Hellboy: Unnatural Selection(2)

"Yeah, I've been reading the book."

"That's because you're good at casting the spell of course. You can divine hidden meanings. I just see ink on a page; you see whole worlds."

Richard sighed. "I make out the theory of the Memory in Lainree's writing. You can actually touch it. You know you've always been better than me."

Gal sighed. "Well ... "

Neither of them could look away from the feather.

Richard took it from his brothers hands. "Father will be so pleased," he whispered.

"Did you ever doubt him?"

"Did you?"

Gal smiled, still gazing at the plume. "Never. But I think perhaps he doubted himself."

"This will put an end to that." Richard offered the feather back to his brother. There was power in that gesture of sharing, and trust.

"Yes. This is the beginning of everything." Gal placed it on the floor of the passage, and Richard stepped back to give his brother the room he needed.

Gal drew a rough shape in the sand, closed his eyes, and whispered a series of gruff, guttural words. Eyes still closed, he sought out the feather, lifted it, and placed it gently within the shape. Its spine was so hot to the touch that, at first, it felt ice-cold. Instantly the sand around Gals feet began to glow and skip, like a million tiny fleas striving to reach his outstretched hands. The glow expanded, remaining weak yet still bright enough to read by.

Then the heat truly arrived.

"Hot," Richard whispered. The passage grew warmer, his vision began to swim, and within seconds he was gasping for air, lying down and staring sideways at his kneeling brother. "Hot!" Each breath scorched his throat, and he wondered how his clothes had not erupted into flame. Is this what it feels like to burn to death? he thought.

Gal muttered louder, felt the world grow dim around him, and as the phoenix feather flamed from this world and drifted gently through another, for a second he felt that other place. He sensed the Memory, the haunt of all mythical creatures, and he burst into an involuntary outpouring of grief and rage at the sadness radiating from there. It was a forgotten place whose very name emphasized the hopelessness of its existence. And it was dark, filled with drifting forms, many of them threatening and exuding menace, but only in the way that an old man will intimidate those younger than him with age, wisdom, and knowledge. They were fearful entities he saw, but ineffectual.

Ineffectual where they were now, at least.

The light faded, the heat withdrew, and Gal fell shivering to the floor of the passageway. If his hex of transmission had been right, the phoenix feather would be with his father even now. Given time, the light of revenge would begin to bleed into that darkened void.

As he withdrew from the Memory, he felt it shimmer with an echo of hope. His hope. And even through his tears, he smiled.



* * *





Baltimore, Maryland — 1997



ABBY PARIS SAT ON THE step of Edgar Allan Poe's grave and waited for the werewolf. The moon would be three-quarters full tonight; her own blood told her that, her own hunger. Yet she was certain that the werewolf would be here, clothed in its human form, but already planning the feast of a few days' time. Witnesses to the slayings said that the monster paid homage here after each killing. That made Abby uncomfortable, but, worried or not, she knew it was her job to try to talk it around.

That, or destroy it.

The afternoon was scorching. She sat beside Poe's grave, wearing black trousers and a black T-shirt, and she guessed she looked similar to a lot of visitors this particular graveyard attracted. At least for once she wouldn't stand out from the crowd. Traffic hustled by and stank up the air, but the iron fence seemed to have a calming effect on the noise, as if the somber atmosphere of the churchyard were thick enough to soothe it. Abby watched a big dump truck pull up at the traffic lights down the street and belch brown coughs of exhaust fumes into the air. She wished she could avoid breathing for an hour or two. Then she thought of some of those dead things she had seen on her last mission with Hellboy, and she drew in a thankful breath. Stinking air was better than no air at all.

This was her first time out on her own, and she was nervous. Tom Manning, the head of the Bureau of Paranormal Research and Defense, had been hesitant about sending her out for a solo job, especially as this was such a personal assignment for her. "Send a monster to catch one!" she had said perkily, but Tom had frowned, and she had seen the troubled mind ever present behind his gruff exterior. Hellboy, Liz Sherman, and Abe Sapien were all out of the country on separate missions, and the significance of this had not been lost on Abby. There was a lot of stuff going on in the world right now. Weird stuff. BPRD stuff. Tom hated sending his agents out on their own.