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1. Lonely
Gertrude Robinson knocked softly on the door to Elias Bouchard’s office. He had only been head of the Magnus Institute for a year, but he had settled into the position quite well, with all the abilities that entailed. The knock was a formality, so Gertrude opened the door. “Good morning, Elias. I was hoping that you’d had time to go over my budget request last night…”
The office was empty. Gertrude looked around, then glanced at her watch. Sure enough, it was five after eight. Elias was never late for work. She turned to go ask Rosie if he had an early meeting, only to nearly crash into the man himself. She stumbled, adjusting the folders the carried under her arm, and looked at her boss. Her enemy, she supposed, if he intended to try and complete the Watcher’s Crown. He was dressed as crisply as usual, but he looked more tired than normal, his gaze somewhat bleary as he looked up at her.
“G’morning,” he said, stifling a yawn. “I haven’t had a chance to look at the budget, no. I’ll do that as soon as I’m settled.”
“Alright, let me know,” Gertrude said. She started to leave before stopping and turning around, her curiosity getting the better of her. “Is everything alright? I’ve never seen you come in even a minute late before.”
“Oh, I’m fine,” Elias answered, some of the usual briskness returning to his tone. “I forgot to calculate the changeover time on the Underground from Peter’s place to here, is all.”
“Peter? Peter Lukas?”
“That’s the one, yes.” He turned to look at her, his gaze suddenly cool and sharp. “Is that a problem?”
“No, not at all. Lord knows we’ve seen enough actual abominations here that preferring the company of other men hardly qualifies, no matter what the Sun tries to sell us.” Gertrude couldn’t help chuckling as she continued, “I’m sure he’s quite a… generous patron for the Institute, much like the rest of the family. Not much of one for settling down, though, I’d think.”
Elias frowned, but it seemed to be more surprise than disapproval. “That’s exactly why it works, to be honest. I’m obviously quite a busy man, so his regular absences do not affect us much.” His gaze drifted off into the distance for a moment. “Besides, he lets me indulge in certain vices I haven’t exercised in quite some time…”
“Er, right. That’s a bit more of your personal life than I’d liked to have heard, thanks. I’ve got research to do. Let me know when you’ve looked at my requisition list.” She walked away quickly, Elias smirking at her as she left.
Audio notes of Gertrude Robinson, June 12, 1997. I’ve got a lead on the Buried’s ritual, but it will be slow going as the contact I’ve made lives in the American west without a telephone, so we’ve had to communicate by mail. I’ll also have to postpone my digging into the Lonely for the time being. After the conversation I had with Elias this morning, it seems like a bad idea to prod while Peter Lukas is both a patron of the Institute and Elias’ partner. Maybe it will keep Elias distracted enough for me to find out about the Watcher’s Crown, though. It’s still strange to me that of all the powers, the one I am closest to is the one I can’t find any information on.
2. Dark
Elias Bouchard checked his mailbox one morning to find a small letter tucked between adverts, a jet-black piece of paper folded in quarters, without a return address. It seemed familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it until he opened the note and found himself unable to read it, even as he gazed beyond the normal. He went back inside and stepped into his hall closet, leaving the light off. The letters on the page were now visible, inky dark words that seemed carved into the paper.
My Dearest Elias (If that if what you still call yourself),
I hope this letter finds you well. I find myself nostalgic these past few weeks, remembering the old days, when we were not as different as we are now. I know I can no longer entice you from the wretched Eye and its knowledge, but perhaps I can still entice you in other ways. I will be at our old favorite spot tonight. I would very much like it if you joined me.
Maxwell Rayner
Well. This was an unexpected development. He and Maxwell hadn’t spoken in nearly a decade. Elias wasn’t even sure if he was still in the same body. Still, Peter was still away on his ship for another month, and they had discussed this sort of possibility before he left, if not the exact individuals. They certainly weren’t exclusive; what happened in international waters stayed in international waters, and the same principle applied to Elias. Perhaps he would make the drive down tonight.
**
The next morning Elias arrived at the Institute nearly half an hour late. Gertrude passed him as he came through the waiting area.
“Good morning, Elias. Another late night with Mister Lukas?”
“No, he’s still at sea.”
She looked at him bemusedly. “Well, what else could keep the head of the Magnus Institute away from his perch for so long?”
“If you must know, I did have a date. An old friend contacted me out of the blue. Maxwell Rayner. Perhaps you’ve read about him?”
“I have, yes,” Gertrude said, frowning. “I wasn’t aware you knew the man. If I may ask-"
“You may not.” Elias sat sideways on one of the wide armchairs, legs dangling on one side. “Stopping the Extinguished Sun is your prerogative, but finding the information must be done on your own. I will say, though, that the darkness certainly is fascinating stuff. Gets everywhere if you let it. Quite an interesting taste, too.”
“Taste? Can’t say that I’ve ever considered-“ Her eyes snapped up to meet his. “Are you implying what I think you are?”
