A pink Volkswagen Beetle pulled into the car park on the outskirts of Chester, near where the car of the late Gordon Spencer had been found abandoned.
The black man and the redhead got out, looked around.
"Is it still here?" asked the black man.
"Try the bushes, over there."
They went over to the bushes at the edge of the car park, rummaged about. A moment later, he had the prize. "Right where I left it," the redhead said.
"Do you think we can get this open?" asked the black man.
"We'll have to try," replied the redhead. "We're so close. We can't just give up."
"Very well," said the black man. "Tonight, then."
Overhead, a CCTV camera turned, spotted the car, turned back, focused on the registration plate.
"Hey, where've you been all weekend?" asked Zeiss, when Libra entered the basement office. "We haven't seen or heard from you or Vestal for days, and Miss Haversham said you'd called in sick."
Libra hung up the coat and hat on the hatstand, turned to Zeiss's desk. "I've been busy with, er, other things. Why do you ask?"
"You were noticed in Liverpool, it seems," Zeiss replied. "The Liverpool posse want to arrange a meeting with you soon."
"Did they come over on the net?"
"No," Zeiss replied, pulling out a plain manila envelope. "Bonded courier. Picked up the mail at an address out near Huyton, just outside Liverpool. It was a street corner. The guy collected the mail from another person, dressed in the same motorcycle leathers with the visor down. They were taking no chances."
"Let me see," Libra said, holding out his hand. Zeiss handed him the envelope. He opened it, looked at the letter.
There was a hunter sign on the top; it looked like a custom letterheading job, probably from a word processor. The letter was short and sweet. It gave an address in Huyton, Liverpool; a time - 14:00 hours - and a date: April 10. No signature.
"Tomorrow," Libra said. "Two o'clock in the afternoon."
"What?"
"I've been invited to meet with the Liverpool posse tomorrow," Libra replied.
"Great."
Libra looked at Zeiss. "Dispose of this," he said. Zeiss took the envelope and the letter, and headed for the shredder.
"Wonder if they used gloves?" Zeiss asked.
"They used a new self adhesive stamp, too," Libra said. "I'll bet they even used a sponge laced with antiseptic solution to wet the glue of the envelope. Well, it's what I normally do."
"So, are you going to this meeting or what?" Zeiss asked.
"Of course I am," Libra replied. "I just wonder what made them change their minds, that's all. Last time I was on the phone with them, someone called Scruff was telling me where I could get off in no uncertain terms."
"Changed his tune a bit," Zeiss replied.
"Yeah, maybe," Libra said. "That's for tomorrow. I hope we can get the current situation with these hitchhikers sorted out before then."
"Of course," Zeiss replied. "Vestal's contact came through, Libra, by the way. Vestal phoned it in about eight, eight fifteen this morning. She and Vagabond went up to Chester to check it out. Took Cleaner and Stickshift along with them."
Libra nodded, sat down to look at some of the papers on his desk. He had no desire to inform Zeiss that she'd been in bed at the time, answering the call on her mobile ... and that Libra had been beside her at the time.
Libra pored over the papers, until one drew his attention. He reached for the intercom. "Miss Haversham, mind if I see you in a moment? Looks like we've found another candidate."
"I'll get the papers ready, just in case," Miss Haversham replied. "Ten minutes?"
"Ten minutes." Libra got up from the desk.
"Thank God for bystanders," Zeiss said.
"This is the car," Vagabond said, looking over the little pink VW Beetle in the car park. "Very, er, symbolic."
"Can they have gone far?" Vestal asked. "I mean, they could have easily taken a bus into town from here."
"With access to a car already?" Vagabond said. "Besides, feel the boot round the back here. The engine's still warm. They haven't gone very far."
"They'd be better off taking a bus," Stickshift said.
"What?" everyone replied, staring at him.
Stickshift shrugged. "You know what traffic's like in the middle of Chester. It's murder." He looked at everyone, shrugged again. "What?"
"Why here?" Vagabond said. "Round here's all supermarkets and offices. There's no residential areas here."
"Maybe that box of theirs was stashed nearby," Stickshift said.
"They are nearby," Vestal said. "I'm sure of it."
"How can you be so sure?" Stickshift asked.
"I just know," Vestal replied.
"Well, if the car's still here, maybe the box is, too," Vagabond said. "If they haven't come back for the car yet, we may still have a chance to catch them. All we have to do is wait them out."
"Unless they decide to swap hosts again," Cleaner said.
Vestal scowled. "I've been giving this a lot of thought," she said. "Those hitchhikers have abducted people, forced them to do things against their will, corrupted them, raped them from the inside and murdered them when they were no longer interesting. I think they need a little lesson in keeping their hands off other people's property." She looked at the others. "Sod waiting. I'm going to have a look round. Care to join me?"
