Broken Wings: Genesis (4 page)

“When you are done, Pietra––you
can head back and start your regular preparations for tonight. Chat me up to
him, if you’d like. Let him know that I’m a good find, you think I’ll do well
and so on. It will whet his appetite and he should pretty much leave you
alone.”

“Chaz––when Pietra is done with
the coven, head back and meet me at my place. I’m going to need your help.”

I started to get up from the
table.

“What will you be doing?” Chaz
asked. “Are you going to stop by and see Father David––let him know what’s up?”

“Nope. No time.” I gave him a
pained smile. “I’m going to see a man about a dream.”

Mahatma Gandhi once said, “Those
with the greatest awareness have the greatest nightmares.”

If that’s the case, I must have my
eyes wide open because the nightmares I deal with do not always come when I’m
asleep. And if it wasn’t bad enough that I had to deal with my own nightmares,
I went out of my way in seeking out others’ nightmares to champion. I did have
nightmares––ones that didn’t even have a connection to events going on around
me. Or at least I didn’t think they did. It wasn’t anything that had manifested
yet, like the one I had of the dream stalker last night.

One in particular had haunted my
dreamtime for years, for as long as I could remember. It only came through in
bits and pieces, which made it even more frustrating. Wings, a gate, a big
fight, and an explosion. That’s pretty much all I’ve been able to get a handle
on. What I
do
know is that I wake up
in a cold sweat every time I have it. Thankfully, it only comes on occasion.
The all-encompassing feeling of dread that follows in its wake will leave me on
edge for days. I’d much rather chalk it up to normal, everyday nightmares that
normal, everyday people have. The problem was that I was well ensconced in
abnormality, so it still makes me twitch.

After Father David “opened” the
doors for me to the realm that “doesn’t exist” as far as the church was concerned,
I hunted down someone to help me get a handle on my own little nightmare
troubles. My search introduced me to a bizarre side of reality that I’d never
imagined existed. It also took me to the doorstep of Morpheus and his two
brothers, Phobetor and Phantasos.

An interesting aspect of my early
studies with Father David was that he walked me down a path of classic
literature and mythology. You have to admit, it’s a pretty strange focus for a
dedicated man of the church to instill in his protégé. Then, when I was dealing
with Chaz’s father, he turned my world upside down. When you stop to think
about the world I was already privy to, that was pretty hard to do. The most
illuminating point that I’ve ever come to learn and accept is
everything
happens for a reason.

A patient Father David had led me
through the old classics––Ovid, Homer, and so forth, and then on into a deep
study of religious mythology––Greek, Roman, Norse, Sumerian, Celtic,
Japanese––you name it. The list goes on. The stories were like candy to me. Why
do people lose themselves in these fantastical stories? I found out it’s
because those stories, to the book lover, are in actuality the pre-cursor to
reality television.

There is an element of truth to be
found in every mythos––more than you might think. For example, when I talk
about going to visit with Morpheus, Phobetor and Phantasos, I’m not talking
about three wannabes. I’m talking the real deal––Morpheus, the Greek God of
Dreams––the King of Sleep himself––and his brothers and partners in the
dreamscape, Phobetor and Phantasos. It was a lot to swallow for someone like
me, but the experience of it definitely made me a believer.

A ringing from the headset sounded
in my ears. Without even thinking, I reached down and flipped the switch from
radio to phone and opened a connection. You have to love hands-free technology.

“I’m here.”

“Yeshua? This Father David.”

Speak of the devil.

“Hi Father. I was going to ring
you up today.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah––Chaz hooked me onto the
trail of another DS. From all indications, this guy’s managed to get to some
pretty high level bull––er, stuff.”

“Do you need help, or back up?”

“That’s where I’m headed now.”

“Morpheus.”

“Yeah. He sent me a dreaming last
night, so I know he has a line on this guy.”

“Well, if you need anything
more––”

There was a tone to Father David’s
voice. Just because he had to accept what other members of the church wouldn’t
acknowledge, it didn’t make him any more comfortable with it. He didn’t care to
have dealings with any of the immortals outside his own religious purview. I
understood. Having had numerous occasions to mix with them myself, they were an
arrogant lot, each with their own quirks that were often far from endearing.

