dochermes | Entries tagged with amelia mancuso

CORONET III: Lightning's Only Happy When It Strikes

6/2022

I.

Five armed guards escorted Josef Jubilec from the lobby into the elevator and then out to a hallway on the fifty-first and top floor of the office building at 156 West 82nd Street. The men wore black slacks and light blue shirts with the logo CRAMER SECURITY over the left breast pocket, and each carried a .45 Colt revolver in a holster on a separate Sam Browne belt. The guards were all burly, intimidating men but even they seemed uneasy around one of the dreaded Blind Archers.

Josef was used to this reaction and had come to expect it. He wore a dark brown business suit of conservative cut, complete with a tan shirt and brown tie and co-ordinated vest. A lifetime spent drawing longbows had given him a massive chest and brawny arms which the suit could not conceal. Short sandy blond hair topped a bony face with bleak, dark blue eyes which gave away nothing of what he thought. The Blind Archers were raised from infancy to keep poker faces no matter what. Assassins were wise to keep their intentions secret.

They waited for a few seconds before an unmarked green metal door buzzed. One of the guards held the door open for Josef, who passed through without comment into a bare cubicle of white tile. Only a massive steel door broke the gleaming walls. None of the guards entered the cubicle, they all stepped back as the outer door closed and locked with a decisive click.

The Blind Archer stood motionless, patient as a born hunter. He could not spot any of the cameras that he knew must be scrutinizing him at that moment. Then the inner door opened silently and a huge bruiser in one of the security uniforms peered out at him. At a gesture from the guard, Josef squeezed past him into an old-fashioned office with many bookshelves, deep plush carpeting and substantial easy chairs. From behind a paper-strewn desk, an old man half rose politely and gestured for him to be seated.

Although the Alchemist looked to be in his well-preserved late sixties, closer study showed the thin dry skin of the face was covered with a maze of fine wrinkles. The receding snowy hair was still thick, even the bushy eyebrows were solid white, lowering over shrewd blue eyes. That tailored suit fit the wiry body perfectly. "Mr Jubilec. Knights of your Order of Tel Shai are not known for paying social calls on members of my community. You have some business proposition, perhaps?"

"I am here to offer information you should find useful," Josef replied. He had from his teen years been able to put any accent he wanted into his voice, and now he slightly mimicked a Sicilian tinge. "But first, understand I do not subscribe to the cliche about the enemy of my enemy being my friend."

"As world wars have shown, even bitter enemies can form alliances of convenience," the old man immediately responded. "Temporary alliances, of course."

"Exactly. There is no misunderstanding between us. Let me mention that one hundred and thirty miles north of where we sit are the Catskill Mountains. There, the Spinner of Webs is indeed spinning her webs and thinks she is secure..."

( the rest of the story )

CORONET II: Even Cold Comfort Is Better Than None"

6/23/2022

I.

Keeping well back, Galvan and Unicorn had endured watching Sable painstakingly investigate the grounds for the past six hours. They knew their captain's intense concentration and wanted to do nothing to interrupt it. Sable's gift was enhanced sensory perception. She used gralic force to increase her eyesight, sense of smell and tactile awareness to levels far beyond what flesh and blood were thought to be capable of achieving.

Through each room of that mansion, disturbing little beyond occasionally lifting an object and then replacing it exactly, Lauren Sable Reilly saw details at an electron microscope level as she chose. She could see in the infra-red or ultra-violet range, she sniffed traces of odors that no forensics equipment could detect, she heard the wooden fibers in the floor and the furniture still creak as they straightened out after being stepped on the day before. Information poured into her mind in a deluge that only decades of strict discipline could assimilate into any useful coherence.

In her early forties, Sable was a trim, athletic woman of average height and build in the black KDF field suit. Her jet black hair was brushed back from a high forehead. Large dark eyes, a snug nose and full lips gave her distinctive face that normally showed a warm friendly nature but right now her features were set in a taut mask.

The giant Melgar and the petite platinum blonde Unicorn followed, silently making their own observations and drawing their own conclusions. Galvan loomed up a full foot taller than his teammates. He had the massive muscular build of a lumberjack, and his rough outdoorsy clothes and work boots added to that impression. So did the curly light brown hair and short thick beard. Not demanding Sable tell him what she had learned was taking all his strength of will. Staying close to him to give emotional support, Ashley Whitaker also was aching to find out what their captain had learned and was biting her lip not to start rattling off questions. Keeping silent went against her basic personality.

