Blood for the Dancer

by Dallas Mullican

  “Zaphkiel will do.” The High General of the Host nodded to the blade and smirked. “No need for that. I come in peace.”

  “Fuck you. I want nothing from you.”

  “Come now, let bygones be bygones. I think we started off on the wrong foot. Let me make amends.” He extended his hands palms up in supplication. “Put the sword away. You have my word I will not harm you.”

  “Going to try to turn me now?” Dustan tiptoed another step away, his muscles pumping with adrenaline.

  “You know very well I cannot entice you to change allegiance. However, I can answer your questions and offer information. If you should come to the conclusion on your own…well…” He shrugged and tilted his head as if listening for something.

  The gesture unnerved Dustan. He glanced around, scanning the forest for any threat. Satisfied they were alone, he relaxed and let the energy in the sword extinguish.

  “Fine. Why didn’t you answer my mother’s prayers? Or mine?”

  “As for her dying, you know how the game is played. Her alignment with us precluded a need to heal her. We required her service in the spirit realm. Nothing personal.” The archangel pushed his hood back and tousled his hair.

  “So, you decided to let her suffer?” Dustan’s eyes narrowed. His grasp on the sword’s hilt twisted with a squeak.

  “Momentary discomfort. You have glimpsed our world, you should understand.”

  “Well, I don’t. I stayed at her side during days of discomfort. I watched her drowning in blood and heard her pray over and over. I prayed constantly. You couldn’t offer us a word of consolation.”

  “We cannot hear prayers, per se. Communication is limited to a sense of the pledge’s passing. Answering prayers is a product of recruitment. We learn the needs of prospective recruits, and on occasion, grant something or other to gain their alignment. Healing an aligned…” He shook his head. “It is not our way. I am sorry.”

  Zaphkiel seemed sincere. His head turned downcast as he clasped his hands.

  A family of beavers swam a short distance off the bank and barked at the intrusion. Finches, frightened by the sparked energy, darted in and out of the brush in a frantic attempt to protect hidden nests.

  “And me? Where were you when I was dying?”

  “Honestly, I had no idea such a thing was possible.”

  “Aamon did,” said Dustan with a sneer.

  “Yes, I’ll give him credit, a brazen move. Not that he had much choice.”

  “What do you mean?” His brows fell as his forehead creased.

  “The demons fought with tenacity. Like hell, if you will pardon the bad pun. Still, they lacked the numbers. We were doing much better in recruiting from this realm. Religion has proved a great boon, and Aamon grew desperate. His rescue mission into the In Between was as likely to destroy him as save you. His gambit paid off, and your efforts have helped to even the odds.” Zaphkiel strolled up the bank. Dustan stiffened and instinctively raised Blood Dancer. “Still, he will lose in the end.”

  “You don’t sound so certain.”

  Zaphkiel propped against a mulberry tree and raked a finger beneath his nose. “Humph, regardless, this is not your war. Why put yourself through the pain and exertion?”

  “Killing angels is fun.” Dustan shrugged. “What can I say?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to live a simple human life?” Zaphkiel appeared unfazed by the jibe.

  “Not possible, even if I wanted to. I’m pledged to the demons. Part demon myself.”

  “There is a way…. Renunciation. Renounce your allegiance to the demons and pledge to me and my kind. The demon spirit will flee back to Aamon’s breast, or wherever it came from. You would be free to live a human life and join us after your physical death.”

  “I offered that before, as a child, and you ignored me.”

  The angel nodded. “Again, we did not hear your prayers. Honestly, we would not have answered even had we heard. What Aamon did was born of his desperation. We had no need to attempt such a ploy. Nevertheless, I can correct the error now.”

  “And why would I want to join you?”

  “I can think of two reasons.” Zaphkiel grinned.

  “My mother and father?” Dustan’s voice dropped.

  “Yes. Wouldn’t you like to be reunited? Fight by their sides and protect them from harm.” He placed a fist to his chest.

  “Sounds a lot like collusion to me.” Dustan glared at the archangel.

  “I haven’t asked you to do anything, nor have I made any promises. I have simply laid out the facts and possibilities.” The matter-of-factness in his tone tempted Dustan to slap the smug grin off his self-righteous face.

  “Loophole, huh?” Dustan sniped.

