Accession of the Stone Born: The Vigiles Urbani Chronicles (8 page)

I could barely hear him over the drums as he whispered in my ear. “Kill them all!”

For the following twenty-nine hours I acted as the angel of death made manifest, hours that became etched across my soul and burned into my memory. The two men who pulled me out of the pit died first. From there I sought out every living soul, saving my tormenter until the end. He suffered for only a matter of hours before he passed with the dawn of the following morning. They still haunted my dreams…their screaming, pleading, and crying for mercy, begging to be spared, but the rage that took hold of me wouldn’t allow it.

Before I left this special hell on earth, I doused it in diesel fuel before setting off all the ordnance I could find. Little did I know that the shithole was built atop a natural phosphorus deposit. It could be seen for weeks afterward, burning like a miniature sun on the horizon.

It took me another three days to find the nearest base, which happened to belong to the Israelis. They tended to my wounds and contacted my handlers, who took their time in collecting me. A few months later I learned I’d been a captive for 113 days, and that the Iraqi government blamed the Kurds for killing every last man, woman, and child housed at the forward base. No survivors were left to tell the tale; a practice I would maintain throughout the remainder of my career.

After that no one ever looked at me the same. I ignored the whispers and snide glances. They hadn’t been there and never would be. They didn’t have the right to judge me. The one other thing I learned that I wasn’t meant to was the fact that my people knew the moment I’d been taken, and had written me off. I wasn’t worth the effort to retrieve. That’s when they’d given me the pet name of the Grim Reaper.

Friday May 29th

Fear overtook me and I didn’t want to open my eyes. I didn’t want to find out it was all a dream and I was still back in the pit. Still, I forced my eyes open slowly and saw Andrew leaning over me, holding my head in his hands and looking scared to death. He kept repeating the same thing over and over again. “What have I done? Please be okay...please wake up.”

When I stirred he visibly relaxed, but I was still concerned about the pain. It had been so real, as if it were still happening, but when I moved my arms…nothing. I was fine, thank God. I was not in a hole dying, choking to death on my own fluids.

Something in the back of my mind remembered the black diamond shards slicing through my hand and out the back of it. I steadied myself, preparing for the worst…a ruined hand that would have to be lopped off to save the arm. But when I looked down it was healed—heavily scarred, caked in blood, but functional and healed.

With a little help from Andrew I got to my knees. “What was that?”

Andrew pulled me close, hugging me before allowing a tentative smile to cross his face. “I’m not sure. I’ve never seen anything like that. Are you all right?”

Shifting my weight, I allowed Andrew to help me to my feet. “I don’t know.”

Andrew’s eyes flashed over at the display case, filled with pear shaped blood red garnets…the tears I’d seen just before I passed out. The once perfect spherical diamond was now a jagged mess of a dozen different colored shafts, the most prominent of them being a four-inch black diamond covered in my blood.

Andrew’s voice was hoarse, his hands shook, and he looked genuinely frightened. He kept a steady arm under my shoulders, keeping me upright. “I’m not sure what happened. It wasn’t supposed to be like that. I’ve never even heard of something like this occurring.” He looked down at me and shook his head. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

My stomach was tying itself in knots and my intestines churned as the old memory danced through my mind’s eye. I’d spent years trying to forget that night, and now it was as if it happened yesterday. “Got anymore scotch, and maybe a washcloth?”

Andrew half carried me back to the living room before pouring me a double. He disappeared into the nearest bathroom and returned with a wet cloth and a towel. He waited for me to clean my hand before vanishing again to dispose of them.

He sat at the table next to me and poured himself a double, then refilled mine. “That, my boy, was the strangest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Downing my drink, I held it out for another as I swallowed. “I take it that wasn’t normal.”

Andrew filled my glass again. “The inductions are never violent. Normally they’re peaceful, uplifting experiences.” He poured himself another scotch and downed it as he waved a hand back towards the hall. “Nothing like that is ever supposed to happen.”

Downing my drink and holding out my glass for another, I grimaced. “I’m a violent man, and I deserve a lot worse than I got.”

Andrew shook his head. “It’s not like that, Gavin. Your mind is supposed to awaken, not do whatever the fuck that was.”

He was right…I’d awoken. I’d spent years trying to forget what I could now recall with perfect clarity. How I wish that wasn’t the case. Everything that took place over those six months, the before, during, and after, had all rushed back to me in a matter of seconds.

Other things floated through my mind as well. What my uncle had said earlier I now knew as truth. We wouldn’t age like those around us. The world vibrated with an unseen energy, but even now the glowing sensation of certain items of power were fading from my vision. Sensations and the knowledge that there were things out there so much greater than I’d ever seen were now just around the corner. A weight fell upon my shoulders, and I knew that I was being called to something much greater than I’d known or done before. At that moment, though, I needed a drink…several drinks. I needed time to process what just happened.

