Double-Barreled Devilry

by D Michael Bartsch

  Gabriel halted, turning on his heels.

  “We go alone from here.”

  Acolytes are not permitted in the Hall of Angels. They left in the same silence, sweeping away in a rush of robes.

  “Come.”

  Gabriel pushed open the large double door, twice as tall as any man. White light spilled out. A wave of cold engulfed me. I shivered as gooseflesh prickled across my entire body. It was the same sensation I'd felt in the lift; only the feeling coursed through my entire body.

  I swallowed hard and tried to clear my throat. It was time to meet my destiny. Whatever awaited me, I would stand on my own feet and face it. I had betrayed my order, my family, my God.

  I set my jaw and followed my brother into the light.

  I woke up in darkness. My body ached, and I was pissed. I couldn't remember the last time I'd dreamed about anything other than the mind-numbing abyss of the Void. I pulled myself out of bed and made it to the bathroom. My mouth felt dry, and I just wanted something to drink. The memories of my time in the black cells beneath the Vatican were still fresh all these years later.

  My heart was racing, and I could feel the film of sweat on my chest. I tried to forget my shame. Hell, I didn't know I could even muster the feeling anymore.

  I didn't know who Prufrock was, but I knew I wanted him dead. He came into my bar, my holy place of penitent worship, and threatened me. Worst of all, he was just some Demon's lackey.

  Mephisto, the Lord of Lies, was one of Lucifer's generals. Together they'd commanded armies and marched to the gates of Heaven itself. They were both rotting in Hell for it. That didn't stop them from pushing their presence into the world when someone was dumb enough to summon them. All of the Demon Lords came up for that one, your soul in exchange for power.

  I had always suspected that Glyph had made the deal. He did more than just dabble in blood magic. He also had a way with wards that seemed to defy his age. I had never asked him about it. It's not the kind of thing that you ask someone, not in the circles that I hang out in. Asking meant that they could ask you, and that was just plain awkward.

  Glyph lived in an older house in Daly City. A single box with brick walls and old dead trees. It was unassuming in every way. It took me thirty minutes to get there. I parked a few houses down when I got there, and I could still feel some serious magic humming around the place when I got out of my car.

  Goosebumps sprang up all over my skin as the ambient magic floated in the air around me. I'd been here before, and his house was always neck deep in protection. He'd done lots of work around the city, but he saved the best stuff for his place. Can't say I blame him.

  I walked up the cement path leading from the sidewalk to his front door. The storm door was lying on the ground beside the house. You’d never know the guy was pulling down millions every year.

  I reached out and took hold of the handle, twisting. Locked. Nothing magical about this one, just a good old fashioned deadbolt. I turned around and looked up and down the street. It was the middle of the afternoon, and the neighborhood looked deserted. This was the kind of place where it paid to mind your own business.

  I pulled the Glock out of my jacket pocket, grabbed it by the muzzle, and smashed one of the glass panes set in the door. I felt an instantaneous release of magic all around me, the nasty kind. My vision turned green as I absorbed the explosion. I heard branches snap off a nearby tree as a rush of air blew past me.

  My entire body momentarily felt like it had gone numb and was awkwardly regaining feeling. I took a few steps back and almost tripped down the stairs. I shook my head and hands, trying to get the pins and needles out. My stomach lurched, and I felt like I might heave.

  If anyone else had tried that, the ward would have blasted them into the afterlife and left a large stain of bodily fluid that reached the street. Thankfully, I'd never met a spell that could do anything more than make me feel a little queasy.

  I kept hold of the gun, finger on the trigger now, and reached in through the broken glass to twist the deadbolt. I made sure to move carefully around the glass. I may be magic proof, but I could still tear the shit out of my arm on the glass.

  The door squealed as I pushed it inward.

  “What the hell?”

  I saw Glyph across the room, coming in from the kitchen, snub nose revolver in hand.

  “Cain? What the hell are you doing?”

