Lighthouses on the Edge of Infinity

“Who’s the new meat?”

The group sitting at the table glared in unison at Malone and his guest, the two quite mismatched in appearance despite their shared company. Malone was older, the dapper Italian gentleman with tanned olive skin and a flashy smile was dressed fairly well in a tailored, dark blue three piece suit and tie. His articles of writing tended to get published more often than the rest gathered here so he had the money to spend on the nicer things in life. In keeping up with appearances and the latest fashions, a constant paycheck is a must.

Shuffling his sneakered feet nervously, the much younger man stood somewhat behind Malone, obviously using him as a human shield and trying not to seem like he was. The teenager with the wild eyes that had a hard edge to them wore torn jeans and a faded band t-shirt, both of which were a little too filthy and really torn up in places to be considered fashionable. His twitchy hands were bandaged, the white material the cleanest thing on him at the moment. There was dried blood underneath his fingernails, the rust of it flaking out onto the floor as he nervously picked at them.

The kid knew it was a disgusting habit. His baby sister was always nagged him about it. She wasn’t here anymore to do so though so he settled on being a little gross to fake being calm.

Not that anyone at the table really cared about fashion, or even much about personal hygiene for that matter. Everyone seated ranged from the kid’s causal to Malone’s professional, no one here looking like they came from the same walk of life. Illuminated by a bare bulb that swayed gently from side to side from wandering drafts, the table itself was located in the basement of a condemned house. The table was set with fourteen chairs. Only ten of them were currently occupied by various beings.

What made the table special though was that was encircled by a ring of salt. Around that was another ring, this one made up of thin necklace chains of silver with their clasps linked together. Beyond that was a ring that looked and smelled like it was drying blood. The last ring was the oddest, completely created from stained socks tied together from toe to top.

“He’s with me.” Malone said, taking off one of two silver chain necklaces he always wore, the one without the pendant attached to it. The metal was almost black with tarnish with spots of too bright metal from where it constantly rubbed against his skin. He added this chain to the many others on the floor, strengthening the circle.

“Where’s Leo and Miguel?” Malone asked, nodding toward the too many empty seats. He quickly introduced his tagalong to the rest of the table, naming off the people here with an ease the teenager did not feel as the round table continued to stare them down.

“There’s been no word. No one has seen or heard from the Fool either.” Said the statuesque black woman in designer clothing so Italian they might as well have been paddling a gondola and cussing at tourists. “I’m not expecting any of them at this point. We almost wrote you off as well. We still might.”

“I don’t give a good god damn if he’s your long lost bastard. He’s not getting a chair until he passes the tests.” Said Spook. Spook was a big mean looking man who lived in his feed cap, flannel shirt, jeans, and cowboy boots, all of which smelled like a barn in August. He openly wore weapons with an automatic with many, many clips of extra ammo strapped to one side and down his leg, and a huge ‘not fucking around’ knife belting in on the other. The rest of the table nodded in agreement with Spook though, looking varying degrees of pissed and tentative. “I ain’t getting et because you get the bright idea to be a dumb dipshit about meet and greets.”

“Everybody calm down. This is Chris. Chris is a survivor of the black eyed children. He’s new to the game, but he’s willing to share his story tonight with all you lovely people. Aren’t you, Chris?” Malone said, holding up his hands in the universal sign of peace.

“Y-yeah, I guess.” Chris swallowed, his throat dry enough for everyone to hear it click, smelling sourly of nerves and fear. The look of the room wasn’t as friendly as he had been promised by Malone, who could be a silver tongued devil wearing Armani when he wanted to be.

“Can everyone tone it down? He’s new. We were all new to this once.” Malone snapped, who was getting fed up, before turning back to Chris who looked ready to bolt back up the stairs, and take his chances outside. “Nobody here is going to hurt you. They’ve all believers, and everyone here has survived being dragged ass backwards through hell, literally in some cases.”

“What are these tests?” Chris asked, licking his lips to keep from chewing on them until they were raw. It was yet another bad habit from not so distant childhood he had recently taken up again.

