The Bundhaus was not easily accessible. An hour drive outside of Slakterquay, the journey took one from highway, to county road, to access road to, finally, a dirt road that led deep into the thick and mossy woods that surrounded the city. It was lovely, dark and deep forest, untouched by the logging that had helped build the Northwest, leaving it quiet and pristine in its beauty.
Which would have been idyllic, except Aggie McPherson hated the outdoors, didn’t drive, and wasn’t looking forward to the appointment. Watching it from the second-story veranda of the Bundhaus, Haddo Skull could discern all of these things. Stepping out from the taxi, the inspcetor carefully placed a well-polished shoe onto the wet gravel of the drive. Standing to full height, McPherson was short, narrow in shoulders and hips enough to be of indeterminate gender, the impression of which was only heightened by short, black spiky hair. Buttoning the jacket of a bespoke suit, the analyst examined the surroundings, face neutral until it fell onto the house. Through his opera glasses, Haddo could see her expression curdle.
The well-tailored gray suit, to Haddo’s eye, was cut for a man, or perhaps a tall youth, and didn’t align with what Haddo thought a woman should wear. Particularly not a professional, as women had a limited number of functions. And this inspector, he knew from investigations both mystic and mundane, straddled all of the domains meant for man and woman and perhaps more.
In fact, he hated McPherson and all of their kind. However, he had need for it now.
On this rare occasion Bundhaus was empty, its front doors left open to the damp spring Pacific air. With the taxi idling in the drive, the inspector strode in through massive wooden front doors and into the vestibule. On the floorboards that had been hewn from the virgin forest, it stopped, placed its hands in its pockets and waited.
Haddo gave McPherson several minutes in the entryway, waiting to see if curiosity would get the better of it. However, the inspector remained unmoved, alert just within the Bundhaus’s threshold.
The hall of the Bundhaus was three-stories and long, stretching the entire length of the wooden structure. It was dotted with doors on either side till it ended at a stage, flanked by red banners with Silver Shield emblems at their center. Normally, that was where Haddo would descended to meet the Legionnaires, to take the pulpit and speak to them about saving America from the mongrel hoard that beset her shores. To preach of the great destiny of Columbia.
However, when McPherson didn’t move, it necessitated Haddo to take one of the two staircases that flanked the vestibule. His movements were no longer as swift as they once were and he would not suffer the indignity of hobbling down the long hall to meet it.
Normally, Haddo would be dressed in the ceremonial robes of his station, but doing so would only affirm too many of his guest’s prejudices. So today Haddo had dressed in one of the finer suits he always wore for important outsiders. It was only now, as he descended the stairs, he was rather annoyed that, aside from the Mandarin collar on the inspector’s suit, the two wore similar outfits.
It was not until his foot left the final step to touch the floor of the entryway that McPherson turned to meet his gaze. Professionalism kept its face expressionless, but he could see contempt in those violet eyes. Its tone was neutral when itpronounced his name. “Haddo Skull.” McPherson looked around him as if he were flanked by invisible guards. “Where are your brown shirts?”
Haddo felt his own contempt pull at the edge’s of his mouth, but provided a restrained reply of, “The men who dedicate their lives to the Legion are called Silver Shields.”
McPherson eyed the red banners at the end of the hall, then back to Haddo. “You say tomato, I say Nazi.
“What am I doing here Haddo?”
“I have need of your services. Although, honestly, it took me some time to discern what those services are.” Even in his advanced age, Haddo towered over McPherson and so stepped closer. “Your office door may say Spectral Analystbut you reputation sprawls beyond mere specters. Exorcist? Fixer? Demonologist? Private detective?” He added an extra dollop of sarcasm onto the last role, “Hero?”
McPherson gave him the scornful frown Haddo had been waiting for all along. Instead of rising to that, though, the inspector replied, “How about you just call me McPherson?”
“I believe you prefer to be called Aggie.”
“By friends. You can call me McPherson.”
“Well, Ms. McPherson – “
“Just McPherson. Or Inspector. Your call.”
That stopped Haddo. He was prepared to deal with this person, whatever it might be, but he could only tolerate so much presumptuousness from this untermensch. He felt compelled to remind the analyst, “You clearly know who I am. And yet you come here unarmed, unescorted and display such rudeness. The last makes the first two unwise.”