"Tell me more about this candidate," Libra said, in his above ground office.
"Her name's Sally. She's local. She's nineteen, and her twentieth birthday is on May 23." said Miss Haversham. "She came here entirely on her own, which is an achievement in itself. She's blind." As she spoke, she doodled notes on her shorthand pad.
"Blind?" Libra asked, casting a glance over. He saw an impression of blonde straight hair, delicate features, dark glasses. A haughty look.
"Is that what she looked like?" Libra asked. Miss Haversham looked up, startled; smiled, nodded.
"She sounded very hoity - toity," she said. "As if she were loaded. Rich, maybe just a little bit spoiled."
"Did you give her one of our recruitment forms?" Libra asked.
"I did," Miss Haversham replied. "One of the Braille ones, with the embossed signs. She singled out E and J to me, which is why I brought her to your attention." She frowned. "These signs mean something to you, too?"
"Absolutely," Libra replied. "They mean chosen and hope."
"She wrote this sign on a separate sheet," Miss Haversham replied, taking out a folded piece of paper from inside her notepad and unfolding it. "I kept it for you to see."
Libra looked at the sign, frowned. "The sign means help," he told Miss Haversham.
"She's looking for help from us," Miss Haversham said.
"Looks like it," Libra said. "All right, get this Sally's guardian or whoever on the line. Tell her she's got an interview, er, Wednesday if she can make it, at her earliest convenience if not."
"Certainly." Miss Haversham went back to the phone. "Oh, and by the way, there was a gentleman who called. I told him you would call him back as soon as possible. It's about a meeting he arranged. He says he looks forward to meeting you." She waggled the biro between her fingers. "I've taken the liberty of crossing off all tomorrow afternoon's appointments and postponing them till later."
"Thank you," Libra said. "Not Friday, I hope."
"Good Friday?" Miss Haversham said, smiling. "I don't think so. Next Tuesday, at the earliest."
Libra looked at Miss Haversham. "This person. Did he give a name?" he asked.
"No," she replied, "but he did say you already have his number. Something about a matchbook ..."
"Did you see that?" Vestal asked, as they approached the busy shopping centre. "Over there."
"Which ones?" Vagabond asked.
"They're shrouded. You can't see them unless you use your sight."
Vagabond gave a soft grunt, gazed into the middle distance. "By those cars," he said. "Them? That black guy and the bloke with red hair?"
"Them," Vestal replied. "Look at 'em, acting all shifty around that VW Polo, as if they don't want people to see them. It's got to be them." She looked more closely. "Yes, it's them. They've got the box."
"Let's go and get them, then," Vagabond said.
"Wait," Cleaner interjected. "Look."
Already, a police car was approaching the suspects hanging about the dark blue Polo in the car park. As the group watched, two policemen emerged from it; a tall PC and a shorter, blonde WPC. They approached the two strangely suspicious males, who were manhandling the box between them.
"Well, that's it, then," said Cleaner. "They'll either try to arrest them, or they'll tell 'em to clear off. Either way, we're going to lose them -"
"No, look," Stickshift suddenly replied. "The coppers can see them, even though they're shrouded."
"Which means ..." Vestal said.
The police froze in their tracks, glanced around as if hearing a strange voice from above. The male PC seemed to freeze in place, unable to act; but the woman PC ...
Shuddering, she took a step back, took out her police issue night stick, held it in the correct manner, one arm outstretched, the arm holding the stick bent so the nightstick rested on her shoulder.
"Any minute now, that thing's going to go red hot," Vestal said. "Been there, done that ..."
The WPC began to glow. And so did the two men she was accosting, who began to glow in a nimbus of light. Two differently coloured sets of auras, in fact; one human, one of unknown type riding on top of each man.
"Well, I'll be ..." Vestal said.
"Well, we didn't expect that," Vagabond replied.
"My sight just came on," Stickshift said.
"Mine, too," Cleaner replied. "Wow."
"Look at them," Vestal said, pointing the men out. "They can see that she's doing this."
"Which means they're going to try to snuff her out like a candle," Vagabond replied. "We've got to do something. Her partner's frozen to the spot. By the time he reacts, it's going to be too late."
Vestal hefted her crowbar. "She's one of us, now. Let's do something. Let's go and help her out."
"Not brandishing weapons," Cleaner admonished. "Remember, these are coppers. You can be arrested."
"We've got to do something!" Vestal said. But Cleaner was insistent. Vestal handed her the weapon, looked at the group. "All right, then. Come on behind me." She ran over to the WPC.
As she approached, she could hear what the scintillating, glowing men were saying to her:
"... I've no idea how you can do that, but we're going to have fun with you," one man said.
