Obsidian Gate - Chapter Two

*Here's Chapter Two for everyone to read. Will be doing a blog later about the inspiration for this and where it all came from. Hope everyone likes this and enjoy*

Chapter Two:
Double, Double, Toil and Trouble

I see a bad moon a-rising
I hear trouble on the way
Creedence Clearwater Revival

Officer Aiden O’Brian hung up the phone and stared at the receiver before sighing heavily. The mound of paperwork on his neat desk was slowly accumulating and he knew he should be tending to the thousand and one things that were piling up. However, that phone call had changed everything. Running his hands through his short, neat, dark brown hair in frustration, the Detective stood up, looking for his partner. Just as he was beginning to get impatient, Patrick Landen came into view.
You could never have asked for two more different partners. Where O’Brian was tidy, black pants, white shirt, and black tie always immaculate, Landen was somewhat slovenly. His slightly long sandy brown hair was hanging in an artfully disheveled mess, his hunter green suit and pale yellow shirt were rumpled, and his green tie hung at an odd angle. Where O’Brian was in his mid-forties, Landen was barely out of his twenties, young and cocky. Even Landen’s desk was the mirror opposite of O’Brian’s, a disaster area. O’Brian had time to wonder, for about the hundredth occasion, how Landen found anything in that mess before Landen’s cheerful whistling brought him back to reality.
“What gives, boss?” Landen asked, quirking an eyebrow as he handed O'Brian a cup of coffee.
“I just got an urgent call from Charlie Hutton,” the detective said, “I think we need to check it out.”
Both pairs of brown eyes met and not another word needed to pass between them. Landen was already checking to make sure he had everything he would need before they left. They left the building, waving to their various co-workers and headed to the garage. It was dimly lit this time of day, a hushed atmosphere hanging over it. Landen could not help but think it fit the mood perfectly but neither he nor O'Brian broke the silence until they were in their registered vehicle, doors shut, seat belts locked, and well on the way to Charlie’s Nightclub. Finally, Landen simply looked over at O’Brian and said,
“What’s happened this time?”
“What makes you think anything’s wrong?”
“We’re driving to Charlie’s on a weekday night when there’re about several thousand other cases that need solving.”
Landen paused only long enough to give his partner a look that said he was not into playing games right now, then said,
“What gives?”
“Someone got shot there tonight."
“So did a lot of other people in this city, O’Brian; Why are we being called in on this one?”
There was a very long pause. Then, O’Brian abruptly broke the silence.
“’cause the vic’s a lycan.”
“What?!” Landen exclaimed, “Jesus, O’Brian! Not again! Please tell me you’re not gettin’ us involved in another one o’ Charlie’s “save the paranormal” routines?”
“They’re people too, Landen,” O’Brian said fiercely and firmly, giving his partner a very penetrating and angry look, “You know what’ll happen if they call anyone else.”
Landen cursed voraciously, as O’Brian continued.
“The paramedics’ll take him t’the hospital an’ when they see what he is, they’ll have ‘em detained.”
“The law says they have to be monitored,” Landen said, frustrated, “We are cops, you know. It is kind of our duty to obey the law.”
“Yeah, well those so called treatment centers’re no better than prisons,” O’Brian snapped, “Some of ‘em ain’t even as nice as the paranormal containment cells we got in the basement. For cryin’ out loud, Landen, you know that! They’ll trank the kid t’high Hell an’ then lock ‘em up.”
“I know! But-”
“Then, he’ll be lucky t’get a fair trial, an’ really lucky if he can avoid bein’ locked up like a caged animal for the rest o’ his life. Just ‘cause the law says ev’rybody’s gotta treat lycan’s the same as everyone else don’t mean everyone actually does.”
“I know that and, believe me, I think it’s just as unfair as you do,” Landen yelled, “Hell, I got friends that’re paranormal too, O’Brian! I know you an’ Charlie go way back, but you’re riskin’ both our necks here!”
“It’s nothing less than Charlie’d do for us and you know it,”
The tone of finality in the older detective’s voice told Landen more than anything else that there would be no going back. Nothing he was about to say would make a damn bit of difference.
“Fine,” Landen sighed, “Let’s just make sure we don’t regret this.”
The ride was soon over and the detectives quickly made their way to Charlie’s, the biting wind hounding them the whole way. Had they not known the way, Charlie’s would have been hard to find. The building was old, brick, the kind that’d been there since the city was founded. It looked odd nestled between all those towers of steel and glass and the entrance was subtle. Any unsuspecting tourist could miss the entire building if it weren’t for the sign. It said “Charlie’s Nightclub” in huge, neon letters. The “C” looked like a gigantic, yellow, crescent moon, while the rest of it was done in a lovely, soft blue. There was also a small, red “Open” neon sign in the tiny window that faced the street but most people barely noticed that one. Parking across the street and behind a chain link fence, Landen and O‘Brian made their way to the bar. It was just after eleven o’clock.
