Page 52 of Something Worth Keeping
“I know. But Julian gave us intelligence we need to verify. Focus.”
Cillian forced the bloodlust down, channeling it into cold purpose. Thornwas right. They needed to understand the extent of Vane’s operation before eliminating him.
Then Cillian would tear him apart slowly.
“I’ve got it handled,” Cillian said. “I can hold back…for now.”
Thorn studied him for a long moment, then nodded. “Move in.”
/~/~/~/~/
The warehouse’s interior smelled of rust and old oil. Cillian flowed through the shadows, bypassing the main entrance to materialize inside near a stack of shipping containers. His form remained mostly human - tall, dark-suited, dangerous - but his shadows spread like living smoke across the concrete floor.
Three heartbeats ahead. One above.
Cillian moved forward silently. The warehouse opened into a vast space,metal rafters crisscrossing overhead, industrial lighting casting harsh angles. In the center of the floor stood Marcus Vane.
Cillian recognized him from surveillance photos. The man was in his mid-forties, wearing an expensive suit, his hair going gray at his temples. He looked like any bloated corporate executive, and nothing like a typical crime lord. What was unsettling was that Vane was too calm - he clearly believed he was prepared.
No human is ever prepared for us.
Two guards flanked him, armed with what looked like modified rifles. The weapons gleamed with an oily black sheen that made Cillian’s shadows recoil instinctively.
“Welcome, gentlemen.” Vane’s voice carried across the empty space, amplified slightly. “I’ve been expecting you.”
Thorn materialized on Cillian’s right, massive and menacing. Silas appeared on his left, holding his human form.
“Marcus Vane,” Thorn said. “You’ve made a very poor decision, hunting our kind.”
“Have I?” Vane smiled. “I’d argue I’ve made an excellent decision. You see, I’ve been studying you - your patterns, your capabilities, and your weaknesses. Did you know there are only seven documented cases of your species in the last millennium? Seven. The Church used to keep records, before they decided it was heresy to acknowledge your existence.”
Cillian’s shadows spread wider, searching for the trap. Still no sign of the apparatus, no energy signature. Just Vane, his guards, and…that fourth heartbeat above them.Who was that?
“You’ve done your research,” Silas said. “Congratulations. It won’t save you.”
“Won’t it?” Vane gestured, and the guards raised their weapons. “These are modified with a very interesting substance. I believe you call it ‘blessed silver,’ though the blessing is more...chemical than spiritual. Suspended particles of iron and salt, blessed by a dying man’s last breath. It’s terribly difficult to manufacture, but effective.”
Cillian felt his shadows hiss at the mention. Blessed silver could injure them, though not permanently. It was more annoying than fatal.
“You think bullets will stop us?” Thorn’s form expanded, shadows writhing.
“No.” Vane’s smile widened. “But they’ll slow you down long enough for the real fun to begin.”
He snapped his fingers.
Energy slammed through the warehouse like a physical force, a resonance that made Cillian’s form scream in protest. His shadows tried to scatter, to dissipate, but something held them, compressed them all at once as if trying to force them into another form.
Symbols blazed to life across the floor, etched into the concrete in lines Cillian hadn’t seen, hidden beneath oil stains and rust. A perfect circle, thirty meters in diameter, enclosing all three guardians.
The apparatus.
“Impossible,” Silas gasped, his form flickering. “We would have detected…”
“The construction? Yes, normally.” Vane walked closer to the circle's edge, careful not to cross it. “But Ididn’t build it here. You see, according to what I learned from someone knowledgeable about occult banishment practices, the original design of these machines relied on building them in one piece and in one place. But we have modern technology now – kitsets - have you heard of them? A brilliant idea that works for so much more than furniture.
“I built it in pieces, in twelve different locations, each one too small to generate a detectable signature. Then I assembled it last night, while you were distracted by my little saturation attack on your network. Your archivist gave excellent tactical advice, by the way. Consolidating your defenses at Shadow House meant you weren't watching this facility.”
Cillian’s rage ignited, but his shadows couldn’t manifest properly. Theapparatus pulled at his essence, draining it, forcing a parasitic feedback loop just like the historical texts described. He could feel his form weakening, his human shape becoming harder to maintain.
