dochermes

"Worst Malpractice Ever"

9/21/2020

I.

The intercom on his nightstand buzzed. Snapping fully awake, Carlo turned over on the bed and responded, "Yes?"

The familiar subdued voice of Lauren Sable Reilly said, "I may have an assignment for you and Megan. Report to the office in five."

"On my way, captain."

Carlo Ventura felt more stiff and sore than he had ever been in his life. Just twenty years old, he had never exercised or played any sports. Necessity had made him walk everywhere, which had kept him in fairly good shape, but Kumundu martial art training under Teacher Chael was like breaking his body down and rebuilding it better.

The round analog clock on the wall facing him read ten after seven and the gloom outside the window facing 38th Street reassured him it was evening. He had fallen asleep fully dressed on top of the covers of his bed. Carlo grunted and grumbled, sitting up and wincing at how everything hurt. He was of average height but underweight to the point of looking a bit frail. The narrow face with its bony cheeks was topped by longish curly black hair and his dark eyes were sunken and tired.

On its own chest-high stand in one corner, the strange Eyeless Helmet seemed to regard him. Crafted in one piece of Ensalir, the Eldanar metal that resembled pale gold, it had no openings for the eyes, only outlines etched into the surface. The ancient helm was one of the most potent talismans in the Midnight War. Its bonding with him was what qualified Carlo to apply for KDF membership and to be a knight of Tel Shai.

For a few seconds, he enjoyed looking at his surroundings. This room had genuine wood walls, a double bed with a new mattress, a dresser with a mirror across its top, a desk with a laptop charging, a TV on a wheeled cart. In one corner, he had his own bathroom with a shower. This was more luxury than he had ever known. His childhood had been in a rundown shack with a hard-drinking father who kept him fed and clothed but not much more. At sixteen, he had left home to crash on different friends' couches or floors. One winter he had slept every night in a big SUV whose owner left unlocked, being sure to sneak out before daybreak.

He HAD to win full KDF membership. He couldn't bear losing this room, the hot meals, the company of new friends on the team who had so quickly accepted him. Going back to the streets, to a life without purpose or hope, would be intolerable. Whatever it took, whatever the Teachers of Tel Shai asked of him, he was determined to win their approval.

Stiff-legged, he shambled out into the hall and down the wide central staircase. His room was on the fourth floor. By the time he got down to the front hall on the ground level, his limbs had warmed up enough that he was moving normally. At the bottom step, he turned right to pass through the open door of the office.

On the right hand side as he entered was Sable sitting behind her desk. A handsome black-haired woman in her forties, she had been leader of the KDF and its team of Tel Shai knights for half her life. Her gift was enhanced sensory perception. Sable could follow a moth in an unlit room, read a newspaper from across a city street or detect the amount of stress chemicals in a person's trace perspiration. She gave him a friendly, understated smile as he entered.

There were two plain wooden chairs facing the desk and he lowered himself onto with a slight hesitation. Even without using her abilities Sable had observed how Carlo had lowered himself down, and she said, "Once the Tagra tea effect kicks in, your healing will be elevated. Our physical training becomes much easier to deal with after that."

"That's an encouraging thought, thanks."

Sitting in the other chair, turning her head to nod politely at him was Megan Salenger. Just because of scheduling and different assignments, he had spent the least amount of time with her out of all the team. He knew she had been a Human infant raised by a council of the unemotional advanced intellects called the Trom. She was known as the Trom Girl, and she operated at a genius level in a dozen demanding technical fields. From remarks the others dropped, Megan had tried to act entirely cold and logical for years but that shell had broken when she had tumbled headlong in love with her boyfriend Archie McAllister.

Megan was a slim young woman a few inches over five feet tall, with tousled black hair over an inquisitive face. Although forty years old, like most of the KDF members she looked considerably younger. Her enhanced healing and peak physical condition meant that most people would estimate she was in her late twenties. She was wearing sneakers, dark blue slacks and a white pullover shirt with a rolled collar. In her lap was one of their field helmets with a panel open, and she held a wire-thin tool in one hand. As Carlo settled down, she snapped the panel shut and pocketed the diagnostic tool.

Sable got their attention. "I've been looking over some reports from a few of our observers up in Westchester. I'll brief you both fully before you leave. Megan, tonight you were on monitor duty but Tim said he has no plans and can relieve you. Carlo, I had you scheduled for practice with the dart guns but that will have to be dropped for now."

Unconsciously, Megan and Carlo both leaned forward, prepared to hear almost anything. The Midnight War was always surprising.

"This case is going to be more gruesome than most," Sable said. "There have been three bodies found near Westlake Crossing in the past five weeks. From the police reports, it appears that a person or persons has a hobby of performing skilled but pointless surgery on conscious victims..."

( the rest of the story )

"Children With Amber Eyes"

6/8/2020

I.

Jocelyn Garimara had been prepared to experience some curious or open hostile stares in Forlorn Corners. This northern part of Minnesota was mostly populated by descendants of Norwegian immigrants who had come here for farming or logging more than a hundred years earlier. Not only did she had that rich deep brown skin tone, but with her naturally straight thick hair and distinctive features, she didn't really look like an American black person either. She thought it likely that there had never been an Australian Aborigine in this town within living memory. Still, the old man behind the counter of the gas station didn't need to be ogling her quite so openly.

Holding a double handful of snacks, she raised an eyebrow at the clerk. "Something wrong?"

That made the old man laugh, showing teeth so perfect they had to be dentures. "Heh. No, no, sorry to be staring like that. It's just that you're so pretty. When you turned sideways, your profile reminded me of that old time movie star Victoria Fields."

Despite herself, Jocelyn smiled. "Oh, well, that's a bit of all right then. I'm not above taking a harmless compliment." At thirty-four, slender and fit, she knew she was attractive but still felt so out of place in an area populated entirely by blondish white people that she remained self-conscious.

"Will that be all? Are you getting gas at the pump?"

"No, I'm good. I just want this trail mix with the peanuts and some iced tea and a few candy bars," she replied. "I've been driving all day."

Ringing her up, the clerk ventured, "Need any directions? Easy to get lost in these parts."

"No, thanks." Jocelyn retrieved her debit card and carefully tucked the receipt into the top left pocket of her denim jacket. Among her teammates, she was notorious for being tight with money. Growing up in desperate poverty made her watch where every penny went. Every expense incurred on this case would be covered not from her own funds but from her KDF account. Giving the old man a genuine warm smile, she said "Thanks again," and headed for the twin glass doors.

"Take care, miss."

"See ya."

Out in the tiny parking lot with its two gas pumps and an aluminum sign on a post which read CIGARETTES- LOWEST PRICE ALLOWED BY LAW, Jocelyn beeped open the door of the dark blue Nissan she had rented that morning at the airport. The tickling in her chest was becoming uncomfortable. Soon she had better let her Red Spectre out to blow off some steam, rather than have it emerge by itself when she fell asleep and so inevitably cause a panic. She placed her steel-framed aviator sunglasses on the snub bridge of her nose, settled behind the wheel and swung the car around around to ease out onto Route 169. There was no other traffic in sight, despite it being three in the afternoon of a Saturday when people might be expected to be going shopping or socializing.