  I stood, staring. I hadn't been expecting that, not in the least. My mind was running through a thousand possibilities, pretty much all of them had to do with me getting set up.

  He walked up to the door.

  “Cain? Seriously what's your damage? You come to my house and break the damn window, and woah. Why do you have a gun?”

  I looked down at the Glock.

  “I.”

  I didn't know what to say. I had some explaining to do though.

  “Someone told me you were dead.”

  It was all I had.

  “So you come to my place and try and break in? That's cold, even for you.”

  I took my finger off the trigger and slipped the gun into my jacket.

  “Nah. They told me you'd been murdered. I was here to see if I could find out what happened.”

  “Who told you?” He asked. “Balthazar send you?”

  Glyph stuck his face out the door and looked around.

  “Nah. Some guy. Said his name was Prufrock, came into Taft. He showed me a picture of a burned up body. Said it was you.”

  Glyph chewed on his lip. He looked stressed. I might be too if someone just broke into my place and said I was dead.

  “Prufrock?”

  “Yea. Heard of him?”

  “Nope.”

  “Well. Shit. Sorry about the window.”

  “You better be. Come in. I don't need people on the street getting up in my shit.”

  I closed the door and followed Glyph into the kitchen, broken glass crunching beneath my feet. The linoleum was coming up at the seams, and the furniture was all second hand. The entire house was oozing magic. I know that it was warded to look much nicer to anyone else who entered. They would have seen granite tile, hardwood floors, and fine oak finish. Glyph had told me once that wards were a hell of a lot cheaper than refurbishing. That kind of illusion magic didn't work on me, though. My eyes saw what was underneath the spells.

  There was a black tea kettle bubbling on the stove. I hadn't ever known Glyph to drink tea. I'd never seen him drink anything that wasn't malted and in a forty ounce bottle. It was part of the reason I liked working with him.

  I pulled out a chair and sat at the card table set up in the corner.

  “You want something to drink?” He asked. “I'm working on some Earl Grey at the moment.”

  “I'm good.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  Glyph went about his business. Grabbing a gnarled, chipped mug that had “coffee makes me poop” written on the side. I don't think it was the kind of thing you were supposed to use when you were whipping up fancy tea. I should know; I’m technically British. Though, the only tea I drink is half bourbon and a third sugar.

  “Tell me what happened.”

  I told him, from the beginning. Prufrock coming in and saying he was dead, his soul was missing, and I had to find out why.

  “Couldn't find my soul, huh?”

  The kettle began to whistle. He swept it off the stove and poured the boiling water into an ancient looking French press, loose tea leaves already filling the bottom of it. I never knew Glyph was so damn cultured.

  “How much they offer?”

  “Ten grand.” I lied.

  “That's it?”

  “I'm not a fancy ass, tea guzzling warder. I gotta take what I can get.”

  He laughed.

  “True, but after Balthazar offered you half a million, I would have thought you'd have upped your regular rate.”

  I tensed as he spoke.

  “How'd you know about that?” I asked.

 
I leaned forward, hunching my back and moving my hand into my jacket.

  I wasn't as sly as I hoped. Glyph noticed the change in my posture. He knew where the gun was. He'd spent his life on the street, and I'd been sloppy to think I could get ready for a fight without him noticing. He let his tea steep and locked eyes with me. His revolver was on the counter behind him.

  “I was over at the club this morning. Ajax told me about it. Said he overheard the boss talking with Andrej. Plus, the whole town knows about what happened to Talia.”

  I relaxed. Ajax had a big mouth. He'd probably overheard it when he came back to report about the warehouse clean up.

  Glyph noticed and seemed to relax too. He moved to press the water and pour himself a cup, or cupper I suppose.

  “Glad I passed the test.” He said. “Looked like you were getting ready to pull that gun back out.”

  “Sorry, weird couple of days. Been on edge.”

  “I could tell. You look terrible.”

