[Continued from Back to Midnight]
"What in the hell did you do to the Eden?"
The first to arrive is preceded by her voice. Her body follows soon after -- skeletally gaunt; long, straight, black hair; black eyes; and the sharply chiseled features of a Native American made all the more so by her thinness -- stepping through a blackness in the air that resounds with the happy chirps of springtime frogs calling for their mates.
Essuncius sits up on his cloud and smiles, all of his soap bubbles popping at once in a shower of sparks like miniature fireworks.
"Pretty cool, huh?" He asks.
"Cool!? It's horrible! It's too... Too... Springy. At least the old one had that cool, ultra-morbid thing going."
"Nice to see you, too, Dakota."
The Sioux girl swings her backpack from her back and sits crosslegged on the ground. She looks up at Essuncius on his cloud and shakes her head.
"God," she snorts. "You look even worse than the last time I saw you. What's with the 'Rainbow Brite' getup?"
Essuncius chuckles. "The kids like it." He says like that was all the explanation that would ever be needed.
I don't like it. And I am a child. The girl's voice moves only through the minds of the assembled, a loud blurred singsong - the sound of the wind whipping around the corner of a city building in winter, the sound of a train throwing its warning to any who can hear.
It makes you look stupid. Except the hat. Her lips do not move as she speaks.
A skinny girl in a plain brown dress with shining black hair and fever-bright eyes darts up to Ess and looks at him, unblinking.
Yes. I like the hat. She turns her back and flounces away, then stops and turns round again. Don't you, teddy? She reaches up and scratches under the chin of an animal which is sitting on her shoulder. Its body is shadowed in the blackness of her hair, but two glowing orange eyes peek out from between strands.
Teddy agrees.
She sits down and begins to make a chain out of nightshade flowers.
Dakota nods and flips absently through the laminated tags hanging from a ring at her belt.
"The Baron will *not* approve," she says quietly. "Do you really think you're ready for this?"
"As ready as I'll ever be." He shrugs. "And besides, if I remember right, the Baron never approved of much of anything."
And they begin to arrive. Slowly at first, and then in increasing numbers.
A short woman with close cropped black hair, black clothing and decidedly pointed ears. A quiet blonde girl in slacks and sweater. A man-shaped thing that seemed to be made entirely of chains.
Essuncius started at this one.
"Damn," he whispered to Dakota, "The Bound. Wonder what he's doing here?"
The thing's head turned this way and that amid a great clinking and clanking of chain sliding against chain. The place where its eyes should have been paused for a moment on the bone-monolith inside the crumbling room.
"Everybody's coming to see you," Dakota replied quietly. "They've been wondering when you'd take your place and what you'd do when you did."
The courtyard was still filling. A headless horseman jockeyed his horse into position beneath a tree, drawing mutterings from a well-wrapped mummy from whose bandages peered a multitude of snakes. They hissed fiercely at the horse. The horse blew steam from its flaring nostrils in response.
A roiling mist stood in a corner speaking in whispers with a frozen corpse whose feet ended in a swirling cloud of snow and a dessicated skeleton clad in Viking regalia. A suit of empty armor clanked about, piercing red pinpoints flashing behind its visor, trying to escape the charms of a pale-skinned woman whose eyes were red with eternal weeping.
The flow slowed and then seemed to stop. The air filled with the heavy stench of a burning cigar and a human corpse clawed its way out of the ground. It was very tall and thin, the body of a black man clad in a tuxedo and top hat. Cigar firmly clenched between his rotting teeth.
The courtyard grew quiet as he looked Essuncius up and down.
"Baron Samedhi." Essuncius said by way of greeting.
The Baron said nothing. He turned and took his place in the throng next to a jackal-headed man. No one could help but notice the look that passed between the Baron and the Bound.
*****
The soft gurgle rumbling from the demon's throat echoes down the dark alleyway, bouncing from building to building like a rubber ball. The thapping from its giant mudflap feet striking the asphalt becomes a bass accompaniment. Swinging out its pincer like mandibles, it shears a large metal trash receptacle into pieces. Not finding its prey, it releases a short gurgling below and continues slowing stomping its way.
A couple of minutes and quite a few destroyed trash bins later, it stops, and sniffs the air. Its sense of smell, while stronger than the average human, is much reduced out of its natural watery environment. Still, it smells something. The prey must be nearby...
Just as the demon thinks this, a humanoid figure swings down from a metal crossway just above where the demon has stopped. He lands atop the creature's nine foot frame, quickly wrapping a chain under its jaw and setting back, attempting to strangle it. The demons spins wildly while lashing at its attacker, quickly shredding the ends of the black longcoat he wears.
Grabbing hold of a momentary insight, the demon throws itself back against a nearby wall, crushing the attacker and a large wooden crate with enough force easily kill an ordinary human. The chain around its neck goes limp, and the demon steps away, turning to look.
Piercing agony blasts through its body for about a second, just long enough for the demon to look at the large shard of wood now standing from its forehead, just above its left eye before it falls to the ground, dead.
Mimicking the movement, S'cal Ra'sa'vec slides down the to a sitting position, trying to get his breath back while his shattered ribs begin mending themselves.
