The Persistence of Time

by Jim Cannon


Chapter Twenty-Four: "Dead Souls"

New Orleans

As soon as the Revenant blinked out of existence, Mephistopheles turned to his lieutenants with a sour look on his face. "The Nightspawn do not like to play fairly," he grumbled.

The pale haired man with the eyepatch made his sword disappear under his coat. "Shall we go after him, my lord?"

"No, Wotan," the Demon sighed. "The Revenant is not much of a threat, not in the larger scheme. And since our plans are proceeding quite nicely despite the attempted interference of those so-called heroes, I think we can leave the 'spawn to himself. But there is one among their number who causes me worry."

The dark skinned man with the naked scimitar spoke up. "Perseus?" he asked, a note of devout hatred in his voice.

Mephistopheles shook his head. "No, the Spartan is dead. He was in the heart of Hong Kong when Lei Wu Long so politely destroyed it. Perseus will not confound us any longer. The being that worries me is the Wraith. He is a wild card, and I do not like wild cards. I want the Wraith erased."

Wotan's single eye narrowed. "Not us, surely. A fellow Immortal perhaps, but we couldn't..."

"Of course not, you fool," Mephistopheles hissed. "I am well aware of your limitations and the Wraith's strengths. I want you to awaken the Carnifexi. They can deal with the undead upstart."

Wotan's eye widened, and the dark man whistled through his teeth. "Are you certain that's wise, your lordship?" the dark man asked. "The Carnifexi are notoriously difficult to control."

Mephistopheles grimaced. "I have set in motion events that will ultimately lead to the destruction of this insignificant mudhole, and you, great Huixopochtli, question whether the killing ones need be loosed?"

The Demon smiled coldly. "Now is not the time to experience twinges of conscience. Do as I command, and remember, the profits you shall reap in the next world will more than compensate for your losses in this one."

Huixopochtli sheathed his sword. "As you wish, my lord."

Mephistopheles nodded. "In the interim, I shall look in on the Scarecrow's progress." He stepped away from the two Immortals, and gestured with his right hand. There was a flash of crimson light, a whiff of brimstone, and the Demon disappeared.

Wotan glanced at the Aztec. "Cheer up, Huixo. Look at it this way: it will certainly be fun to watch the Carnifexi get to work."

Huixopochtli smiled slightly. "Indeed, Wotan. Indeed."

Selura parked the rental car in the driveway, and slipped out of vehicle. She was dressed in loose clothing; a pair of dark slacks and a navy blue blouse that would not restrict her movement. Her heavy raincoat served to keep the weather at bay and concealed the large broadsword she had owned for six centuries. She swept her short blond hair out of her eyes and headed up the short walk to the front door.

The boards of the porch groaned as she walked across them, and she shivered slightly when the slight taste of the buzz hit her. She rang the doorbell, only slightly relieved to know Perseus was indeed home. As she waited, she fingered the hilt of her blade nervously, unsure of the reception her old lover would give her. They did not part on the best of terms, but she decided that the past would not keep her from dropping by to see him now.

She forced herself to release the weapon when the door opened, and her mind formed a conciliatory greeting. But it wasn't the lean form of the Spartan who greeted her, but rather the bulky frame of Bran Mac Lyr stood in the door, one hand on the grip of his enchanted blade, the other on the doorknob. His expression of surprise mirrored her own.

He recovered first. "Good evening, Selura. Come to take my head, or is this a social visit?"

Selura shook her head. "I'm looking for the Greek. Where is he?"

Bran frowned slightly, and then opened the door all the way. "Come inside. We'll talk."

Bran bustled about in the kitchen, making coffee, while Selura settled in the living room. She slipped her coat off and draped it over a chair, and then grabbed a seat on the sofa. She was bubbling over with curiosity, but a certain level of dread settled into her bones, and she feared what Bran might tell her, so she kept her silence.

Shortly, Bran came into the parlor with two steaming mugs and offered her one. She took it gratefully, and, cupping the bottom, took a careful sip. Bran still remembered how she liked it; very sweet but very dark. "So," she said after she swallowed the dark liquid.

Bran took a seat on a recliner, and sipped his own drink. "I'm not sure how to tell you this, Selura. A lot has happened in your absence."

She could tell where Bran was going now, but she didn't interrupt him, on the slim chance that he would say something unexpected.

"Perseus went to Hong Kong to attempt to stop Lei. He failed." Bran's voice was flat, emotionless. He did not look at her as he spoke, instead seeking strength at the bottom of his mug.

