Date: Sun, 9 Sep 2012 06:04:14 -0700 (PDT)
From: Richard Garcia <invertedbeast@yahoo.com>
Subject: Darkness Calls chapter 4

DARKNESS CALLS
Chapter Four


Following my meditative moment over the porcelain pool, I calmed down and
started thinking more clearly.  There's no way I could have been at Opal's
condo during the full moon.  She lives all the way across town.  Nowhere in
my album of memories from that night were there any images of her place,
nor of traveling there.  I'd spent the whole time either at home or running
around doing wolfish things in the preserve, I'm certain.

So who had done it? Another werewolf?  An angry ex-boyfriend?  An angry
ex-boyfriend werewolf?  Maybe Opal was dating a whole kennel of werewolves.
Two-timing bitch.  How many wolfmen are hanging out in our fair city,
anyway?  Fellers might have been able to tell me.  Too bad I was boycotting
him at the moment.

I went back to my office and moved onto stage two: analyzing recent
performances of the various funds and individual stocks I've been
following.  It kept my brain occupied with something other than Joey and
Opal for the rest of the evening.  When I finally went to bed, though, they
both crawled in with me.  My dreams slid back and forth between my human
self having hot, wild sex with Joey and my beast self ripping Opal into
bloody stamp-sized pieces.  It was like being in a front row seat at an
eight-hour gay porn/slasher movie.  Good times.

So I didn't exactly bounce out of bed the next morning bright eyed and
bushy tailed.  Joey was up and running through his warm-up scales when I
finally got going.  I fixed myself a triple espresso and went back to my
office.  It was time to quit dicking around and start doing some real
trading.

I worked for a couple of hours.  I'd just finished a transaction and was
taking a breather when I realized that Joey's playing had stopped.  And I
could smell him.  I spun around in my chair and there he was, standing in
the doorway to my office, holding his clarinet in one hand.

"Daniel," he said, "something's wrong."

"No shit, bro."  I turned my head to look back at my computer screen.  "So
you heard what that police detective said to me yesterday?"

Out of the corner of my eye I saw him nod.

"I didn't attack Opal."

"I know it, Daniel," His voice sounded impatient, "that's not what I meant.
Something bad is about to happen."

I forced myself to look at him.  The fingers clutching his clarinet were
white with tension.  My gaze traveled up to his face and I noted the
paleness of his cheeks.  He wasn't impatient; he was scared.

I sat up fast.  "What?  What's going to happen?"

"I don't know, Daniel.  I just know that it's something bad.  We have to
get out of here."

"Out of here?  You mean out of the house?"

He nodded.  "Something's coming."  Joey's eyes were wide.  His pupils were
dilated and spooky looking.

The hairs along the back of my neck went up. I stifled a growl.

"Okay."  I stood.  "Let's go."

I grabbed my keys and wallet and we hustled down to the garage.  I hit the
button to open the garage door and we jumped into the Porsche.  When I
turned the key the damn car wouldn't start.  Engine wouldn't even roll
over.  The battery was dead.

"Shit," I said, "let's take the van."

We got into the van.  More problems: the carburetor was acting up again.
The engine died when I put it into reverse.

I tried again.  Same thing.

"All right.  We'll take your Civic."

"No," Joey moaned.  "It won't work either."

"Fine, I'll call a cab."

"Too late, Daniel."  He whimpered.  "It's here."

"What, bro?  What is it?"

"Grendel," he whispered.  "Grendel's here."

Holy shit.

We got out of the van.  I scanned the yard outside the garage.  It was a
peaceful weekday morning.  The sun was out and the birds were singing.

Correction, they weren't.  The birds weren't singing.  It was quiet, really
quiet, and the air was still.  A déjà vu feeling hit me.  This was
how it had felt standing in front of the witches' mansion when we had gone
to see Momma Lolotta.  I caught a faint whiff of something bitter and
musky.  It was a wild animal smell.

"Come on."  I grabbed Joey and pushed him behind me, putting myself between
him and the open garage door.  "Let's go back inside."  I walked him
quickly to the back of the garage and hit the button to bring down the
door.

It seemed to take forever to close.  Just before the garage door touched
down a shadow passed across the concrete outside.  The bitter musky smell
got stronger.  Grendel was out there.

Shit.  What were our options?  I ran through the floor plan of our house.
The place is built into a hillside, with the lower level partially
excavated into the slope.  On that floor there's the garage, my studio, a
bath/laundry room and the storeroom.  The studio has a wall of
floor-to-ceiling windows and patio doors that look out directly into the
back yard.  Supper-easy access for your neighborhood monster.  The other
rooms are windowless deathtraps.

