"The Boneless Plague"
May. 16th, 2022 08:13 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dochermes"The Boneless Plague"
5/28/2010
I.
Miles from nowhere, thought Bane. He had not realized that towns in Nebraska were so far apart. If not for the odometer, it would have been hard to say if he was even getting anywhere. The bleak brown land and oppressive grey sky did not seem to change mile after mile. The Dire Wolf wondered vaguely what had happened to the foothills of the Rockies. Shouldn't they be in sight by now? Finally, he saw a small garage up ahead and pulled the Mustang in. The business looked ancient, a car inspection station with one gas pump and tiny general store all in two wooden buildings. The Dire Wolf would bet the place had been built before the Depression and was probably run by the grandchildren of the founder. Coming to a stop next to the gas pump, he got out and stretched. Sitting and driving did not come easy to someone as hyperactive as himself.
Now in his fifties, Jeremy Bane had not changed much. There were a few flecks of grey in his black hair and some lines showing in the narrow face but he remained as gaunt and lean as the beast from which he had taken his name. The pale silver-grey eyes still probed restlessly beneath heavy brows. He strode quickly into the small building which had signs reading COLD BEER and LOWEST CIGARETTE PRICES ALLOWED BY LAW. Behind a counter crowded with merchandise such as air fresheners shaped like pine trees and packets of Tylenol, No-Doz and Pepto-Bismol, lounged an old man. He was small, not more than five feet six, and bony, with white hair and thick glasses. Glancing up, he regarded the strange man in black without enthusiasm.
"Hello," Bane said. "I need to fill up. And something to drink, a couple bottles of water, I think." The Dire Wolf picked up a local newspaper. "This too. I'll put twenty-five in, thanks."
The old man took the money and made change. "Quite a ways to town," he observed.
"I'm heading past town, out where the crimes happened. You heard anything new about them?"
"Huh," said the storekeeper. "Police, eh?"
"No. I'm a civilian. The authorities call me in sometimes. Pretty gruesome deaths, from what I was told."
"What happened to those poor folks? I'd said it's not natural. That sort of thing don't happen without the Devil being at work--" He broke off as a loud motorcycle roared up outside and gunned its motor. They both looked up. It was a big Harley-Davidson, painted cherry red with extended handlebars. Snapping down the kickstand and jumping off was a slight man in black leathers, riding without a helmet. Bane felt sudden tension in the air. Without quite knowing he was doing so, he planted his feet and turned his body slightly as if getting ready to fight. Into the store rushed a young man, no more than nineteen, with tawny yellow hair and startling green eyes. "That your car, mister?"
"It is," Bane answered. To his surprise, he found himself having to hold his temper. It seemed ridiculous, after all the battles he had survived and the sort of enemies he had killed, that he found himself riled by this youngster.
"Ain't but one nozzle working on that pump," laughed the biker. "You wanna get your gas and get outta the way, old man?"
Bane kept his face expressionless. He had a strange feeling about the situation. Without a word, he nodded to the storekeeper and walked out to the pump. As he filled the tank, the biker came out and stood watching him. Unhurried, the Dire Wolf got in, started up the Mustang and drove over to park by the side of the garage. He acted as if the blond kid was of no interest and he checked his tires and oil, then opened a bottle of water and drank it slowly.
The blonde boy gassed up his Harley, climbed on and fired it up. This time, he took a helmet from its strap and buckled it on before gunning the bike and tearing off down the highway. Bane watched him go with a wary glint in his eyes. Finishing the water, he went back in the store. The man behind the counter had come around to stand in the doorway.
"You know him?" asked Bane.
"Hell yes. Too well. Who in these parts doesn't know Cougar Jones?"
The Dire Wolf waited, expecting the old man would explain and sure enough, he went on. "Bad news. Always has been. His real name is Douglas Jones but he's been called Cougar for years. I reckon you'd say he makes a living as a bounty hunter and a bodyguard, but frankly he turns up wherever there's trouble. Looked to me like you was fixing to take a swing at him, mister. Just as well you didn't."
"Really," Bane said quietly. "Tough guy, eh?"
"Tough as a cheap steak. Like his name. Panther quick, panther mean. You saw those eyes of his."
The Dire Wolf did not respond. As he headed back to his car, he looked back and saw the storekeeper watching him apprehensively. What was this Cougar kid, the local hoodlum? Bane got in his dark green Mustang and back out on the highway, heading in the same direction the young biker had gone. With an annoyed shrug, he turned his thoughts back to why he was tooling down this empty highway past bleak scenery. Two days earlier, a pair of FBI field agents had turned up at his office on 44th Street and 3rd Avenue. He recognized them. Not for the first time, the agency found itself dealing with murders which could not be explained and which had the forensic team in conniptions. Over the years they had found, as the NYPD had, that it paid to inform Bane about the situation. It was all unofficial and off the record, everything would be denied, as far as the agency was concerned they had never heard of Jeremy Bane or the Dire Wolf. But still... two or three times a year, somehow he would investigate on his own and things would be resolved in a violent fashion that no FBI team would sanction.
Sitting behind his desk, Bane had silently listened to the grisly details of the Boneless Plague. He agreed with them that it was a terrible situation and that if anyone knew a way to solve the murders, it would be just good citizenship to offer such a solution. Then he thanked them and escorted them through the tiny waiting room to the door.
Now, zipping along in the Mustang, Bane shook his head. Some detective he was. The first rule of a good PI, as Michael Hawk had told him in all seriousness so long ago, was to make sure there was a substantial fee guaranteed for you. Nothing for free. Yet the cases he had handled where he got paid were a small fraction of the jobs he handled. And, he thought wryly, he wasn't even asked to take on these dangerous assignments. Lt Montez of Homicide West or two FBI agents or someone from the DA or the governor would just drop hints that there was something gruesome and horrifying running around loose, and leave it there. They knew Bane. They knew he was born looking for trouble, he had an enhanced metabolism which filled him with restless energy and the adrenalin was his main joy in life.
They've got my number, the Dire Wolf thought. But why complain, I wouldn't want it any other way. In a minute, he passed through the hamlet of Dotson Corners. It looked like a cluster of five or six houses, a post office, a couple of mobile homes just a bit further on. He saw some dry, unused fields beyond the houses. Five minutes later, Bane spotted a long low building with a metal sign on the roof, TRUCKERS DELITE. A big gravel parking lot in fact did have one giant semi parked, two pick-ups and a single Hyundai Sonata.
The Wolf circled the parking lot, saw a small cottage right behind the tavern, and came to a stop. He considered getting some more firepower in case of trouble. Holstered at the small of his back was a basic .38 Smith & Wesson revolver, and he had the two silver-bladed daggers sheathed on his forearms under the sleeves of his black turtleneck. Silver disrupted spells, broke up curses and slew most creatures of the night. In the trunk, more exotic hand-crafted weaponry was stowed but he left it there. Ultimately, the extra speed in his variant reflexes and the long decades of training were what he relied on most.
Walking away from his car, Bane studied the scene. Something seemed out of place. He headed over to get a look when he noticed a dark red Harley parked in the shade of the tavern. An unreasonable flare of annoyance blazed up in him, just as his senses detected someone moving behind TRUCKERS DELITE. There was a propane tank and a dumpster, and heard the faint scrape of leather against stone. The guy was quiet, to give him credit, and an untrained ear would not have caught the noise. A second later, Cougar Jones stepped out from behind the dumpster and gave Bane a venomous glare.
