Immortal Duty

by J. K. Coi

  Rhys nodded. “Do you know what you are?”

  “That’s it! I didn’t come here to get cryptic with you, asshole, so let’s cut the bullshit, okay?”

  Rhys sighed, and it reminded Baron of the tortured expressions his former CO had always worn when faced with Baron’s penchant for practical jokes and back-talking.

  “Let me get one thing straight,” Rhys said. “I have better things to do than waste my time lying to you, so whether you believe me or not, I’m not trying to be ‘cryptic’.”

  “Whatever. Just say what you have to say.” He glared at Rhys over the lip of the beer bottle.

  “I know you got sick a few months ago and the doctors thought you were going to die.”

  Baron suppressed a shiver. He didn’t like to remember that time. When the fever started, he’d lain in bed for days, delirious with pain. The specialists had poked at him constantly, and he vaguely recalled one superstitious nurse had even brought in some voodoo hack to chant over him at one point. Nothing had worked—none of the drugs or other procedures had made any difference.

  When the muscle pain, blurred vision, headaches and delirium got worse, everyone had given up on him.

  “How would you know about that?” he asked. “And why are you spying on me—other than because you are obviously one very sick bastard?”

  “That wasn’t an exotic strain of the flu, Baron. It was something no human doctor could comprehend. You might have survived, but it changed you.”

  This was starting to sound ridiculously like a scene from The X-Files. “Bullshit.”

  Rhys shrugged. “It’s true.”

  “Okay, say some of that is true. So what? Why do you care?”

  “I don’t,” Rhys replied coldly, “except that you’re now my responsibility, as much as I hate to admit it. You’re one of us. You’re an Immortal.”

  Immortal.

  The term hit a nerve with Baron somewhere deep in his gut. He’d heard it before, but couldn’t immediately remember where. Then it came to him.

  After Baron had stunned all the doctors speechless with his recovery, he’d forced the hospital to let him go, refusing to suffer through any more of their tests. In the privacy of his own apartment, he had started to look for answers. He’d surfed the net to try to understand the reason for his sickness and ultimate miracle cure.

  He’d found the only thing that came close in some obscure reference to a Celtic myth. Baron wondered now if Rhys was talking about the same thing.

  They were supposed to be some kind of super-strong breed that had existed throughout the centuries as legendary defenders of humanity. Different cultures had different variations on the theme, but the general belief was that they’d been charged by God with the task of ridding the world of the boogeyman.

  And what do you say to something like that? Especially when you’ve just been told you’re a part of it?

  Bullshit.

  “An Immortal?” Baron scoffed. “And what is that—some kind of biker gang?”

  ”Yeah, sure. We’ve got jackets,” Rhys mocked. Shaking his head, he leaned forward. “Look, I don’t have time for games here.”

  “Sure could have fooled me.”

  “The fact is you aren’t human anymore, Baron.”

  Swiping a hand briskly across his face, he muffled a low groan. “Holy Christ. You are one hell of a whack-job, you know that?”

  Baron wasn’t sure how much of this crap he could believe. He didn’t know what to think. He didn’t want to think. Thinking right now would cause his brain to implode.

  When he decided to come here, he’d been half hoping Rhys would have some real answers, but all this talk about immortality wasn’t what he’d had in mind.

  The man could easily be a sociopath. And yet Baron didn’t really think that was the case.

  Baron was different—something had happened to him during that stint in the hospital, and no one could ever explain what or why.

  “I wish it were that simple—just call me crazy and reject what you don’t want to believe.” There wasn’t a hint of craziness glistening in Rhys’ eyes. They shone with a strange silver glint. The same as Baron’s eyes—now. Another side-effect of his stay in the hospital.

  Rhys was calm, detached, as if he had known to expect this very reaction. “But I can’t afford to let you dismiss what I have to say. I’ve got a job to do and you are now a part of it.” There was a weariness in Rhys’ words and the set of his jaw, and Baron got the impression that the guy carried a lot of jobs on his massive shoulders.

