NecroStatic 4

I really don’t need to eat. Still I enjoyed the sensation of food, and it helps keep up appearances. Most Reapers view it as a distasteful attachment to what they once were. Guess I was always a rogue and a rebel. A burger, some fries and a good dose of ectoplasm would do the trick. Descending the steps to the Cellar I let my hand rest upon the flaking paint of the hardwood door. I lost count of how many times I had come to this place. The Cellar was a place mainly for new Reapers to get adjusted to their roles and slowly wean themselves off all those mortal habits. Like eating, drinking, smoking, and all those pesky emotions that had no place in the job. I enjoyed the place because it actually did the opposite of its proposed purpose.

Pushing the door open I inhaled taking in the stench of greasy air, and charcoaled meat. The filthy tiled walls and red neon over cast gave the place the perfect grimy feel. Tan vinyl booths with plywood table tops line the wall. The place was always busy; the food was cheap but good, making it a hit with the locals.

I wasn’t the only Reaper here. Tucked in the far corner booth a very petite young woman deeply involved with whatever she was reading. Bundled up in a black and pink Hello Kitty hoodie, she glances up feeling my presence, eyes combing the room and then locking onto me. Oddly, she did not look annoyed or disgusted to see me considering my status. Instead she put the book down and smiled in my direction.

Making my way through the diner towards her table I knew her name and that she was a transfer from the Midwest. She called herself Thaco, but I had yet to actually speak to her. Not that other Reapers looked forward to talking to me anyways…

What I heard about Thaco was strange. She did not kill another Reaper to take its place. She had invoked an ancient bylaw that only a few humans knew about. She challenged the Reaper that came to harvest her soul to a contest and she defeated that Reaper. When you challenge and defeat a Reaper they have to grant a request. Instead of being returned to her life, she opted to become a Reaper.

Nodding my head as I sit down at the booth, “You are Thaco, right?”

All smiles still Thaco bobs her head, pushing the book she had been reading to the side. It looked to be some sort of fantasy game manual. “That’s me. To hit armor class zero.”

Plowing through my confused look, Thaco babbled on. “It is what my name means. You are the second chancer, Dante Maxwell. Looks like you have seen some action. You went toe to toe with a Stein, and without a scythe, that is pretty impressive.”

News obviously travels fast. Suddenly I felt very aware of the glass still lodged in my body, and the two broken ribs grating against my spine. If was still alive I would have been in a wheelchair and in an incredible amount of pain. “It had to be done.”

Thaco waves the waitress over, “I’ll have another milkshake, chocolate this time. My friend here will have a number thirteen on that star paper.” Looking me over Thaco added, “Better double rap it with the star paper.”

The waitress snapped her gum and trundled off. Thaco smiles again, brows arched, “I know I just got here, but I have to say this city is a hive of spectral activity. Lots of White Lighters too.”

Opening my mouth to answer I could feel something under the table wrap itself around my ankle like a cord and begin to tighten. Looking down I caught a glimpse something oily writhing under the table. “What is that, Thaco?”

Thaco dips her head under the table, “Oh that?” Thaco flicks a lighter to light, the grip on my ankle releases, whatever it was slithered away from the light. “I found it in one of the antique shops downtown.”

Rummaging in her bag Thaco produced a crystal cylinder that fit in her palm perfectly. Even in the poor light I could make out the runic etchings and a crack that ran the length of the object. Rubbing my jaw, “It is a containment unit, loaded. Who’s in it?”

Thaco shrugged, “I don’t know, but she speaks Japanese. Quite pissed off.”

“How do you know that?”

“I watch a lot of Anime.”

“What?”

Shaking her head, “It is a type of cartoon. That is not important. I found this on the shelf in a basement of the antique store. Weird that a Reaper device was left for a mortal to simply buy it, no? It already has an occupant too.”

The object in her palm held a bead of black within it and frantically rolled from side to side to avoid the light. Looking closer I could see the crack was not a natural flaw in the crystal. “We have to get rid of it, properly.” My shadow overcast the crystal as I studied it, wisps of black hair erupted from the thin crack, shrinking back into the cylinder as I pull my head back.

Thaco keeps the crystal tube on the table, “I know the drill, but I am basically camped out here until the sun comes up. The unit is faulty and last thing this city needs is a pissed off Asian ghost terrorizing it.”