Elias smiled wryly. “Perhaps. Now, I’m going to take a nap. Nocturnal beings wreak havoc on one’s sleep schedule.” He tilted his head back as Gertrude shuffled away. He would be relishing the expression on her face for quite some time.
Audio notes of Gertrude Robinson, June 27, 1997. Well, that was far more information about Elias than I’d ever wanted to know. Hopefully some scalding tea and a good night’s rest will wipe that image from my mind. These callers of Elias’s do give me hope that I’ll be able to research the Watcher’s Crown in peace though. I’ve found a reference to some of Smirke’s writings being stored somewhere in the Institute. If I can find them, they might have the information I’m after.
3. Web
Gertrude sat down at her desk, arraying a fresh batch of notes and statements before her to analyze. Elias was once again nowhere to be found this morning, but Rosie claimed she had seen him come in early. Still, what her boss did with his time wasn’t really her concern, as long as it didn’t involve trying to destroy the world, and she didn’t have any evidence of that happening yet. What she did have, she hoped, was an idea of how the Watcher’s Crown actually worked. Assuming the feeling she had gotten from these particular statements weren’t complete bunk.
She had scarcely been sitting for five minutes when the trapdoor to the tunnels opened suddenly, making Gertrude leap to her feat. The closest thing to a weapon she had was a letter opener, but she held it firmly before her against whatever might appear.
That whatever was Elias, humming tunelessly to himself as he climbed the ladder into the Archives.
“What on earth were you doing down there?” Gertrude asked, slowly putting the letter opener back down.
“Oh, I was catching up with an old acquaintance, Raymond Fielding.”
“What? I thought he died nearly two decades ago.”
“So did I to be honest. Turns out the body in his old house was just a husk, and he’s been hiding out all this time.”
“In the tunnels under the Institute?”
“Oh, no. Mostly in the Underground, eating tramps and urban explorers. I offered to let him stay in the tunnels, as long as his fellows don’t scuttle in, but he seems content, aside from his adopted daughter trying to chase him down and burn him to ashes.”
“Hmm. Can’t say I’m upset about him refusing your… hospitality. I certainly don’t want Agnes and her crowd paying us a visit in search of him.”
They stared at each other for a long moment before Gertrude continued. “Well, how is he, after all this time?”
“Oh, he’s doing quite well, still as vigorous as ever.”
“Er… yes.” Gertrude then noticed something else, and there was another pause as she collected the nerve to point it out. “You’ve got something on your chin, Elias. I… think it’s web?”
“Do I? Ah, how uncivilized of me.” Elias took out his handkerchief and gently dabbed away the offending material. “Funny,” he added, looking down at it, “cleaning up silk with silk. I’ll mention it to Raymond later. I’m sure he’ll appreciate the irony.” Without another word, he left, leaving Gertrude standing beside her chair, dumbfounded.
Audio notes of Gertrude Robinson, August 4, 1997. A very productive day today, aside from this morning’s little interruption. I think I’ve finally got some details about the Watcher’s Crown. Obviously, it involves knowledge, but it seems to specifically require knowing all the other powers. I’m still working on the details of what that entails. It can’t just be about collecting statements from the victims of each power, else the Eye would have won a century ago. Perhaps a statement from a servant of each power rather than a victim? The Archives might not have all of those yet. Still, that doesn’t seem like enough. To truly Know the powers, one would… oh. Oh God.
4. Vast
“It surprises me that you’d suggest Italian for dinner, Simon.”
“And why is that?” The older man said this with a wheeze, not of age, but of rushing wind, as though falling through the sky.
“Oh, it’s not a comment on your taste, my friend. I’d just thought a buffet would be more your style. Endless food and all.”
Simon Fairchild laughed, and his laugh echoed across the open street in a way that was not entirely natural. “Well I can’t deny you’ve got the right idea, Elias. If I order something with enough sauce at Napoli’s though, I can have dessert with whatever poor soul cleans my plate!”
The two men walked down the street in silence for a minute. Simon Fairchild’s cane occasionally tapped against the sidewalk, but it hardly seemed to be providing any assistance. Sometimes, one man’s hand would brush against the other’s as they walked.
As they turned the corner and spotted their restaurant, the ground shuddered beneath them. Suddenly the rear window of the restaurant exploded outwards with a gout of smoke and flame. The street became a mass of confusion and shouting as the diners scurried outside. Through the shattered window, Elias could see one of the chefs trying to quench the flames. As the kitchen staff finally turned all the flame into smoke, and the siren of a fire truck could be heard in the distance, Simon spotted a hostess that he seemed to recognized and called over to her.
“What happened,” he said, feigning concern.
“Oh, Mister Fairchild, there was an explosion. A gas leak, we think. I’m so sorry, I know you had a reservation, but we will have to close for the night. No one is hurt, thank God, but the kitchen is ruined.”
“It’s quite all right, Theresa. You do what you need to here and then go get some rest. Do be careful on your way home. Wouldn’t want to trip and fall after all that, would you?”