"Riding inside you, we will make you do anything we want," the other continued. "Make you dance naked in front of your partner, have you go down on him, whatever."
"We will jump into your friend and have him beat your back with these sticks till you bleed."
"We can do anything we want with you."
"Really?" said Vestal, interposing herself between the men and the WPC. "Try it!" Not stopping to think, she reached inside her, found the Fire, lashed out with it.
The men stopped, their breath knocked out of them as they hung in space against an invisible wall. Static crackled at the point of contact. The men strained, but something prevented them from coming any closer.
"What are you doing?" asked the WPC. "And who are you?"
"No time for questions," Vestal said, through gritted teeth. "Watch this!"
Vestal took a single bold step forward, towards the possessed men. She took another, and another. The men did not move, but the wall did, and so did the entities. With a scream, both of the hitchhiking creatures were torn loose from their hold of the men, whose knees buckled.
"They're free!" Vestal cried. "Grab the hosts, now!"
The WPC surged forwards, her edge already dissipating, to catch the man on the left as he fell. The one on the right fell in the opposite direction, but helping hands were already under him, lifting him up. Vestal sighed, dropped her edge and went forwards to help. Stickshift retrieved the box, which lay on the floor beside them.
The PC partner of the newly imbued hunter came out of his fugue, staggered, turned around, saw a bunch of strangers crowding his partner.
"What are you lot doing? Who are you?" he cried. "Helen, are you all right? Oi!" he yelled, as the blonde stranger reached out to pat his partner's shoulder.
"Relax," Vestal said. "She's just saved the day."
"How?"
"You saw the things around those two men?" Vestal asked.
"Yes, but ..." the policeman replied, "I remember something, a darkness about them, but ..." He frowned. "What happened to us both? Why can't I remember clearly?"
"You'll remember clearly enough tonight," Vestal said. "Believe me, you're going to have nightmares about what you saw for the rest of your life."
"I couldn't move. I couldn't speak, or do anything." He looked at the WPC. "It was real, wasn't it?"
The WPC looked at Vestal, who nodded. The WPC nodded solemnly to her partner.
"Here's some more bad news. There are more where they came from," Vestal said. "Lots more, and far worse. They are everywhere, and in spite of everything you knew or were taught in school, they are very real."
"How come we only see them now?" asked the WPC. "Have we been the only ones kept in the dark?"
"Not the only ones," Vestal replied. "All those cheesy Fifties and Sixties movies were true in one respect. They really do walk among us, undetected. And there's evidence to suggest that They have been mingling with us for a very long time indeed."
"People like you?" asked the PC. "I've never seen anybody do what you just did."
"People like us? No, not really," replied Vestal. "A few, a very scant few, have recently begun to develop some sort of resistance, an ability to cut through all the crap and illusion and see the real world for the first time. No, people like me haven't been around very long at all." She shrugged. "But the monsters have."
"Monsters?" said the PC. "You have got to be joking."
Vestal shook her head. "I wish I were," she said. "Wait until sundown. You'll see."
The PC reached for his RT handset. "Oh, God. I've just got to call this one in. This is big."
"No," said the WPC, putting a hand on her partner's hand as he reached for the radio.
"What do you mean, no?"
"Look around you," she replied.
The PC did so. He saw a couple walking towards a car a few yards away, and some more people coming out of a hardware store entrance. Otherwise, apart from the group, the car park was empty.
"So?"
"We spotted those men," the WPC said. "But it was only by accident, or something. If we hadn't seen that message, or heard the strange words on our RT units, we'd never have known, and we'd have just driven quietly by, wouldn't we?"
The PC thought about this, then nodded.
"In all our time on duty, never have we been advised to look out for weird things like those ... those spirits," Helen said. "Can you think of two reasons why?"
"Nobody knows about them ..." said the PC.
"Or ..." added the WPC.
"Or there are some of our superiors who are in the know ... and may be on the take."
Vestal nodded. "Have you ever seen those cheesy Fifties movies?" she asked. "Someone comes home from the war with a fat invalidity pension and a metal plate in his head, and he can see that half of the people in town are Martians or something. His former bosses are Martians, his wife has been replaced by a Martian ... and the only one he can talk to, the only one who recognises the monsters, too, is a tramp who conveniently used to be a nuclear scientist, until the Martian - suborned project he worked for got him framed or something."
"You're barking mad," said the PC, but his tone of voice was not as confident as he made out.
Vestal smiled sadly. "That's how it really is, I'm afraid. It's the Red Menace, with supernaturals, and no magical weapon at the end of the show. Only us, and what we have learned to do." She looked at her hands. "And we're learning new things every day."
"Well, what do we do now?" asked the PC.
