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Chapter -16- The Eleventh Hour

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** Evan closed his right hand into a fist** and swallowed back his trepidation. "I've had it up to here with you guys," he said, holding his left hand at shoulder height. "You see the guy behind me? He's FBI. You guys attacked Federal Agents. I don't care who you guys think you are under those masks. You're not above the law. So guess what? You guys are going to jail."

"Kid, get out of there!" Michener shouted. He pulled the driver door shut.

One of the mercenaries brought his left hand up and pulled back the slide on a P-90 submachine gun. "You're the little shit from the Haight-Ashbury we've been looking for!"

Evan flinched at the sharp curse. He grit his teeth together. "I guess that old dude was right ... I let your buddies live, and now all of you are hunting for me."

"Your mistake, boy." The mercenary released a threatening volley of rounds into the concrete ceiling above Evan's head. A wisp of steam came from the elongated barrel of a flash suppressor attachment on the end of the weapon.

Evan smirked. "The real question is, would you guys extend me the same courtesy?"

"KILL HIM!" the mercenary shouted.

The group opened fire with sound-suppressed submachine guns. The rounds turned to glass, nearing Evan.

Evan was pelted by a barrage of chintzy glass rounds, which turned to powder upon contact with his skin and shirt. He raised his fists up, using his forearms to protect his face.

A wall of glass rose up between himself at the mercenary's van. "Hey! FBI! What's the FN P90 shoot?" When he didn't hear an answer, he asked again, louder.

The agent rolled down the window slightly and shouted back, "Five point seven by twenty-eight! What did you just do?!"

"Just need to know how thick to make this pane," Evan replied in a normal voice. He flinched a few times as the glass became a spider web of its former self.

Evan placed his hand on the glass panel that acted as a wall between the two sides. The large square sheet of glass appeared to heal itself - the cracks faded.

Two of the gunmen moved away from the van and opened fire on the glass at point-blank range. Several other mercenaries joined, moving close and shooting at the glass panel. They angled their guns upward to avoid ricochets.

Evan backed up a few paces and shouldered the pane hard.

The mercenaries backed away quickly.

The large panel tilted forward and came down on two of the gunman, knocking them to the ground with its immense weight.

"Aw man, you guys weren't supposed to scatter! That was supposed to flatten all of you guys!" Evan turned away from them.

The bullets turned to glass and pelted him on his back. He kept his hands up to protect his ears and the back of his neck.

Without warning, an immense sound cracked the sky like a cannon. The sheer volume of the thunder stole Evan's equilibrium.

Evan stumbled against the Chevy Suburban and flattened his hands over his ears.

Evan turned back to the mercenaries and their silver van.

He blinked, seeing Nathanial Carrington standing in front of the remaining gunmen.

The old man folded his arms over his chest, eyes narrow.

"Whoa..." Evan blinked twice. "You again." He stared in shock, impressed by how heroic the old man looked.

Nathan stood stoic and silent.

"The SUV has an FBI agent and a civilian!" Evan announced.

Nathan casually lifted his left hand. A glowing energy field appeared. The translucent field resembled a wall. The mercenaries attempted another attack.

The field absorbed a rapid gunfire volley from several mercenaries.

Nathan glanced over his shoulder and cracked a smile. "You did good, kid. Just like a real hero. I'm proud of you, Evan."

"I ... thanks!" Evan swallowed back the pride welling up in his chest.

Nathan cleared his throat. "Check on Johann Foster - that's the young guy in the passenger seat. He's the one I told you about."

Evan turned back to the SUV and came around to the passenger side. He opened the door and checked Johann for injury. Evan lifted his eyes to Michener. "Where's the first aid kit? What do we do? Do we wrap it or...?"

The agent glanced back out the window towards the old man with the energy field. "Who is that old guy? Who the hell are you two?"

Evan replied with an awkward chuckle. "Uh ... me? Superhero in training. The old man is the genuine article. Where is the first aid kit and what do I do next?"

"In the hatch. Excuse me." Philip opened the driver door. He stepped from the vehicle with his handgun. He cleared his throat and addressed Nathan. "I ... I don't know how you're holding them off but if you need..."

Nathanial glanced over his shoulder and narrowed his gaze. "Get your ass back in that truck and be ready to pull out of here at a moment's notice. Where the hell is your backup, agent? What kind of Mickey-Mouse-rookie-bullshit operation are you running here?"

"No one is answering!" Michener exclaimed, offended. "Those guys must be jamming the radio transmission or..." He frowned.

"Or ... what?"

Michener swallowed and shook his head. "Bill could hear it in his earpiece before he was killed. They're not jamming it. I have to assume my backup has been dispatched."

"Yeah, or they're in on this attack."

Michener grimaced. "That ... thought occurred to me, too."

Nathan groaned. "Jesus. Check your cell for reception and get a call out. If that's down, get a distress flair going. I don't want to have to kill these idiots, because they'll have information. You need to be ready to get those kids out of here when I tell you to hit the gas. Now get ready."

"But what about you?"

"Do you see how old I am?! Quit arguing and start the engine! Get ready for my signal!"

Meanwhile, Evan eased into the rear passenger door. He grimaced at the two bodies draped over the driver-side rear seat. Evan reached into the hatch and touched each of the windows, turning them to ballistic-resistant panels.

"So you're the glass blower?" Johann knelt down on the floor, in front of the front seat, to the best of his ability. "Is that a D-20 on a chain?"

Evan touched a twenty-sided die hanging from a necklace around his neck. "Yeah, and I have my gaming dice in my pocket."

Michener said nothing.

"I like your necklace."

"Thanks." Evan doubled over the backrest and rummaged through a box of gear until he found the first aid kit. He turned about and pulled out a roll of gauze. He passed it up to Johann. "Wrap that until we get to a hospital. You, uh," Evan cleared his throat. "You'll want to minimize blood loss. If you feel lightheaded, we'll find you something to eat. I've ... never done all this stuff before. Just ... bear with me, okay?"

