by Randall Pine
“My throat is a gateway to hell,” the blind demon rasped, the black mucous bubbling visibly in his mouth as he spoke. “The last thing you see in this world will be my teeth tearing your eyes from your head.”
He lunged forward and swiped at Virgil. Simon pushed his friend out of the way, putting himself in the path of Asag’s claw. The demon caught him on the shoulder, and his sharp nails sank into Simon’s flesh. He screamed and tried to wrench himself free, but before he could, Asag pulled back his arm, and Simon went with it. His shoulder slid off the claws as he arced through the air, and he went flying across the room, slamming hard into the far wall. He shook his head, dazed, and watched dumbly as the demon approached Virgil, who had huddled into the corner. As Asag closed in, Virgil threw the Skee-Ball curio, but the demon was too close, and he smacked it out of Virgil’s hand just as it left his grip. Virgil reacted quickly, shooting an energy blast at the demon, but his hand was shaking, and the shot went wide. With the other hand, he formed a kinesthetic shield, and he cowered behind it. The demon screamed, raised his fists over his head, and brought them down hard on the shield, again, and again, and again, until the magic cracked, then splintered, with tiny orange-light chunks sprinkling the basement floor around Virgil’s feet.
Simon weakly raised a hand and willed his energy into his arm. His arm glowed dimly, and he pushed the blast out of his hand, but it was such a feeble burst that it dropped halfway across the room and fell to the floor, dissipating against the concrete in a watery pool of light.
This is the end, he thought. He looked across the room at the fear that filled Virgil’s eyes as the demon stood over him, relishing his victory. “I’m so sorry, Virgil,” he whispered.
He lowered his eyes and waited for it to be over.
Just then, a hole opened up in the ceiling, and two metal rings dropped out of it, clattering to the floor. As soon as it appeared, the circle closed, but as it was shrinking, Simon saw a familiar ice-blue glow peering down at him from above.
He looked at the metal pieces that had fallen through the portal. They weren’t just any metal rings; they were manacles. Simon instantly sat up and dove for the gray metal cuff. He snapped it onto his wrist and pushed his will into his hand. He saw the manacle become bright with energy, and he straightened his arm, propping it up with his free hand, aiming it at Asag’s back.
He would only get one shot.
Simon held his breath, and he fired.
The concentrated energy bullet fired across the room and ripped through Asag’s shoulder, just as his arm was coming down on Virgil’s unprotected skull. The bullet tore a hole through the demon’s flesh, and the creature bellowed in pain. His arm dropped to his side, missing Virgil’s head by a few inches.
Virgil took the chance and crawled away from the demon, ducking under his other arm and scooting toward the center of the room.
“Virgil!” Simon yelled. “Catch!” He picked up the ivory manacle and launched it toward Virgil. Virgil caught it against his chest as Asag turned, his left arm hanging useless from his injured shoulder. He raised his right arm above his head, and it became pliable, changing shape until his hand was a great hammer, and his arm was the handle. Virgil clamped the manacle around his wrist and raised his hand as Asag brought the hammer down toward him. With his other hand, Virgil made a shield and crossed that hand over his manacled arm. The kinesthetic shield absorbed the blow of the hammer, breaking into pieces. Asag reared back and prepared to strike again, but by then, Virgil had collected enough power in his manacle, and he blasted it up at the demon’s face at point-blank range. The energy bullet ripped through Asag’s chin, splattering black blood across the ceiling. Asag screamed, and Virgil rolled over, hopped to his feet, and sprinted across the basement to the place where Simon stood.
“Let’s get out of here,” Virgil said, veering toward the stairs.
But Simon grabbed his elbow, stopping him cold. “No,” he said. “Let’s finish this.”
He nodded down at the floor. Virgil didn’t see anything at first, the room was so dark, and he pleaded with his eyes for them to leave. But then the red light pulsed brightly, and he saw something lying on the floor.
