The Silent Legion Page 4

  Jess thought for a moment, hands resting on her knees, head cocked to the ceiling. “Well, I mean you’re right…” she began, “you have a bunch of issues though. Might fall under the official secrets act and all that.”

  “There are plenty of coppers who write crime books.”

  “That’s a bit different though, they didn’t sign a big scary form saying they couldn’t talk about it. Plus do people want to read about this stuff? They want sexy glittery vampires, not ones that have to take out their dentures to use their fangs.” Jess giggled. She was enjoying her colleague’s obvious discomfort.

  “Ok, I think its time I put this away, you’re enjoying this a little too… oh shit.” Marks face went white.

  “Oh shit?” asked Jess, raising one eyebrow, her motions deliberately exaggerated.

  "I hit print instead of save. And look who's over by the printer." He gestured to the large white printer situated by the office's small break area. D.C.I Weston was pouring hot water into a mug, teabag label hanging over the side. Always one to keep an eye on her staff, she watched the document print, mug in hand.

  “Ok well, I’m off to lunch,” said Jess. She stood up and tapped Mark on the shoulder. Florence had the print out in hand and was reading it, a perplexed look on her face. “Good luck with that.”

  Linda pushed open the metal door, some of its old red paint flaking off onto her hand. The door led into a large car garage, closed for the night now, empty of its patients. Tools hung from racks like meat in a butcher's shop.

  A faint breeze drifted in from underneath the rolled down shutters that guarded each repair bay. They were already waiting for her, sat on folding plastic chairs arranged in a circle, eight in all. One was empty, the rest of her maniple had chosen their seats already.

  "Legionnaire Drusilla," said one of the circle's members. It was the same man who had met Linda in the park the day after her first kill. He had dropped the running outfit and was wearing a simple pair of jeans and a brown woollen jumper.

  “Maximus,” replied Linda, nodding. No, not Linda here, she thought, Drusilla now. She took the empty seat. Her eyes glanced around at the rest of the maniple, two women and four men not including herself. Each with their own tragic history, each with a longing for vengeance. It was rare for a maniple to assemble like this, normally they corresponded or met one on one. Maximus, she knew, he had been her handler for the handful of missions she had completed now. She recognised one of the women, Agrippina, as being the one who had recruited her in the first place.

  “We are here brothers and sisters, to discuss news of grave importance," Maximus said, leaning forward in his chair. “A task more difficult than one we have completed in many a year. We have gotten word of two demons, hiding among the populace. The oracle has seen fit to show me them, they are based in London, so it falls into our area.”

  The circle sat silent. Demons were a significant step up from their normal targets. Linda spoke first. “What do we do about them then?”

  "We need to remove them, it is our duty, but, and I hope Maximus doesn't mind me saying, none of us is capable of that," said Agrippina. Her hands were clutched nervously.

  “I wouldn’t say that,” Maximus said, leaning back into his chair. “Sister Drusilla here has completed three tasks in the last two weeks. She seems to have a prodigious talent for our work.” The faces of the maniple were mixed, some impressed, the others shocked.

  Linda was confused. “Is that not usual?” she asked. She honestly didn’t know, simply accepting each task and completing it as quickly as she could.

  “No,” said one of the other men. “Most of us are lucky to complete three a year, if that.” He was a portly man, with a thick head of hair Linda would have described as a mullet. He was wearing a blue jumpsuit, stained with grease. This must be his garage, Linda thought.

  "Sister Drusilla wastes no time I have found brother Anthony. If we know the location of the creature she attends almost immediately, she completed her first within two days. The second two we only had a rough location and she was able to track them remarkably quickly," said Maximus.

  “How did she manage that then?” asked Anthony, his eyes roaming over Linda quizzically.

  “It was pretty easy, I knew what monster I was looking for, I researched their habits online, then used social media to narrow down some spots they might frequent and linked people who had liked the pages of those places and then narrowed them down with the info they put…” Linda trailed off, aware she had lost most of the maniple. She looked around, and for the first time realised she was the youngest, even though she was thirty-five. Maximus looked the youngest of the others and even he was clearly in his early to mid-forties. “I used the internet.”

