The Green Lama: Scions (The Green Lama Legacy Book 1) (11 page)

“And I would look forward to it,” he said as he effortlessly lifted her up. Momentarily stunned by Jethro’s strength, Jean placed her elbows securely on the floor and climbed up over the edge. She had never doubted Jethro’s physical fitness—it was hard not to notice the sinewy muscles beneath his fitted suits—but had always assumed they had been cosmetic, part of the playboy veneer. But this was… an interesting development that she’d have to explore another time, preferably when they weren’t trapped in the sewers with a couple of psychopaths.

“You see anything?” Jethro whispered below.

“You mean besides lots of darkness?” She lay down and blindly extended her arm over the edge. “Think you can reach?”

His fingers brushed futilely against hers. “I can’t. Step back.”

“Step back?” she hissed dubiously. “Dumont, I’m not sure you’re clear on the whole ’you’re stuck in a pit’ thing. The only way we’re going to—”

While waiting for her to finish, Jethro ran across the shaft, kicked off the far wall, launched himself over the side and landed beside her in one smooth motion.

“Well. Damn,” said Jean, dumbstruck. “Where’d you learn that?”

“Tibet,” Jethro said with the hint of a grin.

“Of course you did,” she sighed. “Skills like that, you could be the Lama.”

Jethro shook his head. “I’m not that good of a Buddhist.”

“Neither is he.”

“True, but I don’t look good in green.”

“No one does. Come on, let’s see if we can find a way out of here.”

Something between a scream and the sound of tearing flesh reverberated down the sewer stopping Jean and Jethro dead in their tracks.

“What was that?”

“Just sit tight and keep quiet,” Jean whispered, drawing her pistol and cocking back the hammer. “I’m gonna check it out.”

“You really think I’m going to stay here and wait for the screaming to start?” He followed close behind her.

“I would.”

“No you wouldn’t.”

Jean smiled despite herself. “Fine, just be sure to duck when the bullets start flying.”

“I have helped the Lama before, you know.”

“Getting letters about corrupt congressmen doesn’t count, rich boy. Not when the lead comes calling.” She took him by the hand and tried to ignore the shock of electricity that ran up her arm. It was just her imagination.

She led them blindly down a corridor, using her free hand to guide her through plumbing and dead ends. She ducked her head beneath an ice-cold array of pipes and made her way through a narrow passage when a dim light began to etch the walls. Voices echoed around them, shifting and changing with every syllable as if it were a dozen people speaking instead of only two. She pressed herself against the wall and motioned for Jethro to do the same. They inched closer until they could just see the kidnappers around the corner. Both were on their knees, clawing at their skin, blood splattering as their nails met muscle.

“What the hell are they doing?” she whispered to Jethro.

“I’m hoping to find out,” he replied stone faced while his voice betrayed an unprecedented amount of power Jean found oddly unsettling. It was only then that they realized their kidnappers had grown silent. The bloody couple turned their heads in unison, unleashing a cacophony of maniacal laughter that sent the little bit of energy still coursing through Jethro’s system crackling from his fingers.

“Jean…” Jethro said, placing a solicitous hand on her arm.

The couple arched their backs and screamed in unison. Their heads twisted at impossible angles as black-laced blood poured over their bodies, their eyes two pairs of obsidian orbs. The woman was dressed in a blood soaked nightgown clinging to her willowy figure, revealing several bullet holes pock marking her chest and stomach. Ichor poured out of a massive wound in the man’s stomach, a grace note from Jean’s pistol at pointblank range, while the wounds on his face had begun to fester. They moved onto all fours and began stalking toward them in tandem.

Jean felt the cold, unfamiliar clench of fear wrap around her throat. Her hand tightened around the gun handle but she couldn’t make herself pull the trigger. These weren’t human beings anymore. They were barely feral animals. They were something Other.

“Jean! Get out of here, now!” Jethro shouted as he positioned himself in front of her, pulling her from her stupor.

