I Kill Monsters: Fury (Book 1) (21 page)

“It’s not so much like it’s a question but…”
Boone tried to put his concern into words. “It’s more like a dream
I been having.
Dreams
.”

“These dreams bothering you enough for you to
ask me about them.”

“Shit, nothing bothers m—yeah, alright, I
guess they do.”

“Tell me about them then,” invited the old
man.

“I see this guy on his back on a beach. Thing
is, this beach—there must have been some crazy battle there.
Everything’s burnt and black. There’s bodies in armor everywhere,
but they ain’t bodies—they’re bones. I mean, like entire skeletal
systems and parts of them scattered all about…and this guy? He’s on
top of them.”

“What kind of armor? Kevlar?”

“No, I mean like, antiquated shit. Like, not
even medieval shit.
Real
old shit. Roman or something, I
don’t know.”

The old man prodded. “Go on.”

“The sky’s all black except for the sun. And
that sun, Blind, it’s red, crimson, like blood. Something big and
nasty rises up, spreads its wings, covers it up…”

“And then?”

“And then nothing. That’s it. That’s the
dream.”

“You been reading too much Terry Brooks.” The
old man shook his head.

“Who?”

“Forget it.” He picked up the cards on the
table and laid them down one at a time, forming three separate
piles. Boone turned in his chair and leaned back against the fence,
the chain link sagging behind him. He watched the ballers while the
old man laid the first pile on the second, then that larger pile on
the third. An ambulance or police siren screamed by somewhere in
the distance.

“You know,” said the old man, “the thing
about sacred geometry,” he referred to the cards as he shuffled and
cut, “this shit been ordering our lives in all aspects, from
architecture to art.” As he spoke he dealt out six cards, face
down. “Math everywhere, you understand? Music, light, the stars,
our bodies. Look at those buildings out there,” he nodded his head
off towards the skyscrapers. “Lot of math went into those
suckas.

“So, what we got here, is a man worried—”

“I don’t know about ‘worried’—” Boone tried
to interrupt but the old man talked right over him.

“—man worried about a dream plaguing him. And
in the dream he see another man, don’t know it himself or someone
else, right? And this man lying there, but he ain’t dead right? And
he lying there on top of all these other dead motherfuckas under a
dead sky with a bleeding sun.”

“I didn’t say the sun was bleeding,”
corrected Boone. “I said the sun was like blood red.”

“Querant ain’t supposed to interrupt the
diviner, Mojo.” The old man shook his head. “And then this
dragon-like thing kind of rises up and blocks out that sun and the
dreams over. Like that.”

Boone didn’t say a word.

The old man reached out and turned the cards
over, then turned in his own seat so that his back was to the fence
again.

“Read ‘em to me, Mojo. And tell me which ones
upside down”

Boone looked at the cards and read the title
of each out loud. Some of them were reversed, upside down. When he
was done the old man nodded.

“The first card—the dodecagram
reversed—that’s the twelve-sided polygram. Man’s worried, don’t
know what he’s caught up in but knows enough to know he’s in over
his head. More goin’ on than a man can see, see? Man been having
these crazy-ass dreams—” he nodded towards the second card, “the
spiral, signifyin’ an unfoldin’. You’re in the beginnin’ of a
process, Mojo, somethin’ too early for you to really understan’,
but somethin’ gonna play out one way or another. The patterns of
your future? They gonna unfold on they own. You can’t rush ‘em.
Gotta be patient, no matter what that cost you. Understan’ me?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, launching
himself into the third and fourth cards. “That man on the beach,
the line reversed, meanin’ separation. You or he done things, acted
in a way that events are playin’ out roun’ you—again, whether you
know it or not. And you, or this guy, you gonna have to let go of
things in life because of what been done, dig? Growth got a price
tag. Always do.

“But then there’s this, right?” the old black
man referred to the fourth card, which was blank. “Card unmarked,
upright. Means
potential
. Your situation is open, even
though that sky is dark.”

“If I’m caught up in something bigger than
me,” Boone wanted to know, “then how’s my future open?”

“Because there’s always volition, Mojo. Even
when your back’s to the wall, you can always choose. What most
important for your future? For any man’s? The decision he make in
the here and now. Get it?”

