Peter Clines: Ex-Communication

Anyway, I was coasting around in the sky as best I could and came in for a landing on one of those tall apartment buildings right on the waterfront. A few homeless people saw me and pointed. I’d been doing this for almost six months now. People tended to recognize the costume by this point. One guy with a shaggy beard saluted.

Then I heard the wail. Somebody in a lot of pain. They yelled again and I saw a few of the people on the boardwalk scatter.

A few steps launched me through the air and north along the beach. The wind knocked me around. I went maybe twenty or thirty yards and managed to land on a shop without slipping off and crashing.

The cries were clearer now, but as I tried to pinpoint them they shifted. New voices started yelling. And they were scared. I was hearing screams, not yells.

I got a better sense of where it was coming from, about two blocks away down the boardwalk, and just as I did three teenagers came running out of an alley. Three boys. They were gang age, but weren’t wearing any colors. What they were wearing looked a little too high-end for gangs, too. All just a little too shiny and new. I wasn’t an expert on footwear, but I was pretty sure those weren’t Payless sneakers.

Whoever they were, they were terrified.

I stepped off the rooftop to soar down to street level.

The last kid was maybe a yard out of the alley when something reached out after him. At first I thought it was a spear or a board. Something long and thin that somebody’d thrown after them. Then the end split open and wrapped around the kid’s head like something out of a horror movie. The arm yanked him back into the alley.

I was halfway to the ground. I shifted my cape and glided toward the alley. The other two kids ran below me. One of them gave me a glance, but they never looked back. The closest one smelled like piss.

I ran over to the alley. It took a second for my eyes to adjust to the gloom and see what the arm was attached to. I was right. It was something out of a horror movie.

On a guess it was maybe nine or ten feet tall, but it was tough to be sure because it was hunched over. It was more or less human-shaped, but the proportions were off. It was too tall and thin, like a person who’d been stretched out on a rack and stayed that way. It made every step and swing of its arms seem unnatural. It had a tail that looked like a cross between a dinosaur and a scorpion.

Its head looked like a fish. One of those deep-sea fish with the huge eyes and teeth so long it could barely close its mouth. Half a dozen stubby horns circled its scalp like a weird crown or something.

It had the third kid by the ankles, hanging him upside down so the boy’s eyes and its were level. Its tongue was out, this long thing like a snake. It was poking the kid on the nose. The kid was bawling, almost drowning in his own snot. There was a glossy stain on his jeans and it was creeping into his shirt as it followed gravity.

“Hey,” I shouted. “Put him down, whatever you are.”

I felt stupid as soon as I said it. Monsters don’t generally understand English. It was going to take a bite out of the kid if I didn’t hurry up.

But it didn’t. It turned to look at me. Its eyes shifted and it bared even more teeth.

And then it spoke.

“Well, well, well,” it said. It had a deep, cultured voice. If I didn’t know better, I’d think it was that old British actor, Lee something, who’d been in Lord of the Rings and Man with the Golden Gun . “The Mighty Dragon,” it continued, “what a wonderful surprise this is. Please believe me when I say I am a great admirer of yours.”

It flipped the kid in its hand—a huge, long-fingered hand, like its arms ended in spiders—and set him down on his feet. He ran as soon as his shoes were on the ground. I let him race past me to get clear.

The monster took a step toward me. I noticed it was wearing a silver necklace, some pendant or something, the size of a halfdollar. Its claw-tipped fingers wiggled with excitement. “I must say, what an exquisite cologne you have on,” it said. “What is that scent?”

I took a step back. Then another one, out of the alley. “I don’t know what you’re—”

It followed me out onto the boardwalk. It wafted the air around its face and took in a deep breath through slitted nostrils. “Ahhh, of course,” it rumbled, “now I recognize it.” Its back curled and it leaned its head down toward mine. The pendant swung back and forth on its neck. Its mouth split in a toothy grin. “Fear.”

I was a little freaked. It’s one thing to be fighting street gangs and pitching in on Amber alerts. It’s another when some CGI nightmare slithers out from between a few garage-stalls.

In retrospect, my reaction was a little … well, comic-book, I guess. I mean, he could’ve been a stranded alien or something. I didn’t know. I just saw this big nightmare thing loping down the alley at me talking about fear.

So I punched it.

It hurt. Whatever it was, it was a lot more solid than it looked. It staggered back a few feet, but the tail lashed around to help it keep its balance. It reached up and felt its jaw, just like a person would. Its fingers were all stretched out, too, with big claws on the tips. I bet it could’ve palmed a car tire.

I braced myself for it to charge and felt the tickle in the back of my throat that meant I had fire waiting.

For a moment its face twisted up in a scowl. Pure rage. I was about to die. No doubt in my mind. But maybe I’d keep it from hurting a few more folks.

Then it took a deep breath and let it out through the forest of teeth. “Ahhh,” it said. “Forgive me. I do sometimes speak out of turn.”

“What?”

It stood up straight, or as straight as it seemed able to do, and bowed. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Cairax Murrain, infernal viscount of the Abyss, Reaver Lord, and newly arrived hero of Los Angeles.” Its tail thrashed at this. It took a chunk out of one of the concrete trash cans that dotted the boardwalk.

I was still a little confused. I think I said “What?” again.

“We fight the same battles for the same cause, oh Mighty Dragon,” it said. “When I adopt this form, all my strengths and powers are set to the causes of truth, justice, and so on and so forth.”

I risked a glance over my shoulder. “What were you doing with the kids?”

The monster shook its head and made a clicking sound with its tongue. “Such a shame,” it said. “The bourgeoisie youths releasing their primal instincts on a helpless drunkard.”

It gestured behind it. A homeless man with a bloody face was curled in a ball. While I watched he glanced up at the thing looming over him. He shook his head, whined, and buried his face deeper in his arms. AA was going to have a new member in the morning.

“A nonviolent lesson was in order,” continued the monster. “Fear is such a wonderful deterrent, and whets the appetite as well. Although,” it said, striking a thoughtful pose, “was I all that different as a boy? Or is that just Cairax adjusting how I see my own memories?”

I wasn’t entirely sure what it was talking about, but I thought I was starting to get the gist of it. “You … you’re a person? A human being?”

“Indeed. Hidden within this frame is one of the greatest sorcerers of our generation.”

“Okay,” I said. I guess as back stories went it was interesting. “What was your name again?”

“Cairax Murrain.”

“Cairax,” I echoed. “Sorry about, y’know, the punch. I just saw a monster with a kid.”

“Of course,” said Cairax with a dip of his head. “Although, what is it they say about first impressions?”

“You only get one chance with them?”