“No, I… suppose not,” she said. She seemed rather more shaken as she left than when she approached.
Elias looked over to Simon. “Did you…?”
“I’ll be well-fed tonight regardless,” Simon answered. “Now, do you need anything? I’m sure someone in the crowd could use a watchful eye over their shoulder.”
Elias had a sudden thought, and Looked back at the ruined kitchen. Sure enough, a familiar older woman had visited the restaurant at lunch, and seemed to have taken an interesting detour on the way to the washroom.
“I’ve found I’ve rather lost my appetite. I believe I need to have a few words with my Archivist.”
Simon did take his hand now. “She’s likely already went home for the night. It can wait till morning, I’d think. Besides, I know a nice cozy place we can go instead.”
“By cozy, I assume you mean infinite and empty?”
“Well, yes. That is how I operate. I’ll help you breathe though. You’ll find there’s some very interesting things that can be done at terminal velocity.”
Audio notes of Gertrude Robinson, October 10, 1997. While I’m glad there weren’t any significant civilian injuries from my sabotage, it seems that it wasn’t enough to stop Elias from making his move on the Vast. Surprised he didn’t take the time to find someone other than Simon Fairchild though; spry as he may seem, the man must be nearly a hundred, assuming he isn’t some pseudo-immortal who’s even older than that. Four down though. I’m still not quite sure how Elias plans on making all this work, but it certainly seems like it would be in my best interests to stop him, let alone the rest of the world.
5. Desolation
When Gertrude saw Elias in the breakroom, she immediately could tell something was off, but it wasn’t until he gingerly turned to face her that she saw it – a scorched red handprint spread wide across his cheek and jawline.
“My God, Elias. You didn’t have the idiot thought to try and proposition Jude Perry, did you?”
“That wasn’t the intent, no, although you are prescient as always regarding the source of my injury, Gertrude,” Elias mumbled. He was quite difficult to understand, as he tried to speak without moving his jaw. “I meant to approach Miss Montague, but I was unfortunately unaware that the two shared a flat. Apparently, she was out for coffee when I arrived, and Miss Perry made it abundantly clear that I was not to call again.”
“Well you certainly seemed to have learned your lesson.”
“More or less, yes. There are always other options, though.” He reached into the freezer and pulled out several ice cubes, which he dropped into his coffee. “Perhaps he’ll take my marking as sufficient punishment.”
As soon as Elias left, Gertrude rushed back to her desk to find every note that she could on the Cult of the Lightless Flame. Her mind raced as she went through possible targets and tried to think of a way to destroy Elias’s shot. Obviously explosions wouldn’t work, that would be an aphrodisiac to them. Perhaps a simple well-placed fire extinguisher, or at least setting off the sprinklers in whatever building they happened to be in, assuming they had sprinklers. The people, though. Eugene Vanderstock wasn’t likely; he hardly left his hole underneath the furnaces, and even Elias couldn’t survive that. She didn’t have any recent information on Diego Molina, but her last intel seemed to suggest he would be back in Mexico for a while. That left Nolan. A bold choice, to be sure, but Elias clearly didn’t seem to mind boldness in this endeavor.
**
Gertrude came in yawning the next morning. She had spent most of the night watching Arthur Nolan’s building, but nothing seemed to have occurred. No Elias, no leaving at odd hours. Just a man reading a slightly singed newspaper while his neighbor called the repairman once more about the flat’s heating being broken.
She was just considering the possibility of buying a camera to leave nearby so she could be more comfortable tonight when she passed by Elias’s office. He wasn’t there, but on his desk was the largest bottle of aloe vera Gertrude had ever seen.
A door down the door thumped shut as Elias emerged from the washroom. “Oh, good morning Ger-“
“Molina,” she said coldly, glaring at him.
Elias started to rub his next almost sheepishly, but stopped with a wince as his hand touched his burnt cheek. “Observant as always. Lucky coincidence, actually. Arthur Nolan told me something else had come up, and then I just bumped into Diego at the bar. Didn’t even know he was back in the country. He can do some amazing things with a flaming shot.”
“Damn it all,” Gertrude muttered, stalking away. Elias chuckled behind him before stepping bowlegged back to his office.
Audio noted of Gertrude Robinson, December 16, 1997. It’s small solace to know that I guessed right. Assuming Elias wasn’t lying to me, watching Arthur Nolan shouldn’t have been a waste of time. I’ll definitely need to do more research in the future though; I was sure Molina wasn’t in the country. Really though, my greatest disappointment is simply the knowledge that Elias will be fine in just a couple days. I’d really like that handprint to scar, just as a reminder.
6. Spiral
Elias sat on the edge of his bed, steeling his nerves and trying to shake the dizziness from his mind. Even just a phone call with Gabriel had left him quite disorientated; if anything was going to shake his resolve in this tour de force, it was this. The sculptor had said he would send someone to pick him up, but had not specified any further. Elias was not sure he really wanted to find out. As the nausea relented long enough for him to stand, Elias took a few tottering steps and opened the door to the bathroom. A glass of water would help. After that he could call Gabriel back and tell him he would drive over himself.
