Kaliko Jones

Kaliko Jones was not quite human - not quite dead, either. Kaliko Jones was Fhaldren.

Given any wintry day in England, Kaliko would have blended in with the pale faced youths in any of the city's local gangs. He stood tall, yet stooped. Was thin, yet muscular, and wore a blank, yet frosty teen-ager leer, so very well.

At six-foot and two-inches, he dominated the skyline of John Harrington (a measly five-foot-six) his only companion and very human; very fleshy too, it appeared. Blooms of sticky, red, flesh, protruded in sore, ragged, gashes over his abdomen.

"I won't make it to the hospital." John wheezed through clenched teeth. "Just leave me here and get the Demon before he opens the seal for the others."

Kaliko looked around at 'here': a grime filled, London backstreet, which smelled of rotting food and debris.

"No." he decided.

"But, I'm going to die, anyway. I'll just slow you down. Think of the others - you won't be able to beat them all."

"I know. That's why I have to take you with me. You may as well be a useful corpse."

John couldn't help but snort a laugh at Kaliko's response knowing that arguing would be futile. He was reminded not to hold his intestines in with his bare hands as they would stick like 'crazy glue'. Then they were off into the sewers which followed the embankment and, possibly, into hell itself.

"Will it be painless?" John whispered, watching Kaliko sniff the air before his head snapped around to face a different opening in the warren of brick-built stink.

"Not really."

"Yes, but it will be over quickly, won't it?"

"I don't know." Kaliko ducked under John's arm and half-dragged, half-pulled his companion down the dim tunnel ahead. John didn't even try to help himself walk. His legs were numb with cold and relatively useless now. Instead, he wanted to take in all that was left of his life. It was a desperate attempt to will the soul he was about to lose to capture some essence of the John Harrington before it stopped 'being'.

He stared at Kaliko Jones and noted, not for the first time, how very feral his darting black eyes were. How little specks of red, glinted in them like tiny fires. His nose would twitch and his head jerk slightly to follow its scented directions. He rarely exposed his teeth, but when he did, they were small and sharp and his tongue was small, red and vaguely furred. Elven ears completed the overall impression of 'Rat', it was what he was, really. One of the Fheldren; a human hybrid of Buddha's Chinese calendar animals.

John had only met Kaliko Jones (Rat) and Fenwick Potts (Oxen), but he was aware that nine others were out in the world, secretly saving it from Dragon Demons (the progeny of the twelth zodiacal sign that had gone all zen on Buddha's ass).

He was broken from his reverie by Kaliko tossing him down into the shallow stream of rancid water. He didn't protest - the wind and fight for life were both knocked out of him. Looking along the tunnel he watched the rat/man follow some invisible magic forcing him to re-coil from the touch of certain bricks in front of him. Then Kaliko turned and ran heavily back towards John, as a bolt of blinding light expanded out behind him, forcing his eyes to close before rough hands grabbed him upright again.

"Time to save the world, John." Kaliko's voice rang over the echo of the explosions around them.

A smell of sulphur and an unearthly roar erupted from all around him and then he was flying. Kaliko had thrown him toward the gaping maw of the Demon and now he knew he'd find out for sure, just how quickly was quick.

Although a lot probably happened on the other side of the rift, on this side John's dying body struck the brick work and slid, unceremoniously, into the murk of the waste water. Kaliko's feral eyes took in the carnage of his fallen friend's body, whilst his senses screamed around the sewer system like an occult Geiger-counter: nothing. This place was clean, well, maybe not in the traditional sense of the word, he mused, moving his feet out of the stream and onto the maintenance walk-way toward John's corpse.

He stooped, and, if he had been alive, John may well have been amused to note a fleeting look of sorrow shadow the RatMan's face. Demon Hunter shoved all fancies aside and looked for clues.

Clues were funny things, Kaliko thought, as he methodically emptied John's pockets of all identifying paraphernalia. You never really knew they were clues until they were finished being clues. Take the soft, green, glow on the brick work where the Dragon Demon had tried to come through: was it simply evidence of phosphorus life in these inhospitable depths, or was it some mystical, occultish, weird thing that would have his internal detective nodding wisely later on? Who knew? Not, him. It was time to leave John to Kaliko's eager, hungry, brothers; quite a few rats had sent out word there was a banquet to be had. Kaliko needed his own sustenance, but had a tough choice of where to go.