Chapter 5

Saturday May 30th

Jerking awake, I turned my head to the side and saw the clock read 6:15 a.m. As I rolled out of bed my head felt heavy, sluggish, and to top it off I had cotton mouth. If I were a hopeful kind of man I’d think the large quantities of scotch, I’d consumed last night were responsible for my fatigue. I was not a hopeful man, however, and I knew it was the nightmares and the ghosts of the dead that haunted me.

Even now I heard their screams in the deep recesses of my mind. Clenching my jaw, I stretched and stood, swelling to my full height. I forced the voices and screams to be silent. They may rule my dreams, but here and now, in this world, I was in control. They would remain silent until such time they could escape their cages to haunt me again.

When I brought my arms down I caught sight of my mangled hand. My palm and fleshy parts of my fingers were heavily marred with scars. It gave my hand the appearance of a melted wax figure. It looked as if the artist was able to make a roughhewn shape of a hand, but the detail work was beyond them. Over the years I’d seen soldiers who were much worse off than this. I at least got to keep the use of my hand, no matter how messed up it might appear to the outside world.

This was physical proof that I was in New Orleans, twenty years removed from my time as a guest of the Iraqi government. Once in a while I had doubts. A little voice that hid in my deepest fears would taunt me saying that I’d never left the pit and I was still a prisoner, that all of this was a figment of my sun stroked mind.

No, the voice was a lie and this, this was reality…my scarred hand, my uncle, and this miserable humidity. This was real. Running my fingers across my hand and feeling the scars again.

More than the scars, the weight settling itself on my broad shoulders told me that this was reality and it weighed heavy on my soul. I didn’t know what was coming, but it felt important. Something that would forever change me in ways that I couldn’t even begin to fathom. At this point, the things I couldn’t fathom were easy enough to come by. Most importantly, though, I was cared for, and for the first time in more years than I’d care to admit I was not alone.

Grabbing the last pair of clean jeans and shirt out of my bag, I headed for the shower. The unfortunate reality of having to do my own laundry was upon me. But that could wait till I got something in my stomach. After dressing I trudged down the hall and through the kitchen door. Andrew was at the stove making breakfast. He glanced back, giving me an appraising look, and returned his attention to the stove.

“Breakfast will be ready shortly,” he said over his shoulder.

Placing my elbows on the table, I dropped my face into my hands and rubbed. “Thanks.”

Keeping my face firmly in my hands, I massaged my forehead and eyes, trying to give myself a little relief. Whatever Andrew was making filled the air with the aromas of sizzling salted butter, pepper, and a hint of seafood. The smell alone was enough to make me feel better.

It wasn’t long before I heard the plate gently clinking against the hardwood of the table top and sliding in front of me. Slowly lifting my head out of my hands, my eyes were bleary from the pressure I’d been applying to ease my headache. A few seconds later the world fell into focus, revealing crab cakes topped with perfectly poached eggs smothered in a thick golden hollandaise sauce.

My mouth watered at the sight. Sitting up straight, I looked over at my uncle, genuinely impressed. “Wow!”

Andrew looked pleased with himself as he gestured at the plate. “I assure you, it tastes far better than it looks.”

Picking up the fork, I tore into it with fervor. Turning the utensil on its edge, I sliced through the egg, allowing the liquid gold yolk to gently cascade over the crab cake below. A second motion freed a good portion of the crab cake, egg, and a generous helping of hollandaise. Letting the flavors mix in my mouth, my eyes rolled back in ecstasy. The rich thick hollandaise sauce danced across my tongue with all of its buttery rich flavor, yet highlighting the more delicate hint of lemon and cayenne pepper. The crab cakes themselves were high quality lump crab meat and little else.

I chewed slowly, savoring every morsel of food before finally swallowing and going in for my second bite. I’d finished my first cake when I realized my toes were curled unnaturally inside my boots. Forcing myself to relax, I glanced over at my uncle. “Damn! I don’t think I’ve ever had anything quite so delicious.” A fleeting memory of a dinner I’d had in Tokyo flitted through my mind. “There was one meal with real Kobe steaks, but this may match that!”

Andrew watched and waited. Then, before I could tear into the second cake, he spoke. “Would you like to talk about it?”

I knew what he meant and I really didn’t want to, so I thought I’d play stupid. “I thought we just did.” I pointed my fork at the plate. “This is amazing.”

Andrew savored his food with ecstasy. His tone turned harder when he spoke. “That’s not what I meant.” He used his fork to point at my hand. “How does it feel?”

I held it up for him to see, turning it around so he got a good look at both sides as I flexed it open and closed. “Everything seems to work fine. No lasting damage.” Grimacing, I looked at the mutilated hand. “It’s a little ugly is all. Nothing to concern myself with.”

Andrew raised an eyebrow. “No chance you want to talk about what happened when you passed out, is there?”

