Raw Power: An Urban Fantasy Novel (Demon-Hearted Book 1)

by Ambrose Ibsen

  Turns out she was closer to “snake-person”.

  I was completely caught off guard by this, disgusted, if we're being honest, but I tried to hide it by looking away from her coiling, olive-green lower half. Don't stare at it, I told myself. It's rude to stare. Maybe she's self-conscious about it.

  What constituted proper etiquette when dealing with monstrosities like this one? Was it a faux pas to stare at the lengthy tail that dominated her lower body? Was it proper to discuss her affinity for gobbling field mice, or to discuss the outcome of her most recent molt? In the end, I just shut up and let Kubo do the talking.

  With more charm than I'd seen him use up to that point, Kubo took her hand and shook it graciously. “It's good to see you again, Mona. You're looking well.”

  Looking well? I thought. Seriously? I knew you were into some weird shit, chief, but your taste in women is completely beyond me.

  The serpent lady, Mona, peered over Kubo's shoulder, rising up on her coiled lower body, and shooting me one of those pudgy, indecipherable looks I took to be a smile. “And who is this you've brought with you?”

  “This is Lucy,” replied Kubo. “He's new, and he got himself into a bit of trouble with Agatha's crew. I was hoping you might be able to help him.”

  Mona appraised me carefully, then retreated into the depths of her cluttered abode. The sound of rattling glass bottles could be heard. “I see he's been marked,” she uttered. “Agatha's magic is powerful, I grant her that. From one witch to another, she has my compliments. Nothing a little ingenuity can't dispel, however.”

  While Mona busied herself with her things, I stood next to Kubo and leaned in. “Wait a minute... Mona's a witch? Why are we working with her?” I asked, voice low. “I thought we killed witches.”

  Kubo looked at me like I was the dumbest man alive. And, in this little world we now inhabited, it was a definite possibility that was the case. “Not all witches. The Veiled Order only goes after those craft users or denizens of the Beyond who insist on meddling in human affairs.”

  Apparently snake-people were A-OK, too.

  Mona returned a short while later, having moved some stacks of old books out of the way and created a magic circle on the floor in chalk. “Come here,” she said, pointing to me with one of her stubby fingers. Her hands and arms seemed thoroughly atrophied, and while I initially suspected it might've been due to some illness or deformity on her part, it now seemed more likely that they'd simply shriveled up due to disuse. That is, she was becoming more snake than woman.

  Kubo and I walked to the circle, the open spaces between the intricate symbols filled with bunches of dark, leafy herbs gathered from her numerous potted specimens. These herbs were lit, and produced a good deal of odorous smoke. She pointed to the center of the circle and instructed me to stand within it for what she called a “cleansing”.

  I hesitated.

  Well, excuse the hell out of me for being a little gun-shy where magic circles are concerned. I'd stepped into my fair share over the past couple of days, and every time it'd been bad news. I'd been immobilized by these things, had spikes driven through my body by them, and wasn't exactly looking to add to the experience. When Kubo impatiently nudged me towards it, I gulped and paced around its perimeter before cautiously stepping inside. Thankfully, no spikes erupted from it, and I could still move freely within.

  So far, so good.

  “Young man,” said Mona, reaching over the edge of the circle and touching my arm.

  I recoiled.

  “You've been marked by one of those witches. A spell has been cast upon you, which allows them to track your whereabouts. I will now clear it and you will walk free, however you should be very careful from this point on. A tracking spell is a common thing, but it is not often that a spell of this particular complexity is encountered. There are not many, save for the caster, who could hope to dissolve the stuff of this spell. You should be happy that Takeshi is so well connected.” The folds of her face parted in a toothless grin. I saw the edges of a forked tongue escape her lips, tasting the air before she fell into a series of chants.

  I smirked, looking to the chief as small clouds of smoke billowed up from the burning herbs. “I really owe you one, Takeshi.”

  Kubo rolled his eyes and paced around the room, scanning the objects on the shelves and peering into glass jars narrowly.

  “It is important,” added Mona, pausing in her chanting, “that you breathe in the smoke.” She motioned towards the burning herbs with the tip of her green tail, effectively sending a shiver down my spine.

