August and Minerva, Investigators of the Supernatural: The Otherkin (Part Twelve)

A rattling of thick chains fills River’s senses. He can feel their weight and smell their metallic scent. They are the chains that hold King Bodon, and the Old One commands His freedom. River knows that it is folly to let King Bodon through now; the sacrifices the Old One requires are not all in place. However, as River’s strength fails, he becomes desperate. He considers what has always been taboo — unleashing an Old One unfettered into the world.

Minerva’s concentration does not falter. She feels the power of the elements stream through her. River has proven himself to be much stronger than she had expected; she’s never seen a conjuror able to withstand such a prolonged assault. She suddenly feels a surge in the air. It is a familiar feeling, and she knows what it portends. She feels like her hand is being forced.

River is letting the gate between worlds fall open. Minerva has fewer and fewer options open to her; she feels like she is being left with no choice but to kill River. The temptation is there. It is the simplest solution: she kills River, the gate closes, and the world is safe.

“Do it!” she hears the voice of King Bodon in her thoughts. At first, it does not seem alien, and she is certain that the thoughts are her own. “Kill him, and you will have saved the day. It is as simple as that.”

“No.” she responds silently. She directs the Winds of Hell toward the ceiling of the cave, and debris immediately begins to rain down on River. River splits his concentration between his connection with the Other world and his shield; he thinks that Minerva’s maneuver is a ruse, and refuses to lower his magical protection. As a large rock tumbles out of place, he raises his arms to deflect it with his shield. He doesn’t see Tobias lunging towards him.

Minerva watches as her husband, still wolf-headed and coated in bloody fur, wrenches the conjuror’s arm unnaturally. The cracking of bone and snapping of sinew resonates in River’s consciousness. He lets out a painful cry as his concentration breaks like a china plate thrown against a wall. Minerva dismisses the Winds of Hell and begins a soft chant.

Her voice is sweet and angelic, slowly rising through octaves and cascading back down again. River recognizes the chant: it was recorded in a mural within the Temple of Summoning deep within the jungles of Honduras. The words hadn’t been chanted in many millennia. River couldn’t even conceive of how anyone would know the melody of the chant. In moments, he felt the connection between he and King Bodon fading. As the power of the Old One faded from his body, pain remained in its wake. Tobias crouched above River’s body, his knee pushing the conjuror’s skull against the ground.

Minerva touches her husband’s arm, slowly stroking his coarse fur.

“Let him go.” she says lightly, without command or condescension. Tobias yields immediately, leaving River quivering on the ground, battered, broken, and bleeding. Minerva reaches a hand out to River, and he winces. He thinks that it is his last moment on Earth and closes his eyes. But when nothing happens, he opens his eyes and sees Minerva sitting next to him, binding his wounds.

“Why?” asks River, “When you have the power of a god, why don‘t you just let me die?”

“Because I’m not a god.” responds Minerva, “And I couldn’t sleep knowing that I killed someone again.” River looks at her and for a moment sees her golden, glowing aura. Beyond, he sees the girl Kristabel talking with the police on a cellular phone. He shakes his shaggy head and rests it on the ground.

August awakes, prompted by Prabha’s hand on his face.

“I didn’t expect to see you here.” she says, her eyes smiling. She is dressed for her shift, her hair plaited carefully, descending towards her waist. “They told me you slept in the waiting room all night. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, just really tired.” August replies. He wearily stands, swaying slightly. He gropes his coat pockets, producing his cell phone. Unsure of how long he has slept, August checks the time.

“Don’t worry. Minerva came in late this morning. She and Tobias had some minor injuries, nothing that Contessa couldn’t handle. Right now, she’s checking for any residual spells; I think that they’re clean, but it is best to make sure.”

“What happened?” asks August, “Last I knew, Tobias and Minerva ran off without a word. I got caught up with the police, and one thing led to another. The first chance my body had, it just shut down.”

“The two of them tracked one of Lana’s victims to a cave on the edge of the forest, right by the Gorge. From what Minerva told me, Lana somehow talked the girl into going to a conjuror. The conjuror was supposed to change the girl into a hybrid of tiger and human, but in reality she was to be a sacrifice for King Bodon. The conjuror was almost successful, but Minerva and Tobias foiled him.” says Prabha. She notices the look of dismay on August’s face. He feels like he was left out and that he did not do enough for the investigation. Prabha takes one of his hands in both of hers, looks into his eyes, and reassures him that he did the best he could.

Minerva and Tobias arrive, talking loudly with Contessa, a nurse with limited healing powers. August sees them, and immediately notices the vitality sparking within Minerva. She seems to glow with joy when she sees August.

“If I knew you were on a date again,” she says, “I would have given you more time.” Minerva is filled with happiness; she feels like a whole person. Seeing August, seemingly happy with Dr. Kholsa, doubles her joy. However, when they all go to lunch to celebrate their shared success, she doesn’t mention that she used magic to subdue River.

Meanwhile, River lies in a locked room secreted in the bowels of the hospital. His breathing his slow and low, his eyesight is blurry. Machines ping and beep around him, standing like plastic and metal sentinels. A symbol of binding is written in blood on his forehead, preventing him from using his magic. However, he still feels power surging through him. King Bodon might not have crossed over, but something else did. That something sleeps in River’s innards, biding its time. River feels the same sensation of fear, joy, and pride that an expectant mother would feel.

