Circle of Enemies

by Harry Connolly

  “Wardell? We’re best buds. He invited me over for a Golden Girls marathon.”

  “I’ll bet.” He sighed. “You’ve developed a knack for slipping out of trouble, haven’t you? Didn’t you get snapped up by Uncle Sam a few months ago? After Washaway?”

  I became very still. “Yes.”

  “And what? They let you go?”

  Not really. “Yes.”

  “I guess they had to, huh? How’d you manage that?”

  I’m on the twisted path. “They caught the real assholes. Nothing to do with me.”

  Arne seemed amused by that. “You know what turns people into monsters, Ray? Knowing they can get away with anything. Once they realize they aren’t going to be punished for anything they do, the masks come off, baby, and the devils run free.”

  I didn’t need anyone to tell me this. This was my life. I said: “It’s time to help me with my thing, right?” Arne spread his hands to say Why not? “Tell me how this started. Tell me about Wally.”

  “But it didn’t start with Wally. It started with Luther.”

  “He’s the guy you brought in to replace me, right?”

  “Nobody replaced you, Ray. Your spot was open and waiting for you. Luther was just extra help. He was big, strong, and friendly—not that bright, but how many bright people do the work we do? Mostly he was loyal, as long as you put a couple of bucks in his pocket.

  “Luther was hanging at the Bigfoot Room all by himself when Wally walked in. Wally dropped your name, which Luther recognized. After I don’t know how long, Luther called all of us at once: me, Fidel, Summer, the whole crew. Everyone but Vi and Melly met up at the Bigfoot Room. Wally made his pitch—he offered us a super power—and Luther was the living proof that it was real. He vanished right in front of us. All we had to do in return was a single favor. Luther’s excitement was infectious.

  “I had a bad feeling about it, though, and I put him off for twenty-four hours. You know why.”

  “Wally looks like a walking tumor and you didn’t want to end up like him.”

  “Hell yeah. I’m a good-looking man. I can’t throw away a face like this. But Luther said that the powers Wally had were different from the invisibility thing. Bigger. He said Wally couldn’t vanish himself, which was why he needed our help.”

  My mouth suddenly felt dry. “What powers does Wally have?”

  Arne shrugged. “I don’t have a lot to tell you. You’d have to ask Lenard.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, Lenard doesn’t like victims to feel too comfortable around him. He likes them wide-eyed and sweating, right? And he starts thinking that your buddy Wally is too cheerful, so out of the blue he rushes the guy and knocks him over, right into the dirt. Then he starts screaming at him like a nutcase, ‘Don’t you dare smile at me! Don’t you fucking smile!’ And the rest of us are rolling our eyes at him.

  “But your buddy just got to his feet and smiled at Lenard again, like a big fuck you. And Lenard, now he has to step up or he’ll look like he wimped out. So he gives Wally another shove.

  “Except this time, your boy was ready and it didn’t even move him. It was like Lenard was pushing against an office building—he couldn’t even make a dent in the guy’s flabby man-titties. Almost like …”

  I remembered the way the cook had hit the little red predator with his ladle, and how the creature didn’t move an inch. I keep them fed, and they share their little tricks with me. “Almost like nothing could move him if he didn’t want it to.”

  “Yeah, and then there was this wave that came out of him—I’m not sure what to call it. It was like one of those old kung fu movies, where one dude shoves another without touching him. Lenard had his ass lifted off the ground and dropped into the dirt ten feet away. He didn’t know what to do about that, but Ty and Fidel took the heat off by making a joke of it. You’d have to talk to Lenard to find out what it felt like. I was just standing there watching.”

  “Right.”

  “Not much, is it? It’s like he’s the patron saint of shoving. He acted like he could do more, but then, he would.”

  I nodded. I didn’t want to thank Arne; he might have told me I was welcome and walked out. “What favor did Wally want?”

  “He hasn’t asked for one. Not from me. By the time Luther came to us, his debt was paid in full. I asked him what he’d done, and he took me to the—”

  A gunshot popped in the next room. Arne’s expression became weary, and he vanished.