  Anthony was apparently happy with this answer. “You’ll have to show us, you’re putting us all to shame.” He turned to face Maximus. “Isn’t issuing so many so quickly dangerous? It risks bringing exposure down on us. The legion has persisted millennia by being discreet.”

  "I just give out the tasks the oracle provides me, Anthony. I don't think it has passed anyone's notice that beasts have been more active recently. I received word that our Welsh maniple encountered a Jinn. Apparently, there were several, but they were only able to spirit one away from the police. Still one is better than none." Maximus nodded in agreement with his statement.

  “The police?” asked Linda.

  “Yes, apparently, they intervened, rounded up all the other abominations. Don’t worry Drusilla, they don’t know what really happened. They seem to think it was some kind of chemical leak. You would have to be truly stupid to think that was the case.” Maximus smiled happily at her. Linda wasn’t so sure, it seemed too convenient for her. “Either way, the oracle has again passed this task to Drusilla. I agree with the oracle, you are more than capable of doing this. Take that box with you when you leave,” he said, pointing to a large cardboard box in the corner of the garage, sealed shut with brown packing tape. "It's every tome I could find on demons, hopefully, they will prove useful. Make no mistake, we are aware of the danger, which is why we are rewarding you now. Do you have the coins?"

  Linda nodded, pulling the small box she had received in the post from her purse. “Yeah, I have them here,” she said.

  “Pass them to me,” said Agrippina, smiling sweetly. Linda passed the box over into Agrippina’s outstretched hand. She watched as the box was opened, revealing the four coins held within. Agrippina reached into her coat pocket and removed a small vial, a thick clear liquid sloshing lazily within. She removed the cap from the vial and carefully placed a drop on each coin. Closing the lid, she handed the box back to Linda. “Place one on each closed eye, ensure you are lying down.”

  “Thank you,” whispered Linda, tears welling up in her eyes.

  Linda slipped onto her bed, the walnut box placed carefully by her pillow. She opened it, removed two of the coins and laid back, staring at her ceiling. She shut her eyes, and carefully rested a coin on each closed eyelid. She lay there, coins wobbling on her eyes, wondering how long it would take. She took a deep breath in, and then it happened.

  Linda could see, though she knew her eyes were still closed shut. She was standing on a small wooden boat, it listed lazily through the water, a cloaked figure pushing it onwards with a single oar. She was in some kind of cavern, it was illuminated by innumerable points of light, fluttering across the roof of the cavern. They gave off a hazy green glow, giving everything the light touched an odd tinge. Everything except the water, which aside from the wake of the boat was perfectly still and perfectly black. The cloaked figure stopped rowing, crouching down to place the oar on the bottom of the tiny gondola. He turned and faced Linda. He had the face of a man, but it was lithe and gaunt, cheekbones pressing into his thin skin. His eyes were sunken light pits, the barely visible pupils were a deep green, and they scanned over Linda almost angrily. He stepped forward, the boat rocking as he did, deep black robe billowing behind him, as though caugh
t in a gale. Linda could feel no wind. He was enormous, towering over Linda, easily ten feet in all. He stretched out his hand, bony palm upward. His nails were cracked and worn, keratinous stubs hammered into pale skin. He said nothing, yet Linda understood. She opened her palm, the coins she had placed onto her eyes somehow in her hand. She passed them to the ferryman, who nodded slowly, and then laboriously raised his other arm, outstretched finger pointing at the shore beyond.

  Linda turned and looked. She gasped. There he was, Michael, her son. He was stood on the shore, staring off into the blackness of the water. He didn’t seem to realise she was there, and seemed still, lifeless. His presence seemed faint somehow, as though Linda was looking at him through a haze. She opened her mouth to call him, to cry out his name, a name she hadn’t spoken in what seemed like an eternity. She felt the words rising in her throat.

