Monstrous- The Complete Collection

by Sawyer Black

  He gasped and pulled his head back, breaking contact. Tears streamed from his eyes, and he heard Amélie’s voice screaming for him. Begging for his help.

  Adam cried with him, his lower lip quivering. “You love her, don’t you?”

  “More than anything in the whole world.”

  “You’ve been through so much, trying to save her.”

  Henry nodded.

  “And you don’t know what to do now, do you?”

  Henry shook his head. Wiped the tears away with the back of his hand. Drew his sleeve under his nose. “Hey, you hungry?”

  Adam wiped his own tears away as he nodded.

  Henry dug into his back pocket and pulled out the Bacon Bag. “Here. Think of the food you want most of all, and stick your hand in here.”

  The child’s eyes lit with expectant joy, and he thrust his hand into the bag. Then he drew it back out holding a huge slice of thin crust pizza. The kind they sold on every corner in town. Floppy and soaked with grease.

  Adam folded it in half lengthwise like you’re supposed to, then drew it toward his mouth in anticipation. He paused. “Do you want some?”

  Holy shit. This kid.

  “No, you go ahead.”

  Adam took a bite, and the cheese stretched, steam rising into the air. He chewed with his mouth open, sucking in a breath to cool it before swallowing. He spun in a joyous circle then took another bite and marched to the bottom step leading up to the altar.

  He jumped onto it, holding the pizza over his head as he walked down the step’s length like a balance beam. He took another bite, grease dribbling down his chin. “I have an idea.”

  Henry leaned back and crossed his arms. The kid’s mindless fun on the carpeted stair made him smile. He wanted to have fun, too.

  “My father was a demon named Baelzor.”

  Fuck.

  “He’s a con-artist. Always called himself a low-level guy. He got caught trying to steal something from a church in Spain. He never told me what it was, but his eyes always got far away when he talked about it.”

  He took another bite of pizza and spun, balancing his way back toward Henry. “They tried to exorcise him, not realizing that the man they saw wasn’t possessed but just looked like that when he was working. So, it didn’t work. They locked him up and asked him where the others like him were. A nun who was supposed to feed him and keep his wounds dressed felt bad for him, and tried to help him escape.”

  Adam dropped off the step and offered Henry the last bit of pizza with a half-sneer of disgust. “You want this? I don’t like the crust.”

  “Sure, kid.” Henry popped the warm dough into his mouth. Soft and salty, covered with Romano. The best part.

  Adam went back to balancing. “They killed her.”

  Of course they did.

  “Or they thought they did. She was an angel.”

  At first, he thought the kid was just describing his mother like any kid would, but realizing the boy was speaking literally made Henry sit forward.

  “My dad didn’t know it, though. He came back and killed every last person in that church. And with her gone, he didn’t have anything else to live for, so he tried to kill himself.

  “That’s when my mother revealed herself to him. Like a vision. They fell in love, got married in secret, and I was born.”

  Such a dry way to put something so monumental.

  And then a child was born.

  “Some angels found out, and they came to put an end to the blasphemy. That was before they even found out about me, Elioud. Descendant of the sons of God. Higher than the offspring of Seth and the daughters of man. So, they ran away to New Mexico. I never really saw anybody else. Only them, and even though they loved each other, they were always fighting. He was angry all the time, and she was crazy. At least, that’s what they said about each other.”

  Adam dropped back to the floor and stood still, looking down at his feet. “Then, a man came. A hunter for the cult.”

  “Order From Chaos?”

  Adam nodded. “Petrev Obisev.”

  “You remember his name?”

  He looked at Henry, one eyebrow cocked in question. “Would you remember the name of the man that killed your daughter?”

  Patrick Harrison.

  “I think so, yeah.”

  Adam shrugged with only one shoulder.

  So there.

  “He’s the man who killed my parents, and I remember everything about him.”

  The church was filling with light. Henry’s balls crept up when he thought it was a Tracker, but his heart slowed when he realized it was only dawn burning through clouds.

