dochermes

"Beyond the Great Silence"

12/23/2023

I.

It was above forty degrees and sunny on December 23rd in Manhattan. Ashley Whitaker lowered the trap door behind her as she stepped up onto the roof of the KDF building. Most of the roof surface was taken up by a segmented steel panel which could roll up to allow the CORBY stealthcopter access. The Unicorn straightened up. For once, she was not wearing all white but instead had on a dark red jacket and maroon jeans, rather subdued for her.

Now past forty, the little platinum blonde still appeared to most observers to be in her mid-twenties at most. She had stayed trim and athletic. But there was a thoughtful depth to those crystal blue eyes that had not been there a few years earlier. Ashley glanced around. A waist high railing of horizontal steel rods had been erected around the edge of the roof. At the northeast corner with his back to her sat Carlo Ventura.

The mystic was wrapped in his heavy cloak of gold cotton shot through with threads of the Ensalir metal. Only the back of his head with its shaggy mop of curly black hair could be seen. Without turning, he said, "Hello, Ashley."

This did not surprise her at all. It was for his uncanny perception that she had sought him out as soon as she had returned to Manhattan. The Unicorn went over and easily lowered herself to sit next to her teammate. "Hi. I went to my parents' graves today."

Carlo turned a narrow, bony face toward her. He was twenty years younger than she was, but there was a calm reserve in his face that made it seem as if he was an elder dealing with a child. "Christmas is an emotional time for so many."

"Yeah. Tell me about. You know, if no one is around at the cemetery, I talk out loud to them. Mostly to my mother. It makes me feel better. But today... I don't know, suddenly it seemed pointless. I was standing in front of a stupid piece of granite with names and dates chiseled on it. Six feet down were wooden boxes with what's left of my parents' bodies. I didn't expect an answer! I didn't even expect a sign, like a bird flying overhead or anything. It was dumb."

There was nothing judgemental in Carlo's voice at all. "You want to ask a question."

"Yeah I do. Listen, Carlo, you've been wearing that Eyeless Helmet for years now. You're in tune with the Universe, you go on deep spiritual journeys outside the physical world, sometimes you seem more like an angel than just a flesh and blood guy. So give me a straight answer. Is this all there is? Is there life after death or not?"

"I can not answer that."

"What the hell, why won't you? It's me asking, we've been through Midnight War together, we've literally saved each others' lives. Why won't you give me an answer?"

Carlo sighed almost imperceptibly. "It's that I CAN'T give you an answer, Ashley. I have tried to find out, of course. I have gone beyond the subtle barriers. I have sent my consciousness where the living may not trespass. And I don't remember what I found."

"Wait, what? I don't get it. What are you saying?"

"Whatever my spirit learned, it does not retain. I return to my body and the best I can recall is no more than a vague emotional state which fades. It's just like waking up from a dream and immediately having the details evaporate."

The little blonde shook her head, making her gleaming hair swing from side to side. "That doesn't make any sense, Carlo. All I want is a yes or no answer. I hardly remember my dad, my mom raised me to be the second Unicorn. She died so suddenly! Unexpectedly! She had no symptoms at all, it was a tiny bent blood vessal in her head. She went to bed feeling fine and I found her two days later when I came to visit."

"Go on," Carlo said.

"I want to talk to her again. I want to know if she's proud of me as the Unicorn. She got to see April reach five but I want to know if she's watching April hit puberty. It's important. It matters to me!"

"Ashley, I would give you an answer if I could but the knowledge is not permitted to me. Once we enter the silence, we are not heard from again."

The Unicorn shot to her feet, body tense as if about to fight. Then, as Carlo rose as well, she unexpectedly threw her arms around his neck and buried her face against his chest. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I know you would tell me if you could."

After a long silence, he rubbed her upper back gently. "There is one thing to consider. It may mean nothing. When I return from going beyond the barriers, in the brief moments as I settle back into my body... I feel happy."

That did it. Ashley sniffled and, although she was not crying audibly, tears ran down her face. "I'll take that as hope, Carlo. It's enough. It'll do."

