dochermes | Entries tagged with karina

"Twilight Riders"

12/11-12/12/1898

I.

Strange flickering red flashes rushed horizontally across each night sky. During each day, grey gloom overcast the sky so that even at noon nobody cast a shadow. Winds were heard howling constantly but somehow the air remained still and stifling. Birds were seen fleeing south in great flocks. Animals went into hiding across the Northwest, people either quarreled murderously over trifles or sank into depressed stupors where no chores were done and no meals made. It was like nothing no one had ever seen before, perhaps the very End of Days.

Hurrying up from across the plains and deserts, seven riders began to assemble near a Miscagowie reservation at the Canadian border. They had not planned to meet up. Some had never met any of the others before. But those who would be called the Twilight Riders found themselves forming a camp on a flat-topped hill and asking each other for answers none had. Most notorious among them was Johnny Packard, the Brimstone Kid still living under his curse.

Still looking like a beardless youth despite being forty, the Brimstone Kid was wiry and active as a bobcat. Just five feet six and barely one hundred and fifty pounds, the Kid wore all black except a red work shirt. His black stetson was pulled low over sullen green eyes. In the beaded band of that hat was tucked a copper-colored coin older than the West itself, the curse of his life. If he was in contact with the Darthan coin after dark, he would become the demonic Brimstone Kid in reality as well as name.

Past sixty by then, Tom Pinto had gotten grizzled and weathered by a hard life. His untrimmed beard and hair had as much grey as blond in them, and deep furrows ran down his cheeks like dried creekbeds. Pinto's darkly tanned skin looked tough as worn leather and his deepset blue eyes were sullen. His jeans and shirt were brown, with a short spotted vest over them. It was this black and white vest, made from the hide of a Pinto pony once owned by the famous Indian chief Osawayatotha, that had given him his name. Buckled around his waist was a gunbelt with a single-action .44 tied down low on his thigh. Swinging down off his own horse, he greeted the assembly politely enough. He and Johnny Packard had crossed paths several times.

"Howdy, Kid," he said, "Appears we all came up this way because the weather's been a might dodgy lately."

Johnny Packard snorted from atop his black stallion Terror. "Hallo,Pinto! Red fires in the sky at night and this godawful haze blottin' out the sun all day. You doesn't suppose this might be one of them volcanoes kickin' in?"

"I don't know know much about them things," Pinto replied. He turned in the saddle and nodded at the shirt, rather stocky black man who was sitting on a chestnut mare nearby. "What's your take on all this, friend?"

Sundown, a brooding black ex-soldier who got his name by insisting on walking the streets of "sundown towns" after dusk, carried a Model 1873 Winchester repeater chambered for the .44-40 cartridge. This was a durable and powerful weapon that he handled as lightly as if he had been a walking stick. He rumbled in a deep voice, "I'm not one for omens and superstitions, hard-headed as I am. But a fellow would have to be willful blind not to worry about all this. Have any of you heard or seen a bird or a squirrel this week? I haven't."

"You are wise to feel uneasy," said the sole woman among them. She was known as Copper-Hair, a bounty hunter skilled with the gun but much deadlier with her hands and feet. Tall and slim in a long duster coat and black slouch hat, she was the latest Karina, a immortal warrior spirit who incarnated each generation in the body of a willing living woman. The woman had bright auburn hair, glossy and much brighter in tone than Johnny's darker brick-red shade. In a strong-featured face with a wide jawline and full lips, her grey-green eyes caught the sunlight with a flash like a cat's. "Deep down beyond words, you sense we stand at the edge of an abyss and our footing is uncertain."

Clay Hawk, Federal Marshal Agent, was neglecting his orders to answer the mysterious summons. Formerly known by his tribal name, Little Clay Hawk, the lawman was nearing fifty by then. Dressed in formal townsfolk clothing, black trousers and a white shirt with a floral-pattern vest and a string tie, Clay Hawk wore a flat-brimmed low-crowned hat. His Indian blood showed clearly in the glossy black hair, the strong eagle-beak nose and the deepset eyes which were always watchful. Strapped to his right hip was an old-fashioned Navy revolver. Hawk swung his arms in a casual way as he walked, not keeping his hands near the gun butt more than was natural. He had been watching and waiting, in his career he had heard much about all of these strangers.

"You've got a poet's way with words, ma'am, and that's for sure," he said as the others watched for his response. "What purely troubles me is that the air is still and yet I hear gale winds blowing somewhere. Tain't natural."

Wai Cho-Lan had come walking in from the forest without a horse or indeed without much more than a bedroll and what he wore. He was a tall, lanky man in plain long-sleeved work shirt and pants, with heavy walking shoes that had seen a lot of wear. His head had been shaven but showed a five-o'clock shadow across it. The hair growing in was white. He seemed Northern Chinese, with a single eyelid fold and a long solemn face whose tawny skin was darkened by severe sun exposure.

Several of the other riders had heard wild stories about Wai. Called by some the Tiger Fury, he was said to be able to catch arrows without being cut, to fight a half dozen men at the same time, to recover from wounds that would kill a mule. He himself made no such claims and spoke little. He said only that he would help in any way he could. The taciturn exile from mainland China, was in fact a Kumundu master and knight of Tel Shai. He alone carried no gun and refused to accept one. His unarmed combat skills had become well known campfire tales across the plains. Never one for unnecessary talk, he remained as silent as possible.

Peligroso came from Northern Mexico, an aristocratic Castilian with a driving restless taste for violence. He wore two revolvers butts forward and carried both a whip and a dueling sword with him. Peligroso was normally quick to laugh or sing, but the uncanny gloom and whistling winds had dampened his spirits. Surprisingly, the young bravo did not dress in obviously Spanish-flavored clothing but wore plain brown pants, a yellow silk shirt and short brown jacket, with a bowler derby rather than a sombrero. Nor did he affect a thin mustache but was clean-shaven and kept his glossy black hair short and neat.

Peligroso would not reveal his true name, but then neither would Tom Pinto or Sundown. Peligroso did say he came from a prominent Madrid family which he had disgraced by dueling even after stern warnings. When he killed the governor's son, he was quickly shipped to California to stay out of prison. Tall and excessively handsome, well-dressed and eloquent, he often claimed it would be unchivalrous to turn down the young women who swarmed to him. With so many outraged fathers and husbands out for his blood, he had taken to living on the trail. With sudden seriousness, Peligroso told the other Riders he had never taken much seriously in life... until now. He feared this was indeed The End Days and his soul was not ready.

( the rest of the story )

"The Pit of Snakes"

4/20-4/21/1983

I.

With the faintest flicker of pale blue light, three figures appeared from nowhere, abruptly standing on a hill under a clear Spring sky. In the middle of their grouping was a woman in a bright Kelly green one-piece jumpsuit, who swayed and almost lost her footing. The fact she was holding hands with the man on her right and the woman on her left gave her enough support to remain standing.

