A Change in the Wind
(Chapter 8)

September 11^th, 8:45 am EDT
Miami, Florida

         “I reckon so, sum fierce, hoss.”  Rufus Darken licked the ballpoint tip of his pen then scribbled on the corner of the page before signing his name.  “Fischer Space Pen.  Tha’s all I’m sayin’.  They work everywhere, even in th’ cold and under water.  Office Depot, pal.  They’re everywhere in this state.” 

Rue handed a pen back to the courier followed by a clipboard in exchange for a letter in an envalope.  He stepped back inside the motel room and flipped on a television then sat down on the edge of his bed.  In the background, the TV began to run a segment for “A moment of silence on Patriot’s Day.” 

         Rufus brought the envelope to his nose and sniffed at it.  He carried it over to the TV and held it up against the flat screen.  A moment later, the white background close-up of a building illuminated the envelope.  Deciding the contents were safe, he opened it and withdrew a letter. 

         The contents read, “United States Paranormal Research and Investigations (USPRI) is clean – they are not behind the attacks. A CIA liaison named Greg Watson will be moving the artifact to Johannesburg in November.  It’s currently mobile and untraceable at this time.  I will contact you again with information on its whereabouts when Watson is confirmed to possess it.” 

         Rufus crumbled the paper up and carried it to the hotel room sink.  He reached up and disconnected a lead to a smoke alarm wired into the building.  Satisfied, he set fire to the letter then washed the remains down the drain.  He reconnected the lead, replaced the plastic cover then stretched. 

         “What’s that smell?” asked a deep voice from behind. 

         Rufus turned around and folded his arms.  A huge black man shifted somewhat under the covers; his feet hung over the end of the second bed.  “Hey, Bull.  Sire just wrote to us.  Said he’ll have a job for us in November.  He also said the Feds aren’t part of the attacks.”  Rufus paused then tilted his head.  “But the question is… what’s that smell?”  He moved to the door then stood behind it and peered through the eyehole. 

         A man in black flak gear was on the other side.  Rufus could see him draw back a metal battering ram.  “Get ready, hoss,” Rufus hissed then moved back against the wall, behind the door. 

         The enormously tall black man slid down between the two beds then hunkered down and grew still.  The hotel room door flew inward and struck Rufus, keeping him hidden flat against the wall.  The men pointed weapons in through the doorway, expecting a fight but received silence. 

         “Be ready for anything,” said one of the men as the squad moved into the room. 

         The group glanced around, weapons at the ready.  One of them said, “I smell something burning.” 

         “Yeah, same,” said another. 

         Suddenly, the bed nearest to the door lurched up and struck the group, knocking them over.  The door slammed shut, keeping the men from running.  In front of the door, blocking their path, stood an enormous black furred werewolf, straight out of the comics and old fashion horror movies.  

         The mercenary pack glanced back at a tall black man in sweatpants who stood up, towering over them at nearly seven feet.  “Chay bala, you want to lego?” He pulled the mattress away with one hand and tossed it atop of the other bed. In a calm, deep, melodic tone, announced, “You in some serious business, now.” 

         The four men got up from where they were strewn across the floor, looking at the werewolf and tall black man.  “Retreat,” one of them hissed.  They opened fire in all directions to cover their escape through the window above the heater. 

         Rufus drew a hind-leg back then kicked the door completely off its hinges.  It sailed out into the abandoned parking lot where weeds grew up through cracks in the asphalt.  He stooped through the doorframe, opened his maw and roared triumphantly. 

         “Shoot’em!” one of the men shouted.  They opened fire on Rufus, causing him to cringe only somewhat.  The tall black human man hurled a bed through the window, mowing down all four at once.  The werewolf bound towards them and pounced.  

         One of the mercenaries, nearest to Rufus, eased up onto an elbow.  “Who are you guys?? How could that man throw things like that?!”

         “I’m a werewolf, y’ jackass.  The strongman over yonder, Collobulous Gungaroo Bullakulla – his daddy from Oklahoma, his momma’s from Australia.  Deeply spiritual man, that one.  Says I’m his totem spirit guide, cause I got ears’n  a tail. I call’em Bull fer short.  You done just seen why; strong as hell.”

         The man’s radio chirped over the line.  “Hanson, just remember to shout if you need backup.”

Rufus closed his maw over the nearest mercenary’s face, directly above their nose and clamped down.  Unable to reach the radio, the mercenary shouted to the heavens but only the werewolf heard it.

         Unlike feral wolves of the wild, Rufus was keen to dig his claws into the hamstring.  He jerked his head from left to right in one quick motion. 

