Walking In the Midst of Fire rc-6

by Thomas E. Sniegoski

  Remy pounced, reaching out to haul the Bone Master from atop her.

  The assassin was wild, thrashing in his clutches, and Remy grabbed hold of the demon’s pale, gaunt face, forcing the assassin to look into his eyes.

  “You’ll never hurt anyone ever again,” Remy stated flatly, dispassionately, willing his hands afire.

  The assassin continued to fight him, even as the divine flames began to hungrily consume the flesh of his face, his eyes bubbling and popping from their sockets before the flames spread onto his skull.

  The Bone Master screamed for far longer than Remy would have imagined he could.

  When he finally fell silent, Remy let the body slip from his grasp. The fire continued to burn, jumping to the assassin’s robes and the flesh beneath. If allowed to spread, there would be nothing left to show that the assassin had even been there.

  All except for the physical and mental damage the demon had inflicted in his wake.

  Marlowe came to Remy, leaping up on his chest, stretching his neck to eagerly kiss his face. Remy found it suddenly difficult to remain standing, and dropped down to his knees, giving the dog ample opportunity to display his rampant affections.

  As Marlowe frantically licked his face, Remy looked to see Linda staring at him from where she sat perfectly motionless upon the floor. He wanted to tell her to remain calm, that he would explain everything to her, but he found that the words would not come.

  The look of fear in her eyes freezing them in his throat as he tried to speak.

  “I believe,” he started, the words for some reason so difficult to pry from his mouth. “I believe I owe you an explanation.”

  Remy heard himself, the words sounding strangely slurred, and wondered what could be the cause when he came to realize that his entire body was growing increasingly cold. He could not feel his limbs, and found himself suddenly toppling over onto the floor.

  Marlowe yelped in panic as he fell, and Linda was at his side, leaning over him, tears in her eyes, her face racked with the beginnings of panic.

  “You’re bleeding,” he heard her say, though strangely muffled, and he was able to lift his body and tilt his head in such a way to see that yes, he was indeed bleeding; a cold realization came to him.

  The assassin’s bullets had found their target, the venom-infused teeth sending a powerful poison coursing through his veins.

  Remy attempted to react, to alter his internal chemistry in such a way as to burn the poison away before . . .

  Nothing happened, and the cold continued to permeate his every fiber; he was finding it harder and harder to remain there—to remain with Linda and Marlowe.

  Marlowe cried pathetically, pacing back and forth in front of them. Linda was holding him now, gripping him tightly in her arms and begging for him to stay with her.

  “Remy, what should I do?” she pleaded, hoping that he would help her, but it was so difficult for him to speak.

  “I . . . I’m so sorry,” he managed to squeak out. “Didn’t want . . . to lie.”

  She was hysterical, and he wanted to hold her, to tell her that he would be fine, but he could no longer move his arms, and now that everything had been revealed, he did not want to begin another lie.

  “Remy,” she pleaded, tears raining down upon his face; tears that he could not feel.

  He tried to stay with her, but his eyes had grown so heavy, and he could no longer hold them open. Maybe if I close them for just a moment, he told himself.

  To rest.

  Marlowe was howling now, his cries reverberating through the lobby. Remy thought it was the saddest sound he had ever heard as he felt himself begin to succumb.

  His eyes closed, and darkness fell, but there was fire in the midst of shadow; a struggling flame fighting to stay alight in the encroaching gloom.

  But the fire grew dim, smaller by the passing moment, until it was but a faintly glowing ember, and it could fight no more, giving in to the dark.

  The last thought Remy had before he, too, succumbed:

  Is this what it’s like to die?

  EPILOGUE

  Romania

  Simeon stood on the outskirts of the ancient cemetery, watching the burial from a distance, and trying to remember how it felt to die.

  With each shovelful of dirt upon the wooden coffin, he imagined himself deep within the ground, lovingly held in the earthen embrace, waiting for the moment when he would at last pass from life.

