Chapter 8 - The Winged Shadow
Anno Domini 2002
“Good afternoon, Mr. Wester.” Markham sat in one of the lounge chairs, a cup of coffee in his hand.
“A good afternoon to you,” said Simon, humming to himself. He crossed to the counter and poured himself a cup of coffee. “A lovely day, isn’t it?”
“It really is.” Markham took a sip from his mug. “You seem unusually chipper today.”
Simon snorted. “Are you saying I’m usually cranky?”
Markham grinned. “You’re crankier than my first ex-wife.”
Simon blinked. “Oh.”
Markham laughed. “You are too serious for a young man. Enjoy yourself a bit more. I tell the same to Ms. Coldridge. She never listens, though.”
“Um.” Simon’s date had gone quite well last night. He had found very few people who could match insults with him. Katrina Coldridge was tough and smart. Simon found himself liking her, even if he was a bit afraid of her. “She doesn’t seem the type to relax.”
Markham winked. “Not that you would know, though. Right?”
“Um. Right.”
“The Senator wants to see you in a few minutes,” said Markham. “Something about a speech. You can wait outside his office.” He winked. “Or in Ms. Coldridge’s office.”
Simon set the coffee mug back on the counter. “Um. I think I’ll wait outside the Senator’s office.”
Markham grinned. “Have a good day, Mr. Wester.”
Simon managed to nod. He hadn’t considered the office gossip his date with Katrina might cause. On the other hand, Markham seemed the sort to tease everyone.
He put the matter out of his mind and walked down the little hallway to Wycliffe’s office. Three chairs and a small end table sat across from the door. Simon sat down and stared at the wall.
He did feel good, despite Markham’s teasing. Perhaps he should relax a bit more often. He had spent the last few years working like a madman, going weeks without talking to anyone but his mother, his teachers, and his advisor Dr. Francis. That couldn’t have been good for him.
Simon snorted. He could relax after he finished his dissertation. Speaking of which, he had reading to do for his classes. Might as well put the time waiting for Wycliffe to good use. He cracked open his briefcase and pulled out a book.
White light flashed under Wycliffe’s door.
Simon blinked. He had to get more sleep. His eyes were starting to go.
The light flashed again.
Simon lowered his book and shrugged. Maybe Wycliffe had a campaign contributor in there and was taking pictures.
Except Wycliffe didn’t have campaign contributors. He paid for everything himself.
The light flashed again, brighter than before, and Simon thought he heard a muffled curse through the door. The hair on his neck stood up. Wycliffe had just increased security. Did that mean someone was in there right now, trying to harm the Senator?
Simon stood up. Perhaps he should go get Markham, or find security, but the thought of dealing with the bearded thugs chilled him. Simon dithered for a moment, then decided to knock.
He stepped forward and raised his hand.
He heard Wycliffe’s voice through the door. “I ask you again. Tell me! How did you come here?” An odd groan leaked through the door, like plastic rubbing against plastic. Again came a flash of white light, and Wycliffe’s voice rose in resonance and intensity. “Tell me!” The door shuddered and the light flashed. “Tell me now, I command it, how did you come here?” The light flashed, so bright it cast shadows against the wall.
What was going on in there?
A low voice rumbled. “Can you not compel him?”
“No,” said Wycliffe. “The protections surrounding his spirit are too strong. Lord Marugon might be able to breach them. I cannot. I have not the necessary skill with the Voice.”
“He must be told of this,” said the rumbling voice.
“We will, in time,” said Wycliffe. “Marugon currently is occupied with the conquest of Carlisan. He has been out of touch for several months, and I expect him to remain out of touch for several more. Besides, this is not urgent.” He laughed. “This fellow has some skill, apparently sufficient to repel my Voice, but not enough to threaten me, and certainly not enough to threaten Marugon.”
“Nevertheless, he is a danger,” said the deep voice. “Lord Marugon must be told.”