  “Look who's talking.”

  I stood from the table.

  “Now, where's the malt liquor. I'm a man of simple tastes.”

  He smiled and nodded. “Fridge.”

  I walked over and pulled out a bottle of Old English. It's bottled horse piss, but it would get the job done.

  “You've never heard of this Prufrock guy?”

  Glyph shook his head, sipping on his tea. I gulped down some OE.

  “Damn. Whoever he is, he's connected. He knew about the job Balthazar gave me too. He also knew about the Minsk job.”

  “And you don't have any idea who he is?” Glyph asked.

  “Damned if I know. I was hoping you'd heard of him.”

  I sat back down at the table and slugged down more horse piss.

  “You haven't asked you know.” He said.

  “Asked what?”

  I had a feeling what he was getting at. I sure as hell didn't want to talk about it.

  “If I did take the deal.”

  I wiped my mouth after a lazy draw from the bottle.

  “You know the rules. Don't ask, don’t tell.”

  “I'd heard they'd repealed that.”

  I smiled.

  “Yea, well not as far as I'm concerned. Your business is your business.”

  “That and you don't want to talk about your own experience.” He said.

  I put the bottle on the table. I'd lost my taste for it and was in the mood for something a hell of a lot stronger. Nothing puts me in a sour mood like talking about Demons, especially the soul selling part of it. Glyph had always had the common sense to keep his damn mouth shut in the past. Now he was bringing it up like it was nothing. Maybe he was just mad that Balthazar had offered me a job worth a ton of money.

  I was thinking of what to say when my phone rang. I pulled it out and saw that Ajax was calling. I answered.

  “Ajax.”

  Glyph looked up from his tea. He stood from the table and went back to the counter, fiddling with the French press.

  “Hey. Just got done at the warehouse. That was a pain in my ass for sure.” Ajax said.

  “Get everything cleaned up?” I asked.

  “Yea, place is clean. Some serious hoodoo went down there. Looks like that pack of ghouls and the Ravager got summoned there.

  “On top of that, we found some footprints that were a whole lot bigger. Someone was looking to start some serious shit. The sigils looked like they didn't care what they pulled over here as long as it was big. The circle in the parking lot was tricky work too. I think it was on some sort of time delay so they didn’t actually have to be there for it to snap into place. They meant business. If anyone other than you had walked in there, I doubt they would have been able to break it.”

  “Well, that'll be fun to talk to Balthazar about.” I said.

  “Yup. I'm gonna let you take point on that.”

  “Prick.”

  “Yup.”

  “You headed back to the club?” I asked.

  “Yea. I've been here since last night. Andrej put me in charge of body dump, and then I had to scrub all three circles and the blood. I'm ready to get back and have a drink. God knows I've earned it.”

  He'd been there all night. Glyph still had his back to me. I shifted, getting myself ready.

  “Sounds good. I'll probably join you soon.”

  I hung up and slid the phone into my jacket pocket. I traded it for the Glock and stood, leveling it at Glyph.

  “Hands up.” I said.

  Glyph turned his head. I saw him see the gun, and the muscles of his forearm tightened, rippling under his skin. He glanced back at the snub nose.

  “Don't.” I said.

  He didn't move. He was ready to though.

  “Ajax said he's been out all night. He's just now on his way back to the club. Which is interesting considering you just told me that you saw him there this morning.”

  I grabbed an empty chair with my free hand and pulled it back several feet away from Glyph. I wanted enough space to feel comfortable.

  “Let's start from the beginning again, shall we. What's going on here?”

  I kept the gun leveled at center mass. I had more than enough room to put several rounds in him if he decided to charge.

  “There's been a misunderstanding is all.” He said.

  “Damn straight there has.” I said. “Tell me why someone came to me saying you were dead?”

  He took a drink of tea and set the mug down. He walked slowly and sat back down at the table, keeping his hands visible.

