Book of madness, p.5
Book of Madness, page 5
Eleanor sighed. “I can’t guarantee that I’ll be able to remain in contact if you enter the forest. It’s suffused with E-energy, and my signal might be blocked.”
“Understood” Neal said. He turned to Gina. “Ready?”
“Would it matter if I said no?”
Neal grinned and they started forward.
You’d think by now I’d be used to this sort of thing.
Gina held her scanner out in front of her as she walked between the trees, but instead of looking at the device’s display, she continuously swept her gaze left to right, alert for any sign of a threat. Neal walked ahead of her—there wasn’t enough room for them to walk side by side—his scanner held down. He preferred to rely on his instincts and experience rather than technology when he could. And after working with him for eight months, Gina knew that both were honed to a degree that nearly made them the equal of a hand scanner. She wondered if she’d ever develop skills to that level. She’d finished her training at the Homestead less than a year ago, and Ash Creek was her first posting. She had a lot of years ahead of her before she reached Neal’s level—assuming she lived that long.
As always in these types of situations, she was uncomfortably aware that neither of them carried any weapons. According to Maintenance regulations, Surveyors were limited to observation activities only. Interventionists were the muscle of the organization, and they got all the best toys to play with. Neal had a more liberal definition of observation than most agents, and he often carried some kind of weapon concealed on his person, in the event—more like the certainty—that something would go wrong. She wanted to ask him if was carrying anything right now, but they had to be careful. The visual and auditory feeds from the smart glasses—including anything Eleanor said to them—were being recorded for more detailed analysis later, as was standard procedure. Neal wouldn’t want to reveal that he carried a weapon unless he absolutely had to—and if they were lucky, Eleanor would be able to create some kind of interference that would disrupt the recording. If she couldn’t . . . well, Neal had been reprimanded and punished four times for carrying unauthorized weapons since Gina had started working with him. How many more times could he get away with a slap on the wrist before he was more seriously punished for breaking the rules? For more of his risk-taking. But she’d seen his risk-taking quite literally save the world, and likely the entire universe, and she’d do whatever she could to help him, regardless of what it might mean for her own career.
You’re not the good little soldier you were when you left the Homestead, she thought. A damned good thing, too.
The shadows among the trees were thick, and while Neal was only a few feet ahead of Gina, a thin curtain of dark gray seemed to divide them, making it difficult for her to discern more than his basic shape. The light from their scanner displays provided some illumination, but not nearly enough.
Gina had been in dangerous situations before—always while working with Neal, of course—and she thought she’d grown used to it. But there was something about this backyard forest that raised goosepimples on her flesh, despite the day’s warmth.
Gina glanced upward, but all she saw was more shadow, thicker than that which lay between her and Neal.
“Why is it so dark in here?” she asked. “From the street, it looked like the trees didn’t have any leaves. But now it’s like there’s dense vegetation above us, blocking out the light.”
“The E-energy is stronger in this part of the property, and it’s creating a different visual effect,” Eleanor said. “It’s partly a matter of perception.”
“Is that why you’re acting as if you can see through this muck?” Gina asked Neal. “To try to convince us that you’re immune to the effect?”
It was a joke born out of her nervousness, but Neal stopped and turned to face her.
“I’m not acting. I can see through entropic haze better than most people, but I’m hardly immune to its effects. I can probably see six feet further than you, maybe a bit more. The level of detail falls off sharply after four feet, but I can still make out general shapes past that, at least well enough to spot the attack when it comes.”
She noticed he didn’t say if, but when. Forever an optimist, my mentor.
They wended their way between the trees for a few minutes more, sometimes having to squeeze their bodies through the narrow spaces between fungi-covered trunks. Gina was fitter and thinner than Neal, and she was able to get through the spaces with minimal effort, although she was disgusted by the smears of gray the fungi left on her shirt and pants. Neal was by no means a heavy guy, but he didn’t always eat as healthily as he could, and he had a more difficult time passing between the trunks. Gina had to help him a couple times, grabbing hold of one of his wrists and pulling as hard as she could. Neal made it through both times, but his clothes were fungi-stained and torn in several places by the rough bark. His face, neck, and the back of his hands were scraped and bleeding in spots.
