Fractures Page 7

  Xavier’s face darkened. “I do not have to explain myself to the likes of you, Corinthos. I don’t know what sort of discipline you’re used to in this office but the short and sweet of it is that because of the Omnicron Initiative, I am your commander now. You will do as I say without question and that is all there is to it.”

  As Xavier and I had been speaking, Jake had been writing furiously on his pad. He held it up: I will not help you, nor will Cynthia. You are withholding information again, Xavier. The inquisitors did that back in 1854, and it nearly killed us. I will not go through that again. You will provide all information if you want my help.

  “You will do as I say!” Xavier was practically frothing at the mouth.

  And then Jake spoke. “No.”

  That single word was like nothing I’d ever heard before. There was so much power behind it, so much force, and yet Jake hadn’t raised his voice. It was like a physical blow to everyone in the room. Like God himself had uttered that single word and it had flowed down through Jake. Like the universe itself wouldn’t allow whatever it was Xavier wanted.

  Xavier rocked back in his chair, visibly staggered by Jake’s rebuke. For his part, the big security guard had fixed Xavier with a hard glare, as if daring him to push Jake further. It was rare for Jake to speak. In fact, I’ve only heard him say a handful or two of words in all the time I’ve been here. And when he has spoken, it’s always been one or two syllable whispers. This was the first time he’d said anything at a normal volume. I wondered if Jake’s voice had some otherworldly power. Add that to the growing list of things I needed to look into.

  With a trembling hand, Xavier smoothed his hair. His face, already pasty to begin with, was pale as a sheet now, and his eyes had gone bloodshot. His voice only shook a little, but evened out as he spoke. “Fine, fine, Jacob.” He turned to me. “I will spell it out for you, Corinthos. The alligators that people claim to see in Hockomock Swamp from time to time are in fact, the nirrin. When Sakave was barred from this realm, the nirrin that were here de-evolved into a more primitive life form. They’re hibernating most of the time, and come out from time to time to eat the occasional pet or stray animal, and then they go back to sleep. But now that Sakave’s energy has touched this plane again, they’ve been restored to their former physical selves. It’s our belief that their minds will be a bit slower to catch up with the restoration, and we have a narrow window of time to act.”

  “So let’s make this easy,” I said. “I Open a portal into the swamp, at the location Croatoan says, and then we do whatever mumbo jumbo is needed.”

  “You can’t,” Croatoan said. “The fabric of reality is unstable in the swamp as it is. The location where Sakave intends to come through is fragile beyond belief. If it were exposed to any outside extradimensional energy, the odds are good that reality would simply shatter and Sakave could walk right in.”

  I rubbed my face as Galahad asked, “When did you plan on leading this mission, Xavier?”

  “Within the next forty-eight hours. Last time Sakave tried to break through, we had years to prepare. This time is different because of the incident at Ashgate. When Warden Garside contacted Sakave, it thinned the barriers between our reality and Sakave’s. That, plus the fact that Sakave knows the lay of the land this time around, means he’ll have a much easier time trying to break through.

  “Croatoan is analyzing the swamp and will pick out the best route for us. He’ll get us past the nirrin and any of the swamp’s other inhabitants, and then we go to work. Jake is here to facilitate the Infant, and Corinthos will accompany us because he’s the strongest agent in the northeast.”

  Xavier kept talking, and I grabbed a pad of paper trying to take notes and keep up with everything. Too many things were happening today. The Urisk were killers, the Black Flash was a sentient suit, and Jake was a construct built by Leonardo da Vinci.

  Wait, Jake was a construct. I gently reached out to Jake with my telepathy and lightly tapped on his mind, like I was politely knocking on a door. The door opened.

  Vincent, Jake sent. I often wondered if you’d be able to communicate with me like this. Jake’s voice was a warm baritone, the voice of a singer.

  You should have said something sooner. I smiled. We’d have been able to chat without the semaphore and charades.

  The corners of Jake’s mouth tugged up. Had to keep it a secret. Too many things to explain right now. We’ll chat after this meeting.

