Sacrifices

by Jamie Schultz

  She went back to the living room and gave Abas the glass. He put it on the table, still without looking at her.

  “I’m gonna come back,” Anna said. “When he’s up and feeling better. And then we’re gonna have a talk about relics and getting you some help, and we’re gonna get to the bottom of a few things. If you don’t kill him before then.”

  That snapped Abas to attention. “If I don’t kill him before then? I’m not the only one here with things to atone for.”

  “What?”

  “We were protected here, but somebody broke the ward. Who do you suppose did that?”

  Last night seemed like another lifetime, but the memory of defacing the diagram stood out clearly enough. Anna bit back a reply, then turned to leave.

  “Don’t come back here,” Abas said as she left.

  * * *

  Karyn watched the door. At some point—maybe today, maybe tomorrow, but in any case not long—Nail would walk in. He’d be wearing a black T-shirt and camouflage pants tucked into his boots, and he’d have an expression like a man who’d just eaten a slice of rotten tomato. “Hey,” he’d say. “What’s going on?”

  It was the only thing she could see right now, and it bothered her. On the one hand, she could now make it happen at will. Stare at the door and think about it, and she could get the whole sequence to start again. She could even see it from different angles if she walked across the room to get a different view of the door. The vision disintegrated halfway through each time, so she never got to see how the conversation ended, but it went on long enough to teach her a few things she hadn’t known already. When Nail showed up for real, they could skip a bunch of that. She wondered if he’d be annoyed.

  She pulled her attention from that back to the present, or—she reminded herself—at least the version of the present that Amaimon allowed her to see.

  Anna wasn’t back yet. Karyn looked out the window, not really expecting to see anything, and at least in that she wasn’t disappointed. She checked her phone. Nothing. She dialed Anna again and again got no answer. She considered staring at the door again to try to get a quick glimpse of the future that showed Anna coming home, but she’d given that a couple of goes already, and all that ever happened was Nail coming in and starting his damn story again. That had burned a groove in her brain, and she could recite it at this point, so there was no point in firing it up one more time. It took a hell of a toll, and she already felt like popping half a dozen Advil and crawling back in bed.

  The door opened, and Nail walked in. Karyn groaned. “I know the deal,” she told him. “Now come on. Anna’s missing.”

  He paused, and the whole scene she’d been concentrating on all morning evaporated. “Missing?” he asked.

  “I woke up this morning and she was gone,” Karyn said.

  “Oh, hell. Anna’s missing again. How many times we gonna do this?”

  “As many times as it takes,” Karyn said. “If I could keep her out of trouble, I would. Now come on. Let’s get a move on.”

  “The Gardens?” Nail asked.

  “That would be my guess.”

  They took Nail’s car. Karyn thought now would be a good time to see if her new skill at manipulating her talent was going to be of any actual use, or if it was only good for playing out short, pointless vignettes in places where she was already safe. If only she weren’t so exhausted.

  It would also have helped, she thought, if her visions were cooperative in general today, but today had evidently been reserved for the very worst kind. Virtually everything she looked at had been transformed into a baffling symbol. In place of buildings were huge, grotesque insects and monsters, and the streets themselves were flowing rivers or streams of molten lead. She didn’t know what any of it meant, and she had nothing like the kind of mental energy available to mess around with it.

  “I don’t know when she took off,” she said. “I crashed pretty hard last night.”

  “It’ll be fine,” Nail said, though his face said he thought anything but.

  The Gardens were quiet, tomblike. They passed the diagram from the photo. It had faded, the sharp black lines reduced to gray. Another block, and three dead cars, full of bullet holes, had been pulled awkwardly to the side of the road. Condensation from the air conditioner of one still dripped on the pavement. Blood spattered the sidewalk.

  “This doesn’t look good,” Karyn said. “Sobell’s going to be down here before long, if he’s not already. We’re running out of time.”

  “Don’t I know it.”

  “What the hell is going on here? Why are there no cops?”

