The Theocracy - The Blackened Cross - 30. Chapter 30

"Lionel," the man in his dreams called him. "Lionel…the time for us to speak has come."

Vanus tried to speak but he couldn't because his mouth was made of smoke. They say at a round table in the middle of the Void: a table that floated in the middle of oblivion with nothing solid beneath its legs to keep it standing; but the mundane rules of physics did not apply to the endless dark. Just as much as it was a place of nothing, anything and everything was possible.

The man smiled as if he and Vanus were the greatest of friends. His skin was dark and smooth. When he smiled his teeth were flawlessly white, flawlessly shaped. He wore a tailored suit and pork pie hat, giving him the air of a classy jazz singer. Only jazz singers didn't have eyes that glowed like fiery pinpricks of firelight.

Voices whispered around them. Ghostly, smoky whispers that called and beckoned to him.

"Lionel…Lionel…Lionel…"

If he had skin it would be crawling. It was terrifying to be rendered into something so insignificant as to not even warrant flesh or bone or the most basic shape.

There was a third presence with them at the table now. Small but not unnoticeable. Though he had never seen her in person, he recognized the tiny Astorathian staring back at him immediately: her wide, innocent eyes filled with a compassion he didn't deserve. A compassion he didn't deserve.

Hellen.

No, he wanted to say. What is she doing here? She shouldn't be here. Hasn't she been through enough?

"She is here for you," the man said with a Nigerian accent. He tipped his head in her direction. "She was there with you when you captured the Astorathian Butcher and she was with you when you watched his execution and she was with you when you descended into Inferno to save Bazzelthorpe. She has always been with you."

How did this man know about Bazz? How did he know Van's real name was Lionel? Who was he? What was he?

"She is here to guide you. Protect you."

That is not your responsibility, he wanted to tell her. It is not your duty to keep me safe. I was supposed to keep you safe and I failed.

"She's here because she wants to be," said the man with the pork pie hat. "You're going to need her for the battle ahead. Things are going to start ramping up soon. You're going to need all the help you can get." He reached into the chest pocket of his jacket. He pulled out a single business card. "You were right to question the motives of Anderson's benefactor. If you truly seek answers, if you truly want to stop Anderson then come find me. And Vanus…Come alone. This conversation is between you and I only."

With another enigmatic smile, the man tossed the card into the dark. The card sailed through the Void like a kite riding the air. Vanus wanted to catch it, to snag it before it flew beyond his reach, but how could you catch something when you didn't have fingers…when you were made of nothing?

"Kaufman! Kaufman!"

Someone was shaking him hard enough to make his teeth rattle in his skull.

"Wake up, wake up!"

"I'm awake, awake. For the Good Mother's sake, quit shaking me like that!"

"Sorry, sorry," said a familiar voice. Arms lifted the death magician into a sitting position before wrapping around him protectively like steel bands. "It's just you were muttering in your sleep, I couldn't tell what you were saying, but you sound distressed."

Vanus patted the Astorathian on the shoulder with a chuckle. "Bazz, I'm always in distress. I am one of the most neurotic people you will ever meet."

Bazz was stroking his hair. "What is…neurotic?"

"Someone constantly prone to panic."

The Astorathian's body vibrated around Vanus as he chuckled. "You are indeed very prone to panic."

"My answer was not an invitation for you to agree…" Vanus stopped. There was something in his hand. Something that has not been there before.

He unfolded his other hand, which up until now had been closed into a fist. A card of some sort. A business card. "What the fuck?" he said.

"Kaufman?"

Vanus straightened up to show Bazz. "When I fell asleep did I have this in my hand?"

Bazzelthorpe immediately shook his head. "You've been asleep for almost the past twenty-four hours. The boss woman tried calling you on her phone, but I told her to fuck off and not disturb you."

"What?" Vanus wiggled out of his arms, glaring at the Astorathian. "I can't believe you did that. I can't believe you let me sleep that long."

"You needed it, Kaufman."

"I know. I'm not mad, Bazz, just damn it." He checked his watch. It was almost midnight. He snatched the card back. A single name was scrolled across the top: Roan. With an address beneath it and the words Come alone in neat loopy handwriting.

The man with the pork pie hat was waiting for him. He said he has answers, Vanus thought. But what if it's a trap? It didn’t matter. He would go, trap or no. Every day there were traps. Life was a trap. Every day that he passed through intact was a trap sprung. The trap was the promise of answers, of closure, of hope. A way to stop a far greater catastrophe: the irreparable trauma of a young mother and her daughter losing her father; the hundreds of lives already lost; the fire would only continue to spread if they didn’t stop Anderson. There will be nothing left in the city.

“Bazzel,” he said. He tapped the man on the shoulders. “I need you to let me up and I need you to listen to me.”

Bazzel released him. The confusion and concern on his face made Vanus feel guilty, but he was just as confused as he was, and did his best to roll through it with grace and patience. Showing him the card - trying not to brandish in front of him like a maniac - he said, “You told me I slept almost twenty-four hours, right?”

“Yes.”

“You held me in your hands the entire time?”

Bazzelthorpe nodded heavily. “Yes.”

“And you didn’t move or get up at all?”