“Thanks, Father, I’ll let you know
how things progress.”

I thought that was the end of the
conversation, but there I go thinking again. Before I could switch off, Father
David stopped me.

“Yeshua, it sounds to me as though
you are pretty busy right now. But do you think you might have some time to
spare to come over?”

“Today? Not likely. Maybe
tomorrow, but I can’t make any promises as to what state I might be in.”

“Tomorrow––?” There was a long
pause. “Yes, tomorrow will do, if that’s the earliest you have.”

“It is.”

Something was up.

“There is someone I’d like you to
meet.”

“Oh?”

“Yes.”

Okay, something was definitely up
and I wasn’t going to get any clues.

“All right. I’ll give you a call
tomorrow and let you know where I’m at.”

“I’ll talk to you then.”

“You got it, Father.” I went to
switch off again.

“And Yeshua?”

I gave a mental sigh. “Yes,
Father?”

“Take care.”

“Thanks, Father.”

I was able to disconnect without
any further interruption.

Believe it or not, Father David
was one of the few people I have connected to in my life, for whom I hold
nothing but the highest levels of respect. It’s possible he’s the only one. I
just wasn’t feeling chatty today. When I was on a mission that tended to
happen. He accepted that about me. Since he hadn’t offered to wait until I had
finished with the dream stalker, it told me he had some heavy stuff of his own
for me to deal with. So be it. But I couldn’t afford double duty until I knew
what was up with the first problem. Thus my visit to Morpheus.

All of the legends and myths
handed down through the centuries have a grain of truth to them. At least I
haven’t found one yet that didn’t. That includes all of those fun stories about
ancient gods. They weren’t actually gods, per se, but they were immortals.

Now just to be clear, immortals
will live forever, as long as they’re not killed by outside influences. A few
of them weren’t around any more. Take Ares, for example, known to be the Greek
God of War. He was killed during the fall of Saigon
back in the seventies. It served him right. He was the one who kept stirring
the pot so he would have a playing field in the first place. Tengu, the
Japanese God of Mischief ran afoul of the President’s secret service during
World War II––bad timing for prank pulling on his part, as far as I’m
concerned. From what I hear, there wasn’t a whole lot left of him. And Venus,
known as the Roman Goddess of Love, was taken out in a murder-suicide two years
ago in Manhattan.

Most of the immortals had been
around for centuries. If they didn’t learn how to adapt to the changing moods
and rules of the world around them, they didn’t last long. Many of them were
still around.

The reason for their so-called
immortality, was that they had learned to tap into the source of the magickal
life force of the earth. A lot of people didn’t accept the theory of the earth
as a living, breathing entity. If they were to accept it, that would reduce
mankind to a parasitic infestation. Well, call a spade a spade.

The earth
is
a living
thing, and the human race lives in a symbiotic, but parasitic relationship with
her. I really don’t know whether it’s a he or a she, it could be asexual for
all I know. It just seems to me that only a woman would have that much patience
with destructive children.

Of course, there is the whole
magickal energy field she is imbued with as well. It is the ultimate source of
life-giving and creative energy. Once again, that seems to be a female trait.
Women lean more toward the whole “life-giving” thing.

The immortals are nothing more
than humans who have learned to draw from and use the magickal energies of the
earth. That energy running through them as they direct its use gives them, in
essence, immortality.

The human race has pretty much
forgotten how to connect, once the advent of technology rose through the ranks
of popularity. Not to go all biblical or anything, but even in the Old
Testament it mentions people who lived for hundreds of years. That tells you
which is the true power. Technology can barely keep us functional past a
hundred. Humankind has disconnected and often works to destroy the very thing
that adds to their existence. And then they wonder why we’re so messed up as a
species. Go figure.

