Into the Shadows (28 page)

The bastard didn't seem content to just bite
and suck. Like an animal, he tore at the poor guy's neck with
snarls, primal grunts and crude slurps. He was out of control,
consumed with draining the guy dry. Blood covered the lower half of
his face and the upper torso of his dinner. He was a messy
eater.

Right as I was reaching for my guns, the
greasy-haired hemo looked over at me with wild eyes while still
sucking at the gaping wound he'd made. He suddenly pulled his face
away from the gory gash, and let loose some sort of fierce noise at
me. It was a mix of a howl and a hiss, made by a red-smeared mouth
that opened impossibly wide. I swear his jaws had to have unhinged.
The combination of his elongated, bloodstained teeth, demonic eyes,
aggressive crouch and feral snarl . . . it hit some panic button
that I didn't know I had. It scared the living shit out of me. I
ran away, and fast - a lot faster than I thought I could. It seemed
like only seconds later I was near my car. That's when I came to my
senses.

That murdering motherfucker must have used
some hemo Gift to scare me off. I never would have run away like a
coward otherwise. I swore under my breath, unlocked my car and
grabbed my duffel bag. Pissed at myself more than anything, I went
back down into the long, shallow valley of woods and open pockets
to search for him.

It was only a few minutes later that my scope
found the hemo prick. It looked like the psycho had chased down a
raccoon at the far end of an open picnic space, and had just
started tearing the animal apart. I found cover, got a good rest
for my rifle, and adjusted the sights. With as clear of a firing
lane as I could find, probably two hundred yards out and at higher
elevation, I waited until I had the shot I wanted. Finished with
his vermin snack, the hemo rose up from his squatting position.
Bingo.

The high-powered round caught him just under
his right collarbone, where the chest and shoulder meet. The hemo
spun from the hit and dropped. The shot made noise even with the
suppressor, but not enough to travel far. I grabbed my rifle and
jogged over. The hemo was mostly on his stomach, grunting while he
feebly tried to get up. The exit wound was pretty gruesome; the
back of his dirty windbreaker was ripped open, and his shoulder
blade was bone chunks and bloody hamburger.

After I quickly pulled out a couple items
from my bag, I turned the hemo over with my boot. As I expected, he
was snarling at me, but I didn't think he had the energy to use
that same Gift on me again. "How ya feelin', sport?" I asked as I
pulled out my silenced 9mm's. He started to roll to his left to
push himself up. Well, I couldn't have that. I shot him in the
knees, two rounds each. He collapsed again, moaning through gritted
teeth. "Oh shut up. I bet that didn't hurt nearly as bad as how you
killed guy back there. You know, the one with his throat ripped to
shreds, you son of a bitch."

Tired of playing with the blood-drenched
hemo, I shot him between his eyes. I knew it didn't kill him; I
just wanted him down for the count. I debated ending him, but a
fire would draw attention, and I didn't have the cold nerve to cut
someone's head off. I decided to stick to my original plan, which
didn't involve Fletcher; he never said he wanted anything from my
patrols, so I never offered.

About an hour before dawn, I sat back in my
recliner with a drink and waited for Viggo. I'd given him a call
and said I had a gift for him. I left the kitchen light off, hoping
he'd use that space to arrive instead of my bathroom again. When he
showed up, I brought him out to my detached garage. The bloody hemo
was still on the oil-stained floor where I'd dropped him, tightly
hogtied and with three sharpened tree branches jammed through his
dirty t-shirt and deep into his chest. Hey, I wasn't sure if I hit
his heart with the first or second tries, okay? Better safe than
sorry.

"Do you know who he is, sir?" I asked, hoping
it wasn't a Deviant.

"I cannot say that I do," Viggo replied,
crouching next to the body and shining a flashlight on the face.
"If he belongs to the city's community, then he is not
well-established. Otherwise, I would know of him." He stood to his
full height, still looking down at my catch. "It could be that he
is new to the area, or he is possibly a young Outsider that hasn't
been introduced to the Doyenne yet. From his shabby attire, I doubt
that he belongs to the Adept faction." Viggo turned to me. "And you
say he was in the throes of bloodlust?"

"If that's what you call it, sir," I replied
with a shrug. "I never knew raccoons could scream."