The Astorathian’s tail began to flick about anxiously. He shook his head silently.

Vanus cocked an eyebrow. “Not even to use the bathroom? That’s both creepy…and more than a little romantic…”

Bazzelthorpe made an impatient sound but tried to muffle it so Vanus didn’t hear it. “Kaufman, I don’t really don’t see what this has to do with the card in your hand.”

The death magician choked back a scream of frustration. He could feel all the blood rising to his face. “At any point in the twenty-four hours before I woke up did you see this card in my hand?”

“No.”

“Okay…” Now we’re getting somewhere, Vanus thought. “I just had this really crazy dream where a black man with a Nigerian accent in a pork pie hat told me that things are about to get worse but that he has the answers to stop Anderson. This happened in the middle of the Void. I tried to speak to him, but I couldn’t because I was made of smoke.”

“Okay,” Bazzelthorpe said nonplussed. “Do you think he can be trusted?”

Vanus cocked an eyebrow. “You mean you believe me? No cocked eyebrows? No gasp of astonishment?”

The Astorathian might have smiled. “I’m beginning to accept that this is the norm with you, Kaufman. This is simply how things work.”

“Oh is it?” Vanus gave his partner (work partner? he wondered? romantic partner? fuck buddy? coping skill?) a grim smile. “Well then you’re not going to like this. He wants to see me alone.”

Bazzelthorpe’s face shifted like the breaking of continents in reverse; he did not look happy. “Not happening.”

Vanus hoped Bazzelthorpe would be disagreeable to the idea, but still remained uncertain as to what the brooding agent’s motives were. “Well I’m going regardless of whether you want me to or not. I’m aware of the fact it could be a trap, but it could also lead to answers. And we’ve wasted enough time farting around as it is. You can either come with or stay out of my way.”

This time Bazzel’s smile was unmistakable. “I’ll bring the shotgun.”

…

“Are you sure this is the place?”

“I’m not sure,” Vanus said, feeling ambivalent. “This is the address it gave me on the card. I suppose we’re about to find out one way or the other.”

He peered cautiously down the length of the alleyway. He couldn’t help but think of the treacherous passageways in Inferno; alleyways it seemed had always stored the hidden secrets of the world. Hidden secrets better left undiscovered.

A tall man in a three piece suit stood beneath a neon sign with red flickering letters. The sign’s glow attracted flies and other nocturnal winged insects to the light. The man was tall and imposing enough that under normal circumstances Vanus would have tried to come up with a plan before approaching him. Looking at him now, the death magician doubted he posed much of a threat. Bazzelthorpe dwarfed even him in size. The sign simply read Roan’s.”

“What do you think it is?” Now that he was here the death magician was no longer sure if he wanted to go in. How many times can you run into unknown places before your luck runs out? How many times can you survive by the skin of your teeth before you have no teeth left? he wondered.

“I hear music coming from inside the building,” the Astorathian replied. “We don’t have to go inside, Kaufman. Not if you think it’s too dangerous.”

In spite of his doubts Vanus could feel in his gut that the decision had already been made. If we’re going to beat Anderson that means we’re going to have to start thinking outside the box, he thought. He let his body decide for him, his legs taking him closer to the doorman. As he walked he opened his mind to the secrets surrounding the building; secrets only a magician could detect. Powerful wards surrounded the building, most likely whoever was inside from the demonic forces of the Void. Symbols and runes covered the moldering brick walls: carved and spray-painted. Some had even been scratched in with keys.

The bouncer frowned when he saw Vanus; the death magician thought he saw his skin turn a few shades more pale when he saw the Astorathian. He tucked the expression of unease away almost as quickly as it appeared, but the death magician had noticed it all the same. He was prepared to use it if need be.

“Do you have an appointment?” the man asked with what sounded like a thick Jamaican accent.

Vanus held up the business card in answer.

The man barely glanced at it, nor did he glance at Bazz when he asked, “Does he have one?”

When Vanus grinned there was none of the usual humor or kindness in it. He pulled out his badge to show to the bouncer. A second later Bazzel did the same. “We work for the Theocracy,” the death magician said. “Now I’m willing to bet this establishment isn’t on the registry because I’ve never heard about it until today, and I could walk around this city with my eyes stitched shut. Now either you can let us both in or I can have a squad of magicians and Theocracy agents here in the next fifteen minutes. Fuck around and find out if you think I’m playing.”

This time the man did truly go pale but that did not stop him from reaching for the 9mm. pistol holstered at his side.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Bazzelthorpe grinned, showing his teeth. He opened the flap of his jacket to reveal the shotgun he kept tucked away inside. “I really wouldn’t.”

The bouncer gulped visibly. His hand quickly strayed away from his holster. He turned slowly towards the door before rapping it three times with a sizable fist. Half a minute later the door opened with the squeal of steel hinges. Music blasted up from the shadows beyond the doorway. Vanus could hear voices, laughter. An eerie red light seeped up from within, beckoning to the two Theocracy agents. Urging them to risk fate once more if they so dared. He could smell incense. Perfume.

“Have fun,” the bouncer said. He didn’t sound like he meant it.

With an encouraging nod from Baz, Vanus entered Roan’s. The door closed behind them with a resounding thud.