At The Gates ds-3

by Tim Marquitz

  Finally, when I could scream no more, I let my voice trail off. I took a minute to regain my composure before joining them.

  “We’re in way over our heads. Let’s go talk to Abe.”

  His expression wary, but agreeable, Katon nodded.

  Through the gate at my house, we arrived at DRAC after just a few minutes. We appeared in the secure entry room where every portal into the main DRAC headquarters is funneled. A silver pentagram was inscribed on the floor, its points surrounded by the summoning circle we’d use to port in. Carved into the walls was a massive array of defensive wards designed to take out most any supernatural threat. I’d never known their specific use, and would happily live my life without seeing the business end of them.

  Hidden alongside the wards were a number of jets that could fill the room with poisonous gas in seconds. To top it all off, the ceiling was a thirty ton weight, powered by a massive system of hydraulics, designed to be dropped on unsuspecting enemies, turning them into jelly. That one always made me nervous.

  My focus was on the roof until the security scans finished, and the door, set flush with the walls, swung open with a whoosh to let us into DRAC proper. Chivalry and consideration saved for when I wasn’t at risk of being smooshed, I hightailed it out of the chamber as fast as I could, nudging past the security officer standing outside.

  “I’m with him.” I pointed to Katon and kept walking. The officer sighed and stepped aside, not bothering to argue. He knew me.

  Through the labyrinthine halls, we made our way to Abraham’s office, sans Michael. He’d gone off to rally his men. Given the widespread nature of the strange storm, he was gonna have his hands full trying to keep this one under wraps.

  Having spent a while sleeping on the couch in Abraham’s office while my house was rebuilt, it felt almost like coming home. I barged in without knocking. The decadent scent of old knowledge wafted out to greet me. Rows upon rows of old books stood neatly arranged on a handful of shelves along the back wall. They ran the gamut from magical tomes to historical texts, encyclopedias to archaic religious works. Many of them were so rare as to exist only here, in this room. They were Abraham’s pride and joy.

  Unlike his desk, which looked like an orphan from Clutterville, dozens of stacks of manila folders and papers littered its face. His computer was covered in a colorful assortment of sticky notes. Tiny black slivers of his monitor showed through between them, here and there.

  Abraham peeked out from behind the piles and gave us a grim nod, mustering a weak smile for Scarlett. His glasses amplified the green of his eyes and he stared at us with subtle apprehension twitching across his face.

  He’d taken to shaving his head. Most of his white hair having gone to pasture already, it made him look younger, more vital. The consummation of his relationship with Rachelle Knight, the third member of DRAC’s triumvirate of power, a powerful mystic in her own right, had helped, no doubt.

  “Judging by the looks on your faces, this isn’t a social call.”

  With a huff, I dropped into one of the large chairs out in front of his desk as Scarlett sat in the other. Katon stood behind her, his posture uncharacteristically protective. While a bit surprised by Katon’s show of propriety, I put it out of my head. There were more important things to worry about.

  “Is it ever?” I answered.

  Abraham shook his head, forced to agree. We caught him up on everything, starting with Scarlett showing up at my door and ending with the storm. When we were done, he slid his glasses off, dropping them on the desk, and sat back in the chair with one hand rubbing at his temple.

  “This isn’t good.”

  That, ladies and gentlemen, is why he’s in charge.

  “Ever hear of anything like that?”

  “No. It’s an anomaly we’ve yet to encounter.” He motioned beyond the door. “Rachelle sensed a mysterious building of energy minutes before you say the storm struck, though she had no idea what created the flux. Your information might help us determine its cause and at least now, we’ll know when one is building.”

  “For all the good it’ll do us. That thing took out four city blocks in the time it took me to scratch my ass, Abe. A minute or two isn’t gonna give us time to evacuate anyone, let alone defend against it.”

  “Some warning is better than none, Frank. We’ll take what we can get.” He waved me to silence, turning to look at Scarlett. “Could this have something to do with Gabriel’s assault upon Eden?”

  She sat silent for a moment, and then shrugged. “It’s possible, though I’m not sure how. He and Michael are on the front lines, and have been since the attack began. Uriel and Forcalor would crush their forces should either of the archangels withdraw from the field.”

