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Chapter 14 (Adam Novus Chronicles - Book 1)
🕑 Added 2021-05-19 10:05:56 +0000 UTCFifteen thousand bucks was a nice figure for my first job, but it will take a hell of a lot more to pay Marcus back, no matter that he and Esmeralda said I didn’t owe them anything.
He called me shortly after I came back, to make sure I did not lose my temper and made a few wolf skins rugs, and to tell me he had some more information for me. He would pick me up tomorrow, and take me to a guy who knew something, and no, we couldn't use my car for some reason. (Actually, he was quite insistent about that, go figure.)
I spent the night trying to decipher my phone, even went so far as to finally read most of the user manual. I came to the conclusion that this thing was a freaking miniaturized computer, far more powerful than the actual computers I’d used before. That being said, I still can’t figure out who needs so many different functions? And if that was not enough, thousands of allegedly free apps constantly push unwanted advertisements on you—very annoying.
Therefore, I relaxed for a few hours and did some more research on human mating habits. If I had to spend the rest of my life being celibate, at least I will get some relief. How monks dealt with it, I have no idea, but if it was a willing sacrifice, more power to them.
The buzzer on the front door woke me up from my short sleep. It was a nice setup so I could see the image from the small invisible security camera facing the entrance, directly on the big TV opposite my bed. Let me tell you, those contraptions had become crazy thin, this thing is more like a piece of paper than the TV’s that were normal in my time.
It was Marcus, and he was early (or late for him.) The man had some weird sleeping habits, more like a cat than anything else. He was talking to Nina as I came down the stairs, aiming for the fresh pot of coffee that was calling my name. Then he hurriedly said goodbye to her and told me he would wait for me in the car. Odd behavior for him; he is usually so courteous and polite.
“Do you know who that was?!” Nina asked all excited, almost squealing for some reason, and following me to the small kitchen close to her desk.
I filled up the disposable paper cup and asked intelligently, “Who? Marcus?”
She looked at me as if I was an idiot. “You do realize that he is the Vampire King of New York, and his wife is the Queen?”
I was getting this fan-girl vibe from her as if she just saw her favorite movie star.
“OK…” I said slowly, putting a plastic lid on the cup and backing away from the overexcited Were.
“How do you know Marcus?” She asked, still quite animated.
“He's a friend.” Yep, it is morning, and I do not like talking before I had my first cup of the rejuvenating brew, especially about trivial things.
“If you are friends with Marcus, why are you living in the South Bronx then?” Nina asked with a scrunched forehead as though she was pondering one of life’s mysteries.
“I like it here.” I replied and moved towards the door, “Call me if we have any customers.” I could see she was still all jumpy… so strange.
Of course, Marcus had to bring a limo, which was so not this neighborhood; people will start thinking that I was involved in something illegal. Me—a law-abiding citizen.
“Did Nina just go all fan-girl on you?” I asked as soon as I entered the car.
“Yes, I think she was about to ask for my autograph or to take a selfie with me before I gave her the slip… I’m not sure,” he uneasily said. Well, with a wife like Esmeralda, I too would be a bit apprehensive if some young pretty girl showed such an exuberant interest in me.
“Esmeralda wanted me to tell you that your choice of Nina as an employee was all right with her, the security firm did a background check on her last night,” Marcus said offhandedly while picking up the morning papers from the door compartment.
“How the hell did she find out about Nina so fast, I just met the girl yesterday?”
He looked at me as an old teacher would look at a not-so-bright student and resignedly shook his head, then returned to his papers.
I shouldn’t be so surprised. The woman had great resources, acquired over a long, long time. The fact that she relinquished the leadership of the clan to her husband didn’t mean she still wasn’t pulling the strings from the shadows. I didn’t mind that she was keeping tabs on me; a bit strange, considering the secretive nature of my previous line of work. Here I was, trusting the good intentions of an honest-to-God vampire—without any reservation. Maybe it was naive, but it also provided me with an additional level of security—always a good thing.
We were soon traveling towards Central Park, the neighborhood of choice of the rich supernaturals. Marcus tapped me on the shoulder to draw my attention to him. I was checking out the sights through the window, it seemed the mini skirt was making a big comeback… bummer.
