Murder The Light: The Demon Whisperer #2

by Ash Krafton

  His condescending tone ground against Simon's sense of self-preservation, loosening the hold he'd been keeping on his smart-ass mouth. "Listen, pal. I might be a puny human, but I had parents. I understand what complicated means. I'm sure my dad said that about my mom more than once and I still understood her."

  Lucifer spun and leaned into him, full-on, making him back up a step. "Then understand this. If Luminea has her, then you may assume her intentions are less than maternal."

  "Fantastic."

  "And you have my attention." Lucifer withdrew, putting space between them. "You can expect my intervention in this matter."

  "Does that mean you'll help?"

  The Devil arched a brow, distaste in every line of his expression. "Hell does not help."

  "Oh." Didn't know quite what to say to that. Other than cheek. "So, this is Hell, eh? Not so bad. Always figured there'd be a smell."

  "There would be a smell," Lucifer said, a smile creeping up on the corners of His mouth. "If you were actually breathing. But you're not."

  "Excuse me?"

  "You're lying in the bottom of a pool. Dying." Lucifer turned His back on Simon, gazing at the fire again. "Maybe you need to run along."

  Simon remembered, too late. The pool. The creepy pool. It did get him—

  "Son of a—" Simon raced for the stairs.

  "Actually, no. I'm not." The amusement in Lucifer's voice was unmistakable. "I'm only my Father's son."

  The Devil's laughter chased Simon as he took the stairs two at a time, not sparing a single glance back.

  Would the pool be in the same location here? If it wasn't, he was screwed.

  Lucifer called out when he reached the top of the staircase. "By the way, you owe me one."

  Simon paused, his chest starting to burn. "Why?"

  "Because I did you a favor. You'll see."

  Ah, Hell. Literally. Simon dashed down the hall, trying not to peer into the open doors. The sounds coming out of them were absolutely the stuff of future nightmares.

  The pool. He had to get to the pool.

  But the door at the end of the hall never got any closer, no matter how hard he ran. The hall kept stretching longer and longer like an eighties horror movie. Desperately, he reached into his pocket, fumbling for his keyring of charms, and chanted a desperate plea—

  And hit the door to the pool room with his shoulder, crashing open the door with a bruising impact that took the last of his wind.

  The pool. Not the same. Chiara's pool was silver. This one was…hazel green? The color of Chiara's eyes.

  Eyes were the portals to the soul. Simon staggered to the edge and dropped in, sinking like a brick. Submerged in a sea of gold and green, he fought his way to the surface, every cell in his body on fire.

  He broke the silver surface, feeling the scald. Sputtering, lungs screaming, he dragged himself up onto the ledge and rolled. More like…flopped a few times. His limp arm slid to the stone tile, fingers landing on the remains of his blooded salt circle.

  His ragged gasps echoed off the stone. Took a whole lot of them until he was brave enough to look back over to the pool.

  The waters were still. No one had followed him.

  He grabbed a pinch of salt and threw it over his shoulder with a weary laugh.

  Blurry-eyed and muffle-headed, Simon lurched down the hall, missing the first step on the staircase and sliding ungracefully to the parlor. He was almost glad she wasn't there to witness it. Not one of his coolest moments.

  The greasy sheen of shadow on everything he looked at—he expected that. The Devil had just taken a look-see into his brain, just like Chiara had when they first met. If the kid had left a shadow, the Devil would leave a complete blot of impenetrable of darkness.

  It faded, though. By the time he'd stumbled out the door, his sight had more or less cleared and he was able to do a mental inventory of his parts.

  Still in one piece. A relief, that.

  Down on the street, Simon reached into his breast pocket for his smokes, more out of habit, needing the comforting caress of the cellophane-wrapped pack. Something was off. Something he couldn't put his finger on.

  Never mind he'd just portaled to Hell and back. That should be enough to shake a man's moral convictions. But, no. In hind sight, the feat was a bit diminished on the apocalyptic scale. After all he'd seen, all he'd done, it had been just a new corner to turn.

  If anything, he was surprised he'd even been allowed to leave. Was a real by-the-skin-of-his-teeth kind of moment.

