The God Machine Page 3

  A Graken that had managed to reach Hellboy's neck, lashed out with one of its crude weapons. "Feel the bite of me ax, you filthy hellspawn," it cried, swinging the razor-sharp blade of its makeshift battle-ax into his throat.

  Hellboy yelled, his massive, stonelike right hand instinctively slapping at his neck, crushing the tiny attacker like an annoying mosquito.

  "Little bugger," he spit, swiping the crushed Graken from his neck. "Now this crap is just getting out of hand."

  The crows renewed their assault on him with vigor. One of them came in beneath his flailing arms and jabbed its beak into the tender flesh at the corner of his left eye. Hellboy snarled, stumbling backward. More of the birds came at his face, driving him back across the room. One of his hooves landed on a piece of jagged glass from the window.

  "Son of a--" Hellboy shouted, as his hoof slid out from under him, and he toppled out through one of the broken windows.

  He crashed onto a small roof below the window with a grunt, then tumbled off into space yet again before landing in Kramer's backyard with a thud that knocked the air from his lungs. He could hear the crows above him, and could have sworn they were laughing.

  "That's it," he grumbled beneath his breath, pushing himself up from the frozen ground. He wiped stinging blood from the corner of his eye and groaned when he caught sight of more Graken Spriggin emerging from the woods that encircled the yard, dressed in aluminum can armor and brandishing makeshift weaponry. The Graken from the office scrambled out onto the roof, some hitching rides to the yard on the backs of the crows, others shinnying down the drainpipes.

  "I've had about enough of you cockroaches," Hellboy said, drawing his gun again.

  The circle of Graken drew tighter around him, their primitive features scowling. They were without a doubt the nastiest of the tiny folk that had emigrated from the Isle of Man, but they were also pretty private and seldom ventured out into the open. This is nuts, Hellboy thought. What the hell's gotten them so riled up?

  He looked at the army that surrounded him, at the crows that cried above his head, and cocked his pistol with a loud click. "Last chance," he said. "Tell me what the problem is, or in the next couple'a seconds, things are going to get messy."

  The tension in the air continued to build. The Graken said nothing, gripping their tiny weapons all the tighter.

  "Wait!" cried a voice, and Hellboy looked to see Donald Kramer standing on the deck attached to his house, breath pluming white mist in the cold. "Stop this right now!"

  Kramer wasn't wearing a coat, and he hugged himself against the frigid winter air.

  "It is too late for that, human," said a small, yet surprisingly powerful voice, carried across the yard.

  A rabbit had emerged from the underbrush, and an ancient Graken sat authoritatively in a saddle upon its back: the Graken King--a crown of small animal teeth around his head. The rabbit steed lowered its body for the king to dismount.

  "She is gone, taken from where she has rested lo these many centuries." The king gestured toward an area at the back of the yard where several female Graken knelt, wailing and burying their faces in the overturned earth.

  The king seemed to be talking to Kramer, and Hellboy decided to keep his mouth shut, to see what he could learn before stepping in.

  "Good King Seamus," the writer said, descending the wooden steps to the yard. Twenty or so Graken soldiers swarmed to stand in front of their ruler, weapons pointed to defend. "I have no idea what has happened to your blessed mother," Kramer continued. "But I'm doing everything I can to see her returned."

  Seamus pulled at the long, wispy hair on his chin. "And what of him?" He pointed at Hellboy. "Why has a crimson spawn from the fiery pits come to your domicile?"

  Hellboy started to speak.

  "Silence!" King Seamus bellowed as he raised a dismissive hand. "I have not given you permission to speak."

  It was all Hellboy could do not to stomp the rodent-sized monarch into the ground. Diplomacy had never been his strong suit.

  Kramer stepped closer. "This is Hellboy--of the BPRD, he's come to help."

  The tiny king crossed his arms over his chest and studied Hellboy with an unwavering eye.

  "Can I talk now?" Hellboy asked.

  The Graken soldiers moved closer.

  Hellboy squinted down the barrel of his pistol. "I'd step back if I were you," he warned. "Big gun, big bullets, big mess."

  The soldiers scowled but stepped back.

  "You may speak, Hellspawn," King Seamus pronounced.

