“I’ve got it covered, Detective,” Smith said. “I might not be able to light a candle magically, but when it comes to paperwork, I’m the greatest wizard you’ve ever seen.”
I stood up and followed Flynn out the door. “Why Agent Smitty, did you just make a joke? Was that an honest-to-Jebus federal agent sense of humor? I thought they removed those when you stepped in the front door of Langley.”
“They reissue them when you’re assigned to smartass wizards with vampire DNA.” Smith shouldered past me through the door as I stood there gaping. Shit. He knows about Luke. I’m so fucked.
Chapter 11
The ride from the police station to Marlack’s office building was a circular exercise in me trying to get information out of Smith and him deflecting my questions into questions about what we knew about Marlack. Which resulted in a whole lot of him not learning fuck-all new, and me not learning fuck-all, period. We pulled up in front of Marlack’s high-rise and I was impressed to see that the ruined Suburban was gone and the glass in the front of the building had already been replaced.
“It’s an illusion,” Smith said as we got out of the car. “No way he could have spun glass out of the air that fast.”
“It’s not an illusion, Smitty. It’s called a fuckton of money. He didn’t have to spin glass out of the air. He just called an emergency glass repair place and paid them triple their daytime rate,” I said. “There’s not a hint of magic anywhere on the outside of the building.”
“I assume that changes as we move inside?” Flynn asked.
“Yeah, if you had a magical Geiger counter that thing would blow your eardrums the second we stepped off the elevator. Speaking of which, is there a plan? Because I can speak personally to the fact that just going in and punching him in the face isn’t very effective. And there are no SUVs out front to break our fall this time,” I said.
“Marlack’s not here. We’re just searching the place,” Smith said.
“With what warrant?” Flynn asked.
“With this one.” Smith drew his pistol and rapped on the front door with the butt of it. When the guard came to the door, Smith pointed the gun at his forehead, and the door opened.
“Key card,” Smith said to the wide-eyed guard. It was Dennis, the same guard I’d bespelled earlier in the evening.
I reached out, touched his forehead with one finger and whispered, “Somnus.” His eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed in a heap on the floor. “Take a nap, Dennis,” I said.
Flynn knelt down and felt around for a pulse. “What did you do to him?” She asked.
“Would you believe a sleep spell?” I asked.
“Why not?” she asked. “How long will he be out?”
“A couple hours. He’ll wake up feeling refreshed,” I lied. He’d wake up feeling like the worst hangover in the free world, but I was pressed for time.
We rode the elevator up in silence, by the thirtieth floor everyone was humming along to “The Girl from Ipanema.” The doors dinged open on Marlack’s penthouse office, and again I marveled at how quickly things could get cleaned up if you had more money than God.
“What are we looking for, Smith?” Flynn asked. I wandered the office studying the characters scribed in the protective circles on the floor. If I could get a sense of the origin of Marlack’s magic, maybe I could get a hint on how to stop him. I found a few symbols I recognized, then came across a set that looked familiar, but I couldn’t quite place them. I pulled out my cell phone and dialed a number.
“Hey, why didn’t your cell phone blow up?” Flynn asked.
“Because mine was confiscated, remember? We had to stop by and get my personal effects out of hock before we left the station?” There was no way I was going to fight a badass wizard in the jail slippers they’d put me in after they confiscated my Doc Martens. I listened to the phone ring several times, then a familiar voice came on the line.
“What do you want, Quincy, I am getting ready for bed,” Uncle Luke said. He sounded grumpy. I must have interrupted his bedtime snack. I just hoped whoever he was munching on didn’t bleed out.
“I was calling for Renny, Uncle Luke. That’s why I called his phone.”
“You call my Renfield, I decide if he can answer.” I knew I should have waited another ten minutes for sunrise, but I decided time was of the essence. Put another check mark on Quincy’s List of Bad Decisions.
“Sorry about that, Uncle. But I need to talk to Renny. I need him to research some symbols for me.”
“Get your own Renfield. Mine’s busy.”
