Prey to the Aswang, Page 2

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  Tap tap. Gareth heard the sound, and awoke with adrenaline pumping in his veins. He scrambled to rise, tossing thick blankets aside in the process. In terror he turned, seeking an opening; an escape. It took long moments before he realized he was in a room, not on the streets, and he remembered what had happened. As his breathing began to calm Gareth saw his savior standing nearby—cane in one hand tapping idly at the concrete floor as the wizard himself leaned over a broad metal table covered with implements of arcane research.

  Gareth opened his mouth. Maybe to thank this man. Perhaps to ask what they were doing in this concrete bunker of a room. But most definitely not to ask after the night before. He knew it wasn't possible, but Gareth devoutly wished to forget every element of the proceeding day, and to wipe the horror of that creature's image from his mind.

  A calm and dignified voice spoke, and whatever Gareth had been about to say soon slipped his mind. The older man, the wizard, had an air about him that commanded absolute attention. The young shaman felt his previous thoughts wither in the wake of new words, and icy fingers scurried over his brain.

  "I'm sure you have many questions for me, young man. My name is Rezlaquin, this is my lab, and that creature that nearly feasted upon you is known as an Aswang; they're a Philippine import, not yet common in the states. As you must know, I am a wizard. For the last few months I have been using this site to study the Aswang, for there are aspects of their being that, if harnessed properly, could be of great value to the magical community. Recently I hit a bit of a wall in my research, and as it turns out the assistance of a shaman is exactly what I need. The fates must have been busy yesterday, for our meeting can be no coincidence; each of us in need of the other." Rezlaquin paused, turning briefly back to his instruments. He took a reading from one device, and made a carful notation on a notepad that lay nearby. The wizard returned his attention to Gareth.

  Gareth wet his lips a bit nervously, feeling a confusion of fear from this man whom he should feel security from. "And where, exactly, are we?"

  "We're under the Illinois Institute of Technology. More specifically we're beneath the old Institute of Gas Technology, now Shimer University, which was previously Shimer of Waukegan. Good, and well. From knowledge, power. That isn't the knowledge to be focused on, though. This is..." The man pointed sharply to one wall upon which held a large chalkboard with a complex diagram drawn upon it.

  "What matters is that this location housed the very first industrial nuclear reactor within the United States. The magic here is of the utmost interest. Of the modern machine-made sites of power, this one ranks within the top few that I've studied. Here were early steps taken in something both grand and terrible beyond what we've yet to imagine. And it was done with science. That leaves an incredible local effect upon the arcane backdrop of the universe. A sort of nexus, not unlike a planetary body pulling in matter with the gravitational impact of its mass." He paused, eyeing Gareth sternly over his half-rim glasses, "Your assistance will be appreciated, but you mustn't attempt anything without first consulting me. Anything you concoct from ingredients found here could, and likely will, have effects far beyond your expectations, and the odds of it being in a positive direction are not likely to be good. Do you understand?"

  Gareth licked his lips nervously, and thought about what Rezlaquin had revealed, and about what the chalk diagram implied. If he could gather the right ingredients from a place as magically charged as this one, and with the potent flavor of war that nuclear technology brought, then he could concoct spells beyond anything he'd ever imagined possible. He wouldn't have to fear Aswang in the night, or anything else for that matter. He turned his head back to Rezlaquin.

  "I understand. I'm in. How do I help? Where do we start?"

  The old man's eyes gleamed. He strode to the chalkboard, and whisked up a stubby bit of chalk in one hand. In quick strikes he scrawled a series of symbols across one section of the diagram, and with a suddenness that made Gareth jump, Rezlaquin stopped his writing and loudly dashed a circle around a segment of the diagram just beneath the newly added symbols.

  Gareth recognized those symbols. They were the symbols of his craft. Representations of different spells. Or, more precisely, representations of ideas that could be achieved through magic and the mixture of various reagents. There were also symbols for suggested reagents, which represented the attribute that determined what a shaman chose for the contents of his concoctions; shamanism, like most magics not wizardry, was not a precise science. Stone was great for strength, but titanium was better. Ground rat nose had once been among the best reagents for a smell enhancing potion, but in recent years that had been replaced by such things as Claritin. The world was changing, and as always magic was changing with it.

  Rezlaquin was watching him impatiently, and expectantly. The bit of chalk was slowly collapsing under the tension of his clenched fingers. Gareth cleared his throat, and looked away from the wizard.

  "It will take some time, and I'll need the ingredients. Most of those spells involve some fairly uncommon elements. Not so hard to find, but they aren't the sort I usually have call for." He paused, considering. "Maybe three days."

  Gareth considered pointing out how dangerous some of these spells would be, but his professionalism was at war with his self-interest, and losing. From his personal standpoint the benefits of continuing far outweighed the potential consequences.

  "Money isn't an issue. Time is. Two days, and then we began."

  Rezlaquin waited for Gareth's mute concession before nodding briskly, and striding purposely from the room. His cane made a quiet tap tap as he went. He returned a few minutes later with a laptop, a credit card, and a small stack of cash. Without pause he approached Gareth, and thrust these items into his arms.

  "Take these. Order what you can, express delivery. The address on the card will do. For what you can't purchase with plastic, this cash should suffice. If there are brokers that require more... exotic currency just let me know, and I'll see to it. Remember, two days."

  Gareth clutched at the bundle like a drowning man clinging to a piece of driftwood that's been painted into a sailboat by greedy mirage. He knew he should have more questions. That he was getting himself into a situation he scarcely understood. He was, in fact, already far too involved to escape, though he didn't know this at the time. What he did know was that if he could focus on work—any work—then he might just be able to keep the lingering terror of the Aswang's presence from curdling his mind like sunbaked milk.

  Rezlaquin eyed him appraisingly. He pointed to an empty table in one corner. It was near a number of wall hookups ranging from gas lines to electrical outlets. "That will be your workstation over there. Expense is not an issue, for the consequences of failure are beyond dire. With failure comes death, and with success the potential for eternal life. In this room we are on the cutting edge of arcane research, and the stakes are accordingly high. Now I'll leave you to it."

  Without another word the wizard left Gareth alone in the cold concrete room. Alone with his fears, and his intense desperation for distraction from the monstrous presence that he couldn't shake, even though he'd seen its source destroyed. In such a situation he only minded the vagueness of his goal in that it complicated his work, but even that was a blessing; teasing out the direction of his efforts gave his mind more of that distraction that he so badly needed.