"Hmm," he commented, as if screaming raccoons
were mildly interesting. "Fine work, Leo. I know of a safe place to
store this stranger for now, so I will take him with me. What did
you tell Mr. Fletcher?"

"Nothing yet, sir - I won't see him again
until Monday night, and he never gave me a number to call. I'm not
sure if he even has a phone. I figure the guy that this bastard
slaughtered in the park will be found before then, so Mr. Fletcher
can deal with that if he wants."

Viggo clicked off the flashlight. "Once he
learns of it, he will go to Ragna for answers. You should visit her
again to alert her before Mr. Fletcher comes with questions. In any
event, you are supposed to be her minion, so an occasional
appearance in her domain might be warranted."

"Yeah, okay," I said with a sigh. "I have to
go pick up my money this weekend anyway."

Once Viggo left with the hemo and I went back
inside my house, I finished my drink and went to bed. I fell asleep
with the sour thoughts of having to deal with the crazy bitch
again.

MICHAEL

It was too late for the Wise Owl Wok to be
open when I got there the next night, yet there were a couple of
lights on inside. Ragna's huge dog, Gungnir, was sitting outside
the door of the place, so she had to be inside. The same attractive
Asian woman unlocked the door for me, so I stepped over the dog and
went in. Ragna was sitting in her favorite booth, watching me
intently as I sat across from her.

Before I could say anything, a young waitress
set a steaming plate of cashew chicken and a Coke in front of me.
When she left, I asked Ragna, "You were expecting me?"

"I was told you'd show up tonight, and that
you'd have an interesting story to tell." Ragna reached into the
layers of her filthy clothing, pulled out a wad of cash and set it
next to my meal. I was surprised as hell; I didn't have to ask for
my pay and then get insulted for asking.

"You were told, ma'am?" I asked before taking
in my first bite. I was pretty hungry by then; I didn't eat much
during my late lunch with Gwen. Having to lie to my friend ruined
my appetite.

Ragna nodded. "Clara Page - you met her once,
yes?" My mouth was full, so I just nodded back. "Quite the talented
one, our Miss Page; she is . . . She is not my progeny to speak of
personally. Occasionally, she finds her way to my neighborhood to
play with my pets and tell me things she's seen." Ragna's gaze
drifted off as she went on. "A lovely girl, although she . . ." Her
eyes snapped back to mine. "So, Beck, I hear you've been busy. Quit
shoveling food in your mouth like a starved pig and entertain me
with a tale before we leave."

"We're going somewhere, ma'am?" I asked
around a mouthful of delicious food.

"Oh, yes," she said with a curious twinkle in
her eye. "I think you're due some enlightenment."

While eating as much as I could, I told about
my run-in with the blood lusting hemo. I remembered to tell Ragna
that Fletcher might come around wanting answers about why there was
a dead man (and a dismembered raccoon) in one of his parks that I
patrol. With the way she nodded - you know, like a story you've
already heard - I think she already came to that conclusion. It
reminded me that someone can be bat-shit crazy and smart at the
same time.

Once we were in my car - without any dogs for
once - Ragna gave me directions back to the little theater building
where I first saw Elias, a.k.a. Edward Galloway. The modest brick
building, formerly known as the Ovation Community Theater, had a
new sign up:
Midgard Hearth
. Under that, it said,
An
Asatru Fellowship
. I knew what a hearth and a fellowship were,
but other than that I had no idea.

Without me having to ask, Ragna filled me in
as we walked toward the front doors. The way she kept sampling my
thoughts could get pretty irritating. "Midgard is the realm of
Earth - one realm of nine. In the Old Norse tongue, Asatru
basically means 'belief in the gods'. This is now a Norse house of
worship."

"Oh, that's why you wanted the deed for this
place. You made it your own church."

"No, you halfwit; I gave it to my scion,
Michael. He is a Gothi - that is, a priest of the Norse faith. He
made it his own church, and tonight he holds his first gathering.
Many years ago, during your human's Second World War, Michael was
actually a Christian priest." She chuckled before adding, "I fixed
that."

