Chapter Thirteen
When I dreamed of being a superhero, I imagined epic fights and daring rescues. But do you know how superheroes spend most of
their time? Paperwork and meetings. Public-relations meetings, Sentinels business meetings, city-liaison meetings, coordination
meetings, certification and compliance meetings. Someday I will cross over Jordan, and there will be no more meetings. But some
meetings are more interesting than others.
Astra, Notes From a Life.
* * *
I had classes, but when I got back Jacky and I wandered Grant Park for lunch. We grabbed some hot-dogs and even soaked ourselves
in the wind-blown spray of Buckingham Fountain, just two girls in summer dresses out on a warm spring afternoon, and if Jacky
looked Goth-girl pale the boys didn’t care.
Afterward I changed and went on patrol, but not before stopping by Quin’s office to talk to her about my conversation with Mom on
Friday. It had absolutely dropped out of my head, with everything happening, but my promise to see what I could do for last week’
s breakthrough speedster came back to pinch me. Quin didn’t know that there was much we could do, but she promised to make
inquiries and get back to me soonest. That evening, we were summoned to war, all hands on deck in the Assembly Room.
Lei Zi and Blackstone, field and team leaders, sat at the head of the table. Lei Zi looked calm and inscrutable as always, but I
could see the tension in Blackstone. Chakra was wound even tighter, The Harlequin, Rush, and Riptide ready to get on with it.
Vulcan looked mildly distracted, and beside him Galatea had no expression at all. Seven looked up when we entered, and winked. I
relaxed, taking a seat by Artemis.
Orb and Mr. Jones didn’t look at all out of place sharing a table with Chicago’s premier superheroes in all their costumed
glory, but once again Fisher looked like he belonged in a different movie. He nodded to us as we took our seats. Willis finished
freshening everyone’s coffee and stood back, invisibly attentive.
Once we’d settled, Blackstone stood.
“Ladies. Gentlemen.” He looked around the table. “We have mobilized tonight to engage an enemy I had hoped was gone. I am
referring to Villains Inc.” He waited for the exclamations to die down.
“None of you here were on the team the first time we faced Villains Inc, although I’m sure you remember the news stories. In the
wake of the Event, Chicago’s organized crime families faced a direct challenge from the first supervillain gang-bangers for
control of the local drug trade. The Chicago Outfit responded by buying in the villains who were willing to work with them and
burying the ones who weren’t. After the blood dried, the Outfit set up a cell of superhuman hitmen modeled after the old Murder
Inc. Besides acting as mob enforcers, they accepted contracted hits from criminal organizations across the country. The public
didn’t know anything about Villains Inc. until we moved to take them down.”
There were nods around the table. Nobody could have missed the huge media storm around the joint Sentinels-DSA operation and the
trials—or the highly fictionalized movie made out of it. The Undertaker, Knox, Trophy, Stricture, and The Message were household
names now, but with two dead and three serving life sentences they could have done without the fame.
“Most people think our takedown of Villains Inc. ended the Outfit’s venture into superhuman crime,” Blackstone continued.
“That could not, however, be further from the truth. Consider this: without Villains Inc., how has the Outfit managed to resist
hostile takeover? Until last year Chicago had two strong supervillain gangs—the Brotherhood and the Sanguinary Boys—but there
was never a hint of conflict between them and the Outfit. Why?”
“Should I raise my hand?” Seven asked. “They were scared off by the Outfit’s superhuman assets.”
“Correct. And when we took down both gangs last year, not a single member tried to plea-bargain with information against the
Outfit. It is my belief that the Outfit reconstructed Villains Inc. years ago, without reviving the villain-for-hire racket that
brought them to our attention the first time.”
Nobody had anything to say to that. In the trials that followed the Great Roundup, a bunch of the Brothers and Boys had cut deals
ratting on each other, allowing the state prosecutors to nail them for extortion, sex-trafficking, money-laundering, lots of
stuff. But there hadn’t been a hint of Outfit involvement, and most of what they’d done had been pretty small scale.
“But if we’re moving tonight,” Seven said, “we know they’re back and who they are?”
“We know who at least one of them is,” Blackstone agreed. “And the police can make a homicide case against her. Which brings us
to Detective Fisher. Detective?”
Fisher leaned forward to look around the table.
“You’re all aware of the bank job last week. A shapeshifter. We’ve got leads there, nothing solid, but two days later the bank
employee the shifter used to do the job ended up dead. The forensic evidence suggested a superhuman killer.”
Artemis choked and Fisher smiled. Saying the evidence suggested a superhuman was like saying a surfer missing a leg suggested a
shark.
“The damage signature didn’t match any known superhuman,” he went on, smiling at me. “So while the department followed other
leads, Astra brought in a pair of consultants.” Everyone looked at Orb and Mr. Jones. “Orb’s sphere is more sensitive than even
Astra’s enhanced senses, and Mr. Jones—”
“Dr. Cornelius, please,” Jones said with a smile for me.
“Dr. Cornelius is an expert on thought-forms, projections, and other manifestations of supernatural breakthroughs. As many of you
have heard, the doctor’s examination of the crime scene yielded interesting results.” This time Artemis just coughed
theatrically.
“It’s my fault that things got so interesting,” Dr. Cornelius said, his resonant voice too deep for his narrow frame. “Either
the person who first invoked the qlippoth intentionally left a trigger allowing its return, or it was simply powerful enough to
re-open the path that had already been laid once I got its attention. Fortunately I was able to recognize the summoner’s psychic
signature in the echo of her summoning.”
“Kli-poth?” Rush asked.
“A demon.” Dr. Cornelius shrugged blandly. “One of the Gamchicoth, the Devourers.”
“And you killed it?” Seven asked.
