Orphan of Mythcorp (15 page)

“
You know him?”

I struggled to rip the strip of paper out of
my pocket—the one Galahad claimed my kooky savior had stuffed in
there after the Hunter attacked me. I handed it to Faustus.

He whistled and then laughed. “This is
Malthus’ script.”

“
Malthus?”

Faustus smiled. “He’s a demon, and the best
chance we have of getting inside Mythcorp.”

“
It can’t be just coincidence,” I said,
“me running into a pair of Mythicons who knew my father.” I winced,
having moved just right so that one of the healing slices on my
back tore open. “And this Malthus demon, helping me outside the
school? No way it’s all a bunch of coincidences.”

“
What then?” Faustus asked. “Divine
intervention?”

I shrugged. “Maybe. By the way, have you ever
heard of an Anne Thrope?”

Faustus was looking through that porthole
window again, but turned around to observe me. “Doesn’t ring a
bell. Anyway, I suspect that God or the gods find us generally
boring, occasionally amusing at best. It’s more likely we’ve run
into some good luck.” That knowing smirk returned to his face. “And
trust me, I’d know: I’m the crown prince of good luck.”

“
What do you mean?” My vision was
blurring; I could see an aura around the gingersnap.

“
You’re not the only one with gifts.
Mine is miraculous good fortune,” yanking on his non-existent
lapels and pointing his freckled nose at the ceiling. “Nothing bad
ever happens to me.” He pulled on his sleeves, revealing flawless
white skin. “Not a single scar. I never get sick and if someone
tries to shoot me, I slip and avoid the bullet or their gun will
simply jam up. Oh,” lowering his voice to a whisper, “and I
own
the lottery. Won a dozen
fortunes. I’ve more money than Luxembourg.” His expression turned
sour. “There’s just one little shrimp who can mess things up for
me. But I think I’ve finally got a way to neutralize old Georgie
Porgie.”

Struggling through the DT’s, I managed
to recall what Ash had told us about Mythicons, back at the Home.
According to him (or rather, according to Mr. Bors, whom Ash had
Mesmerized into revealing this) Mythicons were forged in Mythcorp,
each one possessing the exact personality and physical traits of a
fictional character—its
myth
ical
icon
. So, back then, if you had enough money, you
could have had Mythcorp forge you Frodo Baggins or Sherlock Holmes
and so on.

For the life of me I couldn’t remember any
story about a lucky kook named Faustus.

The brimstorm let up and Faustus unlocked the
back door. The steamy gloom of a post-brimstone sky hung heavy. You
could feel it on your flesh and this was not a good thing, not for
someone going through withdrawal. I wished I‘d had time to shop for
some smack in Vera City.

Two steps out of that phantasmagoric slide
show and my spooks popped into existence in front of us—all five of
them, bamf-bamf-bamf-bamf-bamf. They wore expressions of concern,
all except for Castor, who seemed disappointed that I was still
alive. I limped on the cripple-stick, trying to put some distance
between me and Faustus. While he was busy hailing a cab, I turned
to Marie.

“
Where’ve you been?” I asked her. She
too had an aura, a sort of tracing of her profile in the shade of a
bruise, just like all the living people shuffling along the
street.

‘
I couldn’t get to you,’ Marie said. It
was unholy seeing her standing still. ‘Something about that place
you were in. Please don’t go back there.’

“
I won’t, believe me.” Then I added,
“Did you find out any more on Sanson, Marie?”

Faustus jerked his head around, blazed his
golden peepers at me. “Did you say Marie?” he asked. I nodded
slowly while preparing to expound some lame excuse about talking to
myself, when he interrupted. “You speak to a ghost named Marie? Is
she wearing a white dress, dancing idiotically?”

All my aches and pains subsided for a tick
when he asked this. “How can you possibly know all that?”

He laughed, drawing the attention of
pedestrians. “Ha! You really are his boy. Oops, there’s the cab.
Let’s get out from under these pissing clouds.”

I followed him in the cab and assaulted his
ears with questions—questions he did not answer. By the time we
reached Twenty-First Street I was two ticks away from socking him
in his sniffer. It wasn’t like we had any cameras on us in the cab.
Why couldn’t he speak to me about my father here?