"Whew," she said and took a deep shuddering breath. "That took more concentration than I expected." Tall at five feet eight, slim and athletic, Karina seemed to be in her late teens with auburn hair cut in a shag and deep luminous green eyes that her jumpsuit had been selected to match. Her appearance did not hint at the full truth. The body standing there was that of a nineteen year old college student named Barbara Hoyt but it was now the willing host to the ancient spirit of the warrior-goddess of Myrrwha. Karina had existed since the Darthan Age of thirty thousand years ago, inhabiting with permission the physical forms of one host after another.

"I thought your ability to cross into other realms was effortless," said the black man to her side as he helped steady her. Ted Wright wore one of the dark field suits with its heavy boots, pants and waist-length jacket that had an inner layer of the flexible Trom armor inside. He was very dark-skinned, with a serious thoughtful face and there was grey beginning to scatter here and there in his tightly curled beard and short hair. The Blue Guide always seemed worried and anxious because that was both his nature and a result of his rolr as one of the healers of the Midnight War. "Your vitals seem good. Heartbeat is a bit fast at one hundred and nine."

"Oh, I'm fine, don't worry, Ted." Karina straightened and took the small travel bag from its strap on her shoulder to lower it to the ground. Her snug jumpsuit had a thin vertical black stripe down each side of the body, and she wore ordinary white sneakers but she had no pockets. "I'm used to just traveling between realms by myself. I've only taken one person at a time with me before."

Standing to Karina's left, Cindy Brunner gazed around the countryside where they had just materialized. She was a tiny blonde, not much over five feet tall, with dark gold hair that hung straight down her back. Cindy wore a field suit like that which Ted had on, although her jacket showed an impressive bust ledge over an otherwise thin little body. Her dark blue eyes moved quickly around the area.

"I'm picking up Human minds, not too far away," she said. "Maybe... six or seven adult males. Kind of rough, raw minds. Not really bad people, though." She frowned and turned back to her friends. "They're riding horses."

"Good, Cin. We're ready for company." Wright unclipped a small flat device from his belt and examined it. "Ah, too bad. Technology doesn't work in this realm. All our gadgets and weapons are going to be useless."

"Yeah, we sort of expected that," Cindy said. "That's why our team all has innate powers."

Karina laughed. "Do we need electronic gimmicks and anesthetic dart guns when we have the Midnight War's best telepath, the best gralic healer and the best unarmed combat fighter ever?" She jabbed a thumb at her own chest. "By that last, I mean myself, of course."

The Blue Guide shielded his eyes from the sun with the flat of his hand, peering up the hill. "Evaho. None of us have been here before. I suppose our first step is to meet those horsemen Cindy detected and see what the situation is. Then we can worry about finding this Walking Snake sorcerer."

The blonde telepath raised a hand, "No need. They're riding this way. I'm getting a clearer sense of their attitudes. They're kind of direct, uneducated farmer types. Simple, but not in a bad way. Still, there's a lot of anger just under the surface."

The three KDF members stepped out into plain sight, as much in the open as possible. Higher up the hill, dense forest began but they stood on wild grass that grew shin-high. Overhead, a bird circled and then wheeled away... a raptor of some sort, much like a hawk.

Seven men came down the slope on horses, bent over their saddles with weariness, faces grimy with sweat and dust. They were big, sturdy men in simple leggings and tunics of coarse material almost like burlap, and each had a short sword at his belt and a bow with quiver fastened to the saddle behind him. The riders were darkly tanned and weathered, their brown hair was tied back behind the neck and they had roughly trimmed beards. As they saw the three unexpected strangers standing before them, the riders pulled their horses short.

"Pergamir!" yelled one. "What does this mean?"

The lead rider was also the biggest man there. He had wide shoulders and a massive barrel chest, and his hair and beard had scattered grey hairs which in a Melgar indicated considerable age. The leader leaned forward in his saddle and gazed down thoughtfully at the three strangers.

"Know you that I am Pergamir son of Harakon. I gather that you are not from this realm but from another. We have seen no people with black skins here, yet you do not seem like a Danarakan nor a Veganoran to me. And you, my lady, surely with that sunset-colored hair and emerald eyes, you must hail from Myrrwha itself."

"You are widely traveled, good Pergamir," Karina replied. "I am indeed a daughter of Myrrwha. My friends here are, like myself, knights of the Order of Tel Shai."

( the rest of the story )

"Copper-Hair"

7/11-7/14/1882

I.

This part of Arizona seemed to be composed of little except dirt, rocks and dust, all baking under a merciless July sun. Late in the afternoon, with his shadow long and distorted behind him, Johnny Packard slowed his black stallion Terror to a halt at the foot of the hills where the bounty hunter and Tom Pinto were camped. He knew he had been spotted long minutes earlier since he had to approach without cover, so he kept both hands in plain sight and made no attempt to dismount.

Fifty feet above him, on a broad ledge surrounded by a cluster of round boulders big enough to conceal someone, a small fire of dried twigs heated a battered coffee pot suspended on sticks above it. Two horses, a chestnut roan and a golden Palomino, stood tethered in the shade of the largest boulder. Johnny was glad to see that Tom Pinto seemed unharmed. He was tied hand and foot, a complete prisoner leaning back against a boulder, but at least he hadn't been injured. Yet.

"Howdy. You mind if I get down offen my hoss?" he called up.

Not much could be seen of the bounty hunter. An oversized duster reached to the ground, its upturned collar and a wide-brimmed slouch hat pulled low concealed the hunter almost completely. In that brutal heat, being dressed like that had to be torture. The bounty hunter raised a gloved hand and gestured for Johnny to approach.

The Brimstone Kid knew he was not an intimidating sight. At twenty-three, he was a wiry youth not more than five feet four inches tall and weighing one hundred and fifty pounds if he had been eating town food. He hopped lightly down from the saddle and made sure to keep both hands well away from the butts of his matched 1873 Colt Peacemakers. Johnny tilted his black Stetson far back on his sweat-matted mop of dark red hair. He decided to speak first.

"I ain't fixin' to cause no trouble," he announced. "They is wanted posters of Tom Pinto all over the frontier and if you have claimed him, then the law is on your side. But I can't deny he's a friend of mine. We rode together. I aim to satisfy myself that he's bein' treated well even if yer haulin' him to stand before a judge who has the gallows already built."

"You live under a curse," the bounty hunter said. It was a woman's voice and Johnny gave a start at the surprise. "You carry a dark fragment of the Midnight War with you."

"Wal, I can't say yer wrong," he answered. "It 'pears you know a bit about me."

