by Adam Buckley

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Federal Bureau of Investigation
Department of Paranormal Agents and Operations
New York City
2/15/1942

Report by Special Agent Hieronimo Locke

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(Note: I have asked Agent Locke to keep his reports more professional, but seeing as he routinely fails to do so, his subjective account of this case is all we have to go on. Proceed with that in mind.)

– Assistant Director Wilhemina Pearce

On February 15th, I spent the afternoon’s majority in my office, my own little corner of the Astoria building’s basement—alone. My partner, Special Agent Artemis Strahm, had been deployed abroad on some top secret mission I’m not at liberty to disclose at this present moment, leaving me the lion’s share of our work while he was on assignment. I was finishing my report on the vampirism case we closed before his departure when I got a knock at my door. My superior, Assistant Director Wilhemina Pearce, hung around the doorframe, waiting for me while her familiar scent of sulfurous brimstone wafted into my office. I pulled my suit jacket over my shoulders and followed her out into the hall where she took me past her office and down toward our holding cells and interrogation rooms.  

“You gonna brief me or what?” I asked. 

That blonde ponytail of hers flailed around her neck when she turned to me. “We don’t have much time, Hiero. It’s better if you just hear it yourself.”

“What’s going on?” 

“A woman showed up at our doors less than an hour ago. She says she’s in danger, and that she’ll only speak to you. Handle it.”

Another scent hit my nose. Something sweet but heavy, like butterscotch in its edge and density, so strong it punched through the underground brickwork and survived a smothering by grout and water damage to lure me towards its origins. And they stick the guy with enhanced senses in the basement. I followed it into the last interrogation on the right of the hall. 

I entered the room alone to begin my questioning. She sat at the lonely silver table in the center of the checkered floor. Pushed under a black headband, short, curly brown hair fell just below her ears. She looked up at me from behind a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles, wearing a cornflower blue skirt that nearly touched the floor and a silk shirt with a flappy collar. Her name was Bennadicta McBride—Benna for short. She maintained prolonged eye contact with me as I rounded the corner of the table and sat down across from her. I showed her my badge, said I had some questions for her, then asked her why she had come to the Astoria office.

“Ah…okay. I work at a library not too far from here. I was putting a volume back on the shelf, and while I hung on the ladder, I lost my balance, and as I fell, I thought I was going to die. And that’s when it happened—I awakened to my past lives. I’m one of the many reincarnations of Bahamut the moon dragon—” 

“Slow down now,” I had to interrupt her. “What makes you think you’re in danger?”

“Memories of my previous lives remain hazy, but I know how they all end: I’m murdered. I’ve never been able to stop him, but maybe with your help…” 

“And who is it that wants you dead, Ms. McBride?” 

“Falak. He and Bahamut are twin spirits cursed to live again every generation. Once lovers, now enemies. Don’t you see? I need your help because once one of us awakens, so too does the other. Falak is coming.” 

After questioning, I took the situation to A.D. Pearce. She assigned me to be Benna’s 24/7, ’round the clock bodyguard while they ran surveillance operations to find this Falak guy. Our job would be to sit around and look pretty at the D.P.A.O.’s upcoming fundraiser ball that night. I had planned on skipping out on it, seeing as I had a caseload to work and hadn’t bought a new suit in 50 years, but Pearce was so gracious as to provide Benna and I with new attire before the big night. She needed a couple hours to draw up enough manpower to make this thing work, so I returned to my office to do some research. 

Benna sat at one of the leather chairs in front of my desk. I took the time to read through her file. Bennedicta Grace McBride, age 31 (minus all the previous lives, of course), current employment is at Mignola Public Library. Only child, mother and father are perfectly healthy, marital status: single. No criminal history, no mentions in the papers save for a birth announcement. Nothing notable at all. Peeking over the edge of the file folder, I was flattered at how she looked around my office with the wonder of a tourist. 

I put the folder down and leaned forward. Behind those glasses, Benna’s eyes widened with both wonder and fear. 

“I have one more question for you, Miss McBride: How do you know about us?” 

“You’re not exactly a secret, you know,” she explained. “The D.P.A.O. is a matter of public record, and I work at a library…” 

“Ah. But what I still don’t get is why you sought me out. Frankly, I’ve got no idea who you are.” 

“But maybe not who I was. I must’ve known you, Hieronimo Locke. In a past life.” 

That sent my head spinning. Then who must you have been? Where would we have met last? Alexandria, when Mother was still alive? When I was taken to the colonies? In Venice, before I turned? Out of all the people to crash into my centuries long life and just as violently exit it, who were you, Bennedicta McBride? Or whichever name you might’ve gone by…

“Now that you’ve read my file, you must know everything about me and my sad little life.” Benna sighed, staring holes in my carpet. 

