Tesla & Malone - Lightning's Call - Book One Read online

  “‘Ere now, what’re you thinking?” he asked, disgust evident in his tone. “Gonna get yerself smashed!”

  Denis grimaced and held up his hands placatingly.

  “Sorry, friend.” He apologized and hurried across the remaining distance to the opposite side of the street.

  Reaching the corner he blinked and shook his head, trying to clear the fuzziness that had suddenly taken hold. Just like that he felt heavy, as if a great weight had been placed on shoulders. He leaned a hand against the gas lamp post. The smooth, cold iron was reassuring under his skin. He let out a ragged breath and gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile to the passersby watching him. They stared. Not with concern, but suspicion.

  He straightened his tie and continued on, his office building was just up the next block. He limped forward and ran his hand over his shaven skull.

  Denis wondered - not for the last time - what the hell was going on?

  The insurance building was now just ahead. He quickened his pace as he struggled to maneuver through the crowd. He blinked. Something was wrong. A shadow had fallen over his eyes like a black veil. He almost lost his balance as his vision swam in the dimness. The faces of the people around him began to shift and change. He watched in horror as they metamorphosed before him. No longer human, the jackal faced, monstrous visages now leered back at him atop hunched humanoid bodies draped with scabrous wounds. Rotting flesh blended with torn and ripped clothing. He could almost smell the foulness. He threw a hand up to his mouth, holding back a rising gorge.

  One of the horrid things reached a skeletal hand towards him.

  He stumbled and cried out, flinging up tightly clenched fists in a defensive posture, ready to beat down the foul abomination before him. The thing drew back reflexively, a look of surprise on its grotesque countenance.

  What was happening? His vision began to clear but his thoughts remained cloudy. He pushed the thing away and ran on, monstrous figures parting before him.

  Denis breathed heavily, sweat rolling off his face, as he reached the doors to his building. He battered them open and heaved himself inside, bursting into the foyer like a bull. He stumbled over toward one of the room’s squat pillars and leaned against it as he focused on maintaining his breathing.

  Gotta steady this heartbeat, he thought. Jesus, it’s pounding like a damn drum. He held his hand over his breast pocket, feeling the percussive beat of his heart and the rushing river of blood in his ears.

  A throat cleared.

  “Mr. Malone, are you okay, sir?” The tentative voice of concern came to him from a few feet away. Denis looked up. A round, pink-scrubbed face peeked over the edge of the desk situated at the back of the four pillared entry hall.

  Voices and laughter filled the space as the door banged open and several fellow employees entered. They looked at Denis curiously, their conversation momentarily diverted. His flat stare kept them silent. They kept moving. The young boy at the desk waved at them in greeting, then turned back to Denis.

  “No disrespect, you look pale - a bit sick, sir.” He peered closer at him as he rose from his seat. “You want I should call a doctor?” he offered, eyes wide with concern.

  Rodney’s a good kid, he thought. Not like the rest of the idiots here. He blinked rapidly. Tattered shreds of darkness still clung to his peripheral vision, and that kept up the flutter of nervousness in his gut. He waved a hand and shook his head as he straightened up and stretched his neck. “That’s okay, Rod, I’ll be okay, just feeling a bit under the weather and foolishly decided to run the last few blocks.” He managed a smile. “All good.”

  The young boy looked unconvinced. “If you say so, Mr. Malone.”

  Denis coughed and headed for the west stairwell. “Thanks Rod, oh hey-” He turned back. “How’s your mum these days?”

  “Much better, Sir. Thanks.” He replied gratefully, his smile wide. “That doctor you told me about fixed her up good!”

  Denis nodded. “Good, good. I’m glad of that.” He walked on. “Keep me posted, lad,” he said over his shoulder before the stairwell door closed. Denis sagged, let out a ragged breath, and slowly lowered himself down onto the bottom step. The slow, measured tread of shoes echoed hollowly in the stairwell.

  “Feeling your age, old boy?” A voice tinged with amusement called out to him. Denis didn’t need to turn around to know who had spoken. The footsteps gave him away. Firm heel click then forward toe tap on the marble stone - Hawthorne’s confident tread.

