Soul Mayhem: Zed's Chronicles of the Parallel Universe Disruptions Page 3

  Although I didn’t immediately realize, I’d been shifted into a new universe.

  I coasted the Stanley to a stop on the side of the road, as much as anything to allow me to recover my breath. The road was familiar—I had driven it hundreds of times before—and strange. Familiar landmarks were missing, or not quite the way they should be. As I sat there, not a little worried, I was distracted by a siren.

  The noise sounded very different to what I was accustomed to, warbling and wailing its way toward me. The accompanying vehicle halted behind the Stanley, about three yards away, and the siren ceased abruptly. The vehicle’s lights continued to flash, blue and red. I was taken aback by their vehicle; it was streamlined and possibly capable of speeds far greater than the modest thirty mph of my Stanley. Two men, uniformed, alighted and approached me. I sat and waited.

  The men, I discovered later they were police constables, stood back and apparently admired my Stanley. At least, they were taking notes. I concentrated and was pleased I could hear not only their conversation but also their thoughts. My sigh of relief was impressive; at least to me.

  I am—at least I was, in my home universe—a mage. A powerful mage. A senior member of the Circle. Would my magic still work? I wondered. I was concerned the strange and sudden shift in my perception of the world might have impaired my abilities. I listened. They were speaking English although their accents were strange. Some of their terminology was unfamiliar.

  “Whadya think, Sarge?”

  The other man, older and presumably the sergeant, shrugged. He pushed back his cap and rubbed along his hairline, as though encouraging thoughts. “Could be for a movie. Or even experimental. Wait here. I’ll go and talk to the driver.”

  He approached and stopped beside the passenger side door. Vehicles were speeding past at what seemed impossible speeds. I pushed at the flap that covered the side opening above the half door and clipped it to the side.

  “Good morning,” I said.

  “Ah—it’s afternoon, now. Since an hour away.”

  The officer was still rubbing his head. I checked. He had a headache. I sketched a very tiny sigil, testing, ensuring my motion was not discernible by the police officer. His grimace turned to a smile and he dropped his hand.

  “Yes, well—I was focused on a problem or two and didn’t notice.”

  “You don’t have a vehicle registration plate?”

  I checked. The concept was forefront in his mind, as were the range of alternatives. The penalties seemed to be severe.

  “It’s experimental. I have a temporary permit, though.”

  “Hmm. Please produce it for me. Your driver’s license, too.”

  I reached for and fumbled with my valise. This was going to require some creativity. To gain time, I fumbled and dropped papers onto the floor of the cockpit. The police officer frowned. Another sigil, very small, relaxed him and softened his concerns. Its scope encompassed the younger man at the rear of the Stanley.

  I struggled with scattered papers. “Sorry about that. They’re in here somewhere.”

  “Take your time. Do you mind if we have a closer look at your vehicle? My constable is a car nut and is very intrigued.”

  “Of course. Tell him to go ahead. I’d appreciate if he didn’t change any settings, though.”

  The sergeant nodded and called out, “Wilbur. The driver said you can look but don’t touch. He’s probably heard of your reputation.”

  The younger police officer waved his acknowledgment and headed straight to the rear of the Stanley; it was where the compact cooker was located. The cooker produced the steam under high pressure that powered the generator, which, in turn, charged the batteries for the two rear-wheel located electric motors and even drove them directly if more power was required.

  I was torn between watching him, in case he did touch a setting, and my search for nonexistent papers. I gestured to the sergeant. “Do you mind if I get out? I’d like to keep an eye on your constable.”

  The officer laughed. “I would, too. The boy is likely to strip your motor down to its component parts, if we don’t watch him.”

  He stood back to let me exit on the passenger side. I dropped my valise and the mix of papers and climbed out. We both stepped around to the rear of the Stanley where the motor vehicle fan—I assume that’s what the sergeant meant when he said his junior was a car nut—was almost in a trance.

