There was a clatter, then a piercing shriek. The rear door of the house flew open as a brown feathered creature, like a bird-headed man, burst outside. Clawed feet extended from beneath its red silk pants. The tengu sprinted toward the river, cutting in Chaya's direction. She sprung from her crouch, scimitar raised to meet it.
"Get it!" Allan leaped up and ran toward her. He swung Ibenus and blinked forward a full meter before his foot hit the ground. He stepped, swung, and teleported again.
The tengu splayed its claws. Its shriek cut off as Chaya closed in, the silence bubble enveloping it. She swiped, but the beast hopped backwards, and then rushed in. She hacked downward, but the monster lifted an arm, taking the blow to its forearm. It slammed into her, sending them both sprawling.
"Chaya!" Allan cried. He was almost on them.
The demon scrambled atop her and raised its uninjured arm, talons out.
Allan launched himself toward it and swiped Ibenus, closing the distance. He hacked the khopesh, taking off the clawed hand before he hit the ground.
The demon's scream cut off as Allan fell outside of the Khirzoor's radius. He spun just as Chaya rammed the holy scimitar up under the tengu's ribs and out its back. Brilliant green fire spewed from its wounds, then erupted from its mouth and eyes. Chaya rolled it to the side and wrenched the blade free.
"You all right?" Allan asked.
Panting, she turned toward him. Demon fire flickered along her bloodied blade. "Yeah."
Luc ran out from the house, mace in his hand. He slowed as he saw them above the corpse.
Allan nodded to the demon, the ghostly flames spreading over it. "Good work."
Chaya averted her eyes, the only part of her visible through the mask. "I shouldn't have let it get me like that." She shook her head. "I'm sorry."
"Sorry?" Allan grinned. "No one's hurt. Demon's down. That's a success."
"She got it?" Luc asked.
"Damn right she did," Sam answered over the radio. "Caught it all on camera."
"We got it," Chaya said. "Allan had to save me."
Allan set a hand on her shoulder. "Should have seen my first kill. Just about shit myself. Don't worry about it. You were great." He looked around. The yard and willows were all lit green in the firelight. The windows across the river were still vacant, but for how long? "Come on. Let's get this thing inside before anyone sees."
Sheathing his weapon, Allan grabbed hold of its arms, one of them ending in a bloodied stump, and lifted as Luc took its feet. The emerald fire flickered between Allan's gloved fingers and up his forearms. Chaya fetched the burning claw from under a leafy bush and hurried off to the house, holding it before her like a lamp.
Luc gave a little shudder as they carried the corpse toward the back door, swinging between them like a sack of melons.
"What?" Allan asked.
"I hate the way it feels."
"What?" The blood and feathers made it slippery, and Allan had to fight to keep hold.
"The fire." Luc shook his head. "Like ants moving up my skin."
"It's your imagination. It doesn't feel like anything."
"No it isn't," the big man grumbled. "Maybe I'm just more sensitive than you."
Chaya ran back toward them, a blanket in her arms. "Here." She draped the blanket over the corpse, shading the weird light from the neighbors' view. The green firelight glowed on the ground beneath it, like some street racer.
"Thanks," Allan said, still fighting his grip. He stepped backwards up onto the tiny porch and through the open door. "Keep your ear to the scanner, Sam."
"Roger. Find me something pretty."
They swung the corpse onto a plush sofa. Burning feathers clung to Allan's bloodied gloves. He wiped them across the cushions, smearing the fire across the cream fabric.
"All right." Allan fought the growing urge to pull the mask off his face as he scanned the baubles and trinkets blanketing every surface of the lavishly cluttered home. Shards of the smashed front door littered the entryway. "Time for fundraising. Three minutes."
Chaya moved toward a hallway as Allan bent before a cabinet loaded with silverware. The meticulously organized stacks were composed of at least four different pattern designs.
"I found this." Chaya carried in a brown leather suitcase, likely top of the line fifty years ago, at least. It clinked as she set it down.