Fenwick Potts, might have some new leads for him on the timing and where-abouts of the next portal opening for Dragon Demon, but Krista Layland, the Archaeologist, might have come up with the goods on 'Buddah's Party Bowl', the mystical holy grail of the east, which the bearer of could issue in an age of peace... or, an age of destruction. Fenwick's leads would have to wait a while. Kaliko stalked out into the spreading dusk.

* * * * * *

Krista worked far later into the evening that she had intended to. By the time she was ready to clear away all the exhibit cleaning trays, soft bristle brushes, and ambient temperature storage devices associated with the cataloging project, everyone else had gone home; leaving her and Grahame, the Museum night watchman, alone on the premises.

It was, therefore, quite a jolt to come nose to nose with Mr Jones, the International Arts Dealer (my arse, she added silently), who had introduced himself to the department last week. His youthful expression seemed to twitch as he examined her and she reasserted her 'personal space' by taking a step backwards.

"Got any further with that ancient text, Miss Layland?" Kalikos quick, soft tones, spat out.

"Oh, and 'hello, to you too,' Mr Jones."

She made her way around to the safety of her desk. Something about the... man? gave her the creeps. His eyes were so black as to give the impression of sucking the life out of a room or, at least, the light from it.

"Yes. Hello. Have you got any further with that ancient text, Miss Layland?"

Smiling, she shook her head at his social skills and shook her sleeping laptop awake too. He came to stand around the back of her chair, and she shuddered with the oppressive sense of him looming over her. She supposed he should be handsome with his light, long frame, jet black hair, and alabaster skin, but it just didn't sit well on him. She scrolled through her desktop and located some files, as she considered him more. It was almost as if... if you squinted your eyes, turned around really quickly, and tried to focus past him, you might just discover that he wasn't quite human.

"Is that it?"

His voice dragged her back to reality and she moved the cursor back up the page until its little arrow rested on the image of a badly aged piece of script. It was middle east or, far eastern in origin; it was hard to tell with the age of the artifact and the patina of dirt which had amassed.

"Yes, this is it - based on your rather hazy details surrounding its specific use and origin." She hoped he understood the reprimand in her voice.

"Well?" He asked, softly.

"Well, what?"

"Well, where is it?" He smiled, for the first time she had seen it, and it was all wrong, like he was.

"Its actually here in the Museum. Lord knows how it managed to ellude classification, but not anymore!" She smiled, triumphantly, and waved a fresh catalogue of exhibits at him.

She didn't expect his response. With lightning reflexes he pinched the catalogue out of her grasp and his eyes flicked over it with more twitches that before. Then he spoke, with a quiet urgency which chilled her to the bone. "And this is now public?"

"Yes." She said, not understanding, but catching the smell of fear in the air.

With death knell timing, the tinkle of broken glass echoed up from the deserted corridor beyond Krista's office, and a strangled scream surged into their ears, freezing them to the spot for what seemed like minutes.

"Come with me, now." Kaliko stated, caught hold of her arm and pulling her toward the window.

"No! We can't just leave him...Grahame..."

"Oh, yes we can!"

Kaliko tightened his grip on Krista's arm before she could protest and hoisted her out the window. His eyes seemed to be focused on some kind of internal map, and she was pretty sure he would know more regarding the whereabouts of Grahame's attacker, than the man himself. Not waiting for a reply he went on:

"Just stay here, or die - it really is as simple as that."

And then he was up, back through the window and she listened as his footsteps fell quickly out of earshot.

Krista thought about going back through the window, but her internal fight, or flight response had definitely chosen the 'flight' option, now that the air around her was eerily absent of any screams... or any other noise, for that matter.

She began to feel a little bit silly. Here she was a fit, healthy and intelligent young woman, currently crouching in fear beneath her office window. She steeled herself against unknown attacks, bravely stood and looked in through the window she had never jumped out of in the previous five years of working here. Her office looked normal, matching the background noise of London traffic.

Tutting at herself she re-entered the window, treading the path along the familiar and once friendly corridors of the Museum. Not quite an idiot, she refrained from the urge to call out for Grahame, or Mr Jones, and made her way toward the new, strange sounds of grunting, grinding and other kinds of physical exertion around the next corner.

Horrified, she watched as Kaliko Jones threw the still bleeding corpse of Grahame into a moving mass of darkness, which seemed to engulf a great portion of the high vaulted room. With a physical crackle of energy the oppressive monstrosity dissipated and the body of her colleague landed on the freshly polished floor.

