Chapter 11

November Twentieth

Balathu walked slowly down the crowded sidewalk near the Mellon Arena. Despite his ambling pace, he bumped into and jostled a number of people, not even making a token effort to avoid them. He ignored both the impacts and the disgruntled expressions that were aimed at his back. In truth, he was barely aware of either; it was taking all of his concentration to maintain the flows of zi that surrounded him.

He had considered waiting until he was at his destination to perform the incantations that had formed the flows, but the casting of the spell took more than an hour. Such prolonged chanting in the street in front of a police station would certainly draw unwanted attention, and might even lead to arrest.

The lengthy and laborious incantation was well worth the effort. As long as he was able to maintain the flows, it would allay any suspicion directed at him by those in his vicinity. Everyone affected would accept his presence as proper and natural. There were limitations, of course. If he spoke to anyone or engaged in any acts of aggression, the spell would fade to nothing in an instant.

For the barest second, he wished that he possessed the ability of elder abominations to alter thoughts and memories; it would make his task so much easier. He immediately winced inwardly for even considering such blasphemy. One of the earliest lessons that had been hammered into him had been, "Covet not the powers of the abominations for they are an affront to all that lives."

It was unfortunate that he had been forced to resort to such drastic measures, but Kimmel and his associates seemed to avoid any mention of the catastrophe that had befallen the city, and no one ever seemed to review the records of those dark days. While he understood the desire they must have to forget that the incident ever occurred, their obstinacy was proving to be a troubling impediment to his mission.

Without knowing what had gone on behind the scenes, he could not advance his own investigation any further. Not that there seemed much of a point in pursuing it; he was beginning to believe that his mission was unnecessary. He had spent most of his evenings walking or jogging through the various districts of the city, and he had found no recent signs of the presence of his enemies. Maybe he had underestimated the Americans. Perhaps they had managed to destroy all of the unnatural creatures after all.

He finally reached the police station located in the maze of streets to the northeast of the arena. Without hesitation, he marched past the large, circular, gold on blue sign that proclaimed the building to be station number 2, and entered. After so many out of body forays to the place, he was as familiar with its layout as he was with the tunnels and galleries of New Sippar.

Nodding and giving friendly smiles to those he passed, he strode unerringly across the large, desk cluttered room that housed the Homicide division to Chief Jacobs' office. The Chief had held to his usual pattern and practice; he had left for the night, and the door to the darkened office, while closed, was unlocked.

Seating himself at the Chief's desk, Balathu turned on the computer. On the prior morning, he had watched over the Chief's shoulder as the man logged in. He entered the carefully memorized password, and punched in the dates of the incident. His eyes widened in shock at the sheer number of entries for that period.

For the next hour, he read through the reports and the private notes that the Chief had appended to them. Many of the entries contained information that had never been made public: the failed raid on the abomination's lair, the ambush at the old county jail; the raid on a residence in Penn Hills; the full extent of the losses on the night after martial law had been imposed; and, most shockingly of all, the source of their information concerning the abominations.

The last shook him to his core. McNelly, with the knowledge and implicit consent of his superiors and coworkers, had conspired and consorted with an abomination. Balathu had, of course, seen the twisted black lines that marked the one time presence of one or more of his enemies in his apartment. He had assumed that they had been left when the seeds of the Outsider had killed McNelly. It had been a reasonable assumption: no details of the manner or location of McNelly's death had ever been made public. The thought that a human and an abomination had cohabited in the place that he now lived made him so sick to his stomach that he lost his concentration. The careful construct of zi that surrounded him collapsed in ruin.

He quickly went to the last entries for the time period. He noted that all of the information concerning the demise of McNelly and the abominations had come from Kimmel and Smith, who had allegedly arrived on the scene after the battle had ended and the fire started. They had reported that McNelly and three vampires, including his consort, had perished before their arrival. The report was extremely vague as to where all of this had occurred.

Examining the related documents, he discovered that there was no record of any recovery effort or investigation at the site of the battle; not a single entry concerning bodies being removed from the site. Nevertheless, there was a form indicating that McNelly had been buried with all honors.

He exited the incident report database and opened the personnel records. Punching in Smith's name, he learned that she was currently on prolonged maternity leave. The only address available for her in the system was a post office box in Spartansburg. He next entered McNelly's name. While the personnel records confirmed that he had died, Balathu found it interesting that his group life insurance policy from the department had been altered two days before his death to make Smith his beneficiary. Looking at some of Chief Jacob's notes and memos, he learned that this change had not actually been requested until the day after death.