         The large man still in the motel stepped out through the empty window frame, picked up a nearby mercenary by his leg then flung him about as though he weighed nothing.  The flailing body struck the other two men, killing all three instantly from the intensity of the collision. 

         Rufus lifted his head, maw bloody, and paused.  In a human-like manner, he furrowed his brows.  His maw opened.  Instead of growling, a guttural and throaty sound came from his muzzle.  “What?  Dun’ look at me like tha’.” 

         The large man leaned forward and squinted his eyes.  Rufus stood up, backing away from the body  “Aw, c’mon, Collobulous.  You’re givin’ me them freaky eyes.  I hate tha’.” 

         “Rue, you’re cleaning that one up, bruddah.  These white fellas never bleed when we do it my way.  It’d be good for you to remember that next time.  These gunjies’ mish was a shamejob.  Now what?”

         “I’m jus’ glad we got power on at this abandoned dump.”  Rufus licked his velvet-padded paw then rubbed his palm over his ear.  “Cause you remember what I said if we couldn’t get the power to come on here?”

         “Yeah, bruddah.  You said we’d spend actual money to stay somewhere’s else if you couldn’t get that power on.  Then we’d have had witnesses and put ourselves in some serious sorry business.  Lucky us.” 

         “Ayup.  So if these dudes ain’t backed by the Feds, who’s calling their shots?” 

         “I wonder the same.  Have you any gut feelings on the matter?”

         “I’unno, hoss.  I just… what about your dreamtime thing?”

         Collobulous nodded with a frown and said, “I’ve not returned to dreamtime since my last prophecy.  It was too disturbing, bruddah.” 

         “Yeah, uh, I dun’ quite understand what’cha saw, Bull.” 

         “A great spiritual wave.  I saw some things, whose symbolism I didn’t understand, like the Humming Bee.  I saw other things that had a more disturbing image, like the black rain that will melt our ability to love one another.  And then I saw the great upheaval.  I saw two thousand years of suffering with the convergence of three climate cycles.  This has been prophesized by others, some saying that it would end in 2012 but have long-term effects… but I saw something new.  Something dark.  And I felt fear in my heart.”

         “Wha’s all that mean, anyhow?”

         “The forty thousand year Dreamtime has ended recently.  We are at the beginning of a new dimension.  No one is quite sure what these new images mean.  I try only to focus on what is near in time.  Occasionally, I see things that are far ahead of me.  I’ve not returned to Dreamtime since.” 

         “We need answers.  What’cha suggest we do, big guy?” 

         Collobulous frowned thoughtfully.  “I need to meditate.  I need to consider songlines and ponder on my Dreaming.  You, bruddah, need to consider cleaning up this mess.” 

         Rufus glanced at the four bodies then back at Bull.  “A’ite, ya big lug.  You just wanna get out of workin’.” 

         “I will return to you shortly.” 

         The large man went to a nearby hotel door, adjacent to the one they’d been using.  He forced his way through with ease, moved up onto a bed and settled onto it.  He closed his eyes and relaxed his body.  His lips parted and, in a soft tone, he spoke a single word, “Uluru…” 

         Within his Dreamtime, Collobulous found himself standing atop of Ayers Rock in Australia.  A flickering light stream comprised the sky with colorful filaments as stars, and he spoke.  “Is this my soul construct, Uluru?”  He glanced down and saw water trickling from the rockface.  “Why do you cry?  Are you not happy?”

         A voice replied in a fatherly tone.  “Like human skin that transpires with heat, water has welled up from within me to escape.  Allow me to take you deep within my own layers; give to me your trust; I will bring you to the heart of the Universe, to the era of the great Dreamtime.  Open your eyes.” 

         Collobulous squinted, gazing in the distance from Ayers Rock.  “A time beyond my comprehension.  A magnificent world of worldly understanding and splendor.  I see the beginning.  This city of great beauty is perched upon a great string that bobs and weaves but eventually brings itself back around and connects beginning to end.  On the end is a great darkness – black rain, a vision of pain in my own heart.  A New Earth.  The vibration of my soul is not on the same wavelength as those around me.” 

         The fatherly voice returned.  “Collobulous, time moves forward but not in a straight line.  The beginning of time will become how time ends.  With a return to The First Age.  You cannot stop this at this time.  Your only choice is to keep your totem spirit wolf alive and well.  His task will become clear in the distance future, for he stands at the tiny gap between where the string ends and begins.  You have a journey ahead of you, waiting in Africa.  Familiarize yourself with this land.  You have a journey that will lead you from there to where you are now.  You will understand in time.  But there will be a great darkness before your spirit wolf can finish his task.” 