  He flicked open the box and lipped out a cigarette. Had to be something he missed. Every word, every nuance. He'd been over it a million times before he'd even gotten out the front door.

  You owe me one.

  I did you a favor.

  Those weren't things one wanted to hear from the mouth of the Devil himself.

  Reaching for his lighter, he palmed it, turning it over in his hand. Maybe Lucifer had already done something to help Chiara. He'd been concerned about his daughter. Her disappearance had been a surprise, and an unwelcome one at that.

  It was only a slip, a flash, but Simon had seen it. He'd seen it because he recognized it and it was easy for a man to see a familiar emotion in another man, even if that man was the King of Hell.

  The cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth, unlit. But Chiara meant something to that one. Helping her wasn't exactly a favor to him, was it? If He did Simon a favor, it was something else.

  Was it that He let Simon out of Hell? That He warned him he was drowning back in the real world?

  By the way, I did you a favor. So off-hand. Something rich like honey in His voice. Amusement. In the Devil, that could mean oh, so many things. How many of those things were good?

  He lit the cig, sucking down a huge lungful. Bleargh. Stale. How long had he had this pack? Worse than last week's bread. He wolfed the cigarette as if he guzzled water after a day in the sun. But it didn't satisfy. Not even a tingle on the tongue.

  Day old cigarettes. Damn disgrace. Who knew they could expire? Out to put a warning on the pack.

  Or maybe they'd gotten wet when he went through the pool. He flipped open the box and pulled one out to inspect it. Nope. Dry as bone. Shrugging, he lit it from the ember of the first before flicking the butt into the street.

  He hit the pavement with a stomp, temper high up to a level of agita he hadn't known in a very long time. Right now, he wanted to get good and drunk, maybe enough to get himself into enough trouble that he'd have to charm his way out of it.

  Although he had enough sense to know that it was probably a spillover effect of having recently been to Hell and back, he didn't have the sense to try to get a grip on it. Once a hoobanger, always a hoobanger.

  Maybe he should try to take it easy. His head was a bit off, yet, his vision blurry in a not-really-blurry-but-something-else way. Like dubbed vocals. Not like seeing double, not exactly. There was only one of everything…but it was like seeing them twice. An overlay on everything. Double images, perfectly aligned. Truly weird shit. Buildings, street signs, people. Normal but not normal.

  But then someone caught his eye, and that person was absolutely not normal.

  A couple walked hand in hand toward him, laughing. The girl was cute, but unremarkable. Simon liked a little more lip and a lot more wiggle. But the man…

  A silhouette clung to him like a dark shadow that had been draped over him, a shroud. One minute it was there, the next it was gone. On and off, like a flickering switch. The woman walking beside him looked absolutely normal. No trick of sunlight, no shadow cast from the nearby building.

  But the guy—the shadow stuck to him as if it were a part of him. And it seemed to be growing darker.

  Simon stopped in his tracks, shamelessly staring. The couple passed by without a glance or comment. As they walked away, he felt the shadow, a little tug as if he were pulled in its wake. An—attraction. Acknowledgment.

  It was too much for him to ignore. He waited
a few moments before swiveling on his feet and following behind at what he hoped was a discreet distance.

  Although, he'd be hard pressed to define what constituted "discreet". That wasn't really his bag.

  Three, four blocks passed. The silhouette grew darker, more intense. Curiosity didn't turn into concern until he felt the warmth radiating from his amulet. That's when he knew: the shadow was not a trick of the light.

  Definitely the opposite of the Light.

  At the far corner, the man pulled open the door to an eatery and waited for his lady friend to go inside. Pausing, he turned his head deliberately to look at Simon and smiled.

  It was a smile deep with teeth, beneath eyes that flashed crimson. A possession.

  And Simon had seen it long before it manifested. Without his scrying lens.

  "Uh, Mack?" Simon ducked back a step, flattening to the glass of a store front, trying to keep his voice low. "If you can hear me, I kinda need to talk to you."

  "What is wrong?" Mack was instantly shoulder to shoulder beside him.

  Simon bumped him out of the way and pushed him into the depths of the shop's entrance. "I found my first customer. Just walked into the corner bar."

