Aftermath Read online

  Aftermath

  Decons And Magical Nulls-Elite Division-Book One

  Orlando A. Sanchez

  description

  Enter a new adventure set in the Montague & Strong World!

  Creatures are roaming the nights of the city and no one is safe.

  Meet Ursula Bjorn, werebear and Director of the Decons and Magical Nulls-Elite Division.

  When buildings and structures are being destroyed in her city, Ursula thinks it’s the work of Montague & Strong—the local duo of demolition.

  The truth is much worse. The Mourn—creatures of darkness that siphon runic energy are attacking Nexus Points, locations designed to keep the city safe from invasion.

  Now, Ursula with her team must face the Mourn horde and stop them from destroying everything she holds dear. Or die trying.

  When it all goes to hell…call the DAMNED.

  PROLOGUE

  NEW YORK CITY—ONE YEAR AGO

  I checked the weathered tome again, just to make sure the diagrams were correct. I took in the view one last time—top of the Freedom Tower at night, during a thunderstorm. The air around me was charged with power.

  The view was breathtaking, petrifying, and magnificent.

  I had the artifacts, had drawn the blood circle using my own blood and had memorized the words of power. The conditions were perfect. I uttered the words that would bring him here.

  I finished the incantation and…nothing.

  I checked the book…again. The diagrams were exact. Any mistake, the slightest miscalculation—however small—would make this my last casting.

  Everything was as it should be. I was about to check the diagrams again when the lightning bolt struck the center of the circle, singeing my face.

  "Ouch," I said, touching my face gingerly.

  “No one has used the ancient call in centuries,” a voice boomed above the thunder. The giant man in the circle turned slowly, taking in the panoramic view of my city. “Who requests an audience?”

  “I do,” I said after taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly to keep the trembling under control. I nearly raised my hand. “It was me.”

  “This is a circle of request,” he answered, looking down at my diagrams. “What are you pretending at, hu—you’re not entirely human.”

  “No, I’m not. I have a request.”

  The man looked down at me with a scowl, clearly disappointed, as he rubbed his chin. He stood easily eight—maybe eight-and-a-half-feet—tall. He was about as wide as a house, with muscles that had muscles. He narrowed his blazing green eyes and leaned over to get a better look at me. He saw the pulsing symbol on my forearm.

  “Ach? You’re the nexus keeper?” he asked. “Where is your superior? She is remiss in her duties, leaving a…a novice alone.”

  “My mentor is busy.”

  “Busy? What kind of training is this?”

  “The kind where I bring you into a circle and make a request.”

  He took a step to the left—out of the circle.

  “Well, hell,” I muttered under my breath. “That was supposed to contain you.”

  “No circle is strong enough to hold a god, little bear. You’ve been misinformed.”

  “The name is Ursula, not ‘little bear’, thank you.”

  “They are one and the same.” He gave me a slight bow and a smile. I guessed he was reserving the smiting for later. “Why did you call me?”

  “I need something from you. Something to help me fight the Mourn.”

  “Very well, Ursula, I answered the summons. What is your request? How can I help you?”

  I didn’t appreciate the dismissive tone, but beggars can’t crush choosers.

  I cleared my throat and stood a little straighter.

  “I need to borrow your hammer.”

  “I beg your pardon?” the man boomed, his voice carrying across the roof—even in a thunderstorm. I had a feeling his default volume was set to deafening. “Do you propose a contest of strength to attain my weapon?”

  It was my turn to narrow my eyes.

  “Are you kidding? Have you looked at yourself? I’d need to hit the gym for two, maybe three centuries before I’d stand a chance. Plus, how fair would that be? You’re a god.”

  He nodded. “Good point,” he boomed. “You speak truth.”

  “Can we lower the volume just a bit?” I asked, pinching my fingers together. “You probably don’t think you’re yelling, but your voice, wow, it carries.”

  “My apologies,” he said. “So you don’t want to do battle?”

  “With you? No. I already have my hands full with the Mourn, thanks.”

  His face darkened which meant he knew my sworn enemy—the Mourn.

  “You face the Mourn alone?”

  “Well, not alone—there’s three of us.”

  “Three of you against all the Mourn? Are you certain you don’t wish to battle? Maybe a skirmish?”

  “Not even a quarrel, thanks, really.”

  “I can’t just give you my hammer.”

  Thunder crashed around us as lightning raced across the night sky. I looked up at the towering figure in front of me. He stood at least two feet taller than I did and dwarfed me with his muscular frame.

  “I’m not asking you to,” I clarified. “I just need to borrow it for a while.”

  “Borrow it? Do you realize what kind of weapon this is?”

  He hefted the large, rune-covered hammer in his hand and narrowed his eyes at me. The wind whipped around the roof of the Freedom Tower, threatening to rip me off the top of the building, and into the darkness. I gripped the railing and stared back at him.

  “Listen, old man,” I said, speaking his true name. I stared into his eyes, pointing a finger, squaring my shoulders, and willing my hands to stop shaking. “I know what kind of weapon it is. That’s why I need it.”