         Collobulous saw clear across the globe from where he stood atop Uluru.  His eyes perceived a fierce journey ahead, and a great, glowing power in South Africa.  “I understand.”  The hotel replaced the cosmos all around him.  Collobulous pursed his lips together then slid from the bed.  He made his way back to the other room, surprised to see the sun so high in the sky. 

         “Rufus, what time is it?” 

         “Aw, hell, man… I thought you’d be in there all day.  It’s almost three in the afternoon.”  Rufus, in his human form once more, glanced back from the cartoons on the television and tilted his head.  “You got this look like you’s gunna announce, “I know what we’re gunna do today, Ferb!”  I’m jus’ waiting to see what it’s gunna be.”  Rufus ran his fingers back through his lengthy jet-black hair then stretched. 

         “We will travel to South Africa now.  There are things for us to do before this gunyan gubba man arrives in November with his wagala mob.” 

         “Dayum.  A’ite, then.  Lemmie pack my bags… and… okay.  I’m ready.”  Rue dusted his empty hands and grinned sheepishly. 

X

 X

September 11^th, noon, Pacific Daylight-Savings Time
San Leandro…  

A bottle of Macallan single malt levitated to the nightstand across from the sofa.  Karla Howard brought the glass to her lips with a sigh of content.  “There we are,” she murmured, then finished the contents of the glass.  With a wave of her hand, the top returned to the bottle, across from her. 

Karla paused and angled her tablet somewhat, until she could see the reflection of a person standing behind her.  The succubus reached back and closed her fingers over their shirt. She empowered her arms with the force of telekinesis and flipped the person over her sitting chair. They crashed across the coffee table with a groan.

Acting on instincts, she touched her index finger against the man's biceps then jerked back as the intruder spasmed from pain.

The succubus smiled at the sound he made, delightedly watching him squirm. "Hurt, huh?" she asked. "Telekinetically-charged poke to the muscle. Gives a whole new meaning to a pressure point attack. I bet you've never had a Charlie-horse like that, have you?"

Karla reached back to her favorite sitting chair, picked up her tablet and smiled. She placed the device on the nearby sofa; the screen depicted a listing of amusing photograph memes from Tumblr. "Did you know I finished this really, really interesting publication on anatomy last week. There was this great chapter on pressure points. Interesting how they can be used to stimulate and create pleasure or pain – good read. I could touch your calf muscle and you wouldn't be able to walk. It's probably just as painful as taking a bullet." She lowered to one knee, adjusting the low waistline of her pajama pants. "Don't sneak up on me unless I know that you're supposed to be here.  So, why are you in my house?"

The man laid flat on his back on her coffee table, favoring his throbbing bicep. He rubbed his palm up and down in an attempt to massage away the intense pain. "Jesus, this hurts."

"That's the point. So, do you work for Aris Falcon?"

The young man sat up, eased off the coffee table then glared back at her. "That fuckin' hurt."

"Mind your mouth. I'm a lady. Ever have your teeth pulled out with a pair of pliers? Well, I can do it without any tools." She stood up and folded her arms beneath the ample swell of her bust. "I asked you a question. Do you work for Aris Falcon?"

"No; goddamn. Give me a second." He took a deep breath then turned back to her, still rubbing his arms firmly. "I think I need a bottle of Advil after that.  God.  No, I’m just like you but my ability allows me to change the molecular structure of an object. For the record, breaking and entering isn't a power but I've always been good at it, okay?  You’re probably being watched; I just didn’t wanna start pounding on your door or something. Just… I need a moment to recover. This hurts."

"I teleport, kid.  So, no, no one knows where I live, so no one is watching me.  I have the right and the will to defend myself, not to mention the means with which to do it. So you better start talking or…"

"Okay, okay!" He moved over by the sofa and dropped onto the cushion opposite of Karla's tablet. "The Grand Justicar came to San Francisco. I'm his secretary in a manner of speaking. He came to meet with the west coast chief justicar. They wanted to discuss the fact that several of our kind has been killed by a man living here in the city; some genetics guy who is trying to study our kind. Some have started talking – you're waging a war against this guy because you witnessed one of his attacks, and you knew him from working with the 'master thief' guy, Jon Parker, several decades ago. You've made it personal against Falcon. The justicars were going to make a decision on what to do with you today."

"Were?" Karla tilted her head. Blond locks spilled over her shoulder and tumbled down the side of her arm. "So, let me guess, Falcon got to them and had'em killed, right?"