  “Anna says they take their time coming down here,” Nail said. “I bet it’s worse than that, though. My guess is they’ve written the place off as a self-cleaning oven.”

  “A what?”

  Nail made a sour face. “Cop term for a hood where the gang members all kill each other. Knew a place like that down in South Central. Couldn’t get a cop down there for nothing but to throw some tape up after the shooting stopped. If that.”

  “So this is what we’ve missed robbing rich people in the Hills.”

  “If you say so.”

  She watched Nail survey the street. “I don’t believe it,” he said. A wide, genuine smile lit up his face.

  Karyn followed his gaze. Anna was walking down the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street. Slowly, hugging the buildings, and her arms hung loosely at her sides from slumped, tired shoulders, but she looked whole.

  “Yo!” Nail shouted.

  Anna jerked, startled, and she stumbled and caught herself against the wall. Then she saw them. “Thank God!” she said. “Get me out of here!”

  * * *

  Back at the loft, Karyn, Nail, and Anna sat around the table. If Tommy had been there, Karyn could have pretended this was old times, just another job that had gotten a little out of control, nothing to worry about. The thought triggered a wave of guilt, the way it probably would for the rest of her life, and she tried to ignore it.

  “So, what’s going on?” Karyn asked.

  “I went in looking for the priest,” Anna said. “I thought I’d be able to keep a lower profile alone.”

  Anna’s jaw moved as she ground her teeth. That murderous look had concentrated on Karyn for a moment before passing, and Karyn wondered if Anna’s suspicions and paranoia were her own or a product of the creature she harbored.

  Karyn shifted in her chair. “So. Fill me in.”

  “I found him at Moreno’s place.”

  “And?”

  “So I tried to listen in and see what he’s up to. Some punk whacked me in the head, and I didn’t wake up until this morning.”

  Uh-huh, Karyn wanted to say. Anna’s head was fine—no blood at all, let alone the kind of wound that would lay somebody out for ten hours or more. Was she even going to try to explain the bandage on her hand, or just pretend it wasn’t there?

  Trust her a little, Karyn told herself. Be patient. “Then what?”

  “That’s . . . that’s when things got kind of weird. I woke up at Moreno’s place. The priest was there. Says his name is Abas. Says he ain’t no priest, either. Says he doesn’t know anything about any relics, but I dunno about that. Then the shooting started, and Moreno came home, and . . .” Anna scratched the side of her face and frowned. Not concocting a lie, Karyn didn’t think, but trying to figure out how to express something. “The priest did some magic. I think he used Moreno as a kind of, I dunno, human shield.”

  “I don’t get it,” Nail said.

  “Okay, the whole time Moreno was there in the circle, it was like he was getting beaten by invisible guys with sticks. It was . . .” She held her hands up, fingers spread apart, then gave up. “Pretty awful,” she finished lamely. “Then the shooting stopped, and one of his guys got home, and . . . Look, I didn’t see any of this, s
o don’t take this as firsthand, okay?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Nail said.

  “The kid said they were outnumbered. Said the other gang attacked and shot ’em up. Shot one kid in the head, you understand?”

  “Sure.”

  “Yeah, well, then he said that kid, and some others, got up without a scratch and shot the hell out of the other gang.” Anna looked at her fingernails. “I know when it happened. On the inside, I mean. Moreno’s got a huge bruise above his eye. His head bounced right off the floor, hard, and I thought it was like somebody had punched him right square in the face, but I guess maybe it was more like a bullet. Blunted, or slowed, or something, but I think I get what happened. I got a whole bag full of shit for the priest when everything started—hair and blood from the gang kids. You know how Genevieve and Tommy always talked about those kinds of connections. I think the priest made some kind of connection between Moreno and his kids, and Moreno took a bunch of the damage on himself. I thought he was gonna die.”

  Silence prevailed, seconds stringing out into minutes as they each sifted their own thoughts.

  “I give up,” Nail said after a while. “What’s any of that mean for us?”