He wonders how long before the fruit comes to bear, but reminds himself to be patient. As always, good things come to those that wait.

August and Minerva, Investigators of the Supernatural: The Otherkin (Part 11)

August sits quietly in the interview room at the police station. The room isn’t made for interrogation; August expects a high powered CEO to bust in through a door shouting about mergers and profit margins. His sleep deprived mind allows a smile to skulk across his lips and Detective Worthington doesn’t appreciate it one bit. The detective leans forward; his fingers interlaced in a gesture that makes him seem like a television caricature.

“Mr. Kane took a look at the dragon lady’s wounds. He’s verified that they aren’t from a werewolf; your friend should consider himself lucky that Kane’s an honest guy. It wouldn’t take much for him to say ‘he’s our man’ and get a payday. Half the guys at the scene had already made up their minds.” says Detective Worthington, his cow-like gaze matching well with his constant gum chewing. Across town, Tobias wouldn’t consider himself lucky.

He feels like someone stabbed his brain with a thick needle and swished it around his skull. The next sensation he feels is a strange mixture of cold and warmth; looking up, he sees River shielding himself with a shimmering wall of purple, sizzling energy. Despite his protection, he looks to be in poor shape. Tobias cannot imagine what is keeping the conjuror standing. It is a moment before it registers who is assaulting River.

The old power courses freely through Minerva, using her magic feels like stretching her legs after a long car ride. She called on the elements, and they heeded her as they always did; she formed them into a stream of fire, ice, wind, and stone shards. Minerva’s grandfather Adrian had called this “The Winds of Hell” and when he taught it to her; he pronounced the name with a wide smile. There is nothing to laugh about the Winds of Hell; it is a gruesome and deadly spell.

Skin tears from River’s face and hands; blight blue flames lick his legs, leaving behind mixed patches of charred black skin and frost bite. He can feel his power fading. His arms feel heavy. He wants to just lower his shield and let the cold fire wash over him but he is connected to another power that has begun to grow. He can feel King Bodon’s power growing within him.

“Can you feel me in you?” asks a raspy voice that echoes through the corridors of River’s pain wracked mind. “You know who I am, my child. Say the word, and I will be there with you.” The voice is filled with temptations and promises; no promises are made, no temptations are offered, but there is a sensation that fills River, dulling his agony. He feels cool water being poured down his throat, drizzling on his brow. There is an implication in the voice of King Bodon that if River lets him through to this world that he will be rewarded.

Mr. Kane is a stern man dressed in close fitting leather clothing, a wide brimmed hat casting a shadow over his aged, pallid face. A sawed-off shotgun is holstered at his hip like a sword; a silver revolver hangs on his opposite hip. Heaped in a corner, his coat made of werewolf pelts lies in a grim heap. He has been examining Lana’s wounds and had confirmed that they were not made by a werewolf. Lana’s eyes open and focus on the delicate silver cross that hangs from the werewolf hunter’s neck.

She tries to shift in the bed, but every movement causes a bolt of pain to tear through her body.
“I should kill you now, before you do anymore harm.” says Mr. Kane, his hand resting on his revolver. “It took a while, and some things still need to be sorted out, but it’s clear that you are at the bottom of all of this. Right now, the doctors don’t know that you are going to live. So, if you don’t tell me what I want to know, you won’t see another night.”

Lana’s face becomes fixed with a look of defiance as she silently protests. Mr. Kane’s thumb seeks out a stitched wound, and he presses roughly against the wound. Lana writhes, biting her lip to keep from screaming. Mr. Kane remains expressionless; he was trained by the Inquisition, and they taught him that bodily pain was only an illusion and that it was not to be grimaced at or enjoyed. It was a tool, and he applied it as discreetly as a sculptor applies a chisel.

“Tell me what you know about King Bodon. Tell me why you were trying to call him.” demands Mr. Kane.

“He promised to change me.” says Lana weakly. “I just wanted to be able to be normal; those bitches deserved what they got. They say that God made man in His own image. If so, then I am an abomination, unfit for His Grace, and those women were spitting in God’s eyes. So I turned to another god, one that could fulfill my desires.

“He will empower me, and He will make you pay for what you are doing.” threatens Lana. Mr. Kane’s grip on his silver revolver tightens, be he doesn’t have a chance to loose it from its holster. August barges in, holding an amulet emblazoned with the image of a long dead god.

“Where is he?” asks August, heedless of the surly man. Lana’s eyes turn to August, but before she can speak, Mr. Kane presses his finger into the wound on her leg and she screams.

“I’m sorry my boy, but she is in no condition to talk.” says Mr. Kane. August is tired, and doesn’t have his full faculties. He doesn’t notice Mr. Kane’s subtle torture. “If she calms down, I’ll have the nurse go get you.” Believing that Mr. Kane is an honorable and just man, August heeds his words. He seeks a waiting area and sits. He feels sleep roll over him like thunderclouds across a plain. His head nods a few times, and then his slips away into sleep, unable to fight against fatigue any longer.

