Chapter Twelve: Death at the Doorsteps

When I was a boy, my favorite stories were the ones where the villain had a cruel, yet relatable past. Something that made anyone go 'this wouldn't have happened if the hero simply had never done that'. I love those stories. Not because I could relate to the villain as being someone who was mistreated and forced into a life of questionable choices because of the hero. No, it's because I knew that whatever action I did, the 'hero' would deem it terrible, an act so monstrous that nothing I could do would redeem it.

Which is why when I grew up, my levels of 'give a fuck' plummeted so low that even the most depressed people would go hot damn.

I can basically get away with anything I want - to a limit - without much aftermath since the magi are the dumb heros who think their rules are being followed, and wherever I go anything I do that's not hero work I can cover up as no one suspects the necromancer that doesn't even exist to most. I'm willing to take more risks, even if I am caught. The magi will always chastise me for even the tiniest thing if they ever catch wind of my actions. You saw what happened with the magi and Halina. I got yelled at--for making a fucking friend! What bullshit is this?

However, with Halina putting my shit online - which I am all about because being unnoticed is worse than being noticed - I have to be a little careful. It's quite possible now for some moron to search up 'traces of weird magic in this area' and my name pop up.

But I'm not there yet. So completely wrecking this place should be a piece of cake.

Satchel and sword with me, the building before me here in Statue City seemed rather unordinary. Five story, red brick, with a store on the first level. An antiques place. Glancing at my phone, it sure matched the picture that Paul had sent. The city was busy, the afternoon filled with Hidden going by, minding their business. More red and limestone brick buildings made up Statue City, and bronze statues were everywhere on the sidewalks, representing various people and objects.

Halina finally got back from parking, holding a cup of coffee. "Saw a cafe. Had to stop."

"Nice. Now go back to it." Hopefully she brought something to read. "This will be very dangerous. Go back there, and if I send a text along the lines of 'I'm dying', get out of here and get back up."

"But what if you die before the message?"

"Then if two hours go by, and I'm not back," smiling unironically, thinking about it made me joyus, "then just leave. And still get back up. Just do not go in here."

Halina drank, smacking her lips. "Okay. Good thing I brought a book."

She went off, and I opened the door, bell ringing. The store was filled with old Hidden junk. Enchanted swords, old shields, glass bottles. Maybe I'll come back here to shop one day.

Weaving my way through the racks of piled up items, I finally got to the front desk. A young warlock was there, rather big, and a nasty scar running down his face. Huh, doesn't seem dangerous. Maybe he just really likes antiques.

"How may I help you?" His voice was gravely and thick. He crossed his arms, his tight shirt revealing the diamond pearl tattoo. Nope, this is the right place.

"Yo, I hear you sell some good wares. Some.....exceptional wares." Leaning on the counter, I messed with the pen sitting there. "Things offered nowhere else."

"Humph. Anything specific?"

"Oh, I don't know. Immortality?" I raised an eyebrow. "For those who want to sleep?"

The guy wasn't as thick as perceived. He looked past me, satisfied that no one else was here. "Follow me."

He took me to the back, and we went up some stairs. Going by the third level, I saw a group of people in a room, all bowing to a shrine, candles lit and needles on the floor. Interesting.  

We got to the fifth and final floor. The man paused before a door, knocking once. "We have a volunteer."

"Bring him in Brother Bart," a voice said from the other side. "We shall examine the participant."

"Bart? Hah! That's funny." Yet his stare offered a different opinion on my humor.

We entered. Not knowing what to expect, I thought it was going to be a rather fucked up room with sacrifices and blood and weird pentagonal symbols.

Instead it was clean, with a large ivory idol of a woman, eyes closed and arms outstretched, the diamond pendent etched in her chest. Like a Mary from the Christians.

Only scarier.

Pillows laid on the floor, and seven people sat. Two warlocks, two witches, two shifters, and a fae. Yet I'm surprised I smelled them at all, with the putrid stink of some type of drug festering from each of member. Syringes were lying in the corner.

The middle witch got up. A middle aged, average looking woman, dressed in white garb, with a happy smile on her face. "Brother Bart, please close the door."

He did so, but not leaving, instead guarding it with arms crossed. Cracking my knuckles, I spoke. "Is this the Cult of the Sleeping Witch?"

"It is, potential brethren. Where immortality is made." The others got up, three to a side. "I am Sister Bonny. In charge of this House. So I hear you wish to join our family?"

"Er--not quite." Let's see how well this goes for everyone. "I'm here for some questions."

"Questions? There are no questions here. Just obedience." Bonny gave a giggle, the sound echoing in my ears. "Brother Bart, if you would inspect our guest, we may begin the process."

Well, I can't have that.

Reaching into my satchel faster than a blink, I pulled out my Dan Wesson with my left hand and put two rounds into Brother Bart. The fae came at me, but my sword was already in hand. I decapitated her, then blasted the other witch and a shifter.

Bonny attacked, resulting in me hitting her with the gun. I disemboweled the last shifter and put a bullet in a warlocks skull, but not before stabbing the first warlock through the chest.