The new information was overwhelming, and Balathu suddenly felt inadequate for the mission that he had been given. His Order had expected the Americans to lack the will to hunt down all of the abominations, but they had never suspected that the police force would actually be in collusion with the monsters. He desperately tried to think of a plan of action that would allow him to cope with the changes. The best he could come up with was increasing his surveillance of Kimmel and attempting to track down Smith.

A sudden uproar arose in the room outside the office. Although there were still a few things that Balathu would have liked to look up, he realized that this might be his best, possibly only, chance to escape the station unnoticed.

Moving to the door, he eased it open and peeked through the crack into the room beyond. From the youngest rookie to the most grizzled veteran, the policemen in the large room were whooping and cheering, exchanging a flurry of high fives and handshakes. He glanced at the television around which the celebration seemed to be centered, and the reason for it became apparent. The reactor meltdown in New Jersey had been contained. The aquifer, thousands of acres of wetland, and untold numbers of lives, had been saved. The event was still a disaster of unprecedented magnitude: the area around Fort Dix would be uninhabitable for years to come, and thousands had been exposed to dangerous, possibly lethal, levels of radiation. It could, however, have been much worse.

Balathu walked through the chaos, clasping hands and exchanging cheers as he went. His relief and joy at the news was unfeigned. While he had no real love for the Americans, he also bore them no ill will. He had no desire to see them suffer.

He gradually worked his way across the room and into the hallway that led to the exit. As he approached the large glass doors, a uniformed police officer coming toward him from outside set off alarms inside his head. At first he couldn't pinpoint what it was about the man that had caught his attention, but then he realized that, unlike everyone else who was out in the cold night air, the cop's breath was not emerging in thick white clouds.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Balathu performed the mental exercise that would give him the Sight. When he again looked at the cop, the black aura that surrounded him and the twisted black line that trailed behind him confirmed Balathu's suspicions: the man was an abomination.

His hands shaking, Balathu exited the station and squeezed by the monster. Without care for his meager remaining funds, he took a cab back to his apartment. He only stayed there long enough to strap the sword beneath his trench coat.

Walking, it took a great deal longer to make the return trip to the station. He followed the black trail of the abomination to where it abruptly ended at a bus stop. He would need to track it directly.

Returning to the building across the street from the station, Balathu hunkered down to wait next to a mural of BB King. He performed a weaker version of the spell he had used earlier to keep from drawing unwanted attention. This one would collapse if he moved more than a few inches.

He spent the next several hours uncomfortable, cold and cramped. He saw the abomination come and go to the station a number of times as it performed the duties of its position. Although he kept the Sight active, the single abomination was the only one he detected.

Finally came the moment he was waiting for: shift change. He joined the flood of people exiting the station. Catching sight of his quarry, he followed it to the bus stop. Taking a deep breath, he mingled with the small crowd of now off-duty cops, certain that the monster would be able to hear his racing heart and kill him before he could draw Sun's Anger. After a fearful ten minutes, he filed onto a bus with it and several other officers.

The abomination and another police officer exited the bus on the fringes of the residential area known as Squirrel Hill. Balathu watched them walking and talking together as they turned toward a tidy, one story house.

Balathu got out at the next stop and ran back to the tiny residence. He had jogged by here not a week before, and there had been no sign of vampiric presence. Now, to his Sight, the area was polluted with the overlapping black lines that marked the presence of several monsters, at the least.

Memorizing the address, Balathu prepared to depart the area to wait for his greatest ally: dawn. He had only made it a few steps when he saw a flash of light around the edges of the drawn curtains on the front window. An instant later, he heard the loud report of a handgun.

Instinctively, he ran up the sidewalk, freeing his sword as he went. He tried the door, and discovered that, by some miracle, it had carelessly been left unlocked. The door opened into a small living room in which three abominations were present. One was standing with his back toward Balathu holding the living police officer in a full nelson. The cop's service revolver, no doubt the source of the flash Balathu had seen, was on the floor at his feet. Another of the monsters had his head pressed against the man's throat, feeding greedily. The third, the one Balathu had followed here, stood as far from the others as he could, his eyes averted and his head held low.

Years of training took over. The sword flashed in a short arc. The vampire holding the policeman let loose an inhuman scream as the blade sliced effortlessly through his ribs and spine. The blade made a hissing sound as it cut through the unnatural flesh, and a thin stream of acrid smoke rose in its wake. The vampire fell to the side, pulling the living cop from the grasp and teeth of the other.

The abomination that had been feeding assumed a combat stance and attacked. He was far faster and stronger than Balathu, but, with the Sight active, Balathu could see the monster's muscles tense and relax, even through his clothing. This allowed him to anticipate the creature's moves. Balathu bobbed and weaved, barely dodging a flurry of punches and kicks. The vampire suddenly jumped in close, his fist rising in an upper cut.