Several rounds went wide from weapon's spray. The bullets narrowly avoided Nathan's energy field and struck the hatch glass, creating a spiderweb design.

More rounds thumped against the rear quarter panels.

Johann trembled while wrapping his arm. "They're going to shoot out our tires then..."

Michener started the engine and pulled his door shut. "Run-flat tires, kid. Unless they absolutely shred the back wheel, we'll be okay. How is that old man doing that out there?"

Evan grimaced and pushed the two bodies out of his way. He sat up in the back seat. He was surprised by the lack of blood on his side of the upholstery. "Not to sound facetious, mister agent-guy, but ... I just told you we're superheroes."

Michener glared back at Evan. His expression softened. "Where's your costume?"

Evan gave a tug on his shirt to show the agent his home-made logo. Well ... I'm a hero. But Mr. Carrington doesn't see it as heroics. He sees it as some sort of obligation. Don't call him a superhero, he hates that."

"We need to get one of those men to be able to interrogate them," Philip said with a sigh of aggravation. "They know something about what's going on." He reached over to the glove box and pulled out a tazer.

Evan frowned. "With all due respect, Mr. C. doesn't need a tazer."

Michener opened his window again. He shoved the tazer back in the glove compartment and called to Nathanial through the window. "HEY! Can you taze one of those guys? We need information and they're our best source."

Nathanial groaned. "Look, I hate to tell you how to do your job, pal, but you're not allowed to build an investigation against these morons, because you're not supposed to know that people, like me, really exist. Okay? You don't have the clearance."

"But..."

Nathan ground his teeth together. "I said no! These guys will kill you to keep you quiet. And I'm not talking about today. I'm talkin' about them pulling your service records, finding out where you live, and showing up in the middle of the night. Are you married, kid?"

"No," Michener said. "I have no leverage on me."

Nathan rolled his eyes. "If you wanna live long enough to try it, I suggest you shut up and get ready." Nathan brought one of his hands up and touched a gold ring hanging around his neck.

Michener put the window up, but not all the way. He left it open just enough to listen for Nathanial's signal.

Nathan turned back to the energy field to keep it stabilized.

Philip pulled his seatbelt over his chest and clicked it into place. He turned the key but the engine was already running. The ignition switch squealed in protest. Michener put his hands on the wheel, his foot on the brake pedal, and shifted the vehicle into gear.

Nathanial brought his hands together. A blinding white bolt of energy emanated from his body and struck the silver van.

The blast caused the van to skid sideways, several feet. Nathan tensed up, creating a different sort of energy field.

The van tipped onto its side, pushed away by the energy.

Nathan shouted back at the SUV, "GO!"

The FBI agent floored the accelerator. It took off from being pushed by the outward energy of Nathan's electromagnetic field.

Michener pulled the SUV out of the corner section of the parking garage. He drove across the concrete deck at a high rate of speed.

Nathan approached one of the mercenaries, lying on their side, and stood over him. He started to lower to one knee then decided not to do it, due to the aching in his hip.

Instead, Carringotn reached for his specially crafted cellphone. He withdrew a complicated looking device from his pocket. Nathan opened the screen and made a call.

It rang twice. A voice answered on the other end.

The old man smirked at the tone and said, "Was that enough proof? These guys are attacking Federal Agents in daylight. So. Show yourself." He disconnected the call and pocketed the phone.

A moment later, a man stepped from the staircase a little ways down the parking deck. He looked to be almost middle-aged, somewhere in his upper thirties or lower forties. Except for a nice dress suit, the man was handsome yet ordinary.

Nathan pointed to the men on the ground. "Check to see if they're alive. Arthritis doesn't want me to kneel today."

"Nathanial Carrington," said the man.

"Greg Watson," Nathan replied.

"You were right. You've proved your point old timer." The man looked around at the carnage then shook his head.

"You think I'd lie about some bullshit like this?"

Watson grimaced. "Did you have to cause so much destruction?"

"It's one overturned van, dickhead. In your after-action report, just write that they came around the corner too fast."

"I'm talking about all the bullets and the chewed up concrete."

"That was their drama!" Nathan erupted. He shook his head and sighed. "Say ... how're things going for your agency? USPRI can't be very relevant now that the supernaturals are rumored to be dead, huh?"

Watson sighed. "They're going to dismantle the staff. They'll keep a director, maybe two or three investigators, and a team leader."

"So this is it for 'Osprey,' huh?"

Watson kept his gaze on the hunters, strewn about the ground. "If more people manifest over the next few years ... then maybe the department will make a return. But, for right now, almost all of us are going to be laid off."

"Come here." Nathan took the man by his forearm and led him away from the mercenaries strewn about the concrete deck. "Gregory, I'd like you to meet..." Nathan opened his left hand and formed a glowing electric scythe.

Watson squinted at the bright weapon.

Nathan cut a hole in the roof of the van and stepped back. The metal dropped to the ground. The glowing scythe faded.

"And meet...?" Watson asked.

The old man reached in and pulled a mask from the driver's head. "Your coworker, USPRI Agent Maxwell Birmingham. Driver, logistical strike coordinator, and all-round swell guy. Clean record, never disobeyed an order, never argued with an Esoteric Person during an investigation. Psych file shows that he's got a good head on his shoulders, and has never experienced a traumatic situation. He's got two accommodations. He's never broken the law. Also, one speeding ticket from when he was sixteen years old." Nathan glanced back, adding, "Just one," for effect.

Watson swallowed back frustration, anger, and a mixture of emotions. "I see. I've known Max for several years."

Nathanial handed the unconscious driver's mask to Greg. "All yours." A smirk crept across the old man's face. "Seriously. All yours. He was on your team two years ago before taking a promotion, am I right?"

