CHAPTER 32: THE ORDER

  BRINEHAVEN BRIDGE—NOVEMBER 20th, 1992 | LATE AFTERNOON

  ?

  Cameron’s little fiasco delayed them about an hour.

  First, Leroy had to quell half a dozen Garland Heighters who were damn near about to file a class action lawsuit over a fender bender and a traffic hold up. A flash of his arbiter’s license only did him so good. One woman in particular—a Mrs. Julien—insisted that the Civic and Occult Authority get involved.

  The headache that would’ve caused prompted Leroy to hand her a wad of cash, which was a mistake, given the five other people who expected something after seeing what Leroy had in his wallet. The cost of their silence was about what their equipment haul from Silvio’s would’ve cost, minus the discounts and the freebie he’d thrown to Cameron; which was to say a lot. Worse, his SUV had a dent in the front of it now.

  Once they’d made it through all of the delays, they were well onto the Brinehaven Bridge.

  It was massive and looming, and if Leroy had to put it to words, he’d best sum it up to someone as the ugly stepchild of the San Francisco Bridge. Instead of a brilliant red, however, it was a dull gray-black, forged of cast-iron fixtures and steel-spun cables. Every yard or so there was an archway made of stone.

  Cameron leaned forward in his seat. “Is that—”

  “Yeah. Sigils. If you take a closer look, you’ll notice that the archways aren’t metal, just stone,” Leroy said, lowering the volume on the radio. It had been set to 99.3, the Rat, and ‘Pour Some Sugar on Me’ by Def Leppard had been buzzing in and out of the stereo. “You know the statue, the one between South End, Caulton, and Garland Heights?”

  “The Statue of Raphael. Yeah,” Cameron said.

  “What do you know about it?” Leroy inquired.

  Cameron took a moment to think. “That it’s big, looks like an angel. That it’s old. But one of the only things that stands out from the fog, outside of the Garland Heights skyline.”

  “You ever gotten a chance to see it up close, Kessler?”

  “No,” Cameron admitted.

  “You’d see the same kind of sigils you just saw on the archways we’ve been passing under. As far as everyone’s aware, when this place was built back in seventeen-whatever, they commissioned sigilmasons to carve sigils into different fixtures, you know, to keep the city safe.”

  “Some good that’s done,” Cameron scoffed.

  Leroy almost wanted to agree with him. “Well, let me ask you this. When’s the last time you’ve seen a demon? A ghoul? A wight, a banshee?”

  “I’ve seen accursed.”

  “So, no, you haven’t seen any,” Leroy said with a knowing smirk.

  Cameron was silent.

  “There’s two ways to get into Brinehaven, Cameron. You get here by ship, over in Dockside, or you drive over this bridge. Supposedly, the Statue of Raphael has enough of a radius to cover not just one—but all ports of entry. And this bridge keeps things from getting in from land,” Leroy explained. He glanced over and saw that Cameron furrowed his brows in the way that he usually did when he was confused, or angry, or upset in any capacity.

  “So how the hell does stuff get into the city?” Cameron asked.

  “If there’s a will, there’s a way, depending on what it is. But other things? Ghosts, possessions, and whatever? They’re naturally occurring. And all it takes for a demon to cross over is someone with an old tome that doesn’t know what they hell they are doing. Preventative measures only go far,” Leroy explained. “Which brings me to my next point. The Pines.”

  Cameron’s usual retorts were subdued, if only for a moment. A brief mention of the Pines was enough to force a silence onto him, and Leroy couldn’t blame him. South Ender or not, everyone in Brinehaven knew the stories. Just hearing about the Pines induced a certain dread, and that dread was dispensed equally across all corners of life—it was one of the few things that all boroughs shared: a fear of what might happen outside of the city limits.

  “Bluestein Philterworks. What do they have in the Pines?”

  “You’re a South Ender, so, I doubt you’d know this—”

  Cameron lowered his voice a few octaves, and made an earnest attempt at mimicking Leroy’s voice. “So I’ll tell you, Kessler.”

  Leroy stared at him. “You’re aware that the Commonwealth is its own sovereign city-state. We import a lot of things from the United States and Canada, but there are industries here that are locally sourced. Now, we don’t have factories in the city-limits proper. It’s a matter of zoning, permits, the usual.”

  The realization washed over Cameron’s features, and that same angry and dumbfounded look Leroy had expected from him plagued his features. “So, Brinehaven’s so-called men of industry have decided to put their factories in the one place unprotected by sigilmasonry. Typically, I’d rather not hear you drone on and on about all your know-how, but I’ll admit. That doesn’t make any damn sense.”

  “Sure it does. Follow it step-by-step. I’ll use Bluestein Philterworks as an example. What happens to all that waste product they use when they are done making their potions, elixirs, and salves?”

  “Needs somewhere to go,” Cameron said.

  “Exactly. And the founders of our oh-so-great city didn’t want the place to turn into a dumping grounds, so—”

  “Bullshit. One third of the damn South End is made up of the Mounds, and all that is is trash.”