  I did as I was told, taking in a few lungfuls of the smoke until I coughed. Certain of the herbs produced sweet-tasting smoke, others acrid. I wasn't sure what combination she was using, whether these herbs even existed in the world I knew, but I kept on sniffing at the smoke until, some minutes later, her chanting finally ceased.

  “It is done,” said Mona, inviting me to leave the circle.

  “T-thanks.” As I rushed over to Kubo's side, I tried my best not to look at the old serpentine witch. It wasn't that I was ungrateful. I just couldn't stand the sight of her.

  “No problem.” She leaned against an exposed counter and nodded towards me. “This isn't the first time we've met, you know.”

  I turned to face her, trying to focus on anything but her fat, squirming tail, which playfully slapped a beat against the floor. “What do you mean?” I don't usually hang with half-snake, witchcraft-practicing ancients, so I felt pretty sure she was lying. Meeting Mona was not something I'd just forget, that's for sure. Already I was sensing that I'd have a hell of a time scrubbing every trace of this bizarre encounter from my mind.

  “It was in the hospital,” she continued, her tongue darting out once more as she approached me. “You're the Demon-Heart. When your body was brought in by the Veiled Order's strike force, it was me who kept your soul in place. I preserved the bulk of your bodily tissue, prevented further degradation, so that you could undergo the transplant.”

  I massaged the back of my neck.“T-thanks for that,” I said. No sooner did the words leave my mouth did I question whether or not it was something I should be thanking anyone for. Technically, the Veiled Order had turned me into a monster. Was that really something to be thankful for?

  “Takeshi, is there anything else I can help you with? It seems you only ever stop by these days when you need a favor! It's enough to make an old woman worry. You never even call.” Mona's eyes opened very slightly as she sported a grin, deep yellow orbs coming to light beneath the sloppy lids.

  “I've been busy with work,” he replied, hands in pockets. “I promise we'll catch up again soon.” He pointed me towards the door, pacing through the room slowly. “As always, I owe you one, Mona.”

  “Think nothing of it, dear. Take care of yourself.” Mona settled back into her corner, putting out the smoldering remains of the herbs as she went. “Oh, and it was very nice to meet you again, er... Lucy, was it?” She worked over it for a time. “What a strange name for a Demon-Heart.” The sounds of her hissing contentedly reached my ears as I neared the door.

  “N-nice to meet you, too,” I lied.

  Kubo opened the door and I leapt out before him. “Mona is a powerful witch with many centuries of experience. She's taught me an incredible amount over the years, and helped me hone my spell craft.” The door closed behind him softly.

  I couldn't shake off the goosebumps. “Yeah, I guess that you've gotta be talented when you've got a body like that.” I shuddered. “Can we go back to the real world now? You know, where people don't slither around on their bellies and shit?”

  Kubo grinned. It was a bigger smile than I'd ever seen him don, and it made me really uncomfortable. The man was a brute, capable of some real savagery, and never was I more reminded of that than when he broke his usual stoic expression to smile. “Real? Tell me, what about this world seems false to you? In some ways, this place we're now in is realer t
han anything you've ever known.”

  I was through with the pseudo-philosophical talk and just wanted to get back to Detroit. Sighing, I glanced around, searching through the dense wilderness all around us from that dark opening we'd arrived through.

  It was nowhere to be found.

  “You're looking for the opening,” Kubo guessed. “You won't find it. Come, this way.”

  There were two paths winding around Mona's place, each of them well-worn by the service of many feet over the years. We took the one on the right. I followed close behind Kubo, wondering how long it might take for us to get back.

  And then, suddenly, we were standing on top of that wooden door in the floor of the alley.

  I hadn't hardly blinked, hadn't even made it half-way around Mona's cottage, when the scenery suddenly changed. It'd been seamless, like a scene change in a film. I reached out and touched the cool walls of the tunnel, which were still faintly illuminated by the ghostly will-o-the-wisps. From there, we walked quickly to the adjoining alley, which ran alongside Yao's, and returned to the parking lot, where the SUV was stationed.

  Stunned by our journey, I looked to Kubo and pointed back at the way we'd come. “So, there were two paths outside of Mona's cottage. Where does the other one lead?”