McPherson matched Haddo’s step towards her, seeming to grow taller as it did. “I’m not afraid of you.”
“Then you are a fool indeed.”
McPherson stared up at him. “Haddo, what I am is not something I’m here to learn from you.” With a briskness that caused its brightly lacquered nails to leave trails in the dim of the vestibule, McPherson pulled a small card from a blazer pocket. “You invited me here. What do you want?”
Haddo took the card, inspecting it as a conductor might a train ticket. Truth was, he simply didn’t want anyone else to ever see it. He knew it read:
Please come to the Bundhaus Estate on April 19 at 08:00. Grandmaster Haddo wishes to discuss an important matter of border science and its impact upon his health. You will be compensated for your time.
While Haddo disappeared the invitation into his breast pocket, McPherson said, “Border science. That’s not a term that’s been popular since the days of Hans Bender. And since I don’t think your old enough to have been kicking around with the Schutzstaffel, I think you must be using it as code for something. Something you don’t want your Silver Shield buddies to know about.”
Haddo felt himself bridle at having his motives so easily deduced. He kept a chain on that beast, though, saving it for later. Instead, he turned his back on his guest and returned to the stairs. “If you want to know the answer, come this way.” He was very pleased when he heard McPherson follow.
He led the way to his office, softly illuminated by the balcony windows through which he had observed the taxi’s arrival. Tired of pretending his legs didn’t hurt, he sat down at the massive and ancient cedar desk. From behind its vast expanse he saw McPherson already waiting, examining the vitrine of keepsakes and curios that stretched between the two doors to his balcony.
Haddo waited a very long time for it to prompt him, but the untermensch said nothing. He wondered if it was always this patient. It was that or it had reasoned out that it was a matter of time until a Silver Shield returned. After what had happened with that idiot Boswell, that wouldn’t do. So, reluctantly, Haddo began.
“There is a Revenant seeking to throw me down into perdition.”
Without turning from his trophies, McPherson interrupted with a, “Oof. Tough luck. Those things are nasty.” He was simultaneously pleased that the inspector demonstrated the required knowledge of what a Revenant was and annoyed at it for interjecting with something so pointless. At least, he reasoned, it wasn’t touching anything.
He continued, “It comes at me from the east, but slowly. Its movement is governed by something, but I know not what. Perhaps the sun or the moon.”
McPherson faced him, standing between the light streaming through the two windows. “How do you know this?”
“I have my means.”
“Then why can’t you deal with it yourself? Why call me?”
“It – ” Haddo paused, uncomfortable in admitting weakness to this thing. He had come this far, though. “It is beyond my sight.”
“Then its cause is just. No one wants to come back as a Revenant. Most times it happens it’s ’cause an adept has some kind of conditional invocation prepared.” McPherson paused, then, “You murder any fellow cultists lately?”
“No.”
“Then someone summoned this thing and has the power to hide it from you. Which is impressive on both counts. Hiding the necromantic energy needed to summon a Revenant is like trying to hide a forest fire under a lampshade.”
“Yes.”
“So you offended a very powerful individual. Or daeva or daimon. Or god. Or, you know, God.”
“Are you suggesting my crusade against the heathen has angered God himself?
“The Christian God? I don’t know. I’ve never spoken to Him. But He did tell Moses, ‘You shall have no other gods before Me.’ That doesn’t preclude the existence of other gods. Quite the opposite.” It smiled with perfectly white teeth. “Take my word for it.”
Haddo silently added heathen and blasphemer to the list of his guest’s sins. Instead he replied, “So now you know why I requested your presence.”
McPherson broke from the case it had been observing and smoothly moved into one of the two leather chairs that faced Haddo’s desk, draping arms from it. “Haddo, why would I help you?”
“Presumably, for money.”
“Everybody’s gotta pay the rent, sure. But why would I risk tainting my soul with whatever you’ve done to bring this Revenant down on you?”
Haddo had expected this. But self-righteousness could be so easily redirected. “That church on King Street that you’ve shown an interest in? The one with the half-breeds, perverts, and heretics?”
The hardening in McPherson’s eyes told him he had hit his mark. “If you’re referring to Reverend Taggart’s church, I know it.”
“Help me with this and I’ll have the Legion leave that pathetic rabble alone.”
