Mori suppresses the urge to cuff Ivan. The racist bastard snuck off, went on a binge, started bullying a black pro football player, then literally almost got transformed into a fucking demon-wolf when Hell dialed him in. The Hell dialing part is weird. Something he can’t quite figure out. The Ivan being a pure 100 percent dick part is as easy to get as it is infuriating.

They lead Ivan the jackass back toward Marienkirche. Beatrice is keeping to the shadows, feeding ignarus more curse energy, her luminous eyes scanning for hiding places, head on a swivel. The shadows won’t hide them from actual demons or devils. But demons can mostly only manifest as spirits on Earth and it is very rare for devils to take form here. The main concern will be humans who are taken in by Hellish and demonic influence. Unless… He doesn’t want to think too much about the worst possibility right now. He takes Beatrice’s hint and starts to mirror her actions. Stay alert, stay alive. Especially when you’re escorting Asmodeus’ prophet.

“Care to explain what happened with the phone call?” Beatrice asks Ivan as they cross a street, then enter a park to the east of St Mary’s Church. They’re cutting through the park and along a hedge row that leads toward the church. This gives them a screen from any possible prying eyes.

Ivan purses his lips. “Why should I tell?” He looks like he’s about to mutter an expletive at Beatrice, then glances back to Mori who’s glaring at him, and takes another tact. “You attack me again. No reason to talk.”

“Whatever called to you triggered your pride-wound,” Beatrice replies. “You experienced a partial transformation and were about to bite Jonas Herrington’s arm off. I defended both him and you.” She takes point, leading them in her silent way to the end of the hedge row. She gives him the side-eye, then continues on her way.

“You keep hitting me with sword.” Ivan is playing the victim again. He’s still got his hand on his head. It sports another bruise. Serves the bastard right. His other hand keeps reaching for his back. He pulls it away, but it keeps drifting toward the black scar. Mori bets the real pain is coming from the wound those Soul Eaters gave him. He’s not saying much about that. Reflects too much on his own guilt. He’s just whining and deflecting from their questions about the phone call.

“Hey jackass, Beatrice uses her sword for healing and protection as well as for fighting. As a last friggin’ resort. She’s never used its sharp bits on you. She could have. With justification. You owe Beatrice about a thousand apologies for going all murder hobo. Twice.” Mori climbs the stairs and they file into the church. “She kept you from turning into a monster at major risk to herself. Again. You should thank her. You don’t want to turn into a monster, do you?”

Ivan goes quiet again. The church is dark and silent. It’s about 4 AM. Mori’s tired, but Beatrice looks bright-eyed. His girl has never needed much sleep. Angel’s badass physiology and all that jazz. But he’s hoping to get at least another two hours of shut-eye. Whatever Sadie has planned for tomorrow is going to need him at 120 percent.

“Come-on Ivan. It’s back upstairs for you. Let’s sleep off the devil-spiked booze. Hopefully, it won’t give you too much of a hangover.”

Ivan grunts in reply. Beatrice closes and locks the door behind them. Then they’re climbing up the stairs, entering Sadie’s office. Beatrice settles herself down on a stool next to the window. Mori flops down onto his chair. Ivan rolls onto his cot. Bleeding curse energy into omnis scienta, Mori sets the magical sensor to keep watch over Ivan and the door again. Then, with a relieved sigh he lets his eyes shut. He’s reassured Beatrice is back to her good ol’ self. Not like he doubted once he got her into Sadie’s hands. She’s sitting over by the window. His little badass angel. Keeping watch.

As soon as his eyes close, he’s out. Sleep is precious. His work often makes it scarce. This particular job is bound to get more hectic. More dangerous.

After what seems like just a moment of sleep, the smell of coffee wafts into his nostrils and he’s greeted by the rich, sing-song voice of Sadie Dextera. “Wakie, wakie, eggs and bakie!” she says as she plops a plate on his lap. He groans and rubs his eyes. “Yes mom, what time is it?” he looks down at his food groggily. It’s in one of those nice, brown recyclable containers. Clearly ordered in. Some kind of tofu, potatoes, and veggie bacon scramble. Yum! He lifts his fork as Beatrice hands him a coffee, then digs in.

“What time is it?” he asks between mouthfuls.

“It’s 7:30 sleepy-head,” Beatrice replies with a smile. “You slept late. And the only thing going bump in the night was your snore.”

“Tell me about it, girl,” Sadie says when Beatrice mentions his snoring. Apparently, it’s one of his many famous traits. Not like he would know. They could be making it all up. Mori scans the room, finds Ivan sipping his coffee by the window. He’s dressed now. Jeans, a button down flannel, and a Godzilla T-shirt. The T-shirt looks familiar.