  That brutal grin played across Kubo's face once again as he hopped into the car. His voice was muffled as he slammed the driver's side door shut, but I thought he said, “You're not ready for that.”

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  I declined the offer of a ride home. After all I'd seen at Mona's, I felt the need to decompress. Yao's wasn't so far from my place, so that I took my time in walking the streets, meandering over the course of hours towards my apartment.

  It was a cool day, and it grew even cooler as the evening drew near. I palmed at my exposed arms and elbows, trying to bring a little warmth to them, but shivered all the same. Funny that the demon in me couldn't keep me from getting cold.

  I looked into shop windows, toyed with the wares of downtown street vendors and bought myself a soft pretzel with extra cheese from a passing food truck. The hours wore on, and before I realized it, I was covering the same ground, walking circles around the same few blocks of downtown. Stopping in place, I peered up at the darkening sky and tried to decide what to do with the rest of my night. It was clear I was trying to put off my return to the apartment. After the awful hallucinations in the hall, it no longer felt safe. Mona's ritual had knocked the witches off of my trail, probably, but I knew those persistent mongrels weren't going to lay off so easily.

  Just as I was considering the rest of my day, I felt a pair of eyes settle on me. Glancing around, I saw they belonged to someone familiar.

  It was Joe.

  Dressed in a white T-shirt and a pair of camouflage-patterned shorts, he arched a brow. “The hell you doin' out here, Lucy?” He was sitting on the stoop of an old house, turning his silver Zippo between his fingers.

  “Joe?” I asked, looking at him as though I doubted he was real. “They let you out already?”

  That was when I noticed his arm. Where it'd been a burnt-up mess after the explosion at the warehouse, it looked good as new now. I couldn't even tell he'd been burned, and he flexed his bicep in dramatic fashion to drive the point home. “Hell yeah, they did. And not a moment too soon. Hated being stuck in that fuckin' place. Those nurses there are damned stuck up.” He sniffed the air. “Ol' Mona really brings the goods. When they brought her on I knew it'd all be taken care of.”

  I felt a little queasy, recalling the slithering, reptilian form of Mona, but was still impressed by the results. Her treatment had healed Joe completely, and in record time. Despite my having witnessed a number of magical spectacles recently, it still seemed unbelievable. I stared at Joe's arm for a long while, incredulous.

  “So, I just wanted to say,” mumbled Joe, making an obvious effort to look past me, “that, uh, I appreciate your comin' to visit me. That was real nice of you, Lucy.” He chuckled a little. “The Veiled Order isn't exactly a regular office job-- I mean, we ain't throwing potlucks and shit. But, you know. That was cool of you.”

  “Oh, yeah. No problem, man. Glad you're feeling better.” I glanced at the house whose stoop he was stationed at. It was a two-story thing, brick and pretty shabby. The house was rough around the edges like everything else in this particular block. “What're you doing here?” I asked, nodding at the place.

  He shrugged. “Oh, this is my ma's place. Lived here all my life.” He stood up, stretching so that the bottom of his shirt rode up and his fuzzy naval was bared.

  “Ah, I see.” I nodded and prepared to make my way down the street. “Well, it's been good seeing you... I'm sure we'll be on the job again soon.”

  Joe leaned against the wooden handrail and nodded towards the screen door of the house. “Well now, wait a sec. You, uh... you wanna come in?” He was looking past me again, didn't want to seem too eager. “Maybe get something to eat? Ma's made some awesome spaghetti, if you're into that sorta thing.”

  My stomach rumbled audibly, as if “spaghetti” had been some secret code word. The pretzel I'd scarfed down was long-gone by now so that a proper meal sounded mighty fine. “Yeah, sure,” I replied. “That sounds good.”

  Joe waved me up onto the stoop and opened the door. “Welcome to the Casa de Joe.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  The Casa de Joe was underwhelming in almost every capacity, from the worn-out, 1970's style furniture that filled the place, to the tacky, department store framed art that adorned the walls. I'm one to give credit where credit is due, though, and I've gotta say that the place was impeccably clean.