Thing-A-Week 8: August and Minerva, Investigators of the Supernatural: The Otherkin (Part Four)

Deep in the forest, far from the lights of the civilized world, Lana creeps towards the mouth of a cave. The stones that litter the ground are marked with strange sigils; they ward off trespassers, but Lana has no worries: she is welcome here. She walks into the cave where her preternatural sight serves her well. The world of the cave, black to any other visitor, is alive with color to Lana. She scans the area, looking for the hermit called River. She looks upon his trappings; wilted flowers and drying herbs are scattered on the floor and hung from the ceilings, a table stained with blood and wine, and a mattress stuffed with leaves that crunch as the hermit turns to awaken.

“You failed, River, and I can’t have that.” she hisses, her serpentine features sharp and emotionless. She picks up a clay vessel from the table and sniffs it casually. It stinks of urine and blood.

“I said that the procedure was questionable, that it might fail, that she might die, but you insisted. You said that Bodon could send his power across the gulfs of the abyss, you said that he wouldn’t need to be summoned here.” He replies in a raspy voice. Draped in rotting animal skins and wearing a flannel night shirt, River stumbles to his feet, unable to gain his balance in a world that rocks like a boat. He puts a hand to his head, trying to keep his brain from floating away.

“He can. He is strong, It is your magic that is weak. With such meager tools, can you really expect to do his work?” Lana states as she paces impatiently, lecturing River on his faults and musing about his responsibility in the failure perpetrated a week ago. Lana had brought Francine Keene to the cave, allowed her to make her dreams come true. River had opened a gate, allowing King Bodon’s power to change Francine, but the power eventually failed, and Lana concluded that River was at fault. She glares at him disdainfully while he grabs an ancient glass decanter and relieves himself in it.

“I work with what I have. The gods, demons, angels, and spirits don’t care about the presentation, they only care about the opportunity. They’ll take any chance to influence our world.” Snorting and pulling phlegm up from his lungs, River spits a yellowy globule of phlegm into the green glass decanter.

“Are all of these things necessary? It all seems so theatrical and excessive; the lifestyle, the stench: it‘s like practicing Catholicism when Protestantism would do well enough.” A furtive smile passes her lips, ending as a smirk that nearly reveals a row of sharply pointed teeth. She stands contropasto, pushing the ropey tendrils of golden hair from her face and staring at River critically, wondering if he really is the best choice for the task at hand.

Moodily, feeling like Icarus after crashing to the earth, River strokes his tangled, bushy beard. He sniffs the air and contemplates the smell, thinks that it isn’t all that bad, and shakes his head. “I choose my life, you choose yours. It’s too hard for me to fit in the human world.” A laugh rattles in he throat, causing him to expectorate a thick, mucous blob. “That’s funny, you know. I’m a human, and I have no place amongst them. You are part dragon and you are loved by them, trusted by them.” A gapped-toothed, sardonic grin hides behind his beard but can be read easily in his eyes. Lana fails to see his amusement.

Unsettled by Lana’s emotionless reptilian stare, River fusses with the button on his nightshirt. He watches her eyes intently, but the slit pupils and orange irises reveal nothing. River begins to sense a malevolence in her silence; a primal part of him sees her serpentine features in a sinister light, and he feels his heart pump more swiftly. Unconsciously, his muscles tense, preparing to spring away.

“So what do you want? Just to tell me that F’rahl Bodon’s power has failed?” asks River, his eyes casually searching for a bone handled knife that he’s certain he had left on the table the night before last.

“Don’t use that name. You will call him King.” responds Lana coldly and with conviction. “Only those that worship him may call him by that name.” She sees the tension in River’s posture, draws an imaginary line from his eyes to the knife on the table. Understanding River’s apprehension and discomfort, she withdraws physically, not desiring a physical conflict. Her delicate hands slide along the curves of her hips as she exposes her palms, saying “I’m sorry for my zeal, but you must understand my position and feelings. I know of King Bodon’s power, and it can be a terrible thing. I know of its strength, and I believed that it could be trusted.

“He has never failed me, and in the fire of the moment, I threw an undue accusation. It is possible that it is your fault, but there are other explanations. However, you must understand, I have many more people interested in undergoing the procedure, and I have much depending on this being reliable. Do you understand?”

River listens to Lana and is slowly seduced by her words. Lana tells him how much she needs his help, and soon, after feeling her cool hand on his face, River is anxious to help her. He no longer feels wary of her, instead he craves her attention, unaware of the subtle manipulation she perpetrates. They stand at the cave’s entrance, a cool, night breeze chasing through the trees. Each knows how near they are to the city, yet it feels as though they are the only people in the world as they speak in the darkness.

“I need you to call him over. His strength is too diluted when it is pulled through a tiny hole. We need him here.” Says Lana. River feels himself saying “yes”, though he doesn’t remember saying it after Lana leaves. Instead, he only feels the precipitous decision weigh cripplingly on his shoulders. He ponders the steps he must take now that he has given his word; he ponders the lives he must take so that his promise could be fulfilled.

August and Minerva, Investigators of the Supernatural: Otherkin (Part Two)

Here is another part of the latest August and Minerva story arc. I intended to complete this earlier in the week, but I found myself having trouble. I started out wanting to do a mystery story, and as such the story developed accordingly. Yet, as I was working on it, I found that I didn’t like excluding the “evil-doer’s” side. I found that, generally, I enjoy getting into the villian’s mind. I like showing how depraved he/she is, and I like developing his/her character. 

