 
## Tainted By Darkness

J T Chapman

© 2012, J T Chapman

Smashwords Edition

Published by KittenPress

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.

## Table of contents

Tainted By Darkness

In The Name Of Love

A Song For The Ferryman

Inked

Fallen Star

Trapped

Retribution

Resurrection

A Mother's Love
Tainted By Darkness

They gather in the dark: those who did not traverse to face their judgement when their mortal shells expired. It is within these darkest regions that the veil to the mortal realm is weakest.

Sentinels stand at each of the seven gates, commanded by the gods to guard against the spirits that try to break out of Akasha.

But there are some who manage.

Many come seeking closure, demanding retribution for wrongs done onto them by their mortal brethren. No longer visible, they collate shadows, merging with the darkness to assume corporeal form that allows them to move among you, yet remain hidden; at least until it's too late to do anything more than beg for mercy.

For darkness taints even the purest of souls.

## In The Name Of Love

Sometimes, we must do terrible things in the name of love.

I watch her sleep, my little love, her arm curled around that flaming dog in an embrace I wish she could share with me. The veil between our realms will not permit it, nor will it allow her to see me. Perhaps that's a blessing for I am no longer the man she once called Dad.

The blast that took my life also scarred me in death, disfigured me beyond recognition. I glance at the photo on her bedside table; the one Laura took of Sophie and me together the day before I left for Afghanistan. She looked so happy; we both did.

No amount of training could have prepared me for that day, the day I heard the click and felt the sand move beneath my foot. They say your life flashes before your eyes, but I can assure that's not what happens \- at least not in my case.

The sand rose in slow motion around me. I watched with sadistic fascination as my boot disintegrated, the flesh flayed from my limb. I felt everything. Every molecule of skin and tissue as it broke away. The flames that followed the burst of sand seemed to stop before they engulfed me completely. Their heat seared as they flickered and licked at my skin. From their depths appeared a horned creature with breath hotter than Hell itself.

"So young," it said. "Your one desire is within my power to grant, if you wish it, but it comes at a price. Are you willing to serve me in exchange?"

"Anything!" The word left my throat in an agonised scream. I felt almost detached from it, as if someone else had said it.

How could I have known the deal I made with the creature would guarantee my eternal damnation?

Flames spewed from the creature's mouth with its triumphant roar, swallowing me and bathing me in blistering agony once more.

When I opened my eyes, I stood at the sandy roadside devoid of my army issue clothing. My comrades rose to their feet from where the blast had thrown them, and they stared through me to the ground behind. I turned, following their line of sight. In the bottom of the crater left by the road mine, sat a limb, a left hand. It wasn't mine; mine was still attached to my arm. I searched the faces of those left alive to determine whose it was. They were all accounted for.

"Jesus," Bill rasped, sweeping the helmet off his head. "Where's the new kid?"

His words confused me. I'm known as the new kid and I was standing right in front of him by this point. He moved forward, straight through me, and I felt his body heat. It wasn't unpleasant, a little uncomfortable perhaps, but not something I would go out of my way to avoid. I know he felt something too, because he looked around with a frown creasing his forehead, then shook his head as if to clear away an unwelcome thought. He used a rag to pick something up from the ground beside a few nearby boulders, wiped it, studied it for a few seconds and tucked it into his breast pocket.

"Someone want to retrieve the kid's hand? Looks like that's all that's left of him," Bill asked as he patted the pocket he placed the item into. "Apart from his dog tags."

The enormity of what I'd agreed to became apparent within a matter of moments. The creature appeared beside Raz and made a gun shape with its hand, pointing it at his head.

It showed its teeth with a fiery grin as it spoke. "I don't care how you get it, but I want this one's soul."

"What?" I stuttered. "Not Raz, please. He's my friend."

"Was your friend, you mean. Would you rather collect another soul, one a little closer to home, perhaps?"

With a snap of its claw-like fingers, we stood at the edge of a road. My road. Outside my neighbour's home. The street looked different than I remembered, the moon seemed unnaturally big and the colour of everything muted with tones of amber. Reasoning dictated that it was the sudden change from bright desert sun to the overcast late evening of a town several hundred miles away that affected my vision.

Two burley men stood tall at the entrance as if on sentry duty. The creature motioned me forward with a wave of its hand.

"Oh God, no, I can't. They went through too much when Becca disappeared last year. Please..."

"As much as I like to hear you beg, I'm afraid we have a deal and you will fulfil our bargain."

It strode toward the gate, the sentinels dropping to one knee as it passed. I couldn't help but follow it; each of my footsteps mirrored those taken by the creature against my will.

The house was an exact replica of my home a few doors along, bar the colour of the walls. The photos of Becca had been taken down since my last visit; they used to grace every square inch of wall and counter space. Everything looked so bare and neglected.

Footsteps padding along the upper floor rang eerily loud in the otherwise quiet house, alerting us to a presence. Little Christine, who was the same age as Sophie, came barrelling down the stairs in nothing but her nightgown. She stopped at the front door and turned to look straight at us.

"Becca?" Christine asked. I could hear the hope in her voice.

The creature waved.

"No," I said with conviction. "I will not hurt a child."

"Children's souls are not for harvesting. Come."

We left Christine sitting on the bottom step, staring wistfully at the front door. It was as we reached the top of the stairs that I heard her for the first time in over a year. Hiccupping sobs, interspersed with whimpers, drew me to the door that used to be Becca's room. Cowering in the corner of the bare room was Becca - or an apparition of her - the bruising and scarring as evident on her skin as mine was. I touched her outstretched hand and she showed me what happened the night she disappeared in a replay of events that, had I been alive, would have made me vomit.

Something inside me snapped. I didn't hesitate a second longer in seeking out the woman I had trusted to watch over my angel while Laura and I were working. With great pleasure, I eased my spectre-hand between her ribs as she slept, and felt the utmost satisfaction as her eyes opened wide the moment I applied pressure to her heart.

"That wasn't so hard, now was it?" Becca said from the doorway.

It was a strange thing for her to say and as I turned to look at her, she morphed into the creature. Its chuckles at my horrified expression when I realised that it had tricked me, deepened in timbre until I felt them rather than heard them.

It moved to the bedside as, what I can only describe as smoke, rose from Natalie's open mouth. It closed its eyes and inhaled the essence of her life force with a moan of unadulterated pleasure. Curiosity got the better of me and I couldn't help myself, I needed to get a closer look. The creature grabbed me by the back of my neck and held me so my face hovered over Natalie's. I refused to inhale - I didn't need to breathe after all - but when its claws jabbed into my lower jaw, the pain made me gasp.

One taste of the sweet nectar was all I needed.

I inhaled deeply. The first thing I felt was warmth spreading in tendrils from my chest out to my limbs. It was a similar sensation to the one I had when Bill walked through me, yet at the same time it felt different, it made me feel alive. I, too, moaned as sensation after sensation flooded my nervous system; every pleasure point titillated and teased to ecstasy. The creature flung me away much too soon.

Once it had finished breathing her in, it turned to me with a satisfied smile. There were no flames to accompany its sigh of relief, nor did its eyes glow the way they had; they looked more glazed as if the creature were high.

Sharp, yellowed claws held my jaw in a vice like grip. "Exhale," it demanded.

As I did as it instructed, it placed its mouth over mine and took the warmth from me in a kiss. A kiss of death.

"Our deal," it said, "is cemented. You may give one essence to your daughter a week, but only after you give me three. Her illness will not return as long as you feed her life from your breath."

With my agreement to its terms, my choice of target was no longer limited to people the creature wanted, I was allowed to choose mine for myself; for my daughter. I didn't think about the names on the creature's list as people, more as a means to an end. No longer did I consider who they were or what impact their death would have on others around them. I took their lives and fed the demon their souls.

My choices were a different matter. I discovered early on in my new career that the souls of bad people - murders, rapists, child molesters - were tainted with darkness. A bitter aftertaste, laced with violence, as it entered my being. It appeared to affect Sophie's emotions too and she became irritable at the drop of a hat. The day the new kitten reappeared with a broken neck was the day I realized how badly tarnished her own soul had become. That was when my targets changed.

Instead of the killer, I stole life from the victims. I sought out the evangelists and God-fearing people. In the dead of night, I'd stalk the streets and deprive the homeless of their warmth; drunken revellers would lose their footing and fall from high places; businessmen would suffer heart attacks; drug addicts would overdose; firemen would get trapped in burning buildings and soldiers would step on land mines.

I watch her sleep, my little love, her arm curled around our dog in an embrace I wish she could share with me. The veil between our realms will not permit it, nor will it allow her to see me. Perhaps that's a blessing for I am no longer the man she once called Dad. I am a killer of the innocent, a gatherer of souls and determined to give nothing but the best to my daughter.

Sometimes, we must do terrible things in the name of love.

Back to start

## A Song for the Ferryman

They fear me, fear my kind; I guess they have good reason.

Don't get me wrong, it has nothing to do with how we look. The idea that we're ugly as sin with pallid skin and rotten teeth is a rather insulting misconception. I've been told that I'm very pretty and have always had plenty of male attention. No, if we could be distinguished by our everyday appearance, I fear they would find a way to end our existence. It has been the way of man to destroy the things that he does not understand, or those things he fears, since the very beginning.

I clearly remember the first time my song was torn from me. It was the day after my eighteenth birthday. I was standing in a queue at the supermarket and the guy in front had just set his basket on the conveyer belt. He turned his head and smiled flirtatiously at the girl working the till, but there was something strange about his eyes; they looked dull and empty. I think the term lifeless best describes how they were.

What sounded like a beautiful melody to my ears was nothing short of an ear-splitting screech to those who stood nearby. The bloke in front turned to face me and gave me this petrified look. I'd never seen anything like it before; as if his fear was so deep he couldn't move; couldn't as much as blink. He knew what I was before I did.

My hand flew to my face to cover my mouth in an attempt to stifle the song. It worked to a degree, as he was able to pull his gaze from mine, and had enough presence of mind to get as far away from me as quickly as possible. He didn't notice the car that swerved to avoid the child who'd slipped her hand from her mother's grasp. Nor did he notice the figure standing opposite.

Dressed in black, from his motorcycle helmet to his biker boots, the figure watched it all unfold. He raised a hand and wiggled his fingers at me in greeting. I couldn't see his face through the visor, but I got the impression he was laughing at me; laughing at my inability to stop not just my song, but also the chain of events. To any onlooker, he appeared to be just like everyone else who watched - a hapless witness to the accident that took the young man's life.

I squeezed my eyes tightly shut, but I still heard the thud of metal on flesh intermingled with the sound of skidding tyres. I opened them at the exact moment his head met the concrete pavement after he was tossed into the air from the impact with the car. Blood leached and pooled beneath his head almost instantly.

Screams filled the air and muffled the one battling to leave my mouth as, unseen to any but the figure and me, pale-blue mist rose from the deceased's mouth in a steady flow - his soul departing from its shell. I was torn between letting my song free to lift the veil between the realms as my grandmother had described, and holding it back for fear of discovery. The hesitation cost me my first charge as the figure held a clear, fist-sized globe in front of him. The mist seemed drawn to it, filling the globe in seconds.