"You again? What's your business here, grandpa?"
Bane did not answer immediately. He stood facing the young biker, and Cougar came trotting angrily toward him. "What, you don't hear so good?" the blonde said and reached out his right hand to grab the lapel of Bane's sport jacket.
To be honest, the Dire wolf had been almost hoping for that. His right hand caught hold of Cougar's wrist and yanked the man's arm past him, out straight. In the same motion, a blinding backfist with his left hand whipped up along that arm and cracked hard into the biker's chin. Bane released him, expecting the kid to drop stunned and he instead got one of the biggest surprises he had received in many years. Cougar's head snapped to one side and he dropped back a step but instead of falling, he lunged at the Dire Wolf with surprising quickness. A mean right jab caught Bane on the side of the jaw and a follow-up right cross connected perfectly. The Dire Wolf shrugged it off, and as Cougar drew back his arm for a roundhouse blow, Bane blasted out a straight side punch that caught the boy right in the chest and drove him back a few feet.
Cougar Jones blinked in disbelief, his green eyes catching the sunlight in a bright gleam. With a low rumble deep in his chest, he charged with a barrage of left-right punches. Bane stood his ground. He blocked each punch as it neared him, at first with just enough resistance to stop the momentum but he began to put full power into each block. Cougar felt his forearms aching as if he were trying to punch a pair of hammers that hit back. Bane saw his opening. Spinning on one foot, he ripped a reverse kick that smacked the metal-capped heel of his boot to the side of Cougar's head with a crisp thump.
This time, the biker went down to the dirt. He was up again, faster than Bane expected him to recover, and got in close. Two hooking punches caught the Dire Wolf in the ribs, then a jab drove in under his chin, forcing his head back and up. Bane brought his elbows in and there were six sharp explosive sounds so close together that they sounded like drumming as he pounded the man's chest. With a gasp, Cougar dropped his guard and Bane chopped the open edge of his hand like an axe right where the biker's neck met shoulder. Again, the man dropped and this time he took a few seconds getting to hands and knees.
Jeremy Bane reined himself in. He had decades of Kumundu training at Tel Shai, available to only a few living Humans. This boy seemed to be a common barroom brawler, with no real technique, but his speed and resilience were amazing. That sequence of Wing Chun-style punches to the chest would have put most men in the hospital, and the knife-hand blow to the neck could easily have been fatal. What was it the man at the store had said about Cougar Jones? "Tough as a cheap steak."
The blonde man rose, swayed unsteadily and straightened up. Bane was impressed. Those green eyes blazed with malice. The biker did not speak, he turned and walked slowly to get on his Harley. As he started it and began to move, Bane half expected the man to try to run him down, but Cougar just peeled out on the highway and did not look back.
"Gah-DAM!" said a voice from the back door of the bar. "I never thought I'd see the day Cougar Jones got what he deserved."
II.
Bane turned around, one hand feeling his ribs gingerly. That kid hit hard. He saw a fat man in sweat pants and a T-shirt big enough to serve as a nightgown. He was holding a frying pan in one hand, and smiling with obvious glee.
"It wasn't easy," Bane admitted. "Next time I might have to hurt him."
This seemed to tickle the fat man. "Name's Cory. Cory Everett. I'm cook here. I got to tell you, mister, I've seen that cat boy beat the snot out of three guys at once and never get touched. He's always starting something. " He held out a hand, and Bane shook it. The smell of bacon through the open door suddenly made him realize he was starving as usual.
"My name's Bane. Call me Jeremy. I'm supposed to be out here on business but something makes me hungry all of a sudden."
Everett grinned, showing some seriously bad teeth. "Go around in front and order at the bar. I can't say it's on me, boss would pitch a fit but I promise you'll be satisfied."
The Dire Wolf walked around to the front of TRUCKER'S DELITE and passed through the screen door. It was dim and cool, with a TV in one corner showing the Weather Channel. Two men in jeans and flannel shirts were drinking beer and another man in a blue work shirt and dark blue slacks was eating peanuts out of the bowl on the bar. There were some tables and chairs, a stuffed deer head with a baseball cap on one wall, a few humorous signs ("In case of Atomic attack, hide under the Urinal, it hasn't been hit yet"), nothing unexpected. Behind the bar, a handsome woman in her forties with a an explosion of teased black hair watched him.
"Good afternoon," Bane said and came up to the bar. "I was hoping to get some food." She allowed that this was possible, and he looked over a stained menu before ordering a bacon cheesburger, fries, buttered hard roll and iced tea. When the food came, he devoured it and asked for a cheese omelet. The way Bane ate, considering how thin he was, often startled people. But this was a drawback to his enhanced speed. He was a metabolic furnace. As he was finished and sipping a glass of ice water, he turned back to the reason he had come out here.
The woman behind the bar had been watching him with a smile. Now, as she took his plate and silverware, and wiped the counter with a damp cloth, she said, "Cory told me what happened. Thanks a lot. That boy has been a pain in the ass for years, kicking trouble up ever where he goes.He needed to get brought down."
Bane put his elbows up. "He's a tough little guy. How'd he get to be that way? Was he in the service, Special Forces maybe?"
"Nope. Maybe two years ago, he changed overnight. Cougar came from a bad family, he was the only one not three-quarters drunk every day. He was gone for a few days, wandering out on the plains," here her voice had a note of conspiracy in it as she leaned in closer. "He came into town with his eyes that color. He was mean, pushy. He started fights all the time and he was quick enough no one could stand up to him. Then he brought in a fugitive wanted for skipping bail and he claimed the reward. He's been all over the state since then. He does strongarm work once in a while, too, but we wouldn't want him here as a bouncer, I'll tell you that."
"I wonder what changed him," Bane said as if to himself. "What did he meet out there?"
"Who knows? Strange things have happened in these parts. Ghosts. Witches. You name it, it has turned up around Dotson Corners. Area seems to be cursed," she added with a sour smile.
Now Bane got closer and lowered his voice. "Could be. I'll let you in on something. I am a sort of ghostbuster. And I was asked to come out here and look into those deaths that happened last week. The Eberhart family. Is there anything you can tell me about that?"
"Yeah. Why hasn't it been on the news? Where are the cable TV reporters? Why have the papers covered it up? Folks around here can't believe it has been just swept under the rugs like this?"
"I know. Bad things happen that no one ever hears about. The people in office always want to keep the public in the dark. I can't change that." Bane let out a breath in exasperation. "All I can do is stop the killings. That's my calling, I'm like an exterminator for things that don't belong in this world."
For a long moment, the woman studied his face. He felt that she may not have been educated in scholarly terms but she was shrewd and a good judge of people. "I believe you," she said at last. "And I can see you are just as dangerous as any beast that hunts in the dark of the moon. Old beliefs died hard out here. Before us, the Pawnee had their tales of the Wakan-Manitou, the Old Ones who ruled before mankind showed up. I reckon they knew what we have forgotten."
"Yes. All true. Tell me, is there a local hermit of some kind around here? An old man or woman with a creepy reputation? The sort that lives way out in the wilderness and no one bothers with?"
"Yep. Mr and Mrs Stivaletti. Exactly like you say. Older than dirt, live in a big ol' house twenty miles out of town. No one knows anything about them. Once a month or so, they come and pick up supplies, don't say more than three or four words. Scary folks. Look like they was dug up outta the ground themselves."