  With that, I returned my attention to the inquisitor and Galahad. The boss was grilling Xavier for more details, which, oddly enough, Xavier was now providing without resistance. I shot another glance at Jake, and this time, he did smile. Had he completely changed Xavier’s tune with just one word? How was that even possible?

  After about fifteen minutes, the boss seemed satisfied. “Very well, then. Vincent and Jake will accompany you on this mission, Inquisitor.” Galahad leaned forward. “And while I certainly understand the risks of a mission like this, and the inherent dangers in this line of work, I want to be very clear on one thing. I will hold you personally accountable if anything happens to either of my agents. Do we understand one another?”

  All the bravado had left Xavier’s posture, and in that moment, he just looked like a tired old man. “Yes,” he said. “My intent is for a successful mission, Galahad. The last thing the Caulborn need is another disaster like what happened at Ashgate.” He pointed his index finger at me, and the pinky finger of the same hand at Jake. “I expect both of you on call and ready to move out at a moment’s notice.” With that, Xavier packed Croatoan back up into his carrying case, picked it up, and left the room.

  Galahad shook his head as he stood. “Vincent, you are still technically on probation, but Omnicron changes that a bit. You have demonstrated much better judgment these last few days, so please, keep that up, for all our sakes. Jake, I would ask that you help guide Vincent during the course of the mission.”

  Jake signed something to Galahad, and the boss nodded. Then he blessed Jake and me and told us to be careful. Two minutes later, I was alone in the hallway with the big man.

  “Okay,” I said. “So tell me about this infant. Are we really expected to take a baby along on a mission like this?”

  Jake shook his head. Cynthia’s not a baby, not like what you’re thinking, anyway. Follow me, I’ll show you.

  Jake led me down the hall and into the elevator. He put a key into the elevator panel, turned it, and then punched in a code on a tiny keypad that popped out of the wall. The elevator descended, and I watched the numbers on the floor indicator as we went: 2, 1, Lobby, Garage, Sub-basement 1, Sub-basement 2, – 3. “Minus three?” I asked. As far as I knew, sub-basement two was the lowest level of the building, where we had some holding cells for undesirables while we waited to transfer them to Ashgate.

  Jake nodded. Minus three is my home, Vincent. And Cynthia’s. You’re the first person apart from Galahad to see it.

  The elevator dinged a final time, and we stepped out into a short corridor. Unlike the florescent lights that lit the rest of the building, the corridor was illuminated by gentle bulbs in wall sconces, the kind nice hotels have when they’re trying to feel homey. The carpet lining the hallway was soft, and the walls were painted in a neutral beige tone. We approached a door set with three heavy locks and a hand scanner.

  “Wow,” I said. “You certainly take security seriously.”

  Jake nodded as he undid each one. There are things in here from my life that I do not want seen or stolen. But most important is Cynthia. I serve as the Caulborn’s security guard, but my true purpose is keeping her safe. Over the last hundred years, I have put more wards and security measures down here than most artifact vaults possess.

  “Well, this Cynthia must be something,” I said.

  She is. Jake grinned. Come inside and meet her. The doo
r swung open on a living room of sorts. There was a leather couch and a dark oak coffee table. A leather recliner faced the couch. Flanking the recliner were two small tables, both stacked with books. Bookshelves lined the walls, each of them filled to bursting. The faint sound of gears clicking reached my ears, but I didn’t see any clocks. Then I saw the tiny figure sitting in the recliner.

  She was maybe two feet tall and made of gleaming silver metal. She didn’t have a full layer of, well, skin, I guess. She wore a thin yellow sundress, which left her arms and legs exposed. There were patches on her arms, legs, and head where I could see exposed mechanisms and gears, whirring and clicking. Her eyes were two blue orbs that glowed with a pale light. She didn’t have hair, and didn’t appear to have the ability to change her facial expression, which reminded me of one of those creepy little dolls you give a kid, the kind that when you lay the doll down, its eyes close.

