"The Medusa Mask"

[dochermes]

"The Medusa Mask"

(8/16-8/21/2011

I.

On a dark night in August, Jeremy Bane stood on the roof of the KDF building and gazed down thoughtfully at 38th Street. He had not been up here in more than ten years. In his fifties now, he had not changed much since he had first stepped into this building decades ago. There was some grey in the black hair, a few lines around the mouth and eyes, but he was still gaunt and energetic. He still wore all black, slacks and turtleneck and sport jacket, and he still paced with restless energy. He would always be the Dire Wolf.

At just before nine, a flare of pale blue light swirled behind him and he turned to see a small blonde woman appear. She was wearing a plain white T-shirt and jeans, with red sneakers, and a duffel bag was at her feet. Cindy Brunner had aged more than he had; her fair skin was more susceptible to the sun, her hair was shorter and more white than blonde at this point. Her dark blue eyes still gleamed with energy and enthusiasm, and she leaped to embrace Bane fiercely.

For some time, they just held each other. Then, Bane said, "Where's the telepathy?"

"Oh, that." she disengaged herself and ran her hands on the lapels of his jacket. "I tuned it way down. Studying at Tel Shai the past few years, I think my telepathy has been cranked up too high to be comfortable in the real world."

Bane studied her face thoughtfully. "It feels funny, Cin. The connection is still there, but... fainter?"


"Oh, I can turn it back up if I want to," she said. "But to be honest, I have not been here in what, twelve years? And I didn't know if I could cope with all the thoughts of millions of New Yorkers slamming into my poor little head."



The Dire Wolf smiled down at her. "I can't believe the Teachers let you come back for a week. It breaks all their rules."

"Yeah, well... some of that is my begging and pleading and crying. But I'll tell you a secret, hon. Some of it is because of you."


"Me?" said Bane, walking over to pick up her duffel bag, which felt as if she had stuffed it with gravel. "I didn't go there to plead your case."

"Not the way you think. But you have no idea how highly the Teachers think of you. You have been doing the work of Tel Shai for thirty-five years, and they are unreasonably proud of you. Some say there has not been a knight like you ever before."

"Really?" Bane snorted. "Well, it's nice to be appreciated. Come on, there's a lot to show you." He led the way to the stairwell leading down to the floor below. Cindy followed him, into a hangar brilliantly lit with flourescent ceiling lights. In the center, taking up nearly all the space, was a sleek black helicopter with a strangely sharklike shape.



"Trom Girl's been working on the CORBY again, I see." Cindy jerked a thumb at the craft.



"Again? She never stops. I don't think there's a wire or bolt left from the original at this point." Bane led her to a small elevator and hit the ground floor button. "No one's here tonight. Sable has them out in Okali chasing something, she wasn't clear what. I told them that we would have a big dinner with the whole team when they get back."



"Sounds good," she said and then her voice got a little strange. "Jeremy, what's in my old room?"



"Beats me. I've only been here a few times since we decided to let the new kids work on their own. You want to look?"



"No. No, I'm being silly I guess," she snuggled up against him as the door dinged open and they stepped out into the front hall. "Everything looks pretty much the same."



"Yep. Sable says she sees no reason to mess with it." He walked up to the front door, stepped through into the tiny foyer and paused for a minute to look at the portrait of Kenneth Dred that hung there. "He's been gone for a long time," Bane said.



"Ah, but his spirit lives on in you," Cindy said seriously. "And in the new KDF team." She opened the security panel, still set to recognize her and punched in the code to reset the alarms after they passed through. The two of them stepped out into the warm night, and as the door closed and locked behind them, they both suddenly felt free of the past.



"Here's my car," he said, walking up to a dark green Subaru parked further up the block. He threw the duffel bag in the back seat, opened the passenger door for Cindy and then went around to get behind the wheel. "Now for food of the real world. I had no idea what you would want, or I would have made reservations."



Cindy chuckled, a familiar sound that Bane had missed more than he had known. "Oh dear God. The food at Tel Shai is all natural and healthy and fresh and all that, but honestly. I want a bacon cheeseburger! Fries! A chocolate shake!"



"There's a Five Guys just a few blocks away," he said. "They cook the fries in peanut oil." He paused. "You know, if I were going to stay at Tel Shai permanently, I would have to smuggle in pizza and tacos once in a while."



Cindy squeezed his arm. "The Teachers might make some concessions for you, but I think pizza at Tel Shai is going too far."



Half an hour later, with cheeseburgers, fries and soda tucked behind their belts, they both felt more the way they used to. "Woof," Cindy said. "I've got a sugar buzz. Time to crash."



Bane smiled. "You don't talk like that at Tel Shai, I bet."



"Aw hell no. Jathis would fall over backwards. It's going to be a long time before I'm as formal and stuffy as the other Teachers." She smiled slyly. "Aren't you going to try to get me to go to your apartment?"



"I'd like nothing better," he said and escorted her to his car. Heading east, he turned on 3rd Avenue and pulled into Imperial Garage on 40th Street. As he backed into his spot, Bane said, "I like to keep my cars here for security and to keep them out of the weather. We've got a few blocks to walk."



"I don't mind, long as you carry my bag."



With the duffel bag over one shoulder, Bane led Cindy north up 3rd Avenue. They went slowly because she was taking in the changes in fashion, how women wore their hair, little details in behavior. "Everyone is writing on their cell phones?"



"Texting," Bane said. "It's taken over completely." At 44th Street, he pointed at a four-story yellow brick building. "My office is there."



"Huh. Maybe I'll get to help you on a case. Got anything on the burner?"



"No, but something always turns up." A few blocks further along, he opened the front door to the residential building where he lived. As they went up the worn wooden steps, Cindy sighed. "Jeremy, anyone else with your money would be living in something swank overlooking Central Park. You must still have a couple million in the bank."



"This is all I need," he said in a slightly surprised tone.



"I love ya, don't ever change," Cindy answered as he checked the security lights hidden behind a wooden panel and unlocked the door to his apartment. "Straight to bed," she ordered, "We need to lie in the dark, smooching and talking and whatever."