Leaning forward, he reaches around to pull something from his back. Bringing it around, he grunts. A large shard of wood, still covered in his blood, clatters to the ground with a sigh. A few inches to the left, and he'd have been dusted then and there.
"I think it's time for a vacation," he says aloud, staggering to his feet just in time to see shimmering light erupt from the beshadowed ally a few feet away. A portal.
Looking up slightly, and around using only his eyes, he says "I think it's time for a million bucks." When nothing happens, he shrugs. "Worth a try," he mutters, and sighing, steps through the portal.
*****
Essuncius swallowed and stood on his cloud. It lifted him high above the crowd so all could see him.
"Since it seems that most of us are here," he said, his voice echoing in the stillness, "and others who show up later can catch up. Let's get this meeting started."
Frowning, S'cal wonders where he's been taken. He notices that his healing abilities, while quick for a vampire, seem to have been sped up during his transportation. Turning to look behind him, the portal that brought him here is gone.
The girl looks up, casts the flower chain aside. Yes. It is past time to begin this.
A man dressed in light-colored leggings and a white wool tunic surmounted by a red cloak pushes himself away from the tree against which he had been leaning. The celtic knot design on his clothing sets the era whence he comes. He looks about him with disgust as he joins the throng about Essuncius. _Frivolous,_ he thinks with disdain. _Why have I been drawn to such a place? I have other work that needs doing. Unfinished business. Business that has no use for frogs and sweet-smelling mists..._
Two men quietly and simultaneously join the meeting from opposite ends of the courtyard. Both hang back a bit from the general throng as if fully expecting to be outsiders.
The thick gray beard and wrinkled face of one might excuse his lateness if he were not already numbered among the Dead. He is dressed like a poor Old West ranch hand in his Sunday best: black coat and pants, white shirt, all touched by age but meticulously clean, every tear stitched. Bright green eyes scan the assembly from between a weathered gray stetson and a nose that's been broken far too many times.
Age cannot excuse the lateness of the other more youthful arrival, and the permanent sneer on his face tells the world just how little he gives a damn. He wears a black duster over a white shirt that would be immaculate if it weren't for the ugly gash at chest level from which blood flows in a continuous trickle. A pale gray stetson covers his tousled brown hair, and twin gun belts encircle his waist. Serpent-green eyes pass contemptuously over the gathered dead from a handsome narrow face with high, clean-shaven cheeks.
Their gazes are drawn together like magnetic poles across the courtyard. Surprise competes with disgust on their faces.
Watching their exchanged glares, a girl stifles a giggle. Her two companions, one black and one pale and blonde as herself, tug her through the crowd to stand in front near Essuncius. Though they try to blend in, the trio's red and white cheerleader uniforms stand out garishly from the somber party.
"These people are weird," the giggler whispers loudly, straightening her ponytail with one hand. The other sleeve of her sporty sweater bobs uselessly, having been clipped above the elbow and tied shut with a perky red ribbon.
"Did you see the guy with the snakes? Gag me!" hisses her pale friend. She adjusts the beanie perched at an angle on her head.
"Right," says the dark girl, "like the three of us are _normal_ or something?" She lifts the beanie from her friend's head exposing a ragged gash where part of the girl's head should be.
"Stop it, Whitney. You witch," the blonde snatches her cap back into place, "It's cold."
Whitney sighs and visibly suppresses annoyance. "Look, Tiff, we can go back to school where nobody can see us and no one even knows we still exist; or we can learn how this dead deal works and do it right. What's it gonna be?"
Tiffany and Brittany nod in agreement. In unison, the three take positions of parade rest and give their undivided attention to the master of ceremonies.
"I see quite a few new faces, here," Essuncius says with a trace of nervousness in his voice. He looks at Dakota, passes a quick glance to the Baron and the Bound. Lets his gaze linger across the gathering in the courtyard. "Some of you I know. Some of you I don't. I want to welcome you all to..."
The girl [Agnes] nods, looking oddly pleased with herself.
"Enough wif de' chit-chat!" Baron Samedhi's voice rumbles from around his cigar. "By what right do ya' claim ta' be de' ruler o' de' dead!?"
And Essuncius draws himself up, the night coalescing about him. He seems to grow. To exist throughout time and space and infinity.
"The Midnight Eden has accepted me." His voice is a multitude -- many speaking as one. "I claim my position by that right and by those who have gone before me."
Agnes thinks for a moment. Do you like this man, teddy?
Teddy does.
She narrows her eyes, scrunches her nose, and looks from Essuncius to the Baron.
The darkness wafts away -- so much steam in the night -- and he is as he was, a young man standing on a flickering cloud above the courtyard.
"I didn't ask for this, Baron." One voice. "But it's been given to me and I have to take it."
"And I don't have ta' follow ya'," the Baron responds calmly. "But I will." Dry tendons scrape noisily across mummified skin as his rotting lips pull back into a smile. "As long as ya' answer me one question ta' my satisfaction, no?"
Essuncius nods.
The small girl looks at the Baron.
You are an ugly man, Mr. Baron, Agnes says with no malice. She considers this remark, then adds, Sir. And curtseys. I am pleased to make your acquaintance.
That's what they taught me to say. When I meet someone new, she whispers.
"What ya' plan on doin' to da' man responsible for 'dis?"