He turned and walked into the gathering crowd, lost to my sight among the throng of ogling sadists. While the gore distracted everyone, I too, hurried away.

Grandma was distraught when I told her. "No, that's not right. The Keening shouldn't have started until after the death. We sing to lift the veil so the Ferryman can guide it to the afterlife, what you described sounds more like a warning of an imminent death. Something we don't do."

"So why did it start before then?"

"I'm not sure, but your Aunt Siobhan mentioned something similar happening a few years ago. Start packing some of your things, I'll ring and let her know you're coming."

I didn't argue, you don't disagree with Grandma and not feel her wrath. After the day I'd had, Grandma's anger was not something I needed.

She sent me to live with Aunt Siobhan in the country. Primarily to learn some control of the wail, but also to find out why my song started before the guy had actually died. Predicting the death of random strangers is not something I wanted to have happen in public ever again.

During my stay with Aunt Siobhan, she taught me how to control the volume of my song. "We must never stop it," she told me with such conviction that I wondered if she had tried at some point. "The soul will be lost if we do."

This was something Grandma had never told me. "What do you mean by lost?"

"Our job is to see that the souls cross over with the Ferryman. If it doesn't pass through the veil, it's lost. Reaper will come and claim it."

"How do we know who's going die where, and when? We'd need to know if we're to be in the right place at the right time."

She went to the bookcase and withdrew a large tattered book from the middle shelf. Opening it at a random page, she set it on my lap and pointed at the script. "We have a list. Dates, times and places appear almost every day, giving us 24 hours' notice of where we need to be."

I examined the text. "But it doesn't say who?"

"No, dear, the powers-that-be stopped telling us who, when someone tried to interfere with fate." She threw me glance that said she hadn't meant to say that.

"I thought fate was destined."

"As did I," she replied with a resigned smile. "I have a feeling that fate hasn't finished with them yet."

"Why would anyone interfere with it?"

She shrugged. "They felt it wasn't the named soul's time."

"So, what did they do? Warn the person?"

"No." Her hesitation spoke volumes and only added to my suspicion that she was hiding something.

"What then?" She wouldn't answer. I followed her around the cottage as she made herself busy trying to avoid my questions. "Will your telling me change the outcome?"

"I guess not," she finally relented.

"Then why won't you tell me?"

"Fine. She refused to call the Ferryman to take the soul. I can't say as I blame her for doing it. If I were put in her position, I'd have likely done the same." She paused and swallowed audibly. I could tell that what she was about to say was difficult for her to reveal. "Your mother loved you too much to let you go when she'd only had you for a few days. She made a deal with Reaper to take another in your place when he eventually showed up to do his bit. Fate was incredibly angry with both of them." Again, she paused. It gave me time to process the information.

I was supposed to die as a baby.

"There was no one there to guide your mother to the other side. Reaper took her. To where, I don't know."

The shock must have left me dumbfounded, because the only thing I could think to ask was, "What was the deal?"

Aunt Siobhan looked confused by my question for a second. "I'm afraid I don't know. I guess only Reaper would."

"What does Reaper look like?"

It was as if she read my mind. "You can't go asking him! For pity's sake, Niamh, he's a monster. He'll take your soul as quick as look at you. Dead or not."

I realised, if I wanted answers, I'd have to change tactics. "Please, Aunt Siobhan, what does he look like?" I pleaded. "He killed my mother, what if he comes after me now that I've come into Keening? I'm bound to run into to him at some point."

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Promise me you won't approach him?"

I nodded.

"He'll be dressed completely in black."

"That could describe half the country."

"His face will be covered. No one has ever seen his face."

I had no choice but to believe that she was telling me all she knew. I changed the subject. "So, how do you know all this anyway? If there was no one there, how do you know she even made a deal?"

"I didn't say no one was there, only that there was no guide."

"You're being evasive again."

"You're too sharp for your own good. Your dad heard it all. He was trapped in the car after the accident that should have killed you. He was able to tell us in the hospital before he died from his injuries."

By the end of the summer, we were no closer to the answer of why the keening started before the guy at the supermarket died and Aunt Siobhan felt that she'd nothing more to teach me. It was time to put everything into practice. I was dreading going home to the city and the newly delivered appointment book.

The first few weeks were easy going. Each of the appointments allocated to me were in the hospital - people who knew they were dying. I'd hang about outside the door to the room as the dying's family would gather to say their farewells, and I'd sing so softly it would be barely audible to my own ears as they passed away.

One elderly gentleman had no family to gather around his deathbed, so I did. He had a smile on his lips as I entered and an air of acceptance that his time had come. Patting the bed, he indicated for me sit; he then removed his oxygen mask and took my hand in his as he closed his eyes. With the first note of my song, a figure appeared at the other side of the bed. He wasn't what I expected at all. He was much younger and wore jeans with a plain, white T-shirt - very James Dean. His dark hair stuck up at all angles, giving the impression that he couldn't give a toss what he looked like or what others thought of him. As he stretched his arm across the bed to offer me his hand, I noticed a tattoo of a jagged circle on his wrist.

"Hi, it's good to finally meet you. I'm Charon, otherwise known as Ferryman."

"Niamh," I replied, releasing the old man's hand to shake Charon's.

The mist rose from the dead man's mouth, coalescing beside Charon as a human shape. It placed its spectre hand in Charon's.

"You're doing great. Can't stop to chat, but if you fancy it sometime, just pop over. I'm always around."

"Wait, what do you mean pop over?"

He blinked back only long enough to say, "Lift the veil and walk."

To say I was confused would be an understatement, because only the dead can pass through the veil.

On my way home that night, Casper, my little, silver Renault Clio, sputtered in a perfectly timed reminder that it needs fuel to keep going. I pulled into the 24-hour filling station, grateful that I actually remembered to bring my purse this time - the last embarrassing episode consisted of me realising my error after I put petrol in. The lad behind the counter barely glanced in my direction before he hit the button to activate the pump. I'd no sooner set foot inside the door of the shop to pay for it, when the Keening started.

"You okay, Miss?" the attendant shouted with obvious concern.

I couldn't talk. With my hand covering my mouth, I fought to get control of the song, but I couldn't. The attendant rushed to my side and ushered me towards the counter.

He was there. Reaper. He appeared out of nowhere and leant one elbow on the counter, looking very relaxed. My eyes widened and I shot a glance at the attendant to see if he saw him too. The attendant - Mark, his nametag read - walked past him. He may even have walked through him. Mark pushed me into a seat and handed me a tissue as the till beeped to signify a new customer at the pump. He reached across the counter and hit the button without looking.

Two men walked by the window on their way inside. I stuffed the tissue into my mouth when the wail got louder.

Reaper was laughing so hard his shoulders shook.

I knew what was coming next. I had to warn him, but all that happened when I managed to spit out the tissue was a scream. "Watch!" Not that Mark could have deciphered it; the screamed warning was so high pitched, a dog would have had trouble hearing it.

One of the men pulled a gun from behind his back and pointed it at Mark. "Empty the till!" he demanded. He then spun and pointed the gun at me. "Shut the fuck up."

_Believe me, I would if I could_ , I thought in despair. _For an entirely different reason_.

The till sprung open and Mark stepped to his left, his hand searching the shelf under the counter. My fist went into my mouth - instead of a tissue this time - to muffle the song. Reaper pulled another of those clear orbs from his jacket pocket and moved to stand beside me. I knew the moment Mark saw him; his lifeless eyes widened in fear. The gun Mark was searching for hit the floor with a clatter, the noise spooked the first guy - the one who held the gun - and he pulled the trigger.

I wasn't quick enough in closing my eyes; the image of Mark's brains running in streaks down the wall will remain in my memory for eternity.

Reaper waved in farewell after the orb had filled with Mark's essence. This was my chance to ask him about the deal, about my mother. I reached for his arm to stop him from leaving. The instant my hand touched him, the filling station and the robbers vanished. In its place was an old ruin, its walls bare brick, the roof missing.

It took me too long to find my bearings; Reaper was out through a gap in one of the walls and gone from sight before it registered that I'd passed through the veil. Something scurried on the edge of my peripheral vision; it was too big to be a cat and moved too stealthily to be a dog. With thoughts of half-starved, predatory animals lurking in the shadows, I hurried from the ruin in pursuit of him.

Outside was bitterly cold. I tucked my tingling fingers into my palm and let my jacket sleeves fall low to cover my fists. A stream of fog left my mouth with each breath as I followed the sound of footsteps ahead. The layout of the buildings looked familiar. They resembled the real thing on the other side of the veil, yet they were strange. It was like looking at a movie set for an apocalyptic scene - dilapidated looking buildings in dire need of more than just a coat of paint. Every now again I'd catch sight of a small cloud of fogged breath from the shadows of the buildings as I passed. I half expected a partially rotten corpse to start chasing after me. My pace quickened. Reaper seemed to remain beyond the range of clear visibility though, no matter how quickly I walked. It may have been due the layer of freezing fog, clinging like a shroud to the dirt road that partially obscured him.

So intent was I on keeping up with Reaper that I didn't realise someone was behind me until their hand grabbed my arm and spun me around. Charon grinned at me.

"Hey, you made it!" he said with zeal. "I didn't expect to see you again so soon."

I stole a glance over my shoulder - all trace of Reaper was gone. "Damn," I swore. "I've lost him."

Charon frowned. "Lost who?"

"Reaper. I need to talk to him."

He shook his head slowly as he said, "You won't find him these parts, Reaper never comes into town. Maybe I can help?" His eagerness to assist was as evident as his grin.

"Can you tell me where he does hang out?"

With a deep sigh of resignation, Charon took my hand in his. Warmth flooded through me as our bare flesh met. "I can show you, but I can't go in. Neither should you."

"Why?"

Charon gasped. "Are you serious? No one leaves Reapers realm. Didn't anyone tell you the rules when they sent you back?" He took my confused expression to mean that I'd no idea what he was talking about. "How long ago did you die? You do know that you died at some point, right?"

I nodded. "I think so. I was a baby when it happened and only found out about it a month ago. How did you know?"

"We carry the crown." He raised our joined hands to show me the tattoo on his wrist. "You have one on the back of your neck." He paused in thought for a second. "Is that why you need to speak with Reaper? To find out why you were sent back?"

"No, I sort of know why. He made a deal with my mother and took her soul instead of mine. I want to know what happened to her."

His piteous expression said more than his words. "I'll take you to the edge of his realm and no further."

He left me at the edge of a dense, pine forest, just beyond the boundary dictated by the layer of pine needles and wilted fern detritus, with the adage to be careful.

I stood there, chilled to the bone without the heat generated by Charon, and stared at the thick foliage. For the first time, I wondered what I hoped to achieve by going in. If Charon's warning was anything to go by, I must have been out of my mind to even consider it.

_Find the girl_ , whispered a voice on the breeze. _Come into the trees and see_.

"It's too dark," I replied, looking all around for the source of the voice. There was a sense of urgency, a feeling of desperation to the words that I couldn't deny.

_Use your eyes. Look, and you will see. Come closer... Closer_.

I took a step, then another, straining my eyes against the utter blackness. There! I saw something - a light - moving between the trunks.

_Hurry! Follow your eyes, they do not lie. Find her_.

