Yesterday's Heroes (Consortium of Chaos Book 1) (8 page)

KillerWatt nodded with obvious
pride at almost murdering the hero, apparently feeling no need to correct his
younger sister on her definition of what “good things” entailed exactly. 

Undercurrent straightened the hard
hat on her blonde head.  “And for your
information,
that Pikachu was $79.99. 
It was a
LIMITED EDITION,
and very collectible.”  She crossed her arms
over her chest and glowered at Wyatt.  “Jerk.”

Wyatt ignored them.  How could
someone of Harlot’s intelligence and ability
possibly
work with these
people?  Were they holding her hostage or something?  Blackmail? 
Mind-control?  There was
no way
that she would choose to live with these
people
voluntarily
.  They were
horrible
.  He barely knew the
woman, but even he could see that she was worth
dozens
of any of them. 
More.  There had to be some other explanation for her presence here.  He arrived
at the next chair and looked down at the cloaked man occupying it.  He thumbed
through the files looking for the file that matched this person.

“And this is…”  He reached the end
of the stack without finding it.  “Yeah… I have no idea who the hell this guy is. 
Is he new or something?”

Harlot raised her hand to help.  “That’s
The Thief of Dreams
.”

Wyatt made a dubious “uh-huh”
sound. 

Cynic leaned forward in his chair. 
“Say hello to the nice man, TOD.”

The Thief of Dreams
stood
slowly and pulled back the hood on his cloak, a dark and ethereal fog swirling
around his chair.  His black eyes turned to face Wyatt, his pale expression
utterly blank and haunted.  His voice came out as a whisper.  “
Although the Nightingale’s
cry is heard… the nest is found empty…
”  His eyes widened suddenly, his
voice growing louder, as if panicked.  “
The blood is BLACK; the meat will be
tainted…”

Wyatt made the uncertain “uh-huh”
sound again.  “So… okaaaaaay.  Nice.  What can this guy do?”

Cynic laughed.  “We don’t know
either.  Whatever it is, you’re looking at it, boyo.  Just says that fortune
cookie shit and gets all cloudy.”  He leaned back in his chair.  “Tell him
something else TOD, he’s
real
interested.”

The Thief of Dreams
shielded
his face with his pale hands; eyes gazing out from in-between his thin fingers
as he slowly drew them down his face.  “
The Doomsday Siren is wailing her
forbidden song…Hundred Hands grasping at lightning… All is fire and blood… the
dragon of war consumes the world…
”

Wyatt nodded seriously.  “Super. 
We’ll have to watch out for that then.”  He pulled out a pen to write this
psycho’s information on a blank file.  “I’ll just put down ‘
Powers: other’
for now.”

Lunatic.  He was actually beginning
to feel sorry for Harlot, because she had to put up with these morons her
entire life.  He started to consider buying the poor girl a plane ticket
somewhere far away, just so she could escape them…but then dismissed it.  He…he
didn’t want her leaving.  Not yet anyway.

He looked over at her gorgeous face
and her dazzling smile.  Her exotic violet eyes twinkled with mirth, and she
gave him a happy wave.  He absently waved back. 

No…no, probably be best if she
stayed right here for the time being.  He needed to keep an eye on her. 
Because…it would help his plan.  Yes…yes, because the plan required it.

He pulled out the next file and
looked down at the large man in elegant and intricately decorated chainmail and
black leather armor, who was glaring back at him in utter contempt and
dismissal.  “Code name: Tyrant.  Real name: Kasos Octavio Victavious IV.  Age:
possibly immortal.  Hair: black.  Eyes: steel gray.  Head of the Consortium’s
‘Inter-dimensional Affairs Department’, Victavious claims to be conquering the
entirety of existence, one dimension at a time.  The more power he obtains
through conquest, the more physical and mystical power he gains.  He is currently
the dictator of his own country,
Victavia,
which he seized control of several
years back.  Reportedly, he is also a painter and forces the residents of his
lands to make bi-monthly trips to an art museum he constructed, which showcases
only his
own
works, to admire his art.  Despite numerous attempts,
including one memorable try five years ago when he proclaimed New York, ‘
New
Victavia,’
and seized control of all the bridges and tunnels out of the
city, as of yet, he has not been able to expand the borders of his kingdom in
this
dimension any further.  But this IS an election year, so we’re all pulling for
him to add more of our world to his little empire. 
Vote Tyrant; a Name You
Can Trust.”

