Clockwork Firefly

Clockwork Firefly - Chapter Seventeen

Avenida Revolución
Tijuana, Mexico

Colonel Peter Walter the first sat in the small hotel room, his hands wrung in frustration and impatience. Three days. Three days he'd been in Mexico, waiting for this boka person to show up. According to Madam Adjaye he was keeping a hide-out here where he could get free access to liquor and yet be close enough to San Diego to cross over the border and work his wicked magics. He still had trouble not seeking a more scientific answer than 'Vudun spirits fueled by the necromantic elements inherent in Green Matter'. It seemed fantastic, but there was no answer that so clearly explained things. He stood, pacing slowly, his hands tucked behind him, letting his mind turn over the plan that had been laid out before him. The border was being watched by friends. The moment he was seen passing back into Mexico, they would contact Madam Adjaye here at the Hotel Caesar. She would let him know and they would go after her uncle together. His job was to get the nkondi away safely. She and her sons would then meet him back at the hotel and return to Walter Mansion with him. There, he would be able to dispose of the Green Matter safely, and Madame Adaye would draw the vengeful spirit back to the nkondi, and destroy it.

A knock came to the door, and he started, a palm pressed to his chest. He opened the door a crack to spy the stone-faced son of Madam Adjaye standing outside, his head bowed. "Finally..." He grumbled as he opened it wider. The man wavered a moment, a shiny darkness marring the front of his shirt, registering as blood only an instant before he fell forward, dead. Shocking as it was, it was the man behind him that made the Colonel's heart jump to his throat. In Africa, he had seen such men when the hulls of the great clockwork elephants had been cut apart. Fused to the machines, more dead than alive, their wills and minds gone, only following a single goal. Kill.

The man stepped over the corpse in the doorway, lurching into the room with a sinister baring of his teeth. Peter recognized him as a fellow American, come down for vacation. They'd chatted the day Peter had arrived, about weather and the beauty of the local senoritas. He had been ruddy with light sunburn and a bit jowly, but now his face was haggard and thin, the skin papery and loose against the bones beneath. He swung out a fist and Peter ducked and swayed to avoid it, but even as he did so, he could see the other fist coming up. He threw up his forearm to deflect the blow, though it came at a cost. The pain shot up to his shoulder in a white-hot burst that left his arm tingling and numb. He was a man of peace, but what arms he had brought were on the table behind his assailant and well out of his reach even if the Green Matter influenced man had given him even a second to do anything but fight like hell just for a draw. The thrash of limbs was quickly stealing his strength while his enemy showed no sign of flagging energy. Driven backward, Colonel Walter felt himself sinking under the inhuman assault, blow after blow eroding his consciousness. Blood spattered knuckles struck his temple, sending hot stars to pop at the edges of his vision, his knees buckled and his sons' faces swarmed up before him, then faded to velvet blackness.

~

Once, in the worst of his depression following Delilah's death, he had jumped into the sea, every pocket laden with chunks of raw iron and lead, with intentions to follow her. He remembered the sun shining so brightly on the surface of the water. The way it sparkled like diamonds and sapphire as he stood on the rock ledge. How it had rushed to meet him, closing over his head, the light at the surface wavering, growing smaller, the weight of the ocean closing tighter and tighter as he sank toward the murky bottom where everything was silent and peaceful. . His heartbeat had been the only sound, a dull echoing sound. The heart that beat for her. The thought had come unbidden, for her. His death would not solve anything. He had to live for her. To ensure no one dared to push her off to a footnote because of her gender. He would carve her name into the world's memory for all of time. He had fought to swim up then. Sloughing the coat and dropping weights from his pockets, he felt now as he had then. The bright light of consciousness was creeping up on him, but with it came pain, and he shied from it, attempting to have thought and memory without waking, but it proved impossible, so he drew a deep breath and pushed himself to rouse, a low groan slipping out despite his best efforts. He heard muttering, and opened his eyes, or attempted to, as only one seemed to work at the moment.