  Damn. My questions would have to wait. I ran into the hall and cut the lock on Wally’s door with my ghost knife.

  The door swung inward. A bearded man pivoted toward me, raising his arm. I threw myself to the floor, but there was no gunfire. Fidel laid a hand on the gunman’s shoulder, and he lowered his weapon. Fidel had his SIG Sauer in his other hand.

  “Ray?”

  They all had the same gun. I left the ghost knife on the floor and raised my hands to show that they were empty. Then I got to my knees, letting my hand fall on my spell and picking it up. Wally lay on the bed, his arms wide, his feet on the floor. There was a single bullet hole in his chest. He looked like a lumpy bundle of old clothes.

  Was he dead? I’d assumed he’d be as hard to kill as a sorcerer, especially with normal weapons. Ansel Zahn had been reduced to a bloody mess by an amateur firing squad, and he’d laughed about it. And Wally had said he was full of predators.

  But now he had a hole in his chest, and he wasn’t moving at all. Had they done my job for me?

  I didn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe it.

  “That’s not cool, man,” Stoned said. He pointed at me. “This guy’s a witness.”

  “You saved me the trouble,” I said. My hand brushed against something on the table. It was a wallet, bulging with paper receipts and cash. One of those scraps of paper might lead me to his spell books, and damn if I didn’t want to steal his money.

  “He laughed at me,” Fidel said, staring down at Wally’s body. The hammer of his pistol was cocked. I looked at the other guns, but their hammers were all uncocked. Stoned rolled his eyes and shared a glance with the others. The three of them looked disappointed.

  In the moment they looked away, I pocketed the wallet.

  Fidel chewed his lip as though he was trying to work out a tough math problem. “First, he refused me. Then he laughed at me.”

  “What now, Fidel?” The short, muscular man with the heavy beard stepped close. “You promised us something. How you gonna deliver now that this guy is dead?”

  Wally’s shirt moved.

  “You guys should get out of here,” I said.

  Muscular pointed his gun at me again. “You ain’t calling the shots here.”

  “It’s not about who’s the shot caller,” I said. I pointed to Wally. “This guy isn’t as dead as you think.”

  Wally’s shirt twitched and shifted. One of the guys cursed in surprise, and they were behind me all of a sudden, because I’d moved toward Wally’s body without even realizing I was doing it. The clean, cold certainty I’d felt while I was stalking him had evaporated. More predators were about to get loose, and there was nothing between them and the world except me. I raised my ghost knife.

  A gleaming red ball pushed its way out of the hole in Wally’s shirt. Then another, then four, five, six more were coming out as if they were being pushed through the opening. They tumbled down the sides of Wally’s body like golf balls and stopped in the folds of the blankets or in the nest of his crotch. A couple struck the floor with a heavy thunk.

  Spiny metallic needles extended from their bodies, and they began to scramble toward us. I gripped my ghost knife tightly and moved forward to meet them.

  Pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop came from behind me, as Fidel’s family cut loose with their SIGs. Bullets zinged around me, some punching through the floor, others ricocheting in unpredictable ways. I turned to shout at them to stop, but as I did I saw Muscular lean down to fire at the closest predator.

&nb
sp; The sound of the shot, the spark on the creature’s shell, and the bloody wound on his leg all seemed to appear in the same instant.

  He fell back against the wall as the predator advanced on him. The bullet’s impact had as much effect as it would against a bank vault.

  There were a dozen predators fanning across the room toward us and more coming every moment. Three were a second or two away from my own ankle, and I swept my ghost knife through the lead.

  It burst into flames as I leapt back. The fire touched the two behind it, and they burst apart as well.

  The sudden flares stopped the gunfire, at least. Fidel and his cousins backed toward the door, leaving Muscular cut off against the wall. Stoned drew back his leg and kicked at one of the scuttling little balls, but it was like kicking a metal post anchored into the ground.

  I had to move away from the burning spot on the carpet. Stoned fell backward toward the doorway, cursing. Fidel and one of his cousins grabbed at him, but they were so spooked and frantic that they worked against each other. I could hear Muscular behind me, shouting in Spanish, his voice going high with fear.

