At The Gates (Demon Squad)

by Tim Marquitz

  Either that or I’m just a masochist hiding behind the memories of my murdered mother. Either is possible.

  Scarlett and Michael came up behind, their breath rasping in rhythm as they viewed the atrocity splayed out before us. They’d both felt it far stronger than I had, their senses far more refined. They, too, were suffering, but I couldn’t bring myself to face them. That would be too much.

  Once more I looked up at the clouds, only to see them shudder as though having a seizure. Their motion slowed and collapsed inward, the slow whirl of a cosmic drain. The dancing lightning inside their depths flashed a few more times, streaks of purple staining the all-encompassing white, and then ceased. The thunderous rumble ended with it. Then, as though it had never been, the storm darkened and faded away into the blackness of night, its cancerous snow disappearing with it.

  What it left behind was a ruin far worse than any war could have ever aspired to. Though the damage was confined to an area less than four city blocks, it had been absolute. Save for a few scattered walls, their angle such as to avoid direct contact with the fall, there was nothing left. A blackened crater, more than a foot deep, marked the boundaries of the storm.

  No blood or gore, no hair or bone, was left to mar the perfect abyss of emptiness. Even the smell disappeared. There was simply nothing left but the hard black earth, cleansed of all life. Everything that once towered above existed now only in memory, or perhaps a photograph or two. The space had become a void.

  My chest ached and I, at last, turned around. Scarlett’s normally green eyes were assailed by red, her nose and cheeks flushed. Michael didn’t look much better. The pair hung onto each other in mutual discomfort. At a loss for words, I tried to say something to ease the moment, but a movement in the shadows just beyond the dead zone caught my eye, stilling any trite commiseration I might have come up with. Someone was watching us.

  As though the figure realized I’d seen it, it slipped into the deeper shadows of the distant houses. Like a bat out of Hell, I ran after it. My heart pounded in my chest, a galloping blast beat that drove me forward with frantic insistence.

  The horrific images of what I’d witnessed forever seared upon my memory, there was only room for one more thought inside my head. Murder.

  Chapter Three

  My breath huffed like a freight train as I rounded the corner where the figure had disappeared. There was nothing but open space. I let my senses loose and pushed them to their limit, a billion-legged octopus freed to wiggle its receptive tentacles into every nook and cranny, seeking the shadowy figure. Again, they could find no one. Whoever had been watching us was gone.

  Frustration boiled over into a scream, my throat ripped raw with its intensity, an acid bath of emotion. My chest tightened as my lungs cried out for air. A cyclone of ugly thoughts whirled inside my head, begging to be unleashed on whoever had masterminded the storm, and on the voyeur whose cheap thrill came at the expense of innocent lives.

  Katon and Scarlett dashed around the corner and stopped cold when they saw me. Michael brought up the rear, coughing as he struggled to breathe. I could see the worry on their faces and could only imagine what I looked like to them. It didn’t really matter right then.

  Finally, when I could scream no more, I let my voice trail off. I took a minute to regain my composure before joining them.

  “We’re in way over our heads. Let’s go talk to Abe.”

  His expression wary, but agreeable, Katon nodded.

  * * * *

  Through the gate at my house, we arrived at DRAC after just a few minutes. We appeared in the secure entry room where every portal into the main DRAC headquarters is funneled. A silver pentagram was inscribed on the floor, its points surrounded by the summoning circle we’d use to port in. Carved into the walls was a massive array of defensive wards designed to take out most any supernatural threat. I’d never known their specific use, and would happily live my life without seeing the business end of them.

  Hidden alongside the wards were a number of jets that could fill the room with poisonous gas in seconds. To top it all off, the ceiling was a thirty ton weight, powered by a massive system of hydraulics, designed to be dropped on unsuspecting enemies, turning them into jelly. That one always made me nervous.

  My focus was on the roof until the security scans finished, and the door, set flush with the walls, swung open with a whoosh to let us into DRAC proper. Chivalry and consideration saved for when I wasn’t at risk of being smooshed, I hightailed it out of the chamber as fast as I could, nudging past the security officer standing outside.

  “I’m with him.” I pointed to Katon and kept walking. The officer sighed and stepped aside, not bothering to argue. He knew me.

  Through the labyrinthine halls, we made our way to Abraham’s office, sans Michael. He’d gone off to rally his men. Given the widespread nature of the strange storm, he was gonna have his hands full trying to keep this one under wraps.

  Having spent a while sleeping on the couch in Abraham’s office while my house was rebuilt, it felt almost like coming home. I barged in without knocking. The decadent scent of old knowledge wafted out to greet me. Rows upon rows of old books stood neatly arranged on a handful of shelves along the back wall. They ran the gamut from magical tomes to historical texts, encyclopedias to archaic religious works. Many of them were so rare as to exist only here, in this room. They were Abraham’s pride and joy.