According to her GPS, there were fourteen miles between her and the town of Forlorn Corners itself. She whipped along a typical country road with markers at intervals and frequent side roads that often were marked DEAD END- PRIVATE PROPERTY. Seeing a convenient flat area by the side of the road with no houses in sight for the past mile, she swung over and parked the Nissan. A knee-high stone wall made of loose irregular rocks ran parallel to the road, almost certainly a property marker. Glancing both ways, Jocelyn nimbly hopped over the barrier and trotted deeper into the woods until she could not be seen from the road.

Within her chest, the unpleasant twitching grew stronger. She tapped a fist lightly against her own sternum and snapped, "All right, all RIGHT. Out ya go." As Jocelyn sagged to her knees, a crackling silhouette of dark red energy shot out from inside her and whirled in a loop at tree top level. The Red Spectre was vaguely humanlike, with two arms and two legs but no more detail than that. Its head was a mere featureless oval. An ominous hissing sounded in its trail.

Jocelyn sat up on the ground, propping her stiff arms behind her to help. She remained conscious when the manifestation was out of her body but it took so much of her life force with it that she was left weak and dizzy. Ironically, she herself was at her most defenseless when her greatest power was unleashed. "Get on with it, damn you. That big dead tree over there. Yes, blow it up if yer craving some destruction."

Like the living lightning bolt it was, the Red Spectre flashed across the open space and exploded against a dried old tree that leaned at a precarious angle. Thunder cracked sharp and painful at such close range, limbs and chips spun away fast as bullets. Then, as the echoes still reverberated, the apparition flew back and dove back into Jocelyn's chest as a swimmer dives into a pool.

"Whew. That's a relief." The Aboriginal woman got to her feet with renewed vitality and tugged down her jacket where it had ridden up. "Ah, bloody hell. I shouldn't begrudge you wanting to get out once inna while. I myself like to stop the car and stretch my legs during a long drive. You're all right, me Gammon, I don't mind you at all."

( the rest of the story )

"Son of Mardrak"

3/23/2020


I.

They had left Tokyo behind them more than two hours earlier, heading northwest. Increasingly sharp turns on the steep hills were starting to get on Bane's nerves. Adding to his irritation, he wasn't used to this Nissan Altima which the Hozumi family had leased for him before he and Unicorn had materialized in that transcendental flash of blue light early in the morning. Even on narrow roads, the speed limit of fifty miles per hour (or rather, eighty kilometers per hour) seemed unreasonably restrictive. Still, the Dire Wolf kept pace with traffic and tried to avoid drawing attention.

If the usually indifferent Japanese police pulled this gaijin over just on general principles, Bane would have to cooperate with them. They would have no way of knowing he and Unicorn had not flown in on a commercial jet nor arrived on an ocean liner. Actually, the two Tel Shai knights had come to this country in a gralic gate which had instaneously carried them from Manhattan to Tokyo in a way that physics would never explain. Years ago, Bane had rescued the Hozumi son from a water demon and the family was glad to arrange this car to be ready for his use.

Other cars were becoming less numerous as they made their way into the countryside. The hectic pace eased. Bane glanced over to see Unicorn staring glumly straight ahead, hands in her lap. Like himself, Ashley Whitaker looked younger than she was. She had turned forty this year but a stranger would guess her age at mid-twenties. The healing properties of the Tagra diet and the Kumundu training kept them in peak condition. Bane himself was sixty-two but except for the salting of white in his black hair and some lines at the corner of his eyes, he seemed to be a man in his mid-thirties... and a man in great athletic trim at that.

"Ashley?"

The platinum hair swirled as she turned her head. "Hmm?"

"You might as well start spilling everything," Bane said quietly. His pale grey eyes flickered over her to take in her expression and gauge her body language.

"I'm okay, captain." She wiggled in her seat and tugged down her waist-length white jacket where it had ridden up.

The subdued tone of her voice alarmed him. Ever since he had first met Unicorn twenty years earlier, she had normally been energetic, full of impudence and given to odd creative turns of phrase. This behavior today was not like her. Bane slowed as they entered the town of Tokugawa, passing a tavern and an antiques shop. A foggy mist gave the trees alongside the right side of the road added beauty. "Come on, Unicorn," he continued. "You hadn't gone on a KDF mission for over a year. You weren't even showing up for Pizza Night to socialize. Then this summer, you started offering help on a regular basis. You called Sable to see if anything was going on and you turned up at Sheng's agency to ask if he needed help with any cases."

"Yeah. I've been a little bored lately," she admitted. The sapphire-blue eyes turned toward Bane. With her delicate features and clear skin, Ashley had always been pretty but lack of animation took away from that now. "I gave you a call last night because I figured retirement wouldn't suit you either."

At this point, Bane pulled over to the side of the road. "And when I told you I was coming here to see the Red Crane, you volunteered to come along. You even had your Unicorn horn with you in case. But I have never seen you this lifeless, honey. Even when you were seriously wounded or exhausted, you showed more spark. What's the deal?"

"Oh. I don't know. Married life, maybe. Being in a rut, getting older. April is gonna be nine in a few months. Before you know it, she'll be a teenager and then right after that, I might be a grandmother." Even though she had started opening up, Ashley's manner remained listless.

The Dire Wolf checked his mirrors and eased out on the country lane again. "All right. When you're ready to tell me what's really bothering you, I'll listen."

"Heh. You know me too well, captain." The petite blonde exhaled with relief at opening up a little. "You know, I haven't really had too many adventures in Japan. You?"

"Only a few cases in Tokyo. A water demon and a Tengu infestation. There was one duel with Mikage in Okinawa. I've certainly never been out in the sticks like this before. Red Crane was not involved in the Midnight War to any extent. He was a freelance spy who went back and forth between the authorities and the Yakuza families for negotations. I only met him once years ago, so I was surprised to hear from him."

Ashley made a scoffing noise. "And I'm sure he was all enigmatic and mysterious and wouldn't explain why he wanted you to meet him here, right? Espionage guys annoy me. You can't believe them when they tell you what day of the week it is."

"True enough. But his voice had subvocal tremors that meant he was genuinely agitated. I thought it was worth checking out. Okay, there's the place." Bane did not slow as they wheeled past a row of three rickety bungalows in serious disrepair. The corner of one roof was sagging in, the windows were either missing or crossed with duct tape and the paved parking area in front was cracked with weeds pushing up. Behind the buildings, trees had grown so close that their branches scraped along the roofs.

Only when they had passed out of sight did the Dire Wolf slow and pull over to a stop. "That's where Red Crane said to meet him. We should use our usual approach."

"Got it. I'll sneak up through the woods and watch the situation. I'll use my judgement if I should intervene." Reaching under her seat, Unicorn came up with an air pistol that had a needle-thin barrel and examined it before leaning forward to place it in the holster at the small of her back. Her jacket concealed the weapon. "I haven't used our dart guns since forever. You bring yours?"

"No. I got used to packing the old Smith and Wesson again after I stepped down from the KDF." He allowed the faintest smile to touch his mouth. "Handguns are virtually illegal in Japan, you know. We're used to breaking assorted laws anywhere we are. Neither of us have a current gaikukjin card, either."

"Eh, it comes with the job." She brushed the shining hair back over her shoulders and leaned over into the back seat to retrieve the ancient horn in its white leather sheath. The three-foot length of ivory, pointed at one end and capped with silver at the other, was her talisman that allowed her to function in the Midnight War. "How long do we have before the gralic charge wears off from our bodies?"