  "Why are you waiting out here?"

  Oddly, the double-vision thing didn't happen when he looked at Mack. Mack was just single layer angel.

  "I think I got a head start on him. But he's different. I just wanted you here."

  "Whatever for?" Mack seemed puzzled. He had every right to be. Simon had never once called Mack in for help on an exorcism before.

  He was a solitary worker, not a team player. Usually, Simon spent more time trying to avoid the extra workload that came with the angel's "guidance". In his line of work, he didn't have to go looking for more work to do. Opportunities more or less presented themselves.

  So. Whatever for, anyway? Just wanted the surety of a positive force behind him, he supposed. The honest response would be: "Just came back from Hell and the Devil said something that worried me and I could use a friend right now.

  Ha, ha, ha, no. Honesty, in this case, was the worst policy. "It's complicated," Simon said. "Just watch my back."

  He stepped out onto the sidewalk and bee-lined it to the corner bar. Any minute now, he'd have a plan.

  "Come on, plan," he muttered as he pulled open the door, scanning the room. "It'd be really great if you showed up now."

  Nope. No plan. Looked like it was just him and his reckless impulses again.

  He spotted the couple at a two-seater along the wall. The woman glanced up, wearing a completely unbeguiling expression. An innocent. The Light shined in her, compared to the blackness that sat across from her.

  Simon marched up to the woman, grabbed her hand, and pulled her up from her seat. "We're going home, now."

  He about-faced and tugged her straight back out the door. She'd been so stunned, she didn't even resist.

  The host, though, wasn't happy. He was behind them in two shakes. Simon heard the crash of a chair as it got shoved out of the way.

  Once outside, it was go time. He hustled the protesting woman in Mack's direction. "Mack! Distract her!"

  A clouded expression flitted across her face as Mack cast his angel hoodoo on her. She wouldn't see a thing. Handy trick when trying to avoid incident—

  Pain exploded in the center of his chest. Knocked backward off his feet, he hit a trash can, one of those huge solar can crushers, and sagged down the side. Dazed, Simon looked up at his attacker.

  The host was cracking his knuckles, smiling. A really good punch. Either this guy lifted or—

  Simon shook his head, trying to clear his vision, and ducked an oncoming fist. It crunched into the side of the metal can, denting it.

  Or he had a little bit of Hell in him. That would do it, better than protein drinks and lunkhead workouts.

  "Should have put your rings on first, dummy." Scrabbling out of range, he cursed himself. "That would have been an actual plan."

  The amulet pulsed with a heat that spread out in front of him like a shield, pumping out more power than it ever had in Simon's life.

  The host lurched forward with another swing.

  Fumbling in his pocket, Simon scooted under the dude's arm, momentarily out of reach. "Whoa, pal. Hello to you, too."

  The demon growled, a rumbling of syllables that sounded like metal screeching on hard stone.

  "Rude." Simon shook his head in a tsk-tsk sort of way. "No need for name calling. Now, get out of that body."

  WE ARE CONTENT TO STAY. The demon was openly manifesting now, misshapen skull and sunken eyes, claw tipped fingers that spread scales slowly up his hands. It glowered at him, black with darkness, eclipsed from sunlight, devil-red eyes hotly shining. JOIN US. THERE ARE ENOUGH FOR US ALL.

  "Uh, how about no?" Rings in place, he lifted his hands. "In the name—"

  Shaking its head, the demon lifted a finger over its shoulder and crooked it.

  The door of the pub opened. People filed out, eyes as blank as chickens. The demon smiled and spread its hands, wriggling its fingers, gathering the men and women around it. They lurched on dragging feet, completely against their wills.

  The man who stood closest to the demon started to whimper. Smoke rose from his hair, his skin taking on a rapid and rather unhealthy-looking sunburn.

  Aw, shit. Collateral damage imminent. Simon cleared his throat. "Mack?"

  "I am here." The angel's voice was thick and sonorous, carrying with a weight Simon could not only hear, but feel.

  Whoa. Big hoodoo. Unable to resist, he took his eyes off the demon, turning to look.

