Chapter 19: The Emperor

‘All good things come in threes,’ thinks Nick, picturing the men of the Rhyner family. The drive back was long and did a number on his lower back and neck. He massages them while standing in the line at the cash register. The harsh white light of the convenience store buzzes and hums above him. He squints and massages the base of his skull, his father’s words sitting uncomfortably in every fold of his brain. His nasty tone still scrapes against the inside of Nick’s bones.

Three people are in front of him. Two men in dark coats and a teenage boy, dressed in a black hoodie and big jeans. The two men are talking about “Eric”, a popular piece of PNCD jargon for Spirits-slash-Etheric Threats. Nick understands these two are freshly promoted Senior Investigators, thinking that everybody around them is too dumb to understand what they are talking about. They don’t pay the teenager in front of them any mind. Nick looks over one of the men’s shoulder to see how much longer this will take.

The teenager pays for a candy bar but he leans in and begins whispering something to the cashier. Nick notices the two men stop talking and begin looking at the teenager. The clerk nods at the teenager with glossed-over eyes. He hands the teenager two more candy bars without ringing them up.

“Hey, I know this kid,” whispers one of the Investigators, the taller one. “He’s one of them.”

As the teenager turns around and spots the three men look at him, with a look of recognition on their faces. Somehow they all know he’s not human. He recognizes the tall man.

“Santosh.” The tall man says, remembering his name. The kid stares at him and squeezes past him, hoping they won’t follow him out the door. Nick watches the two men follow him out, forgetting whatever they came to the store for. Nick sees the door close behind them.

Nick sucks his teeth and bites his lip. He buys a pack of cheap cigarettes and some water. The clerk blinks and shakes off what Santosh did to him. Nick thinks of the teen and hopes he’s ok. Those two men didn’t look like the “good samaritan” types. Nick reassures himself that he’s ok. Nick knows, though. He knows exactly what’s going to happen. He’s seen it happen before. Senior Investigators prowling around Myth neighborhoods, acting like thugs, terrorizing families just trying to get by. These past two years living as a weapon, this has all been out of sight, out of mind. Nick gets that itch he always gets. He tries to suppress it; he has better things to worry about. It’s not his problem.

He exits the store and lights a cigarette, washing it down with the water. He walks to the van and on the way sees the alley to his left. Twenty feet away and behind a dumpster, he sees the two men standing, facing the brick wall. Nick smokes his cigarette, noticing one of the men kick at something.

“Not your circus, not your monkeys.” Nick says. “Not your circus, not your monkeys.” He watches them kick and curse. “Not your circus…” He exhales smoke and rubs his eyes before entering the alley. An itch Nick has not had to deal with in two years comes back. This itch makes his body disobey. On this rare occasion, for the first time ever, Nick does not order his body to stand down. He goes all in.

As he approaches he sees what he expected: these two thugs kicking the teen. The one who recognized him is doing most of the damage. Tall and broad-shouldered. Ex-military probably. Holds himself that way, at least. His partner is wiry, more of the stereotypical Etheric Control Sector type.

“I thought I told you, Santosh— if I ever see you act up, I wouldn’t be taking it easy on you.” One of them says in between kicks, speaking through heavy breathing. “Looks like I’m gonna have to pay your sister a visit-“

“Hey.” Nick says, hands in pockets. He ashes his cigarette, standing in front of the pair. They stop kicking the teen and turn to Nick.

“Guy from the store.” One of them says to the other. “Why don’t you turn around and walk away, asshole. This has nothing to do with you.”

“I thought so too,” Nick shrugs. “But I really need something like this, right now.” Nick approaches. “So please don’t leave the kid alone.”

The big man laughs. “Some crazy motherfu-“ He gets out only half before being hit with a flying knee to the stomach. The man’s wiry partner is shocked at the explosive speed of this unassuming man. Before the partner can react, Nick grabs his head and forces a clinch, throwing knees to his ribs. He sweeps the skinny man’s legs while his large partner is still on the ground.

The skinny man falls, letting Nick rain down three punches to the man’s jaw. The punches land without sound except a wet thud. Nick’s hand feels raw, like a thousand volts shooting through his marrow. The spirit of Johan Rhyner seeps out like poison, a gift from Nick to this poor sap who decided to bully a defenseless kid. Nick feels more momentum with each hit. The teenager watches, frozen in place, as this stranger pummels the man like an angry ape. Nick turns around in time to get clocked by a wound-up hook from the right. ‘Idiot’ Nick thinks. He should have turned around earlier. Nick jumps to his feet, his eye swelling already. The man towers over him, big hands to go with a big body.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” The big guy asks as he looks at his partner’s red and purple face.

