NOVEL SIMPLE v2 CHAPTER TWELVE: In which several journeys commence, guided by hands long unseen.
The entire escape went more smoothly than Una could have imagined; despite complexity, their progress was almost disturbingly simple, as if hidden strings of fate twisted in their favor. They moved quickly under the cover of the trees, with Aidan and Yevgeny taking turns carrying Niamh. Susan occasionally stumbled, adjusting to a new center of gravity and a longer stride, but Cassandra caught her and steadied her each time. The hunter consistently anticipated each misstep and loss of balance—but remained silent, assiduously avoiding looking Susan in the eye.
Three minutes after parting ways with John, they reached the testing facility. Based on the faint but clearly audible sound of whirring blades behind them, they had beaten the helicopters back to the compound. They hurried into the basement, six of them moving towards the sublevel with Cassandra keeping watch above.
After their bizarre encounter with Sister Mary Elizabeth, Una found her own magical bonds shattered. The other two women lay nearly incapacitated. She’d picked Susan up and fled immediately, unwilling to wait for the witch to recover her wits. On her way out, she’d found one barrier still intact—around the room that held the other captives—while the other barrier around the building had shattered. She did her best to communicate with the prisoners, making hand signs and mouthing words: I’m coming back for you.
Now they returned to find all the barriers down, with no sign of the malevolent nun. The four successful escapees were eager to get the rest of the captives out. The bearded man who’d signed with Una across the sealed doorway clearly shared their sentiment. He ran headlong into the rescue party on the stairs, clasped Yevgeny’s arm in warm surprise, then introduced himself as Caspian.
The others were not far behind, though moving slowly: two women wearing matching masks, a short, hairy figure in a cloak, and a young woman with long blonde hair streaked with green. This last captive was the one in a dripping wheelchair, and Una suddenly realized why: she was a mermaid, her impressive tail tucked into a wet blanket.
“I’m sorry, everyone,” she said, her drawn face splotched with algae and tears of relief. “I’m so grateful, but I’ll need someone to carry me out of here with this blanket, or something else to keep me from drying out.” Una reassured her and felt her own resolve grow. Together, we’ll get out of this place. This time for good.
Fifteen minutes after leaving John, they’d gotten everyone up the stairs, through the rubble, and halfway to the exit. Cassandra returned from scouting the rest of the building; the lean, wiry girl shook her head grimly and gestured with one thumb, pointing it down.
“Nobody else?” asked Una, her brow furrowing.
“Nobody alive,” said Cassandra, without further explanation. “But are these the files you were looking for?” She handed Una a hefty stack of file folders, with a file labeled “Yael” on top.
“That’s exactly them,” Una replied. “And more, it looks like.” She scanned over the names: Belphegor, Kalki, Haagenti, Cimeries. A catalog of demonic entities. She looked up at the demon hunter again, who regarded her with a flat glare. “We should discuss all this later… but for now, can you help get everyone back to the road?”
Behind her, the masked women re-wrapped the mermaid, Sia, in another sheet, soaked with water from a leaking pipe. The mermaid sat in the wheelchair with her hands crossed protectively over her belly. She looked drawn and pale, almost shriveled, and though Una worried, she’d no idea what was normal for a mermaid.
Twenty minutes after John had left to distract their pursuers, Una led the ragtag group around the back side of the building. Quickly and carefully, they sneaked towards the road, taking the same route her rescuers had found several nights before.
Una winced each time she heard voices yelling in the distance. The noise of helicopter rotors had faded into silence minutes ago, replaced by shouts and distant thuds. She had no idea what those sounds could be. John must have sent them on a wild good chase, she thought. Otherwise, they would have come directly for us at the testing facility. Someone in charge would know that’s where Spencer was keeping supernatural beings. Wouldn’t they?
No matter who ran the show now, the Vatican would have sent trained operatives. The same sort of men who’d kidnapped her and brought her here so many weeks ago. A lifetime ago, really—before her bargains with Yael, so many transformations, before Spencer turned her into—no, don’t think about that, not right now. Process it later.
For now, she had to trust that John would take care of the situation, or at least delay it. The sky teemed with dark-gray clouds; rain couldn’t be far behind. Una accepted Sia’s damply wrapped form from Caspian, taking her turn to carry the mermaid.
“It’s going to be all right,” Una whispered, following a ministering instinct. But the wan mermaid didn’t seem to have the energy to talk, only sniffling in response. Una held her close and quickened her pace; some of her sex-fueled energy remained. They all moved as quickly as they could through the light cover at the side of the forested road. But they weren’t safe yet, not by a long shot.
