I scowl at her, then ease up. I’m sweating slightly.
A bruised Shark gets to his feet, smoothes his robe, and studies me calmly. “OK, I’m impressed. You’re a magician?”
“Yes.”
“How powerful are you?”
I shrug. “I never really tested myself on this world. That trick with the mattress tired me, but I could do a lot more.”
“How much more?” Shark presses.
“No idea,” I answer honestly. “But in the absence of any windows between universes, I’m stronger than any mage we’ll face.”
“I suppose we might as well bring him along,” Shark says grudgingly to Meera.
“Where do we start?” Meera asks. “Do you know where Prae Athim’s based?”
“I never even heard of her before last night,” Shark says. “I knew about the Grady werewolves and the Lambs, but they were never my problem. Still, this won’t be the first time I’ve gone looking for someone. We’ll find her.”
“We could do with some help,” Meera notes. “They have armed troops, as we saw in Carcery Vale.”
“The Disciples?” Shark asks.
“The Disciples,” Meera agrees.
The pair produce cell phones and start dialing.
The mages aren’t interested in our mission. This is a bad time for humanity. Demons are attempting to cross faster, and in greater numbers, than ever before. The Disciples are rushed off their feet, dashing from one crisis to another. There have been six successful crossings this year and more than a dozen foiled attempts. And those are only the recorded attacks — more probably went unnoticed. Over five hundred people that we know of have died, not including those at the hospital last night. That’s an average decade’s worth of action.
The Disciples that Shark and Meera chat with over the course of the day don’t care about werewolves or the Lambs. They don’t even respond when told that Beranabus is involved. Most times, the mere mention of his name is enough to whip them into action. But not now. We can fight our own battles as far as they’re concerned.
Shark and Meera turn to their other allies when the Disciples fall through. They have a network of contacts — soldiers, politicians, police officers, doctors, etc. They call on them for support when demons cross and create merry hell. The operatives move in to clear up the mess, bury the dead, comfort the survivors, kill the story before it spreads.
Meera’s contacts are mostly media types and corporate directors. She calls around, asking about the Lambs, but the Grady executioners keep a low profile. She learns that they have several worldwide bases, but Prae Athim could be at any of them.
Shark takes a different approach. He phones a guy called Timas Brauss and tells him to come as swiftly as possible. He then contacts people in armies or who were once soldiers. He sets about assembling a small unit of men and women with a variety of skills — explosives experts, mechanics, pilots, scuba divers, and more. He won’t need them all, but he puts in place a large force to draw from. They’re more cooperative than the Disciples. Shark seems to command a lot of respect in military circles.
The calls continue into the night. It’s the most frustrating day I’ve spent in a long time. There’s nothing I can do except sit, listen, and run errands for Shark or Meera, fetching them food and drink.
I try to watch TV, but I can’t get comfortable. I’m worried that Shark and Meera will think I’m slacking. Eventually I crawl into bed, tired and grumpy, thinking I should have stayed in the demon universe. At least I served some bloody good over there!
THE FILTHY TWELVE
MY phone rings unexpectedly. Jolted awake, I check the time on the bedside clock — 7:49 AM. Picking up the phone, I yawn, “Yes?”
“It’s me,” someone says in a strange accent.
“Who?”
A pause. “You’re not Shark.”
“No, I’m Grubbs. Shark’s in the next room. Do you want me to —”
“It doesn’t matter,” he interrupts. “I’m Timas Brauss. Tell the receptionist to let me up.”
A couple of minutes later there’s a knock on my door. I open it to find an incredibly tall, thin man in the corridor. He must be three inches taller than me. Skinny as a stick insect, with long, bony fingers. Floppy red hair, an even darker shade than mine. A startled pair of blue eyes, as if he’s in a constant state of shock.
He pushes past me without a word. Looks around the room and up at the ceiling. He’s carrying a couple of laptops and a bri