  But the Earth, and Heaven, would not have him.

  The forever man’s thoughts drifted back to a time that seemed not so long ago. But what was time for one who would breathe forever?

  Castle Hallow had fallen, and the sorcerous might of the Pope named Tyranus had been unleashed as death had taken him. In his fury, Simeon had commanded the demon legions to attack, their number proving too great for the holy man. But as he succumbed, the Pope let flow his vast reserves of supernatural power, laying the castle low.

  The fortress of the necromancer crumbled and sank beneath the moor, Simeon’s body weighed down by pieces of heavy wall that took him deeper and deeper beneath the mire.

  And that was when he experienced the vision.

  In a moment of death—which was all that he was ever given—Simeon saw the way in which his desires could finally come true.

  And in the time of death allotted, before he was wrenched back to wretched existence, he saw how it could all be made possible.

  The rings. The two rings of Solomon.

  With one ring already adorning his finger, Simeon had searched for the other, dying again and again while looking for the corpse of the Pope called Tyranus deep beneath the gripping marshland.

  A woman’s cry tore Simeon from his memory.

  He watched as a group of men supported an older woman in a veil, and dressed entirely in black, holding her up as they escorted her from the new grave. Eyes drawn to the freshly turned earth, Simeon again remembered how it had been.

  Now possessing both of Solomon’s rings, he’d pulled himself up from the mire, a new purpose burning in his chest where a soul used to be.

  He’d cried out his victory to the Heavens as he emerged from the mud, desperate for them to hear him, and to know that he would be the one to bring them down.

  As usual, Heaven and all who lived within its glory chose to ignore him.

  But that slight would come at a cost most severe.

  He wondered if the angel that stood upon the ground where the necromancer’s castle had once been would be returning to Heaven.

  The angel turned to watch his struggles as he withdrew himself from the grip of the moor. A sword of fire glowed powerfully in his grasp as he observed him.

  Simeon was tempted to share his vision with the divine creature, but he decided against it, believing that it was best that the Almighty and all who served Him be unaware as to what was coming sometime in the future.

  The angel had asked who he was, and how he came to be alive, but Simeon did not have time for questions, raising his hands and feeling the power of the rings tingling upon his fingers.

  “I’m nobody,” he had told the angel. “And nothing worth remembering.”

  And the angel had agreed, spreading his wings and taking to the sky.

  He’d often wondered in the passing years what had happened to that angel, and if he would ever see him again.

  Simeon thought of the angel, now called Remy Chandler, and smiled. There’s something about that one, he thought, turning to walk the path from the cemetery, his demonic minions walking respectfully behind him, as they had since he pulled himself from the mud and ruins of Castle Hallow.

  Something to be watched, and if possible, cultivated.

  This Remy Chandler could be exactly what was needed to move things along. It was something to consider, but there was another matter that needed attending to.

  Another need to be filled.

  It wasn’t all that difficult to locate the one he’d been searching for. Simeon
and his demonic lackeys stood outside the run-down stone building located just behind the bakery. The aroma of freshly baked bread wafted in the air as the forever man searched for the entrance.

  The door whined like a hungry feline as he pushed it open and proceeded inside. His demons attempted to follow, but Simeon did not believe they would be necessary.

  “Wait for me here,” he told them, turning to climb the creaking wooden steps up to the top floor of the ancient tenement. The air was thick with the residue of the many Romanian meals that had been cooked there through the centuries the structure had stood. Simeon could just imagine the lives lived here.

  The lives, and the deaths.

  It hadn’t been all that difficult to locate the one Simeon sought, no matter how hard he tried to hide himself. Purchases of baubles to ward off evil from a local Romani clan, thefts of holy relics from churches close by, reports of a strange man who openly wept when a story about an environmental calamity on a deserted Japanese island was reported on a news broadcast at the village tavern.