The insistence in the tone drove me forward. I don't know why, but I felt compelled to chase the light. I ran along the dirt trail, stumbling over fallen branches and rocks. Going deeper, chasing the glow.

Suddenly, I stopped.

_Go back, Niamh_ , said a different voice - a woman's voice - but I knew it was too late. I was lost in the depths of Reaper's realm.

I don't know how long I wondered in the darkness, listening to the voices alternately begging for me to stay and urging me to go. Reaper found me slumped on a massive rock, shivering and exhausted.

"Looky here," he said with an excited lilt to his words. "My little prodigy actually managed to find her way here. I was beginning to think you didn't have it in you."

Instead of the biker gear he wore on the two occasions we'd met before, this time he dressed as I would expect to see the reaper dress. He wore a long, black, hooded cloak that covered his head and hid his face from view. This was the reaper we all knew and loathed.

My teeth were chattering, making it difficult to talk. "Ww...what deal?" I cut straight to the point, no use trying to waste my breath on pleasantries. "Ww...where's Mm Mumum?"

"Ah, well, your mother's soul just wasn't enough to risk the wrath of Fate. Don't get me wrong, I took it anyway. It's floating around here somewhere. Don't worry, your mother's safe from the Ollphéist as long as you work with me. She won't be far away. Fate bound her to the blood stone, the rock you're sitting on, when she found out what we'd done. She also bound you to me as my helper, my little assistant. I'm excited by the prospect of what we can achieve together."

"Ww...work?"

"Oh, yes indeed, work. You're my little prodigy, as I said. A true Ban Sidhe, not the diluted version of the generations before you. Thanks to your mother's melding, your job is to select the souls for me to collect. I must say, your two choices so far have been rather excellent, perfectly messy. I do hope you intend to carry on as you started." He touched the back of his hand to my forehead, moving on to my cheek. I didn't have the energy to move away from his touch. "You're freezing. Why are you sitting here in the cold, freezing your ass off anyway? Go home and call for me when you pick the next one. I don't want to influence your choice, but could we maybe have a girl next?"

"Can't. Dd...don't know h...how. Hh...home."

"Sing, my dear. Do what you do best and sing."

I must confess that the prospect of bringing death to random strangers at any time or place was not something I wanted to do. To have my Ban Sidhe self randomly pick someone to die - their soul in exchange for mine \- was disturbing enough that I did try to take my life. And failed miserably. It would seem that I can't die a second time.

Plenty of practice over the years means I have learned how to stop it if I choose, but for my mother's sake, I continue. I can't leave her to the beast, despite what she unwittingly destined me to become. The worrying part now is perhaps my lack of feeling when I choose the next victim. I don't care whether you are bad or good, Catholic, or heathen, if my song decides you're the one, there will be no escape.

Fear me. Not for what I am, but for what I bring: death.

I hear them cry in the dead of night;

The lost, the damned, the taken.

Spirits that dwell within the mists that time has long forgotten.

Marked for death by a cruel twist of Fate,

Souls of the innocent I must take.

Hear my song, you cannot outrun the wail of the true Ban Sidhe.

Back to start

## Inked

As the needle makes its last stroke on the creamy flesh of her hip, I wipe the remains of my lifeblood from skin that is forever stained with the darkness of my soul. Our pact is complete; she is mine for the price of fame. I watch her leave, the tinkle from the bell over the door a final farewell to the last of my living customers for the day.

New Orleans is panning out to be more lucrative than I first thought when I moved here a century or so ago. Not only do I have a reliable yeild for the foreseeable future, but the vessels serve for entertainment while I wait to collect on our bargain.

Tonight's harvest is perhaps the most enjoyable of them all. I've waited many years to collect on the bargain Christophe made with me. He was so easily corrupted. A good boy, by today's definition, tempted by lust and bought for the price of a lover's kiss. He should have asked for more, but who am I to argue over the cost one man places on his soul. Too bad that kiss cost the girl her life.

Drugs, alcohol abuse, theft, assault are all on his long list of misdemeanours. Tonight will see him commit his best crime yet and is the one that secures both his fate and the fate of his soon-to-be victim. However, his death will be by my hand and mine alone.

I walk quickly, the chill of the November air doesn't affect me as it does the homeless bum who sleeps in the alleyway beside my shop. I hear him coughing from the shadows as I pass by.

"Please," he begs the café owner. "You're tossing it out anyway. What difference does it make if I eat it?"

His tone stops me; the sound of his pleading implying a perfect opportunity has presented itself. The café door slams in his face and I see his silhouette slump back against the wall dejectedly.

"Hungry?" I ask as I approach, producing a wallet from my breast pocket.

He nods, eyes widening with interest when I pull a twenty from the depths of the black leather. "I haven't eaten in three days. Please, Sir."

Waving the bill in front of his face, he follows the movement with his eyes. I can see him salivate. "What's it worth to you?"

He blinks. "Anything, I'll do anything for a decent meal. Please!"

"Will you sell your soul old man?" Christophe may have to wait. If the gleam of greed I see shimmering in the homeless bum's aura is anything to go by, he may prove to be useful. "Do we have a deal?"

He reaches for the money, snatching it from my grasp to hold it tight against his chest.

"I'm afraid it's not that simple," I reply to his anguished grunt when he realises the note is still in my hand. "Follow me, there's a little matter of a contract to sign."

Call me sentimental if you must, but I can't in good conscience let a man, suffering as a consequence of a society that predominantly serves me, sell me his soul for so little. "Do you ever play the lottery, John?" I ask, withdrawing a vial of my lifeblood from the fridge.

His eyes are transfixed on the mists swirling violently inside the vial. He makes no comment.

After I wipe the remnants from his weathered skin, which is now stained with the darkness of my soul, I pass him his price, adding, "Buy yourself a lottery ticket this week. I have a feeling your luck is about to change."

Glancing at my watch, I realise I still have time to catch Christophe tonight if I take the Harley. I'm still a street away when I hear it again; a song so compelling I can't help but seek its owner. Excitement mounts as I approach the garage and someone inside is waving a gun in the attendants face.

She's there too, the girl from the mall, I can feel her presence.

I laugh when I spot her huddled in a corner with her fist in her mouth, trying to stifle the melody that sends shivers of delight throughout my being.

I'm relieved when Christophe's deed is done and the victim's soul is secure within the orb. I need to leave before I give in to her temptation. It's as I leave, that I see the mark upon her flesh; the mark of those sent back to the mortal realm.

It's been eighteen years since I made the bargain with the Ban Sidhe to take her soul in exchange for the baby's, upsetting Fate as a consequence. Would Fate be so cruel as to bind her to me, not just as my protégée? A companion sent to torment me after so long in solitude?

A more beautiful creature I have never seen in my long existence. She captivates me. Tempts me. Makes me want what I can never have. I am Reaper - otherwise known as Death - one glance at my true features will banish both of us to the void that is Akasha.

Back to start

## Fallen Star

Dean's words hit me like a slap to the face. He may have uttered them several months ago, but their enormity had only just registered.

We are not alone.

Considering we were standing in the middle of a packed banquet hall, serving refreshments to a crowd dressed in their finest suits and flowing gowns at the time, I thought it obvious we weren't alone. I'm thankful we weren't, the phrase, "Not if you were the last man on earth" would be appropriate as far as Dean was concerned.

His disappearance came as no surprise to those of us who knew him. I've lost count of the amount of times he'd vanish into thin air, only to turn up a month or so later with tales of some big adventure or other. There was never any proof to back up his claims either. No holiday snaps, no video footage; nothing. Well there was this one time he brought home a plaster cast of a huge footprint that he pronounced was not left by Bigfoot as the place he purchased it from wanted people to believe, but in actual fact was made by a creature that followed him back from his travels. His tales were entertaining if nothing else.

What did come as a shock was his body turning up the sewers. They had me identify the body. As his closest friend - I'm still not one hundred percent sure what they were implying by that - and neighbour, I had to go downtown and take a look.

They warned me it wouldn't be pretty, but he stank. Seriously, gag-worthy rank. I don't think anyone can fully prepare themselves for something like that. Even through the Olbus infused tissue the usher gave me, I could smell him before they slid open the compartment. His skin was paper-white and his eye lids sunken deep into their sockets as if there was nothing behind them. The flesh on his upper torso was so shrivelled, the tattoo on his left pectoral looked more like a raisin than the small skull it was. At the base of his throat was the wound I had to assume killed him. A stark, bruised ring of pierced flesh stood out from the paleness like a neon sign. The contrasting purple reminded me of the first hickey I ever had, it too had sat swollen and bruised.

It was Dean.

The part after them covering up the body is a bit of a blur. I've a vague recollection of a detective saying something about a heavy caseload and getting to it eventually, but the next thing I know I'm sat in McDonald's with a steaming-hot coffee and a small, taped package sitting on the table in front of me. The girl behind the counter shot me an apprehensive look when I asked for a plastic knife to slice the tape. I've no idea why, it's not like I could do any damage to life or property with a piece of flimsy plastic.

It contained some of his belongings, the stuff he must have had on him when they found him: two sets of keys, a pocket notebook and a flashlight. I knew one set of keys were for the apartment - mine were identical except for the key fob - I had no idea what the other set belonged to. I idly flicked back and forth through the notebook, paying little attention to the content until I noticed the hastily sketched map with the word Ypsilon written across it. He'd mentioned the mountain a few times before and I wondered, for the first time since I'd known him, if his stories weren't complete bullshit after all.

Jasper arrived at Dean's place within ten minutes of my call. I told him my wild theory, and for some reason he didn't balk at the suggestion that we search Dean's place for clues to what he'd been up to on his trips away. The first curious thing we found was a title deed to land on Ypsilon. Bank statements showing large withdrawals of cash we didn't know he had, combined with receipts that Jasper said looked like excavation plant hire for a company in the same area that the deed was for, we figured he must have been digging for something on the property.

"What if it's gold? Or diamonds?" Jasper asked with excitement. "Maybe that's where the money came from. He's discovered some untapped resource and been keeping it all for himself."

"Anything is possible," I agreed. "It must have been something valuable if he was killed for it."

He paced the distance between the door and the window, deep in thought. "If we bring Chuck with us for muscle, we can split it three ways."

I had no interest in the potential wealth, I wanted to know what happened to Dean. "Agreed."
Part 2

One good thing about bringing Chuck along was his 4x4. It was more like a monster truck and easily navigated over terrain that would have had us walking if we'd taken my car. The bad thing was his whinging girlfriend. Too hot, too cold, numb bum, too bright, humidity making her hair frizz ... I was grateful to see the end of the trail - for all of two seconds; she started complaining about not having the right footwear for a trek into the quarry. I threw my spare sneakers at her a bit harder than necessary. Bad move, she started whinging about the bruise it would leave.

Chuck emptied the trunk of our bags and removed a section of the floor to reveal an assortment of weapons. He chose the biggest, shiniest one in there.

"Are you expecting an army?" I asked as a joke.

"You're paying me to protect you. If I fail I don't get paid."

Little Miss-Brunette-Barbie also reached into the trunk and removed a couple of hand guns, which she tucked at her waistband, a dagger went into a sheath at her ankle, a wicked-looking long blade she strapped to her back along with a crossbow and several bolts. I quickly reassessed my opinion of her: a cross between GI Jane and Xena Warrior Princess.