“Qlippoth are the very opposite of alive. I burned its pathway here—shut the door on it. And in the process saw who invoked its
presence.”
“Which brings us to the warrant,” Fisher said, echoing Blackstone. He pulled the folded sheets out of his suit pocket.
“Spectral evidence is admissible in court only if it’s caught on film. Same for psychic visions, second sight, divination,
scrying, sortilege, and any other kind of ‘higher knowledge.’ However, they all work just fine as grounds for probable cause, if
provided by a reliable source. The DA assures me that Dr. Cornelius, never having issued a false or disproven claim of knowledge,
passes the warrant court’s test.
“So we have a no-knock arrest warrant to serve, people. For the arrest of Dr. Charlotte Millebrand, whom Dr. Cornelius recognized
from her grad-student days, and search warrants for her premises, properties, and place of business. We also have detectives ready
to serve warrant for her financial, phone, and internet records. We need to nail her down for the murder of Mr. Moffat and tie her
directly to the Outfit.”
He returned the warrants to his pocket and sat back. Blackstone nodded to Lei Zi.
“Can we expect a repeat performance of your fight tonight?” she asked Dr. Cornelius. He shook his head.
“I doubt it. Qlippoth are not entities you want to invoke anywhere near you except under extremely controlled conditions—they’
re the occult equivalent of a few tons of high-grade explosives. Want to kill everyone in the target area? Fine. Kill everyone but
you in the target area? Not fine.”
“So what can we expect?”
Another shrug.
“Maybe nothing. Supernaturals that can do what she did aren’t usually fireball-throwing Dungeons-and-Dragons wizards, or super-
powered stage magicians like Blackstone. They’re old-school: a magic circle, lots of paraphernalia, rituals, more like setting up
a computer program than pulling a trigger. She may have a few prepared charms and talismans, but if she’s waiting for us she’s
more likely to have bodyguards or associates.”
“And her associates could be the rest of Villains Inc.,” Rush said sourly.
“Indeed,” Blackstone agreed. “This is not, however, the comic-books. I doubt that they have conveniently gathered in their
secret headquarters to await our arrival. If they have, it is unlikely their headquarters is in a nice residential neighborhood.”
“In any case,” Lei Zi said, “our task tonight is to serve the warrant at her residence. CPD street cameras have confirmed that
she arrived home tonight, and don’t show any camera hits on her vehicle since seven o’clock. Patrol cars have been moved into
the neighborhood, though not onto her street. Since they haven’t reported any unusual activity to Dispatch, I doubt she is
forting up—she may not be aware of what happened last night.
“However,” she looked around the table, “since we are going up against a supernatural breakthrough of unknown capabilities, we
are going in hot. Riptide, The Harlequin, and Galatea are acting as field reserve, Rush, Astra, Seven, Artemis and I are taking
point. Doctor Cornelius, will you accompany us?”
He nodded.
“Good.” Lei Zi brought up a projection of the house we were hitting, a mini-mansion in Norridge, and went over our approach.
“We move out in ten minutes,” she finished. “As a last order of business, since we are engaging an unknown who seems to be
dealing with the dark arts, I have taken the liberty of calling on Father Nolan. He intends to conduct a brief service in the
chapel, and I recommend attendance by anyone who believes a higher power may be of help tonight.”
* * *
I lit three candles, for Atlas, Nimbus, and Ajax, and prayed for the peace of their souls. Mary of the Pagans stood watch over the
memorial crypt in the east wall of the chapel, infant Jesus in one hand and love-struck parrot in the other. Responding to her
rapt smile, I added a prayer of thanks for whatever had happened to us, and almost imagined a wink, the gentle closing of a white
-jade eye, a deepening dimple. Think nothing of it, she seemed to say.
“Shaliah,” Dr. Cornelius said behind me, making me jump. He nodded to the Lady in her shrine.
“The aethyr of Phthenoth, the decan of cleansing, healing, and restoration of body and spirit. The personification of the second
Word I spoke, tonight.” He smiled thinly. “If your theology is sufficiently liberal, you could call her one of the aspects of
the Mother of God.”
He lit a fourth candle. “Gone now, along with the first. Ten years carrying the Words around, and now only one is left. At least
now I’m pretty sure the last one won’t kill me.”
“You didn’t know what would happen?”
“No. I’m an Agrippan magus; preparation is everything and I wasn’t prepared for that. When you’re about to die, you take
chances.”
“I felt…”
“I know.”
“He wouldn’t have given them to you for no reason,” I blurted. He gave me a patronizing smile, like I’d just declared my
belief in Santa Clause.
“Children.”
I turned again and found that Father Nolan had joined us. The little round priest smiled benignly. Barely taller than I, the
pastor of St. Christopher (and Team Chaplain, and hadn’t that come as a shock?) stood surrounded by the rest of the team. In the
face of Father Nolan’s gentle smile, Dr. Cornelius slowly lost his.
“Brrr,” Shelly said, popping in beside me. His being able to see her still freaked her out, but she obviously felt safe with
Father Nolan present. I didn’t dare laugh—nobody would understand.
The whole team doesn’t usually muster before going into action—normally any trouble involving everybody together starts with
Dispatch calling us in from all over (Lei Zi calls them “meeting engagements” and purely hates them). Donning his stole, Father
Nolan led us in a brief service, what he half-jokingly called a “hymn before action.” He kept it non-denominational, except for
the ending when he led us in the Hero’s Prayer.
“St. Michael, defender of man, stand with us in the day of battle.
St. Jude, giver of hope, be with us in our desperate hour.
St. Christopher, bearer of burdens, lift us when we fall!”
I crossed myself, remembering iron claws and veils of rotting skin, and added a quick prayer of my own.