  “Because he is.” He said. “I killed him, several weeks ago. I took his head and hands and dumped him in the bay. I had hoped to have moved on before anyone identified the body and discovered that he was missing.”

  “Looks like that didn't work out for you. Cause somebody noticed. They had some questions when his soul didn't end up Downtown.”

  “An unfortunate oversight.”

  I could see the wheels turning behind his eyes. He was calculating how to kill me.

  “Who are you?”

  “No one.”

  “Yea? I have a hard time believing that. I can see through Glamours, which is how I know this place is a shit hole. If you look like Glyph to me, it means you aren't entirely human. What are you?”

  “You don't understand what you are involved in here, Mr. Cain.”

  I watched as he tapped his hand along the table idly.

  “Tell me where Glyph's soul is, and I'll kill you. Keep quiet, and I'll shoot you in the knees and call Prufrock. I'm betting you know exactly who he is, and I'm sure he would love to get his hands on you. I know his boss would.” I said.

  The only warning I had was the all too familiar prickling of the hair on the back of my neck. I should have felt it earlier, but with all the ambient magic from the wards floating around I didn't sense it until the last moment.

  I pulled the trigger without thought as the magic manifested into the glyph traced onto the table. The result was a blinding flash and the sound of a thousand bolts of thunder. I covered my face and threw myself to the floor. Something solid connected with my shoulder painfully as I fell, pushing me off balance.

  I blind fired several more rounds, rolling as I hit the floor.

  My vision was a mess of purple and green splotches, and my ears were ringing like a son of a bitch. I made it to my feet and managed to get my back to a wall. I could see an outline on the edges of my vision. I moved to fire again, but he slapped my hand aside and something pounded into my stomach. I felt the air push out of me. That was a hell of a punch.

  I resisted my initial instinct to strike out with my free hand. He was inside my reach, and I couldn't get enough leverage. Instead, I threw my head forward, feeling my forehead connect with his face. We both stumbled away from the wall. My vision was returning as we moved. I grabbed a handful of his shirt and threw my weight into him, snaking my leg behind his.

  We went down together. I managed to stay atop and angle my elbow
into his solar plexus. As we landed in a heap, my elbow sank into him. I smelled black tea as all the air left his lungs. He wheezed and began to claw at my face, spindly fingers searching for my eyes.

  This was no time to fight fair. I bit down on one of his fingers, my teeth scraping against the bone as blood filled my mouth.

  He gave an airless scream and pounded on the side of my face with his other hand. The impact was jarring. He caught me behind the right ear. My head jerked, and he was able to pull his hand free. There was a large piece of skin hanging loosely from his ring finger.

  He made a grab for the Glock, which was lying on the floor beside him. I twisted around and grabbed the back of one of the chairs. I hurled it at him as he was swinging the gun around. He recoiled to absorb the impact as the chair slammed against him.

  If this had happened five years ago, the fight never would have gotten this far. I would have already beaten him senseless or killed him by now. As it was, I was desperately out of shape. I was still catching my own breath, my head ached from the blinding light and the blow to the side of my face, I couldn't hear a damn thing, and I was just plain tired. I gauged my chances of winning right at fifty-fifty. I needed better odds than that if I was going to stick around. So, I ran.

  I bolted for the front door, throwing it open and running out to my car. I ripped the keys out of my pocket and pulled a half-assed Starsky and Hutch move by sliding over the hood of my car, scuffing the car and slamming my hip in the process.

  Luckily, I had bigger things to occupy my mind at the time, and I didn't even feel the pain in my hip as I came up off the hood, pulled the door open, and fired up the engine. I could see the man who looked like Glyph standing in the doorway of the house through my rearview mirror. I raced down the street. It wasn't exactly my proudest moment in life, running away and losing my gun in the process.

  I didn't feel like dying, and hey, you know what they say about pride and falls. I didn't have a choice about the situation I was in, but I sure as hell wasn't going to let it dictate everything.