Devil's Shadow

by Percival Constantine

  “Charity,” she said, but paused and shook her head. “I mean, that’s my stage name. My real name’s Jenny—Jennifer Kramer.”

  “Can I call you Jenny?” asked Wayne, speaking to her in a gentle tone. She nodded, and he continued. “Jenny, I want to know what happened.”

  “We were…in the champagne room…”

  “A private dance?” asked Wayne.

  Jenny looked down and bit her lip. It was clear she was reluctant to say too much about what was going on back there, so Wayne decided to try and put her mind at ease. He gave her a soft smile.

  “Listen, Jenny. I work homicide, not vice. The only thing I care about is finding the guy who did this. So, whatever happened in that room before he came in, that’s not my concern, okay?”

  She nodded. “He wanted…two of us. Me and this other girl, Justice.”

  “You know her real name?”

  Jenny shook her head. “I’d just met her like a few days before. Didn’t really talk to her much. But we were there with him, and then all of a sudden, this guy kicks the door open. He comes in and…” Her eyes widened as the memory returned to her.

  Wayne leaned forward and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay. Tell me what he looked like.”

  “Blood…” she whispered. “He was…covered in blood…”

  “I need some more specifics, Jenny,” said Wayne. “The bartender, Gavin, he said the guy was tall. Do you remember him being tall?”

  Jenny gave a nod.

  “What else? What color was his hair?”

  “None,” she said. “He was bald.”

  “Was he white? Hispanic? Asian?” Wayne stopped himself from saying the next race that came to mind, because he was afraid of what the answer would be.

  “Black,” she said. “But…his eyes…”

  “What about his eyes, Jenny? Could you see what color they were?”

  She shook her head. “No, I must’ve just been panicking…it’s too nuts…”

  “It’s okay, Jenny. No one’s going to hurt you. Just tell me what you saw.”

  “His eyes…they were red…and they were glowing…”

  Wayne took a deep breath and looked down at the floor. After Gavin mentioned the red glow, he had started to get suspicious. Now he knew it for sure—Luther Cross was the man who did this. Wayne rose from the bench and patted Jenny on the shoulder.

  “Thank you,” he said. “You can go home now.”

  Wayne left the back room and approached Brent, who was speaking with one of the forensic technicians. Brent dismissed the tech and faced his old friend. “She give you anything useful?”

  “Not really,” said Wayne. “She’s in shock.”

  “Well, we’re going to see if we can ID the victims. Maybe they were mobbed up and this was some kinda hit?”

  “Possibly,” said Wayne. “But the eye thing makes me think it’s just some nutcase.”

  “Yeah, you’re right,” said Brent. “Pros don’t usually sign their work.”

  “No, they sure don’t.” Wayne offered his hand to Brent. “I think I’ve done all I can today. Once you get IDs and ballistics, give me a call. I’ll see if I can do more.”

  “Thanks for coming down—I know it’s early as hell.”

  “That’s all right; don’t sleep much anyway.”

  With that, Wayne left the club and got into his car. Luther had taken down nearly a dozen demons in one sitting. Wayne knew the guy was a tough sonnuva bitch, but even that seemed impossible for him. More than that, the question of why kept running through the detective’s head. Why go after all these demons at once with no backup?

  He had questions. And Luther had better have answers.

  9

  Hell is more than just a place for punishment. Over time, Hell burns away a person’s humanity, makes them forget what they once were. Turns them into a demon. The same fate befalls any sentenced there, be they human or angel.

  Asmodeus had once been an angel, until the day Lucifer had recruited him into a rebellion against Heaven. Humans were given free will and a soul more powerful than anything else in creation. But angels, they had only been created for one purpose—servitude. Lucifer called into question the doctrines of the Divine Choir, and felt he and his inner circle of trusted brethren could do a far better job of running the cosmos.

  Whether or not he would’ve been right was still the subject of much debate. The Host of Heaven had quashed Lucifer’s rebellion, and he and those who sided with him had been exiled into a desolate realm. It was there that Lucifer had proudly proclaimed, “Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven.”