With blood everywhere and gunsmoke in the air, I sighed at the sight. I came here for a purpose, which means putting aside emotions. Death is my ally.

Bonny recovered from the hit, and upon noticing the gun at her head, got up slowly.

"Now, no funny business," I said. "I want answers."

"The others will come here to stop you."

"Good point." Raising the now dead Bart, I sent him to the door and sealed it with magic. Rule number seven - or eight, I can't remember - is if you want a magic user to use magic, the fresher the corpse, the easier it is to control said magic.

"Now. Answers. Where is the Cult's headquarters?"

"You--you are the Necromancer. She's looking--"

"Enough!" I yelled. Goddamn, stop your babbling. "Where is your hq?"

"Gulf City." Her face screamed with fear. Strong, plentiful, glorious fear. "In Gulf City."

"Gulf? What happened to Mexico?"

"Her base was discovered a few years ago, and they had to relocate." Her voice said she knew no more. Underlings are never told anything, are they?

"How far is your influence? North America? South?"

"Northwest, East, and South East of the United States. Mexico. Latin America. And the northern top of South America."

So I was right. Which is always bad because it's the worst case scenario. "How many are corrupted? Total Cult members?"

The door banged, and she flinched. "I don't know. I'm only in charge of this half of Water District."

"Then what Big Boys and other names are gone?"

"I don't know."

"What do you mean!" Now my anger flared. I pointed the gun closer. "Don't you have a list?"

"I only recruit. The only names I can say are my handlers. Dead Eye the Ranger, Beauty Jess, and Sath Hue. They are the only people that come here."

"Then what is the Witch's end game? War? Something deeper?"

Her face screamed with panic, the door still being slammed on. Muffled voices were yelling on the other side. "The Witch wants war. Nothing else."

Somehow I doubt that.

"What are those drugs? You smell horrid. Where are you getting them from?"

The door started to shake, dead Bart struggling to hold it back. "Please, just walk out. We won't tell. I need to--"

"Answer the questions."

"I can't. We need to continue the process. They'll be after you now. There's no escape--"

Two bullets to the neck ended that.

"Ugh. Now I'm going to have to do things myself." I raised everyone, all seven bodies. Most were mutilated and bloody, but that made the effect all the more terrifying. Bart released his magic, and my zombies began their attack.

While that was going on, I examined a syringe. Half full, the bright - almost fluorescent - blue liquid smelled like puke and sweat. What is this shit?

The screams from the hallway continued as I dropped a thick drop onto my finger. It was gooey, sorta like watered down bubble gum. I activated some magic. The drop started to bubble and foam, before solidifying and breaking down. Is this what made the unendings? No, it can't be, or else I'd have most likely died in this encounter. Could it be the promise of immortality? Odd that it be a drug to inject. I'll have to check it out more later.

The room clearly had nothing else of prospect in it, so I didn't bother to dig around further. Stuffing a few syringes into my bag, I noticed the screams had finally subdued. Praying the zombies did their job, I removed two vials from among my multiple items. One green, and one yellow.

Opening the green one, I poured a fourth of it out. It acted like liquid mercury, where instead of splashing, the alchemy potion just congealed upon impact. Then I did the same with the yellow potion, right on top of the green. The two mixed and had a magical reaction, forming a black color and flattening out like a pancake. Not too soon after, the blood on my clothes began running down off me and into the mixture. Thirty seconds later, I was all clean.

The hallway was covered in blood, and reeked of feces and piss. Bodies were lying in twisted angles, red and sickening. I stepped over most of them, counting twenty total.

After searching the other rooms for anything useful, the only thing I could find was a map of Water District with red dots scattered over it. What's with this organization? No list of names of local members, no files, no computers, no anything.

The pawns are in the dark. The tops must be with all the knowledge, either to protect it or to make sure that the lackeys don't mess up their plans. No matter, I can't imagine this mess will worry the Witch that much.

Deciding to leave everything as it lay, it'll be good for the enemy to see that they are - in fact - not immortal, and can be killed after all. The bullet holes should throw them off a bit, and the mess will show that whoever attacked here means the Cult won't go unnoticed. 

There's no hiding from a necromancer. There is no escaping death.

XXXX

I found Halina back that the small cafe, because even the Hidden need their coffee. The afternoon had gathered a crowd, and the writer was sitting in the lounge area, eating a scone. Sitting in the chair beside her, I cracked my neck in a loud popping noise. "Ugh. That was not fun."

"Hey. You're not dead." She patted my leg. Her words were faster than normal. "Good job. Get anything useful from them?"

"It'll take more than a few scuffles to take me down. And just a few answers. Nothing that helpful." My stomach growled in an impolite way. "Now I'm sorta hungry."

"The scones here are delicious. And the coffee. Like, I'm feeling tingly from this stuff." She showed me her arm. "Look. I'm getting goosebumps. God this is good. I need more later. Maybe everyday."

"Wait. What kind of coffee you get?"

"A lotte with something called heat beat." Her head cocked in confusion. "Why?"