Without warning a plastic tray is tossed down in front of me. Glancing up as the waitress sets down the milkshake in front of Thaco. The wrapped burger in front of me smelled great. Unwrapping the paper, I folded it, lifting the bun I lay the paper down in the burger. Thaco punches a straw through the top of her milkshake and proceeds to blow into the softened ice-cream. I watch the paper dissolve into a nearly clear gel. The Cellar was one of two places you could get objects made of ectoplasm. Ghost crafting was frowned upon, but imbibing ectoplasm is how Reapers healed from injuries. Feeling the glass begin to push its way out my flesh, I devoured the burger. My broken ribs knitted back together. Shaking my sleeve, thin shards of glass clattered to the floor.

“Well I have nothing better to do, want some company, Thaco?”

Thaco pauses in her bubble making upon the milkshake, “Sure. Do you game, bro?”

“What?”

Sighing, Thaco gives me her best Samuel L Jackson impression. “Game, mother fucker. Do you game?”

“Like card games? I used to.” Unsure of how to take her change of attitude as her smile grew dark.

“Bro, let me take you to a whole new world.” With that the books poured forth and lots of strangely shaped dice.

NaNoWriMo

Ok, looks like we have a tie. So for NaNoWriMo I will be writing a Noir Sci-Fi. Now to construct the story board, so hold onto your butts, we are approaching the runway!

Image produced by: EXECUTION IN NOIR by VincentBalbastre

Terry 3

*** Warning Mature themes and shady antics are included. ***

Excerpt from Obsolete, a Terry Ford novel.  Under construction

Joey Cane considered the 8-ball of blue glittering powder in the glass vial before him. The pimp had purchased the strange substance for a thousand dollars, which was outrageous in price but somehow the man convinced him. Joey was told it would ramp his girls up to work all night and well into the next day. According to the man you could snort it, shoot it, smoke it, or even outright eat it. Suspicious still Joey had informed the man if the stuff was ‘bunk’ he would hunt down the throwback to the 70’s and ‘ace’ him.

The pimp frowned, recalling the man showed not the slightest concern to the threat, and even more concerning Joey had trouble remembering what the man looked like. A white disco outfit, black tie, platform shoes? Or was it sandals? Shaking his head Joey gave up and chose to get down to business, he would have to test it out on someone. Leaning forward on the couch Joey, opened the glass vial, a sharp scent of sweet cheese overpowered the heavy cigarette smell that caked the cramped hotel room he operated out of.

Tapping a bit of the powder out on the glass table top Joey carved the powder into a line with an obsolete sheriff’s card for food handling. ‘A little dab will do you.’ Joey remembered the instructions from the man. Fuck that, go big or go home. That was Joey’s motto. The pimp poured more onto the table top, turning the line of powder into a rail. Joey stopped himself cold as he found he was raising the card to his lips to lick off the residue. Drug users instinct…

Joey’s thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. The pimp’s hand went to his Walter PPK, as he rushed to the door, peering out the peephole. Sighing upon seeing who waited outside the door, he undid the latch allowing the person in. It was only Little Bo, one of his girls.

Little Bo was the first girl he took into his stable from what seemed like ancient history. Joey kept her on despite her lack of turning tricks in the last few years. Back in the day she could bring in almost two grand a night, six days a week. Divorced, and addicted to meth, she felt she had no other use than to be a prostitute. Now days, she could score a few hundred in a pair of weeks. Still, Joey kept her on as a sentiment if nothing else.

Little Bo hung her head, and Joey rolled his eyes. ‘Here comes the excuse’, Joey thought. Bo always had one, an inexhaustible plethora of circumstances that barred her from earning her keep. Little Bo began to mumble something. Scratching at her scarred arms, her ratty blonde hair looked brittle and fragile. Joey really wasn’t listening; he had heard it all before. Glancing at the table with the powder upon it; the dust seemed to beckon to be used. Half squinting the pimp mentally shrugged, why not?

Patting Bo on the shoulder, his smile was no where near sincere. “It’s ok, Bo. Hey I got something for you, a little pick me up.”

Bo wiped at her nearly jaundice yellowed eyes, as Joey guided her to sit at the couch in front of the table. Bo babbled on about how much she loved working for Joey and how good he was to her. ‘Whatever’, Joey thought. ‘Just snort the shit.’

Passing Bo a cut straw, Joey laced an arm over her shoulder. Answering the silent humiliated look she gave him, “It’s ok. It is all yours, Little Bo. I hear this is good stuff.”