My stomach churned and I forced what little breakfast I’d been able to swallow to stay put. “Not a single chance in hell.”

Andrew wasn’t happy with the answer and continued to press me for more information. “You said something very interesting...about you being a violent man and deserving worse.” He kept his eyes on me. “Care to shed light on that subject?”

He reminded me of the shrinks I’d seen over the years. They had a way of asking the same question in many different forms. I didn’t like them nor the way they did things. This was my uncle, however, a man who cared for me.

I owed him something. Not the truth, but something. I shoved another forkful of food in my mouth and swallowed. “Tell ya what. I’ll give you the answer I’m comfortable with and you’ll have to be satisfied.”

I sat there and waited for him to nod in agreement before I continued. “Over the last twenty-eight years I’ve traveled the world. I’ve seen and done things, not all of them good. I’m not a good man, but I’m not a bad one either. Everything I’ve done was in service to what I thought and believed was a higher cause. I won’t second guess what I did. I can’t.” I took a big draught of tea and washed down the acid in my throat. “All I want from life now is to be the best person I can be. I’d like to be kind, gentle, and overall a nice person. Please don’t make me relive the nightmare that is my past.”

I could see understanding cross Andrew’s face; he didn’t like being shut out but he understood it. When he spoke next his voice was calm, flat, and hard. “I wish you the best of luck.” He raised his tea glass in my direction and drank. “Know that your desires, while admirable, may not be possible.” He sat the glass down and took a deep breath. “A man’s past has a way of catching up to him eventually. Be ready for it when that happens.”

I doubted my past would catch up with me anytime soon. Most of it was dead and buried. The men I’d worked for had chosen to wash their hands of me instead of putting a hole in my head or dropping me off in a padded cell somewhere. If by chance it did rear its ugly head in my direction, I’d deal with it as I always had. I’d kill it, burn it, and set fire to the world if need be. I was never going to be held prisoner by my past, nor was I ashamed of it.

Of course I didn’t say any of that. Instead I gave my uncle a level look before turning my attention to my food. “If it shows up I’ll be ready.” Cutting out the biggest bite the fork could handle, I gave my uncle a wink. “I’m a survivor. It’s what I do.” And shoved the food into my watering mouth.

Concern crossed my uncle’s face, but he said nothing while he ate. Finally, after he finished, he leaned back in his seat and chewed on his thoughts for a minute longer before speaking. “It’s obvious you are accustomed to a much different life than one that should’ve been afforded you had your parents lived.” I started to speak but he held up a hand to stop me. “From what I can gather you’re more acclimated to this city than most.”

Swallowing the last of my food, I felt uncertain at his words. “I don’t believe this city is a full-fledged war zone.”

Andrew didn’t appear to be convinced by my observation. “Perhaps not in the way you mean, but there is no mistaking that there has been an ongoing war since the city was founded.” He took a drink of tea before continuing. “New Orleans is often ranked in the world’s most dangerous cities. Then there is the unseen world ‘they’ know nothing about. Our world. Make no mistake, we are as brutal and dangerous as the humans that live all around us.”

Pushing my plate forward, I allowed the Grim to pose the questions that had plagued us. “About that.... How many others are like us in the city?”

Andrew pushed his plate away and leaned back in his chair as he thought. “As far as I know there are three…myself, you, and Walter—if by us you mean stone born.”

The mention of Walter gave me pause, but I had more pressing questions to deal with before returning to that particular asshole. “I take it that there are other....” I pondered which word to use before I settled on the obvious. “Species?”

Andrew pursed his lips, raising his shoulders in a dismissive nature. “Many. These are the highlights though.” He put up a finger and began counting them off. “There are witches, sorcerers, shamans, monks, elementals, shapeshifters, werebeasts, vampires, nephilim, and guardians, better known as angels.”

I waited for the joke that didn’t come. He had to be joking, but the look on his face told me he believed it. After what I’d been through in the last twenty-four hours, I supposed anything was possible.

Allowing the Grim to analyze the situation, I posed another question. “You’re serious about the others?” Pausing to let it sink in, I continued. “There are vampires, werewolves, and witches? Not to mention the angels.”

Andrew stood, grabbing our plates and dropping them off in the sink. He gestured towards the door. “This is best discussed in comfort and within reach of reference material.”

Getting to my feet, I bowed slightly as I waved my uncle ahead of me. We traipsed into the living room and sat at the table. Thankfully the bottle of scotch was nowhere in sight. Not that it was bad, but the constant flow of alcohol since I’d arrived was sure to kill my liver sooner rather than later.

Andrew had obviously prepared for the morning’s conversation. The table was covered with a dozen ancient looking leather tomes. He took a seat and waited for me to follow suit before continuing. As soon as I was seated he pulled a medium sized black leather book with a silver buckle out of the pile and flipped it open, turning to a premarked page. When he held it out for me, I took it and turned it around so I could read the handwritten journal.