  Abraham exhaled slow as he clearly pondered everything he’d learned. “I’ll gather what forces we have available, but they will hardly be adequate for Uriel’s purpose. I’m sorry. I wish I could tell you otherwise.”

  “I understand,” Scarlett replied with a fractured smile, her voice little more than a whisper. Katon gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, smiling down at her.

  “What about Baalth?” Abraham asked me.

  “He’s got the power for sure, it’s just whether there’s something in it for him. He’s not gonna jump to save Heaven unless it advances his interests, especially considering the history there. I don’t see him being excited enough to pitch in on this one.”

  “It can’t hurt to ask.”

  I chuckled, thinking about just how much it could hurt to ask. “I’ll see what he says.” Or throws, or kicks, or burns. Just recently free of all my obligations to Baalth, I wasn’t looking forward to mortgaging my ass to him again.

  “Find out what you can about the Nephilim,” Abraham said, turning to Katon. “Their gathering near Eden cannot be a coincidence. Perhaps they know something that will aid us.”

  Katon slowly reclaimed his hand, nodding to Scarlett who returned a wan smile. He looked reluctant to leave. After a moment of tense silence he did, closing the door loudly behind him.

  Abraham raised an eyebrow Spock-like, but said nothing. He didn’t have to. He was king when it came to speaking without words.

  “This can’t all be a coincidence, can it?”

  Abraham shook his head. “I don’t believe so, but without more information, there’s no way to be sure. I’ll start gathering our people. Perhaps by the time we’re ready, we’ll know more.”

  Frustrated that we were just as much in the dark as we were when we’d arrived, I said goodbye to Abraham, intent upon scampering off to Old Town. Scarlett tagged along looking like a lost puppy dog.

  After we’d scrounged her up some clothes to wear, I stopped off at the armory and re-equipped myself, swiping a pair of guns and plenty of ammunition-the DA slayers-and made for the portal room.

  It was never a bad idea to have an arsenal when going to visit Baalth.

  Chapter Four

  After gating through the closest portal to Baalth’s territory, we emerged from an alley onto the dusty streets of downtown El Paseo. A short walk later, we slipped across the invisible boundary into Old Town a few hours before dawn.

  Most of the late night revelers were already done, gone home or passed out in some darkened alley. The morning crews had yet to get out of bed.

  We skirted what was left of Fiesta Street, the major party area of Old Town, and were surprised to find the street quiet; eerily so.

  Though, in retrospect, considering Baalth had set off the magical equivalent of a nuke smack dab in the center of Old Town just a couple weeks back, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.

  Nothing says go the fuck home like an uncontrolled detonation of magical energy.

  In a moment of weakness, his men assaulted and kidnapped in the heart of his territory, Baalth had lost it. He left behind a smoking crater several blocks in radius as a reminder of his power. He’d paid to rebuild it, though the work had only just begun. While he could pay to keep the citizen
s silent, trust was a lot harder to buy. It’d be a while before Fiesta Street lived up to its name again. Damn shame, I tell ya.

  A bunch of the buildings at the edge of ground zero were nothing more than burnt out husks, and that was being charitable. Those that had stood closer to the epicenter stood no longer. Rubble and gathered detritus clogged the open spaces, much of it pushed into teetering piles that rose up ten feet high in places. The asphalt of the roads had been melted during the conflagration, and now that they’d cooled, they were marred by wavy rivulets like those at the bottom of a creek. The sidewalks had buckled, pitched up as though they were a tiny mountain range.

  We made our way around the rubble and ruin, skirting piles of trash as we made our way further into Old Town. As we reached the evacuated section just beyond the ring of destruction, it felt as though we were traveling through a third world country. Most of the windows were shattered and there were scorch marks seared black onto the brick faces of the buildings. The only thing missing was the whistle of incoming artillery and the propaganda leaflets.

  None of the streetlights worked, and though I could see well enough, the gloom weighed on me. There was a palpable sense of death in the air, my skin prickling under the pressure. It was like walking into a graveyard during a full moon. You never quite saw what lurked in the shadows, but you sure as Hell knew something was there.