  "It's Hellboy," he said, holstering his weapon. "Appreciate it. Look, Skipper, what your boy Kramer here said is right. I've come about the stone, so maybe you could explain why it's so freakin' important?"

  There was an uneasy silence in the backyard as the king seemed to consider his response. He returned to his mount and climbed back into the saddle. Taking hold of the reins, and making an odd, clucking sound, he steered the rabbit toward the Graken women. "You will follow me."

  Kramer at his side, Hellboy did, careful not to step on any of the little creatures swarming around his feet. "What's your connection to these guys?" he asked the writer.

  Kramer vigorously rubbed at his arms, trying to warm them against the December chill. "Years ago, when my career had kind of stalled, I made a deal with them. In exchange for certain items--bread, alcohol, an occasional candy bar--they would assist me."

  The wound near his eye had started to itch, and Hellboy rubbed at it as Kramer's words started to sink in. "These guys help you with your books?"

  Kramer fixed him in an icy stare. "Would it be easier to accept if they were helping me make shoes?"

  Hellboy shrugged. "Just never figured the little buggers as writers. See, even in my line of work I can still be surprised."

  King Seamus had again climbed down from his bunny mount and was standing with the grief-stricken Graken Spriggin women. Hellboy could see where the stone had sat, the soil dark and rich, the area around it overturned by activity.

  "And you didn't hear a thing?" Hellboy asked the man standing beside him.

  Kramer shook his head. "Nothing. I woke up, and it was gone."

  "This is where she rested," the king said, falling to his knees and reaching down to sink his tiny hands into the earth.

  "You keep making reference to she," Hellboy commented. "No offense, I'm just saying, but, she's a rock."

  Seamus rose, wiping the dirt from his hands. "She was our queen, the first of us all, Sheela-Na Gig, and from her blessed womb we sprang."

  The female Graken began to wail again, throwing themselves in the earth and burying their faces. Most of the soldiers were crying now.

  The king continued. "Those lesser races that came after us--the Gathan, the Goblin, the Fittletot and the Whoopity Stoorie--they was all jealous of our mother's love fer us, and us fer her, and joining their evil magicks together, they cursed her to stone."

  "Bastards!" screeched one of the soldiers, inciting a fit of cursing among the gathered.

  "But even as cold and lifeless stone, our mother's love was strong, and she continued to bless us, allowing our kind to grow in number over the centuries even as those who had turned her to rock dwindled and eventually were dust."

  King Seamus reached over to gently stroke the brindle-colored fur of his rabbit mount as it nibbled on what remained of the late-fall grass. "But now she is gone, and already I see signs that our days are short."

  A female Graken approached the king, hands upon her stomach. "A babe grew inside me, but now 'tis gone," she cried in a tiny, pathetic voice. One of the soldiers, the husband, Hellboy guessed, came to her then, taking her in his arms. They cried inconsolably.

  "This is why we are enraged, Hellspawn," King Seamus said, voice rising in anger. "This is why we are moved to war, for without our Sheela-Na Gig, we will soon be no more, going the way of the Gathan, the Goblin..."

  "Yeah, yeah, the Fittletot and the Whoopity Stoorie," Hellboy finished for him, movin
g closer to where the sacred stone had lain. "I get the picture. Without the rock, little Graken production goes belly-up."

  He knelt in the dirt, after making sure that none of the Graken were beneath him, and began to check out the scene. BPRD file said the rock was at least five hundred pounds, Hellboy thought, stroking his chin. Whoever took it needed some heavy machinery, or was pretty damn strong.

  He stood up, looking around for any signs that a machine had been driven across the yard, but found nothing. The lawn was intact.

  Kramer stood shivering with the Graken legions.

  "You heard nothing," Hellboy said to him again, hoping to jar some memory that might give him something to work with.

  The man shook his head as he blew hot breath into his cupped hands. "Not a sound."

  Hellboy turned his attention to the Graken Spriggin. "And I suppose you guys didn't hear or see anything either?"

  The creatures were silent, helplessness etched on their homely faces.

  "Evil is afoot," King Seamus said, slowly nodding his large head. "'Tis dark magick that took our mother."

  "Y'know what, Tiny," Hellboy said, gazing up into the gray winter sky, at the cawing crows circling above. "You just might be right."