"Both are dead, yes. No one saw anything. The office door was destroyed by conventional weaponry. They were killed and burned. The office was burned. There was a third body wearing black Kevlar in the office, so I think one of the attackers were killed in the raid.”

“Any other evidence?”

Johann perked and reached into his pocket. “Oh, yeah!  This.”  He retrieved a pair of eyeglasses.  “These belonged to the Pacific Coast Chief Justicar but for some reason the Grand Justicar, Reinhardt St. Leonard, was wearing them – just watch.” He handed them to Karla; she put them on then squinted at the odd prescription.  “Just bear with me a second.  Okay, Glass!  Replay last video taken from this afternoon!” 

The Google Glass display window opened in the corner of the eyewear.  Karla could see from the perspective of the Grand Justicar, facing his subordinate.  The man handed a notepad to his superior but before Karla could read what was written on the page, the original user tilted their head straight down.  She could see from Reinhardt’s perspective that a hot orange piece of metal rebar emerged from his chest.  He stumbled towards the nearby desk, dropping the notepad on the surface then he collapsed to the floor on his side. 

In the recording, the eyeglasses tumbled from the man’s face and landed upside down on the floor, facing Reinhardt’s shoulder.  He shifted his arm, reaching a hand for the eyewear but someone, off to the side, kicked the glasses beneath the desk. 

Karla cleared her throat then said, “Okay, Glass, invert the video a hundred ‘n eighty degrees.”  The perspective righted itself in the window, displaying the video footage. 

Over the small speakers built into the arm of the glasses that went over her ear, she could hear the Chief Justicar’s voice from where he stood, two feet from Reinhardt’s fallen form.  “Wait, you?? But…! I… I don’t understand.  YOU are working for Aris?  But then who is…? I don’t understand – is this even really you?” A moment later he groaned in pain then dropped to his hands and knees.  He made eye contact with the glasses beneath the desk.

Karla shuddered, seeing the man’s eyes as he began to die from an attack just off screen.  From off to the left, lighter fluid sprayed over the two bodies.  A pack of matches hissed to life then they were dropped to the floor, followed by the sound of boots retreating in cadence. 

The Chief Justicar reached a hand back to the left.  Someone shouted in surprise just off the screen.  One of the mercenaries flew backwards and landed adjacent to the Chief Justicar.  He put his hand on the man’s throat.  “WHO SENT YOU?” he exclaimed. “And who is that man working for?!”

The mercenary, in a panic, shouted, “Aris Falcon!” then screamed as the flames licked up over his uniform, “Let me go!”

The Chief Justicar ground his teeth together, keeping a tight hold on the man.  “You can die with me.”  The video ran another thirty seconds as the flames consumed the three men and the room’s Oriental rug. 

“Okay,” said Karla.  “This is getting weirder by the minute.  So, wait, that doesn’t explain how you could find me here.”

“The impression penned into the Grand Justicar's notepad had your name written out. And your address. He was going to suspend your use of abilities for six months, I believe."

"Pardon? And how does one come and alter someone's genetics for six months?"

The young man on the sofa dropped his head back to the top of the backrest cushion, looking up at the ceiling. "My arms still hurt. Damn. Anyway, his ability allows him to cause something akin to stroke damage to the brain but he can focus where the attack occurs.  Reinhardt needs time to focus on his subject and the victim cannot fight it, or it won’t work.  So he usually attacks a sleeping person, someone who is drunk or beaten down, or he will incapacitate his victim with a syringe."

"To hell with that. Screwing with the brain? The world is better off without people that can alter the brain." She unfolded then refolded her arms the other way, beneath her breast, and scowled. "That's not even a proper ‘ability.’ It's just a means to control people. What's your name, kid?"

"Uhm, I’m Johann Foster.” He looked her over then cleared his throat and announced, “I’m not a kid. I'm at least twice your age – I'm thirty-six. Anyhow, he had other abilities, too. There's a reason he had his position. He had the power of spoken persuasion. He could cause mind altering states similar to drug use. He could also understand any spoken language.  Astral projection allowed him to confuse attackers or speak to multiple groups from the safety of his home.  And he’s an impressive fencer."

"Oh, neat, the gift of tongues. That's a new one. …not. Thirty-six my ass, kid; you're nineteen or twenty with more chest hair than other kids your age. As Nathaniel would say, ‘Don't bullshit a bullshitter,’ sweetpea. Why are you here? To finish carrying out their punishment?"