"Who has not heard tales of the Brimstone Kid?" she said. "Your American West is a savage land far older than your settlers dream. Even before the Red men came, elder civilizations rose and fell here, strange peoples and strange beasts roamed these plains. There is much that has been forgotten."

Johnny Packard took off his Stetson entirely and fanned himself with it. "You know, I once met some folks who talk the way you do. They was Melgar from Androval, wherever that might be."

The bounty hunter tossed aside her hat, shrugged out of the long duster coat and stood revealed as a tall rangy young woman in a blue Chambray work shirt, Levis and soft slippers instead of boots. Slung low on her right hip was a single-action .44 and a wide-bladed hunting knife was sheathed at her other side. The woman had bright auburn hair, glossy and much brighter in tone than Johnny's darker brick-red shade. In a strong-featured face with a wide jawline and full lips, her grey-green eyes caught the sunlight with a flash like a cat's. "Perhaps you have a glimmer of how I am called in your country?"

"I reckon so. Some Lakota I parleyed with told me of a woman warrior who roams alone and who fears no shootist or wild animal or force of Nature. Their name for her is Copper-Hair. Could that be you?"

"It is as good a name as any." The woman took effortless downward leaps and was standing on the ground within reached of Johnny. The agility and strength in her action was impressive enough. Immediately, she moved back another fifteen feet and stood with legs braced well apart. Her right hand hovered near her gun. "I believe you are tempted to free your friend, Mr Packard. That will not be allowed."

"I ain't never pulled iron on a woman," Johnny replied, shifting around to face her squarely. "That goes against all I was taught."

"Your females do not go about armed, nor do they need to," Copper-Hair snorted. "Men protect them. In my land, we do not rely upon others to fight for us. The daughters of Myrrwha are given a sword when they first learn to walk."

"You ain't home now, this is the Arizona Territory." Using his left hand, the Kid tilted his Stetson down to shadow his eyes. The fingers of his right hand hovered within inches of his own revolver. "I don't hanker a reputation as a lady-slayer, to be honest. Unless you give me no choice, I want to palaver, you savvy?"

Copper-Hair smiled thinly. "You have a right to self-defense." With that, her hand dropped down to hook the butt of her revolver and in a tiny fraction of a second, Johnny had drawn and fired in response. No real gunfighter ever tried to wound an opponent, such accuracy could not be counted upon when the stakes were life and death. He always aimed straight for the center of every's opponent's torso to give himself the best odds for survival.

To his complete shock, Copper-Hair left her gun untouched. Instead, her hand whirled up in a tight cirle and there was a whining ricohet as the bullet redirected to smack against a nearby rock. The strange redhaired woman grinned in wicked glee.

Despite his years of bitter experience, Johnny Packard did not shoot again. He was not aware his mouth hung open. It sure seemed to him that Copper-Hair had slapped his bullet aside like a thrown snowball.

( the rest of the story )

"Five Minutes Missing, Here and There"

9/11/1983

I.

After running full tilt for forty minutes, Karina slowed the treadmill to a walk and lowered its angle to be level. She checked her pulse and found it was ninety per minute. Toward the end, she had broken out in a light sweat. For the next few minutes, she walked slowly and then shut the treadmill off. Hanging on its grip bar was a small damp cloth that she used to wipe the machine, then ran it over her face and neck.

Karina looked as if she was nineteen and would stay that way for decades. That was the age Barbara Hoyt had been when she had willingly taken the ancient spirit into her body. She stood five feet eight and was slim, built like a runner with long legs and a remarkably narrow waist. Her auburn hair was in a shag cut that just reached the nape of her neck, and she had deep dark green eyes in a serious face with a wide jawline that ended in a square chin. Karina was not pretty but she was charismatic; it was difficult not to stare at her when she was near. At the moment, she was wearing sneakers, Navy blue shorts and a plain white T-shirt.

As she stepped down off the treadmill, the wall phone by the door to the gym rang. Karina went over quickly and picked up the receiver, "Yes? Hello, Jeremy. Is it urgent? I should shower and change, I just did a run. Good. I'll be down in a few minutes."

Suddenly excited, the Myrrwhan goddess hurried from the gym out in the hall where the stairs were. There was an elevator, but she never used it. The gym took up most of the seventh floor of the KDF headquarters building, she only had to race down three flights to be on the fourth floor. Here were a few guest rooms and the quarters for those who were associates but not full KDF members. At this point, that consisted only of herself, Shiro Mitsuru and Garrison Nebel.

The door was unlocked. Her main room was Spartan, even drab. There was a Queen-sized bed by the window on 38th Street, a desk with a computer, a shelf with a dozen books, a few chairs and not much else. No pictures on the wall, no knick-knacks, none of the little touches people add to personalize their space. But then, she was not here that often. Karina went into the bathroom, threw her clothes in the hamper and took a steaming hot shower before getting out and drying herself brusquely with a towel.

The muscles in her arms and legs showed unusual definition when she moved but otherwise she looked like a normal woman in great condition. Back in her room, she put on panties, white socks, black tights and a loose linen tunic that was tailored in at the waist. She never wore a bra, feeling they restricted movement in a duel and her small firm breasts didn't need one. Dropping down on the bed, the Myrrwhan goddess laced up plain black canvas sneakers and was ready. With her hair still damp, she rushed out and down the stairs to the second floor where the conference room was.

Here, at the head of a long oak meeting table, sat one of the few Humans she fully admired and respected. Jeremy Bane glanced up as she entered and gave the faintest of welcoming smiles. It took people a long time to get to where they could read expressions on his usually deadpan face. The Dire Wolf gestured to the chair next to him. "Good to have you here. I think there's an important case opening up and the two of us are the only ones available."

"Great," she replied as she dropped down into the chair at his right side. "I was thinking of going to Okali for a while... maybe straighten out those Skullhunters."

"You're the only person I know who can travel through the adjacent realms without using a travel crystal or something. Except for Khang, of course." Bane had a manila file folder in front of him. He leafed through its contents and then looked up at her. Those infamous pale grey eyes were more subdued than usual. "First, we need to clear up a few details. Okay. As an associate member, you have been receiving a monthly stipend from the Kenneth Dred Foundation. It's not a fortune but it has been piling up in the bank account kept under Barbara Hoyt's name. I just want to remind you of that."

Leaning forward, Karina propped up her chin with one fist, elbow on the table. She was more relaxed around Bane than with almost anyone else. "Myrrwha provides me with what I need, captain. When I go there, I am after all regarded as their patron spirit. I leave with a pouch of gold coins and whatever equipment seems useful. Still, that bank account might be needed someday."

"This next bit is kind of personal," the Dire Wolf said, hesitating. "Barbara's family called a few times. The letters and phone calls have been getting spaced further and further apart. The family hasn't had an actual visit from Barbara in over a year. I assured them that you were fine--I mean, that she was fine."