Allan flicked the brass locks and opened it. Dozens of men's belts, each rolled into a tight coil, filled the case. Some appeared old and worn, others old but never used. He noticed a tarnished swastika on one of the buckles, and again wondered exactly how long this tengu had been living in Amiens. "It's perfect." Allan dumped the belts out onto the floor.
"I'll check the bedroom," she said, hurrying off.
Allan opened the cabinet doors and began shoveling the silverware into the case. Master Turgen could tell him if any of the sets were valuable, but if not, the silver alone was reason enough to take them.
"Look here." Luc offered down a porcelain jar like he was offering Allan a cookie.
"Hello." Allan reached in picking a handful of rings. He accepted the jar and fit in into the suitcase. Luc handed him another, this one filled with necklaces. In ninety seconds a single tengu had far surpassed the total funds collected from demon nests in two years.
Luc moved to the kitchen and came back carrying a bottle of cooking oil. He unscrewed the cap and slung it out over the blanketed demon, the sofa, and poured the rest onto the rug.
After loading several more trinkets, Allan snapped the suitcase closed. "We ready?"
"Coming," Chaya's voice came from the hall and radio. She hurried in, a bulging orange backpack over one shoulder.
Luc removed a black rectangular device resembling a plastic hip flask from a belt pouch and fidgeted with it. After a few seconds he nodded. "Ready."
"All right." Allan reached for the pack. "Luc and I will carry these to the van and grab camera one. You pick up Two and Three and we'll meet you there."
"Me?" she said, a frown to her voice as she unshouldered the bag.
Allan grinned. "Price of your big debut."
Her dark eyes cocked but she remained quiet.
Allan checked his watch and gestured to Luc.
The big hunter twisted a knob atop the small bomb and dropped it onto the couch.
"Let's go." Allan was already moving. "Sam, we're on our way."
The two men hurried out the broken front door and across the yard. They stopped long enough for Luc to remove a camera from the wrought iron fence before they passed through a gate and over the canal.
Allan couldn't help but smile. If this was his last hunt beside Luc, it couldn't have been a better one. They neared the shadowy place where they'd parked the van and Allan's smile vanished.
The door was open.
Allan yanked Ibenus from her sheath. The suitcase clattered from Luc's grip as he reached for Velnepo. Allan didn't know if he saw it, too, or was just responding to him.
"Stop right there!" a woman's voice shouted.
Sam stumbled from behind the vehicle, arms behind her back. A lean woman clutched her forcibly by the shoulder and jerked her to a stop.
"Drop your weapons!" the stranger ordered. Her accent was British.
Allan took a step but the woman lifted a sawed-off shotgun.
"Drop the sword. Now!"
Allan lowered Ibenus but held his grip. "Sam, are you okay?"
"Yeah."
Allan licked his lips. "I don't know who you are, but you're making a mistake. Let's just calm—"
"You don't know who I am?" She pushed Sam into the moonlight. The woman was young, mid-twenties. Intense eyes stared out from beneath short blonde hair. "I remember you. Now drop your weapons."
"Manchester," Allan said. "You were the policewoman."
"Good. Now I know I can't hit you. Tried before." She jammed the gun behind Samantha's head. "But I can hit her. And
you have five seconds."
"Officer, I don't—"
"Four."
"You're making a mistake!" he knew he could get there, get the gun, but not before—
"Three seconds."
"Don't do it," Sam said through clenched teeth.
"Luc?" Allan asked.
"Two!"
"Do it." Luc dropped his mace.
Allan noticed Chaya moving up the other side of the yard behind the police woman. He opened his hand and set Ibenus on the grass. "There. Now remove the gun from her head."
The blonde's grip relaxed on the trigger but the ferocity still burned in her gaze. "Take off your masks. Slowly."
Palms out, and trying not to watch Chaya crossing the yard, Allan peeled the mask from his sweat-slicked face.
The woman just looked at them as if she hadn't known what to expect.
Allan broke the silence first. "What is it you want, officer?"
"I…I want to know. I want to know what's going on."
