Violet Eyes Stormy Skies

By Jeff Fennern

There are two things southern Minnesota never runs out of, abandoned farms and imp nests. These days you rarely had one without the other. The gray skinned little creatures weren’t all that dangerous to humans, but have a nasty habit of wandering to the not so abandoned farms and killing the livestock. They can wipe out a flock of chickens faster than a mink. The heads are bitten off and spit out onto the ground. The bodies usually turn up in the nests in a rotting pile. I guess imps aren’t fond of fresh meat.

Tonight Conner is introducing me to his newest way to hunt imps. The chunks of carved crystal hang from a tripod like a wind chime, gently spinning and glowing with the energy he infused them with. Instead of luring the imps to it with a musical tone and sending that back to wherever they come from when they touch it, chime created a pulse that knocked the thistle clad little beasts unconscious. We still had to banish them one at a time with the traditional stones, but no more chasing down the smart ones that didn’t go for the trap. This method has its appeal. We weren’t prepared for how well it was working.

The wall of Conner’s binding circle flashes as I add another unconscious imp to the pile. Conner frowns as he adjusts the tally in his head.

“We banished twelve and caged fifteen more. That’s twenty-seven of the damn things. That beats the record. You ever hear of a nest this big Celest,” He asks.

“No. But then I also haven’t heard of one that’s gone undiscovered as long as this one has,” I reply. “Makes me wonder how many I’ve missed over the years.”

“That’s a scary thought.” His tracking wisp floats over to him. The little red ball of light flickers a bit as it hovers in the air. “The wisp says that’s the last of them.”

“Send it around one more time, just to be sure. It’s not like we can go anywhere until granddad gets here with more crystals.”

Conner nods and makes a few gestures in ancient Latin sign language and the ball flies of to circle the site again. “Did he give you any idea of how long it would take?”

“You know him lives his life on pagan standard time.”

“I know I know. Phase of the moon give or take two weeks. I guess we should be grateful his phone was charged,” Conner says.

“How long will your new toy keep these things unconscious?” I ask Conner.

“Theoretically or in reality?” He counters.

“You’ve tested this thing haven’t you?”

“Yeah, about an hour ago. So far it’s working great.”

Conner and I had trained together. When we were young, the world cracked. Energy and other things flooded into our world. The domes that appeared twenty-four hours later kept the creatures in, but the energy still leaked through, background radiation that kindled our DNA and tripped epigenetic markers that hadn’t been used by humanity for centuries. Because of this, I carried a storm in my soul and lighting at my beck and call. Conner has neither. He sets spells in stone, draws circles twice as strong as mine in half the time, and can recognize wisdom where I only see gibberish. Given time he can do some truly impressive things. But he can’t kill with a thought like I can. Which is why when we officially recruited by C.O.V.E.N. I went to work in the field, and he went to work in research and development. Three years later, when the government decided R&D wasn’t getting results fast enough, Conner packed a goody bag and promoted himself to fieldwork. Officially, he’s my apprentice. Unofficially, I’m his lab assistant. Conner keeps his eyes on the stack of imps and off of me. “You know how bad Wolfgang wants a full hand. You sure you don’t want me to take one for him? He is driving all the way out here after all. “

“I’m not dismembering a living thing simply so he can test a theory. He can be happy with his share of the claws, or he can go without.”

Imps are one of the few creatures whose claws can cut through the fabric of reality. Usually they just make little holes, allowing them to cross over. No one is sure how the little beasts do it, but the discovery prompted the powers that be to change the bounty from expended banishment crystals to claws.

“You want to document the sight or do the paperwork.” I ask.

“Paperwork. I need to keep an eye on the chime anyway.” He says as he sits down and leans against the yard light pole.

“Fair enough.” I fish a couple disposable cameras out of the truck and start taking photos for the file.

Farm sights like this one are pretty common in rural areas, an old house with a couple of additions, a barn, and a machine shed out back. Someone would still be living here if it weren’t for the fire. It hadn’t destroyed the house, in fact from the front, the house almost looked in tact. Except for the black scorch marks around the windows and the roof that had caved in from weakened supports and years of Minnesota winters. The garage was gone. Nothing more than a pile of charred wood on scattered around the rusted remains of a car and what may have been a minivan at one time.

