Stacked Deck Ch. 02

Chapter Two "Know when to walk away..."

"Now just take the chalk lightly in hand and start your circle." That voice was so soft and soothing. His mother was smiling at him with that tone of unconditional love, combined with beaming satisfaction. It was the eve of his thirteenth birthday and his mother had decided that it was high time that he learned how the majicks worked. Shortly after midnight this morning, his powers opened fully to his true potential. The floodgates had opened and washed frightfully over him. All Tomreallywanted to do was go out and hang with his best friend, Ernie.

"Mom, I'm really not comfortable with this," he said, staring at the staggering lines on the floor before him. He had watched her perform the protective circle for years and knew all of the special hand signs in and out. He had been preparing for this day since he was old enough to comprehend actions and words. His mother had seen to it. Although he knew what it was...whathewas destined to be, he hadn't been looking forward to it. All that he knew as fact, was that he wouldneverbe normal.

"You can do it Tommy, it's easy, " she cooed gently. His tongue was poking out the side of his lips as he concentrated on trying to make a perfect circle on the oak floor. A deep smile lined her face as she watched him. Instead of taking away from her, time seemed to be adding to her ethereal presence. She was stillsobeautiful.

The now complete circle began to glow a soft blue as he stood there. A look of pure bemusement crept onto his face. He paused for a moment to try and remember the new signs she had just taught him moments ago. His lips muttered the gentle chant that would complete the spell.

He tried desperately not to flinch as the circle pushed quickly upward and created a dome around him. He knew to expect this, but it had caught him off guard nevertheless. A brief moment later he regained his composure and smiled brightly at his mother. She returned the smile proudly, but her eyes started to betray the infinite sadness that was locked away deep inside. "I wish your father was here to see this day."

Tom had never known his father, only the timeless pictures locked away in that dusty old photo album on the bookshelf. His father had been taken from this earth before he was even born, one of Mom's investigations gone horribly awry. They had only been married a mere three months.

Surveying his surroundings and again, Tom locked his gaze with her. "Now?" He asked tentatively.

She nodded and spoke softly. "Now."

Tom snapped to his feet at the thunderous pounding on his front door. "Thomas, open the door, " came a frantic voice from the other side. Yumi hissed with displeasure as she was tossed off of her chosen nap area, Tom's chest.

He put out his psychic "feelers" to check for destructive intentions. All that he got back was dread sorrow. He unlocked the bolts and threw the door open. Jamus was standing there on shaking legs, staring anxiously upon the unconscious face of Mouse.

"Gods, Jamus. What the hell happened?" Tom could see that she was still breathing, her slight frame heaving gently.

"Tom," Jamus forced a smile, "I need permission to cross the threshold."

"Oh shit...sorry...forgot the rule. Come in," he said hurriedly as he reached out and scooped Mouse into his arms, quite surprised by how light she was. She was thin, but surely she would weigh more than this. Careful not to touch the makeshift stake still imbedded in her lower back, he carried her over to the couch and propped her up.

"I need you take care of her, Tom. I'll explain later. I've got some hunting to do." The most bizarre darkness crept into Jamie's eyes and Tom's shields tightened protectively.

"But...I'm no doctor... and I'm certainly not a healer, " Tom protested. "H...how did you even find where I live?"

"I followed you the other night after you left the office," Jamus said hastily. "Just do what you can for her...Nodoctors. Got it?"

Tom was exceedingly baffled and he nodded vacantly. "Got it...no doctors."

Jamus turned on his toes and made to move away. He stopped and looked back at Mouse with sorrow in his eyes, then in an instant was gone.

Followed me? Well, that explains why I was so itchycoming home that night.He gazed down at her gentle face, brushed back the stray strands of defiantly pink hair with the gentlest of touches. Stray thoughts blinked through his mind.You are rather beautiful.He was drawn into her peaceful face. Every line. Every delicate curve. Every gorgeous imperfection. His thumb unconsciously brushed across her full pouty lips.

Her emerald eyes fluttered open and she took in a deep breath.

"You wanna do that...you're gonna have to buy me dinner, handsome." A pained smile widened those luscious lips. Those incredibly kissable lips.

Christ on a biscuit, Tom, get a hold of yourself, this isn't eighth grade!

His voice cracked ever so slightly, "Hey there. You wanna tell me what happened here?" He couldn't help but look deep into those eyes.