“Had enough yet?” Eleanor asked.
Neal sighed. “I suppose so.” He looked at Gina. “C’mon, let’s head back.”
“You want to try a different route back to the house? We might find a path that’s easier.”
“And we might find one that’s harder. Better the devil we know.”
“No devils around here.”
It was a new voice, a woman’s, harsh and raspy, and it seemed to come from all around them.
“But can I interest you in a witch?”
Gina had never heard anyone cackle before, but that’s exactly what the woman—the witch—did now.
There was a rustling in the tree directly above them, and Gina and Neal looked upward and peered into the shadows.
He blinked. “Well, that’s something new.”
He raised his hand scanner and used its glowing display like a flashlight, and Gina did the same, adding her scanner’s light to his. The combined illumination was enough to reveal the thing dangling from a thick branch twenty feet from the ground. Skin fish-belly pale, head round and hairless, dozens of small black insect eyes, a huge yawning mouth filled with sharp piranha teeth, a protruding lizard tongue. It had a woman’s body—breasts, narrow waist, curving hips, long legs—but instead of arms, four tentacles extended from her shoulders, two on each side. They were smooth, like serpents, and on the tip of each was a black barbed hook, glistening with a substance that Gina assumed to be poisonous. The two right-side tentacles were wrapped around a branch, and the rest of the creature hung downward, its other tentacles undulating slowly, their motion causing the creature’s entire body to sway gently in the air. The thing exuded a rank odor like rotten fish, and the stink turned Gina’s stomach. The creature was the single most hideous thing she’d ever seen, yet there was something grotesquely beautiful about it too.
“Witch Lady?” Neal said, sounding unsure.
The creature’s mouth stretched into a smile so wide it seemed as if the head split into two pieces.
“Who else?” she said, and cackled again.
Then she released her grip on the tree limb and plummeted toward them.
Five
Gina attempted to shove Neal out of the way at the same moment that he tried to shove her out of the way. The result was that neither of them went anywhere, and the Witch Lady landed on top of them. She was heavier than she looked, and her weight slammed them to the ground. The air was driven from their lungs, and they gasped for breath. They fought to push the tentacled horror off of them, but they were unable to get a grip on her smooth, slick flesh, which was coated in a thin layer of slime.
Neal opened his mouth and croaked a single word.
“Slide . . .”
Gina had no idea what he meant, but then she saw him wiggle out from under the Witch, and she understood: they could use the slime that covered the creature’s body to slide their way to freedom. Gina began wiggling her body just as Neal had and dug her fingernails into the dry, cracked earth beneath her and attempted to pull herself forward. She’d didn’t succeed at first, so she thrust her fingers deeper into the earth, gritted her teeth, and pulled with every iota of strength she had. This time she shot out from beneath the Witch Lady and slid several feet before coming to a stop. She was covered in Witch-snot, and chunks of dirt—some small, some larger—clung to the slime. She looked like a golem that had emerged from its subterranean lair deep within the center of the world, as did Neal.
Neal was back up on his feet in seconds, and Gina was up just as fast. The Witch Lady came running toward her, arm-tentacles outstretched and waving, tooth-filled maw wide open, lizard tongue flicking the air.
This would be an excellent time for Neal to draw a Nullifier and shoot the bitch, she thought. But when that didn’t happen, she dove to the side to avoid the Witch Lady’s assault. One of the creature’s tentacles lashed outward, but instead of trying to wrap around Gina, it stabbed its hooked barb into the back of her neck. She felt a sharp sting, followed by pain so sudden and intense that for a moment, she blacked out. When she came to, she was on her back looking upward at the shadow canopy above. Her back hurt like hell—Probably from hitting the ground, she thought—but that was nothing compared to the fire blazing in her neck.