  Mack was hovering. Not flying, just hovering. His eyes were ghost white and his skin had a pearly luminescence. A fog of power spread out like a gentle shockwave, bathing the gathering crowd in a soothing pool of Nothing to See Here.

  Simon stared, agape. Well. That was cool.

  Apparently, the demon wasn't of the same opinion. Dismayed at the sudden lack of obedience on the crowd's part, it began screeching again, a chorus of voices.

  Mack spread his hands and pushed the growing crowd away, creating a buffer between them and the demon. The crowd remained glaze-eyed, but at least the skin sizzling had stopped.

  Mack had made a No Fry Zone. No time to lose.

  Simon raised his hands and cranked his rings one last time before beginning the binding chant. "In the name of the Light…"

  The demon screamed, a sound of squealing pain, and fizzled out even before he finished it. Black, slithering smoke leaked out of his nose and mouth. The stink of brimstone hovered a moment before scattering on the wind.

  The host stumbled forward, landing hard on his knees, head drooping.

  Simon shifted his weight, one foot, the other, back. Crowd was still subdued, oddly so. Something was missing.

  Chiara would have anointed the guy with a smear from her sparkly tin of chrism.

  He rolled his lips between his teeth and bit. No such trick up his sleeve. Distractedly, he rubbed his chest, which was sore beneath his amulet. Fricken demon had nailed him just off-center with that one punch and the amulet had reacted, almost violently, to the contact.

  But it wasn't contact with the demon's fist that had done it. It was contact with his own skin. Something new. Nothing good.

  Worse yet, in the aftermath of the less-than-challenging exorcism, he felt like he didn't finish. Like an interrupted yawn.

  To cover the moment, he snapped his fingers at the man's girlfriend, breaking her thrall. "Hey, I'm sorry. I thought you were my wife. No hard feelings, right?"

  She blinked a few times before coming around. And she came around quickly, with a temper to boot. "Why, you son of a—"

  "Okay, Mack." Simon backed away a few steps, keeping an eye on her tight fists. The crowd was coming around, too, and they all seemed a little miffed. "You can get us out of here now."

  The woman lunged at him, looking very much like she wanted to sterilize him the old-fashioned way
. Her battle cry was ferocious, like a cat being stuffed into a toilet bowl.

  "Said I was sorry, lady." He backed away one more step, bumping into someone. Arms wrapped tight around his chest. Dammit. Outnumbered—

  The ground disappeared beneath his feet. He was yanked backwards by a massive G-force. The air whooshed out of his lungs. Tears streamed from his eyes. Only lasted a second but it was enough to make him loopy and seasick and spinning on the sidewalk.

  Wide-eyed, he twisted around, trying to get his bearings. Where was he? Up the street from the coffee shop. Wow.

  Mack stood, watching him regain his balance, looking oddly still, oddly silent.

  "Did you—you did! You mini-portaled us!" Simon danced in place, absolutely delighted. "That was so fricken cool! And that crowd control thing you did."

  He slapped his hands together and walked toward Mack. "You know what, bud? We should do this more often. We make a pair. You bring ‘em, I ring ‘em. Wicked easy."

  Mack didn't look as amused.

  His somber expression made the laugh die in Simon's throat. "C'mon, chum. Why so glum? That was the easiest exorcism I ever did. You gotta admit. We did good."

  The angel's eyes shone brighter than usual, his voice leaden. "I did nothing."

  "Nice of you to give me the credit but, seriously." He fished out his cigarettes. "It was so much easier with you there."

  The angel shook his head slowly. "No, Simon. I contributed nothing. The host did not see me and he did not feel my presence. I did not influence you or that man. All that was all you. You…and someone else."

  Someone else? Er…Simon studied the lid on the box, making a fuss with the foil inside. "Who do you mean?"

  "You cannot tell?"

  Still no eye contact. "Tell what?"

  "There was another power at work. And it was dark."

  "No, sir." He pulled out a cigarette and used it to point in the direction of the bar. "The only darkness was in that host."

  Mack crossed his arms and took a step back, away from Simon. Something settled into his expression. Something like…sadness. ""What have you done?"