Jack-Jaw Brings the Flames pt 3

Quintas stared at the disembodied head on his desk. It grimaced at him from two mouths while leaking a pool of ichor around it. The eyes looked bored, not dead, and it stank of burned things. He supposed he should be greatful that Jude had swept his desk free of his notes and books and other paraphernalia before dropping the bulbous thing on his desk. He looked up at the woman in question.

She stood before him like a cat who’d just presented it’s master with a half eaten mouse. He wasn’t quite sure how to react properly to this offering. To scold her might set her off, to praise her might encourage further unsatisfactory behavior. He looked to the tall skinny man beside her. He looked mortified and slightly sick. Quintas often wondered why Anson followed Jude around like he did, they were simply mismatched.

“Well,” He cleared his throat and straighten. “And the rest of the body is where?”

“Dissolved in the sewer.” Jude rocked up on her steel toes. “Watched the whole thing myself. He washed away like sand on the beach.”

Quintas contemplated that. He eyeballed the head again.

“And this is all that’s left?”

“Yes,” Jude said.

“Fortuitous,” he suddenly itched to get the head back to his laboratory.

“So you don’t need us anymore, right?” The boy, Anson, spoke up. He paled when Quintas turned his attention to him.

“Not currently, No.” Quintas smiled.

“Then I’m going to go,” Anson edged to the door. Quintas shrugged. The boy left. Both Jude and Quintas watched him ascend the stairs and waited till the door clicked shut.

“I’ll need to inform the Duchess,” Jude said once they were alone. Quintas nodded and Jude pulled out her cell phone. Quintas went about cleaning things up a bit before the ruler of the city arrived. By the time she stepped out of the shadows he’d managed to get the head into an acrylic box and had the majority of the ichor cleaned up. She still wrinkled her nose at the smell.

“This is the creature that burned half of Market Street?” she walked over to look into the clear box, if she was affected by it’s gruesome contents, she didn’t show it.

“The same,” Jude said. “We found him lounging on a bench before he attacked us.”

“Casualties?” the Duchess asked.

“Some, but none that couldn’t be explained away. Only a few directly killed by him, most were injured or killed by the fire and exploding glass.”

The Duchess frowned at Jude .

“I will want exact numbers,” the Duchess said. Jude nodded and frowned. “Well then, Quintas , what do we have here?”

Quintas pulled himself into his lecture stance, and removed the glasses that were merely a prop.

“When last this creature was named, we called it Jack-Jaw. It was a quaint folk name given by the locals at the time. I still don’t know exactly who released him then, it could be he simply slept for various lengths of time and then woke. Once awake he moved quickly. On October 8, small fires began just outside of Peshtigo in Wisconsin, these mostly went unnoticed as things were more spread out then and news only traveled so fast. The first major fires were in Peshtigo, from all accounts this was and is the deadliest fire. From what I can put together the demon then spread to Green Bay, crossed Lake Michigan to Holland, down to Manistee, and then to Chicago, Illinois. This is where we became aware of him.”

“You said this was all done in 6 hours?” the Duchess asked. Jude blinked in surprise, this was the first she’d heard this.

“From the accounts I retrieved, yes.” Quintas handed the Duchess a folder. “These are the accounts from that night written by Effie James, the Sage of Wisconsin and Andrew Kinsley Astor, Sage of Michigan.”

“Nothing from Illinois?” She flipped the folder open to read the carefully preserved and protected papers.

“It wasn’t necessary for Garrick to give a statement, I was present as well.” Quintas said.

“I see your statement, but you were not the Sage of Indiana yet,” the Duchess carefully flipped pages.

“I was still new to the city at the time.” Quintas felt Jude’s stair from across the room. It was unusual for one who wasn’t the appointed Sage to keep records, but Quintas wasn’t a usual man. The Duchess read for a bit longer, then looked up.

“You were brought here by Her Majesty to consult on another mater?” the Duchess said, repeating the line he knew she’d read.

“Frances was killed 1860 during a raid on Corydon. He didn’t relocate with her Majesty to Indianapolis. I was brought in the spring before the fires to help reconcile Frances’ records.” He paused to let her put the time-line together. “It was an interview of sorts.”

“One you passed, it seems,” Jude said. She was now lounging on one of his gray suede chairs.

