The Demon Hunt

by Kris Greene

  A box being roughly dropped on the bar caught Rogue’s attention. He peered over his shoulder and watched a brutish man dressed in a brown jumpsuit speaking to the bartender, wondering why he looked so familiar. Rogue wouldn’t have to wait long to find out why.

  “Got some good stuff for you tonight, Shelly. Me and my boys liberated it from a truck that was passing through the territory,” the brute told the curvaceous bartender.

  Shelly examined one of the bottles, which was filled with a brownish-looking liquid. “A-positive. This will go over well with some of our new members.” She motioned toward a group of well-dressed businessmen in the front row enjoying the show. From their ghostly white skin, Rogue could tell they were vampires.

  “I still don’t see how you guys allow those stiffs in your places,” the brute scoffed.

  “Don’t start that, Freddy. We cater to all kinds, as long as they pay. Besides, it’s been almost a century since the Beast Wars. Let it go already.” The Beast Wars had been one of the bloodiest conflicts in the history of the supernatural society. For three hundred years the followers of Tipua and Fang were engaged in a bloody battle that had almost wiped out both species. The war was technically over, but there were still great hostilities between the races.

  “I will, once the last of their stinking race is wiped off the planet,” Freddy said with disgust.

  Shelly shook her head. “Why don’t you relax and have a drink, huh?”

  “As much as I’d like to stare at your pretty face all night, Shelly, I’ve got more deliveries to make,” Freddy said, stacking the crates behind the bar. Suddenly he paused and sniffed the air. When he picked out the familiar smell among many, his eyes narrowed to slits and turned on Rogue. “You,” he snarled.

  Rogue raised an eyebrow, but didn’t turn from his drink. “Do we know each other?” he asked coolly.

  Freddy spun Rogue around on his seat to face him. “Oh, we don’t know each other but we’re about to get acquainted.”

  “Freddy, don’t start that crap in here tonight,” Shelly warned.

  “This miserable piece of shit sucker punched me at the Triple Six the other night,” Freddy snapped.

  “It wasn’t a punch,” Rogue said sarcastically.

  Freddy slapped the drink from Rogue’s hand, splashing scotch all over him and the bar. “You stopped my fucking heart with whatever spell that was you cast on me.”

  “This was my favorite shirt,” Rogue said, watching the liquor soak into the soft cotton.

  Freddy snatched Rogue to his feet by the front of his jacket and rained spittle in his face when he shouted, “I’m gonna ruin more than your shirt!”

  “Hey, calm that down,” Bart ordered as he shoved his way through the crowd of spectators that was gathering around the bar. He placed a hand on Freddy’s shoulder and regretted it as he was slapped halfway across the room.

  Freddy shook Rogue violently. “It’s easy to get the drop when you catch a man off guard, but let’s see you try some of that magic while I’m paying attention.”

  Rogue sighed, knowing he was about to break his promise to the Changs. He slammed his palms against Freddy’s ears, disorienting him. Infusing his arms with the power of shadow magic, he tossed Freddy across the room and through a table, disrupting the card game that was being played on it.

  “Okay, now you’ve got to go.” Shelly came up from behind the bar holding a shotgun. Without even turning around, he sent out a tendril of shadow and snatched the gun from her hands. By this time the room was thrown into chaos as people tried to get out of the way of the fight.

  Across the room there was a low growling that got intensely louder. From the pile of people and overturned tables Freddy emerged, and he didn’t look happy. “Sneaky little magician, I’m gonna maul you!” A foolish patron tried to play hero and broke a chair over Freddy’s back. The larger man palmed the hero’s face and tore a chunk of flesh from his chest with his teeth. Freddy closed his eyes, savoring the warm blood, and when he opened them again they had taken on an unnatural green glow. His lips drew back; his teeth had turned into fangs that seemed to be trying to burst from his mouth. Freddy threw his head back and let out a howl, tearing at his shirt as if it were on fire. His chest expanded and began to darken as thick black fur sprouted from it.