“You’re likely right,” said Wycliffe. “Very well. Keep him confined for now. We’ll hand him over to Marugon once he returns.”
“As you wish,” said the rumbling voice. Simon heard the sound of a fist striking flesh. “Up!”
Simon spun and dropped back into the chair. He grabbed his book and raised it just as the door opened.
Two of the slouching security men appeared, holding a man in a black uniform by the arms. It was the strange man Simon had seen yesterday, the man he had given ten dollars. The ragged man gave Simon a stricken look, and then the security thugs hustled him down the hall, their heavy leather jackets creaking. Simon watched them go, a dozen questions churning in his mind.
Senator Wycliffe stepped out into the hall, hands in his suit coat pockets. His gaze fell on Simon, and his eyes narrowed behind his thick glasses.
“Um…Senator,” said Simon. Fear tugged at his gut. “You wanted to see me. About the speech?”
“Oh. Of course,” said Wycliffe. “Sorry for the delay.”
“Ah…what was that all about?” said Simon.
Wycliffe sighed. “A spy, believe it or not.”
Simon blinked. “A spy? You’re kidding.”
“I wish I were,” said Wycliffe. “A spy for the Green Party. It seems they dislike my stance on developing Alaska’s oil resources, and so sent that enthusiastic young fellow to rifle through my desk. Fortunately, he was caught, and the security men are escorting him from the premises.”
“Oh,” said Simon.
Wycliffe grinned. “A good thing I hired the new security firm, eh? Their methods are a little unorthodox, I’ll agree, but they’re remarkably effective.”
“Which firm, sir? I don’t think I’ve ever heard of them before,” said Simon.
“Oh? Goth Marson Private Security, out of Springfield. You’ll have to meet Goth sometime. He’s really a remarkable fellow. Well! Sorry to bore you with my problems.”
Simon shook his head. He hoped he looked calm. “No, not at all.”
“Well, come inside. Let’s talk.” Simon followed Wycliffe into the office. Wycliffe sat in his desk chair and grinned. “Sit, sit! I’m not going to keep you standing.”
Simon sat and rifled through his briefcase. “Ah…here’s the speech, sir.”
Wycliffe took the speech. “Short. Good. Brevity…”
“…is the very soul of good writing,” said Simon. “Dr. Francis always says the same thing.”
“Wise woman,” said Wycliffe. He paged through the speech, chuckling from time to time. Simon sat and sweated Until Wycliffe tossed the speech onto his desk. “Not bad, Mr. Wester. Not bad at all.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Simon.
Wycliffe leaned back in his chair. “I’m having a press conference tomorrow at ten. I’ll need you there, of course.”
Simon nodded. “I’ll be there.”
“Mmm.” Wycliffe nodded. “Very good. I’m glad you came to work for me, Mr. Wester. I have great things in mind for the future, great things, and you’ve gotten in on the ground floor.”
Simon felt a bit uncomfortable. “Thank you.”
Wycliffe waved a hand. “Well, I’ve work to attend to, and I’ve no doubt you do as well. I’ll see you later, Mr. Wester.”
Simon nodded and went back into the lobby. He turned the corner, went to his office, and sat down to work. Yet he could not concentrate. What had he overheard in Wycliffe’s office? The face of the thin m
an, with the haunted eyes and spade-shaped beard, kept reappearing in his thoughts. Simon tried to focus on his current project, a list of radio stations that had agreed to run ads for Senator Wycliffe’s programs. Yet he could not focus.
Simon slapped the desk. “It’s none of my business!”
“What business?”
Simon almost jumped out of his chair. Katrina stood in the door, leaning against the frame. She grinned. “Did I scare you?”
“What…um, no, not at all,” said Simon.
Katrina snorted. “Bullshit. You just about had a heart attack. Admit it.”
“Fine, fine,” said Simon. “You startled me. Happy?”
She dropped into his guest chair. “What’s eating you?”