  Unlike his desk, which looked like an orphan from Clutterville, dozens of stacks of manila folders and papers littered its face. His computer was covered in a colorful assortment of sticky notes. Tiny black slivers of his monitor showed through between them, here and there.

  Abraham peeked out from behind the piles and gave us a grim nod, mustering a weak smile for Scarlett. His glasses amplified the green of his eyes and he stared at us with subtle apprehension twitching across his face.

  He’d taken to shaving his head. Most of his white hair having gone to pasture already, it made him look younger, more vital. The consummation of his relationship with Rachelle Knight, the third member of DRAC’s triumvirate of power, a powerful mystic in her own right, had helped, no doubt.

  “Judging by the looks on your faces, this isn’t a social call.”

  With a huff, I dropped into one of the large chairs out in front of his desk as Scarlett sat in the other. Katon stood behind her, his posture uncharacteristically protective. While a bit surprised by Katon’s show of propriety, I put it out of my head. There were more important things to worry about.

  “Is it ever?” I answered.

  Abraham shook his head, forced to agree. We caught him up on everything, starting with Scarlett showing up at my door and ending with the storm. When we were done, he slid his glasses off, dropping them on the desk, and sat back in the chair with one hand rubbing at his temple.

  “This isn’t good.”

  That, ladies and gentlemen, is why he’s in charge.

  “Ever hear of anything like that?”

  “No. It’s an anomaly we’ve yet to encounter.” He motioned beyond the door. “Rachelle sensed a mysterious building of energy minutes before you say the storm struck, though she had no idea what created the flux. Your information might help us determine its cause and at least now, we’ll know when one is building.”

  “For all the good it’ll do us. That thing took out four city blocks in the time it took me to scratch my ass, Abe. A minute or two isn’t gonna give us time to evacuate anyone, let alone defend against it.”

  “Some warning is better than none, Frank. We’ll take what we can get.” He waved me to silence, turning to look at Scarlett. “Could this have something to do with Gabriel’s assault upon Eden?”

  She sat silent for a moment, and then shrugged. “It’s possible, though I’m not sure how. He and Michael are on the front lines, and have been since the attack began. Uriel and Forcalor would crush their forces should either of the archangels withdraw from the field.”

  Abrah
am exhaled slow as he clearly pondered everything he’d learned. “I’ll gather what forces we have available, but they will hardly be adequate for Uriel’s purpose. I’m sorry. I wish I could tell you otherwise.”

  “I understand,” Scarlett replied with a fractured smile, her voice little more than a whisper. Katon gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, smiling down at her.

  “What about Baalth?” Abraham asked me.

  “He’s got the power for sure, it’s just whether there’s something in it for him. He’s not gonna jump to save Heaven unless it advances his interests, especially considering the history there. I don’t see him being excited enough to pitch in on this one.”

  “It can’t hurt to ask.”

  I chuckled, thinking about just how much it could hurt to ask. “I’ll see what he says.” Or throws, or kicks, or burns. Just recently free of all my obligations to Baalth, I wasn’t looking forward to mortgaging my ass to him again.

  “Find out what you can about the Nephilim,” Abraham said, turning to Katon. “Their gathering near Eden cannot be a coincidence. Perhaps they know something that will aid us.”

  Katon slowly reclaimed his hand, nodding to Scarlett who returned a wan smile. He looked reluctant to leave. After a moment of tense silence he did, closing the door loudly behind him.

  Abraham raised an eyebrow Spock-like, but said nothing. He didn’t have to. He was king when it came to speaking without words.

  “This can’t all be a coincidence, can it?”

  Abraham shook his head. “I don’t believe so, but without more information, there’s no way to be sure. I’ll start gathering our people. Perhaps by the time we’re ready, we’ll know more.”

  Frustrated that we were just as much in the dark as we were when we’d arrived, I said goodbye to Abraham, intent upon scampering off to Old Town. Scarlett tagged along looking like a lost puppy dog.

  After we’d scrounged her up some clothes to wear, I stopped off at the armory and re-equipped myself, swiping a pair of guns and plenty of ammunition—the DA slayers—and made for the portal room.

  It was never a bad idea to have an arsenal when going to visit Baalth.

  Chapter Four

  After gating through the closest portal to Baalth’s territory, we emerged from an alley onto the dusty streets of downtown El Paseo. A short walk later, we slipped across the invisible boundary into Old Town a few hours before dawn.

  Most of the late night revelers were already done, gone home or passed out in some darkened alley. The morning crews had yet to get out of bed.

  We skirted what was left of Fiesta Street, the major party area of Old Town, and were surprised to find the street quiet; eerily so.

  Though, in retrospect, considering Baalth had set off the magical equivalent of a nuke smack dab in the center of Old Town just a couple weeks back, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.

  Nothing says go the fuck home like an uncontrolled detonation of magical energy.