“Adam, the man you are about to meet is a bit special, so don't be surprised when you see him,” he said looking at me sternly, trying to add some weight to his words by injecting a tone of solemnity. Too late buddy, I saw you being liquidly exuberant in Manaus. Lit like a Christmas tree and singing off-key to the karaoke machine… not one of his proudest moments… I wish I had taken a video.
“What do you mean special? As in special needs or he likes to wear women’s clothes special?”
“Huh… no!” he rolled his eyes at me. “Special as in he is a demon,” he said, and damn if I could not sense his exasperation.
.
“A demon…” I parroted slowly, trying to wrap my mind around that piece of information. “Is there anything I should know about him?” Do I need to bring a sacrificial gift? A priest, a bottle of holy water, a crucifix… the works.
“Nothing particular, simply treat him as you would any other regular person; he is quite a scholar and a librarian.”
For some reason, at the mention of the word librarian, my traitorous brain immediately latched onto the image of Miss. Miles. This hot librarian I remembered from before the military. Gramps used to take me there for new books, and I had a massive crush on her. (Damn, Adam, stop thinking about hot women.) I could see a long cold shower in my near future.
The car drove us to this old, but perfectly maintained building; even the sidewalks were impeccably clean. In comparison, I had to take a dead rat in front of my building yesterday and toss it in the dumpster.
I followed Marcus as he entered the building and a guy in livery opened the doors for him. There was another in the elevator as if we were too feeble to press the buttons ourselves. Rich people—freaking crazy.
Another penthouse… was my first thought and then I realized this was even more exclusive. The entire roof of the building was a small private garden and a big house done in ancient Greek style. I didn’t know you could do that… this was beyond rich.
A man welcomed us as we exited the elevator; not the guy we were meeting—but his valet. He was dressed in a three-piece suit with a butterfly tie, of all things. I should look into getting one of those, it seems as a very useful convenience. Then again, it may be a bit awkward in the South Bronx. He politely asked us to follow him through the apartment that screamed of wealth.
“Marcus, it has been too long.” A normal-looking man, sitting in a big leather chair said, after we were led to his sitting-room… and what a room. There were books everywhere; enormous shelves covered every wall, from floor to ceiling. Thousands of leather-bound tomes, giving off that unique old paper smell that libraries had.
He rose from the chair and gave Marcus a bro hug; patted him on the back, and then turned to me.
“Now you are something I have never seen before,” he said and looked at me as if I was some interesting specimen, but he quickly snapped out of his musing.
“Sorry, I didn't mean to be rude; my name is Julius.” He extended his hand and I shook it.
This was a new one, when I touched his hand there was this increased sense of awareness of him; he was sad, and a little bit depressed, weird.
“Adam… pleased to meet you.”
I tried to figure out what was different about him; I had some high expectations for meeting a Demon, and he was not living up to them. By now, I could spot a vampire in a crowd without relying on a sixth sense, and even Weres gave off some sort of animalistic aura about themselves. In contrast, this supposed demon was quite ordinary; nothing demonic about him whatsoever. He was in his 40’s and quite plain. Nobody would have looked twice at him if he saw him on the street.
I was probably a bit too obvious with my inspection because he smiled and said, “You were expecting something else, didn’t you? I get that a lot—how about this?” And right there in front of me—he changed. His skin acquired a reddish tone and there were these little horns on his forehead. That was more what I was expecting a demon should look like. Although, I was picturing someone more menacing; his appearance was strange but nothing excessively so. Hell, I have seen scarier-looking humans with tattoos, weird body modifications, and implants. Some of them even tattooed the white of their eyes… that’s so wrong.
My Spidey sense didn’t detect any danger, just amusement at my reaction. On the other hand, now that he had changed, I could sense that he wasn’t human. He gave out a similar vibe to vamp and Weres.
“You can change at will?” I asked in the same kind of voice a kid would use when faced with a magician for the first time.
“A benefit of being mixed-race. My grandfather was human, and that comes with a few perks.” he smiled and changed back into his human self.
We sat around a coffee table with nicely padded armchairs.
“I’m sorry, maybe I’m being rude, but you are not what I thought a demon should be,” I said after the valet served us very tasty coffee, in comically small cups. While it was poured, Julius mentioned that it was ‘Kopi luwak’, some foreign brand that cost more per pound than any sane person would ever spend on it. Only much later did I find out that the said coffee beans were harvested from the feces of a rat-looking animal. Truly disgusting—but a damn good coffee.