  Anna shook her head. “There was one more thing. The priest—Abas—kept talking about blood and family. Said I didn’t belong there, because I’m not blood or family. Then, after, when Moreno was hurt, he said something I didn’t get. Something like ‘Take thy son, Isaac, and go to Moriah.’”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Karyn asked.

  “Fuck if I know.”

  “Isaac,” Nail said. “From the Bible story.”

  Anna’s expression was devoid of recognition, but Karyn got it. “Abraham and Isaac?”

  “Yeah.”

  Anna shook her head. “I don’t get it.”

  Nail chuckled. “Didn’t you go to Sunday school? Just what in the fuck is this sorry old world coming to? So, God comes to Abraham in a vision or a burning bush or whatever the hell, and he says, ‘Go take your son up the mountain and sacrifice him to me.’ Abraham’s all ‘You’re the boss,’ so he takes the kid up the mountain, ties him down, and gets ready to do that shit, when God interrupts. He says, ‘Just testing! You passed!’ and lets him off the hook. The kid lives happily ever after and goes on to begat the whole population of Europe.”

  “I don’t remember that last part,” Karyn said. “But yeah. That’s pretty much how the rest of it goes.”

  “I mighta made that last part up.”

  “Abas isn’t Moreno’s father,” Anna said. “Not old enough, I don’t think. White, too. But he sure was fixated on the family thing. And blood, and . . . atonement.” Her brow creased in puzzlement. “I don’t know. This magic shit isn’t my department. We’re out of magicians.”

  “I’ll check with Elliot,” Karyn said.

  “I’ll call Genevieve,” Anna said.

  “I’ll sit here with my thumb up my ass and say a little prayer,” Nail said.

  Chapter 19

  Nail pulled into the parking lot of his apartment building and saw Clarence sitting on the hood of a car, eating a goddamn sandwich of all things. He had half a mind to back out and keep driving, but by then it was too late. Clarence had seen him. Was waving him down, in fact, with the same hand that held the sandwich, as if the damn thing were some kind of lure.

  Nail parked in the space right next to him, surprised to note that there were no tough guys in the car. He wondered if he’d ever seen Clarence away from his office without some bruising, no-neck dude less than twenty feet away, and couldn’t think of a single time.

  Nail got out of the car.

  “I ain’t heard from you,” Clarence said. “I was starting to worry.”

  “Yeah, well. Things been a little fucked-up.”

  “I hear that.” Clarence got off the car, transferred the sandwich to his left hand, and extended his right for a handshake.

  Nail took it, thinking this was all deeply, deeply unreal. “What’s the word?” he asked.

  “Lots of words,” Clarence said. He looked haggard, even more so than usual, and he was chewing at the inside of his lip, as though he was anxious about something. “Can we talk in private?”

  Nail froze. In private? Like where? Like his fucking home? Moments drained away, and he realized his silence was stretching out too long. “You wanna come inside a minute?” Clarence in his goddamn house—just about the second-to-last thing he wanted, but there was no way out now.

  “Yeah. Sure.”

  He led Clarence up the sidewalk, then up the outside stairs to the second floor. Clarence said nothing, just followed a few steps behind. Nail wondered if it was Clarence for a change wondering if somebody was about to take him somewhere out of sight and end him. Probably not, he supposed. If there was one thing Clarence could do, it was read people, and he’d read Nail years ago and decided he was, if not harmless, at least not going to beat his head in at the earliest opportunity. Too bad he was right.

  Nail unlocked the door and went in. Slowly, so Clarence wouldn’t think he was going for a gun or something. Just in case.

