Dead Jack and the Old Gods, page 12
One day, I overheard Alberic telling Mabel that he was taking a trip to someplace called ShadowShade and that she should take care of the lab while he was away. ShadowShade. I kept saying the word over and over in my head. That was the first time I realized that there were other places except this terrible room. I wanted to go there, and I dreaded spending time alone with Mabel.
When Alberic left, I made plans to escape.
I tried pushing the top of the container, but I didn’t prove strong enough. The same went for the glass. I punched and kicked it.
I could stretch my arms and legs. I wondered if I could stretch my entire body. Like a pufferfish, I blew up my body until it filled the entire container. I pushed and pushed, making myself bigger and bigger. The container filled with enormous pressure. Then I heard cracking. It sounded like a tear. Then the container exploded into a thousand pieces. The cat came running. I stood frozen on the shelf. The cat eyed me, slunk down, leaned forward. Any movement and she would pounce on me. Her claws, long sharp blades, extended from her paws.
The cat lunged at me. I cocked back my fist and as I threw it, my hand grew ten times its size. When it connected with the cat’s face, the creature flew back, her legs flailing in the air, her tail whipping. She tried to right herself, but the force of my punch was too powerful, and her back slammed against the edge of the table opposite me. Mable almost bent in two. The impact sent her forward and she fell to the ground, where she was impaled on a large piece of glass.
The cat cried, a sharp, quick meow, twitched two or three times, and went limp.
I didn’t mean to kill Mabel, but it couldn’t be helped, and I wasn’t sorry for her demise at the moment. With her out of the way, my escape would be easier. I ran out of the lab, and discovered it wouldn’t be easy or quick at all. The lab was at the center of a labyrinth.
I raced through the dirt-packed corridors, unaware how lost I was making myself. After Lucifer knew how long, I gave up and slept on the ground, nestled against a dirt wall.
I don’t remember how long I slept in the labyrinth. There was no sense of time. No clocks or sunsets. If I was going to get out of that maze, I needed to be smart, but I had no reference point. I was utterly lost. After more time wandering the seemingly infinite, indistinct corridors, and coming to dozens of dead ends, I came upon an idea. I could have kicked myself for not thinking of it sooner. The walls were made of dirt. I could mark each corridor and then I would know where I had been. I started with the corridor I was in, scratching a “1” on the right wall and a “2” on the left wall. If I had to number every wall in the maze I would. (You may ask how I knew about numbers or could even speak. You also have to remember I had a soul, and while I’ve never been privy to Jack’s memories, his soul did come with basic knowledge.) I occupied myself by numbering every wall I passed through, with arrows pointing to any dead ends.
When I couldn’t number anymore I would sleep.
I had reached two thousand and sixty-four when I heard a rustling overheard. The labyrinth had rats. They’d scurry along the walls sometimes. They didn’t seem harmful. If this was a rat, it was huge. Something was digging through the dirt ceiling, scraping with enormous claws. I located the sound in a nook at a dead end. I watched the ceiling. If a giant rat was eating its way inside the labyrinth from above I had found my way out. I thought it wasn’t wise to be this close when the super rat came through, so I hid in the adjacent corridor.
The scraping got louder and then stopped. I realized then that I hadn’t seen or heard any dirt falling into the labyrinth. A soft breeze floated past me. The air was suddenly filled with new smells: grass, rain... and something else. Then the sound of a metal door boomed in the underground maze. I grew nervous and flattened myself against the wall. I listened closely. Something dropped into the labyrinth. It could have been a sack, and then there was another thud, followed by a cry. A man’s cry. Then he grunted. Alberic! He had returned.
I thought of taking off down the corridor. If he caught me out of my container—
But this could be my only chance for escape. He must have had a hatch that he used as a door.
Alberic’s boots stomped in my direction. I froze for a second, and then I had made up my mind to run. But Alberic had stopped and I got curious. He put down his sack. He took three big sniffs at the air. He smelled me!