"Eight, maybe nine hours. Then we automatically return to Manhattan."

For the first time, the old droll tinge returned to her voice as she got out. "Make sure we're not driving when we vanish or we'll leave the car speeding along by itself." Then she closed the door and loped off into the woods. Bane saw the road was clear in both directions, made a U-turn and headed back. He parked the Nissan in front of the abandoned bungalows and turned off the engine. In another second, the Dire Wolf had rushed over to the door which was hanging on one hinge. He had spotted a lifeless hand lying in the dust. It was the Red Crane. The blood over the front of the man's sweater was still wet and bright. Bane knew the former spy was dead but he checked for a pulse anyway. It looked as if the Red Crane's chest had been caved in from a powerful impact. A sledge hammer, maybe? He could see where the sternum sank inches down in the center of the blood.

As he bent over the still-warm body, a gleaming Mazda RX-7 with a spoiler, two-toned white top but black below wheel level, came to a sudden halt not twenty feet away. He rose to face two members of the National Police Agency's highway patrol in their immaculate uniforms complete with peaked caps and white cotton gloves.

( the rest of the story )

"The Brotherhood of Forty Hunchbacks"

7/22-/24/2020

I.


Lightning crashed way too closely for comfort, glaringly bright against the deep black sky. During its flash, Timothy saw a frozen diorama of distorted figures right on top of him. In the blinking afterimages left on his eyes and during the thudding roll of thunder, he was thrown
down by massive weights climbing over him. Powerful fists and feet smashed into his body where he was lying in the mud. The flexible Trom armor dispersed most of the impact but his exposed head took a vicious onslaught. The rain made everything so slippery it was hard to get a fix on the situation

With long years of Kumundu training, Timothy did not curl into a defensive ball as instinct told him. He got over onto his stomach and leaped up to get out of reach of his attackers. Then he could wheel around and fight back, first drawing the dart gun holstered at his side. The tactic didn't quite work. One boot slid in the sloppy mud and he went down on one knee again. Hands seized his lower arms and pulled them out straight, hauling him up right.

In the heavy rain, even as his vision returned after the lightning, Timothy Limbo could only make out that his attackers were solid bulky men, not tall but wide and stocky. The hands holding him were stronger than Human normal. Timothy hooked one foot behind an opponent's ankle and kicked that man's leg forward to get him off balance. As the enemy fell, his grip loosened and Timothy wrenched his arm free to immediately slammed a short hooking punch to the other one's unseen face. It was like hitting a slab of frozen beef. Something crashed against the back of Tim's head that made sparks blink behind his eyes and his knees buckled. If he fell again, he would have a hard time defending himself.

Then unexpectedly, a new figure rushed out of the darkness. Hard blows landed with the crisp decisiveness that meant perfect impact had been made. The misshapen attackers yelled and bellowed. Freed for the moment, Timothy seized a pencil flashlight from inside his leather jacket and thumbed it on.

That brilliant thread of light showed the high rounded backs of four deformed men running off into the storm. Hunchbacks, four hunchbacks. It WAS the Brotherhood Timothy swung the beam around to reveal a dramatic muscular figure in a black leather uniform. Strapped to the left forearm was a round circular shield and sheathed at the left hip was a straight sword three feet long.

The newcomer wore a silver helmet crafted to resemble a grim unsmiling skull. In a hollow voice, the man said, "We will meet again." Then he spun and raced off into the storm.

Left alone in the cold drizzle, hearing thunder roll again further away this time, Timothy Limbo gingerly touched the lump at the back of his throbbing head. Well, at least the enemy hadn't gotten inside that house where the Palimpest was thought to be hidden. He could search in there and return to Manhattan to report. But at the moment, he was giddy at the thought that the Silver Skull had returned to the Midnight War.

II.

"It's been fifteen years since the Skull has last been seen," Sable told her teammate around the long oak table. They were in the conference room on the second floor of KDF headquarters, meeting where four earlier generations of heroes had assembled. That night, only two were in attendance. "Even then, no one found out his true identity. He showed up when needed and fought hard, but then left without explanation."

"Who WAS that masked man?" Timothy quoted.

"Exactly." Sable leaned back and tilted her head quizzically. "You say he stood six feet tall?"

"Yeah. A couple inches taller than me. A little heavier." Timothy himself was a slightly built young man with a thick mop of butter-yellow that badly needed trimming. "It was hard to judge from just the glimpse I got of him, but I'd say he weighs maybe two hundred even. Not heavy in build, just athletic."

The team leader clasped her hands before her and regarded her teammate somberly. Lauren Sable Reilly had been up waiting Tim's return. She wearing Navy blue slacks and long-sleeved pullover with an open white cardigan across her shoulders. "I don't know if this is good news or not. He did help you in a tight spot, Tim."

"Well, yeah, I have to admit that's true. I didn't exactly have them begging for mercy. And the house had already been searched before they got there, there was nothing in the hidden drawer you wanted me to find."

"It's just... I'm not sure how to react to this," Sable said. "The Silver Skull is such an ancient heritage. It goes back to the Darthan Age, thirty thousand years ago. It has been passed down from one wielder to a chosen successor ever since."

"Not in an unbroken line, of course. I've been studying Midnight War lore." Timothy couldn't help reaching up to the back of his head but there was no sign of the beating he had taken earlier that night. His enhanced healing from the Tagra diet enabled that. "There have been long stretches, sometimes centuries at a time, without a Silver Skull."

"We are always so short-staffed," Timothy abruptly burst out. "Sorry for changing the subject, but we never did a find a replacement for Haley. Shouldn't Galvan or Jin be here tonight? Their kid is almost a year old by now."

"I hear you," Sable said. "But let's face it, potential Tel Shai knights are hard to find. Galvan was here yesterday, working out upstairs and cooking some mutton. There wasn't an active case underway for him. I think Jin comes on duty at eight this morning." She raised a single finger more to signal attention than admonishment. "Back to the matter at hand. One of the founding members of our KDF was a Silver Skull, Dr Larry Taper. None of us met him of course, he died in 1990. And his successor showed up a few times about five years later but he was the one who didn't reveal himself."

"Is this the same man?" Tim wondered. "Fifteen years is a long stretch for fighting Midnight War."

"No way to tell. He hasn't been reported since, oh 2012 or so. Maybe this is his successor." The leader of their team stood up. "Now for the other part of our current problem. The men who attacked you. I ran a search through KDF records and found nothing about such possible suspects. Then, while waiting for you to drive back here, I started rushing through paper records which haven't been entered yet."

"There are so many reports and memoirs and letters and such," Timothy agreed. "Rooms full of them. We could have someone working full time to scan the pages and put them into the computer files."

"I did find one suggestive phrase," said Sable. "Only a name and a date. In 1987, Jeremy fought something called the Brotherhood of Forty Hunchbacks...."

( the rest of the story )

"Eden In Flames"

9/3/2020

I.

Ashley picked an afternoon when she thought no one would be in the headquarters building on East 38th Street. Lugging a suitcase and a duffle bag, with the Unicorn horn in its leather sheath strapped across her back, the petite blonde trudged up the staircase to the third floor. Here were the private quarters for the KDF members. Hers were last on the right hand side. She opened the unlocked door and dropped her luggage on the floor but carefully placed the irreplaceable Unicorn horn on the still neatly made double bed.