The deep green eyes studied him for a moment. "Barbara IS fine," Karina said at last. "But she will surface less and less as time goes by. Eventually, she will slumber deeply. We are not in a possessed state where Barbara and I trade places. She knew that. But I will phone her family more often and reassure them."

"What exactly will happen to Barbara?" Bane asked.

"Nothing. She will sleep deep inside me. When this body becomes aged or is destroyed, her spirit will travel on to wherever all Humans go. That is as much a mystery to me as to anyone."

"All right," Bane said. "When we first met, I sort of thought that Barbara would go about her life like before and call on you when you were needed. It's not like that."

"No." Just the single word.

"Well, anyway, Inspector Klein was here and just left after filling me in on three very odd robberies. Some of the details make me think that an artifact from ancient Zhune was used. And that inevitably means we will tangle with probably our worst enemy."

Karina smiled in an anticpatory way. "Karl Eldritch..."

II.

Stepping out into a warm stuffy September afternoon, Karina could not help smiling. She loved visiting the KDF and participating in their cases. She could not commit herself to full-time membership, of course, nor apply to be a student at the Order of Tel Shai. Her duty to her homeland Myrrwha came first. Still, the ancient spirit of the first Karina had been born at the very beginning of the Darthan Age and had dared to receive forbidden knowledge from the Sulla Chun on Ulgor; she was a warlike spirit that thrived on conflict and peril.

Bane wanted to contact some of his army of observers to get some information before acting. Over the years, instead of accepting rewards from people he had saved, Bane had asked instead that they keep an eye out for any weird or supernatural activity. It had worked out amazingly well for him, and now he was calling some of those observers who might have heard about Eldritch being spotted recently. She had been too impatient to wait.

In a few minutes, she was nearing Times Square. Before leaving the headquarters, she had clipped two items to her waistband. The communications Link and a flat leather case that held Barbara Hoyt's driver's license and other ID, a credit card and some cash. Karina refused to wear the flexible Trom armor or to carry any of the KDF gadgets and weaponry. She had to go her own way. Reaching 44th Street, she swung toward Sixth Avenue and spotted a small shop on the corner.

The window read SCHNITZER CAMERAS. The owner himself had been manning the shop when it had been robbed and she had a description of him. When she entered, a small bell over the door rang. Behind the cash register to her right, a rather small man in a light blue suit with a red tie straightened.
"Good afternoon, miss."

"Hello," she answered as she glanced around the store. The counters seemed sparsely stocked, with quite a bit of space between the merchandise. That figured. She went over to face the owner. Donald Schnitzer was not far from being sixty, the grey hair had receded far back on his head and he peered at her through thick-lensed glasses. The smile was strained.

Karina held up her leather case and showed him the laminated photo ID card that identified her as representing the Kenneth Dred Foundation, working as consultants to the NYPD. The ID card was official-looking and Karina's sheer presence won him over. She had a confidence and self-assurance that few people resisted. "Have you been told that there have been other robberies like the one that happened here?"

"What? No. You mean, with people not remembering what happened?"

"Exactly. In each case, the people suddenly realized that money or valuables were missing and they had seen nothing. Then they figured out that roughly five minutes had gone by that they could not remember. They had just gone blank." She turned those dark green eyes on him thoughtfully. "The same as happened to you."

Schnitzer sagged visibly. "Oh, thank God. That sounds strange. Let me explain, I was thinking I had a stroke or something. That I had a blackout and something was medically very wrong. But not if it happened to others the same way."

"It should be reassuring," she said. "According to the police, you said you heard the door open and looked at that clock on the wall."

"Yes. It said 4:51 and I remember thinking my assistant Lewis would be coming in at 5 and then I could finally go home as my feet hurt." Schnitzer leaned forward and lowered his voice. "Then it happened. I blinked. I was standing in front of this counter with both hands raised up by my head."

"Go on," she prompted, also in a low voice.

"Naturally I was confused. Nothing like that had ever happened before. For some reason I looked at the clock and it now read 4:56. I had lost five minutes somehow. This was so upsetting that I just stood there. Then Carl came in and immediately said, 'what happened to all the cameras?'"

"The police tell us that over a dozen of your most expensive cameras were stolen, along with some lenses and other equipment. You didn't see who came in the door?"

"No, not all. I wish I had."

"And you don't have a security camera?" Karina asked.

"No, I don't. I know it's ironic, a camera shop lacking a camera..." He looked up at her face in desperation. "The police didn't tell me there had been other robberies like this."

She made a scoffing noise. "They are not always thoughtful. Have you remembered of any details you noticed? Not matter how small, it may be useful."

"Welll... there was the smell of cigarette smoke in here when I came out of it. Neither my wife nor I smoke, so I'm sensitive to the odor. That's about it, I'm afraid." He was studying her face closely. "What do YOU think happened?"

Karina shrugged. "My guess is some kind of fast-acting narcotic gas, but then I can't explain why you didn't fall down. Maybe some new electronic effect that jolts a victim's thought processes? There's not much to go on."
Two low beeps sounded at the back of her waistband. As she unclipped the Link, she said, "Thank you for your co-operation, sir. I will try to get back to you."

Stepping outside, Karina held the device up to her face. The Links were Trom devices, grey metal oblongs small enough that she could close her fingers around it. She saw the number on the screen. "Yes, captain?"

"Karina, hi," came the distinctive Jeremy Bane voice. "I've turned up a few leads. One is down by Battery Park, one not far from where you are and there is a more remote possibility way over in Brooklyn."

"Tell me more," she said, heading up the sidewalk.

"Someone resembling Eldritch was seen at Newark Airport a week ago. When you're six foot seven and bald, you stand out in a crowd. He has five thugs who work for him in the area, two of them down by the World Trade Center and three who operate in Times Square. Three of the goons seem to be staying at the Ace of Clubs on Eighth Avenue."

The Myrrwhan goddess swung right and started in that direction with long-legged strides. "Those are mine, then. I suppose you want them kept alive?"

"Yes, absolutely," Bane said. "The NYPD likes to use us unofficially as loose cannons but we can't go overboard all the time. These guys might not have done any crimes that carry the death penalty."

The full lips turned up slightly at the edges. "As you say, captain. I will merely hurt them a lot. Anything else?"

"Just a reminder about Eldritch," said Bane's voice. "He's the one bad guy I try to avoid confronting without a plan. He's almost impossible to destroy. He comes back from having his chest blown out, being frozen solid, being shrunk to the size of a dust mite... I give up on getting rid of him permanently."

"Understood," she said and impatiently broke the connection. She wanted to get this underway. Walking briskly to Eighth Avenue, she turned right and started heading north. At 48th Street, she spotted a smoked glass door propped open with a brick. On it in fancy gold lettering was ACE OF CLUBS -LIVE MUSIC FRIDAY AND SATURDAY NIGHTS. Karina adjusted her tunic, squared her shoulders and walked boldly right through the door.