“Monsieur Villias is still not the official Sage of Indiana,” the Duchess corrected. “You have been without one since the death of Monsieur Frances.” The Duchess closed the folder and handed it back to Quintas. “Your account says you were able to bind the demon into a honey pot and sealed it with several intricate wards.”

“Yes, at the time the gentleman who helped us, a mage named Salem, was still rather untrained, but he was talented. He managed to seal the jar, ward it, and then hide it. Garrick, Salem, and I were the only one’s who knew the jar’s location.”

“So it is possible that Garrick or Salem discovered it and opened it?”

“Possible, but not likely. I contacted Garrick immediately after sending Jude to deal with the demon, and Salem is currently the head of his own guild in Chicago. Both men are equally as surprised by this as I am.”

The Duchess’ cell rang, and she politely excused herself to answer.

“Oui?” There was a long pause as the Duchess listened to the muffle voice on the other end. She looked up at Quintas, then smiled. “Oui, Send him immediately since he is willing. The Mage will be a bit more complicated since the Local Guild is not on friendly terms with my city.” Again a pause. She nodded again. “If he believes so, then he is welcome as well. Could you ask them both to meet us at the Central Library Branch downtown?” She recited the library’s address then hung up.

“I was going to say that Garrick will be contacting you for permission to visit as soon as he can clear it with Lord Herbert. Apparently, he moves faster than I anticipated.”

“And he is bringing Monsieur Salem with him,” The Duchess said. ” Jude, they have my permission to be here.”

Jude nodded, acknowledging the formal permission for what it was. As if timed, there was a knock at the door.

“Ah, Garrick knows where my office is,” Quintas said as he moved to get the door. Jude stopped him.

“I’ve got this,” She said. She clanked up the stairs in her boots and yanked the door open. She grinned unbecomingly at the two men looking down at her. “You are welcomed and protected by the Duchess of Indianapolis.”

The taller of the two men, a grizzly man with salt and peppered wiery hair, smiled with false warmth and bobbed his head.

“We acknowledge and accept her hospitably,” His German accent was noticeable, but didn’t obstruct his words. The other man stood behind him, he was only shorter by a few inches, but his contrast was striking. He was tan, and blond, with bewitching blue eyes. Jude noticed him, and his smile was genuine.

“We most certainly do,” the blond said. Jude frowned at him and stepped back. The two men took the hint and stepped in and down the short stairs. The Duchess and Quintas met them.

“Ah,” Quintas extended his hand to the two new men. “Mister Gerrick Bernard, Sage of Illinois and Master Salem of the Chicago Libellus Guild, may I introduce the Duchess of Indianapolis, Alanis Belleflur .”

Both men incline their heads respectfully.

“I was told you’ve met our mutual acquaintance Jack-Jaw,” Salem said.

“Oui,” She gestured at the acrylic box. Both men blanched.

“I’ll be damned,” Gerrick approached the box. “Quintas, you killed the beast?”

“Our Knight, Jude killed it.” He pointed at Jude who shrugged.

“Jude O’Barr ?” Gerrick asked and she nodded. “You’ve got a reputation.”

“Hopefully its all true,” Jude said as she draped herself over the chair again. Garrick grinned and nodded.

“Hopefully.”

——-

(c) All writings here are copyrighted to the author. You do not have permission to reuse them in any way, visually, verbally, or otherwise.

Love me? Hate me? Support me.

Writing is a hungry job, buy me a sandwich on Patreon.
Sometimes you just want to hear something new. Give me listen on SoundCloud.
Wanna read my work in a more mobile, eBook friendly format? Read me on WattPad. 

Jack-Jaw Brings the Flames Pt 2

The city was burning and Jack-Jaw grinned. He’d wanted this day so badly, and now he could revel in it. Glass burst somewhere behind him and he threw his arms wide and twirled towards the sound. Small clumps of people still cowered from the flames that had come so suddenly at Jack-Jaw’s direction, they hadn’t quite realized what was going on or couldn’t find a way to get out. Jack-Jaw skipped over to a particular group with three grown men and a woman. They all wore highly tailored clothes, looking important and well groomed. Jack-Jaw grinned his double grin at the group. The men all screamed, the woman merely gaped.

Jack-Jaw licked twin mouths with identical tongs at the thought of devouring her. The brave tasted best when they finally broke. He fell on the group, tearing with knife blade nails, biting with shark teeth, chewing with both mouths. In the end the woman screamed and she tasted delicious for it.