In this approach, I’m trying to lead up to a big reveal. As such, I’ve found that the story is much bigger than I ever anticipated. So, here’s part 2…

————————————————————————————————

***

Tobias and August arrived at the City Morgue early the next evening. Despite Minerva’s protests, Tobias decided he would join the investigation. A part of him felt that the murder was an affront to his community; any violence perpetrated near were-folk was easily blamed on were-folk. Speaking with the coroner, they discovered that her heart was the most damaged organ.

“It seemed like a single, strong thrust to her chest is what did it. From the fractures in her sternum, I’d say the attacker had an immense amount of power behind the strike. As far as strange damage, there is a burn on the heart.” announced the coroner, producing the small organ on a stainless steel dish. Looking at the light pink tissue, both August and Tobias saw a many-pointed star. It was the Star of Bodon, the symbol of King Bodon, a powerful devil. The two grimaced at each other, and each began to think of their next course of action.

“Tobias, I would like it if you accompanied Minerva to question Lana. In the meantime, have someone else to question. Tobias watched as August left. The coroner looked at Tobias, a puzzled look on his face.

“What’s going on?” asked the coroner shyly.

“It’s just a potential end of world crisis. No worries; we’ve dealt with this kind of stuff before.” said Tobias reassuringly.

***

Tobias and August rode along in an uncomfortable silence. The car rolled along, happily oblivious of anything the matter. For a moment, August found himself envious of the utter lack of concern that inanimate things had. Of course, that brought him back to thinking about the body of the Elf.

“I don’t like King Bodon’s involvement in this one bit.” announced August. He felt like he had to say something to break the silence; Tobias had been brooding since they left the morgue. “I’m still stumped as to why an Elf would be around here.”

“You didn’t like Lana’s answer much either, huh?” said Tobias grumpily. “That dragon-lady is hiding something, and its big. If King Bodon is really involved, then this is really big. So far, his involvement in this is textbook. The victim is a woman, and unless I miss my guess, so is the perpetrator.”

“Could Lana actually be that deeply involved?” asked August.

“Like a knife in a murder.” quipped Tobias. “She might not even know that she’s being used, then again, she might.” Tobias’ voice was marred with aggravation. “Her kind are revolting. Back in the day, The Haven was a place where us were-folk would hide from prying eyes. It was the only place where we could be safe from the Esoteric Order’s witch hunters.

“Nightly, they’d comb the streets, looking for anyone that was strong enough to defy their rule. A tightly knit group like ours was a threat to their grasp on society. Now, it’s a lifestyle choice. People like Lana market themselves as something special, and kids just eat it up. Next thing you know, they’re buying cat ears, then fur suits, and ultimately getting surgery. They’d give their souls to be something more than human.” Tobias’ eyes lit up with the shine of revelation.

“That might just be it. What if the Otherkin are taking an even more drastic step; making deals with King Bodon. He gets their eternal servitude, they get to become more than human.” raved Tobias. His excitement over his theory lifted the gloomy shroud off of his emotions. “But we need more proof, and I bet that Lana has it.”

***

Walking into The Haven, Minerva was assaulted by the stench of bleach. Three workers had been cleaning the floor as thoroughly as possible. A lithe, reptilian woman was overseeing the process. Her arms were crossed and her stance was confrontational, as though her disgust could burn stains away. Watching her glimmering aura, Minerva could tell that the woman felt out of control, and that her posture was a reflection of her trying to regain it.

The woman’s orange eyes turned to Minerva, their pupils widening in the dark.

“Minerva Krieg, yes?” asked the woman. Minerva was astonished that Lana knew who she was, and presumed that she knew why Minerva had come. Lana’s aura settled, and Minerva immediately realized that this would be a difficult interview. Somehow, the dragon-lady had learned about Minerva’s skills. The two spoke at length, though it revealed nothing new to Minerva. Lana was evasive, which inclined Minerva to think that Lana was hiding something.

“If we are concluded, I have much work to do. This is where the Elf was found; the detective has all ready given us clearance to clean the floors, and if we‘re going to open tonight, we need to be rid of any traces of this heinous crime.” Lana announced, guiding Minerva away from the spot. Minerva felt that Lana had a fear about her. Minerva wondered: Could she be hiding something, or perhaps she is hiding from something?

“Do you have any leads yet? We’re all very eager to hear some news.” said Lana, opening the club‘s door and ushering Minerva out.

“We’re considering some things, but there’s nothing concrete yet.” Minerva said.

“Well, hopefully the person that did this will be caught soon.” said Lana, the intense expression on her narrow, angular face unchanging as she closed the door. Minerva walked out of the alleyway where The Haven was hidden. Although it was daylight, she walked cautiously; she felt like eyes were fixed on her until she stepped on the sidewalk and was back in the flowing river of humanity. Only when she was a block away from The Haven did Minerva allow herself to smile.

