suicide had unleashed in it’s rage.

“Remind me never to piss you off,” Rashe whispered.

“Duly noted.”