Kaliko caught his breath, straightened his appearance and pocketed one of the catalogues from the Museum for later reading. It may have looked as though he hadn't noticed Krista, but he casually walked over to the spot where her legs had given way, and crouch down beside her.

"I'm sure this will be difficult to explain to the authorities, but I can't hang around. I've got dragons to slay." His voice seemed so controlled and measured, for all that she had just witnessed his involvement in. "I have to go and see a man about a potion, or a girl about a sword - want to come with me?"

For the second time that day, Krista Layland didn't think twice. She took his hand and let him gently guide her to her feet. "Where to?"

"Let's go and see Lexie Mixma, I need to borrow her Sword of Sunshine, before I go back to the museum." Kaliko turned on his heel and left it up to Krista to decide what she wanted to do.

"Back? We're already here?" she questioned, but followed too. "With Grahame dead there will be police coming, and what if that thing comes back?"

"It won't come back." Kaliko announced, blankly, as they stepped out onto the main road and hit the hustle and bustle of evening London.

They joined the queue for a bus to the Isle of Dogs, and neither felt inclined to speak, until they had been traveling for some minutes, snared in either, slow moving traffic, or in bus stop breaks.

"Want some food?" Kaliko asked.

Krista hadn't realised just how much her body wanted her to say yes, and was surprised by Kaliko reaching into his long black great-coat, and handing her a chocolate bar.

"Thank you."

He shrugged, and continued to sit there as though he might leap up at any moment.

"Do you want some?" She asked.

"No. I eat differently."

"Then why did you have it?" She laughed.

"I found it on the body of my friend and it seemed a waste to throw it away."

Her palate dried instantly; the melting chocolate was like mud in her mouth. She may not have known him long, but she got the impression Kaliko Jones wouldn't know what a joke was if you hit him with it. Krista reached into her pocket and removed a small pack of tissues and, as surreptitiously as possible, spat the unwanted chocolate into it, remaining quiet for the rest of the journey.

They, and a handful of others, left the bus and found themselves in a much quieter part of town. Soon the click of heels and the sounds of chatter disappeared. They were moving closer to the Thames now. Krista could smell the churned up river bank, as it permeated every breath and step forward. The buildings seemed to huddle tighter together, as if to escape the tidal flows of the estuary beyond.

They came to a stop outside of a door, with peeling paint and tarnished brass finishings. Kaliko appeared to be sniffing the air again, beady eyes alert for something.

"I think the air is going to rip." He announced, before pushing open the door and quickly jogging down a long, industrial looking corridor. Krista kept up easily.

"What can I do?" She decided to ask, rather than the million other questions which demanded an answer.

"Find something for dying, and then meet me in the Boiler Room." He paused, and his gaze pierced her with his honesty. "Don't turn up if you can't find anything. It might not end up very nicely."

With that he was off and she remained still for a few elastic seconds, carrying the weight of his words along with the image of the night watchman. She heard a mewling coming from an open recess and saw a broken kitty fending off a plump and determined rat.

"Oh, no you don't!" she felt hot tears stinging her throat, threatening to blind her.

Ripping her jacket as she removed it, she leaped, covering the fat rat. The startled cat wasn't stupid. Having used a fair few lives already, it saw the opportunity the mad woman had given it and ran. Krista bundled the jacket, wrapping and tying its arms to entomb the rat in a coffin of cotton. Then she ran toward the sound of screaming, fighting and terror, which she knew must be the Boiler Room.

The sight that met her was very different from the one back at the Museum. She watched from the doorway as Kaliko, in all his demonic glory, fought a far more ominous looking foe. However, this time he was not alone: A small woman, was darting in and out of the mele, and landing some formidable blows on to the common enemy. Somehow, this entity was less dark mass, and more Dragon.

She watched as its blackness coiled before striking and how the air seemed to become less real where it had been. Krista watched the woman spin, twist, jump, and buck like those Martial Arts film all her old boyfriends had made her sit through. As for Kaliko Jones? Nothing she had ever seen moved like him. He was just too wrong - no human could make those moves, not even in a Jon Woo film. Unbelievable as it was, she watched the fight unfold, before the angry nudges of the wrapped up rat forced her to recognise that the Dragon was winning.