Bane sat up. "Well, my guess is that they are a good place to start. Maybe they're just an old couple minding their own business and completely harmless. Can you give me directions? First the Eberhart house."
The woman watched him dubiously. "Just keep going down the highway. There's an old quarry on your right, all closed off. Next to it is the road to their house. After that, go west again and the Stivalleti house is out in the middle of a field. But, Mr Bane, common courtesy makes me warn you. The Simpkins boy broke into their house a few years ago. He told his low-life friends he would come back with all sorts of valuables. The next morning, he died in front of his own parents, foaming at the mouth and crying for help. Just so you know."
"Thanks. I'm sorry, I didn't get your name."
"Sally. My folks own this joint, me and brother Cory are here ever day."
Bane gave her a slight smile. "I will definitely be back before I leave, Sally." He paid and left a tip, went to the bathroom to wash up and headed back out into the fierce sunlight.
III.
Now he felt that familiar stir of excitement. Jeremy Bane turned his car out onto the highway and headed west. Odd, heavy dark clouds were on the horizon. They hadn't been there before. A cold wind had begun. He turned over in his mind details of the strange deaths of the Eberhart family, found after neighbors heard an ungodly crashing and screaming in the middle of the night. The Boneless Deaths, one FBI agent had called the killings. Four blobs of flesh and internal organs oozing over the ground like melted ice cream cones. The medical examiner and the state forensic experts went blank and basically admitted they had no clue. A man, a woman, their two boys... all with bones dissolved into sludge. The FBI caught wind of the strange deaths and someone in their hierarchy had thought it was time to call in the unofficial dogcatcher they went to when baffled.
The Dire Wolf pulled over by the Eberhart home. It was a tall narrow white board house, two stories high. The wooden fence on the west had been knocked down from outside. Bane saw no one in the area. He walked around the house, his instincts all keyed up, warning him as if he was on the verge of falling off a high cliff. Yellow police tape made an X across the rude hole which had been smashed in the wall of the Eberhart house. It was the right size to have been made by a car but there were no tire tracks in the yard and the broken boards seemed to be scattered at angles that suggested they had been thrown aside. Bane stood with hands on his hips, thinking. Behind him sounded the familiar thunder of a big motorcycle and a sudden surge of anger swept over him. It was Cougar Jones again! The Dire Wolf turned as the blonde boy propped up his bike and yanked off his helmet.
"Hey, pops! I got something to say to you!"
"I bet you do," Bane muttered. In the back of his mind, he wondered why this kid rubbed him the wrong way so badly. He had dealt with much worse nuisances in the past. He stood with hands down and open, making himself relax and not tense up. The biker came strutting up, calling out, "You made me look bad in front of everyone-"
As soon as the boy came within ten feet, Bane launched himself in a blur of punches from different angles. Cougar was quick and durable but Bane's advantage was in his skill, and he threw rapid combinations that came in from every direction without a pause between them. Taken offguard, the biker fell to a sitting position. Quick as the cat he took his name from, the boy was up and he dove directly into a high side kick to the chest that flung him back into a loose somersault onto his back. A second later, groaning, Cougar Jones still got to his hands and knees.
"Stay down!" Bane roared in a voice that allowed no defiance. "I've had enough of you, son. You beat up farmers and garage mechanics and you think you're hot. You're alive right now because I choose to let you live."
Finally, Cougar got up on one knee, rubbing his chest and trying to catch his breath. He glared up at Bane and slowly turned his eyes away.
"Listen to me." The Dire Wolf lowered his voice. "I know the supernatural. I was fighting the Midnight War before you were born. Something changed you. You weren't always like this. What was it?"
As he got to his feet and winced at the pain, Cougar said, "You ain't gonna believe me. No one would. All right. I was camping in the mountains and a cougar jumped me. I had my Bowie knife in my hand already, I caught him right in the heart but he still chewed up my arm like hamburger. I fell in a ravine and lay there in the moonlight."
"Go on," said Bane.
"All the next day I was lying there, feverish, dreaming strange dreams. At nightfall, I suddenly felt better and I got up. I came back to town and when I looked in a mirror. I saw my eyes were green. Like a cat. They'd always been brown! The cougar possessed me somehow. I know it sounds crazy!"
"No, not to me. I've seen similar things. You have been touched by the cougar spirit. Maybe you are part shape-shifter yourself, like an involuntary werewolf. I've know howlers like you, with just a bit of wolf in them, not enough to make them transform."
The boy took this in, his face so confused it was comical. "You mean, I'm... like a werewolf? A were-cat or something?"
"Seems like it," Bane said. "Here's the next thing to consider. Something monstrous killed these people, something from Outside. I can tell you this, it will be back and there will be a lot more hideous deaths like these people suffered. I mean to stop it. What's your agenda?"
Cougar Jones managed to stand upright, rolling his shoulders painfully. He had never been hit so hard or so fast in his life, and he carefully watched this stranger in black with those pale eyes. "I.. I don't rightly know. I was poking around, trying to figure it out. My thought was some sort of devil-worship cult was behind this."
"In a way, you're right. But it's older and much worse than mere devil-worship. What do you plan to do next?"
"No idea," the boy admitted. "If there's another killing, maybe I'd find some clue to follow."
"I've got a better idea. Come with me."
"Whattttt? Are you kidding? What do you mean?"
Bane stepped closer and gestured toward the black clouds getting closer in the sky. "I think I know what is behind these deaths. I intend to stop them. Maybe you can help. Feel up to it?"
"Up to it? Why, sure." The boy's manner had softened. "I think I'll go with you, mister. I want to see whatever is doing this with my own eyes."
"Call me Jeremy," said the Dire Wolf. "Look at the storm coming. I tell you what, secure your motorcycle under that tarp at the back of the house here. We're going to visit the local scary hermits."
After Cougar had moved his bike next to the house and carefully tied a blue tarp down over it, he walked over to where Bane stood by the Mustang, passenger door open. They both got in and the car turned onto the highway. Thunder grumbled vaguely off to the west.
"You hunt monsters for a living, is that it?"
"That's it," agreed Bane. "I've been doing it all my life. I'll tell you something that most people don't know. Deaths like those and worse have happenedmany times before. Witches and sorcerors mess with things they don't understand, they let loose forces that are better kept imprisoned."
Cougar was staring at the man who had beaten him decisively, but all the anger seemed to have left him. A dark bruise was forming high on one cheek. "What do you.... you mean, demons from Hell?"
"Older than that, and worse. Long before Humans existed, this world belonged to beings far above us in power. They have been imprisoned for ages, still alive, still aching to get free and turn the Earth into a charred pile of cinders with nothing left alive. The Sulla Chun! The Pawnee called them Wakan-Manitou."
"Sure! Sure I've heard of that," Cougar agreed. "The Old Ones. Toward the end, when the settlers had taken over, some Pawnee and Sioux tried to let the Old Ones loose but nothing came of it."
Bane turned onto the dirt road next to a closed quarry. Half a mile ahead was a dark Victorian mansion looming on a slight rise in the flat ground. "And others are still trying. Those Who Remember. You haven't heard of them but they are just as bad as people get."
As the car stopped in front of the house, Cougar said quietly, "Mr and Mrs Stivoletti..."