The old man nodded towards the fifth card
without looking at it. The card depicted two triangles of different
sizes joined at one end. “Discontinuous proportion, the bleeding
sun. Means they’s things goin’ down roun’ you, goin’ on
for
you, that’re tied to other factors you ain’ even begin to consider.
Shit you ain’ even ‘ware of. Means come correct and pay attention,
keep them eyes and ears open. Don’t miss the details. Sometimes,
Mojo, it’s them little things like that, the key to all the big
shit ‘round us.”

The basketball game had broken up and the men
playing dispersed. One walked past where Boone and the old man sat,
craning his neck to see the cards on the table. Boone, hulking in
his flannel, his calves bulging between his work boots and cut off
shorts, glowered and the guy picked up his step.

“The final card,” the old man said. “The
octogram, stands fo’ cooperation. That winged thing in your dream’s
sky? Sometimes you gotta work with others. A thing too big for one
man alone. Sometimes when we walkin’, the key to the next step is
another person, get me?”

“I heard every word you said, but I don’t
know…it still sounds like a bunch of bullshit to me.”

The old man sighed, resigned to the younger
man’s skepticism. “Call it what you want,
you
the
motherfucka’ asked
me
about the cards. But do you well to
remember, jus’ cause you don’ believe in somethin’, don’ mean
somethin’ don’ believe in you. Hear me?”

“No, not really,” Boone looked to the sky.
“What you got for me on that other thing I called you about
earlier?”

The old man was collecting his cards. “What
you know about
chthonios
, Mojo?”

“I know I can’t even pronounce that shit.
That’s all I know.”

“Somebody wasn’t paying attention in school
when they were discussing mythology.” The old man shook his head
behind his shades. “Comes from the Greek. Means
under
or
in
or
from
the earth. Jung talkin’ ‘bout man’s
‘chthonic spirit’, said lust, envy, deceit, all these vices dark
aspects of our unconscious. Could realize itself in one of two
ways. The positive way, its what animates you and me and the birds
and the bees and all that shit ‘roun us.”

“But we’re not here to talk about the
positive way, are we old man?”

“Nah, we’re not.” The old man slipped his
cards back inside his jacket. “Negative manifestation, it’s a
spirit of evil, intent on destruction. What do you think about
that?”

“Jung huh?” thought Boone. “I don’t believe
in psychoanalysis or any other bullshit religions.”

The old man ignored him. “You ever heard of
Erinyes
?
Eumenides
?”

“
Eumenides
a philosopher or some
shit?”

“No. In Greek myth they were called
Eumenides
or the
Erinyes
. You might have heard their
name in Roman myth, though.
Furies
.”

“Heard of ‘em,” admitted Boone. “But don’t
know shit about ‘em. Aren’t they some kind of harpy or some
shit?”

“No, the harpies were ugly bird-women
bitches, daughters of Electra and Thaumas. The harpies were the
ones stole the food from Phineas’ buffet, shit on the rest and
stuff so he couldn’t eat it.”

“I have no idea what you’re talkin’ about,
but okay.”

“The furies were chthonic goddesses, avengers
Mojo. When Cronos cut his father Uranus’ dick off and threw it in
the ocean, the furies emerged from the blood.”

“Crazy story.”

“Yeah,” the old man acceded. “There were at
least three that Virgil wrote about. The one I think we should be
talking about here is Tisiphone. Know what her name means?”

Boone shrugged.

“‘Avenging murder.’ How you like that? Other
story holds Tisiphone and her sisters came out of
Nyx
, out
of the night.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You don’t see where I’m going with this, do
you?”

“Honestly? I have no clue old man.”

“You know what furies were supposed to look
like?”

“Tell me.”

“Sometimes they would bleed from their eyes.
Sometimes they wore black cloaks soaked in blood, wielded a whip
made out of scorpions—”

“Scorpions? No shit…”

“—sometimes they had the body of a dog.
Sometimes the wings of a bat or a bird.”

“Wings, huh?”

“Wings. Know what wings got?”

“Feathers.”

“Exactly. Other times, they looked like
normal, good lookin’ women. Oh yeah, and sometimes they had snakes
in their hair, real gorgon-like shit.”

“Great.”

“So what do you think?”