“Well, good news. You already passed the first one by being able to enter the building. Mazel Tov.” Malone said lightly, aiming his own impressive glare at the room. “All that graffiti upstairs is more than just a defacement of private property. Most of it is in Enochian, the language of angels. Some of it is ancient Sumerian, with a dash of Magi here and there, and some runes, ancient and new, thrown in for flavor. Only a handful of people in the world can read all of it fluently, and most of those select few are sitting right here, right now, in this very room with you. You’ve already been ruled out in a couple of different categories so congrats. Relax before you end up pulling something.”

“Okay…so what’s the next test?” Chris asked to be answered by water coming from all directions from various containers, most of them flasks.

“That would be the holy water test. Dry off, and buck up. Not many people can say they’ve been anointed with water from the Ganges, the Yangtze, the Nile, and some blessed wells in the UK.” Malone chuckled, pulling out a handkerchief from on the many hidden pockets in his coat so that Chris had something to wipe himself off with. “Everyone happy so far?”

“No. Give him the next one.” Nicki ordered, the tall woman with fine skin the color and luster of dark chocolate who had spoken before. She was clearly not one to argue with. Nicki tapped her flawlessly manicured tips loudly against the table, the sound of it echoing off the dull grey walls like muted gunshots. Sitting in the folding chair like it were a throne, the High Priestess never lost the keen edge of her look from dark eyes. She was not happy with Malone, not in the slightest bit about this new development. Nicki had never been one for surprises though.

“Here.” Tammy offered, digging through her backpack until she unearthed an ornate spoon from its depths. The petite Asian woman gently handed it off to Malone, her gestures and mannerisms about the only delicate thing about her. All the rest was the corded muscle of a seasoned street fighter, her straight shoulder-length black hair looking bluntly cut off with a knife. Her clothing was more functional than fashionable, the mini yet mighty warrior woman appearing more ready to take on a mountain than a meeting.

“Hold this to your skin. Rub it against your face and arms so everyone can see.” Malone said as he gave it to Chris who answered him with a weird look, but didn’t argue.

“It’s made from silver that’s been blessed, if I am not mistaken.” Malone said glancing over with a cheeky wink at Tammy for confirmation, who rolled her eyes at him even as she shyly ducked her head to hide her blush.

“Blessed three times over by a Buddhist monk, a Catholic priest, and a Skin Witch.” Tammy nodded back, obviously every pleased with herself about that.

“Holy shit. You live and learn.” Spook whistled low in surprise, the rest of the table echoing the sentiment.

“A Skin Witch? Seriously? I didn’t think anyone practiced magic that old anymore.” Malone said, his fuzzy eyebrows shooting up in surprise to try and meet his receding hairline. Everyone was clearly impressed by Tammy’s rare find.

“I didn’t either. That’s why I had her bless it too. I couldn’t pass that up.” Tammy humbly shrugged off the praise though she inwardly preened. It wasn’t often she got to bring anything really new to the table. Her expertise ran more toward research and translations of ancient languages which meant a lot of dusty tomes and fragile ink words fading from reality. “I have her contact information if anyone is interested. Her blessing is the elemental variety, and she’s actually quite reasonable.”

“Am I doing this right?” Chris asked, feeling ridiculous as he rubbed the spoon over his face. He didn’t want to make himself the center of attention again, but the utensil thrice blessed or not, he felt really ridiculous caressing his skin with the back of an antique spoon.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Malone said, putting a mental pin in the Skin Witch topic for now. He made a great show of examining the places Chris had rubbed the spoon over his skin before showing it to the rest of the room as well with a flourish. It remained blemish free much to everyone’s critical relief. “Okay, last test. All you got to do is pass through the barriers, and take a seat at the table with us.”

“We’re twelve tonight then. That is a good number, much better than ten. As long as we keep one chair open for the unexpected guest that will make us thirteen.” Nicki smiled, more to herself than for anyone else’s benefit. “That’s perfect.”

“Not for Leo and Miguel, it’s not, you kooky bitch.” Spook spat out to earn himself a cool look from Nicki. There was no love lost between the Southern good ole boy, and the mad Russian treasure hunter, or his lovely yet stoic Brazilian assistant. Having the very bad habit of ignoring Miguel’s sage advice, Leo was well known for biting off more than he could chew. The infamous pair were just as famous for surviving the impossible by the skin of their teeth, but tonight may be the proof in the pudding that their luck had finally ran out. Fortune favored the bold, but Lady Luck could be finicky bitch when it really mattered most.