He fumbled for the light switch, but it did not seem to be where he expected it to be. As his eyes adjusted to the semi-darkness of the room, much larger than it should have been, the yellow door closed behind him with a thud. The hallway stretched wide before him, twisting almost imperceptibly to the right.
Elias called out into the emptiness “I take it this is my ‘ride’?” There was no response. “You could have at least waited for me to get dressed properly. I’m still in my pajamas.”
A laugh echoed through the halls, bouncing off the walls and mirrors, or maybe emanating from them. It was utterly inhuman, and it echoed for several minutes, bouncing off of itself in a dizzying cacophony.
“Perhaps you are dressed. Do you really know?” The voice was just as inhuman, and lacked any discernible source.
“Don’t you start that with me,” Elias said. “I may not be able to See you, but I can see through that just fine. Now, are you going to bring me to Gabriel, or am I going to have to wander these corridors for the exit myself?”
“Wander away, Watcher. The Worker in Clay lies at the end of many paths.”
Elias turned to the door behind him, only to find another hallway. He sighed. “Will you at least tell me left or right?”
“Left?”
“Left?”
“Or Right?”
“Yes, which one?”
“Left, right?”
“One or the other, dammit!”
“Left.”
“Left, then.”
“Right!” It said this with as much glee as an inhuman disembodied voice could contain.
Elias groaned and spun around quickly several times, losing all sense of direction before going down a corridor at random. Sure enough, he found another door after less than five minutes of wandering. He took a deep breath, and knocked twice.
“Come iin,” a voice croaked. This voice was clearly human, at least a good deal more so than the one in the hallways, and was trying quite hard to sound sultry, although it wasn’t quite succeeding.
“What have I gotten myself into,” Elias muttered, opening the door.
Audio notes of Gertrude Robinson, February 24, 1998. Elias vanished for nearly a week, before appearing out of a door near artifact storage in his pajamas. The door definitely didn’t exist before he appeared, and I haven’t been able to find it since. Unfortunately I suspect this means he managed to find an agent of the Spiral for his schemes. I’m honestly surprised he found one human enough to do the deed with; the Spiral’s avatars tend to be a bit more… abstract than most.
7. Flesh
Gertrude had just finished packing up her notes for the evening when Elias entered her office. “Oh, good, you’re still here,” he said, with an air of false joviality.
As soon as she looked up, Gertrude was on edge. He was up to something, but she wasn’t sure what yet. “How can I help you, Elias?”
“I have a small favor to ask of you. If you could come to my office?”
Gertrude rose and slowly followed him out of the room and down the hall. Glancing back at the door, she wished she had grabbed something to defend herself, even if she did not yet know what she might need. The walk upstairs was quiet though, and Elias said nothing until he entered his office and crouched in front of the mini fridge.
Gertrude had just a moment to register that the rack of the refrigerator was sitting against the wall before Elias shouted “Catch!”
An archivist’s job was not an active one, but Gertrude had enough reflexes from stopping rituals around the world that she managed to catch the object hurtling at her head. It slapped against her hands wetly, and as she brought it down from eye level, she realized it was an entire raw chicken.
“Well, aren’t you going to throw it back?”
Gertrude stared at her boss, wishing her gaze could kill him on the spot, before tossing the chicken lightly back toward him. He threw it back almost immediately.
“Faster, please. I’m trying to get a feel for it.”
Gertrude suddenly realized what this was about. She summoned up her girlhood memories of playing softball and threw the chicken underhanded, hard. Elias caught it, half with his hands and half with his stomach. “You have a date,” she said as he wheezed. “Who?”
The phone rang again before Elias could answer. He paused a moment, considering, before setting the chicken down on top of the fridge. “That will be Maxwell again. He’s been so clingy since he got back to England a few weeks ago. He just won’t take no for an answer.” Gertrude chuckled, but Elias’s frown suddenly changed to an expression of interest as he picked up the phone.
“You know, Max, I think I’ve had a change of heart,” he said, cutting off the voice on the other end. “I am still busy tonight, but if you’re free on Saturday, I believe we can arrange something. Assuming, that is, that you can do me a small favor right now.” He closed his eyes. Gertrude braced, although against what she was not sure. “Can you See my office? Perfect. Could you close the blinds on Gertrude for a bit? Just an hour or so will do. Thank you ever so much.”
As Elias put the phone down the lights in the office seemed to wink out one by one. Before she could make it to the door she was engulfed in absolute darkness. She took a few more steps forward, hands out in search of the wall, but found only empty air.
“To answer your question, Gertrude, I’m seeing John Haan,” Elias’ voice said, floating through the void. He seemed to have picked up the chicken again, and was tossing it to himself with the occasional wet splat. “I’m going to see if there’s as much happening down there as he claims.” Splat. “Oh, right, you can’t see how many fingers I’m holding up. It’s three.” Splat. “Enjoy your evening!”