12/26/2023

"To Dust We Return"

6/14/2023

I.

Jeremy Bane was in a restless, troubled mood. The hyper metabolism which gave him his enhanced speed and reflexes also charged him with excess energy that had to constantly be burned off. Already that morning, he had gone through his DohRa form, showered and changed into what was practically his uniform of black slacks, turtleneck and sports jacket. And now he was at a loss what to do for the rest of the day. There were no threats in the air as far as he could see. The Midnight War had certainly quieted down since the hectic days when he had led the KDF against the likes of Karl Eldritch, the Preincarnators or Wu Lung.

Pacing around a living room so free from clutter that it seemed no one lived there, the Dire Wolf tried without success to calm down. At sixty-five, he still showed few signs of age other than a scattering of white in the short black hair and lines at the outer corners of those pale grey eyes. He was still lean to the point of seeming gaunt and he circled the room with the easy stride of a much younger man.

The day before, he had called Sable to see if the newest KDF team had anything on hand and had been regretfully told no. He had phoned Sheng at the Fist For Hire agency and gotten the same wry answer. It had been weeks since any sightings of paranormal activity, crypto-beasts or new criminal masterminds. Maybe it was time to return to Tel Shai for a week. He would spend some welcome time with Cindy, get more intense training from Teacher Chael, maybe add annotations to the Great Archives. Yes. That was a good idea.

Bane paused in front of the picture window which looked out on Pierpont Street. A dark blue Subaru Outback was coming to a stop against the curb. That was Police Detective Chatcuff's car and there was the short stocky form of Harvey Chatcuff himself getting out to walk up the short flagstone path across Bane's tiny front yard. The Dire Wolf felt his spirits lift as if hearing a bugle calling charge. Something was up!

As he waited by the door, Bane thought again about how Megan Salenger had repeatedly tried to install Trom scanners on the steps outside to check for ID matches in NYPD or Mandate files, as well as sensors to read off a visitor's height and weight, blood pressure, heartbeat and whether or not large bits of metal were on his person. Bane had refused. He had thought at the time he was actually retiring from the Midnight War. Now, when he remembered Megan, he wished he had humored her. It would have made her happy.

As the doorbell rang, the Dire Wolf took a deep breath. He was counting on his Kunmundu training to be sure that this was Harvey Chatcuff and that the
body language indicated no intention to attack. Opening the door, he swung sideways and gestured for the man to enter. "Detective Chatcuff! I know there's trouble when you drive all the way out here to Forest Hills."

"Hiya, Bane," came the strongly New Yawk accented voice. "Nobody else here?"

"No. Sit down and tell me what disaster you want me to stop."

Lowering himself to a chair facing the leather-covered couch, Chatfuff unbottoned his suit jacket to let his paunch breathe a little. "I have to give the usual speech first. This is unoffical, off the record, unauthorized and all that. The Department does not use you as a freelance vigilante. In fact, I didn't even come here today."

Bane dropped down on the couch, clasping his hands together as he felt alive for the first time in a week. "Understood."

"I don't even have any photos or reports or anything to show you. But I know your memory is good. First victim was Howard John Nivens, 48, lived on Sycamore Avenue in Glenville, Long Island. He was found Monday morning between two residential houses. Both lungs were crammed full of dry dirt."

The Dire Wolf's pale eyes lit up. "That's something new."

"I sure never heard of such a thing. And the ME is so stumped he yells at anyone who asks him how it was done. Then, last night at two-thirty in the morning, a man's body was found behind a Chinese restaurant on Broadway in Carlinton, Long Island. Name was Stan Woodrow. Age 41. His chest was crushed flat, sternum cracked and every rib broken. And like Nivens, it's a mystery how he was killed."

"Yeah? Why is that?" It never occurred to Bane to offer coffee or tea to his visitor. His manners would never be polished.

"Well, the captain has an idea that someone put a flat piece of wood or metal on his body and then drove over it with a car. Sounds plausible. But Woodrow was found sprawled up against the wall of the Chinese restaurant and the forensic guys found fibers from his coat pressed into the bricks. Some blood as well."