  "Michael!" she shouted, sitting up awake with a jolt. She was laying on her bed, the open walnut box beside her. Two coins remained in the box. Of the two she had set onto her eyes there was no sign. It had worked, even if it was for the briefest of moments she had seen him again, seen Michael. She briefly considered placing the other coins on her eyes, trying again to find him in that stygian abyss. Linda let out a slow long breath and closed the box. Another time, these were precious valuable moments with her son again. She did not want to waste them.

  Chapter Five

  Music poured from the doorway into the morning air. She stood in the street, dagger tucked into her waistband under her jacket. She was on a mission now, Linda tucked aside, Drusilla brought to the fore. She checked her watch, it was mid-morning just past ten. Checking herself in the wing mirror of the van she had rented, Drusilla adjusted the blue baseball cap and yellow high visibility jacket she had picked up to complete her outfit. A large cardboard box was tucked under one arm, clipboard stacked atop it.

  The location she had been given for her targets was an odd one. A tiny bar hidden down a London back alleyway. A stairwell led down to the doorway, which was below ground level. A large neon sign was attached to the wall. It was off now, but Drusilla could see it was a woman sitting in a cocktail glass. She had horns and a devil's tail. The demons within seemed to lack subtlety. More glass tubes twirled and pirouetted, spelling out the name of the bar. “Lucille’s.” There was dull thud of booming bass and electric guitars as indiscernible music blared within.

  Drusilla took a deep breath, straightened herself and walked towards the stairway. She stepped down carefully, step by step, feeling her heart rising in her chest. “Just focus,” she thought to herself, “every monster has its weakness. This is just another task. Just take it one step at a time. You’ve thought this through, you’ve studied the books, the lore, every scrap you could find on the internet. They should be scared of you.” She exhaled, realising she had held her breath completely as she had descended. Drusilla raised her free hand and knocked on the door.

  Vlad stared at the twins, who were beaming with pride at their idea. Between them, they were carrying a plastic container. It was full of every jar, bottle and tub they could find, all washed, cleaned and filled with a new liquid, thick ruby-red blood. He rubbed his eyes, muttering to himself.

  “Fucking idiots,” he whispered. “Fucking idiots,” his voice grew louder. “You. Are. Fucking. Idiots,” he screamed. “Why do you think we were stealing blood from the hospital eh? You think I didn’t think of this first. When blood goes missing from a hospital, its an admin error. When a person goes missing it’s a god damn fucking manhunt! People will be looking for whoever this was,” he gestured to the mish-mash assortment of blood vessels. “People like the police for one. We don’t know what that twat Brian told them. They may already be on to us.”

  “Come on boss,” replied Chet meekly. “No-one saw us, we got away clean.”

  Vlad walked up to Chet, his face held uncomfortably close. He stood there, silent for what seemed like an eternity, before striking Chet across the face. The noise rang out like a bell, echoing despite the small living room. “You are a fucking thundercunt, you know that? You never get away clean from something like this. Where did you pick the human up?”

  “Petrol station,” murmured Chad.

  “Petrol station. So, plenty of cameras then? You think they didn’t record you? This isn’t fucking telly, you show up on cameras just fine.”

  “I always wondered what was up with that, I can’t imagine shaving without a mirror.” Chet was rubbing the red welt on his face as he spoke.

  “That’s because it’s a lie. Obscuration! Subtlety! Not something you two chucklefucks would understand. If humans think vampires don’t appear in mirrors, it’s an easy way to prove you aren’t a vampire.”

  "But we are vampires…oh right." Chet stared at the floor, suddenly conscious of his comment.

  "Exactly!" said Vlad. "Whoever thought that one up was a genius. My left arm for a vampire-like that on the crew. Right well, we need to decide what to do with this lot. Bag it up, we might as well use it.” Vlad turned around, shuffled back over to his recliner and sank into it, the soft leather rolling over his wrinkled skin. “Don’t spill any either!” he shouted over his shoulder. “Won’t come out of the fucking carpet. Voice of experience that boys.”

