by Michael Todd
Instead Katie was laying on the bed fully clothed, although the top button of her jeans was open. She groaned again and grabbed her stomach, then rolled over onto her side.
“Katie!” Damian exclaimed, kneeling on the bed next to her. “Where does it hurt?”
She patted her stomach…gently.
“Does it hurt to press here?” he asked, pushing his fingers into her abdomen.
“No.” She groaned louder, eyes closed.
“Do you have a fever?” he inquired, looking into her eyes. “Do you have allergies?”
“No,” she responded.
She whispered something, but Damian couldn’t hear her. He leaned closer and asked her to repeat herself, then held his breath, his head by her mouth.
“Too…much,” she whispered.
“Too much what?” he asked.
“Too…much…Italian,” she said, letting out a deep breath.
“Too much… Oh, God.” Damian’s laughter burst out like water breaking a dam. “You ate too much food.”
“It’s not funny!” she grumped, rolling on her back. “I have a food toddler in my belly right now.”
“I just…I… Oh, God,” he repeated, still laughing hysterically. “I thought something had gotten you. I seriously thought there was something wrong, but it was just food. Good Lord, it was just food.”
Damian scooted to the end of the bed and rubbed his face, trying to calm his laughter. It was both funny and tragic at the same time.
He had thought… Well, he had thought a lot of things, but a full belly was not one them. When he had finally calmed himself enough he looked at the dresser, taking note of the two knives, short sword, and pistols lying there. If they were in her room, she had qualified to carry all of them.
“Damn! You shaped up pretty good, young lady,” Damian told her, nodding toward the weapons. “I wasn’t sure if you would ever get certified on them.”
“It wasn’t me.” Katie nodded to him, but credited both him and the others. “I had good teachers.”
“Good,” he said, walking toward the door.
“Except for teaching me when to stop eating Italian,” she said a little louder. “Then you guys are fucking lousy.” She groaned pitifully.
Damian laughed, putting his hand in the air and waving as he walked out of the room. She needed to get the door fixed now.
On the south side of San Ysidro, a town within the San Diego County limits, things weren’t so full of laughter and happiness.
The houses in the neighborhood were closely packed together, most of them mimicking the normal San Diego mission-style homes with their stucco sides and red tile roofs. They were old, the yards unkempt, and police sirens were a regular sound in the area. On this night a black Mercedes drove along the street , windows tinted so dark you couldn’t see into the car. At the end of the block was a house that was just like the others on the outside, but on the inside a drug business flourished.
As the car pulled up in front, the silhouettes of the people scurrying about inside could be seen through the curtains. The driver parked and walked to the rear passenger door, standing in front of it and looking around before opening it. The politician got out of the car and pulled his jacket closed, buttoning it and looking around the neighborhood. He stepped forward and grimaced, picking his foot up and looking at the bottom—he had somehow managed to step in day-old vomit on the sidewalk. He scowled and held his handkerchief to his face as he scraped his shoe off in the grass.
“You’re sure this is the place?” he asked, looking at the driver. The man nodded and started walking toward the front door.
The politician looked around with judgment on his face, then climbed the front steps and waited until the driver had opened the door for him. He nodded at the driver and stepped into the living room. There were several people completely fucked up on drugs lounging around along with the scurrying people, and two goons in front of him. They nodded for him to raise his arms so he did, allowing them to search his body for weapons or wires. When they were satisfied they looked at the driver, who stood at least a foot taller than either of them and was three times their width.
Suffice it to say, no one fucked with the driver at all that day. Instead, they stared up at him as he stood with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes roving the room. He was not only the driver, but the bodyguard as well. The politician knew no one would fuck with him while his driver was near, no matter how badass they thought they were. The two men led the politician and his guard back to the end of the hallway, then stood aside and allowed the politician to enter.
“Hello, Alejandro,” the politician said.
“The suit.” He chuckled. “El imbécil en el traje. El hombre de T'Chezz.”
“That’s right,” the politician said, walking to the front of Alejandro’s desk. “The asshole in the suit. T’Chezz’s man. You pegged me right.”
“I could smell your demon before you got here,” Alejandro said, his eyes burning red. “And you don’t smell like you are too smart.”
“Smart enough to stay out of T’Chezz’s lair.”
Alejandro laughed. “No you’re not, suit. Please humor me with an explanation of why you have come to my house in broad daylight like this.”
“I need your house.” He looked around. “For summoning. This is directly from him.”
“Why here?” Alejandro asked with a chuckle.
“I’ll give you a cool twenty-five K to not ask questions.”
The drug dealer shrugged and leaned back in his chair.
“Ain’t no shit off my back.”
“It’s ‘skin,’” the politician grumbled angrily.
“Whatever,” Alejandro snarled. “Make it thirty, and we have a deal. I mean, I will have to empty everyone out of this joint, and possibly miss out on business. I mean, it was worth your time to come all the way out here, slumming it in your suit worth more than this whole place.”
