by R W Thorn
It felt like being smashed in the face with a brick. Jack’s head bounced back to the spawn-wall, and he shut his eyes against the sudden pain. But he didn’t keep them shut for long. His anger wouldn’t let him, and nor would his sense of self-preservation.
“It isn’t so good to see you!” Jack managed to snarl in return.
As responses went, it would hardly qualify for an award. The tar man’s laughter continued, but this time it wasn’t just the ominous laughter that had become the tar man’s signature. This time, it carried the weight of both triumph and scorn.
Jack struggled against the spawn wall. One of his hands had been caught fast. He could already feel the burn of the spawn sucking at his strength there. But the other remained free, and he still gripped his knife. He held it out in front of him as if it would do him some good.
The tar man’s grin turned into a malignant sneer. Out of pure spite, he lashed out again, this time aiming for Jack’s free hand. Such was his speed that he caught Jack on the wrist. But it wasn’t so much of a kick as a push. With an expression of glee twisting his face, the tar man shoved Jack’s free arm back into the writhing black mass of spawn on the wall.
Jack struggled with all of his strength, but it wasn’t enough. The tar man kept Jack’s arm pressed against the wall for long enough that the congealed mess gripped him firmly. Only then did he back away with a self-satisfied smirk.
“I’m disappointed,” he said, his repugnant voice dripping with rancor. “I thought you would be more of a challenge. It’s almost dissatisfying, in a way.” The tar man barked a laugh. “I guess your girlfriend had more of a part to play than I supposed. Where is she, by the way? I thought you two came as a set.”
Jack had seldom been beaten so badly before. He could do little to save himself or Madame Brigette, who was staring down from her prison on the ceiling. Throughout the brief fight, she had been silent. Perhaps she’d hoped for Jack to prevail. If so, then that hope had faded. There was nothing but agony and despair in her eyes.
But perhaps Jack could still do something for Lennox.
“She’s gone,” he said. “She had a hair appointment she didn’t want to miss.” Jack put as much sarcasm and venom into his words as he could. He didn’t expect the tar man to believe him. He just wanted to make the tar man’s life as difficult as he could.
The tar man just laughed at Jack’s efforts. “Forgive me if I’m wrong, but it’s my understanding that it’s her fine Ducati you two have been riding. If she’s gone, then how did you get here?” The tar man shook his head. He was full of mirth and in total control. “No, I think she’s still around. Maybe waiting for me somewhere outside.”
Jack could feel the slithery, agonizing touch of the demon spawn on his hands and leg where he’d cut the pant leg earlier. He used the pain to spur his hatred to new levels and made no effort at all to hide that hatred from the tar man. Such was the intensity of his glare that it wouldn’t have surprised him if the tar man’s flesh started to boil.
“Why don’t you go outside and find out?” Jack grated, even though that wasn’t what he wanted. His wanted only to unsettle the man.
But even in that, he was failing.
“Oh, I fully intend to,” the tar man said, his voice full of threat. “But first, you might remember the last time we met. You seemed to enjoy smashing me against the sidewalk outside of the restaurant. I thought I might return the favor.”
With that, the tar man stepped up close to Jack and lashed out with his hands, knees, and everything he could think of.
Jack could do little to protect himself. He tried to turn to avoid the worst of the beating, but the spawn wall held him fast. He was less mobile than a punching bag. The best he could do was gird himself against the tar man’s boots and knees and fists and accept the battering.
The tar man hit hard and often, and laughed like a malignant clown as he did. It felt like being beaten with an iron pipe. Jack took blows to his face and torso, and there wasn’t a thing he could do about it. He tried to hold onto his rage and hate, tried to use that to shield himself from the worst of it, but the tar man battered his way through even that.
Toward the end, Jack felt nothing but hurt. His ears were ringing and he felt bruised all over. His eyes were swollen shut and his head spun.
He barely retained any consciousness at all when the tar man finally stopped and stepped back.
