Inimicus

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Book excerpt

Chapter One - The Crystal Diner

Jonah's dream started off odd enough, but then it got worse.

He was in a palatial bookstore, clad in a slate-grey button down, matching blazer, and his reading glasses. He had his own table, engulfed by books with eerily blue covers that all bore his pen name, J.J.A Rowe. The huddled patrons that surrounded him were gleeful, exuberant, and impatient. They all held books of their own, which all bore Jonah's pen name. The scene was absolutely perfect. As a matter of fact, if there were a word above “perfect,” Jonah might say that the word didn't do the scene justice.

The problem was the fact that Jonah had had this dream before.

On a summer evening a couple years before, Jonah had experienced this same scene. He sat right here (even the attire was the same) amidst a sea of people who wanted their books to be autographed. The activity had been invigorating and fun, but then it was derailed by the appearance of a frightening figure that'd been dread-locked and pale. He gave Jonah harsh critiques and made no secret that he doubted Jonah's ability to handle some “coming storm.” Then the scene worsened as black crows descended into the crowd outside, and the people became savages. It was as if the presence of the crows triggered primal and evil behaviors in the populace.

With that old scene still sharp in Jonah's mind, he scanned this new one for any variations. There didn't appear to be anything sinister here. There wasn't anything but mirth and marvel on every face that he saw. He even recognized some of the faces in the crowd: his best friends Terrence and Reena, Kendall Rayne, Reena's girlfriend and Jonah's former professor, Vera Haliday, Bobby Decessio, Liz Manville, and Malcolm Mercer. Even Royal Spader was there, deftly picking an oblivious patron's pocket. But the familiar faces did nothing to assuage Jonah's anxiety. In that previous dream, he'd witnessed his friends get trampled in the crowd.

Despite all of the activity and suspicion, one question nagged at his mind: How was he aware that he was in a dream? He knew that this was a dream. He had no doubts about it. The whole huddled masses thing was a sham, because he knew in the back of his mind that his writing career had yet to take off. That damnable writer's block hadn't faded, although Kendall's Creative Writing class did wonders for his confidence. But he pushed that thought away. It helped nothing at the moment.

“Okay,” he said above the din, “what's going on?”

“About time,” said an unfamiliar voice.

When the person spoke, all the people froze, as though someone hit a PAUSE button somewhere. Jonah rose and saw a new figure.

It was a black man whose clothing and demeanor were unlike anyone else's. With his severe haircut, dark brown jacket, black cargo pants, and black boots, Jonah thought that he resembled a modern-day cowboy, sans all the dust. But what wrecked the profile for Jonah were the bow and arrows, which were neatly strapped to the guy's back.

“I was wondering when you were going to ask that question,” said the man quietly.

Jonah surveyed the new figure. “Um, you didn't happen to bring a gang of crows with you, did you?”

The man laughed. “No crows, Jonah. This isn't a reproduction of the dream you had all that time ago. I simply manufactured the setting because literary fame is where your heart is.”

Jonah straightened. “Manufactured?”

“Yes,” nodded the man. “Fashioning dreams is one of the attributes of Protector Guides.”

“You're a Protector Guide?” Jonah narrowed his eyes. “And you guys can fashion dreams? Jonathan never did that.”

The Protector Guide shrugged. “We all have free will, Jonah. That is just as true for Spirits as it is for physically living beings. But I enjoy fashioning dreams because the dream realm is more interwoven with the spiritual realm than you know.”

“So why did you wait to reveal yourself?” asked Jonah.

“Because you had to verbally acknowledge that this was a dream,” said the guide simply. “It was my dream, but this is your mind. Free will, remember?”

Jonah nodded, thankful to have finally encountered a Protector Guide that was concise. It was a welcome change. “So why did you do this? Why are you here?”

The guide's brown eyes darkened somewhat. “There are things that you need to see. Protectors can't interfere, but we can alert. Listen to me very carefully. You need to pay attention to every detail that you can, because this is a Spectral Event that cannot be repeated. My ethereal powers will be rather taxed, so when the Event blanks out, you will have seen all that I am able to show you. One more thing: fine-tune your senses. You are an ethereal human, after all. Focus on feelings. Not every living being on Earth and Astral Plane has to resort to noise from their mouths to communicate.”

“Um, okay,” said Jonah, eyeing the Protector Guide. “May I ask why? And who are you, by the way?”

The guide looked Jonah in the eye. “Things may very well be changing, Jonah. Upheaval. It would be unfair to be caught unawares. Now, activate your Spectral Sight. You will see the things that I'd like you to see.”