  “Something like that.” Zaphkiel nodded with a subtle lift of one shoulder.

  “I refuse. I’d rather put this sword through your heart.” Dustan wagged Blood Dancer.

  “A pity. Very well.” Zaphkiel summoned his energy with a flurry of hand gestures.

  “All your promises are worthless I see.” He brought the sword ablaze with his own power.

  “What? I promised I would not kill you. I said nothing of my friends. Two of my guards. Grigori is every bit as strong as Ariel, though he lacks her cunning and intelligence I’m afraid. Jequn is dying to try out her new toy.” With that, Zaphkiel vanished through a portal as two angel warriors emerged.

  Dustan knew stories of the Grigori—giant warriors; if inspired by this beast, the myths nailed it. He stood at least ten feet tall, dressed head to toe in heavy steel armor and wielding a massive spiked hammer. Dustan could almost make out his menacing black eyes beneath the visor. Jequn was his opposite. She had taken the form of a beautiful Asian woman. Tiny, perhaps five feet tall, jet-black hair hanging to her waist, she wore a leather jumpsuit that seemed better suited to an S&M show. With its zipper drawn down to her belly button, it threatened to spill her breasts out. The Uzi submachine gun she carried robbed her appearance of any humor or seduction.

  Shit. Here we go again. Should have bought that vest Shax suggested.

  Dustan possessed one slim advantage. He had spent ten years in this forest and knew the terrain like the back of his hand. Large stones and collapsed trees served as stairs as he bounded up the slope. The ridge where he had dodged Valefar’s arrows waited at the top. If he could make it into the trees, he might have a chance. He dashed up the slope.

  “He is mine.” Grigori’s voice issued from behind the visor in a guttural rumble.

  “Not if I get to him first,” said Jequn.

  The huge angel pounded up the steep incline, crushing timber beneath gigantic boots. Jequn raced ahead of him. She skipped along the natural staircase and vaulted onto the ridge. From high in the canopy, Dustan observed their progress. The armored monstrosity lumbered along a deer trail near the edge of the ridge; Jequn sped out of sight farther down. He needed to take them on one at a time. The woman would riddle him with bullets if she came on him while engaged with beastman.

  A few more feet, big guy.

  Grigori stomped toward his position, poking his hammer into the brush. He paused and tilted his huge head as if listening before looking up. Dustan leapt from his perch, Blood Dancer aimed point down, and drove the tip into the angel at the shoulder. The blade plunged through gray steel plate, severing his clavicle and pushing below the right lung. The monster’s groan increased to an enraged roar. A metal hand with spiked knuckles clutched Dustan’s throat before he could jump away and lifted him into the air, his feet dangling three feet off the ground.

  He grasped the giant’s wrist with both hands and tugged. Immobile, the arm would not budge. Dustan reached out and grabbed Blood Dancer’s hilt. It, too, stuck fast. A soft crunch signaled his windpipe collapsing. He doubted such an injury would heal, at least not before Grigori flattened his skull with the hammer. The giant pulled him close, breath streamed hot into his face. The angel’s teeth ground with the exertion of holding Dustan aloft and t
he desire to squeeze his head off.

  Dustan wiggled both feet onto the angel’s chest and kicked out with all his strength. Grigori tumbled backwards, dropping both Dustan and his hammer as he plummeted over the lip of the ridge. Dustan struggled to breathe as he stepped to the cliff’s edge and looked down. Grigori floundered in the river, his heavy armor slowing his ascent onto the bank, Blood Dancer still protruding from his enormous body. Dustan knew Jequn would double back any second. He hoisted the unwieldy hammer. Even with his enhanced strength, he could never swing the thing. The angel had almost gained the water’s edge.

  Here goes nothing.

  Dustan sprang from the cliff, trying to hold the hammer erect as he fell. In the end, he did not need to swing the hefty weapon: Its full weight, aided by the velocity of his descent, connected with Grigori’s helm, smashed his head to mush. Taking no chances, Dustan wrenched Blood Dancer free and drove it into the monster’s heart. The subsequent explosion of such a powerful angel sent him sailing through the air. Momentarily blinded and disoriented, Dustan frantically felt the area around him for his sword.

