Брайан Макклеллан - Uncanny Collateral

“Do you know who or what it is?” I said. “Does it have a name?”

Alek.

I know it’s shitty, but I need to know, I told Maggie.

It’s not that. Back up slowly. Do it now. Hairlip’s real body is on the other side of the room.

Hairlip’s eyes shot open. My first thought was that they were bright yellow, like a cat’s, and my second was to throw myself backward as Hairlip’s body shimmered and twisted, one enormous, mangy, taloned hand shooting toward me with the speed of a striking adder. The talons snagged in my flak vest, and the strength of the creature threw me sideways into the wall. Grendel’s claw flared to life on my left hand, and I brought my hand down hard in a karate chop, using the power of the tattoo to sever the shapeshifter’s hand at the wrist.

The shapeshifter recoiled, letting out a strange, warbling scream as it finished shifting from Hairlip into a something that looked like the fuckchild of a rabid werewolf and an excavator. Even with its shoulders hunched, its head dragged along the ceiling. It took one step back, let out a howl, and drew its long, black tongue across the bloody stump at the end of its arm.

Without a second thought, I emptied the rest of my Glock into it.

The shapeshifter fell back several more steps, grunting as the bullets traced crimson flowers across its chest. The impacts barely seemed to have any affect, and I braced myself for the thing to leap at me, jaws snapping. It seemed to shimmer again, growing smaller even as it leapt toward the window.

“God damn it,” I said as I ran toward the front door.

By the time I was outside, all I could see was the tail of something catlike disappearing into the underbrush far faster than I could ever hope to give chase. And I had no interest in chasing a shapeshifter in the dark through unfamiliar woods. I waited for several minutes on the front lawn until Maggie gave me the all clear. I stumbled back inside.

You’re bleeding.

I touched the side of my head. My fingers came away crimson. That thing hits like a truck, I told Maggie. Fast as hell too. I carefully crossed the room, looking for my phone, and found it between Hairlip’s real head and the severed foot of one of his companions. I wiped the imp blood from my phone onto my torn-up flak vest and replayed the video I was in the middle of taking when the shapeshifter revealed itself. I saw the yellow eyes and the swiping of the claw, and then the phone got thrown across the room when I went into the wall. It had landed at an angle, catching a good shot of the creature’s head as the sound of my Glock cracked sharply in the background.

I turned off the video. Sitting on my haunches, surrounded by bodies, I ran my hand over my face. My hand brushed across my tusks, and I let out a tired little laugh. I hadn’t even felt them emerge. I willed them back to normal, ignoring the pain in my gums to focus on the pain running down my side. Such a hit would have probably paralyzed a normal person – maybe even killed them outright. I’d feel lucky if X-rays didn’t show a couple of cracked ribs.

What do you want to bet that our shapeshifter has either already killed or is on his way to kill anyone else who’s worked for him? I asked Maggie. I got up and walked into the kitchen, looking across a bunch of meth-making equipment that didn’t look like it had been used yet. I glanced through the cupboards, then walked into the back bedroom and opened the top drawer of a dresser. Staring back at me in the drawer were at least a dozen soul mirrors. Well, that’s a start , I said, gathering them up. He didn’t have time to grab these before he took off. I paused, listening for some reply. Maggie?

Yeah, I’m here, she replied distractedly.

What’s wrong?

Nothing. I’m trying to read.

Well, you picked a damn strange time to do it.

Research, dummy.

I checked the rest of the drawers, then underneath the beds and in the closet. All in all, I left the house with almost thirty soul mirrors. I tossed them in the Prius’s trunk, got in the car, and started driving. I hadn’t been on the road long when my phone rang.

“Hey, Alek, it’s Nadine.”

“You still at work?”

“I am. Still digging through that file on Judith Pyke.”

To be honest, I’d completely forgotten about it. I perked up. “Anything useful?”

“Not sure. Just a random tidbit I found.”

“What’s that?”

“Judith herself might not even know, but the offices she rents downtown are all owned by Kappie Shuteye.”

“Huh. Anything else?”

“Not yet. I’ll let you know.”

I hung up and drove in silence, considering this new bit of information for several minutes, unsure of which direction I wanted to take this. Tying Kappie to Judith could mean Kappie was involved… or it could just mean that whoever was using Kappie’s muscle also had access to his more legitimate records, like rental tenants. I was almost back to the office when Maggie broke into my thoughts.

I’ve got it, she said.

Got what?

What we’re dealing with.

That’s good?

No. No, it’s not.

I cleared my throat. Trickster god?

Not quite. It’s a ghoul.

You mean one of those things you were telling me about the other day?

Yeah. Maggie sighed. You don’t want to be driving when I tell you about this.

I stood by Ferryman’s card table in his realm of darkness, watching while he carefully placed an eight on top of a nine. The thirty recovered soul mirrors sat on the table beside him. He ashed his cigarette absently on one, then seemed to notice what he had done and gently blew the ash off of it. He moved a queen of diamonds and finally peered up at me.

“Well done,” he said, tapping one long fingernail on a soul mirror. “Where are the rest?”

“A thank-you would be nice,” I replied.

“Thank you,” he said flatly. “Where are the rest?”

I took out my phone and set it in front of him, pressing play on the video I took the night before. He watched it in silence and, once it had finished, tapped the phone to watch it again. He leaned back, gazing up at me thoughtfully.

“I think it’s a ghoul,” I told him.

“Certainly a shapeshifter,” he said. I could have sworn that his eyes darted ever-so-quickly toward Maggie’s ring. “A ghoul seems likely,” he amended. “An undead desert spirit. What the hell is it doing in Cleveland?”

“Selling secondhand souls, apparently. It’s the twenty-first century. Gotta go where business is, right?” I’ve met enough Other not to bother questioning their motivations. They like money and power just as much as – and often more than – any human.

Ferryman shrugged. “I can’t argue with that. I don’t like the undead – zombies, vampires, what have you.” He made a dismissive gesture. “Whoever makes them does so in direct mockery of me without breaking the Rules. Ghouls are some of the worst. Some god created them way back in…” He seemed to search his memory, then gave up. “The worst thing about undead is that they don’t fear me anymore, and that’s just unhealthy.”

Maggie had spent the better part of last night telling me everything about ghouls she either knew already or could glean from her library. From what she’d said, their lack of fear was not the worst thing about them – not even close. Ghouls were powerfully strong in whatever form they chose to take. They were fast, malicious, cruel, and possessed a cunning that allowed them to stay two steps ahead of anyone trying to follow their rampages.