Action Figures - Issue Two: Black Magic Women (21 page)

I can almost call dinner completely normal. Granddad takes care of the lion’s share of mealtime conversation, which means Mom and I can avoid talking to each other entirely. That might sound callous, but the tension between us, while diminished, is still there, and the way I figure it, if we’re not talking to each other, we’re not fighting with each other.

Once the dirty dishes are in the washer, Mom says to me, all businesslike, “All right, Carrie...”

“My homework’s done, my laptop is on the coffee table,” I report, “and I’m heading to my room. Good night.”

“Carrie.” I turn. She holds out her hand. “Your phone?”

It’s a sad statement on my generation that adults think they can punish us simply by taking away our technology, as if we’re incapable of entertaining ourselves without something that needs to be plugged in. But hey, it makes her feel like she’s disciplining me.

In a moment of ironic timing, my phone vibrates in my hand as I hand it to Mom. It takes effort, but I resist looking at the screen to see who’s calling.

It’s probably nothing important.

TWENTY-ONE

“She’s still not picking up,” Concorde says. “Someone else try her.”

“It won’t do any good,” Sara says. “She’s been grounded.”

Concorde tilts his head, like a dog failing to understand his master’s command. “Grounded. Carrie.”

“Yeah.”

“
Carrie
got grounded.”

“Yes. Because she broke curfew Saturday night, because she was busy fighting a demon, and couldn’t think of a decent alibi to feed her mom.”

“Hm. Well,” Mindforce says. “That’s a problem.”

“One for another time,” Astrid says.

“Yes, right, one crisis at a time.”

“We should be so lucky,” Concorde says, conducting a quick attendance, double-checking the corner of the conference room in case the Entity, as he is wont to do, slipped in unseen to lurk in silence. “All right, people, listen up. This is going to be quick, because we have to move. There have been no casualties reported so far, but we can’t count on that trend holding up. Two hours ago, give or take, there was another, um...”

“Breach of the barrier between realities,” Astrid says.

“Yeah, that.”

“We know that part, believe me,” Sara says, the sour tang of vomit persisting in her mouth.

“This time, the, uh...”

“Breach of the barrier between realities,” Astrid says.

“The breach occurred in Gloucester, and apparently, whatever came through was let off its leash right away,” Concorde says. “Within a half-hour of the, uh, the...”

“Breach of the barrier between realities. Why is that so hard for you to say?”

“Within a half-hour of the
breach of the barrier between realities
— happy now? — our system red-flagged a series of 911 calls to the Gloucester PD. Our system scans first responder communications for unusual activity,” Concorde explains, “and it picked up several reports of people being attacked by bizarre assailants.”

“Bizarre how?” Matt asks.

“You’ll love this,” Nina says. “People claimed they were attacked by, among other things, giant spiders, giant snakes, circus clowns, and their dentists.”

“I’ll take Things People Are Terrified Of for two hundred, Alex.”

“Bingo,” Astrid says. “That means we’re dealing with some sort of phobophage — a fear demon, something that generates raw, primal terror, then feeds off the resulting psychic energy.”

“Great. How’re we going to take down something like that?” Stuart says.

“I have some ideas,” Astrid says. “Trust me.”

“You know how we can beat this thing?” Matt says. “Call Stephen King’s lawyer, and tell him a demon is plagiarizing
It
.”

“
Heh
. We all float down here,” Nina says.

“So glad you two find humor in this,” Sara says, gazing out the Pelican’s porthole window. “We’re only going to be facing a demon that can look like whatever scares the holy hell out of us.”

“Believe it or not, we’re better off with this thing than we were the Soulblack,” Astrid says. “Phobophages want to keep their prey alive. You can’t scare the dead.”

“Yeah, that’s real comforting.”

“I don’t want to find it because it’s going to look like a zombie and if it looks like a zombie I’m going to wet myself,” Missy says.

“Zombies aren’t real,” Astrid says. “Whatever you might see, it won’t be real. Remember that. Yes, there is a demon hiding behind the illusion, and that demon
is
dangerous, but that’s why you’re to remain in constant radio contact with me,” she says, tapping her earpiece.

“Scream in white-hot terror, you’ll come a-runnin’,” Stuart says. “Got it.”

“Good. Any last questions?”

“Yeah. This demon. Human host again?” Sara asks.

“I have yet to meet a demon that can exist on our plane outside of a host.”

“Uh-huh. And what are the chances we can save this one? Good? Or should we plan to add another name to the body count?”

“We’re getting to him early on in the possession. As we’ve learned, that gives me an advantage; its hold on the host won’t be that strong...”

“But?”

“But, this won’t be like purging the imp out of Missy. This is a major-league demonic entity, something I almost certainly haven’t encountered before. I can’t make any promises.”

“No,” Sara says, turning back toward the window. “Of course you can’t.”

Astrid sidles up to Sara. “Do you have a problem with me, little girl?” Astrid says, her words lost to the others, drowned out by the low thrum of the Pelican’s maglev system.

“I have a problem with how quickly you give up on saving people. You’re supposed to be a super-hero.”

“I told you: I am
not
a super-hero, and
you
don’t know jack about what we’re dealing with,” Astrid says. “This is my playground, not yours, and I know the rules better than you ever will, so don’t you dare lecture me about who can be saved and who can’t.”

“You said Missy couldn’t be saved,” Sara says. “Tell me again how you’re so awesome at determining who lives and who dies.”

“...Get ready to move out.”

Concorde and the Pelican touch down at US Coast Guard Station Gloucester. Nina pops the bay door, filling the airship with stinging, biting air, fresh off the frigid Atlantic.

“Hope you’re wearing your thermal undies, boys and girls,” she says, “because we’ve got some damn fine New England winter out there.”