“Aw, no more Ivan the priest?” he says, between scarfing mouthfuls. “I was getting to like the vibe. But where’d he get the new duds?”

Ivan turns toward him, gives a poker-face, then returns to gazing out the window into early-morning Berlin.

“You should recognize the T-shirt,” Beatrice replies. “It’s from Myra’s luggage. Awful ugly thing. Don’t know why she ever liked it. The rest is from the church donations box. We found a few things that fit him. Though the jeans are a little baggy and he needed a belt.”

“You dressed him up in our daughter’s clothes?” Mori gives a crow-cackle laugh. “You know, she’d actually find that funny.”

He can feel Ivan’s gaze return. Threatening. Mori looks straight back at him. “Godzilla T? I change my mind. It fits. You should thank my daughter for her charity.” He’s not going to let Ivan the Wolf look at him like that without reply. Besides, the Russian doesn’t know shit about Myra. And that’s for the best.

Ivan seems to soften a bit at the word daughter, his face showing some actual emotion. “Godzilla? My daughter likes too. Never understood why she calls it cute. Ugly beast.”

“Well count me among the amazed,” Beatrice says. “Ivan and I can agree on one of the most important subjects of our time.”

“The ugliness level of Godzilla?” Mori quips.

“Indeed,” Beatrice replies.

“Well count me out. To my eye, the big, green kaiju strikes a handsome pose.”

Sadie has made her way over to Ivan through the banter. “You sure you don’t want any breakfast, hon?” She motions to the neglected food container beside Ivan.

“Don’t eat bird food,” Ivan replies.

Mori scoops it up. “Don’t mind if I do,” he says, then shovels a heaping forkful of Ivan’s grub into his mouth. “Man, I’m surprised you don’t want some of these delicious hashbrowns.”

Ivan snatches the food container from Mori’s hands, then looks accusingly at Sadie. “Wi.. didn’t mention hashbrowns.” He picks up the fried potatoes with his fingers, eating them daintily. But the jocular mood is broken. The word Ivan had almost uttered is witch. Among mages, particularly those like Sadie and Beatrice, this is a vulgar slur. Ivan must’ve keyed in on their reactions as the word almost escaped his mouth — biting it off at the last instant.

Everything gets quiet for a few minutes. Mori’s appetite is gone. He puts the container back down, then walks away. For a moment, Ivan seemed almost human.

At last Sadie puts her hands together. “So, I suppose I should tell you what we have planned for you Ivan. How we plan to ferry you off to Heaven. But first things first, Beatrice informs me we had a late-night relapse of your devil-wolf?”

Ivan coughs in reply.

Sadie just stares at him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t understand you.”

“Yes,” Ivan says, actually having the grace to look ashamed.

“I see,” she glances at Beatrice, then Mori. Mori turns to Beatrice. She raises her eyebrow in a way that says yes, I filled Sadie in while you were snoring your brains out. Except Beatrice would use more refined words. “So I need to be very clear with you, Ivan,” Sadie continues. “No more wolf relapses. We simply cannot have you transforming into…” she motions at his Godzilla T-shirt. “It would defeat everything we are trying to do to help you.”

Beatrice is standing beside Mori now. As Sadie speaks she grabs his arm. “Sadie knows she’s playing with fire,” she whispers into his ear. “The dreams of Heaven haven’t known a true nightmare in ages.” Mori puts his hand over hers. Though not a native of Heaven, he recalls a bit about the nature of its worlds. Enough to know that strong dreams can be made real there — the same was once true for nightmares.

Ivan’s not watching them. He’s absorbed by Sadie. His poker face is back. But Mori is pretty sure he can see the racist dislike for Sadie glinting in Ivan’s beady little eyes. His nostrils flare a little. “Apologize,” his voice is quiet. His tongue rolls off it like the word is disgusting to him. “Won’t let happen again.”

Sadie’s eyes are dark pools — drawing him in. “Very well. But I must extract this pledge from you. No more phone calls until we get to Heaven.”

Ivan waves his hand dismissively. “Da. No more phone.”

Sadie catches his hand. “Then, to hold you to your word…” she jabs a finger into his palm and incants “confractus telefari.” Mori watches as a whirl of curse energy imbeds in Ivan’s palm. It’s a curse set to disrupt phone signals coming to Ivan. Sadie feeds the curse a bit more, then cuts it off. It’s got enough magical juice to last for days. Pretty darn clever.

Ivan might’ve caught a glimpse of the curse firing off. He’s staring at his hand in amazement.

“Now, let’s talk about how we’re bringing you to Heaven. There’s a magical gateway just off Denmark in the North Sea. Since you’re a bit of risk, I’m not telling you exactly where at the moment. But we will be meeting your daughter Glenda along the way. I believe she can help you in ways I cannot. She’s agreed.”

