Beneath the gleaming skyscrapers and picturesque façade of the City of Redemption lies another city; a community of dark and ancient magic populated by creatures of the night.
Reporter Cassandra True, has sought refuge at the home of her friend, Strephon, a semi-immortal half-fae. While Strephon is away for the evening, the house has been attacked by an obsessive vampire and a small army of werewolves; but with the help of few neighborhood witches and friendly wolves Cassandra and her friends were able to drive them away
Dark Redemption is an Urban Gothic Fantasy which will be running in weekly installments Wednesday evenings. Previous installments can be found linked at the Dark Redemption Index.
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Chapter 63: Cold Meat Sandwiches
In which Cassandra and her friends have a chance to relax and Devon receives an unlooked-for welcome.
Theodora's mix file of battle music had come to an end, and her music player started on the next file, a set of reggae tunes. Since her boom box was still set at maximum volume, the music was relaxing and overpowering at the same time, which, considering the situation, seemed to Cassandra strangely appropriate.
“You won't change into a wolf, will you Mrs. Simms?” Cassandra hovered close to Grandma Simms as they descended the stairs, ready to offer an arm to support her if needed. “That bite looked pretty nasty.”
“I'll be fine, child,” Mrs. Simms chuckled. “The charms I'm carrying will guard me from the Taint. And just to be careful, I had Theodora rinse the bite out with a wolfsbane solution before she bandaged me up. She's also studying to become a nurse. Healing's a big part of the Obeah tradition, you know.”
Cassandra expected to see signs of dreadful carnage when she came down from the upper floor, but apart from some upended furniture and the smashed-in front of a glass curio case in the front hall the only casualty she saw was the intruder she had clobbered with her poker. He sat on the divan while Theodora, practicing her nursing skills, adjusted his arm with a sling, torn out of one of Strephon's curtains. Strephon wasn't going to like that.
“Ow! Leave me alone!” the wolf yelped. “Just let me get someplace where I can shift!”
“Hold still!” Theodora scolded. “If I don't get the bone set right it will heal all crooked. You'll walk funny and all the other wolves will call you 'Gimpy'.”
“I can see where she gets her bedside manner,” Cassandra remarked.
The patient noticed Cassandra coming down the stairs. “Bloody hell!” he cursed. “It's that psycho bitch with the crowbar!” He struggled to his feet and ran for the door. “You people are loonies!” He reached for the doorknob with the wrong hand and gave a howl of pain. Opening it with his good hand, he dashed out into the street.
“I like that!” Cecily said, joining Cassandra and the others. “He was the one siding with the angry werewolves and the horny vampire.”
“And I was the one with the machetes,” Theodora said. “Shouldn't I be the psycho bitch?”
“You should be the one who watches her language in front of the vicar's wife.” Grandma Simms scolded.
“What happened down here?” Cassandra asked.
“A bunch of the wolves followed the vampire when that one guy let him in,” Theodora said. “I think they were supposed to keep us busy while the vampire went after you. But then Reverend Shepherd and his friends came in from out back and hoo! Was that a fight! And Mrs. Palmer beaned one of 'em with a silver cow creamer! That gave us some breathing room so I could finish looking after Gran's arm. But once our wolves started attacking their wolves, they decided they'd had enough for one night. I think they were only here to help Philippe get in and once he was in they had no reason to stay. And when the vampire took off, the rest did too. Well, except for the one you knocked down.”
“I hope I didn't hurt him too badly.”
“A broken arm. It serves him right. But he'll be fine; werewolves heal pretty quick.”
Ferner Cooper and Luna came in from the kitchen, laughing.
“What news?” Mrs. Palmer asked.
“We did a couple circuits of the house and drove off the rest of the stragglers. Oh, and you dropped this.” Ferner tossed Theodora the machete she'd lost. “I think they were expecting an easy fight. Some big-shot Alphas they turned out to be.”
'”That was fun,” Luna said. “I haven't been in a good scrap in ages. How come you never told me you could transform like that?”
“Oh, all Fae can shape-shift. Everybody knows that.”
“I know that's how you adopt your wolf form when we run together, but you never did the huge, super fangs and blue fire thing before.”