No lights were on. A chill rain was starting to come down, lightly at first. Bane got out of the car and swivelled around at a growl. A big dog, mixed breed of some kind with mostly pit bull, raced at them and sprang entirely into the air. There was a sharp snapping noise, the dog fell heavily to one side and Bane was lowering his fist. Cougar had not quite seen the blow.
The Dire Wolf looked at the sprawled beast, saw it was breathing and turned to the blonde boy. "He'll be okay. If he had come in a little lower, I would have had to kill him." Bane walked up to the front door and Cougar followed with mixed emotions.
The house was in serious disrepair. It had not been painted in ages, shingles hung loose on the roof and one of the windows was boarded up. Over the front door was drawn a strange symbol in red paint, an oval split by a diagonal lightning bolt. Bane glanced at it, "Darthan magick."
To Cougar's astonishment, Bane did not knock but just walked boldly in and he found himself following. They passed through a tiny foyer, where coats and hats hung, and into a parlor where the only light came from a meager fireplace. The air was musty and mildwed, a vague clutter of shapes on shelves lining the walls. Sitting in old-fashioned overstuffed armchairs by the fireplace were small motionless forms. At first, they seemed dead. A man and a woman in old age, thin white wispy hair and shrivelled faces with beaklike noses meeting upturned chins. They were wrapped in blankets.
As Bane and Cougar entered, both the Stivalettos stirred. Black glossy eyes glittered in the firelight, and the man sat up.
"You have come far to die," he whistled thinly.
"You wish," Bane answered. "Those Who Remember! Oh yes, I've fought your cult before. Ever hear of Simon Cohen? I don't see how you can be so misled. The Sulla Chun don't care about you. If you let them loose, they won't spare you from gratitude."
Now the old woman spoke, smacking toothless gums. "Little you know, little you understand. We know better. We remember what the world was like before Humans soiled it. It will be better, purer after the Old Ones have cleansed it spotless again."
"Whatever. I don't have time to argue." Bane stepped into the room. "As a knight of Tel Shai, I claim this house and everything in it. By using forbidden art, you have forfeited ownership under the Pact. Let's start by getting rid of some of these books. Oh, look, THE REVELATIONS OF TOLLINOR KJE, why am I not surprised to see that?"
The old warlock struggled to get to his feet, "Targhul! TARGHUL!" he screamed. "Targhul, help us."
Overhead, floorboards creaked and dust seeped down between the cracks. Heavy footfalls sounded.
.
"Here we go," Bane told Cougar Jones. "Stand by. Keep your head. 'Targhul' means an empty shell."
So slowly, almost teasingly, a dark form came down the stairs from the second floor, pausing at each step. A head taller than an average man and wider enough to fill a doorway, it seemed to be a man covered in black leather armor. Straps and buckles held it together. The shoulder pieces rose to spikes, there were forward-jutting horns on the helmet. No eyes could be seen, not an inch of skin showed. The Targhul reached the lowest step and the featureless leather facepiece turned to face the intruders.
Cougar's nerve broke. From inside his biker jacket, he swung up a big .45 automatic and fired a half dozen shots right at the thing. The heavy bullets punched through the leather helmet, smacking into the wall behind and knocking plaster off. The thing convulsed and straightened up, seemingly unconcerned by the ragged holes in its head. "What the hell....?" Cougar yelled.
The leather thing stepped onto the floor and took a step toward them, Bane said with remarkable calm, "There's no one in there. It's an empty construct." He tossed the book REVELATIONS OF TOLLINOR KJE to Cougar, who caught it just as the Targhul lunged at the Dire Wolf. Bane stepped back quickly, picked up a plain wooden chair and jammed it legs-first at the monster. For a second, he drove it back but the leather thing was strong. It pressed forward.
"Let him drink your bones," said Mr Stivaletto. "Let him."
"Yes, yes," his wife cackled. "We need the calcium to rebuild our own."
Bane snorted. "Not gonna happen." He swung the chair back and smashed it right into the Targhul, sending the thing up against a wall and knocking framed portraits off. The monster did not fall, it got upright and stretched both hands toward its prey.
The Dire Wolf crossed his arms in front of him and straightened them out with a dagger in each hand. He wore them strapped under his sleeves. In the dim red light of the fireplace, those blades gleamed with a clean white flash. Silver ensorcelled by the immortal Eldarin, those daggers had served Bane as they had served Kenneth Dred before him. He stepped to meet the Targhul and his arms swung in whistling figure 8 arcs. Great chunks of leather were sheared off and flew to either side. The Targhul could make no noise, show no pain but it did hesitate. In those silver blades was a force that broke evil magick. Bane hacked away like a whirlwind of glittering metal, and the leather helmet flew apart. The Targhul sagged to the floor, still opening and closing its gauntlets.
Overhead, more heavy footsteps thumped. Bane glared up and yelled, "Cougar! Throw that book into the fire!"
Without pausing to argue for once, the blonde boy rushed over to the fireplace and shoved REVELATIONS into the red coals. It smoldered and started to burn. Both Mrs and Mrs Stivaletto were trying to get up out of their chairs, the man gripping a thick walking stick and pulling himself upright, but they took too long and would not have been able to do anything to stop him in any case. A thud and a crash came from the stairs as three more of the leather armors came tumbling down in a loose heap. Bane jabbed one with his boot, and grunted with satisfaction.
"That was a book of Darthan spells," he told Cougar. "I'm not sure how to explain who the Darthim are or who Tollinor Kje was, but..." He voice broke off. Cougar Jones followed the direction of his eyes and saw that the Stivalettos had fallen apart. In their chairs, spilling over the woolen blankets, were nothing but piles of foul wet muck.
Bane smacked Cougar on the back sharply. "It's all right. Hey, it's all right. Listen, these two were witches. They were way too old to be alive by natural means so they kept going using black magick. You follow me?"
"Um, yeah. I guess."
"Now, even alchemy has its limits. They were going to die soon. They built those suits of leather armor and sent them out. The armor... this is hard to explain. The armor stole the calcium from its victims. This left them boneless. Then the armor brought the calcium back to these two ghouls, who put into their own bones. Next, they would start taking muscle and blood vessels and spinal chords and who knows what else, and put those things in their own bodies.Step by step, they would rebuild themselves and live another two hundred years. Got it?"
Cougar plopped down in one of the plain wooden chairs as if his legs had given out. "It's too much. I can't take it in, this all can't be true. It can't be true."
"That's what I thought when I was your age," Bane went on. He started picking out books and talismans from around the room. Making an armful, he hauled them out to his car and stowed them in the trunk. When he got back in the house, he found Cougar sitting up and rubbing his chin. At least the kid wasn't going into shock as many did when they first experienced the Midnight War. After ten or fifteen minutes, he was satisfied he had confiscated or burned everything in the house that could be dangerous. Stirring the coals with a poker, the Dire Wolf suddenly felt tired. THis fight was over for the moment.
Cougar Jones had gone to stand in the open doorway, looking out at the cold rain. It felt good. When Bane came up behind him, the boy asked, "You gonna call the police now?"
"Yes," the Dire Wolf replied distractedly. "And the FBI. Let them try to figure this mess out. I think they will give up after a few days and just close the file as unresolved. The important thing is that the Stivalettos are dead and there will be no more of the Boneless Plague. Listen, come with me back to town. We'll get your bike later. First, we'll go to town and get something to eat. We have a lot of talking to do." He started toward his car. "You know, you need to think about a way to put your talents to better use. I have some ideas..."