  But this wasn’t Hell. And Asmodeus, one of the first to join Lucifer, a member of Hell’s Infernal Court, was now a prisoner for the first time in his existence. His naked body was bound by powerful iron shackles around his wrists and angles, chains keeping him suspended from the roof of the dank cavern, holding him in a spread-eagle position.

  In many ways, Purgatory and Hell were similar. Both were places of suffering, where the threat of eradication constantly loomed over one’s head. But, whereas Hell would eventually make you forget what you were, Purgatory ensured you would never forget.

  Initially, Purgatory had been created as a celestial-style rehabilitation center. A place where a soul had to confront what it had done and, after serving penance, would be allowed to enter Heaven. At first, it had been created to give Lucifer and his rebellion the opportunity to redeem themselves and return to servitude.

  Asmodeus still remembered how Lucifer had spat in Michael’s face when that offer was made. The memory made him smile. But almost as soon as he did, he felt the heat of extreme flames wash over him.

  “Now, now, Lord Asmodeus, we cannot have you thinking pleasant thoughts—can we, Mr. Moore?”

  “Quite correct, Mr. Grant. Lord Thanatos would certainly not approve of such a dreadful act.”

  Two men stood before Asmodeus, both of them dressed in fitted black suits, with pressed, white shirts and matching black ties. They both wore sunglasses to hide their eyes, but the biggest difference between them was Grant didn’t have a single solitary hair on his entire head, whereas Moore had a full head of dark hair which was matched by a long, curly beard.

  Grant and Moore were Thanatos’ loyal stewards, servants of Purgatory who did their master’s bidding. It was they who were tasked with making sure Purgatory kept running smoothly, and ensured no one escaped.

  But, of course, mistakes were made.

  “Maybe you should release me from these chains, then Thanatos and I can have a proper chat,” said Asmodeus, his yellow eyes burning brightly in the dim light.

  Moore shook his head. “I do not believe that would be a wise course of action, do you, Mr. Grant?”

  “Apologies, Lord Asmodeus, but I am compelled to concur with Mr. Moore. Such a thing would not meet the master’s approval.”

  “You two do realize you’re playing with fire, right?” asked Asmodeus. “I’m a Lord of Hell. Sooner or later, the rest of the Infernal Court will notice I’m missing. And once they do…”

  “I am afraid you overestimate your worth to the Court, Lord Asmodeus. Do you not agree, Mr. Moore?”

  “So it would seem, Mr. Grant. So it would seem. The Infernal Court is, after all, a congress of demons.”

  “And—forgive me for speaking so bluntly, Lord Asmodeus—but demons are hardly renowned for their loyalty.”

  “Furthermore, let us assume your…compatriots would seek to rescue you. However, would they know where to find you?”

  Asmodeus didn’t have an answer for that. The only ones who knew he had come to Purgatory were Luther, Tessa, Cain, and Raziel. Even if they had managed to escape, he doubted Luther or Tessa would seek out the Infernal Court. Cain couldn’t care less whether Asmodeus lived or died. And as for Raziel, he might still harbor some loyalty for his fallen brother. But going to the Court, that would force him to explain just why he and Asmodeus were working together.<
br />
  And right now, Raziel couldn’t afford to let Heaven or Hell know about Dakota Reed and the nephilim with which she was pregnant. Not until he knew who the traitor truly was and could prove it.

  Grant walked up beside Asmodeus. His tongue extended past his lips, elongating and moving like a snake. It wrapped around Asmodeus’ chin, resting on his cheek, and slowly licked its way across, moving back on a trail until it returned to Grant’s mouth. The feel of it was like sandpaper that had been drenched in mucus.

  “There it is,” said Grant with a satisfied smack of his lips. “Despair.”

  “I do believe I would like a taste as well. By your leave, Mr. Grant…?”

  Grant bowed to his associate and gestured to Asmodeus’ opposite side. Moore approached, and once he came near, his tongue also slithered from his mouth, then dragged itself across Asmodeus’ naked chest. The demon tried to ignore how it made his skin crawl. The slightest reaction would only give them more pleasure.