Despite himself, the Dire Wolf got up on his feet and began pacing. He couldn't help it, being restless under the best of conditions. "Oh, this is interesting. Let me think about it. I suppose it could still be done. Two guys hold the victim up against the restaurant wall with a board across his chest. Then a third man drives a car or truck forward slowly to press against the board. The victim falls, they grab the board and ride away."

"Could be. But there's one more interesting detail. Bane, dirt was found pressed into the fabric of the front of Woodrow's coat and shirt. Lab says it's identical to the soil that killed Nivens."

( the rest of the story )

"Spring Break At Skull Beach"

3/23/2023

I.

In a long career fighting the Midnight War, Jeremy Bane had seldom felt more uncomfortable or out of place. He stood next to a portable kiosk selling dismal junk food like questionable hot dogs, lukewarm soda and limp French fries in cardboard holders. Swarming energetically all over the white sand beach were hundreds of giddy young people ranging from eighteen to twenty-two, most wearing as little clothing as possible, nearly all of them saturated with alcohol and an assortment of recreational drugs. Hormones were boiling over.

It was seventy-eight degrees this last week of March, but dry and breezy and much more comfortable than he had expected. He was wearing his inevitable outfit of black slacks, turtleneck and sports jacket, practically his trademark. Sixty-five but looking twenty years younger, the Dire Wolf had some white flecks in his short black hair but few other signs of age. He was visibly trim and fit, moving with ease. To his surprise, many of the college girls showed obvious interest in him. Some stared with a smile, some stole glances but many seemed drawn to him. If he had been interested, he undoubtedly would have done well picking one or two up.

The idea didn't even occur to him. He was all business. This was Plata Playa, "silver beach" so named because of the way its white sands looked in the moonlight. But in the history of gruesome crime, it was often known as Skull Beach. He was here in hopes of preventing another massacre of innocents. Although, gazing out over this frenzied crowd, it seemed unlikely any creature of the night would have room to strike. Maybe the omens would prove false.

There was Hallowell House, half a mile up the beach, surrounded by broken rock and withered grass. A one-room shack of plain unpainted boards with a single door and two windows no larger than a magazine. The slate roof was sagging at one end, but it did not seem to be in immediate dangerous of collapse. Circling the shack was a chest-high chain link fence with a padlocked gate. As far as he knew, that gate had not been opened once since it had been installed thirty-one years earlier... when early morning strollers had found the white skull of Lorraine Hallowell sitting by the front door.

His stomach rumbled audibly. One price for his enhanced speed was a metabolism that burned through calories without mercy. Bane looked over the food for sale. He was not fussy but even so, the offerings weren't appealing. He settled on two film-wrapped ham and cheese sandwiches, a big bag of cashews and a bottle of water. The extortionate prices didn't surprise him. Going back to surveying the mob, the Dire Wolf devoured everything so fast he hardly tasted it and dropped the wrappers in an open metal garbage can close at hand.

An absolutely gorgeous co-ed grinned at him. She was wearing cut-off jeans and an open vest held closed by one button. Between the firm young body shining with health and the lightly freckled face under a mane of thick black hair, she was almost unbearably attractive. "Hiya, did you see the Spook Sisters?"

That caught even Bane by surprise. "No. The Spook Sisters are here? Where are they?"

"They've got a table over there, by the trees. Come on, let's go check 'em out." She took Bane by the arm, deliberately pressing one breast against him. "My name's Gretchen, I'm only here for three days before I have to go back to Buffalo. What's your name?"

"Jeremy. Jeremy Bane, from Manhattan. I shouldn't be surprised the Spook Sisters turn up here, this beach is supposed to be haunted."

"Yeah, haunted by broken hearts and brief romances," she laughed. "I like older men. Guys my age are so dopey, I want someone who has lived life a little."

The Dire Wolf seemed completely uninterested in her, scanning the beach instead as if expecting an ambush. "I understand the sisters investigate weird events. Ghosts, strange animal sightings, mysterious disappearances."