“Nothing.” Nick reaches for the back of his belt. He quietly unsheathes the small curved blade and keeps it hidden. Rule #1 of the Romeo playbook: Never fight fair. The man throws two telegraphed punches, Nick slips under one and blocks the other. An opening presents itself in the form of the big man opening his palm to try to grab Nick. In a split second the fight pivots and the man has a dumb look on his face. He looks at a thick curved blade sticking through his hand. Nick knees him once more in the stomach and, with the remaining edge of the knife, pins the man’s hand to his shoulder.

“Oops.” Nick says, now pressing on the man’s throat with his forearm. Every time the man resists, Nick twists the ligaments of his hand like cheap cable.

“You got no idea who we are, asshole.”

“I do, pal. I really do.” Nick looks deep into his eyes. Dispassionate lines run down Nick’s face, made deeper yet by the shade of the alley. The light cannot touch them at all. Civilians walk in the streets, none the wiser of the violence happening here. Nick savors the feeling of pinning one of these hobby-hunters and showing them how it’s done.

Nick looks at the teen, then at the man. “I heard what you told him. If you even think about touching anyone in my neighborhood, I’ll pay YOUR family a visit. And I’m a lot more sadistic than you, believe me.” Nick cautiously takes the man’s wallet from his jacket and takes his driver’s license.

“What the hell, man?” The man asks, his voice shaky.

Nick feels a primal voice come from his mouth. He channels something he cannot describe. “This is my city. And no thug with a badge is gonna harass the people of my city.” Nick looks at the license. “Got it, Markus Travis Bingham?”

The man offers a weak head nod. The consequences of what he just did are so numerous to Nick that he stops considering them. His face is all these men have to go on. And considering Nick knows one of them and they don’t know him puts his mind at ease.

“Good.” Nick looks at the teen. “C’mon, kid.”

The two leave the men in the alley. They turn and cross the street, Nick looking over his shoulder, making sure they don’t want round two.

“You alright?” Nick finally asks. “Santosh, right?”

The kid sobs and nods. Under his hood is a bruised and beaten face, a yellowing around the eye mixed with purple puffiness. Nick’s eye is also swelling quickly. The two stand in the busy night street, bonded by matching eye wounds and a hatred for the Panics. Nick sees a different anger on Santosh’s face, however.

“I’m okay, mister.” He sobs, wincing, taking mental stock of his new injuries. “You didn’t have to do that. He’ll come to us as soon as he can.” Nick recognizes it. Santosh cannot fight back. What Nick did in that alley, so many Mythic men and women wish they could do for their children. Yet, they cannot fight back. They have been taught not to fight back.

Like clockwork, like something deep down has been wound back into sync inside of him, Nick realizes a great terrible truth. This is his city. These thugs he used to work with hurt people. Innocent people. They dress it up as something. It no longer matters to Nick what justification they use. Legal, moral, biological. A bitter-sour mix of anger and sadness at all the wasted time. Nick nearly chokes when he realizes how much he has missed being on the right side.

Inside him is a seed of something that is not yet ready to come out. If some thug ever threatens the people of this fine city, he’ll show them exactly what he does and why he does it so well. He is prepared to be the city’s monster.

“I won’t let that happen.” Nick blurts out before he can believe it.

Santosh laughs and sobs. He turns around to walk away. After taking two steps, he comes back to hug Nick. “Thanks, mister.”

Nick feels lost, not knowing where to place his hands. He pats the boy on the back. “Go home, kid. Keep your family safe.”

An hour later, Nick finds himself at a bar, for no discernible reason. Sitting at a barstool and hovering over a gin and tonic he ordered himself. It’s a quiet night; Monday, Nick thinks it is. He could be wrong. The bartender, an older woman with wispy blonde hair, looks curiously at Nick. A man with a black eye walks in and orders a drink just to stare at it. The tiny glassy bubbles of the tonic find their way from under the ice cubes and rush to the top. Nick holds the cold glass to his eye, feeling the condensation running down his cheek.

All he wanted was a pack of smokes and some water after a long drive.

