Heaven Help Us (Quincy Harker, Demon Hunter Book 7)

by John G. Hartness

  "Ummm, Mort?" I said. "A little help here?"

  Mort's voice, when it came to me from the floor, was weak and thready. "I'm not sure how much help I shall be, Detective. I seem to have more than one dislocated limb.”

  "Well, shit," I said. I looked at the nearest demon, a skinny little monster with four arms and three-inch claws on the end of four fingers on each hand. He grinned up at me and showed off a pair of fangs that dripped with green ichor. I grinned right back and put two .40 rounds from my Sig into his forehead.

  "Who's next?" I looked around at the assembled demons and heard Gabby draw and cock one of her pistols. "We probably can't send you all back to Hell, but which one wants to go first?"

  "I would suggest that you believe the human," Mort said as he staggered to his feet. I looked past the mob in front of me to see how he was doing, and he was in surprisingly good shape for a guy who was under a pile of demons less than a minute before.

  "You okay, Mort?" I asked.

  "I have certainly seen better days, but my need for a new meat-suit is not immediate. I do appreciate your concern, but your coming here was mostly unwarranted. I was merely allowing these boys to vent some of their frustrations before moving on to the real reason for my visit."

  "Which is?" Jo asked. She stepped forward to stand at my left elbow, her hammer slung across both shoulders and her hands draped over the handle.

  "I need information, and I am of the opinion that Terry has it."

  "Who's Terry?" Gabby asked, stepping up on the other side of me.

  "I'm Terry,” said an Asian man in an expensive suit seated at one of the tables near the stage. I hadn’t noticed him before on account of he wasn’t immediately trying to eat my spleen, but he certainly had my attention now. He stood up and buttoned his jacket, his long fingers delicate as they handled the sleek fabric. "Ter'i'math," he said, extending a hand to Gabby, then me, then Jo.

  We each shook hands with him. I was surprised to feel the strength in his grip, given his slight frame. He was built more like a fencer than a monster, with neat, close-cropped hair, no facial hair, and dark brown eyes. He stepped back to stand between us and Mort.

  "What can I do for you, Mort? It's been far too long since I've seen you in my establishment. Would you like a drink?"

  "No thank you, Terry. I'm here on business."

  "And from the looks of my staff, it might be unpleasant business indeed." He gestured at the gathered demons, most of whom were bleeding from split lips, had eyes swelling shut, and generally looked like they'd been through a war. At least one of the bigger ones was missing an ear, and a solid half dozen of them were not getting up from the floor.

  "Sorry about that," Mort said. His tone made it clear that he wasn't the least bit sorry about anything. "I told them I was here to see you, and they said you weren't here. I explained to them that I could see you sitting right there, and I was not leaving until we concluded our business, and things may have become heated from that point." Mort looked a tiny bit chagrined. "I did hope that you would make things easy and simply provide me with the information I desire."

  "Which is?" Terry asked.

  "The whereabouts of Orobas." If Terry had any reaction to Mort's desire, he didn't show it.

  "And why do you need to find Orobas?" Terry asked. I held my breath for the answer. My Sig was still in my hand, and I flexed my fingers on the butt of the gun.

  "To kill him. He murdered someone I care about, or his minion did, and since the minion is dead, my vengeance must be visited upon Orobas, and anyone who shelters him." I didn't miss the thinly veiled threat in Mort's words, and neither did Terry. But his only response was slightly raised eyebrows and a mild smile.

  "I'm afraid I can't give you that information, Mort. Orobas works for me occasionally, and it would be poor form to just hand him over freely. It also would hinder my operations here."

  "What operations are those?" I asked. Terry's gaze swung to me, and we locked eyes. I'd stared down junkies, murderers, gangbangers, vampires, and demons, but something in Terry was just different. It was like a whole universe floated behind his eyes, a depth of knowledge and power very different from anything I'd ever gazed upon before.

  "And what the hell are you?" I asked in a whisper.

  "I am an Agent of Chaos," he replied, addressing the last question.

  "A what?" Jo asked.