“What do I think?” Boone repeated the old
man’s question. “Why, because some underground assholes have gotten
themselves killed in the last coupla’ weeks and there were some
feathers around? That’s gotta be furies—that what you sayin’?”

“Could be,” surmised the old man. “Then
again, could not be too.”

“Right. Furies. That’s like, that’s like
Greek myth shit is what that is.”

“Greek and Roman. That’s what that is.”

“Right.” Boone shook his head.

“Unbelievable?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Think about this world we live in Mojo,” the
old man invited him. “You and me, we privy to things other people
wouldn’t believe. Am I right about that?”

“Yeah, you right. But…let me ask you this.
These furies, can they fly?”

“I’d think so,” the old man conjectured.
“They got wings.”

“So how do you kill a fury?”

“That’s not one ‘a the questions you should
be askin’.”

“Okay. What’re the questions I should be
askin’.”

“There’s two. One, if this is a fury we’re
talkin’ about, why she killin’? Who done her wrong, Mojo?”

“And we assume someone did her wrong
because
?”

“Because, like I said, there were three
furies Virgil wrote about. Tisiphone, Alecto, and Megaera. Magaera
all ‘bout envy and jealousy. Cheat on your wife, Magaera would come
and get you. Alecto, she all on anger and castigation.”

“Castigation? I didn’t do so well on my SATs,
Blind.”

“
Castigation
is punishment, boy, get
it? And the punishment don’ just have to be physical, to the body,
alright? It can be moral. But that’s not what I think we’s dealin’
wit’ here…”

Boone sat quietly, letting the older man say
what he had to say.

“Now, Tisiphone, she all ‘bout punishing
murder. In the myths, you kill, you deal with her.”

“Okay, Blind, let’s say maybe there’s
something to what you’re sayin’, and you’re not just some old crazy
fuck sittin’ in a park with a jacket on when its ninety degrees.
Then why Tisiphone and not Alecto? You didn’t see what was done to
those bodies…”

“Alecto is uncontrollable. She’s anger let
loose, son. White rage. You can’t
control
blind rage. But
Tisiphone, she got a
purpose
. She punishing specific
individuals.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, find out what wrong was done to
her, you’ll find out why she out there killin’.”

“I gotta be honest with ya’, Blind. I don’t
give a fuck about understandin’ her motivation.”

“Then here’s somethin’ you should give a damn
about boy. ‘member I said there were two questions you should
concern your thick headed ass with? Well, why’s the Sisterhood
lookin’ for her?”

Boone thought about it and nodded, “Yeah, why
is that?”

“I’m a’ assume you never heard of Gaia?”

“The earth goddess?”

“Damn,” a begrudging smile spread on the old
man’s face. “Just when I’m thinkin’ your ignorance is approaching
new levels, you surprise me and make me rethink my
assumptions.”

“Just cause I don’t know what
castigation
means don’t mean I’m completely stupid.”

“Gaia’s the earth mother, what we
twentieth-century motherfuckas refer to as ‘mother nature’.”

“And the furies are Chthonic demons.” Boone
spied a connection.

“‘Of the earth.’ Exactly. Now you gettin’
it.”

“What’s the Sisterhood want with an ancient
demon?”

“I don’t have the answer to that question.
But I don’t think they want to kill her.”

“Okay. I’ll bite. Why not?”

“I’m being straight with you here, boy. I
don’t know. Only thing I can think is that Cronos is a son of Gaia,
and the furies come about when Cronos—”

“—when Cronos castrated his father,” Boone
finished the thought. “Yeah, you told me that. Blind, let me ask
you this. Why’d Cronos cut off his father’s dick?”

“Because his mother asked him too. His mother
asked all the titans—Cronos and his brothers—to do the deed. Hell,
she made the sickle herself. But only Cronos stepped up.”

“Why’d Gaia want to maim her husband?”

“Uranus was a motherfucka,” the old man waved
his hand dismissively. “He took her youngest children and hid them
from her. That’s why.”

“That’s fucked up.”

“That’s exactly what that is.”

Boone’s pager vibrated and he unclipped it
from his shorts, looked at it. Gossitch’s number.

“So, let’s say there’s any truth to what
you’re sayin’ here,” he clipped the pager back in place. “What
would you say I should do?”