  “It’s a Stanley,” the awed young man said. “A real Stanley. But it’s got lots of modern features, some I’ve never seen before.” He turned to me, his eyes bright. “You must be a genius, sir. Let me shake your hand.” He grasped my hand and almost shook it off. “Oh, I’d like so much to take your vehicle to pieces to see how it all works.” He squatted down to peer underneath. “See. Two electric motors, one for each rear wheel. Very compact. They look like—yes, they’re Brownings. High quality.” He whistled his admiration.

  The sergeant grabbed Wilbur’s collar and dragged him back to an upright position. The young man scarcely noticed. By this time, I had formulated a sigil for what I needed and decided to apply it. I always liked to test my new creations; however, there was no opportunity here for the quality control process.

  I drew the sigil with my right hand, away from the attention of the two police officers. I waited a moment, checking their thoughts. The constable drifted along the side of the Stanley, on the side closer to the traffic. The sergeant watched, an element of concern in his mind. Sometimes passing vehicles, at their high speed, were known to collide with vehicles parked on the side of the road. The results could be catastrophic.

  I said, “Sergeant, I’d like to continue my travels, if I may?”

  “What? Oh, certainly. I didn’t mean to delay you. Wilbur, snap out of it. We’ve work to do.” The sergeant thought for a moment as my sigil overlaid his memories. “I’d make sure you get your registration plate attached as soon as you can. The penalty includes a point on your license, and we don’t want one of those, do we.” He laughed.

  I joined in, not at all certain what a point was.

  Wilbur returned to stand beside his senior officer. He said to me, “Sir, thank you ever so much. I’ve had the best experience, really gen. I hope someday we meet again. I’d give a month’s pay cheque to spend a few days working on your car—it’s—it’s—simply marvelous.”

  I smiled. I couldn’t invite him to my home; I was realizing more and more that something strange had happened, and perhaps in this world I didn’t even have a home.

  Without further delay, I climbed back into the Stanley, rescued the papers I had dropped earlier and stuffed them back into my valise. In the meantime, the police vehicle, its lights off and siren quiet, launched past me.

  I returned the wave of the young constable and thought: This is going to be a strange world.

  I didn’t comprehend how strange.

  oOo

  Chapter 4

  My review of events long past was interrupted by Dena entering my study. She had a very serious expression on her face. She was dressed far more casually in jeans and a long-sleeved blouse and her hair was tied back in a ponytail. She’d replaced her boots with a pair of light runners. I smiled and gestured to her favorite chair. “Take a seat and tell me what’s on your mind.”

  I should explain. Dena and her two sisters lived in my second house, next door. They were triplets, identical, and, oddly, they were born three years apart. We’ve never been able to determine why their parents arranged that; to be truthful, we’ve discovered very little at all about their parents. Dena was the eldest at twenty-four, Morwen was twenty-one, and Victoria was eighteen. They’d been my responsibility for the last eight years, ten months, and twenty days, plus some hours and minutes. I had rescued them on my way to Londin. I also had rescued Leopold; he now was my bodyguard. Leopold was possibly near-human, although he was only two feet tall—in this universe. He existed simultaneously in several universes, and no, we don’t know why or even how he achieves that
. His English was sparse—his Latin was far better, at least in comparison.

  Details of my journey to Londin will have to wait; I can tell, by Dena’s expression.

  She sat in her chair, picked at the seam on her jeans, and bit at her bottom lip. She stopped both nervous activities as soon as she realized what she was doing; she—and I—knew those mannerisms meant she was concerned about something. Perhaps more than concerned.

  I waited.

  “There’s so much—” she said.

  “Start with the simplest one.”

  “Well, that’s just it. I’m not sure. All right. Item number one. Victoria.”

  “What’s she done this time?” Victoria was a teen rebel. I didn’t have the heart to remind Dena, at eighteen, she’d been the same.

  “She’s invited a friend to stay.”

  “Hmm. Boy or girl?”

  “Boy. Although it doesn’t seem to be a romance thing. More like rescuing a kitten or a puppy.”

  “He probably doesn’t think of himself as a puppy?”

