Demon Jack

by Patrick Donovan

  I really should have listened to her when she told me to close my eyes. She was the last thing I saw before my vision distorted, twisting and morphing as total blackness descended over my sight.

  I heard her crouch beside me and I felt her lips, hovering just over mine. The slightest touch of air, a breath over my slightly open mouth. It felt like an explosion in my chest, though it wasn't painful. Bright, comforting warmth spread over my limbs before settling down into a pleasant glow. My heart beat once, and then again. Fresh air, sweet and scented with honey filled my lungs.

  I felt aches and pains vanishing, wounds healing, the heat of the church, the sounds of Yavetta’s heavy, wet breathing returning. I heard nuances of sound I hadn’t before. I could hear the scrape of a rat’s nails against the floor. No, it was coming from under the floor. I heard a wet, slow breath sliding in Maggie’s chest, before slithering out. She was still alive.

  I could smell the flesh, the hair, burning as the flames that had scarred my face gutted out. As quickly as the pain was there, it was gone. I reached up one hand touching my eyes, or rather where my eyes used to be. My eyes had burnt out. My fingers traced over empty sockets, over ropes of leathery scars. I gasped, trying to wrap my head around the shock of it. For a moment the fear of blindness, of vulnerability descended on me.

  The darkness receded, light and shapes starting to take place in my vision.

  “You should have kept your eyes closed, Jack,” I heard Alice say beside me. “You’ll be able to see again in a moment because of me. Do not forget, everything has a price. I will collect,” she said and her voice held a note of cold finality.

  I didn’t care. More details swam before my vision. I could see the slab of wood, lying on the floor, stained with my blood. I stood up and energy literally ran through me, charging my muscles, drawing them tense. They were almost shivering with rage. The church came into focus. Yavetta was standing over Maggie, one foot on each side of her. He had her blade in one hand, her head pulled back by the hair with the other baring her throat.

  I could see everything now, in ways I never could have imagined. I could see, rising off Yavetta, the thin whispers of black smoke hinted with green. I don’t know how I knew, but I knew it was Legion’s aura. I could see Maggie’s as well, a more natural darker green in color, like fresh pine needles, fading slowly with each exhale, only to brighten again with every inhalation. A small bracelet sent spider webs of fine filaments of white energy around her body, the majority around her head. They were so clustered there it was almost hard to see her face. It at least explained how she managed to heal so fast without her wonder balm. Though, given her injuries, I didn’t know if a magical bracelet would be enough to stave off death. Everything in the church held a subdued glow, somewhere far in its core, stained over with something disgusting and sticky. The desecration of murder painted over the purity of faith.

  I blinked and the auras and light show went away. There’d be time to figure out how that nifty trick worked later. Right now, I had a situation to resolve.

  Yavetta’s head snapped around towards me, glowing green eyes widening in surprise. He dropped Maggie to the floor and turned to face me fully. His skin rippled, seeming to bunch in on itself in anticipation.

  “Interesting,” Yavetta said.

  “I think so. It’s going to take some getting used to, but I think I’ll manage. That's a worry for another day. More pressing matters at hand and all.”

  Yavetta tensed, staring me down with wary eyes.

  “You don’t know the mistake you’ve made, boy,” he said.

  “Maybe not, but I’m about to remedy one that I’m all too well aware of.”

  “Why fight? What does it matter to you?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s fun maybe? Self-loathing?”

  Yavetta stared at me blank faced. Apparently he didn’t appreciate my sense of humor.

  Alice was standing in the corner, once more a little girl, though brighter and more vivid. I could see a shadow behind her, that of the angel I had seen only moments ago, mirroring her movement.

  Alice was right, there was a lot about her I was going to have to learn. We'd get started on that just as soon as Legion and I had a little chat.

  Chapter 33

  I moved first, so much quicker than I had before. I wanted to put distance between Yavetta and myself before we started throwing down, get him away from Maggie and the priest. I leapt, easily clearing the distance from the floor to the balcony and hauled myself up over the railing. The pews were still in their original positions up here, the polished wood gleaming in the dim light.

  Yavetta was a breath behind me. No sooner had I pulled myself up and over than he landed, making the jump up here from a standing leap. I put pews between us, though he could just push them aside without even the slightest bit of inconvenience. I felt good. Hell, I felt great. I had a chance now though, albeit a slim one. I was just going to have to pick my spots, settle in and let instinct take over.

  He wasted no time, charging towards me. His hands clasped my shoulders, my own grabbing his collar. I twisted, pushing my hip into him and using it as a fulcrum, letting his momentum carry him. I lifted, and then slammed him down, driving his body into the pews. They snapped under the impact with audible, gunshot like cracks. He rolled, taking refuge under one of the pews that was still standing. I drove my fist down, shattering through it and slamming it into his chest.

  His hands went around my wrist, vice-like and crushing, and he rolled away from me, throwing me off balance and slamming me against the banister. He twisted onto his side and kicked out, a straight mule style kick to my stomach that slammed me through the small banister and into empty air.