Excited murmurings pass among the throng as Essuncius looks back at the bone monolith standing white and pale inside the crumbling mansion.
"Nothing," he says softly.
"Nothing!?" The Baron booms. "A man dare to destroy de' ruler o' de' dead and you plan to do nothing!?"
"And you dare to question wra... the Essuncius!?" Dakota leaps to her feet.
The Baron looks down at the girl, brows narrowing over milky eyes.
"'Dis be not _my_ Essuncius." He says in that impossibly deep voice.
Whose is he? Maybe he was lost.
Are you lost, Mister Essuncius? [Agnes] smiles the smile of the sphinx.
"_My_ Essuncius be destroyed. And I say 'de man who did it must pay!"
He turns to the gathered throng.
"And who say wit' me!? 'Dat man must pay!"
I am not. Agnes goes to stand underneath the cloud.
She frowns to the Baron as one would correct a wayward puppy. It is foolish to ignore the voice of Eden once it has chosen its Essuncius, Mr. Baron.
She watches the young gunslinger as he walks toward the Baron.
Elsewhere, a young woman appears, gazing about in confusion as she leans against a convenient tree, her vaguely leonine nose twitching as she puts all of her senses to work while brushing some dirt off of her leather flight jacket.
She blinks, swiveling her rounded ears towards a sound, cursing the luck that put her upwind of the source.
The young gunslinger's boots echo dully on the cobblestones as he ambles forward, lighting a cigarette as he comes.
"Can't say as I give a shit 'bout 'your' 'ssuncius. Or _this_ one, neither," he adds with a contemptuous nod to his host.
Then why are you here? [Agnes]
"But makin' folks pay's what I do best. If you think you can get my ass outta hot water with th'Boss, mebbe we can work ourselves out a deal."
The Baron pulls the cigar out of his mouth and blows a stream of foul smoke in the young man's direction.
The gunslinger stands in stoic silence, letting the smoke waft over him like fog against a sea cliff. The ember of his cigarette flares briefly.
"A deal?" He rumbles. "De' Baron make no deals. 'Specially wit' de' dead who in trouble wit' dey Daddies..."
"Baron, that's enough." Essuncius says calmly. "There's no need for that kind of hostility..."
Lacking a better idea, she begins towards the source, multiple voices becoming obvious as she approaches.
The man with the red cloak worked in gold Celtic knotwork takes note. _Revenge?_ he thinks. _I did not know that was the purpose of this gathering._ With renewing hope, he insinuates his way through the crowd to be closer to the speakers. _Perhaps there was a reason I was drawn here..._
Whitney appraises the restless crowd. Having noted the authority of his voice, her gaze lingers long on Baron Samedhi. She nudges Brittany who, in turn, thumps Tiffany with the end of a truncated arm. The three put their heads together in a whispered consultation.
They begin with a whisper, emphatically rhythmic and growing ever louder. "Dat... Man... Must... Pay! Dat... Man... Must... PAY!"
Rocking with the chant, they stomp. Five hands begin to clap along. Four succeed.
"DAT... MAN... MUST... PAY!"
\\Who must pay?\\ she wonders as she notices the crowd. More cautiously, she approaches the far edge of the crowd, watching from the shelter of a tree on the edge of the clearing.
S'cal, continuing to take note of all the supernatural beings present, considers the possible violence that could erupt in this situation. He checks again for the portal he came in on. He can neither find it, nor any others. Whatever happens, he's here for it.
Making his way, S'cal positions himself somewhat nearby this... Essuncious, but not close enough to be considered a part of the group. Brushing back his coat, he casually places his hands in his pants pockets, and awaits whatever comes.
"Ladies, please." Essuncius addresses the girls.
"Squad," Whitney calls calmly, "take a knee." As a unit, the cheerleaders fall to one knee and and cover the other with quietly folded hands.
Dakota looks away, stifling a giggle at the girls' actions.
Brittany scowls. But under Whitney's disapproving glare, she winds up hiding a giggle of her own.
"No!" The Baron says strongly, his head turning to face Essuncius as his body continues to face the gunslinger. "Dat' not be enough. De Baron takes orders from no one, be he de' livin' or de' dead. And de' dead 'dat follows de' orders of another..."
"Will you just shut the hell up, Dwayne!?" Dakota snaps.
The Baron takes a step back, eyes wide in shock. His head spins to the young girl.
"You dare speak to de' Baron in such a way, girl!?"
Dakota steps up defiantly, clouds of black steam coalescing about her hands.
"Any time you want to try me, bodybag."
"Dakota, please!" Essuncius admonishes. "Dwayne... Baron..."
He looks at the gunslinger but his words are meant for the entire crowd. "No one will be paying for anything. There is no need for revenge."
"Dat say dere is de' need!" The Baron points to the bone monument. "Dat say dat someone need to be payin'!"
His body dissolves into dust, leaving his final words to float away in a cloud of cigar smoke. "And if de' new Midnight Eden be too soft, and de' dead be not restless enough, den de' Baron will be collectin'!"
"Well, _that_ went amazingly well," Essuncius mutters, shaking his head and rolling his eyes.
\\Yeah, right,\\ she thinks wryly. \\A mummy is going to be getting into the revenge business.\\
The gunslinger blows out a lazy cloud of smoke.