Finally, after what seemed an interminable afternoon of prowling the mansion, Sable dropped down gracelessly onto the wooden bench in a gallery lined with original oils. Most of the paintings were of Hudson Valley landscapes and historical scenes. As she sat down, the team captain buried her face in her hands and exhaled sharply. "Oh. My head is killing me," she said and drooped forward in weariness. "That was a long stretch of using my powers."

"You want some water, captain?" asked Ashley, breaking the silence of the day. The little blonde dug in a pocket of her own field suit. "I've got some high-protein bars here."

"What? Oh. No, thank you, Ashley, I'm fine. So much to take in. First, let me say that our friends were alive and unharmed when they were taken from here. No traces of necrotic tissue smell anywhere where they had been. Jin, Timothy and Archie were captured by an Alchemical vapor that enervated them. I recognize its odor. 'Yellow Lotus' is what it's usually called, it makes you too weak to even raise a hand but there's no permanent damage. Our friends were carried away, helpless but unhurt."

"An Alchemist?" rumbled Galvan. He had begun pacing back and forth, even the plush carpeting not able to muffle his heavy footsteps. "They are always bad news."

"Especially in this case. Let me summarize what I've found. Nine people have been staying in this mansion for more than a month. One was a middle-aged white American man in only fair health, with nothing Midnight War about him. He did maintenance and upkeep. There was a Southeast Asian woman about forty who prepared meals, and a specifically Chinese woman in her early seventies who served as maid and personal assistant. A medical doctor in his sixties, no longer in professional practice. They were mere servants to the real threats. I've identified two men as familiar enemies. Jorge Vargas, called Repel, and Indigo the Illusionist. A young woman who stayed here is one of the Calveron. I'm certain she's the Amelia Mancuso that Jeremy met three years ago. She has Invocation skills. The fourth Midnight War denizen is an non-powered man with technical skill involving Trom tech and I am certain he is the criminal called the Flying Fool."

"Dang," interrupted Unicorn as she plopped down next to her captain. "I HATE it when someone organizes a team of bad guys to imitate us. It's always a disaster fighting them. As soon as we joined, Sable, we had to tangle with Avathor's League of Predators and then that bunch who called themselves Dark Cloud."

"I remember, Ashley. Repel and Indigo were in fact members of both of those squads. The others are all dead. Duffy the Sumo, the Fatal Wasp, Avathor himself and even Arem Kamende, all out of the way." Sable straightened up and turned her gaze toward her teammates. "So we're dealing with one of these squads who are assembled to act as a strike force. There was also a Human bodybuilder staying on these premises but I picked up no hints of any gralic powers in his traces. He acted as a driver, as far as I can tell."

Galvin bent forward, studying her face. "You know who the Alchemist is who is leading this team, don't you?"

"Yes. It's bad news," Sable admitted. "We're dealing with Olivia Wang, the Spinner of Webs, probably the most dangerous mastermind still active. There are rumors in the badlands that one of her lieutenants has staged a coup and driven her off her throne. That would be Samuel Policastro. Our sources hint that Olivia has been on the run for more than a year, spotted all over East Asia and Europe with Policastro's assassins right behind her. It seems she has been gathering a team like our own for protection."

"And now she's got our guys!" Unicorn blurted, "Jin and Tim and Archie are all prisoners. They came here to investigate the stolen yacht and instead they were captured. Sable, we need to get after them right this second! Where can we find them?"

Getting back up on her feet, tugging down the field jacket where it had risen up, Lauren Sable Reilly gave Ashley a sad look. "I know Olivia too well, honey. She will be contacting us soon, certainly today."

"Why are we waiting for that?" roared Galvan as his self-control finally broke. "She's had our people for twenty-hours! Who knows what tortures she's putting them through? Let's get after them right now."

Reaching up, the tiny Unicorn rubbed a small hand between Galvan's shoulder blades. The Melgar's muscles felt like warm granite, so dense that rifle bullets would glance off and so charged with gralic force that he could fling a car across a parking lot. But his heart was as loving and vulnerable as any Human child's.

"It's going to be okay," Ashley told him. "We are too valuable to mistreat. Look, both of us have been taken prisoner by enemies, right? We got out fine. They know we hold in our heads all the secrets of Tel Shai lore and Midnight War history, stuff worth huge fortunes. The Spinner of Webs won't chance damaging us if she can get at that knowledge."