"What would your superiors tell you to do?" Vestal asked. "If you came in blurting out about seeing monsters?"
"He'd tell me to report in sick. Probably he'd order me to report for counselling." He frowned. "And then he'd probably have me quietly kicked off the force."
"I think your best bet, therefore, is not to say a word," Vestal said. "Go about your duties. Work things out in your head. Call in sick only if you have to."
"What does it all mean?" asked the WPC. "What happened back there? What did I do? How did I do it? Why me, of all people?"
"I don't know," Vestal replied.
"Look, is there any way of stopping monsters like the ones we just saw?" asked the PC. "What do I do?"
Vestal shook her head. "On your own? Nothing. You froze when you got the message. It was a kind of call to arms from God. You were called, like the many; but unlike the few, you weren't chosen." She completed the motion of helping the WPC she'd saved to her feet. "This one, though ... she was."
"Chosen to fight things like that?"
Vestal nodded. "And worse. Much worse." She shook the WPC's hand. "Welcome."
The WPC shook Vestal's hand. "Call me Helen. WPC Helen Brennan. This is PC Croft. Simon."
"Vestal," replied Vestal. "That's my handle."
"Somehow, I don't feel the urge to nick you for not giving your real name," PC Croft said to Vestal. He glanced at Helen. "I think it's best if I don't know. Not yet, at least."
The WPC frowned. "Vestal, did you read the sign as well?"
"No," Vestal replied. "I saw your reaction, and I just knew you were being imbued. I only knew for certain when you started to glow."
"But I thought you could all read the sign ..." Helen said.
"Most people only get contacted by the ... the agency that gives us our powers, once and once only, when we get the wake-up. Sometimes, if it's all too much for you, and you decide to turn your back on the hunt, they remind you a few times till you cave in ... then as soon as you become a hunter, they disappear, and you never hear from them again."
"Hunter?"
"That's us," Vestal said. "Imbued, chosen, devoted. There's a lot of names for us. But we're hunters, because the Messengers tell us to go hunt."
Helen looked at PC Croft. "My message said YOUR LIGHT REVEALS THE TRUTH. Suddenly, I was glowing like a torch." She looked at her hands. "You tell me you know about these things, and you've shown me that you've got abilities yourself. What is a Hunter? What are you? What am I?"
Vestal reached into her handbag, took out a pen, drew a Word on the WPC's hand. "Recognise it?" she asked.
"Yeah. I seem to feel it says ... chosen," the WPC replied.
"And that's what you are," Vestal said. "Speak to one of my friends about it. I'm sure he can do with a few friendly contacts in the police force."
"What does he do?"
"He heads a recruitment firm. Specialising in private security."
"So you got a new imbued, and another bystander contact in the police," Libra said over the cellphone. "Is she still there? Put her on ... Hi. Yes, call me Libra. Welcome. ... I know you're confused, but if you can find some off duty time, you can talk to the woman who helped you ... yes, her. Call her Vestal. You're going to need your own handle soon. No, you need to be discreet.
"You'll find that things like this, and worse, are all over the place. In fact, we shouldn't even be talking like this over an unsecured line. ... No problem. Vestal will arrange a contact point, and we can meet then. ... Any time you like, as long as it is in your own time. ... All right. No, don't have nightmares about it. Take care." Libra smiled. "Vestal? You got it? And the men? Okay. Good. All right, you look after the box. Bring it home to my place. I'll be waiting there. See you." He hung up, looked at Zeiss.
"Who was that?"
"Vestal got a new recruit. Her name's Helen Brennan," Libra said. "A WPC, uniform police constable. She just got the wake-up call. Her partner's a frozen, a bystander. But they could provide useful contacts."
"If you can trust them," Zeiss replied. "They're still police."
"Wait until they catch a glimpse of what's waiting for them the minute they hit the police station," Libra said. "Until today, Helen's only concern was the glass ceiling. Now she'll know for certain that she will never break through that ceiling, not because she isn't the eight sex ... but because she isn't the right species." Libra looked grim. "A few nights of nagging nightmares, seeing dead scrotes sitting in the back of the car, hearing the Message in their heads over and over pressuring them to dive into the hunt if they look like they're getting shy ..." He turned, faced the window. "They'll turn to us. And we can trust them then." He sighed, paused a moment in silence. "Vestal has the box."
"Where is she?"
"Just outside Chester. She's coming over to my place with it."
"Shall we go and help her?"
"No. She'll be all right at my place. She knows where I am. We'll just swing on by at the end of the working day, wait until all the gang arrive, and then we can all go down the Beehive pub or somewhere tonight."
Nightfall.
The pub was crowded, but the sight assured Libra there was nobody here tonight who didn't belong. The only other person in the group who was sight on was Zeiss, who sat quietly nursing a Britvic orange juice.