When was the last time she had been in here? March? Yes. The rooms did not smell stuffy or musty. Maybe Sable came in and left the windows open on nice days. In the closet still hung several changes of clothes for different situations, and she knew the dresser was packed with bras, panties, socks and folded T-shirts. The gleaming white-tiled bathroom still displayed her very specific array of shampoo, skin care products and toothpastes. Even the unfinished 500-page paperback EDEN IN FLAMES by Lorraine Royce Hyer still sat on her dresser with a scrap of paper marking how far she had read.

EDEN IN FLAMES, Ashley thought. How appropriate. That was her life, all right.

The Unicorn went over to regard her reflection in the long gilt-framed mirror across the top of her dresser. Forty years old. Untl a few months ago, her internal outlook had remained that of a teenager but now she felt deflated. Did she still look the same? The slim curvy body in the white jeans and white pullover with a front zipper had not put on a pound. The straight hair hanging to her shoulders was still a glossy platinum blonde that might as well have been white, the perfect little gamin face with its pert nose and cleft chin had not changed. But, she leaned closer and the crystal blue eyes staring back at her were those of a stranger. And there was a dark shadow under those eyes that had never been there before.

Ashley plopped down full length on the bed. She always felt tired anymore. The spark which had made her jump up to tackle each morning had dampened. At her belt, the flat square Link beeped twice and she unclipped it. "Hello?"

"Hi," came Cory's voice as clear as though he was standing in the room. "Didn't want to pester you, but April has a message."

A second later, the high clear voice of a nine year old rang in her ear. "Mommy! Did you make it okay?"

"Sure, gremlin, I'm in my old room right now. Thanks for asking."

"We're going for Mexican food! Daddy said I might be in the bathroom all night so I thought I better call you now."

Despite everything, Ashley laughed. "You'll love Mexican food but I guarantee you will also be making funny noises out your butt. It's worth it."

"Hee hee. We have to go. The taxi's here. Love you THIS much," April squeaked.

"Right back at you, my gremlin. Cory? Hi. Thanks for calling. I'll be out there Friday."

"I'll have her ready for the day with Mommy. So long."

"Take care. I wanted to ask..." But she stopped as she realized he had already hung up. That stung. For ten years, their calls had always ended with 'love you' and 'love you too.' Ashley cried silently for a few minutes, big tears running down the sides of her face, then she wiped them off and blew her noise in a tissue from the box on the dresser. No one knew, but she cried a little bit at least once a day. Anything could trigger it. Hearing an old sentimental song, thinking about a restaurant, even catching a glimpse of a baby stroller. She felt better when it had passed.

Unicorn had been sitting on the edge of her bed. At the chime from the front door opening, she shot to her feet and checked herself in the mirror. It took a few seconds to repair her mascara. Familiar voices sounded from the front hall. Satisfied that at least she was presentable, Unicorn rushed out onto the landing and sprinted down three flights of stairs with much of her old nimble step.

There they were in the front hall, Sable and Timothy Limbo. Realizing that Demrak Jin's absence was probably because she was tending her own one year old, Ashley felt a sharp twinge which she tried to disregard. "Hey, you guys! You just can't get rid of me, can you?"

"Ashley! Hi!" said Sable.

"Glad to have you back," added Timothy.

"Yeah. Sable approved me to return to full duty effective immediately," she said.

"I know you've kept in shape and up to date on Midnight War. We don't stand much on ceremony here," the leader of their team said. Lauren Sable Reilly was a few inches taller than Ashley, a few years older. Her black hair was brushed straight back off a high forehead and although those dark eyes rested only for an instant on the blonde, everyone knew Sable's enhanced perception enabled her examine Ashley with microscopic thoroughness. "Full stipend and benefits are restored but of course it also means you have to stand monitor duty one night each week."

"Not a problem," Unicorn replied. "I want to keep busy."

"You have come back at exactly the right time, Ashley. We're starting a new mission."

( the rest of the story )

"
"The Unwilling Hosts"

12/3/2020

I.

"All the gore has been cleaned up by a professional service," said Mandate agent Charles Reischl as he led Jeremy Bane into the living room. "After the police CSI boys were done and my agency had already documented everything, this outside company comes in and scrubs away everything." A good-sized slightly stocky man in his forties, Reischl was bland and unmemorable with dark hair and regular features that would be hard to describe in detail. His face bordered on pudgy with a hint of a double chin.

"Makes it easier for the friends and family, I know," Bane replied quietly. "Having to get rid of blood and bone fragments of someone you knew isn't something most people can handle." At sixty-three, the Dire Wolf was still only showing a few signs of age. There were more white flecks in the thick black hair than before, faint lines creased the edges of the grey eyes and the corners of the grim lips. But he was still obviously trim and alert, moving as actively as ever. Even his well-known uniform of black slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket remained the same. His concession to the early winter was a thin black topcoat, no hat or gloves.

He was being shown a remarkably cluttered living room in a small one-story house in Pennsylvania, only a few miles from the border. The couch and coffee table and two easy chairs were all hidden beneath stacks of delapidated old books, envelopes and folders full of clippings and assorted loose papers. A confusing jumble of knick-knacks and curios crammed wall shelves to bursting, the floor was packed with odd statuettes, antique weapons and ceremonial paraphenalia such as wooden masks and even an articulated skeleton of a large bat sitting on a pile of books.

Something in particular seemed to capture Bane's attention. On a round base, a slim cylinder of copper-colored burnished metal rose up to chest height, ending in a shallow empty bowl. The surface of the device was engraved with esoteric symbols. "Zhune," he grumbled. "Always a bad sign."

Moving away, Bane said "Here's where the body was found, I gather," as he bent over to examine an exposed area of the floor seven feet long and three feet wide. Not only was that spot completely uncluttered, the bare wood flooring shone with the sparkle of a surface well scrubbed. "I never met Russ Esposito personally, but I knew him by reputation."

"He was not a mere dabbler in the occult," Agent Reischl admitted. "We in the Mandate kept a bit of a watch on him because of all the weird items he keep bringing into the country. All legal, all signed for from various dealers in Europe but still..."

"Your agency has dealt with the Midnight War since its formation back in World War Two. And I've done work for them for most of my life." He turned those pale eyes coldly on the agent. "The Mandate has misled me a few times, set me up to be a fall guy more than once. I'll investigate if you guys seem to be pointing me at a threat to people but I don't trust you an inch."

Reischl held up both hands, palms forward. "Whoa, I'm only an office drone, Mr Bane. Mostly I rewrite paperwork and look up legal references. I don't set policy."

"I suppose," the Dire Wolf begrudged the man. "All right. Esposito was found dead here. Since a special cleaning company was brought in, there must have been some violence, right?"

"Yes. My supervisors decided to ask you in on this because of your well-known record. I know you're officially retired but..."

"Heh. My retirement doesn't seem to be too permanent. I still get drawn into Midnight War a few times each year. All right, what is it you're not eager to tell me?"

"Over here," Reischl led Bane to a short hallway barely narrow to admit one of them at a time. "This bathroom here. No bigger than a closet really. Esposito's body was found back there. Here, next to the sink, was most of the man's head."

That caught Bane up short. "MOST of it?"

"Afraid so. Pulled apart. The brain still hasn't been located."