Full of flesh and covered in blood, Jack-Jaw felt a little less mobile. He was sated and still had the lovely show of the burning city to watch. He ambled over to an unoccupied bench and sat down on it to watch the flames of the buildings and smell the scents of many things turning to ash. He was relaxed and elated. Things hadn’t gone this well for him since he was sealed up in that damned jar. He made a mental note to hunt down the fucking mage who locked him in the relic. Though the thought occurred to Jack-Jaw that the mage might not be alive anymore. He didn’t really know what year it was and mages didn’t necessarily live forever.

He waved the thought away like a fly. Now was not the time for such deep thoughts. The sky was dark with smoke and flame, humans ran about screaming, things were exploding, and he was glad for it. It smelt like old times, before times, times when the only way out of the dark was with flames. Sometimes they saved you, sometimes they burned you. Jack-Jaw had sorely missed the burning.

“Jesus age Christ,” the vulgarity roused Jack-Jaw from his musings and he lolled his head to one side, frowning with both mouths. Two figures stood together, one, a tall youthful man with long raven black hair dressed in black with silver chain accents, and was he wearing makeup on his eyes? The other was a short woman who wore entirely too much black leather, ripped pants, and a torn shirt with some ghostly visage painted on it. She too sported chains, but what was wrong with her hair? Why did it stand up straight like that? Jack-jaw decided chains must be the new accessory among the young, but he couldn’t fathom her hair, did it also have colors in it? He turned on the bench to look at the couple from a better angle.

The man looked around him as if overwhelmed by the chaos about him, but he didn’t look impressed or concerned by it, rather he looked annoyed. His head rolled here and there, finally settling on Jack-Jaw. Only then did his wide eyes narrow a bit. This was not the reaction Jack-Jaw was accustomed too, fear, awe, sometimes desire, but not this accusatory reaction. As if he was some petulant child throwing a temper tantrum.

As much as this man puzzled Jack-Jaw, the woman puzzled him more. She didn’t look the least bit upset but she didn’t look happy either. Rather she looked bored. Jack-jaw frowned deeper as she sneered disdainfully at a glass explosion behind Jack-Jaw. He watched as the fire glinted in her moon bright eyes lending them no warmth. Jack-Jaw knew that particular light, the too bright eagerness of the insane. It made him grin again and both mouths gaped at her. He liked the lunatics, they tasted best.

“Oh fuck, does he have two mouths?” The man asked the woman. She snorted irritably and walked towards Jak-Jaw without answering the man. She looked like she’d resigned herself to some bothersome chore. Jack-Jaw’s grins faded a touch.

“Just who the fuck are you then?” She demanded of Jack-Jaw as if he was the interloper.

Frowning again, he simply reached out an arm to swipe lazily at her face, he wanted to get back to his fire.

She moved faster than he’d thought she should be able too. She practically danced away from him, instantly intrigued he gave chase. A few more swipes and he had corralled her nicely towards one of the flaming storefronts. Fire would melt that ice in her eyes, fire would burn the moon from her mind. He’d roast her like a rabbit and eat her whole.

Something impossibly solid hammered down on his head. Jack-jaw collapsed to his knees and the woman moved deftly out of reach, snickering at his obliviousness. He’d been so wrapped-up in chasing the woman he’d forgotten the man. He recovered his form fast enough.

He looked over at the man who just stood watching him, hot winds making his hair flutter around him like thin feathers. Jack-jaw growled, but the man didn’t flinch. Rather he just stared Jack-Jaw down and began chanting something under his breath. The woman rejoined the man, still sneering at Jack-Jaw. His anger flared inside him and fire erupted behind and around him. Neither seemed phased. The woman shook her head and pointed at him with a shinny machete she’d pulled from somewhere.

“I’ll spare you the fancy bullshit about who I am and what that all means, you don’t seem to care much,” The woman said and then jerked a thumb at the flames behind her. “You did all this?“

“The city, burns, for me!” Jack-Jaw flung his arms open to the surrounding scene. Let them be impressed by his power!

Black ichor erupted from his mouths and he gagged on his own inner fluids. He looked down, puzzled at the sudden heartburn in this chest. The woman twisted and pulled out the machete and swung a second at his neck. Jack-Jaw had the sudden sensation of falling.