"Yeah, they're unironically hilarious. I love the younger sister Alistar, she never listens to anyone and always torments the bigger sister. Emmaline's funny too in her own way, very sarcastic. But to be honest, if you expect anything really scary, you're out of luck. They never find any genuine phenomena."

"Just as well," Bane said. As single-minded and repressed as he was, the young woman pressing up against him and gazing up warmly made him uneasy. He decided to add, "From what I can see, they aren't equipped to handle anything dangerous."

Stretching up as she walked, Gretchen asked, "What color are your eyes anyway? Blue? Very light blue, almost like silver?"

"Grey. It looks as if the Spook Sisters have gathered some fans."

Seated on lawn chairs at a folding card table were two young women in matching outfits of white shorts and red cotton shirts tied across the midriff. They were surrounded by more than a dozen excited followers who were all talking over each other. With Gretchen still hanging on him, the Dire Wolf watched and reviewed what he knew about them.

Gossip is rampant in the Midnight War, even about those only peripherally involved. He knew the two Spook Sisters were from Albania but had become naturalized US citizens. They had become huge Twitch stars and YouTube celebrities, with an estimated combined worth of three million dollars. The taller one, with a thick ponytail which reached her shoulders, was Emmaline. The shorter, more animated sister was Alistar. They were famous for their constant trashtalking of each other and for the random daredevil stunts they staged. Recently they had been raising money to support a rescue animal sanctuary.

None of this particularly interested Bane. He was annoyed by the Spook Sisters because they rushed to the scene of any paranormal reports, where they walked around and streamed their opinions. He felt that they both scared away any Midnight War creatures and trampled over any evidence he might find. There was also the chance that they might encounter a Skinwalker or Troll and their careers would end abruptly as they were killed and eaten.
And now they were here, at the infamous Skull Beach at the same time he was. It was no coincidence.

Gently but firmly, he disengaged himself from the girl's grip. "I think I'd better talk to them, away from everyone else. They're heading for danger. Thank you, Gretchen." And he stepped away.

To his surprise, those huge brown eyes filled with tears. "What? That's it? I.. I am right here, almost putting myself on a plate as an offer and all you can say is 'thank you, go away?'"

Although he wasn't good at being gentle or putting kindness in his voice, the Dire Wolf tried. "I'm here on business. Very serious. I'm sorry."

Gretchen gave him a caustic glare, spun on her heel and stormed off stiff-legged. I'm really out of my element, Bane thought, I don't know how to deal with normal civilian Humans anymore. Then he heard a hoarse woman's voice calling to him from the Spook Sisters' table, "Oh My Godddd, look! Look, Emmaline, that has to be Jeremy Bane! You know, the Dire Wolf?"

II.

A dozen baffled young faces twisted around to stare at him with no recognition whatsoever. That suited him fine. Staying as unknown to the public as possible was vital to his survival, and he was not pleased at having both his real name and his war name shouted out like that. He stepped forward.

Both of the Spook Sisters had jumped to their feet and were beckoning him closer. "Hi, hi, hi! We're in the same line of work, we know all about you!" gushed the younger one Alistar. "You're a legend, absolute legend, your statue is in our hypothetical Monster Buster Hall of Fame."

"You are Jeremy Bane, right?" asked the older Emmaline with more restraint. "We've never actually met. Photos of you are hard to find."

"Hello," Bane replied without enthusiasm. "You're the Spook Sisters. Emmaline and Alistar Dibra."

"That's us, three million followers and merchandise available.."

She was cut off by her litle sister bouncing up and down in glee. "I can't believe it, I can't believe it, this is so great! The legend come to life. You know what they say: When you see a werewolf running for its life, Jeremy Bane is chasing it."

"Wait a minute..." began Bane but caught himself as he realized how big the crowd was, and how many eyes were fixated on him. "I want to speak privately with one or both of you."

Alistar rattled off a long laugh, "You and a hundred other guys here! EVERYone wants to get one or both of us off out of sight for a little 'talk.' Kidding, kidding, but holup I can see you're serious, you look like a judge about to read a verdict, not that I have ever been in a situation where I faced a judge..."

