Beneath the gleaming skyscrapers and picturesque
facade of the City of Redemption lies another city; a community of
dark and ancient magic populated by creatures of the night. Dark
Redemption is a shared-world novel based on an online
role-playing game by James Crowther.
Strephon MacKenzie, a semi-immortal half-fae, has
been charged by the Faerie Queen with investigating fae activity in
the city. He has discovered seemingly unrelated occurrences of
faerie magic touching other spheres of the city's supernatural
community and suspects they may be connected.
“You sure you don't want me to wait for you?”
Tobias offered his arm to help Strephon into his wheelchair.
“That will not be necessary. I mustn't keep you from
your other fares.”
“It's not a nice neighborhood.”
Strephon glanced around at the shabby buildings and
littered sidewalks around him. He could hardly disagree. A couple
of unshaven wretches in cast-off clothing slouched in front of the
storefront mission he intended to visit, staring at him with stony
faces. “I shall be careful,” he said.
“Gran won't forgive me if anything happens to you.”
“If anything happens to me, your Grandmother will
doubtless say it was my own fault. So I will take pains to see that
nothing happens. I will call you in half an hour to let you know if
I need to be picked up.”
“You have a cell phone?”
“Of course,” Strephon lied. He really should get
one of those things, he thought. He'd never really needed one
before. He paid Tobias the fare and wheeled himself to the door of
the mission. Tobias followed him to the door to open it for him.
The big Jamaican glared at the two tramps, daring them to start
something, but they withdrew a step and pretended to be interested in
something else. The reek of cigarettes on their clothing assaulted
Strephon's nose as he passed.
Passing through the door over the bump of the threshold,
Strephon turned again to Tobias and said “Thank you,” in a firm
tone that meant “That Will Be All.” Tobias grunted and said,
“Half an hour.” Then he went back to his cab and left.
The interior of the mission was relatively clean,
despite the obvious age of the linoleum on the floors and the
chipping paint on the walls. A few more men were sitting around in
battered furniture with threadbare upholstery; a couple watching a
football match on an elderly television set, a couple playing ping
pong while a third watched; yet another pouring over a slim volume of
C.S. Lewis. On one wall, someone had painted a large cross and the
words “THERE IS YET HOPE”, and the tables were decorated with
ash trays, empty paper coffee cups and with religious tracts. One
which caught Strephon's eye had an amateurish illustration of Christ
as the Good Shepherd accompanied by a large, wolfish-looking dog and
bore the title “Gospel of the Edenic Wolf.”
An earnest young woman in thick glasses and a
doggy-smelling pullover came and greeted Strephon. “How can we
help you?”
Strephon produced a calling card from his jacket pocket.
“My name is Strephon MacKenzie; I am a friend of the Reverend
Palmer of St. Onesimus. I realize this is probably an inconvenient
time and I apologize for not calling in advance, but I would like to
speak with Reverend Shepherd, if he can spare a moment or two.” He
gave her a winsome smile.
The woman puzzled over the card and sniffed. “I'll
see if Abel can see you,” she said, and disappeared into a back
room.
A moment later, a broad-shouldered man with a ruddy
unkempt beard and a clerical dog-collar came out from the back. Upon
seeing Strephon, he cocked his head back slightly and his nostrils
flared a bit; Strephon recognized it as the body language of a wolf
encountering an unfamiliar smell. “Mister MacKenzie, I believe
I've heard of you. It is a pleasure to meet you.” He shook
Strephon's hand with a firm but not aggressive grip.
“It is good of you to see me. I imagine this must be
a busy time for you, day before Sunday and all...”
“Not at all, not at all. Could I get you something?
Some coffee? Or would you prefer tea?”
“Tea would be splendid.”
Reverend Shepherd sent the woman to bring a couple cups
of tea. Then in a lower voice he added, “Did you wish to speak in
private?”
“If it would not be inconvenient.”
They performed the usual dance with the Reverend
offering to push Strephon's chair and Strephon thanking him but
insisting quite firmly that he could manage by himself if the
Reverend would be kind enough to lead the way. Shepherd led him into
a small office, and once the woman brought in the tea, he closed the
door.
“I was speaking the other day to Lydia Palmer, the
vicars wife, and she was telling me a bit about your mission,”
Strephon began. “It sounds like a worthy cause and was considering
making a donation.” He took a sip of tea and watched to see how
the Reverend would react.
Shepherd smiled and nodded his head. “Splendid.
We're always pleased to accept charitable offerings. But that's not
why you're really here, is it?”
“Well... if it comes to that, I was curious about a
few things and hoped perhaps you could help me.” Strephon took a
deep breath. “A week or so ago, a lady of my acquaintance and I
were attacked by werewolves upon leaving a restaurant.” There.
That got things out into the open. No need to maintain the fiction
that these were only wild dogs. Strephon watched the reverend
closely to gauge his reaction. “We were unharmed, but in defending
ourselves, I was obliged to kill one.”
The reverend's face clouded. “I heard about that.”
“I thought you might. The slain wolf was wearing a
silver collar enchanted with fae magic.”
“And what makes you think I have anything to do with
them?”
“I believe, if I may put the matter delicately, that
you have certain connections within the lupine community. Am I
correct?”
“You touch upon a sensitive matter,” Shepherd said
in a low, deep growl. “My church does not have the Seal of the
Confession, but we have our own ethical codes of confidentiality.”
He set down his teacup and began to pace behind his desk with a kind
of controlled agitation that made Strephon think of a caged beast.
It also reminded him that the door to the office was closed and that
he was caged in the room with him. This was precisely the situation,
he realized, that Tobias had tried to warn him against. Strephon
wished there were a way to surreptitiously retrieve his crutches from
the back of his chair without making it obvious he was drawing a
weapon.
Shepherd turned again to face him. “I suppose you
know my story.”
“Only a bit of gossip,” Strephon admitted. He now
regretted that he had mentioned Lydia's name. He hoped he hadn't
gotten her into trouble as well.
“Well then.” Shepherd returned to his seat and
folded his hands. “I suppose that is where we ought to start.”
