Satan's Sword

by Debra Dunbar

  “Party store,” Michelle announced. “A huge party store chain with the costumes and piñatas. There is nothing like that on this side of town and it would work with the demographics.”

  I shrugged. “Let’s run the numbers, float out some inquiries, and see how it looks. I don’t mind retail if the income stream is there and it’s not too much of a pain in the ass.”

  Michelle nodded and folded up the map. She was avoiding my eyes and there was an odd look to her face.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Nothing. I think this is a good deal, that’s all.”

  Michelle was a worse liar than I was. “This is a crap deal. It’s a huge investment, with a stupid amount of risk. It’s in a horrible neighborhood that’s going down the drain at the speed of light. Why are you so determined to have me buy this?”

  “It’s just. . . well, the projects were demolished downtown in the revitalization effort and all the destitute minorities got shoved out to the edges of the city and a few older developments outside of town. Everything is falling apart out here and. . . well. . . they deserve better.”

  Something twisted inside me when I saw her eyes, bright with unshed tears. This wasn’t the tough businesswoman I knew. What was this about?

  “The mall, stores, these shopping centers, they’re all falling left and right. There are lots of customers, living right here, that need stores they can walk to. Plus, there needs to be decent shops and restaurants to bring the wealthier folks out. Otherwise the whole area is going to turn into a dangerous ghetto.”

  Her smile twisted as she looked at me. “I know it’s a terrible reason to invest millions of dollars, but I was lucky enough to not grow up like this. I hate that others have to.”

  “You feel some sort of responsibility for these people?”

  “Yes. All humanity. But especially those who are vulnerable.”

  I frowned. “Resources are always limited. There will be those that have and those that don’t. Fate has an unsympathetic and amoral hand. That’s just the way of life.”

  Michelle’s jaw was firm. “That doesn’t mean I have to sit back and do nothing. The universe may play out that way, but I’ll fight it with my every breath. If I change one life, just one, then it’s worth the fight.”

  “Well, let’s go look at this strip mall then,” I told her.

  The old grocery store had been vacant a long time. Long enough for graffiti to decorate the walls and homeless to move in. The graffiti had been painted over, a faint outline still bleeding through the scant coat of white, and boards nailed across the broken openings. There were signs that squatters had been there at one point, but no belongings had been left behind. There was only one person, sitting propped up against the outside wall, a lump of dark green blanket against the October chill.

  “We had some issues with vagrancy until a few weeks ago,” the real estate agent confessed. “Nothing since then, although we still get nightly graffiti. I know it’s not in a great neighborhood, and it’s been missing an anchor store for a long time. It’s priced accordingly.”

  The agent and Michelle went in while I looked at the graffiti still visible through the damp paint. There were some very ornate tags, vulgar innuendo about a man named Mike, and a crude drawing of a cat next to the entrance. I scrutinized the cat drawing. Two round circles in green with stick legs, triangle ears, and dotted eyes. The artist had taken some liberties with reality and made six legs extending from the very round torso.

  “He took them one by one,” a voice from the blanket pronounced. “This was his hunting ground until they all fled. He’ll find them again, and kill them off. Then he’ll take the children.”

  “Huh?” I was shocked that the lump wasn’t screaming at me, trying to banish me back to Hel. Homeless people don’t usually converse with me. I hesitantly walked closer. Nothing was visible beyond shabby shoes sticking from under the dark green woolen blanket. A faint smell of mildew and rotted leaves came from the lump, as if something had once been buried in it long ago.

  “He kills them and takes their ears.”

  That sounded vaguely familiar. Where had I heard that before?

  “They’ve come to you for protection. The Ha-satan. The answer to their prayers.”

  “Huh?” I hated to be a broken record, but I had no idea what the heck she was talking about. And why did everyone keep addressing me as Satan? At least she’d gotten the name right, though.

  “Your tenants. Even the ones you call homeless. They are your people, yours to keep safe. Here in your town. He kills them and takes their ears so they can no longer hear the song of God. It’s your responsibility to protect them. To keep your people safe.”