  “I have a debt to fulfill. A responsibility to you, whether you care about that or not. And…I could use your help.” The words sounded strained, reluctant, as if it physically hurt this guy to admit he might need anything. “But you’re going to need a lot of training before you’ll do me any good.”

  “Training,” repeated Baron. He almost laughed. Fuck, courtesy of Uncle Sam, he’d had “training” up the ass from the day he’d turned eighteen right up until he was discharged a few months ago.

  With a nod of his head and a careless shrug he said, “Okay, what the hell. Let’s say I find all this interesting enough to listen to your crazed ramblings. Why should I care or want to help you with anything?”

  “Because as Immortals our job is to fight, and I need you on board.”

  “Fight?” Baron perked up at that. “What is this really? Am I being recruited for some kind of special ops group?”

  Rhys laughed. “Yeah, I guess you could say that, but it isn’t any group that your government has sanctioned.”

  “My government?” Baron’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. He suddenly recognized what it was about Rhys that had been troubling him—other than the emotionless stare and fuck you attitude. There was a thin accent in Rhys’ speech. A slow burr. Not a cowboy drawl, but like a European who’d spent his entire life in North America, a drawl that was further softened by Rhys’ American phrases and gruff attitude.

  “All right, I’ll bite. So who are we fighting?” It was past time for another beer. Baron got up and reached into the fridge. At Rhys’ gesture, he tossed one to him as well. At least by the end of the night he may accomplish something, even if it was only a good buzz.

  “It’s not so much a who as it is a what.” Rhys twisted the cap off his beer and took a healthy swig.

  “You’re freaking me out again, here Rhys. What the hell are you talking about now?”

  Rhys got up and Baron stood with him.

  “I think this conversation will go a lot better if we stop talking. I’m better off showing you. Come on.”

  “Show me what? Where?” Baron barked, irritated that his glare was wasted on Rhys’ back. “Hey, hold up. Where the hell are you going?”

  Rhys stopped and turned back to him. “You want answers? You want the truth? Well then, let me show you what’s really out there on the streets.”

  * * * * *

  The throne room of the devil Mastema echoed with the shouts and growls and shrieks of the lesser demons assembled there. Mastema’s realm was contained between the realms of Earth and the many stages of Hell, and from here he ruled over a legion of demons bent on the corruption, torture and destruction of mankind.

  Long ago, Mastema and his demons had prowled the earth, feeding on the barbaric human race, and Mastema’s strength had grown until there was no one who stood a chance at stopping him. But his conceit and arrogance had resulted in a serious miscalculation and the loss of a pivotal battle against the Guardian, who had then imprisoned him in this isolated dimension.

  Over the many long years, this realm had become the only safe haven for demons who escaped the Abyss. In return for sanctuary, a place where the Guardian’s Immortals could not follow, all demons paid tribute and were loyal to Mastema—or they suffered his wrath, which was fierce and twisted.

  Mastema’s demons fed off the evil in humans, and brought those corrupted souls to him. His demons reveled in tempting and tricking humans, playing on
their greed, fear and violence. The more corrupt they were, the more intense and sustaining the feed for the demon.

  Each soul that Mastema consumed increased his power, but it still wasn’t enough. He continued to be locked here, where his powers were muted and he was forced to rely on his minions to bring him the sustenance he required.

  Now a human carelessly entered the demon’s domain. Mastema’s lip curled. The stupid human advanced swiftly and surely, with a negligent gait that offended Mastema, who valued a healthy dose of fear and humble submission from his minions. It should at least have shown more respect for the magnitude of the demon’s consequence by scraping and crawling on its knees.

  The man reached Mastema’s throne but did not bend his knee, and the demon’s irritation grew. Mastema summoned the Nina to his side with a wave of his clawed hand and the serpent goddess slithered up behind his throne, hissing and whimpering in her eagerness to be given permission to have at the fleshy human. She was hungry and would enjoy taking apart the arrogant dog.