Wiping her nose to clear it, Bo leaned down, placing the straw to the end of the rail, and began to inhale. She made it half way down the line of the drug before she wrenched her head back, coughing. Immediately she began to shake, cold sweat rocketing from every pore. Gasping for air, Bo’s back arched as the convulsions became more severe. Joey pushed the glass table away with his foot; users instinct once again coming into play. Preserve the drugs at all costs.

Joey winced getting off the couch with a half leap feeling as if he had been shocked. The pimp attempted to stop Bo from hurting herself, his hand grabbing for her shoulder only to receive another shock, this time stronger. Rubbing his numb hand he could only watch as Bo thrashed. What the hell was this shit!

Bo gave one last limb splayed gasp, eyes wide, and rolled off the couch face down on the floor. Joey’s heart felt as if was going to explode. Now he had a dead prostitute in his room, his headquarters, his little nook of the world. Shock leaded his movement as he gingerly crept over to Bo’s still form. Swallowing hard, Joey shook Bo gently. “Bo?” the pimp croaked, not wanting to be shocked again.

Bo was breathing in shallow rasps, much to Joey’s relief. ‘She wasn’t dead, just overdosed.’ Joey reasoned.

Carefully turning Bo over the pimp nearly leapt back again at the sight before him. Bo’s hair spilled over her shoulders, shining in the poor light of the hotel room. The prostitute’s wrinkled visage cleared up, growing taunt peeling away years of drug abuse and harsh sun exposure. Chapped lips smoothed, blemishes disappearing before Joey’s eyes. Bo took a deep breath her chest having filled out in the form of someone twenty years her junior. Seductively curved legs attached to a stunningly enticing rear greeted Joey as Bo rolled onto her side.

Bo’s eyes opened to slits, she smiled and stretched with a half hearted moan. “That was some good shit.”

Joey looked to the vial lying on its side on the glass coffee table, then back to the prostitute. “Yeah…that is some world rocking shit. How do you feel?” The pimp’s mind reeled, slowly working his way through the shock and piecing together what happened. Huge chunks were missing from the equation.

Bo tore Joey away from his thoughts; her eyes glittered with hunger as she answered. “I feel like I need to go to work. Now. Right now.”
Joey half laughed, nervously. “Uh…oh..ok..you do that.”

Bo fixed her gaze upon the pimp, clawing her way up his body as he backed into the cushions of the couch. Joey fumbled for his cellphone, pressing speed dial his eyes bulging as he felt the belt of his pants being undone. Speaking quickly into the phone, Joey stammered. “Get all the girls back to the room, I got something new for you all. Hurry and fucking hurry!”

Bo gracefully took the phone from the pimp, snapping it shut and tossing it on the floor before having her way with her employer.

Hustle and Fetch 2

Axel held the door open for Bait; the prostitute giggled and slithered by Axel with a mock curtsy. Bait and Axel were immediately pounced upon by the hostess with an obviously fake smile. Short and plump in stature the hostess tried portray the air that Denny’s was a five star restaurant. Seeing the condition the two were in the hostess put them in a booth nearly out of sight of the other customers, near the bathrooms and the doors to the kitchen. The restaurant was nearly empty, a pair of truck drivers at the counter, and a small group of obviously hung over college students from local UNR.

The place smelled of cheap food and even cheaper antiseptic chemical. Bait cradled her hands together and crossed her legs settling back in the booth as Axel sat across from the alleged former prostitute. Glancing up expectantly Bait swept her hands back a few inches as the hostess crashed a pair of menus down on the table. The hostess remarked tartly already turning her back to the two, “Your server will be Ralph.”

Axel cleared his throat, leaning over to halt the hostess his voice immediately condescending, “Actually, we want Katrina as our server. Thank you.” The hostess balked her pleasant façade cracking. “She is really busy.” Bait pounced, waggling her eyebrows cheerfully. “We’ll wait!” The hostess gave a knee jerk reaction, almost clenching her fist. Seconds hung in the air as the hostess slapped a hand to her hip, her tone forced to be civil. “Fine. I will let her know.”

Axel glanced at the menu, tracing his fingertips over ever pock mark of the plastic covered paper. Murmuring to himself, “I wonder how many times kids have chewed on this?” Axel could feel the weight of eyes upon him; slowly he lowered the menu to take in Bait staring at him. Bait’s eyes were cheery and wide, a smile played on her lips, shoulders bunching up in expectation.