  He kept his head in his hands. “Somehow I don’t think forty one years old is actually feeling my age, you jackass.” He shook his head. “I’m only two months older than you,” he added.

  Hawthorne laughed loudly and leaned over to clap Denis on the shoulder before moving toward the door. “Doesn’t matter when you look like you do right now.” He tugged on the handle and looked down at his friend. “I thought I’d stop by for a morning visit but I need to run. See you at lunch. You can regale me with your no doubt sordid tale over food, you old bastard.” He opened the door. “Your turn to pay the check.” He laughed again.

  Denis finally looked up and scowled at the man’s suited retreat. The echo of his laughter bounced around the stairway then faded away to silence. Denis pulled himself to his feet muttering darkly, and stoically trudged the four flights up to his corner office.

  The officer gazed down at the various pieces of metal, coils, and wires, each nestled in its own straw-lined compartment within the box. His brow furrowed in confusion, and he leveled his perplexity at this stranger while slowly shaking his head. Niko looked on, smiling triumphantly. A small crowd had gathered and was trying to catch a glimpse of what was in the box. They pushed forward, jostling those in front.

  “‘Ere now, steady on you lot!” the officer barked and pushed back on knees with one hand. He turned back to Niko. “Well, lad?”

  Niko chewed his lip a moment then re-lit his wide smile. He reached a hand inside his coat, and with eyebrows raised, “May I?” he asked.

  “Eh, what? Yes, man, get on with it!” he shouted down at Niko in exasperation.

  Niko pulled out the envelope containing his letter of introduction. He smoothed it out on one knee and then offered it up to the officer. “Now, with your permission, I will show you.”

  Not waiting for the officer to comment either way, Niko carefully removed the foot long barrel housing from the box. He held it up for all to see as he lovingly ran his hands over the smooth, light-weight, dull grey metal.

  He looked around at the circle of onlookers. “Now this, gentlemen, is the base of the resonating-coil gun.” He thumbed a catch and with a click the hidden springs released a cover along the barrel.

  Several “oohs” and “ahhs” filtered out from the crowded circle.

  He paused a moment, squinting, and pursed his lips before continuing. “Electric power is everywhere, and contrary to what you have learned, what is persistently perpetuated even today, is that it exists in vast quantities - all around us, everywhere.” With his free hand he reached into the box and withdrew a round cylindrical, carousel-like object. Several wires hung free from this piece. He held up a finger. “Knowing this, and with the proper application, we might harness this unlimited supply, no?” He snapped the cylindrical section into the open slot on top of the barrel housing.

  The officer looked up from reading the letter, a slightly startled look on his face. He regarded the strange weapon in Niko’s hand uncomprehendingly, then brought the letter back up to his face.

  Niko flipped the barrel around with practiced ease, the movement rustling the paper in the officer’s hands. “Now, certain living organisms, human and,” he frowned wryly, tapping a finger on the metal, “non-human, have a resonating frequency that, when identified, can be manipulated.” He reached back into the box and held up the rubber wrapped stock, its worn hand grip smooth and shiny. He maneuvered this into place onto the end of the barrel. It made a satisfying loud snick. “I have made careful stu
dy of these frequencies, and have identified many, many levels.” He said nothing for a few heartbeats. “This device manipulates such frequencies, see?” He pointed the weapon down toward the ground and sighted along the now completed resonating coil-gun. “Understand?” He lowered the rifle and gazed around at the group.

  The officer cleared his throat.

  He had finished reading and was looking at Niko with something akin to awe. “Edison, lad? That’s where yer headed? To the Wizard of Menlo Park?”

  Denis sat quietly at his desk, the oak chair hard against his body as he gazed out onto the morning cityscape. He leaned back, concentrating on the feeling of the firm wood against his body. He took deep breaths and focused on bringing his heart rate back to Earth. He felt that familiar craving, the smooth silkiness of bourbon would do wonders for his nerves, make him forget the images and it would be oh-so-easy, to give in. He set his jaw and regarded the clear, calm sky with suspicion and shook his head. Street sounds from below filtered up to the open windows. He had to be iron. He thought again of that horrid thing that had reached out for him. What was all that?

