2010-

  Jason Parley paused at the front of the disused church he had been summoned to. He

  had left his uniform cap in his car so his brown hair fought with the wind that was

  kicking up. He looked around, but didn’t see a complainer. Did he go in, or did he

  search for the caller?

  Parley decided to go in. If the complaint was a false alarm, he could write it up and

  go back on patrol. If something was going on, he wouldn’t know unless he went in

  any way.

  Another patrol car rolled to a stop next to his. The other officer turned on his lights

  before getting out. Gus Greer rubbed his bald head as he walked over to join Parley

  at the bottom of the steps leading into the church.

  “Going in?” Gus checked the street as he touched the butt of the department issued

  pistol at his hip.

  “Yeah.” Parley drew his own pistol. “If you want to take the back, I’ll check the

  inside. It’s probably a prank call.”

  “All right.” Greer made a face. “If someone comes out, I’ll grab them.”

  “If it looks like something I can’t handle, I’ll call for backup.” Parley smiled. “If it’s

  a prank, I’ll write it up for the watch.”

  “You’re on.” Greer went back down the steps and started around to the back of the

  building.

  Parley tried the doorknob. He paused when the knob turned under his touch. He

  assumed that when the congregation left, they had locked up behind them. Maybe he

  was wrong about that.

  He pushed the door open as quietly as possible. He stepped inside and closed the door

  behind him. He didn’t bother with a flashlight, instead waiting on his eyes to adjust

  to the ambient light coming through the stained glass windows.

  He heard a noise somewhere behind the raised stage at the other end of the room. He

  looked to either side as he walked down the central aisle. No one seemed to be in the

  main room with him.

  He stepped on the stage. He seemed to remember a couple of doors that led to the

  back of the building. Living quarters and an administrative office for the priest

  should be behind these doors. He decided to clear the building as best he could before

  worrying how it would look in a report.

  He pushed open the door on the left hand side of the stage. He paused to listen.

  Someone was singing in a monotone way down there. He advanced through the door.

  Who could be in an abandoned church in the middle of the night? The answer to that

  question suggested itself as bums trying to find a place inside from the mild weather

  the city had been having of late.

  Parley doubted it was something as simple as squatters. Maybe he had some devil

  worshippers, or voodoo masters, practicing their rites in a place the public didn’t use

  any more. A deconsecrated church would be perfect for that.

  He wondered how he knew that. It had surfaced in his memory, but he didn’t recall

  where he had picked that thought up.

  He decided he could worry about his brain, when he was done with his search. So far,

  the only thing out of place was the singing in a foreign language. He felt he should

  know the words, but the meaning slipped through his mental fingers. He would figure

  it out when he was done.

  Parley moved down the stairs toward the bottom of the church. He turned his radio

  volume down so he wouldn’t be heard. Figuring out why someone was in the building

  was next on his list, now that he knew someone was there.

  He paused at a door at the bottom of the stairs. Did he want to go through that door

  without backup? Did he need backup?

  He pushed the door open gently. He took a look through the crack. A circle of men

  stood around a makeshift table. Someone was chained down on the table. One of the

  circle held a white sword over his head as he said some words.

  That sword didn’t belong there. It belonged to him. He tried to shake off the feeling,

  but it seized his mind. The sword should be in his hands. Rage filled him. No one else

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  was going to use his sword to kill anyone.

  Parley walked into the room. He shot the speaker as he went to bring the sword down

  on his victim. The speaker’s hands opened and flung the sword at him as he stepped

  into the room. He reached up and caught it with one hand as he brought the blade

  around in a circle. Two of the chorus fell over in separate pieces as he completed his

  circle.

  Lightning ran up the blade of the sword, lighting the jagged scar on his forehead. He

  advanced down to the table. Memories flooded through his mind as he walked

  forward.

  Parley was just the latest mask he wore. His job was just the latest that he had taken

  up. He was the King now that he held his sword again.

  He was the King, and he always would be even if he walked the Earth a thousand

  more times.

  The chorus decided to break for the door. He let them. If he ran into them again, he

  would know them. Then he would mete out long delayed justice.

  He brought down the blade of his sword down on the chains holding their intended

  victim to the table they had turned into an altar. He noted that it was a boy. He

  appeared malnourished and pale as moonlight. He had colored his hair like a parrot’s

  feathers.