Watching with a cool detached eye, Sable nodded once. "More than that, Galvan. Olivia is a schemer and a planner, not hotheaded in the least. She doesn't want you or Sulak or our Blind Archer coming after her in a murderous rage. Nor does she want the Dire Wolf of all people enraged at her. She will not harm Jin, or Timothy or Archie without urgent need."

The big Melgar deliberately unclenched those great hands and lowered his shoulders. "I suppose even cold comfort is better than none at all."

( the rest of the story )

"CORONET I: Falling Into the Sky"

6/22/2022

I.

Two uniformed officers were waiting on the scene when the cherry-red Jeep Cherokee pulled up to a stop at the farther edge of the parking lot. Yellow warning tape formed an open rectangle ten feet on its longer sides but the body it had surrounded had already been taken away. Cars going by on the side street slowed slightly as drivers caught sight of the cops and the tape, but there was nothing visible to keep their attention. On a muggy overcast day where a thunderstorm seemed imminent, people were focused mostly on getting home.

Two wildly mismatched men climbed out of the Jeep. Straightening up from behind the wheel, Archie McAllister was a massive bearlike figure in rough work boots, trousers and red flannel shirt with the cuffs rolled up. Six inches shorter and a hundred pounds lighter was Timothy Limbo. In his biker boots, well-worn jeans and black leather jacket over a plain white T-shirt, he might as well have been wearing a uniform of sorts.

"Hi, Morrissey," Timothy called as they approached. "Thanks for calling us in on this one."

"Tim! Yeah, Detective Beckert had to go, he's juggling more than one mess right now, but he knew you'd be interested in this." The officer nodded at Archie. "Seems I recollect meeting you as well, sir."

Archie McAllister grumbled something unintelligible but polite enough sounding. Big and imposing as he was, in the round, unshaven face the gentle blue eyes belied his true nature.

"Right off the bat, one question comes to mind," Timothy began, circling the taped-off area. "This is where the body of Lionel Groeters was found, face down, arms and legs full extended, right?"

"Yep. After the forensics boys scraped up as much residue as they could, the asphalt was water blasted but that stain is gonna be there for a while," the cop volunteered.

"From what I was told on the way over, Groeters looked as if he had fallen from a minimum height of one hundred and fifty feet. Impact deformation was classic, your CSI team said. But the buildings in this clinic are only two stories high. At the most, he couldn't have fallen more than twenty feet if he had dived off a roof after a running start." Timothy scratched at the back of his neck beneath the lank yellow hair. "Hard to figure, you know?"

Archie turned slowly around, scanning the nearby buildings. "If it wasn't for the blood on the ground, I'd suggest that he fell somewhere else and was brought here after he was already dead. But that's out. You say your experts think he fell a hundred and fifty feet at the most, so he wasn't pushed out of an airplane or helicopter, you'd have a hundred witnesses."

"Puzzling, right?" asked the cop. "Sounds like some of that Midnight War craziness you guys handle." He handed a tablet to Timothy. "You realize we can not show any crime scene photos to civilians, not even KDF members who have been helping out for years and years."

With Archie looming up behind him, Timothy Limbo studied the gruesome images before handing the Ipad back. "Unofficially and off the record, denying everything, I see only one suggestive item. The victim was dressed for the office. Polished shoes, pressed slacks, neat white shirt and you can see the end of a necktie up by his shoulder. But no jacket. It may not mean anything but I've seen murder cases solved by smaller clues."

"Could be. Well, me and Tompkins are supposed to report back now. Good seeing you guys again. I know lots of men wearing a shield resent you KDF as vigilantes and loose cannons, but personally I've seen you clear up some awful atrocities. Good luck."

"Thanks again," Timothy said, watching as the officers eased out into traffic.

Archie McAllister was pacing around the taped off area, big hands jammed into his trouser pockets. "Honestly, I'm going to be completely useless on this. Megan was the genius. On all those 'Trom Girl mysteries,' I listened to her rattle off solutions and maybe once in a while I threw a punch."

"Heck, I don't claim to be nearly as smart as she was, Archie. Who is? But you've had ten years experience on those cases, so any suggestions you come up with are welcome. Besides, you're good company and I hate driving in rush hour traffic." The KDF member stared up at the sky again. "You know, I can't quite remember the details but I think Sheng fought a crook who might be connected with this, maybe a year ago. It's far fetched but worth checking out. We never found out his real name, he was known as the Flying Fool."

"That's goofy. And you think maybe he was the one who dropped that poor guy out of the sky?"

"Worse than that," Timothy said, "I think first he made Lionel Groeters fall up INTO the sky."