  Dena laughed, which was a relief. “No. He’s a year older than Vic. Apparently, he argued with his father. Typical story—he starts university in the summer—same as Vic—and his father wants him to take business courses, while Hunter is a mad musician. He and his father had a major row. He was kicked out, according to Vic. Or left, in a temper. It’s hard to tell. Hunter’s—he’s extraordinarily good. He composes, plays keyboard, and guitar.”

  “And?”

  “Victoria smuggled him into her apartment two weeks ago. She’s really sneaky.”

  “They’re sharing a bed?”

  “Oh, no, it’s nothing like that, I’m relieved to say. He’s sleeping on the settee in her living room.”

  “I assume Vic wants Hunter to stay in the house?”

  “At least until he sorts himself out. She doesn’t want him to be on his own.”

  “Alternatives—we throw him out. Or shut our eyes to Vic having him in her apartment. Anything else?”

  “I thought—perhaps the attic?”

  I own three houses, west of Notting Hill. I occupied the middle one. The girl’s house on the right consisted of three apartments, one each for Dena and her two sisters. It also had a basement, a ground floor, and an attic. The third house was on the other side, and I used it for business—for testing sigils, wards, and potions. It was reinforced and strengthened, in case. We called it the Spell House.

  “Aah. Reasonable. I suppose, in loco parentis, I should meet with them both?”

  She nodded. “I’m sorry, Zed, to be such a burden. You’ve been so kind to us—”

  It was very rare for Dena to think they were burdens and I needed to stop that line of thought. I interrupted, “Nonsense. What should I have done? Ignored your attempt to escape that horror house? Left you homeless in Londin? Don’t be silly.”

  “Oh, Zed.” She wiped at her eyes, removing an errant tear.

  “So, are they waiting outside?”

  She smiled, her cheeks dimpling. “I should know, by now. You can see right through me. Yes, I’ll get them.”

  Dena went to the door and signaled. She returned, followed by a guilty-looking Victoria and a nervous young man. “Zed, this is Hunter Lightwood.”

  I stood and held out my hand. Our young visitor grasped it firmly and we shook hands.

  “Sir, I apologize for my imposition.”

  “Relax. Dena has explained some. Victoria will explain more.” I looked at the young lady in question. “Vic, explain yourself. Why didn’t you come to me?”

  “Zed, I’m sorry. I was so worried. I just thought if you threw him out, he’d be all by himself. I apologize. From my depths. I’ll be far more respectful of your kindness and understanding in the future.”

  I checked. She was telling the truth; well, in most part. I hugged her. She cried.

  Dena said, “Please, Vic, make sure you never do anything like this again. It’s been stressful.”

  Victoria nodded, holding back her sobs. The two girls hugged.

  I said to Hunter, “For the moment, you can stay. We have an attic—”

  The urgent beeping of one of my alarms cut me off. Yes, I sometimes use electronics. It seemed something—or someone—had penetrated the basement. I needed to check who the visitor was. I said, “Hunter, Vic, go and sort out the attic. It’s already got some furniture. Vic, if more is required, buy it. Check with Dena for your budget. On your way, tell Leopold I might need his assistance. Dena, come with me.”

  As I exited the room, I grabbed mental and physical shield charms and handed one of each to Dena. Leopold had his own. We’d be protected. My curiosity was peaking; my worries not so much. There were only two ways into the basement, and both were very well guarded.

  I pushed open the heavy basement door—solid oak and iron-bound and warded to stop a major invasion —closely followed by Dena. Leopold would be only seconds behind us. I hit the light switches and waited a moment for the room to fill with light.

  As I expected, someone was—well, not so much trapped, as waiting. Halfway along the length of the basement was a double pentagram, one in the floor and the second, immediately above, in the ceiling. They were ten feet across and about nine feet apart, floor to ceiling. They were constructed from brass and gold. The cost of the gold was startling at the time. Since, it had proven to be a prudent investment. A person dressed in a business suit, relaxed, reading the Financial Times, was sitting in a steel framed chair in the middle of the floor pentagram.

  Fuck. It was Lucifer. Well, one of them, and probably the one belonging to this universe.

