Axes and Angels: A Snarky Urban Fantasy Novel (Better Demons Series Book 1)

by Matthew Herrmann

  Back at the apartment, Orion pointed at the blueprints as he made last-minute adjustments to his planned route to and from Typhon’s underground storeroom which he had circled in red marker. I had the same blueprints on my phone which I could blow up with a pinching.

  Orion was the man who made sure we never got lost on missions. He was a mythical hunter after all. He could probably find his way out of the famed Minotaur’s labyrinth blindfolded. Yeah, he was that good. Me, I felt more comfortable with Siri or GoogleMaps guiding me. But what I lacked in directional coordination I made up for in tenacity.

  I was stubborn. But so was Orion.

  “Here goes nothing,” I said behind my bedroom door as I tried on the outfit Orion had bought for me the previous day, a stretchy blue-and-white-floral-patterned ankle-length dress. It was the color of the Greek flag, and coupled with the burgundy-dyed leather clutch Orion had crafted from rabbit hides, I also looked very American.

  I managed to zip up the dress by myself and looked in the vertical mirror hanging on my mirror. Simon and Garfunkel, looking pretty snazzy themselves in a pair of tuxes made for Ken dolls, stared up at me from the floor at my feet. “How do I look, guys?”

  Garfunkel lowered his pair of miniature Hello Kitty sunglasses. “Hello Bombshell,” he said in a deep baritone voice.

  Simon whistled. “Gee, Theo, you clean up real nice!”

  I smirked at the woman in the mirror looking back at me and did a slight curtsey, performing a quick spin as I dropped to my palms and kicked out, sweeping my legs about in a vicious kicking motion. Then I did a handstand, raising myself up on my palms, kicking my heels backward until they tapped the wall behind me. The dress was clingy enough so that it clung to my legs instead of sliding up—or rather down. Perfect. I half-cartwheeled back down to my feet, raising myself up to my full height as I twisted at the torso and lashed out with a quick jab that would have made Jackie Chan jealous. Then I righted myself, brushing the hair from my face and taking a breath.

  This dress was the perfect combination of trendy and practical. Orion knew me too well. He also knew where to shop. (I lamented the bill, though. Something like this would cost a pretty penny, or rather a pretty few thousand pennies …)

  “Orion sure knows how to pick em,” Simon said.

  Garfunkel’s tiny shoulders bobbed as he laughed. “How does Orion know your size down to a T? He must really know his way around women …”

  Simon squealed. “Orion’s not like that. He’s … he’s decent!”

  Garfunkel bit at a hangnail he’d missed earlier. “You saying I’m not?” He paused. “Cause I’m not.”

  I shook my head and stepped out into the kitchen area where Orion was still bent over the maps and blueprints. It looked like there was sweat at the top of his forehead. So very uncool-as-a-cucumber of him.

  When he didn’t look up at me, I cleared my throat. He peered up and I think he might have blushed, but he did have all that beard to cover it. His face or at least his eyes grew gentler. “You look very good.”

  I did a cute little spin move while sliding my letter opener off the kitchen counter and flung it at the wall where it embedded itself with a soft thunk. (I don’t attack only bills with it, sometimes I pick on the wall, too). I stood up and swept back some hair.

  “It fits perfectly. And I can move like a dream in it. You gonna put it on my running tab?”

  Orion waved a hand dismissively at me. “Nah. Consider it a gift. It goes good with that purse, too.”

  “Clutch,” I corrected. “And yes, thanks. For both,” I mumbled. Shit … This man. He knew me too well. I hated shopping, didn’t even know what sizes I wore. And here, my knight in shining armor—a former constellation to boot—guessed it perfectly.

  I was going to say something but he was already peering back over the maps. I sauntered up and pressed a finger at the round arena surrounded by grand stands. “What’s bothering you? The map looks pretty cut and dry to me. These blueprints show all the security camera spots, and the tunnels are clearly mapped.”

  He looked up but didn’t meet my eyes. I wondered why. If there was something on his mind, he’d better clear it now—before we were at the event.

  His silence bothered me. “Want to talk about it?”

  He shook his head.