  “You dare approach me, human, with no fear for your worthless life?” Mastema thundered. The human stopped and looked Mastema straight in his red, glowing eyes. His face was hard. It was a face of vicious fury and unrelenting malice, without softness or vulnerability, and Mastema found himself intrigued.

  “I fear nothing. Not you and especially not an end to my worthless life. I’ve done the death thing. It’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” replied the dog with an indifferent shrug.

  “There are worse things I could do to you than kill you.” Mastema motioned the Nina forward with a flick of his wrist.

  Her body obediently uncoiled, and she slithered forward, a slow, grotesque smile dancing across her face. Her forked tongue darted between black lips in a wet hiss. Long fangs dripped with her deadly, living venom.

  The human’s expression never wavered. It showed no fear, not even a healthy flinch. It held its hand up, palm out and toward Mastema. A deep round scar with serpentine markings had been carved into the palm, leaving it red and raised and glowing with the fire of the damned.

  Surprised, Mastema lifted his hand to halt the Nina. “You bear the mark of the demon realms. It would seem that you have some knowledge of suffering already, human.” Mastema smiled coldly.

  The human dropped his arm back to his side. With his eyes, he boldly dared the fearsome monsters that had crowded around him to try their luck, but his body remained still. “You can stop calling me that any time. I haven’t been human for a long while.”

  Mastema snarled. “My patience wears thin, dog. Explain your presence in my province or my Nina will slurp up your blood for her dinner. Or better yet, perhaps I should have you returned to the realms instead? Something tells me that you are being sorely missed by the wardens.” The Nina whined at the suggestion that she might miss out on a tasty treat.

  “You can try,” the man said, his voice fierce and ruthless, “but I’m thinking you’d rather listen to my proposal. Besides, although I hear your Nina has had her fill of Immortal blood, even she couldn’t get you what you want.”

  Mastema grinned as the Nina squirmed and whined at his side, eager to be given the signal to attack. She was his to command, but those bonds chafed now as the serpent goddess grew more anxious. The human was so cocky, it would make its death that much more enjoyable to watch.

  “What proposal might you be able to offer more entertaining to me than having you skinned alive where you stand and then hung from the rafters of my throne room?”

  “The Guardian.”

  Mastema’s rage mounted and he spread his lips back in a snarl, showing off sharp, dagger-like teeth. “Do not provoke me further. You have not been amusing, and I have yet to be given any reason why you should leave this place with your organs intact.”

  “I’ll get the Guardian for you. He can be delivered wrapped in a bow if that’s what gets you off,” the human retorted.

  “And how would you propose to accomplish such a thing?”

  “That would be for me to worry about, now wouldn’t it?”

  “Indeed.” Mastema cackled, amused by the human’s gall. “I assume you will require something from me in return for this kind gift, supposing that you are successful?”

  “You will send my soul to the Eternal Waters.”

  “The Eternal Waters? Do you understand what you ask? The soul can never be recovered from the Waters. With no soul, you will cease to exist. There will be no coming back for you.”

  “That’s exactly the point,” the human replied. “Do we have a deal?”

  “Bring me the Guardian and you shall have your wish,” Mastema answered, knowing it was impossible. The human didn’t stand a chance.

  It simply nodded and turned to leave, the Nina’s furious shrieks echoing loudly in his wake.

  “Human,” the demon called, lifting his voice to be heard above the screaming disappointment of his minions. “Beware of striking bargains with devils, for the consequences for failure are severe.”

  Chapter Two

  Amy was tired. So tired every ache in her abused body was magnified to the nth degree. Her feet were burning up inside her sensible shoes and her skin was like parchment cracking from the strain of being stretched over her puffy face. It hurt to keep her eyes open. All her pains fought each other for the heavyweight championship title of “most likely to cause system failure”.

  It had been another long day in a string of long days. Her third double shift at the hospital this week. Envisioning her warm and cozy bed with a sigh, Amy straightened her jacket over her shoulders, flipping the loose collar into place, and grabbed her purse.