Glancing up briefly, Landen caught sight of the moon, hanging in the sky. It wasn't yet full but it hung brightly, shining between the dark clouds that had gathered. The way it peeked out eerily between the shadows made Landen wonder fitfully just how close the full moon actually was. He quickly fought off the urge to cross himself and entered Charlie's after O'Brian.
The building was quiet, deserted, all the patrons having made their way home. Just another presage for disaster in Landen’s book. He said nothing, however. He merely followed his partner’s lead, like any good cop, praying the whole time that he was not doing something that would end both their careers. The inside of the nightclub was immaculate. The actual bar was old-fashioned looking with an immense lighted mirror behind it. All the lights were in delicate little globes and it made the bar look ethereal, homey. There were two signs posted on the mirror. One read “We’re a mutant friendly establishment, get over it!” The other read “Proud to serve paranormals.” These always had Landen shaking his head. Charlie sure knew how to make ripples. The carpet that ran throughout the front part of the nightclub was a dark blue somewhere between royal and navy, except for two little runners that ran out towards the back. Those were a deep, cherry red that looked like heart’s blood. Everything in the front was made out of a rich, deep, cherry wood, and every single cushion in the house, whether leather or faux velvet, was a deep blue to match the carpet.
Charles Nathan Hutton himself stood quietly behind the bar, waiting patiently for their arrival. The man looked calm, peaceful. You would never have known someone had nearly died on his doorstep less than an hour ago. He was putting away the last of the glasses that he had only now had a chance to finish washing. Charlie was a rather interesting character. Heading into his mid-forties, he was roughly six feet tall and appeared to be about thirty pounds overweight. He was a burly, big, New York bear of a man, with craggy, lined features, thin, pursed lips, and a stub nose that had been broken no less than three times. Contrary to appearances, the thirty extra pounds were muscle, not fat, and between that, his bouncers, and the shotgun hidden under the counter of the bar, Charlie managed pretty well to keep his bar a peaceful place. He wore the traditional uniform of his establishment, white shirt, simple tie (dark blue today), black tweed pants, and black shoes. All of it was neatly pressed, shined, buttoned, and arranged perfectly. Even his white apron was spotless, a perfect match for his outfit. If nothing else, Charlie led by example.
No matter how hard Landen tried, he couldn’t remember a single time that Charlie had ever been rumpled, unclean, or untidy and he expected his employees to be the same, no exceptions. Charlie’s was a classy joint and the boss kept it that way. He was Italian to the hilt and God help the person who thought they could talk him out of something when he had made up his mind.
Landen and O’Brian approached the bar, Landen taking a seat on one of the plush cushions. Charlie finally acknowledged the detectives when he had wiped his hands and put away his towel. He came around the bar to greet them, shaking hands politely with Landen.
“Aiden, Landen, good to see you,” he said, nodding in greeting.
“Hey, Charlie,” O’Brian said, hugging his old friend once quickly and then immediately going to business.
“Where is he?”
“Upstairs,” Charlie said, jerking his head towards the staircase, “The girls’ve been lookin’ after ’em.”
Charlie’s voice, somehow tailor-made to match his appearance, was deep, rumbly, and so heavily laden with New Yorker accent that, if you didn’t listen carefully, you could miss his words in all the slurring and grumbling.
“Please tell me they kept a low profile,” Landen implored, as he followed Charlie and O’Brian past the podium and into a small hallway that lead towards the far left corner of the building.
“They’re not stupid!,” Charlie shot, his intense, dark brown eyes glaring at Landen fiercely, “of course they did!”
“I had to ask, Charlie, some o’them aren’t known for keeping their tempers."
The young Detective simply held up his hands. Charles Nathan Hutton was a big, burly bear of a man all right. If you were talking about grumbly, Italian teddy bears with hearts of gold. He always wanted to believe the best of anyone and it was hard to convince him otherwise. He was also more overprotective of his people than a momma grizzly in a bad mood. More than once, Landen had worried that Charlie’s generous nature would backfire on him someday.
“They’re still paranormals, Landen,” Charlie said, seriously, “they don’t want attention any more than they want this young man to attract attention.”
“Do you even know what breed he is, Charlie?” O’Brian asked.
“Marissa wasn’t able to get specifics,” Charlie replied, “All we know is he’s some kind o’ cat lycan.”