It doesn’t take long to get pictures of the barn and house I head around the side to get pictures of the shed and freeze when I spot it. The dark shape set against the foundation of the house. I radio Conner for backup.

“Celest, it’s just a damn storm cellar. It will take you two minutes to get the pictures. Suck it up.”

“Asshole,” I reply with my finger off the talk button. He’s right and I know it and that somehow makes it worse. Trading my walkie for my flashlight, I pull the doors open and head down the stairs.

The LED beam cuts through the darkness, showing me bits of concrete floor under the collapsed wood from the upper floors. No Sound. No movement. Not even moonlight. I sigh as I snap the pictures. Something could have the decency to jump out at me at least, if only to teach Conner a lesson.

Little flickers of red light greet me as I emerge. Across the yard from the house, Conner’s wisp hovers in front of the machine-shed door. Flickering like a broken neon beer sign.

“What’s wrong,” I ask as I walk up to the wisp, the question causing the little fairy light to flicker wildly. I try the knob only to find the door locked.

“Conner, did you check inside the shed?”

“Nope. It was locked and the walls looked solid.” He radios back. “No way for the imps to get in.”

“Well something’s in there. Your wisp is going apeshit.”

“Give me a minute.”

Flashlight between my teeth, I kneel to get a better look at the lock, retrieving my roll of lock picks from my inside pocket. I’m still romancing the pins when Conner joins me.

“You still playing with those things? When are you going to get a pick gun?”

“Pick guns lack elegance.” I say as I tickle the last pin and it finally lines up. I turn the cylinder and push open the door. The smell hits me as it swings inward, blood and spoiled meat. “I think we found the chickens.”

Conner banishes the wisp as I find the light switch. “How are they getting in? There are no holes, no dog door, no open windows. How…”

The switch clicks. The naked bulb above flares. Conner freezes. We both do. The shed is a mess of dismembered chickens. Feathers and little globs of meat scattered across the floor and walls, fanning out from clean circle of cement at the center of the room. The ceiling is painted with sprays of carmine, shards of bone jut out from the wooden supports at odd angles. Conner already has his baseball-sized sphere of crystal held to his eye. Letting out a whistle as he gazes the room. I retrieve my Eye from my pocket and do the same.

In reality, the room was bad enough. The aether imprint was worse. The stain of what happened here still clinging to the air. Above the circle in the center of the mess, there is a shimmer, like the air on a hot summers day. Strands of semi translucent corn silk waving in a nonexistent breeze. Tattered remnants of the fabric of the universe The swaying cobwebs of reality. You see this in places imps come through, but on a much smaller scale.

“Something big punched through here.” I whisper.

“Check out the floor under the mess.”

My breath catches in my throat as I scan the center of the room. Someone has carved an octagon in the floor, filled with blocks of etched writing. Unrecognizable symbols carved around a circle at the center, the clear circle, and all of it running with energy. Not the normal spectrum of human energy, like my violet or Conner’s sunshine yellow. The energy was a blackish green, imp’s magic.

“ That makes no sense. Imps don’t do magic without an outside force directing them.” I mutter as I put the Eye away and pull out my phone.

Wolfgang picks up on the third ring. “Yup?”

“When are you getting here?” I ask.

“I don’t know.” He says. “I got turned around on the back roads. It could be a bit.”

“Can you send Chesher ahead. Something very not right is happening here.”

“What? Surrounded by the ghosts of dead chickens?”

“Granddad this is not the time for poultryguist jokes. There’s a major rip here. I need Cheshers eyes.”

“Can the rest of me come along for the ride?” Says the psychic parasite in blue jeans.

I spin and throw without thinking. The bolt leaving my fingertips a fraction of a moment before my brain recognizes Chesher’s human from, a cross between a swimsuit model and a second string used car salesman. Brown wavy hair, tan skin, green eyes, but there’s something greasy about him. He’s constantly smiling, with a grin that’s far too wide for a human face to make. When he looks at you, his eyes sparkle so bright you can almost see the sins he’s pondering. The bolt of lighting passes right through him, the thunder still ringing in my ears as he smirks.