Watson eyed the old man for a moment then, in a soft voice, he asked, "How do you know all this?"

"Because I performed my own private investigation. USPRI, as a whole, is not tasked with training people how to hunt and kill supernaturals. But quite a few agents were approached by high-ranking Government officials and asked to train men for this work. That gives you, your director, and the President complete plausible deniability."

Watson shook his head. "Christ help us. This is bigger than I thought."

Nathan nodded. "Now are you ready to listen to me?"

"I am."

"Good. You can start by checking for pulses, Greg."

Watson frowned. He reached in to check the driver's neck.

Nathan remained stoic, arms crossed over his chest, despite the pain in his joints.

Watson walked back around to the group of mercenaries splayed out across the ground. He checked each body. He opened the back doors of the van, climbed in and checked the last man, slumped up against the side.

Nathan smirked. "Well?"

The agent climbed back out and, with a sigh, he turned to Nathan. "Well ... I'm impressed. They all have a pulse. Why did you let them live?"

"You saw the black kid? Did the glass thing?"

"Yes?"

"He's new on the scene. Got a code of honor thing going."

"What's your point?"

Nathan smirked at Watson. "Watch your tone, Greg. Anyhow, I know what Evan is capable of, so I respect the kid. He doesn't want people getting killed. He says we have to take responsibility for our powers - maybe he's a Spiderman fan, I don't know, but the fact remains ... we should imprison these guys, not kill them. If we go around killing everyone who gets in our way, we'll be dealing with caged animals."

"You're the caged animal at this point, Carrington."

"Yeah. Still, I let these guys live. I did it for the kid."

Watson sighed. "The Government will simply release them. Then the United States Government will have proof Esoteric Humans are still alive and strong enough to resist. We have to silence them."

"Yeah? I have a better idea." Nathan grinned. "The name of the game is subterfuge. Now listen carefully."

"You know we're on the same team, here."

Nathan laughed. "Yeah. I'm the one who helped you score that job as a triple agent, now shut up and listen to the plan. I'm going to play dead. It won't be very hard, because I don't have much longer."

Greg furrowed his brows. "What?"

The old man replied with a half-hearted shrug. "I'm getting too old for this bullshit."

"Jesus. Alright, well, what's my role?"

Nathan closed his hands into fists to keep them from shaking.

"You care more about your image than your joint pain, huh?"

"Hush up and listen." Nathan offered a wry smile. "Alright, here's the game plan: You're going to continue to liaise with your old pals, the CIA. In fact, let's start telling people you are CIA. That should be your cover."

"Should I write this down?"

The old man rolled his eyes. "Didn't I tell you to hush up and listen? Now ... you need to hide that power core you have. August of 2011, remember? Don't talk, just nod." Nathan waited for Watson to acknowledge.

Greg offered a simple nod.

"Good. Don't let it get too far away from you. If you leave the country, it goes with you. If Falcon finds out you still have it, he'll send someone to kill you."

"He knows I have it."

"No, I created disinformation suggesting that you've had it stolen from you, but you haven't told him yet. It's the only thing that has kept you alive."

"Jesus, Carrington. Alright, what else?"

"You're going to need to start working with a friend of mine. Her name is Karla Howard."

"What's her power?"

"She's a real-deal sex demon. Just ... tell her you're gay and she won't waste her time trying to charm you."

"Gay huh?" Watson smirked. "Fine." Watson gestured to the unconscious squad of mercenaries. "What about them?"

"This is the beautiful part: Cover ups. The FBI is going to cover up the deaths of their agents."

"What? How the hell do you figure that?"

Nathan opened and closed his fists with a grimace of pain. "From what I understand, they're not allowed to investigate this because they're not allowed to know about supernatural people. That's your department. The bureau will claim they died on a classified assignment, as heroes in the line of duty."

"You don't think they'll call this a training accident?"

"No, Jim Comey has an honest streak. He'll say enough to honor the men without bringing unnecessary attention."

Watson nodded. "And what's your play?"

"I'm going to leave in Evan's BMW. Follow me so far?"

"You can drive normal combustion engine cars?"

Nathanial furrowed his brows. "Yeah, Greg. Of course I can."

"I thought the whole electricity thing made that impossible?"

"I couldn't when I was younger, but I've practiced. I can control my ability."

"I guess that's good. I'd hate to be around you if you haven't showered in a century."

Nathan narrowed his gaze. "I'm three-and-a-half _times_your age, numbskull. You need to drop the jokes, kid."

"Yeah? And why is that?"

"Because you're going to be the USPRI director in a few years. Time to start acting like it. Also, nobody likes a smartass."

"How do you know what's going to happen in a few years?"

"Because I know an oracle, jackass."

Watson shook his head. "I've always wondered just how much you know."

"I know enough. Now ... I'm leaving in Evan's car. When I'm gone, you're going to wake up that driver guy, Maxwell. He'll recognize you, and you'll say it's okay - say you came to help."

"Fine. If he asks, what should I tell him about the situation?"

Nathan shrugged gingerly. "Say you were looking into these shootings. Tell him you agree that supernatural people are a bad thing ... or something. Bullshit a little, okay?"

Greg nodded. "Go on."

"Then you're going to tell Max that you planted a bug on Evan's car. Tell him and his buddies that you've got a stealth operation in play."

"Is this the part where you play dead?"

"Exactly. Once you've established rapport with Maxwell and his team, I want you to pretend to receive a text message. It came from a secure line. Claim it says that the FBI agents, the old man, and the two kids were all killed in the blast."

"I may need to change the way I word things so that it's more believable, Carrington."

"I don't care what you tell them, so long as it's not the truth. I'm not an agent. You don't have to call me by my last name. So, that's the whole plan in a nutshell. Are we good?"

"I have a confession to make, Nathan."

"What, that you're trying to romance that pregnant rich chick behind her husband's back?"