  A splash followed by the patter of footfalls in shallow water forewarned of the second assassin’s approach. His fingers curved around Blood Dancer’s hilt an instant before bullets ricocheted off the stone at his sides. Sparks and shards of stone showered him, slicing a dozen gashes head to toe. Dustan rolled off the rocks, keeping them between himself and the angel. Jequn, a skilled warrior, appeared to be a novice with a gun—her aim left much to be desired. But Dustan was thrilled with her poor targeting. Still, at 600 rounds per minute, she didn’t need to be Annie Oakley to spray him full of holes with the thing.

  With his back braced against the outcropping, Dustan tried to think of some way out of this mess. Blood Dancer trembled in his hands as sweat poured down his face. He could attempt an orb, but she might hit him when he broke cover. An elite guard, she might well knock down the attempt as Ariel had. Nothing left but to break a promise. Hopefully, Shax would forgive him the indiscretion under the circumstances. Dustan focused his energy and opened a portal.

  Dammit.

  The gateway materialized three feet outside his concealment. He took a couple of quick breaths, braced his hands behind him, and pushed up. Jequn opened fire as his head popped out from behind cover. He flew through the air and disappeared into the portal.

  Dustan landed hard on an ice shelf in the spirit realm. He assumed the entire outer edge of the realm must be a frozen tundra. Attempting to get his bearings, he scanned the area. The next portal lay roughly two hundred yards to his left. He broke into a sprint, mindful of his footing on the slick surface. When he was within a hundred yards of his destination, Jequn popped out of his intended gateway.

  Goddammit. Can’t I catch a break?

  His quick pivot spun him like a top, the world whirling past in a blur of motion. Once the spin came to a rest, he raced for the portal from which he entered the spirit realm. Jequn was gaining, and fast. Her Uzi would not work here, mercifully, but in spirit form, she was much faster, and now flew toward him with amazing speed. Fifty yards left to go. Dustan felt the angel closing, but dared not glance back and slow his progress.

  “I’ll cut out your coward’s heart,” yelled Jequn.

  Her voice sounded right in his ear. He wasn’t going to make it.

  The ice smacked him in the face as he dove onto the frozen surface. Flat on his stomach, he jetted forward. Jequn, aiming for his head, soared right past as he fell low. He dragged his right arm along the ice and aimed his slide toward the portal. The angel had turned and would be on him in seconds. Dustan brought his knees under him, skated a few more feet, and sprang toward the gateway…with Jequn latched to his back.

  They reentered the human realm, crashing into the river a short distance from where they had departed. Both splashed in the current, clawing and punching. Jequn kicked off Dustan and swam for the surface. He recovered from a thump to his forehead and right cheek, caught an ankle, and yanked her toward him. With a hand on each shoulder, he shoved her into the muck on the river bottom.

  Blood Dancer flamed and sizzled in the water. Jequn surfaced, brought up the Uzi, and fired wildly. Bullets showered the ridge, bank, and river, three managing to punch into his left deltoid and upper chest. Blinding pain laced through him. With water coating her eyes, Jequn blinked rapidly and spun her head. Dustan dove beneath the surface before she could locate him. The angel floated a few feet away. He mustered all the force the river’s restriction allowed and thrust the blade into her chest. His head broke the surface, gasping for air. The expression of shock and horror stole the beauty from her face.

  The blast hurled Dustan onto the bank where he lay thanking every god ever imagined. Blood still leaked from the holes in his chest. He felt along his back and pulled away a red hand. Good. Through and through on one or two, hopefully all three. He wasn’t certain if the wounds would heal, not if the bullets remained in his body. A worry for later. Right now, he wanted to catch his breath, calm his frantic pulse, and stare blankly at the sky.

  18

  The Dancer

  Shax joined Dustan at the cabin that evening. He seemed in a rather good mood and went into great detail about his tryst. Dustan knew the demon did not appear as a dwarf in his own realm, but the mental image of his friend in the throes of some perverted act made him both wince and chuckle. All the bullets had passed cleanly through Dustan’s shoulder and chest, so he healed no worse for wear. A stiffness lingered for a time whenever he lifted his arm, and his muscles ached all over; still, he survived, the only thing that mattered in the end.

  A squirrel perched on a limb outside the window nibbled on a nut and glared at him as if he had done something to offend the creature. It swished its bushy tail and pranced up the tree. Dustan felt certain the little bastard gave him the finger on the way up. Why did everyone and everything seem to want on his bad side lately?