I kept my mouth shut. First, I had no idea
Ragna had a hemo offspring, for lack of better words. I wasn't sure
what to expect with Michael; I could only hope he wasn't much like
his sire. Or was that dam, or maybe dame? I didn't know, and I
wasn't going to ask. Secondly, I wondered if Ragna brought Michael
into his Norse beliefs with reasoning, or if she changed his faith
with a Jedi mind whoopin'. I hoped it wasn't the latter; doing that
to your own progeny was a new kind of sick.

Gothi Michael - it sounds stupid when I say
it. Anyway, Michael turned out to be a pleasant surprise. He was an
averaged-sized guy in his thirties. He had short, dark hair and a
full beard, with a little white mixed in both. He was one of those
guys with a natural charisma and an easy smile. Michael wore what
I'd guess you'd call a tunic; it was white with decorations at the
end of the elbow-length sleeves. Around his waist was a wide black
belt, with black slacks underneath the tunic. On his wrists were
thick leather bands, and he wore rings on both hands. As priest
attire went, it was pretty sharp.

Best of all, Michael had no noticeable
deformities like most of the other Deviants did. He looked like a
normal, happy guy who shook hands with every person who showed up .
. . all sixteen of them. Only a few of the small congregation had
that vagrant look; the rest appeared to be common folks. Being a
bit paranoid, I scanned the big room for anyone I might recognize,
and was relieved to find I didn't.

Ragna didn't go down near the stage to greet
her scion, but instead took a seat near the back away from the
others. Michael noticed her, smiled, and gave a slight bow.

The theater was decorated differently from
the first time I saw it. Except for a couple of weak spotlights,
most of the area around the stage was lit by a lot of big candles
that made it look cozy. Long banners hung down the walls,
embroidered mostly with the shapes of eagles, stags and trees. Down
in front of the low stage was a long, heavy wooden table holding
cups, plates, pitchers of some sort of drinks, and what looked like
loaves of homemade bread. Michael invited everyone to have some,
and most of those that did went back for seconds.

Soon enough, Michael was up on stage and
began to talk. Unlike Edward's sermon, Michael treated the small
crowd like they were friends he was telling stories to. Or maybe
like students he was eager to teach. He tried to involve them,
asking first names and simple questions that he wove into his
examples of explaining the basics of his Norse religion. There was
no condemning of other faiths, just a focus on the core of Asatru.
Overall, Michael kept it light and informative. He didn't make a
believer out of me, but he did keep me interested and
entertained.

Throughout the hour and a half that Michael
taught us about his religion, I kept thinking that he was a decent
guy. Surprising, because of all the hemos I'd met, only Viggo and
Barnabus were likeable. I had to remind myself that Michael might
seem cool, but he was still a blood-sucking predator.

Along with the free food and drinks, Michael
passed out Asatru calendars and pamphlets of the tenets of his
religion after he concluded his homily. He thanked everyone for
coming out and shook hands with them again as they left. When the
last person passed us on their way out, Michael came up the aisle.
Ragna told me to go get something to eat and drink while they
talked. I hesitated. She plucked the thought out of my head and
told me that her scion didn't taint anything with his blood. I
helped myself to cider, mead, and rich bread while I waited.

I was washing down a bite when I saw a tall
woman step into the auditorium from the lobby. I pulled my Glock
and marched up the aisle, stopping next to Michael. The woman was
fairly attractive, with long, straight dark hair and darker eyes.
She wore cowboy boots, tight jeans, and a leather vest with nothing
underneath it. Both of the woman's arms had sleeves of totem-style
tattoos. She stood calmly at the door with her thumbs in her
pockets.

Ragna didn't even turn her head to see who we
were looking at. "It's been a long time, Katala," she said to the
woman behind her, "but you still reek of bird shit."

Katala didn't say anything for a long second,
I guess refraining from returning the insult. "I am travelling with
Jack tonight, elder," she said softly. "He would like a word with
you."

"Tell him I'll be along in a minute," Ragna
replied, and waited until Katala walked away. Then she stood and
said to me, "You might actually be useful for once. Come with
me."

While Michael stood there confused and
started to ask what was going on, I followed Ragna toward the
lobby. I didn't really notice if he trailed behind us or not; I was
too busy worrying about what kind of shit the psycho dog-woman was
going to get me into this time.