Watson blinked.

"You're the one who just said you wondered how much I know. I told you - I know enough. So, yes, I know about that married woman you're seeing."

Watson nodded sullenly, as if expecting to upset the old man. "It's complicated. I haven't felt this way about anyone since my fiancée died, August 24th, 2011."

"I told you I already knew that. I've known since it started."

Watson pursed his lips together.

"Don't give me that face, Greg. You know better." Nathan shook his head. "Then again, you're going to marry her one day, and you do a good job raising her son."

"She's talking about getting a divorce."

"Hold off on that," Nathan replied.

"What? Why?"

"Because, Greg, the situation will sort itself out. Her husband doesn't have much longer. Don't tell her that."

"Jesus. Her husband is going to die?"

"There's nothing anyone can do about it. She doesn't need the goddamn stress, being pregnant and all. Just keep it to yourself."

"What do I tell her? She's already talking to a divorce lawyer."

Nathan shook his head with a sigh. "Just tell her to hold off because, with all the crap going on right now, it would be a really bad time. Tell her that things have a way of working themselves out, and to be patient."

"I don't know why, but I believe you."

"Good. Your step-son is going to grow up and be important. Don't you dare inhibit him in any way. He'll be a good kid with good self-discipline. Just give him emotional support, got it?"

Gregory stared at Nathan in silence.

Nathan sighed and walked back towards the old grey BMW. The keys were still in the ignition. "Why did these attacks even happen?"

Greg arched his brows in confusion. "Pardon?

"I mean, I understand it's some top-secret order." Nathan tapped his gnarled old fingers on the roof of the BMW. "The Government claims that the Esoteric Community wanted to go to war with them. It's bullshit, but it's the official line. My question is - what was the catalyst?"

Watson brought a hand back to the nape of his neck and began to rub his fingertips into the muscles at the top of his spine. "There's this new strain of virus. A handful of people are hospitalized. A few died. Doctors claim that it's different than any virus they've ever seen before. I'm told the strain is older than any virus they've seen before. Falcon started working on a cure."

"Christ, I forgot about the goddamn virus. It doesn't even exist, so I put it out of my mind."

"What? Of course it's real."

Nathan scoffed. "There was a real virus. It inhibits abilities. Falcon has been trying to recreate it so he can selectively remove the abilities of those he feels are undeserving."

Greg shrugged. "Falcon told the Government that the virus is mutating. It's learning how to adapt as it goes from person to person. In it's current form, most people are immune to it. But that may not be the case for very long. Blood samples have shown that almost half of San Francisco is already carrying it but it doesn't affect them."

"It's genetically modified to only remove abilities from select supernaturals. It's not a virus, it's a weapon, and it only kills its target."

Watson shrugged. "Falcon told his Government investors that he's going to try creating a cure, and quietly test it in the illegal drug market because people get high as a side effect."

"Jesus." Nathan shook his head.

"So, even with the failed attempts, Falcon is turning a profit on the streets. He's using it to fund something, but God only knows what."

Nathan shook his head with a sigh. "How did the DEA get involved?"

Watson glanced back at the unconscious men to ensure they were still harmless. He looked back at Nathan. "Falcon's undercover endeavor was supposed to be tested on a small handful of homeless people. But he ramped up production to impressive levels. Now Falcon has attracted the attention of the DEA, who are investigating a new drug that's starting to gain popularity in this city."

"That's how this bullshit mess got started, huh?"

Watson shrugged. "The ideal goal is to find a cure, test it in the drug scene, then hand it over to officials and look like a hero."

"No, Falcon is trying to figure out how to make it target one individual."

"The cure?"

"Yeah. He wants to cause all the survivors to lose their abilities. Then he's going to make a cure that spares select people from losing their powers."

"But I thought it was some sort of flu?"

Nathan shrugged. "He's spreading it like a virus, so that it seems like a flu. If people are scared of getting sick, and you make this virus cause cold symptoms, the Government will throw money Falcon's way to make a cure."

"Falcon thinks he's a hero in his own mind for various reasons. In order to keep the government funding coming in, he's been quietly telling the bureaucrats that the virus came from supernatural people. Falcon claims that all Specials all infected, and that it mutated to harm normal people, now."

"Jesus, no wonder the hunters are being funded by the goddamn Government."

"Exactly. All Esoteric Beings are deemed as "dangerous" except a select few that Falcon claims are "naturally immune" - obviously, that label falls to anyone that is working with Falcon."

Nathan scratched his head. "What a load of bullshit. They actually believe Falcon? I mean, c'mon. This sounds like the plot of a cheesy 'B' flick."

"So how true is it?" Watson asked.

Nathan shrugged somewhat. "From what I understand, the original strain of the virus was only deadly to people with abilities. Something in their genetics or whatever."

Watson frowned. "Some of the people who got sick don't have abilities. Guess it mutated. I don't know how that stuff works. Look, just get out of here before these guys wake up. I'll take care of everything."

The old man replied with a wan smile. "Good. Since I'm going to be playing dead, this will be the last time I see you for ... well, maybe forever. Remember to call Isaac when you get the chance and report in." Nathan slid into the BMW. The old shocks creaked under his frail weight.

"Steven Milford."

Nathan pulled the door shut and put the window down. "What about him?"

"You called him Isaac."

Nathan chuckled. "Second time I've done that today. Guess I really am getting old. Heh." He started the car. "God that boy drove this thing into the ground. Don't know why kids have to be so hard on their cars." Nathan put the BMW into gear and drove off.

X

X

An hour later...

** Karla woke up with a start, eyes wide** , in the window-seat of an airplane. "Christ," she said, heart pounding in the base of her throat.

An adjacent man whispered, "You okay? Bad dream?"

"Yeah." She thought back to the dream.

"Is this your first time on a plane by yourself?" He wore a wedding ring.