  Henry swallowed the lump of fear clogging his throat. “All right, kid. You win. What’s your idea?” A useless question. Henry already knew.

  “I’ll help you save your daughter if you help me find and then kill him.”

  Henry sighed. What’s one more deal?

  “Sure thing, kid.”

  Adam flung himself into Henry’s arm with a wordless cry of relief. Henry rocked back from the impact and held the boy to his chest.

  Now I just need to figure out how to do it.

  Henry froze. He pried Adam loose and planted him on his feet. The boy looked up in confusion. Henry rammed his hand into his front pocket and withdrew Mandyel’s phone. “Holy shit! The Holy Hotline.”

  He flipped it open and mashed the gold button. He slapped his head and waited for the operator.

  “What number, please?”

  “Uh, yeah. I need to talk to Nadia. Big lizard, looks like Garbo.”

  “One moment, please.”

  Click. Hank Williams singing I’ll Fly Away.

  Henry chuckled. “They do like the classics.”

  Click. “Mandy’s Export Emporium.”

  “Nadia?”

  “Henry?”

  “Yeah, it’s me. Look …”

  “Where are you? Where’s Mandy? I’ve been worried sick. And I’ve heard things, Henry.”

  “Yeah, and I’ll tell you everything, but I need a ride. Can you send Oddjob to the Burg Spires Church of Hope?”

  “Oddjob? Oh.” She laughed like music. “That’s funny, he does kind of look like him. As soon as I hang up, I’ll call him. Should only be a couple of minutes, but Henry. You better have a good reason for leaving me in the dark.”

  “You bet.” Henry slapped the phone closed and slid it into his pocket. He scooped Adam up and spun, jogging to the front door. Just as he reached for the knob, it swung in and Pastor Owen rushed inside, flinging water from his dripping hair.

  He bounced off of Henry’s shoulder with a gasp and dropped a bundle that had been clutched under his arm. Brown or red fabric, but Henry couldn’t tell which in the dim light of morning.

  “Henry!” The pastor gripped the coat over his chest, panting as he backpedaled. His eyes found the boy, and they widened to their limits, his brow wrinkling up in shock.

  “Whoa, whoa. It’s okay,” Henry said.

  “Henry, what is this?”

  “Sorry, it was the only place I could think of to come.”

  Adam pushed off Henry’s shoulder for a better look. His small face lit with a shining smile. “But then he had a better idea!”

  Pastor Owen returned the smile. Nervous and hesitant.

  Jesus, I put this guy through a ton, already. He deserves a fucking break.

  A long black car slowed to a stop at the bottom of the steps with a whine of its brakes. Francesco honked, and Pastor Owen jumped with a yelp. Adam giggled, and Henry covered his own laugh with a polite cough.

  “I’d love to stay and chat, but I have a man to kill.”

  “Henry,” the pastor groaned, his pale face pinched and reproachful.

  “Sorry, but I promised.”

  “What about your promise to God? Who is this man?”

  “I didn’t make any promises to God.” Henry felt the heat rising into his cheeks. “You made those promises for me. Petrov Obisev deserves
to die.”

  “Yeah,” Adam chimed.

  Pastor Owen covered his eyes and stepped aside. “Then, go.”

  “What?”

  The pastor bent to retrieve his bundle. “Please leave, Henry. And don’t ever come back.”

  The rejection hurt more than Henry imagined, but this man deserved more from him, and Henry knew he couldn’t provide it.

  Francesco honked again and sent an angry wave through the door. He turned to watch the pastor walk into his church with his shoulders slumped and head down. “Look after Samantha, will ya?”

  Pastor Owen flapped his free hand in dismissal. “I always have, Henry. May God have mercy on you, my son.”

  Henry turned with his eyes burning, pulled the door shut behind him, and carried the child into the rain.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Mandy’s Export Emporium was a strip mall storefront between Los Mariachis and Brandy’s Hard As Nails beauty salon. Even in the rain, the morning was bright enough to banish the shadows. Henry would be exposed if he got out now.

