Monstrous- The Complete Collection

by Sawyer Black

  Henry grabbed the knife handle and gave it a twist as he pulled it out. Black blood filled his lap. Clogged his throat. He took the energy from the lives he had ended at the liquor store and thought of a better Henry.

  “Would you look at that?” He emptied the second bottle and threw it away. It clinked against the first one. He reached in for another, with a hand clean of the blood. And he whispered, “Good as new.”

  “What would you have me do?”

  “I’m not your fucking boss, man. You figure it out.”

  “You are wrong, Henry. I have sworn my life to you. I am your vassal. Sworn to obey you, though you have yet commanded me anything.”

  Henry ran the tip of the bottle in the shape of a cross through the air. Ramiel’s flat stare, hard at the edges. Sad underneath. Whiskey splashed Henry’s feet. “I doth command you to fuck off. Fly hence and find the pastor, that I may smite him.” The bottle cracked against his fangs as he tried to take another drink. He giggled, choking and sputtering on the burning liquid. He caught his breath and tried again. This time the booze made it down his throat. Another empty bottle.

  Ramiel stood, the light growing over his heart to stab Henry’s eyes.

  Henry squinted and giggled again. “Smite him … with my dick!” The light continued to swell, blinding Henry with shimmering waves of gold. He heard Ramiel’s wings. Felt the air drying his tears, blowing the dust into swirling eddies.

  He couldn’t get a deep breath. Couldn’t lift his arms. Henry slid sideways down the wall as Ramiel rose into the sky. His light shrank with distance, and Henry’s cheek scraped against the cool roof.

  I was only kidding.

  Drool spread out in a sticky puddle, and Henry passed out.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Yellow light pounded against Henry’s eyelids. Heat spreading across his face. Henry cracked his eyes open, and the sun hung directly overhead in the center of his field of view.

  The cracks in his lips stung as he worked up enough spit to swallow. He sat up, and his head pounded with the change in elevation. Henry groaned, shielding his eyes with his nubbin and holding his stomach. His claws tangled in his shirt, tearing holes as he stood. Swaying, he pushed off the wall behind him.

  The sun beat on the top of his head, but the only shadow was the small blob under his feet. Henry thought about the apartment below, but when space began to fold around him, vomit flooded his mouth. He slapped his hand over his lips and bent over, banishing the image of the apartment from his mind.

  I guess I’ll take the stairs.

  The stairwell was cool and dark. Henry took each step while hanging onto the rail like Abraham and his cane.

  Lights in the short white hallway stabbed with beaming shards. He squeezed his eyes shut and felt along the wall for his front door. The apartment was blessedly dark. The blinds drawn. Quiet.

  He shuffled to the refrigerator and reeled back from the light.

  The fuck am I doing?

  The pitcher was on the counter. He needed some water. He swung the door shut, and black blood glistened on the floor. He snatched the door back open, letting it swing all the way out, and the blood led to his feet. Footprints.

  He spread his fingers over his chest. Down his arms. He blinked the grit from his eyes and shook his head. The footprints ended a few feet inside the front door. The edge of a pool. So much blood. He rushed to the entry and snapped on the foyer light. The puddle spread from under the chair facing the couch in the living room. A slumped figure. Wings torn and bloody. Blackened and charred.

  Ramiel!

  Henry rushed away from the open fridge. His feet hit the puddle of blood, and they came out from under him. He smashed onto the floor with a shuddering crash, floundering over to his hands and knees. He lunged around the chair, and drew back in shock.

  Ramiel’s ribs protruded through a burned hole in his chest. The mangled fingers of his left hand rested in his lap. Gashes crisscrossed his legs, some showing bone. His swollen face, burned and bloody, hung forward. The entire chair shimmered with black blood.

  “Help!” Henry shouted. “Somebody!”

  He raised his hand, but drew it back, unsure of where to touch. Henry turned his face up to the ceiling. “BOOTHE!”

  Ramiel’s eyelids fluttered, and the right one rose to reveal a battered black eye, filling with blood. “I found your pastor.”