3/15/2013
5/28/2010
I.
Miles from nowhere, thought Bane. He had not realized that towns in Nebraska were so far apart. If not for the odometer, it would have been hard to say if he was even getting anywhere. The bleak brown land and oppressive grey sky did not seem to change mile after mile. The Dire Wolf wondered vaguely what had happened to the foothills of the Rockies. Shouldn't they be in sight by now? Finally, he saw a small garage up ahead and pulled the Mustang in. The business looked ancient, a car inspection station with one gas pump and tiny general store all in two wooden buildings. The Dire Wolf would bet the place had been built before the Depression and was probably run by the grandchildren of the founder. Coming to a stop next to the gas pump, he got out and stretched. Sitting and driving did not come easy to someone as hyperactive as himself.
Now in his fifties, Jeremy Bane had not changed much. There were a few flecks of grey in his black hair and some lines showing in the narrow face but he remained as gaunt and lean as the beast from which he had taken his name. The pale silver-grey eyes still probed restlessly beneath heavy brows. He strode quickly into the small building which had signs reading COLD BEER and LOWEST CIGARETTE PRICES ALLOWED BY LAW. Behind a counter crowded with merchandise such as air fresheners shaped like pine trees and packets of Tylenol, No-Doz and Pepto-Bismol, lounged an old man. He was small, not more than five feet six, and bony, with white hair and thick glasses. Glancing up, he regarded the strange man in black without enthusiasm.
"Hello," Bane said. "I need to fill up. And something to drink, a couple bottles of water, I think." The Dire Wolf picked up a local newspaper. "This too. I'll put twenty-five in, thanks."
The old man took the money and made change. "Quite a ways to town," he observed.
"I'm heading past town, out where the crimes happened. You heard anything new about them?"
"Huh," said the storekeeper. "Police, eh?"
"No. I'm a civilian. The authorities call me in sometimes. Pretty gruesome deaths, from what I was told."
"What happened to those poor folks? I'd said it's not natural. That sort of thing don't happen without the Devil being at work--" He broke off as a loud motorcycle roared up outside and gunned its motor. They both looked up. It was a big Harley-Davidson, painted cherry red with extended handlebars. Snapping down the kickstand and jumping off was a slight man in black leathers, riding without a helmet. Bane felt sudden tension in the air. Without quite knowing he was doing so, he planted his feet and turned his body slightly as if getting ready to fight. Into the store rushed a young man, no more than nineteen, with tawny yellow hair and startling green eyes. "That your car, mister?"
"It is," Bane answered. To his surprise, he found himself having to hold his temper. It seemed ridiculous, after all the battles he had survived and the sort of enemies he had killed, that he found himself riled by this youngster.
"Ain't but one nozzle working on that pump," laughed the biker. "You wanna get your gas and get outta the way, old man?"
Bane kept his face expressionless. He had a strange feeling about the situation. Without a word, he nodded to the storekeeper and walked out to the pump. As he filled the tank, the biker came out and stood watching him. Unhurried, the Dire Wolf got in, started up the Mustang and drove over to park by the side of the garage. He acted as if the blond kid was of no interest and he checked his tires and oil, then opened a bottle of water and drank it slowly.
The blonde boy gassed up his Harley, climbed on and fired it up. This time, he took a helmet from its strap and buckled it on before gunning the bike and tearing off down the highway. Bane watched him go with a wary glint in his eyes. Finishing the water, he went back in the store. The man behind the counter had come around to stand in the doorway.
"You know him?" asked Bane.
"Hell yes. Too well. Who in these parts doesn't know Cougar Jones?"
The Dire Wolf waited, expecting the old man would explain and sure enough, he went on. "Bad news. Always has been. His real name is Douglas Jones but he's been called Cougar for years. I reckon you'd say he makes a living as a bounty hunter and a bodyguard, but frankly he turns up wherever there's trouble. Looked to me like you was fixing to take a swing at him, mister. Just as well you didn't."
"Really," Bane said quietly. "Tough guy, eh?"
"Tough as a cheap steak. Like his name. Panther quick, panther mean. You saw those eyes of his."
The Dire Wolf did not respond. As he headed back to his car, he looked back and saw the storekeeper watching him apprehensively. What was this Cougar kid, the local hoodlum? Bane got in his dark green Mustang and back out on the highway, heading in the same direction the young biker had gone. With an annoyed shrug, he turned his thoughts back to why he was tooling down this empty highway past bleak scenery. Two days earlier, a pair of FBI field agents had turned up at his office on 44th Street and 3rd Avenue. He recognized them. Not for the first time, the agency found itself dealing with murders which could not be explained and which had the forensic team in conniptions. Over the years they had found, as the NYPD had, that it paid to inform Bane about the situation. It was all unofficial and off the record, everything would be denied, as far as the agency was concerned they had never heard of Jeremy Bane or the Dire Wolf. But still... two or three times a year, somehow he would investigate on his own and things would be resolved in a violent fashion that no FBI team would sanction.
Sitting behind his desk, Bane had silently listened to the grisly details of the Boneless Plague. He agreed with them that it was a terrible situation and that if anyone knew a way to solve the murders, it would be just good citizenship to offer such a solution. Then he thanked them and escorted them through the tiny waiting room to the door.
Now, zipping along in the Mustang, Bane shook his head. Some detective he was. The first rule of a good PI, as Michael Hawk had told him in all seriousness so long ago, was to make sure there was a substantial fee guaranteed for you. Nothing for free. Yet the cases he had handled where he got paid were a small fraction of the jobs he handled. And, he thought wryly, he wasn't even asked to take on these dangerous assignments. Lt Montez of Homicide West or two FBI agents or someone from the DA or the governor would just drop hints that there was something gruesome and horrifying running around loose, and leave it there. They knew Bane. They knew he was born looking for trouble, he had an enhanced metabolism which filled him with restless energy and the adrenalin was his main joy in life.
They've got my number, the Dire Wolf thought. But why complain, I wouldn't want it any other way. In a minute, he passed through the hamlet of Dotson Corners. It looked like a cluster of five or six houses, a post office, a couple of mobile homes just a bit further on. He saw some dry, unused fields beyond the houses. Five minutes later, Bane spotted a long low building with a metal sign on the roof, TRUCKERS DELITE. A big gravel parking lot in fact did have one giant semi parked, two pick-ups and a single Hyundai Sonata.
The Wolf circled the parking lot, saw a small cottage right behind the tavern, and came to a stop. He considered getting some more firepower in case of trouble. Holstered at the small of his back was a basic .38 Smith & Wesson revolver, and he had the two silver-bladed daggers sheathed on his forearms under the sleeves of his black turtleneck. Silver disrupted spells, broke up curses and slew most creatures of the night. In the trunk, more exotic hand-crafted weaponry was stowed but he left it there. Ultimately, the extra speed in his variant reflexes and the long decades of training were what he relied on most.
Walking away from his car, Bane studied the scene. Something seemed out of place. He headed over to get a look when he noticed a dark red Harley parked in the shade of the tavern. An unreasonable flare of annoyance blazed up in him, just as his senses detected someone moving behind TRUCKERS DELITE. There was a propane tank and a dumpster, and heard the faint scrape of leather against stone. The guy was quiet, to give him credit, and an untrained ear would not have caught the noise. A second later, Cougar Jones stepped out from behind the dumpster and gave Bane a venomous glare.