But even then, the tar man wasn’t done. He puffed and panted from the effort he’d expended, but he still wore his grin.
“I hope you enjoyed that as much as I did,” the tar man sneered. “I’m going to look for your girlfriend now, and I leave it up to your imagination what I will do to her when I find her.” He paused for a moment to let the menace and horror of his words sink in. Then he continued. “In the meantime, I’m sure you are aware of what happens when my demon spawn encounter fire. By the time this is done, all of New Sanctum will be buried under their weight.”
The tar man turned and picked up one of the candle stands. This one had three medium-sized candles at the top, all of which were lit. He walked over to the door and held the candles against the curtains over the side windows until they caught fire. Then he casually tossed the candle stand aside.
After that, laughing more loudly than ever, he swung the door wide and stepped out into the night.
Wrenching and Pain
Everything hurt. Jack’s focus faded in and out. He could see the flames take hold of the curtains, but they had little meaning. He could hear Amelia saying something to him, but her words were muddy and unclear. Or perhaps it was Madame Brigette. He could feel the insidious, burning creep of the demon spawn touching his skin, but even this wasn’t enough to get his attention.
Jack knew only that he was battered and bruised, and his brain felt like mush. His body cried out for rest, for a chance to recover. The beating the tar man gave him had left him dazed and confused. He just wanted to let go, to fade into the comfort of oblivion.
But as the edges of his world stared to darken, he sensed something that made him feel nauseous. Somewhere nearby, someone was using a language normally reserved for the tongues of demons. Even though Jack couldn’t hear the words spoken, they still turned his stomach and made him want to vomit.
“Lex,” he muttered, surprised to hear he’d spoken the word out loud.
Then he felt a shift in the air, as if a shock wave passed through both him and Madame Brigette’s store. He understood what it was, and this knowledge brought him back to himself with a start.
“Lex!” he shouted. She was using her magic. Likely, she’d used the same spell that proved so effective against the Hell-beast and the wight earlier in the day. He hoped it would prove as effective against the tar man, but feared that it wouldn’t. The tar man had shown himself to be both nimble and durable beyond expectations.
Jack feared that Lex would be overwhelmed.
He looked about and found his situation unchanged. The demon spawn had him affixed to the wall. He could feel tendrils of it wrapping around his arms and legs. Agonizing, but a long way from fatal. Like with Madame Brigette, it seemed that the demon spawn’s purpose was to keep him alive rather than drain his vitality immediately.
Why or how that had come to be, Jack didn’t know, nor did he have time to question it. He thought it most likely that the tar man simply wanted to prolong his suffering.
The fire had consumed most of the curtains and had started to lick at the walls and ceiling. The room filled with a dense, black smoke that set Madame Brigette to cough. But she’d realized that Jack was awake and alert. She glared at him as she coughed, her expression a mixture of suppressed pain and anger.
“If this is your idea of a rescue, Jack, I’ll tell you truly, it ain’t going so well.” Madame Brigette spoke with a slight Caribbean accent and pain in her voice. Her tone was acerbic, and she sounded as if she were on the verge of a scream. “Now, are you just gonna sit there and wait for this black muck to ki
ll us, or are you gonna do something about it?”
Jack didn’t waste his breath on a response. Lennox was outside, alone with the tar man. This fact, combined with Madame Brigette’s words, was motivation enough.
He gritted his teeth and let his anger and hate start to flow. With an animalistic snarl, he wrenched his body against the demon spawn gluing him to the wall.
Again and again, he tested his strength against the demon spawn’s grip. And while it wasn’t exactly holding him like cuffs made from iron, the demon spawn was up to the task. It gave and flexed with every effort Jack made, but it didn’t break. Jack remained mired. As stuck as he would have been in a vat of molasses.
If he could have gained some leverage, perhaps he could have wrenched himself free. But the demon spawn held every part of him to the wall. It gripped his skin like an oversized slug and wouldn’t let him go.
