Marshall Conrad: A Superhero Tale Page 6

  “H-How did you know?” I asked, weakly.

  “My familiar told me. Are you going to calm down?” she asked. “We’d both like to offer some explanations, but you’ve got to have an open mind.”

  “Familiar? What the hell are you talking about?”

  She heaved a sigh. “Tsk. I thought you would be more receptive to an alternate view of the world, being that you’re a superhero and all.”

  “I’m not a superhero! I’m a crime-fighter,” I snapped. “I want to know right bloody now if anyone else knows about me.”

  She walked over to the chair and put a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “Your secret is safe with me. However, you’ve developed quite a reputation among the elders.”

  “Elders?” I groaned, in frustration. “Familiars? What, are you some kind of a—”

  “A witch,” said Stella as she cut me off. “Storch, come out here and introduce yourself.”

  My jaw dropped when Walter jumped up onto the counter.

  Stupid cat.

  Chapter 8

  “Come now, Marshall, what did you expect?” Stella asked. “You paid ten dollars for a seal point Siamese cat at a garage sale, for crying out loud.”

  I was still in shock as I sat in the leather lounging chair staring at Walter. It was my cat, all right, from the large cream-colored paunch that hung down over his rear feet to the small hook in his long black tail. He tilted his head and purred loudly while Stella scratched behind his ears.

  “I know this probably comes as a bit of a surprise,” she continued. “What are you having problems with, here... The fact that I’m a witch, or the realization that your cat actually works for a living?”

  I opened my mouth to say something and all I could manage was a monotone “uhhhh” as I shook my head in disbelief.

  She smiled warmly. “Are you still with us?”

  “Context, please.” I said, quietly. “I’m not used to stepping through the looking glass, okay?”

  “Sure.Walter’s real name is Storch, and he’s been my familiar since he was a kitten. His coming to live with you was a setup, I’ll admit that, but it was done with the best of intentions.”

  “A setup?” I groaned. “Listen, I came here today so we could share notes on a bunch of stupid rocks—now you’re telling me that you’re a witch and my goddamned cat is a spy!”

  Walter jumped onto my lap and started rubbing his head against my chest.

  “Stop being so melodramatic,” she chided. “There’s an entire world you haven’t been introduced to yet. It’s a helluva lot different than suburban Greenfield, I might add.”

  “Ya think?”

  “Look, I know this is a lot to take in, and I will be happy to answer as many questions as possible, but something is about to happen in this town and it is going to make your experiences with common criminals seem like babysitting by comparison.”

  She was dead serious.

  Ever since I discovered my powers, the question of whether there were other people who might possess similar abilities hadn’t really been a priority for me. It seemed logical that other crime fighters might exist, but I never felt compelled to seek them out. I’d never considered the possibility that witchcraft could be anything more than a bunch of menopausal tree-huggers who sell Party-Lite Candles or worship unpronounceable goddesses during the harvest, so the fact that Stella Weinberg had just overpowered me with nothing more than a blurry gesture was troubling.

  “You’re a Wiccan?” I asked, as I got up out of the leather chair and put Walter back on the counter.

  “Puh-leaze. Don’t be insulting,” she said, in a contemptuous tone. “Wiccans are nothing more than urban wannabes who seek enlightenment to their empty lives by listening to bad folk music and collecting unicorn figurines. They know nothing of pure witchcraft because in order to become a witch, you must first spend a large part of your life as an apprentice.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The word witch is a designation within my order that is given to an apprentice who has mastered the many thousands of spells and incantations in our archive. The word craft implies years of rigorous training and devotion to what is, in fact, the only ancient art left in existence.”

  “Okay then, what is a witch supposed to be?” I asked, shaking my head.

  “Wicca is a path to spiritual empowerment, according to those who associate themselves with that brand of paganism, but they aren’t witches,” she said. “There are three kinds of witches, and Wiccans aren’t among them.”

  “And those would be?”

  “A Vigil Witch protects the world from dark magic, and an Empath Witch focuses on maintaining order among the elements. I’m a Sentry Witch—I maintain the delicate balance between the near and unseen worlds. Mortals like you and me live in the near world whereas creatures of myth and legend dwell in the unseen world.”

  “The unseen world? Oh jeez...”

  She motioned for me to follow her into the back of her store. “By rights, you should have been seconded the moment you discovered your abilities,” she said as I followed her through the beaded curtain down a dark hallway. Walter raced past both of us and jumped onto a pile of boxes in the storeroom.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen that damned cat move so fast in my life,” I said.

  Stella laughed. “Ha! Don’t let Storch’s girth confuse you, he’s very nimble. Has to be.”

  “What exactly did you mean by seconded?”

  “Pour yourself a cup of coffee, and I will explain,” she said, pointing to a small dinette in the corner of her store room.

  I tentatively sat down at one end of the table and noticed she had laid out two place settings as if she’d been expecting company. I reached for the antique percolator and poured a cup of coffee when I noticed a large leather-bound book entitled Who’s-Who in Thaumaturgy.

  “Thaumaturgy?” I muttered, as I began leafing through the pages, only to find that the entire book was blank.