“I most certainly do not know everything about you.” 

“It’s stupid. The most exciting thing to ever happen to me is also gonna be the death of me.” 

“Not if I can help it.” 

“Heh.” Her smile was ever temporary. “Even when I skim through all my past lives, they’re not mine. They’re the stories of somebody else. More life lived vicariously. Even in my own mind, I can’t leave the damned library.” 

“The librarian’s is a noble profession, Miss McBride.” 

“Please, I told you to call me Benna, and…I’m sorry for dragging you into this, Hiero.” 

Hiero. The sound of her voice carrying my name rattled around in my head and just wouldn’t quit. 

“Well, I’ve seen stranger. My partner? He’s an invisible man. Wigs me out every time he does it.” 

“And where is he now?” 

“Germany, I imagine. His is a desirable talent for espionage. It was only a matter of time before ‘Monstrous Individuals,’ as the paperwork says, were called upon to fight for our country.” 

“He sounds like a good man,” Benna said. 

“He is.” I sighed. “He’d be here to help you, if he could. Sorry, but you’ve only got me.” 

“You’ll do,” she stated coolly. Benna came forward from the leather chair and leaned on the edge of my desk. “So tell me, Hieronimo, what kind of monster are you?” 

Does she not remember? By telling her, would I say something she already knew? 

Pearce barged in with new orders. She wanted us down the hall to get our outfits for the annual fundraiser ball. She made us stand shoulder to shoulder while she conjured two magick sigils, one in each hand, and cast a glamor on us both. My tweed suit became a black three-piece with a silver tie to match my graying temples. Benna’s clothes became a blue maxi dress with sheer sleeves and a pattern of white flowers around the skirt’s trim. I scratched at my collar while Pearce, with a simple snap, transformed her own office wear into a sleek black cocktail dress with a little pentagram necklace. She shuffled Benna and me into the convoy escort that took us across the river and onto the island of Manhattan. 

At approximately 8 p.m., we arrived at the ball, hosted at the Upper East Side penthouse of Lucian Graves, Jr., son of the D.P.A.O.’s founder. The place was filled with recovered magickal artifacts and baubles from his father’s time. The plan was for Benna and I to make ourselves known in order to lure out Falak. Pearce told us to act natural, mingle, and that she’d be in touch. She established an emergency telepathic connection between her and I to alert her if we spotted Falak. When that was triggered, she’d mobilize the agents she had disguised around the party to start evacuating. 

I much preferred canvassing the open landing just before the ballroom doors, with the glass wall that afforded a view of Central Park, to the bustling dance floor where all the action was. The ballroom was an olfactory molotov. I choked on cigar smoke and aftershave while the constant noise of shuffling feet and clinking glasses had my ears ringing. I dulled my senses with a stiff one at the bar, noticing that, against the cherrywood walls, there were old suits of old armor bearing swords and spears of old. Benna and I stayed close, mingling not in our nature. I grabbed her a drink, and we sat down at an empty table to watch the rich folk do the mingling for us. 

“So…this Falak fellow. What can you tell me about him?” 

“Not much, other than the fact that he and Bahamut’s lovers’ quarrel has turned my life upside down. Romantic, is it not?”

“Seems to me they’ve lost that lovin’ feeling.” 

“You could say. Falak has grown stronger with each kill, sapping Bahamut’s power.” Benna clutched her heart. “I can hardly feel her.” 

“What’s he really want, then? Surely once would be enough if this were a crime of passion.” 

Benna brought her glass to her lips. “I dunno, Hiero, you’re the detective around here.” 

“Your past lives can’t give us any insight?” 

“Bahamut’s power is nearly lost to me, as are her previous hosts, save their end at Falak’s hands. The smart ones saw it as a curse, one that bound them to the Earth forever.”  

“This enough adventure for a cooped up librarian?” 

“When it is, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

There was nothing left to do but dance. The live band was playing a slow one, and I had enough whiskey in me to make even an old dog like myself tie up his dancing shoes. I gave Benna my hand and we took the floor. Of course, I used the opportunity to sniff out our fellow dancers for any sign of Falak.

“You can dance, Mr. Locke?” 

“You pick up a thing or two in 17th century Europe.” 

“Oh, I know.” 