“Who’s there?” Alberic shouted. He tried to sound strong, but I could hear the fear in his voice. I was taken aback. I had never witnessed any emotion from Alberic, certainly not fear. It was an intoxicating feeling. I wanted him to feel more fear. No, terror. Let him run from me, I thought. Didn’t he cage me because he already feared me? He knew I had abilities. (Sound like anyone else I know?)
I didn’t run.
The look of shock on Alberic’s face when I entered the corridor was priceless puffing up my chest and hands. He held out a knife, which trembled in his hand. In his other hand, he held a small lantern. (That’s when I realized I had been seeing in the dark all this time.) His face went white and his mouth dropped open. He backed up a step.
“I won’t hurt you if you let me out of this place,” I said.
He gave out a little cry when I spoke as if Mabel sat up and asked him how his day was.
“How long could you speak?”
“That’s the first thing I ever said out loud,” I said.
“You can’t leave. You’ll never survive up there. I built this bunker to keep us safe. No one knows it exists. The world out there is a terrible place.”
“Keep us safe? I wasn’t safe when you cut my arms and legs off. Or when you left Mabel to claw at my jar night after night.”
He straightened at the mention of Mabel. “Where’s my cat? Did you hurt her?”
I didn’t speak. Alberic jabbed the knife at me. “How did you escape?”
“I’m leaving. Move aside.”
Tears formed in his eyes and his voice trembled. “If you hurt Mabel, I’ll cut you into a million pieces and you’ll never be put together.”
I raised my fist, showed it to Alberic, and blew it up like a balloon until it got bigger than Alberic’s head. He trembled at the sight of my mighty fist.
“Move!” I said.
Alberic sliced my wrist, the knife cutting a deep gash into my flesh. I drew back my other fist and hammered it into his face. Alberic staggered back, dropping the knife. I rushed at him and drove my head into his stomach. He crashed against the dirt wall. I ran to the nook, looked up, and saw a circular depression in the ceiling. I stretched my taffy arms up to the opening, and that’s when Alberic plunged the knife into my head, up to the hilt. I tottered, my arms dropped, and hung limply at my sides. I turned to Alberic, who was backing away, holding up his hands.
“I don’t feel pain. Don’t you know that?” I pulled the knife from my head.
“You’re a demon. You have the soul of a demon inside you. What have I done?”
“Then it’s time for you to meet my true father. In hell.” I stabbed Alberic in the heart. He looked down at the knife sticking out from his chest, unbelieving, and then he looked at me, even more disbelieving. He collapsed.
I didn’t hesitate. I drove my fist into the hatch ten feet above me. Three blows and it flew off. I grew my legs ten feet and popped my head out to freedom.
31
Not a Day at the Beach
When I awoke, I thought my head was a balloon and was trying to float away. Opening my eyes took effort, but I managed it after several attempts. When I got them open, it didn’t do me much good. All I saw was a red haze. The world was a smear of blood. I heard the ocean, the water lapping against the dock, and the wind whistling, so at least I knew I was still at the pier. I sat up, swaying a bit, like a buoy.
“They’re gone.” It was Oswald’s voice.
I opened and closed my eyes several times, trying to work out my vision. A white blur entered my field of vision.
“They got the book, I presume.” Oswald sounded annoyed, which annoyed me.
Of course, they got the book. I still checked my inner pocket to make sure. Only a half-empty pack of Lucky Dragons in there. I took out a stick and my lighter. I managed to light it without burning off my face, so that was a plus, and took a deep drag. That seemed to help with my vision as I could see Oswald’s perturbed face.
“Why are you annoyed? He drugged us both.”
“I’m annoyed because Armageddon is about to begin and we don’t have much else to go on. Boy, is Zara going to be pissed when she finds this out.”
“We’re not going to tell her. We get the book back and that’s that.”
“Forget it. Even when we had the book, we didn’t know what to do with it. We had it in our possession for only a few hours and lost it. What good would we do by going on the run with it?”
“The only other option is to kill Harbinger and probably all the Nazis—I mean the Red Guard.”