II.





The next day was a blur of walking around Manhattan, mostly Times square, which had changed more than Cindy had expected. She was curious about everything and went into a hundred stores. They had a long lunch at an Italian restaurant with their oldest friend, Ted Wright. The Blue Guide had appointments at his clinic or he would have walked with them. At four o'clock, Bane brought her to a spa on Park Avenue at 50th street for her surprise. The next hour and a half was pampering for her that she had never experienced.... Swedish massage, manicure and pedicure and facial, her hair done. Bane came back as she emerged in a daze of relaxation. By now, they both felt the day was winding down. The evening was spent mostly with Cindy phoning old friends and catching up, while Bane made the rounds of his informants around town.



The second day was Cindy's surprise for him. While he was at his office on 44th Street for a few hours, she scrubbed his refrigerator and threw away the pitiful carton with two eggs, the package with one slice of ham, the nearly empty bottle of apple juice. She scoured the refrigerator and its freezer with soap and hot water, went to the nearest grocery and came back with three bags of supplies she could barely carry. The freezer was soon stocked with packages of frozen hamburger, sausages, chicken pot pies and little pizzas. The fridge itself was jammed neatly with milk, apple juice and cranberry juice, cold cuts, peanut butter and jelly, maple syrup, a dozen extra large eggs, a bag of potatoes and containers of macaroni salad and egg salad. She bought a big ceramic bowl and placed it on the empty shelf by the window, filling it with bananas and tangerines and two apples. Now she was getting into it. On top of the refrigerator was a mass of assorted receipts, newspaper pages, scraps of paper and debris. She put it all in an envelope in case some was needed (although she couldn't see how) and stacked three boxes of cold cereal, a box of saltines and a box of instant rice on top of the fridge. And she realized she forgot bread!



Cindy knew Bane was not a good cook. It was either the frying pan or the microwave for him. But she also knew that his enhanced metabolism meant he was always starving and he seldom had more than scraps available. She surveyed her work with deep satisfaction. As she turned, the door unlocked and he came in. "Looks like we might have an interesting case.. hey." He stopped in mid-sentence and broke into the widest grin she had ever seen on his dour face. He looked almost like a different person.



"Of course, the way you eat, I'll have to do this again before I leave," she said.



Late that afternoon, the two of them went to the headquarters building on 38th Street and spent the evening with the new KDF team. They met, not in the conference room, but in the main library with its overstuffed easy chairs and bookshelves to the ceiling and cassocks. Everyone had a lot to say, and it was past two before the conversations trickled down and finally Sable announced that tomorrow was a working day after all. Bane and Cindy walked back to his apartment and both were asleep as soon as they stretched out on the bed.



On the morning of the third day, Cindy woke up with a little melancholy. She would have to return to Tel Shai soon. It was unfair, she should have access to both worlds freely, but she knew she had been given great leniency as it was. As she got out of bed, she was unreasonably sad.



Bane emerged from the bathroom, fully dressed but with his hair still damp from the shower. He was barefoot and he grabbed a pair of socks from the dresser and sat on the edge of the bed to tug them on. He caught the look in her eyes.



"You want to stay here? Or you want me to move to Tel Shai?" he asked. "Either way is fine with me."



Cindy hugged him from behind. She was wearing one of his T-shirts and panties. "Oh, hon. I can't give up being the new Teacher. It's an honor beyond any other, it's what Anulka promised me. But I know you're not ready to leave the world yet either. You have a few years of Midnight War left in you."



Bane kissed her lightly. "I will just come visit you more often. I will make time. Maybe I should semi-retire anyway."



Climbing out of bed and heading for the bathroom herself, Cindy sighed loudly. "Nothing is ever easy for us," she grumbled as she closed the door. The Dire Wolf rose slowly and went out to the living room. He pulled together thick sliced bread, eggs and milk and made French toast that was at least presentable. When Cindy emerged in dark jeans and blue long-sleeved pullover, she sniffed in appreciation and plopped down to let him serve. Both drank mugs of tagra tea, the Tel Shai plant not found in the world, which gave them their enhanced healing factors. Tel Shai knights were not indestructible but they recovered from damage much faster than normal Humans.



As the food disappeared and the plates were going in the sink, she said, "Say, what were you saying about starting a new case?"



Bane wiped his hands and came back to the table. "Yep. Lt Montez is supposed to unofficially turn up at my office this morning. Want to lend a hand?"



"I'd love it. I didn't bring my Trom armor or any weapons, though..." She broke off as Bane came out of the closet with a bulky cardboard box that had been taped shut. Using one of the silver daggers he always wore under his sleeves, he opened the box and handed her what looked like a leotard of wet dark silk, but which was actually flexible armor. As she took it, he dug out a holster which held a thick-barreled air pistol.



"And my dart gun, too?" she chuckled. "Great. Let me suit up." While she stripped down quickly to wiggle into the armor, Bane said, "Your field suit and helmet are in storage at headquarters. But I hardly ever wear mine anymore. Most of the really big enemies are gone."



Cindy positioned the holster in the small of her back, then went and got a denim vest from her duffel bag to cover it. "There we go. All right, buddy, let's go solve some crimes!"



III.



In his office, Bane brought the handful of mail to his desk and began sorting through it while Cindy looked around. It was as Spartan as she had expected. A desk with three wooden chairs in front of it, a long leather couch under a curtained window that looked out on 3rd Avenue, a waist-high bookcase with some reference books and a stack of newspapers. There was a clock on the wall, a police scanner and a radio on a shelf.



"You never decorate," she said finally. "Don't you want a painting on the wall? Maybe a hanging plant? At least in your old office, you had that giant hand-painted map and a fish tank."



"Those were both left by Mr Dred," he said absently. "Why am I getting mail from AARP? I never signed up with them."



The bell out in the hall rang and Cindy said, "Let me get it." She went through the tiny waiting room, barely big enough for a coffee table and two straightback chairs, and paused before the door to the hallway. A monitor high up on the wall showed a view outside the door and she recognized the beefy man in the dark brown suit and tie. Her mind flickered across the surface of his consciousness, just enough to confirm his identity and she opened the door.