Selura wasn't sure how to react. In a normal situation, her response would be to ask who took Percy's head, so she could find him and destroy him. But that little bit of revenge was not an option. She was unprepared emotionally and intellectually for the news, as well. Perseus was one of those Immortals certainly destined for the Gathering -- it seemed impossible that he could be taken out of the Game. Of course, they had all thought the same of the Kurgan before.

Bran looked up from his coffee. "I know, its a shock. Perseus always seemed more immortal than the rest of us. But he's gone." Bran winced slightly at his own lack of tact, but Selura still stared dumbly straight ahead. "There's more," Bran continued, and at that, Selura's eyes refocused on the Celt.

"What do you mean?" she said frostily.

Bran sighed. "I've spoken to Kurt and Hazard. They believe that the end of creation is on its way. The real Gathering, the one Viracocha discovered, is upon us."

Selura shivered once more, but this time out of fear.

Paris

The tiny hotel room could barely hold everyone gathered there. Wedged against each other, rubbing elbows and other assorted body parts, were three Immortals and five Gargoyles. Richie, pressed up against the door where he wouldn't have to come into physical contact with any of the creatures, could hardly believe his eyes.

Anton, tusked, silver haired and obsidian skinned, crouched on the edge of the bed, talking rapidly in French with Methos. Anton was frightening enough for the young Immortal. But the other creatures were truly bizarre.

Genivieve, Anton's mate, was covered in tiny, sharp green scales, and a pair of horns erupted from her forehead over azure eyes that watched everyone in the room with a hawk's patience. Her general looks and shape were human enough, evidence that the Gargoyles might have reptilian traits but were almost certainly mammalian creatures. Unlike Anton, however, Genivieve possessed a pair of huge bat-wings that were folded across her back. How a creature so big could fly was beyond Richie, but he supposed he would find out soon enough.

Genivieve stood by the window, and beside her was a short, barrel chested Gargoyle named Alaric. Alaric was a deep-blue shade, and his body was massive, though compact. Standing at a little over four feet in height, he was nonetheless heavily muscled and thick-bodied, with no sign of ever having a neck.

Perched on the dresser was another short Gargoyle, this one a burnished coppery color, with long waves of aquamarine hair. Her name was Marie, and like Genivieve, not only had curving, bat-like wings, but breasts and curving hips as well. Her face, however, was more animalian, with some rather catlike qualities, including a flat nose, almond shaped eyes, and a set of sharp, pointy ears on the top of her head. Those yellow eyes were watching Richie very closely, and he felt uncomfortable under her unblinking stare.

Across the room, standing with his arms folded, was the fifth Gargoyle. Violet-skinned, with short cropped black hair, and orange eyes, he looked just as alien as the rest of them. A network of bumps ringed his head like a crown, and hard bony spurs projected from his elbows, knees, and knuckles. Like Genivieve and Marie, he had a set of wings projecting from his back, but he had folded them around his body like a cape or a shroud. According to the others, his name was Scar, though Richie couldn't see any mark on the Gargoyle's body anywhere.

And it wasn't hard to see their bodies either; all of them were dressed in simple loincloths or tunics, just enough to cover up the essentials and still leave the body free to move, and free to use those impressive wings.

Connor edged his way across the room to Richie, and gave him a jab in the ribs. "Close your mouth," he said. "Its not polite to stare."

With a click, Richie's jaws snapped shut. He hadn't even realized they were open. "Sorry," he mumbled. "Its just that... I mean... this is all so unreal!" he hissed.

Connor nodded. "And it will grow more unreal as the night progresses. Remember, we have a wizard to kill. Expect to see some fireworks."

Richie looked blankly at Connor. In the back of his mind, he accepted Methos' story of the Egyptian wizard, but Richie couldn't quite bring himself to believe in magic; somehow he thought the wizard would be pulling a rabbit out of his hat and that would be that. But looking at these creatures, listening to them talk and breath, smelling them... Richie began to worry about facing a real live fireball tossing sorcerer.

His expression must have showed his concern, because Connor began to chuckle. "Don't worry kid. As long as you keep your head down and let the Gargoyles and I do most of the work, you'll be okay."

Richie bristled. "I'm not a kid, Connor."

Connor only grinned more broadly. Richie summoned a quick retort, but bit it off when the wall against which Genivieve leaned exploded inward. Chunks of brick flew across the room as a half dozen more monsters burst into the room. Richie had only a glimpse of massive creatures with skins so dark they absorbed light, all spikes and horns and wings, and then the battle was joined.