Lana had put up a strong front, but there was a single fact that she could not hide. Confident, Minerva flipped open her cell phone, intending to call August. Leaning against the cold, brick exterior of a tea bar, she waited for August to pick up. She knew that he loathed using a cell phone, but hoped that he would pick up. As the phone rang, she watched the crowd pass by like a confused army of ants. People of all sorts were out; shopping, eating, or going to see a movie, yet her glance was pulled towards a homeless man that crouched on the stoop of a store that had been closed for over two years.

The building might have been a home once, and the business that had resided there specialized in all things metaphysical. The former owner, a tall, lean red headed woman with a mask of constant anguish, had given up on the store. She was convinced that the gods abandoned her, and so she dumped the store and off she went.

“Hello Minnie. What did you find out?” asked August, a sense of urgency in his voice.

“I didn’t get much off of Lana, but the visit wasn’t fruitless. I found out something very interesting. Lana was-”

“Not here. Not now!” raved the homeless man; his eyes, small, cold, and grey, searched about crazily. Pointing a finger at Minerva, he repeated his warning, but more softly.

“What was that?” asked August.

“Someone on the street. Why don’t you and Tobias meet me by the tea bar and we’ll discuss everything.” Minerva’s manner was brief, and she closed the phone without saying good bye. She approached the homeless man as closely as she dared. His rags were dirty, and concealed his boney body. His face startled Minerva; on closer inspection, his face was not that of a man, but that of a pig.

“No one ever listens. Why did you?” he asked, his voice weak and sleepy sounding.

“I suppose its because I needed to. Why did you yell like that?” asked Minerva.

“His spies are everywhere today. He needs to keep an eye on you people. He knows that you know. They’d have grabbed the voice right out of your throat and used it as they liked. Across the street, one of his is hiding in the coffee shop. Others are under the city, writhing and crawling, and waiting. They need more sacrifices, and they’ll get them if you aren’t careful. Don’t go alone. He told everyone you were coming.”

The man’s small eyes had fire in them as he spoke zealously. Minerva glanced around, wondering if someone was actually watching her, or if the man was insane. For a moment, she considered how much confidence she could have in the man. Quickly searching his aura, she saw signs of despair mingled with a strain of paranoia. It was what she expected from a street person. He seemed mostly harmless, so she decided to heed his warning.

On a whim, she asked the man if he knew anything about The Haven.

“Yeah. I know the place.” he said, “When I was younger, I went there a lot. It was better than a mission, ’cause we could be around other people like us.” An uncomfortable, toothless grin bent his snout. “Uh, people like me, I mean.” he said apologetically. Minerva began to feel sympathetic for the man’s plight, but she remained fully on her guard.

“Well, when it started being a hang out spot for rich kids looking for a weird kick, I got scared. They didn’t care too much for the unfortunates; you know, the ones that aren’t something strong like a werewolf or sleek like one of the catfolk. They’d tolerate us for a while, but soon the ones that were pretending to be part animal outnumbered those that actually were. That’s when the game started.” with a quiver in his voice, he described how the youths would stalk their prey.

“They’d put collars and leashes on the ones pretending to be like dogs, or wolves. They’d track us by sight, pretending it was by smell. Then, when they came across a little cardboard hut or a relatively safe dumpster, they’d howl. That’s how you knew a beating would start. It would start and never stop until there were broken bones and blood.” He pulled back the sleeve of his coat, revealing his curving forearm; it had been broken, and never set properly.

Minerva’s heart sank, yet she would not allow the sorrowful emotions appear on her face. She became quite aware of the eyes that were on her, and began having the sensation that she was being surrounded. She glanced from side to side, and caught a glimpse of a crow faced man that was trying to seem inconspicuous behind a newspaper. Across the street, a small mob of girls wearing cat ears giggled in unison. One that walked behind the clowder wasn’t laughing; in fact she looked grim and brooding.

Minerva thanked the man with a forced smile and started away. She glanced behind her and saw that the crow faced man was following her. The grim cat girl jaywalked across the street, daintily dodging between cars. Minerva picked up her pace; the sidewalks were crawling with people, which made her feel safer, yet caution was still her priority. She wasn’t certain of how it happened, but in a moment, the crow faced man was next to her.

His black eyes belied a terrible seeming intelligence. Minerva was considering courses of action: Should I run? Should I yell? Should I fight? Should I go into a store? Her options whirred in her head, but before she could make a move, the crow faced man spoke in a soft voice.

“We aren’t here to hurt you. We know what you are trying to do, and we are with you.”

————————————————————————————————————————————————

Have you noticed what Minerva noticed?

~H

August and Minerva, Investigators of the Supernatural: August’s Uncle Carl (Part Three)

Tobias sat beside Minerva on the park bench. His baggy, black attire was a sharp contrast with his snowy white skin. The only worry that creased his placid face was a slight frown; Minerva was worried, and Tobias was concerned.

“I want to help, but there’s nothing I can do.” said Minerva woefully.

“Do you want me to go?” asked Tobias in a sweet, soft tone. Minerva considered Tobias’ offer, and then felt a sudden tightness in her chest. She could feel the seams of reality ripping; she was only a mile away from the retirement village, but yet she could feel that something was happening. Tobias studied her face closely, trying to see what was going on inside of her mind. Unfortunately, he wasn’t a mind reader.