Lt Joseph Montez grinned as he saw her. "Huh. I thought this was the Dire Wolf Agency."



"Come on in, Lt," she said, stepping aside. They had not met before but she had gotten his description. Montez was six feet tall, with black wavy hair and a good smile. He would have been quite good-looking if he could get his weight down. Right now, he looked to weigh about two hundred and sixty, mostly around the middle.



"Is Bane here?" he asked, and as she nodded, he saw himself in through the open inner door and took a chair in front of the desk.



Not getting up, Bane merely nodded and said, "Morning, Lt. I hope you've got something weird and creepy for us."



Montez glanced uneasily at Cindy, who had come over to stand at Bane's right side, leaning a hip on the desk. "I, uh... you know, I'm not here on official business..."



The Dire Wolf said, "Cindy has been my partner and truest friend for most of my life. We can both trust her. But. For the record, everything you are about to say is off the record and unofficial and confidential. In fact, you never came here this morning, right?"



"Yeah. Right now, I'm at the gym. As I really should be. Well, we got that out of the way. Have you been following the Fossil Deaths?"



Bane's grey eyes got a sudden predatory gleam. He leaned forward. "I've been busy. Tell me about them."



Giving Cindy another dubious look, Montez shrugged and began. "Two occurences. One in Connecticut, right across the border. One on Staten Island. Two rich old men robbed in their swanky mansion. Valuables of different types taken. The victims were found by their staff early in the morning. Both were lying on the floor, stiff as statues."



"Rigor mortis?"



"No. Something else. Days later, the bodies are still completely rigid. Lab tests showed no toxins. No chemical changes in the cadavers, and no sign of decomposition. They're not breathing and they have no heartbeat, of course, but they haven't started to show decay and it's been three days. They look like mannequins but MRIs show they are definitely the two victims." Montez grinned conspiratorily. "Now you look interested."



The Dire Wolf met his gaze evenly. "This is something new. I've never heard of anything similar."



"Me neither," Cindy put in. "There are Brumal poisons that cause paralysis like this, of course, but regular death follows right away. Are you sure these victims aren't in a form of suspended animation?"



"You mean, are they still alive somehow? No reason to think so. Like I said, no heartbeat and no breathing for a few days. The weird thing is that they're stiff as boards and haven't started to smell or get squishy. That's why I thought this might be your sort of game."



"This hasn't been on the news?" asked Bane.



"No. One of the servants of the second victim talked to Channel 8 Eyewitness News but they dropped the story. We didn't ask them to drop it, I guess they just didn't believe her."



Bane said nothing, but he wondered if either the Mandate or the FBI department known as 21 Black had stepped in to hush things up quickly. There was so much the public never heard about. "Okay then. I imagine you have names and addresses on a piece of paper that I'll burn. Did the victims know each other?"



"Actually, yeah. They were both artistic types. Rivals. They had bidding wars a few times on old paintings and stuff." Montez stood up, leaving a folded piece of paper on the desk. "Look at the time. I should be getting out of the gym now." He smiled at Cindy and walked out. Bane heard the click of the outer door and went to watch the lieutenant's image on the hall monitor.



"Remember Inspector Klein?" Cindy said. "He took a while but he got so he came to us with any crime that smacked of the supernatural. Now this Montez has taken over. Let's memorize the names and addresses." She picked up the paper. "Huh. The first victim was Jean-Claude Lamoureaux, 72, formerly of Paris. Sculptor and collector. Second one was Anthony Scott Grissom, 49, New York native, dealer in antiquities."



Bane read the paper, took a lighter and burned the slip in the tiny bathroom adjoining the office. He came back as Cindy was pulling his laptop up from its satchel where it hung charging. "Here's my suggestion," she said. "I Google these guys and see what's available. You phone the half million people who owe you for saving their lives and get some information. Then we go from there." She pulled up a chair to the edge of the desk and settled down.



"Sounds good." The Dire Wolf gave her the password and watched her log in, then took his seat behind the desk and started making phone calls. He invariably started with the bitter old man called Bleak first, then moved on to others who gathered information for him. Cindy was right, in that he did have a network of dozens of people in his debt. Rather than accept rewards, he always asked that they keep an eye for inexplicable or supernatural events and most were glad to do so.



An hour went by. Twice, Cindy broke off and they compared notes. By noon, they decided to take a break and summarize. Lamoureaux and Grissom despised each other. Grissom was a mere dabbler in the occult, he specialized in items related to black magick. Once or twice, he had possessed genuine talismans from Midnight War, although luckily he did not know how to use them. Lamoureaux, on the other hand, was an avant-garde artist who loved scandal and enjoyed shocking people with his macabre sculptures and exhibits. He had just shown some work at the Metropolitan Museum of Art that received horrified reviews.



As far as the public knew, Lamoureaux had died of natural causes which was not unexpected considering his age and his bad habits. The same for Grissom. Neither man seemed to have a family in attendance and funerals had not been scheduled yet.



"All this stuff about the occult is tantalizing," Cindy said. "I take it that we're not dealing with a rare disease or something like that."



"I think you're right. We need a list of what was stolen. Montez can get that for us. That may tell us if maybe there's another Fossil Death on the way. Also, I feel we need to view the bodies before they're disposed of." Bane stood up and started pacing. With his enhanced metabolism, sitting still took an effort.



Cindy erased her searches, cleaned the disc and started a full scan before putting the computer to one side. The little blonde folded her arms and cupped her chin in one hand. As Bane put on his black sport jacket, she got to her feet. "Jeremy, I think this is just the start. Someone has stumbled upon a mystic weapon of some kind and they are going to want to use it again."



As he ushered her to the door, Bane said, "You're putting into words what I was trying to say. We'll try the City Morgue down on 12th." They walked quickly through the lobby and turned left to 40th Street, then over to Lexington. Here was the Imperial Garage. Bane led her down the wide concrete ramp to where his car was stalled. This was a dark green Toyota Outback with a spoiler. The green and blue lights blinking where he had installed them on the driver's visor told them no one had touched the car.