"That nigger spook's got hisself a big mouth," he observes to Essuncius. "Lucky fer him th'Boss's got me on a short leash these days, or I'd'a shot it off for'im.
"Yer squaw's got spunk, though," he adds with a leer Dakota's way.
Agnes frowns. /That man is using the words they told me not to use./
Dakota's gives the man a look that is half-scowl, half-sneer and half-"come-up-and-see-me-some-time". Essuncius fails to notice.
The background observer doesn't fail to notice the look, but without a clear mandate to speak she remains silent, save a low, guttural growl befitting her apparent feline heritage.
"I _am_ terribly sorry about that, sir," he sighs. "It was his mouth that put him where he is now, I'm afraid. Seems like not even death can teach some people the lessons they need to learn. And, please, there's no call for racial epithets. A pain in the ass is a pain in the ass no matter what his, her or its ethnicity may be."
"Don't need no apologies, Slim!" the gunslinger replies good-naturedly. "One more sumbitch t'kill ain't no chore. Just takes a touch more doin' when they're already dead."
He looks down at the three cheerleaders and smiles.
"Thank you, ladies. For whatever it's worth, I thought it was funny."
Agnes smiles. I agree.
Pleasantly baffled, Whitney, Brittany and Tiff nod.
"Yes, it was," she says as she steps forward, no longer content to observe from the back of the crowd. "Inappropriate, maybe, but that's what made it funny." She turns to face Essuncius, nodding politely to him in an approximation of a greeting. "Having no idea why or how I'm here, I'm willing to entertain an explanation of one, the other, or both concepts," she says with a slight grin. "Please, continue," she concludes, her ears turning slightly to focus on Essuncius.
Agnes stands for a moment, entranced by the cat-woman. Hello, she finally says. I'm Agnes. Who are you?
Her ears swivel to follow Agnes' voice, followed a moment later by her head. "I'm not sure. I _was_ Samantha Wellington. I don't know who -- or what -- I am now, so I guess Samantha will do."
I am Agnes. It is nice to meet you. Isn't it, teddy?
Teddy thinks it wonderful.
"Nice to meet you, too," Samantha replies, more out of reflex than anything else as she ponders her situation
She looks around at the assembled crowd, casually inspecting their conditions. "At a guess I'd say those here... well, died," she finishes lamely, not entirely sure at her guess.
Agnes frowns. Oh. How odd.
"You ain't kidding," Sam mutters. "Last I remember before here is looking down on my body being thrown into a pit with all the gentility of a stick of dynamite going off, and then being buried."
Agnes frowns.
Following Ms. Wellington's lead, Tiffany surveys the crowd then shudders. She quiets her mind by studying Essuncius's outfit and making imaginary improvements. Brittany appears to listen while weighing the pros and cons of developing a crush on ghostly young men. Whitney listens attentively, though her gaze often settles on the pile of dust that was the Baron Samedhi.
Essuncius' brow furrows and his eyes dart back and forth as though hearing something. He scans the crowd, searching gaze resting on each member in turn. He notes absently those who have quietly disappeared since the Baron's leaving: the mummy with the snakes peering from its wrappings, a vampire or two, the skeleton of a teenaged girl. He glances over Dakota flirting with the young gunslinger. Pauses momentarily on Agnes and Sam. Moves his attention to Brittany, Tiffany and Whitney. Looks at the man in the Celtic cloak.
He stops and sits upright, head turning slowly. At once he turns quickly to the bone memorial just inside the crumbling wall. His eyes go wide and he shakes his head imperceptably. His cloud goes black.
Agnes frowns. Some memory nags the edges of her mind. Teddy makes a sound like a turn of the century automobile; half sputter, half cough.
She smiles, and forgets her troubling thoughts. 'You're such a good Teddy.'
Teddy is. Its eyes glow brighter through her perfectly straight, black hair.
The tombstone shakes and rattles and then flies apart in a spray of liquid black. A wave of hot, fetid air blasts across the throng with all the stench of a sewage-treatment pool baking in the summer sun.
Agnes wrinkles her nose and holds a handkerchief up to her face. It appears to be embroidered with a red flower border.
The embroidery slowly trickles down the lacy edge, and begins to drip off. The red blotches left behind stain the pristine white linen and crust over the lace with a brownish-red stain as they dry.
Agnes looks down. 'Oh dear.' She frowns to the thing on her shoulder. 'Bad Teddy. Look at the mess you've made. Now you will have to go clean it up.' She puts the handkerchief back where it came from.
Teddy does. A flash of black and orange, trailing slow mist behind itself like a dark comet, twines its way down around Agnes to the floor. The sound of a quick, animal-like licking is heard. It is cat-like. Almost.
Suddenly, the startling orange eyes and deep blackness shifts back to the girl's shoulder.
'Good Teddy.'
She reaches up and scratches it behind what could almost be an ear.
"No..." Essuncius whispers.
The gunslinger whips about at the sound. His revolvers are out and cocked before the foul wind can tug his hair.
"Nobody's gonna pay for anything..." The voice that comes from the swirling tower of gelid darkness is sarcastic. Mocking. Spiteful. Evil. "Nyah nyah nyah nyah nyah."
