Demorn: City of Innocents (The Asanti Series Book 2)

by David Finn

  Demorn rubbed her face, laughing. She could hear the dry laughter of the Pain Goddess Mictecaciuatl, a last shuddering breath of life. The raw sadness had passed, the aura of the corrupt souls broken briefly by the explosion, but she guessed it would be a temporary reprieve.

  ‘As long as the Club is still taking ten percent, I guess I do feel a measure of excitement.’

  Alex pointed her knife at the burning symbols upon the bars.

  ‘So what does it say?’

  Demorn was wry.

  ‘Leave or be damned. Does that make you happy now, Alex?’

  Alex’s face whitened slightly. ‘It will once we leave.’

  Demorn examined the golden idol, her eyes flashing as she turned it over in her hands. She brushed her fingers across the tiny golden belly. She could feel the indent in the gold where her katana had split it open.

  On instinct, Demorn pressed the idol’s tiny jeweled eye. A blue series of rectangles flashed in front of them. The images blurred and mixed together, before aligning into a straight laser corridor, hissing in the dark of the crater.

  ‘I just found the exit button,’ Demorn said softly.

  She looked through the hazy laser corridor. A great rotten skull arose in the blue lasers, shimmering, beckoning her to go after it. A lethal feeling of great danger and evil came from this murky skull, repellent and bitter.

  But she was used to facing evil. Xalos felt light and deadly in her hand. Alex was by her side. There was steel flickering in her blue eyes, too.

  Guard Dog was howling, in a mixture of fear and anticipation and bravado.

  ‘This really has been our best Team Up,’ Alex said.

  Demorn nodded. She could feel the tattoo burning vividly on her skin, as she knew Alex would. Every Innocent had been marked by the Goddess, Alodin Mars, inside the holy Cavern. Time seemed to slip away, she could almost see the Goddess materialize in front of her, in the wild forests of Firethorn, in the clear river where she had died and been reborn. She could feel the Goddess injured on the Spire, bleeding out with a spear through her gut, dying in the wrong dimension, with everything distorted, reality collapsing.

  She was back in the ice cavern, where the power had first truly possessed her, magic drenching her body and soul, changing her forever.

  Alex gripped her arm tightly. Demorn knew the Goddess still danced, still killed on foreign battlefields, no matter how deep inside the Dungeon they had come. Xalos was glowing, a trail of purple fire and energy floating into the lasers, into the grim floating skull.

  ‘It’s connected to us, that floating fucking skull,’ Alex breathed. ‘It’s connected!’

  Demorn agreed. ‘We have to go. There’s no other way out for us.’

  Alex glanced at Demorn with those diamond eyes. ‘We might die, y’know, Holy One. We might become worm food. So you can have your mission kiss right now . . . if you want.’

  Demorn looked at her with a wry smile. Alex dipped her head slightly, her blonde hair long and beautiful, flashing in the lights, nothing about her exhausted or spent.

  Why resist? Demorn drifted close, Alex grasped her, and they kissed urgently. As always it felt good, packed with a hungry warmth.

  Their faces still pressed close, Demorn whispered, ‘Why do you call me Holy One?’

  Alex sighed, patting her cheek. ‘Always so deep, Fearless Leader.’ She paused for a moment. ‘You’ve got a little more magic in your heart than the rest of us.’

  They kissed again, more softly. Alex held two fingers up in a peace sign. ‘Promise not to try and kill you for a whole year if we live.’

  Demorn looked into the laser corridor. Everything seemed frozen. The skull flickered, hazy then clear, at the end of the shimmering tunnel. ‘Deal.’

  ‘Enough of this Bone Universe, this Grave,’ Demorn murmured. ‘Let’s kill this weird floating skull and go home.’

  ‘Fucking A.’

  Alex walked into the laser corridor, the light flashing over her white bodysuit, on every curve.

  Demorn trod softly in her wake, the katana light in her hands, following the thin crystal trail of light from the burning sword.

  3

  * * *

  The shattering pain of transfer, her mouth open and hollow in a silent groan.

  Electric blue stars span in a black sky.

  Wet sand to her hands. The howling bitter wind. Crashing violent surf.