“Way ahead of you,” Matt says. “We made sure to layer up. Well, most of us did.”

“Let it snow, baby,” Stuart says, his bare arms refusing to display gooseflesh.

“What’s the plan?”

“This thing isn’t moving in any clear pattern. Incidents have been reported all over town,” Concorde says. “There are a few areas where the attacks seem to be concentrated, so we’re going to check those first. If we find anything, we contact Enigma and run interference until she gets there.”

“Don’t worry, you won’t have to run for long. I’ll be right here, ready to move,” Astrid says. “Concorde, I suggest Mindforce and Matt form one team.”

“Captain Trenchcoat,” Matt says. “We’re on duty.”

“Captain Trenchcoat. Sara — sorry, I mean
Psyche
should go with Nina. The psionics are more likely to pick up on any negative psychic energy, so they should work the perimeters of the search area. If they pick up anything, I can help them triangulate the demon’s position.”

“Sounds good,” Concorde says.

“Superbeast, I want you here with me. I don’t do physical combat, and I’d like someone watching my back, just in case.”

“Looks like you’re with me, Missy.”

“Kunoichi. Uh, I don’t fly.”

“For this op, neither do I,” Concorde says, motioning at the sky, a shroud of gray so deep it borders on black. “Okay, we’re at the southern edge of the center of town, so I want a trident pattern for the initial sweep. Mindforce, take the west, Nina, take the east, I’m going up the middle.”

“Got it,” Nina says.

“Constant contact, people. Keep up the chatter, and if anyone sees anything one step beyond perfectly, painfully normal, call it — and no unnecessary risks. Let Enigma handle the heavy lifting.”

Concorde pauses for final questions, but there are none. There is nothing now but the mission.

“Go.”

It feels wrong, Concorde thinks, to be on the ground like this. He’s not a ground fighter; the earth isn’t his element, but his true home, the air, is not a welcoming place this day. The street is no friendlier. The whirling snow cuts his visibility to several yards, reduces streetlights to muted glows, while the pervasive cold renders his visor’s thermal imaging setting useless.

There are no people on the sidewalks, and maybe three cars have passed them since they left the Coast Guard compound, their headlights floating, ghostlike, through the premature night. The worsening storm is keeping everyone inside.

The storm, or something else.

“For a guy who told us to keep up the chatter, you’re really quiet,” Missy says, shivering as the chill begins to seep through her uniform, through the layers of winter wear underneath.

The teams hardly need his input; they’re doing a yeoman’s job of keeping the silence at bay. Matt and Nina fill the airwaves by naming every movie they know that somehow involves snow, while Stuart serenades his teammates with a selection of Godsmack tunes. Mindforce is the only one focused on the job, but he has yet to report anything of consequence.

“Nothing in our sector,” he says.

“Zilch here, too.
Die Hard 2: Die Harder
,” Matt says.

“Whole lot of nothing going on over here,” Nina says. “
John Carpenter’s The Thing
.”

“
The Shining
.”

“
The Grey
.”

“Something’s not right,” Astrid says.

“Nothing’s right about this op,” Concorde mutters.

“No, I mean the demon’s dropped off the radar completely. I’ve been monitoring the police band, and there haven’t been any new reports since we got here.”

“What do you think? Has it gone into hiding?”

“It’s not hiding from us. Demons aren’t cowards.”

“It’s stalking us,” Concorde concludes.

“We’re juicy targets. We’re all used to overcoming fear, so it’s trying to put us on edge. It’ll soften us up first, and when it hits, it’s going to hit hard.”

“Wow, this keeps getting better and better,” Sara says.

“I wouldn’t worry too much.”

“Why not? I think worrying is a great option.”

“I don’t think you’re the demon’s prime target.”

“No?” Concorde says. “Then who is?”

“My best guess? You. You’re the only one among us I’d call utterly fearless. Taking you down would be —”

“I get it, I get it. Well, that’s great.”

“Yeah. Great,” Missy says. “What do we do?”

“Our job — which, for you, means clearing out the second something goes down.”

“
What
? Aw, c’mon, I want to help!”

“Don’t argue. I don’t want you getting caught in the crossfire.”

“I don’t want me getting caught in the crossfire either, but I can’t run away on you. That’s a lousy thing to do when someone’s in trouble.”

“Fine, you can watch my back, but it’s going to be from a safe distance — emphasis on
distance
, got it?”

Missy, reluctantly, nods.

They trudge up Pleasant Street to Burnham Park, passing homes, passing small neighborhood businesses, the lights within appearing as flickering will o’ the wisps in the snow. Missy tells herself repeatedly, insistently, the ever-shifting shadows, the flashes of movement at the edge of her vision, the strange noises slipping through the gusting wind — they’re all tricks of the storm. They have to be.

They aren’t.

“Concorde, something’s out there.”

His impulse is to dispute her, to tell her she’s imagining things, to ignore the concerns of a girl with precious little experience as a super-hero. She’s a scared child, jumping at shadows...

And that is when the shadows take over.

“It’s okay, Missy, it’s only a blackout,” Concorde says immediately. “We’re in the middle of a nasty snowstorm, it’s to be expected.”

“Concorde,” Nina says, “we still have lights here.”

He stops, checks his heads-up display; Nina’s comm system transponder puts her a mile away, to the east. Her area could be on a different circuit, he thinks.

“Same here, we have power,” Mindforce reports from three-quarters of a mile to Concorde’s west.

“Is anyone picking up anything?” Astrid says.

“Nothing.”

“I think nothing?” Sara says. “I don’t really know what I’m looking for.”

“There’s something out there,” Missy whines. “Concorde!”

Concorde’s suitcomp cycles through each available sensor mode: nightvision, infrared, thermal imaging, motion detector — he’s blind in every electronic eye.