Agnes frowns.
The gunslinger holsters his guns, crosses his arms, and smiles. "This here's more _like_ it," he observes.
The wave crashes to the ground and shatters into a swarm of black bats that flutter off into the night. The smell of rot and garbage is replaced by the thick scent of cigarette smoke.
"Did _you_ ever _once_ THINK about how _I_ felt!?" The speaker stands where the monument had once stood. A man slightly taller than Essuncius; clad in blue jeans, black-denim jacket over a white T-shirt. His face sprouts a thick fu-manchu mustache. A black bowler sits atop his head. The glowing red pinpoint of a cigarette illuminating his lips. "Did you ever _ONCE_ think that maybe _I_ might want to see Burkett _DEAD_ for what he did to me!?"
Dakota looks from the man to Essuncius and back.
"Oh, shit," she says softly.
'Mr. Essuncius? Who's that man? Mr. Essuncius?' [Agnes]
A gentle hand touches Dakota's shoulder. Its owner is the old man in the gray stetson.
"Don't fret, ma'am," he quietly tells her, never taking his eyes from the young gunslinger and the new/old arrival from the grave. "These sorts o' things got ways of workin' themselves out."
Meanwhile, the young gunslinger's smile has vanished. "_Burkett_?" he demands of the phantom in the bowler. "_That's_ the sumbitch that colored witchdoctor meant? Hell! He's just sittin' one step below Joe Black on my shit list!"
Essuncius notices nothing but the form emerging from the ruined building. His face is cold. Hard. His teeth bared.
"Dakota!" He commands.
The young girl turns from the man in the stetson and nods briefly to the ghost on the cloud. She raises her hands towards the man in the bowler and a jet of oily darkness sprays from her fingers. It hits him square and splashes around him, dousing him in liquid black that steams like dry ice in the night air. She lets the flow stop and he stands there, unmoving. Steaming. Face frozen in a sneer. Frost condenses on him almost immediately.
S'cal, still standing nearby, looks around searching for a weapon. Finding none, he turns to watch the coming battle, waiting for an opportunity to help should it come. He has chosen his side, for good or for bad.
"Bound!" Essuncius' second command comes just after Dakota's attack ceases.
Two more heavy chains shoot from the midst of The Bound's chain-wrapped form like iron cobras striking at prey. The frozen man shatters where he stands, pieces pattering against the crumbling brick wall and dissolving where they touch the ground. As quickly as they have come, The Bound's chains vanish back into his body once more.
Essuncius watches the pieces settle and vanish until all have disappeared. He turns back to the group, his face grave.
"This meeting is over," he says. "I would suggest that everyone take their leave of this place. It's probably not safe for mortal, immortal or even once-mortal."
He turns to the Amerind girl.
"Dakota, gather up as many of the Squad as you can find, call Trash, and wait for me in the Eden!"
He starts to drift away in a light spring fog.
"Wait!" Dakota shouts after him! "Where are you going!"
"I'm going eleven fifty-nine, Dakota. Wish me lu..." His voice fades and is gone.
[Follow Essuncius]
Confused, the leonine woman just stares at the sight of the attack on the unknown... thing, not knowing what to make of what she just watched.
"Eleven fifty-nine!" Dakota shudders, her voice barely a whisper. "The start of midnight..."
Finally, S'cal moves forward, making his presence known. Coming to Dakota's side with less than a whisper, he asks "What's eleven fifty-nine?"
Dakota looks at the newcomer with a brief look of confusion.
"Oh," she says, "you're new. I'm Dakota Darkstar, but you can call me Dakota." She absently fingers the ring of laminated tags hanging from her belt loop. "Or D.O.A."
Samantha's furred brow rises slightly, the movement her only sign of reaction to Dakota's 'other' name.
She tosses a look back to where Essuncius' cloud has just faded away before turning back.
"Do you know of the Midnight Eden? It's kind of its own reality and it's sort of like this 'Nexus' place -- it borders on everywhere without being a part of any of it. Anyway, it's kind of the de facto home of Essuncius. Like a land of the dead with only one dead in it. But it's like the universe, you know? It's infinite -- it just goes on forever and it's always midnight there. Twelve oh-oh, oh-oh. Essuncius is going to try to go to the beginning of the Eden. Eleven fifty-nine, fifty-nine. Just before midnight."
\\What's this 'Nexus' she's talking about? I don't even know what the hell I'm doing here. I guess it beats a dirt nap, though not by much. Should I run into Zeus any time soon he and I are going to need to have a little talk...\\
Dakota shakes her head and draws a deep breath.
"And that's what's scary, you know? How do you go to the beginning of something that's infinite? There's like no way. One guy tried it once and was lost forever in the Eden. Just gone. Swallowed up in the midnight. For the Ess to even try it means that he thinks what we just saw there is some serious shit."
She looks up and scans those dead who haven't yet fled.
"That's whay he asked me to gather up anybody who'd come and wait for him in the Eden. I'm guessing he wants the corporeal dead or any incorporeal dead who has some nifty tricks. Any takers?"
'I do not have anything else to do at the moment. Do you want to stay, Teddy?' Teddy does. 'What,' Agnes asks, 'do you need help with, then?' She twines a bloodied apron-string around her finger.