  Henry leaned forward and dropped his nubbin on Ramiel’s shoulder. He put his hand against the angel’s cheek, and Ramiel rested his head in Henry’s palm.

  “Ah, fuck, Remmy. I didn’t mean for you to get yourself killed. I was … just what the fuck did you think you were doing?”

  “He is with the mayor.” Ramiel’s voice sounded thick and wet. He gasped in a bubbling breath. “In his mansion. By a park with a stream. Lovely …”

  Henry turned to shout over his shoulder. “Is anybody still fucking here? I need some Goddamn HELP!”

  He stood, and dizziness hit him like a rocking subway. He fell back to his knees, using the arm of the chair for support and closing his eyes.

  “Jesus, fuck.”

  He fought to calm his gagging throat. His thoughts ran to Ramiel’s words.

  “The taxes paid for that golf course … right next to the estate. The fees are fucking astronomical. It’s got a …” Henry swallowed and caught his breath. Panic was spiking with every beat of his heart. “Nature reserve …”

  The bedroom door clicked open, and Aela peeked through the gap. Her eyes widened. She threw the door open and ran to Henry’s side. “What happened?” Her eyelids and cheeks were red and raw. Puffy from crying.

  “I don’t know. I told him to find Pastor Owen, and he just took off.”

  Ramiel nodded. “I fought many. My net was very full.”

  “Why did you ask him to do that?”

  Henry pulled away and faced her. “I didn’t ask him to do this. I was drunk. Pastor Owen has Samantha, and he’s gonna kill her.”

  “Your wife?” Aela looked down at the floor.

  “Yes, my fucking wife. Ramiel said it was you who healed me in Solitude.”

  She sat back on her heels, and her shoulders fell.

  Henry stabbed a finger at the bleeding angel. “Heal him. Please.”

  “It hurts,” she whispered.

  “Please.”

  Ramiel smiled.

  Blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth. “Do not fret, child. Do not blame yourself, for He chose us in Him before the creation of the world to be holy and blameless in His sight.” The angel reached out and patted the air, his hand seeking her touch.

  He can’t fucking see!

  Henry took Ramiel’s hand, and the angel’s smile became a grin, his teeth soaked with black and lips cracking. “Do not mourn for me. No man can lay a foundation that has already been laid by our Father. Instead, rejoice and be glad, for my reward in Heaven will be great.”

  “Okay.” Tears streamed from Aela’s eyes. She rose on her knees and put her hands on the Tracker’s forearm. “I’ll do it.”

  Ramiel shooed her hand away, looking for her face like a man staring out of the dark. “Nay, save it for another. I will live on in His memory, even though I die in your hearts.” He took a small gasping breath. “Henry, my friend. I will now do as you asked …” Another gasp, his head falling back down, the smile still spreading. “I … I will fuck off.”

  Ramiel sagged forward in the chair. A spot of light formed over his heart. Swirling and growing, it spread to fill his body from toe to wingtip. A glow grew on the ceiling to match the light below. It spun, swelling into a cone that stretched into the infinite ether above.

  The angel of light that settled over the angel of flesh rose into the air, and the flesh crumbled to dust.

  Ramiel paused before rising into the tunnel of light. He looked down at Aela and Henry still kneeling on the floor, and he spread his arms.

  Even you, a demon created through careless sin and design, and you, an an
gel shrouded in flightless wings of pain and doubt. Your citizenship is of Heaven. Paladin and Healer. There is no greater proof of His design than in your union.

  You are everything good for doing His will.

  He raised his face, pointing the light of his gaze into the light of his ascent, and then he was gone with a flash and a clap of thunder.

  Henry leaned into Aela’s shoulder. “Jesus, I barely knew that bastard.”

  Aela nodded into his chest. “Why does it hurt so much, then?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t fucking think. How am I supposed to make sense of that shit?”

  The compression of air at his back, and Maria’s gasp foretold Boothe’s arrival.

  About time, although I don’t know what he could’ve done.

  “What is this?”

  Henry told them about his trip to his house. The video. The liquor store.

