Broken Souls (Primani Book 4)

by Laurie Olerich

  “Dude!” Latching onto the asshole’s arm, he pushed him backwards into the Cheetos rack. Bags went flying before all hell broke loose.

  The man swung around and sucker punched him in the gut twice before jamming a needle between his ribs.

  “Sonofabitch!” This guy had a death wish. He swung around to clock him, but his arm didn’t respond. Rooted in place, he swayed but couldn’t lift them. They’d turned to lead. He felt it then. His lungs not expanding, breathing slowed. He saw sparkling spots. Not good. Someone screamed. The sound warbled in his head, fading to a low ringing. He shook his head like a dog, or at least he tried to. The ringing continued.

  The walls shifted 45 degrees. Spirals of color exploded from the stacks of fruit like a Skittles commercial.

  “Enjoy the ride, Primani,” Marilyn Manson grunted in his ear. As he swayed, Manson steadied him, a freaky rictus splitting his face. The man’s gory make up melted over his chin followed by a stream of bright red blood. The plopping blood echoed like a church bell in the tiny room.

  Lurching into customers and knocking over display racks, he used the last of his strength to get outside. He made it to the sidewalk before his world tunneled to a black dot.

  A bucket of freezing water dumped over his head jump started his heart. The shock of it nearly gave him a stroke. Gasping at the cold, he snorted water and blood from his nose. Laughter brought his head snapping to the right even as his saol lit him up for combat. Awesome. He had company: two demons and a couple of rats lurking along the wall. An empty plastic bucket lay on the floor between them.

  One of the demons gave him a jaunty wave. “Welcome back. We thought you’d be out all week. Francisco got a little carried away with the party drugs. Sorry about that.”

  Sonofabitch. This wasn’t good. He yanked at metal cuffs, coming up short. He tested the cuffs at his ankles. No give there either. No problem. He’d just teleport.

  “Don’t even think about it. You, my wingless friend, are sitting on a very special chair. I wouldn’t suggest shifting your weight even an inch. Things might get exciting if you do.” He eased slightly closer and commented, “Nice laser eyes. Might want to tone them down before your eyeballs melt. You’re not going anywhere.”

  Growling deep in his throat, he shut the smarmy voice out to focus on the chair. His hands and ankles were cuffed to it. It was wooden, nothing special…a little rickety…ah. There it was. A disk of metal rested just under his left butt cheek. A pressure plate. Now that he was paying attention, he smelled the telltale odor of almonds. Almonds and blood. He inhaled sharply which led to the discovery that one of his eyes was swollen nearly shut, and his nose hurt like a bitch. A vicious stab of pain in his side had him fighting another nap. His vision went spotty as he tried to stay conscious. Which one of these pricks kicked him? At least a couple of ribs were snapped, crushed by the feel of the pain. On a scale of one to ten, he was feeling about 120. Sonofabitches! When he got out of this chair, someone was going to die.

  Locking eyes with the demon, he asked, “Do you want to explain why I’ve got a brick of C4 strapped to my ass? Seriously?” He wiggled his wrist as far as it would go, nearly slipping free of the cuff. With his voice just above a hiss, he swore, “When I get out of this chair, gutting you will be the very first thing I do.”

  The knife moved so fast he didn’t have time to register it before it skewered his wrist to the chair. Pain swamped him like a tidal wave. Flashes of light burst behind his eyes as the nerves sent their screaming SOS’s to his brain. He bit his tongue, tasting blood and bile.

  The demon crouched before him, jerking his chin up, eyes burning like two coals. “Watch your fucking mouth, Primani. I’ve got orders to keep you alive. But no one said I couldn’t damage you a bit while we wait for the boss.”

  With that cryptic piece of news, the demon yanked another blade from its sheath and thrust it under his left ear. “Keep talking and this goes. I don’t think you can grow a new one.”

  The sudden blast of energy sent the demon sailing into the wall with a satisfying crash. Before he could hit him again, the other demon jammed a needle into his neck.

  “Maybe we haven’t taken the right precautions? Hold him.”