"You again? What's your business here, grandpa?"
Bane did not answer immediately. He stood facing the young biker, and Cougar came trotting angrily toward him. "What, you don't hear so good?" the blonde said and reached out his right hand to grab the lapel of Bane's sport jacket.
To be honest, the Dire wolf had been almost hoping for that. His right hand caught hold of Cougar's wrist and yanked the man's arm past him, out straight. In the same motion, a blinding backfist with his left hand whipped up along that arm and cracked hard into the biker's chin. Bane released him, expecting the kid to drop stunned and he instead got one of the biggest surprises he had received in many years. Cougar's head snapped to one side and he dropped back a step but instead of falling, he lunged at the Dire Wolf with surprising quickness. A mean right jab caught Bane on the side of the jaw and a follow-up right cross connected perfectly. The Dire Wolf shrugged it off, and as Cougar drew back his arm for a roundhouse blow, Bane blasted out a straight side punch that caught the boy right in the chest and drove him back a few feet.
Cougar Jones blinked in disbelief, his green eyes catching the sunlight in a bright gleam. With a low rumble deep in his chest, he charged with a barrage of left-right punches. Bane stood his ground. He blocked each punch as it neared him, at first with just enough resistance to stop the momentum but he began to put full power into each block. Cougar felt his forearms aching as if he were trying to punch a pair of hammers that hit back. Bane saw his opening. Spinning on one foot, he ripped a reverse kick that smacked the metal-capped heel of his boot to the side of Cougar's head with a crisp thump.
This time, the biker went down to the dirt. He was up again, faster than Bane expected him to recover, and got in close. Two hooking punches caught the Dire Wolf in the ribs, then a jab drove in under his chin, forcing his head back and up. Bane brought his elbows in and there were six sharp explosive sounds so close together that they sounded like drumming as he pounded the man's chest. With a gasp, Cougar dropped his guard and Bane chopped the open edge of his hand like an axe right where the biker's neck met shoulder. Again, the man dropped and this time he took a few seconds getting to hands and knees.
Jeremy Bane reined himself in. He had decades of Kumundu training at Tel Shai, available to only a few living Humans. This boy seemed to be a common barroom brawler, with no real technique, but his speed and resilience were amazing. That sequence of Wing Chun-style punches to the chest would have put most men in the hospital, and the knife-hand blow to the neck could easily have been fatal. What was it the man at the store had said about Cougar Jones? "Tough as a cheap steak."
The blonde man rose, swayed unsteadily and straightened up. Bane was impressed. Those green eyes blazed with malice. The biker did not speak, he turned and walked slowly to get on his Harley. As he started it and began to move, Bane half expected the man to try to run him down, but Cougar just peeled out on the highway and did not look back.
"Gah-DAM!" said a voice from the back door of the bar. "I never thought I'd see the day Cougar Jones got what he deserved."
II.
Bane turned around, one hand feeling his ribs gingerly. That kid hit hard. He saw a fat man in sweat pants and a T-shirt big enough to serve as a nightgown. He was holding a frying pan in one hand, and smiling with obvious glee.
"It wasn't easy," Bane admitted. "Next time I might have to hurt him."
This seemed to tickle the fat man. "Name's Cory. Cory Everett. I'm cook here. I got to tell you, mister, I've seen that cat boy beat the snot out of three guys at once and never get touched. He's always starting something. " He held out a hand, and Bane shook it. The smell of bacon through the open door suddenly made him realize he was starving as usual.
"My name's Bane. Call me Jeremy. I'm supposed to be out here on business but something makes me hungry all of a sudden."
Everett grinned, showing some seriously bad teeth. "Go around in front and order at the bar. I can't say it's on me, boss would pitch a fit but I promise you'll be satisfied."
The Dire Wolf walked around to the front of TRUCKER'S DELITE and passed through the screen door. It was dim and cool, with a TV in one corner showing the Weather Channel. Two men in jeans and flannel shirts were drinking beer and another man in a blue work shirt and dark blue slacks was eating peanuts out of the bowl on the bar. There were some tables and chairs, a stuffed deer head with a baseball cap on one wall, a few humorous signs ("In case of Atomic attack, hide under the Urinal, it hasn't been hit yet"), nothing unexpected. Behind the bar, a handsome woman in her forties with a an explosion of teased black hair watched him.
"Good afternoon," Bane said and came up to the bar. "I was hoping to get some food." She allowed that this was possible, and he looked over a stained menu before ordering a bacon cheesburger, fries, buttered hard roll and iced tea. When the food came, he devoured it and asked for a cheese omelet. The way Bane ate, considering how thin he was, often startled people. But this was a drawback to his enhanced speed. He was a metabolic furnace. As he was finished and sipping a glass of ice water, he turned back to the reason he had come out here.
The woman behind the bar had been watching him with a smile. Now, as she took his plate and silverware, and wiped the counter with a damp cloth, she said, "Cory told me what happened. Thanks a lot. That boy has been a pain in the ass for years, kicking trouble up ever where he goes.He needed to get brought down."
Bane put his elbows up. "He's a tough little guy. How'd he get to be that way? Was he in the service, Special Forces maybe?"
"Nope. Maybe two years ago, he changed overnight. Cougar came from a bad family, he was the only one not three-quarters drunk every day. He was gone for a few days, wandering out on the plains," here her voice had a note of conspiracy in it as she leaned in closer. "He came into town with his eyes that color. He was mean, pushy. He started fights all the time and he was quick enough no one could stand up to him. Then he brought in a fugitive wanted for skipping bail and he claimed the reward. He's been all over the state since then. He does strongarm work once in a while, too, but we wouldn't want him here as a bouncer, I'll tell you that."
"I wonder what changed him," Bane said as if to himself. "What did he meet out there?"
"Who knows? Strange things have happened in these parts. Ghosts. Witches. You name it, it has turned up around Dotson Corners. Area seems to be cursed," she added with a sour smile.
Now Bane got closer and lowered his voice. "Could be. I'll let you in on something. I am a sort of ghostbuster. And I was asked to come out here and look into those deaths that happened last week. The Eberhart family. Is there anything you can tell me about that?"
"Yeah. Why hasn't it been on the news? Where are the cable TV reporters? Why have the papers covered it up? Folks around here can't believe it has been just swept under the rugs like this?"
"I know. Bad things happen that no one ever hears about. The people in office always want to keep the public in the dark. I can't change that." Bane let out a breath in exasperation. "All I can do is stop the killings. That's my calling, I'm like an exterminator for things that don't belong in this world."
For a long moment, the woman studied his face. He felt that she may not have been educated in scholarly terms but she was shrewd and a good judge of people. "I believe you," she said at last. "And I can see you are just as dangerous as any beast that hunts in the dark of the moon. Old beliefs died hard out here. Before us, the Pawnee had their tales of the Wakan-Manitou, the Old Ones who ruled before mankind showed up. I reckon they knew what we have forgotten."
"Yes. All true. Tell me, is there a local hermit of some kind around here? An old man or woman with a creepy reputation? The sort that lives way out in the wilderness and no one bothers with?"
"Yep. Mr and Mrs Stivaletti. Exactly like you say. Older than dirt, live in a big ol' house twenty miles out of town. No one knows anything about them. Once a month or so, they come and pick up supplies, don't say more than three or four words. Scary folks. Look like they was dug up outta the ground themselves."