Genivieve was knocked down, and Anton leapt to her rescue, roaring like a lion and swinging his massive horny fists at the invaders. Methos flipped over backwards across the bed and scooped his sword off the floor. Scar snarled and grappled with one of the dark things, as a black monster threw Marie across the room and Alaric was hammered to the floor.

Connor's sword suddenly materialized in his hands, and with a shout, he attacked one of the dark winged creatures, his katana a sliver of light in the suddenly darkened room. Richie fumbled with his own blade, his mouth dropping open with shock, and he was ill prepared when one of the winged monsters smashed into him.

Richie felt several ribs snap, and behind him the door was blown off its hinges. Richie, the door, and the monster tumbled into the hallway. Richie ignored the pain in his chest and rolled out from under the creature, wrenching his jacket off and pulling his sword out. The monster slowly pulled itself to its feet, and it smiled broadly at the young Immortal. Richie now had his first good look at the beast, and the only thing he could think of was the big demon from Fantasia. It had a set of bull-like horns crowning the head, a mouth brimming with sharp, serrated teeth, two great bat-like wings, and a body carved out of obsidian.

Richie looked into those glowing yellow eyes, and he saw his death. Nevermind the rules; demons like this didn't care about ritual combat, Holy Ground, or decapitation. It was just going to rip his head from his shoulders.

The monster growled and launched at Richie, claws outstretched. Richie swept his jacket up off the floor and into the creature's face. Then he rolled under its lunge and drove his sword up into the monster's chest. The beast kept moving, and it took Richie's sword with it as it smashed into the floor.

Richie scrambled to his feet, wincing slightly, and readied himself for another charge. But it never came. The creature lay in the hall, flapping its wings feebly. And then it shuddered and died.

"Richie!" He heard Connor shout for him from the room, and Richie stepped over to the door. The room was in shambles. Shattered furniture lay scattered about, in the midst of several dead bodies, and the far wall was a massive gaping hole. None of the dead bodies appeared to be Gargoyles, however, and though Connor had a big gash across his forehead, his katana dripped brackish black blood.

And Connor was grinning. "Glad to see you survived your first encounter with a Nightwing, Richie."

Richie glanced back at the thing in the hall. "That's a Nightwing?" he said, and his voice cracked slightly. "Jesus."

Connor laughed.

New Orleans

A dozen maps of the city and blueprints of over a hundred separate buildings were spread over the wide, oval shaped table. The harsh, fluorescent lighting made Alec's pale features look even more ghostly.

He tapped his fingers on the table. "What are we looking for again?"

Rachel looked up from the blueprint she was examining and took her reading glasses off, sighing. "We're supposed to be looking for anything out of the ordinary. Architectural styles that deviate from the norm. A bunch of buildings set up in the shape of a pentagram. I don't know exactly, all right?"

For three hours, the two of them had looked trough as many of city halls files as they could find. Rachel had picked a quiet room not far from her office, where they could spread all the material out on a massive mahogany conference table. A number of large picture windows looked out onto the city, and the quiet rain that fell. As quiet and serene as the setting should have been, Alec couldn't concentrate or relax at all. And he was beginning to make the normally placid Rachel a bit edgy as well.

"Yeah, I know," Alec groused. "Densmore's directions were incredibly vague. But I don't know why I'm here. I don't have clairvoyance or anything like that."

Rachel looked pointedly at the gigantic spider that sat in the center of the table. "What, no spider sense?" she said.

Alec gave her a dirty look, and she smiled at him. She pushed her chair back and stood up, stretching. Alec looked away. Rachel picked up her glasses and slipped them back on. "You hungry?" she asked. "I could go for a pizza."

Alec shook his head. "You go ahead. I don't get hungry anymore."

Rachel bit her lower lip unconsciously. "Sorry. I forgot."

Alec shrugged. "No problem."

The settled back into a comfortable silence. Rachel shifted some sheets, and furrowed her brow. The spider suddenly uncoiled from its crouch and, standing up, began to makes its way across the table to Alec. He held his hand out to the arachnid, and glanced at Rachel. She was staring hard at something.

"Find anything?" he asked.

"Mmmm... I'm not sure. C'mere and take a look at this."

Alec muttered to himself but stood up and crossed the room to examine the blueprint Rachel found. It was a zoning plan for a corporation called Franklin Enterprises. Nothing special. Just a picture of the manner in which the company's grounds were set up; the parking lot, main plant, offices, and so on.