Bait couldn’t contain herself any longer and burst into rapid fire questions. “So who is the client? Where we going? What’s the case? Think it’s a kidnapping? Missing person? Cheater on the loose? Come on, spill it!”

Raising a hand attempting to slow Bait down, Axel chuckled. “Whoa…Whoa. Hold on.” The conversation was cut short as a shadow cast over the table. Bait jerked her head, smoothing out her blue hair in a flourish, smiling. “Katrina!”

Katrina slipped a hand to her waist and mock posed. Her look was classic, auburn hair done up in a classic tight bun. Hour glass figure to accompany her medium height. The waitress outfit was tacky yellow and brown, yet somehow Katrina managed to make it look desirable. Arching her back a button on the blouse came free partially revealing her more than plentiful assets. Axel couldn’t help but look, catching sight of a slender silver chain and an encircled star at the end.

Katrina smiled wryly, her voice pouring out like honey, fixing the wardrobe malfunction. “Well if it isn’t Axel Morris and Jamie Passle. I haven’t seen you two in a while. I was just about to end my shift, what brings you here?”

Axel opened his mouth to answer only to be cut off with by excited Bait, “Katrina! We’re celebrating, Axel got a case! He was about to tell all of us about it!” Looking to Axel, Bait beckoned for the detective to continue.

Slumping back in the booth, Axel let out a sigh, shoulders slumping forward and elbows braced on the table. “Look it is not a big deal. I got a client that wants to at least meet. There was no talk of hiring or a case. I am not even sure I can clean myself up in time.” Reality was beginning to set in, and the weight of it was slowly crushing, Axel. Katrina broke the impending gloom, still cheerful. “Well who is the client?”

Breaking away from the train of thought Axel, half shook his head. “Um, Lita. Lita Dervish. Look, can I get some coffee, and I wanna cash that meal you promised me in.” Bait cocked her head puzzled; the name was unfamiliar to the prostitute. Katrina gawked, placing her hands on the edge of the table and leaned over, her eyes wide. “Lita Dervish? As in the Lita Dervish?”

Axel grew curious, Katrina was obviously impressed, yet he caught a flicker of something behind the waitress’s eyes. If he didn’t know any better, Axel would have sworn Katrina was worried about something. Axel felt his senses sharpen, “Yeah. Do you know her?” Katrina shifted her weight, straightening up, Axel watched as the waitress’s body language grew subdued. The way Katrina chewed her lip lightly told Axel he was in for an edited reply.

Katrina tried to look casual, looking away and making a posh movement with her hands. “Lita is only the most sought after art dealer in the city. People get famous from dealing with her. Social high hat and extremely cut throat. She’s big money.”

Axel knew Katrina was an aspiring artist, maybe she had a less than stellar run in with Lita? The detective dismissed the idea, Katrina’s tone and movements would have been different had that been the case. If anything Katrina looked split on the matter: she obviously wanted to help her friend, yet in another sense the waitress didn’t. Something was not sitting right; Axel glanced over at Bait, who was covering her mouth to keep from squealing in delight. Axel suppressed the urge to keep prying and settled on shifting the subject. “I can’t go to her place looking like this.” Tugging at his thread bare coat, and picked at a stain on the cuff.

Bait took over, rattling off tasks that Axel needed to do, “Yeah! We need to get you some clothes, and you gotta shave. Maybe sneak a shower in too, or buy some cologne!”

Katrina flipped open her pad, clicking a pen. Her expression grew amused again, “I can front you a coffee and a daily special. I assume this is for the both of you; I can toss some oatmeal in too. As for clothes, you can hit the lost and found box.”

Axel nodded his thanks, “You are the best, Katrina.” Turning to Bait next, “You want to hit the box for me?” Bait saluted in response, “No problem boss!” Watching Katrina head through the doors of the kitchen he noticed his friend walked away almost stiffly, not her usual sashay. Something was not right, but the dots were too far apart to make any sort of connection.

Axel stared in the bathroom mirror, running his hand over his stubble laden cheek. Sharp features and brown eyes stared back at the detective. Worry lines creased his forehead, and he was just starting to get crows feet around his eyes. Smoothing his black hair he noted a few strands of white dotting his scalp. The bathroom lights flickered, the tell tale sign they would need to be replaced. The stark white tile was cast almost grey as the lights dimmed and brightened with the pulse of electricity.