The politician clenched his fists and his teeth, trying to hold back his urge to rip the guy’s throat out. He took a deep breath and cracked his neck to calm himself down, and slowly his patented smirk returned to his lips.
“All right, thirty thousand,” he agreed, turning to his driver. “Retrieve the money for this upstanding drug dealer, would you please?
The driver looked at the drug dealer and narrowed his eyes. Alejandro chuckled, obviously not afraid of very much. The driver nodded to the politician and left the room.
“You know what, suit?” The drug dealer stood up and walked around the desk. “Me and you—we ain’t so different.”
The drug dealer put his arm around the politician’s shoulder and laughed as the politician pulled it off. He wiped his suit off and cleared his throat, pulling down on his jacket. He was not amused by the fact that he had to stand there and converse with someone so far below him.
“You see,” Alejandro continued, walking back to his desk as he pointed between the two of them, “we both give people what they want. I’m just a bit more transparent about not giving a shit about their health. You… You try to put on a sly face, but I can read right through it.”
At that moment the driver walked back into the house carrying a gym bag full of money, which he plopped down on the desk next to the dealer before walking over to the politician. The dealer opened it and whistled, then smiled as he pulled out a big stack of cash. He nodded his head and zipped the bag closed.
“Come on, boys.” He waved to his two heavies, then looked at the politician. “How about the people in the living room? You want me to get them out of here?”
“No,” the politician said, wiping off his hands on his handkerchief and giving the dealer a fake smile. “I suppose it will help to have them here.”
“I should have asked for thirty-five,” Alejandro grumbled as he walked out of the house. “I’m going to lose some seriously loyal customers on this damn deal.”
The politician rolled his eyes as the dealer slammed the door beh
ind him.
The politician carefully removed his jacket and hung it over a nearby chair, rubbing his hands together and closing his eyes as he settled himself and his demon. Then, with no expression on his face, he turned and stared at the driver, who was standing there with a couple of helpers who had shown up shortly after he walked back in with the gym bag.
“I need you to drag a few of those drugged-out addicts in here and drop them in the center of the floor.” He waved a finger toward the center. “I’ll move the furniture out while you start bringing them over.”
The driver nodded and pushed his helpers, moving them toward the unconscious bodies lying around the house. The politician rolled his sleeves up and moved the furniture back against the walls, then stood back and watched until his men were done.
The helpers moved to the background with fear in their eyes as the politician pulled a small vial of blue dust from his pocket. Slowly he walked a circle clockwise around the bodies, pouring the dust on the floor. When he was done he turned and raised his arms over his head, his palms out and open.
“Nos hie vocare te magnanime daemonium septuaginta duo. Exite nostrae tenebras paravimus corporis tui. Quod petis hic damnatio suscipiendum hoc tecum sumus,” the politician chanted over and over. Each time he spoke, his voice was a little louder.
After the third time the house began to rattle loudly, and, in the circle, a massive monster started to materialize.
His curled-up body hovered over the floor.
The politician said the incantation for a final time, and this time the body of the beast unfurled in front of him. His jaws were clamped together and he snarled as his feet floated downward. The beast slowly lifted his head and turned toward the politician.
“T’Chezz’s vessel,” the beast whispered as he looked at his hands. “So he wasn’t tricking me after all.”
The politician shook his head. “No. He’s not really a game player.”
“Why the circle?” the demon asked, looking around him.
“Do you see the rope I placed through the circle?” the politician asked.
“Yes,” the beast growled.
“I am going to light it on fire in just a moment, and no more than five minutes from that time it will break the circle. You will be free to do what you want. I’ve provided food and entertainment.”
The beast followed the politician’s gaze to the bodies beside him. He poked one of them; the human was still alive. He smiled and looked at the politician, nodding. The politician nodded slightly in return and stepped forward to pick up the end of the rope, lighting it on fire. Slowly it burned toward the circle, and the demon looked around in amazement.
“This is where we leave you.” He dropped the flaming rope. “You know what your mission is, so I don’t need to remind you.”
The demon nodded. The politician looked at his driver and the help, nodding at them as well.
The men left the house and closed the door behind them, no longer interested in what happened next. They had done their jobs. The driver hurried forward and opened the door for the politician, who quickly climbed in.
No one wanted to be near that place when the demon broke free. The driver shut the door and hurried around to the other side, jumping in the driver’s seat and taking off.
The politician looked over his shoulder at the shimmering light coming from the structure and then turned back, smiling.
He had completed his mission, and now it was up to T’Chezz to get things going. To take the next step toward his goals.
The black car turned the corner and accelerated out of sight, putting distance between it and the drug house. From within came the screams of the drug addicts locked inside with the monster. He had ingested his food and now sat in his circle, biting down on the neck of a screaming woman and ripping at her flesh until the noise had diminished and her body was limp.
He tossed the body to the side and stood up, then stepped carefully out of the circle. The spell had worked, and he was free to start his next round of terror.
He hadn’t come to Earth to chew on drug addicts’ necks.