“You’re getting better. You don’t even have your stone out and that when right though my belly.”

“I was aiming lower” I lie.

“Tease.” He takes a moment to look around the room. Moving next to Conner and kneeling down by the carving in the floor and looks it over for a long moment.

“What’s it say,” I ask.

“Hell if I know,” replies Chesher.

“What do you mean? You translate for granddad all the time.”

“He just borrows my eyes. He does most of the work. Besides, the pages aren’t written in imp.”

Conner looks at him. “Can you lend me your eyes like you do for him?”

“I can, but I can’t grantee you will understand what you see. I still don’t know how the old wolf knows what he knows. And you would have to trade me something like he does. What are you offering in return?”

“Unrestricted access to my memories, but you look only. No syphoning, no removing. ” Conner replies. “And only for as long as I work on the circle.”

“Done!” Chesher replies instantly. His grin widens so much that, for a moment, it looks like the top of his head is going to fall off. He moves behind Conner. “This will tickle a little.” He says as he presses the fingers of his left hand against Conner’s head, a moment later his fingers begin to fade from this reality slowly, until they are just unreal enough to slip through flesh and bone and into Conner’s skull. Conner goes rigid as they form the connection, the brown of his eyes swirling away as Chesher’s green replaces it.

Conner lips start to move as he eyes work around the circle. Whispering the words as he reads the circle. Sounding them out slowly. Rolling the words over in a dozen languages before finding something that fits and moving on to the next quadrant.

“It’s a gateway, that much I know,” Conner says eventually.” More permanent that the imps tears. This can be repowered and used again.”

“What does it let it,” I ask.

“I’m not sure. Nothing I’ve learned translates the last section. Chesher, anything look familiar to you?”

“Not of the top of my head. Let me see what languages you have stored in here.” Chesher says. “This is really intricate work. You found about thirty imps here?”

“Twenty-seven.” I reply.

“Sounds about right,” Chesher says. “The would need nine triads to get all this over here, and three more to power it.” Chesher’s eyes light up. “Wait Conner. Go back to that last one. Where did you pick this up? Never mind I’ll go look later. Yeah this could work.”

“Conner, you sure this was a good idea?”

Conner doesn’t respond, the green in his eyes flickers, taking a swirl of black. His lips start to move again as he reads slowly.

“The builders, crafters of chaos, changers of earth and sky.” Conner says softly.“Chesher, do you recognize this word? It seems important but I can’t pronounce it.” Conner asks quietly.

“That’s because you only have one tongue in your head.” Chesher goes still. “Oh dear. The closest translation I can come up with would be skinless.

This time my heart freezes. “Granddad tells stories of the things that escaped the Twin Cities before the dome went up. He never had a name for them, but he described them as man size spiders made up of raw meat. He said some of the troops called them skinless.”

““Sounds about right. In the early stages at least.” Chesher replies.

“There haven’t been any reports of the skinless for years now. The ones outside the domes were killed, and the dome holds the rest back.” Conner says.

“Unless you count the caves in northern Pennsylvania.” Chesher says with a grin.

“Except we don’t because no one is suppose to know about that.” Conner growls.

“Not my fault you didn’t limit what I could page through.”

“Conner what are these caves,” I ask.

“According to the file, one of the last large nests of skinless. There were seventy or so in a remote cave. According to the file they had been reshaping it.” Conner says.

“Weakening the walls of reality on a grander scale. Making it more malleable and easier to work with.” Chesher adds.

“If we hadn’t lost a squad up there, who knows if we would have found it.”

“ They over hunted the area. The needed bodies to bring more skinless over, but they expanded faster than the local population could keep up with.” Chesher says.

“You realize these are people we are talking about,” I growl.

“I am merely pointing out the situation as they would have seen it. At any rate we shouldn’t have to worry about that here. We can destroy the octagon, and with the imps banished it won’t have a food source. With no magic to eat it won’t be able to stay long.” Chesher says.

“We only had enough crystals to banish twelve. Granddad was bringing us more. The other fifteen are in a circle outside.” I say

“Full or half,” Chesher asks.

“Half. It’s only set to keep magic in. It made it easier to stack up the imps.” Conner says.