"Stop. Just stop," broke in Emmaline. "Honestly, the doctors say she doesn't have ADHD but I've seen her get distracted lighting a match. Mr Bane, please excuse her. I will go with you away from everyone and you can tell me what you want."

While Alistar slapped the table and announced that she would autograph any body parts not covered by a bathing suit, the older sister beckoned for Bane to follow her toward a garish bright green SUV parked up by the highway. By the time they got there, the few curious fans had dropped away. Emmaline leaned up against her car, fished a pack of American Spirit from a hip pocket and lit one up.
"We did recognize you right away. I never thought I'd meet you."

Decades of experience and Kumundu training made it automatic for Bane to assess this women in great detail. From body language and micro-expressions and subvocal tremors, he concluded she was not under any unusual stress. She was not intending to lie or deceive. From the way she walked and how she placed her weight, he decided she had not had training in any martial art or even street fighting. In a more general sense, Bane analyzed her appearance. Emmaline Dibra was in above average health but had a slightly diminished lung capacity for her age. There were signs she drank to the borderline of alcoholism. And she had injured her right knee recently, no more than a week earlier.

All this came to him in almost instantly. When he decided she was no significant threat either physically or psychologically, he relaxed in her presence as much as he was able to. "I'm not much for Twitter or Facebook or any of that, but I've heard of you and Alistar."

"Yeah, you don't have any online presence. That's odd. You could be pulling in serious money with a little exposure."

"Miss Dibra..."

"Please, call me Emmaline. That's what Alastir and I were wondering about you. You've been at this forever, but everyone says you don't charge fees and you don't ask for donations. How the hell do you make a living at this game?"

She looked up straight into Bane's pale grey eyes and felt a slight shiver at the impact those eyes held. Her cigarette burned unnoticed between her fingers as she started to wonder about this man.

"Emmaline, then. We are not in the same business. You provide entertainment for your fans. You walk around a darkened house or graveyard and they get a cheap thrill at the trappings of horror. But there's never anything actually supernatural there. It's a fun little game."

"Well, of course," she snorted. "What else could it be?"

The Dire Wolf took his eyes off her and looked back of that Springbreakers on the beach. He folded his arms across his chest. "That's fine. I'm not going to try to convince you differently. The less you know about the Midnight War, the safer you are. Think about this. You know there are groups of brutal, heartless people in the world who use torture and murder as basic tools. The drug cartels, espionage organizations, human traffickers. If some of them hauled you off in a black van, you'd never be seen again. Am I right?"

"Well...yeah. I don't like to think about that stuff. But what's that have to do with our game?"

"I'm not part of your game. I'm from a different, secret underworld that exists unseen all around you. I deal with threats like those killers from drug cartels or spy agencies, only more dangerous. That's why I want to warn you and your sister not to stay in Hallowell House tonight."

That made Emmalina snicker, then snort, then surrender to a full blown guffaw. "Heh. Give me a second. Oh come on, Jeremy. You put on a good act but let's be serious. Alistar and I will make enough tonight for a cruise around the Aegean. I've always wanted to see Greece. Don't try to scare me off. Man..."

Bane did not visibly react and his voice remained detached. "All I can do is warn you. Your safety is your own business."

III.

Defying all forecasts, cold rain had begun coming down at eleven that night. The beach had emptied, with scattered blankets, hats and frisbees left as prints of the partiers. An attempt at building a bonfire had gotten nowhere against the drizzle. Only thirty people remained, gathered not down by the water but up by Hallowell House.

Huddled under umbrellas and blankets draped over their heads, diehard Spook Sisters fans watched as Alistar and Emmaline held up their Iphones and recorded the scene. They had not brought their usual equipment or assistant. Two uniformed police officers had been watching for a while but had been called away to more crucial duties. There didn't seem to be any impending trouble here tonight and the rain had driven the Springbreakers to invade local bars.

Off to one side, his collar up but otherwise unmoved by the chill drizzle, Jeremy Bane watched unhappily. He had seldom felt more conflicted. Those two young women, unarmed and untrained, were going into Hallowell House in a minute to dare any forces of darkness. Normally, he would dismiss this as mere show business but a nagging sense of alarm troubled him. He had learned to trust his instincts.

