Twice Born - Chapter 00 - Prologue (Sit-rep–Once upon a time)

Twice Born - Prologue (Sit-rep–Once upon a time)

ECSED CASTLE – another time
“Fewmets. I think I have something.”

“Blood and dirt, Edward. I’m sorry. Did you manage to…?”

“No. Her Father came from the fields too soon.”

The Supervisor shakes his head. “What do you have? If you’re lucky, it’s really nothing.”

The young man shows his Supervisor the file he had been reading, one of many and many, and many more, all piled on the desks filling the room, clerks reading each of them in detail, in turn. The Supervisor reads it, noting the underlines Edward had put in place. “Well Edward. Well indeed. I think you’re right. It has Him all over it. In other circumstances, this would be a promotion–the Countess wants him very, very badly. I’m–well, I’m sorry Edward. But you know the rules. Take it to her.”

I shake my head. Fuck. Dad’s good–heck, the best. Though if you ever tell him I said that, I’ll kill you. Mind you, if you ever get to meet him, odds are he’ll be there to kill you anyway. We do that a lot, we Shadows. I wrap the shadow shift tight round me and I follow Edward, whatever an Edward is. It would be the usual over-dramatic movie-villain castle, if it weren’t for the fact that it was real. And in case you ever need to know, down is never a good direction in castles like that.

Yes. We go down.

Edward knocks at the door. As doors go it is big, and imposing. And totally not locked. Which is also not good in such places. It means whoever is inside has no issues with anyone going in. Because them coming back out again is unlikely to be a problem. The sounds from within are a mixture of moans, fading screams and–yes. Splashing.

Dad had told me about this place. And how he’d handled it. Me, it wasn’t a problem. Edward? Hmmmm…

Edward knocks again.

“Enter.”

Edward knocks.

“I said enter, fool.”

“Countess, I… I mean…”

“I. Said. Enter. To interrupt my bathing, you must believe you have something I wish to see. Enter.”

“Countess, I… I mean… I am… I mean, I haven’t...”

“Yes, fool. I know. I can smell it on you. Now enter. If you are correct in your belief, you might possibly leave again. If you are not? Then you will share my bath. NOW ENTER!”

Edward goes in. Shadow-wrapped, I follow. Erzsébet Bathory is indeed in her bath. The previous, um, let’s say ‘containers’ of what she is sat in hang from the walls. She holds her hand out, dripping red. Edward wipes it with a towel, and passes her the papers. She reads them. Then she reads again. “Bassza meg! On my Mother’s life, not that I ever liked the bitch. Yes. Yesssssss. A senior officer’s extra-curricular activities in Whitechapel cease. The officer disappears, but his Tag does not trigger. And a mysterious, legless man appears from nowhere on a deserted beach. Oh, Jack, Jack, Jack. It is you. It is! I can smell it! I have you now, fattyú.” She looks up. “You. Whoever you are.”

“Ed… Edward, Countess.”

She looks him up and down. “Interesting. You are either eternally stupid, or foolishly brave. To tell me your name, I mean. Let us find out. Tell your Supervisor you are to be promoted three grades. Which means, you either have Him brought to me in chains, or you will indeed share my bathing with me. Put together a team, and get it done. NOW.”

I pull the shadows tight. As the Countess had said. Fuck. This isn’t good. I don’t need to get the file. I know where I have to be. Unicorn horn and virgin’s tears– never be without it. I pull the bottle from my belt.

***

BAIE STE MARIE, NEW SCOTLAND – September 8th, 1863
A cold wind blew along the beach. The empty beach. At least until the shadows flex and shiver. I see Dad drop Jack from his shoulder. Prowess is with him. Who’s Prowess? It doesn’t matter. Well. She matters. But not here. That’s another story. Lots of stories. Shape shifting, empathivore concert pianists are like that. But Prowess’ smile is as cold as the wind, and then some. She looks at the body on the sand, the tar cold on its chopped legs. “So what do we do, Jack? He’s empty now. You going to kill him?” Dad tells her about the Tag. How the Dragon will know if the other one dies. Told her how the Dragon would smell it on Dad if he killed him. Prowess frowns. “But—but he’ll be dead anyway, won’t he?”