He thinks of the past few weeks. The sheer idiocy of what he just pulled in that alley begins to sink in. He sets the drink right back in its ring of condensation on the lacquered wood. He stares into pure white bliss. He can imagine the taste. The herby, juniper notes of the gin, the refreshing tonic. He knows what that first sip will bring, at least he thinks he knows. Maybe he is a different man. But that is what scares him, that he is different.

“Who gave you the shiner?” The bartender asks in a croaky voice.

“Oh this?” Nick points to his eye. “Recreational hazard.”

“I’d hate to see your occupational ones.”

“Yeah, those are worse.”

“Cop?” She asks. Nick thinks for a bit.

“Detective.”
“Really nursing that drink, detective.”

“I’m sober.” Nick admits.

“You came to the wrong place.”

He rests his elbows at the bar. “Case I’m working has me stumped.” He says, only to notice the bartender already serving another client. “Right…”

His mind moves to the case, to Project Orpheus. Who could have possibly found out about this top secret project? Who, if not Clara? She spent a lot of time with Tanzer. He must have started to lose it near the end, maybe he blabbed to her specifically. Maybe Clara told Naomi, then disappears; Naomi pieced enough together to go and kill Tanzer in retaliation. That still does not explain the dossier containing Project Orpheus being missing. Why would Naomi steal that?

These things do not add up. Nick feels like he is shooting in the dark.

He licks his lips, eyeing the drink. His attention shifts to the tv in the upper corner. Curtis Jensen— founder and CEO of Pharyx Pharmaceuticals— is hosting a lavish birthday party on his own compound on an island near Crete. A veritable who’s-who of the ultra-rich and famous. The movie star who exclusively dates girls young enough to be his daughter. The handsy movie director(s), the man-child plagiarist billionaire colleague.

Nick thinks out loud, wiped out from the long drive and fight he was just in. “I wonder what they got him. Another yacht?”

The bartender comes over to him, looking at the tv over her shoulder. She chuckles, making nice with the client with the black eye.

“Yeah… What do you get for the man who has everything?” The words send a ripple in Nick’s mind.

His mind churns at what she says. He plays with the glass with a pensive frown, all before his eyes go wide. One clarifying thunder clap clears his clouded mind.

“Holy crap.” Nick pays for the drink and rushes out the door, jogging to the van.

Anton could watch every single person in this room burn and all he would feel is discomfort from the heat. The lavish dining hall is ablaze with crisp yellow light, refracted through so many crystals in the chandeliers. Caterers bring the champagne from table to table. The people standing at these tables talk amongst themselves, about nothing in particular, Anton thinks. He watches it all from the small podium, listening to Deputy Director Vanderhye address the various Heads of Departments. He spots Holbrook standing in the shaded back of the room, not paying attention.

All Anton can hear is a constant ringing in his ears. He thinks of Tanzer. The lie they made up this time is that he is taking a trip to Los Angeles to visit the country’s second biggest branch. Anton thinks of the dead director’s journal.

I will be forgiven and understood.

Anton gets that itch he always gets. An itch deep inside him, telling him he can have an effect on the outcome of events. It’s a little devil he’s had sitting in his head since childhood. He wouldn’t ever part with it. Tonight, this little devil stirs something fierce. Vanderhye says something that prompts clapping from the room. Anton smiles and claps, looking to Vanderhye and the other higher-ups, above Anton on the podium.

No matter what brand of suit he wears or what Swiss watch is on his wrist, Anton will always be the son of an Archivist. A nobody. A brother and son of traitors. A prodigy from a family of rats. What does that make him? Mom would understand this gaping wound in his chest. He’d be able to tell her exactly what their father did to them… to him. She’d hold him close and tell him everything is alright. Anton closes his eyes and imagines it. He can nearly feel her silky hair on his shoulder as she caresses his head.

Following Vanderhye’s address is a memorial for Elvira Xhetani. Some pleasant words are said by the Overseer of the Mag-Anthro Department, Howard van Klees. A smarmy man that is not rare on this level in the hierarchy; short of stature, long of tongue. His thick hair-comb-mustache shines like vinyl under the stage lights. He talks about her as a boss, a person, and various other formalities. People clap, pretending to care. The widower, someone Anton vaguely recognizes, stands and leaves shortly before the start. He looked sad.

After the speeches and pleasantries are done, everyone floats about the room, shaking hands and patting backs. Anton knows he’ll come home to an empty apartment, but in this room of people, he feels more alone than ever.

“Tony!” the Overseer of the Mag-Anthro Department calls out. Anton has repeatedly told him, and others, that his name is Anton.

