Mori watches the train slowly board, glances at their police escort, then squeezes Beatrice’s arm. The contact — as much for his own comfort as hers. Finely muscled angelic flesh warms his hand. Sets it to tingling in ways a normal human touch might not. Or so he imagines. Maybe it’s just because he’s still batshit crazy in love with her. At this point, he’ll take even the imagined comfort, or the halo effect, or the real comfort caused by her angelic nature. Whatever the source, he sure as Hell needed it now.

Hunted.

The word buzzes in his mind like an alarm. His skin tingles with primordial fear response. Mori feels the impulse to kill, to run like Hell, or both. A Curse Rider? We knew it would probably come. But now… Gods, we are so fucked.

Mages as a subset of humankind had nearly gone extinct numerous times over the last millennia and a half. The cause — goddamn Curse Riders. Devils armed and trained by Asmodeus himself to slay mages and to take their powerful wisps. They were an innovation of the Dark Ages. A far more lethal scythe to shear through the ranks of his people than even the devils who came before. All devils lusted after mages’ souls. Much of Hell was dedicated to the entrapment of mage wisps by whatever means necessary. But before the Curse Riders, devils had to use the normal lures. Tempting or tricking the mage into Hell or by jumping any mage foolish enough to enter Hell willingly on their own. Curse Riders were a great advancement into wholesale carnage. Able to exploit Asmodeus’s in-roads to Earth to take form, they could now directly hunt and slay. Taking mage wisps by the devil-preferred method that is violence and slaughter. A feat which wasn’t possible before.

At first, the losses were mammoth. Only the most powerful mages — able to resist the overwhelming power of a Curse Rider long enough to flee — and the most cunning survived. New methods were devised to keep hidden. To keep safe. By modern times, mage numbers were again slowly rising. Though never so plentiful as before the Curse Riders.

I guess my fear’s kinda instinctive. Makes sense after concocting such a bone-headed plan and following through with it. They’d sent their only daughter into Hell and to distract Asmodeus. They’d deliberately taken Ivan Volkov, the Arch Devil’s chosen prophet on Earth. I suppose I hoped we’d avoid a Curse Rider. But that was stupid. Like kicking a hornets’ nest and expecting the hornets not to swarming out and sting the fuck out of you.

Now we’re in a serious bind. A Curse Rider, and a very nasty one by the look of it, is breathing down our necks. He’s summoned up a posse of the worst devil sympathizers in Europe. It’s an honest to goddamn witch hunt.

The officer tabs her radio, speaks a few words in German. Interpretor gives him the words in English. Train’s almost finished boarding. They’re departing in four minutes. There’s a gathering of extremists just north of town near the tracks. But police units are already breaking them up. Mori’s too keyed up and knows way too much to feel relief. Instead, he moves on to the next worry.

Across the table, Sadie is on the phone with Glenda. “No, dear. It’s too dangerous to meet us at the train station. No, it’s also too dangerous to go to the restaurant. We’ll need you to go to the docks. Now. Yes. Yes. I’ll be calling ahead for the water transport. Of course I have a contingency.”

Ivan reaches out, tries to grab the phone. Sparks erupt from his hand. He shakes it in pain. “Tell her not come,” he growls.

Sadie doesn’t miss a beat. “Of course your father’s here, dear. I’m certain he’ll be glad to see you. Yes, yes. The trouble is… after him too. Stay safe dear. And remember. The docks! Take every precaution and have our friends help if need-be. Lots of love and see you soon. Bye now dear.”

Sadie puts down the phone, takes a deep breath, then lays a hand on the train car’s interior wall. She closers her eyes, whispering. Taking a moment to study herself. Mori can’t hear what she’s saying. He’d want to pray too, though. If he were the praying type. What Mori doesn’t notice is the flash of divine curse energy running through Sadie’s palm and into the train.

Mori’s nervously glancing at his watch — it’s 12:03. They should be leaving soon. He pulls out his phone, thumbing through his text messages. He had Stefan follow the train in his Tesla just in case. But he’s more than an hour behind them. By the time they reach Esbjerg, if they reach Esberg, that lag will stretch past two hours. A lot can happen in two hours. Stefan will almost certainly be too far away to help. He glances sidelong at Beatrice, notes she’s keeping track of Ivan and the officer all while monitoring their still-active omnis scientia. Good, she’s on top of her game. Did I ever doubt?

