Mashing her cigarette into the cheap plastic ashtray she’d stolen from Captain Jack’s pirate and punk bar, she shuttered as she exhaled, a ghost against the impassive moonlight. She leaned her head against the window, open just a crack to let the cigarette smoke out, and thought about the last few months, chuckling humorlessly about how quickly everything can go wrong.
She stared out over the sprawling monster that was this city and imagined all the other souls wandering or sitting by themselves, feeling so alone that the ache in their souls bled into their hearts, making their chest constrict in a thousand little pinching pains that made them shudder with the detoxing spasms that is love leaving your life forever.
She wondered where Fox was drowning his haunted memories tonight, wondering if he still blamed himself. Of course he blamed himself, that’s just who he was. He felt it was his job to keep the people around him safe, and he’d failed. He’d just never talk about it. He’d crack some joke and change the subject, or start up a game, or play a song; anything to keep the reality of his feelings from pressing in on him like a vice.
Sera wanted to wrap her arms around him and just let him cry until all his pain washed down into the streets and traveled away on the dirty little rivulets falling down some nameless storm drain and never seen again. But he wouldn’t; she couldn’t. That wasn’t their lives, was it? They had this.
She stood up and put her fist through the window. Fragments of moonlight and city reflections rattled through the fire escape into the street below. Sera looked at the blood running down her center knuckle, lit another cigarette, and decided she needed to go out for a drink.
On the other side of town, and a million miles away, Fox sank the 3 ball into the corner pocket and took a sip from a vanilla porter that was getting warmer by the minute. A tall broad shouldered gentleman with a military haircut and grim eyes walked in and sat at the edge of the bar by himself. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the red cross pin on the lapel of his beige trench coat. He could also tell the man was armed. A Templar. Great.
Fox finished his beer and decided now was as good a time as any to get a refill and greet his caller. He sat cattycorner from the Templar and waited for the bartender.
“Fox Meridian?” the man said.
“The Templars joining the local billiard league?” Fox asked. The man gave him a hard look, then glanced at the bar. He took a large, measured breath.
“I’m Edward Sinclair, Templar Captain. And…” he hesitated. “I might need your help,” Edward greeted. Fox paused. He’d heard that name.
Edward Sinclair was head of Templar field assaults on demons, vampires and lead the Special Forces training for newer Templars. If they sent him to recruit Fox, this had to be serious.
“What do you go by normally?” Fox asked.
“Edward,” the man said flatly. Fox waved down Gus, the manager of the bar.
“A coffee porter and whatever my new friend here is drinking,” Fox called, then looked over.
“Anything is fine,” Edward replied.
“Amber. He seems like an amber man to me,” Fox said. Gus was a round, bearded man with a pleasant smile and gray hair. He took one glance at the Templar then gave Fox a stern look of ‘please don’t start trouble in my bar.’
Gus dropped off the two beers and Fox laid a twenty on the table, took a sip and looked over at his visitor.
“I’m not going to even ask how you found me. What I am curious about, is you don’t seem or sound like the type that asks for help often,” Fox said.
“I don’t.”
Fox nodded and waited.
“Something has happened,” the big man continued.
“I had guessed as much.”
The big man bristled slightly. There was a glared in his eyes not directed at anyone. But Fox could read between the lines. This guy would rather slam Fox’s head against the bar and storm out than spend another moment here. He was clearly on edge and uncomfortable, but not in the manner that preceded violence. This man was clearly capable of violence, that just wasn’t his purpose tonight.
“The Seal has been broken,” the man confided. Fox was still and silent for a moment.
“Which seal?” he asked, cautious. The large man sighed. He leaned in and spoke softly.
“The Seal of Solomon,” he said. Fox choked on his beer. He sputtered for a few moments, then swallowed. After a few more moments to resume his composure, he looked back at Edward.
“You guys have had it all this time?” Fox asked. The other man was silent. Templars weren’t ones to part with their secrets.
“Of course you were. That’s why you wanted the Temple in the first place. Let the others take the rest of Jerusalem, you bastards wanted the Seal!” Fox hissed. The big man glared at him. Fox paused for a moment. He’d fought his way out of some rough situations, but he saw the eyes of an experienced killer in the man, and as a Templar, one that was highly trained. Fox just wasn’t sure he cared anymore at this point.