  I checked my watch. “Will you be ready in two more hours?”

  He swallowed. “I’ll be ready. You know how I like to have a week to prepare.”

  “Yeah. Sorry about that. It’s important to me though that we get this done tonight. I really need the money, remember?” Ever since I’d mentioned my immediate debt problem on the way back from our employer’s mansion, Orion hadn’t pressed me for any information about it. That was something I liked about Orion. He knew when to give me space. “Thanks for being so understanding on such short notice.” I rubbed at my bare arms. It’d gotten cold all of a sudden.

  Orion shrugged. “It’s what partners are for. You’d do the same for me.” He unzipped his duffel bag and handed me a spare leather jacket. “I know it’s a little big on you but your old jacket got burned yesterday by that Greek fire.”

  I tried it on. Flexed my arms. Made sure I still had good mobility. It was incredibly supple, and was probably another example of Orion’s handiwork out in the woods. It went well with my dress, and the larger size meant I’d have extra space to store stuff under should I need to.

  I smiled. “I like it.”

  “I’m glad. It shouldn’t take me much longer—just finishing my mental preparations.”

  “That’s fine. I’m ready. And so are Simon and Garfunkel.”

  I felt a hand on my shoulder and I spun, my hand poised into a death grip, ready to crush my attacker’s larynx.

  “So am I,” LK gasped, and I relaxed my hold on his throat.

  “Uh sorry. Reflexes.”

  LK coughed, his demeaner undaunted. “Let us ride forth in the yellow carriage with the horses under the hood.”

  Sigh.

  We went over our parts one last time with Arachne over our shiny new comm system. Arachne had a feeling that Typhon had electromagnetic disturbance thingies underground to disable cellular devices so the blueprints on my phone might not display properly. That meant the navigating would fall squarely on Orion’s shoulders. (Also, the top of the line new comms I’d purchased from Joe would probably be useless. So expensive, ugh …) I went over the sigil marking the mystery artifact one last time: a crude volcano drawing surrounded by lightning bolts.

  Orion slipped his tactical pack onto his back. Surprisingly, it didn’t look out of place on him, and his compact crossbow didn’t bulge or protrude too noticeably—unlike my bulky shoulder pads. Arachne didn’t think there would be any metal detectors because of all the extra security with the tickets. Also, this was an underground event sanctioned on the dark web to a very discerning clientele with a penchant for bloodlust. Everyone in attendance was sure to be carrying at least one lethal weapon on them.

  Lastly, I strapped my tranq gun to the thigh holster on my left leg and fastened a small felt-lined pocket onto my right thigh; I would be using it to transport the artifact (hopefully it fit) once I lifted it from Typhon’s storeroom.

  With a last glance around the apartment, I nodded.

  We were ready.

  “Lich Kings—Never Leave Home Without ‘Em”

  The taxi dropped us off a couple blocks back from the secret underground entrance in the meatpacking district. As we walked, I checked with LK again. “You sure you’ve got the tickets?”

  “Most assuredly.” He raised the tickets from the folds of his translucent robe.

  We navigated down some sketchy alleyways until we came across a flowing stream of nicely dressed people. We followed them at a safe distance until we rounded a corner and saw the gateway to our destination.

  Up ahead were two turnstiles leading to an unmarked door on the backside of a warehouse. At least five guards patrolled the shadows, two of whom
were stationed in front of the turnstiles and holding remote scanning devices like at a concert. One of the burly guards was a satyr wearing a bulletproof vest with an assault rifle slung over his chest. The other was an Oni demon with … well, claws. Between the two guards, on a card table, were two laptops and a stainless-steel bowl.

  For the most part, just your typical process to get into a public event. I guess I was expecting something a little more sinister …

  We got in line behind a pair of Asian men in dark suits, slicked back hair and sunglasses that made them look like Yakuza. (Profiling, I know, but there was a good chance they were, given the nature of the main event.)

  I checked my watch when we neared the entrance. We were cutting it pretty close; it was almost 7 p.m. AKA closing time. “LK, time to put on your birthday suit—er, whatever you call it when you go all invisible. Just try not to burn too much of your time, OK?” I didn’t want LK dying … again.