"I've flown plenty of times and it never bothered me until the last few trips." She shook her head and ran her fingers back through the canary strands that framed her face.

Karla licked her lips and glanced out of the airplane window with a sigh. She leaned back in the seat and shifted her weight uncomfortably.

"It won't be much longer." He lowered his gaze to his crossword puzzle.

"Yeah." Karla reflected on her dream. She closed her eyes, trying to recall all the details.

In the dream, Karla was on a plane ... she stood in the cockpit with a Louis Vuitton Métis clutched to her chest, and no one was there, flying the plane. The plane dipped down. She saw a river far below. She couldn't stop the plane from plummeting towards the river, far below... She opened her eyes.

Karla looked down at a napkin with the numbers '185-1997' written in lipstick. And, for some reason, the numbers terrified her.

She shifted her weight again but felt an uncomfortable sensation. She grimaced in realization.

The man in the adjacent seat turned to his wife in the aisle-seat. He cleared his throat and asked, "What's a four letter word for a buck? I've tried deer and stag, but they don't work."

Another woman two seats down said, "Maybe it's not an animal? Try coin?"

Karla cleared her throat and said, "Hart. H-A-R-T. It's old-English for a stag." She stood up and added, "Excuse me, I need to get by, please."

The man leaned back and tucked his feet beneath his seat so Karla could scoot past him. He penciled in the four letters and said, "Oh, hey! Thanks! It worked! You're a smart little girl."

The succubus offered a practiced smile. She made her way into the aisle and opened the overhead compartment. She reached into her handbag and withdrew a small package from within.

She walked towards the lavatories. "Little girl my ass," she mumbled.

Karla stopped by the lavatory door, turned to a nearby stewardess, and asked, "How much longer before we land?"

"Oh, uhm..." The lady glanced at her wristwatch. "Actually, the Captain should be putting up the seatbelt warning any minute."

"I need to use the bathroom."

"Could you hold it, ma'am? It won't be long, I promise. Is this your first time flying?"

"Ah, no. I used to love it. The last few times, though, have made me feel awkward. Not sure why."

"Oh, you're so young to fly so often."

Karla grinned impishly. "Yeah. I get that a lot. I'm a little older than I look, but I appreciate the compliment." She held her hand out, showing the stewardess a tampon package.

"Oh." The flight attendant nodded towards the lavatory. "Go on, sweetheart."

With a flip of her blond locks, Karla eased into the bathroom and shut the door behind herself.

The succubus approached a mirror above the sink and splashed water onto her face. "God," she whispered, "What the hell? I'm not afraid of dying. I'm not afraid of crashing - I could just teleport out of this thing. What the hell is my problem?"

She finished taking a moment to compose herself, insert the annoying hygiene product, and wash her hands. She turned back to the mirror and sighed. "I don't know what I'd do if this lasted as long as a normal woman's cycle. I'd lose my mind."

Karla left the cramped bathroom. She made her way back down the aisle and found her seat again.

A short time later, the airplane landed and its passengers disembarked.

Karla waited until the aisle thinned out. She stood up and opened a compartment above her head.

Her eyes fell upon a forty-five hundred dollar Ralph Lauren 'Madison.' With a smirk, she pulled out the classy handbag and sighed in content. "See? I knew it had to be a nightmare. No way I'd go anywhere with a purse that costs less than two grand."

She fell into step with the last couple of people leaving the plane and made her way out to the concourse.

Karla followed the foot traffic through the airport, past the baggage claim.

She continued through the crowd, ignoring the baggage carousels. She left the airport through automatic glass doors. Out on the curb, a line of taxicabs and cars ran parallel to one another.

An old BMW pulled up in front of her and the passenger window lowered. "Going my way, Trouble?"

Karla stooped a bit, looking in at Nathanial Carrington. "What on God's green earth are you doing with this old hoopdie?"

Nathan snorted. "No one uses that word anymore. Get in. I was in the area and thought you might want a ride."

"That's sweet. Seriously, though, what are you doing in this old car?"

Nathan shifted his weight in the driver's seat. "It's a long story. I've got an errand to run in the Haight. Can I drop you off somewhere?"

"Yeah. Actually. There's a warehouse that's getting renovated into a nightclub. It's still under construction. I need to go and pick my friend up from there."

Nathanial dead-panned.

"What's with the blank expression?"

He shook his head with a sigh. "Pages Lost?"

"I ... I don't know. I don't even know if they've named it yet."

"Never mind. I know the one you're talking about. Get in."

Karla opened the door, settled in the seat and reached for the seatbelt. It came down over her chest, accentuating her curves. She held her handbag on her lap. "I flew to-and-from DC without freaking out. Proud of me?" She pulled her door shut.

"Glad to hear it, kiddo. I knew you'd eventually beat your fear." Nathan eased into the accelerator.

"Don't drive like a lunatic, babe."

"I wonder if the state would take away my license if they knew how old I really was..." Nathan offered a wrinkly old grin.

"You're incorrigible."

"True. Anyway, I know what you're up to. You think you're going to find Fox Parker, right? Well, he's not there just yet. Trust me on this."

Karla blinked in silence.

"You'd be better off looking up that Japanese broad again. We could use someone like that if things get dicey." Nathan drove out onto the main road. The BMW picked up speed. "Take Donovan with you."

"How on earth do you know that I'm looking for Fox Parker, let alone that he isn't in that warehouse? I tracked him there. Why wouldn't he be there?"

"Yeah, well, he was moved. But he'll be back eventually. You're just too early. And Karla, I'm a close friend with YiaYia. The oracle tells me things. Stop asking so many questions and trust me."

"But..."

"I've known you for over a century, Karla. Have I ever lied to you?"

"No." She chuckled and glanced out the window. "I suppose you've earned unquestioning trust from me by now. It's still weird how you know everything all the time."

"I'm not a badass unless I know everyone's secrets."