II.

For twenty minutes, Bane peered and poked around without touching anything. His manner suggested he wanted to concentrate and the Mandate agent watched in silence. Finally, the Dire Wolf straightened, scowling even more than usual. "Dammit. I wish I had been able to get a good look while the body was still here. But, even so, I'm convinced this is really bad, Reischl. This death is only the first. I need to contact my sources and see who might be the next likely target."

"What else can you tell me?"

Bane swung around to fix an appraising glare on the man. At best, the grey eyes under those feral brows were unsettling. Now they were actively intimidating. Bane knew this and tried to soften his expression. "Not much that would make sense to you, I'm afraid. I think something dangerous has been awakened or released. I'm not sure what."

"What, like a curse? Like when archaeologists opened those tombs in Egypt and supposedly died mysteriously," Reischl asked without mockery.

"Yes. Like that." He pointed at the copper cylinder. "I strongly urge you to let me take that from the scene. It may be a defense, it may provide some clues. Anything from Zhune triggers my suspicions."

"I was told to give you every cooperation within reason," the Mandate agent said. "Esposito had no immediate family. His will has not been read by State lawyers yet, but I think I can authorize you to remove that thing."

"Good." The Dire Wolf fetched a white towel from the bathroom and used it to unscew the cylinder from its base for easier carrying. "The metal is cool. Its charge may have worn off. Even so, I'd rather not touch Zhune artifacts with my bare skin."

Arms folded, Reischl started to assert himself as he grew used to this man's intensity. "You keep using that word, 'Zhune?'"

"It's obscure. Zhune was thought to be one of the very earliest civilizations after the Darthan Age. Before Sumer, before Chater Kol in the Mideast." He cradled the metal segments and headed for the front door. "I might as well tell you all the unbelievable stuff and get it over with. The sages of Zhune discovered a sort of Lost Science that involved atomic theory. Some of their artifacts are found from time to time, and they always meant destruction and misery. Call it a curse, if you like."

Going ahead to get the door, Agent Reischl shook his head. "I've read a lot of ancient history. It's a hobby. I've never heard any of this."

"Most archaeologists dismiss it as wild conjecture. Just as well. The less people know of the Midnight War, the safer the world is. Poor old Russ Esposito wrote lots of articles about Zhune and absolutely no one would publish them."

Outside, Bane headed straight for his dark green Mustang and carefully secured the relic in its trunk. It was an unusually mild day for early December, sunny and comfortable with a high near fifty. Reischl gestured toward his own inconspicuous black Nissan nearby and said, "I can have someone pick up my car later."

"I didn't say you were working with me on this case." Bane could not quite disguise the hostility in his voice. "If you're familiar with my record, you should know it's not safe for outsiders to team up with me."

"I'm not exactly eager about it, Mr Bane," Reischl admitted. "I've never even drawn my sidearm in the field. But I have my orders."

Surprisingly, the Dire Wolf relented as he chirped open the car doors with his key fob. "Hell. I know the Mandate, you'll only have me followed by a two man team who'll get in the way at the worst time. Get in. You might as well call me Jeremy."

"Glad to hear it. My co-workers call me Charles, not Charlie or Chuck." He climbed into the passenger seat and tightened the belt across his chest. "Let me report to my office."

Heading up the short crushed shale driveway to the main road, Bane remained silent as he headed Northeast. It had been a long boring drive after leaving Manhattan at dawn. After he heard Reischl tell his supervisor the events of the past hour accurately, without any faint emphasis giving away hidden undermeanings, Bane relaxed slightly.

Between the Mandate and the FBI's Department 21 Black, he had been dragged into so many webs of deception and manipulation that he regarded the two organizarions as enemies that he had to work with under tense truces. After ten minutes of silence, the Dire Wolf opened up enough to say, "I'm going to tell you some things that may seem silly or completely impossible. I won't try to convince you of any of them. If you get deeper into the Midnight War and survive, you'll see for yourself."

"Fair enough," the agent said. "I have admit I'm not a man of action. Oh, I passed the standard training program but honestly I mostly do archive and legal work. I was assigned to this case because our New York office is understaffed."

Staying slightly over the speed limit, Bane watched other cars as if expecting one of them to try to ram him at any second. His life had burned suspicion deep into his behavior. "You said you've read my file. Any questions you feel like bringing up while we have a long drive ahead of us?"

"Um, well, to come right out with it, I wonder why not enough is known about you. Your parentage and early years, how you established the Kenneth Dred Foundation, basic information."

The Dire Wolf did not literally shrugged but his voice conveyed the response. "There's a lot I don't know about my past. My earliest memories aren't until I was ten or eleven, trying to survive on the street as a thief."

"Mr Bane--Jeremy. Sorry to say this, but doesn't that sound like something traumatized you at an early age?"

"Sure. I've concluded that. But I'm not interested in digging too deep to try and find out. I've got enough to keep my mind busy in the present." He swung around past a dawdling pick-up, accelerated sharply and only slowed to a reasonable speed when there was traffic ahead of him.
"Tell me a little about yourself, Charles."

The Mandate agent snorted. "I'm a boring dud. Really. Introverted all my life, never got anywhere close to getting married or starting a family. Been hiding behind books all my life. Today was as much excitement as I've ever known."

"Nothing wrong with doing what you like," Bane said. "How'd you choose the Mandate? It's not the most widely known organization."

"Oh, I passed the Bar Exam but couldn't get into a partnership. I settled for a job as a clerk for the DOJ. At one point, someone from the Mandate liked my work and recruited me."

Abruptly, Bane changed the subject. "What do you think happened to Esposito's brain?"

"Damfino. Some pyscho with a cannibal fetish, a serial killer collecting body parts? It's not an area I know much about. My specialty was pretrial agreements."

The Dire Wolf had to slow as there was some sort of tie-up ahead. Looked like an accident He exhaled in annoyance at any delay. "Charles, listen. There are nonhuman predators stalking human beings. Like in the horror movies. It's okay with me if you're skeptical, but my guess is that some creature broke open that man's skull to eat the brains."

"I didn't want to give that idea too much thought," Reischl said in a low tone.

III.

Before they reached the state line, Bane pulled into a gas station to fuel up. His obsessive habit of checking tires and oil, then wiping the windows was as strong as ever. Over a long violent career, always being ready for pursuing or being pursued had meant life or death condition a few times. While Reischl went in to use the bathroom and get a coffee, the Dire Wolf made a quick call to one of his contacts who knew the most about Zhune. Instead of accepting rewards from people he rescued, Bane had instead asked them to keep their eyes open for possible supernatural activity. He had built up a wide connection of experts in various fields, all of whom were grateful for a chance to repay him.

Years had gone by but he still missed Bleak. That cranky old man either knew everything going on in the Midnight War or could point him to someone who did. And Bleak's impatient no-nonsense attitude had always been grounding. As Reischl emerged sipping a huge black coffee in a paper cup, Bane was just completing his call and clipping the Link back to his belt.

As they eased out into traffic again, the Dire Wolf reversed course at the green light and headed back the way from which they had been coming. Before the agent could ask, Bane said, "That was an observer of mine who's something of an expert on Zhune. She told me Esposito was working with a friend who had a similar interest."

"Hmmm, that's an interesting coincidence."