  LK smiled and vanished. He held a ticket in each hand as he stood behind and between Orion and me, holding the tickets close enough to our hands to make it look like we were actually holding them. This was really going to work …

  The line moved up another notch so that the Yakuza duo were in front of the turnstiles.

  “Password?” the Oni demon guard said.

  One of the Yakuza dudes raised a hand and said, “Wah-wah-wah-wah.”

  I blinked in surprise. Not because it looked like we needed to know some secret password, (OK that was a big surprise) but because it sounded like the man had a mouth full of peanut butter when he spoke aforementioned secret password. Either that or he supplied the voice of the teacher on the Charlie Brown TV specials.

  I leaned over and whispered to Orion. “You’re the one with the ears of a bat. What’s the password?”

  Orion hesitated.

  “Spit it out. What did he say?”

  “I … couldn’t understand it. It’s no language I recognize.”

  “Me neither,” Simon said.

  Great …

  LK cleared his throat, speaking in a conspiratorial whisper that was more than a little creepy. “I understand it.”

  “What? How?”

  LK grinned, if that’s what it could be called, his warm breath raising the hairs on my neck. Luckily, his breath still smelled minty which wasn’t so bad. “Because tis a dead language,” LK said.

  “And you’re dead. Of course. Can you speak it?”

  “Certainly. But I shall have to manipulate thy mouths to match the syllables.”

  In front of us, the two Yakuzas proceeded through the turnstiles.

  “This is it, team,” I said under my breath. “Time to manifest destiny and all that …”

  “Thou wisht me to manifest myself?” LK asked confusedly.

  “No,” I said quickly. “It’s a saying.”

  “Ah,” LK said as the three of us stepped up to the two guards. “Thou must school me on the sayings of this hip new GoneGod World when we spill mead later tonight at the pub.”

  The satyr guard stared at me mirthlessly. “Password.”

  I felt invisible, bony fingers slide over my lips, prying them open and closed in a series of quick motions as LK warbled out the password.

  The satyr guard nodded. “Ticket.”

  I lifted my hand slowly, my ticket floating just under my palm as LK suspended it with his invisible hand.

  The satyr scanned the ticket with his handheld device and the photo of the original ticketholder—the blonde—showed up on the laptop screen beside him.

  Crap.

  “Should’ve used the hair dye!” Simon said.

  I flicked my hair about coyly and giggled. “Hair dye.”

  The satyr stared at me dumbly before pressing a button on the laptop. There was a beep and he said, “You may drop the ticket.”

  LK dropped my ticket in the stainless-steel bowl next to the laptop where the ticket disappeared in a flash of swirling greenish light.

  “Proceed.”

  I stepped forward and swung against the turnstile with my hips, glancing back at Orion as he and LK repeated the process.

  The Oni demon guard scanned Orion’s ticket and then stared at the likeness (or lack thereof) between Orion and the man on the laptop screen.

  After a long moment, he nodded. “Proceed.”

  Orion joined me, and we left LK back at the turnstiles. (I guess.)

  It was only a few steps to the warehouse door. Orion reached out for it, but I beat him to it. There’s nothing wrong with chivalry, but can’t a girl open a door on her own sometimes? It’s not like I have a finger cramp or a withered hand …

  Through the doorway, a stone stairwell led downward. The walls were also stone. A faint glowing orange aura shone at the bottom, and heatwaves emanated toward us like an oven. I glanced upward at a heater mounted to the ceiling above us, which gave the allusion that we were at the stairway to hell. Clever. But why hell, you ask?

  Because of the writing on the walls. Literally.

  One wall was spray-painted with “Club Tartarus” while the other one contained a red arrow pointing downward and the words, “Welcome to Hell …”

  Garfunkel rubbed his hands together. “This is going to be fun.”

  “Famous last words,” Simon gulped.

  I glanced one last time at the alleyway behind us. Guards flitted about in the shadows while the satyr and the Oni demon shut their laptops and folded up their tables. We made it just in time.

  There was no turning back now, and so far the mission had gone off relatively smooth.