The Spook Sisters were sharing a clear plastic umbrella and, as seemed constant with them, were arguing. "I'm so wet I might as well just lie in down in the rain and get it over with," Alistar griped. "This is like the day you didn't pick me up at school, remember? Seven years old, standing in the downpour and shivering for HOURS because you forgot all about me, I stood there and watched the bus pull away but did I get on? NO! Because I trusted my big sister to come get me..."

"Alistar! You know the car wouldn't start and I couldn't even text you because you had left your kid phone on the breakfast table again." Emmaline caught herself and turned back to the crowd, holding up a sheet of paper safe within a sealed plastic envelope. "Friends, I have here written permission from Mr and Mrs Francis Gwynneford to enter the property as they will. In return, they have asked that we donate all of tonight's donations to their chosen charity, the St Theresa Home for Children. Can we all agree that's a worthy cause?"

Amid the enthusiastic cheers from the crowd, Alistar could be heard muttering, "Minus our expenses for this trip, that hotel room cost as much as a good used car."

Keeping out of everyone's line of sight, Bane unclipped the Link from his belt. The Trom device looked like a remarkably thin phone no thicker than a few playing cards stacked together but it was decades advanced of anything Human technology could match. He found the Spook Sisters' livestream. Bane was not interested in social media but he had to know how to navigate for his work. Sound came in clear and sharp through the inconspicious flesh-colored earpiece he tucked in.

Glancing from the screen over at the front of the shack, the Dire Wolf frowned even more than his usual sour expression. Two dozen excited fans were yelling questions and encouragement. For all they knew, this was going to be like taking a tour of an amusement park haunted house. He prayed that would be all it was, but he didn't have much hope.

The younger sister placed one hand on the padlock holding the gate shut and held up two keys on a red cord. "They trusted me with the keys because Emmy loses everything, when she gets old and gets dementia, no one will be able to tell, one time she called me to say she couldn't find her phone and I was like dude, how are you calling me and she goes oh yeah.."

"Do you need help unlocking that, dear one?"

Managing to get the gate open, Alistar started ranting into her phone, "There you are, the first time anyone has been in this yard for thirty-one years, yes that was when someone going for a walk at dawn saw a humanskull sitting at the door of this hut, yes! A human skull. All that was over found of Lorraine Halloewell, that poor woman, and after the police were done poking around, her family locked everything up and swore to leave it untouched until it fell down. But we are here! Tonight! And your favorite ghostbreakers the Spook Sisters will show you inside..."

Interrupting her younger sister once again, Emmaline said, "That is why this area is known to locals as Skull Beach, as I'm sure all you lovers of unsolved mysteries know. Over the years, people on this beach have reported seeing a flicker of eerie blue light in the windows of Hallowell House or heard a woman's scream echoing out over the waters. Yet it's obvious even from outside the gate that the seal on the door has not been broken and the windows do not open."

"Will you PLEASE let me finish?"

"I would if you ever did finish," snapped Emmaline. "Let's get the door open while it's still nighttime."

Not amused in the slightest by the banter, Jeremy Bane watched the scene with cold rain dripping down his face. He was so annoyed by the Spook Sisters that the temptation came to him he should leave them to their choice. He had a comfortable warm dry hotel suite waiting a hundred yards away. But no. All his instincts told him the Midnight War was stirring tonight.

Alistar unlocked the front door and pulled it open. "Listen to those hinges creak, very atmospheric I'm sure, got your giant Maglite ready?"

"All set," replied Emmaline. The two sisters stepped through the doorway and those outside watching caught a glimpse of the interior. Without warning, a gale-force blast of cold wind rushed over the area to make everyone shudder violently. And the wind slammed the door shut again.

Bane could hear fans saying how that wind couldn't have been faked and maybe this time the Spook Sisters were going to encounter the genuine Unknown. He thought the same. The prospect didn't excite him as it did the crowd. He was ready to intervene.