  The window between the driver and passengers whined down, and Francesco looked at Henry in his rearview. “How ’bout I go around back?”

  “Sounds like a good idea.”

  The window slid back up, and the limo pulled away, making a ponderous turn around the end of the squat building.

  Adam had bounced on the leather seat during the ride, the light from the little TV making his gold eye glitter. His damp hair bounced around, falling to the side as if styled that way.

  Henry wanted to peel his wet balls off the insides of his thighs, but something about reaching into his jeans with a small child so close made him cringe.

  He didn’t have a problem drinking in front of him, though. He used the glass his memories told him belonged to Mandyel. The thought filled his throat with sorrow, but the whiskey knocked it down. He offered Adam some water, but the boy refused with a distracted shake of his head.

  A commercial came on. Adam leaned back and rubbed his thighs.

  “You cold?” Henry asked.

  “I’m never cold.”

  The back of the building was filthy. Not much contrast with the front, but noticeable. Francesco pulled into a space between an orange Chevy Spark and a rusty blue dumpster.

  The TV blipped off when the engine died. Adam dropped his head. “Aww …”

  Francesco got out and went to the emporium’s rear entrance. Henry cracked his door open while the driver knocked on the blue metal door. Nadia opened it from the inside, and Francesco stepped back to hold the door wide.

  “Let’s go,” Henry said.

  He ran into Nadia’s waiting arms. She held him tight, and he sagged into her. A notorious touch freak most of his life, physical contact was becoming more important, and Henry didn’t want to let her go. Nadia leaned back and looked into his face. “Where have you been? Where’s Mandyel?”

  Henry cleared his throat and blinked his tears away. “He’s dead.”

  “What?”

  “Peterson killed him at the Purveyor’s house.”

  She laughed and turned away, grabbing his hand and leading him into the store. “No, he didn’t Henry.”

  “Everybody keeps telling me that. I saw the guy eat his fucking heart.”

  “Please. Peterson ate the heart of one of the oldest archangels?”

  Henry skidded to a halt inside the retail space, his jaw dropping open. Wall to wall. Floor to ceiling. Packages and boxes.

  Katanas on decorative stands. New and vintage clothing on racks and in plastic bags. A stack of VCRs still in the original packaging. VHS tapes still in the cellophane. A velvet Elvis and a Jimi Hendrix.

  “Where the fuck am I?”

  Nadia spun in a circle with a smile, her head tipped to the side as if she were listening to a bird on her shoulder. “Don’t you love it? It’s Mandyel’s secret passion.”

  “A fucking junk shop?”

  She stopped, her face clouding in anger. She raised her finger and opened her mouth in a snarl, then looked down with widening eyes. Her mouth fell open farther, and she looked at Henry, her finger falling. “Who is that?”

  Adam looked up at Henry from behind his hip. “She’s beautiful,” he whispered.

  “Oh, Henry. Who is this little boy?” She dropped into a demure squat with her elbows on her knees.

  “This is Adam. Don’t look into his eyes.”

  “Why shouldn’t I? They’re exquisite.” She held her arms out, offering a hug.

  Adam took the invitation. He launched into her embrace, burying his face in her hair. She looked up with wonder.

  “Cute kid,” Francesco said.

  Henry looked over his shoulder with a nod. “Probably be your boss someday.”

  “No doubt.”

  “Pick me up,” Adam demanded.

  Nadia obliged with a grin, and Adam clung to her hip, his head on her shoulder.

  Henry bent down to catch Adam’s gaze. “Did you command her to pick you up?”

  “I can’t.”

  “What do you mean, you can’t?”

  “Not anymore since you pledged yourself to me. Not when I’m just a little boy.”

  “But you and Remmy said I was champion to another.”

  Adam shrugged and took another sniff of Nadia’s hair, like a bride and her bouquet.

  “Who’s Remmy?” Nadia asked.

  “A Tracker named Ramiel.”

  “Ramiel? The Ramiel from the auction?”

  “You know him?”

  “Henry, what the hell have you been doing?”