  "I care not for good or evil, as those are purely mortal terms, and subjective ones at that. After all, you cannot think that the Morningstar considers himself evil, can you? He certainly has all the characteristics of a hero. A failed relationship with his father, a long trip from home, a valiant failed effort to return home in spectacular fashion, extended torment far from the home he loves, then the inevitable attempt to return home again. Sounds just like a movie, doesn't it? It just needs more Jedi to make a franchise."

  "So you don't buy into the whole good and evil thing, I get it. But what is this whole Agent of Chaos thing?" Gabby asked, her eyes flicking from Terry to the demons surrounding us, then back again. She had that look on her face that said she really wanted to get back to shooting things, and I really didn’t want to deal with that at the moment.

  "I work to upend the status quo, regardless of what it is. If there is peace, I work for war. If there is war, I work for peace. Stasis is death, and boring besides. I am change, I am randomness, I am..."

  "You are droning on, Terry," Mort interrupted. I couldn't hide the chuckle, just like Terry couldn't hide the scowl that crossed his face for the briefest of seconds before flashing away.

  "My apologies, Mort. As I was saying, I can't give you Orobas's whereabouts so you can kill him because he is useful to me alive. Have a nice day." He turned to walk back to his table, apparently done with us.

  He stopped short at the sight of a slim man in a trench coat sitting at his table sipping a beer. "Sorry about the drink, friend. Proselytizing makes me thirsty," Watson said as he stood up. "But you can have your chair." He waved to the seat with a little bow.

  "You come into my place of business uninvited and drink my beer? You are a brazen one, human. Tell me, how would you like to learn to walk with two metal limbs?" Terry's hands were glowing with power, and I could hear the fury in his voice even if his back was to me.

  I raised my pistol and pointed it at the back of his head. Gabby did the same. "That would be a mistake, friend. Two rounds in the back of your head might not kill you, but it would fuck up that snazzy haircut you're sporting," I said as I pulled back the hammer on my Sig.

  Terry raised his hands and turned back to me. The purple glow around his hands was matched by one coming from his eyes, and the anger on his face was unmistakable. I had pissed off an Agent of Chaos in his living room. I used to think being around Harker made my life more dangerous. Now I was seeing the kind of trouble I could get into when he was gone.

  15

  I didn't turn around. I didn't need to. After enough decades, and enough fights, it just wasn't necessary anymore. "Coach Balomb, I presume?" I asked, still looking at the remains of the electrocuted demons on the living room floor. If this place was a rental, nobody was getting a security deposit back after tonight.

  "And you are Harold Quinn, or should I just call you Quincy Harker? Would you prefer Reaper? I hear that's something you've answered to in the past."

  Now I turned around. I was incognito, or at least I was supposed to be. So how did this fuckwad of a life-sucking demon in Dipshit, Ohio, know who I was? I looked him up and down. He wasn't anyone I'd fought before, at least not in his natural form.

  Human suits were apparently optional at Casa Balomb because this assclown wasn't doing anything to hide his demonic nature, either. He stood a little over six feet tall, with six-inch curved horns protruding from his gleaming crimson skull. His face was shaped more like a human than the other demons, but his lower jaw stuck out, and a pair of wicked tusks protruded up and rested against his cheeks.

  His torso was cove
red in black and red scales, making a shimmering suit of armor that I was glad I wouldn't have to try to stick a sword through, but which certainly made my pistol useless. He wore jeans, but no shoes, and his feet had the cloven hooves of the upper-level demonic horde. He wasn't an Archduke or anything like that, I would have felt the power in him then, but he wasn't going to go down to a lightning bolt, either.

  "You have me at a disadvantage, then, demon. You know who I really am, but I have no idea of your name." I kept it cool, drawing in my will so I would have enough power at the ready to react to whatever he threw at me.

  "You may call me Balomik. I am Ruler of the Second Circle, Master of Lust and Tempter of Mortals." He threw his arms open wide and black bat wings sprouted from his back, filling the room and knocking over a chair.

  "Really?" I asked, folding my arms over my chest. "Does Asmodeus know about this? I doubt he'd take the demotion kindly."