Kasos eyed him coldly.  “You seek
to mock me? 
ME!?!
  One who has seen a thousand Wyatt Ferral’s, from a
thousand different dimensions, fall broken at my feet?   Foolish boy.  You have
tried to stop me on any number of worlds, and you are always found wanting. 
Always.
”

Wyatt rolled his eyes.  “Yes, I’m
terrified.  Right now I’m just
wanting
you to get over yourself and stop
talking.”

There was a buzzing sound and
Tyrant looked down at his hip and scowled.  “Quiet, you!  No one
cares
what you have to say!”  The buzzing continued.  “I said
SILENCE!  I command
you!”

Wyatt’s eyebrows rose
questioningly.  What the hell…?

Tyrant sighed and retrieved the
item from a hook on his belt, and placed it on the table in front of him.  It
was an antique looking pewter cage or lantern, about twice the size of a soft
drink can.  A small bluish orb of light with iridescent butterfly wings hovered
inside.

Wyatt blinked at the object. “…Magic
canary?”

Tyrant pointed at it.  “This is
Princess Rayn, of the Fairy Folk of the Meadow, an enchanted dimension tied to
this one.”  His eyes narrowed at the orb.  “She is my hostage until her father
pays me my ransom and declares me rightful Ruler of his Empire.”  He clenched a
fist.  “
Their hidden power shall be mine!”

The ball of light made another
buzzing tingly sound and ricocheted off the walls of its container in apparent
anger. 

Tyrant held the object up to his
face and shook his head.  “That’s right my pretty little insect, you are
MINE
. 
So stay in your cage and ROT!”  Tyrant winced slightly as the light got
brighter and shone in his eyes.  “Don’t make me laugh!  Your feeble magics are
no match for someone of MY power!”  He paused and listened to the tingling.  “Rescue? 
HA!  He’s not coming for you!  And even if he did, I would
destroy
him.” 
He shook the cage violently to drive his point home.  “
I OWN YOU!!!”

The buzzing got louder still and
Tyrant continued to yell at the light.

Cynic rolled his eyes.  “Christ.  I
don’t know what’s sadder; the fact that Kass is arguing with his lightning bug
again, or the fact that he always seems to
lose
.”

The yelling and the buzzing stopped
in unison as Tyrant and the ball of light slowly turned to glare at him for
interrupting. 

Wyatt stared at Tyrant in disbelief
for a long moment.
 
“You take your
hostage
to all the company
meetings?  That’s just… wow… crazy.”  He glanced around the table at the other
members.  “And no one here OBJECTS?”  He sighed.  “Whatever.  I don’t care
about any of this, so we’re moving on.”  He pulled out a new file and stepped
behind the next chair.  “Code name: Gurrier.  Real name: Hazard Beaumont
Granger.”  He stopped and looked down at the seat’s oversized occupant.  “Age: 220. 
Hair: dark purple and cut close to his head.  Eyes: blue.  Granger exhibits
super-strength and near invulnerability, as well as being pretty much the
tallest and most muscular person I’ve
ever
seen.  He is widely believed
to be the
second
most physically strong person on Earth…
after
Captain Dauntless.  Reportedly gained his powers through an illegal experiment
done on him while he was incarcerated in a London prison in 1815.  He’s angry
most of the time, good with knifes, hates authority and enjoys wood carving.  Some
reports indicate that he once got into a fistfight with Bat Masterson and Doc
Holliday at a saloon in Dodge City in the 1870’s.  Which, if true, is simply
the coolest thing ever.  He has 197 years of criminal charges to his name;
everything from train robbery, cattle rustling, and buggy theft, to stealing a
planeload of cutting edge computer equipment used in constructing stealth missiles. 
He has survived four hangings, a firing squad, two trips to the electric chair,
being hit by a train, and an attempt at lethal injection which was hindered
when the needle couldn’t break his semi-impervious skin.  He is currently
wanted for multiple murders in four countries and in twelve states domestically. 
He went on a nine state crime spree four years ago that is the subject of two
books, a TV movie and a national moment of silence each year.”

Gurrier continued carving something
with his Bowie knife, then held up the small wooden statue so that Wyatt could
get a better look at it.  It was a tiny figure with Wyatt’s features, its mouth
contorted in a scream of fear or pain.  The man put it between his thumb and forefinger,
and snapped the wooden sculpture’s head off, sending an obvious message. 

Gurrier’s voice was a low growl and
he didn’t bother to turn around in his chair. “I don’t like you and never
have.”  He shined the Bowie knife in the light so that the gleam passed over
Wyatt’s face.  “Wood isn’t the
only
thing I enjoy
carving
,
Fabricator.”

Harlot slammed a hand down on the
table top.  “HEY!  That is entirely unacceptable behavior in the conference
room, Hazard!  We’ve had this talk before.  If you want to stab him, you’ll do
it
later
and
NOT
at the meeting.”