Bane took one hand from the wheel to rub his chin thoughtfully. "It's an obscure subject. Those three people might be the only ones in the metro area who have even heard of Zhune. Joanne gave me the name and address. A man named Bracken, John Bracken. She last heard of him staying in an apartment complex in Smytheton."

"We just passed through the town of Smytheton a few minutes ago," Reischl said. "What is the deal with this Zhune, anyway? Whyare their musty old relics more important than, I don't know, some broken pottery from Babylon or Assyria?"

"Again, this may sound outlandish. Believe it or not." Bane glanced over at his temporary partner. "The wise men of Zhune had discovered a scientific principle they called the ultimate secret of the universe. They could convert matter into energy and energy into matter. Some of their devices release a stream of pure atomic fire that vaporizes anything."

"Really? Why didn't they conquer the ancient world with it?"

Bane raised one eyebrow. "That's the biggest mystery. From what anyone has been able to find out, Zhune still collapsed overnight and vanished as a civilization. Plague, maybe? Earthquake? No one has any idea."

"This is all starting to freak me out," Reischl said. "You've got that doodad that you say came from Zhune in the trunk. And the expert on Zhune was found with his head ripped off and his brain missing. I'm getting the willies thinking about this."

"Good."

Pulling into the parking area of an eight-story beige brick building which formed an L containing hundreds of anonymous apartments, Bane swung his car around to back into a space. Again, this was one of many precautionary habits he had developed during his career. There had been times he needed to leap behind the wheel and peel out without taking a second to turn around. "You're armed right now?"

"Umm, yeah. Glock 17 in a holster under my armpit. I checked it out this morning."

"Make sure it's ready." Bane reached up his left jacket sleeve with his right hand and slid out a slim throwing knife without a hilt, merely a rounded handle. "Blade's warm. That's a bad sign."

"Oh, I've read about those in your file. Silver daggers, right? I don't know what I was expecting, they don't look scary."

"The silver was ensorcelled by the immortal Eldarin," Bane said, carefully adjusting the weapon for instant use. "That makes them Ensalir, very potent against creatures of the night. I don't know why I'm telling you all this."

"I'm not laughing about any of it, Jeremy. Believe me. I feel like my hair is standing straight up and my chest is tight."

Bane studied the younger, less hardened man. "Charles. If I yell to get down, you throw yourself to the ground without stopping to think about it. If I yell to run, you take off as fast as you possibly can and don't stop until you're exhausted. Got it?"

"I'm starting to regret taking this assignment and nothing's even happened to us yet!"

"Act as if there's a huge mad dog in the area, growling, rabid maybe, and it might charge us any moment. Be THAT alert," the Dire Wolf said as he opened his door and got out."

IV.

They went through the lobby, past an open office door where a manager was disputing something with a security guard who seemed well past retirement age. Neither man glanced up as Bane and Reischl went straight to the two elevators which flanked a large potted plant. They entered and rose to the fourth floor without incident.

As the Mandate agent glanced at his watch and remarked it was getting late, Bane was standing behind him. The Dire Wolf deftly slipped a flat metal wafer no larger than a fingernail under the rear hem of the man's jacket, where its adhesive backing held it fast. Bane often did this secretly to people he had to deal with. The tracking disc emitted a signal that could be followed for more than one hundred miles. If it wasn't used within a few days, the Trom built circuitry would fall apart and be useless to anyone to trying to figure out what it had been.

Stepping out into a neat, presentable but unremarkable hallway with rows of identical doors, the Dire Wolf held up a hand to indicate they should pause. He reached under his sleeve again to find the silver dagger becoming uncomfortably warm. Bane touched a finger to his lips for silence and led Reischl around a corner and down a shorter hallway that ended with a pictuer window looking out at a bright clear sky.

The last apartment door to the left bore the brass numbers 422, with a round white bell above the doorknob. Still motioning for Reischl to stay back, the Dire Wolf edged up closer to that door, held still and slowed his breathing for a full minute before stealing quietly back to join the agent. When they were back around the bend in the hall, Bane whispered, "I enhanced my hearing. It's a Tel Shai trick. There is deep ragged breathing in that apartment from a single large living being."

"Wait, what?"

"I caught a little bit of a heartbeat, steady but slow. And there is a pungent odor from behind that door, like ammonia. This doesn't look good, Charles."

Reischl actually turned on his heel, "Maybe I'll wait in the lobby..." but a strong hand clamped down on his shoulder and stopped him dead in mid-step.

"Stay behind me," was all Bane said as he returned to the door and pressed the bell three times.

"Go away..."

"This is Jeremy Bane, Mr Bracken. I'm a licensed investigator. We need to ask you a few questions, it won't take long."

"I'm infectious. I'm dangerous," rasped the voice. "Get away from that door."

"We'll take our chances." Bane took a flat metal device from his jacket pocket. Wiry filaments extruded into the keyhole, there was a sharp click and the lock unfastened so quickly it seemed as if Bane had merely opened it unopposed. He turned his gaze for a moment toward Reischl just as two moistly-gleaming hands seized him by the lapels and yanked him brutally off his feet into the dark apartment interior.

To give Charles Reischl credit, he immediately dove in following, the door slamming shut behind him. In a dim, stifling stuffy apartment, he saw a nearly naked man lift Bane overhead and slam him down to the floor with an impact that seemed as if it must have been fatal. But even as his shoulders crashed to the thin carpet, Bane brought his knees up to his chest and smashed both boot heels up in Bracken's face with a vicious crunching noise. The glistening man lost his grip. Up on his feet in an instant, the Dire Wolf swung sideways and drove a stiff left leg deeply into Bracken's stomach, doubling him up.

As the man stumbled back and fell to a seated position on the floor, Bane advanced with both clenched fists raised. "Bracken? John Bracken? What's wrong with you?"

"Bracken..is not here right now," came the rough-edged voice. Wearing only a loose pair of flannel pajama bottoms, the man slowly rising was well-muscled and solid, but his skin gleamed wetly as if coated with thin liquid shellac. His facial features were squashed down by this substance, his nose flattened out and his eye squeezed to slits. "You..speak to the Varcrow..."

"Stay where you are," Bane replied, not visibly intimidated in the slightest. "Some sort of parasite, huh? Let Bracken out for a second."

"Why...?"

"He won't be going anywhere. I want to get some answers from him." The Dire Wolf tried to soften his stern tones. "You're not in any danger, Varcrow."

Surprisingly, the strange man fell to his knees as the glistening coat over his skin seemed to seep down into his pore and vanish. The crushed face straightened out. With a great gasping and choking, Bracken struggled to get up into a nearby chair.

"I better talk fast," the shivering man said, hugging himself with thin arms.

Snatching a blanket from the couch, Bane draped it over the man's shoulders and crouched down in front of him.

"I've heard of you," Bracken struggled to say. "Dire Wolf, right? I'm...interested in Zhune. Been studying it all my adult life. Me and Russ. We managed to buy a few scraps from collectors but this last piece still had a gralic charge in it."

Behind Bane, Reischl stepped further into the room with one hand on the grip of his sidearm, mouth open and eyes staring.

"We opened it. The Varcrow poured out and covered me. Arrgh, it's trying to come back out. No, no. Listen, Bane. You know our bodies contain thousands of probiotic micro-organisms, right?"

"Yes," the Dire Wolf said simply. "They help our digestive systems."