No, he had come there for a reason—and he wouldn’t be dealing with people who would just stand by and watch him make his move.
He walked toward the front door and grabbed the handle, casually ripping the door from its hinges.
He was free at last, and no one was going to take that away.
Chapter Five
“There aren’t any reports of the most recent incidents.” Korbin tossed some papers aside. “For all intents and purposes, these articles say what the DEA told the reporters, word for word. There isn’t anything here that gives us new information.”
“There has to be something out there.” Calvin tapped his leg, frustrated. “Even if it comes from that conspiracy theory paper’s reporter who is always at the scene, asking us questions.”
“Yeah,” Korbin said, pointing at Calvin. “That’s true. There is one particular woman, but I can’t think of her name.”
“Charlotte,” Calvin answered. “Charlotte Guthrie.”
Korbin raised an eyebrow. “Should I wonder why you know that name so well?”
“Nope.” Calvin shrugged. “Just remembered it, that’s all.”
“Who else has met this girl?” Korbin asked.
“Katie, Garrett, Damian… Pretty much everyone.”
Korbin reached over and called for Katie over the loudspeaker. If anyone could help him at that moment, it was probably her. They sat there quietly going over the articles in front of them until she showed up.
“Hey, boss,” she said, sweaty from training and eyeing them both. “What can I do for you?”
Korbin greeted Katie with, “By the way, that cannoli you brought back was great! Almost as good as my grandma used to make.” He derived considerable enjoyment from watching her turn slightly green at the mention of food, since Damian had told him the tale of her previous evening’s overindulgence and its aftermath.
Katie smiled tentatively. “Am I in trouble?”
“No, not in trouble,” Korbin replied. “I have a mission for you. You and Calvin are going to San Diego. I want you to check out Charlotte Guthrie, who works for an underground publication called The Seeing Eye. She approached you when we were taking you out of the old parking garage the night you were infected. I want you and Calvin to read up on any stories she has done about the Damned and go from there.”
“And by go from there you mean…” Calvin looked at Korbin.
“I want you to connect with her. Get her alone and find out what she knows, if anything,” Korbin explained. “I want you to really talk to her, if you know what I mean.”
“Isn’t that dangerous?” Katie looked between the two men. “Delving into that kind of reporting? I mean, that publication… They don’t have the best credentials, and half their shit is made-up, like the woman who saw Jesus in her toast and then preached that her toaster was possessed by the devil.”
“Hey, maybe it was. I’ve seen crazier.” Calvin chuckled.
Katie was quiet for a moment. “True.”
Pandora spoke up. There is no fucking way we would possess a small electrical appliance. What a load of horseshit.
“The thing is, she has intel—or at least she may,” Korbin told them. “And if we have to dance with the devil… Wait.”
Calvin’s and Katie’s faces curled into grimaces and Korbin shook his head, annoyed. “That was not what I meant,” he admitted. “For obvious reasons, that was a very bad metaphor.”
Pandora cackled. Ask him if he knows the tango. I got those moves like Jagger.
“Hey, if we have to dance with the devil to kick his ass, I’ll learn the damn two-step,” Katie assured them.
That was NOT what I said! Pandora huffed. It’s like you’re ignoring me here.
“The two-step, really?” Calvin laughed. “I mean, if the devil was dancing, it’d be more like the damn Tootsee Roll.”
Really? As a black
man, you are seriously killing your street cred.
“I could never do that.” Katie shook her head.
“You’re white.” Calvin patted her on the shoulder. “It’s all right. We won’t judge you for that.”
I do. I don’t care what color you are! I will absolutely judge you for that shit.
“Gee, thanks.” Katie smirked. “I was starting to think that I was destined to be second-best because I couldn’t actually dance with the devil.”
I’m right here. No need to go all dancing with the devil when you got me. Are you even fucking listening?
“Anyway.” Korbin sighed. “Just try not to divulge too much information to her. We don’t need a story coming out next week with everything you two lunatics told her because you got off-topic.”
“Right,” Katie agreed, clearing her throat and sitting up straight. “We will be on-topic and careful the entire time.”
“And for God’s sake, don’t let her get killed,” Korbin warned.
Katie pursed her lips. “In all fairness, we never actually try to get anyone killed. That would be pretty fucked up of us.”
I do try to get people killed, or at least I did. It’s been a bit anemic lately.
Are you done? Katie asked. I mean, some of that was halfway funny, but I’m in a serious conversation here.
You keep talking to me like I’m not wanted at the adult conversation table, and I’ll give you a serious case of heartburn…heavy on the burn.
Duly noted, and I can’t always carry on a three-way—
Pandora snickered.
CONVERSATION! Katie sighed. Geez, it’s like I can’t say anything without you going right to the gutter.
You wouldn’t question that if you just enjoyed ONE NIGHT in the gutter with me.
I’m pretty sure I can do without that.
I could draw you a picture.
How about I get some crayons for you?
Did you just diss me? I think you did! If I fucking knew what crayons were, I’d make you shoot flames out your ass next time you fart.