  Waking up the next time was even less of a party. He was still strapped to the friggin’ chair, the athame pinning his wrist in place, broken ribs screaming with every breath, but now the scent of fresh blood curled his stomach. Glancing down, he nearly howled at the sight. The bastard had carved an angel trap into the top of his good hand. The sigil would bind his powers and mask his location, making it impossible for him to reach Sean. It neutralized the comms. Shit. There’d be no calling for help. He’d already sent a telepathic distress signal, of sorts, the second he came to earlier…whenever that was. The room was dark now. Even with the narrow windows blocking most of the outside, he could tell night had fallen, but he had no idea what day it was. How many days had he been missing? Sean would be looking for him--they’d had plans to go hunting the night he was grabbed. Surely he was tracking him? But if he was, why wasn’t he already here? Sean was the best tracker he knew. His skills were legendary, really, and add them to their tight personal bond… well, he should be able to sense him without any trouble. Unless… glancing around, he looked for more sigils. It was technically possible to hide him from the other Primani with the right knowledge. Was it too much to hope that these yahoos were idiots?

  “Don’t bother looking. You’re not getting out of here.” The chatty demon was back.

  Damn. Figures.

  Alone this time, though…“Says you.”

  He sniggered, his full mouth curling into a genuine smile, teeth gleaming. Waving a hand in his prisoner’s general direction, he said, “You’re white as a ghost. How’s your hand? Hurt much?” Pausing just out of reach, he sniffed at the air and added, “Sweating too. Huh. You still haven’t healed yourself? I’m surprised. What’s the matter with your mojo?”

  I haven’t had TIME to heal myself, you dick. He thought about saying that out loud and opted to bite his tongue. He had some pressing issues that were about to become major problems and losing his ear wouldn’t help things.

  He was strapped to a bomb.

  His hand burned like a mother.

  His telekinetic powers were bound.

  Oh, and one more thing, he had to piss like a racehorse.

  This was not going to end well.

  “So, is the plan to bore me to death, or is there a reason you’re going to all this trouble? I don’t recognize you, demon. Want to share your name?”

  Most demons were assholes with ginormous egos. When spending time topside in the human plane, they preferred to wear what they thought were macho human facades. They thought it made them look badass. Usually they looked stupid…Primani didn’t take too many of these yahoos seriously. Normally the demons didn’t get the drop on them. Typical conflicts were like business transactions. Primani hunted them, and they fought with knives or energy to the death. Usually the demons were smoked, literally, with minimal Primani losses over the millennia. They were just that good. Having been superior soldiers as humans, they were a thousand times more powerful after an archangel made them Primani.

  Demons were tricky; they had powers, they had weapons, they had Satan on their side. But in the grand scheme of things, they tried to avoid extermination a la Primani. In other words, they ran away a lot. Grabbing him and tying him to a friggin’ chair in the middle of a cliché abandoned warehouse was a bizarre tactic that he couldn’t get his fairly brilliant mind around. What was the game?

  The chatty demon with the shitty attitude chose to dress in a suit--with a tie and black and white wingtips. Aaaand the nauseating mess was all topped off with a hankie in the breast pocket. Clearly he’d watched too many old gangster movies. In an oddly fussy gesture, he tucked the small square of fabric back into its home and steepled his fingers. He kept his dark eyes hooded while he lost himself in thought. Just for a second though,
they revealed his true nature. Yellow reptilian eyes winked into the deep set sockets before changing back to the deep green human versions.

  Finally he answered, “You can call me Nick.”

  As the last melancholy notes melted into the night, Killian released a slow even breath. Twelve bells. Twelve. Midnight. Nearly time. Moonless and thick with summer heat, Rome slumbered like a great sprawling beast. It was preternaturally silent as though every creature knew there was great evil present. The subtle vibrations of it slithered over his neck, making him clench teeth that were already jammed together. He jogged in a crouch to the corner of the religious articles warehouse. The hundred-year-old building was wedged between an abandoned house built in the Middle Ages and a crumbling church built during Pope Benedict XIV--circa 1750 something or other. He’d been in Rome often enough to recognize the style but wasn’t going to study the historical plaque over the door. A guard walked right into him as he rounded the corner. He didn’t have time to shout before the fire was snuffed from his eyes. He yanked the blade out of the bony chest and wiped it on the dead human’s pants. That’s what you get for working with demons. With a hand signal to Sean, he raised his weapon and kept moving.