Mori drums on the table in front of him with his fingers, trying to bleed off the anxiety with pointless motion. Why aren’t they moving yet? He glances over his shoulder at the officer a couple rows away. She’s also on her phone. He leans across the table. “Sadie, tell me about your contacts in Esbjerg,” he asks in a low voice. “You have someone who can meet us a bit past midway? Possibly near Tonder?”

Sadie blinks at him, removing her hand from the train’s interior wall. “I heard your little plan from earlier. It’s probably a good one. But it’ll take some doing.” She picks up her phone and holds up a finger, indicating he wait. Good, she’s on it. Sadie’s about as resourceful as they come. If she’s already up on his jump-train plan, then she’s probably arranging a contact at a good jump point.

The train makes a whooshing sound as it departs. Frigging finally! Powerful electric motors humming, the one hundred percent clean energy, five thousand ton Sleipnir launches from the platform. A half-smile creeps onto his face. He’ll never get used to the delicious acceleration electrics could pump out. Hamburg’s urban region blurs by and they are, once again, rocketing through open country. Hot, dry farms and woodlands replace the gray and white city buildings of Hamburg. The train seems to be moving faster this time. Good. Mori glances at the officer, wondering if its speed has something to do with the recent attack by goddamn Berserkers. Probably. When they left the platform, their first train was crawling with law enforcement. Media’s gonna have a friggin heyday with this stuff, Furze Bank, and the plane crash.

They cross a road intersection. In the distance, Mori can see a police roadblock. Behind it is a cluster of motor cycles. Some of their riders lift one-finger salutes at the passing train. Beatrice’s eyes swirl with magical energy as she engages omnis scientia.

“More Berserkers,” she says, pointing the magical sensor at the bikers. He nods, not wanting to expend precious magical energy to see the spectacle more closely for himself. The train is already past the intersection. “There are about fourteen. Cops are having a tough time with them.”

Mori gives a wry smirk. “I bet.”

“Oh,” Beatrice gasps.

“What is it, babe?” He can still see her eyes swirling. She must’ve picked up something new out there.

“It’s… a helicopter. You’ve go to see this.” She grabs hold of his shoulder.

“OK,” he replies, blinking his eyes and tapping his energetic vessel to connect him with omnis scientia. He’s momentarily dizzy as his senses shift. He adjusts quickly. Scanning his new, much wider, field of vision, he notes the Berserkers and Police rapidly falling away behind them. Spinning the sensor north, he scans for Beatrice’s helicopter. No such luck, but the hot northwestern sky is littered with massive thunderheads. A titanic, if far-distant, white-gray line of overshooting tops. Its tell-tale, anvil-shaped white blur about two hundred and fifty miles off. Gonna get really stormy this afternoon. And they’re heading out into the North Sea. Great. Mori keeps spinning the sensor, turning it eastward. Then he sees it. A black and red MD 902 Explorer that could best be described as highly stylized spews black clouds of smoke behind and to the right.

The helicopter is clearly shadowing them. To his sensitive mage sight, its abnormalities are obvious. Diabolical magic drips away and behind it as worb energy flares in its engines. Even to a casual observer its bulging glass cockpit eyes, landing struts sporting downward turning talons, the bat-like shape of tail fins, and red flames shooting from exhaust ports would seem out of place except at a derby race made for monster helicopters.

“Yep. Definitely a Nightmare,” he announces, shifting his senses back to the train cabin. Beatrice shoots him a look that says ‘duh’ but in a more refined way he doesn’t articulate. “Keep eyes on it sweetheart. I’ll see if our new friends can do something to delay it.”

Mori stands, walks over to the police officer, then crouches down. “Uh, mam, I think you might want to take a look at this.” He glances at her name plate. It’s Officer Winkler.

“What is it?”

“Over here by the window.” Mori guides her to an open seat with a window space on the train’s right side. He lifts his finger, points at the helicopter. “See that? I’m betting it’s not authorized to fly so close to our train.” The helicopter’s about a thousand feet up. It’s slowly descending toward them.

“Schiesse!” Winkler exclaims. “That thing is ugly.”

“Yeah, looks like some magical monster out of a fantasy movie, right?”