I pulled down the alleyway that
took me to Morpheus’ front door. It was well hidden––he didn’t care a lot for
unwanted visitors. The ones that did visit were a special breed. After parking
my bike, I waited. I didn’t have to announce my presence to Morpheus. He
already knew I was there. The lair-king of an opium den couldn’t afford to not
keep track of who was at his door.

The door opened to let me inside.
A tall man, unspeaking, stood back in invitation. The sickening sweet smell of
opiate-laced haze wafted toward me. I really hated this part. Traversing the
narrow, dark, curtain-covered hallways of Morpheus’ drug-sustained lair of
dreams was not my idea of a good time. You couldn’t walk those halls without
falling victim to at least a subtle fog over your awareness. I certainly wasn’t
immune.

When dealing with the immortals
you had to come to them on their terms, or they won’t play. Most of them had a
twisted sense of humor. They all had a code of honor. That’s why I could so
easily meet Morpheus on his terms. I knew he would never turn me away. As far
as he was concerned, he
owed
me.

“Hey, Lurch, how’s it hangin’?”

I don’t know if that was the
doorman’s name or not, but it had stuck from my first, nervous flippancy of day
one and he never spoke to correct me. So Lurch it was. Before entering, I took
a deep breath of alley stench and kept my breathing at a shallow minimum. I
hated having my senses dulled. But that was Morpheus’ little quirk. I passed
through the narrow hallways as quick as possible, the curtains fluttering
behind me as I went, but never exposing the interiors of the private rooms of
the lair. Or if they did, I wasn’t paying attention.

I had a misstep at the last
corner, stumbling at the foot of the stairs. Damn. The haze was working its
numbing toxicity on me already. A partially opened curtain of an alcove-sized
room revealed an older man, round in body with white hair surrounding a bald
top. He gave me a dreamy smile and saluted me with the twisted hose of the
hookah stem before placing it to his lips. As I went to turn away, a flash of
clarity drew my attention back to his pale, crystal blue eyes. I was startled
by that gaze and looked away. It was far too clear for the amount of opiates he
was drawing in. When I looked back, his eyes were glazed and dreamy again. It
had to have been the drugged smoke playing tricks on my mind.

I tried to step quietly up the
stairs, but that wasn’t possible at this point. My feet felt leaden and my
movements slow. The sound of each thump echoed through the narrow stairwell
twisting in front of me, ringing hollow in my ears. I will say this much about
Morpheus. Of all the immortals I have met, I trusted him––or at least I trusted
his sense of honor the most. If I didn’t, I would not allow this kind of
drugged invasion of my body. I wouldn’t come to any harm in Morpheus’
establishment. It was a good thing the church didn’t require piss tests for my
particular “employment” arrangement with them.

As I reached the top of the
stairs, the large wooden door blocking my way opened of its own accord. Without
hesitation, I entered the dimly lit room and moved forward to let the door
close behind me.

I took a deep breath, trying to
clear my head a bit with the fresher air in Morpheus’ antechamber. He didn’t
need the opiates to induce dreamtime. Morpheus stepped in and out of that world
with ease––and with no drugs. He had told me once that opium had been his
original “way in”, and what he offered to the people below was the chance to
take hold of immortality as he had. I didn’t buy it, but I also didn’t argue.

Phobetor and Phantasos were
lounging on an array of jewel-colored pillows, seemingly as oblivious to the
world around them as the people downstairs. I sometimes wondered about those
two. Every time I saw them, they were in the same spot, with the same dreamy
look. They rarely spoke, and if the air weren’t so clear up here, I would have
sworn they were dosed.

While they might not actually be
twins, many people mistakenly thought they were. It was easy to see why. They
were almost identical in looks––blond hair, blue eyes, classic “Greek” profile
with wide lips, and hints of fully sculpted bodies that peeked out in places beneath
the robes they wore. If they were in as good of physical shape as they appeared
to be, they had to be getting up from their cushions from time to time. I’d
never seen them anywhere else.

Phobetor, the older of the two by
a year, patted the empty spot next to him in invitation. I declined with a
polite smile and a shake of my head. He responded with a pout and a shrug. It
was a ritual we repeated every time I came.