“What are you doing, Dumont?!” Jean retorted.

“Buying you time. Now run!”

“Sweetheart, I’m the one with the gun,” she said defiantly.

Jethro whipped around to face her, his eyes blazing. “Run!” he commanded, his voice resonating in the air.

Jean hesitated long enough to watch Jethro launch himself at the blood soaked couple, for the first time seeing the millionaire playboy as something nearing an equal. It wouldn’t be enough, she realized. Despite his resolve he was still in over his head. She moved to aim her pistol when something stayed her hand, an instinct, if there was any name for it. She turned on her heel and raced down the sewer, swearing she would find help and come back for

Jethro, praying it wouldn’t be too late.

• • •

“Om! Ma-ni Pad-me Hum!”
Jethro whispered as he charged forward, energy steaming from his eyes.

The boy was on him in a blur of motion, pushing him into the wall. Nails sliced across his chest, teeth bit into his arm. There was no craft to the boy’s assault, only pure fury, like a caged animal gone wild. Jethro threw out a flurry of attacks, striking hard at every opening. He felt bone crack beneath his fists, wounds open and blood pour over his hands but his attacker was relentless, unmoved by the pain. Jethro backpedaled, letting the boy’s own charge work against him. Without anything to absorb his blows, the boy stumbled forward into Jethro’s waiting grip. Latching onto the boy’s tattered collar, Jethro lifted him off the ground and tossed him back down the passage.

A low growl sounded behind him. Jethro whipped around, his fists blazing emerald, to find Desdemona cowering on the ground.

“Please don’t—!” she screamed, fear bleeding through her decimated face.

Jethro blanched as the energy evaporated from his hands. “…Desdemona?”

“Not anymore.” Her eyes grew black as she grabbed Jethro and slammed his head into the brick wall.

Black spots filled Jethro’s vision as he stumbled to the ground. Warmth spread across his scalp and spilled over his brow, obscuring his vision as the creature that had once been Desdemona lifted him up by bis hair. The boy limped his way back up the passageway and began pacing around them like a tiger circling its prey. Jethro was badly injured, his chest bleeding and several ribs broken. He could feel a well of radioactive salts still flowing through his system, but he needed to focus it, reserve it until the right moment.

“How happy we are you found us, Jethro Dumont,” they spoke in unison, their voices shifting with every syllable as it were a hundred people at once. “We’ve waited so long for this, Green Lama…”

“Desdemona, please…” Jethro said weakly.

Desdemona slammed his head into the wall. “Wrong, Dumont. She is gone. Her blood feeds us. Just as Wilfred’s feeds us. Just as those onboard fed us to give us strength to find you. Now, we are here. We are one, we are many.”

Jethro felt the ground fall out from under him. His vision tunneled and for an instant everything went numb. “You killed all those people… Just to get to me?”

“You are a powerful creature, Green Lama. We needed to prepare.”

“There were
children…
”

“Everything dies. It’s all part of the cycle, isn’t that what you Buddhists believe?”

Jethro felt a chill run down his spine. “What are you?”

They cocked their heads unnaturally to the side. “Humans… So obsessed with the ideas of civilization you forget your fear. When a child cries in the dark, we are there. When you shiver in solitude, we are watching. We are in the comer of your eyes, the cold wind in the night. We are the darkness that sits in the shadows, waiting. We are the Old Ones and beyond this world and all worlds,” they replied. “We have many names and none. You’d call us myth, but then what are you, Green Lama? Dressed in a hood, fighting the darkness. What are you but nothing more than a story? We are Legion, for we are many.”

Jethro climbed to his feet. “And you’re nothing but a virus.”

They smiled. “Yes. We are.”

“What do you want?”

“So strange, that something so small can change the course of time. The Jade Tablet…”

Jethro unconsciously clenched his hand and moved it away. “If you know about the Tablet, then you know there’s only one way to remove it,” Jethro said, his voice dropping several octaves.

They smiled as one. “We know.”