“Ja!” She replies, then tabs her radio. After a flurried conversation, she looks at Mori with upraised eyebrows. “Good spot. It’s not showing up on radar.” Her own words seem to puzzle her. “What kind of helicopter looks like that but doesn’t show up on radar?”

The Nightmare kind, Mori thinks to himself but doesn’t reply. Instead he just shrugs his shoulders and turns up his hands in a ‘you got me, police lady’ gesture.

Winkler blows a raspberry, sharing in his befuddlement. “They’re sending a chopper to intercept. Closest one’s out of Kiel. Won’t be here for another 15-20 minutes. And that’s fast response.”

“Central’s gotta be freaked,” Mori falls into cop-speak easy, his normal person background kicking in. He scratches his head, thinking about a police helicopter and a Nightmare facing off among the clouds… “Hey, maybe it’s not such a good idea…” He trails off not knowing how exactly to explain how a supposed civilian helicopter is going to give a police ‘copter trouble. But that probably wasn’t going to happen. 15-20 minutes wasn’t going to be fast enough. Mori’s mind races, trying to come up with another plan.

“They’re all over the place with everything that’s happened,” Officer Winkler continues. “That keeps happening. And to top it all off, there’s a big gale front sweeping in from the North Sea. Thunderstorms, hurricane force winds, there’s even a tornado watch.”

“Don’t say?” Mori already saw the storm clouds. The forecast confirms it. As he talks, his tactical brain is kicking in. He’s wondering how to get a clear shot at the Nightmare ‘copter. He glances back to his rifle-briefcase. Yeah. Might need that soon. “Lately weather’s been wrecked as all Hell,” Mori continues. It was part of the whole problem, wasn’t it? Damn devils teaming up with corrupt and influential humans to do stuff like fuck up the weather for all the other humans. Today’s Hellified forecast included an actual devil invader flying in a goddamn helicopter made from an unholy mash-up of machine, demon, and diabolical magic.

“Ja, for the past decade at least. It’s the hot air running into ocean water chilled by Greenland melt.”

Now it’s Mori’s turn to blow a raspberry. “Tell me about it, right?” So officer Winkler was an amateur climate buff? Well, it was certainly something worth his respect. “Climate change’s playing havok with everything.”

She’s nodding and formulating a reply. Mori can tell they’d touched on a subject of passionate interest for Winkler — who seemed to be, all-in-all, a rather decent human being. Mori’s edging away to get back to his briefcase when, suddenly, all the freaking cell phones in their train car start ringing.

“Oh fucking shit!”

Winkler looks up at him in surprise. Her phone is ringing too.

“Oh shit, did I say that out loud? Don’t answer that call! Gotta go!” He’s running off, grabbing his phone. A glance is all he needs to see the red tendrils of diabolical influence heavy with suggestive magic oozing off it. He tabs the answer key, puts it on speaker, and holds it well away from his face as he jumps, then slides back to their seats. He’s got magical protections set up to deal with devils’ suggestive magic. But it never hurts to be careful.

“Lookin’ for Ivan,” a cigarette-smoke voice rasps on the other end. Mori can hear twenty other phones saying the same thing throughout the train car. “Not hard to miss,” the voice continues. “He’s a little squirt of a Russian. Kinda looks like Vladimir Putin. I’d be obliged if you could hand me off to him.”

About ten people stand up all at once — holding their phones out to Ivan. Mori shoves four of them away. Beatrice and Sadie are already on their feet. Sadie shouting confractus! multiple times. The diabolical magic in five nearby phones unravels.

“Please, no! This is all a misunderstanding!” Beatrice says, her voice laden with an-already applied suggero curse. Confused passengers sit back down as the devil continues to spout garbage into their ears. Even as some seem to hear Beatrice, succumb to her magic, and sit down, more passengers further back in the car are standing, moving toward them, holding phones with diabolical magic tendrils flailing.

“Aww, come-on Ivan. I know you’re there buddy, pick up,” the diabolical cowboy voice crackles through at least thirty phones, filling the train with its helter-skelter suggestive magic. One of the zombie-like crowd, a breathless teen with a confused look on his face, breaks through, then kneels to offer up his Cthulhu phone. Mori is struck by the absurdity of the gesture. But doesn’t have time to think about it. He’s too busy shoving off the mass of bedeviled humanity.