Stepping over the various rings, Malone demonstrated what was expected of the initiate, settling in at the table with the rest of the group with no obvious harm coming to him. Not sure of what to expect, Chris did the same, careful to not disturb any of the rings. Malone had been respectful of the layout on the ground so Chris echoed that sentiment by cautiously stepping over it all. The teenager really hoping that he didn’t suddenly burst into flames, or implode if he messed this up.

“What’s with all the gross socks?” Chris asked, taking a seat next to Malone. No one told him not to. As far as he could tell, nothing seemed assigned either. The table looked considerably more relaxed now despite the two remaining empty seats. As Spook got up to correct the number of chairs to appease Nicki, everyone shuffled around to even out the spacing. While they all did that, Chris wondered what would of happened if he had been unable to pass the last test.

“It’s one of the oldest forms of protection and purification. If you ever need to throw out a quick circle, you’re first go-to is salt.” Malone explained, pointing to the widest, largest ring. “It’s cheap, you can carry it around with you all the time without raising too many eyebrows, and best of all, you can find it just about anywhere.”

“And the socks?” Chris wondered. They looked kind of familiarly crusty, but he didn’t want to jump to conclusions just yet.

“That would be semen.” Michael explained around a mouthful of chips, confirming Chris’s suspicions. This entire time, the rotund Hispanic man had been working on polishing off the bag by himself. Most of the snacks and junk food on the table had been brought by him. Some of the oldest religious texts too, Michael doing translations side by side with Tammy.

Introduced next, Michael’s boyfriend was the bearded, dark haired man of some indeterminate ethnicity sitting beside him. He snickered softly at the mention of man goo, but it was not enough to make him stop looking down at his phone though. Ryan sat beside a woman who had been introduced as Kylie, who Chris assumed was Ryan’s sister, until she looked up and over at him. Chris barely resisted the urge to hide under the table.

Ryan and Kylie were more preoccupied with their pool game at the moment than the room at large. They were enigmatic and beautiful, but something about the pair was lost in translation, enough so it made Chris’s skin crawl when he looked at them directly for any length of time. Their hair was too dark, shifting in and out like an oil spill, and their quick eyes too metallically pale to be real, picking up light to reflect it back in wrong ways. Chris could vaguely remember Kylie and Ryan saying something to him, but his mind refused to process it much less remember it. To Chris, even with his limited experiences, that was not a good sign.

“Semen?” Chris said, his voice range shooting an octave higher than he wanted to. He had wanted to be wrong about the sock’s crusty coating. Chris wanted to be wrong about a lot of things. He was tired about being so right all the time that it got other people killed.

“Well if that grosses you out, you’re in for a real treat. All that red crap is menstrual blood, provided by these lovely ladies, except of course, from Dana. Can’t do nothing with dust and cobwebs.” Doc grinned, the grizzled old truck driver openly enjoying the younger man’s discomfort. He turned his bad side to Chris to make the young man pale, the burns on the left side of his body twisting his smile crooked. They called him the Char Man for a reason. “Everyone here contributes what they can to keep this place safe so best buy yourself some more socks, fella.”

“What? Why?!” Chris asked, looking over his shoulders at the rings again. Much to the group’s amusement, he looked a little queasy.

“It’s one of the oldest forms of protection, representing the male and female aspects of the universe. The seed fallen on barren soil, and the egg shed into the dirt so that never the twain shall meet. It symbolizes both birth and death.” Said Razor Mary, making Chris jump. She could have been thirteen under all that blue lipstick and glitter makeup, or she was actually the age she looked, which was just barely legal. Razor Mary was the poster child for ‘glitter goth’ with bright blue hair and too many tattoos inked into the palest skin Chris had ever seen on a living human being.

Dressed like she had robbed the more colorful side of Hot Topic, Razor Mary had been playing with a butterfly knife this entire time, the whirl and click of metal the room’s constant background white noise. The most disconcerting thing about her though was not fashion sense, but her pale, pale blue eyes. Like her voice, they had all the love and life of a corpse fished out of a river in winter.

“And the silver?” Chris said as he made himself look away from her. He could swear that some of her tattoos were moving all on their own, but no one else seemed to notice that, or cared enough to react to it.