“
Why couldn’t we speak about Knox in
the cab?” I asked as we slopped our way down the street to the
cul-de-sac at the end.

“
Man,” he snorted, “you’re as
persistent as Roland Deschain.” He leapt over an especially deep
puddle, landing without splashing a drop. I hobbled around the
puddle but still ended up with soaked pants and water-clogged
shoes. “We couldn’t talk in the cab,” he continued, “because that
cabbie was listening to your stupid questions. You can’t just go
around babbling on about Mythcorp and the War like some dang
loose-lipped snitch.”

“
Why not?”

He paused and pinched his nose as we reached
the cul-de-sac. Before he could answer, Faustus’ head jerked up and
his gaze shot out into the gloom of the trees between the houses.
“Oh this is just awesome. We’re being followed. Don’t look. Just
hurry up and get inside.”

He led me up the circular steps onto a
concrete stoop. A small roof held up by fluted pillars blocked the
rain, but I still felt exposed, especially after my guide’s
unnerving revelation that we were being followed.

“
Good luck,” he said. “I’m sorry ahead
of time, and whatever happens, don’t blame me.” Faustus rapped on
the door using the brass knocker, and then skipped down the
steps.

“
Hey!” I called out. “Aren’t you going
in with me? I thought you knew this Dex guy.”

“
Yeah,” he said, walking backwards
down the street. “That’s exactly why I’m not going in. Dex has . .
.
issues
with those of us who
knew Knox. Not that I blame him—” his voice trailed off as I lost
sight of him.

“
Oh, this is just dynamite,” I
whined.

So, I was drenched as a fish, my entire body
was a tapestry of bruises, and now I didn’t have an introduction to
this Dex fellow.

‘
Well, are you gonna knock or shall I,
you bony snot-eating sack of maggoty trash,’ Castor said. He was
hovering to my right, dry as a bone. ‘Well? Let’s to it,’ he
continued. ‘Or would you rather stand out here, pining after your
long lost father? Maybe you want those firemen to put you out of
your misery? Man, life is wasted on the living.’ He flickered and
disappeared.

I turned around (tearing open a couple of
the gashes on my back) and sure enough there was a pair of
firefighters a few hundred feet down the block, dousing residual
brimstone flames with foam produced by the tanks on their
backs.

These two firemen paused in their work. I
thought maybe they’d caught me being a voyeur, but then I noticed
that the shadow behind them was moving. They swiveled and had just
enough time to scream before their heads jerked back, one after the
other. They clunked unconscious to the ground. That’s when the
shadow behind them emerged from the tree line, taking the shape of
a fatty-patty in a bear-skin cloak.

The Hunter leaned over the firemen. After
retrieving something too dark and small for me to see in the gloom,
he stood and slowly turned his head up to look at me from across
the distance.

“
Holy crap!” I turned and pounded on
the heavy oak door. “Let me in!”

Glances behind told me the Hunter was coming
my way. He was certainly taking his time though, as if he had all
the confidence in the world that Dex would not open.

“
Come on, open up,” I screamed.
“Someone’s coming!”

‘
This door looks familiar,’ Marie
declared. ‘You know, I think I’ve been here before. Yeah, he was
standing right where you are,’ pointing at me. ‘He was pounding on
the door, just like that. And then . . . and then, oh shoot, I
can’t remember. My memories are all fuzzy. Maybe Dex can help. He
always has the answers.’

I was beginning to think Marie had been in
the thick of things back during the War, maybe even a part of
Knox’s life. But more pressing matters—like my imminent demise and
eternal buggery—were in the making, and so I continued pounding on
the door, only now I was using my cripple stick.

“
What do you want?” a voice from the
other side, muffled and annoyed.

“
To come in, what do you
think?”

A pause. “Go away, dude. I don’t want any
visitors tonight.”

“
There’s someone out here and he’s
going to kill me!”

A few seconds passed. “Are you still out
there?”

‘
He’s got his hand on the knob,’ Marie
whispered. ‘Keep talking, you almost got him where you want him.
Tell him about the Hunter. That should get him to open up.’ She was
weaving her head and torso from me to the other side of the
steel.