  “Damn it, he’s turning!” Lester shouted as he fumbled with the gun. He shot two rounds into Freddy’s chest, but the lead only seemed to infuriate him. Abandoning the gun, he jumped on Freddy’s back and put him in a chokehold. “Bart, get the kit!” Lester held on to Freddy for dear life.

  Bart hurried to the bar and pulled out an iron box containing what looked like a tranquilizer gun and several syringes filled with silver liquid. Loading the gun as he went, Bart charged Freddy, whose face was stretching into a muzzle. He couldn’t get a clear shot without risking hitting Lester, so he moved in for a better shot. It would be the last thing he ever did. Freddy’s clawed hand tore through Bart’s arm, liberating him of the gun and the limb. With Lester still riding his back, Freddy pinned Bart to the ground and tore out his throat.

  Blood spilled down Freddy’s misshapen face as his body twitched and convulsed in the thrall of the change. His fingers stretched three inches and sharp claws burst through the skin under his fingernails. When the transformation was completed, Freddy was gone and in his place was a hulking black wolf that stood on two bent legs. He reached behind him and raked his claws across Lester’s back, cutting down to the bone. Lester collapsed on the ground with blood spraying out of his back like a water fountain. He tried to crawl away, but the wolf’s massive jaws closed on the back of his neck, snapping it. Several more of the security staff joined the fray, but they were no match for the enraged werewolf as he tore into them with claws and teeth. When he was finished with the appetizer he turned his attention to the main course, Rogue.

  The wolf barreled through people and furniture en route to Rogue, intent on ripping him to pieces. Rogue tried to slow him down with a web of shadow, but the wolf tore through it as if it were tissue paper. The wolf lunged, but just before he could reach Rogue he slammed head first into an invisible barrier. Rogue recognized the spell, so he wasn’t surprised when he looked over and saw Asha standing in the doorway.

  “Damn it, I thought I told you to stay outside!” Rogue barked.

  “And had I listened you’d be Puppy Chow right about now,” Asha shot back.

  The wolf was down but hardly out as it struggled to its feet. It caught Asha in its gaze and immediately took off across the room after the new threat. Rogue was right behind it, whipping out tendrils of shadow in an attempt to keep the wolf from Asha, but the wolf tore through them faster than he could cast them. Rogue concentrated and slipped a double tendril at the wolf’s legs, tripping him. The wolf hit the ground and skidded to a stop at Asha’s feet.

  Asha whipped out her dagger and made to plunge it into the wolf’s back, but it slapped her arm away and sent the dagger flying across the room. It tried to tear out her belly, but she was able to spin out of the way and get behind it. Using her thumb rings, Asha dug deep into the wolf’s flesh and pulled backward as hard as she could. Blood sprayed onto a nearby table as Asha ripped two long gashes in the wolf’s neck. Asha called the words of power and the wolf’s blood ignited beneath its skin. It howled and flailed wildly as she tried to boil it from the inside out.

  Rogue came from the wolf’s blind side and delivered a crushing blow to its chin. The beast countered with a strike that ripped through Rogue’s shirt but fortunately didn’t penetrate his body armor. As many spells as the mage knew, he had yet to come across anything short of death that would cure the lycanthrope infection. The wolf tried to take Rogue’s legs out, but the mage went airborne, sailing over the wolf’s back and drawing one of his revolvers as he went. Rogue fired shot after shot into the wolf’s back, driving it into the bar.

  Before the wolf could regain its composure, Asha pressed the attack. She flicked her hands, and three
small discs sailed through the air and parked themselves in the wolf’s chest. The beast shrieked and clawed at its chest as the silver began to burn. Getting cocky, Asha went in with her palm outstretched, trying to finish the job, but the wolf was prepared for her this time. Asha didn’t see the bar stool until it was being shattered against her shoulder. She hit the floor and rolled to a stop against the bar, knocked senseless and at the mercy of the wolf.

