Old Haunts
The first waves of cold menace started moving up at me as I descended the polished, tiled steps into the subway. There is no way to properly describe how restless spirits create such force, except to imagine standing on the edge of a great lake when November is in full swing, and the gales begin to push fierce, cold wind across its waters and into your body – and then through you. Even then, spiritual coldness is something else. As an ectomancer, or a specialist who deals with the spirit world, I was very familiar with the sensation. It still amazed me each time I encountered the phenomenon how the natural world reacted to the presence of the immaterial – the Undersea. In that place, all the hopes and dreams of every sentient being that has ever lived and died has been translated over into a moving membrane of emotion and energy that encompasses all reality. It was from there that actual spirits and other inhabitants of the supernatural emerged, and those who were strong enough could make their presence known on our side of things. Those signs were expressed in many ways that depended on the mind that shaped them.
The stairs were treacherous, covered with a thin layer of frost that made me step carefully. I held a glow stick in my hand for light -- the spiritual energy had shut down both the lights and the escalators. Normally, I would have set up a line to climb down on, but I didn’t have time. The spirits below me were gathering power in a vortex that could be felt throughout the neighborhood, disrupting streetcars, computers, everything it touched that had an electrical field; magic was always at odds with technology, and only the simplest machines continued to function in the presence of power. The city sure didn’t like that, and I was the city’s troubleshooter when it came to things ghostly or unknown. The cops pulled back to let me in when I arrived at the besieged station. Only a handful of city employees knew who I was, and what it was that they paid me for.. It was probably not great during a recession to have a ‘supernatural consultant’ listed on payroll with so much public scrutiny and oversight, so most of the work I did was off the books.
There was a sudden whispering sound coming up from down below! I stopped moving and flattened myself against the stair wall. It was getting louder!
There was movement!
A pair of rats popped into view, noticed me briefly, and scrabbled quickly up the stairs, their claws scrambling for purchase on the frosty steps! Ech! I waved the light at them to back them off from my feet! They disappeared above as they made the landing…
“Damn vermin!”
The whispering was back…I turned to see the landing below me grow dark! I grabbed on to the railing!
The entire rat community had decided, unanimously, to flee the scene! I did my best to flatten myself to the wall and hold on as a solid wave of rats came flowing up the stairs from below! Flashes of grey, brown, and black fur went by as the horde scrambled up and over as I clung to avoid being bitten or scratched by the diseased vermin. The people above were not going to be happy to see that!
“I might be kissing my fee goodbye on this one…
Twenty minutes ago…
I breathed a sigh of relief as I came on the scene. One of the few people who knew me was Detective Sergeant Wesley Holt. The detective was in his late forties in very good shape, imposingly tall, and dressed in decent suits that he got used to wearing as a homicide detective. He was red-headed and clean shaven, although I could see he was having a day…
“Who you gonna call, Holt?” I called to him as I walked out from the cab and towards the station.
The station was surrounded by representatives from every city agency I could think of...deputy fire was there, transit authority, public works, engineering, EMT, and of course, the cops. DS Holt was talking with one of the EMTs when I called out to him, his normally happy-go-lucky demeanor stressed out to one of bored frustration -- I should have read that better.
Maybe there’s a class I can take or something...
“Oh good. Well, at least the professionals are here now,” replied Holt, giving me a sidelong stare, “Christ, Thomas, each time I see you your outfit gets worse.”
That was a matter of opinion, but I understood; most folks don’t wander around in the late days of summer in a heavy coat with a fur collar over medieval-looking hunting leathers. Admittedly, it’s often uncomfortable, awkward, and marks you as unusual. My whitish hair and pale complexion already did that. Coupled with my fashion statement, a necessity of my work, I made the scene wherever I went, according to most accounts. I couldn’t have cared less, really -- dress funny and get funny looks, or lose a toe to frostbite. If you’re going to stand out, don’t do it half-way and not for any idle reason.
“You don’t like my uniform Detective? My heart is broken. Not all of us can afford to be bastions of fashion like the police -- I apologize.”
“No need, but okay,” he said, and turned back to the EMT, “this is Thomas Kurz; our consultant. I know he looks a little odd, but he’s a good guy. Tell him what you told me, Shirer.”
The EMT was shaken up, the coffee cup in his hand shaking slightly. He tried to meet my eyes, but just couldn’t do it. He was staring at his shoes and blinking rapidly as if his eyes were trying to consume what he’d seen in the smallest bites possible…
“Greg and I were the first on the scene after the call came in. We were almost done for the night, but we took the call anyway. I didn’t want to, but Greg’s always restless at work. He charged into the subway after we got our stuff out of the truck like the Lone Ranger. Once we got down to the platform, we knew something was out of whack.”
“Like what?” I asked, trying to read the tension in his face.
“You know when you feel something going wrong, like when someone’s going to hurt someone, or the pressure before a storm? Like that, I guess. I’ve been in bad situations before, Mr. Kurz.”
“I can imagine, sure.”
“When we got down there, we almost went on our asses from ice on the platform, like frost. We got up from it, shook it off, and we were laughin’ about it until we…we saw the people. I mean, God in heaven, those people. I’ve never seen anything like that...” he said, his speech beginning to wander, lost in his memories.
“What people? Who are they?”
Shirer stared up at me and shook his head, like waking from a dream.