I stood at the edge of the chasm and had a good look around. It didn't look much like a quarry, it was too symmetrical. Several nearby boulders showed signs of extreme heat exposure and aged scorch damage. And on closer inspection of the ground beneath my feet, I found veins of smoky glass; almost as if it had been superheated enough to melt the sand. A niggling memory of a meteor strike rang a familiar chord with one of Dean's tall tales.

Chuck and Xena were already halfway down the steep embankment when Jasper called for me to keep up. I could see they were headed for a fissure near the bottom of the crater.

"Wait up, guys!" I called, sliding down the slope in pursuit.

My warning to be careful died on my lips when I reached the gap the others disappeared into. There was enough light emanating from the entrance to see the mound of glittering rock stacked in the corner of the cavern.

"I knew it!" Jasper squealed with excitement. "There must thousands of dollars' worth here."

Xena swung her torch around, pointing it at us. It blinded me for a second. "Over here," she called and disappeared into a tunnel.

I could hear her muttering expletives about how cold it was and how my sneakers were useless in the mud. I bit back my retort on her skimpy clothing and followed them into the darkness.

We walked for what seemed like ages, coming across a natural cave that Dean had set up as sleeping quarters. His clothing sat neatly piled on top of a table that sat beside his cot. At the far side Jasper noticed heavy cables running from a switch, down the rock and out into another tunnel. Surprisingly - at least to me - lights blinked on when Chuck threw the switch. I couldn't hear a generator running and I wondered at the power source.

Xena rummaged through the clothes pile, discarding a jacket in favour of a thin red blanket she took from the cot. After tying it around her shoulders like a cape, she motioned us on. I had reservations about her sanity before that and her choice only served to confirm those doubts.

A short time later, we emerged in a huge cavern, bigger than the shopping mall downtown. Right in the centre, taking up the space from floor to ceiling, was some sort of machine that's entire centre was lit in neon blue. I walked around it in awe. It was no more than a metre deep, but stood fifty metres high and ten metres wide.

I followed the power cable up the steps, stopping a metre or so from the sheet of light. The cable continued on into it. It didn't come out the other side.

Jasper joined me. "What the hell is it?" he asked, reaching his hand out to touch the light.

"Don't!" I warned, just before he touched it. "I think it's where the electricity is coming from. It must be some sort of generator."

Jasper disappeared. One second he was standing beside me with his arm stretched out and the next he was gone, dragged through the light by something on the other side.

Frozen in stupefied horror, I watched a hazy, blue-tinged vision of Jasper struggling against another man's grip. The stranger backhanded him, sending him sprawling towards the light barrier. A second later he was on top of Jasper, pinning his shoulders down. Only it wasn't human, it had a spike on its head the length of my arm. Jasper stopped struggling the second the spike pierced his throat. Slurping sounded as Jasper's blood was sucked up through the hollow spike and into a sack at the things back. With a clear view just a meter away, I could see the creature was a cross between a giant mosquito, a tick and a man.

A bullet whizzed by my ear, jarring me into movement. It hit the creature, I know it did, but it didn't do anything more than irritate it. I backed up slowly, not taking my eyes from it. More bullets hit and my breathing stopped as it raised its spike from Jasper's throat and turned its head to look right at me. Heart hammering against my ribs, I spun and ran. It was on me before I managed two footsteps. We tumbled down the stone steps, me enclosed its arms.

At some point during the tumble, the creature let go. Xena pulled me to my feet and dragged me behind a rock. She peered around one side and I the other. We watched Chuck blast the creature with everything his weapon had, pulse after pulse of energy, each one making the creature stagger back a step, but none having the desired effect.

"Power's almost out," Chuck yelled with a mixture of fear and disbelief evident in his tone. "It's not going down."

I glanced at Xena as she rose from her hiding spot. She rolled her shoulders and drew the crossbow, resting it on the rock in front of us. The first bolt bounced of the creature's skull, the second embedded in its chest. It roared in pain.

"Hit it again!" Chuck called frantically as it pulled the bolt from its chest and strode toward him with determination.
Part 3

Xena fumbled and dropped the bolt. By the time she pulled another from the pouch, Chuck was on his stomach on the floor, scrambling to find purchase in the loose dirt. The creature had a firm grip of his ankle, pulling him backwards. Chuck rolled over and kicked it as hard as he could on the lower jaw. It reared back with a yelp before plunging forward, aiming for Chuck's throat. He was able to deflect the horn enough to avoid serious injury, but the cut in his shoulder, where the spike scratched him, stung like a bitch.

He pulled his knees up to his chest and kicked out, propelling the creature into the steps.

The creature's head snapped up at the sound of a growl from somewhere behind us. It took one last, assessing look at Chuck before darting off into the darkness on the opposite side of the cavern. I turned slowly, fearful for what I would find there. It had to be something big to scare off tick-man. Xena's eyes met mine. I could see she was just as scared as I was, yet she loaded her last bolt into the crossbow and took aim with a steady hand.

I placed my hand on her arm to still her movements as a creature, one that looked like a hairless dog, turned to face us and sniff the air. Drool dripped in long strands from its open mouth; its long, pointed teeth exposed by curled back lips. With no eyes to see us, the creature relied on scent and sound to locate its prey. It sniffed the air again. Its narrow, serpent-like tongue darted out between the prominent incisors. Ignoring us, it wandered over to Chuck and licked his hand, tasting him before moving away with its nose to the ground in the same direction as the tick-man.

"Jesus, that was close," Chuck said with obvious relief. "What in Hell were those things?"

"Caparra." None of us had noticed the woman's approach. "Dangerous. Ciegona destroy caparra." She motioned us to follow her. "Come."

From what I could make out from her chatter as we followed closely behind, her accent was very odd. Despite having travelled to almost every civilised country in the world, I couldn't place it. The closest I could guess was a mix between Spanish and German. Her ash-blonde hair was more in keeping with Swedish and her tiny frame inherent in the population of southern Asia.

She threw the power switch as soon as we entered Dean's chamber, plunging us into darkness. "Close portal. No caparra come."

"Wait, caparra is the thing with the horn on its head right? Where did it come from? I've never seen anything like it before," Chuck asked as he set his torch on the table beside the bed to afford us some light.

"Come from my world." She took a pack of cigarettes from her pocket and lit one, closing her eyes in apparent ecstasy as she inhaled then released the smoke in a steady stream from her nose. "Where Dean? He bring more?" she asked after a brief moment, holding the pack up.

I waved my hand in front of my face, wafting away the smoke. "Those things will kill you. I'm surprised at Dean if he's been supplying you with them. You know they're full of toxins?"

Her eyes glowed fiery-red with the glare she shot at me. "Where Dean?"

Xena had been unusually quiet since we left the cavern. At the edge of my vision, I saw her look the visitor up and down. "I'll bring them in exchange for these." She held out a handful of rock and used her torch to best emphasise the murky-red glow within.

The visitor shrugged and nodded. "Dean want also."

I sighed. "Dean is dead. I think one of those horned creatures killed him." She frowned, trying to decipher my words. "It must have been the caparra that attacked Dean, the mark on his throat matches the one on Jasper. What I don't understand is how he ended up in a sewer a hundred kilometres away? Unless one attacked him in the sewer."

"Hang on a minute," said Chuck, rubbing the wound on his shoulder that was still bleeding profusely. "Are you trying to tell me there's another one of those things on the loose?"

I nodded.

"I'm outta here. No way I'm hanging around if there's more."

No amount of pleading on the Xena wannabe's part could persuade him to stay. And with no alternative means of transport, it meant we were leaving too. The visitor insisted that we close the portal after she crossed over. We couldn't afford to have yet more of the creatures running around, so Chuck reluctantly agreed to wait in Dean's chamber until we returned from the cavern with a weapon the visitor promised would destroy them.
Part 4

We entered the city sewer at the entrance beside the train station, under the assumption that it was most likely the one Dean used. Xena released the leash on the ciegona and it lumbered off into the darkness. I felt terrible. We'd no idea what this creature would do or what we'd just unleashed - literally - on the city. Other than the visitor's word that it would destroy the caparra, there was nothing to say that it wouldn't make its way out of the sewer and randomly attack someone. But what other option did we have? Our weapons were useless against it.

Chuck refused to come with us to the entrance. We found him unconscious and very pale when we got back to the truck about an hour after leaving him. Remembering the wound, I opened his jacket and swore. There was blood everywhere; my hands were covered in it, so was the floor of the truck.

It took a lot of manoeuvring, two women trying to move the bulk of a man into the passenger seat, but we eventually managed to move him enough so I could drive to the hospital. They assumed it was a stab wound, but they couldn't stop the bleeding.

Chuck died. Xena - that's all I've ever known her by - disappeared when the hospital called the cops. They arrested me for his murder. They're also trying to pin Dean's murder on me too, but it will never go to trial. Thanks to my lawyer's disbelief and the subsequent plea he entered on my behalf, I was deemed unfit to stand. I'll spend the rest of my days confined to a cell in the nut house; the eastern wing of Liteon Prison.

When they let me watch television, I keep the channel tuned to News 24. Torn between the hope that I don't hear of any unusual deaths and praying that some evidence of the creature would present itself and prove to the world I'm not crazy. That we're not alone.

Back to start

## Trapped

Awareness returned with a sense of foreboding, a familiar feeling since the accident a few months ago. Whether it was dawn or dusk, I couldn't tell, but as I pulled the curtains, I saw the evidence of what she had done lying discarded in abstract abandon all around the sitting room. My eyes strayed from the throw-covered corpse, absently catching a reflection in the mirror over the mantel. I had to take a second, then a closer, third look at what I saw reflected in the blood-spattered glass. I gasped, horrified beyond words as my fingers traced the latest endeavour my other half had taken to improve her looks with the aid of Bethany, one of the neighbours. There was no way I could cover this one up; not when I wore Bethany's face.

Whatever pain meds she had taken were wearing off, the numbing effect fading so I could feel the pins nipping at my hairline. I took a fortifying breath and began the arduous task of removing them. One by one, the pins joined the birthday gift Bethany had given me the day before. As the last fell from my shaking hand, I watched it pierce the once pristine-white petals of the orchids now stained with my blood.

I should have listened to my instincts and ended the facade the first time I woke with no memory of events. The absences were coming more frequently and I feared that someday soon I wouldn't wake.

Light glinted off the razor blade on the mantel, an omen for what I knew I had to do.

The first cut was deep and the only one she needed to take control.

Now it's me who sees through her eyes, my screams that go unheard in the darkness of her mind.

##  Retribution

Applause thundered as the curtain fell on the final scene. Stage lights faded throwing the cast into absolute darkness. Someone - a woman - screamed in fear, but it went unheard by the audience over the calls for an encore.

We stood frozen in shock when the curtain rose for the customary bow, allowing light to penetrate. The leading lady crouched over the stricken body of the leading man, her dress spattered, her hands and face coated in his blood. Beside him lay the implement of his demise: an overhead spot-light.

My first thought was that it could have been me. If it hadn't been for Dirk dating the casting director, it would have been.

Again the audience cheered, apparently ecstatic at being given what they requested. But this was no encore.