The bartender ran a hand over the top of his head, as if wiping away sweat. Landen knew better. There was no sheen on his slightly balding pate and not one lock of his sandy hair, which was sort of longish in the back, was out of place or damp from perspiration. Charlie was more nervous than he was letting on.
“Great, with our luck, it’ll be one of the really dangerous breeds!” Landen muttered.
“He’s a lycan, son, they’re all dangerous if you push ‘em,” O’Brian pointed out, as they finally came to the end of the hallway. There were two doors leading to restrooms and on their right was a stairwell leading up. Charlie led them up the short staircase and stopped in front of a small oak door on the left side of the hallway at the top of the stairs.
There was another doorway directly at the very end of the hallway, which the detectives knew lead to Charlie’s apartment, but neither of them paid them any notice. It was what was waiting behind door number two that interested them. Charlie said nothing, simply opened the door and led them into the small bedroom he had taken to keeping for what he affectionately called his “guests.”
Contrary to O’Brian and Landen’s fears, the lycan in question did not look dangerous. In fact, he looked downright vulnerable, barely old enough to be legal.
“Who is he, Charlie?” Landen asked.
“No idea,” Charlie replied simply, “He hasn’t been conscious to answer questions.”
“Jesus, Charlie!” Landen exclaimed, truly aghast, “You let some strange paranormal sleep right next t’ya and ya don’t even know ‘is name?!”
“He just got shot, Landen! Besides, I prefer t’let the kid answer for himself, thanks! ’Til he’s up an’ functional, we don’t know if he’s dangerous or not.”
“He’s a lycan, Charlie, for God’s sake!” Landen screamed, “It may not be the kid’s fault but that don’t make ‘em any less dangerous!”
“Are you implying that I should turn this young, helpless man away just because he’s a lycanthrope?” Charlie asked quietly.
“I’m just askin’ you to think a little, Charlie, that’s all!"
“With all due respect, Detective, I think we can handle things here,” Charlie replied, his shoulders stiffening with the beginnings of pride and indignation, “I was in the service, you know. I think I know how to look after my own.”
“That gonna ease you on your way if this guy flips out?” Landen demanded, refusing to break eye contact with the older gentleman, “I’m not presumin’ t’judge this guy’s character outside o’his condition, but what if he’s a newbie, Charlie? They don’t always have perfect control, all good intentions aside. Nine times out o’ten, they flip out their first full moon. They need someone o’their kind t’look after ‘em. You wanna take the chance this kid’s gonna go bonkers the next full moon an’ kill you?”
“If somethin’ goes wrong, I think Marissa can handle it, Detective,” Charlie replied, smiling.
“Dammit, Charlie, she can’t be everywhere at once!” Landen exclaimed.
“Maybe not, but I don’t plan on goin’ anywhere ‘til we know this guy’s safe,” a dark clad woman spoke up from the corner.
Landen turned and faced the speaker, knowing full well that arguing with this person was pretty much akin to beating your head against a brick wall.
“She and Charlie would make a perfect match, if he weren’t such an old geezer,” Landen thought. She appeared roughly in her mid-twenties but not knowing the exact age of the woman in question, he figured it was better to just leave that thought unsaid.
Marissa Li Fang stood up from the spot she’d been inhabiting in the corner and approached the Detectives. She’d been standing there with her arms crossed and, as she unwound and approached, Landen couldn’t help but admire her movements, slow, efficient, and deadly. She moved like a predator, someone who knew how to kill, how to stalk. She was only five feet and three inches tall, being Chinese, but she had a presence and a sense of mind that was larger than life, made her seem much bigger than what she was.
Her shoulder blade length black hair, with all the rich, dark brown highlights, was swept up into a simple mass at the top and back of her head. Her deep, black eyes regarded Landen with cool detachment and the Detective had no delusions about wanting to tangle with this one. If it came down to it, he would be the one in the pine box and he knew it. Muscles rippled and arched, artfully softened by the delicacy of her soft skin. Landen didn’t need to see her muscles to know they were there. The bits of it peeking out at her very solid abdomen spoke well enough for her whole body. Her pants, tank top, tennis shoes, socks, and the leather gloves with the fingers cut out were all stark black, as were the nice, expensive shades she had tucked into the front of her shirt near her very ample bosom. The shirt was low cut enough and only hit her midriff so Landen could see all of her tatoos.
