The Keepers
Part 12
by Elizabeth


    "Evil." Jim announced. "Pure, unadulterated evil. That's all I could get. 
That and age. Whatever this damn thing is, it's also about two weeks older 
than dirt."

    Paul nodded. "An accurate description if I ever heard one. Morpheus is, 
simply put, everything that is dark and malicious. He is evil itself, the 
first spark of corruption that ever existed."

    "Like the devil." Jim offered, sipping his coffee carefully. It was the 
next morning, and the pair had left the house for a nearby coffee shop in 
order to discuss some matters.

    "More or less." Paul agreed. "Only Morpheus makes Satan look like Little 
Bo Peep. Morpheus is bent on destroying everything that stands for the light 
he hates so much...that's why his greatest target is mankind."

    "What's so hot to trot about MY species?"

    Paul looked at Jim as if he had grown a third head. "Humans are the only 
species that can dream and desire. You create life in love and erect entire 
civilizations purely on the drive of ambition. There's a great goodness to 
your passion...it's one of the purest forms of power in all creation."

    Jim blinked, taken back a bit by Paul's matter-of-fact claims. He thought 
over the god's words. Jim had always been a firecracker type, explosive and 
passionate. He knew that made him different, but the power of the heart in 
man...was there really that much to it?

    //...I want something more than you'll know...follow myself and go where 
you can never go...and I see though my eyes are closed...// Jim sang 
mentally. //A KISS lyric. Figures.//

    "Okay, so Satan's worst nightmare is tooling around town, trying to 
destroy mankind. What does that have to do with you?"

    "Like Ratsputin once said, 'your dynasty is linked to me.'" Paul 
explained. "Since the dawn of time, The Elder have served the universal 
balance...but with the dawn of your race, we became bound to your very 
spirit. Power, passion, instinct, vision...they are as much a part of you as 
your left ass cheek. They are what we embody, what we stand for."

    "So kill the spirit of man, kill man." Jim surmised grimly.

    Downing the rest of his coffee in one gulp, Paul Stanely nodded.

    Jim heaved a sigh. "Oh, shit."

    "Jim Riley?"

    Jim turned at the sound of his name. Beside a nearby table stood a lanky 
young man, about six inches shorter than Jim with straight black hair and 
deep emerald green eyes. Jim knew the eyes held tiny flecks of gold, he'd 
stared them down often enough in his days on the force.

    "Ben Lawrence, you sonufabitch!" he cackled, getting up from the table 
and rushing the other man with a friendly bearhug. "What the hell you been 
doing with yourself!"

    "Everything but police work, dude." the other man replied, drawing away 
to smile at the taller man. "I've been off the force for a couple of months 
now. Had to quit when I found out I was a User."

    Jim's eyes went wide. "You shitting me? You were one of the best damn 
homicide detectives the P.C. division ever had! What brought you down?"

    "Looks like I'm a wizard. A damn powerful one at that...it's a heredity 
thing, you know? Right now I'm getting training to control my power."

    "You ought to stick with me. I just found out that I'm a wizard, too. 
Here, let me introduce you to the guy that's teaching me what's what."

    Ben glanced in the direction Jim indicated and coughed in suprise. "Holy 
shit...you're Paul Stanley!"

    Jim watched Paul switch from his somber demeanor immediately into the 
glib public figure the world knew so well. "Pleasure to meet you...Ben, 
right?"

    Ben nodded, gaping.

    "Why don't you join us here? Any friend of Jim's is a friend of mine."

    Ben sat down, still stunned. "Uh, thanks. It's a real honor, Mr. Stanley."

    "Paul, please."

    As Jim and Ben both sat down, Jim felt a strange sensation in his head. 
It felt like a hand inside his skull, running its fingers across his brain. 
Words followed the trail of the phantom touch.

    //Jimbo, you ARE aware this guy's not human, right? He's a god-//

    "Whoah and hold up." Jim announced, holding a hand up to Ben. "Tell me I 
ain't dreaming...that was you just now?"

    Ben's eyes went still wider, but he nodded.

    "And you know what Paul is?"

    Ben refused to reply, confirming Jim's suspicions.

    Paul frowned at Jim. "What is it? I felt his power...what did he do?"

    "Telepathy." Jim sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose wearily. "Shit, 
can this get any more complicated?"

    "Jim, you want to fill me in?" Ben asked nervously.

    "Let me make a small assumption here...Ben, is your ancestor The 
Wanderer?"

    Ben nodded.

    Paul and Jim shared a look.

    "This is gonna be a long day." Jim groaned softly.

**********

    Mike trudged across the grassy expanse, eyes flitting over the various 
tombstones he crossed along the way. San Fernando Mission Cemetery was quiet 
at this hour, it was still too early for many visitors to come to the graves.