"No ma'am. They didn't reach a verdict. They were killed by the people against whom you are waging a private war. The head of the sect was taken down ten minutes later and now the governing body is in total disarray. Attacks also took place in Europe, DC, Asia and Russia. Today's attack in San Francisco happened within minutes of the others. We think that there are now less than one hundred people left in the world with natural abilities. We think the entire Asian supernatural community was killed; as you know they live together in a town."

“Yeah?  About three hundred of them all together in a small village.”

“It’s all over the news – a nuclear blast was identified in that town.  About five kilotons, they were wiped out in a flash.  Fingers are being pointed at Iran, North Korea… We’re positive it was either Falcon or someone working with him.  We don’t even know if any Asian supernaturals have survived.”

A slight frown marred her porcelain features. "There’s at last one left.  She’s here in California, somewhere; she said she planned on lying low while things play out." Karla began pacing in front of her broken coffee table. "So, should I call you 'Yo' for short? Do you prefer Mister Foster?"

"Johann is fine… and who is she?"

"I met a woman from Japan." The demoness snapped her fingers several times then pointed at the young man on the sofa. "Sinopa! Not very Asian sounding, I know. Come to think of it, she didn't look Asian – more like Irish. Anyway, she didn't seem to know much about the supernatural community. I suppose she avoids the normal channels. Not to mention she's dating an American southerner.

“Look, I get it, kid: they killed almost all the people with abilities and now there are only a few of us left… So, what do you want me to do about this mess?"

"You've come up against these people several times and lived. How're you doing it?"

She shrugged in reply. "Luck? They were supposed to get the drop on me but I was late to my meeting. The last several times I've been the one getting the drop on them - sometimes the best defense is a good offense. But I've kept it out of the news. What do you want me to do?"

"I think we have a leak in the supernatural community. Even I didn't know the location of the head of this sect. Yet these people found our leader with no trouble."

"Are you here to warn me or something?"

Johann swallowed then sighed. "No. I'm here to ask your help. You've gone up against these people a handful of times. You've survived it. I'm young. I don't want to die. Everyone I know has been killed. I stopped the murder investigation after I found your name and address impression in the burned notepad. I'm afraid to die, okay?"

Karla eyed him for a moment then unfolded her arms. "Pussy." She lifted her hand abruptly to keep him from responding. "Look, I'm sorry. That was uncalled for. I'm not afraid to die if that's what you're asking."

"Wait," he interjected. "Are you physically invulnerable to harm? I've heard of people who are impervious to injury with stone-like fortitude."

"As a demon, I heal a little faster than the average person but I'm not talking about bullet holes or anything. I'm talking about a bruise that goes away in a few hours. I'm talking about a cut on my finger from an Xacto knife but the cut being gone without a mark in a day or so."

"I didn't… know demons had that ability," he said, still rubbing his arms firmly.

"Succubi were once killed by marring their faces. If they're ugly, they can't get laid… then they die. So, over time, we evolved the ability to heal marred markings. It's not an instantaneous process, though. I've not met anyone whose skin is as impenetrable as a diamond, but I have met a man in England who can heal any injury instantly, even if you sever an arm or a leg. What is going on exactly - an unofficial Inquisition?"

"I don't know. Yes, I’ve heard of people like that who can heal any injury, but they can still die. Beheading has been one method. The other has been a focused low-yield nuclear attack."

"Wait, WHAT?" Karla stopped her pacing and turned to Johann. "Two nuclear attacks?"

"No, just the one.  That guy in England you just mentioned? He and other rapid-healing people were somehow lured to the Esoteric Village in Asia.  They arrived just in time for that blast to wipe them out.  No survivors." Foster winced, still rubbing his arms firmly to relax the Charlie-horse in his biceps.  “I don't know if it's an Inquisition because not everyone dies. Some people have been abducted. Four bodies from sects outside of this country have shown up in San Francisco. They were held under lock and key for a while, then one by one they were disposed of as if their usefulness ran out. They had to be identified by their teeth… one was ID'ed by the serial number on a plate on his femur. That's a bone in your…"

"Yes, I know what a freakin' femur is. It's a thigh."

"Yeah," said Johann. "I came here because I felt my chance of surviving is better."

"I don't know how to protect others, just myself, kid."

He frowned in reply. "But Lance ‘Methos’ Patterson said he owes you his life.  Donovan Loupe said the same.”

She smirked and rolled her eyes. "Ah, Donovan.  Good guy, a little bit of a cornball but… it's a shame he hates fighting. His abilities are pretty wicked. Good psychological warfare if you ask me. Nothing can break a person's spirits like getting thrown about by your own shadow."