“Gina, if you can hear me, I’m dispatching a med team!” Eleanor said. Hold on!”
Gina tried to reply, but she couldn’t speak. She attempted to move, but she couldn’t so much as twitch a finger. Whatever toxin the Witch Lady had injected her with had paralyzed her, and this realization brought with it a stab of terror. Was she breathing or had her lungs been shut down, too? Was she going to slowly asphyxiate? She tried to take a deep breath, but couldn’t tell if she succeeded. Panic flared, but she fought it back. Part of this was due to her training as a Maintenance agent, but a larger part was because she refused to die from a simple sting to her neck. She was a Sandoval and her death, however it eventually came, would be spectacular. Her family would expect no less.
She saw motion in her peripheral vision, and while she couldn’t turn her head to look in its direction, she was able to move her eyes. Guess I’m not completely paralyzed.
The Witch Lady was coming toward her, crouched low in a hunting stance, tentacles undulating, mouth open wide, saliva-dripping tongue extended, dozens of tiny insect eyes focused on her prey.
“You’re mine now, sweetie,” the creature crooned.
Gina marshalled every bit of willpower she possessed and focused it on making her body obey her commands. She needed to defend herself, or else this thing would . . .
Neal came up behind the Witch Lady, leaned back, and kicked her hard between the shoulder blades. The creature stumbled forward, lost her footing, and fell face-first to the ground. Before she could react, Neal rushed forward and kicked her in the head. Once, twice, three times . . . The Witch Lady’s body shuddered with the first two kicks, but after the third it remained still. Her tentacles continued to writhe weakly, but a fourth kick took care of that, and they fell limp.
Neal hurried to Gina’s side just as she was starting to rise. He helped her to a sitting position, and she attempted a smile, but as stiff as her face felt, it probably looked more like a grimace. Her neck still felt as if it were on fire, but the pain was beginning to lessen, going from unendurable to merely agonizing.
She spoke, her words coming out slowly.
“You . . . kicked . . . her? Seriously?”
Neal shrugged. “It worked, didn’t it?”
She glanced over at the Witch Lady’s motionless form. She supposed it had.
“I’m monitoring your life signs via your glasses,” Eleanor said. “Your vitals are a bit weak, but they’re holding steady. Interventionists are on their way, as well as medics. They’ll take the Witch Lady into custody.”
“That’s good,” Neal said. “In the meantime . . .”
He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. They looked no different than the kind police carried, but when Neal put them around two of the Witch Lady’s tentacles and locked them, they contracted tight and began emitting a soft hum.
“Where did you get Suppression Cuffs? Never mind. I don’t want to know.”
Suppression Cuffs—which were not normally issued to Surveyors—were among the most useful tech that Maintenance possessed. They kept a Corrupted being from using whatever powers they possessed, although the stronger their Corruption was, the less time the cuffs remained effective, and eventually they’d burn out altogether. Gina was confident that the cuffs would continue to work on the Witch Lady for quite a while. She was strong, and that damned venom of hers packed a wallop, but she hadn’t demonstrated any paranormal abilities. Of course, that didn’t mean she didn’t have any, only that she hadn’t used them during her attack.
“How are you feeling?” Neal asked.
Gina smiled weakly. “Like hammered shit. But I’ll live.”
Neal’s form blurred then. It was a cool trick, and Gina intended to ask him how he was doing it, but before she could speak, darkness flooded her vision and she knew nothing more.