  Demorn sucked in the cold air and it burnt her lungs. She leapt to her feet.

  Her shirt felt impossibly thin underneath the jacket. The portal sparkled and vanished, one last moment of horrors.

  She moved, tripping over a large body.

  She caught herself, and looked down, saw the face of Guard Dog, his body broken, neck snapped.

  Alex was nowhere to be seen. It was deep night. Where the hell was she?

  The raging sea held no answers, just a perfect stillness in the chaotic, unforgiving fury. Her blazing eyes searched the night horizon, a thin blanket of stars.

  For a moment she believed that she hadn’t grown up, and her father and everyone she had ever loved was still close and waiting for her to return.

  But the wind was bitter and she knew she was a lot older than fifteen. Everyone she loved was either a corpse or ashes now, with faces she could no longer recall, no matter how hard she tried.

  A sharp sound of a pistol echoed through the night, the flash lighting up the bay window of a house on the hill above her. Seven shots in a row, each punctuated by a short measured pause. A good shooter working their way through a clip.

  Then silence and darkness. The waves thrashed and screamed.

  Demorn started running soundlessly across the hard sand, her eyes blazing, as the bitter wind howled around her.

  She approached the house with care. The rough trees came to a well-kept lawn. The bay window was shattered, light flooding out onto the grass.

  Alex lay spread-eagled across a rug, her pistol still in her enclosed hand. Demorn ran across the grass. Of course it had been Alex squeezing off those last shots.

  A huge red stain spread across Alex’s t-shirt. A desperate sadness gripped Demorn’s heart that her beautiful friend-lover-enemy was hurt.

  Alex opened her eyes and slowly and deliberately winked.

  ‘I’m not dead yet, Mighty One.’

  Demorn brushed her hand through the girl’s blonde hair, feeling how cold she was.

  ‘I came through last.’

  ‘Yeah, it was a rough landing, just my luck. But I’m hard to kill . . .’

  Demorn’s eyes darted around the room, seeing bodies scattered and splayed out. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.

  ‘Making every shot count . . . that always was your trademark.’

  The injured girl’s voice cracked as she laughed.

  Demorn kicked at the nearest dead body, saw the face, half rotted, crawling with maggots and disease. Sweet Goddess, nothing was alive here. Not even the hired guns.

  ‘What got you?’

  Alex spoke, her voice distant and wavering. ‘Something real fast, barely visible . . . same thing that got Dog, nicked me . . .’

  She raised her hand. Demorn saw a long red savage scratch across the back of it. Alex moved her lips in a crooked, sweet smile that was the opposite of the pain reflected in her ice blue eyes. With trembling fingers she stroked the golden necklace she wore, touching a small heart locket upon it.

  Quickly, Demorn opened the locket clasp and let the last of a noxious green liquid fall into Alex’s open mouth.

  The scratch faded and color came back to the face of the injured girl. Alex vainly opened her mouth to speak, but her eyes rolled and she fell into sleep, breathing soft and shallow.

  Demorn settled her on a nearby couch. She looked around the room, looking for signs, anything to tell her where she was.

  It was somebody rich, somebody who had bodyguards and expensive taste. An old style stereo was laid out by a mini-bar, vinyl records and an old-school turn
table.

  All the album covers looked classy, a succession of attractive older men in tuxedos, elegant women with big hair and big boobs, haunting eyeshadow and glossy red lipstick.

  His voice came from behind, dry and calm. ‘Do you enjoy prowling through a stranger’s record collection?’

  Demorn gave a tiny shrug, not turning, as she laid the records down. ‘I just like you’ve got a collection. I don’t know who these people are, though.’

  ‘It’s old music, from another world. Do you think you know me better now?’

  ‘Well, the women are very beautiful. I like old songs. I listen to Sinatra and old country songs.’

  ‘I see. How’s that working out for you?’

  The man’s voice had a touch of arrogance but it wasn’t unkind.

  ‘It’s good for the soul.’

  Demorn looked at him. Everything was perfect about him, except the face, with its sunken watery eyes and dying skin.

  He was shockingly half human, a skeleton with overripe, rotten flesh clinging to the bone.