  Those creatures, those people.

  He rubbed his eyes and wondered if he was losing his mind. Snorting, he raised his eyebrows and shuddered as he barked out a laugh. “Okay, get a grip Malone. Whatever that was, it’s gone and you’ve got work to do!”

  For the next three hours he lost himself in the mindlessness of work, applying himself diligently to getting through the backlogged mountain of reports and sundry paperwork. For a small time he forgot all about the disturbing images from that morning and the odd feelings he had been suffering from for months.

  A knock at his door startled him and returned him to the moment. He looked up. “It’s open,” he told the closed door.

  A slicked back head of black hair thrust in and leaned on the half open door. “You going to work through lunch?” He looked pointedly at the clock over the west window. “No one’s seen you all morning.” He stopped and peered closely at Denis. “You okay? You look a bit ragged.”

  Denis rubbed his face, as if washing without water, then tossed down his pen. “I’m fine, Rogers. And no, I am not going to work through food.” He nodded, as if to himself. “But thanks for the break.”

  Daniel Rogers smiled, his bushy mustache stretched wide. “You joining the boys and me, then?” He cocked his head back. “We’re going over to Muldoon’s. Come on.”

  Denis shook his head. “Got a lunch meeting with a friend,” he said a bit regretfully. Perhaps just one... No. Stop it. Now was definitely not the time to backslide. As tempting as that might be, he needed his wits about him. Besides, he had to head over to that new client’s brownstone after lunch.

  Rogers shrugged. “Suit yourself. I’ll see you later then.” He said as he closed the door. Denis rubbed his scalp and stared at the door a moment before getting to his feet. He paused, chewing his lower lip. He studied the desk and then, with one hand, slid open the middle drawer and removed a wooden case. He ran his hands over the dark, worn wood and smiled faintly. Something told him he would be needing this. He lifted the well oiled and well kept pistol from its plush blue velvet cradle.

  Raising the Dragoon up and squinting as he sighted along the lengthy barrel, he swung his arm around to the open window and pulled the trigger. The hammer fell and the metallic click sounded firm, loud, and downright comforting in the silent room. He nodded firmly as he lowered the handgun and snapped in a cylinder.

  The Colt Dragoon Percussion Revolver had been issued to him during the War and had served him quite well. This particular model was a Type III and offered up a lighter weight, shorter cylinder and a vastly improved loading lever. Additionally, the Type III had an optional shoulder stock attachment complete with folding leaf sights. Denis lifted his folding shoulder stock out and slipped it into a jacket pocket.

  Might need this. Never know.

  Standing over the desk now, one hand tight on the Dragoon’s handle, his gaze was drawn down. The lower desk drawer’s brass knob was like an eye staring back at him.

  “Stop that!” he growled at the desk and narrowing his own eyes, tugged the drawer open, breaking the drawer’s stare. The muffled clinking of glass against wood and the sloshing of liquid whispered in his ear. It rocked a bit then stopped, nestling comfortably between a pile of paper and a few books.

  Denis lowered his now sweaty gun hand and studied the bottle. The curve of the neck, the unbroken wax cork, and the gorgeous color - like maple syrup alive from within like sunlight.

  This unopened bottle was his test, his reminder of the long hard road he was on. Would he pass?

  Visions of rotting flesh filled his mind, and the stench of it clogged his nostrils.

  Suddenly his mouth was bone dry and that old empty hole was there, waiting to be filled.

  Gritting his teeth, he pointed the Dragoon at the bottle. “No, not this time. I win again.” He smiled grimly and slammed the drawer shut with a satisfying bang. “That’s right boyo, we Malones are fighters.”

  He clapped on his leather belt holster, secured the brass buckle and then tied the thigh strap. Finally, he shrugged into his light-weight quarter jacket and stepped over to the mirror. He grimaced at the dark circles under his eyes but now felt a modicum of assurance with the familiar weight of the Dragoon riding low on his hip. He settled the hat down onto his head and nodded at his reflection.