Gertrude swore as Elias’s footsteps faded away. She crouched, at least still able to find the floor. Chicken juices on his carpet wasn’t much revenge, but it was better than nothing.
Audio Notes of Gertrude Robinson, March 3 1998. That was not how I wanted to spend my evening. It was nearly ten before I managed to get out of that darkness, and that was only because I stubbed my toe on the desk and that seemed to break the spell. I can’t believe Rayner would help him like that. Of course, by the time I got out, there wasn’t no chance of disrupting Elias’ evening. I really hope he doesn’t come brag about it tomorrow if it turns out Haan’s boasting is true.
8. Corruption
Elias sat in his flat, going through the checklist he expected he would need for tonight. The medicine cabinet was stocked with every over-the-counter antibiotic he could find, a doctor’s appointment and cleaning crew had been arranged for tomorrow and generously overpaid, and the clothes he was wearing were nice, but would not be missed if he ended up having to burn them. Only thing left to do was steel his resolve. For that, he’d had a chat with one of the more… liberal postdocs using the Library’s resources.
He let the old instincts roll the joint for him, motions well practiced even if it had been years. The stuff he’d bought was good, very good, and only a little bit overpriced. The dealer had dropped his prices as soon as Elias made it clear that he knew what he was talking about. He flicked his lighter, the eye on the case seeming to blink as he did so. The first drag hit him with a rush of memories from a life long gone, before his exhalation pushed them back out with the smoke.
Half an hour and far more weed than he’d expected to need later, Elias felt like he was relaxed enough. He pushed himself forward and pulled the phone off its charger. The number he dialed rang for a long time, and for a moment Elias was worried that the man wouldn’t answer. Finally, he did. The voice was damp and sounded full of mucous. “John Amherst speaking.” He punctuated with a hacking cough.
“Heeey, John! Johnny my boy. It’s your old pal Elias! Listen, I know we’ve not been on the greatest of terms lately, but if you’re free tonight, I’d really, really like to make it up to you. What do you say?”
**
“Archives, Gertrude speaking.”
“Hello, Gertrude. Just wanted to let you know personally that I’m likely going to be out sick for a bit.” Elias sneezed loudly as though to emphasize the point.
“I was wondering where you were. You sound terrible. I didn’t think you even could get sick.”
Elias tried to chuckle, but all that came out was a wheeze. “Yes, well, when one courts the patron of filth, one should expect repercussions, no matter how much… protection one uses.”
He heard Gertrude swear violently before slamming down the phone. Elias laughed for a moment, then quickly got up to vomit again.
Audio notes of Gertrude Robinson, April 27 1998. Dammit! I had no information about any possible move on the Corruption. He’s over halfway done now. Still, if any power was going to blindside me in this damned game, I’m glad it was this one. At least Elias is getting his just desserts for a change. I can’t help but wonder what his poor doctor must have though when he came in carrying, I suspect, every sexually transmitted disease known to science.
9. End
Elias lay sprawled face down on the floor of his office, chest unmoving. Gertrude hurried in when she reached the door and saw him, trying to assess the situation. Had something attacked him? Did he do something to himself? Regardless, she needed him alive. His threats about being tied to him may not be true, but she wasn’t willing to test it.
She pressed her hand to his neck. His heart beat, but only faintly, a weak flutter. On his desk lay a bottle of sleeping pills, lid off and nearly empty. But that didn’t make any sense. Even if Elias wanted to kill himself, sleeping pills wouldn’t do it. His body would heal faster than the overdose could kill him.
As Gertrude turned him over to check his breathing, she noticed two things. First, while he did not seem to be breathing, Elias spoke, ever so quietly. As Gertrude leaned in, she made out a few words. “Oh, yes, don’t stop…”
Second, as she leaned down to hear him, she noticed that Elias had a rather noticeable erection.
“Oh, you bastard!!”
Gertrude leapt to her feet and ran out the door for the first aid kit, hoping there was something in it to bring Elias back. Adrenaline, a defibrillator, maybe even just a mallet to the head. As she ran back to the office clutching the case, Elias lurched up with a gasp.
“When they say they know every game, they bloody well mean it,” he wheezed, trying to steady himself as he sat on the carpet.
Gertrude dropped the first aid kit as she strode toward Elias and gave him a swift kick in the ribs. He fell back to the floor with a weak breath.
“What the hell was that for?” he gasped.
“For fucking a damned Reaper in the Archives, you horrible cretin!” She tried to kick him again, but Elias managed to largely fend her off.
“How else am I supposed to even find one other than near-death experiences?” Elias protested. “At least here you could pull me back if something went wrong. Would you prefer you died tonight if I tried it at home?”
“I’d rather you not try and end the world like this at all!”