Bane drove and parked on the street opposite the stained concrete structure that housed the city Morgue, with its opaque windows and grimy skylight. He was well known here, his business had brought him to this place many times in the past. The guard had to ask for ID as was required, but Bane's Private Investigator license was valid and the guard did not ask him who the client was, nor did he check Cindy. He escorted them down short hallways to a high-ceilinged room that smelled of ammonia and salt water. The guard unlocked a drawer in the wall and slid out the heavy metal tray. Bane checked the name tag and pulled the sheet down to the waist.



Claude Lamoureaux had been in good shape for his age, although with the round belly common to old men. He had longish white hair and a goatee without a mustache. His body was still frozen in place. Both arms were raised, palms out as if trying to ward off something and the face was turned aside. The skin was a dull off white, like marble.



"Classic defense pose," Bane said. "You expect to find cuts on the palms with that pose. His head is tilted back, so he was looking up at his attacker even though he was standing."



"There's something else..." added Cindy in an uneasy voice. She turned to the guard. "When will he be buried?"



"Hasn't been set. The medical examiner says he wants to do tests and take samples. He hasn't even done the autopsy yet."



"I see. Jeremy, have you seen enough?"



The Dire Wolf was studying the hands of the corpse carefully. "He was holding something in his right hand when he died. About as thick as a broomstick. All right, we're done. Thank you, Stan."



The guard walked with them back to the entrance. "Whenever you turn up down here, I know something bizarre is about to pop. Is there going to be a plague of Fossil Deaths now?"



"Your guess is as good as mine," Bane answered. "I'll let you know before they all start arriving."



"Thanks a bunch. See you soon, I bet."



IV.



Back out in the sunlight, Cindy pulled Bane closer. "There was mental activity in that body," she said just above a whisper.



He stopped in mid-stride. "What?!"



"You bet. I didn't say anything because that guard doesn't need to know right now. But the brain in that stiff is still functioning at an extremely low level. I caught it almost by chance." She stared up at him with a frown. "Maybe he's still breathing too, one breath every five minutes or something. It's not a natural coma."



"No. And just maybe he's intended to come back up out-" In the middle of the sentence, Bane whirled and went up the wide steps to the front door, almost diving headlong in to stop where Stan had just sat down before his desk.



"Yikes!" said Stan. "Forget something?"



"The other victim of the Fossil Death! Where is he?" Bane demanded just below a shout.



"Grissom, you mean? They did the autopsy on him yesterday and his relatives claimed him. He's going to be cremated. Why do you ask?"



The Dire Wolf caught himself. What was he going to say? That he thought the corpse might not have been really permanently dead, but the autopsy and crematorium had sure fixed that. He muttered, "I thought there was a clue. If both bodies had something in common. Sorry."



As Bane turned and stalked out stiffly, Stan called, "No problem. Scare me out of my skin anytime."



Waiting in the doorway, Cindy took him by the arm. "I didn't think of that until I saw you run back in. It's hard luck for Grissom but we don't KNOW the Fossil Death victims might revive. That was just a thought."



He started walking with her to where the car was parked. "It was worth a try if he hadn't been cut up. If he revived, he might have answers about what's going on."



"If nothing else, he'd have a great story to tell a parties," she said. "You know, 'did I ever tell you about the time I was dead for a few days?'"



As they got in and eased out into traffic, Cindy said, "Next step?"



"Scene of the crime. That's standard. Lamoureaux lived out on Staten Island, so we've got at least an hour's drive to his address."



As they headed to the Holland Tunnel to cut through Brooklyn and go along 278, Cindy thought it wasn't the most direct route but she figured Bane had his reasons. He usually did. After a few minutes, she said, "You know, I've digging through my brain and I can't remember anything that would have had this effect. Do you think the Fossil Death is something new?"



Bane thought for a second. "I suppose. Warlocks do devise new spells once in a while. Leopold Vidimar came up with Preincarnation on his own. No reason someone couldn't invent this method."



"Remember Medusa?"



"Who? Was that Greek mythology or Viking? Sorry, Cin. I've concentrated so much on monsters I might actually meet that I haven't read about imaginary ones."



"You crack me up sometimes," she laughed. "I always figured we would have a case where we found the Greek myths were true and we'd be tackling Centaurs or the Harpies or even Medusa. Anyway, she had snakes for hair. If you saw her face, you'd turn to stone. A guy named Perseus cut her head off and used it as a weapon... like a petrifying ray."



"He was a sharp cookie," Bane said. "I like him. What happened to the Medusa head?"



"Oh, I think he threw it in the ocean. It was too dangerous to have around, and anyway this was ages ago. My point- and I do have one- is that these Fossil Deaths remind me of the Medusa story."



Bane pulled into a convenient mart to get gas. "Need a bathroom stop? Anyway, you think maybe the killer behind the Fossil Deaths got the idea from this Medusa head?"



As she headed for the ladies' room, Cindy called back, "Bet a dollar he did!"



He raised a thumb to take the bet, then filled the tank. Bane had such a habit of constantly checking the tires and oil, wiping the windows inside and out, that he would have been uneasy if he had to skip it. Once the shooting started and the chase was on, he would need to rely on his vehicle. Satisfied, he glanced up as the blonde came out of the convenient mart with some newspapers.



"Want me to drive the next leg?" she said. "I know how you love local newspapers." Bane agreed and happily dug in as Cindy took the wheel. Many times, he had spotted a little story in an obscure newspaper that led him to Midnight War activity. He studied the pages intently.



"This seems like our target," she said eventually, pulling over off the road. The Dire Wolf looked up and saw to some surprise that they were way out on Staten Island. It was a back road lined with bushes and sparse trees. Up on a hill was a three-story house in the Victorian style but just a modern recreation. He eyed it suspiciously. Where their road met the winding driveway up the hill was a sign LAMOUREAUX GALLERY- BY APPOINTMENT ONLY.