The big dance floor was deserted and still littered with debris from the previous night, including cigarette butts and lighters, scraps of paper, assorted change and even a set of keys. The far wall was mirrored, the bar was to the right and the bathrooms to the left. Three men were in that dance room, two of them sitting on wooden chairs tilted back against the wall. The third man was pacing back and forth, swinging a metal rod two feet long in 'one hand. All three men were big, intimidating guys in work clothes. They all had black curly hair and olive skin, so Karina thought it likely they were related.

They did not see her in the doorway at first and the standing man was grumbling, "Wait till the boss shows up. That's when we can negotiate new terms."

"I gotta say, I want to get away from him," said another of the thugs. "He scares me so bad I can't think straight.. hey. You want something, girlie?"

Walking steadily toward them, Karina smiled and they thought she was being friendly. In the dim light from the open doorway, they could not see the lowered eyebrows that made her expression ominous. "There is no point in trying diplomacy," she answered. "I have seen your type in many lands through the ages. Violence is all you respect."

With that, she took two quick steps forward and spun on one heel, her other leg whipping around to smack her heel right to the side of the standing man's jaw. His head turned around far to that side and he fell in a heap, dropping the red metal baton. The other two had jumped up at the sudden burst of motion. One must have already had his gun in hand, there was no sign of his drawing as he extended the Walther P99 and fired once. The flash of white light was dazzling in the dim room and the shot sounded like thunder.

Karina was not invulnerable. When taken off guard, she could be injured as easily as anyone else, but when she tensed up her body with gralic force, she became dense and hard to harm. Wheeling about, she flung out her open hand and the bullet struck her palm as if striking an iron wall. With a whine, the slug ricocheted to one side and burst apart a whiskey bottle on the wall. The man fired again, not sure what had happened, and this time the Myrrwhan goddess slapped the bullet to one side. It smacked home right in the center of the other thug's chest. That man howled in pain and surprise, and sank to his knees as he curled up into a ball.

One thug dazed by that kick to the jaw, another dying of a bullet in the heart, and Karina lunged at the remaining goon. With her right hand, she seized his gunhand at the wrist and tugged it out straight. In the same motion, she drove her left leg up into his armpit and dislocated that arm violently. The thug yelped and dropped the gun, too preoccupied with his pain to think of the situation.

Automatically, Karina kicked the pistol far to one side before deciding she could ignore the three men for a second. The baton that had been dropped had rolled up against a counter. It was two feet long, slim enough that a hand could be closed completely around it. Like all Zhune artifacts, the baton was constructed of a copper-colored metal that had a hot sheen to it. One end was capped by a glass lens, with a conspicuous button just beneath it. It matched the characteristics of other Zhune relics she had heard about.

The Myrrwhan warrior took a single step toward that rod and froze. Filling the open doorway was an immense bald man who glared at her with open menace in his hazel eyes.

III.

The two towers of the World Trade Buildings loomed up nearby, almost surreal in their height, but a row of warehouses and shipping offices in their shadow remained dingy and rundown in sharp contrast. Here was a street of stone facades unbroken by windows, with an occasional loading dock and ramp to break the stolid surfaces. Delivery trucks rumbled by as Jeremy Bane pulled his Mustang onto a side street. At the end of this block stood a five story brick building with an arched sign over the front door that read VALHALLA ARMS and a smaller sign, ROOMS AVAILABLE.

Here was where his sources had told him two of Eldritch's gunmen had lived for the past month. Bane hated coming up against Karl Eldritch because the man was seemingly impossible to get rid of permanently. Years earlier, Eldritch had learned the ultimate secret of the ancient Zhune civilization, the way to convert matter into energy and energy into matter. The warlock recovered from damage that would kill any other life form as his body took in any energy from light to heat and used it to rebuild himself.

And there was the technique Eldritch had of converting a tiny bit of his body mass into primal atomic force. He could throw destructive bolts of force that sheared through steel or stone or human beings with equal ease. Facing Eldritch, Bane had had to come up with tricks and surprises to get the warlock out of the way even for a few months. He hated the way that Eldritch kept returning.

And here the nuisance was, back again. Still searching for the surviving relics of Zhune with their weird properties. Bane was more annoyed than anything else at this point. He walked up the alley between the hotel and the warehouse next to it, trying windows as he went. Sure enough, one was not only unlocked but actually open a crack. The Dire Wolf pushed it up and listened for a seconds, then took a big chance and easily slid through intio a dingy hallway. His early teens had been spent doing a lot of breaking and entry, and he was more nimble now than he had been then.

There was an open staircase to his left and he moved up to the third floor, placing his feet on the outer edges of each step to minimize squeaking. It smelled as if someone was boiling cabbage in one of the rooms as he stalked past the the first few doors. The one at the end had small numbers 34 on it. That was where his source had told him to check. This place is sure quiet, Bane thought to himself, maybe it's not doing good business. Even without trying, he could hear the unreal buzz of television voices in the room, as opposed to voices from someone physically present.

The Dire Wolf looked up and down the hall, seeing no one. All the doors were closed. There was no sound of the elevator motor being used. He dropped to one knee and peered through the keyhole of room 34, then smiled to himself. Sitting in a chair not five feet from the door was a big man with curly black hair, holding a .357 Magnum in one hand. He was facing away from the door and the back of his neck was completely exposed. This was too tempting to pass up. Bane drew his dart pistol and calculated the angles for a moment, then pressed the long thin barrel up against the keyhole and squeezed the trigger.

The barely audible cough of the gas-powered weapon was immediately covered by a loud curse from inside the room. The thug slapped at the back of his neck and just discovered the small metal dart sticking out from it before he fell to the floor. The Trom-formula drug in those darts disoriented a victim almost instantly and brought about unconsciousness within three to four seconds. As Bane holstered his gun again, he heard the other man in that room yell, "Hey! Danny, what's the matter? Are you okay?"

Standing up, the Dire Wolf tried the doorknob and found it was unlocked. This was just going way too smoothly. It smelled like a trap. He drew the dart gun again and waited. After a few seconds, he heard the low murmur of voices inside the room, so there was a third gunman in there. No, two more. He could distinguish the voices. Someone growled, "Well, go LOOK!"

As the door opened, Bane drew up his left leg and drove it out in a straight side kick to the chest that hurled that man backwards as if he had been thrown by a catapult. The thug crashed into two men behind them and they all went down in a surprised tangle of arms and legs. Even as they hit the floor, Bane was on top of them. He smacked one hard on top of the head with the butt of his dart gun, then drove his elbow down into the pit of another gunman's stomach. That thug vomited all over himself from the blow.