“The Red Order. We’re not fookin assassins.”
“Calm down. Since when do you get so upset?”
“Now is a good time to start.”
“Is that something you wrote in your journal?”
“Let’s not get into that. We need to do something. Now.”
“We don’t have many options here. But we do know where the book is going to be, right?”
“R’lyeh. But by then it may be too late.”
“Not exactly. Herb did say it’s a long, involved ritual. You know rituals. If you mess up one word it doesn’t work.”
“So, we mess up the ritual? Maybe we can stand off to the side and shout obscenities at them, make them lose their concentration.”
“I’m being serious, dunzy. You don’t need to take an attitude.” Oswald sighed. The little guy had the weight of the world on his shoulders, I guess. “Let’s just get there and hopefully a better idea comes.”
“And how are we getting there?”
“I figure you need to take Black Powder. Herb said you needed to get there through your dreams. Why else would this drug show up at the same time as Harbinger? Get them hooked on it and then everyone is off to R’lyeh.”
“And people like me who’ve been dreaming of R’lyeh may not need Black Powder.”
“Right, Oswald, you’re special.”
“I’ve been trying to tell you about the dreams.”
“I’m so unlucky I don’t have bad dreams. I wish I was like you.”
“Let’s not fight. We need to get our hands on some Black Powder.”
“I may know someone, but you’re not going to like it.”
“What’s new?”
Getting to the Studebaker was like shambling underwater, but the more I moved my legs the looser they got. My head, too, began to clear, and my vision. Now I was seeing dark shapes dancing within the red haze. I should have known Herb was no good. Who does puzzles?
The Full Moon Saloon was only a few blocks away. I didn’t know anyone who dealt Black Powder, but that powder head who was torturing Mort was definitely a biker, and all werewolf bikers hang out at the Full Moon.
I parked out front beside a line of choppers. They all had high handlebars and were decorated with skulls and moons and paw prints. Some of them had the words “Howlers 2-8” painted on them. The Howlers 2-8 was one of the most notorious werewolf gangs in the Five Cities. They would sometimes drive up Broadway, hundreds of them, filling the thoroughfare, all in a display of their numbers. If you didn’t get in the way or care about getting anywhere, the ride went smoothly. Once a gremlin accountant made the mistake of getting in the middle of the pack during one such ride. They stopped his sedan and ripped him to shreds.
The door to the Full Moon Saloon opened with a squeak. The late-afternoon light spilled into the dark cavernous room, and a few patrons closest to us turned from the bar and shouted in unison: “Close the damn door!”
This was the afternoon crowd. More laidback. Bars are weird in the daytime. Like molemen seeing the light after a long time.
The saloon smelled like the bear cages at the zoo, musty and ripe. No music played. The bands played at night. Clinking glasses and colliding billiard balls were the only sounds.
I stood in the middle of the bar. I could see Bludletter holding court at his back table. Bludletter owned the place. He was the head of the Five Cities’ biggest vampire gang. I always thought it strange that werewolves hung out at his place, but it was rumored that the Howlers did Bludletter’s dirty work.
“Devil Boy shooter, Jack?” asked Milo the bartender. He was a short demon with fly wings and a lisp.
“Sure,” I said, “and a Shirley Temple for my associate.”
Oswald sat on the bar stool next to me.
A moment later Milo came back with the drinks.
“Hey, Milo, what do you know about the Black Powder trade?”
“I don’t mess with that stuff. I have a hard enough time staying away from Dragon’s Blood.”
“Anyone dealing here? Know where I can score some?”
“You know Bludletter doesn’t allow any dealing in his saloon.”
“I’m not saying I want to buy any powder, Milo. I only want to know where someone who was interested could score. If they were interested.”
Milo thought for a moment and then said, “Tell you what. Go to the bathroom, middle stall. I’ll see what I can do.”
“I do feel like I need to powder my nose.”
“Is this a good idea with Bludletter here?” Oswald asked, annoyingly, as we went to the men’s room.