  Everything was loud and bright and hot. The carpet was burning, streaming thin black smoke that smelled like burned plastic. It was all too much. I couldn’t think clearly.

  I moved toward Stoned, Fidel, and the others and cut through one of the predators pursuing them, then drew back. The creature burst into flames, then the others began to go up in a chain reaction, spreading the fire from the wall to the dresser and cutting off my path to the door. I turned my back on the popping sounds and the growing firelight.

  Muscular had scrambled into a corner. He’d tucked his injured leg behind him and hammered at the closest of the predators with the butt of his pistol, but there was no effect at all. His teeth were bared in raw terror, and I rushed toward him, ghost knife in hand.

  The nearest of the predators began to tear through his leather shoe with its needle-sharp forelegs. I saw blood, but Muscular didn’t do anything more than grunt. I swept my spell through the creature, and this time I saw that the predator didn’t split apart—its shell and limbs seemed to vanish, revealing the expanding fire from inside it.

  Now Muscular screamed as the flames engulfed his leg. A second predator burst into flames nearby, and I fell away from the heat. There were no other creatures close enough to go up with it.

  Christ, the things were still coming through the hole in Wally’s chest, as though he had an inexhaustible supply of them. The flames blocking the way toward the door had spread with startling speed; the front half of the dresser was wrapped in fire. Black smoke flowed along the ceiling and out into the hall through the door that Fidel had left open. The smoke alarm shrieked out in the hall, but I could still hear predators popping like caps in the fire.

  The way out of the room was blocked by burning carpet, so the predators were trapped on the far side of the bed, piling up against the wall, testing it with their sharp legs. Apparently, they didn’t like digging through something that wasn’t flesh.

  Another stream of predators came toward us from the balcony side of the room. Muscular tried to pull farther back into the corner. He slammed his elbow against the wall, trying to break through to safety, but he had no leverage and no time.

  I stepped over him and crouched low, swiping my ghost knife through the lead predator. It burst, igniting the other creatures beside and behind it. The fire spread backward along the sliding glass door and ignited the polyester blankets hanging off the bed.

  The flames had already reached the other side of the bed. I dropped to my knees, beneath the thickening cloud of black smoke. The fire on the carpet was only as high as my calves, but the doorway was already wreathed in flames. The covers, still just starting to burn, dripped liquid fire onto the carpet.

  And damn, it was so loud.

  I lifted Muscular to his feet, but we both stayed well below the billows of smoke. The fire moved toward us, and the carpet at the edge of it was giving off white smoke. God, it had gotten so hot in the room so quickly. I felt like I’d been thrown into an oven.

  But predators were still pouring out of the hole in Wally’s chest. They were tumbling away from the flames, swarming in thick piles along the headboard and wall. I could see some of the predators digging at the drywall, trying to escape into the next room.

  The only real weapon I had was my ghost knife, and it was just a piece of paper—covered by laminate and mailing tape—but still just paper. I’d been hitting the predators as quickly as I could—like flicking a finger through a candle flame—to keep the fire from damaging it, but I couldn’t hold back anymore. My spell was precious, but stopping these predators was more important.

  I threw my ghost knife toward the opening in Wally’s chest. At the same time, I willed it to move as fast as it could, putting my fear and adrenaline behind it. It zipped away from me like a rocket.

  I lunged across Muscular’s body toward the curtain.

  The ghost knife passed through the bulge in Wally’s stomach. Fire blasted out of his body like water from a fire hose. I tore the curtain from the rod, letting it fall over us. Predators went off like little firebombs. I slapped my hand across Muscular’s mouth and nose as the flames roared around us.

  God, the heat! Muscular’s face was inches from mine, and his eyes were bulging with terror. I’m sure I looked the same.

  The roar of flames subsided. The curtain scorched my back, so I threw it away, letting it fall on the carpet between the sliding glass door and us. I’d hoped it would smother the flames a little, but actually it added fuel.

  At the other end of the room, fire climbed the wall and rolled against the ceiling. The bed was completely aflame, and I couldn’t see anything of Wally except his feet.