  “I don’t believe that’s in our lease agreement,” I told her. Was she suggesting I was under some contractual obligation to provide security for my tenants? Fuck that. Reed was there to collect rent and make sure a riot didn’t break out. Other than that, these people were on their own.

  “It’s time for you to take up the sword of your destiny. Time for you to claim what is yours and defend them from those who would steal them away.”

  Mine. The word rose unbidden from my depths, power surging across the miles.

  “My Ha-satan, my Iblis,” the lump said reverentially.

  Crazy nut-job. What did she think I was? Batman? The mayor? The Iblis? Not me. No way. It was bad enough I was sticking my neck out for Dar, that I’d risked myself to help the werewolves this summer. This was becoming a habit and it needed to stop right now.

  “My only responsibility is to myself,” I told her, feeling silly for talking to a lump of blanket.

  “It’s time to take your rightful place,” the voice accused.

  “Fuck that,” I replied and went inside. Myself and Wyatt. Everyone else could rot in hell.

  Chapter 9

  That evening Candy and I had a date for a fall run along the mountain trails in Gambrill park. It was a perfect October evening for a run. The air snapped with the promise of winter cold, and the wind was strong enough to sting lungs and water eyes. The path we’d mapped out was a rough cut through the woods that joined up with a portion of the Appalachian Trail. The hilly trails plus the damp fall leaves on the ground left no doubt in my mind that I’d finish with skinned knees, bruises, and muddy clothing. I’d dressed appropriately with ratty sweatpants and a stained race shirt from a 5K years ago. Candy on the other hand was a vision in her tights and long sleeve athletic shirt. Her hair was curled in its pony tail and she had makeup on.

  “Seriously?” I gestured at her makeup.

  She shrugged and began stretching out on an old park bench. Even her shoes looked like they’d never seen the outdoors.

  “I love this time of year. It’s almost full moon, too. Wish I was doing this on four legs instead of two.” She flexed her hamstrings in an awe inspiring downward dog.

  “Do you run in wolf form up here a lot? I thought you guys had some pretty severe restrictions on when and where you could do that.”

  “Yes. I still do it though. There’s no angel appointed to us yet, so we remain under Gregory’s supervision. Normally I wouldn’t sneeze wrong with that guy in charge, but he’s allowing us to hold a fall hunt. It’s the first time in over fifty years we’ve been able to gather together in a group greater than ten and shift into our wolf forms. He’s loosened a great many of the density restrictions, too. That’s meant that more of us are able to mate bond and live in areas suitable to our kind.”

  I wondered if Gregory was actually a decent angel after all. He’d delivered justice on Althean, he seemed to be treating the werewolves with fairness, and he’d made me a sandwich. Maybe I needed to rethink my view of him.

  “Not that I think he’s some kind of saint though,” Candy added. “I take a great chance shifting form and running out here. I don’t dare hunt, and I take precautions.”

  She walked over to the car and, giving me a mischievous look, opened up the glove compartment, pulling out a
collar. It was a dog collar. A pink, glittery dog collar covered with rhinestones and embellished with a gold tag. I walked over and noticed the tag proclaimed the animal wearing it to be “Gigi” and gave a name and phone number I didn’t recognize.

  “Smart. But you still would look like a wolf. A wolf with a blingy dog collar.”

  Candy shook her head and grinned. “These days, as long as you don’t look like a pit bull, you’re home free.”

  I handed the collar back and she secured it out of sight in the glove box before beeping the alarm on her car.

  “Wyatt and I scored invitations to Bang for their Halloween party,” I mentioned to her as we walked to the trail head.

  Bang was legendary in the Baltimore area. There were lines around the block to get in there on a normal weekend. Wyatt had done game testing for some big wig and had gotten the coveted invitations as a thank you. I wished Candy had a boyfriend. She’d be fun to take to this sort of thing.

  “Do you think the angels will ever allow you to mate with humans?” I asked her, abruptly changing the subject. There weren’t a lot of werewolves in the area, and the existence contract kept their romantic options very limited.