McPherson tilted its head at Haddo as if examining something under a microscope that was particularly stupid. “Taggart is a rougarou. He could tear you and your little nazi clubhouse into bits.”
“If he was going to, he would have done it by now.”
“You willing to bet on that?”
Haddo smiled at McPherson. “The question is, are you?”
McPherson straightened up in the chair, examining Haddo anew. Haddo didn’t like it, but he held his smile. The sun moved along his office carpet before the inspector quickly stood. Haddo felt something vibrate in the air, but this resolved when McPherson broke eye contact to button its jacket. “I’ll do it. One two conditions.”
Haddo’s grin grew broader. “What would those be?”
“First, you do as you say and keep your filthy little machinations away from the Taggart’s church.”
“Of course.”
“If I so much as catch wind of you near that place, I’ll find this Revenant and point it right at you.”
Haddo nodded, conceding he would not want this. “And?”
“There’s a condo in LoDo. You’re going to buy it for me.”
Haddo wasn’t expecting this and was disappointed enough he let it show. “Property in Lower Downtown? That’s – “
“Outrageously expensive. And I don’t want you to give me the cash value. I want you to buy the condo. In your own name. Then I want you to sign it over to me.” McPherson stepped through the light to stand across from Haddo’s desk. “No shell companies, no financial chicanery. A straight transfer from you to me, in black and white.”
“I see,” Haddo replied and he did. The transfer would be both payment and insurance policy. He eyed this violet-eyed imp, mapping out the contingencies and blackmail that it was planning by placing these conditions. “And if I agree?”
“Then I find out the Revenant’s story. Every Revenant has one and it’s the key to determining how to call it off.” McPherson shrugged, elegant suit making the slightest of noises as the jacket of the smooth material moved. “Or I go home. Your call.”
Haddo considered this and successfully kept the smile from his face. If this untermensch thought a piece of paper sharing their names would be enough to break his hold over the Silver Shields, then McPherson greatly underestimated his power. To agree too quickly, though, would be to reveal too much, so he frowned and pushed a pencil across the ink blotter on his desk. Birdsong could be heard from the forest before he said, “Very well. I agree to your terms.”
“OK.” McPherson didn’t move to shake his hand, but put them in its pockets. “You’d better get on buying that condo. I don’t start work until it’s in my name and I’d imagine that’ll take some time.” The inspector’s smile returned. “And I don’t think you’ve got a lot of time left.”
“Very well.” Haddo rose. “Our business is concluded. Please leave the way you came. I thank you for your time.”
Perplexing Haddo, McPherson’s smile grew broader. “That’s OK. This is a lot more interesting than I thought it would be.” Turning its back on him the inspector headed towards the door, pointing to his vitrine as it did. “When you brought me in here, I assumed it was to find out whoever stole your whachamacallit.”
Haddo blinked, stopping McPherson with an, “Excuse me?”
The twinkle in its eye peeked over its shoulder. “The missing item in your little trophy case.” The inspector strode over to the vitrine and pointed to the crushed velvet underneath the glass. Between the ceremonial dagger and brass skull, among the Records of Thule and the grotesque fertility sculpture of Nr, lie an outline of something long and thin that had once occupied space in the cabinet.
Perplexed beyond control, Haddo stood and moved to the vitrine, quickly confirming what his imp told him. Staring at the red velvet with its outline of his missing item, he found the words wanting to come out of his mouth to be too revealing. Unwilling to embarrass himself any further, he simply stood there. He found his control tested as McPherson added with barely concealed glee, “What? You didn’t know it was gone?” After moments of silence that Haddo could feel the inspector savoring, it added, “I would have thought the first edition of Uralte Weisheit des Blut und Boden was the most valuable thing in here. What was taken?”
Haddo stood up straight and smoothed his tie and jacket that had become disheveled in his mad hobble over to the case. “Something I lent to an associate. Nothing you need to concern yourself over.”
“You sure?” McPherson cocked a plucked eyebrow at him. “If I’m going to investigate your Revenant, I don’t want any surprises.”
“Yes.” Haddo gathered his dignity and began to move back to his desk. “I believe this concludes our business. You may go.”
McPherson shrugged, hands back in pockets, and walked towards the door. Haddo tried not to let the jaunty tune the inspector was whistling bother him much.
See the author’s published work here.
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