“Howard.” Anton offers a dead-eyed smile as he shakes the man’s hand. Today of all days he cares very little about anything. He exists only in his own mind right now, everything else is illusion.

“So sorry to hear about you and Katherine. Just tragic.”

Anton had only told a few people about his impending divorce, and even then it was out of necessity. “Oh, it’s quite alright, Howard. We press on.”

“That we do, my boy. Say, isn’t the old man joining us?” Howard asks, by now Anton can see Vanderhye conclude a conversation across the room and walk towards them, barely containing his worry.

“Horrible what happened to Elvira, huh?” Anton asks Howard while Vanderhye still has not arrived.

Howard pats at his forehead with a handkerchief. “Appalling. To think things like this could happen. I thought we left these things behind in the 90’s. You don’t know how this could’ve…”

Anton turns to look at Howard. “You know I can’t disclose-“

Howard waves his hand hurriedly. “Of course, of course. But if you have any leads, do let me know. These horrible things cannot go unpunished. You have to understand, she was MY director, Tony. Mag-Anthro is like family, after all.” The word family slithers down Anton’s back like a millipede. His jaw clenches. He imagines an image of his thumbs digging into Howard’s eye sockets as he screams bloody murder.

“Of course.” Anton shakes Howard’s hand.

“Because I know how to treat my friends well. I know a lot of good divorce lawyers.” He begins walking away before turning around. “Could make this whole headache go away.”

Anton waves him off. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Vanderhye finally arrives, no longer able to stop sweating. “Rhyner, you better have some good news. I’m sweating like a hooker in church.” He fidgets in his suit while keeping a grin to greet passersby. He shakes hands on occasions, offering a “How’re you doing?” Before turning back to Anton with the same tense face.

“We’re making progress.”

He adjusts his collar and fixes his hair. His dyed black hair, his lip filler, and ugly watch make Anton queasy. His obnoxious cologne stinks when mixed with sweat.

“You said that already, give me something real. Concrete that I can offer the Board.”

“It’s not a linear progress, Bob. I don’t do well with micromanagement. Let me figure this mess out and then I’ll have a full report.” The two men look around, realizing the walls have ears. They step out of the grand dining hall, Anton finally breathing some air. The grand sign of the Xenia Hotel shines through the grand glass walls in the front of the building. They take the elevator to the third floor. In a conference room, Vanderhye finally lets go of the public face.

He jitters and raises his voice, scratching at his temple and neck.

“Rhyner, you better stop playing games. Tell me right fucking now what’s going on.”

Anton sighs and sits on the conference table. “We uncovered something called Project Orpheus.”

“Great, what the fuck is that?”

Anton fills Vanderhye in, enough to give him the hope of progress. He omits what the project is. Just that Tanzer was an Archivist, making fools of them all for years. Anton is very careful with the information, allowing it to Vanderhye instead of relaying.

After that reveal, Vanderhye can only slump in a chair at the head of the table. Anton picking at his nail, looks down at him. “You see, Bob? Progress.”

“This whole thing has gone too far.”

“What?”

“I’m letting the Board handle this.”

“The Board won’t find the person responsible. They’re still out there. All the Board cares about is the bottom line.”

Vanderhye sits up in his chair, a line of anger written on his face. “What do you care about, huh? Justice? For some Archive piece of shit who’s been taking us all for a ride?” His face is cherry red, his eyes are hiding a deep violence. Anton sees it. “Made a pretty big idiot out of you, Rhyner.”

“I’m aware.”

“Yeah. So help me bring this up further up the chain. So we can put this mess behind us.” He begins to stand from the chair but Anton stands over him. He looks up at Anton in confusion.

“Not yet. If we let this investigation go, the progress we’ve made will mean nothing.”

“You’re willing to-“

“This is field work. I wouldn’t expect you to understand. There are internal threats at work, and if we don’t weed them out right now they will persist and dig even further. You think letting the Board know how incompetent we are at doing our jobs will work out well for us? For you? I can promise you I won’t mince words about who let this threat get out of hand.”

Vanderhye pushes back and stands, coming face to face with Anton. “You have three days. After that, I have my meeting with the Board.” He clenches a fist and turns to the door. He opens and closes it.

“Rhyner, don’t ever fucking threaten me again. I’m friends with the people who put you where you are.”