“There’s something bad coming; something powerful. August and his uncle won’t be able to handle it on their own. It is an anchant power, and it is sucking in magical energy wildly.” said Minerva, concern etched across her face. Tobias leaped to his feet and began to pace.

“I can’t let anything happen to him, Minnie. I know you’d never forgive yourself if he died and you could do nothing to stop it. I’ll go, you stay here.” Tobias felt his strength growing within him. Minerva looked up at him.

“I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you,” she said, wrapping him in a tight embrace. She could feel his musculature writhing and twitching under his skin. She kissed him lightly on the cheek, tears nearly welling up in her eyes. “You need to be careful. I don’t want to lose you.”

“I’ll be fine.” said Tobias, starting to jog and then breaking into a sprint. Minerva watched as he left, praying that he would be back soon.

                                                        ***************************************************

“Duck!” I yelled, pulling at my uncle as an antique ottoman blew through the air, whisked by magical currents. Dealing with Ms. Belmont had been simple; we told her what was happening, and she wanted to make amends for her actions. I regretting bringing her along, as her body was still twitching from a lightning bolt hurled by one of her former coven mates. Lucretia Bell and Monica Swift seemed like average women, but once they saw that Ms. Belmont had turned against them, they became as wild and ferocious as harpies. Lucretia, an accomplished witch, was hurling spell after spell, keeping my uncle and I running about the tiny apartment which had become a Hellish hurricane.

An orange gout of flame exploded from the floor, and I fell backward, trying to tuck into a roll. Uncle Carl had managed to get out of the way of the ottoman and was dodging a barrage of knitting needles as inky darkness spilled into the room. I pulled a tube from one of my pockets and popped it open, tugging out a tiny piece of bone and some crumbled parchment. It was the last trick I had left, and with a brief magical gesture, a hazy apparition formed.

“Hi August,” she said, “How’ve you been?” A beam of energy seared through the intangible spirit of a smiling young girl dressed in a blue floral dress, bonnet, and apron.

“Sorry Bea, but this isn’t the time for chatting. I need help.” a hideous spark of green energy bolted past my face, crashing into the wall with a thunderous clap.

“Oh, fine.” she said sullenly, “But make sure you call me later. It’s been too long.”

“Okay Bea, I will.” I said, rolling out of the way of a brass elephant that sailed through the air. “See that lady?”

“The mean one?” she asked innocently.

“Yes. Go keep her busy for a while. Get into her or something, okay?”

“All right!” she reponded cheerfully, skipping through the smoldering wreckage that was once a sleeper sofa.

“You have a lot to learn, boy. A ghost is something I can handle easily.” announced Lucretia as a preamble to an extended chant. I would need to hurry before she finished; if Bea didn’t possess her, or if I didn’t somehow stop her, she could easily destroy Bea’s soul. I looked up to see my uncle running into the kitchen and towards the strange darkness. I picked up a broken piece of a table leg and rushed towards Lucretia. Bea was wrestling with her, trying to get inside, but the old witch’s chanting would not cease. I could see a magical bubble start to form around her; it was the first stage of an exorcism spell.

Without warning, the bubble popped and Bea disappeared. Enraged, I charged at the witch, swinging the table leg. She lifted a hand and made a complex gesture with her fingers; I could tell that the spell would hurt, and the fact that it was aimed at my groin still makes me wince in agony. However, when the hand gesture was complete, no spell erupted. She was shocked at her impotence, and didn’t even manage to get a hand up as I smashed the leg against her head. She fell to the floor, clutching her head.

“Run!” bellowed my uncle as he ran from the kitchen. I could smell a sulphurous stench and I surmised that my uncle hadn’t been able to stop Monica Swift from casting her spell. ”Big! Fish head!” he yelled, pointing at the kitchen door. I could hear Ms. Swift’s agonized screams and the loud cracking and snapping of bones. I inched towards the exit; out of spells and out of my league, I knew all that was left was running. The creature stepped out into the light, and I saw all of its vile appearance. It had the head of a fish atop a fat, bulging torso covered in wiry hair. A set of spidery hands held what was left of the witch once known as Monica Swift.

My uncle had all ready managed to leave the room, so there was only the creature and I.

“She is deliscious. Full of power, full of flavor!” said the creature in a gurgling voice. “Do you want to try?” it asked, holding out the witch’s head, and pulling a section of cheek off. It held the meat out, fully expecting my acceptance of its generous gift. Instead, a huge werewolf bounded through the door, leaped over me, and tackled the hideous creature. The werewolf locked its jaws onto the creature’s thick neck; the fishy eyes began to bulge even more unnaturally as the creature’s limbs flailed. The creature pounded hard on the werewolf’s sides ineffectually. After what seemed like ten minutes, I heard the sound of flesh tearing. The werewolf looked at me and swallowed the fishy meat.

“I guess that’s my omega fatty acid for the day.” It spoke in a gutteral, growling voice, but it was unmistakably Tobias. 

                                                 *******************************************************

“A gas leak! Do you believe that? A gas leak!” my uncle was irate and unwilling to accept the story that the police forced us to tell. “Somethings never change. People have a right to know!” He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, letting loose a resigned sigh.

“So, that’s why you wanted my uncle to change his books?” I asked Tobias.