  She exited the doctor’s locker room, her shoes squeaking on contact with the freshly mopped hospital floor. Running through the day in her head, something she did after every shift, she mentally reviewed her patients’ charts, scrutinized the course of action that had been taken to treat each one, and itemized what would have to be done the next day to keep on top of the recovery process. Today had been a good day—no deaths.

  “Good night, Georgia,” Amy called, waving to the night desk nurse as she passed.

  “Night, Dr. Bennett. Better get some sleep. You’ll need it if you’re going to do Mr. Saunders’ valve replacement tomorrow.” Georgia was tapping her ballpoint against the edge of the desk, the sound echoing in the quiet corridor like a ticking clock.

  Amy smiled. Georgia was the best person to have on hand in an emergency. She could pick up the blare of an ambulance coming from five blocks away and have all the interns rounded up and standing at the ready when it arrived. She was calm in a crisis, always able to anticipate the doctor’s needs in surgery, and could get even the meanest, most intractable patients to take their meds.

  But give her a slow night, a night without a four-car pile-up or gang shooting spree, and Georgia didn’t know what to do with herself. So she tapped.

  “You said it, hon,” Amy answered. “But I know where to find you if he gives me any trouble.”

  The pen paused in Georgia’s hand. “That’s right. You come find me and I’ll set that crotchety old man straight.”

  Amy laughed and waved goodbye.

  Stopping just outside the doors, she glanced up into the dark sky, praying the rain would hold off until she got home.

  If she’d known this morning that she’d be staying so late again, she would have brought her car. It badly needed a mechanic’s loving touch, though, and there’d been no time to take it over to the shop. She’d taken the bus instead—which would have been fine if she went home at two o’clock as she’d originally planned to do. But now it was after midnight, and the buses had stopped running an hour ago.

  She really should have known better.

  As a surgical intern, she rarely worked a straight shift. If you didn’t live at the hospital, you were doing something wrong. Amy was usually more than okay with that, but this had been a crazy week, and today she’d really been looking forward to a shorter day,
had planned to leave on time in order to get some much-needed rest.

  But when an intern was asked to assist on an emergency surgery, she didn’t say no. Even though the surgery had been scheduled for late in the afternoon Amy just couldn’t have passed it up, and so now, hours later, she was stuck walking home in the dark.

  As she walked the familiar route, her mind turned to matters other than work. This week had been so busy, she felt out of touch with everything else. Realizing that she hadn’t heard from Gideon in a few days, she remembered that her twin should have returned from London by now. She put a mental sticky note on the bulletin board in her brain to give him a call and make sure he’d arrived home safely.

  That internal reminder led to thoughts of Neil, who was also away on business this week. Again. They had dated on and off for a few years. It had never been anything serious, probably because Amy worked eighty hours a week and Neil did so much traveling for his job.

  Amy scrubbed her eyes and hitched her purse higher onto her shoulder, fighting the mounting fatigue. Right now, if she remembered correctly, Neil was in Japan.

  When he was in town, they got together when it was convenient. They were comfortable with each other, despite the fact that they didn’t always have a lot to talk about. Their relationship was safe, but that’s exactly what Amy liked about it.

  But for some reason, she’d felt increasingly restless and twitchy the last few months. Disquieting feelings of personal dissatisfaction had bled into her career as well. She lived for her job, but she always felt something was missing.

  If something was wrong, shouldn’t she know how to fix it? She fixed things for other people every day. But no matter how long and hard she pondered the problem, Amy couldn’t come to any conclusions or decide what to do about it.

  It was the first time in her life she could remember being so indecisive.

  She looked around and realized the streetlights were out. This wasn’t exactly the slums of Chandler, but without any light, she suddenly felt uneasy.

  Amy paid more attention to the dark shadows between buildings. She had no doubt that she could defend herself if the need arose. The black belt she’d earned wasn’t just a daring fashion statement. Amy’s brother had insisted she start taking classes with him about six years ago, and she’d enjoyed them enough to stick with it. Even so, it had been a long while since she’d gone a round or two on the sparring mats, and right now, she would really prefer not to have to test out her rusty high kick against some strung-out thief with a knife.