  I signaled to Dena to keep back, at least until I’d determined whether he was here for friendly or inimical purposes. My shields went on automatically. Full alert.

  I pulled up a comfortable armchair and sat. I was about two feet away from one of the pentagram star points.

  “Good evening.” I thought I should start the conversation.

  Lucifer looked up, folded his newspaper, and put it aside. He smiled. He was a handsome bastard, there was no doubt. “Apologies, Zed. It was an interesting article. Bitcoins. We’re adopting them, although with a ton of caution. I didn’t know how long you’d be and was catching up on my reading.”

  “I won’t say welcome, at least not until I know what your visit is for.”

  “Oh, Zed. You wound me. We’ve managed to co-exist without too much friction, surely?” His teeth were gleaming white against his suntan.

  He had me there. While he was Lord of the Underworld, and basically responsible for all the demons in this universe’s related underworld, he and I hadn’t had a full-on confrontation. Yet. I knew Dena had pulled up a chair and was sitting a foot or two from me. Leopold, I sensed, was somewhere in the background.

  “Granted. In that case, welcome. I’ll remove the pentagram restrictions if you give your word to not harm me or mine, and will leave voluntarily, without objection, when requested.”

  “Oh, I can manage that. I give my solemn word neither I nor any of my demons or underlings will harm you or anyone in your houses, and I will depart without delay or objection at your request. There, does that satisfy you?”

  What were the alternatives? He could always find wriggle room if he wanted; he was the Devil, after all. I said, “Your word is accepted. Come forth and sit with us.”

  I signaled for Leopold to bring up another chair, and he placed it next to mine and retreated into the background. I sensed he was shielded and carried some heavy anti-demon weaponry. Lucifer nodded his thanks and sat in the additional chair. There was only a slight odor of sulfur drifting through the gap in the pentagram barrier.

  Lucifer sighed. “A Scotch would be appreciated. It’s so rare I can enjoy—”

  Dena took the hint and went to the bar at the other side of the basement and poured four glasses. The only Scotch I had was blended, Usher’s Green Stripe, a taste I enjoyed. I heard the clink of ice; sacrilege to some, but part of my drinking
habit. No, I don’t have a drinking habit—damn, I was slightly flustered.

  Dena left a glass of water on the bar for Leopold, handed a glass to me and the second to Lucifer. She sat back in her chair with her own drink.

  “Thank you, Dena. I must say, you make a handsome couple.”

  Dena beamed. “Thank you, too.”

  I remained silent. I sipped my drink, uncertain what toast the Lord of the Underworld would appreciate. Well, I couldn’t say ‘here’s to the damnation of the Devil,’ could I?

  Lucifer smiled as though he understood my dilemma and raised his glass toward me then to Dena. He sipped. “Aah. Delightful.”

  For a moment no one spoke. Lucifer took another sip and set his glass on a small side table that appeared beside him. It was one of his, not mine. “Zed. I need your assistance.”

  Well, that was one for the books. “Did I hear you correctly?”

  His teeth gleamed. I couldn’t say why I was reminded of a shark. “Life is full of surprises. Oh, by the way, I enjoyed the charm you placed on Hurian. He’s a bit of a laughing stock currently and might come looking for revenge. Just a word, you know.”

  I nodded.

  “Finders. They find things. Treasures. People. Correct?”

  Now, I was intrigued. “Yes.” I drew my response out, trying to think ahead. “We’re expensive.”

  He waved his hand dismissively at the mention of expense. “Of course. I wouldn’t expect otherwise.” He took another sip.

  I realized Lucifer was stalling for time, gathering his thoughts. Damn. More, he was nervous. I explained, “We often take on cases with all kinds of personal background issues attaching to them. We are extremely careful with our clients’ details.”

  “You have that reputation, otherwise I wouldn’t be here. I want you to trace someone.” He picked up a folder and held it for a long moment, as though weighing his next words. “It gets boring sometimes, being around so many demons, some of which have the intelligence of a two-year-old retriever and the nastiness of a starved alligator.”