The box sat on the table in front of them. There were faint raised markings on each side, barely visible.
"It's lead," said Libra. "It doesn't register as anything with the sight. Not a supernatural artifact, not anything."
"What were those monsters going to do with it?"
"Maybe it's the contents that are important," Vagabond ventured.
Libra sipped at a fizzy soft drink. "How about taking this box down to someone who owns a machine shop?" he asked. "We can -"
"Don't you dare think of cutting it open," Zeiss said.
"Okay, okay, so we'll have to just sit here and look at this box and wonder what it's about," Zeiss replied.
"It's a container," said a deep, baritone voice behind them. Libra turned.
The man had wandered into the pub virtually unnoticed by man and imbued alike. Dressed very simply in jeans and a sweatshirt, with a long grey coat, this man seemed a towering presence despite his short, rotund stature and receding hairline. His deep voice carried a hint of a Welsh accent.
"Where did you come from?" Libra asked.
"You don't want to know," replied the Welshman.
"You sound like you come from the other side of the river, Taff," Vagabond said. "Got time for a pint?"
"No, not really," replied the Welshman. "I just dropped by to warn you that you're still in danger. All of you. The adversaries you dispersed have not gone far away. They have been waiting for a chance to retaliate, once you have let your guard down." The Welshman looked at Vestal. "When you used your new power today for the first time, what happened? Do you remember?"
"How did you know?"
"Answer the question, please. It's important."
"I ..." Vestal began, closing her mouth a moment later. "I pushed at the beings with my hands. When the wall, or whatever it was, came into contact with them, there was a static discharge."
"Good," came the deep voice. "And then ...?"
"I pushed forwards, walking towards the hosts. The field pushed back at the creatures, and they couldn't get a grip. They were cast out of the bodies and dispersed." She smiled. "End of story."
"Did you maintain your edge?" asked the Welshman.
"Did I need to?" Vestal asked.
The Welshman frowned deeply. "Then I'm right. You are all still in danger," he said.
"How do you know all of this?" Vagabond asked.
The Welshman looked deeply at Vagabond. "I have my resources," he said. "I also know that you have recently been involved in a deep mystery, involving what looked like hunter sign carved onto a tombstone two hundred years old. It wasn't hunter sign, but you have been troubled by dreams relating to this."
Libra stood between the Welshman and his people. "My friend has asked you a question," he said, towering over the Welshman. "Now quit the mystery man act, and answer him."
"The Heralds contacted me," the man said. "They more or less told me all about it. The apparent hunter sign on the stone, pointing to your indigent friend's ancestor; his dreams; this box." He pointed at the object. "The Heralds know how important this box is, because of what it contains." He smiled, looked at Vestal. "Some of us maintain friendly relations with our sponsors after our imbuing, you know. They haven't entirely deserted you. Where do you think your new edge came from all of a sudden?"
"The box," asked Libra. "What does it contain?"
In reply, the man reached over, his finger extended, to touch the side of the box. Gently, he traced one outline on the box. With his sight on, Libra could see what the Welshman was drawing. He gasped.
"Zeiss, shine it," he said. "Let them all see."
Zeiss closed his eyes, concentrating. A moment later, he emitted a soft glow, similar to that of the WPC earlier that day. It illuminated the hunters around them, triggering their sight. Only the hunters in the bar could see this light; the rest of the pub went about, totally oblivious to the strange revelations taking place not ten feet away.
The light fell upon the box, and outlined the symbol the Welshman's finger had traced on it.
"Did they teach you Greek mythology in school, boy?" asked the Welshman. Libra looked at the box, nodded.
"They were going to get at that?" he asked, horror beginning to dawn in his eyes.
"But of course," the Welshman replied. "What could be a worse start for the world to come than to have this thing plundered and emptied before the old one's run its course?"
"But ... it's a myth," Cleaner said. "It doesn't exist."
"Put your hand on it, girl," the Welshman replied, "and tell me that again."
"Will those things try to come back for this?" Libra asked.
"Of course they will," the Welshman replied. "And they'll come back tonight."
"What can we do?" asked Vagabond.
"There's only one thing you can do," replied the Welshman. "There's one place they can't go, because a much more powerful spirit protects her domain there jealously, and they know it. Put the box there, and they will have to let it go."
"And where is this place?" Vagabond asked.
"Your ancestor knew," the Welshman said. "He was on his way here when they attacked. He witnessed their most powerful assault, and survived. They will attack again, very soon, and again they will use their most powerful assault. Only it will have to be you who stands in their way, now. Not your tall friend or his woman, and not any of you." He put his hand on Vagabond's shoulder. "Feel up to it?"
