Soul Mayhem: Zed's Chronicles of the Parallel Universe Disruptions Read online

  “Mr. Alex Tomlin and party,” our escort announced and scuttled out of the room before anyone reacted.

  “And party?” queried a somewhat florid faced and rotund man. He stood next to the cocktail cabinet, obviously thirsting. He turned to one of his associates. “I thought this was a selection interview?”

  I tagged the speaker as Freddie Billings, the chief financial officer, and he was addressing the sales director, Albert Artigue. The third person, Charles Sanson, seated on the other side of the board table, ignored the discussion. He was retiring and probably was pleased to be leaving this management team.

  “We decided Alex should have our support,” I spoke over their muttered discussion. “It seemed only fair.” In a softer voice I addressed Alex and Dena: “Let me handle this, just watch and listen. Don’t interrupt.”

  “Humph,” snorted Billings. “We’ll see what Henderson has to say about this. You can’t simply invite people to an interview, just like that.”

  I hesitated to say I had already done that.

  “Good grief. What’s all this?” The speaker had rushed into the room and stopped, taken aback by our presence. He also was overweight, a man in his forties, his physique spoiled by rich living. This was the late Mr. Porter Henderson. I hoped that was not a prophetic statement. “Who are you people?”

  I reached into my pocket for some more of my new business cards. I passed one to Henderson and then slid a card to each of the other Finders’ executives, all without the formality I’d offered Tomlin. In the moment’s silence as they each read the details on my card, I sketched a small sigil, a simple one. It was for protection. No, not mine—truly, I was thinking of Alex and Dena.

  “Rubbish,” stated the florid faced man. “Henderson, tell him to get out. I don’t have time for this nonsense.” He tried to look threatening.

  I smiled as I produced a paper from the folder. I had six copies. I handed a page each to Alex and Dena and passed others out to the almost ex-Finders people. I turned and faced Henderson and placed an original page in his hand.

  He started, as though shocked. As he had been. I’d loaded a spell onto the page, which the touch of his hand triggered. It was only a soft “read me” spell, nothing alarming. Henderson tried to fight it, but inevitably succumbed. The spell, albeit tiny, was irresistible. He read each word, at first without registering the contents. He read the document a second time. It was possible, almost, to see anger steaming out of his ears. The page stated I was the legal nominee of the trustees and my appointment was complete and legal, and my power over Finders personnel and assets was absolute. It was signed under the seal of the trustees and notarized.

  “What a load of—” began florid face.

  “Shut up,” snapped Henderson. He turned to me. “Who the hell are you? What do you think you’re up to?” He reached for the telephone at his end of the table.

  “The phone works,” I said. “However, your security people have left for the day—well, forever, I suppose. Their contract was terminated earlier. We thought it best to involve as few people as possible in our meeting.”

  There was instant pandemonium. I couldn’t readily determine whether they were arguing with each other or instructing me to leave the premises. The latter promptly. In impolite terms. With curses to flavor their anger.

  “Please be quiet,” I ordered. The effect was instantaneous. I looked down the table at the two underlings. “We came in peace. Please remain silent unless I ask you to speak. Understand?”

  I didn’t wait for an answer and focused on Henderson.

  “The basis of your appointment as general manager—some years back—was clearly detailed at the time. You are now being removed from office. The reason is fraud—against the company and its client. And conspiracy to kidnap. You plotted, the three of you, as well as with some others, not Finders personnel, to kidnap the two daughters of a client. Sanson—your operations manager—realized something was amiss but didn’t have the nerve to investigate.”

  “Preposterous,” exclaimed florid face.

  I turned and gestured. “You will keep silent.” The spell would keep his mouth closed until I released it. The spell, that is.

  Henderson shook his head. “You have no proof.” It was a bald statement, spoken with a strong undertone of authority. “You’re way off base. This is a forgery,” he tapped the signed and sealed document, “and I’ll not accept it.”

  I looked at Dena. “You have the video?” It was a rhetorical question.

