Kane slouched back in his chair, switched the phone from one side to the other. “You hear from Tulsa and Vancouver?”
“Yeah. They still have their faustlings safe and secure, too. I hear that England’s got one now as well.”
Kane lurched forwards. “The Kent facility?” That made more than a dozen sites now after Chile finding one in the hills of Santiago. “What are these things up to?”
“I don’t know, old buddy. I hear you have the survivors of Samhain with you. To tell you the truth the rest of us are all relying on you for answers. I’ve been trying to track down that other survivor of Samhain,
Dr. Frank Belgium
. Guy seems to have fallen off the grid. You’re the only one with any kind of information on these things, thanks to your guests.”
Kane sighed. “I’m not sure I’ll get anything useful from them. Samhain was a disaster and they were partly responsible. I don’t have much faith in their abilities.”
“Still, you have a better chance than the rest of us. It’s clear that these things are converging on our facilities. There has to be a reason.”
Kane rubbed at his chin and suddenly felt very tired and ancient. “I agree. I guess we’re just going to have to wait and see what happens. Stay safe, Robson.”
“You, too.”
But when General Kane hung up the phone, he didn’t feel safe. For the first time since he’d been attacked by that damned wolf years ago, Kane was afraid.
“Why do you want to talk to me?” Andy asked the Manx man. “How do you even know who I am?”
Lucas was still grinning. “Oh, I know you well enough, lad. I know the very core of you. The brokenness and fear that you’ve carried with you ever since you went down that wretched hole in the desert.”
“You know about Samhain?”
“I know about lots of things. Everything from where to find the world’s best pint of bitter—that would be a little place in Scotland called the Clachaig Inn by the way—to what color underpants the Pope wears.” Lucas chuckled. “Purple, if you can believe it.”
“Fascinating,” Dr. Chandelling mumbled as he scribbled on a notepad.
Andy put his hands on the glass. “So are you going to be forthcoming and tell us the secrets of the universe?”
Lucas placed his palms against Andy’s. “I’m afraid I have to let you work things out for yourself, lad. I’m here to witness, and occasionally advise. But I’m not here to interfere.”
“Why not?”
“What is it those bouncy black fellas say in their delightful rap songs? Don’t hate the playa, hate the game. The rules have already been defined, the wheels already in motion. They see me rollin, they hatin.”
Jerry moved up beside Andy and folded his skinny arms across his chest. “Are you like a ghost or something? Why can’t they run any tests on you?”
Lucas turned his attention to Jerry and raised a fuzzy eyebrow. “Ah, young Jeremy Preston. Did you get hold of Ben, like I said?”
Jerry took a step backwards. “How the hell do you even know…?”
“Don’t worry, lad. Ben forgives you. Deep down, he forgives you. The two of you have been through a lot. Even more than you know or remember.”
Jerry frowned and turned away.
“It’s a valid question,” Sun told Lucas. “What exactly are you? You’re
not
human.”
“Few things in this place are, lass.”
“So what are you?”
“I am what I am. One of God’s creations, same as you, same as him.”
Dr. Chandelling mumbled something to himself, his tongue peeking out the corner of his mouth as he took notes.
“You know for sure that God exists?” Andy asked.
“We can discuss the nature of God, but I’m not sure you’d be able to grasp it.” He glanced at Sun. “Any more than you would the nature of evil. Our perceptions become our realities, our reality clouds our perceptions, and our ideas and fears all get blended into the mixture, so by the end of the discussion you’d be more confused than when you started. But do you really want to talk about God, or about the fella a few doors down?”
Lucas glanced sideways as if he could see through the cement walls of his cell to where the batling was.
“Bub?” Andy asked.
“I know all about that cheeky little monkey, Bub. He had you believe he was a little grander than he really is.”
“You’re saying Bub isn’t dangerous?”
Lucas huffed. “Oh, no, that egotistical feck will quite happily wipe humanity off the face of the earth. And he’s strong and sly enough to do it. I’m just telling you not to give him more credit than he’s due. There is indeed a God, even though he’s mightily misrepresented and misunderstood. But there are other things, too. Things you have within these very walls that were nothing to do with God’s plan. God isn’t the only creator in this world.”
Andy’s eyes narrowed. “Bub.”