It was the third item that Llewyn had dropped through the portal in the ceiling: a hammered piece of black iron with a spherical knob handle on one end and an arrow-sharp point on the other. It looked like a stunted fireplace poker.
Simon picked it up and examined it in the dim light.
“What do we do with that?” Virgil asked.
Simon held it up so Virgil could get a good look. “I’m guessing the pointy end goes into the demon,” he said.
Virgil sighed. He took a few quick breaths, shook out his neck, and said, “Screw it. Let’s send Asag back to hell, or die trying.”
“Preferably the first one,” Simon muttered.
The demon had gathered himself together on the other side of the room. Black blood seeped from his shoulder and dripped from his chin. His entire body quivered with rage. His needle-teeth frothed with dark saliva as he turned to face the two humans. “I am immortal,” he rasped, his voice rippling with the blood that clotted his throat. “My story is eternal. Yours ends tonight, in blood.”
Simon tightened his grip on the iron stake and sent energy into his manacle. Virgil’s manacle glowed, too, and his right hand reached out and formed a circular shield. They stood shoulder to shoulder, facing the demon with their teeth bared.
“Ready?” Simon asked.
“Ready,” Virgil confirmed.
They gave each other a nod.
Then they ran full-speed at the demon.
Chapter 25
Asag sprang into action, exploding toward them with incredible speed. He brought his fist screaming toward Virgil. Virgil deflected it with the shield, and Simon blasted Asag with an energy bullet to the stomach. The demon reeled, spinning around and catching Simon with the backside of his hand. Simon went flying across the room, landing in a heap on the floor.
Virgil, who had been knocked over by the impact on his shield, rolled onto his back and shot up at the demon from his wrist. His energy blast ripped through Asag’s hip, and he buckled down to one knee, screaming with rage. Virgil held out his left hand, and the wooden ball zoomed into it from across the room. It glowed with light as he smashed it against the side of Asag’s head, and the demon went toppling to the ground.
“Simon, we’re doing it!” Virgil cried, pushing himself to his feet! “We’re actually doing—” But he didn’t get to finish. Asag clapped his hands together, then pulled them apart, revealing a brimstone staff that he conjured up from an unseen realm, and used it to bash in Virgil’s left shoulder. His bones cracked audibly, and Virgil fell to the ground, howling with pain.
Simon felt himself bubbling up with rage. He struggled to his feet, and he swiped the iron poker through the air a few times. He raised his left arm and gathered energy into his manacle. Then he ran forward, yelling a warrior’s cry as the power built there. He fired a shot, aiming for the demon’s heart. But Asag was ready, and he side-stepped it easily. The energy bullet ricocheted off the stairwell and shot up to the ceiling, burning a hole into the wood.
Simon, propelled forward by his anger, raised the poker above his head and prepared to drive it into the demon’s chest. But Asag reached out with one massive hand and caught Simon by the throat before he could get within striking distance. He lifted Simon into the air. Simon’s feet kicked as they left the ground, and he gagged and choked as Asag’s hand crushed his windpipe. He scraped at Asag’s fingers with his free hand, but the demon had a strong grip, and Simon was no match for it. Black stars crept into Simon’s vision as his body began to go slack from the lack of oxygen.
Virgil staggered to his feet. In a cruel joke of fate, his left arm now mirrored Asag’s…broken, and hanging limply at his side. He blinked hard, trying to bring the worl
d into focus, but the pain of his shattered shoulder was sending everything into a tilting haze. Through his blurred vision, he saw the demon lifting Simon with his good hand, lifting him high above the basement floor, almost high enough that Simon’s head could brush the ceiling. Simon was kicking his legs frantically, fighting for breath and scrabbling against the demon’s hand, but Asag’s grip was too strong. He was literally choking the life out of Virgil’s best friend.