"Right, right. But the sages of ancient Zhune found another primordial symbiote deep in every mammal. Promordial liquid parasites coursing through our blood, our fluids, every cell. And Zhunites found a way to greatly increase the amount of these Varcrow. To bring them to the surface."

"Seems like that wasn't the best idea," Bane observed mildly. He unobtrusively brought a thick metal cartridge from an inner jacket pocket and extracted two needle-thin darts into one palm. "This Varcrow is conscious? Aware?"

"Yes. I guess it works on my level of intelligence. It's saturated through my brain, NO! No, don't!" The slime spread out from Bracken's nostrils and mouth, rushing out through the pores ofr his skin to sweep around his body.

Bane jabbed both darts into the sides of the victim's neck and held them there. After a single convulsive spasm, Bracken fell limply out of the chair and slumped to the carpet. Reaching back without looking away, the Dire Wolf said, "Handcuffs?" and was handed a pair.

After securing the unconscious man's wrists together behind his back, Bane dug a winter coat from the back of the couch and draped it over Bracken's unresponsive form.

"Those are your anesthetic darts, right?" asked the dazed Reischl. "How long will he stay out of it?"

"No way to tell," Bane replied, hauling the senseless man upright. "Two darts on a man this size, I'd normally say forty-five minutes. But with this Varcrow infestation, I don't know. Hand me that cap, will you?"

Tugging the NY Yankees cap down over Bracken's head, Bane started carrying the man toward the door with one arm up over across his back. He did this so effortlessly that it seemed clear he was considerably stronger than he looked. They made it to the elevator without encountering anyone.

"I'm going to make a distraction," Bane said. "Run through the lobby with your head down and go straight for my car. We have to be quick to minimize being identified."

V.

When the doors chimed open, the Dire Wolf casually lobbed a round metal sphere no larger than a cherry tomato over by the registration desk where the clerk was signing in a young couple. A sharp detonation cracked and an impenetrable cloud of black smoke rushed out to fill an area ten feet across. The smoke stank of a sharp vinegary odor that made the eyes tear up instantly.

Even before his distraction grenade went off, Bane was running full tilt toward the lobby door. He carried the limp body of John Bracken as if the man was weightless, and Agent Reischl was right behind him. Within a full second, they were out in the parking lot. An older man carrying an overnight bag hardly glanced at them, his attention claimed by the excited yelling from within the building.

As Reischl dove into the passenger seat, Bane threw Bracken's senseless form into the back and then jumped in behind the steering wheel and took off. He turned left at the exit against the red light as he saw no traffic in the way and swung around a few corners because slowing down between other vehicles. He turned off to a residential side road going in the same direction, where houses were spaced further and further apart as they went.

Sensing Agent Reischl goggling at him with mouth hanging down, the Dire Wolf allowed himself a rare dry smile. "That distraction grenade is harmless. The irritant is much weaker than tear gas, it's designed only to get people alarmed. And the smoke will wipe off with a wet sponge."

"Really? I..I didn't know what to think. It all happened so fast."

"I thought that was for the best," Bane said. "Take a look at our friend, will you?"

After a few more minutes, Reischl made an unhappy sound. "He's deep under. Pulse is strong but a little slow. Let me lift an eyelid.. wow, pupils like pinpoints. No sign of that goo on his skin."

"Let's hope the anesthertic holds for a while."

After ten minutes of zipping along a deserted back road with nothing but woods on either side, Reischl spoke up again. "Aren't you in pain? He threw you down hard enough to break bones."

"I'm used to a little roughhouse," Bane dismissed the thought.

"Umm. Let me know if I'm getting too personal. Your file mentioned something about enhanced healing. There was a list of incredible damage you took but bounced back from faster than the Mandate medical staff could explain?"

Bane took so long to reply that it seemed he had not heard the question. He was forbidden under oath to reveal the secret of Tagra. Tea made from the Tagra plant, grown only at Tel Shai, boosted the recuperative powers of its knights to where cracked bones or bruises healed almost visibly. Knights could endure exposure to hostile environments, survive poison or ignore pain to a degree beyond normal Human limits.

But he could not speak of this to anyone outside the Order. "You get used to some rough treatment," he conceded at last. "Like workers getting callused hands."

"Wow," Reischl breathed. "I have to admit I'm scared about what we have in the back seat, Jeremy. Doesn't it worry you?"

"I may not be showing it," the Dire Wolf responded, "But yes, I'm terrified."

Movement in the back seat alarmed them both. Reischl did not realize he had dropped his hand to his sidearm as he swiveled his head sharply around. "Looks like he's stirring. Barely."

"I'm pulling over here," Bane snapped. It was a hard-packed dirt road, with a sign nailed to a tree PRIVATE PROPERTY - NO TRESPASSING. The road wound deeper into the woods, with no buildings visible. The Dire Wolf swung his Mustang over as far as he could onto the dry cold ground and shut off the engine. "I don't have to tell you to be alert."

"He's already got my full attention," Reischl mumbled.

In the dimming light of afternoon, the Dire Wolf studied their prisoner. Bracken's breathing was deep and ragged, his skin was glistening in an unpleasant oily sheen. "The parasite's coming back out. Maybe you should get out of the car, Charles."

"No problem." The Mandate agent swung his door open and almost tumbled in his haste.

Bane touched his forearm and felt the silver daggers stinging hot. There was imminent danger here. "John Bracken, can you hear me?"

"You..." hissed a deep reply. "You are not like the other hosts."

"Never mind that now," Bane snapped as he closed his hand around the grip of his dagger, ready to draw. "I guess I'm speaking to the Varcrow now?"

For once, even the Dire Wolf was taken by surprise. In a rush like a wave rising up and crashing to the surf, a thin greasy liquid poured off the man in the back seat and engulfed the Dire Wolf. Everything looked bright red through that film. Bane's ears rang and he could not draw a breath. All his years of Kumundu training had not prepared him for this assault.

On pure instinct, the Dire Wolf slammed open the car door and flung himself out to the ground. He was suffocating as the Varcrow coated his face and sealed his nostrils. Hitting the ground with a dull thump, Bane whipped out both silver daggers and dragged their edges across his own body, sawing back and forth as if trying to slice himself open.

A high shriek shrilled for miles through the woods. Dimly, Bane realized he was up on his hands and knees, trying desperately to draw air into his lungs. He spat out bits of the vile fluid that had engulfed him. What was going on? Where was his enemy? It was taking forever to get his bearings.

What seemed like hours passed. Everything hurt. Bane had been nearly killed many times by everything from explosions to beatings to poisonous fumes, but he had seldom felt so bad. This pain was different, somehow. It was deeper.

He tried to speak, had to suffer through a coughing jag and finally croaked, "Reischl?" Bane pushed up to his feet and dropped right onto his back, unable to catch himself. Now he was actually worried. Even at his worst, he should have taken that fall better. "Reischl, are you there?"

Not getting an answer, Bane drew as many deep breaths as he could, clearing his head, summoning determination that had never failed him before. The car door was within reach, so he grabbed the handle and yanked himself up to lean on it. Why was he so weak? Has this Varcrow filled him with some sort of venom his system couldn't handle? But by now, the Tagra in his body should have neutralized that.