  “You have to be a witch if you want to read what’s inside.” She sat down beside me. “Security feature.”

  “Lovely... What the hell is thaumaturgy?” I asked.

  “It means ‘the working of magic or feats,’“ she said, as she ran her index finger over the book’s spine. “Okay, now you can have a peek. I’m on page four hundred and sixty-eight.”

  Amazingly, the entire volume that had been devoid of words less than a minute ago was now filled with handwritten entries in red ink. I quickly thumbed through the book until I found the page that had a woodcut print of Stella’s face and the following information:

  Castalia Shorent (Stella Weinberg) - Aspecticus Ecclectic Emeritus, 1965

  Obligitary and Archivist with specialization in:

  Herbology, Wind Whispering, Spirit Summoning, Apparition Interpretation,

  Pure Magick, Observances.

  Castalia Shorent distinguished herself during the Troll Ebullition of 1977 after successfully containing eight aberrant tykes and fourteen river trolls from transitioning the near world in violation of the Wellburn Compact of 1733.

  Known for her deft application of ancient incantations and vigilant pursuit of rogue spirits, Castalia is third elder of the Lupin Coven in Greenfields on the Pines.

  Familiar: Storch of the Wood-Smoke - 1973

  I slowly raised my head to look at a beaming Stella Weinberg, calmly sipping on a steaming mug of coffee. “Pretty cool, eh?” she said.

  “Walter is thirty-six years old?” I asked in amazement. “Troll ebullition? Wind-whispering? This is nuts!”

  She continued smiling. “Oh yeah, trolls are jerks. You can’t reason with them at all.”

  “I need a drink,” I muttered.

  Stella shook her head and gave me a look that told me she was losing patience, which is kind of surprising because her revelations of trolls and an unseen world were the kinds of things that get you a lifetime prescription for happy pills.

  “Try to keep an open mind, won�
�t you? The unseen world is real, and witches are responsible for ensuring that it remains unseen,” she huffed.

  “Fine,” I grumbled.

  She gave me a sour look and continued. “Remember that whole line about not suffering a witch to live? There was a time when we were hunted and burned at the stake—it was also a time when most historians will tell you that legends about vampires, werewolves and faeries were plentiful. Ironic, isn’t it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The persecution of witches was common from the dark ages right through the Renaissance. That’s when human beings were superstitious, and folklore about faeries, trolls, monsters and general mayhem became common because witches were too busy hiding from torch-carrying peasants to police the unseen world and guard the near world,” she explained. “Those legends are not legends at all—they’re established fact.”

  I gulped my coffee down, ignoring that it burned the roof of my mouth. “You said I should have been seconded—what did you mean by that?”

  “Ahh. Good question,” she said. “You should have been paired with suitable mentor so you could master your abilities and then use them within The Guild.”

  “The Guild?”

  “Yes, it’s an ad-hoc body that oversees those few people in the near world who possess meta-physical powers. From what I know of your powers, I would say you’re probably a Vanguard.”

  “What’s a Vanguard?”

  She rubbed her chin. “You’re completely in the dark, aren’t you? Your meta-physical qualities were not the result of a long apprenticeship where you learned a trade like witchcraft. You were born with a range of powers, and that makes you unique, even among skilled journeymen like me.”

  “Uhh...”

  “Remember when I contained you back there on the leather chair in the store?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Well, that shouldn’t have happened. Your powers are of such magnitude that you could squash me like a bug. You haven’t explored the depth of your abilities. Had you been seconded, you would have been paired with another Vanguard and we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

  “You mean that I haven’t tapped into all of my abilities?” I asked.

  “Ha! Not even close.” She laughed. “Most meta-physical archetypes own one specific talent. People with super-strength are classified as Chieftains. Individuals who can fly or who possess super speed are Ushers, and psychics are called Pathfinders. Vanguards are unique because they control multiple sets of powers, and from what I can tell, you’re probably only using about one third of your capacity.

  “Jeez,” I whispered. “What about my glowing eyes?”

  “They’re a beacon,” said Stella. “Vanguards are fueled by the existence of evil and their eyes radiate various colors depending on the degree of evil they encounter. It’s common knowledge that Vanguards are a force with no match anywhere in either the near or unseen world, save for perhaps the blackest depths of the netherworld.”

  “So why wasn’t I seconded?” I asked.

  “Beats me.” She shrugged. “I’m just a witch. While I know a great deal about the population of the unseen world, I’m not privy to the inner-workings of various sects—not that The Guild is a sect, mind you. It’s a regulatory body.”

  I got up from my chair and began to pace. My mind was swimming with questions and it was clear that she would be unable to provide all the answers I was looking for.

  “Stella,” I said quietly. “I don’t think I’m a Vanguard. I can only access my powers at night.”

  “You’re a Vanguard all right,” she insisted. “You just haven’t figured out how to flip the switch for day work yet.”

  “Lovely. Please don’t tell me I’m expected to fight crime at any hour of the day.”

  She gave me a confused look. “You’re gifted. This is supposed to be your life’s work. Dear God, it’s far more interesting than pushing a broom—that’s what you do for a living, isn’t it?”