Jude wiped the black tar that passed as the monster’s blood from her machetes. She’d have to clean the blade well when she got home. No telling how corrosive this thing’s blood could be. Anson walked up to look at the gutted and beheaded corpse. Sirens were finally starting to wail in the distance.

“You think we can burn it?” He asked knowing they had to dispose of the body before the emergency responders arrived.

“Why couldn’t we?” She snapped. She was pissed that the creature had been so easy to kill.

“Well…it just seemed pretty excited about the fire. Maybe it’s got a connection with it or something…you know…maybe,” He drifted off at the cold stare she gave him. He sighed deciding to come at it a different way. “What did Quintas say?” He knew she’d been briefed about the possible monster by the City’s Librarian.

Jude shrugged. She’d half listened at best.

“He said that water would probably do some damage to it, since it seemed so in love with fire.” Anson fought the urge to point out that was exactly what he’d said, he just rolled his eyes. Jude pointed back towards a manhole that led to the actual sewer. “Give us a hand.”

Anson knew damn well that she could lift and carry this guy on her own, but he took the feet of the headless monster and they carried it over to the manhole. He lifted the manhole cover and Jude dropped the body in. With an eager glint in her eyes she followed it down, Anson crouched above watching. The dark in the sewer access hole was too complete for him to see well. Jude’s eyes were better suited for total darkness. Aside from the sounds of burning around him and the slow glug of the sewer below he thought he hear a new sizzling noise.

“Anything?” He asked.

Jude ignored him as she stood against the tunnel wall watching, fascinated for the first time that day. The monster’s body began to dissolve like packed sand in a soft current. He melted away, a layer at a time as the forced current of the waster and now the added hydrant water washed over him. It took a while, but he finally began to break up into large chunks that melted away as well. Only once she couldn’t see anymore of him did she climb back up, grinning the whole way.

“Damnedest thing I’ve seen in a while,” She said describing the event to Anson. He just blinked and shook his head then he replaced the manhole cover, secretly happy he couldn’t see down the hole.

“Are you going to take the head back to Quintas?” He asked as they walked back over to claim it. It’s twin mouths gaping, ichor pooling around it, it’s eyes rolled up and glazed over. Anson touched it with the tip of his black converse then moved backwards as it rolled a little towards him.

“Don’t know why he’d want it,” She picked it up by its wiry black hair and poked it once with her finger. “but he likes to keep track of these things. Disgusting fuck.” Anson wasn’t sure if she referred to the Librarian or the monster. She had a low opinion of the City’s self appointed know-it-all.

Firetrucks worked in the distance, and both Anson and Jude thought to make themselves scarce. Lucky they didn’t need to go too far. The creature had only managed to set fire to the buildings on one half of one street. Granted it was Market Street and all the shops and clubs were in pretty bad shape. Still, from his perspective, Anson mussed, it must have looked like the whole city was indeed on fire. The repairs would be costly and there were a fair number of causalities, but it was a far cry from the whole city. Anson felt a sudden pang of pity for the monster. It had seemed so happy right before Jude disembowel it.

——-

(c) All writings here are copyrighted to the author. You do not have permission to reuse them in any way, visually, verbally, or otherwise.

Love me? Hate me? Support me.

Writing is a hungry job, buy me a sandwich on Patreon.
Sometimes you just want to hear something new. Give me listen on SoundCloud.
Wanna read my work in a more mobile, eBook friendly format? Read me on WattPad. 

Jack-Jaw Brings the Flame Pt. 1

Quintas strode around the art gallery, his gray gloved hands neatly folded behind his back, his silver rimed glasses perched perfectly on his Romanesque nose. There were indeed several objects of interest here, just as Cleo had said there would be. He hadn’t found the one he was looking for exactly yet, but he was enjoying looking at them none the less.

Some objects were harder to identity than others try as he might. He looked around to see if Cleo had arrived yet, she could identify these so much quicker than he could.

“That’s an actual papyri jar that the idiot has tried to refit to look like that Baghdad Battery the kooks are on about.” The refined British accent spoke behind him and Quintas managed not to jump. He hated how she would sneak around just to surprise him. He fixed a pleasant look on his face and turned calmly to face her.