“You’ve kept your secrets. You’ve kept something dangerous, and now it’s out…” Fox said, staring at the wall, seeing nothing.
“There was no one else to protect it,” the large man replied. Fox just stared at him, his expression blank.
“In any case, they’re free now,” Edward confessed.
“Seventy-two demon lords released back into the universe…” Fox muttered.
“We’re meeting with the other organizations. We’ve spoken with the Lodge, but I understand that you’re no longer a member,” Edward said.
“There were some disagreements,” Fox admitted.
“Apparently. But I want to hear from you why you left,” Edward said.
“Because I can’t… couldn’t just do nothing when I knew people were in danger,” Fox replied.
“If you can find that person again then, he is needed. I need every capable soul to help track down these demons and seal them away,” Edward said. The jumble of bar room conversation hummed in the background along with the highlights from the latest football game.
“So I’m assuming your coordinating the attack?” Fox asked. Edward inclined his head.
“Who am I getting assigned?” Fox asked.
“I wanted you to join my Gamma team-“ Edward began. Fox shook his head.
“I’m not a Templar. I’ll reach out when I need intel, or to tell you the deed is done. But I don’t operate like you guys, and I’m not going to try. A bunch of chain-of-command bullshit is just going to get in my way,” Fox said. The big man’s fist clenched. He stared at the other end of the bar. Two other patrons looked up, saw the look on his face, and promptly looked the other way. Fox was starting to wonder if he’d finally pushed his luck. The big man put the beer to his lips and emptied it. We waved the barkeep down for another. When he’d finished that, he reached into his jacket. Fox braced himself, ready to dive and uncertain if he’d be safer running and taking his chance with the bullets or trying to rush the large, angry killing machine. Thankfully the man just produced a slip of paper.
Fox looked unfolded it. It held a single word, a name.
Valefar.
“The Thief King?” Fox asked.
“Of the most skilled occult agents, this one seemed the most up your alley,” Edward said. There was the slightest hint of a smirk. Fox nodded and handed it back.
“We would still need you to check in every 48 hours,” Edward began. Fox gave him a side glance.
“I need to know if you’ve been killed in the field, and I need to send someone else to finish this. We’ve even requested this of the Hospitallers, and they of us,” Edward explained.
“The… Hospitallers? You’re working with the Hospitallers??” Fox asked, shocked. You’d sooner see hyenas and lions snuggling on the savannah than see Templars and Hospitallers work together. Their shadow war was the stuff of legends and had marred the backdrop of history for more than 700 years.
“I’m assuming I don’t need to tell you how bad this is,” Edward said.
“No. Each one is a lord of demons, extremely powerful in their own right, and used to ruling over legions of other demons. If all seventy-two are out and running amuck, that could make for some slight discomfort in the near future,” Fox replied. He took a deep breath and nodded.
“How do I get in touch with you?” Fox asked at last. Edward penned a phone number on the slip of paper.
“Call there once every 48 hours. If you don’t, then we know we need to send another field agent to finish this,” Edward said.
“Or if need resources?” Fox asked. Edward glared at him. Fox held up his hands.
“I’m out of the game. I might not have all the stuff I need at the ready,” Fox admitted. Edward sighed.
“Same number. They will attempt to give you what you need. Within reason,” Edward said. A long, tense silence hung in the air between them.
“There’s more to this than you’re saying,” Fox said. It wasn’t a question.
“Of course there is,” Edward replied. Fox waved to Gus.
“Another round?” Fox said.
“I should be going,” Edward replied. Fox nodded.
“Look, I know you’re a shot caller within the Templars. I’ve heard your name before. And no, I’m saying from where. So I know you’d rather be anywhere than in here asking for my help. I can also tell that you’ve been hurt by this,” Fox said. Edward did not move, he did not blink. He looked Fox over for a moment.
“If you’ve used some enchantment-” Edward growled. Fox held up a hand.
“I just know what it looks like.”
Gus plopped two cold beers in front of them, the street sorcerer and the Templar Captain, having drinks at a bar. Fox was sure there was a joke in here somewhere. Edward waved off the beer.
“I must be going,” Edward said.
“See you in the field,” Fox replied. Edward nodded and departed. He could feel the bar exhale when the man left. Gus sauntered back over.
“What are you doing bringing guys like that in here?” Gus hissed. Fox smirked.
“First, what sort of ‘guy’ do you think that was Gus?”