Then he understood. The Tagra had been sucked out of his system. He could feel the bite of the winter air for the first time in years. His lower back stabbed with pain that had not been there before, his chest ached from the violent coughing. For forty years, his tissues had been saturated so throughly with Tagra that he took instant healing for granted. He was back to Human normal.

Plopping down in the driver's seat, facing outward, Bane worked on catching his breath. It was his basic stubbornness that kept him from being discouraged or afraid. His reaction to any setback was to look for a solution. The pain hadn't eased up, but so what? He was a knight of Tel Shai. He was the Dire Wolf. It would take more than this to stop him. Even without his healing property, Bane's body was finely honed and trained, all lean muscle and bone. He was still in better shape than most Olympic hopefuls.

Reischl was gone. Obviously, the Varcrow had possessed him and run off. Bane didn't know why the monster hadn't stayed in his own body but had fled to a different host. Worry about that later. Then he remembered something. Bane dug into a narrow slit in the inner left lapel of his jacket and fumbled out a tiny plastic bag. Inside were two small green lozenges. He managed to get them into his mouth without dropping them, chewed and swallowed.

Normally, he did not carry these on him but when going through his cabinets the other day, he had thought it a good idea to boil some Tagra and then solidify it into some tablets with regular grocery store gelatin. This had been his own idea and he had always been inordinately pleased with himself for preparing for any emergency.

In a minute, the sharp agony muted down to a dull discomfort. His head felt clearer. He still was not back up to his normal levels but at least he felt he could walk without having to use a stick for support. Bane exhaled and started to swing his legs around inside the car but then remembered Bracken in the rear seat.

It was not much of a surprise to find a dessicated, shrunken mummy that seemed to be tattered papier-mache stretched over thin sticks. The man's eyeballs were pure white, as was his wrinkled skin. All the fluid had been drawn from his every cell to feed the Vorcrow. Bane climbed out again, voicing a grunt at the movement he had never made before. Was this what getting old felt like for normal Humans? Was all the trauma he had put his body through catching up to him, now that the Tagra had been removed?

Concentrate, he told himself as sternly as he would tell anyone else. Focus. From the trunk, he unfolded a heavy duty plastic lawn bag and brought it around. He drew on the black latex gloves and spent an unhappy few minutes loading the remains into the bag. Despite his best efforts, he could not keep the fragile body from breaking up and soon the seperate arms and legs and head were bundled up with the bloodless torso. He might as well close the bag airtight he thought as he fastened down in the Mustang's trunk with the other specialized gear he always carried.

All the little twinges in his shoulders and neck annoyed him more than the real pain in his lower back. Never good-natured at the best of times, Bane was sour enough to have frightened anyone who might have seen the cold glare in his eyes. He did have a flicker of self-awareness that maybe the Tagra healing had made him a little bit spoiled compared to what most people went through but he immediately snapped back to situation at hand.

Getting in behind the wheel and starting the engine, Bane at least was detached enough to be glad he had stuck the keys in his pants pocket and that the Varcrow in Reischl's body had not thought to steal his Mustang. This was going to be tough enough with trying to limp after his enemy on foot. Taking the Link from its clip on his belt, Bane pulled up the tracking screen. Over a map of the immediate area was a green grid, with a simple bright blip blinking on and off near the top. Judging by scale, the monster had not gotten more than a mile away while Bane had been pulling himself together.

The Link's magnetic tab held it onto a slot on the dashboard where Bane could see it while still keeping attention on the road. Time to wrap this up. As he backed up and swung around back onto the country road, still another distressing thought could not be kept from his worries. Could he get that Varcrow out without killing Reischl? Or were the unwilling hosts of these Zhune monsters doomed as soon as their bodies were compromised/ He had felt comfortable working with Charles Reischl, had started to like the rather mild agent and the thought that the man might be already good as dead brought Bane's spirits down even further.

VII.

For whatever reason, the possessed Mandate agent had started walking away from the main road, deeper along the dirt trail. Bane followed slowly, keeping an eye on the tracker screen. The effects of the Tagra tablets had not begun to wore off. He felt stiff and achy, but he could function. Still another worry fought to the surface of Bane's consciousness. He suspected the edge was gone from his fighting ability. Even with decades of practice and muscle memory, that extra burst of superhuman speed didn't feel like it was there to be summoned. Since childhood, he had always been able to evade a thrown punch and connect with his own intercepting blow while the bigger opponent was exposed. Now he couldn't count on that either.

Maybe he should simply start shooting as soon as he got a line on Reischl. There were five bullets in the chamber of his long-barreled Smith & Wesson .38 revolver and he felt his accuracy was still reliable. Surely the Varcrow would have to vacate a dying host body. But then what? He'd be faced with that sentient blob of liquid streaming right at him again.

As he saw the man illuminated in his headlights twenty feet away, the answer came to the Dire Wolf. He stopped his car and stepped out, wheeling around to fling open the trunk.

"Get out of my head! Go straight to Hell and burn there!" Reischl was screaming. The Mandate agent pounded himself on the chest with both fists and reeled from side to side. Then, horribly a different voice spoke from his mouth, "It is too late for you..."

Walking toward the struggling figure, wincing at an unexpected sharp twinge in his left knee, Bane was placing some weight on a canvas bundle five feet long. He yelled, "Hey! Over here, you parasite."

The spastic movements of a body being fought over by two intelligences made Reischl swing around too fast and drop to one knee. That slurring unhuman voice said, "Go.. Go away. We can not use you."

"I think you did enough damage to me as it is!" the Dire Wolf growled. He ripped off the canvas wrapping and thrust the long coppery cylinder of the Zhune artifact to tap its open cap against Reischl's chest. The long suffering man heaved up completely off the ground, giving a banshee howl that must have been heard for miles through the woods. In the glare from the headlights, Bane saw that gush of oily liquid get sucked into the hollow tubing with a gurgle. As the last bit entered, he screwed the cap tightly shut until his fingers ached with the effort.

Immediately, the underlying sensation of doom lifted from the chill air. It was an immense relief. Before doing anything else, the Dire Wolf pulled the canvas around the Zhune artifact again, this time leaving one of his silver daggers tied into the knot. If anything could help imprison such a monster, the Eldar-bladed blade might.

He was out of breath and he could feel his heart thumping dangerously fast in the chest. Was he going to remain in this weakened state from now on? But there was no time to worry about that now. Bane lowered the bundle to one side and knelt over Charles Reischl. The Mandate agent was breathing, there was a pulse, but the man looked thirty years old. The skin on his face and hands was wrinkled like an apple left too long in the sun, and it was leathery dry to the touch.

Bane hustled as best he could to secure the Zhune artifact back in his trunk, then tried to move Reischl toward the door. Earlier that day, he would have been able to easily fling the man over one shoulder and run up a flight of stairs that way. Now it took real effort to even drag the unresisting form with a hand under each armpit. Eventually, he had his new partner strapped in and he himself fell in behind the wheel of the still-running Mustang.

"I feel terrible," Reischl moaned. "Jeremy? What's going on?"

"Right now, we're getting you to a hospital," Bane replied. "You're more dehydrated than anyone I've ever seen. You need a saline IV and probably some potassium."

"Okay. But what about that monster?" came a weak reply.

"Hopefully, he's staying back in that relic for good. Let him sit in there for another twelve thousand years." Swinging back out on the main road, Bane hit the gas hard.

1/21/2021