On the livestream, hundreds of thousands of people worldwide saw the long-hidden inside of the Hallowell House as the brilliant beam of the flashlight moved over simple furniture covered with decades of dust. There were framed photos on the walls, a small black and white TV on a stand, a single shelf with a handful of paperbacks. Cobwebs stretched across the corners of the room. There did not seem to have been running water, as no sink or toilet was in evidence but a gas stove showed that propane had been in use.

"I don't mind admitting I'm getting the creeps big time," Alistar rattled off in her usual flow of chatter. "This place smells dead, it's like when we had a mouse die in the walls, remember? Nothing covered up that smell, what did that woman die off anyway, what happened to her body and how come only her skull was left outside, I dunno Emmaline, do you feel like someone is in here with us..."

"Hush for a minute, just one minute," pleaded her older sister. "I think I hear someone breathing."

As she said that, her flashlight flickered and went out.

IV.

The crowd outside the shack took a collective gasp but then fell silent. On their screens, they saw the faces of the Spook Sisters as the two young women turned on the flash of their phones in near panic. But the relief of the fans was brief. The livestream started to break up, both image and sound became dim.

"Do you see those faces?" demaded Alistar, "There! And there! They're laughing at us, Emmaline, the faces are all around, they've getting closer..."

At the edge of the crowd outside, Bane snapped off his Link and clipped it back on his belt. The silver daggers sheathed to his forearms under his sleeves had been growing warm and now they were so hot they stung. Malicious gralic energy was nearby. There was no reason to wait any longer.

"Emmaline, Emmaline, my phone went dead! Where are you?" screamed Alistar.

The Dire Wolf shoved roughly through the crowd and through the open gate. He planted his feet, drew torque up through his body into a blow from his open palm that snapped the lock on the front door and he dove inside. A second later, a great gout of black smoke shot out from that open doorway to dissipate in the rain. Then Bane emerged with an arm around each of the Spook Sisters, still gripping a silver dagger in each hand.

The three of them tumbled to the dried dead grass in the yard outside the shack. Steam rose from their bodies as if they had been yanked out of a furnace. The agitated fans rushed over to kneel beside them, all talking over each other.

Bane recovered instantly, up on his knees and then leaping to his feet. He sheathed his daggers with trembling hands, but then pointed at a nearby boy. "You! Call 911 right now, get an ambulance here." He had found that giving orders to an individual produced better results than just a general demand.

"It's not possible, I know that this doesn't happen because hair grows out from the roots and it can't change color like that..." Alistar was whimpering.

"This is not a natural phenomenon," Bane replied as he turned Emmaline over as gently as he could. She was in shock, her eyes did not focus on anything and she was shaking visibly. The long thick hair was white as cotton.

2/23/2023

"Cemetery Blues"

11/22/2023


He couldn't feel the freezing rain. Ever since he had been brought back to life, Marcus Bailey was physically numb in every sense. A black man wrapped in a black overcoat, sitting in an unlit graveyard on a dark night, he felt as invisible as he wished he were. The tombstone he leaned back upon was so old that that the inscription had been eroded to mere indentations. Marcus wished the night would go on forever. He had nothing to look forward to, and dawn would just be a fresh set of problems without solutions. The Man was out in full force right now searching for him, and daylight would just make it inevitable that they would kill him again.

"I got them cemetery blues," he said out loud without knowing it, quoting an old song. "Fallen down so far there's no way back up. Gonna lay down with a stone at my head..."

Even in the cold drizzle under a night without stars or moon, Bailey was abruptly aware he had company. He jolted upright and stared around with a bit of panic. Clifton Cemetery was fifty miles north of Austin, between towns, with no houses nearby and a church that was dark and silent on this forsaken night. Yet someone had found him.

Standing almost within reach was a tall thin figure in a long coat with its collar raised. In the gloom, Marcus could not begin to make out the man's face. Just the motionless way he stood there had something deadly and ominous about it, though.

"I thought you might come to see your family here one last time," said the man.

"Jeremy? Jeremy Bane, sure I know that voice. Everyone said you were retired."

Stepping closer, dropping to one knee, Bane said, "I'm supposed to be retired. But even though I swear to leave the Midnight War alone, it won't let me go." He paused and added, "I was at your trial, Marcus."