  “Ahh, yes, you are correct, Mr. Grant. That is the sweet, savory taste of despair,” said Moore. “Combined, if I’m not mistaken, with just a touch of regret.”

  “Enjoy it while you can,” said Asmodeus. “Once I’m out of these chains, I’m dragging the two of you back to my realm of Hell. And then I’ll show you what my hospitality looks like…”

  There was a thunderous boom throughout the cavern and the ground quivered. Asmodeus looked into the darkness, trying to see what had made the sound. Heavy footsteps echoed, each one causing a small tremor. But the intensity decreased with each successive step.

  Asmodeus saw the hint of a massive form, but it changed as it came closer. When it finally stepped into what little light there was, Asmodeus was surprised to see a man with slicked-back hair, the strands just long enough to reach past his ears. His hairline was receding, and he had a faint beard—dark, with specks of gray scattered within.

  “Asmodeus, I presume.” His voice was almost serpent-like. “So glad to finally make your acquaintance. I am Thanatos.”

  “So, everyone was wrong—Purgatory does have a master,” said Asmodeus. “I always thought it suspicious for a wondrous place such as this to be nothing but anarchy. Hats off to you, Thanatos. I love what you’ve done with the place. Now what do you want from me?”

  “You trespassed, demon. Entered my realm without permission. Did you really think there wouldn’t be consequences for your actions?” asked Thanatos.

  “I never think that far ahead,” said Asmodeus.

  “I beg to differ,” said Thanatos. “Your—let’s call them friends, for lack of a better word—managed to escape with a soul that belonged to me. There are rules, Asmodeus. Heaven and Hell, you can have your war, you can steal souls from each other. But Purgatory is supposed to be neutral.”

  “Funny, I don’t remember you at the negotiating table when the treaty was signed.”

  “For eons, both Heaven and Hell have respected Purgatory’s boundaries. Now you choose to trespass? To break the rules that have served us so well? For what purpose?”

  “How about you stop with the self-righteous bullshit and quit pretending that you’re offended?” asked Asmodeus. “We both know Joseph Luxton’s soul had no business being in Purgatory. It was hidden here by a rogue angel.”

  Thanatos scoffed. “Are you really suggesting any angel to be capable of entering Purgatory without my knowledge? Nothing here escapes my notice.”

  “We managed to get in undetected,” said Asmodeus.

  A wide, twisted grin spread across Thanatos’ face. “No, you were just made to believe you did. In reality, Mr. Moore and Mr. Grant were monitoring you the whole time.”

  Asmodeus gritted his teeth. Rage built up in his chest, and he could feel the familiar heat of hellfire forming in his body. But he couldn’t find any way to channel it. He looked at the iron shackles and saw sigils from the Key of Solomon engraved in them. Sigils designed to contain the power of a demon.

  “Clever,” said Asmodeus.

  “Couldn’t have you escaping, now, could we?” asked Thanatos.

  “So, this was all a trap, designed to remove those who were aware of the angel’s plan.” A sigh of realization slipped from Asmodeus’ mouth. “I understand now. You’re working with him.”

  “My alliances are my own.”

  Asmodeus chuckled.

  “Might I inquire as to the source of your amusement, Lord Asmodeus?” asked Moore.

  “Yes, do share with the rest of the class, demon,” said Thanatos.

  “It’s just…I never imagined the Lord of Purgatory would be subservient to some winged prick throwing a temper tantrum.”

  Fire burned in Thanatos’ eyes, but that only increased Asmodeus’ laughter.

  “All hail Lord Thanatos! Master of Purgatory, Cock-Sucker of Angels!”

  Thanatos seized Asmodeus by the throat, squeezing tightly. Though it halted Asmodeus’ laughter and taunts, it didn’t silence him completely. The archdemon met Thanatos’ gaze, his eyes glowing yellow as he smiled.

  “You know it’s true,” said Asmodeus. “You’re doing whatever that asshole wants you to do. And for what? Just what, exactly, has the angel offered you? What can he offer you?”

  Thanatos chuckled. “Real estate.”

  “And by that you mean…?”

  “Hell, my boy. The angel has offered me Hell.” Thanatos released Asmodeus’ throat and lightly slapped his cheek a few times. “At the moment, Hell is nothing more than an anarchist’s playground. I will bring a sense of order to it, of purpose.”