  “Yes, Boss.” She dug into her carry bag and produced a plastic-cased DVD. “Here.” She didn’t mention it was a blank DVD.

  I accepted the item and waved it in front of Henderson. “This is a video of a couple of meetings. One with you, Billings, Artigue, and two others, friends—criminal acquaintances, rather—of Artigue. Those two unknowns—felons, really—are regarded as somewhat unpleasant people. I believe we’ll have their identities shortly. In the second video, the three of you discuss the receipt and division of the Tir-Kiran ransom.”

  I looked around. There was a laptop on the table, connected to an overhead projector.

  “Sanson,” I directed. The man at the end of the table looked up. “Please set up the equipment so we can watch this enthralling drama.”

  He remained silent as he switched on the laptop, logged in, and checked the connection to the projector. It was all in working order. He held out his hand for the DVD.

  “No, no. To prevent misunderstandings, you know, I’ll play the DVD.”

  I looked at Henderson. He continued to protest, declaiming both the accusation and the DVD, almost shouting they both were false.

  I said, “I’ve already forwarded a copy to Scotland Yard; they should receive it in another hour or so.”

  I caught the sense of a threatened attack.

  I said to Alex, “Henderson has a concealed weapon under his jacket. Relieve him of his shooter and check whether he has anything else tucked away. He won’t try anything; well, he can’t, for the moment.”

  It had required another small spell, just enough to freeze Henderson’s move to draw his weapon. Alex moved quickly, ignoring the snarls of threatened revenge. He pocketed the weapon.

  “Nothing else,” he remarked, after he completed a thorough and not very gentle search.

  “This is all nonsense,” spluttered Henderson. “You come in here waving false and meaningless documents around. We’re supposed to believe you when you produce a made-up video that is supposed to show me allocating funds.”

  “Interesting,” I remarked. “Is there anything else the video should show?”

  Henderson spluttered, his face pale. Fear had replaced his anger. “We should be able to settle this,” he cajoled. “How much do you want?”

  There was a crash behind me. I turned. Alex had disarmed Artigue. Somewhat vigorously, I thought.

  I returned my attention to Henderson. “You can’t buy your way out of this. I want signed statements, from each of you. With full details. Explicit. No short cuts. Dena, set out some paper and pens, so these—ex-employees—can write down relevant parts of their autobiographies.”

  Before Dena could move to do as I instructed, Henderson finally exploded. He screamed almost incoherently. He included threats to both my body and mind. I listened carefully; they sounded interesting. Henderson had a very inventive imagination. He was in what appeared to be the final stage of his tirade when something he said caught my attention.

  “What was that?” I asked.

  “I’ve had enough of your accusations. I call on the strength of the Underworld.” He traced a sigil with his left hand.

  I smiled again, which seemed to anger him even more. An old friend was about to visit. Although friend was perhaps too strong a word.

  A crash of thunder shook the boardroom and the accompanying lightning flashes were almost blinding. It was a real son et lumiere experience, as theatrical as ever. The huge form of the fiend almost filled the boardroom. Its
size adjusted downward when it realized it was likely to overflow the space available. Rivulets of fire ran along its body, producing hissing sounds and spurts of steam and smoke. I studied the shadowed and blackened form for a moment. I sniffed. The missing items were the smell of sulfur, choking smoke, and heat from the flames.

  It was a hologram.

  A good one, admittedly. I examined the image and confirmed the identity of the demon behind the mask, so to speak. It was Hurian, a middle ranking piece of evil. This time, he had adopted the appearance of a rare Keres hound. Good old Hurian, always on the make. Henderson had certainly managed an arrangement with the underworld, one that brought an undoubted demonic presence. However, the presence was not physical, at least not yet.

  “Yes, you puny human,” sneered the hound-creature Hurian. “Why have you summonsed me?”

  “Oh, mighty Hurian,” said Henderson. “I am being assailed by an enemy. I command you to take him to your underworld and enslave him, never to be released.”

  Hurian adjusted the structure of his holographic image to allow a wider view as well as sound and examined the room. These monster holograms had a two-way viewing feature; it was not always a wise thing, to see where your image has visited.