“Silver goes way, way back.” Malone explained, much to Chris’s relief. “The metal represents a ton of different things, but for this conversation, we’ll just say it represents Mother Moon and all her many faces. It’s always a good thing to have around too. You can’t beat having silver in a tight pinch. Most of what is out there doesn’t care for it either, so get yourself a couple of necklaces. A good talisman or two couldn’t hurt either.”

“Um, yeah, no.” Jacob snorted, the noise of it obnoxiously loud. He deigned to look up from his laptop to stare down his nose at Malone who rolled his eyes. Half African American and half Native American, Jacob was one of the more interesting people to look at in Chris’s opinion, even if the tech support came off as a snotty, know-it-all prick. “Silver is actually just one of the many items you should have upon your person at all times. I recommend you invest in a set of knives that have the components of gold, silver, steel, bone, stone, and ash wood in their blades. Throwing knives would be ideal in most instances. Long range weaponry is always a plus unless you are extremely proficient in hand to hand combat.”

“Says the mole man hacker who almost never leaves his underground bunker. What in the holy hell do you know about getting in a fight?” When have you ever been ‘extremely proficient’ at anything that didn’t involve Doritos, Mountain Dew, and your own right hand?” Doc snorted into his Irish coffee that smelled more like whiskey threatened with the idea of coffee. Now that Chris was fairly sure that no one the room was going to kill him, he was beginning to notice some other details. Like there was actually a fair amount of booze on the table, everyone drinking their own thing. He wondered if he could help himself to any of it, but didn’t feel brave enough to try enough to make his own just yet.

“Don’t you worry. Now that you’ve told him, I’m sure he’ll pop by Walmart, and stock up on all that.” Dana cackled in her thick New York Yiddish accent as she fished out her glass eye from its socket to polish it before putting it back in her head. She was easily the oldest person here, at least she looked like it. That, or life had rode her real hard into the ground, and put her ass back out wet to dry twisted.

“Am I going to die?” Chris asked, making more one than one person in room laugh their ass off. Spook and Doc seemed to really get a kick out of it.

“We are all dying, at every minute, of every day.” Kylie said, and that was actually heard this time by Chris, though part of him regretted it. Survival instinct, especially the ‘notice your surroundings, oh fuck, a puma’ part, informed him that she had been talking to him this entire time. Try as he might, Chris couldn’t recall a word of it to save his life, her voice soft as surf lapping at a shore.

Resisting the urge to hide under the table again, Chris watched her from out the corner of his eye, Kylie smiling as she cut the eight ball into a side pocket. It made Ryan frown at her, and restart the game. Chris realized belated that his side eye must have turned into an all-out stare because Ryan looked up from his game to grin at him, his teeth startling white, but formed all wrong. They looked sharper than any human’s should, the points of them reminding Chris of the strange fish that lived in ocean’s permanent dark, the one who used bioluminescence to hunt their prey. Ryan’s eyes glittered like their lures.

“With any luck, and if you’re on God’s good side, you’ll stay dead.” Razor Mary said as rancid and bitter as unblessed graveyard dirt. Chris curled back into his seat as much as the folding chair would allow him. He was coming to realize that too many seats here weren’t actually taken by people. Walking and sounding like a duck didn’t necessarily make the monsters sitting on either side of you waterfowl.

“Petulance doesn’t look good on anyone.” Nicki frowned as she mixed a drink, something with a healthy dose of rum as its base before handing it off to Malone to give to Chris. The witch woman did not like the color of Chris aura, too bright with fear. It would only end up attracting the wrong kind of energies to them if they didn’t calm him down.

Chris had never really considered himself much a drinker, mostly due to his mother’s own crippling vice. That, and making an ass out of himself had never really appealed to him. Considering the recent turn of events in his life though, Chris drank deeply from his bitter cup. No one laughed at him when he wheezed and coughed from it, the sudden rush of alcohol quickly making him feel light headed. Seeing him sway, Michael shoved a bag of chips in his direction, Chris deciding to just go with the flow for now as he took slower sips, and ate cheap shit food to keep himself even.

“How now brown cow?” Spook asked, impatiently kicking the table legs much to the other’s ire.

“Well, introductions are out of the way. It doesn’t look like the other two are going to make it, unless they’ve made contact?” Malone said, directing the last part at Jacob. Not bothering to look up, Jacob shook his head. Everyone settled in to their opinions about that.

“Now that we’ve got introductions out of the way, who wants to go first?”