Leaping up, seizing the Uzi that the man on the bottom of the pile was holding and wrenching it away, Bane pointed the dart gun at the dazed man he had struck and gave him a dart in the neck. The goon who was retching was still holding a shotgun which had its barrels sawn off halfway down and he took that away, too. Bane grabbed the man on the bottom and yanked him up on his feet.

"I only need one of you to answer questions," the Dire Wolf said quietly. He prodded the man under the chin with the thin barrel of his dart gun. The weapon was non-lethal but this thug didn't know it.

"Don't kill me, man! Don't kill me!"

"Here's what I know," Bane said. From the corner of his eye, he saw the sick one trying to get up. Too quickly to be seen, the steel-capped toe of his boot cracked against the man's head and dropped him senseless. "Here's what I know," he repeated, "You guys are working for Karl Eldritch. I've tangled with him six times already, I know all he cares about is getting his hands on Zhune devices. Where is he? What's his next move?"

As the thug hesitated, the Dire Wolf said, "There's nobody listening."

"I know who you are," the thug answered. "I know you. We were told to be ready for you. The boss said you might, well, he said 'get in the way.'"

"Come on, talk. Think about it, I just did all of this without being angry. Do you want to annoy me?"

"Okay, okay, Eldritch is gonna be with the other team at the Ace of Clubs. That's in Times Square. That team had a gadget that erases peoples' memories. You flash it at people and they forget everything that happened in the last five minutes. I don't know how it works, it's weird."

"And his other team has been pulling the mysterious robberies this week? They hold a place up and then blank out the witnesses?"

"Yeah, that's it. No one got hurt, Mr Bane. I swear it."

The Dire Wolf pushed the gunman hard to fall back onto the worn-out couch. "When is Eldritch supposed to show up at that club?"

"Around noon. He's staying at a fancy place by Central Park."

"It's almost noon now," Bane said. He headed for the door, then paused to point a finger at the gunman. "For your own good, don't let me see any of you guys again." With that, he was gone and the man sat unmoving on that couch, too overwhelmed by the past few minutes to think clearly.

IV.

She had managed to position herself to block Eldritch's view of the fallen Zhune artifact. Karina had never felt such fear, not in this incarnation. It was not the size of the warlock that intimidated her, nor the hostility on his face. She had battled Trolls and Kobalim. It was the aura of seething unseen force around him, the immensely potent destructive power contained within him. Karina could sense it and she realized she was in the presence of an enemy that her fighting skill was useless against.

The warlock was wearing an expensive dark blue suit with a white shirt and black tie, obviously tailored for his huge body. Eldritch kept his head shaved, but the eyebrows above those pale eyes were thick and bushy. In that square unyielding face, the eyes were alert and seemingly always angry. Leaving the door to the street open, he took three long strides into the room and surveyed the scene.

"I don't know you," he rumbled at Karina, pointing a finger. "Stay where you are." He turned back to the three thugs, one of whom was sitting up and just regaining his senses and one of whom was holding a dislocated arm. The third was an unmoving heap on the dusty floor. "Who did this to you men?"

"She did," said the dazed thug as he struggled to get his feet, using one of the chairs as leverage. "Some kind of kung fu or karate expert, I guess. We weren't expecting that."

Eldritch grunted and turned his attention to the man on the floor. "Sergio is dead," he declared and held out one massive hand. Intolerably bright white energy erupted from that hand and rushed over the corpse like a stream from a firehose. The body was gone without a trace. As everyone blinked and tried to see past the dark spots remaining in their vision, Karina decided on her next action.

"Aw, boss," said the man who had been kicked in the jaw. He was still touching it gingerly. "He deserved a decent burial. There's nothing left."

"Be silent! You, Frank. Come here and I will reset that arm." As the suffering man reluctantly came closer, Eldritch reached out to place one hand high up on his shoulder. "The pain will be much less after I do this."

At that moment, with everyone focused on the dislocated arm being reset, Karina seized the Zhune artifact and dove at the open door. She swung around just as Karl Eldritch turned his head at the movement. The Myrrwhan goddess held out the metal rod like a flashlight and pressed the single button, looking away as she did so. There was a brief flash of that same white light, flooding the dance floor for an instant, and then she was out on the street in a full run.

Quicker than an Olympic sprinter, Karina raced around the back of the building and across Ninth Avenue to swing around out of sight down an alley and out the other side. She ran south for a few blocks and turned at 38th Street. Even though she glanced behind her frequently, she felt certain that a lumbering brute like Eldritch could not possibly have kept up with her. If the Zhune wand had worked properly, he had forgotten everything that had happened in the previous five minutes and was right now trying to make sense of what his hired men were telling him but they knew nothing either. Suddenly, she was grinning in delight as she ran.

V.

Just as she rounded the corner at Lexington, Karina felt the Link in her waistband buzz. She brought it up to her face without breaking stride and heard Bane's voice ask, "Can you talk?"

"Yes. I have the Zhune artifact, I am within sight of our building now. Oh, I see you in the doorway!"

"You have great timing," said the voice as contact was broken. Standing in the open doorway of the headquarters, Bane raised a hand in greeting. "Get inside, quick," he said. The Dire Wolf led her through the panel at the back of the walk-in closet close by the door. They went down steep concrete steps, past the generator and water heater, and stopped before a massive door of cold iron. He punched in a dozen numbers on the keypad and swung the door open. To the right was a light switch he flicked.

"I don't believe I have ever been in here, captain." Karina stepped in before him and stared at wooden shelves holding a bizarre assortment of swords and ceremonial knives, shrunken heads, a drum with a cat's head design, goblets and chalices, the Spiked Gauntlet, small clay idols, the Brand of Submission, the Ghoul-summoning pendant, locked wooden boxes bound with Eldar talismans and much more. Stacked against one bare stone wall were a dozen assorted devices made of the same reddish metal.

Taking the baton from her, Bane walked over and carefully placed it on the pile of similar artifacts. "When this is over, we should spend an afternoon down here," he told her. "Everything in this vault has a story behind it. That chest holds the fragments of Hellspawn, for example."

"The Darthan sword? Really. I encountered it in an earlier incarnation." She jabbed a thumb at the Zhune relics. "Why don't we use these gadgets ourselves? They would be useful."

Bane folded his arms and stared at the pile of ancient relics. "I wish we could. But Eldritch is the only one who can charge them up. They run out of power quickly, and nobody else has the secret to recharge them. All we can do is keep them out of his hands."

"Hmm. Captain, we should fill each other in on what we found. Karl Eldritch is, as far as I know, not far from here and no doubt furious that someone stole one of the Zhune gizmos."

"You're right," Bane said. He went back out into the narrow corridor and, once she joined him, sealed the vault door again. "You start..."

They went back up to the front hall as she briefly told her story. Bane listened and then explained what he had been doing that morning. To her surprise, he went into the tiny foyer and started to open the door to the street again.

