Accession of the Stone Born: The Vigiles Urbani Chronicles (29 page)

As for Mary Percy, I’m still doing some research on her. Same for Walter B. Percy Jr. It’s like they came out of nowhere and vanished nearly as quickly. I’ll keep digging in the meantime.

As for Walter Bradley Matherne, his past is a bit of a mystery at the moment. No driving record, taxes, or any of the regular paper trails you’d expect to see.

I did find a warehouse out on the riverfront that appears to belong to him. It’s located at 198 Mississippi River Trail, Jefferson, LA 70121.

Let me know if anything pops up for you when you go for a visit. I’ll be in touch when I have more information.

Lt. William Baptist UCD

Considering I had to make a trip out, breakfast would have to be on the go. I’d picked up a backpack at Office Depot last night so I wouldn’t have to lug everything by hand. Stuffing the Surface Pro into the front pouch, I grabbed the files, my notes, and shoved them down into the bag hastily.

Grabbing the gladius and the wakizashi, I looked around the room to make sure I had everything before heading out. Passing through the living room, I waved, chomping on a piece of dry toast on the way downstairs.

Chapter 22

The trip to the riverfront was blissfully uneventful…after that, however, I may’ve gotten myself lost. Okay, so I was lost, but not really…Google gave me poor directions. The problem was that the warehouse sat on the other side of the levee, making it impossible to see from the road. Perhaps it was pilot error, but there weren’t any witnesses so nothing to worry about.

Considering how easily Brad spooked, I thought it best to park across the street at the self-storage center. After stowing my gear, I had to play a life size version of Frogger when I crossed the heavily traveled River Road. These drivers weren’t playing…they flew by doing considerably more than the posted thirty-five miles per hour, and not one of them gave a fuck about pedestrians. After a few near misses I was across without any bodily injury; mentally, however, may have been a different story.

The paved drive and official looking gate gave the place a local government kind of feel. If I had to guess it was once a pumping station that had been phased out. I wouldn’t have thought Brad clever enough to buy such a place. I’d seen the U.S. Government use the same strategy overseas. They would buy a place that was either official or made to look that way to keep the locals away. No one wanted to deal with government employees if they didn’t have to. It gave an area or building extra security that it wouldn’t otherwise have.

Moving up one of the paved branches of the Y shaped drive, I crested the levee to find two separate complexes. The nearest one, which was maybe forty yards away, consisted of a single story dilapidated red brick building and three large storage silos. The silo nearest me at this end of the lot was a dull gray thing that stood twice as tall as the building itself. The two older silos sat at the opposite end of the broken brick building, matching its height.

Standing at the top of the levee I took in my surroundings. Off to the left, leading up from River Road and rising out of the ground, cresting at the top of the levee, were four massive pipes running to a modern red brick structure another thirty yards in that looked to be completely intact. That was probably where I’d find Brad, but first things first…the smaller structure needed to be cleared before moving forward. I swung the backpack off my shoulder, pulled the gladius out, and fastened it to my belt. I’d tucked the computer, along with the other files, in the trunk of the Tucker before crossing the street. 

The entrance was a pair of old white rotting wooden doors with a large pane of filthy glass about head high. Light poured in from the shattered and broken metal roof above, revealing its dark interior in shafts of brilliant white. Stepping up, I gave the first door a solid tug, and as expected it didn’t budge. The next door, however, was unlocked and swung open, with a great deal of effort on my part, about a foot and a half before getting lodged against the pavement. That clearly wasn’t going to shut again. Just what I needed, proof that I’d been there.

While it was clear from the state of the interior no one had traipsed in or out of this place in years, I would be remiss if I didn’t verify its threat level. Again, not that I thought there was a problem, but years of training took over as I cleared the building. It took less than a minute of poking around inside to see the most danger the place proposed was me impaling myself on a rusty nail or being cut by some random piece of debris that littered the floor.

Stepping out, I shoved on the door to no avail. It was stuck there, and there was nothing I could do about it. With a hapless shrug, I focused on the building further up on my left. Where the first had been a shack in need of demolishment, the second warehouse was sturdy, secure, and slightly imposing. The deep red brick two-story building looked almost new, and its metal roof gleamed in the afternoon sun. I could see an overly large roll up garage door of flat gray metal prominently positioned in the middle of the building, facing a tiny yet empty parking lot.