  “Do you think you are strong enough to wield it?” he asked, rubbing his chin as he looked down at me. “Stronger warriors have tried—and failed.”

  “Here we go,” I said under my breath. “You mean, men?”

  He nodded. “Those who have tried, have perished…horribly,” he said. “Are you certain?”

  “Yes,” I said slowly, making sure my voice didn’t waver or tremble. Any sign of weakness and this was over. “Or else I wouldn’t have asked. Will you lend it to me?”

  A mischievous smile crossed his lips as he hefted the hammer.

  “This is going to vex the Norse. Especially Thor. Do you know its name?”

  “Ukon-Kirvesvasara,” I said, hoping I had the pronunciation right—it sounded like ‘ooh con curvy va Sarah’. “The hammer axe.”

  “Kirvesvasara,” he corrected, “can change form once it bonds, if it accepts you and you possess the strength to withstand the change.”

  The weapon in his hand pulsed orange and transformed from a large hammer to a larger axe and back again. The runes on its surface gave off a dull orange glow.

  “Accept me?”

  He nodded. “If it remains with you after I’m gone, then it has accepted you.”

  “If it doesn’t?”

  “You will be a pile of ash, it will not matter,” he answered with a smile. “Do you still wish to borrow it?”

  “Yes. If I throw it, will it come back to me?”

  His expression darkened for a split second before he sighed.

  “I will answer your question with one of my own,” he said, leaning close. “Ready?”

  “Yes, ask.”

  “If I throw you off the top of this edifice, would you return to where you stand or remain thrown—to fall to your death?”

  “Got it,” I said with a nod. “No auto-return. Just checking.”

  “Its name is not Mjolnir. Do you sti
ll wish to borrow it?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Fine,”—he held up a finger—“on one condition.”

  This was it. If I couldn’t meet this condition, I’d have to walk away. If I could…if he let me go without consequence. Gods didn’t like to be summoned.

  “What condition?” I asked. “I don’t do worship or sacrifices—you know that.”

  “I do,” he said, fixing me with his gaze. “Any life you take with this weapon incurs a debt. A debt you will pay.”

  “How do I pay this debt?”

  It was better to get all the details up front when dealing with gods. Especially a god of thunder.

  “With time…years of your life. To be used as I deem necessary.”

  This could get expensive and deadly, fast.

  “To be collected when?”

  “When I determine.” He crossed his arms satisfied. “Do you agree?”

  “No,” I said and paused a few beats to let the surprise show on his face. “You collect when I’m done. When all the Mourn are destroyed. Not a second sooner.”

  “Your impudence is going to get you killed one day.”

  “Probably, but not today. Do you agree?”

  “Very well, little bear,” he answered after a pause. “I accept your terms. We are in agreement.”

  He held out the hammer and I grabbed the handle as the runes across its surface blazed bright orange into the night. He laughed as thunder crashed around us.

  Lightning hit the antenna of the Freedom Tower. It arced and raced across the roof, slamming into me. I felt the energy course through my body as the light blinded me. When it felt like every cell in my body was tearing itself apart—I screamed and fell to my knees. He laughed again.

  When I could see clearly again, he was gone.

  And I held his hammer.

  ONE

  I got the call at 3am just as I was headed downstairs to the gym. I might have been stronger than your average bear, but I still needed to train.

  "Another one, Sula," my assistant director, Badak, said around a yawn. “Uptown.”

  “Like the others?” I asked. “Mourn?”

  “No, this one was off our grid,” Badak said. “Doesn’t fit the profile of the others, but the level of destruction got our attention.”

  “Where Dak?” I asked, calling him by his shortened name. “Location?”

  "Gracie Mansion has been reduced to kindling."

  "The entire structure?"

  "Is now non-existent."

  "Everything...is gone?"

  "That's what non-existent means. But no worries, we still have pictures."

  "It's too early for your version of humor, Dak."

  “Yoté and the crew are headed over there now. Looks like an all-day affair."

  "You think?" I said, rubbing a temple. "Who do we like for it?"

  Certain structures were being targeted throughout the city, but this one made no sense. Gracie Mansion wasn't on a nexus point and had no connection to the Mourn that I could see.

  "I'll give you one guess," Dak said. "One freshly baked immortal, one antisocial mage, and a hellhound puppy. Sprinkle in some volatile magic and BAM, there goes Gracie Mansion."

  I could feel the headache gripping the base of my neck. It was too damn early for this.

  "Those two are going to give me a stroke, I swear. Is Widow ready?"

  "Yes ma'am, if you mean that monstrosity you call a vehicle."

  "I doubt Cecil would appreciate you calling her a monstrosity."

  Widow was my black 1947 Plymouth Business Coupe specifically runed by Cecil from SuNaTran, to take punishment.

  SuNaTran—SuperNatural Transportation—specialized in providing transport for the supernatural community. Widow was designed specifically as a null siphon and was runed to deal with the damage the Mourn would throw at me. She’d kept me and my team alive more times than I could remember.

  "Fine, that automotive abomination of atrocious aesthetics, then."

  "You've been saving that, haven't you?"

  "At least a week."

  "It doesn't have to be pretty. It needs to be functional. Just like me."