"I see a car by the side of the house," he said after a second. "Back road must go down toward the shore. Any minds?"



The blonde telepath wound down her window. "It's a distance, let me scan. Two. Man and woman. Both very tense, very controlled. Lots of anxiety up there."



Bane folded the newspapers and put them on the back seat. "Let's go see what's bothering them." Cindy rolled up the gravel driveway and came to a stop in front of the porch that ran the width of the house. From long experience, she backed in so that they could make a quicker getaway.



"They're watching us," she said. "They're brother and sister, brother is older. Not that close to each other emotionally. The word 'reporters' is on their minds."



Bane got out and stalked right up to the front door, rapping on it sharply with his knuckles. Cindy was right beside him. Almost at once, the door opened and a wide sullen face peered out. She had curly black ringlets and hoop earrings. "We're not taking any clients," she said and started to close it. Bane gripped the edge of the door with his left hand and she could not budge it. She didn't know it, but Marie Lamoureaux could not have gotten his fingers loose without pliers.



"We're not clients," the Dire wolf said, pulling the door back open again despite her resistance. Behind the woman, a tall heavy man in a white dress shirt and slacks appeared. The resemblance between them was clear if you looked.



"Do you have a problem, mister?" the man demanded.



With his free hand, Bane reached into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out the leather cardcase to show them his PI license. Next to it was a black card with white letters that read KENNETH DRED FOUNDATION, 28 EAST 38TH STREET, NYC, NY. For some reason, that card tended to impress people, possibly because they didn't know what it meant.



"It's about the next Fossil Death," he said coldly. "Maybe we can stop it in time."



"The next...?" she said. "I don't understand." Without knowing why, simply swayed by Bane's confidence and forceful attitude, she stepped aside to let them in. The front hall was crowded with mystical artifacts, including a shrunken head in a bell jar, a copper gong on a stand, matched swords with long tassels crossed on the wall. There were ugly little idols and wooden tiki heads and a crystal ball on its own pedestal. Bane saw at once that many of these were not pointless knicknacks but objects with bloody history behind them.



The Dire Wolf spotted a few items that were dangerous in the wrong hands. When this was over, he intended to destroy or confiscate them. Turning back to the woman, he said, "Mrs Lamoureaux, your husband and Anthony Scott Grissom were killed by using black magick. Look around you. You must have seen your husband do things you could not explain or understand. That's a Darthan seeking knife there. You don't obtain one of those without spilling blood. Whoever murdered him and Grissom used an item like these."



The man started to speak, but Bane silenced him with a glare. "And the power to kill without suffering retribution... I've seen it go to the killer's head every time. Soon, there's someone who deserves being punished for something they said or did to the killer. Then another one. Soon it becomes a habit."



"Have you ever heard such nonsense?" demanded the man. He raised a finger to shove at Bane's face. "Get out before I call the police."



"The police will be here soon enough. You will wish they hadn't come here," Bane said. There was such conviction in his low tones that both Achile Michot and Marie Lamoureaux stood helpless. From a doorway, Cindy called out sadly, "Jeremy, I think you should see these..."



"You can't go in there," Achile blustered. He was bigger than Bane, more heavily muscled. "I'll throw you out on your ear!"



"You can try," said the Dire Wolf. He went through an open arched doorway into a workshop that was lit by high windows on all sides. There were tools, chisels and mallets and sandpaper, drawings tacked up on boards. But mostly there were broken pieces of statues. Bane took it all in and glanced at Cindy, who gave him a grim nod. Dull grey and off white, dozens of detached arms and legs and heads were scattered at random. But they were not the nudes of classical art, these pieces were carved to have regular modern clothing on them. The faces on the severed heads were all showing intense fear. It was an unnerving sight.



Cindy said, "I imagine some of these faces match missing persons from the past couple years."



"What of it?" hissed Mrs Lamoureaux. "What do you know of real Art? My husband was a genius of the macabre."



Jeremy Bane turned to fix a furious glare at the two. There was no way he could arrest them. They could never be brought to trial. No jury would believe that these were not just gruesome statues carved by a sick-minded artist but were murdered victims who had been smashed after being frozen like stone. Bane took an ominous step toward the two.



"I have an idea," he said in a low voice. "I'm going to the City Morgue and accidentally break the head off the stiff body of your husband. He IS dead, right? You're not waiting for him to come back?"



With that, Marie Lamoureaux's control gave way. Her flat open hand swung out to slap Bane across the face but he automatically deflected her attack and whipped a backfist that spun her head to one side. Even though he pulled it at the last possible second, she still swung around and crashed to the floor.



"Sorry," he told the gaping Achile Michot. "It's my training. Come on, Cindy." Bane headed for the front door and the telepath followed, glancing back sadly at the surreal workshop.



V.



They did not drive back to Manhattan. Bane pulled into a modest motel, the OAK HOLLOW INN, not twenty miles from the Lamoureaux Gallery and checked in for the next two days. Cindy inspected the room and declared it fit for human habitation, then plopped down cross-legged on the double bed.



"Well. I hate this situation. You and I both know that Lamoureaux or his wife or her brother or all three of them have been killing people. Call it the Medusa effect. Bringing them to trial or even getting them arrested is never going to happen. We have to find a way to stop them."



Bane had been pacing restlessly, now he went over to sit on the edge of the bed near her. "We can't kill them in cold blood. I did that early on, when I was young, and it's bothered me ever since. I'm not an executioner, neither are you."



"And I'm glad. I couldn't love you if you were cold-blooded like that. So here's my suggestion. We raid the house and find out how they are doing the Medusa effect and take it away from them. Maybe it's a Velkandu serum, maybe a Darthan talisman. I don't know. We take it away from them and then at least there won't be more Fossil Deaths."



He touched her arm, got up and went to the window to peer out. "I like it. I had something similar in mind." He looked at the sky. "This time of year, it won't be dark for hours yet. Too bad."