“No he’s not. He’s probably just standing there waiting for you to hang up the phone and go to sleep so he can take your nightcap away and give her a cookie and glass of orange juice.” I could almost hear Luke look around the room, realize I was right, and hand the phone to Renny.
“Mr. Quincy, what can I do for you?” Renny’s voice was crisp, not at all like someone who was a thrall to a vampire and got kept up to all hours of the night dealing with my uncle and then run ragged all day cleaning up my messes and managing Luke’s business interests. I decided to continue to ignore the exhaustion he must be dealing with and just keep being the inconsiderate ass my uncle raised me to be.
“I need some help, Ren. I’ve got some symbols here that I know are mystical, but I don’t know where they’re from. If I could find their origin, I might be able to inflict serious carnage upon a very bad man. Do you have time to help a brother out?”
“Does this have anything to do with the unpleasant situation the other night that left a young girl dead and her family’s home burned to the ground?”
“If I had anything to do with anything like that, which I’m not saying I did, then this would directly lead to me beating the ever-loving shit out of the man responsible,” I said, keeping an eye on both Detective Flynn and Agent Smith as I fenced with Renny. Normally I would have dispensed with all the bullshit, but I still saw a greater than zero chance of one or both of them trying to put me in jail for a very long time.
“Send me the images. I’ll commence to research the moment I have dispensed with my duties here,” Renny promised.
“Thanks, Ren.” I hung up the phone and texted the pictures to Renny, then walked over to where Smith and Flynn were poking around a large desk and bookcase at one end of the room. I walked over to join them and sat on the edge of the desk.
“What did your uncle’s man have to say?” Smith asked.
“That’s a little annoying, you know?” I shot back.
“What, the whole bit where I know who you’re talking to and everything about you and you know nothing about me?”
“Yeah, that.”
“Too bad. Now what did Renfield know?”
“Nothing yet. He’ll do some research and let us know. You find anything in his files?”
“Nothing,” Flynn said. “It’s way too clean for any legit businessman. There’s not even a receipt for a strip club or any record of his pulling even a minor tax dodge. It’s perfect. That’s how you know he’s dirty.”
“So where do we go from here?” I looked at Smith.
“Until we hear back from your guy, we’re done. We knew this wasn’t a case we’d make in the material plane. It’s on you to find something on Marlack.”
“Why do I need anything on him? He admitted to me that he summons demons. He admitted that he lets the demons have their way with innocent girls. What more do I need?” I might have raised my voice. I might also have stood up and waved my arms a little. There might have been a little glow around my fingers that made Smith pull back a little.
“What else do you need? You need a way to beat him. Or did you forget the bit about being thrown out a window the last time you tried to go toe-to-toe with this guy? I don’t give a shit about evidence. I haven’t been looking for proof, because this motherfucker’s never going to trial. I’ve been looking for a way to kill him, or at least send him to Hell where he belongs.”
“What
the actual fuck are you saying, Smith? We’re not arresting Marlack?” Flynn put herself right between me and Smith, and she was tall enough to get right up in his face. Not so much me, I’m pretty tall.
“Arrest him? Where have you been, Detective? Do you think that your jail could hold Harker here for a second longer than he wanted to let you? Then what good do you think it’s going to do against the guy that kicked his ass?” Smith didn’t back down an inch. I’m not sure he knew how.
“Could we just stop going on about him kicking my ass? Just for a minute. Because, you know, I’m going to have to go do it again. And I’d like to have one tiny shred of confidence left, if it’s quite all right with you two,” I said.
“So due process is out the window?” Flynn asked, still nose to nose with Smith.
“Due process isn’t even in the same zip code, sweetheart.”
That’s when it happened. I’d been waiting for the tragic slip for a couple hours. It’s the same mistake men over fifty with crew cuts always make with really smart women in their early thirties. They can hold it in for a while, but eventually there’s a misplaced “sweetheart” or “darling” or, when it gets really good, a “cupcake.”