  I hit the floor a second later, the impact radiating a painless shockwave through my entire body. Yavetta followed and I barely managed to roll out of the way before his knee hit where my head had been less than a breath before. I felt the impact through the floor, his knee driving a three-inch crater into the hardwood. I rolled again, this time barely avoiding his fist.

  Yavetta leapt over me, twisting and grabbing the back of my head when I got to my feet, slamming my face down into the floor. My head bounced, brain jarred by the impact. My eyebrow split, blood running into my eye. He bounced my head again, and once more for good measure leaving my ears ringing, my lips split open.

  He threw me by the scruff of my neck, sending me skidding and bouncing across the floor like a stone over the surface of a smooth lake. Yavetta was there before I even stopped moving. His hand snatched a hold of my shirt, lifting me up and launching me through the pulpit, and into the wall behind it. I tumbled to the floor, shaking my head, fighting to clear the stars. I wasn't hurt per se, but I was dazed as all hell. I could hear his footsteps, measured and heavy as he took the two steps up, stalking towards me.

  I rose, slowly, trying to align my fluttering head. He charged, driving us both into the wall below a tired replica of Da Vinci's Last Supper. We grappled like that, trading quick body shots, before he managed to get a hand on me, tossing me back to the church’s floor. When he blurred in again, this time to kick me up into the damned ceiling I managed to catch his ankle, driving a hard fist into his knee. Something popped and my fist and his leg literally inverted. He dropped like a stone.

  He didn’t say a word, leveling me with a stare so full of vicious intent that it would probably drive a sane man mad. That probably says a lot about my mental status. More of the snake-like tendrils slid under his skin, wrapping around his battered knee.

  Somehow, he stood. Somehow, despite the physical impossibility of it, he was able to stand up and bum rush me. His momentum carried us both back, through the heavy wooden doors and into the street. We hit in a tangle of flailing limbs, asphalt hidden beneath the snow and sleet tearing a nice layer of skin off my back and side. I sprang up off of him, putting distance between the two of us again, goading him into giving me the advantage.

  The street was empty, the b
uildings around us all dark. Maggie’s car was parked roughly ten feet away and I moved to put it between Yavetta and myself. He paused, staring at me. There was a sound like Rice Krispies, only louder, amplified a thousand times, followed by a wet sounding pop as the demons writhing under his skin forced his knee back into a more natural position.

  “Fucking splendid,” I muttered.

  “You have to kill him, Jack,” Alice said, her tiny frame nestled calmly atop one of those blue public mailboxes.

  “You fucking think?” I asked, my voice traced with irritation and pain.

  “You have to end it,” she said calmly.

  I groaned and hopped up onto the roof of the car. I got a two or three step running start and launched myself towards Yavetta in a suicide dive. He caught me, using my own momentum to hurl me back towards the church, substituting the stained glass window for the door. Shards of colored glass sliced my skin, a hundred cuts opening all at once. I could see each shard raining down over me when I hit the floor, brilliant greens, sparkling blues, deep reds, most of them stained with my blood. The floor under me grew sticky, the blood cooling rapidly. One particularly nasty cut left me able to stick my tongue through my cheek. If it hadn’t hurt so much, I might actually think it was kind of amusing in a sick way.

  I started to crawl away from the mass of shattered glass. I felt lightheaded, a sharp pain radiating through my thigh every time I moved my leg. I could feel myself growing weaker, the pool of blood, my blood, growing steadily wider. I didn’t know if I was going to die, hell, if I could die after my last little deal with Alice. I was pretty sure there was a better than average chance I could. Call it a hunch.

  I put one hand in front of the other, and almost screamed when it came down on something, a jolt of pure fire lighting in a line across my palm. I heard a sizzle, and opened my eyes to see small tendrils of smoke rising from between my fingers.

  I jerked my hand back, and lying on the floor was Hernandez’s rosary beads. They had burnt a perfect impression, scaled black and blistered now, across my palm.

  Behind me, I heard the shuffling step of Yavetta’s feet, his pace still favoring the knee I had injured.

  “What the Hell?” I muttered letting my brain latch onto the idea that was forming. I wrapped my hand around the rosary, gritting my teeth and ignoring the waves of pure agony it sent up my arm.

  I felt myself lifted, a strong hand around the back of my neck. He turned me around, still holding me by the neck so we were face to face.

  “And now, it is done,” he said, his voice echoing with a thousand choruses.

  I didn’t bother with a witty retort. I let the beads slide over my hand, the crucifix, almost as long as my pinky sticking out of my closed fist like a spike. I swung, putting every last bit of muscle, every ounce of strength I had left behind it and drove the cross into his neck.

  It hit behind his jawbone, just beneath the ear and sunk in with no resistance. I swung again and again driving the cross into his neck, his face, until he dropped me. He flailed madly, slapping at his wounds, a thousand voices screaming all at once in pure, hellish agony. The sound was deafening, a resonating tremble of noise that shook the entire building on its foundation. He thrashed, smoke rising from the wounds. The skin around them charred, turning black. It spread slowly, burning outwards, thin flecks of skin flaking off, rising around him like paper ashes over a fire.