Elias managed to laugh while deflecting kicks. “I honestly can’t tell if you’re more offended by the apocalypse or the impropriety.”
“Both!”
She managed to get another kick right into his gut, and left him where she found him, face down on the floor.
Audio notes of Gertrude Robinson, June 5 1998. I cannot believe that man. In his own office! I don’t care if it’s technically in an alternate dimension, it still probably warrants hazard pay of some kind from having to deal with it. Only a few left now. While I can say that it’s certainly not good for my blood pressure, being this close to done hopefully limits Elias’s options, and gives me more room to stop him since I can know where he’s going.
10. Buried
Elias knocked on the door to the dingy-looking lawyer’s office. The sign on the door read ‘Everhart and Strauss’. It had taken Elias quite a while to find any servants of the Buried in the area, but once he had, the email he’d received had been surprisingly positive. Strauss apparently spent his time “holed up” in his office, but Everhart was free Friday afternoon and had invited Elias to their offices.
The door swung open slowly. The office was nearly bare, a single clear desk against one of the walls with an old wooden chair, and nothing else. It was an interior office, without windows. The walls were stained from dripping water, and Elias had to sidestep several puddles formed from leaks in the ceiling as he walked inside.
“Hello? Mr. Everhart?”
“Please, call me Silas.” The man had appeared from a cramped door on the left. He was tall, rail thin, and looked as though he’d just gone swimming in his expensive suit. His shirt was plastered to his chest, and his long hair hung heavily onto his shoulders, dripping more water down onto the floor. It wasn’t a variation he’d expected, but Elias supposed that this way, should things go well today, he wouldn’t have to shower quite as much afterwards.
“Very glad to meet you in person, Silas.” Elias stepped forward to shake his hand. The taller man’s fingers wrapped around his wrist, encasing his hand as they shook. As they let go, Elias’s hand felt heavier, as though more than the dampness of Silas’s palm clung to it.
“I hear you’ve been on quite the tour de force of the local powers in the last year, Bouchard.”
“Elias, please. I suppose you could say that, yes. Dare I ask what you’ve heard?”
“Haan and Amherst tell some very interesting stories about their evenings with you. Quite happy with it, I think, but I can’t help but wonder if you have some ulterior motives. Can’t say I’ve ever understood the Eye, but this doesn’t seem quite in its wheelhouse.”
“Well I can’t deny that there’s a bit of… clinical interest, but it is largely for my own personal satisfaction. I think that…” Elias trailed off, as he noticed that the ceiling seems to have started dripping rather more than it had been earlier. As he watched one trickle, it suddenly burst into a gush of water as a hole broke in the ceiling. The water on the floor started to pool into a solid sheet as more water burst from above.
“Why, you didn’t tell me that you were going to set the mood so grandly,” Everhart said with a grin.
“I can’t take credit for it, unfortunately. I assumed you were doing it.”
Silas took a deep breath, and the water on the floor suddenly rose several inches. Elias stayed standing, noticing that none of the water seemed to be escaping through the front door.
“I didn’t start it, but now,” he took another deep breath, and the water rose again, this time to Elias’s knees. Silas stepped through the water toward him. His hand wrapped around Elias’s waist and pressed them together. “Now I find myself in quite the mood.”
“Ah. I see.” Elias was admittedly pleased at this development, but couldn’t help glancing around at the water, which was now rising even faster.
Silas cupped Elias’s chin with his free hand and lifted his face so their gazes met. “Don’t worry about that. As I’m sure you can imagine, I am very into breath play.”
Audio notes of Gertrude Robinson, September 17, 1998. I don’t have anyone to blame but myself for this one. When I followed Elias to that office, I couldn’t imagine what power might be operating as a lawyer. Lacking any proper tools to disrupt them, I stole a hose from the nearby fire department and hooked it up to the hydrant outside. Bad luck, really, that it ended up being the Buried. Might as well have left out chocolates and roses for them. I do need to be very careful going forward though. With so few left I can’t afford to make any mistakes like that again.
11. Slaughter
Gertrude paced around the edges of the shadowy bar, trying to spot her quarry. She knew she had seen Elias come down here, preceded only slightly by a man she was fairly sure was Alfred Grifter. If Grifter’s Bone was playing tonight, that would certainly be the time Elias made a move on the Slaughter. As the mediocre punk band currently on stage chugged noisily though their song, Gertrude scanned the faces in the crowd, ignoring all the poor fools in attendance who were likely about the experience the worst night of their lives. Or their last.
The song ended, and a few of the less sober patrons cheered and clapped. The band gave their thanks and started to pack up. No other bands were scheduled for the evening, so it was now or never for Grifter’s Bone. Gertrude stood by the door, watching the people mill about the room. She knew that even her abilities would not stop her being touched by the song if she stayed, so she was ready to make a quick exit. And yet, and the seconds turned into minutes and the band collected the last of their things, no one else appeared onstage. After a few more minutes, as the radio began to play over the speakers once more, Gertrude decided to make a move herself.