Flynn decked him. Smith was a solid-looking man, a good two hundred pounds and a hair under six feet tall, and it looked from the bulges in his cheap government suit that had some muscles under that jacket. It didn’t help. Flynn uncorked a right hook that came from her knees, and she’s a tall chick. At five-ten or so and probably one-eighty, she was no wilting lily. Flynn looked like she worked out, and from the way Smith’s head rocked back, she had a hell of a punch. She caught him on the point of the jaw and he dropped to one knee, reaching out for the edge of the desk to keep from going all the way down.
“Let’s be crystal fucking clear about one thing, Smith. This might be your show, and we might play by your rules, but I’m nobody’s fucking sweetheart. I am a gold-shield detective, a veteran of the US Marine Corps, a marathon runner, a sharpshooter, a certified pilot and a black belt in three different martial arts. If you need backup, I’m your girl. If you need somebody to patronize, look elsewhere.”
“Sorry about that, sunshine.” Smith shot her a sideways grin from his knee. “Sometimes my prejudices slip out. I’ll try to keep my chauvinism in check if you promise not to hit me every time I mess up.” He reached up, and Flynn grabbed his hand and pulled him to his feet.
I cleared my throat. “If you two have decided who has the bigger dick, and my money’s on Rebecca Gail, I’ve got news from Renfield.” I waggled my phone at them.
“What have you got?” Smith asked.
“Renfield says that the symbols on the floor indicate an alliance with Gressil, a prince of Thrones, sort of a colonel in the army of Hell,” I said.
“Does that help us?” Flynn asked.
“Yeah, it tells us who Marlack is working with, and I know how to use that. But it’s not going to be pretty, and it’s going to be really dangerous. You two might not want to be around for the next part.”
“I’m not letting you out of my sight, Harker, so you can get that idea out of your head.” Flynn turned the same look on me she’d just used on Smith. The biggest difference was, I didn’t care.
“Fine. Suit yourself. But I’m not going to have time to look out for you two, so I’d suggest when we get there I draw you a circle and you stay in it, no matter what.”
Flynn opened her mouth to argue, but Smith touched her on the arm. He gave her a little shoulder shrug, and she let it go.
“Great,” I said. “Now let’s go. We’ve got to get to Marlack’s house before sunrise, and I still have a stop to make.”
“What’s the stop?” Smith asked as we walked toward the elevator.
“24-hour grocery. I need a late-night butcher who has plenty of pig’s blood around.”
“Why does he even bother asking?” Flynn muttered under her breath as she stomped off toward the elevator. I don’t think she’d gotten the memo on the enhanced vampirish senses yet.
Chapter 12
We pulled up in front of Marlack’s house in Smith’s Government Issue black sedan with blackwall tires. He wouldn’t let me get out at paint “FED” on the hood in Day-Glo yellow, no matter how obvious he was being with his choice of vehicle. I know, I asked several times. Smith rolled down his window at the squawk box by the gate, but I leaned forward between the front seats, pointed at the closed wrought iron gate and said, “Lane patescit.”
A few sparks sputtered out from the control box to the left of the squawk box, but I wasn’t planning on Marlack being around long enough to care. We drove through and up the long circular drive to the front steps. I got out of the car and walked around to the trunk. Smith popped the latch and I dug out two pints of pig’s blood, four wax pillar candles, a stack of porno mags big enough to keep a varsity football team occupied for a month, and a small box of sidewalk chalk.
“Keep the dogs from fucking up my circle, will you?” I asked Detective Flynn as she got out of the car.
“What dogs—” She started, then drew her sidearm as four SWAT team rejects with MP-5s and Dobermans came out of the house and leveled their weapons at the three of us. I ignored them and went about my business drawing a circle on the driveway and reinforcing it with pig’s blood. Smith had his badge in one hand and a Smith & Wesson pistol in the other, so I decided the security goons were pretty unlikely to interfere.
At the cardinal points of the circle I took out my pocketknife and blended a little of my blood with the pig’s and placed a candle to lock the circle in this dimension. I lit the candles walking widdershins while murmuring an incantation I learned from a voodoo priestess in Charleston. She taught me a lot of things about magic, and the different ways to use bodily fluids in conjuring, and my left hamstring still twinges a little when I think of her. But I always smile.