Laying the single bladed razor on the counter top, Axel reached into his coat and pulled out a length of electrical cord in a zip locked bag. Opening the bag Axel fished out the cord, gingerly adjusting the frayed end that was covered in razor blades. The device was simple, you plug one end into a socket and drop the frayed end into some water and presto, the water would be heated to almost a boil in a matter of minutes. Clogging the sink with paper towels, Axel let the water run and plugged the cord into the wall next to the sink on the counter. Axel jimmied the top of the soap dispenser with his car key before dipping his hand into the liquid soap as he began to lather up…

**** **** **** **** ******* **** *** **** **** **** *** ***** ****
Bait hummed to herself as she rummaged through the large lost and found box, keeping an eye on the table not wanting to miss the foods arrival. She had found a pair of black loafers, and they looked like they would fit Axel. Apparently people leave all kinds of things at Denny’s, Bait even found some light black pants. Checking on the table once again, she caught sight of Katrina in the kitchen through the service doors. Katrina was on her phone, and by the expression on the waitress’s face she was not happy at all. Bait filed that away in the back of her mind for later. Bait had few friends, and those she did have she was always concerned for their well being.

Returning to her rummaging she made a few giggles at some of the loud jackets. Digging to the near bottom of the box Bait pulled out a black corduroy suit coat. Spiral designs stitched in grey and red coursed down the sleeves. Grinning to herself, “Pimpin’.” The jacket struck her as strange and fancy, she could feel the hair on the back of her neck standing up as she held it out. Brushing the feeling away, Bait admired the garment. This would look great on Axel, Bait thought. Folding the jacket and slacks over her arm, Bait caught the hostess watching her; Bait promptly stuck her tongue out at the woman. The hostess frowned and looked down at the seating chart on the podium, trying to ignore Bait.

Seizing the urge to mentally abuse the hostess Bait casually strolled passed the woman to the bathroom door. Gripping the handle to the men’s room Bait opened the door with a flourish and flashing the hostess a knowing smile entered without a word. The hostess blushed with rage.

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

Axel grunted sitting back down at the booth. The shoes Bait had given him were painfully tight, but they looked better than his worn sneakers. In contrast the slacks were too big, and Axel had to wear his belt as tightly as he dared to keep them up. Still Axel was grateful for the resourcefulness of his companion. The jacket fit perfectly, despite its odd look was very comfortable. Adjusting the jacket, Axel felt something heavy within the inside pocket. Reaching in the jacket, Axel pulled a brass Zippo lighter out. Scratched and worn the Zippo had the weight of history to it. Engraved in calligraphy were the letters, ‘F M’. Licking his thumb, Axel dabbed at the worn brass in an attempt to clean it. Nice lighter, too bad Axel did not smoke.

Katrina dropped off the meal, and made hurried excuses to depart. Bait looked crest fallen, making Katrina promise that they would get together sometime and ‘hang’. Axel made no protest, his mind cataloguing the waitress’s actions. Axel remained puzzled, choosing to focus on the meeting he had later that day with Lita Dervish.

Watching Katrina leave, Bait turned to Axel, her expression almost hurt to gaze upon. Pouting lip jutting forward, Bait stabbed a spoon into the bowl of oatmeal. “What is up with Katrina? She is acting way weird.”

With a mouthful of toast, Axel shrugged. Washing down the toast with the coffee, Axel knitted his brow in concentration. “Something has her spooked, and I get the feeling it’s about my potential client, Lita.”

Growing defensive of her friend Bait, frowned deeply, “Think this Lita lady did something to her? If she did I am gonna pimp slap her with a crowbar.” Axel shrugged again, “I don’t know, Bait. Something is going on, let’s get through the meeting and we can see where to go from there.” Bait perked up a bit, “We? As in, you are taking me with you?”

Axel stabbed a fork full of eggs and sighed in mock surrender, “Well I just can’t leave you here, can I?” Bait giggled, snaking a hand over the plate to grab the bacon. “Nope!”

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

Lady Farview fumed, going through her morning yoga routine. Her husband had not come home again, and Farview knew exactly where he was. He was out attempting to impregnate that comatose lesbian, Lady Freya. Again. Stopping her exercise, Farview snapped up the remote and turned off the television as the yoga instructor on the screen began encouraging banter.

Why Lady Farview ever agreed to let her husband do that was a matter that left her confused and angry. Was she drunk, or was it a compulsion spell mixed with his slithering yet charming words? He had played on her vulnerability when she learned she could not have children. Somehow he got Farview to agree to it, in writing no less.