"One thing isn't clear," the telepath said. "Why did Lamoureaux let himself be petrified? Our guess is that the effect isn't permanent but we don't know for sure. How would he know his body would be safe until he revives? Maybe his wife and brother just killed him for whatever reason? They hide some of his art, claim it was stolen and collect insurance money."



Bane was watching traffic suspiciously, as if he expected an attack. A life in Midnight War had left him that way. "We're guessing at this point. But you saw how she reacted when I suggested damaging the body, meaning he wouldn't revive. And the medical examiner did an autopsy right away on Grissom but is holding off on Lamoureaux. Why? Because he's in on it. Either he gets a cut of the loot or he wants to use the Medusa effect himself on someone or he's having fun with Mrs Lamoureaux. But I want a talk with him."



She hopped off the bed and got a bottle of water from her bag. "If we're not making our move until dark, I spotted a Chinese restaurant in a strip mall down the highway. I'm still lusting for real world food after ten years at Tel Shai. Mu shu pork, orange chicken, good old egg fu yung...."



"Why did you start taking about food?" he asked. "My stomach is growling as it is."



"Sweet and sour shrimp," she added. "Crab Rangoon. Come on, let's go."



Bane turned and took her outstretched hand. "We've got plenty of time, you're right." They left the motel and headed back a few miles to a strip mall that held a mattress outlet, a Verizon Wireless store and a place called Kung's Kitchen. The restaurant was small but clean and smelled tempting. Soon, Cindy was digging into lemon chicken and Bane was working on a family portion of beef fried rice. They had both ordered mugs of hot water. From little cellophane packets, she stirred dried tagra leaves in the mugs and sipped it slowly.



"You know, I watch you do your exercises this morning and you don't have any scars. Not one. After all the damage you've taken over the years. Without the tagra, how do you think you'd be doing?" she asked.



"Me?" said Bane. "All the times I've been shot, stabbed, poisoned, thrown off rooftops, drowned, you name it. Not to mention all the gralic blasts. Not to mention also getting beat up half dead by guys like Atron and Venom. Jeez. Without tagra I'd be sitting in a wheelchair getting fed by a nurse."



She finished her mug. "The Teachers forbid us sharing tagra with others. It's for Tel Shai knights only. Haven't you been tempted to start giving it to some friends who got sick?"



"Sure. But I made my vow and I have to stick with it. Tagra isn't really our property, the Teachers let us use it." As he forked up more rice, the Link on his belt chirped and he unclipped the small device. "Yeah?"



"Montez here. Things are popping. I'm on the corner with no one listening. Okay, you know Stanley Pulaski, the guard at the City Morgue." Cindy leaned over to listen in.



"Sure, I talked to him a few hours ago."



"Well, he's frozen and grey right now. Another fossil death. One of the staff found him lying in the holding chamber. Get this, the body of that Lamoureaux guy is missing. And Stan was stripped, he was in his underwear. What, they dressed a cadaver in a uniform and carried it out? The security cameras were turned off somehow."



Bane's voice got sharp. "Lieutenant, this is crucial. Declare Stan's body evidence and don't let forensics cut it up. Hold on to it."



"Oh, I get it," said Montez's voice. "You think there's clues on it."



"Absolutely. I'm working the case from another angle and I'm out of the city right now. I should be back at the scene early in the morning." Bane made a disgusted noise. "Poor Stan, twenty years on the job."



"Something else you may be interested in," Montez went on. "We can't locate the medical examiner. Alexander Woodruff, he never showed up at his office today. Wife's worried. Think there's a connection?"



"I think so," Bane snapped. "Thanks, lieutenant. Believe me, I'm eager to crack this case."



"I know you are. No fee, no client, tracking down murderers just for its own sake. You nut." Montez broke the connection. As Bane reclipped the Link to his belt, Cindy sat back.



"The two we talked to just now couldn't possibly have gotten to Manhattan and done that," she said. "Not enough time. I vote for Woodruff."



"Agreed," Bane said, hurrying through the last of the pork fried rice and leaving the plate empty. "And you know what I think? Woodruff didn't drag Lamoureaux's corpse out to the sidewalk in broad daylight."



"Lamoureaux walked out," Cindy said quietly. "Dang, how many people can say they climbed off a shelf in the morgue and just walked away?"



Leaving money and thanking the couple for a great meal, Bane led Cindy to the car. Popping the trunk, he threw his sport jacket in and took out waist-length leather jacket with a dozen pouches and pockets. This field suit top had its own inner layer of the Trom armor, so with the armor he was already wearing under his clothes, Bane had double protection. He fastened a clip on holster at his left hip that held one of the dart guns, then picked up what looked like a motorcycle helmet with a clear retractible visor.



"Let me drive," said Cindy, getting behind the wheel. "I've missed driving." As Bane dropped into the passenger seat, she eased out into traffic and headed back the way they had come.



VI.



A mile before the Lamoureaux Gallery would come into sight, Bane asked Cindy to pull over. "I'm going to cross over to the woods and try to sneak up on the house. You said there's just the two of them there. While you keep them occupied, I'll get in and start searching."



"Fine," she said. "What am I telling them?"



"That her husband is on his way here now. That might rattle them a little." Bane slipped out and raced across the highway to dive into the woods. He was as quick as he had ever been, and was only in sight for a few seconds. Cindy smiled. Still the Dire Wolf. He would never change. She pulled out onto the highway and headed for the Lamoureaux Gallery. Nothing there seemed different from a few hours ago.



The little blonde tugged down her vest after checking her dart gun and marched up to the front porch. She did not feel out of practice at all, her telepathy had sharpened up a few degrees and she could detect the presence of Marie Lamoureaux sitting in the front showroom. Cindy opened the door without knocking and said, "Good news!"



The woman leaped out of her chair as if she had been bitten by a snake, almost falling over. She was wearing a gold-colored dress a little too snug for good taste and her eyes were wild. "What?! You again."



"Your husband is on his way here, alive again," Cindy told her. "But you know that, don't you? This was all planned." The blonde placed herself in the center of the showroom and watched Marie Lamoureaux seat herself again.