"True." Karla relaxed into the seat. "For this car being so old, the seats are pretty comfortable. So where should I start looking for the Japanese demigod?"

"Kitsune," he said, pronouncing the word, 'kit-sue-nay' with three distinct syllables. "She's a very, very close friend of mine. I don't know where you should look. I just know she's looking for me. You've met her and her boyfriend in San Francisco."

"Oh. Right, her. Got'cha."

"Do you remember what she looks like?"

Karla nodded emphatically. "Yeah. Irish face, Irish hair, brown eyes, silk kimono; adorable boyfriend."

"Uh, yeah. Okay, you remember. Good for you."

"She's a cutie. Have you two ever had a thing?"

Nathan scoffed. "No. Sinopa is a sweetheart, but she's not my type. How about you start calling in your contacts and see what you can find. I'll drop you off at Donovan's jewelry store. It's not far from where I'm going."

"Sounds like a plan to me. You should have hooked up with the fox girl at least once when you were younger. You were handsome in your youth."

"Alright, alright. Enough of that." Nathan brought his left hand up and touched the gold ring hanging from his neck. "I guess I prefer my demon girls with blond hair and no fox tails."

"Admit it, you had a thing for succubae."

"Yup. So sue me."

Karla offered Nathan a gentle smile. She reached over and placed her hand on his knee. "My sister adored you. I know you loved her. I hope I was a suitable replacement after she died."

"Let's not talk about this."

"No, we've dodged this topic for a century. It's time you face me and open up."

"Fine." Nathan tightened his jaw, causing his aged face to contort slightly. "You're not some ... replacement, Karla. You were _never_some 'rebound,' okay?"

"I helped you heal after my sister died."

"Yeah, okay, you and I had a thing after my wife died. You helped with the mourning. But I didn't use you for that. I cared for you both, individually, in different ways. Look, let's not talk about this, okay?"

"No, I want to know - why didn't we ever take our relationship to the next level, Nathan? You owe me an explanation."

"Because I knew what was going to happen one day. I would grow old, you would stay young. Besides, I wasn't your soul mate, kiddo. I knew Marcus Howard would come along one day and melt your heart."

"Chance," she whispered. "You broke up with me ages before he was even born."

"Yeah, it was almost eight decades between when we broke up and when you met Marcus. You're right, okay, Karla? But you didn't need to be tied down to an old man like me. I wanted you to be happy when Marcus came along in 1999."

Karla looked back out the window. "You're right. Let's not talk about this. Sorry I brought it up." She clutched her handbag with a wanton sigh. Her thoughts turned to Chance, and how much she missed him. Her heart ached.

X

X

September 15, 9:15pm PDT Haight-Ashbury, San Francisco

** Donovan Loupe crossed his jewelry store.** He locked the last display case and made his way to the front door. Donovan pulled down a roll of metal shutters.

He turned, saw someone out of the corner of his eye, and froze. "We're closed, obviously. So state thy business, trespasser."

He turned the rest of the way about and came face to face with Karla.

She grinned. "Cliché as ever."

Donovan sighed. "Oh. It's you."

"It's me!" Karla announced in a singsong tone. "Happy Rosh Hashanah!"

"Isn't that tomorrow at sunset?"

"Hell if I know, I'm not Jewish."

Donovan shook his head. "Trust me, it's tomorrow."

Karla turned and walked through the store, admiring the display pieces. "Did'ja miss me, Donnie-boy?"

"Quite so. I counted every passing breath taken without you," he said softly, in a terse tone. "To what do I owe the honor of thy presence?"

"Oh babe ... we really need to work on your wording. Archaic speech patterns are so not cool anymore." She paused, looked back at him and smiled brightly. "Oh, honey, am I vexing you?"

Donovan reached for his tie and adjusted the knot. "Verily."

She approached him. "There's that sparkling repartee I missed so much!" Karla reached up and cupped either side of his face. "Now! I need your help! It's time we go fox hunting."

"Pardon? The Parker boy?"

"Not quite. Have you ever met a kitsune?"

Silence.

"Well?"

Donovan shook his head.

Karla shrugged the said, "She's a Shinto messenger god who takes the form of a multi-tailed fox. She and her human boyfriend are totally adorbs. I mean..." Karla grinned. "Adorable. They're adorable. Anyway, Nathanial is looking for her and has reason to believe she's looking for him as well. So! I need to find her. Can you help me?"

"Not to rain on your parade, and correct me if I'm wrong, but the Esoteric community has banned gods and demigods from this realm. Treaties are in place to keep them away. It's been nearly a thousand years since those treaties were put into place."

"Yup. But supernatural humans went bye-bye, dear. Besides, Nathan told me she wasn't yet powerful enough to be banned according to the laws."

"I see."

"And we could use her help. She..." Karla's eyes lit up. She leaned in close and clapped her hands together. "...Controls fire. Fire! How rad is that shit, right?"

"Rad?" Donovan quirked a single brow. "Speaking of archaic words - lexicon that hasn't been spoken publicly since the 1980s..."

Karla grinned. "Touché. I loved the 80's. I'd just mastered teleportation; I was using it to get into all sorts of trouble where I couldn't normally go..." Her grin broadened. "Plus some of the fashion was really cute. Lots of colors, tight pants - my ass looked fantastic when the 80's came."

"Uh-huh."

"I remember being in the back of a night club, with my D.A.R.E. shirt and stockings, getting plowed in the back room by a bouncer hopped up on coke to the Purple Rain album..."

Donovan held his hands up. "Please. Just stop." He took a deep breath and sighed. "Where should we start looking?"

"I was thinking of asking Methos. Or, well, Lance rather... Whatever. Then I could call in some favors and check out some Sushi restaurants. Red heads that speak perfect Japanese but wear handmade silk kimonos ... a Sushi chef will remember someone like that. Someone is bound to have seen her."