“The people waiting on the platform...they just hung there in the air, above the tracks. Like mannequins, paralyzed, goddamn bowling pins. We tried to get over to them, and then we saw something move at the far end of the platform. It rushed up at us, like a blue fireball...knocked us flat. When I came to on the floor, Greg was hung up like the rest of them...I-I tried to help him, but it was so cold...I ran.”
At his last words, he hung his head low and started staring at his shoes again. I nodded at Holt.
“Thanks Shirer,” Holt said, motioning over one of his constables, “Go with Constable Greer here; he’ll take care of you.”
Shirer nodded and left quietly.
“All right, Kurz. If you think you can make this situation better, go for it. The press was here forty minutes ago, but I had them pushed back. Anything you can do to make sure they don’t get any more fuel for their bonanza would be good -- earn your keep. Do you need anything from us?”
“No,” I replied, but then something occurred to me: “Is the juice turned off down there?”
“Yeah, don’t worry about that...won’t the whatsit affect it already?”
“Of course, Holt, but if I can get these people free, I’d hate to drop them on a suddenly electrified rail; I can deal with the guilt of a few broken bones.”
“Yeah right,” he replied, “You know what you’re dealing with here? Is this some kind of incursion?”
I put my finger over my lips.
“Don’t say that! I really wish I’d never told you the details…”
“You were drunk,” he replied, “It’s not my fault that you’re so chatty.”
“Right, but you can’t just go about saying this stuff in earshot of reporters…there’s been enough chatter in the city after last year’s disturbances to draw the attention of others in the community, and I’ve got enough problems without them sticking their noses in my business.”
“Point taken,” Holt said, nodding.
It was generally considered to be a bad idea to go around talking about the Undersea and all the ugliness that came flowing out of it when in the company of people who weren’t in the know and probably didn’t want to know such things. It wasn’t just about public discomfort or trauma…those in the profession like me couldn’t afford the chance that an amateur could get a hold of enough knowledge to attempt to handle a situation and get themselves or others killed in the process. It was irresponsible and dangerous of me to let slip some details to Holt, but I dealt with the dead most of the time and getting drunk was not a great solo act for anybody. So sue me.
“I’m pretty sure it is an incursion,” I said quietly, “I’ve done my homework; this station has a history.”
“Sure. I mean, we’ve all heard the stories, but is it recent?”
“No, but we just don’t have time for a history lesson right now. We should-”
The police cruiser closest to the station suddenly flared its lights, blared its siren, and then fell dead in a warbling, sad whimper. I turned and looked over at the entrance to the station.
Holt swore under his breath as two constables got up out of the cruiser to have a look.
“The effect is intensifying! If that should happen to an ambulance...” I said, pointing at the car.
Holt’s eyes widened. He shooed the constables at the downed cruiser out of the way and got up on the hood.
“Move everyone back! Get the trucks out of here!”
One of Holt’s constables turned with a puzzled look.
“Sir?”
“You heard me,” Holt said, standing firm.
The officer began to help the paramedics clear out. I nodded at Holt and started over to the entrance.
“Now hold on just a second!”
I groaned. Not her.
I turned to see a woman pushing past Holt’s cordon and making her way towards me; she was just shy of six feet, hair the colour of charcoal, burning blue eyes, and dressed professionally in a dark grey suit that cost more than the cops around her made in a month. Assistant Crown Attorney Sandra Michaels was one of the people in the city that I count as skeptical towards my profession and generally about anything that didn’t fit into her rational frame of mind. We were not the best of friends…
“Ms. Michaels, how nice to see you! You’ll excuse me, but--”
“Not this time, Kurz,” she replied, pulling a piece of paper from the inside pocket of her suit jacket, “I have a court order for you to cease and desist any activities not sanctioned directly by the city. You are to leave at once.”
“Fresh ink, I assume? Or is this another rubber stamp operation?”
She raised her chin, looking down her nose at me.
“My office acts under directives from the province, Kurz, and we have a mandate to ensure the public’s safety from certain threats and to protect the city coffers from fraudulent claims.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” I growled, “I’m only concerned about preserving life!”
Michaels scoffed and was about to unload on me when Holt stepped down from the hood of the cruiser.
“That’s okay Michaels; Kurz’ with me, officially,” Holt interjected, stepping deftly around her to stand next to me, “You can tell your boss that this situation is under control.”
I was a little bit astonished. I don’t make friends easily, and more often than not, the dead get more of my attention than the living. Yet, here was a man I had known barely a year sticking his neck out for me. I felt a little bad for Holt -- Michaels was his superior, as far as it goes here, and could make trouble for him downtown. The two city employees stood there, sizing each other up. Holt was a bulldog, and I knew he’d dig his heels in; Michaels knew how to use her authority, but I doubt she had the same steel buried in her bones that Holt did.
“I should be moving along,” I said, interrupting, “those taxpayers down there aren’t going to rescue themselves, yes?”
Michaels gave me a hard look.
“Fine,” she said, putting her hands on her hips and looking back at Holt, “but your boy better come through, Holt, or I’ll bring the weight of city hall and provincial oversight down on your shoulders.”
She turned away from us and strode back behind the cordon, the constables lifting the tape for her as she barged back through. Holt sighed.
“Right…so…” I managed.
I broke into a very quick walk as I left DS Holt and headed for the station entrance…