Randal stood on the street corner near his mother’s house, the Insanitarium tucked beneath his arm. After leaving the building where he’d found it—and used it to kill the monstrous thing Jess had become—he’d gone to an all-night diner on the Southside, ordered coffee, and begun reading. He’d continued drinking coffee and reading until long after the sun came up. The text was written in a language he was unfamiliar with, and the letters on the pages seemed to change their shapes randomly, but he could understand it. It was as if the book was somehow helping him to read it. By the time he’d finally closed the book, he’d only read a small portion, but that had been enough to give him an idea, a really good one. He wanted to run it past Mama and see what she thought about it—she always gave the best business advice—so he’d left the diner, called an Uber, and had it take him to the Eastside, to the modest house on Pheasant Run where he’d grown up. When the Uber arrived, Randal saw four unmarked white vans parked in front of his mother’s house, and he had the driver let him off at the corner. Ordinary people like those living in this neighborhood wouldn’t recognize them as Maintenance vehicles, didn’t even know that Maintenance existed. But Shadowers like him knew all about Maintenance, and they made sure to stay the hell away from its operatives. What were they doing here? Had someone in the diner been a Shadower who recognized the Insanitarium for what it was and reported him to Maintenance for possessing a tome of dangerous and forbidden knowledge? Shadowers tended to sense the presence of their own kind, and he’d sensed nothing. His attention had been focused on reading, though, and he might not have noticed another Shadower in the diner. Still, it didn’t seem likely. The diner was located far from the Overlay, and Shadowers almost never went there. That’s why he’d chosen it.
Could there have been an undercover Maintenance agent present, posing as another customer or even an employee? That seemed more likely, but he couldn’t think of a reason why Maintenance would stake out the diner. Had the Insanitarium given off some kind of dark energy signal that Maintenance’s hi-tech equipment could detect? This seemed possible, but even if it had, how did Maintenance know where Mama lived? During all his years selling Darkgaze on the street, he’d managed to avoid contact with Maintenance agents. He’d never been taken into custody, never even been questioned, not once. No, there was no way this was about him or the book, which meant it had to be about Mama.
He watched as two agents wheeled a woman on a gurney out of the house. The place had belonged to his grandmother, Myra Banks, but she’d died years ago. It was Mama’s now. His, too. He wondered what had happened to the woman on the gurney. Most likely, she’d had a run-in with his mother. If so, the woman—who looked to be in her twenties—must be damned tough, otherwise she’d be dead. Had Mama gotten hurt in the encounter? It didn’t seem possible, but then these were Maintenance agents. They had all kinds of advanced tech at their disposal to deal with Shadowers, even powerful ones like Mama. Fearful now, he started forward, holding the Insanitarium against his chest.
The medics loaded the woman on the gurney into the back of a van. One got in with her as the other closed the doors then hurried to the driver’s side and climbed in. Randal was halfway to the house when the van’s engine turned over, and the driver pulled away from the curb and roared down the street. The woman was gone and he put her out of his mind. She didn’t matter anymore. All that mattered was Mama.
Another pair of agents emerged from the house, followed by a third, and Randal stopped to watch them. The first two stood on either side of someone draped in a blanket made from a silvery material Randal didn’t recognize. The blanket covered the person from their head down to below their knees, and the agents escorting them had hold of their arms, which looked to be cuffed behind their back. Each agent held a thin metal rod in their free hand. Nullifiers, Randal guessed, although he’d never actually seen them before. The third agent—a middle-aged man about ten years older than he was—followed close behind, holding a silver pistol in a two-handed grip, the barrel trained on a spot between the captive’s shoulder blades. Randal didn’t have to guess the identity of the person beneath the blanket. He could see his mother’s clawed feet as she walked.
No!
His hands tightened on the Insanitarium, and he thought of the way he’d destroyed Jess simply by hitting her with it. The book had power, vast amounts of it, and he could use it to rescue his mother and kill the agents for daring to lay hands on her. But although he’d spent hours reading the book, he had only begun to tease out the knowledge contained within its pages. He knew that if he attacked the agents now he would not be able to defeat them, and if the agents started discharging their weapons, there was a chance Mama could be injured—maybe even killed. He couldn’t risk that. It would take him time to master the book’s secrets, though, time Mama didn’t have. He needed power, and he needed it now. Luckily, he’d learned a few things from the book, and one of those things—in fact, the very thing he’d come here to talk to Mama about—would allow him to gain a lot of power fast. He smiled.