  Rogue cut loose with his revolver, trying to get between the wolf and Asha. The gun clicked empty just as the wolf grabbed him by the face and tossed him into the bar. Howling madly, the wolf slammed Rogue into the counter over and over until he finally lost his grip on the gun. Rogue tried for his other gun, but before it could clear the holster the wolf had pinned his arm to his side. With his free hand he grabbed the wolf by the neck, trying to keep the snapping fangs from making contact with his face, but the wolf was three times as strong as he was. Just before it sank its teeth into Rogue’s flesh, something warm splattered across the mage’s cheek. The wolf wore a confused expression on its face as its head fell off its shoulders and rolled across the floor. A few seconds later, its body collapsed into a heap at the feet of the shaken mage.

  A few feet away, a man in a half-crouch held a katana blade that was slick with blood. The slender Asian man’s eyes and sword glowed with power as the thick blood dripped from the edge and pooled on the floor. In a smooth motion, he wiped the excess blood from the blade and slid it smoothly into the scabbard hooked to his waist. A phantom wind wiped through his silken black hair, partially obscuring his boyish face and the tattoo that went from his temple to the line of his jaw. Rogue had seen the brand before, but never stateside. It was the mark of the Gammurai, victims of the fallout from the bombing of Hiroshima who were born genetically altered because of the radiation poisoning that had ravaged their tiny island of Gomorra. The warriors lived by the code of Bushido, the way of the samurai, and much like their cousins the Dragon Lords, they rarely involved themselves in the matters of the outside world.

  Just behind the Gammurai stood a man who was as dark as the night itself, dressed in a midnight-blue suit with a black shirt and black tie. Hair that was such a deep shade of blue it almost looked black hung loosely around his squared shoulders and stopped just above his waist. The mortals who served him knew him as Mesh, underboss to one of the most feared crime families in both the human and supernatural worlds, and a skilled assassin, but that was only his mortal persona. What few outside Midland knew was that he was also Gilgamesh, prince of the dark elves and heir to the throne of the Black Forest, which was one of the last kingdoms of Midland.

  Asha dangled limply from his hand as he dragged her across the room by her hair like a rag doll. He tossed the shaken girl at the mage’s feet and regarded him momentarily before addressing the shocked patrons in the room. “What are my rules?” He began to pace. “No blood shall be shed in my house unless it is by me or my brothers of the Black Hand. And you”—he pointed a slender finger at Rogue—“are not one of us.”

  Rogue swallowed the lump in his throat. “Listen . . .” Rogue began but Mesh cut him off.

  “Stay your tongue, mage.” He pointed at Rogue. “You’ve got some pretty big balls, strolling in here and busting up my joint after I told you to stay away.”

  From the corner of his eye, Rogue could see the other members of the Black Hand moving in on him. Taking them individually, he might have had a snowball’s chance in hell of getting out alive, but there was no way he could take all the executioners. “Gilgamesh, if I thought there was another way I wouldn’t have come, but I need your help.”

  Gilgamesh and his men looked at each other and laughed. “You need my help? No, I think you need my mercies.” Gilgamesh removed a piece of paper from his pocket and held it up for Rogue to see. When he read it, his blood ran cold. “There’s a price on your head, Jonathan Rogue, and I’ll give you three seconds to try and convince me why the heads of you and your little friend shouldn’t be the next to decorate my floor.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The unmarked hangar at La Guardia airport was quiet with nervous anticipation. In the corner a cube truck sat idling while the driver bit his fingers nervously. There was a twenty-foot mirror erected in the center of the hangar, held in place by rods of pure copper. The copper would help amplify the power of the spell being cast on the other side. A dozen uniformed police officers, armed with everything from handguns to assault rifles, were lined up on either side, watching as the mirror began to ripple with the first signs of the power being fed into it.

  “Look alive,” Riel told the police officers as he moved to the front of the line with an assault rifle cradled in his arms. Strapped to his side was the cursed blade Poison. His hair was pulled back into a ponytail and the scars De Mona had left him the night before were still visible.