  I need to get back to the ring. I’m starting to look a bit flabby. He chuckled and turned to leave, then remembered he had forgotten to remove the contract papers from his bag. He was definitely feeling off today. He pulled the sheaf of papers from the worn leather satchel, shuffled them into order, and stuffed them into the inner pocket of his jacket.

  Denis locked up his office carefully and headed for the lunch meeting with his friend.

  The Eye blinked. Its baleful, blue-fire rimmed gaze regarded the hooded figure before it. The orb rotated in an invisible socket to study its surroundings. It took note of everything. The drip and damp of the basement stone, the dim light cast by the ritual candles, the blood filled bowl. Most of all, it took note of its captor. Hatred and rage filled it. It drifted forward and stopped abruptly as if hitting a wall. Confining energy flared and miniature lightning bolts sparked out. The wards placed upon the summoning circle kept it confined, for now. A low, disembodied growl bubbled up and filled the room. The Eye’s gaze narrowed.

  The hooded figure smiled with satisfaction and watched as the dinner-plate sized Eye scrutinized the room then blinked once again as it firmly fixed its stare back on him.

  He crossed his arms and nodded. “Yes. I have summoned you here. You cannot cross the place of the circle. You are here to do my bidding, and I will release you shortly. I have a task for you.” He gestured toward the Eye. “A simple task, really.”

  The Eye watched him, unblinking, as if listening closely.

  “Excellent. Now that you know your situation, I can task you.”

  The Eye began to growl again and strained against the circle’s confining wards. Energy sparked with the contact.

  The figure’s laugh fell cold across the Eye’s displeasure. “Do not think to disobey or cause me grief, Eye-ling, I am high in your Master’s favor. Although I cannot hurt you directly, I can send you back via a very circuitous and painful route.” His voice rose in command, crackling like static and cutting off any further discussion.

  He began to pace back and forth in front of the circle for several moments as the Eye waited and watched. “He’s here, I can feel it. I just don’t know where.” He muttered irritably in a low voice, as if to himself. He looked up at the Eye. It floated unconcerned.

  He leveled a finger at it. “Now, here is your task.”

  Niko’s eyes grew wide and he nodded with enthusiasm. “Yes indeed, is it not exciting?” He laughed with delight and looked about the crowded circle of people. “I am passing through your fine, magical city for a bit before I travel to Mr. E
dison’s laboratory in New Jersey. It is a grand opportunity and one I hope to learn much from.” And confront beings beyond even what your worst nightmare might conjure forth.

  The officer shook his head, clearly flabbergasted and out of his element. He handed the letter back to him. “Exciting indeed, young lad.” He scratched his bearded jaw then gestured toward the pine box. “You need assistance packing that contraption up?”

  Niko waved the offer away politely. “I will manage, good sir,” he said as he began to carefully dismantle the coil gun. “But I do thank you,” he added looking up at him. “I am happy to have been given the opportunity to display my invention.”

  The officer grunted and turned to the gathered people. “All right you lot, the show is over.” He waved both hands. “Back to work and such. That’s right. Move along.”

  Disappointed but not about to test the officer’s patience, they complied, and the circle drifted apart as each man sought his own task.

  Snapping the pine case shut, Niko stood and swung it onto his shoulder. He straightened his dark goggles and checked over his gear. Satisfied he smiled and offered his hand to the custom’s officer. “Again, I thank you. I must prevail upon you one more time before I depart, however.”

  The officer took his hand and shook it heartily. “What, oh - of course lad, what’d you be needing?” he asked with raised eyebrows.

  Niko tugged down on his long coat and leaned in with a smile. “Can you direct me to the Astor Library?”

  Denis chewed at the side of his mouth as he sat gazing out the window, only half listening to what his friend was saying. His right hand absently toyed with the coffee spoon.

  John Hawthorne was flipping through his work notebook. “Five Points has been busy, averaging a murder a night.” He flipped a page. “Ah, yes, and there was that mysterious body pulled from a carriage by some unknown men and left—” He stopped, realizing he was essentially talking to himself. Leaning forward, Hawthorne cleared his throat. “I’m thinking of shaving my head and dressing like you, what do you think?”