Ivan hears the voice. He stands slowly, as if drawn up on marionette strings. His hand lifts toward the teen’s phone. It begins to spark with Sadie’s telephone blocking curse. Ivan grasps the phone. It catches fire — burning Ivan. Mori can smell the sweet scent of frying skin. Ivan is unphased. The Pride Eater wound in his back is flaring with diabolical magic. Taking control. Mori focuses omnis scientia down and through the train. He can see the possession stabbing through the Russian like a thorn dug too deep to be removed. Ivan picks up the phone. Tendrils quest toward him from the receiver only to be burned off like mist in morning sunlight by Sadie’s curse. The phone sparks, catches flame, then melts in Ivan’s hand.

The voice on the other line is still audible as a tinny, warbling tone. “bAd conNeCtiOn,” the devil cowboy says before the audio cuts out.

At last Ivan seems to wake up. He screams, shakes the burning phone out of his hand, then kneels to cradle his wounded digits. His eyebrows are upturned. He looks both with terror and with longing as another of the devil-zombified, this one dressed as an office professional, offers up another unholy phone. The wound in Ivan’s back pulses again — shooting a signal laden both with power and command. In Ivan’s eyes, Mori can see the ecstasy of longing for power ignite into a red glow. Ivan’s mouth works, his jaws clamping and unclamping, slaver drools down from his mouth as he literally salivates for power. Ivan’s link to that power — a friggin cell phone held before his face by a duped thrall with a devil on the other end.

Ivan’s hand lifts, closes on the cell phone. Once more, Sadie’s protective curse activates. But this time, the damn Curse Rider somehow fights back. The tendrils multiply and, as one, shoot in a cloud — rocketing toward Ivan’s wound.

Mori’s hand closes on his briefcase. Pushes the red button. The rifle blurs into form. With automatic, precise movements, he removes a yellow confractus bullet. Aims for the phone. Shoots. The phone disintegrates in a flash. Tendrils immediately fade out. Ivan looks down at the phone in anguish, then back up at Mori in rage. The Russian hurls himself at Mori. Mori doesn’t have time to fuck around. He smashes the stock of his weapon into Ivan’s chest, slamming him back down into the seat. Ivan is momentarily stunned. This gives Mori the opportunity to spin and link a hand with Beatrice. They exchange a glance.

“Una!” he shouts, joining his magic with Beatrice’s. “Suggero!”

Beatrice smiles in grim approval. They speak together in concert. Their voices amplified by the shotgun effect of Una. “SIT! DOWN!” The magical force blasts through the train car in a shockwave. Though just suggestion, they’re both digging deep into their reserves. If Ivan is forcibly transformed here and now, then the whole mission to Denmark is almost certainly done for. No time to hold back. The raw outburst of curse magic carrying suggero knocks people off their feet, sends bags and snack containers flying, and cracks two windows. Everyone in the train except Beatrice, Sadie, and Mori sit down. Then, in the time it takes for Beatrice and Mori to draw breath again, they incant CONFRACTUS! Sending a second wave of curse energy to drive the devil’s magic out of the cell phones.

At last, the train car is silent. Free of the cajoling voice of the cowboy Curse Rider.

Up front, there’s a loud thump as something large lands on the train’s roof. The sound of helicopter blades, coming closer and closer throughout the struggle, is now directly overhead. It’s right atop the train’s electric engine. Beatrice and Mori exchange a horrified glance.

“Shit!” Mori exclaims as he transitions back to omnis scientia. Turning the sensor toward the train’s front, Mori sees it. The goddamn Nightmare helicopter has landed on the frigging roof. Beside it is the dark, whip-thin figure of the devil cowboy. A cigarette smolders in his mouth as he lays a hand upon the Nightmare machine, then whispers a few words as a rider might to a horse. The helicopter form melts, forms a red-black pool of something toxic, then sinks down into the body of the train. Mori’s stomach does a nose-dive. The Curse Rider turns, looks over his shoulder at the sensor, then the fucker actually waves.

(New to the Helkey multiverse? Haven’t yet read the first chapter? You can find it here: Helkey 1 — The Memory Draught.)

(Looking for another chapter? Find it in the Helkey Table of Contents.)

(Enjoying the story? Want to help support the continuance of this tale? Please like, share and subscribe.)