Mori turns to Beatrice in surprise. “Glenda?” he whispers. She shrugs her reply. Mori recalls his brief shared vision with Ivan — of his daughter holding his hand in Siberia.

Ivan appears stunned. “Glenda?” A hundred emotions ripple across his face. “Not real name. It’s Valeriya.”

“I know she changed her name when she left Russia in protest. When she came to Europe and took on the surname Goodfuture.”

“Holy shit! Glenda Goodfuture, the famous climate activist, is your daughter?” Mori exclaims to Ivan.

At the same time Beatrice shouts to Sadie — “You’re working with Glenda Goodfuture!?”

Ivan scowls and Sadie gives a cat-ate-the-canary grin.

“Valeriya. Valeriya Volkov,” he insists. “I… she agreed to see me?”

“Yes. Yes she has. Indeed. She asked me to see you when I told her I planned to bring you to Heaven. In fact, she offered to help.”

Clever, clever Sadie, Mori thinks as he leans back to digest this new bit of info. He’d heard of the world-renown Glenda Goodfuture. A teenage climate activist who’d left Russia in protest over its continued use of fossil fuels as a tool for economic warfare against its neighbors and in its reticence to shift away from their burning — so obviously fueling climate Hell on Earth. He just didn’t know Glenda was Ivan’s prodigal daughter. She was able to secure independence through a Go-Fund-Me at the age of 19 when she left Russia. The media was always vague about her family — calling them ‘wealthy oil and gas oligarchs.’ Odd discretion.

“So Glenda — she’s a mage?” Mori asks Sadie.

“Not exactly,” Sadie replies. “Let’s just say Glenda-Valeriya made some good friends. One of them being myself.”

Beatrice is standing with her arms crossed, an impressed look on her face. Ivan’s expression is a mash-up of hope, surprise, and a little anger. He looks accusingly at Sadie. Takes a breath. Seems to struggle with his words for a moment.

“You interfere with Valeriya. Take her away,” Ivan says, finally spitting out his accusation.

“I merely helped Glenda when she asked. Her decisions are her own,” Sadie replies. “You should be proud. She is a fine person. A passionate advocate for all our futures. I think, perhaps, you could learn something from her example.”

Ivan purses his lips. The mask falls back into place. Mori is pretty sure he can still see sparks of rage in his eyes.

After giving Ivan a moment to reply, Sadie steeples her hands, takes a breath and continues. “Well, now that you know your daughter wants to meet you in Denmark, I suppose we should get going. No time to waste!”

Mori looks down at his rumpled clothes. Good thing he and Beatrice left some bags here with Sadie. “If we’re getting ready to head out, you mind if I take a quick shower?”

“Please do.” This quick quip from Sadie earns a little laugh from Beatrice. Funny-ha-ha. Yeah, Mori knew he needed a bath. He glances around. Everyone else looks pretty shiny. He supposes they grabbed a shower while he was still snoozing. He snatches his bag, then bee-lines it for the shower. After a quick wash, Mori emerges feeling mostly human again. They’ve gathered in the hall, waiting for him.

“Snap to!” Sadie commands. “Train’s at 9:15.”

Mori follows them as they shuffle off toward the stairs. “Train?” he asks.

“Yes,” Beatrice says, her eyes sparking with excitement. “Sadie filled us in while you were making yourself presentable. We’re taking the Solar Train to Denmark!”

“Cool.”

They emerge from the church. Their Uber — already waiting. Telsa Model X making its almost sub-audial space-ship noise with its X-wing doors open to admit them. Mori swings around the front, his special briefcase and go bag in hand, opens the passenger door, then plops down shotgun next to Stefan. Beatrice, Ivan, and Sadie each grab a comfortable seat in the back. Beatrice sits behind Mori, reaching an arm over his chair to grab his shoulder.

“I checked up on Mirror-Spectre,” she whispers to him as the Tesla’s X-Wing doors lower. “Myra made it safely to Infernia. No other word.”

Mori pats her hand. “We’ll know more by evening,” he whispers back. He glances at Ivan in the rear view mirror. They’ll have to find a private place away from him if they want to talk openly about Myra or receive the magical reports coming from Mirror-Specter. The Tesla’s doors finish closing and they blast off through Berlin’s early morning streets. Already, haze, heat, and the smell of smoke from wildfires dominate the weather picture. Hot and lung-wrecking stinky with a 30 percent chance of pyrocumulus thunderstorms, Mori thinks to himself. Yet another nasty day on climate-wracked Earth. Though nothing like what Myra’s experiencing now. Mori stares out the window, tries to imagine, then figures it’s better to just leave that thread of thought. Beatrice is scared sick for their girl. If he’s honest with himself, he’s scared too. Dwelling on Myra’s plight ain’t gonna make things any better for her.