“
I’ve come about Mythcorp, and if you
don’t open right now,” I paused for a tick to consider the best
threat, “then the Hunter will kill me and then he’ll bust this door
down.” Darn, that was lame. “Open up!” At least all this adrenaline
was dulling my aches and pains.

‘
He’s undoing the deadbolts,’ Marie
squeaked. ‘Halle-frigging-lujah,’ Castor mocked. ‘Ring the bells,
light the cannons, write the Pope and bring out your dead, the door
is opening.’

The Hunter was ten yards away now. He
must’ve heard the locks being undone too, somehow, because he
picked up his pace, lumbering towards me at a trot. I pounded
harder and shoved on the wood. At first it didn’t budge, but then,
with sudden freedom and relief, it gave. I fell inside on top of
Dex.

‘
Hurry up,’ Marie screeched. ‘He’s
right behind you.’ Castor added: ‘Yeah, better hurry up or your
precious life might be snuffed out right here and now. And then
what would the world do?’

I twisted around, opening another couple of
the stripes on my back. With my cripple-stick I tried yanking the
door shut, but the Hunter barreled inside and landed right on top
of us.

Dex, a man with gray-haired temples but
razor sharp blonde hair up top and sporting dark circles under his
eyes, looked at the Hunter with blazing fury. Instead of offering
to help me, Dex pointed at the Hunter and started rattling off some
hokey Latin chant. The Hunter grunted to his knees while digging
into a pocket in his vest beneath the cloak. With one swift
backhanded gesture, he tossed a small globule at Dex. The thing
burst on impact, unleashing a foul vaporous cloud that soon
enveloped the aging blonde. I struggled to breathe, even though I
was a few feet clear of it.

Without even having the decency to make it
look like it required an effort, the Hunter snatched the
cripple-stick right out of my grip and snapped it in two, no big
deal. He then grabbed me by the scruff and hoisted me up, ripping
my poor drenched flannel. Thunder boomed outside. The Hunter drew
me to his face, nose-to-nose like a lovable puff.

“
Where is he?” he growled. “I know you
know where he is. You’re going to tell me.”

He started shaking me. I wanted to puke but
thought it might be a smidge foolish to vomit all over the kook who
already wanted to shake me to death. Besides, I couldn’t remember
the last time I’d eaten. Probably only be the dry heaves.

Castor was goggling at me, a smirk on his
dead face. Well I was not going to be some yellow-gut and make him
giddy with satisfaction. No sir. So I gathered up my marbles and
gazed right into the Hunter’s creepy peepers. “I’m not ‘going to
tell me’ you nothing. So sit on it, you twisted ugly—”

BOOM. He slammed me up against the wall
beside a coat tree. I slithered down to the floor, wheezing for
air. And then came the kicker: the Hunter raised his right leg, the
one with the augmetic knee, and slammed it down on my shin, right
below the knee he’d buggered up earlier.

I could say I screamed, but ‘scream’ is such
a wimpy word that it just wouldn’t do justice to the sound that
exploded from my mouth.

Vision blurred as hell coursed through my
body. Suddenly there were two Hunters and two Dex’s.

Wait. How could Dex even be standing after
taking that concussion grenade full-on? However he’d managed to
recover so quickly, Dex looked furious. A black-handled blade
appeared in his right hand. With one swift move he sliced a gash in
his left forearm. Blood dribbled to the floor, right into the
middle of a chalk outline of a pentagram.

Rumbling thunder shook the mansion—and it
seemed to be coming from behind Dex. One second the air was still;
in the next instant a great hurricane of wind whooshed around Dex
and slammed into the Hunter, blasting him straight out the door and
over the stoop. He smashed right into the receiving arms of a
dark-skinned behemoth, bowling the giant over.

The Hunter did a slap-dash 180 while drawing
a machete. I didn’t even have time to think before the oversized
demon grabbed the Hunter by his leg, twirled him around, and
launched the beefcake twenty feet away into the trees. He then
lumbered after him.

While I lay in shock, rubbing my throbbing
leg and gawking at the spot where the two freaks had disappeared,
Dex rushed out to the stoop, swiftly inscribed something on the
heavy door, and then slammed it closed, throwing the numerous
deadbolts after it.