"Very well. Let me finish closing down my store."

"By the way, I saw your eye twitch when I mentioned Rosh Hashanah. I heard your voice when you corrected me about the date. What's the deal? Are you Jewish? Did I offend you?"

Donovan shook his head. "I married into Messianic Judaism in 1977."

Karla's eyes widened. "You were married? Where is she? Where's your ring?"

"She passed in 1999 from myocardial infarction. It was very sudden and unexpected." Donovan gestured to a sign on the wall above the register. "I opened the store in 2014 in memory of her. She had an affinity for jewelry, and was fascinated by the sciences of geology, gemology, and how gemstones were formed."

"Oh. I thought because your last name was Loupe, it was just ... like a family thing."

"It was. It was one of many things we had in common."

"Any kids, Donnie?"

"She was unable. We had pets instead. She had a great deal of love to give."

"Jesus, babe. I'm sorry. Heart attacks suck." Karla frowned. "The love of my life died in 1999, too. What a crappy year, huh?"

"Indeed."

"I'm sorry." Karla approached Donovan and hugged him.

He stood still. After a moment, he eased one arm around her.

"You've been single ever since?"

"No. I had another romance a few years ago, but she used her ability in public." Donovan looked away from Karla. "She was very passionate about peace between mundanes and Specials. She stopped an armed assault on the curb in front of this building."

Karla grimaced. "That's why you were upset I was attacking rapists."

"Yes. She was a historian with two degrees. She was capable of rapid cellular regeneration. When she witnessed an attack, she put herself in front of the gunman. The man unloaded his magazine into her. She took his gun from him and struck him in the face."

"What happened, babe?"

Donovan spoke slowly, so that his emotional state wouldn't cause him to revert to his archaic speaking state. "I still remember his teeth on the pavement. His nose was broken. Someone captured it on a cellphone camera. The Justiciar knew she was well loved and respected in the community, so he gave her a trial by jury. She was found guilty, and submitted to death by lethal injection."

Karla abruptly turned away from Donovan.

"Karla?"

"Chance volunteered to an injection. He died in my arms."

"Now you understand why it bothers me when you attack people. It reminds me of..."

Karla held her hands up. "Okay, okay stop. I'm sorry. Today is a really weird day for me. I've been in this weird funk ever since flying back from DC. I tried to overcompensate by being silly and hyper when I got here, but it's not working."

"Karla..."

She chuckled and turned back towards him. "Even sex demons have ... you know. Which sucks, because I don't think I can get pregnant. But it only lasts about twelve hours. I know, I know - too much information. I just want you to know I'm not always so hormonal - it should stop soon. It's just a crappy day and it started while I was on the plane."

Karla..."

"I need your help finding Nathan Carrington's friend, okay? Please?"

"I will help you," Donovan said in a calming voice. He headed back toward the counter. "Let me finish closing the store. Please step outside so I can set the alarm..." He glanced back over his shoulder but she was already gone. "Pray tell, what am I getting myself into this eventide?"

X

X

11:50pm Pier-80, San Francisco ...

** The empty lot** would have been large enough for most modern malls. Out near the water, there was a warehouse building on the right and enormous cranes on the left, facing the bay.

The large empty concrete lot had occasional light posts in a grid throughout. A cargo ship at the end of the large rectangular section of concrete appeared small by comparison to the strip of land, but the vessel was still large enough to be accompanied by a tugboat.

Sinopa Crevan rubbed a finger behind the red-furred triangle of her right ear. They perked up from her hair, positioned forward. Her pointed fox ears shifted to the sides.

She listened for anyone or anything that might be in the vicinity. She approached an aging white shack with a grey roof at the center of the lot, about thirty-to-forty feet from the water. It appeared empty.

"Jules was right," she murmured, "I should not have come here alone." She adjusted the lay of her kimono. She ran her palm over the silky fabric and smoothed a fabric dune with her palm.

Sinopa narrowed her gaze. The vertical slits of her pupils dilated somewhat in the low yellowish lighting of the lampposts. Their soft electronic hum caused her left ear to flicker listlessly in irritation.

Off to her left, a silver van came out from behind the warehouse at the far end of the enormous concrete dock. It drove over to the starboard side of the cargo ship, far enough away that its passengers didn't see her.

The warehouse, alone, was almost eight hundred feet long. Yet the building was small in comparison to the concrete dock, which could have easily held all of Candlestick Park with room left over for parking.

Seeing the enormous concrete surface so empty felt strange.

The van was far enough that it was the size of her thumb at arm's length. Sinopa headed towards it. She avoided the light posts to remain concealed in the gloom.

As the kitsune neared the van, she could see that a container was being offloaded from the ship.

Workers opened the container and used pallet jacks to remove a wooden skid. The men were adorned in black paramilitary jackets, vests and pants, but they didn't have their masks pulled down over their faces.

She reached for the comforting grip of a katana strung to her hip. She clenched her hand into a fist around the handle and drew the blade.

Sinopa drew a small container of choji oil from her pocket and sat down in the middle of the enormous pier. She proceeded to oil, powder and polish the blade in a way that seemed almost ceremonial.

She lifted the blade and gazed over the blunt edge. She turned it about and smiled inwardly, "Ah, the Soshu Kitae method makes for a fine shinsakuto."

In the reflection of the blade, a white-furred nine-tailed fox appeared, glinting in the light of the nearest lamppost.

Sinopa angled the expensive blade to best see her teacher in the reflection of the distant lighting.

The white fox opened its maw and spoke. "Sinopa-san, konichiwa. You would battle without me? I would be highly disappointed."

Sinopa eyed her sensei. A smile spread across her lips. "You have not been to the Earth realm in a long, long time. Are you sure?"

Tamamo replied with a similar grin. "If you could find someone to possess..."

Sinopa nodded. "I expected you to ask."

"Did you now?"

