by Ryland Thorn
And yet, that is not what he says.”We have to finish here first. What did he say?”
Lennox frowns in confusion. It is like she is unsure what her priorities must be. She hesitates. Perhaps she is still a bit rattled from the explosions after all. Or perhaps she has sensed some of Jack’s premonition.
“Lennox!” Jack says. His voice is harsh and filled with suppressed irritation, and it is enough. It brings her back to focus with a jolt. “Even if the Lair is burning down to the ground,” Jack says deliberately, afraid that it might be the truth, “our first priority is here. The Hell-beast is injured, and we are here. We can finish it now. We must finish it now.”
Lennox nods in agreement. “He said to contain the blast,” Lennox says.
For a moment, Jack’s mind is blank. How can they contain the blast? Then he has an idea.
“Do you still have the Amulet of Ducent?” he asks.
Chapter Fifteen: A Cornered Beast
As if by reflex, Lennox’s hand reaches to her chest. She is wearing the amulet under her leather jacket around her neck. “Yes,” she says.
“Can you activate it from a distance?” Jack asks.
Lennox considers, then nods. “Yes,” she says again.
“Give it to me,” Jack says.
Lennox looks uncertain, as if she’s not sure why he wants it, but she tries for humor. “It won’t go with your eyes,” she says. But she acquiesces and slips the amulet over her head. “What are you going to do?” she asks as she offers it over. There is hesitation and worry in her voice. It is as if she is scared that he has something insane in mind.
“Contain the blast,” Jack grunts in reply. He slings the grenade launcher over his shoulder, trusting the canvas strap to keep it in place. Then he takes the amulet from her and holds it reverently in both hands. He knows he will only get one chance at this and that much can go wrong. Yet it is the only way he can think of to be sure.
Jack takes a moment to study the Hell-beast. It is still scrabbling and straining to move, still glaring about with malignant hate in its gaze. Parts of its flesh still continues to boil and give off foul-smelling steam as a result of the grenades.
Despite all this, the Hell-beast remains a far more dangerous foe than any wight. It is among the most powerful creatures Jack has ever faced. Its very presence is enough to inspire terror and panic among the people of New Sanctum, and that terror and panic are the least of threats it embodies.
There is no choice. He has to send it back to Hell.
Jack breathes deeply to calm himself. He thinks about what he is going to do. He knows the danger but doesn’t fear it. He has too much rage and hate for the creature to have room for fear. Yet he knows that one misstep could mean his death, so is loathe to take the actions he plans without due consideration.
He stands at the edge of the blackened hole in the department store. The sprinkler system is still struggling to operate, but the flow of water has slowed to a trickle from each sprinkler. There are patches of smoke rising from the charred edges of the hole. There is an occasional breeze blowing in from the broken windows that catches Jack’s trenchcoat so that it flaps against his legs. The air is filled with a confusing jumble of smells that range from burnt plastic and sulfur to Lennox’s delicate perfume. Jack can hear the grunting and scrabbling of the Hell-beast below them and the muted noises from the crowd outside on the ground.
Jack nods to himself in acceptance. He can do this. He must do this. There is no other way.
He takes a few of steps away from the hole in the floor. “Get ready,” he says to Lennox.
“Be careful,” she says in return.
Jack sets himself, then takes off at a run and launches himself into the air. He drops through the hole with his trenchcoat billowing out behind him like a cape, hoping against hope that he can do what needs to be done.
The Hell-beast reacts swiftly. It shrieks in fury and madness and snaps at Jack as he lands with both feet on its back, bending his knees to absorb much of the impact. It is a good landing. Jack only stumbles a little and quickly catches his balance. He has a surreal moment as he looks down at his purple sneakers. He stands on the flayed-looking flesh of the powerful Hell-beast like a surfer on a board and knows that he will recall the image of it for the rest of his life.