  I mean, seriously. The cleanest house I've ever been in. Joe must've been a stage-five germophobe.

  After a short tour through the downstairs, Joe led me into the kitchen. The white linoleum had been laid before I'd even been born, but you never would have known it for the way it shined. I took a seat at the kitchen table and accepted the bottle of cold pilsner he offered me. As he'd promised, there was a big pot of steaming spaghetti on the stove, and Joe refused all offers of help as he took to plating some for both of us.

  Mounds of al dente noodles, copious spoonfuls of meaty marinara and a heaping snowbank of cheese were carried over to me on a plate. “Don't be shy,” he said, grinning. “If it's too much for ya, I'll send you home with a doggy bag.”

  “A doggy bag?” I scoffed. “May as well fix me another, wouldn't want you to have to get up twice.”

  Joe was thin as a rail, so it came as something of a surprise when he fixed himself a plate of equal proportions to mine. He set it down on the table and took a few moments to adjust his well-sculpted pompadour. Then, settling into his chair, he closed his eyes and lowered his head in a brief prayer. He caught me snickering as I started into my food and shot me a dirty look as he finished. “Shut up,” he said, grabbing his fork and twirling up a giant mass of noodles. “It's an old habit. Makes the food go down easier.”

  Damn. Here was Joe, a mouthy greaser who made his living playing with fire and hunting witches, but he still had time to play dinner host and even say grace before eating. He was a good kid, in the traditional sense, and I'd been unprepared for this level of earnestness from my usually shit-talking host.

  I kid you not, the spaghetti he served me was the best I've ever tasted. Don't you dare tell my Italian grandmother that, else she'd run me out of town, but Joe's mother's cooking was out of this world. Perfectly prepared and masterfully seasoned. Apparently he thought so too, because for a long while the two of us just sat there and dug in noisily, like two hungry animals.

  When we'd plowed through most of our food, things slowed down a little and we started chatting. I asked him a bit about how long he'd been involved with the Veiled Order, but wasn't prepared for the disclosure that followed.

  “Been hanging around the Veiled Order about two years now,” said Joe, pausing to think. The corners of his mouth w
ere marked with sauce, which he deftly cleared away with a napkin. “A few years before that was when I got really good at the whole, uh...” He whipped out his lighter and gave it a spin. “You know.”

  Mulling over a mouthful of pilsner, I nodded. “How'd you get started? Playing with fire, I mean.”

  He sat back in his chair, grinning and apparently lost in reverie. “Always liked fire. Played with firecrackers a lot as a kid and almost blew my hands off one Fourth of July. Ma would get after me for stealing her lighters, for starting little fires in the yard.” He shrugged. “The fire just called to me.” Joe gave his bottle a little swish and then emptied it. Grabbing two more from the fridge, he set one bottle in front of me and then continued. “I was in high school when I realized I had a knack for manipulating flames. Scared the shit out of me, first time I did it. Thought I was going crazy, or that I was demon-possessed.” He backtracked a moment, stammering. “I m-mean not that there's, like, anything wrong with demons n' all that.”

  “No offense taken,” I replied.

  Joe went on. “So, yeah, I started practicing. Got to be so that I could focus and manipulate the shape of a flame. Could make it move, spread, whatever. It was just my own personal project. Never learned how it all worked until I joined the Order and had Kubo spell it out for me. I'd just play around with it in my room, do it at parties, you know. Fuckin' around, never taking it seriously. But then, I got to be so comfortable around fire that I could make it do stuff without thinking. That's when things got out of control. Started getting into trouble with it, drawing attention to myself.” He licked his lips. “The Veiled Order caught on. 'Stead of locking me up, though, they offered me a job.”

  “Huh.” Slurping up a stray noodle, I asked him another question. “So, what do your parents think about your, uh... gift?”

  Joe held up one finger. “Parent, singular,” he said. “Dad's outta the picture. Heard he died in jail some years back. I've lived in this house with ma my whole life. And she doesn't know a thing about the pyromancy. I wanna keep it that way.” He snickered. “She thinks I work in a cubicle some place. Helps that Mr. Kubo drops by, lookin' real sharp in his suits, to pick me up now and then for jobs.”