"Still… you saved his life. He was with another supernatural yesterday that wound up dead. He escaped by assuming the shadow of one of the attackers. He followed the man back to a warehouse but they spoke to Aris Falcon's right hand man… er, woman… Krys Monroe. And it was over a webcam."

Karla burst into silvery peals of laughter. "I told'em that's how this stuff plays out!" She walked out of the living room and into the bathroom. Seconds later, she reappeared in the middle of the living room and tossed him a bottle of pills. "Muscle relaxers. They'll make you tired, but it's the only way to help with your arms right now." In the blink of an eye she appeared to drop into the cushion with her legs up on an ottoman. She held her left hand up and her tablet reappeared in her palm. "Anything else?"

"How do you do that? And how can you maintain your figure without walking anywhere?"

"Using my abilities burns a lot of calories." Karla grinned. "Most people think I get my abilities from feeding on sex. But they're wrong. That keeps me alive and healthy. Using my powers is tied into my metabolism. I eat a lot of food.  In the past four centuries, I’ve eaten enough to feed a city."

Johann looked her over then took the bottle of pills in his hands. He glanced down at the broken coffee table and blinked at a bottle of Fiji spring water that was previously not there. "I, uh… thanks. So other sex demons heal, fair enough, but I thought they were mortal?  Plus, I’ve never seen a sex demon use abilities before."

"They are mortal." she replied with a grin. "The females appear to stop aging in their teens. The men will continue to age until their early thirties. Part of our genetic evolution and survival. We've been around as long as Homo sapiens. Apparently, men want young women that look like they're healthy, voluptuous and in their birthing prime. Women apparently want a man. Teenage males are considered ‘just boys’ to a sexually mature woman. An incubus can't survive on cougars. So they age different.  In high school, they’re usually the first boy to have chest hair and a manly voice.  They stop aging around thirty and stay that way.  The average succubus and incubus live to around 125 years old.  I’ve seen some make it to 150.  Someone in my family bred with an immortal – my father is… god only knows how old that man is.  He gave me that gene, so now I have to have sex, else I start aging." She shrugged.

“God, that is so cool.”

Karla’s brows lifted. "As the secretary of the Grand Justicar, you're not what I expected. You're cute in a nerdy way."

"Uh, yeah... so you're really immortal?  What happens to sex demons that die of age, if they look young.  How’s that work?  Do they eventually start looking old before they die?"

"I’m not sure why I'm so lucky; daddy was immortal, too. And, no, my kind doesn’t look old when we kick the bucket.  But once we die, the body entropies or, sometimes, spontaneously combusts.  Nothing flashy, just destruction of the evidence of our unnatural existence.  Maybe that’s why Hollywood always depicts demons as going up in a brief blaze of glory… Someone probably saw it happen once.  Now… moving on: were you followed?"

"How would I know if I was followed or not?" His eyes widened with fear and realization. "I'm… I'm sorry if I messed up."

"Dear God," she muttered, running her fingers back through her hair. "Do you have a list of other supernaturals on you? Perhaps their locations?"

He shook his head and put his finger on his right temple, winced then brought his hands back to his arms. "Big hippocampus. Anyway, look, I'm sorry. I drove straight here. I didn't think about being followed."

"Like I said earlier, kid, I teleport places," Karla said with a huff. She put the tablet back on the sofa and sniffed disdainfully. "I can't be followed. You can. Dammit. I'm very careful about that." She disappeared from the chair then appeared at the window. "They found me at a hotel I occasionally use in Millbrae. You don't get it, kid - if you can find me, so can they. We should get ourselves ready for a fight."

"I… I'm… I'm so sorry, I didn't think. I have an eidetic memory, not a calm mind in the face of danger. I was in shock. I'm scared, okay?"

"And you tried to startle me by speaking in my ear from behind. You're lucky I didn't freak and throw you back through the window or something." She brought her hands to either side of her head and began rubbing gently. "Okay. Getting upset isn't going to do anything. Hell, I don't even know how the Chief or Grand Justicar could have my address. THAT is discerning to me. Maybe we can fake our own deaths. You can melt a few bodies down to sludge and we'll destroy the place… no, that won't work… DNA testing. Let me think. Maybe I could use the Parkers."

"I don't follow," said Johann.

"Fox Parker was recently captured by Falcon. I let it happen and kept an eye out – they haven't even tried killing him. They study him."

"How will he help us?"

"It's best that I move. If I go and rescue Fox now, I'll take him to his rich father. Conner will give me money and I'll get something that can't be traced to a mailing address. House boat, fancy RV… something."