"I don't know which I am, but I'm interested. Beats watching my body become fertilizer," she adds with a mildly disgusted snort.
S'cal pauses for a minute before answering. "Well, it seems I'm here for a reason, even if I don't know what reason it is."
He looks around at the gathering dead and undead, a slight shiver running through him. He may be a vampire, but he's used to _fighting_ the undead, not allying with them. For now though, he has no reason to try and destroy them, and the numbers would greatly outweigh him if he tried.
Looking back to Dakota, he asks "What should we do?"
The young gunslinger snorts as well. "Sorry, Pocahontas. Show I was s'posed t'see's over now, an' ah got me better things t'be doin' than waitin' around in th'boneyard. But don't you worry none: Way I got it figgered, Burkett's gonna get hisself mixed up in this one way or t'other, and when he does, I'll find me a way t'be there.
"'Sides," he adds over his shoulder as he turns and walks away, "I plan on keepin' an eye on that sweet lil' ass o' yours..."
The night air ignites before him, the flames spreading outward as if devouring a stage backdrop covering pure darkness. A hot, dry wind tainted with wails and brimstone blows from the gap as he steps through.
Then the infernal tear in the night's sanctity is gone.
The old cowboy walks up beside Dakota, shaking his head sadly. "I'm sorry about that, Miss," he says. "Hope you won't hold that against me. I ain't like that no more."
Dakota stares after the younger gunslinger with a look that is half proud smirk and half bewilderment. She starts at the old man's voice and her brows furrow. As his words sink in, she looks from him to the place where the smell of brimstone still lingers and back again.
"You ain't...?" she murmurs. Then she smiles. "Okay! I got it! I've seen enough episodes of Sliders to figure this one out. You're, like, a copy of him, right? That is so cool! I wonder if there's a copy of me out there somewhere...?"
The old man gives her a sad, fatherly smile. "If there _is_, Miss, I hope she's a sight better'n that'un."
The young Amerind turns back to the gathered dead. Some have already begun to filter away, obviously not interested in Essuncius' request.
"Well," she says, "Right now all there is to do is wait and hope Ess finds 11:59. And if he doesn't, you guys would have waited for nothing. No since wasting your afterlives. If you're still interested when the time rolls around to do something, Ess will find you. If not..." She shrugs. "Anyways, like, thank you all for coming and, um, meeting adjourned."
Agnes shrugs and turns to leave. 'Adults never get anything of importance done,' she says.
"I believe I _will_ stick around for a bit, if ye don't mind, Miss Dakota," the old man says, grunting a bit as he sits on a low wall. "I don't have nowheres else t'be, and this's a real nice, peaceful place your Essuncius has here.
"By the way, I don't s'pose we've been innerduced properly," he adds. "Name's Hardin. Old John Hardin."
"IIIIIIIIII'MMMMMMM HEEEEEERRRRRE!" A new, and young, voice sounds out. The pitter patter of feet can be heard as a little boy, eight years old, comes into view. Ten feet away, he trips over a tree root and falls flat on his face. He gets up, spits out some mud, and looks around.
His face is mostly intact, but his eyes are blank. They aren't all white, really, they have that yellowish tone that comes when blood no longer keeps the eyeballs fresh. His hair is blond, short, and very dirty. The right half of his body is covered in ugly burns. They reach up just above his shirt collar and don't quite reach his face. His fingers look like they've been melted and solidified into grotesque shapes that only dimly resemble the actual fingers they once were.
Little Tommy looks around. Late yet again. "What'd I miss? What happened? Where did the guy in the cool mummy suit go?"
"Sorry, child," the walking suit of armor responds in a voice that sounds like wind whistling through a large metal pipe. The dead vanished in various ways around them or just walked off into the night. "You seem to have missed everything. You are going to have to be quicker than that. It's not like we have eternity."
As it walked away, the suit of armor's laughter sounded like steam escaping from a gaping hole in a particularly large copper pot.
Little Tommy stares at the suit of armor's back with a look of disgust on his face. "I'm not a _child_," he mutters, but not loud enough for anyone to hear.
Agnes stares after the man in the armor disdainfully for a moment, then turns around and picks her way carefully over the ground back to the boy. 'I am Agnes. Who are you? Would you like to play with Teddy?' She smiles.
Little Tommy looks at Teddy. "That's Teddy? Does he want to meet Cary?" Without waiting for an answer, Little Tommy turns, inserts two fingers into his mouth, and whistles a short, piercing blast loud enough to wake up the dead.
'I do not know. Who is Cary?'
There's a scuffling sound from behind the trees, then the patter of paws, and finally a dog comes racing into view. What kind of dog he used to be is in question. He is medium sized, his fur is only still present in very muddy patches, his skin is molted and decaying, and his ribs poke out beneath him. His head is almost nothing but a skull, his eye sockets have a slight glow but nothing more, and a black and red tongue hangs from between his long teeth. His hairless tail waves back and forth, spreading the smell of decaying dog behind him.
'Oh.' Agnes looks at the dog, then takes a step forward. 'How very pretty.'