The main part of the house is upstairs.  Mostly it's an open floor plan
(designed by a Frank Lloyd Wright student) with lots of windows and
glass-paned French doors along a walkway that wraps around the back.  More
easy Grendel access.

Maybe if we got out the front door and down to the street we'd be enough in
public view that Grendel wouldn't attack.  Unless no one was around.  What
were the odds of that, near noon on a weekday?  Better than the likelihood
of a monster from a medieval epic lurking outside my house?  I bit back a
bitter laugh.

Wait — what about the old sword on the wall in my office?  It had
belonged to a great-granduncle who had been an officer in the Polish army.
If Grendel came into the house we could lock the office door and climb out
the front window.  Even if the street was empty there would be room to move
around and I could hold it off with the sword while Joey got away.  That
might be our best chance.

"Upstairs, to my office."  I jumped ahead of Joey and headed out of the
garage.  We hustled up the stairs and were halfway across the living room
when something big and hairy suddenly loomed outside on the walkway.
Shards of glass flew as the monster smashed through the French doors.  I
almost gagged on the smell.

It was as fast as it was rank.  Before I had time to think it was almost on
me.  Training took over.  I pivoted back and threw a side kick.  A handful
of claws passed through the air where my head had been.  The kick didn't
have much power in it, but Grendel had been moving fast enough to supply
plenty of force.  The edge of my foot hit its midriff; we flew apart like a
couple of billiard balls.

I was smaller so I went farther.  Somehow I managed to twist around in the
air and land on my feet, coming down next to the fireplace.  I grabbed the
poker from its stand.  It wasn't a sword, but it was close enough.

Grendel snarled and came at me again.  Kendo wasn't really my thing, but I
did know a few things.  Holding the poker in a two-handed grip, I parried a
couple of swipes.  The shock of the blows nearly knocked the iron out of my
hands.  Shit.  It was as strong as it was fast.  At least I smelled better.

Grendel took a step back.  It snarled again, exposing a mouth full of
lion-sized incisors.  The bones of a human forearm would have been
shattered by my swings of the poker.  The monster didn't seem to even
notice.  It gathered itself for another charge.

Then, from behind me, came the sound of Joey playing his clarinet.  It was
a simple, soothing melody, like a lull-a-bye or a nursery rhyme.  I'd heard
never heard the tune before.  Hell of a time to practice.

Grendel paused.  The snarl slid off its muzzle as it cocked its head and
listened.

Who says music can't save the world?  I braced my foot against the
fireplace and, as the monster stood listening to my brother play, I
launched myself at it.  From the tip of the poker down my arm and across my
shoulders I was one straight vector, moving up between it's extended
forelimbs, through the right eye and on into the brain.  The poker slammed
to a stop against the inside of Gendel's skull.  I gave the handle a twirl
for good measure and leapt out of reach.

The monster stood swaying for a moment, as if it were about to start
dancing to my brother's music.  Then it toppled over.

Joey stopped and lowered his clarinet.  Across Grendel's body we stared at
each other.

"You okay?" I asked.

He nodded.

My first impulse was to grab Joey and squeeze him tightly against me.
Instead I looked down and prodded the monster with my foot.  It had landed
in the center of the Peruvian rug I had bought a couple of years ago.
Blood was seeping out of its eye and running down the poker to form an
expanding red circle on the rug.

Yep, it was dead.  And I hadn't even had to rip its arm off.

"What do we do now, Daniel?"

Great question.  What does one typically do following a break-in and
assault?  I should call the police.  I'm sure Detective Garrett would be
delighted to know that I'd caught his unknown cat-killer.  On second
thought, maybe not such a good idea.  I pulled my cell phone out and
punched in Feller's emergency number.  Boycott was over; it was time to
call my shrink.


"Fellers," he answered directly after a couple of rings.

"This is Daniel."

"Yes, my boy, what do you need?"

"Don't you already know?"

I heard him sigh.  "Why don't you assume that you are currently out of
range and just tell me?"

"A monster just broke into our house and tried to kill us.  Joey said it
was Grendel."

"A grendel, you mean.  Where is it now?"

Shit, there's more than one?  "It's laying in the middle of the living
room.  We killed it."

"Did you?  Good job!  Are either of you hurt?"

"We're both fine."

"Glad to hear it.  Stay put: someone will be at your house to pick up the
body within thirty minutes.  How big is the mess?"

"Not bad.  There's blood on the rug it's laying on, and it busted through a
door to get in, but that's it."

"Good.  Try to keep the blood from spreading."

"Can I turn the body over or is that messing with the evidence?"

"My dear boy, messing with the evidence is the whole idea.  I'll come over
as soon as I've finished Mrs. Blanchet's session."

"You're in a session?  Sorry to interrupt."