"Where are you going?"

"Let's sit outside for the moment," the Dire Wolf said. He dropped down on the top step in front of the outside door and she sat down next to him. "I have a hunch Eldritch will be coming here," he told her. "His men down by the World Trade Center saw me. They'll tell him everything. He may not remember meeting you, because of that gadget you used. But he will know that someone beat up his men at the Ace of Clubs and took it."

"That makes sense," she agreed. "And you'd rather meet him out here?"

"Well, he might burn a hole through a wall or door with his atomic force. Why let him damage the building? We'll intercept him out here." The Dire Wolf turned his head to meet her gaze. "And I have an idea how to get rid of him."

"I've been thinking that over, too," Karina said. "It seems like nothing destroys him permanently. He may be literally immortal. Maybe if we could drop a mountain to pin him down..."

Bane leaned closer. "There's one trick that might work. One of your abilities is the key. Listen.."

The Myrrwhan goddess broke into a delighted grin at his suggestion. "Oh, I like that. Captain, I am starving. I know you are always hungry. Maybe I can run in and grab something from the kitchen for us?"

The Dire Wolf got up. "I think it's better that you stay out here in case Eldritch shows up. How about sandwiches and something to drink? Ham and cheese on rye okay? Juice?"

"Yes," she said, still smiling. "Make mine really thick, with lots of mustard. But just ice water to drink."

"Be right back," Bane said but he stopped where he was. A dark limousine with tinted windows had pulled up against the curb. From the back seat, a huge bulk in a blue business suit squeezed out and Karl Eldritch slammed the door behind him furiously. As the limo pulled away, the warlock stood on the sidewalk and raised his fist at them.

"I'm sure you know why I am here!" Eldritch yelled as passers-by slowed to listen and stare at the bald giant. "Return to me what is rightfully mine."

"You don't own those Zhune artifacts," Bane replied calmly, "and you sure don't deserve them."

Karina got to her feet and went down the steps to stand in front of the warlock. "I don't believe we have met, have we?"

"My agents have told me of you working with Dire Wolf," Eldritch grumbled. "The patron of Myrrwha. Karina, is it?"

"Exactly," she said and unexpectedly lunged to wrap her arms around his shoulders. In a shimmer of blue light, they were both gone. It was so quick that people who were not looking directly at them saw nothing, and only a few bystanders blinked in confusion.

VI.

Karina jumped back away from Eldritch. They were standing on hot yellow sand under a sun blazing in a sky without a single cloud. Not far away were ruins. Stone columns that had fallen over, colossal statues without their heads, a paved road almost covered with drifting sand. The only life in sight was a small stretch of dried and unhealthy looking grass alongside the road.

The warlock stared wildly around him but recovered his wits quickly. "Khebir? Yes, it must be Khebir."

"A deserted realm," Karina told him coldly. "Since the death of Menekartes, no living soul has resided here. Nothing but ruins and a few lizards and insects."

"And you have brought me here...?" he said, moving toward her.

"Not exactly. I am leaving you here!" With that, she was gone in another flare of the blue light. Suddenly she was standing at the foot of the steps of the KDF building again, with traffic rumbling past and the sound of human voices. Karina stumbled as she returned, having reappeared an inch or so off the ground.

"Looks like it worked," Bane said.

"I think so. I can travel between realms but he can't."

"He's never shown that ability," the Dire Wolf said. "Hopefully, he's stuck in Khebir now and out of our hair."

Karina straightened her tunic and smiled. "It is always interesting to visit you, captain. Let's have that lunch and congratulate each other on how very clever we are."

"Sounds good," answered Bane. He stepped aside to let her pass. "I'd be glad to see you stay here as a full time member, Karina."

"Oh, that is not my nature," she said lightly. The green eyes were bright. "I come and go and answer to no one. Maybe tomorrow I will wander to another realm. Looking for trouble. Chujir? Androval? I can't say."

"Well, I bet you won't be visiting Khebir any time soon," Bane said as he followed her inside.

3/23/2016

"Sisterhood of the All-seeing Eye"

6/24- 6/26/2009

I.

A few minutes before nine, Jeremy Bane walked into the lobby of the four-story building which housed his office. To his right was the door of EMERGENCY ONE, a walk-in clinic which handled minor medical problems. Today, a mother was escorting a little boy with a nosebleed through its door. The Dire Wolf glanced at the clinic as he went by. It was another reason he had chosen this building when looking to establish his practice. So far he had gone there twice with injuries received during a case and it was good to know it was right across the lobby if he or a client needed it. The other tenants in that building included a photography studio, a health spa that took up the whole top floor, two doctor's offices and a travel agency that was ready to relocate elsehere.

On the ground floor, at the end of a short hallway created by the staircase, was his Dire Wolf agency, whose staff consisted of one person, himself. Bane collected the mail from the bank of boxes for tenants by the front door and skimmed through it. Nothing interesting. As he approached his office door, he sensed someone looking at him and he turned as the round body of Lt Joseph Montez of Homicide East thundered into the lobby.

Bane perked up immediately. He turned to face the police officer who had come to appreciate how useful the Dire Wolf agency could be. He did not smile outwardly but he was nevertheless pleased and excited to see Joe Montez. It meant action. "Good morning, Lt."

"Hiya, Bane, listen, we got to talk." Montez was holding a huge Dunkin Donuts coffee and a napkin which had been wrapped around a donut a minute earlier. His weight varied, but he seemed to be getting it down at the moment.

The Dire Wolf said nothing, unlocking his office door and stepping aside to let the lieutenant pass. They went through the tiny waiting room, which had seldom been used, and Bane unlocked the door to the office itself. He thumbed a switch that turned on the overhead dome light and the standing lamp behind his desk. As Montez arranged a straightback wooden chair in front of that desk, Bane circled around and dropped into his swivel chair.

"Say, Bane, something's been bothering me about your operation here," Montez said. He drained the last drop of coffee and seemed surprised there wasn't any more in there. "I checked. You are licensed by the State and City of New York as a PI. Everything is in order. Yet every private investigator I ever knew was desperate for money. They wouldn't even listen to a client unless a fee was in the air."

"And?"

"As far as I can tell, you don't charge. When you do, it's a minimum amount from one thousand flat down to a single dollar. And you say that's so you can claim the person as your client and plead confidentiality. So, what's the deal?"

Bane glanced at the bundle of mail in his hand and tossed it on a tray to one side. "Well, lieutenant, you know about Kenneth Dred. When Mr Dred died, I found that he had left everything to me. I was his sole heir and even now, I still have enough in the bank to be comfortable. I can afford to take cases without charging." He was understating the situation; even after all he had spent establishing the KDF, Bane was enormously wealthy. He could easily have bought outright the building in which his office was located.