A smaller gray metal door that looked more at home on a firehouse or school emergency exit stood next to it. Matching gray steel slats shuttered the front windows. It had a bland utility feel to go along with the entirely uninviting vibe it gave off in waves. What in the fuck would interest Brad about the place, other than the seclusion and the ability to hide evidence in the Mississippi River, a mere twenty yards away? Then again, I could be reaching for yet one more reason not to like the guy.

After giving the building a good once over, I ruled out gaining access through the long, narrow, horizontal windows since they were on the second floor, and sealed with gray metal shutters that matched the doors in front. There was always the novel approach of the front door. Stealthy it may not be, but it was the only way in or out of the fucking place. Stepping forward, I grasped the handle and pushed down on the thumb mechanism, and to my great surprise it pulled open. That was easy…but nothing good ever came from easy.

I flinched when the overhead florescent lights sprung to life. The harsh white light highlighted the room in glaring detail. I was shocked to see an immaculate two story open loft. About midway down on the right was a brushed silver metal spiral staircase leading to the floor above. The polished cement floor ran the length of what I would consider a cozy home. The furniture was comfortable yet modern, and I couldn’t help but think back to Isidore, who would think he’d died and gone to heaven. To my right sat a vintage late ‘60s model GTO, fully tricked out. The deep purple paint glinted in the overhead lighting, with that fresh from the factory look.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up as I felt energy coursing through the air. The denarius recognized the power and whispered
werebeast
! Everything went still and I felt more than heard someone coming up fast behind me. Shifting my weight, I spun, stepping to the side, barely able to keep my footing. I wrapped my hand around the hilt of the sword.

A massive gray and silver werepanther wrapped itself around my midsection, pinning my arm in place. He hefted me easily into the air, spun, tucked his shoulder in, and ran us into the solid metal door, using me like an airbag. I heard the sickening crack of at least one of my ribs snapping from the impact. Before the stars and darkness could leave my eyes, I suddenly felt weightless as he flung me through the air a good ten feet, then the worst part of any free flight came into play…the landing. I stuck it, with a solid eight point two, landing on my face and cracking a tooth, smearing blood only to slide to a halt a few feet further in.

The secret to winning most fights was simple. It wasn’t about how good you were or how strong you might be; it was about how much punishment you could take and still get back up. Of course, while skill and power could win out, the ability to get up and fight after being crushed and tossed across the room was enough to scare the shit out of most people.

However you wanted to look at it, be it a good thing or a bad, I’d had a lot of experience with pain. This sucked, and before it was over it was going to suck even more, but as long as I drew breath and could move there was a chance.

The big man stalked forward slowly, more out of overconfidence than concern. When he was close enough I spun, taking his legs out from under him, and he hit the floor hard. Getting to my feet, I pulled the gladius free of its sheath. That’s when I finally got a good look at the thing. It was biped, with two arms that ended in great gray claws. Its face was a horrible mashed up thing, something between a man and a great panther.

Its big yellow eyes flicked closed and he gingerly rose up, clearly not used to being on the receiving end of...well, anything. Hunching over, he growled and shot forward, raking his claws across my chest, ripping long deep gashes. But he wasn’t the only one who’d drawn blood. He hissed and spat, howling in pain as he tried to hold his gut closed. The gladius had found its mark and the panther’s blood ran freely to the floor.

Anger clouded his judgement and he charged again. I went low, diving to the side, swinging the sword with a powerful backhand, slicing through the calf muscle and sending him to his knees. Spinning to my feet, I lunged, driving the gladius through the back of the creature’s skull, down through his neck, and out his chest. Yanking it free, I drew back and sliced through the neck, cleaving his head from his shoulders. There was a wet thud when it hit the floor.

The body changed from the great werepanther to an older looking gentleman. Of course, I was a firm believer we all looked much older than we were when we had surgery, unconscious, or in this case, were dead. This man was no different. Looking around for something to clean up the mess, I quickly realized that there was little hope of covering it up. That was the thing about concrete; no matter how much you polished its surface, dump a corpse worth of blood on it and you were sure to get a stain.