  Balomik looked startled, like I'd called him out on something huge. Which I had. Kings of Hell don't take lightly to lower-rung demons laying claim to their territory, and Asmodeus was a particularly jealous dude. Probably had something to do with being the actual King of the Second Circle and the Master of Lust. Kinda goes hand-in-hand with jealousy.

  "I mean, if you think he wouldn't mind, we can call him up. I'm sure if you're really the boss, you wouldn't have any trouble controlling a wimpy little piece of shit like Asmodeus." I whipped out my pocketknife and sliced open my thumb, then used the blood to draw a hasty, but slightly incomplete, circle around myself. Then I called up my will and started the ritual to summon a demon.

  Balomik's eyes went wide before the third word of Latin passed my lips, and he charged me. I sidestepped his bull-rush, then pressed my thumb to the floor as he crossed the line of my circle. I poured my will into the ring of my blood, snapping the containment spell into being and trapping the demon inside.

  "You bastard!" Balomik shrieked as his head crashed into the magical barrier. "Set me free this instant or I will tear your soul to shreds!"

  "I think that might be a bad idea for me, Bally. I'd probably be in way better shape if I just kept you trapped in this circle until Beth here calls the local Catholic priest and he jumps on his hotline to the Vatican and we get a fuckton of exorcists down here. How long do you think it will take them to get here? Six hours? Maybe four if they've got a helicopter nearby. And I bet they always have a helicopter nearby. You know The Church, they always have the coolest toys."

  "What do you want, Harker?"

  "What's the most valuable thing in the world, Bally? I want information."

  "Nothing's free, Harker. I'll tell you anything you want to know, but I'm going to want my freedom in exchange."

  "Not a problem," I said, ignoring the bulging eyes on my current partner.

  "What the hell are you saying, Harker?" Beth yelled. "There is no way I'm letting you set this demon loose! He killed my brother, and he's going back to Hell for it."

  "We don't know that," I said.

  "Oh, no, she's right," Balomik interjected. "I killed her brother. Freddy Kirkland, right? He was good. A lot of power in that little warlock. Tasty morsel. I skimmed a little cream off the top before I distilled his essence into the 'supplements' we gave the football team. Yummy."

  "Yeah, what's that all about?” I asked. "I get killing Talents, and I even understand sucking the magic from their souls and selling it, or using it to power up your meat-suits, or whatever. But making the high school football team better? That seems a little altruistic for your kind."

  "Let's not be speciesist, Quincy. I can call you Quincy, can't I? After all, we're buds now, right?"

  "I don't give a shit what you call me, assclown. Just answer all my questions and I’ll think about not telling Asmodeus that you’ve been claiming his crown."

  "Fine," he grumped. I was afraid for a minute that he was going to sulk and I wouldn't get anything else out of him. But he went on. "Jazzing up the football team wasn't my idea. I was just going to kill the Talents, bottle their essence, and sell it on the black market. I know a guy in Cincinnati that moves a lot of that type of product."

  "But..." I prodded.

  "But when I called up Jerry over there—" He pointed to one of the charred demons lying on the floor. "His name is Jeraxil, by the way. In case you care about the names of the men and women you sent fleeing back to Hell in unspeakable agony."

  "I don't." I didn't. Really. Couldn't possibly give less fucks about the well-being of any of the demons I've banished, battered, mutilated, or actually destroyed over the years. I feel more remorse about killing a black widow in Luke's garage. The spider at least isn't malevolent; it's just hanging around spinning webs in the wrong places. Demons are universally bad motherfuckers at heart, and every one of them would rather fuck you over than look at you.

  "I didn't expect you to," Bally continued. "So Jerry comes up with the idea of using a winning football team to rouse school spirit and get people distracted from the missing kids. He's a Demi-lord of Deception, really good at that kind of thing. So I went with it, and we started giving the team 'nutritional supplements.' All the kids that took them turned into super-athletes almost overnight. And suddenly nobody was paying attention to a bunch of missing nerds and malcontents."

  "My brother wasn't a malcontent!" Beth snarled.