There were three on her right arm, set in a triangle pattern. The one across her collarbone, half hidden by her shirt, was also somewhat obscured by the onyx pendant that Marissa wore. Landen had asked her where she’d gotten it once, because of how old it looked. Marissa had mumbled something about it being a family heirloom and hadn’t mentioned it since. Her final tattoo was around her navel, where her ruby-stoned black navel ring was displayed prominently. How she hid all those when she worked for Charlie, Landen didn’t want to know. Her ears were also pierced several times each. She looked, all in all, like a true badass but Landen didn't back down.
“You willin’ t’bet your life an’ your friends’ lives on you walkin’ out the victor if you gotta throw down with this kid?” Landen demanded, “You sure you’re that good, Marissa?”
“I can’t give you any guarantees, Landen,” she replied, staring directly into the Detective's eyes, “but I’ve yet t’meet anyone who can get the best o’me, lycan or not. An’ I can promise you, if it comes t’that, neither one o’ us’ll be walkin’ outta here. He might get me, but I ain’t about t’give him the chance t’get my friends too.”
“Just don’t do anything stupid,” Landen muttered, “The last thing I want is t’have t’come down t’the office an’ read your name in the processin’ papers.”
“You won’t."
Something in the way the phrase was uttered made Landen shudder but the Detective put it out of his mind and focused on the job.
“So what do we do now?” O’Brian asked.
“Alex and Sarah went fer provisions and some medical supplies,” Charlie replied, “They’re gonna try an’ patch the kid up; then, we just pray he wakes up. He’s lost an awful lot o’ blood but lycans can take a helluva beatin.’”
“What if he didn’t see anything?” Landen countered, “What if he can’t remember? Christ, Charlie, this kid should be in a hospital, not bleedin’ his life out in your home!”
“You know what’ll happen if we take him to the hospital,” Charlie said, softly, “They’ll treat ‘em like crap soon’s they find out what he is an’ we’ll be damn lucky t’find anyone willin’ t’convict the guys that jumped ‘em, even if he can i.d. ‘em.”
“I hate to interject, gentlemen, but I do believe Charlie is correct,” a voice said from the doorway.
All eyes turned as another stunningly beautiful Asian woman stepped into the room. She bore a tray laden with food and drink in her arms and was regarding all of the men with a calm, sure gaze.
“That so, Lee?” Landen demanded, “This another one o’ yer predictions?”
“Yes, I do believe the two of you are his only shot,” she said, in that calm, serene voice of hers, “You may be able to help find the assailants and make certain that the charges against them stick. Any other policeman would simply label him another paranormal freak and let the case drop.”
“There’re a lotta other cases out there, y’know,” Landen shot, trying not to be a jerk but losing his patience.
“Yes, but can you really turn away from someone who truly needs your help?” the woman countered, as she set the tray down near the bed, “Is that not why you both became policemen in the first place? To help people?”
Landen had to concede defeat there. Sometimes, Sarah Lee was just too insightful for her own damn good. Forget that she had some eerie abilities that went above and beyond the norm of humanity. The woman just had a way of knowing things that annoyed and astounded everyone all at the same time. To look at her, you would never think she was so impressive, despite the fact that she was drop dead gorgeous. She was five feet and eleven inches tall, amazing considering her race, and had those fathomless, black almond eyes that Asians were famous for. She also had silky, jet black hair that hung in a perfect line to her waist, like a flawless obsidian mirror. There were two small streaks of medium brown, one on either side of her head, that broke the unrelenting blackness of her hair, emphasizing how truly dark the rest of it was.
Right now, her hair was up in its usual high, straight, perfect ponytail and the two streaks had been pulled together to make one single line of brown right down the middle of her hair. Her face was one of those kind that would not look out of place in a room full of models, all soft, roundness, high cheekbones, a cute little upturned nose, and lips that, even if not quite full, still managed to look quite tempting. She held herself very straight, her spine perfectly aligned, as if a rod had been placed in it and her body was expertly muscled, lean, trim, and very athletic.
Landen knew the woman ran and worked out several times a week. It showed, especially in her legs. Not only did they go on forever, you could see the muscles in them. She didn’t have an insanely impressive bust but it was pleasant to look at and she was softly rounded in just the right places. Every curve suited her, never too much or too little. She wore a simple crimson colored tank top, plain blue jeans, white tennis shoes, and a pair of short, thin red gloves. She bowed slightly to O’Brian with that unpretentious air of hers and smiled. It was a gesture that made her seem far older than her twenty-seven years, though her face made her appear younger, an incongruity that had saved her more than once from someone’s anger.
“It has been a while, Detective,” she said, “How are you?”
“Well, Miss Lee,” he said, “Where’s that hellcat of a sister of yours?”
“She will be here shortly, Detective O’Brian,” Sarah said.