"Jones!" she yelled, above the noise of fighting, and threw the impromptu sack at him.

Was that a flicker of horror she saw on his feral face, as he realised the form of the sacrifice offered? Well, if it was, the sentiment didn't remain long as he held out the package and the woman deftly stabbed the sword through it like a butter-knife. Kaliko then aimed the grisley package into the engorged throat of their deadly adversary.

With a rent of air, a twist of muscle, and a split of the universe, the Dragon was gone. Leaving one human, and two not-quites, panting in an empty Boiler Room.

"Take it." The woman proffered the sword hilt to Kaliko, who took it with a small bow.

"Where will you go, Lexie?" he asked.

"To our brothers and sisters in the New World - where the storm will hit next. You must contain it here for as long as you can."

With nothing more to say, the RatMan left the Rabit Girl and followed Krista back out into the Dockland's air.

"Where next?" She asked, assuming her presence was now with him.

"We could try the Museum with out possessing the Balm and get a head start on the magic needed to fight the real threat, they are coming for Buddah's Party Bowl."

"You mean the artifact we just catalogued?"

"Yes, or we could go and see the Goat Man. He's a witch doctor at the Caribbean Curry House. He has a balm which will heal any wound on a human, but we may not have time to prepare for the fight."

"Well, you haven't been wrong so far, so why not let your intuition guide you?"

"Okay," Kaliko's face twitched into a seldom used smile. "Let's go."

Maybe it was because their very lives, and the immediate destiny of Earth was in their hands, but Krista thought the journey back to the museum seemed to take very little time. It was as they neared the corner of the familiar Victorian building, that they sensed something wrong. Perhaps, this was what Kaliko felt all the time, but it was a new, strange, and horrible sensation for Krista.

The shadows seemed too real, too deep, too solid, whereas the bricks and mortar of the building didn't.

"Are we too late?" She asked, hesitantly.

"I don't know." Kaliko answered honestly, and then led them inside toward the basement where the catalogue had shown the artifact to be.

There was somebody else in there. Movement could be heard at the back of the room and then Krista nearly tripped, but having become slightly equipped for the unexpected, she carried the trip forward into a roll. Time began to move more slowly. Kaliko sprinted forward past the rows of book shelves, filing cabinets, and storage boxes that cluttered the basement. Krista peeped out from behind a loaded book trolley, to see what caused her to trip, and found herself staring at a very real Dragon's tail. Although virtually solid, it still seemed like it was trying to understand the world around it and develop at the same time. It looked about the place with milky, blind eyes, and clicked its disproportionately large claws against the floor, which cracked against its weight.

Kaliko was vaguely aware that something was looming in the background, but was more concerned with other things. Other people might consider a dragon at the top of a list of things to be concerned about, but Kaliko knew something far more evil, destructive, and deadly had just found its way onto Planet Earth. Standing right in front of him, cradling a dirty, looking, wooden slat was a little, bald headed man, with emerald eyes, and long, white, wispy beard.

He smiled a transcendental smile at Kaliko and, with what he must have assumed was great comic timing, tried to show the world what could be done if Buddha's Party Bowl got into the wrong hands.

"Finder's Keepers!" The little man's voice sing-songed, and the blind Dragon turned toward the noise - whilst simultaneously letting rip a fountain of white hot flame. Kaliko's rat-like sense of preservation had him scurrying safely for cover, as the bearded Fheldren flared with a lack of understanding, before turning to a heap of ash, along with the prized antiquity once known as Buddha's Party Bowl.

Surprised as he was, Kaliko soon became aware of the pressing presence of a very real, and very angry dragon, which had discovered some interesting movement coming from behind a trolley load of books: Krista.

Kaliko sprang into the air like a ricocheted bullet and landed at the other side of the Dragon. Krista watched the quizzical look of incomprehension flit across its bestial face before its head fell off.

Unlike the previous adversaries, this one had managed to get to grip with corporeal life; gallons of Dragon blood swamped the basement, and rippled in eddies around its gigantic form.

"That may take more explaining than your friend's corpse." Kaliko deadpanned, and re-sheathed the Sword of Sunshine. "Want to come and meet the Goat Man?"

"Why not?" Krista answered, wringing out her blood soaked sweater.

Kaliko extended a delicate pale skinned hand, his stomach cramping as she returned the touch. Damn human side was starting to get in the way of things...

(3,624 words)