The monster is snarling and bucking for all it is worth. It is in a towering fury, as if insulted and enraged that Jack would even think to stand on its back. It shrieks yet again, giving voice to the combined hatred of all of the damned souls of Hell itself. Jack knows it would buck him off in an instant if it still had full use of its legs. It would grip him in its jaws and rip him to pieces if it could reach him.
But it does not have full use of its legs, and it cannot reach him with its jaws. Even so, its writhing and attempts to dislodge Jack are almost enough to do the job. Jack drops down low and grips the bony plates of its shoulders in an effort to hold on, with the amulet’s chain wrapped around his fist. He is gritting his teeth and using every last ounce of his strength while waiting for the opportunity that he hopes will come.
He only needs the Hell-beast to pause for an instant. To give him a chance to move without being immediately thrown to the ground. Yet even now, despite its injuries and festering wounds, it is impossibly strong. Jack starts to fear that it will never give up, that it will never pause for breath. He fears that he will be tossed aside and that this chance to vanquish the monster will pass.
Jack fears that he will lack the strength to hold on.
But just as his grip starts to loosen, there is a brief lull in the Hell-beast’s enraged thrashing about.
It is all Jack needs. Unleashing his own fury in a howl that isn’t as powerful as the shriek of the Hell-beast but which lacks none of the passion, he regains his feet as fast as he can. Encouraged that the monster doesn’t immediately buck him off, he launches himself at the Hell-beast’s middle head. In one deft move, he loops the Amulet of Ducent over one of its horns, then leaps to the ground.
This time he doesn’t land so well. Because of the wound, his left leg lacks part of its usual strength. His launch is uneven, and he crashes heavily onto his shoulder among broken shelves and shards of dinnerware plates.
The Hell-beast heaves itself toward him, forcing him to scramble out of its way. Ignoring the wound in his leg and the new ache in his shoulder as if they didn’t exist, Jack lurches to his feet and swings the grenade launcher off his back. He takes careful aim and shouts out to Lennox.
“Now!” Jack bellows.
Almost at once, he hears Lennox pronouncing words in an ancient tongue that is awful to hear.
Jack isn’t one to offer prayers to gods he’s never met. Given the nature of his blood, he doubts that they would deign to answer even if he did. He just checks his aim one last time, pulls the trigger, and hopes for the best.
The last grenade leaves the launcher with a dull, popping sound, and sails toward the Hell-beast.
Chapter Sixteen: Samuel
Jack watches the grenade fly with his eyes wide and his heart in his mouth. This is it. The moment of truth, when they learn if their courage and strength have been enough or if there is still more that they will be required to do.
The flight of the grenade is achingly slow. It is not like a bullet, but more like a baseball pitched over a plate. Even slower, to Jack’s straining senses. It is like a dirigible sailing through the air, drifting along on nothing but the breeze.
He wills it on with all of his anger and hate, with all of the spite against these creatures from Hell that he has built up over so many years. As the grenade passes its zenith, he sees that his aim is true. The grenade will hit the Hell-beast squarely in the chest. And yet, for this attack, aim is secondary. It is timing that matters most. Timing that can turn success into failure, and render the last grenade useless.
And, happily, their timing is perfect. The grenade reaches the Hell-beast just as Lennox finishes casting her spell. Red demon-fire arc
s from her fingertips toward the amulet. In the blink of an eye, the amulet activates, casting a protective shield that encloses the Hell-beast completely, like it is inside a soap-bubble.
It encloses the grenade as well.
The shield is tinted faintly blue. It shimmers and looks like liquid energy, and it is only in place for a moment before the grenade explodes.
Lennox ducks away from the hole and disappears from view, and Jack hurls himself down and backward out of fear that the shield will be inadequate to protect him from the blast.
They needn’t have bothered. The shield contains the explosion completely. There is a flash of light and a muted blast that is combined with the distant sound of the Hell-beast giving full voice to a scream. Unlike any other that the Hell-beast has uttered, this scream is full of fear in addition to the usual rage.