  Cynthia, Jake addressed her telepathically, allowing me to hear, too. This is my friend Vincent.

  “Hello, Vincent,” Cynthia said. Her voice sounded human, with just a tinge of synthesizer at the edges. “It is nice to meet you.” When I didn’t respond right away, she tipped her head to the side and the whirring sounds returned. “Awaiting input.”

  I blinked. “Sorry. It’s a pleasure to meet you, too, Cynthia.” I gestured to her book. “What are you reading?”

  “I have just finished Charlie and the Chocolate Factory,” she replied. “This Wonka factory is confusing to me.”

  “How so?” I asked.

  “It is fictitious, yet I can clearly see it in my mind. I lack reference data for the flavor of many of the confections described, and I do not have audio samples of what an Oompa Loompa song would sound like. Yet, visually, I can picture what this factory would look like, despite the fact I have never seen a factory that manufactures chocolate.”

  That’s your imagination, Cynthia, Jake sent. It allows you to envision what things may look like, without having seen them before.

  “Imagination,” she said, thinking the word over. The gears I could see in her head sped up, stuttered, then returned to their normal speed. She blinked. “I try, Jacob. I try to understand. It is a difficult concept to process.”

  Jake’s smile was gentle. We can discuss it more later, if you would like, but Vincent and I need to speak in the study for a few minutes. Is there anything you need?

  “Yes, please. I need a new book.” Jake hustled over to the chair, removed the closed book from Cynthia’s lap, and placed it on top of the stack on the right-hand table. Then he removed a book from the stack on the left-hand table, Matilda, opened it, and gently laid Cynthia’s tiny metal hands on the pages so she could hold it open. “Thank you, Jacob,” she said. “And your next batch of breath is ready.”

  Jake ran a hand over his face. In for a penny, I heard him think. Thank you, Cynthia. I appreciate your help.

  “And I yours, Jacob.” Her head tipped down and she began to read.

  I followed Jake into another room, this one furnished with a sturdy writing desk and a map of the world, with dozens of tiny pushpins stuck into it. Jake closed the door behind us as I regarded the map. It was maybe thirty or forty years old, and there were hundreds of pins stuck into every continent, every country, even some in the oceans.

  “What’s this?” I asked.

  Places I’ve been, Jake replied. Every Caulborn mission I’ve been on, every place my father took me, every place I went on my own.

  One pin was larger than the rest, sticking at Florence, Italy. I pointed at it and raised my eyebrows.

  Home, Jake said, a faint smile on his face. I lived in Florence with my father until he died. He told me to go into the world, to see it for all its splendor, and to do what good I could to leave it a better place than I found it. I wandered for a long time. His thick finger traced a route through Romania, Georgia, and Ukraine. For fifty years, I wandered, doing odd work as a farmhand or other unskilled labor. My father had taught me how to write, but most of the people back then couldn’t read, so I was labeled a mute. He snorted. I could read and understand a dozen languages and play five instruments, but it was my strength that got me through those decades.

  Eventually, I wound up in Russia. I was working for a baker in Tula, who specialized in sweet cakes. Well, sweet by Russian standards—gingerbread with a boiled milk and honey center. He had no horse to pull his cart through the town, so I pulled the cart. I think he also felt more secure having someone my size around. It tended to deter bandits. In exchange, he gave me food and a place to sleep. I don’t need to eat, but I couldn’t let him know that. Jake’s eyes brightened as what were obviously happy memories came to the front of his mind. A nobleman had given the baker’s daughter a violin, and I taught her how to play. It was peaceful there, for a time.

  Jake sighed. But no peaceful time lasts long. A clan of upyr moved into town, and every night, they sucked the blood of the townsfolk. At first, people just seemed tired. Then they started dying. I had seen vampire activity before. My father and I had hunted some in the catacombs beneath Florence.

  Holy shit, Leonardo da Vinci was a vampire hunter? Who was I kidding; the guy could do anything. Of course he was.