"You let the boy sit in there and rot?"

"I need his help in the long run," she explained. "He won't help me unless he sees something …you know… esoteric. I check on him, so stop worrying.  Anyway, I'll attack the complex and make it look like a jailbreak. I've not kicked anyone's tail in a while. I'm getting antsy."

"You'll understand if I don't help. I don't want to get in your way."

"Don't be afraid. I can deflect bullets, catch them and I can teleport fire to some degree. I am awesome and you worry too much."

Johann shook his head. "A person's reflexes aren't fast enough to react to a bullet. Mythbusters proved that much."

She quirked a brow at him then smiled. "Aren't you cute… nerd. Seriously, though. I exude a force bubble of natural telekinetic energy. Anything approaching me with high inertia is naturally slowed. Not to mention, my mother had the ability to bend time, as well as her half-brother Raul Poliandro; my father was an incubus named Azazel – not to be confused with the biblical demon, nor the Watchers mentioned in the Dead Sea Scrolls.  And on that note, while I haven’t seen daddy-dearest in quite some time, I will be thoroughly angry if something happened to him during this ‘cleansing’ or whatever these mercenaries are calling it. I never exactly gained my mother's abilities… but... Scientifically speaking, I'm told my reflexes are so high that I can almost anticipate things.  I can't even touch marijuana or stuff like Diphenhydramine."

"Okay, okay." Johann put his hands up. "Sorry, I'm just… Okay. I get it. Slight temporal abilities. Increased reflex time. Miss Howard, you're rambling."

"Karla," she replied. "I had sex about an hour ago. I'm all keyed up. Ever do gorilla fingers, kiddo? That's what it's like when I feed. So, why don't you want to go with me? You'd like Fox - he's a really genuine guy, easy going."

"Like I said, I'm trying not to die. I think I might be thanatophobic. Not, you know, of other people's death, just my own. I'm… I panic at the mere thought."

"Which is why you ran here without a clear head," she surmised with a frown. "So you started an investigation into the bodies of the justicars. You were in the same room as their bodies?"

"It's not normal thanatophobia. The death of another doesn't bother me. I've performed autopsies for the justicar. But the thought of putting myself in mortal danger is something that bothers me. And if something comes along that I feel is lethal to my health… well, after seeing them charred, I took a Lorazepam. I was working with the investigation and I was trembling but told myself that Falcon's people wouldn't come back to the scene of the crime so soon. Then the report came in about the head of the sect and the attacks overseas. I started shaking and I had a panic attack."

Karla folded her arms. "Now you're the one rambling. I get it, kiddo. You're excited and scared. Did you take your pills?"

"I had to, I couldn't drive. I was shaking. Actually," he trailed off and looked down with shame. "I ran out of the room after the report. Next thing I knew, I was hiding in the parking garage. I've never had an attack that bad before. I took my pills – I injected them."

Karla blinked. "How do you inject pills?"

He leered at her for a moment then sighed. "I changed the molecular properties. We've been over this; it's my ability. I jammed the needle into my skin. It's not the first time I've had to do it that way.  You know, it wouldn’t be so bad if I had an ability that made me feel like I can’t die."

"Okay, okay Trigger Thumb. Calm down. I need to get a new place, just to be safe. I'm going to go rescue Fox and take him to see his father in exchange for a rescue fee. Maybe the kid will be ready to help. Hopefully Falcon's lab has sufficiently toughened him up."

"I don't follow."

She shrugged. "Like you, he really needed to increase his testicular fortitude." She saw Johann's confused expression and rolled her eyes. "He needed a bigger pair of balls. It's been about a week. I think he might have'em by now. You should hide. You have a cellphone?"

"I do. You going to call when this is over?"

"No. You're going to call me when you're ready to help. Either that or if you get some information that might help me." She handed her phone to him. "Go ahead, put in your number. Then I've got to go. Don't stay here, just in case."

"Can you teleport us both out of here?" He took the phone and began thumbing the screen. "I just don't want to be seen leaving if they're hunting down supernaturals. When do you think they'll attack?"

"At Lance's house, they were fast. If they are attacking tonight, they're taking their sweet ass time." She took the phone back from him then put it into her purse along with her tablet.  She waved her other hand and the bottle of scotch appeared in her palm.  She eased it into the bag.  "I can’t believe you interrupted me while I was amusing myself with the internet.  I need this time to myself.  To look at Reddit and Tumblr and Twitter and 4Chan so I can stay up to date and fit into the teenage crowd. Then you come and ruin it.  You suck.  Moving on! Let me grab some clothes real fast." She held her hand out and a red business suit with matching hat appeared, telekinetically levitated to her left. "Should I go with the Carmen Sandiego look?"