Jack gave voice to his frustration as an inarticulate growl that was almost a shout. Madame Brigette started to cough and whimper in pain, and Jack could see that the flames were coming closer. If he didn’t escape, if he didn’t prevent the flames from reaching the demon spawn, he did not know how much damage it could do.
Another man may have given into despair. It seemed hopeless. Despite his durability and strength, Jack couldn’t escape. Not this way. But Jack wasn’t the type to give up. This fight wasn’t just for himself, but also for Madame Brigette. And for Lennox, whose spells Jack could feel even now. He could taste them, and that taste was bitter.
Jack snarled again, raging at what the tar man had done, raging that he had again brought his demon spawn into the world. Most of all, Jack raged at himself, for letting the tar man defeat him so easily, and for failing to protect Lennox.
He breathed deeply. The air had become thick with smoke, and he willed himself not to cough. Jack’s strength by itself wasn’t sufficient for him to break free. But he still had his knives. The demon spawn avoided them and the power contained within the runic etchings on the blades.
Jack was battered, sore, and burned by the demon spawn, and drained of his strength. But he had wells of hate and anger that had never been tapped, and his need to protect others was granite. He cleared his mind of the smoke, of Madame Brigette dangling from the ceiling, of everything. He even stopped thinking of Lennox outside with the tar man.
The only thing he allowed himself to think of was what he must do.
He focused on just his right arm. He dared not try to shift his knife in his grip for fear that he could lose it completely. Instead, he used every last ounce of leverage and strength that he had to twist his arm so that the flat of his blade touched the demon spawn.
Immediately, the demon spawn gave off the same high-pitched squeal as the others had done. It began to smoke around the edge of the blade, and Jack sensed its grip start to weaken.
With an expression of determination and rage contorting his face, Jack kept his arm twisted for as long as he could. Then, with a single convulsive lurch, he wrenched his arm away from the wall with all of his strength.
It worked. His right arm came free. The part of the demon spawn where he’d pressed his knife had become a bubbling ruin. Tendrils of black goo reached out for his arm, but Jack had the leverage he needed. He reached over his head and laid his blade flat on the demon spawn there and then wrenched his neck and shoulders away from the wall.
It became easier. Jack managed to liberate himself from the demon spawn in less than a minute.
But his trials were far from over.
Salts
Jack felt as weak as a day-old kitten. He had to crawl out of the demon spawn mass on his hands and knees, searing the loathsome black goop with his blades as he went. Only his determination and will kept him from collapsing as soon as he reached bare floorboards.
That, and the sure knowledge that he had more to do.
Refusing to accept the limitations of his body, he gritted his teeth and hauled himself upright. His wanted only to head outside and help Lennox in whatever way he could. But he had two problems to deal with before he could even think of doing that.
He had to free Madame Brigette from her inky prison. Innocent in this conflict, she was also the key to learning if the tar man had anything to do with Samuel’s death and the theft of the Daemonicon. In the underground world of the occult within New Sanctum, there was little Madame Brigette didn’t know.
He also had to deal with the fire. If he did not, their problems would be compounded.
Not that their problems were insubstantial already.
Jack gritted his teeth. Amelia still hadn’t roused herself, but he knew what she would say if she’d been able. “One problem at a time.”
Yet even that was difficult. He had no holy water to use against the demon spawn, nor did he have anything with which to put out the fast-growing fire. All he had were his knives, and for this, they were useless. He put them away, then hesitated.
Usually, Jack could easily see the course of action he needed to follow, and then he would act without fear. He had done so when facing the Hell-beast earlier in the day, and he would do so again now. Except that he could see no easy solution to either of his problems.
In desperation, he yelled out to Madame Brigette. “Do you have any holy water in this place? Anything that I can use against the demon spawn?”