"I was bored...so I thought I'd experiment with pain for a while," she chuckled, and then winced as white-hot fire shot through her. "Aw, Fuck! Really... stepped in it this time."

Tom winced in empathy.

"Awright. Now let's see what we can do about this. Can you sit up a bit, hon?" he queried as he helped her lean forward. He winced helplessly from just out of her view. "Okay. Notsobad...just a sliver."

His forced joke got an agonized chuckle out of her. "You are theworstliar I've ever met. Let's just yank it out and call it foreplay."

Tom was struck speechless and blushed. He eased her to her feet and guided her gently to the kitchen. She leaned forward and braced herself against the counter.

"Okay Lancelot...grab a clean towel...this is gonna suck," she quipped readily.

Tom stood dumbfounded for a moment.She'swaystronger than I would have imagined.He trotted off to the hall closet and grabbed a towel, then darted into the bathroom for his hurricane emergency first-aid kit and moved swiftly back to the kitchen. He set it on the counter beside her. He looked into her eyes for direction; she was grinning uncertainly around the wooden spoon clenched between her teeth.

She nodded adamantly and he drew a deep breath to steady his nerves. He put his unsteady hand tentatively to the table leg, and then he took it in full grasp. Her emerald eyes bore into his and she nodded affirmatively. And he pulled as hard and fast as he could.

She was right...this sucked.

Jamus skirted his way back down toward the bay, keeping as close to the shadows as possible. Not that it would do him much good. Devon was likely to smell him from miles away and he knew it. He also knew that this would be thelasttime they ever met. Devon had gotten greedy many times in their sordid past. A past filled with scams and long hard trail rides through the uncharted prairies of the "Old West". Once upon a time, he might have let it go. Once upon a time, he didn't have someone he cared deeply about. But this time Devon had crossed the line.

He was now in the tree line that he expected the Lycan to have taken and he started looking carefully for the signs of where he may have gone. He smiled menacingly at the set of footprints in the freshly saturated mud amongst the trees.

Getting sloppy in your old age, Devon. Or were you just in too much of a hurry to save your hairy ass?He gazed straight ahead through the trees to the lights forcing their way through the dense foliage. The carnival.I've got you now, prick.He smiled in feral glee at the thought of what was to come.

Devon Walker held his hand to the stitch in his side, trying desperately to catch his breath as he leaned against the maintenance trailer.

"God dammit, Jamie. Of all the towns, why did you park your skinny ass here?" he muttered harshly. "All I needed was a couple of hours. Time to clean up after Gregg and take him out of the equation. I could have been so wealthy, butno...you had to be here. SHIT!"

He straightened himself once more and looked around nervously. He leaned off the structure and squinted off into the distance. Toward the trees. He drew in a deep breath and on the breeze smelled his own death.Hewas coming.

Damn, he's fast.He pressed back against the trailer and screwed his eyes shut tight.Think, dammit. Think!He held his breath.Got to get into the crowd. Got to confuse him.He launched himself around the corner and shoved a group of high school girls out of the way, his footfalls splashing carelessly through the mud.

Devon barreled around the Tilt-a-Whirl and was thrown off balance as his shirttail caught a stray tie rod. He fought with it for a split second and regained his balance.

He couldfeelthe enraged eyes boring into his back: He'd been caught. He doubled over andwilledthe serum to lose its effect. Snapping upright, he let loose a terrifying howl as the transformation began to take over. There was the sound of bones popping as they reshaped and stretched, of cloth tearing. The fur grew out at an alarming rate, and his eyes glowed like a raging sunset.

Teenagers screamed and huddled and ran all around him, disbelieving what their eyes told them.

Devon turned and launched himself up the girders of the Ferris Wheel, hauling himself up in frantic leaps. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a dizzying flash of shadow.

Then Jamus was wrapping his arms around the Lycan's neck in a chokehold.

"You son of a BITCH!" the vampire snarled in his ear. It was a sound unlike any the earth had ever heard.

The Lycan clawed at the empty air, his fangs gnashing wildly, while Jamus planted his foot against a girder and pushed off with a straining groan. The two immortals plummeted toward the ground, twisting and struggling for dominant position. Vicious growls and excruciating yelps filled the air as fangs and claws and rage flared. They connected with an impact so hard, that Devon sank two feet into the mud and Jamus was bounced three yards from the crater.