Martin Lucas, former teacher, former indigent, veteran hunter, last descendant of Isiah Lucas, felt strength in his family pride. He straightened, looked the Welshman in the eye. "Always."
Midnight, April 10, 2001.
"Where are they?" Vagabond asked, as he sat near the hunter sign down by the docks. It had turned cold again, and he shivered inside his parka.
There was a light. Vagabond turned to look. It was a police car. He scrunched himself down into the shadows, tired to make himself as inconspicuous as possible. It was too late. The vehicle pulled up in front of him, and the doors opened.
"Hello there," said a familiar voice. Vagabond sighed. They were the two police officers whom he'd encountered earlier that day.
"Hi," replied Vagabond, getting up one handed.
"What's that you're carrying?" asked PC Croft, on the far side of the car from Vagabond.
"I've got the box from Libra," Vagabond replied. "There was a contact of Libra's who said he could take the box off his hands, take it far away from this place for study, unlock its secrets."
"And he was going to meet you here," asked the PC, looking around. "Where is he?"
"Well, I don't know," Vagabond said, shifting the box to his other arm. "It's a very heavy box, you know. Lead."
"I'll bet," the copper replied. "Not half as heavy as its contents, though."
"What?" Vagabond asked. "No, of course not," he replied. Then he paused. "How do you know what's inside it?" Frowning, he reached inside himself, flicked on the sight, looked at both the policeman and the WPC beside him. He groaned.
Both were surrounded by thick, roiling, inky clouds of darkness. Despite her newfound abilities, WPC Brennan's relative inexperience as an imbued had told. The entity had clearly overwhelmed even her.
"You must have been waiting for the policemen's guard to drop," Vagabond said. "Then you slid in and took over while our backs were turned."
"It was during the handover, when we were returning those two previous hosts to Liverpool," PC Croft said.
"We have sampled these bodies," added the parasite inhabiting the WPC. "The female has been a very energetic host; her sexual repertoire has been prolific. We have both learned from her body's reflexes."
"You disgust me," Vagabond said.
Both police officers' eyes seemed to turn solid black; their faces seemed to drain of colour. "Hand over the box," said the male parasite.
Vagabond said nothing, just drew in a deep breath ... and let it out.
The effort of activating the edge caused a horrific lurch of pain inside Vagabond; but it was necessary. What emerged from between his lips was not his breath, but something other; a stream of destructive, coiling vapour, silvery to the sight, like a wispy cloud of smoke. Vagabond collected it in front of his face a moment; then he directed it towards the two hosts.
Whatever part of the entities it touched, began to corrupt and warp, as if taken over by some flesh eating disease. Outwardly, the two human hosts remained unaffected; but the hitchhikers writhed and recoiled in agony.
Suddenly, the WPC snapped to activity. A vital control had been loosed, and she was free. Her first act was to raise the walls within her. Vagabond could hear the entity inside her scream as it was forcibly ejected from the WPC's mind. Helen Brennan stood a while, trembling, as the being dispersed, her whole body reacting with guilt and shame and anger and pain at what she'd done during her time as a prisoner of the thing.
"You know what you made me do?" she growled at PC Croft.
"I did," the entity replied, an unrepentant smug grin on his face. "Having you was a pleasure."
"Bastard!" cried Helen, reaching out an arm to smack the host. Vagabond stopped her, looked at her.
"The body's an innocent puppet," he said. "I know what to do to stop them." He whispered in Helen's ear. She shook her head. "I can't," she said. "Too risky."
"I know what I'm doing," Vagabond replied, with his eyes shining. "It's something I'd be proud to do." He looked at the copper, grinned. "Come and get me," he said, turning and running, clutching the box to him.
The host looked up at the sky. "Amalthea, join with me one last time," he said. His mouth fell open slackly; his eyes of solid black widened.
Two streams of smoke coalesced before the policeman's face, blending, merging, expanding outwards until it began to form a rough conical shape, about forty feet long by twenty feet across. A cloud of solid blackness, expanding continuously as Helen watched.
Then the host departed the PC's body, and PC Croft fell to the ground in a dead faint. Helen checked him over, made sure he was all right. Then she got into the car, closed the door and turned on the ignition.
"Payback time, you bastards," she said.
Vagabond didn't have far to run before the entities caught up with him. He ran along the riverbank until he could barely run any further. Then he turned, and screamed as the thing from his nightmare visions came at him like a monstrous oncoming locomotive, roaring as it approached.
He stumbled, and fell sprawling on the ground as the creature advanced upon him, its forefront coalescing into a semblance of a huge, bestial face.
Everything inside Vagabond wanted to give up, to die, at that moment. But then a still, small voice inside him cut through the self - doubt, and anguish, the fear.