“Oh, don’t believe the hype; the truth is quite different than the religious books say. Demons and angels are not what you think; we are far less special than as we were portrayed. OK, how to explain this… Heaven and Hell are real, but they are not the places where you go after you die, they are nothing more than two dimensions closest to Earth. In the past, there was far more traffic between the worlds, that is, before the war. Now that portals which kept the dimensions connected are closed, the traffic is essentially nonexistent.”
You know that feeling when your head starts spinning as a result of some mind-blowing news you heard? I was experiencing that. I shook my head like a boxer that had just received a punch, and said “War?” Prompting him to elaborate.
“Yes, think of it this way, both Heaven and Hell were superpowers that decided to dish it out on Earth—the winner takes the spoils. Unfortunately, it ended with the almost complete destruction of Earth’s magical energies, so there was no more reason to fight over it. Everyone went home, barely in time because the portals were sustained by that magic and were collapsing on themselves. In reality, it was a tie but the Angels won the media war, convincing humans that they were goody-two-shoes and that couldn't be further from the truth. But they succeeded in giving all the demons a very bad reputation. Not that we were all flowers and sunshine—quite the opposite. At best, we were the lesser of two evils as far as humans were concerned; both sides used ancient humans as slaves and cannon fodder.”
Yeah… not exactly the same story I remember from Sunday school.
“But if everyone went home, how come you are still here?”
This story was making me reevaluate sometruths truths I learned as a kid. Right there with the first realization that Santa Claus was not real.
Julius started laughing, and almost snorted the sip of coffee he was in the process of swallowing.
“Adam, the events I was talking about happened eons ago, it is ancient history to us. And I am not that old; while demons are extremely long-lived by human standards, we are certainly not immortal like our friend Marcus here. I came to Earth rather recently, in the eighteen hundreds. Hell is not a nice place, especially if you are a half-breed like me. The prejudice aimed at those that are not pure-bloods runs deep in some places… damned red supremacists,” he said that last one with barely controlled anger; his emotions clearly stating what he thought about them.
“So, when I accidentally stumbled on a small closing wild portal, which is an extremely rare phenomenon, but they still naturally occur from time to time, I took a chance and jumped through it. It was an insane gamble as I had no idea where it led, or even if I could survive the journey, but by then I did not have much to lose. Some extremely disagreeable individuals were hunting me, with a desire to end my existence. I plunged in and exited on the other side; a bit worse for wear but alive. I was free, on Earth; a much better place than the one I left behind.”
Julius talked a bit more about his experience; how painful his trip to Earth had been, and how much of a culture shock this planet was, for what was a proverbial ‘Stranger in a Strange Land’. By his account, wild portals are inherently unstable and perilous to use. Chances of surviving the crossing are not something any sane individual would ever risk, but he was desperate enough to try it. A leap of faith as he called it.
Then this strange half-demon disclosed the real reason for our visit.
“Marcus had asked me to look into your case, as a favor to him. Not that he owes me anything; God knows how many times he was there to help me out when I needed it. Anyway, you may think of me as a historian of the supernatural world. It started as a hobby, sometime after I crossed over, and ended up being a full-time job,” he said and nodded in Marcus’s direction before continuing.
“I hope you won’t blame him for divulging the circumstances under which you two met, and the curious symptoms of your… affliction. But it was necessary for me to have a starting point for my research.” He paused for a moment, looking at me and expecting a reaction. But I simply nodded for him to continue. Marcus telling him details about my ordeal was not a big deal, since I didn’t think that Julius would spread the story around, and Marcus did mention something about this to me. At least I think he did; my brain wasn’t tracking all that well at that time.
“I can tell you that yours is a mysterious and unique case, nothing similar was ever recorded in our histories. But I managed to find a few hints here and there about that region of the Amazon and none of them are pleasant. Mostly from fragments of an old vellum manuscript that was unearthed from a tomb, a few centuries ago and hundreds of miles from that region. And from a few stories that were recorded over time.