“But what about these people you froze—?”

Jonah gestured to all the fans, but his voice trailed off when he realized that there wasn't a single soul in sight. He looked at the guide in alarm.

“I created them for a level of comfort,” he explained, “although that didn't quite work the way I hoped. Now go into Spectral Sight. And to answer your other question, my name is Daniel.”

“Alright then,” said Jonah, who had no desire to dwell on the fact that he was taking all of this on faith. “Thanks for—whatever, Daniel.”

“Don't bother committing my name to memory,” warned Daniel.

“Why?” questioned Jonah as he took a deep breath and willed the actors to perform in his mind.

“Because you won't remember it when you wake,” answered Daniel. “Plus things may be quite hazy.”

“Wait, what?” said Jonah quickly, but now that his eyes were open and his Spectral Sight was activated, Daniel and the bookstore scene were gone.

Because of the inauspicious tone in Daniel's voice, Jonah didn't know what to expect. Dark spirits and spiritesses? Minions (if there were any left)? Someone hurting spirits from a Spectral standpoint?

But he didn't see any of those things. He saw a cozy diner that bore a bright white sign which identified the place as The Crystal Diner-Where the Cooks Shine and the Food's Fine.

Jonah frowned. Since when had his Spectral Sight revealed hole-in-the-wall diners? Was the place haunted or something?

Jonah noticed that a light rain dampened everything, but as he was in Spectral form (or dream form or whatever), it had no effect on him. That was good. He couldn't very well be all sleuth-like and whatnot if he had to focus on dryness.

As a slim, hooded patron entered the diner, Jonah tried to gauge the surroundings. The Crystal Diner was comfortably tucked between a Meineke and a BP gas station, both of which were closed. Factoring in the density of the night sky, Jonah surmised that it was very late. Must be one of those twenty-four-hour spots.

While Jonah still wondered why Daniel saw fit to show him a diner, someone edged into his line of sight. He wasn't hooded like the previous patron. He was a slim man with an angular face and hair the color of rust, which looked slick due to the increasing rain. He favored his left side as he moved to the diner, as though he'd recently been in a scuffle or the weather had aggravated arthritis. But that wasn't what caught Jonah's attention. He remembered what Daniel said about focusing on feelings. And gauging this guy's feelings wasn't troublesome at all. It was frightening how easy it was to do. Maybe it was because of Jonah's current dream form, but he was well aware of the man's emotions. And they unnerved him.

This man with the slight build and the hampered left side was evil. There was no other word for it. Pernicious, calculating waves just radiated off of him. It felt like he not only did evil things, but got enjoyment out of them.

The vibe was so strong that, even in this dream form, it made Jonah almost nauseous.

Jonah followed the man into the diner without hesitation. The place wasn't exactly buzzing, but he attributed that to the fact that it was nearly four in the morning, according to the clock near the restrooms. There were several customers in the place in addition to the slim, evil guy. A truck driver at a stool was digging into a plate of steak and eggs, which made Jonah shudder. The eggs seemed to be over easy, which he found disgusting. There was a man in a booth sipping at steaming coffee, and a woman seated in the rear, with her back to everyone. Jonah realized that this was the customer who walked in prior to the slim man and himself. She'd removed her hood, and her blond hair was in shambles around her face. Jonah couldn't make out her face due to the wet strands that obscured it, but he didn't need to. She was frustrated. There was no question.

“Mornin', sir!” said a jovial man from behind the counter. Jonah guessed that he must be the owner of the diner. He was a rosy-faced guy with curly hair and a rotund belly. He resembled what Santa might look like if he dyed his hair and decided to take a day job.

The man barely acknowledged the salutation and seated himself near the register. The owner, undaunted, moved toward him with a menu and a pitcher of water in tow.

“Y'know, you been coming here at this hour for 'bout two weeks,” he said in a conversational sort of way, “and you never say much. Are you alright?”

The man gave a ghost of a nod, took the menu, and pointed to a platter that consisted of sausage, eggs, and grits. Jonah hoped with everything in him that the waiter would take the guy's order and just leave him be, but he wouldn't take the hint.

“Very good choice, sir!” he went on. “I'll have it out to you in no time! You'll have to forgive me, but I'm gonna keep working on you. Ma said kindness is always the best weapon!”

The slim man looked the owner in the eye, and Jonah gauged his intent with horror. But just then, the scene changed once more.