“Aye, Bub has his thumbprint on a few of the world’s more unpleasant surprises. People ask why God lets bad things happen to good people. The answer is because this world does not belong entirely to Him. There’s a power struggle. A battle between black, white, and every other color in between.” Lucas lowered his voice, and his bright expression soured. “This earth is a warzone—and the enemy is about to make a big move. You could think of this as D-Day, only this time it’s the Germans who are storming the beaches.”
“And which side are you on?” Sun asked.
“I’m in the stands, watching with a pint and a bag of crisps. But if it matters, I’m rooting for you folks. I’ve grown fond of you over the years. Sweet little things that you are.”
“Why not help us?” asked Andy.
“This isn’t my fight, lad. Tis not my place.”
Sun folded her arms. “Fine, but you still haven’t said what you want with my husband. You called him here.”
“Aye, I did. Whatever happens deep down in this hole in the ground is going to be on him. I’m just here to see the game play out. It should be very entertaining.”
“What about your history?” Andy said. “Are you from the Isle of Man?”
“I was. Once upon a time. Among other places.”
“Where have you lived?”
“Everywhere.”
“How many languages do you speak?”
Lucas beamed. “A few more than you.”
“How old are you?” Andy asked in Turkic.
“Very old. But don’t I look good?”
“Are you human?” in Russian.
“No. But close enough to get through airport security.”
“What are you?” in Cherokee.
“I came before man. Some say with the dawn.”
“What is your real name?” in Portuguese.
“I’ve gone by many names.
Lucas
has suited me for a while now.”
“Is this really Armageddon?” in Korean.
“That depends on how well you handle yourself.”
“Can you die?” in Sanskrit.
“That depends on the definition of death. Mr. Dennison-Jones, might I suggest that you pay less attention to me, and more to the little bugger plotting to destroy humanity?” Lucas made a head gesture toward the batling’s cell. “To use a sports analogy, you’re wasting time talking to the spectators when you should be out on the field, playing ball.”
Andy tried more questions, but Lucas sat down and smiled politely, staying silent, as he had yesterday. It was disappointing, not only because Lucas obviously knew more than he was letting on, but because Andy had many questions about ancient languages that he guessed this man—or whatever he was—could answer. Lucas was, quite frankly, astonishing.
The quartet eventually quit trying with the enigma in front of them, and went to visit the Spiral’s newest occupant. The one Andy had dreaded seeing again.
They headed twenty feet down the corridor until they were face-to-face with the batling. It hovered before them like a hummingbird, leathery wings flapping with tremendous speed. Like Bub, its metabolism was obviously extremely efficient.
“Dennnissson.”
It spoke in a deep voice, with a harsh rasp to it, a sound not dissimilar to raking autumn leaves. Andy heard that voice often in his nightmares. It wasn’t any more pleasant hearing it again for real.
Andy cleared his throat and said, “It’s Dennison-Jones now. Are you Bub?”
“Yeeeesssssssssssss.”
Though it was much smaller than the demon they’d encountered at Samhain, it was a perfect replica. Same hooves, same horns, same teeth. It also instilled the same fear. Andy had a powerful urge to run away, as fast and as far as possible.
“You remember us?” Sun asked. She looked just as skittish as Andy felt.
Bub’s eyes widened. Its pupils were horizontal, like that of a goat.
”Weeeeee reeeemeeeember.”
“How is that possible?” Andy asked. “How can it retain Bub’s memories?”
“Epigenetics,” Sun answered after a moment. “It is possible to inherit learned behaviors, including memory. Experiments have been done on mice and goldfish to prove it.”
Bub’s tongue, scaled like a snake, slithered out and licked its open eyes.
“Why are you here?” Andy asked.
“Finis enim prope est,”
the demon answered.
Andy couldn’t help but wince a little. He translated for the others. “Latin.
The end is near.
How many of you are there?”
“Weeee are many. Weeeeee are leeegion.”
“
We
are getting seriously creeped out,” Jerry said, taking a step back.
“What are you feeding it?” Sun asked Dr. Chandelling.
“Raw meat.”
“Has it tried to reanimate the meat?”
“No. So far we’ve only given it frozen hamburger.”
“Smart,” Sun said.
“Why is that smart?” Jerry asked.
“Freezing bursts the cell walls in meat. That would be difficult to bring back to life. Plus, the grinding would make it even harder for Bub to restructure the tissue.”