Chesher curses in a dead language. “Stupid lazy children! Get out there and keep it away from the imps! Fry them, do anything you have to, just don’t let it feed!”

I turn to bolt for the door. “Cel!” Conner shouts. “Skinless are old school monsters, iron or non-magical fire. Keep it busy. If all else fails, run and hide. We’ll work on the problem from this end.”

I nod, turn, and run. The dark closes in around me. Trails of white clouds follow me as hot breath meets cold air. It takes seconds to cover the ground between the back yard and the front. My arm extends before I round the corner. The violet light fills my eyes as the charge flows through my hand. There was a time I couldn’t hit anything without my focusing stone. I find now that the thoughtless state that blind panic helps in an odd way. There’s no time to over think, there’s no time for second guessing myself. Aim and fire is all you have time for when the world is crashing down. The bolt is high, but goes through the outer wall of the circle and gets caught. Now that it has no place to go, it bounces off the walls, filling the space with bright flashes. The air fills with the smell of wood smoke as the imps turn to charcoal. Lightning starts fires all the time, and forest spirits ignite just as easily as wood.

I walk over to the circle to watch the imps burn away to ash. In the old days it would have been hard to collect the bounties on them this way. But we already have the claws. I step on a patch of burning grass to smother it. My lungs ache from chill in the air. I try to calm my breathing, blowing out a long breath out slowly though my mouth and inhaling deep through my nose. The smell hits me. Rotten meat. It takes me a moment to find the source, first picking up on it from the lack of stars in a strange shape. The skinless hangs in mid air. Not flying or floating. Its eight spindly legs of raw flesh and white bone clinging to open air. In it’s front legs it pins one of the imps to open sky as if it were sold. A little gash that runs along the horrors underbelly pressed tight against the creature, a jagged array of sharp bone piercing the grey flesh. The meat of the skinless body moves, expanding and contracting, sucking the essence from it’s pray. After a long moment the imp falls to the ground, the small body gnawed and broken. It lands in a heap with two others. The thing has eaten three of them.

The bolt is away before I realize I’ve decided to throw it. The thunder fills the air as the mass of muscle catches it and spins it into a ball, rolling it over and over between its claws until the violet light shrinks into nothingness. It turns the gash in my direction. I’d say it was looking at me, but you need eyes for that, or a head for that matter.

One of Chesher’s curses escapes my lips as I turn and run toward the old farmhouse. The thing skitters along the empty air after me, the bone claws clacking on the invisible surface it clings to. I circle around the house and head back the way I came, heading for my truck.

“It got three of them before I could stop it,” I yell into the radio.

“That’s not good.” I hear Chesher reply. “Give us a second. We think we have an idea. Keep it distracted.”

“Wonderful,” I mutter as head for the truck. The skittering feet on empty air tells me that the creature isn’t far behind, but that also means it’s not in front of me either. I reach the pickup, jump into the back, and grab an old fireplace poker just as the skinless reaches me. It’s amazing what you can do with two and a half feet of sharpened iron when you have to. The tip gashes its side, sending the creature skittering back across the open sky, oozing dark fluid from the wound.

I thumb the talk button on the radio as I watch the creature vanish around the back of the old farmhouse. “You guys have a plan yet?”

“We think so. If we use one of the imp claws, we could alter the circle. Maybe send it back where it came from.” Conner replies.

“What do you mean maybe?”

“It theory it should work.”

“Lovely. Keep me posted.”

“Chesher says just trust us, oh and if the skinless starts whispering at you, don’t listen to it.”

“Like I needed him to tell me that.”

Poker at the ready I follow after the skinless. The wind blows gently as I round the corner. Carrying the words along with it. They are so faint I can’t make the out at first. But they call to me. Giving me a trail to follow if nothing else.

I round the corner to see the creature standing in mid air, upright on two humanish legs. It stretches the wrong way spreading arms made up of what’s left of the spider things forelegs toward the ground, each one ending in the pair of sharp points it was walking on moments ago. The body spun in on itself. I watch as bulk from the torso moves along the arms, pushing those needle sharp points out further. I take another swing at it with the poker, but it’s hanging to high in the sky.