  Sean nodded and vanished.

  Come on, Dec... Where are you, little brother? They’d had a bitch of a time tracking him so far. He was supposed to be in Manhattan! How the fuck did he end up in Rome? And so fast? There was no way he took a plane. There wasn’t enough time to get here from New York. Lucky for him, Raphael was thoroughly pissed off and sent out his own sources to sniff him out. They’d narrowed it down to this street. Raphael was as chill as they came--the inventor of original Zen. He had only seen his maker this furious on a handful of occasions; Dec’s disappearance was another. Guess he had a soft spot for the guy. They lost him once. He’d be damned if they’d lose him to another demon. He’d go to Hell himself and set the place on fire. Hell hath no fury like a pissed off archangel. Just ask Lucifer… It was good to have Raphael on their side.

  He took a sec to bring Dec’s face to mind and set his jaw again. His family needed Declan--They’d all been stronger from having known his light. Everyone he touched, he saved in his own way. It was his gentle gift. Probably he’d never admit to loving the goofball, but he’d sacrifice a large chunk of the planet just to get him back. Besides, Mica would murder him if he didn’t. With this cheery thought in mind, he stopped to get his bearings. The place seemed deserted. He’d killed one human guard already and heard the muffled sound of Sean taking out another. They’d cleared the perimeter without any other contacts.

  A crunch of gravel warned him he had spoken too soon. Wheeling around, he swung his knife hand just as the click of a hammer sounded beside his ear.

  Nick was the most heinous of all demons. A true poster child of evil, his cruelty knew no end. Dec’s eyes dropped to the floor. Shuddering at the sight, he ground his molars together and debated the usefulness of prayer.

  After an hour of torturing him with it, the bastard left the hose pouring water into a drain at his feet. Nick had decided to carve him up like a chicken, but opted to shove the hose in his mouth instead. After perfecting his version of waterboarding, he’d shimmered out. The next visit would be with his boss; so said the trustworthy demon. Who knew when the asshat would show up? His new buddy Nick the Dick had issued dire warnings twice, and so far, the boss demon had been a no show. He got the impression the plan was unravelling. Nick had been pissed off when he got here earlier. He’d ranted, raved, and took off without cutting off any body parts. Seemed kind of distracted. He even tortured him in a half-ass way. Honestly, he should be a little insulted at the lack of attention. After all, he’d been tied to this friggin’ chair for the angels only knew how long, and his patience was getting pretty short. Someone either needed to rescue his ass or kill him. Things were getting bad.

  Trying desperately to ignore the effect the water had on his bladder, he focused on healing what he could. His saol had warmed him and repaired the ribs just like it was supposed to, but it couldn’t erase the sigil carved in his hand, which was still seeping a steady stream of blood, or push out the damn athame in his other wrist. Fuck. It hurt. He wasn’t a wuss about pain, but every breath brought excruciating agony throughout his arm. Demon weapons were a bitch that way--all of them were toxic. To add insult to injury, he could look down and see it sticking there. The blood made him… uncomfortable. The obsidian toothpick turned him into a horror movie prop. Seriously, it was obscene. Now there were three of them… Crap! He was going to pass out again… oh, no, no, no! Now wasn’t the time for that. They’d be back any minute.

  To keep the dizziness from pulling him under, he bit his lip and took inventory of his arm. Staring hard and focusing on every inch, the lightheadedness waned by the time he made it to the wrist. Golden skin, fine blond hair sprinkling his forearm and wrist… nails short, not manicured, and long, lean fingers. Just your standard, attractive hand. The maroon trail of congealed blood added a dramatic splash to the bland colors… As if protesting the scrutiny, his middle finger twitched, sending an arrow of fire shooting up the rest of his arm. Unable to stifle the groan, he let it go and closed his eyes. No one was here to hear him anyhow.

  “Where are you, Sean?” he muttered under his breath. “Any time now would be great.”

  On cue, Sean rematerialized in the shadows near the back of the room. Staying out of sight, he scanned the rest of the building for heat signatures. Finding none bigger than a rat, he zoned in on his hunting buddy. Even without his supernatural senses, he wouldn’t have missed him. The smell of torture hit him like a shockwave; the rage he’d been resisting flickered to life. He would skin these bastards alive if Dec was dead.