  “No,” I chided. “I sell crap on eBay and I design websites from my apartment.”

  “Now that’s interesting!” Her eyes lit up. “When you’ve solved the murders, maybe you can help me sell some of my goods also. Does it pay well?”

  “It pays enough,” I said. “So where do I find this Guild you mentioned?”

  “Good question. Presumably, they will find you. I can ask the elders in my coven, but it might help if I knew precisely what you can and cannot do. It’s also important because I’ll need you to talk to the rocks in the front of the store.”

  “Talk to the rocks, huh?”

  Stella poured another cup of coffee. “My coven has determined the rocks communicate with one another—we just don’t know how to decipher what they’re saying yet. That’s where you come in.”

  “Just how am I supposed to do that? I came here today for your input—not the other way around,” I said in frustration.

  “I’m not entirely sure,” she admitted. “Zona Beltane, our most senior elder, said we would need a Vanguard if we wanted to find out the meaning of the stones, and you’re the only Vanguard that I know. So, what exactly are you capable of?”

  “Oh crap. Lots of things, I suppose. I don’t exactly know where to start.”

  “Well, we know you can fly. How fast can you go?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never clocked myself. I guess I can fly from downtown to my apartment in about a minute or so—that’s about four miles.”

  “Can you teleport?”

  “No.”

  “Can you teleport a person or an object?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.”

  “What’s the largest object you’ve been able to pick up with your bare hands?”

  “Hmm... I guess I re-railed a loaded tanker car that was spilling ammonia into a lake.”

  “No kidding?”

  “Yeah. I put my back out, though.”

  She got up from her chair and walked the length of the storage room. I could see her lips moving as she stood beneath a ceiling fan that was spinning loudly.

  “Yes, I can hear what you’re saying and no, I don’t have a girlfriend.” I called out. “Are we done yet?”

  “Just about!” she shouted back. “Storch has something he wishes to share with you.”

  “I don’t speak cat,” I said as she walked back to the dinette and took her seat.

  “That’s all right—I’ll translate.” She picked up Walter and cuddled him in her arms.

  “God—he’s got your number.”

  “Nonsense, he’s just a tired old man who is deserving of a little affection.”

  “Why did you pick a cat to be your familiar? Call me crazy, but that’s kind of stereotypical, if you ask me.”

  Stella gently scratched Walter’s head. “Because cats are eternally vigilant. Even when they’re sound asleep, they’re constantly aware of their surroundings. It was Storch who told me the stones in the front of the store are communicating, and he also has seen the face of the person whose voice is on my tape recorder.”

  “Say again? I thought you said you were alone when that happened.”

  “To the best of my knowledge, I was. Storch can see what exists beyond the human eye, and he has a warning for both of us.”

  “What’s that?”

  “There’s been another killing—the police just don’t know about it yet.”

  “You’re kidding—where?” I asked, as I threw on my coat.

  She placed her hand on Walter’s head and closed her eyes.

  “He didn’t see the location,” she said, concentrating. “He caught a glimpse of a dismembered hand poking out of a Hefty bag in the back of a minivan. There’s a set of white coveralls draped over what looks like a couple of other bags.”

  Panic set in, twisting itself in a knot deep in the pit of my stomach. For the second time in as many weeks, I’d been powerless to stop a killing, which led me to believe that the murders had to be committed by someone with abilities sim
ilar to mine.

  “Did he see the driver?” I asked, trying to remain calm.

  Her eyes squinted as she focused her concentration of what Walter had witnessed. “Nope, but I’m guessing the body was in transit.”

  “If it’s the same guy who killed Stephen Hodges, then he has no intention of hiding the body that kid was strung up for everyone to see.”

  “I agree with you” Stella said, as she opened her eyes and scratched behind Walter’s ears. “Obviously we can’t go to the police with this information, so we’re going to have to sit back and see how this plays itself out.”

  “I can’t believe I didn’t foresee two murders. Something must be wrong with me.” I said, sounding deflated.

  “There’s nothing wrong with you,” she snipped. “Vanguards don’t suddenly experience a weakening in their powers unless something of similar power is working against them. It could be a meta-human, but I’m thinking this has something to do with the unseen world and possibly dark magic.”

  “Why?”

  “For starters, the thing that visited my store was communicating with the rocks. You found a rock last night at the parking lot when you stopped that kidnapping, and I’d bet dollars to doughnuts there was a similar rock where they found Stephen Hodges’ body.”

  She was probably right—there was too much happening for this to be coincidental. I walked over to the glass case and examined Stella’s collection, as if the rocks themselves would somehow offer a clue as to how I was supposed to communicate with them when my psychic radar was on the fritz.

  “I think we should work together and figure this out,” I said. “I don’t know anything about the supernatural and I’m starting to believe that my ability to foresee violent crimes was jammed on purpose.”

  Stella put a reassuring hand on my shoulder and nodded. “I need to do some research on the last time something from the Netherworld entered our realm,” she said, smiling warmly. “I’m glad you want to work with me, and I promise—no more secrets.”