Bane sat up. "Well, my guess is that they are a good place to start. Maybe they're just an old couple minding their own business and completely harmless. Can you give me directions? First the Eberhart house."
The woman watched him dubiously. "Just keep going down the highway. There's an old quarry on your right, all closed off. Next to it is the road to their house. After that, go west again and the Stivalleti house is out in the middle of a field. But, Mr Bane, common courtesy makes me warn you. The Simpkins boy broke into their house a few years ago. He told his low-life friends he would come back with all sorts of valuables. The next morning, he died in front of his own parents, foaming at the mouth and crying for help. Just so you know."
"Thanks. I'm sorry, I didn't get your name."
"Sally. My folks own this joint, me and brother Cory are here ever day."
Bane gave her a slight smile. "I will definitely be back before I leave, Sally." He paid and left a tip, went to the bathroom to wash up and headed back out into the fierce sunlight.
III.
Now he felt that familiar stir of excitement. Jeremy Bane turned his car out onto the highway and headed west. Odd, heavy dark clouds were on the horizon. They hadn't been there before. A cold wind had begun. He turned over in his mind details of the strange deaths of the Eberhart family, found after neighbors heard an ungodly crashing and screaming in the middle of the night. The Boneless Deaths, one FBI agent had called the killings. Four blobs of flesh and internal organs oozing over the ground like melted ice cream cones. The medical examiner and the state forensic experts went blank and basically admitted they had no clue. A man, a woman, their two boys... all with bones dissolved into sludge. The FBI caught wind of the strange deaths and someone in their hierarchy had thought it was time to call in the unofficial dogcatcher they went to when baffled.
The Dire Wolf pulled over by the Eberhart home. It was a tall narrow white board house, two stories high. The wooden fence on the west had been knocked down from outside. Bane saw no one in the area. He walked around the house, his instincts all keyed up, warning him as if he was on the verge of falling off a high cliff. Yellow police tape made an X across the rude hole which had been smashed in the wall of the Eberhart house. It was the right size to have been made by a car but there were no tire tracks in the yard and the broken boards seemed to be scattered at angles that suggested they had been thrown aside. Bane stood with hands on his hips, thinking. Behind him sounded the familiar thunder of a big motorcycle and a sudden surge of anger swept over him. It was Cougar Jones again! The Dire Wolf turned as the blonde boy propped up his bike and yanked off his helmet.
"Hey, pops! I got something to say to you!"
"I bet you do," Bane muttered. In the back of his mind, he wondered why this kid rubbed him the wrong way so badly. He had dealt with much worse nuisances in the past. He stood with hands down and open, making himself relax and not tense up. The biker came strutting up, calling out, "You made me look bad in front of everyone-"
As soon as the boy came within ten feet, Bane launched himself in a blur of punches from different angles. Cougar was quick and durable but Bane's advantage was in his skill, and he threw rapid combinations that came in from every direction without a pause between them. Taken offguard, the biker fell to a sitting position. Quick as the cat he took his name from, the boy was up and he dove directly into a high side kick to the chest that flung him back into a loose somersault onto his back. A second later, groaning, Cougar Jones still got to his hands and knees.
"Stay down!" Bane roared in a voice that allowed no defiance. "I've had enough of you, son. You beat up farmers and garage mechanics and you think you're hot. You're alive right now because I choose to let you live."
Finally, Cougar got up on one knee, rubbing his chest and trying to catch his breath. He glared up at Bane and slowly turned his eyes away.
"Listen to me." The Dire Wolf lowered his voice. "I know the supernatural. I was fighting the Midnight War before you were born. Something changed you. You weren't always like this. What was it?"
As he got to his feet and winced at the pain, Cougar said, "You ain't gonna believe me. No one would. All right. I was camping in the mountains and a cougar jumped me. I had my Bowie knife in my hand already, I caught him right in the heart but he still chewed up my arm like hamburger. I fell in a ravine and lay there in the moonlight."
"Go on," said Bane.
"All the next day I was lying there, feverish, dreaming strange dreams. At nightfall, I suddenly felt better and I got up. I came back to town and when I looked in a mirror. I saw my eyes were green. Like a cat. They'd always been brown! The cougar possessed me somehow. I know it sounds crazy!"
"No, not to me. I've seen similar things. You have been touched by the cougar spirit. Maybe you are part shape-shifter yourself, like an involuntary werewolf. I've know howlers like you, with just a bit of wolf in them, not enough to make them transform."
The boy took this in, his face so confused it was comical. "You mean, I'm... like a werewolf? A were-cat or something?"
"Seems like it," Bane said. "Here's the next thing to consider. Something monstrous killed these people, something from Outside. I can tell you this, it will be back and there will be a lot more hideous deaths like these people suffered. I mean to stop it. What's your agenda?"
Cougar Jones managed to stand upright, rolling his shoulders painfully. He had never been hit so hard or so fast in his life, and he carefully watched this stranger in black with those pale eyes. "I.. I don't rightly know. I was poking around, trying to figure it out. My thought was some sort of devil-worship cult was behind this."
"In a way, you're right. But it's older and much worse than mere devil-worship. What do you plan to do next?"
"No idea," the boy admitted. "If there's another killing, maybe I'd find some clue to follow."
"I've got a better idea. Come with me."
"Whattttt? Are you kidding? What do you mean?"
Bane stepped closer and gestured toward the black clouds getting closer in the sky. "I think I know what is behind these deaths. I intend to stop them. Maybe you can help. Feel up to it?"
"Up to it? Why, sure." The boy's manner had softened. "I think I'll go with you, mister. I want to see whatever is doing this with my own eyes."
"Call me Jeremy," said the Dire Wolf. "Look at the storm coming. I tell you what, secure your motorcycle under that tarp at the back of the house here. We're going to visit the local scary hermits."
After Cougar had moved his bike next to the house and carefully tied a blue tarp down over it, he walked over to where Bane stood by the Mustang, passenger door open. They both got in and the car turned onto the highway. Thunder grumbled vaguely off to the west.
"You hunt monsters for a living, is that it?"
"That's it," agreed Bane. "I've been doing it all my life. I'll tell you something that most people don't know. Deaths like those and worse have happenedmany times before. Witches and sorcerors mess with things they don't understand, they let loose forces that are better kept imprisoned."
Cougar was staring at the man who had beaten him decisively, but all the anger seemed to have left him. A dark bruise was forming high on one cheek. "What do you.... you mean, demons from Hell?"
"Older than that, and worse. Long before Humans existed, this world belonged to beings far above us in power. They have been imprisoned for ages, still alive, still aching to get free and turn the Earth into a charred pile of cinders with nothing left alive. The Sulla Chun! The Pawnee called them Wakan-Manitou."
"Sure! Sure I've heard of that," Cougar agreed. "The Old Ones. Toward the end, when the settlers had taken over, some Pawnee and Sioux tried to let the Old Ones loose but nothing came of it."
Bane turned onto the dirt road next to a closed quarry. Half a mile ahead was a dark Victorian mansion looming on a slight rise in the flat ground. "And others are still trying. Those Who Remember. You haven't heard of them but they are just as bad as people get."
As the car stopped in front of the house, Cougar said quietly, "Mr and Mrs Stivoletti..."