( the rest of the story )

"Marry a Witch, You Marry Her Family"

(12/29/-12/30/2014)

I.

At four-thirty, Jeremy Bane was ready to close up shop. He had been in his office all day, except for a twenty-minute lunch at Five Guys around the corner on 2nd Avenue. It was one of those slack periods which recur in the Midnight War several times a year, when the creatures of the night seem to settle down and gruesome murders are sparse. The one chance for a client had been a drab woman who thought she was being spied on by the government, and Bane had treated her politely enough but after a few minutes conversation realized she had not the slightest evidence. Nor was she a likely candidate. She had never posted anything controversial on a message board or associated with radicals of any ideology. He recommended she pretend to act as boring as possible for a few weeks to make any watchers lose interest and she thought that was a fine idea. She would come back and let him know how it worked out.

After she left, the Dire Wolf sighed almost inaudibly. There had been a temptation to go with her, search her apartment for small cameras and microphones, but his instincts told him it would be wasted time. He had been born with an enhanced metabolism that gave him superior reflexes but also left him perpetually restless and in need of stimulus. At fifty, he was still slim and athletic, with just a few grey strands in the black hair and faint lines at the corners of the mouth. His pale grey eyes were still his most striking feature, stabbing out at the world under heavy brows. The day had been spent catching up on his messages and getting in touch with friends he had not seen in a while, so it had not been completely wasted. But he wanted trouble. He had read his FBI file and one analyst said he was a rare profile that thrived in high-stress situations. True enough. The Dire Wolf decided to give it another half hour and take off at five.

As always, he was dressed all in black- slacks, turtleneck, sport jacket. His monotonous wardrobe was practical for sneaking around in the middle of the night but it had also become a sort of uniform widely recognized in the Midnight War.

At one minute to five, he went to the closet for his long overcoat and just as he touched it, the doorbell rang. Bane strode through the tiny waiting room with its coffee table and two chairs and checked out the monitor up in one corner of the room. White male, well-dressed with expensive shoes and tailored suit. Maybe five feet ten, two hundred pounds, dark brown hair and medium brown eyes. Nothing remarkable other than a nose a bit too large. As Bane watched, the man glanced nervously down the short hall toward the lobby three separate times. That clinched it. He opened the door to the hall and said, "Can I help you?"

As soon as he saw Bane, the man tried to shove into the waiting room and get out of sight. Bane stepped aside to let him in and closed the door. "Someone after you?" he asked calmly.

"Ohhh, yes! No doubt of it. You ARE Jeremy Bane, the Dire Wolf, aren't you? I'm in real danger. Just by coming here, I may have doomed myself but I can't take it any more!"

"All right, settle down. Come in here." Bane closed the door to the inner office behind them and heard the lock click. He ushered the visitor to one of the leatherbound chairs in front of the desk and then went around to take his seat behind that desk. "First, your name?"

"Derrick Mancuso. I work for Sunrise Software, I'm an engineer. Mostly I design features the public never notices."

"Good so far. Go on."

"Three years ago I met and married a young woman. Amelia Giles. It was almost overnight, we met by accident and just seemed to hit it off. I proposed within a month and she accepted. We have a house in New Rochelle and have been trying to have children."

Bane waited, then finally said, "But what brings you to me?"

"My wife is mixed up with very dangerous people, including her family. She's not at all what I thought she was. I don't know if you.... Mr Bane, do you believe in the supernatural?"

"Absolutely, I've been dealing with it most of my life."

Mancuso stared at Bane and saw conviction. He went on, "They are all Witches. Not the harmless modern Wicca hobbyists, but genuine no-fooling Witches. Like in the old country. My grandmother raised on stories about La Strega, with hexes and curses and the Evil Eye. The things I've been through in the past few months..." He started shaking visibly. "Maybe I'm just crazy. Maybe I just have epilepsy or schizphrenia but I don't think so."

"Tell me more. Tell me everything."

"Amelia's family wants her to have babies with me, with what they call a Mortal. That's why she lured me into marriage. She has been playing a role all this time. And now that no babies have been produced, the family figures it's time to get ride of me so she can try again with another Mortal. I..." He broke off and whispered, "Cordelia....!" in a horrified tone.

As Bane watched, Mancuso staggered to his feet, knocking the chair over behind him. "No. Cordelia, don't!" Black smoke billowed up around him from nowhere, swirling like a tornado. Mancuso screamed for just an instant and was gone from the room. The black smoke dissipated, leaving only a sulfurous residue on the floor.

( the rest of the story )