  “Oh, bugger,” he exclaimed. “Zed. Oh, bugger.”

  Clearly, he had recognized me.

  “Oh, bugger, indeed,” I confirmed. “Come here, Hurian.”

  “Do I have to?” Hurian almost whined.

  “It would be best.”

  The adjustment required more crashing sounds and lightning flashes. This time, the smell of sulfur was unmistakable. Dena almost gagged as she caught a full whiff of the gaseous mixture. Rivulets of fire drained off the monster hound’s body and scorched the carpet, adding to the mix of odors. The demon’s intrusion caused the row of windows to shatter, spreading glass inside and outside. I quickly checked; fortunately, there were no injuries in the street below.

  “Peace, Zed,” Hurian said. “I’ve only just recovered from the lactose intolerance you inflicted on me in our last encounter. That was a nasty thing to do. I haven’t been able to drink a decent cup of latte for a year.”

  “This won’t be too bad,” I indicated, weaving a tiny sigil.

  The geas had an immediate effect. Hurian’s tongue flicked out and caught a small insect. He slurped it down together with a small ashtray and a coffee cup from the board table. There was an astonished expression on his face.

  “You didn’t?”

  He almost cried. This time, his aim was not as accurate, and his tongue hit one of the overhead fluorescents and he ingested small shards of a broken tube. They crunched as he chewed.

  “It’ll wear off in about a month or so,” I advised. “Think of it as a visit to the dentist, only not as painful.” I indicated the group cowering in a corner of the boardroom. “Take these three and do to them what he—Henderson—requested for me.”

  “Done.”

  More crashing and flashes of lights and sparks. The speed of Hurian’s exit almost broke the sound barrier, and certainly broke the remaining windows and scorched the board table. These demons really were far too theatrical. The damage will have to come out of Hurian’s hide, the next time I saw him.

  I looked at those remaining in the boardroom. Dena was still gasping for breath. Alex looked bemused; presumably wondering if he was going to awaken from a dream—or indeed, from a nightmare. I smiled reassurance. Sanson had sunken further into his own demon-infused nightmare. The receptionist was peering around the corner of the doorway, trying to decide whether to scream or faint, or perhaps both, in sequence. I had dampened Alex’s and the receptionist’s incredulity reflexes—they both were accepting the events in the boardroom as somehow normal. Although I suspected neither were as mundane as they attempted to convey.

  “Sanson, get out of here,” I instructed. “You’ll receive a severance payment.” I waited for Sanson to leave. “And you—Mrs—?”

  “Clara. Clara Bighams.” She had decided not to faint.

  “Clara. We were testing a new portable heater and it exploded. Arrange for some workmen to clean this up. Submit an insurance claim, get the insurance company to approve the expenditure, whatever. All the usual repair stuff. Understand?”

  “Yes, sir.” She disappeared.

  “Well, Alex. What do you think? Want to take on the role of managing director of Finders?”

  Dena and I both looked at him, waiting.

  Alex considered for a long moment, as though reviewing the events of the previous thirty minutes or so. “Yes. One condition.”

  I started to worry. “And that is?”

  “Dena works for me.”

  Dena smiled. Full radiance.

  Damn. My heart sank. “Dena?” I asked, thinking furiously. “Has your sister completed her degree?” It was time Morwen had responsibilities. Victoria, Dena’s other sister, was still too young for the role I was considering.

  “Yes, boss.”

  “Would she like to be Alex’s PA?”

  Dena didn’t pause. “She’d love to.”

  “Alex, you can work with Dena for thirty days. Her sister will shadow. At the end of thirty days, she’ll take over and work with you.”

  Tomlin seemed disappointed. “She’ll accept an offer?”

  Dena nodded. “She’ll accept. She’s been wanting to work for Zed for years; this will give her a start. If she likes working for you, she’ll stay.”

  I looked at Tomlin and said, “Okay, Alex, done.” We shook hands. “Congratulations. The position’s yours, as of now. Come with me and have a look around your new empire.”