  The mirror began to pulsate as the reflective surface twisted in on itself and the first two members of the entourage stepped through. The robed figures moved like gusts of wind as they swept the hangar for signs of danger. When they passed close enough for Riel to catch their scents, he recoiled. He knew demons when he smelled them, and the two that had come through the mirror were of the worst kind. Beneath their robes he could see the tips of their swords dragging behind them—not that they needed them, since their entire bodies were weapons. When the demons were satisfied that there was no immediate threat, they took up positions on opposite sides of the mirror and stood guard for the others.

  The vampire Helena oozed from the mirror, her golden eyes sending chills through the men as she looked around the room. After whispering something to the hooded demons, she stepped aside for the next wave of the convoy: women dressed in fatigues, carrying a box that was slightly smaller than a refrigerator and covered with a black tarp. When the box was secured on a rolling rack outside the mirror, they formed ranks around it to make sure that no one would touch it. The black covering over it made it impossible to see what was inside, but Riel could feel the power radiating from it.

  Titus was the last to step from the mirror. He was dressed in a charcoal suit with a gray overcoat and black leather gloves covering his hands. The favorite son’s soulless eyes swept over all in attendance; they bowed in unison. “Rise.” He beckoned them with a wave of his hand.

  The war demon Riel stepped from the sea of blue uniforms and greeted his master. “Lord Titus, favorite son of the dark lord and greatest of our lot, welcome to . . .” that was as far as he got before Titus delivered a bone-crushing backhand that sent him flying across the room.

  “Buffoon,” Titus hissed. “I trust my most celebrated general to pluck candy from a baby and all he comes back with is sticky fingers.”

  Blood trickled from Riel’s lip and down his chin. He wiped the blood with the back of his hand and glared up at Titus. “It was a boy you set me on the trail of, but the Bishop who I stood against.” Riel climbed to his feet. “The vessel is coming into the power faster than any of us anticipated, but I will part him from the cursed Nimrod before the Bishop is set loose on us again. Next time I will be prepared.”

  “And who says there will be a next time?” Titus’s eyes flared with dark energy. Everyone in the hangar took a cautionary step back from the two demons. “Riel, you have failed thrice at your task tonight and failure is something that neither I nor the dark father take lightly.” Riel’s hand instinctively slipped down to the hilt of his blade, causing Titus to raise his eyebrow. “I welcome you to try, Riel, but we both know that even with the added power of your cursed blade I am superior here.”

  Riel quickly dropped his hands back to his sides and bowed his head. “Forgive me. I would never challenge your authority, Lord Titus.” At least he wouldn’t without his full demon power. Riel was an old and powerful demon, but on the earthly plane he was no match for Titus. “Though the Nimrod has managed to elude us for the moment, we have delivered a crippling blow to our enemies. The High Brother has fallen and with him th
e Great House.”

  “But the Spark lives. Therefore the house may rise again,” Titus shot back.

  This surprised Riel. “My lord, I assure you that every priest of the order was killed. I saw to this personally.”

  “So I’ve been told. If the priests are no more, he must have passed it to another. The question is to whom?”

  Riel shook his head. “None of the mortals traveling in the group would have been able to hold it without being destroyed, and neither the elemental nor the demon could possess it.”

  “Then there has to have been someone you overlooked. Ezrah was said to have snatched someone from the aftermath of the battle; maybe it is he who carries the Spark? I shudder to think what the Spark could do in the hands of the wraiths. Have your Stalkers—”

  “That’s it!” Riel cut him off. “There was one at Sanctuary who I found very curious.”

  “How so?” Titus asked.

  “He appeared to be a wraith, but he was alive. Before the little coward fled the battle, I caught the stink of the fey folk on him, which I found to be quite odd.”

  “Maybe not as odd as you think.” Titus’s wheels began spinning. “Do you remember the tale of what was said to have caused the feud between the wraiths and nymphs?”

  Riel thought about it for a minute. “I believe so. As it is told, Morbius had used the Efil spell to become flesh and violated a nymph princess.” Riel looked at Titus with a raised eyebrow. “I know what you’re thinking, my lord, but for that union to have produced a child is impossible, isn’t it?”