“Hitman, right? Merc?”
Fox shook his head. Gus sighed in relief.
“Oh no. That guy’s much worse than any of that,” Fox waved a hand dismissively. Gus’s eyes went wide. Fox fought the laugh from his face at the ridiculous look on Gus’ petrified face.
“Why Fox? Why? Why would you bring something like that in here?” Gus asked.
“I didn’t. He found me here.”
“What have you got yourself mixed up in?”
Fox was considering how to answer when the door opened. A blonde bombshell with a smoldering glare walked in. Cut off jean shorts, torn top that revealed her chiseled stomach, red streak through her hair and gauze and tape around her left hand: Sera.
Fox glanced at her for a moment. Her angry gaze softened when she saw him reaching for the beer that Edward had left on the bar. He held it toward her.
“Have a beer?”
“I…I didn’t know you were here.”
Fox nodded, his face still.
“It’s okay,” he said. She walked toward the bar slowly, cautious, wary; deciding between sitting down or walking out the door. She took the beer from his hand, set in on the bar and grabbed him. He braced himself, not certain what he’d been expecting, save something violent.
Instead he found himself wrapped up in a tight hug he wasn’t sure he could escape from if he tried. He put a hand on her back, wanting to move forward when she squeezed tighter. He put his arms around her and remembered. He remembered when things were simpler and they both were happier. He remembered when all of his friends and comrades could all still look each other in the eye. He remembered back before things had gone dark. He’d forgotten how much he’d missed it, how much he’d missed her.
Finally she let go and took the beer in her good hand, finishing half of it before setting it back down. The permanent smear of black mascara and eyeliner clouded around both her eyes like a drawn on mask. He looked at her for a moment, a dozen different imagined conversations with her floating through his mind as he drank his beer and collected his thoughts.
They each thought of countless different openers, of explanations and condolences. Their minds wandered the mazes of pleasantries and hurt feelings and the myriad paths that can lead to all of the wrong places between two people.
“Look-”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
And there it was. It was out. She had said it. She felt relieved, a little. But the quiet that followed was unbearable. It stretched out between them like the chasm between people on the street where nobody wants to be bothered and in a city brimming with people so many souls feel alone. He took another sip.
“I wish I could believe that. I really do. But I can’t. And I won’t let myself. Because I can’t let myself make a mistake like that again,” Fox said. Sera was silent for a moment.
“There was nothing you could have done differently.”
“Short of sacrificing myself.”
“She beat you to it. She probably knew you would have if she hadn’t. Maybe she decided that was more than she could live with.”
“So she leaves me to live with it instead?”
“She got to protect you in the end. Don’t take that away from her, okay?” Sera pleaded. Fox squeezed the scrap of paper in his hand.
“So um…”
“How have you been?”
“Good. I… um. I’ve been. Just reading old books.”
“Like usual.”
“You?”
“Training. Doing research. Found a…um… there’s some weird stuff going on.”
“Like what?”
“Just some strange stories that should be looked into. Something about some cloaked figures chasing a guy into an abandoned church in Elyria, Ohio before it burned down.”
“What’s so strange about that?” Fox asked.
“Just that more stuff like that’s been happening lately. There’s way more chatter on the boards. A lot of it from over seas. Sounds like the Sol Invictus is gearing up for something big.”
Fox nodded absently and drank some more. Sera tilted her head.
“Do you know something about all of this?”
“No. And I don’t want to.”
“Don’t lie to me. If there’s something going on, you’ve got to take me with you. I’m crawling the walls at my apartment, and I need to be out there doing something.”
Fox was silent.
“If you don’t, I’m just going to go find it on my own.”
Fox’s poker face was failing him. If she went with him, she could get killed. If she went by herself, she could get killed. His mind waded through the sea of bad decisions that lay before him, each one turning out worse than the last. Finally he looked at her.
“Why don’t we just watch a movie and split a pizza?”
“I’d like that.”
Hours later, in the still of the night, Fox sat at the edge of his bed. Sera was still asleep. The moonlight made her look like one of those sleeping angels in cemeteries, weathered by years of acid rain. How apt, Fox thought to himself. He loaded up a few books and sundry items into his leather satchel, left a note on his night stand, hoping to any god that might listen that she read it and actually listen this time, and slipped out into the night with just one word on his mind.
Valefar.