Then the flash of light is gone. The muted blast and scream both fade into silence.
Jack hasn’t turned completely away. He can see through the shield to the Hell-beast, which for one tiny moment looks not enraged but instead lost in total despair. Then, like the wight had done in Coven Street station, the Hell-beast relaxes and crumples in on itself. The enclosed grenade is too much for it. It cannot survive.
The shield flickers and dies. Perhaps the blast has damaged the amulet so that it can no longer function.
Panting heavily, Jack hauls himself to his feet once again. He is exhausted. Weary beyond measure. Everything aches and his muscles protest the order to stand.
He gives himself a moment to recover, then totters over toward what is left of the Hell-beast. It has become nothing more than a mess of sludge and ashes, just like the wight had done before it.
It is gone. Dead. Defeated. It will not bother them again.
“Go back to Hell, foul creature,” Jack spits at the remains. He is satisfied. Above him, Lennox has returned to look out into the hole. What she sees starts her whooping and hollering with pure joy.
“Yes! Take that, you monster!” she yells. “We blew your ass up! Yeah!”
Jack can’t help but give her a smile, but it lasts only a moment. They still have much to do. “This day isn’t over,” he says. “We have to get back to the Lair.”
<<<>>>
They make their way to Lennox’s Ducati without stopping to check on those still out in front of the department store. Jack is limping a little, but the wound in his leg is minor, and he doesn’t have time to see to it. Lennox has emerged from the battle unscathed save for a small tear in her leather where the Hell-beast had caught her.
Unscathed, but quieter than usual. The euphoria she displayed when they defeated the monster is gone. In its place, there is a sense of dread that cuts out any possibility of teasing and mirth. She tries to call Nathanial a couple of times as she walks, but there is no answer.
For his part, Jack could ask her what she heard on the phone but does not. His premonition and sense of doom are more than sufficient. He knows they will learn the truth of what has happened soon enough.
The drizzle has stopped completely, but the clouds still remain. For Jack at least, the gloom seems fitting. He feels as if he is on the way to a funeral, and sunshine would be out of place.
They climb onto the bike without a word but full of grim determination. Lennox fires it into life, and moments later they are speeding down the road with Jack’s trenchcoat billowing out behind them.
<<<>>>
They make the trip back to Hybrid Lane in record time. Lennox doesn’t waste a moment trying to be subtle. She parks directly outside the row house and almost rips her helmet off, such is her urgency. She and Jack are both off the bike and up the stairs in an instant.
Their fears are confirmed before they enter. The door is no longer the solid barrier to entry it has always been. It is still in place, but the frame around the bolt is splintered, and the hinges are twisted. For a door that is meant to open out, it looks as if someone has gone to great effort to force it in.
Lennox grips the handle without hesitation. Jack sees that she intends to rush in, but he stops her with a hand on her arm.
She spins toward him with a snarl of anger twisting her face. “What?” she demands, and there is little of the usual Lennox in her tone. It is like she has lost all patience like she is desperate to know what has happened and will brook no delay.
Jack understands that she is anxious and scared, but he doesn’t flinch. “Wait,” he says quietly. “We have no idea what we might find in there.”
Lennox grimaces in frustration. Even so, she takes her hand off the door and looks at him.
Jack has left the crossbow back at the department store. Lennox had thrown the empty shotgun at the Hell-beast, and neither of them had thought to retrieve it. Jack still has the grenade launcher dangling from its canvas strap around his back, but they have run out grenades. His only remaining weapons are his hand gun and his knives.
Knowing that Lennox could call upon her demon-fire at need, Jack draws his gun and holds it at the ready. “Let’s go,” he said.
Both of them are tense and willing. Lennox wrenches open the door.
A single glance is enough to tell Jack that nothing is waiting for them. The foyer is the same empty room it has always been, with flat, stone-clad walls that give intruders no place to hide. The only difference between now and when they had visited before is that Samuel is not at his desk.