  “I don’t know,” she replied thoughtfully, setting the pace with a slow warm-up jog. “So many of the angels hold the opinion that we’re Nephilim, but I get the feeling that Gregory might be in the camp that considers us a mutated form of humans. He seems to hold some influence, so I’m hopeful that there will be positive change. Although with angels it could be ten thousand years before they even think about it. The problem with immortals is they have no concept of urgency.”

  We’d picked up the pace considerably, and I was very impressed that Candy managed to conduct this whole conversation without even a ragged breath. I was in damned good shape, but she made me look like an overweight couch potato.

  “Would you date a human if the restrictions were lifted?” I was partly teasing, but partly serious, too.

  The relationship rules had been in place for thousands of years, and many werewolves just didn’t feel comfortable dating humans. It had become a cultural practice over time that would be hard to break. Candy was a traditionalist, and very proud of being a werewolf. She’d been married to another wolf once, but was now divorced with grown children. I’d never seen her even look interested in a man, or woman, of any species.

  We ran silently for a few moments while Candy thought about my question. Finally, she looked over at me. “I’ve been dating a human named Jay for a few weeks now. You’ve met him before; he’s the CFO over at Horizon.”

  “So you’re not only breaking the species barrier, but the race barrier, too?”

  “It’s sad that some backward humans still can’t manage to accept a mix race couple, but honestly, I’m more worried about keeping it from the werewolf community that I’m breaking the species rules. So far it’s been pretty easy to keep it stealthy. We’re both prominent business people and neither one of us wants a lot of gossip this early in a relationship. Eventually, if we keep seeing each other, we’ll need to discuss how to handle this though.”

  “Does he know you get furry and bite rabbits to death in your spare time?” I was amazed at this side of Candy.

  “No, he knows I like the outdoors and that I hunt. I know I should tell him, but I really like him. I’ve been pretty lonely since the divorce, especially with the kids grown and gone. I miss being with someone of who thinks I’m attractive. Jay is divorced with grown kids, too. He’s athletic, enjoys bow hunting, believe it or not, loves his career, and has strong family values. He looks amazing in a suit.” She looked at me and smiled mischievously. “And looks amazing out of the suit, too. He’s hot. And I really have missed sex.”

  I burst out laughing and tripped over a root, almost sprawling face first into the dirt. “Damn, you go girl! Do you do it doggie style?”

  “That you’ll never know.” Candy grinned then dramatically increased speed down the trail.

  Conversation became impossible as we raced single file down the narrowed path. Although the trails were maintained, they were still rough with rocks and roots hiding under the damp fall leaves. We ducked under low branches and hopped mossy fallen logs blocking the trail. My shirt snagged several times on briars I could not avoid in time. The downhill grade became so steep at one point that I raced down it, out of control, hoping that I could manage to keep my feet under me. If I’d fallen, my forward momentum would have had me bouncing all the way down before I could stop. Finally, we hit the bottom and ran along what appeared to be an old creek bed. Candy led, and I felt bad knowing that I was slowing her down. On the roads, we were pretty evenly matched, but she clearly had the advantage in the woods.

  We veered off the creek bed onto what was, in reality, no more than a deer track. Now the fun began as we had to squeeze through dense sapling groupings and practically crawl under briars that choked the paths. I began to feel like I was in one of the mud runs that had become so popular lately. Candy splashed her way through a freezing, rocky stream, and then led me scrambling up a shale strewn path as we began the complicated switchbacks to the top of the mountain. My lungs were raw and my breath ragged as we broke free of the deer track and onto a more maintained, although still steep, trail. Forcing myself to speed up a bit, I managed to gain enough on Candy to jog abreast on the wider trail.

  “He tucked me in bed and made me a sandwich,” I wheezed at her.

  “Who, Wyatt?” Candy clearly wondered why on earth this was a noteworthy event. Damn her, she wasn’t even breathing hard.

  “Gregory,” I gasped.