"Which leads to something screwy," Montez went on. As he lost weight, he approached being quite handsome, with thick black hair and regular features. "You don't need to do any of this. Someone like me tells you about a maniac or a monster loose and you charge out after it just on your own. What do you get out of it?"

"We've talked about this before. This is what I do, I'm not meant to sit around and watch TV or hang out in bars. I was born looking for trouble." He raised a hand before Montez could go on. "So, what brings you here today?"

Montez sat up. "First, I have to mention what we both know perfectly well. This is off the record. Officially, I never came here today and talked to you. The New York Police Department is definitely not giving you classified information that you are not cleared for."

"Got it. What's the deal?"

"Okay. Now that that's out of the way, there have been some really weird crimes in the past month. Weird and creepy. Three times, some rich guy woke up to find people pinning him down in his bed. Each time, something was pressed down over his face and - hold onto your hat- one of his eyes was sucked out of his head."

"Well, that's new. I haven't heard of that before." Bane's pale grey eyes were never warm, but now they gleamed more coldly than usual. It meant he was excited.

Montez went on, "The victims can't give a good description of the assailants, cause they were bundled up and masked. After they were attacked, naturally they went for medical aid. Doctors couldn't figure out how it was done. Blood vessels and nerves and whatever were sealed off as if cauterized. No explanation."

Bane had suddenly become alert and excited. He had a predatory look. "What else?"

"Look, none of this has been in the papers. Or the local stations. We'd like to keep it that way if we can."

"Got it. Any common factor between the victims? Did they know each other?"

"Not as far as I can see. But they started acting funny after the attacks. These were stingy greedy old misers, you know? They get tax breaks they really aren't entitled to, they hold every penny in a deathgrip. And yet, soon after the attacks, each of them started donating money to something called 'the Portal of Ultimate Peace.' I checked it out, it's a New Age nutbag group of rich society dames doing meditation or something. And the guys with one eye are writing them big checks for no apparent reason. They are donating to other groups, too, but mostly this one."

Bane stood up. He couldn't help it, the same enhanced metabolism that gave him his lightning reflexes also made him restless.
He started pacing and Montez was forced to twist around in his chair to watch him. "This is new," he repeated. "Very interesting. "

"One more strange thing," the lieutenant said. "The three guys... they seem to have their eyes growing back."

Bane froze in mid-step. "Oh, now I have to investigate. How is that happening?"

"Beats me. The FBI sent two agents from 21 Black to tell everyone to keep their mouths shut."

"I've dealt with 21 Black before," Bane muttered. "All they do is hush things up without solving anything. How fast are the eyes regenerating, lieutenant?"

"Not so fast. Doctors say it'll be a year or so before the new growth looks like an eye and even then, it may not work right. But it's certainly right up your alley." He reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and drew out a sheet of typing paper. "Ah, seems like somebody wrote down names and addresses here. Convenient. I think this piece of paper oughta be destroyed, though."

Bane reached over and took the sheet. "It will be burned to nothing, lieutenant. No trail."

"You wouldn't have any coffee in this place, would you?"

"Eh? No. I don't drink it," Bane said. "But you have a point, I should keep coffee here for visitors."

Montez lurched up to his feet. "I need to get going. Looks like I'm going to be a few minutes late for the office, I musta overslept. You know how it is."

Bane walked over to see him out. "I will let you know how things work out. Unofficially, of course."

"Yep. Seeya."

After Montez left, Bane walked around his office for a few minutes, sat down and got up again. The front door to his office locked automatically and the curtains over the wide window were opaque. The Dire Wolf knelt beside the three-shelf bookcase, clicked a latch and swung the case over on hidden casters. Underneath it was a shallow pit he had chiselled out of the concrete himself, and in it he stored certain equipment. Hauling up a trunk, he set it down in the middle of the floor. Bane stripped down to shorts and socks, drew out a garment that looked like dark wet silk and tugged it on. This was Trom-metal armor, flexible and comfortable but good protection against blades and most firearms. On his forearms were already sheathed two silver daggers, hilts forward. Bane put on the black slacks and turtleneck again, then fastened a holster to the small of his back. From its own case, he drew out an air pistol with a large chamber and extended barrel. He checked its mechanism and slid in a clip of the anesthetic darts he had developed in KDF days. The black sports jacket concealed everything, and its pockets already contained what he usually carried on his person. Bane returned the trunk to the pit, slid the bookcase back in place and locked. When he left this office, he figured he would have to pay a huge fine for that unauthorized damage he had done to the floor.

Before leaving, he took ten minutes to memorize the names and addresses on the paper Montez had given him. He did not have a photographic memory, but long practice made sure he would remember all the details. Bane took the paper to the tiny bathroom, burned it and ran the ashes down the drain. Then it was time to leave.

Out on the street, Bane swung left and walked quickly down four blocks to the Imperial Garage. His dark green Subaru Outback was in its assigned spot, and the green security lights on the rearview mirror were blinking properly. Starting it up, he headed out into traffic and a long day of asking questions of reluctant people.

( the rest of the story )

"Give in To the Group Mind"

5/8-5/11/1982

- MAN FOUND DEAD IN FIRE; HIS IDENTITY IS UNKNOWN

May 7 - Kingston police late Monday night are seeking the
identity of a man found dead the night before in what was
thought to be a vacant and abandoned house. Firemen found
the body in the attic of 44 North Front Street when they
entered to fight the blaze shortly after 9:30 PM. The man
was pronounced dead on arrival at Benedictine Hospital at
10:15 PM. Cause of death is being withheld pending an autopsy. -

Jeremy Bane read the clipping through more slowly, with a suspicious attitude. He turned his cold grey eyes up at the man who had handed it to him. "Okay, I'm probably missing something but I don't see how this is KDF business. Where's the supernatural angle?"

Standing next to the conference table, Michael Hawk smiled and took the clipping back. He was in his early sixties and looked it, with a wide weathered face and deepset eyes with bags under them. The brown hair was liberally flecked with white now, and the drooping mustache was all grey, but the body under that white dress shirt and black pants was still hard and muscular. "See, the clue is not in the clipping, my friend. The autopsy was held this morning and since I know the chief of police, he called me about the results."

At just twenty-five, Bane had much to learn about criminology from the famous manhunter. He felt he should be picking up something but had no idea what, and it annoyed him. "Still not seeing it, Mike."

"You'd think he died of burns or smoke inhalation. Right?"

"Sure. Wait, I got it. This was a mob-style execution, it's a mob case you want us to work on. You know the KDF doesn't do standard police work."

"Nope. Jeremy, the man died of exposure. He was frozen to death."

The Dire Wolf sat up straighter at the conference table and a new gleam came in his eyes. "Oh, now I'm interested. It's May. How does a man freeze to death in New York in May. Inside a building, no less?"

( the rest of the story )