  Why couldn’t it ever continue to go that way?

  “A Peek Behind the Curtain”

  The stone stairs led down for about 100 feet below the surface to about the depth of a railway system. There were rails but no trains. And there weren’t any pedestrians either, just prim people heading to the arena.

  The tunnel was dark, lit by dim LEDs along the ceiling. It was creepy but light enough not to warrant concern as I could see clearly both ways.

  Ahead was a tunnel clearly marked Arena. I turned to Orion; this was where we went left instead of forward into the arena stands. But the clamoring of fans and boom sticks from the arena was too much for curious ol’ me to resist.

  “Theo,” Orion whispered testily.

  I waved dismissively back at him. “Just a peek. I want to at least catch a glimpse of this horrifying matchup.”

  “Remember Theo,” Simon said, “curiosity killed the cat.”

  “Good thing I’m not a cat.”

  I made my way to the thick black curtains partitioning the arena. I drew them back. Stepped forward.

  The crowd’s expectant energy nearly knocked me back. There had to be a few hundred people gathered here. The stands were packed; I was hard-pressed to find an unoccupied seat as I gazed around at the semi-lit arena and stands.

  And from what I could tell, they were all humans. Humans with money, thirsty to watch a couple Others dismember each other. Disgusting.

  A sudden stamping of legs brought my attention to the arena floor down below and what I saw took my breath away.

  At one end, a gigantic moon-colored crab threw its heavy pincers up, nipping at the air while at the other end a huge scorpion pranced about in place, its heavy sac-filled stinger poised to strike. They eyed each other feverishly from opposite ends of the colossal arena floor like two rabid, bus-sized spiders, their monstrous bodies held back by invisible chains.

  Above the two creatures the crowd hooted and cheered. Some shouted, “Scorpio!” Others, “Cancer!” And then there was that prick holding up a sign that read, “What’s your sign, baby?”

  There’s always one at every event. Even one where two giant, mythical creatures were battling to the death.

  I shook my head. It was the twenty-first century, and humans were just as bloodthirsty as during the days of the Colosseum in ancient Rome.

  Great to see how we’ve evolved.

  This wa
s going to be quite the horrific spectacle. And thank the GoneGods, I wouldn’t get to see any of it.

  I turned back to join Orion out in the tunnel curving under the grandstands directly above us, but a hand caught my bare arm.

  “May I escort you to your seat, Miss?”

  “Huh?” I turned to see a turtle-like, hollow-headed kappa in a vest and bowtie. The hollow on his head … his crown, if you will … was filled with the characteristic sloshing water typical of kappas. Water, might I add, that somehow never spilled over the edge of his skull-cup.

  Japanese mythical creatures … they were the strangest of the bunch.

  “The show.” His pleasant smile revealed an oval of sharpened teeth. “It’s about to begin.”

  As if on cue, the lights dimmed and the arena’s sound system crackled to life. A battle anthem began to play over the loud speakers.

  And projected over the high raised ceiling was the grid layout of the night sky, tiny pinpricks of light glowing for the stars. If I wasn’t 100 feet under New York City, I might have thought I was standing in a field in Upstate New York glancing up at the night sky.

  I watched as thin, white straight lines connected twelve sets of stars to form constellations. It was breathtakingly beautiful, even if I couldn’t tell what the hell any of the constellations were. The only constellation I knew was Orion, and it wasn’t connected by those white lines.

  There was a squawk and then, “EVERYONE, LET’S GIVE A HAND FOR THE MAN WHO MAKES THESE GAMES POSSIBLE … THE MAN WITH A HUNDRED HEADS … THE BRUTAL … THE FAIR … TYPHON!”

  The crowd went wild, chants of Typhon! Typhon! Typhon! erupting from the fans like a verbal wave.

  Just who was this guy that people worshipped him like a god? I suddenly didn’t feel so safe in this place surrounded by a lot of concrete and earth and fans loyal to the man I was about to steal a precious artifact from.

  Oh well.

  I was about to turn again when a cluster of white-hot spotlights blasted down like shooting stars and twirled over the fans like moonbeams.