“Nothing,” said Simon. “It’s…”
“Well? Out with it,” said Katrina.
Simon glared at her. “Imperious, aren’t we?”
She scooted the chair closer and put her feet up on his desk. “Always have been.”
Simon looked at her high-heeled boots and snorted. “Infuriating woman.”
She titled her head to the side. “Now that’s a compliment, you know.”
“It…” Simon shook his head and laughed. “Fine. You win. What can I do for you?”
Katrina raised an eyebrow. “I can’t even stop by to say hello?”
Simon waved his hand. “Hello.”
“That’s better,” said Katrina. “What is eating you? You look like you just saw a goddamn ghost.”
Simon shrugged. “Maybe I did. Two of the slouching security people grabbed some guy. Senator Wycliffe said he was a spy from the Green Party. But he…”
“What is it?” said Katrina.
“I saw him yesterday when I came to pick you up,” said Simon. “He seemed…confused. Lost. Like an immigrant who’d just arrived in the country and could only speak bad English. He asked me for a ride, and I told him about the bus stops. It was like he had never heard of a bus before.”
Katrina shrugged. “Maybe it was all an act.”
“I don’t know. He seemed sincere,” said Simon.
“Maybe he picked you as a mark,” said Katrina. “You are sort of gullible.”
Simon glared at her. “Gullible enough to take you out for dinner?”
Katrina grinned. “Not bad, college boy. Speaking of which, my mom's going to see a movie tomorrow night with a bunch of her friends. I have nothing to do. Want to go to dinner again?”
“Oh, so I’m better than nothing?” said Simon.
Katrina smirked. “It’s good to see you have a healthy self-image.”
“Pop psychology,” said Simon. “Fine! I know a nice little restaurant a couple miles from here. We’ll go there?”
“Sure. Give me directions and I’ll meet you.”
Simon scrawled down a map and handed it to her. He watched as she read it. “What, nothing to criticize? Not even my handwriting?”
“That could use some improvement,” said Katrina. She smiled, stood up, and tucked the map into a jacket pocket. “See you at five.”
Simon watched her go and looked away with a grimace when he found himself ogling her backside. “What have I gotten myself into?”
###
Two weeks later he stood before the door to the apartment Katrina shared with her mother.
“I still think it’s a waste of time,” said Simon.
Katrina snorted. She looked caught between amusement and exasperation. “Says you. What good is reading poetry by some guy a thousand years dead?”
“Two thousand,” said Simon, fingering the textbook under his arm. “We’ve been over this before.”
“Pardon me. Two thousand, then,” said Katrina. “Still think it’s a waste of time.”
He pointed at the adventure novel she had been reading during lunch. “That’s the waste of time, I’d say. Popular trash. Why not read something more meaningful? I mean, you’re smarter than you pretend to be.”
Katrina’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean, college boy?”
“Um.” Simon felt his foot in his mouth. “Well…you’ve got this image…”
“You’re calling me stupid,” said Katrina.
“No!” said Simon. “You’ve act like…you know, the ‘tough working girl from Chicago’. You cultivate that, I think. And…you’re smarter than that. I mean, you don’t spend all your time watching TV and playing pinball games over the Internet. You do read, even if it’s stuff like…”
Katrina rolled her eyes. “I get your point already. God, you can be such a snob.”
Simon blinked. “Now, what’s that supposed to mean?”
Katrina smirked. “Turnabout’s fair play, eh? I’ll tell you. You think anyone who didn’t go to college has to be stupid.”
“I don’t think that,” said Simon, crossing his arms. “It just happens to be true, most of the time.”
“That so? You know what? I went to college for a semester.”
Simon frowned. “Really. Where?”
“University of Constantina. Waste of time, I’ll tell you. Stupidest classes ever. ‘Intro To American Literature’. The professor was a blowhole. My God, I’ve never been so bored in my life. I spent most my time drinking and smoking.”
“Oh,” said Simon. “So you flunked out, then?”