  Aela told them about Ramiel.

  Maria sat on the edge of the couch, smoothing her skirt. “And what will you do now, Henry?”

  Henry dropped to his ass and leaned back against the chair still soaked with an angel’s blood. The pain in his head spiked with every move, and his heart refused to quit galloping. “I’m gonna burn that place down and kill everyone inside.”

  Maria smiled, leaning back in satisfaction. “Good.”

  Aela stood and pointed to the empty chair. “Henry, look.”

  Henry struggled to his feet, catching his breath once upright, swaying as though pushed by a breeze. He looked at the chair, and the handle of Ramiel’s black sword poked above the back cushions. The blade that had killed Mandyel’s golem.

  Struck down dragons.

  Saved his life.

  “Take it,” Aela said.

  Bitterness flooded Henry's mouth, and he shook his head. The thought of holding it disgusted him. Offended him. “Fuck no. I’m not touching that thing.”

  “It is an angel’s blade,” Boothe said.

  Aela looked back and forth between the demon and the angel, her eyes settling on the latter. “Then, you take it.”

  Boothe shook his head. “I am not that angel. But he left it for a reason, don’t you think? You should take it.”

  She threw her hands up in defeat, and her face crumpled in anger.

  “Everybody knows what I should do. Keep telling me what’s best for me. Fine. My grandmother was an angel. I guess so am I? Fine.”

  She shook her head and snatched the sword from the chair. It swirled with creeping black energy, and wings of light erupted from her back, charged with fire. Her eyes widened, staring into a space Henry couldn’t see. Her head tipped, listening to a voice Henry couldn’t hear. Jealousy twisted in his gut, and he looked away.

  The tip of the sword dug into the floor at her feet, and when he looked back, she was just Aela. Tired and scared. Leaning on the hilt of a black sword with tears in her eyes.

  The front door exploded open, and Frank strolled in with an armful of junk food. Bright packaging, crinkling with every step. He slurped from a straw stuffed into the biggest slushie Henry had ever seen. A bucket of frozen sugar. He crossed to the large sliding window between the living room and bedroom, juggling snacks to get a free hand for the blinds.

  Light flooded the apartment. He dug out a red rope of licorice out and flipped the end into his mouth. He turned and froze, the licorice hanging from blue-stained lips.

  “Hey guys,” he said. “What’s going on?”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The city’s sorrow continued to batter Henry’s senses. He saw fire and smoke wherever he looked, and his head split with throbbing pain. It was hard to concentrate on anything but the lure of so many souls in need of punishment. Despite his resistance, he had to feed soon.

  Henry sat next to Frank on the couch, gobbling popcorn and Twizzlers, watching coverage of the Siege of Twyker.

  Sounds like a fucking Lord of the Rings book.

  They’d been at it for hours. The sun was setting, turning the walls and floor purple as it sank. “It’s like we’re watching the OJ coverage.”

  Frank nodded, pulling on the straw digging into the bottom of his slushie. He was nearing the end, and the straw glugged in between slurps. He released it with a loud smack of his lips, his wide eyes still fixed on the TV. “I had a thing for Marcia Clark back in the day. I think it was the perm. I always thought she’d be dirty behind closed doors, you know?”

  “I guess.”

  Frank tipped his giant cup at the TV, pointing with the straw. “Uh-oh, we got a breaking news update.”

  It was about Mike Stone. His Burg City ID picture hanging over the shoulder of a serious blonde with a tight sweater fitted for ratings. His smiling face replaced with that of his younger version, stern and unforgiving in a military dress uniform. Metals gleaming on his chest.

  A third picture of a bearded Stone under a mountain of military gear and a campaign hat. Sand from a middle eastern desert.

  “Holy shit,” Henry said. “No wonder Samantha fell for this guy. He’s a fucking badass.”

  Frank worked a final echoing slurp from the bottom of his cup then abandoned it on the coffee table. “I know. I think I’m about to have sex with him.”

  Henry focused on the blonde’s mouth, her perfect teeth flashing the impossible white of modern dentistry.