  He wore an expensive black suit, a crisp white shirt and a beautiful gold Rolex watch. There was something eerily familiar about him.

  Magic and science covered him, hurting her eyes. There was nothing to see beneath. He was all surface, a mixture of corruption and a weird, businesslike sharpness beneath rotting flesh.

  Her fingers flew to her pistol.

  He raised his finger and a icy cold came over her arm. She could not move her hand. It ached from the horrible chill.

  He shook his head, tut-tutting.

  ‘Don’t try and kill me. As you can probably tell, people have tried, and it takes some doing.’

  He gestured to Alex on the couch, breathing deeply as she slept.

  ‘Your friend, she shoots first, she doesn’t ask questions. That’s OK, it’s probably why you brought her. But that’s not why you’re here.’

  She heard a sudden purring in her ear, freezing her blood.

  ‘I keep a Kaylin, a Ghost Panther, rescued her from the mess of the world you just left behind.’

  He held his finger up, drawing the beast to him.

  ‘I’m sorry for the scratch, but she did kill my bodyguards.’

  Demorn felt it move, a slight warmth brushing past her as it went to lie at his feet. A stunning beautiful snow-white Ghost Panther. A creature of myth.

  The ice faded from Demorn’s hand.

  She kept her voice steady, ‘It’s all right, I fixed it, she won’t die. Who the hell are you and where am I?’

  He pressed his palm into the suit. ‘Me? I’m Duke Pain, welcome to my home.’ He held his hand in a friendly manner. ‘And you?’

  Despite herself, she lightly blushed as she took it.

  ‘I’m Demorn, an old friend of yours. We haven’t met yet.’

  He smoothed his suit out, looking impeccable and slightly amused.

  ‘Ah, I see. Or rather, we hadn’t.’

  The water was smooth and clear. It was still cold, but the sun would soon come up.

  The two of them sat on a balcony deck high up in his house, glass windows sheltering them from the harsh winter wind.

  His house was very beautiful, full of fragile things, sleek treasures. If she had known anything about art, Demorn was sure she would have been impressed.

  As it was, she only knew he had what seemed like good taste. He sat there, slowly drinking his wine while she sipped a diet Coke.

  She gazed out over the bay, the forests clustered around the ocean and the house.

  ‘It sure is beautiful here.’

  He nodded. ‘It’s nice, it’s empty, just me.’

  ‘And your bodyguards.’

  He smiled, the tight skin stretching over bone. ‘They respawn. Almost mindless, all six of them. It’s useful for the occasional intruder from the dungeon portal.’ He paused. ‘Nothing has ever managed to kill them all before.’

  She shrugged. ‘Alex is very talented. One of the best.’

  Demorn got up, pressing her hands against the cold window. She felt strangely relaxed and at peace. It felt as if she hadn’t stopped since Dead Day. She’d just kept shooting, controlling Bone with the ice ring, hanging on to the shreds of a life.

  The Dungeon had been the final lap of punishment at the end of a long tour of hell.

  Here was quiet, a bay window view, no more ice in her heart.

  Demorn massaged her neck, thinking of everything that lay behind her, how easy and convenient it would be to cut loose, go anywhere, anywhere but back to the Grave.

  The Duke spoke from his chair, his voice calm. ‘Demorn, this isn’t what you want. It’s lonely and it’s cold . . . and it’s defeat.’

  She kept looking at the calm waves. ‘You don’t know me. You don’t know what I want.’

  He got up out of his chair, and came to the window. He looked sad.

  ‘Maybe. But you don’t like losing and you’re searching for something. This isn’t a place you come to find anything new. This is the end of the line.’

  He pointed to the trees, as the sun lit them up, rising above the sea. ‘You know what is over that hill?’

  She looked into the trees, rolling up the low mountain. ‘Less expensive real estate?’

  His voice was hollow. ‘Nothing, there’s nothing there. This is all just a bonus level, a little piece of alternate reality.’

  She looked away from the forest. ‘What do you mean? You make it sound like a video game.’

  ‘I escaped Dead Day in my own universe.’

  She closed her eyes, flashing to Kate and Chicago. ‘How?’