“I did not!” said Katrina. “I got a B average. But it was a waste of time. What good did knowing about some dead guys do me? Nothing, not a thing in the real world when the rent’s due and you need to buy food.”
“It’s…” Simon groped for words. They had already gone over a dozen variants of the same discussion on their dates. “It’s not about applicability. It’s about wanting to…to know, and a quest for knowledge…”
“I’d rather quest for rent money,” said Katrina.
The door swung open, and Simon jumped. An obese elderly woman in a floral-print dress stood in the doorway. Her face looked like white dough, and stringy hair hung down the sides of her face. A cigarette smoldered between her lips.
“Katrina. You can come in, you know.” The old woman blinked a few times, her watery eyes focusing on Simon. “Well. So you’re the young man Katrina’s been spending so much time with.”
“Um.” Simon tried to think of something to say. He stuck out his hand. “Simon Wester, ma’am.”
She ignored him. “He looks like a pencil neck, Katrina. You can do better.”
“Mother,” said Katrina. “You’re not being polite.”
Katrina's mother stepped towards Simon. “You give my daughter any grief, and I’ll break your neck. Understand?”
Simon bobbed his head. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Katrina, come in after you’re finished with him. It’s getting late. The crazies will come out.” The old woman turned, lumbered back into the apartment, and slammed the door shut.
“Charming woman,” said Simon. He winced at the slip of his tongue.
“She’s…a little protective,” said Katrina. “I’ve had some bad relationships. And some very bad boyfriends. Sorry if she startled you. She can be cranky.”
Simon blinked. “Um…no problem. She doesn’t look like she’s feeling too well.”
Katrina shook her head, a hint of strain passing over her face. “She’s overweight and has high blood pressure. And she smokes. Yes, I know that’s bad. You keep reminding me.” She looked at the door. “It’s late. I want to turn in. Anyway, thanks for dinner.”
“No problem,” said Simon. “Wednesday, like we said?”
Katrina nodded. “Wednesday, for lunch. We can argue some more.”
“I’d like that,” said Simon. An urge came over him, and he leaned forward.
Katrina took a step back. “What, you want a kiss?”
Simon froze. “We have been going out for two weeks, you know.”
Katrina didn’t move. “Most guys would have tried to get into my pants by now.”
“That doesn’t seem very moral,” said Simon.
Katrina laughed. “Moral? What, are you religious?”
“My father was a preacher. And I’m not most guys.”
Katrina frowned. “No. I suppose you’re not. Maybe that’s why you’re such an insufferable ass.” She leaned forward and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. Simon almost fell over in surprise. “Good night.”
Simon stared at the close door. She had tasted like cigarette smoke.
Nevertheless, he felt better than he had in years.
He started down the staircase to the parking lot, his thoughts whirling in a confusing jumble. He had been spending a lot of time with Katrina in the last few weeks. Had it taken too much time from his studies? He had spent most of the last few years immersed in his academic efforts. Maybe he should break things off with Katrina and return his focus to his work.
Simon shook his head, trying to clear it. He stood to the side as a black man with a pair of bulging grocery bags headed up the stairs.
He did not want to break things off with Katrina. She irritated him, annoyed him, and sometimes exasperated him. Yet he found himself respecting her, and liking her a great deal. She had not said a lot about her past, but he had gathered that she had been through quite a bit, most of it unpleasant. She had persevered, had made something of herself. So far he had made more of her life than he had with his.
He walked out the building’s front door and gasped at the heat. Chicago sweltered in August, even during the night. A thousand bugs danced around the front light, and mosquitoes buzzed around Simon's ears. He swatted them away with a curse and started walking.
A short walk took him to the parking lot behind the building, It had no lights, but Katrina only lived a half mile from Wycliffe Consolidated Shipping's warehouse compound, and its light cast a dim glow over the lot. Simon took a moment to look over the lot, checking the shadows for any muggers. This was not one of Chicago’s better neighborhoods. He wondered how Katrina could stand to walk home from work every day. The woman had nerves of iron.