"Remember who you are, son," came the voice of his ancestor, as Vagabond perceived it. "You're a Lucas, and a damned proud one, too."
Vagabond stopped, looked at the blackness which now surrounded him, kept at bay by the force of his will and his hunter reflexes. Standing up in the eye of the storm, he smiled, held the box aloft.
"Come and get me," he said.
He dropped his shields.
The black entity surged over Vagabond, entering his body through his eyes, his ears, his open, smiling mouth, taking over his body, suppressing his mind.
They did not wonder, until they noticed the headlights of the oncoming police car, why he was smiling.
"Martin, I am so sorry," said Helen Brennan, swerving the vehicle slightly and kicking the door open. The wing and driver's side door caught Vagabond11 squarely. The impact slammed the door shut, causing the car to skid along the wet footpath; for the next few moments, Helen could only curse and fight for control of the vehicle. But the manoeuvre was enough to make Martin Lucas' body spin like a marionette and topple over the side. Into the River Dee.
Blackness within him; blackness and cold without. Martin's body was one big hurt. Somehow, he managed to open his eyes, look out at the roaring darkness surrounding him.
Help us, cried a voice from inside him; the female parasite.
We have no quarrel with you, replied the male parasite. If we enter the water, we will be finished. Please. Help us, and we will help you.
Resist us, and you will suffer our wrath, said the female.
Vagabond's smile widened even further. Then I suppose you're really going to hate me for doing this. He reached inside himself, and turned on the sight and the Wall.
WPC Helen Brennan hadn't the experience to learn how to conserve the energies given to hunters by the Heralds. Her first effort had drained her, left her as vulnerable as any ordinary person.
Vagabond was more experienced, and had kept his last reserves of force in store.
The blackness inside him was forced out of him instantly. Their screams echoed through the murky waters. We will see you taken apart for this! screamed the one, and: We will flay your soul to pieces! from the other.
Neither of them noticed the waters behind them as they swirled, and took on a vast shape, visible even against the blackness of the two hitchhikers as a greater black.
I warned you to stay away from my domain, came the voice of the spirit. Have you forgotten?
The hitchhikers fell silent.
Obviously not, replied the voice of the great spirit. There was a sense of a presence, as if a huge predator of the waters was surging by. Vagabond's broken body was twisted and thrown by a massive surge in the underwater currents. In one instant, the hitchhikers were gone, as if they had never been. A few shreds of black remained; a fading scream of pain. Then nothing.
Vagabond let the last few bubbles rise from his lips. With a grin, he relaxed and let his body, and the box, complete their separate journeys to the bottom of the Dee. His mission in life was over.
There was a sense of a presence, as if a huge riverine predator was nearby.
Libra and the others looked over the roiling waters of the river Dee.
"A truly sad day," he said. He turned, looked at WPC Brennan, who was busy helping PC Croft. Beside the police car, an ambulance unit had arrived, and paramedics were fussing over both police officers. They had suffered great trauma, and both had plenty of sick leave waiting for them. For now, Helen Brennan was not a significant factor. She was imbued, but she deserved to get on with her life for now.
Or at least, until the call to hunt became too much for her.
Libra turned away from the scene, strolled along the footpath, came across his people. Cleaner and Vestal were in each other's arms, sobbing. Zeiss, Stickshift and Teacher stood, impassive.
"Anyone here need treatment?" Teacher asked. Libra shook his head, then gestured back along the path.
"I'll see you later, then," Teacher replied. "I'll meet up with you all tomorrow. I'm going to arrange some compassionate leave for myself."
"We all are," Libra replied. "I'll find a way of telling the Liverpool posse not to expect me later today."
"No, you'd better go," Zeiss said, staring out at the river. "He'd have wanted it that way."
"Will the body turn up?" Stickshift asked.
"Not in the Dee," Zeiss replied. "If he's lucky, he might turn up on the coast of the Isle of Man one day." He turned away from the scene, burying his face in his arms, leaning against the rough brick wall.
"Who's going to replace him?" asked Stickshift. "He was unique. He had so many talents, made us all laugh when we were down. There wasn't a man like him. He could take it on the chin and keep smiling."
"You all knew him longer than I," Libra said. "It must have been hell for him, all that time with nobody around him to share in the hunt. When you gathered around him, it must have given his spirit a long needed boost from all the despair. It's what he needed, I think; you, and later me."
"I wouldn't mourn his passing yet, if I were you," came a baritone from nearby.
"Where the hell did you come from?" asked Stickshift, as Libra turned around to face the Welshman.
"Remember what I drew on the side of that box?" he asked Libra. Libra nodded. "Did you recognise what that sign was?"