Glossy brown hair bounced around a cheerful pale face set with mischievous amethyst eyes. Cleo Emerson-Peabody was truly pleasant to look upon. Quintas spent a moment admiring her simple beauty before bowing a greeting to her. It was that simple beauty that had caused her long imprisonment and almost cost her sanity. Quintas was eternally grateful that she’d been able to escape to the light again. She was quite effective to work with.

“What is a Baghdad Battery?” He asked as she moved around the horribly mauled and heavily modernized Egyptian pottery.

“Some in the fringe community believe that the Egyptians manged to master electricity and powered their mythical machines with batteries made from copper wire and vinegar wine.” She grinned devilishly at him. “That or aliens brought them such advanced technology.”

Quintas arched his groomed eyebrows.

“The Egyprions had mastered electricity and they didn’t share? How inconsiderate of them.” Quintas couldn’t help returning her smile, however slight his was. “But were is the Jar?” Cleo nodded merrily.

“Figures you would want to get to meat of it.” She turned and lead him down the wide room cluttered with more of the ‘artists’ mutilated artifacts. Quintas was impressed with how thoroughly the creator of the objects manged to dissect the artifacts in order to drill wires, electronics, and even pump water through them.

“How did he get a hold of all these artifacts?” Quintas asked as they passed a baboon headed Canopic jar who’s eyes were replaced with glowing green LED lights. It’s minuscule jaw had been sliced off and rewired, then attached to a small motor that caused it to flap slowly up and down. A small Fez had been glued to it’s head and the arms of some mechanical monkey riveted to it’s side. The cymbal clapping in time with the jaw. Quintas knew that image would haunt him for a while.

“Kermit Cliffs is a very resourceful collector,” Cleo said. “I’ve sold him a few, and I know several competitors who sold him pieces.” She rounded on him with her finger to her nose and one eye closed. “I also know he’s not above ‘finding’ pieces himself.” She made quote marks in the air. Quintas nodded. “I’m not sure what bout of insanity inspired all this, but…” She stopped before a large display and gestured at it as if reveling a true work of art.

On the display, set just above eye level, was a large Rube Goldberg like contraption. Various bits, bobs, and lengths of rope, tubing, and metal track splayed outwards from it connecting to something else odd and out of place. All of it leading towards the center of the display where a rather unimpressive jar sat, one clamp on the blue wax sealed lid, and a second on the brown glazed base. From what Quintas could put together the machine was designed to twist the two ends of the jar apart and pour out the innards. Alarm bells screamed in Quintas’ head.

“I wasn’t sure at first,” Cleo said. “But looking at your face I can tell its the actual jar.”

“Jack-jaw.” Quintas said reverently.

“Do you like it?” a new voice said beside him. Quintas mastered his face again looked at the scrawny man addressing him. He was rail thin, scruffy, unkempt with his dark hair fluffed out around his head in what Quintas assumed was a modern hairstyle.

“I do, what is your asking price for it?” Quintas decided to get to the point. If he could still sweat it would have been cold and running down his back. The man only grinned.

“It’s not complete,” The man moved to the side panel of the display showing the giant red button that said ‘GO’ in white letters. “At eight o’clock I’m going to turn the machine on and see what’s inside the jar.”

“See what’s inside?” Quintas repeated the words as if the man was insane. Misunderstanding the situation the man preened.

“Oh yes, The name of this show is ‘Opening the Forbidden’. This jar, like all the objects in the room, is strictly forbidden to be opened. Supposedly in the late 1800’s an American settler was able to catch a fire spirit in this jar using ancient Native American magic.”

“Which tribe?” Quintas asked the man mid sentence. It caught the man off guard and he stumbled verbally.

“W-what?”

“Which ancient Native American tribe’s magic did he use?” The man blinked letting his brain catch up with his words, then he smiled and waved a finger at Quintas.

“That’s a minor detail. What’s more important is that the legend says if the jar is ever opened, it’ll release the fire spirit. Also, supposedly the jar is unbreakable, it has to be opened with intention!” This time the man gestured at the contraption. “I’ve supplied plenty of intention.” Quintas let his gray eyes rove over the contraption again and then fixed them on the jar.

“And if I wanted to buy the jar unopened?” He knew the answer before the man gave it, he’d dealt with overzealous artists before.