  In a moment of weakness, his men assaulted and kidnapped in the heart of his territory, Baalth had lost it. He left behind a smoking crater several blocks in radius as a reminder of his power. He’d paid to rebuild it, though the work had only just begun. While he could pay to keep the citizens silent, trust was a lot harder to buy. It’d be a while before Fiesta Street lived up to its name again. Damn shame, I tell ya.

  A bunch of the buildings at the edge of ground zero were nothing more than burnt out husks, and that was being charitable. Those that had stood closer to the epicenter stood no longer. Rubble and gathered detritus clogged the open spaces, much of it pushed into teetering piles that rose up ten feet high in places. The asphalt of the roads had been melted during the conflagration, and now that they’d cooled, they were marred by wavy rivulets like those at the bottom of a creek. The sidewalks had buckled, pitched up as though they were a tiny mountain range.

  We made our way around the rubble and ruin, skirting piles of trash as we made our way further into Old Town. As we reached the evacuated section just beyond the ring of destruction, it felt as though we were traveling through a third world country. Most of the windows were shattered and there were scorch marks seared black onto the brick faces of the buildings. The only thing missing was the whistle of incoming artillery and the propaganda leaflets.

  None of the streetlights worked, and though I could see well enough, the gloom weighed on me. There was a palpable sense of death in the air, my skin prickling under the pressure. It was like walking into a graveyard during a full moon. You never quite saw what lurked in the shadows, but you sure as Hell knew something was there.

  Beside me, Scarlett drew a quick breath and her hand went to her sword. That’s when I realized I hadn’t just imagined the feeling. The feral growl that rumbled through the darkness confirmed it.

  Gun in hand, Scarlett at my side, we turned to face the sound. From a nearby alley, the harsh scrape of something sharp dragged across the asphalt was preceded by a looming bulk that strode from its depths.

  Scarlett gasped and took a step back as I craned my neck to see all of the behemoth who trundled into the street. I did a double-take as my mind struggled to register what my eyes were seeing. Not remembering having had a drink recently, what I saw didn’t make sense.

  It was a bear, but not like any I’d ever seen before. It was a werebear. Smokey had nothing on him. Right around then, the only thing I wanted to help prevent was me shitting my pants.

  Almost ten feet tall, and easily as wide as the alley, it was a mountain of muscle under a thick coat of glistening brown fur. Its deep-set eyes simmered with reddish light as it hunched to look down at us, its stubby snout screwed up in a wicked smile. Its shoulder rippled as it raised a massive paw in our direction. Dagger-like claws gleamed in the oppressive dimness as it rumbled a gravelly challenge.

  Unable to tear my eyes from the furry hulk, I almost missed the shades that slithered from the alley behind him. My senses rattling my brain like a scorned wife with a frying pan, I dared a quick glance their direction, realizing they were what I had felt.

  The sorry remnants of my courage made a mad dash for my ass.

  Their sharpened eyeteeth a dead giveaway, the three vampires eased alongside the bear. Used to the suave darkness of Katon, it was as though they were a completely different breed. Their sallow faces were long, with severe features that jutted from their skulls at sharp angles; a building block set with too many triangles. Yellow eyes seethed in narrow sockets as brittle smiles fractured their lips. Their lithe limbs swayed in time to music I couldn’t hear, kinda like a crack-head in need of a fix.

  A gravel-throated voice yanked my eyes back to the furred monstrosity.

  “Someone’s been pissing in my Cheerios, and he’s right here.” The words roared from the werebear’s mouth, guttural and fierce. The withering heat of his gaze fell on me.

  Scarlett groaned and nudged my ribs, as if she’d suspected it was my fault all along. Taken aback, I could only shrug as my mind flitted through my memories to see if there was a bear in any of them.

  “If this is about that one time with the rug, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were related.”

  The big guy chuckled; at least I think that’s what it was. He could have been swallowing a squirrel.

  “You have no clue, do you?”

  “Not usually,” Scarlett answered for me over my shoulder.

  I just shook my head. Life was so much easier when the bad guys told me why they wanted to kill me rather than expecting me to guess. The onus of the monologue was on the bad guy. Doesn’t anyone read the damn handbook anymore?

  “You should have let the half-breeds take the little dove there.” He snorted toward Scarlett.

  One eyebrow raised, I cast a quick glance her way. “See? It’s not always me.” Curious as to why the Nephilim, the undead, and a lycanthrope wanted a piece of my cousin—all sexual innuendo aside—I chose the direct route. Though I have to admit, it was mostly because I couldn’t think of s
omething witty to say. “Who are you and what do you want?” I really need to work on my social banter.

  The vampires hissed in slithery tandem, their rhythmic gyrations becoming agitated, though they stayed put. It was weird seeing them following the lead of a were-critter, as the two factions rarely mingled, let alone got along.

  As usual, something was going down and it wasn’t on me.

  The bear rose to his full height and widened his grin. “You’re a brave mutt; I’ll give you that. The name’s Grawwl.” He ran the meaty slab of his tongue over his razored teeth and leered down at Scarlett. “All I want is the angel. You can run along home, little man.”