It was at this point I remembered the video camera in my hand and zoomed in on the body, panning out again to encapsulate the faces of the cast. My next thought being how much the media would pay for the footage. It's not every day one witnesses this type of incident, I needed to get as much of it as I could.

The police arrived before the theatre had cleared of patrons, uniformed officers shuffling the cast members into the main changing room to wait questioning by the plain clothed detective.

Others must have mentioned the camera because when my turn finally came about, he demanded the memory card as potential evidence. Thankfully I managed to slip the card into my phone and upload the file to my dropbox before then.

Something niggled at my subconscious, urging me to watch the video. I drove to the nearest McDonalds and used their free wifi. Two cups of coffee later, 'download complete' appeared on the small screen. Eagerness turned to bitter disappointment as I watched the curtain close and nothing I didn't already know presented itself.

I don't know what I'd hoped to see, perhaps someone tampering with the fittings? An explanation for why the spotlight chose that exact moment to come loose? Something, anything, to put my mind at ease after the whispers in the changing rooms that blamed the Scottish curse. Surely there was nothing to the stories. Uttering a single word couldn't possibly be to blame for the unfortunate incident that took Dirk's life, could it?

_Look closer_.

"Look at what closer? There's nothing there." I snapped, shooting the man beside me a glare.

The man raised a single eyebrow in question.

_Look closer_.

"Who said that?"

"Said what mate?" the man asked, perplexed.

His companion leaned closer to him and mock whispered, "I think he's been out in the sun too long, Joe. Grab your coke, it's time we were leaving."

I ignored them and started the last ten minutes of the footage again, plugging the earphones in so I could hear it over the background chatter of McDonald's customers.

There!

"Yes!" I shouted, drawing unwelcome attention from a group of kids in the corner. "You're right. I saw something move just before the light fell."

The ear buds were yanked from my ears when one of the kids snatched the phone from my grasp. He danced away, waving it in the air like a trophy. His friends followed him outside. Under normal circumstances I would have let it go, confronting a gang of teenagers in a dark corner of a car park isn't advisable, there's no telling what they'd do.

Not this time. That same something urged me to follow.

"Give it back, guys," I said casually, figuring a placid tone might be more amenable.

Racious laughter was their reply.

I took another step closer and glared at them. "I said give it back." It came out more like a growl, but they got the message.

The one closest to me stood up from his seat on the wall, withdrawing his hands from his pockets as he squared his shoulders. "What you gonna do? Call the cops?"

His buddies laughed, all except one who's gaze was locked somewhere over my shoulder. He tapped the boy beside him on the leg and indicated in my direction. The second's eyes widened in apparent fear. A chain reaction occurred, each boy stopped laughing abruptly within a second of each other. By the time the closest realised his mates were no longer backing him up, he too stopped.

Snatching my phone from his hands, I stomped away, glancing over my shoulder to see if they were coming after me. It could have been because I'd reached the glow of the street lighting again, but the corner seemed darker, like a void. Not a single ray of light could penetrate the gloom.

With no recollection of getting into my car, never mind driving home, I stumbled up the dozen steps to my flat on jelly legs. I needed something sugary to replace the energy I'd used during the adrenalin rush in the car park. Even while I ate the stale donut I found in the cupboard, I kept asking myself what the hell I thought I was doing, confronting a gang of kids; they could have had knives. Then where would I have been?

Shaking off the maudlin thoughts, I flicked the power switch on for the PC. A bigger screen should let me see whatever it was on the video.

Ten minutes from the end, the same movement caught my eye. A shadow moving across the stage floor and up the wall behind Dirk, the leading man, as he watched the final scene of the play from the wings. Dirk's shadow lengthened as if the light in front of him lowered, but I could see the stage lights from where I was filming on the opposite side of the stage, and they hadn't moved. For a second or two, the camera lost sight of Dirk as it followed the actor on stage. When he came back into view, his shadow was gone. That's when the curtain came down and everyone rushed on stage for the final bow. It was too dark for the camera to pick anything up.

I played it again and again and again, hoping that tweaking the brightness might show something more. That one area directly above were Dirk had stood when he stepped on stage for the last time, remained in darkness; darkness so complete that no amount of brightness or contrast would display an image. The only thing I could get were two tiny, green dots that I think were the power LED's on an adjacent spot-light.

So much for having something; shadows alone wouldn't prove foul play. I called it a night, deciding to have another look in the morning when my mind was fresh.

Awareness gradually returned with the closing stanza's of John Legend's All of Me, one of my favourite tunes at that moment, playing on the clock radio. Stretching, I contemplated getting up or hitting snooze. The headline news made the decision for me.

"Five local teenagers were slaughtered in gang fight at a McDonald's restaurant," the newsreader stated.

I sat up. It couldn't be the same five boys, could it?

Sure enough, the TV news showed the same car park I'd used the previous night, flashing pictures of the boys - younger, better dressed versions - who took my phone. "It is estimated to have been around eleven pm last night. Police are looking for witnesses and asking customers who were in the restaurant around that time to come forward." Then it played a snippet of footage from a car park security camera. My car sat in clear view. I saw myself stop and look back at the dark corner before getting into the car and driving off.

Hoping that Detective Mills wouldn't be investigating this lot as well, I made the call. It wasn't like I had anything to tell them anyway.

Mills wasn't surprised to hear from me, claiming to have been waiting for my call. I explained what had happened with my phone.

"That confirms what the staff said. Did you see or hear anything in the car park?"

"No, sorry, it was pitch-black. I could just about see the boys when I took my phone back."

"Took it back?"

"Well, I asked and they gave," I admitted.

"Did you see anyone on the street when you left?"

"No one, sorry."

He sounded tired when he told me I could have my memory card back. "We've made a copy of what we need. Thanks for your assistance, we'll be in touch."

I honestly believed that would be the last I heard from him. How wrong was I? No more than fifteen hours later, Mills pulled into the spare parking space at the front of the flats.

His impatient knock on the narrow, glass window beside the door spoke volumes in itself; his added, "I know you're in there Roy, open the damn door," left me wondering what the hell I'd done to deserve his anger.

"Give me a minute," I hollered, tying the belt of my robe as I ambled along the narrow hall, not yet fully awake.

He didn't give me the chance to open the door. No sooner had I turned the latch, it slammed against my forehead with the force of his kick.

My eyelids felt like they had lead weights attached to them. It took every ounce of strength I had left to open them a mere crack. Someone was dragging Mills along the walkway toward the railings that overlooked the river. Forcing my eyes open again, I tried to focus on what they looked like, but it was too dark, the light at the end of hall wasn't working. Between my bleary vision and the lack of light, all I could make out was a silhouette. A shadow of someone much larger than Mills.

Don't worry, Son, the shadow voice soothed. I'll look after you. I know I wasn't around much when you were growing up - okay I wasn't around at all \- but I'm here now and I'm going to make up for it.

Awareness returned with the soothing melody of my favourite song playing on the radio alarm. Sudden inexplicable feelings of déjà vous washed over me, jerking me awake. I lay there, waiting for the news with a sense of dread.

Am I to believe that all those people are gone, killed by my father's hand? How could it have been? How could I have seen him on the walkway when my dad's been dead for five years?

Back to start

##  Resurrection

**An Omen**

During the night of the second new moon of the year 1325BC, a star fell from the heavens to land in the grounds of a pharaoh's palace. It was considered by the Prophet Moses to be an omen, a sign from God that the Boy King's reign was soon to end. An inferno burned for thirty days and thirty nights at the crash site. On the thirtieth night, an explosion rocked the palace walls, bringing a curious nineteen-year-old to the balcony of his bedchambers.

Something slithered unseen from beneath the lush potted shrubbery, drawn to the young man by his body heat and the intoxicating scent of mating lingering on his skin. It rose up to stand on its tail, reaching knee height, a soft hiss escaping from its serpent-like mouth. The male spun on his heel to face it. The creature yawned, stretched its body thin and dove into the open, waiting mouth of its stupefied host.

Bronzed skin rippled as the creature sent hair thin tentacles throughout its host's body, the final chord reaching the cerebral cortex allowing it to take complete control.

"My King?" a young female called breathlessly from within the darkened room, and when he failed to answer, she stepped hesitantly into the flickering light to join him. He sat on his knees clutching his stomach. "Tutankhamun, my love, are you ill? Shall I send for the healer?"

Searching the host's memory, the creature sought the information it required to communicate, "No," it croaked through Tutankhamun's mouth. "Help me... inside."

Tutankhamun staggered to the lavish bed with the aid of the concubine. Inhaling deeply, he smelled the arousal lingering within her nubile body and found himself suddenly overcome by desire. The creature's need to procreate over-ruled its mind. He threw her pearl wrapped body upon the bed and ravished her, taking her quickly and repeatedly throughout what remained of the night. By first light, finally satiated, he slept the sleep of the dead, the seed of his progeny safely installed within the womb of the female in his arms. When the noon sun peaked, a servant entered the chambers to find both King Tutankhamun and his concubine dead.

Egypt mourned the passing of the Boy King. On the fortieth day his embalmed body was placed in a sarcophagus within the tomb that's construction began the day he became King. Along with food, herbs, and spices to aid him in the afterlife, golden statues, figures and various treasures were also enclosed within the tomb. By the time it was sealed, the contents' combined worth was immense. In order to preserve this, traps were set within the maze of tunnels built into the pyramid.

Over the following years, numerous attempts were made to breach the seal, however, anyone who set foot within the tomb died. Some by means of the traps set, some by mysterious accident and some simply dropped where they stood.

A stark warning was inscribed upon the tomb entrance advising any potential thieves of the dangers. In later years, it became known as the 'The Curse of Tutankhamun'.

" _It is I who hinder the sand from choking the secret chamber, and who repel that one who would repel him with the desert-flame. I have set aflame the desert. I have caused the path to be mistaken. I am for the protection of the Osiris. This is to repel the enemy of Osiris, in whatever form he may come."_

Perhaps the most noted of these unfortunate victims was the esteemed Howard Carter, who, on the 26th November 1922 breeched the top left corner of the tomb doorway. His men, after reading the inscription, begged Carter to leave the tomb and its treasures intact, fearing the curse would kill them all. Carter refused. A moment later a sand storm blew in, trapping Carter and his companions, Lord Carnarvon and his daughter Lady Evelyn Herbert, inside. They were never to be seen again.

One survivor of the sandstorm lived to tell the tale, a man who refused to assist the dig in any way. He claims the desert sand rose up like a great serpent beast and swallowed them all, whole. Newspapers in Carters hometown had a field day with the tale of the mysterious curse. Word spread around the world like a virus. From that day forward, no one was brave enough to face the wrath of the Pharaoh Tutankhamun.

Awakening

Tutankhamun blinked open his eyes, and saw nothing. He gasped, drawing a lungful of air, only to find it stale and putrid. His hand connected with something hard and heavy as he attempted to ease the restriction in his chest. In panic, he fought to push the weight from him.

Blinded by the sudden light, he threw his arms over his face. The cloth wrapped around his arm fell away to reveal dried and crumbling flesh. He screamed, heaving himself from the sarcophagus to cower against the wall in terror.