  "No, that one was a huge nerd. Right down to his Deadpool boxers, sweetie. But he had a ton of magical energy. He singlehandedly won us that game against Martin Luther King Jr. High."

  "What's the end game?" I asked.

  "Don’t have one, really," Bally said with a shrug. I gave him a sharp look, and he raised his hands in protest. "I’m a demon, you dipshit. I saw a chance to fuck with some humans, and I took it. One day I was in Hell, working like a dog, then this portal opens up and it’s all blue skies and buckeyes, so I stepped through. And here I am. Look, all I know is I'm not in Hell poking some cheating husband in the balls with a pitchfork, and I don't plan to go back. So let me out of here and I'll vanish into the wilds of America. I hear Nebraska is nice this time of year."

  Whatever. This asshole was never going to get near a cornfield if I had anything to say about it, and I did. While it's not a good idea to lie to monsters as a general rule, you could bend the fuck out of that rule if you planned on killing or banishing the monster in the immediate future. And since I really hoped I wouldn't run into Bally after I died, all I needed to do was get him off this plane of existence to take care of him.

  "So you just wandered into town with a plan to kill off all the Talented humans?"

  “Not exactly. I wandered into town and decided to kill all the humans. But Jerry got here before I did, and he spotted all the Talents in town. When me and the rest of the boys showed up, Jerry came up with the plan.”

  “And you just did what Jerry said without caring who was in charge?” That didn’t fit with the hierarchy-obsessed demons I’d known in the past.

  "I didn't care who was the boss then and don't care now. Jerry and me got along good, and he let me be the human with the whistle. He got to make his nasty little plans, and I got to eat humans. Where I come from, we call that a win-win."

  Time for the million-dollar question. "Okay, asshat. One more bit of information, and you can get out of that circle. Who sent you here?"

  “No idea.” I stared at him, not believing a word of it. “Look, somebody opened a door out of Hell, and I took a fucking stroll, alright? I don’t know why, and I don’t know who. And frankly, I don’t give a fuck.”

  “So all this shit has nothing to do with what’s been going on in Charlotte? Or Orobas?” On the one hand, it meant that not every demon in the world was looking for me. On the other hand, it meant that somebody was just randomly setting demons loose on Earth. The bad in that scenario far outweighed the good.

  "Not everything revolves around you, Quincy my boy," the smug prick said with a grin.

  "No, sometimes things are all about other p
eople. And this is all about my baby brother, you fucking asshole." Beth's voice came from right behind my left elbow, and I turned to her just in time to watch her throw a fistful of something white at Bally.

  Salt. Fuck. Nothing disrupts magic like salt. This was gonna hurt.

  My mouth fell open as the magical barrier I had trapped the demon in flashed into view for a second, then popped like a soap bubble. I turned back when I felt something scrabbling at my jacket and stepped back as Beth reached under my arm and yanked my pistol free.

  "What the fuck are you doing?” I asked, my head swiveling from a suddenly free demon to an enraged English teacher.

  "What you obviously don't have the balls to do. I'm killing this son of a bitch." She raised my Glock in a two-handed grip and squeezed off six rounds at Balomik. The shots rang out, making my ears ring in the enclosed space, and three holes appeared in the demon's chest.

  But that's all. Just three little holes, roughly nine millimeters in diameter. No blood, no falling down, and certainly no dead demon on the floor. Balomik looked down at his chest, then looked back at Beth and grinned.

  "Ouch," he said, then took two steps forward and plunged his hand into the woman's chest. Her eyes went wide as the demon turned his hand sideways, then yanked it back out, taking three ribs, a huge chunk of flesh, and Beth Kirkland's heart with it. The demon looked me in the eye, brought the still-beating heart to its mouth, and bit a chunk out of the muscle, letting Beth's lifeblood pour down his chin and drip onto the floor.

  "Delicious," the demon said with a smile as Beth collapsed to the floor, dead before she even started to fall. "I love it when the meat is fresh."

  "In the name of—" My incantation was cut off short as Balomik backhanded me into a china cabinet. Dishes and silverware clattered to the floor around me as I slid down in a heap of shattered glass and stoneware.