I employed some fancy footwork to keep up with her. Gripping my hand, she took the lead, letting me go just to spin me around and pull me in again. Close to my chest, she turned her head against my lapel and whispered, “He’s here.” A milky white glaze had rolled over her eyes like a cloud cover over the blue sky of her iris. I held her close, looking around the dance floor. I frantically swiveled my head around the dance floor, standing petrified while everyone around us remained in motion. The tingle in the back of my head told me that Pearce’s psychic link had been working just as advertised. Her men mobilized in secret, their movements only known to Pearce’s eyes and my ears. 

“Okay,” I said to Benna, my hands on her shoulders. “Pearce is clearing the place out. Once we find this guy, I need you to find her and—” 

“Hiero?” 

Falak’s human form, who’d later be identified as one Frederick Finnley, husband and father of two, appeared before us. His hair was slicked back and his thin mustache was waxed. A plain black suit made him fit in with the rest of the partygoers, except for his identifiable stench, one of toxic smog and pungent chemical products. He wasn’t immediately threatening. All he did, at first, was extend a hand. “May I have this dance, Bahamut?” 

I pulled out my badge to make an arrest. “Federal Agent! Step away and—”

I tried to get in front of Benna before it happened. A black pillar shot from Falak’s arm and nailed me right in the chest. I flew right over the dance floor and crashed through a suit of armor on the back wall. I suffered a minor concussion that my healing factor was already working to reduce. In that state, though, I could partially see one contingent of Pearce’s men evacuate the dance floor while another confronted Falak. Multiple gunshots were fired, but these men were promptly disarmed by Falak’s prehensile snake tentacles, which appeared to be made from the same scaly material that he struck me with moments before. 

I had momentarily lost track of Benna during this time, but as I was recovering from Falak’s assault, she appeared before me and helped me to my feet, at which point, I saw Falak’s new form. Darkness engulfed him like black flame, entirely swallowing his human form inside that of a large snake creature with impenetrable black scales and two glowing eyes, beady and yellow. Benna and I, on our way toward the ballroom’s exit, were intercepted and bound by a pair of tentacles slithering across the floor at an alarming speed. 

(Note: I speculate that the smaller, prehensile tentacles, which are also snakes, but are not individual entities distinct from the main Falak host, are simply extensions of his will.)

Falak called to us, his voice now modified with a watery, echoed distortion, “Bahamut…and your dog. Let us all end together!” 

The tendrils whipped the both of us through the ballroom doors and onto the landing outside. I had assessed, at this point, that physical conflict between myself and Falak was unavoidable before Pearce could work any of her magick. I made sure that Benna was safe before I…did my thing. I asked her, as Bahamut the moon dragon, to lend me her strength. With the full moon’s pale radiance shining through the glass window behind us, I began to transform: black claws shot through my leather shoes and tufts of thick brown fur blasted out of my suit jacket. The mouth hurt the most. Canine fangs broke through my gums while my nose and lips mutated into a moistened snout. My yellowed eyes locked with Falak’s as I bore my sable claws and let out a low growl. Werewolf transformation 300 years into one’s life can yield strange results, but I retained my bi-pedal form and most of my mental faculties. I kept my eyes on Falak. I didn’t want Benna to see me like this, but it was too late for that.

In my wolven skin, I was better prepared for physical conflict. Falak appeared on the landing and launched more snake tendrils at us. My claws could hardly scrape the surface of their abyssal scales. Slowly, Falak’s approach grew closer, and his tail grabbed me by the neck and slammed me down onto the cherrywood landing. I shouted for Benna to run away to safety, to find Pearce and get as far away from the building as possible. She disappeared behind Falak’s serpentine figure. The darkness comprising his snake form broke down into wispy smoke as he returned to human form, to chew me out in a dignified fashion, I assumed. He spoke of consolidating power, generation after generation, that with his and Bahamut’s power combined, he might be able to cast some kind of spell to break their cycle of reincarnation. 

The point of a spear ran through Falak’s pressed vest from behind. The polearm matched those that were in the hands of the suits of armor in the penthouse. Falak grabbed the shaft of the spear, and hand over hand, tried to rip it through his torso, but Benna wouldn’t let go. 

“You put up more fight than the last one,” he groaned. 

A tendril shot out his back and slithered around the spear. Benna was lifted off her feet, suspended by her grip on her weapon. I could smell the fear on her breath, the scent of blood emanating off the sharp cut on her cheek. 

She turned to me, smiling. “Think I pissed him off?”