“Can you tell us what happened in the meantime?” O’Brian asked. Silent until then, he had been building his thoughts. Now, he wanted some answers.
“We were almost done with our set when we heard loud noises,” Sarah replied, “There was something that sounded like a gunshot and then sirens. We stopped the show and when we glanced outside to see what was going on, we found this young man passed out on Charlie’s stoop, suffering from multiple wounds, including a bullet wound to the stomach.”
“Ouch, nasty,” Landen commented, knowing how painful those could be.
“We were attempting to try and get him stabilized when we noticed the wounds starting to close themselves, though it looked like they were having a bit of trouble,” the woman continued, “When we inspected the wounds, we guessed that the assailants had probably used either silver weapons or something with high silver content, because of how slowly the wounds healed, and that this gentleman was most likely a lycanthrope.”
“How could you tell the wounds were healing?” O’Brian asked.
“One of them, this one on his face,” she said, indicating a cut just above his eye, “Started closing rapidly. We managed to get him inside and got him upstairs to this room. We wanted to make sure he was somewhere safe, in case his attackers tried to finish the job, and we did not want anyone to see that he was a lycanthrope.”
“Was there any sign of who did this to him?” Landen asked, finally piping up, now that he was getting interested.
“None. They were gone when we found him. Once we had determined that he was a lycan, we asked Charlie to contact you because we all trust you to handle paranormal cases. We cannot say the same for a great deal of your fellow officers, unfortunately.”
While all of this was going on, as O’Brian was noting things down, the door opened again and another woman entered. This one was five feet and four inches tall, Latina to the hilt with knee length, curly blue/black hair that was so thick and heavy that the spirals in her hair had pulled themselves out into what looked like a natural wave. Right now, the waves were hidden in a single, long braid. She had beautiful, unusual, and arresting eyes that were, according to popular opinion, her best feature. They were a dark, fathomless midnight blue, almost on the verge of being black, wide, and ringed with long, black lashes, the gift of some distant Gypsy heritage on her mother’s side of the family. Her lips were full, red, and pouting, and her delicately rounded face was set off by high cheekbones and a small, cute nose. Her eyes sparkled with suppressed mirth, usually a sign that she was up to no good. Her body was the type made for sin, with more curves than the Audobon in all the right places and packed with trim, athletic muscle, a legacy of her running and working out. She had the kind of perfect, soft, dexterous hands just made for those long, perfect, red nails, and knew how to capture the attention of a room.
She wore a midnight blue tank top and black capris with black shoes, the kind that slipped on, and was carrying what looked like a large sack with the logo of the local pharmacy on it. She exchanged amused looks with Marissa, who was back to standing silently in the corner, and with Sarah before depositing the bag at the side of the bed.
“Long time, no see, officers, Ah was beginnin’ t’think y’all didn’ like us anymore,” she said breezily, turning on her Southern style charm for all it was worth.
“That’s because we always seem to run into you when something bad’s happening,” Landen said, “Why's that?”
“I have no idea, Officer,” the woman said, batting her eyes coquettishly.
“Can it, Lee,” O’Brian said, “This isn’t a joke an’ we know you too well.”
“Never can fool you, can Ah?” she demanded.
“Nope,” was O’Brian’s only reply.
“Is your sister always a pain like this or’s she just really good at gettin’ in trouble?” Landen demanded, smirking at Sarah.
“You know Alex,” Sarah replied, “Always the center of attention.”
“Has he woken up yet?” Alex asked, gently brushing aside a lock of hair from the young man’s face.
“No,” Sarah said, “and his body is reacting badly to the silver.”
“We need t’get those bullets out before he goes int’ shock,” Alex said.
“You need t’take ‘em to a hospital!” Landen shot, “Do you have any idea how much trouble you guys can get into fer this?”
“Not as much as this young man will, if we allow the law to have its way with him,” Sarah pointed out, serenely.
“This’s where you try t’talk them outta doin’ this, Charlie,” Landen pointed out, glancing over at the bartender, “They’re gonna get sued at the very least.”
“I have good friends who’re lawyers and since when’ve they ever listened t’me?” Charlie replied.
Landen just threw up his hands in disgust.
“I give up on you guys!” he exclaimed, “You’re gonna get me an’ O’Brian fired one o’ these days!”
“Can you give us anymore information regarding what happened to him?” O’Brian demanded, abruptly cutting off the end of Landen’s tirade.
“Not at this point, but we’re gonna need yoah help if we’re gonna get this boy back on his feet,” Alex said, “Can we count on y’all?”
O’Brian paused for the briefest of moments before replying.
“For now, yes.”