"Heat beat is a common Hidden plant used to energize us. It literally speeds up your heart beat, helping you not only get through the day, but burn energy as well." My back still ached from yesterday with the bear. I don't usually have to use this much magic this quickly. I guess it's a good workout. "I wonder what it will do to a human heart."

"Will it kill me? Please tell me it won't kill me. I don't want to die. I'm so young," she wailed, in a caffeine fueled panic. Okay, this situation is rather humorous. She frowned at my laughing. "Don't laugh. What if I die?"

"You'll be fine. I'm guessing you'll just be really tired once it wears off. Or have the effects of a hangover."

"Why don't they put labels on these things? Come on it just makes sense to do that I mean really." Breath, breath, breath. "That's just not right someone with heart conditions could get seriously hurt I mean what the heck I'm so angry."

"Halina," I interluded. "What you reading?"

"Oh, I'm reading Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone for the fifth time. I absolutely love it definitely one of my favorites. I can't believe that you haven't read this series I mean gosh it's so good."

"I live in a world of magic. I make sorcerer's stones all the time. In fact they are quite helpful." Now Halina was really bouncing. It was a like a mix of a cocaine and paranoia, the way she moved her head. Note to self, no more heat beat for Halina. Another note to self, don't say heat beat anymore.

"Hey can you talk about magic now? You explained it a little but not really. Geez do I have to remind you of everything? Oh my God Ditto I am shaking." She decimated the rest of the scone in one bite, barely chewing before gasping for air. "I'm on the verge of a meltdown please just help me here. Magic. What is it?"

I quickly explained the difference between Light and Dark, the caller organ, the types of magic, and whatnot. Halina ate up every word, and I think every other word that was being said in the cafe.

"So can more than one type of magic be used by-by someone? Woo, a run would be great right now. Maybe later. Focus Halina."

"Alright. Buckle down, because this is complicated." My stomach growled some more. How did I get roped up in this conversation? "So, magic has two other categories called by most experts the naturals and unnaturals. Natural magic simply means any magic that a caller organ can use. See, the caller organ, once you're born, tends to align itself with either Light or Dark, and then you draw upon a magic from that category very easily. Naturally, without any struggle. Like, for instance, the hero Winston can summon fire and light without trouble. I can raise the dead without effort."

"I take it then unnaturals are the magics that come with a struggle then." Her voice literally went up three octaves. Her pupils were getting larger too.

"Er--more or less. The witches and warlocks are a great example of this. Unnatural simply means you have to work hard and study the magic. A witch just can't shoot a fireball. She must study, learn how to control her wand, summon, then release said magic. Alchemy is a good example as well." I reached into my bag and produced a plastic sippy cup. "In here is a potion I made, called Eth'sworn, or better known as Helper Juice. It can heal and disinfect injuries at a much quicker pace. Anyone can use unnatural magic, because all - except one - magics are unnatural. They just need work and practice, and if you have a caller organ, require a more written out action than summoning. For instance, I could create a fireball. I'd just need to write the arcane symbols down, apply magic and words, and bam. A fireball."

"I bet I know the exception. I bet I bet I bet." Halina wiggled a finger, all knowing and purposeful. Maybe heat beat made humans drunk. That's kinda what seems to be going on. "It's you isn't it. Necromancy. No others can use that stuff but you. Death belongs to you. Ha! How funny."

"Yes. You are right. Studies have tried to see why magi and the likes can't. It just seems the necro-symbols don't like outsider magic or presence." I remember the lectures on it. Scholars are baffled, unsure as to why death won't release itself to others. My own theory is rather sad..... "Over my own studies of various magics, most are pretty similar to learn."

"Woah. You know other magic?" I swear Halina looked so spaced out. She might be on other realm of existence, her mind currently blowing up as we speak. "How come you never use any others? Huh? How come how come how come hoe--ha! I just said hoe."

"Because it's just easier to use necromancy. It's natural for me. Though if I'm ever in a pinch I'm willing to expand out." I shrugged. "Can't be on quest for knowledge if you don't learn what drives your society."

"Then what you know? Stop holding out gosh."

"Hmm, let's see." I began counting off on my fingers. "I'm pretty good at alchemy, beast summoning, protective charms, curses, hexes, scrying, and life draining. I'm decent at ice, fire, chain, and teleportation magic. And a few smaller things."

"Hey by the way some of my followers are starting to ask about you. Apparently they want to hear more stories about you. Tell me some good ones. Goooooood ones. Not lame." She bopped me on the nose. "Good."

"Maybe later. I need some food though. Please, don't leave." I went in line, staring at the cinnamon rolls sitting there, tempting me with their gooey white frosting. Today was another busy day. I need better participates for answers. Now I regret what happened in Mexico. Had I known they were already this powerful.......I would have stopped them then and there. Now there's no going back.

And this whole fiasco is interfering with my search for truth and attempt at being a hero. My own personal questions can't be answered if I'm stuck fighting a war. Fuck me and my life.

Halina and I went back towards the car, food crumbling out of my mouth. I sure loved southern Ohio. Good people, and damn good cinnamon rolls.

"So what happened to the people you talked to? From the antiques store."

"Oh. They got held up with work. You know," I said, casually looking away. "The normal stuff."