Nevertheless, those snippets are the only clue that could possibly have any connection with what happened to you, considering the things you saw. This belongs to an obscure part of supernatural mythical history that is believed to be at least five thousand years old, and probably even more than that. It is surprising that any records exist at all; most people were not so keen on keeping a written history in those times and relied on word of mouth. The manuscript has badly deteriorated, only parts of it could be translated; one of them being the name of the author, which was Mateoxquiac. In any case, they all tell about a Death-God that ruled that entire area where Marcus found you, requesting daily sacrifices of his subjects. Not an agreeable character by any stretch of the imagination. I suspect that he was some kind of supernatural, that enslaved regular humans and essentially depopulated that entire region with those sacrifices. It seems he was at it for hundreds of years,” Julius said in a lecturing tone of voice, and then took a sip of coffee before he continued.
“Somehow, he was defeated in an uprising and buried underground, under the great pyramid that he had slaves build in his glory. The entire region was made off-limits to everyone; even to this day, almost no human beings are living anywhere near it; the tribes who live in the Jungle believe that entire region to be a cursed place. Interestingly enough, his legend was possibly the reason why later Mayan civilization started their sacrifices, and there are indications that the myth itself heavily influenced their architecture, but that was much later. His name or what he was is not recorded; just that he was one disturbed individual. That is all that I could find out so far, but I will keep searching. I’m sorry I couldn’t be of any more help.” He finished sounding apologetic, and his emotions were in the same line as his words.
“It’s alright; at least I am less in the dark than when I came here.”
I must admit, this was putting a black cloud over my head. His story did not offer any concrete answers, it brought forth more questions with some tantalizing vague clues I could do nothing about. Like eating cotton candy at the fair, you think that its size will fill you, but it is mostly air. We talked some more and were preparing to leave, but something was bugging me.
“Julius, can I ask you a question… a personal one?” I asked the human-looking demon.
“Sure, ask away.”
“When we first came in, I could see a deep sadness on your face… can you tell me why… it is OK if you don’t.” That’s me, Mr. sensible, but when I get curious about a thing, I can’t let it go. And the way I formulated the question didn’t reveal this nifty ability of mine to sense emotion. I was realizing it was a great advantage when dealing with people, and something I didn’t need to advertise.
At first, I didn’t think he would answer me, and I wouldn’t blame him. I was some weird guy Marcus brought to him. But after a few moments of silence, he nodded a few times and then looked to the side, at some unfathomable distance.
“I don’t regret crossing that portal, but I do miss my family. I don’t know if any of them are still alive or if I will ever see them again. That portal was an abbreviation, not something that can be recreated. There is so little magic energy left on Earth, it would take a considerable effort to gather enough for opening a new one. Not to mention the lost knowledge of how to actually do it. Just before you came in, I was reminiscing on old memories, people dear to me I left behind. So that is why. I guess I am a bit homesick, however strange though it may be as I was literally born in Hell.” He answered with a small smile on his lips. I could sense the true scope of his sadness, reaching deep into his soul.
Well, he did answer my question… me and my big mouth. We left the lonely daemon more depressed than when we came here. I am like the spirit of Christmas past, poking the old wounds and making them bleed.
“So, how do you feel about the whole Death-God thing?” Marcus asked me when we were again seated inside his car.
“I am not a Death-God reborn or whatever he was, there was no trace of him in that cave. Only a small pyramid under a big pyramid with that weird altar and the magical black knife that occasionally materializes out of thin air. It is a disturbing story, but it doesn’t explain anything about my condition; it creates more questions.”
What was there really to say when legends were notoriously iffy with real information. I definitely had no intention to start some death cult where I sacrifice people for my own fun (having to kill once a month is bad enough). Marcus left me in front of my building, leaving in his limo, and making more than a few people turn their heads.
Nina was dressed in a new, professionally tailored, pencil suit. I guess that advance did come in handy, and I wholeheartedly approved—good for the image. Of course, there were no new messages about potential jobs… bummer.
I went to my apartment and zoned out for a while, going over everything that happened to me, things I could have done differently. But I guess there was no sense of crying over spilt milk. As my boot camp drill instructor said, “Life is shit, and then you die.”
***
One of the main reasons I decided on the South Bronx was a multitude of gangs that still infested the area. Nothing like it was during the ’70s and ’80s; there have been massive improvements since then, but there were some still around. To me, that was a target-rich environment, an essential thing for my unnatural infliction.