“I guess it’s part of it.” he said with a smirk. He licked the soft vanilla ice cream and smiled widely, “So this is what you do everytime you blow something up?”

“We don’t usually blow things up,” retorted Minerva, “it just kind of happens.”

“When were you going to tell me about Tobias?” I asked Minerva.

“I thought you would have figured it out by now.” responded Minerva.

“He’s not a moon changer, so there goes that evidence. I don’t see a wolf skin anywhere, nor does he have a pentagram scar.” I considered the evidence, and then asked, “You have six sisters, don’t you Tobias?”

He smiled at me and gave a nod.

“I should have thought of that before.” I laughed happily, until I noticed that Uncle Carl hadn’t really touched his banana split. I moved nearer to him, and asked him quietly if there was something wrong.  

“I’m just tired, and being tired just reminds me how old I am. When I think about how old I am, I just think of how little time I have left, you know? And what did I leave behind? No wife, no kids; just a pile of rejected newspaper articles a mile high and a library of pulp fiction that could choke an elephant. Then something like this happens, and no one believes me again.”

“We believe you,” said Minerva.

“I know you do, but what choice do you have? You’ve seen this stuff. It isn’t a question of belief when you know that something exists. I just feel like I’ve done nothing but chase after spooks; when I’m gone, I’d be surprised if anyone even remembered.”

“You know, uncle, you’ve inspired me to follow my path, and look at the good we’ve done. We stopped a coven of witches, and probably staved off a demonic invasion. That’s something to celebrate. Just stop feeling down; there’s too much to do. Let the non-believers shun us, as long as we walk the path, that’s fine.”

“Amen!” shouted Tobias and Minerva with huge smiles. ”When did you get your preacher’s liscense?” asked Tobias jokingly.

“Besides uncle, if you’re worried about dying, I know a few vampires that can help you out.” I said with a laugh. So we sat and ate ice cream, talking about our adventures. I looked at my uncle and he had seemed to have cheered up. I was happy I could help put a smile on his face. However, deep in my heart, I knew that trouble was brewing else where. King Bodon had exercised his influence more aggressively than any demon in recent memory. He was up to something, and I had to find out what it was. For a moment, I wondered if my uncle was smiling because of the jokes we were sharing, or because the desire to do good had been reignighted within him…

August and Minerva, Investigators of the Supernatural: August’s Uncle Carl (Part Two)

I have officially titled the August and Minerva Series August and Minerva, Investigators of the Supernatural. So far, it is one of my favourite creations, and it seems like it is a favourite on this here site. Without further ado, here is the second part of August’s Uncle Carl.

————————————————————————————-

My uncle and I sat down to talk about the information we had gleaned thus far. According to uncle Carl, there was nothing terribly wrong or out of place with the apartment that Mr. Russel Stewart had been living in, except for the open window and lack of an occupant.

“It has to be Catherine Belmont.” said uncle Carl with a gleam in his eye. “This is the third suicide here in six months, and each victim has had some kind of relationship with Ms. Belmont. You yourself said that the blood was in the shape of the, uh, sign of?”

“King Bodon’s star. It is an arcane symbol; it comes from the twenty-seventh century SR.” I volunteered the information with a grin, proud of my knowledge.

“SR?” asked uncle Carl, “What kind of abbreviation is that? I know AD, BC, even BCE. But SR?”

“It is from the system that demons use. It starts from the day that the devil was cast into Hell. King Bodon was the ruler of Hell beforehand, and his servants wore the sign of their lord and master. SR stands for Satanus Rex.”

“You know this off the top of your head?” he said with a mixture of awe and disgust. He didn’t know exactly how conversant I was in the arcane, and was rightfully shocked at my nearly encyclopedic knowledge thereof. “So, what does it mean?” he asked.

“It means that whoever is doing this is trafficing with some pretty powerful creatures. Given that so many people around here are older, even elderly, I wouldn’t be surprised if one of them might be dealing with King Bodon himself.” I dreaded my uncle’s next question.

“Then what do we do?” 

“I call Minerva, and she brings the station wagon over and we work out what we need to do to strip this witch of her power before she manages to kill again.” I said, trying to seem as confident as I could.

“But what should I do?” asked my uncle, almost weakly. I didn’t realize how much this would make he feel bad; he was chasing after doppelgangers and ghouls when I was still trying to master walking. I felt as though I had barged into his world and taken over, leaving him to feel both old and helpless.

“Maybe you should go talk to Ms. Belmont? She’d trust you much more than she’d trust me.” Uncle Carl’s face lit up as he eagerly grabbed hold of his dilappidated tape recorder and rushed off with a grin. I pulled out my cell phone and called Minerva, asking her to rush over as soon as possible, and explaining everything in brief. While I was on the phone with Minnie, my uncle was knocking on Catherine Belmont’s door.

She was an older, well-to-do woman that appeared much younger than her eighty years. She wore a silky, multi-coloured caftan and long strings of beads. When she sat down to speak with my uncle, she was very pleasant. “She told me about her grandkids, her great grandkids, and she just wouldn’t stop. It’s like an addiction with some people; they just prattle on and on about relatives that you will never meet. But, I guess it’s good that she’s proud of them. However, she tried her best to avoid my questions. What I did find out was that she didn’t actually have any kind of relationship with Russel Stewart. She hardly knew the man, but she was rather disturbed about his death. I wish I could have asked her more questions, but she seemed to be getting aggitated.”