Madame Brigette coughed and wheezed in her demon spawn prison. Her torment was clear. She’d endured the touch of the spawn around her wrists for far longer than Jack had done and was starting to shake in reaction to its burning and draining effect.
Yet despite her agony, she looked at Jack. She seemed frightened, and perhaps disoriented as well. But she understood his question.
She shook her head. “No holy water,” she said, her words filled with despair. She turned back away.
It wasn’t the answer Jack wanted. “Do you have anything else?” he demanded. He couldn’t believe that in a store such as hers, there would be nothing he could use against the demon spawn.
For the longest time, Madame Brigette said nothing. Then, as Jack began to lose hope, she muttered something.
“Garlic salts,” she said.
Jack’s heart skipped a beat. Garlic salts would do the job. Any salts would. “Where?” he demanded.
“The counter.”
The counter was a medium-sized desk almost completely covered with incense and candles and miniature books that Jack guessed contained inspirational quotes. An old-fashioned register sat at one end, and the fire had started licking one corner.
Jack heaved his weary body over to it, but at first glance, he couldn’t see anything resembling garlic salts.
“Where?” he demanded again.
Madame Brigette’s voice sounded stronger when she replied. “It is in a pouch next to the register.”
Jack saw it. A delicate pouch no larger than his clenched fist. It even had a small cardboard sign with a handwritten note on it. “Garlic salts.”
It was disappointingly small. It wouldn’t be enough to do the job. But he had no other option, so he scooped it up and strode, as well as he could, back to the demon spawn.
There was so much smoke in the Emporium that Jack could barely see, and he had to cover his mouth to keep from choking. Madame Brigette was struggling to breathe. It would be even worse except that the tar man hadn’t closed the broken door properly behind him, and some of the smoke escaped into the night.
Pausing at the edge of the demon spawn on the floor, Jack took a small handful of the salts and scattered it about. He didn’t wait for the expected sizzling and squealing, but instead strode on as if he had nothing to fear.
He expected the demon spawn to grip his legs and sneakers, but the garlic salts were doing their job. He waded through the mass until he stood beneath Madame Brigette.
He’d already used about half of the salt. He took the rest and flung it at the demon spawn holding Madame Brigette to the roof, doing all that he could to make sure he covered as much
of the vile spawn as he could.
Then he waited.
Moments later, the demon spawn started to squeal and bubble and writhe. Then, with a strangled cry of terror, Madame Brigette fell into Jack’s waiting arms.
There wasn’t anything else Jack could do. The demon spawn would survive the garlic salts. Already, the edges of it were pulling away, as if to isolate the stricken part of itself. Only seconds, maybe a minute remained before the fire touched it, and it started to replicate.
Jack couldn’t help but feel a profound disappointment. He didn’t enjoy leaving a job half done, but he had no choice. He had nothing with which to fight this.
But that didn’t mean he was helpless. He could carry Madame Brigette to safety, and he could aid Lennox against the tar man. After that, he could contact the Brotherhood for help.
Perhaps they could send a tanker filled with holy water. He hoped so. If they couldn’t, Jack wasn’t certain what he would have to do.
“Come on,” he said to Madame Brigette. “Let’s get you out of here.”
Before he had taken so much of a step toward the burning door, he felt another wave of demon-magic inspired nausea.
Then the whole front of the store exploded.
Tentacles
The force of the blast sent much of the shelving and some of the display stands crashing to the floor. Jack and Madame Brigette tumbled toward the back of the shop. They had no control. They were like leaves caught in a sudden gust of wind, and it was all they could do to stop just short of the black ooze at the back.
The lights flickered. For a moment it seemed they would fail. But then they returned, burning as steadily as before.
For the second time in a matter of minutes, Jack felt dizzy and winded. Lying on the floor with Madame Brigette beside him, he took a few seconds to recover.
When he regained his focus, he saw a gaping hole where the front of the store used to be. The blast had blown most of the flames out, and the smoke was already clearing.