Torches around the walls of the room burst to life, casting flickering light on the treasures lining the tomb. He knew immediately where he was and ran to the door that held him captive. It wouldn't move, regardless of how hard he pushed. Finally exhausted, he fell to his knees in horror. The afterlife was supposed to be paradise, not this. He was supposed to be surrounded by his ancestors, not trapped in this prison for eternity.

"No!" he yelled in anger at the gods. "I will not spend eternity locked within my own tomb!"

Rage at the gods, virtually blinding in its intensity, descended upon him to wake the creature slumbering within his chest. His eyes, once Sepia in hue, swirled and pooled black when the creature took control.

"It is time," he said, rising to his feet. "At last they are ready."

Skin and sinew reformed, hair sprouted from his head, the length bound with golden bands at his nape, restoring Tutankhamun's body to how it was the night the creature took it over. Raising his arms above his head, the cloths swathing him falling to the floor, he sent a pulse of energy into the ground causing everything around him shudder.

Sand swirled in the desert as the wind grew fierce, whipping it away from the pyramid as it rose from the depths. The sky grew dark. Ferocious winds brought clouds full of more water than the desert had seen since the beginning of time. Brilliant forks of lightning flashed as thunder split the heavens apart.

Tutankhamun stood atop his tomb and laughed at the destruction around him. Buildings burned. Great rivers swept wheeled monstrosities aside as if nothing more than tiresome flies. Craters formed with the cracking and shaking ground. People screamed as their world fell apart.

"Anakhamun, come to me. Join me," he roared into the night.

She rose from the ground, sand falling from her head, shoulders, breasts and swollen belly as she emerged. "I hear, my King. I obey," she chanted as she strode across the sands, the soft clicks of her loose pearl wrappings unheard over the roaring winds. Sand parted, creating a wind and rain free tunnel through which she walked.

Authorised

"This had better be bloody good, Jones. Anything less than the imminent end of civilization and I'll have your pins, Soldier."

Jones cleared her throat. "I'm sorry Mr. President, Sir. Reports are coming in about a major disturbance in Egypt."

"What kind of disturbance are we talking about?" President Nicholson sat up in bed and ran a hand through his dishevelled hair. "Terrorist again?"

"No, Sir, this is more of an anomaly. Severe electrical and sand storms in the Valley of the Kings."

"Even the desert gets a little rain now and again, Jones. Abnormal weather conditions do not qualify as an emergency."

"Sir, the thing is our weather guys say it's not natural. It just appeared out of nowhere. There are earth tremors too, magnitude six on the Richter scale."

"Still not sufficient reason..."

"There was something else, Sir."

"Spit it out, Jones. I've had exactly twenty minutes sleep in the past forty-eight hours and I'd like to get back to it."

"Satellites picked something up at the epicentre just before the clouds obscured it. Sir, it looks like a pyramid."

"And?"

"And it wasn't there two minutes previous."

"Perhaps the tremors helped uncover it. Is that everything?"

"I'm sending Foxtrot two to investigate; we'll have more in an hour."

"Good, update me in the morning. And, Jones?"

"Yes, Sir?"

"I'm unavailable for the next seven hours; make sure I'm not disturbed."

"Yes, Sir, I'll disconnect your line as soon as we're done. Goodnight Sir."

*****

Foxtrot Two breeched the outer edges of the storm, swooping into the valley. The wind buffeted the large craft as if it were a leaf in a gale. While fighting to keep control, the pilot flipped the record switch for the device attached to the belly of the ship; the live uplink to the satellite blinked active. He turned his attention back to the infrared monitor he was using to see by, and prayed.

Tutankhamun watched the winged beast descend. Once it was within a hundred feet he flicked his fingers at the craft, sending it toppling end over end into the Nile. The pilot had no time to eject.

Cass Jones closed her eyes briefly as the screen went black. She rewound the tape and pressed PLAY, her concentration focused on the structure. Zooming in, her enhanced vision picked up a figure standing at the top. She frowned, playing it again to be sure of her facts before making the call.

"Sir, I know you said no calls, but you have to see this," she insisted. "Thirty three seconds in, you'll notice a figure on top of the structure; watch his eyes. You might need to zoom in for it."

President Nicholson sighed and accepted the download on his beside monitor. "What am I looking at?"

"Just watch, Sir."

"My eyes aren't enhanced, Jones, you'll have to tell me," he muttered with exasperation.

"His eyes glow white a fraction of a second before the ship goes out of control."

"A reflection?"

"No, Sir. They glowed."

"What's the significance?"

Jones shook her head, wondering how he'd ever made President. "It means he's not human, Sir. Also, the pattern of the storm centres exactly on him."

"Are you saying he's like you, a Biogen?"

"I appreciate that you think I'm all powerful, but even I can't create storms and earthquakes. It has to be an A.L.F. Sir."

Nicholson ran a palm down his face and groaned. "Who do we have available to go in?"

"Sir, if I may..." She hesitated. "I'd like to head this one."

"Hmm, I don't know, Jones, you've only finished your training."

"Professor Brand says I'm ready," she interrupted. "It just needs your signature. Please Sir?"

"Fine, it's yours. Now can I get some sleep?"

An Innocent Life

"Captain Jones, Ma'am, we can't get any closer. You'll have to go on foot the rest of the way." The pilot said, while struggling to keep the Blackhawk steady in the gusting winds.

"How far are we out?"

"Just under five ks, Ma'am."

"Set us down where you can then."

Jones looked out the side window of the helicopter, watching the rising rivers cut great swathes through the desert sands. Forty hours straight of torrential rain had left hundreds of lakes, and probably as many small rivers vying for dominance as they rushed toward the Nile. The main street in Luxor town sat two metres below the Nile with the water level rising with each passing minute. Lightning forked, illuminating what remained of the town, making several of the men gasp at the destruction.

Reports from NATO HQ on the anomaly's whereabouts put him in the El-Saidi region, on the periphery of the storm and conveniently away from the flood zone. Jones sat at the open door, scanning the area with her night vision.

"All clear," she said, once Blackhawk7 set down. "Thanks for the pleasant flight, Chris. safe home." Saluting him, she joined the others as they piled out and made for cover of the nearest structure, which Green checked and declared safe for their use.

"Latest Intel says he's holed up here," Jones pointed at the map she laid out on the dusty floor. "Brown and Grey, you cover the front of the complex from the roof of this building. Green and Black you have the back from the flats here. He's taken over the penthouse suite; the former occupant has been confirmed dead along with several of the staff members. The remaining staff are hostile, seemingly protective of our target and we must assume under his influence. I would prefer we not kill them but..." she paused, meeting each of their eyes, "but, if you can't incapacitate them, you know what to do." They all nodded. "Red and Gould, you've got my back."

As they reached the town, they spilt up, securing their assigned areas. Once settled, Jones' ear crackled as Browns voice came over the implanted comms device. "Brown, Grey ready." Then again with Greens call.

She kept her pace slower so her companions could keep up with her, entering through the back doors and taking the first left turn that, according to the blueprint she memorised, led to the service elevator and would take them to the far end of the hall on the floor they required. Scanning the immediate area for heat signatures, she stepped forward into the lift and pressed the button for the top floor. Darkness came without warning as the power went out, stopping the lift and trapping them between floors five and six.

"Looks like we're doing it the hard way," she stated, pointing to the hatch in the ceiling of the lift. "Gould wedge the doors open so the lift doesn't start moving again."

Flipping open the access trap, Jones made a foot hold with her hands and boosted first Red, passing up their weapons, then Gould, before jumping up easily. For her the climb was a walk in the park, but for the guys, not so much, particularly Gould who was panting heavily by the time they reached the ledge for the fourteenth floor.

"There's no one in the hall, we can rest for a few minutes," she advised her comrades, using thermal imaging to scan beyond the lift shaft. "I'm picking up two heat signatures across the hall on the left, one male and one heavily-pregnant female. Female is lying down. Judging by the panting and moans, I'd say her baby isn't far away."

"Our target is the male only right?" Red asked.

"No frickin way I'm taking out a woman and kid," Gould added, angrily.

She turned to Gould, still using her thermal sight, and noticed how hot he appeared compared to Red. "Control your temper Gould, we do what needs to be done."

Gould scowled at her. "My temper is none of your concern."

"It is if it interferes with your performance. Wait," she looked at him closer, "are you ill?"

"I'm feeling a little off-colour, but I assure you it won't interfere when it comes to doing my job."

"Damn it, Gould, if you were feeling unwell why did you ask to join the mission?"

"I was volunteered," he stated. "Like I said, it won't interfere. It's just the start of a cold or something."

"I'll have to report this when we get back."

"It's true what they say then?" he added with disdain.

"And what do they say?"

"That you're a heartless bitch."

"Technically true, Gould. I don't have a heart, nor the human weakness associated with it. That's what makes me good at what I do."

"What in hell are you?"

She chuckled. "Does it matter?"

It was Red who answered, "Yes it matters, I want to know who's ass I protecting."

"In short, a BioGen, Biogenetic Enhanced Cyborg." They looked confused. "Most of my body was genetically modified and other parts enchanced with bionics in the lab. My muscles are ten times more powerful than the average person's. My eyes are capable of thermal, night and telescopic vision. I can hear a pin drop half a mile away and I'll heal most wounds within an hour. Gould is right, I don't have a heart, but a mechanical valve to pump blood with maximum efficiency around my body. Despite what others think, I'm not a machine." Concluding she scanned the area again and touched her earlobe to activate the transmitter. "Brown, Green, we're moving in."

The woman's agonised screams could be heard by the other two as soon as they emerged from the lift shaft.

"What the hell is he doing to her?" Red whispered in alarm.

Jones scanned the room. "By the look of it, watching her have the baby. I think she's having problems though."

"We need to get her out of there," Gould hissed.

"Keep it down," Jones whispered. "They're both in the bedroom. The main living area is clear. We'll be only a few metres from them when I short out the control pad for the door, so hand signals only from now on."

They both nodded in confirmation.

A tiny puff of smoke later and the control pad was history, allowing Red to open the door and the three to slip inside. Jones indicated they should take position on opposite sides of the bedroom door. She counted down with her fingers: three... two... Gould sneezed and hell broke loose.

Tutankhamun sent a gust of air at them, blowing them off their feet with the unexpected force. Crashing furniture knocked their weapons from their hands. First to her feet, Jones ran for him. Catching him around his middle, she propelled him into the wall. The woman screamed in anger and tried to get up. She collapsed to the floor as another contraction wracked her body.

Red lifted her by placing an arm behind her back and the other under her knees. He carried her to the living room to lay her on the floor behind the sofa, gaining a little protection from the fighting and flying debris swirling around the room. He made it half way to the bedroom doorway before he fell to his knees with a look of both shock and pain etched on his face. A moment later, he fell forward displaying an ornate dagger protruding from his back.

Gould fought against the force that held him pinned against the wall, the exertion causing him to fall foul to fits of coughing. He could only watch in horror as their target and Jones rolled around the floor, each landing what should have been crippling blows to the other. Suddenly, the target had her by the throat, holding her off the floor.

"Yield to me," Tutankhamun demanded. "Join with me and rule this kingdom by my side."

Clawing at his hand, Jones tried to free herself from his powerful grip. She could feel herself losing consciousness from lack of oxygen due to the restriction on her windpipe. The hand holding her captive shook her violently, rousing her for a moment.