“I wouldn’t call us friends, Bobby.” Anton nearly chuckles at how much he reminds himself of Nick right now. He stands in front of Vanderhye with his hands in his pockets, smiling to himself.

“I’m not joking. If you screw with me, I won’t hesitate to put you down. You’ll be lucky to work the printer room by the time I’m done with you.”

With that he leaves. Anton stands against the glass wall, his eyes following Vanderhye as he takes the elevator down.

“Put me down, huh?” Anton asks, as an idea begins to take root in his mind.

After a few minutes of peace on the upper floor of the hotel, Anton decides to come back down.

Back inside the dining hall, with its dim lights and caterers carrying trays of hors d’oeuvres, Anton moves between groups of officials. He hopes that maybe he can do what Nick can, miraculously stumble upon the solution.

He spots Holbrook sitting alone at the table, her empty gaze fixed to the high ceiling.

“Not your scene?” Anton says as he pulls up a chair next to her.

“This is the other brother I’m speaking to right? I knew I’d speak to one of you tonight, I just didn’t know which one.” Holbrook smiles in Anton’s direction. She wrangled her unruly hair into a ponytail as best as she could.

“Anton.” He shakes her hand. “Rhyner.”

“Ah, the rising star.” She says.

“Word gets around.”

“Tanzer wasn’t exactly secretive about who his favorites are. Even us in the Premonitions Department hear your name tossed around.” She sips her champagne. “With quite a bit of weight, might I add.”

Anton smiles politely. He looks at the four empty champagne flutes next to her full plate. “You and Elvira were close.”

Holbrook adjusts her glasses. “Magic Anthropology and Premonitions. Past and Future. Two fangs of the same serpent. We both worked in the records room back in ’95. This was back in the old building. She had the cutest laugh.” Holbrook laughs. She wants to say something, but immediately stops herself. In her glossed-over eyes, she sees the consequences of her speaking to Anton. She laughs nervously and drops a fork.

“Allow me.” Anton bends down.

“NO!” She yells. People around look at her, but once they see it’s the loony Premonitions Department Director, they go about their business. Anton looks at her, confused. She stands up and corrects herself.

“I’m sorry, but I really must get going.” She checks her phone. She refuses to shake Anton’s hand on her way out.

He looks at her rapidly retreating silhouette. The bustle of people provides a smokescreen to cover her escape. Anton is left sitting at the table, no more aware of what just happened than the people around him.

He steps outside the hotel, following her. A police car rushes down 6th Avenue. The sirens bounce up and down the street. Holbrook is nowhere to be found. After some contemplation, Anton decides to head home. Would anyone from that dining hall even notice he’s gone? The answer only solidifies his choice to leave. In the taxi ride back, Anton imagines fake scenarios in his head. One where Nick and their mother attend his graduation from art school. Anton opening his own studio, dedicating it to Maria Romeo. Another fake memory of him, Nick, and their parents going to Switzerland, back home. Or maybe they never left, Anton can’t make up his mind. They would go skiing, and hot chocolate at a chalet maybe. Nick would cry when he fell off his sled. The snow is so cold on his skin Anton can almost feel the sting. Almost, because it did not actually happen. All of that was ripped away from them. From him. Tonight of all days her absence presses him extra hard.

Back home, he takes off his dress shoes and undoes his tie. Heating up his leftovers, he gets a pounding headache. On the TV is a rerun of an old sci-fi movie Nick dragged Anton to see when they were kids. Anton said he hated it then. He watches it now, laughing at how bad the effects are.

The movie is interrupted by a call. From Nick. Anton answers it.

“Report?”

“Nah, I just need to meet with you tomorrow. I’m following up on something juicy that might lead somewhere-“

“We’re running out of time, Nicky. Vanderhye wants to take this to the Board.”

“Did you tell him that they’ll let the-“

“Yeah. I did. We got three days.”

Silence.

“We better get to work then. I’ll call you tomorrow night once I have more info.” Anton nods and starts flipping the channels on the TV.

“Sure. Thanks for calling.” He expects the line to go dead.

“Oh and one more thing…” Nick says. “Happy birthday, bro.” Anton smiles.

“That was today?” He asks.

“Shut up.” Nick laughs warmly. “I’ll get you your present once this whole thing is solved.”

“Solve this thing and consider that my birthday present, please.”

“Got it…” Nick says. “Love you, bro.”

Anton feels a lump in his throat. “You too, little brother.”

Nick hangs up, letting Anton get back to watching the movie.