The bathroom of the Full Moon Saloon wasn’t a place you wanted to go, even if you had to evacuate an entire leprechaun. It was a dark and foreboding place. Graffiti covered every inch of the brick walls. The stalls were dented and rusty. The toilets were cracked and usually full of foul stuff. We marched right in. A sea monster, a green shaggy thing, was whistling a jaunty tune as he washed his hands at the sink. He gave us a nod as we entered and returned to whistling. He was really sudsing it up. There were three stalls. The middle one was the only one with a door. We passed the sea monster, who smelled better than the bathroom, which reeked of mold and rot.
Me and Oswald crowded into the middle stall. Fortunately, the toilet was empty. I closed the door as Oswald pressed up against me.
“Now what?” he asked.
“We wait.”
“For what? To get busted by the vice squad? Back up.”
I heard the sea monster turn off the sink and walk out. It sounded like someone was mopping the floor. Just as the door closed, it banged open. Heavy steps approached the stall. There were several pairs. The stall door flew open, outwards, nearly ripping off its hinges, and there stood Bludletter and three of his werewolf goons. Bludletter was a refrigerator in a three-piece suit. His thick neck held up an equally thick meaty head. He was as bald as a cue ball, with pointy ears and pointy teeth.
“I thought that was you in the bar,” he said, his voice a growl.
“Do I owe you money or something?” I asked.
“It’s not you I’m after, ghoul. It’s your friend Zara. She took off with Unicorn, who was the only reason most people came here. Now she’s shacking up with that witch bitch on Witch End and left me high and dry.”
Unicorn played the Full Moon Saloon every Saturday night. I knew that because that’s when I made sure to avoid the place.
“Maybe if you give me some Black Powder I can give her a call and let her know her fans miss her.”
“I don’t give a fook about her fans.”
Oswald was pressed against my leg and I was pressed against the toilet. Bludletter stood just outside the stall. I felt a bit claustrophobic. “Can we talk outside? This stall is a bit crowded.”
“No.”
“What can I do? Neither of those women listen to me.”
“You tell Unicorn I’ll make it worth her while if she comes back. And if she doesn’t, I’ll make sure she never plays a ShadowShade club again. Now get out of my saloon.”
Bludletter left the bathroom, slamming the door closed.
When we stumbled out of the stall, one of Bludletter’s goons was washing his hands at the sink.
“Are you looking for Black Powder?” he whispered. He straightened and turned toward us, leaving the water running.
“You got some?”
“For two grams of fairy dust.”
“How much powder?”
“A gram. Take it or leave it. You have five seconds or I walk.”
“Fine.” I reached into my inner pocket and pulled out two baggies of dust. The wolf’s eyes grew wide.
“You got anymore in there?”
I put the baggies on the sink and he scooped them up. Then he reached into his vest and pulled out the Black Powder. It didn’t look like a gram, but I wasn’t about to argue. He placed it on the edge of the bathroom sink and left without a word.
32
Taking a Powder
When we got back to the office, Lilith was sitting behind my desk. “Where have you guys been? The phone has been ringing off the hook all day. I even picked it up a few times.”
“Remind me to give you a raise,” I said.
“One of those calls was from Zara.”
“Oh, yeah.” I stood next to the ghost. “Do you mind getting up? We have some drugs to do.”
Lilith floated up from my chair and hovered over the other side of my desk.
I sat down. Oswald took up his usual spot on the couch.
I dumped the baggie of Black Powder onto a racing form on my desk. It sure did look like gunpowder but gave off a sweet and smoky smell. Like a lollipop covered in sausage.
“Zara told me you guys were taking a trip and I shouldn’t expect you back for a while.”
“We had a change of plans.”
“I find it interesting that you guys left without saying anything. It’s not like I’ve been a loyal employee for years.”
“Lilith, I’m sorry we didn’t inform you, but we didn’t know ourselves that we were going away. It certainly wasn’t our idea. Things are a big mess and they’re getting messier. Not that you have to worry about that, being a ghost.”