“With Maria, there are twelve of us now,” Una muttered. Sia shifted in her arms, and Susan walked next to her, having adjusted to a longer stride, but seemed lost in thought. Even if we pull the seats out, can we all fit in the van? This is around when Father Michael would have relied on the Lord’s Prayer, she mused. I don’t think I’m up for that.
It turned out that God still watched over his lost sheep—or someone else did, whether a higher power, fate, or the universe itself. I should remember the lessons of faith in miracles, thought Una as she stared at what sat on the road by the old church van. Why else did I spend two decades on this planet as a priest?
The succubus raised a hand in greeting to Maria, who waved to them from next to a large commuter bus.
“Guys! Hey guys, over here! I got us…” she gestured grandly, “…a whole bus!” She bounced up and down excitedly, as did the jigglier parts of her body. A man in a uniform stepped up to ask her something, and she nodded.
Cassandra gawked. The rangy hunter sheathed her sword; Una hadn’t even noticed it appear in her hand. “Maria. What happened to the surveillance team? The van watching earlier.”
Maria winked. “I got rid of them, silly! With a little help I rounded up. Then I went over to the highway and flagged down a bus.” She cocked one hip and waved to demonstrate: a damsel in distress. “This is Bill! He’s the greatest!”
The bus driver doffed his cap, looking embarrassed. “It’s nothing. Just trying to help. Miss Johannsen here is… awful nice.” Una raised an eyebrow. Mel didn’t seem too fazed at seeing a horned, red-skinned succubus carrying a mermaid. In fact, he climbed into his seat and lowered an accessibility lift to help bring her aboard.
Half an hour after leaving John behind, Una watched the rescued test subjects climbing onto the bus. I can’t believe how quickly everything fell into place. We’re almost out of here, she thought, then bit her lip. If only John was with us. Damn that man… he’s always right, but why did he have to be right in this way? Just stay safe…
“…I don’t get it. How did you even know we’d come back with more people?” Susan was quizzing Maria as Cassandra stood nearby with her back to them. The gray-haired girl had one hand on her sword as she scanned the tree line and road for signs of pursuit.
Maria shrugged. “Just seemed to make sense? I felt better after some food and water, and I figured out how to put my talents to use!” She flashed them a dazzling smile. “It’s amazing what some people will do for a pretty girl.”
She blinked at Susan, as if just noticing that the other woman had grown a couple inches taller than her. “Hey Susan… did you get bigger? And, uh… bustier? Wait… are you wearing a toga?” Susan just gave Maria a thin smile without a response and turned the blonde by the shoulders, pushing her towards the bus.
The four friends were the last to climb aboard, taking seats near the front. Susan leaned across the aisle to squint at Maria. Bill started the engine and closed the door.
“Maria… may I pat you on the head for a moment, please?” Susan’s voice held the rich timbre of bells.
“Uh—sure,” Maria blinked. “Is this like, a cute kitty-cat thing? Meow!” Susan ignored her with a smile and ran her hand across Maria’s hairline. Her eyes widened. Una leaned around Maria’s far side and gave Susan a quizzical look.
“Wow. This was a wild guess, but… um, Una? Do you remember when you offered to make Maria ‘more like you?’ To remove her gag reflex?” Una froze, her lips slightly parted.
“Oh yeah,” said Maria cheerfully. “That worked like a charm!”
Susan gave Una a grim smile. “More than a charm. Look at this… might explain part of how she got this bus?” Bill pulled off the shoulder with a crunch of gravel, and they began moving. Susan smoothed the blonde locks back from Maria’s forehead.
Just behind the hairline, two tiny bumps poked up from Maria’s forehead, one at each corner of her brow: small horns.
***
Three minutes after the passenger coach sped away down the road, a jeep screeched to a halt next to the “Camp Ignatius” sign, spraying gravel onto the asphalt road. A man in a black jacket stood up in the passenger seat, glared around, then pulled a two-way radio from his belt.
A hundred feet down the road on its far side, an older man stepped behind a tree and extinguished a cigarillo against the dampening bark. Early drops of rain pattered through the leaves above him, and he adjusted his homburg to shield something in his other hand, held against his chest. He lifted a tiny music box; stray notes still tinkled out of it as gears moved a miniature representation of sun and planets, revolving as it wound down.