A few minutes and a small bribe later, Gertrude found herself in the narrow hallway behind the bar, where the bands brought in their equipment. To her left was a storage closet; to her right, a small green room, as the bar also hosted local playwrights on occasion. Gertrude pressed her ear to the green room door. She heard nothing, and very cautiously entered.
The room was a mess, with everything tossed around haphazardly and smears of red painted across the mirrors and floor. There was no way to tell what was blood and what was makeup. In one corner of the room, there lay a pile of clothes and instrument cases in a heap, nearly three feet tall. Partially in this pile sat two men, only heads and bare shoulders visible. One was Elias Bouchard, his face serene. The other appeared to be Alfred Grifter.
Grifter’s eyes darted between Gertrude and Elias as Gertrude froze in the doorway. “Well, well, well,” he said, his smile wide, toothy, and dripping blood. “Encore?”
Gertrude shut the door.
Audio notes of Gertrude Robinson, October 28 1998. I’m running out of time. I can’t afford to make these mistakes. I thought that Grifter would need to feed first, that there would need to be some bodies before anything happened. Now that I think of it, of course, there’s no way to tell if there was a body in that dressing room or not, with everything as messy as it was. He could have torn some poor soul to shreds in that room first. Only two left, Stranger and Hunt. There aren’t many Hunters about lately, so my leads on them should be good. Lots of mannequins about, with the preparations for the Unknowing underway, but there’s only so many who even have what Elias needs. Dennekin is the most likely in the area, but I’ll have to do more research. Don’t want to get sidelined again like I did with the Desolation.
12. Stranger
“What I’m saying is, this would be a mutually beneficial arrangement.”
The deliverymen stared blankly at him. Elias wasn’t sure if they were assessing his offer or just trying to unnerve him. The depot they stood in was empty save for a single, slightly rusted van. The door through which he had entered hung open, and the cold breeze that blew through it ruffled Elias’s hair
.
“Right. Explain this nonsense again, but slowly this time.” The words bounced between them. Elias still wasn’t sure which one called itself Breekon and which was Hope.
“Very well,” Elias said, with only a very small sigh. “For myself, I get knowledge. It’s a bit like making a Statement at the Institute, only much more… pleasurable for all parties. It’s a bit more direct than the usual methods, but the statements have been slow lately, so some of us must turn to slightly more active measures than normal.”
“And for us? What do we get out of this?”
“I suppose you get knowledge too, in a way. I know, I know, that isn’t how you usually operate, but having additional aspects of fear to use is always useful. When someone sees a man following them down a dark street, what do they fear? Theft? Murder? Bodily harm? I know you aren’t the executors of your delivery’s fear, only its harbingers, but how can you portend what you bring unless you know what it might entail?”
They stared at him once more, their flat caps only somewhat obscuring their lifeless eyes. Then they turned, looking at one another. They did not speak, but Elias knew they were discussing the matter, in the way that only twin beings birthed of a fear god can. They stared at each other for several long minutes, and Elias started regretting his decision to come to them. He should have gone after the organist instead. It would have been a risk, sure; the parts of Grimaldi in him might be the ones that still hated him, but they might not have, either.
“Yeah, alright then,” They suddenly said in unison. They started undoing their belts.
“Ah, good!” Elias glanced over his shoulder. “Not in the van, I hope? Who knows what’s been in there.”
“It’s full already. Last owner had a cot in the back. That’ll do, yeah?”
Elias took a deep breath, loosening his tie. “Yes, I suppose that will.”
Audio notes of Gertrude Robinson, January 6, 1999. Ugh. I was sure he would go after Dennekin! I’ve had the house staked out for a week, I know I saw Elias drive by it more than once, and then! He goes to the deliverymen! I don’t think they were ever even human. Does that even count? I don’t know anymore. All this work, and it feel like I haven’t been able to stop anything at all. There isn’t much left at all, but I have to try harder. Even if I can survive in a world that feeds the Eye, I’ll never be able to live with myself if this is how it comes about.
13. Beholding
Gertrude reached for the handle to Elias’s office, already starting to tell him about the information leak from the Archives that had just hit the burgeoning Internet. However, she instead found herself hitting the door as the knob failed to turn. The door was locked.
Gertrude paused a moment, then knocked on the door. “Elias, I know we don’t, well, see eye-to-eye on a lot of things, but I know you’ve heard about the leak already. We need to get ahead of this or no one will come in to give us statements but paranoid madmen, and that won’t go well for either of us. We need to decide what our, heh, statement will be for the press.”
The room was silent, even though Gertrude knew Elias was inside. “Answer me, Elias, please.” She leaned against the door and listened. For a moment she heard nothing, but then, there was a small moan.
He finally answered, his voice muffled through the door. “I’m a bit busy at the moment, Gertrude. Could you come back in, oh, ten minutes?”
“We need to have something to tell the press soon, or else-“ she paused, listening again.