Still, I couldn’t just go killing people left and right, they had to be seriously guilty of something—something very bad. In a pinch, when that time of the month came and I needed to feed, well, it was not so hard in this city to find here those that had no redeeming qualities.
For the next month, I was mostly settling in, getting a few jobs that were more in the line of the regular private investigators than anything else. There were a few cases concerning individuals that had appropriated things that didn’t belong to them. I had the opportunity to help them see the error of their ways. It was a good gig and for me quite relaxing, since I got to rough up some idiots from time to time. A far more effective method of rage control than weekly visits to the therapist would ever be.
In the evenings, I started to have regular walks around the neighborhood. One could say I was asking for trouble, but I was merely exercising my right to have peaceful strolls around the place where I lived.
That is how I ended up in the dark blind alley with a body of a dead punk I just killed in front of me. In my defense, it was not premeditated, I was taking one of my late-night walks when I saw a young kid going into a dark alley. He was skittish and that sense told me that he was more than a little scared.
I followed him, using the shadows to stay unnoticed. In the alley was a man in a long coat, he was selling drugs to the kid who couldn't be older than 12-13. In my neighborhood, with school a block away—no freaking way. I may have heard something about this while buying the groceries in a shop close by, but that would mean I deliberately took a walk tonight in this particular direction. Not me, what kind of a person do you think I am?
The kid ran out of the alley holding a small white baggie in his fist; he had a wide grin on his face and was full of anticipation—I blame it on bad parenting. If at that age I tried even the mildest of recreational drugs, Gramps would’ve beat any such silliness out of me. (These new modern and politically correct ways of parenting are producing overindulgent idiots.)
I entered the alley and was almost overwhelmed by the reek of old garbage and stale urine. Do drug dealers have a union? As a place of employment—this left much to be desired.
My elongated shadow was blocking the light from a streetlamp, and the dealer noticed me. He was wearing more gold around his neck than reasonable. Maybe Mr. T was his childhood idol? Didn’t he know this was a dangerous neighborhood... some people.
“Are you looking son? I got slammin woo-bangers," he stated with a greedy sneer.
It is going to take me forever to decipher how these people talk; maybe I should convince Esmeralda to open a remedial school of English in the neighborhood: I had no intention to learn a new language.
“I’m not sure what those are, but I’m here to ask you politely—please stop selling drugs to kids, it will not end well for you.” As God is my witness I tried, that was going beyond courtesy.
He looked at me with a nasty look and snarled, “You a squalie?”
“My name is not a squalie, it is Adam.” Maybe there was a dictionary I could buy, it seemed more and more that I needed it.
After hearing that, his face became ugly and menacing. With a practiced motion, he started pulling a gun on me—now that was rude.
“You are get’n bodied, dawg.” He smiled, but not in a good way, and dental hygiene had gone down the drains in the last decade; the amount of plaque and tooth decay in his mouth was unsettling.
The rest is, as they say, history. There is a certain symmetry to events, one action causing an opposite reaction—his leading to rigor mortis.
While helping me with paperwork for starting a business, Marcus gave me many contacts that he thought I might find useful. One of those was sponsoring me as a client to the outfit that was known as Cleaners. They mainly catered to the supernatural world, but also did official jobs for the New York City Police Department. One had to have a referral and pass their background check for them to accept you as a client.
As their name implied, they were involved in the cleaning business. Not windows or carpets, but bodies and any evidence one may leave behind. Since their action ensured keeping this hidden world away from the eyes of normal humans, they were very highly regarded in the supernatural community. Of course, for the NYPD they did regular kind of cleaning of the crime scenes after the investigators were done with collecting evidence, and that gave them convenient cover for what their purpose really was.
I made a call and twenty minutes later a van pulled into the alley opening, effectively closing it from the view. I was impressed—they worked fast. In five minutes, they took the body, sprayed some noxious chemicals on the blood that was spilled, and left. I only had to sign a digital invoice, and that was it. Now, that is what I call fast service, not that expensive either. Without a doubt, I will give them a nice review and use them again in the future.
I could have left the dead drug dealer in the alley and not think twice about it, but why take the risk of bringing additional attention to the neighborhood—this was much cleaner.
My good deed done for the day, I headed back home.