Miss Cooper seemed embarrassed. “Feh. Nightmares are easy for a Faerie. I never took a form like that because... well... I didn't want to scare you. I didn't want you to think I was a monster.”
I'm a werewolf, Fern! I am a monster!”
Ferner took Luna by the hands and said, “I didn't want to be a nightmare wolf. I wanted to be a wolf like you.”
They hugged and now Cassandra was embarrassed. She turned to Mrs. Palmer. “Where did Reverend Sheperd go? He was just with us.”
“Oh, he popped off into the library. I think he wanted to change in private.”
Miss Cooper chucked. “Like none of us have ever seen a naked wolf's willy before! Well, some of us, anyway.”
Cecily and Mrs. Palmer helped rearrange the parlor chairs that had been disarranged in the skirmish and sweep up the broken glass. At her grandmother's prodding, Theodora ran upstairs to turn down the volume of her boom box to a more polite level. As everybody settled back down, a small, scruffy fellow came into the parlor from the back hall carrying a tray of cold meat sandwiches.
“Hallo,” he said. “You must be the lady of the house. I hope you'll excuse the liberty, but I thought everyone might be hungry, so I raided your refrigerator and made some sammiches. I know how a good knuckle-duster works up a person's appetite.”
“All sorts of appetites,” Ferner said, rubbing her ankle against Luna's with a suggestive grin which Mrs. Palmer pretended not to notice.
Cassandra accepted one of the sandwiches. “I'm just a guest here myself. And you are...?”
“This is Eddie,” Mrs. Palmer explained. “He's a friend of Abel's.”
“Indeed. And had I known all of you were friends of his as well, I never would have been a party to this evening's misadventures.”
“I'm sure that's true,” Shepherd said, coming out of the library. He had changed back into his suit, although he had not yet inserted his clerical collar back into his shirt, and he carried his shoes and socks in his hand. He had once again removed his crucifix, probably as a courtesy to Miss Cooper, but Cassandra could see its chain dangling from his suit pocket. “Hello, Eddie. And what's that I see in your pocket?”
“Oh, this?” Eddie removed a bottle of sherry protruding from his jacket pocket as if discovering it for the first time. “I thought that in light of our victory – yours, that is – a bit of celebration might be in order. None for me, of course!” He handed the bottle to Reverend Shepherd, who passed it to Cassandra.
“Where did you find this?” Cassandra said. “I was looking for Strephon's liquor cabinet earlier.”
“Oh, professional knowledge. I'll get some glasses for everybody.”
“How were you able to shift?” Luna asked the Reverend as Eddie bustled about. “ Didn't Mrs. Simms' wards affect you?”
“Of course not,” Eddie said, setting down a glass for her. “He's a man of the cloth, ain't he? Heathen magics can't hurt him none!”
“Probably some kind of trick or something,” Ferner said.
Grandma Simms glowered at that and Reverend Shepherd gave a deferential cough. “I wouldn't say that.”
“Gran's wards are spells of protection,” Theodora said. The other wolves were coming to attack folks, but the Reverend wanted to defend them. I'll bet that's why he could shift.”
“Intent is an important principle of the Craft,” Mrs. Palmer added. “You've learned your Grandmother's lessons well.”
“Humph. She heeds her lessons well enough to show off for company, but not when her grandmother tells her: don't flirt with the fiendish undead!”
“I make it a habit to pray before I shift,” Shepherd said, self-consciously. “I don't think it's a matter of Divine Favor, but I find it helps me focus.”
“Perhaps we should just call it a Gift of the Howly Spirit,” Mrs. Palmer tittered.
Miss Cooper curled her lip. “I'd rather put up with the stupid crucifix already than all these lousy puns!”
Mrs. Palmer clutched her purse guiltily. “I do beg your pardon. It's a habit I picked up from my husband. Arthur is an incorrigible punster.”
“The best theologians are,” Cassandra said. “Strephon told me so himself.”
“Did he, now? I shall have to tell Arthur that.”
If Miss Cooper intended to make a sarcastic comment on that, she was interrupted by an insistent rapping at the door.
“What now?” Cecily said.
The house had seen more unexpected visitors that evening than Strephon had probably entertained since the Rise of Beatlemania. Still, Cassandra went to the door. “Probably the neighbors called the police to complain about the noise.”