  All were like a map to one such as the forever man; a map that pointed to the location of one who could be beneficial to his work.

  Simeon could feel the presence of something unnatural—preternatural—as he reached the heavy, wooden door at the top of the stairs. It was obvious to him that he had come to the right place.

  “Who’s . . . who’s there?” asked a weak voice from inside.

  “I’ve come with a proposition,” Simeon said to the closed door, listening for sounds of movement on the other side. “May I come in?”

  There came a chilling laugh behind the door. “Oh yes, please do,” said a voice unlike the one he’d first heard. This one sounded strong, confident. “We would truly enjoy hearing what you have to propose to us.”

  Simeon took hold of the metal knob and turned it, pushing open the door. The atmosphere inside was immediately oppressive, as if there was a storm about to rage within the tiny confines.

  Closing the door behind him, Simeon took in the appearance of the place: the walls covered with pages of religious texts, strange symbols painted in blood upon any surface that had remained untouched, magickal talismans hanging from the ceiling, candles burning before makeshift shrines to gods and saints known, and long forgotten.

  And in the center of the room, sitting in the middle of a circle of protection drawn upon the rough wood floor, sat the shadow of a man.

  Simeon was surprised at how bad he looked, the incident on Gunkanjima having far more of a devastating effect on him than the forever man would have imagined.

  “Do I know you?” the man asked, his voice soft with weakness.

  “We met briefly,” Simeon said. “On the island.”

  The man’s eyes grew wide and filled with tears, before his expression changed and the evil spirit that resided within him reared its ugliness.

  “Oh to be there again,” the evil spoke in a voice horrible and rough. “To be part of all that death—glorious; but I do not remember you.”

  The man turned his body in the circle to face him.

  “Come closer,” the spirit said, motioning with a finger that had become like a claw. “Maybe if I was to taste you . . .”

  Simeon crossed his arms, unfazed by the evil entity’s teasing.

  “You do not remember, for I chose that you not,” Simeon said. He showed the entity possessing the man the rings adorning his hands.

  The spirit gasped at the sight of the two rings.

  “But I know you, Constantin Malatesta,” Simeon said. “As well as the ancient thing that resides inside of you.”

  Malatesta closed his eyes, his face lined from incredible strain.

  “Please,” he begged. “You must leave at once; you’re not safe. Even with all this protection . . .” His eyes darted about the room. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep it contained.”

  Simeon smiled.

  “Contained?” he asked. “And why would you want to do that?”

  Malatesta looked horrified. “Why have you sought me out?”

  “I come with an offer,” Simeon said, picking up a piece of religious statuary from a nearby table. “I require someone with your skills.”

  “Skills?” Malatesta repeated with a shiver, still attempting to keep the entity inside him from regaining control.

  “A sorcerer,” Simeon said. “I have need of a sorcerer.”

  Praise for the Remy Chandler Novels

  In the House of the Wicked

  “Remy and his human friends are engagingly believable characters in a series noted for flashes of humor despite its overall serious tone. Series fans and followers of Jim Butcher’s Dresden Files will enjoy this urban fantasy.”

  —Library Journal

  “A fun . . . thought-provoking book.”

  —Innsmouth Free Press

  “Sniegoski ups his game in this most recent Remy adventure, and we begin to see some of the grand scheme he is setting up for us. The conflict and situations within this novel are refreshingly personal, bringing the forefront of activity back to the Boston area. The characters are varied and very well developed, bringing life and humanity into this novel largely centered around the angelic pantheon. With In the House of the Wicked, Sniegoski has crafted a very powerful, very personal tale that is equal parts gut-wrenching, heartwarming, and awe-inspiring.”

  —The Ranting Dragon

  “An excellent read and part of an excellent series that gets better and better.”