"You must be crazy. Have you been skipping your meds or something?" she demanded. "Wait... where's that animal that punched me? I want him arrested."



"The police are the last people you should be calling for," Cindy answered. She was casting around for the mind of the brother, Achile. It was nearby but strangely muted, as if shielded somehow. Cindy went on, keeping the woman's attention. "You know the police are searching for your friend Dr Woodruff, don't you? There's an APB out on him, so I don't know if he'll even make it here."



As she was speaking, Jeremy Bane was already in the back of the house. He came in through the rear door, snapping the lock with a palm thrust that was almost noiseless and made his way through the kitchen, then the adjoining bathroom. The bedroom seemed normal. He did not have time to search, he was just trying to spot something that seemed likely. Out in the hall, he paused at the foot of the staircase just as a dark form turned the corner at its top. Bane drew his dart gun and looked up. It was Achile Michot all right, but he was wearing a strange mask, made of flesh-colored leather with long black cords hanging off it like a fright wig. The mask held his attention somehow. Bane felt a surge of unbearable cold and utter darkness rush over him...



In the adjoining room, Cindy heard the thump of something heavy hitting the floor and she felt the connection to Bane's mind shut down. Without hesitation, she swung at Mrs Lamoureaux. For the second time that day, the woman took a punch to the jaw but Cindy did not pull her blow a bit and it connected as if she had swung a hammer. Mrs Lamoureaux flew off the chair and fell in a heap.



In the back of her mind, Cindy had kept a light connection with Bane and she had picked up the thought he had seen something strange just before his awareness faded. Medusa! Of course. She remembered the myth, if you looked at Medusa, you turned to stone. Racing into the room, she covered her eyes with her left hand. The man at the top of the stairs grunted in surprise and she located him. His mind was gloating, excited to the point of mania. Cindy drew and fired three times. The heavy metal darts bit into the man's body, making him cry out at the unexpected pain. Within half a second, the potent drug was in his bloodstream and he reeled to fall partway down the stairs.



Still being careful not to look up at the man, Cindy bent over Bane and her heart broke. He was locked in a rigid position, just as he had been while standing, one hand still holding the dartgun. She unlocked the helmet and tugged it off as tears started up in her eyes. His face and hair were grey, almost white. Cindy got hold of herself and reached out with her mind. There! His consciousness was still in there, much stronger than Lamoureaux's had been. Bane was almost awake inside the petrified body. She sent him comfort and support and felt him respond. She did not sense any fear in his muted awareness, only determination to hang on. That was Jeremy, all right.



Cindy stood up. She was not done yet and she could not just keep crouching over her man now. On an end table was a lamp sitting on a white linen cloth. She took the cloth and crawled up the stairs with her eyes tightly closed and her face averted. The next few minutes terrified her but she had to do it. Finding the snoring bulk of Achile, she gingerly located his head and untied the straps that held the mask on. It felt creepy to the touch and the thought occured to her that mask was made from human flesh. She wrapped it in the linen cloth until it could not possibly be seen and exhaled a long shuddering breath.



It was a few minutes before Cindy Brunner stood up. She WAS out of practice, she realized. Back in her younger days, adventures like this took place every few weeks and she enjoyed them. She checked the sleeping man. He had taken three darts and would be out for maybe an hour and a half, with another period of helpless nausea. Good. She went down and sat by Bane for a few minutes. There was no change. She could feel his mind fighting to recover, to shake off the effect. Even in this condition, he just would not surrender. Cindy sent him support and encouragement. Then she heard a car door slam outside.



VII.



Suddenly her anxiety and grief were washed away by cold anger. Her head cleared. The little blonde walked to the front door, looking straight ahead as she fumbled in the bundle of linen and found the straps of the horrid mask. The front door was still wide open, the unconscious Marie Lamoureaux sprawled only a few feet away. Cindy stood in the doorway and stared at the new midnight blue Buick Regal. The driver got out, a short dumpy man in a nice suit, with his hair combed to conceal a vanishing hairline. He crossed over to help his passenger get out.



Jean-Claude Lamoureaux was wearing a guard's uniform that did not fit him at all, seeming comically small on him. He was having difficulty standing on his own. "I didn't think my legs would be weak," he grumbled. "Give me a hand, Woodruff."



"You didn't move for four days, naturally there is some deconditioning." Dr Woodruff went silent as he spotted the small blonde woman standing on the porch. "Do you know her?" he asked.



Cindy moved to the steps and called out, "Dr Woodruff? Jean-Claude Lamoureaux? Wanna see something interesting?" Closing her eyes and turning her head away, she yanked the mask up and held it in front of her, facing them. A few seconds later, she heard crunching crashes as two heavy objects fell to the driveway. Still with eyes shut, she wrapped the mask up again but kept her hand on its straps. Only then did she peek to see what had happened.



Lying next to the Buick were two stiff figures, both with skin and hair an off-white, seemingly lifeless. "Serves you two right!" she snapped. Carrying the bundle, she went back into the house. Mrs Lamoureaux was up on one elbow, moaning and rubbing her jaw. Cindy tugged out the mask, again turning her head and closing her eyes as she shouted, "Take a good look!"



Wrapping the mask again, the blonde telepath stared down at the stiff white figure on the floor. She thought of the brother, still lying on the stairs, but he would be drugged for an hour at least. Cindy tied the linen bundle in a tight knot and brought it with as she went back to where Bane lay. There was no change, his mind was still deep in there but it was calmer now. She got the impression of somehow setting out to walk up a mountain and who would not be stopped. "I'll be waiting," she whispered.



It was a long hard night for Cindy Brunner. She was in excellent shape and very strong for her size, but she was only five feet one and fifty years old. Finding rope in the workroom and a piece of canvas, she managed to drag the rigid bodies of Woodruff and Lamoureaux up into the house and into the workroom. She did the same for the woman. When the brother Achile stirred and opened his eyes, she showed him the mask and hauled him into the workroom as well. This took hours, and she ended up sitting in the chair by the front door out of breath.