  "Can't recall anyone calling you pretty, that's for sure."

  "I have a hammer that can adjust your memory. Keep it up."

  "That's what she said."

  I hung up on the laughter. It was going to be a long day, and I still had to get my training in. Kate would be here any minute.

  All joking aside, this situation was escalating out of control. The Montague and Strong Detective Agency didn’t pose much of a threat to the city, despite the fact that they seemed intent on demolishing it, one building at a time. Gracie Mansion wasn’t like the other incidents. Those were something else. They were deliberate attacks on specific structures—nexus points.

  As the Lead Director of the Decons And Magical Nulls-Elite Division, DAMNED to friends and enemies alike, it was our responsibility to investigate strange occurrences, especially those of an explosive nature. Our job was to maintain the balance of runic energy in the city. Runic energy that was carefully calibrated and channeled through nexus points.

  The points were a configuration of interconnected locations, housed in structures I liked to call Oracles. They were plain, small, rectangular structures about twenty feet square, that existed just sideways of our plane, invisible to the naked eye—unless you were sensitive to runic energy or were one of the DAMNED.

  In the center of each Oracle rested a confluence of energy with extensions running in different directions. To either side of the confluence, connected to the extensions, were line regulators which allowed the point to be isolated if it became corrupted or was attacked.

  Nexus points were being thrown out of balance by the attacks. The structures that housed them, carefully attuned to the energy contained within, were being attacked. My job was to stop those attacks.

  I closed my eyes and pulled up my mental maps.

  One was a detailed grid layout of Manhattan. Overlaid on this image was a diagram of the nexus points in dull gold. Nexus keepers—also known as Protectors, were linked to the nexus points under their responsibility. Mine ran from the tip of the island to the top of Central Park. So far, these had been the main ones discovered in the city. My team and I were responsible for a large group of nexus points. NP-1 through NP-20—twenty points I needed to keep functioning. Twenty Oracles I needed to keep in one piece.

  I was a novice nexus keeper. The fact that I had my weapon worked in my favor, even as a novice. Even though my sensitivity wasn’t yet strong enough, at the very least, I could sense the occurrence and general direction of a nexus point under attack. Since several points were close to each other, it could be confusing to get the exact point sometimes. Once I honed my mental map, the fine details would appear.

  That’s where Kate came in. Every nexus keeper spent the first five years with a mentor—if they survived that long. Kate was the reason I was getting up at three in the morning. That—and the pounding on my door threatening to launch it from its hinges.

  “Coffee,” Kate growled as I opened the door. “Now, please.”

  “We have these amazing devices called cellphones—a miracle of technology,” I said, pointing to the kitchen. “Why don’t you just call me, and I can meet you at the gym?”

  “Why do I need to call you?” she said, grabbing my largest mug and pouring herself a generous amount of the ink I kept brewed for emergencies—like waking up. “I’m here. No cellphone needed. Are you ready yet—tempus edax rerum.”

  A week after I was chosen as a Protector, Kate appeared at my door. She showed me the symbol on her forearm. A tree of life made up of circles and lines—identical to my own except for the color. Then she informed me I was in training, and demanded coffee. Pretty much what she did every day since then.

  She stood a few inches shy of five feet, thin as a rail, with short brown hair, and piercing black eyes. The first time I threw my hammer at
her, I thought I’d killed her, until she proceeded to swat it away like a tennis ball and beat my ass like a drum.

  I learned not to depend entirely on my weapons that day.

  “There was an explosion,” I said as she poured her second mug. “I may have to meet them on site.”

  “Don’t bother. It wasn’t a nexus point, and it wasn’t an explosion.”

  TWO

  “There’s no way you could know that without seeing the site,” I said. “The fact that it wasn’t in our grid—”

  “Precisely,” Kate said, cutting me off with a pointed finger. “Not in your grid means none of your concern. If the Mourn aren’t involved then you are better off investing your time—”

  “Training,” I finished. “I know. It’s all I do.”

  “One day you’ll thank me for it.”

  “Seriously doubt that,” I said, glancing down at her. “I see you’re changing up the ensemble today? Is that an off-black shirt? You feeling cheerful?”

  She looked down and then fixed me with her resting ‘break your kneecaps’ stare, before taking another long sip of coffee. To my knowledge, Kate only dressed in black. Black jeans, black T-shirt with black mountain hiking boots. All of this was covered with a black thigh-length coat. No matter the time of year the ensemble was the same—black with black accents.

  “Your comedic skills are almost on par with your cooking,” she shot back. “Both leave much to be desired.”

  “Hey, my cooking is edible…mostly.”

  “Barely, but it’s not bad—as a form of poison or a weapon.”

  “So you’re telling me to leave the Gracie Mansion obliteration alone?” I asked, ignoring the insult to my cooking skills. “I should let people go around exploding landmarks?”

  “Let me say this again,” Kate said with a sigh. “Not Mourn and not an explosion. Focus on your priority. That would be the nexus points—Protector.”

  “I thought my priority was keeping the city safe.”

  “No.” Kate shook her head, putting down the coffee mug. “Wrong.”