Putting aside any thought of hiding the mess, I took stock of my personal situation. Things weren’t looking good…I had at least one broken rib, deep gashes ran the breadth of my chest, and I was going to bleed to death from it or one of the internal wounds. There wasn’t a chance in hell that I’d be able to fight off another surprise attacker, and with that in mind I stanched what bleeding I could and proceeded to clear the building.

With every step pain shot through me; each breath was labored, ragged, and wet. If I got help soon I’d probably live. Pain I could handle…a random attack, even from someone like Brad, and I was a goner.

Keeping the gladius out, I willed the discomfort to one side before slowly making my way through the loft. The second floor was interesting to say the least. At the far end I found a state of the art security system. Thankfully the cameras were on a closed circuit, which meant I only needed to remove the hard drive from the computer to ensure my anonymity.

The real question was, who in the fuck did I report this to? The denarius responded that I answered to no higher authority before remaining silent. It sounded strained, as if it were in pain. Its response wasn’t exactly helpful. Should I call Andrew, or did I call the UCD?

Honestly, calling the UCD wasn’t really an option, so I pulled out my phone and dialed Andrew’s number. It rang twice before he answered. He was laughing as he put the phone to his ear. “Were your ears burning?”

What? I didn’t really want to know nor did I care. “Forgive me, but this isn’t a social call.” Yeah, that came out like I was an asshole, but I was bleeding out, so he’d have to get over it.

Andrew’s voice turned somber and there was an urgency in his voice. “What’s wrong? Are you all right?”

Trying to stifle moans of pain, I slowly made my way into the nearest chair. “Where to start? There’s a dead guy on the floor, I’m pretty beat up, and I didn’t know who else to call.”

It took a couple of minutes to get it all out between the blood loss and the difficulty breathing, but he got the idea pretty quickly. He barely paused after I’d finished before he spoke in a rush. “You still have Alexander’s number on you?”

“Yeah,” I replied.

“Call him now and tell him to come by and clean up the mess,” Andrew ordered. “After that I want you back here…I’m pretty sure Kimberly can help.”

Made sense. Of course, I wanted to tell him to call Alexander, and then I realized Andrew didn’t know the address. “I’ll be in touch.”

A quick phone call and thirty minutes later Alexander showed up. I’d moved the chair closer to the front door to wait. He looked at me and then down at the corpse, and his astonishment and awe were easy to see.

“You did this?” he asked.

His tone was odd and I couldn’t tell if he was angry or impressed. I was hoping for the latter because I was in no condition for round two. With great trepidation I got to my feet. “Yeah, but I swear it was in was self-defense.”

Alexander’s mouth fell open, then a low, soft, rueful chuckle escaped his lips. “Goddamn!” His gaze searched for understanding. “Do you have any idea who this is?”

With a quick glance, I shook my head. “He’s just another dead guy.”

Alexander huffed, shaking his head in disbelief. His eyes were full of an unwarranted awe that I couldn’t readily explain. “Damn! Did I ever misjudge you.”

Shaking my head, I said, “It was complete self-defense…I’ve got the hard drive from the cameras to prove it.”

Alexander laughed, and held his hands out. “No, no. Not what I meant.”

“What did you mean?”

Alexander leaned over and poked the dead man’s cheek, presumably to make sure it was real. “This was Marcus Gray, one of the oldest, if not the oldest, werepanther in the world.” He stood and slowly wiped the digit against his pants. “He had to be closing in on three hundred years old.” Squinting, he pointed at my chest. “That’s all he did?”

That was absolutely hysterical, considering all he did was practically rip me in two. “I have a couple of broken ribs to go with this beautiful reminder.” Eyeing the corpse, I shrugged. “Probably beats being dead though.”

Alexander snorted his disbelief. “Ya think?” He shot Marcus the finger before kicking the lifeless body hard enough to scoot it a half dozen feet. “Fucker was a world class douche, with a long list of grave markers to his credit.”

“Oh,” was all I could manage.

Alexander pulled his cell out of his pocket and gave the all clear signal. Then he looked at me. “Are you finished here?”

Considering I was about to pass out, I nodded. “Yeah.”