  Leroy shook his head. “That’s public waste. It’s different. Industrial waste is another thing. Waste from a steelmill, waste from a lumberyard, waste from an alchemy processing plant. Don’t know how much they managed to teach you in the South End, but Brinehaven is no larger than Boston. We don’t have the room for all of that.”

  “So they throw it in the woods, and off the cliffs, and down the streams,” Cameron scoffed. “How considerate. You never answered my question, though.”

  “.. I was getting to that, Kessler. Stop interrupting and maybe I’ll get there. Think you can do that?” Leroy asked.

  Cameron nodded with a mocking expression. “Sure, Leroy.”

  They were about halfway across the Brinehaven Bridge. White lingered in front of them and the sky was gray overhead. Much like every car on the causeway, they were sandwiched between the ever-present fog and the looming threat of rain overhead. Even with the floodlights built along either side of the bridge, visibility was limited, and it was customary for drivers to turn on their headlights at this juncture.

  “The place where all these factories are is called the Commonwealth Industrial Park. And that place? Same as the city. It is protected by sigilmasonry, but the main road there isn’t. None of the roads are.”

  “So, we’re fucked, is what you’re saying,” Cameron said.

  “No. We aren’t taking that road.”

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  Cameron set his jaw. “So we’re more fucked, is what you’re saying.”

  “Quite the opposite,” Leroy said.

  They reached the end of the Brinehaven Bridge, and while the fog hadn’t entirely lifted, rows of buildings were visible along the road just outside of where the cars were coming in and out of the city. The closer they got, the more distinct the town’s features became. Brick buildings, storefronts, the occasional patch of greenery. Silver Falls: it was a halfway station that pretended to be a town, as much as it was a town pretending to be a halfway station. A checkpoint, and at the forefront of it, overlooking a wide river that dropped into a waterfall off the peninsula’s cliffs, was a church.

  “I know a guy. An old friend of mine would be more than happy to guide us through the Pines.”

  “Through the Pines?”

  “Yeah, Kessler. You remember what I said, right?”

  Cameron exhaled with an exasperation that bordered on anger. “Something about them expecting us for a meeting.”

  Leory nodded. “At their front doors. We’re going the opposite way. Hence, a guide.”

  “So who the hell is it?” Cameron asked.

  Leroy smiled at him.

  ?

  Men and women in flannels, utility harnesses, and workwear crowded either side of the street.

  Cargo trucks and heavy machinery were parked in broad daylight, next to pickups and vans and all manner of hauling vehicles. Silver Falls wasn’t big enough to have anything other than a downtown, and its downtown was a mix of saloons and storefronts and massive block apartments built for one thing: workers. Lumberjacks, factory operators, welders, fabricators, and the likes. Silver Falls didn’t have any youth to it. Only the grizzled faces of those trying to make a living, and if there were young folk, they looked ten years older than they should have been.

  Leroy just managed to park the SUV in one of the available spots next to a saloon with a bull’s head on it, where the signage read: THE CATTLEYARD SALOON & BARBER

  “You need a haircut, Kessler?” Leroy said.

  Cameron ran a hand through his buzzcut. “Any more off the top and I’d be bald.”

  Massive pine trees set a perimeter around Silver Falls, like ancient sentries that had been there since the start of time itself. They looked down upon the town with an authority, like they were always meant to be there, and that the town was itself an affront to their every existence. Closer to where the church loomed over the river that fed into the bay was the start of a cliffside, equally as self-important as the pine trees.

  “Come on,” Leroy said, urging Cameron along with a nod of the head.

  The closer they got to the church, the more Leroy was convinced it was a fortress. It was made out of a mixture of stone and wood, and looked more like half of a castle stitched into half of a manner, and at the very top of it was a pointed cross.

  A large set of steps led up to its opened doors.

  Sigils marked the entire perimeter of the doorframe, and traveled down and along the floor itself, spreading outward to the lower portions of the church’s exterior walls. Such sigils, however, were a far cry from what you could get from Mulder & Son over in Cyprus Alley. They weren’t made for entry and exit; they were made to keep things already inside from getting out.

  Cameron, eager to be the first inside, stopped on his own accord after bearing witness to what was in front of him. Leroy grabbed him by the shoulder and nudged him along.

  Inside weren’t any pews, but they were greeted by the emaciated effigy of Jesus Christ on the far end of the church.

  The atrium was a mixture of archways and walls, work-desks, and equipment racks. It looked more like a military base than a church, with men and women tending to collections of guns—rifles, shotguns, machine guns—and inspecting the quality of them. Not far from them were others, who put oil onto glistening silver weapons. Longswords, spears, sledgehammers, maces, morning-stars. Under the eyes of the Lord, modern firepower mixed and mingled with medieval instruments of war.

  The men and women tending to their tools of the trade all wore flannels, denim jackets, leather jackets, or utility coats, often paired with jeans or workpants, and sectioned pieces of metal covered their chests, their elbows, and their knees. And while Leroy wasn’t close enough to see it, he knew that all of them had a tattoo just behind their ears: a red cross shaped like a sword.

  Cameron’s eyes widened, and he was forced to stand still. “Where the hell are we, exactly?”

