Gratitude: Part II - Act 2
“That is so lame,” Kirsty scoffed, tossing her arrangement of blonde hair in a way which she knew caught the boys’ attention.
“I’m serious! I think I could make up something a bit more believable than that!” Hanna held her sleeve up as several of her classmates peered at the claw marks on her upper arm. “There were at least ten of them and my dad totally kicked their butts.”
“Vampires?” Justin repeated sarcastically. “As in I vaant to suuck your bloood,” he made a classic Dracula posture and pretended to lean in towards Kirsty’s neck. She sneered and punched him lightly on the arm.
“She’s just trying to get attention,” Kirsty argued, turning away from the crowd which was admiring the deep scratches. “Come on Justin, we all know you could take her dad. She probably scratched her arm herself.”
“Did not,” Hanna countered, pulling her sleeve down again angrily. “And my dad could kick your wimpy boyfriend’s butt, if he wanted to.”
“Whatever,” Kirsty shrugged, leading her toy away to class, the jock gladly carrying her books. Hanna glared at their backs until they disappeared down the hall.
“How do you know they were vampires?” a quiet voice asked from behind her. Hanna turned around and saw one boy standing still among the dispersing crowd. A little smile flickered across her lips. He was cute.
“Hmm,” Whistler looked intently at the writing on the whiteboard of Niki’s fridge. “Well,” he said at last, “it looks like your handwriting.”
Niki waited for more. None came. “Uh... of course it’s my handwriting. I wrote it.”
Whistler cocked his head. “Why’d you write Now you know see our power?”
The Slayer sighed and poured herself a cup of coffee. “I don’t remember writing it!” she explained. “I think it’s a message from the Deceivers.”
“Ah,” the demon nodded, now beginning to understand. Without another thought, he opened the fridge and stuck his head in. “Got anything good in here?”
“That depends,” Niki answered, taking along sip of the delicious black liquid, “how long does it take milk to turn into cheese?” Whistler pulled his head out and slowly closed the door.
“I think I know someone who can help,” the demon thought for a long time. “I believe there’s someone in Queens who might know about the Deceivers.”
Niki slowly set down her coffee and frowned. “Why haven’t you mentioned this seer before?”
“He’s not exactly a seer,” the demon defended. “He’s more of a...” the demon’s eyes shifted quickly, then he swallowed. “Uh, never mind. He probably wouldn’t be able to help anyway.”
The Slayer raised her eyebrows. “Why, what is it?” She took a step closer and laughed. “Come on, you don’t get to leave me hanging like this!”
Whistler sighed and studied the Slayer’s eyes for a moment. Then he shrugged. “Alright, but this information comes with a warning.” He now saw that he had Niki’s full attention. “The guy is a... a prophet.”
Niki frowned. “Uh, like... Ezekiel?” She shook her head. “Why is there a prophet in Queens?” The demon shrugged.
“Why is there a prophet anywhere? To see the plays before they’re played and do his best to level the field.”
Niki took on a sardonic look. “Like you?” Whistler merely smiled. “But don’t prophets see way, way into the future?”
The demon nodded. “It’s not as though they can see whatever they want to see. There’s some pretty hefty power behind them - direct communion with the Powers, I would think.”
“So why would you have thought of him knowing about the Deceivers?” Niki turned and took up her coffee again, letting the warmth of it radiate from her core and melt her chilled fingers.
“Well this particular prophet happened to be a very wealthy business mogul,” Whistler explained, “until random bad luck seemed to take him down. So, thanks to the Deceivers, he now lives under a bridge and panhandles to stay alive.”
“Tragic,” Niki agreed with little sympathy. “How do the Deceivers cause bad luck? Had him walk into an executive meeting without pants or something?”
“No, no, nothing like that.” Whistler threw her an amused look. “They had him enter into an arrangement with a business man - a friend of mine, actually.” He sighed, crossing his arms. “That’s the true power of deception. If they wanted to, they could make you think you’re crossing the street, when you’re actually stepping into the East River.”