“Are you MASTURBATING in there??”
“Well you’re certainly not going to help, and it feels better to include our own patron than not to!”
“But here? Why here, you disgusting man? No, don’t answer, I don’t want to know.” The information tried to press into her mind anyways, but she pushed it out. “I don’t want to Know either,” she said, looking up at the high ceilings of the hall. “Fine, deal with the fallout yourself. I’m going back to stopping you in other ways. I could break the door down, but stopping the end of the world isn’t worth having to see you with cock in hand.”
She stomped away, trying to force the pleasured exhalations she had heard out of her mind. As she turned the corner, she swore she heard him shout, “I appreciate that.”
Audio notes of Gertrude Robinson, March 26, 1999. Despite everything I’ve put up with in my years here, all the attacks, the manipulation, the Fears, nothing has made me wish that I could quit more than knowing Elias was pleasuring himself at work. The only good thing about all this is that, if he were actually as close to completing the Crown as I think, I would imagine that I would Know something about it. I am Head Archivist, after all. If the Eye were so close to remaking the world, I feel like I would be the first to be aware of it. Well, second. I’m still going to try and stop Elias from catching a Hunter, but maybe this mad plan won’t work after all. God, I need a drink.
14. Hunt
Audio notes of Gertrude Robinson, May 14, 1999. Elias returned this morning from wherever he disappeared to, looking rather disappointed. I had followed him for a while, but I don’t have the predator’s instincts, and his merry chase managed to shake me off. I’m not sure if his last target didn’t follow through, or if the result wasn’t what he wanted. Either way, I think that this crisis has been averted. My research doesn’t suggest any other appropriate Hunters nearby besides those in the local police force, and they’ve been well enough briefed about the Institute to avoid any… unnecessary interaction, I’d hope. I will have to keep a close eye out though; no matter how ill-conceived this plan may have been, at least that I can see, I know that Elias always has another plan or two brewing under the surface.
Elias Bouchard lay in bed in the dingy hotel room, half-smoked cigarette dangling from his lips. The old tramp snored loudly beside him. He suspected the hunter wouldn’t wake for a while after all that, no matter how keen his senses. It had taken nearly a month of chase, from Manchester, to London, and finally to Bournemouth, of all places, before he had pounced. Not to say it hadn’t been worth the wait. The scratches on his back had a pleasant sort of ache to them. He would admit, however, that he hadn’t expected the more… lupine aspects of the encounter.
Setting the cigarette in the ashtray, Elias slowly rose and got dressed. Trevor grunted once in his sleep as Elias’s belt buckle tapped against the table, but just turned and scratched himself before resuming his snoring. Elias left some cash for a bus back to Manchester on the dresser before stepping out into the cool morning air.
It was a beautiful day, clear and bright, but Elias couldn’t enjoy it. He had gone through every power, and everything felt the same. He didn’t expect to suddenly ascend into the Eye at the moment of completion, but he had at least hoped he would know how to proceed from here. But there was nothing. Perhaps all at once, he mused idly, but he knew it wasn’t a serious thought. Even if he could persuade them all to come to the Institute on the same evening, stopping them from trying to kill one another on sight would be nearly impossible. He’d more than likely end up with a dozen dead bodies and half the Archives destroyed. No, he needed a new plan, even if the satisfaction wasn’t as… immediate.
It was at this time that a boy ran into Elias on the street. Elias, lost in his thoughts, hadn’t even noticed him walking toward him, and judging from the heavy book in his hand, the boy hadn’t been paying attention either. The child was eleven or so, and gangly, already nearly as tall as Elias, with heavy glasses and a small streak of gray already worming its way into his hair.
“I’m sorry mister,” the boy mumbled.
“It’s quite alright. Are you lost?” Elias didn’t see any adults that might be responsible for the boy nearby.
“No, my grandma’s in the shop over there. Just running some errands before school.”
As Elias took a proper look at the boy, he felt something. Gazing past the real, he could see the threads of Web on him, still clinging from some event years before, but beyond that, he saw a hunger. A desire to Know. To See. He offered his hand. “My name is Elias Bouchard. What’s your name, young man?”
“Uh… Jon. Jonathan Sims.” He carefully took Elias’s hand and shook it. His other hand still carefully held his place in the book.
“Do you and your grandmother ever visit London?”
“Not often, no. Couple of times per year. Why?”
Elias pulled a small card from his jacket pocket, emblazoned with a stylized green eye. “I run an organization known as the Magnus Institute. If you ever find yourself in London, give me a call and I’ll give you and your grandmother a tour. I have a feeling you would find yourself quite at home there.”
Jon cautiously took the card, slotting it into his book in place of his finger. “Um, thanks, I guess. I’ve got to be going.” With that he turned and left, ducking into the bakery a few shops down the road. Elias watched him for a minute through the card before turning himself toward his car. It would be several years at least before this new plan came to fruition, but he could wait. In the meantime, perhaps Peter could still find some time to spare.