Fortunately, the lot was deserted, and no one had touched Simon's van. He yawned and started toward it.
A foot scraped behind him.
Simon whirled, his hands coming up.
“Sir, I beseech you…”
Simon blinked, his hands falling to his sides. The ragged man in the black uniform Simon had last seen with the security thugs leaned against the back of the apartment building. He looked terrible. Blood caked his chin and the side of his neck, and his eyes glittered with a feverish gleam.
“Sir.” The thin man’s voice croaked. “I beg of you, lend me aid.”
Simon spread his hands and stepped back. “Listen. I don’t want any trouble. I know you broke into Senator Wycliffe’s compound.”
The man in the black uniform laughed. “I was trying to get away. I have been trying to get away from that cursed place for weeks. They captured me and brought me back when you saw me.”
“What?” Why would Senator Wycliffe kidnap anyone? “But…you’re a spy, a spy from the Green Party. Why would they want to bring you back…”
“I beg you, aid me,” said the thin man, his voice dropping to a whisper. He staggered forward, his face glistening with sweat and blood. “For two weeks they held me captive in that dreadful place. The winged ones practiced their tortures on me. And that death-merchant, that miserable agent of Marugon’s…he worked his arts on me. His voice sliced into my mind.”
Simon swallowed. “Listen, buddy, something’s wrong with you. We better get you to a doctor.” He decided to leave the madman here, go back to Katrina’s apartment, and call 911.
The man clutched at Simon’s shoulder. “Please! I beg you! You must use your carriage…your car, your automobile, to take me from this place. It is vital. They…they will find me…”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” said Simon, disentangling himself from the thin man’s pawing hands. “I’m not taking you anywhere. I’ll call an ambulance, get you to the hospital, whatever. But you look nuts. I’m not letting you get in my van…”
Despair crossed the man’s face. “You don’t understand…”
He went rigid.
"What is it?" said Simon, looking around.
The thin man's face fixed into a mask of dread. “Get down!” He spun and dashed behind the dumpster.
Simon stared at him. “What…”
He heard a rush of air.
Simon turned and almost screamed.
Something flew overhead, outlined in the dim glare of the distant floodlights. It swooped and perched atop Katrina's apartment building. The creature looked like a mixture of a huge, winged man and a leering gargoyle. It wore dark, sooty armor of interlocking metal plates. Iron-clawed hands jutted from its fingers, and huge leathery wings rose from its back. The creature had a bone-white face with burning red eyes, yellow fangs curving over its lips.
Simon threw himself behind the dumpster. The thin man sat with his eyes closed, his face locked in mask of concentration, his lips working. His fingers traced odd patterns in the grime coating the dumpster.
Simon risked a glance up and almost screamed when the winged thing’s fiery gaze turned towards him. The sight of that creature made Simon want to crawl into a dark place and never come out again.
The winged shadow jumped from the roof and rose, its leathery wings flapping against the air. It soared into the darkness and vanished. Simon let out long breath.
He looked at the man in the black uniform. “What…what was that?”
Sweat covered the thin man’s face. “My spell worked. I did not think I had the skill. But I was able to deflect its gaze. It did not see me. Or you, for that matter. You hid at the right time.”
“What’s going on? What was that? Who are you?”
“I…” The man licked his cracked lips. “You may call me Conmager. Questions will wait. We must flee now!” Conmager grabbed Simon’s shoulder. His haunted, feverish eyes glittered. “Do you not understand why?”
"What about Kat..." He did not want to give Katrina's name to Conmager. "What about the people in that building?"
"The winged demon will ignore them," said Conmager. "It hunts for me, not them. But we must go now!"
Simon didn’t argue. They got into the van, and he drove for home as fast as he could.
***
Chapter 9 - The Cover Story
Anno Domini 2002