  Beside me, Scarlett drew a quick breath and her hand went to her sword. That’s when I realized I hadn’t just imagined the feeling. The feral growl that rumbled through the darkness confirmed it.

  Gun in hand, Scarlett at my side, we turned to face the sound. From a nearby alley, the harsh scrape of something sharp dragged across the asphalt was preceded by a looming bulk that strode from its depths.

  Scarlett gasped and took a step back as I craned my neck to see all of the behemoth who trundled into the street. I did a double-take as my mind struggled to register what my eyes were seeing. Not remembering having had a drink recently, what I saw didn’t make sense.

  It was a bear, but not like any I’d ever seen before. It was a werebear. Smokey had nothing on him. Right around then, the only thing I wanted to help prevent was me shitting my pants.

  Almost ten feet tall, and easily as wide as the alley, it was a mountain of muscle under a thick coat of glistening brown fur. Its deep-set eyes simmered with reddish light as it hunched to look down at us, its stubby snout screwed up in a wicked smile. Its shoulder rippled as it raised a massive paw in our direction. Dagger-like claws gleamed in the oppressive dimness as it rumbled a gravelly challenge.

  Unable to tear my eyes from the furry hulk, I almost missed the shades that slithered from the alley behind him. My senses rattling my brain like a scorned wife with a frying pan, I dared a quick glance their direction, realizing they were what I had felt.

  The sorry remnants of my courage made a mad dash for my ass.

  Their sharpened eyeteeth a dead giveaway, the three vampires eased alongside the bear. Used to the suave darkness of Katon, it was as though they were a completely different breed. Their sallow faces were long, with severe features that jutted from their skulls at sharp angles; a building block set with too many triangles. Yellow eyes seethed in narrow sockets as brittle smiles fractured their lips. Their lithe limbs swayed in time to music I couldn’t hear, kinda like a crack-head in need of a fix.

  A gravel-throated voice yanked my eyes back to the furred monstrosity.

  “Someone’s been pissing in my Cheerios, and he’s right here.” The words roared from the werebear’s mouth, guttural and fierce. The withering heat of his gaze fell on me.

  Scarlett groaned and nudged my ribs, as if she’d suspected it was my fault all along. Taken aback, I could only shrug as my mind flitted through my memories to see if there was a bear in any of them.

  “If this is about that one time with the rug, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were related.”

  The big guy chuckled; at least I think that’s what it was. He could have been swallowing a squirrel.

  “You have no clue, do you?”

  “Not usually,” Scarlett answered for me over my shoulder.

  I just shook my head. Life was so much easier when the bad guys told me why they wanted to kill me rather than expecting me to guess. The onus of the monologue was on the bad guy. Doesn’t anyone read the damn handbook anymore?

  “You should have let the half-breeds take the little dove there.” He snorted toward Scarlett.

  One eyebrow raised, I cast a quick glance her way. “See? It’s not always me.” Curious as to why the Nephilim, the undead, and a lycanthrope wanted a piece of my cousin-all sexual innuendo aside-I chose the direct route. Though I have to admit, it was mostly because I couldn’t think of something witty to say. “Who are you and what do you want?” I really need to work on my social banter.

  The vampires hissed in slithery tandem, their rhythmic gyrations becoming agitated, though they stayed put. It was weird seeing them following the lead of a were-critter, as the two factions rarely mingled, let alone got along.

  As usual, something was going down and it wasn’t on me.

  The bear rose to his full height and widened his grin. “You’re a brave mutt; I’ll give you that. The name’s Grawwl.” He ran the meaty slab of his tongue over his razored teeth and leered down at Scarlett. “All I want is the angel. You can run along home, little man.”

  My ass weighed the cost of turning Scarlett over, but the negotiations stalled somewhere between my heart and my mouth. It wouldn’t be the first butt kicking I’d taken for her. I could only hope it wouldn’t be the last. “All I want is five minutes alone with Jessica Biel’s panties.” Cursed with a vivid imagination, it took a second to get back on track. “Much as I could use the peace and quiet, that’s not gonna happen.”