  I hefted Muscular onto my shoulder. He was heavy, but my adrenaline was flowing. Time seemed sluggish, my chest felt tight, and my skin was steaming as sweat poured out of me. There was no way I could get to the door, but the balcony was only three feet away. I just had to walk through the fire.

  Eight thick midnight-blue tendrils suddenly rose up out of the flames where Wally’s body lay. They arced and pressed down against the floor, lifting Wally’s corpse toward the ceiling. He was still on his back, his arms flopping loose, his nasty green sweat suit burning against his skin. A thick sludge bubbled out of the hole in his chest and flowed over his body, extinguishing the flames. He—it—something turned so its face was toward me.

  Wally’s eyes were open. “Damn, Ray. That actually hurt.”

  Moving like spiders’ legs, the tendrils walked him through the wall as though he were a phantom.

  My blood was rushing in my ears, and Muscular was clutching at me, digging his fingers into my shoulder blade. I ran through the flames, staying as low as I could. The heat against the bottom of my shoes and up my legs was intense, but it was just pain. Just pain. I slammed my elbow against the door handle, and thank God it opened. Then I was through the doorway and onto the concrete balcony.

  I swung Muscular off my shoulder, setting him on the far side of the iron rail. We both gasped for fresh air, and he suddenly began slapping at me. For a moment I was furious and drew back my fist, but then I realized he was beating out the flames on my clothes.

  I stood still, listening to the roaring fire behind me and the sirens in the distance. My legs and feet didn’t hurt anymore, which was a huge surprise.

  Muscular stopped swatting the flames out and looked me directly in the eye. “Mi hermano,” he said.

  Adrenaline buzzed in my head and made it hard to focus on what he’d said. We gripped each other’s wrists as though we were actors in a sword-fighting movie, then I lowered him to the grass below. I bent over the rail as far as I could, but just as I thought it was still too high, he let go.

  He struck the ground with a cry of pain, rolling on the grass and clutching at his burned and bloody legs. Then he struggled upright and began hopping toward the sidewalk.

  Th
e wind changed, blowing the choking black smoke toward me. The temptation to follow Muscular down to the grass was strong, but I couldn’t flee the scene yet. My head still buzzed; it was hard to think, but I knew I needed to look for predators. I had no idea what I’d do once I found them, but that had never stopped me before.

  I swung my leg over the railing. I felt stiff, but it didn’t register why. The other balcony was only about six feet away, but when I jumped for it, my legs had no strength in them. I barely managed to catch the top of the rail opposite and pull myself up onto the ledge.

  Something was wrong with my legs. No, not something. I was burned, and worse than I realized. Maybe I was in shock, too. I staggered into my room. The wall between mine and Wally’s was dark at the top and giving off wisps of smoke. I felt the door; it was cool. I pulled it open and staggered into the hall.

  Just a few feet to my left, the doorway to Wally’s room was open. Black smoke flowed out and the flames ran all the way up to the ceiling. The smoke alarm blared an awful noise. Where were the other guests? Long gone, I hoped.

  There was a staircase on the other side of the flames, but I knew it led down to the front office. Instead, I turned to the stair at the other end of the hall. The door was propped open. As I stumbled toward it, choking and coughing, I saw that it was blocked by a pair of legs.

  I pushed the door open. Stoned lay on his back on the stairs, his head hanging down and his mouth open. His face was bloody, as though he’d puked blood on himself, and there was a ragged hole where his windpipe was supposed to be. His shirt rippled—something moved under there.

  Damn. I had screwed up again. At least one of Wally’s predators had escaped, and Stoned had died. I dragged him by the belt into the hall and let the metal door close. Fidel and his other two cousins were nowhere to be seen.

  I stood over Stoned’s body, feeling dizzy and weak. I couldn’t breathe deeply without gagging. The sirens were getting closer, but they didn’t sound close enough. Stoned’s pant leg rippled then, and his shirt in two places. Did he have three of those nasty little bastards in him? I reached for my ghost knife, but it wasn’t there and I couldn’t remember where I’d left it.