  —Fangs for the Fantasy

  A Hundred Words for Hate

  “Sniegoski nicely juggles a large cast and throws in some touching moments (Remy’s conversations with his late wife, Madeline, are especially sweet) and humor (as always, provided by Remy’s dog, Marlowe) to balance the epic violence. There’s more than enough nonintrusive exposition to let new readers jump into the story, while longtime fans will appreciate the development of recurring characters.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “A fun, fast ride that takes advantage of a strong setting and interesting characters. And when a book combines that with serious angel smackdowns, really, what else do you need?”

  —The Green Man Review

  Where Angels Fear to Tread

  “This strong, fast-paced noir fantasy is a treat. Remy is a compelling character, as he constantly struggles to hold on to the shred of humanity he forged for himself by suppressing the Seraphim. . . . Sniegoski adds a creative new spin to the good vs. evil scenario while bringing in some biblical characters that are decidedly different [from] what you read about in Sunday school. This is one of the better noir fantasy meets gumshoe detective series on the market today.”

  —Monsters and Critics

  Dancing on the Head of a Pin

  “[Sniegoski] nicely blends action, mystery, and fantasy into a well-paced story . . . a very emotional read with the hero’s grief overshadowing his every move. An intense battle is fought, new secondary characters are introduced, and readers should gain a more solid picture of the hero’s past.”

  —Darque Reviews

  “Equal measures heartbreaking and honorable, Sniegoski has created a warm, genuine character struggling with his identity and destiny. Although this innovative urban noir draws heavily on Christian beliefs, the author’s deft touch keeps it from being preachy. The fast pace, gratifying character development, and a sufficiently complex plot to hold your interest from start to finish make this one a winner.”

  —Monsters and Critics

  “A fun read. The pace of the book is excellent, and it never has a dull moment. . . . The tale is definitely something that you would read out of a 1930s crime noir novel, and it is engaging, tightly written, and moves along at a rapid pace.”

  —Sacramento Book Review

  “Dancing on the Head of a Pin is the second novel in the Remy Chandler series and a wonderful addition it is. . . . Remy has this twisted sense of humor that lightens whatever situation and makes the stor
y even more delightful to read. The plot of the stolen weapons is tight and very focused. Along with the great characters, including the secondary ones, and the action-packed plot, Dancing on the Head of a Pin is an entertaining and smart detective story.”

  —Night Owl Reviews

  “A powerful urban fantasy.”

  —Genre Go Round Reviews

  A Kiss Before the Apocalypse

  “The most inventive novel you’ll buy this year . . . a hard-boiled noir fantasy by turns funny, unsettling, and heartbreaking. This is the story Sniegoski was born to write, and a character I can’t wait to see again.”

  —Christopher Golden, bestselling author of Waking Nightmares

  “Tightly focused and deftly handled, [A Kiss Before the Apocalypse] covers familiar ground in entertaining new ways. . . . Fans of urban fantasy and classic detective stories will enjoy this smart and playful story.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “This reviewer prays there will be more novels starring Remy. . . . The audience will believe he is on earth for a reason as he does great things for humanity. This heart-wrenching, beautiful urban fantasy will grip readers with its potent emotional fervor.”

  —Midwest Book Review

  “It’s kind of refreshing to see the holy side represented. . . . Fans of urban fantasy with a new twist are likely to enjoy Sniegoski’s latest venture into that realm between humanity and angels.”

  —SFRevu

  “Blurring the lines between good and evil, A Kiss Before the Apocalypse will keep readers riveted until the very end. This is an emotional journey that’s sometimes filled with sadness, but once it begins you won’t want to walk away. Mr. Sniegoski defines the hero in a way that makes him very real and thoroughly human. . . . Fast moving, well written, and wonderfully enchanting, this is one that fantasy readers won’t want to miss.”

  —Darque Reviews

  “A fascinating look at religion and humanity from a different point of view. Mr. Sniegoski has written a compelling story of what emotion can do to even the most divine creatures. A Kiss Before the Apocalypse is not a book that one can pick up and put down easily. Once you start, you will not want to put it down until you are finished.”