We waited on the patio for Minerva to arrive; I was astounded how quickly everyone seemed to get over the death of Russel Stewart. I asked my uncle what Catherine Belmont was doing in Russel Stewart’s room.

“She said she just dropped in to borrow a deck of cards because she was going to play a game with two of the other ladies.” Both my uncle and I considered this for some time. I was convinced that there had to be something more going on. Minerva arrived about fifteen minutes later, Tobias following her like a lanky, vertical shadow. He was grasping his nose; he could smell the odour of the place more keenly than any of us, due to his heightened senses.

“How can you not smell that?” he said in a voice made nasal due to the pressure he was applying to his nose. “It’s gross. Like flowers threw up or something.” Minerva, carrying a thick leather tome, seemed aggitated.

“No, I don’t smell it.” she said assertively as she greeted my uncle. “I hear you have a witch issue,” she said to me pleasently. “Do you think she’s going to wear a dominatrix outfit when the book comes out?” Both my uncle and I smiled slightly, not sure how to react. Minerva put the ponderous tome on the table with a thud, opening it to a page she had left marked.

“I don’t think it is a witch you are dealing with. King Bodon despises women. Are you sure you read the sign correctly?” There seemed to be something strange about her behaviour; she was acting rather hostile. Typically, Minerva was calm and cool, but her posture at the moment was aggressive.

“I know what I saw, but even if King Bodon hates women, he would still be willing to manifest his powers through them.” as I said those words, Minerva started to sneer. I could see tiny waves of energy pulsating up her arms, causing ripples in the light summer dress she was wearing. My uncle noticed it just as I did, and started to slowly back away. Tobias reached out, placing his hand on her shoulder, trying to calm her. She turned swiftly, and I was certain that she was going to slug Tobias in face. Instead, she met his gaze and fell into his arms.

“What’s happening?” he asked.

“I need to go,” Minerva said, “There’s something terribly wrong here. I’m sorry, August, I can’t help.” Tobias ushered Minerva away. I looked at my uncle Carl; he seemed to be piecing together an imaginary jigsaw puzzle. In a moment, his furrowed brow raised in excitement.

“Do you smell something?” asked my uncle.

“Yeah. It smells like old ladies, ammonia, flowers, and chlorine.”

“It’s the smell!” concluded uncle Carl with exuberance. “It somehow gets under a witch’s skin. Minerva used to be a witch, and just being here for a moment and was irritated by the scent. You can smell it, because you are a warlock, though it doesn’t plague you as it does a witch.”

“That’s one theory, but you’d need more than just an aroma to push someone to violence.” I was slowly being convinced by my uncle’s line of thought, but I found myself vehemently trying to disprove him. I suppose it is just a facet of his personality.

“I read somewhere once that sense memories are often the most vivid, and that the sense of smell often triggers the most vivid memories. Minerva said that King Bodon despises women; imagine if he was able to somehow trigger a memory inside of a witch that would push her to commit atrocious acts. There are some that suggest that people have a racial memory; imagine then if someone could tap into a person’s most primal fears, provoking the most violent of responses.” Uncle Carl smiled with self-satisfaction. His idea was plausible, but we needed to prove it.

I rummaged through the back of the station wagon. Luckily, Minerva and Tobias left it behind. I pushed aside a stuffed crocodile leg and rummaged through a box of old World War II era gear. Amidst the goggles, gloves, medals, and helmets, I found a well preserved gas mask. My uncle peeked at the tiny trove of treasures, avoiding asking me the obvious question of why I carried so much junk in the station wagon. I also grabbed hold of a length of parchment. I started to disassemble the filter cartrage.

“What are you going to do with that?” asked my uncle.

“I’m going to make a magical seal so that whatever spell is carried with the scent will be broken down.” Uncle Carl looked at me with a sense of wonder and respect. He seemed as though he was legitimately proud of me. When the entire mask was reassembled, we walked up to Ms. Belmont’s room.

“This is my nephew, August. He’s a investigator.” I could see Catherine Belmont tense at the word ‘investigator.’ I reached out to shake her hand, and saw that she was nearly shivering with fright.

“Ma’am, I think that I can help you.” I said as reassuringly as I could, “We think we know why these things have been happening, and I may have a solution.” Ms. Belmont tearily broke down after she donned the protective mask, telling us that she had used her magic to kill Russel Stewart and two others. She confessed that she had called on the powers of King Bodon several years prior.

“After my husband died, I felt so alone. I was too old to find someone new; my powers had atrophied over the years. When Simon was in my life, I didn’t need to use them anymore. When he died, I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t restore my beauty and youth, I just didn’t have the power to undertake such a task. That’s when I called on King Bodon. The other witches here swore by him, saying that he could restore the vigor and blush of youth without exacting terrible prices.

“None of us knew that he was toying with us this way. I was too ashamed to tell the others what I did. Please, Carl, August, help me!” she broke down in tears, sobbing woefully. We promised to help, but first had to speak to the other witches…

Part Three