“I know the feeling,” Niki said bitterly.
“But that’s not usually their style. They don’t like to leave things hanging like that. They know, as most demons do, that the world will tear itself apart with only a little encouragement.” The demon absently opened the fridge door again and began rummaging. “Of course it’s not in many people’s interest to have a prophet wandering around, so for reasons no one had been able to pin down, our prophet entered into business with a corporate corruption demon: not really evil, just a force sent by the Powers to make sure people didn’t get too confident in the Free Market.” Whistler stopped as he found the milk/cheese. He quickly pulled his head out of the fridge and closed it a second time. “And oil prices dropped, Dow plummeted, and now he lives under a bridge.”
“So why did you not want me to see him?” Niki hadn’t forgotten Whistler’s initial hesitation. “I would think he doesn’t have anything to lose now.”
Whistler turned and began sequentially opening cupboards and drawers, looking for something edible. “How do you survive, woman?”
Niki crossed her arms and frowned. “Whistler?”
The demon sighed. “Alright.” He turned back to her with an almost sullen expression. “You’ve obviously never seen a prophet before. Not many people can resist the urge... if you know what I mean.”
The Slayer scoffed. “What, to know the future? Come on, Whistler, I’ve been to see your seer - what’s the difference?”
The demon swallowed. “There’s a big difference. Seers see... sometimes random things - they see snippets, sometimes useful, sometimes not. They don’t know or understand what they see and they obviously can’t control it. It’s a gift, you could say, and it sometimes gives us a heads up down here.” The demon took a deep breath. “A prophet... a prophet is never wrong. Never inaccurate. The apocalypse could be six hundred years away and with all the variables of human and demon behavior between then and now, they’ll be right to the second, to the punch, to the shout. It’s not a gift. Like I said before, it’s direct communication with the Powers. It’s a direct look a the Plan. And they may not be able to control it, like a light switch, but they’re usually far from powerless.” He waited for the Slayer to react and she finally uncrossed her arms and opened a cupboard behind her and handed him a box of cookies.
“And I’m not exactly going to win Self-Restraint of the Year award, am I?” Niki nodded. “Alright, I won’t go and see him. But we have to find a way to take down these bastards before they have me running around killing innocents all night long.”
“I don’t think you have to worry about that,” Whistler said between mouthfuls of cookie. “Like I said, that’s not their style. They prefer to give a little push and let gravity do the rest. I’d be more worried about the innocent you’ve already killed.”
Niki was silent for a long moment. “What should I do?”
Whistler shrugged. “Seeing as how ‘I thought she was a vampire’ isn’t a valid defense in United States Supreme Court, I would recommend you don’t get caught.” The demon swallowed another cookie. “For now, get back to your life. Take down this bracelet trafficking ring – but do it carefully. Don’t just stake the first person you see with silver on their wrist.”
Niki nodded. “Don’t be reckless, got it.” As Whistler brushed the crumbs from his hands on his trousers, Niki took him gently by the shoulder. “Thanks, Whistler...”
The demon nodded. “It’s why I’m here.”
Harrison squinted into the binoculars, watching the playing of light and dark through the ninth storey window from his vantage point in his car across the street. She was up there, he knew. The insanity of this case hounded him. If she just killed normally, he could have arrested her back in Freeport. But no body: no case. It would be his word against hers. And he wasn’t exactly popular with the bureau right now. Maddeningly enough, he might just have to tail her until she killed again without incinerating the body. By then, of course, she would have disposed of any evidence tying her to Megan Brandon’s murder.
Harrison clenched his fist. And the goddamned A.D.A. couldn't get him a warrant to search her apartment. He had no problem just poking around while she was out, but since the likelihood of catching her red-handed were slim, they needed everything to be in order for a conviction. Too many criminals got away on technicalities.
Harrison slowly lowered the lenses and a small smile crossed his face. And the Cremator wouldn’t be one of them: there was more than one way to get into a woman’s apartment.
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