"Good boy!" Little Tommy reaches down to pet his dog. Cary woofs. "I want you to meet Agnes and Teddy. Agnes and Teddy, this is Cary. And my name's Tommy." Cary barks a greeting too and sniffs curiously at Teddy.
'Very pleased to meet you...'
Teddy jumps off of Agnes' shoulder and begins to circle around Cary. Its eyes glow red, and tendrils of mist begin to sneak up around the neck of the dead dog, flaking off bits of skin and fur as they creep.
Teddy thinks that Cary is a very nice dog.
Cary sniffs again, then gently licks Teddy in greeting. He then proceeds to sniff at Agnes, paying special attention to her feet, trying to determine where she's been.
A reddish lichen erups on Teddy's hide where the dead dog licked it, and then quickly withers and disappears. The smell of blood and old iron hangs in the air.
Little Tommy smiles at Agnes. "Thanks. I think he likes you too."
He scratches at Cary's ear and little flakes of skin come away from beneath the boy's 'fingertips.' "Good boy."
He looks around at the remains of the remains of the dead who have left the meeting site. "What happened, anyway?"
'Many people came by. They were loud, and argued. Nothing important happened.' She frowns for a moment, then smiles as Teddy bounds back to her shoulder in a swirl of dust and the silence in an empty movie theater. 'Except that the would-be ruler of this place went to a dangerous area. Though what could be dangerous to the dead, I do not know.' She twirls a hair ribbon around her finger. It disintigrates.
Little Tommy's brow furrows in worry and Cary makes a short, barely audible whine.
'But I _do_ hope he comes back. That' - a note of purpose is evident - 'is what I am waiting for.'
"Me too," Little Tommy announces with all the definitiveness of someone who has been planning this all along. "And Cary." Cary half-barks in answer and licks Little Tommy's hand.
'Whatever shall we do in the meantime, Teddy? Where shall we go?'
Teddy doesn't know.
Agnes looks to Tommy. 'What do you suggest?'
Tommy shrugs. "Do you know about any playgrounds or anything around here? Mama never let me go there and I want to see what it's like." Cary, meanwhile, loses interest in Little Tommy's hand and starts sniffing at the bits of former-living-things left on the ground.
"Is a playground like a park, or like Coney Island?" Agnes asks, somewhat distracted by Cary.
"My uncle took me to Coney Island, once. I got a roll of spun sugar at one of the booths. Have you ever been there?"
"What's a Coney Island?" Tommy asks quickly. "Does it have rides and animals and a jungle gym and swings?" Already in his mind he has painted a picture of his expectations of this mysterious thing called "Coney Island."
"Of _course_ it has rides." She looks at Tommy for a long moment. "And there are animals there too. Goats, and dogs, and rock-doves. And elephants and monkeys, if you count the zoos as well."
Little Tommy wonders what a "zoo" is, but since Agnes seems so familiar with the term, he's not about to admit his ignorance.
"I don't know what a jungle gym is, though there was a wild man from Borneo at one of the sideshows. He was hairy, and stank like the rivers. I think there are jungles in Borneo." She frowns. "There was a swing-ride, but it looked rather rickety. My uncle forbid me to go on it." She pouts.
Cary kneels and barks at something, then runs off, probably chasing a rabbit's ghost.
"What is a jungle gym?"
"It's a thing kids can climb on. I've never seen one, but all the other kids thought it was great." He pauses, hoping to come up with more information so he can appear more knowledgable. "I think it's like a little playground with slides and stuff." He thinks again, wondering whether that is true, then decides it must be.
"I do not think I've ever seen one. Pity. It sounds like a great deal of fun."
"Where's Coney Island? Can we go?" A glint appears in Tommy's eye, though it could be just be some distant light shining through one of the small cracks in his head on his head.
"It is in Brooklyn, where my family sometimes summers." Agnes thinks for a moment, and idly scratches Teddy behind one ear. It makes a noise like a rabbit being run over by a car, and she smiles. "I do not know. But we could try."
Tommy blinks for a second, trying to figure out what Agnes is refering to, remembers, and nods his head. "Okay. Um..." He glances around warily. Cary is nowhere to be seen. "Uh, how do we get there again?" He shuffles one of his feet, hoping Agnes does not notice his lack of knowledge about how things work around here.
"How do you get there?" Agnes' voice is disdainful, almost disgusted, as if she'd just stepped on a plump earthworm. "How do you think we get there? We just *go*."
She disappears.
Tommy starts and his mouth falls open *just* like the ones in the cartoons do.
"See." A moment later, she is behind Tommy's back, grinning. She pats Teddy on the head in a self-satisfied manner. It looks none too happy, if it looks like anything at all.
"Try it."
Tommy jumps around at her appearance. His face seems either rather morbid or rather comic depending on whether a dead burned child with a freshly missing jaw bone looks funny. He looks impressed and tries to speak before realizing the drawbacks of losing one's jaw.
Tommy blushes (or, rather, his bloodless skin becomes a shade darker around his flapping cheeks) and he turns to grab up his jaw. He snaps it back into place with ease, but his mind is not as easy to fix. In this short time he'd experienced feelings of amazement, embarassment, and sullenness. He isn't sure what to do next, so he ends up saying nothing, but looking half at Agnes and half at the floor between his rotting feet.