Falak launched her through the glass wall behind me, shattering it into a million pieces that fell toward the street below. I had no choice but to make the strategic decision of leaping off the building after her, but I wasn’t the only one. Along the side of the building, I reached out for Benna and grabbed her with one paw, slashing at the tendrils Falak launched at us. I pushed myself further than I’ve gone in decades. My muscles screamed as they broke and reformed, getting stronger and stronger to withstand the impact of the street below (which I attribute to Bahamut’s lunar essence and my lycan predisposition to moonlight). Falak grabbed at me with his tail, but my claws sank into him, slashing across his torso, black fog spilling out from the wound in the place of blood. I tore the serpent apart until it dissipated into smoke once more, revealing the human host in freefall. I held Benna tight and turned my back to the ground, praying that my body could cushion the fall.

Upon impact, I blacked out for an indeterminate amount of time, but I can place myself between the hours of 12 a.m. and 1 a.m. When I came to, the sky was still dark. I awoke on a bench in Central Park, approximately three blocks from the site of the crash with my suit torn to shreds and my head on fire. Beside me was Benna, her spear across her lap as she held her side. I smelled blood on the dawn’s wind. Her eyes fell on me behind the cracked lenses of her spectacles as a shard of glass, whether it was from the window she crashed through or the car I flattened under my lycan form, was lodged in her abdomen. 

“You still got the spear,” I stupidly chuckled. 

“I’ve taken a liking to it,” she said, her face pale and lips dried. 

“If we move fast, we can get back to Astoria, fix you up—” 

“No. Falak is still out there, and he’ll hurt more people to get to me.” 

“Let me worry about him.” 

“I can’t run anymore, Hiero. Not from my own life.” 

“But you’ll die!” 

“I’ll come back.” 

She was hemorrhaging blood. The stench made my eyes water. I put my hands on the wound to apply pressure, but she pushed them away. She pulled me by the chin, close enough to whisper.

“It’s been quite a day, hasn’t it?” she said. “I’ve never felt this…old before.” 

“You get used to it.” 

“Tell me. Have you ever been in love, Hieronimo?” 

“Benna…”

“Have you?”

“…once,” I answered while her hand clutched the side of my face. 

Benna floated closer, her hot breath an inferno on my lips. “Me too.” 

She was right. Falak came limping across the sidewalk after us, tracking blood behind him as smoke trailed off his back. He emitted a wet hiss as he approached, still intent on killing Benna and taking Bahamut’s power. I told her to stay on the bench while I mustered all the strength I had left to transform. I managed one hand’s worth of jagged black nails. Falak conjured a hood of darkness around his head in the shape of a snake. He reared up a pair of glowing yellow fangs, but when he got close, Benna had her spear at his throat. The snake facade collapsed around his head, and on his knees, he used Frederick Finnley’s mouth to speak.

“You have…bested me, Bahamut.” 

“Why!?” Benna screamed. “Why do this? Because of what you’ve taken from me, I can’t even remember why you’ve reduced yourself to this.” 

“To break the cycle, to end this nightmare we call our lives! Life without an end lacks meaning, Bahamut. What I’m doing for us is mercy.” 

“I’m a federal agent,” I told him, “and this woman’s under my protection.” 

“You should be by my side, dog! You know the curse of the long-lived…” 

Benna took the spear from his neck. “Then start over, Falak. Move on. There’s more to your life than me, and more to mine than you. Now let that poor man go.” 

The darkness began to dissipate, the wind blowing the smoke off of Finnley’s body. The yellow light in Finnely’s irises flickered until they blinked out forever. The serpent spirit of the stars left his earthly host, and before he dissipated forever, he had one last thing to hiss at us.

“Mayhaps we meet again in the next life, Bahamut…and you, Hieronomo Locke.” 

Finnley’s body fell onto the sidewalk, Falak’s influence as dead as the corpse’s flesh. I watched Benna let go of her spear and caught her just before she fell to the ground. I tried to convince her to come back to Astoria with me. Pearce could work her magic, I’d give my blood—anything—but she wanted to stay.

“Why?” I needed to know. 

“Because today was the best day of my life. I went on an adventure and danced at the ball and fought a monster, and won. I’m okay to leave this life behind, Hiero. It was a good one, but I’ll get to start all over again in one after.” 

“There…there has to be something I can do…” 

“You may not recognize me—I may not even be me—but I need you to keep going, okay? Because if you do, I can meet you again in the next life. In the next…” 

Bennadicta McBride succumbed to her wounds at approximately 1 a.m. on February 16, 1942. At the time of this writing, the D.P.A.O. has compensated her parents for her funeral expenses, as has Fedrerick Finnley’s family. His death was labeled a suicide, and hers a car accident. That night, in the newborn hours of the morning, the moon hung over me, the same one I’ve looked upon for nearly 300 years. Her pale light shone down on Benna and Finnley and me. In 100 years’ time, Bamahut will be reborn, and so will Falak, and so will I remain. 

It was like that day had never even happened.

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