  He spun and staggered down to one knee. Both hands were at his neck, scratching and tearing at the skin. I threw the rosary around his neck, pulling it tight, dragging it into the flesh like a garrote. Yavetta’s face turned red, a stark contrast to the dark patches of burnt flesh the thin strands of beads were leaving against his skin. He thrashed, leaping back and slamming me into the wall. I fought to hold on through the impact and the lines of scalding pain radiating through my own hands everywhere the rosary touched my own exposed flesh. I let pure determination and stubbornness fuel me. A second wall, and despite the pain, I still managed to hold on.

  Finally, his struggles weakened. I put a knee against his back, pushing while I pulled at the rosary. It sank deeper, the beads completely hidden within the flesh. I have no idea how the string that held the beads together hadn't broken. Fucking thing had to be made out of titanium. His eyes bulged, cheeks turning purple. One hand dropped, propping himself up, the other weakly slapping at the beads.

  Alice appeared in front of him, staring into his face. She seemed to be waiting, her face holding the same kind of eagerness you'd expect to see in a kid on Christmas Morning. When his last breath escaped, she vanished, the sound of ringing bells in the distance hanging in my ears.

  Finally he went still.

  The shockwave hit a moment later, lifting me, tossing me back against the wall. I lay there dazed, on the border of consciousness. The last thing I saw before I passed out was an angel.

  An angel with bloodied wings, a sword in her hand, and a circle of more corpses than I could count laid out around on the floor around her. Each one was little more than a shadow with no discernible features, twisted and broken. Then, there was nothing.

  Chapter 34

  I woke up in a bed I didn’t know, in a room I had never seen. Blankets, heavy and thick, were pushed up to my chin. I could feel a myriad of aches and pains, distant and far away, barely on the edge of some warm hazy dream. A thin tube ran under the blanket and after flexing my hand once or twice I could feel the IV needle. It led to a rather pricey gadget, all digital screens and fine-lined printouts. It measured my heart rate, which was a steady one hundred and seventy beats a minute, and my temperature, one hundred and ten.

  It took me a minute to realize I was completely and utterly stoned. It took me another minute to drift back to a warm, comfortable, numb sleep.

  When I woke up again, Lucy was watching me. She was dressed in clothes more her style. A long sleeve, form fitting shirt and jeans, both built to accentuate her curves. I sat up slowly. The IV line was gone, a small piece of gauze taped to the back of my hand in its place. I rubbed a hand over my face, feeling the scars of my deal with Alice and the burns around my eyes.

  “Jack,” Lucy said quietly.

  “Lucy.”

  “You’re awake.”

  “Obviously. Where am I?” I asked.

  “A safe house in Salem,” she said, moving to slide a chair up to my bed. She seated herself.

  “What about Maggie, Hernandez?”

  “Maggie is touch and go. She’s in a coma. They aren’t sure if she’s going to pull out of it. She’s in real rough shape. Hernandez has a broken leg, a concussion, but he’s going to be fine.”

  “And Yavetta?”

  “Taken care of.”

  “What happened? I mean-”

  “After Maggie threw me into the car, I had to track you down by scent. I got to the church maybe an hour or two after Maggie took you. Apparently someone had already been by there. The place was on fire. You were nowhere to be seen.”

  “Okay?”

  “So, who had been there?”

  “That would be me, Mister Draughn,” a woman’s said. It was familiar, but nothing I could place.

  The vampire from Adam’s lawn stepped from the shadows, the darkness parting like a curtain as she entered. She was dressed much the same, her dress skin tight, showing little in the way of figure outside of lean, corded muscle. Her face, now that I could see it without the racing of adrenaline and the fighting for my life bit, was something close to perfect aristocracy. A tiny, sharp nose set above perfectly shaped lips. Eyes that managed to make even the milky cataract-like film of a vampire’s eyes seem haughty. She radiated an aura of quiet confidence, of pure control.

  “I told you we would talk. I figured cleaning up your mess after saving your life would be an adequate way to, shall we say, open the lines of communication just a bit more, no?”

  “Yeah. Thanks,” I said, turning to put my feet on the floor. I was wearing scrub pants, nothing else. Apparently someone had
been kind enough to change me out of the blood, dirt, and whatever else stained my previous pair of jeans. My boots were gone, which bothered me. I had loved those things, had ‘em for years.

  “My name is Siobahn,” she said.

  “Where are my things?” I asked.

  “They have been disposed of. I took the liberty of getting you new clothes, as well as a coat. I have an offer for you, if you’d be willing to hear me out.”

  “Not in the slightest,” I said. “Save it.”

  If Siobahn was put off by my tone, she wasn’t showing it. She seemed perfectly content to watch, to study me. Her face was a picture-perfect mask of patience.

  “Jack. Hear her out,” Lucy said.

  I settled my eyes on Lucy for a long draw. She nodded once.

  “Please?” she asked.

  “Fine. Go ahead,” I said, impatient.

  “What you did to Adam, was in fact a large favor to me,” she said, “Are you aware of who the spectators were at your little prize fight?”

  “Not really concerned with it to be honest with you,” I said.

  “Ah, well, they were... I suppose the best word for it is lieutenants, as well as those that oversaw him. Those aren’t as important as his underlings though are they Jack? You know how this works given your previous affiliation with Mister Lin I take it?”