  His voice was soft and smooth. ‘What do you mean how? People died like ants, reappearing as the mindless creatures of bone. It was hopeless, it was chaos.’

  As he spoke, Demorn watched the ocean. She saw a huge skeleton ship appear on the calm ocean water, ghostly and strange. The sails of the ghost ship billowed as it caught the wind and headed out to sea, disappearing into the morning mists.

  She ached and suddenly want to be home again, wherever that was now.

  ‘I mean, where were you?’

  ‘Long story. I was in the Dungeon, trying to chain the Dark God in a prison pit . . .’

  Thunder rumbled outside and lightning crackled across the sky. Instinctively, Demorn’s fingers flicked in ritual wards against evil.

  ‘I will not say his true name, he is buried too shallow, and I am no god,’ the Duke said, coughing, sounding old and tired.

  He looked at her deeply. She could see his face wasn’t true evil at all. It was a sickness, a curse, to be left at the final border between the last flickering of life and the true rot of death.

  ‘It is so much closer to a game than you will ever know,’ he said softly.

  Understanding flickered in Demorn. ‘I’ve seen a lot in my travels. You’d be surprised at what I know and what I would believe.’

  He smiled, his face that hideous mixture of death and good looks. ‘Maybe I would, Demorn.’

  He stirred and looked enthusiastic. ‘The spells worked, the ones I bound to him. Barely, but they worked. The Dark God hasn’t risen. We only lost this dimension.’ His voice faded away, hurt palpable in his tone.

  Demorn was quiet. ‘What about you?’

  He waved his perfect hand. A skull ring flashed on his hand, previously invisible, burning with silver script and red glowing eyes. ‘Escaped alive. Sort of.’ He smiled bitterly. ‘I go down with the ship, Demorn, rotted face and all. A side effect of the spells we cast.’ He raised his glass and gulped down the dark bitter wine. ‘I get to savor the quiet life. I get to taste the wine.’

  ‘Jesus!’ Demorn swore, her hand smacking the glass window. ‘This is so fucking depressing. I’m cold! I don’t even like wine. You’ve successfully totally talked me out of wanting to stay here.’

  The Duke smiled. ‘Sorry for being so morbid. There are some things around here worth seeing. Your friend is going to be out cold for the next few hours. How ab
out we go for a stroll by the water?’

  She smiled. ‘Sure. Let me just freshen up. I came here expecting to kill whatever was through the portal, not to socialize and chat.’

  He laughed deeply and for a moment, he changed, and she saw a handsome man, about forty-five, a slight touch of salt and pepper through his short hair.

  He looked easy going and secure in himself. He flashed back to the walking half-living death.

  ‘The spell comes and goes, Demorn. I can fool some people who make it through the Dungeon. But not you, Demorn. You have sharper eyes than most.’ He looked at her with his ruined face and sad watery eyes. ‘So sharp.’ He flicked his hand in a slight gesture. ‘The bathroom’s upstairs.’

  She got out of the room fast, thinking that nothing could beat the desolation and the horrible sadness caught within him. He knew too much, had seen too much.

  As she walked up the carpeted stairs, she wondered if the years and the blood would ever bury her that far beneath the ground, long before the real death came.

  4

  * * *

  Demorn showered, the hot water washing away what felt like years of dirt and blood and dust. Everything was quiet and still, the soft hum of the heater the only sound.

  She got out and wrapped herself in a white bathrobe, clean at last. She examined her face in the mirror.

  The red jagged mark from the dungeon had faded away to a thin white line, and even as she watched it seemed to slowly heal, a faint reminder of the wound. Always, the faint reminder.

  Her invisible watch suddenly appeared on her wrist, flashing blue.

  Smile! At last!

  Ghost static rolled across the mirror in front of her. The video crackled and he phased through, suddenly glittering, his golden smile formed on the glass, flickering in and out.

  His voice was capricious, flippant and fun as ever. ‘Well, hello, O Fearless Sister!’

  ‘Hi, Smile,’ Demorn said, her voice cracking, as she watched his lips moving in the glass, classic light pink gloss upon his pretty mouth with the famous smile.

  He wore a wonderful Halloween mask over the rest of his face, materializing like some ancient demon from long-forgotten myth.