"All right," Allan said with a purposeful nod. "We can do that. But first you'll want to put your gun down. Then we'll talk."
Her eyes narrowed, the cold determination still burned, but she lowered the shotgun from Sam's head. "Tell me who you are."
Chaya was running now, her feet silent on the fallen leaves.
"All right," Allan said.
Chaya was closing, her scimitar raised.
"Don't hurt her!" Allan yelled.
The officer's brow rose at the outburst. "Wha—?" and then Chaya's silence bubble enveloped her. That instant, she could hear Chaya's closing steps. She wheeled, bringing the gun up, but the Israeli was on her like a puma.
Chaya knocked the shotgun to the side. Orange flashed at its tip, followed by the sudden thop as the buckshot broke free of the bubble and blasted into a tree.
Allan dropped, grabbed Ibenus' handle, and swung as he sprang toward them. He blinked forward, and swung again before his foot even landed.
The two women grappled each other's weapons, knees and elbows swinging. Chaya yelped as the policewoman smashed her forehead into Chaya's eye. Hands cuffed behind her back, Sam spun and kicked the policewoman to the ground as Allan closed the distance.
Chaya screamed, raising Khirzoor.
"Stop!" Allan thrust his blade between Chaya and the fallen officer. He looked down at the woman.
Fierce intensity blazed in her eyes, not the fear he remembered that night in Manchester.
"Search her."
"I'm sorry," Sam said. "My radio went out and she was just there with a gun on me."
"It's all right," Allan assured, his gaze still on the woman as Luc patted her down.
"What are we going to do with her?" Chaya growled.
"We'll see," Allan said.
Luc quickly found a yellow radio jammer, about the size of a walkie-talkie. "Here we are." He removed a small billfold attached to a key ring from her back pocket. He unlocked Sam's cuffs, then handed it to Allan.
Allan squinted at the ID, trying to read it in the moonlight. "So…Victoria Martin, what brings you to France?"
Victoria eyed the sword points aimed at her, then met Allan's gaze. "I came for answers. I want to know what's going on."
"About Manchester?"
"About everything. The monster. Your weapons. You."
"You had a partner," Allan said, scanning the darkness.
Her lips tightened. "He's dead."
Allan nodded. "I'm sorry about that."
"How did you find us?" Luc asked.
Victoria gave a little snort and looked at him. "I'm a detective… At least, I was a detective."
"Then tell us how?" Luc asked.
"I found a report online from a person that said they saw a monster swimming in the river. That brought me here."
"And you found it and waited for us to show up?" Allan asked.
She shook her head. "Instead of looking for it, I watched for you to come looking for it. Then I followed you."
Clever, Allan thought. "For answers?"
She nodded.
"We're running out of time," Chaya said.
She tracked us down. She knows about the weapons. What else does she know?
"What's the plan?" Luc asked.
"You know what I want to do," Sam growled through clenched teeth.
"We don't work like that." Allan closed the billfold. "Where's your car, detective?"
"Why?"
"Because there's about to be a house fire in about seven minutes and you don't want your car to be found nearby. Now where is it?"
"Up the road. Hundred meters."
"All right. You want answers." He nodded to the van. "Get in."
"Hell with that," Sam snorted. "Not after she pressed a gun to my head."
"It was a misunderstanding." Allan held out the keys and wallet to her. "You take her car. Follow us."
"But—"
"No buts," Allan scolded. "Do it. Call it in. Tell them everything." He mouthed, Get Uwe on it.
Luc leaned toward him. "Are you sure about this?"
"Yeah." Allan turned back to Victoria. "Let's go."
Chapter Five
Within the darkened bedroom of his fourth-floor apartment, Gerhard slept beneath green cotton sheets and dreamed. He walked through the middle of lonely streets, canyoned between stone buildings, rising impossibly high toward an overcast sky that was neither night or day. Movement flickered beyond those blackened windows, but no matter how quickly he turned to see who might be watching them, they were empty. The air was still, silent, except for his own footsteps and a distant howling of wind through far away avenues.