  Hellboy reached across the meeting table for a bagel. "Does this look like cinnamon raisin to you?"

  Abe Sapien popped a piece of lox into his mouth and started to chew. "Either that or chocolate chip," he said after he'd swallowed. He brought a napkin to his mouth. No talking with his mouth full for Abe.

  The amphibious BPRD agent had excellent manners.

  "Whatever." Hellboy cut the bagel in half with a knife. Breakfast meetings with actual breakfast weren't the norm at the Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense, but every once in a while the suits tossed a bone to the grunts--to keep morale up and all. Hellboy wasn't complaining; he was starved.

  "Is there any cream cheese?"

  Kate Corrigan, the assistant director of field operations, looked up from her notes long enough to pluck a small container of cream cheese from the tray in the table's center and slide it over to him.

  "Hey, H.B.," Liz Sherman called from across the table, where she sat slumped in her chair, hands clasped in a death grip around a steaming mug of coffee. "Hear you kept us from going to war yesterday."

  Hellboy thanked Kate and glanced at Liz, petite and pretty, dark circles under her eyes from too little sleep.

  "Yeah, I guess," he said as he slathered his bagel with the cream cheese. "Had a tribe of Graken Spriggin up in arms over in Plymouth 'cause a statue of their mother got ripped off."

  "Graken Spriggin," Abe repeated, pretending to shiver with revulsion as he helped himself to more of the raw salmon. "They are a nasty bunch."

  "Yeah, real sweethearts," Hellboy agreed, around a mouthful of bagel.

  "So what'd you do?" Liz asked, taking a sip from her coffee.

  "Good question," Kate said, setting her pen down. "Considering that I don't have a report on the case yet."

  "You look particularly stunning this morning, Kate," Hellboy said as he wiped cream cheese from the corner of his mouth. "That a new blouse you're wearing?"

  She smirked. "Yeah, like you'd really notice. Keep this up, and I wouldn't be surprised to see Manning take you out of the field until your paperwork's caught up."

  "Ouch!" Hellboy grimaced.

  "So where is Tom this morning?" Abe asked, expertly diverting the subject.

  Good one, Abe. I can always count on you.

  "Yeah, where is he?" Hellboy joined in. It wasn't like the Director to be absent from a morning meeting. "Surprised not to see our fearless leader, especially with the grub and all."

  "The Director's running a little late, I guess," Kate said, quickly glancing at her watch before picking up her pen and removing the cap. "So, who wants to start?"

  Liz sat forward in her chair. "Now, hold on. I hate cliffhangers. Is Hellboy going to tell us how he kept the Graken from going on the warpath or not?"

  She reached for the carafe of coffee and refreshed her cup.

  Hellboy spread what remained of the cream cheese on the other half of his bagel. "I promised 'em I'd bring their boulder back, and then I had to swear on a sacred woodchuck."

  Abe stared with dark, glistening eyes. "Sacred woodchuck?"

  Hellboy shrugged, mouth full. "Could'a been a weasel, I guess."

  Liz stared at him. "You're making that up."

  "Would I do that? It'll be in the report."

  "And if you can't bring this rock back, what then?" Liz asked.

  He finished chewing and swallowed. "Then the Graken Spriggin will lay siege to the world."

  Kate sighed, picking up her notepad and turning to a fresh page. "So what've we got, people? Should we be worried?" She looked around the table. "Abe, what did you find?"

  Abe cleared his throat. "As you saw in my report..." He glanced briefly in Hellboy's direction.

  Hellboy coughed suddenly into his hand, the barking hack sounding an awful lot like kissass.

  Unfazed, Abe continued. "The missing item is a cup supposedly used by Elvis Presley before going on stage for what would be his last live performance in Indiana's Market Square Arena on June 26, 1977."

  "You get to check out stolen Elvis memorabilia and I get Graken Spriggin? Where's the justice in that?" Hellboy asked, crumpling up his napkin and throwing it down onto his plate.

  "The cup had been purchased for an undisclosed amount from an online auction, and was being transported by courier to its new owner in Massachusetts. The vehicle ended up at the bottom of the Merrimack River in Lowell. The driver was killed, and the Elvis cup was not recovered. The suspicion is that it was stolen right after the accident."