Devon was the first to recover. He rolled and catapulted himself at Jamus with a roar so loud that the approaching police sirens were barely heard.

Jamus drew his knife and, with all his weight behind it, thrust it into the Lycan's ribcage.

Devon's eyes grew wide with shock. The ornate silver knife was buried to the hilt and starting to hiss and singe the surrounding flesh. He backed away and the blade pulled free with a nauseating grinding against bone.

Jamus' eyes were illuminated red with hatred and lethal rage. "Fuckingdead, Devon! You greedy,traitorousbastard!" he spat inhumanly.

A shot rang out and both their heads snapped in the direction of the shouting officers.

Jamus kicked high into Devon's jawbone and spun into a fighter's crouch. Another shot rang out and caught Jamus high in the shoulder; he glared and hissed at the officer with the utmost contempt.

Devon roared disdainfully at the cops, then turned to look at Jamus, his eyes betraying sorrow and regret. He turned and fled toward the pier.

Jamus spat a foreign obscenity. He clutched his shoulder and leaned back against the base of the Ferris Wheel. Three police officers closed in on him warily with weapons drawn.

"Get down on the ground and place your hands on you head!" shouted the bulkiest of the policemen, his pistol aimed steadfastly into Jamus' face.

Mouse was snoring lightly on the couch. She shifted uncomfortably and pulled the blanket up under her chin.

Tom ran his fingers under the cool water of the kitchen sink. He stared vacantly into the swirling vortex of the drain. Satisfied that the water was as cold as it was going to get, he tightened the drain; poured in a cupful of bleach and dumped the handful of bloodstained towels to soak.

The "surgery" had gone well enough. The chunk of table leg had just penetrated the meat under her ribs and had missed anything major. It had looked far worse than it was. He had been really squeamish about his needlework, though. Right up until she'd called him a pussy. A chuckle erupted from him, at that particular memory of the evening's events.

He turned off the faucet, topped off his coffee cup and tiptoed softly into the living room. Squatting next to the mahogany coffee table, he moved his wire rims up atop his head, leaned back with his head against the arm of the couch, heaved a sigh of release and rubbed his temples. The clock on the adjacent wall chimed quietly, alerting Tom that it was now 3 am. He lowered his glasses and cocked his head aside, gazing upon the sleeping woman on his couch. She twitched and, with a soft moan, rubbed her nose.

His brow creased as he stared analytically. Sliding down to a seated position on the floor, he reached for his coffee cup; his fingers toyed lightly around the handle.

Why such a strong attraction to her? I mean, she's definitely beautiful...a little underweight perhaps, but beautiful in her own unique way. So why am I feeling it so strong?He pulled the cup to his lips and blew lightly across the surface.This isa tourist island. Half naked women everywhere. So why, am I so drawn to her?

Pushing away these near adolescent thoughts from his mind, he decided that if he was going to be awake at this ungodly hour, he would give the case files another perusal.

He tossed the file for Revella and Dimitri Chernovich aside dismissively. He scanned through the recorded history of Cyril Diggs. Sipping his coffee, his brow furrowed with intensity. Cyril was from the vampire clan known as the Tremere, one of great heritage and aristocracy. Cyril was also one of the region's thirteen "Justicars", a high-ranking deliverer of Breed justice.

The realization of how complicated the covens of "the Breed" were made his head spin. He thought about "Uncle Andre," a dear friend and ex-lover of his mother's. Andre was a vampire. Growing up around the supernatural, things such as this were rarely shocking. But still, there was so much that he had never inquired about. So much that he had left to learn.

He rifled through the photos and came across one of the Tarot card that had been left behind at Cyril's home, "The Knight of Swords". His mind raced around all of the possible meanings. Was it in the meanings of the cards? Or perhaps, hidden within the card titles themselves? These were the two thoughts that came up most to the forefront of his mind. He adjusted his glasses.

A cloaked figure floated from out of the shadows surrounding Diego St. Dior's mansion, past the hypnotized security guards. He stepped silently through the halls and laid the majickally charged tarot card upon the red velvet chair in the drawing room. The King of Swords would soon exchange hands and call the Night Flyer to collect the last of them.

Now the final piece is in play,the dark figure gloated as he fled back into the night.The master will be so pleased with me.