"No problem; I've put her to sleep.  I'll edit this out before I wake her
up."

Edit this out?  Like a movie tape?  "Okay, see you later."  I hung up, glad
that I was out of range and Fellers couldn't read what was going through my
mind right then.

Joey helped me roll the grendel over onto its back so that the blood from
its eye would pool in its head instead of on the rug.  God, it reeked.  I
braced my foot against the forehead and worked the poker back out of its
head.  It was a lot harder and messier coming out than it had been going
in.  Good thing I hadn't had any breakfast.  Surprisingly, the gore didn't
seem to bother Joey that much.

Once it was out I dropped the poker onto the rug and went out to the
walkway for some fresh air.  When I came back in Joey was still standing
beside the body of the grendel looking down at it.  His face was
expressionless.  I came over to stand beside him.  The monster was
massively shaped, like a gorilla except that its muzzle and claws were more
tigerish.  It was covered in filthy matted fur; between it legs hung an
impressive set of genitals.

Joey turned suddenly and wrapped his arms around me.  "Thank you, Daniel,"
he whispered into my chest.

I pulled him tight against me, laying my cheek against his head.  His hair
smelled Joey-and-shampoo.

"We did it together, bro."  Gently I rocked him.  "I'm not going to let
anything happen to you.  I told your mom I'd take care of you and I will.
We're going to be okay, I promise."

After a minute of holding onto each other Joey disengaged and went to put
away his clarinet.  It was hard to let go of him.  I so much wanted to keep
touching him, to keep smelling him.  The impulse wasn't sexual; it was
about knowing that he was here and he was safe.

He came back and we hung out together in the living room, waiting for the
clean-up crew to come.  Twenty minutes later a moving van pulled up in
front of the house.  On the side of it was a stencil of a flying horse over
the words PEGASUS SHIPPING.  Beneath in smaller letters it said `Your
Valuables Get There Like Magic.'  Ha hah, somebody has a sense of humor.

The driver, a burly guy in a dark blue jumpsuit, got out of the van and
opened its side doors.  He rolled out a crate on a dolly.  I opened the
front door and he rolled the crate into the living room and up next to the
dead grendel.

The guy eyeballed the monster's corpse like he was sizing up grandma's
antique dresser.  He took a square of cloth and a bottle of some cleaning
fluid out of his pockets and wiped the poker clean, then handed it to me.
I put it back in its stand.  The guy lifted the lid off the crate and took
out some rope.  He wrapped the grendel up in the rug and tied it securely.
I helped him l maneuver the bundle up and into the crate, which was lined
in thick sheets of plastic.

The guy used more cleaning fluid to wipe down the floor under the rug.  He
rolled the crate back into the van and returned to the house carrying a new
rug across his shoulder.  He laid it out on the floor.  This rug was a tad
larger than the old one had been.  It had an art deco pattern that looked
great with the furniture.  Too great, maybe, because I didn't want it
competing with the work on the walls, but I could live with it for now.  It
was definitely better than a dead monster in front of the fireplace.

"Sign here."  The man handed me a clipboard.

"For what?"

"For delivery of your new rug."

It really was a shipping page, for a rug.  I signed it.

"What happens to the old rug?"

"Incinerator.  Have a nice afternoon."

He left.  Just a typical workday at Pegasus Shipping.

Ten minutes later a Mercedes sedan with tinted windows pulled into the
driveway.  Dr. Fellers got out on the passenger side.  John got out of the
driver's side.  Fellers was wearing his thinner and younger godfather
persona; John was back to his office uniform of long-sleeved oxford and
chinos.

Fellers didn't bother to knock.  He knew I knew he was here.  He walked
into the living room and looked at the rug, then around at rest of the
room.

"If you think it's too busy I can get you another one," he said.

"I haven't decided."

He nodded.

"Where did you get this one?  It's hand made, isn't it?"

"Good eye, my boy.  It seemed fitting, since everything else here is an
original.  Consider it my congratulatory gift for your victory in battle."

Right.  I'm starting to wonder which of Fellers' personas is the real one.
Maybe that's not something to think about too much when he's around.

"Do you have any idea what the hell is going on?" I asked.

"Yes.  But let's begin with your ideas first.  You think there may be a
link between the attack here and your cousin Opal's disappearance."

"Yeah.  It must have been the grendel that broke into her condo and killed
the cat.  Maybe it killed her, too."

"Possibly, although it may not have been sent to kill her.  If its mission
was intimidation, killing her familiar would be an effective ploy."

"The cat was her familiar? That's not the Hollywood version?"

"Occasionally Hollywood gets it right."

A truism for any occasion.  "So if the grendel was on a mission, who sent
it?  Where'd it come from?"