"I, um, I'm not good with fashion, and, uh…"

Karla groaned. "Nevermind. Geeze." She brought the clothes close, over her forearm. Three more outfits appeared from thin air. "Relax. I'll drop you somewhere safe, Wimpy."

"That’s not fair.  You claim you can stop bullets.  If I could do that, or even heal, I’d take up the hero mantle in a minute.  Like you, some sort of Femme Fatale superhero chick, going all Le Femme Nikita on their asses."

"Me? Pft! Hero my ass." Karla rolled her eyes. "And I don't know what comes next, kiddo. Do I look like Stan Lee or Tim Kring? I don't know how this plays out; I just do what I do and stay alive to the best of my ability. I'm going to find Fox, you're going to lay low."

"Look, I'm sorry if I led anyone here. I didn't intend to make such a rookie mistake." Johann fidgeted nervously.

"To be honest, I'm surprised the door hasn't blown in off the hinges yet." She smiled at his wide-eyed expression then both of them disappeared from the room.

The door at the other end blew inwards off its hinges. The door bowled over a dining room chair and pushed the table several feet to the left. In unison to the door bursting inwards, two flashbangs erupted with a deafening crack. Men in black gear flooded into the room and tossed two more flashbangs into the bedroom and guestroom.

A man casually strolled into the room at the far end and lit a cigar. He glanced around just as men starting shouting, "Clear!" throughout the condominium. He waved the wood match away then tossed it on the tiled foyer.

"Heartbeat monitor?"

"Negative, Sergeant Snipes," said the nearest mercenary. "Thermal showed they were here, two of them, but now the apartment is empty. Orders, sir?"

"She's smart, I'll give her that." He withdrew a photograph from his pocket. "Everyone, in the kitchen. Now." He plucked a magnet off the refrigerator and stuck her photograph to the front. "This is what our target looks like. Everyone get a good look."

One of the mercenaries looked pale. Snipes pushed through the small group and approached him. "What is it, son?"

"This is the girl that killed Gerry?"

Snipes nodded. "She and an accomplice – you know him as the defector, Patrick. They killed Gerry as a demonstration of their power. Why?"

The mercenary holstered his weapon and rubbed his face. "Christ, she was… that was my one-night-stand from day before yesterday. I took her back to my place, we went at it for a solid hour then I fell asleep. When I woke up the witch was gone."

One of the other soldiers shouted, "Are you fuckin' serious? You banged our target, Anderson?"

Snipes took his cigar from his lips and, in a loud voice, said, "HEY! Stow it. She's a succubus. She feeds on something found in bodily fluids. It's not Anderson's fault – she's seduced people for centuries and she's mastered the art of seduction by now… besides, he didn't know her face before now. However, that means she might know us and could possibly be her way of spying on our organization. So stay alert. If she's spying on us, we cannot talk about this target outside of this room. If anyone of you are approached by her, play it calm and cool… offer to take her somewhere secluded, be flirty… and when she lowers her guard, that's when you need to attack her."

The soldier sneered at his partner. "Anderson, here, only banged her because she looks young. That's how he likes'em. Young. Pervert. You're sick, dude. You'd better stay away from my teenaged daughter."

Snipes sighed. "Calm down. Damn." He put his cigar back into his teeth and walked out of the room. "Clean up!! I don't want her knowing we were here." He headed down the hall to the elevator then stepped into the stairwell and made his way down to the first floor. He withdrew a cellphone and thumbed the keypad of the flip phone. Seconds later a woman's voice answered on the other end. "She wasn't here. Sorry, Miss Monroe. Thermal showed that she was in the apartment with the other supernatural we followed. But by the time we arrived… she was gone."

The voice over the line sighed. "Fair enough. Look, I'm transferring you."

"Miss Monroe! Give me a chance, we'll catch her!"

"It's not a demotion; it's Alpha Towne," said Krys. "You've lived twice, where she's killed most everyone else that has gone up against her. I don't care about the details of how or why you've survived. No one else has done it, period. I'm sending you to a new post. Pack your bags, Wilhelm. You're headed on a cruise to the Atlantic Ocean. You'll rendezvous with an attachment on location and they'll give you a new set of orders. Congratulations."

"Thank you, Miss Monroe. Where do I pick up my ticket?"

"Just meet me at the usual place, tonight. See you then." She disconnected the line from her end leaving Snipes to stare at his cigar in wonder and curiosity.

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