I could see P’s lips moving as she tried to work out how a guy who was going to have been dead for a hundred and fifty years wasn’t going to be dead when they’d taken him from. And if that sounds confusing, you’re right. It is. But that’s not how it works. When you Tag someone, the Tag’s in their head with them. Say I Tagged you yesterday, at Carnegie Hall, then took you some other time, some other year or day, century or minute. The Tag wouldn’t know you were in the Back-Along, at least, Back-Along relative to when I tagged you. Just know a day was gone and you weren’t dead. But when you die? The Tag wouldn’t know when. Just that it happened so many days after it was set on you. And I’d get a print of every soul near you the moment it happened. Actually, it isn’t like that at all. But it’s close enough.

Prowess shrugs. “So what do we do, Jack?”

Dad shrugs too. “Can you put anything in him? Anything at all?”

“There’s always a bit left. A fragment. A scratch of his soul. So yes. A few words, maybe.”

“Well then. Not Jack. Jason. John. Something beginning with J.”

Prowess eyes look far away, across a distant horizon of years. “I knew a boy once. Jerome…”

“Where was that, P?”

Prowess smiles, her eyes still distant. “What? Oh. Trieste. But….” Her eyes focus back on the here and now. “But no matter.” Her eyes focus on Jack. Not Dad-Jack, the other one, the one with no legs. “There. It’s done.” They turn to leave–but two shots ring out. Dad falls, and Prowess too. Dad used to have an emergency kit for a time like this. But he used it when I killed him. I mean, it wasn’t me, but it was. That’s another long story. I look at the six bodies round me, all suffering an overdose of my piano wire to the throat. Apparently the team Edward sent was eight. I had to fix it. Fix it before it happened. Because that’s what we do, Dad and me. Fix things. Things that get messed up, then fix them before they mess. The Universe was going to take a little time getting over the shock of Dad being gone. So I have a chance, but not a great one. I pull the bottle from my belt.

***

350 FIFTH AVENUE AND DOWN – Some day
Sometimes, things can get on top of you. This time, it was Fifth Avenue. 350 Fifth Avenue, to be precise. 350 Fifth Avenue and one thousand four hundred and seventy two feet of straight-up. OK, plus the fifty five feet of straight-down foundation I was at the bottom of. No, they don’t take the tours down there. They don’t even know there’s a ‘down there’ to take them to. Dad had paid someone a lot of money to make sure there was a down here nobody knew about. But I know. And I know it’s the last place that will go if the Universe catches on to what happened. Now I lean against a wall that hadn’t been touched since Dad built it in 1929. I have a job to do. I just don’t know how to do it. Or rather, how I’d already done it. Dad would say that was a bugger. I don’t. I say it’s a question. And where there’s a question, there’s someone with an answer. Or sort-of someone.

“Look. Can you at least draw the bloody triangle? I am going to have such a migraine.”

I grab some chalk. Dad always keeps–well, technically, right now always kept, but I was working on that, some chalk handy at 350. I draw the triangle, complete with sigils. No. I won’t tell you which sigils. No. There wasn’t blood. Or maybe there was–you want to summon demons, you draw your own bloody–or not bloody–mystical symbols. You know, all the books say there’s supposed to be some sort of sign when someone who wasn’t there before decides to be there. Which just shows what books know. Because there isn’t a noise, or a crash of lightning, but he’s there. If he hadn’t been shaped like a man, he would have looked like a leopard. “You know, it’s really rather fascinating. Of course, Jack will remember. Mostly because he, well because he can’t remember.” That’s Hauras for you. Fallen Angel, Great Duke of Hell, Knower of all things past, present and future. Or not. One of those. Because he’s more than that, though that’s not for this tale. The leopard not-man stops. He shakes his head, his lips moving. I have a feeling he’s repeating what he’d just said. He sighs. “Bugger. That doesn’t even make sense even to me, and I know everything.” He sighs again. “If I wasn’t immortal, I swear you Shadows would be the bloody death of me. Ahem. Right. I see your problem. And it’s a doozy. Your Father’s former employers have their eyes on everyone there. You can’t use any of them.” Hauras winks. “You hear me? You use anyone, anyone who ever existed, and they’ll be on to you. So we’re clear, right? I told you it’s impossible. Im-poss-i…” he pauses, winks “… bull.” And he winks. Again. There isn’t a crash of lightning, or a noise–but he’s gone. Which is fine. Because he’s not-told me all I need to know. I’m going to need help though. Charlie? Yeah. Charlie. Wherever it was, Charlie would have been there already. But Charlie might not listen to me. Or anyone else. Except for one–just one. So Rosie? Yeah. Rosie. Some local Talent, wherever local turned out to be. And maybe Katya and Darek to ride shotgun.

Damn. This was going to be fun! Or the end of the Universe. Or both. Like, again. Dad and I are like that.