"Come now, dear boy, recall your college English.  You've read Beowulf.
Where did Grendel come from?"

I thought back.  "He came from a cave, by a lake."

"Indeed.  And?"

"He lived there with his mother.  Wasn't she a hag or something?"

"That's how the story's typically translated.  More accurately, she was a
witch."

I stared at him for a moment.  Then it hit me.  "That bitch!  So much for
polite conversation!"

Fellers shook his head.  "Momma Lolotta is dead."

"What?  You're kidding!"

"No, I am not kidding.  She died just over a week ago."

I thought for a moment.  "Who's the new matriarch?"

"That is an excellent question."

"But you don't have the answer?"

"Correct.  Apparently it was all rather sudden.  I imagine that things must
be a bit chaotic in the Estrella household at present.  The succession of a
lineage matriarch can be a lively process."

The phrase `lively process' sounded like an understatement.  I shook my
head; too many unknowns.  "But we aren't involved in any of that.  Why try
to kill us?  I don't think the grendel was aiming for just intimidation
this time."

"No, it would seem not.  I'm afraid I have no idea why it was sent here."

"Think whoever did it will send another?"  Should we get the hell out of
here?  Go into hiding?

"Unlikely.  Grendels are rare these days.  And there's no reason to go on
the lamb.  You are as safe here as you would be anywhere.  Safer, actually,
since this is your home.  My guess is that this visitation was the
byproduct of a process that will come to resolution once there is a new
matriarch."

I glanced down at the rug.  "It was a Bigfoot, wasn't it?"

"Bigfoot, sasquatch, yeti, ogre.  Grendel is the shadowkin term.  It
puzzles me how your brother knew that.  Where is he?"

I looked around.

"I'm here, Dr. Fellers."  Joey stepped out of the kitchen, drying his hands
on his pants.  "I was making some more coffee."

Fellers stared at Joey.  Through the curtain of his hair Joey peeked back.

For a long moment they stood there, looking at each other.  Nothing obvious
about Dr. Fellers had changed, but suddenly he seemed different.  The air
felt tense and heavy, like right before a thunderstorm.  What the fuck was
going on?

"What the fuck is going on?" I asked.

Fellers turned towards me.  The room tilted as for a second I got the full
brunt of him: Nosferatu, undead, a creature of Darkness deeper even than
the grendel.  For a moment sanity was a cliff I was standing on the edge
of, and it was starting to give way.

Then Fellers blinked and, click, he was back to being Dr. Santa Claus again
— or, rather, the godfather.  Either one was infinitely preferable to
what I'd just glimpsed.

"Your brother is recovering nicely from his trauma," he said calmly.  "In
fact, I might go so far as to call his progress miraculous."

Something very weird was happening.  I rewound the last minute and played
it over.  Ah, got it.

"You asked where he was and he was standing right there.  He wasn't outside
your range was he, doc?"

"He should not have been."  Fellers shot a glare at Joey.

I probably shouldn't have, but I was still scared shitless and I couldn't
help it.  I laughed.  "What, you can't read him?"

Now I got the glare.  It was more godfather than Nosferatu, but it was
still enough to shut me up.  Unless I wanted the Mrs. Blanchet treatment,
this was not the moment to piss off the good doctor.

"No, I can't."  He turned back to Joey.  "How did you learn to do that?"

"I don't know, Dr. Fellers."  Joey's tawny eyes tracked Fellers through his
hair like a deer peering through foliage.  "It just came to me.  Like I
knew the grendel was coming."

Fellers grunted.  "Your mother," he shook his head.  "I don't know whether
to applaud her audacity or be appalled by her arrogance.  It's a pity your
relatives seem to be trying to kill you.  You need training."

John looked at his wristwatch.  Fellers sighed.  "I have another meeting.
Someone will be out to look at the patio door this afternoon."  He pierced
me with an icy gaze.  "I wouldn't put off your next session too much
longer, my boy.  Guilt is a luxury you can't afford in your current
circumstances."

Fellers left, his tattooed Remfield trailing behind him.  The good doctor
had over-reacted to Joey and was trying to recover, like a cat that had
slipped and fallen off the windowsill, and now slinked away with its tail
curved haughtily in the air.  I meant to do that.  Yeah, right, kitty.

When you get right down to it, I guess even the undead are still human.


=========================================================================


Well.  Quite a dynamic duo those two boys are.  Honestly, I'm just as
surprised about some of the latest developments as you are.  Kudos to both
of them for destroying the grendel.  And on top of that, Joey set up a
mind-block stopping Fellers from reading his thoughts.  That's impressive.
Most witches spend years learning tricks like that, and he's stumbled
across it all on his own.  I'm so proud of my little ex-boytoy.  Ain't he
something?


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