Virgil lifted his right arm and focused as much energy as he could into his manacle. Asag saw the ivory cuff come to life, and he turned, swinging Simon’s helpless body around like a shield between Virgil and the demon. Virgil cried out in helplessness, and he shifted his focus, letting the energy drain away from his cuff. Simon’s head lolled back on his shoulders, and his dark, dying eyes rolled over to lock on Virgil. A single tear spilled over Simon’s cheek, and in his eyes, Virgil saw his friend’s pleading, desperate, lonely goodbye.
But he also saw something else: the iron poker dangling from Simon’s hand.
Virgil gritted his teeth. “Not yet,” he vowed, locking eyes with Simon and filling himself with stubborn energy. He drew himself up to his full height as Asag opened the mechanism that passed for his mouth. The demon’s needle-teeth opened wide, moving closer to Simon’s face. Simon saw the steel in Virgil’s eye, and saw him nodding at the spike in his hand, and suddenly he understood. Asag lowered his great, gaping mouth toward him, and as the light began to fade in his eyes, Simon focused all his strength on his right arm, and he lifted the iron arrow up, his arm trembling from the effort.
Virgil tried to ignore the blinding pain from his left arm as he brought his right wrist up to his teeth and clacked the ivory manacle against his mouth. After a few clumsy bumps, his teeth found the release button, and the manacle fell away. Thus freed, Virgil’s hand began to glow. Virgil reached down deep into the pits of his memory, drawing every bit of joy, every bit of pain, every bit of triumph and loss that he could muster, and he sent it all into his hand. His fist changed color, from orange to yellow to white, as the energy in his body built to an extraordinary level. Virgil pressed all the emotion he had into his palm, and when he had dredged up every memory and every bit of energy he could stand, he opened his hand, and the power burst out into a thick, circular shield, heavier and more powerful than any he had yet created. It spread from his palm like a tangible halo, and this time, it was so strong and precise that the runes of some ancient language glowed in the rim of the kinesthetic armor.
Simon raised his arm as high as his faltering body would allow. The sharp end of the iron arrow pointed directly at Asag’s heart. Virgil stepped up, ignoring the ache in his left shoulder, and he leapt into the air, screaming with pain and fury and frustration and courage, bringing his right hand spinning through the air. As he came back down, he swung his shield, and it struck the knob end of Simon’s iron poker, slamming into it like a hammer, and the stake drove down, straight into the demon’s heart, pushing through the evil, beating flesh of it, bursting through the muscle.
Asag roared in pain and surprise. He loosened his grip on Simon’s throat, and Simon went crashing to the floor, gasping for air and holding his neck. Asag stumbled backward, staring down incredulously at the poker sticking out of his chest. Then his body began to contort grotesquely; his chest caved in, and then his torso ratcheted up, and then his legs were sucked in, and Simon and Virgil watched in horror as the demon slowly collapsed.
The hell-portal in his throat was pulling him home.
“Noooo!” Asag screeched, flailing his arms, trying to grab ahold of the poker and pull it out of his chest. “Noooooooo!” But it was too late. His body pulled in on itself like a dying star, and with a wet, sickening POP, the demon was gone.
Chapter 26
Simon and Virgil limped up the stairs and up to the door. The demon had taken with him the pulsing light and the feeling of dread that had seemed to fill every corner, and now the basement was just another dark, damp, unremarkable basement. Simon reached the top of the stairwell first, and the door opened easily at his touch.
“How’s your arm?” he asked with a frown.
“Hurts,” Virgil replied. He placed his wooden ball back into his psychic vault, then he gripped his upper arm and held it close to his body to keep its movements to a minimum. The pressure made him draw a deep, pained breath.
“We have to get you to a hospital,” Simon decided.
“Not yet,” Virgil winced.
“Why not?”
“Because we still haven’t found Abby,” Virgil said. “And I think I know where she is.”
Simon sighed. He looked up at Mrs. Grunberg’s old house. “Yeah…I think I do, too.”
Up on the second floor, a figure stood at the window, looking down at them. The figure was backlit by a dim lamp. They couldn’t make out the person’s features, but neither of them had any doubt that it was Neil Grunberg.