"So what's the deal?" Alec asked.

Rachel looked up at him, and he could see that she was confused herself. "I don't know. There's just something about this one. I don't know why, but I keep coming back to it." She shrugged, and started to push it back under the others.

Alec grabbed her wrist. She looked up at him, startled. "Hold on," the Wraith said. "The date on this blueprint says it was made just last year."

"Yeah," Rachel said. "They made some renovations about sixteen months ago. Expanded their parking lot, that sort of thing."

"Well, whoever wrote this forgot about the big tower located here," Alec said, pointing at a spot about a hundred yards north of the main building. On the map, the spot was blank.

"What tower?" Rachel said softly.

Alec's eyes unfocused. "I remember the compound on my right as I drove back to town after I... awakened. I was still pretty confused, and the rain was obscuring a lot of the scenery, but I distinctly remember seeing a tower from the road."

"This could be what we were looking for," Rachel whispered.

"Maybe," Alec said distantly. And maybe Franklin Enterprises was the scene of his murder. Maybe. Something else tugged at Alec's perceptions. There was an itch in the corner of his eye. He straightened, and began to look around the room.

"What is it?" Rachel asked.

"Is there another way out of this place?" Alec said.

Rachel blinked. "What's going on?"

Alec turned and gave her a sickly grin. "My spider sense is tingling. We need to get out of here fast."

"Okaaayy," Rachel said, drawing the word out. She grabbed his wrist and led him to the. "Got your pet?"

"Yeah," Alec said. The spider perched itself on his neck, nestled under his long blond hair. Alec reached under his jacket with his free hand and drew one of his pistols. Rachel's eyes widened, but she didn't say anything as they stepped into the darkened hallway beyond the conference room.

"This way," she said, pulling him down the hallway. He wrenched his hand out of her grasp and went for the second pistol. She gave him a dark look and said, "Are you certain those are necessary?"

Alec shook his head. "Not precisely, but they might come in handy."

She shook her head in exasperation.

It only took them a few moments to reach the end of the hall, where the red glimmer of an exit sign made the hall much brighter, though no less ominous. As Rachel reached for the handle, Alec suddenly grabbed her and pulled her away from the door.

"What the fuck are you doing?" she spat at him.

Then the fire exit door was ripped from its hinges and thrown backwards. A nightmare stepped into the hallway; seven feet tall, bone white, with a ruined mess for a face and eyes of blackest pitch. A mane of midnight hue hung down its back, and it clutched a heavy battle ax in its twisted claws.

"Jesus Christ," Rachel hissed.

Alec pushed her behind him, and pointed both pistols at the creature. The heavy .45s spat fire at the white demon, but each shot ricocheted from the white hide.

"Rachel get out of here," Alec yelled. She didn't need to be told twice. She bolted down the hall like a hare, and Alec was close behind. The skeletal apparition began to jog after them, its pace slow and measured.

Rachel bounded around a corner, and screeched to a halt. Alec almost ran over her, but caught himself in time. At the other end of the hall, walking purposely toward them, was another white demon, this one armed with a long, gleaming sword.

Alec glanced back the way they came. The monster with the ax was getting closer. Alec's mind raced. Had he been alone, Alec would not be worried; he was already dead, after all, and no matter what tortures these monsters devised, they couldn't really hurt him. But Rachel didn't have that luxury.

"Stay close to me," he said, and then he rushed past her towards the malformed creature with the sword. He didn't pause to make sure Rachel was with him, he just ran headlong into the creature.

The thing pointed its sword at him, and he leapt onto it. The blade crashed through his chest and out his back, ripping a hole in his jacket. He dragged himself across the sword, and pointed both guns at the monster's face, aiming the muzzles at its black, empty eyes. The thing rammed its fist into his face, shredding his cheek, and Alec pulled the triggers of both guns.

The head erupted, and shards of bone and chunks of rotted flesh exploded all over the hall, splattering Alec's head and shoulders. The body collapsed, and the hand holding the sword slackened its grip, leaving the weapon jutting in Alec's chest. He paused long enough to wrench the blade out of his trunk, and then checked on Rachel. She stood behind him, pale but unharmed. The demon with the ax was turning the corner.

"C'mon!" Alec growled. The two of them resumed their breakneck race down the hall, while behind them one of the Carnifexi followed, while another began the laborious process of repairing its ruined head.


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