Storming through the hall of her four bedroom house, Farview paused before an altar in the front room facing the front door. Closing her eyes Farview steadied her breathing, Feeling the beauty of her home, its tan walls, and marble flooring cooling the bottom of her feet. Its nouveau riche décor, the house seemed to embrace her and assuage her anger, just enough for Farview to do her daily prayers to her god, Apollo.

Finishing her prayer, Lady Farview opened the sliding glass door that led to the back porch. Living on the edge of Reno had its perks, the view was breath taking. Lady Farview and her husband, Tyle Hughes sat at the head of the council of Reno’s pagan community. They ascended to the top of the community after the ghost army summoned by the necromancer Sinister plagued the city, nearly two years ago.

Witches, shamans, mages, wizards, and even psychics from the surrounding region came to staunch the chaos. Most non pagans were kept in the dark, and the matter was slowly set to right. Most of the spirits were put back to rest, and strict laws on magic were placed along with militant wards surrounding the city. Promises made to neighboring cities that this matter would never darken their doors again. Lady Farview and the council had been instrumental in constructing the laws that would keep the city safe.

Silently, Lady Farview went over the laws in her head as she did every morning. No practitioner of the dark arts could use magic without the presence of their warden. No pagan could leave Reno without the express permission of the council. All users of dark magic were to be marked with a visible brand so those of light could know their nature. All magical groups were to submit the council, listing exact numbers of members and nature. Communication with pagans outside of the city is allowable after council notification and approval.

It was a monumental effort with plenty of rebellion from the younger pagans. They finally understood that if these laws were not in place pagan councils from other cities would install their own laws and they would not be as flexible as those in power now. That and the promise of hope that once all the insane spirits of the cemetery were put to rest the laws would be lifted, spurred them on.

Lady Farview settled in a sun faded lawn chair, her lithe form stretched, she was nearly fifty but her visage was of someone maybe just out of their twenties. Pale blonde hair cascading over her spandex clad shoulders, Lady Farview laughed softly as the wind played with the ends of her hair. One of the many perks of her being a witch. Casting a gaze over Reno as it woke for its day, she felt herself smile. The road to the cities redemption was growing shorter daily.

Lady Farview found her day dreaming interrupted by the sound of the phone ringing. The tone indicated that it was not her cellphone. It was the house line, and that only rang when there was a community issue.

Entering the house Lady Farview picked up the phone, moving her hair away from her ear before placing the phone to it. “Hello? Oh! Katrina, it is always a blessing to hear from you.” Listening to information being relayed Lady Farview grew curious. The tone in her voice reflected her emotion, “Lita Dervish? Why would she need a detective? No, no dear. You did the right thing. I’m sure your friend is just doing something casual for her. Yes, I have felt the energies in that area but so far nothing malicious I assure you. I will have it looked into. You are welcome dear, never fret and never feel it is a waste of time to call me. We live to serve our community.”

Hanging up the phone, Lady Farview took up her cellphone. Dialing a number, she smiled. At last, something for the community to do. To look into a matter that could be curbed to strengthen the community as one. Speaking into the phone as it was picked up, “Good morning, Jack. I have something that might interest you and your dragon warriors….”

 

Bitter Friends 1

Montgomery smoothed out the saliva covered bills; bearded cheeks flushed with anger. The similar taste of urine and metal from the money so recently stuffed in his mouth was inescapable. Looking about the cramped cluttered room his eyes adjusted to the darkness.

Nothing to assist him getting out of a simple locked closet, just a bar that held an assortment of  suits and dresses of various styles and colors. Balling his free hand he struggled to calm himself. Forcing his breathing he concentrated on the muffled voices that reverberated though the door.  His master would be furious, but the circumstances were beyond belief…
*****************************
Franco adjusted the swivel lamp to get a closer look at the body on the table. The lighting being poor to begin with; the adjustment just splayed shadows about the already darkened room. Fidgeting a sun grayed fedora over his winkled brow the near elderly man squinted. Brushing non existent lint off his suit sleeve out of habit his eyes turned to his partner, Benson.

Franco examined his companion a few seconds. Benson dressed in now ill fitting plain clothes of a detective of Reno Police. Retired for five years he found the inactivity put a few pounds on his midsection causing the clothing to strain. Benson still had all his hair and only just starting to go salt and pepper much to Franco’s annoyance. Seeing eyes upon him Benson spoke; his voice carried a near hushed tone. “Did you have to stuff money in that mans mouth and put a gun to his head? I had it handled.”