"I remember it," Libra said. "It was hunter sign for hope."
"Not only that," the Welshman said, "that box is a very special one indeed, if it's got that symbol on it from so long ago." His enigmatic face allowed a slight smile to slip. "We've given up so much in our efforts to rescue it from the clutches of those who would turn hope into despair. Do you think it'd leave us without a reward for our efforts; a little taster of what it contains?"
"Get out of the way! Stretcher coming through!"
Teacher raced past them. Other paramedics followed at high speed, two of them carrying a stretcher. Libra and the others hit the wall as a crowd followed the paramedics.
"What's going on?" Libra asked. Teacher glanced back over his shoulder.
"Someone's pulled a guy out of the river a hundred yards this way!" he yelled, triumphant. "He's barely alive!"
"I've been cheated," grumbled Martin Lucas from his hospital bedside.
"The doctors have never seen such a recovery," Teacher said. "It's like all the bumps and bruises are fading like a memory. Your body's bending back into shape, returning to its usual scarred, unhealthy, abused state." He smiled. "You'll be out of here in a week, tops."
"I still say I've been cheated," Vagabond said.
"Don't knock it," Stickshift replied. "I'd rather you here with us than at the bottom of the river like the box." In Stickshift's hands was a large bunch of flowers.
"More visitors, Mr Lucas," said a nurse from the doorway of the ward. Cleaner, Vestal and Zeiss entered, each bringing gifts.
"No Libra?" asked Vagabond.
"He's meeting the posse in Liverpool," Vestal replied. "I think they were impressed how he went out of his way to help them with one of their problems. It could look good."
"Yeah," Zeiss replied.
"Another visitor," said the nurse. "You do have a lot of friends, Mr Lucas. Oh, and some policemen, too."
"That's all right," said PC Croft. "We don't need introductions, thank you."
"It is good to see you," said the Welshman, as he entered the room flanked by the policemen. "I am taking these two back with me. They have applied for, and been granted, transfers. They will be on active duty in my home town in North Wales, and hopefully they'll be able to assist me once in a while."
"Good luck," Cleaner said to WPC Brennan and PC Croft.
The Welshman smiled, looked at Vagabond. "I'll be on my way soon, but I wanted to thank you."
"What for?"
"You have saved the Box, and preserved its contents. That way, the world will have Hope in its next cycle."
"I hope the inhabitants of the new world can find it, lying there in the bottom of the river," said Vagabond, despondently. "I dropped it when I lost consciousness. Wherever it is now, it's lost forever."
The Welshman's smile broadened. "Nonsense, boy!" he boomed. "Stop living in the past! Those hitchhikers may have been bloody ancient, but that was obviously their greatest weakness."
"Why?"
"This is the 21st Century, lad!" the Welshman chortled. "Two old spirits living in the past like that. All that time stuck inside a stone while the world had passed them by. They'd obviously never imagined that we'd have come up with such a handy thing by now as SCUBA gear ..."
"Our first real test, as a group, has been a success," Libra wrote in his private journal. "I don't know if it's a sign of things to come. We dispatched what could be a very old enemy, which plagued this region for what looks like centuries.
"However, there are many matters we have yet to resolve. Our elusive vampiric prey continues to stalk the streets, and we have neither the manpower nor the resources to mount a frontal offensive on his domain, because it happens to belong to the estate of the richest man in town ... and one of the richest men in Britain.
"I think we would be in such trouble, so quickly, if we approached that enemy head on that we wouldn't have time to draw breath before we'd be plunged into the shitstorm up to our hairlines. We need to find an alternative approach to nailing this bastard.
"There is also Vagabond's report, which mentioned the presence in the river Dee. If I am correct, that entity has been known there for a lot longer; quite possibly for thousands of years. The Romans knew her, and gave her a name - Deva, the same name as the city of Chester. My Chester tourist guide book says that the Celts have another name for her - the name of one of their war goddesses.
"I don't think we have the ability to cleanse the earth of this sort of being, even if every imbued on earth came here and tried. Deva is of a level of power the like of which Vagabond says he has never seen. Even the vampires are scared of her, and they don't need to fear drowning."
Libra paused, sucked at the end of the biro a moment, stared into the inert reading lamp. "Then there are the personal matters needing resolution," he said. "The meeting with the Liverpool posse, the blind newcomer, the churchyard thing Vagabond insisted we do this Thursday before Easter." He sighed, looked at the clock. One in the morning. He yawned, returned to the page. "All these things can be dealt with in their own time.
"Justice is patient."
Libra closed the journal, replaced it in his desk drawer, yawned, stretched and went to bed. He had a journey to make to Liverpool later today, and he didn't want to be late.
By: Fiat Knox
Copyright © Fiat Knox, 2001