Eddie scrambled to his feet and began gathering dirty tea things. “I think I'll go to the kitchen and do some cleaning up. And if you don't mind, I'd appreciate you not saying anything to the coppers about me being here. The police and I don't get along.”
Cassandra answered the door. It wasn't the coppers.
It was Devon.
She opened the door so abruptly that Devon almost toppled into her arms. “Devon!” she said, “Where have you been? Have you seen Strephon? What happened to you?”
“Looks like I missed the party,” he said with a rueful smile. “Sorry for being so unfashionably late.” And then he did begin to topple precariously, and Cassandra had to grasp his arm to steady him.
“This is Strephon's cousin, Devon,” Cassandra explained to the others as she helped him over to the divan.
“We could have used his help a half hour ago,” Luna said.
“I was occupied.” Devon plopped down onto the divan and fished in his pockets for a cigarette. He lit it, tossed the matchbook onto the side table with a studied nonchalance, then he leaned back in the divan and exhaled a lazy spiral of nicotine like a contented sigh.
“What about Strephon?” Cassandra prodded.
“Oh yes. I didn't see him. That Council meeting of his was surrounded by a magical barrier. It would have been nice to know about it ahead of time. Before I knew it, I was ensnared by it and it took me a devil of a time to extricate myself. But once I did, I saw a skulk of wolves loitering in the area and so I figured I'd better check back here as soon as I could. It seems that you took care of things by yourself.”
Cecily had been silent through all this, but now she strode up to Devon, shoved the coffee table to one side and stood in front of him with her arms folded. “What about me? No 'Hello, Cecily'? No 'mon chéri’? No 'Every moment away from you has been agony'?”
Cassandra saw an expression of stunned panic flash over Devon's face, to be quickly superseded by one of wounded contrition. “Ah, mon cher! I am a beast! Can you forgive me?” He rose and beckoned to her with his arms.
Cecily tilted her head and twisted her lips into the expression Cassandra recognized as: Should I forgive him or let him squirm a little more? Then she put her arms around his neck and gave him an athletic full-body smooch. Rather surprised, Devon put his arms around her waist and reciprocated.
“Oh for the love of gumdrops,” Grandma Simms grumbled, and Theodora giggled. Mrs. Palmer pretended not to look.
After maybe half a minute, Cecily unwrapped her legs from around Devon's waist and slid her hands off his shoulders. “Yep,” she said. “He's an impostor all right.”
“You're saying this isn't Bellman's cousin?” Reverend Shepherd said. “Are you sure?”
“I spent a weekend in Fairy-land with him; I ought to know. Apart from him ignoring me when he first came in here--”
“I honestly didn't see you!”
“Devon doesn't smoke cigarettes. He vapes. Or if he's feeling particularly decadent, he smokes a hookah. But cigarettes, he says, are too 20th Century.”
“Ah. About that...”
“Also, the last thing he said to us before he left was to let no one into the house until he returned. And...” Cecily looked around at the rest of the company. “...We kinda did. The real Devon would have made some sarcastic comment about that.”
Cassandra nodded. “Yes, he would have.”
“But I knew the guy was a phony before he even set foot in the house.”
Cassandra groaned. “Of course! He knocked! You told me Devon doesn't believe in knocking, and I forgot all about it! Stupid!”
“But, if you were already certain this Devon was an impostor,” Mrs. Palmer said, frowning, “why did you need to test him?”
“Oh, that,” Cecily giggled.
“She just wanted to know if he was a good kisser,” Cassandra explained.
“You know my methods, Watson.” Cecily had the decency to blush a little, but the grin on her face betrayed no other hint of shame.
“Well, if Miss Sherlock Holmes here is finished deducing, then maybe we can get some answers.” Grandma Simms waddled up to the faux Devon until her face was as close to his as their disparate heights would allow. “Now as I can see it, either you can reveal your true self voluntarily, or I can flay you down to your living bones and read it off your DNA. Now keep in mind that I just got bit by a werewolf, so I'm in a bad mood and the latter option is looking mighty attractive. The choice is yours.”
The impostor gave a nervous laugh. Then he noticed no one else was smiling. He sighed and with a gesture dispelled his glamour.
“Saul? Saul Taylor?” Cassandra could not believe her eyes.