Once I had the candles lit and the circle invoked, I stepped out and placed the porno mags in the center of the circle. Then I raised both hands to the sky and said, “Glory, if you’ve still got any juice with the Big Guy, I’m gonna need a fuckton of forgiveness after this one.” Then I focused my will and shouted, “Asmodeus, conjure te!”
Nothing happened.
I did it again, this time adding a few drops of my blood splattered into the circle as I summoned Asmodeus.
Still nothing.
The third time I shouted the invocation I didn’t stop with Latin. I moved into French, German, Italian, Spanish and finally finished by slicing another gash across my palm, flinging a good tablespoon of my blood into the circle and shouting “Asmodeus, you horny motherfucker, get your three-peckered ass up here and take my goddamned offering, you putrid bucket of herpes!”
“That’s my boy.” A sibilant voice issued from a cloud of crimson smoke that billowed into existence in the center of the circle. “Hello, Quincy.”
“Hello, Asmodeus.”
“It’s always so good to see you. You’re looking well.”
“You look like someone lit a bloody fart.”
He laughed. That was a good sign. I tried to keep the demonkind amused, or at least off-kilter. If you let them get their feet under themselves, you’re fucked. “Quincy Harker, you know I love the women of your plane, but why are these only photographs? What kind of weak-assed shit is this?”
“This isn’t a social call, Az. You’ve got a problem.”
“I’m a Prince of the Seraphim condemned to Hell for all eternity, never to see the face of my Lord again and to spend the rest of my days licking the ass of that fuckup Lucifer. I’ve got more problems than you’ve got blood cells, vampling. What is it this time?”
“Gressil,” I said simply.
“That idiot? He could fuck up a wet dream, I’ll give you that, but he’s more of an annoyance than anything.”
“He’s building an army. He wants your spot.” I watched the smoke carefully. If it stayed red, Az was interested. If it turned black, he was pissed. Any ot
her color, and he already knew about Gressil’s treachery and I’d wasted two pints of pig blood and four perfectly good candles.
The red darkened slightly. “Talk,” Asmodeus said.
“He’s been working with a human sorcerer, Jacob Marlack, to send little demons through and breed here on earth. Only one reason he’d be making more demons where you couldn’t see them. He’s coming after you.” There was another reason, but Asmodeus was too proud to realize it. You see, most demons are pretty stupid. They like to eat, fuck and kill, not necessarily in that order. Marlack was giving these baby demons a chance to do all three, and they got to stick around our plane for a little while afterwards and kill a lot of brown people. A bonus for any demon that didn’t think too far down the “What’s in it for this guy?” path.
“That fucking asshole. I knew he’d been spending a lot of time with his pet human the past hundred years or so, but I didn’t think there was anything more to it than some death and debauchery. I should have known he was working another angle. Motherfucker!” The smoke was black now, so I made my play.
“Well, Az, tonight’s your lucky night. Guess whose front stoop I summoned you onto?” I waved my hand at the mansion in front of me.
“What’s your piece of this, Harker? You don’t do shit out of the goodness of your heart, especially not for my kind.”
“He hurt a little girl. I don’t like that. I want to see him suffer, and he kicked my ass when I tried to take him out.”
“So you want me to be your enforcer?”
“I want you to put your lieutenant in his place. Best way to do that is to take out his pet wizard. Solve my problem, solve yours.”
“What do I get out of the deal?” Az asked. The smoke was back to red now, but there were enough flashes of black throughout his form that I knew I still had him. Asmodeus didn’t get to be a Prince of Hell by being forgiving of treachery.
“You get to kill the wizard and anybody left inside the building two minutes from now.” I sent a raised eyebrow at the security guards, who had frozen in place as soon as the demon summoning started. Smart guys, they didn’t need to end up dead. One turned around and ran inside while the other three bolted around the right side of the house, taking the Dobermans with him. They were less concerned with their guns than the dogs, because their rifles clattered to the porch in their wake.
Raising Hell - a Quincy Harker, Demon Hunter Novella Page 8