  “You can’t seriously be that naive,” said Asmodeus. “You know as well as I do that the angel is playing with fire. Both Heaven and Hell have massive stockpiles of souls. This wouldn’t be a war, it would be mutually-assured destruction. And when that happens, it will spill over into Purgatory.”

  “The celestial realms have been in disarray ever since the day the Morningstar began his rebellion,” said Thanatos. “I am older than the oldest angel, Asmodeus. I remember when there was nothing, and I remember when the universe was pure. I want to return to that purity.”

  “That’s a pity,” said Asmodeus. “I was hoping we could make a deal.”

  Thanatos cocked an eyebrow at the demon. “And what, pray tell, would a Lord of Hell have to offer that would interest something like me?”

  “It all rests on the greatest sin of all.”

  “Which is?”

  “Pride,” said Asmodeus.

  Thanatos dismissed Asmodeus with a wave of his hand. “I’m above such petty emotions.”

  “Are you?” asked Asmodeus. “Because the way you speak of Purgatory suggests otherwise. You’re proud of what you’ve accomplished here, Thanatos—and well you should be. But there’s just one nagging inconsistency, isn’t there?”

  “That would be…?”

  “For eons, you’ve managed to keep Purgatory’s prisoners locked in Purgatory. Not even Hell is capable of such a feat. But, there is one exception…”

  Thanatos narrowed his eyes. “Cain.”

  Asmodeus nodded. “How many times has Cain escaped Purgatory?”

  Thanatos growled in response. Asmodeus could tell the creature couldn’t bring himself to even state the number.

  “I can give you Cain,” said Asmodeus. “But I need a little something in return.”

  “And the angel?” asked Thanatos.

  “This angel believes in purity, but not in the same way that you do,” said Asmodeus. “He would see Hell destroyed, wiped from existence. And once he’s done with Hell, he’ll come for Purgatory. Ethnic cleansings rarely just stop on their own. They escalate. First the Earth, then Hell, and then Purgatory. And you would be powerless to stop it.”

  Thanatos rubbed his bearded chin as Asmodeus spoke. He was considering the demon’s offer. Asmodeus suppressed his desire to smile. After centuries of making deals, Asmodeus knew the telltale signs that he was beginning to get to his mark.

  With a snap of Thanatos’
fingers, the shackles and chains vanished and Asmodeus fell to the ground, landing on his knees.

  He stood upright and looked at the Lord of Purgatory. “Does this mean we have a deal?” he asked.

  “It means we shall discuss it in further detail,” said Thanatos.

  “Wonderful,” said Asmodeus. “In that case, could I get some pants?”

  10

  Once again, I found myself driving out to the Cumberland Station late at night in order to meet with Killian. He really was a paranoid little shit. Made me wonder how he had ever survived Hell for as long as he did.

  I parked in the same spot as before and got out of the car, leaning against the hood. While I waited, I lit a cigarette and smoked, waiting for the sound of the Blue Line train’s arrival. After a few minutes, I heard it pull into the station, and not long after, I saw Killian descending the escalator, running down the steps.

  He wore a Cubs sweatshirt with the hood pulled over his head. As he came towards the parking area, he kept looking from left to right. I rolled my eyes as I watched. Be a little more obvious, why don’t you?”

  “’Evening, Killian,” I said as he came closer.

  He jumped when he heard his name and glared at me with his yellow eyes, then walked closer, but stopped a few feet away. His back was to the station and he did his best to hide behind the stairway to the parking garage.

  “You’re jumpier than usual,” I said.

  “You’d be jumpy, too, if you’ve heard what I have!” he hissed in a hushed voice.

  “Then why don’t you tell me what you found out, so I can start pissing my pants, too?”

  Killian shook his head. “This is too big. You know that everyone’s talking about what you did, right?”

  I pointed to myself and put on a faux mask of innocence. “Me? What did I do?”

  “Kimaris’ crew—everyone’s talking about how you massacred them. Some whispers about taking out a few of Iblis’ guys, too.”