“The piece isn’t complete till the jar is opened, I couldn’t possibly sell it before that.” The man grinned idiotically and Quintas stiffened studying the man like a hawk about to pounce.

“You’re not Kermit,” Cleo said trying to distract Quintas from simply killing the man on site.

“Oh no, Mr. Cliffs is my patron. He donated most of the items in the room. I’m Hayden Neely.”

“Most of the items?” Cleo moved to stand between the two men. Hayden eyed her lewdly.

“I was able to find the jar on my own.” He stuck out his chest in an obvious attempt to garner Cleo’s attention and began regaling her with the story of his acquisition. Quintas enjoyed the image of Cleo’s lover cutting the scrawny man to ribbons in the night.

He shifted his attention back to the jar. Eight o’clock was less than two hours from now, should he just grab it and vanish? There were of course the safety spells the jar was imbued with to keep it from breaking, would those hold? The only part of the story Hayden had managed to get correct was the need for intent in order to release what was held within. If this elaborate concentration didn’t signify his intent, Quintas wasn’t sure what else would. If the jar opened there wouldn’t be time to reseal it, and besides, even if they could find a suitable vessel who would cast the binding spells? Due to the Duchess’s feud with the local mages, very few of them would even work with him. Should he call Issac?

“Oh how lucky you were!” Quintas heard Cleo say, surely she wasn’t believing Hayden’s story? The jar was sealed in a small root cellar just outside of Gary not in some Anasazi cave out west. He couldn’t take much more. He turned suddenly and left the gallery. Cleo caught up with him down stairs and outside.He surveyed was surly to be the wreckage of his city once that jar was opened.

“I must tell the Duchess, this will be utterly catastrophic,” He said.

“I could have Michael deal with it? I could even get it tonight.” she offered.

“No, that will be too late. We must stop it from opening.” He looked back up at the building, the art gallery on the second floor of the brick building. He remembered seeing all of these buildings go up, he hated the idea of losing them like Green Bay and Chicago. “You should have let me kill him.”

“It’s not that easy anymore,” Cleo chided. “Besides Jarin would be beside himself if you shed blood in one of his galleries.” Quintas cursed the priorities of the Impassioned. He turned a second time and reentered the building.

He didn’t have to kill the man Hayden, he was easily faster and stronger than him, he just needed to take the jar away. He walked back up the stairs to the second floor gallery and directly towards the contraption. Hayden spotted him coming and apparently didn’t like the look in his eye. Hayden reached over and pressed the button on the machine prematurely and then grinned at Quintas.

Quintas was momentarily too stunned to move. He just stood blinking as the machine rapidly worked its way down, the jar being lifted and tilted and finally the clamps began wrenching the jar apart. Cleo was beside Quintas in an instant and he grabbed her to his side. There was still time to outrun the blast, and he did so, pulling her with him till he found the shadows behind the stairs and vanished into them.

***

Quintas unceremoniously shoved Cleo out of the shadows and into the personal chamber of the Duchess. The petite blond woman looked up from her ornate desk and frowned briefly at the intrusion. She had been going over something important, Quintas could tell by the state of her desk and the sharp look in her eyes. She began to speak to him but he brashly held a hand up to stop her. She arched an eyebrow.

“A demon has just been released inside the city on the southern half of Market Street. It is a beast of fire named Jack-Jaw and last time he was free, he set fire to Peshtigo and Green Bay, Wisconsin and then Chicago, Illinois in less than 6 hours.”

“When did this happen?” She asked her clam french accent a contrast to his quickly clipped English.

“1871,” He said. He watched her work through her memory and then she nodded slowly.

“What do you need?” she asked, again as calm as still water. He began to answer and then her cell phone rang. She looked at the number and then pressed the screen to answer.

“Duchess, the Alzaer Gallery downtown was just bombed!” Jarin Favian’s frantic voice rang out over the speaker phone.

“The whole building is on fire and it’s spreading down market street!” the Duchess looked over her gold rimed glasses at Quintas .

“I need Jude,” He said.

——-

(c) All writings here are copyrighted to the author. You do not have permission to reuse them in any way, visually, verbally, or otherwise.

Love me? Hate me? Support me.

Writing is a hungry job, buy me a sandwich on Patreon.
Sometimes you just want to hear something new. Give me listen on SoundCloud.
Wanna read my work in a more mobile, eBook friendly format? Read me on WattPad.