Letting his gaze fall back to the body on the table to gain a closer look Franco shrugged, speaking in a slight Italian accent, “Your badge was good but now that chowder head is completely confused. You flash a badge; I stuff’em full of cash. Sides, this is no time to play around.”

Benson pushed himself off the wall before walking over towards the table, nearly stubbing his toe upon an array of embalming tools. The basement of the funeral home was dry and kept at a cool consistent temperature.  Siding up next to the table opposite of Franco, Benson crossed his arms and rocked on his heels gazing upon the corpse. “Poor Justin. All that booze finally caught up with him.”

The man on the table measured nearly six and a half feet tall, muscular at one time but age had its way and taken a good portion away. Justin’s corpse was dressed in a black polyester suit. The duo had interrupted Justin’s arrival to the coffin that was parked on a roll bench on the far side of the room near a small service elevator.

Hearing Benson’s statement, Franco made a face. “Yeah, right. Justin never drank.” Reaching in his wool brown coat Franco produced a small leather bound book and placed it on the corpse’s thigh. He proceeded to unbutton the shirt on Justin’s dead body. Benson lurched and obscured the poor light over the corpse. Slight panic rang in his voice. “What are you doing? And, what do you mean he never drank, the report said he over-dosed on alcohol!”

Franco shook his head;  when he got nervous the accent became thicker. “My kid works the station. Gave me the lowdown on the autopsy, too. Unless Justin started drinking last week like a thirty year addict he was either forced to drink that much or he committed the cardinal sin of suicide. Sides, he always refused wine when he was over.”  Peeling back the shirt Franco flicked open a switchblade, “Open the book to the yellow bookmark, and point that light better.”

Benson shook his head, looking to the stairs then gripped the swivel arm with the light.  Adjusting the light Benson used his free hand to open the book laid out on Justin’s thigh. Pain arced through his back and raced down to his knees, his arthritis flaring up again. Benson grit his teeth feeling that any moment his back would give out or his teeth would shatter, “Your kid is a cop? You must be really disappointed.”

Using the adjusted light Franco began to feel along the corpse’s chest trailing to the ribs squinting as if the motion could improve his vision. Franco could feel Benson’s nervousness. Keep the man talking it seemed to help. “Eh, I figured she needed to taste the other side of the tracks before she figures out where she belongs. What’s the book say? And for fuck’s sake keep the light steady, I don’t wanna be here all night.”

Benson gratefully turned his head from the corpse to the book, the movement caused a new wave of pain, “It…I…fuck. Excuse my language. It says…bottom rib left side. Man, Justin was the first of us.” Franco traced his switchblade laden fingers over the corpse and nodded. “Got it, I see the scar. As for him being the first, did some digging of my own. He was the first that lived through the procedure.” Franco paused to rub the collar bone on the right side, “Makes my own itch just seeing it.”

Benson took in the new information; struggling to keep his breathing steady, he never liked to think about his scar and where it was placed.  Closing his eyes Benson spoke to Franco, “Just get to it, Franco. We got a lot of ground to cover tonight.”

Shrugging Franco parted the graying skin the bottom rib with the switchblade, glancing at the corpse, “No disrespect, Justin.”  Franco froze as a realization crept into his mind, the body felt…warm.  Checking Justin’s corpse there was no signs of breathing. Snapping his gaze to Benson; a small solace that the former detective was looking the other way.  Franco felt his fingers shaking as he resumed cutting, maybe it was just the room. No blood, keep cutting.

Franco peeled back skin and muscle gingerly, exposing the rib. Letting out a pent up sigh; Franco felt his nose wrinkling at the new smell of chemicals and underlying decay.
Looking around Franco snatched up a nearby cloth, and wiped at the rib, “There it is. Almost done, pass me a bone saw.”  The rib bone seemed to glitter; delicate designs swirled in the form of arcane sigils. Franco felt his scar burn and itch, he was almost certain it would never go away.

Benson chanced a look and immediately regretted it; late lunch filling his mouth. Letting go of the book it flopped to the floor, groping around blindly on a tray, with his free hand. “I can’t feel one.” Looking to the tray, trying his best to keep his eyes off the scene next to the tray, Benson blanched. “This guy doesn’t have one!”

Franco stepped away from the table irate. “What? Are you fucking kidding me?” Pacing around the room once Franco spied a tool box. Rummaging through the tools Franco produced a wooden handled hammer; setting his jaw he approached the corpse on the table again. “Once again, Justin. No disrespect.”