With a snap, he closed the music box and placed it inside his coat. An intangible quality faded from the air. His hand returned with a phone, and he made a call, then clucked his tongue as he reached voicemail.
“Dearest Vicky,” he whispered. “It’s me, of course. Departing the colonies imminently, but I managed that last errand you begged me for. I do hope I’ve done the right thing; ripple effects, yes? I still couldn’t get inside, but ahhh…” He sighed. “I couldn’t help but put a finger on the scale, just a pinky. Old habits.” Sir Alaric Beaumont-Lefevre pocketed the phone, buttoned his overcoat, and stepped away into the trees.
***
Two hundred miles south, a sedan rolled along Park Avenue before coming to a halt in front of a sparkling tower of glass and steel. A man in an expensive bespoke suit stepped up smartly and opened the back door.
“Sir, may I escort you to our—”
“No,” came the reply from within, cutting the man off. The voice was hoarse and dry. “Get in, Fitch.”
The man named Fitch got into the car. In the back seat, a figure sat draped in a large gray hoodie. Long strands of dark hair poked out. The driver in front of them, a hotel bellhop with a glazed expression, stared silently out the window.
“Mr. Nestor,” said Fitch. “It is a pleasure to meet you, finally. And I’m sure my predecessors would say the same. All my predecessors. I’m not sure if you’re aware of the full history, but these accounts were opened nearly four hundred years ago. Although the deposits proved instrumental in establishing Fitch, Selwyn and Kirk, we weren’t sure whether anyone would ever return to—”
The figure’s hand moved in a severing motion. Fitch immediately stopped speaking.
The voice from the hood sounded bored. Its owner cleared his throat. “Nobody cares, Fitch. I have a list of purchases I need you to make, and special staff to hire. I have an operation… to conduct in this city.” A hand preferred a long piece of paper, something like a scroll. Fitch noted that the hand was large, tanned, and had fingernails long enough to look like talons.
Fitch took a moment to inspect the scroll and blanched. “You want us to acquire… a media company? Six floors of offices? Mercenaries? These certainly are… sizable purchases. It can be done, but this will require a considerable portion of the account’s liquid funds, and may take some time.”
“Make it your priority, Fitch. Your reward will come in time. Alternately, you will lose your oldest customer,” and here the figure leaned forward. A glint of green shone within the hood, as light reflected off… an eye? “And you could lose… much more than that.”
Fitch swallowed; there was something distinctly unpleasant about the voice he was hearing. The tone—a mixture of irritation and scorn—made him feel like a small child, not a banker at one of the world’s oldest private banks. Fitch tried to steady himself against this feeling. He failed almost immediately and bowed his head.
“Yes… Yes, of course, my lord.” My lord? Where had that come from? “I’ll see to it right away.” Fitch hurriedly fished in his pockets for his phone. He saw the leg beneath the hoodie twitch as if agitated. The leg wore black track pants with white piping. He remembered to ask, “How would you like your accounts handled? Do you need personal access, or do you have an assistant…?”
“Send all the details under seal to my hotel. I do not have… an assistant. Although I have someone in mind. Which reminds me: deliver this to the most exclusive drinking establishment in this city.” The hand extended again, with a small object. A piece of paper, Fitch realized, folded into the shape of a star.
“Ah… a high-end private club, perhaps? To whose attention, if I may ask?” The hair on the back of Fitch’s neck prickled; he felt increasingly nervous.
“You may not ask. Only listen: the most exclusive establishment. Simply leave that on the bar. Walk away. And have a decent tailor sent to my hotel.”
“At once,” said Fitch, bowing his head. “Will that be all, sir?”
“No. The last is the most important service I require of you… for the moment.” The hand reached to one side and handed Fitch a manila folder. Inside were two sheets of paper, with images that looked like grainy security camera footage.
“Monitor this woman. You, your partners and your clerks and servants must keep me appraised of her whereabouts and activities.”
The stills from the security footage showed a woman with red skin and dark hair; it was hard to tell much about what she looked like from the grainy, pixelated quality of the color printout. Oddly, in all the frames, she seemed to have horns and a tail. In one, she sat on a hospital bed; in another, she looked as if she wore a maid’s uniform.
“Ah. This is a… demon, sir? Do you have any more information on this entity—a name, species, confederates?”
“She is a succubus,” said the voice, with a tense tone. “Or something much like a succubus. She consorts with humans: priests and scholars, other demi-human flotsam. She calls herself… Una.”