Rather than avoid the blow, Balathu stepped into it, leading with the sword. He heard the crack of at least one of his ribs breaking at the same time that he heard the hiss of the sword striking home. Gritting his teeth in pain, he staggered backwards, pulling his blade free from the chest of his foe.

Turning awkwardly, he saw that the third vampire was still in the same spot. The final abomination gaped with astonishment at the three bodies on the floor and the man with the sword who was now coming at him.

The abomination's hands rose, palm out, and he cried out, "Wai..." His head shot upwards, and then fell to roll across the floor; his lips still struggling to form his last word.

As the headless body crumpled to the floor, Balathu clutched at his chest. His breath came out in short, painful gasps, and his limbs shook violently from adrenalin overload. Falling to his knees, he crawled over to the abominations' victim. When the man had been pulled from the vampire who was feeding on him, the fangs had torn through his throat. Although he knew it was futile, Balathu checked for a pulse. There was none.

Pushing himself against a wall, Balathu muttered an incantation. With the Sight, he watched as flows of zi converged on his chest. He sighed with relief as the pain and pressure eased. It would still take time for his broken ribs to heal fully, but the process was well under way.

His injuries tended to the best of his abilities, he turned his attention to his current dilemma. The evidence from the police reports indicated that the upper ranks were in league with the seeds of the Outsider. Yet here, it seemed like the monsters were trying to secretly infiltrate the police. If the former were true and he reported this incident, it would likely be covered up, and he would be arrested for murder. If he was somehow mistaken and did not report this incident, the police might not learn of the danger until it was too late. He sighed despairingly: the decision was too important to make on his own. He needed help.

More than anything, he would have liked to speak with one of his former instructors, but it was all too likely that calls to that region would be monitored. He pulled out his cell phone and went to the contact list. The local agent had left his number in case of an emergency. Looking around the gore spattered room, Balathu figured that this qualified.

When he called, the phone rang five times before going to voicemail. He left his name, number, the address, and stated that he was in dire need of assistance. He then sent a text message with the same information. A few minutes later, he received a text message reply, telling him that his message had been received and the agent was on the way.

A few minutes later, there was a tentative knock on the door. When he answered, he found himself staring into the annoyed dark eyes of an attractive woman just a few years older than him. He had expected the agent to be of his people, but only her dark hair and eyes gave any hint that they might share a common ancestry. Although her skin was a deep tan, it was the kind that came from a salon rather than from genetics.

"Sam Mason?" she asked. When he nodded, she let her annoyance show, "Do you realize that it's after four in the fucking morning? What could possibly..." Her voice trailed off as she finally took note of the room behind him.

Pushing past him, she entered and went from body to body, checking each for a pulse. "What the fuck?" she cried out as she went. "What were you thinking when you called me to a murder scene? What kind of freak are you? And at least two of them are cops. You're going to fry." She pulled a cell phone from her pocket, and Balathu could see her thumb heading toward the 9.

Balathu darted across the room to stop her. "Wait!" he demanded fiercely. "You do not understand. All of these men but one was an abomination, and it was the abominations that killed him, not me."

"You're crazy!" she replied angrily, attempting to free her phone from his grasp. "What the hell are you talking about with that 'abomination' bullshit? Are you some kind of religious freak?"

He was so surprised by her words that he nearly lost control of the cell phone. "I thought you were an agent of the Order?" he asked in bewilderment.

"I have no idea what you're talking about. Before my grandfather died, he made me promise to keep his number and assist anyone who called it. In fact, he made it a condition of receiving his house as my inheritance. He told me that the people he helped investigated certain kinds of murder. He didn't tell me that you committed it too."

Desperately, Balathu pulled the cell phone from her and turned to the closest body. "Look," he commanded as he pulled back the upper lip.

She glanced down briefly, "What?"

"Keep watching," he said as he took hold of one of the canines and pulled until the fang was fully extended.

"What the hell?" she asked as she leaned in for a closer look. Reaching out, she hesitantly touched it as if she expected it to be some kind of plastic Halloween novelty. "That's real!" she cried out as she clutched her hand back to her chest.

"Of course they're real," Balathu replied. "What did you think happened back in April?"

"These people are infected?" she asked fearfully, shying away from the body.

"In a manner of speaking, I suppose," Balathu replied with a hint of exasperation. "They're what you would call vampires. I don't know if any of these particular ones were involved in the attack on this city, but they're all the same."

"Vampires? That's ludicrous. Everyone said it was just some weird disease."