"Submit," he growled.

"Never," she managed to croak before everything went black.

Tutankhamun dropped her to the floor and crossed the room to Gould who was struggling to free himself. Gould thrashed against the invisible hold until he was coughing so hard he could hardly breathe. Tutankhamun propelled him against the other wall and laughed as he fell to the floor in a heap. The laughter led to coughing, his throat burning with hellfire.

*****

Whimpers roused her. Gould lay in a ball on the floor with an egg sized bump on his forehead; his breathing accelerated and his temperature high, but he was alive. The whimpers weren't coming from him. Again she heard a sound foreign to her ears, yet so compelling she found herself crawling on her hands and knees to get to it. Upon reaching the source, her mechanical heart missed a beat, for in the cold, dried, fleshless arms of the woman, lay a perfect innocent life.

Tutankhamun raised his hand to his burning throat as another bout of hacking coughs wracked his body. His head spun in never ending circles, his chest ached as if the weight of the world were upon it. Drawing a ragged breath aggravated his windpipe, starting the cough again. Blood rained from his mouth with each splutter.

Jones lifted the baby and wrapped it in her jacket. Holding her against her chest, she watched in horror as the target opened his mouth and a giant slug slithered from it to thump on the floor. She crossed the room, drew a blade from its sheath at her ankle and sliced the creature in two. The target fell to his side with his eyes wide and staring, his skin turned grey and his hair fell in clumps to the floor.

"Brown, Green? Do you hear me?" she asked touching her ear. "We need a clean-up crew in here. Target is terminated."

"Confirm, target is terminated. Do you require medical assistance?"

"Gould requires assistance," she confirmed. "I've something I need to take care of, so I'll meet you back at HQ."

"Captain, are you okay?"

"Yeah yeah, I'm fine. I eh... have to take the anomaly directly to the lab." She disconnected the comms and placed the anomaly in a pillowcase using sugar tongs. "Let's get you something to eat little guy," she crooned to the baby in her arms. "Then we'll drop this thing off at the lab and you can come home with me. Oh, I can't wait for you meet Max, you're going to love him. And don't mind his slobbering tongue, it just means he likes you."

Back to start

## A Mother's Love

**Apprehension**

"Well aren't you an obedient little bitch?" Gould sneered lowly as he watched the young woman exit her car, giving the valet a flash of her endlessly long legs, shown off by the flare of the gothic, corseted mini-dress. He swung slightly to the left in time to see a tall, muscular man dressed from head to toe in black enter the restaurant. Gould lowered the binoculars and turned to address his commanding officer. "Ma'am, our target is approaching the meeting point."

"Is he alone?"

"Affirmative."

Jones paced the confines of the small hotel room overlooking the restaurant, anxiously wringing her hands. She was more nervous on this mission than she'd been her first time in the field. She felt like she had no control over anything that was about to happen. Control belonged to the girl on the ground; the girl with no experience in field operations; a nineteen-year-old fresh out of training.

I'm in position, the voice belonging to the very reason for her anxiety crackled to life in her ear.

Jones started at the sudden intrusion into her thoughts. Honey, just be careful, okay. This guy is more than he seems.

And so am I. We've been over this a million times already, Mum. I'm ready for this.

I'm just worried about you, Shafira.

Well stop already. I've been trained by the best.

I'm allowed to worry, I'm your mother. Jones smiled with the memory of their last training session when Shafira had all but kicked her ass in hand-to-hand combat. Even with her enhancements, she had been unable to defeat her daughter. Leave the comms on so I can hear what's happening.

Shafira rolled her eyes, but did as her mother asked and left the comms device active. Her eyes scanned the seated crowd in search of her target as she made her way to the Maitre de's podium. Two possibilities stood out among the rest: the first sat with his back to her at a table along the back wall; the second directly in front of the main window, also with his back to her. If this guy was as smart as her mother gave him credit for, he'd be close to an escape route with a good view of the main doors. She dismissed both men.

An impatient cough drew her attention back to her immediate surroundings. "May I help you, Mademoiselle?" the Maitre de asked with a hint of disproval as his gaze roamed down her body.

Shafira gave him a petulant smile and ran her hands down the front of her bodice, fluffing up the tutu as she reached the bottom. "I have a meeting with Mr. Black."

He raised a single eyebrow before lowering his head to look at the appointment book. "Oh," he said with surprise, "right this way please." Again, he looked her up and down, pausing at her fluorescent pink Doc Martins that matched the stripes on her bodice before spinning on his heel with a shake of his head.

She followed him through the tables and slid into the seat he pulled out for her. The table was empty.

A waiter arrived a moment later to set an envelope in front of her. "The gentleman sends his regrets and asked me to give you this."

What's happening Shafira? Jones asked quietly in her ear.

Shafira smiled flirtatiously at the young waiter. "Did you happen to see where he went?" she asked, clueing Jones in on the fact that her date had stood her up. "Did he say anything when he left the envelope?"

"Sorry Miss, he just gave me twenty and told me to give it to you."

Damn. Read it.

Shafira ripped the envelope open and emptied the contents onto the table. "It's a pass card for a hotel room," she whispered under her breath. "Shit, get out of there!" she yelled as she jumped to her feet and ran for the restaurant door. "It's your room!"

An explosion from across the street blew the windows of the restaurant in just as Shafira exited the door. The force of the blast knocked her off her feet, sending her sailing through the air to crash against the building's wall. As she lay on the ground, barely conscious, a dark silhouette moved in front of her to block her view of what remained of the hotel.

"It's time for you to learn who you really are," a masculine voice murmured as he scooped her off the ground as if he were lifting a small child not a fully-grown woman.

Fighting against her failing consciousness seemed futile. Mother is surely dead. She couldn't have made it out of there before the explosion. Shafira let the darkness take her.

Missing

"Damn it, Jones, we've searched the entire restaurant and she's not here," Green swore for the second time since he pulled both Gould and Jones from the hotel stairwell as he followed her into the bathroom.

"Witnesses said they saw a girl fitting her description sitting at a table along the back wall. Where the hell is she?" Jones sobbed, her desperation evident in her words and frantic movements. She pushed open each of the cubicle doors hoping that the next would reveal her daughter safe and well. Her agitation grew with every empty stall. "Damn it Green, she can't have just disappeared."

"She has a tracking device in her neck, just like the rest of us. We'll find her."

"Not soon enough."

"The team are meeting up in the pub to wait for information from the rest of the surveillance crew. Come on, you can't do anything more here for now," Green said, attempting to calm her.

"If I don't do something," Jones spat with vehemence. "I'm going to end up going into that pub every night for the rest of my life like the rest of those sad old fuckers, drinking myself to death and wondering what the hell happened." She stormed out of the restaurant and scanned the street, not knowing exactly what it was she was looking for. With a growl of defeat, she threw her hands in the air and ran to catch up with Green. She had no choice but to rely on the surveillance team to have the information she needed. "It's been an hour since the blast, has anyone checked the hospital yet?"

"Black went with Gould to the hospital. I'll have him check the register while he's there." Green touched his ear to activate his comms and relayed his request through HQ. They were a few streets away from the pub the surveillance team had commandeered for an incident room by the time HQ came back to him. "Roger that. Any word on Gould's condition?"

"Well?" Jones asked impatiently.

"She's not there."

"And Gould?"

"His injuries aren't extensive and would have been worse if you hadn't pushed him through the door and down the stairs. As it stands, he'll most likely be in plaster for a few weeks. A broken wrist and concussion is nothing compared to the alternative. He'll be back on duty in no time if his previous track record is anything to go by."

Deception

It was the cold that woke her. A bone deep chill that sent shivers coursing through her battered body. She tested each of her limbs in series to ensure their functionality before rolling over and sitting up. A groan escaped her lips as pain speared through her head and shoulders. Her hand went to the base of her head where most of the pain seemed to radiate and found a fresh gauze dressing. That explained the pounding headache.

She eased her legs over the side of the narrow cot, bracing herself in preparation for the tenderness her bruising would demonstrate as she slowly stood. And immediately sat again when dizziness overcame her.

Nice to see you awake, said a vaguely familiar voice inside her head.

Shafira looked around for the source but found herself alone in what looked like a basement. The only light came from a small barred window high on the wall above the cot she sat on. The sun hung low in sky indicating that it was either early morning or late afternoon. Adding the temperature of the room to the equation, she deduced that morning was most likely.

Feeling better after your nap? he asked.

"Who the hell are you?" she demanded with enough force to aggravate the throbbing pain in her head.

Many people have speculated that. He hedged.

"You're being obtuse. Why did you bring me here?"

If we knew exactly why... he began, but Shafira interrupted him.

"Quit playing stupid games and tell me where I am?"

He laughed. Her frustration grew.

The bowl of petunias had thought that we would know.

"What are you on? Who would know what?"

The bowl of petunias had thought that we would know, he repeated, a lot more about the nature of the Universe than we do now.

Shafira shook her head in an attempt to clear any lingering fuzziness. She was sure that she must have heard him wrong. "Did you just say bowl of petunias?"

A door banged closed in the house above, followed by footsteps directly overhead. Shafira stood in readiness of the owner entering the basement.

The door creaked as it opened and a man stepped forward to fill the doorframe. "I said," he replied with a chuckle, failing in his attempt to suppress his laughter. "That the human race had thought we would know a lot more about the Universe than we do now." The silhouetted figure descended the stairs until he stood at the bottom, his face remaining in the shadows.

Shafira pushed her shoulders back and stood tall in defiance. "Will you answer my question and tell me where I am?"

He took a final step forward so his face was illuminated in the morning sun and smiled. "Perhaps the more important question is what you are, not where you are."

Recognition dawned and she made to leap on the young man responsible for her mother's certain death, but her feet wouldn't move. They were rooted to the spot. Her arms shot out in front of her in an attempt to break her fall as she tumbled forward but she never touched the floor.

"Now that I have your attention, perhaps we can start from the beginning?" He twisted his head down and around so he could look her in the eye, his eyebrows raised in question. He then snapped his fingers so she straightened from her dangling-in-mid-air position.

"How did you...?"

"All in good time, Shafira. We have other things to talk about first."

Shafira stiffened and growled low in her throat. "You killed my mother."

"Your mother lives, in as much as a Biogen can live."

"You lie. There's no way they could have made it out before the explosion."

He produced a phone from his pocket and played about with it for a second before turning the screen toward her. An image of her mother clambering over the hotel rubble played in a video.

Shafira's shoulders relaxed with her sigh of relief. "What do you want from me?"

This brought another smile to his face. "Just for you to listen; to understand what you are."

"You said that before. What do you mean, what I am?"

"I think it best we start from the beginning. Did your mother tell you how she found you?"

Shafira hesitated a moment before answering. Her mind raced trying to work out the direction he was trying to take the conversation. "She adopted me after my birth mother, her sister, died giving birth to me."

He shook his head. "Close, but not quite accurate. While your mother did die giving birth to you, that's where the similarity ends. Captain Jones was in charge of the team sent to investigate an incident in the Middle East the night you were born; an incident involving an alien life form. Jones returned from the mission and immediately took a vacation."

"There's nothing mysterious about that."