  “Oh, you know. Stuff and things.”

  “Henry, I need more than that.”

  “I got a better idea. Get it from the kid. I got a man to kill.”

  Nadia turned and dropped Adam to sit on a glass case full of antique lighters. “And who is this man?”

  “Petrov Obisev.”

  Oddjob whistled, and Nadia looked at the ceiling with a sigh. “Do you ever do little things?”

  “Hey, I need to find him. You gonna help or what?”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “I don’t know, gimme the name of somebody who can get me close to him, and then, you know … babysit?”

  “Yes!” Adam exclaimed.

  Nadia sent an absent smile Adam’s way. “It would be a pleasure to watch the boy, of course. And he’ll be safe here. This store is not well known.”

  Henry looked at the glut of inventory. “Obviously.”

  Nadia leaned over the counter and slid a leather organizer across. She flipped it open. “I can give the name of somebody who might be able to help. He deals in weapons. The kind that a religious bounty hunter would use.”

  Adam kicked his feet to drum his heels lightly against the glass, grinning at his savior. Henry couldn’t help but smile back.

  Nadia tore off a scrap of paper. “Gaston Livre.”

  Francesco snorted laughter. “Frenchy Letters?”

  Henry grabbed the paper and turned to the limo driver, stuffing the note in his pocket. “You know him?”

  “Oh, yeah. He used to drive for Cloud Nine a couple of years ago. Got busted with a trunk full of fairy dust in Ireland. They pulled his ticket, and he’s been hustlin’ on the black market ever since.”

  “You know where he is?”

  “You think I’m gonna drive you there, you’re wrong.”

  “I’ll pay you double time.”

  “Henry!” Nadia shouted. “You don’t even know what that means.”

  “Done.” Francesco stuck his hand out.

  “And I get to ride in the front from now on.”

  The driver narrowed his eyes. “Deal, but I stay in the car.”

  They shook hands, and Henry cocked his head waiting for the sound of trumpets.

  Nadia pulled Adam back to her hip. “We’ll get this little guy some food, a bath, and some clean clothes.”

  “Gee, where you gonna find any clothes around here?”


  “And I thought you were a comedian. Just go and hurry back. You still owe me a story.”

  Henry rushed forward and bent to plant a kiss on her cheek. He ruffled Adam’s hair and spun away. Francesco waited with his arms crossed then shook his head and followed Henry back to the car.

  The windows in the front weren’t as dark. Henry raised his hood and pushed himself low. It was a big car, but he still ate his knees.

  Probably would have been better in the back.

  “You gonna kill Frenchy if he don’t tell you what you want?”

  Henry dug the brass phone out of his jeans and stuffed it into the kangaroo pouch on the front of his sweatshirt. “Probably, yeah. You think he deserves it?”

  Francesco blew a sigh out through his nose and nodded. “I think he does. You know, fairy dust is only used on kids.”

  “I didn’t know that. There’s a fucking lot I don’t know.”

  “Get used to it. There’s a lot I wish I didn’t know.”

  “You and me both.”

  Silence as they crossed the J. Moses East Bridge. Tires bucked over joints in the concrete, and traffic transformed into beaters and delivery trucks, both belching smoke and leaking oil.

  Everything turned gray. The East Side was named after the race riots during the 1930s. Even though it was actually south-west of Burg City, when the Irish started moving in, they expanded and pushed the blacks out. Westside residents fought back, but after generations of racism practically supported by the city, they finally gave up.

  Turned out to be the best thing that could have happened. The shipping industry moved to the northeast, where displaced families found new jobs and homes, leaving the East Side with nothing but an ironic name.

  The bridge that connected them to the rest of the city was named after J. Moses. A black lawyer who spent his life fighting for the immigrant rights. After the last steel plant had closed in the 70s, East Side’s only exports were cops and criminals.

  “This is a rough neighborhood,” Henry said.

  “Nah, ain’t nobody gonna look at you twice. You’re too red.”

  “You got a point.” And what a sad fucking point it is. “What about the car?”