God, she looked incredible when she
was angry…

Gurrier scowled and spun the knife
around in his hand several times, then picked up a new block of wood and went
back to carving.

Wyatt finally tore his eyes away
from Harlot, and refocused on the room.  “Great.  A psychopathic Geppetto. 
Nice.”  He pulled out a new folder.  “Okay, let’s see what other nuts come in
this can.  Oh, here’s a good one.”  He opened the file.  “Code name:
Vaudeville.  Real name:  Cory Henderson Henries.  Age: 35.  Hair: Dark chestnut. 
Eyes: at one time they were brown.  Former child star of the
Klose But No
Cigar
sitcom of the late 1980’s and early 90’s, where he played precocious young
scamp ‘Cornelius Klose: Child Genius.’  The show ran for ten seasons, until a
freak accident during the filming of its final episode left Henries in a coma. 
When he awoke five and a half years later, his personality and memories had mysteriously
been altered to mirror that of his morally ambiguous television alter-ego. 
Most peculiar, his eye color had also been transformed, and he now exhibited heterochromia;
one eye was the strange shade of blue his television character had, and the
other eye was… static?”  He blinked down at the word.  “Wait… like
STATIC
static? 
What the hell does that mean?”

Vaudeville shifted so that his
sunglasses slide down his nose and he looked up at Wyatt.  Sure enough, one eye
was an odd milky blue and the other was a constantly shifting static pattern,
like a TV station that wouldn’t come in.  Around the eye was a ring of scars,
as if the eye itself had somehow exploded in the socket due to the accident.

Wyatt stared at it a moment.  “Huh. 
That’s… unusual.”  He refocused on the paper.  “He also found he had the ability
to…”  His eyebrows soared.  “…send himself or others into the television world,
a trip he rarely bothers to bring people back from.”  He looked at Vaudeville. 
“Yeah, that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Vaudeville didn’t glance up from
his cat’s cradle.  “You know what show I used to like? 
Lost in Space
. 
You ever see that show, Mr. Ferral?  You should give it a try.  You’ll
love
it.”

Wyatt opened his mouth to reply,
but Harlot quickly shouted over him.

“
Don’t answer that!”
   She
glared at Vaudeville.  “Leave him
ALONE
, Cory!  He doesn’t like
that
show, or
any other!
”

Wyatt went back to reading the
biography.  “He spent the following six years in various institutions for the
criminally insane after his agent and overly controlling parents mysteriously
disappeared…”

Vaudeville continued looping the
string around his fingers.  “
Gunsmoke
.  That was a hell of a show, as
well.”

Wyatt ignored him.  “…Currently in
charge of the C of C’s Public Relations Department, and shares responsibilities
with his assistant ‘Flimflam,’ for all C of C fundraising activities.  Frequently
uses a bow and arrow during battles with law enforcement… which is an odd
choice.”  He glanced up at the man.  “What does a bow have to do with TV?”

Vaudeville kept his attention
focused on his project.  “Nothing.  Not a damn thing.  Why?”

Wyatt blinked for a moment.  “No
reason.  Just looking for a story there.”

The other man shook his head.  “Nope.”

 “Wanted for questioning in connection
to 141 disappearances, an Army weapons storage house that disappeared overnight,
2 police stations which have never been found, his escape from four different
super-max facilities, arson, and the theft of the two emmys his sit-com was
awarded in 1987.”

Vaudeville smirked.  “Say what you
will, but my only crime is that I’m popular.” He looped the string around his
hand again.  “Don’t forget to mention my epic win of the 1993
Teen Bopp
magazine
Dreamy Boy of the Year
title.  57% of the vote, my heroic friend. 
Fifty-eight
.”
He looked like he suddenly remembered something.  “Say?  Weren’t
you
in
that poll too, Mr. Ferral?”  He snapped his fingers, careful not to dislodge
the strings.  “Yep.  Yep, I remember now.  As I recall, you got
41
% of
the vote.”  His voice was filled with completely fake admiration.  “Wow.  That’s
pretty good.  No shame in being…”  He paused.  “...What’s the word I’m looking
for?  It means someone who doesn’t win?  Like in a contest, when someone else
beats them by a mile, because everyone likes the other guy more?  Hmmmm… “  He
shrugged.  “All well, let’s just say that there’s no shame in coming in
second
with big numbers like that.”  He gave him a sickening smile.  “Congrats.” 
He suddenly snapped his fingers again, as if finally remembering something.  “’
Loser.’ 
Yep.  That’s the word I was trying to think of. 
Loser
.”