"What, aren't you going to try it? It's fun." She picks up Teddy and does not seem to care about the black tendrils of its mist slipping through her fingers as she says, "Isn't it, Teddy? You like it, don't you?" and looks into what one must assume are its eyes.
Teddy agrees. It is fun.
"It's not hard."
Tommy grunts the way his father had always grunted, then disappears. He reappears again in the same place after a few seconds. "Right."
He shrugs as if this was nothing, inserts his two most normal-looking fingers into his mouth, and blows hard. A shrill whistle is heard and Cary comes bounding back into sight. The dog jumps to tackle his boy, but Tommy disappears just in time to save himself the inevitable dismemberment that would result from the impact and reappears just after Cary has vacated the spot.
Cary woofs and sniffs Tommy for a moment as if checking to make sure this is the same boy. Satisfied, he jumps to place his forepaws on Tommy's shoulders. Tommy leans forward with the weight.
"So, um... where is it again?"
"In the city. New York. You've not been there yourself?"
Tommy raises an eyebrow haughtily, but his voice is still more curious than anything else. "What's New York?" Cary pants next to Tommy's ear.
"What's New York? A city. Of course. In America." She looks at him for a moment.
Teddy thinks that he is strange.
Agnes' eyes narrow. The small movement sends a flurry of eyelashes down to the floor, to sink into the ground and become small red flowers. "I thought everyone knew that. Where are you from?"
Tommy narrows his eyes as well. "Home, of course." He seems to have the idea that this is the name of the place in which he lives, since he has heard no other. "And nearby there's Town. We go there on Saturdays." He looks suspiciously at Agnes and Teddy. Cary, totally oblivious to his boy's negative feelings toward this other pair, lets his feet fall from Tommy's shoulders to the ground, then pads over to sniff at the flowers.
"Home?" Agnes blinks, then laughs. Teddy starts, fracturing itself like a shadow over a sidewalk crack, then again congeals into itself.
She smiles a smile with no teeth, and then displays the sort of unexpected burst of kindness that small children are sometimes capable of: "Maybe you're from one of those places that has a lot of names. It doesn't matter. Do you want to go to Coney Island? We can go there now."
Tommy look sceptical, but nods. "Okay. You lead." Cary woofs at a bee, then snaps his jaws in a futile attempt to catch the buzzing insect. Tommy calls Cary's name sharply, but the dog simply wags his tail, keeping his attention on the bee. Tommy rolls his eyes.
"But...if I lead, will you know how to follow? I don't want you to get lost."
Tommy frowns. "Oh. I thought you knew how to take me with you or something." He thinks for a moment. Meanwhile, Cary has crouched in front of a dead flower. His tail is straight out behind him and a forepaw is lifted slightly. The hair on the back of his head rises and he springs. There is a flurry of growls, snaps, and dust, and when it is all over, Cary returns to Tommy, beeless, with his tail tucked neatly between his legs and head hung low.
Tommy absently reaches a hand out to pat Cary's head and looks inquisitively at Agnes.
Agnes looks with what could be amusement at the scene, and then her eyes suddenely widen, losing a few more lashes in the process. "What about your dog? He could follow me. And you could follow him." She stands triumphant on the grass dying under her feet.
Tommy looks at his dog with quite a bit of doubt. "I don't know... he's not really that dependable..."
Agnes bites her lip. A small trickle of blood wells up, then immediately crusts over. "Hmmm."
Cary doesn't seem to hear, but his tail starts wagging when Tommy kneels beside him. Tommy interprets this as a yes. "All right." He looks at Agnes and says with a smile, "Let's go then."
"You're sure? I don't think you want to get lost in some places. Although I'm not sure. I'll have to ask Teddy."
Teddy likes to get lost.
"Bad Teddy! Now you'll have to stay with me. We can't have you getting away." She grabs into the substance of Teddy - or perhaps it latches onto her - and eventually the black mist clears enough to see some vaguely tentacle-shaped thing grasped firmly in Agnes' decaying fingers. It makes a sound like a short jackhammer burst, then becomes absolutely silent.
Agnes sets her shoulders, and smiles to the dog and boy pair. "Let's be off! Follow me."
"Okay." Tommy stands up, but keeps a hand on Cary's head. Cary pants, half a black tongue hanging out the side of his mouth.
Agnes starts walking forward, directly toward a wall in the distance, just on the edge of the horizon.
As the pair draw closer to the wall, it becomes apparent that the wall - is just that. Brick, and a little bedraggled, with dandelions and spiky weeds growing up at the bottom, and a little bit of graffiti here and there, proclaiming "Harry & Liz 4 ever" or "Tad was here 4-3-97 foolz!"
She turns to the left, and keeps walking. More brick. More graffiti. More brick. More graffiti. An occasional poster. The mortar lines of the bricks seem to stretch out forever in the distance.
Agnes stops abrubptly, very nearly tripping over her own feet. "We're here," she says, and turns toward the wall, face expectant.
She blinks when faced with the same bricks, an overabundance of dandelions. "But." "It's here." She sounds as if she is only reassuring herself, and reaches out a hand, and taps against the wall. Her fingernail falls off and settles noiselessly in the crabgrass, but there is no effect on the wall. "I *know* it's here..." But her lower lip starts to tremble.
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