  There was a crash and I realized that Candy was no longer beside me. I halted and turned around, although stopping on an uphill run wasn’t a good idea. It would be muscle agony trying to get my speed and rhythm back up after stopping like this. Candy was flat on her face on the trail. Actually, by the time I turned around, she had jumped to her feet, embarrassed, and was brushing the mud smears off her formerly pristine clothing.

  “I must have misheard you,” she said, still brushing her clothes. I was actually grateful for the short break to catch my breath a bit. “I thought you said Gregory, i.e. the angel Gregory, tucked you in bed and made you a sandwich.”

  “He did.” I was finally able to speak now that I wasn’t running flat out. “He came by to try and fix this stupid tattoo, chased me around my house for a while, then we had some weird out-of-body thing that was like sex only a million times better, then he helped me clean up my house, then we did the no-body sex thing again, then he tucked me in bed for a nap, then made me a sandwich and finished cleaning up my house before he left.”

  Candy stared at me open mouthed like a beached trout, our run temporarily forgotten. “Are you hallucinating? You’re joking, right?”

  “He was an asshole at first, but after we did the out-of-body sex thing, I swear he was coming on to me in that controlling, arrogant fashion of his. He was intense. It made me really uncomfortable, kind of scared me. I think I liked it better when he was pissed off at me and trying to kill me.”

  “After he had, you know, relations, with you? That’s when he started coming on to you?” Candy was confused. “Because with werewolves, they usually come on to someone before they have sex with them. To persuade them. Unless. . . do you think he wanted to do it again?”

  “He said no, but we did anyway.” I was equally confused. “I don’t know angels. They hate us. Two and a half million years and the only contact we’ve had with them is right before our heads separate from our bodies. They hate us, they kill us. They don’t angel-fuck us, talk sexy in our ears, then tuck us in bed and make us a snack. Candy, what is going on?”

  “Sam, I just don’t think anything good can come from this,” Candy said, her voice worried. “He may feel some attraction to you, but that won’t change millions of years of hate. He might find you interesting, and appealing, but in the end you’re a demon and he’ll overcome whatever weakness he’s indulgi
ng in and kill you. You’re my friend, and I will miss you, but I think you need to go home where you’re safe.”

  I shook my head. “I’m pretty sure he can summon me from there. I’m bound to him. If he really wants to kill me, I can’t escape.”

  “Maybe if you’re home, he won’t have a reason to kill you? You won’t be running around here, causing trouble and rubbing his nose in it all the time. You’ll be home where you’re expected to do those things.”

  I shook my head again. “I don’t want to go home. I’d rather take my chances here.”

  She stared at me intently, then made a sound of disbelief.

  “Oh no, oh no. You cannot, hear me, cannot, go falling in love with him. Just stop it right now and snap out of it. I don’t care how amazing out-of-body-angel-sex is, you are not going to fall in love with an angel. Especially this angel. This is probably going to end with your death either way, but I don’t want to see you die humiliated, hurt, and heartbroken, with no dignity whatsoever.”

  Love? Yeah right, like that was going to happen. He was no fun at all. He was a total judgmental asshole. Obsessed? Yes. Love? No.

  “I know what love is. It’s not an emotion we do. We just don’t have the capacity for it. We crave what is new and different, to experience every combination of sensory input we can. This thing with Gregory is new, different. That’s all it is.”

  She frowned at me. “I don’t believe you. You’re a really weird demon. Not that I’ve met a lot of demons. But you’re not totally a demon anymore are you? Didn’t you say that brand changed you somehow? Stuck some angel energy in you or something? Angels love. It’s a strange, scary, unworldly sort of love, but it’s still love.”

  “It didn’t change me that way.” I pulled up my shirt sleeve to look at the sword tattoo. “It’s made me feel less . . . I don’t know, less crazy or something. I have more patience for things, see things in greater detail, appreciate subtlety. I strategize better, can see chains of possibilities stretching out before me. But I don’t feel the need to start rescuing babies and puppies. I don’t feel love, kindness, a sense of duty, or guilt.”