  Lucille held the broom tightly as she danced across the room, deftly stepping around stacked barstools. She twirled, just missing a large mop and bucket she had brought down before changing her mind at the thought of hard work, sticking to a quick sweeping which she was now also shirking. She was wearing a white T-shirt dress with a red pinstripe, cinched at the waist with a bright red leather belt. Black leggings ended in a pair of simple black ankle boots. Her raven black hair was tied into a bun, a red bandana with white polka dots holding it in place. Despite the casual attire her make up was still immaculate, bright crimson lipstick and smoky eyeliner. She was humming along to the music as she danced. She stopped mid-spin as she saw her sole employee Abbie waving to her from behind the bar. Despite the early morning time, Abbie was fully dressed as usual. Today she had gone with a large black Victorian dress, tight waist, fine lace and bustle. She was wearing a wide-brimmed black hat with a thin veil running right the way around. Her lips were moving but no sound was coming out.

  "What?" shouted Lucille, cupping her ear. Abbie's lips moved again. "I can't hear you!" Even through the veil she could tell Abbie was glaring at her. "Hang on," Lucille said. She raised her hand and snapped her fingers, more for dramatic effect than anything else. The music stopped.

  “Door!” shouted Abbie. “You can hear me now?”

  Lucille sighed. “Yes, can’t you get it?”

  “No!” Abbie slammed the glass she had been cleaning onto the bar counter. “Some of us are actually working, not dancing.” Lucille poked out her tongue in response, but leant the broom against a pillar, its fading green paint starting to peel, held together more with handmade band posters and stale beer than anything else.

  Lucille pulled the door open, and carefully looked the woman stood before her up and down. She was wearing a bright yellow safety jacket and holding a cardboard box. She smiled at Lucille.

  “I have a parcel here for…” the woman examined the clipboard atop the box, “Lucille’s bar. Says it’s for the owner.”

  “That’s me,” replied Lucille.

  “Great, can you sign here please,” the delivery woman handed her the clipboard, a pen hung from the metal clip tied with a frayed piece of string. The paper was a bright yellow, a pink sheet peeking out from underneath. It was the kind of carbon paper where what you wrote spilt over onto the pages beneath.

  “Don’t you normally have a tablet?” Lucille asked, signing her name with the pen. Her signature flowed, curved flowery cursive letters. They matched the neon sign outside her bar. She handed the clipboard back to the woman.

  The woman sighed, tearing the yellow top sheet from the clipboard. “It’s on the fritz, all the modern technology in the world can’t beat a good paper back
up. There we go.” She placed the receipt atop the box, handing it to Lucille. It was curiously heavy. The delivery woman stood there, smiling.

  “Anything else?”

  “Oh, right yes, can I use your bathroom? It’s all rush doing this. Gig economy you know? They track us every second of the day.” The woman bounced on her heels nervously.

  "Good thing your tablet is broken then." Lucille stepped aside. "It's at the back, the door on the right."

  Drusilla locked the cubicle door behind her and sat down on the toilet. Its cheap plastic seat wobbled worryingly as she did. She stared down at the clipboard in her hands. The pink bottom sheet sat there, in all its fluorescent glory. It was more awkward than she had imagined, to find blank carbon paper, ultimately getting it delivered from online, the irony not lost on her. When she had received it, she had carefully peeled one yellow pink pair apart. Throwing a convincing enough looking receipt together on her laptop, she had placed the yellow page into a dusty printer. It had last been used to print photographs, in happier times. On the pink paper she had very carefully copied the glyphs and sigils from one of the books Maximus had lent to her. The arcane symbology filled the page, crammed in tight. There was one scant empty spot, where now sat the signature, copied through from the yellow page, reattached by way of the clipboard. “Lucille” it read. No second name Drusilla noticed, the apparent arrogance made her feel sick. She leant back, clutching the clipboard tight to her chest. Any moment now.

  Lucille placed the box down onto the bar as the delivery woman disappeared behind the toilet door. She slid it over towards Abbie, nodding silently at it.

  "What?" asked Abbie, wiping a glass with a suspicious-looking rag. "It's not mine."

  "Well, I didn't order anything recently. Only we work here," Lucille was leaning, her elbows resting on the bar. She gestured towards Abbie with both hands in a circular motion, "therefore, it must be yours."