  He flicked on the lights rather than open the blinds. The place was the same mess he’d left. After the first job with Sobell, when a bunch of thugs had shown up at Nail’s place to take him out, he’d decided it was time to move. He’d found a decent apartment, not too far out of the way, the kind of place that didn’t look too close at his fake ID and didn’t check credit if you paid a big enough deposit, and he’d gotten settled in. Sort of. Got a bed and an easy chair and a TV settled in, anyway. Everything else was still in boxes all over the damn place. He’d been too busy to unpack. Some of the boxes he’d had occasion to at least open—the ones containing rope, or hardware, or potentially useful electronics—and those still sat in the same places, open tops gaping. Others remained sealed, the only indication of their contents written in Nail’s meticulous hand in marker on the sides. Dishes. Cans of food and even a couple of MREs he’d never eat but couldn’t make himself throw out. A box of old funk and Motown LPs and a busted turntable from when he was fifteen and thought for a few weeks he’d make a go at being a D.J. More crap he’d never use again and never get rid of. It was a good thing he moved regularly, he thought—it kept the very worst of his pack rat tendencies from getting out of control.

  “Want a beer or something?” he asked as Clarence came in.

  “This ain’t a social call. Shit is out of control.”

  “You’re gonna have to narrow that down.”

  Clarence transferred his sandwich from one hand to the other, then held his left hand out, palm toward the floor, for Nail to look at. Half the fingernail had been ripped off his ring finger, leaving a crusty scab.

  “Get it caught in a door?” Nail asked.

  “That Hector motherfucker. Guy’s the goddamn Devil.”

  Nail leaned back against the counter separating the living room from the kitchen, bracing himself with his hands. “What are you doing with that guy?” he asked. “He is not good for your health, Clarence, and I am not kidding.”

  “Yeah, well, I guess I got that much figured out. Mighta been when he was drawing pictures in blood and smearing himself with raw meat, or maybe when he had a couple of my guys hold me down and tear out my fucking fingernail. Now he says if I take off or cross him, he’s gonna fuck me up. After what I seen so far, I don’t dare test him on that.”

  “Jesus,” Nail said.

  “My nephew’s getting worse,” Clarence continued. “He made a dog appear out of thin air two days ago.”

  “A . . . dog?”

  “I don’t know what it was, okay? It . . . kinda looked like a dog. Same size, four legs, too goddamn many teeth. So I’m gonna call it a dog. That a problem?”

  “That works.” A dog? What the fuck? That wasn’t any kind of shit Tommy’d ever gotte
n up to. Genevieve, neither. “I ain’t gonna dress this up, then. Your boys are full of demons.”

  “Yeah. And?”

  “What do you mean ‘yeah’? You knew?”

  “I didn’t figure they got into a bad batch of PCP, Owens. But that don’t tell me shit about the solution. They ain’t got fucking exorcists in the Yellow Pages. I checked.”

  “I ain’t got a solution,” Nail said. “Wish I did. One of my friends is down with this shit.”

  Clarence put his sandwich on the table. “What can you tell me about Hector?”

  Nail’s mind blanked. What did he really know about the guy?

  “Don’t fuck with me on this,” Clarence said. “I asked around. He was hooked in with that cult that got in the news a few months back. You were involved in that.”

  A handful of replies leaped to mind: Says who? Bullshit, I don’t know nothing about no cult. You got bad intel, man. None of them would hold any water now, not after his total freeze-up.

  “Don’t mess with that dude,” Nail said.

  “Why not?”

  “There’s about a hundred reasons why not, but far as I’m concerned, it’s because he’s Patient Zero, you know what I mean? Meanest motherfucker in a mean, bad lot.”

  “Why do they call him Belial?”

  “Who’s calling him that?”

  “My guys.”

  His guys? Nail had a sudden, atypical moment of claustrophobia, a terrifying sensation that he was surrounded, that the walls themselves were going to move in and crush him—no, not the walls. The world. He moved in a few different worlds, he knew that, but for one of them to reach out and clasp hands with another in this way, at such a deep level . . . He had a terrible feeling he’d be smashed between them.

  “You introduced them?” Nail asked.

  “Sobell’s gonna screw us,” Clarence said. “Take the relic and run. Hector said we ought to work together to get ahead of him, but that was all bullshit. Now he’s got five more guys down with this shit, and I’m starting to wonder—”