  “Dec!” He flashed over to his side and started to snap the handcuffs off when Dec’s eyes flew open.

  “Don’t touch me! God, don’t touch me!” His eyes bugged with real fear.

  Sean froze in mid-yank. WTF? Dec wasn’t afraid of anything. “Dude, we need to go. You need help.”

  Now that he’d released the cuff, Dec relaxed with a whoosh of breath and a ghost of a smile. “No shit, genius. I also need to piss like a racehorse, but you can’t help with that... unless you want…” He let the words hang and gave a nod to his crotch.

  Sean crossed his arms and said, “Not gonna happen.”

  Dec shrugged. “Worth a shot. Look under the chair. Tell me what you see there.”

  He crouched and whistled. Shit. He flipped onto his back, sliding under the chair to check out the explosives. Okay, a lot of plastique and a nest of wires that led to the assorted components. No problem. He’d just disarm the fucker, and they’d be on their way.

  Pulling himself upright again, he rolled his eyeballs over Dec to check for injuries. All moving parts were still attached. Good sign. The sickening odor of blood seemed to be coming from the angel trap carved into his hand. Bad sign.

  They needed to get moving. Dec didn’t look good at all. He held himself stiffly, barely exhaling. His gaze landed on the athame, the obscene sight dragging a snarl from his throat.

  “Yeah, it fucking hurts. I’d love you forever if you’d pull that thing out.”

  “I got it. Hold your breath.” With that command, he yanked the blade out in one quick movement.

  Dec made a strangled sound as his eyes rolled back in his head. Sean stared in horror as the wounded hand jumped in spasms. Blood pooled thick and hot across the arm of the chair. The smell of it added more fuel to his rage. Someone was going to pay for this. Dec’s face blanched white, and he swayed forward.

  Sean grabbed Dec’s jaw, squeezing to leave fingerprints. “Don’t you pass out on me! Suck it up!”

  Dec bit down on his lip hard to steady himself. After a couple of deep breaths, he nodded. “I’ll live. Just get it done.”

  He dug in a pocket of his pants and pulled out a Leatherman. Finding the wire cutter, he crawled back under the chair to get to work.

  He cons
idered himself a pretty experienced demolitions man. He and Dec had set tons of explosives over the years. He had a delicate touch, sensitive fingers, and a quick eye for details. He’d be the first to admit that Dec was better, though. He had an understanding of architecture and physics that was uncanny sometimes. He could eyeball a structure for five minutes and know exactly where to place the charges to create max destruction with minimum collateral. They worked in perfect synch with each other. In, out, done. Not today though. He closed his eyes and groaned inwardly. This wasn’t good.

  “What are you doing under there? Just cut the red wire.” Dec’s tone was more exasperated than scared now. “Hurry up, man!”

  He didn’t respond.

  “What’s the matter? Why aren’t you doing anything?”

  With a long, pained sigh, he answered, “All the wires are red.”

  Loooonnngg pause.

  “Dude. Who does that?”

  “Demons with a sense of humor.” Killian dropped from the scaffolding, landing like a cat; a big, predatory cat. He elbowed Sean out of the way and poked his head under the chair.

  “I got this. Move over.”

  Sean couldn’t resist muttering, “My hero,” but he moved out of the way. Killian wasn’t just a Primani. He had other powers handed down from his ancestors long before the Druids thought to build their first rock altar. He was scary good.

  While Killian squeezed his broad shoulders under the chair, Dec began to sweat, his face white with strain. Sean tore off a strip of his t-shirt and gently wrapped it around his bleeding wrist. “Hang in there. It’ll be over soon.”

  In a tight voice, Dec replied, “You’ve got no idea,” and squeezed his eyes shut.

  After that, there didn’t seem to be anything else to say, so they kept their mouths closed while Killian concentrated and worked his magic.

  Five long minutes later, Killian gave a grunt of satisfaction and heaved himself out from under the chair. “Okay, that does it. Let’s go before we have company.”

  His mouth dropped open. “That’s it? What’d you do?”