  With no further visits from Zaphkiel or his assassins, Dustan managed to rest over the next few weeks. Shax popped in from time to time, but for the most part, everyone left him in peace. He thought he could get used to this, become a mountain man, grow his beard down to his waist, live off fish and game, and forget the world beyond the forest existed. No such luck—Shax showed up giddy one morning and tore Dustan from his reverie.

  “Got a big one for you, lad. We’ve been after this bitch for ages. Master at hiding though, ain’t spotted her in one place more’n once for as long as I can remember.” Shax grabbed a beer from the fridge and shambled over to a recliner. He plopped down, sending a cloud of dust into the air. “Bloody hell, boy, when you going to clean this cave?”

  Dustan ignored the dig. “Who is it?”

  “Going by Kyra. Not an angel name I ever heard of.” He slurped down the beer and let out a raucous belch.

  “What’s so special about this one?” asked Dustan, waving the odor away.

  Shax fixed his eyes on his beer can. “Well…she’s different is all. Might even look strange to you. Like her aura could appear an odd color…or something.”

  “Come on Shax, spill it.” Dustan playfully tossed a pillow at the dwarf.

  He caught it, popped it behind his head, and tapped his dangling feet against the chair’s legs. “She’s, uh, killing humans aligned with us.”

  Dustan’s head shot around. “What? I thought that wasn’t possible. You can’t kill humans.”

  “Yeah, well, I guess she figured out a way.”

  “I always thought it odd you couldn’t. I mean when you are in human form, walk right up and stab them or something. Angels have no problem trying to kill me.” He noticed the squirrel had returned, its beady eyes burning a hole through him.

  “You’re part spirit, so there’s a loophole there. Told you before, trying to kill a human violates some sort of cosmic law or something. Like magnet repulsion. Try to force two similar poles together and they repel each other.”

  “Shoot them.”
<
br />   “Doesn’t work, been tried.” Shax scratched behind one ear. “You know those taser guns? The ones shoot out cords with electrodes on the end?”

  “Yeah.” Dustan wondered where this headed.

  “Well, if’n we shoot a human it’s like those things, only the shock goes both ways—the one hit and the one holding the gun. Both end up in the Void.”

  Dustan rubbed the back of his neck and nodded. “What makes this angel different?”

  Shax waved a dismissive hand. “Hell if I know. Ask Geras. What’s with the twenty questions? I gave you a target. You’ve never put me through the inquisition before.”

  “Sorry. Calm down.” Dustan appraised the irate demon. “What’s got your panties in a bunch?”

  “Ah, bollocks. Cranky in my old age, lad. Aamon’s bearing down on everyone lately. Crawling up asses, and mine seems his favorite.” Shax had yet to look up from his drink. He shook it, a few remaining drops swishing against the aluminum.

  “No worries.” Dustan mustered a smile.

  “Oh, your tux is at the house in Atlanta.” Shax grinned.

  “Tux? Why do I need a tuxedo?”

  “You’re going to the ballet.” The demon bounced out of the chair, attempted a pirouette, toppled face first onto the floor, and laughed himself silly.

  Atlanta’s Academy for Ballet and Dance staged quarterly events for the city’s wealthiest patrons. A celebrated troupe, many of its performers went on to New York and San Francisco. Tonight, their performance at the Downtown Center for the Arts would be the last of the year. Built only two years prior, the Center boasted state-of-the art acoustics and lighting within an impressive structure. Based on the Opera Bastille, the exterior rose in resplendent glass and sharp-angled metal, gleaming in the sun or night spotlights. The interior merged old-world, elaborate woodwork with modern architecture.

  Dustan tugged at the collar of this tuxedo. Unaccustomed to formal wear, he felt like a penguin, complete with waddle. He located his box on the left side of the mezzanine and stood in the shadows out of an abundance of caution. Plus, the sword strapped to his back would not allow him to sit. From two stories above the main floor, he gazed out over the auditorium. The ostentatious glint of oversized jewels adorning necks, heads, and hands mixed with the gaudy décor. Colorful abstract murals encircled a gigantic chandelier hanging from the domed ceiling. A constellation of lights shone throughout the hall in a dazzling array.