He clutched Umatri in his hand, his only companion is this deserted world, and the only one he'd ever crave. The smooth wood seemed to move beneath his grip like a flexing muscle. The movement continued up along the wavy blade. It flowed with serpentine grace, undulating back and forth, back and forth.
Mesmerized, he held the weapon before him, eyes transfixed on the slithering blade. The rippling movement suddenly ceased. The edges bristled into serrated thorns. Umatri stretched and bent to the side like a sapling in a strong wind.
Following its curve, Gerhard turned to see a bat-headed thing leering out from an open door. It shrieked, revealing crystalline fangs, like broken glass, and the monster charged.
Gerhard wheeled to face it. The beast raced toward him, claws extended before it. He ducked the hungry claws and thrust the keris up, missing his mark, but the blade bent midair and plunged into the beast's chest. The bat-headed creature howled. Light swelled beneath its dark fur and it came apart, dissipating into a luminous cloud of vapor.
Umatri's blade moved again like a dowsing rod. Gerhard turned to see another monster charging on all fours. It looked more dog than human. Behind it, a skeletal thing crawled out from an open sewer grate.
The dog-thing leaped and Gerhard sprung to the side, lashing the keris toward it. The blade shifted like liquid metal into a L-shape and speared the monster straight through the ribs. Before he could withdraw the weapon from the still airborne corpse, the monster exploded into more glowing mist.
Snarls and howls sounded through the now growing fog, but Gerhard was not afraid. He had Umatri and, together, they would conquer all. The skeletal creature loped toward him. A greasy black ball of worms or eels writhed within its yellowed ribcage, slithering between the bones. With a scream of exalted fury, Gerhard lunged. He thrust—
Gerhard awoke to darkness. His sheets were soaked in sweat. Panting, he rolled over to check the bedside clock, the damp sheets clinging with the movement.
1:57.
He let out a long sigh, hoping to still his pounding heart. The dream lingered in the back of his mind like the afterglow of a bolt of lightning imprinted on the watching eye. Gerhard rolled from bed and padded naked across the cool laminate floor. He crossed to the window and opened the shade.
Directly
opposite the street, stone and brick façades of luxurious houses stared back at him with haughty indifference. Gerhard confessed some mild amusement that his own apartment building was what they had to see, nothing like their manicured shrubs and twisting cast iron railings. Above their roofs he could just make out the treetops of the park beyond, a park those wealthy enough to afford such luxuries could gaze out upon. Did those within their walls appreciate such a view? Not so long ago he had coveted such wealth, such decadent possessions: a house, a luxurious automobile, inlaid redwood floors buried beneath oriental rugs. Did they appreciate them? Would Umatri's anonymous owner appreciate him? Or would they merely hang him on a wall, another bauble coveted away from those who could appreciate it?
Gerhard closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against the glass. Had Alex relayed his message to the buyer? If so, why hadn't he called?
Probably not enough time yet, he answered to himself, but it didn't satisfy the nagging question. The dreams before, when Gerhard hadn't yet touched the keris or known its name were only that, dreams. In the two nights since, they had evolved into something else, so vivid, so real that he could still feel Umatri in his hand as together they slew monsters.
He opened his eyes. Below, a single car cruised the empty street, riding the line between the envied and the envious.
Gerhard looked to the phone on the table, its green LED pulsing as it charged. Alexander Turgen's crisp white card rested beside it, its face stark, marred by nothing more than name and phone number in raised sans-serif type.
Maybe I missed a call, he hoped, picking the phone up. The screen only verified what he already knew. Without giving himself time to think, he called the old man's number.
Fear seized his chest as it rang. What was he doing? It was two in the morning. He wanted to hang up, but Caller ID would have already betrayed him. He won't answer. I'll just leave a message.
The ringing stopped.
"Hello?" a husky voice asked.
"Uh…Mister Turgen, I'm sorry…but—"
"Gerhard," he said with an audible smile. "Please, call me Alex."
"I…I didn't mean to disturb you, Alex. I apologize. My phone…"
Ibenus (Valducan series) Page 4