  Kate gave Hellboy the evil eye as he started to hum "Don't Be Cruel." "What've you got, Liz?"

  She set her coffee mug down and ran her fingers through her straggly, shoulder-length red hair. Hellboy guessed she hadn't bothered to shower this morning, catching every possible moment of sleep before the meeting. He was half-surprised she hadn't shown up in her pajamas.

  "Nothing as cool as a missing Elvis cup," she assured them. "I've got a water stain that looks like the Virgin Mary. Evidently it was caused by a combination of renovations to an office building and heavy rains last spring. Word got out, and the faithful started flocking to the building. The guy who owned the place even started to charge admission."

  Hellboy stood and rummaged through the bagels again. "So what happened," he asked, picking up a sesame-seed-covered bagel and sniffing it. "Somebody steal the water stain?"

  "Not exactly," Liz said, running her finger along the rim of her mug, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. "They stole the wall."

  Hellboy froze. "C'mon, a hunk of wall was stolen out of an office building? How is that done?"

  "Same way a boulder is taken from a yard and a cup is stolen from a truck in transit," Kate answered. She set her pen down and looked up from the notepad. "So, we have a pattern. Anyone see any logic in it yet?" she asked, sounding like a teacher fishing for answers from her students.

  "They're all items of adulation," Abe said, stroking his chin with a webbed hand. "Strange objects to be certain, but inspiring devotion nonetheless."

  Kate tapped her pen on the tabletop. "And this is just the stuff we know about," she said. "Who knows how many other things may be missing."

  "Couldn't it also be just some bizarre coincidence?" Liz asked. Hellboy noticed a faint glow coming from the palm of her hand as she gripped the side of her mug--using her pyrokinetic talent to reheat the contents of her cup.

  "You've been with the BPRD for how long, and you still think there's such a thing as coincidence?" Abe asked.

  "I'm just not sure we should be getting worked up over a missing Elvis cup," she added, carefully taking a sip of her now steaming coffee.

  "What do you think, Kate?" Hellboy asked. He'd taken his seat and was digging into the second bagel.

&nbs
p; The assistant field director shook her head slowly. "I'm not going to sound the alarm yet," she said, "but this is certainly something we should keep an eye on." She placed the cap back on her pen and stood. "That's it for me," she said, grabbing her notepad and heading for the door. "And I can expect your report on the Graken incident when?" Kate asked Hellboy as she passed.

  "It's the next thing on my list," he told her in all seriousness.

  Both Liz and Abe started to laugh, and he gave them a look.

  "Keep it up, and you'll give me a complex," he said to his supposed friends as he stood and followed them from the conference room.

  "So, H.B.," Liz asked, "what's on the agenda now?"

  Hellboy shrugged, throwing his breakfast trash in a barrel beside the door. "Probably head back to my place, maybe watch a few videos, why?"

  "I thought you were going to do your paperwork?" Abe said, holding open the door that would take him into the corridor that led to their living quarters.

  "Right," Hellboy agreed. "Next thing on my list."

  Chapter 2

  U sing the body of Stanley Thomas, Absolom Spearz smiled and waved from the porch of the old farmhouse. An annoying high-pitched peal filled the air as the truck from Advent Technology slowly backed down the rutted, unpaved road, delivering the supplies Spearz had ordered just days before.

  What fascinating times these are, he thought, recalling how easy it had been to obtain the equipment he'd need for his holy tasks--a brief conversation on the telephone, and then reciting the number he'd found on a card in his host's wallet. So much had changed since he was last flesh and blood.

  Spearz looked at the others standing on the porch with him, his faithful congregation. Geoffrey Wickham now inhabited the body of Mrs. Thomas, a fine-looking woman, and considering how homely Geoffrey had been in his time, it would seem he had made out quite well. Now if only Spearz could prevent him from constantly touching himself.

  "Brother Wickham," Spearz said to the woman standing beside him, her hand stuck within her coat, languidly massaging her left breast. "Restrain yourself."

  "Sorry, Absolom," Wickham said in an unfamiliar voice, pulling her hand from within the coat, a spark of shame in her deep brown eyes. "I know it's been weeks, but I never realized how wonderful it would feel--to be of flesh again."