“All right, I’ll go in and see what I can see,” Simon said. “You go wait in the car. Or, better yet, call an ambulance. I’ll meet you at the hospital.” He turned to go, but Virgil grabbed him with his good hand.
“No way,” Virgil insisted. “We’re in it together. ’Til the end.”
“Virgil, your arm is totally broken,” Simon replied. “It looks like a wet noodle. You need to go to a doctor.”
“Well, it’s not going to get any more broken if I don’t go for another hour.”
Simon gaped at his friend. “Yes, Virgil. Yes, it will. You’ll flop it into something, or you’ll forget that it’s broken and try to use your hand, you are going to severely hurt yourself. And we have no idea what we’re up against, here.” Simon looked back up at the window and shivered. The silhouette was gone. “I’m starting to think Neil might be less innocent in all this than we thought.”
“Yeah. I didn’t want to say anything earlier, but I’m pretty sure I saw a second shadow standing next to his shadow when we all went upstairs. And that usually only happens when there’s actually someone there to make the shadow.”
“I saw it too,” Simon admitted.
“And he keeps calling his grandma’s bedroom ‘the sleeping room.’ And that makes me think it’s not a bedroom at all.”
“Right.”
“Right. So let’s find something to use for a sling, and let’s go see what Neil the Necromancer is hiding upstairs.”
Simon nodded reluctantly. “Okay,” he decided. “But stay behind me. And keep your right hand ready to fire.”
“Yes, sir,” Virgil said. He gave Simon a mock salute. “Ow.”
“Good. This is going well.” Simon rolled his eyes. “Come on. We’ll use a dish towel from the kitchen to wrap you up.” He crossed over to the kitchen door and turned the knob. It was locked. “Great. What do we do now, break a window?”
“Hey,” Virgil said, looking at the keyhole. “Try your key.”
“What key? My magic key?”
Virgil nodded. “Yeah.”
“Why would my magic key open Mrs. Grunberg’s kitchen door?”
Virgil shrugged his good shoulder. “I mean, I honestly think the better question is, why wouldn’t your magic key open Mrs. Grunberg’s kitchen door? It’s supposed to be helpful when we need.
Simon exhaled. “Fine.” He closed his eyes and pictured his vault. He punched the numbers on the keypad, and the door fell open. In his imagination, he reached into the vault and retrieved the key. When he opened his eyes, he was holding it in his hand. “That is never going to not be weird,” he decided.
“It is so, so cool,” Virgil agreed.
Simon slipped the key into the door. The lock turned smoothly.
“Huh,” Simon said.
“That is a very specifically useful magic key,” Virgil added.
They crept into the kitchen. Simon grabbed a dish towel from the counter, and he c
arefully, if not painlessly, fashioned the towel into a sling for Virgil’s broken arm. Virgil closed his eyes and clenched his teeth the entire time, biting back the tears that bubbled up from the pain. But in the end, Simon did a pretty decent job, and Virgil’s arm hung more or less comfortably in the cotton sling.
“Hm. Not bad,” Virgil offered.
“Maybe I should go to med school,” Simon muttered. “Let’s go.”
They walked quietly through the parlor, both of them on high alert. Virgil stored some kinesthetic energy in his manacle, and Simon was careful to return his magic key to his psychic vault before powering up his manacle as well.
They made it to the bottom of the stairwell. Neil stood on the landing above, his hands gripping the wooden railing. His face was red, and seething with anger. “What did you do?!” he screamed. “What did you do to Asag?!”
“Neil,” Simon said evenly, trying to keep his voice calm as he mounted the first stair, “maybe you should take a few deep breaths.”
“Don’t you tell me what to do,” Neil snarled. His blood flushed hotly through his pale skin, giving his face a red, splotchy appearance.
“Neil, what did the demon do to you?” Virgil asked, climbing the stairs slowly behind Simon.
“Did he make you…like this?” Simon asked, gesturing up at Neil’s general appearance. “Is he the reason you can’t sleep?”