“If I saw a hamburger jumping around, I’d freak out,” Jerry said. “In fact, I think I’m already freaking out.”
“Tell us your plan, Bub,” Andy said to the demon.
“Humanityyyyyyy is over. Bellum internecinum.”
“What does that mean?” Sun asked. “Bellum…”
“Bellum internecium.
War of extermination
.”
“How?” Sun asked.
The demon hovered, saying nothing.
“Maybe he needs a little radiation therapy,” Andy said. “And a plutonium enema.”
“Your deaths will beeeeeeee painful, Dennisonsssssssss. We will eeeeeeeat you allliiiive.”
Dr. Chandelling looked up from his notes. “The faustling hadn’t spoken until you arrived. But if it retains the memories and intellect of the demon from Samhain, it’s incredibly intelligent.”
“It’s smarter than we are,” Andy said.
“And uglier,” Jerry said.
The batling bashed itself into the glass. Everyone jumped back.
“Bite your tongue, boy. Or weeeeee shall bite it for yoooooooou.”
“Go wank yourself,” Jerry said, the false bravado obvious, but admirable. “You’re in there, I’m out here, so bite me.”
Bub smashed into the glass again, so hard its pig snout burst open in a bloody mess.
Jerry screamed falsetto.
Bub grinned, rows of jagged teeth stretching wide, and began to lick its blood off the window.
“I say we irradiate it until it talks, then kill it,” Andy said.
“Seconded,” said Sun.
“Yooooooou can’t kill meeeeeeee, Dennisons.”
“Denison-Jones.”
“It bleeds,” Jerry said. “If it bleeds, we can kill it.” Everyone looked at him. “You guys didn’t see
Predator
, I take it?” No one answered. Jerry grimaced. “Christ, doesn’t anyone watch movies anymore? We’re right in the middle of
Cabin in the Woods
right now and I keep expecting to see Joss Whedon pissing about behind a camera.”
The batling descended slightly, hovered at head height beside Dr. Chandelling.
“Helloooooo doctoooooor. Caaaaan you heeeeeear ussssssss?”
Chandelling dropped his notepad on the floor. His pockmarked jaw dropped open. “W-what did you say?”
“Hoooooooow issssssss your heeeeeeearing? Think it will laaaaaaaaast?”
“Doctor, are you okay?” Sun asked.
“Yes, I’m… I’m fine. If you’ll excuse me I have to go and compile this data.” Dr. Chandelling picked his notepad off the floor and hurried away.
Bub began to make a croaking sound, like a sick bullfrog.
“Is it choking on something?” Jerry said.
Andy shook his head. “It’s laughing.”
“I hate this thing. How big was the other one?”
“About ten feet tall.”
“Jesus. It’s a wonder you got out of there alive.”
Bub banged into the glass again, hard enough to make everyone jump.
“Yooooou won’t thissssssss time,”
the demon said.
Dr. Chandelling holed up in his office and closed the door. The first thing he did was open up his prized StereoMatic 564 record player and put on the soothing tones of Bing Crosby. Chandelling had been born in the 70s but had grown up to the backdrop of his father’s records. The music of his own generation had lacked the sophistication and class of the decades before. Russ Columbo. Peggy Lee. Frank Sinatra. Ethel Merman. Perry Como. Matt Monro. Ella Fitzgerald. Rudy Vallee.
Music that eased the mind and healed the soul.
Ear Valium
, he called it.
And Chandelling knew how lucky he was to be able to enjoy it.
As a youth, he was plagued with ear problems. Chandelling had had constant ear infections—otitis media with effusion—aka
glue ear
. During his first seven years of life, he barely heard half of it. A combination of never-ending antibiotics, and two tympanostomy tubes, finally restored his hearing, but he’d missed so much school he was behind in his studies until he caught up at age twelve. Other children continued to make fun of him through high school—glue ear would discharge fluid, which was smelly and gross and not the fast track to popularity.
Chandelling had taken solace in his old-fashioned music, and finally came into his own in college He’d grown enough that his Eustachian tubes no longer clogged constantly, which not only brought his hearing back to within normal ranges, but alleviated the social stigma. Though Chandelling continued to be shy and wary of people, he’d done well at the university, eventually earning his doctorate. The days of pain and humiliation were long gone.