He is on the floor, face-down and unmoving. Something about the way he is lying brings to Jack’s mind the security guard at Coven Street station.
“Samuel!” Lennox says. She charges in and within moments is down on her knees beside him. Jack notes randomly that she hadn’t ever called Samuel by his full name before. To Lennox, the old man has always been Sam. Like Nathanial is Nate, and he is Jack instead of Jackson.
Jack lowers his gun but doesn’t put it away. He heads over and can see at a glance that Samuel is dead. Somehow, someone or something had reached him before he could trigger the Lair’s defenses.
“Lex,” Jack says, keeping his voice low and gentle.
At first, Lennox doesn’t acknowledge him at all. But then she straightens. “Let’s go,” she says. Her face is hard and angry. “We have to find whoever did this. Whatever did this. And we have to find out what they wanted.”
Jack gives a grunt of acknowledgment. There is a cold ball of dread forming in the pit of his stomach. He fears he already knows what they wanted, whoever they are.
During his premonition, he’d thought of the Daemonicon under its dome of glass.
“We will start at the bottom,” he says grimly. “In the drawing room.”
With that, he heads over to Samuel’s desk. Before he can hit the button that will lower the platform to the right level, something hisses at him from under the chair. It is Nergal, Samuel’s cat, and she is terrified.
For some reason, the sight of the poor creature acting so scared in the dark hits Jack harder than even Samuel’s death. He knows that if Nergal had hissed at him on an earlier visit, Samuel would have responded with violence. But now Jack can’t help but feel sad for the creature.
There is nothing he can do for her now, so he just plants his thumb on the button and hurries to the platform.
Chapter Seventeen: Premonition
The platform operates as smoothly as always, but there is an air of tension between Jack and Lennox that hadn’t been there before. It is like they both understand that Samuel’s death might be the least of what they have to face.
In silence, they stand and wait to reach the bottom floor of the Lair. Jack can only guess what Lennox is thinking. As for himself, he imagines horrors.
When the door finally opens, Jack can’t help but let out a curse, and Lennox makes a sound of dismay.
The room they step into is no longer warm and inviting. No longer does it feel like an early Victorian drawing room or a period display in a museum. Instead, it reminds Jack of the department store after the Hell-beast had turned it into a
shambles.
The one thing that gives Jack hope is that a heavy metal door has closed the stairway at the back. Other than that, the room is tragic.
Everything is in ruins. The elegant chairs, the display cabinets with stained-glass on the front, the marble topped table, all of these have been damaged or broken. The artifacts, weapons, and books of lore are scattered onto the floor. Some of the artifacts have clearly been smashed, and many of the books have been ripped into pieces.
It is like someone went through the room intent on destruction.
All by itself, this is enough to reawaken Jack’s rage. He wants to find whoever did this and wring their necks. He wants to find a target for the bullets in his gun. Yet he intuitively knows that whoever did this is long gone. They have done what they came to do and have already left. Why else would the platform have been back up at the top?
Even so, Jack doesn’t let down his guard as he and Lennox survey the damage.
He is not surprised to see that the Daemonicon is missing, as his premonition predicted. The Singed Grimoire, the most powerful, dangerous book of demon lore ever known, is no longer in its place on the table. Someone has taken it. The glass dome has been removed and shattered onto the floor.
Because of his premonition, Jack had thought that the missing tome would be the worst of it. But however bad the theft might become, it is not as immediate as what Jack sees next.
It is Deedee. She is on the floor amongst the wreckage.
At first, Jack fears that she is dead, like Samuel in the foyer above. The thought is enough to make his heart lurch in his chest, and his mouth becomes suddenly dry.
“Lex,” he says. He can barely force the word through his throat. Jack has known Deedee for decades, for most of her life. He knows that the demon blood in his veins means that he will outlive nearly all those around him, but he’d somehow thought Deedee might be an exception. In his mind, she is too tough to die.