  Alex joined me, and we headed for the door. Behind me, I heard Dena’s comment.

  “Well, that went far better than I would have expected.”

  I smiled. “Dena, come with us. Your new temporary boss might want you to take notes.” I emphasized the temporary part. There was no way I was going to lose Dena. No way. I’d examine my motives later, by myself.

  I heard Dena frown from twelve feet away.

  oOo

  Chapter 3

  I can tell you want some explanations. Let me think for a moment. I suppose, the old adage works here, so I’ll start at the beginning. About eight years ago I was driving south toward Londin—ah, there’s the first point. It’s Londin, not London. London and its universe—at least, one of the primary Earth universes—disappeared. Everyone agrees that particular universe was the source of whatever caused the Disruption. So, whatever the inhabitants of Prime Earth were doing, they triggered what amounts to an unparalleled catastrophe. Literally. Parallel universes, whether on the horizontal plane, the vertical, or on some of the other planes, collided, rupturing boundaries. In some instances, the results were disastrous, in others, the effects were mild. In most collisions, remedial action was necessary. Universes leaked, one to the other, sometimes more than one to the other. One of the more difficult problems was the leakage of magic to mundane and vice versa. Add shapeshifters, soul stealers, demons, and other high risk and often mindless beings to the mix, and the result was potential mayhem with murder, torture, and other cruelties rampant.

  Magic? Think of the balance of order and chaos. Good and evil. Black and white. Order and chaos were the more accepted labels for the forces we dealt with or used. The Disruption often caused waves of order—or of chaos—to invade a universe, throwing it totally out of balance. The result often was disastrous for that universe, and possibly for the source, too..

  A team was established with recruits from across suitable universes. I’m a member; a delegate, if you will. The smart arses who formed the team called themselves the Management. Of course, the name was inimical; while their intentions were good and their power overwhelming, they couldn’t manage their way out of a wet, soggy paper bag. However, the team is better than nothing at all. We, the mages working in the trenches, called ourselves Guardians. There are four of us on this planet, far too few. I don’t know how many are i
nvolved in total, either in this or other universes. Not enough, in my opinion. Here, there were hundreds with mage powers who sometimes assisted us.

  One of our almost impossible objectives was to soothe disturbances caused by the catastrophic event and its aftershocks. Another was to determine how to return the universes to their original status—a major and possibly insoluble problem. We have other tasks, which will become clear as we continue.

  In simple terms, we’re trying to hold—not just worlds—but entire universes together, hoping that everything will be restored, and we’ll once again reach equilibrium encompassing all the parallel universes.

  Sometimes our actions help. Sometimes they hinder. We have more than the best of intentions. Possibly we generate as many failures as we do successes. There seems no easy answer.

  It might help your understanding if you let me take you back to the time of the Disruption.

  To be precise, it was eight years, ten months and twenty days ago. I won’t try to measure hours, minutes and seconds—they’ll keep ticking. As I mentioned, I was driving south, on the A1, toward Londin. My vehicle was a Stanley Electric Steamer, a marvel of engineering. I could—and was—driving with only a small fraction of my attention on the road, allowing the vehicle’s pixie pilot to be responsible for our pilotage. I was reviewing my potion research results, trying to determine what was causing the reduction in the potency of my formulas. Their power loss had been extreme in recent days and was worrying. That was the reason I was returning to Londin from my country cottage in the Dales; I had an appointment to consult with my old professor to see if he had any ideas for further research.

  The road shook as if someone had picked it up at its far end and cracked it like a whip. The Stanley hiccupped, jumped, dropped with a thud, and continued, but at a far slower speed. It was wobbling back and forth across the roadway. My first thought was to check my driver; however, she was gone—no body, no sound, no trace of my assistant who moments before had been driving. Later I discovered pixies were not a normal part of this universe’s domain, and in the earlier days following the Disruption, foreign bodies were rejected. They simply disappeared. It was akin to a transplant where the new body’s antibodies reject the implant.