He now stood in a widely-shaped room. The place looked as if it had been quite a sight at one time, but had become dreary and derelict with age and passage of time. Dusty furniture lined one wall, and an ancient rug took up the entire floor. Jonah couldn't help but notice that every piece of furniture, every detail, and every object in the room seemed trained on one thing in the room: a handsome fireplace, unlit and barren. The wide chasm of darkness within must have been a stark contrast to the roaring flames which undoubtedly dominated it in days long since past.

Jonah walked to the window and looked outside, but he saw no identifying characteristics on account of the darkness of night and the pouring rain. He tried very hard to make out something outside before a sharp gust of wind brought his attention to the center of the room. A figure in dark clothing stepped out of nothingness and tossed a twig at the fireplace. Jonah's eyes narrowed. Twig portal meant Spirit Reaper.

The person pulled out a tiny flashlight, knelt at the fireplace, and moved a small tile to reveal a box. Placing the flashlight between their teeth, the person pulled out a handkerchief that had recently been saturated with blood. Jonah's eyes widened. What was going on here?

The figure in black wrung the handkerchief, and several droplets of blood dripped into the box, which appeared to be full of ashes. Apparently satisfied, the figure tossed the handkerchief aside, gathered some of the bloodied ashes and tossed them into the fireplace.

Flames rose instantly, mighty and high. Jonah jumped backward. What the hell had been in that blood? Gas?

He was also unnerved by three other things about this fire. The first was the fact that the flames seemed to expand and contract, like the fire was breathing. The second thing was that the flames, bright as they were, seemed tinged with blackness. The final—and most daunting—thing was the temperature. The room chilled when the flames burst forth. The fire burnt cold.

“Transcendant, I desire your presence.”

Jonah noticed that these words came across his mind, much in the same manner that Bast intimated her thoughts. He frowned; why would someone intimate thoughts to an icy fire?

For several seconds, nothing happened. Then the flames took on an even darker tinge, and the room's temperature dipped lower.

“I am here.”

Jonah was glad that he was in dream form, because he spat an involuntary exclamation that would have surely betrayed his presence if he'd been physical. Though the words were in intimated form—Jonah heard no voices—the feeling from them was venomous. It chilled the blood.

“The implementation of the lambs' schemes has begun,” intimated the figure in black. “Just like you said.”

The fire cackled for many moments. “That is pleasing news.”

The figure straightened somewhat. “I will never disappoint you, Transcendent.”

The fire breathed for a little while. “Those are refreshing words, given recent events. We have had much to repair, thanks to the 49er's audacity.”

The figure's head tilted slightly to the right. “Transcendent, I was opposed to the 49er's involvement from the minute one. I've been itching to kill Jonah Rowe since he dared cross into your zone. It should have been me all along—”

The flames rose to a frightening height, and had enough force to knock the figure in black flat on their back. Jonah could see that the fire pulsated with unmistakable rage. Despite the dark tinge, the fire shone with such brilliance that it was too much for Jonah's eyes, and he shielded them, though he could still see the flames through his eyelids. Movement prompted him to glance through his eyelashes, and he saw that the figure in black was no longer prone. The person now prostrated before the flames.

“Forgive me, Transcendent, my words moved faster than my thoughts—”

“Never question me,” intimated the flames, and Jonah could almost hear the growl that would have been present had the words been voiced. “I had my reasons for using the vampire, as you very well know. Despite his mutinous blunder, he had some advantages nonetheless.”

Jonah's eyes flew open at those words, though his pupils ached due to the brightness of his flames. What was this about the 49er? What mutiny? What blunder? And he had had some advantages? What had he done right?

“Do you have it?” intimated the flames.

The figure straightened with pride. “I do, Transcendent.”

The figure withdrew a corked vial from a pocket and placed it on the floor. It was full to the brim with what could only be blood.

“Yes,” intimated the flames. “The other item as well. Place it here before me.”

The figure obeyed, and Jonah was so shocked that he nearly fell backward.

The figure lowered down a thick card, which illustrated a sheathed sword and a closed eye.

The Inimicus card.

Jonah felt a chill that had nothing to do with the contradictory fire.

“I got it seconds after the 49er threw it on the ground,” intimated the figure. “I had to wait for Rowe to leave the area, or he'd have seen me.”

“You have done well, Inimicus,” intimated the flames. “Now lower your hood. I tire of my own disciple wearing a disguise in my presence.”

The figure began to lower the hood, but at that very moment, the scene began to blink and fade. Alarmed, Jonah realized that Daniel's power over this Spectral Event must be dissipating.

“NO!” he shouted out loud. “I need a few more seconds, Daniel! WAIT!”

But Jonah found himself shouting the last word to a sunlit ceiling. He'd awakened at last.