    It was the perfect time for what Mike was about to do.

    After a long walk, he found what he was looking for. Life was making his 
memories of death more and more fuzzy. It made this task difficult.

    Hell, he'd almost forgotten where he'd been buried.

    Mike finally stood before a freshly tilled grave, the tombstone above it 
bearing his name. He read the quote that stood in place of an epitaph.

    "You play the game, you gotta play to win it."

    A smile came unbidden to his face. Mike always swore those words would be 
on his tombstone, Jim made sure of it. He turned his face skyward as the cool 
morning breeze gently stirred his long hair against his cheek. The wind felt 
good. The air smelled sweet with the scent of jasmine, the sky was an amazing 
shade of blue unlike anything he'd ever seen...

    It didn't matter, though. He still had to die.

    Mike pulled out the knife in his pocket, the same folding knife he'd 
nearly used to slit his cousin Rhea's throat. It was only fitting that he use 
the same blade to end things now, before someone else died.

    He'd seen it in his dream, felt it in the power Morpheus had over him. He 
was a master of all things dead and corrupt. Mike was the risen dead, so he 
had a hold on Mike, one he could use to make him do his bidding. He still 
felt traces of Morpheus's ties to him. There was no severing bonds that deep.

    Mike settled the tip of the blade against his chest. He made sure the 
angle was right for the it to slip between his ribs and pierce his heart. He 
was a User now, classified as such by characteristics like increased 
strength. He had the power to drive the blade home.

    "Why are you doing this?"

    "I have no choice." Mike answered, almost unaware of the fact that he was 
no longer alone. Somewhere, he heard the sound of a bird singing. "I nearly 
killed my own blood. I have to end this."

    "Why?"

    "Because Jim might be next!" Mike cried out. The bird's song became 
louder, a heartwrenching sound that touched him to the core. His knife hand 
lowered as his resolve faltered. "Morpheus has total control of me. I nearly 
killed Rhea last night because of him...I don't want to kill my brother, too."

    Mike sank to his knees and stared dully at his own tombstone. It seemed 
like some sort of terrible joke, looking at it now. How could he have been 
dead? He was here, he was alive. The air was fresh and sweet, every breath 
was a delight. The world around him seemed to sing a song only he could hear. 
It was all so beautiful.

    Beside him, Mike heard a rustling as his mysterious companion sat down. 
It suddenly occured to him to be suspicious. This stranger had come walking 
up behind him and seemed to know exactly what he was talking about. How? Who 
was this person?

    Mike turned to look beside him and saw a familiar man with shaggy black 
hair and a prominent nose. His dark eyes glittered in a face that looked much 
younger than it should.

    "You're The Beast." Mike breathed.

    Peter Criss smiled, nodding. "You're pretty sharp for such a young kid."

    Mike frowned in confusion. His mind was reeling...what exactly had just 
happened here?

    He settled down on the grass into a cross-legged position, leaning his 
elbows on his knees. The action made Peter laugh.

    "I wish I was still that limber." he chuckled, wincing as he stretched 
one leg in front of him. "As it is, my arms are gonna give me trouble on the 
tour. You can let Gene and Paul know that I'm in, by the way."

    Mike frowned. "I don't understand any of this. I'm not quite sure what's 
going on." He looked around him, taking in the vibrance of everything. The 
world positively hummed with life and renewal. The trees were greener, the 
earth smelled rich and damp, and the sky seemed to stretch endlessly before 
him. Anything seemed possible.

    "You're doing this." he suddenly realized, giving Peter his attention.

    "What do you mean?"

    "You're making this happen. All this...no man could kill himself when the 
universe is begging him not to."

    Peter chuckled, idly examining a blade of grass he'd picked up. "Okay, 
you caught me. I'm not responsible for pulling you back from the brink, 
though, I just lent a hand. Life is the only thing that can really combat 
death, and it happens to be my specialty. You're part of the Triumverate, I 
figured it's the least I could do."

    "Triumverate?"

    "Triumverate of Guardians, Protectors of the Tribunal of Souls. Jim 
Riley, Benjamin Lawrence...and you. It's a destiny thing. You three are 
doomed to spend the rest of your lives saving our sorry asses from Morpheus."

    Mike had to chuckle. He shook his head ruefully and let his mind wander. 
Somehow, it felt incredibly right, sitting here in front of his own grave 
chatting with a god while the earth beneath him throbbed with a pulse of its 
own.

    "He was here again, wasn't he?" Mike finally asked.

    "He never left. As a Lazarus, you're his easiest shot at taking us out, 
so he's targeting you. He wanted this to happen today...he's been stringing 
you along ever since last night."

    "So Rhea wasn't really in danger...he just wanted me to do myself in."