I had changed the rules with the poker. I proved that I was capable of hurting it. It fed on the imps. It is stronger than before. It was giving it was giving itself the advantages it needed, range and reach. I threw another bolt. Knowing it would do no good, but I had to try.

The newly formed head split into a grin that would put Chesher’s to shame as the bolt ran across its flesh until the energy was gone. I saw ragged shards of not teeth poking though the meat along the edge as it just grins at me. I can hear the words now

. “Violet eyes bring stormy skies.” Whispers the voice on the breeze. “Violet eyes , so lovely and full of emotion. Anger and fear, certainty and uncertainty.” The breeze says.

The words skitter across my brain, the next sentence starting before the last one finishes, the words coiling around my mind like a snake. The fireplace poker slides between my fingers. Smacking into my leg as it nearly slips from my grasp. The pain helps; it clears the fog enough for me to back away. Bumping into the storm cellar door in the process, the open storm cellar door. I turn and bolt into the darkness.

“Come back. Lets play some more. I want to see your eyes flash again.” It whispers as I vanish.

I adjust my grip on the poker. Running my thumb over the sharpened point. I don’t know if it’s the pain or the iron, but the whispers don’t pull as hard.

The skinless chuckles as it follows me slowly into the dark, the sound of a garbage disposal full of broken glass.

I try to still my breathing even as I wonder if it matters. It’s tracking me and I have no idea how. Stay still. Stay quiet. See if it comes right at you or if it passes by. And then it’s in the doorway. I hear the wet sound of its limbs adjusting to the tighter quarters. I hold my breath, wishing my eyes could adjust that quickly. Trying to remember how the cellar looked in the light.

“Cel. Were ready here. Can you get it to follow you here?” The radio chirps.

Well shit.

The skinless chuckles again

“You’re not alone. What a lovely surprise. Would you give them to me so you can run, or would you fight me for them? Throw more lightning at me with your flashing eyes filled with rage. Such lovely eyes, I wonder what they’ll taste like.”

“Keep wondering.” I mutter and give him what he asks for. I don’t even have to aim. The place is filled with old lumber. For the second time that night I start a fire. It doesn’t take much to get it going. Magically kindled but after that, it’s just a lot of burning wood.

It comes at me, but a solid blow on the side of the head with the poker sends it backward. A second shot to the leg sends is sprawling. I scramble up the cellar stairs, slamming the door closed and sliding the poker through the handles.

Conner’s panicked voice cuts across the radio. “Cel, what’s going on?”

“I couldn’t get it back to the circle. I had to go with plan B.” I Reply.

“We’ll be right there.” Conner says.

And they were. The pair of them appeared out of thin air next to me. Chesher yanked his fingers out of Conner’s head, another ancient curse slipping from his lips. “How did you do that,” He demands.

“That will teach you to be greedy,” Conner says. “You were so busy ransacking my memories, you forgot to shield your mind. Just assume no mere mortal could pull a back trace?”

“It’s rude to hijack someone’s powers like that.” Chesher stammers.

I can’t resist. “He would know. He’s kind of an expert on rude behavior.”

Chesher huffs “If you are done with me, I will return to your grandfather.”

“Please stay. I’m sorry. No more teasing I promise,” I say, “We need your help to make sure the octagon is destroyed.”

He sulks, but nods. “Agreed. It’s to dangerous to risk not wiping it clean.” He says and vanishes again.

“Go help him, and no teasing.” I say.

Conner nods and walks off toward the shed.

Fifteen minutes later the fire department pulls in, followed by Wolfgang’s truck.

“How did I know that if I followed the signs of trouble, I’d find you?” He says as I walk over to meet them. “Nice fire.”

“Guess the pyro gene runs in the family.” I reply.

“I take it you don’t need the crystals anymore.”

“No but I’ll take a hot dog if you’ve got one.”

The fire department is almost set up when the first floor collapses into the basement. Shrill cries fill the air. Wolfgang and I race to the tank truck and I flash my license. “Do not turn that on until the screaming stops.”

“Do I want to know what’s down there,” the fireperson asks.

“No, you don’t.” Wolfgang replies as he looks at me. “Girl what has been going on here tonight?”

I explain.