  “… in stable condition at Riverside South, he has been identified as one of the Heroes of Twyker Island, saving over twenty-five children from a satanic cult practicing their religion in the abandoned Twyker Penitentiary.

  “He was wounded during an attack on the mayoral estate early this morning that left several dead and parts of the estate damaged before the fire was put under control. Police aren’t releasing details about whether or not this attack involved the cult, where the mayor is now, or if the mayor is among the injured or dead, saying an investigation is under way and more details will be released later.”

  The camera angle changed, and she turned to match it. A new picture over her shoulder. This one of Henry in a stained hoodie, bending into the shadows. “You may remember Detective Stone from his public investigation of the so-called 'Hooded Angel,’ a Burg City vigilante that saved victims with bloody justice.”

  Another picture of Henry. This one his professional black and white head shot. Vague surprise, like he couldn’t figure out why his picture was being taken.

  I kinda liked that one.

  “Detective Stone has also been flirting with Hollywood, often seen with the widow of Henry Black, beloved comedian murdered in his home in the El Matanso suburb.”

  Henry’s face was replaced with the graphic of a house fire.

  “The very same home that burned to the ground last night. There were no victims recovered from the fire, and foul play is suspected. Attempts to find Samantha Black have been unsuccessful. The Black’s daughter was also murdered in the home invasion that claimed her father’s life. Connections are currently under investigation.”

  That’s it?

  “They couldn’t even use her picture? They just stuck my face up there and instead of being her own fucking person, she’s the wife of some dead guy. Amélie is the daughter of some dead guy? Fucking assholes. They’re worth more than just being lucky enough to be associated with me.”

  I was the lucky one.

  Henry jumped up, kicking the coffee table. Candy wrappers scattered. Tortilla chips flew. Rage filled his chest, and his headache blustered away like brittle leaves.

  “Boothe!”

  Frank stood, watching Henry pace with staring eyes. “What are you doing?”

  “Getting ready.”

  Boothe emerged from a blink in space, standing with his hands behind his back. “I can’t just drop everything and come whenever you call, Henry. I have things to do.”

  “Like what.”

  He tipped his head with a shrug. “At the moment, nothing.”

  “Then why are you bitching?”

  Boothe clenched his jaw, his eye
s narrowing. “What do you want, Henry?”

  “I’m not gonna wait for Pastor Owen.”

  “Then what are you going to do?”

  “You know where the mayor’s estate is?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you open a portal there?”

  “Knowing where it is and having been there are two different things.”

  “You’ve never been there?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “The fuck does that mean?”

  “It means I’ve played golf there.”

  “Golf?”

  “Yes, Henry. Golf. As a man of culture and refinement, I often find myself in situations—”

  “Sure, sure. Whatever.” Henry flapped his hand for silence. “I’ve played it, too. As a man pretending to be cultured and refined, I’ve shaken a lot of dirty hands. Anyway, the ninth hole is practically in his back yard. Can you open a portal right on the tees?”

  “Yes, I can. Now, why do you want me to do that?”

  “You ever been to the hospital?”

  Boothe reached up and covered his eyes. “Which one, Henry?”

  “Riverside South.”

  “No, I have not. Have you?”

  Looking at Samantha through the window. Tubes in her nose. Her hand strapped to the rails after she tried to kill herself. Pain caused by the Order. By Henry himself.

  My fault.

  “Yeah, I’ve been there.” He spun around and entered the bedroom.

  “What are you going to do?”

  Henry paused with his hand on the doorknob. “I’m gonna get everybody I can find with a little hate in their hearts, and we’re gonna tear that mansion to the ground.”

  Boothe nodded. “That will actually please Maria very much.”

  “Then go get her. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

  Boothe disappeared in a bending twist of light as Henry turned and entered the bedroom.

  Aela sat on the bed with Ramiel’s sword on her knees. Looking down at her hands, her eyes still red.

  Henry resisted the urge to sigh and roll his eyes. “You been in here crying this whole time?”

  “Yes.”

  “You done?”