    "You know it. Get rid of the Guardians, and The Elder is an easy target. 
I stepped in not just to save your neck...I'm saving my own as well!"

    Mike laughed again. For awhile the pair was quiet. Mike just sat, basking 
in the glorious sensations his surroundings were calling up in him.

    "I'd forgotten all this." Mike realized. "I forgot how wonderful it is to 
be alive. I can't believe you're doing this...everything feel so good!"

    "I'm not doing it anymore, Michael." Peter pointed out. "It's all you, 
now. I just got the ball rolling."

    "What the hell do you mean?"

    "I mean that you're Lazari, the risen dead. The orgins of your kind are 
sketchy at best, but I can tell you this much: your people are not created 
out of death. A botched zombie raising is nothing more than the raising of a 
soul so in love with  life that it refuses to stop living."

    "But rising from the dead takes power. I've heard of trying to raise dead 
animators and the zombies going renegade, breaking the hold of their 
animator. There are legends of true wizards and incredibly powerful Users 
coming back with souls...those are the Lazari."

    "You are a wizard, Michael. Gene and Paul weren't bullshitting you. I 
knew The Red Dragon, his power was unlike that of any mystic I've ever seen. 
Your ineritance from him is a valuable one. Combined with your power as a 
Lazarus, you're a man to be feared now." Peter paused to look around him. 
"Especially with the control you already have over your gifts."

    Mike gazed at the scenery and marveled. How could he be doing this? He 
didn't feel anything different...no effort whatsoever. Shouldn't he know it 
if he was using power?

    "Use what you know to bring things back to normal." Peter advised. 
"You're a Lazarus...the power they hold is instinctive. Go with what works."

    Mike thought for a moment, going over the abilities he'd already 
exhibited. He was stronger than before, and could now see spirits of the dead 
all around him. The Lazari legends also spoke of an animator-like control of 
the dead...the ability to give and take life...

    Mike put his hands on the ground, flat agains the grass on either side of 
him. He remembered the gut feeling he'd had when he brought Jim back from the 
dead. He remembered the empty space somewhere inside that had been so full of 
life, life that he'd given back to his brother. Instead of giving this time, 
though, Mike focused on taking it into himself.

    Slowly, the grass began to feel less springy and vibrant. The earth's 
heartbeat stilled and the sky dimmed. The scent of the air dulled to a crisp 
echo of what it was moments before.

    The scene was lovely, but no longer more than it was.

    Mike looked up at Peter and smiled, slightly breathless from the effort 
and the rush. "Like that?"

    Peter grinned. "Good job, Dragon Heir. You have power, you're strong. 
Remember that."

    "And with strength I can fight Morpheus. He has the ability to control 
me...but I can fight."

    Peter nodded. "Shit, I thought this would be more difficult!"

    "I'm a quick study." Mike replied with a small smile.

    "Peter!"

    Both men turned to see a raven haired bombshell standing nearby. She had 
ivory skin made paler by the all-black outfit she wore, and deep violet eyes.

    "I know you." Mike said, rising to his feet. Peter stood beside him. 
"You're not...?"

    The woman grinned. "I owe you my life, Detective Riley...how could you 
forget me so easily?"

    "Monique Fender?" he chuckled, walking towards the woman. "God, is it 
really you?"

    Monique beamed. "The same one. Peter told me you were alive again...I had 
to come and say thank you."

    He reached out and enveloped Monique in a friendly bear hug. "No thanks 
necessary, darlin'. Always a pleasure to save a damsel in distress."

    Peter stood to join the pair and frowned. "How do you two know each 
other?"

    "Mike saved my life years ago." she told him. "I was a rookie cop and got 
caught in a hostage situation with a werewolf. He and his brother saved my 
life...and he died in the process."

    Peter looked up and arched an eyebrow. "Guess I owe you then, 
kiddo...made sure I found my soulmate in one piece!"

    Mike's jaw dropped. "You mean that you and he are-"

    He cut himself off as he watched Monique's violet eyes bleed from their 
normal color to a bright gold. At the same time, her pupils elongated and 
grew larger, along with her irises. Afterwards, the eyes of a cat stared into 
his.

    "Keeper of Instinct." she purred, her voice suddenly much lower. "Consort 
to The Beast. Needless to say, I'm no longer a cop."

    Mike shook his head and laughed. "Holy shit. Jim's gonna flip out...he's 
a User now, too."

    Mike slid into the New York Groove so that he could give Jim the news, 
but just as he entered it he felt Jim's presence sweep through him, reaching.

    //Mike? High tail it back to Gene's...you're not gonna believe who just 
joined the party.//

    He glanced at Monique, snorting with laughter.

    \\Neither will you.\\ Mike replied, watching as Peter winked slyly from 
his place beside Monique.