  “You shot me.” The spell caster lay on the floor. Blood surrounded him like a dark

  halo. “I was supposed to complete the summons. The blood was supposed to bring

  the Kittikaen again.”

  “Have better luck with that in your next life.” Parley’s scar and eyes glowed to match

  the sword in his hand.

  Smoke boiled up from the blood on the concrete floor. Parley stepped back. He stood

  between the cloud and the drugged victim on the floor. He spun the sword in his

  hand, shifting his grip on it.

  It looked like the summons had been sent after all.

  The cloud parted to reveal a face with too many eyes and too many mouths. One of

  the larger eyes had been sliced apart from the looks of things. Scars crossed the eye.

  “I forbid you to come across the boundary.” Parley gripped the lightning in his hand.

  “Go home.”

  “You do not forbid me, human.” Kittikaen stretched out tentacles to grip the living

  barrier in its way. “You feed me.”

  The sword danced in Parley’s hand. Appendages fell to the floor around him as he

  advanced to meet his enemy. He smiled under his lightning lit eyes. His blade stabbed

  out, jamming through Kittikaen’s face with all of the police officer’s new strength

  and speed.

  Parley ignored the cry of pain. He switched the grip on his pistol. He used it like a

  hammer to drive the sword in deeper.

  The morass of ectoplasm and fleshly hatred baked away from the blade. Pieces of skin

  peeled away as the sword ate its victim. It dropped back into Parley’s hand with a

  final howl from its victim.

  Parley exhaled a breath. He hadn’t thought that would work. The sword was meant

  to kill anything it came across. He should have known it would do the same for

  anything that was not meant to walk the Earth.

  He looked around the room. He was alone except for the sleeping victim on the floor.

  He would have to arrange medical treatment for the boy. He turned his radio back up

  so he could call out.

  He wondered if Gus had caught any of the chanters when they fled the building.

  He looked at the chopped bodies near the door. He could check them for

  identification later if he wanted it. He needed to save what he could and get an

  ambulance. Punishment could be handed down whenever he spotted his enemy on the

  street.

  And he did plan to punish them. Allowing something from outside access to Earth

  could have resulted in many deaths besides the one they had planned. They needed

  to be taught a lesson about why that wasn’t a good idea.

  Parley found the church’s walls blocked his radio. He walked upstairs and out the

  front. He smiled when his radio started working again. He called for an ambulance

  and backup to secure the building.

  Parley slid the sword under his jacket. It twisted into a sidereal space next to reality

  and faded. It would stay there until he needed it again, or he died.

  Gus came around the corner. He had a man in handcuffs in his grip as he walked the

  man back to the steps. The man looked at Parley and tried to get away. Greer threw

  him to the ground, and sat on him.

  “Settle down, or you’ll get a boot to the head.” Parley turned to go back in the church.

  “We have a victim they were getting ready to carve up like a jack o’lantern. It was a

  good thing we came along.”

  “Keep him away from me,” said the chanter. “He carved up Roscoe and Floyd like

  nothing I ever saw.”

  “They deserved it.” Parley entered the church. He headed back to the slaughter room.

  He picked the boy up and carried him out of the church. He placed the boy down at

  the top of the steps.

  Where was the ambulance?

  The chanter tried to wriggle away from Gus. That showed a persistence that Parley

  admired. That didn’t stop him from taking aim and kicking the man’s lights out.

  “We got three dead, one prisoner, and one victim who may or may not be able to

  press charges.” Parley put his hands in his pockets. “Not really a good haul.”

  “Maybe the D.A. will get this one to talk so we can round up the rest.” Greer looked

  down at his hands. “Serving warrants should be easy.”

  “We have the warrant squad for that.” Parley grimaced. “I memorized their faces. If

  I see them on the street, I’ll pick them up.”

  “This is still going to be a mess.” Greer looked down at their captive. “How did you

  kill three guys?”

  “With speed and skill.” Parley smiled. “Here comes the ambulance. I’m going to ride

  down to the hospital with our victim. I guess turn everything over to what detectives

  show up to investigate.”

  “At least I got that covered.” Greer shook his head. “This guy probably should go too

  after the shot you gave him.”

  “He deserved more than I gave him.” Parley waved at the ambulance attendants.

  “Luckily for him, his value as an information source outweighs my wanting to kill

  him.”