"I saw you there. Thanks. But I have no beef with the trial. I did kill Teena and there was so much evidence. My lawyer objected to an all-white jury but hell, I didn't have a chance no matter what."

The Dire Wolf's voice was detached and almost emotionless. "Coming home early, catching your wife with a strange man. It's such an old story. They call it a crime of passion, some countries make excuses for it but not Texas and not for you."

"No. No, I can't defend myself. I felt if a person ever needed dyin', she did after all I sacrficed for her. Two jobs, raising her child by her earlier boyfriend, but still that's no excuse. Ah well. I remember you, Jeremy, from when I used to work for Dr Vitarius."

"The world's wisest Alchemist," Bane said. "You handled all the everyday chores so he was free for research. Vitarius was a good man. But your next boss, Matthusala.. He was just as knowledgeable about Alchemy but maybe a bit more down to Earth than Vitarius."

"Yeah, Matthusala was not what you'd call spiritual. He still liked women and he still liked luxury, no matter that he claimed to be a hundred years old. Funny old codger with that white beard split into two points. You know what happened to him, Jeremy?"

"Yes," came the voice from the darkness.

"They strap you to a gurney for the lethal injection," Bailey said. "Two IVs and a heart monitor and all that, as if they're being doctors. Maybe they don't wanna admit they're killing a man."

Bane's voice got a slight edge to it. "I asked later what happened to your body. I know your family is all gone, I wanted to make sure you at least had some dignity after death. They told me at the prison that you were claimed by a representative of the Keyser Funeral Home, a man with the right credentials and the right vehicle. But I realized suddenly he matched the description of Matthusala!"

On the road far beyond the edge of the cemetery, car headlights showed and then disappeared. Bailey caught only a brief glimpse of a narrow pale face watching him close at hand.

"Do we have to go into all this, Jeremy? Come on, man, I don't have much time left any way you look at it. What are you doing here?"

"Marcus, listen. I found the sanctum too late. Matthusala was dead and his disciple was weeping over the corpse. The disciple told me Matthusala revived you with a forbidden Velkandu serum. It's one of the most powerful formulas in Alchemy. It brought you back. You were dead, don't make any mistake about it, you weren't in a coma or suspended animation or anything. Matthusala resurrected you."

Still hunched over as the rain lessened to a few drops here and there, Marcus Bailey took a long time to respond. "I'm sorry about what happened to him, Jeremy, I really am."

"But you did it anyway," came the Dire Wolf's voice from the vague shape kneeling in the darkness. "The Velkandu serum filled your body with potent Alchemical energy. It gave you life again for maybe two or three days but it also made your skin toxic. Anyone you touch is poisoned."

"I know that," Bailey said.

"There was no reason to kill Matthusala." Bane's voice was getting cold and taut as he spoke. "He took a big risk to revive you. Maybe he thought you would appreciate another brief spell of life. He sure didn't deserve to have you choke him with your poisonous touch!"

"All right, that's enough." Bailey lurched awkwardly to his feet. His body was not responding as well as it had in true life and he was clumsy at best. "I think you better go now, old son. If I was to reach out and touch you..."

The Dire Wolf gave a faint sigh, barely audible even at close range. "So. I figured you would come here, where you family is buried and where you even have a plot reserved for yourself. You were singing about cemetery blues before. You won't be leaving here, Marcus."

Bane took a pencil flashlight from his jacket and played an intense white beam no thicker than a thread on the ground before him. In the unexpected backwash of that light, Bailey was revealed as a heavyset man swaying uncertainly, miserable and desperate.

"The disciple explained everything to me," the Dire Wolf continued. "He wanted revenge for his master, of course, and he knew how to administer the Velkandu serum."

"No... No, wait, you can't mean...."

"Yes," said Bane. He swung the thin beam from the flashlight onto the silent figure who had been standing motionless beside him all the time. The light showed the forked white beard and long hair of Matthusala for the instant before the resurrected Alchemist lunged forward. Bailey hardly had time to scream once.

6/20/2016