Should she call the police? Jeremy had a sort of deal with that Montez about things like this. She decided to wait. Turning on the lights and locking the front door, she went into kitchen and got an unopened bottle of water from the refrigerator. Sitting back down by the door, Cindy mulled things over. On the floor was a large notebook that Marie Lamoureaux must have dropped. Out of curiosity, the blonde picked it up and would not be putting it down for over an hour.



It was all in there. How Jean-Claude Lamoureaux had carried his dabbling in the occult to the point where he arranged a meeting with an actual Dartha. They were seldom seen in this world. Lamoureaux amused the thousand-year-old fiend, and he was given a present to help do harm. A mask from Maroch, made from the flesh cut living off a child and ensorcelled. The Darthan name for the mask translated as "hold that pose." Then the murders started. A critic whose review offended Lamoureaux, an old boyfriend of his wife who had never apologized for snubbing her. One or two random killings of strangers, all of them hauled into the workroom. There were dreadful photographs with dates under them.



Cindy read on, with her stomach turning. The victims would revive in three or four days if unharmed, so the heads and limbs were broken off before then. That was what she had seen in the storeroom. All four had been deeply involved. Mr and Mrs Lamoureaux, the brother Achile, even Dr Woodruff who had finally disposed of a supervisor he had despised for years. The journal was typical momento-collecting found in serial killers.



Finally, she slammed the book shut. She felt ill. Her years at the peaceful school of Tel Shai had let her forget the evil that went on the world. Getting up and walking to the workroom, she picked up a hammer and went to work. Soon, none of the four were recognizable. They would not revive in a few days and go unpunished.



It was close to midnight. Cindy was tired but she went outside, backed Bane's Subaru up against the porch and opened the hatch. The back seats folded down to flat to make enough room for a person to lie down. Using the rope and canvas and infinite care, she dragged the rigid form of her man through the house and into the back of the car, covering him with the canvas. "We're getting out of here," she said out loud.



Going back in the house for the last time, Cindy took a silicone cloth from her jacket and painstakingly wiped any surface she might have touched, even those which would not yield good fingerprints. The book in particular she was careful to clean. Bane had been wearing black latex gloves, so she didn't have to worry about his leaving traces. The bottle of water went with her, her DNA would be on it. Lastly, she brought the wrapped bundle of the evil mask and stowed it under the seat. Cindy took her time checking every detail. At just after one o'clock, she turned off the lights in the showroom, closed the door behind her and drove off.



Back at the motel, she used her powers to make sure no one was looking. Actually, no one within sight was even awake. Still using the rope, she dragged Bane's form into their room and went back out to close the hatch on the Subaru. Locking the room door, she lay down fully clothed next to Bane and was asleep as soon as she closed her eyes.



VII.



It was almost noon when she awoke with a jolt. She felt much better. Using the bathroom, she scrubbed her face and hands and changed her top for a plain blue T-shirt, then tied her hair up in a swirl at the back of her head. She was still in light contact with Bane's mind. Maybe it was wishful thinking but his awareness seemed stronger this morning.



Going outside, she went to the manager's office and signed for two more days. The man took a liking to her and mentioned breakfast was available at the little chop house across the highway. Thanking him, she trotted over and came back with a styrofoam container of pancakes and bacon. Cindy spent the day sitting on the floor next to Bane, waiting. Nothing else seemed important.



At three in the afternoon, Bane's Link chirped. His belongings had not been affected by the Medusa effect. "Hello?"



"Sorry, I was calling Jeremy Bane. Is this his number?"



"He's not here right now. Lt Montez? This is Cindy, we met yesterday."



"Oh yeah," came the voice. "Cindy, right, I haven't heard from you two."



"We're not making much progress," she said. "We went to see the wife and her brother and they're not co-operating at all. I'm sorry I can't offer more help. Maybe soon."



"Well, keep at it. Still no trace of that medical examiner or the body he snatched. And Stan the guard still looks like a department store dummy. It's a mess."



Cindy said, "I'll have Jeremy call you as soon as he can," and broke the connection.



That night and the next day were long vigils. Cindy turned on the TV but couldn't watch anything. At dusk, she walked over to the chop house and returned with a turkey dinner and a big bottle of Pepsi. Mostly she sat and waited. She had turned Bane's Link off and no one knew where they were. Night fell and she stretched out to nap beside him.

At dawn the following morning, she finally took a shower as hot as she could stand it and dressed in the same clothes she had worn the day before. Wrapping her hair in a towel, she stepped out into the room and saw with a thrill that Bane's arm had lowered to the carpet. She rushed over. With infinite gentleness, she bent one of his fingers. It resisted but it moved. She felt his mind coming to the surface like a sleeper trying to awake from a bad dream.


Finally, she started to cry, if only for a few minutes as the stress was released. Color came back into his face, his hand felt warm. Suddenly he gave a gasp and went into a coughing fit. He tried to sit up but fell back down.



"Take it easy, hon," she said. "You haven't moved for three days. You're going to be weak." She grabbed two pillows from the bed and propped his head up.


"Cin? What's the situation? I'm all confused... I was having the craziest dreams." He struggled to get up on one elbow but that was all he could manage. Quickly, she told him everything that had happened since he had snuck into the Lamoureaux house. He listened without interrupting, and let it all sink in. "The mask is under the driver's seat. I think it needs to be burned," she concluded.

"They're all dead now?" he asked. "Just as well. And you took over when I was a statue. You stood guard by me the whole time, didn't you?"



"Of course," she said. "But now my time is almost up."



Bane didn't understand at first. "No..."



"Yes. I only had leave from Tel Shai for five days. Listen, your Link is right here. I called our team and asked them to come get you. You won't be able to walk today. They said Argent and Unicorn are on their way." Cindy stood up and her voice broke, "It's so unfair. We finally get some time together and look what happens!"



Bane tried to raise himself but failed. "I'll be back to normal by tomorrow, I know it. And I will come straight to Tel Shai. From now on, I will visit you every chance I get, Cindy."



"I know you will," she whispered as the blue light flared up to take her and she was gone.