“Saul? Is this the guy from work you were telling me about with the dimples?”
“It's him,” Cassandra said. She heartily wished she hadn't mentioned the dimples to Cecily.
“Cassandra, I can explain.”
“You'd better start!” Cassandra still had the poker in her hand, and she gripped it tighter.
“All right! All right! It's like this. I happened to be waiting in the parking lot outside the Council Chambers this evening.”
“Just happened? What were you doing there?”
“Okay. I told you, Cassandra, that I've been keeping an eye on you, watching over you like your personal guardian angel, right?” I gave you that talisman of protection, remember?”
“I remember.” Cassandra also remembered that Mrs. Palmer told her the talisman had nothing to do with protection.
“I was waiting for you. I assumed that Strephon would bring you to the Council Meeting.”
Cassandra narrowed her eyes. She was still mad at Strephon for that, but she didn't care for Saul reminding her of it. “Go on.”
“Right. So, when Strephon showed up without you, I wasn't sure if I ought to go into the meeting myself, or if I should go off looking for you. I noticed there were also some werewolves lurking about in the area that I thought were suspicious. Well, about that time your friend Devon showed up and blundered into the Council's security wards and got trapped. That part was true. I couldn't free him, so he asked me to come back here and make sure you were safe.”
“You were late.”
“Yeah, well, the wolves who were hanging around the Council Chambers gave me some trouble and held me up. By the time I got here the party was over.”
“Then why the disguise?”
“For all I knew the house was still being watched. It still might be watched. And because I wasn't sure if you would trust me.”
He dimpled at her, but Cassandra wasn't buying it. His story seemed pretty thin. Strephon could have come up with a much better lie.
Cassandra was about to press him further when Eddie poked his head around the corner leading into the parlor and said, “Is the coast clear? Hullo! That's the chap who hired me to join with the Reavers this evening!”
Before Eddie was halfway through his sentence, Grandma Simms leveled her skull-staff at Saul and both Theodora and Mrs. Palmer assumed a spell-casting stance. But Saul reacted quicker than them all. As soon as he saw the light of recognition in Eddie's face, he raised his arms in a casting gesture and vanished.
There was a moment of shocked silence, and then everybody began to talk at once. Grandma Simms was demanding explanations; Eddie was making excuses; Pastor Shepherd was trying to mediate, and Mrs. Palmer was wanting to know more about Saul Taylor.
Cassandra barely heard them. All the anxiety she thought she'd lost when Philippe had retreated came rushing back to her like a flying cow creamer. She lurched back to the love seat and sank down into it, feeling numb.
Something odd caught her attention: a small, square envelope resting on the end table next to the love seat. She was sure she hadn't seen it there before. She absently picked it up. On the front of the envelope was written:
“CASSANDRA: In case of Emergency”
It must have come from Strephon. Maybe he sent it magically or something. Well, he was late. The crisis was over. Or was it? Cassandra picked up the envelope and tore it open.
It was funny. She felt like Alice in Wonderland, except that instead of finding bottles labeled “DRINK ME”, she had an envelope saying “READ ME. She wondered if the contents would make her bigger or smaller. Perhaps she ought to turn it over, like Alice did, to make sure there was no label reading “POISON” on the back.
As she removed the small, folded piece of stationary from the envelope, another curious thought struck her. How did she know the writing of the envelope was Strephon's hand? She could not recall ever seeing his writing. She unfolded the letter. Well, this was not Strephon's hand; it was some kind of old Celtic runes. Ogham. Ogham runes; that's what the writing was called. How silly of Strephon to send her a message she couldn't read. And yet, looking at the queer letters, she felt as if she could almost divine what they were saying...
“Togwogmagog...”
“Cassandra? What have you got there?”
Mrs. Palmer was saying something, but Cassandra couldn't hear her. Someone else was speaking. A loud voice was speaking gibberish in her ear.
“...Ashlog ennnog...”
“Don't look at it, Cassandra!”
The words were meaningless, but the voice seemed strangely familiar.
“Don't read it!”
“...Bog-slog crannog..”
Someone screamed, and one lucid thought came to Cassandra as darkness engulfed her.
The voice reading the Ogham runes was her own.
NEXT: Warp Spasm