Desdemona threw Jethro into the farthest wall, his bones threatening to break as he crashed into a set of pipes. Stars exploded behind his eyes as something in his chest ripped open. He slid limply down into the putrid water, blood filling his mouth. He stole a glance at the cracked pipes and could just hear the hiss of gas leaking into the air. Shifting his body, he felt the weight hanging from his vest’s pocket; suddenly thankful he was wearing the same outfit from last night. All he needed was a few more moments. He moved to his feet when Wilfred was on him, grabbing him by the face and lifting him off the ground.

“We have seen the future, Green Lama,” they said. “In many ways, it has happened already. You think you are all these bastions of light together. You are nothing but meat and bone wrapped around rage and violence. But our future, the one we will give you, is a world where the darkness is alive, where the gods themselves walk amongst us in all their maddening glory. You will look upon them and scream. You will make that future possible, Green Lama. You will be the scion of a new era. We will rip the Tablet from your corpse, the city will rise and our master’s victory will be complete. And the best part is you’re not even the one we want.”

Jethro felt a pit form in his gut. “Jean…” “Don’t worry, we have a surprise waiting for her.” “I will save her,” Jethro said defiantly. He could feel the last bit of energy still flowing through his system, like a lantern in the night. He needed to draw on it, focus it, and hold on to it if he planned on surviving the next few minutes. “I couldn’t save the people on that ship and I couldn’t save Desdemona, but I will save her.”

“Brave words.” Black ooze lined Wilfred’s teeth while Desdemona dug her nails into Jethro’s face. “But, you are lost, Dumont. All alone in the dark.”

Jethro smiled. “Not alone, never alone.” He pressed his back against the wall and kicked Wilfred away. He spun around and pounded his fist against either side of the cracked gas main, cutting the space off from the rest of the system. As Wilfred and Desdemona leapt at him, he reached into his vest pocket, pulled out his father’s lighter and flicked the spark wheel. He closed his eyes and whispered,
“Om! Ma-ni Pad-me Hum!”

Chapter 6

WHAT LIES BENEATH

CARAWAY GLANCED up as the overhead lights flickered and buzzed before winking out. The shadows expanded, cut only by the pale blue moonlight streaming through the blinds.

“This day just keeps getting better and better.” “Never a dull moment, eh?” Woods said pleasantly, before the room of glares drained his bravado. “Sorry.”

Not for the first time Caraway wondered how Woods scraped his way to the top. Certainly, he was the longest serving Commissioner since Caraway joined the force a millennia ago, but that didn’t make him anywhere near competent. Perhaps that was why the Green Lama and his ilk had started sprouting up like dandelions over the last few years. When the folks at the top stopped working, someone from the bottom needed to step up. Caraway wasn’t sure if that was fascist or socialist, but whatever it was, it seemed to keep the people alternately entertained and terrified.

Caraway felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as a bright yellow light cut through the room in long diagonal lines. He pulled open the blinds as a fireball cut through the sky. A lesser man’s jaw would have fallen open, but Caraway’s locked shut.

Gary’s eyes went wide. “Well, that’s… terrifying.”

A whisper spoke from the back of Caraway’s mind, a thousand voices all at once. They knew his name, calling him Jonathan like his mother had, and their instructions were simple. Caraway felt something lightly wrap around his spine and he understood. “Nothing we haven’t dealt with before,” he said aloud, his even voice betraying nothing. “That looks like—what?—just south of City Hall? Probably near the old pneumatic.” He walked over to his coat tree, slipped on his jacket, and placed his fedora unceremoniously on his head.

Evangl looked at Gary. “We have been missing a lot of stuff on the farm haven’t we?”

“That’s a good thing, right?” he replied, locked on the dissipating cloud of smoke in the distance.

She nodded slowly. “I’m going with yes.”

Tell them,
the voices said;
tell them what they want to hear.
“My gut’s telling me this has to do with our girl,” Caraway cut in.