"You are worried. A hunting force was successful in culling the community of Specials. To attack them alone would be foolish. You would undoubtedly wish to assist me. Am I correct in this assumption, Tamamo-sama?"

Tamamo's grin melted into a playful smirk. "A fine sword you carry, considering its youth. I learned on the tachi style. I prefer the curvature of..."

"Sensei, I am preparing for the possibility of combat." She paused, not wanting to upset her superior.

Tamamo tilted her head with a look of curiosity.

Sinopa changed her tone to one of respect. "If it would please you, I would benefit greatly from your aid. I have a katana for you as well, hand made in the traditional methods, of course."

Tamamo sighed and yawned. "I wield only the kogitsune-maru forged with love by Munechika. That is a proper sword."

"So you will assist me?"

"Your prior assumption was correct. I would not send you into battle against such an enemy."

"You have my gratitude, Tamamo-sama."

"Very well. Find me a suitable female host."

"Hai." Sinopa returned the katana to its sheath and moved swiftly across the dock. She glanced about, counting the men working throughout the area.

Sinopa's gaze fell upon a forklift driver - a woman of average weight and height with dirty-blond hair. She wore overalls and was sipping from the straw of a McDonalds cup.

Sinopa waited until the forklift came back towards the front of the docked ship, away from the van.

She stepped out from behind a metal cargo container sitting on the dock, and made herself visible to the woman driving the machine.

The smell of propane exhaust caused Sinopa to scrunch her nose. She flagged the woman down.

The forklift changed direction and moved alongside a container, one of several at the end of the dock.

The driver eased to a stop. "Lady, how'd you get out here? You can't be here, you're not..." She stopped and looked at the way Sinopa was dressed. The woman blinked. "Is there one of those, uh, 'Japanime' cartoon conventions in town or something?"

"Please accept my sincerest apology for what I am about to do." Sinopa drew her blade and touched the recently oiled reflective surface to the woman's throat. "Come down from your ... machine."

The woman put her hands up, eyes wide and dropped the McDonalds cup on the pavement. The top came off, spilling half-melted ice cubes.

She stepped down off the forklift and let Sinopa guide her behind the metallic cargo container.

The kitsune came about and took the woman's hands together. "Hold still. I will not harm you." Sinopa touched the blade to the woman's fingertips.

A rush of misty white illumination came from the blade and entered the lady beneath her fingernails.

The woman's cheeks appeared to sink inward, slightly, becoming narrower and more foxlike. Her stormy eyes turned to an amber brown, and her pupils transitioned until their shape became slightly vertical.

The woman lifted her hands and gazed upon her palms. "Shiro." She examined her clothing. Next, she took a deep breath, followed by another. "What ... is that horrid stench?"

"It emanates from the back of the machine she drove," Sinopa mused. She nodded towards the forklift's propane tank. "She is the only female I could find on the dock. I apologize if she is not to your liking."

"Sinopa, this is the first time I have breathed air of the Earth realm since..." Tamamo paused. "I cannot be bothered to remember exactly how the Western Calendar works."

"Hai, 1155, Tamamo-sama. How long can you hold this human in a state of kitsunetsuki?"

"As long as is necessary to help you." A breeze caused the smell of propane to change direction. The possessed dockworker sniffed at the air again. "This body needs her strength - did you bring food?"

"Food?"

"Tabemono, mizu?"

"Eigo, eigo." Sinopa nodded and opened a satchel on her other hip, opposite of her sword. "Tofu, aburagé, azukimeshi; bean curd sushi. I brought it for myself. However, I will gladly share it with you."

"Excellent."

Sinopa eased a rectangular Tupperware container from the satchel using one hand, and returned her sword back to its sheath with her other.

Tamamo, as the possessed woman, moved closer.

Sinopa used her free hand to remove the plastic lid. "I have a flask of water as well. Must we do this now, though? This ... picnic?"

Tamamo seized the container, delighted and hungry. "Little one, this will be your first major battle. I could not think to let you go into combat of this nature alone. However, if this body sustains a mortal blow ... I will be returned to the Celestial Realm. So I would prefer to eat now."

"Very well."

Tamamo opened her left hand, holding an onion-shaped white ball, glowing with a soft orange core. She kissed the 'hoshi-no-tama' and placed it into the chest pocket of the overalls that she wore.

Sinopa remained quiet.

"For now, Sinopa-san, we eat. Why are we attacking these soldiers of fortune?"

"Sensei, I have tracked down the artifact stolen from the Emperor. It will be on a shipment that is to be brought to Doctor Aris Falcon. I believe this is the location of its arrival."

"Yes, Falcon must not take the object into his possession."

Sinopa nodded. She grimaced. "Why did you need to possess a woman? I thought a tenko can possess any gender?"

"I can. But I am a woman. It is more comfortable. Although, I have considered possessing Shoko Asahara and making him scratch out his own eyes. Sadly, that terrorist scum refuses to touch reflective surfaces, so..."

"Hai. I may be mistaken, but I believe he is now dead. Can we focus, sensei?"

"Sinopa-chan. This body will most likely die tonight. Allow me to enjoy it while I am able." She reached for a portion of food, drew it into her fingers, brought it to her nose, and inhaled deeply.

"Why are you sniffing it?"

"Sinopa, I have missed this simple luxury. The scent; the taste. The sensation of stuffing myself to satisfaction." Tamamo shoved the bean curd sushi piece into her mouth shamelessly. She spoke over the food with her mouth full. "Oishii."

Sinopa, almost disgusted by the sight, relinquished the entire Tupperware container with a sigh. "Dine to your content, then, sensei. But please do it quickly before they move the artifact beyond our grasp. And please try not to let that innocent human body die. She does not deserve such. She is an innocent."

"Hai. I will only need but a moment, little one. And ... I give you my word I will try to keep this host alive."

X

X

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Next chapter: https://www.sofurry.com/view/532669