Jamus awoke to the rattling against the bars of his cell. He peeled his forearm off his face and lifted his head from the dreadfully uncomfortable bunk.

"Jamus Phantym, " yelled the guard at the door. "You've made bail. Apparently youdohave some friends in high places."

Jamus swung his legs to the floor and stretched, his joints creaking noisily.

"About time, I was afraid I'd have to eat the crap you call breakfast around here," he said wryly. "How is the mayor anyway?"

"Shut up and get out here, " growled the guard in resentment. "One of these days your ass isn't going to be so lucky. I, for one... am getting really tired of seeing you."

Jamus blew a kiss. "Aww, Stelinsky, I din't know you cared. Oh, by the way, howisyour wife?"

"Fuck you Jamus, go collect your shit before I decide to lose your paperwork, " the guard threatened.

Officer Stelinsky stepped aside and Jamus moved to the cell door as it slid open, grinning victoriously. He bumped into the officer deliberately and snatched his wallet. As he approached the main desk he dumped the wallet into the garbage can, mere moments before the janitor grabbed it. He signed the paperwork and emptied the contents of his envelope onto the counter.

"Hey, Trisha? What happened to the three hundred dollars from my wallet?" he inquired. She just shrugged. Jamus rolled his eyes and muttered, "Fabulous. Well, thanks for the bed, I needed the rest."

He stuffed his things hastily into his pockets and wandered off to the door with a yawn. He glanced up at the clock on the wall and shook his head. It was four o' clock in the morning and the sun would be rising soon.

Thank heavens this isn't a movie. I'd be toast,he thought to himself. Feeling slightly weaker with the approaching dawn, he fumbled with the choices of going home for the day, or visiting Diego St. Dior and giving his report. Diego would be getting ready to hit the hay, so he decided to the same. What he had to tell could wait. But first, a little side trip to check in on Tom and Mouse.

Out on the waterfront, a warehouse door opened slowly. Devon limped in and shut it behind him. He was soaking wet, pissed off and showing signs of exhaustion. He crossed the cement floor, bare feet echoing through the building, and headed for the safe in the corner. He deftly turned the combination lock and reached inside for the black velvet bag. Unrolling it on the floor, he loosened one of the syringes and, taking the plastic cap in his teeth, pulled it off and spit it aside. The elixir within smelled like month-old bacon grease. He recoiled at the pungently unpleasant odor and winced as he injected the cold liquid into the vein in his arm. Leaning back against the safe, he rested his head against the cool metal and closed his eyes.

"So, Walker," slithered a voice like molten iron, "has our little problem been taken care of?"

Devon's golden eyes quickly opened and he adjusted himself against the safe. He peered around the shadows and sniffed the air for the source of the disembodied voice. A shrouded figure floated out of the concealing shadows. His face was indiscernible from within the hood.

"Yes," Devon conceded, "but there were...complications. Gregg is taken care of, but it didn't go as planned. Jamus Phantym was hunting him as well. And that Guardian showed up and turned the whole thing into a major clusterfuck."

The dark figure crossed its pale arms at its chest. "No concerns there, Phantym is busy grasping at straws. That little Guardian bitch is reported to be out of commission, thanks to your apparent ineptitude. Whatdoesconcern me is a new player in this little masquerade."

The figure leaned in closer. "I have a new task for you, " he sneered. "There is a psychic by the name of Thomas Ballentine involved now. This man is more majickally powerful than evenheis aware of. I want you totrackhim andkillhim."

Tom's head drifted back and then snapped forward as he dozed off. He forced his eyes to widen as he looked blearily around his apartment, getting his bearings. He glanced back at the file in his hand and continued to read:

Subject #50672-02

Seamus Aaron Spectre A.K.A. Jamus Phantym.

Born to British Lord William Spectre and Lady Elspeth Spectre on September 10th, 1670.

Brother to Elizabeth (Deceased) and half-brother to Jacob a.k.a. Jesse (see file photos)

At the age of nineteen, young Seamus joined with a crew of a merchant trade ship. It was here that he was "turned" by a rogue Malkavian (identity unknown). As soon as he had come to terms with his newfound powers, he turned to the then lucrative business of piracy. Having honed his skills he and his crew became very notorious throughout the decades and earned him the nickname "the Dark Phantom."