  “The Silver Falls Chapter of the Order of the Wardens,” a voice said. It came from a woman, who, moments before, had been caught up in a conversation, but had since pivoted and was now walking toward them.

  “Here we go,” Leroy muttered.

  Chaptermaster Morgan Allen.

  Her dark hair was set into a singular braid, and a scar ran across one side of her face to the other. Three of them; like she’d been clawed. An eyepatch covered her right eye, and her left was a deep amber-color. Cat-like, without the slit. She wore a washed out beige work jacket, blue jeans, and combat boots—all of which was covered in sectioned, lightweight metal armor. Around her neck was a pendant depicting Saint Christopher. She held a shotgun over her shoulder.

  “To what do I owe the pleasure, Leroy?” Morgan asked.

  “Chaptermaster. Good to see you,” Leroy said.

  “You dragged in another. Is he as blasphemous as you?”

  “Worse,” Leroy said with a wry smile. “A hexling.”

  “I see. That would mean you are here to turn him into our custody, then,” Morgan said, taking a step towards Cameron.

  Leroy stepped in front of him. “Unfortunately, he’s off limits. He’s my underarbiter. ”

  Morgan steeled her gaze. “Yes. How unfortunate.”

  “Eisenhower in?” Leroy asked.

  “Yes. He and his ward just returned from a capture, you will find them in the basement,” she said, though not very happily at all. Her gaze lingered on Cameron, soured and just shy of angry, and lessened only slightly when she turned back to Leroy.

  “Won’t be here to sully the house of God for too much longer, Chaptermaster. We’ll be in and out, promise,” Leroy said.

  She remained silent.

  Leroy cleared his throat. “Look. I need to borrow Eisenhower for a job, for which he and your order will be handsomely compensated, I might add.”

  “And what job is that?”

  “Need to get to the Commonwealth Industrial Park, don’t want to take the main road,” Leroy explained.

  “Mmh. You could just as easily hire the Argent Group to escort you,” Morgan pointed out.

  “Argent who?” Cameron asked.

  “More on that later, Kessler,” Leroy said, putting him a hand as if to silence him. “Hiring the Argent group would compromise the approach my underarbiter and I are trying to take. It’s a sensitive job, and requires discretion. And, if we’re both being honest, the wardens know these woods better than anyone.”

  Her silence lingered, and it made Leroy want to pull at his own hair. Morgan was always a hardass, but today she was being more difficult than he would’ve liked. Leroy shuffled his hands into the pockets of his coat, paced back and forth in front of her, and stopped only after arriving at a new set of words.

  “I’ll only need him for half a day, if not less,” Leroy continued. “Won’t keep him any longer than that. I know the work you’re all doing here is important, Chaptermaster.”

  She raised a brow at him. “Do you?”

  “Sure,” Leroy said. “You’re the first line of defense. Some might even say the wardens carry the weight of the Commonwealth on their shoulders.”

  Morgan stepped aside, and nodded him further along the atrium. “I see what you’re doing here, Leroy, and flattered as I am, I’d rather we don’t continue this song and dance. Go, see him. If you do not return him to me by the end of the day, I will be giving Minister Rostavich a call.”

  “And it would be well within your rights, Chaptermaster,” Leroy said with a nod. He grabbed Cameron and tugged him along, and the two of them endured the lingering gazes from the wardens idling around.

  Some of the faces he recognized, and most of them were unhappy to see him there. Even if they weren’t, they had to keep up appearances—anything less than somewhat visible zealotry would put them on Morgan’s shit list.

  As they neared the far side of the church, Leroy stared up at the effigy of Christ, and wondered what the Almighty Father must have thought of him. What His plans were, if there were any to begin with. But fate was a fickle thing. Malleable, and far from set in stone. Plans and possible futures shifted with a certain ebb and flow that had deterred Leroy from believing anything was preordained. But if demons existed, angels had to, and if both were real, both answered to a master. As above, so below.

  He glanced briefly at Cameron, who had already passed him in search for whatever door led down to the basement, and returned his gaze back towards the effigy of Christ. Its face did not move, but it cried. It cried red. A weight washed over Leroy and anchored him in place, overbearing as it was brief, and he felt as though the wind had been forced from his lungs.

  He turned towards Cameron, who stood halfway through the door, his eyes expectant. “You coming?”

  Leroy turned back towards the effigy. There were no tears of blood. Just the sunken, emaciated face of Jesus, staring as it had been when he’d first entered the church.

  “Yeah,” Leroy said, pacing over towards him.

  Guns, blades, and the attitude to match. They were briefly mentioned in a few other chapters, namely when Leroy took his renewal exam, and once again when they were dropping off Gideon for Bishop Hargreeves to deal with. Think demon hunters meet monster hunters (or maybe just hunters in general) who do all of the strong arming for the Vatican. As opposed to the Exorcist Association, who are more scholarly types.

  P.S - You'll notice the cover and volume covers were updated. I feel like these fit the tone a lot more for the story, and I'm super satisfied with the way they look (especially the new typography :P)

  LEROY WATERS

  CAMERON KESSLER

  CHAPTERMASTER ALLEN

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