Stefan has turned on the Tesla’s streaming local news. Someone — Sadie or Beatrice — set up an interpretor curse. So he’s hearing it in English. They’re still talking about the Furze Bank incident. Though investigators seem to be stumped. Berlin’s chief of police is giving tight-lipped news updates. So nothing new there. The news switches to coverage of a horrific plane crash at Berlin-Brandenburg Airport early that morning. Scores of souls lost as the plane slammed into the runway. Survivor accounts are mad and delirious — some claim the plane was taken over by ghosts. Authorities suspect hijacking. But no known terrorist groups are claiming responsibility. News commentators speculate that the Furze Bank incident and plane crash are somehow linked. Mori taps his ear and glances back to Beatrice. Her face is tensed with concern, her eyebrows raised as they share a knowing look. Yeah, babe, I’m with you. This plane crash smacks of something nasty this way comes. Over her shoulder, Mori can see a smoke plume rising up in the direction of Brandenburg where wreckage still burns. Whew, things are starting to get real.

Berlin Hauptbahnhof or Central Station isn’t far from St Mary’s. Maybe a 15 minute hop. It’s not long before Mori can see its glass palace structure glittering in the hazy morning sunlight. Train lines snake into the hub — each accompanied by its own gleaming racks of solar panels. The racks give off a reflective glow to the lines as they wind off into the distance. Panels feeding energy to electric train engines and battery cars directly through the platform. They’d made the conversion only recently. To Mori, it all looks pretty darn badass. A palace of light sending out its glowing vehicular emissaries. Its brilliant clean energy glory lifts his mood, turning his attention away from last night’s weirdness.

The Tesla whooshes to a halt. X-Wing doors open. Mori gives a thumbs-up to Stephan before gathering his rifle-briefcase and go-bag, then hopping out into the steaming-smoking morning. They make their way through the entry gates. Sadie scans their tickets. Ivan stands, hands in pockets, looking non-plussed. The long, white train is a beautiful conveyance. Marked on its side is the word Sleipnir stenciled in silver. Sleipnir as in Odin’s mythical steed from Norse mythology. Somehow, Mori’s not sure the old Asgardians were quite so forward-looking. Although the Marvel Comics version would probably approve. Mori glances over to another track to see a second Sleipnir train. He guesses this is what they’re calling the brand. They’re hulking white beasts covered in solar panels along their roofs. The windows also feature new transparent thin-film solar pads — visible as slightly darker cut-out shading. Near the train’s middle, the transparent solar film makes a lightning bolt emblem. It’s a pretty badass touch. Mori’s liking this solar train to Denmark.

They board. Mori instinctively extends his hand to Beatrice. As if she needs my help. I’ve seen her do a 12 foot vertical leap. She takes it, returning a warm smile. The interior is just as fancy as the exterior. Comfy cushion seats. Nice spacing that doesn’t cram everyone together. Even sets of facing seats bordering small tables. They sit down around one of these tables. Sadie beside Ivan. Beatrice and Mori right next to each other. The conductor is checking to make sure everyone has tickets, masks, and a vaccine card. Pretty standard for today’s travel.

There’s a refreshment car. Mori hops over, grabs some snacks and drinks. Returns to distribute them just in time to sit down before the engine engages. There’s a ‘ding’ and the ‘remain seated’ sign lights up. Beatrice puts her hand out and Mori takes it. They share a grin. The train glides forward in smooth acceleration that pushes them back into their seats or makes them want to put hands on the table to steady themselves.

“Whoosh!” Beatrice whispers to Mori as the train shoots out from the glass palace structure with hardly any noise. Mori grins back at her. He’s still crazy about that girl. Her easy sense of wonder and simple joy — even during a tough time — make life so damn fun. Mori can feel the serious force of propulsion beneath him. The trains are huge — weighing about 5,000 tons. But the electric-driven motors make the Sleipner’s motion seem effortless. They’re slurping down all that sweet sun-juice to put out some serious motive force. The train swiftly accelerates, reaching its cruising speed of 200 kilometers per hour. Buildings and foliage blur by giving Mori a sense of Star Trek-like warp speed.

Mori looks at their tickets. Next stop is Hamburg in a little less than two hours. Then on to their destination of Esberj, Denmark in another two hour hop. If all goes well, they’ll arrive by 2:15 PM — giving them time to meet up with Glenda Goodfuture for an early dinner. The notion of a tasty sit-down meal makes him smile. Mori glances at Ivan. He’s playing a crossword he nabbed from the refreshments car. Now that’s going to be an interesting reunion.

(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.)