No lights were on. A chill rain was starting to come down, lightly at first. Bane got out of the car and swivelled around at a growl. A big dog, mixed breed of some kind with mostly pit bull, raced at them and sprang entirely into the air. There was a sharp snapping noise, the dog fell heavily to one side and Bane was lowering his fist. Cougar had not quite seen the blow.
The Dire Wolf looked at the sprawled beast, saw it was breathing and turned to the blonde boy. "He'll be okay. If he had come in a little lower, I would have had to kill him." Bane walked up to the front door and Cougar followed with mixed emotions.
The house was in serious disrepair. It had not been painted in ages, shingles hung loose on the roof and one of the windows was boarded up. Over the front door was drawn a strange symbol in red paint, an oval split by a diagonal lightning bolt. Bane glanced at it, "Darthan magick."
To Cougar's astonishment, Bane did not knock but just walked boldly in and he found himself following. They passed through a tiny foyer, where coats and hats hung, and into a parlor where the only light came from a meager fireplace. The air was musty and mildwed, a vague clutter of shapes on shelves lining the walls. Sitting in old-fashioned overstuffed armchairs by the fireplace were small motionless forms. At first, they seemed dead. A man and a woman in old age, thin white wispy hair and shrivelled faces with beaklike noses meeting upturned chins. They were wrapped in blankets.
As Bane and Cougar entered, both the Stivalettos stirred. Black glossy eyes glittered in the firelight, and the man sat up.
"You have come far to die," he whistled thinly.
"You wish," Bane answered. "Those Who Remember! Oh yes, I've fought your cult before. Ever hear of Simon Cohen? I don't see how you can be so misled. The Sulla Chun don't care about you. If you let them loose, they won't spare you from gratitude."
Now the old woman spoke, smacking toothless gums. "Little you know, little you understand. We know better. We remember what the world was like before Humans soiled it. It will be better, purer after the Old Ones have cleansed it spotless again."
"Whatever. I don't have time to argue." Bane stepped into the room. "As a knight of Tel Shai, I claim this house and everything in it. By using forbidden art, you have forfeited ownership under the Pact. Let's start by getting rid of some of these books. Oh, look, THE REVELATIONS OF TOLLINOR KJE, why am I not surprised to see that?"
The old warlock struggled to get to his feet, "Targhul! TARGHUL!" he screamed. "Targhul, help us."
Overhead, floorboards creaked and dust seeped down between the cracks. Heavy footfalls sounded.
.
"Here we go," Bane told Cougar Jones. "Stand by. Keep your head. 'Targhul' means an empty shell."
So slowly, almost teasingly, a dark form came down the stairs from the second floor, pausing at each step. A head taller than an average man and wider enough to fill a doorway, it seemed to be a man covered in black leather armor. Straps and buckles held it together. The shoulder pieces rose to spikes, there were forward-jutting horns on the helmet. No eyes could be seen, not an inch of skin showed. The Targhul reached the lowest step and the featureless leather facepiece turned to face the intruders.
Cougar's nerve broke. From inside his biker jacket, he swung up a big .45 automatic and fired a half dozen shots right at the thing. The heavy bullets punched through the leather helmet, smacking into the wall behind and knocking plaster off. The thing convulsed and straightened up, seemingly unconcerned by the ragged holes in its head. "What the hell....?" Cougar yelled.
The leather thing stepped onto the floor and took a step toward them, Bane said with remarkable calm, "There's no one in there. It's an empty construct." He tossed the book REVELATIONS OF TOLLINOR KJE to Cougar, who caught it just as the Targhul lunged at the Dire Wolf. Bane stepped back quickly, picked up a plain wooden chair and jammed it legs-first at the monster. For a second, he drove it back but the leather thing was strong. It pressed forward.
"Let him drink your bones," said Mr Stivaletto. "Let him."
"Yes, yes," his wife cackled. "We need the calcium to rebuild our own."
Bane snorted. "Not gonna happen." He swung the chair back and smashed it right into the Targhul, sending the thing up against a wall and knocking framed portraits off. The monster did not fall, it got upright and stretched both hands toward its prey.
The Dire Wolf crossed his arms in front of him and straightened them out with a dagger in each hand. He wore them strapped under his sleeves. In the dim red light of the fireplace, those blades gleamed with a clean white flash. Silver ensorcelled by the immortal Eldarin, those daggers had served Bane as they had served Kenneth Dred before him. He stepped to meet the Targhul and his arms swung in whistling figure 8 arcs. Great chunks of leather were sheared off and flew to either side. The Targhul could make no noise, show no pain but it did hesitate. In those silver blades was a force that broke evil magick. Bane hacked away like a whirlwind of glittering metal, and the leather helmet flew apart. The Targhul sagged to the floor, still opening and closing its gauntlets.
Overhead, more heavy footsteps thumped. Bane glared up and yelled, "Cougar! Throw that book into the fire!"
Without pausing to argue for once, the blonde boy rushed over to the fireplace and shoved REVELATIONS into the red coals. It smoldered and started to burn. Both Mrs and Mrs Stivaletto were trying to get up out of their chairs, the man gripping a thick walking stick and pulling himself upright, but they took too long and would not have been able to do anything to stop him in any case. A thud and a crash came from the stairs as three more of the leather armors came tumbling down in a loose heap. Bane jabbed one with his boot, and grunted with satisfaction.
"That was a book of Darthan spells," he told Cougar. "I'm not sure how to explain who the Darthim are or who Tollinor Kje was, but..." He voice broke off. Cougar Jones followed the direction of his eyes and saw that the Stivalettos had fallen apart. In their chairs, spilling over the woolen blankets, were nothing but piles of foul wet muck.
Bane smacked Cougar on the back sharply. "It's all right. Hey, it's all right. Listen, these two were witches. They were way too old to be alive by natural means so they kept going using black magick. You follow me?"
"Um, yeah. I guess."
"Now, even alchemy has its limits. They were going to die soon. They built those suits of leather armor and sent them out. The armor... this is hard to explain. The armor stole the calcium from its victims. This left them boneless. Then the armor brought the calcium back to these two ghouls, who put into their own bones. Next, they would start taking muscle and blood vessels and spinal chords and who knows what else, and put those things in their own bodies.Step by step, they would rebuild themselves and live another two hundred years. Got it?"
Cougar plopped down in one of the plain wooden chairs as if his legs had given out. "It's too much. I can't take it in, this all can't be true. It can't be true."
"That's what I thought when I was your age," Bane went on. He started picking out books and talismans from around the room. Making an armful, he hauled them out to his car and stowed them in the trunk. When he got back in the house, he found Cougar sitting up and rubbing his chin. At least the kid wasn't going into shock as many did when they first experienced the Midnight War. After ten or fifteen minutes, he was satisfied he had confiscated or burned everything in the house that could be dangerous. Stirring the coals with a poker, the Dire Wolf suddenly felt tired. THis fight was over for the moment.
Cougar Jones had gone to stand in the open doorway, looking out at the cold rain. It felt good. When Bane came up behind him, the boy asked, "You gonna call the police now?"
"Yes," the Dire Wolf replied distractedly. "And the FBI. Let them try to figure this mess out. I think they will give up after a few days and just close the file as unresolved. The important thing is that the Stivalettos are dead and there will be no more of the Boneless Plague. Listen, come with me back to town. We'll get your bike later. First, we'll go to town and get something to eat. We have a lot of talking to do." He started toward his car. "You know, you need to think about a way to put your talents to better use. I have some ideas..."
3/15/2013