  “That’s okay.” He clapped his huge paws together. “I don’t mind doing this the hard way.” He lifted his chin and loosed a throaty roar, which set my ears to ringing.

  Minus the verbal theatrics, the vampires leapt to the attack, clearing the intervening twenty feet in an instant. Out of instinct, more than anything resembling rational thought, I darted off and put my gun to use.

  Three bullets slammed into the chest of the lead vamp, blowing jagged black holes through him. Wisps of smoke steamed from his back while he shrieked and twitched, clawing at the wounds. The other two ducked past and went for Scarlett as she circled away.

  Before I could fire on them, the shadows overhead thickened and I heard a whoof of breath to my side. That’s when Grumpy Bear plowed into me. While I’d expected him to take a shot at me as soon as I was distracted, I hadn’t factored in his speed.

  A bright light flashed before my eyes and when I opened them, the world spun in a streaked blur around my head. There was a vague sense of weightlessness and motion, which came to a sudden end as the ground rushed up to meet me.

  The bone-jarring impact snapped me back to my senses as tremors traveled the length of my extremities, my fingers and toes tingling. I rolled to get my bearings and was suddenly aware of the searing lines arcing across my upper back. Pain flooded over me, a whitewash of sensory overload. Had it not been for the lingering jelly-brain from my crash landing, I’d have probably passed out. As it was, it was hard to focus, though things could have been worse; he could have bitten me.

  I’d seen a demon contract lycanthropy once. It’s something I’ll never forget.

  His natural regeneration fought against the infection for days, the two waging a virulent war at the genetic level. There’s nothing like watching a body rot from the inside, pustulant boils erupting with rancid, tar-like blood and gooey red pus. To a symphony of gargled screams, the demon’s eyes had boiled from their sockets as his face blistered, then ruptured, oozing away from his skull. His cries lasted only a few moments after that. I still hear them in my sleep sometimes.

  Not wanting to be that guy, I got to my feet, my knees quavering. My eyes refused to look the same direc
tion. Through my right, I saw Scarlett flitting between the vampires, obsidian blurs trailing in the wake of her sword. She was holding her own. Lucky her.

  Out of my left, I saw Grawwl, a toothy smirk on his muzzle as he wiggled his claws, stained in my blood. A few feet in front of him, silhouetted by the bear’s dark bulk, was the furious face of the vampire I’d shot.

  Fangs came at me howling as I closed my right eye and raised my gun to meet him.

  Or I would have, had it still been in my hand.

  Undeterred by my imaginary show of force, the vamp barreled into me, sinking his sharpened fingers into the deep gouges of my back. Bright dots welled up in front of me as I dropped straight down to avoid him nuzzling my neck. I whipped my legs up underneath him. Caught off guard, my foot up his ass, he was flung past me, his momentum turned against him. There was a pissed off hiss as he rebounded off the concrete and skittered into the mounds of debris, but he was the least of my worries.

  I got to my feet just as Grawwl dropped to all fours and rumbled forward, the knot of muscles at his back coiled. With nowhere to go to escape the charge, I summoned my energies and squared my shoulders. Grumpy just laughed, frothy white spittle emphasizing his apparent disdain for my magic. What little hope I had took a dump and trickled warm down my leg alongside my confidence.

  It was times like this when I wished I’d taken my uncle up on his offer to become the Anti-Christ, but no, I had to be all self-righteous and give up my inheritance and the power that came with it. At least I’d get a good epitaph for my supposed integrity.

  I looked to Scarlett and saw she’d taken out one of the vamps, but was still busy with the other one. Things didn’t look good; for me.

  Right then, I caught a flash of movement out the corner of my eye. Grawwl hesitated as his gaze shifted toward the motion. His smirk morphed into a sneer.

  Out of the shadows, between the buildings, stepped an old man. Wild gray hair flowed over the bronzed plates of his battered armor. He wielded a gilded broadsword with intricate rune work etched down the length of the blade and woven into the hilt and pommel. His face was like a worn leather hide, deep wrinkles streaked throughout, etched by time. Two fierce blue eyes glimmered from lined and sunken sockets, crow’s feet gone pterodactyl at the corners.