Benson let go of the swivel lamp and rushed to a sink, the contents of his stomach emptying in a rush.  Bracing his hands on the sides of the sink, his voice strained as it echoed off the basin, “Franco that is Justin man, what are you doing!?!”

A meaty impacted followed Benson’s words causing him to dry heave into the sink.  Another blow, followed by yet another, Benson couldn’t bear to look; his head swimming with near vertigo. The final impact sounded through the room mixed with a snap of bone. Silence washed over the room, save for a unexplained breeze that whistled upon the ears of the duo.

Wrapping the broken rib bone in the cloth Franco used to wipe it down with earlier the retired gangster pocketed the package. Placing a hand on Benson’s should Franco coaxed his one time nemesis away from the sink. “Its over. Turn the water on; don’t want to leave any evidence…just in case we live through this shit.”

Benson did as asked, rinsing his mouth first with the water before letting the basin run.  Benson looked to Franco, the former gangster was pale and sweating. Benson muttered, “Is it too late to say we are too old for this shit?”

Franco felt his legs growing weak leaning upon Benson as much as the detective leaned upon him. Franco snorted as they made their way to the stairs, “Nobody should ever have to do the fucked up shit we have done. Ever. We got a city to save, which includes my kid and your wife. Get some fire under your ass, Benny.”

After what seemed like an eternity the two made it to the parking lot of the Mountain View Cemetery funeral home. They were just down the hill from their goal, but had to take an alternate path to get their. Franco nudged Benson in the ribs, “You are the one with the sight. Where is the nearest gateway?”

Blinking, Benson steadied himself, closing his left eye and tracing his index finger from his earlobe to the left corner of his mouth.  Benson could feel his hair stand on end as usual when he used his gift. His hooded vision misted over, the city faded away leaving only a few twinkling lights in the near darkness. His vision locked on the nearest of the lights, nodding he opened his eye. Benson whispered his throat tightening to keep from dry heaving once again. “San Rafael Park. That is the closest.”

Franco opened the door to the parked black sedan, and slid in to the driver’s seat. Benson took his seat on the passenger side, leaning his head against the cool window he began to time his breathing, six seconds in, six out. Repeat. An old cop trick, Benson was so intent upon the task he failed to hear the engine start.

*** ***** **** ***** ***** **** ****
Montgomery had overheard much of the actions taken by the two. Dishonoring the dead was so taboo to Montgomery that the mere thought of it made him ill. Once he was certain they were gone he fished the key to the closet from his pocket. Montgomery wiggled the key in the stubborn lock, finally feeling the click. Pushing the door open Montgomery raced through the home pausing to check the doorways. The warding runes were intact yet the ‘visitors’ walked right through them. How? The wards kept out all visitors after dark.

Rapid footfalls sounded on the steps as Montgomery descended into the embalming room. Calling the police would raise too many unneeded questions that Montgomery was not inclined to answer. The corpse on the table, clothes in disarray and the lower part of its chest flayed open. Justin Wyatt, he has a name, Montgomery chided himself.

Viewing the corpse Montgomery felt sadness at the sight which changed to anger.  Grabbing the receiver of the wall phone Montgomery rapidly dialed a number.  The young embalmer felt his stance was off kilter. Looking down he moved his right foot revealing a leather bound book.

Stooping down he picked the book up just as the call went through.  Frantically Montgomery began to relay what had transpired. “Master! We’ve just had intruders! Interlopers! Defilers!”  The voice on the other end attempted to calm Montgomery, get the man to slow down.

The conversation continued, “No, Master. They walked in through the wards like they were not even there. They locked me in a closet! They had no magical ability, yet they were here inside. “ Listening Montgomery frowned, still panicked. “Cowin? What is a Cowin?”

Looking to the book, Montgomery pinned the receiver of the phone to his ear with a shoulder. “They dropped a book” Thumbing through it quickly, Montgomery could make little sense of it. “I can’t read it, there is a symbol on it though, an eye. Master. I think they are going to try and stop you from doing what is right.”

Montgomery nodded and hung up the phone after the conversation. Storming back up stairs he eyed the front door, he would not be able to leave until dawn struck the doorway. The price one pays for such wards.  Balling his fists he felt trapped in a place that was supposed to be safe.  All he could do was clean up what these defilers had disgraced.  Feeling his shoulders slump Montgomery turned from the door and set about the task of soothing the disturbed  corpse of Justin Wyatt.