  Jake continued. But these upyr were different. They were faster than the vampires I’d fought in Italy. Sneakier, too. They could turn to mist and float under doors and through keyholes, or drift down chimneys. They also didn’t need to be invited into homes; they could just come and go as they wished. As you can imagine, that essentially meant they had free rein in any village.

  And then one night, one of them snuck into the baker’s home and drained his little girl. I was resting in the barn when I heard the baker and his wife screaming. I rushed in, only to find the two of them already dead, their throats torn out, their corpses lying atop the little girl. The upyr was laughing, a sound that I cannot forget, no matter how hard I try. There was pure elation in his eyes as he looked at the death he’d caused. He hadn’t needed to feed on all three of them, I could tell that from how flushed his cheeks were. No, this creature had killed for the sheer joy of it, had thrilled in the suffering it had caused.

  It takes a lot for me to lose my temper; my father often joked that I didn’t have one. But the baker had been a good man, and his family had been good to me, and they did not deserve that. The only thought in my mind was to avenge them. The upyr tried to compel me, seemed confused when it couldn’t, then lunged at me. It must have been relying on its speed and strength to overwhelm me, but I caught it mid leap by the throat in one hand, caught its belt in the other, and neatly broke it in half over my knee. It had a friend, one I hadn’t noticed, hiding in the shadows, who came at me, too, and I snapped its neck. I spent the next two weeks hunting and breaking the upyr in Tula.

  Jake’s tone hadn’t changed. It wasn’t that he was unemotional. I could tell he wasn’t happy reliving these memories, but he was so matter-of-fact about it.

  I had tracked and killed all but the leader of the upyr; I had been able to learn she was a young girl, but I couldn’t find her. Whoever she was, she was always one step ahead of me. I thought I’d tracked her to her crypt one night, but instead of an upyr, I found a vicious panther. It nearly took my face off and bounded out of the crypt. A clever trap, I had to admit.

  I left Tula and moved east. As I searched for the leader, I came across a pair of men impaling an upyr one night, and learned they were Caulborn agents. We were able to communicate, them by speaking and me by writing, and eventually we came to an arrangement where I could work for them. That was in 1570.

  Jake’s finger traced the map. I went to China, to India, to Australia and Japan, and fought all manner of creatures. And in that time, only a handful of people ever learned who or what I really was. Jake sighed, and he looked weary and run down in that moment.

  There was one pin
that was in the middle of the ocean, far away from any land and any other pins. “What happened here?” I asked.

  I had to stop some necromancers from raising Atlantis.

  “Holy shit.” There weren’t any other words to say to that.

  Jake’s finger moved across the Pacific Ocean to Alaska. I moved through Canada, fought wendigos and sasquatch, and ultimately came into the United States by way of Maine, and then down into Boston. That was in 1852. And it was about the time a reverend named Spear was coming into his prime. Spear was a spiritualist, a movement that was quite popular in the nation at that time, and he had a devout congregation.

  The Caulborn had him under surveillance because he’d been contacted by an extradimensional being of unknown origin, and we needed to keep tabs on him to see if this being was friend or foe.

  “Was it Sakave?” I asked.

  Jake shook his head. We knew of Sakave, and he posed a very real threat to this realm back then. There had been reports of “collective hallucinations” in many parts of Europe. Ireland, Spain, and Italy all had reports of people seeing luminescent beings on the streets, trying to interact with the people before fading away. The newspapers and the street prophets claimed these were visions of the saints, or loved ones trying to guide us from Heaven, but the truth of the matter was they were Sakave’s nirrin soldiers trying to force their way through into our realm. Sakave himself tried several times, as well, and there were accounts of a glowing man who kept reaching for people as if trying to embrace them. Sometimes, someone would get caught in that embrace, and they’d suffer an intense psychic and physical shock as Sakave made contact with them.

  I thought back to that video Kleep had shown me, the one with the glowing wraith. Holy shit, was Sakave already trying to force his way through into our realm?