"There is when the new born baby grows into a young woman in the space of two years. You only stopped growing a few months ago Shafira."

"Bull shit. Somehow I think I'd know."

"Really? Do you remember your tenth birthday?"

"I..."

"How about your thirteenth? That's a milestone birthday."

Shafira remained silent as she fought to find the memories he asked. They had to be locked away inside her mind, somewhere. The alternative meant that she was... Finally, when every reason she could imagine for the missing memories were eliminated, it left only one she couldn't deny. No matter how outrageous it seemed, this man was telling the truth. She sagged onto the bed in defeat.

"We are the same, you and I. There's so much I want to show you."

Her eyes glistened with unshed tears as she raised her head to look at him again. "What am I?" she whispered.

Betrayal

"Can we skip the bullshit and concentrate on finding my daughter," Jones demanded, banging her fist on the table hard enough to make the pint glasses on top of it jump and spill their contents. She tutted and sighed with agitation when everyone ignored her outburst.

Grey used a couple of napkins to mop up the mess. "Commander, I mean no disrespect, and I know Shafira is missing, but our primary objective is the target. If you can't put your personal issues aside and concentrate on the job first and foremost then I'll have to request you be taken off the case. We need you to be focused."

Jones glared at her subordinate. "I am a Biogen. I don't have emotional attachments," she growled, almost incoherently through her gritted teeth. She got to her feet and strode to the whiteboard someone had set up in front of the jukebox in the corner.

The loud, ear-piercing screech of her nails dragging across the board caught the attention of every person in the room. She scanned the faces of her comrades for a few seconds in the ensuing silence. What she saw was a mixture of curiosity and annoyance - one or two even showed a modicum of sympathy.

With a deep breath that squared her shoulders, she addressed her team. "Our target knew we were on to him. Either he's psychic or we have a mole."

"Ma'am, if I may?"

Jones nodded for the woman to continue.

"The incidents that drew our attention to the target in the first place seem a little orchestrated on hindsight. What if they were a set up in order to take you out of the equation for some reason?"

"Tell me more... What's your name?"

"Violet, Ma'am. I think he played us so you'd get involved. You've made a name for yourself in the field."

Jones' eyes narrowed with her frown as she thought about what Violet said. "You're on to something, though I don't think it was me he wanted."

She looked up and met Green's eyes from the far side of the room where he was talking with the video surveillance team. She motioned him over with a flick of her hand.

"Ma'am," he said with trepidation when he reached her side. "The video guys have nothing. According to Rusty, no one saw our guy arrive at the meeting point. No one entered the restaurant for five minutes before Shafira did. The only thing they have is hazy footage of something on the street just seconds after the blast." He hesitated as if afraid to continue.

"Spit it out, Green."

Green pulled her by the elbow into a booth and pushed her down into the seat. "They don't know if it's her, but it's possible our target took Shafira from the street. They said she looked like she may have been injured."

"Damn it, I knew it. Tell me they can track her at least."

Green sank into the seat opposite and shook his head, refusing to meet her eyes. "I'm sorry. There's something interfering with the signal."

When she said nothing, he raised his head expecting to see anger or grief, some sort of emotion on her face. Instead, she sat with her eyes closed and her head thrown back against the tall, wooden surround of the booth. Her eyelids moved in small rapid flutters for several minutes as she processed all the information she'd witnessed and been given since the target came to the notice of the Alien Investigation Team.

"Damn," she breathed fervently as she slid from the booth, her hand moving to check to the weapon concealed beneath her jacket. "It's Gould." She slid the battery pack from its sheath and replaced it with a fresh one.

Green stood so he could see over the high booth wall to scan the room beyond. "Where?"

"Why the hell didn't I see it? It's so fucking obvious."

"Boss, what are you talking about?"

Jones sat down again. "You remember the night I found..." She glanced around quickly to make sure no one was within earshot before continuing in a whisper, "the night I found Shafira? He was alone with the ALF for an unrecorded period of time."

"And so were you."

"The lab said that the thing that slid from the targets mouth was parasitic in origin. What if it wasn't the only one?"

"You think Gould has one inside him?"

"Think about it. When we got back from Egypt, he was acting weird, as if he didn't know some of the people he worked with every day. Christ's sake, he'd been trying to get into Chantelle's knickers for months before that. Suddenly he has no interest anymore, totally out of character."

"You said he was probably stressed from the Egypt job."

"I know, but every sighting there's been of our new target has been made by him."

"Nah," Green said with disbelief. "That explosion could have killed him. No way he's involved."

"That, is actually the clincher right there. He was already in the stairwell when Shafira warned us to get out. He said he needed to take a piss."

Green frowned. "Okay, so what do you want to do about it? Report our suspicions or check him ourselves. You can scan him for things like that, right?"

Jones nodded and got to her feet again. "Want to back me up? If I'm right he may get nasty. I'll understand if you want to sit this one out - him being your friend and all."

"Fuck that, I'm game. Bring it on, bring it on, bring it on," Green replied, following the statement with a sadistic looking grin. "From here to the eyes and the ears of the 'verse, that's my motto." He chuckled at Jones' grimace. "Or at least it would be, if I start having a motto."

"Okay..." Jones laughed nervously. "I'm driving, you've obviously had one too many whiskeys."

Tough Choices

"He's not answering," Green muttered as he got into the passenger seat of Jones' cruiser. The lenses of his glasses lightened instantly in the dim interior allowing Jones to see the look of concern that flitted across his face.

"Try his mobile."

"I did." He waved his own mobile in Jones' view as if to demonstrate that he hadn't put it away again yet.

"Comms?"

"Nothing. I've asked HQ to run a trace on him. After what you said earlier about Gould, I have a bad feeling about this."

"Let's not get excited just yet. The hospital is a very public place, I doubt Gould would try anything. That's assuming he has a slug inside him, of course."

Green made no comment, but continued to redial Black's number in the hope that poor reception on Black's side was the issue. The two minute journey from the pub car park dragged and the elevator ride to the ward Gould was bedded seemed to take an eternity. Both Green and Jones checked the power levels on their weapons as it neared its destination, replacing them within easy reach as the doors opened.

It may have been the unusually quiet atmosphere that set Jones on edge or it could have been the lack of staff at the nurse's station. Whatever it was, her weapon was in her hand when she paused at the door to Gould's room.

She nodded at Green and counted with her fingers: three, two, one. The door swung inwards with the nudge of her hip, her gun swinging with her eye-line in search of any threat. When none presented itself, Jones walked further into the room allowing Green to enter and inspect the adjoining bathroom while she covered the bed.

"Clear," Green whispered, barely audibly.

Jones nodded once in the direction of the bed indicating that Green should pull the covers back. She kept her weapon trained on the sleeping bulk.

"Shit. It's Black," Green rasped. "He's dead. I guess that proves your theory."

"When was the last contact you had with Black?"

"I don't know, maybe a half hour. Gould has Black's clothes, he could be anywhere."

Jones did some mental calculations. "It would have taken Gould at least twenty minutes to incapacitate Black and strip him of his clothes with a broken wrist. Getting dressed would also take time. He may still be in the hospital," she surmised. "Get on to HQ and put out an AOS on Gould, security code red. This is not good news."

Using the computer system to access the hospital's intercom, Jones did the only thing she could think of to minimise civilian causalities. "Attention, attention. Code red. This is not a drill. I repeat: this is not a drill. This is the Apocalypse. Please exit the hospital in an orderly fashion." She activated the comms device in her ear. "Gould, we have you surrounded. Give yourself up and we can help you."

Laughter erupted from somewhere behind her, the sound echoing along the narrow corridor concealing the source's actual position. Her weapon was up and aimed in the general direction by the time she swung around to face the right way.

"Green," she whispered, after touching her ear to change the comms channel. "He's still on this floor. Let's move. He has Black's weapon, shoot to kill."

"Right with you, Boss," Green replied, taking up position at her side. He adjusted the power level from stun to lethal on his gun, nodding his readiness to proceed.

They moved in unison, grateful that the floor was already empty of civilian patients. Jones blinked to alter her vision to thermal and scanned the rooms through the thin walls. A human heat source moved from a crouch to standing three doors down. He stood with his arms raised to his chest, the cold black silhouette of his weapon obvious against his body temperature.

Her hand on Greens chest stopped his advance. "Cover me," she mouthed as she pointed to the room.

She moved silently, each step placed with utmost care. Once she reached the exact spot on the opposite side of the room wall, she stopped and switched her weapon into her left hand. Her right shot forward through the thin wall beside Gould's head, snatching his gun from his grasp before he knew what happened. Gould, being a highly trained soldier, recovered quickly and came through the door at her with a speed to rival her own. The ensuing close combat had them rolling around the floor, each landing blows that would normally incapacitate their opponent with ease.

The first shot Green got off skimmed Jones' shoulder, the second Gould's foot. "For Christ's sake, quit moving," he yelled. His third shot knocked Jones off her feet and into the wall. His Fourth, a few seconds later, saw Gould dead. He sprinted the short distance to Jones' side and released the breath he'd been holding since he made the rash decision to shoot his commanding officer. "Ma'am?" he asked with trepidation. He tapped her cheeks lightly in an attempt to bring her round. "Come on, Jones," he pleaded, going over the last minute of the fight in his mind - he was sure he set the gun to stun before he shot her.

Whatever It Takes

Shafira stood with her mouth hanging open. Shocked but mesmerized by the sight of the creature that slithered from her captor's mouth. Her mother had warned her that this man wasn't what he seemed; this was more than she thought possible. Sure, she knew aliens existed, that was what she had trained for after all. To be this close to one and have it tell her through its host that she was just like it, was simply unbelievable.

She watched and waited for the perfect opportunity to strike. Her mother had trained her for this day. The day she would put a stop to the fear of being discovered. She knew exactly what she was and this creature was certainly not it.

With one sweep of her hand, she ripped the creature from its host's mouth and studied it as it wriggled in her grasp. "I am nothing like you," she stated, as she looked it in its beady little black eyes. "I don't excrete slime."

The host slumped to the floor as she turned her back on him. She didn't bother looking back when she heard the thud; he was dead the day the creature took him over. Her search for something sharp took her the kitchen where she found a butcher's knife which she used to cut the creature in two. She also found her comms device conveniently left on the sideboard.

It took an hour for her mother to find her after she made the call. Green arrived too and took the plastic wrapped creature from her hand when her mother enveloped her in a crushing hug. He left them alone to put it in the trunk of the car.

"Did it say how many of them there where?" Jones asked as she released her daughter and stepped back to study her appearance.

Shafira nodded. "There were four of us born that night. Three like that," she pointed in the direction Green had left, "and me."

"Damn, then there's one more. Did it give you any idea who it possessed?"

Shafira shook her head. "I don't think it knew."

"One more and we're home free, Sweetie. We just have to bide our time and hope it shows itself."

"What about Green? Does he know?"

"Sort of, he's still in the dark to all the details, but I think he has his suspicions. We'll have to keep an eye on him though, just in case."

"What if he finds out about what I can do?" Shafira asked under her breath as Green entered the house again through the back door.

"Let's get you home, Sweetie," she said for Green's benefit. "We'll deal with that later if we need to. Whatever it takes."

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